A Daughter’s Choice

by Lee Christine

  ‘Hey,’ he said, running an eye over the paintwork as she closed the door. ‘Did you buy your aunt’s car?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ She stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek. ‘I borrowed it.’

  ‘Geez, Willow, you have to ditch that heap of shit. It’s broken down once too often. I’ve found a good second-hand car I want to talk to you about.’ Julian reached around her and opened the rear door. ‘I’ll just say hello to my favourite boy first.’

  ‘Julian, wait!’

  Ignoring Willow’s outburst, he ducked his head under the doorframe, ready to give Atlas his favourite ‘like a tiger’ tummy tickle. The back seat was empty, the child restraint Willow used nowhere to be seen. There was a rustle of clothing in the passenger seat as Lynsey Carter turned and looked right at him.

  Lanced in the heart.

  He jerked upwards, cracking his crown on the doorframe. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Ow!’ cried Willow. ‘Are you okay?’

  He backed out of the car and straightened up, skull throbbing like the time his mate Chappy’s moose-sized head had butted his in a scrum.

  Lynsey bloody Carter.

  He’d know that messy bedhead hair and those jade green eyes anywhere.

  He closed the door then jerked away from Willow as she went to rub his head. ‘Hey! I’m not Atlas for crying out loud.’

  ‘All right, all right. I tried to warn you.’

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘What do you think she’s doing here, Julian? She’s wants to make sure her mother’s okay.’

  ‘Make sure her inheritance is okay more like it.’

  A car door slammed.

  Julian stiffened. Lynsey would have heard that.

  ‘Be nice, Julian,’ Willow hissed somewhere near his ear. ‘You know how close she is to her mother.’

  ‘Yeah? She took her sweet time getting here.’

  With pain burning a fiery path from his crown to the back of his right eyeball, he tracked Lynsey like a moving target as she rounded the bonnet. She was dressed in top-to-toe black, from the aviator sunnies pushed into that sexy ‘just got out of bed’ hairstyle to the black jumper, close-fitting jeans and half-laced up Doc Martens. The only hint of colour was a cropped denim jacket which she wore with the cuffs folded back.

  ‘Hello, Julian.’

  ‘Lynsey.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘We need lube.’

  His saliva turned to ash and his heart pounded against his ribs with the speed of boxer’s jabs. Only Lynsey Carter could turn his mind dirty with one word.

  ‘According to Willow, you sell lubricant’. Lynsey was glaring at her cousin as though she suspected her of having orchestrated their visit.

  Had she? It didn’t seem like something Willow would do.

  ‘It’s for the windmill pump at the commune.’ Willow enunciated her words as though she were speaking to a couple of pre-schoolers. ‘It’s seized up. Shaun and the boys asked me to get some while I was in town.’

  ‘We keep the lubes in the storeroom. It’s locked up for the night so you’ll have to come through the office.’ Julian swung back towards the office door, glad of an exit. ‘How much do you need? It comes packaged in different sizes.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d better come and have a look.’

  Wishing he’d closed up and gone home ten minutes earlier, Julian rubbed a hand over his smarting head and held the door open for the two girls. But Lynsey had come to a stop a few paces behind them. She was staring at the group of people by the mill gates. The night chill was setting in and most were wearing beanies and heavy parkas as protection against the wind. Some had wrapped blankets around their bodies in an effort to ward off the cold. One lady was pouring liquid from a thermos into a cup.

  Willow went over and took hold of Lynsey’s arm. ‘Come on, Lyns,’ she said gently. ‘There’s nothing you can do until you know more.’

  Lynsey turned and looked right at him, the colour draining from her face, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

  Julian steeled himself, holding his breath as Lynsey brushed past him and followed Willow into the waiting area. She’d worn the same stunned expression when her parents split, like life had altered its course and her internal GPS had yet to reconfigure.

  Julian slowed his movements as he closed the door, taking time to gather his thoughts. Whether she was worried for the workers, her family or her future, he was disinclined to find out. He’d been her anchor back then, steadying her ship against the winds and currents buffeting her from every direction. And yet Don Carter had never thought him good enough to date his daughter. Caprice Newton thought him good enough. Caprice had already made it clear she’d be happy to slip a halo around the third finger of his left hand given half a chance.

