Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns

Chapter Thirty-three

By the time Liam opened the pub that evening, the whole town knew that he and Henri Forward had called it quits. He’d known the moment he saw Lara’s face when she came down to start work and the first words off her tongue confirmed it.

‘Are you okay?’ Her head cocked to one side, she reached out to squeeze his arm.

It was all he could do not to shake her off.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he said, focusing on putting the float into the register so she couldn’t see his face.

‘I heard about you and Henri. I’m so sorry.’

He slammed the register shut a little harder than he meant to and the clang of coins inside echoed in the otherwise quiet bar. Sheila looked up from her usual spot and glared at him.

‘Who told you?’

Turned out that Lara had heard the news from Melinda at the post office, who’d heard it from Mike the cop, who’d heard it from none other than Eileen Bloody Brady. How that woman found out he had no clue, but he guessed Henri must have told someone, and it took off from there. Good news travels fast in the country!

He wondered what exactly she’d said—whether she’d confessed the whole thing had been a farce or if she’d gone with her original plan, just a few days earlier. He briefly contemplated calling Henri so they could get their stories straight, but immediately saw this for what it was. Merely an excuse to hear her voice.

His phone had felt heavy in his pocket all day. Almost every second he’d been berating himself for handling things the way he did, wondering if she’d ring or at least reply to the message he’d sent saying he was sorry, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to keep seeing each other. He wasn’t proud of that message, and a real man wouldn’t have sent her sister to do his dirty work, but he honestly hadn’t trusted himself to follow through.

Of course, she hadn’t replied. She was either fuming or simply didn’t care, and he desperately hoped it was the latter.

The only action his phone had seen all day was a text from Sally reminding him Sheila was due for her heartworm injection and a sales rep wanting to talk to him about a new brand of nonalcoholic gin.

‘Do you want to take the night off?’ Lara asked, coming back behind the bar as the fly strips parted to reveal a couple of tourists. ‘I’m sure Dylan wouldn’t mind working. And Mondays are usually quiet, so we’ll be fine to hold the fort.’

She was right—Mondays and Tuesdays were his slow nights, which is why he made do with a skeleton staff. But he didn’t do nights off, and the last thing he needed was to spend the evening upstairs alone with nothing but Netflix, Sheila, and a tub of cookies and cream ice-cream like some kind of pathetic character in a rom-com.

‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine.’ He forced a smile for the couple as they stepped up to the bar. ‘Good evening, welcome to The Palace. What can I get for you?’

Only two hours later he was wishing he’d taken Lara and Dylan up on the offer.

Mondays might usually be dead—even this close to Christmas—but tonight there was a steady flow of locals dropping in to see him. Most of them didn’t even order a drink!

Clearly Henri hadn’t confessed to the charade, and he didn’t know how many more ‘sorry to hear things didn’t work out with you and Henri Forward’s he could take. Not to mention the casseroles that arrived along with the sympathy—sweet, but totally unnecessary considering he had a cook on the payroll. By 6 pm the fridge was overflowing with containers. Even Eileen Brady had delivered him a large tuna mornay. Although he guessed it was more because she wanted to grill him on what had happened than because she actually cared, he managed to thank her politely and not berate her for this whole damn mess being partly her fault!

Not that the casseroles wouldn’t be delicious—these women knew how to cook almost as good as Macca—but Liam’s appetite had vanished along with Henri and his enthusiasm for doing anything. He’d tried his best today to continue as normal, to do the things he usually did to fill his day and keep his mind healthy—swimming, woodwork, cleaning out the storeroom until the cement floor actually sparkled—but still the hours had been long and painful. Just the thought of not seeing Henri tonight, of not seeing her any night, made everything seem pointless.

He knew he’d made the right decision—she deserved so much more than he could give—but how could doing the right thing feel so bloody wrong? He told himself it was still early days. That it might feel like twenty years since he’d seen her, but it wasn’t even twenty-four hours.

For the first time in his life, he found himself counting down to Christmas. He’d be okay after he’d taken his annual day to reset and, after Henri was gone, perhaps his heart would stop hitching every time someone stepped into the pub.

He retreated to the kitchen as much as possible—thankfully it was Macca’s day off, so Liam needed to be in there flipping burgers anyway—but there were only a few orders for dinner and every time he came out there was someone wanting to pry into his business under the guise of concern. From what he could gather, Henri had explained very little. He was tempted to tell everyone that it had all been a joke, but he didn’t want them getting angry at her for fooling them all.

