Australian Love Stories by Cate Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page A

tomorrow.’

    That evening, in the fading warmth, she took one last walk past Karl’s house, the house that Emily said he’d built. Pushing Daphne in the pram she looked in, on her way to the public post box. No-one was visible in the windows. His wife’s car wasn’t there. She heard a guitar strumming and children’s laughter, and guessed they were in the back yard. And she thought, what harm would it do to put the poem in his letterbox? Immediately the answer came back: untold harm. But a typed letter? This was all she’d ever ask of Karl. To read something from her, to know he’d been thought of in this way… He would never know who it was from. He may not even show his wife. Of course he wouldn’t!
    The madness reared like a little tongue of flame, and she drove her hand into her bag, withdrew the letter, posted it and walked away, fast.
    As soon as she had reached the safety of the shadows, she was possessed of an equal need to get the letter back. What utter stupidity! She turned around and marched back again, determined to retrieve her self-betrayal, and had to stop. There was Karl, walking through his front garden. She pulled the pram backward. Don’t see me, don’t see me!
    He wasn’t getting the mail. Surely not. People don’t get their mail so late? But he was. He was opening the letterbox, lifting the little pile of envelopes, glancing at them, pausing. Oh no, he’s seen it. Mallory lifted a hand to her mouth. You idiot , she cursed herself. You absolute idiot. Karl sat on the swinging chair on the veranda and opened her envelope. He drew out the note. Read it.
    Mallory chewed on a knuckle, watching. It was too dusky to make out any reaction. She watched him fold up the letter and put it back in the envelope, very neat and precise. He tucked it into his shirt pocket. At least she knew his wife wouldn’t see it. But what was he thinking? What was he thinking ?

    Autumn grew bitter fast and the people longed for summer again, forgetting the fires that burned houses and bush, forgetting the bright claws of heat that held them back from sleep. Daphne learned to sit up. Mallory stopped stalking Karl, and forbade herself from looking at his picture on the internet. Their paths would not cross again if she could help it; this was the only way she could make up for the wrong she had done to his wife in leaving that poem.
    Rick was more upset about breaking up than she’d expected. After some difficult meetings however, the rightness of the decision grew obvious even to him. They drew up a document about Daphne’s care and signed it; and they agreed to stay friends. On that afternoon, she kissed him goodbye on the cheek and said:
    â€˜You’ve been decent every step of the way, Rick. You’ll make someone a really great husband.’And Rick rubbed his cheek and shrugged, and she knew things would be okay between them.

    Winter came and most people paid little attention to the shortest night. A few gathered at Emily’s to eat roasted peppers, salted olives and delicious white cheeses, and drink mulled wine, and play music. When Emily rang to invite her, Mallory asked if Karl and his wife were coming. She didn’t want to reawaken her obsession. She was feeling clean and clear. Hours passed where she didn’t think of him.
    â€˜What do you mean, Karl’s wife?’ asked Emily. ‘She died nearly five years ago.’
    â€˜What? Could you—run that by me again?’
    â€˜Car accident, poor things. Everyone knows that. That’s why everyone admires him.’
    â€˜Oh my God,’ said Mallory. She felt winded by the shock of it, as though Emily had struck a lance into her gut, her primordial core, and something was splashing out.
    â€˜But Em, who was—that woman he was singing to, at the folk festival?’
    â€˜His sister, stupid. She moved in with him to help with the children.’
    When Mallory