He shot her a quizzical look as if he was surprised she knew about school pick-up, then checked his watch. “Damn, you’re right. Sorry. I better get going and leave you to your twirling.”
“Say hi to Holly and Hunter for me.”
“Will do.” He turned away then turned back. “Alice?”
“Hmm?”
“Hunter’s joined Scouts and he wants to practice lighting and cooking on a campfire. I was thinking, seeing as Holly’s current thing is drawing flowers and she’s getting close to exhausting the bulbs—”
“The wild flowers are just coming out in the river reserve. You want to kill two birds with one stone?”
He smiled and it lit up his eyes. “That’s the plan. Are you up for a burned sausage after school on Monday or Tuesday?”
“A burned sausage?” She laughed. “Hunter knows the way to a girl’s heart.”
“I’ve taught him well.”
Alice had enjoyed the chaotic dinner she’d shared with the Waxmans. She’d ended up staying later than planned as she’d gotten involved helping Hunter with his papier-mâché blue-ringed octopus for his school project on the ecosystem of rock pools. There was something remarkably soothing about sitting around a table talking about nothing much, tearing newspapers into shreds and getting all sticky with glue. Afterwards, she’d gone home, feigned exhaustion to her parents, locked her bedroom door and phoned Tim. He’d apologized, told her he’d missed her and how desperate he was to make up for lost time. It had been one of her best days in months.
“It sounds like fun.” Hello? Tim! “Oh wait, sorry, Harry. I’ve just remembered some tentative plans.”
Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. “Judging by that blush, I reckon they’re connected with your overwhelming need to twirl.”
“Not at all.” Why did he always notice this sort of stuff about her? Why couldn’t he be oblivious like Dan?
“Let me know if the plans fall over.”
“They’re not going to,” she mumbled pettishly to Harry’s retreating back.
Her phone rang and she didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Alice, it’s Flis Carter.”
Her heart leaped into her mouth not certain if this call was good news or bad. Three weeks earlier, after spending hours crafting a submission, she’d been interviewed by a panel led by Flis.
“Hi.” It came out as a squeak.
“Alice, the arts council is excited to offer you this year’s position of artist in residence.”
Yes! “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. Your submission was very professional and we love your idea for a mural. There’ll be an official announcement next month with drinks, but meanwhile I’ll email your contract. If you can sign it and get it back to me by the end of next week, that would be fantastic. Congratulations again, Alice. Talk soon.”
Artist in residence! Alice hugged herself. Could this day get any better?
She crossed the road and walked into the gynecologist’s rooms for her long overdue follow-up appointment. Alice took a seat in the waiting room and bypassed the magazines, preferring to read a copy of the Bairnsdale Advertiser. As she read the articles, she thought her writing for the Gazette held up against that of the professional journalists. She was skimming the social pages when her eyes landed on a photo. Suddenly she was looking straight at Tim. He had one arm slung casually across an attractive woman’s shoulder and the other resting across the top of the heads of two young boys. Tim’s sister and his nephews.
Her gaze drifted to the caption. “Tim Classen, his wife Sasha and their children Joel and Rufus enjoying all the fun of the elementary school spring fair.”
Her skin caught on fire. Her lunch lurched in her stomach. No! No! No! She swallowed and closed her eyes. She’d misread the words is all. They really said, “Tim Classen, his sister Sasha and his nephews Joel and Rufus enjoying all the fun of the elementary school spring fair.”
She opened her eyes and the print shot into focus. Not a single word had changed. This was Tim with his wife and sons.
“You bastard!”
The receptionist’s head jerked up. “I beg your pardon.”
Alice wanted to shred the paper, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t get her fingers to work. “Why are men such cheating, lying bastards?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” The woman poured Alice a glass of water from the cooler and handed it to her. “Read something that triggered you?”
I’ve been sexting with a married man! But no way was she admitting that to a stranger so she covered. “I just get so angry when I read stuff like that article about the bloke who conned that woman out of her savings.” Alice felt a kindred connection to the duped woman. Not that Tim was after her money, but she had trusted him implicitly. She’d shared her deepest thoughts and feelings with him. Felt and believed their friendship was real.
What the hell was his game? What did he want from her? Why had he bothered reconnecting after all those months? He was married! Why was he even on the dating site in the first place?
She wanted to move—run, hit—do something, anything that would release the fulminating rage inside her that was as much directed to herself as it was to the lying, cheating and conniving Tim. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she broken her new rules for this guy and committed to him without meeting him in real life? But she knew why.
He was the first man who’d reached out and right from the start, she’d fallen for him. She’d wanted him, so she’d convinced herself that their video calls were the same as sitting at a table across from each other. Their virtual sex had been so hot his words alone tipped her over the edge without much push from her fingers or her vibrator. All day today her body had been awash with lust from the anticipation of spending the night with him in the Airbnb she’d booked and paid for. Stupid!
Tim had a wife.
Her brain flailed, trying to wrap itself
