The Day the Lies Began

by Kylie Kaden

  ‘He somehow found out about my little meltdown with you on the beach. He’s onto us.’

  ‘Us? What us?’

  ‘I know, right? He’s been keeping tabs on me. I thought I was being careful – like yesterday arvo, before I met you. I checked his car was at the clinic on the way to dropping Eadie at soccer, so he couldn’t have seen us.’

  Blake shook his head. ‘Hannah told me she saw us. She must’ve told him. Spread the love.’

  Abbi turned to him, suddenly full of energy. ‘When would she have even spoken to him? It was twelve hours ago.’

  ‘They’re mates, don’t you know? Meet for drinkies at the pub without us, my sources tell me.’ He shrugged, then thought about it. ‘Bloody hypocrites.’ He glanced at his watch again, growing impatient. He wanted to head off, but couldn’t let Abbi loose like this. She was a risk. And Will wasn’t an idiot. This could unravel faster than a meth-head’s alibi. Blake had just as much to lose if this farce went public – not to mention his relationship with Hannah.

  Abbi’s forehead formed a band of wrinkles. ‘They’d never guess the truth, so what the heck do they think we’re doing behind their backs?’

  Blake pulled his chin inwards, squinted at her in disbelief. ‘You’re really gonna make me say it?’

  Even though he didn’t, he imagined it. The both of them, some heated, salacious scene, a frantic, lustful culmination of years of tension, and he wished that was all he had on his conscience – it would’ve been almost worth it, if not for that overwhelming disgrace thing, and the vision of his foster mum tut-tutting him from heaven.

  Blake was surprised. Hannah had always been quick to become insecure – he was no shrink, but figured losing a parent so young would change you, make you fear any relationship you tried to keep would be ripped away without warning, like her mum was. He expected Hannah to get like this. But he had never seen the slightest hint of jealously from Will. He was above pettiness. Will knew who he was, and what was his.

  The only thing Abbi had done that could make Will doubt the way he felt about her, was knowing what she’d done. Who he was really married to. ‘Well, I’m guessing you told him, didn’t you? Cause that’d certainly tip you into the never-trust-this-lying-wench-again category.’

  The pleading head tilt again. ‘Is that how you think of me?’

  Blake put out his cigarette. He was out of practice with the habit, living with Miss Clean-Living-Yogi, and the nicotine made him nauseated. ‘Any rational man would.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘So, that’s a no, then?’

  ‘See, there’s the chirp.’ Blake tried on a smile.

  Abbi gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I spent the first few weeks petrified he’d find out. Doing everything to avoid it, like that would protect us. But it’s sunk its claws into us anyway. I’ve got my guard up all the time. He knows something’s going on. He knows me too well.’

  ‘Not well enough, if he thinks the reason you keep meeting me is for a shag.’

  Blake felt a weird light-headedness. Was his hand tingling? Maybe he should get another check-up. It could be an aneurism.

  Abbi looked outside, as if it would lighten her mood. Blake looked at her properly for the first time that day. She seemed so small, sitting in his patrol car. All her bravado had burned out and she was a shell of what she once was. He felt selfish for getting a coffee and a sausage roll on the way, assuming this wasn’t urgent. Maybe shit had hit the fan.

  ‘Course he fucking wants you. He’s rock solid. He just doesn’t sign-write it like some do. He doesn’t assume the world wants to hear every thought that goes through his head.’ He thought of Hannah. Hannah and her psychoanalytical bullshit (he really had to suggest another career path for her, for his own sake). It got so tiring being that chatty, but he dared not mention anything real to her, or she’d want to bloody ‘unpack’ its hidden meanings. Or buy him a self-help book. ‘Believe me, that’s not always a bad thing.’

  Abbi cast her caramel brown eyes over to him. ‘He wouldn’t even let me explain. He couldn’t even look at me. Now he’s shut down. That’s never happened.’

  ‘Well, you should have married someone different. That’s what he does – he’s an introvert.’

  ‘You’ve been hanging ’round Hannah too long.’ Abbi rolled her eyes. ‘Even when we fight he does it so stealthily. So neutral. Here I am freaking out and he’ll be at work, calm, composed. Usually wants to hit it head-on, but not now.’ She scrunched her fingers tight, like her face. ‘I’ve never seen him in a flap. I want him to flap. He’s unflappable.’

