“I’m not sick. I just have to take it easy for a couple of days.” Edward was touched by her distress, her vacillation on his account. He didn’t mention that the police believed that his attackers might have already been in the house waiting, when she’d come in to clean. He leaned forward gingerly and patted her hand. “I plan to hole up and write anyway, so having a reason to turn down invitations to go out and procrastinate is probably a good thing.”
“I’ll make sure the ice-box is well stocked,” she said quite tearfully now. “You’ll just have to reheat what you want, for a while at least.”
“I can always call out for pizza,” he said smiling.
“Promise me you won’t, Edward!” The housekeeper stood, straightening her narrow shoulders and thrusting out her chest. “Nothing would upset me more than the thought that I had left you to survive on pizza and beer like some…some…” Mrs. Jesmond faltered, unable to think of who would be so unfortunate.
Edward laughed. He suddenly felt like pizza.
Damage
“Have you worked out who attacked me?” Edward asked. Madeleine d’Leon was wearing blue pyjamas with some kind of cloud print. She sat cross-legged in an old armchair with her laptop perched on a cushion in her lap. He was startled when she looked up.
“I’m sorry. It’s the story. It’s not like the stuff you write—something’s actually got to happen.”
“Things happen in my work,” he said, mildly affronted. “They’re just more subtle than beating someone up physically.”
“Sure.”
“The demons of our own creation are always more dangerous than the ones who walk through the door, Maddie. And the struggle more interesting.”
She rolled her eyes and laughed at him. “Yes, of course, the inner journey. Worthy navel-gazing. I just write stories, Ned.”
He laughed too. If only she knew.
Madeleine slipped back to focus on what she was doing. She checked her watch. This was the third practice meeting Hugh had attended in a week. It was past midnight. He’d never been this late before.
She closed the laptop and took the cold grey remains of her casserole into the kitchen. She switched the kettle on more out of absent habit than anything else and glanced out of the window in search of headlights on the road. Just darkness. Perhaps Hugh was having car trouble. She hated the idea of being one of those people who constantly rang their partner, but perhaps he was having car trouble. So she rang. A recorded voice told her the phone was out of range. That was odd.
Madeleine wondered whether she should ring Hugh’s nurse…but that would sound clingy, like she was checking up on him. But what if he was having car trouble and the phone was malfunctioning? Perhaps she should drive into Ashwood herself. Yes, that was the thing to do.
She pulled on jeans and a cotton jumper, boots without bothering with socks, and then coaxed the old Mercedes out of the driveway, all the time hoping that Hugh would arrive home. Now that she’d decided to do something, his absence seemed more ominous and she felt a fluttering of panic. What if it was more than simple car trouble?
The headlights illuminated about twenty metres of country road before her. The dense scrub on both sides of the road made it darker than night, but she knew the way well enough to guess where the potholes lay and where the road’s edge had been eroded away. When Madeleine saw the headlights coming towards her, she dipped her own lights and leaned forward trying to make out whether the oncoming car was Hugh’s.
They must have jumped across in that brief moment when the beams of both vehicles lowered. Madeleine saw them only a gasp before impact. She closed her eyes as she slammed the brake pedal to the floor and yet she saw the kangaroo bounce onto the bonnet and slide towards her windscreen. A second thump then on the left, and a rattle that continued until she brought the car to a stop.
Madeleine climbed out and ran back. The other vehicle too, had stopped and returned to the point of collision. It was in its headlights that she saw the kangaroos. One dead, the other twisted, its powerful hind legs motionless as it tried to drag itself away with its forelimbs. It didn’t make a sound, just looked at her with dark liquid eyes.
Madeleine stood staring, desperate for something, anything she could do.
A man and a woman climbed out of the utility. The Johnsons…neighbours or thereabouts.
“Are you all right, Maddie?”
Madeleine nodded, unable to take her eyes from the dying creature before her. God, if she could comfort it. She cried, knowing it was worse than useless, but unable to stop.
Keith Johnson glanced at his wife. “I’ll duck home and get the gun.”
“You’re going to shoot it?” Madeleine sobbed, horrified. “Can’t we…?”
“Its back is broken Maddie, and the poor bloody creature is in pain. A bullet is the kindest thing we could do.”
Madeleine wept agreement. She knew he was right…but she’d done this.
***
Edward put down the pen. His hand was shaking too violently to write. A lingering injury. Unrelated to the ones he’d sustained more recently.
God, his little brother, Jacob. Again. Before him. Alive. Trapped. Dying. That same bewildered fear in his eyes, the same instinctive need to crawl away.
Edward gasped; his chest hurt.
Somehow he’d written the accident into every book…without meaning to, without wanting to…but it was always there. Jacob had been alive for such a little while. He hadn’t made a sound and yet Edward could hear him screaming even now. Edward swallowed as he saw what he’d done. He’d put his little brother into a broken kangaroo. What was wrong with him, for God’s sake? Why couldn’t he leave it be?
