Hunting BLind: It's Every Family's Deepest Fear

by Richardson, Paddy

  ‘But what about the truth?’

  ‘Sometimes truth’s too harsh, Stephanie. Better for everyone to let Gemma rest easy.’

  The words come out involuntarily. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t feel as if I can. Not when I don’t know what happened to her. Sometimes I feel as if she’s out there somewhere, still alive. I start wondering if she has any recollection of us, if she could find us if she wanted to or if she’s forgotten us completely. In my head I know how improbable that is. I know she’s most likely to be dead. But in my heart I want so much for her to be living somewhere else and happy.’

  Esther steps back.

  ‘You think I’m being fanciful, don’t you? You think it’s crazy for me to think this way.’

  ‘You lost your sister. I can’t possibly make judgements about how you should feel or think.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to bring all this up. It was just— seeing the photograph.’

  ‘I’m sorry it gave you such a shock. I thought long and hard before I had it done. But we had photographs of my children and all of you in the house and I thought we should have something of Gemma as well. I was very nervous about giving it to Dave.’

  ‘How did he react?’

  ‘He looked at it for quite a long while, then he thanked me and put it away for some time before he hung it up. As I said, he very rarely speaks about Gemma.’

  ‘He’s never talked to you about what happened?’

  ‘Just once. I pushed him to talk. I thought it could help. But in fact it had the opposite effect. He blames himself for what happened and bringing all that up was devastating for him.’

  ‘Blames himself?’

  ‘For not being there, for not protecting his child. He told me one night he became so convinced that one of the King family was responsible he drove round there and smashed a window and climbed in. Fortunately they’d all left by then. But he said all he wanted to do was to kill the bastard who’d taken Gemma.’

  ‘He wanted to kill— So he doesn’t believe she drowned? He thinks she was taken?’

  Esther’s voice is firm. ‘I believe he likes to think of her as the happy, beautiful little girl he remembers.’

  There are activities planned in her honour. Vineyards and cafés, swims in the pool after breakfast with Greg, a barbecue on Sunday evening, old friends I’ve told them how well you’re doing, Stephanie, and they’d love to see you. So it’s the Muldrews, the Pattersons, the Morrisons, the Peters.

  It’s like a time warp, Stephanie thinks, sitting next to Ann Peters, nodding from time to time amid the torrent of conversation, watching Dave standing over the barbecue carefully turning the sausages, chops, steak, with long, glinting metal tongs. A time warp, except they’re so much older. Ann Peters’ hair is grey and sticky; Brian Morrison has his plastered across his head to hide a bald spot.

  And it’s another house and an updated barbecue, crouched gleaming and huge on the tiled patio like some futuristic monster-robot you can cook a full roast dinner on that model, we did Christmas dinner on ours last year, turkey, veges, plum pudding, the lot. Everything the same except everyone’s older and Esther’s in the kitchen and Minna’s gone.

  Stephanie excuses herself, goes inside to help, carries the salads, plates, boiled new potatoes to the table, chats to the women yes I’m on leave, taking a break, yes I’m enjoying it, good to be back, yes lovely house. She listens to Eve Patterson talking Sophie’s in Chile, teaching English, we didn’t want her to go there, not to South America, we’ve heard it’s dangerous but she would have it her own way, absolutely loving it, the young ones do get around now don’t they?

  Sophie. Sophie-and-Gemma. Best friends.

  And Ann Peters is back again beside her oh it is nice to see you again, Stephanie, such a long time since you’ve been home. Town’s changed hasn’t it, some people don’t like it, Bob says you can’t stop progress though. Dave talks about you all the time, must be an interesting job you’ve got, Stephanie, is there a man in your life, must be, an attractive girl like you, you can tell me Stephanie, house is lovely isn’t it, good for your dad to be in a nice place, good your dad’s got Esther, so easy to get along with. How’s Minna doing, still in Wellington? You hear much from Minna?

