by Sam King
Ralph winced.
Luke smiled at him and they walked out onto the large veranda where there were tables and chairs. They gathered around a table, her and the boys on one side and Ralph on the other. They were silent for a few moments.
Then Tom said, “I committed a murder.”
“What?”
“I killed somebody.”
“Really?” Ralph grinned, and then lifted his eyes to hers.
Tom seemed to have a very twisted perception of how ill Ralph was and just what he could understand.
“He’s joking,” she said.
“No, really. I’m not. We went to the funeral this morning.”
“That’s enough, Tom,” she said, a hint of danger in her voice.
They were silent for moments, and then Ralph said, “You are very dressed up. All of you.”
“We have been to a funeral — one of the boys from Waverly.”
“But Tom didn’t really kill him, right?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s one story,” Tom said.
“Stop it, Tom.”
“I’m only saying.”
She felt her temper fraying. He was sitting beside her and it would have been so easy to lash out and slap him on the back of the head. Her fingers itched, and she made a fist.
“Ellen’s out of hospital.”
“Ellen — oh, good. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. A little shaky. But she should be okay.”
“I always like her,” Ralph said. He spoke to voices, and began to do this now. “You always liked her, didn’t you?” “Ellen?” “Yes, Ellen.” “I don’t know about that.” He muttered both sides of the conversation, so she was never at a loss to understand what was going on. It was his idea that one of these voices was his daughter, and he spoke to her all the time. He called her Helen.
“How is Helen?” Tom said.
Luke hit him. She hadn’t noticed him at the end of the table, but his face was red with anger.
“She’s fine,” Ralph said, and lowered his eyes. He began to trace a pattern on the table with his finger and she felt dreadfully sorry for him. These voices were part of his brain he’d said a year or so ago. They were complexes of a sort, and acted independently, with definite personalities. It was difficult for Ralph to get the doctors to agree with him, but he said if one or two of them began taking him over, then he’d have what amounted to a multiple personality disorder.
Two of the patients were playing ping pong. The ball bounced toward Luke and he jumped up to retrieve it He tossed it toward a young man with a beard and then turned to the table. He seemed to be seething, though exactly what comment it was of Tom’s that had started it she didn’t understand. He took a seat on Ralph’s side of the table and gripped his elbow. He whispered into his ear. Ralph nodded, raised his eyebrows at her humorously, but then looked very serious. Shaken, really. She wondered what Luke had said.
They sat on in silence for a minute or more. Then the afternoon tea arrived and Ralph got up to get himself a cup.
“You’re a fuckhead,” Luke said as soon as he’d gone.
“What?”
“You’re a fucking idiot, telling him you murdered somebody. He isn’t a fool. He’s really smart.”
Tom looked affronted, but a moment later his eyes were downcast. He twisted his hands together and stared at them. Ralph returned with a cup of tea and biscuits.
“So? My nephew’s a murderer,” he said, and nodded.
Chapter 30
On the way home, Tom asked if he could have his iPod back. She was momentarily confused by this and said, “Your iPad?”
“My iPod.”
“Oh — your iPod. You want that back, do you?”
He nodded.
“Well, I don’t see why I should give it to you. Perhaps tomorrow, after you’ve weeded Grandma Ellen’s garden.”
He groaned.
Michael was in his office, busy with paperwork, but she set about making everyone some afternoon tea. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes on a Saturday or Sunday she managed to gather them all together. She made some cucumber sandwiches, laid out some biscuits she’d baked and cut some cake. Then she called them. They ate at the kitchen table and after a few minutes the rain eased up and the sun came out momentarily. She smiled, looking at her boys. Surely everything would be all right now. Jean was coming tomorrow to speak to Tom, but after that, well, things would be back to normal.
Then it occurred to her that tonight she was due at the school reunion. She’d all but forgotten.
“Damn,” she said.
“Mum!”
“I know, I shouldn’t swear.”
“What is it?” Michael asked her.
“I have a school reunion — tonight — and I said I’d go.”
“School?”
“Yes, I did once go to school, Tom.”
“I know that, but what are you going to do?”
“Meet and talk. Dance a little.”
“Is Dad going?”
“I haven’t asked him.” She turned to him. “Would you want to?”
“Count me out. With your friends, I’m sure it’d all be women.”
Yes, she supposed. Beck had said nothing about bringing a husband. It’d simply be the girls.
Michael and the boys drifted away. She stacked the dishwasher and looked up only to see a return of the rain, sheets of it noisily lashing the window again. The last thing she wanted to do was go out again, and what was she supposed to wear? Not what she’d worn to the funeral. A little black dress was what she needed, and she supposed she had three of those.
She walked upstairs, selected one and laid it on the bed. Then her mind turned to the evening meal. She’d been thinking of making a lasagne, but had thought to make it later. If she did it now, Michael and the boys could heat it up. Then again, they could get some take away.
