The Undercurrent

by Paula Weston

  *

  Jules left her borrowed jacket at the clubhouse but she’s not feeling the cold. The midnight air fizzes on her still-warm skin and the current crackles beneath it.

  ‘I thought V8s were illegal,’ she says.

  Ryan follows her gaze to the tail-lights fading in the dust. ‘Only if you get caught on a public road and you have a local copper who cares.’ He sounds exhausted.

  ‘That car’s a bit hard to miss.’

  ‘Gemma will switch over to electric before they head up to the creek. They won’t want the whole town knowing where they are.’

  Ryan’s energy is a swirly mess. They need to talk about what happened earlier, but not out here.

  ‘Can we go inside?’

  He blinks with his good eye. ‘In the shed?’

  ‘Unless you want me to stay in the house on my own?’

  ‘Might be safer,’ Ryan mutters and unlocks the shed anyway. He fumbles until he finds the lamp and soft light brightens the space, not quite reaching the corners. Jules closes the door and is instantly aware of how alone they are.

  Ryan takes a hand towel from the bathroom and goes to the beer fridge, finds an ice tray in the freezer. He puts a handful of ice in the towel, twists it into a half-decent pack and presses it to his eye socket. Jules hovers by the door, grappling for a way to break the silence.

  ‘How’s your dad? Did you get a good look at him?’

  Ryan shrugs, one hand on the fridge. ‘He’s not too banged up. Fat lip, some bark off his arms. He’ll be sore when he sobers up but he had the best of Keithie at the end there so his pride’s intact. Until Mum got stuck into him.’ He clears his throat and then meets her gaze, his expression guarded. ‘Thanks for not making me piss my pants.’

  It’s not the opening she was expecting, but she’ll take it. ‘It’s more luck than anything.’ That’s not quite true: she fully intended those other boys to end up in the state they did.

  ‘I don’t usually drink.’ He lowers his arm so she can see his face when he speaks, beat up as it is. ‘Being with everyone again, seeing the way the whole town looks at my old man, and then Missy and Rabbit. It’s no excuse for not stopping when you told me to.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you to stop,’ she says quietly. ‘I asked you to slow down. The charge was building and I didn’t have a grip on it.’

  ‘Because I was going too fast.’

  ‘No, because I was.’ She exhales. ‘I don’t have a lot of experience with…I got carried away and ignored it.’

  ‘I should’ve stopped.’

  ‘Yeah, you should have. I should’ve been more aware of what was going on with me.’

  She lost track of everything else the second his mouth was on hers. He was reckless but so was she. She would have gone there, crushed against the bricks, if the charge hadn’t interfered. The idea of it thrills and shames her in equal measure and a sobering thought strikes her. Is that how he sees her? The type of girl you do against a clubhouse wall?

  *

  Ryan knows there’s something else he should say, something to keep her talking but he has no clue what it is. He’s never had a conversation like this with a girl before.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She presses pink lips together. Some of her lipstick survived those hungry kisses. ‘Me too.’

  He’d thought maybe they were bridging the gap, but the way she says it widens the distance again. He should have apologised before now.

  The throbbing in his eye intensifies. He sits on the bed, exhausted when he shouldn’t be: the fight barely lasted a minute. He rests his elbows on his knees, presses the ice against his face. What a mess the night turned out to be. Tommy huddled over a meth pipe with Keith McKenzie, his old man drunk and embarrassing himself, his mum taking charge like it’s business as usual. He reaches down one-handed to unlace his boots. The lump rises in his throat, unbidden, and his good eye wells. What is he getting teary about? He hasn’t cried in years, unless you count the grand final win, and he’s not breaking the drought with Jules in the room.

  A weight sinks on the mattress and he lifts his head in surprise. He was so preoccupied keeping his shit together he didn’t hear Jules cross the floor.

  ‘Was Tommy going to smoke that pipe?’

