The Sun in Her Eyes (3 page)

‘With Zara?’ I interrupt. That’s his boss.

‘Yes.’ His brow furrows. ‘Don’t be like that,’ he scolds mildly. ‘You know this job is important to me, to us.’

‘I don’t know why you won’t just admit that she fancies you,’ I say hotly.

‘She doesn’t!’ he insists. ‘She only split up with her husband a couple of months ago.’

‘She’s only just got married!’ I exclaim, hating that he’s defending her.

‘She doesn’t fancy me,’ he repeats. ‘I was looking forward to telling you some good news, but…’ His voice trails off and he stares out of the window.

‘What?’ I ask, sitting up straighter.

‘Max and Zara promoted me today. Zara told me last night that they were going to.’

‘What sort of a promotion?’ My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else, rather than from me.

‘Creative Director.’ He shrugs and his cutesy, bashful smile makes an appearance.

‘You’ve only been working there for two years and she’s making you Creative Director?’ Doesn’t fancy him, my arse!

All humour vanishes from his face. ‘It’s almost two and a
half
years, and maybe I’m better at my job than you give me credit for.’ At that, he walks out of the
room.

‘Ned!’ I call out in dismay, hurrying after him. He’s already in the kitchen, loudly making himself a coffee. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I know you’re
brilliant. What did they say?’ I prompt.

Ned’s a creative at a rapidly expanding advertising firm in central London. Last year they were bought out by a New York agency, and his trip there in less than a fortnight will be the
first time he’s visited the office.

Max Whitman is the Executive Creative Director and one of the three founding partners of the firm, KDW. Zara is the Managing Director and oversees everyone in the company. She’s only
thirty-three. I don’t like her very much, the handful of times I’ve met her.

She’s thin and very tall – a lot taller than me because I’m only five foot four – and she has dead-straight, white-blonde hair that she usually wears scraped back from
her face, which is all angles and cheekbones. She’s striking, I’ll give her that, but she couldn’t look more different from me with my petite frame and long auburn locks.
Sometimes she wears the same sort of trendy horn-rimmed glasses I used to, but I’ve since had laser-surgery on my eyes. We can both carry off red lipstick, but I’m not sure that
constitutes much of a similarity.

Ned goes to get the milk out of the fridge, not looking at me. ‘Tate’s gone to work in the New York office now, so they need a replacement here,’ he says, closing the fridge
door with more force than it requires. Tate was Ned’s line manager and one of the firm’s so-called creative geniuses.

‘Does that mean you’ll be answering directly to Max?’ I ask. That constitutes a big step up. Max is the top dog.

‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘Him, and Zara, still, to an extent.’

A wave of pride goes through me as his good news belatedly sinks in. ‘That really is amazing,’ I say, stroking his arm.

‘It’s a lot more money,’ he replies with a grin, leaning back against the counter. ‘I’ll have to do a few more late nights, probably need to buy some suits.’
He glances down at his crumpled attire and shrugs with amusement.

‘Aw, but I love your shabby appearance,’ I say with downturned lips, and though it might sound to an outsider like I’m teasing, he knows that it’s true.

He chuckles and takes me into his arms.

‘Well done,’ I say, hugging him tightly.

‘Thanks, baby,’ he murmurs. His voice is muffled against the top of my head. He’s about six foot tall and towers above me. ‘I’m sorry about your news.’

I feel a wave of nausea at the reminder that Dad’s had a stroke and I’ve been made redundant.

‘Hey,’ Ned says softly, as my eyes well up with tears and I sniff.

At least I’ve saved up enough money to be able to afford the flight back to Australia, and I’ll have three months’ worth of wages to live on.

‘I wish you could come with me,’ I say.

‘I do, too. But maybe it’s for the best that I can’t,’ he adds carefully. ‘You’ll be able to focus on your dad.’

‘Maybe.’

I know he’s psyched about his promotion and would rather be celebrating than commiserating. But maybe that’s unfair.

He smiles and holds me at arm’s length, trying to jolly me up. ‘And you can catch up with Tina and Nell.’

And Ethan
, my mind whispers before I attempt to squash the thought.

But it won’t go willingly, and suddenly my head is full of the beautiful dark-haired boy that I fell for all those years ago.

