Payback Ch. 03

'But all he really wants is somewhere to live. Somewhere safe.'

Angus shook his head pensively. 'I don't know, Hez. I just get the gut feeling that the longer you're around him, the more he's going to... feel encouraged.'

'You're completely misinterpreting things. The problem is that you're inserting sex into the equation. It's not sexual, Angus. He's just a kid. Just because you were happy to fuck a woman old enough to be your mother doesn't mean that most other men feel the same way.'

Angus seemed defeated. 'I don't want to fight with you.'

'Neither.'

He sighed tiredly and pulled me into a hug. 'Hez... just be careful. Watch how much attention you give him, and don't wear anything sexy.'

'Oh God.'

He kissed my forehead. 'I love you.'

I loved him, too. I thought he was wrong about Raf, but I didn't want to argue. He was a good man. A kind man. And, I thought, everyone is entitled to some errors of judgement.

~~~~~~~~~~

2017

The early days of dating Angus were easy enough. He worked next door to me, we saw each other every single day, and his colleagues would gossip to Peter about me, and vice versa. There was no uncertainty. I knew Angus liked me, and I liked him, and we never had to wonder about 'what if'.

Dating a FIFO worker in my early forties was a whole other ball game. And Facebook, God, who the fuck inserted that into relationships? I hadn't had to worry about the girls Angus had been with before me. There were no fresh faced American girls connecting him with online after he'd played connect the penis with the vagina with them in the states. There were no pretty nymphs commenting on his motorcycles. Nothing. Nada.

Ciaran had Facebook. So did Symantha, who who posted a 'flashback' photo of herself, Ciaran and their sons five days after Ciaran left for Perth, and kindly tagged Ciaran so we could all see the picture of the happy couple at the beach. Symantha's breasts were large, high and firm, her skin golden and her face beautiful. Her caption was 'sometimes you don't know what you've got until you've lost it'.

This was what I was up against? For fuck's sake. It was time for me to raise the white flag and make a graceful exit because I had no chance. Some silly part of me clicked on Symantha's page and scrolled through the photos, just to make sure she really was my physical superior. Yes, yes, she was. Her life was a perfectly made up, perfectly dressed, perfectly styled affair.

I called Ciaran to see if he was ready to call things off between he and I, but his phone went to voicemail and by the time I went to bed at eleven, he hadn't called or texted. I presumed the worst, but woke the next morning to a text.

Sorry I missed your call, baby. Everything went to shit yesterday and I didn't finish until three am. I love you so much. I'll call you tonight.

I told him not to call me if he was tired and wanted to sleep, but he responded with incredulity, and sure enough, he called me that night.

I thought about Symantha and her impossibly perfect tits as I answered.

'Is now a bad time?' Ciaran asked.

'No, no, just being petty,' I confessed. 'Facebook.'

'Ah, that old chestnut,' he agreed. 'I've been avoiding it for the past week after arguing with my Uncle over... never mind, I won't say it, it'll just annoy me. That's the key, though, baby, just log out and walk away.'

'I can't. It's how I keep in contact with people.' I bit my nail. 'You didn't tell me Symantha was beautiful.'

There was a few second's pause before Ciaran asked why I'd tracked down Symantha's Facebook page.

'I actually didn't go looking,' I said. 'She tagged you in a photo yesterday.'

'She what? Oh fuck. Wait a second.'

I waited anxiously while Ciaran checked his Facebook page for the offending photo.

'Wow,' he remarked. 'Found it. Fuck me, I have hair in that photo. Those were the days, right?'

I didn't laugh.

Ciaran sighed. 'Baby? At some point you're going to meet here, so let me give you a good piece of advice; don't let her get to you. She likes playing these games. Someone's obviously told her I'm seeing another woman, and she's decided to go in swinging, just for shits and giggles. She doesn't want me, she just wants to know she can scare you off.'

'You've told people you're seeing me?'

'Mmm. Is that a problem?'

'No, no,' I replied. 'I'm just... surprised.'

'I just figured, since the kids were meeting, it would be okay.'

'No, no, it's all okay,' I replied, secretly thrilled. It was as if I were a thirteen year old schoolgirl. I laughed awkwardly. 'I just thought 'if Symantha's back, and she's after you, maybe I should push off'. I thought I should call you and see if you wanted me to make a graceful exit.'

'No,' he replied. 'No. Baby, she's playing games. Please. Please ignore her. If she thinks she's found a weak spot, she'll exploit it. You know that old saying 'don't feed the trolls'? Don't feed her. Trust me, I've made that mistake more times than I can count.'

