Someone Like You(35)

Ry stepped down and shook hands with dozens of people before he made his  way back to Lizzie and Julia. Right behind him, Joe slapped a hand on  his shoulder.

'Nice speech, Ry,' he said, dropping a shopping bag full of books on the ground by his feet, clad in brand new thongs.

'Thanks, mate.' Ry slipped an arm around Julia's waist, pulled her  close, then nodded to the bag. 'Plan on catching up on some reading  while you're here?'

Joe's face creased in a smile and he adjusted his straw hat. 'It's called holidays, my friend. You should try it some time.'

Ry laughed. 'Why the hell do you think I moved to Middle Point? It's  like being on holiday all the time. I think you've been in Sydney too  long. You've forgotten what real life is like.'

'Watch out,' Lizzie said, nodding her head in Ry's direction. 'He's become an evangelist for our hometown, Joe.'

'And why wouldn't I want to spruik the charms of this place? You've been  away too long in the rat race, mate. Look around. Isn't this the best  place in the world?' For a long moment, Ry didn't take his eyes off  Julia.

'And speaking of the best,' he added, 'This is brilliant, Lizzie. I mean  it. Congratulations.' Ry leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Lizzie's heart grew a little bigger, so full of love for them all. It  was wonderful to have Julia, Ry and Joe there with her. For the first  time in so many years, she felt cocooned by care and love.

But. And there was always a but. Someone was missing and they all knew who that was.

'Lizzie,' Ry said and waited until she was looking right at him. 'He wanted to be here.'

She shrugged her shoulders. 'He had things to do, I guess.'

Ry rested a hand on her shoulder. 'He feels as proud of this as you do, you know that.'

'We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He's very talented.' Lizzie  sucked in a deep breath. 'I don't know if I should risk a sausage if  you've been cooking them, Ry, but I'm starving.'

'Come with me,' he said. 'I might even be able to organise a staff discount.'

By mid afternoon, The Market was packed up and people had drifted off to  the beach or the front bar. Everything was under control and Lizzie  needed to get home. She felt as if she'd been living at the pub over the  past few weeks, what with finishing the work on The Market, juggling  stallholders and managing the ordinary business of the place. There had  been one major benefit of being so distracted. She hadn't had time to  let herself wallow in thoughts about Dan. They'd engaged in shop-talk  until everything was finished on the project, sorted out some minor  glitches, and then he'd driven off. He'd already been gone a week and  she hadn't heard a word from him. Why would she expect to?

Wearily, she dragged her feet up the street until the pink flamingo  house came into view. It felt weird to have a housemate again after so  many years living alone but as she walked to the front door, she  realised how nice it was to have someone to talk to at night. Even if it  was about dinner.

'What's for dinner?' Joe called as Lizzie entered the house. He was  sprawled on the modular sofa, a book in one hand and a cold beer in the  other. Lizzie noticed with a smile that Joe seemed to be slipping very  comfortably into the whole rancho relaxo thing.

'God, you're back home for a couple of weeks and you've turned into the  teenage you. Don't I even get a "Hello Mum" first?' She dropped her bag  on the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes. She needed a long cool  drink and a lie down. For about five weeks.

Something caught her eye.

In the middle of the kitchen table sat an enormous bunch of flowers,  artfully arranged in an explosion of colour. Yellow lilies, bright  orange roses about to bud, sunshine yellow gerberas and something purple  she didn't know the name of, all wrapped in pale green tissue paper,  sitting in a squat, square glass vase. They were absolutely beautiful  and she gasped.

Joe casually looked up from his book. 'Oh yeah. Those came for you.'

If she'd had the energy, she would have rolled her eyes and perhaps  smacked him on the side of his head. Instead, she chose to ignore her  brother and carefully rummaged through the folds of tissue for a card.  Ry and Julia were so sweet. How thoughtful of them to send flowers to  her today. Just thinking of their support, and Ry's words of  congratulations earlier, brought fresh tears to her eyes.         

     



 

When she ripped open the small envelope, she found a small white card. It read simply:

Hope it all went brilliantly today. Dan.

