Simmering Season Page 25

  Fiona’s face turned the colour of Ethne’s beetroot fingers, eyes bulging and lips so thin her Siena Sunset looked well and truly set.

  ‘Oh, yeah, sure, everyone’s holier than thou out here, aren’t they? Must be something in the water that makes mothers freaking saints.’

  ‘Fiona—’ Maggie wanted to warn, but the girl cut her off.

  ‘Mothers like to think they know everything about their children. Even bad mothers, like mine.’

  ‘Amber wasn’t bad. Your mother just—’

  ‘My mother didn’t see me. The most important thing in Amber’s life was Amber. I was invisible until twelve months ago when all of a sudden it was okay to interfere with my life and tell me what I can and can’t do, like marrying Luke.’

  ‘It wasn’t about interfering, I’m sure. She was trying to connect with you, Fiona.’

  ‘Why? I managed perfectly fine without a mother all my life. I didn’t need her. I didn’t.’

  A combination of anger, perspiration and tears seemed to be playing havoc with the girl’s perfect paintwork, Max Factor’s Maximising something-or-other clearly not tear proof.

  ‘Stop crying.’ The mother in Maggie wanted to walk over to the miserable melting mess and give her the kick in the pants she needed, while the magpie’s instinct was to gather Fiona up in her protective wings. She didn’t do either, fearful the anger simmering away inside her would boil over. Maggie toughened up, saving her compassion for her son. ‘Where is this Luke person now?’

  ‘He’s gone back to Sydney.’

  ‘Good. I suspect you’ll be following him soon. That would be best.’

  ‘Well, actually, no.’ She seemed to brace. ‘I want to see Noah.’

  ‘No, Fiona. I want you to leave.’ Maggie bristled. ‘Obviously I can’t force you to leave town, but I sure as hell can tell you to stay away from my pub and my son from now on.’

  ‘Mum, please!’ Noah’s voice startled Maggie.

  He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the bar room, still wearing his track-pant pyjamas, his hair jutting out at strange angles, dark circles under his eyes darkened further from the bruising. He’d obviously heard her tirade.

  They probably heard it in Saddleton.

  ‘Back to bed, Noah,’ Maggie ordered, walking away from a sobbing Fiona and a bar full of gawking patrons.

  ‘But Mum—’

  ‘No buts. Now, mister.’

  He pleaded all the way back to his room, Maggie on his heels like a working dog mustering a wayward lamb.

  ‘But, Mum, I have a headache.’

  ‘Is it any wonder? The doctors said rest and that doesn’t mean sitting at the computer. Into bed and I’ll get you some tablets for the pain.’ Maggie closed down the lid on the laptop while she waited for Noah to ease his sore body back under the covers. All he did was humph and drop on the top of the unmade bed, crossing muscled arms across a broadening chest.

  ‘You don’t have to treat me like a kid. I’m not.’

  ‘Really? Did you grow up overnight?’ Maggie tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice, failing miserably. ‘Do alcohol, drugs and betraying your mother’s trust make you grown up? I don’t think so, Noah Henkler.’ She grunted the last few words as the defiant top drawer of his tallboy—jammed with a black T-shirt—finally gave in to Maggie’s unrelenting tug. Not bothering to remove the offending garment and refold it, she punched the bulging contents into place and slammed the drawer shut again.

  ‘But, Mum, it wasn’t Fi’s fault. Luke is a dickhead.’

  ‘Yes, Luke is. You got that bit right. But, Noah, I trusted you. And I thought I could trust Fiona.’

  ‘I let them have the drinks. And Fi didn’t know about the pills, so you can’t blame her. It was my fault. Blame me.’

  Trusting. Loyal. Honest. Her son was everything his father wasn’t. Maggie didn’t know whether to be angry or proud.

  ‘Why are you protecting her? I know you told me you’re just friends, but …’ Maggie eased herself down as if the bed might bite. ‘Oh Noah, you’re not … You and Fiona … You’re not doing anything … together … are you?’

