Safe Harbour

by Helene Young

  ‘There.’ The women stopped outside a closed door with two glass panes. Rosie was surrounded by machines, a cage over her legs. Her eyes were closed, the swelling making her almost unrecognisable but for the patches of henna red hair. She looked childlike and defenceless in the midst of so much clinical white. Darcy crossed her arms over her stomach, knowing she needed to be strong.

  ‘Are they letting anyone in to see her?’ she asked. Her voice betrayed her.

  ‘Her daughter, Merle, has been in.’

  ‘Good.’ Darcy was hanging on by a thread. She wanted to go into the room and touch the brown hand that lay limp on the sheet, reassure Rosie and herself that it would be okay.

  Debbie squeezed her shoulder. ‘I can’t take you in, family only, but you can stay here if you like. Merle can’t be far away.’

  Darcy nodded, grateful for the woman’s understanding. She hung on to her tears until the nurse walked away, then her vision blurred as the tears spilled down her cheeks. Rosie was a central pillar, a mainstay in her life. Someone who knew her in a way perhaps only Noah did. Someone who’d nurtured her, talked to her, laughed with her for the best part of her life. It was inconceivable that an impulsive decision Darcy had made mere days ago could have left Rosie so vulnerable, so damaged.

  ‘Darcy?’

  She palmed her cheeks dry and turned. ‘Merle. I’m so sorry.’

  Rosie’s daughter was a petite version of her mother. She waved a distracted hand, her face pinched with worry. ‘She’s too bloody tenacious for this. You want to come in?’

  ‘They said only family.’

  Merle gave her a long look. ‘You’re family even if you aren’t the best colour.’

  Darcy’s smile was fleeting.

  ‘She was asking about you before they carted her off to surgery. She’s worried about something. Zeke maybe?’

  ‘It’s my fault she’s caught up in this, Merle.’

  ‘Nah, love. Rosie does what Rosie pleases. She was really pissed with me for telling them blokes in that flash car where you lived. Seemed crazy at the time, but now?’ She nodded. ‘You go in, eh?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Go, before some interfering nurse notices you’re a white girl.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Merle opened the door and nudged her through. Darcy kept her jaw clamped shut. The sounds of the machines surrounding the bed seemed to beat a sombre march.

  ‘Rosie, it’s me. Darcy.’ She pulled a chair up close to the bed and touched her friend’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie, so sorry that they did this to you.’

  Her voice trembled and she fought back tears. ‘I wish I’d never hauled him from the water. None of this would have happened. We’d be in the middle of a midday rush, frying fish and up to our ears in orders.’

  The rise and fall of Rosie’s chest was barely discernible; the severity of the bruising on her face alarmed Darcy. Even more disconcerting was the large white bandage that covered half her head. It was obvious from the bare scalp exposed at the edge of the strapping that they’d had to shave one side. Darcy was sorry she hadn’t asked Merle what the doctors had said about Rosie’s condition. Did she have a brain injury as well?

  Darcy rubbed Rosie’s hand between her own, feeling a texture so familiar but now so cold. Could Rosie hear her? ‘Rosie, you can’t leave me. You have to be there for the opening of Whale Song. It would never have taken shape without you.’

  There was no response.

  ‘Remember the way we used to sit on the end of the wharf and watch the sky turn mauve and pink as the sun set and you said it was the old people throwing ochre dust around? You always said it was the perfect place for a restaurant, and you reckoned it was ironic that whale watching might end up being the saviour of Banksia Cove. Remember coming up with the name Whale Song?’ Darcy managed a smile, swallowing her tears.

  ‘At first I thought you were joking, but then I realised you’d put that thought in my head and there was no going back. You never gave up on me so I won’t be giving up on you.’

  There was the faintest of tremors in Rosie’s hand. Darcy held her breath, but nothing else happened.

  ‘So you have to get well and be my guest of honour at the opening. Remember when I came back to Banksia Cove after I won that award? You laughed until you cried when I described the menu. “How does anyone survive on eating rabbit food and herbs?” you asked me. But I always knew you were proud of me. You made me believe in myself. You showed me that anything was possible, made me understand that dreams can true, one step at a time.’

