“No, silly. I’m cleverer than that. I told her it was for Whiskey.” She giggled like a school girl. The heady glow from the half bottle of white wine and the couple of glasses of merlot warmed her skin.
“That’s great. Thanks.”
What with the alcohol, the blast of his icy blue eyes and the closeness of his body, her equilibrium shifted, and she listed like a boat running aground. Jessie gasped. But before she had the chance to steady herself, BJ grabbed her arms and saved her from tumbling off the step. She righted her balance, but he didn’t release his grip. Light-headed, she stood face to face with him. Jessie didn’t move and neither did he. He was so damn good-looking, so kind and so powerful. But I don’t have the time or space in my life for a man, even if I wanted to. He would become like part of the family. No. She wouldn’t jeopardise their friendship by opening herself up. But, God, he’s so…She swayed sideways again.
“Jessie, are you all right?” Shaking her lightly, BJ snapped her from her swooning trance.
“Yes. I’m fine. Just a little giddy.” There was that stupid giggle again. God, I hate when I sound like that. “It must be the alcohol on an empty stomach. I need a good night’s sleep. Let’s get some of that food into you before we go to bed. Come on.” She did what she considered was a damn good impression of a sober about-face and marched up the stairs.
“Whiskey. Bed.” BJ pointed to the dog’s bedding on the veranda near the French doors. Obediently, the dog circled and dropped, her happy face turned upward. “Good girl. Now you keep guard, and we’ll see you in the morning.” He ruffled her ears in a final good night.
“Good night, Whiskey,” said Jessie, stroking the dog’s head. “Don’t go chasing wombats.”
“Wombats?”
“I’ll explain while you eat the rest of your dinner.”
Chapter 20
Soft amber light slanted across BJ’s chest as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, with his hands clasped behind his head. The glow from the Tiffany lamp beside him offered just enough comfort to interrupt the murky depths of midnight. He disliked darkness—the darkness of a starless, new moon night, the darkness of not being able to see the encroaching enemy, and the darkness dormant in his soul. The presence of light not only minimised risk in times of rapid response, it enhanced his chances of emotional healing, of one day living a brighter future. For him, light meant hope, and hope was what kept him going.
Tilting his head, he listened to the noises of the night. The incessant scratch of wombats burrowing at the nearby fence, the scamper of possums racing up and down the fruit trees and the hoot of a lone owl calling for a mate harmonised together in a strange, nocturnal lullaby. Familiarising himself with the sounds, he sensed the homestead hunkering down for sleep.
His mind wandered to what had nearly happened on the steps with Jessie. He’d been taken as much by surprise as she seemed to be. For in that instant, he thought they might kiss. But how could he possibly do that? How could he cheat on Rachael like that? But Rachael’s not here anymore. The thought hurt, brutal in its honesty. Rachael wasn’t here anymore. At the end of January, it’d be three years since Rachael and Tiffany died. Three long years of grieving—of denial, anger, self-recrimination and depression. Was it enough? Was it ever enough? Dr Thomson said that over time the suffering would lessen. Eventually, BJ would come to accept the loss and move on. Is that what’s happening with Jessie? I’m moving on? But Dr Thomson never spoke about the guilt, the confusion or the anxiety of moving on. What a clusterfuck... He made a mental note to book another appointment with Dr Thomson on his return to Melbourne. In the meantime, he decided not to complicate his life, or for that matter Jessie’s, with spontaneous acts of uncontrolled emotion. Despite his growing affection for her, he’d keep his promise to be her friend. To protect her. Nothing more. With the owl hooting his loneliness, BJ closed his eyes and joined his feathered friend in his sleep.
Whiskey’s barking snapped him awake. Jumping up, he went into overdrive, dragging on jeans and T-shirt.
“Jessie. Brad.” A distressed female voice called out their names between Whiskey’s aggressive barks and snarls.
BJ flung open the French doors to find a dishevelled Joanna standing at the bottom of the stairs with Whiskey refusing her any further entry. “Whiskey. Release. Heel.” The Border collie immediately broke from her defence and rallied beside her master. “Mrs Hilton. Are you all right?” He rushed to her, and she collapsed into his arms.
