Safe Harbour

by Helene Young

  Darcy looked at her mother in disbelief. ‘When did he work it out?’

  ‘They did blood tests when you were little, you were so sickly. Your blood type didn’t match mine or Stirling’s.’

  Darcy felt the impact to her very core. Stirling wasn’t her father. Part of her was delighted that she didn’t share his genes, but a larger part didn’t know how to react, how to feel. This was not the conversation she’d expected to be having with her mother. She was glad she was sitting down.

  ‘So why did you stay together? Why not just get divorced?’

  Beverley shrugged. ‘I loved him. You forgive a great deal for love. He could have thrown us out, but he didn’t. You have to give him some credit for that.’

  ‘Credit? Knowing Stirling, he had an agenda.’

  Beverley nodded. ‘Probably.’

  ‘And that’s why you accepted Grant? What on earth did Grant’s father make of that?’

  ‘I don’t think he knew. Grant’s mother committed suicide, they said. I always wondered if it was because Stirling chose to stay with us. Grant’s father worked so hard, he was never around. Whatever the case, Stirling got his son and I had you, my beautiful daughter.’

  Darcy was silent. Too much for her to absorb properly.

  ‘You’re angry with me. I understand that, but I tried to make us a family. It’s just . . . I lived in fear that one day he would leave and that everyone would know my marriage was a sham. I’m sorry that I was more a wife than a mother. I’m sorry that I put Stirling first. You are my daughter and I love you, but I’ve let you down.’ She looked devastated. ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me. You had Rosie and I’m grateful for that. She gave you all the love I couldn’t.’

  Darcy fought back her tears. ‘Rosie always used to say families weren’t about blood, they were about spirits. I thought she was talking about her and me. Maybe she was talking about you and Stirling and Grant.’

  Beverley’s hands were clasped together, the veins prominent under the fine skin. ‘Maybe she was talking about all of us.’

  ‘So why tell me this now?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to, ever. I don’t know who your father is. I have no way of ever finding out. But now Stirling’s gone, I thought you should know.’

  It didn’t ring true. ‘And the tests you had done in Sydney?’ Darcy asked gently.

  Beverley’s head shot up. ‘Tests? Who told you?’

  ‘Rosie.’

  Beverley looked down at her hands. ‘I didn’t want to tell you until I knew one way or another.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The cancer’s back. I need to have chemo.’ She looked up at her daughter and her mouth puckered. ‘I’m scared, Darcy,’ she sobbed. ‘Scared that I’ve left everything until it’s too late. Don’t make my mistakes.’

  Darcy reached for her mother, murmuring soothing noises, but Beverley’s words struck home. She needed to see Noah. She needed to explain that everything she thought she knew about her world was false except for one thing. She loved Noah Moreton.

  31

  It took Noah a good two hours to work through the paperwork, answer phone calls and get his office in order. Being stood down might work effectively in a station that had more than a couple of staff, but in a one-cop community station it was just an annoyance.

  His temper had abated, leaving behind a deep sadness. Finally telling Darcy the truth should have been cathartic; instead he felt drained. And Conor and Darcy? Hadn’t he already acknowledged that he had no claim on her? Conor must have written the letter on Darcy’s iPad before the shoot-out, so who knew what he wanted to achieve with it. Hadn’t she told him, shown him, last night that she cared for him, maybe even loved him?

  Several times he picked up the phone. Once he even let it ring through, but it went straight to message bank and he hung up.

  He slumped on his couch and stared at the blank TV screen before reaching for his guitar. The strings under his fingers steadied him as the soulful music filled the air. But instead of comfort it brought memories of his youth, when life was uncomplicated. A time when he serenaded Darcy whenever he played for her, even though she never knew it. When the only thing he had to win her love was his music and his teasing. She’d grown from a young girl in optimistic yellow dungarees, to a coltish teenager in swimmers, maturing to a determined but wary young woman. He’d loved them all, but most he loved the woman she’d become with compassion in her guarded heart and hope still in her eyes.