'Okay. I'll ignore her.'

'And when I'm back in Brisbane, come around and force her to come face to face with you,' Ciaran said. 'You'll feel better afterwards, I promise you.'

Ciaran's words reassured me, and we arranged for Pearl and I to visit on his first Saturday back in Brisbane. That give me nine days to lose ten kilos, get a spray tan, buy a sexy swimsuit and develop confidence in the face of intimidating women.

None of that was likely to happen, and when the fateful day rolled around I made the best of a bad set of circumstances. I had a light breakfast, wore my 'flattering' swimsuit, and made Pearl look as cute as humanly possible, which is a difficult thing to achieve with a four year old who's determined to dress herself.

We arrived at Ciaran's house a little after ten. He must've been waiting for us, because he was the one who answered the door; not his parents, and not Symantha. I reintroduced him to Pearl, who was clutching nervously at my leg, and he waved and smiled at her, and told her we should go and see the boys.

I picked up Pearl, kissed the top of her head, and anxiously followed after Ciaran.

'Your house is the same as mine,' I remarked, glancing around.

'Yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said it was,' he agreed.

Ciaran met my gaze and gave me a rueful smile. I smiled back, knowing what he was thinking. I desperately wanted to kiss him, hug him, get some physical reassurance from him. I wanted to nuzzle his neck and breath in his scent, and come night, I wanted to go to bed with him.

'Love you,' he mouthed.

'You too,' I mouthed back.

He took me to the kitchen and introduced me to his mother, who was, to put it mildly, extremely unenthused about my arrival. She barely grunted a greeting, and didn't engage me in any sort of conversation, even though Ciaran and I both tried to initiate it.

I clutched Pearl close to me, frustrated and annoyed by her attitude. I wanted to ask 'why be rude?' What did she know about me? She knew nothing, nothing at all. But there she was, playing judge, jury and executioner without even bothering to ask me if I wanted a tea or coffee. She was a far cry from Auntie Rose, who was always careful to make sure her guests were watered, fed and included in conversation.

Ciaran touched my arm and I saw the same frustration in his eyes that I felt. He didn't like this any more than I did, but he was determined to plough on, and he took me to meet his father and Symantha, both of whom were in the pool with the boys. With them was the two year old girl Symantha had had to her Maori boyfriend.

His father said a reasonably welcoming 'hello' but Symantha's gaze flicked over me and she literally rolled her eyes. I was absolutely steaming by now. I'd been here less than five minutes and it was abundantly clear I wasn't welcome. And Ciaran wanted me to show Symantha I wouldn't back down? Who was he fucking kidding? I didn't need this shit in my life.

I suddenly, fiercely missed my husband and his family. I didn't want to be here, put on display, forced to play nice to a bitchy old woman and my new boyfriend's baby mama. I wanted Angus. I wanted Auntie Rose. I wanted my sisters-in-law, the aunties, the children, the home made sweets and the laughter.

I wanted to leave, and probably would have if Will hadn't leapt out of the water and come over.

'Hi Helen, hi Pearl,' he said, water dripping from his tanned, skinny body. 'Do you want to go swimming?'

Will was so guileless, so genuine, I found myself smiling back at him as Pearl scrambled out of her sundress and headed to the water.

'There's sunscreen on the table,' Symantha called out. 'I wouldn't be letting her in the water without it.'

From the expression on her face and the tone of her voice, she was trying to get a reaction. Maybe to a man her comment sounded innocent, but not to a woman. Not me. She wanted me to throw me off guard, and make me doubt myself, but I refused to show any sort of reaction.

'It's okay, I put some on her before we left home,' I replied. 'Otherwise she won't stand still long enough for me put it on properly.'

'Your choice,' she said with a shrug, as though I'd just suggested I fed Pearl on a diet of junk food and never gave her a bath. 'I'd be putting more on her, though.'

It was on the tip of my tongue to say 'and if you were anything at all like my deceased husband's female relatives, instead of being smarmy, you'd have just grabbed Pearl and put sunscreen on her, and then laughed when I said she already had it on, and said one more coat won't make a difference'. There'd be no malice, no pissing contest, no one upmanship. But Symantha wasn't like Angus's family; she had a goal in mind, and her goal was Ciaran. Standing between herself and her goal was me, and we both knew she'd do whatever it took to move me along.

'Do you have sunscreen on?' Ciaran asked me quietly, so nobody could hear the question.

