All That Was Left Unsaid

by Jacquie Underdown

  A few minutes across town and their car turned into a hotel driveway, stopping outside of the ground-level reception. Chris directed his taxi driver to quickly pull in and park a distance behind them.

  Isabelle and her parents climbed out of the car and disappeared into the hotel foyer. He hastily paid the taxi fare and followed after them.

  Through the foyer, past reception was a large bank of lifts. Isabelle and her parents were waiting there. Chris hung back out of sight. A lift door opened, and they stepped inside. A whoosh as the heavy metal doors closed.

  He rushed to the small room and watched the numbers above the lift flick from one up to eight, where they stopped. He jabbed the ‘up’ button of the adjoining lift. When the doors slid open, he raced inside, hitting the button for the eighth floor with his palm. He zoomed up the levels, impatiently tapping his foot until the lift stopped.

  The doors opened and he exited into the hall. Looked left. Nothing. Looked right. A door up the end of the hall shut. That had to be them. He jogged towards the door until he was standing outside it. After a deep breath in for courage, he banged hard with his fist.

  A few seconds passed, muffled voices from inside, and then the door opened with a rush.

  Richard stood there. Hunched. His eyes were dull. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chris pushed the door hard and charged into the room. “I’m here to see my kid.”

  Isabelle stood in the middle of the room, wide-eyed. Her mother was beside her. An unfamiliar woman sat on the bed, holding a baby dressed in a pink frilly outfit to her shoulder.

  For a moment he was distracted, unable to think. A daughter. He had a daughter. His eyes focused on Isabelle. “Is that… is she…?”

  A long sigh. “Yes.”

  A step closer and Isabelle’s stance stiffened.

  “What’s her name?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He squeezed his eyes closed, balled his fists. “It does matter. She’s my daughter,” he ground out through gritted teeth with all the whispered venom he could manage.

  Isabelle recoiled. “Her name is Sarah.”

  “Sarah,” he said with a nod, calmer now. He took a few steps closer to Sarah.

  “I’m calling security and the police,” Richard barked, went to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver.

  Chris turned to him. “Stop!” He pointed his finger. “I’ve done nothing wrong here. Nothing. You don’t get to fabricate who you think I am. You don’t get to judge me based on the actions of someone I happened to be related to through marriage. I am not Maddison. We do not even have the same blood. She was a disturbed, messed-up woman and she did the most horrible, horrible thing. Ruined so many lives. But she is not me. I never hurt anyone. So, stop acting as though I have.” He was angry, his tone was harsh, but he kept the volume low, aware of Sarah watching on. “Now, I am going to meet my daughter because that is my God-given right.”

  Richard exchanged a glance with his daughter. Isabelle nodded with resignation. With a sigh, Richard placed the receiver back down.

  Isabelle lifted Sarah from her nanny’s shoulder, who had been watching her throughout the trial. With Sarah resting maternally on Isabelle’s hip, she carried her closer to Chris.

  Sarah would be ten months old, assuming she had been born on time. He hadn’t heard a word from Isabelle to know. No matter what Chris had done, short of hiring an investigator to find her in Tasmania, he had been unable to contact her.

  When he looked at his daughter, his face softened. She had his blue eyes. Her skin was soft and creamy coloured. Slightly pink cheeks. Her hair was dark like his, not blonde like Isabelle’s. Tears filled his eyes, and he couldn’t blink them away. She was the most beautiful child he had ever laid eyes on. Ever imagined.

  “Hi there, Sarah, I’m your dad. I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

  Sarah’s big blue eyes looked at him with curiosity.

  He smiled as he reached for her face and stroked a finger down her soft cheek. “You are truly something else.”

  She grinned, all gums.

  He laughed.

  She laughed too.

  He loved her already. He had only known her for one minute and he was deeply in love. Unlike anything he’d ever felt before. “How old is she?”

  “She came a month early. From stress I presume. She turned eleven months old, two days ago.”

