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  HEART OF GLASS

  Lindy Dale

  Copyright 2010 Secret Creek Press

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  Prologue

  1987

  My life has been punctuated by songs. Songs trigger memories that make me smile, or even cry. Some people collect ticket stubs and place cards to remind them of their life journey, storing them in a box of memories that becomes torn and faded as the years pass. With me, it’s songs and my songs never fade. They’re always as they were, the first time I heard them.

  Stored in my head is a bank of lyrics, useless to anyone else. They live in their own mini recording studio waiting to spring to life when a song registers in my mind. Then they jump to attention, tormenting me with lines to tunes I know, but don’t really. I know so many lyrics it’s bordering on ridiculous, I even know words to songs from the sixties, which were popular way before I was old enough to recognise them. I’m always humming something to myself.

  It was early one Friday evening in 1987, when that song wormed it’s way into my brain for the first time in years. I’d heard it twice already during the day, which I suppose isn’t unusual. If you listen to the radio constantly, you’re bound to hear the same song twice in a short space of time. Still it must have been a sign, I think. I’m a great believer in signs.

  The bar, that night, was packed with young professionals. Later, I’d have to yell to make myself heard over the sound of U2 siphoning from the sound system but I didn’t care. This was my turf. The place where everybody knew my name.

  Sitting on a stool at the bar, I hummed to myself as I took in the sights. Leaves from the London Plane trees rustled in the sticky summer breeze. Fairy lights twinkled against the twilight. Out in the alfresco, girls were twittering and preening like pretty birds as the lights played on their sequined tops. Testosterone swam around them in suits and jeans. Content, I watched them come and go, greeting their friends with a clasp of the hand or a slap on the back. I smiled to myself. It was a veritable smorgasbord of men and if I’d been single it would have been difficult to choose. But as it stood I had my darling Coops. Current policy was one of perusal only. As Mum always said, ‘there’s no harm in looking, Bella, as long as you don’t eat the cakes.’ A gem of wisdom, but one I never understood until I discovered the opposite sex.

  Some men are there to be looked at. Some should carry a sign ‘Look, but definitely don’t touch!’

  A friendly face stopped at the bar beside me. I reached over and kissed him.

  “Jus,” I said, fingering the deep red lipstick smear from his cheek.

  “Beer?”

  Justin pulled up a stool and sat down. “Shit yeah. I’ve had a hell of a day.”

  “Oh baby… client hell again?”

  His face looked tired. He loosened his thin leather tie and settled on the stool. “Yep.”

  I motioned to the barmaid for a drink and began to chatter away. My cigarette flailed in the air as I talked and he ducked for cover, clicking his tongue in disapproval. No matter how he chastised me, I continued to smoke.

  “My day was utter crap, too,” I said, “Trudy said we need to expand our audience so I threw a whole heap of ideas her way, which she promptly dismissed as droll and ‘been-there-done-that’. Looks like I’m up till midnight, again, trying to come up with some new strategy that will appease her. The woman is a bitch.” I stopped to take a breath but only for a moment. “So what’s the plan for tonight? Your new flatmate coming along? I’m looking forward to meeting him. From all you’ve said, he sounds hunky.”

  Justin shook his head in resignation. He was used to my eternal perving and paid no heed. “Back in the day he’d have been right up your alley, Bella. Where’s Coops by the way?”

  “He’s helping a mate from the footy team to install cupboards in his kitchen. He might pop down later.”

  Coops and I had been friends since the Uni days and seemed to have fallen into coupledom by default. Though the way it happened had been something of a surprise to me, our relationship seemed as natural as rain falling from the sky to the rest of our gang. They’d all agreed it had only been a matter or when. And with the looks of Richard Gere and muscles I’d never been able to resist? Well, I guess they were right.

  “So… tell me more about your flatmate, Jus’.”

  Justin’s eyes crinkled with amusement. My mind was an open book to him, most likely a copy of Playgirl.

