by Jennie Jones
Light-headedness made her dizzy for a few seconds.
‘He’s teasing you, darling,’ Jax said. ‘Of course you must take time to think about it. It’s going to affect us all.’
They seemed so natural together, as though they were meant for each other. It didn’t seem fair to make them wait, but were they really being thoughtful, asking for her blessing, like she was the pope, or something? They’d do it anyway, regardless of what she wanted or didn’t want—or didn’t understand.
‘It’s not that I don’t like you,’ she offered by way of an apology for not being able to explain how all this made her feel.
‘Well, that’s something,’ Jack said, with warmth in his eyes and a smile on his face.
Frances looked down, unable to meet his gaze. ‘Can I go now?’
Nobody spoke, and Frances held her breath. Please don’t let them force me to say I don’t mind if they get married. She didn’t mind, and it felt awful leaving them in limbo like this since they had asked her opinion, but nobody had ever asked for her take on something before, except her friends. This was important, and she had to figure out where she fitted in and how to make it work so that she wasn’t thrown out again. The last thing she wanted was to be the problem they started arguing over. The very last thing she wanted to see was that love in their eyes die out because of her and her weirdness and how difficult she was to handle. That’s what had happened with her dad and Linda …
‘Of course, darling,’ Jax said at last.
Frances turned and made her way down the hall to her bedroom.
‘Oh, Jack …’
‘We’ll get there,’ Jack said.
Frances didn’t falter, or turn, but the sadness in their voices struck a chord. Dead-bang-centre of her heart. They cared, and now she might have just stuffed it up for them, even though she hadn’t given an opinion.
Twenty-Eight
‘No need to call for a side order of fried apple sauce today,’ Paula, the young waitress, said, with a grin that spoke of pure excitement.
Jax acknowledged her with a smile. ‘I should say not!’
The café was full of police. Eight detectives, Will and his wife Barbara, Davidson and Jack. Jack had shouted them lunch. He’d also held a barbecue last night at the police station. Sausages in buns with fried onions; Jack at the helm, in charge of the spatula and the tongs; Jimmy delegated to cutting open the rolls and handing out tomato sauce and mustard while telling tales of days gone by when they’d had no police presence in town. The other cops, who’d brought along their wives and girlfriends, relayed funny stories about the amusing and extraordinary things they’d encountered over their years of policing. Jax and Frances had left early, as they’d had to get home to feed the dogs.
Jack had slept on the sofa again last night, and they hadn’t had any time to themselves since Frances had walked out of the kitchen, asking for time to think things through.
Jax glanced along the café counter. Jack stood at the far end, chatting to Jimmy about Mr Roper who’d been given a clean bill of health, physically, but advised to take things easy as there’d been so much shock in his life over the last few days. Mrs Arnold, Mary and Freda had rallied around and were annoying him no end with their constant visits with homemade chicken soup and advice on how he ought to get out more and smell the roses, now that he knew what his nephew had been up to and had publicly denounced him. Word on the street was that he was loving the fame and being centre of attention, arguing nonstop with the Agatha Girls and humbly accepting handshakes from those in town who offered him their support for the trying time he must be going through.
The ladies were sitting at a table by the window, sharing a platter of warm sourdough, real butter, a variety of cheeses, sliced ham and pickles, while no doubt keeping their ears open for any gossip or information they might pick up. They’d plonked themselves down next to the two tables that had been pushed together for the detectives. Freda was wearing lime-green jeans and her yellow fluffy slippers, and Jax had to smile, because Mary and Mrs Arnold had told her to sit at the farthest point from the detectives after she tried to pick up two of them while waiting for their lunch order to arrive.
Freda was back on her one nip an hour, and seemed so normal that it was hard to believe she might be suffering the onset of dementia. She’d given the police good intel, relaying her story exactly as she’d told Jack. She’d also been rather risqué with one or two of the detectives while giving her statement, bringing blushes from grown men. Freda had shone, Jack said, just shone—and had won over even the most hardened men on the op.
