Instead she’d go back to working on his lucrative campaigns—with the bonus of having Nora’s medical bills taken care of—and he’d hit the surf on some exotic island far removed from Melbourne and the memories they’d built.
Memories that would have to last a lifetime.
For now, it has time to get on with her life, starting with a quick visit to Rivera’s to wish Artie a Merry Christmas and then spending the day with her mum.
The Spanish bar was jumping when she arrived, with revellers in Santa hats and flashing reindeer noses spilling out onto the street. Many locals came straight from mass to get a taste of Artie’s special virgin sangria on Christmas morning, before heading off to their respective hot roast lunches with family.
It had become a Johnston Street tradition, and one she enjoyed, because it gave her an all too brief taste of what a normal Christmas should be.
Not like the understated days she’d had growing up, where she’d wait for her dad to show up with the pony he’d promised only to be disappointed yet again.
Or the recent Christmases spent with Nora, forcing cheer when all she’d felt like doing was holding her mum fiercely and banishing the disease slowly sapping her life.
She slipped through the crowd and entered the main door, her despondency lifting when she glimpsed Artie taking pride of place behind the bar, his costume this year more outlandish than the last.
He’d gone for monstrous reindeer antlers that threatened to take a person’s eye out when he turned, a big red nose made from a dyed tennis ball, and a fake white beard that reached to his belly.
It made her happy to see him enjoying life, a far cry from the devastated man he’d been following his wife’s death.
He caught sight of her and waved, calling her over.
Determined to put on a brave face, she wound her way towards the bar, where he swept her into a bear hug.
‘Hola, querida. Merry Christmas.’
‘Same to you.’ When he released her she tweaked his nose. ‘How can you breathe with that thing?’
‘I can’t,’ he said, in a fake nasally voice, and she laughed. ‘Come. Have some sangria.’
For a moment she wished it was the alcoholic version, despite the hour.
‘Tell me about this new business.’
Great. Just what she felt like. Talking about her week in Torquay. Not.
He poured her a drink, garnished it with a strawberry, slid it across the bar and winked. ‘And tell me more about this old amor.’
She remembered contradicting Artie a week ago. I don’t love him.
This time she didn’t have the energy to lie.
‘The business is exciting. I’ve developed an online marketing campaign for his new surf school, including online forums and interactive sessions on his webpage, and a social networking page unlike anything anyone’s ever seen.’
‘Sounds impressive.’ Artie topped up her glass even though she hadn’t taken a sip. ‘Now, tell me about when you weren’t working.’
She blushed and Artie patted her cheek, his smile indulgent.
‘You’re in love. I can tell.’
‘How?’
‘You have the look.’ He pointed at her eyes. ‘You have a sparkle dampened by sadness.’ Artie frowned. ‘This amor, he broke your heart, sí?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
More like she’d broken her own heart by being foolish enough to fall in love despite knowing the expiration date on their seaside fling, knowing he couldn’t emotionally commit, and knowing he had traits of her dad she’d rather forget.
Artie cupped his ear. ‘You want to talk about it? I’m a very good listener.’
‘Don’t I know it?’
Artie had listened to her deepest fears and regrets after their unofficial support group for two had formed. He’d been just as forthcoming in his sorrow, yet strangely this time she didn’t want to talk about Archer.
Besides, what was there to say? They were headed in different directions, their lives on different paths, without a hope of colliding.
Artie snapped his fingers. ‘I can see you don’t want to talk to an old man about your amor. I understand.’ He shrugged. ‘If you do, you know where to find me.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, making a big show of drinking the refreshing fruit sangria as he was called away, when in fact her favourite Christmas drink had already lost its fizz.
With Artie shooting her concerned glances in between mixing drinks and plying his customers with Christmas cookies, she sculled her sangria and gave him the thumbs-up sign.
She had to leave. Before she took him up on his offer to listen. For she had a feeling once she started talking about her relationship with Archer she wouldn’t stop.
* * *
Archer stared at the note in disbelief.
Sorry to run out but had to get back to Mum.
Tom & Izzy heading to Melbourne to visit Izzy’s mum, who unexpectedly dropped into town today so I hitched a ride.
Thanks. Had a lovely time at the wedding.
Will be in touch about the surf school campaign when needed.
Merry Christmas!
Callie
‘What the—?’ He slammed his palm on the kitchen benchtop, barely registering the pain of hitting marble so vigorously.
His first instinct was to punch something. The second to grab his board and hit the surf.
He settled for pacing. It didn’t help. After several laps of the balcony he flung himself onto the soft-cushioned couch where he’d once sat with Callie and uncurled his fingers to reveal her crumpled note.
He reread it, no closer to understanding.
She sounded so cool, so remote, so untouchable after all that had happened over the last week. They’d reconnected on so many levels, to the point where he’d been about to reveal his thoughts for the future to her this morning.
Schmuck.
This was his family all over again.
Trusting someone with his heart, only to have them hand it back with a Thanks, not this time, maybe another, and having no clue as to why.
To make matters worse it catapulted him back years, to when his family had first told him the truth. The same insidious
