The Long Weekend

by Fiona Palmer

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Four perfect strangers. Three days. Can one weekend away change your life? The unputdownable new drama by one of Australia's most beloved storytellers

Coming together for a writing workshop with bestselling author Jan Goldstein, four strangers converge upon a luxury forest retreat. But along with their notepads and laptops, each of the participants has brought some emotional baggage.

Beth is a solo parent and busy career woman haunted by a tragic car accident. Simone, the youngest at 26, is a successful Instagram star but she's hiding behind a facade. Jamie is the only man. He's a handsome personal trainer - but he looks out of place with a pen in his hand. Finally, Alice is a wife and mum recovering from post-natal depression. She and Jamie soon realise they are not such perfect strangers after all.

Only one thing is for sure: on this creative getaway, nothing will go according to script.

'The Long Weekend delivers to readers the perfect chance to escape from their own lives, if just for a few hours. Readers can expect a raft of revelations around postnatal depression, secret affairs, hidden identities, parental neglect and untold truths, with a few steamy sex scenes' Books+Publishing

'Delves deep into themes of secret affairs, hidden identities, parental neglect and untold truths' Who Weekly

'Fiona Palmer is a writer who demonstrates great facility for storytelling, for swiftly moving a plot along. She writes relatable characters. I have no doubt that The Long Weekend will be another bestseller' Living Arts Canberra

'An emotionally charged and engaging novel, with a good and interesting cast' Canberra Weekly

Praise for Fiona Palmer:
'There's an honesty to Palmer's characters that transports you into the heart of their worlds' Australian Women's Weekly
'It's a story about family, female empowerment and matters of the heart' Woman's Day
'Her books are tear-jerkers and page-turners' Sydney Morning Herald
'Fiona Palmer just keeps getting better' RACHAEL JOHNS
'Heartbreak, love and sibling relationships' New Idea

Release date: December 1, 2021

Publisher: Hachette Australia

Print pages: 336

Sample

‘PLEASE, BETHY, FOR ME?’

The vise-like grip on her hands was not threatening; if anything, the slight tremble betrayed Poppy’s desperation. It was the first time in a long time she’d shown so much determination. Poppy had never been a fragile person. Growing up, her big sister had been brave and happy, energetic and kind. A true reflection of their parents, especially their mother. But trauma had left its mark, in the curve of her shoulders, the timid movement of her body and the permanent shadows in the creases of her eyes, like dark stains on her soul.

‘But I can’t leave Hudson and Dad.’

Beth Walton glanced over at her son on his elephant-print play mat, his wooden blocks strewn around him. Drool oozed down his chin, soaking into his blue jumpsuit, his cheeks glowing red as he focused on chewing a block as if he were a puppy and it was a tasty bone. Poppy’s surprise visit had interrupted Beth’s routine and she’d forgotten to put on his bib.

‘Especially now he’s teething. His temp’s all over the place and he’s cranky,’ added Beth.

‘Dad’s always like that,’ said Poppy, scrunching her nose up enough to move her black-framed glasses.

‘Ha-ha.’

‘Look, it’s only for a weekend,’ Poppy continued in her best imploring tone. ‘I’ll stay here and look after Dad and Hudson. I’ll clean the house, I’ll do everything. Please, sis, you know what this means to me!’ Her shoulders dropped along with her grip on Beth’s hands. ‘I can do this, Beth.’

Poppy rifled through her bag and took out a pamphlet.

‘Just take a look. You get to spend the weekend in Dunsborough. Geographe Bay! Think of it as a weekend away. You haven’t had any time off since having Hudson and you need a break from Dad.’

And from you.

Beth brushed away the thought as Poppy raced on.

‘I’ll pay for it all. You won’t need to do anything but rock up and enjoy yourself. You might even find that you enjoy writing.’

Beth scoffed but took the pamphlet anyway.

Jan Goldstein’s Writers’ Retreat Workshop.

