Chapter 8Janie

Chapter 8 Janie

I woke up to a heavenly smell. I rolled over in bed, disoriented, thinking I was away from home. Nobody else cooked in my house. And then I remembered Emir. He’d been with me for four days now—fixing fences, feeding animals, and administering eyedrops. He’d insisted he wanted to cook, but I’d thrown his flatbread in the freezer and told him he needed to rest and get over his jetlag. So far, I’d been up before him, making breakfast and leaving some for him before I left for work.

I’d been happy to cook for him. It was only fair since he was doing so much work around the farm. I hadn’t even realized how many things needed fixing until Emir had brought them to my attention.

Every night, as per our agreement, I’d massaged his head and shoulders. Feeling his body relax, those deep sighs and groans that erupted from his throat… I couldn’t stop my imagination running wild. I could tell he had incredible self-control, but as I kicked off the sheet tangled around my legs, I realized he’d been there in my dream, again. I’d dreamed of his hard body pressed against mine. I’d dreamed of him losing control.

I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and patted to the kitchen. I was expecting him, yet the sight of the dark, tall and Turkish man made my breath hitch. He stood by the stove, frowning at the frying pan, my kowhaiwhai-patterned apron protecting his white dress shirt as he pushed something red and eggy with a spatula. How it had materialized in the pan, I had no idea. The kitchen showed no signs of cooking.

“Good morning!” A wide smile rose from deep inside of me, and I waited for him to turn around.

Emir looked up. “ Günayd?n! Good morning.” There was no smile, but a relaxed softness to him I hadn’t seen before.

“Did you sleep okay?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you. It’s a comfortable bed.”

“Good.” I peered into the pan. “ Menemen ?”

“Yes.” He looked surprised.

“Wait. You got the tomatoes from the garden?” My stomach dropped at the thought. My garden was such a mess I’d been hoping to keep him out of it and fetch the produce myself. I glimpsed at him from behind my face palm. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t had the time to… The storm flattened all the stakes and I let the tomatoes grow into that heap.”

“It’s okay. The best ones were hiding in the middle. I suppose the birds can’t get to them.” Emir ladled the red mush onto two plates and took them to the dining table where he’d already sliced the flatbread.

A pot of tea stood in the middle, steam rising from it. I fought tears. I hadn’t shared breakfast with anyone, let alone a man, in more than a year. And the last time hadn’t been that enjoyable. I worked hard not to revisit those memories, but standing there, staring at the perfect spread of food on my table, the thoughts bombarded me, clouding my vision.

“Is something wrong?” Emir’s thick accent made me shiver.

“It’s beautiful,” I managed, my voice wobbly and thick. “So beautiful.”

“It’s a very basic breakfast.” He sounded almost offended.

I took a breath and looked him in the eye. “No one has done this for me in a very long time. So, it’s beautiful. No arguments.”

His arms dropped to his sides. “Okay. Then I’m glad.” He met my gaze with such sincerity, letting that unhurried moment of connection shift and stretch, that I didn’t notice the tear until it rolled all the way to my upper lip.

He caught it with his fingertip, never breaking the eye contact. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

I turned away, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “Sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ll try to keep my issues at bay and enjoy the food.” I took a deep breath and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I prefer real. I can’t do the pretending very well.” His eyes flashed with pain.

I blinked away the last of my stubborn tears. “I get it. But I don’t want to dump my issues on you. It’s not fair.”

“We all have issues.” He kept looking at me until I dropped the smile.

“Yeah, we do.”

“If you felt comfortable sharing your issues with me, I’d be honored, Janie.” He held my gaze until the words faded, and only the meaning lingered, unchanged. He wasn’t being polite.

I’d interviewed politicians and celebrities. I was used to looking for the truth behind meaningless, self-absorbed babble. What was left unsaid? What was implied? With Emir, my journalist skills were useless. So much hid behind his eyes, yet his words felt true.

“Likewise,” I finally responded, turning away to catch my breath. “I’d be honored, if you decided I was worth your trust.”

His eyes darkened and the forehead crease deepened. “Let’s eat.”

