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  ENTWINE

  Rebecca Berto

  Copyright © 2013 Rebecca Berto

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  All rights reserved.

  This book is published in Australian English and includes relative diction.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  If you are reading this book and have not purchased it or been gifted a copy via an online retailer, it has been pirated. Please delete this eBook and support the author by purchasing a copy from one of its many distributors.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN (eBook): 978-0-9874566-5-6

  ISBN (paperback): 978-1493692651

  Cover copyright © Rebecca Berto of Berto Designs

  Editing by Lauren K McKellar

  BEGINNINGS

  THEN

  When Sarah first came home her ears had a faint ring in them, and now, in the aching silence, they buzzed at her fiercely. Her first thought was Ah! Relative quiet for once. I’ll just sneak in and get my mobile phone. Now she wished her dad had been doing anything else, even playing that stupid rock ‘n’ roll music. She had a solution for that: plug in her Favourites playlist and turn the volume up.

  She heard the first moan, whispering through the walls. She was drawn toward the sound in her parents’ bedroom; it was like the undeniable dread of watching someone being bullied from afar. It was being unsure how to make it stop.

  But Sarah’s mum was out, and there was definitely two people making those sounds in there. For the first few moments, Sarah wondered if her mum had suddenly materialised here. Why else would her dad be moaning in sync with that female voice, and the bed legs be screeching in that way?

  She remembered arriving into the silence that had encased her, replacing the throbbing sounds from the party she’d just been at, thinking it all seemed too quiet in here.

  She was right.

  Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. A sense of nothingness washed over her as she braced her palm to the wall outside her parents’ bedroom, narrowly preventing her wobbly legs from taking her down.

  What should she do?

  She willed her ears to block out what she heard, but she knew sticking her fingers in the holes wouldn’t help a bit. And her dad didn’t deserve to be the reason she harmed herself if she poked inside too hard.

  Sarah wished she could run, but instead her feet stayed rooted against the wall, and she shivered at the choice she had to make. What would she do, tell her mum that she could hear the bed creaking against the frame, that her dad’s friend wasn’t trying to be quiet at all?

  The sounds triggered a memory. She’d caught a weird text message when sitting at the kitchen bench, her playing with her dad’s phone, her mum still at work. Her dad had snapped his mobile phone from her fingers and told her to go to her room. Her shock back then debilitated her choice to tell her mum. Her voice didn’t work when she tried to speak, and her throat was tight even when she swallowed. Now, hearing what was happening behind the wall, she had no idea where to even begin.

  Sarah clamped a hand over her mouth in case she sobbed loudly, forced her other hand to push her from the lure of the wall where she had been frozen, and to walk herself out the front door.

  Back to that party. Back through the shadows of darkness and odd orbs of light, along the sidewalk, back to the noise and the alcohol, and the people trying to forget their responsibilities.

  She combed her fingers through her mocha brown hair, the ends tapering off at her breasts. It was the same colour as her mum’s. Would her dad hate her now, being reminded of the wife he clearly had no care for? Would physical factors, like Sarah’s pale grey eyes, the same shade as her mum’s favourite cardigan, be as horrible to him as her inner qualities?

  She realised when she got to the party that she never did get her mobile phone from her room as she had originally intended, so she’d have to wait for someone to open the door.

  There were two fanning plants in pots, framing the double door entrance. A porch stretched under the balcony of the first floor and a swinging bench sat at the far end beside the garden bed. The music was so loud the bass vibrated through the concrete underneath her feet and she could only hear a faint sound when she tried knocking anyway.

  She blinked against the memory of the sound of the bed frame creaking and that shrieking sound that made her insides churn, until soon enough a drunk girl in a miniskirt stumbled out the door with a guy staring at her ass, laughing at nothing at all.

  Sarah slipped inside, found a corner free on a couch next to two people chatting and bit her lip, thinking too much when she shouldn’t have been thinking much at all, as a regular sixteen-year-old at a regular house party.

  • • •

  THEN

  Sarah’s dad wasn’t always this way. In fact, Sarah’s dad used to be the most perfect man in the world, in Sarah’s mind. She’d go to school and announce his achievements like, “My daddy built my own cubby house for me.”

  And it was true. He didn’t buy that cubby house from a store in a flat-pack box and nail it together. He loved spending hours in the shed with her, even when Mummy would have dinner waiting for them. Mum would have to call Sarah and her dad at least twice every time they were out there building.

  But as Sarah sat on that couch at that party, she didn’t mind the back of some drunk person and their constant laughing a bit too hard, and talking a tone too loud, and jerking back an elbow or head to her side or neck. She didn’t mind as much as she should have.

  What did a little discomfort mean in the scheme of her life now? She’d forget that arrogant drunk person, and they wouldn’t even remember sitting next to her.

  She would never forget the sound of the headboard pounding the wall and the sting after she removed her fingers from her ears. It shouldn’t have been another woman there.

  Why had Sarah just remained quiet?

