Past Perfect

by Karen Zelas

  ‘Things will settle back to normal once we’re home.’ That was what Sue was afraid of; they were going to have to do better than that.

  They wandered Oxford Street, expounding on the changes and the absence of private cars, and bought presents for the children and Rachel. They ogled the merchandise in Burlington Arcade, Harrods and Fortnum and Mason, and Ben bought Sue a Cashmere shawl. Each evening, they arrived back in West Dulwich, foot-sore and weary, but satisfied, and closer together.

  But there was one subject they did not tackle: Ben’s “pass” at Aroha. Two things held Sue back: the risk of renewed resentment pushing them apart, and the risk of her own indiscretion surfacing. For now, it seemed the safest thing was to let it rest. That Jayne might divulge the fiasco with Gérard did not occur to Sue and was testament to the trust that had developed between them.

  On their last evening, Jayne prepared a farewell dinner. She arrived home with a large, lumpy parcel, dribbling fishy liquid through the bottom of the plastic bag. ‘Crayfish,’ she said. ‘Well, lobster, actually. To remind us of home.’

  Nigel brought up from the cellar a bottle of Veuve Cliquot that he had been saving for a special occasion. ‘We should really be drinking a New Zealand white,’ he said. ‘But this will have to do.’

  ‘Getting rid of us is a special occasion?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Of course, old chap,’ said Nigel. ‘Can’t go encouraging these colonials. Need to send them packing a.s.a.p.’

  After the meal, Sue went upstairs to pack while the men did the dishes. She was avoiding thinking about saying goodbye in the morning and wondering instead how everything was going to fit into the suitcases, when there was a gentle tap at the door. It was Jayne; she slipped off her shoes and sat on the bed, curling her feet under her.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said. ‘More than I have before.’

  Sue paused in her packing and smiled. At that moment, Jayne looked very young – and earnest. Sue did not want to think about leaving her.

  ‘I’ll miss you, too,’ she said. She leant forward and kissed the top of Jayne’s head. A feeling of responsibility welled inside her, the old familiar feeling which she fought to suppress. ‘I’m glad we talked,’ she said. ‘No evasions.’

  ‘Faced the past,’ said Jayne.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sue.

  It was a tearful and painful goodbye next morning, as if the two sisters had just found each other and already had to part. They clung together until Nigel reminded Jayne she would miss her train. He had persuaded her it would only prolong the agony if she took the day off to go to the airport.

  Stifling her sobs, Sue released her sister and let Nigel usher his wife out the door, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. With Ben’s arm around her, Sue stood at the gate, watching them walk away down the street towards the station and, eventually, disappear around the corner. She had no idea when she would see her sister again.

  Akaroa,

  14th July, 1850.

  Ma chère Maman,

  Your letter arrived today. I am glad you told me of your ill health. I should have been very angry to discover later that you had concealed it from me. You know how important it is to me that we can write freely and honestly to each other.

  Nevertheless, I am most distressed to hear the news. You are obviously on the way to recovery now and I am thankful for that. You must be kinder to yourself, Maman. A heart condition is not to be toyed with. Take heed when the doctor says to rest each afternoon.

  I wish I had an excuse to rest sometimes. The girls can help a little with the chores, but I cannot ask much of Jules, especially at this time of year. Just a little effort in the cold air makes him wheeze. He has not been seriously ill yet this winter, thanks be to God, but he never seems truly well, either.

  I am coming to rely more and more upon Tama. Not only does he work the land for me, but he helps me with Claude, who has become even more difficult since his last attack. Often I cannot manage him alone, and it would not be right to involve the children, even if they could help. You would not think a paralysed man could be so strong! Rose used to help me on occasion, but Claude has even been abusive to her and she cannot take any more. Why should she?

  I have made a bed for Tama in the old whare at the end of the garden, so I can call on him when I need. He stays there most nights. I am so grateful. He has become a good friend, Maman, though I would not tell anyone but you. He is so patient and considerate. I feel sometimes for his wife and children, but they have Te Marama and the rest of the whanau. I have no one – not here – and often the Lord does not hear my prayers. It is hard to hold on to my faith when that happens.

  Please take care of yourself, Maman.

  Your Bibi

  21.

