The Younger Wife, page 26
‘But not anymore,’ Tully said.
Rachel and Heather nodded. ‘Not anymore.’
65
RACHEL
One month later . . .
‘Hi,’ Rachel said from the doorway of Mum’s room.
Mum looked over at her blankly, which was a little frustrating, as it was the third time Rachel had visited in as many days. Since Dad’s death, she found she couldn’t stay away.
The day after the wedding, they’d all had to go to the police station to give statements, except Mum, who had been declared unfit by the forensic medical officer. They’d all consistently said that Mum had been the one to swing the candlestick – apart from the celebrant who said she’d been too busy signing the register to notice anything – and a hearing had determined that to be the case. It was possible that the prosecution could still charge Mum with something, but Sonny explained that even if they did, it was unlikely Mum would live long enough to face it. The event had made the papers – GROOM DIES AT THE ALTAR – but it had been written up as an accident; the story was that he’d slipped and hit his head. It was preferable to groom murdered by daughter who then blamed killing on ex-wife with advanced dementia.
The wedding had entered Rachel’s nightmares several times now. Each time, a different person held the candlestick – sometimes it was her, sometimes Tully, sometimes Heather, sometimes Fiona Arthur. Sometimes Dad wasn’t hit immediately, and he fell to his knees first to beg for mercy. ‘You’d know if I was an abuser,’ he said, looking directly at Rachel. That little seed of doubt had wormed its way into her thoughts lately, but when it did, she quickly quashed it. If he wasn’t, why had he grabbed Mum like that in the chapel? And why had Mum stashed all that money away?
She stepped further into Mum’s room. ‘Okay if we come in for a visit? This is my friend Darcy.’
It was the third time Rachel had brought Darcy along to visit Mum. Rachel hadn’t encouraged it – she hadn’t even suggested it – but Darcy had insisted.
(‘I’m not missing the chance to meet my girlfriend’s mum,’ he’d said.
‘She’s not going to know who you are, Darcy,’ Rachel told him. ‘Most likely, she won’t even know who I am.’
‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘But I’ll get to see who she is.’)
Darcy was fantastic with Mum. He had a calm, easy manner about him that relaxed and engaged her. It was hardly surprising; it had the same effect on everyone.
‘How are you today, Pam?’ he asked her.
Mum’s eyes moved to Rachel and widened a little.
‘Where’d you find him?’ she asked.
She’d asked the exact same question the last time Rachel had brought Darcy to visit.
‘Cup of tea, Pam?’ he said. ‘White with one sugar, right?’
‘How did you know?’ Mum cried, delighted.
Mum used to love it when Tully brought boyfriends home. She’d been particularly enamoured of Sonny when she first met him, and manoeuvred herself into the seat beside him at Christmas where she demanded to know everything about him. It was funny how some parts of her remained, even after her memory was gone.
While Darcy busied himself making tea, Mum looked at Rachel meaningfully.
‘Where’d you find him?’ she asked again.
She’d asked Rachel that about seventeen times during their last visit. Rachel was starting to feel insulted.
‘He works for me,’ she said.
‘Works for you?’ Mum said. ‘What is it that you do?’
‘I’m a baker,’ Rachel replied. ‘I’ve got some pictures of my cakes. Would you like to see?’
Mum nodded enthusiastically, and Rachel got out her phone and flicked to a picture of a cake she’d made recently for a christening. Mum always enjoyed looking at pictures of cakes.
‘I also brought in some other pictures,’ Rachel said, reaching into the canvas bag she’d brought with her. ‘I thought you might like to look through them.’
‘All right,’ Mum said, as Darcy placed a cup of tea in front of her.
Rachel pulled some framed pictures from the bag. There were some family photos, Tully’s graduation picture, a photo of Mum and Dad’s wedding. In Mum’s early days in care, Rachel had found that while Mum didn’t always recognise the people in the photos she showed her, they usually caused a lift in her mood.
Rachel held up a picture of Tully at her debutante ball.
‘Isn’t she pretty?’ Mum said.
