Excerpt:
It was well after 4.00pm by the time Mia plodded
down the concrete steps into the car park. The flash and beep from her car as
she pointed the remote always gave her a discernible burst of joy because it
meant she was on her way home. On this particular occasion she also realised
she had not had time all day to think about her own family. Tossing her bag
onto the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel and turning the key in
the ignition, she resolved to ring Adam after dinner. In the meantime, she
thought, there was a more irksome task to be dealt with. She rummaged through
her bag, dug out her phone and slipped it into the hands-free carrier. She
eventually found the number and dialled, the rings at the other end echoing
through the car as she emerged from the car park into the fading light.
‘Leila Anderson,’ a voice answered as Mia
accelerated onto the street, still shining with evidence of the day’s
persistent early-spring showers.
‘Hello, Leila, it’s Mia Sandhurst,’ she said,
pulling up at the traffic lights, the indicator clicking like a metronome as
she waited for a young couple with a pram to saunter across the pedestrian
crossing before she could turn left.
‘Hello, Mia.’ Leila’s voice registered surprise.
And there was something else that was indecipherable in her tone as well.
‘I’m really sorry to intrude on your Sunday, but
Eric isn’t responding to my calls. I’m a little worried. Have you heard from
him?’
A brief silence was followed by hesitant,
deliberate intonations — the type of response one would expect from a witness
on the stand in a courtroom, or someone giving evidence to a Royal Commission.
‘Well, no … not really. Only a few emails with attached reports and letters he
wanted me to type.’
‘Has he called you?’ Mia asked, her concerns
curdling to suspicion, purely due to Leila’s obvious wavering.
‘No … no calls. Look, I’m sure he’s fine, Mia. He
has a pretty packed schedule this trip.’
Mia turned into her street, the energetic, almost
cheerful clicking of the indictor at odds with the anxiety, edged with anger,
that swirled in her gut. Of course, it was Leila’s job to protect her boss, but
it was not her place to shield him from his wife. ‘Mm, that’s part of the
problem, I think. I didn’t get his schedule for this trip. I wonder if you
would email me a copy, please.’
There was another awkward pause before Leila said,
‘Sure. I don’t see why not. And if I do hear from Eric, I’ll have him call
you.’
‘Excellent — thanks, Leila. Enjoy the rest of your
day. And sorry again for disturbing you, but I feel so much better now we have
spoken …
‘… not,’ Mia said through clenched teeth, stabbing
the end button and accelerating into her undercroft. Within seconds, she was
pounding her way up the stairs and charging through the back door into her
kitchen, ignoring the beep from within her bag, which signalled the arrival of
a text to pour herself a large glass of chilled white wine.
Soothed by a few velvet sips, Mia slammed her palm
onto the gas fire, bringing its flames to life with a deep puff, shoved a
section of pre-cooked Peking duck into the oven and made an Asian salad, then
took a long hot shower. Rummaging to the back of her wardrobe she dragged out
her comfort clothes — elephant-sized track pants and an equally large
windcheater. She relished their sense of freedom and warmth and padded in bare
feet back to the kitchen where aromas of cooked duck filled the space and
teased her appetite.
It was when she was taking the first sip of her
second glass of wine that she remembered the text message and lifted her phone
to see that there were actually two messages awaiting her.
The first was from Maggie Malloy: Rachel’s cardiac
tests clear. Still refusing to engage with psych. Will be discharged tomorrow
in the am. Have reported my concerns to Child Welfare.
Mia’s brow furrowed. ‘Oh no, Rachel. What is really
happening in your life? Should we be worried or should we simply leave you
alone?’ She resolved to visit Rachel one last time tomorrow, before she was
discharged from hospital.
The second message was from Eric: Singapore deal
successful. Sorry haven’t been able to return calls. Will be home Tuesday, but
have another appointment that evening so no plans pls. E. His blisteringly
terse tone seemed misplaced and unwarranted, especially after days of silence.
‘How astounding, Eric, that you have chosen to message me less than one hour
after I phoned your secretary. What is going on?’ she muttered, her appetite
immediately leaving her.
BLURB:
There is good love and bad love. Good sex and bad sex. And sometimes
it's hard to know the difference.
Paediatrician
and mother Mia Sandhurst is scraping to keep her marriage together after her
husband of 25 years breaks her heart. Finally facing reality, Mia embarks on a
series of outlandish new behaviours to make startling discoveries about
herself, love and life.
But the
lies and betrayal Mia endures are nothing compared to those of her 15 year old
patient, Rachel Hooper.
Set on
the magical coast of the Fleurieu Peninsula, What Matters Most is a story of
love, family, misplaced loyalty and how our choices shape who we are.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and
Links:
Dianne Maguire is a social worker
turned novelist with over 20 years' experience in child welfare and protection.
She has won the Pauline Walsh Prize in
the Eastwood/Hills Regional Annual Literary Awards and in 2010 she co-wrote a
collection of non-fiction short stories, It's About Time, for children's
charity Time for Kids. Her
articles have been published in state and national newspapers and magazines.
Although Dianne lives in Adelaide with
her husband Jerome, she does most of her writing on the Fleurieu Peninsula.
What Matters Most is her debut novel.
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