by Sharon Haste
He was the first to clutch Santa's leg and tell him what he wanted for Christmas. He took him by the hand and showed him where to sit by the Christmas tree. He ran to the kitchen, returning with a cool glass of lemonade. The other kids hung back, fearful, but they didn't want to miss anything.
Santa entertained them with stories and asked each one what they would like for Christmas. Flashes exploded as parents knelt and angled themselves around the furniture for a good shot of their offspring sitting astride Santa's knee. Then he handed out the presents, each girl and boy getting a special gift wrapped in red or green paper with an angel or a star on the front and tied with a silver or gold bow.
Clare watched, mesmerised, as little sticky fingers pulled at the paper; some were careful to undo the bow and lift the tape while others tore at the paper to find the surprise inside. The room filled with giggles and shouts of joy as dolls, trucks, balls, puzzles, games, and crafts were unwrapped and hugged to tiny chests or kicked by tiny feet. After all the gifts were distributed, Santa bid them farewell and, with a final 'ho ho ho', was out the door and back on his bike. Ash was already in the front yard, surrounded by a group of boys and girls, kicking his new football from one end of the lawn to the next. They squealed and waved as Santa roared off into the night. Clare slid the gate closed after him to keep the little ones in.
The party was warming up by this time with near to one hundred guests. Christmas carols were crooned and champagne was flowing. People splashed in the pool, gathered to eat a languid meal around the tables on the back lawn, or leaned against the makeshift bar, swapping loud stories amid raucous laughter.
Clare slid into a chair at the kitchen table and joined a group that were making plans for Christmas day. The Richters usually hosted, but this year the Coopers, old friends for years, were insisting they take it on. Clare's feet ached, and she kicked off her stilettos and rubbed her toes. It was just past ten o'clock, and she was in the mood for a couple of glasses of champagne before the party was over, but she wanted to find Thomas first.
She wandered out the front to check on the little ones and swung past the rumpus room to make sure Charli's friends were behaving. They were sitting around in a big group in the middle of the floor. They had been allowed one glass of champagne each, and some were rolling around in fits of giggles. Others played a game of truth or dare, the boys egging each other into more daring escapades. One of the boys rushed past her and dumped a street sign on the floor, raising his arms in triumph. The whole group exploded in laughter and applause, some clapping him on the back in congratulation. He chose Charli for the next round, and she asked for 'truth' amid disappointed boos from the crowd. He asked her which boy she would most like to date. She paused; anticipation was in the ensuing silence.
'Jael Adisa,' she whispered, 'the king of the football.'
The crowd exploded in a mixed response, which would have been less exuberant had they been aware of Clare's presence. When the noise died down, Charli nominated Tim for the next round. Clare moved on, smiling and wondering who Jael was. Thomas was not in any of the living areas, so she climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. There were a few young people up there making out, and she ushered them back downstairs. She peeked into their empty bedroom and was just about to leave when his voice rose from the ensuite. Clare guessed he was on the phone based on the pauses in-between snatches of conversation; she pictured the phone glued to his ear. Some days she would be glad to throw it against the wall to stop him from using it. She took a step closer, heart thumping at his words.
'I didn't leave you for dead. How many times do we have to go over this? You were breathing then and are still breathing now.'
There was a long pause as he listened to whoever was on the phone.
'Yes, blood is thicker than water, unless blood is going to land you in gaol or dead.'
Pause.
'I wanted a life Pedro; there was no life in Seruso for me, I told you that.'
Pause.
'I'm not saying you're not good enough. It's just...'
She heard the agitation in his voice and pictured him pacing back and forth.
'I've paid that price fifty times over, and you know it. This is getting so old. Clare is my wife; I love her. I saved her because of that.'
Pause.
'If you had your way, she'd be living a different life. Not the kind of life you want for the woman you love. Can't we just move on?'
There was a long stretch of silence, and Clare wondered if he hung up.
