Trick of the Light

by Fiona McCallum

  Oh my god.

  ‘Well that depends on you, really. We can see from the accounts that Stuart took care of all the mortgage and utility and other main expenses from his account – supplemented by his super since he hasn’t been working. You need to start making all those payments now – from your own account: the one in your name that Stuart was signatory to. It’ll be easier if you set up automatic direct deposits,’ Paul said.

  ‘But you’ll have to make sure there’s always enough to cover everything. Becoming overdrawn, even for just a few days, will incur hefty charges and could also do your credit rating serious damage,’ Toby said.

  ‘Yes. Look, people do owe Stuart money. We’ve submitted creditors’ claims with several organisations that have gone into administration, and we’re hoping for funds to come in there. But there are no guarantees we’ll be successful, and even if we are, it’s rare the full amount is achieved,’ Paul explained. ‘And there might even be claims to come in relating to Stuart’s businesses,’ he added quietly. ‘But what it means right now is that wrapping up the estate is going to take a lot longer than usual.’

  ‘Right,’ Erica said, nodding slowly, despite most of this information not sinking into her spinning brain. Did she even have a credit rating if Stuart had taken care of all the finances? She had her account, where her salary was deposited and the board the girls paid, and which she used for groceries, eating out, and anything for herself or the girls before they’d become self-sufficient.

  ‘You have a bit of a buffer on the home loan – you’re a little ahead there – so you’re keeping up with that, but it’s tight. For your reference, here are the weekly, monthly and quarterly amounts I’ve calculated you need to come up with,’ he said, sliding a page out of the file in front of him without opening it fully.

  She blinked several times to try to stop her eyes from bugging as she attempted to calculate what she brought in as a full-time makeup artist running the counter of JPW Cosmetics at David Jones in town. It was a long way from minimum wage, but it wasn’t a salary to get excited about. But that hadn’t mattered; she’d never seen job satisfaction as just about the money, and being the family’s secondary earner meant she hadn’t needed to. There was so much she’d always loved about her job. She tried to tell herself that’s how it should be to push back the wave of disappointment gathering inside her.

  ‘Yes, you might want to tighten your belt a bit,’ Toby said. ‘Tighten the budget.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it’s probably going to require a serious adjustment on your part,’ Paul said.

  Right then Erica hated the idea that these men might know about every cent she earnt and spent and that they were as good as telling her – as if she were a child – to curb her spending. But that was the way Stuart had set everything up, including his appointment of them as executors. And she’d been grateful for not having to deal with the finances. Full stop. Ever. She’d asked to be included in their early days together – had assumed they were a joint venture in that sense, too, but clearly not. Stuart hadn’t wanted a bar of her knowing and she’d been content to leave it at that.

  She found her mind scrambling to where she could cut costs. Eating out was a biggie. Until the last few weeks, she’d socialised quite a bit – probably more than most. Stuart had encouraged her to keep it up, despite him being in hospital. She continued to have several café or restaurant meals out a week with friends. That was expensive, wasn’t it? Probably. Especially when she always had at least one glass of decent wine. And she always bought her lunch in the city. She spent lots of small amounts on bits and pieces of makeup, expensive hair products, clothes, books, movie tickets, snacks, gifts with tap-and-go. But together they probably added up to quite a large sum each month …

  ‘I guess you could say the good news is that you live in Adelaide and not Melbourne or Sydney, where the cost of property and living generally is so much higher,’ Toby offered with a slight shrug, breaking the looming silence. ‘And you have Mackenzie and Isabella at an age where they can pay their way or at least aren’t a major drain.’

  Oh god, they might be the worst part of all of this. They’d adored their father – it would destroy them to know how much he’d let them down.

  ‘Toby,’ Paul warned.

  ‘Sorry. That’s not very helpful. But, honestly, things could be a lot worse, Erica. School fees, alone, if the kids hadn’t already finished. Financially worse, that is. Obviously,’ he said, blushing as he cleared his throat.

