The Ripple Effect (24 page)

“Don’t you dare,” Amy scolded.

“No, Mum,” said Shay. He spread jam and cream with the most innocent of expressions on his face.

“Tell me about your family, Joelle,” said Amy. “Shay says you have two younger sisters.”

Amy sipped her tea, waiting with such kind, open, interest Joelle found herself saying, “Yes, Bridget and Melanie. Bridget’s in London at the moment. She’s a primary school teacher. Melanie’s…” Joelle paused and glanced at Shay. What had he told his parents about Mel? How much gossip and speculation had flowed between Birrigai and Sydney? A wave of fierce protectiveness flooded her body—she didn’t want Mel, her little sister in trouble, discussed and pitied by these people, however kindly.

Shay picked up his tea casually and said, “Mel’s helping us search for relatives. She’s fascinated by the whole thing.”

“We’ve sent out letters to all the Graysons we could find in the phone book,” said Joelle quickly. Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the jam knife and she bent her head to concentrate hard on scone and cream. Shay had deflected his mother very neatly. He knew exactly what she’d been thinking. He’d saved her.

“You know,” Amy said after a moment’s thought. “You won’t find any relatives of the wife, your grandmother, that way.” She met Joelle’s startled gaze. “I mean if Emily had no brothers and there was no male line to carry the name there won’t be any Graysons related to you to find.”

“Oh,” Joelle cried. “We never thought of that, did we Shay?”

He shook his head and she could tell by the glum downturn of his mouth he was as dismayed as she was. “There might be an uncle, though,” he said hopefully.

“They didn’t find anyone at the time,” said Amy. “I have a feeling your grandfather was an only child. Or as good as.”

“Maybe the newspaper ads will work,” Shay said. “They’re running for a month.”

“Maybe,” said Amy. “We can always hope.” She patted Shay’s arm and then leaned across to squeeze Joelle’s hand.

The back door banged and heavy footsteps clumped in the laundry. Water splashed in the sink, hands were scrubbed vigorously. “Hello, I’m home,” called a deep voice. “Where are those two? Amy? Shay?”

Joelle jerked to attention, her eyes fixed on the doorway, a half-eaten scone suspended in one hand. Stan Brookes appeared, large, ruddy faced, beaming, filling the room with his presence. Dark grey workpants, khaki shirt straining gently over a bulging middle—a faint smell of motor oil wafted in with him. Thinning grey hair clung to the perimeter of a round, shiny, sun browned head. Two piercing grey eyes took in the visitors at a glance. When his gaze lighted on Joelle, his jaw dropped and the smile left his face, replaced by a wondering astonishment.

Joelle rose slowly to her feet, staring at the man who’d found her mother and tried so hard to save her. The man who’d taken in her tiny brother and loved him as his own. The man who, in effect, had saved both their lives. He stepped closer and she saw with a pang there were tears in his eyes. Or maybe they were her own tears. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision.

He held out roughened work worn hands and said softly, “You look exactly like her. You’re the image of Emily.” A pause. A smile. A husky, “your mother was beautiful, just like you.”

Joelle realised she was still holding a scone and hastily put it down. She extended her hands to Stan and he pulled her to him roughly for a quick, embarrassed hug.

“Hello,” Joelle said into his hot shirt that smelled faintly of sweat and motor oil. Inadequate, hopelessly inadequate but he seemed as tongue-tied as she was. There were too many words and none of them was enough.

He held her away, still with large warm hands grasping her upper arms, and his eyes ran over her face and hair taking in every detail. The wondering astonishment remained.

“Just look at you, all grown up,” he murmured. He released her and turned to Amy. “Any tea left, love?” No one commented on the telltale tremor in his voice.

Amy sprang up to refill the pot while Joelle sat back down. Stan slapped Shay roughly on the back as he pulled out a chair next to his son. “How’s it going?”

“Good, Dad.”

“Made good time?”

“Yeah, pretty good.” Shay had slipped into the rougher edged speech of his Dad. Of his childhood. People spoke slower out here, conserved their words along with their emotions. The men, at least.

“Road’s a bit rough by the pub. We keep complaining and they keep ignoring us.”

“Typical.”

“Some things never change.” Stan sighed and grinned at Joelle. His eyes lingered on her face and hair again. She smiled back. Amy poured a fresh mug of tea and set it down in front of Stan. “Thanks, love,” he said. She patted his shoulder.

