Only We Know

by Victoria Purman

  Sam looked into her eyes. ‘Let me talk to Ben and I’ll meet you outside. Okay?’

  He didn’t let go of her arm until she replied.

  ‘Okay.’

  CHAPTER

  25

  Calla stood on the cliff top, the old pub at her back, and stared out into the darkening afternoon sky. The horizon was slowly disappearing into the fading violets and greys of twilight, and low, full clouds hid the mainland in the distance. In between, the dark ocean was white capped and choppy. She pulled her coat close around her but it wasn’t enough to ward off the chill wind: it threatened to snap-freeze her heart. Or something did.

  Across the water, over the hills, was home, and Calla wished she could click her heels together like Dorothy and magically be back there. More than ever, she wanted the predictability and comfort of her own precious house. Her life, recently so complicated and heartbreaking, had to get back to boring as quickly as possible. She’d thought sorting out her issues with Jem would simplify things and set her up for a new chapter in her life. But on the way, it turned out, were tremors, these little earthquakes, that could so easily knock you off your feet and shake the foundations of everything you thought you were.

  Jem was on the island. He was alive and had clearly worked very hard to keep away from her for two years, to avoid sharing anything of his happiness with his family. What she’d just learnt made the search for him more confusing, not less.

  Would he want to see her? Was he too ashamed? Was he still hurt? Did he still blame her and Rosie for their parents’ actions? Some things had felt broken beyond repair, and this relationship might be one of them — too poisoned by the fallout from her family’s secret pain.

  Calla was beginning to think her fool’s errand had only made a fool out of her.

  She tried to see the waves and the peace of the view, but the only thing swimming before her eyes was the last fight. Awful and ugly words had been exchanged. Vows had been made; bitter, harsh accusations that had haunted Calla in the two years since. Things that couldn’t be unsaid or unheard. Things she wished she’d never said, had regretted every day since …

  It had been a fracture as painful and as sudden as a bone breaking. On the day their father died, after lingering bitterly with cancer for months, their mother’s secret had finally been revealed in his will. She’d never told them anything about it, had never had the chance for questions or explanations, so they had no way of preparing for their father’s brutal revelation.

  It was a secret as old as Jem.

  Their mother’s secret was Jem.

  While the funeral people murmured over Frank Maloney’s body, Calla and Rose went looking for his paperwork. Tucked in a kitchen drawer, stuffed under unpaid bills, old paper bags and rubber bands and broken pens and pegs, were his title deed and his birth and marriage certificates — and his will.

  In it he laid out his final retribution: Jem was to receive nothing, because someone else was Jem’s father. Their father had bequeathed his estate — a rundown house, that was all — to his two girls, Calla and Rose.

  The words had blurred before Calla’s eyes. And everything suddenly, sickeningly, made sense. Frank had railed against having a third child and everyone in the family knew it. Jem’s arrival became another tool he used in his verbal warfare with their mother. It made him an angrier man, not a better father with more love to share. Once Jem was born, he retreated into his anger and his bitterness and the fights in the family became worse. Their father must have known about him all along. Their mother must have had a dark-haired lover, at least one, and Jem must have looked just like him. He’d always been the odd one out. Their mother, Rose and Calla were redheads. Their father was blond before he’d turned grey in his forties. Jem was the black sheep.

  The only son.

  The gypsy.

  The evidence of guilt.

  The blameless kid who’d been blamed and shamed by their father since he was born.

  As soon as Calla had seen the words, she knew she had to tell Jem the truth. She’d called him over to their father’s house, quivering with fear and a new grief that had nothing to do with their father’s death. When he arrived, looking pale and nervous, jittery and dragging on a cigarette, she felt sick all over again. They’d gone outside to the garden and when they were sitting down on the broken bench under the tall gum tree by the back shed, she’d handed him the will. It had been spring and the new leaves on the trees filtered the light and the perfume of jasmine was too happy for what was going on.

  Jem read the words silently. He didn’t say a word. He stood, stubbed out his cigarette under his foot and began to walk away.

