Falling Away Read online

  FALLING

  AWAY

  Allie Little

  Copyright © 2014 Allie Little

  All rights reserved.

  This book is published in Australian English and includes relative diction.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  If you are reading this book and have not purchased it or been gifted a copy via an online retailer, it has been pirated. Please delete this eBook and support the author by purchasing a copy from one of its many distributors. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Allie Little is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians or artists mentioned in this book.

  Cover design: Rebecca Berto of Berto Designs

  Cover image: ©Dmitry_Tsvetkov Shutterstock.com®

  Formatting: Max Henry of Max Effect Author Services

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  For Murray,

  Because time is a trickster.

  A boat without anchor, a tree without roots, a leaf in the breeze on a grey gusty day.

  But that was before …

  PROLOGUE

  The beach is dark. Really dark. Except for the bonfire crackling wildly on the dune, it’s hard to see further than the closest reach of the sea. And nothing will take this emptiness away. Because memories of Jack will never be enough. Never. And although the crowd at this drunken beach-party sways in measured motion before my eyes, Jack is all I see. All I will ever see. And I lost my heart to him long, long ago. In the blink of an eye. In half of a heart-beat. And tonight I realise, there is no remedy for waiting.

  The sea is so warm. And all I want now is to swim. Just a little. Out to that elusive horizon and back again. Because to be cradled in the arms of this deep onyx sea is what I need. How I feel. What I know.

  And if Jack doesn’t want me …

  “Sam!” screams Emily from the shore, hitching up her dress to escape the initial watery chill. “You need to come out! Right now!”

  “But it’s warm!” I giggle stupidly. “Come on, Em! Let’s swim!” I close my eyes, his face so fresh in my mind, and gently topple over at the slap and slosh of a wave.

  “Are you crazy?” Em calls as I wobble further out. “You’re drunk, Sam! This is not a good idea!”

  “But it feels so good!” I yell, lurching into the bucking waves in my tight red dress. “Come in!”

  I dive under and feel the pull of the rip. The one I hadn’t noticed before. In the daylight I would’ve seen this. Without alcohol I might’ve too, even at night. But the pull is so freeing. So liberating. It’s exactly what I need. To float away under a shadowy sky.

  Just a little swim, and then I’ll come back...

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eight months earlier

  Bang. The sound of the front door as it slams loudly behind me. I jump the steps to the lawn, eager to make it to the ferry on time. I can’t succumb to her. Won’t. Because if I do, she wins this incendiary battle we wage. And I won’t give in to pressure, nor be pushed around. Not anymore. And certainly not by her.

  The ferry’s waiting at the wharf, rolling slightly as it pitches side to side. I march resolutely along the river toward it, determined to put some much needed distance between us. Because it’s always the same. The way she roasts me, slates me. Disapproves of me. Well, not anymore. I am done. Today I will find myself a job. And start my year.

  I launch myself on board the swaying craft, finding myself nose to nose with the new ferry captains. I straighten up and steady myself with the railing.

  “Well, hello! Tell me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this the most spectacular ferry you’ve ever seen?”

  The question has the effect of breaking my fury and I smile. I glance around the freshly painted heritage green and cream ferry, circa 1904. Bobby Foster settles himself at the vintage helm while Jack uncurls the rope from the bollard. It’s thick and twisted and coarse like stubble.

  “Name’s Bobby and I’m your captain,” he says, saluting with a weathered hand. He winks cheekily in my direction.

  I can’t help but grin at the clichéd corniness. “I’m Sam,” I say, extending a hand.

  We shake hands and I sit at the back, the wind ruffling me like feathers on a bird. My gaze fixes on familiar low-tide mangroves twisting against the shore. Jack jumps lithely back on board and moves to the oversized antique wheel, glinting in the sunshine beaming off the helm.

  I furtively steal a glance. I’ve heard about these two; Jack and his father. Hell, the whole town has heard about them. Jack appears to be about my age, maybe a year or two older, and his skin has seen summer in the sun.

  He studies the river, settling himself comfortably into the captain’s seat next to his father’s. With the flick of a few switches and deep grumbling from the engine the ferry eases away, coursing to where the river sweeps crescent-like into the bay. The splintered light glitters like walls in a disco, but the disco ball’s the sun in a sky so blue it helps me forget. And I really need to forget.

  For thirty minutes I watch him, the ferry slapping across the surface of the bay. I watch because he’s new in town, and hardly anyone new arrives here. Ever. Because it’s that kind of place. The kind of place where it takes a while to fit in. To be accepted. Not that I’d know, because I’ve lived here like, forever.

  When I get off the ferry I pass him. He ties the rope masterfully to the wharf like he’s done it before. The ferry knocks the wharf and the gangplank’s eased across, and the tide’s so high I feel like I’m walking on water. I move unnoticed into the swarming crowd.

