Pieces of Me

by Jacquie Underdown

  ‘Um, if you could grab the mince from the fridge and start frying it.’

  I found the mince and placed it on the bench. ‘Must be quiet for you without Bec around?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s taking some getting used to.’

  ‘I’m loving my moments of peace.’

  He laughed. ‘Good to hear it.’

  I turned the hotplate on and placed the frying pan onto it. I leant against the bench, hand on hip, while I waited for it to heat up. ‘So how’s she going?’

  He stopped chopping an avocado and spun to face me. ‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure. She says it’s going okay, but I feel like she’s trying to sugar coat things.’

  ‘Has she started classes yet?’

  He nodded. ‘Tuesday was her first class. She says her lecturer is nice, but strict. And the workload is enormous.’

  ‘It’ll take a bit of adjusting, I guess.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what I said.’

  ‘And it will take some time for the homesickness to pass. I felt like that when I went away for university. I had Allister, and he was familiar, but I still missed mum and home.’

  He took a deep breath and sighed. ‘She’ll get there.’

  The stress was evident in his rounded shoulders and pained eyes. But like Rebecca, he’d ease into the situation. Life was full of changes. It was how we handled them that determined our happiness. I was one to know.

  Bear slid the avocado into the bowl, squeezed in lime juice, added a pinch of salt, and began mashing it with a fork. ‘I nearly forgot. I ran into Nat today at lunch. She wants us to go to the surf club on Saturday night.’

  I lifted my focus from the pan and peered at him. ‘I’m up for that. Just the same crew from the barbeque?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Great. And I promise not to go overboard on cocktails.’

  He laughed. ‘Good luck with that. Nat does love a cocktail and loves company while drinking them.’

  We ate dinner together on the back porch, tunes playing from Bear’s iPod in the background. I enjoyed this. His company. The simplicity of our friendship. How easy he was to be around. Right from the beginning. As though we’d known each other our entire lives. I guess, in a way, we kind of had.

  ‘Did you bring your story around?’

  I nodded, then raced back inside to grab it out of my bag.

  ‘It’s a rough draft so far,’ I said as I handed it to him and took a seat beside him.

  ‘I know.’ He winked. ‘I’ll try not to judge you too harshly.’

  I watched him as he read the first section revealing Gran’s situation. How her husband, my pop, wasn’t a nice man. He read on, getting hints of Pop’s infidelity and Gran’s decision to hide it from Mum.

  He stopped reading and ran his hand up and down his arms; they were covered with goose bumps. ‘Are you sure you want me to know about this?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. I think this is what Gran would want. I’m certain of that now. She left that chest of items for me.’

  He took a deep breath and concentrated again on the latest chapter I’d written.

  Chapter 3

  The day of reckoning. That’s how Jocey would remember it. Her throat was raw with pain, her glands tender on her neck. Her nose ran, eyes watered and head pounded. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. Sleep for days. Trying to do a shift at the hospital, running a heavy mop along linoleum floors while every muscle in her body ached was impossible.

  She left early. Headed home. It was silent when she entered. Strange, because her husband Donald should be home. His car was out the front. She dropped her handbag and cardigan on the dining table and found two paracetamol, which she took with water. She refilled her glass and headed to her bedroom. Sleep was all she needed.

  Nearing her room, she heard Donald’s voice. Gruff. Strained. Her heart beat a little faster. He sounded like he was struggling. Could he be sick? Needing her help? Her first thought was heart attack, then stroke. She hurried her steps. But as she came to the door of her room, his words became clearer and her fear shifted.

  ‘Nice … tight … fuck your … love your … tight little arsehole.’ She dizzied. Her body understanding the situation before her mind could make sense. And then she saw it, heard it, smelled it. Donald’s hips thrusting so hard his skin slapped loudly and the bed scraped along the timber floor. A girl with long dark hair was bent over on her hands and knees in front of him. ‘Fuck it all day … so fucking tight … this arse.’

