The Evil Twin

by Sam King

  Luke guffawed.

  She glanced at Michael, who was frowning. The boys changed the subject, but Michael stopped them. He wanted to know all about the painting and what had happened.

  “You realise that’s worth millions of dollars?”

  Luke nodded.

  Martin turned from him to Michael and then to her, and then began to eat again, a little chastened, it seemed, as he had been in high spirits over the incident.

  As the meal finished, she sighed, realising she would have to try Karen Lockheed again. If only Michael would do it. She mentioned it to him, and Luke said, “Martin can stay overnight. He can sleep on the trundle bed.”

  Both boys had a trundle bed in their room, and she knew Martin had slept in Luke’s room before. But now, with what had happened at school, she wondered if this would be appropriate. She wondered what the headmaster would say if he heard of it.

  “That should be all right, shouldn’t it?” Michael said.

  She opened her mouth, but said nothing. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the meeting at school this morning, to tell him what Tom had made Luke do. When he heard, he would be aghast.

  “He can sleep in my room,” Tom said.

  “Your room?” Luke seemed angry.

  “Well, considering.”

  “Oh, fuck up, Tom. He’s my friend.”

  Tom nodded, looking like an ancient sage.

  But it made her wonder what was going on. Something more than she had so far gathered at any rate.

  The boys helped her clear the table and she started the dishwasher. Michael tried the Lockheed’s and got Martin’s father. He said Martin could stay for the night, but the phone call was brief, and afterwards she was left wondering whether Karen had told her husband anything. Most likely not.

  “He said his wife was out.”

  “I see,” she said. She felt angry now, disgruntled. She didn’t want that boy in Luke’s room tonight. If the school heard of it, she’d be terribly ashamed. And what if they …? But no. It had to be some sort of misunderstanding. Luke wasn’t gay, and there was no way he would have voluntarily done what he’d been accused of doing.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in my room?” Tom said to Martin as she was fishing some sheets out of the linen press.

  “What? So you can do it again?”

  There, she thought. She had heard it. And by the sounds of it, at least in Martin’s mind, it had been Tom who performed the act. That would be more likely. Though the boys were such exact copies of one another that everyone got them confused.

  Chapter 26

  Karen Lockheed rang at six fifteen a.m.

  “What on Earth were you thinking, Susan? You didn’t really put them in the same room together for the night.”

  She admitted that she had.

  Karen had been at her father’s bedside all evening. He was ill in hospital, which only made Susan feel worse. The boys hadn’t surfaced yet. It was far too early for them. But a tendril of fear made her wonder if they’d slept as soundly as she imagined. For all she knew, they’d been up all night.

  “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  Susan nodded, but the call was at an end. She walked upstairs and knocked on Luke’s door. No response. She knocked again, a little louder, and a moment later the door opened. Martin in a pair of underpants.

  “You’d better get dressed. Your Mum’ll be here in a moment.”

  He nodded, and she turned away, but as she did she happened to catch sight of Tom’s iPad, lying by the trundle bed with the cover open. She frowned, but made her way downstairs. She really needed a cup of tea.

  As she was pouring it, Martin appeared in the doorway, his arms awkwardly at his sides.

  “You want a cup of tea?” she said.

  “Do you have coffee?”

  “No. Just tea.”

  “It’s all right.”

  She frowned. When she was a child, no right thinking person in this country would have refused a cup of tea.

  She put the pot down, but didn’t take a seat. She looked askance at her tea cup, feeling awkward in the presence of the boy. Then the doorbell rang.

  Karen Lockheed looked furious. She took Martin into her arms and then held him protectively at her side.

  “I can’t believe he was here for the night.”

  Susan stared at her, wondering what she was supposed to say. A year or so ago they’d gotten quite friendly, though they hadn’t seen much of one another lately. Karen had been to Waverly’s sister school as well, but she’d been a couple of years behind Susan. She didn’t remember her from those days very well.

  “If he comes again, can you bring him home?”

  “I did try — I mean, I called you.”

  Karen nodded, staring at Susan as though she was a criminal. Susan wanted to reach out to her. She was in so much trouble. They all were. But the door closed without another word — just a vague goodbye on her part.

  She turned back into the kitchen and wondered what today would bring. Something was troubling her, but she couldn’t seem to pinpoint what it was. The police wouldn’t come again. They had no reason to. Jean had said she wanted to talk to Tom, so she guessed they’d have to endure that — and the funeral tomorrow.

  “Hell,” she said.

  She sat at the table with her head in her hands and wept. When she finally looked up, Tom was standing in the doorway.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, Tom.”

  “This is about me, isn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “I won’t get into trouble, Mum.”

  “You won’t get into trouble,” she repeated flatly.

  “No one can say I did anything. It would be impossible.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Is there any tea?”

