The Goodbye Ride

by Lily Malone

  “It has, Jack.” Ben shoved the helmet in his left hand and reached out with his right, and they shook.

  “Ride carefully,” Jack said to Liv.

  “Always, Dad,” Liv replied. “Hey, a guy might drop by for his phone. I left it on the kitchen bench.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Owen… Owen Carson,” she supplied. Her chest pinging as she said his name.

  Her father squinted against the sun. “Carson? Why does that name ring a bell?”

  “No idea, Dad. You’re a fireman. Everybody rings a bell with you.”

  “Guess they do.” Jack turned his back and started walking toward the house. As Liv pulled the helmet up to slip it over her head, her father twisted around. “Liv?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think you should get out of this house, love. Find your own place. Your mother and I, we’ll be right now I think. She’s getting better.”

  Something passed unspoken between them, an apology maybe? Gratitude?

  “Okay. I’ll look around. Thanks, Dad.”

  “Thank you, love. Ride safe.” His eyes flicked to Ben and he added gruffly: “You too.”

  Chapter 11

  “What was all that about? And what are you doing with Owen’s mobile phone?” Ben whispered the moment her father was out of earshot, before she’d had time to put her helmet on or snap the visor in place.

  “I told you he’d mellowed.”

  “Maybe leopards do change their spots,” Ben said, watching Jack Murphy’s retreating back. “That doesn’t answer my question about the phone.”

  She debated for all of two seconds and gave in. He’d get it out of her anyway, he’d out-persist her. He was good at that. “Owen stayed here last night.” Stayed half the night.

  Ben’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Darl, do tell.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. As you can see, he’s not here now. Neither is the Duke. End of story.”

  “He did a runner?” Ben sat back against the Honda’s seat, his helmet in his lap. “That’s very fucking un-Hollywood of him. So where is he now?”

  “Home I guess. Bragging to his cousin—” She cut off mid-sentence.

  Owen wouldn’t do that. Even if all she’d meant to him was a one night stand, she didn’t think he’d brag about scoring with the vineyard help. He might brag about how smart he’d been: getting his aunt’s vineyard pruned, keeping the Ducati. Two for the price of one. Three if you counted—nope, not counting.

  “When is he dropping off the—”

  She waved her hand at him, cutting him off. “No Pantah, Ben. We’ll have to ride pillion.”

  “That so cramps my style,” Ben sighed. “Maybe he got caught in traffic.”

  “He’s coming from Balhannah. What could possibly stop him out there? Sheep on the road? A vagrant cow?” She checked her watch. “I told him we were heading off about ten and he said he wanted to come, but as it’s half-past now and he didn’t even leave a note, I guess he got what he wanted last night.”

  Now he doesn’t have to pretend.

  “Shame. And here’s you in such a sweet mood too. Clearly the guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  Liv snapped the helmet over her head and closed the visor.

  “Fine. Be like that.” Ben pulled his helmet on and threw his leg across the Honda.

  Liv latched her arms around Ben’s waist. He was so soft compared to—

  Stop comparing, Olivia.

  Ben rode out of Hahndorf and they hit the Freeway at Mount Barker. Once on the dual-lanes, he opened the Honda out and they flew past Callington and Monarto. Most of the traffic was heading against them, coming back into Adelaide after the long weekend, so they made good time to Murray Bridge.

  Just after an hour, Ben down-shifted gears as they cruised into Mannum’s main street. The small tourist town straddled the western bank of the mighty River Murray. It was a town built in three steps, like some kind of collapsed wedding cake. The lowest level was the river. The second level was the main street with its shops and supermarket, and the top layer comprised a dress-circle of houses with million-dollar views.

  One of the big paddle steamers was docked at the wharf where a line of people waited to climb aboard.

  Every man and his dog had taken advantage of the respite from winter weather to get outdoors. Families shared picnics at tables on the lawns by the river. Children swung off monkey bars, played on slides and threw bread or chips in the water, and everything that could run on two legs or four, chased seagulls.

