Set the Stage (A Rivervue Community Theatre Romance, #2)

by Daniel De Lorne

Bruce couldn’t think straight. And if he couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t cut straight. He feigned illness while on the job and went home. Not that home would be the most welcoming place either. At least when he got inside and called out for Rachel, she wasn’t there. He checked for her stuff and found it still in what used to be her bedroom. He’d stripped it of everything that was hers a year earlier.

  He scanned the rest of the rooms to make sure nothing had been stolen. His power tools were the most valuable things in the house. The TV was a hunk of junk and wouldn’t have got more than twenty bucks from even the most generous buyer. And he didn’t have a stereo or much that could fetch a price. If he had anything, he would have sold it to pay the mortgage.

  He paced through the house, wanting to put things away, to move them around, get things in order, but it was still tidy after the disastrous evening when he was meant to have had dinner with Gabe. Maybe it was for the best that Rachel had shown up.

  If he’d spent the night with Gabe then found out about his lies, that would have been worse than the current shambles he was in. He flexed his fists, needing to use his hands to fix something. He should be at the theatre. He should be earning. He should be paying off more of his mortgage. He should be talking to Gabriel.

  But the thought of hearing more lies tightened the back of his neck. If he couldn’t work and he couldn’t talk to Gabriel, he needed to do something or he was going to go insane. That left him with chasing overdue payments and he had more than enough anger to charge through anyone’s tears or excuses. He opened his diary and his finger tapped Jason’s brother’s name. He was going to enjoy extracting money out of Kyle.

  He stood while he dialled, feeling like it gave him some sort of upper hand in a conversation where neither of them could see each other. It rang a few times before it answered.

  ‘Bruce Clifton?’

  Cold grease slid down his throat and congealed in his stomach. That voice. He’d recognise that sticky tone anywhere. Goddamn it for caller ID.

  ‘Jason. Where’s your brother?’

  ‘Oh, he’s in the shower. He came up to Sydney for a visit. How are you?’

  Ready to throw up.

  ‘Fine. Get him to call me back when he’s free.’

  ‘Wait, Bruce. We haven’t talked in so long, it’d be nice to catch up.’

  ‘Nice for whom?’

  ‘Ouch. I guess I deserve that. I wasn’t very good to you, was I?’

  He had to get off the phone. Jason was in the past and he could damn well stay there.

  ‘I’m not getting into this with you, Jason. Tell your brother to call me.’ He moved the phone away from his ear.

  ‘How’s Gabriel?’

  Jason’s question roiled inside Bruce’s stomach. He tensed to withstand the cramps. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Gabriel Mora. You’re unlikely to have forgotten him.’

  ‘Why would I know how Gabriel is?’

  ‘Because I know he’s in Brachen. Kyle saw him and there’s a rumour going around that you two are now an item. Can’t keep anything a secret in Brachen for long.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you about Gabriel.’

  He chuckled like some evil voice out of the dark. ‘Have you forgiven him yet? I can tell by your tone you haven’t forgiven me.’

  ‘I don’t forgive liars, Jason. He told me nothing happened between the two of you when you lived in Brachen. Your little parting shot was nothing but your own jealousy.’ At least he could be sure of that.

  ‘Effective though, wasn’t it?’

  ‘But not long-lasting. Now this little reunion has been hell, I’m going.’

  ‘Did he tell you we slept together when I moved to Sydney?’

  Jason wouldn’t give up, even when he’d lost. He just needed to hang up but something about his lies were hard to ignore—like one of those ugly fish at the bottom of the ocean using a light to lure their prey. But Bruce had Gabriel’s assurances to keep him safe. He just had to hold on and not get hooked.

  ‘No, because it didn’t happen,’ Bruce said. ‘I won’t fall for your lies again. I did it enough when we were going out.’

  ‘For once I’m telling the truth. You ask him. You ask your precious Gabriel about it and see how he reacts.’

  How desperate had Jason become?

  ‘To think I wasted two years of my life with you.’

