Saving Rose

by Kate Genet

‘She’s taken a bit of a shine to me,’ she said in a low tone as Rose tucked her head under Claire’s chin. The dog came back over and tucked himself in tight against her legs.

  ‘Ditto for the dog,’ Frank said.

  ‘Yeah.’ She couldn’t think what else to say.

  There was silence for a moment, then Gracie came over, leaned over the dog and kissed Claire on the head. ‘You’re doing good,’ she said. ‘Rose needs you right now.’

  Claire wanted to ask why her, when the child had pretty much just met her, but she kept quiet. The truth was, she quite liked the weight of the child on her lap, the little arm around her neck. The kid was button cute and she’d just lost her mum. If Claire could do anything to make that better for her, she would.

  Just like that, the house bustled to life around her. Frank and Gracie moved off into the kitchen to whisper together and make a pot of tea. Pilot pricked up his ears and watched them without moving from his spot, but Claire could feel his alertness. She looked down at Rose still cuddled on her lap.

  ‘What are we going to do today, kiddo?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rose said. ‘I feel sad.’

  ‘Me too,’ Claire agreed. ‘Let’s go sit at the table and finish our breakfast while we figure out what we need to do.’ She couldn’t help but remember the way Rose had said her father hadn’t made it to breakfast. She wondered where Danny was. And what, if anything, she needed to do about him. So far, she’d barely had a moment to think about it.

  44

  Danny’s car was the only one in the scenic lookout and that was the way he liked it. He’d driven this far up the hill from the bay just to make sure of it. No one would be travelling this road unless it was completely necessary, and no one would be stopping to stretch and take in the view. Not today. He parked in the far corner and got busy pulling an assortment of bottles, newspaper and fast food wrappers out of the metal rubbish bin. He dumped it all in a pile on the ground and spent a minute scrunching up the pages of a paper from the back seat of his car. It was three days old but that was okay because he wasn’t there to read the thing. The lighter was in the pocket in his jeans.

  He didn’t smoke but he carried the lighter everywhere. He was just handy like that.

  The paper caught, and Danny’s face flushed in the sudden rush of heat. Nodding to himself, he turned to his car parked right beside the bin and ducked down to retrieve Rachel’s album.

  It was heavier than usual in his hands. He drew it out reluctantly, a frown on his face. For a moment he hugged it to his chest, then turning, he slid it back onto the car seat and drew out the album of photos he’d taken of Sahara instead. Opening the white folder, he flicked through the pages, gazing for the last time at her smiling face, then in one jerky movement, the album went in the flames.

  He watched it for a minute, the fire sniffing at the cover, tasting the heavy paper, eating the bright colour photographs, turning blue and red and green with the ink it consumed. Then he turned and grabbed Claire’s backpack.

  His two other albums joined the fire. He found a stick and poked at them, making sure there was enough air, making sure they were destroyed, nothing left that would look like a photograph of a smiling child. Only pages of ash.

  It took half an hour, feeding the fire with more newspaper to keep it burning properly, using the stick to fan the album pages, making sure there was nothing left that could ever incriminate him. Not in hard copy, at least.

  Then it was time to pick up the photos of Rachel again. He held it hugged to his chest and lifted his face to the sky. He did not want to give these up.

  It was Zoe’s fault. Her fault he had to stand here and watch his things burn.

  If she hadn’t stuck her nose into the business with Sahara, then none of this would have happened.

  Danny bent over suddenly, his breath whooshing out as though he’d been sucker-punched.

  He’d forgotten.

  Forgotten the other thing that Zoe had said. In fact, he’d been so driven to find these photos that he hadn’t given any thought to the other thing she’d mentioned.

  That there were more damned photographs. Ones that weren’t in these albums, or safely on his computer.

  That somewhere was a picture of him at the park the day Sahara died. A picture of him half hiding in the bushes.

  A picture that could only have been taken by Sahara’s mother. Jeanette.

