Half an hour later, Andie’s warning echoing in my ears, Bea drove us into the cavernous G5 hangar. Smithy and I were crammed in the back seat with an agitated Vovo, her fur electrified and claws extended to puncture costly leather. Cherish, likewise antsy next to Bea in front, meowed pitifully and scratched at the window. Apparently, the cats were averse to mechanical forms of transport. I’d forgotten to ask why we were taking them at all, and considered dosing them with my potion for the twenty-three hour journey to Lafayette. Fortescue arrived in the Mini with Daniel and Mrs Paget.
Smithy got out and stood awestruck by the jet. “Where’s the pilot?”
Bea had popped the trunk of the Bentley and commenced unloading rectangular weapons cases to the tarmac. Fortescue packed them onto an upright forklift and ferried them for depositing in the plane.
“Here,” she replied brusquely. She could fly well enough, but it was not her favourite pastime.
Daniel joined her at the back of the car, carting the larger, heavier boxes. “Here.”
I grappled the reluctant Vovo into her travelling cage. It might have been easier had I a dead rat or water buffalo to tempt them in, but made do with the sole of my Converse sneaker. With the gate firmly locked, she yowled up a storm.
“And here. Quit it, sook.”
“Since when?” Smithy stopped helping with the equipment. “You never told me.”
“I guess I didn’t really get the chance, Smithy. We’ll teach you if you want.”
Observing Vovo’s downfall, Cherish adopted an alternate strategy. He scrambled up as though scaling a tree and wrapped himself around me; his claws were sharp and he was heavy. Only my knees were visible beneath his bulk, my face pressed into his coat.
“A little help?” I yelled prior to suffocation. “Get off me, you big pansy!”
This was the bit I’d been dreading. Just one act remained when the loading was finished. Mrs Paget and Fortescue lingered by the cars, looking despondent. Bea went first to her for a hug, dabbing at her cheek with a lace-edged hanky, before moving to Fortescue. Mrs Paget’s eyes welled with tears.
“Please, Grace. I shan’t be able to bear it if you cry.” The jet powered up in the background, Daniel at the controls.
Smithy took his turn, the tiny lady disappearing in his embrace. “Have a little faith, Mrs Paget. We’ll be back in a couple of days. We’ll have a welcome home party.”
He shook hands with Fortescue, whose countenance was stoic. “Take care of Winsome. Please ensure she returns, whole and healthy. You’ve seen my sword collection, Vegas. I’ll be most disappointed if you do not take care of yourself, also.”
“I’ll endeavour not to disappoint you, Fortescue,” Smithy said.
Bea fled into the plane before she was overwhelmed. I stepped to Mrs Paget and smiled. She appeared uncertain as I opened my arms to her.
“It’s okay, I’m under the influence.”
“My life is complete having known you, Winsome.”
She squeezed me hard, murmuring something about darkness that I didn’t catch. I didn’t like her use of the past tense and pulled away to hold her at arm’s length.
“No, it’s not. There are still many years of my mess for you to clean up. My generation lives at home forever and I’m absolutely incompetent at taking care of myself. Are you listening, Mrs Paget? I expect cake on my arrival.”
“Never forget how much I love you.”
She broke off with a sob and dashed for the Mini, screeching from the hangar. This was even worse than I’d anticipated. Fortescue, whose face showed the same fierce devotion as the night he’d launched into my room wearing purple socks, spear in hand, stepped up for a hasty clinch.
“You are a daughter to me, Winnie. The best child a father could wish for. And fathers do not outlive their daughters. I am confident this is a parental directive you will accomplish with aplomb.” His tone was firm, though his eyes gleamed.
“I love you too, Fortescue.”
He noisily cleared his throat, blinked a lot and nodded, before tracking Mrs Paget’s footsteps to the Bentley. The engine roared and he steered out into another striking summer day.
“Do you get the feeling they think we’re heading naked into a nuclear winter?” Smith asked over the whine of the jet.
“It’s not exactly a vote of confidence, is it?”
“Oh no,” Smithy groaned. “Hit me with some allayver, Bear. Make it a keg.”
The judge’s unmistakable silver Audi RS6 eased into the shed. I peered up at the cockpit, where Bea froze next to Daniel. They’d both seen our uninvited guest. The judge bounded from the car, wearing Volleys, cut-off jeans and a Walking Dead t-shirt. I didn’t like its teeming zombie image one bit. How the hell did he know where we were?
He slung an overnight bag over his shoulder, retrieving a thick paper, sunnies and a wide-brimmed straw hat from the front seat. Locking his car with a bleep, he strode towards us, a determined smile on his face.
“I’m sorry, Bear. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Go, quickly. I’ll sort it.”
“Now don’t have a cow, Vegas,” Judge Smith shouted and raised a conciliatory hand, as his son stomped off to the plane. “I realise it’s not the most fitting circumstance for a father-son catch up …” His good cheer faltered.
“Hi, Judge Smith.” I moved to intercept him.
“Good morning, Winsome. I’m sorry to hear about the death in your family.”
“Nash.” Bea hurtled down the steps from the plane, her oversized black shirt flapping. She wore leggings that showcased her long, svelte legs and black knee-high boots, her cheeks rosy with stress.
He surveyed my black combat pants and black singlet, his frown deepening. “I understand the need for black, but what’s with the military theme? We’re not mourning the demise of a right-wing extremist, are we?” His joke fell flat. He paused until Bea joined us, before wading on. “I apologise for the intrusion, Bea. I’d like to accompany you wherever you’re going. If you’re amenable, of course.”