This was the first day the detectives had all been seen together outside of the police station where they’d been working, heads down, day and night.
With cooperation between WA and NT police, they’d found Bivic’s drug stash, along with one hundred thousand dollars in cash, buried beneath a rear shed on a property in Yagoona in the Northern Territory. They’d also discovered guns, ammunition, and nearly fifty thousand dollars in cash here in Western Australia—on Mr Roper’s property! Although he’d been cleared almost immediately of having any knowledge of what his nephew had been doing, and had told Jack he was out to see his nephew pay for his crimes and put away for a long time.
The Baxter boys would go to jail too, probably. The police just had to pin something on them that would stick, whether destruction of property or an animal abuse charge, or both.
Jax hoped it was mostly the latter, and thought for a moment about their parents. Billy had gone home to their farm, and had told Solomon he might not be able to work full time at the stables for a while, because as soon as he was able, he was going to help his mum and dad until they got someone out there to assist with the chores.
She hoped his parents were proud of him, not only for the character he’d shown, but for all he’d tried to do to save the dogs from being tortured in a fight arena. It was a glimmer of light in what must be a very dark day for the Baxter parents.
The animal fighting situation was still being investigated, but Jack had told her there were signs of more discoveries still to be made, once dots had been joined. They were questioning a dozen men already.
‘Hot tamale!’ Rosie said as she whizzed past Jax, three plates of fish and chips in her hands. ‘The till’s going to be overflowing tonight.’
‘Won’t it just?’ Jax answered. ‘We’ll need an escort to the bank.’
She smiled as she folded clean cutlery in paper napkins, watching Rosie flirt with the detectives, each of them enchanted with her.
Rosie turned from their table with a flounce, then went straight over to where her boyfriend, Davidson, was frowning, and bent and kissed him on the mouth.
The detectives whistled, Mrs Arnold pursed her mouth, and Freda clapped.
Jax returned her focus to sorting out clean cutlery, while also attending the till and taking orders for takeaways.
It was so busy they’d none of them had time to stop for more than a sip of water. Even Frances was helping, out in the kitchen, in charge of the dishwasher.
Frances had gone back to being uncooperative in the last forty-eight hours. Not sullen, but silent. Jax wasn’t so sure anymore if giving her time to think was the right thing to do.
She’d watched her carefully, but hopefully unobtrusively.
‘She’s probably scared,’ Rosie had said last night when Jax had told her about a possible marriage, and how Frances had seemed to baulk at the idea.
Jax had agreed; she’d read it in her eyes. The child felt guilty and unable to put into words how uncomfortable she was about not being able to resolve what she must view as an adult situation.
As a parent, Jax had to be solid, responsible and caring. She thought she’d done quite well with the first two points, but the caring part had got a little lost. Not that she didn’t or hadn’t cared, but her love overwhelmed the reality. Frances was a human being, a whole person and an entirely different entity to Jax. Instead of looking at her daugh
ter the way she had over the last days, and wondering what the best way forward was, she’d instead been thinking about who Frances was. What made her Frances. What made her tick.
Just then, Frances came through the door from the kitchen, head down and hands full of clean dinner plates.
She put the plates down next to Jax, who continued wrapping cutlery in napkins, wanting to ask Frances to help her, so she was close to her, but not wanting to put the girl in the spotlight. The Agatha Girls were already waving at her. Frances still had her chin lowered, but she smiled and gave a little wave back.
What had she reminded herself of that afternoon when Frances arrived? You can make this work. You’re a believer.
Jax had guarded her heart for thirteen years. She understood how her child was feeling. She ran her gaze over Frances again, noting how she now tucked her hair behind her ears all the time. I don’t know you yet but I long to, she’d thought that first evening as she showed Frances to her bedroom. Yet now, a short time later, she did know her.
