Stan (11 page)

Chapter Twenty

Stan

As soon as the
coast had been cleared, I found myself winding down the long dirt track toward
the Evans’ caravan.

Where I knew Bel
would be, avoiding me.

What bothered me
more than anything was
why
she had run. The churning in my gut had me
fear I’d pushed too hard, that I had misread the meaning behind her eyes, the
one that told me for certain she wanted me to kiss her. But then, Ellie had
unknowingly poured a bucket of ice-cold water on the whole scene, and I was now
anxiously quickstepping my way toward the other side of the caravan park.

“Ah, young Stan,
do you think I could trouble you for a moment?” asked Mr Dessen from cabin
thirty-four.

“Sorry, not now,
Mr Dessen,” I said, continuing my stony mission, barely enough time to focus on
Mr Dessen’s mouth fall open at my refusal.

Sorry, mate,
but sometimes not everyone has the answers, not even me.

I pounded my fist
hard on the door of the van. I wouldn’t be surprised if the massive beast of a
thing was bullet proof and sound proof.

“Bel, open up. It’s
Stan,” I called out.

Nothing.

I felt like a bit
of creeper circling around the expansive exterior, cursing that the annex was
locked. She was probably hiding inside, ignoring me, which only served to make
me more insistent in my quest as I pounded a series of hard knocks again.

“Bel?”

“She’s not there,
honey,” Tina Mavery called from the van next door, an unsettling sight of
bleached-blonde hair and leopard print bathing suit hugging her bony,
over-tanned frame.

“Do you know where
she went?” I tried not to cringe as Tina slathered a liberal dose of baby oil
over her leathery shoulders.

“I haven’t seen
her since yesterday, hon. Isn’t she staying up at yours?”

Nothing was sacred
in a small town, and a small caravan park was no different. I was also very
aware how news travelled and I didn’t fancy a rumour circulating of Bel as a
missing person. I took Tina at her word. She was the kind of sunbaking addict
that didn’t miss a trick, she was better than any neighbourhood watch, and she
would have served me well up at the office if she weren’t in danger of scaring
the customers away. She was struggling to smear the oil around to her shoulders
blades and fearing she might ask me to help her out, I took a quick exit.

“Yeah, I’ll check
it out, she might be back there already. Thanks, Tina.” I didn’t hear her
reply, as I was too busy jogging back up the track.

I searched in all
the regular tourist hot spots: the pool, lake side, tennis courts, games room,
the camping grounds where people liked to picnic or read, but she was nowhere
to be seen, and I started to worry. With every location proving nothing, my
worry escalated.

Maybe she had
gone down the street?

I would search the
far side of the park before I would hop into my Ute and go for a drive. The
flipped ‘be back in five’ sign had been flipped for well over an hour and as I
wearily made my way back toward the main house. Tinged slightly by the sun’s rays,
I had a sinking feeling inside. Maybe it was sunstroke, but I couldn’t help
feel I was doing a shit job at manning the fort. How many times had the phone
rung? How many people went unattended or what emergencies had I missed while I
was swanning about the park, looking for a girl? A girl who obviously didn’t
want to be found. It was anyone’s guess if she would even come back to the
house tonight. And then the memory of Ellie and Ringer coming over made me
groan, rubbing my hand through my hair in frustration. I was just not in the
mood for company; I just wanted to be left alone. And as I rounded the corner
of the water tank and up the main drive toward the house, I stilled.

No bloody way.

I laughed, shaking
my head, and continued on my path; I flipped the sunnies on my head so I could
take in the sight of Sean Murphy; his six-foot-three frame dwarfing the front
steps he sat on. He was quite at home, an esky by his side, as he delved into the
icy recess to produce a cold can of VB. He threw it to me, and as always, I
caught it with ease.

“You work too
hard, Stan.” His smile was wide and devious, his icy-blue eyes twinkling.

“Murph! What the
bloody hell are you doing here?”

Beers aside, we
met with a manly handshake and a gutsy man-hug back slap. Murph wasn’t just a
mate; he was like my brother, a brother who had been away for too long. And
just when I had written off the idea of company, I was now energised that a
small portion of the Onslow gang would be back together.

