by Sharon Haste
Saffron held her breath; her own life felt almost insignificant. She cast him a fleeting look beneath her lashes, struck by an irresistible urge to reach out and touch him, but years spent resisting physical contact left her hands dormant in her lap. She wondered how he rose each morning and found joy in the world. He always had a smile, no matter what. Even when he nose-dove into the grass, he bounded up with a lopsided grin. She warmed to him, finding a new admiration for this skinny boy, while she felt her own shame at the bitterness she harboured for the world he loved.
About six months into their accidental friendship, they decided to run away together. There was nothing romantic in it; it was just two friends who wanted something better than what they had at home. The first time, there was no planning or preparation. They just decided to come to school the next day, meet under the trees at the back oval, and take off.
Saffron remembered trying to act normal the night before, but nerves made her clumsy. She dropped a jug of gravy, smashing the china gravy boat into a thousand tiny pieces and covering the tiled kitchen floor in sticky, brown muck. Her foster mother, Jenny, was furious and made her get down on her hands and knees and clean it up, sending her to bed without dinner. The aroma of roast beef that followed her up the stairs made her stomach growl and fuelled her anger. She packed her bag with ferocity and lay seething in the dark until the roof started creaking and the house grew quiet. She dozed for a time, rose in the dark, and stood in the open fridge door to stuff her mouth full of leftovers before she filled the rest of her backpack from the pantry shelves. She grinned, picturing her foster father, Jim wielding his belt over his left hand when he discovered the plate with the lamb bone picked clean. She scratched a note about having a field trip and needing to be at school early so nobody would miss her until she didn't return that night.
She arrived at the designated meeting place in the dark and was surprised to find Jael already there, leaning against the tree with his bulging backpack beside him. When she neared him, he stood, hoisting his pack on his back and nodded her way. He led her to an abandoned car under a bridge that was just east of town. It was an old station wagon that someone had driven and left. They found a dirty mattress in the back and covered it with an old sheet so they could sleep there. They emptied their packs of food and lined them up in the front of the car, eating some of the potatoes Saffron pilfered from the leftover roast. They whiled away the day; they sat around talking, threw stones in the dry creek bed, and slept. There was a camaraderie between them that Saffron hadn't experienced for a long time, and she liked it. They lived in their car for three days before Children's Services found them and forced them home. It was the catalyst for Saffron, who started running off every other week after that, couch surfing with various friends and acquaintances until they found her and took her back. Jenny refused to have her after the third time, and she ended up at Lion's Road with the other orphaned adolescents that nobody wanted.
The crunch of tyres on gravel gave her a start. A car slowed and changed gears before roaring down the street. She peered through the bushes at the majestic house and wondered what it would be like to live there, to sleep in a soft bed every night, to always have food in her stomach, and to luxuriate in a bath frothing with bubbles. She shifted her weight, and her eyes followed a pair of butterflies dancing in front of her. She always wished she could fly when she was a child; she always fantasised about living in a garden with the faeries, their delicate wings moving so fast they were silver blurs. It gave her something to dream about and hope for.
She swallowed hard as someone walked past the front window. Her dark hair was gleaming, and she was smiling. She watched, fascinated, as she brushed her long hair, stroking it over again and let it cascade over her shoulders and down her back. The hair routine was familiar. She yearned to see more. Her heart pattered as she craned her neck for a better view. Expert hands gathered the hair and twisted it into a messy bun, securing it with a band. She continued to watch as someone else walked past the window, and then it was bare.
Disappointed, she slid down. She relaxed her back, and her eyes scanned the front of the house. They eventually rested on the windows on the second floor and picked out her own bedroom. The front door opening had her scrambling to the back of the bush; her heart slammed against her ribs, and her eyes were wide.
