by Helene Young
Darcy flipped the eggs, popped the bread into the toaster and listened to his breathing. As it steadied again, she risked another glance. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, his gaze fixed out the window where Zeke was attacking the weeds. Her own heart felt heavy. She knew how debilitating grief could be, knew the madness that came from loss. It could sweep your feet from under you like a raging river or blow up in an instant like hot fat on a naked flame. It could deluge you in a thunderstorm that left you shaking and bereft. Tyrone was entitled to feel all that and more. But not on her watch. Self-pity was a slippery slope and remaining on your feet was crucial.
‘Sorry.’ His voice was deeper again. He turned back to the coffee cups.
‘No need to apologise. I understand grief, loss. It’s hard. You feel like you’re back in that ocean with wave after wave bearing down on you. You can’t breathe, can’t stay afloat. But you made it. It might be uphill from here, but you’re not alone.’ She took the toast, scraped butter over it, laid bacon across it in neat rows, added the egg, squirted sauce.
‘Here.’ She handed him a sandwich. ‘Everything looks better after bacon and eggs.’ He almost managed a smile, a slight incline of his head. ‘Zeke,’ she called, walking down the short flight of stairs. ‘Food’s up.’
The three of them stood in amicable silence as the two men munched away. The smell of freshly dug earth made Darcy think of simple pleasures like chasing cows around the paddock with Noah and Grace. A time of childish delight.
‘This was great,’ Tyrone said, raising the last mouthful of sandwich. ‘You miss your Sydney restaurant?’
‘Not for much longer. Hopefully I’ll be opening the doors on Whale Song before the end of the month.’
‘Another restaurant?’
‘Yep, but this time more about the produce and less about the star ratings. We grow such wonderful vegetables around here; I think I can create great food.’
‘From Darling Harbour to this?’ He frowned.
‘This is home and that makes it special.’ As she said it she realised that it was the truth. What had changed: her or the Cove? ‘There’s unlikely to be any truffle oil on the menu or wagyu beef, but there will be melt in your mouth beef from west of Rockhampton, luscious seafood hauled from the Pacific, beetroots and sweet potatoes straight from the ground, asparagus spears whose tips have basked in the same morning sun as my patrons. Don’t think you can ask for anything better than fresh food, simply prepared with love.’
‘She makes great cakes too,’ Zeke chimed in, speaking for the first time without being prompted.
‘I’m sure she does.’ Tyrone’s smile warmed her. A wave of headiness washed over her, like it had yesterday evening when she’d come home to Noah and Tyrone in her lounge room. His presence, his voice, were seducing her. She fought against it, putting her coffee cup down with a thump on the bottom step.
‘Right. Well, back to work for us, Zeke.’ With a curt nod she strode to the back fence. She didn’t want to feel anything for a man right now. Noah’s touch was confusing enough, let alone this powerful pull to a man she’d rescued. Opposite of survivor guilt, she figured, and just as misplaced.
She could hear the two men talking, a low rumble of indistinct voices. Tyrone was wielding a rake, removing the last of the grass from the area Zeke had cleared. He’d taken his shirt off and Darcy wished he hadn’t. His muscles bunched and stretched as he worked, rhythm in his actions despite the multiple bruises and abrasions. He’d been a gardener, more than either Zeke or she could claim to be. His leanness suited him, a castaway, a survivor. She turned back to her own bed and attacked it more ferociously.
Another hour passed before she was satisfied. She gathered the sweet potatoes and headed for the verandah. Time to plant a few seedlings. Zeke was still talking. She realised she’d never heard him speak long enough to hear he had a beautiful timbre to his voice. Footy ruled the animated conversation. Tyrone made it easy. He nodded a lot, smiled, encouraged and didn’t interrupt. A rare gift, Darcy thought, as she separated the seedlings into their varieties and decided where they’d go. Noah was the only other man she knew who actually listened.