  Standing back up, Danny scowled at the flames. Was there any cause to worry? The girl’s death had been declared a tragic accident.

  But that meant nothing. Women were notorious for their gossiping, harmful ways. They couldn’t be trusted. They had none of a child’s sweet innocence.

  Zoe and Jeanette would have pored over that photograph, gasping and groaning, reading things into it. Of that he had no doubt. Hadn’t Zoe come tearing home after talking to Jeanette and ripped apart his office? Hadn’t she taken an axe to his locked cupboard and found out all his dearest secrets?

  It wasn’t nothing that had made her do that. Scratching at the stubble on his neck, Danny tried to think it through. He could talk his way out of anything to do with a photograph Sahara’s mother had. His blood ran cold, icing up his veins in the early morning light.

  Unless someone launched a proper investigation. Turning, he walked up to the side of his car, the gravel crunching underfoot.

  The panel beater hadn’t had time to work his magic. There was still a big graze down the side of the vehicle and Zoe had been right, it was a bit more than a little scratch.

  The police had all sorts of bloody tricks up their sleeves these days. They would match it to the damage to the car at the park, and then they’d know he’d been there. And left in a hurry.

  In itself, it didn’t mean much. It didn’t paint him guilty.

  But he knew how they worked. All their questions, interview after interview, the suspicious faces, the endless interrogations, insinuations. He didn’t want to go through that again.

  An involuntary shiver. Of course, he’d come through it all with flying colours, in the end, after the death of his parents. But it hadn’t been all that fun, and it wasn’t how he wanted to spend the next few weeks or couple months. He flicked a glance at the pack with his computer in it. He didn’t want any warrants that allowed the police to see anything he kept on that, either.

  He just wanted to be left in peace to get on with his life. Hell, he’d already had to start over once. And this time he had Rose to think of. She was his. He needed her. He needed to be somewhere settled with her to make it all work.

  He looked at his watch. The day was ranging towards late morning, despite Colin Kennedy having woken him up at the butt crack of dawn. Even so, Sahara’s mother was probably walking drip-faced around her house, snorting coffee and brooding. Yesterday, with the earthquake, had been a reprieve, but today – today he couldn’t afford to dither. There were things he needed to take care of before he and Rose got on that plane.

  The album was still in his hands. Looking down at it, he stroked the cover, whispering a farewell. He had digital copies of the photos in a locked file on his computer, but these were the real thing, and it was hard to let go of them.

  He did it quick, before he could change his mind. Even so, he had to press the heel of his hand to his heart because it hurt to drop the album into the greedy mouth of flames. For a moment his breathing caught in his throat then cleared, and he watched the photographs burn with an expression on his face that turned steadily to anger.

  They would pay for making him do this. Zoe had already got what she deserved. The memory of lifting Rose out of her car seat, hitching her onto his shoulder, and carrying her away from her mother while Zoe looked helplessly on made him bare his teeth in a smile. Yes, he thought, satisfied on that count. Nothing could have hurt Zoe more in her final moments than watching him carry Rose away from her, knowing that there was nothing she could do to save the child.

  Now he just had to make sure that none
of her interfering gave him any grief. That meant doing something about Jeanette – and finding out what the bloody police woman friend of Zoe’s knew, if anything. Unsure about how he was going to handle that one, he decided to be logical about it all.

  The photographs would be reduced to a smouldering pile of ashen memories. Walking around to the other side of the car, he slid in behind the wheel and reached into the back seat, snagging Zoe’s handbag. He’d left her demolished computer in the boot of Colin’s car. He sat her bag on his lap.

  There was one way to see how much the bitch had been exaggerating. He was pretty sure she hadn’t had time to go see Moana, the police woman. In fact, he was sure she hadn’t, because otherwise there would have been no photos in the car.

  But she might have called her.

  His hands were cold, digging through Zoe’s bag. It had little compartments for everything and he sifted through them one after another, before he could bring himself to believe it.

  The one she usually kept her phone in was empty.

