The house is full. Half the people are strangers. Friends and acquaintances of Jarrod’s parents. Tradesmen of all descriptions – plumbers, builders, tilers, carpenters – who look ill at ease in shirt and tie. Daniel’s gang from school. Jemma’s crowd from university. At first Annabel was appalled by the idea of holding a wake and having her grief, as well as her home, invaded. Bernard, Jarrod’s father, talked her round.
‘It’s a chance to make sense of something that makes no sense, love. It will bring you great comfort. Being in the midst of people rather than being on your own. Realising what Jarrod meant to them. Hearing their stories and memories. Seeing them laugh and cry.’
Bernard convinced her and now she is glad that he did. Food and drink had to be organised. The house prepared and cleaned. Jemma, Daniel and Mia pitched in to help and Bernard was right: the process has given them something to focus on, a degree of comfort as well as a reluctant acceptance that this is really happening. Jarrod is dead. His body has been buried in the local cemetery. Everyone is here to pay their respects.
‘Mia and I are going to make a few more sandwiches.’
Jemma’s wearing a black dress that belongs to Annabel. The black is harsh on her fair colouring, making her look washed out. Mia has cried so much the skin under her eyes has become flaky and red. Her innocence has been shattered. Her childish belief that mummies and daddies are invincible and will live for ever. Poor, poor Mia.
Jemma and Mia head towards the kitchen. Annabel looks around to determine Daniel’s whereabouts. There he is, clearing away empty glasses with Tom, who has been a constant fixture over the last couple of days. Tom has taken Daniel out in his ute to buy supplies for the wake. They’ve moved furniture around, borrowed extra chairs from neighbours. It’s obvious that Tom is watching out for Daniel. He is a good man. Grace chose well when she married him.
Jarrod, too, was a good man. A loyal husband, a loving father, a hard worker. She and Jarrod grew up together, fast-tracked from carefree teenagers to young parents shackled with responsibilities. They learned how to nurture, how to be selfless, how to weather the storms of family life. They grew up together ... but they won’t grow old together.
She gasps. She is having one of those moments. When the shock hits her full pelt in the stomach.
I’m alone. He’s gone. I’m a widow.
Someone is comforting her. Squeezing her shoulders. It’s Tom. Annabel is confused about how he got here so fast, how he noticed from the other side of the room that she needed help to stay on her feet.
‘You’re all right,’ he says. ‘You’re all right ... I have you.’
Grace has kept herself busy. Watching children, food supplies and whose drinks need to be replenished. It’s getting noisy. People are on their second or third drink by now, voices are quite animated, considering the occasion. If she didn’t know better, she could be at a party. A party where everyone wears dark colours and the only music is the rise and fall of voices. A party where tears and laughter are interchangeable and shock binds everyone together.
The children seem remarkably resilient. Billy is playing out in the garden with another boy of similar age. Lauren is reading a book in one of the bedrooms – she can’t cope with the noise levels. Tahlia and Poppy have been helping Jemma and Mia serve food. Even Daniel seems to be behaving himself. He shakily delivered a reading at the service and was one of the pallbearers who carried the coffin out to the waiting hearse.
‘Are you okay, Grace? Anything I can do to help?’
It’s Katy. Zach, Melissa and Luke are here too. Grace has spoken to them intermittently; they’ve all offered to help.
‘No thanks. Everything’s fine for now.’
‘It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Katy murmurs.
Grace goes to say something but her throat is suddenly blocked. It’s the image of Daniel carrying his father’s coffin. Is there anything more tragic, more irredeemable, more final than that?
There’s an ache in her cheeks. Oh no, she’s going to cry.
‘I ...’ She sobs. ‘I ...’
She wanted to stay strong, for Annabel’s sake, for the children’s sake. Now here she is, unravelling.
Daniel’s image is replaced with one of Jarrod in his rugby jersey, sweaty, passionate, shouting, ‘Come on, we can win this.’
Then Jarrod cradling the new-born Jemma, a look of puzzled wonder on his face. ‘She cries all night. Every minute of the day is spent changing her, feeding her, settling her. I love her to bits.’
