Starting Over

by Susanne Bellamy

  ‘If Serena wants to see the night lights from the Wooraroogan National Park, Paul will take her.’ She turned to her oldest son who was watching Serena intently. ‘Paul, why don’t you attend to the drinks while Josh helps me in the kitchen?’

  ‘It’s a sad day when a man can’t flirt a little with a pretty girl. Come on, Maree, macushla. I’ll show you how a real man …’ His voice became an indistinct murmur as the kitchen door closed behind them. The sound of china plates clattering on wood filtered through the closed door.

  Paul shook his head and grinned. ‘Don’t mind Uncle Josh, he means no harm. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Whatever you’re having is fine. What was that word he called your mother?’

  Paul stopped in front of a tray of bottles and met her gaze. ‘Macushla? It’s an Irish word that means “my darling”.’ On Paul’s lips the soft sibilance of the word was intimate. And rather appealing.

  ‘Oi, Paul, pour us a beer, mate.’ Josh’s head poked around the kitchen door. His request broke the strange spell and grounded her in the simply furnished lounge room, and reminded her that Paul’s father was watching them. Paul twisted the cap off a bottle of red wine, poured a glass and handed it to her. Serena carried it across and sat beside Paul’s father and took a fortifying sip. It was full-bodied and fruity.

  ‘So, your family is Irish?’

  ‘To be sure, and we believe in leprechauns and pots of gold at the end of the rainbow.’ He raised his nearly empty stubbie and clinked it against her glass and winked. Like Paul’s, his smile banished her blues, warming and welcoming her.

  He dropped the Irish accent and reverted to broad Aussie vowels. ‘Actually, we’re third generation cotton farmers. Our grandfather came out from Ireland in the early twentieth century and found the love of his life working as a laundress in Sydney. They moved out here and bought a small selection, eventually settled on growing cotton and had enough children to fill the local football team almost entirely with Careys.’

  ‘Did they all stay close?’

  He shook his head and gestured with the hand holding his stubbie at the opposite wall filled with old black and white photos. ‘Three great uncles died in the war, one in Burma and two in New Guinea, and one great aunt. She was a nurse on the Centaur when it went down off the Queensland Coast. The younger ones headed to Sydney and never came back.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s history, lass. I never knew most of them. Our father was one of two who stayed and worked the land.’

  Paul handed a fresh beer to his father. ‘Gramps had a fall and is in hospital but he should be home next week. Great Uncle Rory died twenty years ago and now you know the Carey family history from the time they landed on Australian shores.’

  ‘What about your family, love?’ Jacob’s question was natural, the sort of innocuous question normal people asked when they met for the first time. It hung in the air while she marshalled her thoughts.

  Her heart skipped a beat and then raced like an outsider horse bolting to the finish line. How could she mention the man who might be her father, and who may have nearly cost the Careys their living? ‘Mum is in Sydney. I—don’t know where my father is. Have you been to Ireland?’

  Jacob’s gaze narrowed at her quick, less than subtle change of topic, but he went along with it. ‘One day. Maree has been on at me to make the trip home to my roots but the farm keeps us busy.’

  Maree appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray of cheeses, dips, and crackers, which she set down near her husband’s armchair. ‘Come hell or high water we’re going next year. No ifs, buts, or maybes, Jacob Carey.’

  ‘We may not have the farm to worry about if things don’t get sorted soon.’ Jacob’s gaze dropped to the bottle in his hand.

  ‘Enough, Jake. Not now.’ Maree squeezed his shoulder. A look passed between them before Jacob patted her hand.

  ‘You’re right, love. Tonight is for getting to know Serena.’

  Paul handed a glass of wine to his mother, who said, ‘Thanks, darling.’ She turned to Serena. ‘You wouldn’t think it possible in this day and age but the highlight of this big galoot’s travelling was one trip years ago to Brisbane. On the way home, the boys stopped in at the Byron Bay music festival.’

  Lights exploded in Serena’s head like New Year’s Eve fireworks, fizzing with delight, excitement, anticipation.

