‘Come on, Mia. Hurry up.’
Annabel checks her watch. She hoped to be out the door half an hour ago. Now they’re going to get stuck in Saturday-afternoon traffic.
‘Mia, what’s taking you so long?’
Her daughter finally appears. She’s biting her lip. ‘Sorry, Mummy, but I can’t find my money. It’s gone.’
Annabel smothers a sigh, sets down her bag and car keys on the hall table, and proceeds to Mia’s room to find the ‘missing money’.
‘Where did you last see it?’
‘In my communion handbag.’
‘Did you move it to a different handbag? Or into one of your drawers?’
Mia shakes her head. ‘I didn’t move it. I really didn’t.’
Despite Mia’s assurances, Annabel searches the other handbags – Mia has quite a collection – and rifles through her drawers. Then she checks her jewellery boxes, the pockets of various items of clothing, and every other conceivable place a nine-year-old might stash money.
‘Are you sure you didn’t hide it somewhere?’
‘I didn’t, Mummy, I swear I didn’t. Someone must have taken it.’
Annabel experiences a plummeting sensation in her stomach. Daniel wouldn’t, would he? No, he would never stoop so low. Besides, he has money of his own from working shifts at the local pizzeria. She dropped him to work only an hour ago.
‘How much did you have exactly?’
‘Three hundred and eighty-five dollars.’
Mia’s grandparents, godparents and various other relatives were very generous. ‘Buy yourself something nice,’ they said, putting crisp new notes inside embossed communion cards. Mia is going to spend the windfall on a new bike.
‘When did you last see the money?’
‘Yesterday. I counted it again because I knew we were getting the bike today.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t put it somewhere unusual?’
‘I didn’t, I swear. I put it back in the handbag. Then I put the handbag in my cupboard.’
Annabel believes her daughter. She is generally reliable with both her belongings and with the truth. It is looking increasingly likely that the money was taken ... stolen. And the prime suspect would have to be Daniel. The thought that he would be so dishonest – so lacking in scruples and basic decency – makes her feel ill. The thought of how he might spend the money makes her feel more than ill; she can hardly breathe.
‘It’s okay ... We’ll find the money.’ Fake confidence. Can Mia detect the shake in her mother’s voice? ‘Now let’s go, before it gets too late. We’ll put the bike on my credit card and you can pay me back later. Okay?’
Mia gives her a trusting smile. ‘Okay, Mummy.’
Mia chooses a vintage-style bike, complete with pale green paint, cream tyres and an adorable front basket. She spends the rest of the evening cycling up and down the street. Annabel watches for a while, making sure she is steady – it’s quite a large bike – and warning her about road safety. Then she comes inside and gives the kitchen a quick tidy-up before making a start on dinner.
She’s undecided on whether to tell Jarrod about the missing money. She doesn’t want to upset him until she has her facts straight – what if they find the money in some forgotten hiding place? But hasn’t she learned not to keep secrets from her husband? The fact that he’ll go ballistic is no excuse. Plus, it’s likely that Mia will blurt it out anyway.
She sends him a text.
What time can we expect you?
Jarrod used to answer only emergency calls on weekends. Now Saturdays have become like any other workday, complete with an early start and late finish. He looks worn out, older than his years. He needs rest, less work, more play ... It’s no wonder he’s so short-tempered.
Truth is, when she’s not worrying about Daniel she’s worrying about Jarrod. Her husband is not coping. He has become introverted, antisocial, explosive. God, everything’s such a mess, such an awful, awful mess. They’ve had their ups and downs over the years but she can’t remember a time when things were as bleak as they are right now.
Jarrod’s response flashes on her phone: Be another hour or two.
Annabel opens and closes cupboard doors, assembling cooking utensils and ingredients. The kitchen, with its sleek white units and aqua-coloured splashback, is only four years old but she’s already itching to renovate.
‘I’ve created a monster,’ Jarrod joked when she admitted that she was bored of the splashback and wouldn’t mind replacing it.
Is she a monster? Should she have been concentrating more on her children and less on her house? Should she be more like Grace? If there was ever a house that needed knocking down and rebuilding, it’s Grace’s. Yet her friend doesn’t seem fazed by her leaky bathroom and antiquated kitchen. Her focus seems to be on things that are harder to see. Things like family unity and respect.
