by Helene Young
He managed a ghost of a smile.
The calls of the birds as they flew home to their nests were the only noises as the late afternoon edged towards night. Darcy waited. The dogs tussled over the stick and she sensed a similar tug of war inside the man beside her. Finally he spoke, his voice low and sad.
‘I can remember sailing out of Gladstone. That weather system blew in and I knew I was in trouble. I should have turned back, but I thought I’d make it to the Burnett River, anchor up at Bundaberg. My sails were damaged and then I picked up some debris in the water. It wrapped around my propeller. By the time you plucked me from the ocean I’d been awake almost forty-eight hours. It’s all still garbled, like a TV when the signal’s not working properly. Pixelated, grainy. Some things just aren’t there yet.’
‘Your name?’
He nodded, but hesitated before he replied. ‘Tyrone Hillsmith. Noah was right.’
‘It suits you.’ There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but Tyrone’s hurt was palpable. Maybe he just needed some space, time to himself. ‘I’ll take the dogs for a walk. Have a shower if you like. I bought a roast for dinner. No offence but you could do with a little more meat on your bones.’
He managed a small chuckle and the sound sent a shaft of want through her. He made sexy look effortless, even with the sadness, or maybe because of it. ‘At least I remember being a meateater, so that sounds delicious.’
‘Excellent. Noah’ll be here later. He never turns down a free feed.’
‘Nor the company,’ he added.
‘Guess he does it tough being the lone policeman. His sister’s in the process of moving from Brisbane back to Bundaberg to work as a vet, so that will be good for him. And good for me too,’ she added. It would be lovely to see Grace in person again. After Noah hauled Darcy out of the filthy squat it was Grace who enlisted Rosie’s help to persuade her to chase her dream of cooking. Their busy lives meant they didn’t see each other often enough, but the internet kept them in touch.
Tyrone got his feet and stretched his neck. ‘A shower would be good.’
‘Take your time, plenty of hot water.’
‘Thanks.’ He looked down at her, uncertainty stamped on his face. ‘For everything. You were right about this place being peaceful. Not all my memories are happy ones.’
She tilted her head to one side, her heart beating a little faster. In the dying light with his skin glowing like polished teak and his profile stark against the sky he looked untouchable but so desirable.
‘You’re welcome. I know what it’s like to be adrift. Maybe not in the dramatic way that brought you here, but to need a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Stay as long as you need.’ She couldn’t help the catch in her voice that underscored her words.
As he turned away she thought she saw a sheen of tears in his eyes. Impossibly hard for a man like that to accept charity, she thought. Stirling would have found it just as difficult. But then so would Beverley. Stubborn pride was a family trait. She sighed and got to her feet as Gypsy nudged her again with the stick.
A quarter of an hour later Darcy closed the oven door. Studded with garlic and rubbed with salt, the lamb rested in a roasting tray surrounded by vegetables. Two hours and it would be done.
The first touch of night had cast a grey blanket over the paddocks, turning the horses into dark ghosts that crowded beneath the trees. She let the dogs out through the gate. Gypsy streaked up the side of the fence, scenting the air with her nose held high. Major reclaimed each fence post, shuffling along as Darcy mulled over Tyrone’s dilemma. Clearly the return of his memory hadn’t brought relief and joy. But his reaction didn’t ring true for her and she toyed with the phone in her pocket. She really should keep Noah in the loop.
Up ahead she saw Muriel’s floppy hat appearing to float above the hedge in the dying light. It bobbed in time with the sound of a rake being dragged across the ground. Darcy breathed in the soft air, separating out the smell of the horses from the whiff of trampled eucalypts, both overlaid by the tang of cut grass from Muriel’s yard. As she drew level she could make out the old-fashioned push mower leaning against the front stairs, a relic from a gentler era.
‘Hey, Muriel. You’re gardening late.’
‘It’s cooler now. Did those men find you earlier?’
‘Men? No? Was it a delivery van?’
‘No, two men in a big car. Black. The bloke in the passenger seat said he was a friend of Stirling’s and he wanted to look you up.’
‘Really? I was home most of the morning.’
