Uncle Gene closed his fist over the truck keys.
‘Then let’s see if we can beat Jacko.’
Chapter 37
Kerry
News came of the rescue mission via a text from Mac. Kerry was on the road, but he pulled over to phone Gene and offer help. Thanks, but they had enough volunteers, Gene told him. It was tough country; they needed people with experience in the bush. Kerry agreed that he was not one of those people. Evading an inquisitive bull mastiff in Clissold Park was the closest he’d come to requiring survival skills in a green space.
Briefly, he’d hoped Gene might offer him a reason to turn back, but now he had no excuse to put off his original plan for the day. He wasn’t at all sure it was a good plan, but carrying it out seemed braver than ignoring it. And if it blew up in his face, then he’d have to be brave about that, too.
By mid-afternoon, Kerry was fifty kilometres from Hampton, parked outside an art gallery that looked surprisingly sleek and modern, given that he’d just had a late lunch in a café with slabby hand-carved furniture, mobiles made out of old cutlery, and lurid swirly paintings of whales and women with stars for hair.
He entered and was surprised again. On the white walls were portraits, close-ups of faces in monochrome, blue or black on white, painted in an almost Impressionistic style that made clever use of small light and dark blocks, like mosaic tesserae. The faces belonged to men and women, young and old, none beautiful but all with expressions that caught and held. If he knew anything about art, Kerry might have said that the paintings displayed rare psychological insight and sensitivity. In other words, everything he had not expected. He’d been girding himself for slashed canvases, scrawled, angry slogans, dismembered body parts and the like. Perhaps he was in the wrong gallery?
But no. There was her name on the wall, and a short explanation of the exhibition apparently written by a chimpanzee who’d been given long, pretentious and probably made-up words to assemble in any order. (If Kerry had ‘dialectic flux’, he’d be off down the chemist.)
And there was the door to the studio, the residence in which the artist was. Or might be; the door was closed.
He knocked, and it was immediately wrenched open from inside as if the occupant had had it up to here with kids ringing the bell and running away.
‘What do you want?’ said Sophie by way of greeting.
‘To apologise,’ said Kerry.
From the way she blinked, taken aback, he deduced that this was not the natural order of Sophie’s life.
‘I should have told your parents I’d invited you,’ he said. ‘I have no excuse. I took on too much and let it get out of hand. I should have been better organised.’
‘Doubt it would have made a difference,’ she said, fractionally mollified. ‘Except that they would have pretended to be polite.’
‘No offence, but you don’t exactly give them the chance, do you?’
‘No offence?’ Sophie’s eyebrow and the large metal stud stuck into it shot up. ‘People who start a sentence with that are always offensive. It’s like “I’m not a racist, but …” ’
‘Quite true,’ said Kerry. ‘Fair point.’
‘And what do you know, anyway?’
‘Not much,’ he admitted. ‘Only what I saw. Someone who’d already lit the fuse before they brought the dynamite into the house.’
Sophie folded her arms. Today’s t-shirt had a picture of Johnny Rotten, bug-eyed and gurning. The tattoo below the gagged woman was of a skeleton giving the one-fingered salute.
‘Thought you came here to apologise.’
This wasn’t going so well.
Kerry gestured around the gallery.
‘These are terrific,’ he said. ‘Really first-class.’
‘And you’d know?’
Not well at all.
‘Er, I know what I like,’ he said. ‘And I like these tremendously.’
He held her gaze, strove not to be distracted by the metal surrounding it.
She dropped her eyes first.
‘I can’t help it,’ she said. ‘I somehow convince myself that it will be different every time I go. That somehow we’ll have been sprinkled by magic fairy dust that turns us into the perfect family. And then when it doesn’t happen, I feel robbed, furious. Which I know is totally irrational, but it just … takes over. Stupid, huh?’
‘No,’ said Kerry. ‘But not terribly useful.’
Sophie screwed up her face. It failed to diminish her astonishing good looks.
‘I’m too old to change,’ she said. ‘If it hasn’t happened by now, it ain’t going to.’
