Past Perfect

by Karen Zelas

  ‘Dad. I’m not a kid.’

  ‘Yes, you are. That’s the whole point.’ He glanced at Sue. She wanted to say he was doing well. He continued to lay down new rules, including a curfew. Jason groaned, but it was a half-hearted protest.

  ‘We want you home for dinner each night, too,’ said Sue. ‘You’ve made a good start since we’ve been back,’ she added. She glanced at Springer to see if he was satisfied yet.

  ‘And there are some things Jason needs to make up for,’ Springer prompted.

  Ben took a deep breath. ‘You need to apologise to the shop managers you stole from and arrange to pay them back.’

  Spots of high colour appeared on Jason’s cheeks, while the rest of his face was unusually pale and set. ‘Can’t I just write to them?’

  ‘I think your father’s right,’ said Springer.

  ‘Dad will go with you, won’t you, Ben?’ said Sue, mentally crossing her fingers. Ben turned abruptly to Sue. She smiled, willing him to say the right thing. He gulped, his Adam’s apple working up and down.

  ‘If you’d like me to,’ he said. Jason nodded.

  Springer was scribbling on his clipboard and nodding, too. ‘And I would suggest Jason give something back by agreeing to do some community service. Any ideas about that?’

  ‘What about helping in an after-school programme?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right, Mum. Can you see it?’

  ‘You have lots to offer, Jase.’

  ‘Your Mum’s right, Jason. Is there anything you’d rather do? Like working in an old people’s home?’

  ‘Kids’d be better than wrinklies, I guess. Wouldn’t be for long, would it?’

  Something had been eating away at Sue just beyond awareness. Now it rose to the surface and burst through in a cartoon bubble – Nintendo. Tempted as she was not to raise any more problems, common sense told her that if they were to help Jason, they must start with honesty and directness. ‘There’s something I’d like to ask Jason about,’ Sue said to Detective Springer. Turning to Jason, her heart fluttered in her throat; she was nervous of her own son, scared of losing him. Gripping the upholstery, she continued, ‘That Nintendo, where did it come from?’

  Jason became intent on picking at the unravelling hem of his hoodie. ‘I told you.’

  ‘You did, but I’m asking you again.’ Sue watched him squirm, and wanted to stop, but knew she must not.

  ‘What’s this?’ Ben asked.

  ‘I think we should let Jason tell us,’ said Springer, leaning towards Jason, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped between them. In the silence, Sue could hear a blackbird trill an incredible aria. Underrated birds, she thought, momentarily distracted. She pulled herself back to the well-worn room, in which so much family life had been lived. And this, another story in the saga.

  ‘Jase?’ she asked gently.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘All right – what?’ Ben’s voice was not as gentle.

  ‘I took it.’ Jason’s expression was defiant, challenging, as he shifted his gaze from one parent to the other. ‘He wouldn’t miss it. He has everything – that part was true.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘I suppose you want me to give it back.’ Sue’s heart sang. She wanted to swim across the ocean of carpet that separated her from her son and to hold him close. Instead, she smiled at him and nodded.

  Springer seemed satisfied, too. He said he would visit again in a month to see how the agreement was working. He shook Jason’s hand firmly and said he had every confidence he could do it if he tried, although it would not be easy at times. ‘Not for any of you,’ he added. Sue thought so, too, but now believed they could succeed. Not only would it save Jason, it might also help save their marriage.

  Settlement date was the end of the month. The 31st was a Monday, so Sue drove to Akaroa alone. She drew up alongside the white, picket fence, her heart pounding. It’s mine, she said to herself. She would share a roof with Brigitte and Claude, enter their lives. Their footsteps would be in the memory of the kauri floorboards, released with every tread of her feet; their voices in the tawa walls, circulated when the southerly wind forced itself through the cracks in the tongue-in-groove. Their whispers and dreams, trapped under the attic ceilings, would drift and engulf her as she lay sleeping where they had lain.

  Sue opened the wide gate across the driveway to one side of the house, and drove the car onto the property. She climbed the steps to the veranda and unlocked the front door. Pushing it wide, she stepped once again into the living room.

