Bitter Nothings

by Vicki Tyley

  While Emmet checked out the kitchen, she wandered around the living area. The air smelled faintly of pine, an artificial freshness. Little had changed since her last visit a month or so ago. Still pristine, everything in its place, the two black Le Corbusier-style couches taking centre stage at perfect right angles to each other. Even the placement of the open magazine on the coffee table looked deliberate. It reminded her more of a showroom than a home.

  She glanced out at the balcony. Gabe stood with his back to her at the railing, a cigarette in one hand, the phone in the other, staring out at the cityscape. His expression when he turned was somber. He closed his phone and took one last drag on his cigarette, before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the terrazzo table.

  “That was Dad’s accountant,” he said, when he returned inside. “Where’s Emmet?”

  “Waiting for you,” their younger brother said, joining them. “Like always.”

  Gabe motioned for them to take a seat. “Do you want a coffee or something?”

  “No.” Emmet planted himself in the middle of one couch and picked up the magazine. “Just get on with it, will you. I haven’t got all day.”

  “Dad’s broke.” For several long seconds, Gabe’s words hung in the air.

  Dervla sank onto the leather seat next to Emmet.“What do you mean? How broke?”

  “According to his accountant, stony. Even more than Emmy-boy here. Overdraft, credit cards maxed out, unpaid debtors clamoring for blood.”

  At least that explained why her father had refused to help out Emmet. “What about the business? I thought it was doing really well.”

  “Not well enough, apparently. It seems Dad in his quest to keep up appearances was living way beyond his means. A hike in interest rates didn’t help matters.

  “What about the kids’ education fund? Lucinda was adamant that not be touched.”

  “Gone,” Gabe said.

  Emmet flicked through the magazine in his hands, making no comment.

  “If it was that bad,” she said, “why didn’t he just sell the house? No shame in that.”

  “It’s mortgaged to the hilt – both first and second. Real estate values have fallen. He would’ve been lucky to have cleared the property debt.”

  She dropped her head into her hands, her mind racing. Had the financial pressure become too much for her father? But why take your wife and children with you? “What about life insurance?”

  “Two term policies – one on his life and other on Lucinda’s. Both lapsed.”

  “Why didn’t he say anything?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Pride?”

  “What happens now?”

  Her brother’s shoulders drooped. “We wait for the official ID and then we bury him.” He patted his pockets. “I need some air.”

  Next to her, pale and silent, Emmet gazed out the window, the magazine abandoned.

  “You okay?” she asked, as soon as Gabe was out of earshot.

  He responded in a monotone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She sat back in her seat. Only he could answer that.

  His attention turned from the window to the jarrah coffee table. He studied it for a moment, then put his hand under the tabletop and slid out a shallow drawer she hadn’t realized was there. Inside was a TV guide and a collection of remote controls. He selected the one with the most buttons and pressed the power switch, starting when the plasma television screen hanging on the wall to his left burst into life.

  A news update. She grabbed her brother’s arm before he could change the channel.

  “…a man aged in his fifties was found in bushland on the outskirts of the Baw Baw National Park at about 11 p.m. last night. The body is yet to be formally identified.” The newsreader paused. “The government’s budget deficit…”

  Dervla released Emmet’s arm. With the sound muted, he channel-surfed. Advertisements, music videos, cartoons, more advertisements.

  Her handbag rang. She delved inside it and pulled out her mobile phone. When she didn’t recognize the number, her first instinct was to reject the call. The last person she felt like talking to was a reporter.

  She answered it. “Hello?” More question than greeting.

  “Dervla, it’s Harry. Kilbourne,” he added. “I saw the news.”

  “Oh.” So much for the police not naming names.

  Harry went silent. For a moment, she wondered if he’d hung up.

  CHAPTER 18

  Half an hour after leaving Gabe’s apartment, Dervla entered Café Face still not sure why she’d agreed to meet Harry Kilbourne. He’d suggested lunch, settling for coffee when she hesitated. The mere thought of food turned her stomach.

  Stood there, she felt self-conscious, as if somehow everyone in the busy eatery knew who her father was, what he’d done to his wife and children, to himself. She turned to flee and discovered Harry one step ahead of her. As if reading her thoughts, he held the door open.

  “Be right back.” He ducked back inside, emerging a couple of minutes later with two takeaway coffees. “Black or white?”

  “Black.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, we could stand on the street and drink these or we could…?”

  “If you don’t mind the walk,” she said, “Carlton Gardens is only a couple of blocks from here.”

  “Lead the way.”

  The midday heat forced a slow pace. Even without alcohol to oil the social wheels, she found talking as they walked less awkward than she’d imagined. Not to mention, less confronting than facing him across a café table.

  “I really am sorry about your father,” he said, as they waited to cross at the lights.

  The ‘Cross Now’ buzzer sounded before she could reply. Not that she had one.

  On the other side, she paused. “Are you? Anyway, who says it’s him? Did the media actually say so?”

