Simmering Season Read online

  ‘Saddleton? Why?’ In the silence Maggie could picture Fiona’s casual shrug. ‘Where did you drop him, Fiona?’

  ‘Outside the pool.’

  ‘The pool? Did he have a bag with him?’

  ‘Just a backpack. And his guitar case. He said he was catching the bus to a mate’s place in Springvale. Somewhere like that.’

  ‘A bus? There is no bus to Springvale.’ Stupid girl, she wanted to add.

  ‘Well, I don’t know.’

  Maggie visualised another annoying shrug and wanted to reach across the airwaves and throttle her.

  ‘Fiona, if you’re covering for him …’

  ‘No way, Maggie. I left him in Saddleton. He was talking about going to Sydney to see his dad and he asked if I’d drive him, but as if I’d do that.’

  ‘But it’s okay to drive him to Saddleton to catch a non-existent bus.’ If someone came at her right now with anything barely resembling a matchstick Maggie would explode. The phone crackled and she half expected the connection to drop out. Then what would she do?

  ‘Can I do something to help?’

  ‘You’ve done enough already.’ Maggie wanted to blame somebody and Fiona seemed like the best person. ‘I have to go. I have to find my son.’ Maggie disconnected the call and pressed Brian’s quick dial button as she made her way out of the residence and across to the hotel. When the voicemail message played, Maggie cursed.

  Ethne poked her head through the small servery window that separated the bar from dining room. ‘You okay in there, love?’

  ‘I would be if Saddleton had a bus route out to Springvale.’

  ‘Huh?’ Ethne scrunched her face, those eyebrows just about tying themselves in knots. ‘By Springvale you mean the one-horse town the postie visits every other week if they’re lucky? It would want to be a lightweight bus to get over the rickety old bridge they’ve got out that way. Wasn’t it partially washed away in the floods last year?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Maggie tossed the phone and it skidded across the tabletop, papers flying.

  Ethne now stood at the door to the kitchen. ‘Hey love, slow down.’ She walked over to the hot water urn and Maggie could see a special brew in the making. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Noah’s taken the bus.’ She paced over to the kitchen door.

  ‘To Springvale?’ Ethne’s confusion deepened.

  ‘I’d actually prefer he was running the gauntlet of that bridge than going to his father.’

  ‘Sydney,’ Ethne nodded. ‘I see.’

  ‘He asked Fiona to drive him. When she refused, he asked her to drop him at Saddleton swimming pool. There’s a bus once a week to Sydney that picks up from outside the council pool.’

  ‘Well, love,’ Ethne said as she guided Maggie back into the dining room before plopping into a chair, ‘you need to sit and calm down a bit. Your boy’s not silly, and he’s not really a boy. He’s all grown up, even though you don’t see him that way. He’s almost eighteen.’

  ‘Yes, and at eighteen I was making all the wrong decisions. One of them was getting married and leaving Calingarry Crossing for Sydney.’

  ‘Remember, Noah’s a city kid. And he’s obviously going to be with his dad.’

  ‘That’s what’s worrying me.’ Maggie collapsed in the chair opposite Ethne, grinding her elbows into the tops of her knees until the skin around them pooled white, then buried her face in both hands. ‘I thought I was doing such a good job.’

  ‘There, there, love, of course you are. You’re a little over-protective at times, but there’s nothing wrong with loving someone so much that you worry about them.’

  ‘Or that you lie to them?’ Maggie’s body wouldn’t let her sit, springing out of the chair as if it burned, the words Liar, liar, pants on fire echoing around her head. ‘I should have told him the truth ages ago.’

  ‘Now, what’s all this about? What truth?’

  ‘I haven’t been honest with Noah about his father. I’ve let him, you and everyone else think the reason Brian can’t be here with his family is because he’s too busy with his flourishing music career.’

  ‘He doesn’t have a flourishing music career?’