Grace has known Jarrod for as long as Annabel has. She is only beginning to realise her own loss.
‘I ... I ...’
‘Oh, Grace. Of course you’re upset. You’re all such close friends.’
Katy gives her a quick hug, as though she understands that Grace can’t succumb for long, that she must stay strong.
Grace pulls away. ‘Thank you ... Sorry ... Excuse me.’
Keep busy. Keep busy. She drifts towards the open-plan kitchen, collecting dirty glasses and discarded plates along the way. The dishwasher is long full; nothing for it but a sink of hot water.
Keep busy. Don’t think about Jarrod on his wedding day: stoic, hopeful, tender towards Annabel. Don’t think about him at the communion dinner: weary, withdrawn, at his wits’ end.
A glass slips through Grace’s wet fingers, shattering on the glossy floor tiles.
She bends down and picks up the larger pieces; the rest will have to be swept. One of the shards nicks her finger. It’s a superficial cut, causing a surprising amount of blood. It’s quite mesmerising, watching the blood spurt and bloom. It brings her back in time, to the food tech room. She stands up, her eyes automatically seeking out Melissa. Look what I’ve done. Silly me.
Melissa isn’t with Luke and Zach, where she has been stationed all evening. There she is, zigzagging through the crowd, heading towards the doors that lead outside to the patio.
Melissa’s phone has been buzzing in her handbag and she’s ignored it for as long as she can. She weaves in and out of people until she’s outside. The rear of the house is as tastefully styled as the rest: sandstone paving, modern outdoor furniture, a generously sized pool. Two women are standing at the far end of the patio, talking quietly and smoking. Children are tearing around the garden, playing some form of chase in the dusk.
There are four voice messages on Melissa’s voicemail. One from Samantha, who needs help locating an urgent file. One from Cassie about an HR issue that has blown up late this afternoon. One from Henry – pretending to sound inconvenienced – wanting to know what time she’ll be home, and if he should feed PJ. The last one is from Megan McGrath.
‘Hello, Melissa. You left a voice message yesterday for my husband, Nick. Just letting you know he doesn’t live at this address – he moved out a few months ago. I’d give you a mobile number if I had it. Sorry, his old number seems to be disconnected.’
So Nick doesn’t live with his wife and family. Where does he live, then? Is it possible he’s not in Melbourne, but here in Sydney? Quite suddenly, his whereabouts seem vitally important.
Should she call Megan back? Ask some further questions? When did Nick leave the family home? Why doesn’t Megan have a contact number for her estranged husband? Why does Celia seem unaware of the separation? Does Nick hate their cohort because of what they did to his younger brother? Is he the type of man to hold on to grudges?
Stop, Melissa chides herself. You’re at a wake. You should not be on your phone. Deal with this later.
Another part of her is arguing back, urging her to make the call. You owe this to Jarrod. His family deserve to know who did this and if it has anything to do with the reunion.
The decision is made. She makes the call.
‘Hello?’ Megan sounds as though she has run to get the phone.
‘Oh, hello, Megan, this is Melissa Andrews again. Sorry I missed you earlier. Look, this might sound odd, but is there a possibility Nick has been living in Sydney?’
Silence. Megan seems to be weighing something up. ‘I don’t care where he lives, so long as he isn’t near me or the kids.’
Melissa’s heart does a little jump, like it sometimes does when she solves a tricky problem at work.
‘Megan, something awful has happened and I’m trying to figure out if Nick had any involvement. I’m sorry if this causes offence ... Is he capable of being violent?’
Another, more ominous, silence.
‘We’ve all learned to keep out of the way when he’s in one of his rages ...’ Melissa hears embarrassment, sadness and the quiver of tears. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Sorry.’
The women have finished their cigarettes and give her disapproving looks on their way back inside. Yes, she knows it’s exceptionally rude to be on one’s phone at a wake, especially for an extended period of time. She should be inside, paying her respects, but her good manners have been overtaken by gut instinct.
Melissa dials another number.
‘Detective Brien? Hello, this is Melissa Andrews. I’m ringing with some information about Nick McGrath ...’