by Helene Young
Someone tapped her on her the shoulder. ‘Darcy, how you doing?’
She swung around with a skip of her heart. ‘Noah, better than you, I reckon. What happened? You look like hell.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t ask. Rosie’ll fill you in, I’m sure.’
‘Two nights in a row without much sleep, huh?’ She patted his shoulder, feeling the solid muscles underneath the light-blue uniform. ‘You should stop partying so hard.’
‘Ha. You’re chirpy this morning; let me guess, you spent the night watching weepy romances again.’
‘It’s possible. So what’s up?’
‘Your sailor boy is due for release this afternoon and I have to find a home for him.’
‘Really? Vinnies?
Noah frowned. ‘A homeless shelter?’
‘Better than the watch house.’
‘Hmm. I’ll think of something.’
‘We can’t just abandon him after everything he’s been through. I mean . . .’ She ran out of words, not sure how to express the emotion in her heart.
‘He’s not your problem, Darce.’
‘I know that, but . . .’ She paused. ‘I know a bit about being alone in a strange place.’
‘Maybe, but this really is my problem, not yours.’
Darcy changed the subject. ‘Roger said they found a box of books on the foreshore. Looks like it’s come from his yacht.’
‘Yep. They won’t be classed as evidence, so I’ll hand them back today.’
‘I can take them around. I was going to drop by the hospital on my way home. I also thought Mrs Matheson’s banana cake would make a nice change from hospital food.’
‘Sure. Do that. Thanks, Darce.’ When Noah smiled the cares of his job seemed to disappear and he was once again the fresh-faced young man who’d kissed her on the night of her Grade Twelve formal and scared the hell out of her. That kiss, the blast of emotion it unlocked, had shaken her to her core and she’d spiralled out of control, out of reach of all of them. Running away to Sydney hadn’t been her smartest move, but she had needed to put distance between herself and Noah, learn to cope with her crazy infatuation. She’d laid the boundaries and he’d never tried to overstep the mark again. She’d been pushing him away but holding him close for too long.
‘Done deal. I’ll head off now. Get some sleep before you fall off your feet.’ She touched his arm and went to find Roger.
*
By the time Darcy parked at the hospital, the sun’s rays were starting to bite. She retied her jumper and tugged at her top, annoyed that she was self-concious about her appearance. ‘Thanks Beverley . . .’ she muttered.
The doors to the hospital swung closed and she checked the signs to find the right ward. His bed was empty, but the nurses directed her to the hospital garden. She stopped inside the door. Being Sunday it was busy, but one man stood out as he strode around the grass perimeter, his face tilted to the warm sunshine. He was tall, rangy, with shaggy dark hair and the deep suntan of a sailor. She recognised him instantly. With each long stride, each swing of his arms, she sensed his frustration as he came closer. Her heart went out to him.
The gate clattered behind her as she stepped onto the lawn, the perfume of flowers filling the air. He spun towards her and she was surprised by the concentration on his face. She raised a hand.
‘Hi, I’m Darcy, Darcy Fletcher.’
‘Hi, Darcy Fletcher.’ He stood still, waiting. He reminded her of a thoroughbred stallion, alert and haughty.
She held out her hand in greeting and his grasp was firm and dry, his calluses rough. His commanding presence was undeniable as his dark eyes raked over her. She inclined her head thinking it must be hard for him to not be in control.
‘I brought you some banana cake from the markets. Mrs Matheson wins the baking competition at the Brisbane show every year and I’m pretty sure they’re going to make her a national treasure any day soon.’
‘Thank you.’ His smile wiped the worry from his forehead. ‘Thank you for Friday night and thank you for the banana bread.’
‘Cake. It’s more cake than bread. Here . . .’ She rummaged in her shoulder bag for the plastic box and handed it over. ‘I thought, you know, hospital food and all that.’ She felt inexplicably lost for words as his piercing gaze settled on her.