  ‘Jem. Where are you going?’ Calla reached for him and grabbed his arm.

  ‘I’ve got to g-get out of here.’ His words were a stammer and a sob shook his chest. He pulled away from her and strode across the long grass.

  ‘Wait. We’ve got to talk about this.’

  At that moment, Rose walked out the back door, a scrunched-up tissue in her fist. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m leaving.’ And his voice grew louder as his face contorted. ‘I’m getting away from this fucked-up family for good. That’s what I’m doing.’

  And then his tears came, shattering all of them. Calla went to him, holding him from behind, trying to comfort her little brother in the way she always had. It used to settle him when he was anxious, when the screaming voices of their parents woke them in the night. Calla, his protector, would crawl into his bed and hold him until he fell asleep.

  ‘You’ve still got me, Jem. You’ve still got Rose.’ Their sister was watching on, still. Tears fell from her eyes and dripped on to her T-shirt; two dark stains on her chest.

  Jem accepted Calla’s comfort for only a moment, and then struggled from her embrace. ‘I hate him. I hate Mum. Look what they’ve done … look what they’ve done. Did you know?’ he shouted.

  ‘I had no idea,’ Calla said.

  ‘Me neither,’ Rose said.

  ‘Who’s my father if it’s not Dad? Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jem.’

  ‘They’re fucked up, both of them. And they’ve fucked up this family.’

  ‘Jem …’ Calla couldn’t bear it, couldn’t take that they were now fighting, the three Maloneys, who’d hated it so much. When she tried to hold him again, he struggled and twisted and flailed and Calla stumbled backwards. One foot landed on the edge of the concrete path and she lost her balance, fell backwards, her arms instinctively flying up in the air. The last thing she saw was the blue, blue sky.

  Then, there were voices.

  ‘Calla!’ Jem, sobbing and calling her name.

  ‘Shit.’ It was Rose, her voice a whisper.

  The smell of jasmine. Squinting eyes against the sun. The long grass tickled the back of her neck. There was a jagged pain at the back of her head and her bones were still rattling under her skin and sending a throb from her toes to her hair.

  ‘You hit your head on the Hills Hoist.’ It was Rose.

  ‘Fuck. Calla. Are you okay?’

  Her brother and sister looked down on her but all she could see were shadows. Backlit by the bright sunlight, they looked like her little brother and sister once more, peering down at her in wonder at the way she’d held on and held on as they’d spun the clothesline around and around, faster and faster, her legs dangling free and wild, until she’d lost her grip and tumbled, somersaulting in the grass.

  They each took an arm and gently pulled her to sitting. When Jem saw the blood on the grass, he stepped backwards. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ Rose cried.

  ‘I’m okay. Jem, I’m okay,’ she murmured and it hurt when she spoke.

  ‘Look what he’s done to us. Look.’ Jem’s words were even angrier now. ‘I hate that stupid prick. I hate …’

  And before he could finish that sentence, he was gone.

  Calla and Rose hadn’t seen him since.
>
  And now Calla was so close to finding out if those final moments still haunted Jem as much as they haunted her. Did he want his family back? Did he give a shit about her and Rose?

  That’s what she was on the island to find out.

  What if he still hated her? What if he wanted to shut away what had happened and never, ever face it again? She faced the possibility of confronting yet more hurt and anguish or, worse, harsh indifference. Maybe he didn’t care at all, was happy to stay as far away as possible.

  What had she done?

  The wind gusted up the cliffs and froze Calla’s nose. Rose’s words haunted her like the icy chill. Maybe this had been a huge mistake. A folly, driven by who knew what in Calla’s head, that as Rose had predicted would only end in tears.

  She could feel it forming already, the colours of hurt and sadness and regret, turning into a picture in her mind. Jagged lines. Blacks and greys. Hard angles. Dark shapes. She should ring Rose and tell her what she’d discovered, and she would. In a few minutes. When she’d finished processing it in her own head first.