  “A year-old next month,” he said with a shake of his head. So much time he had missed out on.

  “Chris. Listen to me please.” Isabelle’s voice was pleading, and it thieved his attention. “I have lost” – her eyes watered, bottom lip trembled – “I’ve been through hell in the past eighteen months. I’m not sure you could even begin to understand how hard it’s been to get out of bed each morning. If not for Sarah, I wouldn’t be here.” Her eyes implored him. “Please, please, Chris, walk away. I just want to get on with my life and I feel like if you’re hanging around wanting custody rights or holiday visits, I won’t ever be able to do that. I’ll always be connected to Gladstone. To the place that took my daughter from me. I’m hanging on by a thread here. I just need to get on with my life. With Sarah. In peace.”

  His forehead was lined with his incredulity. “You can’t—”

  “I can.”

  “I have rights.”

  “You do. That’s why I’m appealing to you, as a man.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t ask this of me. I’ve already missed a year of her life. I’ve been through hell too. I’ve lost absolutely everything. Everything.”

  “I know. I know,” she said with more sympathy. “But please, Chris, I’m asking you to let us go.” Her voice was so soft. Eyes filled with tears.

  All the air spewed from his mouth and it came out as a tortured groan. He closed his eyes and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “Please, let us go. Walk away. Don’t look back.”

  He stood there, glancing between his wife and his daughter.

  After a long, tortured moment, he leaned forward and kissed Sarah’s forehead. He allowed his gaze to roam over the soft lines of her face, trying to remember everything about that moment.

  Exhausting every ounce of strength within him, he lowered his head, turned and walked out of the room.

  When he burst outside into the hall, his shoulders shook as he fought back tears. By the time the lift doors closed, he was sobbing. He didn’t stop as he made his way across the foyer and into a taxi.

  “You okay, mate?” the taxi-driver asked.

  “Take me to the airport,” he managed between sobs.

  That, right there, was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

  Chapter 38

  Four days before the murder…

  “You bitch, you killed my daughter!” Maddison screamed, followed by a clang at the front door, a few moments of silence, then glass exploded.

  The small town of Yarwun was quiet. Not a car on the roads. Barely a light on in the homes, except for a few dim bedside lamps still shining as their owners tucked beneath covers reading deep into the night.

  Tina was awake now. “Bloody hell,” she growled, sitting up in her bed.

  “Why couldn’t you have stuck to your own husband? Why did you have to take mine? I hate you. I hate you.”

  Tina flicked on her bedside lamp, checked her clock. Almost midnight. Maddison was late to her pity party.

  A loud banging at the front door.

  “I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. You should hate yourself for what you did. You killed my daughter. You and Ben killed her. I hope by knowing that, your soul is destroyed. I hope you kill yourself you horrible, whore slut! I hate you. Everyone hates you.” Banging against the front window. “Did you hear me! You should kill yourself. That’s all you deserve.”

  Silence. Then crying, which crescendoed into wolf-like howling sobs. Silence again.

  Tina rested back against
her pillow, turned off her lamp, settling in for the long night ahead.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  She reached for her torch on the bedside table and crept to the window. Sparks of excitement were zooming through her bloodstream. She bit back a grin as she waited for another tap.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  She pulled the curtain back and shone the torch at Maddison.

  Maddison shrieked, blinked, stumbled four steps backwards and landed on her backside on the grass. Tina lifted the heavy window. Humid wind gushed in. She poked her head out, looked at Maddison sprawled below. “Aren’t you finished already? Seriously, how much more do I have to take?”

  Maddison wiped her cheeks. “Until you feel so bad for what you’ve done.” Her words were slurring much more than usual.

  “That’s the one thing you’re not quite getting. I do feel bad. Every. Single. Day. I loved Kadie. I loved her—I know not as much as you, her mother—but I did love her. I miss her too. I wish I could take back that day every single moment of my life. But I can’t. And with you coming here and screaming and saying what you say, it only makes it worse. For us all. Seriously, look at you, you’re a mess.”