‘It was a mutual decision,’ became his mantra. ‘Although we get along well and had a lot of fun together, we realised our lifestyles weren’t compatible long term. I’m fine, honestly.’

At about eight o’clock, Lara cleared her throat as she looked through the hatch into the kitchen. ‘Really sorry, Liam, but I need to pop to the loo. Are you okay to man the bar?’

‘Of course,’ he replied. He couldn’t hide away forever. ‘I’ll be out in a sec.’

Thankfully the pub was empty, except for Rex and the tourist couple who’d come in earlier—they were making a night of it. That was the joy of being on vacation, every night was a Friday. They could stay as long as they wanted; Liam didn’t think he’d be getting any sleep tonight anyway.

He nodded to his most faithful patron’s near-empty glass. Was it his second or third pint of the evening? Had Lara served him while he’d been in the kitchen? ‘Want another one?’ he asked, taking a risk.

Rex’s bushy eyebrows rose, making Liam think the nightly quota had already been met, but he was too braindead to worry. ‘Don’t mind if I do. Thanks, mate.’

As Liam went to grab a fresh glass, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Or rather a lack of something. Or rather someone. Slamming the glass on the bar, his heart shot to his throat. ‘Where’s Sheila?’

Rex shifted on his stool and gestured to the door. ‘Over there. Guess the old girl wanted a change of scenery.’

Liam let out a long breath at the sight of his dog sitting just inside the pub like one of those heavy stone doorstop statues. His heart squeezed—he wasn’t the only one who’d fallen for Henri, but at least he knew the reason for her absence. If only he could explain it to Sheila. Would she understand? He suspected life wasn’t so complicated in canine country.

Almost wishing he were a dog himself, he picked up the glass again and put it under the tap as Rex downed the dregs of his previous pint. It was the first thing that amused Liam all day and he stifled a smile. Rex had to be one of the stingiest people he’d ever met and always drank every last drop to make sure he got his money’s worth.

‘You’ll never guess what I found at the tip today,’ Rex said as Liam placed the full glass in front of him.

‘What’s that?’ The last time Rex had been excited about a tip find, it had been a blow-up, plastic sex doll with a hole in it, and not the kind of hole most people wanted in such a doll! Another time it was a bunch of old spoons—the cheap kind that tourists buy on vacation. Sure, one man’s junk was another man’s treasure, but Liam didn’t think there were many people who’d get worked up about the things Rex did.

His mind drifted, wondering what Henri was doing right now. Watching some stupid Christmas movie? Making a voodoo doll that looked the spitting image of him? A tiny part of him wondered if she might show up as usual. If maybe because he hadn’t answered her calls she’d decide to have it out with him face to face.

Rex banged his fist against the bar, startling Liam from his rumination. ‘Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?’

‘Maybe if you ever said something interesting I would!’

The moment the words were out, Liam regretted them. The hurt that flashed across Rex’s face only made him feel more like pond scum than he already did. He was pretty much the guy’s only friend and friends listened, even to the boring stuff.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What was it you found?’

‘Ah, never mind.’ Rex took another sip of his beer, the froth lingering on his unruly moustache. ‘What’s going on here tonight anyway? Why all the casseroles? And why the long face? Has someone bloody died?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Well, something’s got your goat. Has it got to do with that Forward girl?’ Rex glanced at the large tarnished watch on his wrist—another tip find. ‘She’s usually here by now, isn’t she?’

Liam nodded. ‘I don’t think she’s coming tonight.’

‘Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise?’ Rex asked. ‘Didn’t I tell you that one was bad news?’

‘She’s not bad news. It just didn’t work out.’ He wouldn’t hear anyone say a bad word about her and told Rex the same as he’d told everyone else, while praying some other drama would happen in the Bay soon and he’d stop having to talk about his.

‘Man, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Rex said when Liam was finished. ‘I was only joking about her being trouble. We’ve had a few chats over the last coupla nights, and I was starting to worry I was falling in love with her myself.’

Liam smiled sadly. What could you do? Henri Forward was all too easy to fall for.

‘Is there anything I can do to help? I know women usually like talking about shit like this and I probably don’t know the right words to say, but we could shoot some pool if you want? Try to take your mind off her.’

‘Thanks,’ Liam said, touched by the offer—he didn’t even know if Rex could play pool. ‘It’s okay, I’ll be fine, but maybe you could take some of the casseroles off my hands?’

‘Really?’ Rex smiled more broadly than Liam had ever seen, revealing a dimple in each cheek that looked quite out of place on such a weathered, often sullen face.

