What Matters Most

by Dianne Maguire

  ‘We finished a bit early.’ He held his breath, dreading that Annie was about to challenge him as to why he was home rather than on the southern pasture helping Peter with the fences.

  ‘How is Rachel?’ Annie asked.

  The roar of the motorbike along the dolomite drive snatched Tim’s full attention. Annie seemed impervious as she chatted about her day at St Vinnies. Head down, she pulled groceries out of the paperbags and deftly shoved them in cupboards or slid them into the refrigerator, going on and on about another volunteer with whom she had never got along well. Tim sauntered over to the kitchen window and watched as the old man, fully clothed, slowly steered the burbling motorbike across the concrete and into the shed. The vision of Peter’s scrawny white arse hovering above the bike revisited Tim in sickening detail.

  ‘Perhaps she’s on the mend,’ Annie’s voice cut in. ‘I’ll talk to her about seeing Doc Shepherd. I expect that Lauren Quayle person to be on my tail again any day now.’

  ‘It’s too late for that, Mum,’ Tim called over his shoulder, running to the back door.

  ‘What? Tim? Where are you going?’ she spluttered.

  ‘I want to talk to Dad … about the fences,’ he replied.

  Annie tutted and shook her head. ‘I swear everyone in this house is losing their marbles except me.’

  ‘Dad,’ Tim shouted, running in bare feet across the concrete towards the garage. ‘Dad,’ he repeated at the doorway.

  ‘What?’ Peter said sharply, kicking the stand on the bike and turning. ‘You scared the crap out of me.’

  ‘Yeah, you should be scared, old man,’ Tim said.

  Peter’s dismissive expression, his impatient tutting as he made his way past Tim were enough to eradicate the shred of patience that Tim had been precariously holding onto. He stepped to block Peter’s way and grabbed his arm through the grimy green windcheater that only an hour ago had rested on his sister’s pale skin.

  ‘What the hell are you on about?’ Peter said frowning and shaking his arm from Tim’s grip.

  Tim studied Peter’s black eyes. Searched for some semblance of feeling, but found only self-interested indignation. ‘It’s over,’ he spat into Peter’s face. ‘If you ever touch her again, I will be after you with Mum’s carving knife,’ he said.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about, Tim?’

  ‘I’m talking about what you’re doing to your daughter. To Rachel. You filthy sick pervert.’ Tim’s voice trembled with anger.

  Peter’s weathered brow crinkled. ‘For pity’s sake … talk sense, Tim.’

  ‘Don’t play the cool innocent dude with me, you piece of shit.’

  ‘For chrissakes, get out of my way,’ Peter said pushing Tim off-balance. ‘You always were off with the fairies half the time.’

  Tim’s right arm seemed to develop a will of its own. In a flash it had pulled back and balled into a fist, which before he knew it had landed with a resounding thwack on Peter’s jaw. Peter reeled back against the workbench, his hollow eyes fixed on Tim. Slowly, he regained his footing and dabbed at his bleeding lip with his filthy fingers.

  Shaking the feeling back into his hand, Tim told him, ‘Take it on notice, Dad. You touch her once more and you will be dead meat.’ He turned before he left the shed to see Peter still dabbing at his lip, his enigmatic expression aimed directly at Tim.

  ‘So just bring it on,’ Tim told him.

  Ben sat at the oak table surrounded by books and pencils. ‘Will you help me with my homework, please Tim?’ he said as Tim strode past, discreetly stretching the fingers of his right hand to restore feeling.

  ‘Sure, mate. I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said without looking at Ben or Annie.

  He quietly closed the door to the bathroom. Stood at the old green washbasin and sloshed his face with cool water. Bent to peer at the eyes staring back. Red-rimmed and wild, they were not his own and he sloshed water over them again. Straightened his hair with his fingers and headed back to the family room, resisting the urge to first visit Rachel and tell her in detail what had just happened.

  ‘Lordy, Peter. What on earth have you done to your face?’ Annie said as Peter wandered into the family room more than an hour later. Dropping the potato masher into the saucepan, she rushed to Peter and with a concerned frown prodded gently at his swollen lip.

