The Peppercorn Project (25 page)

Isabelle turned and saw Joe step outside the hall. The light spilling out the doorway was poor, but even from a distance she could tell he didn’t look well. Maybe he was just tired. He pulled his keys out from his pocket. Was she imagining a tremor in his hands? She shook off her misgivings. He was an old man and it was a late night.

‘I’ll see ya tomorrow,’ Joe called out to someone inside.

Isabelle frowned. ‘Where’s Joe off to at this time of night?’ A shiver of warning raced through her. Something was wrong.

‘Port Augusta. I overheard him telling someone that one of their boys is stranded with a broken down car and he’s headed there to pick him up.’

‘It’s late. Should he be driving? Has he been drinking?’

‘He’ll be okay, and he’d never drink and drive. Come on, let’s go home.’

Matt took her arm and drew her down the path away from the hall towards the creek. The air was still and thick, with no hint of a breeze. It would be nice to walk home and untangle the knots of anticipation that were twisting around in her stomach.

Joe was climbing into his car as they reached the road.

‘Will his old rust bucket make it that far?’ Isabelle asked.

‘As old as it looks, it is roadworthy, so I can’t pull it off the road,’ Matt said, ‘although I wish I could.’

The old car grumbled to life and Isabelle watched it roll slowly down the street. At the corner, Joe didn’t use his indicator, or slow down, but travelled straight ahead into the path of a car approaching the corner from the other direction. With a blaring horn and a screech of tyres, the other car swerved out of the way.

Instantly alert, Isabelle heard herself shouting, her voice blending with Matt’s. They both raced towards Joe’s car as it bounced over the kerb onto the footpath and crashed into the front window of the farm supplies shop. Steam from the burst radiator hissed into the air and the horn blared.

Isabelle tried to keep up with Matt, glad she’d ditched her heels in favour of her thongs, but he was sprinting down the middle of the road and she was losing him with every stride. By the time she made it to the car, Matt had already yanked open the front driver’s door. Her brain screamed at her to remember what she should be doing. Something about danger. She yelled at Matt to slow down, but he ignored her. Joe was slumped forward and Matt flung him back in the seat. Mercifully the horn stopped.

Isabelle’s brain went into slow motion. What came next? Danger was first, then ‘response’. It was all coming back.
Send for help
. But help was already here. Matt was here. She was here.

‘Issie.
Isabelle
!’ Matt yelled at her, ‘you have to help me pull him out. I think he’s had a heart attack.’

Fear ricocheted around her head. ‘Is he dead?’

He looked dead.

Memories slammed into her like a fist into a gut. She reeled backwards, buckled over, regained her footing, tried to breathe. Her husband’s face before her. Eyes wide open and staring, unseeing, into the sky. She was going to vomit.

Matt didn’t bother checking for a pulse, but lunged in and wrapped his arms around Joe, pulling him from the car in one fluid movement. Isabelle closed her eyes as more memories crowded in.

‘
Isabelle
!’

Matt yelled at her again, his voice sounding tinny in her ears. She felt like she was going to faint. She opened her eyes and Joe was lying on the concrete footpath, Matt kneeling beside him, checking for signs of life.

A primal scream sounded and Isabelle looked around, before she realised it had come from her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fists to the side of her head, willing the pain to go away. Her chest, her lungs, her throat were on fire. She opened her eyes, saw black spots and closed them again. Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears, like waves crashing on the beach. Memories were still flooding in relentlessly and Isabelle fought the rising nausea as she tried to slow her breathing. Fear clawed at her and she felt her knees give way. She sank to the ground and forced herself to look at Joe.

The steering wheel had cut a deep gash across the bridge of his nose. Strangely, it wasn’t bleeding, but by the look on Matt’s face, Joe was in serious trouble. What was she supposed to do? Matt was speaking, but she couldn’t make out the meaning of his words.

Then it hit her and panic ripped through her.

No pulse.

Her chest tightened and she willed herself to breathe, to relax, to focus.

It wasn’t working. Her legs lost all feeling and she crumpled at Matt’s side.