  Holding that thought, Julian turned to Willow and pointed to the internal door leading into the storeroom. When Lynsey began looking around his workplace with interest, even the fiery ache in his skull couldn’t dampen the pride swelling in his chest.

  ***

  Lynsey watched Julian and her cousin disappear into the store room.

  Damn Willow!

  Without the slightest warning she’d hung a left off Burton Park Road and driven straight into Julian’s depot. They’d still been arguing when he’d emerged from the building in a pair of blue jeans and a white polo shirt with the Stone’s Transport logo printed on the pocket. Taller, more solidly built, and with his dark hair cut shorter than she remembered, he’d walked towards the car with that purposeful stride she remembered so well. If her sweaty palms and throbbing heart were anything to go by, restricting her visits to once a year had been the sane thing to do.

  ‘Lube comes in containers of two, five, ten and twenty litres, then all the way up to five hundred litres,’ she could hear him saying. ‘How much do you think you need, Willow?’

  ‘Honestly, I have no idea.’

  Lynsey continued to cast her eyes around the smart office space. There were four desks, a number of steel filing cabinets and a photocopier. A flat-screen TV, switched onto the news with the sound muted, was fixed high up in one corner and easily visible from the inviting L-shaped lounge. A stack of motoring magazines were strewn on a glass-topped coffee table along with today’s newspaper and a couple of used coffee mugs. By far the most striking thing in the room was a series of professionally taken photographs of Julian’s tankers. Eight in total. All framed and hanging on the neutral coloured walls. A man’s space, softened only by a small vase of roses on one of the desks.

  Voices filtered through from the storeroom. Lynsey edged closer to the door, tempted to take another look at Julian. He and Willow were inspecting the packages and boxes stacked on the floor-to-ceiling iron shelving.

  He’d changed little. Filled out in the chest perhaps, but the strong brows and piercing blue eyes were painfully familiar. The biggest difference was the half sleeve of tattoos that stopped at his left elbow, below his shirtsleeve.

  ‘Take the twenty litres,’ he was saying to Willow without any trace of his previous annoyance. ‘That should be plenty.’ He picked up an aluminium container and hauled it onto his shoulder as easily as she’d once watched him haul a two-year-old Atlas onto his shoulder at a Carols by Candlelight Christmas celebration.

  Lynsey retreated before they looked around and noticed her. That was the problem with Julian Stone—she’d always been tempted to take one more look.

  ‘Thanks, Jules,’ she heard Willow say. ‘What do I owe you?’

  ‘Buy me a beer the next time we’re at the Ace.’

  An unexpected lump formed in Lynsey’s throat at overhearing the easy camaraderie she’d once been a part of. How she missed those nights at the Ace in the Hole pub, playing pool and drinking with her mates in front of the fire. There was something special about hanging out with the people you had a history with, in the town you’d grown up in. Could it ever be the same again? Her close friends had been go
ne from Mindalby as long as she had. When they organised a get-together these days it was usually in Sydney, Canberra or Brisbane.

  Anxious to be on her way now Willow had the lubricant, Lynsey hovered near the office door. She’d have to give her mother a call once they were in the car and explain why they were running late.

  ‘Which driver’s on his way to Cobar?’ Willow asked, glancing at Lynsey like she expected her to take off any second. ‘We passed him about forty-five minutes ago.’

  Julian put the aluminium drum down on one of the desks before turning to study a whiteboard hanging on the wall. The board was ruled into columns listing names, times and destinations. ‘That would be Sid Akers … Why?’

  ‘He flew past us. Had to be going at least a hundred and forty.’

  ‘Shit.’ Julian brought his hands up to rest on his hips, worry turning his eyes a darker shade of blue. ‘He’s already on his second warning.’

  ‘He was driving too close to the centre line, wasn’t he, Lyns?’

  Lynsey swallowed. Going by the rigid set of Julian’s jaw, she wouldn’t want to be Sid Akers when he returned to the depot. ‘It was … a little too close for comfort.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ he said, looking at each of them in turn. ‘I’m going to have to put him off before he bloody well kills someone.’