  Tim watched this unfold from where he sat at the table alongside Ben, an illustration sheet of international flags resting on the table between them. He held his breath and continued to help Ben colour in.

  ‘What’s this word say, Tim?’ Ben asked, his finger pointing, his foot knocking monotonously on the leg of his chair.

  ‘Italy,’ Tim answered, his attention cautiously focussed on Peter and Annie’s conversation.

  ‘What happened, Pete?’ Annie repeated.

  Peter’s snake eyes flicked towards Tim. Lingered for just a moment. ‘Don’t fuss, woman,’ he said pulling away from her probing fingers and tentatively touching the congealed scab on his lip, which Tim noticed with satisfaction had almost doubled from its usual size. ‘I slipped and hit the workbench. It’s nothing.’

  ‘Well, I hope you put some antiseptic on it, Pete,’ Annie said as she turned back to mashing the potatoes. ‘Lord only knows what’s been crawling along that filthy workbench of yours.’

  Tim watched Peter walk into the laundry to wash up, unable to decide whether he felt relieved or disappointed at yet another crisis being shoved under the carpet. He only knew that his family was well and truly stuffed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘You don’t think going back to the beach is an avoidance tactic do you, Mia?’

  ‘No, Declan, I don’t. It turns out that the Eric I thought I was married to for 25 years did not actually exist. I need space to take it in — that’s all,’ she said, exiting the expressway into the shade thrown across the narrow road by a row of giant pine trees. ‘You should drive down if you have the time,’ she said.

  His silence was enough to bring back the physical cringe that beset Mia whenever she thought about that last night at the beach house when she had slobbered all over him and hung off him like a dipsomanic hag.

  ‘I thought you needed space,’ he eventually said.

  ‘Yes. But you don’t take up much space,’ she said. ‘Think about it.’

  Waking up in the beach house was always a joy but this morning it was like life’s blood to Mia. She wondered how she would ever cope without her little fibro hideaway. Turning on her back, she relived Eric’s shock departure yet again. She had faced the idea that the day would eventually come, but she had had no idea he would have been so brutal. She allowed images of their past life together to wash over her mind. They were happy most of the time, but the profound sense of betrayal she invariably felt when he looked at other women a certain way, or gave them a conspiratorial wink, or touched them on the shoulder or the small of their backs, stabbed at her now as it had then. On those occasions she would habitually suppress her pain. Issue herself a warning about not becoming a green-eyed shrew. Convince herself it was his harmless way of applying his charm. Tell herself Eric would never be unfaithful to her because he had been brought up Catholic, and adultery was a sure-fire ticket to Hell. But in actual fact, their marriage had been a complete sham. Ice crept into her very depths as she wondered what it would be like to spend the rest of her life alone.

  ‘Enough,’ she said, jumping from the bed, avidly gazing outside at the dull sky over a grey sea, the dune grasses yielding to an offshore breeze, as she dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tee-shirt, confident she would be removing her jacket before she had finished walking to the bluff.

  Standing at the edge of the dunes, the wind blowing her hair back from her face, she surveyed the beach, tracing two tracks of footprints to the water’s edge where Daniel, a fellow shack owner, ploughed into the sea and disappeared under its surface, reappearing moments later a good distance from the shore. His golden retriever, Silver, ran along the water
line, his barks drifting in the chill morning air, before he too bounded into the gentle waves and swam towards his owner.

  She ran through the dunes and onto the beach with thoughts about the many times over the years that she and Eric had stopped to chat with Daniel. He and his wife had a city apartment as well as their beach house, but Daniel and Silver seemed to spend most of their time here at Ackland Bay, meaning Daniel knew almost everyone. And as a journalist-cum-writer he had a blazing curiosity, which Mia found fascinating, but at odds with his underlying shyness and humility.

  Daniel’s tanned arms slipped silently in and out of the water as he glided along its surface, oblivious to her presence. But Silver immediately spotted her arrival and ran from the shallows to greet her with an energetic shake, showering her with sandy water before licking her hand for a pat.

