Standing Strong (6 page)

‘Have you spoken to Lucy?'

‘I've left a couple of messages. I think I keep getting the time difference wrong,' she said, lifting a hand from her mug and then putting it back again.

Damien reckoned his sister, Lucy, was more than likely right by the phone each time, listening to the messages, pacing back and forth in her shoebox–sized apartment, trying to figure out how to stop her mother visiting.

He rarely spoke to Lucy – they really had nothing in common – but he'd actually been half-expecting a panicked distress call from his sister regarding Tina's impending visit.
Good to be kept out of it,
he thought. Anyway, it was Lucy's turn to put up with their mother – he'd had her dropping in, looking him and his house up and down, finding fault and criticising him for all these years. Let his sister have it for a few days. In his mind, it wouldn't go well.

He couldn't understand why Tina was doing it. Surely she remembered how they really didn't get on? Though Tina didn't tend to be the most perceptive person around. He was really beginning to see that, now his eyes had been opened by Jacqueline. But even he, with his limited knowledge of the human species, could see that his mother was totally self-absorbed and tended not to notice, or chose to ignore, the negative body language of anyone around her. Hence, the whole Geoff thing.
I rest my case
. He loved his mum – that was programmed in from day one, right? – but he could also see that she was her own worst enemy.

Auntie Ethel had said this trip to see Lucy was all about what people think. One must go and visit one's daughter if she's moved away. It was expected: impressions were everything out here. And there would never be an utterance of, ‘Oh, no, I won't stay with my daughter, we don't really get on.' You might get, ‘Oh, no, I won't stay with my daughter, she really doesn't have the space,' to save face. People constructed all sorts of facades to avoid looking like they had a failing. Heaven forbid one admitted to having a problem, especially a dysfunctional family. He'd been caught up in the mindset, too, and look where that had nearly ended. He might be a clueless bloke when it came to all this sort of stuff, but he wasn't blind or stupid. And if Tina thought she was going to go off to London and stay in her daughter's tiny flat for even a few days and it not end very badly, then she clearly was blind and/or stupid. Someone should point that out. But it wouldn't be him. He'd stay well out of it. If she needed taking to the airport down in Lincoln and collecting again, fine, but that was going to be the extent of his involvement.

‘She could at least phone me back,' Tina said.

‘Well, I'm sure she's pretty busy with her job and social life, and everything,' he said lamely.
And avoiding her mother
. That was the good thing about numbers appearing on phones these days – you could choose who you picked up for.

‘So, how's everything going?'

‘Good. Good. Lots to do though,' he said. This was getting bloody awkward. Any minute now and he would have to resort to asking after her with regards the break-up, and he really didn't want to do that and risk tears. It wasn't tears, per se, he had a problem with, but Tina – always stoic – bursting into tears and needing comforting would completely freak him out.

Just as the awkward silence was descending, there was another knock on the door.
Saved by the bell – well, sort of,
he thought with relief and got up.

There stood a bloke he didn't know the name of but thought looked vaguely familiar. He held a cardboard apple box – the sort with a lid that slid over the top of an inner box and had air holes in the sides. ‘Um, er, you take unwanted animals, don't you?' he said, thrusting the box at Damien.

‘Yes, we do,' Damien said, accepting it.

‘Cool, thanks.' The man bolted back to the old white Commodore parked nearby.

Damien stood wondering if he should do anything else. This was his first case of surrender. It would have been hard enough for the guy to front up without worrying about being asked questions. He shuddered as he thought about how it would have been far easier for him to drown the creatures or leave them to die somewhere – like on the side of the road, as someone had done with Squish. He felt a wave of gratitude towards the guy and on behalf of whatever was in the box. He really needed to set up something at the farm gate where people could remain totally anonymous, he thought. Perhaps he could leave a cheap mobile phone there – secured so no bastard could steal it – so people could alert him when they'd left something. Hmm. He'd ponder it. There was a growing list of ponderings, he realised, as he turned and went back inside.

