Last Bridge Before Home

by Lily Malone

He parked on the verge outside his parents’ place, where Abe’s Passat and Jake’s Landcruiser were already taking all the space. It took him a while to get his fingers to turn the key and kill the engine.

  Everything felt like the last time.

  * * *

  ‘Shouldn’t she be in bed?’ Brix said quietly as he greeted his dad and his brothers.

  ‘She doesn’t want to be in bed. She said she wants to hear the garden,’ Abe said.

  ‘Hear the garden?’

  Abe shrugged. ‘That’s what she said. She’s doing okay today.’

  ‘She is,’ their dad interjected. ‘She’s been bossing me around. Haven’t you, Val?’

  ‘Someone has to,’ his mum said. She sat in her rocker under a blanket and until she spoke Brix had thought she was asleep.

  The window was open in the living room. A dry wind rustled through the shrubs, occasionally stirring the leaves of a fern in a hanging basket near the bookcase.

  ‘Brix is here, Val,’ their dad said, and she opened her eyes and said, ‘I know,’ in that cross voice all the boys remembered from years ago. ‘I’ve got ears, Stan.’

  Unlike when he’d come to see her before Christmas, she didn’t try to get out of her chair. Instead she put her hand out from the blanket and he took it, shivering inside because her skin was too cold, and he leaned low to kiss her cheek that felt delicate as icing sugar dusted on flaking pastry.

  He’d disturbed everyone. Now they all sat again, rearranging themselves around the table and around his mother.

  Her eyes closed.

  Nobody said a word.

  ‘Well, don’t just sit there,’ she said without opening her eyes, making their dad huff a laugh that didn’t stick around to see what happened next.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ Dad said.

  ‘I’ve got a bottle of our port in the car,’ Brix muttered.

  ‘Now there’s an idea,’ Jake said, and Abe added, ‘What’s it doing in the bloody car?’ Their dad said, ‘How about you go get it, son?’

  * * *

  They drank port and sat and talked, and their mum nodded sometimes, and other times they thought she was asleep. Every now and then, though, something they said made the corners of her mouth hook in a smile, and once, she corrected Jake over a comment.

  They were talking birthday parties they’d had as kids, and Jake had been on about his favourite birthday party, when he’d been allowed his first sleepover.

  ‘You let me have five mates and we camped out in the tent. Dad took us all marroning down in the creek.’

  ‘That was Brix’s tenth birthday, not yours,’ Mum said, without opening her eyes. ‘Your tenth birthday was the one where Tanner Fordner got stung by a bee.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mum?’ Jake’s face screwed up.

  ‘She’ll be right,’ their dad interjected. ‘She can remember what birthday parties happened for which boy and what we all did like it happened yesterday.’

  ‘We definitely went marroning for one of my parties,’ Brix said. ‘We went to Little Beach that time for yours, Abe. That was a good one too.’

  ‘I remember that one,’ Jake said. ‘The ice-cream cake melted.’

  Abe shifted on his chair and his gaze slid to their father. Their dad’s face had a dark edge, deeper lines than usual under his eyes, and something passed between him and Abe, a fleeting thing Brix couldn’t give a name.

  ‘What’s up with you two?’ he asked.

  Abe checked their father’s face again, and then waved his hand. ‘It’s nothing—’

  ‘You should tell your brothers,’ Dad said.

  ‘Tell us what?’ Jake asked, sitting forward in his chair, putting an elbow on each knee with his fingers linked between them.

  ‘Nah, not now,’ Abe said. ‘Mum’s tired. We should let her get some sleep.’

  Their mum’s hand worked free from the blanket, and wavered, like fabric come unpinned, lost, and the atmosphere in the room changed. It was as if all the air spun tighter somehow, like the oxygen was leaking out.

  Dad took their mum’s hand inside two of his own, cradling her fingers in his big palms.

  ‘It’s okay, Abe. You can say,’ Dad said, not looking at anything except Mum’s hand, blue veins raised and scrawled through the back of it.

  ‘Crikey,’ Abe muttered. ‘Where do I start?’

  ‘Do it however it works,’ Dad said.

