Page 71 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

Chapter 17

Polly was sitting in the occupational therapy craft room slathering a large cardboard “7” with gold paint. She could easily have bought the numbers 70 at a party shop, all covered in glitter for ten dollars, but somehow it felt important to make them herself.

She hadn’t gone to so much effort for Dad in years, even though he’d done his best to hand out the olive branch. Maybe it was time…

Everyone else had gone home, except Judith, who was flitting around tidying up after the art therapy session. Polly flicked her a glance. The last two days Judith had seemed a little more cheerful, her shoulders less defeated. Polly had even caught her humming to herself.

Surely Judith wasn’t getting back with Mark?

It happened all the time though, didn’t it? People deciding to break up, then backing away from the finality of it all and limping on for another round. Even deciding to have a baby, as if that would magically fix things. And then there it was, another innocent little life brought into the mix.

Mum had told Polly once, in her totally insensitive way, that she was the result of a make-up fuck. That if Polly hadn’t come along, Mum would have left years before.

She was just one huge mistake, responsible for prolonging her parents’ misery.

Polly swiped too much paint onto the brush and watched it dribble a big arc across the table.

“Tsk.” Judith was by her side with a cloth. “Put some newspaper down, you mucky pup.”

“What are you so chirpy about?” Polly commented darkly. And then wanted to unsay it, because it broadcast the fact that she was personally about as chirpy as a crow with a broken wing. Of course, she was happy that Judith’s mood had improved, just not if it involved that douchebag Mark.

Judith gave a little giggle.

Polly put down her paintbrush with a suspicious frown. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You haven’t taken him back, have you?”

“Technically, he hasn’t gone anywhere to take him back from. I mean, he’s still living in the house, we just have separate rooms.”

“Jude, I really don’t like the sound of this.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“What then?”

Judith fussed around washing paintbrushes and laying out paintings to dry.

“You haven’t agreed to give it another go, have you?” Polly asked suspiciously. “Don’t believe him if he says he wants to try again; it’s just fear of change, not a change of heart.”

“I know, I know. In fact, Carts warned me about tha—”

“Carts!” Polly’s eyes popped wide. “When did you see Carts?”

Judith was hiding behind her hair. “I bumped into him in Woolworths. We had a discussion about whether you could make that fake mince taste as good as real mince in a spag bol. I said you could and Carts said you couldn’t.”

“Really.” Polly couldn’t help a little smirk. They would probably have both talked that through for a good ten minutes, very seriously.

“Yes. And then he asked me how I was going and I—um—burst into tears. Which was kind of embarrassing over a tray of Cumberland pork sausages.”

Polly’s eyebrows flew up. Judith kept hiding behind her long, blonde hair.

“I can hear what you’re thinking, Polly,” she said after a moment. “And of course I’m not going to do anything rash. It’s just that he’s nice. And kind. And he listens like he’s interested in what I have to say. I’m not used to being listened to.”

Polly gripped the paintbrush and zipped her lip. She’d been just about to tell Judith it was too early, and that besides, Carts was not the kind of guy to have a rebound relationship with. But seriously, as if she was in any position to pass judgement. Her head had been going round and round for the past week over Solo’s revelations. The evening had started off fun and turned heavy, and she’d been so close to asking him home and humiliating herself. It had come as a shock when he’d gently but firmly turned her down, not in words, but certainly in actions. Never had a peck on the cheek felt more like a slap.

He’d been friendly but distant ever since. The vibe was nothing close to what they’d had. And the truth was, she missed it like crazy. Missed the touch of his hands, missed his lips, missed his kisses, those eyes weaving themselves into some crazy place inside her that she thought she’d managed to stamp out for good.

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