Who We Were

by B M Carroll

  ‘Have you come across Daniel recently?’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve never met Zach Latham? He’s a well-known GP in Manly.’

  She brings up Luke’s name, Katy’s name and Melissa’s name, and searches his face for recognition: not a glimmer. Unless he’s a very good actor. It makes no sense, she tells herself. There is nothing linking Tom to these people. And not only is there no link, there is no reason: other than the flimsy theory of Tom wanting to force Annabel’s hand with Daniel, and then – because he had sent Annabel an email – convincing himself he needed to send others. Flimsy being an understatement. Grace has been inside her head far too much. She needs to talk this through with someone who knows both Tom and the intricacies of what’s been going on. Someone who can tell her, in her usual brusque manner, to stop being daft: Annabel. But that’s not going to happen anytime soon; her poor friend has barely left Jarrod’s side. Grace’s details about the accident are sketchy. Annabel’s not allowed to have her phone switched on in ICU, and Grace has spoken to her only a couple of times, their conversation centred around practical ways in which Grace can help.

  Her thoughts revert to her husband, and the disturbing truth that he knew all along about Daniel’s dabbling with drugs.

  Tom is a good man. He would never threaten or upset people. Yes, he can be a bit judgemental and zealous at times, but he would never do anything as extreme as this.

  The reunion has been cancelled because of these messages. All of Katy’s planning and organisation come to nothing. Grace’s anticipation and nostalgia left with no outlet. But wait! Is that the point? Is that what she’s been missing?

  Maybe Tom doesn’t want you to go, Grace.

  Maybe it’s that simple. For some bizarre reason known only to himself, her husband does not want her at this reunion and is prepared to go to crazy lengths to have it called off.

  No, no, no. If Tom didn’t want her to go, he would come out and say it. Wouldn’t he?

  Grace spends the following day in the kitchen, making a lasagne, a shepherd’s pie and a pasta bake: crisis food. She takes the meals around to Annabel’s house in the evening, hoping to catch her friend on one of her quick trips home from the hospital.

  Jemma answers the door. She seems pleased to have a visitor, and even more pleased when she sees the food. ‘Hey, Grace. Oh, thank you so much ... Come in.’

  Grace steps inside the cavernous hallway with its glossy white tiles. Everything in Annabel’s house is ridiculously oversized: the master suite, the his-and-hers bathrooms, even the utility room seems unnecessarily large. Mia comes skipping from the back of the house and launches herself forward for a hug. There’s no sign of either Daniel or Annabel.

  ‘How’s your father doing?’ Grace asks, sitting down on a kitchen stool.

  ‘The same,’ Jemma says, shooting Mia a wary glance and leading Grace to the assumption that the young girl is being protected from the gravity of her father’s condition. ‘Do you want some tea?’

  Grace smiles. ‘That would be lovely.’

  Poor Jemma. Having to hold everything together at home while missing out on her university course and social life. But she’s always been the kind of child who gets on with things without much fuss. Mia is the same: low maintenance. Daniel, of course, is a different story.

  ‘Is your brother home?’

  Jemma shakes her head, grimaces. ‘He’s been taking advantage of Mum not being here ...’

  Grace feels a flare of anger towards Daniel. For his colossal selfishness. For giving his mother and sister something extra to worry about, as if the situation with Jarrod wasn’t enough.

  Jemma pours boiled water into two matching mugs. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

  Everything in Annabel’s kitchen is colour matched and ultramodern. Polar opposite to Grace’s kitchen, which is more than forty years old and looks every day of it. Every time Grace comes here, she resolves to buy some new crockery at the very least, but she never does.

  Grace sips her tea, chats to Jemma about university, gives feedback on a story Mia is writing for homework, before tucking her god-daughter into bed. The clock is edging towards 9 p.m. and still no sign of Daniel. It’s a school night, for heaven’s sake. Where is he? Just as she is about to say something to Jemma, that perhaps they should try phoning him, she hears the front door open and close.