The sound of running feet came towards them, and a woman’s voice, yelling, screaming, crying out. Then Jane was there, squatting by her husband’s side on the footpath. Her features looked haggard as shadows danced across her face. The streetlights flickered on, casting a ghostly yellow glow.

Matt crouched down on his knees, eyes wild, as he tipped Joe’s head back to make sure his airway was clear.

‘CPR, Isabelle! You have to start CPR!’

She froze. Her ears filled with a whooshing noise again, increasing in volume, and she wanted to clamp her hands over them to block out the sound. Couldn’t anyone else hear it?

‘Someone get the bloody defib from the pub,’ Matt shouted. He was used to giving orders and having people listen to him. ‘Isabelle, for God’s sake, start CPR!’

‘I can’t!’ she cried.

Matt pushed past her and put two hands on Joe’s sternum. Ribs cracked as he pumped the old man’s chest. The crowd swirled around her, voices low, mumbling. She was supposed to do something, but she couldn’t remember what. She was petrified and paralysed. Matt kept pummelling Joe’s chest, trying to circulate blood to his body, not bothering with rescue breaths.

Still no pulse.

Jane sat on the ground, clutching her own chest. Her hands scrunched the front of her dress and she pulled at it, as though trying to loosen her own pain.

Others arrived and someone dumped the yellow plastic defibrillator box onto the ground beside them. Isabelle opened it on autopilot. A man’s robotic voice sounded. She’d never used an AED, except as part of her training at university. Once more Matt took the lead. He ripped open Joe’s shirt. Buttons popped into the air, landing and bouncing like ping-pong balls. Matt tore Joe’s singlet in half as if it was made of tissue paper. Leaning across Isabelle, he yanked the pads and leads from her trembling hands and attached them to Joe’s body in two places. He made it look easy, as if he’d done it dozens of times before.

The mechanical voice sounded. ‘Preparing shock. Move away from the patient.’

‘Stand clear!’ Matt shouted, causing her to spring back.

‘Shock will be delivered in three, two, one—’

Joe’s body convulsed slightly as the charge flashed through him. Everyone sat back, waiting for the machine to perform its magic as it analysed the rhythm of Joe’s heart. Nothing. No rhythm. Matt commenced CPR again, waiting for the machine to give him further instructions. Jane’s eyes were wide open in horror as she watched the proceedings. The hot air was thick with anguish and fear.

‘Stand clear again,’ Matt commanded.

The machine zapped Joe again. His body jerked, his eyes opened.

‘He needs help.’ Matt’s voice was curt as he glared at her. ‘Go, Isabelle! Get help. There’s a hall filled with emergency services people.
Get someone
!’

For someone usually so calm and in control, Isabelle had never seen him so upset. She tried to swallow, but a rock felt as if it had lodged itself in her airways. She turned and bolted back up the street.

*

Moments later a small crowd of emergency personnel huddled around Joe. Isabelle had never felt such relief when they arrived and took over. Joe was awake but drowsy. He was still a pasty grey colour and perspiration glazed his forehead. Although his heart was pumping, it probably wasn’t enough to provide adequate blood to his brain or extremities. Fear chased itself up and down her spine.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Joe mumbled as Alison cut off the remainder of his singlet and applied five round sticky dots to his hairy chest. Joe tugged at the remnants of his shirt, attempting to pull it back over his body and maintain his dignity. She connected him to the monitor, and Isabelle winced when she saw Joe’s heart rate and blood pressure glow green on the screens – slow and low. A low blood pressure meant Joe’s organs, most particularly his heart, weren’t getting enough blood flow.

‘What the bloody hell happened?’ Joe asked, looking up at the faces around him. His eyes finally rested on Matt. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

‘Your heart stopped, you silly old bugger. Now sit still and let us do our job.’

Less than half an hour later an ambulance left, bound for the hospital at Booleroo. Once the blood tests were analysed, Joe would either stay there or be flown to Adelaide.