Muriel smiled. ‘Maybe Stirling asked him to look out for you. A father’s entitled to worry about his daughter. It’s part of being a parent. How’s Noah?’
Darcy resisted rolling her eyes. ‘Noah’s fine. Keeping busy.’
‘When’s he finding somewhere else for that man off the yacht?’
‘What?’ Darcy stifled her annoyance.
‘That man should be in hospital or in a hotel somewhere, not staying at your house. Who knows what he’s really like.’
‘He’s fine, but how did you know he was there?’
‘I heard voices earlier and knew you were out so I stuck my head over the fence. It didn’t take much to work it out. You yell out if you need me.’
Darcy didn’t hide her smile this time. ‘No need for protection and no offence, but I don’t think it would be right to drag you into a scuffle anyway.’
‘I still have my shotgun, and I can still use it.’ Muriel’s chin lifted an inch. ‘I used to hunt foxes with my Reggie. I was always the better shot.’
‘Well, in that case I will sing out if I need you.’ Gypsy returned at a full gallop from across the paddock, impatient to keep moving; even Major was looking bored. ‘Better keep going. Take care.’
‘You too.’
‘Thanks,’ Darcy replied, as she strode up the hill. She was already peering at her screen, thumbing through to Noah’s number. It went straight to message bank.
‘Noah, thought you should know Tyrone’s memory’s back. He looks pretty messed up. Dinner should be ready by seven-thirty. Text me if you’re going to be late.’
She jammed the phone back in her pocket and kept walking. Why the hell would Stirling send his mates looking for her? He hadn’t mentioned anything when she phoned to ask about Beverley. Over the years he’d shown little interest in her except when she was called on for family photoshoots for stories about his rising career. It had always been that way. As a child Darcy floated between after-school care, Daisy Hill Dairy and Rosie’s home. Her parents seemed oblivious to the amount of time she spent hanging around with Rosie, often with Grace in tow, and Grant and Noah somewhere nearby if they weren’t at training.
She’d spent plenty of summer holidays dangling a line over the side of the old jetty, listening to Rosie humming a song deep in her throat. If Rosie knew the lyrics, she never shared them with Darcy or Grace. The boys were too busy dive-bombing to worry about women’s business. But for Darcy, Rosie’s version of life seemed so much more honest than the one she lived at home.
It was there that she had caught her first fish, a day when it was just the two of them, alone with the creaking jetty. She was ten by then, the rainbow poncho still her lucky charm. She’d been jiggling her line up and down in the hope of catching one of the silvery bream that threaded through the gnarled legs of the jetty below, iridescent flashes in the green water. Rosie had just finished hauling in another dinner-plate-sized fish and Darcy could hear it flapping in the bucket behind.
‘What am I doing wrong, Rosie?’ she’d complained, her bottom lip starting to wobble. She was missing Grace and Noah, who were away on a rare family holiday, and Grant, who was at a football camp.
‘You’re too busy, too noisy. You need to sit still. Still, eh?’
‘Still?’ Darcy was confused. ‘But I’m quiet.’
‘You might be quiet here, eh.’ Rosie touched Darcy’s lips with a blunt finger. ‘But there’s t
oo much going on in here.’ She tapped the young girl’s head. ‘And here.’ She pointed at Darcy’s chest. ‘Be still.’
Darcy had compressed her lips against the tremble of tears. Rosie rarely offered any sort of criticism and it hurt. The reel shook in her hand with the effort of being still. She’d show Rosie.
With the sun beating down, heating the top of her old straw hat, she breathed in the briny air a little more slowly. The smell of aged timber, diesel and salt settled on her tongue. The tug on the line when it came almost jerked the reel from her hands.
‘Rosie,’ she’d hissed, not wanting to be accused of being noisy or busy again. ‘Rosie, I’ve got something.’
Rosie peered into the water. ‘You got a good one, Darce. Bring him in nice and slow, eh.’
‘Okay.’ Darcy had wound it in, rolling the reel in her hands, feeling the nylon line cutting into her fingers when she missed the turn. Finally the fish reached the surface of the water and, with dress hitched up, Rosie leant over with the net and landed the flapping catch.
‘He’s a good fella. Feed you lot tonight.’
