Vengeance Blind

by Anna Willett

  “No, no, I understand.” For the last few days, Belle had been swinging from resolute to emotional. The detective’s few words of kindness threatened to set off a bout of tears. She clamped her lips together and nodded.

  “Okay, well.” He jerked his chin towards the card lying on the table beside her. “If you think of anything else, you have my number.”

  “Yes, thank you. But how is Arthur? Do you know?”

  Lowcomb raised his eyebrows and pushed out his lower lip. “I don’t really have much information on your neighbour other than that he’s in Royal Perth Hospital and in stable condition.”

  When the officers left, Belle let her head fall back on the pillows and watched a small cabin cruiser battle the rough surface of the Swan River. As painful and protracted as it had been, there was a lightness that came from telling her story.

  The door flapped open with a rubber swish and Joan’s head appeared. “Feeling up to a visit?”

  It was the first Belle had seen of her neighbour since they arrived at the A & E department three days ago. Her ruddy cheeks and kind smile were a welcome change after almost an hour and a half with the police. “Joan.” She sat forward and motioned to the chair. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Joan approached the bed and after a brief hesitation planted a kiss on Belle’s forehead. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” She settled herself in the chair Detective Lowcomb had occupied only minutes ago. “But I was told that we weren’t to speak until we’d both given statements to the police.”

  “How was it?” Belle watched the older woman unbutton her coat with one hand then slip it off her shoulders. “I mean talking to the officers.”

  Joan hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not too bad. They were mostly interested in what I saw out by the pool.”

  “About that.” Belle folded her hands in her lap. “You saved my life.” Joan opened her mouth to protest, but Belle held up a hand. “No, you did and I want to thank you. You were there…” She could feel the emotions bubbling up again so she plunged on before she dissolved into tears. “You were there when I thought I was completely alone and… And I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  She thought she saw tears shining in Joan’s eyes, but the woman lifted her chin and spoke without a quiver. “I knew something was wrong the night before, but like the old woman I am, I dithered. But,” she settled her coat over the arm of the chair, “I’m glad I could help. Now, let’s talk about your recovery. What are the doctors saying?”

  Belle shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. “No. First, how’s your hand?”

  “On the mend.” Joan held up her left hand and tapped the metal splints surrounding her pinkie.

  “And Arthur?” He’d been on Belle’s mind since she’d been admitted, but they were in different hospitals so, apart from what little she’d got out of Lowcomb, all her information came from the news.

  “He’s doing very well. I saw him this morning. A hairline skull fracture and half a dozen stitches.” She frowned. “They suspect he had a mild stroke at some point. His left arm’s a little numb, but they’re saying that with some physiotherapy he’ll regain full use again.”

  Belle let out a long sigh. “The poor man, what he went through. He… he was trying to help me. My sister’s getting me a new phone so I’ll be able to call him and thank him soon.”

  “Yes.” Joan ran a hand over her skirt. “He’s enjoying the hero treatment the young nurses are lavishing on him. Arthur is quite a resilient man.”

  Belle thought she heard a note of admiration in the way Joan described their neighbour and stifled a smile. The visit lasted half an hour. Most of that time, at Joan’s insistence, was taken up with talking about Belle’s knee reconstruction surgery.

  Before leaving, Joan pulled a little notebook from her handbag and wrote out two phone numbers: hers and Arthur’s. “Now,” she said pulling on her coat. “If you need anything, give me a call. I’ll drive back into Perth on Friday so I can visit you and swing by and check on Arthur. My car’s out of commission so they’ve given me a zippy little loan car with one of those reversing cameras.” She picked up her handbag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll be glad when you’re both home. Despite all the comings and goings of forensic vans, police cars, and news crews, Silver Gum Lane is a lonely place without neighbours.”

  * * *

  After the dinner tray had been collected, Belle’s sister stopped in to check on her progress and to deliver the new mobile phone she’d purchased. Bethany, as always, had a great deal to say, but the visit was brief because Jack had a cold and Bethany was eager to get home to her son. Before leaving, she mentioned receiving several calls from Guy.

  “He wants you to call him.” Her sister hovered at the end of the bed. “I’ve never really liked him, but he sounds sort of…” Bethany shrugged. Her skin was lightly tanned after two weeks under the Balinese sun. “Sort of broken. What do you want me to tell him?”

  Belle felt a surge of weariness and the need to be alone. “Just tell him I need time.” Belle rubbed her still bruised cheekbone. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  Bethany squeezed the toes on Belle’s uninjured leg. “After what you’ve been through, the least he can give you is time.” Her usually cheerful face was troubled. “I can’t believe he…” She held up her finger. “No, I can believe he lied to you. What I can’t get my head around is how he could leave that girl in the street and...”

  “Please.” Belle closed her eyes, realising her voice was too loud. “I don’t want to think about it now. I’m just so tired.”

  Bethany let go of Belle’s toes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She came around the bed and slipped her arm around Belle’s shoulders, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. For a moment Belle let her weight fall against her sister. A few days ago she didn’t think she’d ever see Bethany again. It was good to feel this close to her.

