‘Dad claims it’s because he’s Dutch,’ Jason had told Lori wryly. He hadn’t thought that the Dutch had any particular credentials with design, but she, the designer, disabused him of that notion. The Dutch had a long history of producing estimable art and architecture, she’d said. Even though she’d never been there and he had. ‘Only to visit relatives when I was younger,’ he clarified. It was rural and flat and dull in his recollection, with the odd windmill here and there. Strangely, she thought, he hadn’t gone back when he’d done his European stint in his years before they’d met. He hadn’t wandered the canals of Amsterdam and Utrecht, visited museums, seen the van Goghs and the Rembrandts, reflected on De Stijl. ‘Maybe one day we can go together,’ she’d suggested. He laughed. ‘For sure,’ he’d replied, but that was before the renovation, the kids and the daily grind got to them. Thoughts of travel slid under the horizon.
In her pocket her phone buzzed. She didn’t recognise the number when she pulled it out. A landline, a city number. The hospital? She braced herself for news and was taken by surprise when a male voice asked for her, then identified himself as Detective Sergeant Levandi from the Major Collision Investigation Unit.
‘I’m trying to find out a bit more about your brother. I understand you hadn’t been in touch with him for some time. I wondered who might have been?’
She got up and went to the edge of the balcony, checked the driveway below and the little of the street she could see through the trees. ‘My uncle could still be in Northam. His name is Peter Temple. There’s a chance they’re in contact. I can’t think of anyone else.’
‘Okay,’ he said slowly, as though preoccupied. ‘Look, I’m wondering if you could meet me at your brother’s apartment? Perhaps this afternoon.’
‘Meet?’ This was unexpected. ‘No, I’m not in the city right now. We’re away for the weekend. Why? What do you need me for?’
‘What about Monday morning then?’ He was persistent, she had to give him that. She hadn’t expected to have to be involved in an investigation. It was starting to feel intrusive.
‘Ah.’ She paused. ‘I could do nine-thirty. I have to drop kids off at school.’
‘Right. Good.’
‘You’ll need to give me the address.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She could hear the shuffling of paper. ‘Let’s see. Forty Quin Street. Flat eight.’
‘You haven’t said what this is about. I’m not …’ She faltered.
‘Look, I know some of your brother’s history. I know he served time. I gather you no longer have a relationship. But any help you can give us would be appreciated. We have some reason to believe that his injuries may have been intentional. There’s the possibility that he’s crossed someone or that someone may be still be seeking to settle old scores. I can only speculate at this point. But if you can accompany me we can have a look through his flat. You might be able to assist us in some small way.’
She tried to keep her voice even. ‘What makes you think it was intentional? Did someone see what happened?’
She heard him take a breath. ‘This is a part of an overall investigation. I can’t talk to you about the details at this stage. I might be able to in a day or two,’ he said, as though he was reciting a well-worn script. ‘Of course, he may well regain consciousness by then and help us himself. But in the meantime …’
She agreed to the appointment time and rang off, then sat for a moment, aware of the suddenly darkening sky. Billowing grey clouds threatened not just rain but the imminent return of the family. She got up, went inside and surveyed the kitchen. Unlike her kitchen at home with its seemingly never-ending mess of plastic containers, compost bucket, bowls of fruit, fortresses of stacked bills and random toys, here the only thing out of place was the squat green reusable bag that held the groceries she’d brought down with her. She retrieved a bottle of red from the bag and opened it, pouring a glass and taking a gulp, then another, before amassing the ingredients she needed, the pots and utensils.
She knew the kitchen well after all these years. Niels was a good cook but he wasn’t averse to her, or Jason, making food when they came down. He appreciated the escape from the monotony of his own food. Yet, as he’d said to her once, if it was the worst price he paid for living alone, in the scheme of things it was not too much of a price at all. Food could be many things, he’d discovered—tasty, evocative, creative—but primarily it was fuel. He found that out, he told her, as a small child in the 1940s. It was a commodity that was short in the Netherlands during and after the war; people made do with little, and living like that had made an imprint. He kept to the same fairly spartan regime all his life, and not just with food. Jason’s only complaint about his father was his somewhat minimalist lifestyle. It might be admirable in many ways, but when he was a child the stoicism was little hard to live with.
‘Is that why they split up, your mum and dad?’ Lori asked in the early days.
‘They were different people. The way they lived their lives was different,’ Jason had replied. ‘Politics. She never cared as much as he did. When you live with someone who does care it can seem, well, you know, that you aren’t quite as worthy.’
The warmth of the wine began to flood her body. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Not wise, but it worked in her favour now, the quick rush of alcohol buoying her, pushing her to get through food prep before the others returned. Indeed, it wasn’t long before she saw the tops of Niels’s and Jason’s heads bobbing along the path leading up to the deck. Soon they were at the door, the children behind them, shrill and chorusing and not quite ready to drop, but in that heightened state of needing food and rest.
