Читать книгу Scar Tissue - Narrelle M Harris - Страница 6

Lachlan knocks on the door. He means to sound confident, bold, like he has a right to be here, but the sound is diffident. He’s not sure he’s welcome. He doesn’t feel like he should be.

Clara opens the door and her expression flickers before she smiles. ‘Lachie!’ She reaches out to kiss him on one cheek. He shoves flowers into her hands, and it’s awkward, but she manages to rescue the bouquet – gerberas and baby’s breath and delicate fern fronds – and put it right side up. She has grace, does Clara. ‘That’s lovely, Lachie, you shouldn’t have.’

It’s what people say, “you shouldn’t have”, but Lachlan knows it was the right thing to do. He’s relieved. It doesn’t make up for much, but it shows willing. He wants to make amends. He’s six months clean, and he intends to make it six months more. Six years more. Six decades more, and six lifetimes at least, if the Buddhists are right. His time with the needle is done. Whether the needle is done with him may be another matter, but he’s worked hard – is still working hard – to build a new life.

‘Jayden’s giving Amelia her bath,’ says Clara, leading Lachlan into the living room. ‘He won’t be long.’

This is when Jayden comes into the living room, dressed only in his pyjama pants, barefoot and bare-chested, though his torso is mainly obscured by the little bundle wrapped in a soft blanket. Jayden’s infant daughter, held across his body, hides the scar.

For the briefest second, Lachlan can pretend it doesn’t exist. Only, of course, he can’t. Not even for the briefest second.

‘Who soaked Daddy’s shirt through with bathwater, hmm?’ Jayden asks the infant, who claims responsibility by squealing happily and wriggling in her swaddling. ‘Who’s my little mermaid?’ Amelia’s gummy mouth opens and with a shout of ‘YAH!’ claims that title as well.

Jayden rubs Amelia’s tiny button nose with his own, and he makes ridiculous ‘ooop-PAH, ooop-PAH’ sounds at her, while she waves her hands and squeals at the game.

Then Jayden shifts his baby in his arms and the scar is on display. Jayden is unselfconscious about the puckered lines where plate glass had become embedded in his shoulder. He’d nearly bled to death, and he still doesn’t have full mobility. For a long time, he’d felt awkward about the damage. He made up stories to explain it when he couldn’t hide it. But here, in his home, with his family, he acts as though it’s not important. It’s become assimilated with all the other, smaller, insignificant scars he’s accumulated: the one from gashing his knee falling out of a tree while at a school camp, the triangular mark on his wrist from when he tried to iron his own shirt when he was eight and slipped with the iron; the dent from when he and his best mate played swordfights with steak knives and they managed to actually stab each other.

Lachlan stares at Jayden’s scar while trying not to stare at it, hoping, as always, that somehow the ruined and lined skin will disappear and shift. Lachlan could easily take another scar on his own body. He has a map of them, all significant. The one in his scalp from when Dad clobbered him with the beer bottle for interfering with his little brother’s punishment. The one on his mouth from being pushed face first into garage wall for getting lippy in Jayden’s defence. The long line across his ribs from the knife, the day they finally got someone to do something about the old bastard.

Those tiny puckers in his inner elbow, a memento of how, after the brutality stopped, it really hadn’t.

Lachlan’s scars, large and small, are part of the landscape of who he is, now. Whatever regrets and sorrow they came with, they have other meanings too. They comfort him, sometimes. Once upon a time, he’d done better.

Jayden was never meant to be marked. Lachlan spent his whole life protecting his little brother, only to fail at the last. Jayden’s terrible scar is all Lachlan’s fault, and Lachlan can never, ever take it back. He can only try to make amends. To be better than he was. To not fail again.

Jayden grins at his brother, though, for all the world as if there was nothing to forgive.

He forgives me, Lachlan thinks, as Jayden sprawls on the floor beside the sofa, unwraps the baby and lays her on his belly.

‘And whose Uncle is going to fetch your sleep suit after Daddy left it in the bedroom, hmm?’ Jayden says to Amelia, who slaps her little fists against his chest. Jayden laughs, holding onto his daughter so she doesn’t roll off. She lists to one side, still held securely, and her baby fist is thrown out in Lachlan’s direction.

Lachlan obeys the command without a second thought, fetching the little green sleep suit, and thinks that one day Amelia’s body will bear marks and maps of its own. It can’t be helped.

