The Girl in Steel-Capped Boots

by Hill, Loretta

  His father snorted and said without turning to face them, ‘If it’s guilt you’re feeling, I’m not surprised. I hope you’re plagued by it day and night.’

  Lena didn’t understand. Sure, the Hullogs loved Mark, but Dan was their son too. Her fingers itched to shake his mother. Instead of losing one child they had lost both.

  Idiots!

  Dan tugged on her hand, leading her to the back row. ‘Mark was always the favourite,’ he said, seeming to sense that she needed some explanation.

  Lena sat down. ‘But you’re their son too. It’s not right.’

  He shook his head. ‘I was always a third wheel. And now, I’m worse than that.’

  Angela Hullog looked as though she wanted to force them out with her bare hands but the bailiff called order. The lawyers were already in place.

  After the judge walked in and was settled, Mr Carter called his second witness to the stand. It was the HR manager from Oswalds Proprietary Limited. Mr Carter’s questioning centred mainly on the safety course and why Mark hadn’t attended. The HR manager was indifferent and vague, leaving Lena itching to thump her. The woman came across like a disorganised person with a complete disregard for paperwork.

  The case for Oswalds’ negligence was certainly building. Sarah’s cross-examination revealed nothing further. And then that was it for the day.

  As Lena and Dan made their way out of the building, Mark’s widow waylaid them in the lobby.

  Lena held back, knowing that Dan didn’t want her to get involved.

  ‘You knew Mark wasn’t suicidal. He was fine! Why didn’t you say that in your testimony instead of trying to cover your own arse, you bastard!’

  Lena wanted to slap her, even though she knew Angela was probably only able to get out of bed every morning because of the momentum she got from her fiery hatred of Oswalds – and Dan.

  ‘I need to talk to her,’ Dan said softly, and then to his sister-in-law, ‘Angela –’

  ‘Don’t you “Angela” me! I wish you’d never been born.’

  ‘Dan –’ Lena began.

  But he shook his head. ‘My family, my fight. Go home, Lena. You’ve done enough and I appreciate it. But now you’re out of your depth.’

  The look he gave her was so fierce that she knew that this time he would physically remove her if he had to.

  She squared her chin. ‘Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ His voice was distant now and he was already turning away.

  Court resumed at ten the next morning and Lena was there as promised. Dan joined her shortly before the hour with heavy-lidded eyes. It had been a rough night for him as well. She wasn’t surprised. If she’d had difficulty sleeping, she imagined he’d had no rest at all. He sat down beside her and took her hand, whether for support or in greeting, she didn’t care. As long as their closeness was important to him. That’s all that mattered to her.

  Mr Carter’s next witness was Andrew Carrington, the manager of the MacArthur Lumber Mill, a thick-bearded man with red hair. He confirmed Dan’s testimony about what had taken place on the day of the accident, including the fact that there had been no need for Mark to enter the machine. New information was revealed when Sarah Michaels got up to cross-examine him about the operation of the feeder, but none of it was very useful. Lena sighed with relief when Andrew Carrington finally left the stand.

  That was it for Mr Carter’s witness list. It was now Sarah Michaels’s turn to call her first witness.

  Angela Hullog. As she was not only a witness but the plaintiff, she had been allowed to sit in the gallery and view the entire proceedings. Now, she sat on the stand, eyes downcast, skin splotchy with a cross between paleness and a flush staining her skin, and took her oath. Not that her word meant anything to Lena. She had practically asked Dan to lie for her, for goodness sake. Was she really about to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

  ‘Ms Hullog, was your husband suffering from clinical depression at the time of the accident?’

  Angela replied after a slight pause. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it true that prior to his death he had tried to commit suicide?’

  Again she paused. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Since this attempt, how would you rate his recovery?’

  Angela Hullog cleared her throat. ‘I would say very good, if not excellent.’ She fixed a contemptuous gaze on Dan rather than looking at the lawyer. ‘He was improving every day. I know, because his illness had been causing some problems in our marriage. But we were really starting to overcome them – really starting to build some bridges, make plans for the future and all that.’

  ‘Did you fight with Mark at all on the morning of the lumber mill accident?’

  Angela lifted her chin. ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘What about the day before that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did anything at all occur before the incident that would affect Mark’s stress levels?’

  Angela Hullog frowned. ‘The only thing that stressed him out was work. His manager and brother, Dan Hullog, put Mark under a lot of pressure to get things done. Mark really looked up to Dan and didn’t want to let him down.’ Again she fixed that glare on Dan. ‘Despite my protests, Mark was always working late. By the time he got home he’d be so tired. And he was anxious too. I really think that the company and its managers have a lot to answer for when it comes to my husband’s mental state.’

  ‘Ms Hullog,’ Sarah managed to draw Angela’s attention back to her, ‘I believe you were pregnant at the time of your husband’s death. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes,’ Angela spat, the subject change clearly angering her. ‘My daughter will never know her father thanks to Oswalds.’

  Sarah waited before asking her next question. Lena realised she was giving Angela a second to calm down. ‘Ms Hullog, how far along were you at the time?’

