by C. J. Duggan
No!
Regardless of how I felt, or how he felt, there was one thing that was clear. It could never happen. I breathed deeply, grasping onto the silver lining of the situation. Nothing did happen; we were still innocent of any major wrongdoing. A line had definitely been crossed but the line was still salvageable. I took it as a one and only warning to stay well clear of Stanley Remington and in order to do that, I would have to go to the last place on earth he would think of looking.
***
I found him like a cliché.
There he was, his dust-covered boots perched on the rail of his verandah, tilting on the back legs of his chair, casually strumming a guitar.
Max looked ludicrously cool.
I neared the cabin, pausing at the steps. “Are you singing the blues?” I asked.
A smile lined his lips as he worked on tuning his guitar; he didn’t look at me straight away. “I’m singing the minty rolling blues.”
I fought not to laugh. “Oh no, how does that go?”
“It’s about a girl who upended a bowl of mints.”
“I see, does it have a happy ending?”
“Depends if you like mints or not.”
“Fair point; do you mind if I pull up a step?”
“Pull up a chair.” He motioned with a nod of his head. I made my way up the steps to the small verandah of his cabin, pulling out the spare chair from the small table.
“Thanks.” I smiled, feeling somewhat less exposed, especially with the ivy canopy that blocked me in on the side of the cabin.
“So, how do you like Onslow?” I tried for small talk.
I almost made the rookie mistake of asking him about Ballan, but then it would have been obvious I had snooped at his paperwork. And as it was, I already felt like a bit of creeper just being there. I didn’t want to come across as a full-fledged stalker.
“Oh, I think it will take about twenty years before I’m accepted as a local.” He idly strummed his guitar.
“I think it’s actually more like twenty-five years,” I added.
Max shook his head. “Sounds just like home.”
“Really? And where’s home?” I asked innocently.
“Ballan.” He looked at me expectantly, and when I didn’t have a trace of recognition, he smirked. “Yeah, exactly. No one knows where it is.”
“It’s far away though, yeah?” That much I knew.
“Yeah, it’s far away and very different to Onslow. Aside from the small-town syndrome people tend to suffer from. No offence.”
I shrugged. “None taken, I don’t live here.”
Max stopped mid-strum, looking at me with interest. “But you work here?”
“Nope.” I laughed.
“So you were merely raiding the mint jar?” He placed his guitar aside, pushing the strands of dirty-blond hair from his vision so he could look at me.
“I was just helping out, or in my case not helping.” I grimaced.
The front legs of Max’s chairs met the ground. “Want a beer?” he asked, getting up from his chair and heading into the open door of his cabin.
“Ah, sure.”
It felt weird being here and if my mother knew I had brazenly wandered up to some boy’s cabin and pulled up a chair for a late Saturday afternoon beer, she would have a conniption and grill me about stranger danger. I mean, who knows? He might have left Ballan with a warrant on his head. He could be a hardened criminal assuming the persona of Max Henry, smoking-hot, baby-faced farm boy for all I knew, but as Max appeared with two stubbies in his hand, twisting off the lid and throwing it into the ashtray, I couldn’t help but feel kind of calm in his understated cool, casual presence.
“Sorry, it’s only a Cascade light.” He smirked, almost embarrassed as he handed me my stubby and motioned me for a cheers. “It’s five o’clock in the world somewhere, right?” he said with a wink.
I clinked the glass against his. “That’s right,” I agreed. Sure it was late afternoon and we were cracking a few beers, but, hey, it was Saturday, and it was summer, so it was kind of allowed. I swigged on what I knew would be a vile-tasting beer; light or heavy, the frothy liquid amber, I was certainly not a fan.
I pretended to study the label as a way of distracting myself from cringing from the aftertaste.
Fascinating.
Maybe it was the beer? Maybe it was the dimming of the sun or the good company, but I felt myself finally relax in a way that I hadn’t felt this summer at all. No parents, no annoying brothers, and no Stan.
Instead, after a while, tears brimmed my eyes for a whole other reason, and I was breathless. Not because I was running from something, but because Max was funny even with the lamest, cleanest jokes.
He sipped his beer, quenching his thirst before beginning his story.
“A brain and a pair of jumper leads walk into a bar.
The brain says to the barman, ‘Two beers, thanks, mate.’ But the barman just says,
‘No, no beer for you.’
The brain is like, ‘Come on, mate, just one beer!’ The barman just looks stony-faced and says, ‘Not a chance.’
The brain arks up and asks, ‘Bloody why not?’
The bartender points to him. ‘Because you’re out of your head and your friend’s about to start something.’”
I choke on the mouthful of beer I have just attempted to swallow. By now I should know better than to do such a thing when Max is talking. I catch my breath through the laughter. “That is so bad it’s good.” I shake my head.
“There once was a man from Nantucket—”
I waved his words away. “No. No more, I beg of you,” I pleaded, clasping the sides of my aching belly. Max’s words were interrupted by the sound of an approaching car, rolling along, crunching the long, sweeping stone drive not long before a beam of headlights momentarily blinded us. We held up our hands to protect our vision before we saw a white Toyota Hilux come into view, the scrawling of ‘Sean Murphy, This ‘N’ That Building’ stencilled on the side of his vehicle. The next thing I saw was a muscled, tanned arm perched on the wound-down window of the Ute. The man behind the wheel saluted us as he slowly rolled into the park.
