The Sun in Her Eyes

  The horror of this thought doesn’t entirely sink in. What happened yesterday feels raw and unreal. I experience a twinge of guilt, but it’s not nearly potent enough.

  I get up and grab my shower things in a rush, then set off for the bathroom.

  I had a shower last night, but I can still smell the fire on my skin. And not just the fire, but Ethan, too, however unlikely that may sound. I need to get clean.

  As I stand under the blistering jets of water, my head is full of images of him – of us. His face, his body, his kisses, his hot, urgent claiming of my body…

  I should go to the doctor to get the morning-after pill. We didn’t use protection, and I came off the pill after getting married, when both Ned and I assumed that children would be the next step.

  I scrub at my skin and my hair until it hurts.

  Dad and Liz were gobsmacked when I walked in yesterday evening, my skin and clothes blackened with ash. I think I was still in shock. Everything felt so strange and nightmarish. I remember Liz making me sweet tea before ushering me off to the shower. She brought clean clothes to the bathroom and cooked dinner. I told them about the lightning and the blaze and Dad was horrified, while Liz acted almost motherly.

  It doesn’t occur to me to check the time until I’m fully dressed and ready for the day, and to my surprise I see that it’s only seven o’clock. Liz comes down the corridor on her way to the shower, looking half-asleep. She stops suddenly, noticing me at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

  ‘You’re up already.’

  ‘Yes. Would you like a coffee?’ I ask, feeling detached from my surroundings.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to get out of bed today,’ she comments, looking slightly flummoxed. ‘I was going to take the day off.’

  ‘I’m fine. Really,’ I say. ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘Are you sure? Because I think you could do with resting up.’

  ‘Honestly, Liz. That’s very kind, but I’m okay.’

  She gives me a suspicious look and nods reluctantly. ‘Okay. Well, then, I’d better get a wriggle on.’

  She leaves me to it and I stare for a long moment at Dad’s mobile on the kitchen table. I pick it up and scroll through the last few messages from Ethan, feeling a tightness in my chest as I delete them, one after the other.

  The phone buzzes in my hand and I drop it with a clatter. Tentatively, I pick it back up and disappointment surges through me when I see that it’s only a message from Dad’s school head. He’s asking if he can visit at lunchtime.

  Was I really expecting Ethan to contact me today, after the way he looked when he said goodbye?

  No.

  What we did was bad. We made a terrible, dreadful mistake.

  So why doesn’t it feel like one?

  I’m still waiting for the guilt to kick in.

  Sighing, I reply to Mr Fletchley to say that I’ll check with Dad. I don’t tell him that I’m not hopeful after last time.

  He writes back seconds later to say that he’ll come alone, and he promises he won’t interrupt Dad’s sentences. It’s as though he’s read my mind. I feel so sorry for him that I find myself agreeing. I hope I’m not making yet another mistake.

  I go to the fridge. We don’t have a lot in. Liz emerges from the bathroom with a puff of steam and I reluctantly reveal what I’ve done about Daniel Fletchley, wondering if she’ll give me an earful.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, nodding. ‘You probably should have run it past Len first, but, well, Daniel seems to have good intentions.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Have I got time to nip to the baker’s? I might grab a quiche for lunch and stock up on a few supplies.’

  ‘Sure,’ she says.

  When I get back from the Parade, Dad is already up and dressed and Liz is on her way out the door.

  ‘Ned called,’ she says, and I tense instantly. ‘He’s off to bed soon, but he said he’d call back if you don’t call him first. I thought you would have already told him about the fire?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I haven’t had a chance to.’

  She frowns, clearly wondering why I didn’t ring my husband after almost being burnt alive. It’s a valid speculation. ‘Well, he was very concerned, so you’d best call asap.’

  It’s the last thing I want to do. What do I say? My head spins. If I tell Ned the truth, it’s over.

  I go into the kitchen and place the shopping bags on the counter, forcing an agitated smile at Dad. The home phone rings and I almost jump out of my skin. I answer it reluctantly.