  Her group at school were so different, and yet similar, in their goals. For one, Brittney would never have sat frozen when she realised her dad was with another woman, as Sarah had. She would have probably even stormed in. Why didn’t Sarah do that?

  She dropped her head in shame. It was true it suddenly felt too heavy to hold, but she’d also lost the will to pretend to sit here like she was tired or shy. She blew the strands of hair away from her face, blowing air up past her nose. And she didn’t mind if that looked weird.

  That’s it, Sarah decided. As she was about to push up on the couch cushion to stand, a boy walked up to her, pointed next to her and said, “Okay to take a seat?”

  He didn’t need Sarah’s permission, yet she smiled to herself, feeling special, and shuffled over to let him through.

  That was a mistake, she realised. How would she ever get up, now she’d shuffled over as if she were staying here?

  Okay, a couple of minutes and then I can pretend to change my mind.

  “So,” the boy asked, “is it just me, or is this crap making you want to poke sticks in your ears?”

  Looking at him now, Sarah forgot to hold her hands neatly in her lap as she had been doing at the start of her countdown. Now she didn’t even realise her jaw was hung open, until the boy leant just that bit closer and made her heart stutter, and closed it with a finger. She took in his rich brown eyes, so much like her dad’s
. They were framed by thick lashes, too pretty for a guy.

  Sarah smiled, knowing that she wouldn’t have to leave after all. This was much better than facing the prospect of going home. “I hate this ‘crap’, too. No feel, just ‘thromp, thromp, thromp’ in alternating patterns. R&B is much better.”

  “Okay, I will have to ask for your name. There is no way I can continue this excellent conversation without knowing this pretty girl’s name.”

  Sarah didn’t realise she looked pretty tonight. She had on dark-wash jeans, ballet flats and a tank top with a metallic print. Maybe it was her hair, she rationed. Maybe the messy loop of it actually looked like a sexy hairdo.

  “It’s Sarah Langham.”

  “Sarah.” He nodded slightly, as if giving his approval that it was a great name. “Well, I’m Nicholas Brookland, and no, I don’t get called Nick. Just Brooks for short if anything, and no, I won’t tell you my middle name.”

  “That’s okay,” Sarah said. “I never asked.”

  It seemed this was the first time anyone had replied like that to the way Nicholas introduced himself. He gave Sarah a look, all deep dark intensity, that made her feel uncomfortable, but in a good way. She knew she’d impressed him the way other girls hadn’t tonight, or maybe ever.

  He shifted closer and some guy came to stand inches from his face, facing the other way. Sarah couldn’t help but laugh, and she had to cover her mouth, although the music was loud enough to hide her startled cry. The other guy started chatting to somebody, his ass in a direct line with Nicholas’s head. Sarah laughed again and Nicholas, cheeks red and lips pressed in a tight line, moved closer to her, his hand resting behind her ass.

  “You made me do this. Now I have to squeeze close to you,” he said, wriggling his fingers near hers to show her what he meant, although there was no way she’d forget where they were. He held her gaze, now inches from her face.

  She gulped, but it provided little relief. His eyes were so brown, so warm that she was already lost in them. She’d kissed a couple of other boys but only a peck, because she wasn’t quite sure how to stick her tongue in without asking them to widen their mouth for her. She wanted Nicholas to kiss her, but she hadn’t an idea how to ask—until she didn’t have to.

  She could see the moment coming. His gaze, intense and captivating, created a weight on her chest she couldn’t shift. His gaze dropped to her lips. Unconsciously, she licked them, knowing he was looking. He made a little sound when she did that.

  That night, Nicholas Brookland leant in to Sarah Langham and connected his lips to hers. She only realised their tongues moulded together in-sync after she had already memorised the softness of his tongue on hers, and it was too late.

  That night she spent all her time on that couch with her hands wrapped at the bottom of his hair, his hands careful at her waist or jawline, smiling into his lips.

  That night, the party didn’t turn out to be a stupid thing to kill her time and distract her mind.

  What was stupid was the choice to stay at the party until one am, because Sarah got caught when she got home.

  Her parents wouldn’t listen to a word she said. Sarah slammed her bedroom door shut and hated the night of her first real kiss because it was ruined. She was meant to come home and tell her mum what her dad had done, but they didn’t bother hearing her out, that night or the rest of that weekend.

  When the new week started her parents had to go to work, and Sarah had to go to school.

  But, Sarah rationalised, she probably would have never told her mum anyway. Not because she didn’t want to, but because, any which way she said it, it would have utterly broken her heart.

  MEETING

  NOW

  The first time Sarah saw Him, he was leaning up against a pillar at Flinders Street Station, knee bent against the wall, checking the time on his watch.

  At five thirty, after her first day as a junior editor, she still hadn’t stopped trembling with excitement. She’d memorised the names of all the workers in her team, and loved the way she walked into the office and it smelt of warm paper, straight out of the printer. There must have been at least six printers on the one floor alone.

