A Perfect Likeness

by Renee Kira

  ‘Oh.’ I bite my lip. Maya is gorgeous. I doubt she’d ever been rejected in her life. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t speculate.’

  Liam laughs. ‘Now you don’t want to speculate? After two weeks of break-ins and conspiracy theories?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t want to speculate about my friend.’

  ‘Well, if it was Maya then the police know. They probably always knew. It’s solved. You can relax.’

  ‘I went to yoga with her the other day,’ I say, my coffee cup in hand. ‘I don’t think I could kill someone and then go to yoga.’

  He shrugs. ‘It doesn’t all fit for me either. I agree with you, Maya’s gentle. She would never hurt anybody. Not to mention, she’s got kids to worry about.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But maybe it was the heat of the moment,’ he adds.

  ‘Maybe it was someone else,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe you want it to be someone else.’

  I take a few moments to respond.

  ‘It never takes long for news to spread around here. So, I guess we’ll know soon,’ I say.

  ‘And in the meantime, things are back to normal,’ he says. ‘For us, at least.’

  29

  Isobel

  Edmund Keane is sitting opposite me. We’re alone in his office; he’s already sent his staff home for the day. The deco is far from commercial, the table looks like an antique and the ornate timber chairs are over-stuffed and upholstered in teal velvet. There is a slight smell of tobacco in the air. I wonder if he smokes in here.

  ‘The title to the house is in your name and it’s unencumbered. There’s never going to be any questions surrounding that.’

  He has hit the ground running. Before I get the chance to ask a single question, he is firing information at me.

  ‘This is about my house?’ I ask.

  He leans forward over the table that is between us. ‘I was under the impression that you knew what was going on. When I spoke to Jennifer-’

  ‘My mother?’ I cut him off.

  He hesitates. ‘Yes… This is about your trust fund.’

  The one I’ve been ignoring since my last birthday. He has a pile of paperwork in front of him and when I look closely, I can see my name on it. ‘But you’re not the administrator, it’s looked after in Melbourne,’ I say.

  He shakes his head. ‘That was all changed, not long before your Grandfather died. He asked me to look out for you. As a friend.’

  ‘You were friends?’ I thought there was conflict between them.

  ‘Yes, we played golf together for thirty years. Jonathon never told you?’ He stops for a moment, looking up from the paperwork.

  ‘I thought you didn’t get along.’

  ‘I suppose we did have a few tiffs over the years… but nothing serious.’ He gives a small smile.

  I nod. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘He was worried about the will being contested by other family members.’

  ‘Mum wouldn’t do that. She’s respectful of her father’s wishes. Even now, they won’t take any money from me. They don’t even like coming to the house.’

  He tilts his head, looking at me through square framed glasses.

  ‘We need to be clear.’ He pauses and shuffles his paperwork into a neat square. ‘Isobel, when you say your parents, you’re talking about Jennifer and Mateo Franco.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dread is pouring into my stomach.

  ‘For the purpose of this conversation it would be better to refer to them using their names. Not mother or father.’ He watches me carefully. ‘Clarity is important right now.’

  ‘Clarity? Around what?’

  ‘You haven’t spoken to Jennifer, have you?’

  I shake my head for no. My head is running through blood types. O-negative and A-positive. And the truth that I can’t belong in that family tree.

  The truth sits inside of me like a heavy stone. ‘They’re not my parents.’

  ‘You’ve found out recently?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  He leans back, the chair beneath him squeaks. He lets out a gentle sigh. ’I’m sorry it’s happened this way. My understanding was that Jennifer had explained the situation to you.’

  It turns out my mother can keep a secret after all.

  ‘I knew something was wrong. But I didn’t know what it was. There are a lot of loose ends I can’t tie together.’

  ‘I don’t know all the circumstances around your birth. That’s not my role. I’m here to protect you now, in the present. Financially, that is. Legally.’

  I nod.

  ‘I’m sorry, Isobel. Jonathon has done everything possible to protect you.’ He moves the paper in front of him again. Jonathon Esmore is not my real grandfather, I realise.

  My family. My father too. It was hard to imagine that he had lied to me my whole life. Then I paused, Edmund Keane had talked about a change to the will.

  ‘So, this is about my grandfather’s will?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been wanting to speak with you about it for some time. Your grandfather was concerned that if word got out that you weren’t his biological grandchild that someone would challenge his will at some point.’

  ‘So, that’s why he changed it. But he cut out his own daughter.’ I sighed looking at the table in front of me. I didn’t really care about the money. I would have been happier knowing the truth.

  ‘We decided that would be the best option. His prerogative was to protect you. After he found out that you weren’t Jennifer’s biological daughter, he was very thorough. Not leaving money to any biological family makes it harder for other biological relations to contest the will.’

  ‘My grandfather didn’t always know? When did he find out?’

  I had assumed that he was a part of whatever secrets were being kept from me.

  ‘He found out six months before he passed. We met at the time and discussed options. We had to future-proof things, so to speak.’ He was leaning forward again, engaged. ‘That’s what I need to discuss with you.’