But he will help it if he can. He failed to protect Jayden, from either their father or from himself. But if it is humanly possible, he will not let the world scar her at all.

Clara hears the pair of them squabbling in the hall for a good minute before one of them manages to get the key in the lock. She’d have opened it, but the brothers have a way of fighting that is way too entertaining to miss.

‘What part of “don’t jump!” did you miss, you idiot?’ Jayden’s tone is impatient.

‘What part of “don’t throw that!” did you miss, blockhead? Oh, that’s right. All of it.’ Lachlan is scathing.

The key turns in the lock and the door opens with a bang, accompanied by irritated huffing and squelching noises. Jayden turns an apologetic look on his wife.

‘Sorry, baby. We had a mishap.’

‘Date night is off, I take it?’ She’d been looking forward to a night out – dinner, maybe dancing – while Lachlan took care of Amelia, but to be honest, whatever this is, it looks hilarious.

‘Until I wring the Yarra out of my underwear at least.’

‘I lost my goddamned phone into the goddamned river,’ Lachlan complains, dripping murky water on the welcome mat. Much good the mat does; there’s quite a lot of water.

‘You didn’t have to dive in to save me,’ says Jayden, stifling a laugh. Jayden is dripping a matching pool of scummy river water, off to the left of the mat.

Lachlan scowls.

‘What kind of moron jumps into a river with their phone in in their pocket?’ Jayden smirks.

‘The kind of moron who has to move in a hurry because his blockhead fishing partner is about to go arse over tit over the side of the goddamn boat.’

‘I was just fine.’

‘Yeah, right. Until you fell arse over tit over the side of the goddamn boat.’

‘Of course. It’s all my fault now.’ Jayden’s back to not feeling reasonable.

‘That we’re both soaked through?’ Lachlan says. ‘Hell, yes.’

The argument continues while Jayden and Lachlan peel off outer layers and start into the flat, heading for the bathroom.

Clara wonders at the edge in Lachlan’s voice – Jayden seems to think it all funny but his brother is clearly upset – but the point becomes clear as Lachlan rounds on Jayden with a blistering: ‘I thought you could swim.’

Jayden’s good humour evaporates. ‘You utter dick. The water was freezing. I cramped. You know that shoulder doesn’t have full mobility.’

Silence descends so suddenly it’s like the stillness after a crash. The blood drains from Lachlan’s face and he holds his breath.

‘Shit,’ says Jayden. ‘Shit, Lachie, I didn’t mean… it’s okay. It was just the shock of the water, you know? I was on my way back up when you grabbed me.’

Lachlan does this thing, this pursing of his mouth and a glance away down and to the side, and Clara reads the shame in it. She doesn’t know if Jayden has seen it, and Lachlan shifts back to a defiant posture quickly.

They have reached the bathroom and the brothers stride in, after a tussle at the doorway, and disappear inside. There’s the sound of running water and some crashing about while two grown men fight over who gets first shower.

There’s a sound from Amelia’s bedroom and she leaves the men to it while she fetches her daughter. She returns to the hall with three- year-old Amelia in her arms. Amelia chews a knuckle, stares at the door.

‘Bath time for Daddy and Unca Lachie,’ she observes.

‘Yes, baby, Silly Daddy and Silly Lachlan are all muddy.’

The complaints about the state of Jayden’s clothes, the state of Lachlan’s hair, the oh my god what is this in my pants? Is that a leech? Fuck, well, it looks like one. I don’t care if it’s just vegetable matter, Lachie, this is unacceptable!

Amelia grins. ‘Puck a leeeeeeech!’ she says.

‘Puck it completely,’ Clara agrees.

More shouting, more complaints, a shower running, stopping, running again, thumping, what seems to be a tussle over the towels, someone crashing into the wash basket and then Jayden apparently collapsing into helpless laughter. A deeper voice joins him, and Clara knows that they’re all right.

Clara and Amelia make a strategic withdrawal as the door opens and Jayden, a towel around his waist, darts down to the bedroom for clean clothes.

Lachlan emerges with his hair a wild tangle. He’s wrapped in Clara’s long silk robe, tied tightly at the waist. The right side of the robe bears the motif of a Bird of Paradise plant, stridently orange and pale green against the dark green background.

