Starting Over

by Susanne Bellamy

  A low gasp, a whispered, ‘I’m sorry,’ and the door closed softly behind her.

  Paul slumped on the stool. How close had he come to being suckered by another Frankston? The sob story about looking for her father had sure pulled him in. Why hadn’t he questioned her arrival in town on the same day as Frankston?

  He thumped the table and stared through the window as the sound of her car engine faded.

  Dammit. No more entanglements with Frankston and his family. The blinkers had come off and he was going to throw all his energy into getting the co-op up and running.

  That would put a stop to Frankston and his daughter. To their plans of revenge on the Careys and Mindalby.

  He breathed deeply. The scent of strawberry filled his lungs. The scent of Serena. Caring, kind Serena who had travelled to Sydney on his behalf and got him a buyer who—

  Was that part of an elaborate hoax too? Another of Frankston’s schemes, part of the fraudster’s revenge?

  He pushed away from the bench and strode into the bedroom, grabbed an overnight bag and threw in toiletries and a change of clothes. He’d sort out next season’s cotton seeds and meet the man from the Cotton Board.

  If he existed.

  And put as much distance between himself and the Frankstons as possible. He rubbed his chest above his stupid heart. It ached for his loss.

  But how could he lose what he’d never had?

  Switching off the lights, he walked through the workshop and pulled the door shut. He paused with his hand on the knob, then dug into his pocket for his keys and locked the door. No point in being careless with a Frankston in town.

  He dumped his bag on the passenger seat and started his engine.

  First stop, Bourke.

  ***

  ‘Welcome back!’ Dawn opened her arms wide.

  Serena stepped into her mother’s familiar embrace and burst into tears. Great noisy, gulping sobs shuddered through her body.

  ‘I saw him, Mum. I did what you said and told him …’

  ‘Oh, my darling girl, come inside. Trish has the kettle on and it’s toasty warm in the lounge room.’ Her mother took her hand and drew her down the hallway, opened the lounge door and stepped aside.

  Aware of another person standing by the fireplace, Serena wiped a hand under her nose and patted her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I need to freshen up.’

  ‘Later. This is important, and I have a suspicion it’s relevant right now.’

  Sean Flynn rested one hand on the mantelpiece and watched as her mother drew her into the room. Compassion shone in his eyes but there was something else. Something familiar. The woodworker had shaved off his beard, and his strong chin and jawline were visible.

  Dawn drew her across to the fire. ‘Sean is my Starman. He’s your father.’

  From the depths of her misery, something clicked into place inside Serena, like a missing piece of a jigsaw. After all these years, was it truly possible her family was united at last?

  ‘Hello, Serena. I hope this isn’t too much of a shock for you.’

  A strangled sob robbed her of speech and she flung her arms around Sean’s neck.

  Sean’s arms—her father’s arms—wrapped her against his chest.

  ‘Dad?’ She stepped back and wiped her cheeks. ‘I love that word.’

  Sean chuckled. ‘I love hearing it on your lips—daughter of my heart.’

  Sniffling and thrilled and disbelieving at the same time, she stepped back and looked from one to the other. ‘Tell me all about how you found each another. Why didn’t you tell me after the performance at the picnic?’

  And why hadn’t she come here first, before calling in to see Paul?

  But now she knew the worst.

  Paul was like Max after all. He didn’t care enough about her as a person to see past her supposed parentage. Her heart didn’t know whether to shrivel up at his betrayal, or lock him out and focus on her father, newly-found and everything she’d ever imagined him to be.

  The three of them sat side by side on the sofa. Wedged between both of her parents, it was as though one part of her world had righted itself.

  ‘May I, Dawn?’ Her father looked to her mother for permission to take up their story.

  Dawn nodded. ‘She needs to hear your story now, not another retelling of mine.’

  ‘I came to Australia from my home in County Cork when I was twenty. I had family here. You’ve met them, I think—the Careys?’

  Some of her happiness diminished at mention of Paul’s family name. Not that it mattered now. She was related to Paul, albeit less closely than she’d imagined. And she’d lost the man she’d fallen in love with. Admitting that now was bittersweet.

