by Brandy Scott
‘How do you know this is what she’s doing?’ she said finally. ‘Or that we’re even going to the right place?’
Lou gripped her handbag. ‘Because she’s with Shelley,’ she said. ‘And Shelley looked up the clinic on Google maps. Byron found it. That whole family is tracking each other, small blue dots all over the place. It’s really weird.’
Melinda congratulated herself on not pointing out that a bit more tracking of Tansy might have been a good thing. ‘Is that the clinic that was in the news? With the protestors?’
Lou gave a curt little nod.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Melinda. ‘It’s not that far. And I think they make you have counselling first, check you’re sure about your decision.’ She had no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded good. ‘Why do you think she changed her mind?’ she asked. ‘If she’d made her peace with the possibility something might be wrong.’ The way Lou spoke, Tansy — a teenager — had cheerfully accepted the very thing Melinda couldn’t. She remembered her interview with Claudia Lang, her insistence that she was too busy and important for a child with additional needs, and flushed.
‘Because she thinks we don’t have the money,’ Lou said flatly. ‘She’s worried we can’t afford the baby.’
Melinda couldn’t help herself. ‘Well, you can now.’
Lou didn’t answer, just stared out the window at the paddocks and vineyards flashing past them.
‘Oh no,’ said Melinda. ‘Don’t try and make out she would have chosen differently if that had come through earlier. Don’t you dare. You didn’t even know what she was planning.’
Two council workers rushed to the stage to rescue the microphone; another ran over to Pete and mopped him down, as though he was a baby. Stop it, Aimee wanted to shout. Just stop this whole circus. Pete sat completely still as the girl dabbed at his trousers with a paper towel. Humiliating, that’s what it was, from start to finish. Pete shouldn’t have to answer to the town, as though he was some nineteenth-century horse thief. This should be dealt with discreetly and respectfully, behind closed doors. Aimee shot Pete a supportive look, one she hoped was full of understanding. Then she remembered he couldn’t see it.
‘What do you think’s happening back there?’ Lou asked as they sped down the highway. Faster than any other car on the road, but not fast enough.
‘Nothing, hopefully.’ Melinda still wasn’t really looking at her, just clutching the steering wheel as though she could push the car forward.
‘I think maybe Aimee read the report,’ admitted Lou. Because it didn’t matter any more. She might as well be honest. ‘I saw a couple of pages in her bag.’
‘I think she probably has. She said something the other night about trying to show Nick proof.’
‘Then why . . .’ That made no sense. If Melinda knew Aimee had the report, there was no reason to pay her. None at all. Lou shook her head. ‘Do you think she’ll say anything?’
Melinda overtook a B-double, causing both the Range Rover and Lou to shudder. ‘I’m hoping she’s read how much alcohol Pete Kasprowicz had in his system. I’m hoping she realises that it cancels out any stupid scrap of paper, which, let’s be fair, could have floated in from anywhere.’ Melinda passed another truck. ‘I’m really, really hoping she doesn’t get it into her head to stand up and say something.’
‘We’re not there to stop her, though,’ said Lou.
‘No,’ said Melinda grimly. ‘We’re not.’
The questions started innocuously enough. Pete ran through the timings, the checks they’d done before taking off. Answers he’d given so many times he knew them off by heart. There was a sense of anticipation in the room; Hensley was waiting for the good stuff. It didn’t have to wait long.
‘There were traces of alcohol in your blood,’ said Steve. ‘Had you been drinking?’
Pete resisted reaching for his refilled water glass. ‘I had two beers that afternoon.’ Which didn’t explain a positive reading at ten o’clock at night, he knew. ‘Late afternoon.’ He tried desperately to calculate. ‘And then another, just before dinner.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Around six o’clock. We ate early.’
‘And what time did you fly?’
‘We went up at half past nine. The fireworks were scheduled for ten.’
‘You know the regulations about flying under the influence? About drinking at all before a flight.’
Eight hours bottle to throttle. ‘I do, yes. But I wasn’t drunk.’
‘But you had consumed alcohol. Even though you knew you were flying.’