Saffron watched as she emerged. She swiped at an invisible strand of hair, and there was a phone glued to her ear. She could only hear snippets of conversation and the occasional laugh. The laugh was infectious and melodious, and she found herself smiling despite the quiver in her heart. She watched, searching for a connection or something familiar. She tried to gather the courage to stride across the grass and talk to her. Her throat tightened at the thought, and she stayed hidden, not wanting to attract the wrong kind of attention. Disappointed, she watched her hang up the phone a few minutes later and step back inside, closing the door behind her. She released a long-held breath and stared at the door for five minutes more before she rose on stiff legs and headed to the gate. She was just about to step out of the bushes when the gate started to slide open. Startled, she took a step back, stumbled, and ended up landing on her butt. She winced at the pain, and her eyes grew wide as a black RX8 glided through the gate with Thomas Richter at the wheel. She stayed hidden while he parked his car and scuttled through the gate before it closed.
Once she was outside the fence, she sped toward the bus stop with her head down as her heart tapped. She kept her eyes averted while she waited and climbed aboard the bus. It was half-full, so she found a window seat by herself and stared outside. She replayed what she had seen, all the way back to Tobi's, over and over again in her head. It would be another three years before she saw her again, in very different circumstances.
Chapter Thirteen
Edward Attenborough is a top barrister in Delany's most reputable law firm. Walking into his palatial office, he makes Sam feel underdressed in her usual jeans and t-shirt. His receptionist strips her with a single glance over her red bifocals, asking her name in a cut-glass accent. She uses a perfect red nail to find her name on the list of appointments, gives her a weak smile, and waves her to a leather couch.
Sam's gaze sweeps the room, taking in mahogany furniture, a Whisper Quiet air conditioner, and glossy plants. She thinks of her own attempt at indoor horticulture, now soaking in her kitchen sink. The plants' leaves are brown and curling at the ends. It was a failed attempt to show her mother she can look after something other than herself. There's a water cooler in one corner, a stack of glossy magazines on the shiny coffee table, and Mr Attenborough's chronicle of credentials adorning the wall. Sam feels thoroughly uneducated as she scans the equivalent to her lifetime in study, suspended in black frames. Does a dozen bits of paper make you more intelligent or better in the eyes of the world than life experience? Sam supposes the man she is about to meet is streaks ahead of her in that department as well. She chews a thumbnail while she mulls it over.
A door opens and a slight, bent old woman with purpled-tinted curls emerges. She walks aided by an ebony walking stick, and a bag—matching her smooth, beige suit—is slung over her shoulder. The receptionist gives her a warm greeting and calls her a taxi. The brittle receptionist then nods to Sam, telling her to go in, before she turns her attention back to the old lady. Sam watches as she holds the door open and follows the bent woman out. Sam strides over to the open door and knocks before walking in. A thick set, well-groomed man looks up from beneath bushy, white eyebrows and smiles.
'Detective Constable Harris, I'm Edward Attenborough. Pleased to meet you. Thanks for coming in at such short notice.' He's on his feet and walking around the desk to pump her hand.
'No problem,' she responds, looking up at him and feeling dwarfed by his height and bulky frame. 'Please, call me Sam.' She shivers; the temperature in his office is arctic, enabling him to look unflustered in a three-piece, long-sleeved Italian suit, white shirt, and blue tie.
He no
ds, waving her to a seat, while he resumes his position across the desk. He is professional, and yet, at the same time, he puts her at ease. He checks his watch, smiling as an indulgent grandfather would.
'I have to apologise in advance; I have another meeting in twenty minutes, so I'm going to get straight to the point.'
'Please, do,' Sam says, pleased with his efficient, yet willing, manner. She might even get home before dark tonight.
'Now, as I said on the phone, I work on behalf of Clare Richter and have done so since before she was born.' He moves around the desk and closes the door to his waiting room before continuing. 'Her father was one of my associates in the early days of my practice, and he was one of my dearest friends.' He pauses; the air is heavy with anticipation. 'It was tragic, being taken in his prime, like that.'
'How so?' Sam asks.
'Boat accident. Hit by a freak wave. Both he and Amelia drowned; they never stood a chance.'