  ‘He doesn’t have a music career, full stop. The last time we spoke he was high on something and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t life,’ she said, her tone a mix of sarcasm and sadness. ‘There is no special job, nothing but the same old pub gigs where they pay him in meals and booze and God knows what else. At first I thought I wouldn’t be away from Sydney for long. Brian had promised he’d follow us out here, but …’ Maggie lowered her face into her hands again. ‘What a mess. I’ve made such a terrible mistake, accepting every excuse. Brian cares about nothing but himself and his ridiculous obsession with fame. I’ve stupidly let my son think his father is something he’s not and now I have no idea what Noah will be walking into at our apartment.’

  ‘You and Noah have such a good relationship and he’s a big boy. Why would you keep all that from him?’

  ‘Because, Ethne, I never, never, never want him to know the pain of being forgotten like Brian’s forgotten me. And I naively hoped Brian would come around.’

  ‘Awright, calm down. Here. Drink.’ She pushed a steaming hot brew towards Maggie.

  ‘There’s no time to calm down.’ Maggie’s eyes frantically searched the room as if looking for the list she’d never prepared that would tell her the things she had to pack for a trip she never dreamed she’d have to make.

  A trip to find her son.

  ‘If I drove to Sydney now I could be there by—’ She glanced at her watch.

  ‘You’d be driving into the night, love, and the only person putting their foot down that hard is me. You are not getting behind the wheel, day or night, and driving like a crazy woman—especially in that jalopy of Joe’s. You got that car looked at by Mick at the garage yet?’

  ‘Forget the car, Ethne. I don’t trust Brian to be sober, or even alone for that matter.’ It was the first time she’d spoken those thoughts aloud. ‘Last time I rang I thought I heard someone. He said it was on the TV, but …’ Maggie sobbed. ‘How stupid am I? I need to intercept Noah, or somehow get to Brian before him.’

  ‘Maybe you’re worrying for nothing. Have you tried calling Brian?’

  Maggie wouldn’t admit they’d lost their landline six months ago for non-payment of a bill. There was only Brian’s mobile, which always went to voicemail these days. What sort of message would she leave anyway—‘Clean up your act and get whatever bimbo you have out of the flat because your son who admires you and wants to emulate you is on his way?’

  ‘If he’s even home on a Saturday I’m afraid he’ll be drunk or off his face on something else. And if he’s not home, what’s Noah going to do then? Let himself in, if he remembered his key, or else sit in the stairwell until God knows what time?’ Defeated, Maggie fell back against the wall, her fists clenched at her sides, their restrained thump, thump, thump on the old wood panelling a small release of frustration, but not nearly enough.

  ‘I have an idea.’ Ethne reached out and took Maggie’s hands in hers, squeezing them tight. She gave Maggie that look, the kind a mother gives an irritable child. ‘Didn’t you tell me your chappy is a copper in the city?’

  ‘Yes, but Dan Ireland is not my chappy. He’s married, as am I, Ethne.’

  ‘Then there’s no problem with ringing an old friend. He certainly seems to have no problem using the telephone.’ She grinned. ‘He may not be your chappy, but he is persistent.’

  ‘I said something not so nice on the night of Noah’s accident.’ She didn’t tell Ethne that Dan was the last person she would burden with her sorry state of affairs. Ethne shrugged, rolled her eyes. ‘What? What’s that look for?’

  ‘Just thinking. Not sure about you, but I find it can help to have someone share the burden a little.’

  Sharing the burden was exactly what Maggie had been craving, and while calling Dan sounded practical, she could hardly ask him to interven
e without telling him everything, opening her up to scrutiny, exposing her life as a lie.

  The image of an angelic Maggie Lindeman flashed in her head. The virtuous young girl who never did anything wrong was standing under the Moreton Bay fig tree outside the church, hands shoved on hips, wagging a self-righteous finger. ‘That’ll teach you for throwing berries, Dan Ireland,’ she’d giggled, after he’d stubbed his toe on the tree root.

  There had to be someone else she could call, but who? Who else was there in Sydney? The quick tally—a short list—of friends and acquaintances identified mostly Brian’s musician friends. She could call the local police near where they lived, but what would she tell them?

  ‘Maybe I should call.’

  Dan Ireland was at least a friend. She had to trust him. It was the only sensible choice.

  ‘Here.’ Ethne placed the phone in the palm of Maggie’s hand. ‘Call him.’

