Three Over Par Read online

  Work progresses at an arduous crawl. I tend to my patients with as much care and compassion as I can muster. Smiling when they make jokes, sympathising with their aches and pains and old people’s miseries. I sit by the bed of one of our frail old men and hold his hand as he stares vaguely into space, waiting for an end I suspect will be some time off yet, and I remember Mrs. Debenham. How it was she who started me down this path. How I misinterpreted her instructions. How I failed to see what life was really all about.

  I am now the same as she was. Overflowing with regrets. Not for loving Daniel—I will never regret that—but for not having the courage to confront him, to admit what my bursting heart has known from the first day he kissed me. Perhaps, from the first day he smiled shyly at me on the way to his grandmother’s room.

  I release the now-sleeping old man’s hand, softly smooth wispy strands of grey hair across his age-speckled crown, and exit the room with my head lowered to hide my watery eyes.

  And walk straight into Daniel.

  He grabs my arms to steady me and takes two steps backward, hands disengaging as though I’m covered in acid. I thought I’d resigned myself to my loss but the sight of those beautiful sooty-lashed eyes, with their ever-present crow’s feet, his broad-shouldered masculinity, his delicious, sensitive mouth, his perfect, gentle solidity, shatters the fragile casing around my heart and shoots splinters through my interior. Shakily, pulse racing, I place my hand to my neck, searching for the comforting feel of my starfish necklace.

  It isn’t there.

  With zombie-like movements, I sat in my car in the golf club carpark on Sunday and unfastened it from my throat. I stared at the pretty green enamel centre and polished silver with tears leaking from my eyes and trailing down to my chin, before burying it deep in the glove box. Hidden from sight, but not, I’ve discovered, from memory.

  My hand flutters like a hovering butterfly. I push my fingers against my lips to hide their trembling. I want to speak but my throat is too constricted with loss. I want him to break this horrible silence, but Daniel looks as wretched and shell-shocked as I feel. His burnished hazel eyes fix on my throat, at the place his necklace once hung. Mouth compressed, he looks aside.

  His feet remain still. He hasn’t walked away. Not yet.

  Bravery surges through my veins. I swallow, my grief-scratched throat aching, and drop my hand to my arm, hugging myself across the chest. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “I know.” His voice is hoarse. He clears his throat and contemplates the floor as though embarrassed. He wants to be anywhere but here, with me.

  I rub my arm, against nerves, against his cool distance. “I heard you resigned.”

  He returns his focus to me and nods, and I sense I’m supposed to understand something in his expression but I don’t know what.

  I release a loud sigh. I’m too tired for games anymore. I’m not a mind reader. And lack of communication is what plunged me in the mess in the first place. “We need to talk. Not here. Somewhere private.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I don’t call us nothing, Daniel.”

  His expression darkens. The crow’s feet tighten. Sparks flash in autumnal eyes. He takes a step forward and bends toward me, his voice a harsh whisper. “You really think so? For Christ’s sake, Lucy. I saw you with him.” He straightens and moves back and glances down the hall toward the door leading to his grandmother’s room. “There is no us,” he says hollowly. “Only you and him.”

  I close my eyes and drop my head, a swirling mess of emotion. Hurt that Daniel can think I care more about the Pro than him, relief that this is at last out in the open, and anger at our collective stupidity. I look up and hold his gaze. “You mean Robbie.”

  He makes a disgusted noise, as though the very sound of Robbie’s name fills him with revulsion. “Yeah, Robbie. Your boyfriend, remember?”

  And suddenly I understand. “What has he told you, Daniel?”

  He doesn’t reply. I’m not sure he can. Too much pain is etched on his face. Pain I know all about.

  I lower my voice and inject it with every drop of honesty I can muster. “There’s nothing between me and Robbie except sex. There never has been. He’s not my boyfriend. Never was, never will be. Whatever he’s told you, it isn’t true. Come to my house. Please. We’ll talk. We’ll sort this out.” I pad toward him in my soft shoes and touch his arm, pleading with him with my eyes, my ever-expanding heart. “Please.”

