Less Than Perfect

by Ber Carroll

  He blinks and rises to his feet. ‘Let me introduce you to a few key people first. Then we’ll see if we can organise a date to suit everyone.’

  I can hardly keep the smile off my face. In one monumental leap I’ve gone flying past first base, and probably second and third base too. Whooosh. Progress at last.

  I take my laptop home with me. It’s been a long day and if I stop to think about it I should be tired, but adrenalin has kicked in and I know I won’t sleep until I’ve at least constructed the basis of the Net Banc proposal. Jeanie’s also catching up on some admin and so there’s a rather industrious atmosphere in the apartment.

  ‘Bills, bills, and more bills,’ she moans, going through the mail that accumulated during her last trip away. ‘There’s not one nice thing in here. No letters, no exciting invitations, just demands for money!’

  ‘That’s the problem with technology,’ I offer as I type some data into a spreadsheet. ‘Everything is done by email these days. The only time anything nice comes in the post is Christmas and birthdays.’

  Jeanie doesn’t respond. I glance her way and see that she’s staring incredulously at a piece of paper that looks, from this distance, like a phone bill.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘This is wrong!’ she squeaks. ‘It says that I owe five hundred and fifty-two dollars – for my lost phone!’

  ‘Your lost phone?’ I cast her a long hard look. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t cancel the account with the phone company?’

  She shakes her head, colour creeping along her cheekbones. ‘I kept hoping it would eventually turn up – that’s why I got this cheap prepaid one in the meantime. I never imagined that someone had stolen it and was using it to rack up an enormous bill in my name!’

  ‘Kim,’ I say suddenly, my memory sparking. ‘Kim is the person who stole it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I rang it the other night by mistake and someone called Kim answered. At the time I just assumed the phone company had allocated the number to someone else – but obviously not if the account is still in your name.’

  ‘Kim,’ Jeanie repeats slowly in an ominous tone.

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘It’s Kimmie.’ Rage glazes her eyes. ‘My sister.’

  Kimmie is the third – or fourth, I can never remember which – sister in the family.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Jesus, my own sister stole my phone!’

  ‘No, it can’t be true. It must be a different Kim,’ I reason. It seems too outrageous.

  ‘It is true. I know it is. I was with Kimmie the day I lost the phone.’ Jeanie folds her arms abruptly and I notice her hands are curled into fists. ‘I must have left it behind at her place and she just helped herself.’

  I’m still not convinced. ‘I don’t know, Jeanie. I think you’re jumping ahead of yourself.’

  ‘This is just like something she would do. She’s cracked in the head, that one. She’s always been trouble – Mum should have kept her on a tighter rope.’

  As she speaks, Jeanie picks up the house phone, presumably to confront Kim, or Kimmie as she’s known to her family.

  ‘I’m going to kill her, absolutely kill her …’

  Luckily for Kim, she doesn’t pick up.

  The next day at work I’m absorbed with refining my presentation to Net Banc when Nicola appears out of nowhere. Due to the firefighting nature of her job, it’s rare to see her away from the training floor, and I usually I go to visit her rather than the other way around.

  ‘Hey.’ I smile. ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’

  ‘Do you have time to grab a quick coffee?’

  ‘Sure.’ I save my spreadsheet. ‘An internal or external variety?’

  ‘External.’

  It’s even more rare for Nicola to leave the premises outside the lunch hour. Something is up.

  We go downstairs and cross the road to one of the thriving cafés. Perching on stools inside the window, we wait for our coffees to be made.

  ‘David’s lost his job,’ Nicola divulges.

  ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘He went into work as normal yesterday morning, got called to his boss’s office and was promptly informed that he was redundant, effective immediately. He had ten minutes to clear out his desk and was home within the hour.’

  ‘That’s awful. Is he upset?’

  ‘He’s shocked. He still can’t believe it.’

  ‘Was he the only one?’