“I’m finished, my
contract’s done, so I thought I would head back,” he said, cracking open his
beer and sipping the excess froth that bubbled through the opening. Sean had
been away for three years working up north, building a multimillion-dollar
school that would see him cut a very nice commission. He left Onslow with a set
skill and utilised it to the best of his ability; he was an Onslow success
story. I was the opposite. Would that ever change? If I had ever had a life
plan, when and how had it derailed?

“Well, Ringer and
Ellie are coming by later, you going to stick around?”

“I’m not going
anywhere.” He slung his arm over my shoulder in a half-hearted headlock. “Onslow
is my oyster, and you, Stanny boy, are the pearl.”

***

Now the party had
started.

Sean was back,
Ellie and Ringer had arrived with takeaway, the music and alcohol flowed on the
back deck, as it should on a hot summer’s Saturday night. It was well after
five, and seemed less likely that people would come up to the office for
anything other than change for a vending machine. The exterior party lights
along the wrap-around verandah were lit, shining a multi-coloured hue along the
front drive—a drive I would go and inspect every now and then, with the thought
and worry of where Bel had gotten to. Now it was dark and hours had gone by, my
unease grew, and try as I might, I couldn’t relax, and it wasn’t unnoticed.

“Mate, sit down.
You’re going to wear a track in the rug,” Ringer yelled over the music.

Sean studied me with
interest from the stereo. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Oh, he’s just
pining for his new girlfriend,” Ellie teased. “Actually, where is Bel, Stan?”

I inwardly cursed
Ellie and her big mouth. The room was plunged into silence, causing all to look
at Sean who had hit the mute button.

“Waaaait a minute.
Stanley Remington, have you been keeping secrets from me?”

I cut Ellie a
black look, which only caused her to shrug in innocent wonder, until Sean
collapsed in the space next to her on the couch.

“There’s a girl?”
he asked her, as if I wasn’t standing right in front of him.

“There’s a girl.”
Ellie sighed. “Stan no longer belongs to me.”

“Bloody hell,
Ellie.” I plunged my hands in my pockets, squirming like a bug under a
microscope. “So, Murph, what’s this thing you want help with?”

“Oh no-no-no … no
changing the subject. Where’s Ringer?”

I closed my eyes,
dread seeping into my bones with where this was all headed. Ringer appeared out
of the hallway doing up his fly.

“Ringer,” Sean
yelled.

“Yo!” Ringer made
a beeline to his awaiting stubby on the kitchen bench.

“Tell me about the
girl.”

“Well, Sean, once
there was a garden of Eden and in that garden lived a man called Adam, and a
lady named Eve, and they would frolic through the garden and—”

Sean threw a
cushion at his head. Ringer ducked.

“Not that girl.
Stan’s girl.”

“Oh THAT girl.”
Ringer turned to me, grinning like a fool.

“I hate you all,”
I said, which only seemed to amuse them no end. I slumped in the seat opposite
them, thinking there was no use stopping them, as they would continue like a
dog with a bone.

“Belinda Evans,
doctor’s daughter, lives in Maitland,” Ringer began.

“Evans,” Sean
repeated to himself.

“Yeah, that
doctor, Evans, the one that used to live here,” Ellie added.

“Yeah, I know him
well, he worked on my knee.” Sean’s good cheer dimmed; he rarely mentioned the
one thing that ended his beloved footy career, the knee injury that forced him
to retire in his prime.

He shook off the
memory. “So a doctor’s daughter, hey, Stan? You old rogue. Why didn’t you tell
me?”

“There’s nothing
to tell.” And there wasn’t, aside from the fact I was about to head out with my
torch and search for her, and failing that, I was going to cruise the streets …
then … I hadn’t a clue what I was going to do. The thought of not finding her
made my chest restrict in the worst possible way. My main responsibility was to
look out for her and keep her safe, and I couldn’t even do that. It wasn’t just
that though. I couldn’t actually bear the thought of anything happening to her.

“So where is she?
Why isn’t she here?” Sean asked.

