The Ripple Effect (14 page)

She led him to unit number four and unlocked the door.

“Come in.” When he hesitated she said, “Please.”

Shay followed her inside. The units were on the high side of the street and hers had a wall of glass with a sliding door opening onto a balcony and a panoramic view of the sparkling blue ocean over a sea of treetops and roofs.

“Great spot,” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” she replied absently. “Paul found it for me.”

“Paul?” he asked. The name was vaguely familiar. She’d mentioned him before. The ex-boyfriend.

She dropped her bag onto a small pine table already harbouring a pink flowering plant, mail, brochures and other personal odds and ends—nail polish and hair clips.

“He’s a real estate agent.”

“Handy.”

She didn’t reply but headed down a short hallway and he heard a door close and water running. Shay went into the small galley-style kitchen and found a glass for a drink of water. He swallowed two straight down. What would happen now? He rinsed the glass and left it on the draining board with her breakfast dishes.

He wandered back to the living area and sat on the bright blue futon-style couch. A papasan with a blue and white pattern was the only other seating apart from the four upright dining chairs around the table. A large mounted poster of a Japanese castle hung on the wall opposite. Himeji, he thought it was. He’d seen a TV documentary about it once. A classic Japanese castle design, built of perfectly cut mortarless stone blocks, perched on a hill and virtually impregnable. Guarded by ninja—the stealthy fighting warriors.

Joelle had other Japanese inspired elements in her décor. A beautiful painted fan rested open on the bookshelf and on closer examination he saw a whole shelf of books were either on Japan itself or its art forms. An elegantly sparse arrangement of three blooms and a sprig of greenery stood on the bench separating the kitchen from the area where he sat.

The whole room, apart from the tabletop, was neat and uncluttered. On the low pine coffee table before him sat a bonsai plant—some sort of miniature pine tree. Not something that appealed to him, really. Coming from the country, he liked nature to do its thing. Plants had enough trouble surviving where he grew up without subjected to extra constrictions.

The bathroom door opened and closed but Joelle didn’t appear. Another door clicked shut. Shay glanced at his watch—nearly three. He stood up and went to open the sliding door. Fabulous view. He drew a deep breath and leaned on the railing. A slight breeze riffled his hair, marginally cooler coming off the ocean.

Where did he and Joelle go from here? Should he stick around or leave her to sort herself out alone? Was she in her bedroom with the door closed because she wanted privacy? All his instincts and his inclination cried stay with her, don’t desert her, but she needed to be by herself for a while. Fine. He had nothing to do until Monday.

He could murder a cold beer. Too much to hope she’d have some in the fridge. Shay went back inside to investigate. Yes! Tassie beer. Four stubbies. Probably for the boyfriend—ex-boyfriend. He wouldn’t be drinking them now. Shay flipped the top off one and took a long swallow of the icy, amber fluid.

Someone rang the buzzer. Shay walked down the hall to the closed door and tapped softly. “Joelle? Door, shall I get it?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. Then stronger, “Shay?”

“Yes.”

“Will you stay for a bit, please? I need to talk to you—in a while.”“

The buzzer sounded again.

“Sure,” he said.

He opened the door still holding his beer in one hand. A young woman stood outside with an expectant smile, which faded when she saw him. She had a battered suitcase at her feet and a large soft backpack slung over one bare shoulder. Short denim shorts exposed long brown legs adorned with ankle jewellery. Her black tube top clung to her breasts with gravity defying bravado. He hastily switched his attention away from her chest to her face.

“Hi,” she said with a smirk. “Who the hell are you?” She peered passed him and called, “Jo? You there?”

“She’s in her bedroom,” said Shay. “I’m Shay Brookes.” He held out his hand. “Who are you?”

“Mel, Jo’s sister.” She gave his fingers a perfunctory shake and edged passed him. “Mind bringing in my bag? Thanks.”

Melanie, the erratic, pregnant little sister. Moving in? The innocuous looking bag was much heavier than he expected. He placed his beer carefully on the floor and hoisted the bag two handed. He left it just inside the door. Melanie meanwhile had dumped her backpack on the living room floor and was in the kitchen plundering the fridge for a cold beer.

“You the new boyfriend?” she asked eyeing him over the upraised bottle as he stood watching.

“No,” he said.