Bea and I stood with mouths agape. Vegas didn’t inherit his obstinacy from thin air. The judge could convince children calculus was fun and we knew arguing was pointless.
“I understand the situation is not ideal.”
Bea recovered poise and offered a credible smile. “Certainly, Nash. Please, take a seat inside and we’ll have a chat.” She gestured towards the plane and watched as he put distance between us, before sidling close and muttering, “Winsome, you must discover if he can see the Deltas as soon as possible. I don’t have plan B if they are not visible to him. It is too dangerous for Nash and even more dangerous for us. We may be forced to abandon him in Hawaii, which won’t win us any favours and is clearly the least attractive alternative.”
She spun and tramped towards the judge, where he lingered at the bottom of the steps to let her precede him up into the cabin. Who said old-fashioned chivalry was dead? I entered the luxurious confines of the plane. Over the top of his front-facing seat, Smith’s scowl said it all. He sunk beyond view and I accepted I could not count on his help with the judge. His anger was too acute. Who could really blame him?
The door retracted, muffling outside clamour to enhance the prickly atmosphere within. Bea settled Judge Smith in his seat and stowed his bag underneath.
“Forgive me, Nash. I must copilot until we’re underway. Make yourself comfortable. Winnie will see to any requests you have.”
She disappeared into the cockpit. He stared out the window as the plane taxied down the runway. I sank into the buttery leather opposite and eased the strain with small talk.
“It’s good to see you, Judge Smith.”
“Please, call me Nash. I get the urge to strike my gavel every time you call me Judge.”
“Um, okay … Nash. How was Bermuda?” I took a leaf out of Andie’s book and waved my hands about as I spoke. The judge regarded me as though I was high, which wasn’t too removed from the truth.
“I returned far less burdened. Thank you for asking, Winnie. And the Whitsundays?”
Two could play the vague game. “The week was packed, very busy. I got sunburned and we had to stay indoors for a while.”
He eyed my combat attire, both of us worthy of politics. My hair was braided through a cap and Smithy wore similar clothes with thick-soled Army lace-ups. Ours weren’t exactly the right outfits for ordinary pursuits.
“It’s a shame you had to cut your holiday short.”
“Yes, we barely had time to unpack.” I arranged my arms in my lap. Maybe I’d been flailing about too much. “We didn’t have to come home, but I didn’t want Bea to go alone.” Perhaps if I asked him to smell my perfume?
“That’s kind of you, Winnie. Are you and Vegas indulging in boot camp prior to the wake?”
I laughed half-heartedly. How would I explain Daniel and his Matrix combo? The voice in my head screeched, ‘Forget how we’re dressed and look at my arms, damn you!’
“Most of our clothes are in the wash.”
“Ohh.”
My answer seemed to satisfy him. I scrambled around for another topic, idle banter not my most well-practised activity. My preferred mode of communication was the ‘walk and wave’.
“Nice jet.”
“It’s Fortescue’s.”
“I had no idea that butlering was so lucrative.”
“His main profession is in ancient manuscripts. He’s an expert and travels widely. This is a business acquisition.”
“Ahh, fascinating.” He crossed his legs and surveyed me with a pensive gaze. “Another glorious Sydney day. How are you adjusting to returning to Australia, Winnie?”
He deserved an engraved plaque for persistence. If only I could adopt sullen indifference like others my age, but I was too well-raised and didn’t have the heart to be so rude. Unlike his brat of a fixedly silent son.
“I would be thrilled if I never had to go anywhere else again. The heat was a bit of a shock. I’d forgotten how beautiful this city is.”
He chuckled. “I suppose one would get sick of bouncing around the world after a while.”
Surely this torture could not go on for the endless hours trapped in this cabin? I fantasised about sticking Smithy with a cattle prod just to hear if his voice box still worked. Now was definitely not the right time to ask for the judge’s account of his dead wife.
“I really thought you of all people would never succumb to peer pressure or passing fad, Winnie.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re beautiful without embellishment.”
“Er, thank you. Embellishment?” I fished.
Smithy popped above the back of his chair to scrutinise his father from across the aisle, leaning forward as the turbines gathered speed and we readied to lift from the runway.
“Nice of you to join us, Vegas.”
“What did you mean about Bear?” The intensity of his son’s question clearly took the judge by surprise.
“Nothing offensive, I assure you.” The judge smiled at me. “It’s all class.”
“Oh, for the love of … Spit it out, Dad.”
“I see years of nagging have failed to impress upon you courtesy, Vegas. I was delighted when you lost interest. It’s fine for the youthful, but what about as age sets in? What was once Marilyn Monroe slides into Shrek.”
“Please,” Smithy begged.
The judge squinted suspiciously at his son. He reached over and gestured for my hand. “May I?” I placed mine in his and he flipped it palm up. “Tattoos. Very unusual, I’ve never seen anything quite like them. So … vivid.” He let me go. “Do the symbols represent—”
Heedless of manners or the precipitously angled floor, I vaulted up, ran to the cockpit and flung the door open. Bea broke from attending the instrument panel to look over her shoulder at me, lifting one headphone so she could hear.
“The judge can see my Deltas.”
“Another Trinity draftee. How unfortunate.” Bea sighed. “That certainly simplifies things.”
Daniel pushed the throttle lever full forward and the altimeter climbed. “Nattering can wait. Take your seat until I tell you, Winsome.”
I made a face at Daniel and mumbled, “Toss wit” loud enough for him to hear. Retreating to my seat next to a perplexed-looking judge, the plane’s nose tilted into the headwind and we left terra firma for less solid realms.
