Chapter 1

One

“The security van just pulled up. You better have pants on!” Mum calls from down the hall.

“Maybe we’ll get a discount if I prance around without them,” I answer with a smirk.

“Aria Liliana Davies, that is not funny!” she scolds, walking through my open bedroom door holding two glasses of water.

“Firstly, I’m hilarious,” I say, getting up off the floor and winding my way through the stack of half unpacked boxes to get to her. “Secondly, I am going to need more coffee to get me through all of this unpacking—not that.” I point at the second glass of water she places on the desk near the door. “And finally, after the lengthy and stern warnings last night, I was under the impression I was to remain in my tower, hidden from the evil workmen who may offend my delicate sensibilities by showing off their ass cracks, as is the language of their kind.” I sigh, putting a hand to my forehead with a flourish and fake feinting in the armchair in the corner.

“Okay, drama queen.” Mum laughs softly, shaking her head. “With such an incredible sense of humour, and flair for exaggerating everything, I still have no idea why you chose law and politics for your double degree. But you will certainly blend in with your unhealthy addiction to caffeine.”

Jumping back up to my feet, I sink into a deep bow, accepting the silent applause of my imaginary audience. “We both know that my stellar acting will be an enormous advantage while I ‘fake it ’til I make it.’”

I walk past her, ready to head downstairs and acquire the next cup of coffee—liquid gold—when she grabs my arm, stopping me. “How about I grab you that coffee, and you keep working your way through all this,” she says hurriedly.

“I thought you ‘refused to be an enabler,’” I accuse, using air quotes and imitating her frequent catchphrase whenever I ask for more coffee after the first morning cup.

“I have to stay on your good side in case I need you to pick me up from work once the weather turns, so I don’t have to walk the three blocks to the train station.”

Mum doesn’t like driving in traffic. She used to get frustrated when we hit “peak hour” in the country town we lived in until a few days ago, and that was barely twenty cars!

The doorbell rings, and Mum rushes out of the room.

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the contractors you are about to let in the house,” I call after her, but I don’t move to follow, knowing when to pick my battles. I’m never going to win this one.

Grabbing the pocketknife off the side table, I open the sealed box closest to the armchair and take the packing paper off the top to see what’s inside. I really should have labelled these better than “Aria’s room.” I stare at the stack of framed photos looking up at me. Without seeing them, I know every single one is of Mum and me. Different ages, different places, but always the same; my beautiful, blonde-haired and blue-eyed mother, with her little mini me. Truly, even I see how much we look alike. Only I have big green eyes, rather than her blue. It has always been just the two of us. Her parents died when she was sixteen, and she was an only child, of only children, so she has no family besides me. My dad, well, he wasn’t ever a part of my life.

I startle when Mum walks back in with a steaming mug in her hand, not having heard her coming.

“Here you are, sweetheart. The contractors are setting up. It will be pretty noisy and dusty while they install the sensors and cameras. I’ll shut your door, so they don’t disturb you while you keep unpacking.”

“And nothing to do with keeping me out of sight?” I say a little harshly, taking the mug from her hands. Hurt flashes in her eyes at my sharp tone, and guilt stabs at my heart. “At least I won’t have to be subjected to the butt cracks, terrible work music, and generally offensive behaviour with the door closed,” I joke, in the hope it will take the sting out of my previous comment.

Mum smiles softly back at me. “Always looking for the silver lining.”

“A wise woman once said, ‘There is plenty of silver lining when one bothers to look for it,’” I reply.

“Sounds like a smart lady.”

“The smartest. Pretty too. Voice of an angel...” I take a sip of my coffee. “And makes a mean cuppa. She is pretty much a goddess.”

“Suck up.” She laughs, walking back out of my room and closing the door.

“Love you, Mumma,” I call after her.

“With all my heart, for all of time,” she answers, before the click of the door shuts out the noise downstairs and conceals my presence.

Finishing the coffee in a few big mouthfuls, I go back to the box, pulling out the photo frames and placing the small ones on the desk and side tables. Then I lean the larger ones along the walls where I might hang them later. As I look at our smiling faces in each, my memories come flooding back to me.

Mum has always been overprotective. When I was a young child, I found her need to be with me and always watch me suffocating. I was never allowed to go for sleepovers, but I could have friends come and stay at our house. She refused any request to go to school camps, saying she just couldn’t bear to be away from me, unless she came along as a chaperone. The school was so happy to have a parent volunteer they were quick to accept, of course. I was hardly ever out of her presence, only for school, and eventually when I got older, occasionally I was left alone when she had to work late.

But I didn’t miss out on everything. We travelled to other small country towns around New South Wales and up the Queensland coast. There were plenty of photos of us in front of “big things,” like the Big Banana, Big Prawn, and Big Pineapple. I loved our road trips, and most of the time, I was content with our life. Just Mum and me.

I don’t know much about my father. He has never been a part of my life. The little I do know makes me not regret that. Not really. He was a much older man, from “old money.” Powerful and used to getting his way. Which is probably why, when he saw my seventeen-year-old mother, he set his sights on having her, regardless of how wrong it was. She told me once that he was a smooth talker, and devastatingly handsome, with dark hair and green eyes, who always dressed impeccably. He used his position to force his way into her life, and her heart, which he stomped all over when she told him she was pregnant with me a few months later.

His family tried to bribe Mum into giving me up to them, saying it was “for her own good,” as she was still a child herself, and my father needed an “heir”—whatever the hell that means. When she refused them, they threatened to have me taken away at birth by the authorities. It’s no surprise that Mum ran for the hills! She says she sent word to them when I was born, but never got a response.

I’ve always wondered if they would have wanted to know me. But it’s their loss. I’ve had a good life so far, and my mum more than made up for an absentee father and his shitty, elitist family.