Annabel dices some chicken and vegetables and throws them in the pot with a ready-made sauce base. Chicken curry, a family favourite. The chicken is simmering away. She doesn’t need to put on the rice just yet. There’s time to sit down at the kitchen table, bury her face in her hands, and allow herself the luxury of weeping.
‘We’re going to search your room from top to bottom,’ Annabel informs Mia after dinner. ‘I don’t want to worry Daddy until we are absolutely sure the money is gone.’
Mia nods gravely, and Annabel is left wondering what effect these recent events are having on her. Watching her brother and her father fighting in the restaurant. Witnessing Daniel’s scorn for his parents and their house rules. Seeing him staggering through the door, stoned, his eyes rolling back in his head. Jarrod being so down on himself, Annabel being so tense all the time, the lack of trust in the household, the fraught atmosphere. What effect is all this going to have on Mia? Will she end up desensitised to drugs, family arguments, violence and deceit?
Jarrod gets home at eight thirty and pops his head around the bedroom door. ‘There you are. I’ll have a quick bite before getting Daniel from work.’
Mia scrambles to her feet to give her father a hug.
‘What’re you two doing in here?’ he asks, noticing the upturned drawers.
Annabel fields the question. ‘Mia has lost something. We’re taking the opportunity to have a good clean-out.’
He accepts her explanation and extracts himself from Mia. The door closes and they resume the search. Annabel hears the far-off ping of the microwave as Jarrod reheats his dinner. Then the scrape of cutlery against ceramic; a plaintive, lonely sound. About fifteen minutes later, the slam of the front door, followed by the growl of the van’s engine.
‘Mummy, the money isn’t here,’ Mia says quietly.
Annabel sighs in defeat. They’ve turned the room upside down. Pulled the bed out from the wall. Checked down behind the chest of drawers. They’ve even taken the books from the bookshelf. She’s going to have to tell Jarrod and confront Daniel. She is dreading one as much as the other.
She sighs again. She’ll tell Jarrod tomorrow. He looks too shattered tonight.
‘Let’s put the last of this stuff away. Then straight to bed.’
Annabel pours herself a large glass of red wine as soon as Mia is tucked in for the night. After the debacle at the restaurant, they decided to avoid drinking alcohol in their son’s presence.
‘It’s too much temptation,’ Jarrod said. ‘He sees us drinking and he wants to do the same.’
Annabel agreed. They would try to be perfect role models. It’s hard, though, because some nights – like now – the only thing that makes her feel better is a drink.
She swirls the wine around in her mouth, then closes her eyes so she can fully concentrate on its velvety taste. Her phone rings. It’s Jarrod. Her face flushes with guilt, as though he can actually see what she’s doing. They agreed they wouldn’t drink in front of Daniel, not that they wouldn’t drink at all.
‘What’s up?’ she asks, trying to sound casual.
‘Daniel’s not here.’
Their son usually waits outside the front of the pizzeria when his shift is over. They pull up, he jumps in, and there’s an attempt at conversation on the way home. The routine, other than the conversation part, is pretty seamless.
‘He must have got delayed. Go in and see if he’s doing something out the back.’
Jarrod hangs up. Annabel has another mouthful or two of wine. She’s anxious and then chides herself; she must stop expecting the worst.
Jarrod rings again. ‘He’s not here, Annie.’ Her husband’s voice is unusually high-pitched. ‘Apparently, Daniel doesn’t work here any more. He got fired a couple of weeks ago.’
‘He what?’ The wine has left her mouth feeling parched. ‘If he’s not there, then where is he? Where has he been all the times he was meant to be at work? What has he been doing?’
Jarrod doesn’t know the answers any more than she does.
‘I’ll go and look for him, Annie. You ring his friends.’
She has to tell him now. There’s no waiting until tomorrow.
‘He has Mia’s communion money,’ she wails. ‘He has nearly four hundred dollars on him. It’s gone from her room. It must be Daniel. Who else could it be? Now he’s buying God-knows-what with it. Oh, fuck! Please find him before he spends all that money. Please, Jarrod. Please.’