  The girl pushed her head in to the pillows, Jocey’s pillows, and moaned. Not a moan of pleasure. False, almost painful measures taken for the man pounding into her. She knew what those moans were, what they meant. They meant hurry up. Get this over with.

  Jocey’s gaze darted around the room. Needing something. She spotted his belt on the floor. She crept to it, picked it up. The rest of the time it took her to reach the bed and strike Donald with it over and over until he caught it in his hand happened in a flurry. A blur. Unconscious.

  The girl screamed, flipped over and shuffled back towards the bedframe. All Jocey could think about as she stood there, her husband on his knees panting hard, dick straining, belt in his hand, was how damn young the poor girl was. Couldn’t be much more than eighteen. And she was here, in her bed, with her husband’s penis in her arse. Sympathy swirled in her veins. No one deserved that. How strange to think that.

  Her attention dropped to his penis. No condom. How many women, prostitutes she assumed, did he do this with? No protection. None. And then expect to shove that same penis in her whenever he so chose. All time slowed down. She was aware of every sensation in her body, her pounding heart, her sore throat, the sickness in her guts. With a resolute but steady voice she said, ‘Get out of my house, you sick, twisted pervert. Do not ever, ever come back. If you even try, I will shoot you between the eyes. And do not think that an idle threat.’

  Donald and the prostitute dressed quickly. He took the young, brown-haired girl by the hand and left. The door slamming closed behind him.

  Over the next week he called her almost hourly. Leaving messages of apology. Begging her to forgive him. Sobbing into the receiver that he couldn’t live without her. She answered once to tell him she had packed all his things and they were waiting for him on the sidewalk in suitcases if he would please come and pick them up.

  Seven weeks later, Sergeant Michaels came to her with the news that would rattle her soul. Donald, her husband, was dead. Suicide.

  How does one get over the shock of that? How does one not blame themselves?

  He stopped reading and frowned as he looked at me. ‘Oh, Han. I’m so sorry.’

  I shook my head. ‘Everything fell into place once I knew the truth. It was a hard truth, but most are. Poor Gran, though. I couldn’t stop crying. She spoke about the guilt she went through after that. How she slipped into a deep, dark hole and couldn’t claw herself out of it. My mum blamed her for Pop’s death. Abused her after the funeral. And Gran took it, because she felt like she was at fault. That she pushed Pop towards suicide.’

  ‘What a terrible, terrible thing to happen,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve never read about such deep despair before. How hard someone could loathe themselves. Blame themselves.’ I leant closer across the table and took a drink of my wine. ‘Then one day she had a thought that if she was to continue walking around hating herself, wishing herself dead too, that she would have lived her entire adult life pained over and over again by him. She decided that his suicide was his final way to make her suffer. That’s when she wrote her bucket list. And her entire life changed for the better. She started to date Serg and experienced self-made happiness. That’s what my book will be about. Not how bad it was for her, but what she did to pull herself out of it. She is inspirational.’

  My voice cracked and tears filled my eyes. I didn’t want to get emotional, but I couldn’t help it. It broke my heart. ‘And after reading her intimate, raw words, I love her even more. For
her strength. And her commitment to living the life she always wanted, regardless of her past.’ Tears flowed then. This story spoke to me on a personal level, directly to my heart, because, in a way, I had an idea of what Gran went through. And I was doing all I could to move on from that, just like Gran did. Her story was cathartic for me as much as it was anything else in my life.

  Bear placed his hand on top of mine. ‘And I think you’re strong too, Han. Just like Jocey was. Strong, determined women.’

  The tears flowed harder then, but I managed with a thin voice, ‘Thank you.’

  Chapter 32

  Bear

  Johnno jumped in the passenger side of my ute and buckled up. He’d sent me a text earlier asking that I stop by this morning before I made a start at Hannah’s.

  ‘What’s this about?’ I asked.

  ‘Just want to have a talk. Thought a coffee would be nice while we did it.’

  My brow furrowed. Johnno only ever ventured off-site for coffee and a talk if it was seriously important. ‘Any hints?’

