by Sean Kennedy
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
A Note From Our Sponsor
Warm-Up
Albany, Western Australia...
First Quarter
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Second Quarter
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Half-Time
From the Herald Sun, 10 August 2016
From the ReachOut, 16 August 2016
From the Herald Sun, 21 August 2016
From the ReachOut, 27 August 2016
Third Quarter
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Fourth Quarter
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Overtime
The call came, as you’d expect...
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Copyright
Tigers on the Way
By Sean Kennedy
Sequel to Tigers on the Run
Documentary producer Simon and ex-footballer Declan are taking some big steps toward a lasting life together. They’ve bought a house, and they’ll need it for the family they plan to start. Their friend Nyssa has offered to be their surrogate, and Declan couldn’t be more excited about being a dad.
For Simon, fatherhood is a huge, daunting commitment. But he sees how much Dec wants it, and he’s sure that together they can succeed in anything—despite his nagging worries.
Just as their new life begins to take shape, a health scare disrupts their plans at the worst possible moment. With time running short, Simon and Dec will have to bare their fears and doubts to each other so they can face them before their world changes forever.
It might mean a literal leap of faith.
This is for Sarah. Our friendship has survived for almost thirty years despite her hatred of The Grapes of Wrath and total disregard of the oeuvre of David Lynch—especially Twin Peaks—although we do have Jane Austen together.
Rest assured there will be at least thirty years more!
A Note From Our Sponsor
ALTHOUGH AUSTRALIA has recently, and finally, seen fit to give our community the right to marry, this volume of mine and Declan’s ongoing adventures is set during the dark times before this, until, I don’t know, some Hobbits threw a ring into the fires of Mordor and banished all evil from this land, or something like it.
But evil never entirely goes away, and there is still much of the good fight left to fight. So unfortunately you won’t be seeing our wedding in this story—let me assure you, it was fabulous—but you will another time.
Good things come to those who wait—and those who are denied something and have to wait and fight, wait and fight, fight and fight and fight. But still the Orcs keep coming. The war isn’t over, but this battle is well and truly done. Stick a fork in it done!
Love,
Simon Murray
Warm-Up
ALBANY, WESTERN Australia, may not seem like the first choice to make a life-changing decision, but in retrospect it was metaphorically apt. Albany is a place of renewal, of Mother Nature fighting back against the odds and producing something beautiful. It was one of the premier ports for whaling throughout Australia, and the whole town lived and died on the success of the industry that grew around it. Of course, that resulted in the wholesale slaughter and near extinction of many whale families. The station that skinned the carcases and extracted the oil emitted a foul odour that hung over the town like a Dementor waiting to strike. As Dec and I toured the old whaling station, we were told that if the temperature was high enough and the sun was out, the warm planks of the jetty would give off a remnant of that smell, and you could only imagine what the full stench would have been like when the station was still operating. It was town legend that the first group of antiwhaling protestors turned away of their own accord because they couldn’t stomach it. I don’t blame them.
But it’s a totally different town today. The station is now a museum, and Albany still makes its money off the whales—but through tourism and not death. The whales have returned in huge numbers, sometimes even swimming right up to the bay where their dead ancestors were hauled up, their blood attracting sharks and floating downstream to an early shore whose sands were stained red, still named Misery Beach. If you stand upon it today, you won’t see any remnant of its bloody history. Mother Nature has reclaimed its own.
You may wonder why I’m blathering on about a remote town you may never get to see yourself, but like I said, it was where Dec and I made the most momentous decision of our lives. We had been strangely quiet the first couple of days after arriving in Albany, but I had been mulling over the whales and how Mother Nature finds a way to continue on, and while sitting on a flat rock overlooking the Natural Bridge, I turned to Dec.
He was already expecting me to say something. Maybe he had arrived at the same thought at the same time. But I know that’s not true. He had been ready since the day Nyssa first suggested this crazy idea of surrogacy to us, not long after we had arrived home from our engagement party.
“Let’s do it,” I said. The water, crashing against the rocks so far below us, still managed to fly upwards and coat us in its spray.
“What?” He looked so hopeful, yet I could see the reserve in him. He didn’t want to be disappointed.
“Let’s cook up some babies.”
He groaned. “Simon, please don’t say it like that.”
“Like what? I’m only preparing us for what the right-wing homophobes are going to say, probably even some of your buddies from The Footy Show—”
“They’re not my buddies.”
They never were, especially after he came out. Declan Tyler was an anomaly to their blokey, outdated “comedy” that wanted to remain stuck in the 1970s. Maybe even in the 1850s, when the white men stole Marn Grook from the First Australians and claimed it as their own. Some of the guys on The Footy Show would have fit right in back then.