  Ben parked the Honda on the flat picnic area adjoining the river and they climbed the steps together to shop level, helmets in hand.

  ****

  By the time Owen cleared the traffic jam it was already well past ten. He accelerated out of the backlog, using every inch of power in the ute’s big V8. He had a clear run in the overtaking lane until Bridgewater.

  Hahndorf was packed with tourists and again he had to keep his foot on the brake as people tried to reverse into parks on the narrow main street—something tourists generally did extremely poorly.

  He banged his fist on his thigh. Crawling, crawling—cursing the horse-drawn carriage taking kids for rides up the main street.

  Finally he reached Balhannah Road where he could turn off for Church Street.

  Owen parked on the verge outside Olivia’s place, grabbed his jacket from the passenger seat and leapt out, slamming the door behind him. He pulled the riding jacket over his shoulders as he loped across the lawn.

  A fit-looking man in jeans and an Adelaide Crows’ jumper, hair the salt-side of salt and pepper, opened the door at his knock. Owen knew him by the shifting colour of his eyes. Grey one minute, blue the next.

  “You must be Olivia’s dad.” He held out his hand and they shook. “Owen Carson.”

  “Jack Murphy.”

  Liv’s old man had a grip like a pair of pliers.

  “You’re chasing your phone, are you, Owen?”

  That threw him. “Yes... I guess I am. Is Olivia here?”

  Owen tried to see past Olivia’s dad down the Murphy’s hall at the same time as Mr Murphy tried to peer around Owen’s shoulder to the street.

  “You got a motorbike collection happening out there?” Liv’s father asked.

  Owen turned his head to look at the shining red ute with the pair of bikes in the back. “I picked up the BMW this morning from a bloke in Norwood. The Ducati’s for Liv.”

  Jack Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “That damn bike. She said Dean Lang got a better offer. That was you then?”

  Owen shifted his weight. He didn’t have time for this. “Is she here, Mr Murphy?”

  “She left for Mannum with a friend quarter-hour ago.”

  Damn. “I was supposed to go with them. Didn’t Liv get my note? I left it on the kitchen bench when I—”

  The older man stiffened at the mention of notes and kitchen benches. He pulled himself up to his full height and crossed his arms, looking down his nose. Given Jack Murphy was slightly taller, Owen got an eyeful of nasal hairs.

  “Olivia didn’t say anything about a note, just that you might swing by to pick up your phone. She didn’t say anything about you being the one to buy the Ducati neither.”

  Owen tried not to let his impatience show. “We made a deal. She helped me prune my aunt’s vineyard and in return I promised I’d sell her the bike at a price we agreed.”

  Mr Murphy tilted his head even further back and stared at the rafters in the porch ceiling for so long, Owen thought he might have to give him a poke.

  “That damn bike,” he muttered again, returning his gaze to Owen. “Where’s this vineyard?”

  Owen ran his hand through his hair. The drive from the city had left him sticky across the back of his neck and sweat came away in his fingers. “Margaret Brand out at Balhannah is my aunt. You might know her?”

  One of Liv’s father’s arms snapped out to point at Owen’s shoulder. “I knew I’d heard yo
ur name somewhere before. Margaret’s sister married a Carson. You’re the kid who taught that no-hoper down in Mount Gambier a lesson a few years back. That dropkick who bashed… your grandfather, wasn’t it?”

  “Bad news gets around. We tried to keep all that quiet,” Owen muttered. “My family agreed not to press charges against the Parkers for what he did to Granddad, and the Parkers said they wouldn’t slap an assault charge on me. But I had to get out of town.”

  “Not much of that kind of thing gets past the firemen’s grapevine, and everyone around here knows Margaret. You ask me? You ask most blokes I know? They’d say that little prick got off light.”

  Owen had heard that before, too. “I’m not proud of what I did. I’ve had a lot of time to think it over and if I had my time again I’d do it different. There’s a process to these things for a reason. I broke that kid’s elbow with a baseball bat and I’m not sure his arm will ever work right again.”

  “Process?” Jack snorted. “They let them out with a slap on the wrist and two seconds later they’re at it again.”