  Ryan focuses on the laces and presses the icepack to his good eye in case it’s still leaking. ‘I don’t know, he’s got a lot on his shoulders. I’m in no position to judge.’

  ‘I don’t think he would have. He’d be too worried about letting you down.’

  Ryan laughs, short and harsh. ‘I let him down by leaving.’

  ‘Ryan…’ In his peripheral vision he sees her hand move to the doona between them. ‘Would the situation be different if you hadn’t joined the army?’

  He scratches at a fleck of dried mud on his boot. They’d miss the money, but he’d be here. He knows it wouldn’t save the farm. It might save Tommy from turning into their old man, though.

  ‘You’re doing the best you can with tough choices.’

  ‘But I keep making the wrong choices. I messed up with Dad, with looking out for Tommy, with you.’ He risks a look at her. She’s close enough for him to see the mascara smudged into the creases around her eyes. Ryan can’t undo the past year, but he can fix things with Jules. He needs her to know he’s not a prick who disrespects women. ‘You’re smart and you’re beautiful and I’ve spent the past week fantasising about what it would be like to be with you. And when we started up, you were so into it that all I wanted was more, but that’s not the way I wanted it to happen.’

  Her mouth softens. Finally he’s said something right.

  ‘And then you took down those idiots at the oval. You shouldn’t have put yourself at risk.’

  ‘If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d look even worse than you do.’

  ‘That bad?’

  She screws up one eye like it pains her to look at him. ‘It’s not pretty. How badly does it hurt?’

  ‘A bit.’

  Jules shifts sideways to face him and his pulse does a weird skip. She waits a beat and then leans in and kisses him softly. He resists the urge to reach for her. She breaks contact but doesn’t pull back.

  ‘Can we get into bed?’

  Ryan blinks, a little dazed. ‘Is that a trick question?’

  He runs the back of his fingers lightly across her thigh, testing himself. The feel of her skin stirs him, but it’s nothing like that blinding need at the clubhouse. Maybe all she wants is for him to hold her and that’s fine by him. It’s better than he deserves.

  ‘Do you want something to sleep in?’

  She frowns, genuinely surprised. ‘We’re going to sleep?’

  He falls a little in love with her right then.

  *

  Jules’ fingers tremble as she slips out of her dress and boots in the bathroom. The conversation with Ryan was more intimate than anything that passed between them against that wall. It’s intoxicating to say what you want, and she wants to be with Ryan, there’s no getting around it. Not in the way they were at the footy grounds—that was too frantic, too impersonal—but how it was just now on his bed. Honest.

  It’s tricky for him to be home with his family, she sees that. He loves them so deeply it’s bending him into a different shape and the longer they stay here the harder it’s going to be for him to leave. Jules is sure there were moments tonight he even forgot why he was back.

  Jules catches sight of herself in the mirror. Her make-up is smudged and her hair wild: she looks like her mother after a big night and it brings a stab of anxiety for Angie.

  But her mother is exactly where she wants to be. And whatever’s happening in Port Augusta, Jules can’t help from here, so why shouldn’t she allow herself a brief moment that’s not about Angie, or the current, or paying bills, or any of the other forty-nine things she frets over every day?

  She ties back her hair and tests the charge. It should be barely there after her efforts tonight but it’s steadily hu
mming away. Not quite compliant, but manageable—although her ability to manage it only matters if Ryan wants to share more than a doona. She’s shocked him twice now. He may not want to try for a third time.

  *

  While Jules is in the bathroom, Ryan locks the sliding door and closes the curtain. He strips down to his jocks and T-shirt, checks there are condoms in his top drawer (just in case) and gets into bed. It’s all a bit weird: he’s never been with a girl in his own bed.

  When Jules reappears he can’t help but laugh. ‘I hope you don’t think that’s going to dampen my enthusiasm, because I gotta be honest: it’s having the opposite effect.’

  She’s wearing his old Tigers guernsey and footy shorts, and it’s about the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

  ‘It was all I could find.’

  He lifts back the doona and makes room. ‘Tommy pilfered everything else when I moved out.’

