Home For Christmas (6 page)

Tate
.

The phone dropped out of Layla’s fingers onto the bench. My God, she could feel the pain radiating from Tate in those few brief lines. No wonder he’d run a mile when she’d blathered on about Christmas. She couldn’t even imagine being a kid and not having a tree.

Or presents.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to stop that thought before it began. Already the questions were whirling around in her brain. Trying to make sense of what sort of family could do that to a child. And what happened to that child as they grew up? She read the email again but it didn’t give her any answers, just more questions.

One question haunted her for the rest of the day.

Was her present the only one Tate received this Christmas?

Tate bit his lip as he stared at his inbox, empty bar for the three new emails he’d received overnight. One from his mother, one from Layla and the regular info dump from Lavarack Barracks. He opened his mother’s email first.

Tate

Moving across to the Pilbara next month. Brian says there’s money to be made in the gold mines. I’ll need some relocation funds. Usual account. Talk soon, Dee Dee
.

He gripped the edge of the desk with fingers like claws as the heat flooded through him.

Why did he bother? God knows he’d tried. Every single time he emailed her it was the same thing. The woman couldn’t even call herself Mum for Christ’s sake. Hell, she couldn’t even stick to her real name of Deidre. Instead she was Dee Dee, always up for a good time. She hated the fact she was the mother of an adult son, but couldn’t she at least acknowledge the relationship when she was hitting him up for money?

Again.

Again and again and again.

His shoulders cramped and he peeled his fingers off the desk, resisting the urge to throw the whole bloody thing to kingdom come. It took a full sixty seconds of staring at the Exit sign over the door before he could even think about typing, and a further five minutes before he dragged his fingers onto the keyboard, his mouth a grim line.

Dear Mum
,

Thanks for the email
.

No. He jammed the delete key down and sent his first sentence back where it came from.

Thanks for letting me know your plans. I’m not going to give you any more relocation funds. It being so expensive to move, I suggest you consider staying in the same place if you are short of cash. Or you could ask Brian to help you out. I’ve burnt the piece of paper with your account details on it
.

I’d like us to stay in contact
.

Who was he kidding? He ground down on the delete key again.

It’s important for us to stay in contact, but I’m not interested in being used anymore, and that’s how your constant demands for cash make me feel. We’re both adults and I’m sick of being made to pay for what was essentially my father’s and your mistakes
.

Tate

Tate breath whistled through his teeth as he hit send. If that was the end of their relationship, so be it. He shoved his chair back and paced across to the door, flinging it open. He marched into the weak winter sunshine and stared at the cloud-streaked sky. All his life, he’d tried to fix something that was beyond broken, and with one quick email, a weight had been lifted. For the first time in years, he might be free of her demands.

With his fingers turning blue and an icy gale biting his ears, he spun on his heel and returned to the computer room.

Lavarack’s email was next. He skimmed through the newsletter. His eyes moved over the paragraph about resigning commissions. He stopped skimming and went back and read it. He’d served his time after he’d done his trade, so now he was free to leave whenever he wanted to. All he had to do was give six months’ notice.

He hovered the mouse over the link but he didn’t click. What else would he do? He shifted in his seat. There was nothing else. He was a soldier.

Mostly, he ignored the politics of wars. The government decided where and when the troops were deployed. The general public sometimes agreed, sometimes not. And whether or not they made any impact on the ground, it depended on who you asked.

He always tried to make a difference, but it was impossible to tell when you were this close to the action. Some days it was like moving a mountain of dirt using a garden trowel. If they had lots of trowels, bigger and better trowels, then they’d make progress. So many days it wasn’t as clear-cut.

With a sigh he closed the email down and clicked into Layla’s email. At least one thing in his life seemed to be travelling in the right direction.

Hi Tate
,

I’m so happy we cleared up our misunderstanding and are on our way to becoming friends. I know Lavarack well; it’s where Ben was stationed before the accident. I was trying to figure out if you might have known him. He was ten years older than me, so maybe not
.

This summer has been a real cracker
—
hot and horrible, and we’re in desperate need of more rain. Everything is parched. Up north, they’re flooding again. One day, someone will build a pipeline to divert all the water around Australia to where it’s needed
.

