by Sam King
“There’s nothing on it. I want the copy.”
“There is no copy.”
“But there must be,” Jean said, and then started to cry.
Susan shook her head definitively.
Jean broke down and reached for her, and a moment later Susan found herself cradling her in her arms. She smelt like cheese, as though she hadn’t bathed for days. Susan held her breath, but all she could think was that Luke’s phone was in her handbag with the film still retrievable, most likely.
“How about a cup of tea, Jean?”
Jean nodded limply.
“Come into the kitchen.” She began to lead her away, but turned back to the boys. “Lose that music,” she said, “and fast.”
Both of them nodded.
She sat Jean at the kitchen table and set about making a fresh pot of tea. Jean put her head in her hands and sobbed.
“He was such a beautiful boy,” she said.
Susan nodded distractedly.
“He really was.”
Again, Susan nodded.
“You didn’t know him the way I did.”
“No,” she mouthed. She reached into the cupboard for a mug for Jean and selected a particularly nice one with orange and white stripes. Then she shook her head at herself — at the absurdity of thinking this might comfort Jean.
The rain had let up now, and the afternoon sun was lighting the tops of the ghost gums in the back yard. Everything looked vividly green in the bright sunshine, the effect heightened by the dark storm clouds serving as a backdrop.
Susan poured the tea.
“So there really isn’t a copy?” Jean said.
“No.”
“I don’t know what Martin meant, then.”
“Do we have to go over it again, Jean?”
“Just tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“The police won’t take me seriously.”
That sounded like good news. Susan felt a little lighter, and a little more able to give Jean comfort. She placed a hand on hers and squeezed.
Jean smiled wanly. “You’ve always been a good friend.”
“I am a good friend.”
Chapter 48
Half an hour later she was waving Jean goodbye at the door. “Be sure to drop in on Christmas day,” she said, and then regretted saying this. Christmas was most likely the last thing on Jean’s mind. She turned back into the house.
Luke was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He gave her an odd look, and then, as she passed him, said, “Women are pretty weird.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She slapped you and now you’re friends.”
“I’ve been her friend for a long time.”
Luke nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
She retrieved her handbag from the kitchen and made her way upstairs. Luke had disappeared. She locked the door to the sewing room and then locked the phone into the filing cabinet. It was too late in the day to burn it. She would do it tomorrow. She sat at her desk and fired up her computer, and then retrieved the piece of paper she’d slipped into her handbag — the piece of paper the man at the mall had given her.
She typed in “dailymotion” and was led to a site on the YouTube model, a site for uploading videos. It all looked pretty simple. She typed in the account name and the password, and before she knew it, was looking at a still of Tom’s face.
It seemed somehow incredible that it was here, and from what she knew of the legalities of such sites, this video would sit in their databanks for years now, possibly for all time. The point, however, was that no one would access it. It was private, as she soon ascertained, and judging by the counter, no one had seen it.
She deleted it and then deleted the account. She figured that was safer. If the man ever wanted to get back into it, well, that was just too bad.
When Michael came home, he noticed the paintings missing in the hall. He’d walked by the blank spots Monday and Tuesday (just like a man) without saying a word. But today, apparently, the blank spaces were very evident.
She explained as best she could, telling him that she’d given an old friend a chance, but that she’d obviously been a heroin addict. She didn’t mention prostitution, as that might have proved too much for Michael. He would have gone on about the boys, and the inappropriateness of having her in the house.
Even as it was, he did just this.
“She didn’t leave any needles around, did she?” he wanted to know. “You have checked.”
She hadn’t been into the spare bathroom, but she assured him that she had.
Then he wanted to know if she’d called the police, and she had to admit she hadn’t.
“It was only a few things,” she said, “and she was a good friend. I’d hate to see her charged for it.”
“I see.”
She kissed him on the cheek, but couldn’t help reflecting on how many things she kept from him, events that happened at home while he was at work, things it was easier not to get into. She hadn’t yet told him about the Martin Lockheed incident at school, and figured now that she never would.
That evening, she grilled some steaks on the barbecue. The family gathered around to eat, and then later, she and Michael sat by the poolside, drinking white wine and watching the boys swim. The day had cleared into a cloudless night, and she let herself imagine that all her troubles were behind her.
Chapter 49
The following morning, she fired up the woodstove and threw Luke’s phone into it. Tom happened to catch her just as she was doing this.
“What was that?” he said.
“What?”
“You threw something in there.”
“It was a piece of wood.”
“No. It was a phone.”
She bit her lips.
“That wasn’t mine was it?”
“No, it was Luke’s.”
“Luke’s?”
“I got it back.”