‘The food’s been fine. It’s just that . . .’ He looked away. ‘I feel so caged in.’ He ran a hand through his hair, the fingers long and tapered. ‘I just want to get out, walk some of the stiffness out of my muscles.’
‘Maybe I can help. I can go for a walk with you.’
He looked almost overwhelmed. ‘I’d like that, very much.’
‘Do you have shoes?’ She looked down at his bare feet, nut brown like his arms.
‘No.’ He shook his head and his shoulders fell.
‘No worries. There’s a grassy park over the road. Do you need a leave pass?’
‘No, at least I don’t think so. Noah said he was coming back this afternoon.’
‘Okay.’
He followed her through the door and she noticed how softly he closed it. Did loud noises startle him? She snuck a look as he came alongside her. He was hewn in granite gorgeous with an austere sternness that suited his angular features. A man’s man. Darcy judged he was probably in his early forties, and he moved like an athlete.
They stopped by the nurses’ station. ‘Ladies, is it all right if I kidnap your patient for half an hour? We’re only going across the road,’ Darcy asked.
‘Sure, Darcy. Just bring him back in one piece.’
‘Will do.’ Turning, she was surprised by the haunted look on her man’s face, unease written in the frown lines and tight mouth. ‘Okay?’
His nod was brief, his smile forced.
Darcy remembered the books. Was now a good time to mention them? They had to walk past her ute to get to the park. She kept her voice low, light.
‘They found a plastic container of books on the beach to the north of here. It’s where the currents go. A few of the books are still okay. I’ve got them with me in the car.’
His head snapped around. ‘Really? Can I see them?’
‘Sure.’ She unlocked the car and hauled the green recycling bag over the seat. ‘There’s only half a dozen or so,’ she apologised.
He took them almost reverentially, cupping the bag in his hands, before delving into it. Two were old paperbacks with water stains. Dune by Frank Herbert, and Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, both well thumbed. The newer books had fared better. Darcy recognised one by Katherine Howell. So he liked crime. The others looked like reference books.
He flipped to the inside cover of the last book and read for a moment. He turned stricken eyes on her. ‘Tyrone. It’s been signed “With thanks to Tyrone.”’
‘You remember the book?’ Darcy ask, thinking that Tyrone suited him.
He nodded. ‘I remember them all and I have a shadow of a memory of receiving this one as a gift.’
‘Well, that’s a bonus, then.’
‘Perhaps.’ He was silent.
‘Shall we sit on that bench over there?’ When she touched his arm to guide him, the rigidity of his muscle surprised her. Maybe Noah should have been the one to deliver the books. What did she know about memory loss? His distress was palpable. He followed her lead and sat on the bench with his head bowed. Darcy let the silence hang. His concentration on the books was intense. She leant back and closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her. Questions didn’t seem appropriate right now.
‘Why don’t I feel as though I’m Tyrone Hillsmith?’ Anger simmered under his words. ‘How can I not remember? Jesus Christ.’ He swore and plonked the books beside him. ‘This is crazy. I’m crazy.’
‘No, you’re not crazy.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Shock can do strange things. We all react differently so there is no right or wrong way to deal with it. You’re safe here. No one’s going to throw you out on the street.’ She knew in that instant th
at she couldn’t let that happen. He was her responsibility, and it had nothing to do with any rescuer syndrome, but everything to do with knowing in a small way what he was going through.
‘They need the hospital bed. I have to leave, but I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.’
‘It’s okay,’ she said impulsively. ‘If Noah doesn’t come up with a better option, you can come and stay at my house.’
‘You’re too kind. I already owe you a debt I can never repay. I can’t do that.’ His hopeful eyes belied his words.
She smiled. ‘There’s no debt to repay. I did my job. You’re alive and that’s thanks enough for me.’ She patted his hands as they lay clasped together in his lap. ‘Besides, I live in a cottage that used to be owned by the village witch. Ruby Fenwick’s aura has seeped into every brick and every board. It’s the perfect place to heal.’
‘A white witch, I hope,’ he said.
‘A healing witch. Tranquil doesn’t come close to describing it.’
