Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
J ustin would have preferred to stay in the city and pretend it was an ordinary day. A day that didn’t include a funeral for a father he’d barely known.
When he’d discussed it with his mother on the phone the night before, she’d been sympathetic. "I'd go, but people might recognise me as his ex-wife and I don't want to make it all about me.”
“I don’t want to go,” he spoke thinly around the avocado-seed-sized lump in his throat. “I haven’t seen him in more than twenty years. But I have a feeling that I’ll regret it if I don’t.”
“You don’t have to stay long, stand at the back of the church and don’t draw attention to yourself."
And that was just what he intended to do. He had purposely arrived at five minutes to one.
He hadn't counted on the parking lot being full and having to leave the car all the way up the road.
He ran his palms down his trousers as he neared the open church doors. He was clean-shaven and smartly dressed in his nicest work suit. If anyone found out who he was, at least he’d look the part of a grieving son.
Not that he was.
He didn't remember anything about Boyd Wheeler. Or living in Maleny. All he knew was that Boyd had never tried to be a part of his life after he'd left the farm. Not a visit, not a phone call, not even an old-fashioned letter in the mail.
Rejection was all he knew from his father. So why did he feel the need to come? To be here for the man who had never been there for him?
Boyd had never attended a soccer game, an awards ceremony, or even his school graduation. His stepfather had though. His stepfather had been his dad, the male role model in his life and, alongside his mother, had raised him to be the man he was today.
The man that knew he was better than Boyd Wheeler. He would never reject his family. He could not miss this funeral and risk spending even a minute regretting it.
He nodded at the usher in the foyer who handed him the program. He looked down at the candid shot of Boyd. It looked like it had originally been a group shot and the designer had cropped everyone else out of it and zoomed in.
Justin had expected him to have aged and changed from the photos his mother had kept, but he wasn’t prepared for the frail old man who stared back at him.
He could have been mistaken for a much older man, not the fifty-four-year-old he was when he’d died of a heart attack.
Justin studied the features of the former Wheeler patriarch. Wrinkles, receding hairline, and age spots all over his face. He studied it for a hint of resemblance, but whether it was because he couldn't see it, or simply didn't want to, nothing jumped out.
He followed the sound of chatter into the main church hall and paused abruptly to stare around the crowded room filled with people he didn't recognise.
He shuffled past the crowd and tried to remain discreet in a darkened corner. Then he caught a woman squinting at him and knew he had been spotted. She was his mother's age, dressed in a smart black suit with long greying hair, and was walking directly towards him.
"Justin?" She had a kind, sweet voice.
He nodded and gave her his best leave-me-alone smile.
"I'm Nina Montgomery. We spoke on the phone."
He recognised her voice now. The quiet determination she had used to convince him to have a funeral. Justin had wanted to send the body straight to the crematorium, without a service of any kind.
"Oh, hi." He shook her hand, the polite, well-mannered man his mother had raised taking over. "Thank you for doing all this."
"Of course. Everyone deserves a good send-off." She looked at him with eyes full of sympathy. "Now, come sit with us, and I'll let the minister know he can start."
He followed her to the front pew, conscious of people pointing and whispering around him. So much for not being recognised. His mother had warned him what small towns were like; everyone knew everyone and all their business. Justin liked his privacy and hated being the centre of attention. That's why he worked on computers all day. Alone.
"These are my daughters, Greer and Freya, and my husband, Mark," Nina said, pointing to two attractive young women and an older man, who nodded back. They all had warm smiles and friendly faces.
One of the women shifted over so he could sit beside her. He took the spot with a tight smile and sat on the cushioned bench.
The minister started speaking and it struck Justin that he didn't know if Boyd had been a religious man. His father and Barbara had been married in a church in Brisbane, surrounded by her family and friends. Boyd's own parents had died young and his mother had told him that there had been no one else to invite from his side. His funeral was the opposite, with standing room only and a sombre silent congregation.
All Justin knew of his father was what his mother had told him. His birthday was 12 December; he owned a small dairy farm in Maleny. Barbara had been notified of his death—still named as his next of kin after all these years.
