She searched for words. None came.
He continued on in a rush, the words spilling out. ‘I haven’t told him ’cause I don’t know how much the owners will want for the place and I don’t want to build his hopes up in case I can’t follow through. The Underground hasn’t exactly been financially viable, and beachside homes in Sydney don’t come cheap.’ He pressed his warm lips to her forehead. ‘So, you see, the amount of money I get for Gracie is crucial.’
The silent plea for understanding and the vulnerability it hinted at made so many things clear. From the moment he’d informed her Gracie’s fate was not open to negotiation she’d questioned the type of man he was. But with everything he’d just confided, added to the burden of financial difficulties she’d been unaware of, as much as she hated to admit it, his motives regarding the fossil’s dismantling made a terrible sort of sense.
If forced to choose between Drew and her job she’d have no hesitation.
She’d been wrong about Jamie. Obviously the deep-felt responsibility to his father weighed as heavily on him as her motherly duty to provide for Drew weighed on her. What she now saw emerging from behind the money-hungry mask she’d pinned on him was a man of character and integrity. Someone recognisable.
The man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
She pushed the thought away. Giving in to thinking like that didn’t even go close to solving the problems facing them. Presuming they got out of here.
Her eyelids automatically clenched at the reminder of the concentrated blackness enshrouding them and she pulled his muscled arms tighter around her. She still ached all over but she needed the closeness. Pressed to his bare chest, she was intensely conscious of his presence, of the warmth of his hard body. Turning her head, she brushed her lips tentatively across his lower cheek, an effort to express her emotions in a way no words could. ‘Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me what’s going on.’
‘You deserve to know.’ He began rhythmically rocking her body. ‘You also need to understand how much I wish I could save Gracie. But when the choice is between her and my father, there is no choice.’ Expressing himself emotionally had never been Jamie’s strong point, but the desolation in his voice said so much more than the words. ‘As for my trust, you’ve got it. We need to be honest with each other.’
‘We do,’ she agreed, even as a strange uneasiness inched its way up her spine. Having him place his trust in her made her feel ... privileged. He’d been so candid, so openhearted with her, and meanwhile she continued to withhold from him something of vital importance. It would be wrong to be less than honest with him. Had the time come to tell all?
The thought of confession compressed her throat and escalated her heartbeat. Should she be making a decision as momentous as this right now? She couldn’t help being fearful; she’d made some pretty disastrous decisions on the spur of the moment in the past.
But if she owned up now, unburdened herself of the secret she’d kept for so long, maybe she’d find some peace from the guilt that lay like a rock in her stomach. They had no set guarantee they were getting out of here; surely he deserved to know he was Drew’s father?
This might be the only opportunity she’d have for the truth to come out, and the need to release the roiling swell of remorse proved too strong. ‘Jamie, I ... ’ She stopped, needing to phrase this the right way. ‘I want to—’
‘Shh.’ His body stiffened. ‘Listen.’
Her ears strained for any sound in the darkness. There! Distant scratching. A murmur of voices.
He let her go. ‘Harry? Dad, is that you?’
At the click of the torch switch she tentatively opened an eye. In the fast-fading torchlight Jamie dug frantically at the earthen wall.
She leapt to her feet. ‘Harry?’ she yelled. ‘It’s about bloody time!’
Jamie laughed, and she joined him without holding back, swept up in the overwhelming relief of the moment.
Chapter 11
Rough hands dragged Jamie through the hole in the collapsed earth blocking the exit. Dust stirred up by the digging from both sides of the cave-in made it difficult to breathe and grit filled his eyes, blinding him. But he didn’t need to see to know it was the trembling arms of his father encircling and hugging all the breath out of him.
‘Thank god you’re okay.’ Harry sounded stretched to breaking point.
Further away he heard Gem cough, followed by Lou’s calm voice. He swiped at his eyes with the back of a hand and another figure slowly swam into focus.
Slade? What the hell was that prick doing here?
