Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns
Chapter Thirty-five
‘Now that’s a sight I never expected to see,’ Tilley said as she entered the farmhouse kitchen just after midday on Christmas Eve, delivering a big box of fresh vegetables for tomorrow’s lunch.
Henri looked up from where she was sitting at the table knitting, keeping her mother company while she made the pavlova base, jelly for the trifle and her own version of mince pies. She poked her tongue out at her big sister.
‘Henrietta has quite a talent for knitting, actually,’ their mum said, smiling across at her. ‘She picked it up very fast.’
That wasn’t completely true, but she appreciated the praise nevertheless and she had been knitting pretty much nonstop since she’d started. While it didn’t completely quieten her thoughts or ease her pain, it was surprisingly therapeutic. After making two dishtowels and a scarf, she’d stumbled across an organisation online that collected knitted pouches for orphaned wild animals and mittens for koalas hurt in bushfires. It felt good to be knitting for a purpose besides her own distraction.
Tilley came across and squeezed Henri’s shoulder. ‘I’m impressed, little sis. And how are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ Henri lied as she finished another row. ‘I’m not using my crutches as much anymore.’
They all knew Tilley hadn’t been asking about her ankle.
‘Matilda, do you have time for a cup of tea?’ their mum asked, wiping her hands on her navy CWA apron.
Tilley glanced at her smart watch. ‘Probably not—we’re inundated with deliveries today and I promised James I’d help the courier get through them this arvo—but a quick one won’t hurt. Have you got any cake to go with it? I haven’t had a chance to eat all day.’
Of course there was cake—their mother practically had a different cake for every day of the year.
Tilley all but collapsed into a seat next to Henri and sighed when her mum poured the tea and placed a china cup in front of her. ‘Ah, there’s just something about tea that soothes the soul,’ she said as she lifted the cup to take a sip.
Henri reached for her can of Diet Coke. ‘Where’s Macy?’
‘Liarna’s mum has taken them to the pool. There’s a big inflatable, Christmas carols and games there today. I tell you, that girl has a better social life than me.’
Henri and her mother chuckled in agreement.
‘So, Mum, do you still want me to cook the potato bake at home tomorrow morning before we come over?’ Tilley asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, please. There won’t be any room in our oven with the two turkeys and all the roast veggies.’
‘Why do we need potato bake?’ Henri said, reaching across the table to take a slice of carrot and chocolate cake. ‘Aren’t we having roast potatoes?’
‘Yes,’ sighed Tilley, ‘but Macy doesn’t like roast potatoes, so we decided on another option.’
‘Okay then.’ Whatever. Henri was pretty certain that when they were kids, you ate what you were given or went hungry, whether you liked the texture or not, but she didn’t want to sound like she was a hundred years old by stating that. It was no skin off her nose anyway.
As her mother and sister went through the Christmas menu for what had to be the billionth time—you’d be forgiven for thinking Prince Harry and Megs were coming—Henri refocused her attention on her knitting.
‘It’s Sexy Rexy,’ Tilley said about ten minutes later.
‘What’s Sexy Rexy?’
Tilley sighed in frustration. ‘The mysterious benefactor, Mum! Keep up.’
Henri hadn’t really been listening to the conversation, but now her head snapped up. ‘Sexy Rexy is the mysterious benefactor?’
‘Am I speaking another language?’ Tilley laughed. ‘That’s what I keep saying. I was in the café this morning and everyone was talking about it. Somehow, through all Logan’s research, he worked out that all roads led to Sexy Rexy. And apparently the old drunk came right out and admitted it in the pub last night.’
‘Where on earth did Rex Carter get the money for all that stuff? Did he have a rich relative die or something? It doesn’t make sense. The man buys all his clothes from the op shop, and have you seen his house?’ Their mother screwed up her nose. ‘I wouldn’t let one of the dogs live there.’
Tilley shrugged. ‘Well, apparently he won the lottery a while back—ten million or something. And I guess he just isn’t too fussed about material things or luxury himself.’
