The Gift of Life

by Josephine Moon

  Krystal poured milk into an empty mug, then picked up the full plunger and turned to carry them back to her desk. ‘Yes, it’s tricky. But I manage. Thanks for the coffee.’

  Krystal and Margie both kept their heads down, working silently, and Krystal was achingly aware that their friendship – whatever she’d thought it had been – was over. The coffee was good but it didn’t stop the throbbing in her head. Her eyes hurt. Looking at the backlit computer screen made her squint against the pain and she considered putting her sunglasses on, but that would surely draw attention. She was slow and making mistakes and acid kept rising up her oesophagus. Her head was woolly and full of images of Evan leading his secret life, of his clandestine trips interstate, of the relationship he’d had with Rebecca. Platonic though it was, it still hurt. He’d trusted Rebecca more than he’d trusted Krystal, hadn’t he?

  And what was she supposed to do now? Someone out there had been stalking her husband. He was dead now because of them. She thought about him running through those streets in Mosman, just as she and Gabby had done, but Evan had been running for his life.

  Her heart rate rose. She could feel her pulse in her ears.

  She tried to calm herself by taking deep breaths.

  Just breathe, just breathe.

  But her breaths couldn’t get down deep enough into her body. She was strangling herself from the bottom up. Air was moving in and out but not going to her lungs. Her head spun. Her hands tingled. Was she having a stroke?

  ‘Are you all right?’ Margie’s voice beside her.

  Krystal opened her mouth to speak but she just gulped emptily like a fish flung onto the beach. Suddenly, she could hear herself, hear the rasping, scraping breaths. She stood. She couldn’t focus her eyes on anything. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop this crazy, rapid breathing.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Margie turned to Janice.

  Janice leapt from her chair and came to Krystal, taking her by the shoulders. ‘Krystal, you’re hyperventilating. You need to take slow, deep breaths.’

  Krystal stared at Janice, her mouth continuing to open, close, open, close. Tears sprang to her eyes. Why couldn’t she stop this?

  ‘Come to sick bay,’ Janice said, leading Krystal away from her desk. She sat Krystal down on the bed. The room smelled of disinfectant. The fluorescent light shone down harshly from the ceiling.

  ‘Do we need a paper bag?’ Margie asked from the door.

  ‘No. That’s old school. Can you go and get some water, please?’

  ‘Sure.’ Margie left.

  Janice sat next to Krystal on the bed and put her arm around her shoulders. ‘You just need to focus on finding your normal breathing pattern, Krystal. You can do it.’ She spoke gently and calmly, but firmly. Krystal stared at a fixed point on the wall. ‘Maybe close your eyes,’ Janice continued, her voice soothing. ‘Count in your head: in for three breaths, out for four breaths, in for three, out for four.’

  Margie returned with the water and Janice thanked her and asked her to close the door on her way out, for which Krystal was deeply grateful. The last thing she needed now was for Margie to gawk at her while she had a breakdown.

  ‘In for three, out for four. Concentrate on slowing the breaths. Make the out-breath longer than the in-breath. That’s it, you’re doing great.’

  Krystal’s breathing was changing. Slowly, slowly. She kept her eyes closed, her mind wholly focused on counting the breaths. Finally, fear released its grip on her, and she opened her eyes.

  ‘There you are,’ Janice said, smiling. She dropped her arm from around Krystal’s shoulder. She passed her the glass of water and Krystal sipped from it with shaky hands.

  ‘What just happened?’ Krystal mumbled, tears falling now, to her humiliation.

  ‘Well, you hyperventilated. Normally, that’s the result of anxiety or a panic attack,’ Janice said, moving away a fraction so she could turn to face Krystal. She reached for a tissue from the box on the shelf and handed it to Krystal. ‘Has this happened to you before?’

  Krystal shook her head, her bottom lip trembling against the torrent of tears that wanted to tumble out of her.

  ‘I think you should probably take the rest of the day off and maybe go and see your doctor. Is there anyone you’d like me to call for you?’

