*****Promises to Keep*****

[I love music]

*****chapter 31*****

Yesterday

Easter

"G'day, Ron! Long time, no see!"

As if he'd been watching, Richie Phillips appeared suddenly in the doorway, making the principal jump.

"It's not a social visit, Richie," Ron said uneasily. "I need to speak with you about Kane."

Ron Wilson had drawn a sharp breath when he realised who little Kane Phillips’ father was, but he forced himself to recover quickly.

It was the first time he had ever visited the rough, violent town of Summerhill. Most of its kids went to school in Summerhill itself but a long-ago mix-up in paperwork meant the Phillips boys attended Summer Bay Primary. In any case, Ron hadn’t met several of his pupils’ parents. He had only recently, halfway through the school term, been asked to temporarily deputise until Easter as principal of Summer Bay Primary due to the ill health of the regular principal.

And although Ron had always thought both Kane and Scott vaguely reminded him of someone, it was a shock to discover who their father was.

Richie.

Or Gus, as he first called himself in those days. Ron never did learn his surname but he’d never forgotten that sneering grin. Never forgotten how he’d stolen the girl he loved. The hatred they had for each other was still thick and almost tangible, like the blue smoke curling now from Richie’s cigarette.

Especially when, in answer to her husband’s shout, Richie’s wife came downstairs.

*****

She was beautiful. Not beautiful as in simply pretty or beautiful as in China doll beauty or beautiful as in movie star glam. Her beauty was more natural, more striking.

Long raven hair framed an oval face and lightly tanned complexion, her lips were full and cherry red, her eyes were river blue with silken lashes. She was slim, yet not pencil thin, every rounded curve falling in exactly the right place. He never dreamt that she’d even look at him twice let alone agree to go out with him when he finally plucked up courage to ask, but amazingly she’d said yes.

Ron Wilson was probably the least troublesome student ever to attend Summer Bay High. Quiet and studious, his nose rarely out of a book, his grades consistently excellent, his reports never causing the slightest ripple of concern.

Restless and erratic, Diane Jones breezed into the final few weeks of their school lives, turning up for lessons only when it suited her, wearing whatever she wanted, doing whatever she liked. Chalk and cheese.

But opposites attract. Sometimes so explosively that fall-out is still raining down from the sky years later.

And during the handful of weeks that she spent in Summer Bay, while her mother rented a caravan in order to spend hours painting the Bay’s panoramic views, Ron fell truly, madly and deeply in love with Diane Jones. She told him she didn’t feel the same way, that she saw him only as a friend, but he never gave up hoping that one day he could change her mind. It wasn’t to be.

Storm clouds had gathered.

A small group of Summerhill teenagers had lately taken to hanging out on a patch of muddy land near Alf Stewart’s Diner, to drink, smoke, practise motorbike scrambling and, most of all, eye up the local talent. They were trouble, Alf told the cops, persuading them to have them moved on, particularly the ringleaders, two brothers, Joe and Gus (or Richie as he was calling himself these days, apparently ever since young Diane told him she didn’t like his nickname).

Di was fascinated by Richie, by his good looks and easy charm, by the fact he had a police record, didn’t give a damn about Alf or anyone else. Despite Ron not liking it, she often stopped to chat with the gang.

The last time Ron saw Diane, she had wagged school for the arvo. But he’d known exactly where to find her. Cutting classes for the first time in his life, he went down to the muddy slope, to a little beyond where the Diner’s customers could sit outside to soak up the sun while they ate, although most, intimidated by the bikers, neglected the outside tables nowadays.

Sure enough, Di sat on the back of Richie’s bike, her chin resting on his shoulder, her face flushed with drinking, giggling at something Richie whispered in her ear. And the way she giggled and the way Richie was looking, Ron knew then he’d lost her. But he couldn’t just give her up. He loved her.

So, to the guffaws of Richie and his mates, ignoring their jeers, with tears in his eyes, he begged and he pleaded with her not to leave him, and she listened, or half listened, the booze making her giggly and sleepy, lolling against Richie’s back with a drowsy smile on her face.

Then suddenly she spluttered with laughter, because everything and everyone was incredibly funny in this happy, foggy, dreamy world, and she mumbled sleepily, slurring her words.

“You know something, doofus? You’re ‘bout as interesting as watching paint dry and you're keeping Richie and me from having fun!” And she clasped her arms tighter around Richie’s waist and nestled her head against him as if they’d been a couple forever.

“Loser!” Richie grinned sneeringly, revving up and circling the bike to deliberately splatter thick brown mud over his rival, roaring with laughter as his mates did the same before they sped away, the harsh noise of the motorbikes shattering the gentle sounds of the lazy summer day.

Ron would always regret not going down to the caravan park to wait for her that night, but he was smarting with anger and humiliation. And he had his pride. Give her a day to think it over, a morning when she would wake with the devil of a hangover, swearing never to touch another drop again, sorry she had dumped him in favour of a workshy dropkick.

So it was late afternoon before he finally made his way to the Jones’s caravan. To his shock, it was empty. Enquiries revealed that even Diane’s liberal-minded mother had been furious over her teenage daughter getting so drunk that she'd spent all night with a boy she barely knew, and she had had them pack up and leave that day.

They left no forwarding address.

The only information the site owner could offer was that Aurora Jones - and if that was her real name, he was from Mars - had vaguely indicated that she might next paint in Melbourne. Or Canberra. Or Sydney. Some big city, she hadn’t yet made up her mind.

And so Ron’s life went on. He went to Uni, gained his teaching qualifications, dated other girls. Eventually he married, had a child. He never saw Di or Richie again.

Until that moment.

*****

“We got a lot to catch up on, Ron.” Richie still hadn’t lost the sneer, ushering both his wife and Ron Wilson into the living room with over-exaggerated politeness. “I’ll make us all a cuppa, Di, and get the best fruitcake out. Kane, boy, get up to ya room while the grown-ups talk.”

Kane didn’t need telling twice. Dad’s look, when he’d innocently piped up Mr Wilson had come visiting just so that he could advise on how best Kane could avoid getting caught nicking stuff, had been icy.

Besides there were four sticks of gum and assorted lollies, newly stolen from Nosey Parker’s store, hidden under his pillow away from Scotty’s prying eyes, and he wanted to make sure nothing had stuck like it did last time when he’d needed to use his fingernails to scrape it all off before he ate it.

He trudged obligingly upstairs, stopping briefly at the top banister, where last week he’d scratched Kane was here, to take another sharp stone from his pocket (Jeez, Miss Murray was a total dill to think he’d collected only one!) and carve an arrow alongside, lest anyone pausing to read should be plagued by doubts as to exactly where he’d stood while creating his masterpiece.

Then he headed for the room he shared with Scotty to check on the progress of the lollies, blissfully unaware that his whole life had just changed.

*****

She was still as beautiful as he remembered. Thinner, older and more tired-looking perhaps, but still beautiful. She blamed her tiredness on a bad cold, the reason, she said, she’d been resting when Richie had called her down to greet their unexpected guest. Oh, that cold was responsible for so many things!

For her breath smelling of alcohol (a hot toddy made of brandy), for the large bruise on her face (the mixture of brandy and medication had made her walk groggily into a door), for her red-rimmed eyes and for her blowing her nose as she came downstairs, hesitantly, almost as though afraid (still feeling crook). She spoke quickly, anxiously, summing up her life since they’d last met in a few simple, broken sentences.

“We never made it to the city. Mum...she...Mum died of cancer. We knew it was gonna happen, the docs had only given her a few months to live. That was why we started travelling round, seeing places she might never see, only...only...I never had time to tell her I thought...And I was. I came back to tell Richie. There was no one else to tell, see. Never knew my Dad.” She shrugged. “Mum had been too blotto to even ask his name, that was why she was so mad when I got...oh, Richie did his block at first, said it wasn’t his, but then he was cool. Turned out we qualified for heaps of welfare benefits (Di omitted to say the welfare money went on drink) and our own place, rent free. When Scott got born we got even more so we was...we were okay. Then some ancient rellie of Richie’s said she’d give us five thousand dollars - cash, like, so we didn’t have to declare it - if we made it all legal. So we got hitched. Kane came along a few years later. And here I am!”

She smiled, as if all was well, but the dingy room with its shabby furniture, cracked paintwork and frayed carpet shouted another story.

Di looked down at her hands and twisted the damp tissue that she’d been using to dab her eyes (that cold again). Had she said too much or too little? But then it didn’t matter what she said. Richie would still bash her.

The first time had been because the welfare department insisted he sell his motorbike before they got any more money. Their relationship had always been drink-fuelled and stormy, both of them enjoying the excitement, and she’d thrown the first punch in that blue. But over time, and though in the early years of their marriage she often used to fight back - and occasionally even win the argument - it was Richie now who held all the power and the reasons for her bashings blurred.

Although she’d threatened to walk if he bashed the kids she knew now it was an empty threat. And so did Richie. She’d seen it in his eyes that morning, when he’d thrown the cereal dish at Kane. That glimmer of amusement. Where would she go? She had no family. No friends.

Shame at being exposed as an alcoholic, when she’d lost her part-time cleaning job because her employer had found a bottle of vodka in her locker, had made her drop the couple of friends she’d made while working.