  ‘Amber!’ It’s Ned and his voice is full of apprehension. ‘Liz told me what happened!’

  ‘Hi,’ I reply quietly.

  ‘She said you were out in the countryside somewhere with Ethan?’

  It’s hardly surprising that he sounds on edge as well as worried. Apart from my briefly mentioning the dinner party at Ethan’s parents’ winery, his name hasn’t featured at all in our conversations.

  ‘Yes. We went to see some property that he and his parents are planning to develop.’ For once, I’m glad we’re talking on the phone and not in person. ‘It got me out of the house for the day,’ I add, glancing at Dad and then making my way into my bedroom so we can speak in privacy.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaims. ‘You could have been killed.’

  ‘I know.’ I sit down on the bed in a daze.

  ‘Liz said Ethan’s car exploded?’

  ‘Yes.’ I close my eyes, feeling weary to my bones.

  ‘Were you hurt at all?’ he demands to know.

  ‘My throat feels sore from breathing in the smoke, but that’s all.’

  ‘I could have lost you.’ He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and a belated rush of love flows through me.

  ‘I love you.’ My voice breaks as I speak.

  ‘I love you, too. I wish I could hold you.’

  Bile oozes up my throat at the thought of telling him what I’ve done. I feel like I could choke on it.

  He continues. ‘I’m so sorry I’m not going to be there for your birthday. I posted you something last week so I hope it gets to you on time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, hot tears stinging my eyes.

  ‘Are you still coming home at the end of next week?’ he asks hopefully.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I admit. ‘It still seems too soon. Hopefully I won’t be away for too much longer, though.’

  ‘Maybe I should fly over for Easter…’

  God, the sudden guilt. ‘Are you serious? Could you get away from work?’

  ‘I should be able to for a week or so. I’ll talk to Zara.’

  ‘No, wait.’ I feel sudden panic at the thought. ‘Let’s talk about it when I know more, okay? I’m alright, I promise. I’m okay.’

  ‘Okay.’ He sniffs. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too.’ And I hate myself.

  We end the call and I cross my legs, trying to snuff out the memory of Ethan: the feeling of him. I feel dirty and exhausted and deeply ashamed. A moment later, there’s a knock on my door.

  ‘Come in,’ I call wearily.

  Dad slowly opens the door and stands there, his left hand gripping his walking stick and his weak right hand proffering up his mobile.

  ‘It’s Ethan,’ he says.

  The blood drains from my face.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say quickly, feeling queasy as I take the phone from him. I offer Dad a brief smile before he shuffles away and I close the door.

  ‘Hello?’ I say.

  ‘Hey,’ he replies softly.

  I rapidly feel quite jittery.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

  I try to swallow the lump that has sprung up in my throat and nod, before belatedly realising he can’t see me.

  ‘I feel like I dreamt it,’ I admit.

  ‘Me too.’

  Neither of us says anything for a moment, but I feel acutely connected to him.

  ‘Did your dad say you were on the phone to Ned?’ he ask
s. He obviously couldn’t entirely make out what he was saying.

  ‘Yes. He called,’ I reply.

  ‘Did you tell him?’ He sounds cagey.

  ‘No,’ I reply.

  Ethan sighs. ‘Don’t feel too bad, Amber. It happened in extraordinary circumstances. We both thought we were going to die. It wouldn’t have happened otherwise.’ He’s evidently thought about this. ‘Just… Just… Give yourself a break,’ he finishes.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say in a small voice.

  ‘Don’t tell him,’ he stresses. ‘What good would it do? It’ll never happen again.’

  ‘Okay,’ I force myself to say, realising, to my disgrace, that his words aren’t entirely welcome.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

  ‘Please don’t apologise.’

  ‘Listen.’ He hesitates. ‘I’m going to be really busy at work for the next few weeks. The cooper is coming in to fix up the barrels and next week we start harvesting…’ My heart sinks with every word that spills from his lips. ‘I hope you’re okay,’ he says. ‘I’m here if you need me, but please try to put what happened out of your mind. Don’t let guilt eat you up. It won’t do either of you any good.’

