One Summer Between Friends

by Trish Morey

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ She looked from her mother to her father. ‘Dad, please tell me this isn’t true. Richard was never here saying any such thing?’

  ‘Of course he was,’ said Dot. ‘He brought Jules and baby Della for tea one night. Cute as a button she was too then, just a couple of months old and full of smiles. He sat right where you’re sitting and all but gobbled down my fish pie. Richard always had a weakness for my fish pie, didn’t he? Even you couldn’t argue with that, Sarah.’

  Sarah’s gut churned. She couldn’t look down at her plate because the thought of food would make her throw up before she’d even eaten it, so she stared at a flower embroidered on the tablecloth. A tiny violet, the colour deeper at the outer edges, a flicker of yellow at the centre. She licked her lips, focussing on the flower, trying to ignore the fact that her gravy beef now smelled a lot like fish pie. She looked up at her mother. ‘Let me get this straight—you had Richard over for dinner, together with the woman he had an affair with, along with their infant child? While he was still married to your daughter?’

  Dot sniffed as if Sarah was making Mount Gower out of Intermediate Hill. ‘Don’t you think we had a right to meet Della? She was the closest thing to a grandchild we were likely to get. And after all, he was still our son-in-law.’

  ‘Dad,’ Sarah appealed.

  Sam’s chin rested on locked hands, and the sad eyes that looked at her were brimming with guilt. ‘I’m sorry, love. It’s a small island.’ He gave a resigned shrug. ‘It wasn’t like they were over every other day. It seemed churlish to ignore them completely.’

  ‘After what they did to me?’

  ‘Well, I daresay if you’d been able to bear children yourself,’ Dot said, shaking her head sadly, ‘he wouldn’t have had reason to stray.’

  The garbled sound Sarah heard came from her own throat. She cut it off and stood, her appetite gone. ‘I should have said this a long time ago, because god knows, every one of us thinks it. But sometimes, Mum, you can be a real bitch.’

  Dot Rooney’s mouth fell open. Even Sam looked dumbstruck. ‘Well, I never,’ Dot spluttered. ‘If I’d known you were going to be like this, I would never have agreed to letting you come home.’

  ‘You begged me to come home.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for that handrail—’

  Sarah didn’t hang around to hear the rest. The door slammed behind her and she was gone, out into the windy night, the darkness punctuated only by the occasional light of a residence. She powered her way down the hill, seething and spilling tears. She’d been rubbed raw by her meeting with Jules and her charge that Richard had felt trapped and helpless in their marriage. Putting the blame on her, like Sarah was the one at fault. What kind of pathetic person did that?

  Richard had been happy when she’d discovered she was pregnant. Blissfully happy. They both had been. They could have tried again. They’d been so close.

  And yet now she’d discovered she’d been betrayed by all those who should matter most to her. Richard. Jules. Even her mother. If you’d been able to bear children yourself, he wouldn’t have had reason to stray. Her mother’s inevitable blame game dressed up as wisdom. What kind of mother said that to her own daughter? What kind of mother painted the husband who’d slept with another woman as the victim?

  But then, what kind of mother invited her daughter’s ex over for dinner, along with his lover and the product of their union?

  She reached the bottom of the hill and struck left along Lagoon Road, towards the airport. The palms were thick along the sides of the road here, the sky above her head brooding, the road a battleship-grey strip between the gloom. The boom of the waves at the outer edge of the lagoon sounded like thunder.

  Perfect.

  She held the edges of her cardigan together over her chest, regretting that she hadn’t stopped to grab a jacket. But she hadn’t needed it then, her blood had been boiling. And soon it wouldn’t matter anyway, she’d warm up.

  The night was quiet apart from the occasional vehicle, the surf and the wind. Perfect for reflection. Perfect for wishing she’d never come home.

  Home. That was a joke. She’d feel more at home—more welcome—on Mars.

  A car slowed behind her and she sniffed as she moved closer to the side of the road, grateful that at least she seemed to be running out of tears.

  ‘Sarah,’ a deep voice called. ‘We meet again.’