Rachel held up one of Christmas just a few years back.
Mum didn’t even pretend to look at it. Instead she stared at Darcy. ‘Where’d you find him?’ she asked.
‘This is a nice one,’ Rachel said, finding the photo she’d really wanted to show Pam. It was the earliest picture she had of Mum and Dad together. According to legend, it was taken on their third date, when they’d played lawn bowls. Mum always laughed about the fact that she wore heels because she’d thought they were going out to dinner. Rachel held her breath as Mum frowned at the photo. Was that a glimmer of recognition in her eyes? Rachel waited for her to say something. Anything. Pam didn’t. Instead, she lifted the frame to her face and pressed her lips to the glass, right where Dad’s face was.
66
TULLY
Two months later . . .
A hundred hours of community service. That was Tully’s sentence for her theft from the hardware store. She had to admit, it was quite exciting fronting up to court. She felt like she was on one of those TV crime shows. The Magistrates’ Court wasn’t quite as exciting as the ones shown in Law & Order SVU – it was mostly just traffic offences and some quite entertaining drunk-and-disorderlies – but she’d been reasonably entertained until her name had been called.
The case had been dealt with in a matter of minutes. The judge and her lawyer both seemed somewhat bored as they spoke, and Tully hadn’t had to do much other than state her full name for the record. Her lawyer had been apologetic afterwards; he’d tried to get her off without any punishment at all. But community service wasn’t too bad. She’d been assigned to cleaning graffiti from local tennis courts and neighbourhood community centres. A couple of the areas were quite close to Tully’s house, and she found the exercise quite gratifying. That graffiti had been bothering her for a while.
‘Come on, girls!’ Tully yelled. ‘Elbow grease!’
She liked to think she’d taken on a bit of a leadership role in her community service group. Honestly, some of them didn’t know the first thing about stain removal. Yesterday she’d gone to Bunnings – the scene of the crime – and bought better rubber gloves for everyone. The full circle of this delighted her. As she went up to the cashier to pay for the gloves, she contemplated telling the young man the story, but she suspected he wouldn’t appreciate it. Youths could be so self-absorbed these days. Didn’t know a good story if it came up and bit them. And so she just paid her money and took the gloves. That in itself was no small victory.
She enjoyed the banter between the ladies as they scrubbed the walls. Valerie – a woman about Tully’s age whose proudest achievements were her son and the fact that she’d never paid a parking fine in her life – was one of her favourites.
‘My son Carlin did this one,’ Valerie said, pointing to an eagle sprayed on a corner of the wall. ‘He knew I was cleaning down here today. Rascal.’ She laughed.
Tully looked at the eagle. It wasn’t half bad.
‘How old is Carlin?’ she asked.
‘Fourteen.’
Tully looked at the picture again. ‘He’s got talent.’
‘Yeah. Talent at making stress for his mama.’
‘He should go to art school,’ Tully said.
‘I can barely get him to show up to his supermarket job. How do you think I’m gonna get him signed up to art school?’
Tully shrugged. But she made a mental note to make some enquiries about art school scholarships anyway.
She’d invited the girls back to her house for lunch afterwards, an offer only three people accepted. But three was better than none, which was the reception she’d got the first time she offered. Progress not perfection, she always said. She’d made a round of chicken sandwiches, some lemonade and a chocolate sponge cake. It wasn’t to Rachel’s standards – nowhere near – but over the past few months, now that ordering catering was out of the question, Tully had grown quite adept at cooking basic things. She understood why Rachel and Mum loved the art of casual dining now. There was something soul-affirming about it.
The urge to steal hadn’t gone away like she’d hoped. In fact, Tully often found herself standing in the supermarket, wondering if she could just drop a small packet of herbs or a ballpoint pen into her pocket so that she could breathe properly again. Those times, she’d learned to abandon the shopping cart and return home without the things they needed. Online shopping helped a lot with this, and Sonny went to the store in her place when she was having a particularly anxious day. But she’d noticed it was getting easier. Once again, progress, not perfection.