  Nelson Bay is busy. So busy it makes my head swim. From the pier I dodge parents and prams, kids on gaudy jumping castles and blow-up rubber slides just to get to the less-crowded street. It’s clear up the hill so I head that way, to see if I can find a café or shop with a sign asking for casual staff, because I badly need a job.

  After nearly an hour I’m mercifully in luck. At the top of the rise above the curved marina’d quay, Café Blue sits high above the bay. I push through the glass swing-doors, glancing around at the decor. Stylishly chipped stone tiles are wrapped around the walls, with floorboards so shiny you could check your face in them. The manager George eyes me up and down from
behind the counter when I walk rather self-consciously in.

  He takes off his glasses. “What can I get you?” he croons. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown and his salt and pepper hair is cropped close to his head.

  I smile sweetly, gently clearing my throat. “Well actually, I’m here for the job. I saw the sign for the waitressing job in the window. Is it still available?” I point behind me to a hand-written sign taped to the glassy shop-front.

  He glances over at the sign and then turns back to regard me. Closely. “Got any experience?” he asks almost suspiciously, putting me immediately on the spot.

  I nod, feeling nervous beneath the concentrated scrutiny. “I do have some. Not a lot though,” I say, wondering whether it’s wise to be so truthful.

  He refocuses and clicks the end of a pen, thinking. He taps it twice against his temple as if to get the neurons firing. “Well, unfortunately I’ve just given the waitressing job away, but I suppose I could put you on kitchen.” He levels his gaze and I’m supposed to be eager.

  I smile at him again, relieved to have found something. “Ah, well that’d be great. So when can I start?”

  He pauses, repositioning the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “How’s Saturday?” He leans forward conspiratorially. Closer, as if about to disclose a secret. “We’re busy here, though. Very busy. So practise scraping plates and chopping veggies before then,” he orders, somewhat gruffly.

  ***

  Two days later it’s my first shift and it’s harried, just as George warned. Chef Riley struts around like a deity in the kitchen, asking me to make veggie stock to add to the risotto. I throw roughly chopped veggies into a vat-size saucepan and turn up the heat. It rises quickly from intensely sweltering to a blistering sear. Riley points commandingly at the risotto and I stir until my arm burns.

  “It’s too bloody busy,” Gemma whines, running a hand through her long chestnut hair. She appears briefly in the kitchen all tall and leggy, her skin stained dark by the sun. “Can you make me something to eat, Riley? Maybe a salad?” She glances briefly at Emily her protégé, standing behind her. “And something for Emily, too?”

  Emily scored the waitressing job. The one still taped to the highly polished window. And Gemma’s been schooling her. Gemma who’s got it all. The smile, the charm, the tricks of the trade. The girl we all secretly desire to be. The one with a seemingly airbrushed perfection. Unattainable, like on the covers of glossy magazines.

  Emily holds out a hand. “I’m Em,” she says with a genuine twinkle in her eye. “I guess I got your job.”

  I laugh, because it was never mine to begin with. She got it, fair and square. And I’m happy to be in the kitchen. Less interaction with customers.

  “I’m Sam,” I say, taking her hand, and as I do so she draws me closer to kiss me lightly on the cheek. And for some weird reason, I feel I’ve made a friend.

  Riley shoots Gemma a quick, irritated glance. “I’m a bit busy, Gem. Can you wait ten, or make it yourself?”

  “I’ll do it,” I offer, eager to fit in.

  Riley raises an eyebrow in my direction. He’s tall and good-looking and really aware of it. A little older maybe, but definitely in his twenties. Unlike George, who’s greying at the seams.

  Riley exhales in frustration, looking over in my direction. “Oh, all right. Check the orders, Sam. If they’re mostly cake and coffee I’ll let you off the hook.”

  On first-day impressions I like him. He’s direct and fair, if a little cocky. In that pretty boy, so-sure-of-himself kind of way. All day the orders have lined up like wide-spaced teeth, but because it’s three p.m. there’s a lull. And I’m super grateful for it. So I quickly make a gourmet green, scooping it onto two over-sized plates. When I hand one to Gemma she cracks me a smile.

  “So how’s your first day?” She looks up from the cherry red sofa tucked neatly into a corner of the café. She positions the plate on the low-slung timber coffee table and begins twirling hair through her slender fingers.

  “I think I’m going to like it here.” Her eyes scan me up and down but they’re friendly and warm, or they seem to be. At least on the surface, anyhow.

  She smiles again, twisting her hair continuously through her fingers. “Hey, thanks for the salad. I was starving,” she says, picking up her fork and digging in.

  “Oh, it was no trouble,” I reply, being summoned loudly from the kitchen. “But, I … uh … guess I better go.”

  “You know, you will like it here. Once you get the hang of it,” she says with her mouth full of salad greens, waving me away with her hand at Riley’s bid from the kitchen.