  45

  Moana Hodge drew the silky red night gown tight around her waist and stared into the depths of the refrigerator feeling a despair entirely appropriate to the situation.

  They were out of milk. For goodness sakes, she was an officer of the Christchurch City Police Department. She couldn’t be expected to function caffeine-free.

  ‘Ari!’ she yelled. She knew the boy was awake, had heard the familiar thump and bump and grind of his stereo from behind the kid’s closed door. ‘Ari!’

  His tousled head appeared in the doorway, pyjama pants hanging loose over his skinny butt. She gazed at him affectionately.

  ‘Milk,’ she said.

  ‘Wha?’

  ‘Be an angel and go see if the corner shop has any milk.’

  The fifteen-year-old continued standing in the doorway blinking his beautiful brown eyes at her.

  ‘I'm not dressed,’ he said.

  ‘Nope,’ she agreed.

  ‘They won’t be open yet.’

  She checked the clock on the kitchen wall, above the calendar. It was the twenty third of February 2011 and the time was 8.05 in the am.

  ‘They opened one hour and five minutes ago.’

  ‘The earthquake would have bounced their bottles of milk all over the place, broken them.’ Ari narrowed his eyes at her.

  ‘Wrong again,’ she said and picked up the jug to fill it under the hot tap. ‘I checked in on them on the way home last night and they’d got things pretty much squared away. We were real lucky here. The eastern suburbs took the worst of it.’

  ‘And the city centre.’

  They were both silent a minute, thinking of the fallen buildings, the fires, the people trapped and killed. Moana cleared her throat. ‘We need milk. I need coffee. You need cereal.’

  ‘I can use yoghurt.’

  ‘We’re out.’

  Ari gave up with a huffing sigh and turned on his shuffling heel. ‘Some day you’ll have to find a new errand boy, you know, Mum,’ he said. ‘I won’t be here forever.’

  She gave his back an indulgent smile. ‘You’re here now, my lad. That’s what matters.’

  She heard his bedroom door close, then a few minutes later the front door did the same and she knew she’d have milk in less than five minutes. She should have picked some up the night before, but damn if she hadn’t had a million other things to think about.

  The jug filled, she switched it on, left it to boil in anticipation of the imminent arrival of milk. She had to have milk in her coffee. Drinking it black ate into her stomach lining, made her feel like she was a sixty-year-old man with a stomach ulcer. It was bad enough being a forty-year-old police woman with permanent frown lines.

  Picking up her cell phone she leaned comfortably against the counter and called voicemail. She might as well get a head start on things. It would be chaos at work again today. Controlled chaos if she was lucky, just plain devastation if not.

  There were seven messages waiting for her. Usually her favourite number, except when it was describing a list of people demanding her attention. Picking up the pen and pad she’d brought in with her, she made some notes, scrolling through the messages, working fast.

  Then a voice that sounded familiar. She didn’t bother trying to place it because it was telling her its name. Jeanette Woolsley. Closing her eyes, Moana held the tip of the pen over the pad of paper, listening. The dead girl’s mother. Mother of the child they’d fished out of the Heathcote River only a few days ago. The poor kid had drowned.

  The facts ticked over in the back of her mind while she listened. Amongst them the one that this was the woman Zoe had said she knew and wanted to go see, say how sorry she was about the loss of her daughter.

  ‘Here’s your milk, Mum,’ Ari said, arriving back and bringing a cloud of chilled morning air with him.

  She waved a hand at him and closed her eyes again, listening to the ranting, raving message. When it came to an end, she looked at the keypad and pressed the number to replay it.

  It was just as disturbing the second time around.

  46

  Claire had the child dressed and wearing shoes and stood in the backyard watching girl and dog both poking around in the garden. The dog would have his nose twitching under one of her mother’s plants, then Rose would join him, bending down to peer at whatever there was to peer at. Then they would move on, Rose spotting something, the dog checking it out. They roamed around the yard, a proper team.