Her thoughts lingered on Noah as she sat down in the middle of the yard. Even as school captain, he’d been more than just a popular student, always making time for others. She frowned and turned her attention back to the plants, not wanting to consider why she was comparing Noah with Tyrone.
The sun was heading for its zenith and the air was still by the time she finished a rough sketch of the planting. Bees hummed in the lavender, a butterfly flitted between spent tomato plants. The air felt languid, lulled by the deep voices, soothed until it slumbered. She was loath to impose herself on the conversation. Ruby’s garden and its healing magic was perhaps doing its thing. Maybe for all of them.
‘Darce, admit it. You have no idea what to do.’ The ever-reliable Noah had finally shown up. He was leaning against the verandah post at the top of the stairs, one wry eyebrow raised.
She smiled up at him, too mellow right now to rise to his bait. He filled out the uniform in all the right places and whether she liked it or not, a man with a gun strapped to his hip was undeniably sexy. ‘And you’re going to tell me how it should be?’
‘I’m thinking a farmer’s son knows more than a chef.’ He straightened up, waved at Tyrone and Zeke. ‘Guys, you could get a job labouring any time. Darcy’ll give you a reference.’
Tyrone tossed the rake from hand to hand. ‘This may be my limits. But Zeke – I think he’s done a great job.’
Zeke was silent again, but to Darcy it looked more like hero-worship than a teenage sulk. His shoulders were back, hands relaxed around the handle of the mattock. Noah and Tyrone’s approval meant a great deal.
‘Yeah, but his talent would be wasted, then. He’s going to be the next secret weapon in State of Origin. He can go off and play for the Sydney Stallions, but his heart’s always going to be in Queensland.’
‘State of Origin . . .’ Ty frowned. ‘A rugby league contest?’
‘More of a state rivalry issue, really,’ Noah said as he sauntered down into the garden, scratching Gypsy’s ear as he passed. ‘Maybe you’re from Victoria if you can’t remember that. Any chance of some food, Darcy?’ It was his usual request, a long-running joke. More often than not she said no.
She checked her watch as she got to her feet. ‘It’s after eleven. You haven’t eaten?’
‘I’ve had my version of breakfast, but it’s not the same as yours.’
‘Cup of coffee and cake? The boys earned their bacon and eggs. You?’ She shook her head. ‘You need to plant some seedlings first.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Noah saluted as she brushed past him, a familiar gleam in his eyes that almost hid his fatigue. His hair always smelt like summer to her, no matter what shampoo he used. She’d discovered in the last six months that by four o’clock in the afternoon there’d be a shadow on his jaw that gave him a rugged but dangerous air. She may have been in love with a younger Noah, her childhood friend, but it was the man he’d become who set her senses alight.
Outside, the conversation rose and fell as the gas flame licked the kettle on the stove. Darcy lined the cups up on the bench, spooned coffee into the pot and sliced banana cake into thick wedges. Zeke’s laughter was high, excited. Noah brought out the best in people and it seemed that Tyrone did too.
Darcy loaded a tray and used her hip to push open the door.
The tableau by the garden beds could have been a magazine photoshoot of real Australian men spanning three decades. Zeke, young, strong and buff, with his dark hair and muscles, on the brink of manhood. Noah, broad-shouldered, square-jawed and his gaze looking to the future. Tyrone with a lean magnetism and brooding cynicism. They all easily topped six foot and stood like warriors. The rakes and shovels should have been spears and bows and swords. It made a fine sight for a drowsy morning.
Tyrone stepped forwards as she reached them. ‘That looks great. Yo
u saved my life with the banana cake yesterday. May I?’
‘Please, help yourself.’ His manners disarmed her, flustered her. ‘Noah, Zeke, here’s your coffee.’ She handed out the mugs. Noah took his, looking distracted as he reached into his pocket for his phone. ‘Milk and sugar, Ty?’
‘Black’s fine.’ His smile reached his eyes as he held her gaze. Her stomach fluttered at the intensity. She tried to convince herself that it was just the allure of the unknown.