He guided me to the table and pulled out a chair. I dropped onto the seat, thinking that this was the first time I’d been offered a chair in my own dining room.

I scooped a forkful of menemen and moaned from pleasure. “This is so good! I remember trying this somewhere in Antalya, but it wasn’t like this.”

Emir scoffed. “Antalya is a tourist trap.”

“Well, this is the real deal.”

“It’s the best I could do with local ingredients.”

“Take the compliment, Emir.” I gave him a pointed look.

“Okay.”

The sound of the doorbell gave me a start. Not now, I pleaded. Whoever it was, I didn’t want them here. Not now.

The doorbell rang again.

I held up a finger. “Wait, I’ll go check.”

Approaching the door, I heard the familiar high-pitched shriek of laughter, muffled but unmistakable. Tabitha, the head of the Art Deco festival committee, with her trusted secretary, Maree. They’d begun visiting me regularly since my divorce. At first, I’d welcomed the distraction, but as my social calendar filled with pointless outings, my enthusiasm waned. They wanted to capitalize on my lingering fame to advance Tabitha’s causes. Arts and culture. Historical restorations. I supported her causes, in theory, but mostly played along to avoid making enemies in my new hometown. And in some ways, loneliness was worse.

However, at that moment, Tabitha and Maree were the last people on earth I wanted to invite into my home and introduce to Emir. These ladies were influential, as well as the worst gossips in town. The stories they would tell… My mind whirled, searching for a way out.

I ran back to the dining room, gesturing wildly at the door. “Emir? Do you maybe want to hide for a bit? I’m so sorry, I’m not embarrassed by you or anything, but these ladies are so nosy. They will rip you to shreds. Figure of speech. I mean… What am I saying. I just—”

“Janie. Calm down.” He stood up, silencing me with a sharp look. “You don’t have to convince me to avoid people. I’ll be in my room.” He grabbed his plate and took his exit as I rushed back to the front door, taking a centering breath before I opened it.

“Good morning, ladies!”

Tabitha smoothed her helmet-like dark bob, one that transformed annually into a perfect 1920s hairdo for the Art Deco festival. Her pursed lips stretched into a wide smile. “Good morning, Janie! How are you holding up? We come bearing gifts.”

Holding up?

Maree, the less extroverted version of her with a heavy breath that always sounded like she was asleep, held up a brown paper bag. “Croissants.”

Their silky pastel blouses seemed color coordinated, as well as expensive. They were my age, stinking rich, high profile and so immaculate I always felt judged. It was a bit like receiving a delegation from the royal court. A great honor, but not one you could particularly enjoy. A sheer glimpse of Tabitha’s flawless makeup flooded my body with cortisol.

I took a breath so deep my lungs ached, smoothed my hair, and offered them the fakest of smiles. “Come on in. I was having breakfast. I’m afraid I’m not quite dressed and ready yet. I like my Sunday mornings slow and lazy.”

“Oh, we understand.” Tabitha made a show of flicking the remote in her hand, to which her Maserati answered with a dutiful beep. “If I were you, I would have started cocktail hour.”

Cocktail hour? Her choice of words, along with the theatrical looks of sympathy, were starting to build up panic in my belly. “Alcohol is not my choice of breakfast.” I kept my smile in check and tightened the robe around my waist. It was a bit bulky, and I didn’t want them to spread any rumors about weight gain.

I led them to the dining room, where Emir’s menemen pan and a bowl of flatbread still sat on the table.

“What is this?” Maree leaned in to investigate the Turkish eggs.

“It’s a Mediterranean breakfast dish. I felt like trying out something different.” I bit back a wayward smile.

“Good on you! I knew our Janie could not be knocked down!” Tabitha winked, exchanging a knowing look with Maree.

The sick feeling in my stomach amped up. What an earth was going on?

“How do you make it?” Maree asked.

I glanced at my suspiciously clean kitchen. “Um… it’s eggs and tomatoes and a few other ingredients.”

“What other ingredients?” Maree took out her phone, ready to take notes.