  ‘Future proofing?’

  ‘Yes. Like I said, the house is untouchable. It was yours before your grandfather died, which is hard for anyone to dispute. However, there were parts of his original will that mentioned grandchildren. The newer version only names you-’

  ‘So, he didn’t care?’

  ‘Sorry?’ He looks confused and I don’t think he likes being interrupted.

  ‘He didn’t care that I wasn’t his granddaughter?’

  Edmund smiled. I could tell it wasn’t something he did often. ‘He very much considered you his granddaughter. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting with you right now.’

  ‘Okay.’ I feel myself relax a little. While it hurts that my family kept this secret from me, there’s something amazing about the fact they still considered me their family. That they were all willing to fight for me.

  ‘So, I can see you’ve had very little to do with this trust.’ He raises his eyebrows as he waits for my reply.

  ‘No. I wasn’t able to touch it until recently. And, well if I’m honest, I don’t have a mortgage and I’ve always made a decent wage. I haven’t needed it.’

  He nods. ‘Well, it’s there. And it would be prudent to pay it more attention, even if you don’t mean to utilise it. Although, it could be configured to provide a monthly stipend.’

  I knew how trusts worked. It could be configured to do anything. ‘How much?’

  ‘Well, if we ran the numbers conservatively you could draw twenty thousand a month. It would be up to you.’

  ‘Twenty thousand?’ I lean forward, my hands flat on the table. I knew there was money but I’d never so much as looked at the statements. I thought there might be thousands of dollars… not millions.

  ‘Your grandfather cared a great deal about you. And… well it’s not my place to get involved with this side of things. But if he was anything like me, he didn’t tell you enough. He was proud of you. He thought you were a good person.’

/>   ‘Thank you.’ It sounds like it’s not enough of a response. I know I should say something more but I can’t think of what.

  ‘I want you to be aware that we may face challenges. There may be people who try to contest the will or make a claim on the estate.’

  ‘Like who?’ I have no other family. There’s only my parents and I know they would never do anything like that.

  He opens his mouth to speak but then he closes it again.

  ‘Who?’ I repeat. He knows exactly who but he’s not going to tell me.

  ‘Let’s worry about that when it happens. I only wanted you to be aware that it could come up. And in the meantime, think about whether you would like to change the structure of the trust to give yourself an income.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  He nods. ‘Is there anything else?’

  I go to tell him no, but then I remember one thing. ‘The old hospital. You own the site, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says. Confusion washes over his face. ‘I own it with my brother in law. I have for years. Something to leave for my own grandchildren.’ At the mention of his grandchildren, a smile forms on his face.

  ‘How well did you know Veronica Hayes?’

  His face falls. ‘Not well.’

  ‘But you did know her? You managed a family trust for her.’

  I don’t know what I’m expecting him to say. I don’t think he had anything to do with Veronica’s death. Maya still hadn’t answered my calls or messages and as far as I can tell she was is in police custody. I should have had all my answers. I should be able to let this go. But I can’t. Something isn’t right.

  He nods. ‘I did. She approached me about the hospital site. She had a buyer for it. They’d had plans drawn up for the land.’

  ‘Townhouses, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘The offer was good; the money was right. Like I said, I wanted to hold on to it. I’ve worked hard all my life; the money wouldn’t change anything.’

  So, when she tried to get Edmund Keane to sell the land, Veronica was met with resistance. If there’s anything I’ve learned about her, it was that she didn’t give up easily.

  ‘And the trust?’

  ‘She asked me to set it up about a year ago. Initially, I did. But then I found out there was a conflict of interest. I couldn’t look after her anymore, so I passed her on to a colleague of mine in Melbourne to help.’

  ‘What kind of a conflict?’

  ‘I can’t answer that, Isobel. Confidentiality. Just like I never answered her questions about you and your grandfather.’

  30

  Maya

  ‘If you had of been honest, this would have been a lot easier.’ Stacey Collins sits opposite me. Her back is straight, her eyes alert, and she is recording everything I say.

  I don’t answer.

  They asked their questions for over an hour. I answered every single one in a bold, flat voice like I had nothing to hide. I don’t anymore. Thank goodness for location services on phones. My data backs up every word I’ve said.

  ‘We will have a car take all of you home shortly.’

  ‘All of us?’

  ‘David and your two sons are here. Don’t worry. There’s a social worker with the boys and they’re having a great time playing Nintendo.’

  Stacey leaves, pulling the heavy door to the interview room closed behind her. I assume it’s locked, but I don’t try it. I stay in my vinyl chair, awaiting directions. I think about David in another room just like this one. They’ll be comparing our stories, looking for inconsistencies.

  Love isn’t binary. People say you fall out of love like you might fall out of bed. Love is different every day. Like a tree, it can bloom and flourish or it can die over the course of a long winter.

  Something happened in those first few years with the twins. There was a change inside me. One day, and I don’t know when it was or exactly what happened, but I loved him less. It was long before that night in the bar with Veronica. That was a symptom of a bigger problem. David and I started on a decent day by day, inch by inch, I loved him less. And then I met Veronica. I began to love her. More and more. I didn’t know it was happening; it was so gradual.