‘Yes.’
‘And not just flying yourself, but also a passenger. Your son.’
Pete bowed his head. ‘Yes.’
She had to say something. She couldn’t keep sitting here, feeling like this. ‘I’m sorry,’ Lou said, twisting around in the passenger seat.
‘Really,’ said Melinda, that wasp-swallowing expression still on her face. ‘For what, exactly?’
She was going to make her say it. ‘For threatening you. For taking your money.’ Lou forced herself to keep looking at Melinda instead of safely out the window. ‘It was the shittiest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some really shitty things.’
Melinda just kept driving.
‘You can have it back. I’ll transfer it, tell the bank there was a mistake.’ Lou wanted to suggest pretending the whole thing had never happened, but that was hardly her call.
‘You blackmailed me.’ Melinda didn’t look at her, just stared at the road ahead of them. ‘It’s the worst behaviour I’ve ever heard of.’
Well, I don’t know about that, thought Lou, thinking of Matthew and his responsibility-free life on the Gold Coast, but this probably wasn’t the time. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’
‘It’s beyond bad, Lou. It’s really, really low. I don’t even know what to say.’ Melinda leaned on her horn. ‘MOVE IT,’ she yelled at a little hatchback puttering along in the fast lane. ‘I’m not driving you because it’s all okay. I’m driving you because Tansy’s my niece, and this baby is my second-great-cousin or something, and I’m not a total bitch.’
Lou’s head whirred. ‘How do you know?’ She twisted around again. ‘Have you always known?’
‘Aimee told me. For Christ’s sake, Lou, why didn’t you say something? What’s been the point of the past thirty years? Do you not trust me at all?’
Lou tried to explain about the contract, without dropping Melinda’s dad in it. Because Melinda still hero-worshipped her father, and Lou wasn’t really in a position to be badmouthing anyone else off.
‘I’m not trying to make excuses,’ she said pathetically. ‘It doesn’t —’
But Melinda cut her off, shoving an arm across her stomach as she braked violently. ‘Bugger, that was the turn-off, wasn’t it,’ she demanded. ‘It was. Damn.’ She started reversing, to an earsplitting chorus of horns. ‘Next time, Lou, bring Byron and his bloody tracking app. This is ridiculous.’
Aimee knew he’d had a drink, but not that much. Listening now, it sounded irresponsible. But Pete still didn’t deserve the buzz of shocked whispers. We’ve all made mistakes, she wanted to hiss at the murmuring crowd. Can everyone here honestly say they’ve never driven back from the pub after a few too many? Dropped the kids off at school after a heavy night, knowing you could still be over the limit?
‘He’s screwed,’ Nick whispered sadly in her ear.
Maybe, thought Aimee. Or maybe not. A couple of beers wasn’t exactly a bender. And drunk or sober, there was little you could do if a flaming lantern flew into your plane.
Lou didn’t even wait for Melinda to turn the engine off before she shot out the door. There was no sign of any protesters, which was probably safer for everyone. The last thing she needed was to be arrested for punching someone. She wasn’t sure Melinda would bail her out.
Please don’t let me be too late. Lou raced towards the stucco villa. The door was locked. She pressed on the b
uzzer. Inside, she could hear footsteps, too slow and too far away. ‘Come on,’ chanted Lou. ‘Come on.’ She would be caring. Caring and understanding and love Tansy regardless, but for fuck’s sake, could someone just open the door?
‘Shhhh.’ Melinda put a hand on her shoulder. ‘They’re coming. Keep calm.’
‘Do you often drink before you fly?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever flown under the influence before?’
‘I wasn’t —’
‘Have you flown under the influence with a passenger before? With your son?’
‘No!’
‘Was Lincoln worried? About the fact you’d been drinking? Did he mention it?’
Pete shook his head.
‘So it was normal then.’
‘No! God! It was a one-off!’
There was a pause. ‘How often do you drink and fly as a one- off, Mr Kasprowicz?’