‘It’s brisk down there,’ announced Niels, rubbing his crossed arms with his hands. ‘Nice. I think it’s made us all a little hungry.’ Jason, the circus master, took Sophie and Cody into the living room, raising his eyebrows at Lori as they marched past as if to say is there no end to this? In his wake, Niels assembled cheese and biscuits, juice for the kids, beer for himself and Jason.
‘Need a hand?’ he asked Lori when he returned.
‘No, nearly done.’
He settled onto a stool at the bench, held his beer aloft in a gesture of a toast. ‘Proost.’ She could feel him looking at her. ‘So,’ he said after a few seconds, ‘you all right?’
‘Just that headache.’
‘Ach. I could have cooked.’
‘No, no. I’m fine. It’s gone now.’
He was still looking at her. ‘Sure? Nothing on your mind?’
She scraped seeds from a small chilli, stopped. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Just what Jason was telling me. I thought you might be a bit concerned.’
‘Concerned?’ Her stomach gave a little twist.
He hesitated. ‘You know, at work.’
‘Jason’s work? Should I be concerned?’
‘Oh no. I thought it was conceivable you might be. That’s all.’ He offered up a small, unconvincing smile as a reassurance.
She found herself staring at Niels. Was there something she’d missed? Most assuredly, yes. After the last few days, of course she’d missed something. She kept her voice as neutral as she could, tried not to let panic filter out. ‘I know it’s been hard for him recently. Delays or something. Is that what you were talking about?’
‘Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing really.’ Niels waved his hand dismissively. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just thought … I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that you were worrying unduly about something. You look a little tired, but as you say, the headache …’
Niels had been in the construction industry himself. Not the management side, but working on building sites. Tough physical work, a lot of it. He’d endured it for years. When he first arrived in the country, he laboured on the Snowy Mountains Scheme, the mother of all huge projects. Despite his obvious fierce intelligence, he never moved beyond construction. He was a reader, a lover of music and nature, and that gave him another life in t
he hours outside work. Then he married, somewhat later than many of his generation, became father to two boys. In the end he worked for the union. He’d retired by the time Lori met Jason, so it always seemed something of a mystery to her that he’d had this life before, full of hard work and confrontation. His experience now translated to be both a boon and something of a censure to Jason, who had never envisaged he’d be working in construction himself one day, especially not on the other side of the (hurricane) fence.
At the dinner table they talked politics, as they often did. It was an easy conversation, really. Despite their circumstances, Jason and Niels had a similar outlook on political parties, the system. Both of them hated the current government, agreed on the environment, the worry of climate change, the changes that were being wrought on the planet. Loren joined in their banter. She was used to it now after all these years, knew the right rejoinders, which wasn’t to say she didn’t agree wholeheartedly but testified more to the fact that she loved the atmosphere, the camaraderie, the repartee. The sense of being immersed in it all. Embedded.
Her own family had never talked politics that she could remember. Her grandfather had been the mayor of Northam for some time. Whether he stood for election on any ticket, she didn’t know. Even if he had, she thought that any political party affiliation would have been more social than ideological, assumed values, not overreaching vision. At home, politics was rarely mentioned, apart from the occasional word to the television from Mick, usually at the sight of a Labor politician. But then, not always. Unlike many, her parents had never seemed to be particularly partisan. The Liberals and the Nationals could be given a serve as well. She sometimes wondered what their reaction would be to the Greens. Would they be open, like some of the old cockies she’d seen on TV in recent times, to turning their backs to genetically modified crops, fracking and selling out to mining companies?
She put the kids to bed while Jason and Niels cleaned up. When she returned to the kitchen it was as pristine as it had been when she’d started. The three of them sat down with a cup of tea in the living room and talked briefly about plans for the next day. Niels offered to look after the kids if they wanted to go for a walk or out for breakfast. A part of her drifted away from the conversation, and in the quiet of the evening, with kids in bed and the television off, she was aware only of the faint rhythmic sound of the waves breaking down below. The weight of the night closing in around her. She felt a sudden fatigue—the fallout from the headache, too much wine before eating. The need to lie down seemed overwhelming.
In bed Jason put his arms around her and said, ‘You realise we haven’t had any time alone for weeks.’
‘Months, maybe,’ she murmured.
He pulled her to him and nestled his head over her shoulder. ‘So what were you talking to Dad about in the kitchen?’
‘About you, actually.’
‘Yeah?’
‘He asked if I was worried about you.’
‘Oh? And are you?’ There was a note of wariness in his voice.
‘Well, I wasn’t. I mean you’d said a few things about work lately, but I didn’t feel too concerned. Now I’m speculating if I should be.’
‘No. You shouldn’t be.’
‘So this stuff at work isn’t preying on your mind?’
‘Well, it is, if you want the truth. I don’t know. We never seem to get the time to discuss anything. I’m home too late. The kids. Really, it’s stuff you don’t need to know.’
‘Like what?’ she felt that twinge of anxiety again, a spike of adrenaline pulling her back to alertness. ‘Why don’t I need to know?’