She put her hands on her hips and stared out of the window at the back garden. The window was sheltered by an eve, unlike in the kitchen. The heads of the gum trees were tossing and turning, and there was something like a small river flowing through the back yard.
It occurred to her that life was good, but that thought was forced. It wasn’t good at all. Not at the moment. She felt as though she was hearing the strains of string instruments, stretched to breaking, as though she was teetering on the edge of a cliff. This thing with Jude. Would it ever be over? It was one thing to think it had occurred, but another to be aware of Tom’s part in it. If she’d never seen the video she’d be none the wiser. But would that be good? She couldn’t imagine it would be, even if she’d be feeling no strain now. No. It was better to know. And to have done what she could. Even so, she was hounded by the thought that it hadn’t been enough — and further, that there was something she was missing.
“What are you doing?” Michael said, appearing behind her.
She jumped. “Staring at the rain.”
He drew her into his arms and she gripped him tight. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“So, it’s just me and the boys tonight.”
“Sorry.”
“No — it’ll be all right.”
He wasn’t the best baby sitter in the world, but the boys could look after themselves. “You want me to make something you can heat, or …?”
“Suit yourself. You’re not our slave.”
She turned it over in her mind. She didn’t really want to make the lasagne. Would prefer lying down for an hour or two if she had to go out tonight, so she said this.
Michael nodded. “We’ll get some Indian.”
Chapter 31
At five thirty she got up and took a shower. Then she put some makeup on and dressed. When she appeared downstairs, Michael whistled. He was watching TV with the boys, a game of football.
The reunion included a meal and was held in the school hall. She was one of the first to arrive, and she stood awkwardly, embarrassed, staring at the
few faces around her without comprehension. Then a red-head started toward her and said, “Susan!” her voice a screech.
It was Fiona Peters, she realised after they’d hugged, a girl she’d never got on with and who had never had red hair. They talked for a few minutes as the hall filled, and then she found her place at the table and took a seat. No sooner had she done so than there was someone behind her. She had to get up again. It was Janice, who’d been her best friend for a year or more.
“You’re looking good,” she said.
They hugged.
“What are you doing now?”
“Housewife,” Susan said, and made a sour face, as though she hated it.
“Really? Children?”
“Yes. Two boys.”
“I’m still on my own. Still looking.”
Susan glanced askance and caught sight of Samantha. She flinched at the sight of her, this girl she’d loved, and then wondered how she could possibly look so good. She looked all of twenty-five and was dressed in pink.
“If I find the right man, it’ll be a miracle,” Janice said.
“You’ll find someone.”
“I hope so.”
Samantha walked by without seeing her and Susan wondered if she remembered at all. There’d been a few serious talks, more than a few smiles, and some hand-holding. But what did all that mean now? Nothing.
She talked on with Janice for minutes, and then realised that the hall had quietened down. She turned to find her seat again and saw that Samantha was sitting on her right. Janice’s place card was on her left.
She took a seat.
Samantha turned toward her, blinked, and then looked aghast.
“It’s Susan,” Susan said.
“Yes. I know. I remember. Samantha.”
“Of course. You look great.”
“I see.” She hesitated. “You’re looking great too.”
She’d always been a bit spacey, and she didn’t seem to have lost this. It’d always been part of her appeal.
“What are you doing these days?”
“I work in advertising.”
“Oh, really?”
Samantha nodded, and then turned her head toward the person on her right. Janice attracted her attention, and they were lost in conversation for minutes. When she turned back again, Samantha was sitting quietly, a pensive expression on her face.
“So what do you actually do?” Susan asked her.
“I’m a creative. I come up with the ideas.”
Susan was struck by a sudden certainty. She was lying. She most likely didn’t work in advertising at all. And after they’d got up from the table this was more or less confirmed for her. Romy happened to catch her elbow and whispered into her ear. “Did you hear about Samantha?” she said.
“No.”
“Apparently she’s working as a prostitute.” Romy threw her head back and laughed, but Susan felt awful.
A few minutes later, she sought Samantha out again. She supposed there was a tired look in her eye, something that suggested too much experience of life.
“We ought to get together for lunch sometime,” Susan said.
Samantha looked stunned, but then quickly said, “That would be great,” a smile blossoming on her face.
Susan asked her if she wanted to dance, and Samantha said okay. They stepped onto the floor and a few minutes later were holding hands as they swayed. It occurred to her that she was quite drunk now, that she must be, as the hall seemed blurred. And what was she doing? She didn’t know.
Chapter 32
She woke with a headache. Her throat was dry and she groaned. It was five thirty a.m. already, but she felt like sleeping in, and so turned over. When she woke again, Michael was already up. She needed some water.
