by Mandy Magro
‘I was an inexperienced eighteen-year-old boy. How was I supposed to know that?’ He sighed, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments. God, how he wished he could turn back time so he could make things right.
She huffed. ‘Fair point.’ There was a pause before she added, ‘It’s done now. Like you said, we need to move past the past if we’re going to be mates.’
There was a touch of sadness in her voice and he spotted a hint of sorrow in her eyes. Although no longer the sweet girl he’d fallen in love with, he could still see her, hiding beneath the hard facade. ‘We can get past it, together, Jules.’
She nodded, smiling, although her lips still trembled. ‘Yeah. I think you’re right.’
The very thing that had brought him back here hung at the tip of his tongue. ‘Have you ever thought about making them pay for what they did to you? To us?’
‘No.’ She bit her lip and glanced away. Her jaw clenching, she shoved fisted hands into the pockets of her pretty summer dress.
It was said so quickly, so harshly, that he knew she was lying. With the abrupt change of her disposition, he almost regretted speaking his thoughts, but he pushed on. He had to. ‘They need to pay, Jules.’
‘No, they don’t.’ She faced him now, her expression stormy. She raked him over with freezing contempt. ‘If you want to work on being mates, you need to forget it ever happened.’
‘I tried. I can’t.’ Simple. Honest. He’d never lied to her and he wasn’t about to start.
‘Well, I tried, and I did forget about it so I could move on in my life.’ She blinked faster. Coughed. Briefly looked skywards.
She’d managed a deadpan expression, but her body language spoke otherwise. ‘Have you really?’ he asked as gently as he could.
‘Yes, I have.’ She fired this at him, her tone sharp. ‘You know Desmond Muller died in a car accident four years ago, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I do.’ Not that he’d been sorry when he heard.
‘So, in a way, don’t you think Levi got his justice, losing his brother?’
‘At the risk of sounding heartless, no, I don’t.’ And he meant it.
She shook her head at him.
Joel drew in a long breath as he pondered his next move and then slowly blew it away. ‘So it’s a definitive no.’
‘Yes, it’s a definitive no.’ She straightened and wandered back behind the foldout table.
He’d gone too far, too fast. Damn his need to fix everything as soon as he got here. He turned his back to the many eyes upon them to face her. ‘You okay?’
‘Not really.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘This is a lot for me to take in right now. Besides, it’s not going to look good to everyone, with us hanging out like old friends.’
‘But, Jules, we are old friends.’
‘No, we’re old flames.’ She closed her eyes, shook her head. ‘Please, Joel. Just go. We can catch up another time.’ She opened her eyes but looked everywhere other than at him.
‘Okay. I’m sorry. Please know I didn’t come here to intentionally upset you.’
Silently, she nodded.
Seeing her so torn, Joel’s reserve was giving way, really fast. He spun on his heel and walked away before he broke in front of her. He could feel her hard stare burning a hole in his back, could feel the strong pull of his heart back towards hers. He could understand her shield, protecting her from the harsh, bitter reality of what had happened to her that night by the river. She would’ve needed it to find the strength to move on, to move forwards. Without him.
He plucked his sunglasses from the brim of his hat and shoved them on. He never should have left. But he did, and now he had to make things right.
CHAPTER
7
Back behind the wheel of the second-hand LandCruiser he’d bought for a steal when he’d stepped off the plane in Cairns two days before, Joel headed out of the primary school car park and turned towards his next stop. His next big step – his childhood home, Hunter Farmstead. He wished it could be his home once more, if only for a little while, until he found his feet and decided if he’d be heading back out to muster with Curly again or staying to make a go of it here. That all depended on the coming weeks and how his father reacted to his arrival. He couldn’t stay here, leaving things the way they were between them, or between him and Jules. He had to somehow get her to change her mind. Levi and Jackson had to pay for what they did to her. And his father … well, in Joel’s opinion, he needed to heed his own advice and show forgiveness, which would be a much easier task for his dad if he knew the truth.