I’m working on a new project (photo attached
—
half-finished but you get the idea). Some new garden ornaments for Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day. I was wondering
—
if you give me your mum’s details, and let me know her favourite colours, I could send one to her from you for Mother’s Day. No charge. If I start making it now, that’ll give me more than enough time to customise it for her. My mum passed not long after Ben (I still say it was a broken heart) so if I can ease her pain with you being away, I’d love to
.

The one-day series has been abysmal this year. Twenty-twenty seems to be much more popular now. I find it fascinating that in forty years we’ve gone from five-day test matches to fast and furious twenty-over matches that last three hours. I’m heading down to Bondi with friends on the Australia Day to watch the beach cricket
.

Take care and stay safe
,

Layla
.

Tate’s gut started churning when he saw the words Mother’s Day and ramped up when he realised what Layla was planning. He didn’t bother reading it twice. One look at an expensive gift, and any personalised note Layla might write on the card and his mother would have found a new mark. He hit reply and typed furiously.

Layla

DO NOT, and I mean DEFINITELY DO NOT make or send anything to my mother. There is bad blood between us right now. I DO NOT want you to get involved with her. She is toxic
.

Tate
.

He stabbed send.

***

‘Do you have a minute?’ Tate cornered Walt as soon as he walked off for his break.

‘Sure Tate, let’s grab a coffee and we’ll head over to Support.’ Walt checked his watch. ‘Every afternoon about now, the sun comes in through the sheet of clear Perspex in the corridor and that ray of natural light is the warmest place in this camp.’

‘Great.’ Right now, he’d sit out in the snow if it helped. He followed Walt over to the coffee station, then across to Support.

‘What’s happening in your life son?’

‘I need some help. I’ve made a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it.’ Once he started, Tate couldn’t stop, spilling the entire story of his emails with Layla and his mother’s habit of bleeding him dry. ‘So, I’m sitting there looking at my inbox and I was thinking there’s my life, right there — the past, the present and the future. I opened the one from my mother and she’s hitting me up for money again, I lost my temper and I laid it out for her. I’m not sending any more money. Then when I saw what Layla was thinking, I snapped and I’ve ruined any chance I might have had by yelling at her in that email. And all because she was trying to be nice to my mum.’ He took a slurp of his coffee then pushed the lukewarm drink aside. ‘It sucks.’

‘That it does.’ Walt gazed at the weak light filtering through the tiny gap. ‘You could apologise to Layla. Explain you didn’t mean to yell.’

Tate put his head in his hands. ‘I will. That’s the first thing I want to do. I’m not sure if she’ll listen.’

‘So what do you think would help?’

‘I don’t know. I screwed up. I panicked. I’m no good at relationships. I keep thinking if I could talk to her, explain what went wrong…then I’d know if she thinks I’m a raving loony. She’s probably shut down her email account.’

‘Only one way to find out.’ Walt gestured to the offices. ‘You go and get the phone number and I’ll sort out the line.’

‘I can call her?’ Tate’s heart thumped. ‘Now? What about regulations?’

‘No time like the present. You let me worry about the regulations.’ Walter checked his watch. ‘It’ll be night time, but I’m guessing she won’t be sleeping tonight anyway if she’s read your email.’ He pushed to his feet. ‘This is a step in the right direction, Tate. You have to believe that. Ready?’

Tate tried to smile as he pulled Layla’s business card from his pocket and handed it over. ‘Ready.’

***

‘Whisky, get off me. It is way too hot to have you lying on my feet.’ The old dog lifted his head slightly, opened one eye then pancaked back onto Layla’s bare feet. ‘Whisk.’ The tone was gruff, but both she and Whisky knew she couldn’t turf him off. Not when he was doing his self-appointed job of consoling her.

She bit into the lemonade ice block she’d unearthed in the freezer. What she really wanted was one of those ‘all your calories for the day in one sitting’ chocolate concoctions with the nuts and caramel sauce running through the middle, but driving all the way to town to get one was way too hard.

