The One That Got Away

by Jennifer Palgrave

  Lauren felt a rush of emotion and tried to keep her voice from wavering. ‘You didn’t talk to me about it before you made your decision. Don’t I matter?’

  Kirsten went on the defensive. ‘It’s a great opportunity and I had to decide at once.’

  ‘So what does that mean for us?’ Lauren regretted the words as soon as she’d uttered them. She knew what it meant. ‘No, forget I said that. No point in beating around the bush. Obviously, it’s over between us.’ She gathered steam. ‘I’ve enjoyed the ride, I hope you won’t be lonely, but it’s your choice.’

  Kirsten sounded tearful. ‘Lauren, I do have to tell you something before you hear it from someone else. Bee and I have been getting close lately, and she’s decided to come with me. But I’d like you and I to stay friends.’

  ‘Oh, Kirsten, that’s nonsense! It’ll be a while before that happens. We’ll both need a break from each other. In fact I’m hanging up now.’

  She cut the connection and sat motionless for a moment, thinking about the relationship. Images came floating into her mind. The very first time she’d met Kirsten. Kirsten at their favourite café, holding out a forkful of mushrooms for Lauren to try. Kirsten, naked and in a tangle of sheets on that Greek island. She pushed away an unwelcome thought of Kirsten naked with Bee.

  Everyone said it was hard to keep a long-distance relationship going and they were right. She stood up, walked out to her kitchen. A drink? No, she didn’t want a drink. She wanted to tell someone, wanted a hug, wanted to burst into tears. It stung, she had been betrayed. Silly, if she was honest with herself, things hadn’t been going well ever since Kirsten moved to Auckland. And Kirsten had never understood Lauren’s preoccupation with the Lange plot. She had been discouraging and insulting when Lauren needed support, especially since she couldn’t talk to her Wellington friends about it.

  She sat back down, staring at rather than reading her novel. The phone rang again ten minutes later–just long enough for Kirsten to have poured out her heart to Bee, Lauren guessed. She didn’t answer. Then a text dinged. ‘I do love you.’ She didn’t respond to that either.

  She realised that she was feeling a sense of relief as well as sadness and injured self-esteem. They had drifted apart and really, the relationship with all its ups and downs was becoming a straitjacket. She gave a rueful smile. At least it would save on airfares, and her friends would stop complaining that they never knew which weekends she’d be in Wellington.

  She decided she would have a drink after all, and poured herself a glass of wine. She picked up the novel and tried to concentrate on the page.

  Lauren hadn’t expected to sleep well, but she drifted off before midnight. She woke up with a start when it was just getting light. The phone was ringing. The landline. She staggered out of bed in the half light and answered sleepily. It was Phyl from next door. She sounded short of breath. ‘Sorry Lauren, but can you come over? I need help.’ The phone went dead.

  Lauren threw on yesterday’s clothes, grabbed her key to Phyl’s place and went in calling, ‘Phyl, Phyl.’ She found her in the living room, sitting in her favourite Lazy Boy in her dressing gown. She was leaning back with her eyes closed and her face was grey. ‘I’ve called the ambulance, should be here soon. Can’t breathe, terrible burning in my chest. Lauren, would you look after Monty? I think they might keep me in.’

  ‘Oh, Phyl. Yes, of course I will. I’ll pack up some things for you.’ She headed off to the bathroom, found a toilet bag in a bottom drawer and put in Phyl’s toothbrush and toothpaste. She looked around for her pills. She knew Phyl took medications for a number of ailments that she never complained about. She went into the bedroom and found pill dispensers, loaded them into the toilet bag as well, found a zip bag in the wardrobe, a clean nightie from a drawer, the book Phyl was reading and her reading glasses. In between packing, she kept an eye on Phyl, still sitting with her eyes shut.

  Now she heard knocking on the door and ran to open it. A woman and a man from Wellington Free Ambulance. What a welcome sight! They checked Phyl’s vital signs, talking to her quietly as they did so. The guy then went back to the ambulance to get a stretcher. ‘Better if she doesn’t exert herself,’ said the woman to Lauren.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ said Lauren to Phyl.

