Stan

by C. J. Duggan

  “Give me a look. Is it bleeding?” I managed to pry her reluctant hands away from her face, to see nothing but slightly flushed cheeks and watery eyes.

  I gently touched the bridge of her nose. “Ouch!”

  “Shhh, keep it down. My mum goes apeshit if I break a coffee cup, there’s no telling what she would do if she finds out I’ve broken a house guest.” I smirked.

  “Good. I would like to see that.” She glowered.

  “Trust me, you wouldn’t,” I said, examining her perfectly unbroken nose. “I think it’s okay, you will play the piano again, Miss Evans.”

  Bel laughed, and then just as quick as it came, she clamped down the emotion, coughing and squaring her shoulders, repressing all her humour.

  Interesting.

  “Bit late, aren’t you?”

  “Late?”

  “For dinner, or does Mummy keep your dinner warmed up for you?” A flash of humour lit her eyes. You couldn’t miss those beauties; they were big and bluey-green, framed by inky long lashes. I blinked from thinking too much about them, confusion lining my face. Bel rolled her beautiful eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re a hot-drink-before-being-tucked-into-bed kind of boy?” She looked at me pointedly, swaying from side to side and pressing her hand against the wall as if to steady herself. My brows lowered, my mind ticking over what she was going on about, before it dawned on me, my brows raising at the sudden discovery of what her taunts were about. I laughed.

  “I don’t live here,” I said incredulously. Now Bel was the one that looked confused.

  “I just dropped in here to ask, well, beg actually, for the weekend off. I like my luck better when they’ve downed a few vinos.”

  “It’s Sav Blanc, actually.”

  “So I see.” I studied her intently.

  “So you don’t live here?” Bel asked, as if each word was a question itself.

  I shook my head. “Not for years.” I took in the slow blink in her eyes as each answer was something slowly being absorbed.

  “So, where’s home then?”

  A smile lined my face; she was genuinely perplexed. “I live in a cabin on the edge of the park. It’s off the beaten track a bit, but I like it. It’s a place that can’t be found easily by tourists and their endless, endless questions.”

  “Bloody hell. It sounds like you’re on the witness protection program or something,” she said, cocking her perfectly manicured brow.

  “Or something,” I agreed. Once again, I found myself staring down into her eyes, transfixed by their colour and more importantly, how they too were locked with mine in a moment that seemed to last a lot longer than civilised society would deem appropriate. But, hell, we were standing in a hallway, in a caravan park in Onslow. The hall was warm with no air conditioning ducts reaching into this part of the house; the heat was not helped with the trail of down lights burning above us, one directly above Bel. It shone over her, giving the illusion of an angel. My mouth curved at the thought - more like the devil in disguise. Her eyes flicked to my mouth and the moment was broken in an instant, as if the crooked curve of my mouth slapped her back into reality, and the reality was she looked annoyed. A crinkle of annoyance pinched between her brows as she cleared her throat and took a step back.

  It got the better of me. “Are you drunk?”

  Her eyes widened, her mouth gaped in incredulous horror. “I am not,” she insisted.

  “So you usually make a habit of ramming into people?”

  A scowl creased the lines of her face that, funnily enough, added to her charm.

  “You just need to get out of my way. You bumped into me.”

  “Right, and did the hall stand bump into you, too?” I asked, my eye line drifting down the corridor to the hallstand that had a previously pretty and upright flower arrangement turned on its side.

  Bel scoffed. “Well, how was I supposed to know where the light switches are in this bloody mansion?”

  I folded my arms and leant against the wall. “It’s hardly a mansion.”

  “I’m spending my summer in a caravan; believe me, it’s a mansion.”

  “Oh, right, yeah. I forgot you’re totally slumming it in the eighty-thousand-dollar caravan.”

  Bel’s eyes darkened. I had hit a nerve. I knew it as soon as the words fell out of my mouth.

  “Oh, piss off, Stan,” she snapped, pushing past me and making her way down the hall.

