Love at First Flight Read online

  DEDICATION

  For Paul, Tommy and Lara – my sun, moon and stars.

  And for Lachy and Julesy – I hope you found each other and that you

  are flying together above the clouds.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  The Departure Lounge

  Flight

  Melbourne

  City Lights

  Vacant

  The Hunt

  The Patient

  After

  Instinct

  Sleepover

  Tightrope

  Deeper

  Divided

  The Last Night

  Reckoning

  The Wedding

  The Cost

  The Honeymoon

  Reset

  Done

  Fiji

  The Consulting Room

  Birthday

  The Article

  The Bird

  Serendipity

  Christmas Eve

  Acknowledgements

  Beautiful Messy Love Sunday

  About the Author

  Praise

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  MEL

  Looking back on it now, I can see it was instant. No question about it. The second we locked eyes. Boom. Just like that. The me I had spent a lifetime perfecting began its disintegration from that moment. I had no idea at the time of course, I was simply relieved to be on the plane and sitting down. But it was definitely instant. And despite the carnage it brought to all our lives, I still don’t regret it. Because by losing everything I was introduced to myself for the first time. Would I wish away what happened, given hindsight? No way. Would I go down the same road again given the opportunity? Not a chance.

  THE DEPARTURE LOUNGE

  MEL

  Maybe Adam sensed what was coming. He’d shifted irritably in his sleep throughout the night as I lay wide awake, watching the fluorescent green numbers flick over on the alarm clock. Occasionally he threw a heavy leg across my thigh and I gently lifted it off. It was too hot a night for any kind of body contact.

  At four-thirty I got up, fumbled with my bra strap in the dark, then tip-toed down to the kitchen, being careful not to wake the children. The coffee machine kicked into life grinding the beans and I sipped a double espresso to shake off the fatigue. The empty coffee cup echoed when it made contact with the sink. Everything echoed in this house. I looked around at the granite benchtop, the stone floor, the high ceilings, the generous open-plan living areas. What did it all amount to? A house that echoed.

  I wished for a second I was back in our old cosy home but quickly admonished myself. Other people, some of our friends included, would have given anything to live in a house this extravagant. It was the biggest house, in the best street, in Perth’s exclusive Mosman Park.

  I really should have felt more grateful. Instead I just felt homesick.

  The caffeine kicked in. I tended to my hair and face, making the dark circles under my eyes disappear, and then dabbed at my neck with a few drops of Dior. I zipped up the suitcase, parked it in the hallway and crept into the bedrooms, one by one, to kiss my sleeping family goodbye. Neither Nick nor Lily stirred.

  Adam sat up, bleary-eyed, and slid an arm around my waist as I sat on the edge of our bed.

  ‘Hey, mate.’ He had that husky voice men have when they first wake up. ‘Try not to bankrupt me this weekend, would you?’

  ‘You know I’m not the type of girl to make promises she can’t keep.’

  He chuckled. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, Adam.’

  And then I left.

  I stepped outside and breathed in the hot dry air. The weather man had predicted another scorching day, as expected for February in Perth. Doubtlessly, Nick and Lily would be in the pool straight after breakfast and remain there for most of the day.

  I avoided the footballs, hand weights and skipping rope littering the backyard on my way to the garage. The Mercedes was sparkling clean. It had been badly in need of a wash when I’d parked it there yesterday. Adam, I smiled.

  As I reversed out of the driveway and onto the wide tree-lined street I glanced back up at the house. Its size and elegance was a tangible daily reminder of Adam’s success. The house that echoed.

  It was silent in the car with the radio off and nobody in the backseat, a welcome silence. I wondered whether the children would remember I was away for the weekend when they woke up. Would Lily cry? She’d given Adam a hellish time with her adolescent theatrics at being left behind last year. Perhaps this year it would be easier for her to accept my desire to go alone.