“Dr Bruen just rang. It’s Ken. He’s dead.”
“Oh no…” He virtually carried her up into the living room, where he propped her in an armchair. “I’ll wake Jessie.” But as he turned, she was standing at her bedroom doorway wearing the expression of a frightened child.
“It’s Dad, isn’t it?” Looking paler and thinner than when she went to bed, she appeared ghostly. With her long brunette hair cascading wildly over her shoulders, she wore the same dazed expression he’d witnessed on her face only last night. His heart went out to her. Twice in the same number of nights, the world Jessie knew and depended on had disintegrated around her.
“Oh, Jessica. Your father…He’s had a massive stroke. Dr Bruen just rang. There was nothing anyone could do.” Joanna pulled the flimsy cotton shawl tighter around her shoulders and swallowed hard. Mother and daughter faced off across the room. Both too shocked, and he supposed, too shaky to move. As he stood silent sentinel between them, Joanna’s shoulders began to shudder, and Jessie’s lips to quiver. Breaking the stalemate, Jessie rushed to her mother, fell to her knees and buried her head into Joanna’s lap. “Oh, Mum. Oh, Mum…”
“It’ll be all right, Jessica. Really it will.” With her head lowered, Joanna stroked her daughter’s hair, reassuring her through tremulous sobs.
Retreating to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea, BJ left them to their private pain. Minutes later, he returned with mugs of hot tea. “Drink this. My grandmother always made black tea with lots of sugar. She used to say it was the best remedy for all of life’s woes.” Managing a regretful half-smile, he handed a mug to each of the women who sipped in compliance.
“Thank you, Brad. That is most kind of you.” Joanna nodded in strained appreciation.
“Yes. Thanks.” Curling up at her mother’s feet, Jessie clutched her mug as if it were a life preserver. A dreaded silence descended which BJ knew only too well. With death came the countless items of business to be organised, so the deceased can be properly farewelled. The Hilton family would have little time for grief until arrangements were made.
He leaned against the fireplace mantle, sipping his own tea. “How’s Richard doing?”
“He’s getting dressed. We’ll drive in to the hospital now and see Ken before they…” She choked on the remainder of the sentence. Fortuitously, the mug of tea drew her attention, and she returned to its steamy distraction.
“Richard’s probably pretty shaken up as well. Why don’t I drive you all in? It’s a long hour’s drive into town in the dark. We can all go in the Jeep, and I’ll bring you home once you’ve arranged everything.”
“Oh, Brad. Thank you. I’ll speak with Richard. Thank you.” Before rising from the chair, she kissed the top of Jessie’s head. “You get dressed, Jessica, and we’ll leave as soon as we’re ready.”
He escorted Joanna to the door and by the time he returned, Jessie had retreated to her bedroom to change. Sitting down on the side of his bed, he laced on his black stealth force boots and combed and tied back his hair. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the bureau, he wondered who he’d become and what he was doing here. Somehow, in the turmoil of these last few years, he’d unexpectedly found a place where he could be of service. Here, with the Hilton family at Coodravale. Like any other mission, he would see this through, and only then consider himself and his future. He shrugged on his leather jacket and strolled outside to wait for Jessie. Commanding Whiskey back to her bed, he explained she was staying by herself for a few hours. As he dropped a hand
ful of dog kibble in her bowl, he felt Jessie edge in beside him. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“Okay then. Let’s go.” Raising his arm, he wedged her under his wing. Locked together they treaded down the stairs. The wind had died, but dawn had not yet broken. An early morning chill refreshed the air as if telegraphing the clear, summer’s day to come. A day he knew from personal experience that was going to be hard, long and unfortunately, unforgettable.
Chapter 21
What the hell are they doing? I drive all this way out here in the middle of the night to find this bloody place and just when I’m getting out of my car, Coodravale lights up like a Christmas tree and that bloody dog starts barking. I hate dogs as much as I hate driving, particularly at night. Now, I’m just going to have to wait until they leave.