She was a fan, which was in its own way more unbearable than Tabitha’s veiled judgment. I knew I was social collateral to both, a name to be dropped at certain moments to raise the price of their own stock. That’s how being on TV worked, and I accepted it. But right then, I swallowed a groan.

“I’ll email you the recipe, okay?”

I took their coffee orders and slipped into the kitchen to make the drinks. I was hoping they’d entertain themselves, but Tabitha followed me. “I’ll grab a couple of plates for the croissants.”

I couldn’t remember ever showing her around my kitchen, but she found the plates on first try. “I love your space,” she gestured at the cabinets. “Very shabby chic.”

I hid my frown. There was nothing intentionally shabby about my kitchen. It was simply fifteen years old, and I had no budget for renovations. These were things Shaun had cared about, except when it came to this house. Moving here, I thought he’d finally relaxed about appearances, but it turned out he didn’t care because he never intended to live here.

“You’re brave, living all alone in the middle of nowhere like this.” She gazed out the window like the green hills behind my house were teeming with bears or lions.

“My sons are coming down for the holidays.”

Tabitha gave a knowing nod, her eyes solemn. “Life certainly throws us curve balls, doesn’t it?”

I smiled, switching on the milk steamer, happy for the loud hiss that would soon drown out her voice. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

She left me to it and I relished my short break, taking my time with the coffees. As much as they got on my nerves, Tabitha and Maree were part of the package. Napier was a small town, and they were involved in every committee. The film office I ran regularly needed their help. If I wanted to make this place my home, I had to stay on their good side.

We’d started off fine, with polite invitations and endless admiration for my wardrobe, skin, hair, perfume… There wasn’t a part of my appearance Tabitha hadn’t made a point of loudly approving of. Her comments made me feel equal parts flattered and uncomfortable. Even if I passed the assessment, I felt like I was under the microscope—much like I’d been in Auckland, on morning TV. And it was that constant scrutiny I’d chosen to leave behind me. Back then, I’d had the income to keep myself in anti-aging serums and regular treatments, and even then, felt like I was always lacking. Compared to those days, I now lived like a wild woman. By choice, I might add. Yet, I felt like Tabitha and her ladies expected me ‘as seen on TV’. Which was why I suspected their gracious comments were rather embellished. They wanted a celebrity friend and knew what to say. And I was needy and lonely enough to go along with it.

But now our symbiotically dysfunctional friendship had hit the rocks. Ever since my divorce, I didn’t fit their social group. Tabitha and Maree were married to high profile men—a retired investment banker and the owner of the local supermarket. I’d been introduced to them as part of a power couple including Shaun. And now I was a single woman running a farm by myself. As much as Tabitha and Maree wanted to appear supportive, my single status bothered them. It was something to fix.

I took two coffees to the dining room, setting them down next to a newspaper. Wait. A newspaper? I didn’t subscribe to any papers. I’d been on a blissful media fast ever since I’d quit my job.

Tabitha cleared her throat, a sound that immediately gave me shivers.

I scanned the paper for my own name and face, like I always did, but it was something worse. Shaun. Shaun and his new girlfriend. A baby bump. My eyes landed on the rounded shape of Kelly’s stomach. Woman half my age. Such a cliché. Shaun had turned my life into a cliché.

“We saw this and thought you might need some emotional support.” Maree’s eyes rounded in sympathy as she pulled out a chair for me.

I sat, almost against my will, my mind spinning. Was I supposed to know about this? Was I supposed to pretend like I knew about it? As much as I hated playing that part, the alternative was so much worse. I couldn’t show weakness. These vultures would clamp onto me and never let go.

I smiled as brightly as I could. “Let’s hope Shaun has the energy to do it all again. He’s not getting any younger.”

Tabitha slapped the newspaper and cackled. “That’s what I said! Didn’t I?” She turned to Maree, who nodded animatedly, her eyes filled with adoration. “It’s great that you’re taking this in your stride. You’re such an inspiration.”

I knew how to keep smiling. How to keep myself composed while the cameras were still rolling. It shouldn’t have been this hard.

“Easy for men. They can start again. A new wife, new family. But at our age…” Tabitha shook her head, finally taking a sip of coffee.

