Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past?

by Diane Demetre

  “I know, Mum. But I’ve been gone a long time now. Anyway, Richard’s there. He’s helping out, surely?”

  “Yes, your brother helps out, but he doesn’t love Coodravale like your father and me. I guess your father’s health scare has made me realise I’m not prepared to handle this place on my own. Richard won’t stay, you know. He wants to move to the city. Start his own life. He’s got his sights set on being an accountant like your cousin, Tom, and he’s almost finished his study. So he’ll be leaving soon I expect, once he finds a job in Sydney.”

  Despite their frequent spats, Jessie felt sorry for her mother. The time would come when the life she’d lived at Coodravale would crash down around her. “Mum, you have to stop worrying about what’s going to happen in the future. Take each day as it comes. I’ll be there in a couple of weeks. And we can talk about everything then. Okay?”

  “Thank you, Jessica. I’m sorry we can’t be there to see you perform this time.” The hint of longing whined in her mother’s voice like it did whenever they discussed Jessie’s career. Her mother had once been a ballerina with a promising career, but had not pursued it. “I know you will light up the stage as the Sugar Plum Fairy. You always do in whatever role you dance. Good luck, darling. I’m sure they will offer you the principal role for next year. I just know it.”

  “Thanks, Mum. I hope so. Give Dad my love, and I’ll see you soon. Bye now.” She ended the call on the tenth circuit of her unit. Shorter than some, longer than others. She set her phone on the kitchen bench and checked her Fitbit for the number of steps she taken today. At least the conversations with her mother added to her overall step count.

  With a sigh, she wandered over to the window and peered out into the murky evening. Thick tears of rain smacked the window pane of her humble, third-floor unit. She had no balcony, so her unit and her life were enclosed in a bubble of her own making. Devoid of city noise, the only connection to the outside world was through the glass. Like Alice, she viewed life from inside her unit, wondering what it was like on the other side. Although ballet was her love, she wondered what it would feel like to be free of its responsibilities and experience earth-shattering romantic love. To not be so driven to achieve her dream. But that was not the life she chose. She would see this through. She had no other option. Her eyes watched the rivulets of water weaving this way and that down the window pane. She wished she could cry like the rain.

  On Friday afternoon of opening night, a knock at her door had Jessie running to answer. “Who is it?” she called, unwilling to open the door unless she knew who stood on the other side.

  “The landlord sent me. I’ve come to fix your kitchen cupboard hinges.” The deep, throaty resonance of a man’s voice filtered through the timber. Since he knew specific details about the cupboard hinges, she decided he was legitimate and opened the door.

  “I’m from Baker Builders and… Jessie?”

  “BJ?” She cocked her head and blinked.

  “Twice in one week I get to help you out. First a mugger and now cupboards.” Sporting a cocky grin, Brad Jordan stood in her doorway.

  “Are you a builder?”

  “No, I work for Trent as a handyman. Baker Builders is his company. Can I come in and fix your hinges?”

  She stepped back. “Sure. Sure. Come in. Kitchen’s just here on the left.”

  “Thanks.”

  As he strode past her, she admired his easy saunter and imposing body. His muscled torso bulged beneath his cotton work shirt, while his jeans cinched tight at his trim waist. Dragging her attention away from his impressive body, she pointed to the culprits. “It’s the three up the top. Be careful when you open them though. They’ll just fall off.”

  “Okay.” He pulled a cloth from his tool box and laid it on the bench. On it, he unpacked the necessary tools for the job. “Nice little place you have here.”

  “Thanks.” As the yolky summer sunlight diffused through the window and chased away the lingering shades of grey from the rain, she followed his gaze into the living area. The butterscotch-coloured couch, her personal favourite, and the four-person dining setting came from a discount store, as did the bent glass coffee table and table nest. Accented with a few aqua throw cushions and rug, it was designer chic on a budget. As if looking at her unit for the first time, she noticed she had no personal memorabilia on display. No pictures, no books, no programs from the ballets in which she’d performed, no hint of who she was or what she liked. The whole place screamed no-fuss, functional and impersonal. Much like me. Maybe Jasmine was right. She needed to loosen up a little.