And, ashamed of her beatings, whenever she left the house to shop she walked with shoulders hunched, head down, meeting no one’s eyes, and making no attempt whatsoever to talk with anyone. Her sister-in-law Rose had lately begun to suspect something was wrong and she had finally been on the verge of confiding in her. But Rose was now in hospital unconscious, since the car crash that had killed her husband, Richie’s younger brother Joe.

And since Joe had died Richie had done with the niceties. Di suspected - no, knew - Richie was listening now. He’d spoken to Ron Wilson pleasantly enough but years of experience had taught her to recognise the danger signals. The comment about best fruitcake had been thinly veiled sarcasm.

Last night Scott and Kane had been talking outside the window, unaware they could be overheard, the house silent and dark, Richie having lain in wait for his wife because she’d gone to visit Rose in hospital.

“Ma’s acting like a fruitcake again!”

“Betcha she’s the best fruitcake though,” Kane replied loyally.

“What ya on about now, drongo?”

“In the show. Where she’s acting like a fruitcake.”

“Jeee-zus, give me ******* strength!” Scotty said impatiently.

In the darkness, Diane could make out Richie’s silhouette and see his shoulders shaking with laughter, but she didn’t dare move. Not that she was able to.

Her aching bones were the reason she’d been upstairs trying to drink herself into a stupor.

“Di, you deserve far better than this,” Ron blurted out. He had a wife and kid now, but suddenly he could think of nothing and no one else. Seeing her again bewitched him all over again. He was as besotted as he had been when they were young. “It’s not too late for us to start a new life together.”

She stared at him, startled, gave a half laugh, imagining he was joking. And inwardly trembling. Her husband would have heard every word.

“If we ever split up,” she whispered, “Richie would win custody of the kids.”

“You can’t be sure of that...”

“I can,” Diane said firmly.

Richie was a smooth operator, a very well respected member of the Summerhill community. He easily explained away her injuries. Everyone knew of her drinking binges and increasingly fragile mental state, whole days lost when she saw and heard things that didn’t exist outside her own mind.

“I won’t EVER leave Kaney and Scotty. My boys, Ron, they’re my whole world.”

Sure, she hit them, treated them rough, mostly when she was drunk, but drink was her only escape and Di tried to love her kids. She could never abandon them to their father’s cruelty. God only knew what revenge Richie would take on the boys if she did.

“Di, please think about it, I still love you, I always...” But Ron got no further as a heavy blow struck his jaw and he tasted blood and broken teeth.

“Di, please...” He tried once more before Richie threw him unceremoniously out into the street, but she only shook her head, sobbing.

“You’re wasting your time, Ron. Don’t ever come back. I’m staying with Richie. I’m staying with my kids.”

Richie slammed the door and now turned his attention to his wife.

“Jeez, took me for a bloody fool, din’cha? Scotty starts school, ya meet up with ya old boyfriend and all of a sudden ya up the ******* duff again!”

“Nooo, Rich...”

Di backed away as he came threateningly towards her. How could he even think it? She had never slept, never dreamed of sleeping, with any man but Richie. Apart from having Diane’s blue eyes, Kane resembled his father even more strongly than their eldest son did.

“You think I came down in the last ******* shower? If I remember rightly, he was borned ‘bout nine months or so after Scotty started school. I’d say that made the ******* brat’s age ‘zactly right, wouldn’t you? Always did wonder why he was such a whingin’ sook...”

“Richie, I swear Kane’s yours...”

“Shut it!”

She didn’t dare scream when her husband grabbed her by the hair and flung her against the wall. And then he looked down at her, smiling slowly, and suddenly she knew what he was going to do.

"Kane! You get your butt down here right now!" Richie yelled.

Diane staggered to her feet and into the kitchen, reaching for the smokes, trying not to listen as Richie Phillips fist thudded for the second time against their small son.

"Muuum!" Kane yelled urgently, the child’s plea breaking her heart.

Diane Phillips turned, silently appealing for the little boy to understand. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she flicked ash into a cracked saucer because she knew if she interfered Richie would only make Kane’s beating far, far worse, and it was her turn next.

*****

Summerhill residents didn’t believe in letting stickybeaks go easily. The ramshackle car in front deliberately blocked Ron Wilson’s gleaming red car, the equally ramshackle car behind meant he couldn’t turn back.

He beeped his horn, then thought better of it when the burly-looking man in the front car turned and glared menacingly. And he sensed the group of grinning men watching were just waiting for him to get out so they could pick a fight.

Hidden by the low wall he’d ducked behind when he’d first spotted the principal outside the Phillips residence, and therefore needing to periodically bob his head in order to catch vague, fleeting glimpses of the world, Scotty decided it was time he saw the show properly and came out of his hiding place.

The first thing he noticed, to his delight, was that someone had deliberately scratched a long crooked line all along the side of Sir’s flashy car.

Mr Wilson was trapped and Summerhill was Scotty’s territory. He dug his hands deep in his pockets and, grinning, walked slowly by, staring at Mr Wilson’s bloodied face and the damage to the car, like a visiting tourist fascinated by the locals and their quaint customs.

It was such a delicious moment that Scotty decided to enjoy it all over again. He crossed over the road, swung round and turned back, walking slowly past to stare, repeating his actions over and over, until the men, ignoring the kid and apparently satisfied that Ron Wilson wouldn’t be back, finally let the car through.

The eldest Phillips boy was whistling happily when he got home. Until he discovered that Kane had been bashed even though Mum had been there to stop it and Mum had been badly bashed too. Since Uncle Joe carked it, things were changing fast and Scotty could hardly keep up with them. But he knew one thing for sure.

The look on Ron Wilson’s face when he saw Scotty grinning said he hated him.

Enough to kill.

*****

Today

The fluffy pink rabbit had been re-stitched many times and was so worn that it was almost bald. They hadn’t wanted her to keep it in the hospital, telling her it was unhygienic, but she had screamed and yelled so much that the shrink suggested a compromise.

Newly washed, Boo now sat on the locker next to the bed. Mel reached for the toy just as she had always instinctively reached for its comfort.

One night in a hostel another girl had tried to make off with her belongings and she had fought and kicked and scratched until the other chick, screaming in pain, was forced to drop the bag. But it was the rabbit she’d been fighting to keep most. Because Boo was the only memory she had of her father.

The memory was blurred. All that she could recall was a tall figure, with fresh-smelling rain dripping down from his hair and coat, plucking something from a cellophane-wrapped box and reaching down to her with the gift while she was reaching up to take it.

It was the very first time she saw the toy rabbit she named Boo.

Clutching the cuddly toy to herself as tightly as she used to when a child, Mel took a deep breath before she looked up at Kane again.

“I hated you so much. A sicko rapist and...as I thought back then...a murderer too. And I couldn’t understand why you should have a kid who adored you. What did you do to deserve that? What does any kid do to deserve their parents?” Tears welled up in her eyes despite her best efforts to stop them. “I wasn’t crying for Scott just now. I was crying for someone I never knew. Someone I thought had already died a long time ago. Ron Wilson was my Dad.”

[I love music]

*****chapter 32*****

High on the windswept cliffs, a step away from the certain death of Devil’s Leap, sea breezes whipped Melanie’s hair across her face. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as, Jamie safe in her arms at last, she edged her way, slowly, carefully, towards her father. But it was then that the harrowing memory chose to suddenly come rushing back.

She hesitated and looked at Kane, so anxious for his son to survive. It would be the ultimate revenge

... if...

Melanie threw the dice and the wheel spun. Her arms dropped helplessly back down to her sides. She'd handed over the kid now.

If her gamble was wrong, she’d lost everything.

*****

“And I think I know why my Dad...” she said the words again, they were so strange to her.

Other people talked about Dads. In the past, whenever Melanie mentioned her father she dismissed him quickly, as the stranger he’d always been to her.

My Dad died when I was four. I never knew him.

My Dad gave me a toy rabbit. I’ve still got it.

My Dad was a primary school principal.

“I think I know why my Dad wanted to kill Jamie...”

Kane stared at her, bewildered. “Mel, you’re not making sense. He went up on those cliffs to stop Scotty!”

Her tears were all cried out now, her throat raw with the emotion. “So you think I gave Jamie to Scott to kill?”

“I knew ya’d been drinkin’, maybe shootin’ up, ya weren’t thinkin’ straight...” He shrugged and let the words drift off by themselves, uncomfortable now with the implication.

“You think I’d do that, yet we’re still mates...?”

“Yeh, well, I got a second chance from Dani, and now I got a wife and kid and accepted in Summer Bay.” His voice was hoarse with love for Kirsty and Jamie. He’d come so close to losing them. “Don’t see why no one else shouldn’t get second chances.”

Melanie smiled sadly, drawing her knees up to her chin. “You’re a pretty cool guy, Kane. Totally wrong about what happened, but a pretty cool guy just the same.”

The hospital lights flooded into life, the brightness quickly dispelling the early evening gloom, and she looked up at them, thinking back. “Never knew him but he was my Dad and I want to love him, I don’t want him to be what he was. But I saw Scott’s face when he thought he’d killed you. And that was when I realised he’d beat up on you, push you around, tell you what to do, but in the end he was still looking out for you. And if he was still looking out for you then...”

“Maybe you should always look over your shoulder, Richie. I promise you one day one of the Phillips kids will pay for what you’ve done to her.”