  He grinned. ‘No big deal, but best to talk it over while you’re not driving and can give it your full consideration.’

  I nodded. ‘Okay.’

  We drove to the coffee shop beside Nat’s store, ordered flat whites, and took a seat outside at one of the tables. Despite the early hour, the day’s heat was already making its presence known. The ocean was flat, which I’d rudely found out this morning. Unused energy sparked through my body. I tapped my foot, leg bouncing, to try and expend some of it.

  Johnno leant back against the chair, holding his mug of coffee. The cup was tiny in contrast to his big hands. He looked at my leg and smiled. ‘Problem?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nah. Didn’t get a surf this morning. Feeling a bit … antsy.’

  Johnno rolled his head back and laughed. ‘Oh to be twenty-two again.’

  I grinned. That’s all I heard out of him—how his back had gone, gout was playing up again, or body was aching. ‘You had your time, old man.’

  He laughed again, but soon quietened. His expression became serious. ‘That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about.’

  I nodded, but my stomach was tensing with nerves.

  ‘I’m at the end of the road,’ he said, very matter-of-fact, though I wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The business. My body’s broken. I can’t do the physical work anymore.’

  ‘So what, you’re going to take on a greater management role?’

  He shook his head, took another swallow of his coffee. ‘No. No. I’m thinking about getting out completely.’

  My eyes widened. ‘Out completely?’

  ‘Yeah. Take Margaret around Australia like I’ve been promising for the last ten years.’

  ‘Getting out completely? I don’t … How are you going to do that?’

  He rubbed his grey stubbled chin. ‘Now I know you’re packing up soon and heading off, but I thought I’d ask you anyway …’

  My chest tightened. Don’t give me another reason to stay.

  ‘You’re my best carpenter, Bear. Hell, you’re like a son to me and Margaret. I think it right I give you the option of taking on the business.’

  I shook my head. ‘What? Like buy you out?’

  ‘Yeah. But only the equipment. All the rest, the tradesmen, apprentices, goodwill, it’s all yours if you want it.’

  I couldn’t speak yet.

  ‘I know you’ve worked hard to get into university, but you’re a good carpenter. A damn good one. And I know you enjoy your job. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders for business and dealing with customers—’

  ‘But I’m leaving, Johnno. You know that.’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah. I know that. But I also know that plans can change. And, I guess I just wanted to give you the option of changing your plans. But, in the end, it’s up to you. I understand that. And I’ll accept either answer. No water off my back.’

  I nodded, my heart galloping. This was quite an offer. Johnno wasn’t as big as the franchise players, but he had a name here and a decent sized business. Enough to give him and his wife a good life. I had the savings to buy him out if I scrapped my overseas holiday. I knew I could run the show, he’d been leading me in that direction the last couple of years anyway. But … this wasn’t what I wanted to do. I got into construction out of necessity. Not passion.

  Not that I didn’t enjoy it. There was something therapeutic about working with my hands, raw timbers and materials.

  ‘I worry about you, mate,’ said Johnno after a long silence.

  My head snapped up, my eyebrows drawn together. ‘What? Why?’

  His gaze fell to my bouncing leg under the table. ‘One day without a surf and you’re … there are no surfing beaches in Brisbane, Bear.’

  ‘There’s the Sunshine Coast. The Gold Coast.’

  ‘And they’re crawling with tourists. No peace there. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  I crossed my arms over my chest. Stopped my damn leg from bouncing up and down. ‘Of course. I know what I’m in for. I need a change.’

  He arched a brow. ‘Do you?’

  I stood then, my chair scraping on the cement. ‘You tell me. You’re the one selling the business. Retiring.’

  ‘Sit down,’ he said.

  I sighed and sat, stupid toe tapping. Forget it, it could tap.

