by B M Carroll
Now Grace wants to be friends with her all the more. How wise she is. Motherhood is a great antidote for meanness, as well as many other failings.
‘Oh, look, there’s Aaron.’ Katy waves to catch someone’s attention. ‘He can’t see us. Excuse me.’
She moves through the crowd, continuing to wave. Moments later Annabel returns with a fresh glass of wine. The timing is almost too perfect.
Melissa is next to make an approach. Grace tenses as she sees her coming. Another victim of Annabel’s. Another apology owed.
Melissa holds out her hand to Annabel. ‘I’m so sorry about what has happened to Jarrod.’
Annabel accepts her handshake and murmurs, ‘Thank you ... Everyone’s concern means a lot.’
Twenty years of estrangement stand between them. It’s hard to imagine what common ground they might have today. Grace is contemplating saying something, alleviating the awkwardness, when Melissa speaks again.
‘I have teenage step-children. They’re incredibly difficult at times ...’
Grace thinks that ‘difficult’ is a diplomatic word to describe Jemma and Daniel’s behaviour.
Annabel nods. Takes a large gulp of her drink. Grace knows her well enough to tell that she’s planning her exit: the awkwardness is excruciating.
Melissa also senses Annabel’s imminent departure. ‘Stay,’ she urges. Both Annabel and Grace are equally taken aback by the firmness in her tone, the authority. ‘Stay a minute and listen. I’ve just realised something that doesn’t add up ... Some of us don’t belong here. Me and Katy, for example. We were not part of your core group.’
Grace inhales sharply. Melissa has a point. Why didn’t anyone think of this before now?
The question on Annabel’s face transforms into a frown. ‘So, what are you saying, exactly?’
Melissa’s gaze swerves to Katy, who is now chatting to Luke, Zach and another, unfamiliar, man. ‘I’m saying that our cohort – Robbie McGrath included – would not put me or Katy in this “group”. They would’ve known I was blacklisted, and that Katy was never cool enough in our eyes to be granted entry.’
Melissa has Grace’s full attention, Annabel’s too. She stands in an erect and confident manner. Grace can imagine her on a stage, giving a presentation to hundreds of people, not one bit afraid of the limelight.
Her stare is quite piercing. ‘I’m saying that whoever is doing this, whoever is sending these notes, is someone outside our year group. Someone close enough to know who’s who and think they have a handle on the dynamics, but not close enough to get it fully right.’
43
ZACH
Zach’s had three beers. He spent most of the time talking to Luke and his partner, Aaron, a sociology professor. He enjoyed their company, shook Luke’s hand and asked him to keep in touch, even though he’s fairly sure neither of them will make the effort.
It’s raining when he gets outside, a summer storm that’s come out of nowhere. Thunder, lightning, the works. Zach pauses, contemplating where he’ll have the best chance of getting a taxi. The wharf or the beachfront? He jogs towards the beachfront, one of the few idiots braving the deluge.
He reaches The Steyne, looks left and right: not a taxi light to be seen. Lightning streaks the sky, illuminating the ocean. A deafening crack of thunder overhead. Then a miracle: a taxi pulls in a short distance up the road to drop off passengers, two women who giggle as they run for cover in their high heels. Zach sprints towards it, jumps in the back seat, slams shut the door.
‘Forestville,’ he instructs the driver, wiping water from his face.
As the taxi edges into the traffic, Zach notices a man standing close to the edge of the pavement. The man has a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. He’s obviously frustrated, his leg kicking out in temper. Zach wonders if he inadvertently pushed ahead of him. Maybe he had his eye on the taxi too?
Too late now, mate. Sorry.
Carson is awake when he gets home. No surprises there.
‘Dadda?’ he calls, as soon as Zach shuts the front door behind him.
‘Coming,’ Zach calls back, slipping out of his shoes and leaving them to dry on the mat.
He bounds up the stairs and sticks his head around his son’s door, which he likes to leave slightly ajar.
‘I’m soaked through, mate. Just give me a minute to get out of these wet clothes and I’ll be back.’