Isabelle walked home alone. The heat of the day remained trapped in the small town and it came at her in hot thick waves, wrapping itself around her shoulders like a blanket. At that moment, she craved the feel of the icy cold ocean. If she could have, she would have dived under the waves and never come up again.

Matt hadn’t spoken to her once since barking instructions at her to call for help. He hadn’t looked at her either. She’d left the scene deflated and defeated.

In the one moment where it truly counted, she hadn’t been able to do her job. Again.

When she arrived home, she stripped off her dress, took a shower, climbed into bed, curled herself into a ball and tried to fall asleep. It proved impossible. No matter how hard she tried, she was unable to switch off. She’d stuffed up. She hadn’t done her job properly, and because of her ineptitude, Joe could have died.

Silent tears coursed down her cheeks and all her miserable thoughts came back to one big question. How was she going to cope when everyone knew the truth? After all the effort they’d made to help her, she didn’t even have what it took to help one of their own.

Night fell and she prayed her failure would be covered under the blanket of blackness.

*

When Matt opened the door to his house later that night, well after midnight, the sky was an inky black and thick clouds covered the moon. Finally, after the heat of the day, there was a faint hint of a cool breeze. He switched on the air conditioner and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Emptying his suit pockets of his keys and phone, he sank into the couch and took a long pull of his drink.

‘Happy New Year’, he said aloud.

Loosening his tie further, he kicked off his boots and put his feet up on the table. His mind was in turmoil. The night had nearly ended in disaster. Joe was alive and in the safe hands of the staff in Booleroo, but the outcome could have been very different.

What the hell had happened? How could Isabelle have frozen so badly in the middle of a crisis? She was a trained nurse! Thankfully, he hadn’t seen her leave the scene, or he would have had plenty to say – probably none of it pleasant. He finished the rest of his beer and ran his hands across his stubble. He needed a shower.

Twenty minutes later, he was towelling himself dry when the phone rang. He frowned. It was nearly midnight. He ignored it, and after several more rings it stopped, only to start again immediately. He grabbed it and swiped his finger across the screen, not checking to see who was calling him.

‘Matt Robertson,’ he growled.

‘Hey, it’s me.’

‘I’m not in the mood, Leah.’

‘For what?’

‘To talk.
Or
listen. Or whatever it is you want to do.’

‘Steady on. I called to make sure you’re okay.’

He tucked his towel around his waist and went back into the kitchen for another beer. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Because I’ve just been around to see Isabelle. She’s in tears – distraught and inconsolable.’

‘Did she tell you why?’ he asked coldly.

‘She wouldn’t talk to me. She didn’t even call Fran to say goodnight to the kids.’

He tucked the phone between his chin and ear and prised the lid of another beer. ‘So are you saying you don’t know what happened tonight?’ That was odd. He assumed Leah would have been there in the crowd of onlookers.

‘Well, I do
now
. Everyone’s talking about it. I was driving Edith home and I didn’t even know what happened until I got back and saw the commotion in the street. It didn’t take me long to find out the whole story. That’s why I’m calling, to make sure you’re okay.’

Matt let out a frustrated breath. He bet Leah had heard the whole story – and the exaggerated version too. There were enough bystanders and each of them would have their own version of the events.

He leaned back against the kitchen bench. ‘She froze, Leah. Absolutely froze, like she was paralysed.’

Leah sighed too. ‘God, Matt, of course she did. Think about why.’

His mind came up blank. He ran his hands through his wet hair. ‘Why?’

Leah made a sound in the back of her throat. ‘You can be such a dumb bloke, you know?’ Her voice was serious, low, as she continued. ‘Matt, has Issie ever told you about Dan? About how he died?’

Apprehension skidded through him. ‘No.’

‘I thought that might be the case. I suggest first thing tomorrow you find her and ask her. It’s time you knew the whole story.’

‘I reckon you should take her flowers,’ Geoff said. They were sitting opposite each other at the desk in the small station, early Monday morning.

They’d received news from Jane late Saturday night that Joe was already giving the nurses a hard time, demanding to be sent back home. Unfortunately for Joe, his blood tests showed he’d had a significant heart attack. Early Sunday morning he was taken to Adelaide for an angiogram and ended up with four stents in his heart. He needed to change his diet and take some new medications but thankfully, he was going to be okay.

