Page 117 of Outback Secrets
Chapter Thirty-three
By the time Liam opened the pub that evening, the whole town knew that he and Henri Forward had called it quits. He’d known the moment he saw Lara’s face when she came down to start work and the first words off her tongue confirmed it.
‘Are you okay?’ Her head cocked to one side, she reached out to squeeze his arm.
It was all he could do not to shake her off.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he said, focusing on putting the float into the register so she couldn’t see his face.
‘I heard about you and Henri. I’m so sorry.’
He slammed the register shut a little harder than he meant to and the clang of coins inside echoed in the otherwise quiet bar. Sheila looked up from her usual spot and glared at him.
‘Who told you?’
Turned out that Lara had heard the news from Melinda at the post office, who’d heard it from Mike the cop, who’d heard it from none other than Eileen Bloody Brady. How that woman found out he had no clue, but he guessed Henri must have told someone, and it took off from there. Good news travels fast in the country!
He wondered what exactly she’d said—whether she’d confessed the whole thing had been a farce or if she’d gone with her original plan, just a few days earlier. He briefly contemplated calling Henri so they could get their stories straight, but immediately saw this for what it was. Merely an excuse to hear her voice.
His phone had felt heavy in his pocket all day. Almost every second he’d been berating himself for handling things the way he did, wondering if she’d ring or at least reply to the message he’d sent saying he was sorry, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to keep seeing each other. He wasn’t proud of that message, and a real man wouldn’t have sent her sister to do his dirty work, but he honestly hadn’t trusted himself to follow through.
Of course, she hadn’t replied. She was either fuming or simply didn’t care, and he desperately hoped it was the latter.
The only action his phone had seen all day was a text from Sally reminding him Sheila was due for her heartworm injection and a sales rep wanting to talk to him about a new brand of nonalcoholic gin.
‘Do you want to take the night off?’ Lara asked, coming back behind the bar as the fly strips parted to reveal a couple of tourists. ‘I’m sure Dylan wouldn’t mind working. And Mondays are usually quiet, so we’ll be fine to hold the fort.’
She was right—Mondays and Tuesdays were his slow nights, which is why he made do with a skeleton staff. But he didn’t do nights off, and the last thing he needed was to spend the evening upstairs alone with nothing but Netflix, Sheila, and a tub of cookies and cream ice-cream like some kind of pathetic character in a rom-com.
‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine.’ He forced a smile for the couple as they stepped up to the bar. ‘Good evening, welcome to The Palace. What can I get for you?’
Only two hours later he was wishing he’d taken Lara and Dylan up on the offer.
Mondays might usually be dead—even this close to Christmas—but tonight there was a steady flow of locals dropping in to see him. Most of them didn’t even order a drink!
Clearly Henri hadn’t confessed to the charade, and he didn’t know how many more ‘sorry to hear things didn’t work out with you and Henri Forward’s he could take. Not to mention the casseroles that arrived along with the sympathy—sweet, but totally unnecessary considering he had a cook on the payroll. By 6 pm the fridge was overflowing with containers. Even Eileen Brady had delivered him a large tuna mornay. Although he guessed it was more because she wanted to grill him on what had happened than because she actually cared, he managed to thank her politely and not berate her for this whole damn mess being partly her fault!
Not that the casseroles wouldn’t be delicious—these women knew how to cook almost as good as Macca—but Liam’s appetite had vanished along with Henri and his enthusiasm for doing anything. He’d tried his best today to continue as normal, to do the things he usually did to fill his day and keep his mind healthy—swimming, woodwork, cleaning out the storeroom until the cement floor actually sparkled—but still the hours had been long and painful. Just the thought of not seeing Henri tonight, of not seeing her any night, made everything seem pointless.
He knew he’d made the right decision—she deserved so much more than he could give—but how could doing the right thing feel so bloody wrong? He told himself it was still early days. That it might feel like twenty years since he’d seen her, but it wasn’t even twenty-four hours.
For the first time in his life, he found himself counting down to Christmas. He’d be okay after he’d taken his annual day to reset and, after Henri was gone, perhaps his heart would stop hitching every time someone stepped into the pub.
He retreated to the kitchen as much as possible—thankfully it was Macca’s day off, so Liam needed to be in there flipping burgers anyway—but there were only a few orders for dinner and every time he came out there was someone wanting to pry into his business under the guise of concern. From what he could gather, Henri had explained very little. He was tempted to tell everyone that it had all been a joke, but he didn’t want them getting angry at her for fooling them all.
‘It was a mutual decision,’ became his mantra. ‘Although we get along well and had a lot of fun together, we realised our lifestyles weren’t compatible long term. I’m fine, honestly.’
At about eight o’clock, Lara cleared her throat as she looked through the hatch into the kitchen. ‘Really sorry, Liam, but I need to pop to the loo. Are you okay to man the bar?’
‘Of course,’ he replied. He couldn’t hide away forever. ‘I’ll be out in a sec.’
Thankfully the pub was empty, except for Rex and the tourist couple who’d come in earlier—they were making a night of it. That was the joy of being on vacation, every night was a Friday. They could stay as long as they wanted; Liam didn’t think he’d be getting any sleep tonight anyway.
He nodded to his most faithful patron’s near-empty glass. Was it his second or third pint of the evening? Had Lara served him while he’d been in the kitchen? ‘Want another one?’ he asked, taking a risk.
Rex’s bushy eyebrows rose, making Liam think the nightly quota had already been met, but he was too braindead to worry. ‘Don’t mind if I do. Thanks, mate.’
As Liam went to grab a fresh glass, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Or rather a lack of something. Or rather someone. Slamming the glass on the bar, his heart shot to his throat. ‘Where’s Sheila?’