  Krystal was about to wave the offer away, determined not to need anyone’s help, but that sudden onset of disabling panic had shaken her badly. There was really only one person she could call on at a time like this.

  Roxy picked her up from the sick bay room at school and took her to Staple, a big, cosy cafe on Fitzroy Street known for hearty, honest food. It was like a comforting cave of nourishment. She ordered Krystal a plate of thick sourdough toast, eggs, bacon, potato rosti and sausages.

  ‘Hangover cure,’ she said. Roxy also ordered her a pot of tea. ‘You need something calming, not coffee,’ she said, in full mother-hen mode. Krystal could feel herself relaxing under her friend’s care.

  ‘There’s a reason you’re such a valued carer,’ Krystal said. ‘You should have been a nurse, really. This calm, caring thing just oozes out of you.’

  Roxy fluffed her now-pink hair. ‘I’ve thought about going to uni and doing just that,’ she confessed, taking a bite of her fruit toast with rosemary butter dripping from the edges.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s never too late, right?’

  ‘You’d be wonderful.’ Krystal took a big gulp of her milky tea and leaned back, relishing the act of taking a long, deep breath and letting it go like a normal person.

  ‘So, fess up, love,’ Roxy said. ‘What was going through your mind when this panic attack happened?’

  ‘I don’t even know where to start,’ Krystal said, shaking her head.

  ‘Start anywhere. We can circle around if we need to.’

  Krystal told her everything and Roxy listened and clucked and gasped in all the right places, and with every word Krystal felt the invisible vice that had worked its way around her chest since Monday night in Sydney loosen.

  At the end, Roxy said, ‘Two things. Firstly, I love a vodka as much as the next girl but I think you need to take a pause, okay? You’ve got your mother’s genes. I’m sorry to be blunt but I think you’ve reached the precipice. It’s time to take a step back and get your bearings. It’s making you fragile and you need to be strong. You have no alternative here but to be strong.’

  Krystal swallowed. It hurt to hear but she knew it was true. She’d been in terrible denial. She burned with shame, realising her hangover had probably contributed to the humiliating panic attack this morning. ‘You’re right. I’ll have an extended detox. I’ll call it quits today.’

  ‘And because I love you, I will quit with you.’

  Krystal snorted. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘Yes, I do. We’re family. In fact, we’re better than family because we actually chose each other.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘We’ll give up drinking and we’ll spend our money on disgusting, healthy green juices or something.’

  Krystal shuddered. ‘We don’t have to do that, do we? Couldn’t we spend our money on imported cheese or something?’

  ‘Yes! Even better.’

  ‘All right, done. Cheese it is.’

  ‘Good. Now, secondly, you know you have to go to the police with this, don’t you?’ Roxy eyed her sternly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Rebecca was a witness to his murder.’

  Krystal was shocked. Murder? ‘But the way Rebecca described it, it was an accident. She said the driver swerved.’

  Roxy counted out points on her fingers. ‘They were followed for months. She was scared for her life. They were mounting a huge whistleblowing case against a ginormous, filthy-rich corporation.’ She paused for effect. ‘Does it sound like an accident?’ Roxy threw back the last of her macchiato as though it was a shot of tequila, even licking her hand to get the last drop.

  Kryst
al pushed her now-empty plate away from her as though it was poison. Horror filled her every cell. All this time, she’d assumed it was an accident – that the driver had panicked and fled the scene and it had been a horrible but not unique scenario in which the driver had never been found.

  ‘But what about Rebecca?’ Krystal said. ‘If I tell the police, what will happen to her?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Roxy folded her arms across her chest. ‘She lied. She has knowledge about what happened to Evan and she didn’t come forward.’

  ‘That’s true. But she was terrified. And if I involve the police, she’ll stop talking to me, and I know it sounds crazy, and it probably is, but she has all sorts of information about Evan and memories of time spent with him and I … I haven’t had anything new about him in so long.’ She ached for it, the newness, the freshness of something she’d never heard before, the spark of having her husband close by again. ‘I’ll think about it, I will. But I need more time. I need to know I’ve got every last piece of information before I lose her, and him, again.’

