Safe Harbour

by Helene Young

  ‘And me. I’ll kick their arses into orbit if any of them get caught.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ His second-in-charge rang off.

  Stirling drummed the steering wheel. Were there enough layers of protection around him? A couple of high-profile sports stars had made headlines in recent times, men he knew well. He didn’t want to end up going out in disgrace. It really was time to have a bonfire and destroy all those early records. Irrelevant now, anyway. The drug industry had moved on. You needed a tame or brave pharmacist on side now, not just a science teacher with a little knowledge and a school lab.

  He didn’t regret his actions. He knew a hell of a lot more about nutrition than his peers. His only regret was losing Grant. It wasn’t just Darcy who’d felt that pain. She had no idea how he felt. He’d take that secret to his grave.

  The lights changed to red and he stabbed the brakes. A car pulled up next to him. Tinted windows and slab sides. One of the new Jeeps. The passenger window rolled down and a man wearing Ray Bans leant out and motioned to Stirling to wind down his window. Stirling opened it a few centimetres.

  ‘The boss sends his regards. Hope your missus and the little one are doing well.’

  ‘Your boss?’ Stirling kept his smile polite. His public profile preceded him. People were always asking for autographs.

  ‘Rod. Rod Reeves, your mate. Have you spoken to your ex yet?’ The man tipped two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute as the window rolled up, leaving Stirling looking at his own reflection. Thank Christ he played a mean game of poker. He closed the window and sedately accelerated away when the lights changed, but his hands slipped on the steering wheel and he could smell the sweat in his armpits.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he muttered. He hadn’t passed on Rod’s message to Beverley. Maybe he should have. She could find out what the hell was going on. He used voice recognition to connect the phone. Chantelle answered after several rings.

  ‘Babe, it’s me. Can you pass on a message to Beverley for me?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll put her on.’ He listened to the sounds of Amelia being handed over. It was just wrong having his ex cooing over his princess and he felt acid bite at the back of his throat.

  ‘Stirling?’

  ‘Bev. Rod Reeves is after a favour, something about information on someone in Banksia Cove. I said I’d pass his number on, leave it with you if you want to talk to him while you’re in Sydney.’

  ‘Rod Reeves? Why on earth would I talk to him? He used to beat up his wife and children. The man’s a criminal. I’ve read the papers; you don’t need to be Einstein to realise he doesn’t make his money from building highrises.’

  ‘Whatever. I’m just the messenger. Gotta pen?’

  ‘Wait.’ There was silence on the line as she rummaged around.

  Guilt was exacerbating the acid burn. He fumbled in the compartment behind the gearstick for a Quick-eeze. He really should tell his doctor about this.

  ‘Right, go ahead, but I’m not saying I’ll talk to him.’

  Stirling rattled off the number. ‘I’ve done my bit, but it might be good to know why he’s interested in Banksia Cove. If he’s looking at a development up there, it might affect Darcy. That old whaling station is prime real estate – no one’s recognised the value of it. Aside from Darcy. Maybe she deserves a heads-up.’

  ‘Hmm. We’ll see. But I have more important things to do in Sydney than contact your old druggie mate.’ She hung up, leaving him slack-jawed.

  ‘What the fuck did that mean?’ He swung into the car park of the club, the chrome and glass exterior reflecting the sleek black lines of his car. He couldn’t let anything upset his perfect life. He’d worked too damn hard to build it. He had to come up with a fallback plan.

  The air-conditioning hummed in the hushed foyer, the downlights reflecting off the photos of the club’s best players. The cabinet with the NRL trophy took pride of place. Stirling touched it for luck as he passed. The security guard greeted him with a smile. ‘The boys did well on the weekend.’

  ‘No serious injuries and no one on report,’ Stirling replied with a smile.

  ‘Gotta be happy with that,’ the guard replied.

  Stirling breezed into the dressing room where most of his boys were kitted up in their training gear, muscles toned and ready to work. He never failed to compare them to players of his era of football, when blokes would come to training straight from work, pull on a pair of shorts as they sank a beer or two and then run out onto the field. These young men, with their hair full of gel, their tattoos and designer clothes, lived privileged lives on six-figure incomes. Footy was their life and they brought a level of dedication he admired, but they had it easy compared to players of his era.