  “So, Jessie, what is it you do?” he asked over the whirring of his cordless drill.

  “I’m a senior artist with the Australian Ballet Company.”

  The sound stopped as his hand froze mid-air. “A ballet dancer?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Wow. I bet it takes a lot of discipline and talent to be a ballerina. Tough work, I reckon. And with the Australian Ballet Company…” A low, appreciative whistle escaped his lips as he returned to his task.

  “Yes, it does. I have no other life really. Just ballet. But that’s okay because I love it.” She strolled over to the other side of the bench to watch him work.

  “What about you? Is this what you do?” She had a feeling it wasn’t.

  “For the moment, yes. I’m sort of in between things in my life, so I’m filling in time doing odd jobs.” He tested the first cupboard door and then moved to the second.

  “By the look of you, you obviously do more than yoga…” She didn’t mean to pry—or did she? But she figured since he was in her unit, fixing her cupboards, it was a perfect opportunity to find out more about him.

  “Yeah, I do a lot of training. I recently renovated my house, a little place in Carlton North. I installed a home gym. It helps me burn off steam.”

  “I know what you mean. Aside from ballet, I try to do a gym workout twice a week. Takes my mind off things and gives me more strength for my ballet.” Leaning on the bench top, her feet pointed and stretched, as if all the talk of working out triggered them to limber up.

  Having tested the second cupboard, he began repairing the third. “I hear you. Working out clears my head, too.” As the drill whirred, she admired the grace with which he went about the mundane task. Nothing seemed to require any effort for him. “There you go. All done. Three cupboards with new hinges.” He packed up his tools and leaned across the top of his tool box. “So, I guess I’ll see you at yoga on Sunday, unless you need help tomorrow?” A soft, easy chortle rang from his generous mouth.

  She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thank you very much.”

  “Jessie?” He paused. “Would you like to come to my place after yoga on Sunday? See my home gym?”

  She hesitated, but Jasmine’s voice echoed in her head to accept.

  He hurried on. “Not on a date or anything. Just come over. Maybe grab something to eat?”

  While she considered his offer, she busied herself with the unnecessary arrangement of three tins of tea at the edge of the counter. Jasmine’s lecture on loosening up still resounded in her mind. Maybe she could take a night off and do something different. BJ seemed trustworthy, what with his recent heroics and respectful handyman behaviour. And…there was something else about him, something intangible that reminded her of herself. Perhaps it was his discipline to train hard, or that he balanced it with yoga. Whatever it was, she decided to take a chance. “Sure why not? I could do with a change of scenery and some other company aside from dancers.”

  “Terrific. I’ll see you at yoga, and you can follow me back to my place. I’ll organise the rest. Okay?” With a grin, he bundled up his tool box and cloth.

  “Okay. Can I have your number in case something comes up, and I can’t make it?”

  “Sure.” They swapped phones and punched in their numbers.

  “Thanks. See you Sunday.” She ushered him to the door.
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br />   “See you then.” He headed out along the landing and jogged down the stairs of the three-storey walk-up.

  Jessie watched him disappear, thinking he seemed brighter today than he had last Sunday night. Maybe like her, he longed for someone outside of his world to connect with. She glanced at her watch. Damn… She had twenty minutes to get to the theatre before warm-up. She grabbed her dance bag and pea coat, and after slamming the door behind her, fled down the stairs.

  “Hello, Jessie.” The gravelly voice of Ron Jacobs, the building’s middle-aged, bespectacled gardener greeted her as she dashed out the street entrance of her building. He was a fit-looking, gregarious sort of fellow who loved to chat.

  “Hi, Ron.” A quick grin tilted her lips.

  “Have a look at these pansies. Don’t you think they give the old building a bit of a facelift?” He guided Jessie towards the street planter box which burst with a rainbow of colour.

  “Yes, Ron. They’re lovely. You did a good job.” She fidgeted, keen to be on her way. Ron always seemed to be around just at the time she headed to the theatre. She was sure the building’s garden maintenance couldn’t take more than one day a week, but still he was there nearly every afternoon, wanting to chat.

