Only We Know

by Victoria Purman

  Sam ruffled her hair, more like an uncle than a cousin, and he smiled warmly at her. He couldn’t hide his emotions from Calla, though. She could see the tension in the crease between his eyes, in the clench of his jaw.

  He checked his watch, looked to Calla. ‘It’s time to go. We’ve got to head up to the church.’ Sam put a guiding hand in the small of Calla’s back. It said, You’re coming with me.

  Of course she was.

  ‘We’ll see you all there,’ he said to the others.

  ‘We’ll be right behind you,’ Auntie Ruth said. ‘That is, if we can find your father, Jessie. Check by the bar.’ The women turned and dissolved back into the crowd.

  Sam reached for her hand and they turned to walk to the door out to the street.

  ‘Wait.’ It was her little brother’s voice. She closed her eyes, could hear him saying the same word a million times over when they were kids, trying to keep up with his two big sisters. Wait! Wait for me! Let me come! Why can’t I come!

  Calla looked over her shoulder.

  He hadn’t moved. ‘Can I talk to you before you go home, Calla?’

  ‘Sure.’ And then she walked out into the bracing wind with Sam to Charlie’s funeral.

  CHAPTER

  47

  Calla didn’t remember much of what happened at the church. She was by Sam’s side as people greeted him and hugged him, murmured their condolences and shed their tears. She wasn’t religious and didn’t know the verses being spoken, but Sam’s family did and she could see that the words were a comfort to them, a ritual that had meaning and purpose.

  And after, at the Penneshaw Cemetery, there were more tears. She’d stood next to Sam the whole time, her left hand tightly holding on to his, her right gripping his forearm through the sleeve of his black suit. It was so cold. She’d buttoned her woollen coat but somehow the wind still seemed to seep inside her. It blew hard and frigid up on the cliff top and the hundred or so people gathered around huddled together to hear the service.

  When she’d wiped her fogged-up glasses, she’d noticed the two other headstones next to Charlie’s final resting place: Jean and Andrew. Sam had been here twice before to bury someone he loved. And that’s when she let her tears flow freely. She wasn’t afraid to feel sad for Sam, to let her feelings spill out of her the way her tears did. She was hurting for him and there was an ache in her chest so tight that it crushed her lungs like a vice. Her tears were unstoppable, trickling down her cheeks and her neck, into the collar of her shirt. She was finally letting go of so much, grieving, as Sam was, for the death of her own parents.

  She let herself look at him, and saw that Sam was crying too, the tears drizzling down his face. She was glad for him. He didn’t need to be a stoic hero that day, of all days, and she watched him wipe the tears with his free hand.

  When Sam had gently released himself from her grip, and stepped forward to sprinkle a handful of dirt on Charlie’s coffin, she moved back subtly and blended into the crowd as people milled around to follow Sam’s lead. She didn’t want to see that. Couldn’t think of the wooden box being lowered into the ground and covered forever. She hadn’t had to face it before; both of her parents had been cremated, their ashes scattered from the cliffs of Willunga across the water on the Fleurieu Peninsula. Not for them permanent memorials or gravestones or a generational connection to a place on a map. Generations of Hunters would be buried there, a connection to the history of the island that Calla couldn’t imagine feeling for any one place. Even in death her family wouldn’t have wanted to be together.

  The repeated hollow thud of dirt hitting Charlie’s coffin was too much for Calla. She wanted to support Sam, but she couldn’t intrude on such a moving and private family moment when she was an interloper to this gathering. She felt as if she’d stumbled upon a stranger’s funeral. She half expected Sam’s family and friends to turn and scowl, outraged at her for sharing their private grief.

  There were things about her that they couldn’t know. What she didn’t want to explain was that she knew what it was like to bury a parent. She’d shared pain like this before. Twice. Death was final and permanent and irrevocable, but mistakes and secrets and accusations didn’t die. They lived on and haunted the next generation, who carried their burden deep in their hearts, right alongside the memories of two people who perhaps should never have married.