  A steep flight of narrow, open-tread stairs rose ahead of her, while a door to her right gave into a small room. At some time, probably in the last fifty years, with the passion for open-plan living, someone had removed the wall between the front room and the kitchen. They had extended the lean-to to create a small bathroom behind the stairs and expand the kitchen. Fruit trees in flower were visible through the kitchen window. Using the large iron key that protruded from the backdoor lock, Sue let herself into the garden.

  The section was long and narrow, probably only part of the original. It was all lawn, fruit trees and shrubs. No vegetable or herb garden; Sue could take care of that. At least the fruit trees had not been cleared to make the place low maintenance. Sue could barely see the neighbouring houses because of the foliage. A sense of privacy and containment engulfed her, making her feel safe.

  Returning inside, she climbed the stairs, little more than a stepladder, to the attic rooms, imagining having to climb up there carrying children or laundry – umpteen times a day. And how was she going to get furniture up there? One room was larger than the other, the stairwell and landing taking a piece from the smaller. Sue ducked her head to avoid striking the lintel as she entered the larger room. She stood by the dormer window and looked down into the perennial border, its rainbow colours offset by the white of the picket fence. She felt held by the tight-fitting, church-like space of the dormer. Brigitte had looked out this window countless times; Sue wondered what she would have seen; probably just empty scrubland initially. But also sky and hills – light and shade. Sunsets. Water – no longer visible over other buildings. Turning her back to the light, she surveyed the room. ‘This will be my bedroom,’ she announced to the bare walls and sloping ceiling which contained the space and all its memories. Ben might find the low pitch of the ceiling claustrophobic, but she had not bought the cottage for him. Her footsteps echoed on the kauri floorboards, a mellow, hollow reverberation. She crossed to the side wall where a pair of larger, multi-paned, casement windows overlooked the side garden and the neighbouring cottage. Furniture can be lifted in through here, she thought. What furniture she did not yet know, but first she needed a bed – a double, she thought, sizing up the space.

  A bare lightbulb hung in the centre of the room. It would need a shade.

  As Sue crossed the landing into the smaller room, she heard a sharp rap on the front door. Hurrying in, she flung open the dormer window but the veranda blocked her view. ‘Just a minute,’ she called, and rushed down the stairs, stumbling halfway. It would certainly take time to get used to this staircase. Flustered and out of breath, she opened the door.

  ‘Surprise. And congratulations.’ Russell was holding aloft a bottle of wine, two mugs and a paper bag from the bakery. ‘I wanted to be your first guest,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought lunch.’

  ‘You are so sweet. Let’s take it into the garden.’

  They sat in the sun on the back doorstep and toasted the house, the past and the future.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Sue.

  Over the past few years, Sue had been accumulating surplus household items against the day the children would go flatting. They were stored at the back of the garage – cutlery, a bag of old towels, odd coffee mugs, her father’s dinner set, an occasional table. The children would have to go without, she decided. She now wished she had kept her father’s lounge suite when he moved into the rest home, although there had been no space to store it. She went online to TradeMe seeking f
urniture that would fit the cottage, both in size and style, and put in a bid on a sofa and two chairs. She and Annie spent a satisfying afternoon doing the rounds of the second-hand shops, coming home with a painted bedside cabinet, a carved headboard for a double-bed and a floor rug. A disparate collection of dining chairs and an extending oak table remained to be collected. Sue would have liked to furnish the cottage with period chattels, to have rendered the interior as authentic as possible to the time in which Brigitte and Claude had lived there, but that was impossible.

  Ben surprised Sue by offering to transport everything to Akaroa the next Saturday morning. With a well-laden trailer, bed base and mattress tied firmly on top, they set off. The lowering nor’west sky predicted a southerly change. Hot gusts of nor’wester slammed the sides of the trailer as they skirted the base of the Peninsula, past Tai Tapu and Lake Ellesmere. They wound slowly up and over the hills. From The Hilltop, they could see the southerly sitting off the coast. Looking down into Akaroa this time, Sue had a sense of coming home. She was amazed how different the view had appeared each time she had come over the hill since that day with Hank and Gaye, and it was not merely a reflection of the weather.