Sonny had been working hard, trying to make back the money they had lost. In the meantime, they enjoyed living in a smaller house. Tully no longer had a cleaner, and she found it rather satisfying to do the cleaning herself. The boys were doing fewer hours at their community pre-school than they’d done at their private one, and Miles was loving having more time with her. That, combined with the therapy he had every week, had resulted in a huge change in him. He’d slept in his big-boy bed every night since they moved house.
She still thought about Dad a lot. She missed his face, his throaty laugh, his intelligent perspective on things. She missed hearing him on the phone with the boys, listening with delight to whatever nonsense they decided to tell him. She missed the way he used to listen to her, too. Like he was interested. Like a father listened. The hardest part, though, was the special occasions. They’d made it through Father’s Day, but Christmas was coming up soon. She hadn’t told Rachel how much she missed him. It felt like a betrayal to Mum. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t all bad. Perhaps the very worst people still had some good in them. And perhaps the very best had some bad.
67
HEATHER
It was the Christmas Heather had always dreamed of. In her big, beautiful home, the light sparkling off the pool, with children playing on the grass. Rachel and Tully had provided most of the food, but Heather had bought a ham. Before lunch they’d all exchanged exquisitely wrapped gifts, then embarked on a hilarious game of Stealing Santa, where they all opened a ‘silly gift’ and then fought over one or two of them. The whole thing was magnificent.
Stephen should be here, she thought, not for the first time. Over the past few months, every time they got together as a family, she thought it. He would have loved to see them all coming together like this. It felt so wrong that she was here, with his family, when he wasn’t. Still, she didn’t take the privilege for granted, even for a second.
She refilled her glass of champagne, which helped a little. She’d been drinking a lot more lately, but she supposed that was understandable. She was a grieving widow, after all. Part of it was the loneliness, but the other part was the sleep. At night, on the nights she didn’t drink, she laid awake in their bed, plagued by fears and doubts. It turned out that Stephen was doing a good job of gaslighting her even from beyond the grave.
‘Can we go in the pool, Hevva?’ Locky asked.
Behind him, Miles sat on the floor, already nude, slipping an inflatable floatie onto his wrist.
‘Sure,’ Heather said, sipping her champagne, ‘if it’s okay with your mum and dad.’
‘I’ll take you in, buddy,’ Darcy said, appearing in his board shorts.
Heather had to admit, she felt a pulse of something at the sight of Darcy’s pectoral muscles. Then again, she supposed he was a good match for Rachel, who looked particularly stunning today in a floor-length bohemian sundress with a low-cut neckline. Her curves were truly out of this world. Heather had always worked hard to maintain her slim figure but there was something about seeing Rachel that made her want to have a second helping of lunch. Rachel, ironically, hadn’t eaten much at all today, perhaps too distracted by the lovely man on her arm and the family around her.
Sonny appeared then, also in board shorts, carrying a giant inflatable swan. ‘Ready, boys?’
‘Wait,’ Tully said, ‘I have to put sunscreen on them.’
The men disappeared outside, and Tully clasped Locky between her knees, smearing sunscreen over his scrunched-up face. Heather squatted down next to Miles – who was much more accommodating – and did the same to him. He’d been much calmer these past few months, Heather had noticed. Perhaps it was having Tully around more? Or perhaps it was the fact that, since Stephen’s death, everyone was a lot calmer.
Pam had passed away a month ago of pneumonia. It was a common way for people with dementia to die, but it had still come as a shock. They’d got the news that she was ill on a Wednesday, and by Saturday she was gone. The funeral had been small but lovely. Heather had attended, but remained at the back of the room.
‘It feels quieter without Mum and Dad, doesn’t it?’ Tully said.
Heather didn’t say anything. It was the busiest, loudest Christmas she had ever known.
The boys ran outside, leaving Heather, Tully and Rachel to clean up.
‘You know what I wish?’ Tully said, as they loaded up the dishwasher. ‘I wish we’d been able to confront Dad. I still have so many questions I want to ask him.’
