Thin Blood

by Vicki Tyley

  By the time the box was empty, Narelle’s voice was no more than a raspy crackle, yet she pressed on, continuing to divest herself of years of pent-up feelings. If Jacinta had pieced all the bits together correctly, the affair between Craig and Narelle had lasted for about five or six months, ending at least a year before Kirsty disappeared. Were the two connected? Narelle was adamant that they weren’t. It was Kirsty’s disappearance that had thrown the two lovers back together again.

  Nothing could sway Narelle’s conviction that Craig was not a murderer. She had stuck by her man, her steadfast faith in his innocence carrying her through the lonely years of her estrangement from family and friends. Even when working, she had kept to herself, coming across to her co-workers as cold and aloof.

  “After the court case, I suggested to Craig that he sell the house and we move to some place no one knew us. Somewhere we could start afresh. He wouldn’t have a bar of it.” Narelle shook her head as if still not believing it. “Said that would be like admitting he was guilty. But I just can’t take it anymore. Tell me,” she croaked, “what am I supposed to do? I love Craig but I’m so scared about what’s happening to him.”

  Narelle looked to Jacinta for a response, her expression so miserable that Jacinta couldn’t help herself. She jumped to her feet, skirted the coffee table, and wrapped both arms tightly around the distressed woman’s shoulders.

  Narelle gasped, her chest heaving as she choked on her sobs. “And I think I’m pregnant…”

  CHAPTER 22

  Cradling the large, bulky bouquet of red roses in his left arm, Brett used his right to check the mailbox. He withdrew his hand, bringing with it one brown and two white envelopes. Reminder notices, no doubt. Whistling, he walked to the front door, Jacinta’s financial predicament failing to dent his mood.

  He had booked the restaurant for 7:30, hoping to surprise her. By his calculations, that would give her more than enough time to tart herself up without stressing. He bounced up the concrete steps, wondering if he should ring the doorbell or use the key she had returned to him that morning.

  Deciding to let himself in, he clamped the mail between his teeth and fumbled in his trouser pocket for the key. He unlocked the door, gave it a gentle push and stepped inside. The doors leading to the dining room – or rather, Jacinta’s makeshift office – and the bedroom were closed, leaving the hall in semi-darkness.

  Puzzled, he crept up to the first door and put his ear to it. When he didn’t hear anything, he opened it wide enough to poke his head through. His nose twitched; the warm, stuffy air inside was laced with an unfamiliar perfume. Light filtered through the unlined calico curtains, giving the room a hazy feel.

  His gaze swept the room, taking in the dining table cluttered with various papers, newspapers and magazines; the absence of the laptop was only made evident by the small empty space it had left. Soft snoring sounds came from the daybed near the window.

  He opened the door wider and crept into the room. A few steps in, he started, almost dropping the flowers and the mail. The dark-haired head on the pillow was certainly not the blonde one he had expected.

  Backtracking, he left quickly, shutting the door behind him. Feeling that perhaps he had landed in some surreal video game, he took a deep breath and moved on to door number two.

  From behind it, he heard light, irregular tapping. He opened the door a fraction, and saw Jacinta sitting cross-legged on the bed, typing on her laptop. Grateful that he had it right this time, he exhaled, his breath coming out in a loud huff.

  Jacinta spun around, her eyes wide. “Jesus, Brett! Scare me, why don’t you!” she hissed, her voice a strangled whisper.

  He went to speak but she stopped him, placing her index finger to her lips and pointing at the door. He stepped into the room, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot.

  “Please tell me it’s not who I think it is in the other room.”

  She explained briefly what had happened. “What was I supposed to do? Turn her out on the street?”

  “No, but…” He shook his head, knowing it was pointless to argue. Besides, what would he have done in her place?

  Jacinta cocked an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. With a jolt, he remembered the roses in his hands. He stepped forward, proffering the cellophane and tissue wrapped bouquet. With an impish grin, she accepted it, lifting the roses to her face and inhaling.

  Dropping down onto the end of the bed, he angled his body to face her, setting the mail down next to the laptop. “I guess this means any ideas I had about a romantic evening for two are out of the question.”

  Jacinta pursed her lips. “Sorry, Brett,” she said, laying the flowers gently on the bed beside her. “I didn’t plan on…” Distracted, she picked up the top piece of mail, a white, hand-addressed envelope. She frowned and turned it over. The back was blank and it wasn’t until she flipped it over again that she realised it had no postage stamp.

  She ripped the envelope open, unfolded the contents and began to read. Her frown deepened, her face becoming pale and pinched as she gripped the single sheet of lined paper.

  Jacinta hadn’t noticed the small card that had slipped from the letter as she opened it. Brett picked it up to find he was holding a business card for Detective Inspector Daniel Lassiter. What possible reason could the police have for writing to Jacinta?

  He glanced up in time to see her screw the sheet of paper into a tight ball and hurl it at the wall.

  “Bastard!” she screamed, her sleeping guest in the next room evidently forgotten.

