The Costume Party

By L.E. Young

Maddie thought she knew exactly who she was. Until an old photograph changed everything…

The last person Maddie expected to run into on New Year's Eve is her recently single high school crush. Even more surprising is the dated photo in his possession of her mother at a costume party, snuggling up to the wrong man around the time of Maddie's conception.

Sharing the photo with her family goes down about as well as Maddie's teenage aspirations to become a famous artist like her mother. Their reactions convince Maddie they're all hiding something big—even bigger than Maddie's secret career as an adult magazine writer.

The only person who is any help is Tom, if being helpful entails reigniting Maddie's old feelings and being forced to come face-to-face with his mean girl ex.

If Maddie wants the truth about her biological father, she must decide if it's worth risking the relationships of those closest to her. And if she wants a second chance with Tom, she'll need to be brave enough to trust her heart, which could turn out to be her greatest challenge of all…

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.E. Young
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9780646891170

Book preview

Prologue

New Year’s Eve, 1989

Jill

Jill stood in front of the large bay window near the entrance of the Commercial Hotel and flipped open her Zippo lighter with a sharp flick of her wrist. She raised the flame to the tip of the cigarette pressed between her lips and sucked in air with quick little breaths. Nicotine burned a trail along the back of her throat and her eyes watered. She teetered in her mother’s red patent leather high heels, dizzy and elated at the same time. After a week of furtive practice, she had finally done it. She had mastered the drawback.

She scissored the cigarette between two fingers, removed it from her mouth and dropped her hand to her side. The irony of going outside for a cigarette when the pub was as smoky as a joss house wasn’t lost on her but she’d wanted to practice away from Hannah’s censorious gaze. Her sister didn’t approve of her new habit but Jill thought the cigarettes gave her an air of sophistication. Even the brand name was sexy – St Moritz. She had seen them advertised in Cosmopolitan and immediately pictured herself draped over a stool at her easel, a plume of smoke snaking away from her fingers as she contemplated her latest masterpiece.

Jill looked through the window of the pub, anticipation fluttering in her belly as she watched the bustling scene before her. When Hannah told her she was going to a New Year’s costume party, Jill had demanded to be taken along, the artist in her loving the transformation of playing dress-ups. The flyer had said Party like a Rock Star and as she scanned the room, she could see most people were in costume. So far she had counted six people dressed as Jon Bon Jovi and at least four as Axl Rose. There were too many Madonnas to count, but her favourite was a burly man perched on a stool at the bar, his enormous hairy chest bursting through a white bustier, a huge lace bow sitting pertly on his head.

Jill eventually spotted Hannah on the edge of the dance floor. She was talking to that nerdy Mark from her accountancy class, the shy guy she had been trying to land for two years. Hannah was dressed as Elton John, her eyes gigantic beneath the red cellophane–covered lenses of their father’s glasses. Despite her goggle-eyed appearance, Mark seemed in Hannah’s thrall, his expression dazed as he nodded vigorously at whatever she was saying. Jill frowned. She didn’t understand what Hannah saw in Mark. He was okay looking in a preppy kind of way, but he was just so dull. Tonight, Jill was determined to get with an older guy. Now that she was sixteen it was time to graduate from high school boys. She wanted someone sexy and fun with a dangerous glint in his eyes – in other words, the opposite of Mark.

As if sensing her gaze, Hannah turned to the window. She pushed her glasses down the bridge of her nose and looked at the cigarette in Jill’s hand, her mouth a cat’s bum of disapproval. Jill leaned into the window and fogged up the glass with a hot breath. Using her index finger, she drew a penis in the fog, laughter bubbling in her throat as she grinned at Hannah. Her sister shook her head and turned back to Mark but Jill could tell she was giggling by the rise and fall of her shoulders. Her sister could be a bossy cow at times, but it was never difficult to make her laugh.

‘What you drawing there, love?’