  Somehow, by her calling me Stan, it was like a slap in the face, as if she really meant what she was saying. I was unprepared by how the look of hurt and anger in her eyes would make me feel like utter shit, and that my first instinct was to go after her and apologise for what I’d said.

  “Bel, I didn’t mean to go there.”

  “Well, you did.” Bel stopped before the door, turning toward me. “You did go there, and of all the people, I really didn’t think you would.” Twisting the handle and pushing her way back into the main house, the door closed causing me to blink, hardly believing her words could feel so much like a physical blow. That the accusative stare of those eyes could make me feel even more like shit than I already did. She probably had enough people judging her for being a doctor’s daughter, just as people judged me no better than a caravan park boy or the son of a glorified maintenance man. While mostly everyone I had ever grown up with had left Onslow to further educate themselves, travel, and find their place in the world, I was stuck here. The only son, and a sense of duty to help every summer of my life.

  I leant against the wall, thudding the back of my head against it with a sigh.

  Christ, I needed to get away.

  It was the main reason I had come up to the house, to talk to my parents about having the weekend off. Little did I know they were bloody entertaining the Evanses. I hadn’t meant to interrupt their night, and I sure as hell didn’t mean to concuss and offend their daughter, who was no doubt sulking and demanding she wanted to go home. I inhaled another deep breath as I pushed myself off the wall and followed the same line down the hall where Bel had stormed before. Each step I felt less sorry for what I’d said. She was as good as calling me a mummy’s boy, and then what? I have a joke about her holidaying digs and I’m the arsehole? I stilled before opening the end door that led into the main living room. I closed my eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. If she was going to give it she had to learn how to take it, I thought, anger twisting in my gut. But as I closed my eyes all I could see were her eyes, the way they had looked when my words obviously crossed a line. And in one flash of that image in my head of her sad eyes, I felt like shit again. As I grabbed the handle of the door, my first point of call was to go to her and say I was sorry. And then my phone rang.

  ***

  Seeing the screen illuminate with a familiar name across it, I smiled, clicking the answer button. “As I live and breathe, Sean Murphy.” I moved away from the door and instead headed toward the back of the house to my old bedroom.

  “Stan, my man, what’s happening?”

  “Oh, same old, same old.”

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  I paused in my doorway; my best mate, Sean, who had been working up north, always had a certain skill in getting to the bottom of anything, but unless he had some kind of psychic ability, I seriously doubted he would be in the know for what plagued me in this very moment.

  “Oh?”

  “Young Ringo informs me that you two are headed for a massive adventure this weekend.”

  My shoulders slumped in relief as I sat on the edge of my old bed. “Oh, that. Well, yeah, that’s the plan.”

  “How the bloody hell did you swing that with the olds?”

  And there it was, the sound of incredulous disbelief that my parents had actually let me have a life for once, a life that didn’t involve me getting permission to use Dad’s man cave to have a couple of mates over to play pool.

  “Oh, ya know. They were pretty cool about it.” I winced through the lie.

  “So they should. You work
too hard, mate. That place will be the death of you.”

  “This coming from a bloke that works a seventy-hour week,” I scoffed.

  “Yeah, well, times are a-changing, Stanley, and if all goes to plan, maybe for both of us.”

  I straightened. “Oh?”

  “Will tell you more when I know more.”

  “Okay, well, if you’re going to leave me hanging can you at least give me a hint?”

  “Sure, I can even sum it up in a few words if you like. You, me, life changing.”

  “Well, that’s really sweet, Sean, but I’m afraid I don’t feel that away about you. Besides, I always thought that you and Toby would kind of elope to Vegas or something.”

  “Stan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  And just like that the phone went dead. I shook my head; it was pretty much how every conversation went with us: a few catch-up questions, a few insults, and then abrupt endings. The common themes always seemed to be telling each other we worked too much and me usually referring to Sean and Toby’s bromance. But something in Sean’s voice piqued my interest.

  Something life changing? For both of us?

