Mac laughed. ‘Well, actually, she’s my wife.’
‘ No,’ said Bronnie, putting her left gloved hand on Mac’s forearm.
‘Ah, yes – about two years ago; we have a little girl, a year old.’
Mac pointed at the Commodore where three sets of eyes were focused on them. ‘She’s the one on the far side, Rachel.’
Bronnie peered into the car and the kids stared back. ‘She’s gorgeous,’ said Bronnie.
‘Thanks,’ said Mac.
‘So Jenny’s here?’ said Bronnie, the grip tightening on Mac’s arm.
‘I mean, on the Gold Coast?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Mac reluctantly.
Bronnie let him go and looked up at the sky, a little fl ustered or overcome. ‘I have to, I need to… um, Mr McQueen…’
‘Alan. Call me Alan.’
‘Jenny saved my life,’ she blurted out. She shook her head, as if arguing with something in the sky. ‘I’ve spent every day since that night thinking about her, wondering how I could thank her.’
With that she started crying, tears running down her face. Mac reached into the 7-Eleven bag, tore open the Kleenex box and pulled out a handful of tissues. Bronnie reached for them as three schoolgirls walked past, looking Mac up and down like he was a pervert. The car door opened, Mac looked over. ‘Everything cool, bro?’ asked Johnny.
Mac mouthed yeah, and gave a thumbs-up. Johnny shut the door.
Bronnie’s chest heaved with sobs and Mac got closer to her, put a hand gently on her right arm. Her two boys looked up at him with big dark eyes. She sniffl ed, dabbed at the tears, attempted a smile through puffy lips. ‘You know, your wife got me through the worst night of my life,’ she said. ‘Did she tell you that?’
‘She said you got through together.’
‘I wanted to die that night. Mum was useless, Gavin couldn’t deal with it. And Dave – my beautiful brother – stayed with me but couldn’t talk. He was in shock.’
She took a deep breath, composed herself. ‘But your wife – that angel – stayed with me all night and she was taking all these calls, and other cops were coming into the room and she was ordering them around and signing forms. But she stayed with me, kept me talking, let me cry.’
Bronnie dabbed under her sunnies.
‘And then, at dawn, she pulled back the curtains, and you know what she told me?’
Mac shook his head.
‘She said, You can let the bastards ruin your day, but not your life.’
Mac laughed. It sounded like Jenny all over.
‘When I was in Royal Brisbane we had to keep rehab diaries.
They’re supposed to make you think in terms of recovery, not loss.
And the Salvation Army helpers would do my writing because of my hands, and I kept getting them to write what Jenny had told me,’ she chuckled. ‘And they didn’t want to write bastard. And I’d say, Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell God it was my idea.’
Mac laughed. They spoke for a few more minutes and swapped phone numbers. Then Bronnie gave him a hug and as Mac turned to go she said, ‘So tell me: how did you and Jenny get together?’
Mac smiled. ‘I got lucky.’