  Roxy sighed. ‘I guess it’s already been two years. A bit more time won’t matter.’

  Krystal thought back to those last hours at his bedside in Sydney. The absolute nightmare of it.

  She clapped her hand to her mouth, staring at Roxy.

  ‘What is it?’

  Krystal dropped her hand. ‘I’ve just realised something and I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it till now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got to go.’ She leapt from her chair and slung her handbag over her shoulder, leaned down and kissed Roxy on the cheek. ‘Thank you so much, Rox. I’ll speak to you soon.’ Then she dashed away, running for the nearest tram stop.

  Krystal arrived, puffing, at the tall silver building near Southbank, a strong breeze blowing off the river, early lunchgoers filling the cafes at ground level. She hurried into the foyer of the Arthur firm’s building, past the marble fountain just inside the glass doors, and made straight for the black elevators. She took the moments inside the lift to check her reflection in the mirror, smoothing down her fringe, pulling out her hair tie and redoing her ponytail.

  When the lift slid to a smooth halt and let out an understated ding, she was ready. A woman in a floral dress sat in the corner of the waiting room, her handbag clutched nervously to her stomach. A huge bouquet of cream-coloured roses sat in a tall crystal vase on the reception desk. Overhead lighting bounced off the shiny black and gold surfaces. Krystal approached the desk.

  ‘Good morning,’ the receptionist said. His overly white teeth shone under the lights, and his grey suit fitted him perfectly.

  ‘My name is Krystal Arthur.’ She placed considerable emphasis on the surname. ‘I am Cordelia-Aurora’s sister-in-law and I need to see her, urgently.’

  The receptionist’s smile wavered. A tiny worry line appeared between his blond eyebrows. He must have had them professionally groomed, she thought. Then he tapped at his computer and stared at the screen as if searching for a solution – or at least pretending to. Krystal waited, resisting the urge to drum her fingers on the glossy surface of the desk.

  He picked up his phone and pressed a button. ‘I have Krystal Arthur here at reception. She says she needs to see you urgently.’

  Krystal braced herself for the dismissal she was certain was coming. She eyed the distance between the desk and the door to the offices beyond – perhaps six metres. She was sure she’d be able to get there before this guy could stop her.

  What was taking so long?

  The receptionist nodded and murmured, then hung up the phone. ‘Ms Arthur is very busy but she has agreed to make time for you.’ He stood. ‘Follow me.’

  Krystal was almost too shocked to speak but managed a ‘Thank you’ before following him obediently through the door to the office, which, as it turned out, he needed to open with a security card, so she wouldn’t have made it through without him anyway. They passed some cubicles with juniors working industriously, and then turned left, where a black wall gave nothing away as to what was on the other side. The receptionist knocked twice, then opened the door to a large office – big enough for Cordelia-Aurora’s desk, extensive shelving, a couch, a small table with three cushioned chairs, potted plants and expansive windows overlooking the river.

  ‘Come,’ Cordelia-Aurora said, dressed like an undertaker, tapping at her keyboard and not looking up.

  ‘Krystal Arthur is here,’ the receptionist said. Cruella de Vil nodded and he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  ‘What is it, Krystal? I’m working on a big case.’

  Krystal took a deep but shaky breath. ‘I appreciate you taking the time to see me, thank you.’

  Cordelia-Aurora looked up, stopped typing and shut her laptop. She held her hand out to the small table nearby, indicating that Krystal could pull up a chair, though she remained seated in her executive leather chair behind the desk.

  Krystal sat. ‘Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Cordelia-Aurora regarded her with her chin raised. Krystal could hardly blame her. The last time they’d been in a room together Krystal had been hurling abuse and Cordelia-Aurora threatening lawsuits.

  ‘A couple of days ago I went to Sydney.’ Krystal watched her opponent carefully, looking for any sign that Evan’s sister knew where this was going. But Cordelia-Aurora was an experienced barrister; she wouldn’t be giving away anything she didn’t choose to.

  ‘I went to Mosman.’