  His mouth parts a little as though he wants to say yes but can’t quite form the word. The sparks are gone, the crow’s feet less deep, and I can see hope flickering across his expression. He’s trying to grasp at the truth but Robbie’s lie is etched so hard in his soul, he can’t get past the scar.

  “Please, Daniel. Come tonight. We’ll talk.”

  He releases a long breath and rubs hard at his brow. “Okay.”

  I grin, my spirit soaring on the word, lifted like a bird on a thermal. “Thank you.”

  He nods toward the door. “I have to go. Nan will be worried.”

  “Yeah, and I have to get back to work.”

  Neither of us moves. We stare at each other like two lost dogs, hoping we’ve found sanctuary. The old man in the room behind me phlegmily coughs himself awake, breaking the moment.

  Daniel nods again before taking his first steps away from me. I want to plead for him to stay, afraid that despite our discovery, his promise to talk, the hurt he’s been through may never heal. That he may never return to my side.

  “Daniel?”

  He stops at the door and looks back, expression questioning.

  I open my mouth to tell him I love him and recognise this is not the place. Instead I smile. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  He nods and pushes through to the other wing.

  Only later, when he’s long gone and I’ve returned to my duties, do I realise I failed to ask if his resignation still stood.

  For the remainder of the day my resentment toward Robbie simmers and, as soon as work is done, I’m dashing out the door and heading to the golf club. Before I leave the car, I dig my starfish necklace from the glovebox and return it to my neck where it belongs.

  I slide the glass door to the pro shop closed and calmly turn and lock it. Robbie stares at me guilty-eyed from behind the counter then looks away. He knows why I’m here. It’s written in every shame-ridden pore on his freckled face, in the cloudiness of his eyes, in the slump of his shoulders.

  “Save your breath, Luce. Daniel’s already been here.”

  I halt, momentarily taken aback. I’ve been too caught up in my own anger to consider Daniel might have trod this path before me. “What did he say?”

  “Besides all the stuff about wanting to belt the crap out of me? Not much other than wanting to know why I lied about you and me.”

  I think of Daniel, huge and intimidating, swollen with anger, and experience a momentary pang of sympathy. “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth.”

  “Which is?”

  He sighs, as though he can’t imagine why I’m asking such an idiotic question. “I thought you’d be the last person I’d have to explain that to, Luce.”

  It’s my turn to feel guilt, to wear some of this blame. I lean against the door with my arms crossed and let my head bang against the glass. Tired, I rub my face. The burden of his love sits heavily on my shoulders. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.”

  “So why did you do it?”

  He moves from behind the counter but doesn’t walk toward me. Instead, he sags against the front edge, raw with shame. “I had to.”

  His utter wretchedness twists my insides. I cross the room and take his hand. It’s rough, warm and familiar, and soaks up my anger. “But why, Robbie?”

  “Because if I hadn’t, you would have left me with nothing.” He grips my fingers, his gaze intense, desperate for me to understand. “I knew from the start you wanted one another
. Fuck, Lucy, you’d just look at him and come. I didn’t mind him joining in, but fucked if I was going to let him steal you away. If you and he had got it together, do you think our lessons would have continued?” His hand tightens for emphasis. “Do you?”

  I close my eyes, knowing he utters the truth. If I had Daniel all this time, I wouldn’t have wanted Robbie. In any form.

  “You see now?”

  I nod, the last sparks of my fury evaporating, leaving behind only a desolate hollow.

  Robbie’s grip relaxes. Arms stretch around my shoulders. He drags me close to his chest. His skin is hot and his heartbeat rapid against mine. He smells of soap, grip glue and sour regret.

  “I had to, Luce. I was crazy about you. Still am. And I knew Dan wouldn’t try anything if he thought we were together.”

  I talk into his shirt, muffling my teary voice with the fabric. “But he bought me the necklace anyway.”