  There was so much Darcy wanted to say, but how could she thank someone for always being there, for never turning her away? How do you find the words to explain that Rosie and her endless procession of foster kids was a powerful example of humanity? How do you ever repay the gift of unconditional love except by reciprocating?

  ‘I’ll check on Zeke before I go today. He’s been airlifted to Brisbane. Won’t he think that’s grand!’ She didn’t mention his badly broken leg, which had probably just ended his promising career before it had even started.

  ‘Noah will catch those bastards. You know what he’s like. You always said that Noah should be my boyfriend. I think I always knew you were right, but the more you and Stirling told me to stay away from Grant, the more I wanted to be around him.’

  Darcy tipped her head back. ‘You always said my soul mate was waiting for me and it wasn’t Grant.’

  ‘I’m glad you listened.’ Rosie’s voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘Rosie? Oh, my God, Rosie. You can hear me.’ Darcy gripped the gnarled hand more firmly.

  The old woman’s mouth moved in what could have been half a smile. ‘Can’t just be still, can you?’

  ‘Ha! How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’ve been run down by one of them cane trains.’ Rosie’s eyes were closed still and she only managed the barest of squeezes with her hand. ‘I’ll be right.’

  ‘I’ll get Merle.’

  ‘No.’ Rosie’s bruised lids opened a crack; the whites of her eyes were bloodshot. ‘No, Darce, listen.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘You need to talk to Stirling.’ Her voice was weak and Darcy bent closer, smelling antiseptic, smoke and Rosie’s perfume. ‘Tell him you know about Grant. Owes you the truth . . . always been gutless. Tell him Rosie told you. There was a reason he didn’t like me. I knew his dirty little secrets.’

  ‘Stirling’s secrets? Like the drugs?’ Darcy felt the tingle of disgust up her spine. ‘Conor’s got the proof of that already.’

  Rosie managed a nod. ‘But it’s more than that, Darce. You had a half-brother. Your dad . . .’ Her voice caught and she started coughing, one hand ineffectively waving in front of her face. Darcy leant forwards, helping her to sit a little higher.

  ‘Shh, shh. It’s not important,’ Darcy soothed, even though she could hardly breathe for the tension in her body.

  Rosie finished coughing and lay back again. ‘It’s important, Darce. Grant was Stirling’s son, from before, when he used to coach up here.’

  ‘Grant?’ Darcy recoiled even as the truth slammed home. So many little things added up. ‘He couldn’t be. Mum and Dad were married already.’ She felt as though ants were crawling over her skin and a hot flush had spread out through her limbs.

  ‘Reckon Stirlo cared?’

  Darcy was silent, her hands rubbing up and down her arms. She knew her mother had endured so many miscarriages and then the cancer before she finally had Darcy. It must have been so tough on Beverley, on the marriage. Stirling was the caring husband in public, but his disappointment at having only a daughter was no secret behind the Fletcher’s white picket fence.

  ‘I’m sorry, Darce,’ Rosie was breathing hard now. ‘Wanted to tell . . . wasn’t my secret. Worried you were waiting for him . . . like the sea hadn’t taken him forever . . .’ Rosie started coughing again and Darcy beckoned Merle inside just as another nurse, someone she’d gone to sc
hool with, arrived at the doors. ‘Make me proud with Whale Song, eh? I wish I could have been there.’ Rosie managed to whisper. ‘Make yourself proud.’

  ‘No, she shouldn’t be in there,’ Darcy heard the angry words as soon as the door opened.

  ‘I’m leaving, it’s okay. She’s spoken to me.’ Darcy’s voice was choked with tears as she bent and pressed her lips to the battered skin. ‘Get well, Rosie. We have a restaurant to open.’

  ‘Out, now, Darcy.’ The nurse was beside Rosie’s bed glaring at her and Darcy left with a backwards glance.

  ‘Thanks for letting me in, Merle. Will she be all right?’ Darcy couldn’t believe she was managing to sound controlled. So many questions, so much pain was bubbling up inside her and she wanted to flee from the hospital into the bright sunshine.

  ‘They think so . . .’ Merle’s bottom lip wobbled and Darcy gathered her close, trying in vain to still the trembling in her own body.

  ‘She’s an amazing lady. I’m sure she’ll pull through. Is there anything left of her house? What can I do?’

