The lump of granite? Jeanie kept her eyes on the Bates file, balling her fists in her pockets to keep then from betraying her agitation; she hoped she wasn’t divulging her culpability.
After she was safely back in the car, she analysed this incident along with her other suspicions. She was clear on one thing. Whoever was snooping wasn’t after financial information about their clients, not about Mr Bates or anyone else. They were after information about her. It fit. It all fit. She clutched the steering wheel to steady her hands as she drove off, her eyes ever vigilant for an old green car.
Friday came soon enough. Early in the morning Jeanie waved goodbye to a reluctant Kitty who was standing by her pile of bags waiting for the coach full of her latest batch of Japanese tourists. Jeanie drove over to pick up Mrs Hanson who was elegantly dressed in new finery from her shoes to her hat.
‘I’m so excited to be going on this expedition,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been to Auckland in ten years.’ Jeanie thought how sad it was when old folk could no longer do things most people would considered ordinary.
‘We’ll take the motorway straight into the city, then,’ Jeanie said. ‘That way you can have a look at what they’ve done to the waterfront. I’m told it’s quite different now. There are beautiful modern apartment buildings overlooking the harbour. And charming little pubs and cafés.’
‘And you want to do something too, don’t you, dear? Before we buy the big television?’
‘Just clear my post office box, Mrs Hanson. It won’t take a minute.’ She glanced over at her companion’s smiling face. Such pleasure from a trip to Auckland. Her own mood lifted. ‘Besides, that gives us an excuse to go over the harbour bridge. Lovely views from up there, especially on our way back when we’ll be able to see the city spread below us.’
‘It’s like a little holiday, isn’t it, Beth? Just the two of us.’
‘It does feel a bit like that,’ she commented, realizing it was true.
‘And I am so looking forward to the television.’
‘Ahhh,’ Jeanie said. ‘I’ve done a bit of homework on the televisions. I think we’ll go to three places not just the one. We do need to comparison shop.’
Mrs Hanson looked over at her. ‘I didn’t dare suggest that, dear. But I was always a canny shopper in my younger days. I thought it might take up too much of your time. I know this is a big ask to take me to Auckland for that sale.’
‘It’s a sale in an expensive shop. We should at least look in at the discount places.’ She met Mrs Hanson’s eyes and they grinned at each other. It did feel like a mini holiday. Except for the vigilance. She glanced again and again at the cars following her on the way up the motorway. Nothing green. But maybe he had changed his car? Jeanie memorized the colour s of the cars on the highway. One silver one and a small dark grey truck kept pace with her. She slowed and both passed her. Then she noticed a red car. It turned off at Huntly. Then another silver one. And so on. Mini holiday maybe, but not a relaxing one.
Mrs Hanson ooed and ahhed at all the right places on the waterfront. She loved the journey over the bridge, commenting all the while, making Jeanie feel like this trip was a precious gift.
She parked at the little Northcote post office and emptied the box: lots of junk mail, a letter from the letting agents for Fred and two letters for her. Her heart did a flip. Both were in Beau’s handwriting. She climbed into the car again and threw most of the contents of the box into the back seat.
‘Do you mind if I have a quick glance at this? It’s from my son,’ Jeanie explained.
‘A son. How old is he?’
‘Mid-twenties now,’ Jeanie answered automatically. The letter was several pages long, starting, “Dear Mum, I would like to thank you very much for letting me know you are alright.”
A bit stilted. Jeanie inwardly sighed. At least he had written back. She read on, “I guessed you had to get away from Dad and hoped you knew where I could be reached. I was getting quite worried. Now the news from over here…”. Worried. He was worried. She realized she wanted to savour this letter, not read it in haste while her companion patiently waited. She made herself put the letter away. A few more hours wouldn’t make a scrap of difference in the long run. And it was such delicious anticipation.
Televisions. Loads of them, all offering different combinations of what they could do.
‘It’s easy to become bamboozled by gadgets,’ she said to Mrs Hanson. ‘What do you want this television for?’
‘That’s easy. I want to see my programs without problems and that means not only see them but hear the words clearly too.’
‘And?’
‘That’s all. Just that.’
‘DVD or have you been using videotapes? Do you want a whole lot of extra channels?’
‘No, I just like my favourite programs. And the occasional afternoon movie.’
Very shortly, they had a large but relatively simple television taking up the back seat of the PeopleCare’s car and a satisfied Mrs Hanson enjoying her trip back to Hamilton.
‘I’m going to get a television technician to come in and adjust your aerial as soon as possible. Maybe get you a new one if they recommend it. With this set, you want the best picture you can get.’
‘You’ll have to teach me how to use the controller thingie.’
‘It’s called a remote, and once you have one, you’ll wonder how you did without it.’
‘It’ll make me lazy,’ Mrs Hanson said.
‘Guaranteed.’
Once home, Jeanie fixed herself a coffee and took Beau’s first letter out onto the back deck in the sunshine. She knew she would have a big problem with Neil’s reaction to the television, but her snooping had shown that these sorts of purchases were not unknown. In one case, a woman had wanted a ride-on transporter to take her to the local shops. And got it. That was truly an expensive purchase and made the television pale in comparison. She’d cope with Neil when she had to put in the bills.
Her heart was full as she picked up Beau’s letter to continue where she had left off.
… First, you won’t have heard about Dad’s accident.
Jeanie could hardly read, the letter was shaking so much. She gripped it harder, creasing the paper, and took some deep breaths. Accident?
