The Goodbye Ride (14 page)

Being damn naïve.

Liv sent Owen’s phone skidding across the
old wax bench, into the camellia vase.

Outside, it was another perfect winter’s
day, sunny and still, with a sky the colour of deep blue silk. She waved at Ben
from the porch before shoving her feet into her boots. Picking up her helmet
from where she’d left it propped against the wall late Saturday night, she
stepped out to meet Ben at the road, her boots swishing through the damp grass.

Ben had taken off his helmet and every few
seconds he swapped it from his left hand, to his right. Her father stood
straight as a flagpole, hands in his pockets, and Liv doubted the conversation
was comfortable. Then again, compared to the stalemate these two had played for
years, it was progress.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you both to it,”
her father said, as she neared. “Good to see you, Ben. It’s been a long time.”

“It has, Jack.” Ben shoved the helmet in
his left hand and reached out with his right, and they shook.

“Ride carefully,” Jack said to Liv.

“Always, Dad,” Liv replied. “Hey, a guy
might drop by for his phone. I left it on the kitchen bench.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Owen… Owen Carson,” she supplied. Her
chest pinging as she said his name.

Her father squinted against the sun.
“Carson? Why does that name ring a bell?”

“No idea, Dad. You’re a fireman. Everybody
rings a bell with you.”

“Guess they do.” Jack turned his back and
started walking toward the house. As Liv pulled the helmet up to slip it over
her head, her father twisted around. “Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you should get out of this house,
love. Find your own place. Your mother and I, we’ll be right now I think. She’s
getting better.”

Something passed unspoken between them, an
apology maybe? Gratitude?

“Okay. I’ll look around. Thanks, Dad.”

“Thank
you,
love. Ride safe.” His
eyes flicked to Ben and he added gruffly: “You too.”

Chapter
11

“What was all that about? And
what
are you doing with Owen’s mobile phone?” Ben whispered the moment her father
was out of earshot, before she’d had time to put her helmet on or snap the
visor in place.

“I told you he’d mellowed.”

“Maybe leopards do change their spots,” Ben
said, watching Jack Murphy’s retreating back. “That doesn’t answer my question
about the phone.”

She debated for all of two seconds and gave
in. He’d get it out of her anyway, he’d out-persist her. He was good at that.
“Owen stayed here last night.”
Stayed half the night
.

Ben’s eyes almost popped out of his head.
“Darl, do tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell. As you can see,
he’s not here now. Neither is the Duke. End of story.”

“He did a
runner
?” Ben sat back
against the Honda’s seat, his helmet in his lap. “That’s very fucking
un-Hollywood of him. So where is he now?”

“Home I guess. Bragging to his cousin—” She
cut off mid-sentence.

Owen wouldn’t do that. Even if all she’d
meant to him was a one night stand, she didn’t think he’d brag about scoring
with the vineyard help. He might brag about how smart he’d been: getting his
aunt’s vineyard pruned, keeping the Ducati. Two for the price of one. Three if
you counted—
nope, not counting.

“When is he dropping off the—”

She waved her hand at him, cutting him off.
“No Pantah, Ben. We’ll have to ride pillion.”

“That
so
cramps my style,” Ben
sighed. “Maybe he got caught in traffic.”

“He’s coming from Balhannah. What could
possibly stop him out there? Sheep on the road? A vagrant cow?” She checked her
watch. “I told him we were heading off about ten and he said he wanted to come,
but as it’s half-past now and he didn’t even leave a note, I guess he got what
he wanted last night.”

Now he doesn’t have to pretend.

“Shame. And here’s you in such a sweet mood
too. Clearly the guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Liv snapped the helmet over her head and
closed the visor.

“Fine. Be like that.” Ben pulled his helmet
on and threw his leg across the Honda.

Liv latched her arms around Ben’s waist. He
was so soft compared to—

Stop comparing, Olivia.

Ben rode out of Hahndorf and they hit the
Freeway at Mount Barker. Once on the dual-lanes, he opened the Honda out and
they flew past Callington and Monarto. Most of the traffic was heading against
them, coming back into Adelaide after the long weekend, so they made good time
to Murray Bridge.

Just after an hour, Ben down-shifted gears
as they cruised into Mannum’s main street. The small tourist town straddled the
western bank of the mighty River Murray. It was a town built in three steps,
like some kind of collapsed wedding cake. The lowest level was the river. The
second level was the main street with its shops and supermarket, and the top
layer comprised a dress-circle of houses with million-dollar views.

One of the big paddle steamers was docked
at the wharf where a line of people waited to climb aboard.

Every man and his dog had taken advantage
of the respite from winter weather to get outdoors. Families shared picnics at
tables on the lawns by the river. Children swung off monkey bars, played on
slides and threw bread or chips in the water, and everything that could run on
two legs or four, chased seagulls.

Ben parked the Honda on the flat picnic
area adjoining the river and they climbed the steps together to shop level,
helmets in hand.

****

By the time Owen cleared the traffic jam it
was already well past ten. He accelerated out of the backlog, using every inch
of power in the ute’s big V8. He had a clear run in the overtaking lane until
Bridgewater.

Hahndorf was packed with tourists and again
he had to keep his foot on the brake as people tried to reverse into parks on
the narrow main street—something tourists generally did extremely poorly.

He banged his fist on his thigh. Crawling,
crawling—cursing the horse-drawn carriage taking kids for rides up the main
street.

Finally he reached Balhannah Road where he
could turn off for Church Street.

Owen parked on the verge outside Olivia’s
place, grabbed his jacket from the passenger seat and leapt out, slamming the
door behind him. He pulled the riding jacket over his shoulders as he loped
across the lawn.

