The House At Flynn's Crossing

by Elisabeth Rose

‘Jean used that plate to serve her scones,’ he said.

  ‘This one?’ Antonia removed a pretty, floral-patterned cake plate, which she’d propped up so the picture was visible through the glass-panelled door. She handed it to him and he held it carefully, remembering.

  ‘She was a great mate,’ he murmured.

  ‘Would you like to keep the plate as a memento?’ Antonia asked softly.

  ‘I would, yes. I don’t have anything. Thanks. That’s very kind.’ Was she imagining the moisture in the grey eyes?

  ‘Sit down and I’ll make the tea.’ She set the jug to boil and arranged the flowers in the vase, placing it on the table. The scent of carnations perfumed the air. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Flynn will be okay,’ he said. ‘He’s a survivor.’

  ‘Pat said they’d start searching at first light.’ She opened the tea caddy.

  ‘They’ll find him. Unless the aliens have taken him.’

  Antonia’s hand remained suspended over the teapot, tea scoop in hand. Was he serious?

  ‘Do you think that’s likely?’ she asked carefully, without turning to face him.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’d say it’s very unlikely.’

  She finished the tea and brought it and two mugs to the table. He sat there with a massive grin on his lined old face. She laughed.

  ‘Aliens.’

  ‘You thought I had a few screws loose, didn’t you?’ He cackled with delight.

  ‘I did for a moment. Mind you, the aliens would have their work cut out with Flynn.’ She poured the tea, glad of the company; glad he was making her laugh and taking her mind off the agony of waiting.

  ‘Mummy?’ Sarah in the doorway, pyjama-clad, hair tousled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘Good morning, sweetheart. This is Josef from next door.’

  ‘I know. Hello, Josef.’

  ‘Good morning, Sarah.’

  Antonia stared from one to the other. ‘When did you two meet each other?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Jacob knows Josef too. Josef has a cat called Smokey.’

  ‘The grey one?’ She’d seen it stalking through the garden on occasion.

  Sarah nodded.

  ‘We’ve had a chat over the back fence,’ said Josef.

  ‘Can we have a cat?’

  ‘Maybe. Is Jacob awake?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go and wash your face and get dressed, sweetheart.’

  ‘Is Flynn all right?’

  ‘I haven’t heard yet but everyone’s looking for him.’

  ‘He’ll be all right, don’t you worry about Flynn,’ said Josef.

  ‘Okay.’

  When she’d gone to the bathroom, Antonia said, ‘I’m glad you came in, Josef. I can’t stand not knowing where he is. If he’s all right.’

  The phone rang, shrill and demanding.

  Antonia dived for it and pressed the button with a trembling finger.

  ‘Antonia? Constable Pat. We’ve found Flynn.’

  Chapter 14

  Simon woke with a foul taste in his mouth, a pounding head and the certain knowledge that finishing the four beers in the fridge and moving on to the half-bottle of whisky last night had not been the smartest decision of his life. He sat up and groaned as the pounding increased in strength. His stomach roiled and twisted. Bile rose in his throat and he launched himself towards the bathroom, making it just in time to throw up in the toilet.

  The phone started ringing in the other room, a hideous clanging beating at his head. Bloody hell. He threw up again, sprawled on the floor clutching the porcelain rim as though his life depended on it. Never again would he drown his sorrows in booze.

  Fifteen minutes later, his stomach seemed to have emptied itself and he was able to stand on feeble legs under the shower. He closed his eyes and let the hot water cleanse the foul stink from his skin. Eventually enough energy filtered back into his body for him to dry himself, drag on shorts and a T-shirt and head into the kitchen for a few litres of water and coffee.

  The phone lay on the table but he ignored it. One thing at a time. He moved slowly and deliberately to avoid any sudden shocks to his fragile system. The water helped a bit and the coffee sent a caffeine boost to his engine. He reached for the phone and checked the missed call. Antonia. Twice. The first time last night. He dimly remembered the phone ringing.

  Did he want to speak to her? Not really, not yet.

