head for the big city for three main reasons: Work. Better cell-phone service.
And the prospect of meeting her very own Prince Charming. After all, when the
guy you crushed on since high school turns out to be a psychopath, and the only
viable alternative is Creepy Keith, you need to take drastic measures to ensure
life as a crazy cat lady is not in your future.
What she doesn’t need is a bad-boy musician with a penchant for getting under
her skin. Sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll are the last things on her mind.
rock ’n’ roll (in that order). It’s how it has to be to keep the pain from his
past at bay. After all, when you’ve hurt someone you love, it’s easier to numb
the pain to keep on surviving. Easier to turn off your feelings than face the
cold, harsh truth.
What he doesn’t expect is the sassy journalist with so much soul in her eyes.
Could this woman be the one who breaks him?
underwear is missing.
like I know how to make the perfect meringue mix in minutes. I know it like I
know that the grapes on the vineyard are just starting to grow, perfect little
plump circles of ripeness.
staring up at the washing line once more.
plain white cotton knickers are most certainly no longer there.
could have been anyone. It could have been a magpie picking them off the line.
My sister, Eva, having a romp in the vines with her sexy fiancé, needing a pair
to walk home in after hers had been ripped off in a fit of passion. My
grandmother deciding they were inappropriate for public display.
tells me different.
tells me that perhaps my ex-boyfriend is the one to blame for the
panty-napping, and that I’ll never see those comfortable tighty-whities again.
hands through my hair, staring up at the clear blue sky. Why can’t I just have
one morning where I feel in control? Where things in my life happen the way I
want instead of dictated by someone else?
toward the homestead.
on the front porch, waving at me. “I’ve made you an appointment with my
therapist for next week.”
frown. What is she talking about?
therapist. She’s really good,” she replies. “After everything that happened
with the fire, I thought it might help.”
need a therapist,” I reply.
that now, but trust me, once you see her, you’ll love having someone to talk
to.” She pauses. “Oh! Speaking of, I also signed you up for a new phone
contract with Connor and me. We got a good package deal, lots of inclusions,
and …” She keeps talking, but I don’t listen. She’s organising my life. Doing
she wants nothing but the best for me, but I’m sick of not being in control.
I’m sick of being little Grace Storey, the younger sister who has to laugh off
her ex-boyfriend’s borderline stalkerish behaviour, the one who does as she’s
told all the damn time.
sometimes in life, you need a sign. A sign that perhaps it’s time to shake
things up, to move forward. To go and find your fortune.
look up at the clothesline, the spot where my underwear should have been, it’s
never been clearer to me in my life. It’s time I leave this small country town
for the big city, and start a new life.
In addition to writing, Lauren loves to read, and you can often find her up at all hours of the night with a glass of wine, some chocolate, and a good book. She lives by the beach in New South Wales, Australia, with her husband, infant son, and their two dogs. Most of the time, all four of them are well behaved.