  Phyl shook her head. ‘I’d rather you stayed with Monty.’ Monty had been sitting on the floor on the rug that Phyl kept for him next to her chair. As they manoeuvred Phyl onto the stretcher, he stood up and whimpered.

  ‘It’s all right, Monty,’ said Lauren. She bent down and stroked him reassuringly. They watched together as the stretcher was borne out. Monty whimpered again and Lauren said, ‘Come on, we’ll take you to my place.’ She looked at her phone. It was just seven. No time to fret about Kirsten then. There’d be too much going on.

  A siren wailed from the street above as the ambulance set off for the hospital.

  Lauren took Monty back to her apartment and made herself some breakfast. She was worried about Phyl but it was too soon to phone. The dog jumped up and licked her face and pawed her. ‘Down, Monty,’ she said. She thought how very comforting dogs are when people are in an emotional state. She rubbed his ears. ‘Good boy.’ He must be worried about Phyl as well. She fished around in her cupboard and found him one of the treats she kept for when she was walking him.

  She decided a walk would be good and being with a friend. Pam and Megan both lived within walking distance, but in apartment buildings where she couldn’t take Monty. She didn’t want to be in a café. She still felt wobbly after the call with Kirsten and now, with Phyl being carted off, tears were close to the surface. Better to be somewhere more private if she became tearful.

  She phoned Michael, who responded warmly. ‘Of course, you and Monty walk round and he can meet our new pup.’ The road wound around the top of Evans Bay, a walk she normally enjoyed. The footpath was narrow and she had to be careful with Monty whenever a car went by.

  Michael greeted her, cradling a pup in his arms, a sweet looking tawny Labrador with soulful brown eyes. ‘This is Mandela. Mandela, meet Monty.’ Monty was barking, leaping up and trying to see the pup. Michael walked through to the living room and rather trustingly, Lauren thought, put Mandela in a basket. Monty strained at the lead and Lauren allowed him to approach gradually. A few sniffs and licks from Monty and excited squeaks from the pup, and Monty established himself as top dog, but benign. Off the lead, he settled down beside the basket.

  Lauren told Michael about Phyl as he made her a coffee. She didn’t mention Kirsten. She was upset, but it was not just Phyl and Kirsten. Somehow the intensity of the moment released other feelings. The weight of Kevin’s and Judith’s deaths bore down on her. She felt responsible. If she had not been prying, they would still be alive.

  She confessed her doubts to Michael as they sipped their coffees. He was a good listener, not interrupting except to murmur encouraging signals for her to continue, until she’d got it all off her chest.

  When she stopped, Michael looked at her warmly and said, ‘Lauren, you’re a good person. You’ve been trying to do the right thing. Justice doesn’t come without a cost. It’s unfortunate that these deaths were the repercussions and it’s right not to minimise them.’ Lauren sniffed as Michael continued. ‘Judith Butler might have been losing it, but she was still a human being and entitled to get older, well cared for and loved. She still had much to offer as your interview showed. And Kevin was foolish, self-serving and ruthless, but he didn’t deserve to die. It would have been better if he had lived to be tried for the Lange murder attempt, and for hiring people to intimidate you and Ro. But Lauren, you didn’t kill them, Darya did.’

  Lauren bit her lip to stop her tears. Her emotions were all over the place today, quite unlike her usual self. ‘I suppose what you say is true, I’ve just been feeling so awful about it.’

  Michael grasped her hand and leaned towards her. ‘Remember how helpful you were to me, when I told you about Kevin bla
ckmailing me. I’ve thought about it a lot over the last few weeks and I’m starting to forgive myself. I’m sure you will come to terms with this. You just need time to get a perspective on it all.’

  Lauren felt better, though still shaky. She was pleased that her talk with Michael had helped him. But now Monty was getting restless and she took her leave.

  30

  ‘The gods today stand friendly’

  It was June, four months later, and Unity Books was packed for Ro’s book launch. Lauren had brought along Phyl who was much recovered after her heart bypass. Now she seemed as fit and bossy as ever, although she let Lauren take over more of Monty’s exercise these days.