  ‘No way! Geez, Mum.’ Noah’s face looked like it was about to explode and Maggie was sorry she’d asked, although kind of relieved as well. ‘I mean … I like her, but not that way. You know I always wanted a sister, someone to give a hard time.’ Noah shrugged, kind of laughed, smiled sheepishly. ‘We get on really well. We’re like mates.’

  ‘Well, okay. Good.’ Maggie scanned the room, looking for things to straighten, pick up, fuss over. Perhaps it was just as well Brian had taken care of the sex talk years ago. This conversation had been awkward enough. At least now she could relax, finally, having asked outright the question that had given her too many sleepless nights since Fiona’s arrival. ‘Mind you, Noah, mates don’t let mates nearly kill themselves doing a Leonardo di Caprio off the back of a car.’

  A small smile crinkled the graze on her son’s cheek and he winced. ‘A what?’

  ‘Titanic? I’m the king of the world?’ she said, smoothing his fringe off his face to look into the blue eyes she loved so much. ‘You don’t remember too much, huh? Maybe that’s just as well.’

  I’d like to forget it myself.

  Maggie managed her own smile. Her son had learned a hard lesson. In a way not too different from when Maggie’s dad had made her smoke an entire packet of cigarettes after catching her smoking in the toilet out the back. She was sick as a dog for days and had never puffed on one since.

  ‘You could have really hurt yourself badly. You could’ve …’ She didn’t want to think about how close this all seemed to Michael’s accident. That night had been about a couple of mates kicking around, having fun. And yes, there’d been alcohol and whatever else involved then, too.

  ‘But I’m okay, hardly a scratch. And even though it wasn’t her fault, Fi said she really wants to make it up to you.’

  ‘To me? You saw Fiona? Before today? When?’

  ‘Facebook. She messaged me to say if I wanted to go back to Sydney and stay with her sometime that I could.’

  Panic catapulted Maggie off the bed, unsure which had tipped her over: the Facebook messaging or the Sydney offer. ‘Do not even think about it. Going anywhere with Fiona is not happening in my lifetime, and if I find out she’s making more ridiculous offers there’ll be no more Facebook for you. Do you hear me?’

  ‘But I want to go stay with Dad.’ Noah huffed, slammed his arms tighter against his chest, sank back onto his pillows. ‘Just for a while.’

  ‘Your father’s in no fit state. He can hardly look after himself, let alone …’ The words had slipped out before Maggie could stop them and she found herself staring at her son’s luxuriously long lashes blinking in bewilderment.

  After an agonising few seconds, Noah asked, ‘What’s no fit state mean?’

  ‘Nothing. That’s not what I meant. I’m just tired and annoyed and not thinking clearly.’

  Emotionally spent, Maggie slumped back down onto the bed, prepared to give anything for one smuddle with her son. It was her favourite thing, a cross between a smell and a cuddle, when as a freshly bathed baby, all warm and sweet-smelling, Noah would cuddle until he fell asleep. How she longed for those days. Now seventeen, Maggie had to settle for a hand on his arm, careful to avoid the brown Betadine-coloured grazes.

  Hardly a scratch, eh? she said to herself, identifying a couple of gouges that were bound to leave scars.

  Scars were something Maggie knew all about, especially the invisible ones she carried. Then there was the one on Dan Ireland’s jaw, hardly a badge of honour. From memory, he’d ridden his dirt bike into a boundary fence, the barbs tearing the flesh off his cheek and nearly killing him. Had the wire pierced his skin any lower he would have died. Because it happened not long after Michael’s accident—which everyone blamed on Dan, as the driver of the ute—some locals seemed convinced Dan had ridden into the fence on purpose. Maggie hadn’t thought a
bout any of that history until she saw him the other night.

  That’s what reunions did. They brought home memories and not all memories were good ones.

  ‘Mum? Mum, are you listening?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Maggie’s attention switched back to her son. ‘Sorry. What?’

  ‘Is Dad …? Is he all right?’

  ‘Your father’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about. He’s working and his job means he’s under a lot of stress.’ The lies were back in place.

  ‘So what are we doing out here if he’s stressed and can’t look after himself?’

