by John Kelly
Michelle had arrived at the station in plenty of time. She had been anxious to leave her rented house as quickly as possible. She didn't want to speak to anyone, or see anyone. She wanted to go home. She was annoyed that she had mentioned that she was going to Baldargo to the taxi driver. She wished she had not. The shock of Pastor Doug taking his own life was tearing its way through her fragile emotional and psychological state. 'How was it, that it had come to this? It was never meant to come to this. It was supposed to have been a good time, for me, for everyone involved.' But, past experience should have told her that little in this world unfolds as we would wish. Over the previous three months, she had grown fond of Pastor Doug. His gentle, kind, protective manner enveloped her. That wasn't supposed to happen. He was like a father. Although she wasn't religious and had joined the prayer group reluctantly, Pastor Doug had taken her under his wing. That wasn't supposed to happen either. His zeal was excessive, his pious devotion somewhat pathetic, his blind unquestioning faith, utterly misplaced, she thought, but beyond all that, he was a friend she trusted, someone she came to rely on. She didn't have many of them. She wasn't one to make friends easily. She was a fiercely independent woman, who had learned not to trust too many people. 'Why did he do it?' She ran the question over and over again in her head.
As she approached the ticket counter, a voice from within, said, 'No, don't go. This can still work out.' She faltered momentarily. 'Perhaps leaving is an over reaction. If I stay and the outcome is as expected, it would certainly be worth it.'
"Yes?" the attendant asked. She regained her composure, and looked at the attendant intensely. He waited to hear what she wanted. She stared at him, deep in thought, 'will I, won't I?'
"Yes, can I help you please?" the attendant asked once more. Finally, she committed herself. "One single ticket to Baldargo please," she replied. The ticket was issued and she paid her money. "Leaving from platform six, in one hour," the attendant said. With ticket in hand, and a feeling of abject isolation, Michelle looked around for somewhere to buy some lunch.
Forty-five minutes later, she purchased a magazine and some chocolate, and found a seat in a comfortable eight seat compartment on the train. She was now more relaxed. She was now more confident that she was doing the right thing. There would be matters to sort out at the other end, but that was all right. That was better than the alternative. She knew that now. As she was settling herself in her compartment, Gerard Martin arrived at the platform and was walking along the length of the train looking for a spare seat. His mind was occupied with thoughts of Elsie Steedman. He had not meant to hurt her. He had not meant to cause unhappy memories to re-surface. He just wanted to do the right thing, and tell those concerned that his actions were simply business, nothing more. He entered the same compartment as Michelle, and placed his luggage in the overhead storage section. As he sat down, he cast an eye across to where Michelle was sitting. At first he was unsure. Then he took a second, longer look.
"Don't I know you?" he said. "Don't you work for my son, Frank?" Michelle looked up startled. "Er, who?" she answered.
"Don't you work for Frank Martin, the solicitor in Baldargo? He's my son. I'm sure I've seen you in the office on the odd occasion I've been there," Gerard said.
To her utter dismay, Michelle realised that the man standing in front of her was the father of the man who had been responsible for all the misery she was now experiencing. Not knowing how to reply, she stared at him for what seemed an eternity, before all the pent up emotion, the psychological trauma of the past forty-eight hours, and the deception in which she had been forced to participate, finally spilled over, and she burst into tears. Gerard was taken by surprise. At first bewildered, he stood there a few moments, not quite knowing what to do. Then, he sat down beside her, placed his arm around her shoulder and allowed her to rest her head on his chest. She cried uncontrollably for some time before recovering.
"I'm so sorry for this," she said, as she searched her pockets for a handkerchief, "I just can't keep going on like this anymore." Gerard handed her his own handkerchief, and she blew her nose.