‘Well …’ She could feel him shrug. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it, that’s why. There’ve been some things that have happened at work. Frankly, some of it is a little shady. But … Look, I wanted to talk to Dad because he knows exactly what some of these guys are like. The kinds of things they get up to.’
‘Are they dangerous?’
‘No. No.’ He answered quickly, but there was an edge to his voice. In the dark she couldn’t see his face, read his expression.
‘Tell me about this shady stuff.’
He exhaled slowly in a way that seemed to indicate that it was unimaginably tedious to have to explain. ‘There are some guys on site who are very difficult to work with, making excuses, using complaints about work practices to extend the contract out to get more money. There could be some theft involved too. Nothing I can prove until I do a full inventory. It could cost the company a bit if it was the case though. There’s a guy, Mike, I’ve worked with him on a couple of projects—’
‘I remember you mentioning him.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ve always trusted him. He’s helped me a lot, but I’m beginning to wonder if he’s been white-anting me. He’s done some odd things of late. Now’s he’s pissed off somewhere, left me in the lurch.’
‘Really? Oh Jase, that’s terrible. But what do you mean left you in the lurch?’
‘Look, I’m probably just being paranoid. It’ll sort itself out. I don’t really want to keep talking about it. But …’
‘But?’
‘Work could be a bit rocky for a while. Just bear with me.’
She shook her head in the darkness. ‘I’m here, that’s all I can say.’
‘I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you with the kids. I don’t even ask you about what you’re doing. Divorce is probably imminent and I haven’t even noticed.’
‘Not so far, but if it keeps going this way …’
‘Good to know. That it’s not imminent, I mean. On that note, how’s the week been for you, then? You had to do some illustrations. For McPherson’s, was it? You done? I have to say, you’ve been a bit quiet. I did think that at dinner. Not your usual chirpy self.’
She made a huffing sound at his description. Ironic. She would never be known for her chirp. ‘I had that headache. Maybe I’m a bit under the weather. Tired. The week has been … well, just the usual really.’
‘Mmm.’ Jason was quiet for a moment. ‘You know, Sophie said something really funny when we were going down to the beach.’
‘Yeah?’
‘We were waiting to cross the road and a police car went past and she said the police came to our place last week.’
Loren turned over onto her back so Jason’s head wasn’t as close to her neck, so he wouldn’t hear the thump of her heartbeat in her jugular. ‘Oh yeah, they did. Just an inquiry about someone. But they had the wrong person. Me, that is. I couldn’t help them.’
‘Sophie said it was about your brother?’
‘Crazy, yeah. Someone with the same name as my brother.’
‘That’s weird. I thought they would have databases with all that stuff. They’d know he’d died.’
‘I suppose there’re a lot of people with the same name out there. They don’t know everything.’
‘Why were they looking for him? This other Simon Green?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her heart was pounding now. ‘They didn’t say.’
‘I’m sorry, hon. It must have been hard.’
‘It was just strange. That’s all. Just strange.’
‘I was thinking. How do you feel about going up there sometime?’
‘Up where?’
‘To Northam. For the kids. They might want to see where their family, your family, is from. They’re getting old enough, and—’
‘There’s nothing to see, Jase. Nothing’s changed. I don’t want to take them to a graveyard.’ Her voice was brittle, dismissive to her ears. ‘And they’re not old enough. They’re still way too young to have any idea.’
He went quiet then and so did she. She heard his steady breathing next to her and wondered if he was falling asleep. But as she rolled away from his arm he stirred. ‘You know, Dad loves you,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I don’t mean like that.’ He laughed quietly. ‘I mean, he totally approves of you.’
‘I approve of him too.’r />
‘Ah, funny. What I’m saying is he’s always liked you. I remember once he said you were the kind of person who got on with things. You’re so alike you two. Kindred spirits. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it, really, but I think he feels you’re more like him than me or Josh. His own flesh and blood.’
‘You jealous?’ she said teasingly.
‘No! I guess I was trying to say that you have a family, babe. Me and him. The kids. I know it’s a bit late in the piece to say this, I guess you’ve already figured it out yourself over the years. I hope it’s enough for you.’
She rolled back towards him, pushed her face into his neck, felt the scratchiness of his stubble on her forehead. ‘Don’t say that like an apology. It’s more than enough,’ she murmured. And it was true. From the first time she’d met him she’d known he was the one. What ‘the one’ was she might have struggled to define. What was it that made it so? Love at first sight? Lust? Pheromones? Some other kind of deep and instinctual chemistry? Maybe just timing. There was a possibility that she was ready, after all those years, simply to take someone into her heart. To begin anew. A blank slate, but one with restorative possibilities; a real future. At twenty-eight she had been starting to contemplate settling down, making something good, constructive, in her life. And then there he was, walking in the door of that smoky pub. A guy who didn’t have the word danger stencilled on his forehead. An ordinary guy she wouldn’t have looked at five years before. One year before.
Life Before Page 10