  Merle couldn’t stop the sob that escaped her lips and Darcy held her until the storm subsided. Darcy craved space, time alone to sift through her thoughts, but she couldn’t run off on Merle.

  ‘One of the dogs turned up at my place,’ Merle said, her face still full of emotion. ‘But I found the other two by the house. By the time the fire brigade got there, it was too late. Everything’s gone. She’ll be devastated when she realises.’

  ‘She knows already, Merle. She got beaten up when she came to tell me about it, to warn me, after they bashed Zeke. Noah’s looking for the guys now.’

  ‘Them blokes did this as well?’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘I’d bloody well give them a hiding myself.’

  ‘Leave it to the police. You got my number, haven’t you?’ Merle nodded. ‘I’ve got to go, Merle, but please let me know if anything changes or if I can do anything. You know she can stay at my house if she needs to.’

  ‘She’ll be right. Plenty of people owe Rosie big time. She’ll be looked after.’

  ‘Okay. Got to go.’ She gave Merle another long hug and looked through the window for a moment as the nurse wrote on a clipboard. Rosie was lying back against the pillows, her hands crossed over her stomach, already looking as though she’d been laid out for burial. Fingers of icy dread snaked down Darcy’s spine.

  Darcy dissected Rosie’s words as she drove, stopping at a takeaway for meat pies and drinks, functioning on automatic. As she drove towards the farm she kept an eye on the rear-vision mirror, her thoughts circling back to Grant. She’d only been vaguely aware Stirling had visited Banksia Cove before they’d moved there so he could easily have fathered a son. Why hadn’t Stirling said something? Did Beverley know? Surely her mother wouldn’t have tolerated that, wouldn’t have welcomed Grant into her home the way she had. Or maybe Beverley had guessed.

  Darcy grimaced. The way her mother cooed over Amelia was crazy. No matter how cute the baby was she was always going to be a reminder that Stirling abandoned his first family without a thought. Could Beverley really have accepted that Stirling had fathered a son while she was miscarrying child after child? Darcy shifted in her seat, feeling queasy at the idea her mother could have been even more wronged by Stirling than Darcy had imagined.

  Her phone beeped with a message. She glanced at it. Noah. ‘Yes, my friend, I’m coming back.’ She drove one-handed and sent back a quick message. The phone gave one last beep and shut down. She tossed it on the seat. Did Noah know about Grant as well? The sudden thought added to the roil in her stomach and disappointment swamped her. Was she the only one who didn’t know? Was that the pity in Noah’s eyes all those years ago? Surely not? She shook her head, not wanting to acknowledge that that was a possibility.

  ‘Please no!’ She slowed the car, her chest heaving. She wasn’t sure if she was going to throw up.

  She’d had a giant-sized crush on both Grant and Noah in that hero worship way that only a teenage girl can. Noah was forever rescuing her from homework woes and Grant had been like a brother to her right up until the last couple of weeks when he knew he was going to Brisbane for a chance at the bright lights of a footy career. She hadn’t wanted him to go, knew she’d miss him, miss Rosie calling them the three musketeers, miss being teased unmercifully by Grace about being sweet on them. Yet the truth was the boys had outgrown her when they left school. They’d broadened out into men with muscles rippling in their shoulders and arms, stubble on their chins and cheeks and a swagger to their walk. She was just a fickle teenager with a sense of entitlement. She was Stirling’s daughter. Pretty, privileged and immature.

  Grace was her closest female friend, but was always messing around with animals rather than boys, already sure she was going to be a vet. Darcy had drifted between groups at high school, popular but a little aloof, equally protected and vulnerable because her father was the charismatic science teacher who also happened to be a legendary coach. Running away before the end of school had ruined most of those friendships, but she was gradually rebuilding them with those few who’d stayed in the Cove and the surrounding district.

  She turned onto the dirt track and opened the gate. It swung more easily this time. She paused for a moment, looking down at the dairy. What a wild rollercoaster the last twenty-four hours had been. Could Noah really have known about Grant and not told her?

  Even as a sixteen-year-old Darcy had realised that for Grant it was all about him. Maybe he really was Stirling’s son. She got back in the car and slammed the door and started bumping down the ruts. Was Conor of the same mould as Stirling and Grant? And had Noah really been lying to her?