  ‘Fuck it.’ He stood the guitar back in its stand. ‘You’re an idiot. Darcy Fletcher has always been worth fighting for.’

  He pulled out his bike leathers and helmet. He hadn’t ridden it in months, but the police car was out of bounds and the hire car had been returned, so that left him with two-wheeled transport.

  By the time Noah kicked down the stand and rested the motorcycle in front of Darcy’s ute his nerves were back. At least she was home. He knocked on her door, but there was no answer. Neither dog came to greet him. He walked around to the back of the house and stopped for a moment, surveying the gardens. Everything looked freshly watered.

  He heard a faint bark from the creek and headed down to her back boundary. They’d found the path when she’d first inspected the place. He eased through the strands of wire. The trees cast a soft dappled light and the temperature dropped as he made his way towards the sound of the creek. The scent of eucalypts was heavy in the air. The dogs were both further upstream, playing in the water.

  She’d pushed the long sleeves of her T-shirt up past her elbows and was sitting with her arms resting on her denim-clad knees. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was crying. It tore at him. This was the woman he’d loved for all of his adult life and a large chunk of his adolescent years. This was the woman he’d hurt so badly this morning with his petty jealousies and guilt.

  ‘Darcy.’

  He lowered himself onto the bank beside her.

  She turned her face away, wiping her cheeks with her palms.

  ‘I’m sorry, Darce, I was out of line. It was none of my business. It’s been a horrendous couple of days.’

  She nodded, struggling to compose herself.

  ‘You’re entitled to be mad with me,’ he continued, ‘but . . .’

  ‘Don’t, Noah, don’t.’ She held out her hand to him and he curled his fingers around it. Her voice was low, husky. ‘For all these years I thought it was me, me who’d made him crazy. I’ve always blamed myself for what happened.’

  ‘You?’ Noah was puzzled. ‘Why would it have been you?’ It had never occurred to him that she’d feel this way.

  ‘It all sounds so stupid and sordid now. We went out on the boat and he said . . .’ She shook her head. ‘He said he loved me, that we belonged together, that he wanted to be with me so he could take that memory to Sydney with him.’

  Noah let the silence sit.

  ‘He kissed me,’ she said, ‘but for whatever reason it freaked me out. I told him we had to go back, that I couldn’t sleep with him, that Dad would kill me. He . . .’ She hesitated again. ‘He tried to change my mind and I went a little bit nuts as well. Scratched him, slapped at him. He got really mad then and started the motors without checking. One of the ropes was over the side. It got caught in the propellers and then wrapped around the rudder. We had no motors, no steering and he lost it. Said I was always giving you both the come-on.’ Her eyes were haunted.

  ‘No, no. He had no right to say that.’ How had he missed seeing she was carrying this burden for all these years?

  She tried to smile. ‘You were so angry with me when you found us, but even worse, you looked so disappointed with me. When you went to Brisbane it felt like you deserted me just when I needed you most.’

  ‘Darcy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about Grant then, but I had no idea how you felt. I didn’t tell anyone about the drugs because it seemed so pointless. He was gone. It wouldn’t bring him back. I was terrified that I’d lose you too. I
felt as though you were already pushing me away. And, Darcy . . .’ He waited for her to meet his gaze, ‘I love you. I’ve loved you since the day we met. We’ve both made some bad choices along the way, but I’ve never stopped loving you.’

  He thought he saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. He pushed on. ‘I’m sorry for judging you about Stein. I have no right to that opinion.’

  ‘Oh, Noah.’ She leant across and pressed her lips to his cheek but she still had tears in her eyes. ‘Beverley left a little while ago. Turns out there are more secrets in this little cove than I would have believed possible.’ She took a deep breath and held his hand even tighter. ‘Apparently I’m not Stirling’s daughter. I’m the product of a one-night stand.’ She pulled a face as Noah digested the news.

  ‘I don’t know how I feel about that yet, except maybe relieved that there was a reason for my dysfunctional family. But Beverley . . .’

  Tears glistened in her eyes again and Noah moved closer to snuggle her up against his side, wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He guessed what was coming.

