by Juanita Kees
Fen wanted to believe him, except the exhaustion in his voice erased any enthusiasm he might have left. ‘Worry about it on Monday, Kieran. We’re on track with the schedule. You have more important things to worry about tonight. I’ll leave you and Liam alone to settle in. The water in the heater should be warm enough to run a bath or shower.’
He turned from the window to face her. She hated the drawn look and dark circles that bruised his eyes. Maybe the country air would do him good. Maybe the awkwardness between them would fade.
‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to settle in. I’ll be back with your breakfast basket in the morning.’
‘Thanks, Fen. It’s good to be home.’ His eyes searched hers, filled with something she couldn’t identify. Not with the link between them broken, the distance between them more than just miles across the desert and Diane’s ghost present in the room.
* * *
Early morning sunlight teased the sky over the vines as dawn broke through the clouds. Kieran watched his son sleep. As comfortable and welcoming as Fen had made Liam’s bedroom, he hadn’t been ready to sleep there alone. So, he’d spent another long, almost sleepless night with Liam clinging to his side, whimpering in his sleep as Kieran brushed a soothing hand over the dark brown curls.
God, he loved his son with all his heart, but he really needed a good night’s sleep. Perhaps the fresh air and exercise out here in the country would eventually tire Liam out enough to sleep peacefully. With a bit of luck his son would make friends in the community and gain some confidence too, begin to forget the horror of the last twelve months.
Clean up and pruning would be exhausting over the next few weeks. He hoped he could cope with the long, back-breaking hours on minimal sleep and that he wouldn’t let Liv and Fen down. Fen with her dark pixie-cut, black clothes and the wristbands that hid a world of hurt.
Diane’s insane jealousy meant he’d cut all ties with Fen and focused on keeping his wife happy, protecting his in-laws from the highs and lower-than-lows of her moods. Moods they’d had no idea how to deal with. He’d tried so damn hard not to crumble under the pressure as his marriage had descended into a hell neither of them could escape from.
Liam stirred and stretched. Another day, a new start. Kieran prayed that he’d made the right choice coming back to the place where he’d been given a second chance, where he hoped the people had it in their hearts to give him another.
‘I’m hungry, Daddy.’ Liam looked at him with eyes still heavy from sleep and tears.
Kieran smiled. He’d never imagined that those two words could come to mean so much. ‘Are you, mate? What would you like for breakfast?’
‘Chocolate.’
He chuckled. ‘Maybe later, okay? First, I think Fen said there’d be nice fresh bread. Should we go look outside?’
Liam pushed himself up on the mattress to sit on his knees. ‘Can we see the chooks?’
‘I’m sure we can, mate. First things first, okay? Breakfast, brush teeth and get dressed.’ He tickled the ribs that poked out from his son’s too skinny side.
Liam giggled and pushed his hand away. ‘Need to pee, Daddy.’
Kieran pulled a face. ‘Off you go then. Don’t forget to lift the seat. I’ll go see if we have bread.’
‘And peanut butter.’
‘Yep, that too.’
‘And Vegemite.’ Liam called out as he made his way to the bathroom.
‘Righto.’
Kieran threw back the covers and eased his legs over the edge of the bed. He found his track pants on the floor where he’d left them and tugged them on before walking down the short hallway to the front door. Pulling it open, he let his gaze travel the early morning vista. A smoky haze fell across the Whispering Hills, a remnant from the wood-burning fireplaces warming the homes of the town’s residents. With winter only days away, the mornings had become cooler. Soon the dew would turn to frost. The once lush vines would lose their green and gold, leaving them naked to the harshness of winter. Already some of the leaves had turned brown and shrivelled, ready to fall to the ground with the breeze.
Across the creek in the distance, sheep grazed the last remaining summer weeds from Travis Bailey’s canola fields. Kieran made a mental note to call him, touch base, see how things were going. So much had changed in Wongan Creek since gold fever had struck the region, even the landscape and the dynamics of the town. Still, it was far away from the Castle Cove house he’d shared with Diane and the endless, peaceful view across the water.
