Detained

by Ainslie Paton

  “I did it all just to annoy you.”

  Her next shove was more like a slap. “You make me so mad with worry, I want to kill you myself. They wouldn’t let me come, but I couldn’t take it anymore. And so I get here and you’re missing again.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come.”

  “You stupid, stupid man, you really are brain damaged. You think I wouldn’t throw everything away to know you are all right? I phoned the hospital every day. I leave it for one weekend to call and you disappear.”

  With any other woman you might expect tears; Jiao was just warming up. Will knew he wasn’t awake enough to handle her.

  “I’ve been here for three days and all you do is sleep like you’re back in a coma. I go in your room and hold my hand over your face to see if you’re still breathing. Anyone could have robbed this place and you’d have slept through it.” She frowned, took a breath. “I think someone did, you have no alcohol.”

  He started to laugh.

  “You don’t laugh at me.”

  His laugh built. It had been a while since he’d laughed.

  She slapped his chest. “You have a new face and I’m not sure I like it. Too pretty.”

  He grabbed for her hand but forgot he was bandaged up, she danced away.

  “Chee lun sin.”

  He laughed again. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Good. Sou hai. That will teach you to forget.” She jabbed him hard in the side.

  “Hey.”

  “You sit on that stool and eat. Then we talk.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come, or cook for me, and I’m not up for talking.”

  “It’s not an option.”

  “Jiao, I’m not good to be around. I don’t want you here. I’m not the same.”

  “Boohoo. Are you superhuman and don’t need food now?” She pointed at a stool. “Sit. Eat.”

  He ate, it was good. It took the spinning out of his head. She watched him like he was made of soap bubbles and might pop any minute. When he’d finished she said, “You tell me what you need.”

  This was a trap. If he told her to go away, she’d dig in, and he’d never be rid of her. If he told her to stay, she’d remind him he didn’t love her. He knew her moods still but he’d lost the knack of knowing what to say. The unfiltered truth was best.

  “I need to be alone.”

  She considered. She put food she’d made for reheating in the fridge, cleaned the sink and benchtop and stacked the dishwasher. He had no idea what she was thinking.

  “Okay.”

  “Just like that?”

  She shrugged. “You know what you need better than anyone else.”

  “Holy fuck. This is you agreeing with me, easy as pie.”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I don’t agree with you. I don’t know you anymore. You said you were different. I can see that. You got knocked down and you don’t want to get up. I understand you’re tired, your head hurts and you’re angry. It’s okay, if this is who you are now, I have to respect that.”

  What did she mean ‘didn’t want to get up’? He’d fought for months to be able to stand upright without needing support, to walk without limping, to think without having to wade through layers and layers of cloud, and to talk without speaking in tongues.

  “I got up, Jiao. I got up. It took a little while but I got up.”

  She leaned on the benchtop and fixed him with chocolate brown eyes. “No, Will, you’re only on your knees, but I understand. It would be very hard.”

  “You don’t understand. I don’t feel the same.”

  “Okay.”

  “I feel this anger, always, here.” He tapped his chest, then ran his hand through his hair, dug his fingers into his scalp. That’s where it lived the anger, the scream—in his head and in his heart.

  “Okay.”

  He could feel them burn. “What is this with you? You never used to agree with me.”

  She gave a woeful little smile. “You’re not you. I’m agreeing with whoever you are now.”

  He shook his head, the ache reduced, but still fuzzy. “So you’re going to leave.”

  She adjusted the collar of her shirt. He was starting to burn up and she was fussing about her appearance. “Unless you change your mind, yes.”

  “I’m not changing my mind.” He’d put her in a hotel till she could get a flight.

  “So the decision is made.” Leave no room for her to wriggle a stay of execution.

  “Yes.” Jiao stepped out from behind the kitchen bench. She headed into the living room. She called out, “What happened to Blondie?”

  Will swivelled around on the stool to face the living room doorway. “Darcy? I guess she went back to Sydney.”

  “You let her go.”

  “She lives there.”

  “Will.”

  He got off the stool and walked into the room. “Better for her.”

  “Because you don’t love her anymore?”

  “That’s right.”

  Jiao grinned, her eyes glittered. “I said that woman would ruin you. It’s good to be right.”

  He frowned. “She didn’t ruin me.”

  “What then?”

  “I chose to set her free. It’s better for her.”

  “You mean better for you.”

  He sat on the butter soft leather sofa. “Yeah. Anything wrong with that?”

  She was packing away her iPad. She looked up. “Your life, Will.”

  Yes it was. His to rebuild any way he wanted.

  “Dr Yang says you need rest and no stress, and you should remember your languages. He says the dyslexia isn’t part of the brain swelling, there is no physical cause. It’s psychosomatic. An entirely emotional problem.”

  Will shook his head, felt a jangle of pain and wished he’d kept still. “You spoke to Yang?”

  “Regularly.”

  He watched Jiao move around the living room, picking up items and putting them in an oversized handbag. She really was going to leave.

  “Why is Peter in Sydney?”

  She packed a phone charger. “Maybe he’s gone after Blondie. He always wanted what was yours.”