  The car drew level as she swiped at her cheeks.

  ‘Sarah?’

  The car pulled up and the driver was out of the car and at her side. For a big guy, Noah sure could move fast. But he didn’t make a move to touch her. He gave her space. ‘What’s wrong?’

  She shook her head, keeping her eyes down, wondering why every time she met this guy, she had to look like a total wreck. ‘It’s nothing. Family stuff.’

  ‘Is it Dot? Is she okay?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine.’

  Maybe it was the growl in her voice. Maybe it was the way she shivered in the cool night air, but: ‘Hop in,’ he said.

  ‘I am not going home.’

  ‘I’m not taking you home. Come on. You’re coming to my place to warm up. Unless you don’t trust me, of course.’

  She looked up at him. He was so tall, so broad across the shoulders, his features so bloody compassionate that it was impossible not to find a grateful smile. ‘Why is it that my knight in shining armour is wearing a blue police uniform and riding in a tray-top ute?’

  His smile grew wider, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. ‘You got lucky, I guess.’

  She had got lucky. Noah took her to his house attached to the police station and showed her around. It was simple but homely. He made coffee, and poured a slug of Baileys into hers but she noticed he abstained.

  ‘On shift?’

  He shook his head. ‘Knocked off for today, but just in case.’

  She nodded. When you were the only copper within cooee, that made sense. She sipped her coffee, the heat and the rich liqueur warming her stomach, seeping into her veins, and rested her head against the chair. So good.

  ‘So,’ Noah said, sitting down opposite her, elbows resting on knees, coffee nursed in hands, ‘I don’t want to pry, but something’s wrong, and if you want a shoulder …?’

  She laughed a little. Oh god, where to start? She put a hand to her head. ‘It’s a long and not very happy story. How much time do you have?’

  ‘I’m a good listener.’

  She blinked and looked at him. She’d only been half joking. She barely knew this guy but it would be so good to talk to someone. And maybe it was better that it was a stranger.

  ‘Then you first. Tell me about you. Where are you from? Why are you a cop and why are you here? Do you have a wife stashed somewhere? A family? And what are you most afraid of?’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Wow. Okay.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘Let’s go right back to the beginning. My mum’s from Coffs Harbour and she met my dad while backpacking around New Zealand. My dad was a surfer dude from Tonga. At least, that’s what he told my mum. Long after she’d moved on, she found out she had a souvenir. She went back and looked for him, but he’d moved on too, so she went home to her family and had me by herself.’

  ‘But—your surname?’

  He smiled. ‘Mum picked that. She wanted something that sounded cool.’ He grinned. ‘She did good.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘That she did. And now?’

  ‘She manages a supermarket in Port Macquarie where she started out on the registers. She’s done okay.’

  ‘And the police thing?’

  He shrugged. ‘I wanted to help people out.’

  ‘As simple as that?’

  ‘As simple as that. I like helping people out when they get in a fix.’

  ‘And catching crims?’

  ‘Yeah, because that helps people out too, but I much prefer it when I can help prevent a crime in the first place.’ He put his empty cup aside. ‘And now, Sarah, are yo
u going to tell me about you, and what makes you tick, and what makes you go roaming the streets on a dark and windy night?’

  Mellowed by his deep voice as he’d talked about his past—and by the Baileys in her coffee—Sarah spoke. Of the three school friends who’d grown up together, of her infertility and failed IVF attempts, and of the jealousy and betrayal that had blown both a marriage and her friendships apart. She told him about the mother whose speciality was finding fault and who was tone deaf to the hurt she regularly dispensed.

  She opened up and told him more than she’d ever told anyone, and she’d been right, it helped that he was virtually a stranger and that, in a couple of months, he’d be gone and then she would too, and they’d never see each other again.

  And when finally she stopped, she blinked and looked at the clock on the wall behind him and was mortified to find she’d been talking for more than half an hour. She turned to him, still sitting silently, watching her. ‘You were right.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You’re a good listener, Noah Lomu.’ He’d let her talk with barely a word uttered himself, inserting only an acknowledgement every now and then that he was still paying attention.