  Sue and Ben were met at Christchurch Airport by Charlie and Patrick in his father’s car, a very staid Sunday morning activity for a young couple, Sue reflected. Welcome, though – she had not relished the prospect of another ride in the back of Rachel’s car.

  ‘You look like the living dead, Mum,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Thanks. You’re supposed to say, “You look great.”’

  ‘I’d be lying,’ Charlie laughed.

  Sue asked where Jason was. Charlie slipped her hand into Patrick’s and shrugged. ‘Not my brother’s keeper.’

  Sue could not stop herself. ‘I hear you haven’t been home much.’ Charlie cocked her head and glanced at Patrick. Sue refrained from pursuing it. Besides, she was exhausted. She had dozed on the flight, but was now so tired that she felt nauseated.

  Rachel met them at the door, wrapped in a polar fleece robe. ‘Coffee’s on. You look as if you need it.’ She went ahead of them into the kitchen, which appeared as if it had hardly been used in their absence. ‘Not much point cooking when nobody’s here,’ Rachel confirmed. As calmly as she could, Sue asked after Jason. ‘Still asleep. If he’s in. Saturday night, last night.’

  Sue and Ben exchanged glances and Ben left the room, reappearing with a very reluctant Jason, whom he stood in front of his mother. He looked young and vulnerable. Sue tousled his hair and reached out to hug him, testing his tolerance.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ He allowed the hug, but pulled back from Sue’s kiss. That was okay; she could live with that. ‘Got your postcard,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I’ll go and pack my things and be off,’ called Rachel, across the cluster of bodies in the middle of the room.

  Sue put out a staying hand. ‘We need to talk before you go.’

  ‘Not today. I’ve got plans. Sorry. Busy, busy.’

  Sue’s hand fell. ‘Well, it’s nice to be home.’ She added under her breath, ‘I think.’

  Sue anticipated Monday morning with disquiet. Would Jason get up for school? The thought of doing battle with him made her quail. ‘You’re going to have to help, Ben. I refuse to be the big bad witch.’ Ben’s response was non-committal, but, next morning, when she was about to go and wake Jason, he restrained her. A few minutes later, Jason’s door opened and the bathroom door slammed. Sue sighed with relief. It had been a pleasant surprise when Charlie appeared the previous evening with a sports bag overflowing with clothes and a supermarket bag of toiletries, re-installing herself in her room.

  ‘Perhaps things are returning to normal,’ Sue said to Ben over breakfast.

  Once everyone had left, Sue wandered through the house, taking stock, reclaiming her domain. There was something about an empty house that spoke to Sue, always had. Today her house was whispering new things: welcoming her, inviting her to identify a space to make her own – not a space like the kitchen, in which she worked for the pleasure of others.

  The telephone interrupted her exploration. It was her father’s solicitor. Probate had been granted on her father’s estate and he would need her, as executor, to sign some documents. He was now able to tell Sue the amounts of the bequests made to her and Jayne by their father. ‘Quite substantial sums,’ he said. His tone, however, did not invite Sue to enquire how substantial �
�� that might have sounded avaricious. They arranged that she would come to his office on Thursday and, in the meantime, she would “ascertain the number of Jayne’s preferred bank account in order that a transfer of funds may be effected.” Sue struggled to keep the smirk out of her voice as she agreed, and then dialled Annie’s number, leaving a message on the answerphone, suggesting lunch on Thursday, after she had seen the solicitor.

  She rang Russell next.

  ‘How was it? Tell me all,’ he insisted.

  ‘Great – even better than I anticipated.’ Sue paused, not knowing where to start; not quite sure why she rang. ‘I’ll come over as soon as I can. Things to show you. Things to tell.’

  ‘Make it soon.’

  ‘A bientôt.’

  Sue had barely put down the telephone when there was another incoming call. An unfamiliar, male voice. ‘Mrs Spencer? This is Constable Bob Springer. From Youth Aid.’ The man cleared his throat. Sue waited.

  ‘I am ringing about your son, Jason.’

  ‘Has there been an accident? Is he all right?’ It was as if a wrestler had performed the Heimlich Manoeuvre on her, squeezing her stomach up into her chest.

