by Chris Else
Thus she came to a decision, with the help of her friends, and, as always, she was full of gratitude. Thank you, Syl. That’s brilliant. That’s really great advice. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
So that Sylvia was left wondering what exactly she’d said that Maddy found so wise and helpful.
17.
‘ARE YOU GOING TO stay here all night?’ Tracey asked.
‘No, just a couple of minutes.’
‘You working on something?’ Hovering.
Lisa hated that, people looking over her shoulder. ‘No,’ she said, swivelling in her chair, forcing Tracey back a step or two. ‘To be perfectly honest, I’m too scared to go home.’
‘What?’
‘Tom’s cooking.’
‘Ah. That bad, huh?’
‘No, it’s not him. He’s fine. He enjoys it. It’ll be pasta, of course, but, hey, that’s in his genes, so who’s complaining? No, it’s me. I can’t leave him alone when he’s in the kitchen. I really get up his nose.’ The tone, the jocularity, seemed false even as she spoke.
Tracey laughed. ‘You should have said. We could have gone for a drink. As it is, I’ve just called Josh to give me a lift.’
‘No, it’s all right. I’ve some things to tidy up.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you then.’ Turning to go. Then an idea struck her and she stopped. ‘Oh, by the way, do you know any hunters?’
‘Hunters? No, why?’
‘The council’s reviewing the gun licences. I need some vox pop.’
‘Talk to the rifle club.’
‘Are they into killing things or just shooting targets?’
‘Both, I think.’ She tried to remember. Colin had belonged to the club for a little while. He had bought himself a gun and some other gear and had even gone out on a couple of trips until he’d found out how tough it was physically. Typical Colin.
‘It’s a really sick argument, isn’t it?’ Tracey said. ‘They claim they need all the hunting to get rid of the pests like possum and deer but the only reason the pests are there in the first place is because the hunters brought them.’
‘Ironic, yes,’ Lisa answered. But then she thought of Max Hosche walking across the Kerringtons’ place to get meat for his dinner. Did he shoot his hare and his possum? Was that the problem with the Kerringtons? An old man wandering around with a gun. The more she thought about that story, the more she realised there was nowhere to go with it.
‘Well, see you then.’
‘See you.’
She was hardly aware of Tracey leaving because suddenly she had remembered Colin with the rifle in his hands, how odd it had made her feel. A thing she could see for real that had only ever been in photos or movies before. He had offered it to her, wanting her to hold it, grinning in a way that made her uneasy, and she had refused. Man the Hunter. Was that it? The gleam in his eye was strangely like the look he gave her when he wanted sex. Kind of eager and pleading and hungry all at once.
— Don’t be scared. It’s just a piece of equipment, like a screwdriver or a blender.
But it wasn’t, not at all. She had turned her back, walked out of the room with a tiny, momentary shudder at the thought of a bullet coming after her.
Something nasty there, something not quite right.
In the early days, when they first met, he had seemed so civilised. Not like the other boys with their leering eyes and their creeping hands, like spiders trying to get into your clothes. Colin was handsome, well-bred, with perfect manners. He was polite and respectful and he seemed genuinely interested when you talked to him. He had courted her for weeks in an off-hand sort of way, staying close but keeping just a little distant, as if he were scared she might not want his attention and he didn’t want to force himself upon her. It made her feel important and desirable. And then they got to kissing and petting and he still didn’t grab at her, so that she began to want it for herself: a whole world of new sensation just around the corner. And then he told her the story, that awful story about the puppy he had had when he was seven years old, and she had felt a lurch inside her, a need to protect, because he was so matter-of-fact about it. At that moment, he could have asked her for anything and she would have done it. And, of course, he didn’t ask and the need grew stronger, until finally she decided that she loved him for ever and dragged him off to bed, only to discover that he didn’t have a clue.
He was awkward, fumbling. She lay there with him in the dark, feeling hurt, feeling miserable. Did they do it? Was that it? Had it happened?
— What’s wrong?
— Nothing.
— Did I do something wrong?
— No, no. It just didn’t feel right. Not a good time.
That’s what girls were supposed to say.
— I’m sorry.
Sorry, sorry, sorry. Miserable failure. As a wife. As a woman. First love? Oh, shit, it was a sad, sick business.
Didn’t have to be that way, though, did it? Look at Sylvia and Larry, Maddy and Ward. They seemed to get it right first time. Although maybe they weren’t such a good example. If it hadn’t been for them, if it hadn’t been for the friendship, the Tribe, the six of them, she would have left Colin years before she did. There wouldn’t have been a partnership with Ward, and they would have gone overseas and gone their separate ways. Although, maybe not. Maybe she would never have had the wit to think of it. Because she cared about him, pitied him. That’s why Tom sometimes made her angry. He dragged back into that, feeling sorry for someone. It scared her.
Six o’clock. The rolling globe that was her screen-saver did a double bounce in the top left-hand corner and headed down in a slow dive. Outside, the sky was darkening. Tom would be starting on the dinner. With a bottle of red wine open on the bench and an opera CD at ear-throbbing volume. Mirella Freni sings Puccini. Un bel di vedremo or Si. Mi chaimano Mimi.