  She climbs in and snuggles against him. He rests his cheek on the top of her head, feels the weight of the night lift from him.

  They kiss for a while, slow and deep. When Ryan takes a breather to check how she’s doing, she plants butterfly kisses around his swollen eye and her fingers snake down the length of his stomach to grip him through his jocks. He remembers the last time he was in this state.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They help each other out of their clothes, taking their time. Ryan teases her, enjoying the way she arches to meet him every time his lips leave her breasts. He runs his palm across her stomach and hips, learning the landscape of her, and when his hand slides lower she falls completely still. Ryan checks himself, ignores his own building need. He takes her hand and positions it over his. ‘Show me what you like.’

  Her cheeks flush pink but she doesn’t look away and then she guides him, sets the rhythm. It’s slow and purposeful. Her pressure falls away: she’s trusting him to get the job done.

  Ryan takes his time—another first. Her head is back and eyes closed, lost in his touch. He can’t stop watching her mouth. He changes tempo, ad libs a little and she seems to like it. Her grip on his arm tightens. It takes a while, but they get there. She arrives with a surprised gasp and a rush of colour. He keeps his hand in place while she rides out the sensation, swears he can feel the charge pulsing through her. Another small sound of pleasure escapes her and he almost loses it.

  She looks at him, unguarded, through heavy lids, and the intimacy of it strips him bare. She rolls onto her side to face him properly, reaches down to see how he’s doing.

  He’s doing fine.

  ‘Condom?’

  He wets his lips, doesn’t want to sound overly prepared. ‘There could be one in the top drawer.’

  Jules leans over and finds it right where he left it.

  ‘There are other things we could do,’ he says.

  She concentrates and carefully tears the packet open, takes out the rubber. ‘I want to do this.’

  Ryan wants to watch her but as soon as her hands are on him again he closes his eyes, feels her roll the latex down. Her fingers aren’t practised, but they’re meticulous.

  They kiss again and Ryan draws her on top of him.

  ‘You’re in charge.’ He says it partly to minimise the chance of electrocution, partly because she’s been doing a stellar job so far.

  ‘You’re not worried?’ Her hair falls in a curtain to frame her face.

  He wets his lips. ‘A little.’

  Jules guides him into position—it takes a few attempts—and lowers herself onto him. He gasps. He’s aware of it immediately: her entire body humming.

  ‘You can feel that?’ she asks.

  He sits up and wraps her legs around his hips, locking her to him. ‘Is it normal?’

  ‘For me, yeah.’ She gives a secret smile and pushes gently against him.

  Maybe it’s the fact she’s naked. Maybe it’s the fact his own need is overwhelming. But right then, Ryan is happy to trust his life to her.

  46

  It’s after 05:00 when the knock comes.

  The Major opens the door holding a coffee mug, confirms Peta Paxton’s alone. At least she had the sense to lose the suit: she’s in black jeans, business shirt and designer sneakers. Without heels she barely reaches his chest, but it doesn’t stop her eyeballing him.

  ‘I’ve endured two flights to get here, Major. Can I come in, or are we having this conversation in the hallway?’

  The room is above a public bar in Port Augusta. French is in the van keeping watch in case Paxton’s been tailed. Khan is next door, earpiece set, listening in. There was no avoiding her involvement after that audio playback. The rest of Q18 are an hour out of town, on their way.

  ‘Nobody put a gun to your head,’ the Major says.

  ‘You’ve requested to terminate Paxton Federation’s stake in this contract. It is necessary to have this conversation in person.’ She’s momentarily distracted by the fact he’s in a T-shirt and skins.

  The Major gestures to the only chair in the room. Paxton doesn’t take it. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I need to file a lawsuit for breach of contract?’

  He finishes the instant coffee and holds her gaze long enough to unnerve her.

  When he can see she’s understood who has the power in the room he says: ‘Your brother wants Julianne De Marchi dead. Why?’