She couldn’t explain why, but she found herself telling Tom all about the man at the mall and how she’d done a deal with him.
“You paid him money?”
“He wanted five thousand dollars.”
“For a phone?”
“No, Tom, not for a phone. For your freedom. Here,” she said, “give me a hug.” He stepped forward reluctantly and she folded him into her arms. “Now no one can say you did anything wrong. There’s no evidence.”
He nodded.
She spent the next few days Christmas shopping. Luke wanted a skateboard and Tom a Nintendo 3DS. She figured she’d buy Luke a phone as well, which meant she’d have to pad Tom’s stocking out with another expensive item. She finally decided on a bluetooth speaker for his computer. She bought them a pair of headphones each and a novel. For Tom, Catcher in the Rye, and for Luke, Lord of the Flies. Each of them had to have some Lego as well, as they had an ongoing competition involving it. Each Christmas Michael set them some new project to construct, and they always ran short of pieces. She bought them chocolates and lollies, toys for the pool, water blasters, and a model plane set each. That was enough. More than enough. When she considered it all at home, she felt a little sick.
On Saturday, she battled her way through the supermarket, determined to buy everything she needed in one go. It took her more than an hour, but in the end her trolley was piled high with nuts, chips, crackers, pudding, chicken, lamb, ham, cola, juice, pickled onions, and Christmas crackers. It totalled more than three hundred dollars and took all her energy and strength to unpack once she’d reached home.
She was so hot and bothered she decided to have a swim, and so went upstairs and changed into a one piece, which was all she was prepared to wear these days. The boys were in the pool, and she emerged from the sunroom to cries of,
“Mum!”
“Yes, Mum!”
She slipped into the water and felt the tension ease from her body. The boys wanted to race her, and she agreed. She’d always been a strong s
wimmer, and when she’d raced them last summer had still had the advantage.
She lined up on the edge with them and then dove into the water. She raced them freestyle to the finish line, but failed to beat either of them. Then she was exhausted. She laid around on the recliner for an hour or so and then made her way inside. She had a Christmas cake to bake.
Chapter 50
Ralph was given leave from the hospital, so she went to collect him first, followed by Ellen. The boys had been up since five a.m., but weren’t allowed to open their presents until Ralph and Ellen arrived. They were playing on the front lawn when she came home again, playing with a pair of water blasters. She realised belatedly that she’d bought them water blasters again this year. And she’d thought perhaps they were too old for them. They followed the car into the garage.
“Tom!” Ralph cried, getting out of the car. “You never called me.”
“What?”
“I asked your mother to call me, but you never did.”
Tom was standing with one hand on the rear of the car, but as Ralph stepped toward him he backed away. He raised the water blaster and shot Ralph.
“That’s it,” Ralph said. “You’re a killer. Luke told me all about it.”
“Me?” Tom said.
“Yes, you. You’ve got that look in your eye.” His tone was jocular, but all the same, Susan could tell he was wary of Tom.
“It was Luke anyway,” Tom said. “Luke did it.”
Ralph laughed.
They trailed through the house and out to the sunroom, stopping every now and then so Ellen could admire the changes to the house. It had been a few months now since she had seen it, and Susan had done quite a lot.
“I can never get maidenhairs to grow,” Ellen said as they walked into the sunshine bright room.
It was bright blue day, a day without a cloud in the sky. The weatherman had said the temperature would rise into the high thirties. But the air conditioner was on, and the room was cool.
There were four cane armchairs, one for each of the adults, and as soon as Michael appeared, everyone took their seats. Then it was time for gift-giving, an opportunity to watch the boys open their presents, more than anything.
Luke ripped the paper off his skateboard first and said, “Wow, Mum! Thanks.”
Tom opened his speaker and was surprised, but obviously pleased.
One by one they tore the wrappings off, less interested in the novels than she might have hoped, and soon the room was full of discarded coloured paper.
Then it was time for the personal gifts. Susan asked the boys to hand them out from the bottom of the tree. She received soap and a recipe book from Tom, hand cream and a novel from Luke. Michael gave her the complete Downton Abbey on DVD to watch with her lunch, and from Ellen she received a marble salt bowl and spoon set. Ralph had no gifts to give, as he’d been in the hospital for almost six weeks now and had had no opportunity to buy any.
The boys handed one another a present, and she watched in dismay as Luke opened his ruined phone — a gift from Tom. He turned the blackened device over, and then closed his eyes.
“It’s a phone,” Tom said. “I got you a phone.”
“Yeah. I get it.”
“Where did that come from?” Michael said.
“I found it in the trash.”
“You found it in the trash?”
“Yeah.”
“How was it in the trash?”