‘Fuck,’ Jill whispered, scrubbing out the drawing with her fist. She turned in the direction of the deep male voice. Her breath caught in her throat and a wave of heat rolled up her face. She had never seen such a sexy-looking man in her life. Tall and lean – just as she liked them – with a face that had a hungry, sultry look about it. His eyes were an astonishing shade of blue. Aquamarine, she thought, her fingers twitching. How she would love to capture that face on canvas. He was dressed as Bruce Springsteen, which made her think their meeting was fated. Jill loved Bruce Springsteen. She had a poster of him on her bedroom ceiling so she could look at him as she drifted off to sleep. Could this be the older guy she was meant to be with tonight?

‘Nothing,’ she said, finally putting her tongue back in her mouth. She tried to keep her voice casual – Hannah said men didn’t like it if you acted too keen – but she found it hard to keep her cool when her heartstrings were about to snap.

His eyes slowly ran the length of her body. ‘I like your costume.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, her hand fluffing the orange cloud of hair haloing her face. ‘I love Cyndi Lauper.’ She drew deeply on her cigarette, her eyes narrowing as her gaze swept his body in imitation of the way he’d looked at her. Her throat tickled and she compressed her lips, willing herself not to cough. But the smoke had to go somewhere and out it poured from her nose, like she was a fucking dragon. She opened her mouth to speak but all she could manage was a dry squeak.

‘Looks like you need a drink, sweetheart,’ Bruce said, sounding amused. ‘Come inside and I’ll buy you one.’

Jill butted out her cigarette on the brick wall of the pub and dropped it on the pavement. She followed Bruce inside, a combination of fear and excitement kicking her heart rate up a gear. She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to get him to buy her a drink. At this rate she’d have him hooked well before midnight.

Chapter One

New Year’s Eve, 2018

Maddie

Maddie stood in front of her apartment building and glanced at her watch for the third time in under a minute. She switched her gaze to the road, swearing every time a car passed that wasn’t Mark’s black Mazda sedan. Of all the nights her uncle could have chosen to break free of the chains of punctuality that had shackled him his whole life, this was the worst. The New Year’s Eve she’d promised to ring in with her best friend Sal would be over before she arrived at the pub. Sal, whose temper had a hairline trigger, was probably planning how best to dispose of Maddie’s body.

The small gold clutch in her hand vibrated. She opened it and took out her phone, looking down as another abusive message from Sal lit up the screen. This one included a demon emoji and a middle finger salute. Maddie’s first reaction was to laugh but then she pictured her friend alone at the bar, probably angrily shotting tequila, and guilt took over. When Sal called forty-five minutes ago, Maddie couldn’t believe how late it was. She had lost track of time while working on this week’s story, a first for her – she usually approached her work with grim resignation. But this piece was different. ‘Junkyard Whore’ had a beauty and joy rarely seen in porn fiction. She had been so excited by the words flowing from her fingers that half the night passed without her noticing it.

After Sal raged down the phone at her, Maddie immediately called Mark. Taxis or Ubers would be in short supply on New Year’s and she knew her uncle would be sober. Mark had an astonishingly low tolerance for alcohol and after one too many humiliating incidents, had vowed to only drink in the privacy of his own home. He was at a party with her mum and Aunt Hannah but had jumped at the chance to escape.

‘Pissed as farts, the both of them,’ he had said. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’

She didn’t know what she would do without Mark, who was more like a father than an uncle. With her mum and Hannah, he had raised her in an old Victorian weatherboard house in Brunswick. Maddie had moved to an apartment ten minutes away but her three parents still lived together in her childhood home.

Mark finally turned into the car park with a series of long toots thirty minutes after he had promised. She ran to meet him, her dusty pink dress riding up her thighs as she negotiated the parked cars in her high heel sandals. As she approached Mark’s car, the back window slid open. Maddie came to a sudden stop, a groan escaping her lips as her mum’s head poked forward.

‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen you run.’ Jill’s eyes were wide as she nodded at Maddie’s chest. ‘It was like watching an episode of Baywatch.’

Maddie rolled her eyes and yanked down the skirt of her dress. ‘I suppose Hannah’s in there too?’

‘Of course,’ Jill replied with a smug grin. ‘You’ll have sit in the back with me.’

Maddie sighed and got into the car beside her mum. Hannah was slumped against the front passenger seat window, a drunken snore rattling out of her open mouth. Maddie leaned between the front seats and stared at Mark.