‘Who should I give flowers to? Jane?’

‘Don’t be daft, man. Issie, that’s who.’

‘I don’t think she’d appreciate the gesture,’ Matt replied.

‘Bull! All women like flowers.’

‘Regardless of your opinion on the matter, I’m not taking her flowers. Besides, where would I get flowers? Last I checked there’s not a florist within coo-ee of here.’

‘You could pick some roses from Alison’s garden. She wouldn’t mind.’

‘I’m not taking Isabelle flowers. It sends the wrong message.’

‘And what message is that?’ Geoff asked, squinting at Matt over his glasses.

‘The message that I’m interested in her.’

‘Aren’t you?’

He slumped down in his seat. After Leah’s phone call, Matt wasn’t sure about anything any more. He was totally confused about his feelings for Isabelle. He cared deeply for her and had been excited about where things seemed to be heading between them, but after the business with Joe, he realised she was carrying too much baggage. Did she really need him to make things more complicated? Maybe it would be easier if he just walked away and tried to ignore the feelings he’d already developed for her. Let her get over her grief without him hovering around waiting.

He sighed. He couldn’t walk away.

‘Aren’t you?’ Geoff asked.

‘Aren’t I what?’ Matt wasn’t concentrating on anything Geoff was saying. All he could think about was how shattered Isabelle had appeared and how he needed to fix it.

‘Interested in her.’

He sighed. ‘Yes. But yesterday was a disaster. She was …’ Matt saw the frown that crossed Geoff’s face. ‘What?’

‘How much has Issie told you about her husband?’ Geoff asked, all usual flippancy aside, his expression serious. He pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at Matt.

A trickle of sweat ran down his back as Leah’s words echoed back at him. ‘Not much. She mentions Dan occasionally, but most of the time she’s a closed book.’

‘Do you know how he died?’

‘I assume he must have had cancer or something.’

Geoff removed his glasses. ‘He was out surfing and suffered a heart attack. Fletcher dragged him back to the beach on his surfboard. Isabelle was there. She tried to do CPR but he didn’t make it. He couldn’t be revived. At first they thought he’d drowned.’

Matt felt like someone was trying to suck the air from his lungs.

‘Oh, jeez.’ Images of Isabelle frozen over Joe’s body rushed in and swept over him. No wonder she hadn’t been able to perform the chest compressions. ‘Do you think she blames herself?’

‘I don’t know what’s in the girl’s mind, but I reckon there’s a fair chance she’d blame herself, don’t you?’ Geoff said.

‘Who told you all this?’ Matt asked.

‘My mate Scotty is on the force in Torquay. He said it was heartbreaking. Everyone knew her husband, and loved him. Isabelle was hysterical, screaming at people to help, even after it was clear he was long gone. They reckon he was already dead when Fletcher pulled him back in. In the end they had to drag Isabelle off his body.’

Matt shook his head and groaned wearily. ‘I yelled at her, Geoff. I yelled and demanded she do CPR.’ He smacked his hand on the desk. ‘She must hate me.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you as much as she hates herself. I reckon it’d be rough being a nurse and not being able to save your own husband.’

‘I can’t even begin to imagine.’ A vice clamped around Matt’s chest.
Poor Issie
. No wonder she’d totally frozen at the scene.

‘How am I going to fix it?’ Matt asked.

‘I’d start by apologising. And take her flowers, like I suggested,’ Geoff said.

Matt shook his head. ‘I can’t do that. She doesn’t need flowers and sympathy from me. She needs space. It’s obvious she’s still grieving and the last thing she needs is another man in her life to confuse matters. She definitely doesn’t need me.’

‘Now that’s where I reckon you’re wrong,’ Geoff said. ‘Has she told you she wants space? She’s going to feel lost and alone after what happened yesterday. Best thing you can do is apologise and be there for her. And nothing says “sorry” and “I love you” like flowers. At least that’s what Alison tells me.’