“Mum burnt it.”
“You …?”
“I found it.”
“It was Luke’s,” Tom said. “The phone Luke lost.”
“It was Luke’s? You mean the phone he lost in the mountains?”
“Yes. A man handed it in,” she said, “to the police.”
“So you burnt it?”
“It was ruined.”
“Ruined? — No, wait. I know. It had that film on it.” He paused for a moment. “It did, didn’t it?”
She nodded.
Chapter 51
Michael followed her into the kitchen and they began to argue.
“What was on this film?”
“Nothing.”
“It can’t have been nothing.”
“It was nothing. Really.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She opened the over door and pulled the roast out. “It was nothing.”
“If it was nothing, then why didn’t you give it to Jean?”
She tried to think of a reply, but came up blank. The she said the only thing she could say, but kept her voice down. “It was incriminating for the boys.”
“Incriminating?” Michael had lowered his voice also.
“They were playing a game. Luke — Tom — told Jude to try swallowing that toy. He wanted him to try and regurgitate it.”
“Regurgitate it?”
“I’m telling you all I know.”
“So he encouraged him?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what all this is about?”
“It was a game.”
“A game?”
“They were playing a game.”
“I see.” He blinked at her for a few moments. “Tom was playing a game that led to another boy’s death.”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven’t I been told this?”
“I didn’t want to involve you. You get too serious about things.”
“Serious? You’re talking about manslaughter, Susan. I can’t imagine anything could be more serious.”
“It was a game. They were fooling around.” She turned the leg of lamb over and dropped it into the pan. “That’s all it was.”
“And it was all captured on this film, was it?”
She nodded.
“How?”
“The boys were filming themselves with the Wii and it was left on.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her for moments.
“Can you just calm down about it?”
“I am calm.”
“It’s over.”
“Over?”
“The police have been. They’ve interviewed the boys. I’ve talked to Jean. Everything is fine.”
Chapter 52
Only everything wasn’t fine. The following day, Jean appeared again. Michael was at Ellen’s, seeing to some repairs. Susan was out by the pool, scooping leaves.
It was a brilliant blue day. The pool scoop was sliding gently beneath the glittering blue surface of the pool. The sun was shining, and she was lost in a hypnotic kind of trance.
Tom opened the door from the sun room and said, “Mrs Lasseter’s here.”
She hadn’t come yesterday, and Susan imagined for a moment that this was a belated visit. Then she saw Jean’s face. She was smiling widely, triumphantly, and had an iPad in her hand.
“Susan,” she said. “Guess what I found?”
She couldn’t imagine, but held the pool scoop gently in one hand, allowing it to rest on the surface as she turned to Jean.
Tom disappeared into the house, but a moment later she saw him through the windows of the sunroom, standing by the Christmas tree with his Nintendo 3DS in his hand.
Jean advanced upon her. “You want to look at this?” She waggled the iPad. “A friend emailed it to me.”
Susan drew her head back.
Jean turned and stood beside her on the edge of the pool. She angled the iPad toward her and tapped on an icon. In the bright sun, it was difficult to see much. Then she recognised Tom’s face and heard the familiar words. “You want to see the perfect murder? Just watch this.” At the sound of them, her heart jerked painfully.
“That’s your son, Tom,” I believe. “But wait. Look at this. This is Luke.”
“So you think it’s true?”
“I know it is.”
“How do you know?”
“Martin wouldn’t lie.”
“Maybe he did, Luke.”
“I don’t think so.”
�
�You want to play a game?”
“What game?”
“It’s called regurgitation …”
Susan stepped off the edge of the pool and crossed in front of Jean. The pool scoop caught her in the hip and Susan pushed hard. Jean lost her grip on the iPad and fell backwards into the water with a splash. She flailed for a moment, her dress ballooning around her head. Susan hit her on the head with the pool scoop and then tried to push her under. The scoop flexed and bent and then Jean had it in her hand. She tugged on it and Susan tripped into the pool.
She took one short stroke forward and gripped Jean around the neck. Jean went under for a moment. Then one of her arms came up awkwardly and frantically lashed the surface. Susan had a rubbery hold on her head, but Jean came up again. She lashed out with a hand and caught Susan in the face. Susan turned quickly and gripped her arm, she bent it backwards, and again Jean’s head went under. A shockingly white foot surfaced, still in its shoe.
Unconsciously, Susan tugged Jean toward deeper water. Then she gripped her neck again and twisted it downward. It was easy to keep her own head above the surface due to Jean’s thrashing efforts to rise. Susan made a scissor-like action with her legs and caught Jean’s body between them. Her head went under as she tipped backward, but the water stilled.
