The Chance of a Lifetime Read online

  THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME

  Kendra Smith

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About The Chance of a Lifetime

  A new life down under? It’s not as perfect as you’d think.

  Katie and Tom’s marriage is in trouble. As is their bank account. So, when Tom tells Katie that they need to talk, she knows it must be about one of two things, and neither are good. But when he blind-sides her saying that his boss is sending him to Australia – permanently – Katie realises it might just be what they need to save their marriage.

  Trouble is, she doesn’t like the heat, can’t swim and hates spiders. Not to mention the bouts of homesickness – and Tom’s endless business trips. Katie is finding the hope of saving their marriage slowly slipping through her fingers. But Katie is determined to take the bull by the horns – and her Speedos by the strap – and tackles her new life.

  When all is said and done which side of the globe will she decide to call home?

  Previously published as Jacaranda Wife

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About The Chance of a Lifetime

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Acknowledgements

  About Kendra Smith

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  1

  Katie’s eyes roamed round the pantry as her mind processed its own inventory. Rice? Yes. Adulterer? That’s a bit harsh, your honour. Filter coffee? Half a packet. Unfaithful? You could call it that. French stick? Might have that for supper. Marriage vows? Need to review. Feeling sick about what you did? Definitely. Great sexual thrill. You bet.

  ‘Sweetie?’ Katie jumped. Her husband Tom was standing by the pantry door, peering at her.

  ‘You’re home early!’

  ‘We need to talk.’ He stared right at her. Oh God, not a ‘need to talk’ moment. Did he suspect? She didn’t actually do very much… She forced a cheery smile. But it soon slipped right off her face.

  ‘What’s wrong, Tom?’

  ‘Been repositioned.’ He looked about five-years-old. He was adorable. ‘Like I said might happen.’

  ‘Repositioned?’ The voice didn’t sound like hers. ‘Where?’

  ‘Australia,’ he said, as if in a dream. ‘Sydney.’ She stared at him, felt shivery, then walked past him and went upstairs and threw up in their brand-new Villeroy & Boch toilet. She’d never liked heat or spiders.

  ‘Why Australia?’ she asked quietly, downstairs again, staring into his intense grey eyes. Sitting white-faced in their farmhouse kitchen, clutching her paper napkin and looking round at their beautifully painted duck-egg blue walls, the black and white photos, the blown glass ornaments on the shelf from Italy, shining with a multi-coloured halo from the spotlight below, noticing the dust, the mundane things while the rest of her head was in a spin.

  Like when my father died, she thought, all I could do was keep loading the dishwasher and watch baked beans slide off the plates – as if I could keep the stabbing pain away by worrying about how to clean the filter.

  Tom paced up and down the wooden floors, his suede brogues making loud clipping noises.

  ‘Do you mean the E word…’ Her world was crashing around her. ‘Emigrate…’ Katie whispered, slightly hysterical by then, the napkin pink paper shreds. ‘We’ve just had all this done…’ Her voice trailed off, her hand gesturing to the granite work surfaces, the wooden floor, the gleaming glass extension that had robbed the garden of at least six metres. But in fact who cared what they’d had done to the kitchen? She wasn’t really terrified about leaving granite work surfaces; what she was terrified about was leaving her house, her home, England, Britain…

  ‘K-A-T-I-E.’ Tom said her name in a very slow, deliberate way. ‘Martin has just offered me a job as head of New Asian Markets for Trent Financial – he says it’s exactly up my street, says my CV is perfect. He told me, Katie, that at forty-seven, I don’t have many options.’ He closed his eyes, leant his head back, clutched the grey granite work surface. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open again. He stared at her. ‘It’s a great salary and they’ll pay all our moving costs. It’s not emigration, it’s…’ he hesitated ‘…for a few years, a contract. An opportunity, that’s what it is.’ He smiled shakily at her. He’s trying to be his usual self, his alpha male, mused Katie. An opportunity for him maybe, but it might as well have been a job offer to Pluto; she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘But shouldn’t we—’

  ‘What? Wait for me to get another job? The country’s in a total recession.’ He folded his arms. ‘Bankers are getting fired everywhere, Katie, don’t you see?’ He sighed. ‘We are mortgaged up to the neck – especially with the bloody extra borrowing on the extension—’ She scraped her chair back, guiltily, remembering the cost.

  ‘You wanted it as much as me. Wanted to show off to all your clients…’ she whispered.

  ‘Katie, sweetheart – I’ve had a hell of a day,’ he said sweeping his fringe from his forehead and looking across at her. The look said don’t challenge me; don’t knock me when I’ve been kicked in the balls today and have managed to come up for air already. It said don’t try me when we are up to our necks in debt and I feel like I’m drowning.

  She supposed that was the beauty of working for such a massive financial player as Trent Financial, and that was the beauty of having an ego the size of Tom’s – you could get redeployed anywhere. She remembered when she’d first met him; he was the Financial Director of the publishing house she was working for and several years older than her. She’d noticed him straight away. Tom with his long lashes, with his sandy-blond hair and schoolboy fringe, his oddly dark eyebrows, freckled nose and square jaw. He was rather like an older Prince Harry.