  Now, at the train station, she supposed it made sense this man stood out. She was on alert and he was impossible to miss. Eyes peeled, she noticed him, as if he were a photograph, the aperture turned low so the bustle of other passersby blurred out.

  She sat on her seat, waiting, pretending to text on her mobile. Now and then she’d look up as if wondering, “When’s the train coming?” Like she’d forgotten. Under her lashes, or from a casual glance sweeping the platform, she’d look at something new on him.

  First it was his jaw. Sarah didn’t know why a strange man’s jawline mattered, but it did. She could imagine the sharp turn as she traced from ear down to his chin, and back up to his other ear with her finger. She imagined all her old poster pin-ups. Sarah wasn’t a fussy girl. She had James Dean, Elvis Presley, Bon Jovi, Brad Pitt, Zac Efron, and even the Hemsworth brothers.

  By far, this man’s jawline was as good or better—sharp, yet smooth enough to want to touch.

  She looked up again but thought he saw her, so she quickly took stock of a mother pushing a pram, another small child holding its side bar and stomping along. She looked further up and saw that she had two minutes left before her train really did arrive.

  Sarah had never wanted a train to be late before, although they always were with Melbourne’s crazy rail system. Today, she did.

  The guys in her lectures and tutes back in university were always man-whores or geeks or already taken. Now, at her first proper full-time job, she only had one man in her team and she didn’t have hopes for him, since she was sure that lunchtime phone call was to his “love”, and that “love” sounded like a man.

  Sarah wasn’t greedy. One man would do, and he didn’t have to be the best looking or the kindest, but he had to be right for her. And she couldn’t pick if there would be something wrong with this man leaning against the pillar, waiting for his train, but she hoped that maybe he’d catch the same line as her and she’d get to wonder about him longer.

  The third time she looked up she noticed more of him, more details here and there. He didn’t have a briefcase, but he was in perfectly ironed suit pants, leather dress shoes and a light peach shirt, one button undone lower than most businessmen she saw. The shirt’s waist tapered in to hug him at his hips. She figured that he naturally filled out the chest, shaping a perfect V, and the rolled up sleeves showed off the hint of corded forearms that stirred her imagination more. He had a buzz of hair covering his head, just enough to draw attention to the sexy contours of his face and body.

  Just then, the lady over the speaker announced the train was arriving and Sarah stood, just as everyone else. She looped her handbag over her shoulder and found her way just behind the yellow line, choosing to walk diagonal, inwards, so that she stood mere metres from the man.

  The doors opened, and the people on the platform waited for the people onboard to get off.

  Sarah, though, turned to the man, and watched him pull out his mobile, then put it away just as quickly. He looked up, and Sarah’s initial thought was Quick! Oh my God, pretend you were staring at something odd behind him! but those silly cover-ups only made people look worse, so she decided to embrace this chance and offer a little smile—but she chickened out halfway and had to drop her gaze to the floor, not even able to hide her smile.

  The ground in front of her started emptying, so she waded her way through with the other people desperate to find a seat.

  If Sarah had her way she’d clamp her bag under her arm, make sure her heels were steady and then make a run to the nearest two seats free, fling her handbag on the spare one in front of her, and let that man sidestep through the knees of others in the seat arrangement and sit in front of her. In front was always better, because men had long legs. She’d learnt the pros and cons of sitting in front of men on trains before. Many t
imes, smelly men or big men had their legs opened wide, and Sarah had to close her smaller ones between them with little gap spacing. Or, she would have to cross her legs and get a cramp trying to keep her crossed leg bent back, so as not to touch them.

  But Sarah’s thoughts … that’s all they were. There were a few seats here and there, but neither Sarah nor the man got any. He could have, but he held out his hand and let that mother through, with the pram and her small child.

  Sarah found herself liking him even more. Her last boyfriend had loved the clubs in the city and it was at one of them, not far from here, that he’d kissed his other girlfriend who Sarah never knew about. Or, not until she’d decided to surprise him that night and found her legs around his, his hands cupping under her ass in a section away from the dance floor.

  Although this man didn’t sit next to her, he did find a spare pole to grab onto in the train carriage, and Sarah found one opposite him. He once again noticed her, but Sarah hadn’t been looking this time. He must have been doing some staring of his own.

  Sarah wondered if this man had been doing the same thing the whole time Sarah had her own game going.

  She wondered this as the train took off and they stood almost in reaching distance, both with a hand holding the pole next to them. Sarah wondered which stop he’d get off at.

  • • •

  THEN

  The swing didn’t move for Sarah. She kicked off the ground and drifted back and forward, but she never went anywhere, not really. She even tried to grip the chains until her knuckles turned white. She took a breath, and did the whole countdown thing.

  Three. Two. One …

  But still, she found she was stuck. Her feet would move, she eventually realised, but it was her thoughts stuck in the one place. They blocked the forest of tall trees with never-ending trunks out past her property fence. The big trees, more like little willow branches, pretended to be something they weren’t. It all looked so delicate. She needed to fly.