The Lies We Tell (11 page)

Sia had so adored her father then, it had been pure instinct to step in and save him. An instinct that over time had slowly destroyed everything between them.

Guilt had ridden Frank Collins hard. He’d turned to drinking to dull it but all that had done was harden the guilt into bitterness and hate.

Sia couldn’t forget the father she’d once had — the father she dreamed of having again.

Desperate to bring about that closeness, she decided to continue the conversation. “The Lansings are lovely people, Dad. They’ve forgiven me the slight against them. There’s nothing to worry about in me seeing Todd.”

“You know the Lansings?” Frank screeched.

Sia glanced at him. His face was pale, his eyes wide. Fear, again.

The Lansings scared him?

“Maria is in my art class,” she said. “I’ve been helping her since the stroke. And Paul —”

“No.”

“No?”

“You won’t see any of them any more.”

So it wasn’t that Todd was a potential boyfriend — it was that he was a Lansing. “Dad —”

“I said no. I’m your father. You’ll do as I say.”

Every cell in Sia’s being rebelled against the idea of her father telling her what to do, but she couldn’t just come out and say so. “Dad —“

“So help me, Sia, if you weren’t driving I’d thump some obedience into you. You will do as I say.”

Sia couldn’t respond. She was stunned by the ferocity of her father’s feelings on the matter.

Feelings that did not make a lick of sense.

The drive was completed in silence. She took Frank to the station, where he sullenly signed the forms and swore to be there at nine, one and five every day. At home, Frank decreed that Sia was going to call all his friends and invite them over that night for a party to celebrate his release. Then he went to have a nap.

The first person she called was Todd and the sound of his deep voice instantly calmed her.

“I hope you’re calling with some good news.”

“Yes and no. Dad’s home.”

“He got bail?”

“Yes. He’s got to wear an alcohol bracelet so he can’t drink, he has to go to the station three times a day, can’t leave home between eight pm and eight am, plus he can’t leave Oberon until the day of his trial.”

“I hope for your sake he sticks to it.”

“He will,” Sia said. “So that’s the good news. The bad news is you.”

“Ah. He’s still not warmed to me and so you won’t be warming me?”

Sia smiled. “I’m afraid not. And not just you — I’m banned from all Lansings.”

“Really?”

“It’s strange. He’s never in his life banned me from knowing anyone. And the look on his face. Without hearing it directly from him, I’d say he’s scared of you all. But I don’t understand why.”

“Perhaps he’s worried you’ll tell us the truth and then it will spread through the town.”

“Then maybe if I tell him that you know but you aren’t going to tell, he’ll be okay.”

“I’m game for anything that gets me to see you again sooner rather than later.”

Sia shook her head. “You really are good for my ego.”

“I’m going to be good for other parts of you too.”

“Are you sure it’s in your best interest to talk yourself up like that?”

“Since talking is the only outlet I’ve got at the moment, I’ll take the risk.”

It was ridiculous, that her father’s prejudice was keeping her from the first man who’d ever made her blood run hot with some well-directed words.

“Why isn’t this easy?” she said.

“The worthwhile things seldom are.”

“I’ll keep working on Dad, see if I can’t turn him around.”

“And I’ll keep working on you to sneak around behind his back. Very naughty. Very hot.”

Sia was smiling as she hung up. She really hoped she could find a way to make things work with Todd.

“Hello, princess.” Bubba planted a kiss on Sia’s cheek. “Well, you’ve done good this time.”

Sia certainly thought so. She’d managed to get in touch with more than a dozen of Frank’s old friends, and all of them had agreed to go sans alcohol for his sake. To make up for that and get them in the party mood, Sia had gone all out with the spread and made jugs of non-alcoholic drinks that were going down very well.

Music was playing, she’d strung the Christmas lights across the backyard and everything was festive.

“He looks happy,” Sia said, seeking out her father. He was standing with a couple of men, his head tipped back laughing uproariously. It made her heart sing to see him like that.

“Not sure he deserves it,” Bubba murmured.

Sia squeezed his hand. “Now we’ve got the alcohol out of his system, he’ll come back to us. You’ll see.” She looked around. “Where’s Michael?”

