The Sun in Her Eyes (21 page)

For various reasons, we’re not as close these days, but even if I’m able to rectify that, I’ll never be able to confide in them about what I’ve done. Not them, not
anyone. If I choose to keep my infidelity from Ned, I’m certain that I will never tell another living soul. It’s a lonely thought, but I’m confident that the only people who will
ever know what happened between Ethan and me will be Ethan and me.

I suddenly want to talk to him. He’s at work today – his last day running the Cellar Door before they shut up shop for harvest. The thought of hearing his voice spilling down the
line makes me feel instantly better.

I metaphorically slap myself around my face. I can’t call him. I shouldn’t see him or speak to him ever again. What I’ve done is unforgivable, and even if Ned continues to be
blissfully unaware of my actions, I need to make amends.

What I
should
do is eject Ethan from my life.

The thought of doing this hurts intensely. I pull back the covers and climb into bed, feeling tired and overwhelmingly sad.

I’m not sure I can let him go. I’m not sure I’m strong enough.

Yes, you are. Don’t call him… Don’t see him…

But the more I tell myself not to, the more I want to. The urge becomes more pressing, more urgent, like it’s an itch that I can’t scratch, an addiction that I can’t feed.

Tears of frustration sting my eyes and I press the heels of my palms to my eye sockets. I turn to face the wall, my knee pressing against a lump halfway down my bed. I reach under the covers and
pull out Lambert.

I’ve been so bad, Lambert
, I think to myself dejectedly.
I’ve been a very
—

‘NAUGHTY GIRL!’

I’m struck with a sudden memory of someone screaming this at me, their face red with rage in the rear-view mirror.
Mum
…

I fling Lambert away from me, but it’s too late. I’m overcome with the darkest feeling. It’s all-encompassing.

I am a bad girl. I remember that now. I’m bad at heart. I always have been.

I reach for the phone and call Ethan.

‘It’s me.’ I can’t keep the anxiety from my voice. My heartbeat has accelerated to a manic pace.

‘Hey,’ he replies. ‘I’m with a customer—’

‘I’ll wait,’ I interrupt him.

‘Er, okay,’ he says uncertainly. ‘Or I can call you back?’

‘No, I’ll wait.’

I hear him chatting affably to whoever is in the shop, catching the occasional snippet of conversation. I’m aware that the customer finally pays and leaves, but I still jolt when Ethan
comes back on the line.

‘A?’

‘I’m here.’

I instantly feel calmer, even though neither of us says anything for a long moment.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘Can we talk? Can I see you? I really need a friend right now.’

‘I’ve got the girls here tonight,’ he replies apologetically. ‘I’ve got them all day tomorrow.’

The disappointment is so devastating that it renders me incapable of formulating a response.

‘We could catch up after I drop them home tomorrow evening?’ he suggests.

‘Okay,’ I agree, finding my voice.

‘Do you want me to pick you up?’ he asks.

‘That would be good.’ I sound tongue-tied, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

‘I’ll see you at around seven. Maybe we could grab a bite to eat.’

My throat swells and I close my eyes with relief. At least we have a plan. ‘Great. See you then.’

I hang up before I can lose it.

No, I’m already lost.

As days go, that Saturday is one I’d give a lot to forget. Sunday is better, but only just. Liz emotionally blackmails me into going to church with her and Dad in the
morning, insisting that Dad needs my moral support for his first public outing post-stroke. It’s the church Ned and I got married in, which makes me feel sick to my stomach, but being with
Dad is a good distraction. A lot of people stare and it’s a struggle to suppress my natural instinct to say something, but next time should be easier. Every day is about making small steps
towards what will hopefully be a good overall recovery.

That afternoon, Dad prepares an evening meal for the first time since he had his stroke. I had planned to eat out, but Liz’s look of disapproval when I mention it makes me force down a
small amount out of respect for Dad’s effort.

He’s always enjoyed cooking – it comes much more naturally to him than it does to Liz or me – and while his spaghetti bolognese may contain a few over-large lumps of onion,
we’re both extremely proud of him.

When the doorbell goes, I almost knock over the table in my scramble to my feet. I’m so nervy, I’m practically vibrating.

‘Have fun,’ Liz says in her usual dry manner.