  “Um - tall, blonde, athletic, intelligent. He used to be a professional footballer. Not that it should be important to you.”

  “It’s not, but you know I like to keep an eye on who you’re sharing your toothpaste with. There’s way too many loonies in this world.”

  “I think I’m fairly safe then. He’s an architect, just moved back from Melbourne. He’s friendly and loves a beer, so he should be good value for after work drinks, I reckon.”

  Raising his left hand, he signalled over my shoulder and swivelled on his stool. The new flatmate had arrived.

  “Bella, this is….”

  I looked up into the steely blue eyes of the man standing before me. “…Benjamin James,” I said, finishing the sentence.

  “You two know each other?”

  “You could say that,” was the drawled reply.

  You could say more than that, I thought. God, what should I do? He looked so good. I didn’t know if I wanted to stab him to death with my stiletto or take him outside for a quickie.

  Justin looked from Ben, back to me. “How?”

  “From school,” Ben said, staring at me as if he’d seen a ghost.

  For the first time in my life, I was dumfounded. Standing before me, smiling in a most disarming manner was the first boy I had ever loved; the one I had given my heart to. He was the reason I had been born, the reason I was the woman I was. He was my knight in shining armour. The man I adored but could not love.

  Suddenly, I knew why I’d kept hearing that song all day. Shit.

  Chapter 1

  1979 - ONE FINE DAY

  One fine day, you’ll look at me

  And you will know our love was meant to be.

  One fine day, you’re gonna want me for your girl.

  The Shirelles

  On the day I met Ben James, The Shirelles were singing that song from the sixties, One Fine Day. I heard it in the car on the way to the football and I hummed along as we drove. It stayed with me for the whole day, a psychic prediction of a meeting that would change my life forever.

  Lucy, Prue, Jen and I had donned our warmest clothes and school scarves in honour of the game that day. We were much like any other group of fifteen-year-old schoolgirls. We thought we were highly individual but we all looked the same. We were thin, well, except Prue who’s life was a fad diet. We had clear skin and straight teeth. We wore Levi jeans - in cord of course - with the obligatory brown suede desert boots and woollen duffle coats. The others had hair styled in the latest permed fashion. My hair hung long and straight, in the most boring shade of brown known to man, the way Mum liked it. Our look was our uniform, the uniform we wore when we weren’t at school; the one that we needed to be part of the “cool” gang.

  The outlook over the mountain that day was grey, promising rain later. Heavy clouds loomed and there was an icy chill to the air, but we didn’t want to miss the game, not even if the weat
her bureau had predicted snowfalls down to one hundred metres and maximum temperatures of only eight degrees. Football on a Saturday afternoon was all we had to do. Football was the social highlight of our week.

  It was bitterly cold standing on the sideline with a clipboard and a pen but we recorded the stats and cheered on our friends. We all had our reasons for being there. Prue was there to see her brother. Tim was a good player, tipped to make the seniors in the local competition the next year. He was in Year 12 at St. Peter’s College, the boy’s school on the next block to our own school. Prue and Tim were part of a close family and their parents were so cool. Their house was decorated in the latest interior style, right down to the cream shag pile carpet and chocolate timber veneer. They drove the latest car and Prue always had the newest clothes, even before they hit the shops, courtesy of her mum’s boutique. Not only that, but Prue was allowed to go wherever, whenever. Compared to my boring parents with their rules and regulations Prue was living in a wonderland and I was envious of everything she had and did. Her life looked perfect.

  Jen, the quiet one of our foursome, wanted to see Tim play too. She had a real thing going for Tim; we all knew it. Jen spent most weekends at Prue’s house, mooning in a lovesick fashion whenever Tim walked into the room and spoke to her (or even when he didn’t). ‘Tim this, Tim that’… was all we ever heard. Jen was so shy, though, she could never tell Tim how she felt. She would blush at the mere thought. So she figured it was better to love from afar than not at all.

