8. Words Said . And Things Unspoken
8
Words Said ... And Things Unspoken
Billy
B illy wasn’t one for plans . Rosters and schedules, sure. Business objectives and goals, necessary. Life Plans, meticulously detailed into actionable and tickable checklists like Breanna insisted upon? They made his mind boggle. The strangeness of this big moment in her life, this baby, unplanned, as far as he could deduce from what limited information she’d offered, didn’t seem rational. Over the years, she’d proclaimed quite frequently her detestation of ‘snot-nosed ankle-biters’ and how, based on her own mother’s efforts, Bre thought she would also be a horrible mother.
Marriage, children, a large, loud home of his own like this one, set on a few acres … these were all hopes that Billy had considered at one stage or another, but never thought he’d obtain. It was a pipe dream born of too much alcohol and the presence of his nephews, whose sticky hugs and thoughtful stick-figure artworks warmed his soul.
But as Breanna entered the bustling house – chin high, dodging zig-zagging children and the teasing of his brothers at her flushed face – Billy couldn’t help but wonder once again … to hope … was the baby his? Was this potentially the start of those dreams coming to life? It wouldn’t be the first time Bre had made anything seem possible. He loved it when she took the reins, urging him to take an opportunity when it presented itself … which was exactly why he hadn’t hesitated when his best friend suggested they spice up their friendship.
Was the baby his? Perhaps ‘later’ he’d find out.
His fierce little spitfire took it all in her stride as his family and their guests dragged her into conversations while he followed behind, a brooding, hairy shadow. She threw words back at the teasing twins, witty retorts and easy laughs, while Billy tried to keep his eyes on the back of her head, all so he wouldn’t stare at her perfectly rounded arse.
He wanted to – needed to – rip those stretchy, tempting abominations off her as soon as possible, or he might well explode. He’d never had to daydream about tearing her clothing from her body before, but now …
“Finally!” Holly sung, grinning wide as she ushered everyone into the formal dining room.
If he hadn’t known the furniture could withstand the combined weight of his brawling brothers, Billy might have fretted that the old dining table would fail under the smothering presence of the brimming plates. His mother’s preparations were often sufficient to feed an army, but tonight she seemed prepared to end world hunger altogether, and her efforts were beyond decadent. Billy couldn’t have imagined the perfection that his mother and Sharee had created over the past few hours.
Arrangements of native flowers dotted the table, pops of yellow wattle muted between green-grey eucalyptus branches. The glow of battery-operated candlelight cast a warm glow over the scene. Billy loved the flickering fakes; his mother refused to incorporate naked flames in her plans, thanks to an accident involving all the brothers, a stuffed bear, and inactive smoke alarms. With the inherent risk of bushfires in an Australian summer, and Graham’s little gremlins, it was still a well-considered choice. Thankfully, cool air blasted down from vents in the ceiling, stealing the humidity and all thoughts of fire, replacing it with a blissful chill.
Pulling his mother’s slim figure closer, Billy squeezed her tight. “This is amazing,” he told her, dropping a kiss on her temple.
“Isn’t it?” Sharee beamed. “I wish I could take the credit for this gloriousness, but I really can’t. How Holly and Breanna arranged all this–”
“Breanna?” His eyebrow quirked at his mother.
“She has become invaluable around here. How she manages to do everything is beyond me, but I think she must have the power to stop time!”
She sure does , he wanted to add, but didn’t, as memories replayed of countless hours lost in a world where only the two of them existed, and time had indeed seemed frozen, somehow prolonged.
Returning his hug, Holly added, quietly, “Luckily we have no intention of letting her leave, right, William?”
Hope and warning echoed in her whispered words, her meaning clear – Don’t let her go. The implied threat ‘ Or Else’ was added to the dictionary of Words Unsaid he’d apparently begun compiling this Christmas. Thankfully, Breanna had started to open up.
Finding the words was the first step, and that task needed to be initiated by Breanna. Despite everything that had transpired today, how could they move forward together and survive Christmas? The birth of her – their? – baby? What then? Then, perhaps, he could approach the topic of Breanna never leaving.