‘Tell Ethan to come and say hi,’ Dad suggests, making my heart sink.

‘Oh Dad, we’re in a bit of a hurry.’

‘You can spare a minute or two for your father,’ Liz snaps.

I glare at her, but refrain from storming off in a huff down the corridor. I take a deep breath and tentatively open the door.

‘Hey,’ Ethan says, smiling a small smile at me.

‘Hi.’ I try to sound breezy, but I’m not sure I’m doing a very good job. ‘Dad wants to say hi. Have you got a minute?’

He looks uneasy, but nods. I lead him towards the kitchen, my heart hammering.

‘Ethan,’ Dad slurs with his usual difficulty as he rises awkwardly from his chair.

I risk a glance at Ethan in time to see panic on his face before he has a chance to mask it.

‘Hey, Len,’ he replies. He sounds on edge, but I don’t know if it’s due to Dad’s current disposition or his recent liaisons with me. Possibly both.

‘I’ve been enjoying that ga—’ Dad starts to say slowly, but Ethan cuts him off.

‘Oh, the game!’ he says.

‘You lent me,’ Dad continues. I inwardly groan. I haven’t had a chance to warn Ethan not to fill Dad’s gaps.

‘Great,’ Ethan says. ‘It’s had a lot of mileage out of me, that’s for sure.’

‘Thank you—’ Dad says.

‘You’re welcome.’ Ethan again speaks too soon.

‘For suggesting it,’ Dad finishes.

This is excruciating. I don’t want to bear witness to it.

‘Thanks for dinner.’ I step forward and give Dad a kiss, trying to ignore Liz’s judgemental expression.

‘Be careful,’ Dad says.

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. ‘You know I will.’

‘Hope to see you again soon,’ Ethan says. ‘Maybe I’ll hunt out a few more games and bring them over.’

To my shame, I find myself answering on Dad’s behalf. ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it, Dad?’

‘Yes,’ he replies.

My face burns. ‘Okay, see you later, then.’

I flash Ethan a rueful glance as we head out the door.

As soon as we’re safely inside his car, I let out a large breath.

‘You okay?’ He sounds uneasy.

I nod stiffly.

‘Where do you want to go?’ he asks.

‘Anywhere. Please just drive,’ I reply miserably.

The sun is beginning to set when we reach the summit of Mount Lofty in the Adelaide Hills. We get out of the car and walk towards the lookout point. Ethan asked me if I wanted to talk inside the
car, but I shook my head.

‘I just need a minute,’ I replied. In the end, I needed twenty. I’m pleased he brought me here.

The city of Adelaide stretches out before us, and in the far distance the pale blue sky seeps into the ocean in a barely distinguishable line. The clouds over our heads are dark and dramatic,
turning brilliant orange the closer they hover to the city’s skyline. Even the obelisk, the soaring white column that was named after explorer Captain Matthew Flinders, is cast in an orange
glow.

It’s a breathtaking sight.

I breathe in the cooler autumn air and shiver. A moment later, I look to my left to see Ethan observing me.

‘Want to sit down?’ he asks, jerking his head towards a nearby empty bench seat.

I nod. We sit side by side, staring at the view. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them as he waits for me to speak.

I don’t say anything for a good few minutes, but when I do it’s a sentence I could never have imagined I’d be uttering out loud.

‘I think I caused the car crash that killed my mother.’

He sharply inhales and turns to look at me. I feel his shocked, questioning stare, but I can’t meet his eyes.

‘She was screaming at me for being naughty. I don’t know what I was doing, but I think I distracted—’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ he interrupts, shaking his head. ‘My kids act up in the car
all the time
. You should have seen them on the way home earlier, fighting and
bickering. Penny pulled Rachel’s hair because she was being so goddamn annoying, and she’s eight and should know better. Rachel’s only five. There’s no way you caused that
accident, A .’

Tears well up and my bottom lip starts to wobble.

‘Have you asked your dad about it?’ he asks.

‘No.’ I shake my head determinedly. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t want him to have to think about it.’

‘A.’ He puts his arm around my shoulders. ‘There could have been any number of reasons for the accident. Was anyone else involved?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’ Why am I so ignorant?

‘You need to ask. There’s no way it was your fault.’

‘I think it was,’ I whisper. ‘She said I was a naughty girl. I remember.’

