by Sam King
The boys remained impassive.
“What’s this about?” she said.
“Well, apparently, and I won’t beat around the bush, Tom performed fellatio on Martin Lockheed on Monday.”
“Fellatio?”
“Oral sex.” He cleared his throat.
“That wasn’t me,” Tom said.
“Fuck up.”
“It was Luke.”
“You’re a prick,” Luke said.
“Boys, I’ve spoken to you about language before.”
“I’m not swearing. It’s him.”
The headmaster nodded. Susan began to fidget with her handbag as she tried to conceive of Luke doing such a thing. It had to be Tom. In some sense Tom was behind it, whatever had happened. Luke wouldn’t do it. But she was overcome by a great sense of shame as she wondered whether Luke might in fact be gay, whether both of them might not be. It had occurred to her once or twice, but she had dismissed it as a possibility. It simply couldn’t be true.
“So it was you, Luke?” Mr Mason said.
Luke nodded, his head lowered. He looked angry.
The headmaster went on to outline his thoughts on the subject and then began to question Luke. It soon became clear that the act had been payment for an iPod, for Tom’s iPod, and as she understood this, she muttered, “You’re a bastard.”
“What was that?” The headmaster looked affronted.
“I was speaking to Tom.”
Eventually, they were let out of the office and into the heat of the day. She wanted to hit Tom, to smack him as she had once or twice done to both of them when they were children. It couldn’t quite be conceived of now, but what other solution was there?
The headmaster had put both boys on detention for the rest of the week, which meant they wouldn’t be home until five today. She wiped the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand and then turned to Tom.
“Where is the iPod?”
“In my pack,” he said.
“Give it to me.”
He handed it over.
She glanced at Luke, at his lips, and wondered how he could have done such a thing. What had Tom held over him? That was the question.
Chapter 17
As she was nearing the house, she spied Jean coming down the front path, walking away from the door. She glanced at the Volvo, and then stared at Susan, following her with her eyes as she disappeared into the garage. When she came out again, on foot this time, Jean was watching her closely.
“Jean.”
She looked distraught, her hair disarranged.
“What happened, Susan? I just want to know what happened.”
“Oh, Jean.”
She had been crying, obviously. And had no makeup on. She was a little older than Susan, in her forties, with pale grey eyes and long, light brown hair. She was wincing in the bright sunshine, and looked distraught.
“I’ve lost my only boy,” she said, and then used the palms of her hands to wipe at the tears. “He was such a good boy.”
He had been a good boy, but what was Susan supposed to say? That she hadn’t liked him? That would hardly be appropriate. Nevertheless, it was the first thought that sprung to her mind. She swallowed awkwardly, ashamed at the unwelcome thought. Despite his problems, Jude had been a well-meaning boy. He had never been vicious or cruel.
She chastised herself, and put her hand on Jean’s arm.
“Come inside.”
Jean followed her as she walked up the path and unlocked the front door. Then they were in the hall, where everything was orderly. She was aware of the smell of floor polish. She had had the floor polished on Monday while the boys were at school, before all of this had started.
In the kitchen, she made a cup of tea. Jean sat at the table with her head in her hands, working up the resolve, it seemed, to question Susan thoroughly on her part in her son’s death. Only it couldn’t be that. She couldn’t know. And what part had she played. None. No one could reasonably think so.
“I did everything I could, Jean,” she said, taking a seat at the table and placing her hand on Jean’s shoulder, “CPR, everything.”
Jean nodded. “I just want to know what happened. He said something about Luke, about something Luke had done at school, and he said Martin Lockheed was involved. Do you think that could have something to do with it?”
“Jean, he choked. He choked on a toy.” She paused for a moment and gathered all of her strength. “There isn’t any more to it than that.”
Jean considered this for a moment, and then said, “Tom was in the room with him, wasn’t he?”
Susan nodded, and then wondered how Jean knew this, how she could possibly know it.
“I spoke to the ambulance officers this morning. They said that one of them had been in the room with him. I guessed it was Tom.”
Susan nodded, and closed her eyes briefly. Jean had always had a set against Tom — and against Luke for that matter. It was surprising she and Jean got on at all. Then again, they were neighbours, and the boys were at school together.
“I don’t understand why he would have swallowed a toy.”
“Tom said he was fooling around.”
“Fooling around?”
Susan nodded.
“It doesn’t sound very likely. He hasn’t put anything like that in his mouth since he was a toddler. Are you sure Tom didn’t push him?”
Susan shook her head, but felt the tears start. “No,” she said, but almost choked on the word.
Jean looked at her suspiciously. “I know what happened at the party. He’s told me all about that.”