Lachlan tugs the robe around more closely and gives Clara a defiant look.

‘Oh, be my guest,’ she says, with a grin.

He rolls his eyes at her, then stops to give Amelia a kiss hello.

‘Muddy Unca Lachie needs a clean!’ says Amelia.

‘Muddy Lachlan needs a change of clothes,’ he says in reply.

‘I like that,’ Amelia points emphatically at the robe. ‘It’s pretty.

You look pretty.’

‘Thank you,’ he says solemnly. ‘You look nice, too.’

Jayden joins them, dressed in jeans but shirtless, towelling his hair dry.

‘Daddy!’

‘Baby girl!’

Father-daughter kisses are exchanged and Jayden scoops his girl up for a hug. He carries her to the sofa and drops down on it. Amelia manages a controlled landing so she ends up standing on his thighs. She pats his face while he kisses her fingers, then pats his chest.

She becomes fascinated by the scar on his left shoulder. She’s familiar with it of course, but it’s almost like it’s the first time she’s really noticed it. She pats the healthy skin, then the ridge of scar tissue. She traces her fingers over and over the puckered edges of it.

Clara wonders if she should distract the child, but Jayden is just watching her explore his skin. Clara can see Lachlan watching them too. There’s that shame again, at what he’d done. After their father’s imprisonment, Jayden had thrived and Lachlan, who’d been strong for so long, fell. So far.

He’d been high – again or still – and Jayden had tried to take care of him, and to get rid of his brother’s stash. In the struggle, Lachlan had shoved Jayden through a plate glass sliding door. He’d nearly died. Lachlan had been beside himself with horror and grief, and had checked himself into rehab as soon as he knew Jayden would survive.

Four years clean now. Clara is proud of him, of how he’s worked to climb back up again, and be strong again, for himself as well as Jayden. And he dotes on his niece, as though that little girl were his salvation.

Amelia, meanwhile, prods the marks on her father’s chest, the skin and muscle, then pats at them with her soft, chubby hands.

‘Daddy has an ouch,’ she says. It’s the term she’s been using lately.

‘A big ouch, yes.’

Amelia’s eyes are large with curiosity and concern. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not any more.’

‘Are you all better?’

‘All better now.’

‘It gets stiff some days,’ Lachlan supplies suddenly. ‘Especially when it’s cold like today. I... forget, sometimes.’

The look Jayden gives Lachlan is a complicated thing, part forgiveness, part irritation, part affection, part exasperation. The way that brothers do.

‘Poor Daddy’s ouch,’ says Amelia. ‘I’ll kiss it better,’ and she plants a sloppy kiss on the smaller scar, the way her parents give her kisses to make it better when she falls or bumps her head. She draws back and pats the hard tissue again. ‘It feels funny.’

‘If you get a big ouch and then it gets better, sometimes the skin goes pale and hard like that,’ Jayden says, his voice low and even. ‘It’s called a scar.’

Amelia considers this information. ‘Mummy has a scar on her tummy and Lachie has a scar on his head and his side and his mouth. Unca Lachie has lots of scars. I’ll kiss them better too.’

Jayden flicks a glance at Lachlan, as does Clara, and Lachlan is very still, seemingly caught between pride at Amelia’s cleverness in noticing these things and regret that she is so aware of all his old hurts.

Amelia wriggles off Jayden’s lap and toddles over to Lachlan. He has to manoeuvre a bit to maintain his modesty in the silk robe as she clambers into this lap, stands on his thighs and stares earnestly into this face. He lets her scrutinise him without comment.

She pats the scar at the corner of his mouth. ‘Poor ouch.’

‘It’s nothing, Amelia,’ he tells her.

She wetly kisses the side of his mouth anyway.

She peers at him further, then kisses the scar in his hairline. Then she sees something that Clara never knew she could. Amelia squats. Lachlan’s hands are on her waist to keep her from falling, and she leans over to peer at the inside of his elbow on his left arm. The track marks are almost invisible.

Almost.

She goes to kiss them and Lachlan flinches, pulls away.

Amelia is immediately full of childish concern. ‘Does it still hurt?’

Lachlan swallows.

‘No.’

‘Was it a big ouch?’

Clara holds her breath, wondering what he’s going to say. Her husband, too, she notices has gone very still.

‘Not any more,’ Lachlan says carefully. ‘Your Mummy and Daddy helped to make it better.’