  Death was a stark reminder to the living that life went on, and that life was complicated. That was inescapable. Calla knew that her life would greet her the next day and the day after that and the day after that, in all its accidental messiness. She couldn’t simplify it; she had to embrace it, to take that half-empty glass and fill it with hope rather than fear.

  The service ended. The crowd thinned as mourners began to form smaller groups to talk and remember and head back to the wake at the pub. Calla saw a couple of umbrellas appear and then felt raindrops on her face. She spotted Sam, saw his head above the crowd, being hugged over and over and patted sympathetically on the back. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her warm coat and blinked away fresh tears. When her vision cleared, she could see Jem striding over to her, a determined look on his face. He was alone, having left Jessie and Auntie Ruth talking with some others in the crowd.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, Jem.’

  ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’

  She sniffed into the icy wind. ‘Never liked funerals very much.’

  The wry look on her brother’s face said more than his words could. ‘Yeah.’

  They stood together in silence for a while, looking back to the sombre gathering of people.

  ‘Look,’ Jem said abruptly, ‘I need to apologise for how I acted when you came to see me at Hidden Bay.’

  Calla shrugged. ‘Jem, it’s okay, really.’

  ‘It’s just that … it stirred up a lot of old memories for me. Things I don’t want to think about. About our family.’

  ‘I understand.’ Calla said and tried to find a smile. ‘I’m glad I saw you. It gave me the chance to say what I needed to say and give you the cheque. Rose and I want you to have it. Please take it.’

  ‘Is Rose still angry with me for disappearing too? Is that why she didn’t come?’

  ‘Oh no. She was too pregnant to travel.’

  ‘Really? Rose is pregnant?’

  ‘Was. She had a baby last week. A little boy called Flynn.’

  ‘No way.’ Jem beamed.

  Calla found her phone in her pocket and swiped the screen. ‘Here he is.’ She handed her mobile to Jem.

  He wiped the drops of rain from the screen and then stared at the shot with wordless wonder. ‘Wow. Shit. You’re not going to believe this. That’s exactly what Ella looked like when she was born. Isn’t that incredible?’ Then he laughed. ‘Must be Mum’s side shining through, huh?’

  He smiled, handed the phone back to Calla. ‘Tell her congratulations for me, will you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you have any kids, Calla?’

  ‘No,’ she said. The oldest of the three Maloney siblings. The only one not to be settled. She had so much to catch up on.

  ‘You still painting?’

  ‘I didn’t for a long time. But, yeah, I am.’

  ‘I’m glad. You’re the one with the real talent in the family, Calla. Always were.’ Jem paused, stared off into the ocean. ‘Listen. I’ve been thinking about the money.’

  Calla waited while the wind whipped around her ears.

  ‘Jessie’s been crook at me for not wanting to take it.’

  ‘It’s yours, Jem. What Dad did, cutting you out of his will, was unforgivable. We couldn’t take it all; you must have known that. Rose and I didn’t want to be a part of hurting you. Ever. That’s why I came here, to tell you that. I needed it to be over. Please take it. You’re a father now; I’m sure you’ll need it.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You can start with “thank you”,’ Calla said. How
could she possibly have more tears to shed? She lifted her glasses and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘You were always my family, Jem. That wasn’t a lie. But you know what? It’s your choice now. Mum and Dad are gone. It’s you, me and Rose. If you walk away from us, that’s your choice. But don’t you think Ella would want to know us? Don’t you think Rose’s baby will want to know his cousin?’

  Jem looked at her with tears in his eyes. ‘I hadn’t thought of any of that.’

  ‘We are our family now, Jem, not Mum and Dad. We can make our own rules about exactly what that family looks like. If that works for you, maybe you can come and say hi next time you’re over in Adelaide.’

  Jem huffed, but grinned. ‘Jessie would kill me if we didn’t.’

  ‘I really like her. You going to marry her or what?’

  ‘Shit. I don’t know. Can’t say I believe in marriage. She wants to, though, and it’s important to her mum and dad. You know, the church and everything. She likes you a lot, you know, Jessie does.’

  Calla’s heart shifted. That was nice to hear. ‘As I said, I really like her.’

  ‘She thinks Sam is madly in love with you.’