  She’d been working there for two years, slowly inching her way up from Sales Assistant, (‘Can you photocopy this whole book before lunch? There’s a love’), to Senior Staff Writer. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d loved the work and loved the industry. Born with printer ink running through her veins, she used to say.

  Tom had tested her one day. ‘Katie?’

  �
��Yes?’

  ‘Get that proof from the colour printer, will you?’ She’d ventured into the room where the huge colour printers hummed away. Coming out of the machine before her proof (‘How to meet Justin Timberlake this weekend!’) had been a pink and flesh-coloured ensemble of places where the sun don’t shine in the female anatomy. Her face had taken on a similar hue of magenta.

  ‘All right?’ Tom had smiled, taking the proof from her hand and looking her straight in the eye. (This was his little test she later found out to see who’d sink, who’d swim in this particular publishing house that also churned out a number of distasteful top-shelf titles as well as her teen magazine.)

  ‘Fine. Want a cappuccino?’ she’d asked.

  He’d given her a quick look and said with a faint smile, ‘Thanks. Latte. No froth.’ That was the first time she’d seen that look on his face, one that was a mixture of mirth and mischief.

  She had learnt her trade there. An editor who would not give up until everything was perfect; a ‘small team’ (that’s three full-timers and three and a half days’ worth of Claire, the anorexic office assistant) so you were forced to learn each other’s roles. She’d learnt how to cheat so it didn’t show.

  ‘Katie?’ Tom was looking at her. He put his huge hand over hers. ‘Are you all right?’

  God, where had all those days gone, she wondered and then shook herself, tried to smile at him and squeezed his fingers. They should eat. Yes, remember the beans. Eat in a crisis. She watched Tom pour himself his second single malt. She walked past him towards the fridge, then suddenly had to grip the side of the counter as hot blood flooded over her chest and rose, like crawling spiders legs up her neck and face: Australia?

  2

  ‘Excited, Katie?’

  Heavens, how, at this precise moment, can Tom look so pleased? She stared into his eager, saucer-wide eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was the plane’s turbulence or because she was travelling to a country 10,000 miles away that was constantly making her feel like throwing up. She screwed up her eyes and forced a smile.

  Tom’s hand slipped into hers. ‘Two years will be OK, to get the banks off our back, clear some repayments, make headway?’

  She nodded mutely, brushed invisible crumbs from her skirt. Then she turned away, looked out the window and watched as the lights of Singapore Airport disappeared below. The runway looked like a giant had thrown a luminous necklace onto the tarmac; bright, jewel-coloured beads were scattered everywhere amongst the inky darkness.

  As the plane juddered higher into the sky, she remembered the cab drive yesterday. She’d nearly screamed ‘Stop the taxi!’ but instead had taken a deep breath and stared out the window. Her dewy gaze had fallen over the verdant South Downs dotted with tiny lambs. English Tourism had pulled out all the stops. The only thing missing had been a band playing ‘Jerusalem’.

  She was jolted out of her thoughts by Tom handing her a menu. ‘Shall we eat?’

  Tom leaned over the seat’s armrest and squeezed her hand. ‘Darling?’

  Let’s see. I am flying to the other side of the world with two small children. We are hugely in debt, this is the only job Tom thinks he can take and I really, really can’t cope with heat. No, can’t eat a thing.

  ‘Starving,’ she lied. ‘But you choose.’ Her mouth ached from forcing herself to smile.

  Tom frowned and looked at her. ‘How’re you feeling?’ He traced the outline of her cheek with his fingers. There were no words. She stared at her husband of eight years, gazing at his long legs encased in toffee-coloured chinos sticking out into the aisle. She considered what they’d built together as a couple: their two gorgeous boys; their beautiful Homes and Garden featured house, their circle of close friends.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re cruising at an altitude of 39,000 feet,’ the captain cut through her thoughts. ‘The outside air temperature is currently minus fifty degrees Celsius. Please fasten your seatbelts as there is going to be a bit of turbulence ahead.’

  ‘Daddy, where’s turbulence?’ Andy was yanking at the blind, peering out of the window. ‘Is it a bird? I can’t see it. WANT to see turbulence!’

  As Tom released the catch for their impatient four-year-old, she flicked through the radio channels to distract herself. No good. A Joss Stone song took her skidding right back to last month… To the party, to how it all happened.

  It had been somewhere around the boys’ bathtime and just before she had started making canapés that her world had spun on its axis – in more ways than one. They had been hosting a summer garden party; she’d spent several hundred pounds on food and wine and some lovely champagne – had even hired a few girls to help serve.

  Tom had come in that evening, clearly agitated, the first sign things weren’t well at work. He had glanced at the receipt on the kitchen table for the food and had slammed down his fist.

  ‘Katie! How much have you spent?’