'I did what I did for love.'
His voice was losing its heat.
'Why can't you let it go? You call yourself my brother.'
Silence. Clare's mouth was dry.
'Don't even think about coming here. You've done enough.'
Clare frowned. Thomas's brother is here? Why doesn't he want him to meet them? Where is he? Before she could hear anymore, there was a scream from downstairs that stilled her heart. Ash screamed her name, and she bolted from the room, finding him at the bottom of the stairs with his shirt off and blood on his hands. Clare was beside him in an instant, nausea rising.
'What's happened?' she asked, checking his hands.
'It's Grace,' he said, tugging her toward the door.
She released her breath and followed him to the veranda, where Grace was sobbing. Ash's t-shirt was bunched against her chin. She rushed over, laying a soothing hand on her back and urging Ash to get Grace's mum. She stopped the tears and inspected her chin, where a deep cut was oozing blood. Clare felt dizzy and pressed the t-shirt back against it.
Grace's dad, a doctor, took over. Patrick's sense of humour and quick wit soon had his daughter in giggles. He scooped her up with a wink at Clare and told her he's going to fix her chin with special glue made for little girls. Clare followed them inside and got the first aid kit. He left Grace perched on the kitchen bench while he retrieved the glue from his car, and they worked together to clean her up and mend the cut. Patrick mouthed ‘thank you’ to Clare over his daughter's head and flashed a smile that made her belly squirm. She nodded and smiled back.
While they were fixing Grace's wound, the party dispersed. It was getting close to midnight, and a number of people had left or were staggering through the house and thanking Clare before they took advantage of the minibus service they provided every year. Clare looked for Ash, finding him shirtless and asleep on the sofa with one arm wrapped around his new football. She left him there while she bid the final guests farewell and found Thomas having a last drink in the study with two uni friends. She was keen to talk to him about his phone call, but she wanted to wait until they were alone.
'Let me guess. You guys are talking about who could drink the most beer and drive the fastest way back when,' she said.
'Nah, we're all grown up now,' Mick said with a wink.
'That never stopped you,' she said, turning to Thomas. 'I'm heading to bed,' she said, dropping a light kiss on his lips. He nodded, smiled, and gave her a squeeze.
'I'm just going to escort these two hopeless cases home, and then I'll be joining you,' he said.
She knew it would be hours before Thomas was home, but she just nodded and headed upstairs. She changed into pyjamas and carried Ash to bed, curling next to him from behind and inhaling the chlorine in his hair. Charli kissed them both goodnight as Clare drifted off.
Chapter Twenty-three
Sam paces her small flat, pausing every so often to stare out the window at the early dawn. The yellow streetlights cast an eerie glow over the street. She can't sleep despite a desperate need to. Her eyes burn, and her body protests her upright position. It's the Richter case. She can't get it out of her head. Her gut tells her that something is not right; something doesn't fit, and she can't for the life of her figure it out.
She spent hours searching the internet after she left Charli at JD. She is looking at Charli's family tree. Trouble is, Thomas Richter doesn’t ring any alarm bells and has no ties to speak of.
&n
bsp; 'He comes from Chile,' she says to the room. 'But Richter is not South American. He must have changed his name.' But what was he called before? She hacks into the local births, deaths, and marriages database and searches 'Thomas Richter, change of name'. Nothing comes up. She extends the search to the Australian database, and her heart plays on her ribs when she finds a match: Tomàs Romero.
She closes the database and tries the new name in the search engine. The screen fills with images, and she scrolls through, looking for his face. After a few minutes, she stops on the image of a much younger Thomas Richter. She squints at the photo through bloodshot, weary eyes and tries to enlarge it. 'It could be him,' she says to herself, pressing the button on the printer to bring it to life. She stares at the printed image, and her mouth broadens a little, knowing she has found him.
'Tomàs Romero,' she whispers.
