Things We Cannot See

by Dianne Maguire

  ‘Hey. I’m back. Did you get my text?’ Flynn said, as Laura fought to ignore the sudden flurry in her stomach.

  ‘No,’ she said, realising she hadn’t checked her messages all afternoon.

  ‘Well, I’ve taken a punt and made dinner. I know it’s late and you may already have eaten, but I want to say thanks. Callie and Gorgeous are in better condition than when I left.’

  Laura laughed. ‘I’m glad they survived. What’s it like to be home?’

  ‘It’s like stepping out of purgatory. By the time we’d reached consensus on all decisions – including what to eat – cleaned out the house and the shed and the storage unit, I’d had enough of my family to last me until the next funeral, which by the look of them, won’t be long.’ He chuckled. ‘Hell – did I say that?’ He laughed out loud this time. ‘So what about dinner? Yes or No?’

  ‘Yes. What time?’

  Thirty minutes later Laura cruised into her driveway, ran into the house, changed into jeans and a red lightweight turtleneck, studied her reflection, applied red lipstick and hurriedly rubbed it off again, before selecting a bottle of wine and heading along the narrow road towards Flynn’s house. Flynn’s place sat in the shadows of a half-moon, relieved only by the light inside, where she could see him chopping energetically at something on his kitchen bench, while Gorgeous dipped and scuttled along her perch in the family room. Laura knocked, immediately generating a cacophony of thudding footsteps, barking and screeching.

  The moment Flynn opened the door to sounds of Gorgeous screaming, ‘Hello gorgeous’, Callie scrambled for Laura’s attention. She bent to stroke her back, unable to suppress her smile as she looked up at Flynn. He smiled back, his naturally olive complexion complemented by his white T-shirt and jeans.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, ‘it’s freezing out there.’

  She handed him the wine and followed him into the kitchen, flames flickering in the fireplace, the moonlit sea visible through the window, aromas of tomato and garlic blending with the warmth to make her suddenly hungry.

  ‘I hope you like Chicken Cacciatore,’ he said, pouring two glasses of wine and handing one to her. He raised his glass. ‘To you, Laura – for looking after my friends Callie and Gorgeous, and delivering them back to me happy and healthy.’

  Laura smiled and took a sip of wine. ‘I’m glad you’re home safely,’ she said.

  ‘Me too. And I’m mighty pleased I survived my family. It has been a brutal reminder of why I ran away to this state,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘That’s not a very respectful thing to say,’ a female voice echoed from the passage before a tall willowy brunette wandered into the room, wearing tight faded jeans and a fitting white shirt, a wide belt emphasising her slim hips and waist.

  Laura felt her spirits plummet, painfully aware that yet again, she had made a fool of herself by misinterpreting Flynn’s invitation. She forced a grin, hoping she didn’t look too much like a woman who was bitterly disappointed.

  ‘Don’t be cheeky,’ Flynn said, tossing the woman a wry smile, making the fondness between them glaringly apparent.

  ‘Laura, this is Gail. Gail, Laura,’ he said, tipping a steaming saucepan of rice into a colander.

  Laura forced herself not to look at the woman’s narrow waist, took a mouthful of wine. Managed yet another smile.

  ‘OK. I’m out of here,’ Gail said, swooping up a giant leather bag from the sofa and exuberantly rubbing Callie’s back. ‘See you, girl. Nice meeting you, Laura,’ she said, scuttling towards Flynn, gathering him into a hug and kissing him briefly on the lips. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  As Flynn walked Gail out, Laura warmed herself by the fire and applied every modicum of self-control to reign in her burning urge to eavesdrop on their murmured conversation at the front door. A minute later Flynn returned.

  She straightened. Took another mouthful of wine. ‘She’s lovely,’ Laura said, not knowing what else to say, what to feel.

  Flynn shrugged. ‘She’s OK as far as sisters go,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s eat.’

  ‘How’s work?’ he said, once they had sat down to dinner.

  Relieved that Flynn had not immediately opened conversation with the topic of Simon, Laura said, ‘Like most work, I guess. Love the job. Love the people. Detest the personal politics.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d be experienced enough to skate around personal politics with ease,’ he said, smirking.