  But it was hard to keep her attention on them. Her mind kept wandering off to think of Rose’s mother, and more often than Claire cared for, her father. Why had Danny lied the day before? Why had he walked away from his dying wife?

  There was a mystery there that gnawed away at Claire’s equilibrium and set a foot to tapping at the ground.

  A buzzing in her back pocket startled her and her fingers twitched as she pulled out Zoe’s phone. The caller ID flashed up Danny’s name and photograph, showing him grinning up at her, a baby Rose tucked in his arms. The picture made Claire uncomfortable.

  She also didn’t know if she should answer the call. Why would Danny be calling his dead wife’s phone in the first place? Except to find out where the device was?

  Claire didn’t know if she wanted Danny to have that information. Possibly it would be better if he thought it was just lost somewhere.

  The call went through to voicemail. She wondered if he left a message and guessed not. Not much point to doing that. Staring at the phone in her hand, she scrolled back to the last text message Zoe had sent her, staring at the words on the screen, wishing she’d been quicker to get to her friend, had driven faster through the tunnel from Lyttelton, had done something, anything to get to Zoe in time. Even five damned minutes would have made a difference.

  On a sigh, she clicked back to the home screen, saw the photo icon and pressed the tip of her thumb to it. Rose squealed from the Pumpkin patch and Claire looked up to see her fanning the dog with a big green leaf, dodging the dog’s tongue and not doing a good job of it. A smile touched Claire’s face, glad that the child felt safe enough here at her grandparent’s house to relax and forget the bad news for a while. The dog was helping, although Claire knew that might cause some problems in the long run, when it came time to hand the beautiful boy back over to his proper owners. Who, judging by the time someone took into teaching him good manners, would be missing him a lot.

  She looked back down at the phone, did a double take, the breath hissing out of her lungs like they’d been punctured.

  The photographs needed to be enlarged. The images were just little squares on the screen, organised by date. Small, extremely suggestive squares. Lined up under yesterday’s date. Which meant that Zoe must have taken them the morning before she died.

  Things linked up in Claire’s mind with the speed of colliding particles.

  ‘Claire?’ asked a small voice. ‘When’s Daddy coming to see me?’

  Never, Claire wanted
to answer, sure now she had the most important part of the puzzle in her hand. But Rose was gazing up at her, innocent of knowing anything except that her daddy was the one who usually looked after her. She would be missing him terribly.

  Which just made Claire feel worse, as new thoughts and questions came to her. The dog wandered over and leaned against her thigh and she looked down at both of them.

  ‘I don’t know, sweetie. As soon as he can, I bet,’ she said. ‘How would you and Pilot like to watch one of the movies Grandma has here for you?’ She tucked the phone back in her pocket for a moment, the evidence on it making her hot and dizzy, then picked the child up, wrapping strong arms around her. ‘I bet we can make a really comfy nest on the sofa for you and your dollies, and we can get you a snack, and you and Pilot can curl up together and hang out.’

  Rose gazed at her with large round eyes. ‘What about you?’ she asked.

  ‘Me?’ Claire said, surprised. ‘What about me?’

  ‘Will you watch with us?’ The little girl fingered one of the buttons on Claire’s shirt. ‘We’d like that.’

  ‘I’d like that too, but I need to do some stuff first.’

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  Making you safe, Claire wanted to say but didn’t. ‘Have to talk to Grandad, have to organise getting your slippers and teddy.’ She gave Rose a squeeze and turned back inside. ‘C’mon Pilot,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a date with Cinderella.’

  ‘I don’t wanna watch any princesses,’ Rose said, resting her head on Claire’s shoulder.

  ‘What? I thought you loved princesses more than anything.’

  The little girl shook her head. ‘Nope. Not no more.’

  ‘Why’s that, sweetheart?’ They were in the living room, and Claire sat down on the sofa, Rose still wrapped around her. Pilot looked at the both of them and sat down too, tucking himself against Claire’s legs. She looked at them, child and dog, and felt for all the world like she’d suddenly and unexpectedly inherited a family.