LITMIR.BIZ

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he never said; that was the kind of man he was. And that fateful day when I’d found my backbone and had the guts to walk away from Bardley, he still hadn’t prodded for information despite me coming in here like I had a pack of wolves on my tail.

      On impulse, I’d asked him for a job and once he’d heard my sob story he’d offered me the apartment too.

      I’d taken one look at the cosy, light-filled space and fallen in love. Pockmarked mahogany floorboards covered in rugs in the most vibrant peacock blues and crimsons, a faded chintz sofa and chairs, a bookcase overflowing with classics and a kitchenette stocked with everything I’d need to whip up healthy meals for one.

      The small bedroom and bathroom had been basic but I hadn’t cared. I’d never lived on my own, moving straight from my parents’ Double Bay mansion into Bardley’s Vaucluse monstrosity gifted to him by his folks when we married. Having the freedom to do whatever I liked in my own space had been heady stuff for a girl like me.

      So I’d moved in with the few suitcases I’d packed when I’d walked away from my marriage, had paid Remy six months’ rent in advance—a pittance, really, considering the rental prices in this upmarket part of town—and settled into a routine.

      Living the life I wanted.

      But today, restlessness plagued me and after I’d done a quick circuit or ten of the apartment I decided to go for a drive. Another thing I liked doing that I’d never had much of a chance to do in my past: driving for leisure.

      Dad had a chauffeur that had dropped me at school and picked me up, and Bardley roared around in his sports car when he wasn’t getting a private car to ferry him around. My narrow-minded husband had never understood my love of driving, had mocked me endlessly for wanting to drive out of the city on a weekend with no destination in my mind.

      So I’d rarely done it; hadn’t been worth the angst. Besides, it had been difficult to squirrel away any me-time when Bardley demanded I keep up with his hectic social schedule and attend every boring polo party/sailing regatta/race carnival as his arm candy.

      These days, on my limited down time, I drove for the heck of it. For the pleasure of exploring new places. For the simple fact I could, without anyone telling me I was an idiot or worse.

      It wasn’t until I was in my hatchback and cruising the streets did I realise where I was heading.

      Home.

      Not the harbourside mansion I’d lived in for twenty-one years before I got married, but the suburb. Ritzy Double Bay. Everything seemed brighter here, like a fairy had sprinkled glitter over the entire suburb.

      I drove aimlessly along the lush tree-lined boulevards, passing row upon row of incredible palatial homes with manicured emerald lawns, tennis courts and pool houses that could house a large family.

      Trendy boutiques I’d frequented when I didn’t baulk at the four-figure price tag on a pair of shoes or hold back when signing up for the newest release designer handbag.

      Cafés I’d regularly met my friends at, to do nothing but chat about our caviar facials and the latest celebrity break-up. Friends that hadn’t given a crap when I’d left Bardley. Friends that hadn’t even called.

      Past Redleaf Beach, a gorgeous slice of Sydney Harbour foreshore, where I’d sat on the sand for hours sometimes, wishing I could swim like the bathers doing laps in the tidal enclosure but too afraid to bring it up in case Bardley ridiculed me for wanting to learn how to swim at my age and conquer my fear of deep water.

      I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I glimpsed a sprawling whitewashed building fringed in lush gardens. The day spa Mum and I used to attend.

      Emotion clogged my throat as I homed in on the elaborate gold-embossed entrance, wondering what I’d do if I glimpsed Mum. But she was nowhere in sight and I found myself pulling into a parking spot and killing the engine.

      Crazy, as even if I saw her I wouldn’t approach her. Not when a hotbed of resentment and hurt festered inside me that not once over the last twelve months had she contacted me. Other than those fraught initial phone calls when she’d begged me to reconsider walking out on my marriage.

      Phone calls where she hadn’t asked how I was or where I was living or what I was doing to support myself since I’d been cut off financially from Bardley and my folks. Oh, no. Mum’s phone calls consisted of cajoling alternating with berating.

      ‘How could you be so stupid, darling? Walking away from your husband? Your home? Your friends?’

      ‘What were you thinking, leaving behind a life of luxury?’

      ‘You’ve embarrassed your husband and you’ve mortified us. Return home immediately!’

      The latter had been the most laughable because I hadn’t had a home with Bardley. Not really. We’d been friends coexisting in a massive house. More like housemates, really, who had lacklustre sex on occasion.

      Not that anyone besides us knew the truth. To our friends and family we were the luckiest couple in Australia. Married young. The successful merging of two powerhouse families. A glamorous life filled with the best money could buy, with a fortune guaranteed to keep our offspring in the lap of luxury.

      The biggest sham ever perpetuated.

      I hated myself for putting up with it for so long. For being a mousy, subservient girl who went along with whatever my parents wanted, including marrying a man I only felt a lukewarm affection for.

      I’d allowed myself to get caught up in the euphoria of having some guy pay me attention. Because that was what Bardley had done, wooed me with the express purpose of marriage, as his folks had suggested to him.

      While he’d had dollar signs in his eyes, envisaging a family merger that would consolidate fortunes, I’d had stars in my eyes, naively hoping that marriage would provide the excitement I’d been craving.

      Instead, Bardley had morphed into the dweeb I’d always suspected he was, with a mean streak that flourished once he had a ring on my finger. And I’d started to lose myself, piece by piece, becoming a listless yes-person who’d do anything to keep the peace and not earn his wrath.

      What a fool.

      I’d hated being that spineless, mouthless idiot and as I stared at the day spa and watched a mother and daughter exit, heads close together as they gossiped, their blond-streaked hair shiny in the lights flickering on, I realised maybe I didn’t miss my old life so much after all.

      I couldn’t fathom my parents’ lack of contact, their complete lack of interest in my well-being now that I wasn’t doing what they wanted.

      Dad had always been aloof and business-focussed, so I didn’t expect as much from him. The only time he’d ever paid me attention—Mum too, for that matter—was when we did something that pleased him. Otherwise, he’d convey his displeasure through angry silences that lasted for days, ensuring that I learned from a young age to make him happy.

      So it didn’t surprise me that he hadn’t contacted me, but for Mum to ignore me too...it hurt. A lot.

      I’d rung twice over the last six months, more to touch base and hear a familiar voice. The maid had skilfully diverted my call both times, so I never got to speak to my folks.

      They hadn’t returned my calls.

      Was I stupid to still miss them? To still hold onto a faint hope they’d eventually come around? Maybe, but they were my parents and no matter how crappy their treatment, a small part of me wished they’d understand one day.

      A tear plopped onto my forearm, startling me. I hadn’t realised I’d been crying. Swiping a hand across my eyes, I shot the day spa a final wistful glance before starting the engine.

      I should be happy. Last night with Tanner had purged my past once and for all. I should be rejoicing. Instead, I couldn’t help but wish I could have my old life mix successfully with my new.

      At least the drive had achieved one

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