The plane banked in a sweeping curve, tilting so Finn saw the sun glint off the harbour, silhouetting the spindly span of the bridge against its brilliance. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against the window. A headache pinched the base of his neck and his eyelids felt scraped.
Edmund had called at seven-thirty, after Jarrah left for school and before Bridget woke. He had a Sydney barrister friend – owed him a favour – who could fit in an emergency appointment that day and would work with the local solicitor. Edmund even booked the flight. All Finn had to do was throw a change of clothes into a bag, leave a note on the fridge and call a taxi to the airport. It was a relief to escape before Bridget woke. Before he had to ask where she’d been all night. And with whom.
And then he’d go on, Finn decided, down to Hobart to see his father. Needed to hear his voice. Needed to hold him. Needed to counter the fear that Conor’s words had sent shooting through his body, no matter that his brother said to stay away.
The bump on the tarmac jolted Finn back to the present and he opened his eyes as the plane’s brakes went on and his body, animal-like, braced. Was it a copout to run without waking Bridget? Was he a coward for not wanting to know how she’d spent her night?
Three options Finn could figure: she’d been alone, with Meredith, or with Chen. She didn’t know anyone else up there well enough. He didn’t want to think about the third option. Had no right to be suspicious. He was probably way off track. If Bridget thought he’d been worrying about her fidelity she’d be even more furious. He couldn’t ask her. Shouldn’t even be thinking it. What was wrong with him?
It was a relief to see Edmund waiting at the gate. When he gave Finn a hug and thumped his back, Finn fought back the urge to hang on for too long, and stepped back, swallowing hard.
‘Fucking hell, Finn,’ Edmund said. ‘Not fair. Not on top of everything.’
Finn spread his hands helplessly. ‘That solicitor you got reckons it won’t go far.’
Edmund nodded. ‘Hope he’s right. Let’s go. My mate said to come straight to his office.’
Sydney. Loud, hot, concrete, metallic. Traffic streamed. Horns blared. Doors slammed. An assault, and yet welcome. Something, in the place of the awful silence at their house, broken by the hideous on and off schedule of the pool pump. The radio shouted at him. Finn had time to register his name before Edmund flicked it off.
‘What was that?’
‘Talkback. Everyone’s got an opinion. You don’t need to hear it. Skip the papers too, and be glad you’re not into social media.’
Finn shook his head, dazed. He was being discussed on public radio. His private, secret choice to protect Bridget was spinning out of control.
It was forty excruciating minutes before Jack Ferguson QC could see them, and there was nothing reassuring in his manner. He grilled Finn on everything that had happened, then sat back in his chair thoughtfully, scanning his notes.
‘The solicitor said it wouldn’t go anywhere.’ Finn had repeated this to himself during the night until it felt like solid truth.
‘Perhaps.’ Jack flipped through some papers and extracted a document. ‘Testing a new law will get attention. This coronial joint inquest into toddler drownings recommended the charge be introduced, and they’ve been waiting to try it in court.’
‘But Jack, I’ve looked at that report,’ Edmund interjected. ‘The coroner said none of the parents in the eight deaths he examined would have been subject to such a charge.’
‘True.’ Jack found the page he was looking for and read aloud. ‘The existence of such a criminal charge would however emphasise the importance to the community in general of taking matters, such as the maintenance of pool fencing and gates, seriously, and the public condemnation of the failure to do so when a life is lost as a result.’
He lowered the paper. ‘The aim is to reduce deaths by making pool owners aware of how serious their obligation is, and to remind them this can happen to anyone. There’s been one charge of manslaughter in relation to this, which didn’t proceed, so they’re still waiting for a test case. While the judge will be cognisant of your loss, Mr Brennan, it doesn’t mean he or she won’t make an example of you for the greater good.’
‘And what would that mean?’ Edmund asked. ‘Are we talking jail?’
Finn flinched. However hard he tried, he just couldn’t catch up. He still barely understood he’d been arrested. Hadn’t even thought ahead to a court case, let alone jail. Don’t worry, the solicitor had told him. Don’t worry.
‘It’s a very serious charge,’ Jack said. ‘A criminal conviction and a custodial sentence are certainly potential outcomes. We’ll put up a strong case for the committal hearing in the Local Court. That’s where the magistrate decides if it will go on to a full trial. Obviously we’ll be trying to get the charges dropped. That’s what’s happened in other comparable cases.’
‘Right,’ Finn said.
‘Your local solicitor will do a lot of the legwork and I’ll consult with him from this point onwards,’ Jack said. ‘There’ll be a mention in the Local Court this week or next to set down the date for the committal hearing.’
‘How long’s this going to take?’ Finn asked.
Jack shrugged slightly. ‘A committal hearing – up to six months. If it does go to trial – well, we’d be looking at a year or two. Maybe more.’