  Erica knew they were trying, and in a very difficult position, but she was too caught up in her own head to either admonish or reassure.

  A slow creep of realisation mixed with growing fear made her light-headed.

  Oh fuck!

  Mackenzie and Issy. Yesterday she’d transferred five thousand dollars to each of them for their overseas trip – their gap year. She hadn’t thought they’d still go – had secretly hoped they wouldn’t – or at least that they wouldn’t be already talking about it so excitedly. But they were. Life went on. And apparently, they could save a bundle on Qantas’s snap twenty-four-hour sale. They’d started saving a few years back, as soon as they secured their respective waitressing and retail jobs, both choosing to defer university. Of course, this was all before Stuart’s cancer diagnosis had turned from hopeful with options to nothing more anyone can do now …

  She’d come close to telling them it was too soon, or posing it as a question, but had reminded herself just in time that they had to do what was right for them. And, anyway, they might change their mind between now and when they left in a few months. The girls had saved nearly enough for their flights and didn’t immediately need her contribution, but Erica had wanted to do the transfer right then and prevent any future awkwardness with them having to ask her. She’d also leapt at the chance to concentrate on the internet banking so she didn’t dissolve into tears and beg them not to leave her. Her insides quivered. She began to sweat under her arms. Probably not a hot flush this time.

  No, it’ll be okay. She swallowed hard. It has to be. She tried to focus her attention on the solemn men in front of her, but couldn’t. She thought she should ask if there was anything else she could or should do, but wouldn’t they have said? She wanted them gone and to be left alone. She was probably even close to throwing up.

  ‘There is the option of applying for hardship dispensation,’ Paul said, as if reading her mind, ‘but we think that’s best to keep up your sleeve for now. See how you go for the next few weeks. Perhaps your employer might be open to increasing your salary?’

  ‘I can only ask,’ she said, trying to smile. The thought of doing that coated her insides with another layer of anxiety, but she conceded she didn’t have many other choices.

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s about all you can do at this point,’ Paul said. ‘Cut out all non-essential spending, like eating out.’

  ‘Yes,’ Toby agreed, nodding. ‘And takeaway coffee is another expense that really adds up over time.’

  Erica was torn between accepting their wisdom and advice and telling them to piss off. How fucking embarrassing! She’d love to tell them she’d drink as many ginormous barista-made lattes as she liked, but reminded herself they were not the ones to blame. How were they being paid for the work they were clearly still doing for Stuart, anyway? She pushed that thought aside. She already had too much to deal with.

  ‘Should I be, um gulp, swallow ‘… putting the house up for sale?’

  ‘You won’t be able to sell until probate is granted and Stuart’s estate wrapped up, which will be quite a few months in this case. And, anyway, the market isn’t in your favour at the moment,’ Paul said.

  Erica held her tongue on telling them they’d proved themselves to be not very good advisers. At least she had them. She didn’t want to alienate them.

  She looked around the room and her gaze locked on the two huge modern canvases adorning the far white wall; she became a little buoyant. ‘Could I sell them? They’re
originals by Olive Jasper,’ she said, pointing towards the paintings. She loved them but could live without them if it meant keeping the house.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed both Paul and Toby shift on their chairs. She turned back to face them. Now what?

  ‘Unfortunately, they’re not actually originals,’ Toby said quietly. ‘They’re prints Stuart had done – printed directly onto canvas. The originals were sold several years ago.’

  ‘What?’ Erica longed to get up and go and check, but stayed where she was.

  ‘You didn’t know?’ Paul said.

  Erica shook her head. She was suddenly cold and shivering, as if her blood had left her. Beads of sweat prodded her forehead and heat rose up her throat.

  Paul and Toby looked a little red-faced themselves. They ran their hands down their faces.

  ‘We’re so sorry, Erica, we thought you knew – at least about the art,’ Paul said.

  Erica couldn’t take her eyes off the paintings and kept shifting her gaze from one to the other and back again. ‘When?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Paul said. ‘Maybe just after the first round of chemo. Around six years ago?’