Help get your creative juices flowing in our gorgeous surroundings with renowned bestselling author Jan Goldstein. Enjoy invaluable time learning skills from one of the writing greats, along with tips and pointers to help with that new novel, memoir, blog or whatever other creative outlet beckons.

Book your spot now at this highly sought-after workshop. Places limited.

It went on to list prices, and Beth choked on her own breath. ‘Shit, sis, are you sure you want me to do this?’

Poppy’s blue eyes glistened as she blinked the tears away. Her lips moved but no words came. Instead she nodded, swallowing hard.

Beth felt herself crumble. Years of standing tall, trying to be strong for everyone while fraying at the edges bit by bit, had taken its toll. Every now and then she couldn’t help but let her facade slip. And she knew it was even worse for Poppy.

Beth reached for Poppy’s hand, her thumb gently brushing along a scar. ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’

Closing her eyes, Poppy nodded again. ‘I need this, Bethy. I need to put things right, and I can’t do it without you. And frankly, it’s just not fair. It’s wrong!’

The growing steel in Poppy’s voice gave Beth hope. For years now Beth had watched Poppy retreat into a shell of self-protection. She only left her apartment for groceries and her full-time job at the cafe a few blocks away. Poppy didn’t drive, of course. She barely spent money on anything. Beth glanced down at Poppy’s blue Adidas runners, her second pair this year, but they were still cheaper than a set of tyres. No wonder she could afford to pay for the swanky retreat.

‘Look, read this again.’ Poppy retrieved the ill-famed novel from her bag and shoved it at Beth.

Beth pulled a face, but Poppy only pushed it harder into her hands.

‘Read it. If it doesn’t piss you off, then fine, you don’t have to go. But if it burns your blood like it does mine, then please … please help me do something about it. You know I can’t go to the retreat, but you can.’

Hudson started to cry and kick at the blocks at his feet while trying to jam his fist into his wet mouth. His face was instantly stained with tears, and before Beth could even call his name Poppy had swooped over and picked him up.

‘Hey, hey, my boy. What’s up? You tell Aunty Poppy your problems,’ she said, kissing his head and rocking him in her arms.

The afternoon light was filtering in through the corner window. Poppy glanced at her watch, no doubt calculating how long she had left before it was too dark to walk home. Beth had given up offering her a lift home, or anywhere for that matter.

‘Look,’ said Poppy as Hudson stopped crying and gazed up at his aunt in fascination as she waved her beaded necklace across his hands, ‘I’d love to have some time with Hudson. Plus you work too hard. You never take a break. I see this as a win–win.’

Beth rolled her eyes. She was still getting the raw end of this deal, but with the book heavy in her hands and the beautiful landscape depicted on the pamphlet drawing her eye, she knew she would say yes. She could never deny Poppy.

‘I’m writing you an alphabet book,’ Poppy cooed to Hudson. ‘It has all your favourite animals and toys, and when it’s done I’ll come and read it to you as often as I can. And I’ve started another book about a little boy and a magic football. I think you’ll love it.’

Hudson smiled up at Poppy. At nearly eleven months, he’d grown so much since Beth had felt his kicks inside her belly and held his tiny body in her arms, and yet he was still so new to the world. She was in awe of everything he did, from babbling to laughing to pulling funny faces, or his joy at the simplest things. But it wasn’t only Hudson who was mesmerising in that moment. To see Poppy so animated and full of love, talking to him as if he understood every word. To see Poppy really happy made Beth’s eyes prickle with tears. She blinked them away before they could drown her. She knew what this meant to Poppy and she knew she could do this for her sister.

‘I’ve decided,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll go.’

BETH PASSED THE SIGN FOR BUSSELTON, WHICH MARKED AS far south as she had ever travelled.