‘I want to make it better, too,’ Amelia pouts.

‘You do.’

‘No. I have to kiss it better,’ she insists. ‘It’s the rule.’

Reluctantly, refusing to look at Clara or Jayden, Lachlan holds his arm up. Amelia kisses the inside of his elbow with a loud, wet, noisy smack of her lips. A big kiss for a big ouch.

Then she grins up at him. ‘All better?’

His reply is delayed while he clears his throat. ‘All better,’ he agrees.

Amelia’s expression is full of pride – and then she is all giggles and shrieks as Lachlan ducks his head to pretend-bite her fingers. ‘Don’t, don’t, don’t!’ she shrieks while making no actual effort to escape, ‘Don’t eat me up!’ He manages to get to her belly and blow a raspberry (and narrowly avoid being accidentally kicked in the balls – that’s unclehood for you) before letting her squirm free and run across the carpet to Clara.

‘Mummy, Mummy, don’t let Unca Lachie eat me!’

Laughing, Clara drops to her knees and makes zombie-hands and gnashing-teeth motions at her. ‘I’ll eat you up!’

Jayden jumps to his feet, crouches down and chases Amelia all over the living room, threatening to eat you all up until Amelia turns on him, bares her teeth and says ‘I’ll eat YOU all up!’ and chases him in turn.

By evening’s end, Lachlan has commandeered a pair of Jayden’s track pants and a t-shirt, both too short and too loose on him. He is lying on his back on the sofa, more or less respectable now, and explaining how her Daddy is the most graceless diver the world has ever seen. Amelia, belly-down on the carpet, falls asleep to his voice.

Jayden and Clara are dancing in the kitchen to the radio, kissing, cuddling. Canoodling. As date nights go, it hasn’t been too bad.

Lachlan is the one who gets the call from the teacher. Clara and Jayden have taken off for a romantic anniversary week in New Zealand and the teenaged Amelia is in Lachlan’s care for the duration.

Lachlan is a driving to the school hall as fast as he dare. He wants to go faster, but he can’t risk being stopped by the police. He can’t risk failing her, though his heart is hammering, because he feels he already has.

How did I miss it? he’s thinking. I didn’t. I couldn’t have. I would know if Amelia was an addict. If anyone would know that, I would. Therefore, she is not. There has been a mistake. I will fix this. I will fix this. Oh god, what if it’s my fault?

Lachlan doubts himself all the time, but he has never doubted Amelia.

And yet.

He remembers. He remembers choices made because they seemed to be the only ones left. He remembers wanting to calm the storm in his head and his heart, and finding only one way to do it. He remembers defiance and rage and despair and how a simple solution and a simpler needle gave him respite, if only for a while.

Amelia has not done this thing, but if she has, if she has done this unthinkable thing he will...he will...

And Lachlan remembers all the attempts to stop him, to help him, to cure him, to deny him, to fix him and it was all for nothing. Most of it didn’t touch him; some of it made everything worse. And then he nearly killed Jayden, and he realised that the simple solution was no longer a solution, that what had helped no longer helped, that he was a danger to the only person who mattered.

So he chose a different path. It took a lot of work, a lot of help, a lot of forgiveness, but he chose it. Sixteen years later, he was still choosing it. Every day.

Lachlan thinks: if it’s true, and I can’t work out how to help her, then I will... I’ll...

I will offer her my arm, he decides. If nothing else will stop her, I will offer her my arm and take the cocaine with her. If I can’t save her, I’ll go down that path with her. I won’t let her be alone. I will not let her walk that path alone. I don’t care if I go down with her, as long as she’s not alone like I felt I was...

He stamps on the brake in front of the hall and dismisses that train of thought as destructive and not in the least helpful.

Which isn’t to say he won’t choose it, if he can’t offer Amelia anything else.

He runs to the door, ignoring the loud music and the sound/scent of the close-packed bodies of dancing teenagers. He runs past a clump of kids having a furtive smoke by the bushes. As he bursts into the hall, a teacher is there to intercept him. She grabs Lachlan by the elbow and tugs him aside.

‘Mr Carroway, it’s Mrs Braithwaite. We’ve put Amelia in the caretaker’s office,’ she says.