“He stayed home. It’s the anniversary and he knows I need time.”

Sia gave the muscled arm another squeeze. Today marked eleven years since Bubba had met David, the love of his life. They’d had eighteen great months together then David had disappeared. Bubba had suffered, and Sia had always felt bad she’d never given him enough support because it had happened at the same time she was going through her own personal hell.

“Michael’s a good man.”

“He is.” Bubba’s smile was full of love. “I’m lucky. In fact, I’ve got some news. We’ve decided to have a baby.”

“Bubba, that’s wonderful.” Sia threw her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. “You and Michael will be wonderful parents. So what will you do — adopt? Foster?”

“Actually, we want the child to be biologically one of ours.”

“So you’re going to have sex with a woman?” Bubba blanched and Sia laughed. “Artificial insemination then. With a surrogate.”

“Exactly. Although who we’re going to get to do that, I have no idea.”

“There are professional surrogates, aren’t there? Women you can pay to bear your child.”

“We certainly intend to pay, but we’d like it to be someone local, so we can be involved in the pregnancy. I doubt there’s any professional surrogates in Bathurst.”

“You never know,” Sia said. “I’ll cross everything for you.”

“Thanks, princess.” Bubba kissed her cheek. “Now, I’m gonna say hi to your dad and then I’m gonna split.”

To go get drunk and deal with his grief over David. Sia wondered how she’d cope if she ever found the love of her life and then he left her.

A vision of Todd rose in her mind and she pushed it away. Not him. Despite the fact they’d resolved their differences, and wanted each other like crazy, she wasn’t going to buy into the dream that her teenage crush was her one true love. Todd would eventually leave Oberon, return to his life in the police force and she’d be here, helping her dad raise the kids.

It was best she didn’t set herself up for disappointment by thinking it could be more.

By the time the party was over, Frank seemed a little more well-disposed toward Sia. She worked the next day, and when she got home it was to find her father bathing Brock and Ebonny and reading to them, just like he had with her and Sienna. It gave her hope.

Unfortunately, Sienna hadn’t forgiven Frank, even after he’d seen the bruise, realised it was his fault and apologised profusely. When she got home, she treated him with such disdain that it wiped out all the good Frank had been feeling.

He’d turned on Sia, saying she must have been poisoning her sister. After spewing invective at her, he’d stumbled into bed. Sia wouldn’t let herself cry, but it was hours before she went to sleep.

So she woke on one of the most important days of her life feeling cranky and with red-rimmed eyes.

Frank, in an effort to win favour with Sienna, decreed that he would babysit and Sienna could go to Sydney as well. So just after lunch Sia and Sienna got into the back of Mary and Jim’s station wagon and the four of them set off to attend the opening of Sia’s exhibition.

They’d hired an apartment in a residential tower in Sydney for the night. The view was of a less-than-impressive brick wall, but still it was one of the most glamorous places Sia and Sienna had seen. The two-bedroom flat had a large-screen television with cable, and two bathrooms.

The sisters got ready in their room. Sia had chosen a simple black sleeveless shift that hinted at rather than hugging the curves beneath. She brightened it up with thick, colourful jewellery — bangles, necklace and earrings in a blend of blue and green with hints of gold. Sienna brushed Sia’s hair until it flowed like a river of gold down her back. She kept her make-up simple.

“You look so sophisticated,” Sienna said. “Like the muse, rather than the artist.”

The gallery was in an old shopfront in Darlinghurst. The front window was frosted to hide the work within, but a framed poster on the door advertised Sia’s exhibition.

The four of them knocked on the door, Sia’s hands shaking. So much that could go right tonight.

So much that could go wrong.

The gallery owner flung open the door with a flourish. “And here’s the beautiful artist, ready to dazzle as surely as her work.”

“Hello, Mr Cochrane.” Sia gave the requisite air kisses. “This is my sister, Sienna, and my friends Mary and Jim Coluchino.”

“Sienna, enchante. My dear, if you’re not a model you should be. Glorious.”

“Thanks.” Sienna grinned as the back of her hand was kissed.