‘Great. This is yours, then.’
Zeke was already devouring a slice of cake, but Noah hung back. He was reading something on his phone and his stillness made Darcy look twice. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head then pocketed the phone before reaching for a slice.
‘Any word from the building inspector?’ he asked, between mouthfuls
‘No, the tradesmen are out there today. I’ll swing by this afternoon.’
‘Trouble with the restaurant?’ Tyrone asked, wiping his hands down his pants.
‘Nothing I can’t work through.’
‘So where is it?’
‘The old whaling station’s around by the seaway on the southern side. You can see the old jetty from town, but the trees have grown up in the last fifty years so the buildings are really only visible from the water.’
‘Good spot?’
‘I hope so,’ Darcy smiled. ‘There’s a wonderful sense of history, of survival in the site. It was the first whaling station in Queensland and it didn’t last long because, according to Rosie, the whales quickly learnt to stay away. The only other station in the state was down on Moreton Island. That one’s part of a resort now. The Banksia Cove site has a beauty that transcends its bloody past.’
‘Aunty used to sing to them.’ Zeke said. ‘That’s what she told me.’ The words sounded defensive. ‘Said she used to go out with her old man and sing to the whales and that’s why they stopped coming. She’s cool. Still sings to them now.’
‘She does,’ Darcy nodded. ‘And she is indeed one cool lady. You’re very lucky that she cares for you so much.’
Noah’s phone beeped again and he read the message, then downed the last of his coffee. ‘Love to stop and help, but I have calls to make, crims to catch. Maybe I’ll bring some beers back at knock off. Darcy never has anything but gnat’s piss in her fridge.’ His smile disarmed any rancour. ‘Darce, you got a moment?’ He jerked his head towards the front of the house.
She followed him out to the patrol car and they stopped outside the front gate. ‘Just wanted to give you a heads-up. We still have no details on Tyrone Hillsmith. The only thing I can confirm is that he’s not an undercover cop with either the New South Wales boys or north of the border. Still checking with the Feds.’
‘You thought he was undercover?’ Darcy had already had that thought herself, but she wasn’t going to admit it.
‘He’s very alert for someone who’s just a sailor. It’s like he’s on constant guard.’
‘Yeah, he is, isn’t he? But he’s been great with Zeke today. He’s a listener. A rare breed of male.’
Noah shot a sharp glance at her. She ignored it and continued talking. ‘Busy afternoon ahead?’
‘I was planning on a few hours off since I’ve been working so much overtime, but some little twat has daubed graffiti all over the gym. Broke a couple of windows as well before security showed up. The painter’s meeting me on site. Sooner I get rid of the tags, the less chance of some other spraycan Picasso coming along to add their bit of street art. You’d think giving them the back fences to showcase their graffiti talents would have been enough.’
‘I guess insurance won’t cover it either, so this comes out of your budget.’
‘Yep, exactly. Money I need to run the place, not repair it.’
‘Are you seriously planning on dropping back later?’
‘Yeah, if that’s all right.’ He opened the door to the car with a sharp frown.
‘Sure. See you when you get here. Dinner?’
‘Sounds great. It might actually shape up to be a night off for me after all.’
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. With the thin blue line of Queensland Police stretched razor wire tight in rural areas it wasn’t possible to shut up shop and ignore the community. At least, not if your name was Noah Moreton.
She tapped the roof of the car and headed back to the garden as the engine noise disappeared up the rise. Maybe I should put some effort into dinner, she thought, even while she recognised she was being vain. Something with sweet potatoes, since she had a small bucketful, and basil, rosemary?
Tyrone and Zeke were standing side-by-side discussing the seedlings. ‘Where do you want them to go?’ Zeke asked.
‘I have a plan.’ Darcy pointed at her sketch. ‘But I need to go shopping and do some stuff out at Whale Song so I may have to leave you boys to it.’