  ‘I’m not a Labour voter, Lauren,’ Phyl said, when Lauren invited her.

  ‘It’s a book launch, not a Labour Party meeting! Anyway, you need to come because you’ve been a great adviser to Ro and me on the Lange affair.’

  ‘I thought Deirdre had deep-sixed it,’ said Phyl.

  ‘Yes, unfortunately, but this is Ro’s original project, a history of the women of the fourth Labour government.’

  ‘In that case, I hope the refreshments are good.’ Phyl gave her a wicked look.

  The bookshop was crowded with colleagues and friends of Ro, and a sprinkling of notables Lauren recognised as involved in the party or Parliament during the years Ro’s book covered. The room was abuzz with old friends and acquaintances catching up.

  Ro’s publisher, a young man in his thirties, managed to make himself heard and gave a brief but flattering speech about what an interesting project it was, and how good Ro had been to work with. He made an oblique reference to some excitement at the end of the project. Most of the guests looked puzzled, but Lauren smiled to herself at the reference. She knew the injunction had been upheld by the courts, so the Listener hadn’t got their exposé. That had annoyed Ro no end.

  Lauren spotted Deirdre in the crowd. She must have been there in an official capacity. Lauren winked and Deirdre acknowledged her with the hint of a smile. Since that coffee a few months back, their friendship had developed. Perhaps it would turn into something more? Lauren suppressed the thought.

  Ro took to the mike and made a speech about the project, how it came about, what fun it had been, how wonderful the women she’d talked with were. She said she understood how difficult it must have been for them, given the tensions of the time. Then she said, ‘You may have heard rumours…’ Lauren’s heart sank. Surely she wasn’t going to get them into trouble. She glanced across. Deirdre was inscrutable.

  Ro went on, ‘I found out some things that we couldn’t publish. Many people are still alive. The transcripts and voice recordings and all my notes are deposited in the Turnbull Library and sealed until 2030. I do suggest to my young historian friends’–glancing around the room–‘that you put your skates on, on the first of January, 2030, and race down there, for there will be some surprising revelations.’

  Lauren’s heartbeat slowed to its normal rate.

  ‘And finally,’ Ro went on, ‘I have dedicated the book to Judith Butler. Judith died too early, before I finished the project. She was a fine backbencher, one of Labour’s best.’ Lauren saw Judith’s daughter standing nearby. She was smiling, but her eyes were wet.

  Ro finished up, ‘No event concerning MPs is complete without a political speech so I am handing over to my good friend Lauren Fraser to say a few words.’

  Lauren stepped up to the mike. She was a little nervous, but she knew everyone would warm to her opening. ‘Today is a special day,’ she began. ‘I know you’re all as excited as I am about the prime minister’s brand new baby. Only the second time in the world that a prime minister has given birth in office.’

  Everyone cheered and clapped. Lauren continued. ‘The day is special for another reason: Ro’s book, that celebrates the women of the Labour Party during the Lange era.’

  She smiled. ‘And I’m not going to make a long political speech. But there is a postscript to Ro’s book that I’d like to draw to your attention. Women in the book tell you how hard it was in the Lange government with the fierce division between the Douglas supporters and the rest–whichever faction they supported. Those divisions were fiercer than you can imagine.’ She was thinking of Brett and the plot. The need for secrecy was frustrating!

  ‘What I want to remember is how Lange ended his parliamentary career–after the fall of his government. His last speech, his valedictory speech, apologised for the excesses of his government and challenged those who succeeded him to consider the less fortunate, “those people who cannot foot it”.’

  She beamed. ‘And here we are! With a government that’s taken up that challenge, a new woman Prime Minister who wants to make our country a kinder place, a place where children flourish.’

  Lauren turned towards Ro. ‘Ro, one day you might write a book about the women of the sixth Labour government.’

  She handed the microphone back to the publisher and stepped away. Probably not her greatest oratorical moment. But people clapped, as much as people standing with glasses in their hands can clap. One of Ro’s colleagues congratulated her. ‘People don’t remember that Lange apologised for the economic reforms going too far. Never hurts to remind them.’