  Angela swallowed and squinted up at the ceiling. ‘I would say . . . ten weeks. We were both really happy about it even though the pregnancy wasn’t planned. I love children and so did Mark. We were going to turn his study into a nursery. We –’

  ‘Ms Hullog,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘Did you say the pregnancy was unplanned?’

  Angela hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you find out you were pregnant?’

  ‘At about . . . er . . . nine weeks. I went to the doctor to have it confirmed. But I was suspicious for ages,’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘When did you tell Mark about it?’

  Angela turned pink. ‘I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘But you did tell him.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Angela blustered.

  ‘How did Mark take the news that you were expecting an unplanned baby?’

  ‘Oh,’ Angela spread her hands dramatically, as if it were a foregone conclusion, ‘he was ecstatic, of course. Surprised and ecstatic.’

  Sarah Michaels turned her attention back to the judge. ‘I have no further questions, your honour.’

  Mr Carter stood up to cross-examine, leaning back into his hip as he eyed Sarah Michaels’s witness thoughtfully.

  ‘My colleague here is determined to link this case to Mark Hullog’s attempted suicide, so let’s discuss it, Ms Hullog. When and where was it?’

  ‘In the evening, at home,’ Angela replied quickly.

  ‘Can you describe Mark’s mood that day?’

  ‘Distracted, preoccupied.’ A spasm of pain creased her face; Lena saw a tiny bit of what the woman had gone through. ‘I knew there was something wrong. Not how wrong, of course.’

  ‘Did he prepare a note?’

  ‘Yes, there was one next to him when I . . . found him. It was very brief – he said sorry. Nothing more.’

>   ‘So then, Ms Hullog,’ Mr Carter continued in that thoughtful manner he had begun with, ‘if we could just contrast this to what happened at the lumber mill. Was Mark preoccupied or moody that day?’

  ‘No, he was happy.’

  ‘And did he leave you a note concerning his death?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t a suicide.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Satisfied, Mr Carter sat down.

  Sarah Michaels’s next witness was Mark’s doctor, a white-haired, balding man who looked like he’d been practising a long time. Lena hoped he had. Perhaps he could give everyone some direction – some information that wasn’t so uncertain. She looked at Dan but he grimly shook his head.

  Great.

  After briefly establishing the nature of Mark Hullog’s mental illness, Sarah moved into the guts of her questioning.

  ‘Dr Hendricks, in your professional opinion, do you think the incident at the lumber mill that killed Mark Hullog could have been suicide?’

  ‘In my professional opinion, no.’

  Sarah Michaels nodded, a gentle smile curving her mouth. ‘Dr Hendricks, has your professional opinion ever been wrong?’

  The doctor raised his bushy white eyebrows, unfazed by her question.

  ‘Well, it’s an opinion, counsel. It’s not a fact. Interpret that whichever way you like it.’

  Sarah regrouped. ‘Very well, Dr Hendricks, have you or any of your peers ever thought someone was recovering and they weren’t?’

  ‘Patients can relapse very quickly,’ Dr Hendricks returned impatiently. ‘Sometimes there is little warning.’

  ‘What causes relapses?’

  Dr Hendricks shrugged. ‘Anything and nothing. As we are talking about a person’s mind here, it’s their perception of the world around them that is the problem, not reality. If they think something has changed to increase their stress levels, then it has.’

  ‘Surely finding out that your wife is unexpectedly pregnant would increase the stress levels of any human being, especially someone who has recently emerged from a suicidal state?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dr Hendricks reluctantly conceded.

  ‘Just out of curiosity, Dr Hendricks, did you have therapy sessions with Mark Hullog the week before he died?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And during those sessions, did he mention that his wife was pregnant?’

  Dr Hendricks reddened. ‘No.’

  ‘But wouldn’t a patient disclose something as significant as that to his doctor?’

  ‘I am not a member of his family. But I suppose I do encourage my patients to let me in on any drastic changes in their lives.’

  Sarah Michaels nodded. ‘And just to confirm, Dr Hendricks, Mark Hullog was still on his medication at the time of the incident?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you have any intention of taking him off it?’

  ‘No immediate intentions.’

  ‘What about the therapy sessions? Were you going to stop those?’

  ‘Eventually.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is, Mark Hullog was still quite seriously depressed, but was recovering over time?’

  Dr Hendricks seemed annoyed. ‘He had a condition that was less serious than it had been three months previously.’

  Sarah Michaels nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She looked at the judge. ‘That’s all, your honour.’

  Sarah didn’t have any more witnesses. Lena didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed because as far as she was concerned the judge could swing either way. The evidence was all a list of maybes. True, they still had the closing statements by each of the lawyers to go the next morning, but she doubted they would provide more clarity. Dan looked exhausted. She too was feeling the effects of trying to concentrate on every word that was uttered in that room, not wanting to miss a single clue. Her muscles ached from clenching and unclenching. Her limbs were brittle from being held still for so long. Her skin was dry and sweaty from the air-conditioning that often blew too cold.

  She was craving the finish line.