  Years ago … Byron Bay Music Festival … boys. Which boys? Which festival?

  She had been conceived at Byron Bay—at the music festival where her mother was singing. Serena’s hand gripped her wine glass and a prickle of nerves ran down her spine as Paul’s family bantered back and forth.

  Jacob Carey had visited Byron Bay years ago? How many years?

  Joshua entered bearing a cob loaf surrounded by portions of torn bread on a rustic platter. ‘Damn if Maree’s warm spinach dip isn’t the best you’ll taste. Try some, Serena.’

  Absently, she picked up a piece of loaf and loaded it with dip.

  An appalling thought struck her and she stared at Paul’s father and uncle.

  ‘Could be Josh who works at the mill.’

  Shar’s comment slammed through Serena’s brain with a force that made swallowing her food take all her concentration. Paul’s uncle worked at the mill. Paul’s father was Josh’s identical twin. Her father came from Mindalby and had been to the festival the year she was conceived. Hastily, she chewed and swallowed her mouthful, and placed the remainder of the morsel on a red paper serviette. Folding her hands together in her lap, she sat very straight.

  ‘Do you play an instrument, Jacob?’

  ‘A little guitar. So does Josh. I’m rather rusty these days.’

  Maree perched on the arm of her husband’s chair and draped an arm over his shoulders. ‘You still play well, darling, but Sean plays the sweetest ballads you’ll ever hear, and he has the voice of an angel.’

  Josh offered the dip to his brother before setting the platter on a rectangular table of pale wood. ‘Shame he didn’t make it to the festival with us. His voice would have blended well with that gorgeous redhead. Beautiful she was. What was her name, Jake?’

  ‘Festival? Do you mean the Byron Bay festival?’ Serena forced the words from her suddenly dry mouth.

  Jacob drank before answering. ‘Yes. Years ago Byron was the place to be if you were into music. We stopped in on our way home from a cotton conference in Brisbane.’

  The question snapped out of Serena sharper than she intended, but she had to know. ‘How long ago?’

  Paul looked at her, curiosity clear in his gaze.

  Jacob stroked his chin. ‘Nearly thirty years, I reckon.’

  Maree reached for a piece of cob loaf and loaded it with dip. ‘Not quite so long. It was while I was pregnant with Hayden. Paul was fourteen or fifteen months old and running me off my feet.’

  Serena pressed her hands across her stomach and swallowed the urge to throw up. Paul was two years older than she was. And they were talking in approximations of times. Approximations that swung dangerously close to fitting her time frame.

  ‘Come on, Jakey. The redhead, what was her name? She was sweet on me, I seem to recall.’ Josh closed his eyes as though that might help him to see better into the past.

  ‘You always think women like you. Let’s see, she wore a spicy perfume.’

  Maree’s mouth tightened. ‘My God, Jacob Carey, I never thought I’d hear you talking about perfume. Is there something you boys forgot to tell me when you came back from Byron?’

  ‘No, darling. Nothing happened—’ Jacob looked at his brother and frowned.

  Josh appeared unaware of the tension between Paul’s parents. He tipped his beer to his mouth then exhaled loudly. ‘Some name starting with D. Was she Donna?’

  ‘Not Donna. Delta?’ Jake kept his eyes on Josh.

  Serena’s gaze zipped from one twin to the other. Seeking answers, seeking a father who was anyone but Frankston. Anxiety like a ball of
lead sat in her stomach and she held her breath.

  What if the father she’d prayed to meet turned out to be Paul’s father or uncle?

  Oh, God, I kissed him. I kissed Paul. What if—

  Twin voices rose in triumph as the brothers looked at one another, and grinned broadly. ‘Dawn.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Was it a good sign neither Josh nor Jacob Carey had claimed her?

  Serena shifted on her seat as the CWA special executive meeting came to a close. Paul had invited her to the discussion of a fundraiser, but for all she’d contributed, she might as well have stayed in bed. Her mind ran in circles around her personal problem. Was Josh her father? Had Jake been unfaithful? If one of them was her father, how was it possible they wouldn’t recognise Dawn’s daughter sitting in their home when they remembered her mother so vividly?

