18 HEATH

18 Heath

Heath felt like an idiot. Well, he was an idiot, so that wasn’t surprising. He’d spent the night stewing over the way he’d spoken to Amelia, trying to work out how to face her, unsay his words. How to let her know that he felt her pain … although, did he, truly? Over the last two years he’d spent uncounted hours attempting to persuade himself that Sophie had made the right choice, the only logical choice. Even unfairly cut short, at least she’d had a life, had experienced so much; allowing Charlee to be the one to die would have meant not only the loss of their daughter’s life, but the loss of potential, the loss of dreams, the loss of future.

Except hadn’t Charlee thrown that all away anyway?

The back door banged and Sean bustled into the kitchen. ‘Doubt the answers can be found in there,’ he said, nodding at the mug Heath clutched between both hands. He shucked off his heavy Drizabone, leaving it in a pile on the floor, and ran a hand through his blue-black hair, showering droplets onto the kitchen lino. Heath hadn’t even looked out the window, hadn’t realised it was raining. ‘Didn’t lose any lambs overnight.’

‘Always a good news day,’ Heath said dryly. ‘Speaking of the sheep, you’re going into Settlers this morning? I might grab a lift and pick up another bag of milk replacer for Amelia. She’s probably only putting up with that office manager’s shit so she can feed those lambs.’

‘Looks to me like she can take care of herself where Faelie’s concerned,’ Sean said. ‘In any case, she’s using regular milk.’

He knew that. But he’d forgotten, like he did everything that didn’t centre around him. ‘Yeah, but she mixes it with dried milk. I can pick up a packet or two of that from the IGA. They’d have it, right?’

‘Not a bad idea,’ Sean said, taking a box of muesli from the cupboard. ‘They need some hay from the stock fodder place, too. I’ve got a bit of running around to do, so might be an hour or so. Maybe take Amelia a coffee along with the lambs’ stuff? Sam over at Ploughs and Pies makes a good one.’

Heath clenched his jaw. It was like he was fifteen and his dad was priming him for a date. At least he hadn’t suggested make-up flowers.

‘Though you’re probably going to get Christine at this time of day,’ Sean continued with a sympathetic grimace. ‘Rumour is, she’s taking over the cafe. That’ll add an interesting dynamic to the town.’

‘Dynamic is probably not an adjective this town would recognise.’

‘Ah, come on now, lad. The interest in the skatepark has to have surprised you. Wouldn’t have drummed up that much enthusiasm across the border.’

‘Again, I’m not sure “enthusiasm” is the right word.’ Yet Heath couldn’t completely stifle his grin. The challenge of winning over Dave’s brow-beaten cohort appealed. He recognised that Dave’s dislike of the project was probably rooted in obstinacy and control, rather than being a justifiable objection. And he also knew a bully when he saw one: people fell into line with Dave because it was easier than becoming the target of his longwinded hostilities and overbearing protests. But if they wanted Settlers Bridge to grow and flourish—and it was clear that a slightly terrified majority did—they needed someone to advocate for them. He had the skills, both in finance and project management. And maybe throwing himself more into that role would get his head out of his butt, stop him focusing so much on himself.

And perhaps if he’d come to that realisation a little earlier, he wouldn’t have screwed up so monumentally the previous night. Heath winced at the memory of Amelia’s face. What he’d thought was scorn at his parenting was actually a reflection of her own pain and grief. A recognition of their similarities, their shared trauma.

Dad was right. He owed Amelia a coffee.

‘You right then?’ he asked Sean, trying to hide his impatience. It had taken his dad a couple of hours to finish with the animals and whatever else it was that he used to keep himself busy around the property.

‘You could have lashed out and shaved.’ Sean nodded at the beanie Heath had pulled on. ‘And I’ve been ready for hours, but Charlee and Ethan are coming in with us. Apparently their “early” isn’t quite the same as ours.’

‘Takes effort to look this good,’ Charlee responded as she slouched into the room. She didn’t look any different to her new usual: tattered clothes, unkempt hair. But her attitude was … fresher. As though aware of Heath’s assessment, she twisted her mouth wryly. ‘And by this good, I mean that good.’ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder as Ethan came up behind her.