  She nodded at the tea pot.

  He poured himself a cup and sat at the table with her. After a few moments had passed he said, “Don’t you think you should get Martin out of Luke’s room?”

  “He’s already gone home.”

  “Oh — right.”

  “And I don’t know why you’re making such a big fuss. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it had been you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You.”

  “But Luke said it was him.”

  This much was true. She had to admit that. But Luke wouldn’t have … well, maybe he had. “Why was Luke doing that for an iPod you wanted?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ll bet it is.”

  “He’d do anything for me.” He grinned.

  “What have you got over him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it.”

  “Well, if you don’t know, Mum, then I can’t enlighten you.”

  Chapter 27

  The day passed without incident. She drove the boys to school and then made her way to the repair shop in Lane Cove. They had another Volvo for her. It was smaller, and an older model, but even so, she was thankful for it.

  Friday meant book club, but she didn’t feel as though she could cope with it. She rang Claudia and said she was ill. And then, after cleaning the house desultorily for couple of hours, she took a few Valium and watched three episodes of Foyle’s War back to back. She laid on her bed in the afternoon and fell asleep.

  Saturday morning dawned bleak, with dark, low clouds and a heavy rain. It struck her as appropriate, though she couldn’t for the moment think why. Then she remembered that Jude’s funeral was today, and that she’d have to get the family organised.

  The hall was dark. She tripped as she was making her way down the stairs and twisted her ankle slightly. It was annoying more than anything, but she had to limp her way into the kitchen.

  She decided to attend to the bills, which she’d neglected doing yesterday, and after she’d made herself a cup of tea, pulled them out of the drawer. She used her phone to pay them online as she always did. It
would have been easier to use the computer she had in the sewing room, but she liked to get all of it done in the kitchen. What she really needed was an iPad. Her own. But as this occurred to her, she felt a sick, sinking feeling. Luke’s iPad was still in the wood stove, a fact that had occurred to her now more than a few times. It was buried in ash, and could most likely sit there for a few months before Michael discovered it. But even so, she had the time now, and she really ought to do it.

  She grabbed a few plastic bags and wound her hand into one as she walked through and into the lounge room. She opened the wood stove door and sunk the plastic-covered hand into the ash. The iPad was easy to find, a hard rectangle. She lifted it carefully and slipped it into a second plastic bag. Then she tied a third around this.

  She walked back to the kitchen with the odd-shaped package, turned one way and the other and wondered what she was going to do with it. In the end she decided to put it into a further bag with some vegetable peelings to disguise it. Then she put this in a further bag and ran outside to the wheelie bins in the rain. She dropped it inside and dashed back inside. Surely that ought to be safe, but the bins wouldn’t be emptied until Tuesday night.

  She sighed, and then toasted a couple of muffins for herself. As she was buttering them, she became aware of someone in the room, though it was very early. It struck her all of a sudden that it was Saturday, that it was Luke come down for early morning tea, and she turned toward him with a bright smile on her face. He was wearing a hoodie with his boxers. She supposed it was a little cold.

  “It’s really pouring down,” Luke said, glancing at the kitchen window. The rain was lashing the glass in waves.

  “Yes.”

  “I might stay in bed all day and read a book.”

  “It’s Jude’s funeral today.”

  “Oh — right.”

  “You want tea and toast?”

  He nodded, looking a little wide-eyed as though he were scared, or very young. She reminded herself that he’d only just woken up. She opened the bread bin and cut four very thick slices. She hadn’t touched the muffins, but that didn’t matter. Saturday morning meant tea and toast old-style. Very sweet tea and the toast dunked.

  She made a fresh pot of tea and toasted the slices as Luke began to talk about the art gallery again.

  “It wasn’t really my fault,” he said. “I was only walking past it.”

  She nodded.

  “The guard jumped at me and grabbed my arm.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I was trying to steady the painting — not steal it.”

  She laughed. The idea of him stealing anything was ridiculous. And he’d hardly steal a Van Gough. “You’ve probably given that guard nightmares.”

  She buttered the toast and poured the tea. As Luke ate, he was pensive. Then he suddenly said, “You don’t think Tom or I could go to prison do you?”

  “Prison?”

  He nodded, serious.

  “That’s not going to happen, Luke. Not to either of you. Not if I can help it.”

  “But Tom …”

  “Tom what?”

  “I don’t know.” He trailed off, and then sat in silence for moments. “Are you really going to buy me another iPad?”

  “I guess so. But you really should have Tom’s. It was his fault yours has been ruined.”

  “I don’t want his. It’s old. I want a new one.”

  “I’ll get you a new one.”