  ‘Nothing happened.’ Jacob Carey’s response was emphatic. But the look he sent his brother held a wealth of doubt and questions better not asked in public. Questions that rolled around her brain and kept her sleepless as she tried to imagine introducing Joshua Carey, my father, to her best friend. First cousin to Hayden would be … nice, although at times he was quite intense. But one day he’d turn those laughing Carey eyes on some lucky girl and Serena might be invited to a family wedding and introduced as my cousin from Sydney. It had a nice ring to it, friendly, familial, so not how she’d grown up alone.

  Turning to Paul, she opened her mouth to tell him being first cousins could be okay, but the words died on her lips.

  What if it wasn’t Paul’s Uncle Josh but his own father who had the one-night stand with her mother?

  Telling him her suspicion would be like taking a knife and cutting his veins open. She couldn’t throw doubt on his relationship with his parents. She couldn’t tell him of her search.

  Of the awful, terrible possibilities.

  She wouldn’t say a word.

  Not until she had absolute proof who her father was.

  Stunned at learning the Carey twins had not only been at that Byron festival, but had met her mother, and remembered her name, she’d struggled through dinner. Surprisingly, it hadn’t turned into an unmitigated disaster, thanks largely to Maree and Joshua’s bantering, but she’d bolted from Paul’s car with a faint thanks and wimpy excuse of fatigue when he dropped her at the B & B.

  Anything to avoid falling into his arms again.

  She shivered, turned and found him watching her, unasked questions still in his eyes. For a handful of heartbeats they looked at one another.

  Were they kissing cousins—or was Paul her half-brother?

  The alternative was no better. If Frankston was her father, that made them enemies.

  ‘Can you do that, Paul?’

  Paul broke his silent quizzing and turned back to the speaker. ‘No problem. The Careys will look after the sausage sizzle. And thanks, everyone, for getting behind this project.’

  Serena picked up her handbag and followed Paul outside.

  ‘Interesting meeting.’ Max Zinsky stood on the concrete path on the other side of the railing looking up at them. ‘All that angst about the Carter family must mean something.’

  What the hell was he doing here?

  ‘Max. Trust you to zero in on two minutes worth of negativity and ignore an hour of community efforts to do something positive for their town.’

  ‘I’m looking for whatever I can get, Reeny.’

  Cringing with embarrassment, she stepped past him.

  ‘All that means is some folks are small-minded when it comes to family. Rumours fly and they tar anyone with the Carter surname with the same brush.’ Paul’s arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  Serena stiffened. Now was not the time for Paul to get possessive with her. Not when her father’s surname could be that of his enemy.

  But what if it was the same as Paul’s surname? What if Josh was her father? First cousins didn’t date. First cousins didn’t marry. They played with one another as children, and shared Christmas and family weddings. And if it was Jacob—

  If she was related to Paul, they had no future. And if she was the daughter of Greg Frankston, Paul wouldn’t want a future with her.

  She stepped out of his hold, towards the footpath and escape.

  ‘Is that so?’ Keeping pace with them until they reached the street, Max’s eyes narrowed on Paul. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Max is of the opinion there’s no smoke without fire.’ He’d broken key stories and become a respected journalist by being good at his job, but right now, Serena wished him back in the city. Anywhere really, so long as he didn’t look at her with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

  And yet—Max was on hand and the perfect solution to keeping Paul at a distance.

  She stood between the two men. Giving Max the slightest encouragement was wrong on every level. But giving Paul hope was worse. She gripped the straps of her bag in front of her like a weapon and stood very still.

  ‘Nothing so clichéd as that, darling. But you must admit, the way the old boy’s hiding away is a bit suss.’

  ‘I saw you knocking at the door of the Carter home. I thought I saw a curtain twitching at an upstairs window.’