The nurse didn’t want to let them in. Not without an appointment. Melinda could see the decision process in her face, a judgement call she no doubt had to make several times a day. Were they troublemakers, protesters? Or women who needed help? Melinda wildly considered claiming she was pregnant, that she needed to see a doctor, but Lou was already explaining.
‘I’m sorry,’ the nurse said gently, and sounded it. ‘But I can’t let you in to see a patient. No, I can’t tell you if she’s here either. You’re going to have to wait.’
Lou stuck her foot in the clinic door. ‘Tansy,’ she called. ‘Tansy, are you in there?’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’ The nurse was losing her sympathy, and her patience.
‘Tansy!’
‘If you don’t remove your foot, I’ll have to call the police.’
Lou didn’t care. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I just need to speak to her.’
‘Umm, Lou.’ Melinda tugged on her arm. ‘You might want to look behind you.’
And there, walking up the road with a can of Coke, was her daughter.
Cameron hadn’t completely forgiven his stepfather, but that didn’t stop him wanting to punch the man who was interrogating him.
‘Let’s look at your medical history,’ Steve Whatshisface said, finally moving on from Pete’s alcohol intake. ‘You received a diagnosis of depression a little over three years ago, am I right?’
Cameron sat forward, shocked, as Pete nodded.
Steve seemed to soften slightly. ‘Can you tell us what was going on?’
It was a story Cameron had never heard before. One of desperate grief and insomnia and a lack of interest in anything, including his children.
‘It started when Julia passed away,’ said Pete, speaking quietly. ‘The world just went dark without her. Inside me too. There didn’t seem to be any point to anything any more.’
Cameron flushed. He’d been there, and he hadn’t seen any of this. Hadn’t taken any notice of Pete’s emotional state at all. He felt his throat tighten as his stepfather spoke about trying to hold it together for his sons, plural. How determined he was that life would continue as normally as possible for them. Even though he was dying inside.
‘But you didn’t speak to your doctor until several years after your wife’s death. Why did you wait so long to ask for help?’
Pete turned his still-bruised face towards Cameron. ‘Because I didn’t think I deserved it.’
‘Mum! What are you doing here?’
‘Tansy.’ Lou forgot all about being caring and understanding. She grabbed her arm, pulled her daughter away from the clinic. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Sorry,’ said Tansy. ‘It was the only time we knew we could get away.’ She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind too much.’
‘Didn’t think I’d mind?’ Lou tried not to rip her daughter’s arm off. ‘How can you even say that?’ After everything she’d done.
‘Lou,’ said Melinda. ‘I think we might have the wrong end of the stick here.’
‘What, did you think I was going to —’ Tansy looked insulted. ‘Mum!’
‘Tansy,’ said Melinda. ‘Where’s Shelley?’
Tansy rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, we’re not here for me, Mum.’ As though it was crazy to even think that. ‘She’s inside. She thought she’d caught something.’
‘Shelley?’ Lou’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.
Tansy sighed. ‘Yeah, it turns out I’m not the only one doing stuff at parties. She didn’t actually have sex-sex, but still.’
Aimee’s perfect daughter. Lou forced herself not to smile.
‘Grab her,’ Melinda said. ‘Grab her, and throw her in the car.’ She started running across the road. ‘We’ve got to get back.’
This was unbearable. Aimee squirmed as Pete continued to answer questions about his wife’s death, tears leaking from his blank eyes. No one with a shred of decency could let the man continue to go through this. She looked to her right, where Nick sat grimacing in sympathy. At the empty seat along from him that Melinda had left. And then realised the rest of the row was empty. Aimee sat very still. There was no one to stop her. She carefully took her hand back from her husband and placed it in her lap.
Melinda ignored the flickering of her speedometer as she raced down the highway, the wide-eyed silence of the girls in the back.
‘I think you’re setting a new land-speed record,’ said Lou, laughing nervously.
‘As long as I don’t set one for traffic fines,’ murmured Melinda. ‘Keep an eye out for cops, will you?’ They didn’t have time for a ‘Yes sir, no sir’ conversation.
‘Why are we rushing?’ asked Shelley. ‘Are you worried about Mum?’