He nodded. ‘You’d be doing me a huge favour.’

So, after Rex had finished his pint, he left The Palace with a swagger in his step and enough nutritious home-cooked dinners to feed him for a month.

Liam felt some consolation that at least someone was happy and his heartbreak was not completely in vain.

* * *

‘Mum, can you teach me to knit?’

‘What did you say?’ Henri’s mother looked up from where she was ironing pillowcases in front of the TV. When her dad was alive they’d both kept typical farming hours—early to bed, early to rise—but now that she was alone, her mother seemed to have taken to staying up late binge-watching the home renovation shows that had been his favourites. Henri guessed it was one way she still felt close to him. Tonight’s episode appeared to be a Christmas edition set in the North Pole, which boggled her mind.

Crutches still under her arms, she ventured further into the room. ‘Can you teach me to knit, please?’

Her mum switched off the iron, picked up the remote and muted the television. ‘Do I have wax in my ears, or did you just say you wanted to learn to knit?’

Henri nodded.

‘Wow.’ She took a moment, steadying herself on the ironing board, clearly letting this staggering news sink in. ‘I thought you’d gone to bed?’

That’s what Henri had told her at dinner—that she needed an early night—but although she was exhausted, it was more to get away from her mother’s fussing than anything. She’d taken one look at Henri when Tilley delivered her home and known something was wrong. What was it with mother’s intuition? Henri had explained that she and Liam had broken up—not giving any reason why because she couldn’t bear to explain everything—and requested to be left alone.

Of course, giving someone space wasn’t something Fiona Forward was capable of. Half an hour later she was in Henri’s room with a large bowl of chicken soup—as if such a dish had heart-healing properties. She didn’t have the flu. And who made soup in the height of summer anyway? Soup wasn’t the only offering either; there’d been cups of tea and slices of cake at regular intervals throughout the afternoon.

But after dinner, when her wish for peace had finally been granted, Henri found that lying on the single bed where Liam had kissed her so deliciously was not good for the soul. She’d kept picking up her phone and torturing herself by re-reading the last text he’d sent her.

Not that she needed to re-read it; it arrived when she was standing in the queue at the pharmacy waiting for the morning after pill and she now knew it off by heart. It was much shorter than the memory verses Eileen Brady had made her learn at Sunday School.

I’m sorry, Henri, but I can’t help you with your charade anymore.

That was it. After all they’d done together all she deserved was a brief text?

Maybe if she could think about it logically, she’d realise that a simple text message was all that was required—they weren’t even dating—but it still made her blood boil whenever she thought of it. Whenever she thought of him. Which was constantly.

That’s why she’d hobbled out to the living room—she couldn’t stand being alone with her thoughts any longer. She wanted someone, something, anything to distract her from herself.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Henri said, flopping down onto the ghastly floral couch that had been bought the year she turned five.

‘Missing Liam?’ Mum asked gently.

‘Missing the functionality of my left ankle more like it!’

All day she’d longed to be able to throw herself into work around the farm, but because of her stupid ankle she was housebound, and because of stupid Liam she was heartbroken—a state she’d vowed she’d never allow herself to be in again, which made her angry and self-loathing as well as sad. It certainly wasn’t the Christmas she’d had in mind when she’d come back to Bunyip Bay, and she’d think twice before doing it again.

Next year she’d make sure she was as far away as possible. Timbuktu was looking good.

Her mum raised an eyebrow as if she didn’t buy the whole ankle thing but didn’t push the point. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘so you want to learn to knit?’

‘That’s what I said.’ Henri had never sat still long enough to learn before, or had any desire to, but … desperate times and all.

‘Crochet is easier. Do you want to start with that?’

Henri shook her head. She didn’t want easy, she wanted something that required all her brain power so there wasn’t any room left to think about Liam.

Without another word, her mother left the room, returning a few minutes later with the big wicker basket where she stored all her needles, patterns and spare yarn. She sat down on the couch next to Henri, plonking the basket between them.

‘Pick a colour,’ she said, gesturing to the balls of wool.

Henri plucked one at random—it didn’t matter what colour it was.

‘Now, what do you want to make? Scarves are easy to start with. Or you could try a dishtowel.’

Henri hadn’t thought about making anything in particular. ‘A dishtowel? What the hell is a dishtowel?’

‘It’s a tea towel, only made with wool.’ When Henri screwed up her nose, she added, ‘They work just as well and add a more personal touch to the kitchen.’

‘What’s a hard project?’