  ‘It’ll be a race between the weather and us,’ Ben said, as he turned the station wagon downhill. It would be his first sighting of the cottage, other than from photographs, and Sue nervously anticipated his reaction. He had voiced no doubts about her motivation for buying the property, for which she was grateful. She knew he could see no attraction in having two properties to care for, one in your so-called relaxation time, but Sue believed she could manage without calling on him with any regularity; that was important to her. She was seeking an independence she had never before experienced, never before aspired to, yet had no question that it was the right thing to do. But she wanted Ben’s approval; she was not wanting to drive a wedge between them. She held her breath as they approached the cottage and stopped outside, waiting for his reaction.

  ‘Hm. Looks in good repair,’ he said. ‘Quaint. Is there some sort of ritual we should carry out?’

  Sue laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. She turned his face towards hers and gazed deep into his eyes. ‘Kiss me,’ she said, ‘and wish me luck.’ He did.

  In a frenzy of activity, they unloaded the trailer, filling the living room with a jumble of furniture. They talked and laughed as they stubbed their toes, bumped into corners and were trapped in the doorway between the sofa and door jamb. They shuffled the second-hand fridge into place near the back door and manoeuvred the sofa under the front window. It felt good to be working together; they made a good team, and Sue said so; they used to make a good team, years ago when they were renovating their villa. ‘I’ll organise heavies to get the bedroom furniture through the upstairs window during the week,’ she said.

  The southerly arrived with a blast. A snowstorm of apple blossom swirled in the back garden. Brief, torrential rain followed and the temperature plummeted. Sue shivered. There was a small woodpile stacked against the side of the house. She would have liked to light the log-burner and make the place cosy. ‘I should have brought my own car and stayed on,’ she said, surveying the shambles; she wanted to start finding homes for things, making the cottage her own.

  ‘Everything will still be here tomorrow.’

  Ben was quite right. And there would be lots of tomorrows. Besides, Aroha and Hemi were coming to dinner.

  23.

  Ben had been less than keen to invite Hemi and Aroha over, but Sue was adamant. ‘It has to be sorted. I’m not losing good friends through your actions.’ Ben would have to fess up and take the consequences, like his son – and grovel for forgiveness; that’s what she planned. She had ensured they would not be disturbed: Charlie was staying over at Patrick’s and Jason had a special dispensation to be out until eleven. But now Sue found herself weakening; after the pleasant morning working together in Akaroa, part of her wanted to let Ben off more lightly. ‘And you and Aroha have to go on working side by side,’ she added, to firm her resolve.

  The southerly had blown through. There was now little wind and the temperature was mild. Daylight saving brought watery sunshine into the evening as Hemi and Aroha arrived. The roses were in leaf and buds were forming.

  ‘I wish my garden would take a leaf from yours,’ Aroha laughed. Ben avoided her eyes.

  ‘How’re you doing, mate? Orright?’ Hemi pumped Ben’s hand and hugged Sue warmly. ‘How was the trip?’

  ‘Great,’ said Sue, and meant it. With time and distance, it was getting better and better.

  ‘How’d you find France?’

  ‘I didn’t have to. The pilot knew the way,’ Sue quipped. Hemi giggled. Sue wondered what he thought of Ben’s … indiscretion; that was how she would like them to see it – a mere indiscretion; and forgive him – not too rapidly, but forgive him nonetheless. ‘When did you get back, Aroha?’ she asked.

  ‘A few days before you.’

  Sue searched her face for clues as to what she was thinking, but found none. She excused herself and went to the kitchen to attend to the meal. Ben followed in search of ice. ‘You’re going to have to apologise,’ Sue said.

  ‘What?’

  A wry laugh issued from Sue’s throat; her resolve hardened further. ‘You sound like Jason.’

  ‘Maybe after dinner. When we’ve all had a few,’ Ben muttered.

  ‘I thought that was part of the problem,’ countered Sue, surprised to find a remnant of anger rising.

  Aroha wandered into the kitchen, passing Ben in the doorway. ‘Need any help?’ she asked Sue.

