Thirty Days: Part One Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Note to the Reader

  HEXED

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighten

  FRIENDS

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  THIRTY DAYS: Part One

  Published 2016

  ISBN 9780994634719

  ©2016 by Belle Brooks

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Obie Books, Po Box 2302, Yeppoon QLD Australia 4703.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All rights are reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in past in any form. This edition is published in arrangement with Obie Books Q.L.D.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Obie Books

  Po Box 2302

  Yeppoon Qld 4701

  AUSTRALIA

  Cover design by Tracey Weston ©2016

  Formatted by Max Henry of Max Effect

  Editing and Proofreading by Karen Harper and Emily A Lawrence.

  For my husband Michael

  Thank you for encouraging the voices in my head to be heard, for embracing my utter clumsiness and lack of direction—both in life and in actually finding my way to any venue without at least a one-hour detour—and loving me regardless. For driving me crazy just enough that I want to vent about it in fictional words.

  I’ll love you forever.

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  This book has been written using UK English and contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

  Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday, Australian vernacular.

  In a Haze

  “Abi, what are you doing on my front lawn? Do you know it’s two a.m. and bloody cold out?” The sound is close.

  One eye strains open as what looks like red hair tickles my nose. “Huh,” I slur, unsure as to where the hell I am.

  “Are you drunk? Oh crap, you’re drunk off your head, aren’t you? I can smell it, don’t even deny it.” A set of pale blue eyes filled with worry look down at me.

  “You could say that.” I giggle.

  “So you’re still taking this well, I see?”

  “Huh,” I slur again.

  “Get off your arse and get inside.”

  “I’m a big girl. Now unhand me, lady,” I spit as she drags my body across wet grass.

  “Fuck, Abi, you said you were okay now.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Clearly.”

  The door slams hard. The carpet is soft under my cheek. Feet stomp past my head, but soon return. A blurry hand shoves a glass of clear liquid in my face. “Drink this. We need to sober you up.”

  “I don’t wanna.” My fingers stroke the carpet as I fight the urge to vomit.

  “Well, you need to. What were you doing out there?”

  “Sleeping. Remembering better times,” I mumble.

  “Great. Just great, Abi. What am I going to do with you?”

  “Kind stranger, if you could take me home…” My eyes flutter before closing.

  ***

  “What are your plans for today?” His tone was clipped.

  I stood on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss upon his cheek. “Not much, honey. Have a great day golfing with the boys.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my tone, knowing how much he hated golf.

  “I’ll probably get my butt handed to me. Abi, tell me, why do I have to rub shoulders with the big boys, exactly?” Stress lines marred his face.

  “Because it’s how you’ll land your dream job. Now get going before you’re late.” I tapped his fine arse as he walked away.

  “Ouch!” he yelped.

  “You were happy enough to do that to me last night, weren’t you?”

  His eyebrows rose, his big brown eyes gleamed. He finally smiled. A soft kiss took my lips. There was no passion, no desire. I ignored it. Then he was gone.

  Dashing to the car, I stumbled. My dress lifted, exposing my barely contained buttocks as my knee grazed on contact with the cement. There was little blood, but it stung something fierce.

  “I’m going to be late.” I hobbled to the car.

  Before long, I was driving my VW down the A1 with haste. Sammy, my beautiful best friend, had called shotgun on pick-up, which made her in charge of music as we travelled into Brisbane from the Coast. Ange and Sophie chattered away happily in the back seat as I glanced at the thick bushland that skirted the smooth highway. I enjoyed the drive into the city. The smell of pine wafting on the breeze brought back happy memories of my childhood.

  “So did you tell him you were going wedding dress shopping today?” Sophie asked, a grin lifting the corners of her mouth.

  A nervous laugh escaped past my own lips. “No, it didn’t come up.”

  “Do you have a particular style of dress in mind?” Ange leaned into the back of my seat as she spoke, her breath skimming my ear.

  “No, not really. Something elegant and sophisticated. I mean, if I’m going to be the wife of a possible future mayor, I want to be classy.”

  They cooed.

  “Don’t roll those big greens at us,” Sammy scolded. I must have rolled my eyes, because she slapped my thigh hard. “It might work on lover boy, but on us, it’s wasted.”

  “He will be mayor. You know that, right?” Ange blurted, giving her vote of confidence.

  I took a moment to think about her statement. “Well, that’s his dream. We just have to believe in him…”

  “You’re getting married,” Sammy interrupted squealing, clapping her hands. “And I’m going to be your maid of honour, so that means I’m in charge of everything…I have the perfect song for this trip.” Her normal cheeky tone calmed me.

