He should really be staying on in Lincoln for a few hours to clear some decisions away, but he felt very uneasy about leaving Jemima in the run and was keen to get home. She was safe enough, but he still felt guilty. Squish had whined at leaving her behind too, which had made it all so much worse. He felt bad about leaving the kittens and imposing on Auntie Ethel too, not that she seemed to mind. He’d hoped to bring them along, but there really wasn’t enough room and Tina would have had kittens herself if asked to nurse the box on her lap. While she was being supportive of his venture, that support clearly didn’t stretch to developing an affection or even, it seemed, a tolerance for the furry creatures in his care. Thank God he had Auntie Ethel and Philip Havelock. He was so disappointed – far more than he thought he should be – at missing Philip’s visit. His feelings were ridiculous, given Eileen and Philip would be moving over permanently before too long.
Damien had asked Ethel if she’d drive Tina down to the plane instead, but while she’d sympathised, she’d refused, pointing out that it wouldn’t pass muster with Tina. It was part of the politics of the place: just like one must stay with one’s own flesh and blood, one must ferry one’s flesh and blood to airport and return, else the tongues would be set wagging. Absolutely mortifying for the likes of Tina McAllister. There were reputations to uphold and social norms to conform to. Sometimes it did Damien’s head in, but he always went along with all the palaver because that was less painful than a glacial, purse-lipped glare of disapproval from the ice-queen, his mother.
‘I’m still disappointed Lucy wouldn’t have me stay,’ Tina suddenly said with a huff before folding her arms tightly across her chest.
‘I think it’s more that she couldn’t, rather than wouldn’t.’ Damien felt the need to defend his sister. While they didn’t have much of a relationship these days, Lucy had rung after the fire and they’d had quite a nice chat – better than they’d had in years. Anyway, while he thought it high time Lucy put up with their mother for a few days, he did feel for her. He got the distinct feeling Lucy really didn’t like Tina. And Lucy wasn’t as good at putting her head down and not taking the bait, just shutting up, as he was. He’d had way more practice.
‘And can you believe I have to find a taxi and then her office on my own? She couldn’t even meet me at the airport!’
‘Hmm. It might be fun – an adventure,’ Damien ventured. God, I really am getting better at thinking positive. It’s even starting to come naturally.
‘Yes, well!’ was Tina’s response – the fallback when she couldn’t find a decent retort to carry on an argument. They descended into silence.
‘So how’s everything going with you? How’s the romance?’ Tina said suddenly, shattering Damien’s peace.
He thought about lying rather than opening himself up for more questions and a possible interrogation. Just the thought of Jacqueline made him glow warmly with happiness and feel very sad and annoyed all at once. He said: ‘Everything is fine. But Jacqueline and I … we’re no longer seeing each other.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. She seemed nice enough. Probably for the best, though.’ Damien noticed out the corner of his eye that she was staring at her hands and fidgeting with the strap of her handbag.
‘Why do you say that, Mum?’
‘Oh. Well it’s probably not really right, is it, you seeing her when she’s been your therapist?’
Damien’s antenna shot up and a split second later the blood froze in his veins. No, surely not.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me, Mum?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You tell me.’ He’d have loved to have stared her down until she answered, but as he was driving, all he could do was shoot her a quick, icy glare.
‘I heard it’s not allowed – relationships between patients and therapists. And for two years even after the professional relationship has stopped,’ she said, a little defensively.
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Um, I’m not sure now. But it doesn’t matter if you’re not seeing each other, er, romantically. As I said, it’s for the best. Jacqueline could have got into a lot of trouble.’
‘She did,’ he said quietly. And then louder: ‘She has got into a lot of trouble, Mum.’
‘What? No, but …’ Tina McAllister’s head shot up and there was a second before she managed to compose herself where Damien saw the truth, confirmation of what he’d been beginning to suspect.
‘You dobbed her in, didn’t you? How could you?’
‘It was for your own good. I did it for you. But I fixed it. I took it back, wrote another letter straight away when I saw how much she was helping you.’
‘Well, she’s received a please explain letter from the medical board. You’ve got her in deep shit, Mum. Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone? I was happy. For probably the first time in my life, I was truly happy.’ His heart clenched, but he was too angry for tears to form.
‘I was upset, angry, worried about you …’
‘Worried I might be happy, more like. Worried I might learn to stand up for myself. You can’t fucking control everyone and everything, Mum. You just can’t.’
God, he so badly wanted to pull over and yell at her to get out. He couldn’t look at her, didn’t want her anywhere near him. He was so angry. Worse – disappointed. He thought they’d turned a corner.
‘I was worried. I still am.’
‘So why? Why would you do this to me, to us? You’ve put Jacqueline’s whole career in jeopardy. She might lose everything. And the district. She’s good for this place. She saves lives. I can’t believe how fucking selfish you’ve been.’