‘Okay,’ Carson replies from the shadows. ‘Hurry.’
Zach has to laugh. Carson has a funny concept of speed and when it’s required. Izzy is not in their bedroom even though the light is on. She must be reading somewhere downstairs. Zach changes into jeans and a T-shirt, then doubles back to Carson’s room.
He sits down on the side of the bed, strokes his son’s hair back from his eyes. ‘Tell me all about your day.’
Carson starts with vigour. A speech he had to deliver at school. Falling over at lunchtime and scraping his knee. He drifts off in the middle of telling Zach about his art project, something that undoubtedly involves copious amounts of glitter and enthusiasm. Zach kisses his son on the head and straightens the bedclothes. He never knew it was possible to love someone as much as he loves Carson.
He finds Izzy downstairs, sitting in the semi-dark, a book on her lap. Things remain strained between them. Zach has been sleeping in the study and of course Carson’s deeply concerned about the change in the status quo. Zach explained that he’d been snoring – the first excuse he could think of – and had to sleep downstairs so he wouldn’t keep Mumma awake.
Izzy turns down the corner of the page she was reading and snaps the book shut. ‘We should talk.’
Zach closes his eyes, says a quick prayer: Don’t end it. Please don’t end it.
He sits down next to her, clasps his hands together, waits for her verdict.
‘I hate what you did,’ she opens.
‘Me too,’ he says, searching her face, her dark inscrutable eyes, for clues. He knows her better than he knows himself, but she folds into herself when she’s upset. She becomes steely and aloof. Totally unlike her usual warm nature.
‘The boy at school ... I understand you were a different person then, a selfish, shallow teenager.’ Zach nods. That just about sums up his younger self. ‘But cheating on Carson and me, that’s been harder to rationalise. You were a grown man. You were a husband and a father—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Zach interjects. ‘I’ll be sorry till the day I die.’
‘It was a difficult time,’ she concedes. ‘Such a difficult time. Making an effort to be happy and proud like other new parents. Modelling excitement and positivity in the face of all that pity ... But Carson loves you so much, Zach.’
Tears spring to his eyes. ‘I love him, too. More than words can say.’
She nods. ‘I love Carson more than I love you ... which is why I must forgive you. I must see your infidelity as part of the struggle we were going through at the time, and try not to let it hurt me today.’
She’s going to forgive him. For Carson’s sake. He’s crying in earnest now.
‘I won’t let you down again. I won’t ever let either of you down again.’
‘Please don’t,’ she says plainly, then takes him in her arms.
Sometime later, when Zach’s emotions are back under control, he tells her about the group meeting with the detective. No more secrets. Besides, he knows she can be relied on to keep the details to herself and not compromise the investigation in any way.
‘Do I need to worry about Carson and me?’ she asks. ‘Do I need to be careful when we go out?’
‘I think you should be more vigilant than usual,’ he says slowly. ‘Keep the house locked when you’re at home. Nothing has been proved but when you add up all the separate instances ...’
‘And the police are going to pay a visit to this man, Robbie?’
‘Yes. I’m adamant it’s him but Katy’s just as adamant it isn’t. I guess we’ll see what the detective thinks.’
Izzy accepts this. She stands up, stretches. ‘I’m ready for bed. Will you lock up?’
‘Sure.’
Zach checks all the windows and doors, taking extra care to make sure everything’s locked and secure. The curtains in the study are open. Rain slashes the window. Thunder is a far-off rumble. The storm is on its way somewhere else. Zach closes the curtains, gets his pillow from the sofa bed and goes upstairs.
A terrible burden has been lifted. He’s both lighter and stronger. At peace with himself. He’s just like Carson in that regard: happy only when the status quo has been re-established.
44
ROBBIE
Robbie is in the garden playing football with Sienna and Charlie when Celia comes out. There’s a stranger with her, a youngish woman wearing a suit. Something about her makes Robbie feel breathless.
‘Sienna, Charlie, go inside, please,’ Celia commands.
‘But we’re playing,’ Sienna protests.
‘Now!’ Celia uses her do-not-argue-with-me-or-you’ll-regret-it tone.