  Classic Sammy.

  A second later, Paramore burst from the speakers. “Still Into You. Good choice,” I breathed, relaxing into the leather seat, thinking about our destination—City Bridal. A prestigious boutique in
the heart of Brisbane where chandeliers hung from high ceilings and every accessory or dream could be met—if requested. The entire place radiated glitz and glamour.

  Twelve wide steps made our entry. Champagne flutes filled with bubbles awaited our arrival, standing tall on an oval tray. Long fingers belonging to Bethany, my consultant, handed each one out. Her kind smile silently confirmed that this was indeed the place where wedding day dresses completed dreams. Each one of the girls headed straight towards neatly placed racks. My eyes were taken immediately to a mannequin. My dress spoke my name. It called for me. There was never a need to look, it was always going to be hanging there.

  Butterflies danced in my stomach as my shaking hands draped a one-strap, lace white wedding dress over my pale skin. My reflection made me gasp as Bethany fastened the last button. The first dress I tried on was more beautiful than I could have imagined.

  “You look gorgeous, so tall and thin. I think this dress might have been made for you.” Bethany’s golden eyes widened as her lips arched. “I wish I had your height.” Her flattery didn’t go unnoticed.

  I walked out of the fitting room. “Are you three ready for me?”

  “Hurry up already,” they cried in anticipation.

  “Well?” I whispered, stopping in front of them.

  Their mouths gaped open. Their tears began to fall.

  “Stunning.” My best friend’s pale blue eyes filled with moisture. It was exactly that…stunning.

  I stood staring at my reflection in the mirror behind them. I couldn’t believe that girl was me. This dress was amazing. “It’s almost four thousand dollars. That’s too much money to spend on a piece of clothing for one day.” I frowned, turning to walk back towards the fitting rooms, discouraged.

  “It’s worth every penny,” they said in unison, gathering around me.

  “I know it’s the first dress you’ve tried, but it’s ‘the dress’ and worth the price tag,” Sammy encouraged.

  I bit at my lower lip. “It’s too much.”

  They could see my hesitation. Sophie stopped me, turning me back towards the mirror. I saw my reflection again.

  “Look at you, girl.”

  I did.

  “Buy the dress, Abi. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Sir Romeo said no price was too much when we talked about dresses last month.” Sammy’s palm rubbed my back. “Hand over your plastic,” she whispered.

  I did.

  The drive back was just as relaxing, only now the boot contained one expensive wedding dress. I dropped the girls at Sammy’s house and made my way home. He was already there.

  “You’re back already, honey?” Surprise lifted my eyebrows halfway up my forehead.

  “Yes, it was a quick nine rounds and a few beers.” The newspaper covered his face, his leg crossed over the other. He was comfortable in the leather couch with our tiny pug dog, Bella, curled up beside him. The paper lowered. His eyes narrowed until I could barely see the brown colouration. “You’re flushed, Abi.” It felt like a question.

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. What have you been up to?” His tone was calm.

  “You know…buying a wedding dress.” I bit at my nail, a nervous habit I couldn’t get rid of.

  “Oh. I see.”

  The atmosphere was tense, but I didn’t see what was coming.

  Walking back out to the car, I removed the opaque bag. On my return, the three stairs back to our apartment felt like ten. The wooden floors echoed with each footstep as my stilettos made contact. Finally, the carpet from the bedroom floor stopped the sound.

  “Is it in there?” He was hovering behind me, and I almost jumped in fright. “You’re flushed again,” he murmured under his breath.

  “Am I?” I saw my reflection in the mirror, the one taking up space in the corner of our room. I was.

  He shook his head, ran his hands through his chestnut hair, and then exhaled with force.

  “What’s wrong? Do you want to see it?” My heart began to pound at a frantic tempo.

  “No,” he replied quickly. Too quickly. “I…” He huffed. “Why…?” He couldn’t find the words.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought a dress yet.” Tears welled up, blurring my vision as his head dropped.

  “I can’t do this.” His voice was weak and apologetic.

  “Do what?”

  “I can’t marry you, Abi.”

  My heart stopped beating. My lungs forgot to claim air. The world stopped spinning. The love of my life was no longer mine.

  ***

  “Hey, sleepyhead, get up,” a stern but sweet voice greets my awakening state.

  “My head,” I gripe. “Water, please. Water.”

  “I’ve got you covered, but you don’t deserve it.”

  Sammy’s voice. Shit. Where am I?

  “I’m sure I don’t, but please give it to me.” The water cuts through my throat like razor blades. Kill me.

  “I guess you aren’t coping then?” One strained eye opens. She looks concerned as her long torso hunches over me.