  ‘No. The bank made thirty staff redundant yesterday and there’s a chance that there’ll be more next month.’ Our coffees arrive and Nicola cups hers with both hands. ‘Do you know the worst part?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘As of yesterday, there are thirty excellently qualified investment bankers looking for work in Melbourne’s CBD.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘David’s panicking already. He spent all last night making contingency plans – if he’s out of work for one month, two months, three months, six months …’ Nicola leans closer, her voice becoming even more urgent. ‘And as part of his contingency plans, he thinks it’s a good time to move in with me – one rent to pay, one set of household expenses and all that.’ From the appalled look on Nicola’s face, she isn’t all that taken with the idea of David moving in.

  ‘Have you talked about it before now? Moving in together?’ I enquire diplomatically.

  ‘Yes, but that was when he had a job.’

  ‘So you only want to live with him if he’s working?’

  ‘Of course! I don’t want him hanging around my flat all day and living off me.’

  ‘That’s really harsh.’ I’m feeling less diplomatic now.

  ‘Well, it’s how I feel.’

  ‘You’re being unfair, Nic. It’s not like he can help being unemployed. He needs your support.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m your friend, not him, and so you should be on my side.’

  ‘It’s not about taking sides! Do you have any idea how bad David must be feeling right now?’

  ‘Obviously not as good an idea as you seem to think you have!’ she sniffs.

  ‘My brother was unemployed …’ I say without thinking.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a brother.’ Nicola’s phone beeps. She casts her eyes down to check the message. ‘I’m wanted back on the floor. No rest for the wicked!’

  I can hardly disguise my relief. Getting into a discussion about Liam was the last thing I intended. I usually go to great lengths to avoid talking about him, for fear I’ll break down. Now, after this last-minute reprieve, I feel a sense of vertigo as I stand up from my stool, as though I’ve stood too close to the edge of a cliff, images from my past swirling in a fog below, waiting for me to lose my balance.

  Sorry, Liam. I’m so, so sorry.

  ‘Don’t forget that Harry Dixon is coming in on Friday,’ I say on our way out, using work as a means of stabilising my feelings.

  Nic doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice, the change in subject. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

  I take her arm and propel her across the street before the crossing light has changed to green.

  ‘We’ll be of no use to Harry if we’ve both been run over,’ she says when we reach the other side. ‘Do you always cross the road like that?’

  I ignore the question. ‘Harry will have a few other people with him, maybe three or four in total.’ We enter the building and walk into a waiting lift. ‘I want you to show him how easily the Telelink employees have been accommodated. Take him to the server room and introduce some of the technicians – he loves anything to do with IT. Afterwards sit him down in the breakout area for a coffee so he can get a real feel for the place.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Nic asks sardonically. The lift stops at the fourth floor and the doors open.

  ‘Yes, there is something else.’ I can feel the vertigo again, enhanced by the realisation I’m in a lift that’s presently suspended a long way off the ground. But I can
’t let Nic go just yet, not without reiterating what I said earlier. ‘Don’t be mean to David, Nic. Don’t make him feel as though he’s diminished in any way just because he doesn’t have a job. Remember, he needs your support.’

  I see David for myself in the Mitre on Friday after work. He’s dressed in his usual corporate gear, designer suit, an expensivelooking pale blue shirt and a set of cufflinks I haven’t seen before: for some strange reason, I keep a tally of David’s cufflinks.

  ‘Have you got another job already?’ I enquire, looking him up and down.

  ‘I wish.’ He pulls a face as he glances down at his clothes. ‘I’m dressed like this because I went to see a recruitment agent today.’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘That the market is virtually dead and I should expect to be out of work for a few months.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, David.’

  ‘The worst thing is that I bumped into one of my ex-colleagues in the foyer and it brought home to me that there are thirty of us looking for work in this “virtually dead” market.’

  Before I can think of another sympathetic response, Nicola has joined in on the conversation. ‘Whose turn is it to go to the bar?’

  I shake my head at her. ‘That’s all you ever think about.’

  ‘That’s all that’s important.’ She has an edge to her voice.