  ‘You’re an idiot, Darcy,’ she muttered. ‘Could you possibly make any more bad decisions when it comes to men?’

  25

  Noah watched the car bump over the ruts. Darcy was taking her own sweet time, but he knew better than to try to prod her along. Wombats were less stubborn. He and Conor had talked for over an hour. The details were all recorded on both Noah’s smartphone and his laptop. Fascinating stuff, but Noah wasn’t surprised.

  He’d followed Stirlo’s career, kept up to speed on the whole dilemma of drugs in sport. Watching it tear apart sports like cycling and seeing issues around it start to impact on other team sports, he’d always wondered how Stirling had kept his squeaky clean image. It was about to be tarnished beyond repair. That was going to hurt Darcy, no matter how much she feigned indifference to her father.

  And Grant? How had he not realised earlier that Grant was Stirling’s son? The facts added up, including perhaps why Grant’s mother had taken her own life when he was little more than a toddler. Did Grant’s father ever realise he had a cuckoo in the nest?

  Darcy stopped the car in front of him and sat for a moment with the motor running. He waited, refraining from snatching the door open and hurrying her along. If he’d guessed correctly – and he was damn certain he had – then something had gone on between Conor and Darcy. There was a smug air to the other man and Darcy had been skittish, unable or unwilling to meet his eyes. He wasn’t entirely surprised. Conor could have charmed his way into a nunnery. Didn’t stop it hurting.

  In profile Darcy looked pensive and he knew what the puffiness under her eyes meant. He hoped like hell that Rosie was going to pull through. He certainly wasn’t going to burden Darcy with her missing half-sister, a newly discovered half-brother and a Russian mafia hit squad on the loose. He prayed her phone had run out of battery and Beverley hadn’t been able to call her. The sooner he handed Conor over, the happier he’d be.

  She finally opened the car door. ‘She was talking, but she’s a mess. It’s horrible.’ Her face was grim. ‘Find them, Noah, and promise me you’ll use that Taser if you can find an excuse to.’ She held out her hand to him and he took it, squeezed it, loving the strength in her slim hands, wanting to intertwine their fingers, but knowing he didn’t have the right, not now and perh
aps not ever.

  ‘I’m working on it. Better get the Witness Protection guys first.’

  ‘Okay.’ She stood up and held the door for him. He brushed against her as he slid into the car, feeling the tension in her.

  ‘You’ll be all right here? I can drop you at your mum’s?’ He couldn’t help glancing across at Conor, but wished he hadn’t. Conor looked like a survivor seeing a long cold drink after being lost in the Simpson Desert for weeks. Maybe he had genuine feelings for Darcy. The jealousy was a sucker punch to his stomach and Noah was glad he was sitting down. He had no claim on Darcy, no right to judge.

  ‘I’ll be fine. If you see Stirling, tell him I’ll track him down at the pub.’ Darcy scowled, her control ironclad.

  ‘Right.’ Noah’s throat was tight. ‘I’ll do that. I’ll be back in an hour to collect Conor.’

  Noah checked the rear-vision mirror as he left. Darcy was still standing where he’d left her. Conor was sauntering over to join her.

  ‘But you’re not a quitter, Noah,’ he muttered. ‘She’s worth fighting for. Always has been, always will be. This time it’s all or nothing.’

  He swung by his office on the way to the airport, had a quick shower and changed into a fresh uniform. For a blissful half hour he closed his eyes before the insistent beeping of his alarm woke him. It would have to do. Four hours in the last two days was taking its toll.

  Half an hour later he admired the skill of the pilot in a silver helicopter who came from the east, pulled an impressive autorotation and disappeared in the direction of the Royal Flying Doctors area of the tarmac. Five minutes later the Dash 8 taxied in and parked in the bay in front of the terminal. Stirling was the first man off the aircraft with a smile and wave at the cabin crew at the top of the stairs. Still grandstanding.

  ‘Arsehole,’ Noah muttered.

  The flight was full and it took a while for the passengers to filter off. He wouldn’t recognise the two southern coppers, but they’d find him. The young man who finally approached him with an outstretched hand wasn’t what he expected.