Susan realised she was speaking in the present tense, in the present tense about Jude, as though he was still alive, but she didn’t understand the reference to the boys’ birthday party.
“Apparently Luke put Deep Heat into his underwear.”
“Deep Heat?”
“Heat rub.”
“Oh — right.”
“He was mucking around, said take this, and thrust his hand into Jude’s underwear.”
Jean must have meant Tom, so Susan said this, that it must have been Tom.
Jean waved a hand at her ineffectually, perhaps to suggest it was irrelevant. “I never saw his underwear. He came home without them on.”
Was that Jude’s problem at the boys’ party? Had it been? Really? Had Tom really gone and done that? Again, Susan closed her eyes.
“I know Luke’s always had a set against Jude.”
“Tom.”
“They both have.”
This simply wasn’t true. Luke was unfailingly kind to all the boys at school. Even in his report cards he was praised for his social skills. But Tom? Well, Tom was a different boy.
“Anyway, I really need to speak to Tom — if he was in the room. I need to get things clear in my mind.”
“Of course.”
“It might have been an accident. It might have been.” She stared at Susan directly for seconds and then began to get up. She hadn’t touched her tea. “The funeral is on Saturday,” she said, and then walked out of the room.
Chapter 18
As she followed Jean into the hall, it occurred to Susan that the iPad was upstairs with the film still on it. She should have deleted it, not locked it away again — and the iPad would have to be destroyed. There were ways of retrieving information from devices like that — at least she had heard this — and she couldn’t take any chances. But how on Earth was she supposed to destroy it? Hack it to pieces?
“It’s at nine a.m.,” Jean said, continuing on the subject of the funeral. “At Saint Albans.”
“Well, we’ll all be there.”
Jean looked at her oddly. Then they were at the door. They said their goodbyes, but there was no brief hug. Not today.
She turned back into the hall and glanced at the staircase. All of a sudden, it seemed insurmountable. She gripped the bannister and began to climb, but felt as though she was climbing a mountain. Surely Jean couldn’t think
that Tom had actually done something, not simply because he had been in the room.
In the sewing room, she tried the filing cabinet, and then realised it was locked. As she was walking into her bedroom it occurred to her that she could burn the iPad. They had a wood stove in the lounge room, and if she fired it up with a heap of logs, she could melt the pad, or she supposed so. They looked pretty robust.
She retrieved the key, then trotted back downstairs with the iPad in hand. She placed it on the table in the hall, and then turned to the cupboard under the stairs where there was a store of firewood. She carted two logs into the lounge room and had begun to search for some newspaper when the doorbell rang. She was expecting a delivery, a new remote for the television she had ordered from eBay, but when she opened the door she was faced with Grainger and Adamson, the officers from yesterday. She gulped awkwardly, feeling as though she might go insane. The iPad was on the hall table, right behind her.
“We have your statements,” Grainger said, “to sign. May we come in.”
She nodded and pulled the door back. “The boys are at school.”
“Today?”
“Yes, they had to go in.” This struck her as an odd statement to make and she motioned awkwardly with her hands.
Grainger stared at her. “Well, if you could sign? We’ll come back another time for the boys.”
She took a breath. “Of course.”
They moved toward the hall table and Susan followed them, feeling distraught. Adamson slid the iPad aside and placed the paperwork on the table. Then he produced a pen and stood back.
“Read it through,” he said.
She nodded and then began, yet she could hardly concentrate. Every moment or so her eyes were drawn to the iPad. She barely knew if what was written was what she had said, but she supposed they had transcribed it faithfully. Why would they do otherwise?
She signed, then handed the forms back to Adamson.
“It’s a lovely day,” he said.
“A little hot,” Grainger added.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” She asked everybody. But she chastised herself immediately. She didn’t want them in the house for an hour or so while all the time the iPad was sitting here on the table.
Grainger glanced at it, stared for a moment, and then said, “No. Thank you.”
Adamson nodded, yet it looked as though he would have enjoyed a cup of tea. He seemed a little disappointed.
“When will the boys be home?”
“Three thirty,” she said, but then remembered the detentions. “No — five.”
“Five.”
“They’re on detention.”
The officers nodded gravely, and thereafter followed several awkward moments as they stared at one another in silence.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Grainger said to Adamson.
Then they were leaving.
She breathed a little more lightly as she led them to the door.
“Will the boys be home before four tomorrow?”
“No, it’ll be five again. They have detention all week.”
“I see. Well, we might come back this afternoon.” He glanced at Adamson, but Adamson looked non-committal.
They took their leave, and she closed the door.