  I push through the timber swing-doors and Riley flicks an exasperated expression my way. The risotto’s caught and he needs to change pans. “Sam, get me another saucepan, would you?” he snaps, ordering me around like he owns the place.

  I quickly pull a heavy-based pan from the drawer, wondering if risotto is the most time-efficient dish for a busy café. I hand it to him and he retreats to the stove, stridently clanging the saucepans together.

  He glares at me, which seems a little unnecessary given my fledgling kitchen-hand status. “Come on, Sam. I need some space. Move out of the way.”

  I back off to give him some room. He jostles the pans wildly into position and scrapes like there’s no tomorrow.

  When he’s certain the culinary crisis is over he tilts his head toward me as if to get a better view. “So what are you doing this year? Going to uni?”

  I clear my throat, feeling slightly suffocated, because it feels like this arrogant man is questioning my ambitions. My drive. My desires. I swallow the lump in my throat. “I was supposed to be going to uni, but I decided to defer.”

  “Oh really? Defer what?” he persists, oblivious to my choking throat.

  “Communications,” I say, giving a little cough. “But I don’t want to go. Not yet, anyway.”

  Riley nods sagely, pondering my last remark. His hair falls ever so slightly over his good-looking face. “So what’ll you do instead?” he asks, genuinely interested.

  I sigh, although maybe a little too loudly. “Well, that’s what I don’t know. I really have no idea, Riley. Other than work here and surf as much as I can.”

  “Oh,” he says as if surprised. “No ideas at all, then? There’s got to be something you want to do with your life.”

  I shake my head, glancing out the window over the dumpsters in the rear lane. The bitumen’s rippling silent heat waves through the air. “Other than work here? No ideas at all.”

  He smirks, obviously concluding I’m a lost cause. I don’t tell him how it cuts so deep that I want to run away. I don’t tell him to stop asking because it reminds me of her; my darkness-dwelling mother.

  I rake over the ever-present memories. The way she descends into despair, with melancholy filling her like the wine that she drinks. The way it infuses her so completely. And when it does, how she leaves me behind. Abandons me. Abandons us. And I can see a hundred reasons why I don’t believe in her. Hell, a thousand reasons. Why I can’t believe in her. Because she goes so deeply inward and runs, from all of us. Dad, me and my brother Ben. And there she slowly builds her arsenal of pessimism and disapproval. And for me? I just want to leave it all behind. Because that armoury is painful.

  “Take a break, Sam. You look beat,” says Riley, wiping over his brow with his forearm.

  I give him an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Riley,” I say, ditching the tea towel and heading toward the balcony for the breeze. “I’ll just take five.”

  ***

  By the end of my shift I’m cloaked in sweat, dying to inhale the breeze through my skin. I feel like I’ve done an all-nighter with dawn just about breaking the day. But it’s seven p.m. and the sun’s still got a bite that’ll burn. The ferry waits like a loyal dog and I just make it on board before it bounds across the bay. Jack’s sitting casually at the wheel with his father observing him like a stern examiner. Bobby tilts his head in my direction a
nd I nod an acknowledgement. I settle back comfortably, more than happy to watch.

  It’s that time of day when the sun drops low and dolphins cruise by Jimmy’s Beach. Round the point we head down-river before ducking under the Singing Bridge, arcing into the sky like a colourless rainbow. At night the lights come on and it glows orange under the stars.

  When I get off the ferry Jack’s gaze collects mine. And he holds it. Up close I can’t help but notice his height compared to mine and his strong jaw line above the white shirt. I feel greasy and tired, knowing the make-up is long gone from my face.

  “Big day?” he asks casually, curling the rope round the bollard.

  I stop, surprised he’s speaking to me. Really surprised. Because guys like him don’t usually speak to girls like me. “Yeah,” I say, sounding a little startled. “I started a new job, actually.”

  Jack raises an interested brow, sinking both hands into the pockets of his pressed white captain’s uniform. “That’s a coincidence, because so did I,” he replies. “How did you go?”

  I shrug. “I guess it wasn’t too bad,” I say, my eyes drawn to the way his pristine white shirt clings nicely to his broad chest. “Busy and hot. But overall, it was okay. ”

  He nods, looking right at me. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

  I smile guiltily, turning a pale shade of puce. Not only because I was caught looking, but for knowing who he is. “I’ve heard. You and your family have made an impression on the town.”

  He laughs with the ease of an old person, shaking his head. “Really?” he says, running a hand through his blond hair before moving down the jetty to tighten up more of those thickly twisted ropes.

  “Yeah, for now you’re a novelty. But don’t worry, it’ll wear off,” I say. “I’m Sam.”

  He straightens up and wanders back over. “Pleased to meet you, Sam,” he says, extending a broad tanned hand.