  ‘They’re a lovely family.’

  ‘Aye, they’re grand folks. And they took me in and offered me work. There was little employment in Ireland, but Joe Carey—he’s your Paul’s grandfather—wrote to my pa inviting me to come work on the cotton farm.

  ‘Jake and Josh were supposed to meet me at the Brisbane airport after their conference, but me being the young idjit I was then, I broke my flight for a stopover in Bali. When I landed in Brisbane, customs hauled me in. Ye see, I was a bit of a rebel in those days—hair in a Mohawk, Balinese sandals on my feet—and they weren’t keen to let me into the country. Lucky I had Joe’s letter as proof I had a job waiting or I think they’d have put me on the next plane out.’

  Dawn reached across Serena and squeezed his hand. ‘Fate wasn’t going to keep us apart, was it?’

  ‘Anyway, my cousins waited and waited and finally decided I wasn’t on the flight and left. They did leave a message, just in case, saying they were going home via Byron Bay so I hitchhiked my way down to the festival, only to find I’d missed them once more. But I found your mother and spent the best three days of my life with her.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. But why Starman?’

  Dawn laughed. ‘We both loved Bowie’s music and Sean’s hairstyle at the time was quirky so he became Starman to my Aurora. And I guess that, along with our pseudonyms, we both looked different enough when we met again at the picnic that neither of us was sure. My chemo had taken its toll and all that facial fuzz your father had grown threw me. It was only after we visited Sean at the commune that I started wondering about him, and then things slowly fell into place.’

  Misty-eyed, Serena put an arm around each of her parents’ shoulders and drew them into a family hug like those she had imagined as a child. Their story was the stuff of family legend. ‘Wait a minute, you said cousins. Are you first cousins with Paul’s father?’

  Sean—Dad—she wondered how long before that delicious name became second nature on her tongue—shook his head. ‘I’m no good at working all that stuff out. I guess either second or third cousins.’

  ‘Not first cousins?’

  ‘Definitely not first.’ Dawn was firm in her dismissal of the notion. ‘Jake’s and Josh’s children, if he had any, would be first cousins. Sean is a distant cousin of theirs, so you and Paul are sufficiently removed that any … involvement between the pair of you is perfectly fine.’

  Her father grinned. ‘I should warn you about the Carey-Flynn men.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Dawn interrupted. ‘They’ll worm their way into your heart and your bed quicker than you can say Blarney Castle.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Look at the pair of us, both fallen for the same type of man in less time than it takes to whistle Tipperary.’

  And both had lost the men they’d fallen in love with. Was that a family trait too? She was thrilled for her parents. Finding one another after so long was pretty amazing, but the way she’d lost Paul—

  The coffee she’d drunk at her last stop on the drive back to Mindalby turned sour in her stomach. There was no coming back from that sort of rejection. If she wasn’t enough for Paul in spite of who they had thought her father to be, then he wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be. She wouldn’t spoil this family r
eunion with another meltdown, not for anything in the world. Dragging a breath into her aching chest, she hugged her mother again.

  Trish entered carrying a large redwood tray laden with her rose-patterned china and teapot. ‘Is now a good time for tea?’

  ‘Aye, that’s grand. Allow me.’ Sean rose and took the tray from her and set it on the coffee table.

  Trish poured cups of tea and offered a plate of rich fruit cake. ‘Well, I guess all your smiles mean good news?’

  Dawn’s grin grew wider. ‘The best. Serena has found her father.’

  Trish spluttered, and looked from Sean to Dawn. ‘You mean …? Oh dear. I hope you’ll forget any inappropriate comments I may have made.’

  ‘Oh, Trish, I’m delighted to know I’ll be the envy of many women in Mindalby when they enjoy that view.’

  ‘Mum?’ Unease prickled down Serena’s spine. Maybe she was more tired than she realised but her mother’s comment sounded suspiciously like—‘Are you thinking of staying in Mindalby?’