  ‘No. Nothing like that. I’d just like a word with you – and his father. Do you live together?’

  ‘Of course.’ Sue was affronted – her son was not from a broken home; well, not quite. ‘Would it be easiest if I came to you?’ the policeman asked.

  Sue recoiled; but the thought of being at the Police Station “helping with enquiries” was horrifying. ‘What is it about?’ When there was no reply, she said, ‘I’ll need to speak to my husband.’

  Ben was reluctant. ‘You’ll have to do it without me.’

  But Sue was not going to let him wriggle out so easily. ‘He specifically asked for you to be there.’ She was not going to bear the burden alone. Not any more.

  ‘I bet he did,’ said Ben. He sounded as though he thought he would be blamed; perhaps in the reverse circumstance he would blame the father. But, with Sue’s urging, he agreed to come home at lunch-time. ‘But only for an hour.’

  By one o’clock, Sue’s palms were sweaty, she had a fluttery feeling in her insides and had drunk too many cups of coffee to keep herself awake. Little things about Jason from the recent past kept popping into her head: his grumpiness, withdrawal, defiance; his unaccounted for absences; friends he did not bring home; meals out he could not afford – each on its own a small thing she had put down to his age. Now she wondered what they signified collectively. Should she have recognised something amiss? She felt totally disorientated. Her internal time-clock was upside-down with jetlag and she did not know her son any longer.

  By one o’clock, Sue had decided Jason could be a chainsaw murderer, for all she knew.

  Akaroa,

  10th February, 1851.

  Ma chère Maman,

  Another letter from you today. How remiss I have been. I am delighted to hear how much better you are feeling. Congratulate Sophie and Pierre on the birth of their little Sara. It must be a busy time in your household. Please make sure you do not overtax yourself, Maman, trying to be helpful.

  I have been forced to give up my teaching, at least for the time being, because of Claude’s need to have someone constantly in attendance. It is most frustrating as he is so difficult. My patience is strained, being thrust together with him so. How long will this go on? Rose’s oldest daughter and another young woman from a good family have taken over the classes, so my school (and income) continues. Both my girls are in school now. Jules, at ten years of age, challenges us all to keep one step ahead of him. His health is poor, so there is little he can do but read and study, and a few light chores.

  I don’t think I have told you of the English colonists who arrived last year to settle the plains, over the hills to the southwest. Three ships, I am told. It is good to have “neighbours”, even though they are English. The place feels less isolated, in spite of the fact that I have not yet set eyes on even one. Poor people. I don’t envy them having to go through all that we have, to become established.

  I must stop now, Maman. Tama has just come in from the vegetable garden to help me sponge Claude and change his linen.

  Love to you all,

  Bibi

  Constable Bob Springer arrived ahead of Ben. Sue opened the door before he had a chance to ring the bell. He would be two metres tall in his socks, she judged – and they would be large socks. His smile was large, too, but did little to put Sue at ease.

  ‘My husband shouldn’t be long,’ she said, hoping Ben would not cancel at the last moment. ‘Would you like something while you’re waiting?’

  ‘Perhaps to see Jason’s room?’ Detective Constable Springer was already rising to his feet.

  ‘I … I … think perhaps that should wait until Ben is here.’ Sue was surprised at her boldness. An awkward silence developed. The carriage clock, Ben’s wedding present to Sue, ticked more loudly and slowly than ever before. Tao stalked in with an imperious yowl and jumped onto the policeman’s lap. ‘He always does that. You don’t have to …’ The back door slammed. ‘There’s Ben.’ Sue jumped to her feet and Tao sprang towards her. Springer offered his hand as Ben entered the room, brow furrowed and mouth a tight line.

  ‘What’s this about, Constable?’ Ben sat on the sofa beside Sue, confronting the policeman.

  ‘We’ve been investigating a spate of petty crimes and your son’s name has come up.’

  ‘Not Jason. He wouldn’t be involved in anything like that,’ said Ben, without hesitation. Sue dragged her gaze from the young man to her husband’s profile – not a vestige of doubt there; he couldn’t afford to have doubts, she supposed. Sue felt a Judas: she could believe her son might be involved; he needed friends; he seemed … lost.

