was evaporating.
Rolling on to her side, she punched her pillow and gave vent to a loud groan. It echoed through the house, but no one stirred. That was the one good thing about loneliness; she didn’t have to be brave any more. She could finally wallow in her misery.
Now, in a cocoon of silence and darkness, she could tell herself that never in the history of dating had there been a bigger fiasco, and if there had been she didn’t want to know about it. Her experience at La Piastra was as bad as it got.
She could admit to herself that she was truly devastated. Devastated, hurt to the marrow, disappointed to the max! And angry. Yeah, bitter too.
Her glorious romance was over before it had begun.
How could Damien have done this to her?
How could he have spent so many weeks courting her in writing, just to leave her stranded at the Big Moment?
And why? What had gone wrong? Had she been too forward when she’d suggested they should meet? Should she have waited till he’d broached the subject? The thing was, he’d shown no sign of caution or of having cold feet. Once she’d mentioned the idea of a date he had seemed very keen.
His absence didn’t make sense and she couldn’t let go of the slim hope that something completely unavoidable had detained him. Problem was, if that was the case, he wouldn’t appreciate the savage email the girls had encouraged her to send.
Oh, hell!
It seemed like agonising hours later that she banged the pillow with another thump and flung herself on to her back, still too tense to sleep. Mel’s house was in the inner city, not far from a main road, and as she listened to the alien sounds of never-ending traffic, tears seeped beneath her stinging eyelids and she felt a rush of homesickness.
At home the day started when the sun peeped over the Seaview Range and she was nudged awake by her Border collie, Lavender. She would give anything to hear the reassuring thump of Lavender’s tail on her bedroom floor. And at Southern Cross she’d be greeted by the friendly laughter of kookaburras and the warbling of magpies, or perhaps the distant soft lowing of cattle.
But thinking about home and her twin brothers, Reid and Kane, brought an added twinge of guilt. The guys had been away mustering cattle when she’d left for her adventure in the city. She’d left them a note, but because she’d been afraid they’d jump right in and put a stop to her plans, she hadn’t told them any details.
In her own mind she’d justified her dash to the city. Apart from the compulsion to meet her e-date, she’d felt a strong need for a holiday. But she knew that people usually planned their holidays. They didn’t dash away, leaving a note telling family members to look after themselves.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so secretive. Surely she should have been able to tell at least one of her brothers about the man she’d met over the Internet. But they were so protective of her. Which was why she’d resorted to writing a letter to the Mirrabrook Star.
If only her mother wasn’t so far away in Scotland…
But thinking about her family only made her feel lonelier than ever. As she waited for morning and for Damien’s reply to her email, she almost reached the point where she wished that her brothers had stopped her from coming to the city.
‘You got a reply.’
At breakfast, Mel came into the kitchen waving a sheet of A4 paper at Annie. ‘Here, I printed it out.’
Pain jabbed hard in Annie’s chest. There was no escaping the truth now. Very soon she would know Damien’s reason for avoiding her.
‘It’s from the uncle,’ Mel said as Annie snatched up the page.
‘The uncle?’ Annie clasped the paper to her chest, too disappointed to read it. ‘It’s not from Damien?’
‘’Fraid not.’
Victoria turned from the microwave where she was heating coffee. ‘So there really is an uncle?’
‘Looks like it,’ said Mel, reaching for milk to pour on her cereal.
Annie groaned. ‘You mean an uncle read that email we sent last night?’
‘Seems so.’
‘But we were so—’ Annie gulped. ‘So—’
‘Tipsy,’ supplied Mel, looking sheepish.
‘And rude,’ added Annie. ‘I had no idea his uncle would read it. Heck, we should have toned it down.’
‘Hey, don’t sweat,’ said Victoria. ‘We were relatively sober and we were merely being honest. We told it like it was.’
‘Yeah…but to some old uncle!’ Annie cringed at the thought of a sweet, elderly uncle reading their message. It had sounded so forceful and feminist last night. But when she thought about it now…
Oh, crumbs…
Fearing the worst, she looked down at the page…
From: T. G. Grainger
Date: Monday, November 14th 6: 05a.m.
Subject: Re: You’d better have a brilliant excuse,
you jerk!
Dear Annie M,
I hope you don’t mind my replying to your message, but my nephew is out of town this week and he’s asked me to respond to any important emails. I consider your communication to be of the utmost importance. I regret having to intrude into such a personal exchange but I believe you deserve the courtesy of a quick response.
Please accept my sincerest apology for the unpleasant experience you suffered last night as a consequence of my nephew’s inexcusable thoughtlessness.
Damien was called away at short notice and I contacted La Piastra restaurant on his behalf. However, I understand your deep distress and I am saddened by my nephew’s bad manners. You’re absolutely right; you deserved an explanation from him and I will make sure that he contacts you immediately on his return.
In the meantime, I trust that you are still able to enjoy the remainder of your stay in Brisbane.
Yours sincerely,
Dr Theo Grainger.
Annie dropped the page on to the tabletop. ‘Oh, my God. Damien was called away at short notice.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ scoffed Mel. ‘And we all came down in the last shower.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
This question was greeted by a significant silence while Annie watched Mel and Victoria exchange knowing glances that snuffed out her final glimmer of hope. After a bit, Victoria leaned across the table, grabbed the page and scanned the printed message.
‘The uncle’s a bit of a wordsmith, isn’t he?’