  And yet at the same time she was scared of the verdict. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what Dan was feeling. They walked out of the court quickly, this time managing to avoid his family.

  ‘Dinner?’ she asked when they turned out into the street.

  ‘I’m not really hungry.’ He ran tired fingers through his dark hair. ‘But if you’d like to go somewhere, I’ll take you.’

  Like she was going to make him treat her to dinner in his condition. ‘No, no,’ she said quickly. Besides, she wasn’t really hungry either, and a noisy restaurant was the last place she wanted to go.

  What she did want though was to prolong this togetherness. She didn’t want him to spend the night alone, thinking, wondering, what tomorrow would bring. ‘Would you like to come back to my place for a while?’

  His chin jerked down sharply as his eyes swung to hers. The air crackled with the silence.

  He put out a hand and ran rough fingertips down her cheek. ‘Lena,’ he said, ‘as much as I want to –’

  She grabbed his hand and laced her fingers through it. ‘Just for soup and company. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Okay.’

  Lena’s first thought upon opening the door of her apartment was, Damn, I wish I’d tided up a little this morning.

  There was stuff everywhere – she was still in the process of unpacking her suitcase. Shirts and pants were strewn on the couch. Her usual junk – magazines, mail, make-up, shopping bags – was also scattered haphazardly on any other available surfaces.

  ‘It’s just tinned soup, I’m afraid,’ she said as she walked past the couch, grabbing and piling clothes over her arm at the same time. ‘I’m not a very good cook and I don’t generally keep fresh food in the apartment.’

  Dan stood on the threshold, hands in his pockets, looking around with interest. ‘This is exactly what I thought it would look like.’

  ‘A mess?’ she grimaced. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  He chuckled and shrugged. ‘No. Just you. Feminine, colourful and all over the place.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that still just a nice way of saying I’m untidy?’

  He raised his hands in mock defence. ‘Believe me, I can’t talk.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ She threw the clothes into the laundry and shut the door as he approached her, leaning her back against the door, hand still on the knob.

  ‘There is so much you haven’t told me about yourself,’ he mused. ‘And yet, sometimes I feel like I’ve always known you. Does that make sense?’

  She nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

  He followed her into the kitchen and when she turned around to face him, the space felt crowded. Her brain did a double-take. The client is in my kitchen.

  Dan Hullog – tired, vulnerable and completely at my mercy.

  His black hair was curling just above the rim of his collar in that endearing way that made her fingers itch. He looked impossibly tall as he stood beside her dining table, watching her, watching him. The stove wasn’t on yet, but it sure felt like it.

  Lena realised she was staring and turned around to busy herself with finding a pot and a tin. The pot was easy. She pulled it from the drawer under the sink and set it on the stove. Then she moved to the pantry, aware that his eyes were on her the whole time. She pulled two tins from the middle shelf and turned around.

  ‘Pumpkin or tomato?’

  ‘Definitely pumpkin.’ He came forwards, taking the chosen flavour from her grasp, their fingertips briefly touching in the exchange. ‘Let me do it,’ he murmured. ‘I feel like I’ve trespassed on your time enough for one day.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she protested.

  ‘I insist.’
He took the can to the counter, rummaged in a drawer and produced a tin opener. She sat down at the dining table and watched his shirt pull taut over his bicep as he took the top off the can and poured its contents into the pot. His hand trailed across the edge of the counter as he returned to the drawer to find a spoon and she suppressed the need to shudder. He fumbled through the choices and the cutlery clinked against each other. Finally, he pulled a long wooden spoon, which she never used, from the hidden depths of the cavity and turned around.

  ‘So is this your usual dinner routine?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know . . . sometimes. I eat out a lot when I live in Perth.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed the city till we came back.’ He sighed as he placed the spoon in the steaming pot and rotated it in slow circles.

  ‘Perth is really pretty.’

  ‘I was thinking more . . . homey. It’s a cosy town. That’s what I love about it.’

  ‘Do you still have a place here?’

  He shook his head without looking up from the stirring. ‘I’m staying in a hotel at the moment. All my stuff is in storage – has been for over a year. I plan to keep it that way till I get sick of big projects in the outback.’

  ‘The outback, hmmm?’ She got up in disgust, snatched the spoon from him and shoved him gently over with her hip. ‘No family, no home to call your own, a friendless workaholic, wandering the face of the earth, hoping to get lost in his own anonymity. Sounds just peachy.’

  His eyes widened in surprise and he leaned against the neighbouring benchtop. ‘Well, it doesn’t sound great when you put it that way.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound great no matter how you put it. What are you trying to do? Bury yourself?’

  He ran his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. ‘I guess I never thought of it like that.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she turned around and said lightly, ‘did you have any pets when you lived in Perth? Perhaps you gave them away, or worse, had them put down? Because clearly death was preferable to a life with you.’

  He laughed. Real humour glinted in those rich, catch-your-breath eyes.

  She stopped to drink in the lovely moment. He took advantage of her distraction and snatched the spoon back, shoving her over. ‘Now you’re just being cheeky.’