  About the time Mum died. Erica could understand if Stuart hadn’t wanted to put more onto her then. But the truth was it was bigger and had gone on for a lot longer than that. What possibly hurt her most about it was that he hadn’t confided in her – hadn’t trusted her enough. He hadn’t valued her intelligence enough to seek her suggestions for alternative courses of action.

  Erica had the discombobulating sensation that she didn’t really, hadn’t really, known Stuart at all. Her next thought was that she could imagine a parallel situation where she was a widow learning about a husband’s whole other family. She loved film, had probably watched too many movies. It was a plot that popped up regularly. How often did it happen in real life? She shuddered and brought herself back to the here and now.

  ‘Where did the money go?’ she found herself asking, despite being unsure she wanted the answer.

  ‘Not really anywhere, as such, other than living, really,’ Toby said. ‘It seems he was robbing Peter to pay Paul. Not this Paul, obviously,’ he said and cleared his throat. ‘It all started when he first became sick.’

  You fool, Stuart, you stupid, stupid fool. I thought we were best friends, that we had each other’s backs.

  ‘We’d better get going. I’ll leave these with you. They contain all the account login details and everything you need in order to see what’s gone on and where things stand – if you can be bothered. That’s up to you. And, of course, feel free to email or call us if you have any questions,’ Paul said, sliding the small pile of folders towards Erica. ‘And remember to keep the passwords secure, for obvious reasons,’ he added, standing up. Toby followed suit. ‘We’ll also need to take Stuart’s car.’

  Erica nodded and got up to fetch both keys from the bench where she’d left them earlier and handed them to Paul. She’d known Stuart’s BMW was leased. It’s why she thought they were coming around today. So at least this part of things wasn’t a shock.

  ‘It’s in the carport,’ she said, pressing the remote on her own keys to activate the roller door as she walked them out. The groaning sound of the raising carport door outside was the only sound beyond their heavy footsteps on the plush red Persian hall runner over the floorboards.

  ‘Again, we’re really sorry,’ Paul said when they were outside.

  ‘Yes. Unfortunately, it really was out of our control,’ Toby said.

  ‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said, forcing herself to give them each a quick, awkward hug.

  ‘We’ll be in touch with any progress,’ Paul said.

  And if you magically find some money stashed away, let me know. These words were on the tip of her tongue, but when she opened her mouth it was only the lump in her throat that came forwards.

  She waited on the verandah while Paul backed Stuart’s car out, activated the roller door to close, and remained standing while both navy blue BMWs drove down the street and then turned onto the main road at the end. She went back inside and sat down.

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

  Her gaze rose to the paintings, which were not paintings but prints, and she shook her head at them.

  A moment later her phone pinged with a message. She turned it over. It was a text from Mackenzie saying she was heading out after work and wouldn’t be home for dinner. And then a message came through from Issy saying she wouldn’t be home either. She sent them both a thumbs-up emoji, two kisses and a love heart, as usual. As she put her phone back down, she thought, Thank Christ they aren’t here. And then: How will I tell them? Can I just not? Yes, they don’t have to know. Thankfully the girls came and went a lot as young people with hectic social lives and jobs tended to.

  Chapter One

  Three months later …

  ‘Mum,’ Mackenzie called from the other end of the long hallway.

  ‘In here,’ Erica called back from behind Stuart’s desk in his study. She took her reading glasses off, laid them down with a clink on the enormous expanse of glass and rubbed her eyes. Spending time in here poring over online bank statements and spreadsheets and tweaking her budget had become a new hobby bordering on an obsession since the day Paul and Toby visited. She hadn’t heard from them much since, as not much had changed.

  Despite finding plenty of unnecessary expenses to cut, she was still chased to bed each night by thoughts of what could be – especially if the economy suddenly turned and interest rates shot up. She tried not to think about that, but it crept in over her while she was vulnerable, lying in bed in the dark trying to get to sleep. She was making great headway, and so far she was still floating. But there were some things she couldn’t curb without the girls asking questions. And them not finding out the truth was another preoccupation, and was as much about upholding herself in their eyes as Stuart. She knew she shouldn’t be – they were her daughters, for goodness’ sake! – but she was too embarrassed to fess up that she’d left the money in his hands and not taken responsibility, like it was the 1950s or something!

