The next morning Fred set off in the car without telling Jeanie where he was going. They hadn’t spoken much over breakfast, she realized in retrospect. It always took her an hour or so to fully wake up, but she did notice he hadn’t been his usual chatterbox self. Normally he was not daunted by her monosyllabic replies.
She tidied the kitchen. They were supposed to be looking at possible premises for the new business that morning. Suddenly, she found herself with a wild worry he had gone to the police. He wouldn’t, would he? No, she told herself firmly. Never. But the thought left her breathless. Still, where was he? Why hadn’t he said where he was going? He wasn’t the shopping sort. Fred, her Fred. She fought back panic. There was too much happening, too much out of her control. She determinedly switched her thoughts to removing the ugly tree stump. Something practical.
But even having to dismiss a thought was depressing in itself. She had no doubts Fred was having second thoughts about her. She told herself it was entirely understandable. She cursed the letter that set the whole thing off. And Mindi’s friend Bert. But she still couldn’t figure out how she could have done anything differently.
She stopped when she realized she had just wiped the entire kitchen clean twice. That was not a good sign. She flopped onto the chair at their little table and blinked back painful tears. Fred. Pete. Mindi. her son Beau. Her mind slipped back to that sturdy little boy setting off to kindergarten, excited, scared and yet so independent. He had turned at the steps up into the school and blown her a kiss, as he had done since he was a baby. That was the last time, of course. School taught him what was babyish and how a school boy behaved.
A young man of twenty-four shouldn’t have lost both parents. What if…? The thought stopped her in her tracks and she felt herself fighting off another fainting spell. She only just managed to get onto the settee to lie down. That thought. No. Surely not. He would not have returned home and discovered his father dead. There would be no reason for him to turn up at that time. He’d been gone for ages. Too coincidental. Tears welled up again and her head started to ache. But maybe he did. Worse, what if he came when Pete had been dead for a long time? She shuddered. Why had she not thought of that before? She wouldn’t have inflicted that on her son. Never. Getting up, she started to pace around the little flat. Up and down the hallway, into the living room and kitchen. She couldn't remove that thought from her head – that awful image of Beau finding his father, or, worse, what remained of him. Horror rose like gorge and she felt like screaming. She had to know. She had to contact him.
Before she could change her mind, she found paper and pen and wrote him a letter – a letter written from a mother who had separated from his father, but assumes – “knows” – his father is still alive.
Dear Beau,
Please do not worry about me. I have moved overseas and I am making a new life for myself away from your father. It is vital I keep some anonymity, so please find my post office box number on the envelope – for you to use if you want to contact me, but please do not give it to your father. You’ll understand it’s because of him I needed to disappear, but I have been feeling awfully guilty you are yet again caught by a decision of mine, as you were caught between us so often when you were growing up.
I think of you all the time, darling boy. Some day (when your father finds someone new perhaps?) we can meet up and have a grand reunion.
All my love,
Mum
She read it over once, put it into an envelope and went out to post it before she could agonize over the wisdom of actually sending it.
‘I’m not going to tell you your history changes everything,’ Fred said to her in the car when they set off to look at the five properties on his list. Her heart did a flip. ‘But I think we need to get a formal partnership agreement between us, given the seriousness of the Pete business.’
The “Pete business”. Jeanie’s stomach clenched, but she kept her eyes on the road ahead of them.
‘My lawyer. He’ll get onto it.’ Fred’s voice was solemn, formal.
Jeanie thought it must be a good sign they were on their way to see the properties. She clung to that thought and didn’t want to ask anything about partnerships, what getting onto it meant or even query where they were going. She could barely breathe much less talk.
The first was in a building bearing a weather-worn sign stating it was the ‘Chan Building, 1898’.
‘We can brighten this one up easily enough. Just paint everything white,’ Fred said when they got into the suite of rooms.
Jeanie looked around in dismay. The carpet was dark brown and curling at the edges. The walls were some sort of gold colour , proclaiming someone sometime bought a bargain. She took a long sniff. ‘It stinks,’ she said, her voice sounding unnatural to her ears. ‘Animals. It smells of … of, I don’t know, something organic....’
‘Yeah, well, I think they had a dog washing business in here.’ They walked across the hall to office space somewhat more sweet-smelling.
‘Actually, I think the unwashed dogs must have been in that other room and the washed ones in here,’ he said.
Jeanie suddenly looked at him. ‘You’re making that up,’ she said, pointing her finger at him. ‘There were no dogs in here. You’re practicing your acting again!’