Darcy had hopped from foot to foot. ‘I did it, I did it.’
‘Of course you did, mate. You want something bad enough, you always be able to do it. You wait and see.’ Rosie chuckled as she dispatched the fish with a clean cut. Minutes later it lay cleaned and gutted. ‘You take that home to your mum. Tell her to rub him in lemon, then steam him. Beautiful.’ She kissed the ends of her fingers. ‘Nothing tastes better than food you catch yourself. You’ll see.’
With the fish wrapped in old newspaper, Darcy had scampered home, her pigtails swinging behind her. Darcy was never quite sure whether Beverley had accidentally burnt the fish or whether it was deliberate. She’d never taken a fresh fish home again, but it was the first of many that she caught from the old jetty. Rosie was the rock in the middle of the eddies and undercurrents of Darcy’s world.
The phone in her pocket vibrated as she whistled to Gypsy. Noah’s text flashed on the screen. I have news too. Can you talk?
Always to you, my friend, she thought as she dialled.
Noah answered immediately. ‘Where are you?’
‘Walking the dogs. Why? Where are you?’
‘About an hour away. Is he still there?’
‘Tyrone?’
‘Of course.’
‘I left him having a shower. Why?’
‘He’s in witness protection, Darce. Trouble with a capital T. Don’t go home. I’ll pick you up.’
‘Witness protection?’ Her footsteps slowed. ‘As in he’s being protected?’
‘Yup. They wouldn’t elaborate, but they’ve been looking for him for almost six months. Just stay where you are. They’ll be here tomorrow to collect him. Tonight he’ll need to be taken in to the watch house.’
‘I’m fifty metres from my front door. And seriously, Noah, what could possibly go wrong? He’s been the perfect gentleman. We’ll wait for you to come and collect him.’ She’d stopped walking now, outside the vacant house two up from her place. Major was sniffing the front fence with a little more intensity than usual.
‘No, I had some trouble at the station last night. A black four-wheel drive paid me a visit. I’m concerned it’s not only the police that know where he is now.’
‘That’s not good. Muriel said two men in a black four-wheel drive were looking for me today too.’ As Darcy spoke she watched Major’s hackles rise. She followed the direction of his nose and froze. A black car parked down the side of the house was visible only because the streetlight was reflecting off its shiny bonnet. ‘Shit, Noah. I’ve got to go. Trouble may have already found us.’ She hung up before he could answer and forced herself to walk naturally towards her gate. ‘Come on, Major, leave those rabbits alone,’ she called, wondering if anyone was in the deserted house watching her, or were they already in her house trying to drag Tyrone out?
The smell of roast garlic hung in the air. As she pushed open the door the sounds of plaintive guitar chords greeted her. Her phone was ringing again, but Noah could wait. If she didn’t answer him, he’d get here even quicker.
‘Tyrone.’ She stopped in the doorway to the lounge. Noah must have given him another shirt. The pale-blue stood out against his rich tan. He stopped playing, one hand resting lightly on top of the polished guitar.
‘Hi. I hope you don’t mind.’ He tapped the instrument.
‘No, of course not, but I have to ask you a question. Sorry. It’s urgent. I’m going to be blunt, but please hear me out.’
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, with the same look of distress she’d seen on his face when he’d told her about the return of his memory.
‘You’re in witness protection and I understand you may not want to be found.’ She put out a placating hand as he surged to his feet. ‘I’m not about to hand you over, if that’s not what you want to happen, so please sit down.’ He collapsed back onto the chair, his body tense. ‘What or who are they protecting you from?’ she asked.
He breathed in through his nose, his head rocking back before those dark eyes pinned her to the spot. The silence almost snapped her nerve. His hands were clasped together in his lap, the sinews rigid and his veins prominent.
‘I’m an accountant. I uncovered some irregularities in my employer’s books – corruption, money laundering. Large scale. They killed my wife and daughter to stop me testifying.’
She couldn’t stifle her gasp. The deep-seated pain was clear in his eyes as he continued. ‘The court case is scheduled for two weeks’ time. Six months ago there was an incident in Sydney. I didn’t trust the police any more so I left. I was safer on my own.’