“...I was standin’ so ******* close to him in that kitchen, Mels, I caught every word. Was the last thing the drongo said though before he carked it. Killed by my own bro!” Scott had grinned after he’d finished telling Mel the story, and taken another swig of the tinnie, enjoying her look of horror.

But out here on these cliffs, remembering the shadow that had crossed her boyfriend’s face when he’d thought for a terrible moment that his kid brother was dead, when for once Scott let his mask about not caring for anyone slip, Melanie suddenly wondered...if Scott was still looking out for Kane, then why was he so determined that Ron shouldn’t take Jamie...?

And in her heart of hearts she knew the answer...

The threat had been made not in the kitchen...

...but in the truck...

Because the Phillips’ visitor that night HADN'T died...

...And he’d come back that fateful night...

...to keep a promise...

“Guess we’ll never know the full story,” Mel told Kane and Boo, after she re-told the memory. “But that doctor guy, the one who came in to see me, y’know, caravan park, involved in all Summer Bay dramas ‘cept this one...”

“Flynn?”

“Yeh. Superdoc,” Melanie said wryly. “Nah, he’s okay. Talks a lot. Told me the wrinklie who owns the Diner remembered my Dad and your Mum had a thing for each other way, way back when they were teens. I was right, Kane. Scott knew my Dad was gonna try and kill Jamie and Scott went to stop him. I’ve had heaps of time to figure stuff out lately,” she added. “Like Mum was so bitter about Dad walking out on us that she could even lie to me about him carking it, like maybe that blow to his head caused some brain injury that made him capable of murder, but I’ll never know...I’ll never know why he never cared enough to find me...”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kane said gently, as, with a catch in her voice, she buried her face in her hands.

“No, it’s not.” Melanie pulled herself together with an effort. “It’ll never be okay. Me and you and Scott, we were just little kids, what had we ever done to anyone? But one good thing has come out of all this. I got to know you. You love Kirsty and Jamie so much. It makes me feel I might even be able to trust guys again one day. Jeez, never dreamed a bloody sicko rapist’d be the one to do that!”

“Mel, you gotta know, I’m so sorry about Dan...”

“It’s all about second chances,” she interrupted, and smiled a tremulous smile.

No, they would never know the full story. But you and I would.

*****

Yesterday

Ron Wilson’s temporary position as principal ended the day Kane stole the Easter Eggs. In a few weeks he was to take up the post of headmaster to an exclusive private school deep in the heart of rural England.

He could have simply left a report about Kane for the returning principal or asked the deputy principal to deal with matters. But he didn’t. He decided to make speaking with Kane’s parents his final task. A chance decision that had changed everything.

Out of Summerhill at last, Ron pulled up in a quiet country road and, his whole body wracked by sobs, allowed the tears to fall freely. His marriage had been rocky from the start. Emily said he always seemed distant. Often, she said, she felt as though she were competing against someone else. They had thought that, by emigrating, starting over again, their marriage might survive. But now he realised he had never really loved his wife. His one true love had been Diane and for the second time she had rejected him. For the second time in his life his heart had been broken. He could never go back to Emily. He knew that now.

Night was falling when he finally managed to stop the flow of tears. Trees were shivering with the breath of cooler air and stars were threading their way through an ever darkening sky while the shadows lengthened. He wiped his hands over his face and stared unseeingly at the long, deserted road. And he made his plans.

He already had with him his passport, plane ticket, a substantial amount of cash, ready to buy travellers’ cheques. Early tomorrow he was due to fly out to England to spend a few days sorting out and signing legal documents. After that, he would fly home, returning a few weeks later with his wife and daughter. But, without Diane, what reason was there to come back?

He drove on to a town where nobody knew him and he stopped at a general store where he bought some stationery and a child’s pretty pink necklace because pink was the colour Melanie loved. He booked a hotel room and, not trusting himself to speak to his wife, asked reception to ring Emily on his behalf to explain school work had kept him back very late and, to be sure of catching his flight, he was staying overnight, too tired to talk, would be in touch soon.

Then he wrote three letters.

To Diane (via Summer Bay Primary; he couldn’t trust Richie) telling her his new address in England and begging her to get in touch one day. To Emily, admitting that he no longer loved her and there had always been somebody else. And finally, enclosing the necklace, to Melanie, for Emily to read to her, telling her Mummy and Daddy could no longer be together. Before he caught his plane, the helpful clerk in the Post Office assured him that his priority mail would be delivered next day and the letters were dropped into the mail bags.

A terse, angry reply arrived at the exclusive private school and Ron read it in his study where there was the smell of polish and freshly-picked flowers, and, despite the light spring rain gently pattering against the windows, outside on the lush, green grass the sound of children’s laughter and voices and the thwack of a ball hitting a cricket bat.

Emily wanted nothing more to do with him. She was moving away and had told their daughter that he was dead.

The letter to Melanie had been returned, ripped to shreds, and the beads of the broken necklace tumbled out of the jiffy bag, rolling on to the desk and spilling to the floor. He tried phoning home but the line had been disconnected. He dialled the number of a friend, who drove out to Ron’s old home - but it was already empty.

Oh, he hired private detectives of course. But each time the trail ran cold. Ron never saw his wife or little girl again. But he wrote to Di, regularly, and his old colleagues passed his letters on to Diane whenever she came to the school.

It was to be two years before Di wrote back.

When she could stand the beatings no longer. When she imagined dozens of snakes were slithering across the walls and hundreds of large green spiders were crawling over her hair and body and aliens had tuned into her thoughts. When she woke, bloodied and battered, to Kane’s screams as his father thrashed him, and to Scott, swigging the last dregs from a bottle of cheap wine, blank-eyed and swaying, watching everything dispassionately.

Wishing so hard now that Ron hadn’t believed her story of the “bad cold”, with scalding hot tears rolling down her cheeks, she wrote quickly, in large childlike scrawl, her misspelt, ungrammatical words barely covering half the page torn from Scott’s dog-eared school book.

Ron’s reply came swiftly, telling her when to expect him. Richie would be out all that day. Di packed her suitcase and the letters he’d sent, sat in the darkened kitchen and waited.

*****

He dropped the bouquet of flowers in shock when he saw her.

A shell of a person who was rocking herself back and forth and laughing manically. A madwoman, a harridan, a wild-eyed drunk, with broken, yellow teeth, grey skin and matted hair, filthy nails clawing the kitchen table she was using to steady herself as she rose to greet him, staggering drunkenly, slicing the air with a knife, hissing how she was going to kill Richie.

Two years.

Two years was all that it had taken to turn someone so beautiful to this. Her mind had gone and so too had her beauty. And he could never live with this stranger. For the very first time Ron Wilson realised that it wasn’t love he felt for Diane. It had never been love. It had never been anything more than an infatuation with a dream.

He backed away towards the door, to leave. But then he heard Richie’s laughter, the bottle struck the back of his head and, with warm, sticky blood pouring down his face he sank weakly down to the flower-strewn floor.

And then the madness.

Screams and scuffling and silhouettes like spectres, white-faced in moonlight, and the heaviness of a suitcase dragged across the room and letters scattered like snowflakes and suddenly the smell of acrid smoke and somewhere the heat of a fire. Sometimes the blood is in his eyes and he is unable to see and sometimes the blood is in his mouth and he struggles to breathe.

But in this red and black and moonlit world there are glimpses.

He is vaguely aware that the youngest Phillips boy has run inside and is shouting to his father, and he tries to catch hold of his ankle, something, anything, to lever himself upright, but the child spins round, eyes closed in terror, and an ice cold knife sinks pain into his shoulder-blade. He slumps helplessly forward and his gaze fleetingly meets that of the eldest Phillips boy looking in at the window.

Then all blackness again.

Sounds muffled and far away. Eyes too tired to open, mind too tired to think, body too tired to fight. Tugged and pulled and heaved, amidst the smell of sweat and smoke, and the taste of blood and the noise of Richie’s rasping breath and Di’s defeated wails, through sharp pebbles of broken glass and petals from fallen flowers, only once finding strength enough to flex a hand before collapsing.

His head and body were aching when he woke in a filthy truck that stank of petrol. Gates creaked. Voices. One a man’s, the other a boy’s. Grinning like Beelzebub, Richie climbed into the back of the truck, tapping grey powdery ash from a half-smoked cigarette.

“Ya got ******* lucky. I’m gonna take ya someplace they’ll fix ya up afores they send ya packin’. But ya ever come near Di again and I’ll ******* kill ya.”

“Gates all opened, Dad.” Unable to resist gloating over his old enemy, Scotty poked his head through the dirty canvas to impart the unnecessary information, eyes shining in admiration for his father.

She had given up everything for her kids. The youngest prepared to kill him and the eldest, after coolly watching his father beat him up, helping dispose of him. Like leeches, the Phillips boys had sucked the lifeblood from Diane until they’d drained her and there was nothing left.

A terrible rage burned through every fibre of his being.

“Maybe you should always look over your shoulder, Richie. I promise you one day one of the Phillips kids will pay for what you’ve done to her.”

But the beating he received plunged him quickly back into unconsciousness.

Ron Wilson was finally taken to an airport. He never found out where he’d been kept for days. He only knew that the men were friends of Richie’s and that they waited only until he was well enough to travel without arousing suspicion.

