1995
AT TEN minutes to midnight Mary Cameron crept out of bed, fully clothed, her heart racing. Thick carpet silenced her movements as she tiptoed to the window, drew the curtain aside and peered through the slanted slats of the Venetian blinds.
Tom was waiting for her.
He was standing on the corner, just outside the pale lemon circle cast by the street light. She could see the defiant splash of his white T-shirt beneath the bulkiness of his black leather jacket. His wide shoulders were squared and his hands rested lightly on his hips, as if he were poised ready for action.
Truth was, Tom Pirelli was always ready for action. And on this balmy North Queensland winter’s night, he was ready to run away with her.
A delicious thrill rippled through her. With one finger, she dipped a slat in the blind so she could see Tom more clearly and he lifted his hand to wave. His mouth tilted in his familiar, unhurried smile and her heart flipped. By this time tomorrow they would be far away from Townsville.
And she would be Tom Pirelli’s wife.
Over the past weeks, she could think of nothing but marrying Tom. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on her studies, had hardly heard any of her family’s conversations. The single most important thing in her life was a twenty-two year old soldier with a devastating, slow smile and even more devastating, slow kisses.
He filled her head and her heart and she was certain she couldn’t possibly live without him.
‘I’m coming, Tom,’ she whispered as she released the slat and let the curtain drop back into place.
Heart knocking in her chest, she stooped to pick up her small backpack. It held little more than a change of clothes and her toiletries, but she couldn’t risk carrying a bulky pack through the dark house. It would be a disaster if she knocked something over and woke her parents. Besides, she would be travelling on the back of Tom’s motorbike, which meant travelling light.
Travelling light and light-hearted and in love.
With Tom.
Her insides jumped and danced with excitement. She was so heart-and-soul in love with Tom that it still came as a shock that he loved her back. She had to be the luckiest girl in Australia. No, make that the universe.
Without a backwards glance for the pretty bedroom that had been home to her secret dreams for so many years, she hurried out into the hallway.
Here there was danger.
The polished timber floors of the living areas were noisy, so she carried her shoes in her hands and prayed that her socks would muffle her footsteps. All would be lost if her father woke up.
Oh, help! At the thought of her father Mary came to an abrupt halt, frozen by a panicky rush of guilt. Heaven knew this wasn’t the way she wanted to be married. Until she’d met Tom, she’d enjoyed a happy relationship with her parents and it was just awful now to be torn between her family ties and her passion for her man.
But her father wouldn’t listen when she’d tried to defend Tom, so he’d left her with absolutely no choice. She could only hope that once she and Tom were married, all would be well. Her father would have to see that they were meant for each other.
She had no doubt that she and Tom would win her parents around. Once her Dad got to know Tom, he couldn’t help but admire him. Tom would be an adoring husband. In the years to come he’d be a wonderful father for their children and the perfect son-in-law for her parents. Everything would be fine just as soon as she was safely outside. With Tom.
She took a deep breath and began to tiptoe forward again.
She’d practised creeping through the midnight-silent house several times in the past weeks, so she knew about the creaking board outside her parents’ bedroom and another near the entrance to the dining room. Once these were safely bypassed she began to breathe more easily.
As she neared the front of the house, she could hear the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was reaching the end of its long cycle. Brilliant timing! She could coordinate the moment she opened the front door with the final gush of the rinse water gurgling down the drain.
At last she was safely through the house and in the slate tiled front entry where faint light from the street filtered through long narrow panels of glass on either side of the front door. Almost free.
The hiss of water in the kitchen was her signal. Quickly, Mary thrust her feet into her shoes, took a deep breath and stepped to the door, then slowly, slowly, turned the handle of the doorknob, praying that it wouldn’t make a sound. Not now. Not with freedom so near.
Not with Tom waiting outside.
Already she could picture the glimmer in his dark eyes when she reached him, the way he would haul her close, enfolding her inside the protection of his leather jacket. Already she could feel the warmth of his arms around her and his lips nuzzling the side of her neck as he whispered, ‘Mary-Mary.’
Holding her breath, Mary inched the door open, and the potted palm beside her seemed to move. It startled her and she jerked the door back, making its hinges squeak.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Her father’s voice exploded beside her in the dark.