  Why was she calling so early? At … He blinked and focused on the time. Twenty past eight? Was that right? He hadn’t slept so late in years. Not since high school.

  Last night’s conversation filtered back into his brain. Flynn had stood her up. Left her stranded at the Brisbane airport, the bastard, but she hadn’t called him for help. No. She’d hired a car and driven. And she’d wanted him to phone the cops and the Kurrajong Hospital. He hadn’t. A little of spasm of guilt made him squirm.

  He drained the mug and poured himself more coffee. Maybe he should eat something. A piece of toast was all he could visualise without the urge to throw up.

  As he waited for the toast to pop, someone tapped at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said and winced. Too loud.

  Georgia pushed the door open. ‘So you’re up,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘More or less.’ He might be able to pretend he had a twenty-four-hour bug.

  ‘Ade said to let you sleep it off.’

  ‘What?’ He must have looked moronic, staring open-mouthed at her.

  ‘The binge you went on last night.’

  ‘I...’

  She held up her hand, unsmiling. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  How …’

  ‘Did he know? He came over before dawn to wake you but he said you were dead to the world and smelled like the inside of a whisky vat. They all went out searching for Flynn. He went missing yesterday on his way to Brisbane to collect Antonia and the twins. She was worried and when she got home she got onto Pat. It’s lucky she did.’

  My God. He was totally in the poo with her now. And Flynn …

  ‘Did they find him?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ Barely audible.

  ‘Just.’

  ***

  Going to work that morning was torture. All Antonia wanted to do was rush over to the Kurrajong Hospital and see Flynn, but she couldn’t leave Cath in the lurch having already taken Tuesday off. The day plodded by.

  Pat came in with an update on Flynn’s condition: two cracked ribs, badly sprained right ankle, badly bruised right shoulder and knee, dehydration and the usual after-effects of being injured and outside overnight.

  ‘Came out of it pretty well,’ he said. ‘Good thing you called when you did, Antonia. The car was right down in the gully, invisible from the road, which is why Margie and Bernie missed it last night. Went right past it they did, twice. On the way out and on the way back. Could have been there for days. He couldn’t get out on his own. It took the SES guys two hours to get down there and cut the door open. Then they had to winch him back up on a stretcher.’

  ‘He was lucky,’ said Len, who had come out from the kitchen to hear the news. ‘Remember that other crash? About six years back, when that young girl drove off the road up on Sawyer’s Ridge and same thing happened—car was out of sight down near the creek. She wasn’t found for three days.’

  ‘How long will Flynn be in hospital?’ asked Cath.

  ‘Another day or so I reckon. He needs somewhere to go after they let him out. They won’t discharge him on his own.’

  ‘He could stay at the pub,’ said Len. ‘Plenty of people there to look after him.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Cath. ‘He’ll need proper care.’ She looked at Antonia. ‘He could stay with you, couldn’t he?’

  ‘Me?’ The idea filled her equally with excitement and dread. Could she have a man living in her house, sharing the bathroom, sleeping under the same roof, sitting
in the lounge room, eating meals at the table? Even Flynn? Her house was her sanctuary. She forced her breathing to slow.

  Flynn was different and he was in need of help. He was injured. What harm could he do injured?

  ‘Why not? You’ve got a spare room. It would only be a few days—until he’s able to go home.’

  ‘I don’t know. He might not want to stay with me.’ A weak response and everyone knew it but they’d assume she was being coy about her feelings for him. That part of her wanted him to stay, wanted to care for him, nurture him, heal him. The other part was terrified.

  ‘Of course he will.’ Cath laughed.

  Luckily a customer walked in and saved her from replying.

  Snatching a few minutes before the lunchtime rush, Antonia tried calling Simon again. If she didn’t need help returning the rental car she wouldn’t bother talking to him at all, but she had no choice. This time he answered, sounding very subdued. She stated her request, expecting some sort of objection but instead he said, ‘Sure. I’ll come at three.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll see you then.’

  She disconnected. He could take her to the hospital as well and mind the twins while she visited Flynn.