I just liked to tease him about some of his “colleagues.” “Anyway, all I’m saying is, we have to be prepared. So I use humour, so what? I mean, aren’t bad jokes meant to be a prerequisite for being a—”
The word seemed so strange, practically impossible, to say.
“For being a dad?” Dec suggested gently.
“A dad,” I repeated.
Then Dec was kissing me.
“I know you’re scared, but you’re going to be a great dad.”
I was scared, and I doubted I would be. But I had no doubts whatsoever about Dec being a fantastic father. It was a role he was born to play. As well as God of Football (TM).
He was always a good multitasker.
First Quarter
Chapter One
ONCE THE whole kid issue had been sorted, I decided to play my own hand.
“I think we need to get a bigger place,” I announced over breakfast one morning.
Dec froze, his coffee halfway to his lips. His hair was still wet from the pool that belonged to the residents of our building, but he had since changed into dry clothing. He normally preferred to go and drive to the nearest beach, but he had slept through his alarm—I hadn’t—and lazi
ly resisted my attempts to wake him up. It wasn’t very often he did that. “What?”
“You heard me.” I was nonchalant as all fuck. I had actually been planning this for a while. I knew it was a good idea, and Dec would see the logic in it. I just wasn’t sure if he would approve of my choice.
I felt a tiny bit bad about my Machiavellian strategies creating the hopeful expression on his face. “Is there a reason why?”
I shrugged. “We need more space.”
“Once again, for?”
“The no-kill animal shelter I want to run in our house.”
“Funny.” He sipped at his coffee before it went cold.
I stopped teasing him. “If we’re going to have, you know….”
A small smirk played upon his lips. “You still can’t say it.”
“I’m saying it without saying it,” I told him.
“That clears that up.”
“Come on, you know what I mean.”
He set his cup down again. “No, I don’t know. You could be talking about anything. You usually talk about the thing I least expect you to. For all I know, you could be planning to build a recording studio.”
“There’s an idea.” And my brain was already ticking over. Coby and I had recently decided to start up our own production house. The only problem was that all spaces anywhere close to the city had stratospheric rents, even if I did have my own sugar daddy looking out for me.
“No,” Sugar Daddy said firmly. “Work and home separate, remember?”
I snorted. “When has that ever happened? This apartment has been filming location, runaway teen shelter, boardroom….”
“Okay, okay. Build a recording studio if you want.”
I reached across and took his hand. “Dickhead. We need more space if we have kids.”
I don’t think he would have even been able to guess at the width of his smile could he see it. His head bent a little and he kissed the back of my hand.
“Doesn’t take that much to make you happy,” I said.
“Lucky for you.” He chuckled to himself, but his hand twisted under mine so he could hold it properly.
When he was absorbed back in his tablet, reading the day’s news headlines, I smiled to myself.
He must have felt my gaze, because he looked up. “What?”
“Well, it’s great that you agree with me. Because we have an appointment in an hour.”
Dec’s mouth dropped. “What? Are you kidding?”
“Nope. Better get in the shower.”
“And you better join me and save time,” he ordered, dragging me away from the table.
It didn’t take that much to make me happy either.
FOR THE second time that morning, Dec asked, “Are you kidding?”
“Nope,” I said with full confidence.
“Is this some Ghostbusters fetish thing?”
“Ugh, no, you know I don’t like that movie. Not the original, anyway. Toxic masculinity at its worst.”
“I just don’t get it.” And Dec’s perplexed state was blatantly obvious as he stood in front of the converted fire station. Heritage-listed, it still looked like a working fire station, although it was remodelled within and apparently had a swimming pool out the back. I thought it was beautiful and knew that if we had to move, it was the only place that could make me happy. Oh, sure, home is wherever Dec is, blah blah blah, but why not make it even better when you live in an old fire station that is most likely haunted? I mean, it had to be, as it looked the part.
“It’s a huge house,” I started.
“Fire station,” he reminded me.
“It’s a house now. It has six bedrooms. Six! God, you could have a Brady Bunch of kids fitting in there. Maggie could have her own room!”
Our poor aged cat didn’t need her own room when she would own the whole house regardless once we moved in. And I shouldn’t have put the idea of a multiple number of kids in Dec’s head. He looked way too happy at the thought. “It’s right on the main road,” he pointed out as another car whizzed by over the speed limit.
“We have a tram stop practically at our door.” And in a true cinematic moment, one pulled up right next to us, letting passengers alight. Dec ducked his head slightly to avoid being recognised, a habit he did unconsciously.
“When do you ever catch public transport?” he asked.