  ‘Hi, Silver. How are you?’ Mia rubbed the dog’s gritty wet ears and watched Daniel swim past. ‘Tell your dad I’ll catch him on the way back,’ she said brushing her hands and taking long energetic strides towards the bluff.

  ‘How do you swim when the temperature is less than 20 degrees?’ she shouted cheerily to Daniel on her return, her voice straining above Silver’s repetitive barks. He waved at her and swam towards the shore, emerging seconds later, his tanned body and dark hair beaded with water. Even though he was about 10 years older than Mia and Eric, he always looked fitter than them both.

  ‘It’s not hard. The water’s magnificent today,’ he said pushing his dark hair back and pinching his nose, his stocky body beaded with water.

  ‘How are you, Mia? Where’s Eric? Having a sleep in?’

  It was the most obvious question, but the one for which she was least prepared. Mia rarely came to Ackland Bay without Eric, so of course Daniel would ask after him.

  ‘Eric and I have split,’ Mia said looking Daniel directly in the eye, given he was not much taller than her. It hit her then that this was only the second time she had uttered those words.

  Daniel flushed and pinched his nose again. ‘I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘That’s okay. I’m not yet used to saying the words.’

  ‘So it’s only recent news then?’ he said, his expression enigmatically bland.

  Mia nodded. ‘You are one of only a handful of people who know at this stage.’

  ‘How are you managing?’ he asked, drawing a line on the sand with his toe.

  ‘It’s been building for a while,’ she said, ‘but I’ve been in denial. In a perverse way it feels good to know with certainty that it’s over.’

  Daniel gave a sage-like nod. ‘Has Eric been spending much time here lately?’

  ‘I can’t remember the last time. Why do you ask?’ Mia said, feeling a frown crease her brow.

  Daniel dug into the sand with his toe. Taking it as an invitation, Silver immediately put his nose down and set about furiously scratching with his front paws. ‘No reason. Not really … it’s just that a couple of months ago I saw a bloke who looked a lot like Eric walking along the beach with someone I didn’t recognise.’

  They both watched wordlessly as Silver sent plumes of sand behind him. ‘Was she tall and blonde, in her late-twenties?’ Mia said with as much calm as she could foster.

  Daniel flicked a fly from his ear and squinted at her against the struggling sun. ‘No. She was small with short, dark hair, probably mid-thirties. It may not have been him.’

  ‘It probably was him,’ she said with unintentional bitterness. ‘Are you sure it was only a couple of months ago,’ she asked, puzzled.

  Daniel nodded again. ‘Yeah. I’m really sorry, Mia.’ His hazel eyes oozed sympathy. And at that moment Mia hated Eric with a passion.

  ‘Looks like we could get rain this afternoon,’ Daniel said, glancing up at the sky. ‘The weather’s been a bit strange. Be careful. The snakes are already out. I killed one a couple of days ago before this cold stretch.’

  As much as she enjoyed Daniel’s conversation she felt suddenly overwhelmed by what he had just told her. ‘Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep my eyes open. Great to see you again, Daniel. ’Bye, Silver,’ she said, patting the dog who could not be distracted from his frenzied digging.

  Daniel half-waved. ‘Yeah. Okay, Mia. Sorry. ’Bye.’

  How many have there been? Mia wondered as she made her way back to the beach house, keeping an eye open for snakes in the dunes. And if Daniel saw him with a brunette only two months ago, how long has he known Lucinda?

  Still reeling with disbelief, Mia shook her shoes off at the front door and once inside, made her way immediately to the coffee machine — only to find it was empty and that there were no more beans in the pantry. ‘That’d be right,’ she said, grabbing her car keys, further irritated by the empty grumbling in her stomach.

  Mia could not believe the coincidence of seeing Tim Hooper in the street twice in a row, but that thought was quickly usurped by her astonishment at noting how his appearance had changed in such a short time. His gait seemed to lack energy and as he approached she could see dark shadows under his eyes.

  ‘Hello, Tim,’ she said as they came face to face outside the supermarket. ‘Did you end up catching any fish?’

  He snorted lightly. ‘Nah.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’ she asked, thinking she would buy him a coffee and they could chat about Rachel. The more she knew about the family the higher her level of concern.