  ‘Alrighty then. Here’s the thing.’ Abe slapped his hands against his jeans. ‘Mum went on a bit of a bender twenty-six years ago, and did the dirty deed with her cooking coach. I’m actually the son of a Belgian chef.’

  Brix chuckled and Jake hunkered forward with a grin on his face while they both waited for the punchline.

  ‘He’s not joking,’ Dad said, and Jake’s grin disappeared.

  ‘What?’ Jake said, sitting straight, opening out his palms. ‘Mum went on a bender? Mum doesn’t even drink!’

  ‘Shut up and listen, Jake, hey?’ Brix said. ‘Go on, Abe.’

  ‘Maybe you want to tell it, Dad?’ Abe said, but their old man shook his head and his lips stayed sealed.

  Abe raced his hand through his hair and blew out a breath. ‘Okay. It’s like this. When Mum had the fall in Tamworth Hospital before Christmas—when we all found out she was sick—the thing was, Dad said Mum wanted me to find her Christmas ham recipe. She’d kept it in a box out at the farm with all their other stuff.’

  ‘What does Christmas ham have to do with anything?’ Jake said.

  ‘Well, when I found the box, there was a letter in it from Mum to me. She wrote it when I turned twelve, and—’ he hesitated, picked up the bottle of port and poured himself a new quarter glass. Silently, Brix and Jake each took the bottle and topped theirs up too. Their dad didn’t take the bottle, and he wouldn’t look at them. Their mum’s eyes stayed closed.

  They all took a sip.

  Abe continued. ‘So when I read the letter, Mum told me that, well … that I had a different father to you two. Dad’s not my real dad.’

  Brix swallowed his mouthful before it spluttered. ‘This is the secret about you. Mum said she’d kept Abe’s secret, way back at Christmas.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Jake breathed beside him.

  ‘Dunno if Mum said anything at Christmas. I didn’t hear her say anything,’ Abe said to Brix, shrugging. ‘Maybe. She’s been confused and a bit rambling these last couple of months.’

  ‘Not about this,’ Dad said. ‘She’s right about this.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’ Jake demanded.

  ‘Keep your shirt on. I only found out myself in November. Mum didn’t want me to say anything. She didn’t want me to tell you till, well, after.’

  Their father flinched.

  His head came up and his eyes were the stuff of nightmares. Deep. Sad. Troubled as the sea. He sniffed and rubbed his nose with the hand not holding their mum’s.

  ‘She didn’t want me to be any sadder than I already was,’ Dad said, his voice rattling across the table like rubbish in the wind. ‘But the thing she didn’t know is it’s not possible to be sadder than I already am. I’m not ready to lose her.’

  He squeezed their mum’s hand and lowered his head.

  When Brix looked closer, he saw tears leaking from beneath her closed lids. Jake sat closest, and he took a tissue and wiped beneath their mum’s eyes.

  * * *

  ‘But what does it mean?’ Jake said later, as the three brothers sat at the limestone table out at the farmhouse, while the late afternoon sky lit the peaks of the distant Porongurups and left everything below in a climbing shadow. ‘Mum had an affair? Like a one-night stand kind of thing, or did she nearly leave Dad?’

  ‘Look, I can only tell you what I know, okay?’ Abe said, putting down his beer bottle and tracing his finger up the glass. ‘She wrote the letter when I was twelve and she said that when Dad sent her to cooking school in Perth when you two were toddlers, she fell in love with the cooking teacher.’
<
br />   Jake huffed at Abe’s use of the word love. ‘Got the hots for him maybe. You don’t fall in love like that.’ He clicked his fingers.

  ‘None of us can really talk about that,’ Brix said. ‘JT and me have been brewing forever, but you and Ella, you and Taylor, you guys both hit it off quick. It happens.’

  ‘They stayed in touch for years after,’ Abe said, a little defensively. ‘I think there were feelings there. It wasn’t just a fuck.’

  Jake huffed again and looked up at the sound of a vehicle moving along Quarry Road. It was the type of March afternoon where the world did nothing but wait for the first autumn rains that wouldn’t fall: grey-clouded, humid. Sound echoed and travelled across the sparse brown paddocks as the vehicle slowed and turned into their driveway.

  ‘That’s Ella and Sam. There’ll be little ears soon,’ Jake said. ‘Careful what you say.’