  ‘Daniel?’ Jemma calls out, worry etched in her voice.

  A grunt in response. Then the sound of another door opening and closing. His bedroom? The bathroom? Grace waits, wondering if Daniel is going to appear at any point. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. Apparently not.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she says to Jemma. ‘Thanks for the tea. Tell your mum to call me if she needs anything at all.’

  ‘I will,’ Jemma promises.

  Grace smells it as soon as she steps into the hall. Earthy. Woody. Unmistakable. ‘That’s weed.’

  Jemma sighs. ‘He’s been smoking every day since Mum’s been at the hospital.’

  What an awful, awful mess. What kind of state will Daniel wake up in tomorrow? How can he pay attention at school? Have the motivation to learn and do well? What is even the point of school if this is all he cares about?

  ‘Has he been going to school?’

  ‘No. But Mum doesn’t know that.’

  ‘I should try to knock some sense into him,’ Grace says, moving towards the stairs.

  Jemma sticks an arm out, stopping her. ‘There’s no point when he’s off his face. Trust me.’

  Her argument is valid. Nevertheless, Grace finds it difficult not to barge into Daniel’s room, demanding he not cause his family this extra worry. She is uneasy as she hugs Jemma goodbye.

  Her own house is silent and mostly in darkness. She looks in on each of the children. Tahlia is lying on her side, facing the far side of the room. Lauren is on her back, her face illuminated by her bedside lamp. Poppy likes to burrow down: her head is barely visible. Billy’s in a tangle of sheets. She says a quick prayer for each child, that they’ll make the right choices and not end up like Daniel. She looks in on Tom, too, who obviously went to bed early because of his 6 a.m. shift. Or maybe he’s avoiding her now. Playing her at her own game.

  Grace pours herself a glass of water and begins to process her thoughts, which are as tangled as Billy’s sheets. What if Jarrod ends up with some long-term brain damage or some other debilitating problem? Annabel said there’s strictly no visitors, so all Grace can do is offer support on the home front. She can’t help feeling she failed tonight. That she should have done something more. For a moment, while she and Jemma were at a stand-off in the hallway, she’d briefly thought about phoning Tom and asking his advice. This last thought brings her back to all the horrible doubts she’s had about her husband and the aborted reunion.

  She sighs. She should go to bed. She hasn’t been sleeping well.

  She rinses her glass, turns out the lights, and then something prompts her to return to Lauren’s room. At the time it’s an automatic thing, she’s turning the doorknob without understanding why. Later she thinks she might have subconsciously wanted to turn off Lauren’s lamp. Or perhaps she felt a draught, or an increase in noise, or sensed some other change in the atmosphere.

  There’s no denying what she notices as soon as she looks into the room. The window is open. The curtains are blowing. And Grace is very sure that the window was not open when she looked in fifteen minutes ago.

  ‘Lauren, what on earth are you up to now?’ she whispers to her sleeping daughter.

  Grace pulls the window shut, trying not to make too much noise. Something goes floating to the ground. A folded piece of paper. Grace opens it.

  I have one question for you. If it was one of your kids being harmed, would you still look the other way?

  Grace screams. Lauren jumps up in bed and starts screaming too. Moments later Tom comes stumbling into the room. He finds his wife and daughter clutching each other, whimpering in terror.

 
; 38

  MELISSA

  Melissa’s head aches. Today she delivered three client presentations. One of her sales team threatened to resign, and another found a significant error in his commission payment. She got a step closer to signing Pharma Direct, but a long-term client – one she has bent over backwards to keep happy – is making noises about going elsewhere.

  PJ, of course, knows none of this. All he knows is that she is finally home, and he is really, really pleased to see her. First comes the jumping and pirouetting. Then the zooming, skidding out of control on the corners. Finally, he collapses on his belly and puts his face between his paws, as though to say, Boy, I’m exhausted.

  ‘I know exactly how you feel,’ Melissa laughs. She opens the balcony door to let him out.