Jamie attempted to clear his throat, to assure his dad he was all right, but as he dragged the fresher air in through his nose something registered, something that didn’t sit right. He sniffed again. The acrid smell of cordite permeated the air this side of the collapse. How was that possible? Cordite meant gelignite and he and Harry never used explosives; no opal miner worth his salt did. Too dangerous.
In an instant his scattered thoughts coalesced: Slade had been known to use gelignite.
‘You! You caused this!’ Brushing Harry aside, Jamie hit straight for the other man, rage mounting with each step, angrier than he ever remembered being in his life. This fool’s recklessness had put Gem’s life at risk—a life, it registered in one astonished flash, that was more precious to him than anything else in the world.
He grabbed Slade by the throat and slammed him against the tunnel wall. ‘You could’ve killed us, you stupid bloody idiot.’ With dust still clogging his throat, his voice emerged raspy and ominous.
‘Fair go, son. No need for that.’
What the ... ? Fingers still at Slade’s neck, he turned an incredulous look on Harry.
‘Leave it, son. Using gelignite isn’t illegal, you know that. And Slade’s aware he did the wrong thing in not notifying us he intended to use it. He came over as soon as it happened, to find out if we were okay. Lou found him in the hallway. He helped dig you out.’
Still gripped by disbelief, Jamie turned back to face the perpetrator. Slade smirked and held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I keep tryin’ to tell ya, I’m a prince of a guy.’
One punch. Jamie’s clenched hand trembled, readying to ram the smug look down the guy’s throat. Just one punch.
‘If it hadn’t been for him we wouldn’t have got to you so quickly.’ Lou’s tone was calmly reasoning and the look she gave him held a warning.
Slade continued to glare at him, chin lifted belligerently. With a grunt of disgust Jamie lowered his fist. Resentment and distrust still surged through him but he could feel the censure of three pairs of eyes trained on his back.
‘No need for thanks,’ Slade sneered.
His hands re-worked themselves into tight balls. ‘You oughta be grateful I haven’t beaten you to a pulp. Again.’
Hearing a gasp from Gem, he glanced down the tunnel to where Lou was tending to her. The look she gave him was one of puzzled disapproval, like she couldn’t believe he was making an issue of it.
‘It’s what you deserve, ratter,’ he ground out through clenched teeth.
Slade’s lip curled. ‘Name-calling? Is that the best you can do, Coltrane?’
‘I showed you what I can do last night. Are you asking for a repeat performance?’
The man’s snake-like green eyes narrowed in challenge. ‘I’m not drunk this time.’
Harry waylaid Jamie’s fist with his hand before it connected. ‘Settle this later if you feel you must. Right now there are more important things to deal with.’
As Slade slunk away, Jamie stared hard at his father. Deep lines gouged grooves around Harry’s mouth and eyes and he had a hand pressed to the dirt wall, as if he’d temporarily lost balance. This whole thing had obviously hit him hard.
‘Are you okay, Dad?’
‘I’m just worried about you,’ Harry replied, exasperation in his tone.
‘I’m fine,’ Jamie assured him.
But he wasn’
t; the highly-charged exchange with Slade, coming so close on the heels of escaping from their premature grave, was beginning to take its toll. His whole body felt damp with sweat, his head ached and his shoulders were knotted with tension; unthinking anger sapped a bucket-load of energy. He sagged to the dirt floor.
Instantly his father was beside him. ‘Lou, can you please take a look at my son.’
She bustled over, first-aid kit in hand, and spent several minutes checking and nodding before loosening the stethoscope to swing around her neck. ‘The good news is, you’ll live.’ She smoothed down his tousled hair and smiled fondly at him. ‘All your pressures are normal. Gemma’s too.’
Jamie scraped a hand across the top of his dust-heavy head then rubbed at his equally powdery face. Gem was shaking the dishevelled mass of her blonde hair, trying to dislodge particles of earth from it. She looked up, offering a worn smile, her face streaked with sweat and dust, and she’d never looked more beautiful to him.
Why did she have no idea just how beautiful she was? Maybe she just needed telling. He’d make sure he told her as often as she needed to hear it from now on in.
