Set Me Free (13 page)

‘I need to bandage
that,’ Craig stated, all business. Apparently, his mind was on the here and now.
He lifted her gently from her hips and slipped his right arm around her. It was
strong and solid, and she fought the urge to lean into him.    

‘I should have
thought,’ he was saying as he lugged her towards the front door. ‘It’s been a
while since I’ve been in here, and I forgot the stairs were a bit sketchy.'  

He helped her limp
outside and released her temporarily to lock the door behind them. She tried to
limp off alone to avoid being pulled against him again, but he was too quick,
and he scooped her up and half dragged her across the road. Once inside his
apartment he finally released her gently, onto an intimidatingly luxurious
black leather couch.

Sitting
uncomfortably upright, she looked around, taking in his home. Very post-modern and
very masculine. She almost expected a bear skin rug, head, bared teeth and all,
to be laid out across the floor. Perhaps that was in the bedroom. It was sleek
but not homely, as though the apartment itself was lonely with neglect. It was
a stark contrast to the abandoned building across the road, which although
uninhabited, exuded warmth. She wondered how much time Craig spent here. She
wondered where else he might spend his time.   

Craig disappeared,
in search of first aid supplies, and she began breathing again. What the hell
was happening to her?  This was the guy who was about to destroy everything she'd
been working for. How on earth did she end up in his apartment?   

She tried to pull
herself together, inhaling deeply and taking stock of the situation. She looked
at her shin and was shocked by what she saw. It looked horrific. There was
blood everywhere, with little shards of wood sticking out all over the place. And
now that Craig wasn’t around to distract her, she realised it really fucking
hurt. Her eyes started to water.

When he returned
she brushed away the half-formed tears fruitlessly.  

‘Are you okay?’ he
asked, kneeling before her with a bottle of antiseptic and a bandage. The pain
dissipated instantly when he touched her arm, sending her senses spiralling in
opposite directions, self-pity and longing at war within.  

Longing was
winning.

‘It hurts,’ she
managed, although for the moment, it didn’t.

He held her eyes. ‘It’s
going to hurt a little more while I clean it up. But once the bandage is on, it
will start to feel better. Don’t worry, I know what I am doing. I work around
building sites all the time and have taken care of injuries much worse than
this.’

‘Like?' She needed
the distraction. Something gruesome to put out the fire.

‘Nail gun
accidents. You don’t want me to elaborate.’

She did, and she
wanted him to let go of her arm so she could think straight. She held her leg out
for him so he would. He put his hand around the back of her calf to steady her
and began slowly picking out bits of wood. Charlotte finally relaxed back into
the couch and looked at the ceiling while he worked. She concentrated on taking
deep breaths and exhaling them slowly. Craig would assume she was working
through the pain.

Like the building
across the road, the ceiling above her was original and ornate, but of a
different era. It was nice, but she preferred the Art Deco cornices. She turned
her head to gaze out the sliding glass door and beyond the little balcony. His
plants were healthier than hers at least. Perhaps his cleaner watered them. In
the distance, she could see a plane descending towards the airport.

He was so gentle
she could hardly feel what he was doing, only the touch of his steadying hand. Working
away methodically, he constantly murmured reassurance, and let her know when
one splinter was going to hurt more than the others. Thankfully, he remained
focused on the task. She couldn’t have borne to catch his eye while he was
tending to her so gently.

He finally swabbed
the wound clean, which hurt just as he’d warned. She winced.

He looked up and
caught her eye before he began bandaging. ‘Last bit,’ he said. And then he was
wrapping her calf, slowly winding the bandage around and around. He clipped it
into place and stopped still with his hand on her leg.

Their eyes locked
again and his hand found its way to the inside of her knee, his fingers
tentatively beginning the long, slow journey upward. Charlotte’s lips parted,
and she exhaled as her skin tingled beneath his fingertips. Up until now his
touch had been incidental. This time it was intentional. A jolt of electricity
shot through her core.
Don’t stop, don’t stop
.

But Craig froze. He
looked down at his hand as though he didn’t know how it got there and then he
lifted his gaze slowly back to hers. She bit her lip and leaned forward
compulsively. She looked into his eyes and tried to read his mind. They were as
clouded as her thoughts and gave nothing away. Was that desire?  Was it? 
Oh
kiss me, kiss me, kiss me
, she willed him, leaning closer still.

And then he did. He
pounced on her like a leopard, growled ‘Oh God,’ and pushed her back into the
couch. His lips were hard and commanding and a relief. His hands cupped her
face and his hips nudged their way in between her knees, which she parted
willingly. It was a ferocious kiss, an explosive release of the sexual tension
that had been building between them as they skirted around each other over the
past hour. Did it really only take them that long to get to this?