  “Yes, I planted them in winter so they’d be flowering now.” He reached down, picked a deep purple pansy and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, Ron.” She held the flower to her chest. “The whole garden is lovely.”

  “Not as lovely as you, Jessie,” he crooned. “I’ve booked my ticket for “The Nutcracker”. I can’t wait to see you perform.” Behind his fine-rimmed glasses, his dark eyes crinkled at their edges.

  “How wonderful you’re coming. Nutcracker is such a festive ballet. ” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hoping he would get the message.

  “I’m coming to the first matinee. Will you sign my program afterwards if I come to the stage door?”

  “Of course, I will. Now, I have to be going.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t want to be late for warm-up. Thanks for the flower.” With a farewell smile, she stepped aside and powered along the footpath. Poor Ron, he seems so lonely. But she didn’t have time to think about other people’s problems. She needed to get to the theatre, and fast.

  Chapter 5

  With the glow of the street light behind him, his body cast a shadow over Jessie, leaving her classically sculpted face bathed in the early evening light. Her enchanting crisp scent crowded around him. She smelled like fresh, green apples and the fragrance triggered happy memories on his uncle’s farm. He smiled. It had been a long time since he’d noticed any woman, let alone notice they were pretty. He’d been right last Sunday when he told Ricky she was the prettiest in the yoga class. With her gilt-flecked, hazel eyes, creamy skin and glossy brunette hair, she was damn pretty. “I have to warn you, I have a killer dog inside,” he joked, as he punched the code into his security gate.

  “Dogs love me,” she said. “Besides, you invited me over so it’s your job to protect me.”

  “What, again?” Laughing, he escorted her to the front door. “Get ready.”

  She stepped behind him, peering around his upper arm.

  When BJ opened the front door, Whiskey came bounding up the hallway, ready to herd whatever stood in her path. Screeching to a halt at his feet, she cried her welcome and then darted around, assessing his visitor with an intensive sniff fest.

  “Whiskey, this is Jessie. Jessie, Whiskey.”

  “Good to meet you, Whiskey.” She offered the back of her hand to Whiskey’s investigative nose. After a couple of sniffs and tentative licks, Whiskey seemed satisfied and turned her attention back to her master.

  “Looks like you’re in. Come through. Just be careful she doesn’t trip you up. Come on, girl, out the way.” He nudged the dog in front of them.

  “Wow, BJ. This is stunning. You renovated this?”

  “Yeah. It took me about six months or so. Do you want a drink? I’ve got beer, white wine, sparkling water…”

  “I’ll have a white wine spritzer. Thanks. Goodness. Look at this kitchen...” Jessie’s fingers feathered along the black marble bench top. “I’m so embarrassed you had to come into my little hobbit hole of a kitchen to fix three cupboard hinges.”

  “Don’t be. Take a look around if you like while I feed Whiskey and fix the drinks.”

  Circling the space, she stroked the luxury brand appliances and sighed. “If I could have the kitchen of my dreams, I’d have Miele appliances too.” When she leaned over the hot plate, he sneaked a sideways glance. Her thick hair cascaded like a silken shawl over her shoulders. Her pink-glossed lips matched the blush of her cheeks, giving her face an innocence and fragility that belied the tenacity she obviously needed as a dancer. “Oooh, what a sink…” She caressed the massive double sink snugged in under the window. Jessie appeared to float around his kitchen, unaffected by gravity. He’d never seen anyone move like her. He liked it.

  “I don’t use the kitchen much,” he said. It was Rachael who wanted a designer kitchen. I made it for her. Biting his tongue, he returned to the drinks, forcing the looming melancholy back into its box.

  “That’s a shame. It’s stunning.” As she continued admiring his handiwork, he gave Whiskey her bone and released her to the back yard. Picking up Jessie’s spritzer and his beer, he motioned to his guest. “Come out the back, and I’ll show you the gym I told you about.”

  Once on the deck, he stepped aside allowing her to join him.

  “This is an amazing set-up. You’ve certainly done a terrific job with your renovation.”

  “Thanks.” Up until now, he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed having a woman appreciate his efforts. Living a solitary life with no one to talk to or share things with made for a lonely existence. Handing her the wine spritzer, he motioned towards the director’s chairs on the opposite side of the deck.