He put the box on the table and noticed his mother's nose wrinkle in distaste. He ignored her – if he wanted to put a box of puppies, or kittens, or whatever, on the table of his temporary home, then he bloody well would. He'd wipe the table down before he next ate from it – not that he ate
from
it; he used plates like a civilised person. What was important right now was the welfare of these animals.

‘You're clearly busy. I'll get going and leave you to it.'

‘Okay. Thanks for stopping in,' Damien said, already distracted by what was inside the box. He really hoped it wasn't dead bodies. He waited until the door closed behind his mother before sliding the lid off.

Four of the smallest kittens he'd ever seen were huddled on newspaper – one black and white, one tabby grey, one ginger and a dark motley one that his dad would have referred to as prunes-and-custard coloured. Okay, so this was now serious. It was one thing to rescue two roos off his own land after a fire and nurse them back to health, but this was the future. This taking in unwanted creatures, making sure they were healthy, getting them desexed before they went back out into the big wide world. Not to mention educating those out in the big wide world about Esperance Animal Welfare Farm.

‘Okay, little guys,' he said, stroking them. But, shit, they were tiny, and he knew diddly squat about kittens. They needed milk, didn't they? But cats are lactose intolerant, aren't they? He'd read or heard that somewhere. Panic gripped him. God, had he done the wrong thing going into animal rescue? Where was Auntie Ethel when he needed her? He had to pull himself together.

He was debating whether to get out his laptop and Google, phone Ethel, phone the RSPCA, or phone Philip Havelock when there was another knock at the door. Christ, it's like bloody Rundle Street here this morning, he thought, the stressful situation making him jumpy.

He nearly cried with relief upon seeing his auntie Ethel standing there. ‘Thank God you're here,' he said, ushering his bewildered aunt up the steps and inside. ‘I need your help.'

‘Whatever is the matter?' she asked, but then peered into the box. ‘Oh, look at you guys, what cuties. So, what's the problem?'

‘What do I feed them? They're tiny.'

‘Dear boy, do calm down.'

‘It's my first real case,' he said, rubbing a hand through his hair. He couldn't believe how undone he'd become. He really needed to get a grip – for the sake of the kittens, if not for himself.

‘They need formula. Remember, I put a tin in the top cupboard along with instructions and some bottles and teats for when this day arrived?' Ethel said kindly, patting his hand.

‘Oh, God, that's right. Maybe you should be running this show, not me.'

‘Fiddlesticks. You'll be fine. You just need to get into a rhythm. And stay calm. It's early days. You know you can always ring me – day or night.'

‘I was just about to, actually,' he said sheepishly. ‘So why are you here, anyway?'

‘Let's just get these guys organised.'

Damien acted on Ethel's instructions and soon they each had two kittens happily suckling. Food, warmth, tender loving care; it's all they need, he told himself. He couldn't really get it wrong; whatever he did was better than them being abandoned to die a slow, lonely death. He really had to remember that next time, and remain calm. He was cut out for this.

‘Right, now, what's this I hear about you ending things with Jacqueline?' Auntie Ethel said when the kittens were back snoozing in their box to which Damien had added some softer bedding.

Damien sighed. He needed an interrogation like he needed a hole in the head. He passed a mug of coffee to Ethel and sipped from his own.

‘Auntie Ethel, it's for the best. If you know, then Jacqueline's told you, and you know the full story. I don't have the energy to go through it again.'

‘But …'

‘But nothing. We've gone through the options. This is the only way. I don't want her losing her career after all her hard work or the town losing its service – I know first-hand how much she can help. And, anyway, the last thing I need down the track is her resenting me for choosing me over her career. I know a bit about resentment …

‘She's worked hard to be where she is, Auntie, and she shouldn't be punished. Yes, she stuffed up. But we've all stuffed up one time or another. Granted, probably not in such a big way. When we get together, I don't want there to be any roadblocks or any chance of resentment. I'd wait five, ten years for her if I had to. I wouldn't want to, but I would,' he said wearily. ‘So, please don't make me feel any worse about it than I already do.'

‘Okay, consider me put back in my box,' Ethel said, raising two hands as a gesture of surrender.