  Lucy, of course, didn’t care who was playing football as long as they were male. She was often termed ‘boy crazy’ by adults who knew her, especially my mother, who used her behaviour as an excuse to launch into one of her famous ‘how to behave like a lady’ speeches. Lucy’s long, blonde hair fell down her back and around her face in tiny ringlets. She had curves and bumps in all the right places, which made me feel inadequate at the sight of what could only be described as goosebumps where my breasts were meant to be. Boys loved the way Lucy looked. They hung on her every word and were so blinded by the sight of her enormous breasts that the rest of us were all but invisible.

  Lucy looked like an angel.

  Which automatically meant Lucy was the queen. Of everything.

  At the final siren, we closed our clipboards and handed them over to the coach. The match had been close but the opposing team, St Michael’s - a school from the other side of the state, had come out winners. Despite the loss we were feeling buoyant as we hiked up the hill for afternoon tea in the hall. We reached the door and stepped inside out of the chill, dawdling past the tea table where Prue grabbed a muffin and began to nibble. The hall was cold as usual. So, finding an empty corner, we huddled together.

  “It’s freezing in here,” Lucy moaned. “Move over, Jennifer, and keep me warm.”

  Jen snuggled next to Lucy, rubbing her hands. “Better?”

  “Marginally.”

  “I’m getting a hot chocolate, anyone else want one?” Prue asked, as she wandered off in search of the drinks.

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll have one, Prudence, but only if it’s skim milk…” Lucy called.

  Prue turned back with a smirk and a mock bow. “Yes, your Majesty.”

  “…. And NO sugar.”

  While Jen and Lucy discussed the shopping they had done in the city that morning, I stood watching the other kids around the room. Groups formed, dispersed and reformed; an ebbing sea of bodies and faces. They all looked happy and relaxed, the complete opposite of how I felt most of the time. I’d have chewed off my right arm to be popular like the rest of my friends but I was a mouse around people I didn’t know. A little mouse with mousey hair. Sure, people invited me to parties as part of the gang, but I never went to sleepovers at their houses. I never went shopping with the girls or on dates and on the weekend the only exciting thing in my life apart from the school football was dinner at Grandma’s on Sunday. I didn’t fit in. And even though my older brother Toby’s football wizardry had sort of garnered me a spot in the gang, I was still at a loss as to how I’d ever been accepted into the ‘cool group’. It was so not me.

  “Hey, Bella, daydreamer… look over there, near the table.”

  An elbow in the ribs from Prue diverted my attention. She handed a mug of chocolate to Lucy. “Isn’t that the yummiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

  Prue’s eyes travelled towards the huge spread but with a quick look, I realised it wasn’t the sponge cake she was eyeing off. Leaning against the table, talking to one of the teachers was the most beautiful boy. It sounds silly, but my heart skipped a beat and everything began to move in slow motion like a bad movie where the hero runs with his arms outstretched towards the girl of his dreams. And worse still, The Shirelles were the soundtrack music.

  I gazed longingly. His hair was long for a private school boy and he looked somewhat older. He was tall, well over six feet, and had broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips and long muscular legs. But his most noticeable asset was his blonde hair. White-blonde to be exact and cut into a shaggy, just got out of bed, sort of style. He looked like one of the rock stars I watched on ‘Countdown’ every Sunday night. I could imagine him in a white suit, strutting across the stage and handing red roses to screaming hoards of girls. He was such a spunk.

  “Who is he? I’ve never seen him before.”

  “No idea but I’d really like to find out,” Prue said smothering a giggle in her scarf.

  Lucy leant over. “What’re you two whispering about?”

  “Over there,” Prue gestured.

  “Mmm, spunky. Who’s he?”

  “I could ask Tim, he knows everyone.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, dummy, go and do it!” Lucy ordered. She looked more smitten than usual and if that were the case, I’d never stand a chance. I mean, why would you want Sindy when Barbie was on the shelf right next to her?

