Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns

Chapter Fourteen

Liam froze as he approached his apartment just after midnight on Saturday evening to find a large wreath hanging on the door.

What the hell!?

His fingers curled into fists and a light sweat erupted on his skin as he took in the concoction of red, gold and green ribbons, plastic berries and foliage that had been pillaged from native vegetation.

This had to be Henri’s doing. Who else but a girlfriend—or rather a fake one—would feel they had the right to do such a thing?

He glanced down to grumble at Sheila, only to remember that his dog was already inside. No doubt curled up with Henri on his bed.

Irritation swept through him as he ripped the wreath off its hook.

She’d overstepped the mark with this. It was one thing taking his bed most nights, another to be pretending to be together—touching and kissing in public—but hanging Christmas decorations was pushing the friendship too far. No one came up here apart from his staff and out-of-towners, so this ugly, over-sized decoration wasn’t aiding and abetting their farce.

The only place he wanted to see it was in his trash can, exactly where he was about to shove it.

With the offending item in one hand, he wrenched the door open with the other and stormed inside, his heart jolting at the sight of Henri on his couch, Sheila fast asleep beside her.

Why was she still awake?

And not only awake, but sitting here in tiny shorts and a skimpy tee watching stupid Christmas movies?

‘Hello,’ she said, as she gestured to what he was carrying. ‘I see you found my Christmas wreath. Too ugly to hang on your door? Don’t worry, I’m not offended.’

Dragging his gaze from the TV he turned properly to look at her, swallowing at the sight of her bare legs.

‘What?’ His brain catching up, he looked at the wreath, then held it up like it was a trophy. ‘No, not at all. I just thought it might be better downstairs where everyone can see it.’

It was like someone else had climbed into his body and started operating his voice box. That was not what he’d planned to say at all, but his irritation had all but dissipated at the uncertainty that crossed her face.

He was being irrational. Henri didn’t know what Christmas decorations did to him. She hadn’t hung the wreath to upset him. It was probably some kind of twisted thanks for going along with her scheme.

She frowned. ‘Are you sure? I know it’s not the prettiest thing, but I didn’t know what else to do with it. Mum’s is now hanging in pride of place on our front door, so she suggested I give mine to you.’

‘Thank you.’ He took a quick breath. ‘And yes, I’m sure. I’ll hang it tomorrow morning.’

If it was outside, he wouldn’t have to see it all the damn time, and it might also go towards appeasing the locals who’d latched on to Karen’s suggestion they call the pub ‘Bar Humbug’. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d lost count of the number of people who’d said it to him. All of them cackling as if it were the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

As if Henri could read his mind, she said, ‘I notice you don’t have any other Christmas decorations?’

He put the wreath carefully down on a side table and shrugged. ‘I don’t see the point. You go to all this effort to put them up, only to have to take them all down again. And then there’s the storage—waste of good space. Christmas is really for little kids anyway and, you may have noticed, little kids aren’t really my clientele.’

She raised one eyebrow. ‘Sounds like a cop-out to me, Liam. The least you could do is put up a tree and throw some tinsel around.’

‘You’re up late,’ he said, hoping to distract her from this line of conversation. ‘Thought you’d be in bed already?’

She took a moment to reply, and he thought maybe she’d try to push him on the decorations, but then she simply shrugged one shoulder. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘So, you decided to watch Christmas movies instead?’ He hated them almost as much as he hated decorations.

‘Die Hard is not a Christmas movie,’ she exclaimed as Bruce Willis scaled an elevator shaft on the screen.

‘Ah, yes it is.’

‘Why? Just cos it’s set at Christmas?’ She scoffed. ‘Name one other so-called Christmas movie that has so much blood, gore and violence.’

Liam came up blank but wasn’t about to roll over and let her win the argument. He flopped down in the armchair beside her. ‘Just because there’s machine guns, doesn’t make it not a Christmas movie either. It’s about McClane realising how much he misses his wife and family …’ He swallowed. ‘Because he wants to spend the holiday with them.’

Henri shook her head. ‘He could have that epiphany at any time of the year.’

‘I disagree—such epiphanies are always at Christmas. But there’s also tonnes of references the whole way through, not to mention the soundtrack. And what about McClane walking on broken glass at the end? If that isn’t a Christ-like sacrifice, I don’t know what is.’

Henri snorted. ‘Now you’re really clutching at straws.’

‘I’m not! Christmas is the reason for pretty much everything that happens and all of the character growth.’

‘Bull. Shit. There’s no sign of Santa Claus or reindeer so it can’t be a Christmas movie.’

‘Maybe we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one.’