“What’s that new place?” asked Shay. “The restaurant.”

“Woman started it up about a month ago. Betsy Hill her name is. Husband drives big rigs so he’s not around much.”

“What’s it like? Joelle thought we should try it,” said Shay.

“She makes a good cup of coffee,” said Amy.

“Perhaps we could take you there for lunch,” offered Joelle. “Or dinner.”

Amy smiled. “I don’t mind feeding everyone.”

“But you’d enjoy being fed by someone else. Our treat,” said Shay. “Don’t argue.”

“That’ll be the day.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“When’s Lisa getting here?” asked Shay.

“Saturday. And Ben’s coming with her,” said Amy.

“Just the two of them?”

“Yes. We thought the whole tribe at once might be too much for Joelle.” Stan sent one of his grins her way. “Pity Evan can’t make it but he’s at sea on manoeuvres”

“He’s on a destroyer, isn’t he?” asked Joelle.

“Yeah, it’s a tough life but he likes it. Has to be away from home a lot.”

“Truckies are, too,” said Stan.

“They push the drivers too hard, the trucking companies. Betsy told me what they’re expected to do. The hours and the distances,” put in Amy. An oft-repeated opinion by the way Stan firmed his mouth and stared fixedly at his mug of tea, not wanting to be involved. No doubt, something to do with his being a policeman and dealing with the accidents caused by hopped up truckies. “I don’t know how she copes all on her own for weeks at a time. Her husband is a driver,” she said to Joelle.

“I just told her that, love,” said Stan. “That’s why Betsy started up her restaurant. Give her something to do. They’ve got no kids, yet.”

“I’d hate to be alone like that after I married,” said Amy.

“So would I,” said Joelle. “Surely you marry so that you can be together.” She guessed Stan’s attitude might be typical of the men in these parts. A woman’s place was in the home and if she had no children she needed to occupy herself somehow while her man was away. The possibility Betsy might be a very good chef keen on establishing a business didn’t rate a mention. She may not want children.

“Yes, exactly,” cried Amy triumphantly. “Do you have a boyfriend, Joelle?” The abrupt shift in subject threw her completely.

“Me? Oh.” Joelle’s gaze flew to Shay. No, she didn’t have a boyfriend and she couldn’t imagine having one now because there was only one man…heat rose up her throat, colouring her skin. Soon it would reach her cheeks in a fiery blush.

“Now you’re embarrassing her,” said Stan calmly. “Mind your own business, Amy.” He chuckled and winked at Joelle before slurping up tea.

“I had a boyfriend, sort of, anyway. He thought he was—we were—” Joelle floundered under three pairs of expectant eyes. “But I didn’t…”

“He was a prat,” interrupted Shay succinctly.

“How do you know? You never even met him,” cried Joelle.

“I did. I saw him in the shop that first day I met you.”

Joelle’s eyes locked with Shay’s. That first day. The day she fell in love at first sight. She’d even told Viv. She’d daydreamed about gorgeous Doctor X coming back and sweeping her away. Paul never stood a chance after that.

Shay had swept her away all right. Into an alternate reality. But she couldn’t deny to herself that she loved him still and with the cruellest twist of fate imaginable could never have him. Joelle swallowed and dropped her gaze.

Amy began clearing the mugs and jam smeared plates with a clatter of crockery.

“Stan and I can clear this up,” she said when Joelle rose to help. “You two go for a walk and stretch your legs after that drive. Shay, take Joelle for a look around town.”

“Okay. Shall we?”

“I’d like that. Thanks for the tea and scones, Amy. They were delicious.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

Shay led the way through the laundry to the back door. Jedda rose from the step wagging his tail and followed them around the house to the front garden.

“Can Jedda come?” asked Joelle.

“He’ll come if he wants to,” said Shay. “And go home when he gets tired.”

“Your mum makes delicious scones,” said Joelle as they set off walking down the middle of the street towards the intersection with the main road. Jedda scampered ahead sniffing the grass along the verge for items of doggy interest.

“She’ll probably do roast lamb for dinner.”

“Yum.”

