Only We Know (37 page)

‘You liar.'

He sat back, crossed his arms. ‘You don't believe me?'

‘Not a word.'

He shrugged. How was she to know he'd always had a thing for damsels in distress?

An hour later, Sam drove up to the Penneshaw pub and pulled up at the kerb. Sam had arranged to meet everyone there: his cousins, Charlie's friends and neighbours, people from all over the island who he knew would come to pay their respects. It would be a chance to catch up and say thank you, on his own behalf and Charlie's.

Sam rounded the front of the car and opened Calla's door and she stepped down. They waited for a moment before going in to face everyone.

Calla was glad of this last moment together. ‘You ready?' she asked.

‘Nope,' he said with a sad smile.

She reached for his hand. People inside would probably wonder who the hell she was, might stare and make her feel nervous, but she didn't care. She would be by Sam's side for as long as he needed her today. She looked into his eyes and stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. When her mouth pressed against his, he urged himself forward and pulled her towards him, and her quick peck became something longer and more intimate.

When her feet were planted firmly on the ground again, she whispered, ‘Let's go.'

The front bar was filled with people, shoulder to shoulder, and the place was bustling with noise. When people realised that Sam and Calla had walked in, the conversations quietened and the crowd parted. Calla felt Sam's grip on her fingers tighten.

And then Ben cut his way through the gathering and held out his arms to his cousin. They embraced like football players, patting each other on the back a couple of times and then releasing their hold.

‘Mate,' Ben said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

‘Benny. Thanks for everything.'

‘Forget about it.'

‘Hey, Calla.' If Ben was surprised to see her there, he didn't show it. He kissed her on the cheek and she couldn't help but throw her arms around him.

‘Hi Ben.'

He squeezed her right back and whispered in her ear, ‘Glad you're here for him.'

And then wave after wave of people approached Sam, the men shaking his hand and the women hugging him. She was introduced a hundred times over, each time with a simple, ‘This is Calla.' It raised eyebrows and created smiles among his family and friends. And then Sam was swept away from her, pulled to the bar by a couple of guys who looked about his age. Calla hung back, needing time on the edge of the crowd, wanting to give herself time to think. She turned to look out the big windows to the pulsing ocean, sapphire blue today and calm.

‘Calla?'

She turned. ‘Yes?'

A woman, perhaps in her seventies, held out a hand. ‘I'm Ruth. Ben's mum. Charlie was my brother-in-law.'

‘Oh hello,' Calla said, shaking hands. ‘It's very nice to meet you.' And then she remembered with a shock. ‘Oh god. That means you're Jessie's mother.'

The older woman smiled warmly. ‘Yes, I am.'

‘So you know I'm Jem's sister.'

‘Of course I do,' she said. ‘I heard you met Ella a week or so ago. Isn't she a beautiful baby?'

‘Yes, she's lovely. And I think Jessie's lovely too. I'm guessing you know all about my family's … issues … but I want you to know that I'm glad that Jem's so happy.'

‘He seems to be.'

‘He has a nephew now. Our sister Rose had a little boy last week.'

‘Yes, I heard you had to leave the island rather quickly.'

‘Did Charlie tell you that?' Saying his name was enough to have tears welling in Calla's eyes.

‘Yes. We saw him for lunch the day before he died. He talked about you and Sam. He was happy. Life's precious, and too short to hold on to anger and hurt, don't you think? That's what Jessie's been telling Jem every day since they saw you.'

‘Oh.'

‘They're here, in case you want to say hello to the baby.'

Calla hesitated. She didn't want there to be a scene, not here, not today. ‘I don't know—'

‘Mum!' It was Jessie, emerging out of the crowd with Ella in her arms. ‘Calla!' Before Calla knew what was happening, her not-quite-sister-in-law had thrown an arm around her and was hugging her tightly.

‘It's lovely to see you, Calla. It's so cool that you've come over with Sam. Poor Sam. We've all been worried sick about him, being over in Adelaide all alone and having to deal with this. Poor Charlie. Oh god, I'm babbling, aren't I?' Jessie pulled a face. ‘Sorry, I'm a little nervous.'

‘Don't be. I'm not so scary, am I?'

‘Oh god, no,' Jessie exclaimed.

Ruth reached out for Ella. ‘Let Grandma have a hug.'

‘Jem feels terrible for what happened. It's hard for him. After you left he told me the whole story. I didn't know any of it before then. I hope you believe me.'

‘Of course, Jessie, and anyway it's all right. It's family stuff. Everyone has it.'

She scanned the crowd for Sam. It wasn't hard — he was standing taller than everyone in the room except Ben. And at the moment she spotted him, he turned to her. And he came to her, walking through the sea of people, in a beeline to her side. And then he was there, an arm around her, tucking her into him. And she could finally breathe again.

‘I see you've met Calla, Auntie Ruth.'

‘Well, I'd heard so much about her from Charlie that I thought I'd better introduce myself. And it seems our families are inextricably linked. The Hunters and the Maloneys.'

Calla blinked. It was true. There wasn't only the growing connection between her and Sam: her family and his were now anchored together by blood.

Jem walked towards them. Tall, proud, in a grown-up suit. He stood by Jessie's side, glanced over at Ella in June's arms and then offered a nod to Calla. ‘Hello.'

CHAPTER

46

‘Hello, Jem,' Calla said.

Jem managed to smile at her. He stood next to Jessie, looking hesitant. Calla was relieved to see none of the lingering hurt from the week before. Maybe he'd reacted the way he had because she'd turned up out of the blue to see him.

Calla looked at her brother, wondered if she knew who he was any more. And then he looked back at her with a hopeful smile and right there, she had a flicker of memory. That look, that teasing, little-brother-gotcha smile.