Two of them, who’s names he never knew, drove him there and kept him close by. In his pocket he had his passport, plane ticket to England and barely enough cash for the journey, his associates, after “persuading” him to confide his account details, feeling free to use his credit card and awarding themselves a hefty payment for their troubles. In his ears he had a hissed warning to never go near Richie’s wife again and in his back dug the cold steel of a gun, its owner’s breath menacing as he made as if putting an arm round the shoulder of an old mate flying off to the other side of the world.

“Lag right now if ya wanna. But funny thing about slammers. Ya get to have mates who’ll track a guy down anywhere in the world and kill him for ya. Real bonzer blokes, eh?”

But Ron had no intention anyway of returning to Diane and her insanity. The years would roll on by without her.

Oh, but he never forgot. He never, ever forgot.

And he never forgave.

*****

Many years passed before Ron Wilson retired and returned to Summer Bay.

A great deal had changed but the Diner’s owner, Alf Stewart, though so much more wrinkled and so much more breathless, was still kingpin and Colleen Smart, though having long lost the good looks that had won her a beauty pageant in her youth, was still queen of all gossip.

It was Colleen, filling him in on all the news of the Bay, ignoring Alf’s exasperated sighs as he was left to deal with the Diner’s early morning rush on his own, who told him that Kane Phillips was a father. Happily married, captaining the tourist ferries, his wife a trainee teacher, their son a pupil at Summer Bay Primary.

Ron’s grip tightened on the cup of coffee he held. Colleen flicked back her hair and gave an affected little giggle, flattered that she was holding Ron Wilson’s undivided attention, unaware that the same gestures that had been so attractive when she was younger seemed strangely grotesque now.

“And to think folk said no good would ever come of that boy.” Colleen, conveniently forgetting that she herself had once been one of the very folk to make such a prediction, liked to show off about Kirsty and Kane. Her grown-up children lived far, far away with families of their own, and the young couple had taken her to their hearts ever since she had supported Kane through his cancer scare. “His brother’s in prison, his father died drunk in a bar, and as for his mother...” Colleen lowered her voice to a whisper; “...passed away in a hospital for folk with mental troubles...”

“Diane’s dead?” He should have expected it. More than a decade ago, a friend still living in the Bay then had mentioned that Di was in very poor health and it was rumoured she had a drink problem. Yet it still took him by surprise. Still hurt so much when he thought of all that might have been.

“Oh! You knew her?”

“Colleen, for the tenth time of asking, could you please sort out two cheese salads and two OJs for table nine?” Alf interrupted, guessing correctly that Ron didn’t wish to discuss exactly how he’d known Diane Phillips.

“Back in a jiffy.” Colleen rolled her eyes and grinned, snatching up the dishes, flouncing off as though she were sixteen again.

“Sorry, mate,” Alf said sympathetically. “Not the best news nor the best way to hear what happened to your teenage flame.”

“It was a long time ago,” Ron shrugged, smiling back at Colleen. She could be a useful ally. The source of much information.

Although he hadn’t expected to become fond of her. A good ten or more years older than Ron Wilson, and, knowing nothing about Ron’s teenage days, having been too busy getting married and being mother to two lively children while he was still a student at Summer Bay High, Colleen was thoroughly enjoying her romance.

While Ron’s plans fell neatly into place. He came out of retirement to take a part-time teaching post again at Summer Bay Primary. All his old colleagues had long since left and his new colleagues believed his story that, although he didn’t need the money, he missed teaching.

The first time he saw Jamie, when the little boy proudly announced that he could write James Daniel Phillips without any spelling mistakes or back-to-front letters, Ron was hardly listening. All he could see before him was Kane. The same bright blue eyes, the same cheeky grin, the same mop of unruly hair. The years rolled back. He remembered Diane as she was, so beautiful, so full of life. And Diane the last time he saw her. Somebody had to pay for all her suffering.

He had a promise to keep.

So he bided his time. Plotted meticulously. Befriending Kirsty was easy. Kirsty was one of those rare souls who believed in everyone, trusting him implicitly. That day in the Diner, her sisters had unwittingly told him about the friction in the Sutherland family over her relationship with Kane Phillips and he played to perfection the part of a fatherly figure in whom she could confide.

He watched. He waited. He felt no pity when, leaving the churchyard after visiting Diane’s grave, hiding quickly when he saw the Phillips, he gleaned from their private, tearful conversation that they had already lost a child. No, hate was all that Ron could feel for them.

Hate as he watched the family from the bridge over the wharf, Kane Phillips and his wife and son, laughing and splashing in puddles without a care in the world. That was when Colleen “accidentally” bumped into him and he’d had to pretend that he’d simply been admiring the sea views. His smile for her had been genuine though.

His quarrel wasn’t with Colleen Smart. He had no reason to kill her. His foot had hit the brake sharply when he’d seen her sitting at the bus-stop just when he’d been about to deliberately crash the car, hoping to kill Kane Phillips’ wife and son, even if it meant his own death. Unwittingly, Colleen had saved their lives.

But the storm.

The storm that first swirled faraway in an icy ocean before suddenly unleashing its fury on the pretty little seaside towns that dotted the coast, that was his chance. He took Colleen back to her caravan and kissed her before he left.

“Colleen, I have to go back. I’ve left Mrs Phillips and Jamie all alone in that isolated house and the storm’s much worse. Her husband’s still out at sea, her parents have gone to the hospital, now the electric and the phone lines are down. Who else is there to check on them?”

It was perfect. They were isolated and alone. He would drive Kirsty and Jamie back to the “safety” of the town. In some parts, the coastal roads were narrow and treacherously slippy. It would be called a tragic accident when the car plunged into the sea...

But the Phillips weren’t alone...

It really wasn’t fair, Scotty was trying damn hard here! They were meant to be scared. Kane’s wife wasn’t supposed to be chipping away at his childhood memories by reminding him of the photos. Jamie wasn’t supposed to look exactly like Kane did when he was a kid. This wasn’t how he pictured things. So, okay, he knew he couldn’t kill anyone, but that wasn’t the image he’d carefully cultivated all these years and a guy had to think of his image, for Crissakes! Jeez, he was Richie “Gus” Phillips’ son and that fact alone was often enough to make the toughest blokes think twice before picking a fight.

Scotty’s biggest fear right now was that the kid might flinch suddenly, causing the knife to accidentally slip. He moved the knife back and kept up the tough talk, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Jeez, why couldn’t she just be afraid of him, burst into tears and get the cash, then they could all have parted at the scene of the crime like they were supposed to, victims screaming hysterically, callous, knife-wielding crim making his getaway. All their reputations intact.

The car headlights that suddenly flooded over them took all three by surprise. Scott turned and started. Jamie blinked at the sight of his teacher. Kirsty dared breathe again as through the sheets of rain and narrow beams of light she saw Ron Wilson sitting behind the wheel of the car...

“Maybe you should always look over your shoulder, Richie. I promise you one day one of the Phillips kids will pay for what you’ve done to her.”

Scott had never told Kane the identity of the man he stabbed. But he’d never forgotten Ron Wilson’s words. They had chilled even Scotty P. It was no idle threat made in anger. The words were spat in a low, terrifying growl, pure hatred blazing in Ron Wilson’s eyes. Scott thought Dad really had killed him when he launched a second vicious attack, but Richie, perhaps remembering that cops and corpses didn’t mix too well, pulled himself back just in time, wiping the blood from himself, and telling Scotty **** off now, he had business to attend to.

And the same pure hatred was there now as he looked at Jamie. Scott turned for only a second but it was enough. His nephew tore past, towards the dark and the dangerous, jagged cliffs. ******* kids! It was like having Kane to look after all over again, Scotty thought impatiently, determined to get to the kid before Ron Wilson reached him or before Jamie tumbled to his death.

“Mr Wilson...Ron...you’ve got to stop him...” Unable to put any weight on her badly broken ankle, Kirsty crumpled to the ground, never dreaming that the man she was appealing to for help intended to harm her small son.

Ron stooped for a fleeting second, lightly touching her shoulder. “I will, Mrs Phillips. I promise you,” he said with quiet determination. And he smiled grimly to himself as he turned to the cliffs. He had recognised Scott at once. The resemblance to Richie wasn’t as strong as it was with Kane, but there was no mistaking a Phillips. So there was only Scott Phillips to stop him now...

And there was no way the girl on the cliffs would give the boy to Scott, not when she seemed already well aware of Scott’s criminal past, not with Kane yelling for her to pass him to Ron, not when she was edging her way towards Ron Wilson. In a moment, when the Phillips kid was in his arms, he would jump to their deaths. Nothing could go wrong now.

But Ron never knew that the girl on the cliffs was the daughter he had walked away from all those years ago and Melanie had never known a father’s love. Maybe if she had, she might have believed him incapable of murder and made the wrong decision. But Mel had learnt from an early age to fend for herself. To trust only her own instincts. And although she knew, because Kane had told her, it was Ron Wilson reaching to take Jamie now, her father was a stranger to her.

But she’d seen the shadow that crossed Scott’s face when he’d thought for a terrible moment that he’d killed Kane, knew then that, despite everything Scott had become, he was still looking out for his kid brother.

Melanie played all and gambled on instinct.

