Chapter Three

Jack glanced around the table at all these faces which had suddenly appeared in his life – like strange apparitions from the past. They were all present: the Stewarts, Sally's family, the Mackenzies, most of whom he had only briefly met. There was no Brett Macklin however, who upon being told the news of his daughter's bleak outlook replied it probably wasn't appropriate if he became too closely involved. And perhaps he was right. Why start caring close to death when you had never cared in life?

As all these old faces questioned him about his recent past he was reminded of dinners at the caravan park before the marriage when he used to receive grillings from Morag and unnecessary fishing tips from Alf. Except this time there was no Martha. Instead he was seated between Macca and Matilda. They were well into the fourth course of a Thai banquet and Jack had already consumed four glasses of red even though he was no longer a heavy drinker. Macca meanwhile was knocking back the beer, and indulging in reminiscing as he did so.

"You remember Martha's nineteenth?"

"Yeah, that was a great night. A big one."

"We had some fun didn't we?"

"Sure did."

"Mate, they were the best days of my life. I didn't realise how good I had it – Cassie, Bub, the bay. And then I stuffed it all up."

"But it seems you and Cassie worked things out?" Jack glanced down towards the far end of the table where Cassie was seated, talking to Ric.

"She speaks to me now; we managed to sort something out after the accident. But she'll never forgive me and I don't expect her to."

"But you still like her?"

"Only girl I've ever loved." Macca laughed and shook his head. "Pathetic really."

Jack couldn't help but pity Macca – a rare chance at real happiness destroyed by his own weakness and brutal actions.

"Anyway, I think the point was to try and not be depressed tonight. Sorry mate."

"Nah, that's ok."

"So, what are you doing these days?" It was clear Macca was eager to change the subject.

"Still in the squad – in Perth."

"And you're still going out with Sam?"

"Yeah. She's great" Jack added, unsure what else to say.

"Why didn't you and Martha keep in touch?" Macca asked abruptly, and Jack suddenly realised he was being interrogated, yet in an undesired switch in the power balance, he found himself as victim, not perpetrator.

"I don't know, I guess we just drifted apart. Had no real reason to."

"It's a shame really."

"What is?"

"What happened between you two. The way it finished up." Jack wished Macca hadn't said that. In fact he wished this entire conversation wasn't happening.

"Yeah well, some things just aren't meant to be. Anyway I'm very happy with Sam."

"Sorry mate," Macca said quickly, finally noticing Jack's unease. "I didn't mean to suggest you weren't."

"You didn't," Jack cut in. "It's fine, just no use dredging up the past that's all. Anyway excuse me for a minute would you, I've got to use the loo." As Jack left the table he wondered what he was doing here. It was supposed to be easy. One quick phone call and one quick divorce. Instead he was amongst all these people he had tried to forget, in a city he didn't live in, away from his life and its comfortable routine. Away from the woman he loved and the boy he called his own. What had he thought coming here would achieve? Closure? As if it was that simple, he realised angrily, and scorned his own naivety. As he reached the bathroom door he wanted nothing more than to keep walking; out of the restaurant, the dinner and the lives of all these people, who marched incessantly towards him, brandishing their questions and their memories.