"What's up?" he said to her tenderly. "What is it that is upsetting you?" Michelle finished blowing her nose. "I can't do this anymore. It's not right. I can't do it anymore." Gerard looked at her. "Perhaps you'd better tell me what it is you can't do. Maybe I can help you somehow," he said with all the compassion and sensitivity of a father comforting a daughter. "I can't go on pretending anymore," she answered. "Pretending about what?" Gerard asked. Michelle looked up into his eyes, as would a daughter craving comfort from a father. "I can't go on pretending I'm someone I'm not," she answered. "Well," Gerard said, "we all do a bit of that from time to time. Who have you been pretending to be?"
Michelle took a deep breath and began.
"I do work for your son. Six months ago, I came to work for him as an accountant. I was only recently qualified, and he took me on, as an assistant to his senior accountant," she said.
"That was Henry! Henry Simmons," Gerard said with pride. "I got Henry to go and work for Frank," he added, "I thought he needed an expert to look after things."
Michelle nodded, "Yes, and then Henry and his wife decided to take an overseas trip, which pretty much left me in charge, doing the work of a senior," she added. "I thought Frank employed a senior on a temporary basis, until Henry came back?' Gerard asked. "He tried, but he couldn't find anyone suitable for what he wanted to pay. Then he noticed that I was pretty much on top of things so he stopped looking. I started doing everything that Henry was doing including the payroll, the monthly accounts, paying invoices, maintaining the trust account?..the bloody trust account. I wish I had never been given access to that!" Michelle said with a vengeance.
Gerard looked astonished. "What do you mean? What happened?" he asked. Michelle took another deep breath. "I took some money from it, that's what happened. I raided one of the customer's accounts," she said. It was Gerard who now found himself, taking a deep breath.
"Oh dear," he sighed. "How much?" he asked.
"It wasn't a huge amount," Michelle replied, "only a thousand dollars. I was going to put it back the next day. I didn't think anyone would notice it. I was in charge you see," she pleaded. Gerard rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Then what happened?' he said with a more sombre, serious tone.
"I lost it," she said, bursting into tears. Gerard began to feel uncomfortable, and released his protective arm from her shoulder. "How? Did you spend it, or did you misplace it?" he asked.
"I lost it on the poker machines," she answered, still crying. "Oh my God, not another one," Gerard sighed.
At the time, the papers were full of stories of problem gamblers losing money on the poker machines. Almost weekly on television, current affairs programs would highlight the abject misery, families were suffering, when one parent became hypnotised by these hi-tech, sophisticated machines.
"So what did you do then?" he asked.
"I thought that I could get it back. All I needed was one good night on the pokies, and I would get it back. No one knew what I had done. All I needed was some more money, enough to stay with the machine for a while and eventually my turn would come," she answered.
Gerard was now feeling very uncomfortable with what he was hearing. It was a story repeated over and over again by people, who were overtaken by the lure of easy money, and who so often lost sight of the realities of gambling, always thinking that the really bad cases, where large sums of money were lost, always happened to someone else. His concern was also fuelled by the fact that he had a large sum of money deposited in Frank's Trust account.
Michelle's confession was compelling and distracting enough that when Gerard looked out the window of the carriage, he realised that they had left the station and were now travelling though the western suburbs, heading home to Baldargo.
"So what did you do?" he asked nervously. He felt he knew what Michelle's answer would be. He was right.
"I raided the trust accou
nt again, the same one," she answered. "Whose account were you stealing from?' he asked. Michelle drew away from him slightly, and wiped her eyes with Gerard's handkerchief.
"Yours," she said tentatively. Gerard was horrified.
"Mine?" he shouted. "How much did you take?" he screamed, as droplets of perspiration began to appear all over his forehead. Michelle burst into tears again.
"Ten thousand," she answered.
Gerard's fury was tempered only by the realization, that what he was hearing, was an admission of guilt. He realised therefore, that some degree of restraint was called for, in the likelihood that the matter may have been resolved somehow. He clung to the belief that his money was still safe, or that Frank had made some arrangement for repayment. He was right on both counts.