“Oh?” She considered this information for a moment. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is Jo all right?”

“She’s had a shock,” he said.

Without a word, Melanie pushed passed him and headed for the bedroom but Joelle had already emerged. She stood pale-faced staring first at her sister and then at Shay.

“Did you tell her?” she asked hoarsely.

“Tell me what?” demanded Melanie.

“No,” said Shay.

“I’m adopted,” said Joelle. “Shay’s my brother.”

“What? You’re kidding.” Melanie stood open mouthed. She turned to Shay who shook his head. “How do you know?” Back to Joelle. “Did he tell you that? How do you know?”

“Mum and Dad told me. We’ve just been there. Shay and I have the same mother.”

“I don’t believe it. Look at you two! You’re completely different.”

“We may have different fathers,” said Shay. “We don’t know who our father was.”

“They never told you?” gasped Melanie. “None of us knew.”

“Gran and the aunts and uncles know,” said Joelle. “But no-one else.”

“Why didn’t they tell you—or us?”

“Dad said they forgot,” said Joelle bitterly.

“He regrets it, Joelle,” put in Shay. “He feels very guilty.”

“So he damned well should,” cried Melanie. “What about Mum?”

“She said she always thought of me as her baby because I was only two weeks old when they got me.”

Melanie stepped forward and hugged Joelle. “You’re my sister,” she said fiercely. “I don’t care about anything else. You’re my sister.”

Joelle clung to her and Shay moved away surreptitiously to sit on the couch sipping his beer as they sniffed and sobbed together. A minute or two later Melanie pulled away. “Sorry, I have to pee.”

Joelle wiped her hands over her face and came to sit next to Shay. She was glad he’d stayed. There were thing she had to ask despite the embarrassment at her behaviour on her parents’ doorstep. His reaction to that was understandable now, but her own feelings were far too confused to be unravelled. What was love after all? She loved her sister and Mel had proven the return of that love. So would Bridget, she knew without a doubt. She loved Shay; she could love him as a brother. She must love him as a brother. Anything else was unthinkable, as he had already demonstrated.

How would she ever forget what she’d done, how shocked he was? Could he forget? Not think too badly of his little sister? His sister, the girl who threw herself on a man and kissed him after they’d barely met.

“Don’t be hard on your parents,” he said.

“Do you think of the people who adopted you as your parents?” she asked.

“Of course. I don’t have any others. Neither do you.”

That was true.

“I feel betrayed,” she said after a moment. “I always thought they were as honest as could be.”

“I’m sure they are. They were trying to protect you and themselves, I suppose.”

The toilet flushed. Joelle stared at the bag lying on the floor. Where had that sprung from?

“Is that Mel’s?”

“Yes and there’s a suitcase full of bricks near the front door.”

“Bricks?” What on earth was he talking about? He was grinning at her—such a sexy—
stop it.
He’s your brother. How could she get her head around that fact, not to mention her hormones?

“Feels like it. She asked me to bring it in.”

Oh no.
Her sister with a suitcase and an overflowing backpack? Maybe she’s in transit.

Mel strode across to where she’d left her beer on the table.

“Mel, what’s with the bags?” asked Joelle.

“Can I stay for a while?”

“Why?” Some things never change. Just because she and Mel seemed to have come to a new understanding of their relationship, didn’t mean they would see everything the same way all of a sudden. And it didn’t mean she wanted a messy flatmate. Especially right now with Shay and all he brought with him to deal with.

“I can’t live in that house any more. Two of them smoke. It’s not good for the baby.” She looked at Shay. “I’m pregnant.”

“Tell her she shouldn’t be drinking beer,” said Joelle. “Shay’s a doctor.”

“Much better if you stop,” said Shay. “If you must, drink light beer.”

Melanie ignored them. “Can I stay, please Jo? You said you’d help any way you could if I needed help. I do.”

“What’s the real reason?” asked Joelle.

“Can’t pay my rent. They kicked me out.” She flopped into the papasan and kicked off her sandals. “I won’t get my bond back either.”

“God, Mel.”

“Are you chucking me out too?”

Joelle sighed. “No. But you have to do your share of cleaning and cooking and pay your way.”

“Thanks, sis. I knew I could count on you.”