  A pounding on the door made Lynsey jump before it flew open. A blast of cold air rushed into the office carrying the faint smell of petrol from the storage tanks. A thick-set middle-aged man was standing in the doorway. From where Lynsey stood she could make out another two men behind him. All three were dressed in dark trousers, parkas and beanies.

  ‘Warren.’ A strong hand wrapped around her upper arm drawing her backwards as Julian stepped in front of her, creating a barrier between her and the visitor. ‘Do you need to make use of the amenities?’

  ‘Not this time, Julian.’ The man spoke with a heavy British accent. ‘We saw the car come in. We thought it was Mrs Carter to begin with, but then Cody ’ere said it was her daughter.’ The barrel-chested Warren peered around Julian to point a stubby forefinger at Lynsey. ‘We’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘You mean Lynsey?’

  ‘I can speak for myself.’ Lynsey took a deep breath and drew level with Julian. The skinny guy with stringy, dirty-blond hair sticking out from under his beanie she recognised as Cody Nossiter, a local guy and a well-known pothead. The third man she didn’t know. He hung back, serious and quiet.

  ‘I’m Lynsey Carter.’ She didn’t offer her hand, not because it was a little unsteady, but because Willow had said it was Cody Nossiter who’d had a go at her mother. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘We want to speak to your old man,’ Cody sneered.

  Warren turned and put a hand on the younger man’s chest. ‘Settle down, Cody.’ He turned to face Lynsey, both hands raised as though she was the aggressive one and he was telling her to back off.

  ‘I’m Warren Leadbeater, the union rep, and over the back here is Burton Sims. I need to speak to your father. Can you tell me where he is?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lynsey said. ‘I’ve only just arrived in town.’

  ‘That’d be right,’ Cody whined. ‘You won’t get anything out of her, Wazza, she’s a Carter.’

  ‘Okay, that’s enough,’ snapped Julian.

  ‘We appreciate what you’ve done to help, Julian, but Don Carter’s gone to ground and people need money.’ Burton Sims stepped forward, his words gruff, his gaze shifting between Julian and Lynsey. ‘They’re getting desperate.’

  ‘I know that. But I won’t have you bailing up Carter’s daughter in my office.’

  Lynsey turned to look at Willow. She was wide-eyed, one hand on the tin of lubricant Julian had put on the desk. Knowing how much her cousin hated confrontation, Lynsey beckoned her forward. ‘We need to get home, Willow. We’re late as it is.’

  ‘The ladies were just leaving, fellas,’ Julian said, using his arm to shepherd them towards the door. ‘If you’d just step aside, please. Willow, leave the lubricant. I’ll drop it over tomorrow.’

  The three men did as Julian asked. Lynsey took hold of Willow’s arm as they hurried towards the car. Her heart ached for these men and their families, but there was nothing she could do until she’d spoken to her mother. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardise their livelihoods by talking out of turn.

  ‘Just remember to tell your dad that he’d better come and see us,’ Cody Nossiter called after her, ‘because there’s a mob of angry people in this town, and they want answers.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘And then … and then, I picked up my Harry Podder wand and turned the bad guy into a giant caterpillar.’

  ‘Never?’ Lynsey raised her eyebrows, mouth agape as she affected amazement at Atlas’s imaginative story.

  ‘Yes!’ Shrieking with laughter that he’d achieved the desired response, Atlas ran in excited circles around her mother’s coffee table, chubby legs pumping, fluffy penguin clutched in one dimpled hand.

  ‘He has grown,’ Lynsey said to Willow. ‘Who’s he like, do you think?’

  Willow shook her head, a soft smile on her lips as she gazed at her son. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s like his donor father.’

  ‘I think he’s like my brother,’ Veronica said, from where she sat in the corner of her cream brocade lounge, silver hair styled in the latest sharp-looking cut.

  ‘My dad?’ A frown creased Willow’s forehead. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’ll find the photographs of Vincent and myself as children sometime. If you can imagine Atlas with a college-boy haircut, he looks very much like Vincent did at that age.’

  ‘I wanna haircut,’ Atlas yelled, letting go of the penguin to pick up a half-eaten biscuit.

  ‘People have mistaken him for a girl a couple of times,’ explained Willow. ‘He doesn’t like that.’