The air was fresh and clear out here. Shay drew in deep cleansing breaths. And so quiet. A couple of pink and grey galahs swooped over their heads and settled on the power lines. A gentle breeze wafted warm air through the leaves of the gums lining the roadside. Late afternoon shadows stretched long fingers towards their feet. Absolutely perfect. Home always was. Every time he came back he wished he could stay. Perhaps by the end of the year he’d feel ready professionally. That work in the hospital Emergency Department provided invaluable experience. Out here, a doctor had to be ready to do anything from deliver a baby to stitch up a nearly severed limb. The way Doctor Jenny had when Joelle was born and when Sven Knutsen had accidentally chopped his hand instead of the kindling for the fire. Tonight he could sound out Olive about job prospects.

Shay grinned at the look on Joelle’s face as she walked beside him. Her chin was lifted slightly and she also was drawing deeply on the fresh country air. The breeze toyed with her hair, dragging golden strands across her mouth, which she brushed aside casually with slim fingers. She looked good in Birrigai, she fitted perfectly into his family as he knew she would. Mum loved her already and as for his father…

“I’ve never seen Dad so overcome,” he said. “When he saw you it was as if he’d seen a ghost. You must look exactly like Emily.”

“I know. It’s weird.”

Her voice betrayed her even though she kept striding beside him with her head up and her eyes fixed on the road ahead. How insensitive and stupid…
what a lunkhead.
Here he was all excited about coming home and expecting Joelle to just slip into place without a murmur, as comfortably as he did. It must be an incredibly emotionally traumatic experience.

Shay touched her arm and she stopped to look up into his face. The gleam of tears and the lost bewildered expression smashed his reserve. Without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, protecting, comforting. She felt wonderful nestled against his chest. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, the freshness of shampoo in his nostrils, her body trembling in his arms.

“I know it’s hard for you,” he whispered. “But it’ll get easier.”

She sniffed in answer, the sound muffled by his shirt. He stroked her back gently and tried not to be distracted by the curves of her body under his fingers. Her arm stayed hanging by her sides but she didn’t attempt to move away. He couldn’t release his hold. He’d need a hammer and chisel to prise his arms from her body.

Jedda trotted back wagging his tail, thumping it hard against their legs as he bumped around their stationary bodies.

“Ow.” Joelle pulled away. “Jedda!” She bent down quickly to pat his head, effectively hiding her face from view. Shay mustn’t see how his embrace affected her. How her eyelids were blinking furiously with the effort of stemming tears and her mouth was quivering from the effort of not blurting out how she felt about him. Patting Jedda prevented her arms clinging to him. Bending prevented her body pressing against his in a very unsisterly fashion. All he’d done was offer a comforting hug and her senses leapt to full alert.

“Stop hitting me,” she said unsteadily to the dog who panted and grinned and tried to lick her cheek.

“He’s such a con artist,” said Shay. “Likes to be the centre of attention.” He had no idea. None at all. Thank goodness.

“He’s lovely. We never had a dog. Mum doesn’t like them.” Joelle straightened but kept her face averted.

Shay started strolling again. “We always had one,” he said. “First there was Poco. He was small and black and nipped your ankles. I didn’t like him much but I was very young and he was getting on a bit. Then there was a blue heeler called Sprocket. Ben loved that dog but he used to fight any other dog that came near him. I thought he was mad. The dog, I mean. You can make your own mind up about Ben.”

He snuck a sidelong look at Joelle. Her lips had curved upward and she was watching him with bright, interested eyes. He continued. “Next was Bertha. She was a good dog—half lab, half boxer. She died of old age last year and Mum and Dad got Jedda. He was a stray, Dad found him abandoned. He’s good at that.” Shay smiled.

“What happened to mad Sprocket?” asked Joelle returning the smile.

“Got run over in the main street.”

“Ooh.”

“Yeah, I know. It was sad. Ben was terribly upset. We had a burial service for him. He’s got a plaque in the back yard. I’ll show you later if you like. Poco’s there too. And Bertha.”

“There’s a dog graveyard in the back garden?” Her eyes opened wide.

Shay nodded. “Couple of cats as well.”

“Goodness,” was all she said. He tried to imagine Natalie presiding over a pet burial ceremony. Difficult. William perhaps…

They turned into the main street—busier because it was also the highway—taking to the footpath that was rough underfoot and partially overgrown with honeysuckle escaping from the house on the corner.

“Mrs James doesn’t believe in pruning.” Shay held dangling vines aside for Joelle to pass. The branches of a prunus plum hung low dropping a thick carpet of deep red leaves underfoot.