  Tessa has left a note on the counter. PJ has been very scratchy today. Should we take him to the vet?

  Melissa notices the ‘we’ and smiles. PJ has been to the vet and was prescribed a special cream, which seems to be working.

  ‘You’re perfectly fine, aren’t you?’ Melissa says when he comes back inside. ‘Tessa’s just being a helicopter parent.’

  She changes his water, gives him dinner, starts to make something for herself to eat, all the while keeping up a steady conversation with the dog, who cocks his head and gives the impression he understands.

  ‘I’m becoming one of those weird dog ladies,’ she said to Cassie today. ‘I talk to PJ like he’s a human being.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘They love the sound of your voice. That’s not the case with a lot of human beings.’

  After dinner, Melissa flicks on the television while she answers emails; it’s a constant battle to keep up with them, no matter the time of day. She sends Henry a text to say hello but doesn’t expect an answer. It’s open night at Tessa’s dance school. Parents are invited to come and watch the class perform. Phones would be switched off, no doubt. Melissa wouldn’t have minded going – things have defrosted with Tessa and she would have enjoyed watching her dance – but neither Henry nor Tessa suggested it.

  At 9 p.m., Melissa lets PJ out for his final toilet, and then locks up. She realises afterwards, when she goes through the chronology of the night, that this is her first time entering the bedroom since getting home. She notices it immediately, the instant she turns on the light: a white envelope propped against her dusky-pink pillowcase. She assumes it’s another note from Tessa. Until she opens the envelope and reads what’s inside.

  You make me sick, Snow White. People like you who care so much about animals but don’t give a shit about real people.

  The police officers are male; similar in build, age and levels of cynicism.

  ‘So, nothing has been taken?’ asks the one with the darker hair.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  Melissa has checked her jewellery, the safe where she keeps her passport and other important documents, and the drawer next to her bed where she tends to keep extra cash. Everything seems to be accounted for.

  ‘Any laptops or other devices missing?’

  ‘No. I had them with me.’

  ‘Clothes, shoes, handbags?’

  She is the owner of two designer handbags and has already determined that both are where they should be.

  ‘So, the only indication that someone has been here is this letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was anyone home today?’

  ‘My stepdaughter, Tessa. She comes every afternoon to check on the dog.’

  ‘Where’s Tessa now?’

  ‘At dance class. With Henry, my husband.’

  Melissa doesn’t mention that Henry and Tessa don’t actually live here. She doesn’t want to see those expressions become any more dubious.

  ‘Was Tessa alone when she dropped in this afternoon?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sometimes she has friends with her. I can’t contact her at the moment to ask.’

  One of the officers – the one with the lighter-coloured hair – leaves the bedroom.

  ‘He’s just going to collect some fingerprints off the door and other hard surfaces,’ the remaining one explains.

  Melissa assumes that the fingerprinting will only yield a result if the perpetrator is someone with an existing criminal record.

  ‘There are security cameras,’ she says. ‘We should be able to see who has come in and out of the building from the footage.’

  ‘We’ll check with the building manager,’ he promises. ‘Your balcony door was locked when you came home?’

  Melissa casts her mind back to when she let PJ out. She flicked the lock before she slid open the door. Didn’t she?

  ‘I think so.’

  The officer checks the bedroom window, which is locked, and proceeds to check the other windows in the apartment. Finally, he examines the lock on the front door. ‘No sign of forced entry.’

  Did Tessa leave the door on the latch? The intruder wasn’t in the apartment at the same time as Tessa, was he? Melissa’s heart freezes.

  ‘Look, can we sit down and talk?’ she says to the darker-haired officer, his counterpart busy with dusting paraphernalia. ‘There’s a bigger picture here. Other people have been getting notes too.’

  They sit, and she proceeds to tell him about the reunion, the yearbook, and what she knows about the emails and notes. She has him over the line by the time she’s finished; his scepticism has been replaced with concern.

