Promises (22 page)

As if on cue two girls came dancing down the pathway squealing, “Aunty Izzy!  Aunty Izzy!”

It should have warmed her, instead it made her go cold.  The girls were not supposed to be a part of this meeting.  As they clutched onto her, hugging and proclaiming their excitement at seeing her, she looked at the doorway to see Moira and Jarrod standing there, all smiles and nodding like they were so glad to see her.

Her cheek pressed to Izzy’s arm, Susie looked up at her.  “You’re my favourite Aunty!”

Tracey danced on her toes.  “Mum said you’re going to make everything better!”

Oh God.  What had Moira told her daughters?

“Thank you so much, Aunty Izzy.”  Susie squeezed her.  “I love you!”

Coming down the path, Jarrod’s arm around her shoulders, Moira smiled.  “Now, girls, let your Aunty breath.”

It made Izzy sick.  She knew this for what it was, could see it all in one cynical glance. 

The girls hardly knew her because Moira and Jarrod had rarely brought them around to visit.  The few times they had the little old house hadn’t been good enough for the girls, the smell of their grandmother’s illness making them sick they proclaimed, so Moira hadn’t bothered to bring them to visit anymore.  They hadn’t even come to the funeral.  Now they were fawning all over her, no doubt prepped by their mother.

Children or not, their fault or not, Izzy wasn’t having it.  Carefully but firmly, she disentangled herself from their arms.  “Nice to see you both, too.  As for helping, I’m here to meet with your parents.”

“Oh, the girls have missed you so.” Moira’s eyes widened.  “Aren’t you happy to see them?”

Almost as if on cue again, Susie and Tracey moved to her side where Moira could gather them close to her.  All four of them looked at Izzy like she’d just broken the girls’ favourite toys.

Refusing to be drawn into the web they were trying to weave, Izzy looked at Jarrod.  “Are we talking about everything in front of the girls?  Because I’ll do it.”

He went from benevolent father to bitter man in a flash.  “No need to be nasty, Izzy.”

“I’ve things to do, places to be, people to see, and you two weren’t on that list to start with.”  She met his gaze steadily even while her heart thumped uncomfortably.  Confrontations were not her forte.  “Now, what do you want?”

Moira’s eyes hardened.  “Girls, go inside.”  At their protests, she snapped, “Now!”

Sullenly they obeyed, their eyes, which had been so happy and welcoming, now angry and belligerent as they cast Izzy one last scornful glance before walking back into the duplex.

“You were hard on them,” Moira made one last attempt.  “They’re only children.”

“You tried to use them to manipulate me.  It’s not going to happen.”  Izzy folded her arms.  “What do you want?”

“Not out here.”  Turning, Jarrod stalked into the duplex.

“Come on.”  Moira smiled, still trying to play loving big sister.

Definitely not wanting to, Izzy nevertheless followed her inside.

The duplex was small, the furniture shabby, not the place she’d expect Moira and Jarrod to be living in.  No wonder the girls were pissed, this would not meet their expectations or demands, and would shame them in the eyes of their upper-crust friends.

She couldn’t help it.  “I like your
home
.”

Moira’s jaw tightened.  “We’re only renting it while here to see you.”

The lounge room was tiny, a small room combining the kitchen, dining room and lounge.  Jarrod was pouring himself something alcoholic from a bottle.  No fancy decanter, Izzy noted, no fancy snifters.  Instead he used a normal glass, filling it right up to the brim.

He gestured to the sofa.  “Take a seat.”

Izzy chose an armchair instead, perching on the edge of it, keeping her bag on her shoulder.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Moira draped herself on the sofa, looking decidedly out of place in the shabby surroundings in her expensive pantsuit.

“No need.  I’m not staying long.”

Jarrod swallowed a large mouthful of what smelled like brandy, bared his teeth at the burn, and then stood with one hand in his pocket, legs in expensive slacks braced apart.  Positioning himself so that he could look down on both women.

Intimidation tactics, making her look up.

Izzy sighed.  “You look ridiculous.  Stop posturing and sit down, Jarrod.”