Geoff’s words ran in Matt’s ears for a long time after.

*

For the second night in a row after Joe’s heart attack, Isabelle couldn’t fall asleep. The moment she closed her eyes, the cry that had haunted her for months after Dan’s death returned.

‘
Help me.’

This time, she wasn’t sure whose voice it was. Dan’s? Fletcher’s? Joe’s? Or was it Matt’s? In the end, it didn’t matter who was calling out, she hadn’t been able to help any of them.

She knew why she couldn’t sleep. The anniversary she feared most was coming up. The day she was dreading.

One year.

Five hundred and twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes.

Twenty million breaths after she thought she’d never breathe again.

One year without him.

She’d decided not to go back to Torquay for the anniversary. She couldn’t see the point of revisiting that day when their lives had changed forever. She still found it difficult to accept he was gone and never coming back, but at least now she could look back on all the milestones she’d achieved alone. She would make it. Ahead of her stretched many more milestones that Dan would never be part of, but that was okay because she’d found an inner strength she never knew she had.

She sighed heavily. She also thought she’d found Matt, but after Joe’s heart attack, she wasn’t sure of that any more. After he’d yelled at her, his face had closed over like he couldn’t bear to look at her. Afterwards, when help arrived, he’d remained distant and professional, and when she left the scene she’d seen the look in his eyes. It had been enough to shatter her heart all over again. Hilary was wrong. There was no such thing as second chance love.

The air was heavy and still, with barely a breath of wind, as it had been all day. A storm was brewing. Isabelle missed the way the rain came across the ocean in Torquay. Here it appeared from nowhere. One minute she could see Mount Remarkable and the next it was shrouded in heavy grey clouds, the outline of the mountain barely etched as a line against the sky.

The memories of her marriage were the same. Once she’d had happy, sunny memories of their time together. Then storm clouds had rolled in and gathered all the memories together into one large ball – a blur of colour and sound – and taken them away from her.

Was it possible that one day she’d forget his face? Forget the love they’d shared? She couldn’t bear that thought, but she also couldn’t stay locked in grief forever.

The moon shone through the open windows and a faint breeze had struck up, causing her curtains to billow. The reality of what had happened to Joe came flooding back in, crushing her all over again. She hugged herself as the thoughts left her chilled. She’d let everyone down and would need to apologise. To Matt. To Joe and Jane. To the people of Stony Creek. If they wanted her to leave, she would.

Isabelle gave up trying to sleep and shuffled into the kitchen. Despite the fact it had been another scorcher of a day, she was cold. Wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her, she stared out the window in the darkness.

It felt like she was living a lie. Since moving to Stony Creek she’d pretended everything was normal. That she’d moved on from Dan and gotten over his death. That she was okay. But the reality was, she
wasn’t
okay. She
hadn’t
gotten over his death. She
hadn’t
moved on. Joe’s heart attack proved that. She wasn’t coping. She still missed Dan, and rather than moving on, some days it felt like she was moving backwards.

She took a glass from the overhead kitchen cupboard and placed it on the bench. She noticed the mug she’d taken out earlier, the teabag still hanging over the side. She’d forgotten to pour the water. She opened the fridge and stared unseeing at its contents. She couldn’t remember what she was looking for. She slammed the fridge door shut then caught sight of her wedding and engagement rings still sitting on the windowsill where she’d left them. Was it only two days ago? She burst into tears and swept her arm across the bench, swiping the glass so it smashed to the floor at her feet. She stood, rooted to the spot, as wave after wave of despair swept over her. How much longer would this go on?

‘Issie?’

She jumped in fright and then stared in startled disbelief as Matt walked through her back door. His large frame filled the small space. He was carrying an enormous bunch of roses.

‘I know it’s late, but I saw your light on and I wanted to give you these.’ He placed them gently on the kitchen table. By the look of the hand-picked bouquet, he’d raided the garden of every single house in the district.

Isabelle swallowed hard. Matt glanced from the broken glass at her bare feet, to her face and back to her feet. She stood, fighting for breath, feeling her shoulders rise and fall. Stranded in the middle of the floor, her knees shook. She needed to sit.