  She almost choked as she swallowed her wine. ‘I have a reputation for being too reverent, until I am pushed. Then it’s all systems go. I’m currently in a cold war with my superintendent because he’s blatantly favouring a member of my team.’

  ‘You mean, favouring over you?’ Flynn said taking a sip of wine.

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said, suddenly chastened.

  ‘Don’t you have any favourites?’ he said.

  ‘There are certain members of my team I think have more to offer than others,’ she said, lifting her chin.

  Flynn shrugged. ‘That’s favouring them, isn’t it?’

  ‘It depends. Anyway, let’s change the subject,’ she said, determined not to allow thoughts or discussions about Tom to spoil her evening. Refusing to let go of the notion that her boss was definitely pushing her out of her job.

  ‘And Simon?’ Flynn said, eyes down as he cut into his chicken.

  ‘Simon is Simon. An arsehole of greatest proportions,’ she said, surprised by her sudden rancour.

  ‘I’ve thought about you a great deal since you told me,’ Flynn said. ‘Tried to imagine how that moment felt when you discovered he’d been using the adultery website.’ He shook his head. ‘It must have been earth-shattering.’

  ‘Yes. It was . . . Made all the more humiliating when he told me with eye-watering elaboration that he did it because I had stopped being sexy.’

  Flynn smiled. ‘Simon is a fool.’

  Laura chuckled, not knowing what to say as Flynn lowered his eyes and took a forkful of rice.

  For the rest of the meal they shared laughter, lively banter, and sad reflections about Flynn’s family, his pain at losing his wife, the change of lifestyle brought about when he moved to the coast, Laura’s newfound mature-aged son-in-law, and again her work on the force.

  ‘I understand how much work upsets you,’ Flynn said when they had almost finished their second bottle of wine and a cheeseboard. ‘I left teaching because of the personal politics.’ He leaned back in his seat and toyed with his glass. ‘No regrets,’ he said, smiling to himself, ‘but my perception became my reality and it almost destroyed me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Laura said.

  ‘I often saw things the wrong way – or I didn’t see them at all. Like with you and your boss. Chances are he really respects you, but your current perception of his motives is getting in the way. You’re only seeing the bad. . . it’s possibly the same between you and Simon,’ he said, shrugging, his boyish grin diluting his sudden seriousness.

  Laura snorted softly. ‘In Simon’s eyes, I am old and uninteresting. And in mine, he is duplicitous and untrustworthy. Whether it is perception or reality, we are well and truly over. And I seriously do not care.’

  ‘I hope Simon doesn’t regret it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I feel sorry that he hasn’t realised that the loss of youth, the disintegration of firm flesh, brings with it something less tangible and far more mysterious. Something it seems Simon has not yet discovered.’ He stretched in his chair. ‘Regardless of age, regardless of wrinkles and sagging body parts, I reckon,’ he said, dipping his head almost apologetically, ‘that there’s nothing sexier than the smile of a woman who knows herself. And who loves what she knows.’ He smiled up at her. ‘It’s the same for men, I guess. And that only comes with age. It’s a quid pro quo. Hopefully Simon will realise before it is too late – the magic that can happen when we allow ourselves to glide into old age with a sense of anticipation and joy at what is stil
l to come, rather than lamenting what we may not have had.’ He stood. Slapped his thighs. ‘And that is the end of my lecture,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I do tend to go on a bit, especially after a few of these.’ He held up his empty glass and placed it on the table again. ‘Now, Callie and I are about to walk you home.’

  As Callie ran through the grass at the side of the road, chasing real or imaginary quarry under the moonlight, Laura grappled with an odd mixture of regret and relief that the evening had ended so suddenly. Reflecting on their conversation, she soaked up the comfortable silence she and Flynn shared.

  ‘You’re a brilliant conversationalist, Flynn. And a great cook. Thanks for dinner,’ she said.

  ‘It was my pleasure. You’re always good fun,’ he said, his smile white in the moonlight.

  They stopped below her deck and she went to remove the coat he’d loaned her for the walk home.

  ‘No, keep it. I’ll get it later,’ he said, placing a hand on her arm. Bending his face to hers.