‘Mmm.’ There didn’t seem any appropriate response to his teenage daughter admiring her lover.

‘Morning, all. Thanks for the brekky, man,’ Ethan said to Sean, crossing the kitchen to stack bowls in the sink. He splashed water over them. ‘Was a time when I barely ate, but now I reckon that a decent breakfast sets you on the path for a good day. Right, Charlee?’

As he switched his gaze between the two of them, Heath realised that Charlee’s eyes seemed less vacant, her cheeks a little fuller. He should have noticed before, but the truth was, he avoided looking at her because it had become like looking at a mortal injury.

‘Yep,’ Charlee said. ‘But if we’re back next weekend, I expect you to level up on that breakfast, Dad. I told Ethan about the pancakes you used to make.’

Heath’s heart contracted and he turned away to hide his face. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

‘It’s on,’ Sean agreed enthusiastically. ‘I thought you liked my boxty-boxty best?’

‘Boxty?’ Ethan asked as they all made their way across the yard to Sean’s car.

‘Potato pancakes,’ Heath said as he realised the other two were far enough ahead not to engage. ‘Traditional Irish recipe.’

‘Fair enough. I’m down for it even if it’s haggis, as long as it gets Charlee eating more than a sparrow does.’

‘That’s Scottish, not Irish.’ Though he automatically corrected Ethan, Heath slid his gaze sideways, surprised at what sounded like genuine concern for his daughter in the other man’s tone.

Sean and Ethan kept up a running dialogue all the way into Settlers, and Heath wished they’d shut up; Charlee had slipped into her usual silence once more, and he was desperate to have her input again. He snorted. He was like an addict himself: give him one tiny dose of the old Charlee, and he craved her interaction like a drug.

They pulled up in the main street of Settlers Bridge. The gusts of wind whipped the canes of the bougainvillea, scattering the odd purple or burgundy bloom along the wet road in the lingering gloom. Heath made for Ploughs and Pies—not because of Sean’s suggestion, but enticed by the smell of hot pastry on the wintry breeze. The doorbell jangled above him as he blustered in. His dad had called it: Christine was behind the counter, and for a moment, Heath almost did a runner. But he’d caught her eye and it’d take a braver man than him to back out without making a purchase.

He assessed the glass-fronted counter, finding it hard to choose a couple of pies when he’d had no interest in food for so long.

Aware of Christine’s beady gaze, he blurted an order. ‘Two coffees, please.’ He paused, realising he didn’t know how Amelia took hers. ‘Flat whites.’ Coffee was coffee.

‘Sean prefers his black,’ Christine said acerbically.

‘It’s not for Dad.’ He could have bitten his tongue. He knew small towns well enough to realise he’d invited questions. Sure enough, Christine lifted a thin eyebrow. She didn’t offer any comment. It was all there in the look. ‘And a couple of steak and mushroom pies. And a Cornish pasty.’ He also didn’t know whether Amelia was a vegetarian.

Or whether she’d let him in her house, for that matter.

‘Early in the day for pastry, isn’t it?’ Christine said, apparently indifferent to the fact that she was the one selling them.

He shifted uncomfortably as she bagged the food. ‘Sam not around?’ He didn’t care one way or the other, but Christine’s manner of clipping out questions and then waiting silently for the answer forced him to make conversation.

‘I’m sure she’s wherever she needs to be,’ Christine said, making him feel like he’d trespassed on her privacy.

‘Mmm.’ He swivelled, looking around the cafe as Christine turned her attention to the coffee machine. The milk screamed behind him and he could guarantee the coffee would be thin and bitter. He’d have to come back another time to try Sam’s, see if it was as good as Dad said.

Only a handful of people took up seats in the cafe; the locals were probably all terrified of being ticked off by Christine for being in too early. Recognising a couple of small groups from the RAG meeting—though he hadn’t caught their names—Heath nodded at them. One of the men flicked his finger up from the side of his mug in acknowledgement and two women smiled at him. Tracey waved from the back corner, where a toddler on her lap pulled at the ends of the brightly coloured scarf she often wore in her hair.