  ‘It sounds like we need to get a detective out to see you. Probably be tomorrow before we can organise that. Do you feel comfortable staying here in the meantime?’

  Melissa does not feel comfortable staying here. Someone has been in her apartment, in her bedroom. She feels violated, more scared than ever in her life. Dying alone. And you will. Those words have taken on a heightened level of threat.

  She shakes her head. ‘No ... but I have somewhere else I can stay.’

  She goes back to the bedroom and quickly packs some essentials. PJ has been sitting out all the drama in his crate. She gives him a cuddle before attaching his lead. ‘Come on, boy. We’re going on an adventure.’

  The police officers walk out with her, one of them offering to carry her bag. The car park is deserted, menace lurking in every shadow; she is extremely glad of their presence.

  ‘We’ll be in touch.’ They shake her hand and depart.

  Melissa throws her bag in the boot and hurriedly secures PJ’s lead around one of the headrests. She turns on the ignition and doesn’t exhale again until all the car doors are locked.

  ‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ she says. The tyres screech when she turns the steering wheel, causing another surge in her heart rate.

  It’s 10 p.m. Henry and Tessa will be home by now. Should she phone? Warn them that she and PJ are on their way?

  ‘Oh, whatever! Henry will just have to deal with it. Tessa and Christopher, too. We’re coming to stay and there’s not a single thing they can do to stop us.’

  It’s a fifteen-minute drive to Henry’s house. Melissa grips the steering wheel and repeatedly checks her rear-view mirror. Someone could be following her. How would she even know it if they were? All she can see is the blur of headlights. She presses down on the accelerator. She’s well over the speed limit, doesn’t care, can’t get to Henry’s house fast enough.

  39

  ANNABEL

  ‘Mrs Harris?’

  Annabel looks up from her magazine. Takes a moment to focus. It’s a woman. Short hair, freckles. Late twenties or early thirties, perhaps? Her clothes look more suited to an office than a hospital: fitted black trouser suit, white shirt with a frill down the front, flat stylish shoes.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbles, quickly putting down the magazine. ‘I didn’t hear the door. Must have been half asleep.’

  It’s been a week now. A haze of sleep deprivation and too much time spent in this room.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Brien,’ the woman says, holding out her hand. ‘I was wondering if I could have a word?’


  ‘Of course.’ Annabel stands up to make the handshake. ‘Actually, I could do with a change of scene ... Should we try the café downstairs?’

  While they’re in the lift together, the detective makes enquiries about Jarrod’s condition and Annabel wearily relays what Dr Chan has said: it’s a matter of waiting, being patient, taking each day on its own merits.

  The café is full, so they order take-away coffees and sit on one of the garden benches.

  ‘Mrs Harris, I’m here today to give you an update on our investigation,’ the detective begins. ‘We assumed that your husband received what he thought was a call-out to the warehouse. We’ve checked his phone history for the days prior, focusing on incoming calls. Next we looked at location data to see which of those numbers were in the vicinity of the warehouse at the approximate time of the assault.’

  Annabel listens carefully. The coffee has made her feel less sluggish. ‘You mean you’ve used GPS?’

  ‘Not all phones have GPS enabled, but we can usually establish an approximate location by looking at signals from the handset to the local base station.’

  ‘And did you find any suspicious calls?’

  ‘We believe we’ve identified the relevant phone number, yes. A ten-dollar prepaid sim that looks like it was used for one single phone call. We’re currently tracking down the paperwork at time of purchase.’ She anticipates Annabel’s next question and expands, ‘Evidence of identity is required, unless paying by credit or debit card.’

  ‘So you’re saying we should be able to find out who did this? We just need to find out who bought the sim?’

  The detective smiles ruefully. ‘It’s rarely that straightforward. There are ways of getting around the identification process: false IDs, et cetera. But the fact that the call was made from a prepaid is a warning bell. It implies the assault wasn’t something that happened in the heat of the moment ...’

  Annabel’s stomach lurches. ‘You’re saying someone planned to hurt Jarrod?’