It felt as though she’d always had the presence of her daughter around her. Like she’d been here a lifetime. How did that work? Was it synergy, symbiotic something-or-other? Empathy? A mother–daughter recognition? Or merely something that was meant to be?
She glanced at Jack, almost as though for last-minute support. Not that she needed his guiding hand or reassurance over this issue. She was about to surprise him by releasing all her emotions for everyone to see. But first, she had to speak to Frances.
‘Frances,’ she said quietly, a decision made. ‘I need your help.’ She took her hand. ‘Paula, watch the counter for me, would you?’
She led Frances to the kitchen, catching Jack’s eye momentarily. He gave her a chin-up is everything all right look. She nodded, and gave him a smile, then walked, with Frances’s hand in hers, to the little room at the back of the kitchen which was now her daughter’s space.
She took a breath as she pushed the door to and turned to the light-blue painted walls and the blue-and-white checked curtains she’d hung. ‘Are you worried that if I marry Jack you won’t be wanted?’
Frances’s eyes widened in surprise at the direct question. But Jax hadn’t asked it meanly, she’d spoken caringly, because this was all about care. For Frances, for Jack—and maybe a little for herself.
Frances opened her mouth, her eyes still searching for a reason for Jax’s question.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said at last.
Jax nodded understandingly. ‘You’re my priority. I will put you before Jack, any day. I will put you before any man.’ Not that there’d be another man for her. Jack was it. The one. ‘But I do love him, and always will. We can love many people in our lives, and we can love them differently but still with the same fierce loyalty. He wants to stay here, with us both. He wants you in his family too. He’s never had a family. I’d like to give him one. I’d like us—you and me—to share what we have with him.’
Frances’s face crumpled. ‘Have I stuffed it up for you?’
‘How could you?’
‘By not saying I thought it was okay. I don’t really need any time to think about it. I don’t know what I think.’
‘Do you like him?’
She nodded.
‘Do you like Rosie?’
Frances met Jax’s gaze. ‘I like you,’ she said, tears welling in her eyes, as though they were an overflow from the emotion that must have banked up inside her.
Jax gently pulled her in for a hug. ‘I like you too,’ she said softly. ‘And that’s different to loving you. I really like you.’ She moved so that Frances could see her face. ‘You’re a good, kind person.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know. So am I. So is Jack, probably, although he doesn’t show it.’
‘I’ve nearly got used to thinking of you as mum.’
Jax’s heart skipped a beat. ‘I like that.’
‘I just don’t want to get all settled and then be taken away again, or have to leave.’
‘That won’t happen. You’re mine, I’m yours. Jack wants to be part of us. It’s not me and him going off on our own without you, or not caring about you; it’s you and me sharing something with Jack.’
Frances didn’t remove her gaze from Jax’s. ‘Is he, like, desperate to marry you?’
‘Not sure at the moment,’ Jax said. ‘He’s asked me six times, and I haven’t said yes yet.’
‘Six?’
Jax nodded.
‘Has he asked you again, since I said I needed to think about it all?’
Jax shook her head.
Frances gulped a breath. ‘It’s all my fault …’
‘No, it’s not. It’s my fault.’ She smiled at Frances. ‘I’m going to fix it.’
‘How?’
‘By showing you how a woman like me, so scared of her own emotions, is willing to own up and ask for what she wants.’
She explained what she was about to do.
Frances flinched. ‘In front of everyone?’
Jax nodded. ‘Want to watch?’
Frances threw a guarded look at the door, and beyond to all the activity in the full and bustling café dining area. ‘Yes,’ she said, then looked to Jax, as though in awe. ‘You’re very brave.’
She wasn’t, her heart was now in her throat, but she was going to push herself to be brave.
Jax held out her hand. ‘Come on then, let’s get it done.’
The café was still heaving, the air thick with chatter, laughter, the clatter of knives and forks on china and the coffee machine so red hot, it looked like the frother spout might actually be about to combust.