  ‘Lads.’ He held up his hand after mingling with the team for a while. ‘Great work on Saturday. Great work. You guys pulled together and held them off for the full eighty minutes. Awesome work. Strong defence, quick attack and some inspired running up the outside. Next weekend it will take all that and then some to stop the Rabbitohs. Today we’re focusing on defensive skills. Tackling. Blocking. Shoulder charging might be out, but we need to be able to stop these boys in full flight. We’re not going to put you through a long session this afternoon. I’d rather give your bodies a chance to recover from all those bruises. You can work on some endurance stuff over the next couple of days.’ There were some groans from the lads who didn’t appreciate long runs and bike rides.

  Stirling smiled at them, his boys, his team. ‘I know, Jacko, but if you want to be on the field until the full-time siren and collect that bonus, then you need to get on that bike. Bet Stacey’s going to appreciate the pretty dress you buy her with the extra money.’ The young man he’d singled out grinned. Stirling knew what made every one of these boys tick.

  ‘Righto,’ Stirling addressed the group again. ‘Let’s hit the paddock.’

  Half an hour later Stirling handed his troops to one of the defensive coaches. The team doctor wandered over to stand beside him. Stirling shook his hand. ‘So, tell me again, what’s your take on these supplements we’re giving them?’

  The doctor half shrugged. ‘I’ve had them tested at a reputable lab and they’re all clear. Nothing in them that’s not meant to be there. Nothing illegal.’

  ‘You’re positive?’

  ‘One hundred percent. Fortress has got its shit together with this stuff. They know the stakes.’

  ‘They’d want to be organised after that whistleblower took out the main opposition two years ago. Mud sticks when it’s thrown that hard.’

  ‘Yeah. Anyway, our boys are clean.’

  ‘Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’ Stirling dismissed the man and sauntered down to the edge of the playing field again. His boys looked lean, hungry for the title. They were the favourites to win the premiership. He’d be holding that trophy high with them at the end of the season. And this would be his first without performance-enhancing drugs. It was something else to savour, but he couldn’t share it. The doctor knew, but he had more to lose than Stirling. They’d stopped experimenting two years ago, but they’d both lose everything if it ever came out.

  He rejoined the players on the field. He still loved getting in on the action, catching the ball, being part of the push and shove. It made him feel young again. The good-natured ribbing as he deliberately fumbled a pass from a junior player was all about building the team, cementing the bonds.

  It was only later, back in his office analysing stats, that his mind went to Beverley. Was it just an off-the-cuff remark or had she really known more than he realised? He didn’t like the idea of her seeing Rod, but she hadn’t sounded like she was going to contact him in a hurry. Funny he’d never known that Rod had beaten up his wife. She’d always been accident-prone. Maybe Bev was right. He shifted in his seat.

  Even when Darcy was at her most irascible he would never have considered hitting her. And it wouldn’t have changed anything anyway. Darcy ended up showing enough tenacity for
ten men. She’d been such a difficult child.

  After all of Bev’s miscarriages and then her treatment for ovarian cancer it was a relief when she went full-term, but the scan had said it was boy. Instead, a squalling red-faced scrap of a girl had emerged. Three years later Darcy was still waking during the night, colicky and angry. The same year he damaged his knee and knew he was at the end of his playing career. Beverley’s father offered to help him find something in Brisbane, but Stirling wanted to use the teaching degree he’d worked so hard to complete. And he had another reason for taking the posting to rural Queensland, to a town that had always welcomed him, treated him like a hero. It was the boy he’d never be able to call son.

  Banksia Cove also ended up being the best spot for him to perfect his training ideas, including the use of supplements and steroids. He could have left earlier than he did. He let Bev believe he’d made the decision because they didn’t want to move Darcy until she finished school. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with a young man who shared his blue eyes and aptitude with a footy.