Ethan, Ethan, Ethan
…

My first love. Who never loved me back.

Despite all the tears I’ve cried over him, despite all the heartache I’ve endured, I’d still give anything to see him again.

And now I’m going to.

I was eight when I first realised that I was in love with Ethan Lockwood. He was in my class and had been all along, but I only started to truly see him a year earlier, after
he found me crying one day under the pine trees on the other side of the playing field.

Ethan’s best friend had recently moved away and he’d been flitting between different groups of friends, but never really fitting in.

It was the same for me. It had been like that ever since I could remember.

‘Are you okay?’ he had asked, upon finding me snivelling amongst the tree roots, my skirt hem edged with dirt and my glasses blurry from mud smears.

Jean would be angry. ‘Such a grubby girl,’ she often said. I hated her.

I sniffed and shook my head, burying it in my hands.

‘Do you want me to get a teacher?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I mumbled.

He sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said, but I was powerless to do anything but, especially now that someone was being kind to me. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I don’t want to go to Jean’s house after school,’ I choked out.

‘Who’s Jean?’ he asked.

‘The lady who looks after me when my dad’s at work,’ I explained. She was a childminder and I was the second youngest of her four charges.

‘Where’s your mum?’ he asked with confusion.

I was a bit taken aback. I thought everyone knew that I didn’t have a mum. Wasn’t that why nobody wanted to be my best friend, because my dad didn’t wash my clothes often
enough or do my hair in pretty plaits? Now that he was at work, he had even less time to look after me, which is why I had to keep going over to Jean’s horrid house.

I almost didn’t want to tell Ethan that my mum was dead but, looking into those green eyes of his, the same colour as the pine trees towering over our heads, I discovered that I
couldn’t lie to him.

‘Oh,’ he said with a frown when I told him. ‘Do you want to come and play at my house instead?’

I couldn’t because Jean was collecting me straight from school, and as predicted, she complained about the mess I’d made of my uniform. That night I put it in the wash myself, and
then stayed up until late to take it out so it would dry in time. But it was still damp in the morning. I didn’t tell Dad.

‘I had a call this morning,’ he informed me on the way to Jean’s house where I had to eat breakfast every day before school. ‘Who’s Ethan?’

My heart jumped. ‘He’s a boy in my class.’

‘His mother rang asking if you could go over to his house this afternoon. Would you like that?’

‘Yes, please!’ I exclaimed.

‘Okay, I’ll let Jean know. Mrs Lockwood said you can stay for dinner.’

I was so excited that it was easy to ignore the coldness of the damp fabric permeating my skin.

Mrs Lockwood had dark-brown hair like Ethan, but it was long and bundled up into a loose bun on the top of her head. I thought she was as beautiful as a Disney princess, only
with a less puffy dress. I liked her very much. She told me to call her by her first name, Ruth.

Ethan’s house was like something out of a fairy tale with a large balcony, white wooden railings and cream-stone walls. I soon discovered that Ethan’s parents owned a small winery
and the acres of vibrant green grapevines surrounding the house. We went for a walk and I have vivid memories of seeing glimpses of Ethan’s face through the leaves on the other side of the
grapevine row. Even though he wasn’t allowed, he turned the sprinklers on and we laughed our heads off as we ran up the gently undulating hill, getting sprinkled with water. Then I fell over
and got so muddy that Ruth was quite cross with Ethan. She was embarrassed about sending me home dirty so she made me wear some of Ethan’s clothes while she washed my dress. I couldn’t
believe it when she handed it back to me clean, dry and pressed before I went home – they had a dryer, which was a luxury I hadn’t even heard of.

Ethan and I fast became firm friends. Once, I remember his mum referring to me as his girlfriend, and him correcting her, but sometimes when he smiled at me the dimple in his cheek would make my
little heart beat a tiny bit faster. When, in our fourth year, Nelly Holland boldly announced that she was in love with Iain Grey, a thought occurred to me.

I was in love, too. With Ethan.

I never, ever told him.

By the time we went to high school, I’d become a dab hand at washing clothes and doing my own hair, so I no longer looked like such a misfit, plus I’d embraced my short-sightedness
and got myself some cool glasses and developed a pretty good sense of fashion. Ethan had brought out my confidence, so I’d made other friends, too. Nelly had become Nell to me, and then Tina
moved from Melbourne and we found ourselves bonding as a threesome.

