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The Good Teacher

Page 24

by Petronella McGovern


  Her watch said eight ten. She could ring Samantha in the front office now.

  As soon as Samantha sniffed her condolences down the phone, Allison realised she had to make a decision. Should she protect Luke—and her own reputation—until she figured out where he was? Or should she ask everyone to help her find him?

  She’d make that decision after she spoke to the police.

  ‘When’s the funeral?’ Samantha asked. ‘We’ve been planning the memorial assembly. The kids are coming up with suggestions to remember Gracie. One wants to build a theme park on the oval in her name.’

  Allison gave a short chuckle.

  ‘Luke has …’ Allison stared at his shoes—one had landed near the bookcase, the other by the door. ‘Luke is … still away but he needs a copy of Gracie’s birth certificate for the … arrangements. I can’t find it here. Could you pull it out of the files for me, please?’

  ‘Just give me a sec.’

  She could hear Samantha clicking on the computer then bustling about with the filing cabinet. The birth certificate had to say the mother’s name. Sarah Branson? Florencia Concepción Fernández de León? Someone else altogether? Allison was sure that she—or the police—would be one step closer to locating Luke with that information.

  Samantha’s voice came down the line again.

  ‘That’s right, I remember now. We don’t have any identification documents for Gracie on file. No birth certificate, no Medicare. No vaccinations. Luke was applying for new ones. They were all lost in the fire.’

  38

  MAZ

  As instructed, Maz went into Manly Police Station straight from Allison’s house. An old drunk guy was lying at the end of a row of seats. The smell of urine surrounded him like a cloud.

  Maz cleared her throat and spoke to the young policeman behind the counter.

  ‘I want to report my boyfriend missing.’

  When she gave her name, would there be some reference to the letter from Border Force? Was there some kind of alert?

  The officer helped her fill out a missing persons form. Maz stumbled over every answer.

  Last seen: Sydney airport with his daughter.

  Likely destination: Chicago—but they never arrived.

  The last time she’d been in his bedroom, she’d spotted the itinerary printed out. She remembered now: the names on it were Luke Branson and Grace Branson. If they’d used passports, they’d have to be in those names. Curtis must be right.

  The officer asked about friends or family that Luke might contact, and Maz became tongue-tied. She started to say ‘friends and family in Hythorne’, changed it to Perth, stumbled over Melbourne. She finally came out with a sentence.

  ‘He’s not in touch with his family.’

  ‘Are you the child’s mother?’ the policeman asked. ‘Is this a custody issue?’

  ‘No. Her mother passed away.’

  ‘Is he on any medications?’

  ‘He’s not but the little girl has cancer. She died last week.’

  The officer hadn’t heard of Gracie’s fundraising campaign. Maz wasn’t doing a good job of explaining; Allison should’ve come instead, but she’d said she was too exhausted from the overseas flight and wanted to stay home with her son.

  ‘My friend is bringing some ID in tomorrow for them.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll start looking into it tonight and your friend can add her information to the file tomorrow.’

  Maz didn’t know how to answer his last question.

  ‘Do you have concerns for Luke’s welfare?’

  I think he’s suicidal with grief. My friends think he made it all up.

  When she got home, Maz logged on to Facebook and scrolled through Luke’s page. People were still responding to Allison’s question about trying to find him. She typed slowly into Messenger: Where are you, Luke? I’m so scared for you. Please, please, please get in touch. Love you, babe xxxxxxx

  His Insta account was still up there. Most of the posts were about training and fitness. A few featured him and Maz together, lifting weights, running on the beach, doing star jumps in the park. He even had a video discussing how to ‘live your best life’. Clicking on it, Maz listened to his deep voice, watched him grinning, imagined herself in his arms. This was their future together—the fitness program. How could he give up on her?

  Scrolling through his photos, Maz came across one that she’d never noticed before. Luke on a beach in his swimmers completing a triathlon. Bright sunshine, a long strip of sand and skyscrapers in the background. That wasn’t Sydney. Where had he been? Not Melbourne.

  She sent a quick text to Curtis. Check out this photo on Luke’s Insta page. I think it’s the Gold Coast.