It had taken twenty-six hours before anyone had realised Boyd was missing. He was only found when the farm manager had gone looking for him to help with the afternoon milking.
Boyd Wheeler had died alone.
Justin turned his head to take in the strangers sitting around him. Were all these people Boyd's friends? Had he been able to fill his life with mateship, so he didn't feel the loss of his son and family?
The minister invited Mark Montgomery to deliver the eulogy, and Justin watched as Nina’s husband stood behind the lectern and addressed the congregation.
Mark had a deep voice and a serious face. “Boyd and I were neighbours all our lives. He was a couple of grades above me at Maleny school, and I remember him being a quiet but astute student. He dropped out when he was fifteen to dairy with his dad, who then died a couple of years later. His mother was already gone, so he was on his own."
There was nodding and murmurs from the crowd, as though everyone was pausing to remember Boyd's parents and think about their own.
"He married Barbara in Brisbane, and he brought her here to live. They had one child, a son, Justin."
He felt the stares on the back of his neck and sunk lower in his seat.
Mark continued in his solid, stable voice. “They were happy for a few years, but as often happens, dairying wasn’t the life for Barbara, so she and Justin moved back to the city to be closer to her family. Boyd stayed on and ran the farm faithfully. He employed many locals over the years including Fred, his farm manager, and even the odd European backpacker. Like the rest of us, Boyd endured the ups and downs of the dairy industry, and when others gave up and left the land, he held onto his farm and cows, because that was the kind of bloke Boyd was."
Justin looked down at the picture again. His father had lived simply and quietly. If he was lonely, it was his own damn fault. If he had wanted to be in his son's life, he could have been. Justin and Barbara would have found a place for him in their lives. Barbara had called and written often over the years.
But Boyd had never answered their calls or letters. He had never come to visit or asked them to visit him.
But he had never even tried.
"Boyd was a steadfast part of the community. His loss is our loss. He will be missed." The church choir started singing as Mark returned to the pew.
He paused briefly to shake Justin's hand. "If you need anything, just ask us. Everyone here knew and liked Boyd."
"Thank you," Justin said. "I appreciate that."
Another sermon was read and then four men, including Mark, hoisted the coffin off the table and walked slowly down the aisle. “Amazing Grace” played through the speakers, and Justin felt emotion rise within him.
A warm hand slipped into his and he turned to see Freya, the blonde daughter, beside him. She squeezed his hand and encouraged him to walk behind the coffin. Stepping out into the sunshine, he was grateful for the clean air after the thick atmosphere in the chapel. He watched as the casket was carefully loaded into the hearse.
"He's going to the crematorium," Freya whispered near his ear. "Do you want to go?"
Justin watched as the door was closed, and he could no longer see the shiny brown casket through the tinted glass window. "No. I said my goodbye years ago."
He turned away from the car, needing to focus on something else, anything other than the car taking his father's body away to be burnt.
He looked at Freya. The light streaming through the trees gave her an ethereal quality. As though seeing her for the first time, he was captivated by her beauty. The scattering of freckles across her nose. The warm brown of her eyes and the soft blonde of her hair.
"I'm sorry for your loss. All of it." She smiled at him, and something passed between them. Empathy perhaps, understanding.
"Thanks." For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze, and beneath the buzz of his nerves, he sensed another connection being made. Something stronger than empathy. An alliance of sorts, that together they would get through this.
Then the crowds gathered. By now, the whole congregation had discovered who he was and wanted to learn more about Boyd's son and whatever had happened to him. Freya squeezed his hand before letting go and disappearing into the throng of people.
"Will you be staying long?" Deborah Deslop asked Justin as they sipped tea on the terrace outside the church
For what felt like the hundredth time today, Justin smiled politely and declared he was only up for the funeral.
"What will happen to the farm?" Mr Deslop leaned in. He had introduced himself as the town's bank manager.
