company.’
‘I
figured as much,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘When I didn’t see you this week, I
thought you might be avoiding me?’
‘What?
No of course not,’ she lied, feeling the guilt glow on her cheeks. ‘I’ve just
been busy.’
‘No
problem.’
‘Thanks.
Another time definitely.’
‘Okay,’
he nodded. ‘But can I ask you something then?’
‘Sure.’
‘Isn’t
it letting them win? I mean, I understand if you want to hide from all this,’
he began, nodding his head towards the newspaper. ‘But you’ve been in
Cottinghale how long? A week? And you go from here to your house and back
again. It’s not much of a new start is it?’
Jules
felt the breath leave her lungs as a fiery rage engulfed her. ‘And what would
you know about it? Has anything like this ever happened to you?’ she snapped.
‘No,
but-’
‘Well
then, stay out of it, okay? You’re right, I’ve been here a week, so don’t
pretend you know me.’
She
pushed the chair back and sprang to her feet, almost dragging the lace table
cloth and the bowl of soggy cornflakes with her.
‘Jules
wait; I was only trying to help,’ he explained, his tone remaining even.
She
stared down at him fighting the anger throbbing in her head. ‘I know,’ she
sighed. ‘I’m sorry for having a go at you. I guess that’s why they say that you
shouldn’t shoot the messenger. Thanks for bringing this over.’
‘Don’t
mention it.’
She
could tell by his tone that Rich was still annoyed about her outburst, or about
cancelling dinner, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘I’d
better go,’ she said, grabbing the paper and striding from the room without
waiting for a response.
As
soon as she unlocked her car and slipped behind the steering wheel she felt
better. Her house sat less that a ten minute walk further up the road, but something
about driving soothed her.
What
had just happened? She knew Rich was the last person she should be angry at,
but for some reason the more he tried to help her, the harder she pushed him
away.
The
vibration of her mobile saved Jules from thinking any deeper about the reasons
for her strange behaviour towards Rich. She dug her fingers into her pocket and
snapped her phone open.
‘Hello,’
she said.
‘Hello
Juliet this it’s your mum here, just calling to see how your new property is
coming along, give us a call-’
‘Mum,
I’m here,’ Jules interrupted, balancing the phone in the crook of her right
shoulder, freeing her hands to start the car. She couldn’t bear the thought of
seeing Rich again now.
‘Oh
hi darling, I thought it had gone straight to voicemail.’
Even
with her mind clouded in anger, Jules felt the familiar churn of guilt. She
hadn’t spoken to her parents in months; preferring instead to exchange
voicemails every couple of weeks when she knew they would be out at their book
club. Their cheerful answer phone message never asked awkward questions she
didn’t have the answers too.
‘How
are you? Did Guy manage to find you? It was only after he left that I realised
our road map might be a little out of date.’
Jules
slipped the gear stick into reverse and guided the car out of Mrs Beckwith’s
driveway. It took her a moment to register her mother’s comment.
‘Mum,
why did you tell him where I was?’
‘Why?
Shouldn’t we have done? He told us all about the newspaper story and sounded so
apologetic, not that your father and I could figure what exactly was going on,
but it was lovely to see him again. I don’t know why it never worked out
between the two of you.’
Jules
heard the deep sound of her father’s voice bellow in the background as she
moved the gear stick into drive and sped up the road.
‘Oh,
yes yes that’s right, you were too young.’
Another
thrust of frustration reared inside her. Her mother’s ability to make
everything seem so simple never failed to drive her crazy.
Her
parents, Nora and Bernie Stewart still lived
‘I
figured as much,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘When I didn’t see you this week, I
thought you might be avoiding me?’
‘What?
No of course not,’ she lied, feeling the guilt glow on her cheeks. ‘I’ve just
been busy.’
‘No
problem.’
‘Thanks.
Another time definitely.’
‘Okay,’
he nodded. ‘But can I ask you something then?’
‘Sure.’
‘Isn’t
it letting them win? I mean, I understand if you want to hide from all this,’
he began, nodding his head towards the newspaper. ‘But you’ve been in
Cottinghale how long? A week? And you go from here to your house and back
again. It’s not much of a new start is it?’
Jules
felt the breath leave her lungs as a fiery rage engulfed her. ‘And what would
you know about it? Has anything like this ever happened to you?’ she snapped.
‘No,
but-’
‘Well
then, stay out of it, okay? You’re right, I’ve been here a week, so don’t
pretend you know me.’
She
pushed the chair back and sprang to her feet, almost dragging the lace table
cloth and the bowl of soggy cornflakes with her.
‘Jules
wait; I was only trying to help,’ he explained, his tone remaining even.
She
stared down at him fighting the anger throbbing in her head. ‘I know,’ she
sighed. ‘I’m sorry for having a go at you. I guess that’s why they say that you
shouldn’t shoot the messenger. Thanks for bringing this over.’
‘Don’t
mention it.’
She
could tell by his tone that Rich was still annoyed about her outburst, or about
cancelling dinner, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘I’d
better go,’ she said, grabbing the paper and striding from the room without
waiting for a response.
As
soon as she unlocked her car and slipped behind the steering wheel she felt
better. Her house sat less that a ten minute walk further up the road, but something
about driving soothed her.
What
had just happened? She knew Rich was the last person she should be angry at,
but for some reason the more he tried to help her, the harder she pushed him
away.
The
vibration of her mobile saved Jules from thinking any deeper about the reasons
for her strange behaviour towards Rich. She dug her fingers into her pocket and
snapped her phone open.
‘Hello,’
she said.
‘Hello
Juliet this it’s your mum here, just calling to see how your new property is
coming along, give us a call-’
‘Mum,
I’m here,’ Jules interrupted, balancing the phone in the crook of her right
shoulder, freeing her hands to start the car. She couldn’t bear the thought of
seeing Rich again now.
‘Oh
hi darling, I thought it had gone straight to voicemail.’
Even
with her mind clouded in anger, Jules felt the familiar churn of guilt. She
hadn’t spoken to her parents in months; preferring instead to exchange
voicemails every couple of weeks when she knew they would be out at their book
club. Their cheerful answer phone message never asked awkward questions she
didn’t have the answers too.
‘How
are you? Did Guy manage to find you? It was only after he left that I realised
our road map might be a little out of date.’
Jules
slipped the gear stick into reverse and guided the car out of Mrs Beckwith’s
driveway. It took her a moment to register her mother’s comment.
‘Mum,
why did you tell him where I was?’
‘Why?
Shouldn’t we have done? He told us all about the newspaper story and sounded so
apologetic, not that your father and I could figure what exactly was going on,
but it was lovely to see him again. I don’t know why it never worked out
between the two of you.’
Jules
heard the deep sound of her father’s voice bellow in the background as she
moved the gear stick into drive and sped up the road.
‘Oh,
yes yes that’s right, you were too young.’
Another
thrust of frustration reared inside her. Her mother’s ability to make
everything seem so simple never failed to drive her crazy.
Her
parents, Nora and Bernie Stewart still lived
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