  ‘Sam’s an expert at this sort of dysfunctional family thing. I don’t think he’ll give two hoots about my ancestry,’ Abe countered.

  Jake’s lips tightened.

  ‘This isn’t going to be a problem for you, is it, mate?’ Brix said to his eldest brother.

  ‘A problem for me? Nah.’ He considered it a beat, then added, softer, ‘Nah. Not a problem, but it’d make life easier on Dad if, you know—’ His hand flapped towards Abe.

  ‘If what? If it never happened? If I never happened?’ Abe bristled. ‘I couldn’t help being born, mate.’

  Jake shoved his chair out, left his beer on the table. ‘Is it a problem if I tell Ella?’

  ‘Why should it be a problem?’ Abe asked, heating up.

  ‘I didn’t mean—ahh forget it.’ Jake’s boots struck heavy on the pavers as he strode in the direction of the carpark and Ella.

  ‘He wouldn’t want to carry on like this for too long, I give you the tip,’ Abe muttered.

  ‘He’ll be right. It’s Jake. He’s just discovered his mother isn’t perfect. He’s got his moral compass messed up.’

  ‘Your moral compass is okay and she’s your mum too,’ Abe growled.

  ‘He’s the oldest. He had all that undivided attention till I came along. He’s the golden boy and, for him, Mum was pretty gold too.’

  ‘So Mum wasn’t a nun. Big deal. Get over it,’ Abe said, taking a deep sip from his beer and spinning the empty bottle on the table so hard, it toppled. ‘Jake’s gotta grow up.’

  ‘He’ll come good. Give him time.’

  CHAPTER

  30

  Brix’s mum rallied the next day, and if the winery hadn’t been in the middle of vintage Jaydah suspected he would have stayed with his family at Chalk Hill, but Whale Rock Wines was only small and he was very much hands-on, so he came home, lights bouncing up the driveway well after dark.

  And maybe, no matter how many times she told him she, Jaz and her mum were doing okay and they’d be okay on their own, he worried about leaving the three of them too long.

  Meanwhile, she worried for him.

  Vintage was stressful enough, and he was trying to balance so much!

  He told her the news about Abe—about his mum’s affair with the cooking school coach. She listened without saying anything, wishing she could do more to help him than try to massage the weight from his shoulders.

  She sympathised with all of them. It was a pretty rotten situation all-round.

  She buried her fingers into Brix’s shoulders, kneading and rubbing, pushing and pulling. His muscles were loosening up, but it was a hard-won thing.

  ‘You say Abe’s known for a while?’

  ‘Since before Christmas,’ Brix said, his words a mumble into the pillows on their bed. ‘Since not long after we found out Mum was sick.’

  ‘I guess he’s had some time to get used to it.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Jaydah slapped his shoulder blade lightly. ‘I reckon that’s it for you, buster. Roll over before you fall asleep. I need a cuddle.’

  He rearranged himself, slipping one of his arms beneath her neck and wrapping her in the other. She was glad she’d helped him relax. She was glad to feel his strength and warmth all around her.

  It never ceased to amaze Jaydah how happy she felt. All the time. Even now when Brix was sad about his family, the happiness in her own heart threatened to bubble up, out and over.

  ‘Jake’s the one who’s most upset about it,’ Brix said, voice a tired rumble.

  ‘Do you think he’s worried what it means to him financially?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like if your mum had a Will. Does it affect how the farm is passed down, or who inherits what, or anything like that? He’s probably thinking of Charlotte now, and Ella and Sam.’

  ‘I don’t know. Nobody’s said anything. I don’t think anyone’s thought about that and anyway, Jake had to buy Mum and Dad out when the old man retired. What they do with whatever they have left is their business. They could leave it to a cat charity but I’m pretty sure they’ll just split it between us.’

  ‘And Jake won’t have a problem with that?’

  Brix shifted a chunk of her hair, smoothing it around the back of her neck. ‘Why would he?’

  ‘Well … because Abe’s now your half-brother, technically. Jake might think a third share isn’t fair. If he meets his real dad at some stage, Abe might also end up inheriting whatever the Belgian chef brings to the table.’