She spends the remainder of the night searching for information on the new Thomas, tracing his descendants to Seruso. According to the databases she has found, he has three sisters and a brother still living. Both parents and one brother are deceased.
She's disappointed there's nothing on Thomas. So why did you leave Seruso and settle in Delany? Were you running from something? Her eyelids droop, and she succumbs to the desire to rest, lying down on her couch and closing her eyes for a few minutes.
Her phone wakes her hours later, the sun streaming in through the closed sliding door. She just misses the call, and it rings again. It's Mal; he is pissed off that she's not at work.
'Where are you?' he bellows into the phone. 'You should have been here half an hour ago.' She checks her watch: eight-thirty. Crap.
'On my way,' she says, cutting off his response and dropping the phone on the coffee table. She leaps into the shower, finds some clean clothes, and is out the door in ten minutes, stopping at the cafe downstairs for a double shot latte.
Mal's look is thunderous, and he's jittering all over the place, lifting folders from his drawers and putting them back again.
'Morning,' she ventures, testing the ground.
'About time you got here,' he growls. 'The Richter girl is in court at ten. It's a preliminary hearing; they just informed me. Her father pulled some strings, no doubt.'
Sam frowns. Mal is usually so cool when he goes to court; he is very organised and impersonal. What's the difference today?
'Something wrong?' she asks.
'Can't find the file,' Mal says. 'The bloody thing has disappeared. I thought you might have an idea of what happened to it.'
Sam shakes her head, giving her paper stacks a cursory glance.
'Nope.' She covers her mouth to hide her grin. Mal lost the file.
Mal shoots her a dark look and stalks from the room. 'I'll be in archives,' he calls over his shoulder.
She watches the empty door for a few long minutes before she takes a seat with a big grin on her face. She never thought she'd see the day that Mal lost his paperwork. She fires up her computer and picks up the phone. She asks Alex to check any priors on Tomás Romero, including anything from overseas. She flirts with him a little and confirms their date for tonight before hanging up.
Her thoughts turn to Charli, and she wonders how she's been doing. She's spent four nights inside, which is a long time for a girl like her. She's confident Edward Attenborough will free her today until a court date is set. She hopes Mal asks her to sit in on the hearing.
Alex calls back and tells her Thomas is clean, but he is connected to a long line of familial criminals who have convictions for everything from drugs to assault and even murder. He also has a brother, Pedro, living in Sydney. He came in on a temporary visa a few months ago and never left. There's a warrant for his arrest.
Sam asks for a photo, and Alex promises to send it through.
Chapter Twenty-four
Saffron sits with Charli in the dining room, nibbling at the tasteless breakfast on her plate and gossiping about the inmates. There's a meagre attempt to ignite the Christmas spirit in the room with a single strand of red tinsel hung below the serving window. Charli eyes it with a pang, thinking of the decorations that her mum had hung for the party.
'So, what's your story?' Saffron asks, bringing her back to the room.
Charli eyes the other girl, wondering what and how much to say about her life. 'What do you want to know?' she asks, spooning watery, scrambled eggs into her mouth. On the inside, she wants to vomit, but she holds a poker face so the others don't know. After almost a week, she's getting used to the dismal offerings they call food. She has had no visitors, not even her dad.
'Is your dad that politician?'
'Yeah, Thomas Richter. He's the Chief Minister of Delany.'
Saffron frowns. 'Don't much follow politics,' she says. 'It's boring.'
'Agreed,' Charli says, eating more egg. 'I hate it when he has people over, and all they talk is politics. Who cares, right?'
Saffron smiles. 'What's he like, your dad?'
'He's a good dad, present situation excluded. He's always been there for me and never gets too angry or anything. I'm lucky, I guess.' Charli's thinks about Ren's and Tobi's dads.
'I never had one, except Joe.'
'Who's Joe?'
'He adopted me, but he died when I was five.'
'Sorry, that must've been terrible.'