I wanted to hold her nose and pour it all in, to keep her mouth occupied.

“Good thing I don’t want to start a new family.” My smile didn’t waver, but my fingers curled around the edge of the table. There’d be nail marks later.

Tabitha shifted back in her chair. “Of course. I didn’t mean having kids but just… starting over. With someone else. It’s a bit different for women, don’t you think? Not a great selection out there unless you’re shopping in the junior section.” Her eyes widened in horror. “I mean, we know how to keep the goods from spoiling, but the men are hardly giving us the same courtesy.” She ran a finger up the edge of her jawline, demonstrating how much money she paid to keep her skin from sagging.

The image of Emir flashed behind my eyes. He was my junior. I wondered by how many years. Too many for this company.

“Double standards,” Maree echoed, gathering the empty coffee cups to take to the kitchen.

“I’m only 41,” I said, anger bubbling in my chest. “That’s not old.”

“And you look after yourself,” Tabitha confirmed. “You must be happy now that you put in the effort. Some women get married and let themselves go. They think they’ll never have to put themselves out there again.” She straightened her spine, highlighting her firm physique. She was five years older than me, and unbelievably perky.

I got to my feet and picked up the menemen pan and carried it to the kitchen island, to create a bit of distance between us. “I’m not looking to put myself out there. I enjoy my own company.”

Tabitha stood up as well and leapt to my side. “Of course. But, we all need someone. It’s a lot of work to take care of a place this big. Did you get a good settlement?”

“I did okay,” I muttered. To call it good would have been a blatant lie.

Tabitha sensed a sore spot and lifted her finger. I almost braced myself for a physical poke. “He shafted you, didn’t he? They know how to hide the money. Needs every penny for the new family, right? Happened to my friend Mary, but she found out, took him to court.”

I briefly closed my eyes, gathering my resolve. “I’m okay. I’ll manage.” I didn’t have money for more lawyers.

Tabitha edged even closer, rubbing her ice cold hand up and down my bathrobe sleeve. Her head tilted in sympathy and voice turned into a low purr. “Are you, though? We saw the broken fences. It’s been weeks since the floods.”

I circled her, picked up the frying pan again and busied myself with moving the rest of the eggs into a glass container. “It’s okay. I’ve hired some help.”

Her eyes widened. “Have you? That’s great! Who did you book? Harry?”

I had no idea who Harry was, but I nodded anyway. Anything to make the questions stop.

Maree entered the kitchen, giving Tabitha a nervous look. “Did you tell her about Len yet?”

“Len who?”

“Len Harding. The pastor! His wife just died.” Tabitha beamed like this was the best news she’d heard all week. “Him and Adrian are golf buddies, so he gets all the goss.”

“That’s terrible.”

“No, no. She was on life support for months. It’s a relief, I’m sure. Len will be looking for a new wife. A man like that won’t stay single. We’ve already dropped your name and he seemed to… liven up. Well, Adrian used a different phrase which I won’t repeat, but anyway, let me know if you’d like me to set you two up.”

“He’s so dreamy,” Maree smiled, eyes half-closed, her heavy breath sounding like an air-con unit. “The ladies will be lining up.”

Why was I friends with these people?

I sighed, chucked the egg container in the fridge, and shifted closer to the front door, hoping the ladies got the hint. “I hope people give him time. It takes a while to get over a relationship.”

“How long has it been for you now?” Tabitha asked, only moving an inch towards the door. “Eight… nine months?”

Had she marked my divorce in her personal calendar?

“Something like that.” I took another step towards the door, digging my fingernails into the sleeves of my robe. “I’m not ready for anything yet. I’m focusing on work.”

Tabitha’s face lit up. “Work! Thank you for reminding me! That’s another thing we need to discuss. We could really use your help with the Art Deco Gala. Everyone was so gutted when the festival got cancelled because of the floods and I think this gala will bridge the gap. And it’s so important to fundraise right now. The next meeting is on Wednesday this coming week. It’s vital that everyone is present.”