‘Well, I have a book with some fabulous jumper patterns, but they’re all fairly intricate and require a bit of skill.’

‘I want to do one of them. The harder the better.’

‘Why don’t I just start by teaching you the basics and then, if you like it, you can choose a design and attempt something bigger. We’d have to buy wool especially anyway.’

‘Okay,’ Henri relented and picked up two thick wooden needles. These would make good weapons, she thought, rolling them between her fingers.

As if reading her mind, her mother took them off her and dumped them back in the basket. She picked up a metal pair that were much thinner instead. ‘It’ll be easier to learn on these.’

Then she took the wool Henri had chosen, looped it over the end of one of the needles and tied some sort of knot, before proceeding to create lots more little loops.

‘Hang on … what are you doing?’ Henri didn’t want to sit here watching her mother knit!

‘Relax, I’m just casting on for you. Trust me, you’re not the first person I’ve taught to knit, and this is the hardest thing for a beginner to learn. Once you’ve mastered garter and purl, then I’ll teach you how to cast on.’

Henri tapped her good foot as her mother cast on twenty-five stitches—how hard could it actually be?—and then proceeded to show her how to do garter stitch.

‘Holding the needles like this, thumbs at the front and the rest of your fingers behind, you slip the right needle under the first loop and then behind. Then you bring the wool up and loop it over the back needle, like so. Holding the wool firmly, you pull the back needle down, slip it under the loop and then slip the loop right off the left needle. Voila!’

Voila?!Who even said that?

‘Then you do it again until you get to the end of the row.’

Henri all but snatched the needles off her mother. ‘Okay, my turn.’ Then she stared at them frozen in her hands. ‘What was the first step again?’

She repeated the steps slowly while Henri tried to follow them, but when she finally got the wool to go the right way, she pulled on the needle too vigorously and about five stitches unravelled right before her eyes. Her mother recast and then, gritting her teeth, Henri tried again, but she just couldn’t seem to follow the supposedly simple instructions.

‘Maybe there’s a YouTube video or something I can watch?’

‘Probably, it seems everything is online these days, but give yourself a break. It takes practice to get the hang of it. And patience.’ Unsaid was the fact that Henri possessed very little of the latter, but she suddenly realised that for the last ten minutes she’d not thought once of Liam or the text message.

‘Okay,’ she said, taking a deep breath and trying again.

But it was hopeless. She was hopeless. Legitimately the worst. No sooner did it seem she was maybe getting the hang of it than she’d drop a whole stitch or somehow manage to do two at once. Spitting a word that usually made her mother flinch, Henri hurled her attempt across the room as tears rushed to her eyes. Why had she ever thought she could do this?

‘This is stupid. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do anything well?’

‘Oh, Henrietta.’ Her mother picked up her hand and squeezed it. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you. And you’re good at lots of things. I don’t know anyone as good as you at flying.’

Was that actual pride she detected in her mum’s voice? No, she had to be imagining it. And was flying really the only thing her mother could think of? If only she knew what had happened up north, she probably wouldn’t even say that.

Henri snatched her hand back. ‘And we all know what you think of me flying! I’m not good at the things you think matter—I’m not good at people, I’m not good at relationships, or love.’

‘Oh, darling … Maybe it isn’t over between you and Liam. Maybe this is just a hiccup, and you can work it out.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Henri shook her head, losing the battle with tears. If she could have stood up and fled the room she would have, but her crutches were just out of reach.

Her mother stood instead and crossed over to the old piano that nobody used anymore. Its only function now was as a display unit for photo frames, trinkets and a fabric covered tissue box. She picked up the box and brought it back to Henri.

‘Thanks,’ Henri managed as she took one and buried her face in it.

As she tried to pull herself together, she felt her mum’s hand rubbing gentle circles on her back, something she hadn’t done since Henri was ten and crying because a boy had beaten her in the cross country.

‘What happened between the two of you?’ she asked after a while. ‘I thought things were going so well. Why did you break up?’

‘The truth is, Mum, it was never actually a thing in the first place.’

Her brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Shall I get us a cup of tea?’

A bit like soup, her mother thought tea fixed everything. ‘Do you have anything stronger?’

She patted Henri’s knee. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’ And then she headed out into the hall.

‘Hopefully this will do the trick,’ she said when she returned a few minutes later, carrying two glass tumblers that looked suspiciously like they contained whiskey on the rocks. ‘There’s still some of your father’s Jack Daniels, but we didn’t have any soda water.’