‘But I tried to put it right. I wrote again straightaway.’
‘So you said. And as I said, it doesn’t matter. Jacqueline’s in trouble and it’s all because of you! What did you think would fucking happen?’
‘But …’
‘Don’t fucking speak to me. Just shut up.’
Damien was disappointed in himself for being so fired up, and for how he’d spoken to Tina. No matter what she’d done, she was still his mother. His father would have clipped him across the ear if he’d been alive to hear it.
They drove on in silence. What was done, was done. But still he felt white hot with rage.
He found a spot in the shade for Squish, parked, then poured out some water in the bowl he always carried and put it on the floor. He told the dog he’d be back in a bit, gave him a pat, and left the vehicle with a window open several inches. Tina waited beside the ute for him to retrieve her heavy bags from the back.
He strode into the terminal and up to the vacant check-in counter, Tina hurrying to catch up. He went and stood by the far wall while she checked in, nodding and smiling and grunting greetings to the five or so people he saw that he knew. He wanted to be anywhere else doing anything else. He cursed the eastern Eyre Peninsula for being such a small, isolated place. There were only two towns serviced by commercial airlines – here and Whyalla. No matter what time or day you set foot in here, you were almost guaranteed to bump into someone from your own district – or that you knew from outside it. Thanks to his CFS work and the recent Port Lincoln fires, he knew a lot more people from down this way. Today he reckoned he would have considered giving up his left arm to have stood there anonymously, not knowing a soul. He wanted to leave, but once more good manners demanded he stay put and see the plane into the air.
He felt a right bastard thinking it, but right then he hoped his mother would leave and never come back. What the fuck had she been thinking? Trying to protect me, my arse. Trying to deal with your petty insecurities more like. Fuck. What a fucking mess.
He found himself making small talk with a group of people. He had no idea what he was saying but he must have been doing okay because he wasn’t getting any funny looks. And even better, his mother was talking too and they didn’t have to speak or let on there was tension between them.
Finally h
e was watching the trolley of luggage being dragged across the tarmac, and then hugging his mother awkwardly goodbye as a show to those around.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Tina said into his shoulder.
‘Have a safe trip,’ he said through gritted teeth.
Then he watched as she and all the other passengers made their way across the asphalt towards the plane in a ragged line and then, after a final wave, climbed up the steps and out of view in the winged machine. Damien found himself feeling strangely sad as he waited by the window for the door to be closed, the empty trolley brought back, and then the flick of the propellers. But he reminded himself of what she’d done, and felt a renewed sense of disappointment.
He itched to get back to Squish in the ute – better yet, to have stayed out in the car park with him and watched from behind the chain-link fence. But, again, you couldn’t. Oh no, it was another of the unspoken rules of existence – was it just country people, or city folks too? You had to wait until the plane actually left, had taken off and was in the air. And if you didn’t, you would somehow be caught out – like the plane not taking off after all and your loved one being stranded. It was easiest to just conform.
It seemed to take an age for the droning, roaring engine to warm up and for it to then taxi out, turn around, and finally tear down the runway and lift up into the air. It felt to Damien that there should be a round of applause or something to conclude the slightly tense wait. But no, one by one, everyone turned from the window and earnest chatter ensued as they made their way out of the terminal and into the car park to retrieve their vehicles and get on with their lives. Damien was swept along with them, waving and mumbling his goodbyes.
He climbed into his ute cab and settled heavily into the upholstery. Squish climbed onto his lap and tried to lick his face. Damien wanted to push him away, wanted to push something away, expend some of his angry energy, but didn’t. He rubbed the dog’s face automatically, still in a trance. He felt totally betrayed, bereft. He put the key in the ignition, but sat back again. God, the last time he’d felt like this was the day of ‘the Incident’. But, no, this was different, wasn’t it? This was pure anger and disappointment – and not of his doing and out of his control. The day he picked up the gun he’d had a feeling of being completely out of place and out of sync with himself and the world. And he’d had the courage to do something about those feelings. He didn’t need the actions of one person to control him, consume him, drag him down now. He’d come too far for that. But fuck, he was angry with his mother. Thank God he wouldn’t be seeing her for a while.
Damien slowly started to feel a little better, calmer. He turned the key and carefully manoeuvred out of the car park and onto the highway. He really should have turned left instead of right and gone and chosen some taps and carpet and stuff, but it was the last thing he felt like doing. He just wanted to get back home, where nothing had changed.
As he drove, he wondered whether he should tell Jacqueline what his mother had done. But what good would it do? If he kept silent, it would be less embarrassing for him. If he didn’t, she might spend her time wondering who’d dobbed her in, looking over her shoulder, scrutinising everyone. It might even stop her really settling into town. She had to be wondering if that Jacob creep was a part of all this. No, he thought, with a deep sigh, I’ll have to tell her. And soon.