  ‘Okay, now we’re running on the spot for three minutes.’ Maz surveyed the class. ‘Let’s get those knees up high!’

  The eight o’clock class was better than the six a.m. It’d taken Maz twenty minutes to fire up her positivity. Beforehand, clients had rushed over to commiserate about Gracie and ask after Luke. She didn’t know how to respond. Simply said: ‘I’ll let him know you’re thinking of him.’

  This second class wasn’t so bad—she could lose herself in the music and counting out the rotations. Nico had said to take as much time off as she needed, but with Dad in hospital and Mum only popping into work part-time, Maz had to bring in an income. Who knew what the future would hold for Dad’s earning capacity? They could always do a fundraising campaign, like Gracie. Dad wouldn’t get the same support though; he was old and chubby, not young and cute.

  After the class, Maz helped Em-Jay sort out the yoga mats. She swore her friend to secrecy then told her Luke was missing.

  Em-Jay grabbed her mobile. ‘I’ll google-stalk the shit out of him,’ she announced. ‘I’m great at tracking my exes.’

  Em-Jay started on his Facebook page, clicking away with her eyes glued to her new iPhone. She had a fab phone cover: an athlete in blue fitness gear doing a headstand against a blue sky. When Maz commented on it, Em-Jay seemed pleased.

  ‘It’s a photo of me,’ she said. ‘Curtis did a shoot by the beach. You can see the surfers in the background. Cool, hey?’

  Curtis hadn’t told her that he was doing photos for other instructors. He’d given her the impression that Maz and Luke were his only clients from the gym.

  She checked her own phone. Curtis had finally answered her text from last night.

  Yes, it’s the Gold Coast. That triathlon was before he came to Wirriga. I’m on my way to the children’s hospital.

  Sydney had two children’s hospitals—one in the eastern suburbs and one out west. Both were a long drive from Wirriga. Gracie had been going to the one in the east. Sometimes, Luke complained about the traffic. But he’d taken Gracie out there every Friday to the dedicated Dr Rawson. Maz had considered going along with them to show her support—and also because Luke had talked about a lovely young nurse called April a few times. He said April had a smile ‘like a ray of sunshine’: the same words he’d used with Maz the first day they’d met. But visiting the hospital meant missing five classes for which she wouldn’t be paid. Hating herself for her jealousy, Maz had asked Gracie what April looked like.

  Gracie had screwed her face up in the effort of remembering. Eventually she shrugged and said, ‘Like a nurse.’

  Did April exist? But even if Luke had scammed them all for money, their lovemaking was definitely real—he couldn’t fake that intensity. Luke loved her; Maz was sure of that. He wouldn’t betray her.

  ‘Shit, I’m normally good at this,’ Em-Jay said, her eyes still fixed on the phone. ‘I can’t find any other links about him.’

  ‘What about a reverse image search? That’s what the teacher’s son did last night.’

  Em-Jay tapped her fingernail against the phone. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he got everything wiped after his wife died? Maybe there were photos of her and it was all too painful?’

  If he had a wife.

  The thought popped
into Maz’s head unexpectedly. Flipping hell, she didn’t know whether to be worried for Luke or pissed off.

  If it was a scam, Luke must have a really good reason.

  He loved her. They were great together. A perfect match.

  And if it was a scam, then what about Gracie? He was a devoted dad, everyone could see that. Dedicated to saving Gracie’s life. There was no faking the love he had for his daughter.

  He’s gone crazy with grief, that’s it.

  But his dead wife didn’t seem to exist.

  The entire time Maz was running the ten o’clock Mums and Bubs class, her mind was on Curtis out at the children’s hospital.

  ‘Maz, should we be lifting the babies in this exercise?’ one of the mums was asking.

  ‘Yes, of course. Backs up straight, hold in the core. Let’s go.’

  They were sitting in a circle, their precious bundles on their laps. Each time the mums lifted their babies, they would smile and make goo-goo noises.

  Nico had started this class because the gym wasn’t big enough to have a creche but he was keen to get the new mummies in somehow. Apparently they spent up big in the cafe afterwards.