Right, here they come, up the driveway. And there he is…the interfering hero behind the wheel with my dancer beside him. Who’s that bundled up in the back? Must be her family. Maybe the father died in hospital? Could I be that lucky? Nothing like a death and a funeral to keep everyone occupied. It’s amazing how little people notice what’s going on around them when there’s a death in the family. You can get away with murder when everyone is boo-hooing over a lost loved one. I’ll wait just a few more minutes to make sure they don’t turn around. Then I’ll go in. Take a look around. I wonder if they took that dog with them?
. . .Okay, that’s long enough. I should have brought my jacket. It’s bloody cold out here. Who says summer in the country is hot. It’s freezing. Hey, pretty place. White roses lining the driveway. Wonder if the dancer’s mother is the gardener? My mother was a terrific gardener. I remember the rose bushes she planted in the front garden. Those roses were her pride and joy. Beautiful, big blossoms. And when the roses died, she used to cut the stems and … I hate roses too. They hurt, especially if she left the thorns on them.
I’m going to have to stay off this gravel path though. Makes too much bloody noise. I’ll just tip-toe around here and … Fuck, that bloody dog scared the shit out of me. Better get out of here in case it chases me. Run, run, run. My mother used to run after me yelling about monsters living inside me, whipping me with her thorny rose bush switches. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to run from the dog, from the rose bush switch. No, Mummy, no. Run!
Chapter 22
“So that’s about it, Jasmine. I’ll be staying here until after the funeral and things get sorted.” Jessie stood outside under the awning of Rosie’s Café, talking on her phone. The mid-morning sun bore down, punishing the tin roofing and guaranteeing a scorcher of a day. Having grown up in this heat, Jessie was accustomed to the dry rasping air coursing in and out of her lungs on every breath. Every part of her crackled like withered leaves.
“So when’s the funeral? Do you want me to come out?” asked Jasmine.
“That’s so sweet of you, but it’s too far. Besides, you need to stay for the end of the season. I can’t be responsible for you asking for leave. Anyway, we’re not too sure when the funeral will be yet. Mum has to find out when the rest of the family can get here. So it’s all up in the air at the moment.”
“Are you okay?”
“Better than I thought I’d be. It’s hard to believe really. I guess I’m still in shock. Maybe at Dad’s funeral it’ll hit me. BJ’s been a great support. I’m so pleased he’s here. He’s been a rock…”
“And his mate, Ricky, is pretty cute too.”
“Really?” The image of Jasmine’s cheeky smile beamed in. No matter how dull or down Jessie felt, her friend always knew a way to cheer her up. Even with six hundred kilometres between them, Jasmine was an optimistic and dependable touchstone in her life. “Go on. Tell me.”
“Well, Ricky and I ended up grabbing a coffee together after you two left. We’re going to clean your unit together and after that we’re going out on a date.” She was clearly quite smitten with BJ’s mate. But Jasmine was easily smitten by any handsome, athletic and charming young man.
“I knew it. The way you were drooling over him, I just knew you’d hit on him. Well if he’s anything like BJ, you could do a lot worse.” She paused to wipe perspiration from her top lip. “Is there any news on the principal role for next year yet?” She held her breath. No news is good news.
“Not yet. We’ll know more about Tabitha’s ankle in a day or two once the swelling goes down, and they do an MRI. But she’s off at the moment and spitting chips from what I hear.”
“I would be too. At least, I’m not injured. But I wish I could get back there and dance the season. Oh, well. It is what it is. I’ll have to stay here until everything gets sorted out. I don’t know how long that will take, though. Anyway, keep me posted on Tabitha’s ankle and if they announce. Talk to you soon. Have fun with Ricky. Love you.”
“Love you too. I’m here if you need me. Bye.”
“Bye.” Jessie ended the call. Dragging her hand across her damp forehead, she prayed she’d be able to get back and perform before Tabitha. She hated not being in control of her life. She turned and pushed through Rosie’s glass-panelled door into the cool air-conditioned café. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lifted her spirits. Unlike her family, the morning diners chatted happily above the sound of Adele singing yet another one of her hits. The place reminded her of Salvatore’s… happy people, happy times. She returned to where BJ, her mother and Richard were finishing brunch.