‘
My
girls are naughty!’ he exclaims. ‘Not all the time, but sometimes! Every kid is naughty. It doesn’t mean you killed her, for Christ’s sake. It’s
a parent’s responsibility to drive safely! She’s lucky
you
weren’t killed!’

The sound of the sob escaping my lips takes us both by surprise.

‘Hey,’ he says, pulling me closer. I press my face against his neck and try to control myself, but I’m shaking with violent, silent crying. He rubs my back and says,
‘Shh,’ in my ear, and I try very hard not to draw too much attention to myself. I don’t want to cause a scene here. We’re not alone. Eventually I manage to take a series of
deep, shaky breaths and calm down.

‘You’re okay,’ he tells me softly, drawing away and kissing me on my forehead.

I get a tissue out of my bag and blow my nose, staring out at the view. The city’s lights have grown brighter and the sun has long since disappeared below the horizon.

‘Thank you.’ My voice sounds choked.

‘Is that what’s been bothering you since yesterday?’ he asks.

I let out a sharp laugh and glance at him. ‘Not
just
that, obviously.’

He has the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Hmm,’ he says, averting his gaze. ‘Yeah, we got a bit carried away again, didn’t we?’

‘You think?’

He turns to look at me, a smile playing about his lips and his green eyes almost black in the dim light. I stare back at him, butterflies causing an instant frenzy of activity in my stomach.

This is so wrong… I shouldn’t even be here, let alone thinking about kissing him…

But suddenly Ned is back in his box in that cobwebby cupboard inside my brain.

The simple truth is, I love Ethan. I want him. I need him. And he’s
here
.

I lean towards him and press my lips against his.

I am having an affair. It’s official.

On Sunday night, Ethan and I drove until we found a dark, deserted road and then carried on like teenagers in the back of his car. It was hot and sexy and it gives me thrills every time I think
about it, which is pretty much every other minute. Despite what he says, I’m not a good person. I doubt I ever have been.

Now it’s Thursday afternoon and I’m on my way up into the hills to surprise him. He’s been working twelve-hour days all week, but on the phone last night he told me that he
wanted to do naughty things to me up against one of his barrels. I intend to find out if he’s a man of words or actions. I feel like a bottle of sparkling wine that has been furiously shaken
– if I don’t see him soon, I’m certain I’ll explode.

Liz will be home from work in a couple of hours, and Dad says he’ll be alright on his own until then. University breaks up soon for the Easter holidays, so from next week there will be two
carers in the house. Deep down, I wonder if it’s really necessary for me to be here anymore.

I should be flying home tomorrow. I’m immensely relieved that I’m not.

Ned has decided to quit his job – he called earlier to tell me that he doesn’t want to wait until I’ve discussed it with him in person. I enjoyed the sting I felt when I heard
this, welcoming his defiant attitude. The more independently he behaves, the less I feel like I’m married to him. If he cheats on me with Zara, I’ll be home and dry.

I keep these thoughts on the surface because it might be a mistake to examine them more deeply.

I feel like I’m going slightly mad.

The last time I came to Lockwood House during a harvest, the vineyards were swarming with people. The grapes are hand-picked in the morning and afterwards crushed and
de-stemmed in what looks like a giant cylindrical, stainless-steel colander with a rotating blade. I remember being allowed to watch once with Ethan and I was quite mesmerised for a while before
getting distracted by Ruth’s offer of a snack in the kitchen. I wonder if she’ll find it odd that I’m here now. Maybe I should try to avoid seeing her.

With that thought in mind, I park up outside the Cellar Door on the lower level of the house and set off to the outbuildings on my right. The first I come to is the barrel shed and my knees feel
weak at the memory of Ethan’s low voice at the other end of the phone last night. I can hear machinery whirring from beyond the brick walls of the next building, a sure sign that I’ve
reached the winery. I walk around to the front and come to a stop at the door, feeling nervy at the sight of Ethan standing over a large stainless-steel vat, his arm muscles rippling as he plunges
the contents. I recall that he recently offered me a tour of the winery, but right now that’s the last thing on my mind. His dad and another young man – a uni student, probably –
are buzzing around another vat, but my attention is only on Ethan. He looks up and sees me, his eyes widening as he freezes mid-plunge.