He’d hoped the bright and cheerful two-storey home with its picture-perfect, sunny windows and airy feel would lift Diane’s spirits. It hadn’t. Nothing had given her peace. She’d no longer wanted to paint and release her dark thoughts on canvas. The home had become a trap for the unseen demons she’d no longer wished to battle.
With a sigh, Kieran reached for the covered picnic basket on the table near the door. He lifted the cloth and inhaled the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread. Still warm. It couldn’t have been too long ago that Fen would have placed the basket on the table.
His gut pulled tight with affection he couldn’t afford to explore. Fen was off limits. All women were off limits until he could erase the sadness from his son’s eyes and the guilt from his own mind. Right now, he couldn’t see past Diane’s ghost even though their marriage had failed long before Liam was born.
He looked up and spotted Fen on the wooden bridge that spanned the koi pond outside the cellar door. Short black jacket and black jeans that hugged her curves as she leaned over to toss fish food into the pond.
‘Morning, Fen. Thanks for the bread,’ he called out, his voice carrying easily through the quiet morning.
She turned and waved, her fringe flopping across her face, too far away for him to read her expression. She turned and walked away towards the cellar. Disappointment flooded him, a part of him hoping she’d come over for a chat, but it seemed Fen was as keen to distance herself from him as he should be to keep the barrier between them.
Liam tugged on the leg of his track pants. ‘Did we get bread, Daddy?’
He looked down at the still tousled head. ‘Yes, we did.’ He held the basket at Liam’s level. ‘Can you smell that? Does it smell good?’
Liam sniffed at the basket. ‘Yum.’
‘Fen put some jam in there too. Strawberry. Do you think it’s homemade?’
Liam shrugged. ‘Can I see the fish?’ He pointed to the pond.
Kieran ruffled Liam’s hair and laughed, the sound unfamiliarly uplifting. ‘Let’s get breakfast out of the way and then we can explore. Deal?’ He held out his fist for a bump.
‘K.’ Liam’s knuckles met his.
Liam didn’t need a lot of persuasion to eat his breakfast, devouring a good chunk of the fluffy bread and making an impressive dip into the jam. Kieran let a glimmer of hope grow in his heart that maybe he could make his son happy and healthy again.
Kitchen cleaned, Liam dressed, and the remnants of breakfast scrubbed from his cheeks, Kieran held out a pair of bright blue wellies patterned with dinosaurs.
‘Put these on and we’ll go have a look at the chooks.’
‘And the fish?’
‘Yep.’
‘And the lambs too?’ Liam sat down on the floor and tugged on his boots.
‘Sure.’ Kieran held out a jacket. ‘Put this on too, mate. It’s a little cool outside still.’
‘K, Daddy.’ Liam obeyed then he picked up his ever-present toy sheep and cuddled it.
Kieran shrugged into his own jacket and pulled on leather steel-capped boots. ‘Fish or chooks first?’
‘Fish!’
‘Come on then.’
He opened the door and let his son clamber out into the weak, early morning sun. Later it would warm up to a nice comfortable temperature and they could enjoy the last of autumn’s warmth. Liam stopped under the white street sign sporting a picture of a blue-tongue lizard and bolted on top of a blue lamp post. Kieran snapped a photo
with his phone of Liam pointing up at it, his smile wide. Perhaps it would help the Vincents overcome their grief if they could see their only grandchild on the road to recovery too. He tapped the share button and hit send to their email address.
Liam tensed as they approached the pond, his enthusiasm waning fast, descending quickly into reluctance as the body of water loomed. To him it would seem more like a lake than a pond, its depths and watery secrets unknown, raising memories of another place, another time when water had held a fear larger than life. He slipped his hand into Kieran’s and lost the spring to his step.
Kieran let his hand tighten around his son’s, his grip reassuring. ‘It’s okay, mate. Hold on tight. Did you want to go and see the chooks instead?’
‘Dunno, Daddy.’
‘Let’s go a bit closer then, okay? You tell me when you want to stop.’ Maybe today they’d have a breakthrough. Maybe this time Liam would take a step closer to forgetting.