  I drove along the deserted highway, heading for the domestic airport. I was flying to Melbourne to spend the weekend with Sarah, my best friend, and one of the very few people I was still in touch with from Sydney. We spoke on the phone most days. Last year, for the first time, we left our families behind and met up in Melbourne for a girls-only weekend. The euphoria at forty-eight hours of freedom from parenting had us making it an annual event.

  I turned into the airport car park and of course I didn’t pull in close enough to the ticket dispenser, so I had to madly jump out, grab the ticket, hop back in and take off before the boom gate came down. Was I the only person this always happened to?

  I parked in one of the few spaces left, a long walk away from the terminal. By the time I entered through its large automatic doors, blisters were already forming on the balls of my feet, thanks to my way-too-high heels. On the phone yesterday, Sarah had reminded me of our plan to dress to impress. No ‘mumsy’ get-up allowed. For one weekend we’d be fabulous and sexy and dress boldly and feel confident for a change. So here I was, in new clothes I’d bought in a frantic rush yesterday afternoon between finishing work and picking up the children from school: a black fitted T-shirt with a deep V neck that made me feel extremely awkward about how enormous my breasts looked. This was paired with dark skinny-leg jeans that were so tight I literally had to jump around the room for two minutes to get them all the way up, and the skyscraper strappy black heels I now regretted choosing, thanks to the searing pain shooting up both feet with each step.

  After spending hours at the hairdresser yesterday evening, my long crazy curls were straightened and the grey roots were brown once more. My fingernails and toenails were painted fire engine red. I wore my best silver hooped earrings and thick silver bangles that jingled against each other.

  I caught sight of myself walking past a window and gasped. I was far too curvy and way too past my twenties to pull off this look. What had I been thinking yesterday? I didn’t feel at all fabulous or glamorous, I felt like a silly, mutton/lamb try-hard. Hopefully Sarah would be impressed by the effort at least.

  It was liberating not having any luggage to check in. Last time I was here it had been a logistical nightmare involving oversized suitcases, two bicycles and a surfboard. This time it was just me and my one little carry-on case!

  After passing through security, I removed the case and my black leather handbag from the conveyor belt and was just about to go to the departure gate when a small bright yellow piece of paper on the floor caught my eye. Like a true sticky-beak, I bent down to examine it. It was a handwritten note.

  Lara

  Just in case, here’s my number.

  Jack

  Just in case of what? I imagined poor Lara, whoever she was, deciding to call this Jack she’d met in Perth. She’d frantically look for the note and realise with a crushing blow it was gone. How tragic. With a pang I left it where it was and followed the signs to the departure lounge. All the seats were occupied, so I leaned against a pillar. I rubbed at the goose pimples on my arms and thought wistfully of the
cardigan I’d accidentally left in the car.

  I stood there people-watching. Ever since Love Actually I’d been fascinated by people at airports.

  But I didn’t notice him. How, I don’t know.

  Then the announcement came that the plane was ready to board. I followed the long line of travellers down the gangway, thrilled at the prospect of close to four hours with Marian Keyes and the chance to escape into another one of her funny romantic stories. I never had the time to read at home.

  Once on board, I smiled at the beaming young flight attendant with the shiny blonde ponytail and shiny white teeth. I made my way along the narrow aisle, stopping every few feet as people found their seats and put away their luggage. It was no warmer here than inside the airport. Guess I was going to freeze for the next three and a half hours.

  As I approached the back of the plane I noticed a man, head down, in the window seat in my row. I’d reserved an aisle seat. Please let nobody fill the middle seat, please let me be lucky enough to score a bit of extra room.

  I popped my bag in the overhead compartment and sat down, relieved to finally get off my feet. I smoothed my hair and my top and turned to say hello to my neighbour. His eyes were already on me. It’s those eyes that I’ll always hold responsible.

  ‘Hi.’ He smiled at me and I lost my mind.

  MATT

  My eyes snapped open and my right hand slapped around on the bedside table until I felt the vibrating phone. I slid my finger across the screen and the shrilling stopped, thank Christ.