After not speaking for the past several years, the very thought of being in the same room as his father sent his stomach somersaulting. But it had to be done – there was no more burying his head in the sand. And he wasn’t going to drink to cover up his turbulent feelings. Staying dry was a given now. His hands sweaty and his mind racing, Joel tried to turn his focus outwards. He didn’t want to lose his nerve. It was time to face his dad, to bear witness to the bitter disappointment in his eyes. And although it was going to cut deep, it was just something that had to be done if he was to consider moving back here for good. His mum would have his back, just like she always did, but ultimately, his dad had always been the boss of the house, and what he said went.
A flash of something in the sky caught his attention, and he glanced up to see Australia’s largest bird of prey. Awestruck, he watched the wedge-tailed eagle circle the expanse of blue, its wingspan almost two metres across, as it caught the draught of warm air rising between the mountain ridges that surrounded Little Heart. The majestic bird’s keen eyes examined the landscape below. Joel knew it was searching for its next meal – a wallaby, snake, lizard, or even a small kangaroo – not much was off limits for its lethal claws. He recalled the time he’d watched one swoop in and grab one of his mum’s prized chickens from the yard, carrying it back up to its nest atop the mountains as if light as a feather. As a five-year-old boy, it had been a sight to behold. For his poor mum, it had been devastating.
As he pulled onto the main road through town, a road train whizzed past and he breathed in the earthy scent of the cattle onboard. It made him feel at home and calmed him somewhat. Focusing back on the rolling white lines stretching into the hazy horizon, he drank in the picturesque surrounds. The sense of freedom that permeated the wide-open space was inescapable, and although not the expanse of the outback he’d called home for eleven long years, Little Heart still encompassed the exhilarating feeling of being unrestricted, alive, content. If only he could clear out the skeletons in his closet and find a lady to love and cherish, a good-hearted woman to settle down with and make a family of his own. If only he could rewind the past and never leave, and make Jules his wife … but that was a fantasy, one he had to let go of.
Resting his forearm on the open window, he gazed out at the park that housed the annual picnics, ceremonies and concerts, ones that almost every man, woman and child would turn out for, given not much happened around here. Then came Juliette’s Aunt Janey’s famous bakery that sold the best meat-and-pea pies he’d ever sunk his teeth into, a couple of pubs, a butcher, stockfeed and rural shop, post office, a few banks, a handful of cafes, the new Domino’s pizza shop smack-bang in the middle of it all. Little Heart was like almost every other country town he’d been through, appearing sweet and wholesome on the outside, but with its fair share of unsavoury people lurking in the shadows. He could name one such person who still lived near here right off the bat. Jackson Muller might have moved south, but Levi, the main culprit of that horrific night, still called the wider area home.
He had to talk Juliette around. She was the one that had to agree to go to the police. He wasn’t about to upend her world if she wasn’t ready to face the demons of her past. That didn’t mean he couldn’t give her a few gentle nudges, though. He knew how she worked. She needed to make the decision to do so herself, so he had to tread very carefully if he didn’t want to fall through the thin ice they wer
e walking on right now. Her friendship meant everything to him.
He rumbled over the familiar plank bridge over Little Heart River, so old and rickety he was shocked it still stood. Twelve clicks outside of the township, he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He was almost there. He was almost home. Blowing out a shaky breath, he did his best to rein in his uneasiness. Even though he’d done the wrong thing in their eyes, especially his father’s, they were still his parents. He’d decided not to tell them he was going to be turning up on their doorstep, because he wanted his father to be unprepared, and their conversation, if any, to be off the cuff.
