by Brandy Scott
She took a deep breath and added ‘accident’ to her search query.
The internet yielded just one result. A video, on a news website. Melinda kicked her office door closed and turned up the volume.
‘Everyone’s very upset,’ Aimee told the journalist holding the shaky camera. Melinda checked the number of views: over five thousand. Really? ‘We’ll find out who caused this,’ Aimee vowed, tugging at the hair at the base of her neck. The video cut out just as the lock of hair came free, and Aimee looked confused and upset and, quite frankly, bloody guilty.
‘FUCK,’ yelled Melinda.
‘I nearly killed my daughter,’ Aimee said quietly. ‘Shelley. She almost died.’
They’d been visiting the Mulligans, down off Gully Road. Aimee had left five-year-old Shelley in the car while she ran up to the door to drop off a cake mixer Sarah Mulligan wanted to borrow. She’d been handing Sarah a couple of fresh eggs when the woman gave a scream. Aimee turned around to see her Hilux and her daughter disappearing down a steep bank towards the lake on the edge of the Mulligan’s property.
‘My God,’ said Damien. ‘That must have been terrifying.’
It had taken Aimee several seconds for her brain to realise what was happening and her limbs to follow. She’d sprinted down the bank after Sarah, fast but not fast enough to stop the ute from barrelling through a low wire fence and into the water.
‘But she was okay, wasn’t she?’
Shelley barely remembered the accident. But Aimee would never forget wading through that thick sludgy water, Sarah hoisting her up so she could pull her daughter out through the truck’s open passenger window. Thank God for the open window. If the window had been closed, Shelley would have died.
‘I really don’t see how that’s your fault,’ said Damien. ‘If anything, you saved her life.’
‘It is my fault! I left a child in a vehicle, unsupervised. A child I’d had to tell off before for playing with the handbrake. I should have known!’
‘Aimee, I have to say, I think you’re being a bit hard on yourself.’
Which is what everyone else had said. Nick, Lou, Melinda. The ambulance staff, who she’d insisted come out to look over a confused Shelley. The local GP Nick had taken her to see when she couldn’t stop crying a week later. The nice trauma counsellor who’d been brought in specially when the double-checking started yet again, and Aimee couldn’t leave the house without making sure the pilot light was out, all appliances were unplugged, the babysitter had their numbers, both their mobile phones were fully charged and they had a full tank of petrol, and, even then, she’d make Nick turn around before they reached the end of the driveway.
‘I can see why you’d feel responsible, but it’s a mistake anyone could’ve made.’
‘But it was my mistake. I made it.’
And things had spiralled from there. All the old behaviour Aimee had thought was behind her, the anxiety she’d hoped she’d outgrown. If Nick didn’t answer the phone, she became convinced he’d been in an accident. She hid the keys to the tractor, so the kids — and Nick — couldn’t find them. She evacuated the Hensley Retirement Home, twice, because she smelled smoke while volunteering. (Birthday cakes, both times; the staff used to put on the full complement of candles.) Worried herself sick because a girl she saw crying in the street might have been a victim of abuse, and Aimee hadn’t stopped to speak to her, and therefore anything that happened to that little girl would be her fault.
She’d tried to get the local school shut down because Byron had come home happily chatting about a bat.
After the bat incident — Aimee had called the state Education Department when the local authorities wouldn’t take her seriously, and Byron had stayed home for a week out of shame — Nick convinced her to get professionally assessed.
‘Classic OCD,’ the nice psychiatrist had said. ‘You think if you don’t obey these urges to take action, something terrible will happen and you’ll be responsible.’
No one had ever explained her thought process so clearly before.
‘We’ll start you on medication,’ he’d said. ‘And refer you to a cognitive behaviour therapist. There is light at the end of the tunnel, don’t worry. We’re not going to lock you up.’
But then Aimee had noticed a crack in a support beam at the town hall, and the struggle not to say anything, not to warn the council that the whole building was about to come down on the population of Hensley, had been more than her poor embattled head could stand. Nick came in from bottling one night to find her sitting in the corner of the living room, thumping her head against the wall, over and over, to try to make the thoughts go away.