  Lauren was wishing the apology could have involved some redistribution of wealth – she’d have enjoyed disbursing Brett’s fortune to those in need.

  By eight o’clock, as people drifted off, the launch came to a close. A good number of books had been sold, without any whisper of the plot against Lange.

  Ro was on a high, bouncing about, inviting close friends as well as her publisher to a post-launch dinner at a restaurant off Courtenay Place. People strolled towards it in little groups, clutching their signed copies in the bookshop’s brown paper bags. Megan, who was walking with Lauren, said, ‘A pity your friend Michael wasn’t at the book launch, given that he was an MP at the time.’

  ‘It was a shame,’ agreed Lauren. ‘He and Kiano had an electrician coming in this evening specially to finish doing their lights. They wanted to be there to check the placing. They want to make sure their paintings are lit properly and that they’re both happy with the colour effects of the other lights.’

  She laughed. ‘They’re perfectionists! Kiano is going to be right behind the electrician, touching up the walls. It’s their housewarming on Saturday.’ Privately, she thought it might also be that Michael was still reluctant to mix with colleagues from that time.

  The housewarming. She could hardly restrain herself from giving a little skip. She’d plucked up courage and invited Deirdre to come with her. Made it sound casual. ‘You know, he helped you break the Kevin Driscoll case with his eye witness account. He’d love to meet you when you’re just enjoying yourself out of the office.’ They’d been having a drink at the end of Deirdre’s work day. In March they’d gone to the Arts Festival opera that Darya had wanted to sponsor. Lauren noted that the Wilson name was on the programme but there was no big splash of the sort that Darya would have wanted.

  Deirdre had been a discerning companion and, since then, they’d been out two or three times. Not that Lauren was counting, she told herself firmly. It had been odd seeing her at the book launch, being professional. They hadn’t talked at all.

  Two nights later she was preparing for the party. Deirdre would be there soon. They’d arranged that she would bring her car as far as Lauren’s place and they’d walk to Michael’s together. Senior policewomen shouldn’t be caught over the limit!

  Absentmindedly she checked her laptop as she passed. Two or three emails: one from Greenpeace, something from her old college and an email from Rachel. She checked the time–still time to look at a couple. She’d read the Greenpeace one later. The college email was a reminder that the research study into ageing was ongoing. ‘This is to advise that your next annual data collection will be carried out over two days in Melbourne, Australia, on Monday 30th September and Tuesday 1st October, 2018. Air fares will be reimbursed and acc
ommodation has been arranged. It is expected that there will be ten graduates in the group.’

  A shame that there would be no freebie to Cambridge next time, but Melbourne was great to visit. And not so far from Sydney, she could be maternal and visit Martin there. And Kirsten? Would they be on speaking terms? She made a face. Not with Bee there.

  She turned to Rachel’s email, with an attached photo. Rachel and she weren’t frequent correspondents but caught up with each other’s news two or three times a year. It was only a month since she’d last heard.

  ‘Hi Lauren. Thought you’d like to see this straight away.’ Lauren looked closely at the photo of a building entrance. It was their old college library. It boasted shiny new signage: the Brett Wilson Library. Lauren continued reading. ‘The man himself was at the opening, and you’d never guess who was hanging off his arm. Charlotte! I caught her by herself for just a moment. She reckons he’s a reformed character. They’re going to spend time on his new property in the New South Wales Highlands. Charlotte’s excited about the horse-riding. I hope it works out. He seems to me much the same as ever, still polished and pleased with himself.’

  Lauren snorted, remembering his drunken ramblings. She glanced at the time. There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Hi, Deirdre. Will you come in or shall we go straight there?’ Deirdre was looking particularly attractive. Her brown eyes matched a patterned silk scarf swinging casually across her shoulders and black leather pants accentuated her slim legs. ‘Let’s go straight away,’ she said.

  As they took the path to the street Lauren thought briefly about Brett, about Darya, about Kevin. Kevin was dead, Darya was wanted by Interpol, Brett was in the clear. He was the one that got away.