  ‘Following me, were you?’ Max seemed more than a little pleased and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Still interpreting things to suit how you want them to be, Max?’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention that before, Serena?’ Paul placed himself between her and Max, disappointment clear in his eyes. ‘Lots of people would like to know that he’s still in town.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was preoccupied at the time and it didn’t register.’ She couldn’t tell him she’d failed to mention it because she’d just discovered her father might be his sworn enemy.

  She pressed a hand to her head. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got a headache.’

  Paul stepped to her side and took her elbow. ‘Come on, we have somewhere else to be. Or I’ll take you home if you prefer.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip-off, Reeny. I’ll go back to Carter’s house. It’s surprising what turns up when you start digging. Oh, and I’ll see you tomorrow. There’s something I want to tell you.’ He flicked a glance towards Paul.

  She knew that look. Sensed the triumph beneath his urbane facade.

  Max knew something he felt gave him an advantage. Over Paul?

  She swallowed her distaste for his company. It might be all that stood between her and allowing herself to get too involved with Paul. ‘Mum texted that she’s arriving on the bus. I’ll be picking her up tomorrow. But perhaps the next day?’

  Allowing Max to hang around might be unfair, but he was the best antidote to Paul’s attraction to her. And Max couldn’t get hurt; he didn’t have a heart.

  Max’s smile grew wider as Paul’s frown deepened. ‘I’m certain you’ll want to hear what I have to say this time, darling. Adios.’

  ***

  Paul closed his car door and sat staring through the windscreen.

  ‘Paul, what’s wrong?’

  Soft words and subtle hints of strawberry wafting under his nose brought him back to the present. To Serena, sitting patiently waiting for him to realise he had company.

  He rubbed a hand across his forehead and met her shadowed gaze. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s it? Look, a problem shared is a problem halved, or so my mother always told me. So tell me what’s got you moody all of a sudden.’

  Unable to reveal his confused thoughts, he shook his head. Across the road, Max Zinsky got into a silver Audi and drove away.

  Damn the man. What lay beneath his parting shot to Serena? Innocuous words with a vague threat? To whom? And why had Serena moved away from him and towards Max?

  ‘What do you see in him?’ The question erupted before he could contain it.

  ‘Max?’ Serena stiffened and lifted her chin. ‘What business is it of yours?’

  Bittersweet irony stared him in the face. ‘You’re trying to get
inside my head; consider it reciprocal.’

  She blinked slowly and gripped that damned handbag to her chest. ‘Did you think I was being nosy? I asked because I’m concerned something is worrying you.’

  He sighed. ‘You mean aside from Max’s interest in you?’

  ‘Yes. You had a strange look on your face when we were inside, right after that woman made those comments about not trusting any Carter as far as she could throw them.’

  Doubts resurfaced and blood pounded through his veins, roaring in his ears and giving him a headache. Why hadn’t Serena mentioned seeing movement at the Carter house? Was she somehow linked with the journalist’s search? Was that what she was looking for—the inside story? And why was it bugging him so much?

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Fine. Between Max’s insistence on talking to me alone and your blocking attempts to converse, I think I’d rather be at home with Trish’s cat. At least the cat is warm when it sits on my lap.’

  As she opened the door, dragging her handbag with her, cold air smacked him in the face. ‘Serena, don’t go. I’m—’

  ‘Sorry? If I hear that once more today I’ll scream. I know you’re worried, I know things are tough right now, but how does it help dwelling on it?’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Not the mill closing?’ She perched on the edge of the passenger seat. If he didn’t tread carefully, she would leave and that didn’t suit him. He wanted answers, and he wanted to know where and how Max fitted into the picture.

  ‘Look, I don’t know your Max, but what he said worried me. It’s all confused in my head and I need to think about it before I—’

  ‘Share it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He thought he heard the chatter of teeth. He definitely saw a shiver as she clutched the door handle. Wanting to make it right with her overtook his need to find a quiet place in which to think. There were hours of darkness left for that, hours he knew with bone-deep certainty would not bring sleep.

  The journalist knew something.

  Paul picked up her hand. It was cool and trembled at his touch. He squeezed it gently before releasing his hold. ‘Let’s start again. Can I buy you a drink?’