‘Not sure that’s true. I surprised myself greatly about eighteen months ago.’
The metal on her eyebrow went up again, like a balloon caught in an elevator.
‘Really? What happened?’
‘I decided my life was going nowhere. So I took it somewhere.’
‘What? To Gabriel’s Bay?’ she scoffed.
‘Many, many places in between.’
‘Did you ever go to St Petersburg?’
‘I did not. Helsinki was the closest. You can wave to Russia across the Baltic.’
‘Russia is absolutely bad-ass,’ said Sophie. ‘I so want to go.’
‘Go then.’
‘Right, yeah. With the five dollars I have to my name.’
Kerry glanced around. ‘I see more than a few sold stickers.’
‘I have to eat. And, after I get kicked out of here, pay rent.’
‘OK.’ Kerry shrugged. ‘That’s that, then.’
‘Don’t try any of that reverse-psychology shit on me!’
Kerry spread his hands. ‘Wouldn’t dare. I was merely agreeing with you that it was impossible.’
Sophie stared over his shoulder at her paintings, and then up at the ceiling, where there was nothing but those lights that hang on wires, like small square circus acrobats. And then back at him.
‘I’m sorry I got you fired,’ she said.
‘You didn’t,’ he said, truthfully. ‘My days of being a crap employee were numbered.’
‘I think Mum liked you. It’s hard to tell with her.’
‘I apologised to her also. She was very gracious.’
‘And Dad?’
‘Not so much.’
‘God, he’s an arsehole,’ said Sophie. ‘How does she put up with him?’
‘I’d suggest she has more power than you think.’ Kerry hesitated, then added, ‘As do you.’
‘Who are you? The ginger Dr Phil?’
‘I was hoping for someone more spiritual, but I’ll take it. Dr Phil doesn’t sugar-coat.’
Sophie smiled. A real smile. Wide and amused.
‘Did you really come all this way to apologise?’
‘I missed your launch. It was the least I could do.’
‘Gallery’s due to shut in ten, so do you want to get a drink? I’m not hitting on you,’ she added, with a hint of the old belligerence. ‘I know you’ve got a girlfriend.’
Kerry felt it wiser not to put her straight on that point. That was Sunday’s mission. If he’d needed a dose of courage for today, he’d need an entire pharmacy for tomorrow.
He checked his watch. It was not quite four o’clock.
‘A drink is exactly what I need,’ he told her.
Chapter 38
Sidney
Sidney opened her front door, and saw a bunch of roses. The kind you buy in a service station, which had no smell and fell apart by the end of the day.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the person behind them. ‘It’s Sunday, so it was either these or dandelions and that purple stuff that grows like topsy in the wasteland.’
‘Buddleia,’ said Sidney. ‘An invasive weed.’
‘I’ve been called worse,’ said Kerry.
He held the roses out to her. ‘Can we talk?’
Her answer should have been simple, one word — no. But since the council meeting, Sidney had been doing some thinking. Oh, who was she kidding?
She’d been thinking non-stop since she told him to bugger off.
‘The boys are here,’ she said. ‘Can’t guarantee privacy or uninterrupted conversation. Or a noise level below Russian MiG fighters doing a flyby.’
‘If you don’t mind, I don’t.’
Sidney wasn’t sure the presence of children was her main concern. But by agreeing, she wasn’t committing to anything more than a chat, was she? And she had questions, all sorts of questions that zig-zagged around her brain like the cluster flies in the kitchen, persistent, irritating, resistant to all attempts to repel them.
‘I’ve brought tea, and milk, too,’ said Kerry, who indeed did have a plastic Four Square bag in his other hand.
She could take umbrage at the implication she was in such financial doo-doo that she couldn’t even provide the makings for tea. Or she could accept it as a generous gesture, and enjoy saving five bucks this week on milk.
‘Thanks.’ Sidney opened up the door to let him in. ‘I’ll put the jug on.’
