Friends Like These

by Wendy Harmer

  ‘Suze! Suze!’ Jo yelled, but knew at once there was no point. There wasn’t a sound she was capable of making that would be heard above the crash and bash of the ocean.

  And then, a tiny flame. Once. Twice. Again. Off there. To the left. Then a steady pinprick of red. Jo loathed cigarettes, but was glad to see one tonight.

  The moonlight picked out a step, a ghostly pane of rock,

  a pewter rail above silver mesh. Jo pelted along the bushy trail, bounding and leaping on long legs and sure feet. Heart thumping and eyes wide, she took in every shadow that might be made by a human form. And then she saw it...a dark lump topped with a clump of hair that had to be Suze but seemed as if suspended in mid-air. As if she had already jumped and was somehow hovering in space. Jo stopped and blinked, straining to focus through the salty mist. How had she got out there? Could she even get back? It was so dangerous up here. Perilous in the dark. No proper lighting. The fence was inadequate. She really must write a letter to the council about it.

  Jo’s thoughts weren’t coherent, but still, she was propelled towards the place where Suze sat. Only the crests of the waves caught the moonlight. Between each one was a deep, dark crevice. She stopped and gripped the freezing metal of the railing and leaned forward, not quite knowing what she might say.

  ‘Suze!’ she called. ‘I’ve come to get you. Jess and Bobby are wondering where you are. Rob’s waiting. Come on now.’

  Suze turned her face and Jo saw a ghostly mask appear from a swirl of infinite pinpricks of phosphorescent sea spray. ‘No!’ The word was clear enough before it was whipped away by the wind. Another rumble and another wave crashed into the cliff face below.

  Jo’s hair was blown into a wild seaweed tangle. Into her mouth. In her eyes. She scraped it from her face to see that Suze had turned away from her. The cigarette was flicked into the air. It twirled for a moment and disappeared. Jo was terrified to think Suze might plummet after it. Skirts flying, bangles jangling and bright scarves trailing into oblivion.

  ‘Suze! Come on,’ she called again. ‘Just turn and crawl back to the fence. Don’t do this. Come back!’

  ‘Leave me alone!’ A shout emanated from the middle of the black bundle huddled at the edge of the precipice.

  The next wave, bigger than the last, hit the cliff with a force that made the ground shudder. Jo was hardly safe where she was behind the fence but she leaned further forward, stretched her body, until the cold metal rail dug into her hips and her toes were barely touching the earth. She pushed her arm, her palm, her fingers out as far as they could go, as if she wasn’t human but a length of timber or rope that would surely reach to where Suze sat out there, the edges of her form haloed by moonlight.

  One more wave hit the wall, flinging spray and salt to the heavens. If Suze moved from where she was she would slip and fall. Jo should climb the fence. If she cared enough she would. But there was no room out there on that narrow stony plank for her too. They might both go down, smashing their bones against stubborn ancient rocks. Both dead before they hit the water.

  ‘Suze! Come back!’ Jo shouted again, her throat and her heart straining to be heard. There was no breath left in her. No warmth. This was a stupid game. And selfish. Had Suze given one thought to what would happen to her family? They’d go tumbling down with her and be just flotsam and jetsam left behind after she sank. After years of swimming—if they ever made it back to shore—they would forever after identify themselves as survivors of the wreckage.

  Suze had dragged her to the edge too, knowing she had no choice but to look over. After everything Jo had done for her? With what she was going to do next? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t...Jo was horrified to see Suze get to her knees and then stand. She was swaying unsteadily on a splinter that was barely wide enough for her two bare feet. Where were her shoes? Her pink scarf was wrapped around her neck, its ends blown to full length either side. North and south. She threw her hands wide and hung her head, her black hair flailing in the wind.

  Then she looked up, her face an agony. Her eyes rolling and mouth hanging open in torment. A crucifix. That’s what Jo saw. Suze would die here. Not to forgive the sins of the world. Her death wouldn’t even save herself. It was for no good reason. None of her pantheon of gods and goddesses were offering a hand to save her. They hadn’t answered her despairing call. There was no great godliness here. No evil. Just one frail human and another...and between them, a wretched man-made fence.