  It would probably look like that to outsiders. The two of them, together on the island and now again for Charlie’s funeral. No one could know what was in Sam’s heart. Calla wasn’t even sure that he knew. She smiled at her little brother. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I hope he is, Calla. They’re a good family.’

  ‘How funny,’ Calla mused as she looked back at the crowd of people around Sam. ‘Would anyone have ever said that about our family, Jem? That we were a “good family”?’

  ‘I reckon we’re getting there, don’t you?’ Jem studied his shoes for a moment, then hurriedly took two steps to Calla and enfolded her nervously in a hug. ‘I’ll see you.’

  He turned and walked over to Jessie and Ella, and didn’t look back.

  Sam pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears. The rain was setting in, hastening everyone else’s departure, but he’d held back, watching Calla and her brother talk. They were standing a distance away from him, silhouetted against the big, pale sky; the low clouds smothered the view of the mainland in the distance and swept the rain across the island. From what he could see, it seemed to be conciliatory. Even from a distance, he could see Calla’s smile.

  Charlie’s funeral had brought Calla’s family together, as well as his own. Wouldn’t the old man think that was pretty good? Sam was glad Jem had finally found enough sense to talk to his sister, to hopefully make his peace. He hung back, watching her hair as it blew around her face in the wind, seeing how she’d huddled inside her big black coat.

  He could wait for her. Yeah, he would wait forever for her.

  When Jem hugged Calla and jogged off in the rain to his car, where Jessie and the baby were waiting, Sam ambled over to Calla. She was looking out to the ocean, not seeming to care that she was getting wet or blown around like a flag on a pole. She may have been a city girl, but there were no high heels or pretensions with her, no fake city bullshit; just honesty and kindness and thoughtfulness. The glass-half-empty woman who’d seen hope in Sam and in his relationship with Charlie. The beautiful woman who’d snuck inside his heart when he wasn’t looking and found herself a home there. There she was, waiting in the biting cold and the freezing rain for him on a blowy cliff top by a cemetery. Her words rang in his ears. Can’t say it’ll be the best date I’ve ever had, and he repeated them to himself as he bridged the distance to her, step after step bringing her closer. The rain had dampened her curls but not their colour. The sadness of the day hadn’t taken the shine from her eyes.

  She looked like she’d been waiting for him too.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  Sam locked eyes with Calla as he unbuttoned his big coat. He held it wide and wrapped it around her as she snuggled inside, her arms snaking around his waist, her cheek on his chest. ‘It is now.’

  ‘Good.’ Sam wrapped his arms around her. Tighter. Stronger. Forever.

  ‘Lots of people came,’ Calla said.

  ‘They did. I haven’t seen most of them in years.’ He’d been gone from the island so long that he’d lost touch with how small communities rallied around a family in death. They’d done it when Andy had died, and for his mother. Their presence that day had not only been a farewell to Charlie, but a tribute to the whole Hunter family. They were honouring its history and its links to the island. Six generations had been born and raised there, had been part of the fabric of the place. Sam was too.

  Sam had thought his family was gone, but maybe he just hadn’t taken the time to look around properly to see who was left.

  Calla lifted her head and her unblinking green eyes, swimming with tears behind her glasses, looked up at him. ‘Lots of people loved Charlie. And lots of people love you, Sam. They came out today for you. You know that, right?

  He met her gaze. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ she asked. ‘Shall we go back to the pub?’

  Sam pressed his lips to her forehead. There was something he needed to say to Calla. And he knew the perfect place. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  CHAPTER

  48

  Sam backed up his four-wheel drive and pulled on to the road. They headed southeast, past the spot on Hog Bay Road where Sam had come across the accident the day after they’d met. He slowed the car near a spot where bunches of flowers were still taped to a roadside marker. Calla felt a shiver across her shoulders, and wondered about fate. How it had ended the lives of two people that wet and freezing day, and had brought her and Sam together.

  Life was one big accident waiting to happen, wasn’t it? It wasn’t something you could plan ahead like a school lesson. You had to let yourself fumble through it and hopefully, if you were lucky and the timing was right, you’d find your way to your own happiness. All the mistakes, all the detours and regrets were about navigating your way to that happy ending, Calla realised.