  She often sat there cursing her recently departed husband. Damn it, Stuart, how could you have done this to me? To us? And then the inevitable guilt and sorrow rose within her. He was gone. Dead. He hadn’t meant to leave her and his daughters in such a dire financial situation. She had to believe that. Thankfully the house was in good repair, she thought, looking around. Her life might be like a big old wobbling house of cards, but at least he hadn’t left them with a leaking roof.

  ‘There you are!’ Mackenzie said, appearing in the doorway, Isabella just behind her. They were only fourteen months apart in age, but often Issy seemed years behind Mackenzie in maturity – or perhaps it was just that she idolised her sister and being the quieter one made her seem a little less sure of herself. Mackenzie was bold and had the gift of the gab, the conviction and ability to convince that her father had had, and his dark brooding looks. Issy was more like Erica: quiet, thoughtful. They tended to sit back and observe, and like her mum when she spoke it tended to be after careful contemplation. Words were sprinkled carefully by Issy and splattered liberally by Mackenzie.

  ‘What’s up?’ Erica said, looking up. She forced a smile and pushed back her concern, imagined herself running her hand over her face to physically smooth the worry lines.

  ‘Are you busy?’ Mackenzie said, hesitatingly, still by the door, practically wrapped around the frame.

  ‘Never too busy for you,’ she said, and her breath caught as she realised it was always exactly what Stuart had said to her whenever she’d knocked on his office door, which he’d always kept closed. Now she thought she knew why.

  ‘Come in. Sit,’ she said, indicating the two modern leather and steel chairs. She backed Stuart’s luxurious leather chair away from the desk and swivelled around to face them, again struck by how similar, but also very different, this scenario was from the way it had alwa
ys been previously. She could see why Stuart called this his power chair; he’d always laughed when he said it, but she saw the truth in it. She was a little higher than the girls, who were both fidgeting with their hands in their laps, just like Erica had tended to when in the same position. ‘What is it?’ she prompted and settled herself for a difficult conversation or request. She tensed in response to Mackenzie’s taut demeanour and big eyes that were darting around the room. Oh god. Please don’t be here to ask me for more money – instead tell me you’ve changed your minds about going. They were meant to be leaving in a bit over two weeks for their gap year – or their well-however-long-we-last-until-we-run-out-of-money year, as Issy had begun calling it.

  Erica and Stuart had been very encouraging, agreeing the goal would keep them sane during their father’s bouts of illness and treatment. Maps to pore over and countries to discuss whiled away the time with him in hospital and the long days and weeks when he was bed-ridden. Erica and Stuart had both done plenty of travel so had a lot to contribute, but Erica had recognised early the girls’ need to have this one thing with their father, though plenty of times she’d cringed at the creep of jealousy and pain of being left out sneaking in. But she pushed it all aside, telling herself firmly that it wasn’t about her.

  Since Stuart’s passing, when the girls spoke of where they would go and what they would see, she added an anecdote of her own. But while they were polite and entered into the discussion, they always quickly returned to remembering something Stuart had said and took off on that tangent. Each time Erica was left feeling flat, but told herself of course they had to keep their father alive – it was vital for their healing. And, anyway, there was no competing with a dead man for their affection.

  The #metoo movement and renewed popular interest in feminism had got her wondering, though, if this was her being silenced, and allowing herself to be, as a woman – well beyond her marriage. She’d been happy with Stuart. Of course, they’d had their share of moments of gentle conflict. But what had been her role in that? Perhaps being the peacekeeper, the nurturer, wasn’t really the best strategy long term. But she was easy-going. Not much really bothered her. Perhaps if she’d stomped her feet occasionally, though, insisted on certain things, she’d be in a whole different financial situation now …