‘Sean not with you?’ Tracey called, and Heath wondered whether he could pretend not to hear. But the torture of the milk seemed to be taking forever, and he knew she would repeat the question.

He crossed the room to where she sat beneath a handsome painting of gold and green willows edging the river. ‘Morning, Tracey.’

Her dog poked its nose from under the table, but he pretended not to see. He knew a blind eye was often turned to food standards legislation in the country towns, and Settlers Bridge would be no different.

‘Your dad not coming in, lovey?’ Tracey nodded at the hand in which he clutched the three brown paper bags.

He swallowed his sigh. Sean had charmed the knickers off the female population of the town. Funny thing was, if they’d known him ten years back, they’d have run a mile. ‘He’s just dropped in at the doc’s.’ It wouldn’t hurt to leave Tracey with her assumption that the food was for Dad, though.

Tracey shook her head. ‘Not right now, he isn’t.’ She pressed a kiss onto the baby’s head. ‘I’m looking after Anna because Taylor had to make an urgent house call this morning, before the clinic opened, and Luke’s gone to Lameroo to pick up some sheep.’ It was clear that Tracey was proud as punch to get the babysitting gig. ‘He’ll come and get Anna as soon as he’s back, but for now, she’s all mine. Aren’t you, poppet?’

‘I see,’ Heath said disinterestedly. He glanced down at his paper bags. Maybe he should grab Sean a pie, too, if the doc was running late.

‘Coffee is on the counter.’ Christine’s words rang out like a command.

‘I’d better get those while they’re hot. You reckon the doc won’t be at the clinic yet? I’ll get Dad a coffee, then.’ He nodded a farewell at Tracey.

‘Goodness knows how long she’ll be. I suppose it depends on what’s wrong with Amelia,’ Tracey said, her blue eyes large with concern.

‘Amelia?’

Tracey nodded eagerly. ‘Her father rang Taylor early this morning. They’re friends from way back, you know. Oh, Amelia and Taylor, I mean, not Taylor and Amelia’s father.’ Her bangles jangled as she waved her confusion away and tutted. ‘Honestly, after all the times Marian warned me to think before I speak, you’d expect I wouldn’t get things muddled. Oh!’ Her eyes widened even more. ‘Think before I speak … I probably shouldn’t have told you about Amelia, should I? Oh dear, just forget I said anything, love.’ She jiggled the baby in a flustered manner.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Tracey,’ Christine snapped, appearing next to them. ‘Once you’ve let the cat out of the bag, there’ll be kittens to account for.’ She pointed imperiously around the room. ‘Six people heard what you said. They’ll each tell another six and before lunchtime, the whole of Settlers Bridge will know the doctor was called. So exactly what did you hear? Why didn’t Amelia call you, when you’re only next door?’

Any other time, Heath would marvel at Christine’s ability to both rebuke Tracey and simultaneously demand more gossip. But he had to go. He didn’t bother collecting the coffee, but left the shop and strode down the street as fast as his bad leg would allow, his breath creating clouds of frost diamonds in the air. Of course, the scar tissue had to choose today to remind him he’d not bothered massaging in the cream that was supposed to prevent it tightening. Not that he’d ever bothered: the pain was a physical reminder of his failure, for those moments when Charlee wasn’t around.

It would take only a few minutes to reach Amelia’s. Yet with every lurching step, his guilt mounted: had something happened to her when she drove off last night? Had she been too upset to concentrate on the road? Was he responsible for another accident?

Evidently, Tracey wasn’t the only person in town who’d shared the news, as Sean’s car was already pulled up at Amelia’s gate, his father at the door as the doctor emerged. Heath clenched his teeth against the shooting pain as he forced himself to move faster.

‘—trying to find someone who can stay with her,’ Taylor said as he approached.

‘What happened? What’s wrong with her?’ Heath demanded.