Although he had to admit, as usual, he was enjoying bantering with her. Probably more than he should. It felt way too much like foreplay. He hadn’t had a woman in his apartment for any other reason in the whole time he’d lived here. Well, except Janet once a week when she came to do the cleaning, but she definitely didn’t set him on edge the way Henri did.

‘Or we can agree that I’m right and you’re wrong,’ she said, smiling as she disentangled herself from Sheila and pushed to her feet. ‘I’m going to make a Milo. Do you want one?’

‘Sure, that’d be good.’

As she headed into the kitchen, Liam picked up the remote and flopped back into the chair. There had to be something else on the TV besides this. As he flicked through the options, he heard the fridge open and Henri whistling as she pottered about the kitchen. Over the past few nights, he’d got used to waking up to her in his space—to the sight of her toothbrush in his bathroom and her shoes by the door—but she was usually in bed by the time he came upstairs. Being here alone together at night was a whole other kettle of fish.

Just remember who she is. Who her family is! She’s only here to deceive them.

When she returned, carrying two steaming mugs and a packet of Tim Tams hanging between her teeth, he noticed a bandaid on her finger.

‘Thanks,’ he said as he took one of the mugs. ‘What did you do to yourself?’

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘Your finger.’

‘Oh. I got a splinter from the bloody tables at the hall today. It’s nothing really, but I might have got a little aggressive with the tweezers when I was trying to make sure I got it all out.’

She sat back down next to Sheila, who roused for a moment, but when she realised there was only human snacks and she was not going to be given any, immediately returned to the Land of Nod.

‘You got a splinter from a table?’

‘Have you seen those tables?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t do many craft sessions at the hall.’

‘Lucky you. Well, they’re probably older than Dolce and in dire need of replacement, or at least some serious TLC, but apparently new trestles are low on the shire priority list. Lucky it was me who got it and not one of the kids.’

‘Maybe if a kid hurt themselves someone would do something about it,’ Liam said as he opened the packet of Tim Tams, offered her one and then took one for himself. It was good to have something to keep his hands and mouth busy.

‘Oh, no, no, no, no, no,’ she said as he took a bite.

‘What is it?’ He looked around. Was there a mammoth spider on his shoulder or something?

She thrust her finger at him. ‘That is not how you eat Tim Tams. How long have you been in Australia? You’re doing it all wrong!’

‘Huh?’

Henri plucked one from the packet. ‘This is the only way to have Milo and Tim Tams. Or coffee and Tim Tams. Anything and Tim Tams really.’

He watched in slight awe, slight horror, as she bit the top off one end, then flipped it and did the same at the other end, before dipping the Tim Tam into her Milo and using it as a straw. He laughed at the undignified sound she made slurping up the liquid, then sucked in a breath as chocolate dripped onto her fingers. As she popped all that was left into her mouth all he could think about was how delicious she’d taste right this moment.

Who was he kidding? She tasted delicious regardless. Thanks to their fake public display of affection, he had firsthand knowledge of the fact.

‘Now your turn,’ she said, nodding towards the packet and smiling. Did she have any idea what she did to him?

Trying to stay cool, he grabbed another and proceeded to do exactly what she’d done moments earlier. He blinked as the warm Milo shot up through the Tim Tam, giving him a gooey chocolate rush. But then he took too long to act and the rest of it slipped from his fingers and plopped right into his mug.

Henri thought this hilarious.

He glared at her while secretly relishing the sound of her laughter. ‘That was intense.’

‘But good intense, right?’

He nodded, unable to tear his gaze from hers. Thank God there was a dog and an armchair between them.

After what felt like five hours but was probably nearer five seconds, Henri licked her lips and then cleared her throat. She felt it too, he knew it, but that didn’t mean they should act on it.

‘I can’t believe you’ve lived ten years in Australia and no one has showed you how to do a Tim Tam slam before.’

‘Almost eleven years,’ he corrected.

‘That’s right …’ She settled back into the couch, placing one hand on Sheila. Once again, he found himself a little jealous as he watched her fingers absentmindedly slide through the dog’s fur. ‘Whereabouts in Australia did you travel before stopping in Bunyip Bay?’

‘I started in Sydney, bought an old ute, explored the area where my mom grew up a bit, then headed up to Queensland and across the top, before driving down the coast and ending up in Bunyip Bay.’

For a while they exchanged stories of sights seen and people met. Henri’s tales of the quirky characters she’d worked with all over the world amused him and, although he’d been exhausted when he came upstairs, her laughter as he described some of the interesting backpackers he’d met in hostels gave him a second wind.

‘You can tell me to mind my own business if you want, but why haven’t you had a serious relationship since you’ve arrived?’ asked Henri.

He swallowed. ‘Who said I haven’t?’

She gave him a look. ‘Nothing goes unnoticed in Bunyip Bay. You can’t even change your underwear around here without someone finding out and making sure everyone else knows about it as well.’