  And Stephanie suddenly and so surprisingly misses Minna. Misses her glances at Ann Peters, those long, sly glances as if she was having trouble keeping down a great gust of laughter, keeping back a tart comment.

  Esther’s so easy to get along with. Minna wasn’t. Not easy. Never easy. Stephanie watches Dave lean into Esther as they talk; she listens quietly to what he says, he rests his hand flat against her back.

  Leave them alone, leave them to be happy.

  She goes shopping with Esther on Monday. On Tuesday they drive across to Queenstown. Wednesday she sits beside the pool and reads. On Thursday she walks down to the lake and along to the jetty.

  There are kayaks at the lake edge and fifteen or so kids, youngish, around five to seven years old, Stephanie estimates, milling about, darting up to the edge of the lake, running up and down the jetty. A few parents stand around watching and three young women are at the lake edge helping children into the kayaks, handing them the paddles.

  He’s there.

  36.

  She ducks back behind a tree trunk. The willow tree that’s always been there, that she’s climbed into, over and over, up into the massive branches to sit near the top.

  Calling down to Jonny and Liam. Calling down to Gemma.

  There’s a harsh wind coming up from the lake and the sun has dropped behind the clouds. The sky is steel grey and murky. She feels chilled, starts to tremble slightly as she watches. He’s lean, still has his hair curling at the base of his neck. The sun catches and glints on a gold chain and medallion around his neck.

  Minna looking up at him, teasing in that way she had, her face slightly flushed, smiling is that a saint you’ve got round your neck, Ed, do you need a saint’s protection?

  He looked right back at her and he wasn’t smiling maybe I do.

  Why didn’t she see it?

  Because she wasn’t much more than a child. Because she couldn’t possibly imagine that could happen. Things like that happened to young, blonde women on the American TV soapies. Things like that didn’t happen in Wanaka. And never ever to your mother. Her mother was old and sensible. She was thirty-two.

  He’s lean and his face and arms tanned that golden colour she remembers and his hair is sun-streaked. He’s in a wet suit, up to his knees in water, pulling a kayak into the lake and he looks up towards where she is. She quickly bobs her head down. His face is thinner, lined and slightly gaunt.

  He takes the child’s hands, sets them firm on the paddle, demonstrates the paddling technique. Steps back, squinting slightly as he observes. He nods, gives the thumbs up. Good man. She can’t hear him but she reads what he says.

  He helps two boys with an overturned kayak, scoops them up out of the lake, rights the kayak and pulls it into the shallows. He’s squatting down. She can see he’s trying to get them to try again; they’re shaking their heads, the smaller boy is crying. But he coaxes them in again, holds them steady, gives them the paddles and they’re away.

  He pushes a kayak holding two girls up onto the bank, stretches out his hand and helps them out. He doesn’t hold their hands any longer than necessary, doesn’t rest his hands on a shoulder or an arm. They’re looking up at him. She can see they trust him.

  He’s standing beside the mothers waiting by the jetty. They like him. She can tell that by the way they smile as they talk. He points to something out on the lake and they nod.

  There’s a sudden flurry of raindrops, fat and hard on her face, and he cups his hand around his mouth and calls out. The other instructors start to bring the children in. Parents are wrapping towels around the children and leading them to the cars. The rain is driving down.

  All the parents and children have hurried off. A little girl on her own. He goes over, squats down
. She’s crying. There’s no one else left. The other instructors are further down the lake, walking away.

  Nobody else around. He takes her hand. He’s tugging at her wrist.

  Is this what happened? Gemma was on her own and he took her hand, led her away?

  And now, right in front of her eyes it’s happening again and her heart begins a slow hard hammering, she can’t seem to breathe properly, her body feels weighted by fear and she moves forward, opens up her mouth to call out, feels the sound before she utters it, hoarse and rough and—

  And he’s come to a halt; he’s grasping the little girl’s hand and shouting. She can just make out the words above the drumming rain Stella’s mum hasn’t showed.