  “It’s not that I disagree with you, Mr Murphy, but that’s not my call to make.”

  Liv’s dad re-examined his porch roof, then seemed to come to a decision. “But you’re sticking around now?”

  “I’m sticking around.” It felt good to say it out loud.

  “Then if you’re leaving notes for my daughter in my kitchen, it sounds like you’d better call me Jack.”

  Owen returned the older man’s wry grin.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Jack, but I really need to get a move on. Is it okay if I leave the ute out the front? I’ll ride the bike. I know it’s important to Liv to have the Duke up there today.”

  “Yeah, mate, you can leave the ute. You want to phone Liv? Let her know you’re coming?”

  And waste more time? “No thanks. They’d still be on the road. I’ll surprise her.”

  “Don’t think Liv likes surprises much.”

  Owen eyed Jack Murphy with new respect, and budding warmth. After everything he’d heard about Liv’s father, he decided Jack was a man he could grow to like.

  “She’ll like this surprise, Jack.”

  He held out his hand and they shook.

  ****

  Mannum Bakery was doing a roaring trade.

  Liv and Ben carried their brown paper bags of pastries back to the water, veering lazily down-river, until the noise of families and the paddle steamer’s bell faded, and the only sounds were the lapping river and the breeze rustling bare branches in the weeping willows. One of the trees had a gnarled trunk curling low to the ground. Luke had discovered it years ago, when he and Ben made their first ride to Mannum. It was to this tree Ben led them.

  Liv divided the bakery spoils—cheese and bacon pies, hedgehog slice, finger bun, coffee—and they ate with the food balanced on their laps, coffee at their feet.

  “You’re a bloke, Ben,” Liv began as they started eating.

  “Gee, darl. You think?”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that.”

  “I’ll get over it. So I’m a bloke. What’s up?”

  “I’m trying to work out how a guy could seem so sensitive, so in-tune with me one minute—I mean, last night in bed was just amazing…well, I thought it was amazing. And in the restaurant Owen let me unload all this baggage, like he really cared.” She sighed a big whoosh of breath, embarrassed by the memory of her tears, all those tissues. “Why would a bloke invest all that effort if all he wanted was to get his rocks off?”

  Ben bit into his hedgehog slice and rolled his eyes. “God this stuff is good.”

  “Focus, Ben. Stop thinking with your stomach. And don’t speak with your mouth full. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”

  Ben made a great show of swallowing his slice. “If you ask me, darl—and you did ask me—I’d say your Owen’s not after a one-nighter. I think you should have waited longer this morning. Did you even give him a call?”

  “How could I? His phone’s been with me.” Heat flushed her cheeks. God, the things he’d done to her using that phone… “He has my number though. There’s no reason he couldn’t have called me if he couldn’t make it, or if he changed his mind.”

  A pelican landed on the bank not far from them, preening at its feathers. Ben threw it a crust of his pie.

  “Do pelicans even eat pie?” Liv asked.

  “Pelicans eat anything.” Ben turned to give her his full attention. “Look, Liv, I trust your judgement. You’re Luke’s sister and you’re my best friend and you wouldn’t fall for an arsehole, so give it time to all shake out, hey?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  Liv had no response to that. Maybe if Owen had left her a note. Even now, if he’d just call. She’d checked her phone for messages in the bakery. Nothing.

  After a few more minutes, Ben flicked pastry from his leathers and patted his stomach. “We should say something, Liv. Luke loved a good speech. Remember how he used to know that Jerry Maguire show-me-the-money scene off by heart?”

  The second Ben put Luke and speech and Jerry Maguire together in a sentence, her throat clogged.

  She brushed the front of her jeans, then stood and repeated the actions on her backside. Ben stayed on the willow log and the river rolled by, deep and brown and wide.

  “Leap in any time.” She cleared her throat and tried to centre her thoughts. How did she sum up three years without her brother in mere words? It wasn’t possible.

  “Luke. I think of you every day and I miss you so much.”

  Saying her brother’s name aloud was all it took to make her voice crack.

