by PJ Vye
Crossing them would be such a betrayal.
One she knew, without even having to think about, she would do.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mataio shuffled Sunny’s letters together, wrapped them in a rubber band and placed them down the side of the cloth shopping bag.
He didn’t have much else to pack that he cared much about. Some clothes, a few books, some pens and a diary.
Pete sat on his bed, checking out the dozens of printed emails addressed to Mataio. “Man, you can ask whatever the fuck you want, can’t ya eh, ya lucky bastard.”
Luck had never been something Mataio associated with himself. “Ya get early parole, eh?”
“Yep.”
“You haven’t done your rehabilitation yet.”
Mataio had been given his clearance yesterday. It cost the prison too much for the extra security with the media camped 24/7 at the perimeters. It was easier to release him than make him do his final month of sentence. “Just lucky, I guess,” he said, without meaning it. He liked the structure of prison. Outside, there’d be too many decisions to make.
“So, you do just one of these interviews from ‘ere,” Pete held up the printed emails, “and you can buy a goddamn house. Youse is set, is all, eh.”
Mataio took a look around the room to check he’d packed everything. There wasn’t much to look at, but it was the first place he’d ever felt he deserved to be.
He had a hotel room booked in Coburg for his first night. Then he was on his own. He had five hundred dollars in his prison account. He’d need a job and a place to stay, and that was where he should be keeping his focus. Instead, all he could think about was Fui and what he owed La’ei.
“How’s the chilblains, Pete?” asked Mataio.
“Fixed ‘em. Cut the potatoes, used the juice. Worked like you said.”
“Good.”
“Will you be a doctor again, or just live off all the interview money you’re gonna get?”
“Can’t be a doctor. No licence.”
“Ah, they’ll give it back, eh? You’re a fuckin’ hero. Saving the world one fat person at a time.”
Mataio shook his head. “It was pretty serious what I did. You can’t come back from that.”
“So, why’d you do it?”
“Save my cousin?” Mataio couldn’t begin to say. “Because I could.”
Pete stood and handed Mataio the emails. “I’ll be off, eh. You want me to tell Kimbo you leavin’?”
“Yeah, ask him to meet me in Area B, beside the water tap.” Everyone knew the cameras didn’t reach there.
Pete left without goodbye. A man got used to goodbyes in a place like this.
Mataio lifted the bag over his shoulder and stepped outside. The sun was out and warmed the quadrangle and his back as he wandered slowly toward Area B. Kimbo was there already, leaning against the concrete wall of the toilet block. He stood up straight as Mataio approached.
Mataio wordlessly handed him the emails and Kimbo glanced over them. Pete would’ve filled him in—Mataio doubted Kimbo could read.
“So?” asked Mataio.
“Like I said before, I’m a business man. And I’m not an idiot.”
Mataio nodded, choosing to agree for the sake of what he needed. “How much?”
“Depends on what you need. Messed up or dead?”
Mataio had lain awake for nights trying to decide. Who was he to say? Did he believe in forgiveness? Why should he forgive Fui if he had never forgiven himself? Did Fui deserve more than he’d expect for himself?
The memory of La’ei’s bloodied face—her terror, her anger—filled his mind. She’d screamed for Mataio to save her. He’d let her down.
A time-lapse of memories continued—their games of Uno, the songs, the dancing, the secrets. La’ei was the only person in the world who’d accepted him exactly as he was. He could be himself with La’ei. Never feeling like he owed her something. But he owed her something now. He’d owed her for twenty years, and the debt still wasn’t paid.
“Dead.”
Kimbo’s expression didn’t change. “One hundred K.”
“Done.”
Mataio walked away, refusing to feel anything at all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sunny got into bed and pulled the quilt over her head. The front door opened and she heard Atali’s happy voice jabbering about nothing in particular. She wanted to hold Atali under her chin, have her snuggle against her and feel her warmth. But the girl would be too excited to settle so when Laurence brought her into the room Sunny lay very still and pretended to be asleep. He closed the door softly, taking the child with him.
God, he was a good man.
She was lucky to know him. But her entire life looked different now.
Atali already had two parents, and soon, both would be free to raise her. There was no way she wouldn’t let Mataio be a father. She remembered how he’d taken control when the factory worker severed his fingers. He’d been so calm, assertive and capable. That’s the kind of parent he’d be.
Mataio was worth believing in no matter what her aunt might think. Her own father would call him a ‘renovator’s delight’. Typical, he’d say. Her taste in men always involved her having do some work.
But no other father figure for Atali would do. Not even perfect Laurence.
Mataio would be in Atali’s life, and therefore, he’d be in Sunny’s life.
Sunny would make him love her.
She remembered the day he’d made love to her. How he’d touched her like she was made of glass—like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held. How could he not love her now?
She couldn’t breathe for long under the covers and pulled herself out. The only thing standing between her and seeing Mataio was a flight. She’d also need enough for accommodation and food. She’d get a job in Australia. She’d do anything.