  ‘Oh honey, I only went out with you to keep you and Gabriel apart.’

  ‘Well, you failed in the end.’

  ‘Did I? You ask him about that night because I remember it clearly. He couldn’t wait to fall into bed with me. Ask him about our night at Eleventh Hour and then tell me if I failed. Say hi to Gabriel from me.’

  Jason hung up on that cheery note, and Bruce was left with the phone pressed hard against his head. He should have rung off the second he heard Jason’s voice, before the honey-voiced psychopath dripped more lies into his ears.

  They had to be lies. But they stuck to his insides, their grease hardening in the pit of his stomach. Gabriel had promised that nothing had ever happened between them. If it had, he could have said. It wouldn’t have mattered. Not as much as lying about it. He threw the phone onto the desk and slumped into his chair. That frenetic energy had gone, leaving him with a lead weight on his shoulders.

  Gabriel had promised there weren’t any lies. But could he be trusted? He’d lied about the theatre. Gabriel claimed it was just a misunderstanding but he’d had plenty of opportunity to confide in him. And then Jason had played another hand. He shouldn’t believe anything his ex-boyfriend said but he’d sounded so certain, so gleeful about it. He could call Gabriel but the way the thoughts were tumbling inside his head he was unlikely to speak coherently. He’d wait. They were going to talk and when that time came he’d have figured out what to do.

  Rachel crashed through the front door. She leaned heavily against the door handle, looking as dishevelled as she had the day before, dusty from the walk to the house. She startled when she saw him sitting in the chair.

  ‘Oh, hey bro, didn’t realise you’d be home.’

  ‘My ute’s out front.’ He stood up slowly.

  She tried to evade him, her head down, hair covering part of her face.

  The rage built in his chest. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘What? No. You said I couldn’t so I haven’t. Jeez, you’re so suspicious.’

  ‘Come here then.’

  ‘Get lost. I’m going to lie down.’

  He followed her, a whiff of bourbon and beer swamping his sense of smell. ‘You’re lying, Rachel. You reek.’

  ‘I haven’t been drinking.’ She wheeled on him and shrieked but her balance teetered and she had to hold herself up against the wall.

  ‘Get your stuff and get out.’

  ‘I haven’t been drinking! I went out and saw a friend in town but I haven’t been drinking. That was the rule.’

  He towered over her, close enough for the stench to wrinkle his nose and burn his gullet. ‘I’m sick of the lies, now get your things and get in the car. I’ll drive you to Nowra.’

  ‘I’m not going to bloody Nowra!’

  He pushed past her into her room and shoved her things into her backpack. She tried to stop him, but he held on to most of it. He stalked out of the room, grabbed his phone, keys and wallet and headed out to the car, all the while with her screaming and hitting. She got in a few tough blows—drunks always seemed to find strength when they needed it. She stopped at the edge of the verandah and held on to one of the posts. He wouldn’t drag her. He wouldn’t lay a finger on, but she was going to leave his house one way or another.

  He half-climbed into the driver’s seat and threw her bag in the back. He rifled through his wallet and held up two fifty-dollar notes.

  ‘I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you get in the car right now. It’s either this or I call the cops.’

  ‘A hundred and fifty.’

  ‘Done. Get in.’

 
She slunk over. He kept a careful watch on her in case she made a grab for her bag. But she didn’t. She wanted the money, and he’d stuffed it into his wallet and put that into his back pocket. It was uncomfortable but not as uncomfortable as having to buy off his alcoholic sister.

  And definitely not as uncomfortable as realising without a shred of doubt that all she wanted from him was money.

  He started the car and the second she closed the door, he kicked it into reverse and set off towards Nowra. There was a bus terminal there and she could get a ride to Sydney or wherever. After he dropped her off, she was no longer his problem.

  ‘You know you’re the reason Mum’s dead,’ she hissed.