‘It sounds like a slice of heaven.’
‘So?’ She turned her hands palm up. ‘Shall I tell Noah we have a deal, then? No offence, but it will be a weight off his mind. He’s been flat out this weekend.’
‘He’s a good man. Exceptional.’
‘He is. It goes with the name. What sort of Noah wouldn’t look out for people?’
‘And his animals? Two by two?’
Darcy laughed, glad Tyrone’s face had lightened. ‘He’s a dairy farmer’s son, so they’re mostly Guernsey and Jersey cows with a couple of working dogs. Daisy Hill Dairy. It’s as magical as it sounds.’
‘You’ve been friends a long time?’
‘Since I was four.’
‘He’s married?’
‘Nope.’ She hesitated. ‘He’s only been back in Banksia Cove three or four years.’
‘Nice that he came back?’
‘I wasn’t here when he came back. I was in Sydney.’
‘Working for marine rescue?’
‘Marine rescue? No, that’s a volunteer job. In small places like this everyone pitches in. No, I’m a chef. I run a little fish and chip shop at the moment, but I used to have a restaurant in Sydney, on Darling Harbour.’ She knew she sounded wistful, but the pain of giving up what she’d worked so hard for still hit at odd moments.
He narrowed his eyes, then blinked rapidly. ‘Darcy Fletcher.’ He clicked his fingers then pointed. ‘Duo?’
‘You know it? You remember it?’ She was surprised but secretly pleased as well. A shared memory of something that had been so precious to her.
‘Something, an image. I was there for . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It’s intimate, white with pale wood trim, chrome, flowers, on the water.’
‘It was. It’s closed now.’ She kept her voice upbeat. Duo had a lot of repeat customers, but she was sure she would have remembered him. It was a favourite spot for romantic dinners.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. This is where I want to be. I’m opening a new restaurant here at the old whaling station. A new journey for me, but in a town with lots of good memories. I hope that adds to the vibe of the restaurant.’ She couldn’t keep the note of satisfaction from her voice. Funny how with each passing day she felt more at home back in the Cove and the angst, the sorrow of Grant’s death mellowed into something bearable.
‘So what’s the new place called?’
Before she could reply, a car backfired up the street and Tyrone dropped into a crouch, with the same intense stare as when she’d banged the gate in the hospital.
‘It’s okay. I’m pretty sure there hasn’t been a shooting in or around Bundaberg hospital for a long while.’
‘Sorry. I have no idea why I’m so jumpy.’
‘After what you’ve been through . . .’ She knew too well how he must be feeling. ‘Surviving a night like that would do anyone’s head in, let alone dealing with the amnesia.’ Darcy got to her feet. ‘Let’s go and phone Noah, then see what the hospital wants to do. You need some peace and quiet. I have to work this afternoon so you’ll be on your own anyway. No pressure if you’d rather see what Noah turns up.’
He turned those dark impenetrable eyes on her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. ‘No, I’d rather take you up on your offer than end up in a prison cell. Thank you.’
‘Nice clothes,’ she said as she swung away. ‘The hospital supply them?’
‘Actually, your mother brought them in this morning.’
‘My mother?’ She almost stopped walking.
He nodded. ‘So she said.’
‘Ha, she wanted to check you out. My mother sees charity as her Christian duty, but has making the recipient feel guilty down to an art form.’
‘She was very charming, as it happens.’ He stopped by the ute. ‘She’s very proud of you.’
‘Maybe, it’s been a long time coming if she is. I’ll phone Noah.’ She waggled her mobile at him and walked away dialling. Noah might yet say no to this spur of the moment idea.
Noah answered at the first ring. ‘Darcy. Everything okay?’
‘Yep, fine, Noah. Hey, listen, call me crazy but I was thinking that our sailing mate can stay at my place for a bit. He can crash in the spare bedroom until you sort out something more permanent. He seems harmless enough.’
Noah’s silence dragged on a moment too long. ‘He’s not your responsibility, Darce.’
