Page 43 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Fifteen

Sam stares up at me, a quizzical look splashed across his face. “Why did you … I mean, you kissed me.”

I press my fingers to my mouth, remembering the feel of his soft lips against mine.Oh god. What did I just do?

“I’m sorry, I …” I step back towards the exit. He needs a friend in this place, and me? I’ve taken it upon myself to kiss an almost defenceless man.Have I misread the signs? Was I too blinded by my own loneliness to see that Sam isn’t interested in anything serious?

“Janie,” he says on an exhale. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. I don’t know what I was thinking.”Liar. I wanted to kiss the cute guy I love spending time with. That’s exactly what was on my mind.

I rush from the room. He calls after me, but I ignore him, mentally kicking myself the whole way to reception. Throwing myself at someone has never worked before. Rejection and me? We aren’t friends. If Sam doesn’t feel an inkling of what I do, and he says he just wants to be friends, will I be able to handle it? If rejection and I are to be reunited, then I’ve potentially lost a friend.

Great going, Jane.

On my way home, I drop into the grog shop and buy the finest red wine available in a box—a Banrock Station Shiraz Cabernet.

After today, I’m going to need more than a glass.

***

I polish off a plate of microwave lasagne for one with some salad on the side. When the last mouthful is down, I dive into a glass of red that’s fit for a thirsty king and then grab my personalised jumbo jar of Nutella and a spoon. I deserve it.I need it.

I sink back into the sofa. Butch jumps onto my lap and snuggles at my side. I dial Mum’s number and prepare for it to ring out, like it does nine times out of ten.

To my surprise, the call doesn’t go to voicemail and Mum’s cheery voice answers. “Jane, how are you, daughter of mine?” Music hums in the background along with several other voices and laughter.

“Hi, Mum,” I say in a low voice, unable to hide the glumness to my tone.

“Everything alright?”

“Not really.”Hold back the tears. Hold back the tears.

“Why? What’s happened?”

I fill my lungs and push a loud sigh from my mouth. “We lost someone today.”

“Oh, my darling girl. Who was it?”

“Do you remember Mrs Ferguson? Beatrice?”

“Oh, I do!” she says after a pause. “She lived down on Christopher Crescent. Her cottage garden was exceptional.”

“Yeah, she sure loved flowers. One day we made floral headpieces. You’d swear she thought it was Christmas.”

Mum sighs noisily on the other end of the line. Sometimes I hate the distance between us as a family. It’s times like this you realise just how precious a good squishy hug from your mum is. “Beatrice was such a creative soul in the kitchen and the garden. You know she used to make the most stunning marmalade with our fruit, and an orange peel and almond biscotti that was to die for. She’d always sell out whenever she had a stall at the pumpkin festival or at the school fete. The sad thing is, darling, that eventually, age takes its toll.”

“I know. I should have expected something like this was going to happen. I just wasn’t prepared.”

“Oh, sweetie. Unfortunately, dying and death come part and parcel with working in a nursing home. Personally, I don’t know how you can work there.”

“Don’t evet get old,” I beg. “Ever,” I add for extra emphasis.

“Oh, don’t worry, Jane. I’m not planning on leaving this Earth anytime soon and there’s no way I’m letting your father go before me, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”

Even though I know that one day I’ll have to say goodbye, at least Mum’s promise is of some comfort now. “Well, I promise if I ever have to put you guys in a home, I’ll visit all the time.”

“As if you weren’t already the best daughter ever,” Mum chirps.

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