Despite the tightness in his chest, he couldn’t help but laugh. Were there ever any truer words said?

‘Well, like your job,’ he said, ‘mine isn’t really conducive to a relationship.’

‘Don’t you ever get lonely?’

‘Don’t you?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Do you ever answer a question with a straight answer?’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘Do you?’

‘Let’s play a game,’ she suggested.

‘What kind of game?’

‘Kind of like Truth or Dare …’

It sounded like dangerous territory, but also fun. Normally he played things pretty safe, but Henri made him want to live on the edge.

‘But without the dares.’

He groaned. ‘Where’s the fun in that? Not scared of a good old dare, are you?’

She glared at him but her eyes were smiling. ‘Fine—truth or dare. Your turn first. What’s it to be?’

‘Dare. What do you want me to do? Run naked down the main street? Steal flowers from Eileen Brady’s garden? Do ten Tim Tam slams in a row?’

‘I dare you to answer this question truthfully.’

‘That’s cheating!’

‘Do you accept the dare or do you not?’

He sighed, trying to ignore the squeeze of his ribs. ‘Ask away.’ She didn’t have a lie detector, so he didn’t have to tell the truth if he didn’t want to.

‘Do you get those T-shirts you wear for free?’

‘What?’ He blinked. He’d been expecting something much more intrusive.

‘Do you get those shirts for free?’ she repeated, pointing to his black polo shirt, the one with the Bundy Rum polar bear on the pocket.

‘Yep. Hundreds of them. Can’t remember the last time I actually had to buy a shirt. It’s one of the perks of owning a pub.’

She smiled. ‘And what are the other perks?’

He shook his head. ‘That’s two questions. I think it’s my turn now. Truth or dare?’ Of course she chose truth. ‘Have you ever been out with anyone from Bunyip Bay?’

Her cheeks flushed. ‘Um … not really. I was at boarding school since I was thirteen and then never really came back to live after that, but I had the biggest crush on Adam Burton growing up.’

He laughed. ‘From what I’ve heard you’re not the only one.’

Henri nodded. ‘So, what’s it to be? Another dare or truth?’

‘Dare. But you can’t give me the same one as last time.’

‘Now I’m beginning to think you’re the chicken, but okay. I dare you to … tell me who the people in the photo that was in your bedroom are. I wasn’t sure whether the man was you or just someone that looked a lot like you. Like your dad? But if it was you … were the kids yours?’

Liam shifted in his seat. Man, she was good at this game. He almost said, ‘what photo?’ hoping he could make her think she’d imagined it, but she wasn’t stupid. Perhaps it would have been smarter for him to leave it there—removing it had only drawn attention.

‘I’m the little boy in the photo. And no, I’ve never been married. No kids either.’ He didn’t ask her truth or dare, just launched into the next question. ‘Have you ever had any serious incidents while flying?’

Something akin to discomfort flashed across her face but she covered it quickly. ‘I once got a paper cut while filling out amendments to Air Navigation Orders for CASA.’

He rolled his eyes, suddenly sensing she was hiding something. ‘Did that paper cut happen while you were flying?’

She shook her head.

‘Then it doesn’t count. Tell me the truth, Henri.’

‘Okay. Fine.’ She wrung her hands together in her lap. ‘But if you tell my mother I’ll have to kill you.’

‘Promise. My lips are sealed. What happened?’

‘I’ve had a couple of close encounters with powerlines, but that’s quite common. Sometimes they’re pesky to see and it’s over before you even realise. If the wire breaks, there’s usually no consequences. If the wire doesn’t break or jams something in the aircraft, well … it can lead to serious problems, but I’ve always been lucky. Then, not too long ago, when I was mustering up north …’

Liam’s heart thudded when Henri’s voice trailed off. ‘What happened?’

‘It was late in the day; we were almost knocking off and I was heading down near some trees to chase out cattle when the engine failed.’

‘It just stopped?’

‘Yeah.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Well, there was a loud bang and then the prop stopped dead. I had to act fast and come down in terrain not ideal for landing. The trees were quite dense, but I found a small clearing. I managed to crash land, but the small wheels aren’t made for the rough ground. We bounced and I skidded to try and keep control, but we hit a termite mound. It all happened really fast. One minute I was airborne, the next I’m climbing out of the wreck.’

‘Geez.’ Liam found his hands gripping the arms of his chair as she spoke. No wonder Fiona Forward was constantly crossing herself. It sounded like Henri was lucky to come out of that alive. ‘Were you hurt?’

‘Not really. I walked away with nothing but a bit of bruising.’

‘How do you go back up in the air after something like that happens?’