She read between the lines. He thought this had something to do with Grant, but he was wrong. ‘I know, Noah, but it’s the least we can do. You can keep an eye on him discreetly. There’s nothing worth stealing and the dogs will keep him in line anyway.’
The silence hung between them again. ‘I’m not happy about it,’ he finally said. ‘But if I say no, you’ll dig your heels in anyway. Just don’t go telling everyone or you’ll be inundated with busybodies. I’ll find something more permanent next week.’
Darcy grinned. ‘Done. I’ve got to run now to open the shop – maybe you could sort out his release and drop him around? That should make it feel all nice and official. I’ll leave the spare key under the pot by the back door.’
‘Okay. I’ll read him the riot act.’
‘You sound just like your dad.’
‘And I’m guessing that’s not a compliment.’
‘Not on this occasion. Lighten up. He’s had a hell of a time. It’s not like drugs or large sums of money are washing ashore from the wreckage. He’s a loner who got caught out. Be nice. Gotta run. Come around for late supper if you’re still up. See you.’
Tyrone was still standing by the ute, ramrod straight.
She smiled and nodded. ‘He said it would be okay short-term.’
His shoulders relaxed, but the movement of his mouth couldn’t be called a smile. So much tension, so much stress. ‘He’ll pick you up this afternoon. I need to get to work, but Noah’ll show you around and I’ll be home after seven-thirty. Usually an early night on a Sunday.’
‘Thanks. You keep throwing me lifelines.’ The smile did reach his eyes this time, but only for an instant.
‘Can’t have you wandering the streets no matter how sleepy and peaceful they might be. I’ll walk you back inside just so the nurses don’t fret. Do you eat fish and chips?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Ah, no, otherwise I’d be making much more money. But if you do, I’ll bring some home when I finish.’
‘That would be great.’
Tyrone got to the door first and opened it for Darcy.
Nice manners, she thought. The women at the desk stopped talking.
‘Ladies, here he is safe and sound. And I’ll see you later,’ she added to the now silent man. ‘Take it easy.’
She looked back before the door closed and caught the unguarded expression on his face. He was wary, his emotions barely controlled. What would he find when his memory came flooding back? Surely there couldn’t be anything worse than losing his yacht?
7
&nbs
p; The sunlight streaming in the French doors refracted through the glass of apple juice and scattered across the pages of the Sunday papers. Impatiently Stirling Fletcher moved it to one side as he finished reading the story of the dramatic sea rescue up in Queensland. Noah Moreton was quite the little diplomat these days, not the blunt young man he used to be. Would he and Darcy ever get it together? Darcy was probably too preoccupied with her career.
He heard a gurgle and a laugh from down the wide corridor and felt the familiar contraction in his chest. Thank god I’ve been given another chance. He knew Chantelle had in all probability married him for his money and the security he offered, but he loved her with a fierceness that still surprised him. And Amelia? She’d captured his heart from the instant she’d flailed her tiny limbs in agitation at being rudely born into the world. That Chantelle had been whisked away for emergency surgery leaving him bewildered and frightened, literally holding the baby, had deepened that already strong bond.
She’d lain silently in his arms as tears dripped off his chin until a midwife rescued him, reassured him. Nothing in his world would ever be the same again.
The baby monitor next to him stuttered just as his phone rang. He glanced at the number before he answered. Beverley.
‘Bev. How are you.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I’m fine, I’m just checking that you knew Darcy was involved in that rescue up at the Cove. I didn’t think she’d ring you.’
‘She was?’ Stirling sat up straight. ‘The papers didn’t mention her.’
‘No. They didn’t do anything more than throw stones at the victim.’
‘So Darcy’s okay?’
‘She’s fine physically, but I worry about the emotional toll. According to Roger it was all too similar . . . They almost had to cut her loose.’
‘Shit.’ Stirling stared out the window. ‘Did she realise?’
‘Of course she realised! She’s not a silly teenager any more, but that doesn’t stop me worrying that she still holds herself responsible for that young man’s death.’