  ‘Her cancer’s back. I don’t think I could bear it if I lost both my mothers,’ she managed to say through her tears.

  All he could do was hold her, love her as the soothing sound of the water tripping and curling around the rocks filled the silence between them. He stroked her hair, the silky strands soft against his palm, pressed his lips to her temple and savoured the feel of her pressed against him. Finally she raised her face to meet his.

  ‘Thanks for coming back.’

  He smiled. ‘Nowhere else I’d rather be. I’ve got your back, Darcy Fletcher.’ And the truth was there in his kisses as he tasted the tears on her cheeks and saw the love shining in her eyes.

  THREE MONTHS LATER . . .

  The verges on both sides of the road were empty now that the last of the guests had trickled away. The first chill of evening had leached the heat from the day. The sky arched winter blue with a line of cloud on the western horizon. Rows of yachts anchored along the banks were reflected in mirror-image clarity.

  The sounds around her were familiar – the tinkle of cutlery, clink of glassware, the low buzz of voices and laughter as the staff tidied up. Above, a flock of white cockatoos screeched their approval. The thick heady smell of the winter flowers on the jasmine vines that crept their way along the fences filled the air. It may have taken an extra three months to finally open the doors, but it had been worth the wait.

  Darcy had a glass of champagne in her hand although she’d done nothing but wet her lips all day. Her hair, longer now, lifted from her shoulders in a swirl of breeze that came in off the ocean. Her chef’s whites were covered with a fresh apron, her feet sore from so many hours on them.

  She savoured the moment of solitude, reliving snatches of the day. Everyone from Banksia Cove seemed to have turned up plus many from Bundaberg. The out-of-towners from Sydney formed a clique at one end. Amelia looked like a fairy princess in a floating pink dress. Chantelle was cool and composed, despite a difficult few months. The fallout from the court case had seen Stirling’s name in all the news headlines. The glare of the media spotlight had eventually moved on as terrorists bombed another innocent marketplace in Afghanistan and bikie warfare erupted on the Gold Coast again. The death of a high-profile footy coach had finally become old news.

  Beverley’s treatment was going well, but she’d lost even more weight despite Darcy’s attempts to fatten her up. She’d spent the day in a comfy armchair explaining the buildings to anyone who wanted to hear. Darcy had come to appreciate the resilience, the strength in her mother who was so much more than she’d believed. Darcy had accepted the fact that she’d never know her biological father. Noah summed it up. ‘You had two mothers instead,’ he’d said one night as they sat on the jetty watching the lights come on in Banksia Cove as the sun turned the hills golden. He was right.

  Warm hands settled on Darcy’s waist and she leant back, loving the familiar feel of Noah’s chest against her shoulder blades. He’d been cleared by the police enquiry and was back at work. It hadn’t stopped him closing the police station for the day and donning a suit. The last time she’d seen him in one was at her school formal. Imposing as he was, dressed in a killer suit, she’d decided she preferred her man simple.

  ‘Almost done,’ he said, his breath tickling her neck.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Zeke’s got the kitchen sorted and everything else is just about finished.’

  Darcy laughed. Zeke was still in plaster after another operation on his leg, but had insisted he needed to be there. ‘He’s a champion in my eyes whatever happens with his footy career.’

  ‘He’s thinking of joining the navy now.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s interested in that program for ex-players. He’d be a good fit.’

  ‘He would. Maybe he’d even get an education.’ She couldn’t resist the dig and was rewarded with a nip on the back of her neck that sent desire shooting through her.

  ‘Did you see the huge bunch of flowers at the front desk? They were delivered about an hour ago. I thought you might want to read the card.’ Noah’s turn to tease.

  ‘Really?’ She looked up at him as he dug around in his pocket.

  ‘Really.’

  ‘You’ve read it?’

  ‘Just checking out the love letters.’

  Darcy rolled her eyes, then read it out loud. ‘You deserve only the best in life. Conor.’

  ‘Your boyfriend’s still pining.’

  ‘Ha, good to keep you on your toes.’