I half turned around and smiled. 'No, but I wasn't planning on swimming.'

He cocked his head towards Pearl. 'You might need to reassess that.'

Will had neatly front flipped into the pool at the deep end, then held his hands out for Pearl. Pearl screamed, laughed and jumped as Ciaran and I watched.

'Pearl!' I screeched.

Pearl was fine, she could kind-of swim - she could paddle her way to the edge - and Will gave her a helping hand, and before I knew it, Will was jumping in again, and Pearl was following him. Over and over the two repeated it, till Will got sick of being near-drowned by a four year old, and he took her to the shallow end.

I kept a careful eye on her as I slipped off my short and tee and rubbed in sunscreen. Ciaran tried to help me with the latter but knowing Symantha and his parents were watching made me nervous, and I pushed him away.

'Pearl and I might go home soon,' I said. 'I didn't expect Symantha to roll out the welcome mat, but I'm not sure I want to spend my Saturday fending off attacks.'

'No, don't,' he argued. 'Stay. Show her you won't back down. Please.'

I stayed. It was a mistake.

After an hour of stressing, fighting off barbed comments, and getting glared at, I realised that there was nothing to gain in staying. I was just formulating a plan for getting Pearl out of the pool, because she, naturally, was having the time of her life with Will and Symantha's crotchfruit, when Pearl informed Will he 'nearly drowned her'.

Will had done nothing of the sort, but children tend to like drama, and Pearl was no exception. With great seriousness she regaled Will with a step-by-step assessment of how he'd nearly caused her to lose her life, and how everyone would have cried at her funeral 'just like they cried at Daddy's funeral'.

I was flabbergasted she could remember Raf's funeral. She'd been so young. So little. I'd held her and she'd tried to wriggle out of my grasp and my tears had rained down on her head, tears I'd thought I wouldn't be able to shed, because I'd spent the past week crying and hadn't realised there was any more emotion left in me.

Ciaran's father said something but I didn't hear it.

'Not funny, Helen?' he asked.

'Sorry, I missed what you just said,' I replied.

'Think of the money we'd all save if we lost another Abo,' he repeated.

If I could have jumped in the pool and drowned him I would have.

He was joking about a four year old dying. A kid. And this was a joke to these fuckwits. With barely contained rage, I plucked Pearl out of Will's arms, told her to stop being silly and to say 'good-bye' because it was time to go.

'C'mon love, it was just a joke,' Ciaran's father said.

I ignored him because the only other feasible reaction was to grab a rock and peg it at his head.

With Pearl tucked under one arm, I grabbed my bags, walked through the house and into the kitchen where Ciaran was making lunch, and told him I was leaving.

'Why?'

'Because I have better things to do than listen to three people who are bumming off you tell me why they think a four year old child should die to save the taxpayers a few pennies.'

'Oh fuck,' he replied. 'Who said that?'

'Your father.'

'Fuck,' he swore. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Yeah, me too,' I replied. 'If I don't leave right now, I'm going to kill somebody. I'm so angry that I can honestly tell you why we have gun control laws, because I would shoot every single adult in that pool if I could.'

I wasn't often angry, and never this angry. I was shaking, and I was on the verge of tears, too, and Ciaran knew it wasn't wise to try and get me to stay.

'Can I please call you tonight?' he asked.

'Sure,' I replied tightly. 'Whatever. If that will make you feel any better.'

'Fuck, Helen, I'm sorry,' he said, his eyes creasing with concern. 'I didn't think...'

'Yes, I'm sure it's an utter surprise they're racist cunts,' I snapped, completely losing my temper. 'What is it about white people who don't have jobs, or who can't support themselves, having digs at Aboriginal people and immigrants? My husband had a job from the day he turned fifteen till the day he died. Raf's father was working full time and going back to impoverished communities to help undertake building repairs during his holidays. These pieces of shit that you call family, that can't even figure out how to get a goddamn roof over their heads, think they're better than them?'

'I...' Ciaran trailed off. 'I'm sorry. Really, Helen, I'm sorry.'

'I want to keep swimming,' Pearl announced.

Her words reminded me of her presence. I needed to calm down. I needed to get control of myself and leave, before I said something she remembered.

'I'll take you swimming somewhere else,' I told her brusquely.

'No! I want to swim here. With Will.'

'Will wants a break,' I argued.

'Helen!' Pearl implored. 'I love swimming. WITH WILL.'

Tears seeped out of my eyes.

'Baby,' Ciaran said, touching my face. 'Oh baby, I'm so sorry.'