‘When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, Whisky.’ She took another bite. ‘So that is what we will do.’ All day, she’d been under the pump trying to get the springy flowers to sit right for soldering, her head full of paint schemes and plants that would show her work at its best. The February first deadline was screaming up and already Ian was dourly predicting she would have nothing ready to sell.

What did he know?

A piece of the rapidly melting lemonade ice broke free and slid towards the floor. ‘Not quick enough,’ she lamented as it landed with a wet plop next to Whisky’s paw. He didn’t miss a beat, hoovering up the icy treat in nano-seconds, sniffing to see if there was any more.

‘Sorry dude, the rest’s mine.’ Layla gave the stick one final lick, then dragged her feet out and crossed to the sink to grab the kitchen wipes. There was nothing worse than a sticky floor. Her phone rang while she was cleaning around Whisky’s paws and she felt around on the table for it.

‘Hello.’

There was a long delay before an official voice announced, ‘This is Multi-National Base Tarin Kowt. I have a call for Layla Preston.’

‘That’s me,’ she stammered. ‘I’m Layla Preston.’ She subsided into a chair, her heart pounding.

‘One moment.’

Layla shoved the phone closer to her ear. Please, please don’t let it be bad news.

‘Layla?’ A deep voice asked. ‘It’s Tate.’ He paused. ‘Tate McAuliffe, from Afghanistan.’

Thank God. He wasn’t dead. It took several seconds before she found her voice. ‘Tate?’

‘Yes. Look I don’t have the line for long, but I needed to talk to you.’

‘To me?’ Her brain wasn’t working.

‘It’s lovely to hear your voice.’

‘Um, thanks.’ Ugh. That sounded so stupid.

‘I wanted to say I’m sorry about the email I sent earlier today.’ Tate took a noisy breath. ‘I need to apologise and I want to explain. My mother and I don’t see the world the same, no matter how hard I try, and I’d just finished emailing her when I read yours.’ He paused again and Layla could hear his quick breaths. ‘I was angry with her when I wrote that email, not you. I’m so sorry.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’ There was silence down the line for several seconds. She tried again. ‘I was pretty shocked when I read your email. I overstepped and made a mistake. I’m sorry.’

Tate’s groan echoed down the line. ‘No, you showed how generous and thoughtful you are. I’m the one who should be begging for forgiveness. I was rude and thoughtless.’ He paused again and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. ‘I was angry with my mother and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.’ His gravelly tone thickened more as he spoke.

The words were coming from his heart and Layla didn’t hesitate. ‘Apology accepted.’ Her voice hitched. ‘Tate, I…’

‘Thirty seconds.’ The operator cut in over the top of her.

Tate cleared his throat. ‘Layla, I have to go. Thanks for listening and for understanding. And for being a better friend to me than I think I’ll ever be to you. I don’t know when I’ll be able to ring again…’

The disconnection tone blared in her ear. ‘Tate?’ Layla listened for a moment then she dropped the phone onto the table and glared at it. Her one chance to talk with him and he was gone.

Damn.

The next morning Layla was still thinking about Tate’s call when she met Carise for a coffee across from the beach.

‘So he called you?’ Carise’s eyes were alight with curiosity. ‘Are they allowed to call you?’

‘I would have said no until last night.’ Layla shook her head. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact my phone was a bit sticky, I’d have thought I was dreaming.’ She tore open a sugar sachet and sprinkled it onto the foam atop her cappuccino, watching as the crystals slowly subsided into her coffee.

‘No, surely if you’d dreamt it, it would have ended differently. A long conversation with no operator to interrupt.’ Carise tilted her head to one side. ‘So, what did he sound like?’

Layla pushed her teaspoon below the froth and stirred as she thought about her answer. ‘Nice. Responsible.’

‘Responsible?’ Carise wrinkled her nose. ‘I was expecting sexy, or silky or like George Clooney, or something. Responsible makes him sound boring.’

‘Oh, he had the deep and sexy thing going on. But there was something else. Maybe responsible isn’t the right word. He sounded like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.’

‘I guess war does that to you.’ Carise didn’t sound convinced.