God.
I lay my forehead against the pink tiles and let water splatter my body. The water pressure in this old house is crappy, but the shower rose is miniature. Somehow, it evens out.
Where do we go from here? What was I thinking? As if Brayden doesn’t have enough on his plate.
There’s a dip in the shower temperature and I reduce the cold water flow. I’ve been in here too long and the hot water is running low.
Turning off the taps, I slide the glass panels open. They catch and hitch, bump and grind, stubborn to the end, until I’ve got a gap through which I can step.
Drying myself, I turban the towel around my wet hair.
Two tiny red pimples, one on my right cheek, the other on my chin, glare at me in the mirror. Twenty-eight is too damn old for acne.
It’s too old for being a diva, too.
With a sigh, I unwrap the towel, letting my new hairdo swing wet against my neck. A comb helps straighten the tangle but it will still kink once it’s dry. Brilliant Emmy may be, but no hairdresser has ever been able to curb that kink.
Emmy said the colour would pick up the honey flecks in my eyes, and it does. But I don’t feel at home with the girl in the mirror. I don’t know her.
Jennifer Gates doesn’t rock boats. She goes with the flow. Now, in the space of a few days, I’ve uprooted my son and myself from our Perth life and I’ve stirred such a pot of old memories with Brayden, I don’t see how the contents can possibly ever be smooth.
And do I want them to be smooth?
I pull on a blue tank top, then a loose long-sleeved cheesecloth shirt over the top. There’s no point bothering with a bra. It’s late, and it’s not as if I’m going jogging.
I add a skirt: floral, cotton, and long enough to cover my knees.
Time to face the music.
Wiping the fog from the glass, I gather my things.
***
‘I borrowed your laptop,’ Brayden announces as I exit the bathroom, cosmetics bag and clothes clutched in my arms. He’s in the lounge, sprawled on one of the chairs, my computer in his lap, fingers hovering over the keyboard. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Course I don’t mind,’ I say, testing the air for trouble.
He doesn’t seem upset as he points to the screen and says, ‘These are perfect.’
‘What are perfect?’
‘The Cobra Golf Ladies’ Sapphire Complete Set.’
I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
Half an hour I’ve been stressing in the shower about our argument, and he’s been researching ladies’ golf clubs. He’s already over it. Typical bloody bloke. A snort that’s half relief and half annoyance escapes my lips. ‘I don’t need a set of new clubs.’
‘Yes you do. You said Tiger Woods sold your clubs.’
I guess it’s kind of nice that he’s been researching golf clubs for me. Nice, but misguided. ‘Thank you for googling golf clubs on my behalf, but I’m not playing any golf any time soon.’
Mustering my dignity, I sweep through the lounge without glancing at the screen. In my bedroom, I dump my crumpled clothes. Seb is lying on his back in the portacot, arms folded behind his head like baby bat wings. For a few seconds I watch him, drinking him in. What is it about kids that makes them so compelling when they sleep? I could stare at him for hours.
The box of chocolates is on top of the fridge, it’s the first thing I see when I slide the bedroom door closed. I take the box with me and head for the lounge.
Brayden resumes as if I hadn’t left the room, ‘This website says these Sapphire clubs are specially designed for Cavelady needs.’ He pauses, and his eyes click with mine. ‘That’s you, Jenn.’
‘What’s a Cavelady?’ I ask, holding out the box.
‘A Cavelady is a lady golfer who spends all her time in the rough.’ He grins at me as his hand makes wrappers rustle. That grin says better than any words that the world is okay between us.
Racking my brain for a witty retort I come up blank, so I sit with him on the couch, the chocolate box dividing our knees, and he twists the laptop toward me.
The clubs rotating on the screen are blue, silver and shiny. They’re to die for. I want them. I want him.
‘Listen to this, Jenn,’ he says. ‘Cobra Sapphires feature Cobra’s best game-improving technologies.’
‘There isn’t enough technology on the planet to improve my golf.’ I dunk my fingers in the box and unwrap one of the ones with a nut inside.
‘That’s because you already play awesome. Think how much more awesome you’ll be with these.’
My teeth cut through the hazelnut centre. I mumble something at him, because I refuse to talk with my mouth full, and I refuse to rush chocolate. Not for any fancy set of golf clubs. Not for any man.
Finally, I swallow, and run my tongue over my teeth. ‘Even if I did want to get back out on the golf course, which I don’t, I can’t afford new clubs and it’s impossible to play with a toddler.’
‘There are some brilliant golf courses in this neck of the woods. You’re missing out.’
‘There are some great courses,’ I agree. Margaret River. Capel. I’ve played them with Jack. Back in the days of dirty weekends and lunches that lasted hours — before Sebby was born.
Brayden quits the browser, folds the laptop closed.
Yawning, I cover my mouth. ‘I’m sorry about what I said before. I didn’t mean to be a pain in the arse. You have enough to worry about without me adding to it.’
‘You’ve got a lot going on, Jenn. We both have. Don’t sweat it.’ He lifts a strand of my hair and shapes it around my ear. His breath fans the scent of chocolate against my cheek.
Is he being friendly? I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel friendly, exactly. There’s a depth in his eyes, a question, and it starts my heart hammering.
‘Maybe when all this is done, Jenn, you and me…’ He drops his hand. ‘Ah, fuck it. That’s not fair, either.’
‘What’s not fair?’ I’m having trouble following him. Did he just say you and me?
‘It’s not fair of me to expect you to wait while this court case hangs over me. I could go to jail.’ He inhales with enough force to make his chest strain against his shirt. ‘And nothing’s changed, not really. I still work away. Six. Eight months of the year I’d be away.’
‘Away from what, exactly?’ I echo, fighting the fog in my brain.
‘Away, Jenn. From you.’ His finger is back, magnetically tracing the soft skin where my ear joins my jaw.
Definitely doesn’t feel friendly.
After a beat that lasts forever, he adds, ‘And then there’s Jack.’
Before he’s finished, I’m shaking my head. ‘Jack and I are over.’
‘Maybe.’ His blue gaze holds mine. ‘Maybe not. He’s the father of your son. You’ve been together a long time. You need to work out what’s best and it will be easier if I’m not in the way.’
I smother another yawn. ‘A shower usually perks me up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.’
‘You’re out on your feet.’ Brayden tucks his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me against his ribs. Then he kisses the damp hair at my temple. ‘It’s been a big day, Jenn. Time for bed.’
Even through the haze, I know there’s an irony in hearing those words from him, but right now I’m too exhausted to care.