  ‘He’s not unflappable. He just flaps on the inside. He’s a closet-flapper.’

  ‘I am losing it, Blake. He was so absent, ignored me completely, it made me so angry, so scared that I punched him.’

  Blake choked on his cappuccino. ‘You what?’

  ‘Well, kinda. Pushed I spose.’

  He exhaled. ‘You like to shock, don’t you?’

  ‘My point is, I’ve never really got physical with someone like that before.’

  ‘Well, that’s not true. You hit Katrina White in year nine for picking on the new hippie kid your mum took in – what was his name? Arlo.’

  Abbi shrugged. ‘Besides her. What can I say? I protect my people.’

  ‘And … the other time.’

  She glared at him.

  ‘Too soon?’

  The glare sharpened.

  Abbi teared up. She leaned across the console, lay her head on his shoulder and started crying. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a total mess.’

  She wasn’t kidding. He reached under the seat and grabbed the paper towel he kept there to clean up vomit after carting piss-wrecks to the drunk-tank. He blotted her face inexpertly, then his shirt. ‘Sorry. It’s just, I’ve got a detective’s meeting later. Miller’s up here for this Town-Hall riot stuff. Thinks I can’t handle it. Want to look snail-trail free.’

  Abbi smiled. He hoped she’d be okay now. He’d gone through the motions; she’d made him mind-read. She’d vented, blubbered. That was usually the last step.

  He sipped his coffee. It had gone from steaming to not hot enough instantly.

  Her lips thinned. ‘You didn’t get me one.’

  ‘Have this.’ It was cold, anyway.

  Abbi shook her head. ‘It’s just … you always get me one.’

  ‘Have mine!’ he bristled.

  ‘I don’t want it!’

  The way she was looking at him, he wondered if they were still talking about the coffee. Blake shook his head. She just wanted to point out his failing. Shit-stirrer. ‘What exactly do you want from me?’

  Abbi looked shocked at his tone. ‘What?’

  It was an epiphany. A moment in which years of seemingly supportive acts on her behalf were suddenly framed in a different light. He’d had a restless feeling ever since the night Abbi backed him into a corner, but now it was clear she was forever making him prove his alliance, to firm up the boundaries around what he’d do for her, and he was sick of it. He got enough of that from Hannah.

  No more.

  Blake felt a surge of power, like this knowledge gave immunity against her attempts at manipulation, however harmless they were. ‘You’re always testing me, aren’t you? Haven’t I proven I’ve got your back? I risked everything for you – you made me keep things from Hannah …’ He shook his head, and she looked on, stunned. ‘You never used to be so insecure. The sister I grew up with – she was selfless, fearless, completely sure of herself.’

  She looked up at him with her doe-like eyes. ‘But I’m not your sister, Blake.’ She was sixteen again, standing at the side of his bed in the dark of night, pulling the covers up to let herself under them. ‘What if you were never fostered with us? What if you were just another guy at school? What if …’

  He swallowed hard.

  A cloud of unsaid hovered. Abbi stared out at the autumn sky, white cumulonimbus wafting past. Her attention returned to the cabin. She glanced down at their hand
s, inches apart on the centre console. Her velvety skin made contact with his hardened knuckles, speckled white from the weekend’s painting. She gently stroked the back of his hand with hers, half graze, half poke, like she couldn’t decide on the nature of the gesture. Either way, her touch felt electric as Blake let the warmth course through him.

  ‘What if Mum hadn’t told you to leave?’ So casual in tone, so vilifying in meaning.

  Was he misreading this? Blake jerked his hand away.

  Years earlier, pre-Will, he’d been begging for this line of questioning. Now Hannah was back, now he had accepted their fate, he was fighting it. The whole thing made his skin tingle with shame. Years of self-loathing, confusion and regret welled up.

  But she persisted. With words, this time. ‘Aren’t you … curious?’

  ‘No.’ It was the truth. He knew it would be diabolical – there was no question. It just could not be. Not in this lifetime.

  She clutched her stomach. ‘No?’