"I'm not sure. I have an appointment with Boyd's lawyer this afternoon." He glanced at his watch, noting he still had plenty of time before he would have to leave. He had spotted Webster's Law Firm on Maple Street as he had driven through the one-street town. He had been surprised to see so many people out and about, sitting at the trendy-looking cafes, drinking coffee and reading papers.
Mr Deslop pulled out his card from his jacket pocket and presented it to Justin. “Your father banked with us his entire life. My details are all there if you need anything handled.”
“Thank you.” Justin put the card in his pocket. Accounts would have to be closed and things sorted out, just as soon as he talked to Stephen Webster. Justin was hoping he could leave it all in the lawyer’s capable hands. He planned on heading back to the city tonight and being back at work tomorrow morning.
"What do you do for a crust?" Mr Deslop asked.
Justin drew in a breath, once more feigning brightness. "I'm a software developer."
"Oh. Do you work for a big company in Brisbane?" Mrs Deslop looked like she was memorising the conversation, no doubt so she could tell all her friends at bridge.
"I freelance. I just finished a project for a travel agency chain." Justin loved talking about his work, but people didn't usually understand the technical aspects involved.
A woman's melodic laughter rang out, and Justin lifted his head in the direction the sound came from. Freya was grinning widely, deep in conversation with some people he hadn't met.
His pulse quickened as he studied her profile.
"I saw that you met Freya Montgomery already," Mrs Deslop said. "She's around your age. She has a sister, and two cousins too."
"Yes, her mother introduced us earlier," he replied and drained his teacup, wishing it was coffee.
"She works on computers too." Mrs Deslop nodded, her eyes wide. "You two would have lots to talk about."
"Really?" He nodded, lips tight.
"She does all the marketing and business development for Emerald Hills," Mr Deslop said. "It's become quite the empire, thanks to her."
Justin raised his eyebrows. She is the one behind Emerald Hills? He had seen their catchy advertisements online. Freya couldn't be more than twenty-five, but he of all people knew that hard work and a keen eye could achieve great things—especially using today's technology and social media. In a world of Insta-fame and YouTube streaming, anyone could become a star, and almost anything could go viral.
Mrs Deslop caught Freya's eye and waved her over. Freya excused herself from the group and walked toward them. Justin watched as she smiled and nodded at various acquaintances along the way.
"Thanks for coming." Freya hugged the older woman and shook her husband's hand. "How are you?"
They exchanged pleasantries, all the while Justin watched her. She was pretty, really pretty.
Mrs Deslop placed a chubby hand on his shirt. "Justin has just been telling us about his job. He's a software developer."
Freya turned inquisitive eyes on him. "Really? I would be very interested in talking to you, if you don't mind."
"Sure." He gestured to the table laden with refreshments. "I was just going to get another one."
"Nice to see you," she said to the Deslops who smiled and waved them off.
Freya leaned in close to Justin, and he felt her breasts brush his arm. "I'm dying for a coffee."
The sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. "Me too."
"Let's get all the good stuff before it’s gone," Freya said as they arrived at the table full of sweets and savouries. "Have you tried the carrot cake?"
"I haven't had a chance to eat anything yet."
"We can't let you go hungry. Mum and Greer spent hours cooking up this feast, so you have to at least try a taste."
Dutifully, he picked up a plate and loaded it with everything she pointed out, then watched as she poured two cups of coffee. He was just about to tell her to make his black when she lifted the milk jug.
"This milk is direct from Boyd's farm. It makes even instant coffee taste amazing." She poured it into the cups and stirred. "Let's go out the back. It's such a beautiful day, and I need some vitamin D." She carried the cups while he held the plate piled with food and followed her through a side-gate.
The day was warm despite being the middle of winter.
Freya led him to a bench seat under a huge tree. They sat separated only by the plate of food and their mugs of coffee.
"What a great spot," he said as he gazed down onto the town below.
Freya shifted closer to him and extended a long slender arm. "Do you see the supermarket?"
He inhaled her floral scent and looked where she pointed. "That big building?"
"That's it. They sell all sorts of local produce in there. Tourists come to Maleny just to shop there."
Justin noted the pride in her voice.