‘Where’s Chloe Dyskstra?’ Lachlan demands. This is Chloe’s school dance. Chloe, 15, had invited Amelia along as her sort-of- date, on the logic that Amelia was a good friend, and good fun, and (Lachlan knew, although Chloe hadn’t said as much) Amelia was meant to be the perfect wingman for the evening. ‘They were here together.’

‘We’re looking for her now.’

That’s ominous. But first things must come first.

Lachlan follows Mrs Braithwaite down the hall and into the caretaker’s office. She lets him in then goes in search of Chloe Dykstra.

Amelia stands in the middle of the room and glares at him. She is furious. He hasn’t seen her in such a rage. It stops him like a wall.

‘Amelia?’

‘If you believe one word of that lie for an instant, I’ll never speak to you again.’

The relief that floods through him makes his breath hitch briefly, but immediately he’s calm and still and he knows he can and will do anything. Amelia is all right and so nothing bad can happen now. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I know you better than that.’

Amelia scowls but nods, satisfied.

‘Tell me what happened?’

‘Some fart-doodle planted this gear on Chloe. She told me about this guy at school who was stealing from the science lab. She warned him off and said she’d report him if he didn’t stop right away. Next thing, I see some dude going to a teacher and pointing at Chloe, and you know, he looked like a fart-doodle. So I got to Chloe’s bag and grabbed the stuff out first – a needle and a foil. Arsehole. Then that idiot teacher found it on me before I could ditch it and wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain.’

‘Did you see him plant it in Chloe’s bag?’

‘I didn’t have to see it, did I?’ she says scornfully. Lachlan, in spite of himself, grins. Amelia was always a smart one.

‘But he’s meant to be a Grade A student, and other people do love direct evidence, don’t they?’ Amelia sighs her bitter disappointment then raises her chin to glare over his shoulder at the sounds coming down the passage.

Mrs Braithwaite brings Chloe into the room. Chloe has been crying.

‘Meely!’ Chloe pulls away from the teacher’s grip on her arm and rushes to her friend, who wraps her in a hug, but does not stop glaring at the teacher.

‘You will show some manners, young lady,’ the teacher snaps at Amelia.

‘I will when you stop being an idiot,’ ripostes Amelia. Lachlan knows he’s not supposed to encourage her in being disrespectful to adults, but honestly, the woman is an idiot and Lachlan is not going to berate Amelia for so intelligently noticing this fact.

Mrs Braithwaite takes a breath, no doubt to demand he insist on Amelia exercising manners, but he turns his back on her and faces the girls.

‘Now,’ he says. ‘The facts.’

Mrs Braithwaite, getting angry, starts to tell him about the drug paraphernalia found on Amelia, and possible police charges. Lachlan shushes her. ‘Let Chloe tell the story.’

‘It’s nothing to do with Ms Dykstra.’

‘It’s everything to do with me,’ says Chloe fiercely, and Mrs Braithwaite is forced to silence in the face of the girl’s sincerity. Mrs Braithwaite is unhappy, but she’s not an idiot. She folds her arms and waits for the new data.

Between them, Amelia and Chloe tell the story of Jez Palmer’s petty larceny and attempted frame-up. Braithwaite’s lips are pursed. Lachlan gives the teacher an assessing look.

‘I think perhaps I should find young Jez and call his father as well,’ she decides. She gives a glare to Amelia. ‘You could perhaps have told me this earlier.’

Amelia opens her mouth to snap that she’d tried, but she catches the look in her uncle’s eye, the one that says play along now, Amelia, we’re starting to win. She closes her mouth. ‘I was upset,’ is all she says.

Mrs Braithwaite summons Lachlan to talk with her briefly in the hall. ‘Stay with the girls for the moment,’ she says. ‘I’ll see what I can get from Jez. Perhaps we can avoid police involvement.’

‘I won’t have Amelia suffering because of that vindictive little bastard,’ says Lachlan, voice tight with protective indignation.

The teacher raises an eyebrow at him. ‘Jez Palmer is certainly not the Golden Child he pretends to be,’ she says. ‘But Amelia Carroway has her moments too.’

‘She’s a bit… brash,’ he concedes, because right now Mrs Braithwaite has too much power over them. ‘But she’s also honest.’

Mrs Braithwaite gives him a funny sort of knowing smile, and Lachlan thinks maybe she knows a lot more about Jez Palmer’s true nature, and Amelia’s and Chloe’s, than she’s letting on.