‘Why would you buy lottery tickets and then not treat yourself if you came into big cash?’ her mum asked. ‘As much as I love Bunyip Bay, if I came into millions, I’d buy myself one of those mansions overlooking the beach in Cottesloe. The least I’d do is totally renovate this place.’
‘I guess he gets a thrill from helping others,’ Tilley surmised. ‘And maybe his house is a palace on the inside. I don’t think anyone ever visits him.’
She nodded. ‘True, but those clothes? They’re not from a rich man’s wardrobe.’
‘Not everyone takes such pride in their appearance like you do, Mother, and he clearly didn’t want anyone to know. If he’d suddenly been seen in Gucci and Armani hauling rubbish at the tip, people would have been suspicious.’
‘That’s another thing! Why is he even working there? Can’t be for the love of it.’
‘Who knows? Maybe he likes it, or maybe it’s part of his cover, although apparently he didn’t seem very upset about being found out.’
‘Imagine if you won the lottery.’ A wistful look came over their mum’s face.
‘Have you ever bought a lotto ticket in your life?’ Henri asked.
‘No, but now that I know it’s actually possible for regular people to win, maybe I will.’
‘Yeah, maybe I will too. Hey! We should all go in as a family,’ suggested Tilley. ‘Do the same numbers every week? Use the kids’ birthdays or something?’
‘Good idea. Will you be in our syndicate, Henrietta?’
‘Yeah, sure, Mum.’ Henri popped another piece of cake into her mouth, but while her mother and sister started dreaming about what they’d do if they became millionaires overnight, she was still stuck on the whole Sexy Rexy revelation.
Her mother had been right when she said it didn’t make sense. Whoever the mysterious benefactor was, they had to be someone who had their finger on the pulse of whatever was happening in town. As far as she knew, Sexy Rexy pretty much kept to himself. He wasn’t involved in any clubs or committees and the only places he frequented were the tip and The Palace. It would be more believable if Eileen Brady was the culprit.
The Palace!Perhaps it did make sense. Sexy Rexy had been there every day Henri was, always perched on that same stool at the bar. Liam joked about him being part of the furniture, so he’d be in prime position to overhear when people were lamenting their woes to their friends.
Who’d ever have thought? It just showed you truly couldn’t judge a book by its cover.
Had Liam known all along? He must have. How often had he told her he knew all the secrets of Bunyip Bay? And this had to be one of the longest-kept secrets of all!
She thought back to the times she’d heard anyone mention the mysterious benefactor around him. There’d always been something slightly off in his responses. That first night in the pub—Liam had come by when they’d been discussing the mystery and when someone mentioned ‘him’, Liam asked how they knew it was a man? Then someone had asked if Liam had any idea who he/she was, and Liam had replied with something like ‘my patrons are more the hardworking type than millionaires’.
Clearly, he’d been trying to throw everyone off Sexy Rexy’s scent.
And then there was the whispered conversation with Frankie during the Christmas Tree. She’d noticed something a little off in Liam’s tone, like he was trying too hard to sound like he didn’t know anything. It was why later that night when they were alone, she’d asked him directly if he knew who the person was, but he’d brushed her off.
No, he hadn’t brushed her off. He hadn’t answered at all and then he’d distracted her with sex. Not that she’d complained at the time.
Thoughts of Sexy Rexy vanished as a wave of sadness swept through her at the reminder that Liam would never distract her in such a manner ever again. She’d probably never even have sex again because the thought of letting anyone else touch her just wasn’t worth thinking about.
‘Will I see you tonight then, Hens?’
‘What?’ She startled at the sound of Tilley’s voice and her chair scraping on the kitchen floor as she stood.
‘At church?’
‘Oh, right.’ Henri hadn’t been planning on going to the Christmas Eve service, but she looked across the table to see her mum smiling expectantly. After how good she’d been to her since their chat the other night, she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint her. It wouldn’t hurt her to sit through a few carols and a lecture—sorry, sermon—about the gifts Jesus gave to the world and the love and peace we should bring to each other not only this time of year, but always, blah, blah, blah. And she was fairly certain Liam wouldn’t be there—even if he didn’t have the pub, it was the Christmas Eve service, and he didn’t do Christmas. He’d made that blatantly clear!