  Luke, of course, had been a favourite instructor for this class. Now, because they were sitting in a circle, they had plenty of chances to ask about him. What was she supposed to say? Freaking hell, they’d all find out soon enough.

  ‘He’s still in Chicago, sorting things out,’ Maz said.

  After one more class, Body Pump, Maz went straight to her locker and her phone. A text from Mum: Dr Simmons coming in at 1 p.m. xx. Dad’s health was in his hands—those same hands that had been lifting weights in the gym. Not that she’d seen him since they’d met at the hospital; he must be busy at work or on a different schedule. Would he tell the police about the pills?

  Four missed calls and a text from Curtis.

  Why aren’t you picking up? Are you teaching? Dr Rawson doesn’t exist.

  39

  ALLISON

  The school had no birth certificate, no identification for Gracie. This morning, Curtis had found no evidence of Sarah Branson’s death.

  And now the children’s hospital did not have a cancer specialist called Dr Rawson.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Curtis shouted down the phone. ‘There’s no-one on the medical staff by that name. I showed Dr Rawson’s webpage to the hospital administrator. She looked up his registration on the medical board. He doesn’t exist.’

  ‘A fake website.’ Allison sighed. ‘Just like Sarah Branson’s memorial page.’

  Until this moment, she’d held onto a tiny skerrick of hope that, amid all the lies, there was one truth. That they’d been fundraising for a reason. The relief she felt that Gracie didn’t have life-threatening cancer was tempered by her fear—where was the girl right now? Dead or alive?

  ‘You know how I interviewed Dr Rawson by phone,’ Curtis fumed. ‘It must’ve been Luke disguising his voice. I’m going to lose my job for this.’

  ‘No, you won’t. Luke tricked us all.’

  She recognised the waves of shame engulfing him. Both of them had been duped, personally and professionally.

  ‘My reputation will be ruined. How can I have a future in journalism? Word will get around that I’m a chump.’

  As Curtis ranted, Allison pictured herself back in Chicago, trying to get answers. Except here in Sydney, she’d watched Luke and Gracie go off to the hospital each week. She’d seen the bandaids on Gracie’s arms from the needles. She’d listened to their stories about Dr Rawson and his red frogs. She’d heard how hard Dr Rawson had tried to get Gracie onto the clinical trial. She’d felt guilty for passing on her cold to Gracie, compromising her immunity. Guilty for not putting on sunscreen every minute for her chemo sensitivity. Guilty for causing an allergic reaction with the sesame oil. Had Luke faked the allergy and the trip to Emergency? To make her beholden to him?

  ‘I’m going to call the children’s hospital in Melbourne,’ Curtis said. ‘See if they have any record of Gracie.’

  ‘They won’t.’

  The girl wasn’t sick.

  Unless Luke had harmed her.

  Allison stormed into Gracie’s room and began pulling it apart. Luke’s bedroom had been clean. Did Gracie leave any clues in hers?

  Upending the drawers, she watched the shorts and t-shirts tumbling onto the carpet. Nothing else in there. Only clothes. She felt through the pockets. Empty.

  She attacked the bookcase. Books they’d curled up with each night. The Treehouse series, How to Train Your Dragon, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The BFG, Winnie-the-Pooh and Mary Poppins. Dozens more. Flicking through each page, looking inside the covers.

  Nothing.

  Gracie’s drawings were on the wall above the bookcase. In one, she’d tried to draw their old farm—fence posts and hills and badly shaped horses. They must’ve lived on a farm. They must’ve had horses. Even Luke couldn’t have made a child lie for so long.

  But if there were clues in those drawings, Allison couldn’t work them out. When she’d asked about Sarah’s family, Luke said they didn’t deserve to hear from Gracie. The family refused to believe that Luke hadn’t received a big insurance payout from the fire and they demanded he repay a loan they’d given Sarah years before.

  The farm, the horses, the fire, the horrible in-laws—all carefully constructed to present Luke and Gracie as alone in the world.