  There were footsteps behind her and then Sam was by her side. He didn’t speak for a moment, just stood with her and looked down over the rocky cliffs to the water, to the mainland. His home was over there too. She wondered if the island still had a mysterious pull for him, as it seemed to for lost souls and the disappeared. Maybe it had worked some kind of magic on them, too, bringing to life the mysterious thing between them.

  ‘You all right?’ Sam asked with a nudge.

  ‘It’s cold. It makes my nose run.’

  Sam shrugged off his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. His fingers brushed against her neck as he turned up the collar. It was still warm from his body and Calla could smell his aftershave on it. She breathed it in.

  They stood in silence while she tried to get her head together about this man, her brother, the island and her ridiculous idea that she could create a happy family out of pain and heartbreak.

  Calla sighed, pulled the lapels of his jacket closer together, crossed her arms inside it. ‘Thanks for your coat.’

  Sam smiled down at her. ‘You’ve survived the boat trip, a trolley bingle and a car accident. Can’t take a risk that you might catch pneumonia.’

  ‘No.’ She laughed. ‘Then you’d really be stuck with me.’

  ‘There are worse things than being stuck with you, Calla Maloney.’ He held her eyes, gazed at her without blinking. Calla barely heard his words but she knew damn well how they made her feel. Her head was losing its grip on her primal reaction to this man. She wanted him, craved his touch, wanted to feel his skin against hers. Wanted his mouth and his hands and his body. She could no more fight their electric connection than she could change the weather.

  He stayed close, their bodies touching through their layers of jumpers and coats. Calla kept her eyes on the fading horizon. ‘I’ve figured out something about you, Sam Hunter.’

  ‘You have? And what would that be?’ There was a tone of resigned amusement in his voice; she wasn’t the first woman he’d met who’d tried to scrutinise and analyse him.

  ‘You’re … kind.’

  Sam furrowed his brow. ‘Kind?’

  ‘Yes. And it’s not an insult, you know.’ Inside the job and the alpha male and the machismo, there was a man who had done nothing but help here since they’d met. She knew him enough already to know that he would never want to be thanked, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t let him know how much it had meant to her.

  Sam rubbed his hands together against the cold. ‘Sounds like another word for “nice”. No man wants to be thought of as nice, Calla.’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh no, I didn’t say you were nice. Nice is your neighbour or a person who serves you in a shop. Kind is different. Kind is about being switched on and generous, Sam. About making someone coffee in the morning and remembering exactly how she likes it.’ Her voice hitched. ‘You’d be surprised at how little kindness there is.’ Calla gestured back to the ocean and the mainland beyond it but her eyes didn’t leave his face.

  ‘Kind.’ He said the word as if he were trying it on.

  ‘You like looking after people, don’t you?’ she said. ‘And that’s not because of your job. It’s maybe why you chose it. I think it’s who you are, in there.’ Calla turned to him, rested her palm against his chest.

  Sam took a deep breath and his shoulders straightened. He reached for the lapels of the jacket around her shoulders and pulled her in to him. ‘Some people make it easy, Red.’

  He murmured the words against her lips and it was torture. She wanted to kiss him, to open up to him, with an urgency she’d never felt with any other man. She felt the danger in those feelings but couldn’t stop them.

  ‘Some people have warm hearts,’ Calla murmured and then didn’t wait for him. She took his mouth, hot and quick. His cold lips set her on fire. Inside her big coat, she was burning up. She reached for his cheeks, loved the cool skin under her fingertips and then his tongue was in her mouth, dancing and owning her. His arms were around her inside the coat and he pulled her so close she couldn’t get any air in. Their lips parted on a heavy breath and, for a moment, Calla forgot where she was. Forgot her own name.

  But she’d never forget the man who was kissing her.

  Calla fluttered her eyes closed and wished she could describe the colour of what she was feeling. Deep Bliss. Tingling Turquoise. Ready Red.

  Sam kissed her eyelids. His lips were hot now, not cool, and she felt their tender touch against her eyelashes.

  ‘We probably have an audience.’ He pushed her hair off her face, played with the curls.