  I felt like I had just been to a fortune teller who had given me a cryptic message about the future, and in a way I guess he did.

  That place will be the death of you.

  And as Sean’s words echoed through my mind, I stood with a new determination as I pocketed my phone. It was time to clock off and get away.

  Chapter Five

  Bel

  Yeah, I was mad.

  I was mad he went there, that he put a judgmental money value on our van like every other person did. I don’t know why it shocked me and I knew I really had to toughen the hell up, but coming from Stan, it seemed to hurt more, and that bothered me, really bothered me.

  Before Mr Foot-in-Mouth had pissed me off, I had been too busy asking questions about his living situation. So many questions. I cringed as I wondered maybe that’s where my little brother got the habit from. My inner monologue had even so much as screamed at me.

  Stop being creepy! So what if he doesn’t live here.

  I guess I had just thought he was so readily available around the park, or he was in the office or around the main house so much, that I just assumed he did live at home still. Even if he was in his mid-twenties, it was a family-run business, so it made sense. And then dread swept over me as I recalled my comments about being tucked into bed; he hadn’t exactly stormed away in a huff like some brat.

  Now I felt bad, really bad.

  What had I done?

  I had made my way back to the adults in the lounge, my blood bubbling under the surface as Stan’s smartarse ‘poor little rich girl’ joke played on repeat in my mind, only serving to make me angrier and angrier as I stared outside the French door windows biting my lip and masking my scowl from the rest of the room. If anyone had noticed the change in my demeanour, no one mentioned anything. My mind drifted in and out of their conversation.

  My mum sighed. “It’s such a shame we don’t get up here often enough and the Barinya Valley is so beautiful, even in the summer.”

  “You sure you can’t make it next weekend?” asked my dad. “It’s really the last chance we’ll have to break away before the New Year hits and we head back.”

  I caught Glen shaking his head in the reflection in the French door glass. “Nah, next weekend is definitely out. It’s the Blues Festival down at the park, and it makes for a busy weekend.”

  Paula sighed. “Such a shame, it would have been lovely for the four of us to get away.”

  “I know, such crazy pipe dreams, right?” my mum added.

  Coming in on the end of their conversation that had continued on from dinner earlier about their desire to do a wine tour some time had the cogs turning in my head; my rage simmered some, and an evil grin curved the edge of my lips as I casually recalled the reason Stan was even here in the first place.

  To beg for the weekend off.

  I spun around casually, making my way toward the coffee table to snag a carrot stick and some hummus, as I halfheartedly mentioned, “What about this weekend?”

  I had a bit of an inward chuckle. Now wouldn’t that be something?

  “This weekend?” Glen laughed.

  “Yeah, I think that would be stretching it a bit,” said Dad, as he looked at Mum in disbelief.

  Mum shifted in her seat. “Just a bit.” She laughed.

  I shrugged, crunching on the last mouth full.

  More’s the pity, I thought.

  “Well, why not this weekend?” said Paula, straightening in her chair.

  A piece of carrot got caught in my windpipe causing me to convulse into a violent coughing attack.

  WHAT?

  “Well, like you said, John, next week would be out, but what if we went this weekend? I know it’s a bit short notice, but we have nothing on this weekend.” Paula’s eyes were wide with excitement as she looked at her husband, who was also lost in his own thoughts.

  The four of them were all lost in deep thought, silent with the hope and possible fear to believe.

  Oh no-no-no-no.

  I wasn’t serious. I hadn’t meant it. It was a joke. A joke because I knew MY parents, the painstaking pre-planners, would not go anywhere at a moment’s notice, would not act on anything unless there were multiple lists and at least six months’ advance in their agendas.

  But the moment I saw the smile slowly spread across my mum’s face, and when the glazed-over look of uncertainty morphed into something like that of a small child giddy on Christmas Eve, I knew I was in trouble.

  “Let’s do it!” she said.

  Oh, crap!

  “Well, what about this place? Who will look after it? Isn’t it peak season for you guys?” Dad asked.