The solutions flowed easily and fast. They’d live together, share the costs. It made perfect sense.
Atali would love Mataio. She loved all the men in her life. Junior, Uncle Akamu, Laurence.
Oh shit, Laurence.
What was he expecting? They’d kissed. The memory of what she’d nearly done made her cringe. She closed her eyes against the vision. How could she face him now? A heavy tiredness overtook her and she allowed herself to drift off into the procrastination of sleep. Eventually she’d have to tell him the truth. She didn’t love Laurence. Not even a little bit.
She woke to the smell of dinner. It was dark as she made her way out to the kitchen to find Atali, dressed in her pyjamas and curled up with Laurence, who was reading her a story.
The table was laid, and Atali’s high chair covered in what remained of her dinner.
“I’m so sorry. I must have been tired,” said Sunny.
“Mumma, Mumma, Mumma.”
Laurence didn’t get a chance to answer as Atali squealed and threw out her arms to be lifted. Sunny grabbed her and the book and took her to bed.
Sometime after, when Atali had fallen asleep and she felt she couldn’t put it off any longer, she joined Laurence at the kitchen table. “Doing nothing all day seems to be more exhausting than working the three jobs.”
“Can we talk?” he asked, and pushed his plate aside.
Sunny focused on her food to avoid looking at him. He’d made green chicken curry. Her favourite. Would he always be this good, or was he just trying to win her and turn into an arsehole once he had her? “Of course.”
“I had a hundred things to ask you and now I don’t even know where to start.”
“Junior tell you?”
“About Mataio being released? Yes,” he said.
His words grated on her. “About Mataio being innocent.”
“What does that mean, for us?”
So now they were an ‘us?’ “Laurence, this is so hard to say.”
“I’m sure, no matter how hard it is to say, it will be harder to hear.” His face twisted and she wished this would
all be over.
She put down her fork. “I have to go to Australia.”
“Why?”
“Can I borrow some money?”
His eyes widened. “You want to borrow money from me, so you can go see him?”
“Yes.”
“What is this hold he has over you? I don’t understand it.”
“He’s Atali’s father.”
“Is that it? Is that the only reason?”
She couldn’t look up from the table. “Will you lend me the money? I’ll never work here again anyway. I have to go.”
“I’ll give you the money if you go back to your dad in the UK.”
“Please, Laurence.” She didn’t want to be so desperate, but she was desperate. “If you care about me at all…”
“Care about you? My God, Sunny. I’ve thrown my heart down on the floor here and you’re stomping all over it. Do you even know how hard this is for me? I’m the guy who never stays anywhere long. I’m the guy who spends a night and moves on. I never wanted kids. Never. And now it’s all I can think about. Kids with you. You’re so emotionally unavailable to me, and yet I can’t stop it. I’m stuck. I’m so stuck.” He pulled his hands through his hair, his face contorted.
Sunny wanted to disappear. His pain wasn’t her fault. She’d done nothing to encourage him. She had too much pain of her own to try and deal with his. She scooped a fork full of curry into her mouth, but it was cold and she had to chew for a long time to swallow it.
Eventually, Laurence stood and walked out.
She sat and considered reheating her food. Then pushed it away.
In less than a minute, Laurence returned and sat down. “I’ll pay for you and Atali to travel to Australia. But I come, too.”
“I can’t love you like I love him.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m prepared to take a chance on this,” he said.
“You’re crazy if you think I’ll change my mind.”
“Maybe. But after fifteen years of interviewing criminals, celebrities and politicians, I’ve learnt we have a habit of raising certain people up, when they don’t necessarily deserve it. In real life, when you’re face to face with this man, you might be a little disappointed in the reality versus the idea of what you’ve built up in your head.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappointed me.”
“And I’ll be there. When he does.”
“Okay,” agreed Sunny.
“Really?”
“Yes. I need your help, I’m not denying. As long as you understand where my head is, I have no problem with you coming.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“He gets out in a month.”
“How much do you need? I’ll transfer some money.”
“I’ll check the flights and let you know.” Sunny picked up her uneaten food and took it to the sink. “Thank you for this afternoon, by the way.”
“Which bit?”
Sunny blushed at his allusion. “Cooking. Looking after Atali.”
“You’ve slept for three hours. You’ll be awake half the night. I don’t suppose you’re looking for something to do instead?” His voice sounded hopeful. “Finish what we started.”
“Everything’s changed, you understand that, right?”
“So, when you thought he’d live the rest of his life in prison, you were prepared to consider me.”
“I’m not sure I was considering you. I was horny.”
“Nice.”
“I’m sorry.”
Sunny logged onto her online bank account to check her balances. She looked up at him confused. “Have you already sent the money?”
“How did I do that? I’ve been standing here talking to you the entire time.”
“Why is there eight thousand dollars in my account?”
“I didn’t put it there.”
“Neither did I.”
“Does it say who it’s from?”
She opened the deposit link. “It’s been there for three days.”
“And this is the first you’ve noticed it?”
“It says the deposit was made by someone called adsen.”
