A Weekend To Remember. Miranda Lee
knees. ‘Look, Hannah, I know I said I didn’t want you to tell me any nasties till the morning, but I can see neither of us will sleep properly if the air isn’t cleared. So out with it,’ he commanded in his most effective ‘boss’ voice. ‘What else has happened during the last six weeks which has you all tied up in knots?’
She grimaced, knowing that this was the chance she’d been looking for—the opportune moment to unburden her conscience. All she had to do was open her mouth and let the truth spill out.
But it just wasn’t that easy. Not at all. Her head whirled and her tongue felt thick. She couldn’t seem to find the right words. Or any words at all!
Her stricken expression brought an answering anxiety to his face.
‘My God, it’s not the business, is it?’ he burst out, his head snapping up, his knuckles going white as his large hands gripped his knees. ‘I haven’t somehow stuffed it up, have I? I could bear just about anything, but not that. I’ve worked too long and too hard to start at the bottom of the heap again.’
Hannah’s heart went out to him. She’d heard the stories about his childhood in a state institution for orphans, how he’d left to strike out on his own at fourteen, a boy with the body of a man, how he’d worked as a builder’s labourer and learnt his trade by trial and error. He’d started small, buying a single block of land, building a house on it and selling it as a package, then using the profit to buy two blocks of land, repeating the process till he’d become one of the biggest home-builders in New South Wales.
Hannah could appreciate Jack’s panic. In his shoes, she’d have felt exactly the same.
His obvious distress had the effect of her finding her voice. To a degree.
‘Nothing bad’s happened to the business, Jack,’ she insisted fiercely. ‘Truly. If you must know, I…I…’ Once again her voice dried up, her courage failing her anew.
‘What?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘For God’s sakes what, Hannah?’
It was no use. She just couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. Not tonight.
‘I…I’ve failed, Jack,’ she blurted out instead, jumping to her feet. ‘At giving up smoking. I…I’m sorry but I just didn’t make it. Now I simply have to have a cigarette!’ Which was true. Anything to calm the nerves that were tap-dancing all through her body. ‘I think I left a packet out in the kitchen,’ she said, and promptly fled the room.
‘And there I was, thinking something disastrous had happened,’ he called after her, an amused chuckle betraying his relief.
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