  Good ol’ sensible Dad, always thinking of the bigger picture, always thinking of others and using his head.

  I nodded in agreement.

  Paula waved off his concern. “Stan will be here. He can man the fort for a few days. He won’t mind.”

  Oh, double crap!

  My parents’ shoulders slumped in unified relief. “Of course,” my mum said.

  I tried to gain some speech back after my coughing attack, the attack that saw grown adults too excited about their weekend wine adventure to even offer me the Heimlich Manoeuvre. I mean, seriously, Dad, you’re a bloody doctor!

  “Um, maybe you should ask Stan if—”

  “Oh, he’ll be all right,” Glen said, cutting me off. “He has nothing better to do anyway.”

  “Wow, so this is really happening?” my mum all but squealed like a teenager.

  “Yes. It. Is,” Paula said, holding up her wine glass. “Here’s to a great weekend, with great company,” she exclaimed.

  Each clink, each unified toast was like a nail in Stan’s coffin, a coffin that housed all his plans, all his dreams of a weekend escape.

  What had I done? What could I do? Maybe I could quickly—

  “Ah, young Stan.”

  It was too late. I turned to see Stan step sheepishly into the main room. His eyes flicked briefly to me and then to my dad who had made a beeline for him, shaking his hand.

  “Good to see you again, Stan.”

  “Yeah, good to have you back, Doc.” Stan nodded.

  Mum placed her wine on the coffee table and hooked her elbow over the lounge. “Stan, I think it’s safe to say that you are our favourite person in the world right now.”

  I closed my eyes briefly, dread twisting in the pit of my stomach.

  Stan stepped in the room, intrigue lining his face. “I am?”

  “Well now, Lisa, we can’t forget Bel’s part in this,” Stan’s dad said, saluting with his drink.

  Oh God.

  Stan’s confusion deepened as his gaze flicked from me then around the room.

  Stan’s mum moved to wrap her arm around my shoulder, squeezing me, or more like imprisoning
me as she delivered what would be the final low-bearing punch.

  “Bel suggested the four of us should get away for the weekend up to the wine country, sample some of God’s creations. Isn’t that a great idea?”

  Stan stilled; the only thing that moved were his eyes that landed squarely on me. They burned into me like laser beams, the intensity of his gaze made me want to shrink away.

  “This weekend?” Stan bit out.

  “Yeah, you’ll be right to hold the fort for a few days.” Stan’s dad collected Mum’s empty wine glass; his words were a non-negotiable throwaway sentence. I could feel my heart sink, and saw the same resignation on Stan’s face, as he warred between saying what he truly felt and forcing himself not to make a scene in front of us.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said lowly, a weak smile lining his face as he looked at my mum, who squealed with tipsy delight.

  “Oh, I can’t wait!”

  “Wait for what?” Alex lifted his sleepy head off the couch, his eyes squinting, his hair in disarray.

  “Never you mind, go back to sleep.” Mum rubbed his hair gently, which seemed to instantly settle him. I wish something so simple would settle me. I felt sick.

  I had walked a defiant line in from the hall, angry with Stan, wanting to somehow go back and yell and scream at him. He’d said the last thing I’d expected from him—a snide remark about my wealth; I thought he was better than that.

  And in a flash of insanity, I came up with a plan that was far better than anything I could have ever said to him. As I recalled his eagerness to get away for the weekend, how he had come here to ‘beg’ for the weekend off, I thought of the best possible plan - sabotage.

  In one seemingly innocent moment, a light-hearted suggestion to four tipsy adults seemed like a great idea, until I saw the cogs turning in their heads as soon as I had mentioned it. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him now; instead, my eyes were focused on my fingernails, studying the half-moon tips with great interest.

  Excitement was paramount as plans were laid down for the weekend to come; the only two silent people were Stan and I. It was like an invisible string linked between us, an invisible line of misery. A string that drew taut when Stan stood. My eyes snapped up, ever aware of every movement he made.