  Tempted to say, making a living and keeping this family afloat, Maggie clamped down on her lip, opting for, ‘Your father’s a big boy. He can look after himself just fine.’

  ‘How do we know anything sitting out here in this crummy town?’

  ‘All of a sudden it’s a crummy town?’ Maggie felt her patience waning.

  ‘I’m over it. There’s nothing to do. I got my Ls first go, but I can’t get my licence because you say you can’t give me enough driving practice time and you don’t trust anyone else.’

  ‘Noah, I’ve told you before, it’s the car. Until I can afford to get the engine and brakes checked I don’t want you driving it.’

  ‘If I was in Sydney, Dad could teach me. I want to go back. I want to go stay with Dad. I’m eighteen soon so you can’t stop me going. And you can’t stop me getting my licence. Just ’cause Uncle Mike died in a car accident doesn’t mean I will.’

  Maggie dragged in a sharp breath and the sob hidden in it. ‘Then start acting your age, Noah. I don’t know what’s got into you, but don’t test me today. Please, not today. I’ll bring your dinner up,’ she said, walking away so her son wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

  ‘Is it safe in here?’ Ethne poked her nose around the corner of the kitchen where Maggie stood, staring at the plate of camembert cheese and crackers.

  ‘You do realise we’re all going to be living off cocktail party leftovers for goodness knows how long?’

  ‘Maybe go easy on that vino, eh? Hope you had dinner. I’ve finished closing up. Can I do anything for you?’

  ‘Tell me you think I’m a good person.’

  ‘Awright, that’s easy. Of course you’re a good person, love. Why?’

  ‘Noah said something earlier about me not being there for his father.’ Maggie nudged a cracker around the plate with the tip of her finger.

  ‘You know me, love. Kids—real ones that is, not those overgrown louts at the bar every night—aren’t my area of expertise. I doubt your son means anything by it, though. He loves you and his dad. Maybe he’s worried. Kids pick up signals.’

  ‘Noah’s always been so easy-going. When he got to seventeen without drug and alcohol problems I thought I was one of the lucky ones. I know he loves us both, but that’s all I seem to know about him lately. He promised me that night was his first experience with party drugs. Still, something’s changed him and I’d hate to think it was me bringing him out here.’

  ‘He’s growing up.’ Ethne walked over and wrapped two flabby arms around Maggie’s shoulders. ‘Every kid pushes the boundaries. Even the good ones.’

  ‘My job is to protect him,’ Maggie mumbled into the softness of Ethne’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know what to do. I thought coming home to the country might help.’

  ‘There’s no stopping ’em, love. Every kid finds their own path. If they step out you can push back a little, guide them and nudge them into place if they get too close to the edge. But unless you’re planning on clipping his feathers, Mama Bird, he’s going to be jumping out of your nest one day and giving those wings of his a workout. You know that.’

  Maggie pulled away, smiled. ‘You know more about kids than you think.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I do get to practice on those louts.’

  ‘Why doesn’t a mother see her child growing into a man?’

  ‘Because they don’t want them to grow into a man. You know what they say? A son’s your son ’til he takes a wife. A daughter’s your daughter for the rest of her life. You’re wanting to hang on for as long as you can. No different to any other mother. But it’s you I worry about.’

  ‘Me? Why me?’

  ‘The way you hide yourself away a little too much. You have a life to live too. You want to be doing things with your life, not just looking after everyone else. Noah’s getting to an age where you can start letting go a little.’

  ‘You could’ve fooled me,’ Maggie snorted. ‘And I’m not not living.’

  ‘I’m just saying, like them magpies you love, there comes a time when the juveniles are pushed aside to make way for the new ones.’

  ‘Well, there are no new ones coming this magpie’s way.’ Unlike Tracy Ireland, she silently reminded herself.

  ‘I’m talking about making way for you. You put too much into others and forget about yourself,’ Ethne said. ‘In my experience, a neglected pot left on the stove to simmer will eventually boil dry. You don’t want those juicy bits drying up too soon.’

  ‘Your point?’ Maggie’s impatience showed as she fought back images of a luminous and obviously still juicy Tracy with her full nest.