My mind kicked into overdrive, searching for excuses, sorting them in order of usefulness… I needed an out. Not an engagement party I was hosting next weekend. Something long-term, time consuming and worthwhile that would save me from weeks of mind-numbing planning meetings.

The answer came to me almost at the same time I opened my mouth, the words forming on my tongue. “Unfortunately, I’ve taken on a big documentary project and that will eat up most of my time in the coming weeks. Apologies.”

Tabitha’s eyes sharpened. “Documentary? What sort?”

My mind sprinted. “About the after effect of the floods. The real stories… forgotten people who still deal with the long-term effects as the mainstream media moves on.” With every word, my confidence grew, and I noticed excitement bubbling in my chest. I could do this.

Sometimes, your subconscious has all the answers, waiting to be released under extreme pressure. Thank you, Tabitha. She was pressure personified, and the answer I’d been looking for burst out of my mouth so fully cooked I could hardly believe it. I’d always been fast, thinking and speaking simultaneously. Sometimes, I heard the words as if spoken by someone else and found myself agreeing or disagreeing. My brain was wired a bit funny.

“That sounds wonderful, Janie.” Maree blinked several times. “Who are you working with?”

I paused. No matter how much my brain galloped, I couldn’t spin the truth any further. I had to offer some honesty. “It’s very early days and it’s a low budget production, so I’m still looking for crew members. Let me know if you can think of anyone.”

Tabitha raised her terrifying pointer finger. “My nephew Gus is a cameraman! I’ll send him over for a visit!”

My stomach tightened but I smiled as I finally grasped the front door, my savior, and cracked it open. “Wonderful. Please do.”

Gus couldn’t be worse than Tabitha.

When we finally got through the goodbyes and the ladies shuffled outside, I closed the door and leaned against it, forcefully breathing in and out. My chest felt so tight I had to fight for every lungful of oxygen. I couldn’t be this easily rattled, could I? I had to be stronger than this.

But the tears came anyway. The tears of loneliness and humiliation. All the things I worried and grieved about, laid out in front of me on a platter by Tabitha fucking Witts. She knew everyone. She talked to everyone. She’d report all over town about my husband’s new family, my perpetually broken fence, and my low budget documentary. The last one probably didn’t hurt if I wanted to get a production off the ground. Did I, really? I’d felt the excitement in the moment, but now, it was replaced by dread. Maybe I didn’t have it in me.

I wiped my face on my sleeve and returned to the dining room, the newspaper article beckoning me like fly paper—sticky, deadly and irresistible. Shaun posed with his hand resting on Kelly’s baby bump, looking a little sunburnt, his forehead shining like a glazed Christmas ham, a proud smile on his face. I blinked away the blurry blobs of tears, to see it clearly. I remembered his smile from years ago when he’d still had hair. But with that shiny dome? I felt like I’d never seen the combination. When had I last seen him smile? Maybe men simply didn’t smile around me. That Turkish guy was so strait-laced I didn’t even know if he had incisors.

I shook my head at my racing thoughts. In a way, I welcomed the thoughts of Emir and the distraction he brought. How badly out of control would I spiral if he wasn’t here right now? I didn’t even want to find out. Where was he anyway?

I dabbed my eyes with a tissue, trying to bring my sniffles under control. But no amount of deep breathing could stop the quiver in my chest. My gaze brushed across the close-up photo of their engagement rings, diamonds glinting in the sun, and a fresh wave of emotion washed over me. Why was I learning about this from the fucking newspaper?

I picked up my phone and checked my messages. There it was. A short, evasive email from Shaun, apologizing for the ‘late notice’. I wanted to scream. My body shook from the rage, then tears burst out with full force.

I couldn’t let anyone see me like this.

I balled up the newspaper, heaved it into the trash can and ran. Journal. Rubber boots. Phone. House keys. That’s all I needed.

It was only when I made it to the track behind my house, weaving through the bush with dewy ferns swiping my face and arms, that I felt a little more in control. I needed a minute. A moment to sit in my secret spot and vomit every incoherent thought onto the pages of my journal. I’d pull myself together, then return to the house. I’d resume being a lovely hostess. Emir would never know.