  His lungs contracted. It was hard to breathe. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned away. He figured the less he said, the better. ‘Abbi.’ He spoke softly, like it wasn’t really happening if he said it quietly. Like it was froth on his coffee. Like it would float away in a breeze. ‘Where is this coming from?’ He pinched his bottom lip. ‘We agreed, remember?’

  Abbi looked up at him, and he hoped she didn’t see how fired up he was under a calm facade. How he’d been hoping, dreading, she’d come to him with this line every day since he’d returned from the academy. Wondering how he’d react if she did. But now, she had, and it just felt like another test. Another manipulation. Not something she actually wanted.

  He picked up her left hand, touched her wedding ring. ‘How do you think your husband would feel if he knew we were having this conversation?’

  She withdrew her hand and tucked it under her thigh, straightened herself, as if something had come loose that she had to keep in. Her nerve?

  ‘You don’t think he’s had the same one with your girlfriend?’

  The thought of those two had crossed his mind. Blake knew he and Abbi were a different breed to the partners they’d chosen. Not stupider, but simpler, without the arrogance to believe their existence was to fulfil a purpose greater than the here and now. The pursuit of happiness, the care of family, the search for acceptance. Simple pleasures were enough for Blake and Abbi.

  The police radio screeched, a wormhole to reality. A mumbled command.

  He gathered himself, pressed the speak button. ‘Sorry. Just on a domestic. Be there in a sec.’

  Blake couldn’t look at her. He could see she felt embarrassed and stupid in equal measure, and it ate at him to see her hurt. See her leave him sadder than when she’d arrived. He leaned in, kissed her forehead, subtly breathing her in. ‘Go home, Abs.’

  A gush of pride rose in his cheeks. Like he’d finally grown up. Like he had passed the test he’d been expecting, dreading, yearning for half his life and was now somehow freer for it. It was the right thing to do.

  So, why did it feel so bad?

  Chapter 12

  32 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL

  Wrist-deep in soap suds, Abbi heard the faint growl of rotor blades in the distance. She continued to wipe orange pulp from a cup, turning it for longer than necessary and enjoying the warm water swamping her hands. She craned her neck to see the helicopter carve out the sky and felt the reverberation of its blades course through her. The kitchen windows shook and she stared through the glass to where raging sea met grey horizon.

  It had been raining so incessantly that the window frames were swollen with moisture and kids were wearing gumboots to school. The bureau had warned of a king tide. Now, seeing the white peaks crash over the rocky bank in the distance, Abbi thought it was the highest tide she’d ever seen here.

  This was all wrong. She could feel it. A familiar ringtone burst from the phone and interrupted her climb to panic. Blake’s face flashed on the screen, the incongruence of his cheeky grin as he gave her the bird, adding to the unsettled feeling in her stomach.

  I couldn’t get Blake out of my head, last night. He thought I was hitting on him.

  She felt sick at the thought. He’d got it wrong, but she was too embarrassed to explain. Their conversation in the car was a low moment of confusion – she was simply thinking aloud, reevaluating the past. She’d never do anything to hurt Will, nor did she have any interest in Blake – the thought made her cringe, but Will’s anger and sudden mistrust forced her to reflect on what exact role Blake played in her life. Did he have a point? Had she ever felt differently? Had Blake?

  She exhaled and answered the phone.

  ‘Abs?’ She could barely hear him over the helicopter outside. His speech was pitched too high and wobbly, like when his voice broke at fifteen.

  ‘Blake?’ Abbi blocked one ear to focus on the call. ‘What’s with the chopper?’

  ‘Whole place is a media shit-storm …’ She could barely hear. ‘… tourist …’

  ‘A story?’ Abbi relaxed – he wasn’t calling about yesterday’s ridiculousness. It sounded like a lead. It was always an advantage to have the inside story when you worked in media. She hadn’t been paged, but her boss at the paper was never on the ball. Too busy on Clash of Clans. ‘Not another drowning?’

  ‘Nah. Tourist found something, down the rocky end. He was playing Pokémon Go, if you believe it.’ In the background, Abbi heard voices competing for airtime.

  ‘What was it?’

  He sniffed.

  She stared at a bubble balancing on the tip of her finger as she waited for him to continue.