"Would I be right in assuming," he asked slowly, "that you lost the ten thousand as well?" Michelle was silent. She looked up at him, her face wet with tears, and simply nodded. Silence filled the compartment. 'Thank goodness we are the only ones here,' Gerard thought. He knew that Frank was a stickler for correct and regular internal audits, and that therefore Michelle had been found out somehow.
"Let me take a stab at this," he began. "Would I be right in saying that Frank discovered the discrepancy between the trust account books, and the actual money held in deposit?" Michelle said nothing but simply nodded again. "Did he then sack you, report you to the police, tell your parents, get the money back, what?" he asked.
"None of those," she answered. "Looking back, I wish he had done that. He decided to let me sweat it out for a day, before putting a proposition to me," she said. "What sort of a proposition?' Gerard asked. "He offered to replace the money out of his own account, and not report the matter, if I was to co-operate with him," Michelle said.
"Co-operate how?" Gerard asked, momentarily fearful that Frank's single and unattached social status might cause him to stray into some sexual flight of fantasy. "Did he seek some kind of favour from you?" he asked tentatively. Michelle was aware of the implication of Gerard's question, and answered, "Yes, but not that way." Gerard was clearly relieved. "What way then?" Gerard asked. "He wanted me to move to Melbourne and pretend that I was someone else."
"Who?" Gerard asked.
"I was supposed to be someone called Mary Therese, only it was a secret, so I kept my name for the time being. There was a woman called Andrea Steedman who was dying of cancer. She was rich. She got pregnant, and had a daughter over twenty years ago, but she had never told her mother about it, ever. The daughter was adopted out in 1974. Frank knew Andrea from when he went to University, and when he graduated, Andrea asked him to help her find her daughter," she said. "I don't know much about what happened then, but recently, in the last few months, Frank said that Andrea had asked him to contact her daughter again, because Andrea wanted to leave her some money. A lot of money!" Michelle emphasized. "Frank said that I looked a lot like Andrea when she was my age, and he thought he could substitute me for this Mary Therese, wherever she was, and collect the inheritance. He said that he would pay me twenty thousand dollars, and forget about the money I stole, and nobody would be the wiser."
Gerard sat and listened in stunned silence. But for the detail, he would have dismissed the story he was hearing as an outrageous fabrication. But for the mention of the name, Andrea Steedman, he would have scoffed at the very thought of his son dreaming up such a plan. As much as he was forced to accept that there had to be some truth in what Michelle was saying, he could not believe that his son could mastermind something so contemptible and despicable. And yet, some of Michelle's story resonated. It was Frank who came up with the idea of claiming the 'western paddock' under the law of Adverse Possession. Andrea owned that land, and Frank knew that, yet he never revealed to Gerard, that he knew her.
"How did he plan to pass you off as the daughter?" Gerard asked.
"He took me down to Melbourne one day and said I was going to meet Andrea. I didn't have to pretend anything, or know anything, because the only other time Andrea ever saw her daughter, was years ago when she was a little girl, and now that she had grown up, she would never be able to tell that I wasn't that girl. All I had to remember was that I once lived in Sydney, that my adoptive mother had died a few years ago and that my father and I moved to Adelaide. That's all I had to say. I had a photo of my supposed adoptive parents, so I knew what they looked like, and could describe them. Frank provided that."
"What happened when you went to Melbourne? Did you meet Andrea?" Gerard asked with an ashen face.
"Yes, I felt terrible. She was lovely, but very sick. She didn't try to gush over me or anything. She was very nervous. She asked me what I did for a living. I told her I was an accountant. That, was the only truthful thing I said during the entire meeting. She thanked me for coming, and asked if I would come and visit her again. I said yes, of course. That was all part of the plan."
Gerard was becoming visibly ill, as Michelle spoke. He loosened his tie, and leaned back against the seat, suffering shortness of breath.
"Are you all right?" Michelle asked. He nodded. "Just shock I think," he answered. "What happened after that?" he asked.