‘Why?’ she asked, her voice pained. ‘Why did you bring them?’

‘When do I ever have a choice?’ Mark pushed her back with a gentle hand. ‘Buckle up, Birdie, you’re late, aren’t you?’

Maddie dragged her seatbelt across her chest as Mark pulled out of the car park. It was no wonder he’d been delayed, weighed down as he was by two saddlebags. She tucked a stray strand of hair into her high topknot and turned to look at her mum. Jill wore a voluminous, brightly printed caftan that swamped her tiny frame. Her skinny arms moved like pistons as she riffled through a shopping bag. Both Jill and Hannah had a bird-like fragility, a Napier trait Maddie had missed out on. Although she was also small in stature, she had a bit more up back and a lot more up front than Jill and Hannah. She assumed her voluptuousness was inherited from her father’s side of the family, but given she hadn’t met a single one of them, she couldn’t be sure.

‘Hang on, you went to the supermarket?’ Maddie asked, finally registering the significance of the shopping bag.

‘I was starving,’ Jill cried. ‘Kathy Miller is a woeful hostess. She only puts out a couple of bowls of chips.’ She opened the bag for Maddie’s inspection, her face alight with glee. ‘This is more like it. I’ve got wine, champagne and look – triple brie!’ She opened a round of cheese and flashed it in Maddie’s face before putting it to her mouth and taking an enormous bite.

Maddie met Mark’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘You could’ve bypassed the shopping expedition.’

‘She started singing.’ He winced. ‘I was powerless to deny her.’

‘Fair enough.’ Maddie collapsed against her seat. Jill’s singing voice defied logic by being both deep and screeching at the same time. Maddie imagined it was what Barry White would sound like after a hammer blow to the nuts.

She checked the time again and groaned. ‘Oh, god. I won’t make midnight. Sal will kill me.’

‘Oh, Sal’s a big girl.’ Jill took another bite of cheese. ‘She’ll be fine.’

Maddie extended an arm to her mother. ‘Pass me that wine, I haven’t had a drink yet.’ She needed a bit of liquid bolstering before dealing with the wrath of Sal.

Jill pulled the champagne from the shopping bag and popped the cork with a flourish. ‘No, you must have bubbles on New Year’s Eve.’

Looking all kinds of classy, Maddie took the champagne from Jill and necked it straight from the bottle.

‘I think this is the place.’ Mark pulled up in front of a run-down pub. ‘You said the Commercial Hotel, didn’t you?’

Hannah sat up and wiped drool from her chin with her sleeve. ‘Where are we, hon?’

‘Just dropping Birdie off at the pub, sweet pea,’ Mark said.

Hannah turned to Maddie with a big goofy grin on her face. ‘Maddie, how’s my baby girl?’ she slurred.

Maddie returned her grin. ‘I’m good, Hanny, but I’ve got to go.’

‘You look beautiful baby, like a ballerina.’

‘Thanks, Hanny.’

‘You do look nice,’ Jill said, her eyes narrowing as she gave Maddie the once over.

Maddie waited for the but.

‘But I do wish you’d cut your hair. It’s too long for your pinhead. You should go the pixie, like me.’ Jill ran her hands through her feathery crop, admiring herself in the reflection of her window.

‘Shuur up, Jill, her hair is beautiful,’ Hannah said. ‘So thick, and that gorgeous caramel colour.’ She gazed critically at Jill’s hair. ‘You’re just jealous because yours is all thin and wispy.’

Jill’s nostrils flared as she glared at her sister. ‘You have the exact same hair.’

‘No, I have Mum’s silky soft hair.’ Hannah patted the hair that was identical to Jill’s except it was blonde instead of brown. ‘You have Dad’s hair.’ John Napier had been bald by twenty.

Maddie got out of the car and leaned against the open door. ‘Thanks for the lift, Mark.’

‘Anytime, Birdie.’

‘Be safe, baby girl,’ Hannah said. ‘This place looks rough.’

‘Maybe we should come in and provide protection,’ Jill said, taking another bite from the rapidly diminishing round of cheese.

Maddie pointed a warning finger at her mother. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Hannah examined the pub intently. She was the worrier of the trio and even though Maddie was twenty-eight, she still constantly feared for her safety.