Chapter 19
She walked directly toward the cupboard under the stairs with a new resolve. She would chock the woodstove full of firewood and build the hottest fire she could. Then she would slip the iPad in and watch it melt.
It took her perhaps ten or fifteen minutes to build the fire, and then, with great care, she set the newspaper alight. Michael usually did this sort of thing, but she had done it in the past. The fire looked as though it was flailing for a few moments, but she’d managed to put in a little kindling, and once this had caught it seemed as though the logs would catch. They did — eventually — yet it seemed to be taking a long time.
She stood back, staring at the flames with the door to the woodstove open. The flames leapt and curled, blue in places, orange and white in others. Tracing the patterns the fire made in the firewood was hypnotising, and for minutes she stood staring, thinking of nothing. Then she was perspiring, and realised she would have to adjust the air conditioning. She reached for the remote and toggled it down to seventeen degrees Celsius.
In the hall she found the iPad, and as she was walking back through to the lounge room thought about taking one last look at the film. Something about it was perplexing her. As she’d stood, staring at the fire, thinking of nothing, some vague doubt had risen into her mind. She flipped open the cover, tapped on the camera, and expected to see the film, but she saw nothing. It had been deleted. Luke must have done it. There was little there but a few photos of Martin Lockheed, which seemed odd.
She pressed her lips together, swallowed and closed her eyes. She was glad the film was gone. Watching it had been like living in a nightmare. Once it was in the fire, well, all her problems would be solved. No one could then accuse Tom of doing anything wrong.
She tossed it in and watched as the cover curled and blackened, the bright red plastic disappearing into the flames. The pad blackened also, but after fifteen minutes had done little more than buckle. It wasn’t melting, not exactly. Even so, it couldn’t possibly still contain any information. Nothing retrievable. Not if she left it in there for the better part of the day.
She closed the door to the woodstove and dampened the flue, building the heat. It was difficult to see the iPad through the door, and easy to believe it had disappeared. She stood with her hands on her hips for minutes, staring at the flames, and then began to wonder what she was going to do with the day. Clean? Clean again?
The phone rang.
Chapter 20
It was Beck, a friend of hers from school, a friend she hadn’t spoken to for more than fifteen years. At first Susan wasn’t sure who she was, but she soon caught on.
“I was wondering if you’re coming to the reunion,” Beck said.
“The reunion?”
“Didn’t you get an invite?”
“Oh — yes. Yes, I did.”
“Well, it’s Saturday night. You can make that, can’t you?”
Susan hadn’t given the reunion a second thought. Her head had been too full of Jude. Now, as she turned it over, she wondered if she really wanted to go.
She had been schooled at Waverly’s sister school, an all-girls’ school. There would be no one but middle-aged women there, and she no longer knew any of them. But it was now twenty years since graduation. She was thirty-seven, and Beck wanted to see her, everyone wanted to see her, Beck said.
“I really don’t know.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I have a funeral on Saturday.”
“Not your own?”
“No, of course not.”
“It isn’t in the evening is it?”
“No.”
“Well — come then.”
Beck sounded as though she was still seventeen. Still as young and upbeat — and pushy. She had always been pushy. Full of zest, full of spirit, and hard to say no to. She had been a troublemaker, always the girl to suggest the maddest schemes. Susan remembered how she and Beck had one time climbed out of the window of the boarding house and walked into the city. They bought a bottle of whisky and were soon drunk. Then they got lost, but somehow made it back to the school by dawn, only to come face to face with the house mistress as they were climbing back through the window. They were lucky not to have been expelled.
“I know Janice wants to see you.”
“Does she?”
“I was speaking to her this morning. I’m trying to get the whole class involved.”
“Are you organising it?”
“No. Samantha is.”
At the sound of the name, Susan felt her breath catch. She had had a crush on Samantha at school, something that had lasted for the better part of a year. For a while there, she had wondered if she was a lesbian or not, but had then met Michael at
a school dance, with the boys from Waverly.
She closed her eyes momentarily and pictured Samantha’s face. She was young and blond and winsome, with fair skin and an extraordinarily sensitive expression, which at times looked painful. She had been so beautiful. But what would she look like now? It’d be good to see her again, though they’d never really understood one another.
“Come on,” Beck implored her.
“I don’t know.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“I guess. I mean, I suppose I could.”
“Oh, great. I’ll call Sam and tell her.”
Susan made a fist with her left hand, a little frustrated. She didn’t really want to go, didn’t think she should. Then it occurred to her to wonder why, and she remembered the iPad and Jude all over again. Tom’s face reared up in her imagination. “You want to see the perfect murder? Just watch this.” he said.