Keith Johnson was back quickly. Madeleine turned away as he put down the injured beast. One shot, louder than she expected. The rest passed indistinctly…once the tow truck had collected her car, the Johnsons drove her home.
Madeleine was grateful. Embarrassed and beset by such a keen regret. And still a little stunned. She was unsure what she would have done if the Johnsons hadn’t stopped. And she barely knew them, though Hugh had delivered their son and treated them for all manner of lesser things. They spoke highly of him and warmly to him when they dropped her off.
“Where the hell were you going at this time of night?” Hugh asked as the Johnsons pulled away.
“Just into town.”
“Why?”
“I thought you might have broken down.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You didn’t come home.”
“Yes, I did. I’m here aren’t I?”
“Hugh, it’s three in the morning! You weren’t answering your phone.”
“I’m a doctor, Maddie…there was an emergency.”
“You could have called.”
“You know what I do. Why would you assume it was anything other than the usual crap?”
“Because I was worried and I couldn’t reach you!” Madeleine was shouting now.
“You’re being ridiculous, Maddie. I don’t appreciate you trying to check up on me. It’s quite insulting, to be honest.”
Madeleine stared at him startled. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“I have to be up in the morning,” he said. “I’ll ring the insurance company about your car tomorrow.”
They resorted to silence after that. Madeleine opened her laptop, putting the screen between her and Hugh. She pretended to write. He went to bed. In time, when she could keep her eyes open no longer, she slipped silently into that bed, lying rigidly on the far edge of her side. And she dreamt of Edward McGinnity.
“Are you all right?” her writer asked. For a moment she simply savoured the image of him. He looked at her from within her and suddenly she felt shy.
“Yes. It’s just a fight. People fight. I shouldn’t have gone looking for him…t
hat poor kangaroo…”
“That wasn’t your fault. Sometimes things just happen. Are you sure you’re okay? It was one heck of a collision.”
Madeleine bit her lip, realising then how much she had wanted Hugh to say just that.
“I’m fine…Mercedes Benz…crumple zones.” She tilted her head to one side considering the bruises on Edward’s face, the stitches. “It’s not like I was beaten up by three unknown men.”
He groaned. “Crime-writers! Obsessed with guns and masked bandits. There are other ways to make a point.”
“There was no point to this,” she said shaking her head. “It was just an accident. Irrelevant, unless it gave me an alibi…”
“I don’t write crime fiction; I deal in the consequences of ordinary things.”
“Sounds dull.”
“Well, that depends on the reader, I guess.”
Madeleine smiled. “I guess.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”
“What do you mean?” Madeleine bristled. She would not be condescended to. “I have five books to my name—I’ve done this before.”
“I wasn’t talking about what you’re writing.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she sighed. “But I guess that’s a literary tradition in itself.”
“Comprehensibility is very genre,” he replied gravely.
Madeleine laughed out loud. Hugh stirred and she smothered it.
***
Willow was furious. She stormed into the house, slamming the door behind her and calling his name. Her eyes were bright and every punctuated movement articulated her outrage. “Ned. Ned! Where the hell are you?”
“Willow.” Edward stood, using the back of his armchair for support as he straightened.
For a moment she wavered and then taking a deep breath she launched. “You told the police that Elliot did this!”
“What?”
She marched up to him. “Sit down, I want to shout at you.”
“I think I’ll stand for that.”
“How could you, Ned? Elliot is my husband!”
“I don’t know what you think I told the police.”
“They’re questioning Elliot about your attack because you hit him! How is that fair?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t tell them to question Elliot.”
“But you did hit him.”
“Yeah, I did that.”
“Why would you—how could you, Ned?”
Edward shrugged. “He told the police, not me, Will.”
Willow sat down on the coffee table, clenching her hands in her hair. “Oh, God! What else could go wrong?”
“Andy flew in this morning. He’ll be here in a couple of hours,” Edward offered.
“Elliot and I look like Bonnie and Clyde now.”
“Stay, speak to Andy.”
She looked at him. Her face softened. “Are you all right, Ned? I wanted to come to the hospital, but Elliot…”
“I’m fine, a little sore, that’s all.”
“Do you have any idea…?”
“No. One of them had garlic breath but that’s hardly an identikit.”
“Poor darling.” Willow forgot that she’d been angry with him. “Sit down. Can I get you anything?” She looked towards the kitchen. “It sounds like Mrs. Jesmond is cooking for thirty people.”
“I suspect she’s making sure I’ll have enough home cooking to get me through while she’s away.”
“Where’s she going?”
Edward lowered his voice. “What happened unnerved her a bit. I’m hoping she’ll come back as soon as the police have arrested somebody.”
“But that could take…what will you do?”
“I’m not a child, Will. I can look after myself.”
“Why don’t you come and stay with us?”
Edward laughed, clutching his chest as he was reminded of his fractured ribs. “Are you insane? You want me to stay with you and Elliot?” He pointed to the dark reflective hemisphere on the ceiling. “I’ll be fine. Leith’s had some kind of super security system installed.”