'So Clare Richter was an orphan?'
'In a manner of speaking, she was a grown woman when it happened. I think Charlize was just a baby. Clare took it hard; she was very close to her parents.'
Sam frowns. 'Charlize?'
'Young Charli, it's her birth name,' he explains. 'As I was saying, we were close, and I always promised to take good care of his family if anything should happen to him. I agreed, never thinking at the time that anything would, of course. But, as it stands, I want to make sure justice is served.'
Sam leans in, gripping her notebook tightly; she is curious as to the meaning of those words.
'Justice, sir?'
'Clare Richter was a very wealthy woman when she died, Detective. As it stands today, the sum total of all her assets reaches into the billions.'
Sam's mouth forms an 'o' as she scribbles. The statement hangs between them, taking Sam some time to digest. Her mind works ahead, speeding on.
'So Thomas Richter is now a billionaire?' she asks.
'Not precisely. Clare Richter has some very tight caveats in her prenuptial agreement that were put there by her father. They remain watertight, even after his death.'
Sam nods, looking straight into the barrister's clear, grey eyes.
'You see, he was not fond of Thomas and did not approve of Clare's decision to marry him. There were things in his past that made William Fox very cautious.'
'Anything in particular?'
'Well I'm not at liberty to say, but every family has its secrets, Sam. You, of all people, would know that. Suffice to say, if you do some hunting, you never know what you might find.'
She nods, making more scribbles.
'Anyway, in the prenuptial agreement, Thomas is entitled to the property assets of the marriage, so he will inherit the house. However, the bulk of the Richter fortune is held in the family businesses, bonds, shares, and the like and will be passed down to the Richter children, Ashley and Charlize. Given Ashley's no longer a recipient, Charlize Richter is now a billionaire.' He pauses, waiting for her reaction and taking a sip of water. 'Of course, the majority of the funds will be kept in trust until she's twenty-one, although she's entitled to a generous living allowance each year and all her educational needs will be taken care of. The annual allowance is enough for her guardian to keep her in the manner in which she has grown accustomed to living.'
'Her guardian?' Sam asks.
'Well, it would appear that it is Thomas Richter, as things stand. However, if he's found unsuitable, Clare's sister, Elizabeth, is the nominated Withment. Of course, Elizabeth is a wealthy woman in her own right, given that she inherited the other half of her parent's fortune.'
'Do you think Thomas Richter is an unsuitable guardian for his daughter, Mr Attenborough?'
'Not for me to say.' He rubs the grey whiskers on his chin, a small muscle in his jaw flexing. 'Suffice to say, William would have found him so, and I trusted his judgement.'
There's a soft knock at the door, and it opens a crack. The brisk receptionist sticks her coiffed head in and reminds Edward Attenborough of his next meeting.
'Good, oh, thanks, Meredith,' he says, turning back to Sam.
'I do apologise that this was brief. I just wanted you to be aware of the status. If you have any more questions for me, do make another appointment.' He smiles, rising from his high back, leather chair and leaving the desk.
'Thank you for your time, Mr Attenborough,' Sam says, rising to her feet and tucking her notebook away. 'If I think of anything else, I'll give you a call.' She shakes his hand and exits his office. The reception chair is thankfully vacant.
Her head is reeling with the new information, giving her cause to think of just how wrong Mal is about this case. Her gut tells her that there's more to this family than meets the eye, and she's determined to unravel the mysteries of the Richter family.
Chapter Fourteen
Her head aches and it feels like there is a tight, persistent squeeze.
'Charli.'
She resists the call, trying to block her ears. Just a few more minutes.
'Charli, someone's at the door,' Tobi hisses close to her ear and gives her a shake.
Her eyes fly open, and she's upright with her hair askew.
'You gotta get up,' Tobi says. 'Could be the cops.'
'The cops....why?' Her mind floods with memories, and she's out of bed and hovering close to Tobi. They both stare at the door with wide eyes. 'What do you think we should do?'