“Nice night for it,” he called out with a winning smile.
Max and I instinctively held up our beers in a unified salute.
“Indeed,” Max replied as the Ute continued to roll down the drive.
There hadn’t been much traffic in and out of the park tonight; most people were too keen on lighting up their barbies, settling in for the evening with late night swims. The smell of people cooking up barbecues filled the air in the most delicious way, causing my stomach to rumble with the need for sustenance. As if thinking the same thing, or maybe he had heard the mortifying rumble of my tummy demanding food, Max stood and stretched his arms to the sky.
“You hungry?”
And for the second time today I replied, “Famished.”
I just hoped it didn’t involve cold pizza.
Chapter Twenty
Stan
As soon as the coast had been cleared, I found myself winding down the long dirt track toward the Evans’ caravan.
Where I knew Bel would be, avoiding me.
What bothered me more than anything was why she had run. The churning in my gut had me fear I’d pushed too hard, that I had misread the meaning behind her eyes, the one that told me for certain she wanted me to kiss her. But then, Ellie had unknowingly poured a bucket of ice-cold water on the whole scene, and I was now anxiously quickstepping my way toward the other side of the caravan park.
“Ah, young Stan, do you think I could trouble you for a moment?” asked Mr Dessen from cabin thirty-four.
“Sorry, not now, Mr Dessen,” I said, continuing my stony mission, barely enough time to focus on Mr Dessen’s mouth fall open at my refusal.
Sorry, mate, but sometimes not everyone has the answers, not even me.
I pounded my fist hard on the door of the van. I wouldn’t be surprised if
the massive beast of a thing was bullet proof and sound proof.
“Bel, open up. It’s Stan,” I called out.
Nothing.
I felt like a bit of creeper circling around the expansive exterior, cursing that the annex was locked. She was probably hiding inside, ignoring me, which only served to make me more insistent in my quest as I pounded a series of hard knocks again.
“Bel?”
“She’s not there, honey,” Tina Mavery called from the van next door, an unsettling sight of bleached-blonde hair and leopard print bathing suit hugging her bony, over-tanned frame.
“Do you know where she went?” I tried not to cringe as Tina slathered a liberal dose of baby oil over her leathery shoulders.
“I haven’t seen her since yesterday, hon. Isn’t she staying up at yours?”
Nothing was sacred in a small town, and a small caravan park was no different. I was also very aware how news travelled and I didn’t fancy a rumour circulating of Bel as a missing person. I took Tina at her word. She was the kind of sunbaking addict that didn’t miss a trick, she was better than any neighbourhood watch, and she would have served me well up at the office if she weren’t in danger of scaring the customers away. She was struggling to smear the oil around to her shoulders blades and fearing she might ask me to help her out, I took a quick exit.
“Yeah, I’ll check it out, she might be back there already. Thanks, Tina.” I didn’t hear her reply, as I was too busy jogging back up the track.
I searched in all the regular tourist hot spots: the pool, lake side, tennis courts, games room, the camping grounds where people liked to picnic or read, but she was nowhere to be seen, and I started to worry. With every location proving nothing, my worry escalated.
Maybe she had gone down the street?
I would search the far side of the park before I would hop into my Ute and go for a drive. The flipped ‘be back in five’ sign had been flipped for well over an hour and as I wearily made my way back toward the main house. Tinged slightly by the sun’s rays, I had a sinking feeling inside. Maybe it was sunstroke, but I couldn’t help feel I was doing a shit job at manning the fort. How many times had the phone rung? How many people went unattended or what emergencies had I missed while I was swanning about the park, looking for a girl? A girl who obviously didn’t want to be found. It was anyone’s guess if she would even come back to the house tonight. And then the memory of Ellie and Ringer coming over made me groan, rubbing my hand through my hair in frustration. I was just not in the mood for company; I just wanted to be left alone. And as I rounded the corner of the water tank and up the main drive toward the house, I stilled.
No bloody way.
I laughed, shaking my head, and continued on my path; I flipped the sunnies on my head so I could take in the sight of Sean Murphy; his six-foot-three frame dwarfing the front steps he sat on. He was quite at home, an esky by his side, as he delved into the icy recess to produce a cold can of VB. He threw it to me, and as always, I caught it with ease.
“You work too hard, Stan.” His smile was wide and devious, his icy-blue eyes twinkling.
“Murph! What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Beers aside, we met with a manly handshake and a gutsy man-hug back slap. Murph wasn’t just a mate; he was like my brother, a brother who had been away for too long. And just when I had written off the idea of company, I was now energised that a small portion of the Onslow gang would be back together.
“I’m finished, my contract’s done, so I thought I would head back,” he said, cracking open his beer and sipping the excess froth that bubbled through the opening. Sean had been away for three years working up north, building a multimillion-dollar school that would see him cut a very nice commission. He left Onslow with a set skill and utilised it to the best of his ability; he was an Onslow success story. I was the opposite. Would that ever change? If I had ever had a life plan, when and how had it derailed?