As his wheels touched unsealed road, he tried to take his mind off his arrival, and instead turned his thoughts to the day he’d left. Remembering how broken he’d been, and how scared he’d felt about leaving his safe haven of Hunter Farmstead, his heart sank even further. It had been a spur of the moment decision made in anger and heartache, one he was none too proud of. Then pride had kept him from returning until fate had made it so. Pondering this, he wrestled the steering wheel into a sharp left-hand turn. He passed Juliette’s parents’ property, the humble home a blur in the hazy distance, trying to ignore the memories the long dirt drive that led to it brought back – some good, some bad. Then, just ahead, the wrought-iron gates of his parents’ property welcomed him. Rust had demanded its space. He shot a glance in his rear-vision mirror as gravel kicked up from his tyres, momentarily considering turning around. But he kept moving forwards, pushed by the need to fix his past, to stop running from the pain of it. There had to be light at the end of the tunnel. And if not, he was going to do his best to light it up himself.
He pulled to a stop but left the LandCruiser idling. Squinting into the late-afternoon sunshine, he undid his seatbelt and climbed out. The hinges of the gate squeaked as he pushed it open. Sweat creased his brow and trickled down his back as he moved the four-wheel drive forwards a few metres, climbed back out, shut the gate, then settled himself behind the wheel once more. The few clouds that had been lingering throughout the day had vanished, leaving no hope for a cooling tropical shower. Sunlight baked the driveway and glimmered off the horizon, making it appear as if water was up ahead, although Joel knew it was only a mirage. He sucked in a breath and smacked the steering wheel. Readied himself. It was now or never.
Rattling over a cattle grid and down the dirt track only wide enough for one vehicle, he fought to stay calm. The silent agreement of bush roads was the bigger the vehicle, the more obliged one was to move on over. If his father came from the other direction, he hadn’t a damn clue what would happen.
The seemingly endless paddocks with swaying grasses stretched out before him, the breeze making it appear as if the long blades were dancing beneath the dazzling sunshine. The old windmill, set on tall metal scaffolds that he and Zoe used to climb, caught his attention, followed by the glint of the faded red tin roof of the low-set verandah-wrapped homestead. Beside it stood the old Bowen mango tree – it had certainly grown a heck of a lot taller in his absence. Behind it was the old tobacco barn his parents had renovated for his eighteenth birthday – it was the place he’d envisioned he and Juliette calling home and raising their family in. Little had he known how much their lives could be turned upside down, and all because of a heartless group of bullies.
Justice needed to be served, but this time, the right way.
As he drank in the scenic surrounds, filled with untainted nothingness, something deep inside of him stirred back to life. This was not only the place he’d been raised, where his heart had remained the day he’d left – the heartbeat of it all was entrenched in his soul. This was where he’d wanted to make his life and to live it out. He couldn’t do that with Juliette now, but hopefully, he’d follow through with his dream to be the fourth generation to tend to this land, and to then pass it on to his children. Zoe wasn’t interested in doing so, and never had been. She’d made it quite clear she’d be happy with a payout when the time came.
But he could dream all he liked. That ball was in his father’s court.
Set halfway up the side of a broad hill in the middle of open grassland, the colonial style homestead he knew every single inch of stood before him. Charming and welcoming, it was just like his beautiful mum, the flourishing gardens surrounding it all thanks to her green thumb. Admiring how big the multicoloured bougainvillea at the side of the house had grown, he eased off the gravel drive and parked beneath the softly dappled light filtering through the big old gum tree, the very one he’d fallen out of as a ten-year-old and fractured his collarbone – all to Zoe’s mortification – the summer stillness and nostalgia engulfed him. He wondered if his sister was home. Her cottage was out of sight, over the other side of the horse yards.
The sweetness of mango and lychee blossoms drifted upon the gentle breeze, as did the soft call of his father’s prize cattle and the whinny of horses. Stepping from the driver’s seat, the distant drone of a tractor caught his attention. He looked past the chook pen and over to the shed. His father’s John Deere was gone – he must be out slashing, or fertilising the small Chokodam mango crop – the unique mangoes were worth prime dollars. His father had always been business savvy.
On autopilot, he slung the worn leather bag over his shoulder, relieved he’d have time with his mum before his father arrived home.