They found her a bed the next morning, and Aimee was in hospital for nearly three months.
‘Aimee, I get it.’ Damien took her hand, rubbed his thumb over the top of her knuckles. ‘I understand why you’d blame yourself. And I understand now why you want to know what’s going on, with this investigation. You didn’t feel you had control over your daughter’s accident. You want to feel like you’ve got some control over this one.’
Was she an awful person, to let him think that?
Damien placed her hand gently back in her lap, but stayed crouched next to her seat. ‘Look, the first draft of the accident report is making the rounds at the moment,’ he said. ‘When I get hold of it I can show it to you, if you’d like.’
The front door to the law firm was open, so Lou let herself in. Last time she’d agreed to meet him after hours — rookie error. She’d made it too easy for him. There was less chance of being bullied if she was standing in his office in broad daylight. He couldn’t shout at her if there were clients sitting in his waiting room.
Except there was no one in the waiting room. No secretary even. Lou took in the yellowed venetian blinds, still hung with Christmas cards. The poky rooms, which once felt so grand and intimidating but now just looked dated. She felt her nerve grow, and with it the certainty that she was right.
She knew who’d got her pregnant. Yes, there’d been others; not ‘half the football team’ as he’d insinuated, but a few. Lou had been rebelling. Teenagers, especially those from strict households, often did. It hardly made her the town bike. But there had only been one who’d refused to wear a condom. Said he couldn’t perform in a sleeping bag, claimed he wouldn’t be able to keep it up if she made him. I just want to feel you, Lou. Come on, don’t be boring. Only one who’d worn her down with begging, pleading, mild threats and some quite nasty emotional blackmail, until she agreed okay, just the once.
It only takes one time.
Lou could see the silhouette of a man at work, bent over his desk, through the old-fashioned frosted glass separating his office from the reception area. Lou steeled herself to knock on his door, but the old man was already rising.
‘Louise,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you? Is there something wrong with Melinda?’
Like he didn’t know.
‘No, Mr Baker,’ said Lou. ‘I’m here to talk about your son.’
CHAPTER 28
‘Well, that was quite a performance,’ Cameron’s voice was calm, cheerful almost. ‘I don’t believe a word of it, by the way.’
Pete stared pointlessly out the passenger window. He’d tried to keep a mental tally of turns and intersections, but he’d quickly lost count as they sped through town.
‘You’re one of the most methodical people I know. You don’t misjudge altitudes. You don’t get distracted. That’s not you.’
Pete thought they were near the supermarket, but he couldn’t be sure. Cameron could be taking him anywhere.
‘And you’re not suicidal either. That’s the gossip around town, in case you’re interested. That you never got over Mum’s death. Did something stupid in a moment of madness.’ Cameron made a hard left and Pete was jolted painfully into the car door. ‘Of course, you and I both know how quickly you did get over her, so we also know that’s bullshit.’ The car thumped over a speed bump. ‘Although I
’m not against you topping yourself. Just in case you were thinking about it.’
They’d never had a great relationship, but this was a new low. ‘Cameron.’ Pete braced his arm against the glove box and his shoulder screamed. ‘Slow down.’
‘So the question is, why are you lying?’ Again, the casual tone, as though they were discussing the cricket. ‘Were you drunk? Was that it? It didn’t sound like much alcohol to me, but maybe you were topping up from the night before. Or sleep deprived, from a night of shagging. Your dick getting you into trouble again. Is that it?’
‘I’m a widower, Cameron. If I was having a relationship it would be none of your business.’
‘It is when members of my family die. This is becoming a trend.’
They were on the highway, Pete could tell that much. There were more cars now, moving faster beside them. He could try to signal, but what good would that do? He wouldn’t be able to see if anyone even noticed. The car shook as they weaved from lane to lane. ‘Cameron, slow down.’