While it boiled, Kerry stepped out the back door to say hi to the boys, who greeted him cheerfully and openly, Sidney noticed. Any resentment they might have felt about their coaching being stopped had long gone. Children weren’t programmed to hold grudges, she decided. They woke up fresh every morning assuming anything could happen. Whatever they wished for, today might be the day. If not, then tomorrow surely would be. How nice. How freeing. And who was to say they were wrong?
The conversation over cups of tea began on mutual safe ground — the possibility that Elaine had hexed the junior Caraccis’ restaurant with, for example, a plague of flying monkeys; whether there was intentional irony in the Kozy Kettle calling black instant coffee ‘espresso’; the good weather being a certain harbinger of the climate-change apocalypse. They talked about Littleville and agreed that Kerry’s barn would be a great location. It didn’t matter if the launch date was deferred. It would happen. Everyone who was anyone wanted it to. The industrial park — well, that might be hard to prevent, but if Gene was against it, who knows what unexpected delays might arise in the construction?
Sidney offered fresh-made scones and jam, and the sugar kick gave them confidence to move onto trickier, more emotionally charged subjects: the tragedy of young Barrett, of whom the search had found no trace; the situation with Madison, who had been with her father after all on the night her horrible mother came calling.
‘Mac gave both Rick and Olivia separate earfuls for their useless communication,’ said Sidney. ‘Both of them, of course, blamed the other.’
‘Is Madison all right?’ said Kerry.
‘Mac says Corinna Marshall is keeping an eye on her.’ Sidney’s face grew hot. ‘I should be, too, but I just can’t afford to. Which, every time I say it, sounds even more like a rubbish excuse.’
‘And it doesn’t help to tell yourself she’s not your responsibility, does it?’ said Kerry.
‘Not a jot.’
‘I visited Reuben’s house.’ Kerry’s own face reddened. ‘I knocked. No one answered. I bottled and left.’
‘Casey said you came and saw her about him.’
‘Did she? I haven’t heard anything from her.’
‘You may not,’ said Sidney. ‘She politely warned me off interfering, said it’s complicated but under control. From the little she did tell me, I gather both parents are on the sickness benefit, mental rather than physical illness, and the kind that makes you hardly able to function, which must be unbelievably tough for the little guy. The older sister still at home looks after Reuben, and apparently does a good enough job for the authorities to feel they don’t need to remove him.’
‘And when the sister leaves?’
‘I guess that’s when they’ll step in …’
Outside there began a high-pitched ululation. Tarzan, maybe? Or old-fashioned Injun warriors? Or maybe there was no reason, and they just wanted to run around and make noise for the sheer joy of it.
‘God, I’m so lucky,’ said Sidney. ‘I really should be more grateful.’
Kerry’s expression suggested a concern that he was prying.
‘Mac said you sold the car.’
‘I had no choice,’ Sidney shrugged. ‘Either that or give the boys lumps of coal for Christmas.’
His shoulders hunched, as if he expected a smack around the ears.
‘You wouldn’t accept a loan?’
Sidney gave him a sceptical look. ‘Do you have any money left after your big property purchase?’
‘I borrowed extra to do some renovations,’ he said. ‘But I can live with an outdoor toilet for a while longer. And a gas stove that I suspect is possessed by a witch finder. And wallpaper with mustard and dark green swirls that make me feel like I’m drowning in a stagnant pond.’
She’d missed his jokes. She’d missed him. But those questions — still circling like flies.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Julia? I told you all about Fergal.’
He looked so miserable, Sidney’s neat shot of gratification was annoyingly diluted by the tonic water of compassion.
‘Possibly because you told me all about Fergal,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to be Fergal the Second.’
‘Has she got over being jilted?’ Sidney felt bad about twisting the knife, but not so bad that she wouldn’t do it. ‘Has she got over you?’
‘Well, Ma told me she’s getting married next April,’ Kerry said. ‘And though that doesn’t necessarily reveal the inner workings of her psyche, I’d say it’s a pretty fair indication she’s moved on.’
‘You finally spoke to your mother, then?’