  He cut in front of her. “No, they didn’t. But it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. How many men suspected of murdering his family are missing?”

  She stared straight ahead, her gaze locking on a shirt button.

  “And in answer to your other question: yes. But only because of who he is to you. No other reason.” He stepped aside.

  By the time they reached Carlton Gardens, she was wondering if she’d taken leave of her senses. Why else would she be there with a man, whose ex-wife Dervla’s father was suspected of murdering? Did grief do that to you?

  Without thinking, she sighed. He gave her a sidelong glance but made no comment.

  An avenue of plane trees stretched before them, the heritage-listed Royal Exhibition Building in the distance. Sun-baked eucalyptus and mown grass scented the air. She steered Harry toward a park bench in the shade about fifty meters in.

  “This probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you suggested coffee,” she said, dropping onto the slatted timbers.

  He took a seat next to her, leaning forward as he removed the lid from his takeaway cup. “Not exactly but this is much better.”

  She sipped her now lukewarm coffee, aware of his closeness. In the tree above them, a magpie warbled, another far off returning its call.

  “What time’s your flight?” If she remembered rightly, he was booked to fly back to Brisbane that night.

  “I decided to extend my stay for a few more days.”

  “Oh.” So eloquent. Where was her brain when she needed it?

  His high forehead creased. “Is that a problem?”

  She shook her head. “Should it…” Her voice trailed off.

  A man with an all too familiar swagger was heading their way. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was following her. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away. No such luck.

  Her ex’s grin widened as he neared them. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “What do you want, Nathan?”

  “Just passing the time of the day. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  She gulped a
mouthful of coffee and stood. “No.”

  “Fair enough.” He winked at Harry. “Don’t worry, it’s all bark. She loves me really.”

  Her face flamed, her jaw clenching. She opened her mouth but her voice failed her.

  “So, babe,” Nathan said, “when can I expect a call from the lovely Sophie?”

  She glared at him.

  “Where’s the problem?” His eyebrows arched. “Unless you haven’t given her my card?”

  “She’s not interested, okay?” It took all her willpower not to knee him in the groin. “Now piss off.”

  He chuckled. “Good to see you haven’t lost that fighting spirit.”

  Harry left his seat to stand next to her. She gave an involuntary gasp when she felt the pressure of his hand in the small of her back. “I’d do as she says if you know what’s good for you,” he said.

  Palms held up in surrender, Nathan backed off. “All right, all right, I’m going. You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “The ex?” Harry asked.

  “How did you guess?”

  “It’s my amazing powers of observation.”

  Her breath escaped in a strangled laugh. She sank back down onto the park bench, took a couple of deep breaths, then stood again. “Thanks for the coffee, Harry, but I have to find my sister before the media does.”

  “Sister? I thought you had two brothers.”

  “Alana. Half-sister. Dad’s illegitimate daughter. Not that he ever acknowledged it.”

  “Was this Alana at the funeral?”

  Dervla shook her head. “No. She turned up a few days before, but then promptly disappeared again.”

  “And you don’t know where to?”

  “No, unfortunately.” She made to move off. “Sorry, but I really have to go.”

  “Let me drive you.” He fell into step beside her. “I have a rental back at the hotel. It’ll save you going home for your car.”

  “Thank you, but honestly, it’s not necessary. Besides you don’t want to spend your Saturday chauffeuring me around on what could well be a wild goose chase.”

  “Why not? It’s not like I’ve had a better offer.”

  Her gut told her she could trust him, but with all the stress in her life could she trust her gut? “Okay, but first I need to ring Emmet and let him know I’m not going to be home this afternoon.”

  “He’s expecting you?”

  “Not that I know of, but he does tend to panic if I’m not where he thinks I ought to be. It’s just easier this way.” And safer.

  “Over-protective?”

  “It’s only been since…” She swallowed. “Since…”

  “No need to explain. Go ahead.” He pointed toward Victoria Street. “I’ll wait for you up there.”

  She nodded, pausing until Harry’s back was turned before calling Emmet. It went straight to voicemail. She hung up and then tried Gabe.

  He answered on the second ring. “About time. Where did you and Emmy-boy take off to in such a hurry?”

  “I’m not with Emmet. Listen, Harry Kilbourne is driving me out to Alana’s place.”

  “What the hell are you doing with Kilbourne?”

  “I just told you.”

  “Don’t get smart, Dervla.” Gabe’s tone sharpened. “This is family business. More importantly, what are you even doing associating with him?”

  “Lucinda was his family.”

  “Answer my question: what are you doing with Kilbourne?”

  She couldn’t stop herself. “Going to Alana’s.”

  “Dervla.”

  “We met a couple of days ago—”

  “How?”

  “That’s not important. Harry’s waiting. I have to go. If it makes you happier, I’ll check in with you when we’re leaving Dandenong.”

  Gabe grunted. “Make sure you do.” Click.

  “Love you, too.” She closed her phone and rejoined Harry.