  ‘I didn’t get you here to argue. I already told you, whatever your answer is, it’s no skin off my nose. But, I think you’ve a lot of opportunity here, Bear. I think Mercy Island is good for you. I’ve seen others pack up and leave for the city thinking that’s what young people should do. And all the while forgetting what Mercy Island can offer them.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Johnno. You’ve given me an incredible offer and I thank you for thinking of me, but I’m—’

  ‘Yeah, I know. You’re leaving this town in your dust.’

  I nodded.

  He leant closer, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘The option will be open for a couple of months if you change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I know. But, nonetheless, the option will be there if by some chance something or someone changes your mind.’

  Again I nodded, but nothing was going to change my mind. When I made a decision to do something, I did it.

  I stamped up the front steps of Hannah’s, my jaw clenched tight. Why couldn’t people just accept my decision instead of meddling in my life? I was old enough to make my own decisions and to know if they were right for me.

  There was nothing left for me here. Nothing.

  Work? The ocean? Hannah?

  I looked up to the sky and breathed deeply. There was nothing left for me here.

  I knocked on Hannah’s door and waited for her to answer. When she did, she took one look at me and frowned.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  I nodded as I wiped my boots on the mat. ‘Fine.’

  I went inside. She kept the door open to allow the breeze in—something I’d noticed she only did when I was around. Probably a good thing considering her history with Allister.

  She eyed me up and down. ‘You sure?’

  I ground my teeth and took a deep breath. ‘You think I can’t work out if I’m feeling okay or not? I said I was fine.’

  Hannah took two quick steps backwards. ‘I’m sorry. I … I’ll leave you to it. I’m just getting in the way.’

  Oh fuck! I wanted to face palm myself. Give myself an uppercut while I was at it. This wasn’t Hannah’s fault. Hell, how I was feeling wasn’t Johnno’s fault either. God, I could be such a dickhead.

  Hannah had her back to me, striding towards the kitchen. ‘Hannah. Please. I’m sorry.’ She headed around the corner out of sight. I rubbed my face in my hands and followed her.

  When I rounded the corner, she looked up at me, eyes filled with pain. I knew I didn’t put it there, but I sure as hell stirred it up with the way I snapped
at her.

  ‘Yes, Hannah, I’m upset. And it’s not because of you. Not at all.’ I tugged my fingers through my hair. ‘I just don’t cope when I feel like the rug is being pulled out from under my feet. I apologise for snapping. That was so very wrong of me.’

  She nodded, but said nothing. Her shoulders were rolled inwards. Hiding again. I was such a dick. I took a slow step forward and sighed. ‘Johnno asked me if I’d buy his business. He’s made me second-guess my decision to leave this town. I’m … confused, Hannah. I’m sorry.’

  She nodded, but there was understanding behind her eyes this time. She straightened a little. ‘So why not just tell me that? Why get angry with me, unless there’s a reason why you feel you should be …?’ Her words trailed off, the volume of a whisper.

  What a knack she had of asking the question I didn’t want to consider, let alone answer. I knew why I’d snapped at her. Same reason I got angry with Johnno. Hannah was contributing to my indecision and confusion. She was the main player in making the floor beneath me crumble. I was so damn attracted to her I could barely sleep. And when we kissed that night Bec left, and my body responded the way it did, in a way I’d never before felt, it made it worse.

  I knew she kissed me to cross that item off her bucket list. But for me, it was for more selfish reasons. I wanted her to kiss me. Me alone. I wanted to be the one to help her with the other items on her list too, because it killed me to think another man, somewhere down the track, would be the one to do so. If that’s all I could have, her physically, before I left, then I’d take it. If it hurt me in the meantime, then so be it. As long as it wasn’t hurting her. If I could help her to find the confidence to trust again, to feel lust and pleasure, then so be it. But was she ready to hear that? Understand it?

  ‘There’s no reason for me to be angry with you ever, Hannah. Ever. I didn’t get my surf in this morning. And then Johnno. Brain snap. I apologise.’

  She shrugged. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you forgive me?’

  She smiled. Nodded. ‘While praying to the ocean gods for good swell.’