  CHAPTER 23

  Jacinta buried her face in her hands, smothering another scream. Praying that their paths would never cross hadn’t been enough. Daniel Lassiter was alive and well, married with two sons and another on the way. He had been living in Victoria for eight years. In a city the size of Melbourne, what were the odds of them both being in the same place at the same time?

  Emerging from behind her hands, she glanced up to see Brett watching her, his eyebrows drawn together in a mix of concern and confusion. She couldn’t skirt the issue any longer. At the very least, she owed him some sort of explanation.

  As she opened her mouth to speak, he extended his hand, a business card pressed between his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes darted back and forth between his face and hand. She plucked the card from his fingers, read it, and then reread it. Somehow, the police mission ‘to serve and to protect’ did not sit well with the testosterone-fuelled adolescent she remembered.

  Unable to speak, she held her hand up, palm out. Brett gave her an understanding nod, allowing her the space and time to compose herself. Uncrossing her legs, she flipped onto her stomach and stretched across the bed, her arm extended as she used her fingertips to snare the ball of scrunched-up paper from where it had landed on the floor.

  Back in an upright position, she smoothed out the letter on the bed and reread it, hoping to find answers. Any answers. What galled her most about the letter was the chatty long-time-no-see tone. He apologised for not making himself known at Café Face: he had been running late and he wasn’t sure it was her. As if the past had never existed, he made no mention of her mother or his father or anything that had happened all those years ago. It would have been so much simpler if he had just pretended not to see her.

  Not only had the past come back to haunt her, but now she would be forced to put years of suppressed emotions into words. Voicing aloud what she and her mother had endured at the hands of her bully and tyrant of a stepfather would be like reliving the nightmare. Even his own son hadn’t escaped unscathed. Nothing Daniel ever did was good enough for his father. Jacinta never saw Tony hit Daniel, but she saw the effect of the tongue-lashings. But knowing that Daniel had also been a victim didn’t make it any easier. He carried his father’s genes. Like father, like son?

  “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Brett waited, his chin jutted forward in expectancy.

  Inhaling deeply, she nodded. Brett’s
patience was wearing thin, and who could blame him? “It’s a long story and I promise to tell you everything as soon—”

  The phone on the bedside table rang. She pounced, answering it before it could ring again. The fury-filled voice on the other end had her wishing she hadn’t. Listening to Craig Edmonds’ slurred torrent of abuse, Jacinta understood the intent, if not the words. Finally, he screamed some incoherent threat, burst into loud sobs and slammed down the phone.

  She replaced the receiver and turned to Brett. Her first instinct had been to tell him it had been a wrong number. Then she had second thoughts. If she was going to give their relationship any chance of survival, she had to start being more open with him.

  “One guess who that was,” she said, trying to make light of it. She nodded as he gestured in the general direction of the dining room. “Right now I don’t think I’m his favourite person. But at least Narelle is safe.” She slid to the side of the bed. “Perhaps I should go and check on her.”

  As she went to get up, Brett barred her way, standing legs apart, directly in front of her.

  “Narelle is fine. Forget everyone else for the moment. We’re more important.” He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her down with him. “You,” he reached for her hands, “are more important. I love you, Jacinta Deller. Someday you may trust me enough to confide in me. I can wait for however long it takes.” He briefly squeezed her hands before releasing them.

  Intended or not, his reverse psychology worked. He hadn’t pressured her — quite the opposite — yet she felt compelled to talk. She had put it off for long enough. No matter how difficult, she had to do it, if only to prove her love for him.

  An uneasy silence enveloped them as they sat side by side, but not touching, on the edge of the bed. Fearing her fragile composure was on the verge of crumbling, she dared not even look at him.

  She clamped her hands tightly between her knees to stop them shaking. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs and began.

  Brett listened without interruption as she shared parts of her life she had never shared with anyone. From time to time her voice wavered, but somehow she managed to keep her emotions at bay.

  Starting from her early childhood days, when life was uncomplicated, she moved into the school years. As she grew up, she had started to pine for the father she never knew. All her friends had fathers, even if they weren’t living with the family. She didn’t even know who her father was, and she never would. Her mother had taken the secret of his identity to her grave.

  Yet Jacinta had survived and got on with making the most of what she had. That was until the Lassiters came into their lives.

  Keeping her voice low and without intonation, Jacinta told Brett about what in the beginning had held so much promise. She touched on her mother’s infatuation with the charming Tony Lassiter, their whirlwind romance and the equally fast marriage that followed. Life was beautiful. Or so her mother thought.

  Swallowing hard, Jacinta continued.

  Halfway through recounting how her mother had stoically faced her new husband’s unrelenting intimidation, manipulation and abuse as if it had been a punishment to be endured, Jacinta stopped.

  If Daniel hadn’t come into her room that night, would her mother ever have found the courage to flee? Had he inadvertently done her a favour? She shook her head, refusing to dwell on the what-ifs.

  By the time she had filled Brett in on the period between her and her mother’s landing in Melbourne and the sighting of her stepbrother in the café, she felt wrung out. Empty. Numb. Strangely, she also felt lighter, as if in the retelling she had offloaded some of the burden of the past.

  Without a word, Brett put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close. His skin felt hot against hers.