Melinda met Lou’s eyes in the rear-vision mirror.
‘I’m worried about her,’ said Shelley. ‘So’s Dad. That’s why he made us all go today. Says we need to keep an eye on her.’
Melinda put her foot down so hard the accelerator nearly touched the floor.
‘But you’d stopped taking the antidepressants, hadn’t you, by August last year.’
This was the bit Pete had been dreading. Promise me, he’d begged Arthur, when he’d confessed to screwing up the navigation, that they’ll keep this out of it. He’d thought the policeman understood.
‘I felt better,’ Pete said.
‘Did you seek advice from your doctor before stopping the medication?’
‘No.’
‘Did you inform him you were going to do so?’
‘No.’
‘Did you declare your depression at your last flight review? When you did your medical?
‘No.’
‘Even though the medical specifically asks about any mental health problems?’
‘I didn’t think . . . It was under control. There wasn’t an issue.’
Steve paused. Pete could hear papers shuffling.
‘Is it true you’d discussed having suicidal thoughts with your psychologist?’
Melinda and Lou tumbled through the main doors just in time to hear the last line. Melinda had wanted to use the side entrance, not draw attention to themselves. But there was nothing to worry about. No one in the hall even turned around to look.
Pete could hear his heart beating in the sudden hush.
‘Mr Kasprowicz, I’ll ask you again. Did you discuss having suicidal thoughts with your psychologist?’
‘Yes, but that was before I even went on —’
‘Is it true that you’d considered taking a plane up and, I quote, “not bringing it down again”?’
‘That wasn’t . . . Look, that was a very long time ago. I hadn’t —’
‘Mr Kasprowicz, what was your state of mind when you took that Cessna up on New Year’s Eve?’
The whole town hall tilted forward, a collective 45-degree angle. Even Cameron found himself holding his breath, even though he knew it wasn’t true. Didn’t he?
At the front, sweating in the heat and accusation, his stepfather was silent.
‘Mr Kasprowicz, I need you to answe
r my question. Were you suicidal when you took the plane up on New Year’s Eve? Were you intending to kill yourself?’
‘No!’ But the denial didn’t come from Pete. Cameron whirled around in his chair. Two rows behind him an unkempt but determined-looking woman was clambering to her feet. Aimee Verratti.
‘That’s not what happened.’ There was a rushing in Aimee’s ears, a kind of roller-coaster feeling, as the room seemed to tunnel around her. But she had to do this. Pete was being crucified for exactly the same thing she was. These people thought he was capable of killing his son because once upon a time he’d been depressed. Melinda and Lou and Nick thought she wasn’t to be trusted because once upon a time her head had told her stories. No wonder people didn’t bloody seek help.
‘Excuse me.’ The ATSB officer was on his feet as well. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to sit back down.’
‘Aimee?’ Damien, from the side of the hall, confused.
‘Aimee!’ Nick, next to her, tugging on her arm.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Aimee. ‘But you have to listen to me. Pete didn’t try to kill himself, or his son. He didn’t cause the accident.’ Lou was halfway to the chairs before Melinda grabbed her arm.
‘But —’
‘No,’ Melinda said quietly. ‘Let her.’
‘Mum?’ Shelley whispered, behind them. The girls. Oh God, they’d forgotten about the girls. Lou wrapped her arm around Aimee’s daughter, pulled her close. Melinda reached for her niece. And then she grabbed Lou’s hand as well and held it, tight.
Thank God the children weren’t there. Aimee watched the room explode around her, the press almost climbing out of their serving hatch as they scrambled over each other to take her picture.
‘He didn’t cause the accident,’ she repeated. ‘I did. I let off lanterns, illegal lanterns, and they caused Pete to miscalculate.’
Next to her, Nick sat with his eyes closed. But Aimee had to keep going now. ‘You don’t need to look at Pete’s medical history,’ she said. ‘You need to look at the debris that was found at the site.’
‘She’s wrong.’ There was a scrape and a thud as Pete stumbled to his feet, knocking his chair over. ‘She doesn’t know what happened.’