He had never considered it a possibility before. But she’d made it clear she didn’t want change, or the permanence of marriage. In fact, the thought of him dropping to one knee essentially repulsed her. Adding a baby into the equation … how might he convince her, them, to stay? To become ‘us’ and ‘we’ more permanently?
“Sit! Sit!”
“Is the air on?”
“It’s set to freezing!”
“Hurry up, food’s getting cold!”
“Dad, do I have to eat Grannie’s peas?”
Beneath the table, Bre’s hand found his and her smile damn near melted his heart.
“Holly, Sharee, I don’t throw my words around lightly,” Bre began, but the twins, claiming the seats to either side of Sharee, howled with laughter. “Well, not my compliments anyway,” Bre amended, “but this is divine!”
“ Divine , Sharee!” Holly beamed. “Did you hear that?”
“I completely agree,” the interior designer agreed, already snapping photos as the children sat at the table, eyes as large as saucers and smiles so wide their back teeth were gleaming.
“Grace!” Piers shouted, leaning over little Lachlan and helping himself to the chicken drumsticks.
Holly’s mouth opened to protest, but the spell had been broken, and all hell broke loose as the children launched for the food.
Shrugging, Sharee laughed, continuing to click the camera on her phone as she captured the scene.
Bre squeezed Billy’s knee as she reached for the pile of sliced ham, diverting at the last minute with a grumble towards the pyramid of sausages nearby.
Taking the carafe from the centre of the table, he poured Breanna a tall glass first, then his mother, who beamed at him. He filled his own glass last.
“Shit, sorry!” Bre said, her elbow too close to his nose as she re-knotted her hair atop her head.
“Don’t say shit, Aunty Bre!” came a serious scold from a small child whose plate of mashed potato was so full of tomato sauce it looked like a murder scene.
“Sorry, kid.” She grinned, snapping the hair tie in place. “What?” She threw a demanding look Billy’s way.
Two apologies!? he wanted to say. Spoken from Bre’s lips, the words were a foreign language. Luckily, he loved languages, but this change in Bre … all her changes … he struggled to keep up. Billy dropped his gaze from her hair, his mind still reeling as he shook his head.
“Nothing.” It was nothing. Then again …
He didn’t remember tugging her hair loose, but Billy learned long ago that whenever Bre was around, his brain wasn’t in control of his body for long. Plus, he loved her hair, the smooth texture, and the way it was red or brown or gold, depending on the way the light played with each strand. Now, for instance, it glowed almost copper in the moody atmosphere the candles created. The low lighting sedated the children and provided lovely images for Sharee, he was sure, but it also felt a little too … intimate.
Bre laughed, pitching forward, the copper of her hair filling his field of vision. He wanted to reach out and touch it. Examine it in the flickering shadows. The feel and sight of the fine strands sliding through his thick fingers had transfixed him for years.
“So, Billy Boy.” Revv Ryder’s voice boomed through his ruminations, shattering the delicate mood Holly had so carefully curated. “You never answered my question. How’d you end up crippled?”
Revv’s crew squirmed in their seats, shovelling food into their mouths. Sharee, on the other hand, let her delicate mouth hang open, eyes flicking between Billy and Piers like they were playing a tennis match. The adults at the table all seemed to slow, the din muting.
Bre was going to kill Piers. Billy knew it, just like he knew she preferred pants to dresses and orange juice to apple.
“Piers.” The word hissed from Breanna, laced with poison.
“We don’t use that word,” ten-year-old Callum said around a mouth full of tempura prawn. “And, honestly, it’s not your business, right Uncle?”
Billy winked in acknowledgement at his nephew, and the entire table seemed to sigh. The clinking of glasses and general noise resumed once more. Sliding his hand beneath the table, he squeezed Breanna’s knee.
She shot him a look, a silent conversation striking up between them.
I’m okay. Let it go.
He’s such an arsehole!