Lizzie looked closer at the card. There was something about the  handwriting. She recognised it. She'd seen Dan's written instructions on  some invoices for the work on The Market and this was the same hand.  Without thinking, she lifted it to her nose to smell it, wondering if it  carried his scent. There was no trace of him. It smelled of the blooms.  She didn't know what he was doing up in Adelaide, and couldn't think  about him being there with Anna, but he'd thought of her on this special  day. And just thinking of the two of them sent a wave of sadness  crashing down upon her. Yes, it had been a long day and she was feeling  tired and emotional, but there was no mistaking the ache deep inside  that rumbled to life every time she thought of Dan.

She missed him. She was missing what she'd lost. It was that simple.

The card was ripped from her hands. Joe had snuck up behind her, leaned  around her and grabbed it, turning away from her and dramatically  opening it. 'Who sent the flowers?'

He read the message out loud, raised his eyebrows at her. 'Isn't that  nice. Maybe he's not such a surly bastard after all. Maybe there's a big  sook inside him when it comes to you.'

Lizzie gritted her teeth. 'Give it back.'

He lifted his arm, held it high, way out of her reach.

God, he was acting like a ten-year old.

'So where was he today, then? If he did so much work on The Market, like  Ry said in his speech, why wasn't he there to bask in all the glory  with you?'

Trust her bloody journalist brother to hit the nail on the head with one question.

'I hate you, Joe,' she shouted before stomping off to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her with a satisfying bang.

Now who was acting like a ten-year old.

It had been a long week. Dan was beyond wrung out. He'd been staying at  Ry's city apartment, a block away from the Central Markets, and had  found a routine of appointments during the day, grabbing some Asian  takeaway from Gouger Street and dragging it upstairs to eat. Every night  he'd fallen into bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, his mind a  maelstrom of memories and words and regrets, all whipping around in a  spiral like debris in a cyclone.

When Anna had come down to Middle Point, she'd been pretty blunt with  him. She'd told him he needed help and that he wouldn't  –  and shouldn't  –   get through this on his own. When he'd told her the truth about what  had been going on, she'd burst into tears and drunk most of the bottle  of vodka. She'd been too humiliated to show her face in Middle Point  ever since.

Back on her own turf, she'd swung into action. Anna had taken him to the  hospital where he'd been admitted into Emergency the night of the  accident. She'd pulled a favour and he was able to meet the paramedics  who'd cared for him and one of the doctors who'd treated him to hear  first hand how badly he'd been hurt.

Somehow he'd blocked all that out. He hadn't wanted to think about any  of it. The chopper ride to the hospital. The shopping list of injuries:  severe internal trauma. A lacerated liver. Damage to his spleen. A  fractured clavicle. Broken ribs. A broken nose. A broken leg. He'd been  placed into an induced coma.

Jesus, if he heard anyone else had been that badly hurt, he'd think the  poor bastard would be lucky to be alive. And when he'd heard it all,  everything that had happened, it hit him. That was me. And I'm still  alive.

I'm lucky to be alive.

In the months after the accident he'd thought that getting as far away  from the truth would be the best thing; that if he didn't know what had  actually happened, he'd be better off. But now he felt strangely lighter  from knowing all the horrific details. He'd been through hell. No  wonder he was still feeling it. Simply knowing what had happened washed  away some of the blame he'd felt for his depression, the feeling that he  didn't deserve to feel that way, the guilt he carried that someone else  had died in that crash.

I'm lucky to be alive.

When other people had said it, it had sounded so pat, like a cruel joke,  the sort of thing they pronounce when they don't know what else to say  in the face of such hideous circumstances. When they have no  understanding of what you're going through. And none of those words from  others had helped him. He hadn't honestly started to feel lucky until  the past month. Since Elizabeth started showing up on his doorstep.  Since they'd started working together, spending time together. Since  they'd made love.         

     



 

What had Elizabeth said that was so profound? You just have to get up  every day, brush your teeth and hope for an ordinary day. Not a great  day or a spectacular day. Just an ordinary day.