  “Okay.” Bethany was moving again. “I’ll come in tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

  Alone, staring at the now dark window and watching the city lights across the water, Belle couldn’t get her sister’s words out of her head. He sounds sort of broken. Maybe that made two of them. Only Belle had been broken for a long time. She hadn’t really been whole since the day she wandered away from her mother at the department store.

  She wanted to put the whole tired mess out of her mind, but every time she closed her eyes she saw a slideshow of horrors: the girl in the boot, Georgia floating face-down in the pool, and her own feet small and encased in red trainers.

  Tomorrow, her orthopaedic surgeon wanted her up and walking with a frame. While she dreaded the idea of putting weight on her reconstructed knee, the thought of ever going into another wheelchair sent gooseflesh racing over her arms and neck. It would be a difficult and painful day, but she couldn’t get the rest she needed until the last piece of a thirty-five-year-old puzzle was slotted into place.

  Belle leaned over and picked up the phone Bethany had left on the bedside cabinet. Her sister had programmed a list of phone numbers in the contacts. She was thoughtful in that way. Belle relied on her younger sister to do the little things she’d never kept track of. That was another reason she had to make the call, to understand why it was her sister she turned to when things were rough.

  Belle flicked through the list of names, stopping when she found what she was looking for. The time display above the number showed 7:12 p.m. It would be later in Melbourne, after ten. In many ways, this conversation frightened her as much as all the terrors she’d experienced over the last week. Only this wasn’t something that could be surgically fixed.

  She screwed up her eyes, willing herself to have the courage to finish what had started so long ago. Not giving herself time to back out, she opened her eyes and made the call. The ringing seemed endless as though there was no one at the other end and just a dark vacuum. A small part of her wanted to hang up and preten
d none of it ever happened, but wasn’t that what set all this off in the first place? Her ability to turn a blind eye to everything that was wrong with her life?

  A voice came on the other end, sleepy and familiar. Belle swallowed. “Hi, Mum. It’s Belle.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  There was something liberating about being behind the wheel. A feeling that made Belle lower the window and let the spring air fill the car. She’d been driving again for three weeks, but not her old Holden. The vintage car was long sold and replaced by a sleek blue Mazda. The new car handled smoothly as she pulled into the driveway.

  Joan’s house was more of a cottage, small and painted a serene shade of pale blue. Belle pulled in behind her neighbour’s new hatchback and turned off the engine. She enjoyed these lunches. In many ways, they were the highlight of her week. But today would be special, not just because she was off her crutches, but because she had some news to share with her new friends.

  Joan greeted her at the door wearing a sensible looking grey skirt and navy jumper. On seeing Belle’s new walking cane, her expression morphed from pleased to surprise. “You’re off the crutches!” She pulled Belle in for one of her one-armed hugs. “I’m so happy for you.” She let Belle go and then ushered her inside.

  In the kitchen, Joan busied herself setting the table while Belle set up on a stool at the kitchen bench and chopped continental cucumber for the salad.

  “Where’s Arthur?” Belle asked and popped a piece of cucumber in her mouth. “Surely we’re not having one of our Silver Gum Survivor Group meetings without him.” Belle couldn’t help chuckling at the name Arthur had given their little group. It was funny, in a grim sort of way. And that’s what they were really, the three of them: survivors.

  Joan set the cutlery down and came over to stand in front of Belle. “I’ve asked him to come at one o’clock so we could have some time alone.”

  Belle stopped what she was doing and regarded her friend. “That sounds serious. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, yes. Everything’s fine.” Joan leaned against the sink. “I just wanted to ask you something.” Joan tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear. “Well, two things really. There is something else, but it can wait until Arthur gets here.”

  “Go ahead, ask me anything.” Belle was doing her best to keep her tone light, but a sliver of worry was creeping its way down her spine.

  Joan nodded, but didn’t smile. “Come and sit at the table.”

  A few minutes later, after making a cup of instant coffee for Belle and tea for herself, Joan joined Belle at the kitchen table. Outside, birds twittered in the trees above an array of spring flowers blooming in Joan’s well-ordered garden.

  Joan seemed uncharacteristically nervous. “This is going to sound strange, but bear with me.” Despite the sun shining through the windows, she cupped her hands around her mug as though she needed warmth. “It’s about the night that girl, Georgia, was in your house.”

  The sliver of worry turned into a cold shiver. Belle didn’t like talking about Georgia or anything that happened that night. She opened her mouth to protest, but seeing the intent look on Joan’s face, she simply nodded.

  “You’ll think me crazy, but that night I found a packet of throat lozenges in my glovebox. Larimax Throat Lozenges to be precise. They were Roger’s favourite. Just smelling them was like having him in the car with me.” Joan shook her head. “The strange thing is I’d been through that glovebox since he passed away and I swear there were no lozenges in there.” She looked into Belle’s eyes. “I’d have remembered because… Well, because I missed him so much, I almost bought a packet just to sniff.” She gave a humourless laugh.

  “Oh, Joan.” Belle reached out and touched her friend’s hand that was still wrapped around the cup.

  “I know. I’m a sentimental old chook.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” It was true. In the days and weeks after Joan had pulled Belle out of that swimming pool, Belle had often caught herself replaying the event and marvelling over the things Joan had done. The things she’d been able to do.