  Another lie. They ruined everything. Their father’s lies about another family in a different town had broken their mother. That wasn’t his fault but keeping his father’s secret was. She thought she had a traitor in the house, and because their father had left them to be with his other family, he became the easy target for her hate. He’d become indentured, working as an apprentice at sixteen to help her pay for the house. And all the while trying to keep up appearances that all was well. Meanwhile, their mother was slowly killing herself with alcohol and eventually drove into a tree. He hadn’t killed his mother, and he wasn’t going to watch his sister die either.

  She ranted but he didn’t respond. The more she shouted, the more he lanced the poison. Cut for cut, the venom of all his family’s hate dripped out of him. Rachel had suffered, followed in their mother’s footsteps but gone bigger, brought attention to herself which their mother couldn’t abide. Rachel raged against ghosts.

  After forty minutes of her abuse, he’d been drained clean. He would have gone twice as long if it meant getting that crap out of his life. He pulled up in the bus terminal and put the car into neutral. He grabbed her bag out of the back and shoved it at her, then fished out his wallet. He held out two hundred bucks.

  ‘This is it, Rachel. Don’t come back.’

  ‘I’d rather fuck my own father than lay eyes on you again.’

  She got out and slammed his door, kicking the side of the car for good measure. He didn’t wait to see which way she went. He just wanted to get back to Brachen and to talk to Gabriel and find out how dishonest he’d been. Those dark thoughts kept him company on the drive back to Brachen.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘What’s wrong, mijo?’

  Gabriel and his mother were sat beneath the gazebo. Sofia was wearing her sunglasses and was wrapped up under a blanket. The sun streamed down and the battens from the roof cast shadows across her face. She’d been reading a magazine, while Gabriel thumbed his scar. When she set it down to speak to him, he stopped, unsure of how long he’d been doing it.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Is it Bruce?’

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just a hunch. I thought things were going well.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Did you two have a fight?’

  ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’

  ‘So it was a fight. What was it about?’

  He drummed his fingers on the table and smoothed out the tension in his face, making his expression as neutral as possible.

  ‘You can stonewall me all you want, mijo, but I know when things aren’t right.’

  ‘And I know when there are things I don’t want to talk about.’

  ‘Like Bruce?’

  His eyes widened and the mask cracked. Sofia laughed and that tinkling sound loosened his defences. Even if he did allow himself a fraction of a smile, he still didn’t want to talk about Bruce and their argument.

  ‘How about we talk about the theatre instead?’ he said.

  ‘Whatever you want. Angela’s coming by soon to show me some of the costumes anyway.’

  After how he’d treated Angela the other day, he dreaded another confrontation. But he had to apologise. If only for Sofia’s sake. ‘Is that a good idea?’

  Sofia looked weaker today. It had taken them far longer than it should have to walk the short distance from the house to the gazebo.

  ‘I want to see what they’ve done,’ she said.

  ‘But I don’t want you getting upset. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, and Angela explained that changes get made all the time.’

  ‘But they’re your designs.’

  ‘No, they’re yours.’

  ‘Mijo—’

  ‘Mamá, seriously, it doesn’t matter. If you think things should be changed, then go ahead but don’t do it for my benefit. Please. All I wanted was to help you get through this play, and I’ve done that. They have their designs. That’s enough. I’d rather you were putting your energy into getting better.’

  Sofia leaned over and stopped his hand from stroking the scar. Her hand was cold.

  ‘We should go inside,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine. I prefer it out here. I get to breathe.’ She leaned back in her chair, her hand still holding his. It was thinner, the bones sharper but her skin was still soft, comforting—apart from the chill. ‘Do you remember when we moved here? How overgrown the garden was?’

  Prickly bushes, weeds and tangled dead vines had filled the backyard with drab brown, the green having been strangled years before. She’d coaxed it to life, tamed it, cared for it until it was awash with colour. The contrast was stark and it had only grown more so in the years he’d been in Sydney.

  ‘I remember getting a lot of cuts and grazes from pulling out the ferns. Oh, and the snake!’ He suppressed a shudder as the red-bellied black snake slithered through his memory.

