His mother’s eyes glistened and a few silent tears dripped onto her cheek. She hurriedly wiped them away.
‘Mamá, please talk to me.’
‘I’m fine, Gabriel.’ She sniffed, wiped her eyes again. ‘I think maybe you should go see Bruce and explain.’
He didn’t want to see Bruce. ‘I’m not leaving you.’
‘Angela’s here, she won’t mind staying for a while.’
‘After a shock like that, it’s not safe for me to drive,’ Angela said.
‘See?’ Her smile lacked warmth, power, hope. ‘Please, I think it’s best if you go.’
Was she upset with him? She seemed fragile, like a touch from him and she’d shatter. Numb, he kissed her on the cheek and she squeezed his hand. She was adamant that he leave her alone, although shouldn’t he stay and make this right? But if he’d learned anything over the years, it was always better for him not to be around. He’d let out another secret and like a bullet from a gun it had caused more injuries than if it had stayed in the chamber. He walked out of the backyard, his ears ringing, his body stiff and anaesthetised as he wandered through Brachen’s quiet and deserted streets.
***
Gabriel reached the theatre with as much enthusiasm as an old horse being dragged to the knackery. He had nowhere else to go, no-one else to talk to about his betrayal. No-one but Bruce. The whole journey there he’d bargained with himself. If Bruce were at the theatre, he would explain properly what had happened, then if that went well, he’d do the same with Sofia. But if Bruce weren’t there …
He didn’t want to think about what he’d do if Bruce wasn’t there.
At least he was saved from doing so—Bruce’s ute was parked at the back of the theatre. The stage door was open too, the entrance dark and malevolent. He resisted, scared for the fate that might befall him. Would Bruce be any more willing to listen now than he had been earlier in the day? Yes or no, he had to try. He wanted to be with Bruce but if they couldn’t get past the theatre stuff, if Bruce couldn’t accept that there was no malice behind anything he’d done, then it was better to know now before Sofia worsened.
Kinder, in the end, to get it over with.
He took a deep breath and entered the theatre.
Backstage was silent and empty of people but the final set was propped up on work tables with Bruce’s tools placed neatly where he could reach them. Safety matting was down as required, not just by OH&S: this was also in step with Bruce’s own personal beliefs. No noise came from the stage or front of house. He was alone. He waited, sitting on the edge of a road case, both hands at his temples, massaging them, smoothing out his arguments—what he would say, what he would let out.
He heard Bruce before he saw him, a one-sided conversation he was having with his phone.
‘I understand things are a bit tight at the moment, Janet, but the invoice is three weeks overdue. How about you get me half now and half in a few weeks?’
He stopped short when he saw Gabriel. His green eyes hardened, his jaw square enough to use as a ruler. He pulled back his shoulders, gaining a few more inches of height. Bruce had taken up his battle position, and Gabriel’s stomach sucked in and readied for retreat.
He forced a breath but it shook coming out of his mouth.
‘Yeah, okay, fine. Thanks Janet.’ Bruce hung up and slipped his phone into his back pocket.
Gabriel slid off the road case to stand on unsteady legs. ‘Hi.’
‘What do you want?’ He marched over to the set, scanned it, focused elsewhere. Bruce’s shoulder wasn’t cold, it was arctic.
‘I came to talk,’ he said, surprised he couldn’t see his breath with the frost surrounding Bruce.
‘I’m busy.’ Bruce picked up his drill and a fistful of screws, and got to work like Gabriel wasn’t there. The intermittent whirr of the drill, the boring of the wood, punctured Gabriel’s attempts to speak. He waited for space when he would be heard but Bruce didn’t leave him much. He had to shout.
‘I told Mum.’
No reaction.
‘I think she’s in shock. Probably not the best thing to do to a sick woman.’ The drill fractured his weak laughter. Bruce ignored him and the drill burrowed into his brain, scattering his attempts at apology and boring into his core. How could he explain that he’d done nothing wrong if Bruce wouldn’t listen?
‘I know I screwed up about the theatre and I’m sorry. What more can I say?’
Bruce snapped upright and ripped off his safety glasses. ‘You don’t get it. It’s not about the theatre, it’s about you. I don’t trust you, Gabriel.’
His words nail-gunned their way deep into Gabriel’s heart so fast he didn’t notice the pain. The shock numbed him, allowed him to keep going, allowed him to fight. He could ignore the hurt, believe it was a mistake, that he wasn’t bleeding.
‘Why? Because I didn’t tell you about some sketches? Jesus, you’d think I was the one knocking Rivervue down.’
‘You may as well be.’
‘I don’t believe this. Are you even listening to me? It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t malicious, it was a mistake and I wanted to quit but in case you hadn’t noticed I had more important things to worry about.’
‘There’s always an excuse.’ Bruce threw his glasses onto the wood and they spiralled across the top of the set. Bruce never threw things.
‘You’re being impossible. I haven’t done anything wrong.’
His hands closed into fists. Fists crossed forearms and folded beneath his biceps. ‘What about Jason?’
‘What? We’re on this again? I’ve already told you that nothing happened between us.’
‘Not when you were in Brachen. When you were in Sydney.’
A nail ripped out of Gabriel’s heart and too late he braced. ‘Where’s this coming from?’
‘So it’s true.’
Another nail gone. His heart was going to be left with holes. Ugly ones. ‘What are you