A fit-looking man in jeans and an Adelaide
Crows’ jumper, hair the salt-side of salt and pepper, opened the door at his
knock. Owen knew him by the shifting colour of his eyes. Grey one minute, blue
the next.

“You must be Olivia’s dad.” He held out his
hand and they shook. “Owen Carson.”

“Jack Murphy.”

Liv’s old man had a grip like a pair of
pliers.

“You’re chasing your phone, are you, Owen?”

That threw him. “Yes... I guess I am. Is
Olivia here?”

Owen tried to see past Olivia’s dad down
the Murphy’s hall at the same time as Mr Murphy tried to peer around Owen’s
shoulder to the street.

“You got a motorbike collection happening
out there?” Liv’s father asked.

Owen turned his head to look at the shining
red ute with the pair of bikes in the back. “I picked up the BMW this morning
from a bloke in Norwood. The Ducati’s for Liv.”

Jack Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “That damn
bike. She said Dean Lang got a better offer. That was you then?”

Owen shifted his weight. He didn’t have
time for this. “Is she here, Mr Murphy?”

“She left for Mannum with a friend
quarter-hour ago.”

Damn.
“I was supposed to go with them. Didn’t Liv get my
note? I left it on the kitchen bench when I—”

The older man stiffened at the mention of
notes and kitchen benches. He pulled himself up to his full height and crossed
his arms, looking down his nose. Given Jack Murphy was slightly taller, Owen
got an eyeful of nasal hairs.

“Olivia didn’t say anything about a note,
just that you might swing by to pick up your phone. She didn’t say anything
about you being the one to buy the Ducati neither.”

Owen tried not to let his impatience show.
“We made a deal
.
She helped me prune my aunt’s vineyard and in return I
promised I’d sell her the bike at a price we agreed.”

Mr Murphy tilted his head even further back
and stared at the rafters in the porch ceiling for so long, Owen thought he
might have to give him a poke.

“That damn bike,” he muttered again,
returning his gaze to Owen. “Where’s this vineyard?”

Owen ran his hand through his hair. The
drive from the city had left him sticky across the back of his neck and sweat
came away in his fingers. “Margaret Brand out at Balhannah is my aunt. You
might know her?”

One of Liv’s father’s arms snapped out to
point at Owen’s shoulder. “I knew I’d heard your name somewhere before.
Margaret’s sister married a Carson. You’re the kid who taught that no-hoper
down in Mount Gambier a lesson a few years back. That dropkick who bashed… your
grandfather, wasn’t it?”

“Bad news gets around. We tried to keep all
that quiet,” Owen muttered. “My family agreed not to press charges against the
Parkers for what he did to Granddad, and the Parkers said they wouldn’t slap an
assault charge on me. But I had to get out of town.”

“Not much of that kind of thing gets past
the firemen’s grapevine, and everyone around here knows Margaret. You ask me?
You ask most blokes I know? They’d say that little prick got off light.”

Owen had heard that before, too. “I’m not
proud of what I did. I’ve had a lot of time to think it over and if I had my
time again I’d do it different. There’s a process to these things for a reason.
I broke that kid’s elbow with a baseball bat and I’m not sure his arm will ever
work right again.”

“Process?” Jack snorted. “They let them out
with a slap on the wrist and two seconds later they’re at it again.”

“It’s not that I disagree with you, Mr
Murphy, but that’s not my call to make.”

Liv’s dad re-examined his porch roof, then
seemed to come to a decision. “But you’re sticking around now?”

“I’m sticking around.” It felt good to say
it out loud.

“Then if you’re leaving notes for my
daughter in
my
kitchen, it sounds like you’d better call me Jack.”

Owen returned the older man’s wry grin.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Jack, but I
really need to get a move on. Is it okay if I leave the ute out the front? I’ll
ride the bike. I know it’s important to Liv to have the Duke up there today.”

“Yeah, mate, you can leave the ute. You
want to phone Liv? Let her know you’re coming?”

And waste more time?
“No thanks. They’d still be on the road.
I’ll surprise her.”

“Don’t think Liv likes surprises much.”

Owen eyed Jack Murphy with new respect, and
budding warmth. After everything he’d heard about Liv’s father, he decided Jack
was a man he could grow to like.

“She’ll like this surprise, Jack.”

He held out his hand and they shook.

****

Mannum Bakery was doing a roaring trade.

Liv and Ben carried their brown paper bags
of pastries back to the water, veering lazily down-river, until the noise of
families and the paddle steamer’s bell faded, and the only sounds were the
lapping river and the breeze rustling bare branches in the weeping willows. One
of the trees had a gnarled trunk curling low to the ground. Luke had discovered
it years ago, when he and Ben made their first ride to Mannum. It was to this
tree Ben led them.

Liv divided the bakery spoils—cheese and
bacon pies, hedgehog slice, finger bun, coffee—and they ate with the food
balanced on their laps, coffee at their feet.

“You’re a bloke, Ben,” Liv began as they
started eating.

“Gee, darl. You think?”

She laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it to
come out quite like that.”

“I’ll get over it. So I’m a bloke. What’s
up?”

“I’m trying to work out how a guy could
seem so sensitive, so
in-tune
with me one minute—I mean, last night in
bed was just amazing…well,
I
thought it was amazing. And in the
restaurant Owen let me unload all this baggage, like he really cared.” She
sighed a big whoosh of breath, embarrassed by the memory of her tears, all
those tissues. “Why would a bloke invest all that effort if all he wanted was
to get his rocks off?”

Ben bit into his hedgehog slice and rolled
his eyes. “God this stuff is good.”

“Focus, Ben. Stop thinking with your
stomach. And don’t speak with your mouth full. Didn’t your parents teach you
anything?”