‘Like I was telling Sean, Amelia has sepsis,’ Taylor said far too calmly. ‘A blood infection. She’s semiconscious and running a fever. I’ve given her antibiotics, and she’ll be fine, but I’ll have to get Tracey or perhaps Christine to come sit with her.’ The doctor frowned at her wristwatch. ‘I’m already an hour behind with clinic.’

‘Well, I suppose—’ Sean started, glancing at him for support. Although neither of them was good with ill people, Heath’s tension eased. This wasn’t his fault. Of course, it was only natural to be relieved that someone he’d come to know—barely—wasn’t seriously ill. His emotion went no deeper than that.

‘I can stay with her.’

He startled as Charlee spoke behind him; he hadn’t heard her approach. Nor would he have anticipated her offer.

The doctor’s shoulders slumped and she placed a hand on her chest. ‘You can?’

Charlee stepped around him. ‘I don’t need to head back to the city yet. Ethan can go, but I’ll crash here for a while.’

‘Perfect,’ Taylor said. ‘I’ve only got a half-day booked in at the clinic, though I’m afraid it’ll run late now. But I’ll be back this afternoon to take over.’

‘You’ve got a baby and a husband to look after,’ Charlee countered. The hairs on Heath’s neck prickled at her sudden insistence. ‘I’ll be fine here. Amelia already said I could come over and help out with the animals whenever, so I guess this is whenever.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Heath said carefully. His chest tight, he eyeballed Taylor, willing her to understand. ‘Doesn’t Amelia need professional care if she’s on prescription meds? We could get her into the hospital in Murray Bridge. Or maybe pay a nurse?’

‘Jesus, Heath!’ Charlee exploded, reverting to his name. ‘I’m not going to steal the woman’s drugs to get a fix!’ Her hands were fisted and he wasn’t sure whether it was anger or tears that glinted in her eyes. She rounded on Taylor. ‘In any case, you said she’s on antibiotics? Not much of a hit there. But that’s fine. If you lot don’t want my help, I’ll fuck off.’

‘ Macushla ,’ Sean soothed. ‘That’s not what your dad meant. Is it, Heath?’

Heath started to agree, but somewhere between brain and lips, something went wrong. He realised he couldn’t do this dance anymore, couldn’t pretend that he didn’t care what Charlee did to herself, pretend that he was willing to give her whatever time it took to find her own way out of the darkness. ‘It’s exactly what I’m worried about.’ The words ripped from him, even though he knew it would be smarter to swallow them. ‘Last night—this morning—you gave me the tiniest glimpse of the old you, Charlee. And I’m not willing to risk losing that again.’

Charlee glared at him, her loathing obvious. But instead of letting fly, she spun around and stomped into Amelia’s house.

Sean groaned. ‘Lad, you’re not only losing her—you’re forcing her away.’

Heath shook his head, trying to mask the anguish that gutted him. ‘I know. But I’m out of options. I think maybe Ethan’s having a positive effect on Charlee. No, I’m sure he is. But you know how dangerous—how unfair —it is to put temptation in an addict’s path. If Ethan is, for whatever bloody reason, her main support right now, but he’s not here, surely we have to back him up by making certain she’s in a safe space?’

‘You’re right,’ the doctor said thoughtfully, and gratitude surged through him. He was pretty damn sure he hadn’t got a single thing right in the last two years, as far as Charlee was concerned. ‘Charlee needs a safe environment. But you also have to allow her independence. She has to know that her choices are her own.’

‘She has chosen. For two years, she’s chosen drugs. Where’s the incentive for her to give that up?’ The brief accolade he’d imagined in the doctor’s words made her judgement now sting worse.

‘Again, that’s up to Charlee. But like Ethan said at the meeting, she needs to discover a connection, a purpose. And then we have to hope that focus becomes enough of a passion to replace her addiction.’

‘Most adults never discover their purpose.’ His mind flashed back to Sophie. With Charlee’s birth, she had lost any purpose other than being a mother to their daughter. That had worked well for a few years, but the older and more independent Charlee became, the more irresolute and dissatisfied with life Sophie had grown. ‘Hell, I don’t even have a purpose anymore.’