  ‘Not precisely. Sean has invited me to move in with him. I’ll be moving out to the commune tomorrow.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mixed emotions tumbled through Serena as she sat in her father’s yurt, watching her parents prepare lunch. After a lifetime where family meant just the two of them, simply saying my parents and seeing them together should have been enough.

  Sean was everything she’d dreamed of as a child. He was the sort of man who would have built not just a tree house, but a tree palace for his daughter among the red gums. And while Dawn had made a wonderful life for the two of them, close and loving, and more than enough, it was only now, seeing how she glowed from within around Sean, that Serena understood the different kind of loneliness that had been her mother’s companion. A loneliness she was coming to know, that constantly dragged her thoughts back to Paul.

  Thrilled as she was by the fact Sean had turned out to be her father, the same hole remained in her life. She knew who could fill it, but Paul was out of her reach now more than ever.

  Chewing the end of her pencil, she looked down at her sketch of Sean. As far as her project went, she was determined to finish the series of sketches and contribute to the recovery of Mindalby.

  She added a little more shading then tossed the sketchbook aside and stared through the heavy glass window into the potbelly stove. Fragrant scent released from deep within the burning redwood logs perfumed the yurt. Orange, red, and gold flames danced along the wood, beautiful as they devoured windfall timber. Embers glowed deep in the heart of the fire and the wisp of an idea for a dress the colour of flames, floating, rising and falling on the slightest breeze, teased her imagination.

  Layers of chiffon over burnt orange cotton, but how could she achieve the effect of—

  ‘Jake said he’ll be back in town today. Why don’t you go and see him again?’ Sean’s question broke into her frustration with her inability to grab the idea.

  ‘Who, Jake?’

  ‘Paul. He went to Bourke on business.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Aye, macushla.’ Her father wiped his hands on a tea towel and sat beside her on the couch. He picked up her sketchbook and flipped through a few pages, stopping when he came to a sketch of Paul.

  Laughing eyes, cheeky grin—her heart took another tumble and she snapped the sketchpad shut.

  He dropped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer. ‘You have it bad for him, don’t you? Go and talk to him.’

  ‘Last time we spoke, I told him my father was the man who almost killed his father. If he can’t see past that to who I am, what’s the point?’

  ‘Second guessing is useless. Frankston was bad news all round and your claim to kinship with him would have been like a tsunami hitting Paul. If you talk to him, then you’ll know how he feels.’

  Leaving Paul after dropping that bombshell had been one of the hardest things she’d done but he’d asked her to go.

  She’d known the uselessness of trying to talk further then and left. But was her father right? The shock had knocked Paul for a six and she had accepted that was the end of them. Maybe that wasn’t fair.

  Sean continued. ‘On top of that, he was worrying about his brother and afraid Hayden would end up doing something drastic. And on top of all that, he lost Jack.’

  Serena thought about Paul’s connection to Jack. The boy had grown into a man beside his faithful companion, and no dog would ever fill that loss in the same way. But Paul was caring and gentle. ‘He needs another dog.’

  ‘My Jessie dropped her litter a few days ago. I’ve a mind to offer one of her pups to Paul. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a great idea.’ She rested her forehead against her father’s cheek and inhaled the tangy scent of red gum that clung to him. Small curls of the red wood dotted his forest-green jumper, lodging in the cable knit pattern. He smelled of wood with a hint of honey from cooking lunch. ‘I’m so glad we found each other.’

  ‘So am I, me darlin’. My only regret is missing out on all those years when you were small. It would have been fine to have watched you grow.’

  ‘I’m here now, Dad.’

  ‘Aye, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.’

  Dawn rested a hand on each of their shoulders for a moment before announcing, ‘Lunch is served.’

  ***

  ‘Good of you to drive out to meet me. Jeff Smart from the Cotton Board.’ The acquisitions manager changed his leather briefcase from his right hand to his left and shook Paul’s hand.

  He’d been easy to pick as he entered the arrivals door of the regional airport at Bourke, amid the plaid and denim shirts of graziers and the fly-in fly-out workers’ safety jackets.