  “Funny. Do you know why he’s there?”

  “Yes.” She hefted the bag and put it over her shoulder.

  “And?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  Will did an exaggerated look around the room.

  Jiao popped a hip, a choreographed ‘you’re really annoying’ gesture. “If it’s Will Parker, CEO of Parker Corporation there’s one answer. If it’s Will Parker, ‘what I need most is to be alone’, there’s another.”

  Will stood. He’d noticed a suitcase standing by the door. “Oh I see. I can’t be both?”

  “No. You already told me that, by being here, by not looking after yourself, by cutting yourself off. So the answer is, Pete’s in Sydney on business.”

  “What business?”

  She went for the suitcase and pulled up the handle. “What do you care?”

  That stumped him. She was right. That was his old life.

  “Bo is outside. He’s going to take me to the airport.”

  “You knew I’d ask you to leave.”

  She trundled the bag behind her down the hall. “Of course.”

  Will followed. “And if I’d wanted you to stay?”

  She laughed, put her hand on the doorhandle and turned back to look at him. “They made you prettier, but you haven’t changed that much, Will Parker.”

  He followed her out to the front of the house. Bo was parked in the driveway with the seat reclined, snoozing. The two of them had clearly been talking. He tapped on the bonnet and Bo opened his eyes, popped the boot, and got out to take Jiao’s bag.

  “I tried to keep her away, Will. I’ll have the window fixed.”

  Jiao was already in the car. He wanted to be alone, but this felt wrong. This woman cared about him. So did this man. He wasn’t angry with them but he was upset. It was
n’t the burn of an angry scream in his chest. It was the agitation of sadness. He reached for the passenger side door to open it, but fumbled. He’d forgotten to get help with the bandage.

  Jiao rolled the window down. “What?”

  He lent down to look in the car. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry I’m being difficult.” He looked over at Bo, now in the driver’s seat. He was sorry. The difference between today and the day he checked out of hospital was that he was sad, not angry, sorry, not mad. But he still wanted to be alone.

  “I need to know why Peter is in Sydney.”

  Jiao and Bo exchanged a look. There were teeth. They were both trying to hide smiles.

  “That company you wanted to buy. Avalon,” said Jiao.

  “They’re trying to buy you,” finished Bo. “When I come back, want to visit Confucius?”

  Will nodded and straightened up. Yes, he wanted to visit the temple. He wanted the hit of its tranquillity, and he had a few favours to ask.

  He watched the Audi pull out. He shouldn’t care about Parker. He’d given it to Pete way back in Quingpu, and he’d not wanted to know what was happening to it since. Parker and Darcy. It was the same strategy. He was no good for either of them, so better to be apart than risk further damaging them.

  But a reverse takeover; Avalon buying out Parker? Once he’d have said they’d have to bury him before he’d let that happen. But he’d been buried and he was still alive and so the idea should’ve been a soap bubble, shimmery, glossy, momentarily fascinating; then gone. It was more like a soapbox, something to stand on, an issue to take a position with.

  But he wouldn’t even be able to read the various bits of documentation associated with it, so what was the point thinking he should get involved?

  He went back into the house, his companion confusion joined by sadness and melancholy. He needed something to do to fill the time till Bo got back. He sat on the sofa and thought about Jiao, so fierce, so definite. Bo, loyal beyond cause, and Peter doing his best with the situation he’d been handed, as much a victim in this as he was.

  He got up and got a glass of water. He’d let sadness in, and now he could think about Darcy. She’d been as fierce as Jiao, as loyal as Bo, doing the best she could with what he dished out. She’d reached out to him, and he’d made her a victim too. He had to hope she’d be able to heal.

  Jiao had called him “fucking crazy, a dumbass”. He knew it suddenly, the sound of the meaning in his head as clear as the water in the glass.

  He was hearing Cantonese swear words in his head and he knew what they meant. How fucking appropriate. His language was coming back one Cantonese swear word at a time.

  Now he had to work out what to do to get his business back.

  37. Hell and Back

  “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” — Confucius

  Darcy stood with Russ, her cameraman, and Loud, her sound engineer, and five other network crews and about fifty journalists on the driveway outside the Sheraton on the Park.

  Last night a Bulldog’s player and a visiting Hollywood starlet had a much photographed fling at a restaurant. The footballer was a married Brownlow Medallist and the starlet was underage. They were inside the hotel together, and they had to come out sometime.

  Together or separately it didn’t much matter. It was a walk of shame regardless. There’d be excuses, misunderstandings, a variant of stoic or heartbroken wife, and tears enough for all of them before dinnertime.

  When Darcy said she wanted to get back into field reporting this wasn’t what she’d been thinking about. But then, most of the journalists and crew here didn’t spring out of bed in the morning for a story like this either. As Loud said, it was better than being poor people, but after hanging around for two hours in heels that was debatable.

  The only amusement was the book that was being run on whether the footballer would eventually end up with a media commentator role. It was hard to get anyone to bet against that happening.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Darcy turned to find Col Furrows on her right. “I’d say the same about you. What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Mining and resources conference going on in there. I’m waiting to see what info I can pick up on various industry moves. See which CEOs are holding hands, and smiling at each other. That sort of thing.”

