Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(99)

“Fine. Got it. Keep your voice down.”

Charlie was angry and lashing out because he was hurt, Kim knew, but so was she. Later, still more shaken than she’d expected to be, she had told Rohan about the fight. He’d reached for his bookmark and gotten up from the couch and wrapped his arms around her.

“That’s Charlie for you. I’m sorry.” He held her, tight and firm. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a bit jealous.”

That was true, Kim thought. But by then she knew Rohan better. And she suspected that Charlie was not the only one.



* * *



They’d all been on their best behavior after that. Charlie had apologized. Zara told Kim that he’d sat her down at their kitchen table at home in Marralee and calmly explained his part in the breakup, and how the split wasn’t Kim’s fault. Or not only her fault. It didn’t seem to make a difference; Zara was still desperate to go home to the vineyard, but Kim was grateful that Charlie had at least tried.

Their phone calls were now wholly and exclusively about Zara. They were short and rigid with courtesy. That was a reasonable outcome, Kim supposed, even if it felt like she were talking to someone she didn’t know. She and Rohan invited Charlie to their wedding because Zara had expected it, and Kim couldn’t see how they could avoid it. He had attended, Kim suspected, for the same reason. When the two men’s paths crossed, both Rohan and Charlie were so jovial and good-natured that Kim wondered if she was the only one who could see they were both faking it.

Zara didn’t even try to fake it anymore. She never settled into their new life in the way Kim had hoped she would. Her pleading was incessant.

“You said I only had to give it a year.”

“No, I said at least a year, Zara.”

“But it’s been nearly two. Please.”

Kim braced herself for the arguments to escalate, but instead Zara seemed to sink lower, drawing further into herself in a way that was so much worse. Kim strung it out for another couple of months, hoping for a change of heart she knew wouldn’t come. Eventually, after trying absolutely everything she could think of, she couldn’t bear to see Zara so unhappy anymore. She called Charlie, and they agreed their daughter would return to Marralee, for now at least. Zara had cried when Kim had told her, deep shuddering tears of relief.

“Thank you.” She had hugged her mother.

“I just want you to be happy.”

It was, Kim told Rohan later, the worst day of her life.

“Give her some time,” he’d said gently. “She’s confused and upset. It’s not like she’s chosen Charlie over you.”

It was, though, Kim thought as soon as he said it. That was exactly what it was like.

Zara had stepped seamlessly back into Marralee life, the transition easy and effortless, and it turned out she wasn’t confused and upset there. She was happy and she had friends, and as teenagers they all wanted nothing more than to go to the festival opening-night party by the reservoir. The longest conversation Kim and Charlie had in more than a year was whether to allow Zara to go.

“What do you think?” Charlie said.

It was a good question. What did Kim think?

I actually do remember what it’s like being your age, Kim had sometimes told Zara when they were still living under the same roof. Believe it or not.

But Kim didn’t remember what it was like to be sixteen at that bushland party.

She remembered wanting to go. She remembered the crushing disappointment of missing it the year before because she’d been on holiday with her parents, returning to the gossip and buzz and the distinct feeling that she’d been left out of something special. She remembered fizzing with the anticipation of being part of it this time.

But when the day came around, Kim and Charlie had been arguing. She remembered that, too. He’d kept her waiting for ten minutes at their meeting spot in the park, and when he’d finally arrived she was brooding and angry, and he couldn’t seem to understand why, because it was only ten bloody minutes, after all. And okay, it was only ten minutes, but the week before that Charlie had completely forgotten they were supposed to meet at all. Kim had hung around for a whole hour then before giving up and walking home alone, brushing away hot, furious tears. She hadn’t told him, mainly because she was embarrassed at having waited for so long.

They were still arguing over those ten late minutes when they’d reached the campfire at the clearing. The party had already started and they’d looked at each other, and it had occurred to Kim that if they were going to call a truce, this was the moment. If Charlie had moved first, with a gentle touch or a whispered apology, she would have responded. She was certain he would do the same. But the seconds passed, and neither of them budged. Instead—Kim remembered this bit very well—she had turned her back on her boyfriend and opened her first beer of the night.

There were bits and pieces after that. Snatches of chatter around the fire, laughter at a joke she couldn’t follow. Charlie didn’t come over to her. Someone took a photo, and the flash was blinding. Charlie was standing next to some girl she didn’t know. A drink slipped from Kim’s hand and splashed all over her shoes. She was holding a new drink, and her shoes were still wet. Charlie was talking to a different girl. Then: blackness.

The campfire had gone out. No, not out. Kim just wasn’t near it anymore. The bushland felt very still. She was lying down. Why was she lying down? Twigs and leaves were scratching her skin. She wanted to sit up. Her head spun, and her ears rang in the silence all around.