  And what a fucking waste that was. After that terrible night when Stirling lost so much, Darcy shut him out anyway. God knows what she got up to after she had her tantrum and ran away from the Cove. The next time he saw her, three years later, she was in her last year as an apprentice chef.

  A year later he pulled some strings and got her a plum job with one of his mates, but she didn’t know about that. His mate was happy to help when it turned out Darcy was more than good at cooking. Beverley had been quite exceptional too so he guessed he shouldn’t be surprised that her daughter excelled in the kitchen.

  From then on Darcy made her own luck. It was nice to be able to send some business her way. Easy to drop a recommendation here and there. He had plenty of wealthy friends who liked long lunches and boozy dinners. It didn’t hurt for people to know she was his daughter. But he understood the value of hard work. He’d done it, so could she. He had thought that as she grew up that they might be able to salvage something from the wreckage of their relationship, but Darcy went all funny again when he started seeing Chantelle. God knows why. He’d thought they might be friends, instead Bev started acting like a worrying mother hen and then Darcy closed her Sydney restaurant and went back to Banksia Cove.

  His phone chirped in his pocket and he looked at the number. Speak of the devil.

  ‘Darcy, how are you?’

  ‘Great thanks, Stirlo.’ It annoyed him that she’d taken to calling him by his footy nickname. What the hell was wrong with ‘Dad’? ‘I was just wondering if you’d seen Mum yet?’

  ‘I’m fine too, as are Chantelle and Amelia, thanks for asking,’ he retorted.

  Darcy’s sigh was audible. ‘Sorry. It’s just that she’s down in Sydney and I’m pretty sure she’s not well again, that she’s down there for treatment. Do you know if she’s still in remission?’ There was a catch in his daughter’s voice.

  He shook his head, frowning as he recalled wondering the same thing this morning. ‘Nope. She didn’t mention anything. Probably a routine check-up and she doesn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘Dad, she’s skin and bone.’

  ‘Really? Channie said something about yoga?’ He remembered Beverley trying all sorts of alternative therapies the first time she beat the disease. Back then he’d been terrified he’d lose her. She’d been his lucky charm, his key to so many locked doors. He’d loved her as much as he knew how.

  Darcy sighed. ‘Maybe, but it doesn’t feel right. I thought she might have mentioned it to you.’

  ‘Nope.’ He changed the topic. ‘So how’s that restaurant shaping up for you?’

  ‘It’s getting there.’

  ‘You should never have left Duo. It was a goldmine.’

  ‘Restaurants in capital cities are fickle. I want to be proud of my food, my restaurant, not just an up and coming trendy chef. The Cove may well be the only place I’ve ever really been happy.’ Her voice was strong this time. ‘Anyway I don’t need your approval, but thanks for the advice, Stirlo. Just check on Mum for me, can you? Let me know if you find out anything.’ She hung up before he could reply.

  ‘Ungrateful child.’ She was never going to change. Time to leave the past behind and focus on the future. Beverley and Darcy were history. Now he’d do whatever it took to protect Amelia and Channie. Anything.

  13

  Darcy dropped the bags of groceries on the kitchen table. Her arms ached from lugging them in. This morning’s gardening had taken its toll as well. She was obviously getting soft now she wasn’t running a full commercial kitchen. The shopping trip had been longer than she expected and she hoped Zeke was still here.

  Gypsy was already nosing into her knee and demanding a pat. Long shadows filled the backyard and she could hear the murmur of voices from her back step.

  She’d met the builder on site at Whale Song and he’d agreed to fit a thicker wooden rail along the staircase. He’d also agreed to add an extension to the driveway. After he’d gone she’d stood on the timber deck and gazed over the tranquil cove. The knot in her chest loosened as she breathed in the clean air with the hint of paint fumes from the gleaming walls. Further around the cove she could see smoke rising from Rosie’s settlement. To her left, the boats moored in front of the town swung on their anchors as the tide ebbed. She’d turned a half-circle, pride in her heart as she looked around at the newly laid lawn, the garden beds ready for plants, the paved parking lot and the restaurant entrance with its simple lines. What started as a project to allow her to stay in Banksia Cove until Beverley was stronger had turned into something much closer to her heart than she’d expected.

