Second Strike

EPILOGUE

Mac left the car running at the kerb and dashed into the 7-Eleven on Surf Avenue, the one just across the highway from Jupiters Casino.

He grabbed a litre of milk, a bag of nappies, some wet wipes, tissues, and Stayfrees and moved to the counter. A woman beat him to it and he stood in line, craning his neck towards the window to see if any parking police were going to ping him for the illegal park. The kids were in the back seat and Johnny sat in the front passenger side, face hidden behind wrap-around shades, boogying to the Black Eyed Peas.

Mac forced himself to be patient. The woman in front of him had two toddlers in a stroller – twins – and the white cotton gloves she was wearing meant she was having trouble getting cash out of her purse. She was done up in a long-sleeved rugby jumper, a wide-brimmed sun hat and some kind of turtle-neck skivvy. Mac knew it was a good idea to keep out of the Queensland sun, but this bird seemed a little over the top. She fi nally paid while Mac made funny faces at her toddlers.

Mac bought the gear, paid with an EFTPOS card. Then he bolted for the car with his plastic bag of goodies. As he left the store, the woman blocked his way. He wondered if he’d dropped something, probably one of Jen’s lists.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said the woman from behind her huge sunnies, and he noticed how her scarf wrapped down around her jaw and up under the hat. ‘You wouldn’t be Mr McQueen, would you?’

Mac froze. Looked around, looked for eyes, for a van. He looked for aerials and men reading magazines, touching their ears.

He felt exposed, ambushed.

‘Nah, love,’ he mumbled, trying to move past her. ‘Got the wrong guy.’

He went around the back of the Commodore doing some basic counter-surveillance up and down the street, but it was just people pushing shopping trolleys from the supermarket and gangs of kids with boogie boards. One of his recurring nightmares was that his profession could somehow blow back into his private life, hurt his wife, his children, his friends.

He stole a look at the woman as he went for the door handle.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought I remembered you from the hospital.’

Mac paused.

‘You know, in Denpasar?’ she prompted.

He felt the breath race out of him as the past whistled through his mind like wind through trees.

‘Yeah, I’m the guy,’ he said, wandering slowly back to the footpath like he was sleepwalking.

As the woman smiled, Mac saw scar tissue crease like plastic up the side of her face, over the ear he had once guessed wasn’t there.

‘Bronwyn, remember? Bronnie Bruce?’ she said.

Nodding, he took her in. The gloves, the hat, the scarf, the long sleeves on a thirty-eight-degree day. His knees were rubbery as he realised that the woman he’d known for a terrible ten minutes of his life had once been beautiful.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked, and he was back in that ward, feeling the air shake with a person so broken with pain and sadness that she’d rather die.

‘Well, I’m living here now, married again. Life’s good,’ she said, smiling.

‘Great. So what happened to, umm…?’

‘Gavin? Yeah, he couldn’t handle it. I mean, my injuries and that.’

She shook her head slowly, like she was sorry for Gavin rather than herself. ‘He hit the drink something bad. I got my divorce in Royal Brisbane.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Bronnie laughed. ‘I’m not. Look at what I got out of it,’ she said, pointing at the twins.

She looked back at Mac, as if anticipating the question. ‘His name’s Sean, in the burns unit, too. Rebuilt our bodies together and decided to rebuild our lives while we were at it.’

‘Wow,’ said Mac.

‘Yeah, you spend fourteen, fi fteen months with a bunch of people who are going through what you’re going through, and, well…’ She shrugged. ‘The weird thing was how Sean and I came to be in that whole thing; he was bringing some cash back to his brother at the Hard Rock. He was just walking in front of Paddy’s, wasn’t even in there.’

Mac never stopped being amazed at the stories that came out of Bali.

‘With us, Gavin and I’d come down from Surabaya where we were living – Gavin had a big electrical engineering contract up there.

Mum and Dave wanted to see me before I had the baby because they’d be in Oz for Chrissie. We’d all gone back to the hotel after our meal and I remembered this T-shirt I wanted to get for Dad, who was back in Brisbane. So I just nipped back down Legian to buy it, and…’ She made a gesture with her gloved hands.

‘I’m glad you made it,’ said Mac, overwhelmed.

‘Umm, yeah,’ she said, kicking distractedly at something that wasn’t there. ‘Look, I don’t suppose you remember a woman, Federal Police? Her name was Jenny.’

Mac laughed. ‘Well, actually, she’s my wife.’

‘ No,’ said Bronnie, putting her left gloved hand on Mac’s forearm.

‘Ah, yes – about two years ago; we have a little girl, a year old.’

Mac pointed at the Commodore where three sets of eyes were focused on them. ‘She’s the one on the far side, Rachel.’

Bronnie peered into the car and the kids stared back. ‘She’s gorgeous,’ said Bronnie.

‘Thanks,’ said Mac.

‘So Jenny’s here?’ said Bronnie, the grip tightening on Mac’s arm.

‘I mean, on the Gold Coast?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ said Mac reluctantly.

Bronnie let him go and looked up at the sky, a little fl ustered or overcome. ‘I have to, I need to… um, Mr McQueen…’

‘Alan. Call me Alan.’

‘Jenny saved my life,’ she blurted out. She shook her head, as if arguing with something in the sky. ‘I’ve spent every day since that night thinking about her, wondering how I could thank her.’

With that she started crying, tears running down her face. Mac reached into the 7-Eleven bag, tore open the Kleenex box and pulled out a handful of tissues. Bronnie reached for them as three schoolgirls walked past, looking Mac up and down like he was a pervert. The car door opened, Mac looked over. ‘Everything cool, bro?’ asked Johnny.

Mac mouthed yeah, and gave a thumbs-up. Johnny shut the door.

Bronnie’s chest heaved with sobs and Mac got closer to her, put a hand gently on her right arm. Her two boys looked up at him with big dark eyes. She sniffl ed, dabbed at the tears, attempted a smile through puffy lips. ‘You know, your wife got me through the worst night of my life,’ she said. ‘Did she tell you that?’

‘She said you got through together.’

‘I wanted to die that night. Mum was useless, Gavin couldn’t deal with it. And Dave – my beautiful brother – stayed with me but couldn’t talk. He was in shock.’

She took a deep breath, composed herself. ‘But your wife – that angel – stayed with me all night and she was taking all these calls, and other cops were coming into the room and she was ordering them around and signing forms. But she stayed with me, kept me talking, let me cry.’

Bronnie dabbed under her sunnies.

‘And then, at dawn, she pulled back the curtains, and you know what she told me?’

Mac shook his head.

‘She said, You can let the bastards ruin your day, but not your life.’

Mac laughed. It sounded like Jenny all over.

‘When I was in Royal Brisbane we had to keep rehab diaries.

They’re supposed to make you think in terms of recovery, not loss.

And the Salvation Army helpers would do my writing because of my hands, and I kept getting them to write what Jenny had told me,’ she chuckled. ‘And they didn’t want to write bastard. And I’d say, Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell God it was my idea.’

Mac laughed. They spoke for a few more minutes and swapped phone numbers. Then Bronnie gave him a hug and as Mac turned to go she said, ‘So tell me: how did you and Jenny get together?’

Mac smiled. ‘I got lucky.’