Page 47 of Forget

Wasn’t that the kind of behaviour he’d witnessed from his dad repeatedly? When his mother presented George with a meal he didn’t like, or expressed an opinion opposite to his, or didn’t acquiesce to his every demand?

He’d watched his father repeatedly snap at his mother, mutter put-downs, argue, or withdraw. He’d seen it time and time again, and he’d hated George for it.

At the same time Brock had seen the hurt in his mum’s eyes, the compressing of her lips so she wouldn’t say something more to set George off, the emotional shutdown when she’d carefully keep her expression neutral, the careful choice of words.

Did he make Jayda feel like that?

‘Wine?’ Pat held up a bottle of Shiraz and Brock nodded by rote, too stunned and sick to his stomach to say anything.

He needed to get out of here, now.

Pushing back his chair so fast it almost upended, he glimpsed Jayda’s startled expression.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, fleeing the table without a backward glance, desperate to get outside and clear his head.

His gut churned with dread as he rushed past the incoming crowd and burst out of a side door, almost running into a guy in his sixties wearing a cowboy hat and a purple tux. Brock blinked when the guy grinned at him as if they were old buddies.

‘You must be George’s son?’ The cowboy stuck out his hand. ‘Duke Lingham. I own the yard a few kilometres down the road from your dad.’

Rattled that a second guy in as many minutes had pegged him for George’s son when he thought they looked nothing alike, Brock shook his hand.

‘Your dad says you’re into computers?’

If Brock had been surprised a few seconds ago at being recognised, shock rendered him speechless at the thought of his father discussing him with his cronies.

When Duke stared at him expectantly, Brock gathered his wits to reply, ‘Yeah, I’m in software design.’

‘Sounds fancy.’ Duke nodded, as if he understood what that entailed. ‘George is proud of you. Always drops your name into conversation.’

Duke studied him through slightly narrowed eyes, as if sizing him up. ‘All the car-yard owners in the Western suburbs get together monthly at a pub in Melbourne. Swap stories. Tell tall tales. You know how it is.’

Yeah, he did. He travelled the country, occasionally overseas, doing the same thing at computer conferences.

Not particularly perturbed by Brock’s ongoing silence, Duke continued. ‘Of course, we all know George’s secret to success.’ Duke winked and nudged him with a bony elbow. ‘Bette is amazing, especially sticking with your dad through the tough times.’

The twinkle faded from Duke’s eyes. ‘I guess I don’t have to tell you their marriage hasn’t been smooth sailing because your dad can be a cantankerous bastard, but not only has Bette dealt with his crap, she’s smoothed his rough edges and made him mellow in his forties.’

Agog, Brock listened intently as Duke continued. ‘Not many wives stick by their men in this industry, too much BS, but Bette is a cracker. Always supportive no matter how much George tries to bully her. Not that she puts up with much of his crap thesedays and good for her. I guess weathering the tough stuff makes them a good team and I envy that.’

Duke held up his bare ring finger. ‘My missus shot through twenty years ago and no woman will put up with me since.’

Brock didn’t offer a trite apology. Besides, he was trying to assimilate the news about people admiring his parents’ marriage.

Even more startling, it sounded as if Duke knew what went on behind the closed doors of his folks’ marriage and was implying they’d got past their problems. And if that was true… had he been so hung up on the past, so narrow-minded, so damn judgemental, that he hadn’t noticed?

The possibility sat like a rock on his chest, making him crave air. He’d deliberately shunned contact with his folks for years. Yet in doing so, had he missed out on witnessing the changes Duke mentioned?

If what the old guy said was true, and he had no reason to lie, Brock needed to re-evaluate how he treated his parents. He needed to let go of his residual anger towards his dad and his ongoing disbelief that his mum would put up with a selfish, pushy husband, and reconnect with the only family he had.

He’d witnessed the subtle changes for himself lately and, combined with Duke’s rousing endorsement, Brock realised he needed to broach the yawning gap between him and his folks.

‘We argued like all couples do but my missus was nasty. Undercutting me every chance she got with her snideness. Your mum isn’t like that.’ Duke grinned. ‘I’ve seen her and your dad have a few doozy arguments but they forget it and move on.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘That’s the way to deal with conflict. Pity my missus didn’t stick around to find out.’

Lost for words and reeling from learning he might have misjudged his folks for years, Brock eyed the nearby door. At least Duke had served to take his mind off the realisation he wasmore like his father than he wanted to be. But now he wanted to escape back inside, far from startling revelations that made him view his parents as a flawed, resilient couple that had endured a rocky marriage to stay together.

‘Anyway, say hi to George for me, okay?’ Duke tipped his hat like he’d watched too many Western reruns on cable. ‘I called him the other day and he sounded in good spirits. At least, he was when your mum arrived for a visit.’

Brock nodded and shook Duke’s hand again. ‘I’ll mention that we met.’

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