  ‘You need to turn up the heat a little, stir things up, put some excitement in your life.’

  ‘Oh, believe me when I tell you, I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime.’ Maggie sipped her wine and offered the plate of cheese and crackers to Ethne. ‘Not letting go of Noah isn’t about me being alone either. As hard as I try to hang on, the people I love slip away. I don’t want my son slipping away the minute he turns eighteen. That’s less than a year.’

  ‘I think he’s been talking to Fiona a tad too much.’

  ‘Look, I’m mad as hell, but I know she’s not the evil witch I’ve made her out to be in my own head, especially now I know Noah sees her as a friend and that’s all.’

  ‘Is that right? And how did we draw such a conclusion?’

  ‘I asked him. Straight out. He told me.’

  ‘And you believe him?’

  ‘Ethne, there’s one thing about the Henkler boys. There’s this thing they both do with their face when they’re telling a porky. I can’t explain it, but Noah has always been the same. I’d definitely know if he was lying. He’s not interested in Fiona that way.’

  ‘Whatever you say, love.’

  ‘Fiona is not a problem. Now that fiancé of hers—that Luke—he worries me. He’s so much older.’

  ‘Indeed. What sort of parent allows an impressionable young girl to date someone that age?’

  ‘At the funeral, Phillip gave the impression he wasn’t at all happy. That grandfather of hers seems to be a never-ending source of conflict, though.’

  ‘You mean Jack Bailey?’ Ethne leaned cross-legged against the cool-room door, struggling to fold her arms across her ample breast. ‘There’s no better jury than the main bar on a Friday night, and as I recall back then there were always plenty of opinions about that snake. None good. If you ask me, he was a greedy, no good, son-of-a-bitch, and if he’d had his way the Dandelion House estate would’ve been chopped up and sold off after old Gypsy passed away. Glad the old duck was smart enough to know it, and even smarter to leave the place to those girls.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why a developer would want a chunk of land like that, almost surrounded by water and virtually impossible to reach by car.’

  ‘Not a developer. Jack himself. I heard he’d had geology reports done years ago.’

  ‘Looking for what? And if you tell me there’s gold in dem dere hills you best be prepared to race me for it.’ Maggie laughed.

  ‘Jack Bailey wanted what he couldn’t have. That man would acquire things just to stop anyone else from getting their hands on it—people included. Old Barney told me Jack had cut in on some other bloke, a farmer from further west, to sweep Cheryl off her feet. After that conquest, making a buck and big-noting himself is what drove him. Word is he saw owning something unique,
like the Dandelion House, as some kind of kudos. In my opinion, and I wasn’t the only one to say so, his leaving town was the best thing to happen to Cheryl Bailey.’

  ‘A marriage between Amber and the philanthropic Phillip Blair must have been like winning Lotto for him.’

  ‘Like I said, Jack was all about winning any way he could.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he’s using Fiona now? Surely not.’

  ‘I can only tell you he used Amber to make himself look good.’ Ethne went on, ‘That autumn at the Dandelion House was a bit of a wake-up call for the woman, especially when she discovered how Jack had abused her mother. Luke looks to me like a young Jack, ’cept he’s got his hands full with Fiona. Not as pliable as her grandmother.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I happened to be eavesdropping on Fiona and Luke. Heard her telling him to bugger off—engagement ring and all.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I think this thing with Noah has done her some good. Brought her to her senses and let her see what’s important in her life. A bit like her mother did when she was here. Fiona’s got to wake up sometime. Get rid of the boyfriend, get rid of the grandfather, and the girl might have a chance.’

  ‘And I go and kick her out of the pub.’

  ‘Oh no, you don’t. You’re getting all protective again. Feel sorry for the girl, sure, but she needs to fix her own problems. Now,’ Ethne picked up the empty plate and wine glass. ‘How about you take yourself off to bed? I’ll do the breakfast shift tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, but I need to stay busy. I’ll do brekkie.’

  ‘Awright, love, but only because I know Luke has left town. Otherwise I’d be worried about you dishing out a big manly serving of arsenic cereal.’