  Chapter 28

  The family was dressed by eight thirty, the men in dark suits with ties and herself in a navy frock. They gathered in the lounge room and then made their way downstairs. The Mercedes backed out of the garage and the rain drummed on the roof, heavier than she would have supposed. They could barely see through the windscreen as Michael turned onto the street, and then they had to battle the early Saturday morning traffic. They arrived with five minutes to spare and walked through the parking lot with umbrellas. There were more than a hundred people in the church, possibly as many as two hundred, and as they made their way to a pew, she found herself nodding at smiling at many familiar faces. Most of Jude’s classmates seemed to be here. Yet it struck her as odd that this was the upshot of Jude having choked with so little fanfare in the playroom — such a large funeral.

  The coffin sat centre stage, looking a little smaller than it would have done for an adult, and as she realised this she felt awfully sorry for Jean. She was sitting in the front, with Frieda and her husband, Jerry. Michael had managed to find a place for them only a couple of rows back. Yet still, it was too close for Susan. She didn’t feel as though she could face Jean today. The memory of the film was still too vivid, and as the organ music quietened down, she heard Tom’s voice in her mind very distinctly say, “You want to see the perfect murder? Just watch this.”

  A few of the boys from Waverly spoke, but as they did, it occurred to her that they hadn’t been particular friends of Jude’s. Jude hadn’t had any particular friends other than Johnny Cartwright, who’d left the school last year. The boys spoke well, but it was obviously very rehearsed. There were tears in the congregation, and some of them from the boys. Tom and Luke, however, sat on impassively, Tom with something that might have been the hint of a smile on his face, Luke stiff-backed and unmoving.

  Then they had to make their way out into the rain to the grave side. Six of the boys from school bore the coffin, yet she couldn’t help wondering how wise this was, the way boys fooled around. If it was Tom or Luke she would have confined the whole thing to family, not put on a show like this.

  They gathered around the grave and tried to hear over the rain as the minister said some final words. Then she had a sodden piece of mud in her hand to toss onto the coffin. It fell heavily, as others did, and one of the boys — not one of her boys — laughed.

  As they turned to go, Jean was suddenly at her side, gripping her elbow. Her face was tear-stained, her mascara running.

  “Come for the wake,” she said.

  “Of course.” Susan hadn’t thought of doing anything else.

  They drove straight there, but were a little early, and had to wait in the car while the windows steamed up until Jean and Jerry and Frieda arrived in their Jaguar.

  Inside, it was cold and damp, the house so large Susan wondered if it could be heated. Then again, it was summer. Who was expecting to have to heat their house today?

  Jean had had the wake catered, but the food was awful. Limp canapés and tart white wine. She couldn’t wait to get home again, but supposed she’d have to go and visit her brother Ralph this afternoon. You couldn’t leave someone in a psychiatric ward for weeks on end without visiting them. Not conscionably.

  A few of the boys starting horsing around, but she kept Tom and Luke close. They tended to be better behaved in Michael’s company as he didn’t stand for any nonsense. An hour wore away with nothing more than small talk to occupy her. Then Luke farted loudly and a boy laughed, smiling at Luke with crinkly eyes. Someone else laughed and the mood was suddenly lightened. But Jean came into the room just at that moment from the kitchen, confused about the laughter, and no one explained.

  As they were leaving, Jean caught her at the door. “Is it all right if I come and have a word to Tom tomorrow. I want to get everything clear in my mind.”

  “Of course.” She smiled, and determinedly held Jean’s glance.

  Then it was over.

  As they walked in the door, she said, “You boys may as well stay in your suits. We’re going to visit Uncle Ralph.”

  Tom groaned, said, “Ralphie!” in a high-pitched voice, and then both of them ran upstairs.

  Chapter 29

  She made everyone some lunch, a pasta with chicken, and then got the boys ready again, as they’d taken off their jackets and ties.

  “I’m sure Ralph won’t care what we’re wearing,” Luke said.

  “Maybe not. But seeing as you’re dressed, you may as well look your best.”

  She ushered them down
to the garage, to the Volvo, and as they got in, Luke said, “What a bomb!” meaning the car.

  She nodded distractedly and then took off.

  Finding a parking space at the hospital on a Saturday proved a challenge. Finally she had to follow someone walking away from the doors and ask if they were leaving. It was embarrassing, but she managed to secure herself a spot. Then it was a question of walking through corridors of hospital space to the mental health building. Ralph was in ward E8, an entire floor of egg-shell blue and royal blue decor. The floors were cleanly polished, and as she walked to the desk, she stared at her reflection, as though she was walking on glass.

  Ralph obviously hadn’t been expecting her visit, as he drew his head back when he saw her. It looked as though he’d been asleep, his hair askew and his eyes bleary.

  “How you doing?” she said.

  He smiled his lopsided smile. “Fine, sis.”

  “Hey, Ralphie,” Tom said, pronouncing it “Ralf” rather than “Raif” as it always been pronounced.