She reached out, moved the mouse and the story she’d been working on sprang to life. Click by click she began to exit the files.
The phone rang.
For a moment, she thought of ignoring it and letting the answer service cut in. But no.
‘Hello. Advocate newsroom, Lisa Cairnes speaking.’
‘Hi.’ Sylvia’s voice.
The ticking of the computer disk as the system closed down.
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d still be there,’ Sylvia said.
‘I was just packing up.’
‘I need to talk to you about something. Donny’s been a victim of some bullying.’
‘Yes. Maddy told me. I offered to do a piece on it but she wouldn’t let me.’
‘No, it’s not Donny. It’s about Carla.’ And Sylvia started into a story of how she’d talked to James and Josie and found out the reason Carla had gone to the river.
Lisa listened with a growing sense of dread, she did not know why, and at the end she could think of nothing to say.
‘I just thought you … he should know,’ Sylvia said.
‘Of course.’ It was dark now, outside. The windows had begun to reflect the interior of the building, the newsroom, neon strips in the ceiling.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sylvia said. ‘To bring it up.’
‘No. God, no, that’s all right.’
‘I guess there isn’t any way it doesn’t keep on hurting. I feel that myself, but it must be so much worse for Tom. And you.’
‘No, it isn’t that.’ Oh, dear God, she thought, of course it is. But not just the hurt, not just that. She needed help. She needed wisdom.
‘I just thought it would be best coming from you, not me.’
‘Well,’ Lisa said, ‘that’s the problem, really. I’m not sure I should tell him.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s just beginning to settle down. He’s getting counselling and for the first time since it happened he’s focusing on other things. He’s even talking about going to see Ward to get advice on expanding the business. I’m just scared that if he knows about this he’ll be off again, obsessing abou
t who did it. It can’t do any good, can it?’
‘It won’t bring Carla back, no.’
‘Do you know this child’s name?’
‘Merry Gibbitson.’
Lisa wrote the name on her pad. ‘Where does she live?’
‘I don’t know. The kids might know. Or I could check. At the library. She might well have a library card.’
‘No, no, no. Don’t do that. I mean, that’s probably illegal, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Sylvia admitted.
‘Oh, God. This is difficult. I mean, it just goes against all my principles to keep it quiet.’
‘You don’t have to say anything. Not immediately. You can wait. See how things are in a day or so.’
‘What if he finds out from somewhere else?’
‘I can’t see that he will, can you?’
‘Josie might say something.’
‘No. I don’t think so,’ Sylvia said. ‘She was kind of embarrassed about the whole business.’
‘Embarrassed? Why?’
‘I don’t know, really. Maybe because she didn’t tell me before.’
‘The problem is that not deciding is deciding not to, in the end.’
‘Yes,’ Sylvia said, ‘but only in the end.’
Lisa could hear the concern, the love in her voice, and she was glad of it. It was as if Sylvia were here, in the same room, and had leaned forward, touched Lisa on the knee, a little touch, a quick stroke of her fingers, but alive in its reassurance.
‘God,’ Lisa said. ‘This is ridiculous, isn’t it? It sounds like one of those conversations that teenagers have. Is it ever right to tell a lie? Would it be right to steal food if you were starving?’
‘It doesn’t seem ridiculous to me.’
‘Thank you.’ A sudden flood of relief. Just to have the matter taken seriously. She realised that people tended not to take the problems she and Tom were having seriously. They took Carla seriously. They took that so seriously they ran away. But Tom and Lisa, they were the loving couple, they were made for each other. They were solid, weren’t they?
‘I won’t say anything,’ Sylvia said. ‘Not until you tell me it’s okay.’
‘I could talk to Stan.’
‘Stan?’
‘Stan Andreissen. He’s a cop. They may well have interviewed this child already. It may all be nothing.’
18.
A NICE WINE, COLIN thought. A touch of cassis and blackberry and the scrunch of tannin, a good cellar life by the feel of it. He looked at the label, plain cream paper with a drawing of a wine press, Manawai Vineyards in a flowing script. He imagined how Ward would react, saw him peering at the bottle.
— Manawai? That’s impossible. You can’t get a decent red out of Manawai. The soil’s all wrong.
— Just try it mate.
Ward, then, with the glass in his fist, the twisted fist, only his first two fingers wrapped around the stem. Sniffing, tasting.
— Hmmm. Well, you’ve got me there, mate. You really have.
Ah, yes, he thought, taking another gulp, topping up his glass. If I had all the money I’d spent in my life on drink, well, I’d spend it on drink.
He looked over at Heidi, curled in her chair, as usual, a book in her lap, as usual.
‘Tell me something,’ he said. ‘Amuse me.’
‘Amuse?’ She looked up. ‘Are you ill?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Not so good actually, given his mistake with the Siezmann accounts. But he didn’t want to think about that. You could control your thoughts if you tried. You could keep the yellow. It was all a matter of discipline. Right now, there was the evening to enjoy. And the world beyond it. Darkness outside with just the hint of sky above the hills. I’ll drink to that.
‘We should do something,’ he said.
