Marshmallows for Breakfast Read online

  Agitated, Kyle rubbed his hand over his head. “I'm sorry. I thought we had something going.”

  “Something going? Why did you think that?”

  “Do I have to spell it out?”

  “Yes, I'm afraid you do, Kyle, because I am mystified.”

  Sarah's voice filled the silence between us as he stared desolately at the carpet. “You've been so supportive. You're always over here—cooking meals, picking up the kids, cleaning up …” His voice trailed away and slowly he raised his head. “I thought…” His words disappeared again, as though he couldn't explain himself.

  “Kyle, I saw you were struggling and I tried to help out, that's all. And, I'm sorry I didn't tell you this before, but I'm in love with someone else.” I touched my heart, then indicated to him. “Me and you, it's not going to happen. It's not going to happen.” He didn't react. He was stuck in confusion, couldn't begin to comprehend why I'd pushed him away.

  “I'd better go,” I said, gathering up my things: my cardigan and stripy scarf I'd slipped off and chucked over one of the armchairs, my black and red sandals I'd parked beside the sofa, my little bag that held my purse and phone. Had Kyle watched me take these things off, make myself comfortable, thinking I was doing it for him? That I was getting ready for a night of passion?

  “I'll see you,” I said to him as I left, cradling my belongings in my arms. I didn't even put on my shoes—just padded out of the living room, through the kitchen and into the garden. I took giant steps on tiptoes across the lawn and then into my flat. I locked the front door and then, shaking slightly, I climbed the stairs, dropped my things on the floor and flopped onto the sofa.

  I couldn't sit, couldn't rest, and immediately jumped to my feet again.

  Still trembling, I paced the floor.

  He actually thought … Every time I remembered the firm crush of his lips on my mouth and his hand skimming down my body, sickness churned in my stomach. How could he? How could he?

  I paced my flat, scrubbing at my mouth with the flat of my hand. I could still taste the coffee.

  “Don't you ever get frustrated?”whispered the voice in my memory. “Don't you ever want something so much you'll do anything to get it?”

  I had to get this taste of coffee off me. I went to the bathroom, picked up my toothbrush and squeezed on toothpaste. The bristles moved easily over my teeth, moved over my lips, and then it was mint. Freshmint was filling my mouth. I spat out the foam.

  He s propped up on one arm, staring down at me as he waits for an answer. I can hear my breathing. That's how I know I'm alive. I'm not moving. I'm staring at the hairline cracks in the ceiling, but I cant move. I cant feel anything. But I can hear my breathing. Short shallow breaths in my ears. I can still breathe so I know I'm alive.

  I squeezed more toothpaste onto the toothbrush. Cleaned my mouth again. Brushed my gums, my teeth, my tongue, the roof of my mouth, my lips. It wasn't enough. I could still taste it. I could still taste the coffee- flavored kiss. I put down the toothbrush. I had to get this off me.

  I took off my cardigan and scarf, threw them onto the tiled floor beside the chrome bin. I quickly stripped off the rest of my clothes, dumped them all beside the bin. Something to deal with later, afterwards.

  “Aren't you going to say something?” he asks. “Talk to me, Kendra.” His long fingers reach out towards my forehead, to maybe brush away a few strands of my hair, to maybe stroke my forehead, to maybe just touch me. I flinch. Scared. Terrified that he's going to hurt me. Again.

  The water from the shower spurted out, the warmth hitting my skin, instantly spreading calm through my body. I didn't want calm. I wanted oblivion. Something to remove the memory of his body against mine. My wet fingers slipped over the hot water tap as I turned it up. Steam rose, billowing out of the showerhead as scalding hot water gushed out onto me. It battered against my skin, just the bearable side of scalding. That was better. Cleansing. Soothing. The palms of my hands reddened. My skin started to protest; this hurt. The hot water scorched pain through me. This I understood. Physical pain I understood. It took away the agony of everything else. I could concentrate and focus on the pain.

  With shaking hands, I picked up the white bar of soap, started to run it over my body, lathering it up, washing away the panic Kyle had caused. This had to work. I had to remove all of it.