“I might if it’s right at my door. Anyway, there’s a huge dining room and kitchen, a spacious carport—I mean, I guess it had to fit two fire trucks, after all.”
“Too bad they didn’t leave one for us. That could have been fun.”
“I’d rather they left some of the uniforms. You’d be a hot firey.”
“You said the football field was too dangerous, but you like the idea of me as a fireman?” He grinned at the thought, and at my hypocrisy.
“A fantasy firey, Dec. All it would amount to is getting you into the uniform”—I gave him an exaggerated leer—“and getting you out of it.”
He rolled his eyes.
I continued. “There’s a nice garden with a swimming pool—”
“Okay, okay, are you getting a commission from the agent or something?” Dec asked, his hands on his hips as he looked up at the two-storey building. I could see his mind clicking over, and I knew not to push him until he had actually seen the interior. “Good location, though.”
“Piedimonte’s is just down the street, so shopping will be easy. The local library, good cafes, a vet, primary school, Northcote High, all in walking distance!”
He looked at me with a grin, and I zipped my lip once more. “You already see yourself living here, don’t you?”
“Well,” I admitted, “we have to see the interior first.”
When the agent arrived and we stepped inside, my heart was sold immediately. But Dec was more reserved. The agent, Dion, took me in hand, knowing I was ready to sign.
“Original floorboards,” he pointed out, and I let out a low whistle.
“The pole’s still here!” I shouted, forgetting decent volume levels, and ran over immediately.
“That’s real safe for kids,” Dec muttered.
“There’s a guardrail at the top,” Dion informed us.
I mugged at Dec. “See! Safety first!”
“We could have it removed if it’s a concern,” Dion said, desperate for a sale.
“Never!” I said, glaring at Dec. “The kids will be fine.”
“I’m assuming there’s stairs somewhere?” Dec asked.
Dion was only too glad to show him. “Can I just say, I’m such a huge fan of yours!”
I smiled to myself as they disappeared into another part of the house. Dec was now a captive of a besotted fan, and he would probably be having his ear talked off for the next ten minutes about his career, which would give me plenty of time to scout the place on my own.
But I couldn’t resist the pole. What I really wanted to do was overtake Dion and Dec on the stairs, climb over the guardrail, and slide down. I knew Dec wouldn’t be impressed, but now he wasn’t around to see me, what would it matter?
I ran up to the pole, grabbed it with one hand, hooked my left leg around, and swung with natural motion—
Promptly flying off, hitting the wall, and landing on my arse.
While also crashing through some neatly stacked boxes which then rained upon me.
“What was that?” Dion called down the stairs.
“Nothing!” I yelled from my position flat out on my back. “Just knocked some boxes over!”
Fortunately they didn’t come to check up on me. I slowly pulled myself up. Everything was sore: my back, my arse, and strangely enough, my balls.
I tidied up the mess I had created and limped out into the backyard to inspect the pool.
WHEN WE met again outside the property, on St. Georges Road, Dion moved away to make a call and give us some privacy.
“Well?” I asked Dec.
Dec’s arms were folded, which usually meant he was unr
eceptive or cautious about an idea. But he surprised me when he said, “I think it’s a goer.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?”
“There are some things that need to be done if we really want to make it safe for kids. Plus for our own privacy. I don’t like the idea of not having a security fence. Having an exposed front means anybody could just waltz up to the door.”
“Wouldn’t a fence clash with the Heritage Council?” I asked, fearing a spoke in the wheel already derailing my plans for a perfect house.
“Dion reckons it shouldn’t be a problem, depending on the fencing we choose.”
Bless that real estate agent. Of course, he might have just been telling us whatever we wanted to hear so we would sign. But I’d take it.
“Do you think you could live here?” I asked. “Honestly?”
Dec studied the house before us, turning back to me and genuinely smiling. “Yeah, I could. Definitely.”
Excited, I forgot about the usual precautions taken when showing PDA and kissed him. “I promise we’ll never have to move again.”
“Hey, what if we have a Brady Bunch of our own?” he lightly mocked me.
I shrugged. “They’ll just have to learn to share rooms.”
We were still holding each other when Dion returned to us with a grin on his face. “Can I hope this is good news?”
His grip firm on me, Dec nodded. “Let’s make an offer.”
“A FIRE station?” Fran exclaimed. “Are you crazy?”
“Hey!” I protested.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said. “I already know you’re crazy. I was talking to him!” She flung out her finger in a j’accuse pose, and Dec laughed.
“I think it sounds cool,” Roger said as I handed him a beer.
“Thank you, Roger.” I bestowed him with a smile and clinked my beer against his.
“It sounds crazy,” Dec told her. “But it’s beautiful. It needs some work done, but it’ll work.”