You need him.
I despise him!
Piers was oblivious to the ripple effect he’d initiated through the family. Many around the table seemed to be holding their own quiet conversations about him. Respectfully, they waited for Billy’s story.
Clearing the lump of words in his throat, Billy spoke of the old train yard where rust, echoes of laughter, and playtime away from their parents had ruled their childhood. How the Carmichael brothers used to explore the giant, rusting playground. How their game of hide-and-seek had gone terribly wrong.
“Having four boys, Mum knew trouble would always find us, but that day, I found trouble first.”
Soon came the usual jokes about learning to do everything with the opposite hand, the tension breaking.
“Ever tried te wipe yer arse cack-handed?” Richard asked, slapping his knee. “My grandson’s a legend for his perseverance.”
Perseverance is right , Billy thought, eyes drifting to Breanna who chuckled along with his brazen grandfather.
Humour often helped dissolve the awkwardness of a situation, and while everyone laughed, he could retreat from the conversation, becoming the taciturn shadow on the wall once more.
“Many situations only require the one hand, Grandpa,” he said. “Some men have the full set and don’t know how to use them properly. A waste!” Billy smirked, scratching his bearded chin as laughter peeled from the adults, and confusion grew among his nephews.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he heard Graham explain to his children, wiping at his eyes. “Off to bed, the lot of you.”
“AW, DAAAD!”
“Don’t forget,” Nick added, “you’ll want all your energy tomorrow to find the pickle and win the game! I know all of you are dying to open a present early … and think of the favours you’d be able to get from everyone!”
Sufficiently enticed, the children went round the table saying goodnight and offering hugs to most, before racing each other out the front door and towards the cabin.
“I’ll get them organised.” Holly stood, taking her leave. “Be back soon.” Shooting a look between Graham, Billy, and Piers, she added, “Behave yourself.” Graham offered a tight-lipped smile.
“He always does. Graham’s the good one, eldest son and all that,” the twins chimed on either side of Sharee DeLuca, who had finally placed her phone face down on the table and was enjoying the meal with the family. Billy noticed his eldest brother shooting venomous looks towards Revv Ryder whenever the TV show host opened his mouth to toss in a tedious observation or rhetorical question. Or when, as happened frequently, Revv’s too-loud fake laugh attempted to draw attention his way. Catching Graham’s eye, Billy raised an eyebrow.
You okay? Graham’s look queried, followed by something Billy could only interpret as: because if you’re offended by this guy, Bre and I can take him outside and flog him. It’s no trouble.
Billy nodded appreciatively. All is well, brother.
Good. Graham nodded before indicating with a thumb jerk then a quick flick of his wrist in Revv’s direction: Wanker.
A chunk of sausage lodged in Billy’s windpipe with alarming speed.
Bre stood, pounding his back as tears flooded Billy’s eyes. Revv eyed them suspiciously. Graham, smug as ever, silently offered a top-up of water from the carafe.
Communication isn’t difficult , Billy mused, gulping cool liquid. Especially when two people spoke the same language, whether that was verbal or otherwise.
“So,” Nick said a few moments later, “anyone find the pickle today?”
Revv looked scandalised as Liam joked, “Pretty sure Bruce did!” and Connor’s red wine sprayed all over Sharee’s fine white outfit.
“Shit, Sharee, I am sorry!”
“Language!” Nick scolded as Connor dived for a napkin. Ripping it from its surfing koala holder, he waved it in front of Sharee, clearly unsure if he should dab at the stains or abstain from touching her altogether.
After a few clicks of her camera – did the woman document everything? – Sharee swiped her hand in dismissal.
“It’s no trouble, honestly. Connor, it’s fine.” She took the napkin and threw it on the table, ignoring her stained clothing and his flushed cheeks as she dug her teeth into a corn cob, its juices spraying the twins. Running her mouth along the back of her hand, Sharee DeLuca, with all the grace of pig in mud, snorted a laugh. The twins just about melted in their sets beside her, completely smitten.
