The Soulmate, page 7
He glances at it quickly, then his eyes close.
‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gabe says.
We are sitting on a park bench in a playground adjacent to the preschool. A few metres away, a bunch of toddlers play in a sandpit while their carers gossip nearby, clutching takeaway coffees. Outwardly we look normal. Even our body language is unremarkable as Gabe recounts the story of what happened that night on the cliff, while we sit by side on the bench, not looking at each other.
‘Why?’ I say. ‘Why are you sorry?’
He exhales slowly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was her.’
Adrenaline courses through my veins. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what is coming next. I want to run away and cover my ears. I want to turn back time and stop Gabe from going outside.
‘The truth is, I didn’t recognise her at first,’ he says. ‘I only met Amanda a few times, at office functions. Seeing her at The Drop, I didn’t make the connection. Then she introduced herself. She said, “You don’t recognise me, do you?”’
Gabe’s face is pale and intense and ravaged. He looks like a character in a film who has just accepted a suicide mission.
‘That was when I realised she did look familiar. But I couldn’t place her. It was on the tip of my tongue, but she was the one to say her name. Amanda Cameron. She said she had seen the newspaper article about me, which was how she knew where we lived. When she said that, I was relieved. I thought, Oh good, she’s not going to jump. I figured it was something to do with Max. That was when I moved closer, and I noticed she was crying. She was . . . devastated.’
A sick feeling overtakes me. I didn’t know nausea could come on this quickly until I married Gabe. Now, it’s a phenomenon I know all too well.
‘Why?’ I ask quietly. But I already know. Gabe’s face is confirmation.
‘She knew, didn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ Gabe nods apologetically. ‘She knew about you and Max.’
17
PIPPA
THEN
‘Gabe!’
‘Gabe! Over here!’
‘Gabriel Gerard, just the man I was looking for!’
We were at the office Christmas party – an opulent affair at the National Gallery of Victoria – and Gabe was like a minor celebrity. To be fair, he looked like a celebrity in his dinner suit. Everyone knew his name; everyone wanted a moment with him.
I loved watching him in action. His job brought him to life. It was like watching a performer on stage, and not just at the party. At home, whenever I heard him on the phone to a client or colleague, I’d think, Wow. His gift with people was undeniable. He had an ability to cut through the bullshit, to understand who needed to hear what. He knew what excited one person and bored another. It was this instinct that enabled him to rise through the ranks so quickly.
‘This is my wife Pippa,’ he’d say to everyone we met, and they were polite, but quickly moved their attention back to Gabe. It wasn’t just handshakes and small talk. Or maybe it was, but Gabe made it into something more. A moment of connection. A current of electricity. People’s interactions with him, no matter how brief, would be the highlight of their evening.
We were seated at the table with the top executives and their partners, including Max Cameron, the boss. I remember being surprised by that. Yes, Gabe was doing well, but Max was a big deal. A powerful Australian media mogul, he owned newspapers, TV stations and an online media network. Apparently, he even owned a footy team. Despite Max’s presence, it was Gabe who owned the table that night. He was in one of those moods where he seemed to be lit from within. Charming, funny, self-deprecating. You could have seen him from space.
‘He’s an asset to the organisation, he really is,’ Max said to me after dinner.
The dance floor was pumping by then, but Max and I sat at the table, drinking coffee and eating petits fours. There was no denying that Max was an impressive man. Not handsome like Gabe, but commanding. Even the way he sat back, relaxed but upright, as if admiring his empire, which perhaps he was. Despite the constant interruptions and people coming to say hello, he made it clear to me that I had his full attention. It was rare that a man other than Gabe turned my head, but I had to admit, there was something about Max.
I’d discovered over the course of the evening that Max didn’t have children of his own. I wondered if, perhaps, he’d wanted children and couldn’t have them. In his pre-dinner speech, he’d discussed his passion for mental health – fuelled, apparently, by the loss of his mother and brother to suicide. It was now his mission, he said, to prevent as many needless suicides as he could.
As Max and I chatted, Gabe was telling Max’s wife the story of how we’d met. He told her about the broken leg, and how it had taken him six weeks to call (it had only taken three, but Gabe never let the truth get in the way of a good story).
‘I don’t know where he gets his energy,’ Max said, observing him.
I laughed. ‘Honestly, sometimes I wish he had a little less energy. I fear one day it may send me mad.’
I meant it as a joke, but Max appeared to take it seriously. ‘Some of the best creatives have that problem,’ he said. ‘It’s definitely something to watch.’ He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a shiny white business card. ‘If you ever find that you’re worried about it, don’t hesitate to get in touch. I mean that.’
I was disarmed by his kindness, even though I reasoned that it was likely tied up in his passion for mental health and suicide prevention. But as he pressed the card into my hand, it felt like a strangely intimate moment – and I felt an unmistakable frisson of electricity.
18
PIPPA
NOW
I told Gabe about Max and me immediately after it happened, eighteen months ago.
‘I understand,’ he said, when he’d recovered from the shock of it.
After everything he’d put me through, what else could he say? He had one job, and he knew it. It was the same thing he’d asked of me, time and time again. Loyalty. If he didn’t give it, how could he ask for it? And to his credit, he did. We’d put it behind us. Until now.