  ‘Except that he’s gone again,’ Noah retorted. ‘Did what he needed to do and now he’s skipped out of protection. I’m guessing they’ll never find him.’

  ‘It would be hard to be a protected witness for the rest of your life. Perhaps he really was trying to right the injustices.’

  ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps you just have a soft spot for him. A man goes playing footsies with the Russian mafia, he has to accept there are risks.’

  ‘You knew he was lying from the start, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’m just a humble community policeman. It’s above my pay grade.’

  She laughed again. ‘Come on. Rosie will be getting worried if we’re late.’

  ‘And we can’t keep her waiting.’

  ‘The myrtle tree’s flourishing.’ They both looked towards the spot by the boundary fence where Noah had found Rosie. A young sapling stood tall, staked either side and lapped with a sash to keep it firm. When it was older its shade would cool the expanse of lawn that rolled across to the buildings like a green carpet.

  Merle threaded her way through the tables. ‘You right, love?’

  ‘I am, Merle. Thanks for doing this.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, thank Rosie. It was her idea.’

  The three of them walked together down the short, wide flight of stairs and across the flensing deck. The jetty hadn’t changed in sixty years. The pylons were weathered, the wide planks soaked in oil with the rounded bolt heads punctuating each tread like rows of buttons on an overcoat.

  The wood echoed with their footsteps, the water glassy below. The wind had died as quickly as it had come. A halyard clinked on a yacht and further out an anchor chain rattled into life as one of the vessels readied to depart.

  The three of them stood on the end of the jetty. Noah propped a foot on the wide beam with its cracked rubber coating, slung an arm around Darcy’s shoulder. Further around the cove MV Sea Witch bobbed at anchor after a busy weekend out on the water. On such a serene afternoon it was hard to imagine a cold dark night with breaking waves pouring into the cove. The bright yellow of the vessel was an optimistic splash of colour as the sun started to dip, scattering the faintest pink through the clouds with the promise of fiery red to come.

  ‘Scattering the ochre,’ Darcy murmured.

  ‘Yeah, it’s a blessing, eh,’ Merle said.

  Darcy missed Rosie still. The deep ache didn’t swall
ow her as often as it had in the first few weeks after Rosie’s passing; the extra time it took to get Whale Song up and running had provided a distraction from the pain, a purpose.

  Countless times at the end of a long day Noah had found her on the jetty looking out to the ocean as the memories kept her company. The whales hadn’t come storming through the heads yet, but winter still had some time to run.

  The waters of the cove were turning pink as the sky above took on a red hue. The white sails of the departing yacht barely filled, the ripples behind it spreading out like silken ribbons as it glided through the water.

  Merle began to sing, low at first, a gentle hum that grew as she opened her arms wide. In the still evening the sound swelled, filled the air with the sorrow of the lament. Darcy couldn’t stop the tears, didn’t try to stop them, as she grieved for Rosie, her old friend, for a fractured family, for a boy who’d never really become a man. Noah’s arms tightened around her and she didn’t need to see his face to know he shared the emotions, understood that their tears were grief for the past, but also joy for their future.

  The note of Merle’s song changed. A wind bustled into the cove, whipping Merle’s skirt around her legs. Out on the water the sails filled and the yacht heeled over. A lone sailor, dark hair blown back, stood tall at the wheel as the boat headed for the wide oceans of the world beyond the breakwalls, beyond the sanctuary of the cove.

  Merle’s voice lifted in volume and tempo. The air seemed to vibrate with the power, the passion, so similar yet so different to Rosie’s song. As the yacht reached the narrow entry to the seaway a plume of spray hovered in the air ahead of it, then dissipated.

  A dark shape surged through the water, followed by another and another. They flanked the vessel, leaving a swirl of smooth water, then vanished beneath the surface again. The sky had deepened to crimson with a blaze of dark ruby close to the horizon. The sails were blood red as the boat turned the corner, skirted the rocks that had claimed Phoenix, and headed north, spray lifting from its bow. Darcy couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw a hand raised in farewell.