She shrugged, looked up again. ‘What?’
‘We could invite Larry and Syl over. Ward and Maddy.’ Except that Larry wouldn’t be home yet. The jury was out. He’d be waiting. For another victory? Of course. A flush of pride in knowing Larry, in the fact that his best mate had been called the best barrister in the country. Larry’s eyes and his smile, the humour in them, the wit and the intelligence. Laughter was like sex. Just as good. Or better even.
‘We see them all next Friday,’ Heidi said. ‘The big night.’
The Twentieth. Twenty Years.
‘We should get them something,’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’
‘What is it, twenty? There must be a substance. Silver?’
‘Maybe.’
‘No, silver’s twenty-five. What comes before silver?’
‘Lead?’
‘Don’t be dumb. Not lead.’
‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘We do not have such things in my family.’
‘Too cheap.’
‘Hey!’ Warning him. She didn’t like him making cracks about the Swiss, but it was true. In her case, anyway. She was tight when it came to money. It was one of the things he liked about her, actually, the way she had style without spending up large.
The phone rang. A second of hesitation and then she got up, padded in her barefoot way across the carpet to the table in the corner. She had painted her toenails, he noticed. Odd. Why should she do that?
‘Hello,’ she said, her back to him, standing there with her weight on her right leg, hand on her left hip. Long legs, nice butt.
She turned, walked towards him, phone in her right hand hanging by her side. ‘For you,’ she said, holding it out.
He took it.
‘Hello?’
‘Is it true that you promised Imogen a horse?’ The voice calm, too calm. He knew it well enough to sense the threat beneath it. Fight? Or let her have her way. Apologise. Agree with her.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t promise anything.’
‘Where did she get this idea from, then?’
‘She asked me and I said I’d think about it.’ He could feel his irritation rising to meet her. He’d done nothing wrong. Why should he feel guilty?
‘And have you thought?’ she asked, barely a hint of sarcasm.
‘I’m still considering it.’
‘Why?’
‘What do you mean “why”?’
‘Why are you stringing her along?’
‘I’m not stringing her along.’ Yes, angry. He had a right to it.
‘Then you intend to buy her a horse, do you?’ Sharper now.
‘Tell me,’ he said, choking off the acid in his tone, ‘why shouldn’t she have a horse?’
‘Where will she keep it?’
‘Here.’
‘You’ve got stabling, have you?’
‘Why would it need stabling?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Letting it show now, letting him see how weak she thought he was. ‘Who buys all the feed and the gear, the saddle and stuff? Who pays the vet’s bills?’
‘What if I do?’ He caught Heidi’s eye, saw her wariness, or maybe not that, maybe something else.
‘Fine,’ Lisa said. ‘We’ve been through this situation before, though. You shell out for the grand gesture and we’re left to pick up all the ongoing expenses.’
‘What if you’re not?’
‘Look, I —’
He cut her short. ‘No, no, listen. What say I pick up all the costs? What say it’s just something between me and her? Then, would it be all right?’
A pause. He felt a little surge of triumph at her hesitation.
‘It’s an indulgence,’ she said at last. ‘She’ll get sick of it in five minutes.’
‘What’s wrong with an indulgence?’
‘Okay. It’s up to you. It’s entirely up to you. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I never asked you to.’
She hung up.
Carefully, slowly, as if it were a delicate object, he put the phone down on the table beside him. Picked up his glass, drank. You could control your thoughts if you want
ed to. He lifted the bottle, offered it to Heidi.
‘More?’
‘No. Thank you.’ Looking at him, wanting an explanation.
He was not sure there was an explanation. He had just argued himself into spending hundreds — shit, it might be thousands, for all he knew — on his daughter’s birthday present. Not what he intended. Or was it? He didn’t understand. The little sense of triumph, the feeling that he had beaten Lisa in an argument, was poisoned by the thought that she had rolled him over. Yet again.
‘Imogen wants a horse for her birthday,’ he said.
‘Ah.’
A pause. She was waiting for more. He didn’t want to give her more. He wanted them all to go away and leave him in peace.
‘You will buy her one?’ she asked.
‘Maybe.’
She put down her book, uncurled her legs so that her feet rested on the floor. White feet. The red nails puzzled him.
‘You talked on the phone like you have decided,’ she said.
‘Well, what if I have?’
‘No business of mine.’ A little gesture pushing him away. ‘Except you talk on the phone like you will keep it here.’
‘What if I do?’
‘There is no room.’
‘What do you mean there’s no room? There’s acres of room.’
‘We lease to McCracken.’
‘Not all of it. There’s the paddock up behind the greenhouse. That’s big enough for a whole herd of horses.’
‘Ah, well. We agree that was for me. If I wanted it.’
‘And?’
‘Maybe I want it.’
‘Maybe?’
‘Maybe. Probably. I haven’t decided yet.’ Calm, cool.
Jesus, it annoyed him sometimes, how cool she was. Explaining with little condescending wags of her head like he was a child or the family pet. Talk to me like a human being! he wanted to yell at her.
‘Why do you spring this on me now?’ he said, trying to compose himself.
‘Spring? I think you do the spring.’