‘Stay with the girls,’ she repeats. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

When Mrs Braithwaite returns an hour later, it is with the brief news that Jez Palmer has confessed all, that Mr Palmer senior will be handling the discipline for the matter, and that unless they wish to press charges, everyone is free to go home.

Chloe is too embarrassed by her lapse to want anything more to do with it. Amelia seems to feel that justice has been served, because she was looking out the window and she could see how Mr Palmer was berating his son on the way back to the car.

Mrs Dykstra shows up and hugs her daughter while getting the story. Chloe and Amelia hug goodbye and promise to see each other tomorrow. All’s well, so they say, that ends well, even though the dance has been spoiled.

Lachlan, with Mrs Dykstra’s blessing, says he’ll take the girls to a live gig soon, to see a band they both like, to make up for it. Mrs Dykstra, who is single, is promised a ticket too, and she grins like it’s Christmas for her as well.

Amelia and Lachlan are silent for a short while in the car ride home. Lachlan is still high on the relief of knowing that Amelia is all right, she’s all right, she’s going to be all right...

He doesn’t flinch when Amelia reaches out to rub her hand along his forearm. Under his shirt, the track marks of his past feel the passage of her fingers through the cloth.

‘I would never,’ she says.

He wants to say ‘I know’. What he says is: ‘Lives don’t always go the way we plan.’

She squeezes the muscle under her hand. ‘I’m sorry for whatever made you pick that path.’

Lachlan swallows. ‘It was... it made sense at the time.’

‘You must have been so lonely.’

Lachlan blinks.

She smiles at him, and he smiles back. She withdraws her hand and folds it with the other one in her lap.

Amelia looks at Lachlan again.

‘I know you don’t like me noticing them,’ she says, and does not need to elaborate. The needle marks. The scars on his body, the marks of violence. She has scars too, he knows. For all that he wanted to spare her, he couldn’t, and there is a map on her body of mishaps and accidents. Nothing given to her deliberately, though. No harm done to her through malice or anger. He thinks he would destroy anyone who tried.

His silence doesn’t faze her. ‘Do you know what Mum says about scars?’

Lachlan shakes his head minutely.

‘She says that the thing about scars is that you only get them if you survive. Some scars are bad and some of them slow you down a lot, but if you have a scar, life tried to kill you and didn’t succeed.’

‘Is that what she says?’

‘I was asking her about hers, you know, the one from the C-section when she had me. She says she doesn’t mind it. She could have died, or I could have died, but we didn’t. The scar proves she outlived death, because the dead don’t heal.’

Clara, thinks Lachlan, really is more than good enough for my brother.

‘We talked a lot about scars that day,’ Amelia continued. ‘Because you and Dad have so many and I wanted to know what it meant.’

Lachlan swallows. ‘What else did she say, then?’

‘Mum says that some scars are what life gives you for being careless or unlucky, but at least you can learn something from them. Then, she says, some scars you get because you took risks so you could grow. And then, she says, some scars you get because you choose them, so you can protect someone you love or something that matters.’

Lachlan thinks about all of his scars; the ones he got through carelessness and bad luck; the ones he got through risk. The ones he chose.

‘Those scars you have, on your head and mouth, the one on your ribs… you got those making sure that drunk old bastard didn’t hurt Dad. Mum says those scars are like... sort of like badges that love makes in your skin.’

Lachlan pulls the car to the side of the road, because it’s dangerous to drive when you can’t see. Tears are sliding out of his eyes, faster now that he’s closed them. Amelia undoes her seatbelt and reaches across the seat to wrap him in an awkward sideways hug.

‘I know you made mistakes,’ she says, her cheek resting on his shoulder, ‘but you made up for them, and that’s something my grandfather never did. You’ve got badges, even if you didn’t want them, and Dad’s scar… I don’t think you know. But he and mum, they say that’s his badge. Because it helped you to stop. He got his brother back. So he doesn’t mind.’

Lachlan’s hands are over his eyes and he can’t stop crying.

‘This thing,’ says Amelia, hugging him, ‘with the drugs. I promise you. I’d never do that. And if I’m ever that lonely, I promise. I’ll come to you. But I never will be.’

Lachlan gathers his girl close, his nose in her hair, revelling in the miracle of her. No, he promises her silently, you never will be.