For the tenth time she glanced back to Hudson’s empty car seat, still adjusting to being alone in her blue hatchback. She’d listened to ‘Baby Shark’ and ‘Five Little Ducks’ on her Hudson playlist for about ten minutes before realising. It had been so long since she’d listened to adult music that she didn’t even know what was current, so she put on the radio. But more than two hours later, as she turned onto Marri Road, spying glimpses of homes nestled in green paddocks she felt like she had finally adjusted to being alone and feeling like a person, not just a mum. She’d had brief respites from Hudson – a solo trip to the supermarket, or a few walks while Poppy babysat – but nothing as long as this, or as far away. She wasn’t sure what was scarier: the feeling of being like a yacht losing its anchor, or the idea that she might not even know how to exist without Hudson. Even the clean navy fibres on her T-shirt seemed to shine without stains and drool. And her light-wash jeans, usually hidden in the back of the cupboard, hugged her legs as if in thanks to finally be worn again. She felt a little guilty, but she also felt free.

Maybe Poppy was right, this weekend break would be good for her. Three nights – her first away from Hudson. Her stomach dropped a little whenever she thought about him waking up and not seeing her. It had taken ten minutes to say goodbye to her boy, standing by her car with Poppy waiting while Beth hugged and kissed and smelled her wriggling son. Her dad had quickly tired of waiting to wave her off and limped back inside.

‘Beth …’ Poppy had grumbled more than once.

In the end Hudson had got fed up and started to push against her chest, feet kicking and grunting his displeasure. With one last kiss on his wet red cheek she’d handed him over.

It was hard to drive away and her eyes may have watered a bit, but common sense told her that she might be overreacting a little. She planned to call home the moment she arrived but until then she would stick to her promise of not touching her phone.

Going on this writers’ retreat felt ridiculous. Poppy was the writer. She was the one who’d spent her childhood reading and creating stories, always doodling on scrap paper and writing in diaries. There wasn’t a day Poppy didn’t have a book or two on the go. Beth had been more outdoorsy, probably due to their dad’s influence; he was always outside fixing something or volunteering at the local footy club where he helped manage the team. Beth tagged along as often as she could. But a lot had changed since then. Everything had changed.

Christ, how am I going to get through this? I can’t write a shopping list to save myself!

Google Maps told her she was very close to her destination and the butterflies started to take flight in her belly, self-doubt creeping in like the dark on a setting sun.

‘Don’t stress,’ Poppy had said earlier that day. ‘All sorts of writers of all levels of experience go to these things. Just pretend to write something. Or use this.’ Poppy shoved a USB into Beth’s hands. ‘I’ve written a few things you can play around with, in case you have to share or read something out.’

‘What do you mean, read something out?!’

Beth had nearly keeled over, as if suddenly she was back in high school standing at the front of her English class having to recite a poem she’d been made to write. It would be different if she was asked to talk about how to use a tennis ball to release discomfort in the shoulder, or how to stretch out tightness in the hamstrings. Being a physiotherapist had been her dream job until Hudson came along; being his mother – as trying as it could be – was so much more. Only recently she’d started working again a few days a week, combining both loves. Writing had always been Poppy’s thing.

Poppy had spent the next five minutes reassuring her that it was unlikely, and that even if she were asked, she could refuse. Beth tried to look reassured, for Poppy’s sake, but inside she was a mess of nerves. Reminding herself that she was doing it for her sister helped, but only a little.

Without thinking, she took a hand from the steering wheel and felt the long scar that ran diagonally from under the left side of her nose, down across her lips and to nearly the bottom of her chin. It wasn’t her only scar, but it was the one people noticed first. Another stretched along her forehead and through her eyebrow, separating it like a parted sea. Her long mousy hair fell across her face to the right, mostly covering this scar; it wasn’t intentional, but nor did she bother to change it.

Beth wasn’t ashamed of her scars; she didn’t try to hide them under make-up or shield her face when talking to people. But she couldn’t stop the irritation that rose when people stared or when men looked past her to the next, flawless face. She didn’t mind the little kids, because they didn’t know any better. Once a little boy asked her if she’d been attacked by a werewolf or Wolverine, and she’d run with that explanation for a while. In a way her scars had made her invisible to some people, while others openly stared with curiosity. Then there were those who screwed up their faces and gasped.