‘Amanda knew about Max and me?’
There’s something acutely familiar about the bodily sensations I’m feeling. The racing heart. The clammy hands. The velocity of my thoughts, so fast and strong it brings on an instant headache.
‘Yes.’
I turn towards Gabe. Bizarrely, he looks apologetic. As if he has a reason to be sorry. Preschool will be finished for the day in a few minutes, and parents are starting to line up at the gate with babies in tow. I hear Alice Williamson reminding people to contribute to Mrs Punch’s spa voucher.
‘How?’
‘She found a video on Max’s computer.’
‘A video?’
Gabe scratches at a piece of peeling paint on the bench. He is staring straight ahead at the playground. ‘I guess he must have filmed it.’
It takes me a moment to process this. Filming without consent sounds like something a teenager would do, or a pervert. Max, on the other hand, always seemed like a gentleman.
‘Seriously?’ I say.
It is, I realise, not an important detail, given what we are discussing. And yet my mind remains stuck on this ill-fitting piece. It causes a sudden shift in my entire recollection of that night, making it slippery and out of focus.
Gabe shrugs. ‘That’s what she said. Apparently she had the footage on a USB. She brought it with her because she didn’t think I’d believe her.’
I’m still trying to untangle this. ‘So she came to The Drop to tell you?’
‘Actually, it was you she wanted to talk to. She said that the video cut off at a crucial moment and she wanted to know what happened. If you and Max actually . . .’
A sick feeling builds in my belly.
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said you did.’
I think I might throw up. Amanda discovered a video of Max and me, then had her worst fears confirmed by Gabe. Moments later, she was at the bottom of a cliff.
And it’s all my fault.
Emily Kent hurries past on her way to pick-up. ‘Am I late?’ she asks. Gabe and I shake our heads, and she slows down. ‘Phew! Mrs Punch would kill me.’
We sit in silence till Emily is out of earshot.
‘What happened then?’ I ask, even though I don’t want to know.
‘She was so upset,’ Gabe says. ‘She said that fidelity was one of the foundations of their marriage.’
I think of the woman’s arms flailing. Suddenly it makes sense.
‘She said she couldn’t go on.’ His face twists in an ugly, silent sob. ‘When she leaped, I tried to grab her. My hands shot out. But there was nothing to grab. She was gone.’
The bell rings, indicating preschool has finished.
‘I didn’t want you to have to live with that, Pip,’ he says, as the singsong voices of children start up. ‘I hoped you’d never find out.’
The gate opens, and kids burst out of the gates and run towards their parents. Asha and Freya look around then, spying us near the playground, launch themselves at us at full speed. The timing is perfect because, after that, I can’t talk anymore.
19
AMANDA
AFTER
It’s true, I hadn’t anticipated that Gabe already knew about Pippa and Max. What sort of couple could know this about the other and then move on with their lives as if it were inconsequential? When I realised, it should have tipped me off about the kind of people I was dealing with. The pair of them pride themselves on loyalty, as if it’s all they could possibly need for a good marriage. They forget the most important thing about loyalty: sometimes it’s warranted . . . sometimes it’s not.
20
AMANDA
BEFORE
‘Before I ask you to marry me,’ Max said, ‘there’s something we need to discuss.’
There was no ring. No kneeling. He said it in between bites of his medium-rare steak.
We were in a lovely restaurant, but then we ate at lovely restaurants most nights. Why cook when we lived near some of the best restaurants in the world? We never needed to book ahead of time. Reservations just appeared for Max, as did window tables and dishes that weren’t on the menu but which Max had a hankering for.
‘All right,’ I said, setting down my cutlery.
I had understood things were going in this direction. We’d been dating for over a year, I’d met all the key people in his life and passed all the tests. I knew the role I needed to fill, and I did a good job of it. Max needed someone to accompany him to functions. Someone to organise his social life. Someone to attend to his physical, mental and sexual needs. Someone he could trust.
Max filled his role equally well. He was a gentleman; the kind of man who looked into my eyes rather than at my breasts, who spoke to me respectfully, never mocked me or put me down. He was considerate of my needs sexually and provided for me financially.
It was time, not just for the outward appearance but because it was practical. Max’s business was poised to explode. At work, he was hiring manager upon manager, staffing up teams, delegating. But he needed someone to manage his home life. I knew Max’s first love would always be his business, and I was fine with that. Unlike my mother, I was going to marry with my head.
‘So what do we need to discuss?’ I asked.
As Max put down his own knife and fork, he looked as close to nervous as I’d ever seen him. His cheeks were flushed, though later he would blame the red wine.
‘I don’t want children, Amanda.’
I’ll admit, that surprised me. While I hadn’t known Max to show a lot of interest in children, I’d assumed he’d be the old-fashioned type – happy to have as many as his wife wanted as long as he only had to pay them a cursory interest. I knew enough to know he wouldn’t be the type of father to get down on the floor and play or change dirty nappies, but the strength of his assertion – that was puzzling.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘May I ask why not?’
He shrugged. ‘You know about my mum and my brother.’