  ‘Not really.’ Calm down, she told herself. ‘Well, perhaps.’ Maybe she should lay the groundwork with Aroha. ‘Can you close the door?’ A billow of steam rose as she lifted the lid from the rice and nibbled a grain. ‘Ben told me what happened in London – not the details, just that he made a pass –’

  ‘A pass?’ Aroha snorted.

  ‘– and I am so, so sorry.’ Sue rinsed her hands, wringing them dry with a small towel.

  ‘A pass? Is that what he called it?’ Aroha folded her arms across her bosom.

  ‘I am really sorry, Aroha.’ As she said it, her flirtation with Gérard flitted to mind; her stomach contracted and she could have been talking to Ben not Aroha.

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.’

  ‘Perhaps I have.’ She was sorry about Gérard, but she was even more sorry she had allowed Ben and herself to slip into a rut. ‘But he had no right to behave that way. He’s going to apologise.’

  ‘Apologise to whom?’

  ‘You and Hemi, of course.’

  ‘What do you mean “of course”?’ Aroha’s face was fearsome.

  ‘He has offended you both, betrayed your friendship, our friendship. He can’t get away with that.’ Once more there was no doubt in Sue’s mind.

  ‘But Hemi doesn’t know.’

  Sue was shocked. That was not a possibility she had considered. ‘But he needs to know,’ she said. Hemi needed to know his friend had betrayed him, so that Ben could ask forgiveness, gain absolution; so that Sue could be mollified.

  ‘He does not need to know and I do not want him to know,’ Aroha enunciated clearly, slowly and firmly.

  ‘But Ben must apologise. It’s not enough that he shows remorse to me.’

  ‘How dare you! I won’t have my marriage fall casualty to your revenge.’

  Revenge? It was as if Aroha had slapped her. She recoiled, knocked backwards by the impact. Surely she was not being vengeful. It was about standards, moral standards. And accountability. ‘Well, he must at least apologise to you.’

  ‘Darling, we are both grownups, Ben and I – in case you haven’t noticed. If he wants to apologise, he will; if I need an apology, I will get one. You can’t orchestrate everyone’s life. You need to let go, Suzie.’ Aroha seemed to be accusing Sue of the same crime that Jayne had. It was an alien view which Sue struggled to reconcile with her own picture of herself, of her int
entions. She just tried to help people, to make things right.

  Ben returned to the kitchen, pushing the door open with his shoulder, a drink in either hand. Wordlessly, he offered one to each of the women, a sheepish look on his face. Aroha caught Ben’s eye and her face softened. She unfolded her arms and accepted the glass. ‘It was nothing, really,’ she said to Sue, holding Ben’s gaze. ‘Nothing. He had one too many and lost it. That’s all.’ She seemed to be saying to Sue, “Put it behind you.”

  Sue took Ben’s hand and willed him to look at her. She thought of Gérard and realised she had had her revenge. Just as she thought Ben need not know of that, she supposed that Hemi did not need to know, either – and that, in any event, it was not her call.

  ‘Let’s put this aside and share kai,’ said Aroha.

  Sue was back to Akaroa on Monday morning with a carload of household items. She had not slept well on Saturday night after Hemi and Aroha had left, but by Sunday night her mind was more peaceful; she was again focussed on the way ahead, feeling somehow more confident and less that she was struggling against outside forces. It was a grey day as she set out, but even in the time it took to drive from Duvauchelle to Akaroa, the cloud had lifted from the tops of the mountains. She stopped at the museum to see if Russell had any ideas about who to approach for assistance in getting the furniture upstairs. A scurrying stack of documents propelled by human feet greeted her as she entered.

  ‘We’re re-storing our archives, moving them next door,’ Russell said.

  ‘It’s a painstaking job, but, who knows, we might unearth something new in the process. About your question, you could try the mechanic.’

  Sue hurried along to the mechanic’s workshop and told him her plight.

  ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I’ll send a couple of the boys round at lunchtime. I’m sure they’d be happy to do it for a six-pack. Welcome to Akaroa.’ Sue stepped out from the dim interior of the old shed – exposed corrugated iron roof with translucent fibreglass panels, oil-stained concrete floor, huge double doors drawn on rusted runners. The street was empty save for cars awaiting repairs. Not a soul in sight.