  ‘I don’t want anything,’ I declare. ‘I’m going soon.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Up town.’ I’ve arranged to meet Matthew for dinner.

  ‘I’ll go.’ David puts down his drink on a nearby table and has soon melded into the crowd.

  ‘Oh, come on, stay a while longer,’ Nicola pleads. ‘Let’s drink to Harry Dixon and a very successful tour this morning.’

  To her credit, Nicola did a superb job of impressing Harry: when I met him later on he was somewhat in awe of our facilities and technical capabilities. I don’t want to be overly optimistic but I can’t help feeling excited at how promising it looks.

  ‘I can’t stay. Sorry.’

  She eyes me suspiciously. ‘Why? Who are you meeting?’

  She still doesn’t know about Matthew. Neither does Jeanie. At the start I didn’t say anything because I assumed it wouldn’t last. If I told them now, almost three months later, they’d both be incredulous that I’ve kept him secret so long, and quite hurt too, I imagine. It’s hard to find the right time for what feels like such a momentous discussion.

  ‘No one you know.’ I gulp back my drink. Now is definitely not the right time to tell her. ‘I’ll see you at work on Monday.’

  On the main street outside there’s a blustery wind that wasn’t evident in the sheltered garden of the pub. Burrowing my chin into my jacket, I stride against the wind, my thoughts jumping around, a new one with each gust. Poor David; Nicola really should be nicer to him. I must tell Nicola about Matthew. And Jeanie too. Especially Jeanie. I’ll tell her as soon as the rift with Kimmie is sorted out. She’ll be in better form then.

  My phone rings. It’s Matthew.

  ‘Hey.’ I smile, a reflex whenever I hear his voice. ‘Are you there already?’

  ‘No. Sorry, Caitlin, I have to cancel on you.’

  ‘Why? What’s up?’

  ‘I have the names.’ He sounds elated.

  ‘The names?’

  ‘The names of the kids who beat up that boy. I want to keep going until we’ve brought them in. I’m really sorry. I hope you understand.’

  I understand more than he could ever realise. ‘It’s okay,’ I assure him in a voice that reveals nothing of what I’m feeling. ‘I’m really glad for you. You’ve been waiting a long time for this.’

  At home in bed, I stare wide-eyed into the shadows of my room, transported back to another time, another list of names, Mum jubilant as she announced the news over the phone.

  ‘He has the names, Caitlin. Your father has the names and he’s given them to the police. Those murderers will be brought to justice.’

  I remember holding the phone in my hand for a long time afterwards. I imagined the names scrawled on the back of an envelope in blue ink. I wondered what those men were doing at that very moment. Were they filing out of Sunday morning mass, the choir still singing in their wake? Or setting the table for lunch, laying knives and forks neatly aside large white plates. Or reading the broadsheet Sunday papers, or maybe taking a moment to play with their young children. Did they have any inkling at all that the police, and my father, had their names? I pictured them as tall men with dark hair and pale skin. They wore jumpers and jeans and were good with their hands. But I had a problem conjuring up an image of their faces. What did the features of a murderer look like? Steely eyes? Ruthless mouth? Cheekbones sharp enough to cut?

  Finally, I used the phone to call around my small circle of friends and rally them to go out that night. I desperately needed to take my mind off my mother and father and the names of those men. I stood in the pub, drinking rapidly and talking just as fast, trying to stay ahead of the thoughts in my head.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough.’ The barman turned me down many drinks later. ‘Here’s a glass of water instead.’

  ‘My father has their names,’ I informed him importantly, picking up the glass of water with a flourish and spilling half of it on my hand.

  Despite my cynicism and bitterness about my father and his cause, I felt hopeful that night, hopeful that justice would be done and that we could all move on. But nothing tangible eventuated from the list of names, certainly nothing that could remotely pass as closure. Ten years on my father is still seeking justice.

  I hope Matthew has more success.