Kerry grimaced. ‘She told me I was an evil son. She made my father back her up from the breakfast table. He yelled that I was “a disgrrrace” through mouthfuls of Dundee chunky marmalade on toasted white Mother’s Pride.’
Sidney had to smile. ‘I liked your mother.’
‘She liked you,’ said Kerry. ‘Mind, you, she likes everyone. Except me at the moment, of course. But that won’t last.’
There was one of those pauses, where both of them felt a need to fiddle with their teaspoons, while inside, if Sidney’s own brain was any guide, a maelstrom roared.
‘I like you.’
Kerry broke first.
‘In fact, I adore you,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you like — I don’t know, like a major limb. Or an organ. Or something nicer than that but just as vital—’
Before he drowned in bad metaphor, Sidney decided to throw him a lifebuoy.
‘Me, too,’ she said.
His face was a picture, one Picasso would paint, with multiple planes, all wearing a variant of expression — surprise, hope, joy, disbelief.
‘Really?’
‘No, I’m messing with you because I’m nasty and maladjusted.’
Slight pause.
‘Well, it’s good we’re finally being honest with each other.’
Slam, crash, thump. The boys, entering with the same gentle touch of the comet that killed the dinosaurs.
‘Kerry!’ said Aidan. ‘Can you play goalie?’
Kerry looked to Sidney. ‘Can I?’
‘I’m certainly not volunteering,’ she said, with a smile.
‘Right then, boys.’ Kerry pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll channel my inner Grobbelaar.’
‘Who?’
‘Who? Dear Lord, what kind of sub-par education have you two been receiving … ?’
As the trio let the back door shut behind them, Sidney sat for a moment, checking for residual qualms, unanswered flying questions. Of course, there were still some. If there weren’t, she’d be delusional. Or she’d be a completely different person, one entirely serene and secure, like the Dalai Lama.
She took the dishes to the sink, and considered washing them. Instead, she grabbed her straw sunhat from its hook on the back door, and walked outside to sit in the sun and watch two people she definitely loved, and one she possibly did, having an enormous amount of energetic fun. And, for the first ti
me, allowed herself to look forward to Christmas.
Chapter 39
Madison
Christmas morning! Madison woke early but stayed in bed until eight reading, because she knew her mum wouldn’t like to be woken up before then. Her dad would come around that evening, so today it was just her and her mum, and Madison was really looking forward to what her mum called ‘girl time’.
She found it hard to concentrate on her book because she kept looking at the clock, which took ages to come round to the right hour. As soon as it did, Madison was out from under the covers and running down to the living room to see what Father Christmas had brought her.
There was no tree because her mother didn’t like the mess pine needles made, and she thought decorations were tacky. But the spot in front of the big gas heater that looked like a real coal fire was where the presents usually sat, and that’s where Madison headed, trying to run softly and not thump her feet on the floor.
The spot in front of the heater was empty. Madison hunted around the living room, thinking her mum must have hidden the presents, like Easter eggs, but she couldn’t find anything wrapped in Christmas paper.
Maybe her mum had hidden them somewhere else! Madison looked in the kitchen and dining room, her dad’s study and her mum’s reading room, the good living room, the sunroom, the spare bedrooms, the laundry and boot room — she even looked outside the back door. Nothing.
Madison thought hard, and then worked it out. The presents must be in the only place she hadn’t looked — her mum’s bedroom! Her mum wanted her to come in and open presents with her on the bed!
The door was closed, so Madison, little bubbles of excitement popping in her stomach, carefully opened it. If her mum was still asleep, she’d climb onto the bed and wait for her to wake up. She’d do her best not to look at the presents, otherwise she might be tempted to try to figure out what they were.
But the bed was empty. Madison checked the ensuite bathroom, but that was empty, too. Maybe her mum had got up when she was looking around the rest of the house?
She ran around, calling out for her mum, but no one answered. When Madison was absolutely sure the whole house was empty, she sat down in a chair in the sunroom and tried to think what she should do.
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