Striding with purpose, he eased open the sagging wooden gate, admiring a pair of vibrant blue Ulysses butterflies flittering amongst his mother’s roses as he took a shortcut across the perfectly manicured front lawn, avoiding where the sprinkler was spinning a spiral of water droplets. The siren of summer was in full swing as cicadas harped from the row of golden wattles that lined the back fence. The insects’ love ballad was an almost deafening soundtrack – one he’d almost forgotten while in the outback. Clearing the front six steps two at a time, he halted on the welcome mat before removing his boots and placing them neatly beside his mother’s gumboots. He took a deep breath. Both nervous and excited, he couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around her.
As usual, the front door was unlocked. Hesitating, wondering if he should knock, he shook off the idea and stepped inside. The scent of home – air-dried sheets, cedar, potpourri, and the faint lingering of cinnamon and coffee – hit him hard, and he had to fight back an overwhelming flood of emotions. Down the hall, a radio played gospel hymns and the clatter of someone stirring a pot interwove with the heavenly tune. Wandering down the passage, he could hear his mum humming from the direction of her head domain, the heart of the house – the kitchen.
The ache in his chest increased as she came into sight, her short auburn hair now turned silvery-white from the years, and her five-foot-nothing frame appearing even shorter. Her back to him, she was at the sink, swaying to the music, an apron tied around her hips. The mouth-watering scent was now even more prominent. Cinnamon scrolls, his favourite pastry, were baking. And something hearty was bubbling away on the stove. Her famous lamb stew, he guessed, the dish she cooked when she was expecting more than a few mouths to feed. The town gossips had done their job – she’d heard he was back.
Quietly, he rested against the archway of the homey space, the view out the bay window above the sink as jaw-dropping as he remembered. ‘Mum?’
Starting, she spun, her hands coming to cover her open mouth. ‘Oh my goodness. Joel!’ It was said with an almighty whoosh. She rushed forwards, tears springing and falling beneath her glasses. ‘It’s true, you’re really back.’ She fell into his open arms and hugged him so tightly he could barely take a breath. ‘I’ve waited for this day for so long, prayed for it every morning and every night.’ She sniffled against him. ‘Margery Davis and Zoe both called, but I didn’t want to believe it until I saw you with my own eyes.’
Struggling to push words past the emotion lodged in his throat, Joel forced a chuckle. ‘Gee whiz, Mum, talk about being tougher than you look. You’re like a little boa constrictor.’
Chortling softly, she hugged him a little
longer before untangling her arms from him. Stepping back, she pressed a weathered hand up against his cheek. Heavy tears still fell from her blue-green eyes. ‘Oh, my beautiful son, look how handsome you are.’ She blinked then sniffled. ‘I’m so happy to see you.’
‘I’m real happy to see you too, Mum.’ Joel grinned from the inside out. ‘But I don’t know about the handsome bit. I think you’re a little bit biased.’
‘Oh, codswallop, Joel. You’re as handsome as they come, and with a kind heart too.’ She took off her glasses and plucked a tissue from the box on the kitchen bench. ‘I told William you’d come back one day, when you were good and ready.’ She blew her nose. ‘And as I predicted, here you are.’
‘And did he believe you when you told him?’
She shrugged, sighing as she tossed the scrunched-up tissue in the bin before she grabbed another two. ‘You know your father. Stubborn as a damn ox.’
He nodded as dread stole his smile. ‘I most certainly do.’
His mum regarded him for a few short moments, offering him a compassionate smile. ‘So you should, because that’s where you get it from.’
He flashed her a lopsided smile. ‘I’m not stubborn.’ He knew he was kidding himself.
‘Uh-huh. The pope isn’t Catholic either.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s no wonder you two butt heads like a pair of wild bulls. You’re more alike than either of you probably care to admit.’ She dabbed beneath her eyes and then motioned to bar stools at the breakfast bench. ‘Sit. I’ll make you a cuppa.’ She looked to the oven. ‘I made your favourite, to welcome you home.’
‘I can smell that. Thanks, Mum.’ He pulled up a stool, turned it around, and sat as if mounting a saddle, his forearms resting on the chair back.