  ‘You’ve got a powerful story to tell.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She felt flustered now, like she’d exposed too much of herself. ‘You must think me a complete sad sack.’

  ‘No. I think you’re a woman who’s had to deal with more than her fair share of the crap life can throw at you. Stuff nobody should have to deal with.’

  Okay, so not a complete sad sack then. ‘Thanks.’ She smiled, because she did feel better than she had when he’d found her striding so purposefully but ultimately pointlessly along the road. Where eventually she would have had to turn around and walk back to the place where she really should be going now. She stood up. ‘I’ve taken enough of your time. I better get going. Thanks for coffee.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of walking?’

  ‘It’s not that far.’

  ‘It is on a cold, dark night. I’ll run you home.’

  ‘You’ve already done so much.’

  ‘I want to,’ he said, with a look that stilled her arguments and sent a little flutter low in her belly. ‘And that’s the end of it.’

  It was a two-minute ride, even at twenty-five kilometres an hour. Two minutes of being intensely aware of the man sitting alongside her, his capable hands on the steering wheel. Two minutes of telling herself she was being ridiculous and she’d read too much into his interest to be feeling this heady and alert. He was being polite, that was all, helping her out because she’d been in a fix. That’s what he did.

  So when he pulled up outside the shop, she had one hand on the door handle, ready to jump out with a breezy thank you and goodbye. Except she felt his big hand slide around hers where it rested on her leg. She looked at him, her heart suddenly thudding up a storm.

  ‘Sarah,’ he said, squeezing her fingers in his. ‘I’ll see you at the fundraiser this weekend, right?’

  ‘I—I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there to maintain the peace, but afterwards, I’d like to buy you a drink.’

  Wow. This time her heart failed to thud when she expected, so the next one was a real boomer. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. He gave her hand one last squeeze and glanced over at the house. ‘Will you have to see your mother tonight?’

  ‘No. Dad was clever enough to give me a room with a separate entry.’

  He smiled. ‘Wise man. Good night, Sarah.’

  As Sarah let herself into her room and readied herself for bed, she realised that Noah had been right again.

  It had turned out to be a very good night.

  30

  ‘No, Mummy!’ Della screamed, squirming as Jules tried to hand her daughter over to her mother. ‘I want to go on the pwane too!’

  Jules’s heart was breaking and there were tears in her eyes. She was the last to board and the plane was waiting for her to take off.

  ‘No!’ the girl squealed, reaching desperately for her mother, as the transfer was successfully, if not altogether smoothly, made.

  ‘Go,’ said Pru, ‘she’ll be fine once you’re out of sight.’

  Jules knew her mother was right. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to be locked away in a cave for four weeks. The Breast Cancer Network had supplied them with buddy laptops enabled for Skype sessions, which meant she’d be chatting to Della and Pru every night, but her concerns ran deeper. She looked at her mother, struggling against the tangle and energy of four-year-old limbs. ‘Will you be fine, Mum? Can you promise me you’ll be fine?’

  ‘Of course I’ll be fine!’ her mother said, a little too stridently perhaps, but then, they’d had this conversation several times already. ‘Just go, already.’

  Jules nodded, her lips tight.

  ‘Mummy!’

  She didn’t dare give Della another kiss or she’d never get free of her monkey grip. So she said a final, ‘I love you, Della,’ and exited the gate.

  ‘Mummmyyyyy!’

  The screams of her daughter rang out across the tarmac, pulling hard on Jules’s heartstrings. Four weeks. Her last trip to Sydney had been the longest mother and daughter had ever been separated, and now she wouldn’t feel Della’s hugs for an entire month. She struggled up the steps and into the plane through a veil of tears, not bothering to hide them, not caring how she looked as she was steered to a seat at the back. Caring only about the child she’d left behind.

  The door was closed and the propellers started whining, and before long they were up at cruising altitude, the island far behind them. Then, and only then did it seem to Jules that she couldn’t hear Della’s cries anymore.