  The door squeals and Stacey Collins bursts back into the room. The small space plus the fact that I’m sitting down make her seem larger than life.

  ‘Your husband’s no talker,’ she says.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He doesn’t have an alibi for that night. He’s saying he was with you. At home, watching a movie. But that can’t be right, Maya. You told us you were with Veronica. Arguing out the front of her house.’

  ‘Maybe he’s got the nights mixed up. He was at home.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘He was at home when Veronica called me. Then I went to her house to take her laptop to her.’

  ‘Which you ended up forgetting.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when you got back, where was he?’

  We had been sleeping in separate rooms for months. The door to the master bedroom was closed. Our argument had upset me. I went into the bathroom, turned the shower on as hard as it went and cried for ten minutes. Afterwards, I slept the guest room. I never looked in on David. I assumed he had gone to bed.

  ‘In bed,’ I answer.

  ‘And what, you got into bed with him?’

  ‘We sleep in different rooms.’ She nods. Something tells me she already knew that.

  ‘Did you see him when you got back?’

  ‘No.’

  She nods.

  ‘Does he take his phone with him when he goes out?’ asks Stacey.

  Always, I think. Anyone with kids does. I nod.

  ‘And you do too, right?’

  I nod again. She will get the phone records. They’ll show exactly where everyone was that night.

  ‘Did they get on, Maya? David and Veronica?’

  ‘No.’ There’s no point in lying anymore.

  ‘Did he ever do anything to make you think he could be violent?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maya, do you think your husband killed Veronica Hayes?’

  ‘No.’

  I never told him I wanted to leave, or Veronica’s offer to move in with her. Let alone that she confessed her feelings to me. But he knew, somehow he knew. David always told me I was an easy person to read, that I should never play poker. He called it my lie face, a certain look that gave me away every time. I’ve never been sure what my tell is. He was careful to make sure he didn’t give it away. Why would he want to lose that advantage?

  For a few hours on a Saturday afternoon, I was going to leave my husband. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of him. Veronica is gone. Some days, I feel like I’m not that far behind her. The day she told me she loved me was the last day she was alive. I never had time to say it back to her. She had less than fourteen hours to live.

  31

  Isobel

  It’s dark out, the few streetlights in the town have little effect. Once I’m away from the main street, my headlights are the only source of light. My mind is full like a rain cloud ready to burst as I navigate the short drive home from Edmund Keane’s office.

  A pop song plays on the radio. It’s something old and catchy that was around when I was in high school. With annoyance, I flick the stereo off. I’m not just annoyed at the pop song.

  A few years ago, I saw a documentary about people who found out later in life they were adopted. They were angry; they felt cheated. Children are better off when they know where they come from.

  It’s something that never occurred to me; that my parents might not be my parents. Honestly, I don’t know how they pulled it off. I’ve seen myself in baby photos. Small and pink and puckered, I can tell that I’m a newborn. So wherever they got me from, they had me from day one.

  And then there’s my birth certificate. I’ve seen it, I was born in the same hospital that I broke into not that long ago. Both of their names are on it.
That’s not what happens in an adoption, right? It will always have your birth parents’ names on it.

  Why didn’t they tell me? Did they think I was better off? That I would never notice because we look so similar? Maybe that’s why they picked me. For a moment, I imagine them looking over a row of babies in their cribs. Looking for the one with the right hair, the right eyes. One they can pass off as their own.

  That’s the other thing. They told no one. They couldn’t have. A secret like that would never stay a secret in Cape Cross. Even my grandfather didn’t find out until the end of his life.

  Nobody knew. I’ve seen photos of my mother pregnant. More than one, all from a time long before Photoshop. And if that baby wasn’t me, who was it? A fake pregnancy? A baby she lost?

  My parents are far from perfect, but they’re not liars, they’re not conspirators.

  I figure there is only one way to find out. I’ve driven home by instinct, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay here. They need to tell me the truth about everything, and they need to tell me tonight. As I pull the car back out of the driveway, my phone rings. The car’s Bluetooth picks up the call and I see Liam’s name on the screen in front of me.

  ‘Hi,’ I answer. The clock in the car says it’s 7:13pm. 'Is everything okay?’

  ‘Hey. I just saw Maya at the pub. The police have released her.’ His voice is tense.

  ‘Really? That’s great. How is she?’

  ‘Not good. She seemed really upset. David was with her. She might have been crying.’

  ‘Is she still there?’ The pub was only a ten-minute drive from my house.

  ‘No, she left a few minutes ago. I tried to talk to her, but she seemed… well, I don’t know. Something was going on, she was preoccupied.’

  ‘Do you know anything else about the case? Have they charged her?’

  ‘No. She could be out on bail for all I know. Everyone’s talking about it and they’ve all got a different story.’

  It had never rung true for me. Maya wasn’t acting like someone who had killed their lover in a rage.