Chapter Twenty-one
Philip, Eileen, Ethel and Jacqueline sat under a big shady tree on the lawn at the end of the jetty overlooking the sea. They all groaned with bliss through their first mouthfuls of food, agreeing that the fish and chips were the best they’d had in a long time. Maybe even forever, Jacqueline thought.
‘Sorry, seagulls, too good for you,’ Ethel said, shooing away the first of the pesky birds. They were the one thing about the seaside Jacqueline didn’t enjoy – she tended to give in to them. Clearly Ethel wasn’t such a pushover.
Jacqueline stared at the waves rolling in, and became mesmerised. She thought she could sit here all day in this meditative state, pretending she didn’t have a care in the world.
‘I wonder what the other half are doing,’ Philip said, leaning back after finishing his lunch. It was something he often said when content and enjoying the simple pleasures of life.
‘Not having nearly as much fun as us, I’ll bet,’ Ethel said, taking the words out of Jacqueline’s mouth. ‘Thanks so much for this.’
‘Pleasure,’ Philip said.
‘Yes, what a good idea,’ Eileen said.
Before long they had bundled up their rubbish and were lying back on the grass, letting their food digest while watching the world go by. Jacqueline couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed and fought to keep the negative thoughts and worries from ruining it. That was the only trouble with sitting so quietly: the tendency of her mind to wander. They were all so still and silent that at one point Jacqueline thought the others might have fallen asleep.
‘I sure could go an ice-cream,’ Eileen said suddenly, shattering the peace. ‘But I’m too comfortable to get up. Philip, would you be a dear?’
Since when do you say, ‘could go’ anything, Mum? Jacqueline thought. Her mother was full of surprises these days. And she expected her father to say, ‘What did your last slave die of?’ but he didn’t.
‘Of course, my darling. What would you like?’
‘Did they have tubs back there for scooping, did you notice?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘I don’t remember seeing any,’ Jacqueline added.
‘Well something in a packet would be lovely – anything, surprise me.’
‘Okay. Ethel, Jacqueline? My treat.’
‘Oh, yes please,’ Ethel said. ‘I haven’t had an ice-cream in donkey’s years. I’m happy to be surprised.’
‘Righto, four ice-creams coming up,’ Philip said, easing himself to his feet.
‘Do you need a hand, Dad?’
‘No, I’ll be okay. You sit and relax.’
‘Okay. Thanks’
‘Yes, thanks Philip,’ Ethel said.
‘You’re a darling,’ Eileen said, waving her husband off.
It seemed like only a minute later when Jacqueline heard her father’s voice again. Had she actually dozed off?
‘Look who I found,’ he said.
Could it be …? How long did it take to get to Port Lincoln and back again? She sat up quickly, anticipation building.
‘Hi,’ said a deep voice.
‘Oh, hello again,’ Jacqueline said, pulling herself together and trying to decide if she was pleased or disappointed. She looked away from watching him slowly running his tongue around something icy sticking out of a tube. It was probably best the older ladies were sitting and couldn’t fall down in a swoon.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Paul asked, of no one in particular.
‘Make yourself at home,’ Ethel said, patting the grass beside her.
‘Yes, please do,’ Eileen said. Jacqueline thought she heard her mother licking her lips.
Philip handed out ice-creams and they all sat in silence unwrapping them. Jacqueline tried hard not to look at Paul, but his careful actions were as mesmerising as the coming and going of the waves. She realised she was eating far too quickly – her ice-cream was disappearing fast. She stopped and took a deep breath.
‘Thanks, Dad. This is lovely,’ she said.
Eileen and Ethel followed suit, mumbling their thanks and agreement.
‘So, are you a surfer?’ Eileen asked after a few moments of silence.
Jacqueline glanced across and for the first time realised Paul wore a wetsuit pushed down to his waist, empty arms hanging by his sides, leaving his chest bare. In place of a T-shirt was a very impressive set of abs. How the hell had she missed that two minutes ago? She devoured her ice-cream, while trying really hard not to stare and also wondering when she’d become so shallow. She reminded herself of her mother’s earlier words. No harm in looking, enjoying the view.
‘Yes, whe
n I get the chance and the waves are half decent. Here’s not the best place, but I thought I’d pop by for a look. Not bad for beginners. Jacqueline, do you surf?’
‘Me? No. Never tried it.’
‘Do you want to?’
Without a swimsuit? You’re kidding, right? No, no bloody way! ‘Um. No, thanks. I’ve just eaten.’ It was the first thing that came to mind.
‘You do know that’s a myth, waiting twenty minutes after eating before swimming, don’t you?’ Ethel said, idly plucking at her wrapper.
‘Yes. Go on, be a devil,’ Eileen said.
‘Not without a swimsuit, I’m not. I’m not ten!’
Standing Strong Page 16