  In my memory the voice continued to whisper. I thought that was what you wanted. I thought that was what you wanted.

  CHAPTER 14

  Kyle kissed me last night,” I said to Gabrielle.

  It'd taken me most of the morning to get up the

  courage to say the words and now that it was just the two of us—Janene had the day off and Teri was out seeing clients—this had found its way out of my mouth.

  What happened the night before weighed heavily on me. Pushing down on my shoulders, pressing down on my mind. I turned it over and over, trying, trying, trying … I didn't understand why he'd got it so wrong. On one level I knew it should have been no big deal, that I'd overreacted, but then, had I? Wasn't it better to nip this in the bud right now? I needed to talk it out with someone.

  Gabrielle froze at her computer and then slowly spun on her chair towards me. “I couldn't see that one coming a mile off,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Divorced man, single attractive woman, sex is generally quite close behind.”

  I folded my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together. “Why? Because that's all women think about? Finding a man?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then why did you say that?”

  “I suppose I've noticed how much time you've been spending with Kyle and his family, the pair of you are kind of close, so I assumed …”

  “What happened would be like me kissing you.”

  “That'd be completely different,” Gabrielle said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I actually fancy you.”

  She wasn't taking me seriously. I thought she might understand. I don't know why. Gabrielle was rarely serious. All through the period leading up to her husband leaving and then her divorce she'd been telling jokes, poking fun at herself, laughing. In rare moments of honesty I'd notice how much makeup she'd started to wear to give her complexion color, would spot how she had to force her mouth to turn upwards in a smile, would see the sadness carved deep in her eyes. But most of the time she was giggling. Joking. Finding everything hilarious. “If you can't laugh at yourself,” she'd often say, “why bother?” But I couldn't bear for her to laugh at this. My body was still tenderized from the heat of the shower last night; my mind still reeling like it'd been sucker punched.

  I refocused on my computer screen. “Never mind,” I said. “I'm being silly. Shouldn't have said anything.”

  “I'm sorry, sweetheart,” Gabrielle replied. “I didn't realize how shaken up you were. Tell me what happened.”

  “It's nothing,” I said. I shrugged. “I'm just being silly.”

  “It was only a kiss, right?” she asked, suddenly concerned. “Nothing else?”

  “Yeah, it was only a kiss. Look, let's forget it, I'm being silly.”

  “Is that why you're dressed like that?” she asked.

  Dressed like what? I looked down at myself. I was wearing a black vest top, a white cotton shirt, a V-neck lightweight sweater and a black cardigan over the top with black trousers. This was how I always dressed for work, smart but not in a suit. I pulled the cardigan across my chest, folded my arms over the top. “What do you mean?”

  “It's one of the hottest days of the year and you're dressed for winter.”

  I forced a laugh, shrugged, focused on my computer screen. “You know what I'm like, I'm always cold. How many times have I asked you to turn up the heating? I'd forgotten how chilly it got over here, especially after Australia.”

  “Australia,” Gabrielle echoed. “You know, that's the first time you've mentioned it unbidden. I'd love to know about it.”


  “Australia? I don't want to talk about Australia,” I replied. I opened my address book, flipped through its pages looking for a client who could do with a courtesy call—see if I could drum up a couple of assignments or arrange a lunch. I picked up the phone, started to punch out the digits. Gabrielle darted out from behind her desk and was beside my desk in two steps. She pressed down the button to cut the line, took the receiver from my hand and carefully replaced it in its cradle.

  “I'm sorry for being glib,” she said, her persona completely altered. Now she was serious and concerned. This was probably the person those who went to her for counseling encountered. “Are you worried about going back to the house tonight and seeing him?”

  “I told you, I'm being silly.”

  “You're not. If it's upset you, then it's not silly,” she said gently. “Tell me what happened and why it upset you so much.”

  I hesitated. It'd taken a lot to say anything in the first place and now I wasn't sure if I should continue. But then, I had to live with Kyle. I had to get some perspective on this and the only way to do that would be to talk it out.