‘What happened here?’ he asked gently.

‘Nothing.’

‘It doesn’t look like nothing to me.’

‘I got upset, that’s all,’ Isabelle said, tugging her dressing gown tighter around her waist.

‘Because of what happened to Joe?’

She blinked rapidly and willed herself not to cry in front of him. She couldn’t answer him.

‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ His question was like a soothing balm.

Silent tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Clearly you’re not.’

*

Matt was hesitant to intrude, but Isabelle looked so lost standing there in her kitchen surrounded by shattered glass. It was clearly more than a dropped glass that was causing her flood of silent tears. It was like a dam had burst inside her. Then he heard it. It was so quiet he thought he’d imagined it. His name.
Matt
. A choked sob came from her mouth and his indecision evaporated in an instant. He stepped towards her, his boots crunching on broken glass, and held out his hands.

‘Don’t move.’

In one swift movement, he swept her up in his arms, away from the sharp slivers covering the floor and placed her gently on a kitchen chair. She was trembling like an autumn leaf blown around in the wind. She pushed her body back into the hard wooden frame and rested her bare feet on the timber bar under the chair. Matt pulled another chair out from under the table and swung it so it faced hers. He sat, waiting patiently for her to speak. When she remained silent he leaned forward, legs wide, and rested his elbows on his knees. He took her hands gently in his. They were icy cold.

‘You’re shaking.’

She pulled her hands away and tucked them under her legs, which she jiggled in a vain attempt to warm herself up.

‘Are you cold?’

She shook her head.

He ignored her and got up from the table. Coming back moments later, he wrapped a polar fleece blanket around her. She gave him a grateful smile.

‘I don’t know if I want to tell you what that was all about,’ Isabelle whispered.

‘You can tell me anything, Issie.’

Her expression suggested she was thinking about it.

‘Do you trust me?’

‘I suppose.’

He frowned at her, looking intently in her eyes, begging her to say yes.

‘Yes, I trust you,’ she conceded.

He kept his eyes fixed firmly on her face as he waited patiently for her to talk.

‘I’m not good at this, Matt.’

‘At what?’

‘Talking about it.’

He didn’t question what ‘it’ was. He knew. Dan’s death. ‘It’s okay. Take your time.’

She pulled her hands out from under the blanket and rubbed her temples. After a moment, her gaze flicked up and her blue eyes shone with fresh tears. ‘I guess you found out about Dan.’ It was as much a statement as a question.

He nodded. ‘I don’t know all the details.’ He reached for her hands again and this time she didn’t pull away. ‘Geoff said he had a heart attack.’ He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, willing her to talk, to tell him more. She kept her head down, eyes downcast, staring at the floor. He strained forward to catch her next words.

‘I let him die, Matt.’ Bright blue eyes looked up, locked with his and she stabbed at the tears forming. ‘You must think I’m so pathetic!’

Matt shook his head. Pathetic was the last word he would have used to describe her. Vulnerable, yes. Fragile, yes. But definitely not pathetic.

Her mascara had smeared, causing sooty smudges under her lower lashes. Through her tears, he glimpsed the inner strength he’d seen when he first met her. Sorrow was trying its hardest to quench her strength, and it just about broke his heart. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his finger gently caress her cheek.

‘I did CPR, but I couldn’t save him,’ she whispered. She let out another small sob and sniffed. ‘Fletcher was there watching me. I tried everything,’ she continued in a small voice. ‘I did everything like I’d been taught and he still died. Now do you get it, Matt? I’m a nurse, I should have known what to do with Joe. I should have been able to help you.’

A vice-like grip squeezed his heart tighter with each word.

Isabelle hung her head, the tears falling freely again, leaving trails down her cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb. Pulling his chair closer he caught both her hands in his. They were still like blocks of ice. He placed his knees on either side of her legs and tilted her chin to stare deep into her eyes.

‘You did everything you could,’ he said quietly. ‘Everything. It wasn’t your fault.’’