So might Jax, but she’d made her decision and she was seeing it through. Primarily for herself, but also for Frances. To show her that a woman, or a young girl on the brink of womanhood, could make a stand and ask for what she wanted—no matter how tough it sometimes was to fight to get what was there, waiting for you—if she only met it face on and reached out to accept it.
‘Everyone!’ she called over the chatter and the clinks of cutlery and crockery. ‘Can I have some quiet, please!’
It took a few seconds for the noise to dampen down, as her customers, her work colleagues, and her family and friends stopped chattering.
She inhaled deeply, keeping her breath high in her chest, as though she needed its buoyancy, and turned to face Jack.
He was looking at her, eyes narrowed in contemplation.
‘Jack.’
He shifted his stance so he was facing her. ‘This looks important.’
His gaze had a way of making her think she was being lifted up, high into the air, and blown through the clouds. ‘Jack,’ she said again, her voice sounding even and strong. ‘I love you. Will you marry me?’
She held her breath, the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end.
She glanced at Frances whose eyes were now wide with wonder, mouth parted in astonishment.
Frances moved to Jack and tugged at his shirt sleeve. ‘Are you going to answer her?’
Jack firmed his mouth and frowned as he whispered his answer, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘How long are you going to think about it?’ Frances asked, looking aghast. ‘Because this is very embarrassing.’
Jack gave a slight shrug, as though considering his answer. ‘I’ve asked her to marry me six times in the last week. That’s a lot of asking.’
‘But now she’s asked you. It’s very brave, and it doesn’t seem fair to leave her waiting.’ Frances looked at Jax briefly before focusing on Jack again. ‘She’ll probably cry. I would.’
‘Well, we don’t want that,’ Jack said. ‘Not in front of everyone, because we know how she likes to be the strong woman who can handle anything, and all that. But I’ve got to get this right. I mean—are you okay with it happening?’ He raised both hands in the air, in submission. ‘Because if you’re not ready—’
‘I’m ready! Real
ly I am.’ Frances looked panic-stricken now and obviously didn’t yet understand how teasing Jack could be.
Jax bit into her smile, but a warmth the like of which she’d never experienced before filtered through her. She was going to have a full, real family.
‘Look,’ Jack said to Frances. ‘If this happens, then we’re all in it together.’
The café was so quiet that a dropped knife on the tiled floor would have been like a gunshot.
‘No getting out,’ Jack told Frances. ‘You’ll both be in lockdown with me. Through thick and thin. Rest of our lives and all that stuff. Can you handle that?’
They stared at each other and Jax’s heart leapt in her chest.
Something must have passed between them, an understanding or a coming together and an acceptance, because when Jack turned to her, his eyes were smiling.
‘Isabelle Jaxine Brown,’ he said, in a firm and commanding tone, as though he were about to address his officers. ‘I’d be delighted to marry you.’
Jax’s heart was hammering in her chest and for a second everything went hazy, as though she was spinning through blue skies and clouds, with bumble bees buzzing past and butterflies brushing her face with their wings. She must be blushing to her roots!
The detectives were on their feet, whistling, and looking highly amused. Jack would get grief about this for the rest of his life. The Agatha Girls stood, smiles wide as they applauded. Mrs Frith put her fingers into her mouth and whistled so shrilly, for a second even the detectives were stunned to silence.
But not for long.
The atmosphere in the Brown Café was beyond excitement level. It roared.
‘Jack and Jill!’ Mrs Frith cried. ‘They’re going up the hill,’ she told the detectives, who nodded in agreement, obviously not having a clue what she was talking about.
Rosie was laughing and shaking her head. ‘I told you she was strong,’ she shouted to Jack across the heads and shoulders of everyone on their feet—fish and chips and toasted sandwiches going cold, and nobody caring.
Jack still had his eyes on hers, and he was smiling, amused but perhaps a little nonplussed by his future wife’s declaration in front of everyone.