  Who Maddison once was—self-assured, determined, funny, loving—didn’t resemble that dishevelled, drunk, blithering woman slumped on the grass.

  Maddison tried to sit up taller. “I am not. I’m perfectly fine.”

  Tina rolled her eyes.

  “I just want my baby girl back. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I just want her back.” She lowered her face into her hands and sobbed. Shoulders shaking.

  Tina sighed. “Come inside. We’ll make a coffee to sober you up a little bit. Then I’ll drive you home. You can’t be out there in the dark like that.”

  Maddison lifted her head, wiped her tears. “Why are you being nice to me?”

  “Because you’re my sister-in-law. And we were once really good friends. And that hasn’t changed in my heart.”

  “Really?” she hiccupped.

  “Really. Now get up. The back door is open. I don’t want you heading around the front in the dark and breaking your ankle. Better yet, wait there and I’ll help you inside.”

  Tina undressed out of her pyjamas, threw on a pair of shorts, a bra and a t-shirt, slipped on a pair of shoes, then climbed out the window.

  She reached for Maddison’s cold hand and helped her off the ground. She was so light. Even in the darkness, only the moonlight above them, the wiriness of Maddison’s limbs was obvious. Hard bone and muscle—nothing else.

  “Around here.” Tina led the way over tufts of grass onto the concrete path.

  Maddison swayed to the back door and went inside.

  “The coffee machine is there,” Tina said, pointing to the corner of the kitchen. “The canister is there. Do you think you can manage?”

  Maddison put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “I’m drunk, not mentally challenged.” She staggered into the kitchen, pressed the machine’s power button with the dexterity of a slug and lifted a flap on the top.

  “The grinding function is broken. There’s pre-ground coffee in the canister.”

  Maddison wouldn’t be able to make coffee. She could barely get a sentence out. Barely walk. But that wasn’t the point.

  “I need to pee,” Maddison whined as she crossed one leg in front of the other.

  “Here, let me finish these coffees,” Tina said. “You head up to the toilet. You know where it is. Call me if you need my help.”

  Again, with the eye roll. “I’ve been peeing my entire life. I don’t need your help.”

  Tina waved her hand in a shooing motion. “Fine. Off you go then. I don’t want any accidents on my good floorboards.”

  “They’re scuffed and scratched anyway.”

  By the time Maddison wobbled back down the hallway, almost falling over and using her hand against the wall to keep balance, the coffees were made.

  Tina handed a disposable travel cup to Maddison. “Here you go. You can drink this in the car on the way home.” Not that she ordinarily allowed any food or drink in her car, but she had to make an exception.

  She shuffled Maddison out the backdoor.

  “Why are we going this way again?” Maddison grumbled.

  “Because you shattered glass over the front lawn. I’m not having you cut your feet so you can bleed all through my car.”

  Maddison turned to her under the dim light of the moon and sighed. “I still hate you. Even though you’re being nice to me.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any other reaction.”

  Maddison never managed to drink one drop of her coffee, merely placed the travel cup in the centre console, rested her head against the side window, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

  In silence, along the dark, quiet roads, Tina drove into town. Maddison didn’t move. Not even an eyelid fluttered. Her slow breaths continued unabated.

  Tina didn’t go anywhere near Maddison’s home. She had no intentions of dropping her off there. Instead, she drove to a park that was a few minutes across town. One with little light and no possibility of cameras. When she stopped the car, she climbed out and peered around the shadowy field. No one was there. The road lining the park had sparse streetlights casting a dull glow, but the bordering houses’ windows were all dark.

  She opened the passenger door and Maddison tilted over. Mustering all her physical strength, she heaved Maddison upright before she splatted onto the street. Tina half carried, half walked her across the dew damp grass. Her arms and back strained as she helped Maddison onto the ground under a tree.