  In a weird way, I wish that the guilt was eating me up. I don’t feel anywhere near as much regret about what happened as I know that I should. It’s unnerving.

  Dad looks troubled when I join him in the kitchen.

  ‘Did Liz tell you about Mr Fletchley?’ I ask, figuring that’s the reason for his expression.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Oh.’ Eek. ‘He asked if he could come over again at lunchtime.’

  ‘No,’ he says firmly.

  ‘It’s too late,’ I reply. ‘I’ve already said that he can.’

  ‘Amb—’

  I cut him off. ‘He feels terrible about last time. Give him another chance, Dad. God knows, people need second chances.’

  He looks put out, but reluctantly he agrees.

  Mr Fletchley’s visit is much better the second time round. He arrives with a bottle of champagne in one hand, Dad’s favourite chocolate liqueurs in the other, and a genuine smile on his face.

  ‘I’m sorry I was a bit out of order last time, Len,’ he says, flashing me an apologetic smile as we follow Dad into the kitchen. At least here he can sit at the table without assistance – it might make him feel more at ease.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Dad says. ‘Take a seat.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Dad says. ‘You take a break.’

  I try not to show my surprise. ‘Okay, I’ll just put the quiche in.’

  I’m glad he doesn’t insist on doing that, too. I love that he’s determined to regain his independence, but I’m not sure he can be trusted with a hot oven.

  When Daniel Fletchley leaves, Dad decides to go for a lie-down, but I can tell he’s feeling more positive than the last time.

  ‘Okay?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies, regarding me for a long moment. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I reply brightly. ‘You missed a bit,’ I say with a grin, running my finger over a patch of stubble on his throat.

  ‘Oh,’ he says, reaching his hand up.

  ‘I’m teasing, Dad. You can hardly notice. I can’t believe how quickly you’ve managed to start shaving again.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here, Amber,’ he says.

  I put my arms around him and hold his worryingly bony frame. ‘I’m glad I’m here, too, Dad.’ I close my eyes, releasing him a moment later.

  ‘When are you going home?’

  His question surprises me. ‘After Easter, if everything is okay here.’

  He nods. ‘That sounds good.’

  I’ll get on to my return flight this afternoon. ‘But please can we try to get out of the house this week?’ If I have to beg, I’ll beg.

  ‘Let’s go to the cemetery,’ he replies, shuffling towards his bedroom.

  ‘Okay, in the next couple of days,’ I agree. ‘It’s my birthday on Friday. Perhaps we can go out for lunch, too?’

  He grunts. ‘We’ll see.’

  I smile as he shuts the door in my face.

  Tina calls two days later. ‘Why didn’t you ring me about the fire?’ she exclaims.

  ‘Did Ethan tell you?’ It hurts to say his name.

  ‘Josh did. Ethan told him. Jesus, Amber, he said it was really bad!’

  ‘It was,’ I confess.

  ‘It sounds like you were lucky to make it out of there alive.’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘Jesus!’ she says again.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How are you so calm about it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve got other things on my mind, I guess.’ Ain’t that the truth.

  ‘Well, I want to hear all about it on Friday.’

  ‘Are we still going out?’ I can’t say the idea appeals to me at the moment.

  ‘Hell, yeah! And guess what? Nell wants to bring George!’ she cries exuberantly.

  ‘George?’ I ask with surprise. ‘How did she get his number?’

  ‘Apparently he called Ethan’s mum and asked her to pass on his details!’ she squeaks.

  ‘Oh. Wow.’

  ‘I know! How cute is that?’

  ‘Very cute,’ I reply with a smile, my heart warming despite the fact that I’ll now be spending my birthday with two couples. I know there’s no way Ethan will be coming.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve booked a table for dinner at the Belgium Bar behind Rundle Street, if that’s okay. We can go bar-hopping and clubbing from there.’

  ‘Great. Thanks so much for organising it all.’

  ‘No worries,’ she replies with an almost audible grin. Another big night out… We’re all going to get alcohol poisoning at this rate. That would serve me right.