  She’d call Dan.

  She’d do it for Noah.

  She’d do anything to protect Noah.

  She stood in the storm,

  and when the wind did not blow her way,

  she adjusted her sails.

  Elizabeth Edwards

  37

  Dan

  ‘Dan? This is Maggie. Maggie Henkler … err … Lindeman … err … Henkler. It’s Maggie.’

  ‘Maggie. Hello.’

  ‘I’m sorry to be calling out of the blue like this. If it’s not a convenient time I can—’

  ‘Slow down. It’s fine. Calling now is perfectly fine. Anytime you want to call is fine by me.’ Dan heard the edge in Maggie’s voice. This wasn’t a social call.

  Whatever it was, Dan was pleased. He’d given up the idea of seeing Maggie again. After emailing and leaving messages with the grumpy commandant at the hotel he’d just about given up on hearing her voice, too.

  ‘Something’s wrong, Maggie. What is it?’

  ‘Dan, I’m so sorry. It’s a long story that I hardly have time to tell.’

  ‘Then don’t give me the whole story. Tell me what you need.’ He heard a gasp. Not surprise or shock. It was more like when you catch that first breath after being underwater for too long.

  ‘I need to ask a favour. It’s about Noah and … and Brian.’

  Dan listened as Maggie cried her way through a short, jumbled-up version of her relationship and marriage. Keeping up wasn’t easy and if it had been any other person, Dan would have been compelled to ask a lot more questions before agreeing to barrel into another bloke’s apartment in a not-so-official capacity. But this was Maggie, and he knew from the sound of her voice there was no time to stuff around with details. He could—and would—ask questions later about the state of her marriage, out of a personal need to know rather than a professional one.

  At this point he didn’t dare let himself think about the difference Maggie’s admission of a failing marriage made to him. Did he have a chance after all? The possibility was enough to squeeze his stomach tight. She hadn’t been out of his thoughts all this time and with nothing to occupy his mind this blasted long service leave was driving him crazy.

  Such thoughts had no place in his head now, though. Maggie was asking for help, not more complications in her life. If he and Maggie shared anything, it was agreeing that family came first. After all, wasn’t it that sense of family that had kept the two of them apart as teenagers? That and Dan’s self-destructive attitude. Wasn’t it also family loyalty that had prevented him from being more up-front with Maggie at the reunion about his marriage to Tracy? The decision might have been unfair to Maggie that night, but no one could accuse Dan of being a bad husband or father. He’d been there for his kids in every way and hugged away his share of scraped knees and prepubescent blues. He could help Noah and Maggie.

  ‘What’s the address?’

  Dan wrote down what she told him. He knew the area: the good, the bad and the ugly. He could even picture the block—a multi-storey, red-brick building from the seventies, bookended by similar buildings and all with what Dan called why-even-bother balconies—too small for much of anything except maybe a potted herb garden. And he used the word herb loosely about any greenery in that particular neighbourhood. A wedge of the working class between the city and Sydney’s trendy eastern suburbs.

  ‘I’m worried for Noah. I’m worried about what he might find when he gets to the flat. I need to talk to him first. I need to explain. I should’ve been more honest, but I was trying to preserve their relationship. Noah is his son …’ There was such sadness in the way her words trailed away to nothing. ‘I tried to raise Brian on the phone. Even if I could, I’m not sure he’d understand what I was saying. I’d drive down myself, but if I left now—’

  ‘Don’t leave, Maggie.’ Hadn’t he heard those words in his head over and over since the reunion? ‘Not yet. You may not need to make that drive. Let me check out Brian’s place first. If Noah is on the overnight bus, he won’t hit Sydney until first thing tomorrow. I’ll check the bus schedule at the station to be sure, but from memory the Saddleton service stops at other towns en route.’

  ‘Maybe I’m jumping the gun. Maybe he’s not going to Sydney. Maybe … Maybe I don’t know.’

  ‘Come on, Maggie.’ He wanted to leap through the phone and grab her. He knew she only needed a little propping up. Maggie was strong. He knew that after the other night. ‘You know your husband and you know your son. That’s good enough.’

