You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

in her head. For the last three years she has put other men on hold – avoiding getting serious with anyone – wanting to be available should Lucas and Daniella ever break up. For the last three years she has been deluding herself.

She hauls herself out of bed, navigating her way around packing boxes. Everything feels like it’s coming to an end. This house. The future that she imagined with Lucas. Even her past is disintegrating; Thomas Malouf and William Newson are dead.

The bathroom mirror tells the truth. The dregs of last night’s mascara. Undertones of pallor to her skin. Flaky lips and bleak eyes. How many drinks last night? Three? Four? A lot for her. She doesn’t drink much for a reason.

Ten minutes later she is sitting outside on the deck with a strong cup of tea and a slice of wholegrain toast. Roslyn left a note on the counter: Gone to buy more packing tape. Megan is glad of the empty house, glad to be able to lick her wounds and contemplate where to go to from here.

The house is going on the market next week. Removalists are booked and practically everything is going into storage. This is what she wanted, so why does she feel so directionless and off kilter? Pathetic.

As for Lucas, she has wasted the last three years loving him, hoping against hope that fate would intervene and make them a couple. Beyond pathetic.

The caffeine and air are starting to take effect. Now that her head is clearing, anger is taking hold. She is furious with herself.

It’s time to get your shit together. Stop falling for the wrong men. Stop making excuses for your bad judgement.

It’s a busy day ahead. There’s packing to finish and some final touches with the painting. Not forgetting that she should dedicate some time to finding somewhere new to live. Better get going. Rinse her cup at the kitchen sink. Back to her bedroom to get dressed. Why is she rummaging through boxes of clothes for gym wear? Why is she lacing up runners, and rushing out the door as though being chased by someone?

Twenty minutes later she arrives at the industrial estate where Jess works. She sits in the car for a minute, gazing sightlessly at the half-mast roller door.

Lucas is getting married. It’s time to get your shit together.

Megan slams the car door, the sound reverberating around the half-empty car park. Her breath is coming in short angry gasps. She ducks under the roller door; the gym started its life as a warehouse. The air thrums with the beat of Billie Eilish’s ‘Bad Guy’. Boxers, wet patches under their arms, are sparring in the ring. Skipping ropes whistle through the air. Some kind of class is going on over at the mat.

Jess is striding towards her, ponytail bouncing, a question on her pale face. ‘Megan? What are you doing here?’

Megan exhales the breath she has been holding since finding out about the engagement. ‘I want to hit something. I want to hit something really, really hard.’

41

JESS

Jess can guess why Megan is here. She turned up like this before, years ago. A married man had let her down. The relationship had come to a predictable end. She was disappointed, hurt, wanting to lash out.

Today, Jess doesn’t ask her who it is, or what he has done.

‘You can join the intermediate class.’ She points her to the mat. ‘We’re only five minutes in.’

As with most of the classes, there’s a rotation system in operation. Megan starts on the agility ladders, stumbling her way at first, but quickly getting the hang of it. Then it’s two minutes of skipping, followed by squatting against the wall, then an exercise that involves jumping from side to side, to build up calf muscles. Megan’s wearing a vest and leggings, like most of the other women, and is keeping up with the pace. Her core fitness is good, but anger can get you a long way, too. Jess should know.

Finally, it’s Megan’s turn on the punching bags. Jess hands her some elasticated wraps and a pair of gloves. She wipes sweat from her face with her arm before letting loose.

‘Two slow ones, then through,’ Jess directs. ‘That’s it. Keep it tight. Now, jab with the left and straight right. Good, keep it up … One, two, rip … One, two, upper-cut … One, two, rip, uppercut …’

Megan is hitting the bag strongly. Is it another married man or some other doomed relationship? Everyone has different ways of retaliating when they get hurt. Jess used her fists, while Megan used sex. In the ring, Jess could unleash her aggression and frustration, and the harder she fought, the calmer her mind became. Stretching the limits of her endurance and pain tolerance restored her self-respect. Now she suspects that she healed better than Megan did.

The session ends about forty minutes later. A babble of chatter breaks out; the members know each other well from years of attending these Saturday-morning classes.

Megan surrenders her gloves and the wrap. ‘That was exactly what I needed. Sorry for turning up out of the blue.’

Vince is close by, working on Billy’s technique using the floor-to-ceiling ball.

‘Turn up anytime you want,’ he says, pausing his critique of Billy’s defensive reflexes. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’

Vince never forgets a face.

‘Thank you.’ Megan smiles, a trickle of sweat running down her temple.

‘We have a fight night at the community hall next week,’ Vince says, his gaze refocused on Billy. ‘This man is having his debut. It’s going to be a big night. You should come.’

Megan is visibly taken aback by the invitation. ‘I – I’m not sure I—’

‘Meet Billy,’ Jess chimes in. ‘When he’s not in a sweatsuit, he’s in a suit and tie. You should come to the fight, Megan. It’s not every day you see a lawyer getting beaten up.’

‘Hey!’ Billy objects, without losing rhythm on the ball. ‘What did I do to deserve that?’

‘Just being a lawyer is enough,’ Jess