“So you don’t need my money now?”
“I can’t keep this. It’s obviously some kind of mistake.”
“Did anyone owe you money?”
Shame flooded her. “I bet it’s from Carrie. She’s giving me some of the money she stole.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But there’s no-one else it could be from.”
“Call the bank.”
“I can’t until the morning. I can call the police though.” Sunny searched her handbag for the card the Samoan detective had given her. She’d not been charged, but she’d been instructed to call if Carrie ever tried to contact her. “I’ll let the police know. They might be able to trace it.”
“I guess.”
She didn’t like his tone. “What? You think I should just keep it? Do you not know me at all?”
“That’s not what I meant, but you can continue to misinterpret everything I say if it helps you feel further from me and closer to him.”
Sunny dialled and shook her head. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll—”
Sunny shooshed him as the phone was answered. “Hello. I’d like to report some stolen money that’s been placed in my account.” She waited to be transferred.
Laurence tried to get Sunny’s attention. “Maybe you should try Googl—”
Sunny held up her finger to silence him again. “Yes. My name is Sunny Johnson. I worked at UVR when Carrie Andersson stole all the funds. I’m just wanting to report some money I found in my account tonight that doesn’t belong to me.”
She was placed on hold again and, while she waited, she took a photo of the deposit in her account and emailed it to the detective’s address on the card.
Laurence ran water for the dishes and the noise forced her into the bedroom. Every single thing about him, even the bits she valued, annoyed her now.
After a time, the detective came on the line. “Hello, this is Detective Falou. Is this Sunny Johnson?”
“Hi, yes. Do you think you can trace it?”
“Yes. We already have.”
A heaviness that she’d been carrying ever since the concert that day at UVR lifted and she could barely stop herself from fist pumping the air. “That’s fantastic. Where is she? Can you arrest her?”
“Errr.” The detective hesitated and she misinterpreted his response.
“Of course, I’ll give back the entire amount in my account to the refuge. It belongs to them, of course.” Another twang of remorse about how stupid she’d been. So trusting. So quick to assume the nasty one was the bad guy and the nice one was the hero.
“We’ve traced the money, but it hasn’t led us to Carrie Andersson.”
“Oh no, why?”
“Next time you find some unexpected money in your account, try a Google search on the creditor.”
“Huh?”
“It’s from a YouTube account.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s nothing to do with the UV Refuge case. Have a good night. Tofa.” He hung up.
Sunny stared at her computer screen a while and typed in ‘adsen in my bank account’.
She’d been paid by YouTube. It must be a mistake. The money would probably be gone by morning. The depth of how responsible she felt for the refuge theft weighed on her now. She’d heard all the teachers and counselling services had been cancelled. They were existing on the bare minimum.
She missed those kids. If she volunteered to help them for free, would Violoa have her back? She doubted it.
Sunny flicked through her phone at photos taken of the kids in concert and in class. Their faces were happy when they sang her songs.
Carrie’s smiling face was in a few of the pictures and Sunn
y’s jaw clenched at the thought of what Carrie had done. Stealing from vulnerable children was the lowest kind of theft. Carrie should be publicly shamed. Sunny flicked through past texts to see if there was a sign she’d missed. Any hint to suggest her real motive. She’d seemed so genuine. The YouTube channel name and password appeared in a text—Carrie had set it up for her, so the students could learn the English songs whenever Sunny wasn’t there. Carrie had been so caring—and a good friend. There really was no way she could have known.
Sunny typed in the YouTube username and password and found the channel Carrie had set up for her students. There were nearly thirty songs, all under two minutes long, all of her playing guitar and singing. The voices of the children could be heard, without showing their faces.
Sunny imagined them now, remembering the fun and the laughing. Hearing them improve their pronunciations every week. She explored the dashboard, to check the views. Were they still practicing? She clicked in and out of it twice, thinking there must be a mistake. 1.8 million views on the channel. 110k subscriptions.
It couldn’t be right. Yet there it was.
She scrolled down to check the analytics. The graph started low but rose exponentially. Another map told her the views were happening around the world. Asia, Europe, South America, Japan.
Carrie had told Sunny the channel was unlisted—just for the use of the students. Carrie had lied. Not surprising.
She flicked through every song and let them play. The comments went down so far she couldn’t get to the end.
Sunny picked up her computer and almost tripped over herself to show Laurence, but the kitchen was clean, the lights were out, and Laurence was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sunny knocked several times on the front door of the Upolu Victim Refuge but no-one answered. Eventually she wandered around the side of the building and into the courtyard, Atali on her hip. Since she was last here, there’d been a lot of changes. No children played outside and all the undercover areas were chained and locked. The makeshift shop displaying the crafts and jewellery the children made to sell to visitors, was closed with windows boarded up. The kitchen at this time of day would normally be bustling with Aby shouting demands at the older children who peeled, chopped and cleaned. The dining hall was silent. Sunny could hear voices in the dormitories but they were subdued. Not the normal loud and chaotic noises of kids playing.