  Drink in hand, she moved to the farthest chair and melted into it. “How often do you work out?”

  “Maybe five times a week.” Sitting down, he hoisted his feet on the railing, nodding for her to do the same if she wished.

  She drew her chair closer to the railing and mirrored his posture. “You work nearly as hard as me,” she teased, reaching over to chime her glass on his bottle.

  “No argument from me on that one.” As he tugged his beer, a companionable silence enveloped them, broken only by Whiskey’s enthusiastic bone cracking.

  “How old is Whiskey?” she asked.

  “Just over two.”

  “She’s a beautiful dog.”

  “Yeah. She’s got the best nature, and she’s smart as hell.”

  He flicked another furtive glance at his guest while she watched Whiskey demolish the bone. With her long legs, lithesome body and delicate face framed by waves of maple sugar brown hair, Jessie was the most unusual house guest he’d had—unusual in a feminine, gentle way. One not only pleasing on the eye, but also on the spirit. “So tell me a little about yourself. Aside from being a senior artist with the Australian Ballet Company, what makes you tick?”

  The insistent pealing of the gate buzzer interrupted them, and Whiskey raced from the grass and then hurtled down the hallway on high alert.

  “Easy, Whiskey,” he called after her. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I’ll go see who it is.” At the front door, the dog sat on command and waited. BJ peered into the wall-mounted intercom screen, unlocked the security gate and said, “Angel, come in, mate.”

  On opening the front door, he beamed at the tall, quietly-spoken man who grasped his hand in both of his. “BJ, how are you?”

  “Terrific, Angel. I haven’t seen you for a while. Come in. I’ve got company, but that’s okay.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt.” Dressed in jeans and a blue chambray shirt, around which draped a white designer scarf, Angel oozed sophistication and style. The only child of Iranian parents who’d fled to Australia years before his birth, his swarth
y looks and intense manner often unsettled people, but Aaban Naser possessed the most kind, even-tempered nature BJ had encountered in anyone.

  “Not that sort of company. A friend. She’s a ballerina from the Australian Ballet Company. We do yoga together,” he said, closing the door behind them. With Whiskey bringing up the rear, he led Angel out to the back deck. “Jessie, this is a good friend of mine. Aaban Naser, the best crown prosecutor in the country.”

  “I’m not sure I’m the best.” A self-deprecating smile played on his lips. “Hello, Jessie. Call me Angel. Everyone does.” He offered his smooth, well-manicured hand.

  “Hi, Angel.” She accepted his welcome hand shake. “That’s an unusual nickname.”

  BJ motioned for Angel to sit next to Jessie while he got a beer for his new guest.

  “My mother called me her angel when I was a baby and it somehow stuck. Caused me no end of grief at school whenever she’d come to collect me. But as I grew up, I found the nickname Angel was less culturally divisive than Aaban in social situations. You know how it is?”

  “I can never understand why people are so afraid of differences.”

  “It just takes some people longer to change, and to realise the similarities we have as a human race, rather than our differences.”

  “I guess so, but that sort of discrimination or prejudice doesn’t help…”

  “And that’s why I got into law, to be a positive influence in the justice system. Now, enough about me, BJ tells me you’re a ballerina with the Australian Ballet Company?” He accepted a beer from BJ, who angled in front of them to side-straddle the railing.

  “I was just about to find out a little more about Jessie… By the way, what is your last name?”

  “Hilton. Jessie Hilton.” She smiled. “I grew up on Coodravale Homestead, about an hour’s drive from a small country town called Yass, in South-West New South Wales. Coodravale was the home Banjo Paterson jointly owned with the winemaking Lindeman family between 1908 and 1911. Because of its history and cultural importance, my father and mother renovated it into a bed-and-breakfast and have been operating the business for years now. I won a scholarship to the Australian Ballet School when I was fifteen and moved to Melbourne. I was accepted into the Aussie Ballet Company when I was nineteen and am now a senior artist, hoping to become principal dancer next year. That’s it in a nutshell.” The men clapped her presentation, and she offered a coy smile over the rim of her wine glass.