Page 4 of In the Long Run

I’d suspected as much but my mind had been fried from the mad dash to the airport and then getting to Eug’s side to really take it in.

‘Do you have any family who could help, Eugene? Perhaps your …’ Kate’s kind brown eyes shift to me, and she pauses. I’m clearly not his son. How many kids call their parents by their first names?

‘Godson,’ I supply. ‘I can take some time off.’

It’s a no brainer. Eugene didn’t hesitate to step up when I needed him.

‘How long are we talking about?’ I ask, opening my calendar app.

I’ve got long service leave in my book, and I’m not slated to go on any courses or exercises.

If ever there was a time to be grateful for my boring staff job it’s now.

One, I can do admin from anywhere, and two, I always keep to myself so I won’t be missed.

‘He won’t be able to weight bear for several months,’ Kate says.

‘Damn, Eug, you’ve done yourself quite the mischief,’ I say, trying to coax a smile out of him with the phrase he must’ve said to me at least a million times.

The corners of his lips twitch and I’m calling that a win, especially considering the extra-large shit sandwich he’s being asked to chow down on.

But he’s always been an overachiever. Alizée’s is proof of that.

People come from all over Melbourne for Eugene’s croissants and the fancy little cakes I can’t pronounce the names of correctly.

‘I’ll call my CO and organise to use my long service.

That gives us until early September, and I could take annual leave if you need me longer than that. ’

Eugene harrumphs and tosses his head but the ball of tension in the middle of my chest lessens. This is more like the man who raised me.

‘Knox, mate,’ Eugene says. It took him so long to stop calling me ‘little mate’ once I got bigger than him and I still miss it.

‘You don’t have to do that. You have your own life, and you’ve worked so hard for it.

I’m not going to do anything that could muck up that fancy posting you’re trying so hard to get. ’

‘It’s not open for discussion. I’ll take leave or work remotely. Work will be okay.’

I’m not due to post this year, and even though Eug is right about my career adviser having big plans for my next posting, including a promotion and a job overseas, staying in Melbourne for a bit won’t impact my chances of securing that job.

There’s got to be some benefits for being a workaholic who never causes any drama.

But this is Eugene Black. The kindest man to ever walk on this planet.

The guy with the hugest heart. My biggest inspiration and the role model I’m endlessly grateful for.

He’s always donated all Alizée’s unsold food to local shelters because ‘everyone deserves a treat’.

He bakes extra bread for them too so it’s nice and fresh, even though breads and savouries are traditionally more of a boulangerie’s item, not a patisserie’s.

But Eug’s never been afraid to buck tradition.

‘What’s my other option?’ he asks Kate.

‘We find you a spot on a rehab ward.’ She lifts her iPad again and Eugene pales.

‘No need,’ I say. Once I explain what’s going on, I’m confident my boss will be supportive of whatever I ask for. He’s a good guy and with retention rates a major issue now, flexible work arrangements are becoming more common. ‘It’ll be just like old times, Eug.’

‘Knox.’ Eugene’s eyes and tone are heavy. Anyone else might think it’s the cocktail of meds they’ve got him on, but I know better. ‘I’ll find a way to manage. I know how hard it is for you to be here,’ he says.

Is this what he thinks of me? That I’d pick my own avoidance issues over his health? My past and my mistakes aren’t going to stop me. Not when the only family I have left needs me.

‘It’s decided,’ I tell Kate. ‘What else do I need to do to get everything ready for Eugene to come home?’

Madeleine and Chouquette are positively mutinous by the time I get back to Eugene’s.

His surgery went well, and even though he won’t remember the conversation we had when he was wheeled back into his room, I’d needed to see he was okay.

Or okay-ish. It’s going to be ages before his life looks the same again.

‘Are you hungry, girls?’ I ask.

Madeleine jumps up, her black paws on my knees. You’d think she had a side gig in a circus.

‘Let’s get you fed and then we can get this place Eugene-safe, hey?’

Once the dogs are eating, I stand in the middle of the lounge room and survey the mess in front of me.

Mess isn’t really the right word. It’s not dirty or untidy, but there’s stuff everywhere.

Eugene loves books and two walls have been converted into shelves filled with everything from the classics to all the old, battered copies of the Percy Jackson series he’d insisted we read together every night when I first came to live here.

Moving into someone else’s space when my world had been turned upside down hadn’t been easy.

I wasn’t easy. Eug had put up with a lot.

I tap my fingers against my thighs, mentally rearranging the room to make as much space as possible. It’s been years since I’ve lived anywhere other than in a room at the Mess so I might be a bit out of practice, but I can do this.

It takes less time than I expect and once the living room has been reorganised, I head to Eugene’s room and strip the bed, remaking it with hospital corners because he’ll get a kick out of seeing how regimented I am now.

Eugene’s going to need all the extra incentives he can get to smile for a little while.

Chouquette trots in as I open the box I got earlier from the chemist. Never thought I’d be buying a baby monitor, but here we are.

If Eug finds it, he won’t be happy, but I’m more concerned about him falling in the middle of the night and not hearing him call for help.

One of the best things the Army has taught me is how to sleep deeply anywhere at any time of day or night.

Crouching, I reach under the bed and find a few old dogs’ toys, a bunch of shoeboxes and a power board with a free outlet.

Perfect. The carpet tickles my arms as I lie on my stomach and pull it forward, tugging harder when the cord snags on the back of an old Nike box.

After another yank the cord comes free, but the box tips and papers spill everywhere.

I don’t mean to look.

I really don’t.

But they all say the same thing: ‘Final notice’, ‘Service suspended’ and ‘Account overdue’.

Alizée’s address is listed on them. I don’t recognise the business names.

Suppliers, I guess. There are so many. And then there are the others in the kitchen as well.

Shit. I push backwards and sit up, my back against the wall.

We speak every week, and Eugene always says everything’s fine at work.

He’s dedicated his whole professional life to that patisserie.

I spent countless hours there after school, during the holidays.

But as I flip through the papers, it’s clear I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets.