Imagining the worst
IMAGINING THE WORST
Top down, the Lotus rounded the last curve before home. Christie pulled over to a shoulder, as she had done on the first time she’d come here. Then it had been for Gran’s funeral, knowing nobody and expecting to leave within a day.
One day turned into a week. Going back to Melbourne – to her life with Derek – was not her first choice by then. The town and her inherited cottage grew on her so fast it was as if she was meant to be here.
Back to her life she had gone though, until Derek showed his narcissistic personality one time too many and brought another woman into their relationship. Not that she knew if he had feelings for Ingrid Kauffman, other than their kindred love of property development, but Christie deserved better.
It was early evening and at the bottom of the hill the town was a picture, with the slow river winding through a break in the cliffs, meeting the sea as a shallow lagoon. The air was oh-so-salty and pure, as a breeze filled Christie’s senses.
She loved the city. Loved the movement and life, the restaurants and people. Martin used to call her ‘city girl’ and in those respects he was right. But Rivers End held her heart now.
All of a sudden, she had to see Martin. Instead of going home first, she nosed the Lotus back onto the road and past the turn-off to the cottage.
Nobody was there. The sliding door was uncharacteristically closed – locked, in fact. Christie peered through the glass to an uninhabited house. She checked the shed. The old motorbike and the surfboards were present. The studio was as deserted.
The sun almost touched the horizon and hunger gnawed at her stomach. She checked her phone, just in case. No missed calls. No messages. Unlike Martin.
Derek had never bothered letting her know where he was. Annoyed that he’d crossed her mind, Christie pushed the thought away.
By the time she turned the Lotus into the driveway, Christie was so tired that she just wanted to eat and then climb into bed. Even her suitcase could stay in the car overnight. Only her handbag and make-up case made it onto the porch with her.
About to slip the key into the lock, Christie heard a noise from inside and stopped. Heart racing, she stepped back.
The noise again – a small thud against the door. Another step back. Derek had got into the cottage before. But it couldn’t be him!
The door handle turned, just a little. Christie eyes widened. The key clanged on the porch as she dropped it, hand flying to her mouth.
“Randall, you need to move out the way if I’m to let Christie in.”
The door opened enough for Randall, tail wagging furiously, to rush to Christie. Martin pushed the door completely open with a wide, welcoming smile.
“Wondered where you got to when we heard you drive past.”
In spite of the dog circling her in excitement, Christie’s hand still covered her mouth. It was Martin and Randall. Not some intruder.
Not Derek.
“Christie?”
“I… I thought…”
Martin reached out for Christie. She rushed into his arms and burst into sobs.
“I thought we’d got past this crying stuff.” Martin held a box of tissues for Christie, who sat at the table with Randall beside her.
“Me too. Sorry.” She dabbed at her eyes.
Squatting down in front of Christie, Martin cupped her cheek. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She leaned into his hand, fear evaporating with his touch. Her heartbeat was normal again and she was cross about overreacting. Who else would be here? He had a key.
“You okay?”
“I went to your house.”
“Ah. We heard you drive past. Thought you must have needed something at the shop.”
“No. Just you.” Her voice was tiny.
He dropped his hand onto hers and squeezed it. “Come and see your room.”
Martin led her down the hallway. The dining room door was closed and Martin tugged at her hand when she hesitated.
At the bedroom door, Martin guided Christie in first. She stopped in awe. The plastering and painting was complete, with the lovely old ceiling rose returned to its position around the new light fitting.
Heavy, sea-blue curtains framed a sparkling new window, with lace curtains draped to one side. Perfect against the pale cream walls.
“I thought you said the painting wouldn’t be done yet?”
“It needed doing.”
Christie put her arms around Martin’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you. No abstract mural?”
He grinned. “Hungry?” Without waiting for an answer, he left. Curious, Christie followed him to the dining room. The minute the door opened, mouth-watering smells of roast chicken wafted out.
On the floor, a colourful blanket was spread out. A picnic basket overflowed with bread sticks, salads, cheeses and chicken pieces. Candles flickered on the windowsill. The two straight-backed chairs – the only furniture in the room – served to hold plates and napkins. An ice bucket, complete with a bottle of Chardonnay, rested on the floor beside two glasses.
Martin held his hand out. “Are you coming in?”
“Wow!” She managed, before a tear slipped down her cheek.
Martin sighed and took her back in his arms. “You, my sweetheart, are overtired. When did you last eat?”
Christie mumbled something against his chest. His scent filled her with longing to stay exactly where she was, but her growling stomach was just as insistent she move.
“I hope you just said you had lunch today. And breakfast?”
“I just wanted to finish and get home.”
“We’ll discuss this another time. Wine?”
Randall flopped down in the doorway. His tail thumped on the ground when Christie patted his soft head. “Missed you.”
She was home. Everything was right here.
“Who needs a dining room table?” Christie sat cross-legged on the floor, wine glass in one hand and a piece of bread in the other.
“Might get uncomfortable after a while.”
“I might buy big cushions. Or bean bags.”
“I hope not.”
With a grin, Christie toasted him. “To you, with thanks.”
“You’re welcome. For what?”
“This. Painting my bedroom and making my bed. Being here when I got home.”
Martin leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I should have told you we were here.”
“You were right. I was overtired and hungry. Silly of me to react like that!” Her face tensed up.
“Here. Come here.” He held his arm out and Christie shuffled over a bit to move into his embrace. With his free hand, he refilled their glasses.
“How was Melbourne?”
“Exhausting. Don’t get me wrong, I love the job still and I adore Docklands Studios. It was just… weird. Being back there.”
“Did you see him?”
Christie’s eyes flew to Martin’s. Worry creased his brow.
“No! Of course not. I promised I’d stay clear and I did.”
“But Docklands is small. That was my concern, that he’d run into you somehow.”
“Ash and Ray took me out for dinner at Central Pier which is straight past my old apartment. But they had already seen him go out in a taxi and were with me every moment. So protective and sweet. And they walked me almost back to the hotel. Well, we ran a bit, ‘cos it was raining.”
Martin chuckled.
Eyes closed in contentment, Christie relaxed against Martin. How silly she was, imagining Derek would even bother with her anymore. That part of her life was over and now she had the most wonderful future to look forward to.