"A month later, Frank said that Andrea had asked if I would consider moving to Melbourne. Her sister Maria had offered to let me stay with her. I had never met Maria, so a meeting was arranged the next time I went to visit Andrea. Frank said he would arrange for me to do part-time work in Melbourne, with a firm he had some dealings with, and he would also give me other accounting work from the Baldargo office. I didn't want to go, but he said that he could just as easily go to the police, and have me arrested that day, if I wished. I had to say yes. I was too frightened to say no."
"So, you went to live in Melbourne, and you stayed with Maria?" Gerard asked, feeling a little better. "Yes, she was very nice too. But I felt so guilty, I couldn't remain there. I felt so isolated. Frank suggested I create an image or something. He suggested that I try and be a respected person in the community. He said I should join a church or something. I had to find a place of my own, it was too much to suppress, deceiving everyone like that, so I found a house to live in. That way, I was able to feel less guilty. I know that sounds silly, but that's how it felt. Frank agreed to pay the rent, but said it would be deducted off the twenty thousand. I didn't care, but I did join the local church, just for the company really. I'm not religious," she said. "And then?" Gerard interrupted. "I think I know what happened then," he said. Andrea died didn't she?"
"Yes, and then it all got confused because on the morning of the day Andrea died, Frank came around to my flat and told me to be ready to meet the rest of the family. I told him I didn't want to go ahead with it, and he got really angry and grabbed me and shook me. I thought he was going to hurt me, so I ran out of the house just as a bus was coming by. I got on the bus and went a few stops before getting off. When I got off the bus, he was there in his car, waiting for me. He warned me not to mess things up. He threatened me with jail. He said they would lock me away for six years. He said he was going to Brisbane that morning, and when he came back, he would arrange for me to meet the family. He said Maria was going to arrange it. I'd have to sign some papers with Andrea's solicitors, and then it would all be over," she said sobbing again. "Then what did you do?" Gerard asked. "Frank drove off and I ran to a taxi rank and got a ride home," she said. "I was so upset, I couldn't do any work. Then, on the same day, Maria was involved in a car accident and she was unconscious for days. They weren't sure if she would live or die, and I didn't know what was going to happen. It was Pastor Douglas Bilby who kept me going."
"Pastor Douglas?" Gerard queried.
"He was the pastor of a church group that I became involved with. I'm not religious, but they were good company, and Douglas needed an organ player, and I have been playing the piano since I was twelve, so we had a mutual need of each other. We became friends. Nothing else! Just friends," Michelle said. "He was very understanding, and helped me," she said,
as she began sobbing again. The mention of Pastor Doug elevated the pain of the previous day. "AND THEN HE WENT AND KILLED HIMSELF," she screamed.
Michelle burst into tears. Gerald reeled back in shock. 'What on earth was going on,' he thought. 'Lies, deception, blackmail, extortion, where will this end?'
Gerard's mouth had become dry, his body trembled and his emotional fragility was rising to the surface. Nothing in his past life, had prepared him for something like this. Michelle's revelations implicating his son, his only son, his pride and joy, his one significant contribution to the world, were tearing away inside him, disintegrating his honour and self respect, before his very eyes. He last saw his son over two weeks ago. Frank said he was going interstate for a few days. Gerard had proposed that when he returned, the two of them visit Andrea Steedman, and explain the legal nature of their actions. Frank said he didn't have the time. Frank said don't worry about it. Frank said there was no legal obligation to do or say anything, to the other party. Gerard would have none of that. He felt some personal contact was proper. Frank didn't. Now over two weeks had passed, and he had heard nothing. Frank had not returned. 'Where was he? Had he got cold feet and run off? Had he cleaned out the trust account and fled? How will I tell his mother about all this?'
Gerard left Michelle in the carriage, while he went to get some water. Returning with two plastic cups of water, he sat down alongside her, and the two of them sipped their water, and sat in silence. Their minds were exhausted. Michelle had at least lifted the agonizing burden she had carried for the last three months from her shoulders, and felt some relief. Gerard had assumed a burden beyond his imagination. The two of them sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic rattling of the train as it powered its way toward Baldargo.
33.