  Had Luke seen Allison’s state of bewilderment at the beginning of the year and targeted her? She was the one who’d invited him to stay; he’d never asked for anything. If he’d pushed, she would’ve suspected something.

  He’d simply presented problems to her, and she’d tried to help. All of Wirriga had tried to help.

  With Gracie’s room in disarray, Allison suddenly remembered Luke’s Jeep. He always parked around the corner in a quiet cul-de-sac. She rushed outside and down the street.

  Coming into the cul-de-sac, Allison could see a builder’s truck that took over half the road. It hid any cars parked behind. She ran the last few metres to peer past it. No dark green Jeep. In its place, a green sedan with an Uber sign stuck to the back window.

  Somehow, after she’d dropped him at the airport, Luke had come back to Wirriga undetected to collect his car. The risk of his actions astounded her. Although risk was involved in all of his actions. He must’ve been thrilled every day that he got away with it.

  But actually, she realised, he could have moved the Jeep before he went. Hardly anyone came up here. If Allison had asked where it was, no doubt he would have whipped out a plausible answer. It’s at the mechanic’s or I lent it to one of the gym instructors.

  And, like everything else, Allison would have believed it.

  At Manly police station, the sergeant opened the missing persons report that Maz had lodged last night. It listed her concern for Luke’s mental health after the loss of his daughter.

  ‘Do you believe this man is at risk of self-harm?’

  Allison should’ve come down herself but she’d been so tired and now Maz had made a complete mess of it.

  ‘No, I think he’s defrauded us all. And God knows what he’s done with Gracie.’

  ‘Gracie with the purple bandana?’ The sergeant leant towards her. ‘We did a fun run from the Spit Bridge to Manly and had three morning teas for her. Raised five thousand dollars. I heard she died.’

  ‘She never went to Chicago,’ Allison explained. ‘She never went on a clinical trial.’

  ‘What? Everyone had a stake in that fundraising money.’

  While Allison waited for the sergeant to do some checks on the database, Nadia rang.

  ‘I’ve found something,’ she said. ‘The same bank account was used for twelve other websites.’

  ‘More fundraising for Gracie?’

  Luke had never mentioned any other sites.

  ‘No, not for Gracie. These were other sick people from all around the world. I’ll email you the list.’


  When the sergeant returned, his announcement came as no surprise.

  ‘We can’t find a person matching your description of Luke Branson. He must have set up a fake identity.’

  ‘But he managed to open a bank account.’

  ‘Yes, but the address on it is yours. Either he’s stolen identification documents or bought them illegally. We’ll request information from the account and try to find a money trail. I’m guessing the money has been moved already. Can you stay a bit longer and speak to a detective?’

  Allison showed him the list from Nadia on her phone: the names of twelve strangers connected to Luke through one bank account number. The sergeant opened up each one on the computer.

  Jessica Moore from South Africa with breast cancer. Tiny Lily Ng in Hong Kong with head injuries after a car accident.

  ‘Do you know any of these people?’ the sergeant asked.

  Phillip Saunders in England with leukaemia.

  ‘No. And Luke never mentioned them. He only talked about travelling overseas with his wife.’

  Hannah Bennett in Canada with ovarian cancer.

  When she saw the photo, Allison gasped.

  Hannah Bennett. Young, blonde, gorgeous. A ponytail flipped over her shoulder, a smile to light up a room. Yep, people would definitely donate to save the life of this attractive young woman.

  Only the photo was of someone Allison recognised. Someone in the absolute bloom of health.

  In the months Luke had been living with her, Allison had managed to avoid entering the gym. These places made her break out into a sweat—and not from the exercise. She felt like an alien: old, frumpy, overdressed, a different species. Everyone around here had super six-packs and pumped-up biceps.

  The first person she bumped into was her mum.

  ‘I’ve just done Yoga for Seniors.’ Barbara seemed to be walking taller. ‘It’s improving my flexibility.’

  Allison found Maz on a break, sitting in a corner of the cafe, eating a salad with another young instructor. The salad was in an old Tupperware container; she’d obviously brought it from home. Maz dropped her fork and rushed to greet her.

 

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