  ‘People in the pub?’ Calla murmured. She didn’t open her eyes to look, didn’t have that much energy. Every ounce of everything she had was pooling in her groin, about to ignite.

  ‘I mean Ben. He’s probably posted a video on Facebook by now.’

  Calla snuggled in to Sam, rested her head on his chest and held on to him. She could feel his heart beating against her cheek. She didn’t want it to stop, this knee-trembling desire she was feeling. Sam held her tight. He stroked her hair softly.

  ‘The fishing shack that Jem and Jessie are living in? It’s been in the family for years. I thought it would’ve blown down by now, but Ben says they’ve been doing it up.’

  Calla eased her arms from around him, and stepped back. ‘Sounds like everything has worked out for Jem, then.’ She didn’t want to feel angry, not after that kiss and not after his words to her. She wanted to hang on to how she felt, to keep it in her head as long as she could to keep all the pain out.

  ‘Yeah. Lucky guy. Jessie’s a great kid.’

  Calla ran a hand through her hair and pulled the lapels of the jacket together. She felt cold without Sam’s heat. ‘I hope he deserves her.’

  ‘He’d better or he’ll have Ben to contend with. And me. Listen.’ Sam reached for her hands. ‘It’s almost dark. Why don’t we grab a bite to eat here and then head back to your cabin? I’m sure we can find some more wine. And then in the morning we’ll go and see them. The shack’s a good drive east, almost all the way down to Flinders Chase.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Sam—’

  ‘It had better be about fucking me.’

  Whoa. He wasn’t just thinking about it. By the press of his cock into her belly, she could feel that he was halfway there without her, even through the layers of his jeans and hers.

  She clearly had some catching up to do. Calla rubbed her body against him and he groaned.

  ‘That’s my going-away present, is it? It’d better come gift wrapped.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I do want to fuck you, Sam Hunter.’ She met his eyes. ‘One night would be incredible. But after that, I’m going home.’

  CHAPTER

  26

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Sam let go of her like she was a lit match. ‘We get one step closer and you want to go home? Is this a
game to you or do you really want to find your brother?’

  Calla’s head was spinning. Lust and confusion and a giant dose of what-the-fuck swirled in her head. The anger she’d been trying not to feel about Jem hit boiling point. ‘You don’t understand my family, Sam. There is no way you can understand how confused and pissed off at him I am right now.’

  ‘You are driving me crazy.’ The intensity of his gaze on her face was a little unnerving. The lips that had sent her to near bliss a minute earlier were pressed together in anger.

  ‘And I’m already crazy. So join the club.’ Calla crossed her arms in fury so she wouldn’t poke him in the chest. ‘Tomorrow I’ll be getting on the boat and going home. If it’s not too much trouble,’ even she could hear the dripping sarcasm in her voice, ‘could you please drop me there in the morning?’

  ‘Why the hell do you want to go home now? We know where your brother is. You’ve come all this way to find him and we’ve found him.’

  Calla felt her anger rising again. ‘Didn’t you hear what Ben said, Sam? Jem’s made a life here. He’s happy, apparently. He has someone in his life. He’s a father. Well …’ Calla stumbled on the words, wanted to fight the tears in her eyes and the catch in her voice. ‘Good for him. But you know what? Fuck him.’

  Sam stared at her blankly. ‘What?’

  ‘Life’s worked out perfectly nicely for Jem, hasn’t it? And my sister is getting on perfectly well with her life with a man who adores her, thank you very much; but what have I got to show for the past two years? I’ve put my life on hold! I haven’t felt like I deserved anything good while my family was so fucked up. And it’s all my fault that it’s still that way. It was always me who had to keep them safe. It was always me who fixed things. I’m the big sister, don’t you know? I’ve worried myself sick about Jem and—’ Calla stopped herself. Spent way too much time in love with someone I couldn’t have.

  ‘And what? What else has happened to you?’

  Calla wiped her eyes. The cold tears stung her cheeks. ‘Oh. I can’t talk about it. Not to you. I’m too pissed off. I’ll say it again: fuck him.’