“You know, Sharee,” Bre said, smirking at the designer across the table, “You’re not what I expected at all!” She meant it as a compliment – Billy knew she did – but he saw Breanna’s spine stiffen then her shoulders fall as Revv mumbled from the end of the table, “Seems to be a bit of that going around.”
Excusing herself, Breanna stood and headed towards the bedroom. Revv watched her stomp up the stairs in her Doc Martens and those tight, stretchy pants. Not once did she cast a glance over her shoulder, and not once did Revv’s eyes leave her arse as she disappeared from sight.
Billy resisted the urge not to growl, Mine . Because she wasn’t his. Not really. Breanna Henderson belonged only to herself, and only shared what she wanted, when she wanted. She was his best friend, Bruce, though over the years he’d come to think of her less by that name she’d insisted upon as children. And calling her Bruce was becoming increasingly difficult the more she flaunted her growing femininity, in those damned stretchy pants. She didn’t want marriage – she’d made that clear – or anything more than what they usually shared at Christmas. That had to be enough.
“Night!” the D-grade celebrity called, heading out the door. Seconds later, loud revving indicated he had borrowed one of the farm vehicles to head back to the garage, where he’d sleep in relative comfort away from the loud, large family. With the Crank Shaft host absent, Billy breathed a little easier.
“Off te bed, grandson?” Richard asked, “or off te coddiwomple through the trees fer a while?”
“I need …” To think. Breathe. Soak in some silence. His eyes flicked to the ceiling, and the second storey above, where Breanna would be climbing into his bed.
Richard nodded. “Well, I’m off to scandalise ye grandmother.” He hitched up his plaid, near skipping down the hall, despite the walking cane. “G’night, ye wee gomeral!”
“Gomeral? How am I a fool, grandfather?”
Richard didn’t respond, shaking his head vaguely at the tinsel-framed family photos that hung in the long hallway.
Boots thumping on the wooden floorboards, Billy examined the images, smaller versions of himself, Breanna, Connor, Liam, Graham and Seth all beaming back. His mother called them all ‘her pride and joy’, every one of the six people whose lives were chronicled throughout the house.
A mud-covered Bruce, having just beaten Seth in a wrestling match, beamed out from the wall. It was his favourite image of her – an explosion of summer freckles and red-dusted cheeks, brilliant hair that shone like a gold halo around her head, wild eyes and that too-gappy grin children present to a camera right after losing a tooth.
She was strong. Fearless. Brilliant. Those things hadn’t changed. Everything else? He’d wanted it to change for so long, for Breanna to see the true depth of his feelings for her, and to finally admit those same feelings to herself, but now …
Gently closing the door, he shut the cool air inside and stepped into the humid night. Crickets and cicadas sung to each other from leafy places that retained the summer heat. Staring up at the Milky Way, he blinked up at the millions of stars scattered above, trying to swallow the ache in his throat and the words he wanted to say. Phrases such as ‘I love you’ and statements like ‘I want to be your baby’s father.’
There was no arguing these facts, despite how she’d likely try.
The ladder, propped against the side of the house, had his eyes trailing upwards to the open window of his bedroom, where he hoped she was waiting for the ‘later’ conversation she’d promised. Would she be ready to talk tonight? To explain? To free her tongue and let the words flow, unabated, as they always had?
Billy longed for Breanna to be around him, to fill his nostrils with her scent and to feel her presence, but just for a moment, he needed quiet. To think through everything Breanna had said – and what she still refused to discuss. He needed space, and there was no chance of finding it inside his family home.
Space, Billy knew, was not infinite. The acres of farm could often feel very crowded, not just with the surrounding, stoic evergreens, but with the sizeable, loud-mouthed Carmichael clan, their guests, and soon, the customers who would begin wandering the fields with their families.
Piers and Sharee would increase their content creation and officially begin filming for their respective audiences soon, causing massive waves in the wider digital world, which could all be very good … or very bad … for them all.
It was no wonder Bre was struggling to manage it all, and why that tight leash she’d kept on her many plans was slipping into anxiety.