  “Yeah. Just goes to show, doesn’t it?”

  “Show what?”

  “How much he loves you.”

  “I’m seeing him tonight. We’re going to sort ourselves out. I hope.”

  Robbie sighs and strokes my hair. “I wish I could say I wish you both well but I can’t.” He pushes me away a little and holds my shoulders, smiling wryly. Despite all he’s done, I find myself smiling back. “You can’t blame me.”

  “No.” I can’t condemn acts made out of desperation and love. No matter how much pain they’ve caused.

  “Anyway, it was worth it.” He’s grinning now, hiding his pain behind his boyish smile and natural good humour. “Because the sex—” I chime in, laughing, and help him finish, “—has been fucking awesome.”

  We hug again, his arms tight around me. He knows for certain this will be the last time he holds me and he makes it last, squeezing every last scrap of bittersweet pleasure he can from the embrace. As it ends, his mouth moves toward mine. I turn my head just enough so his lips brush my cheek instead of my mouth. He straightens and nods, acknowledging I’m now out of bounds.

  “You take care, babe.”

  “I will.”

  I press my hand against his chest and feel his warm skin and heart beating hard against my palm, then turn and walk toward the sliding door.

  “Luce?”

  I stop and look over my shoulder at him.

  His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted to one side, and he’s looking up at me from under long blond lashes. It’s deliberately cute and makes me think again of how things could have been different between us had fate twisted in another direction.

  “On the off chance you suddenly realise Dan’s a dolt and you’re madly in love with me, you know where to find me.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Robbie.”

  “You’re welcome, Luce. Always.”

  I check the window for the third time, peeking through the glass at the lit front step and out into the street, but there’s still no sign of Daniel’s blue ute. It’s coming up eight o’clock and, although we never agreed on a time, I expect him here by now. I sink into the sofa to stare at the wall clock, ticking loudly in the silence like a cartoon bomb.

  Irritated by the noise, I get up again and pluck my iPod from its docking station, quickly scrolling through for suitable music. I smile as I spy Catahoop’s name. A band, I discovered courtesy of Mrs. Haddon, of which Daniel was also a great fan. I select their latest album and fit the iPod back into its slot. The room resonates with their unique brand of indie rock.

  I close my eyes and sway a little, fantasising about Daniel and me dancing to one of their slow songs. He holds me with one big hand on my back, the other enveloping my fingers. Our heartbeats touch through skin and fabric and I’m happy and safe. Secure in the knowledge he’s staying. That he loves me.

  The doorbell chimes. I cease dancing, though my heartbeat carries on, surging fast and out of time to the music. Nerves have me smoothing my hair, straightening my agonised-over clothes. It took over an hour but I settled on casualness. A pair of faded denim jeans with a black leather belt through the loops. Black boots. A loose red T-shirt made from a silky fabric that drapes my contours and is cut with a soft neckline that exposes my collarbones. My green and silver starfish.

  I hesitated over the colours, fretting over the connotations of red and black, but half my wardrobe comprises those hues and there’s no denying I look good in them. And tonight, of all nights, I want to look my best for Daniel.

  I peek through the front door spyhole with my pulse thumping as loud and hard as a heavy-metal band’s drumbeat. Daniel stands on my porch holding a bottle of wine and looking expectantly at the door. Instinctively, I reach for my necklace and let the points of the starfish dig into my palm before taking a breath and twisting the doorknob. My hand slips. I rub it down my jeans and try again, cursing my nerves.

  “Hi.” My voice sounds croaky and nervous, not how I wanted.

  “Hey, Lucy.”

  We both take in breaths, fortifying ourselves.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner.” His gaze shifts from mine to my starfish necklace and back again. I can’t read the expression and don’t know if he’s pleased I’m wearing it again or not, but I sense a subtle easing of tension. He holds out the bottle. “I brought you this.”

  I take it and inspect the label. It’s an expensive brand and one of my favourites. I regard him with amazement. “I love this wine. How did you know?”