Willow squinted. “Is that a camera?”
“Yes.”
Her brow rose. “Is there one in your bedroom?”
Edward chuckled. “Of course you would ask that.”
“Is there?”
“Yes. If you want to kill me and get away with it you’ll have to do it in one of the bathrooms.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Willow glanced back at the camera uncomfortably. “It’s like being on reality television.”
“I don’t plan to be doing much other than writing, and I’m not sure ‘Author Idol’ would be a ratings success,” he said, though he was by no means comfortable with the idea.
Willow giggled. “I can just see viewers tuning in to find out exactly which adjective you chose.”
“I intend to go out as much as possible,” Edward admitted.
Willow leaned across to place her hand on his arm. “Aren’t you the least bit scared, Ned?”
“Scared?”
She sighed. “Okay, let’s say worried. Those men broke in here and waited for you with no other purpose than to beat the hell out of you.”
“It wasn’t personal, Will. They weren’t angry, just efficient. I expect they were hired thugs.”
“Why would that make you feel any safer?”
“Well, because they’ve done their job. If they’d wanted to kill me, they could easily have done so…so whoever hired them didn’t tick that box on the order form.”
“Why would someone want to simply give you a hiding?”
“Interesting question…they must have had a reason. We just need to figure out what that was.”
Willow’s eyes became sharp. “You’re spending too much time with that crime-writer of yours, my darling. She’s making you think you’re Sherlock Holmes!”
Edward sat back. He did wonder how Madeleine would handle this. Would she see something he was missing? Why did people attack perfect strangers? She’d probably written a similar scenario at one time or another.
Willow stood and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I’m sorry you were hurt, Ned. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to the hospital.”
Edward met her eye. “I’m not sorry I hit Elliot, Will.”
She said nothing for a moment, and then she spoke slowly and precisely, each word a declaration.
“I married Elliot. You’re my best friend, Ned, but I love Elliot.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You’re not allowed to hit him.”
“What—never?”
“Oh, Ned!”
“Okay, yes, I know.”
“And Elliot didn’t have anything to do with the attack on you.”
“I never thought he did.”
Willow caught her hair back and twisted it. It sprang back when she let go. She twirled a tress distractedly around her finger. Edward had seen that before, when she was upset.
“I wish you and Elliot could get along,” she said. “I don’t understand how the two people I love most in the world could hate each other so much.”
“You’re clearly making a mistake with one of us.”
“Ned…”
He smiled. “I’ll try, okay.”
***
Hugh brought home flowers. A cheerful bouquet of gerberas and hothouse roses in clear cellophane and tissue. Madeleine inhaled the thin fragrance and allowed him to kiss her. So the fight was officially over.
One of Hugh Lamond’s patients had mentioned that the kangaroos were particularly bad on the roads this year. “Apparently there’s a gadget you can get for your car that will repel wildlife. I’ll look into it when your car gets back from the smash repairers.”
“Thank you.” Madeleine smiled though she felt thwarted, denied the right to feel the resentment that now surged strongly in her breast. The flowers were a gag of sorts. They declared that any continuance of hostilities would be her doing and not his. She wanted to be angry—she wasn’t finished being angry.
But she found a vase for the flowers anyway, enquired about his day, and empathised and sympathised as they cooked dinner. They talked of ordinary things, interest rates on their mortgage, investments, having the carpets dry-cleaned, updating wills—that sort of thing. He showed her the power of attorney documents he’d finally got back from the lawyer he’d hired. He’d already signed one set in the presence of the requisite witnesses, granting her power over his body and his property in the event he became incapacitated. The conversation was wary, too polite and Madeleine was aware of a fermenting panic in the pit of her stomach. The pasta they cooked tasted sour and it might not have been the fault of the sauce.
Hugh had another meeting that evening. Once again it was midnight and he hadn’t returned. Madeleine wondered whether he was testing her, daring her to check up on him. When had they started doing that to each other? She didn’t try to ring him or even listen for the phone. Instead she once again fell asleep on a damp pillow.
Old Allies
Andy Finlay had come straight from the airport. His silk tie bore the stains of an inflight culinary mishap…a portion which proved ill-suited to plastic cutlery. He might not have minded if the meal had been worth eating. As it was, the tie had been sacrificed for naught.
The lawyer shook Edward McGinnity’s hand warmly. “How are you, Ned?” he asked, scrutinising the young man’s face, assessing and cataloguing each bruise with a litigator’s eye.
Edward grinned. “The police haven’t identified anyone for you to sue, Andy.”
“In that case, I’m glad you’re out of the hospital. Ms. Meriwether—how are you, my dear?”
Willow stepped out from behind Edward and shook Finlay’s hand. “I’m afraid I need your help, Mr. Finlay.”
“Don’t be afraid, Ms. Meriwether. Ned here, has asked me to represent you and I’m rather good at what I do.” He turned back to Edward. “Why don’t I speak to Ms. Meriwether in your study, Ned?”
Crossing the Lines Page 8