‘You know you’re both very lucky to be alive.’ Lou’s word intruded on his thoughts.
‘Luck, huh?’ He winked at Gem and gestured toward her hand. ‘Maybe it was more than just luck.’
She grinned and held out the opalised shell on her palm. ‘Maybe.’
Lou gazed from one to the other. ‘Whatever the reason, be grateful. Escaping a situation like this with no more than a few bruises is nothing short of a miracle.’
‘Yes, ma’am. We are grateful, ma’am.’ He gave the older woman a salute and a wink.
‘Don’t take the mickey out of me, young man.’ She wiggled an admonishing finger at him before ruffling his hair. ‘That’s your father’s prerogative.’
Back to his usual self, Harry wrapped an arm around Lou. ‘A privilege I’d be a duffer to take advantage of, I reckon.’
She laughed, returning his hug. Observing his father and Lou so easily affectionate with one another gave Jamie a rush of warmth for them both.
A plaintive voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Can we please get out of here? I need to call my baby.’
Little wonder Gem sounded spent. Throughout their ordeal she’d shown incredible strength of spirit. She’d been scared at times, of course—he’d felt moments of fear himself trapped in there, not that he’d ever let her know it. He understood perfectly her need to get out of the mine. Now.
His only thought to comfort her, he made his way down the tunnel and helped her to her feet. For a moment she clung to him, burying her face against his bare chest. Her need to hold on to him spread a comforting warmth through his entire body. He closed his arms around her.
‘Let’s go.’
‘Not so fast, young man. The best thing for both of you is a good soak in a hot tub.’ Lou’s tone was affectionate but no-nonsense. ‘The bore baths are what you need. The mineral salts and heat will help with the aches and pains you’re going to be feeling as soon as the adrenalin wears off.’
Jamie knew Lou well enough by now to understand that when she spoke like that it was useless to try to argue with her. He glanced across at his father, who was grinning resignedly, then down at Gem’s drawn and pale face. Mentally he tested his own body for aches and found a multitude. The thought of lying back in the hot springs was more than a little appealing but he had too many things on his mind to be able to relax just now. Not the least being the arrival of the opal dealer in a few more days. He hesitated only a second.
‘I can’t. Things to do. But take Gem, it’ll do her good.’
* * *
The artesian bore baths were ten minutes out of town, surrounded by stunted acacias and huge pink-and-white mullock heaps that shimmered in the sunlight. The pool itself was protected from the worst of the late-afternoon sun by a large white sail. Gemma and Lou were the only people there.
Gemma let out a long sigh as she slowly lowered herself into the bubbling greenish-tinted water, the t-shirt over her bikini billowing up with the sulphurous-smelling steam. She gave a laugh and pushed it down, then sat on the ledge beneath the water, her head tilted back to rest on the edge of the pool. The pain of her aching body had well and truly set in on the drive out there. Her eyes slipped closed and, enveloped in the deliciously warm, giant hot tub, the tension in her muscles began to drift away.
‘Can’t buy this in a bottle.’
Lou’s voice registered somewhere close by, but Gemma’s eyelids were too heavy to lift.
‘Mmm. Heaven.’
‘A bit hot for Heaven. It smells like the other place too.’
Her companion had an irreverent laugh that immediately had Gemma laughing too. She pried her eyes open to take in Lou’s amiable visage. ‘Been there, have you?’
The other woman sighed, her wise eyes turning serious. ‘In one way or another, haven’t we all?’
‘You’ve got that right,’ Gemma agreed, probably too vehemently, as Lou regarded her with shrewd assessment.
‘Life hasn’t been as easy for you as you like to pretend, has it?’ The quiet sympathy, the offer of understanding in her tone, was difficult to resist.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘There’s a ... sadness to you. It’s in your eyes. A massive self-doubt, as if you’re struggling to make sense of what the world has dealt you.’
‘Well, one thing I have learned over the last few years is that you can’t depend on things going the way you planned. I once had my life all laid out but—what’s that old joke? If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.’
