Page 3 of One More Time

One single second.

One wrong move.

Boom.

The life he’d known was well and truly over.

Forty-three years on, and he could still recall every detail of the explosion that had taken the lives of his two friends, and half his leg. Many times, he’d thought of ending it all – he’d spent six long years with the barrel of a gun in his mouth and a bottle of whisky in his hand. Those had been his darkest of days. The only reason he was still here had been at first for his darling Hope, and was now for his two beautiful granddaughters as well. The three of them brought him so much joy. He just wished they didn’t live a four-hour drive away. How uncanny it was that his only daughter had gone and married an infantry soldier. Talk about history repeating. He just prayed Kelvin didn’t go and break his daughter’s heart, like he had his darling Grace’s. PTSD had a way of making a man do things he’d never dream of. And boy oh boy did he know how the suffocating darkness could consume any possibility of a happy life.

Swinging his legs over the bed, he felt one foot hit the floor and heard the clomp of his other before he slowly eased up to standing. Making his way into the spare room, he methodically took the clothes he’d laid out on the bed this morning with Hope’s help, and after stripping off his boxer shorts and shirt, got dressed in his finest suit, matching tie and gleaming Oxford shoes. Then, heading to the bathroom, he popped some brylcreem in his thick silver hair, combed it into position, cleaned his teeth and sprayed on his favourite cologne – this one had always been Grace’s favourite too.

Popping two painkillers into his mouth, he bent to take a mouthful of water from the tap. Preferring not to take the prescription drugs after his years of addiction, and long-winded recovery thereafter, he’d resolved that he needed the relief of analgesics tonight. Because, if everything went to plan and she accepted his hand, he wanted to waltz Grace around the dance floor, just like they used to all those years ago. Dancing had been their solace. He sought to feel her near him. He craved to be able to breathe her in. Just one more precious time. But, as the title of the Rolling Stones song said, ‘you can’t always get what you want’. In his case, contrary to what they’d affirmed in the very next line of the ballad, he’d barely been able to get what he needed either.

But a man could dream, especially when dreams were all he had left.

His hand sliding along the timber banister of the two-storey homestead, Charlie took his time descending the stairs. He knew he needed to seriously think about moving his bedroom to the ground floor, but he just wasn’t ready to accept he’d reached that point in his life. Although his spirit still felt no more than thirty years young, his true age was defying him – his joints creaking and groaning almost as much as he did, or so Hope liked to teasingly tell him.

Wandering down the hallway and into the lounge room, he took a seat in his reclining chair. With twenty-five minutes until he was meant to arrive, he still had fifteen minutes to kill. He’d become a master of killing time over the years. Somehow, someway, one day to the next, year after year, his life had been an internal struggle of survival, of getting through a moment to then get through the next. Try as he might, he’d allowed himself to become a victim of his past, instead of the survivor he so longed to be – a characteristic he was none too proud of, but felt helpless to change.

Staring toward the blank screen of the television and then to the mantelpiece above – the ledge void of the happy family photos he wished with all his broken heart were there – he closed his eyes and heaved a weighty breath. There was only himself to blame for all the lack and the loss. Maybe, if there was an afterlife, he could make it up to Grace when they met there.

Precisely fifteen minutes later, he climbed behind the wheel of his fifteen-year-old sedan, wound his window down while he waited for the roller door to slide up, popped the hand-shift into reverse and eased out of the carport. The salty scent of the sea drifted in and he breathed it in deep. Something about it always helped to ease a little of the ache from his heart and soul. Travelling down the winding driveway, past the line of macadamia and avocado trees his great-grandfather had planted, he reached the front gates of the five-acre coastal property he’d called home since he was twelve. He’d inherited the estate when his precious grandmother had passed away, and had been offered a pretty penny for the place over the years – Rodger had been the highest bidder – but he wasn’t about to let go of the one place that still held a piece of his heart. Grace held the rest of it, and always had.

He turned toward the main street of town, his gaze occasionally drifting from the road, to where a few bike-riders and walkers with dogs in tow made their way along the palm-lined pathway. Gentle waves lapped at the horseshoe-shaped shoreline, seagulls swooping into sparkling blue-green water in search of their next meal. A little girl skipped along in front of her mother, a bucket in one hand as she bent to gather seashells so white they looked as if they had been bleached. That had been Hope, in days gone by, her smile like sunshine as she found magic in so many things with endearing childlike wonder. He missed those days more and more as time passed him by. If only his granddaughters lived nearby, he would relive such enchanting moments with them.