  “Oh you mean real reporting.”

  Col smiled. “Yeah. Where you buy your own clothes and wear out your own shoe leather.”

  “I remember that. Actually, what I remember was being sacked for doing it.”

  Col laughed. “Fun times. I don’t suppose you’d give me your contacts at Parker? Ted Barstow is in there. That Avalon Parker is about to get interesting.”

  Darcy knew it was. Before she flew home Peter told her he’d decided to fight the deal, even though without Will he thought their chances of success were slim. It was too soon to think about Will without feeling slightly sick, and to never to forgive Col enough to share her insights on the Parker deal.

  “I never did understand why you thought I had a special in with Parker.”

  He chuckled. “Let me think. I’m not sure if it was you breaking his reputation or breaking him out of jail. Wait on, I remember. It was the card—‘I’m eternally sorry, love Will’. That’s what tipped me off.”

  She gave a strangled grunt. “It did not say ‘love Will’.”

  Col laughed again. “Might as well have. It was attached to a dress.”

  “God, Col.” Darcy spun to face him. “You only think you know what happened. And while I remember it, thanks a lot for squealing to Brian.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. Sorry about that.” He managed not to look the least bit contrite.

  “Just as sorry as I am, not to remember my Parker contacts.”

  “Darce, don’t be like that. Every business journo in the city is on the Parker Avalon story. Half of them are here now. I need an angle.”

  She gave Col her best patronising tone. “You’re that good, I’m sure you’ll get one.”

  “Is this about the story I wrote on you?”

  “No, that story,” she gestured to her tailored pants suit with game show host hands, “helped me get this job. We’re square on that. This is just business.”

  Col made a face but gave up the fight when a movement amongst the media pack alerted them to action in the hotel foyer. The ripple stilled as soon as it had stirred, men in suits, not a tail-between-legs, lipstick-on-collar variant of tearful, defiant or mentally incapacitated footballer. Col’s story, not hers.

  The doors opened and out came a platoon of corporate suits. They blinked in confusion at the media pack, and a couple of bored photographers played it up for laughs, popping their flashes, to the amusement of everyone but the suits.

  “Fucking hell,” said Col. “Second from the left. Is that Will Parker?”

  Darcy’s, “No, can’t be,” was out of her mouth before she realised Col was right. Will was standing next to Avalon’s Chairman Ted Barstow, looking freaked out about the media pack.

  Ten days ago Will was in a rehab hospital punching out glass doors and fighting memory loss. Now he was standing a car length and a couple of marble clad stairs away, in a charcoal suit with one hand in plaster and a bandage on the other. Darcy felt the ground beneath her shift and her stomach lurch.

  Someone standing in front of them took up the cry, “Will Parker, Will Parker.” Will’s head shot up and he took a step backwards, and that was all the confirmation anyone needed. The pack surged forward. The lead story of the day was now the sudden appearance of the notorious billionaire entrepreneur, tyrant, murder suspect, jail riot survivor—Will Parker. Kiss and tell footy boy was so four hours ago.

  Russ was on her shoulder. “Get in there, Darce. He’s yours.” Loud was in front of her, smoothing her way to the front of the pack. She moved like an accident victim, unsure what was happening, except that it was all bad.

&
nbsp; Questions were being fired at Will. “Why are you here?” “What happened in prison?” “Did you get off on a technicality?” “Did you lead the riot?” “Were you bashed?”

  “Fellas, ease off,” said Ted Barstow. “Will’s not here for you.”

  “Is Parker for sale?” “Are you selling out, Will?” “Why are you here, Will?”

  “I said ease off,” Ted repeated. He had an arm stretched out in front of Will, as though protecting him.

  Russ and Loud were in position. Darcy had to do something and since Will didn’t know her anyway it shouldn’t matter. But it did, it did.

  “Are you okay, Will?” she called. A lame question, lost in the noise in any case. But Will’s eyes shifted and locked tight onto hers. He put his hand on Ted’s arm and eased it down, he squared his shoulders. The pack went quiet to hear whatever it was he’d say. Darcy tensed. She was going to have to interview him as though they were strangers with fifty people watching and recording their every word. She wanted to scream.

  Will said, “Ask your question, Darcy Campbell,” and she reeled back into Russ.

  He remembered.

  Loud was in her ear, “Go, go, go.”

  “Will, have you recovered from your injuries?” she called.

  He smiled, he was looking directly at her. He lifted the hand in plaster. “I’m doing much better, thank you.”

  She could do this, if he kept looking at her with recognition in his eyes, she could do this. “I understand your injuries were significant, and you’re only recently out of hospital. Can you tell us about them?”

  “You don’t want to know about a few breaks and scratches?”

  There was laughter and a ragged chorus of, “Yes we do.”

  Will sighed. He broke eye contact and surveyed the pack. Darcy could see he was remembering how they’d torn his reputation apart. How he must hate them. He might have remembered to hate her too.

  “Don’t you really want to know if I did it?” he said.

  He might as well have said, ‘I’m going to throw money at you’; he wouldn’t have gotten more attention.