  Without opening her eyes again, Maddison curled into a ball on her side and her hands slid beneath her head, taking the place of a pillow.

  Tina jogged back to her waiting car, climbed inside, and drove away, not looking behind her.

  Twenty minutes later, she arrived home, trudged around the back of the house and stood outside her window. It appeared higher than when she had climbed from it earlier. Three big jumps until she managed to land her waist on the window ledge, her ribs grinding against the hard timber. Like a half-dead caterpillar, she wiggled and heaved her way forward until she fell over the other side, taking her weight on her hands on the bedroom floor.

  When she slithered the lower half of her body over, grunting and straining, she finally got to her feet again. Her stomach was sore. She was puffing. But it was a small sacrifice to make for the greater good. Her greater good.

  She closed the window, changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed. Before turning out the light, she reached for her phone and opened her contacts. The electronic data trail she had been working on would assist in shaping the evidence. Evidence that would back up her narrative. A narrative that would soon be pulled apart by prosecutors, so it had to be flawless.

  Tomorrow, she would clean her car until it was immaculate. She couldn’t have any traces of Maddison left behind. But for now, she typed out a message for Chris, a slow creeping smile on her lips.

  TINA: Tell your wife to stay the hell away from me!

  Chapter 39

  Present-day…

  Tina made a cup of tea, carried it outside along with her phone and sat on the front step. She placed the cup beside her and gazed at her yard. Rain had fallen this month, and everything was vibrantly green, almost as though the earth knew all had been righted. Life was returning to the status quo.

  Beyond the perimeter, a single car was driving past—a mango farmer from a property a few minutes up the road, his Kelpie yapping in the back. He thought about Tina as he passed. Many people in the town had thought about her these past eighteen months. Some felt sorry for her. Some believed she should have been punished somehow, but when they imagined themselves in the same situation, they realised the right decision had been made.

  That’s why it was time for Tina to sell up. Well, it was the excuse she was about to use. She was more isolated there than ever and yet, strangely, more vi
sible. Like all the eyes of Yarwun and its neighbouring town of Gladstone—the streets of which she drove along every weekday, knocking on residents’ doors—were ogling her. Judging. Everyone knew her delivery van now. The gossip mill had spread the details. She noticed the stares, the pointing, the sympathetic frowns.

  She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. She just wanted to get on with her life. Eighteen months had gone by since she had last spoken to Chris. His house payment still made it to their shared loan account every month, on time, like always. She hoped that meant he didn’t completely hate her.

  But she needed to break the ice now because his signature would be required on any sales contract, or maybe he would buy her out and keep the place for himself.

  She picked up her phone, dialled his number. He was in his car on the opposite side of Gladstone, heading to a hardware store. When her name appeared on his dash, he almost smiled because he had been thinking about her that very moment, wondering if he should call her to see how she was. He couldn’t imagine what she had endured these past eighteen months as the Gladstone Housewife Trials played out.

  For a long time, he had been so angry with her. He had been angry with himself for ever loving her. But then the facts started to emerge and that small hope he had kept secret inside of him, grew. She was still the woman he fell in love with. A love greater than any other… until his daughter had come along.

  But even now, one month after meeting Sarah for the first and last time, the memories of her face were less vivid. Distorted. He didn’t know when he conjured Sarah’s face if it was hers and not some child’s image he had seen on television.

  His yearning was still there, though. That would never leave. But when he had decided to grant Isabelle the peace she demanded and deserved, it had to be a firm decision, or he would always be wondering if it was the right one.

  What he didn’t know, and what was probably best for his sanity, was that Isabelle had gained a new respect for Chris at that moment. She understood the selflessness of what he had done for her and their daughter. She witnessed the pain and sorrow in his eyes. The space in her heart that had once loved him grew warmer. But she never spoke that out loud, only thought about it from time to time as she tried to drift off to sleep at night.