I nodded, even though I knew very little. Both had died by taking an overdose of pills, but even that I’d only gleaned from Max’s speeches at suicide-prevention fundraisers.
‘These kinds of mental health issues can be hereditary. I don’t want to take that chance with my own child.’
I sat back in my seat as I digested this. I wasn’t a woman who desired children particularly, I had just assumed they’d probably come along. To be told suddenly that they were off the table took some adjusting, if only to alter some of the fuzzy-edged visions of the future – the first words, the family holidays, Max walking a daughter down the aisle.
‘You’re disappointed,’ he said, after a few moments.
Was I? Maybe I was, a little. But it wasn’t a deal-breaker.
‘If you decide to accept my proposal, and I sincerely hope you do, we will have a good life. Travel, art, music, food. I will support you in anything you want to do. I will be a real partner to you. But I warn you, I will not change my mind on this.’
‘I need to think about it,’ I said, even though I’d already decided. As it turned out, I was highly efficient at adjusting my future visions. I’d already replaced them with adults-only resorts, trips to Europe, gala dinners and lazy Sunday brunches. It would be fine, I realised. It would be great.
I waited four weeks before I told Max I would marry him. But I had a condition of my own.
‘I want fidelity.’
My condition, I was aware, was perhaps not typical in marriages such as ours. After all, I understood the lay of the land. Powerful men like Max tended to have a mistress or two. Some of them used discretion, whereas others provided their wives with a very nice lifestyle to compensate them for looking the other way.
‘My father didn’t have a lot of great attributes,’ I continued, ‘but infidelity was the worst of it. He humiliated my mother time and time again. I am not interested in a marriage like that. If you want to marry me, I insist on fidelity.’
I spoke powerfully, pragmatically and without emotion. And so it surprised me when Max reached across the table to place his hand over mine. ‘That works for me.’
He handed me a ring he’d purchased; it cost more than the home I grew up in.
We married six months later, and the pictures were in all the magazines. A few months after that, my sad fertility stories started making headlines. In every single story, the reason we didn’t have children was attributed to me.
21
PIPPA
NOW
No one will ever know.
That’s what I’m thinking as Gabe and I walk home from preschool, chasing the girls on their scooters, each of us with a pink schoolbag over our shoulder. I am in activewear, and Gabe is in jeans and a North Face vest and trainers. The streets are bustling with parents pushing prams, joggers, surfers carrying boards. People smile as they pass Freya and Asha, who have their hair in identical pigtails with straight centre parts – the only hairstyle Gabe has mastered and one he is very proud of.
No one will ever know.
Gabe and I keep our eyes forward and our heads down, like a pair of criminals being bustled out of a courtroom, past the media, into a waiting vehicle.
‘She died because of me,’ I say, so quietly I’m surprised that Gabe hears.
‘No,’ Gabe says. ‘She made a decision –’
‘A decision based on something I did.’
I’m ashamed to realise that the night I went to Max’s office, Amanda never featured in my thoughts. I knew she existed – indeed, I’d met her at the Christmas party where I’d first spoken to Max – but she was like background noise. Even now I find it hard to conjure an image of her. Things were so messed up at the time. I was so messed up.
‘What is wrong with me?’ I say out loud.
‘It was her choice to jump, Pip. You didn’t push her.’
I understand Gabe is trying to make me feel better. I know, because that’s what I’ve always done for him. It’s our own strange brand of loyalty, one that has worked so well for our marriage. The problem is, I don’t buy it. I may not have pushed her, but it is my fault.
‘This is what I wanted to avoid, Pip. This is why I didn’t tell you it was Amanda on the cliff.’
We walk in silence for a while. I see now how this secret must have been haunting him. Gabe is a good person. He would have been aware of every ramification of keeping this secret. For so long I have been the person protecting him. It feels so strange now that the shoe is on the other foot.
‘Asha!’ Gabe yells, as she nearly takes out an elderly man on the footpath. ‘Slow down.’ To the man he says, ‘Sorry!’
Asha is half a block in front of us, flying along on her scooter, so fast the tail shakes. She stands up on her tiptoes, her hands flat on the handlebars, barely holding on. Like this, I see the magic of her and the danger simultaneously. It brings on a wave of love and worry so strong it takes my breath away.
At least Amanda didn’t have children, I think. But I immediately withdraw the thought. What difference would it make if she had kids? Just because she didn’t have children doesn’t mean she wasn’t beloved. It doesn’t make her death any less sad.
Max must be broken-hearted. Bereft. Or maybe he isn’t? My whole radar for Max feels off now that I know he filmed us that night in his office. When I’d gone there that night, I thought it had taken him by surprise. But maybe women go to his office all the time? Maybe he had a camera set up just in case?
‘Come on, slowcoach,’ Gabe says as we catch up to Freya. He grabs the handlebars and runs along, speeding her up. It gives her the giggles. To anyone else, he would look relaxed, like he didn’t have a care in the world. But I see the tension in his shoulders, his jaw. After years of close observation, I am an expert in Gabe’s mental state. I’m an expert in Gabe. I’m not the only one who is going to have to live with this guilt, I realise. Gabe will too.