Being invisible was by far the better alternative.

‘Oh wow.’

Her mind was drawn back by the landscape that had changed around her. Tall trees, maybe marri or jarrah, stood high on either side of the road as she slowed to turn off on to a narrow driveway. Google Maps informed her she had arrived at her destination, but she was still climbing up the steep driveway, twisting left and right around massive trees that arched over her, shielding her from the sun and hiding the sky. Finally, the hint of a massive building appeared through the trees. This wasn’t a run-of-the-mill house dwarfed by the landscape, cocooned in its rainforest-vibe surroundings, this was the biggest home she’d ever seen, all natural wood and wide windows, imposing and glistening like a magazine spread. Soft cream walls shone and a tin roof mirrored the silver–blue sky; rustic brown bush poles held up a second-storey balcony that made for a grand entrance beneath. Beside the house was another structure, the shape of a big shed but with large see-through panels in the walls – a pool house perhaps? The compacted dirt road opened up before her, forming a turning circle around a well-maintained garden with a mix of native shrubs and roses. Off to the side of the house was ample parking for at least six vehicles.

Hmm, I see why you chose this place for the retreat.

A black ute with big rims and chunky tyres was the only vehicle parked near the house. Two long bags were strapped to the roof rack. Surfboards? Beth wondered. When she climbed out of her car the smell of the damp undergrowth hit her; it was like new life and felt invigorating in a way she couldn’t explain.

She turned in the direction of the house and her mouth fell open. Feeling like a sprite, she glided past the house, drawn by the view. The tall trees seemed to part like textured curtains, just enough so she could see the ocean, endless to the horizon. It was so still, like a picture, and yet she could hear the rustle of leaves and the gentle sway of branches, reminding her she wasn’t standing in front of a painting. White caps tickled the tops of the waves but the ocean was too far away to hear them crash against the beach. Yet Beth swore she could.

‘Not bad, hey?’

Beth jolted to her right to see a man lazing on a chair a few feet away.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ His easy voice, calm and relaxed.

Beth didn’t want to stare – she knew what that felt like – but this man was …

Whoa.

Her eyelids closed as she tried to form coherent thoughts. Beautiful. That’s what her mind came back with. This man was beautiful. She forced her eyes open, and there he was, like a blinding light in his tight black T-shirt, every muscle defined and highlighted, and dark denim over his long legs to the black Converse on his feet.

Beth subconsciously ran her hand over her good jeans. ‘Um, hi. Is this your place?’

‘No. But I’m the first one here, it seems,’ he said with a languid smile.

Shivers ran down her back at his smooth, sexy voice. It had been a long time since anyone had made her react like this, not since Hudson’s father. And look how that turned out, she reminded herself. Nowadays, the only excitement she got was from sneaking in some screen time to dream about a Hemsworth or a Jamie Fraser. Real-life men who looked like this one had let her down; it was easier to admire the fantasy kind that could never hurt her.

Beth crossed her arms and turned back to the ocean, trying to take a more relaxed pose, opening her stance as if the surroundings were all that engrossed her while she tried to control her racing pulse. Adrien had been handsome but not as well shaped as this guy. The bulge of his muscles stuck to her eyes like the dots from staring at the sun, unable to blink them away.

‘Are you here for the retreat?’ he asked.

Her hair cascaded across her face as she nodded.

‘Cool, me too,’ he said as he jumped smoothly up from the chair and extended his hand. ‘I’m Jamie Dunham.’

Her eyebrows shot up. He’s a writer? You’ve got to be kidding.

Hesitating for a fraction, she stepped towards him to shake his hand. His muscles rippled as his sizeable hand closed around hers. Her first thought was that he looked like he belonged on a football field rather than at a writers’ retreat, but then she realised she was hardly in a position to judge. His mahogany hair was cut short and neatly styled, unlike Beth’s; her split ends hadn’t seen a pair of scissors since she was in her teens.