Muzz had outdone himself on the pond. About three metres wide and seven metres long with water cascading from a rocky waterfall, the sound of splashing filled the air. Amongst the rockery edging the pond, tufts of Mondo grass added green to the brown. Brightly coloured pink, red and white waterlilies floated across the surface of the water giving shelter to the koi. He calculated the depth as he looked past the waterlilies to the bottom of the pond. Less than a metre. Not too deep. Shallow enough to stand in. Or for a little kid like Liam to keep his head above water if he accidentally fell in.
Liam’s footsteps faltered as they went to step onto the wooden bridge that crossed the pond. ‘Don’t wanna see the fish anymore.’
Kieran’s heart contracted. The therapist had promised Liam would get over his fear, that his memories would fade as he grew, that he’d forget the trauma of being trapped underwater. It had been twelve months already, for God’s sake. How much longer would his son have to bear the nightmares that had resulted from immersion in a watery grave?
‘It’s okay if you don’t want to, mate. We can come back later if you like.’
‘No, Daddy.’
His booted foot kicked at the step onto the bridge and in that instant, Kieran’s beautiful, even-tempered son became the child from hell. Haunted by memories, traumatised by the actions of an unstable mother, terrified by a mass body of water that probably wasn’t even deep enough cover him up to his shoulders, he screamed and cried and tugged hard on Kieran’s hand.
Liv and Fen came running as the screams reached fever pitch, tearing at his eardrums, making his head pound and the familiar ache of helplessness spread through him. He swept Liam up into his arms, stroked his back and held him close even as the little boy strained against his hold and pounded at him.
‘It’s okay. Daddy’s here. I won’t let anything hurt you.’
He whispered the words over and over into his son’s curls, each syllable tearing from his throat, each one as ineffective as the little fists that connected with his face and shoulder. Each ‘I hate you’ an echo of Diane’s words that ripped his heart to shreds. Stepping away from the bridge, he walked around the pond onto the path to the main house.
Fen reached him first, her eyes full of questions he didn’t want to have to answer but knew he couldn’t avoid if they were going to stay in Wongan Creek.
‘Is he okay? Is he hurt?’ Breathless, Fen stopped in front of him.
Kieran shook his head, unable to speak past the pain in his throat.
Liv caught up. ‘Can I help?’
Kieran shook his head again. No-one could do anything that months of therapy hadn’t been able to fix. All he could do was hold his son until the storm passed and keep praying for a miracle.
Breaking point. He’d reached it, denied it the right to cripple him and fought back the burn that stung his eyes. He was a survivor, for God’s sake. He’d survived living on the streets until he was thrown into the system. He’d lived through the beatings and neglect that preceded his life as a runaway. He could get through this. Had to because he didn’t want to fail his son the way he had his wife.
Fen picked up the toy sheep Liam had thrown to the ground. The bribe Diane had given Liam that fateful day to make him get into the car with her. She dusted it off and pressed it against his chest next to where Liam’s face was pressed against his shirt.
Liam crushed it to him, his screams morphing into body-wracking sobs. Liv stroked his back, a movement that took the stiffness from his spine and had his little body relaxing against Kieran’s chest as the minutes ticked by in silence and the humiliation grew.
When the fight left his son’s body, Liv asked, ‘Would you like to feed the chooks with me, Liam? I’ve been waiting for you to come.’
Seconds passed in which Kieran thought his son might start another spectacular tantrum, but instead he turned his face to Liv. She held out her arms. He hesitated only a moment longer before pushing away from Kieran and leaning over to Liv. She took his weight, adjusted him on her hip, smoothed his damp fringe from his eyes and talked as she walked away.
Arms empty and shirt damp, Kieran watched them. When would this nightmare end?
Chapter 4
Fen let her gaze travel his face, take in the lines of exhaustion drawn on his cheeks, the dullness in his eyes that spoke volumes of a hurt far deeper than he’d ever let on. No, Mr Kieran Hard-Arse Murphy would hide behind his tough street-born exterior and continue to bottle up whatever had caused his son’s meltdown. So, she’d drip-feed him coffee, be the mate she’d always been, and have his back.
‘Come over to the café. I’ve put the coffee machine on.’