The children go inside with great reluctance. Robbie kicks the ball away and tries to act nonchalant.
‘This is Detective Brien,’ Celia says. There’s a quiver in her voice. ‘She wants to speak to you about Jarrod Harris.’
Not this again. First Zach and Katy. Now a detective pointing the finger at him. For fuck’s sake.
‘I wasn’t the one who attacked him.’ His voice has a quiver too. He sounds guilty as hell. ‘I haven’t set eyes on him since I’ve been back.’
‘How do you know he was attacked?’ the detective asks with a scrutinising stare.
‘Zach.’ Robbie is sure Zach told him but suddenly doubts himself.
She nods as though she’s accepting this, but only for now. ‘Can you tell me where you were Tuesday last week? Around midday?’
Fuck. Robbie looks from the detective to Celia and back to the detective again. Colour floods his face. Oh fuck.
‘It’s important we know your whereabouts,’ the detective says, her voice hardening. She knows guilt when she sees it. ‘So we can eliminate you from our investigations.’
Robbie needs to sit down. His knees are shaking. Every part of him is shaking. He’s ashamed, so ashamed. He jerks his head towards the outside table setting.
‘Can we do this sitting down?’
He doesn’t wait for a reply. The seat is damp from last night’s rain, moisture spreading on the seat of his shorts. Fuck! The detective sits across from him, clasping her hands on the table and leaning forward, interview style.
‘I was at Newtown,’ he blurts out.
‘Where in Newtown?’
‘A school ... Where Katy Buckley works.’ It’s no better sitting down. He’s trembling just as hard.
The detective’s face registers surprise. ‘Did you meet Katy for lunch? Can she corroborate your whereabouts?’
‘Katy didn’t know I was there,’ he admits hoarsely. ‘I’ve gone to the school some days when I’ve been at a loose end ...’ He can’t bring himself to look at Celia, can’t face her dismay and disappointment. ‘I’ve pretended to be one of the maintenance staff, even done some gardening ... I don’t know why. Maybe because Katy was always kind to me and I wanted to feel that connection again.’ Robbie forces himself to continue. His stomach churns with self-disgust. ‘I’ve followed her home on the bus and to her apartment. I’ve been stalking her.’
Will they charge him for this? For trespassing on school grounds? For following and watching Katy without her knowledge? He risks a glance at Celia. His sister’s expression is rightfully appalled.
The detective reads his thoughts. ‘It’s all right, Robbie. Don’t worry about the technicalities. If you meant Katy no physical or mental harm, it will count in your favour.’ She pauses, her eyes holding his, making it impossible to look away. ‘I just want your honesty for now, we can deal with the other stuff later. We know about your history with Zach. He’s admitted to the terrible humiliations he inflicted upon you and is deeply regretful. Did you have a history with Jarrod, too?’
Robbie closes his eyes. Jarrod’s face is there. Cocky. Forceful. Refusing to back down.
‘You’re in a safe place, Robbie.’ The detective’s voice sounds far away. ‘You can be completely honest and I’ll protect you as best I can. I need your help to understand who Jarrod was back then. Was he as cruel as Zach?’
Yes. And his actions had much longer lasting ramifications.
‘He stopped me,’ Robbie whispers.
‘Stopped you from what?’ The detective’s voice is so distant it could be entirely in his head.
‘From killing myself.’
Celia yelps. Presses her knuckles to her mouth. ‘Don’t say that!’
Robbie is back in time. Running down the street, away from that awful party, away from the image of Zach writhing on the ground and everyone sniggering. There’s shouting behind him, the thud of feet in pursuit.
‘Stop! Hold on!’
Robbie didn’t stop. He didn’t hold on. Every breath felt like fire in his throat. His sneakers had thin soles, unsuitable for running, and pain reverberated from his feet to his shins. He knew only what he was running from, had no idea where he was actually going. Then it came to him. The playing fields. The rock face on the eastern end, remnants of an old quarry.
‘Zach’s a dickhead! Don’t pay any attention to him!’