  ‘You need to come down, Abs. Cover the story, if you know what I mean.’ His words were slow, intentional. Her mind raced. She thought of the helicopters. The rain. The tide.

  It couldn’t be.

  All her wrong choices banked up in her mind. To think they were out socialising, as if life had reset back to normal, and now this.

  ‘Blake?’ Abbi couldn’t work out if this was the start, or the end. The beginning of the way back, or another step further away. Her heart pounded like she was scampering up a dune of quicksand that was falling faster than she could climb. ‘It’s not, is it?’

  ‘Uh. It’s a shoe.’

  A shoe?

  There was a purposeful pause, like he’d put it there to lessen the leap, to let her brace herself for his next words, and somehow, despite her panic, it reminded her that he always had her interests at heart.

  ‘It’s just that … the foot … it’s still in it. Or what’s left of it.’

  She gripped the phone so hard to her ear she could hear him breathe. ‘This can’t be happening.’ Abbi’s mind was in mayhem. ‘It’s him?’

  The bulging silence that followed provided the answer. Abbi could hear the rain splintering through the wind, could imagine her brother’s face: blank with seriousness, pale with concern, soft with compassion. ‘Blay?’ she uttered, a pleading tone creeping into her voice.

  ‘Don’t worry, Abs. I got this.’

  He’d have to. Everything depended on it.

  * * *

  ‘Fuck, crap, balls.’

  As if things hadn’t gone pear-shaped enough in her world, without this.

  After sliding down the kitchen wall, staring at the drip marks staining her cabinets in a stupendous haze, Abbi vowed to get up and to keep a clear head. To prove to herself she was no longer that lost twenty-something, ping-ponging from one cluster-fuck to the next. She was strong once. She could do this.

  It took three attempts to place the key in the ignition but she managed to focus and drive down the steep cul-de-sac. Even the landscape felt strange, like a filter had cast Lago Point in eerie light.

  She sped over the bridge, taking in the surroundings. The lake was usually holiday-picturesque: a child-safe shallows flanked by a row of salt-stung houses perched like lifeguards on the sandy shore. Ordinarily, stingrays lulled in the shallows and tarps cl
ung to tents flapping in the afternoon breeze as abandoned canoes littered the shoreline. But today this place was no holiday destination. The wetlands were under metres of water, the tidal surge biting the shore. Abbi gasped and pulled over, once across the bridge. She got out, her hand a shelter from the pelting rain. The flooded waterways had changed everything, and panic rose in her throat about what this could mean. The sandy spit – the belt of her town – had gone under, the lake breaking its banks to meet the sea, fresh and salt waters swirling together like forbidden lovers.

  She needed to get on top of this, and fast. She checked the road wasn’t flooded ahead, returned to her car and drove to the end of the main beach, the line of parked vehicles signalling she had found the hub of activity. Ground zero.

  The wind howled across the debris-scattered shore; old milk crates, tangled cast nets and faded bottles littered the wet sand. A scrum of CIB officers huddled like sheep, their blue vests the only hint of colour in a palette of greys. Cameras flashed. Locals huddled. Morbid scavengers scoured the shore for further clues.

  It took all Abbi’s resolve to focus on the story, taking notes longhand, fearful the voice recorder on her phone would detect nothing but the whistling wind. She was out of practice for real news. It all felt like an act. A movie set.

  She approached the tourist who’d made the grisly find, just as he’d finished speaking to the police. ‘Sir?’ Another journo beat her to it and she wasn’t the type to push, so Abbi scanned the crowd for another witness, and spied Catfish. He’d usually given her a wave when he’d seen her out visiting his mother, Connie Adler, next door, or with his metal detector on the beach, but he’d been wary of her the past couple of weeks. Did he have the hoodie? Did he know? Or was Blake right and she was just being paranoid?

  There was only one way to find out.

  She tried to hold it together as she approached him. ‘Catfish?’ Perhaps the name she always called him was a taunt, to him, but she couldn’t remember his real name. ‘Time for a quick chat for the Lago Point Chronicle?’ His face was rubbery, his hair a yellowy grey with patches of freckled scalp peeping through. He was a little wild, like the weather.