‘Hanny, it’s fine.’ Maddie beamed at her aunt. ‘It’s a demolition party! It looks rough because it’s been closed for years but there’s a new owner who’s going to gut the place and modernise it. Tonight’s a farewell to the old pub. Apparently the previous owner let it go to pot.’

She had read all about it in The Melbourne Weekly. She thought a demolition party sounded fun. They would actually get the opportunity to put on hard hats and smash things up. What could be safer than a bunch of pissed people with hammers?

‘No, it’s just this place looks familiar,’ Hannah said. ‘Oh, my lord, Jill, this is the place!’

‘What place?’ Jill muttered, her head bent over her shopping bag as she rummaged through its contents.

‘Only the scene of the most momentous night of your life.’

Jill abandoned her search and looked at the pub, shock and recognition registering on her face. She reached across and grabbed the handle of the door Maddie was leaning on then jerked it from beneath her arm.

‘What are you standing around for, Maddie? Sal’s waiting and we have to get back to the Millers’.’ She slammed the door shut and punched Mark’s chair, urging him to move the car forward.

Maddie watched open-mouthed as the car pulled away, Hannah waving manically, her head out the window, Jill staring rigidly straight ahead.

Mark did a U-turn and wound down his window. ‘Call me if you need a lift home. Anytime, I won’t mind.’

Her mother continued to look ahead as they drove off, her face an impassive mask.

That was weird, Maddie thought, before putting it out of her mind. It was eleven fifty-three; she didn’t have time to waste pondering her mother’s various eccentricities. She squared her shoulders and walked into the pub, mentally bracing herself for Sal’s impressive temper.

Chapter Two

The party was in full swing when Maddie arrived, the dance floor heaving, the music so loud she could feel it pulsating through her body. The bar was packed with people jostling to get a last-minute drink before midnight, the staff racing around in checked shirts and hard hats, trying not to knock into each other as they took orders and poured drinks. In a cordoned-off area towards the back of the pub there was a half-demolished wall and a wrecking ball. Thankfully Miley Cyrus was nowhere in sight. Maddie surveyed the scene in despair. There was no way she would find Sal before midnight.

She was negotiating her way through the crowd on the dance floor when the DJ started the ten-second countdown to midnight. She almost screamed in frustration when a buff shirtless guy with a yellow glow stick tied around his head blocked her path. He was pumping his fists in the air in time with the countdown.

‘Fuckstick,’ she muttered under her breath as she tried to push past him.

The countdown reached its crescendo and the pub rang out with a chorus of ‘Happy New Year!’ The buff boy turned to her and raised a questioning eyebrow. What the hell? she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled her in for a kiss. It was New Year’s Eve and the champagne she’d quaffed in the car was taking effect.

Finally pushing the boy away to find his next New Year’s kiss, Maddie made her way to the back room. She scanned the area for Sal but couldn’t see her among the people piled on top of each other on the deep armchairs and couches that circled the wrecking ball. She turned to do another search of the main bar but was distracted by a huge corkboard dominating the wall to her right. It was a collage of photos under a banner titled ‘Wall of Fame’.

Intrigued, Maddie walked over to the wall and inspected the photos. They were old, mostly curled and faded, and based on the abundance of acid wash and blue eye shadow, taken in the eighties. Nearly all the shots were of people enjoying themselves, drinks raised high in salute as they hammed it up for the camera. She could tell from the background decor that they were taken at the pub; the garish floral wallpaper and brown shag carpet hadn’t changed in decades. She smiled to herself as she scanned the faces, some grinning cheekily beside extended middle fingers, others blissfully unaware of the rabbit ears raised behind their heads. Some things never change. She stood on her toes to examine the top row of photos. Halfway along the row, one of the images made her heart stop.

She reached up and released the photo from the drawing pin securing it to the board and looked at a face that was clearly Jill’s, even disguised as it was by heavy make-up and an orange mop of hair. She seemed to be in fancy dress but Maddie couldn’t work out who she was supposed to be. A tall man stood beside her, his arm casually draped around her shoulders. He wore a white open-neck shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a red bandanna around his head. A toy guitar was slung around his shoulders. Maddie turned the photo over and read the back: ‘New Year’s Eve, 1989.’