'Yeah, my mum died, too. She was nice.'
'So have you like been in foster care or something?' Charli asks.
'Something like that,' Saffron says. 'So do you have any brothers or sisters?' she asks.
'Ash was the only one.'
'He was the one that drowned in the car?'
'Yeah, he was just five. Always wanted a sister, but I don't think mum could have any more children. I know she wanted to.'
'Really?' asks Saffron, her eyebrow arching. 'She wanted more?'
'I think so. Well, she didn't talk about it to me, but she was always fussing over babies wherever we went, so I guess she wanted another.'
They're silent for a minute, both absorbed in their own thoughts.
'So, how'd ya get here if ya didn't do it? This place is a shit hole and the last place ya wanna hang out, even if ya did do it,' Saffron says.
'I don't know how I got here, to be honest,' Charli says. 'They think I did it because I was in the driver's seat.'
'So how'd ya get there if ya didn't do it?'
'I don't know; I can't remember. What are you here for?'
'Pinching a block of chocolate.'
Charli's eyes widen.
'And a few other things. Been around this block a few times,' Saffron says by way of explanation. 'They warned me if I did anything, I'd be back. They can't keep me long, though; I'll be gone by the end of the week if I behave myself.'
'Lucky you,' Charli says, her heart sinking. 'I don't think Dad's going to bail me out.' A charge of fear shoots through her.
'At least he's there. I've never met my dad,' Saffron says. 'If you ask me, you can't trust men to do anything they say.'
Hot tears bulge beneath Charli's eyelids, but she takes a deep breath and forces them back. She leaves the rest of her food on her plate and pushes back her chair. Saffron follows. They go straight to the common room. School is closed today due to an air conditioner breakdown in the classroom. Saffron said that some of the girls did it so they could have the day off. The room they enter is furnished with a few vinyl lounge chairs, a television, and a long, stainless steel table at the back of the room. A few girls are already sprawled on the furniture, and Saffron makes them shove over so they can sit. It's obvious she has some authority. A couple of girls giggle at the television with their eyes glued to the screen. Charli chances a look around the room. There's a heavy-set girl of medium height leaning against the side wall and glaring at her. She runs a fleshy finger over her throat when she knows Charli is looking. Her heart is pounding when she turns back to the television. Saffron flips her middle finger at the girl.
'Ignore her,' she says. 'She's all show.'
'Uh-huh.' Charli's not convinced, but she is glad Saffron's close. She wonders why she's bothering to protect her when it's obvious most of the girls hate her. A warden interrupts her thoughts by bellowing her name.
'Richter, visitor.'
She looks at Saffron, her heart leaping.
'Daddy's come to bail out the princess,' one girl shouts.
'Could be right,' Saffron says. 'Maybe he's come good then.'
Charli nods in hope and is on her feet, moving to the door, when the warden tells her to hurry up. Ten minutes later, she enters the visitor's room, expecting her dad, and is surprised to find Jael waiting with a broad grin on his face when she enters the room. Relief floods through her, and her heart patters. He closes the distance between them, grabbing her into a bear hug that is so tight that she can't breathe. She clings to him, never so glad to see someone in her life. Her heart soars.
'Move apart,' the warden orders from her post in the corner. 'That's enough now.'
Jael plants a soft kiss on her lips, making them tingle. Her cheeks flood with colour as his eyes search her face. Her pulse races at the new intimacy between them.
'Are you all right?' he whispers, glancing at the warden.
She nods, and they sit at opposite sides of the metal table, hands resting on the table top but not touching. She wants to reach for him but resists the urge.
'Are they feeding you in here? You look thinner,' he asks.
She smiles, wiping her tears. A flush creeps over her face at Jael seeing her like this. She tries to make light of it.
'The food's okay, just not up to the standard of Tobi's cuisine.'
He chuckles, reaching across the table to grab her finger. His hand is warm against her skin, leaving a trail of tingles.