  Slowly, haltingly, I gave her a brief rundown. “It came from nowhere, truly,” I ended. “I've never given him even the slightest indication that I'm interested. Why did he do that?”

  “Maybe because he likes you?”

  “How can he? He doesn't even know me and it's not as if we've been on a few dates or we've flirted. I don't care what it says in the books or in the films, just because I'm free and he's free and we spend time together, doesn't mean we're going to hook up.”

  “I'm sure he didn't mean any harm.”

  “I know, but how can I be normal with him after this? I'll always be wondering if he's going to try it again.”

  “Ah, sweetheart, we all do stupid things. I'm sure he's probably mortified about it. And you can tell if he's going to do it again by trusting yourself. If he's after something, you'll know. A little voice in your head, your intuition, will tell you not to trust him. We're trained to be polite, to be nice, and we all want people to like us, but if you find yourself having to quash even the slightest feeling of uneasiness about him then you'll know you have to avoid him. Forget politeness, forget all the stuff you were taught about people liking you, listen to yourself. What did you get with Kyle?”

  “I didn't hang around long enough afterwards to find out much of anything.”

  “Well, if you're going to carry on living that closely with him, you're going to have to talk to him to find out.”

  We heard the chaos coming up the stairs to the office from the high street.

  Footsteps, loud chatter, things being dropped and clattering on the wide staircase. With every step the noise got louder and we half expected the door to fly open and a troupe of circus performers to come tumbling in. When the door did open my group of circus performers came trouping in: Jaxon arrived first. He was dressed in dark grey trousers, his blue shirt was half tucked in, his striped dark blue, yellow and white tie was askew around the open top button of his shirt, and as usual, one of his socks was pulled up to his knee and had the bottom of his trouser leg half tucked into it, the other sock lounged in rings around his ankle. He had a streak of green felt tip across his cheek and green paint staining his fingers. It always amazed me that such a quiet boy could get so messy in such a few hours.

  Behind him was Summer. She was wearing her pleated dark grey school skirt, her blue shirt and the same blue, yellow and white striped tie as Jaxon, but hers was still in place. Overall, she was neater, but her hair, parted and tied in bunches (I'd taught Kyle how to do it properly), had strands escaping at random points all over her head. Her socks were also half and full mast. They'd both clearly had a hard day at the salt mines.

  Behind them, a rucksack over one shoulder and another multicolored backpack in his arms along with two navy-blue blazers and two navy-blue jumpers, was Kyle. Perched on top of his pile was a trainer—presumably it had fallen out of the rucksack on his shoulder, since the backpack gaped open and the trainer's twin hung outside the bag by a caught shoelace.

  He was pale, hesitant, his features drawn and his eyes darting anxiously around the room. It took a lot longer than it should have done for him to cross the threshold. He clearly thought it was a bad idea coming here.

  I stood as soon as Jaxon had pushed open the door and came around my desk to see them.

  “KENDIE!” Summer yelled, stepped around Jaxon, ran to me and threw her arms around my waist, slammed her head against my solar plexus, slightly winding me before she squeezed. Anyone would think she hadn't seen me in a year or two, anyone wouldn't think she'd seen me yesterday, just before bedtime. The office was thankfully empty, a slow Tuesday afternoon. No temps or clients were in and Teri had gone home after her appointments.

  “I missed you,” she informed me as I peeled her away from me and bent down to her height and allowed her to throw her arms around my neck and squeeze just as hard. Jaxon stood with his father until I looked up at him, a silent invitation to come on over and give me a hug, too. Dragging his feet, as he did when he walked, he came over and looped one arm around my neck and squeezed. Summer had already disentangled herself from me by the time Jaxon arrived. I took a deep breath and inhaled their scent. They smelled of school, of a day painting and running and reading and being outdoors. They smelled of Summer and Jaxon's lives.

  Jaxon's hug was brief, just like his speech—rationed because it wasn't necessary to go overboard. I knew he liked me now, he didn't need to make a performance of it. As his arm slid away, I stood up and we both turned to find out what Summer was doing.