  ‘No problem. We can talk as we drive. You said you’d seen some of my work already?’ The terminal emptied quickly as they walked to the carpark. Paul led Smart to his ute and they climbed in.

  The biggest surprise wasn’t the swirls of cerise, lime green, and mango in Smart’s tie, or the relief he expressed as he removed the tie and shoved it in his pocket.

  The surprise was that the man existed.

  Serena hadn’t lied about her trip to Sydney, or her success in finding a potential buyer for Paul’s work.

  And that fact threw Paul. Because it blew apart his ready acceptance that she was like her father. The Serena he’d come to know had nothing in common with the conman.

  Nothing but a name she didn’t even lay claim to.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘The photos Ms Quinlan presented have us very excited about your project. It’s funny, the timing couldn’t have been better.’

  Drawing his attention back to Smart, he turned onto the highway out of Bourke. ‘Timing? In what way?’

  ‘Our organisation is moving headquarters into new, bigger premises and the plan is to make the reception area something of a showplace of Australian art. Ms Quinlan’s proposal and enthusiasm for your work arrived as we were allocating artists for each board member to visit. As I say, perfect timing. It was almost as though someone knew someone.’ Smart cast an assessing look his way and waited.

  ‘Don’t look at me. I don’t follow big business in the news. My interest lies in creating artworks in leather. I began this piece to fill a commission that fell through.’

  ‘For the Mindalby mill owner, yes, Ms Quinlan mentioned him. Shame about the mill. It’s odd that it closed when cotton prices are at a decent level.’

  ‘The closure has hit the town hard. It was the biggest employer and many local businesses are—were—dependent on the mill. We have set up a plan to save ourselves though.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘We’re currently raising funds to set up a co-operative.’

  Smart nodded and they discussed the opportunity to revive the mill for the rest of the drive into Mindalby.

  ‘Tell me, is Ms Quinlan a friend of yours?’ Smart’s expression said he was all too interested in P
aul’s answer.

  Testosterone surged along with the desire to beat his chest atop the highest point he could find.

  She’s mine. Besides, you’re too old for her, mate.

  But she wasn’t his.

  ‘She’s a friend. We’ve been out a few times.’

  ‘I got the impression she planned on staying in Sydney. Guess I was wrong. Pity.’

  ‘Her studio is in Sydney.’

  ‘Studio? She mentioned nothing about a studio. Is she an artist like you?’

  ‘Designer. She created a line of fashions to show at the cotton festival.’ Serena had focused her efforts on gaining Smart’s interest in Paul’s work and said nothing about herself or her work. If she was Frankston’s daughter, he hadn’t passed on his opportunist genes.

  ‘You should see her sketches. Her talent deserves more of a showcase than just an outback festival.’

  ‘Interesting. I must have more of a chat with Ms Quinlan. Someone with her drive and determination, not to mention her design skills, could be a great addition to our team. Glad you mentioned it.’

  They pulled up beside Hayden’s vehicle outside the Cotton Bale and climbed out. The garden was neat thanks to Paul’s tenants’ efforts and the building’s potential as a family home was clear, just as Serena had suggested. It hurt like hell to imagine living here without her, but if his comments to Smart smoothed the way for her to be picked up by the Cotton Board, it was no more than fair.

  Since when had he wanted to make life fair for a Frankston?

  Inside, Emily had moved furniture around until the space had the feel of an art gallery-cum-cafe, and she’d cleaned it to within an inch of its life. Thanking his lucky stars she had squatted in his building, Paul shot her a grateful smile as he introduced Jeff Smart.

  ‘Ms Handford, Mr Carey, great to meet you.’

  ‘Call me Hayden. My father is Mr Carey.’

  ‘I’m Emily.’ She moved to stand beside Hayden, who casually dropped an arm over her shoulders.

  In the back of his mind, Paul noted the small intimacy. He filed it away for future consideration as Jeff Smart shook Emily’s hand.

  ‘And I’m Jeff. Great.’ Pleasantries ended, he turned to examine the leather panels. ‘The photos don’t do justice to your artistry. These are spectacular. How many do you envisage for the full work?’