They'd been close, but weren't now. That was life, Calla decided. Most of it was a crapshoot. Most of it was an accident waiting to happen.

Sam's arm stiffened around her. She leant into him and smiled tentatively at her brother. How did she feel about seeing Jem again?

Not happy, exactly. Angry? No, not any more.

She was at peace, both with her attempt to bring her family back together and Jem's decision not to be part of her life. She felt a shuddering sigh deep down in her lungs. Her crazy adventure on Kangaroo Island had been worth it. She'd put the complications and the pain behind her. And she and Sam had each other's backs.

‘I'm good.' And she was.

‘You remember Sam?'

‘Of course.' Jem fumbled a hand out of his trouser pocket and reached out to Sam. ‘I'm really sorry about your dad.'

The two men shook hands. ‘Thank you,' Sam said.

Calla and Auntie Ruth exchanged glances.

‘I only met him a couple of times,' Jem said. ‘He was a funny bloke.'

‘Yeah, he was,' Sam said quietly.

‘You painted him,' Calla said.

Jem stopped, blinked. Looked between Jessie and his sister.

‘Yeah. I did.' His eyebrows furrowed in a question. ‘How did you know that?'

‘Sam bought the portrait.'

Jem raked a hand through his hair. ‘Shit. Thanks.'

‘It's a wonderful piece. I'm glad you're painting.' Calla hoped Jem could hear the truth in her words. She knew how much it meant to her when she painted: the serenity, the adrenaline rush when it was coming together, the quiet peace it gave her. She hoped it did the same for Jem, after all he'd been through.

‘Me too.'

Calla heard a sniff and then Jessie couldn't contain herself any longer. She lurched forward and threw her arms around Sam's waist, crushing her cheek up against his tie. ‘I'm so sorry, Sam. You know how much I loved Uncle Charlie.'

Sam patted Jessie on the back. ‘Funny, he always thought you were a brat.'

Jessie gasped and let go. ‘He did not! Oh,' she tried to control her wobbling bottom lip, ‘you're teasing.'

Sam ruffled her hair, more like an uncle than a cousin, and he smiled warmly at her. He couldn't hide his emotions from Calla, though. She could see the tension in the crease between his eyes, in the clench of his jaw.

He checked his watch, looked to Calla. ‘It's time to go. We've got to head up to the church.' Sam put a guiding hand in the small of Calla's back. It said,
You're coming with me
.

Of course she was.

‘We'll see you all there,' he said to the others.

‘We'll be right behind you,' Auntie Ruth said. ‘That is, if we can find your father, Jessie. Check by the bar.' The women turned and dissolved back into the crowd.

Sam reached for her hand and they turned to walk to the door out to the street.

‘Wait.' It was her little brother's voice. She closed her eyes, could hear him saying the same word a million times over when they were kids, trying to keep up with his two big sisters.
Wait! Wait for me! Let me come! Why can't I come!

Calla looked over her shoulder.

He hadn't moved. ‘Can I talk to you before you go home, Calla?'

‘Sure.' And then she walked out into the bracing wind with Sam to Charlie's funeral.

CHAPTER

47

Calla didn't remember much of what happened at the church. She was by Sam's side as people greeted him and hugged him, murmured their condolences and shed their tears. She wasn't religious and didn't know the verses being spoken, but Sam's family did and she could see that the words were a comfort to them, a ritual that had meaning and purpose.

And after, at the Penneshaw Cemetery, there were more tears. She'd stood next to Sam the whole time, her left hand tightly holding on to his, her right gripping his forearm through the sleeve of his black suit. It was so cold. She'd buttoned her woollen coat but somehow the wind still seemed to seep inside her. It blew hard and frigid up on the cliff top and the hundred or so people gathered around huddled together to hear the service.

When she'd wiped her fogged-up glasses, she'd noticed the two other headstones next to Charlie's final resting place: Jean and Andrew. Sam had been here twice before to bury someone he loved. And that's when she let her tears flow freely. She wasn't afraid to feel sad for Sam, to let her feelings spill out of her the way her tears did. She was hurting for him and there was an ache in her chest so tight that it crushed her lungs like a vice. Her tears were unstoppable, trickling down her cheeks and her neck, into the collar of her shirt. She was finally letting go of so much, grieving, as Sam was, for the death of her own parents.

She let herself look at him, and saw that Sam was crying too, the tears drizzling down his face. She was glad for him. He didn't need to be a stoic hero that day, of all days, and she watched him wipe the tears with his free hand.

When Sam had gently released himself from her grip, and stepped forward to sprinkle a handful of dirt on Charlie's coffin, she moved back subtly and blended into the crowd as people milled around to follow Sam's lead. She didn't want to see that. Couldn't think of the wooden box being lowered into the ground and covered forever. She hadn't had to face it before; both of her parents had been cremated, their ashes scattered from the cliffs of Willunga across the water on the Fleurieu Peninsula. Not for them permanent memorials or gravestones or a generational connection to a place on a map. Generations of Hunters would be buried there, a connection to the history of the island that Calla couldn't imagine feeling for any one place. Even in death her family wouldn't have wanted to be together.

The repeated hollow thud of dirt hitting Charlie's coffin was too much for Calla. She wanted to support Sam, but she couldn't intrude on such a moving and private family moment when she was an interloper to this gathering. She felt as if she'd stumbled upon a stranger's funeral. She half expected Sam's family and friends to turn and scowl, outraged at her for sharing their private grief.

There were things about her that they couldn't know. What she didn't want to explain was that she knew what it was like to bury a parent. She'd shared pain like this before. Twice. Death was final and permanent and irrevocable, but mistakes and secrets and accusations didn't die. They lived on and haunted the next generation, who carried their burden deep in their hearts, right alongside the memories of two people who perhaps should never have married.