  ‘Suuuze!’ Jo shouted. Her lungs were almost empty. Again. One more try. A deep breath. ‘I LOVE YOU!’ she cried.

  Suze had always been sure Jo had been sent by her guardian angel. And she did believe in angels. They had been circling the earth forever. Perhaps they’d dropped here on this rocky place just so she could contemplate the infinite and see what it promised.

  Now she looked down and saw just a wet, black hole. Perhaps it was exactly what they’d meant her to see.

  A voice had said, ‘I love you.’ Not the voice of an angel. It was Jo’s voice. You could always hear the love in Jo’s voice. Even when she hated you, she loved you. She couldn’t help herself. Suze couldn’t find anything to love about her own loathsome self, but Jo, against all reasoning, could. Suze saw Jo’s hand stretching out to her the way she’d done on that very first day. And beyond that, her face. She was smiling. How strange. To be at peace and smiling at a time like this! It was that same exquisite smile that had always said: ‘I believe in you.’ Jo had said she didn’t. But here she was and she was...smiling.

  Now that Suze was upright, the wind tearing at her clothes and bellowing at her back, she couldn’t understand how she’d got out here. Or how she’d get back. On either side of her was a terrifying chasm. She shuffled forward, her bare toes grubbing at the rock to find some purchase, her arms still spread wide for balance and her scarf a flapping sail.

  Another wave reached its destination. Not so ferocious this time. The wind dropped. A lull.

  From her side of the fence Jo saw Suze take that small step and then reach out her hand. Bangles slid down her arm. Starry spangles encircled her wrist and gave Jo something to aim for.

  ‘Come on, darling girl, that’s right. You’re doing really well. Just another step,’ she said.

  Jo’s fingers grabbed at the metal bracelets. She pulled on them, fearing she might tear them right through flesh. Suze fell towards her. The other arm. Jo grabbed at that too and found the hem of a sleeve.

  Jo heaved herself backwards, her feet finding solid earth. She dragged Suze over the railing, falling down with the weight of her, and together they sprawled on the sandy track.

  Father Patrick was presiding over a very small congregation in Jo’s unit, but the sorrow on display could have filled a cathedral. He and Jo had found armchairs. Rob and Suze huddled together on the couch facing them.

  ‘Sorry for crying so much,’ Suze sniffed, and added another tissue to the damp pile in her lap.

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Jo. ‘There’s something about this place. Everyone who comes in here lately seems to end up crying or shouting.’

  ‘I don’t know how long it will take to pay you back. I’ve got about twenty grand in a term deposit. It was for the girls’ fees and uniforms next year but...’ And then Suze was weeping again.

  Rob had his arm around her shoulders and he pulled her to him. ‘We’ll try to get them into Sydney Girls High,’ he said.

  ‘I reckon their marks are good enough.’

  ‘Maybe I could—’ Jo began, and then Patrick laid his hand on her forearm, stopping her mid-sentence.

  ‘It would be best, I think,’ he said.

  ‘We can sell the business and the house,’ said Suze. ‘Not that it will cover all of it, but maybe we’ll get...two hundred grand? We can move into Mum’s. She’d like that, wouldn’t she, Rob?’ She was clinging to him like a mollusc on a rock.

  ‘Yep. She could do with the company right now. And we’ll both find jobs, and with the two of us working we could pa
y you back the rest. Something every week, I promise. We promise.’

  Patrick nodded. ‘Good. A firm purpose of amendment, that’s what you have to make with Jo. She will have to have restitution in monetary terms. We can draw up a contract.’

  The negotiations were agonising. Jo had never liked to talk about money, but now it seemed that no-one could talk or think of anything else. But there was so much more that needed to be said and that she wanted said.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Patrick got to his feet. ‘You have to see that you’ve done Jo other injuries as well. You betrayed her trust and caused her immense heartache. I’ve witnessed what she’s been going through. She can only be repaid for that by you admitting what you’ve done and showing that you truly regret it.’

  Jo’s first instinct was to say that she hadn’t been hurt. But she had. Her skin, the roots of her hair, the backs of her knees, her eyeballs, her head and her tongue hurt. She was injured, right down to her bones. And even though she was sorry that Suze had to endure this interrogation tonight. She needed to hear her explanation.