  Motionless with confusion and disbelief, she watched his lips come closer. Willingly responded to the gentle pressure of his kiss. Relished its softness and warmth in the night air. Slipped with ease into his embrace. And suddenly felt guilty, even sad for Simon.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said, slowly pulling away. ‘And thanks again for looking after my girls.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Laura leaned into the mirror and applied mascara. She looked the same but felt different, more exhilarated, as though someone had let her out of a straightjacket after too many years. She gathered up her bag for work, smiling to herself at how she had dismissed her guilt after Flynn’s kiss last night by conjuring the vision of Simon’s cocksure expression in the photograph Tara had shown her. The black reefer jacket Flynn had loaned her hung on the coat stand at her front door, the sight of it bringing an unexpected surge of warmth. In the car she idled past his house, beeped the horn before accelerating along the road, wishing she had the day off to spend with him instead of going to work.

  Her phone signalled a message from Simon as she slowed and stopped at traffic lights. I need clean jocks and my Pierre Cardin aftershave. She tossed her phone back on the seat and blew out the side of her mouth. ‘Only you would be asking for aftershave from your hospital bed, Simon,’ she mumbled.

  Later, as she munched on a salad at her desk, her mobile rang.

  ‘Laura, I know you’re terribly busy, but I wonder if you could call round and see us?’ Cynthia’s voice croaked with the fatigue that comes from hours of weeping.

  ‘Laura knocked on the door twenty minutes later, which was opened by Cynthia in a denim skirt and badly pilled black skivvy, the look of her eyes and face making it obvious she had been upset for most of the morning.

  ‘Thanks for coming so quickly,’ she said in hushed tones as they passed Alex’s closed door on their way to the kitchen. ‘Alex is in her room, refusing to come out again.’

  ‘Leave her. She’ll come out when she’s ready,’ Laura said in a voice loud enough for Alex to hear.

  Cynthia made a pot of tea in silence as Laura watched from where she sat at the kitchen table. In the usually ordered kitchen the dishwasher winked to be emptied, the waste bin overflowed, dirty dishes and saucepans were piled on smeared benches. It appeared to be days of disorganisation rather than a few hours.

  ‘Alex stayed in her room all night, which I have to be honest, was a bit of a relief,’ Cynthia said with a grimace, ‘. . . at least it gave me thinking time. She finally came out late this morning and there was hell to pay. At first she tried to convince me that you hadn’t visited the school at all. Then when I told her you had spoken to me after, she said it was all a mistake, that Maddi had lied because she’s jealous of Alex’s popularity with the other kids at school.’ Cynthia stared into her tea and shook her head. ‘Alex said some hideous things about Maddi. It just wasn’t like her. I threatened, cajoled and bribed her for hours, trying to get her to speak out about Greg but she wouldn’t have it, until an hour or so ago when I forced my way into her room and she turned on me saying I was pathetic . . . that she didn’t know what Greg saw in me.’

  Laura watched in silence as Cynthia dragged tissues from the box on the table and pressed them against her eyes. ‘I told her not to say anything to Greg about your visit. That’s when she told me, like she was spitting venom, that she rang him yesterday, immediately after you had left the school, and told him you’d been to see her and why.’ She glanced up at the ceiling and took a deep shuddering breath.

  Laura laid a gentle hand on Cynthia’s and pondered what Noah’s reaction would be when she told him Greg had in fact done a runner, just as she had suspected.

  ‘It struck me last night that Alex has probably been giving Greg what he wants in order to keep me happy.’ Her mouth twisted with disgust. ‘She knows how much I love living here. I keep telling her all the time how grateful we should both feel towards him. Oh gosh, she’s so confused. What have I done?’ she wailed in a tsunami of tears.

  Laura rose from the table and placed an arm about Cynthia’s shoulders. It was the sound of Bruno padding into the room that caused them both to look up and see Alex standing there, zombie-like, pale and wan, red-eyed and dishevelled in her butterfly patterned pyjamas.

  ‘Cynthia glanced up at the clock. Cleared her throat. ‘You should shower and dress. We’re due for your first meeting with Doctor O’Leary in two hours,’ she told Alex.