Lou chuckled but silent commiseration was written all over her good-natured face. ‘Curveballs. I’ve had a few of those myself. Outcomes I wouldn’t have chosen.’
‘Really? You’re always so positive and cheerful.’
‘Bad things happen to everyone, but even bad experiences are a part of making us who we are,’ she said in her no-nonsense fashion. ‘The only thing you can change is how you live your life as a result of what you learn from the terrible times. You make a choice, and I choose to be happy.’
Lou’s words struck a note of discord. Gemma’s own ‘terrible times’—Jamie breaking her heart all those years ago, the nightmare of her parents’ sudden deaths, the emotional and mental trauma of her marriage—had left her beaten down and ashamed, unable to trust her instincts. A pathetic sort of doppelganger of the girl she’d once been.
So, as much as she respected Lou, she couldn’t believe happiness was simply the result of choosing to be happy. Not for her, anyway. Despite the pleasure she found in Drew, there was still too much residual hurt inside and reality was way too pressing for her to be openly and unreservedly happy.
Her heart clenched with a longing to see her baby; if there was one thing guaranteed to raise her spirits, no matter how low they’d fallen, her boy was it. ‘I have a six-year-old son.’
‘Tell me about him.’
She spent the next little while chuckling with Lou over funny things Drew had done and said. She told her of the hugs, the smiles, the angel face of a sleeping child and the ‘I love you, mummy’ that each brought their own special reward. She confided how hard it was, trying to be the perfect parent, as well as her guilt over being a working mum with not enough hours in the day to spend as much time with him as she wanted. And she talked of how much she missed him, of the hollow ache inside when he wasn’t with her.
Through it all, the other woman paid close attention, nodding and tossing in advice every now and again; the sort of advice Gemma’s mum would doubtless have given had she still been alive. She recalled her mother with a pang of sorrow, acutely aware of the huge regret she carried inside that her parents had not lived to see their grandchild. Drew would have brought them such joy. She refused to dwell on that; some things were too painful to think about.
‘Does you good, doesn’t it, to open up and talk?’ Like Jamie, Lou s
eemed to have an uncanny knack of knowing what she was thinking.
‘Yeah, it does. Thanks for being a good listener.’
‘Any time.’ She patted Gemma’s arm. ‘Getting it all out of your head is the first step towards moving on with your life.’
No doubt her years as a community nurse had helped Lou to take a practical view of things, but the non-judgemental way she listened, the aura of calm she projected, were all natural—just her. Having lacked a support network for so long now, Gemma had forgotten the relief unburdening could bring.
She reached out, found the older woman’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You’d make a wonderful mum,’ she said on impulse.
Damp strands of brown hair peppered with grey clung to Lou’s cheeks and forehead, framing her careworn, kindly face. She shifted her gaze to the far distance. ‘I had a child, many years ago. A boy. I was very young and my parents talked me into giving him up for adoption.’ Hand flattened against her breastbone, she turned to Gemma. ‘It’s my one regret.’
As she stared, momentarily unable to speak, Gemma realised for the first time that not only did those hazel eyes reflect the other woman’s intelligence and compassion, but they also hinted at loss. The realisation that she wasn’t the only person ever to have been hurt, and that when Lou spoke of moving on she knew from experience what she was talking about, struck like a thunderclap.
‘How do you ... cope, not knowing what happened to him?’ she finally managed. ‘You must wonder where he is, what he looks like.’
‘I do,’ the older woman sighed, ‘but, as I said, how you face life is up to you. I tried to find him a few years back but the agency said he didn’t want to meet me. I choose to believe that’s because he’s happy and has a good life.’
Lou’s story moved her deeply. Gemma swallowed back the ache that threatened to erupt into a sob in her throat. Drew was her world; he meant everything to her. How unimaginably sad never to have known the feel of his soft, sleepy breath on her skin, the sight of his sweetly innocent face, the soapy scent of freshly bathed little boy. Tears welled. All she wanted to do right now was enfold her son within the safety of her arms and never let him go.
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