Jamie was safe.

*****

Running footsteps announced the arrival of Jamie to the hospital ward long before he himself or his mother reached there. Mel was alarmed to see him looking so solemn.

“J?” Kane queried in concern.

“We got a big problem,” the little boy said.

[I love music]

Thanks for your reviews.

*****chapter 33*****

“I can’t call ya AnnieMel, ‘cos AnnieMel sounds like animal and then people’d think you were a cat or a dog or a rabbit or a horse or a pet rat,” Jamie, as always, launched straight into the topic on his mind. “And everyone calls ya Mel ‘stead of Mel’nee so what if I call ya Mel’nee?”

“Mel’nee’s good.” Melanie choked back a sob.

“Cool!” Jamie said. “Cos I didn’t want anyone to thinkin’ you were a mouse or a ‘roo or a koala or a wallaby or a parrot or somethin’ though a parrot isn’t really an animal, but they mightn’t know that, not if they were only little kids or from Mars or somethin’.”

“He inherited the ability to talk non-stop from Kirst,” Kane said, deadpan, and received a slap on his arm from a grinning Kirsty.

“I didn’t eat the grapes - I only thought about it,” Jamie added, producing the bag that Kirsty had purchased on the way to the hospital. “And I made ya a card.”

It was fortunate for Kane and Kirsty that Jamie hadn’t designed the get-well card for some cantankerous elderly person, about to breathe their last, who had promised to bequeath to the Phillips family a multi-million fortune if - and only if - they did nothing whatsoever to upset their prospective benefactor in the meantime. Having been interrupted during the card’s creation, Jamie had forgotten to add the three vital horizontal lines to the capital E, and the card advised Mel to “Get Will Soon”.

It was a complete mystery to the little boy why Mum, Dad and Mel’nee were falling about laughing. Grown-ups were weird.

*****

I wish I could tell you that the bodies of Scotty Phillips and Ron Wilson were recovered from the deep ocean. Then Kane could have said a proper goodbye to his brother; Mel a proper goodbye to her father. They say being able to say goodbye, that’s some comfort to the bereaved. And I’m the type of person who likes happy endings so, if people had to die, I wish the blow could have been softened.

But it didn’t happen that way. The SES scoured the waters over and over before they finally had to admit defeat and give up the search.

Ron Wilson’s memorial service was held in the traditional manner, in the old Summer Bay church, the funereal bells sounding mournfully out across the ancient graveyard, where the knife and the “diamonds” had been buried so long ago, where still Samuel Edmund Coates hereth lieth sleeping in peace, where still by night the moon watches while shadows fall across silent graves and trees whisper their secrets.

But Kane chose for Scotty’s service to be held out at sea. It seemed right somehow. There was an eternity about the waves rolling and crashing, and then their thunder, like a mighty voice, never to be silenced.

Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but Kirsty and Jamie stood at either side of him, holding tightly on to his hands, getting him through with their love.

The minister cleared his throat and began the service. “We are gathered here today to pay our last respects to the late Scott Augustus Phillips...”

“ ******* hell, he kept that quiet!” Kane said, stunned to learn his brother had a middle name.

Startled, the minister glanced quickly down to check he had the correct papers, wondering if, by some terrible mistake, he was reading out a memorial service for someone who was very much alive. After all, in his experience, the dead didn’t normally return to thoughtfully inform the living of their passing. The late Scott Augustus Phillips, if indeed he was, would have had no choice other than to keep his death quiet.

“It’s okay,” Kirsty said, squeezing Kane’s hand, and nodding to the minister, who, concluding that the chief mourner had been affected by grief, continued with the reading.

“Scott Augustus Phillips was taken suddenly from us in tragic circumstances...”

“Jeeezusss! Sweet Jeeezus!” Kane said, shaking his head in disbelief as sudden realisation dawned.

Obviously, thought the minister, the chief mourner was now in the full throes of grief and appealing to a higher power.

SAP! The name spelt SAP!

Scotty, in his capacity as elder brother, took his duties seriously. Kane had accompanied him on heaps of expeditions, learning important lessons such the best shops for nicking stuff from or how to increase your chances of hitting your target with a dollop of spit while leaning over the wharf’s bridge. On this particular occasion they were welcoming a new neighbour to Summerhill by spray-painting graffiti on his fence.

“Then we give him the empty cans and tell him we took them off some kids we seen painting his fence before we chased them off,” Scott instructed. “He’ll prob’ly give us a coupla dollars for dobbing them in. I’ve heard this guy’s a real sucker so he’ll fall for anythin’ we tell him.”

“Ah. A sap.” Kane nodded wisely, having recently come across the word in a school book and checked it out for himself in the dictionary.

Scott gave him a funny look.

“A n’idiot. Stupid. A jerk.” Kane was keen to show off his knowledge and warmed to his theme. “A dill. A drongo. A dork. Maybe a patsy or a fall guy or a...”

“Just paint the ******* fence!” Scott said through clenched teeth.

“Or sap can also be part of a plant,” Kane said helpfully, seeing as Scott didn’t seem too keen on the first meaning. “Ya know, the soft, soggy inside...”

“Just paint the ******* fence, drongo!” Scott said, clipping him harshly round the ear at the same time as kicking him in a double-Scotty special.

Though, when the new guy turned out not to be the sucker - sap - they had him down for and began furiously chasing after them, hellbent on revenge, it was Scott who yanked his kid brother over the wall Kane was way too small to reach before climbing to safety himself.

Maybe, the soft, soggy inside was right after all, Kane thought nostalgically.

*****

It was only when they were strolling along the beach, the day after Scott’s memorial service, that Jamie thought to put his question.

“What happened to the other kid, Dad?”

“What other kid, J?”

“The little girl called Lulu. She was on the cliffs with me. She was there and then I didn’t know where she went and then I felled. Did she got rescued first?”

A lump rose in Kane’s throat and he exchanged an emotional look with Kirsty. Small, quiet tears were streaming down his wife’s face. Neither of them could speak.

No one had ever mentioned to Jamie that Dani thought she saw Lily that night. In fact, thinking now it had all been her imagination, Dani had told no one but Kirsty and Kirsty had told no one but Kane. Nor was Jamie aware that Lulu was Kirsty and Kane’s private nickname for Lily, that it had been ever since they’d told him about his sister, but, being too young to pronounce Lily, he’d said Lulu instead. There was no way he could have known.

“Yeh. That’s it,” Kane said at last, in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, wondering how to explain to his small son things he didn’t understand himself.

But Jamie had already moved swiftly on to the next topic. “ Uncle Scotty shouldn’t have been playing with knives, should he, Dad? He should’ve got a footie to play with instead. Though if he kicked the footie on the cliffs it might’ve gone in the water and...”

Suddenly espying a large, unbroken seashell, the little boy broke off mid-sentence to run on ahead to add it to his shell collection, then decided to entertain a crab by writing his name in the sand with a nearby stick, explaining to the bemused crab, which had been meandering along minding its own business and would have far preferred to continue, the reason why there were no spelling mistakes or back-to-front letters.

But, for his parents, time had stood still. Just like it had on the day Flynn told him that Kirsty had lost the baby, Kane’s heart snapped in two.

“It was Lily, Kirst. It was our little girl. She even knew...even knew about our nickname for her.”

The pain of losing their daughter still hurt so very, very much. They sat together on the soft golden sands, the sun enveloping them in its gentle warmth, tiny, white, fluffy clouds floating slowly through an azure sky, the haunting cries of the gulls mixing with the rush of the white-capped waves.

Jamie had begun building the “swimming pool” he’d promised the bemused crab and was now occupied in digging a hole and filling it with water. Lost in their thoughts, his parents looked silently out at the sea, across the calm turquoise water, towards Devil’s Leap, Kirsty leaning her head back on her husband’s chest as Kane held her.

At last she spoke, her voice thick with tears.

“You hear stories, don’t you? About people who die, about them meeting family who died before them. Maybe...maybe Lily was there for her uncle Scott.”

“Ya reckon there’s somethin’ in it, Kirst?”

“I don’t know,” Kirsty sighed. “I really don’t know. I wish I did.”

“Whinger!” Jamie yelled suddenly, as the crab finally decided it had had enough and scuttled away. “Some crabs are sooo ungrateful!”

Which made them both laugh in spite of their sadness.

“At least, thanks to Scott and Mel, we still have Jamie,” Kirsty said quietly.

“Yeh. At least we still have Jamie. And each other,” Kane said. And he tenderly kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms protectively around her.

*****

The terror of being raped for a second time haunted Dani’s every waking moment. She had lost weight and was pale, her restless sleep frequently plagued by nightmares. But she wasn’t alone anymore. Her husband Mark was supportive, Flynn was arranging counselling, and the whole family rallied round.

Kane had, initially, avoided her, thinking it would be for the best, till she told him that what happened, being attacked on her way home one night, wasn’t his fault.

“I didn’t want ya to be reminded,” he said awkwardly, in answer to her question of why he’d been dodging her, when they’d met accidentally in the caravan house.

“Kane, I forgave you a long time ago. You know that.”

“But you know I can never repay you, never take back what I did. I know you’re gonna think it’s rich, coming from me, but I wanna kill this sicko!”

“Violence never solved anything,” Dani said shakily. “I thought you’d realised that.”