His nostrils flared but at a warning glance from Moira, he dropped down on the sofa beside her.

“Now, Izzy,” her sister began.  “We need to discuss something rather delicate with you.”

Izzy didn’t reply.

“We’ve kind of fallen on hard times.  Jarrod’s company…” Moira paused.

“Went broke,” he finished.

They both waited.

If it was for Izzy to say how sorry she was, they could wait until the cows came home.  She just nodded.

Jarrod looked away in disgust.  “Like you care.”

He was right.  She didn’t give a rat’s arse and she wasn’t going to pretend.

“We were in a lot of debt, you know, big house, cars.”  Moira gave a tinkling little laugh, managing to make it sad as well.  “Credit cards.  The girls’ schooling at that prestigious school.  Only the best of education, you understand.”

Izzy could imagine.  But now she was getting an idea what they wanted, and the banked anger was starting to burn.

“Anyway, we couldn’t afford everything.  Oh, Izzy.” Moira’s eyes filled with tears.  “We lost everything.  The house, the cars, the boat.  We have nothing. 
Nothing
.”

“Many people have faced the same situation,” Izzy replied.  “I could talk to the manager of some nearby supermarkets, see if they have a job going for you.”

Jarrod and Moira's reaction was exactly as she’d expected.  Jarrod’s face darkened even as Moira’s nose wrinkled.

“Work for shit money?” He scowled.  “After running my own company?  Are you kidding me?”

“It’d be more money than you have now,” Izzy pointed out.

“You might like crawling around the bottom of the pond in the sludge-“ he began, only to be interrupted quickly by Moira.

“Izzy, we wouldn’t come to you for help unless we really needed it.”

“Considering I crawl around at the bottom of the pond in the sludge and earn shit money, I hardly see how I can be of help.”

“You must have Mum’s money still.”

Izzy stilled.  Jesus, she was right.  She’d suspected what they were after and here it was, out in the open.

“What,” she said coldly, clasping her hands together to stop them from shaking with fury, “happened to the money you got?”

“It’s all gone along with the company.”

Izzy stood up.  “You forced me into selling Mum’s home even though she willed it to me because you were so well-off, you left me homeless, you took half the money and lost it, and now you think you can come here and ask me for more?”

“Do you still have it?” Jarrod asked bluntly.  “You don’t have kids, so unless you pissed it up the wall you have it stashed in a bank somewhere just wasting away.”

Izzy looked at them both.  Her sister and brother-in-law, both expecting her to just hand over everything she had.  Indignation welled, fury and sadness combining to knot uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

“After all you did-” she began heatedly.

“Oh, come on!”  Jarrod threw his hands out.  “This old drivel again?  Get a clue, Izzy, the world doesn’t revolve around you and your pathetic moaning and whining!”

Moira groaned.  “Jarrod!”  Quickly she stood, reached out to take Izzy’s hand.  “Izzy, he doesn’t mean-”

“He does.”  Izzy stepped back out of reach.  “And I’m telling you now, my money is mine.  All I have left is mine.  You had several chances and your last cheap shot was taking what was mine after we’d all agreed.  Then you lost that as well.”

Rolling his eyes, Jarrod flopped back on the sofa.

“You can be like that, Jarrod,” Izzy snapped.  “But where were you two when I needed you?  When Mum needed you?”

“I visited,” Moira said stiffly.  “I brought food and stuff.”

“Stuff?”
  Izzy shook her head.  “Whatever.  Now get this.  I’m not handing you one red cent.  If I had the money I wouldn’t give you even a sniff.”

Jarrod’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed.  “Are you saying you don’t have the money?”

“I’m saying no.  You two can learn to look after yourselves.  Here’s a helpful hint, Jarrod.  And Moira.  Get a job like everyone else and earn your way.  It’s what we all do at the bottom of the pond.”

Jarrod leaped to his feet, the brandy in his glass sloshing dangerously.  “You bitch!”

Swinging on her heel, Izzy made for the door.

“Think of me!”  Moira wailed.  “Your nieces!  We’re
family
!”