He stopped at the first pedestrian crossing. A young couple crossed in front of him arm in arm, their love evident, as was their happiness in each other’s company. He wanted to call out and tell them not to take each other for granted, and to hold on tight to what they had, but zipped his lips shut – he’d just look like some silly old fool.

Easing along the cobblestone street of Romance Avenue, he passed the pretty-as-a-picture stores and cafes, some shopfronts retro, some colonial, some rustic – all distinctive in their own right. Side streets stretched upwards like capillaries from the main artery of the township to reach softly rolling hills, a place called home by the six and a half thousand residents—the majority of them retirees now that jobs were few and far between.

He pulled into the parking lot of the newly renovated Sapphire Bay Yacht Club, and switched off the engine. Fairy lights had been strung along the railings, and the new timber deck with waist-high glass panels provided the perfect place to admire the views over the sparkling harbour with a glass of wine, or three.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie reminded himself he could do this – he could be among all these people who knew how much he’d failed Grace over the years, especially the earlier ones. As he climbed from the car and made his way inside, he pondered the fact that the old building had gone through quite a few transformations over the years – from derelict shack to a council restoration project, to a dance hall, to a second-hand shop, to a failed seafood restaurant and finally to what it was now. Although all new and shiny-looking, the building had lost its lustre, in his opinion. It was a charmless shadow of its former glory. Like him, it had taken on a new identity over the years, and the potential Grace had seen in it now benefitted someone else.

It should have been her. And he should have been beside her, encouraging her dreams and making her happy.

If only he had the power to turn back the clock. He’d do everything in his power to make his life more about living and less about survival; less about loss, and more about love.

CHAPTER

2

Grace felt like the luckiest woman alive. Eighty-five people had been invited, and almost all of them had come. It was now two hours into the festivities and the night was in full swing. The three-piece band was doing a fabulous job of drawing people onto the shimmering dance floor and, with the occasional slow song, into each other’s arms. Elaborately decorated round tables had been placed to face the stage and the bi-fold doors had been pushed back, allowing the room to flow out onto the moonlit terrace overlooking the sea.

It was bittersweet for Grace. Even now, after all these years, she could still picture what her teashop would have looked like, if she’d had the chance to make her dream a reality. She would have called it Serendipity – she loved the enchanted meaning – and it would have been a place to eat delicious cakes, drink fine tea, to fall in love with the sweeping views and, possibly, even with another.

Making her way from one table to the next, wanting to make sure she thanked everyone who’d made an effort to be there, Grace regarded the long buffet tables lined with silver platters and delicacies galore. Above, draped from the ceiling, were hundreds of sparkling gold lights. It was exquisite, but certainly a far cry from how this old relic used to be. Gone were the rustic open-beam ceilings, striking stone walls and characteristic timber floors, replaced with all the modern conveniences and abstract art that made absolutely no sense to her. Although pleasant, the place had lost its heart, its soul.

She blinked the present into her focus. All around her, the champagne was flowing as easily as the conversation and laughter – it was a wonderful distraction from her failing health. Fleetingly, she wondered if she’d see her next birthday, or her grandbabies’ Holy Communion, or Christmas for that matter, but she quickly shrugged the melancholy off as Hope approached her. Living in the moment was all she had, and she was going to make the most of every single breath.

‘There you are, Mum.’ With a delighted smile, Hope clasped her hands beneath her chin. ‘It’s almost time for your surprise.’

‘It is, is it? Grace placed a tender hand on Hope’s arm. ‘You’re looking very mischievous, sweetheart.’ She tipped her head to the side. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘Of course not.’ Hope gave an angelic smile. ‘It’s not like I’ve gone and gotten you a stripper. Or have I?’ She wriggled her brows teasingly.

Grace lightly slapped her. ‘Oh, stop it, or you’ll give me a heart attack.’

The band stopped playing, and the singer asked everyone to kindly take a seat, and to turn their attention to the stage.