  “What would give you that idea?” My throat is dry and raspy. Did I smoke?

  “Probably finding you on the grass out front, drunk again. You rambling about something that happened a while ago now—those reasons. Look, Abi, your dog dying and finding out your ex-fiancé is engaged again, in one day, is a lot to go through, it is…but it’s been a month, and you can’t keep dwelling on the past. No good is going to come from this. You need to get it together. Abigail, she was just a dog. It’s not the same as when your dad passed. Get another dog if it will make you feel better.” She gasps for air after her lengthy and uncompassionate spiel.

  My mouth drops open. I’m staggered by this lack of empathy. “She wasn’t just a dog. She can’t just be replaced. Bella was my baby. I loved her. Why would you even bring up my dad? God, what the actual fuck?” Anger builds.

  “Sweetie. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” Sammy stands upright, rubbing her fingers into each temple. “Abigail. Please. You need to let this hurt out in a way that doesn’t include a bottle of liquor. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

  “It can’t happen. If I do, I’ll never stop.”

  She sits down beside me. I’m in her bed—the tacky 1980s yellow curtains are a dead giveaway. “You’re safe here. I love you, Abi. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll always have me.” Playing with the loose strands of my hair, she sighs. My dirty blond locks slide with ease between her fingers. Softly, her voice begins to hum and then sing Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton, the same song they played at my father’s funeral. Salty water slides over my lips. At first it’s a slow stream, but before long I’m sobbing, then crying and what I feared would happen, howling.

  “It’s not fair,” I scream in pain.

  She continues singing.

  My heartbreak engulfs me.

  Five Months Later

  My life has been one train wreck after another. I used to be the poster child for positivity and belief in the greater good. You know what? Life sucks. It’s cruel and unfair. I’m hexed. I swear this occurred on the day I was born. So many things have happened in my life that would crush even the strongest. But I held brave. Now I don’t believe. Now I realise that each one was terrible. Now I know my life is cursed. How naive I was.

  Apparently, I was in a hurry to enter this world, but why I even bothered making an entrance baffles me. I’m not kidding. My mother tells my birth story to anybody who will stay long enough to hear it.

  “Abigail torpedoed out from my crutch at such speed, her father and I thought she was some sort of action hero, desperate to save lives. Luckily for us, the nurse on call caught her before she hanged herself on her cord or went flying through the opposing wall.”

  Yeah, my mother has a big personality. She is definitely what you’d call a character, and it’s her story that confirms my belief that I’m indeed hexed. Honestly, I’m convinced that nurse was a wicked witch wielding an evil wand, ready to m
ess up my life from the beginning.

  "Hocus Pocus, you’re cursed, little baby. Enjoy the shit storm that is about to be your life. Let’s see if you will break.”

  I’m at breaking point now.

  Every day of every year got worse. If that’s even possible. So far, my life has consisted of twenty-four years of crap-a-moley.

  Today is the first of November. It started as another crappy arse day, with these crappy arse people. Except Sammy. Sammy is probably the only decent person in my life. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve probably drowned myself by now. Did I mention the Hex?

  So after my grand arrival, I guess I started out just like everybody else. I wore nappies. I learnt to crawl and then walked. My first memory is of being really excited because Mum bought me a pretty pink dress and adorable pink sandals for the first day of preschool. An oversized bow was placed in my hair, which was plaited perfectly. Skipping close beside her the entire way to class, my stomach filled with what back then I’d explain as the feeling of bubbles popping. Unfortunately, that day was like all the rest that followed. Horrible. Justin Pershouse, a chubby, freckle-nosed redhead, took the scissors from the teacher’s table and cut my hair completely off just under the tie. In two seconds flat I went from having long princess hair to a chin length bob. School was ruined for me from that day forward. The funniest thing about this is I grew up to become a teacher. A job I’m currently on leave from, without pay. Go figure.

  I know you’re thinking, well, yes, that was unfortunate, but I hardly think this is the workings of voodoo magic. Well, you’re very wrong. You’re also thinking I’m a twenty-four-year-old spoilt brat who’s high as a kite. Trust me, I’m not high—I’m as sober as a judge. Really, that saying is probably not a great one to use, considering my uncle Rick got two years in prison from a judge who was clearly not sober and quite frankly, probably high. But that’s a story for another day.

  In thirty days I will turn twenty-five. My life sucks. I have no direction, no prospects, no job, and no fiancé. I live in my mother’s house. It’s just the two of us in a house too big for two people. My dad died when I was seventeen. My parents never graced me with siblings. Something tells me my birth and the story that accompanies that day had something to do with their decision.