  She’d locked the folding glass doors, then stopped in the middle of the room. Above her the light filtered through the new windows, sending patterns across the furniture stacked in one corner of the main floor. The kitchen stretched along the rear wall, separated from the dining room by a stainless-steel counter and a row of heat lamps. Old and new, side-by-side and brought together by the furniture, part rustic, part modern – wrought-iron with clean lines.

  The pebble path had crunched under her feet as she walked to the caretaker’s cottage. The building was as yet untouched, but earmarked to be turned into a small function centre. Its two bedrooms still held the basic iron bedsteads of the 1950s, with old lumpy mattresses. She’d slept there a couple of times during the early stages of the renovation. The small kitchen was a great place to have discussions with tradesmen as they hashed out details or haggled over costs. The shower worked, but the hot water tank had rusted out long ago. She’d checked the door was still locked then headed back to her car, looking for a glimpse of the whales. They’d be heading north soon on their annual migration. Who knew what their arrival would bring this year. A stellar opening for Whale Song? She hoped so.

  With her mind still back at the restaurant, she finished unpacking the groceries with a smile. Through the open door she could see Zeke and Tyrone sitting together on the top step, empty glasses in their hands. As she stepped onto the veranda Major squeezed between the two men to greet her.

  ‘Hey, guys. Sorry it took me so long. How’d you go?’ she asked, rubbing Major’s nose.

  ‘All done, boss,’ Tyrone replied with an airy wave of his hand. Darcy stood behind them, surveying her garden in amazement. The bed they’d been planting when she left was finished. There was even a layer of straw spread around the seedlings. The other beds further along were dug and ready for action. Her back fence was trimmed and the pile of weeds and offcuts had turned her rather threadbare compost heap into a mound.

  ‘Good, eh?’ Zeke asked with his shy smile.

  ‘Better than good. That’s nothing short of amazing. You guys are miracle workers.’ She smiled down at them. ‘Guess I’d better feed you some more, then.’

  Zeke got to his feet. ‘Thanks, Darce, but my old man’ll go nuts if I don’t come home soon. I gotta drop round the gym on the way home too.’

  �
��You sure?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m good.’

  ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘Nah, I’ve got my pushy. It’s cool.’

  ‘Okay. Here’s your pay for the day.’ She reeled off a run of twenty-dollar notes. ‘Put it to something worthwhile. I’m not sure there’s much left to do tomorrow, though.’ He looked disappointed. ‘Come round anyway. I’ll find something for you. There’s always the lunch rush at Fish R Biting.’

  ‘Cool, see you at eight-thirty again then.’ His smile was wide as he clasped hands with Tyrone and then walked down the stairs towards his bike.

  ‘Big afternoon,’ she said, easing down into the spot Zeke had vacated on the top step. ‘You look tired, but you’ve done a great job.’ He appeared more gaunt, sad even, a man who was grieving. Gypsy bounded down the yard and retrieved a stick. Major waited close by for some action.

  ‘It’s easy when the company’s good.’ His voice had a rasp to it, a tightness that hadn’t been there earlier in the day. Something had happened.

  ‘So, any . . . change?’ she asked, wresting the stick from Gypsy and flinging it down the length of the yard.

  ‘My memory?’

  She nodded, watched him swallow before he turned that impenetrable gaze on her. She felt the intensity deep in her heart. He was a man it would be both easy and hard to love. She managed an encouraging smile, her heart aching for his obvious distress. Gypsy returned with her prize.

  ‘It’s coming back.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘Something about all that physical work and having a relaxing yarn. It was as though it unlocked a deluge of memories. I didn’t want to shock Zeke. You clearly hadn’t told him who I was, right?’ He glanced up as she launched the stick again. This time Major shuffled after it as well.

  ‘No. If he told his mates, then the sightseers would turn up. He might have pestered you with questions as well. I asked Liz, my GP, what I should do and she told me to let you be, that it would all come good in time.’ Her doctor had also explained Tyrone may well be disoriented when his memory did return and that the best thing she could do was sit on her hands and listen. No pressure, no high-fiving, no champagne.