I was heartbroken when Ethan started going out with Ellie Pennell, a gorgeous, popular girl with big brown eyes and brown hair, but I had my friends around to pick me up.

The years passed and Ethan developed a reputation as our high school heart-throb. I forced myself to pursue other boys in turn – boys who I thought would love me back – and
eventually Ethan and I drifted apart. But when he began dating beautiful, intelligent Sadie Hoffman at the age of seventeen, I knew he was lost to me.

They went on to get married and they now have two beautiful daughters who look just like him, with the same dark hair and the same dark-green eyes. It pained me to see the girls at my wedding,
but not as much as it devastated me to see their father.

But I still said ‘I do’.

I love Ned. I love him desperately. I wouldn’t have walked down the aisle to him if I didn’t, and I know I’m going to miss him while I’m away – I hated saying
goodbye.

But I love Ethan, too. I don’t think I’m capable of stopping.

Heat engulfs me the moment I step off the plane. I had to make two stopovers to get to Adelaide – taking the cheapest flight-path option possible – and now
it’s early afternoon, the hottest time of day.

I won’t be needing this, I think, as I stuff my winter coat into the outside pocket of the suitcase I’ve just dragged off the conveyor belt. I’m going to be hot in my jeans and
trainers, but it’s only a half-hour taxi ride to Dad and Liz’s. I’ll drop off my suitcase and get changed before going to the hospital. Sleep can wait.

I’m so set on beating the rush for the taxi rank that I don’t even see Liz waiting for me in the Arrivals hall.

‘Amber! Wait!’ Her shouts eventually filter through to my brain and I falter in my steps, causing the person behind me to crash their trolley into my legs. Ouch! What is Liz doing
here? I told her not to come.

‘Hello!’ I cry. ‘I thought I said I’d catch a taxi.’

‘I know, I know,’ she brushes me off as she hurries over to me. ‘I couldn’t let you do that now that you’ve lost your job.’

I told her this in a rambled conversation before I boarded.

‘Waste of money,’ she adds, opening up her arms and moving in for a brusque, sturdy hug. Liz is a few inches taller than me and has short grey hair. Probably the best way to describe
her is ‘chunky’. She has on occasion reminded me of a bulldog.

‘How was your flight?’ she asks, grabbing the handle of my suitcase from me. ‘Car’s parked this way,’ she adds.

‘Oh, you know, long.’ I have to step up my pace to keep up with her and my hand luggage is heavy.

‘Do you want a rest before going to see your father?’

‘No, it’s okay. I was just planning on dropping off my things and getting changed.’

‘Well, the hospital is more or less on our way home so it would be more convenient to go straight there.’

‘Whatever suits,’ I reply.

She has always had a very no-nonsense tone. It’s difficult to argue with her, but as a teenager I used to give it a good go.

‘You can get changed in the car,’ she adds matter-of-factly.

I already know I won’t bother.

‘Has there been much improvement?’ I ask as Liz drives along the wide main road towards the city.

‘A little,’ she responds, and I glance across at her, hope swirling into the mess of worry and dread I’ve been feeling ever since getting the news three days ago.
‘You’ll be shocked, though, so prepare yourself,’ she adds flippantly.

I wind down the window and command myself to breathe in deeply. No one has the power to wind me up like Liz does. For a moment, the scent of eucalyptus and sunshine makes me forget everything
else. I didn’t even know sunshine had a smell, but right now I want to believe it does.

‘You’ll get burnt,’ Liz states. ‘Have you got sunscreen on?’

‘Not yet,’ I reply wearily.

‘Put that up and I’ll turn on the air con if you’re hot.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘I just wanted some fresh air.’

She humphs.

Nerves tangle their way into my stomach as we pull into the hospital car park. I’ve always hated hospitals. I know that’s a clichéd thing to say, but I feel
deeply on edge as we walk down the disinfected corridors. I remember lying in a hospital bed after the car crash that killed my mother, waiting for Dad to come and collect me. I’d give
anything to be able to forget the sound he made outside my room when he arrived. I was terrified, and then I realised that the
thing
making that… that…
inhuman
noise
, was the person who was supposed to be taking me home.