“Yeh. Sorry. Just makes me feel kind of helpless, ya know? Knowin’ there’s nothin’ I can do.”

“There is. Just be a brother-in-law to me, huh? ‘Cos I never had a brother and I need all the friends I can lean on right now.”

“Jeez, Dan, whatever you want, you got it!” There was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice.

Dani smiled tremulously. “There was a time once I wouldn’t have spent two minutes alone with you. Guess we’ve come a long, long way since our very first mediation.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeh. Me too.” Dani made to turn, then hesitated. “And, Kane, I’m...I’m glad you married Kirsty.”

A breath seemed to catch on the air. It was as if the old caravan house breathed, for old houses are often filled with strange sounds, of floorboards that creak or doors that rattle or windows that unexpectedly bang shut. Oh, it was probably only the curtains blowing in the wind or some errant breeze sweeping in past the attic’s wooden rafters or the spreading branches of the huge oak, brushing against the upstairs window, just like they had the night little Sally Fletcher screamed when first she saw their dancing shadows, imagining some ghost or monster was outside.

But I like to think that the old caravan house, remembering all the pain and sadness it had soaked up on that terrible, terrible day, sensed a little more healing for both.

And that it smiled.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Next chapter will be the final chapter.

[I love music]

Thanks for your really nice review, Adia.

*****chapter 34*****

Final Chapter

Jade was due to give birth in January. Though the consultant did warn her that her twins might arrive early.

“So they might arrive on Xmas Day or New Year’s Day or Xmas Eve or New Year’s Eve or...”

“Or any time really!” Dani teased, glad to have some good news to focus on.

They sat together on the beach, she, Jade and Kirsty, the late afternoon sun no longer blazing as fiercely as it had done earlier, but pleasantly warm now, a light wind blowing on the sea, but timidly, as though afraid to disturb the sleepiness that marked the day.

Jade smiled lazily back at Dani. Rhys and Shelley were babysitting Jamie, while Seb and Mark gone to watch a footie game. And, having met up with Robbie in Paris after her modelling assignment, Tasha was finally back from France. Behaving as mysteriously as only Tasha and Robbie could, the couple had asked Kane to come to the wharf with them, making Kirsty promise, while frequently giggling at each other, that she would bring herself and Jamie down later.

So Kirsty, Dani and Jade had decided to make this their time, and they had brought with them a picnic of sorts, raiding the kitchen cupboards of the caravan house for random interesting snacks, just like they used to when they were small and still believed in magic and Santa Claus and princes and princesses living in fairytale castles, and, because Dani said so, that Cool Chicks would be cutting a record deal before Dani’s eighth birthday.

“You should’ve seen the olds’ faces when they heard they were going to be grandparents again. They were rapt! They said that when they thought I’d inherited the De Groot heart condition, it kind of put everything in perspective about them wanting custody of Jamie. Made them realise that all that mattered was that kids were loved and knew they were loved - no matter how old they were!” Jade grinned. The last six words had been directed at herself. “I know I’ve got to take it easy with the high blood pressure stuff, but I can’t believe I actually mistook my pregnancy for a life-threatening illness! How could I do that?”

She knew she was babbling but she couldn’t help herself. Jade had been babbling in pure happiness (and apprehension; becoming a Mum was a whole new world) ever since she’d been given the news. Crippled by a car accident, Seb had been told that it was unlikely he would ever father children - but, as the consultant pointed out, smiling at Jade’s mixed emotions of shock and delight, he might have been told it was unlikely, but he hadn't been told it was impossible.

A family! It was all she’d ever wanted. And twins! They might be boys or girls, or one of each, she and Seb would wait till January to find out. Or Xmas Day. Or Xmas Eve. Or New Year’s Day. Or New Year’s Eve. Any time really, like Dani said.

“And then, when we found out there were two bubs! Why didn’t I remember there were twins in the De Groot family too?” Jade added, barely pausing for breath.

“Because you’re a dag!” Kirsty said, tugging amusedly at the friendship bracelet that Jade wore on her wrist. “I can’t believe you’ve still got that, Jade! Only a dag would keep something like that after all this time.”

“It’s for luck,” Jade grinned.

Dani smiled quietly. “Okay, I admit it, I must be a dag too - I’ve still got the one you made for me. You said you made it rainbow-coloured because I acted like a princess all the time, then we had a blue about it and both of us threw massive hissy fits! Remember?”

Kirsty looked sheepish. “Well...uh...all dags together! I kept the one I made for myself. Weird, isn’t it? I wonder why we did? You never kept your doll, Jade, and I don’t know what happened to Boot.”

“Abby went to my best mate’s little sister,” Jade recalled. “Course, I’d finally realised she wasn’t real by then, but I made sure she went to a good home just the same.”

“Boot turned up again in The Memory Box,” Dani said, remembering the small toy dog, Kirsty’s favourite, had been one of the first things to tumble out.

Seeing Kirsty’s puzzled look, she added, “The ‘rents had kept all kinds from when we were kids. Dad, Jade and me, we looked through all the stuff when you and Mum were still missing after the Mirigini went down because Dad said it would make you feel closer. And it was strange, but it did. Maybe that’s why we all kept the friendship bracelets? Because we hoped we’d be friends as well as sisters no matter...no matter what the future held for each of us...”

Dani’s voice crumbled and became a whisper. When they were very young, the future had been so full of hope. So easy then, when the world was theirs, when fairy godmothers made everything alright and wicked witches were banished to far-off lands, when bad dreams could be chased away with a drink of hot milk and a reassuring cuddle from Mum or Dad. Grown up nightmares were different.

“Dani!” Kirsty flung her arms round her, so choked up with tears it was all that she could say.

She would never forget Dani’s sacrifice in accepting Kane as her husband. Being a victim again of something so horrific must have been so terrible for her. Like Kane, Kirsty would have given anything to change what happened. Anything to take away Dani’s pain.

“No, it’s okay. Really, it’s okay. I can get through this - as long as I’ve got my sisters,” Dani smiled through her own tears, and hugged her back, drawing Jade into a hug too because Jade had pulled a little apart, biting her lip.

“But I’m not really, am I?” Jade said uncertainly. “I’m an imposter. I never have been your si...”

“JAAAAADE!!!” Both Kirsty and Dani protested.

“You’ll always be my daggy twin, dork!” Kirsty said affectionately, flicking back Jade’s hair and making her laugh.

“And one of the Cool Chicks, even if you are going to be a Mum,” Dani added.

“Come on, we’ve got to!” Kirsty grinned.

“Cool chicks!” They yelled, high-fiving each other and, laughing, fell back on the warm, soft sand.

“That’s why all three of us will always be alright, Dan,” Kirsty said gently. “Like you told us back when we were kids, Cool Chicks can do anything - as long as the three of us have each other.”

*****

After all that had happened, Tasha felt unusually awkward.

She and Robbie had persuaded Kane to come down to the wharf with them, just like they’d planned. But they had planned the belated birthday surprise before they learnt of the tragic deaths of Scott Phillips and Ron Wilson, of little Jamie coming so close to being killed, of Colleen Smart passing away. The slow, cloudless sunny day and the sparkling blue sea seemed tinged by sadness, as though all laughter should be hushed.

She shrugged. “Well, what am I gonna do with a boat?”

“It’s a ship!” Kane corrected automatically. Jeez, when would landlubbers ever learn to tell the difference? There was a simple rule of thumb: boats could fit on ships and ships couldn’t fit on boats, but landlubbers never seemed to get their heads round it.

“Whatever. What am I gonna do with it?”

“Tash, you can’t go around spending this kind of money on birthdays. People don’t just rock up and buy things like ships for other people,” Kane said. But his eyes were shining, and his gaze kept straying back to the cabin cruiser that bobbed happily on the water, its brand new paintwork glistening in the bright sunlight.

It was more than twice the size the Blaxland had been, with a large cooking area, shower rooms and room enough to sleep at least twenty people. He had hardly dared breathe as Tasha and Robbie had taken him on a guided tour. Captaining his very own ship was something he’d dreamed of ever since he’d been a little kid. Any minute now he was sure to wake.

“Objection!” Robbie chipped in, pushing his sliding-down glasses back up his nose for the hundredth time that day. “Rumour has it that Elvis Presley spontaneously gave away 200 cars to strangers.”

“See?” Tasha cried triumphantly, as though it were all done and dusted.

“But buying ships - or cars - does seem a trifle...uh...extravagant,” Robbie added.

“See?” Kane retaliated quickly to Tasha before looking back at the cruiser, unable to tear his gaze away from the ship for more than a fraction of a second.

“But it’s registered in my name.”

“Good point, Tash,” Robbie observed.

“Yeh, and you want me to look after it, knowing full well possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Excellent point, Kane!” Robbie said.

“Robbie, can you make up your mind who’s side you’re on?”

Robbie shook his head gravely at Tasha, pushing back his glasses for the hundred-and-first time that day. “Sorry. Can’t do that. If one intends to make the law one’s career, as one does, then one has to see all viewpoints.”

Tasha rolled her eyes at Kane. “It might be easier if you just accept the prezzie. It’s either that or we have to spend all day listening to Robbie defending us. Please?”

Kane grinned. “Maybe I will. Anything’s better than listening to Robbie!”