  “I never meant to keep any of this from you.” She sniffed, the tears welling in her eyes. “Keeping it locked away just seemed the easiest way of dealing with it.”

  Brett kissed her lightly on the forehead, and shuffled back on the bed, taking her with him. For a long time they lay still and quiet, snuggled in each other’s arms.

  Then she remembered her houseguest.

  Brett’s eyes opened as she started to pull back.

  “I’m just going to check on Narelle,” she whispered. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Yawning, he rolled onto his side. She reached the door and turned. He watched her through half-closed eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in a playful grin. Sexy. She smiled, tickled by the unexpected thought.

  However, this light-heartedness proved fleeting. The door to the dining room stood wide open, the empty daybed mocking her. Narelle’s suitcase and toilet bag were gone, leaving no evidence that she had ever been there.

  Cursing, Jacinta ran from the room. In her panic to check if Narelle might be elsewhere in the house, she almost missed the note propped by the phone.

  Narelle’s large, round handwriting filled the torn notebook page. Jacinta skimmed over the apology and thank you, her dismay intensifying as she realised that Narelle had returned home to the man who only hours ago she had fled. The same man who, in a drunken rage, had phoned Jacinta, spouting threats.

  Narelle’s postscript promising to call her the next day did nothing to quell Jacinta’s growing fears. Her first reaction was to search for her car keys. But logic told her she was overreacting. Craig hadn’t harmed Narelle to date. What made her think he would now?

  “Don’t get involved. It’s not your problem.” Brett caught her by the elbow. “It’s time you put yourself first.”

  She shook him off. “That’s not what you said last week.” His accusation that she always put herself first still smarted.

  He dropped his gaze, looking suitably contrite. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.”

  As pleased as she was to hear that, she didn’t have the time to pursue it. “Look, for whatever reason, Narelle came to me for help. What do you want me to do? Turn my back on her?”

  “She says here she’ll call you tomorrow.” He waved the note in her face. “I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. After all, she’s survived on her own all these years.”

  So had Kirsty, until that fateful night, she thought.

  “If you’re that concerned, why don’t we get the police to check on her? And if you’re worried about getting the run-around, why don’t you call Daniel direct?”

  Before she could take umbrage, he continued.

  “You said yourself you were only kids. Maybe this is a chance for your stepbrother to redeem himself; prove to you that he’s not the monster you remember.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “What harm could there be in talking to him?”

  Plenty. It would mean acknowledging his existence, and she wasn’t ready for that. “Brett, I know you mean well, but can we please just take it one step at a time?”

  “Would it help if I phoned him and explained the situation?”

  She wasn’t sure what situation he was referring to, but shaking her head in an emphatic no anyway, she said, “Besides, the police turning up at the house would undoubtedly only make matters worse.”

  Brett grinned. “And you turning up wouldn’t?”

  In a roundabout way, he had forced her to answer her own question.

  CHAPTER 24

  Jacinta had lost count of the number of times she had picked up the phone, listened to the dial tone and hung up again. Brett had left for work early, leaving her alone to prowl the house and wait for Narelle’s promised phone call.

  Her problem was she had too much time to think. Willing the phone to ring wasn’t working. She needed a distraction. Laundry, dishes, dusting, accounts: all needed doing, but none held any appeal.

  When the phone did ring, she was elbow-deep in soapy water. Quickly drying her hands with a tea towel, she lunged for the phone, answering with a breathless “hello.”

  “Where’s my wife, you fucking bitch? And don’t even think about—�
�

  Jacinta recoiled, the phone slipping from her grip. She caught it, disconnecting the call. What had happened to Narelle? Where was she, if not at home?

  The phone rang again. Jacinta’s stomach knotted, a bitter, metallic taste filling her mouth. She couldn’t not answer it. What if it was Narelle? With her finger poised to end the call, she answered it.

  Her voice came out as a squeak. A vaguely familiar woman’s voice asked for Jacinta Deller. Covering the mouthpiece, Jacinta cleared her throat.

  “Jacinta Deller,” she announced in her most confident and business-like voice.

  When she heard it was Emily York from Alvico Media, her heart skipped a beat, a bubble of hope welling in her chest. As far as job interviews went, bad news was usually delivered by letter or email.

  The phone call lasted less than a minute, but when Jacinta hung up, she couldn’t contain her elation, dancing a little jig on the spot. Emily was emailing all the details through, but that was just a formality. She started work Monday at Alvico Media: a regular job with regular hours and regular pay.

  Wanting to share her excitement, she called Brett, leaving a message when it diverted to his voicemail. While Brett’s reconciliation dinner hadn’t gone to plan the previous night, they now had extra cause for celebration. She closed her eyes, already tasting the champagne bubbles.

  The ringing telephone broke her reverie, the champagne fizz dissipating on hearing Narelle’s subdued voice.

  “Thank God! Narelle, where are you?”

  “On my way to the doctor. Why?”

  “Where did you go last night?”

  “Oh, Jacinta, I’m really sorry about running out on you like that. Didn’t you get my note?”

  “Yes, but where did you go?”

  “Home,” Narelle replied, her voice tentative, as if she wasn’t sure it was the right response. “Why?”