  Her outrage takes a second too long to surface. ‘That’s a ridiculous accusation. What gives you the right—’

  He slams the cup on the windowsill and she has the sense to snap her mouth shut. ‘It’s too early in the morning for bullshit so let’s skip our usual dance. I know your brother’s hired a dipshit to set up Angie De Marchi for whatever’s about to go down here. I know that dipshit’s being shadowed by a paramilitary unit that only someone with your brother’s resources can afford. That means your brother orchestrated that clusterfuck in Brisbane last week, the sole aim of which was to get to Julianne De Marchi, and when that failed he sent them to her home.’ The Major gets in her personal space. ‘So tell me: why is Angie De Marchi a threat and why does your company want her daughter dead?’

  She takes an involuntary step back and bumps into the chair. ‘What makes you so sure they were there to hurt Julianne?’

  ‘They’re a kill squad, Paxton. That’s what they do.’

  She takes a long, deep breath and sits down. Whatever her game is she needs him or she’d already be out the door.

  ‘Paxton Federation has no interest in harming Julianne.’

  ‘But your brother does.’

  A minute shrug. ‘He thinks she’s in his way.’

  ‘How does a teenage girl get in his way?’

  Paxton massages the side of her long neck. ‘He needs his new legislation to get through the Senate without amendment. Anything that threatens our reputation could influence that outcome. Paxton Federation might be a generous government funding partner, but that will mean nothing if our reputation isn’t squeaky clean.’

  ‘No shit. He’s carpet-bombed Angie De Marchi’s career so your lot have a clear run to peddle your GMO propaganda. Where does Julianne come into it?’

  Paxton glances at the door, runs a manicured fingertip over one eyebrow and then the other. Huffs out her breath. ‘You’ll remember there was a short-lived period when the West thought the key to the war on terror was to weaponise soldiers?’

  ‘A brainless idea, then and now.’

  She ignores him. ‘Our military research arm was in its infancy then. We were experimenting with mitochondrial mutation and nanotechnology. My father believed the solution wasn’t in turning the human body into a weapon but in increasing resilience and recovery time, and he needed test subjects. We were in such early stages of trials there was no way we’d get official government approval for human subjects, so a deal was done off the books to use randomly selected soldiers serving in Afghanistan.’

  Motherfuckers. Veronica Ng’s information was good.


  ‘Who was the genius who selected the husband of an investigative journalist as a random test subject?’

  Paxton gives him a taut smile. ‘An actual genius. A geneticist with no understanding of the world beyond a microscope.’ She straightens the rings on her fingers.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘There were promising results, but the defence minister got wind of it and shut us down. My father was told to bury the records if he ever wanted to be in business with the government again. Our agricultural unit was on the verge of securing approval for the first of the new wheat strains so my father did what he had to for the good of the company.’

  The Major walks to the window and back, struggling to contain his temper.

  ‘I’ve always believed in that research, if not the exact method,’ Paxton continues. ‘It’s why my team spent years officially developing a new variation in the lab, why I’ve pushed so hard for your unit to trial the latest iteration as soon as we had approval. Operation Resilience is legitimate and you know it works, you’ve seen the results.’ She glances at his calf.

  The Major grunts. The Q18 boys might not know the scientific name for what they’re taking but they do at least know what effect it’s meant to have. And they knew about the trial before they signed on. Unlike Mike De Marchi and the men and women targeted in Afghanistan.

  ‘When did you know about Julianne?’ he asks.

  ‘When did you?’

  His nostrils flare, slow and deliberate.

  She’s too far from shore now to swim back and she knows it. ‘We kept tabs on the returned soldiers, especially when they had children of their own. To be honest, we were more concerned about female test subjects passing on genetic anomalies, but none of the offspring showed signs of being affected by the trial.’

  ‘Until De Marchi’s kid.’

  ‘It wasn’t a big issue. She had some mitochondrial inconsistencies but as far as we knew, there were no external signs. My father insisted the family be left alone.’