  Alex shook her head. ‘I want to listen,’ she said, sitting at the table.

  Laura nodded her agreement and Cynthia sat back in her chair. ‘We know you are protecting Greg,’ she said to Alex. ‘But you need to know he has done this before.’ Cynthia’s sudden frown caused Laura some regret about having to break the news to her like this. But Alex’s stoicism in protecting him made what she was about to say a necessary truth for them to bear. ‘I can’t go into detail, but it happened interstate. A mother and daughter, a scenario practically identical to what you’re facing now, involving frequent rape of the daughter.’

  ‘It wasn’t rape. He didn’t rape me,’ Alex shrieked in tears, horror washing across Cynthia’s face as she gripped the neck of her skivvy like a lifeline.

  ‘Penetration is rape, Alex. Greg would know that,’ Laura said.

  ‘Rape is force. He didn’t force me, I consented,’ she sobbed, snot and tears streaming down her face, her mouth open as she tossed her head back and wailed.

  Cynthia clasped her neckline tighter, her face crumpled with anguish.

  ‘In the eyes of the law, you’re not old enough to give informed consent, Alex. Greg has to take full responsibility for what he did to you. That’s why you need to be honest with us,’ Laura said. ‘We need you to tell us what happened so that we can stop him from doing this to other girls like you, and the girl interstate. There could be even more we don’t know about.’

  Alex dropped her eyes into her lap. In a silence that felt far too long, even to Laura, Cynthia leaned forward and said. ‘There’s something else. Greg hired a bunch of kids to graffiti Roger’s house . . . before we knew he was innocent. I’m not keeping that to myself any longer.’ She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

  ‘Did Greg have anything to do with Roger being beaten the night before?’ Laura asked.

  Alex thumped the table. ‘No. He said it wasn’t him and I believe him. He is not a bad person,’ she said glaring at her mother.

  ‘Shepherd has done a runner, just as I told you,’ Laura muttered over Noah’s shoulder at the coffee machine.

  ‘Bullshit,’ he said turning to face her.

  They sauntered to his workstation while she told him everything that had happened at Cynthia’s house. ‘Alex and Cynthia are on their way to see Declan O’Leary now. I hope he can talk some sense into Alex about making a full disclosure,’ she said dropping into the chair beside Noah’s desk.

  ‘What she admitted to you to
day is great progress. It’s a safe bet Shepherd won’t be rushing back here any time soon,’ Noah said, fixing her with a contemplative gaze. ‘The Victorian guys are tracking Eve Moonie as we speak. We’re hoping she’ll be prepared to make a formal statement once she knows he’s been at it again. In the meantime, Alex’s verbal admission to you and Greg’s role in Roger’s attack may be enough for now if we are forced to act, but I’d prefer a formal statement from Alex or Eve or preferably both.

  ‘Would that be yerself then Laura Nesci?’ Declan said when she answered the phone. ‘I’m ringing with news about Alex Holt.’

  ‘Yes Declan. Thanks for ringing,’ Laura said, shifting her attention away from her computer screen.

  ‘The poor girl is dealing with a lot, you’d know that yerself. But she’s a bright young thing so I’m hoping we can make progress after a few visits.’

  ‘Did she disclose Shepherd’s abuse?’ Laura said, crossing her fingers.

  ‘Nah. Not at all. But she and I both know her explanation as to why her friend Maddi would make false allegations against Shepherd was somewhat lacking in substance. To that end I’m confident she left my office carrying less of a grudge against Maddi and a more rational understanding of why she spoke out. Alex is emotionally isolated as it is. The last thing I want at this time is for her to isolate herself completely by cutting ties with the friend she has always seen as her best support.’

  ‘Oh,’ Laura said, her disappointment clear.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I can’t do everything Laura,’ Declan said playfully. ‘I’m a psychiatrist, not a police officer. However, I think our discussion of Martin or Malone or whatever his name might be, as well as the lad Colby Pallins, how they both used her for their own ends, resonated with her. I’m fairly confident she would have drawn parallels in her own mind with what Greg Shepherd has been doing. I’m hopeful she’ll feel able to discuss him more openly with me soon enough.’