  ‘I nearly died,’ she laughed. ‘But you just stopped, turned around and took me inside. You didn’t seem scared at all.’

  ‘I was petrified. That wasn’t bravery, that was fear.’ He’d expected snakes during the clean-up and had picked through the undergrowth with extreme caution. She’d teased him about his slowness but his panic had also been slow enough for him to protect Sofia and call a snake catcher. They never did find the snake and clearing the backyard took twice as long.

  ‘You always managed to take care of things.’

  He shook his head. ‘After I made such a mess of them, it was the least I could do.’

  ‘Mijo, that’s not true.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have come here if not for me.’

  And I wouldn’t have fallen for Bruce.

  ‘But us being here is a good thing,’ she said. ‘I have been happier here than anywhere else in my life. You don’t have anything to feel guilty or sorry for.’ A hacking cough rattled her body, and she squeezed his hand until it passed.

  He offered her a glass of water, holding the bottom of the glass while she sipped. She sank back into the chair, breath puffing out of her.

  ‘I worry about what’s going to happen to you when I’m gone,’ she said.

  ‘You’re going to be fine.’ He looked at the garden, at the pink roses and orange grevilleas.

  She tugged his hand and he was forced to look at her, at the shadows under her eyes, at her hollowing cheeks. ‘Gabriel, we both know it’s only a matter of time.’

  Pins and needles rushed his throat and up the side of his head, with a rapid prickling sting that heated his blood. ‘I’m going to go inside if you keep talking like this.’ Those words meant she was giving up, and they had to keep fighting.

  ‘It’s going to happen, and—’

  He got up to leave but she held on to him. As weak as she was, it was enough to make him stay.

  ‘I want to know that you’re going to be okay,’ she said. ‘That you’re not going to let me hold you back anymore.’

  ‘Other than now?’ He attempted levity but it failed—like his attempts at the theatre.

  ‘You know what I mean. You could be doing so much more. I never meant to keep you from your dreams.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I know you thought you had to get a job so you could t
ake care of me, but it breaks my heart to think that you’ve denied your calling because of me.’

  ‘I’m fine being an architect, Mamá.’ He sat down and leaned forward, pleading with her. He didn’t believe the words he said but perhaps she’d be convinced.

  ‘But you’re not. I’ve seen what you can do and how you shine doing it. Angela sees it too. I know you think I’m biased but you should be using your talent and showing it to the world.’

  Not if it meant revealing the truth about the Larrikin designs.

  ‘I want you to promise me you’ll try,’ she said.

  ‘I’m happy the way I am.’

  ‘You don’t have to start big. You could stay in Brachen. You could take over from me. I’d like that.’

  ‘There’s no point. The theatre will close.’ And everyone would know about his involvement even if he managed to avoid a photo announcing it in the newspaper.

  ‘There’ll always be a theatre in Brachen. You could just do it for a different one. You and Bruce worked so well together, and I’m sure Angela would support you.’

  ‘Mamá, I’m not doing it. And Bruce would rather cut off an arm than work with me again.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Please, tell me. Did you have another fight over the sets?’

  ‘No, it was …’

  Could he tell her? Maybe he could explain the designs for the theatre redevelopment so she’d understand it hadn’t been intentional. It wasn’t like he was the one who’d signed off on the plan. He hadn’t sent the letter announcing an end to the lease. But she looked too weak to handle it and he didn’t want to be the one to cause her to further decline.

  ‘Just some problems from the past,’ he said.

  ‘Talk to him. You can work it out. I’d die happy knowing you two were together.’

  ‘You’re not going to die!’

  Sofia smiled a small smile.

  ‘Helloooo!’ Angela’s sing-song voice called over the side fence, and Gabriel got up to let her in. He held the side gate open for her.

  ‘Hi, Angela, how are you?’

  ‘Gabriel, lovely to see you. I’m well, thank you. How about you?’ Any sign of awkwardness over their previous encounter was well hidden behind her large personality and the gowns she carried in on coathangers.