  She’d gone to the island with a plan to change her life, to simplify it. Her broken heart, an island, a firefighter and her long-lost brother had taught her something she’d never expected to learn: that you can’t choose where love finds you. All you can do is open your heart to it.

  Calla looked across at the man sitting next to her. Spectacular Sam. She wasn’t going to let him go.

  They drove for nearly an hour before Sam turned into Roo’s Rest. He slowed the vehicle to negotiate the muddy track up to the house, and then pulled up in front of the veranda. As he turned his key, the rain slowed and stopped. Above them, the clouds had blown over and there was a clear blue sky.

  They stepped out of the car and walked up to the front veranda. Charlie’s big old wooden chair was still there as was the log of gum he’d used as a place to put his cup of tea.

  It felt so quiet and Calla suddenly realised why. She glanced around, from distant green hills to the front fence. ‘What’s happened to the dogs?’

  ‘Uncle Clive and Auntie Ruth took them. Ben was lobbying hard but farm dogs are no good as pets. They’d go nuts on a normal block. They need too much running.’

  Calla could understand that. They’d lived and played and worked at Roo’s Rest. Like Charlie, the dogs couldn’t be confined. They needed the space and the sky and the freedom of a place like this as much as he had.

  They kicked off their boots at the door, went inside and Sam strode over to the fireplace to work his magic on the frigidly cold house. Calla rubbed her hands together to warm them and left her coat on until Sam had the kindling alight and the fire was starting to glow. When orange flames began to lick at the log he had placed across the kindling, Calla shrugged off her coat and backed up to the fire to warm her bum.

  Sam padded over to the kitchen in his socks. ‘Won’t be long and it’ll be as warm as toast in here,’ he said as he rifled around in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers and searching the fridge.

 
‘You’ll never get cold with a firefighter,’ Calla whispered to herself.

  ‘Huh?’ Sam turned to her.

  ‘Nothing.’ Watching Sam in the house he’d grown up in, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d miss Roo’s Rest. When they’d been back in Adelaide, he’d made it clear that he hadn’t wanted a bar of the place, not even when he was a kid. His dream had always been to leave. But there they were, in Charlie’s house, surrounded by silence and the sky and the wind, in what Calla thought must be one of the loveliest places on earth. Where the air was clean and the water pure; where the atmosphere was so clear you could see your dreams and reach out and grab them if you had the courage.

  ‘Voilà,’ Sam said and held a bottle opener up in the air. ‘I need a drink. You?’

  ‘I’d love one.’

  He opened an overhead cupboard and frowned as he grabbed two glasses, clinking them together as he carried them. ‘Yeah, well, looks like it’s Vegemite glasses again.’

  Calla smiled at him. ‘I really don’t mind.’

  He brought them over to the fire, set them on the low coffee table with a clink. ‘I’ve got a bottle of red in the back of the car. I’ll just go and grab it.’

  When Sam started to move to the door, Calla called him back.

  ‘Wait. I’ve got a better idea,’ she said, and his eyes, his lovely dark chocolate eyes, shone the firelight back at her. ‘Why don’t you stay here and look after the fire? You know, being the firefighter. I’ll get the wine. I need to grab something from out there anyway.’

  Sam reached for her, his hand light on her arm. ‘Make sure you come back.’

  There was nowhere on earth she’d rather be than there, with a fire and wine, and with the spectacular Sam Hunter. ‘If I get lost, make sure you come and find me.’

  He grinned and it was so sexy her mouth went dry. ‘You bet your arse I will.’

  Calla tugged on her boots at the front door, ducked outside in the biting wind and opened Sam’s boot, retrieving the wine from its secure spot wedged between their cases. It was a very good bottle of Shiraz, she noticed, from South Australia’s Barossa Valley. She unzipped her bag all the way around and pulled out the bubble-wrapped parcel she’d brought with her from home. She tucked it under her arm, and then spotted her Ugg boots. She grabbed them too.