‘I reckon we can handle that,’ Tyrone said. ‘With Zeke’s muscle, and my finesse.’ There was a sheen of sweat on his skin and she could smell it mingled with the freshness of the garden and the background hint of lavender. Seductive, sensuous. Her heart was beating a touch too fast. She tore her gaze away and nodded at Zeke. ‘You’re both doing a great job. I appreciate it. Would have taken me weeks to get this done.’
‘I can do some more tomorrow if you like.’ Zeke looked hopeful and she did a quick mental check of her dwindling bank account.
‘Sure. Why not? We can whip the rest of it into shape before I go to work in the morning. Well, have fun. I should be back in a couple of hours at the latest.’
‘Thanks, eh.’ Zeke’s smile was wide. She wasn’t sure whether he was happy about the work and the promise of more money or the chance to chat to his new best mate. Boys and their fathers. Just as fraught as girls and their mothers. Maybe Tyrone was some sort of military trainer. He seemed to understand the way a young man thought. There was no one-upmanship, just a gentle interest that seemed genuine.
Noah’s father was very similar and she’d always longed for some of that rapport herself. Even though she’d been treated the same as Grace and Noah by the Moreton parents it still hadn’t been her home. She could remember pushing open the painted front door of her house wondering what argument she’d be walking into this time. Silence was preferable to the snaps and snarls of a dinner conversation. Looking back now it was hard to imagine how something as simple as a request to pass the salt could possibly sound so bitter.
Her own brand of tough love was the closest she could come to giving advice. Feeling sorry for yourself didn’t solve anything. Going off the rails did nobody any good. Looking backwards didn’t make the future any better either.
She finished collating a shopping list in her head and looked out the back door. The two men were engrossed in the gardening, the dogs lying in the shade like a couple of spectators. She closed the door quietly.
The ute started without a fight and she stopped at the T-junction at the top of the rise with a smile still on her face. A four-wheel drive cruised down the road and she waited for it to pass. Looked like tourists or maybe real estate agents. When they hit the dirt they’d realise they were going the wrong way. Nothing much down there but the back end of a cane farm. A quiet little backwater, just as she liked it.
11
Darryl, the painter, stood with arms folded over his chest, his lips pursed. ‘Little bastards have done a good job this time.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Fuckin’ drug cheats. Boy lover, rock spider. Pigs are fucked. They could use a little more imagination, couldn’t they?’ Darryl said.
‘God, don’t wish that on me. And they were all wearing hoodies so I can’t even identify them on the security tapes.’
‘You know who they are, though?’
‘Pretty sure it’s the Larsens, but no way of proving it. Best I can do is clean it up and ignore it. I’ll drive past a couple of times tonight before I hit the hay. My guys will talk to the lads when they come to training today.
Someone will be boasting about it. Can’t help themselves.’
‘I’ll get started. No point in trying to clean it off. I’ve got some of that new paint that’s supposed to be graffiti resistant. It’s a shitload more expensive, but I’ll give you a good price.’
‘How much more expensive?’ Noah asked.
‘Double the price, mate.’
‘Shit. The insurance isn’t going to cover this.’
‘Pay it off when you can, then.’
‘How about I help you apply it?’ Noah didn’t want to waste any of his precious PCYC funds on repairs and he couldn’t ask his two part-timers to do the painting as well as everything else they did, often for free.
‘Sure. Whatever. You still looking for new coaches here?’
‘Always. You used to coach, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, way back when Stirlo was still here.’
‘Stirlo. Legend, eh.’ Noah kept his real opinion to himself. Darcy’s dad had been a childhood hero right up until Noah realised that the supplements Stirlo fed his footy team weren’t just vitamins. By then it was too late for Grant and too late for Darcy. Not long after that night, Stirling Fletcher left town and never looked back. His career went vertical.
‘Yeah, he still is. His team in Sydney is doing great things. I remember when he came here for summer camps a couple of times before he moved up as a schoolteacher. He was still playing then, before his knee blew up. Had all the girls on a dangle.’