'Too late to hide,' Tobi says. 'Have ya got that necklace thing? Might be a good time to get outta here.'
She throws herself across the bed to retrieve the pendant from the chest of drawers. Necklace in hand, she flings herself at Tobi. She throws it over her neck as he grabs her arm, and a third person bursts through the door, landing on top of them.
Soft grass cushions their fall, and Charli scrambles to wriggle free, thinking only of her mum and Ash. The stranger grabs her ankle, and she's back on the ground, tasting blood.
'Charli,' the voice is familiar. 'It's Jael,' he hisses.
The distant splash fills her with urgency.
'Let me go.' She kicks at his hand, desperation lending her strength, and pushes herself up. She sprints toward the shimmering lake. She hears their distant conversation as she shucks her shoes and heads into the water. Why the hell do I always have shoes and jeans when I get here? It slows me down so much. She can hear Tobi giving a half-garbled explanation to Jael.
'Help me,' she screams before diving in.
She can hear someone splashing into the shallow water behind her and hopes it's Jael. She takes a breath and dives, passing Charli with Ash in tow. She keeps going; the urgency of saving her mum is foremost in her mind. She dives into the car and finds her mum, a cobweb of blonde hair framing her pale face with her eyes closed. She unclips her belt and drags her through the front window, her lungs screaming for air by the time they reach the top. She sucks in huge gulps as she sidestrokes to the shore. The other Charli is working on Ash while Jael and Tobi look on.
'Help her,' Charli screams.
Jael looks up and stares between the two Charlis, his eyes popping. He's frozen.
'Help her,' Charli yells again, but instead, Jael strides toward her and lifts Clare's other arm, dragging her out of the water.
Charli starts clearing her mother's airway, and Jael steps back with his hands on his head in despair. She has no time to explain things to him.
'Help with Ash, Jael,' she instructs. 'Please do something.'
'Tell me what to do,' he stammers. 'I don't know how.'
She nods and turns away from him in frustration, focusing on her mum. She gives her three quick breaths and then starts the compressions, panic never far away. All too soon, the dog is in the distance; its barks are amplified in the night air. She continues to pump her mother's chest until Tobi grabs her arm.
'Come on, we gotta go.'
She allows him to drag her away. Her eyes turn back to her mum's inert body on the grass.
'Don't go,' her ot
her self calls after them. 'Please don't go.'
But the Labrador is upon her and the running man is close. She grabs Jael's hand and Tobi holds her elbow as she rips the pendant off and returns to the dark room, moonlight shining through the open door. She falls to the bed, lying face up with her eyes closed. When she opens them moments later, Jael and Tobi are peering at her. She bolts upright.
'What are you doing?'
They leap back, both of their faces flooding with colour.
'We just wondered if yar orright,' Tobi says.
Her head pounds, and she squeezes her eyes against the pain. She wants to scream at them, shake them, and tell them that she'll never be all right. But what did they care? Their lives would carry on whether she failed or not. She peers through half-closed lids at the peeling paint, inhaling the lingering odour of the numerous people gone before. Is this what my life has become?
'Do ya feel sick?' Tobi ventures.
'I feel sick twenty-four seven,' she retorts. 'My whole life is a nightmare.' Overcome with immediate regret, she wipes a hand over her eyes and apologises. 'I'm scared. I don't know what to do anymore.'
Both boys approach the bed with caution. Jael perches on the edge beside her, and Tobi sits cross-legged at the bottom.
'Can you tell me what just happened?' Jael asks, wary.
Charli frowns, but she knows she owes him an explanation.
'One minute I'm coming through the door, and the next, I'm under a tree at the lake. Tobi said something about a time travel necklace?' Jael says.
Charli sighs, and she launches into an explanation about the pendant: how she got it and what she's discovered it can do so far. Both boys are silent, eyes like saucers, as they listen. She drags the chain from her pocket and lays it on her palm for Jael to see. They both peer at it.