‘Yes. Hi Jamie. I’m Beth,’ she said, retaining her last name. She winced slightly, suddenly feeling like a fraud. She had stepped into the lie now. Beth the aspiring author. What a joke.

‘Your first writing retreat?’ he asked.

Beth nodded again. At least that was true.

Jamie’s brow knotted together for the slightest moment. Finally he’d noticed her scars. He was only human after all. Now he’d glance away in discomfort as most people did.

But his eyes found hers and didn’t circumnavigate her face. Instead he let out a nervous chuckle.

‘Me too. I feel a little out of place,’ he admitted.

‘Well, that makes two of us. At least it’s nice here,’ she added, her arms dropping to her sides as her breath rushed out.

‘Yeah, I love this area. Yallingup especially. Good waves,’ he said with a wink.

Beth smiled, unaffected by his wink. She had gathered herself and wouldn’t fall for any of his charms, which probably came as naturally to him as someone checking their watch. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets and tried to think of something else to say.

‘So, do you know what’s happening? Is there anyone else here?’ she asked, glancing around.

He shook his head. ‘I’ve opened the locked box with the key and we all have information packages in our assigned rooms. Come, I’ll show you to yours.’

Hurrying to keep up, Beth followed Jamie into the house through massive sliding doors between chunky bush poles. Inside, more poles added to an earthy feel but she was unsure if they actually held up the second storey or were purely aesthetic. The walls were cream, similar to the outside, but here the natural timbers and furniture became the feature. Artworks and canvases of native flowers adorned the walls. The floor was tiled in huge cream squares that drew the eye to the main event – a stunning staircase of timber and iron that wound up to the next level.

Jamie pointed skywards. ‘The other two participants have the top floor, and we’re down here. We have to share the bathroom.’ He frowned. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Beth replied with a smile, thinking of the bathroom she shared with her dad. She wasn’t afraid of a lifted toilet seat or jocks left on the floor.

Jamie gestured to an immaculate open-plan kitchen, which again resembled something Beth had only seen in magazines or movies. Cream cupboards, black granite benchtops and stainless steel appliances, with a splash of jade green from the tea towels to the fruit bowl and the splashback. Definitely no kids visited here.

As his long legs glided down the cream passageway past more artwork, Beth quickened her step to keep up.

‘Here you are.’

Jamie opened the door at the end and gestured to the corner, past the queen bed. ‘A desk for your laptop. There’s a printer in Jan’s cottage but you can access it on the wi-fi. It’s all in your information pack.’

Beth spotted the A4 envelope on the desk with her full name printed on the outside.

‘You’ve been here a while then?’ she asked.

‘Maybe twenty minutes before you. There’s not much in the pack, just our session times and some resources. Anyway, I’ll let you settle in. I’m right next door if you need anything.’

Jamie slid past her and out the door, leaving an intoxicating scent, one that reminded her of the fresh woodiness of the lush trees and dense undergrowth outside.

Beth looked around her room for the weekend. It was bigger than her living room, the bed rich and plump with patterned blue pillows. It was like being inside an antique tea set, with the soft blue and white theme, and gold accents on the lights and desk lamps. A long window at the end of the bed gave her a view of the gorgeous tall trees and leaf-littered grounds outside.

I could get used to this, she said to herself, and took out her phone. She’d promised Poppy she wouldn’t call in every five minutes, but suddenly, all alone in this big room in the silence, she needed to know that Hudson was okay. It hit like a brick that her son wasn’t by her side, or even in the next room. He was hours away and it was suddenly sickening.

‘What are you doing!’ Poppy said as she answered the call. ‘You’ve only been gone two hours!’

‘I’m just letting you know I arrived safe,’ Beth replied.

‘Bollocks,’ countered Poppy. ‘You’re checking on us. Hudson is fine. I’m quite capable of looking after my nephew.’

Beth sighed. ‘You’re right. It’s just … This is harder than I thought. . .