Sia walked into the space and stopped, astounded. The walls were painted a stark white and so the vivid colours of her work sprang out like shrieks, laughter and racking sobs.

She slowly walked around the gallery. Each painting had its own light positioned, to best hit the point of the work where the emotion was at its height. They were hung at differing heights — some towering over her, others close and confidential.

Cochrane had done a brilliant job of displaying them.

He caught up with her when she stood in front of nine one seven five. The masterpiece had been hung at the back of the room, with several metres between it and the other works so it rested alone in the space, untouched by the softening impact of the other paintings. Every time she looked at it, the intensity of emotion she’d captured hit her hard.

No wonder Todd had been unable to resist it.

“I’ve had two offers for this,” Cochrane said. “Massive offers. They don’t know of the other yet but when I tell them, there will be a bidding war.”

“It’s already sold.”

“Then give me the contact details for the owner and I’ll make him or her rich.”

“It’s with the right owner.”

Cochrane shook his head. “You’re going to be the death of me, Sia Collins.”

The doors were opened and people started to come. An intriguing mix of high society, with their tailored clothes and glittering jewels; and art students, with their bohemian beauty and unique styling.

Sia worked the crowd, talking to as many people as she could. She had little time for collectors, finding few of them bought the works for what they meant rather than what they perceived the value would be. Conversations with art students could be hit or miss — some dismissed her when they realised she was self-taught, others were anxious to discover how it had worked for her and soon they were involved in a wide-ranging discussion of process and inspiration.

An hour had passed before Sia noticed the girl. She was standing by one of the paintings in the corner. Her hand continued to move — reaching out to almost touch the work, then back to grasp at her mouth as if wanting to pull words out, then back toward the painting.

Sia approached. By the girl’s side, the tracks of tears down her face were obvious. Sia’s heart went out to her.

“What is it saying to you?” she said softly.

The girl looked at Sia. Blue eyes welled with moisture. “My mother died of cancer a few months ago,” the girl whispered. Sia’s heart broke.

“The thing that struck me at the time was that even though she was in so much pain, and so worried about us, she’d reached this point of peace that just shone out of her. When I was by myself, I was desolate. When I was with her, I smiled and laughed and there was hope in the world.”

The girl turned back to the painting and again reached for it, her fingertips stopping just centimetres away. “That’s what this is. That hope. That joy. That peace.”

“I want you to have it.”

The girl shook her head. “I can’t afford it.”

“I’ll take whatever you can afford.”

The girl turned to her. “Why?”

“Because you and this painting are meant to be together. Wait here.” Sia searched the crowd and found Cochrane. She pulled him aside, into a corner.

“That girl is going to have that painting.” She pointed to the new owner, who stared at her work with wonder. “Whatever she can afford, that’s what you’ll take. If it doesn’t cover your commission, I’ll pay the difference myself.”

“You’ll pay someone to own a painting?”

“It belongs to her.” Sia took his arm and dragged him over.

“This is Bill Cochrane, the owner of the gallery. Tell him what you can afford and he’ll arrange it.” She held her hand out. “Red dot, please.”

Cochrane pursed his lips, but he pulled a sticker out of his pocket and gave it to her. Sia put it on the description and smiled at the girl. “There, it’s yours. May it bring you peace.”

“Thank you.” The girl gave Sia a crushing hug, then traipsed off with Cochrane.

Sia looked at the work, confident that now at least two of the paintings in the exhibition were going to their rightful owners.

“Keep giving paintings away and you’ll never make a career.”

Sia gasped, spun around then gasped again. Todd stood behind her, looking more incredible than any man had a right to in a suit that drew attention to his wide shoulders and trim hips.

“You’re here.” Her eyes moved over him, hungrily, dumbfounded.

“I wasn’t going to miss the most important night of your career.”

She looked up into his eyes and her father no longer mattered. The shimmering need between them was everything.

“You’ve got your hair down,” he whispered.

“It’s going to look fabulous spread over your pillow.”

Todd inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. “Damn, why do you say things like that in public when I can’t do anything about it?”

“Building the anticipation.”