~~~~~~~~~

2008-2012

The next few years weren't easy for Raf. He went to TAFE and found work here and there, but most of it was hard, dirty and offered no job security. There were more criminal charges when he was nineteen, when he assaulted another man on a building site who had been taunting him for weeks.

Plenty of people witnessed the fight, but nobody thought the other man would press charges. In most men's eyes, Raf was in the right, but his tormenter was one of those types who was happy to play victim, and he went straight to the police.

Raf was arrested and found to be in possession of methamphetamine. He pleaded guilty and got community service and a place in the dole queue for his efforts, but a month later, he had another job. He was a hard worker. And nobody dared mess with him after that, the other men laughingly called him the 'fierce fucking Abo' and Raf just smiled quietly when I asked if that offended him.

'No,' he said. 'It's okay. There's no disrespect.'

He would leave early in the mornings, packing his lunch into a blue and white esky, lacing up battered work boots and driving to site in a twelve year old sedan. He wasn't the strongest of men, but he was agile, quick and nimble, and deft with his hands. He'd done many jobs over his short career and having proved himself, he was offered an apprenticeship as a tile setter.

On holidays, site shut downs and long weekends, he would fly and drive home, to the community where he spent the first few years of his life. I figured that sooner or later he'd fly home and not come back, but I didn't dread the day. I just wanted him to be happy.

Angus and Raf continued to bicker and argue occasionally. I think if either had their way, the other would be gone, but there seemed an uneasy truce and for the most part their spats tended to be around minor issues. Auntie Rose would sigh whenever I complained to her, and say that it was just part of life. At least the fights were never physical and the jibes never personal.

I often felt sorry for both men, Angus because he'd been correct, and Raf did seem to not know how to view me, and Raf, because he meant no harm.

Yes, Angus had been right. As the months had passed, I'd been forced to admit that Raf's eyes would linger over my body for just too long, he'd find reasons to be in physical contact with me, and he didn't merely prefer me to Angus and Beau, he preferred me to any and all other people.

Perhaps worse still was the fact that my realisation wasn't coupled with disgust. Maybe I was flattered. Maybe - and this is even worse than vanity - there was something about Raf, as he grew from boy to man, that made me think that if I weren't happily married to Angus, I might have allowed him to make me his lover.

There was just something intangible that bound Raf and I together. It seems improper to discuss it, and yet I feel the need to, because I was often flabbergasted by my own emotions and reactions.

At times people made comments that my relationship with my older foster son might not be quite kosher, but I bit back angrily at these suggestions, furious at the implication that I was cheating on Angus. I loved Angus more deeply than any other human being in my life. My husband was far from perfect; he never did any real housework, and he refused to eat healthier despite his doctor warning him he was heading towards medical disaster, but he was also incredibly kind, respected everything I did, worked hard and never made me feel anything but loved.

But - and here is the but - Angus and Beau would seemingly always be doing motorcycle things. They loved riding; they lived and breathed all things two wheeled, and neither, despite their families' efforts, were very spiritual. Raf, on the other hand, felt bound to the land, to the sea, to his ancestors, and the older he grew, the more serious about his culture he became, and I liked to listen to him speak about his people, about their customs and rituals. He'd stopped worrying about the so-called 'debts' he might be racking up, and instead asked questions, learned skills, and contemplated things on a much higher level than Angus would ever dream of doing.

Raf turned twenty. Beau was eighteen. Angus said he wanted to take me away, just the two of us, away from any and all responsibilities. Beau wasn't exactly capable of looking after himself, but he had a part time job in the same workshop Angus worked at that would keep him occupied during the day, and Raf would be around to oversee him at nights, so it wasn't entirely unfeasible that we take a trip away.

Most people stared at me incredulously when they learned I'd tolerated a three month around-Australia trip on the back of a Hayabusa, but I'd have happily done it again had Angus and I had the time and money. This time it wasn't foster children that held us back, nor Angus's mode of transport, but money.