  ‘Hello?’ I mumbled, disorientated, my voice thick with sleep. ‘Hello?’

  No answer.

  I sat up and rubbed the crust from my eyes as they adjusted to the dark. Where the hell was I? The bar fridge hummed loudly. Oh yeah, I was in Perth, at the Rendezvous Hotel. It was just the alarm I’d set for myself. I stared at the phone screen. 4.31 am. Ugh.

  I yawned, stretched and staggered reluctantly out of bed, reaching for the light switch. I pulled open the heavy curtains and unlocked the glass sliding door that opened out onto the balcony. The temperature was mild with the slightest of sea breezes.

  I rested my forearms on the railing and looked down at the frothy white waves along Scarborough Beach, still visible in the dark. The crash as each wave hit the shore broke the early morning silence. I loved that sound.

  I walked back inside and found the room service menu. I rang through my order, and then packed the few things I had lying around the room. If I was quick I could sneak in a shower before breakfast came.

  The warm water poured from the shower head onto my face, waking me up properly. Once dry, I threw on a faded grey T-shirt and some old board shorts and sneakers. I really should have packed more clothes; these weren’t even clean. Lydia would be unimpressed when I showed up in Melbourne in this get-up. She also hated it whenever I had stubble, she said it was ‘icky’ to kiss me with facial hair but I had enjoyed this break from my razor. I made a mental note to hunt around for a present for her at the airport that would hopefully take her attention away from how grotty I looked.

  There was a loud knock at the door. Room service. I took the tray out onto the balcony. The sky was just beginning to lighten as I drank my coffee and lifted the lid to find breakfast. Bacon, eggs, beans, hash browns. Why the hell did I order all of that at this hour? With guilt at the waste, I picked at a piece of bacon, found that I wasn’t hungry at all, put the lid back on the plate and poured myself another coffee. I’d just eat something later on the flight.

  The colours changed around me as I sat there on the balcony waiting for the taxi. I took a deep breath in and tasted sea salt. I could just make out Rottnest Island on the horizon.

  ‘I could easily live here,’ I thought out loud. Where in Victoria could you sit sixteen floors up and watch endless ocean like this?

  It was an undisputed fact, however, that I’d never live anywhere but in Melbourne’s inner suburbs. Even though I’d been here investigating a potential career, Melbourne was the only town I’d ever call home. Lydia was umbilically tied to her parents there. In any case, I’d said no to the job.

  I’d been dumped back at the hotel yesterday evening by the sulking executive whose offer I’d rejected. But I’d discovered Western Australia, and that had made the trip worth it. I would definitely bring Lydia back for a holiday one day.

  I checked my watch, scooped up my backpack, and took one last glimpse at the sea below. I caught the lift down to the lobby and walked out of the hotel just as the taxi pulled into the driveway. After a fleeting ‘front seat versus back seat’ debate in my head, I opened the front passenger door.

  The taxi driver gave me a toothy grin and stroked his goatee with long curly fingernails. ‘Welcome, my friend, welcome!’

  Bad decision.

  We took off for the airport at an alarming speed. I grabbed for the seatbelt. The cab reeked of onion and the radio was spectacularly loud, tuned into a talkback station. I stared out the window to avoid having to make conversation, but the driver had other ideas.

  ‘What are we going to do about all the terrorists in the world, man?’

  Excellent. Five-thirty in the morning and I had to help him solve the world’s problems.

  The trip was mercifully quick thanks to the death-defying speed undertaken by my new mate. Relieved to be out of the taxi in one piece, I walked into the domestic terminal and headed for the departure gates.

  I passed through airport security with dread as I always do, and with good reason. Every single time, I am chosen for the random bag search. Literally, every time. And sure enough, as I passed through the metal detector a beady-eyed security officer with his fly half undone, beckoned me over. Finding nothing but dirty clothes in my bag he let me go, but not without giving me a ‘We’re watching you, mate’ look.