‘Um, right.’ Finn still couldn’t take it in. ‘A year, did you say? How much will it cost?’
‘Don’t worry about that now,’ Edmund interrupted. ‘We’ve taken enough of Jack’s time this morning.’
Moments later Finn found himself outside on the street, cars roaring past, pedestrians pushing and shuffling around them.
Edmund took his elbow. ‘Lunch.’
They set off, winding through the crowds. It was too busy to walk side by side, and Finn fell behind, watching the back of Edmund’s head to keep oriented. He had a bald spot developing there. Had Bridget ever grasped his hair the way she used to grasp Finn’s, during sex? He hadn’t thought about the two of them together for years. Ancient history. A short fling two decades earlier, way before Finn was on the scene. Bridget had introduced them and Edmund had become his agent – as a favour to her, Finn presumed. Edmund had always been starry-eyed about Bridget. All Finn could see now was Bridget with Edmund, in horrible clear images. Maybe that was easier than imagining where she might have been all night?
Edmund led him into a pub and through to a beer garden. Left Finn alone for a few minutes and came back with beer and salt and vinegar chips.
‘It’s in between breakfast and lunch. Start with this.’
Finn took a long swallow. The cool slip of beer and the chips’ sharp salt on his tongue were things to focus on. ‘I need to know about the cost,’ he said.
‘Cost doesn’t matter. You’ve got to fight this. With any luck you’ll win at the committal and it won’t go to trial. And here’s the thing: Jack wants a sculpture, so you can pay this first part of his fees in kind.’
‘What kind of sculpture?’
‘Something in your steampunk style. That will take care of the committal hearing.’
Finn put down his beer. ‘If there’s a trial and this goes on for two years, what kind of money am I looking at?’
‘Being straight: a lot. But let’s go one step at a time.’
A myna landed on the back of the chair next to Finn, looking at the half-finished chips spilling from their packet on the table. Head tilted to one side, bright black eye weighing up risk and opportunity. The sounds around Finn rolled heavily, like a slowed-down soundtrack.
‘We’ve sold the house,’ he said at last. ‘Terrible price, but I guess there’ll be some money from that we can use.’
‘Already?’ Edmund raised his drink. ‘First, the committal. Finish the first commission and do the sculpture for Jack. Let’s reassess after that. I can help you out. It’ll be OK.’
Finn took a deep breath, and a second one. His heart was thudding so hard it hurt and his stomach was turning over and over. The beer shifted in his gut, a swallow away from hurtling back up.
‘How’s Bridget doing?’ Edmund asked.
‘They’ve sent her out on fieldwork, get her away from the office. That woman from the foundation has been around a bit, I think that helps her.’
‘Is she with you on this? Do you need me to talk to her?’
‘She’s with me.’ Finn picked up his glass again, glancing casually at Edmund and then away. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He’d become scared of the thing. Scared of its silence. Scared of the fact that he didn’t know how to call Bridget and tell her he might end up in jail.
He fumbled it out. ‘Hello?’
‘Finn, it’s Angela. I saw the papers. Are you OK?’
Finn nodded numbly. ‘I’m in Sydney. Just saw a barrister.’
‘I’m really sorry, Finn, I know this is a terrible time, but the sale’s fallen over. They saw the news. They were teetering and that pushed them over the edge. It’s off.’
Nothing had changed around him. The myna was still considering a pounce on the chips. The three women at the next table laughed uproariously. Over in the corner, an old guy drank by himself. The world went on. Finn had enough presence of mind to swipe and end the call. He laid the phone carefully on the table.
‘The buyer pulled out,’ he whispered.
They sat in silence. The myna darted forwards, snatched a crinkled chip, fluttered out of reach.
‘Come and stay,’ Edmund said suddenly. ‘All of you. You’ve got to get out of there. You can leave the house on the market or rent it out, whatever. We can find somewhere for Jarrah to go to school, and Bridge can start looking for a job.’
Maybe Edmund was right, Finn thought. Nothing good could come of that place. Maybe once they got the hell out things would change. Maybe he’d find some path to Bridget again, draw her back before the gulf between them went too wide and too deep.
‘I can stay with a friend and give you the place to yourselves,’ Edmund urged. ‘Call Bridget now. Tell her and Jarrah to pack and fly down. You don’t even need to go back.’
Finn raised a wry eyebrow. ‘I’m not game for that, not without talking to her. Anyway, I want to fly on to Hobart. I need to see Dad.’
‘Some advice,’ Edmund said. ‘Stay here tonight. Tomorrow, go back north. Talk to Bridget, get organised, get out of there. You could be back here by the weekend. Visit Hobart once you’ve sorted this.’
Finn sat back. Would Bridget come around? What would Jarrah feel about it? It was gut-wrenching to realise he had no idea.