“Yeah, I thought
she was eating with us tonight,” Ringer added.

“I haven’t seen her
since this arvo. I’m actually just going to head to her van, as she might be
grabbing some things,” I lied, although I fully intended to go back to the van.

“So what does she
look like?” Sean asked.

“She’s hot.”
Ringer nodded.

Something
unexpected spiked inside me at his admission.

“I don’t know
about hot, but she’s cute,” Ellie said.

“Does this weird
you out, you know, being Stan’s ex?” Ringer asked in all seriousness.

Yes, this is
happening. My ex-girlfriend is talking about Bel, in my presence, with Ringer.
Weird.

“I’m not gonna
lie, it’s weird, really weird, but I want Stan to be happy.”

It was like an
out-of-body experience that may have been brought on by my distracted thoughts
or the fact they continued to speak about me like I wasn’t in the room.

“So do you approve
of the doctor’s daughter?” Sean smirked.

Ellie shrugged. “Like
I said, the jury is still out.”

Sean and Ringer
catcalled, mocking Ellie’s honest account.

“You still haven’t
told me what she looks like.” Sean turned his attention to me, raising his
brows in question.

I tried to play it
down. “She’s petite, with bluey-green eyes, short-cropped black hair. She’s not
a girly-girl, she’s a bit of a tomboy, but she has really fine features.” I
left out the fact she had long lashes, full lips, and the most exquisite
cheekbones I had ever seen. Yes, I had certainly noticed her. That was clear.

Sean’s eyes
dimmed, as if something I said had deeply troubled him. I could almost see the
cogs turning in his head. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I thought he was
about to confess she was a previous conquest of his. But the fact she was
younger than us, and he hadn’t been around Onslow, made my quick mathematical
skills a bit hopeful, but then his eyes brightened at a sudden recognition.

“I think I’ve seen
her.”

I straightened. “What?
When?”

“Today, this arvo.
When I rocked up here.”

“Where did you see
her?” I said a bit too loudly, a bit too quickly.

Sean stared at me
for a long moment, a war raging behind his heavy-set blue eyes as they flicked
toward Ringer briefly and then back to me.

“She was drinking
with a bloke at one of the cabins.”

Wait. What?

My mind whirled at
a hundred miles an hour. The moment of worry soon turned into a different
feeling altogether, and I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my cool.

“Which cabin?”

“Oh look, I’m not
sure, mate. Just as you come into the park, on the right?” He relayed the
information as if it pained him to do so. The others watched on with a guarded
anguish of their own.

“It might not have
been Bel,” added Ellie.

“What did the
bloke look like?” I asked coolly.

Sean coughed. “Tall,
blondish hair, unshaven I think.”

Max Henry.

Cabin
seventeen.

It was Bel all
right.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bel

“So, what’s the
problem?”

“Have you not
listened to a word I have been saying? He has a girlfriend.”

I hiccupped in
despair, my elbows resting on the little dining table inside Max’s cabin. We
decided to venture indoors as soon as the mozzies started to feast on us. And
several hours later, a few too many beers, and with the certainty that Max wasn’t
a serial killer, I started to talk. And talk and talk about all that led me to
his door.

“Ah, that old
chestnut.” He nodded sympathetically. “The girlfriend is a definite problem.”

“The worst,” I
said, resting my cheek on my palm, letting the waves of misery wash over me.

“I wish I could
offer some words of wisdom, but I’m afraid the girlfriend is a bit of a deal
breaker.”

He wasn’t telling
me anything I didn’t know, and Lord knows I had thought about it. I wondered
how happy they were, looked for the little signs of any cracks in their facade.
They weren’t lovey-dovey, or mercifully, I hadn’t seen any displays of public
affection. But they had been together for years, so they were basically an old
married couple, which explained that.