“Any news yet? BJ rose as she approached the table.
“News on what?” Joanna turned her reddened face towards Jessie. Ken’s death had trowelled years on her mother’s appearance in a matter of hours. The once stylish woman Jessie knew had crumbled into an exhausted, anxious middle-aged widow. As she slid into the chair beside her, she brushed her hand affectionately on her mother’s shoulder.
“The news about the principal role for next year. I’m up for it against Tabitha Simpson. Remember? But they haven’t announced yet. So I’m still in with a chance.” Managing a thin smile, she changed the subject. “So unless there’s anything else you need to do, Mum, maybe we should go home and call the rest of the family from there. What do you think?”
“Yes. I’m very tired. I need to rest.” Joanna clutched her hand.
“I’ll pay the bill, and we’ll head off.” Ignoring their objections, BJ pushed back his chair and strode to the counter.
Once outside, Jessie stepped in beside him while her mother and brother lingered behind. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’re doing for us. Having you here makes things easier. I’m certain Richard and I would have been squabbling by now.”
“You know your brother’s gay, don’t you?”
“What?” She staggered from the bombshell he’d just dropped on her. “Why would you say that?”
“Because he just told me. When you were on the phone, and Joanna was in the rest room, Richard blurted it out.”
“You have got to be kidding. How didn’t I know this?” She cast him an incredulous stare and slapped a hand to her heart.
“Because he was terrified that if he came out while your father was still alive, your dad would disown him. He thought you might have suspected and wanted me to broach the subject with you…”
“Oh my God.” She quick-stepped up next to him, and they paced a little faster. “No wonder he’s shitty about everything. The pouting and the bitching, it all makes sense now. Why didn’t he tell me?”
“That’s a question you need to ask him.” Holding his remote towards the Jeep, BJ triggered the door locks. As Joanna and Richard approached, Jessie eyed her brother. In his jeans, polo shirt and riding boots, he was the same lean, attractive young man he’d always been. But as they locked eyes, she registered the hell her brother had been living. Not until today had she’d even suspected anything more was amiss than Richard being a petulant, whiny, self-centred young man. Dad’s death is certainly bringing the skeletons out of the closet.
On their arrival home, Joanna escaped indoors t
o call relatives while BJ checked on Whiskey, leaving Jessie to some private time with Richard. Sister and brother took shade under the sprawling oak tree, sitting side by side on the white wrought-iron garden seat on the front lawn.
“Do you remember Dad telling us about how old this tree was?” Jessie peered upward at the tree’s massive branches and its tens of thousands upon thousands of leaves.
“Yes. He said it’s nearly ninety years old.” Richard tilted his head upward, mirroring his sister.
“That’s a long time to live, not only for a tree, but for a person. Imagine having to live that long and not be who you are?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay, Richard? Out of everyone, I would have understood.” She watched him flinch and hoped he wouldn’t shut down.
“I guess because you were the star of the family, Jess. You were so talented and beautiful and perfect. I couldn’t possibly compete with that. Telling Mum and Dad I was gay would have made everything even worse.” He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. After a cursory glance at her, he reached into his jeans pocket for his cigarettes. Thrusting one between his lips, he lit up. “Sorry, Jess, but smoking’s about the only thing that keeps me sane.”
She nodded in understanding although the smell made her nose twitch. “You know, Richard you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not the star of the family. You’ve always been the favourite.”
“Not from where I sit.” He dragged a long, deep inhale. Closing his eyes, he allowed the smoke its freedom. “I’m sure I disappointed Dad. No matter how hard I tried to be a man-of-the-land like him, I couldn’t do it. I pretend to do the dirty, torn, rough-house act, but it’s not me. I’m not a man’s man. For as long as I can remember all I wanted was to get out of here, like you did when you were fifteen. Ballet set you free. But here I am. Still stuck here, and I’m nearly twenty-three years old.” He inhaled another long, hard pull of smoke into his lungs, obviously trying to quell his frustration.
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 12