He rubbed a hand over his face, ran it across the back of his neck and stared at the ground. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘I’ll be there, waiting for you.’ The way she’d been through the toughest times. The way she would have been if she’d known about his loss. Fen wished they weren’t the strangers the missing years had made them.
She waited a moment longer, watched him retrace his steps and walk to the middle of the bridge. He leaned over the railing, elbows resting on the wood, hands clasped together, head bowed, and her heart ached for whatever turmoil he was fighting inside him. She turned away and headed for the cellar wishing it was a little later in the day to warrant a dash of something stronger in the coffee. They sure as hell both needed it.
Pushing open the door, she walked across to the coffee machine set up in the small café area to the left of the bar. She loved how Muzz and Liv had sectioned off areas of The Cranky Lizard, making it totally family-friendly. Securing a deal with a major coffee house meant they could run a supplier-sponsored café to cater to a generic lunch crowd as well as those visitors seeking out the taste of boutique wines and liqueurs.
Luke had almost ruined it all. A shiver ran through her, the unease returning. Last night, she’d called Riggs to tell him about the man in the bar, the veiled threat, and the tattoo and cuts that identified him as part of Luke’s club.
A threat that had her tossing all night from an intangible fear that threaded through her dreams and phantom memories stealing around in shadowy corners she couldn’t quite reach into. Nightmares that had her curled in a ball in the corner of her room, eyes squeezed shut against the darkness, her mind clamping down on the screams that echoed in her head, the thumps and shouts receding into strangled silence, the smell of sweat and blood and anger still ripe in the air.
Years of therapy had yet to release the cause and trigger of those nightmares, what they meant. Why they wouldn’t stop. Why sometimes the simplest things stopped her in her tracks, filled her with fear while a memory flitted out of reach, begging to be remembered, failing to surface. Secrets refusing to reveal themselves, that made her want to stamp her feet and scream against the frustration of being unable to force them from her mind. Just like Liam.
So many things could have triggered the little boy’s tantrum. She couldn’t begin to imagine what Kieran had been through with Diane dying. She had so many
questions she didn’t feel she could ask yet. Frustration ate at her stomach. How could she help him if she didn’t know what was going on in that complicated mind of his?
With a sigh, she set about making the coffee, pleased to be distracted by the steam rising from the spouts and the gurgling noise that barely disguised Kieran’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards. She looked up briefly and watched him ease into a chair at one of the round white café tables. Elbows on it, he ran his fingers through his hair before sitting back and letting his hands clench in his lap. Broken.
Hands a little unsteady, she put the large cappuccino cup onto a saucer and added a bite-sized shortbread biscuit on the side from the jar. Then she put on her Fen-face with its careless smile that hid everything she wanted it to and placed the coffee in front of him on the table.
‘So … does he do that often?’ She pulled out the chair opposite Kieran and sat.
He shook his head. ‘Not as often as he used to.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Kieran sighed and toyed with the spoon in the saucer in front of him. ‘It’s an ugly story, Fen.’
‘Uglier than ours before we arrived in Wongan Creek?’
He raised his head and hit her with the full impact of cold green eyes, empty now of the emotions that had swamped them earlier. ‘Way uglier.’
Fen reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. His fist was tight under her touch, as unyielding as the wall that had sprung up between them. ‘I’m here for you, Kieran. I always have been.’ She swallowed against the knot in her throat. Seeing him like this—emotionally drained, empty, hopeless—was far worse than the welts and bruises she’d seen on him in that dreary office in Armadale so many years ago.
He loosened his fist and weaved his fingers through hers, making a steeple on the table where their palms met. Fen stifled the shiver that ran through her. She’d missed those fleeting touches, his smile, his lousy jokes.
‘Thank you.’ He turned his head to stare out the window at the vines in the distance, his fingers tightening around hers. ‘I guess there’s no reason to put it off any longer. It will come out sooner or later, and I’d rather you hear it from me.’ He took a deep breath and let it out on a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘Diane wasn’t well. She suffered from depression. It wasn’t until after Liam was born that one of the doctors diagnosed her as bi-polar. She refused treatment from a psychiatrist but took the medication her doctor prescribed.’