“Frustrating woman,” he growled at the Southern Cross, remembering the look on her face only this morning when sheer panic had turned into a debilitation. How long had she been suffering? Nothing had ever seemed to phase Breanna Henderson … until now.
He took a moment to consider the years of overstuffed planners she’d kept, how she consistently added more to her calendar, and the lists upon lists she insisted on keeping, just to vigorously scratch items off. The way she’d helped his mother contact Sharee, orchestrating and organising their social media takeover this Christmas, before hesitantly giving them the reins. Piers and Crank Shaft , the spotlight on her and Edsel, and she’d managed to coordinate a film schedule and TV crew without anyone’s assistance or knowledge – all while anticipating she’d continue to work as usual on the Christmas tree farm.
And the baby! Was it his? Or someone else’s? The desire to know was a fishing hook in his heart, tugging sharply every time he considered it. All this, plus the ever-present threat that Elanor Henderson posed, from the property next door.
Many times over the years, Bre told him she didn’t want to be a mother, fearing she’d replicate Elanor’s mistakes and turn her children against her. It was no wonder she was scared to reveal the truth … and with the outdated notions her mother imposed, Billy could see why Bre had been worried he might drop to one knee and propose.
Not to mention their own personal Christmas Plans, laborious physical work during the day followed by equally hard, but much more enjoyable, sweaty nights. There was no way Billy would let her work the farm this season. Not because she couldn’t – hell, Bre was an excellent employee, chopping the trees, hauling them onto the ATVs, utes and trucks, netting and assisting to load them into cars, mount onto roof racks, or in trailers. She was capable, but after seeing today how quickly she tired from being on her feet, he knew she couldn’t carry on as usual this Christmas.
Bruce had always been strong, but there was no denying she was more ‘Breanna’ these days, and she’d wither quickly. Her ankles were bound to swell to the point of pain before 10am and she’d melt faster than ice in the inferno of an Australian Christmas. Breanna was pregnant during the hottest Australian December on record – but weren’t they all? – and she’d been completely overwhelmed.
Reconsidering the list of To-Do’s, or, at least, the tasks he knew about, Billy kicked at the ground. Any one of those agenda items alone was enough for him, but for Breanna, managing each of these matters, with their unique subtleties and considerations, was too immense.
Somehow, he needed to get her out of her head and speaking freely once more. Glancing up at his window, Billy felt that familiar knot clogging his throat. Later …
He was used to working to her timeline, but perhaps that, too, needed to change. Her health required that she slowed down. How the hell would he convince her to apply the brake? No one bossed Bruce around. The woman was a freight train, always heading somewhere at full speed, and unstoppable, He’d need a plan … and help …
A rock flicked from the toe of his shoe, a soft tink coming from low in the tree as it hit something solid. Kneeling down, a green line of light shimmered within the branches.
“Clever,” he mumbled towards the house, watching his parents dance in the light of one window. They’d never left the pickle so close to the house before. Doubtless everyone would bustle past it, delving deeper into the trees to work and play. He considered pocketing the trinket, but ultimately decided to leave it for someone else. Someone who needed it.
“I have all I could want,” he told the pickle ornament, his eyes returning to the window, half-formed plans and thoughts swirling as he climbed the ladder.
Perching on the sill, he watched Brenna’s chest rise and fall as she lay on his bed, already asleep. She was gorgeous, one arm curved above her head, her exposed skin glowing in the low light. He loved seeing her like this – so relaxed and oddly still. It was a rare sight and he soaked it in.
“Later,” he whispered, planting his long legs inside the room and gently shuffling inside. Eyeing the air mattress, he pursed his lips, weighing options, before shucking off his clothes. Brushing dark hair from his eyes, he considered Bre, her long red hair swirling across his pillow, his shirt barely covering the curves of hip and belly. Her nose periodically crinkled as she snored lightly.
“Beautiful,” he told her, hoping the praise permeated the veil between them and seeped into her dreams.