“People will pay megabucks to have me defend them one day,” Robbie protested, breathing on the troublesome glasses and polishing them with the corner of the crumpled shirt that was hanging out of his trousers.

“But, Tash, I think...,” Kane began.

“Too late, it’s yours!”

“Correct. A verbal agreement can be a valid and binding contract.” Robbie was on a roll and deeply impressed with himself.

Pulling an amused face at him, Tasha waved madly back to Kirsty and Jamie, who, unbeknown to Kane, had been watching from the top of the bridge over the wharf.

“Jeez, Tash, you’re a great mate but ya never gonna be rich!” Kane said, shaking his head.

“But I’m already rich, Kane,” Tasha said, puzzled. “You know, not money rich, I mean...oh, you know!” She frowned, lacking the words she needed to explain, looking as confused as the old Tasha used to.

Thanks to her millionaire father, Tasha owned the caravan park but it had actually been a relief when he’d left nothing more to her in his will. Money troubled Tasha greatly. She wanted to give it all away and none of her friends would take it.

Sally and Flynn insisted all the profits from the caravan park went straight into her own bank account; Kane and Kirsty struggled to pay bills but refused to take “freebies”; Irene firmly told her she would disown her if Tasha ever dared sneak so much as a cent, never mind a fifty-dollar bill, into her purse again; Robbie wanted to become “the most successful lawyer the world, in fact, the universe or the galaxy, has ever known” under his own steam. The fact her modelling career was beginning to take off hadn’t helped matters.

But the moment the sale of the cruiser went through and her savings dipped drastically, Tasha felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It had been a stroke of genius to register the ship as her own. She knew Kane would never have accepted the birthday present otherwise.

“Yeh. I know exactly what you mean about being rich, Tash.” Kane looked at Kirsty and Jamie, his heart so full of love for them.

“Kirst, Kane’s gonna look after a boat - ship - for me!” Tasha laughed, being swept along with all this happiness around. Maybe it was okay to laugh again even after the recent tragic deaths because memories stayed in hearts though life moved on. “Oh, and, Kane, Kane, you gotta choose a name cos we’ve gotta name it, with a champagne bottle and everything, we’ve got to!”

“Whoo-hoo!” Robbie yelled, grabbing Jamie by the wrist and swinging him high into the air.

Jamie often wondered why Robbie was such a very tall kid, but thought he was a great kid just the same.

*****

Alf Stewart had, for all his impatience with her, had been very fond of Summer Bay’s very own gossip queen. As a final tribute, he commissioned Hayley Lawson to paint a portrait of Colleen and Hayley returned from her New York art studio specially to do so.

The picture hangs in the Diner still, among the other mementoes.

Fishing rods and nets adorn the walls, reminders of how the Bay began life as a tiny, unremarkable fishing village, and, in a glass case on a yellowing scroll, the signatures of its very first settlers bear testimony to their pledge to build homes for their families.

There are photographs of special events over the years: beauty pageants and marathons, anniversaries and processions, weddings and the day a minor English Royal, on his way to a prior engagement, had his car break down nearby and, while waiting for its replacement, sampled the Diner’s frothy white coffee and pronounced it splendid.

There are the photographs too that tell their own stories: on board the doomed Mirigini, passengers in evening dress, as yet unaware of their fate, wave happily at the camera; Alf Stewart grins as he proudly shows off the biggest fish ever to be caught in the Bay; Kirsty Phillips nee Sutherland clenches her fist in triumph, having moments ago won an Olympic gold medal for her country in swimming; Don Fisher wipes a tear from his eye, cheered by his students on his last day of teaching; a ship is launched by a tall, stunningly beautiful girl, vaguely familiar to anyone who has ever flicked through the pages of a fashion magazine.

And then there are the snapshots, of celebrations held in the Diner over the years (look carefully if you’re visiting the Bay after a long absence; you may well see the faces of many old friends), the opening of Noah’s Bar, the farewell party for Nick Smith, Sally Fletcher’s twenty-first birthday.

On a stand in the corner sits the miniature reconstruction of the town, made by students from Summer Bay High, some parts obviously amateur, some parts more skilfully created, but the beach, caravan park, Diner, Ye Olde Summer Bay Lolly Shoppe (at eighty-eight, Mrs Parker finally retired and left her sixty-seven-year-old daughter to run the store; I hear Dora serves her customers every bit as slowly as her mother did, which, apparently, suits everyone to a T), the wharf, and the ships sailing out towards the blue ocean, are all instantly recognisable.

The photographs often make topics of conversation, tourists and newcomers wanting to know more, and always some Summer Bayer happy to oblige. Sometimes the talk will turn to the ship’s launch and its captain, and of how Captain Kane Phillips’ brother and another man plunged to their violent deaths, on the same night that Colleen Smart slipped more gently from this life, in a deep, peaceful sleep.

And someone will recall that, after the sudden storm cleared that night, thousands of stars turned the sky tremendously bright, a phenomenon believed to have happened only once before, and then in ancient times, when legend tells of an Aborigine tribe, dwelling in the area now known as Summerhill, thought that in the bright night sky they saw again the ghosts of their ancestors.

From the very first, life in Summer Bay has never been easy, the little seaside town prone to floods, mud slides, bush fires, earthquake, cliff-top dramas and, of course, the infamous sudden storms (it was one such that brought down the Mirigini) but, despite this, or perhaps because of this, there has always been a tenacity and fighting spirit in those who live there.

There is an old saying in the Bay, you may have heard it: Those that can love through stormy weather will know a love that lasts forever.

Perhaps there was no couple that this was more true of than Kirsty and Kane Phillips.

*****

They came up with the name for the cabin cruiser together.

“Promises to Keep!” They said in unison, having already dismissed dozens of other ideas.

Calling the ship after a person couldn’t work because there were far too many people they wanted to honour; other titles seemed too long or too bland; two or three that were almost chosen fell from grace when it was discovered there were already ships that bore such titles sailing the seven seas.

They thought of the name when they weren’t thinking about it all, in the Diner over chocolate milk shakes, when life was slowly creeping back to normal, when Kirsty was comparing old and modern poetry in preparation for her next training placement (taking older students for English) and Kane was squinting at the pages to read them upside-down, while Jamie and Luke, his best mate from school, were kneeling on two wooden stools by the ice-cream bar, chins in hands, elbows on counter, earnestly explaining to an amused Alf Stewart that all he had to do was invent an ice-cream that would turn people very, very small, then Jamie and Luke could wander round the Summer Bay miniature.

“Promises to Keep,” Kirsty repeated in a whisper. The words were almost the last line of the poem and they were perfect.

“Promises to Keep,” Kane whispered back. “I love you, Kirsty Phillips.”

They locked their fingers together across the table, smiling.

“I love you back,” Kirsty said.

“I love you more.”

“You know, we could be having this conversation forever.”

“You have a problem with that, Mrs Phillips?”

Luke looked at Jamie, startled, as Jamie’s Mum pulled tongues at Jamie’s Dad and Jamie’s Dad pulled a face back.

But Jamie only shrugged, unconcerned. Things like this happened all the time.

*****

A steady rain had fallen over the Bay all that night, washing the wharf so thoroughly that by morning it gleamed with sparks of dancing sunlight. Now the day had turned into a perfect day for seafarers, with its golden sun and salty sea breezes and, chased by a restless wind, pure white clouds hurrying on through the deep blue sky.

A small select group were gathered to watch the ship’s launch.

Only Kane, Kirsty and their small son, together with Tasha and Robbie, would sail out on its maiden voyage. Then Captain Kane Phillips would begin taking passengers out on mini cruises, Kirsty and Jamie accompanying him whenever school holidays allowed.

Robbie was running round with the camera like a madman, snapping everything and everyone as though it might all disappear any minute.

Rhys and Shelley stood together, while Beth, ever the peacemaker, after exchanging a few polite words with her ex-husband and his wife, stood a little apart from them.

Of course, Irene was there, and proud as punch. She was sporting a new hairdo and new trousersuit for the occasion and, alerted by Jesse, was laughing at Alf.

Alf, red-faced as usual, but even more so today, hot and breathless because the clock had been wrong and he’d had to rush, was mopping his face and neck, wondering at the flowery scent of the air and puzzled by their laughter. At last he noticed that the hankie he had pulled from his pocket was a lacy, prettily-embroidered, lavender-scented one, left behind by his sister Celia last weekend and picked up by mistake.

Glancing at Jesse again, Irene wiped tears of laughter from her eyes as the impossible happened and Alf, realising he was going to smell of lavender all day, turned even redder, blushing beetroot.

Jade leaned on Seb’s wheelchair, her face glowing with happiness. Seb looked just as stoked as his wife. They had tried to stop smiling, often at the most inappropriate times (when they’d gone out for a celebration meal, the waiter had been baffled by what was so amusing about the regular chef not being on duty) but they couldn’t help it. Of course, the whole world kept wanting to know why they were both so happy and smiled back congratulations when they heard they were going to be parents and, smiling being infectious...well, it was a vicious circle.

Their arms around each other’s waists, Dani leaned against Mark, feeling warm and safe. She wished she’d told him right away about what had happened. Mark loved her. He would always love her, he’d whispered a moment ago. A surgeon at the large hospital in the same city in which Dani had been working as a freelance journalist, Mark and Dani had met when Dani was covering a story about money raised for a new ward, where parents would be able to stay overnight with children undergoing treatment. It was as if they’d known each other all their lives. They had married barely six months later and never regretted it. She snuggled closer, at peace.