  A young woman instructor turns and jogs back. She bends down, touches the little girl’s face, takes off her own parka, wraps it around her and takes her hand, walks towards the road. They’re up there, waiting together, the young woman speaking into a cell phone, the little girl holding onto her hand. He’s back beside the lake dragging the kayaks in, lifting them onto a trailer.

  What should she do? Should she go over and speak to him? What would she say? The rain has stopped as abruptly as it started but she’s soaked, her face and hair streaming and her shorts and T-shirt sodden. She hesitates, then turns and heads towards the road. When she speaks to him she has to be in control.

  She hears a vehicle coming up behind her. A truck and trailer trundle close by on the track, criss-crossing the expanse of grass. She chances a swift glance and sees him look upwards into the rear-vision mirror and the truck slows and stops. He’s getting out, coming towards her, a broad grin across his face, his hand outstretched. ‘Stephanie? It is, isn’t it? Stephanie Anderson?’

  She draws back as his hand reaches out, seizes her own hand.

  His hands.

  ‘I saw Dave just the other day. Told me all about you. Great to hear you’ve done so well. Always good to hear one of your favourite students is a success, eh?’

  She can’t speak, can’t get her breath.

  ‘What are you doing back here in Wanaka?’

  Come on, Stephanie, you’re going to have to do better than this.

  She swallows, forces a smile. ‘A chance meeting with a past teacher. What a surprise.’

  He’s stepped back; he’s looking at her appraisingly. Her drenched body, the clothes clinging to her skin, oh Christ, oh fuck.

  ‘You’re soaked. You must be freezing. Come on, I’ll give you a ride back.’

  Her voice comes out too loud. ‘No. I’m fine. I’ll walk.’

  But he’s taken her arm and he’s guiding her towards the car. ‘It’s going to start pouring down again in a minute. Can’t have you walking home in this.’

  She’s somehow in his truck. She’s shaking with cold and fright and shock. He looks the same, sounds the same, he’s normal, nice even, how could she even think this man who’s so good with the kids, she watched him, how could she even think that he might have—?

  But what if he did?

  She’s in his truck and he may be a killer. He’s turned on the ignition, turned the heater up it takes a coupla minutes to heat up but we’ll have you warm in no time handed her a thick towel from the back seat dry yourself off with this. Would a murderer give you a towel? They’re moving forward. She can hear the engine, the sound of the trailer rolling along on the back.

  ‘Where to?’ He’s looking across at her.

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘The address. Where’s Dave living now? I take it you’re staying with Dave?’

  ‘Oh. Lake View Street. It’s just around the corner from where—’

  ‘Where you used to live? I know the one.’

  What the fuck is she doing putting herself in this bizarre situation? Christ, she’s been so stupid.

  ‘Good running into Dave like that the other day. Caught up on all the news. Didn’t know he and your mum’d split. Happens all the time, I suppose. Said he’d remarried.’

  ‘Yes. Esther. She’s, she’s very nice.’

  ‘So was Minna. Good to me when I first lived here. Didn’t know anyone. She and Dave had me round for meals, always made me feel welcome.’

  She’s silent. Doesn’t know how to respond. She glances at him. His face is impassive. If they’d had an affair, would he say that? To Minna’s daughter? Minna didn’t deny it. But it’d be just like Minna to say nothing, even if it was untrue she wouldn’t deny it I don’t have to justify myself to you.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What are you doing in Wanaka?’

  ‘I’m just. I’m having a break.’

  ‘Got a bit of time off work, have you?’

  ‘I’m on research leave.’

  ‘What’re you researching?’

  She stares straight ahead, makes her voice firm and confident. ‘I’m looking at the long-term effects of childhood traumas.’

  ‘Do they? Have long-term effects, that is.’ He’s watching the road. Calmly watching the road.

  ‘Yes of course.’

  ‘What’s the point of the research if the answer’s so blatantly obvious?’

  ‘I’m not seeking to answer that question. What I’m looking at is how the effects may manifest.’

  ‘I see. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.’