The bald truth of it was like a slap to Darcy’s face. So much tragedy, so many questions, and she didn’t have time to process any of it. She had to focus.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was inadequate. They both knew it. ‘The police know you’re here now. Noah’s on his way.’
‘Shit.’ He shot to his feet. ‘I knew this was too good to last. I’ll leave.’
‘You have no money and even if I gave you my car, you wouldn’t get far. I think the house is already under surveillance and it’s not the police.’ Her phone rang again. ‘That’ll be Noah.’ She looked up at him, close enough to see flecks of amber in his dark eyes. ‘The truth. Did you do something wrong?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ Unease made her shift her weight from one foot to the other.
‘But I tried to right that wrong. That’s when they . . .’ He swallowed. ‘If they’re here, then you’re in danger too. I’m sorry.’ He touched her arm, heat seeping through her light cotton shirt.
‘Don’t be.’ She sounded curt, but it wasn’t only worry making the blood pound in her veins. Her soap smelt different on his skin. ‘I don’t think we should wait for Noah, though. Better to leave now and find out later that the car belongs to some harmless tourist and that there’s no threat after all.’
‘You’re not coming with me.’ His eyes blazed. ‘No!’ he repeated when she nodded her head.
‘I grew up around here. I know the back lanes and the countryside firsthand. Let me get you out of harm’s way and then we’ll worry about the rest of it.’
Her phone rang again. She looked at the screen. ‘Only Noah. I’ll give you a bag. Load whatever you’ve got into it and get a towel from the bathroom.’ She reached out and grabbed his arm. ‘Think about it. You stay here, then we’re both at risk – and so is everyone else around here. We leave, then they will too. Noah can find us later. You don’t need protecting from him.’
‘Even the honest ones can be bought.’
She snorted. ‘You so don’t know Noah. Move.’ She pushed him towards his bedroom door. ‘It’s dark out there now. We need to be quick.’
She turned off the oven with a twinge of regret. If it was a false alarm, she could finish it off later. The dogs’ leads were jammed in a bag along with extra food and one bowl. They’d need to share
. She filled the soft esky with whatever she could grab. Neither of them had eaten much that afternoon. By the time she turned to go to her room, Tyrone had returned to the kitchen.
‘This is a bad idea.’
‘But it’s an idea and that’s enough for now. Don’t go anywhere without me. I realise this isn’t easy for you, but just let me help.’
He shook his head but didn’t move.
‘Three minutes and we’ll be gone.’
She’d just managed to shove a change of clothes into her bag when Gypsy started barking by the front door. ‘Shit.’ She rushed back into the kitchen with her finger to her lips. He nodded; he’d grabbed her largest knife from the block. She wouldn’t have minded Muriel’s shotgun right now.
‘We’ll use the back door if it’s clear,’ she murmured in his ear. Gypsy was so focused on the front door Darcy was confident that there was no movement in the rear. Major had joined in as well now.
‘You’re going to go over the back fence with the bags and wait for me.’ He shook his head and she glared at him. ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t be stupid. And don’t be a bloody hero again.’ She peered out the window beside the back door. Both dogs were scrabbling at the front of the house now. It was going to be tight. Hurry up, Noah. ‘Okay, over the fence and hide in the trees. Mind the roos. They’ll take off as soon as they hear us coming.’
‘Thanks.’ He went with a nod and the briefest touch of his hand on her shoulder.
She waited until she saw him disappear into the trees, then wrapped a towel around her hair and yelled at the dogs.
‘All right, all right. Can’t I have a shower in peace? Noah, you idiot, did you forget your key again? Down, Gypsy. Major, sit!’ She fumbled with the locks, grasping Gypsy’s collar for courage, thinking that this might well be the most stupid thing she’d ever done.
‘You’re late, Noah. Oh, sorry . . .’ She smiled at the two men filling her doorstep and patted her towel turban, hoping she looked embarrassed. ‘Surely you’re not selling something at this time of night?’ Major went to push past her before they could answer. ‘Sit,’ she snapped. His bottom hit the floor, but he was still growling in symphony with Gypsy. ‘Sorry. He’s not good with strangers. It’s not a convenient time, really.’