  ‘I’m a boy,’ Atlas said through a mouthful of crumbs.

  ‘We know you are, little one.’ Veronica ran a gentle hand through Atlas’s silky hair that almost reached his shoulders. ‘I can understand your mother not wanting to cut these beautiful curls though.’

  ‘Come on, buster. We’re out of here.’ Willow bent and scooped up her son, settling him onto her hip.

  ‘You’re sure you won’t stay for dinner?’ Veronica asked, getting to her feet.

  ‘I’d love to, but I’d better get home and tell Shaun and the boys we won’t be getting the lube until tomorrow. And you two have a meeting in a couple of hours. I hope it all goes well.’

  ‘I’ll get Atlas’s bag then.’ Veronica disappeared down the hallway to return moments later carrying a small backpack with little blue teddy bears on it. ‘I’ve given him his dinner.’

  ‘Thanks, Aunt Veronica.’ Willow leaned over and kissed Lynsey’s mother on the cheek. ‘I’ll pop in one day this week and show you my new jewellery range. You can choose what you want for the shop.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see it. Our jewellery stock’s getting a bit low.’

  ‘See ya, Lyns.’ Willow turned and planted a kiss on Lynsey’s cheek. ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow and see what you’re up to. If I’ve got mobile reception. It’s a bit sketchy at the commune.’

  ‘Thanks for picking me up, Willow.’

  ‘No worries.’

  After more goodbyes and cuddles with Atlas, Lynsey and her mother stood on the front porch and watched Willow’s tail-lights disappear down St George Boulevard.

  ‘She’s a good girl,’ Veronica said as she closed the door. ‘Who would have thought the troubled teen who came to live with us all those years ago would turn into the nature child she is today?’

  ‘Yep, she’s pretty Zen.’

  Her mother laughed. ‘Oh, Lynsey, it’s lovely to have you home.’

  ‘Same, Mum.’ Tears pricked at the back of Lynsey’s eyes and she wrapped her arms around her mother, breathing in the flowery fragrance Veronica loved. ‘I just wish I was here under
happier circumstances.’

  ‘No one has died, Lynsey. At least, not yet.’ Her mother held her at arm’s length, giving her one of those stern ‘come on, buck up’ looks she’d occasionally given her in high school. The only time it hadn’t worked was when Julian had broken up with her. Even the Queensland sun couldn’t warm the chill of that loss.

  ‘None of this is our doing, Lynsey, but to some we’re guilty by association.’

  ‘This whole thing blows.’ Lynsey stepped away and swung her rucksack onto her shoulder, the faces of the three men who’d barged into Julian’s office still fresh in her mind. ‘I need a drink.’

  ‘There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Put your bag down and I’ll pour us a glass. I didn’t offer one earlier because Willow’s given up alcohol.’

  ‘She damaged her liver enough in her teens,’ Lynsey said with a yawn. ‘Thank goodness she saw the light.’

  ‘The Golden Light,’ said her mother with a laugh, referring to the commune near the Nambaring National Park where Willow had lived since she was eighteen.

  Lynsey dumped the rucksack at the bottom of the stairs and followed her mother into the back of the house, wishing she’d inherited the gene that gave Veronica Carter her eternal sense of optimism and good humour. As her mother took a bottle of verdelho from the fridge and two wine glasses from the china cabinet, Lynsey recounted her conversation with the union representative.

  ‘I’ve known Warren Leadbeater for a long time. We’re a similar age,’ Veronica said, filling their glasses to the brim. ‘He might be like a bull at a gate sometimes but his heart’s in the right place.’

  So, her mother was a fan of Leadbeater’s. Lynsey would never have guessed. She took the glass her mother offered and held it aloft. ‘I like your idea of a standard drink, Mum—well done.’

  ‘We can do with it tonight.’

  ‘You’re not wrong.’ Lynsey took a welcome sip, the semi-sweet wine tingling her tongue before the cool liquid slid down her throat. ‘So, is Dad even in town? There are people looking for him everywhere.’ Lynsey curled up in her favourite spot—the corner of the cane lounge closest to the wood-burning fire. No need to broach the subject of Yasmin and the charges against her; she’d ask her father about that. He was the reason Yasmin was in their lives.