‘Yep, I’ll be there. With bells on,’ she said with a fake smile.
Henri didn’t wear bells or any kind of festive fashion, but she was in the minority. As she hobbled on her crutches alongside her mum to join the hordes of people heading towards the church—most of whom only graced the old building with their presence twice a year—she noticed almost everyone was wearing either a Christmas T-shirt, headband or earrings. And there were at least fifty Santa hats heading inside, not all of them on children!
Since when were you allowed to wear Santa hats in church? Standards had dropped a lot since she used to come here as a kid.
The dress code wasn’t the only thing that had changed, Henri thought, as she and her mother joined her brothers, their wives and kids, who were waiting for them just outside the church. It sounded like there was a rock band playing inside.
‘Is that the choir? Are they singing “Christmas Where The Gum Trees Grow”?’ She hadn’t heard that song since she was a kid and that was in school, never at church. Whatever happened to ‘Silent Night’ and ‘We Three Kings’?
‘It’s the new pastor,’ her mother explained at Henri’s obvious shock. ‘He’s trying to make religion more fun, more accessible. And it’s working; attendance is going up every week.’
‘I think it might have more to do with him though,’ said Janai.
‘Why’s that?’ Henri asked.
Janai grinned. ‘I take it you haven’t seen Campbell yet?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, you’d know if you saw him,’ added Hannah with a smirk. ‘Let’s just say I didn’t know they made priests like that!’
She and Janai giggled like a couple of schoolgirls.
‘He’s not a priest, he’s a pastor,’ Andrew grumbled, which made Henri very, very curious to meet this new guy.
‘Where’s Matilda and James?’
‘I’m sure they’ll be here soon, Mum,’ Callum said as he bounced a squirming Joe in his arms, ‘but maybe we should go inside and sit down? We can save them some seats.’
All agreed that was a good idea. It was still warm, and although Henri guessed inside might not be any cooler with all these people, she already needed to rest her ankle.
They had to stop every few seconds to say ‘Merry Christmas’ to someone so it took them a while to get seated—the church was jam-packed like a tin of sardines—but they managed to get four pews together, saving space for Tilley, James and Macy. They parked Henri’s crutches along the floor in front of their pew so they didn’t get in the way. She’d stopped using them around the house the last few days but didn’t want to take any risks at the eleventh hour.
She used the paper order of service she’d been given when they entered to fan her face as she watched the choir—they were now singing Paul Kelly’s ‘How To Make Gravy’, of all songs—and waited for the service to start.
Tilley, James and Macy rushed down the aisle just as the music faded.
If looks could kill, the one their mum gave them as they slipped into the pew beside her would have been the end of them. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ she hissed, her cheeks flaming red.
‘Sorry,’ Tilley panted. ‘There was a late delivery. Rex’s doing, I guess. Trestle tables for the hall. We’d just closed up the shop, so thought it was easier to get the truck driver to drop them—’
She held up a hand. ‘Shh. You’re here now, that’s all that matters.’
A tall blond man, who looked as though he spent more time in the gym than he did praying, stepped up to the pulpit. Henri had to concede her sisters-in-law were right—he was rather hot, in a polished, Scandinavian kind of way.
‘Welcome, everyone, to our Christmas Eve service,’ said Campbell, his voice booming throughout the church.
Good-looking or not, she could just tell from the way he spoke that he liked the sound of his own voice and suspected this was going to be a long night.
She sighed and flapped her program near her face again, then stopped and stared down at her hand. Although the bandaid was long gone, there was still a bit of a red lump on her index finger from the splinter she’d got at the wreath-making session.
The splinter she’d got from the trestle tables.
The splinter that Liam had seen.
The splinter she’d told him had been caused by the old tables at the Memorial Hall.
Had he mentioned them to Sexy Rexy?
Argh. No matter what topic, her mind always came back to Liam.