  ‘I need to get something from the hardware store,’ he said pointing in the direction of Smith Street. ‘I’d better get going.’ He moved off quickly.

  After a long breakfast, cover-to-cover reading of the daily paper and two coffees, Mia could come up with no other reason to delay the phone call she had promised she would make today. Nursing her third coffee she nestled on the settee in front of the fire and dialled Steve’s number, her stomach churning.

  ‘Mia,’ he said when he answered, his tone both puzzled and delighted.

  ‘Hi, Steve,’ she said sheepishly. ‘I owe you an apology. I’m sorry. But I’ve been putting off talking to you because things have been so insane.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mia, I get that. Declan has been keeping me up to date. How are you?’ he said.

  She had forgotten how his deep mellow voice affected her, even more so since the night they had spent together. Memories of that night caused a flood of warmth. ‘I’ll spare you the details,’ she said, ‘but I know now that it is well and truly over with Eric.’

  ‘I understand what a tough time you’re having. But please promise me that next time I ring, you will answer … even if only to tell me I should rack off.’

  Mia recalled how ruggedly masculine he had been during their most intimate moments, but outweighing that had been a tenderness, a sense of vulnerability, a passionate yearning to please her above himself. She knew he was unique in that way. ‘It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you, Steve …’

  ‘I get all that,’ he interjected. ‘We can talk about it next time we meet. Just promise you’ll pick up the phone.’

  ‘Okay, I promise. From now on I shall be very grown up,’ she said.

  ‘Seriously, Mia. I have no preconceptions or expectations and you should feel no obligation. I’m not trying to crowd your space. But I do think it would be good for both of us if we stayed in touch. A one-night stand is acceptable if it’s between friends,’ he said light-heartedly.

  The smirk she heard in his tone reminded her of why she was attracted to him. And she realised if he had been here with her now, there would be no talk of one-night stands.

  ‘I promise I shall never give you the cold shoulder again,’ she said, before they rang off.

  But her call to Steve was not all she had procrastinated about. Her guts began to churn again as she dialled Debra Illingworth’s mobile number, taken aback when she suddenly answered.

  ‘Oh. Hello, Debra. You don’t know me … I’m a friend of Declan O’Leary’s,’ Mia spluttered.

  ‘Oh, good old De
clan,’ Debra crowed with an English accent. ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s fine — apart from his persistent nagging that I phone you.’

  ‘He probably has good reason,’ Debra said cryptically, her possessive tone rankling.

  ‘Well, yes. I know he is concerned for my welfare. You see, my husband Eric and I have just separated. It’s possible Eric has been milking our finances.’

  ‘Declan is perfectly correct to refer you to me. Men who rip their long-term partners off are my absolute specialty. Now … you and I should meet soon, given you and Eric have already separated. Let me see … Oh, yes, as it turns out, I have a cancellation for this afternoon at 1.00pm. Can you make it?’

  ‘No. I’m actually at Ackland Bay. I don’t think I can be there in time.’

  ‘I know Ackland Bay. It’s an hour’s drive from the city. And the time is now 11am. Of course you can make it.’ She paused for a reply, but when none was forthcoming her tone softened. ‘Perhaps you’re not ready to see a solicitor, Mia. Give me a call when you are certain about what you want to do.’

  ‘No. No, I’m certain. Sorry, Debra. This is all so new.’

  ‘Good. We’ll see you in my chambers at 1.00. Please let me know if you change your mind in the meantime.’

  Tossing her mobile onto the bench and running to the bathroom, Mia tried to imagine Declan being friends with someone as bumptious as Debra. She hesitated over what she should wear for their meeting, finally settling on jeans, a white tee-shirt and cropped leather jacket to create a confident I don’t give a damn air, contrary to the impression she had given over the phone.

  At five minutes before one she was still cruising the streets around Debra’s chambers, not certain why her hands were actually trembling on the steering wheel. Minutes later, she took long deep breaths as her heels clicked along the footpath strewn with paper-fine petals floating like snow from the ornamental plums lining the street as far into the distance as the eye could see.