  ‘Do the names Darren Bradley, Justin Jones, Ruru Hiromai mean anything to you?’ Sue and Ben said “No” in unison, shaking their heads vigorously. ‘Seems he’s been hanging with them for the past two or three months.’

  ‘How do you know that? Have you been talking to him?’ Ben leant towards Springer, his chin thrust forward. ‘Without our consent?’ Something, anything, to attack the bearer of bad news.

  ‘No, not at all,’ said Springer. Sue marvelled at how calm and assured the young man was.

  ‘So that’s just what the other kids say, then.’ Ben sat back – easily reassured, wanting to be reassured, Sue thought, unable to be so readily comforted herself.

  ‘Can you give us more details to help us sort this out with Jason?’ she asked.

  ‘I need to talk to Jason first. I’m sorry,’ he added. His face convinced Sue that his sorrow was genuine.

  ‘But we have the right to be there,’ Ben said. ‘He’s only fifteen,’ he added, his authority wavering.

  ‘Of course. One of you.’ Springer looked from Ben to Sue and back to Ben. He had their measure, Sue thought. ‘If he chooses.’ He paused for effect. He was playing them masterfully. ‘But it’s okay with me if you’re both there. It’ll be just an informal chat. At this stage.’ Sue grasped Ben’s arm; suddenly she needed his confidence, his blind trust – in Jason? In himself? ‘And while I’m here, I’d like to look in his room.’

  ‘Why?’ Ben sprang to his feet. ‘Do you think we’d permit hot property in our house? I’m a sociologist, a criminologist, you know.’ Sue winced at his discomfort.

  Springer turned to Sue. ‘May I?’

  ‘If you must. But I doubt you’ll find anything,’ Sue said, less than convinced. They knew little about Jason’s recent exploits. She could give no realistic assurance about what might be secreted in his room, but a brief search confirmed her hopes. They arranged that the detective would return after five o’clock, anticipating that Jason would be home for tea.

  ‘Where do you think Jason’s been getting his money from?’ Sue asked Ben once Springer had left.

  ‘We give him an allowance.’

  ‘Rachel said he was hardly ever home for a meal. He must hav
e been getting extra money from somewhere.’

  ‘There’ll be an explanation.’ Ben took his car keys from his pocket.

  ‘We have to face facts, Ben.’ Sue was pleading; she wanted Ben to solve the problem, but she wanted him to construct a benign reality from suspicious facts.

  ‘I’ve got to go.’

  Sue followed him to the door. At least he had come home and faced the policeman with her. She kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘Just ’cause I love you.’ She shook her head and smiled.

  It was hard to act normally when Jason arrived home. Sue had fallen asleep at the kitchen table after putting the groceries away. She woke with a start. ‘Oh, Jason.’

  ‘Who’d you think it would be?’ Jason dumped his backpack on the table and opened the refrigerator. ‘Wow,’ he said, gazing into the interior. ‘Mum’s home.’

  ‘You’ll be in for dinner?’ Sue asked, hesitantly.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  Sue shrugged. Jason loaded a plate with food and headed for his room. Sue pushed herself to her feet and checked the time. She started preparing the evening meal, searching the fridge for the potatoes. When she found them in their proper place, in the pantry, she remembered she intended to cook pasta anyway. She was close to tears when Ben arrived promptly at five. ‘Thank you,’ said Sue. The words were as much an apology as an expression of gratitude and relief – she had imagined he would find an excuse to be absent when Detective Constable Springer returned.

  The doorbell rang and Ben went to the door while Sue fetched Jason. He was propped up on his bed, listening to music, his thumbs moving rapidly over the keys of the Nintendo, totally absorbed.

  ‘I’m just about at my all-time best score. I can’t stop now,’ he protested, without raising his eyes.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to beat yourself some other time,’ said Sue firmly. ‘There’s a policeman to see you.’

  ‘Fuck, Mum. You made me lose.’ He tossed the Nintendo aside and threw himself back on his pillow, arms folded. ‘What a thing to say.’

  Sue turned off the CD player. ‘It’s true. Don’t keep him waiting, please.’ She reached out a hand, which her son rejected. He swung his feet to the floor and straggled behind her from the room. She noted that Jason did not ask what it was about.