"Over there is the community centre.” She pointed across the street at an impressive two-storey building. “Lots of functions happen in there, including the dance school recitals, movie nights, and all the other events Maleny has on. There's always something going on."
"Have you always lived in Maleny?" He slid her a sideways glance.
"Sure have. I was born in the local hospital." She pointed in another direction where trees were heavily planted. "And I went to the local primary and high school. You can see the primary school, just up there."
He studied where she pointed and could just make out an oval and cluster of buildings. "If Mum hadn't left, that's where I would have gone to school." The words escaped him before he could stop them.
"Yep. You probably would have played soccer for the Maleny Rangers and worked at the supermarket in the holidays."
He frowned at her. "How did you know I played soccer?"
She laughed. "Most boys play either soccer or rugby, and you don’t look like a rugby player to me.”
Warmth spread through him. “Really? What else do I look like to you?”
She tapped a finger against her glossy lips and furrowed her brow. “You’re not a farm boy, so you couldn't fix a tractor. But you are smart. You would have gone to university in Brisbane and climbed the ranks quickly. Judging by that fancy suit, you probably earn a descent salary too."
He looked down at his black jacket and trousers. She was right, of course. How different his life would have been if he had stayed in the country. If, instead of spending his weekends in front of a computer, he had been on the farm learning about cows and machinery. Working with his hands and helping to produce a product that fed the nation.
"What's your story then, Freya Montgomery? Have you ever been to the big smoke?"
She threw him a wide smile, and he got the impression she never let anything bother her. "Actually, I studied business management at the University of Queensland at St Lucia for a year. Then I transferred to the University of The Sunshine Coast and changed to business marketing."
He gave her an apologetic look. She appeared too good to be true. "Are you married?"
"I'm not married, no." She blushed. It was adorable and did nothing to curb his burgeoning attraction.
A young boy came running over then, and threw himself at Freya.
"Nana gave me chocolate cake," he exclaimed and licked his lips. His mouth was smeared with chocolate, and Freya reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and started wiping it away.
Justin's heart sank. The child's resemblance to Freya was unmistakable and she had a tender, delicate way with him.
The boy looked up at Justin curiously. "Who are you?"
Freya bounced him on her knee. "This is Justin. He's Boyd's son."
"Sorry your dad died," the boy said before sliding off Freya's lap and giving Justin a quick hug. "He was nice."
Justin patted the boy's back, overcome by the affectionate gesture. "Thank you. What's your name?"
"Finn. I'm in grade one," he said, very seriously.
"Really? What's your favourite subject?"
Finn furrowed his brow and paused, deep in thought. "Lunch."
Freya laughed and pulled him over, so she could snuggle into the boy's neck. He giggled and squirmed before breaking free and running back around the house.
"Finn is my cousin’s son. His dad owns the local butchery."
Justin couldn't help the relief that swept through him. "So, he's not yours?"
She shook her head and smiled. "No. I'm so single I still live at home with my sister and parents."
His heart did a somersault and his adolescent crush took on a new level.
"You should come for dinner tonight. Mum's already cleared out Boyd's fridge."
"Thanks, but I'm going back to Brisbane after my appointment with the lawyer."
"How are you going to find time to go to the farm as well?"
"I'll organise someone to clean out Boyd's things. I don't plan on keeping the property."
Freya's face fell. "But you only just got here. You have to at least see the farm before you leave. It's where you were born." She turned pleading eyes on him. "Please, stay tonight and come to dinner."
He liked the way she didn't ask a lot of questions. She never referred to Boyd as his father either. It was a simple thing, but he appreciated it.
He gave a sigh of surrender. She made him feel warm and wanted with her interest and he hated to disappoint her. "Fine, okay. One night."
Her whole face lit up with her smile. "You won't regret it. Greer is a chef, and her pasta is amazing."
The delight on her face made his insides tumble, and he wondered if this was such a good idea. His life was in Brisbane. He didn't need any ties to Maleny. Not his father's property and certainly not this farm girl.
Even if she had managed to turn one of the worst days of his life into one of the best.