Opening the door, Izzy looked over her shoulder.  “The day we were family died the day the will was read.  Goodbye.  Don’t contact me again or I will get that restraining order.”  Turning, she pointed at Jarrod’s furious face, Moira’s equally angry one.  “And if I get a restraining order, I’m going to let everyone in the social circles you used to move in know why.”  With that, she slammed the door behind her and walked down the pathway, forcing herself not to run.

Behind her she heard the crash of glass against a wall, Jarrod’s swearing, her nieces demanding to know when the money was coming, and Moira yelling at them to shut the hell up.

No way to bring up kids.  But no way could Izzy interfere.  They weren’t family to her.

Getting into her car, she willed her shaking hands to turn the key in the ignition and drive off.  Only when she was well away did she pull over in a quiet car park of an equally quiet shopping centre, lean her forehead on the steering wheel and let the shaking consume her.

But she wouldn’t cry.  Damn it, they couldn’t make her cry anymore.

She told herself this even as the tears spilled over.  Leaning back in the seat, she wiped her eyes but more tears came.  Swearing softly, she popped open the glove box and grabbed some tissues from the little packet she kept in there.  Blotting the tears helped, but more replaced them.

Confrontations.  How she hated them.

Taking a deep breath, she wound down the window for some fresh air, gulping it in gratefully, only to find herself face to face with Lora Dawson.

“Hi, Izzy.”  Laying a work-roughened hand on the windowsill, Lora leaned down to look in at her.  “Want to talk about it?”

Talk about mortifying discoveries.  Her boyfriend’s mother finding her in an almost deserted car park blubbering and wiping her face.

“No,” Izzy replied, and burst into tears.

Completely unfazed, Lora said, “Okay.  Now unlock the passenger door.”

It wasn’t like she could just refuse.  Well, she could, but Lora’s acceptance of her answer was just…and the woman herself was just…  Tears blurring her vision, unable to even pretend to be all right, Izzy flipped the switch and the passenger door unlocked.  Lora walked around, opened the door, slid into the seat, and then just sat calmly looking out the windscreen at the traffic beyond the car park.

Self-consciously, Izzy tried to stop crying, wiping her eyes and casting sideways glances at her boyfriend’s
mother
.  Geez, could it get anymore awkward?

The silence between them was broken by Izzy’s hiccups, the occasional sob, and finally her blowing her nose before dabbing one last time at her eyes with her sleeve, mostly because she’d run out of tissues.  Stuffing the dirty ones in the little plastic bin bag hanging off the gearstick, she cleared her throat and sniffed.

“Feel better?” Lora followed the progress of a group of push-bikers riding down the street.

“Not really.”  Izzy gave a small laugh.

“Sometimes that saying that a good cry makes it all better can be utter crap.”

That took Izzy by surprise.

“Whoever said that has never cried and then turned around to be in the same exact situation with no chance of change.”  Resting her elbow on the windowsill, Lora trailed her fingertips along the handle above the passenger door.

“Sometimes it changes nothing.”  Pulling the sleeve of the cardigan over one hand, Izzy picked at a loose thread.

“Every time my husband hit me, I’d cry in private.”  Lora’s expression remained calm.

Surprised that Lora would broach that particular subject so soon, Izzy pulled the loose thread more, slipping her finger into the loop that formed.

“No point crying in front of people, they’d just tell me to walk away, to be my own woman.  Those who have been through it, they know, they understand how hard it is to leave.  How beaten down you become, how you start to believe that you’re as worthless as your old man tells you you are.”  Lora shifted her arm, traced the windowsill with her finger.

Izzy saw now that her fingernails were short but painted a pretty pearl pink.  Work-roughened hands with nail polish.  Honest hands. 

“You keep hoping that one day it’ll all get better, you tell yourself it will get better, you pray it will get better.”  Lora’s face remained tranquil, her quiet voice steady.  “And then one day you know it won’t and you’re planning on leaving, and then you get pregnant.  And you don’t want to go back home pregnant and beaten, so you stay because now you’re having a baby and it will have to stop, won’t it?  And it does…for awhile.  The beatings stop, but abuse comes in so many forms.”