  ***

  The four-bed ward was a bloody noisy place. They’d wheeled him in from the Emergency Department that afternoon and he was looking forward to a decent sleep, aided by the painkillers they’d given him. One bed was empty but the two occupied ones more than covered the gap in noise production. The old bloke in the next bed, recovering from an operation, swore and complained nonstop until he went to sleep, and then he snored for Australia. The fellow opposite had both legs in plaster and must be related to half of Kurrajong, judging by the visitors who crowded round the bed and all talked at once.

  Flynn closed his eyes and tried his best to ignore them. He was alive, he was safe and relatively intact. The ribs hurt like hell if he moved the wrong way or tried to take a deep breath, but it was the shoulder that was most painful. The doctor told him he could leave the day after next if he had someone to look after him at home.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ he said.

  ‘Quite possibly, but I’m not going to take the risk. If I discharge you and something goes wrong, you’ll be back here with your lawyer.’

  He looked at Flynn over his black-rimmed glasses, daring him to disagree. Covering his arse. Fair enough, but where could he go? The pub? Would Donna take responsibility for him? She had her own family. Margie and Bernie? Maybe. They weren’t that close. Same with Phil, not that he could stand staying at Phil’s place. His wife doted on dogs and had about half a dozen yappy, smelly little fur balls running around underfoot.

  Once he would have asked Simon and the co-op crew but not now. Antonia? Why would she say yes? She had enough to do with her job and the twins and she wasn’t likely to offer. He couldn’t ask.

  Being single had a few problems. No man is an island, indeed. He didn’t even have a change of clothes to go home in and was wearing a hospital-issue gown along with a crop of stubble.

  Shooed off by a nurse, the current crowd of visitors left like a flock of chirping birds and he dozed for a while. When he opened his eyes, the curtain was drawn, shielding him from his snoring neighbour, but he had his own visitor sitting by the bed.

  A dark-haired vision. He tried to raise a hand to touch her but grimaced. Wrong arm. Was she real? She’d been in his dreams, he wasn’t sure she still wasn’t.

  She smiled that sweet tentative smile he loved so much and leaned forward, touching his hand gently with hers. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Bit rough.’ His voice wasn’t working properly, his mouth couldn’t form the words.

  ‘Constable Pat said you’re as tough as an old boot.’

  He concentrated hard. Had to tell her something, something important. ‘Sorry I didn’t meet you. Didn’t forget.’

  ‘I know you didn’t. We were fine. I hired a car and drove.’

  ‘Did you? Well done.’

  Her smile widened. ‘I thought so.’

  ‘So you managed? Okay?’ Better now but his thoughts came in stuttery slow-motion bursts.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Pat said you raised the alarm. Thank you.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t forget. Simon said you left that protest because you had somewhere to go. I knew then that something had happened.’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly …’ His eyelids felt like lead.

  ‘Don’t try. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘They’ve got me pretty doped up.’

  ‘You need sleep.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ he murmured.

  Soft lips brushed his cheek but it may have been a dream. A sweet dream suffused with a fragrance belonging only to her.

  When he woke next, Antonia had gone—if she’d ever been there at all—and a short plump woman was placing a tray of food on the wheeled table. He was starving. A nurse came in and helped him spoon in pumpkin soup and roast chicken followed by canned fruit salad and custard.

  ‘Did I have a visitor earlier?’ he asked between mouthfuls.

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve only just come on duty.’

  She wiped his mouth and moved the table away from the bed. She checked the levels on his drip, lowered the back of the bed and straightened the bedclothes with deft movements. ‘Try to get some more sleep.’

  This time, aided by drugs and exhaustion he did sleep, deeply and well.

  The following day brought a physiotherapist to check his mobility and the range of movement in his shoulder and ankle. He was put through a barrage of tests, some of which he did easily and some he couldn’t do at all.