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I know those lozenges weren’t there before that night. And I think if I hadn’t found them, I might not have been brave enough to pay you a second visit.” Joan let go of her cup and rubbed her now healed pinkie. “Finding them just when I was feeling so torn and uncertain was one thing, but then, when we got to the hospital and I checked in the pockets of my jacket, they were gone.”

  As her friend spoke, Belle’s mind threw up an image: Joan with her hand bound to her body with white bandages, the jacket over her shoulders as a paramedic helped her into the ambulance. Belle remembered the rush of affection she felt towards the woman – a woman she barely knew, who’d saved her life.

  “I just wondered if after you returned home, you might have found them out near the pool.” Joan tutted. “I know the police went over the place with a fine-toothed comb so the chances are slim, but I thought I’d ask.”

  Belle shook her head. “Sorry, no.” She wished she could set Joan’s mind at rest, but when she finally worked up the courage to go near the pool again there’d been nothing left from that terrible morning.

  “Never mind.” Joan took a sip of her tea. “I’m sure they blew away or were carried off by a crow. Sorry to make such a fuss.”

  “Or,” Belle said and picked up her own cup, “maybe there are some happenings that go beyond explanation. After all that’s happened in my life, I’ve learned not to discount anything. I believe the world swings in a wide arc, from great good to extreme cruelty. I saw that the morning Georgia tried to kill me. Not everything is as it seems.” Now she wasn’t just talking about Georgia and the throat lozenges, but Guy and their marriage, her childhood and the reasons why she had felt so distant from her mother, and even the reason she’d turned to alcohol for so much of her adult life.

  Joan frowned and for a moment both women were silent. After a few minutes, Joan spoke. “There is something else. Guy...” The name came out in a rush of breath. “It’s been almost two months and you haven’t talked about him. I don’t want to pry, but it worries me.”

  Belle knew this conversation was coming. She’d had similar ones with her sister over the past months. But the truth was she hadn’t been able to bring herself to see her husband. After her statement to the police, Guy was charged with dangerous driving and leaving the scene of an accident. He pled guilty and was due for sentencing in the coming week. Since then he’d sent her begging emails, dozens of them confessing to things she’d always suspected, but again had turned a blind eye to. For a while she hated him, but the feeling didn’t last. What she needed now was time. Not to heal, but to harden.

  “I’m not ready to see him yet. It’s hard to explain, but there’s a part of me that wants to pretend none of this happened so I can go back to loving him.”

  “Is that what you want?” Joan’s voice was soft. “Because if it is, no one will think less of you.”

  Belle knew Joan meant it. Her new friend would support her whatever her decision. Part of her new strength came from having good friends around her. Friends and the whole truth about her life. “Thanks, but I’ll think less of me.” Belle tipped her head back and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t want to go back to the life I had. None of it was real. Guy’s not a bad person, he just…” She stopped herself before she could begin making excuses for his shortcomings. She met Joan’s gaze and smiled. “The short answer is I won’t ever go back to Guy. And, when I’m strong enough, I’ll tell him that face-to-face.”

  “Fair enough.” Joan picked up her cup. “I’d better get a wiggle on with this lunch or we’ll be eating salad and thin air.”

  Arthur knocked at the door at exactly one o’clock. When Joan led him into the kitchen, Belle couldn’t help comparing the clean-cut man to the rumpled drunk she’d been so afraid of only months before. She suspected his time in hospi
tal gave him a chance to not only heal, but dry out. By the change in his appearance, Belle guessed he was still on the wagon. As always, he brought hand-picked wild freesia for Joan and their sweet fresh smell immediately filled the kitchen.

  “How lovely.” Joan took the flowers and went in search of a vase.

  As she opened and closed cupboards, Arthur sat at the table. “Belle, you’re looking well.” He nodded at the walking stick leaning against her leg. “Very stylish.”

  “Thank you.” Belle picked up the cane. “I’m quite speedy on this thing. And...” She tapped the end of the sick on the kitchen floor. “It’s handy for…” She almost said dance routines, but thinking about dancing brought Georgia to mind and the joke died on her lips.

  She could see Arthur waiting, the smile on his face turning into a look of concern. Not wanting to ruin the atmosphere, she forced out a laugh. “For squashing cockroaches.”

  Arthur grimaced. “In that case, I’m glad we’re not eating at your house.”

  Joan served grilled salmon drizzled with creamy avocado dressing, followed by mango, kiwi and blueberry fruit salad. The lunch was delicious and as always Belle was surprised by how unselfconscious she felt with Joan and Arthur. Maybe it was because they’d seen each other through horrors that most people couldn’t imagine. Or maybe they were just a group of people that somehow clicked. Whatever the reason, she felt her life was finally settling into a calmness that had been missing even when she thought she had it all.

  “Before we finish...” Belle put down her napkin. “I have some news. Good news, really.” Arthur raised his eyebrows in a now familiar gesture as Joan put down her fork. “I’ve started a new book. Just the outline, but...” She rubbed at her temple. “I think it’s coming along.”