  “Deep breath, darl,” Ben said beside her, but there was a catch in his voice too.

  She smiled at him through the blur of brimming tears and turned back to watch the river. “I wanted to buy the Pantah for you, Luke—Harley Lang doesn’t want it anymore and his dad was selling it—but someone had more money to spend than me, so we missed out. I’m sorry about that. We wanted to bring it up here, Ben and I. We knew you’d like to see her this one last time.”

  Ben stood up beside her and their eyes met. His fists were clenched tight against his thighs and he swallowed, Adam’s apple sliding in his throat. Having him near gave Liv the courage to keep talking. She put her hand out to him and Ben gripped it tight.

  “Dad and Mum are doing okay. I’ll be moving out when I can find a place. They miss you. Every single day I wish you were here. Every day. I never had to explain things to you. You just knew.”

  That was all she could get out, but it felt like enough.

  Ben stared across the water, eyes fixed on something only he could see. “Goodbye, best man in the world. Goodbye, Luke, my angel.”

  The paddle steamer let out a huge toot and they watched the boat lumber slowly from the wharf.

  “Well,” Ben said, after long minutes watching ripples slap the bank. “I guess that’s that.”

  “I guess so,” Liv blinked back her tears.

  They retraced their path along the river, heading toward the town, arms linked, each locked in thought.

  “I’m happy, you know?” Ben said once.

  “I know. Me too.” She thought of Aunt Margaret and shine lines and haircuts. If unloading her soul at the restaurant last night had been a trim, today she’d been cut, coloured and blown-dry.

  That was when Liv worked it out. Instantly, the fog in her head cleared.

  “When we get home I’m calling Owen myself, Ben—bugger all this faffing about. What’s the worst that can happen? Even if he tells me he’s going back to Antarctica or he isn’t interested, at least I’ll know where I stand.”

  “Yay team.” Ben pumped his fist.

  Liv gave him a sideways look. “Seriously? Yay team?”

  “What else do you want me to say? Atta girl! That’s the spirit! You’re the man!” He was laughing now, his body shaking bes
ide her. His mood made her giggle too.

  “Alright then. Yay team!” Liv pumped her fist with him.

  A white van blocked their view of Ben’s Honda and they had to walk right up to the van before they could see past the bigger car. Clearing the front fender, Liv stopped so fast, Ben’s next step almost dragged her off her feet.

  “Wow,” he whistled low beside her. “Now can I say I told you so?”

  “Sure.” Liv didn’t trust herself to get through more than that one syllable. Her throat had gone bone dry, her pulse raced.

  Ben bumped his forearm into her ribs. “I so told you so.”

  Slotted in the park bay beside the Honda was Luke Murphy’s shining red Ducati Pantah 650.

  Liv and Ben spun, each searching the sea of picnicking faces—families, singles, couples—searching for the only face that mattered.

  “I don’t even know what he looks like,” Ben muttered. “Arms. Look for a guy with good arms.”

  “Great arms,” Liv corrected.

  And she saw him.

  Owen stared at her, unsmiling, from the deck of the pub. He was about fifty metres away, elbows resting casually on the guard rail. Draped beside him was a black jacket and through the timber balcony slats, a helmet gleamed at his feet.

  Liv waved. She couldn’t help herself. She almost waved herself into next week. Owen’s mouth creased into a big, broad, answering grin.

  “Is that him?” Ben whispered, following the direction of her riveted gaze.

  “It’s him.” It’s him.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Liv took two steps in Owen’s direction then turned back. “Come and meet him.”

  Ben blew her a misty-eyed kiss. “Three’s a crowd, Darl. You go have your Hollywood moment. I hate happy endings.”

  Liv dashed back to Ben and hugged him fiercely. Her fingers dug into the leather across his back making it creak. “I love that Luke had you in his life.”

  “I loved being in his life, Liv, your brother was the best. Now go on.”

  Liv’s feet flew.

  Ben watched Olivia skip across the grass, threading her way past picnic rugs and prams, dodging a staffy pup that leapt up, thinking she wanted to play.