‘Well, you just gotta get back on the horse, so to speak, don’t you?’ Henri reached for Sheila again and suddenly looked more serious than he’d ever seen. ‘A pilot I kinda knew lost his life a few years ago—but you always think it won’t happen to you. You know what I mean?’

He nodded. Oh yeah, he knew.

Growing up, Liam had almost become numb to the bad news he saw on TV. The natural disasters, the terrorist attacks, the shootings, the wars in far-off countries … they were almost as unreal as the movies he watched. When one of them actually affected you, the shock was almost as palpable as the grief. ‘You’re very brave.’

She shook her head—‘No. I’m not brave at all’—and swiped at her eyes as if trying to ward off tears.

He grabbed the box of tissues off the coffee table and by the time he turned back to her, she was sobbing. ‘Shit, Henri,’ he said, yanking out a tissue and thrusting it at her, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms. ‘What’s wrong?’

She sniffed a few times, wiped her eyes, sniffed some more, then, ‘You asked how you go back up in the air after a crash? Well, the truth is … I haven’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I had to abandon the mustering contract because the aircraft needed fixing but they were almost finished anyway. I thought I was fine. I drove across to the Riverina where I was supposed to start a rice contract that would take me right up to Christmas.’ She paused. ‘But when I got there, I just froze. I couldn’t even bring myself to climb into the aircraft.’

Her face crumbled and suddenly the tears came hard and fast. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m such a stuff-up.’

Liam moved off the armchair, lowered himself down beside her on the couch and pulled her into his arms. ‘No, you’re not. Geez, what you went through … being scared to fly again sounds like a perfectly normal reaction to me. Have you spoken to anyone about it?’

‘Just my boss. He was great, understanding. Told me to take some time off. See how I feel after Christmas.’ Her words were muffled as she sobbed into his chest. ‘I was going to tell Frankie, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m just so ashamed, and I can’t risk Mum finding out either.’

He didn’t need to ask why.

‘You’re the first person I’ve admitted it to,’ she said, pulling back. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

‘No, course not.’ He was used to people telling him things they couldn’t talk about with anyone else, and he always kept their secrets. ‘But what are you going to do about it?’

Henri inhaled deeply and then puffed out a breath. ‘I guess if I still can’t fly after Christmas, I’ll have to talk to a professional or something, but … what if they can’t fix me? What the hell am I supposed to do with my life if I can’t fly? It’s in my blood. It’s not only what I want to do, it’s what I need to do—it’s almost the same as breathing to me. I don’t know how to do anything else. I’m actually more scared of not flying than I am of dying, which is what makes this so infuriating.’

‘If that’s the case,’ he said, ‘then I reckon you’ll get in an aircraft again. I do. What about going up with another pilot? Someone you trust. See if you can handle flying when you’re not in control. You know … one step at a time.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, I didn’t mean to unload on you,’ she said, scrunching the soggy tissue in her hand into a ball, ‘but it actually feels good to have told someone. Thank you.’

‘Hey.’ He shrugged. ‘No problem; that’s what publicans do. We listen.’

She smiled. ‘Anyway, enough about me … truth or dare.’

Henri’s confession had been so heartfelt and raw that he’d almost forgotten they were still playing. It was getting late, but he didn’t feel he could abandon her just yet. ‘Truth.’

Surprise flashed in her eyes before she said, ‘How’d you get the scar on your shoulder?’

Of course it was coming—he’d distracted her once, she was bound to try again—but he had no excuse to distract her with a kiss up here. ‘I fell out of a tree as a kid. A stick stabbed me.’

Shit.A tree? A stick? Where the hell had that come from? It certainly wasn’t his usual story. He only hoped she hadn’t been talking to anyone else about it.

‘Did you have to get any stitches?’

‘Eleven.’ At least that bit was true.

‘Why did you hide the photo?’

‘Because talking about my family hurts,’ he admitted, his tone cool.

Most people would take the hint at that, but not Henri. ‘Was that why you left America? Did you fall out with them or something?’

Her questions felt like gunshots. Heat crept up his neck and his breath quickened. Until that moment, he’d never once felt compelled to break his silence, but weirdly he found himself considering actually telling her.

The question was … where the hell to start? He’d spent so many years not talking about his family, not ever speaking about what had happened almost exactly twelve years ago, that even when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said when the silence grew awkward. ‘That was three questions. You don’t have to answer any of them.’

‘Yeah.’ Maybe that was for the best. He pushed to a stand, unable to believe how close he’d come to spilling everything. ‘It’s getting late—or rather early. Maybe we should call it a night? I’m going to have a shower.’

Then, without waiting for a reply, he headed for the bathroom, hoping that by tomorrow morning, all the crazy urges he felt when she was close would have passed.