  Fifteen minutes later, ensconced in the air-conditioned comfort of his rental sedan, they were on the Monash Freeway headed toward Dandenong. The traffic flowed freely, the weekday tailgaters absent.

  “Is Alana younger or older than you?” he asked.

  “Younger. She’s only twenty-two.”

  “You get on?”

  “So long as I keep my mouth shut.”

  He laughed. “Normal siblings then.”

  Smalltalk drifted into silence, the subject of her father’s death seemingly taboo. She switched on the radio, settling back in her seat as Jessica Mauboy’s powerhouse voice filled the car.

  Harry glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Hang on.”

  The car accelerated, thrusting her back in her seat. She opened her mouth to protest, only to almost end up in his lap when he swerved into the next lane.

  She righted herself. “What the…”

  Her fingers tightened on the door grip as he weaved from lane to lane. A truck trailer suddenly appeared in her vision. She shut her eyes and braced for impact.

  Nothing. She opened one eye, then the other, breathing out when she saw clear road ahead of them. They were no longer on the freeway.

  “Lost him, I think,” he said.

  The car slowed. Her heart rate didn’t. “Who?”

  He checked his side mirror. “No idea. A guy in a white Ford.”

  “What makes you think he was following us? You know what? I don’t care. The next time you want to play rally driver and put people’s lives at risk, don’t.”

  “Sorry. Automatic reaction.”

  She gasped. “Automatic reaction? You’re obviously in the wrong profession.”

  “You reckon stock car racing might be more my thing?” He smiled, his gaze not leaving the road.

  “If that entails driving like a hoon.”

  “You have my word I won’t try that stunt again. Back onto the freeway?”

  One part of her said yes, the other screamed no. She nodded.

  “What happens if you can’t find your half-sister?” he asked, flicking on the indicator.

  “She has to be somewhere.”

  “What about her mother?”

  “Dead. Drug overdose. Alana was only thirteen.”

  “Poor kid,” he said.

  “Yeah, the foster system wasn’t exactly kind to her either.”

  “Your father took no responsibility?”

  “None. Why would he when he denied she was even his daughter?”

  “DNA test?”

  “Flat out refused. Said he didn’t need any damn test to prove he wasn’t her father.”

  “But you think otherwise?”

  “Wait until you meet her.” Dervla slumped back in her seat, her cheek resting against the cool glass of the side window, and watched as scrubby trees and concrete sound barriers flashed past.

  They arrived in Dandenong soon after.

  The car slowed. “What number was it again?”

  “One-fifty-five. It’s just up here on the left,” she said, pointing.

  Following her direction, he drove down a long right-of-way, past an overgrown Photinia hedge to a faded-blue weatherboard house. A white Toyota Corona with a dented back bumper and all its windows wound down was parked outside.

  She unclipped her seatbelt but made no move to get out.

  “Something wrong?”

  She shook her head and opened the car door. After the car’s chilled interior, the air outside felt like a warm hug. Shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare, she made her way across the gravel yard to the front porch. Harry’s footsteps crunched at her heels.

  Behind the screen door, the front door was wide open. “Hello,” she called. “Anyone home?”

  A bearded man in cargo shorts padded to the door. He eyed them with suspicion through the fly screen. “Yeah?”

  “Hi. Is Alana home?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m Dervla, her sister. It’s vitally important that I speak with her.”

  The screen door opened with a squeak. “
I already told your brother she ain’t living here no more. Don’t know where she is. Don’t care.”

  Dervla took half a step back, away from his beery breath. “She must’ve left a forwarding address.”

  “Not with me.”

  “Who else lives here? Perhaps I could talk to them.”

  “No one here but me.”

  Waving a fly away from her face, she dug one of her business cards from her handbag. “If anyone knows where she is or if you hear from her, please get her to call me. Urgently.”

  With a grunt, the man took the card and withdrew inside. The screen door clanged shut.

  She and Harry looked at each other.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Good question. I wish I knew the answer. We…”

  Even without the bald head, she’d have recognized the man in sunglasses lolling against the rental car.

  She marched straight over to him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  John Bailey folded his arms. “We had a deal, remember?”

  “Yes, so?”

  “So, I want my story.”

  “You know this guy?” Harry asked, appearing at her side.

  “Sort of. He’s a reporter.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. “A reporter who drives a white Ford?

  “John Bailey.” He stuck his hand out. “And you are?”

  “I don’t care who you are. Harassment is against the law.”

  The reporter’s top lip curled.

  Before he could mention the photos of her father with the unknown woman, she said, “I promised John an interview after Dad was found.” She turned to the reporter. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  He cocked his head. “Now what makes you say that?”

  “Your presence here for one.”

  “Simply protecting my interests. Don’t want you giving away my exclusive to any old hack.”

  “If you think stalking me is going to help your cause, think again.”

  Uncertainty flashed across the reporter’s face. “You gave me your word.”

  “And if you recall, I also reserved the right not to answer questions I consider too personal. At this rate, I foresee all your questions being too personal.”