Jarrod was gaining ground, faster and fitter from all the sport he played. He caught up at the fields, lungeing at Robbie from behind, both of them rolling on to the dewy grass.
‘Zach’s a dickhead,’ he repeated. ‘Don’t listen to him.’
‘Fuck off.’ Robbie pushed Jarrod away and jumped back on his feet. He began to half-walk, half-run across the grass; it was hard to see very far ahead. No street lights up here. No moon or stars. Just blackness.
‘Wait,’ Jarrod panted, a few steps behind. ‘Just wait.’
Robbie ignored him. Plunged ahead. Reaching the far side, he started to climb the embankment, then the overgrown track to the summit.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jarrod stopped at the bottom. He sounded both annoyed and incredulous.
Robbie didn’t answer. He stumbled, almost fell flat on his face. Brambles and scrub scratched his legs but he didn’t care. He had a purpose. He was going to do it. Right here and now. He was going to end his defective existence, put his fucked-up, seizure-prone brain out of its misery.
‘Stop!’ Jarrod commanded. ‘It’s pitch-black. We could fall and kill ourselves.’
‘Result,’ Robbie shouted from above.
Jarrod finally understood. ‘Fucking hell. You can’t be serious?’
Robbie reached the summit and negotiated the last few metres to the sheerest section of the rock face. He peered over. Was it far down enough? Was there enough clearance to make a clean jump to the bottom? There was a slight wind. He liked the feeling of it on his face, imagined himself being buffeted on the way down. He could hear Jarrod scrambling up the track, thrashing through the undergrowth and straggly trees.
‘Go home,’ Robbie instructed him. ‘You don’t want to see this.’
Jarrod’s voice projected through the dark, husky, panicky. ‘I’m not going to “see” anything because you’re not fucking doing it.’
He reached the top. A standoff: they both stood there, barely able to see each other.
A few steps forward, that’s all it would take. Robbie felt strong enough to do it.
‘Let’s just sit down and talk things through,’ Jarrod pleaded. ‘Come on. What’s the rush?’
Jarrod sat on the ground, his voice dropping with him. Then he started blabbering. About Annabel being pregnant. About both sets of parents being aghast. About how they hadn’t planned it – obviously – but they would try to do their best. He talked until Robbie, becoming distracted, sat down too. He talked until Robbie’s intensity and resolve dissipated, and all that was left was weariness and a desire to cu
rl up in bed. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, by mutual agreement, they made their way back down the hill. Jarrod escorted him to the door of his house.
‘I’ll be checking up on you, mate,’ he threatened.
And he did. Every fucking day he would come to the house and knock on the door, asking for Robbie. They would have a short one-sided conversation.
‘You okay?’
‘Not planning any more rock-climbing?’
‘Want to talk?’
Celia, Nick and his parents were perplexed by Jarrod’s bizarrely brief visits.
‘Is he blackmailing you or something?’ Nick asked one night.
Robbie laughed off his brother’s question. Nick was closer to the truth than he realised. Jarrod was blackmailing him. Making it impossible to try again, not giving him enough time with his own thoughts to work himself up to it.
A couple of weeks later Robbie packed his rucksack and got on that early-morning bus out of town.
‘I hate Jarrod Harris,’ he finishes now, tears streaming down his face. Celia is bawling too, and even the detective looks shaken. ‘He stopped me, and even though I’ve wanted – many, many times – to try again, I’ve never worked up the courage. I’ve never felt as determined or as strong-willed as I did that night.’
45
ANNABEL
Annabel gets the call around 7 p.m. She’s in the hospital foyer, taking a short break. It’s Daniel’s phone number but an unfamiliar voice.
‘Mrs Harris?’
‘Yes,’ she replies cautiously.
‘It’s Liam, Daniel’s friend.’
Annabel freezes. She knows who Liam is. He uses drugs with Daniel. That does not, by any definition, qualify him as a friend.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asks, even though she already knows the answer. Why else would Liam be calling from her son’s phone? Why else would he sound so scared?
‘There’s an ambulance here ... Daniel’s unconscious ... The ambos told me to phone his family ...’