The whiskey had to be over four years old. Did alcohol go out of date? Henri couldn’t remember but her heart ached at the thought of her dad. She wished it was him here now comforting her. Then again, if he were still alive, she’d probably never have got with Liam in the first place because he’d have put a stop to Fiona nagging about her finding the perfect bloke before everything go so out of hand.

‘It’s perfect,’ she said, snatching one of the glasses and taking a much-needed gulp.

Her mum sat down beside her, and Henri felt a flicker of a smile as she lifted her glass and took a sip. She rarely drank but when she did, she was much more of a wine or G&T person. Henri had been questioning whether it was a good idea to come clean, but guilt swamped her at the sight of her mother drinking whiskey. For her.

Besides, she needed to get this off her chest—she was finished with lying, it was exhausting—and so she told her mother everything. All that she’d told Tilley and then some, confessing not only to the charade and the sex, but also that their fling had somehow morphed into something else. At least on her side.

‘I guess I was doing such a good job of acting that I even fooled myself. I thought that what we felt was just physical and that I could do it without getting hurt, but … I guess I was wrong.’

When she was finished, Henri braced herself for a lecture about how lying never ended well, but it didn’t come. Instead, when she looked at her mother, she saw tears in her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry that because of me, you felt you needed to pretend. And I’m sorry that because of me you ended up getting hurt. I didn’t realise how pressured I was making you feel. I know it’s no excuse, but I always had the best intentions. I just want you to be happy, but I forget sometimes that happiness isn’t the same for everyone. It’s hard for me to understand that you don’t want love, marriage and babies.’

Henri shook her head. ‘Of course I want that, Mum—well, not the babies, sorry, and not necessarily marriage either. But companionship, love, I want those things—however, life isn’t a Danielle Steel novel. It just doesn’t work that way for everyone, and I don’t want to sacrifice who I am to get it. If I ever do settle down, it’ll be with someone who’s happy for me to continue to do what I love and wants to work with me to make that possible. That guy is not Liam.’

Before her mother could say anything to that, she added, ‘And it’s not anyone who you might think is right for me. I need you to stop trying to direct my life and just accept me for who I am. I want coming home to visit to be a joy, something I look forward to, not something I dread because I’m not living up to your dreams for me. You never even ask me about my work, all you do is try and get me to stop. And every time you suggest a local guy that would be perfect for me to settle down with … well, it makes me feel like shit.’

‘Oh, honey,’ her mum gushed, ‘you are everything I want you to be and so much more. I’m so sorry I ever let you believe otherwise. I just love you so much and, I’ll be frank, doing what you do frightens the living daylights out of me, but I know it’s who you are, and I know that my fear is foolish. That the boys or Tilley are just as likely to have something terrible happen to them in a freak accident, but I can’t help it.’

‘It’s not foolish,’ Henri said, thinking it was definitely best not to mention her near-miss in the Kimberleys. You didn’t need to be a mother to understand that it must be terrifying to have incubated something, birthed it, raised it and then had to send it out into the world to fend for itself.

But despite her assurance, her mother started sobbing anyway. For a moment Henri sat there like a stunned mullet gaping at the sight—her mother was so strong, she could only ever remember her crying when her dad died—but then something snapped. She shoved the wicker basket onto the floor and pulled her into a fierce hug. ‘You’re not supposed to be the one crying, I am.’

Although she’d bawled so much today that maybe she was all out of tears.

If only she was all out of heartbreak as well.

‘I love you so much, Henri, and I’m so proud of you. Don’t ever doubt that.’

No, apparently she wasn’t out of tears, because at her mother’s shortening of her name, great, unexpected waves of emotion overcame her, and they burst forth like a dam that had only just been managing to contain itself. She clung to her mum like she hadn’t done in years. After a while it became hard to tell who was comforting who, but Henri knew two things for sure. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life—not after Max’s sister had called and told her about his indiscretions, not even when she’d had to crash land—and she’d also never felt closer to her mother.

‘Do you want to give up and call it a night?’ her mum asked when their sobs finally subsided and they’d almost used up the whole box of tissues.

With a sniff, Henri took one more sip of her now watery whiskey and then picked up the knitting needles again. ‘No, I’m determined to conquer this, but you can go to bed if you want.’

‘I think I’ll sit with you a little longer, if you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all.’

Half an hour later, after much cursing and many more false starts, Henri finally got the hang of it, and as she methodically knitted row after row, her mother talked animatedly about various town committees and the disagreements members were having.

As usual, Henri didn’t know all the people she was talking about, but it was exactly what she needed.