They came to a screeching halt on the hard shoulder, and Cameron leaned across him. There was a shock of hot air as the passenger door popped open. ‘Don’t like my driving? Think you can cope on your own? Get out then. Let’s see how you manage.’
The noise from the highway traffic was dizzying; the open passenger door flapped violently each time a car flew past. Pete grabbed hold of it, tried to pull it back one-handed so it wouldn’t be blown off. God, he was the one who’d taught the boy to drive.
‘Didn’t think so.’ Cameron leaned over and wrenched the door the rest of the way in. ‘You should be pleased I’m here to give you a lift,’ he said, as he started the engine. ‘I can remember one evening when you couldn’t be bothered.’
‘I know how upset you still are about your mum’s death, Cameron. And I understand. You two were incredibly close. But I wasn’t responsible for it, no matter how much you like to think I was.’
‘You were responsible for us not being there. Me and Lincoln, not just you. We never got to say goodbye.’
‘I made a mistake. One I’ll never forgive myself for.’ They weren’t heading north, Pete could tell that much from the sun streaming in the side window. Where was he taking them? ‘But you need to forgive me, if only so you can move on. You’re the one it’s damaging. You’re the one who’s suffering here.’
‘Like Mum suffered, thinking none of us cared about her?’
‘You know that’s not true.’
Cameron pulled them off the highway with a shriek of rubber and a blare of outraged horns. ‘What I know isn’t true is what you told old Arthur back there. I know there’s more to this. And if you killed my brother because you were out all night, or up late on the phone to your girlfriend, or messaging her while you were flying, or doing anything at all that would have clouded your judgement, believe me, I will find out.’
He’s just an angry young man, Pete reminded himself. A messed- up kid. He doesn’t really mean you harm. Pete sat on his hands so Cameron wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing them shake. ‘Cam, where are we going?’
The car was moving slower now, along country roads. Pete could hear livestock, the low rumble of tractors.
‘Cameron, please. Can you just take me home?’
Cameron laughed, tapped a jaunty little beat out on the steering wheel. Never thought I'd see the day the day when it was you begging me to take you somewhere.’ He turned on the radio, soulful country music about driving through a hungry little town at midnight. ‘We’re going to my hotel, Dad, so I can grab my bags and check out.’
Pete let himself relax, just a little, into the worn vinyl of the passenger seat.
‘And then I’m coming home with you.’
CHAPTER 29
Lou had mentally rehearsed her argument in the short walk to the solicitor’s office. Logical, persuasive, firm. But the moment she was back in that building, with its intimidating diplomas and cloying scent of furniture polish, all reasonable adult discussion left her head.
‘I need more money,’ she blurted.
Maxwell Baker LLB, OBE raised a slow eyebrow. ‘Louise,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d dealt with this.’ He looked at her sadly, as though she’d let him down by even raising the subject. ‘But, if you want to have the discussion again —’ He motioned towards his office.
‘No,’ said Lou. Because she wasn’t stepping back in there, the scene of her former capitulation. She was nervous enough as it was, stomach dancing as though she’d been called into the principal’s office, even though she was the one doing the calling. You’re not a teenager anymore, she told herself. Don’t let him intimidate you. ‘I want to talk out here,’ she said, voice embarrassingly high.
‘Whatever makes you comfortable. No difference to me.’ He made an expansive I’m-not-hiding-anything movement with his hands, his face mildly amused as though he was humouring her. But he also took a few steps towards the door and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED.
‘Can I at least offer you a seat? A glass of water? We’ve got some chocolate biscuits somewhere, from Christmas. They’re rather good.’ He was acting as if this was a social call. Lou felt her temper flare.
‘I’ll stay standing, thanks.’ She dropped her handbag on a chair. ‘I’m just here to tell you that I intend to go after what’s rightfully Tansy’s. Child support from Matthew, and back payments for all the money he should have given us and hasn’t.’
‘But we don’t know for certain he’s the father, do we? You’ve never been able to prove it.’