It wasn’t just Mark helping pull her through. Kirsty and Jade were there whenever she wanted to talk or just need a hug. Worried about Dani, Kirsty and Kane had offered to postpone their sailing trip, but she had persuaded them to go. After all, Dani said, besides mobiles, they could easily keep in touch via the radio telephone on the ship, in fact, they’d probably talk so much that Kane would have to keep kicking them both off it! It was incredible to think she could laugh again.

And scary to think how close she’d come to jumping to her death.

And she knew with overwhelming certainty that she would have jumped if she hadn’t imagined she saw Lily that day. No, not imagined. Kirsty and Kane had told Dani of Jamie seeing her too, but, apart from Jade, they had chosen not to tell anyone else. It was too special a moment to share, too precious a memory to keep in their hearts.

Dani watched Kirsty now, thinking how beautiful she was and how like her mother Lily had been. She smiled to herself, remembering Kirsty as a little girl, hot tempered and big hearted, with her ready grin and wild, toffee-coloured hair that she was always having to push out of her eyes.

And look at Jade! All grown up now and about to become a Mum. Surely it wasn’t two minutes ago that Jade was just a funny little kid? Fair-haired and so chubby-cheeked that she often reminded Dani of a Christmas cherub, timid and scared of everything, always seeming so much younger than the fearless Kirsty, who was fiercely protective of her.

Dani had mothered them both. No matter how old they all were, Kirsty and Jade always would be “the bubs” to her, she realised, with a pang of nostalgia. She was so glad they would be staying on in Summer Bay a while longer, close to her younger sisters.

Mark would be filling in for Flynn at the hospital when the Saunders family resumed their round-the-world trip that had been cut short when they’d returned home for Colleen’s funeral. Rhys and Shelley had readily agreed to look after the caravan park again and Jade and Seb planned to return to the Bay permanently, wanting their twins to be born and brought up here. There was nowhere on earth as special as Summer Bay, Jade said. She was right, Dani thought. It hadn’t been their childhood home but somehow it was where their hearts belonged.

Sally and Flynn tried hard not to laugh as Jamie and their daughter Pippa walked by, both kids looking incredibly serious. A couple of years older than Jamie, Pippa had been put in charge of two large plastic bottles of fizzy lemonade while Jamie had been entrusted with the long plastic beakers and multi-coloured, curly straws.

There were to be at least four lemonade drinkers: Pippa, Jamie, Jade and Irene (to Jamie’s amazement, Robbie, the very tall kid, was to be allowed champagne and a proper glass!) Totally ignoring the cabin cruiser, Kirsty and Kane, and Tasha’s homespun speech (pouring lemonade was far, far more important) Pippa and Jamie, as though taking part in some sacred ritual, reverently placed bottle, beakers and box of straws on the ground.

Mel stood alone.

Dani and Mark hadn’t wanted her to, but she had insisted on giving them some space. Jesse tried to catch her eye again but she only stared straight ahead, watching the ceremony. Take it slowly, Dani had advised, one day at a time, and it’ll all come together one day. But Melanie wasn’t ready for that day just yet. She and Dani had become good friends, and she had a home now, with Irene, and a job, helping out two days a week at the caravan park, and so many people in the Bay who cared about her.

But it would be a long road for Mel. No easy journey with so many demons from the past.

She shivered, still thin enough for the sea breezes, welcome and refreshing to everyone else, to cut sharply into her bones, and she pulled the beautiful designer jacket more tightly around her skinny shoulders. Most of the clothes that she wore these days were designer label and so expensive that it took her breath away, especially when she remembered the many times she didn't have so much as a cent to buy food.

But the clothes hung on her. Dani was the only one close to her in size, and she had told Mel to help herself to anything from her wardrobe but even Dani, thin as she was, weighed more.

“You okay?” Dani called, she and Mark noticing her shivering.

“No worries, I’m cool!” Melanie laughed, making a joke of it, but sad and lonely inside. It would be a long road for her. But with the friends she made in Summer Bay Mel would reach happiness one day.

Tasha finished her speech, written by herself and Robbie, and tested out on Irene first, who’d delivered the verdict, after crying with laughter and several hugs, “Well, dahl, I don’t think there’ll EVER be another ship-launching speech quite like it, but Kirsty and Kane will love it!”

Having managed to cover a mishmash of topics, with several pieces of Robbie’s “poetry” thrown in, with a smile brighter than sunlight, Tasha declared “I name this ship Promises to Keep!”

The bottle smashed against the ship’s bow. Robbie’s camera clicked once more. A resounding cheer arose and the champagne corks popped. And this, despite Jamie and Pippa’s constant rebukes to Sssshhhh, everybody!

But the lemonade was poured successfully and, after all, that was the most important thing and the sole reason everybody had gathered here at the wharf. Faces wreathed in smiles, the two kids looked round to graciously accept the round of applause that broke out, blissfully unaware that the grown-ups were clapping the naming of the ship and not Pippa and Jamie.

Jamie was stoked to see that everyone liked his Dad at last. So they’d finally figured out what Jamie had always known - that his Dad was the greatest guy on earth! It was a magic time. And a good time to ask. To shout the question as loud as he could so that he could be heard clearly across the clink of glasses and the hubbub of voices. To ask the person who seemed to have been most troubled.

“Anniedani, d’ya remember when nobody liked my Dad? Well, why didn’t they like him?”

Everybody must have been interested in the answer, Jamie thought, because everybody suddenly went very quiet.

For a long second, the only sound was the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the noise Pippa was making, taking advantage of the fact her parents were too busy watching Jamie, as she blew bubbles in the lemonade with three straws, and wondered whether to go for six. Those who knew the past had often wondered what they would say if ever Jamie began to ask awkward questions. But when the questions finally came nobody had any answers.

And then Mel stepped forward.

Until very recently she hadn’t known any of these people. But she knew something more. Something only she and Kane truly understood. How deeply will run the scars of childhood.

A song was running through her mind as she stooped down to the little boy. In the long, lonely hours when the hospital radio closed down for the night, the personal stereo that Dani had given her had been a lifeline. Turning the dial to catch late-night stations or playing a CD from the large collection various people had lent her, losing herself in music while moonbeams crept through the night and she was the only person on earth left awake.

*Never been lonely

Never been lied to

Never had to scuffle in fear

Nothing denied to

Born at the instant

Church bells chime

And the whole world whispering

Born at the right time

“Some things, J,” Mel said gently, “are best left in the past.”

“Okay,” Jamie said, content with the explanation because Mel’nee said it and because everyone was happy now anyway.

Dani took a breath. “Mel’s right. The future is what matters now. And we all have...we all have our promises to keep.”

She was talking about something more than a ship but the two kids were the only ones who would never know. Pippa carried on blowing lemonade bubbles, now with six straws. Jamie grinned as a new thought struck him.

“Well, now everyone’s mates why don’t ya all come with us? Dad, how many people can we fit on the ship before we sink?”

The innocent question broke the ice. Kane and Dani laughed together.

Kane ruffled his son’s hair. “I’m not exactly plannin' on sinkin’ any time soon, mate!”

"I can’t come with you this time, J,” Dani said. “But I will another time. Promise. After all, you’re one of the most precious people in my life. All my family is.” And she looked up at Kirsty and Kane and smiled.

*****

Having bathed Jamie and put him to bed, Kirsty came to tell Kane that their small son was waiting for him to read the next instalment of the bedtime story. She was smiling to herself, recalling all that had been perfect about the day, and having just seen Robbie and Tasha gazing up at the early moon and looking so happy together, oblivious to all around them and the fact it was nearly time for Robbie’s turn at the helm.

Stifling laughter, she crept up behind him. And was shocked to find him crying.

“Kane?” She tenderly touched his tears, full of concern.

“Nah, I’m okay, babe.” He half turned away from the steering and smiled sadly. “I was just thinkin’. ‘Bout heaps. I don’t deserve all this, not after all the bad stuff from the past, not after what I put Dani through.”

“Yes, you do, you do! Like Dani said, it’s the future that matters now.”

“But the past will always be there, Kirst. Sometimes I dream real vivid dreams that Scotty and me, we’re two scared little kids again, hidin’ from Dad, listenin’ out for Mum’s screams...and I swore I was never gonna be like my old man, but...”

“Kane. Listen to me. You’re nothing like your Dad. You’ve got so much love inside you. That’s why I love you. That’s why Jamie loves you. Promise me you won’t ever think that again.”

“I promise,” he said at last, and with a heavy sigh drew back tears. “Ya reckon they’re all out there somewhere, Kirst? All the people ya ever loved? Our little girl, Scotty, Mum, Auntie Rose, Colleen...?”

“I think they must be,” Kirsty whispered, with her arms around his shoulders, with her cheek pressed against his. “I don’t believe true love ever dies.”

“Ours never will, babe,” he whispered back. “I promise I’ll love you forever, Kirst.”

And as the day began to fade, there were promises being made all over the world. And the calm moonlit night was filled with their whispers, that told of promises, of promises to keep.

THE END

*Born at the Right Time © Paul Simon

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