  ‘I don’t know anything any more except that Noah has been at me for ages about his dad. I saw Brian the day after Amber Bailey’s funeral. He’s so different to the person we left behind two years ago. I can’t believe how much he’s changed. I had no idea.’

  ‘Just remember, Maggie, if Noah is coming to Sydney he’s coming back to a city he knows. Your apartment is not far from the bus terminal. Leave it with me.’

  ‘I do sound like a crazy woman, don’t I?’

  ‘No, you sound like a mother.’ He heard her choke back a sob, the sort he’d heard too many times, the sort a grieving parent holds in until the copper with the bad news leaves and they close the door. ‘I also understand you preserving that father–son relationship. Just know I’m here for you. Both of you. Okay?’

  ‘Dan, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say goodbye and say you’ll stop worrying. I’ve got your number. I’ll stay in touch.’

  ‘Thank you, Dan. Thank you.’

  Dan called his squash buddy to tell him something urgent had come up and to cancel the court, given squash wasn’t much of a game for one. Then he headed over to the address Maggie had given him, swearing under his breath at the irony of her having lived within a short drive of him for so long.

  Except for his stint at the Police Academy in Goulburn, Dan and Tracy had lived across the bridge to the north of the city, in the leafier, more suburban Lane Cove. He hadn’t shifted suburbs, just streets, when he moved out two months ago. No wonder Maggie had opted to go back to Calingarry Crossing when her father fell too ill to manage the pub. With Kings Cross her nearest train station and the eclectic clash of haves and have-nots packed into surrounding streets, her apartment block was a great location for an ambitious musician, but hardly one for raising a child.

  Dan dropped by Kings Cross station for a word with the Area Commander. Even an unofficial job called for prudence and observance of certain protocols. He could also check out this Brian Henkler on the police database for any form, complaints or disturbance reports. Then check known associates, outstanding warrants, that sort of thing.

  Dan had no mental image of the bloke as he used to be back in Calingarry Crossing. What he remembered from the brief overlapping acquaintance when they were teenagers, both keen on the same girl—Dan slightly less vigorously, given she was out of bounds and his mate’s kid sister—was a weird little guy whose intense passion for music kept him on a natural high. That’s how he had seemed to Dan. He might have been soft around the edges, in Dan’s terms, but he had talent, even th
ough the smooth, John Williamson-style singing voice seemed incongruent with his weedy stature and pock-marked complexion. One thing Dan did recall whenever he ran into Brian, apart from him being with Maggie, was an edginess that somehow exaggerated the guy’s high. Henkler had been like a balloon. One that goes up and up and up into the atmosphere, building pressure until—BAM!—it bursts and plummets. The louder and more hyper Brian became, the more Dan wanted to scrunch up his face and stick his fingers in his ears to prepare for the inevitable pop. The bloke was always louder, funnier, and obviously more fascinating than the broody, rebellious Dan, whose idea of charming the girls back then—charming anyone in fact—was big-noting himself or making a scene. Dan had gone out of his way to be the bad boy in town, too stupid to understand that bad boys only ever ended up with bad girls, like Amber Bailey.

  How lucky was he when he’d scored that security job and Tracy came along and let him fall in love with her. In The Making of Dan Ireland, which is what he called those early days of their relationship, Tracy had introduced a sceptical Dan to some of the gentler things in life, like ballet. His first-ever concert was the Sydney Dance Company’s interpretive performance of Romeo and Juliet. He knew little of the story before he saw the performance and by intermission he was totally baffled. His wife’s explanation had sparked his interest in the show’s second half, maybe because she’d used Dan’s language. Or maybe because Dan recognised the plot: ‘This dude kills his girlfriend’s brother and even though it was an accident, the girl’s parents forbid her to see the dude again, so they’re destined never to be together.’

  The memory of that performance played on Dan’s mind as he sorted through police records in one of the back rooms at Kings Cross local area command. Aside from a few DUIs, which eventually resulted in a loss of licence, Brian Henkler—aka Reece Naylor—had been barred from several local hotels and had a couple of domestic noise complaints lodged against him. There was nothing more serious, or serious enough to have made its way into the official police records at least.