Charlotte slid her
arms around Craig’s broad shoulders and held on for dear life. She breathed him
in and traced her tongue along his bottom lip. He slid his tongue into her mouth,
exploring and then sighing with pleasure as she received him. He moved his
hands from her face and slipped an arm behind her to bring her closer. His
other hand was lost in her hair, making sure their lips stayed locked as he
pulled her against him.

Charlotte was
adrift. She could feel his heart beating, racing as fast as hers. Her breasts
were aching to be claimed by his hands, his mouth. His erection pressed against
her abdomen, straining and craving her. Tightening her hold on him, she
abandoned herself, gleefully, to the inevitable. He commenced a trail of kisses
down, down, down her exposed neck.

But then suddenly
a sharp pain, as Craig accidentally bumped her bandaged leg, snapped her out of
the fog of desire. In a miraculous moment of clarity, she came to her senses. Her
need to make love to him was desperate beyond measure, but nothing good would
come of it. Just more awkwardness and confusion, hurt and betrayal.  

The ache she felt
for him was stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. But how could she
possibly mess around with the man who was taking a wrecking ball to her life? 
How could she possibly mess around with this man and not lose herself to him in
the process? 

How would she ever
fight his magnetic pull if she let herself drown in him once again?  One taste
was proving difficult to recover from; imagine how hard it would be if she
indulged a second time. Regardless of this overwhelming need, ultimately they
would end up either hurting or hating each other. Or both. Charlotte broke off
the kiss, pulled back and pushed Craig away.

‘Stop,’ she
mumbled weakly.

He did, although
not quietly, and pushed himself back on his haunches, shaking his head.

‘This isn’t
right,’ Charlotte added quietly. ‘You and I cannot go there again, Craig.'
Despite
how much I want to
.  

He looked at her,
the fire still burning in his eyes. ‘You’re right,’ he said and stood up. He
ran his hand through his hair. He walked over to the windows and looked out at
the view with his back to her. ‘But if you really mean it, I think you need to
go because I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you for much longer.’

Obligingly,
Charlotte stiffly pushed herself up off the couch. Her lips were still warm
from his kisses. Her body still ached from his touch. She wanted to walk over
to him and slip her arms around him, to press against him and lure him back
into her embrace. Using every ounce of her self-control, she turned to his
front door.

‘Thanks for
showing me the building,’ she murmured politely, because she truly was grateful
for that. ‘And thanks for patching me up.'

‘Charlotte…,’ he
turned, and paused, looking at her intently, but thinking twice about what he
was going to say. She waited, her breath held. He raked his hand through his
hair again. ‘It was my pleasure,’ he sighed, and turned back to the view.

She limped her way
to the nearest bus stop, flustered, embarrassed, confused and sad. It wasn’t
until she was seated on a bus heading for the city that she could breathe
properly again. Until she remembered where she’d left her sketchbook.

With
the last of half a dozen boxes of her personal belongings tucked under her arm,
Emily nudged the back door of the Monster shut with her hip. She felt
enormously satisfied; she was taking back control of her life.

One day at a time.
That’s what everyone kept telling her. Today was a good day. Today, she’d leapt
forward.

With her own
clothes and the important stuff back in her possession, she felt like the
anchor had been reattached and thrown overboard. All she needed now was for it
to catch on something.

She didn’t need to
be afraid. Her mother and her sister did just fine on their own. True, neither
of them was a shining example of a successful single: one was celibate and the
other hopeless with men, but they were happy. Content. They had homes and jobs
and friends. Emily could have that too.

Looking up, she
spotted Charlotte coming up the street, trying to hide a slight limp.

‘Where have you
been?’ Emily asked, as soon as her sister was in hearing range.

Charlotte averted
her eye. ‘Do you remember that Art Deco building we drove past last week?’ she
answered.

‘The one that was
about to collapse?’

‘Yeah.' Charlotte
took a deep breath before she elaborated. ‘I went to see it.’

‘You went to see a
building?'
Hmm
, Emily thought.
Definitely not a shining example of a
successful single.
But that was Charlotte. She had a thing for buildings. ‘Why?’
she asked.

‘I thought I might
sketch it.’

‘Really?' Curious.
It had been years since she’d known Charlotte to sketch, let alone traipse
half-way across town to do so. ‘When did you decide to do that?’

‘I had a dream
last night,’ Charlotte told her. ‘I was looking for something in my apartment. I
don’t remember what it was, but I found this door I’d never seen before. I
opened it up, and it led to one of the apartments in that building. In my
dream, it was an extension of my place and the rooms within were mine. They had
always been there, but I wasn’t using them. I was walking through them,
wondering what I could do with them. The dream was haunting me all morning, so
after you and Mum left, I decided to nip over to Hamilton and have another look
at the building.’