  Cordelia-Aurora’s eyelids flickered. ‘Why?’

  ‘I wanted to visit the street where Evan was hit.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was looking for closure, I guess.’

  ‘And did you find it?’ Cordelia-Aurora sounded exasperated and looked on the verge of sending Krystal away. Her fingers played at the corner of her laptop as though they were just itching to open the lid and start working again.

  Krystal nodded slowly. ‘Well, I found something else. Some one else.’

  There! Cordelia-Aurora’s face bled of colour, right in front of her. Up until this moment, Krystal had allowed a tiny ember of doubt to burn. A tiny escape hatch through which she could eject all this craziness and suspicion out into space, never to be seen again. But there was substance to what she’d found after all. She was momentarily winded.

  ‘Someone?’ Cordelia-Aurora’s voice rose just a fraction at the end, betraying a hint of concern.

  Krystal looked her straight in the eye. ‘Rebecca.’

  Cordelia-Aurora threaded her fingers and lifted them to her chin, an unusually vulnerable gesture for her. ‘I have no idea who you’re talking about.’

  ‘I went to her house on the hill,’ Krystal went on, her eyes drilling into Cordelia-Aurora’s. ‘We had a long chat.’ She could feel a torrent of emotion flowing through her but managed to pull herself out of it, as though climbing a tree and sitting up in the boughs and allowing all that choppy, destructive water to pass along beneath her. You’ve already been through the worst, she reminded herself. You’ve already survived.

  ‘When the police called to tell me that Evan was in hospital in Sydney, I got myself and the kids on the first flight out of here. Yet in all that shock and trauma, I never really processed the fact that you were already there at the hospital when I arrived. Your parents and Rupert came the next morning – but you were there. I think I just assumed that the police must have called you too, that they must just do that in those situations, trying to find anyone and everyone who might be next of kin.’

  Cordelia-Aurora pushed herself back from her desk and walked to the windows to stare outside, her arms folded across her chest.

  ‘But that wasn’t what happened, was it?’ Krystal waited, determined not to keep talking, determined to make Cordelia-Aurora explain herself.

  Finally, Cordelia-Aurora moved her head at an odd angle, as though stretching her neck. ‘I was already in Sydney,’
she conceded.

  There was a great rushing sound in Krystal’s ears. It took her back to the day she and Evan had been walking in the botanic gardens with the kids when they heard a sound, almost as if a fast-flowing creek had suddenly sprung up next to them. They even looked around to find it. It was an overcast day and the noise was getting closer, an invisible force that was about to swallow them up, and there was nothing they could do but look at each other and laugh, knowing that a downpour of rain was moving rapidly through the trees, chasing them, about to drench them. And that was what happened. The kids squealed. Krystal and Evan pulled the boys to them, covering them as best they could while the rain hammered down, smiling at each other in surrender to this unexpected twist in the day. The shower was brief, lasting only a few minutes, and then it was gone, the sound retreating as the heavy cloud above moved on its way.

  Now, she blinked at Cordelia-Aurora, the rushing sound subsiding.

  ‘I was in Sydney to …’ Cordelia-Aurora’s voice trailed off. She held her hands to her eyes, waiting for the rare momentary loss of composure to pass. When it did, she folded her arms under her bosom and cleared her throat. She shook her head, obviously deciding not to go on.

  ‘You knew who was in that car,’ Krystal said, a statement, not a question.

  Cordelia-Aurora turned away from the window to face Krystal, the midday light filtering through the glass and shining on one side of her face.

  Krystal stared at her, her mind sifting through memories and conversations until it was all so perfectly clear. ‘You worked on the Farner Seven case,’ she said quietly, her insides frozen. ‘Evan left the firm after that case ended and you and he never had the same relationship again.’ Even as she spoke, a voice inside her was telling her to shut up.

  She was afraid.

  Cordelia-Aurora was gazing at her steadily, almost vacantly, and it sent chills down her spine. Her sister-in-law had benefited exceptionally well from the result of that case. The Arthur law firm had gained international recognition. There was no way she’d want that case reopened.