‘Sorry, I've just …'

‘It's okay. No need to apologise. I really just wanted to make sure you're okay. I'm sorry for seeming like I was going at you like a bull at a gate. I'm just sad and frustrated about it, which I'm sure is nothing compared to how you're feeling.'

‘It's okay.
I'm
okay. Honest. We'll get through, it'll just take some time. Meanwhile, I've got my hands full here thanks to my growing menagerie.' He offered Ethel a smile to reassure her.

Chapter Seven

On Friday morning there was a knock on Jacqueline's closed office door. Since the Damien and then Ethel visits, she was surprised to find herself becoming a little jumpy when a knock sounded. In some ways she wished she'd carried on with tendering her resignation and coming clean about everything to Doctor Squire, because now every time there was a knock on her door she didn't recognise, like now, her heart rate spiked. It was ridiculous, she kept telling herself. She was fine. As if anyone out here would figure out about her breach of ethics, let alone care enough to dob her in. She really had to just settle back into life and work and stop giving it all so much thought. At this rate it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

She swallowed and called, ‘Come in.' Then breathed a slight sigh of relief when Louise from reception entered.

‘Got a minute?' she asked.

‘Sure.'

She watched as Louise made herself comfortable in one of Jacqueline's padded vinyl chairs.

‘Sorry to hear about you and Damien not working out.'

‘Thanks,' she said, dropping her head. So that was how quickly word got around.

‘He's always been a bit of an odd one – in a quiet, brooding way.'

Jacqueline briefly toyed with telling Louise the truth and defending Damien in the process. Just because someone was careful with their words and used them sparingly, it did not make them odd. But she thought better of it. The fewer people who knew the truth, the safer her job was. And she didn't know Louise – or Cecile for that matter – well enough to know just how much she could trust them.

She idly wondered who had told her. Only three people knew: Jacqueline, Damien, and Ethel. She knew she hadn't told anyone else and Damien wouldn't have said anything to anyone, she felt certain of that. She was disappointed to think Ethel would have gossiped about her – and her own nephew – but she had been pretty annoyed when she'd left the other day. Perhaps she'd needed to vent to someone.

Or, she suddenly thought, relaxing slightly, perhaps no one had said anything. Perhaps Damien had gone into the pub and, with him suddenly appearing again out on his own, people had put two and two together … Jacqueline forced her attention back to Louise, who she now realised had continued speaking.

‘Sorry? What?'

‘Tonight? Tea at the pub? Get you out and about again.'

‘Oh, I don't know,' she said, remembering the telling off she'd got from Doctor Squire the night she'd overdone it out with Louise and Cecile. Though it might be nice to have some company and leave the house for a bit.

‘Just a quiet meal. Promise we won't lead you astray again,' Louise said with a laugh. ‘Be good for you to be seen out and about – show the blokes you're available again.'

Matchmaking seemed a favourite pastime out here. There seemed to be a high level of suspicion about people who were under sixty and not paired up. Or perhaps it was just Louise and Cecile. No doubt they were settled in their own lives and didn't have enough else to do, so they meddled in others'. Perhaps if Louise was so concerned about pairing people up she should work on her own circumstances. She refrained from pointing it out.

‘Who's going?' Jacqueline asked.

‘You weren't listening to a word I said. Just you, me, Cecile and Rob.'

‘Sorry.'

‘So, straight after work – five-thirty. I'll come by and collect you?'

‘Sounds good,' Jacqueline said, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

‘Well, have a good day.'

‘You too.'

As she considered the closed door after Louise's departure, she thought back to the last time she'd been to the pub. It was the night Jacob had turned up, and the night she'd realised there was a lot more to Damien McAllister … She shuddered and pushed it all aside.

*

True to their word, Louise, Cecile and Rob took good care of Jacqueline, and she was home by eight. Rob had had a quick dinner – had apparently phoned through his order so it was ready right at six when the pub's kitchen officially started taking orders – so he could get to his SES meeting on time. The girls weren't in a hurry, so it was better this way, they said, when Jacqueline expressed her surprise. Yes, maybe it was more convenient for Rob, but it certainly wasn't polite. She really had to get used to how differently some things were done out here – like everyone being in your business.