‘Did you get
anything good down?’ Emily asked, looking for Charlotte’s sketchbook.

‘Um… yeah. But I
lost my book,’ Charlotte said.

‘How on earth
could you lose your book?  Did you leave it on the bus?  And what happened to
your leg?’

Charlotte sighed
and leaned against the Morris. ‘It’s a long story.' She looked at the box
resting against Emily’s hip. ‘Did you get everything you need?'

‘Yeah. Most of the
important stuff. There’s still some crockery and bits and pieces over there,
but that can wait.’

‘Did you see him?’

‘Not a glimpse. I
texted him just before we arrived so he didn’t have the time to work up the
courage to deal with Mum. As expected, he cleared out, and we had our run of
the house. We got in and out as quickly as we could though, in case he decided
to return.’

‘Wise move. He
would have found his nerve eventually and come back.’

Emily was
considering setting her box down on the footpath when Diane hailed them from
the top of the stairs. ‘There you are, Charlotte. What on earth have you done
to your leg?’

Hefting her box
back up her hip, Emily said quietly, ‘How does she do that?  How can she
possibly know you’re hurt?  You’re just standing there.' She sighed and moved
towards the apartment. ‘I hope that long story is one you can share.’

Charlotte grimaced
and hobbled after her.

The version of
events Charlotte chose to share over lunch was obviously sanitised, but Emily
knew better than to press her in front of Diane. She could extricate the
details later, once Diane was on her way back to Melbourne. But before then,
they had a studio to build and after lunch, the three of them descended upon
the gallery. They worked arduously to convert the second room into Emily’s
temporary workspace. Although, or perhaps because he’d done reasonably well at
the exhibition launch, M Talbot had yet to provide any additional pieces for
his show. As such, the second room was underutilised, and it wasn’t hard to
condense the exhibit into the main room. It restricted the exhibition space for
future exhibits, but as long as it was temporary, Charlotte claimed she didn’t
mind.

Charlotte’s focus
was slipping. Her indifference regarding the loss of the space was
uncharacteristic, and she hadn’t been giving the gallery the attention it
needed. The next exhibition was yet to be arranged, and now half the space was
going, it would have to be restricted to something small. Not the best approach
before Christmas. It might have been the kind of thing Charlotte panicked over,
had she ever been known to allow a situation like it to develop.  

Emily was more
suspicious than alarmed by Charlotte’s ambivalence. The development proposal
for the gallery site was distracting, but it was the kind of thing Charlotte
would usually take in her stride. The kind of challenge she'd relish. The
skittishness she’d seen over lunch however, was new, and Emily suspected it had
something to do with the dastardly property developer himself, who appeared to
be getting under her sister’s skin.

Charlotte was
keeping certain things to herself, but Emily would find out what they were. There
was very little they didn’t share. Meanwhile, the mystery would provide a nice
distraction as she waited for time to work its slow but sure magic, and heal
her wounds. One day at a time.

She would get over
Geoff. Only one week into the shock of the separation, she was sure of that. The
speed in which she developed a healthy hatred for him caught her by surprise,
but she could surmise it was Cassette’s role in the whole sordid affair that
facilitated that. Not to disregard her mother’s efforts at fuelling the fire
over the weekend.

She'd have to
speak to him some time. But for now she was determined to keep putting him off,
communicating via text messages only. He could wait until she was stronger. Until
she had a home and some money of her own. Until she wasn’t afraid of being
alone.

Putting her new
studio together, she allowed herself a rare smile. Things
were
looking
up. She had some canvases, paints and brushes, and a place to paint. All she
had to do now was make sure the money followed. Otherwise she might end up
waiting tables at Bean Drinkin’, and nobody wanted that.  

Looking down she
found she was wearing another of Ben’s shirts. At least she already had the
uniform. She'd have to be careful not to get any paint on it once she got to
work.

Finally, after
weeks of faffing about, putting a splash of paint here, a blob there and not
creating anything worthwhile, Emily was overflowing with ideas.
Thank you,
Geoffrey
. Visions filled her dreams, craving release. She couldn’t wait to
get into it. The mock-ups she’d played with, suggested she was about to break
some new ground. A change was in the wind. Ben’s customers might be safe.

As soon as the
finishing touches fell in to place, Emily bustled her mother and sister out and
closed the curtain they’d hung behind them. She squeezed out a dollop of paint
on to her palette and breathed it in. Tentatively at first, then boldly, she
painted.

At some point in
the afternoon, Charlotte summoned her to say goodbye to Diane. It was the first
time Emily had ever declined a trip to the airport, but she couldn’t bear to
stem her flow. The parting hug she gave her mother was full of love. This time
they’d moved past their usual awkwardness, and Emily felt like they were on the
same team. She may have had to give up her marriage to get them there, and
ditching her cheating husband might be difficult now, but, as Emily enjoyed the
feeling of her mother’s arms holding her tight, she was positive that one day
she'd look back and be grateful.  