  She took a deep breath.

  Four weeks wasn’t forever. It wasn’t a life sentence. It was just a few weeks of treatment and then she could go home again.

  Four weeks and this brush with breast cancer would be over. Finished. Done. Meanwhile all she had to worry about was that Pru could do it too, that her mother could hold it together like she’d promised. Jules had to believe she could. What other choice did she have?

  31

  It seemed to Floss that the entire island population plus visitors had turned out to support the fundraiser for a flash new X-ray machine for the hospital. The golf club dining room was chockers, with table seating at a premium, and still people were piling in. Her kids had managed to snaffle stools and sat to one side of her, stuffing their faces, as she stood just inside the door, selling raffle tickets to unsuspecting newcomers. Other people perched wherever they could or stood in groups nursing a drink or holding a plate. The volume of conversation in the room almost drowned out the music, but nobody was complaining. The food was fabulous, the buffet groaning under fish pies and mornays, fried fish and chips and a colourful display of salads, with more supplies arriving by the minute.

  Sam Rooney entered, slowly leading Dot, who was taking tentative steps behind her walker.

  ‘How are you, Dot? Sam?’ Floss asked. ‘How’s the hip going?’

  ‘It’s a long road,’ offered Sam, ‘but Dot’s doing well, aren’t you, love?’

  Dot sniffed. ‘I’ll be glad when I can ditch this contraption, that’s for sure.’

  Sarah followed them in, bearing a large aluminium foil–covered tray. Floss was surprised to see her, given the high probability of Sarah bumping into people she might want to avoid. People like Jules. ‘Hi, Sarah,’ Floss said.

  Sarah gave her a smile, even though the look in her eyes said she was on edge, like she’d been when they’d run into each other in the shop. ‘Where do I take the fish pie?’

  Floss pointed. ‘Kitchen’s through that door. They’ll put it out when there’s a space.’

  Sarah looked over her shoulder, uttered her thanks and disappeared with her tray.

  ‘Can I interest you in a raffle ticket?’ Floss asked the Rooneys.

  �
�What’s the prize?’

  ‘First prize is a return flight to Sydney, second prize is three nights at Beached, third is a dinner voucher for Halfway.’

  ‘How much are they?’ asked Dot.

  ‘Two dollars each.’

  The woman gave a saintly smile. ‘Well, it’s such a good cause, isn’t it? We’ll take one each, won’t we, Sam.’

  Sam duly fished in his pockets and handed over a couple of coins, and then Sarah was back. She read the flyer for the raffle and said, ‘I’ll take twenty-five.’

  ‘They’re two dollars each!’ said her mother, shocked.

  ‘It’s for a good cause,’ said Sarah, handing Floss a fifty dollar note before starting to fill in the ticket stubs.

  Dot sniffed and Floss suspected it was because she’d just been trumped by her own daughter.

  ‘Is this all your brood then?’

  Floss looked up to see Dot watching her four boys where they sat in a row against the wall.

  ‘All except Annie,’ Floss said.

  ‘Oh,’ Dot said. ‘Isn’t that nice? So lovely to have a big family. Some women are just meant to be mothers, aren’t they?’

  Floss heard Sarah’s rapid intake of air and saw her expression become stony. She ripped her tickets out with a little more force than necessary, and Floss couldn’t blame her.

  ‘I guess so,’ Floss said. ‘It’s just so unfair when some women have to miss out.’

  Sarah’s eyes suddenly met hers. There was an understanding of what Floss had just done in them and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a thank you.

  Floss smiled back. ‘I’ll fill in the rest of these stubs for you. Enjoy your evening.’

  The people kept coming. At one stage, Floss looked over and saw that someone had made way for Dot to sit down at a table, and she was now holding court with a group of the island’s elders.

  She noticed Sarah drifting around the room, looking like she didn’t quite belong. It had to be hard on her, being back after so long away, especially with a mother who could be so difficult. She couldn’t really blame Sarah for choosing to live in Sydney. It wasn’t like her mother made living on the island any easier for her.