  ‘Listen, I’ve got to go,’ I say. ‘Dad and I are going to visit Mum’s grave in a minute.’

  ‘Oh,’ she replies, stumped for words.

  ‘Is everything okay with you, though? How are things with Josh?’ I prompt.

  ‘Yeah, we’re fine,’ she brushes me off. ‘Everything’s fine, now. How’s your dad?’

  ‘Slowly getting better,’ I reply.

  ‘I’ll let you go, then.’

  ‘Thanks. See you Friday.’

  I take a long, deep breath after we hang up, trying to steel myself for the outing with Dad.

  Mum is buried at a cemetery in the hills overlooking the city of Adelaide. I haven’t been here in so long that I hardly know which direction to walk, but Dad’s memory is sound.

  ‘Straight ahead,’ he directs me. ‘Left at the tree.’

  We walk at a slow pace, keeping an eye out for loose paving stones or anything that may trip Dad up. I’m carrying a bucket of flowering plants and a small garden spade in my left hand, and a fold-up chair in my right. Dad requested the former, but complained about the latter. He has already apologised twice for not helping me to carry anything.

  We reach the tree and turn left, and there, above the distant treetops, is the city and the vast blue ocean beyond. It’s overcast today and cooler than it has been, but it’s still a fantastic view.

  ‘Here she is,’ Dad says, the slowness of his voice not masking the sorrow within it.

  I don’t think of Mum often. I don’t really remember her. Sometimes when I catch a glimpse of her face inside my head, I’m filled with dark thoughts, but these moments are rare. It’s clear from what I see now, though, that she is never far from Dad’s mind.

  The gravestone before us is made of simple grey stone, the words carved into it:

  HERE LIES KATE CHURCH

  BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

  1959-1988

  As I stare at the numbers, something computes inside my brain. Was Mum only twenty-nine when she died? I don’t think I’ve ever actually realised that. The fact resonates with me, particularly now that I’m about to turn thirty.


  Dad stumbles and I come to my senses in time to catch him, the chair and the bucket of plants clattering to my feet.

  ‘Blast!’ he erupts.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ I say hastily, holding him steady for a moment before letting him go to erect the seat. ‘Sit down.’

  He shakily does as I say, with a little help and guidance from me.

  ‘Dammit,’ he complains.

  ‘Don’t fret, Dad, please. I’m here to help.’ I hurriedly pick up the plants, shovelling the spilled soil back into their pots with my fingers.

  ‘I just wanted to do it myself.’ He sounds deeply unhappy.

  ‘You can do it yourself next year,’ I say. ‘And the year after. And the year after that. Make the most of me while I’m here.’

  He grunts, but I can tell that he’s calmer. I kneel down in front of the grave and start to pull up weeds while he watches and directs me.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Amber,’ he says after a minute.

  ‘I love you, too, Dad,’ I reply.

  Chapter 18

  I wake up on the morning of my thirtieth birthday and lie there for a moment, wondering if I feel any different to when I turned twenty-nine.

  A year ago, Ned brought me breakfast in bed and woke me with dozens of tiny kisses planted all over my stomach. I came to, giggling.

  With a sigh, I climb out of bed and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror.

  I don’t look any different. I don’t look like an adulterer. Or maybe I do. Maybe Ned will be able to see straight through me when I go home. I shudder at the thought and turn away, coming to a halt as another flashback of Ethan enters, unbidden, into my mind. My knees feel weak, so I sit back down on the bed, my stomach fluttering uncontrollably. This has happened to me several times over these last few days. I should feel sick at the memory of sex with him, but the truth is, I don’t. It’s a shameful truth. I’m disgusted with myself.

  ‘Are you awake?’ Liz calls from outside my door.

  ‘Yes,’ I call back unenthusiastically.

  The door flies open, startling me. Dad and Liz stand grinning like lunatics in the corridor.

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ They both cry, not in unison.

  I laugh lightly as Liz steamrolls into my room, followed more slowly by Dad. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Get back into bed,’ Liz commands. ‘What a mess,’ she mutters, looking around.