‘Me too,’ Rachel said. She was holding a tea towel and drying a large salad bowl. ‘About Fiona Arthur. About Mum. And . . . I just wish we’d been able to hear him admit it. It’s the doubt that’s the worst. I wish we had proof.’
‘Just because we can’t prove it doesn’t mean it isn’t true,’ Heather said.
‘But what if it isn’t true?’ Rachel said, putting down the bowl. ‘What if we got confused somehow?’
Heather could tell by the way Tully nodded that she was plagued by similar doubts. It caused a physical reaction in Heather. It felt vaguely matriarchal, which was comical, given she was the youngest of the women, and certainly not their mother.
‘We didn’t get confused,’ she said firmly. Stephen had spent so long gaslighting her, but she trusted herself now. She needed Tully and Rachel to trust themselves too. ‘Remember what we felt the moment Stephen grabbed Pam? We all felt it. Our instincts are there for a reason.’
Tully opened her mouth, but Heather held up a hand, stopping her.
‘Listen. I know how it feels to doubt myself. But I’m done with that now. And, honestly? I think the money in the hot-water bottle meant Pam was done doubting herself, too.’
She was getting through to them now, Heather could feel it. She walked over and stood in front of them, so they were in a small triangle. ‘The last thing she would’ve wanted was to pass on her doubt to you two.’
‘She’s right,’ Rachel said. ‘Mum would hate us doubting ourselves.’
‘It’s time to start trusting our instincts,’ Tully agreed.
Heather nodded. They had to start trusting their instincts.
What choice did they have? It wasn’t as if they could ask Pam.
EPILOGUE
PAMELA
Three years earlier . . .
Pamela counted out the money. Ninety-seven thousand, three hundred and seventy-two dollars.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said out loud.
Obviously her mother couldn’t hear her. Two days ago, Pam had got the phone call from her in the hospital. A suspected heart attack, Mum had said gravely, explaining that she’d been taken by ambulance to the hospital. Pam was fumbling for her keys, ready to drive to the hospital, when her mother added, ‘Oh, Pammy? Can you swing by my place and grab my hot-water bottle on the way?’
Pam hesitated. ‘I can probably find a hot-water bottle here somewhere . . .’
‘No,’ her mother said firmly. ‘I need my hot-water bottle. It’s important, Pammy.’
Her mother provided instructions for where she would find it. At the back of the wardrobe, behind the shoes. When Pam brought it to her mother’s bedside, her mother showed her its contents.
‘A hundred thousand dollars?’ Pam cried. ‘Mum, where did you get a hundred thousand dollars?’
Mum explained that for years she’d been withdrawing her pension money each week and hiding the cash in the hot-water bottle.
When Pam asked why, she explained that if the government saw she wasn’t spending it all, they’d reduce the amount she received.
Turned out her mother was quite the pension fraudster.
‘What if you’d died and never told me?’ Pam asked.
‘Then the people cleaning out the house would have got a nice surprise.’
Pam had brought the hot-water bottle home and put it in her bedside drawer for safekeeping until her mum got out of hospital. But her mother had died that morning of another heart attack. So now, she supposed, the money was hers.
Pam wondered what she would do with all this money. What would Mum have wanted her to do?
Mum was always telling Pam that she needed to get away, unwind, take a break from her life. Perhaps she and Stephen could go to one of those health retreats? One with facials and massages. She could use a massage. Lately her body hurt all the time. One too many falls, she suspected. She was always tripping here, or stumbling there.
A few weeks ago at book club, she’d commented on her aches and pains, and all the ladies had agreed. Old age, they said. Menopause, someone else chimed in. But afterward, as she helped herself to Mary’s Black Forest cake, Diana Rothschild had made a comment that rankled Pam.
‘Do you find that you are more likely to injure yourself while Stephen is around?’
Pam had been mortified. What was she insinuating? Stephen would never lay a hand on her. He was a doctor. Do no harm! She’d shrugged the question off and avoided Diana ever since. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because as upsetting as Diana’s comment was, Pam did find that she was more likely to injure herself while Stephen was around. One hundred per cent more likely.