  ‘Basically you’ve torn the muscles and ligaments,’ she said. ‘It needs rest to heal, then later, exercises to build up the strength again. You can go to your own physio for that.’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘I’ll give you a list. In the meantime we’ll keep that arm in a sling to prevent you trying to use it for a few days and we can fit a moon boot to keep your ankle stable. You’ll be able to remove it for showering and sleeping but the more you wear it the better.’

  ‘Okay. When can I go home?’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned you can go now, but it’s up to your doctor.’

  ‘He said tomorrow.’

  ‘Then it’s tomorrow,’ she said.

  And he still had no one to collect him and nowhere to go.

  Margie strode in after lunch carrying an unfamiliar overnight bag. After the exchange of greetings and asking how he was she said, ‘I brought you some things. Pat let me into your house and I raided your closet. He had your keys by the way. They’re in the bag. And your phone but it’s broken.’

  Keys hadn’t entered his muddled head. His car was a write-off, he knew that. He’d been there when they cut it apart to get him out.

  She produced some bathroom gear, underwear, a T-shirt and a pair of trackpants he hadn’t worn for years. His shoes and socks had survived the ordeal and were in the drawer by his bed.

  ‘Thanks, Margie. That’s very kind. I was wondering how I’d go leaving hospital in this gown.’

  ‘I didn’t know what you wear to bed,’ she said. Nothing was the answer to that. ‘I couldn’t find any pyjamas so I brought some of Bernie’s.’ She held up a red and blue striped outfit.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘When are they throwing you out?’

  ‘Tomorrow with any luck.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll come and collect you. I’ll get them to call me.’

  ‘They don’t want me to go home alone,’ he said. ‘But I reckon that’s bullshit. I’ll be all right.’ If he didn’t move around too much he’d manage. No need for a shower if he didn’t have to go out for a day or two, or three … He could telephone. Someone would bring groceries in.

  ‘You won’t be going home alone so you can forget that,’ she said.

  ‘But I don’t want to impose on anyo
ne.’

  ‘You won’t be. That’s what friends are for,’ she said.

  Margie was so matter-of-fact there was no point trying to argue with her. When she made a statement like that, the subject was over.

  ‘I won’t need to stay with you for very long,’ he said.

  ‘You won’t be staying with us at all. Not that we’d mind, of course, but no, Antonia insisted you go there. She feels responsible for what happened.’

  ‘She’s not responsible! How could she be?’ She insisted? Did Antonia insist on anything? This sounded like Margie-speak for Cath and sundry others having exerted pressure on her to agree.

  ‘Of course she isn’t, but you were going to pick her up so …’ She smiled. ‘Anyway. She’d come to get you herself but she has the twins to collect from school and she’s at the cafe most of the day so I said I’d take you to her place.’ He opened his mouth and drew breath but she held up her hand. ‘No point, Flynn. It’s all arranged. See you tomorrow. Take care.’

  She gave him a brisk kiss on the cheek and left.

  With the help of a nurse, Flynn took a shower and shaved then, clad in Bernie’s roomy pyjamas, lay in bed contemplating the next few days with Antonia. And the twins. Mustn’t forget those two. What day was it? He’d been driving to meet them on Tuesday, he’d been rescued on Wednesday so this must be Thursday. He’d be captive at Antonia’s over the weekend.

  How would they all cope? How would he endure the torture of living in the same house, seeing her every day, up close and very personal? And a new thought struck him. How would he shower? He needed assistance but it wouldn’t be from Antonia and he couldn’t go three days without washing. What a nightmare.

  ***

  Flynn was sitting glumly on his bed with an overnight bag on the floor at his feet when Margie arrived. When Cath and Margie joined forces, backed up by Len, Bernie and heaven only knows who else, the deal was done. He was being looked after whether he liked it or not.

  ‘Hello. How are you?’

  ‘Not bad. I don’t know why they’re insisting I stay with someone. I’m perfectly capable of going home.’ And they’d insisted he take the damn crutch with him too, even though he didn’t need it.

  ‘They don’t want you to end up back in here five minutes after you get home. Anyway, you need a lift back to Flynn’s Crossing regardless of where you end up.’