  Patrick understood. ‘We need justice here.’ He was implacable. He knew Jo’s first impulse would be to make excuses for Suze. For everyone. ‘I think you should express your guilt and repentance as wholly as you can, Suzanne.’ He was asking for a full confession.

  Suze stopped sniffling. She’d spent years lying and obfuscating. Nights manipulating accounts and days hiding coins in her handbag. Calculating when the staff and students wouldn’t see her carrying goods out the gate and then waiting until her husband and daughters were sleeping to sneak them into the house. And it had all been exhausting. It had very nearly

  killed her.

  She had always expected that her testimonial would have to be made in the dock of a courtroom under the full shameful glare of disapproval from friends, family and the public. Now she had a chance to say her piece in Jo’s lounge room by the light of a Tiffany lampshade. It was a gift. She wasn’t so bankrupt that she couldn’t see that.

  She calmly unwrapped Rob’s arm and got to her feet, clasped her hands in front of her and focused on the wall and a picture frame barely constraining a burst of creamy lilies with spiky leaves. ‘It’s heavenly to be with you’: that’s what pale lilies meant. And to Suze that was yet another sign that this moment she was being given was part of some divine plan.

  ‘Jo, I am sorry.’ She was surprised to find her voice so steady and clear. She was ‘in the moment’, that state she’d often read about and had longed to find. The times when she wasn’t regretting the past or dreading the future had been rare in the past few years.

  ‘I would rather have killed myself than face you. I’m so grateful that you would even consider helping me, after everything I’ve said and done. I took everything our friendship offered and threw it away, and then I felt so guilty that I almost jumped after it.

  ‘It was envy. That’s all. I wanted something for nothing. And I’m not even sure what that “something” was, or is.’

  Rob, his face buried in his hands, uttered a low moan of despair.

  ‘I know life will be different from now on and I’m ready for it. It’s my problem, no-one else’s. It was wrong. I was wrong.

  I see that I have to change.’ Suze tore her eyes from the lilies and looked at Jo. ‘You are the kindest person I’ve ever met. I can’t even imagine what I’ve done to have you as a friend. I must have been a good person in a former life.’

  A sound passed Jo’s lips that was supposed to be another wry appreciation of Suze’s ragbag of spiritual beliefs, but came out as a strangled sob.

  ‘Would I do what you’re doing for me and my family? I’d like to think so, but to be honest I’m too selfish. Are you sure you want to do this? Because—’

  ‘We’ll fix it,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s no more than is done in business in this part of the world every day of the week. I’ll call Doug McIntyre tomorrow and tell him the money’s on its way.’

  Now Jo had her downpayment of guilt and regret, and she and Suze were bound together in the strangest of business agreements.

  It must have been almost 2 a.m. when Jo pulled the front door closed behind her.

  ‘So...’

  Jo started and clamped her hand to her racing heart. ‘My God, Tory! You frightened the life out of me. How long have you been here?’

  Tory was leaning against the wall, her long bare legs crossed and arms folded over her chest in a manner that signalled she was ready to interview her mother and was prepared to wait for answers. ‘When I came in Patrick was in some weird prayer meeting in the lounge, so I went and did some work on the computer. I slept for a bit, then I heard you and Suze come in. I got half the story, so you’d better tell me the rest.’

  ‘Not now, I’m tired,’ said Jo. She felt old. Upper Paleolithic old. ‘You look tired too. Go back to bed.’

  ‘I know there’s some sort of massive drama going on. How much did Suze steal from Darling Point? Why’d she do it? Why are you paying back the money she took? I’m not a kid. You better tell me, or I’ll ask Dad. This is about the money with you and him, too, isn’t it?’

  ‘Everything seems to be about money,’ Jo replied wearily, and walked to her bedroom with Tory in pursuit. She was so exhausted she considered climbing under the covers fully clothed.

  ‘I want to know, Mum. I want to help. It’s not fair you’re living in this dump.’ Tory plonked herself on the bed.

  ‘Oh, pardon me,’ Jo retorted through the top she was pulling over her head.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘You’re sitting on my pyjamas.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Look, all you have to know is that your father and I are still discussing things and that you don’t have to worry, you’ll be provided for.’