  ‘I’ve done most of the research. I’m taking a break away and writing up the findings.’

  ‘I take it you’ll most likely be here for some time, then.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘You’re intending having a holiday as well as the work?’

  ‘Yes. Though I like to keep myself occupied. I thought I may find some more active work, if you know what I mean. Something voluntary. I like working with kids so maybe I’ll get something at one of the schools. It’s just a thought. Depends really on how long I decide to stay.’

  Keep looking ahead, don’t give anything away.

  ‘With kids? Tell you what, we could do with a bit of help. You know where I work? The Sports Academy? Just opened up.’

  ‘Dave and Greg were talking about it.’

  ‘If you wanted to do a bit of voluntary work we’d be happy to have you. More than happy. We have a few volunteer workers. One of the main policies is to get people from the community involved in what we do.’

  ‘I might not be here all that long. I wouldn’t like to start something and then let people down.’

  ‘That wouldn’t matter.’

  ‘What would I be doing?’

  ‘All sorts. Maybe you could— Well, with your background, maybe you could give some of the students a bit of support, you know? They’re mainly internationals, some of them get homesick, get a bit down.’

  ‘I’m actually taking a break from that kind of work right now.’

  ‘Fair enough. There’s plenty of other work, though.’

  They’re driving up the street, stopping outside the house.

  ‘Can I think about it?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Come out and have a look around if you like. Any time.’ He gets out, comes around to her side and opens the door for her. ‘Nice to see you again, Stephanie. Hope I’ll see you around.’

  She scurries through the rain down the drive. Wrenches open the door, shuts it behind her and leans on it. She turns, looks out through the glass panels. He’s still there. Is he looking into the house? Is he watching her?

  He seems to be bent forward. Probably he’s talking on his cell. She’s wound herself up, imagining things. She hears the engine start up.

  She’s in the shower, standing under gushing jets of steaming water she’s seen him, spoken to him and now if she does a bit of work with him she’ll get the chance to watch, to observe. If there’s anything surely she’ll see it.

  She’s seen him, spoken to him and now that’s happened she can’t believe he’s anything but ordinary. Pleasant and considerate, even. Look at the way he took her home when she’d been drenched, look at the wa
y he got out in the rain, courteously opened her door.

  And the way he was with those kids today. Nothing questionable or suspicious. He was helpful, showed them what they had to do. He was careful with them. Careful and gentle.

  It can’t be true.

  Gemma slipped into the lake.

  Gracie was sleepwalking.

  Rosie had a nightmare.

  And he just happened to be there?

  Paedophiles are not old men in stained tweed coats hiding behind the children’s toilets. Paedophiles have jobs, hobbies, interests which involve children.

  She turns off the shower. Dries her body, rubs at her hair.

  37.

  Red table mats tonight and the blue dinner set. Platters of vegetables, salad, thinly sliced baked ham. Greg passes mustard to her. She says it matter-of-factly. ‘I saw Ed Black today.’

  Dave helps himself to potatoes. They’re swimming in butter the way he always liked them. ‘Where was that then?’

  ‘Down by the lake.’

  ‘Talk to him?’

  ‘He dropped me home. It was during that downpour. I got soaked.’

  ‘The weather’s always this way at the end of spring. You need your jacket with you just in case.’

  ‘So I discovered. You talked to him, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did. I was surprised to see him. Recognised him right away, though. Hardly looks any different.’

  ‘Did he tell you why he came back here?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Just wondered. It seems a bit strange, that’s all.’

  ‘Why’s it strange?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just thought he’d have been settled somewhere by now.’

  ‘Lot of people come back here. Can’t stay away. Too nice.’ He grins at Esther and she nods.

  ‘What Dave’s referring to,’ she explains to Stephanie, ‘is that I had a summer job here years ago when I was a student. I loved it and I always wanted to come back.’

  ‘Do you know if he came back here with someone? I thought he might be married by now.’

  ‘Maybe he’s gay,’ Greg butts in, raising his eyebrows.