  With a salute Prue went in search of her brother.

  After a few minutes of waiting, Lucy and Jen entered into a dissection of the previous night’s episode of Dallas, their favourite show. Not being allowed to watch ‘such trash’ I had nothing valuable to input so I went back to staring across the room at the flaxen haired boy.

  He looked disinterested. His eyes were scanning the floor, the ceiling, any place really but where he was meant to be looking. He certainly wasn’t paying attention to the teacher who seemed to be lecturing him about something. Then suddenly, his eyes stopped roaming and came to rest on mine. For what felt like an eternity that was probably only a second, he continued to stare while I stared back, desperately wanting to stop yet unable to turn away. Then he smiled. It was like he’d hypnotized me and though a blush was creeping up my neck I kept on staring. Mortified at my own behaviour, I watched as a small crinkle of confusion formed between his eyebrows. Then, he straightened, appearing to refocus and …Oh My God, he winked; he truly winked. At me.

  “Soooo….” Prue had returned, ready to impart her knowledge.

  I turned back to the group.

  “His name’s Ben James,” Prue said. “He’s eighteen. And he’s a really good footballer.”

  Lucy nodded. “An older man, they’re so much more mature than boys our age.”

  “Shut up and let me finish. Anyway, Tim said he won’t be here next year. The VFL scouts’ll pick him up, for sure. So I guess there’s not a great deal of point trying to meet him.”

  Lucy looked down her perfect pixie nose. “I really don’t see that as an obstacle. It would still be possible to have quite a lot of fun with him between now and next year. That’s six months away, you know. And what if it turned into a serious relationship? Imagine being married to a professional footballer. The parties, the social life. God, it’d be awesome.”

  Jen shook her head, “Really Lucy, sometimes you are so disgusting. All you think about is boys. Did you ever stop to consider that he’s too old for you? He’s eighteen and
you’re only sixteen. Boys like that only want one thing.”

  “So?”

  “Well, look at him, he’s gorgeous!”

  We all looked. There was no denying the fact; the sex appeal was dripping from his pores.

  “He probably has heaps of girlfriends his own age. Why would he want to hang around with nerds like us?”

  “Humph. You may fall into that category, Jennifer, but I am certainly not a nerd. I could give him plenty of reasons to want a girl like me. What do you think, Annabelle?”

  It wasn’t hard for me to imagine the reasons Lucy would put forward; I’d seen her in action only last week at the school disco, swanning around the room like a catwalk model.

  “I think it’d be hard for any boy to resist your charms, they’re so…. out there!”

  Lucy stuck her chest out in pride.

  “Well,” Prue said, interrupting our jokes, “Tim said they’re quite good mates, he’ll introduce us. He’s just going to get him.”

  “I couldn’t do that!” cried Jen, “Tim might get the wrong idea. No, you can count me out of this one.”

  “Well, I’m in, Prudence. He looks cute to me and I’ve nothing better on the horizon. What about you, Annabelle?”

  I swallowed. “Um, yeah. I s’pose. Why not.”

  And before I knew it, the game was on, with the glittering prize heading across the room with Tim and straight towards us. I felt my heart begin to race. My mouth went dry. I licked my lips and sucked in my tummy.

  “Does my hair look alright?” Lucy asked. “God, he’s so cute, look at his muscles.”

  “Will you shut up Lucy, he’ll hear you! Seriously…”

  Stopping at the edge of our circle, Tim greeted us for the second time that afternoon. “Hey girls, thanks for doing the stats again this week. I don’t know what Coach would do without you.”

  “Find some other suckers who don’t mind freezing to death every Saturday?” Prue quipped.

  Tim gave her a look.

  “So this is my buddy, Ben. Ben, I’d like you to meet the St Peter’s Cheer Squad: my sister Prue, Lucy Roberts, Jennifer Riley and Annabelle Stone. No matter what Prue says, they really love tagging along every week to help out.”