  ‘I know that. Anyway, I don’t even care. It’s you I’m worried about. And what’s this whole thing with Suze?’

  Jo hesitated, but knew she’d have to tell, like she’d had to with Patrick.

  ‘I’ll get in bed with you and you can give me all the dirt.’

  ‘You’re not coming into bed with me in that stinking T-shirt.’

  Too late. Tory was now underneath the doona with just her eyebrows and hair visible, doing an impression of her six-year-old self. Jo climbed into bed and was comforted by the feel of Tory’s body next to hers. She didn’t smell too bad.

  Jo did tell her everything about Suze and the deal she had made with JJ. She omitted the millions, in part because it seemed such a preposterous amount of money for JJ to have accumulated without her knowing and because she never wanted to think of it again.

  ‘You know, he’s worth probably a hundred mill or more.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘He has copies of those “rich list” things they print every year. He cuts bits out of the paper about other filthy-rich bastards around town and sticks them in his desk drawer. My guess is he’s aiming for half a billion. He’s seriously unhinged about money.’

  ‘Since when have you been going through your father’s desk?’

  ‘Since I was about seven. My best find was when I was in Year Eleven and found two hundred bucks.’

  ‘You rotten little sneak.’ Jo elbowed her.

  ‘Yeah, aren’t I?’ Tory took it as a compliment. ‘I suppose you can afford to look after Suze if you’re going to get half of what he’s got. It’s a good thing you’re doing, Mum. I’d do it for my friend if I could.’

  ‘Would you, darling?’

  ‘Yeah. After all, it’s only money. But you’re not going to get half, are you? Dad’s trying to cheat you, isn’t he? That’s why he’s going to help you cover everything up.’

  ‘But what if I said that I didn’t want half of everything? What if I just let him have most of it, if it means so much to him?’

  Tory rolled onto her stomach and sighed deeply. ‘You know he can’t help himself. You shouldn’t take it personally.’

  ‘ I know an
d I’m not really.’

  ‘Good.’

  Jo reached for Tory’s hand and felt the smooth skin of her daughter’s long, slim fingers, so like her own. She remembered inspecting those fingers and marvelling at the tiny pink shells of her nails on the morning she was born and being astounded at how perfect they were.

  ‘So, do you really think I’ve done the right thing?’ she asked.

  There was no answer. Just soft and peaceful breathing. Tory was asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Next morning, Jo took the train up to the Blue Mountains, as she had done so many times when she was younger. She left her car in town so she could read over her notes and collect her thoughts. The debacle of Doug’s marriage vows was a constant, embarrassing niggle. There would be no such dereliction of duty today.

  Rattling along under a clear sky and watching the suburbs at last give way to stands of blue-green gum trees, there were so many familiar sights and so many memories that could have derailed her, but she would think of only one person this morning—Charlotte ‘Chazzie’ Hazeltine.

  Over the past few days Jo had spoken for many hours with Charlotte’s grieving mother and father. When a photograph of the young girl—blue-eyed, red-headed and pink-gummed—grinned at her from an email, Jo had staggered from the room and wept so hard she thought she would never stop. She had now formed a portrait of a carefree and comical child who could never be replaced. Like all dearly loved daughters.

  At St Anne’s, Jo had attended perhaps half a dozen funerals for students and had always found them to be unedifying, unsatisfying. Rev Pottharst had never adequately captured the personality of the missing girl nor expressed the depth of the loss. Jo had often thought of taking to the altar to speak and make amends for his bumbling ineptitude.

  This afternoon would be different. Jo was determined to render Charlotte’s unique character as vividly as Dante Gabriel Rossetti had painted his Pre-Raphaelite redheads.

  Rossetti’s muse had been described as being a most beautiful creature: ‘tall, finely-formed with a lofty neck and regular yet somewhat uncommon features, greenish-blue unsparkling eyes, large perfect eyelids, brilliant complexion and a lavish heavy wealth of coppery golden hair.’ That was Charlotte. It had inspired Jo to contemplate Rossetti’s portraits and see that such beauty could be immortal if it was expertly captured.