Maddie frowned. The date was a significant one in her personal history. That was the summer Jill fell pregnant with her. She had spent Christmas in Hedley Bay with her parents and Hanny and that was where she’d met Maddie’s father, Greg Newton. Maddie was sure her mother had said they stayed for New Year’s. She remembered her talking nostalgically about sitting with Greg on the pier watching the fireworks exploding over the ocean. So what was Jill doing in Melbourne on New Year’s 1989?

Maddie jumped as a hand pressed on her shoulder. She raised her eyes to find a grim-looking man standing beside her. He was tall with close cropped sandy blond hair and sea green eyes that glared at her from beneath a furrowed brow. A thin, white, crescent-shaped scar under his right eye enhanced the fierceness of his stare.

He nodded at the photo of her mother. ‘I hope you’re not planning on pilfering that?’

Maddie bit her lip – she’d planned to take the photo but perhaps it was best not to let the scary man know.

‘I … um … you see … it’s my …’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your …?’

Maddie tilted her chin and shrugged off his hand. Who did this bloke think he was?

‘The photo is of my mum!’

‘That doesn’t grant you ownership.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘I own this pub – the photo’s mine.’

Maddie was momentarily distracted by the sight of his arms, which were big and powerful and covered in a smattering of blond hair. She noticed that he possessed her favourite male body type: ‘chunky’. This wasn’t to be confused with overweight, mind you, nor was it that buffed-up, gym-honed look either – just lovely and solid with strong arms and a nice round bum to fill out his jeans. She returned her gaze to his face and thought that could be quite nice too, if he didn’t look like he had just inhaled a fart.

‘Can I have my photo back?’ he continued, holding his palm out. ‘You’ve made a hole in my wall of fame. It took me ages to put that together.’

Maddie rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll do some adjusting for you.’ She reached up to move a photo that was next to the hole she created. ‘That way we both get what we want.’

‘Don’t mess with my wall.’ He slapped his hand onto the photo as Maddie tried to release the drawing pin. ‘Just put the photo back and walk away.’

Still raised on her tippy-toes, Maddie turned her head and gaped at him. His body was within inches of hers and her nostrils were assaulted with an intoxicating scent that gave her the urge to bury her head in his neck and inhale deeply. The look in his eyes as he brooded at her started a fluttering in her tummy, every nerve pinged and arched towards him. She lowered her heels and stepped away, annoyed by her body’s traitorous response to a man who was, quite clearly, a dick.

‘You can’t be for real?’

‘Oh, I’m for real, Maddie, don’t you worry about that.’ He snatched the photo from her and stuck it on the wall. ‘There,’ he said, nodding as he stood with his hands on his hips. ‘All’s well in the world again.’

Maddie shook her head and took her phone from her clutch. She had met some nutjobs before but this guy was King of the Loons. She would just have to take a photo of the photo. Surely he wouldn’t have a problem with that? She wanted to show it to her mum, find out why she was in Melbourne when she was supposed to be at the beach shagging Maddie into existence.

She stood on her toes again and aimed her phone at the picture, then turned her head to deadeye him. ‘You can’t stop me doing this.’

A flash of amusement twitched at his lips before his face set in hard lines of disapproval.

She reeled around to face him. ‘Wait a minute, you called me Maddie – do I know you from somewhere?’

His face split into a wide grin. ‘I’m a bit hurt you don’t remember.’

The transformation was so devastating that Maddie caught her breath. A vague sense of recognition washed over her as he smiled, two dimples puckering his cheeks, his previously sour demeanour made handsome. She knew those dimples, that smile, she just couldn’t remember from where.

‘It’s Tom, Tom Buckley.’ He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. ‘You probably don’t remember me without the long hair.’

Tom Buckley, my god. Maddie’s eyes widened. Tom had been her high school crush, an unattainable bad boy who had all the girls’ hearts aflutter with his long-haired surf-god looks and sultry scowl. He was always skipping classes and getting into fights at lunchtime. Perfect teenage lust material.