Never in living memory had she used ‘sis’. Joelle rolled her eyes and Mel laughed. “Hey, does that mean you’re my brother too?” she asked Shay. “Cool. We always wanted a brother, didn’t we?”

“Did we?” asked Joelle in surprise. “I don’t remember ever thinking that.”

“I did. I thought sisters were wimpy.” Mel sucked at her beer. “How did you find her?” she asked Shay. “Did you always know you were adopted?”

“Yes,” he said. “I knew our mother died when Joelle was born. The people who adopted me couldn’t take on a newborn as well—they already had three kids—so Joelle was taken to a Sydney children’s hospital. That’s how I tracked her down.”

“Our mother’s name was Emily Grayson,” said Joelle. “Did I have a name, before? Did she say?”

It felt as though they were talking about someone else, a third person. Like discussing a character in a movie. Or maybe she was dreaming. Having a nightmare where her roots had been torn away and a stranger appeared saying he was her brother and a girl she’d assumed was her sister but wasn’t, turned up with suitcases—broke and pregnant. Rather like poor Emily had been.

“No-one even knew her name,” said Shay. “She didn’t say a word to anyone and I was too little to tell them anything.”

“Wow,” said Mel. “So how did they find out she was Emily Grayson?”

“My Dad was the town cop. Birrigai’s where we lived. They still do, my parents.”

“Where’s Birrigai?” asked Mel.

“Up north near Tamworth. Anyway, Emily was a missing person. Runaway teenager.
She was only seventeen.”

“But her parents didn’t want her back when they found out she was pregnant,” said Joelle. Mel was only two years older. Was she any better equipped to be a mother?

“I’m not sure if they knew until after she died,” said Shay. “But either way they weren’t interested in us.”

Mel pulled a disgusted face. “What horrible people. Mum and Dad aren’t pleased about me but I’m sure they won’t turn their backs on the baby. Will they, Jo?”

Joelle saw the shadow of unaccustomed fear in her expression. Perhaps Shay’s tale had brought home to her just how difficult being young, broke, alone and pregnant could be. “I doubt it very much. You know how Mum’s a sucker for a baby. She won’t be able to resist.”

Here she was defending William and Natalie again the way she had so many times in the past when Melanie had fought parental discipline. Joelle’s had been the voice of reason and moderation in the face of her little sister’s tantrums and threats. Now, when those very people she had defended had betrayed her trust in the most unimaginable way possible. How could she assume anything about them at all?

But Mel was reassured. Her trust in Joelle was unshaken. She smiled and resumed her usual nonchalant expression.

“How do you know you’re both Emily’s children?” she asked. “You really don’t look anything alike. She might have been looking after you, Shay.”

Shay smiled and said, “Mel, in a country town everyone knows everyone. No-body reported losing a child. Stan checked missing person’s reports. That’s how he came up with Emily. But she’d run away at fifteen and her parents hadn’t seen her for years. She must have been pregnant with me and knew the reaction she’d get.”

“She was just a little girl. Her home life must have been unbearable,” gasped Joelle. Her eyes filled with tears. “She must have felt so alone.”

“And my father didn’t even stick by her,” said Shay. “He was probably a terrified kid himself. Our grandparents were very religious apparently. Very strict.”

“Maybe she didn’t tell the father,” Mel suggested softly. Joelle glanced at her but Mel’s eyes were on the bottle in her hand. She ran her fingers up and down it idly, tracing patterns in the condensation. Had she told the father of her baby yet? Didn’t sound like it.

“Fathers have a right to know,” said Shay. He looked directly at Melanie and she met his gaze with her usual defiant toughness. Shay raised one eyebrow slightly and continued, “He should at least be given the choice of opting out, not have that assumption made for him. Some people really come through in tough situations.” Was he making a very astute guess?

Joelle watched Mel assessing the depth of Shay’s remarks, wondering how much he knew or guessed of her own situation. He was saying exactly what she’d said herself and at that stage she hadn’t even known about Emily.

Mel shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“I’ve spent most of my life wondering about my father,” said Shay. He leaned forward to emphasise his words, not joking now. “My priority was to find my sister because I knew I had a good shot at that but now I want to find my real father.”

“He’s mine too,” said Joelle softly. “I want to know who my real father is, as well.” The words sounded weird—saying father and not meaning William.