  “Nan told me.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Haddon has been playing double agent. I wonder what else I’ve told her that’s been passed on. Daniel clears his throat and I realise he’s still standing on the porch in the freezing cold, and my carefully cultivated warm air is rapidly escaping into the night. “Sorry. I’m being rude. Please, come in.” I stand aside to let him in. As he passes, I catch the scent of damp night and clean clothes.

  My house is small, perfect for the elderly pensioner couple who had once owned it and for a single nurse like me, but Daniel’s bulk makes it seem tiny and unliveable. His broad, muscled body fills the hall and I have to turn sideways to slip by him, catching another breath of that heady clean scent as I pass.

  I lead him to the kitchen, place the wine on the bench and indicate his thick raincoat. “Can I take that?” The formality of the question makes me cringe. I want us to be relaxed but don’t know how to get to that state. I don’t know how to start on the journey we must take.

  He shrugs out of the coat and I notice he’s taken as much care with his appearance as I have. His red-and-white checked shirt is well ironed, his jeans clean and neat, his brown leather boots polished. As I hang the coat on the back of a dining table chair, I surreptitiously eye his backside. The jeans aren’t tight but they mould around him as though the fabric is in love with his taut muscles.

  “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? I don’t have any beer, sorry.”

  He nods at the wine he brought. “Why don’t you open that?”

  “Right. Sure.” I pat his coat unnecessarily, as if it’s a sleepy animal about to come alive and escape, and cross the floor to raid the cupboard for clean glasses. “Go through to the lounge. It’s warmer in there. I’ll bring the wine.”

  He doesn’t move. He waits until I place the glasses on the bench, then cracks the bottle’s screw cap and pours the wine. We toast each other in silence and take tiny sips. The wine explodes on my tongue like a burst blackberry.

  Daniel looks at his glass in surprise. “This is good.”

  “They make a shiraz as well which is just as nice.”

  “I’ll have to try it sometime. I like a good shiraz.”

  “I know,” I say and look away, embarrassed.

  A blush creeps up my neck and cheeks. Daniel, the man I’ve longed for, is in my kitchen, leaning his hip against my breakfast bar and holding a glass of wine from a bottle he chose because he knows I love it. And yet here we are making inane small talk.
I don’t know whether this is a good or bad sign.

  “Luc—”

  “Why don’t we—”

  We both stop. I stare at my shoes. Daniel hauls in a noisy breath. Awkwardness, nerves, misunderstanding, tongue-ties us once more.

  “You go,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “No, you go.”

  “I was just going to suggest we move into the lounge. It’s warmer there.”

  “Okay.” He picks up the bottle. Perhaps he thinks we’ll need it. If this moment is anything to go by, we probably will.

  I lead him to the sofa, a modern modular design covered in imitation suede that your fingers can draw patterns on and feels soft against your skin. A glass-and-chrome coffee table sits in the centre of the ell made by the sofa. He places his glass and the bottle carefully on the surface and gazes around with his hands in his pockets.

  “This is nice.”

  “Thanks.” I take another sip, trying to think of how we can start a conversation. How we can get on to talking about us. Assuming there is still an us. A lightning streak of worry rocks my insides. I take yet another mouthful.

  “Catahoop.”

  I frown. “Pardon?”

  He indicates my iPod. “The music. Catahoop. I have all their albums.”

  “I know.” He raises his eyebrows. I answer his unspoken question. “Your grandmother told me.”

  “Ahh.” He smiles a little and it’s so genuine, so affectionate, all the love I have for him wants to explode from my chest and shower over him like angel dust. “She’s told me a lot about you too.”

  “Told or did you ask?”

  His tanned cheeks darken a fraction. “I asked.”

  I bite my lip, holding a bursting grin at bay. “So did I.”

  Suddenly, the mood changes. The air is lighter, more relaxed, and I’m so awash with relief my legs feel saggy. For the first time since he arrived I sense it’s going to be all right.

  I gesture toward the sofa. “Please, sit down.”