“Well, Ringer and Ellie are coming by later, you going to stick around?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He slung his arm over my shoulder in a half-hearted headlock. “Onslow is my oyster, and you, Stanny boy, are the pearl.”
***
Now the party had started.
Sean was back, Ellie and Ringer had arrived with takeaway, the music and alcohol flowed on the back deck, as it should on a hot summer’s Saturday night. It was well after five, and seemed less likely that people would come up to the office for anything other than change for a vending machine. The exterior party lights along the wrap-around verandah were lit, shining a multi-coloured hue along the front drive—a drive I would go and inspect every now and then, with the thought and worry of where Bel had gotten to. Now it was dark and hours had gone by, my unease grew, and try as I might, I couldn’t relax, and it wasn’t unnoticed.
“Mate, sit down. You’re going to wear a track in the rug,” Ringer yelled over the music.
Sean studied me with interest from the stereo. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Oh, he’s just pining for his new girlfriend,” Ellie teased. “Actually, where is Bel, Stan?”
I inwardly cursed Ellie and her big mouth. The room was plunged into silence, causing all to look at Sean who had hit the mute button.
“Waaaait a minute. Stanley Remington, have you been keeping secrets from me?”
I cut Ellie a black look, which only caused her to shrug in innocent wonder, until Sean collapsed in the space next to her on the couch.
“There’s a girl?” he asked her, as if I wasn’t standing right in front of him.
“There’s a girl.” Ellie sighed. “Stan no longer belongs to me.”
“Bloody hell, Ellie.” I plunged my hands in my pockets, squirming like a bug under a microscope. “So, Murph, what’s this thing you want help with?”
“Oh no-no-no … no changing the subject. Where’s Ringer?”
I closed my eyes, dread seeping into my bones with where this was all headed. Ringer appeared out of the hallway doing up his fly.
“Ringer,” Sean yelled.
“Yo!” Ringer made a beeline to his awaiting stubby on the kitchen bench.
“Tell me about the girl.”
“Well, Sean, once there was a garden of Eden and in that garden lived a man called Adam, and a lady named Eve, and they would frolic through the garden and—”
Sean threw a cushion at his head. Ringer ducked.
“Not that girl. Stan’s girl.”
“Oh THAT girl.” Ringer turned to me, grinning like a fool.
“I hate you all,” I said, which only seemed to amuse them no end. I slumped in the seat opposite them, thinking there was no use stopping them, as they would continue like a dog with a bone.
“Belinda Evans, doctor’s daughter, lives in Maitland,” Ringer began.
“Evans,” Sean repeated to himself.
“Yeah, that doctor, Evans, the one that used to live here,” Ellie added.
“Yeah, I know him well, he worked on my knee.” Sean’s good cheer dimmed; he rarely mentioned the one thing that ended his beloved footy career, the knee injury that forced him to retire in his prime.
He shook off the memory. “So a doctor’s daughter, hey, Stan? You old rogue. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” And there wasn’t, aside from the fact I was about to head out with my torch and search for her, and failing that, I was going to cruise the streets … then … I hadn’t a clue what I was going to do. The thought of not finding her made my chest restrict in the worst possible way. My main responsibility was to look out for her and keep her safe, and I couldn’t even do that. It wasn’t just that though. I couldn’t actually bear the thought of anything happening to her.
“So where is she? Why isn’t she here?” Sean asked.
“Yeah, I thought she was eating with us tonight,” Ringer added.
“I haven’t seen her since this arvo. I’m actually just going to head to her van, as she mi
ght be grabbing some things,” I lied, although I fully intended to go back to the van.
“So what does she look like?” Sean asked.
“She’s hot.” Ringer nodded.
Something unexpected spiked inside me at his admission.
“I don’t know about hot, but she’s cute,” Ellie said.
“Does this weird you out, you know, being Stan’s ex?” Ringer asked in all seriousness.
Yes, this is happening. My ex-girlfriend is talking about Bel, in my presence, with Ringer. Weird.
“I’m not gonna lie, it’s weird, really weird, but I want Stan to be happy.”
It was like an out-of-body experience that may have been brought on by my distracted thoughts or the fact they continued to speak about me like I wasn’t in the room.
“So do you approve of the doctor’s daughter?” Sean smirked.
Ellie shrugged. “Like I said, the jury is still out.”
Sean and Ringer catcalled, mocking Ellie’s honest account.
“You still haven’t told me what she looks like.” Sean turned his attention to me, raising his brows in question.
I tried to play it down. “She’s petite, with bluey-green eyes, short-cropped black hair. She’s not a girly-girl, she’s a bit of a tomboy, but she has really fine features.” I left out the fact she had long lashes, full lips, and the most exquisite cheekbones I had ever seen. Yes, I had certainly noticed her. That was clear.
Sean’s eyes dimmed, as if something I said had deeply troubled him. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I thought he was about to confess she was a previous conquest of his. But the fact she was younger than us, and he hadn’t been around Onslow, made my quick mathematical skills a bit hopeful, but then his eyes brightened at a sudden recognition.