  ‘Jesus, JT. I don’t know. Mum’s not even dead yet. Maybe we should let the old lady actually cark it before we start dissecting who owes who what, and who gets what in Mum’s Will, hey?’

  She patted his arm. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Give it time,’ he said.

  ‘Sometimes, time doesn’t help. I don’t think you boys should leave it too long before you talk about it. Leaving it too long can make it harder to know what to say. Look at me. I kept the secret about Jaz all my life until I told you.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  She could sense Brix thinking about it in those moments while his breathing slowed and his chest rose and fell against her back.

  She lay awake, enjoying the warmth in the bed beside her, loving the weight of him there, solid, dependable; the way he’d always been. The big bed had been so lonely last night without him.

  Everyone always said the Honeychurch family stuck like glue. What happened to one of them, happened to all. They had a bond that was unshakeable—solid as a rock—yet if anyone knew how crappy families could be, and how quickly they could turn, it was her.

  * * *

  His mum died ten days later with her family by her bedside and the bedroom window open so she could hear the garden. Taylor had tried to close the window when night fell, to keep out the rapidly cooling air, but she’d stopped in her tracks when Mum said, clear as day, ‘Don’t shut out the sky tonight, love.’

  Taylor jumped in fright. They all had.

  She’d been saying less and less every day, and those words about shutting out the sky were the last Brix heard. After that, she’d slipped away, holding Dad’s hand as each breath rattled longer on the way in, and he’d listen, listen, listen and hold his own breath till his mum’s breath blew out.

  He, Jake and Abe took turns sitting in the chair nearest her head, holding her other hand, sometimes wiping a damp towel across her forehead, or moving out of the way so Taylor could gently rub salve across his mum’s lips.

  When she took her last breath, Taylor wasn’t there. It was just the three boys and their dad and it was a relief to find an end to the sound of air seeping in and spilling out. A relief when their mum’s face fell slack and silent and her breath stopped.

  A breeze rustled outside and the scent of the garden whistled through a bedroom stale with sickness and tears.

  A bird called from trees haloed in the white line of dawn, three quick light chirps like an angel’s whistle. So faint he almost missed it, the call was answered from the trees beyond the garden.

  Everything else was silent, and he knew Mum was gone.
>
  ‘Is that it?’ Dad said, not letting go of their mum’s hand.

  ‘I think so,’ Jake said.

  ‘Should we call a doctor?’ Brix asked.

  ‘Taylor said there’s no rush. They can’t do anything for her now. We’ll call the surgery in the morning,’ Abe said.

  ‘I’m staying here,’ Dad said.

  ‘We’ll stay with you,’ Jake said. ‘Just for a while.’

  His dad laid Mum’s hands across her chest and tugged the blanket up to her neck, then he put his hands over the outline of her arms and lowered his head.

  Jake put his hand on their dad’s shoulder.

  ‘Goodnight, Mum,’ Abe said. He was the first to kiss her forehead.

  ‘Be happy,’ Brix said, leaning low, pressing his lips to her brow and her hair. ‘You deserve it.’

  He wiped at his face, surprised when his hand came away wet because he wasn’t sad. He felt light on the inside as if a great load had worked loose.

  Maybe that’s what death felt like when someone was ready to go.

  It felt like floating.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Valerie Janine Honeychurch would have hated her funeral. She would have said the minister was far too keen on the sound of his own voice and if the bloke had been paying any attention at all, he’d work out that all anyone really wanted was an end to his droning speech about her life and her death so they could get a cup of tea and have a good old gossip.

  They held the service in Mount Barker, where his mum had opted to be cremated. Her ashes, according to her wishes, would be taken to the bridge near Nanna Irma’s old house and thrown into Cutters Creek.

  There’d been some discussion about this before his mum died, because his dad pushed for Mum to take a plaque in the Wall at the War Memorial Garden Park in town, alongside Nanna Irma and Grandpa Honeychurch. Mum said she couldn’t bear the idea of being stuck in one spot for eternity where her in-laws could watch over her, and she’d much rather think her ashes were strewn to all corners of the globe.

  Given the size of Pickles’s water-ski park that now dammed most of Cutters Creek, Brix privately figured his mum was more likely to settle in the mud and reeds there and get grumpy at the sound of all the jet skis and boats whizzing over her head.