  She had looked at him, then carried on placing delicate quails’ eggs onto blinis and sprinkling them with paprika, trying not to let her hands shake too much.

  ‘Katie?’

  Some of it had come out then.

  ‘Restructuring… abroad is a possibility, we might have to go… Best for us, arrears on the house, share price crash at Trent Financial, lousy bonus…’ he’d said. Something about an American guy taking over.

  She’d stood frozen to the spot and told him that she couldn’t discuss it now, that the nanny was bathing Andy and James and that there were thirty people about to arrive. She’d said that the show needed to go on. She had spent ages planning the perfect party; she wanted to do something properly. She had felt slightly uneasy about some of the snooty mums at James’s new school; she was, if she was honest, trying to impress them. She remembered him holding on to her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye: ‘This job in Australia might be our answer, Katie. They’re throwing me a lifeline.’

  She’d been so shell-shocked that they had held each other tightly.

  ‘But it’s not definite?’ She’d looked up at him.

  Something in his eyes had her worried when he’d said no.

  Later, she had reverted to her usual method of recovery: downing the best part of a bottle of Moët. She’d noticed a couple of her new school mums nudge each other in the ribs. The damage is done, she’d thought, grabbing a nearby vodka jelly shot for good measure. A Lady Gaga song had been next, and then there was the incident with Adam… Oh God, that’s all a bit blurry too, she thought, as the song suddenly stopped and James interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Mum?’ He was reading Amazing Jokes for Kids and had been telling dreadful jokes since they had left Heathrow twelve hours ago.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘Where can you see a really ugly monster?’

  ‘Don’t know, sweetie.’ She sounded like she’d swallowed too much Diazepam.

  ‘In the mirror!’ And with this he fell forward snorting into the seat in front of him. Perfect timing. Thank you, James. Katie smiled. It was a reminder of the monster in the mirror the morning after the party…

  She had staggered, bleary-eyed to the bathroom with its unforgiving mirrors. Staring back at her had been an alien who had taken over a woman who was also five foot three, with exactly the same messy brown hair as her, hair that was showing signs of needing the roots done, and blue eyes that were extremely tiny and acutely red. It had put a large red lacy bra over too-big tits and wore crumpled Snoopy pyjama bottoms. The alien also had a round, soft belly and mascara smeared on its left cheek. Katie had pulled her shoulders back defiantly, sucked her stomach in. Nothing. The alien had just looked like a startled ‘before’ pic from one of those awful celebrity magazines, but sporting a crimson 36C. Trouble was, not only had she not recognise the woman in the mirror, she’d barely recognised the woman who had been in the garden with Adam the night before. But could she blame herself? After the shock of it all? Thank God nobody had seen what had happened that night. She looked over at Tom gu
iltily.

  ‘Listen.’ He turned to her. (Oh God, can he read my mind?) ‘Let’s take one step at a time,’ Tom said soothingly, fixing his gaze on her.

  ‘I know, I know…’ she said nodding energetically, hoping he hadn’t noticed her cheeks burning.

  ‘You know, maybe it will all be good for us in a strange way.’ He stuck his legs out and twisted his ankle round. ‘For our marriage – what do you think?’

  I think I might faint.

  ‘Anyway…’ he leant in closer ‘…where’s the old Katie, hey? The girl who was up for anything?’ His eyes twinkled.

  How can I tell him after all these years that the only reason I used to be ‘up for anything’ was because I wanted to be with him? thought Katie, watching him twist his silvery cufflinks round and round. I didn’t like cycling, didn’t like jogging, didn’t like the try dive on our honeymoon; in fact, I was scared shitless.

  ‘Well, she’s rather lost her way underneath a pile of duvet covers to iron, if you must know, Tom. There’s not a lot of “cracking fun” to be had with screaming four- and six-year-olds these days…’ She felt the upsurge of tears. What is wrong with me?

  She stared at him, remembered how he’d always seemed to make London seem so vibrant to her, so ethnic, somehow, after her traditional English village upbringing. Tom had dreamt of being a top banker even then. Imagine, Katie, one day I might help build London’s future. That ego.

  ‘Sweetheart.’ Tom put his hand on her knee, and she jumped. ‘You know this is a good opportunity for us.’ He hesitated, squeezed her knee. ‘Our only opportunity.’

  She stared at a solitary Twiglet under the seat in front of her. Did I pack Twiglets?

  ‘I know, Tom.’ She closed her eyes, pressed her fingers into her eyelids. She saw multi-coloured Twiglets dancing in front of her.

  ‘It’s still boom time in Asia,’ he added, as she flicked open her eyes again. ‘We can pay off our debts.’ He leaned in so close she could smell red wine on his breath. ‘And don’t forget the HMRC...’ Katie watched as he shook his head from side to side, recalled the panic in his voice on the phone that Monday, when he’d gone to a meeting with their lawyers to check just how bad the problem really was. That had been the nail in the coffin – it had made the decision to take the job definite.