  Chapter 24

  The weekend is quiet and relatively uneventful. Nicola’s lying low in a bid to ‘be there’ for David. Jeanie’s away on a last-minute family visit, which threatens to be more confrontational than usual. And Matthew’s absorbed with the names on his list, the face-to-face interviews, the charges being laid, the early-stage evidence, so critical for the prosecution cases that need to be built sufficiently watertight to withstand the system.

  Over the weekend they all send me text messages, like progress reports.

  From Nicola:

  David totally down in the dumps. Doing my head in.

  Trying to be nice to him but patience wearing very, very thin.

  Want to meet for a quick drink? Need space from you-know-who!

  Sighing at her short-lived attempt at being supportive, I respond to say that I don’t want to go for a drink and tactfully suggest that she ask David instead as it might be just the thing to cheer him up.

  Jeanie, meanwhile, is embroiled in a major family fracas.

  Mum doesn’t believe that Kimmie has my phone. She says I’m being juvenile and ridiculous!

  I’ve raided Kimmie’s handbag and retrieved the stolen goods. Just presented Mum with the evidence (phone AND gigantic bill).

  Big family fallout. Mary and Cathy are taking Kimmie’s side, Kellie and Lizzy on mine, Sally and Wendy on fence. Mum furious with us all.

  I smile indulgently as I read the messages. Despite all the drama, I know things will eventually settle down and the allegiances won’t last past the next family argument. Jeanie is so lucky with her family.

  Matthew’s messages are sporadic, sent in snatched moments, punctuation missing in his haste.

  these kids seem so normal cant believe they did something so vicious and unprovoked

  feel sorry for parents theyre still in denial

  sorry its been such a lousy weekend for you. promise to make it up next weekend. miss you.

  Though I’m in bed and on the verge of sleep, I fumble in the dark for my phone and smile sleepily as I read his last message. I picture him at home, falling into bed at the end of a long, hard, emotional yet fulfilling couple of days.

  Miss you too, I text back and then succumb to sleep.

  My working week starts on a bad note, with Tanya McManus announcing anoth
er drop in business levels and the need for a renegotiated contract. This news worries me, as does the fact that Jarrod reacts much less stoically than the first time. But then something happens to compensate – Harry Dixon phones to announce that he’s accepting the proposal. Though his tone is clipped and professional and decidedly unexcited, I’m so thrilled that I practically squeal down the phone.

  ‘Thanks, Harry. That’s wonderful. I’m really delighted. I’ll ask our lawyers to start working on the contracts straightaway.’

  As soon as I hang up, I perform an impromptu victory dance around the office. Zoe takes off her headphones and joins in, dancing in her own peculiar indie style. And Jarrod, wearing a rare smile as he comes out of his office to witness the scene, pops open a bottle of champagne. The week, which started out so badly, ends on a high.

  The phone rings close to my ear, jolting me awake on Saturday morning. I groan and reach a heavy arm to pick it up. ‘Mum?’

  ‘Hello, love. Did I wake you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I blink at the clock: 6 am. No wonder I feel so tired. To be honest, I’m a little hungover too. Quite a few bottles of champagne were consumed at the office before the celebrations moved on to the Mitre. ‘It’s very early here, Mum!’

  ‘Sorry.’ She sounds barely apologetic. ‘How was your week, love?’

  ‘Good and bad.’ I yawn loudly. ‘And yours?’

  ‘It was good, excellent in fact. The reason I rang so early is that I have news. I couldn’t wait any longer to tell you.’

  ‘What news?’ I feel a tinge of wariness though I’m still halfasleep. All too often Mum’s ‘news’ is somehow related to Dad.

  ‘They won the case, love,’ she exclaims, proving me right. ‘They won the civil case. The high court judge found four men responsible for the bombing and the families have been awarded damages.’

  The last shreds of sleepiness fall away and I’m awake, horribly awake. ‘What?’

  ‘They won damages of 2.5 million pounds. Your father was on the television – Maeve recorded him. She’ll send a copy over to you.’

  I check that I’ve understood correctly. ‘You mean Dad’s got money from them?’