  She was across the room, sitting in Gabrielle's chair, legs swinging, hands on the arms of the chair, holding court as she discussed the finer points of staplers and whether black ones were better than blue ones. Summer was explaining to Gabrielle that a black stapler would always work better than a blue one because anything black was always better. She spoke as though she couldn't quite believe that someone Gabrielle's age hadn't worked that out yet. Jaxon, as always drawn by whatever his superstar sister did, went over to join them. On his way he picked up the burgundy stapler that perched on the edge of my desk. That effectively left me with Kyle.

  My heart had begun to beat in triple time, the blood rushing in my ears like the rapids of a white- water ride, as I turned to him. When I faced him I was doused with a memory of the night before: his tongue pushing into my mouth, his hand on my face, his body too close to mine, the taste of coffee. I shuddered.

  Kyle saw my shudder. He knew why I was shuddering. His anxiety, which he already wore in his eyes, on the grim set of his flatline mouth, in his stiff body, increased, began to radiate outwards towards me.

  I glanced away, unable to look directly at him. “Um … Summer insisted we stop by. She found your watch …” He stuttered his way through the words like a schoolboy giving an unscripted talk on something he hadn't studied for. “I think you left it behind last night.”

  I felt—rather than saw—Gabrielle look up at us. All three adults knew how that sounded—like I'd taken my watch off in his bedroom, not that I'd done the washing up after dinner. Jeez, what is this man doing to me?

  Kyle's eyes darted to Gabrielle. He met her eye and then paled in horror at how that sounded. His white pallor was swiftly followed by his face exploding with scarlet.

  Seriously, what is this man doing to me?

  Gabrielle returned her attentions to Summer and Jaxon. “Who wants some lollies?” Gabrielle asked, to cut the tension.

  “Ice lollies?” Summer asked.

  “No, I mean sweets,” Gabrielle replied.

  “Then why didn't you say sweets?” Summer replied, indignant. She wasn't a fan of double-talk.

  “Lollies is what we Australians call sweets.”

  In unison Summer and Jaxon's eyes widened and fixed on Gabrielle. “You're from Australia?” Summer asked, her voice loaded with excitement but also the fear that Gabrielle migh
t be having her on. “Like Kendie?”

  “No, not like Kendie. Kendie's only a pretend Australian. I'm a real one. I was actually born there and grew up there. How about I take you both out for some lollies—sweets— and explain all about it?”

  “OK,” Jaxon said. “Garvo wants to know about it, too.” The three of us—Summer, Kyle and I—turned and stared at him. He never spoke to strangers. He looked back at us as though we were the ones who had done something out of the ordinary.

  “That's OK, isn't it?” Gabrielle asked Kyle. “It's only two shops down. We'll go and come straight back.”

  Kyle looked over Gabrielle, assessing if it was safe to let his children go off with her. He must have found her suitable because he replied, “Yeah, sure.” He made a move, jostling the items in his arms as though to get some cash.

  “It's OK,” Gabrielle said, “this one's on me.” She picked up her fake Louis Vuitton wallet and bustled the children out the door.

  “Not too many sweets,” I called after them. Gabrielle raised her hand in acknowledgement. “Seriously, Gabrielle, only one bag each. One normal-size bag.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Even if I hadn't told her she would have guessed something had happened between Kyle and me—the tension of it sat in gloops in the air around us. Thick, sticky splodges that dripped down around and onto us.

  As soon as Gabrielle clicked the door shut behind them, I moved back, behind my desk. Protection. I needed a physical barrier between us, something that would make sure there was no misunderstanding. At the same instant Kyle took a step back, emphasizing that he felt the same.

  “Kend… Miss Tam—” he began. “Look, I'm sorry. I got… I… I suppose I was … It's no excuse, obviously… I just… And it was … That's not to say …”

  I stared at Kyle, wondering if he had any idea that he hadn't managed to finish a whole sentence yet. And the words he had spoken, the sentences he had begun made no sense to anyone.