  As I walked off with my now ransacked backpack, I noticed a small slip of yellow paper on the carpet at my feet. I’m not sure what made me do it, but I squatted down to take a closer look at it. That poor bastard, Jack. He’d be waiting for the ‘just in case’ call that Lara would never make.

  I continued on to the departure gate and took one of the few seats left in the lounge. Almost immediately I found myself snugly nestled in between two old ladies who came to sit on either side of me. So snug that I couldn’t reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to while away the time. We all silently waited for boarding and I stared vaguely around the place.

  Moments later, any trace of vagueness was sucked out of me as adrenaline pumped through my veins. She was impossibly beautiful. The sexy high-heel shoes, the way her body curved as she leaned against the pillar, the jeans that hugged her hips and thighs as if they were painted on, and the waves of honey brown hair that fell over her shoulders and onto her gorgeous breasts, squeezed into a black slinky T-shirt.

  Who dressed like that at six in the morning? I watched her watching others. She smiled faintly and raised her eyebrows when a young mother with a baby in her arms walked past. Her eyes were soft and vulnerable, a sharp contrast to her smoking body in those jeans. I imagined myself walking over to her and striking up a conversation. Making her laugh.

  She bent down and fiddled with the strap of her shoe and I felt major stirrings where I shouldn’t. What was wrong with me – in the middle of a departure lounge, for Christ’s sake? I crossed my legs and looked away. But a second later I looked back, zoning in on her hips. They moved a little. Oh Jesus. I tried thinking of Lydia but it was no good. There was no space at all for Lydia in my brain right now. I forced an image of my mum into my mind. Mum doing the ironing in her nightie with her hair in rollers and her swollen feet in moccasins. That did the trick.

  When I was positive it was safe to do so without the bulge at the front of my shorts giving me away, I stood and walked in the opposite direction to her.

  Bloody idiot! Acting like a sixteen-year-old watching his first porno.

  I stopped at the newsagency and picked up a novel from the bestseller
stand at the front of the store. It had a purple cover with sparkles on it and a catchy title. Marian Keyes’ latest. I remembered Lydia liked the author, so I bought it.

  It did nothing to help ease my guilt about the woman. It wasn’t as if I’d stopped noticing women once I’d committed to Lydia, but imagining hard and fast sex with a stranger against a pillar in the middle of a crowded airport? That was a bit much.

  I heard the boarding announcement and headed back through the maze of people to the departure gate. She was still standing there. I walked past quickly, avoiding any possible eye contact.

  I took my window seat towards the back of the plane and discreetly looked out for her. Had she been waiting for somebody? Was she still alone?

  The plane slowly filled up, tinny reggae music coming from its speakers. A massive middle-aged guy in a bright orange T-shirt blocked my view as he struggled to fit his luggage into an overhead locker. I became agitated, worried I’d missed her taking her seat.

  Then I saw her.

  FLIGHT

  MATT

  God, she was beautiful!

  She lifted her small suitcase up into the overhead locker which caused her top to hitch up and expose her bare midriff. I stared at the outline of her breasts in the T-shirt and then quickly looked down before she caught me. The fact that I wasn’t watching her didn’t stop her perfume from saturating the air I breathed. She even smelled sexy, for the love of God. I looked up to see her taking the aisle seat in my row and I almost stopped breathing.

  What was this? Some kind of cruel joke? Then she turned to face me with the most amazing smile.

  ‘Hi.’ My voice came out far more hoarse than usual.

  ‘Hi there. How’s it going?’ she said brightly.

  Her mouth! Blood-red lipstick on Angelina Jolie lips.

  ‘Yeah, um, I’m, yeah, really good, thanks. And you?’

  ‘Tired!’ She laughed. ‘It looks like we might have nobody in this middle seat, doesn’t it? Some extra elbow room would be nice.’