‘Tom. Wow. What’s it been … ten years? What brings you home? I heard you and Vanessa moved to Sydney.’ Vanessa was Tom’s high school sweetheart and the tormentor of Maddie’s and Sal’s adolescence. She was one of those type-A girls who skipped the awkward teenage phase and went straight to perfection. She and Tom married young – well, that was according to their good friend Vicki Costas, who was still in touch with Vanessa.

The smile vanished from his face as quickly as it appeared. ‘Vanessa and I have separated.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Tom shrugged and stared blindly at the photo board. Maddie remembered how crazy he was about Vanessa in high school, the sickening public displays of affection that made her want to stick toothpicks in her eyes. The break-up had obviously hit him hard.

Maddie turned from his distant stare to aim her phone at the board again. ‘So, I’ll just take this photo.’

Tom released the photo of her mother from the drawing board. ‘I was taking the piss, Maddie,’ he said, his smile returning. He looked at the image before offering it to Maddie. ‘So, this is the famous Jill Napier?’

Maddie smiled in surprise. ‘You’re into art?’

‘A little. I took art in year twelve and we studied her Red Beach Collection. Who’s the Bruce Springsteen impersonator?’

‘Bruce Springsteen, of course!’ she said. She should have known – her mum was obsessed with the Boss. She put the photo in her clutch. ‘I have no idea who he is.’

‘I thought it might’ve been your dad.’

‘No, my father was from Hedley Bay.’

‘And he gave up the beach for the big smoke?’

Maddie shook her head. ‘He died before I was born.’

‘That’s tough.’ Tom’s distant stare returned, his thoughts seemingly turning inwards.

Maddie shrugged. ‘I guess you don’t miss what you never knew.’ Her father drowned before Jill had known she was pregnant. Maddie had seen the clipping her mother kept from the Hedley Bay Herald about his death. Greg and his mates went for a moonlight surf after a night at the pub and he got caught in a rip. The image of Greg in the paper was grainy but she was pretty sure it wasn’t the man dressed as Bruce Springsteen. Although Bruce did seem to be her mother’s type – long, thin and girl-pretty. Nowadays she went for arty types, usually those she taught at the adult education centre. They were always devoted fans and at least ten years younger than her.

‘Where did you find the photo?’ she asked.

‘There are boxes of them upstairs. Apparently in the eighties, the owner used to take photos of all the pissed party people and display them behind the bar in a Wall of Fame. I thought I’d put a few up, show a bit of the history of the place.’

‘Did you say you’re the new owner? I read the article in The Melbourne Weekly. This place has an interesting history.’

‘It does,’ Tom agreed, his face becoming animated. ‘This is the first time it’s been sold outside the family in one hundred years. The most recent owner let it fall into disrepair. He closed the doors two years ago and it’s been on the market since then because nobody else seemed keen to take on such a massive renovation job!’

Maddie laughed. ‘You didn’t baulk at the challenge?’

‘It’s going to be a big job. But you remember my brother Sean? He works in construction, so we’ll be doing most of the work ourselves to save costs.’ The devastating dimpled smile returned. ‘We start tearing things down on Monday. I can’t wait.’

She had to admire his ambition – the place looked like a crack den.

‘It must be great to be so passionate about your work,’ she said, feeling a pang of envy.

‘It has its stresses too.’ He ran his hand over his head. ‘And I owe the bank my firstborn. What do you do for work?’

Maddie’s tongue fumbled over the lie this question always triggered. ‘Oh … I just write for a little online rag.’

‘Which one?’

She laughed nervously. ‘You wouldn’t know it. It’s not very popular.’

He rubbed his hands together. ‘Try me.’

‘It’s just a woman’s interest blog.’ If said woman’s interests included porn.

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. ‘Called?’

HotCockRockers.com

‘Honestly, it’s not worth mentioning, I’ve been thinking about quitting, actually.’

Tom laughed. ‘You really don’t want to tell me, do you? You realise I can just google you?’

Maddie cringed. He would have to google Muffy Horne. ‘Please don’t, I’m not very good.’

Tom appeared puzzled. ‘You must be talented at writing if that’s how you make your crust.’

She didn’t know about that. Did it really require talent to squeeze the word ‘cock’ one hundred times into a thousand-word story? Her family and friends had