Adding to my
misery was the memory of the way Stan had looked at me. The way he made me feel
whenever I was in the same room with him. The connection we felt between us was
surely not just from my side. I had been certain he was going to kiss me. And
then of course the loop went around again, and as loops do, it didn’t matter
what memories I had of the moments with Stan—about the warm fuzzy feelings that
melted my insides—because no matter what, the loop always led back to one
thing, Ellie. And the thing that strained my mind the most? I would never have
thought Stan Remington would be someone who would cheat on his girlfriend. Cue
the waves of despair and all I wanted was for this weekend to be over, for this
summer to be over. I would go back to Maitland and come next year, I would be
old enough to venture out and do my own things, and Onslow would be nothing but
a distant memory, and Stan would be just that boy I had a crush on one summer.

A really, really
big crush.

“Hey, are you
okay?” Max knelt beside me, his blue eyes peering through the curtain of his
hair until he flicked it out of his eyeline, exposing his eyes to be even more
stunning than I had thought.

He looked upon me
with earnest concern—no pity—which only caused my chin to tremble. I had worked
myself into such a state of loop-de-loop in my mind, albeit now a drunken one.
I felt my insides churn in a way that had me convinced that aside from the
disaster that was Stan and the way I felt for him, I suddenly knew for certain
I was not all right. But in a different way. A horrifying way.

I breathed deeply,
closing my eyes from Max’s handsome face, shaking my head vigorously,
attempting to fight the chunks that threatened to rise.

“Bel?”

More deep breaths.
“Do not ask me questions.” I could feel a light sheen of perspiration along my
skin, the heat prickling along my flesh. I would have given anything for a cold
face washer and at the very thought, I couldn’t contain it any longer.

My eyes flew open,
wide and panicked. “Max, I think I’m going to be sick.”

***

The only cool
compress I had was the feel of the cold porcelain against my cheek, as I
groaned above the toilet bowl.

Such a good
look.

With every heave I
could hear the mumbled words of Max as he patted me on the shoulder, offering
words of comfort.

“That’s it, better
out than in.”

I wasn’t so sure
about that, as I heaved and heaved until my stomach ached and tears streamed
down my face. The last thing I recalled was the sound of the toilet flushing
before I slid to the bathroom floor and assumed the foetal position.

Max’s voice and
movements became distant as I zoned out, finding peace finally in the oblivion
of unconsciousness.

I didn’t want to
die this way, from alcohol poisoning on the floor of a stranger’s bathroom
floor in a caravan park. If I died, Max would be the leading suspect and that
would make me feel bad—guilt by association.

Maybe I had passed
out for a minute, maybe it was hours, but the only thing that stirred me was
the unwanted assault of cold water splashed onto my face, shunting me out of my
slumber, even more so with the slaps on my cheek.

“Bel, wake up!”
Slap-slap-slap.

Jesus! Max had
gone from gentle, back-patting soother to bitch-slapping me. But as the
unwelcome slaps brought me back into my own body, I kept my eyes shut, knowing
the glow of the bulb overhead would most certainly blind me, and my head was
already pounding like a son of a bitch. So I lay there pretending I was dead,
hoping the old adage would work: if you ignore it, it will go away. But the
theory didn’t last too long as a sudden realisation hit me, in the form of
voices, not just Max, but a conversation of mutterings, familiar tones that had
me thinking maybe I was dreaming, or rather having a nightmare. But then when
another series of slaps hit my other cheek, an all-too-familiar voice made my
blood turn cold.

“Bel! Wake. Up.”

I slowly squinted
my eyes open, and sure enough, there was the blinding light I had feared, but
it wasn’t as bright as I had guessed, because blocking out the beams was a
face, a worried—okay, more angry looking—face belonging to Stan.

Great!

I wanted to curl
into a ball and disappear, even more so when I saw the likes of Max and another
person I didn’t know. A tall, well-built, blue-eyed boy sporting a crooked
smile. Maybe he was the angel of death come to collect my soul?

The Angel spoke. “Nice
to meet you, Bel. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Oh my God.

I barricaded my
eyes with my arm, shutting off the various stares: his humorous one, Max’s
concerned one, and worst of all, Stan’s angry one. Most of all, I didn’t want
them to see me cry, but as my shoulders shook and a sob escaped me, I was doing
a pretty lousy job, especially when those hidden sobs turned into the wailing
of a baby. Humiliation complete.

So this was
what rock bottom looked like?