He guffawed, his good nature again in evidence. ‘How did you know? I was refining my technique.’
She just shook her head, again depressed. ‘You really don’t understand.’ She looked out over the rooftops to the patches of blue water glinting between the buildings.
‘I guess I don’t,’ he said softly, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘Tell me.’ She shook her head. ‘Please. Help me to understand.’
She took a large shuddering breath. ‘Living a lie is terrible. Every word, every action, every twitch of your face tells a story, and that story has to be the one you’re trying to live, not the truth. Always you’re on your guard. Remembering. Saying things that are consistent. It takes energy – masses and masses of energy. And then there’s the worry, the anxiety that you’ve slipped up, that people are suspicious. Makes you paranoid, so you don’t trust anybody; you don’t trust anything.’ She sighed. ‘It’s just not worth it. That’s why I came to New Zealand. So I could forget about the life I was forced to live as an appendage of Pete, forget about my violent solution to all that, forget about being found out. And I stole and lied to get here and I never want to have to lie again.’ She turned to Fred and buried her head into his chest. ‘Understand, Fred, please. I need you to understand.’
He wrapped his arms around her. ‘I am so, so sorry. We were laughing about acting, and … no, there is no excuse. I was insensitive.’
Jeanie straightened and pushed herself away, not looking at him. ‘But you’ve had to do it too, with your HIV status. Surely you hate it?’
‘It’s somewhat different lying by omission,’ he said. ‘I just hadn’t told you yet; that’s how I phrased it to myself. And it’s no one else’s business. I hadn’t told you so far. There is a huge difference. You’ve had years of it, and it’s only occasional for me. Nothing like the same.’
She finally met his eyes. It was time to leave the topic. ‘Let’s get back to work. We have a real chance to make a business, and we need premises. These would do, but I think we should see what else is offered.’
The remaining premises on the list were far smaller than the first set of rooms, some farther out, some on noisier roads. Fred and Jeanie ended up back at the Chan Building. She was getting tired due, she was sure, to nightmares and not sleeping and constantly regretting she had told Fred of her sordid background. Something delicate was now out of balance. She needed time to think.
That night, lying in bed, she couldn’t switch off. Pete and her life as his appendage…. She remembered her anxiety each and every time Pete returned from work: the subtle sound of his car stopping outside that penetrated everything she was doing, whether she was on the telephone, watching TV or working in the kitchen with the radio blaring. Her heart would thump, her hands tremble and she automatically glanced at her clothes. He liked her in dresses. She always wore dresses. And high heels – boots with stilettos in the winter and tottery sandals in the summer. When alone, she always kicked them off. That sound of the car and the mad scramble to find her footwear – usually in the kitchen, but too often by the settee or at the back door or even still in the closet upstairs in the bedroom – occurred more often than not. She’d dash around looking wildly until they were found and safely on her feet. Then she had to walk serenely to the front door and greet her husband. Once, not long before she left, she had not found her sandals until she remembered they were by the front door, ready to slip on. She had only time to get one foot shod before he pushed the door open. One glance was all it took. He slammed the door and shoved her so hard, she tripped over the remaining sandal and fell heavily onto the tiled floor.
‘You sloppy whore!’ he yelled. ‘What if I had visitors? Eh? What if I brought someone from work, coming back for a nice little drink before dinner? Did you think of that? Did you? When you were standing there in bare feet like some guttersnipe?’
‘Sorry,’ she said, keeping her eyes off his. That sometimes worked. Keeping her eyes to herself.
He kicked her on the left side of her hip as he passed. Thank goodness: this was a minor incident. ‘I can’t be bothered with you. Get me a drink. And I want it right now. I’ve had a shit of a day.’
She cautiously picked herself up, her hip aching. There would be a massive bruise there tomorrow, but safely hidden from onlookers. He knew where to kick. In spite of it, she was grateful that’s all that happened. She went to pour him a drink, a high heeled sandal firmly on each foot.
She had another Pete dream that night. The one where he looked up at her and laughed.
Was her subconscious trying to tell her something? Was she slipping into complacency – after all she was a murderer. And on the run. In the grand scheme of all things geographical, she had not gone far. New Zealand was no distance from Australia. So why would Pete laugh at her in her dream? Laughing because events were converging to bring her down?
By the time she fully awakened – and after toast and full strength coffee – she made a pact to be more guarded. Not only when she was out of the house, but around Fred as well.