She got up and drank some from the glass in the bathroom. Then she took a shower. Downstairs she made herself some bacon and eggs. Smelling it, the boys drifted into the kitchen. Then Michael appeared. She wasn’t really in the mood to make the family breakfast, but she plated her bacon and eggs up for Michael and then made more. By the time she got to the table, she was yearning for something fatty to still her stomach. She knew she shouldn’t have drunk vodka last night, and told herself not to do it again. She ate hungrily and ignored the talk of the others until she heard Michael raise his voice.
“But what happened to your iPad?”
“Mum burnt it.”
“Burnt it?
“She put it in the wood stove.”
Susan was sipping her tea. She coughed. “He had something inappropriate on it.” She hesitated. “Something sexual.”
“And you burnt it?”
She gulped and nodded, her eyes wide.
“Surely that wasn’t necessary.”
“You should have seen it,” Tom said. “Two boys. Naked.”
“Two … boys? Oh, I see.” He turned to Luke. “Luke, you really need to be careful,” he said. “How did you hit upon that?”
“I don’t know, Dad,” Luke said. He had his hands clasped and his eyes downcast. Even so, he managed to throw an angry look at Tom.
“And now you want another one,” Michael said.
“Mum said she’d buy me one.”
“Maybe for Christmas,” Susan said.
“But that’s weeks away.”
“Three weeks.” Which reminded her that this would be the boys’ last week at school before the holidays.
Luke huffed and shut his eyes tight, a characteristic gesture which she recognised as his way of saying things were getting too much. He’d used to do it as a little boy.
She got up and put her hand on his shoulder. He raked the chair back and folded into her arms.
Tom had a grin on his face. He locked his hands behind his head and expanded his chest.
Luke nuzzled his face into her neck. She had thought they were too old for hugs, but with everything that was happening now, they seemed to be asking for more than ever.
“It really was your fault, Luke,” Michael said calmly. “What on Earth were you searching for?”
Luke began to cry.
Chapter 33
The doorbell rang.
“Who on Earth can that be?” she said. She disentangled herself from Luke and walked into hall. It was Jean. “Oh, Jean. Hello.”
Almost immediately, Susan felt a great wave of guilt wash over her, as though she’d been responsible for Jude’s death herself. Jean looked ashen-faced, her skin pale and clear of makeup, her eyes red-rimmed.
“I haven’t slept,” she said.
“No.”
“Oh, Jean, hello,” Michael said from behind her. “That was a lovely service yesterday. Brilliant.”
“Thank you,” she said, but she looked on the verge of tears. “I’ve come to talk to Tom.”
“To Tom?”
“Yes. He was in the play room when Jude choked.”
“Oh — right.”
“I’m just not sure I have everything straight in my mind. Martin Lockheed’s mother rang me last night, and apparently there’s a film?”
Susan’s heel twisted sideways and she all but fell, reaching for Michael for support.
“A film?”
“Apparently one of the boys showed Martin a film of Jude — of him choking.”
Michael turned to Susan and drew his head back, his eyes searching.
“I don’t think there’s a film,” Susan muttered.
“No?”
“No.”
“Then why would Martin say that?”
“Come in, Jean,” Michael said. He gripped Susan’s elbow and pulled her away from the door. After ushering Jean in he shut the door. The three of them stood awkwardly in the hall.
“There was a film,” Susan muttered, “but it’s been deleted.”
“What was that?”
“I said there was a film, Jean, but it’s been deleted.”
Jean looked suddenly angry. She clenched her fists. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’
m not lying.”
“It was on one of the boy’s iPads.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And it showed Jude’s final moments.”
“It was awful Jean. I deleted it to save you from it.” She hesitated, motioned awkwardly with her hands, and then said, “I thought about it, thought you might want to see it, but really, it would have only upset you.”
“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe it’s been deleted. I want to see it.”
“That isn’t possible. I … well, I burnt the iPad. I can show you the remains.”
“The what?”
“The remains of the pad.”
“The remains?”
“Yes. It was so awful, Jean. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the thought of you ever seeing it, so I burnt the iPad. I put it into the wood stove.”
“You must be insane.”
Susan shook her head ineffectually and lowered her eyes.
“Show me, then.”
“Okay, Jean.”
She turned and led the way into the kitchen on her way to the back door. As she entered the room, both boys jerked and sat up a little straighter. She opened the back door and marched outside. The path was a little slippery after the rain, with some moss growing, and as Jean came out, she slipped. Michael caught her just as she was about to go down. Susan opened the wheelie bin and bent forward into it. The iPad was beneath a box. She retrieved it, and then began to pull the plastic bags to pieces in something of a frenzy. Vegetable peelings sprayed everywhere, all over her dress and all over the lawn. She made a hole in the final bag and ripped the iPad free.