Charlotte returned
in what seemed like no time at all, and settled herself in the front room
behind her desk. As evening rolled over them, they stayed on, each working in
their own space, on their own projects. It was companionable, despite the
silence and the loose-hanging curtain between them.

Whatever her
sister was up to, it was another secret she was keeping close to her chest, and
Emily was too preoccupied to pry. Apart from a ‘What the fuck?’ exclaimed not
long after she returned from the airport, Charlotte was quiet.

It was rolling on
to 9pm when knocking on the front door brought Emily out, twitching her curtain
to see who was calling. She should have known it would be Ben. Charlotte held
the door open and he slid past her, still in his work uniform, apron included,
carrying a tray full of food. Lifting the tea towel covering it, he revealed
the assorted ingredients of sugarcane prawns. The Hoangs were feeding them
tonight. Salivating over it, Emily realised how hungry she was.

‘Ben, you're a
star,’ Charlotte said as she cleared her desk of her laptop, a sketchbook and a
small pile of paperwork. She came back from the kitchenette with a tablecloth
and threw it over the desk for protection. Ben set the tray down and helped her
with a set of fold-out chairs. A jug of iced water and three glasses later, the
table was set.

‘Dinner is
served,’ Ben announced, taking a seat and looking up at Emily, who hadn’t moved.

Charlotte followed
Ben’s gaze. ‘Come and eat, woman. I know you’re on a roll, but you’ll need
sustenance if you're going to keep it up.’

Emily came
willingly.

Pinching a mint
leaf off the platter before her, Charlotte added, ‘You’ve got paint on your
face.’

‘Of course I do. I’m
working,’ Emily replied. She quickly checked Ben’s t-shirt and cursed when she
spotted a hand-print shaped smudge. She sat down on the other side of the desk
from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

‘Can I see what
you’re working on?’ Charlotte teased.

‘Absolutely not.’

They attacked the
food with vigour and before long were arguing over the best way to lay out the
ingredients on the rice paper, and how to fold it so the roll held. When it was
all gone, and every stick of sugarcane chewed, they rubbed their distended
stomachs.

‘Are you coming to
see Reality Cheque with us the week after next?’ Emily asked Ben. She was
looking forward to seeing her little brother.

‘Can’t,’ replied
Ben. ‘I have a date.’

‘Ooh,’ chimed in
Charlotte. ‘It’s been a while. Why don’t you bring her along?’

‘No offense to
your brother, but that’s not my kind of thing for a first date. Bit too noisy
and sweaty.’

‘
First
date
hey?  Are you implying there might be more?  Have you met someone you would ask
out again?  Where on earth did you meet her?’

‘Enough,
Charlotte,’ Ben scolded, holding up his hands to fend her off. ‘She’s a
customer.’

‘The usual place
then,’ Charlotte teased, finding a lonely bean sprout on the platter and
popping it into her mouth.

‘Shut up,’ he said
wearily.

‘You can give it,
but you can’t take it,’ said Charlotte, ensuring she had the last word.

Emily stood up to
refill the water jug as Ben asked Charlotte if the band would be staying with her.

‘Just Andy, I
think. There’s not really any room for anyone else.’

In the kitchen,
Emily tuned out. After a week on Ben's couch, she was back with Charlotte, and
she was the reason her flat was a little more crowded than usual. Emily had
enough misery and self-pity in her life. She didn’t need to add guilt.

Turning off the
tap, she noticed Charlotte’s laptop and paperwork on the bench beside the sink.
Emily hoped Charlotte had been using the evening to get on top of things,
although she suspected she might be merely mucking about on the internet,
keeping a surreptitious eye on her.

‘What have you
been doing?’ she asked her when she returned, gesturing over her shoulder with
a tip of her head.

‘Oh, thanks for
the reminder. Ben, you need to see this.' Charlotte jumped up and retrieved the
papers, dropping them in front of Ben before clearing the table. ‘It’s the
plans for the development,’ she said, restacking the Hoang’s tray with dirty
dishes.

Curious, Emily
came around the desk to peer over Ben’s shoulder. He slowly sifted through
dozens of pages while Charlotte dropped the tray in the kitchen.

‘Are they
serious?’ he asked eventually.

‘Apparently. That’s
what they submitted,’ Charlotte replied as she returned from the kitchen again
with the sketchbook under her arm.

‘What happened to
all that talk about fitting in with the community?  This thing is an eyesore.’

Emily chimed in. ‘I
know nothing about architecture but that seems so…so 1980s. Do you think
they’ll paint it apricot?' Even to her untrained eye the design was horrendous
and completely out of date.