Page 6 of Saving Ren
I swallow down the ball of emotion attempting to rise from my chest to my throat while staring out the window as views of the beach and Port Phillip Bay appear between the trees that line the foreshore.
“I’ve been good, and thank you. It’s because I straightened it before adding the big curls, it always makes it look longer,” I croak out.
I don’t have to look in Jo’s direction to know that her eyes are burning a path to my face.
“Okay. What’s going on? What’s wrong?” she snaps.
My tears spill and I use the side of my finger under each eye to catch them. I shake my head.
“Loz?” she questions softly, her concern now apparent.
“I’ll explain, I promise, but I don’t want to walk into the pub looking like I’ve been crying.”
I finally turn my gaze to meet hers. “Please? Right now, I just need a drink. Then I’ll talk, and believe me, you’re gonna need a drink for this too.”
She’s nodding before I finish talking. “One drink, and then you spill,” she says as we pull up outside the bar.
* * *
Jo grabs my hand,and I walk behind her as we smile at the bouncers and enter the bar. Seeing Jemma and Lou set up at a table in the corner, we head over. They have wine chilling in a bucket with glasses standing to attention and waiting to be filled. After kisses all around, I pour myself and Jo a drink, clink glasses with everyone, say “cheers”, and take a very large swig before sitting on a stool at the high-top table.
“Shit, I so need this,” I declare after almost draining my glass.
“You okay?” asks Jemma. “You look tired, and you’ve lost evenmoreweight.”
Jemma is my oldest friend, and like Jo, never misses a beat. Because we’ve known each other since I first moved to Australia from England as a moody thirteen-year-old, she knows me better than anyone and has seriously been on my case these past few months, constantly asking if everything’s okay with me. I’m hit with a pang of guilt as I recall the many times I’ve come close to telling her everything and then backed out.
Jason and Jem’s husband, Max, are pretty good mates and I know that once Jemma is made aware of what’s going on, there will be no turning back. She’ll tell Max, and knowing him like I do, he’ll have no hesitation in confronting Jay.
“Yeah, I'm fine,” I say, not wanting to dampen the mood by telling them about my woes so soon into the night. “Just had a shitty week.”
I catch Jo’s brows raise at my response, but choose to ignore her and look back at Jem as she asks, “Why? What’s happened?”
That’s when I notice Lou’s gaze following our exchange with wide-eyed anticipation. This was planned. When I then look between Jo and Jemma and catch them exchanging raised brow headshakes, I’m hit with the realisation this night has been organised with the purpose of my girls finding out what’s going on with me.
In that moment, I both love and dislike them very much.
Drink in hand, I take a moment to look each of them in the eye. Licking my dry lips, I draw in a deep breath and swallow.
“Okay, ladies, this is how it’s gonna go. I really, really need to have some fun tonight. If you can give me a few hours of that, I promise, I will explain everything.”
My heart thumps against my chest as one pair of brown eyes and two pairs of blue pin me in place.
“We can give you that,” Jemma says. “But before tonight is over, you are gonna tell us whatever the fuck it is that’s going on.”
“I will, I promise,” I agree.
Lou raises her glass. “To the best friends and floors that will always hold us up,” she declares our usual toast.
“To friends and floors,” we join in.
* * *
We sit,we chat shit, and we catch up with what’s going on in each of our lives. The girls don’t question the fact I have very little to add to the conversation, and with the wine flowing, I finally begin to unwind.
Jemma and Lou both have younger children, so Jo and I both smile and nod in the right places when they share their stories about them. I had my kids young, with both my boys now in their twenties. My heart kicks against my chest, and my stomach churns at the notion of having to tell them what’s gone on between me and their dad, and I make the decision right then to keep it from them for as long as possible. No matter their age, they’ll always be my babies, and it’ll always be my job to protect them.
At just fifteen, Jo had been even younger than me when she’d had her son, Joe, who’s now thirty. Her parents were thrilled when that news broke. . . Not! Her boyfriend’s even less so. They’d forbidden their son from having any contact with Jo, he then denied the baby was his. The whole family then moved interstate. With Jo’s family disowning her, she would have been left to raise her son alone without us and our parents. Each of our mums had stepped up and helped Jo with a place to stay, and then with childcare after Joe was born. This enabled Jo to work while she put herself through university, eventually qualifying with degrees in accounting and commerce. She now owns her own accountancy firm, employing around six staff.