‘I’ve never tried to prove it. You made me feel too ashamed. But I don’t care any more. I’ll get a DNA test; I should have done years ago.’
‘People will wonder why you didn’t.’ Melinda’s father sounded as though he was thinking out loud, as though he was analysing the flaws in her decision for her benefit. Like he was on her side. ‘People will wonder what you had to hide.’
That worked on her last time, but it wouldn’t now. ‘You want to read a list of my ex-lovers out in court, put a notice in the paper asking for anyone who may have “made my intimate acquaintance” to come forward, you go for your life.’ She really didn’t care, Lou realised. She never should have. The people of Hensley didn’t like her anyway, so what was a bit more stigma? ‘My parents are dead now, Mr Baker. They were the only people I was really concerned about embarrassing.’ Because she’d done enough to hurt them, the lawyer had convinced the teenage Lou, as he shoved the papers towards her. ‘You don’t want to drag their name through the mud any more than you already have.’
And despite her anger, she hadn’t wanted to. A legal battle, ‘and a scandal this town will never forget, I promise you’, naming half- a-dozen potential fathers, including unsuitable men, married men, church members, would have hurt her mother beyond measure. Lou had given up because Maxwell Baker had worn her down, certainly. But also because underneath it all, she wasn’t a bad person.
‘We had an agreement. You signed a contract, absolving Matthew —’
‘In exchange for ten thousand lousy dollars. I’m pretty sure any court would see that as buying me off.’
Melinda’s father eased himself into one of his own waiting room chairs — ‘You’ll have to excuse an old man, I don’t have the stamina your generation does’ — and regarded her carefully.
‘Louise,’ he said finally. ‘What is it you actually want?’
What did she want? In her five-minute dash down the road, Lou hadn’t got much further than broad concepts. Responsibility, justice, money. She certainly hadn’t thought about actual amounts.
‘Why are you really here?’
‘I’m here because you need to do right by me. By my daughter.’
‘No, you’re here because my son shot through to Queensland and earns bugger-all pissing about in nightclubs at the age of thirty-six.’
‘It’s your responsibility.’
‘Actually, it’s not. It’s Matthew’s. I looked out for him when he
was too young to know better, but he’s an adult now. Go talk to him. Go chase him for your money.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘There’s a whole system set up to help you do just that.’
‘You’re not even trying to pretend Tansy’s not his.’ Lou had come expecting a fight; without one, she wasn’t quite sure what to say.
The older man shrugged. And he was older, Lou realised, much older. Melinda’s dad had always been tall, but now he was starting to stoop, his wiry frame gaunt in a suit that was too big for him. Everything in the office was a bit worn, a bit past its prime. The dated gold lettering on his signage, the little bell on the reception desk. Even the Venetians needed a good dusting.
‘I had wondered over the years, looking at Tansy. She looks a bit like my ex-wife, round the mouth.’
Lou gaped. ‘Then why didn’t you ever say anything?’
‘Not my job.’
‘Or push your son to step up? To take responsibility.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘You could have made him. It might have been good for him.’ Matthew spent his time dating a revolving door of younger women with fake breasts and dodgy hair extensions, she knew from Melinda. Still behaving as if he’s twenty-three, Melinda would sigh, as she fell for the latest hard-luck story. ‘Might have made him grow up.’
‘Louise, you’ve come to me now for the same reason you came to me years ago. Because Matthew is, quite frankly, pretty bloody useless.’
‘Then why were you so horrible about it? Why be so nasty?’
‘If I was heavy-handed, I apologise. But you weren’t the one who needed looking out for, as I saw it. You and Melinda have always been able to look out for yourselves.’ He sighed. ‘Matthew, on the other hand, can barely tie his own shoelaces.’
‘You thought Matthew needed protecting from me?’
‘You got pregnant when you were old enough to know better. You were unhappy at home. You can’t tell me you didn’t pick the one boy in town with a bit of money behind him.’
‘That’s — I was seventeen!’