Free Jilted by Rachael Johns Page A

couldn’t.’ It was all Ellie could do to stop breaking into nervous hysterics at the thought. Venturing out to buy groceries was one thing, but she could just imagine her reception if she tried to wheedle her way into the group. ‘I’m not here for long, and there are a couple of things I want to do in that time.’ Painting Mat’sgutters and awnings was a much safer bet than what Mrs Ellery had in mind.
    ‘Think about it, dear.’ Then, with a pat on Ellie’s forearm, Mrs Ellery doddered off down the aisle pulling her tapestry trolley behind her.
    Ellie did think about it, her thoughts distracting her as she and Joyce finished the shopping. She barely noticed the cold looks and people turning the other way when they saw her coming down the aisle. The town’s last production – Mary Poppins – had been the year before she’d skipped town. In the middle of winter, it had been the highlight of the cold season. She hadn’t been involved, but Matilda had directed and Ellie had often hung around watching rehearsals. The atmosphere whenever the cast and crew got together had been exhilarating.
    ‘Think that’s us done now,’ said Joyce, interrupting Ellie’s memory. ‘Unless there’s anything else you can think of.’
    ‘No.’ Ellie stared ahead at the checkout, trying to remember the name of the girl behind the counter. She knew if she acted friendly and not like the snob they all took her for, she’d stand a better chance of not being stoned. That started with addressing people by their names.
    As she stopped the trolley at the front of the store, however, her gaze drifted to the newspapers on a stand next to the checkouts. Across the front page of The West Australian was her face, large and flushed against the pale cement of the service station floor. The headline: STELLA’S SOAP OPERA PAST IN RURAL WA. Flynn’s scowling – but still terribly sexy – face was inset at the bottom of the page.
    Her heart plummeted at the publicity she neither needed nor wanted. Ten years ago, when she was first starting to make a name for herself, one particular hound of a journalist had almost uncovered the whole story. Luckily a well-known cricket personality hadindulged in an affair with a newsreader about the same time, and the story of Ellie and Flynn and their non-wedding had died a quick death.
    Her mobile began to shrill from her handbag, the unmistakable tone of Lady Gaga interrupting her thoughts. She ripped the zip open and snatched the phone. Not at all surprised to see the caller was her agent, Dwayne Wright, she pressed reject and shoved it back inside. There wasn’t time to deal with Dwayne’s fury right now – she had about five hundred newspapers to buy.
    ‘I’ll take the lot,’ she told the woman behind the checkout, gesturing to the newspapers. ‘And if you’ve got any out the back, I’ll take them too.’ Dammit, her name was Simone, she remembered a moment too late.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Simone scoffed, making a derogatory sound between her teeth. ‘I can’t sell you all the newspapers.’
    ‘Why not?’ Ellie’s heart tripped over itself. ‘My money’s as good as anyone’s.’
    Not deeming her comment worthy of a reply, Simone leaned forward and spoke into the PA. ‘Gavin, can you please come to the checkout? Gavin.’
    ‘Who’s Gavin?’ Ellie hissed to Joyce.
    ‘The manager,’ Joyce whispered back.
    Ah good, thought Ellie, surely he won’t turn down legitimate sales. But of course she was wrong. The manager, whom she recognised as a distant relative of Flynn’s mother, wasn’t even sure he wanted to let her buy one newspaper.
    ‘I don’t want you causing havoc in my shop,’ he announced, his pudgy arms folded over an impressive beer gut. ‘Perhaps you should just leave.’
    To hell with being polite, Ellie had just about had it up to here with some of the people in this silly, back-of-beyond town. She thrust her finger at the sign that hung across the entrance.