While Campbell droned on at the front, Henri lost the fight to try not to think about him. She should have brought her knitting, she thought, as she closed her eyes and lost herself in memories of the time they’d spent together. It felt like so much longer than it had actually been. In such a short time, they’d done so much. They’d surfed, they’d laughed, they’d talked, and they’d almost had sex on his desk right there in the pub. She’d never felt such an urgency to have someone that she would have done it anywhere!
She probably shouldn’t be thinking about such things while sitting in church, but then again, everything else seemed to have changed, maybe that wasn’t frowned upon anymore either.
Oh my God!The thought died in her head as another crashed into it.
She jolted, knocking against her crutches on the floor and causing a bit of a clatter that earned a glare from her mother.
That night in Liam’s office. The Post-it note she’d picked up off Sheila.
JMC Office Supplies. Three-thousand and something dollars.
Henri leaned forward and tapped her sister on the shoulder. ‘Do you know how much those tables cost?’
‘What? How would I know how much they cost? We just delivered them.’
‘Wasn’t there an invoice or something with them?’
‘Girls, be quiet,’ their mother hissed as she turned around to glare at Henri yet again.
Ignoring her, Henri tapped Tilley again. ‘Do you know who the tables were from?’
Tilley rolled her eyes. ‘Sexy Rexy, I guess.’
‘No, the actual tables. What company supplied them?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Some office supply place in Perth?’
‘Girls! Please!’ Fiona looked like she was about to burst an artery.
Henri flopped back against the pew as the current Sunday School kids marched to the front to perform the nativity.
Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Liam’s note could have referred to anything. He ran a business—it was probably the name of the company he ordered all his paper and printer ink from or something.
Yet, no matter how much Henri tried to put the idea out of her head, she couldn’t get rid of the feeling in her gut that perhaps Logan had got the wrong person.
Like Sexy Rexy, Liam was always at the pub, and the timing was right. The random gifts had begun a couple of years after he’d arrived. Or at least, that’s when someone had made the connection and the mysterious benefactor had become a local legend. Everyone thought he’d come to town with nothing but a ute and a backpack, but he had to have had some money to have renovated The Palace the way he had. There’d been no expense spared and yes, he’d made the furniture and done a lot of the improvements himself, but it still wouldn’t have come cheap. Then there were his bedsheets, which made her feel like she was lying on silk.
His parents had owned two successful businesses. Who knew what other investments they’d had as well? With Lacey dead too, Liam would have been their only beneficiary.
Beneficiary? Benefactor?
She knew she was onto something. Liam made so much more sense than Sexy Rexy did.
Before Henri could think through her decision, she yanked her crutches up off the floor and pushed to a stand. Maybe she wanted to know if her hunch was right, maybe she just wanted to see him one last time. She wasn’t sure, but either way, she couldn’t sit here thinking about this a moment longer.
‘Where are you going?’ her mother hissed, grabbing hold of Henri’s wrist as she started out of the pew.
‘There’s someone I need to see.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Will you be back for supper?’
‘Probably.’ Henri wasn’t stupid enough to think this was going to change anything—it might even make things worse. ‘But if I’m not back by the time you need to go home, I’ll stay at Tilley’s tonight.’
And then she hightailed it out of there as quickly as anyone on crutches possibly could. She almost tossed them aside as she negotiated the church steps, but The Palace was at the opposite end of the main street, and she wasn’t a complete and utter lunatic. It was only when she was halfway there, puffing and panting up the hill, that she realised she could have borrowed her mum’s car. Having not driven since twisting her ankle, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Too late to turn back now, she continued on; every step felt like an effort, and she almost stacked it again a number of times.
But finally, she was there.
The multicoloured fly strips flapped about the entrance in the wind. Taking a deep breath, she swung her crutches towards them and then pushed herself inside.
And there he was. Standing behind the bar as always. Delicious as ever. Chatting to Sexy Rexy as he polished a glass.
Oh God!She shouldn’t have come. One look at Liam and all the hurt she’d been working hard to push deep down shot back up to the surface. She stood in the doorway frozen, feeling like she was lingering between two worlds and she didn’t want to be in either of them.
But before she could make a decision to turn and flee, an excited bark sounded as Sheila bounded towards her.