… That weekend you left, he fell down the stairs. It was touch and go for a long while and although he has recovered very well in some ways, he’s not really his old self. He was in a coma for a while, then gradually woke up. He’s back in the house now, but your leaving has knocked the stuffing out of him. Asks about you all the time – obsessed really – and sometimes convinces himself you’re coming home any minute. To tell you the truth, there has been quite a personality change. The neurologist says it’s not brain damage, just a psychological reaction to your leaving.
I’ve just re-read what I wrote and it looks like I’m trying to lay a guilt trip on you and that is not so. Don’t worry, Mum, it’s his problem not yours. He always was possessive in the extreme and this is just the latest manifestation of it.”
Jeanie let the letter drop into her lap and took a long sip of the hot coffee, her teeth chattering against the porcelain. Pete was not dead. He was alive. She shut her eyes. It took her a moment to decipher her racing emotions. Relief. It was relief. She wasn’t a murderer. But fear suddenly washed over her and she looked frantically around the back garden. No movement, no dog next door, only a faint breeze that was ruffling the tops of the trees. Two devastatingly important details: that man was alive and on this planet and she was being stalked. Her shaking became worse. She could barely hold the letter.
… He’s not really able to run the business so I have taken over. It’s a steep learning curve but worth it. We have the pretence that he’s still recovering from his fall, but in reality, I don’t think he will ever be able to work again. He’s not interested in anything. Bores us to tears with how you are going to walk back in and everything will be rosy.
You have gathered that I’ve moved back home. Partly to supervise Dad but mainly because it’s practical with my running the company. I’m in the middle of having an extension built on the back of the house for me and my girlfriend, so we have somewhere private. My girlfriend’s name is Lorena and she’s…
Jeanie then read a page and a half of loving description of this young woman of Beau’s. Tears blurred her reading. Beau was happy. It jumped out of the pages. And once he started writing, he seemed open and okay with sharing something important with his mother too. She closed her eyes and hugged the letter to her heart.
She dug out writing paper and, sitting at Kitty’s dining room table, composed a reply. Lots about her new job, about Kitty and life in general, careful not to mention she was in Hamilton. She expressed shock at Pete’s “accident” and appreciation at how Beau had taken responsibility for his father. She asked what the prognosis for Pete was and dropped the subject. She was careful not to mention PeopleCare by name and she continued to let the Northcote post office box serve as the return address. She asked all sorts of questions about the business and how it was doing and where he intended taking it, about the new extension to the house and about Lorena. It was with a loving heart she walked down to the post-box and mailed the letter. Walking back, she realized how idiotic it was to be exposing herself on the street. How could she be so foolish, especially now that she knew Pete was alive? She’d become distracted and she must never do that again. She ran the rest of the way back, fumbling with the lock amid the canine din from next door, and finally, exhausted, fell into Kitty’s quiet house.
It didn’t take long to settle down. This place was a sanctuary. She cooked dinner with the second letter propped in front of her, to be savoured over coffee after the meal. She couldn’t remember ever having received a letter from her son before, much less two. An occasional phone call but Pete liked answering the phone when he was home, and the rare times Beau rang, it was in the evening after work. That had been a mistake. How many other mistakes had she made with her son?
She opened the second letter to read:
“Dear Mum,
“I think I might have done a stupid thing and I hope and pray you are not affected by it. However, this letter can serve as a warning. I sure hope it’s not necessary and it probably isn’t, but better a warning than not.”
Jeanie could hardly breathe. Pete? It had to be about Pete.
“Dad was in tears one night a week or so ago. About you and where you’d gone. Maybe you were dead. All that sort of thing. I told you he’s had a personality change, well, being tearful is one of the changes. Anyway, we were trying to comfort him, and Lorena kept urging me to tell him. That you were alright, she meant. So I did. Sorry. I told him you had contacted me and you were fine. He went all quiet and it did seem to settle him down. Soon he was off to bed and we discussed how it was the right thing to do.
“That quietness continued the next morning and for days afterwards. He was kind of silent. Wouldn’t say what he was going to do. Most mornings he reads the paper, and reads reports I bring home from the office. Part of the pretence. That’s what he always says he’s going to do when you ask him. And naps. He naps morning, noon and night. You wouldn’t believe how much he sleeps now. Again, part of the personality change.
“Last night when Lorena and I arrived home from work, he wasn’t there. We became sort of frantic looking for him, because he doesn’t go out of the house much. Maybe to get another newspaper from the dairy, but no further. He’s not allowed to drive for a year after his fall, so he stays at home. But, the car was gone. We called the police. Meanwhile, we searched the house thoroughly and found some clothes missing, and a suitcase too and, most importantly, his passport. Remember how he loved that passport? Always renewing it as if he would someday use it? But, of course, he never did. Well, it’s not here.
Jeanie flipped the letter back to the first page to see the date. Three days ago. She got up from the table in some agitation and checked that both front and back doors were bolted. She closed all the curtains even though it was still early and the sun had barely set. She shivered in spite of the house being pleasantly warm.
She sat again at the table and continued to read.
I don’t know for sure that he’s gone to New Zealand – you know how he hates even the idea of flying. Anyway it’s very unlikely that he could track you down even if he got there. All I have is your post office box. I suppose he could have found out that because the letter was on my bedside table. Can you be traced through your post office box?
Hopefully this is a storm in a teacup. And he’ll arrive home any second. The police think he’s taken himself off somewhere, and are only concerned because he’s not supposed to be driving. The shrink is more concerned. He didn’t take his medications with him. Mind you, he’s always complaining that it’s the meds that make him so sleepy. They say it keeps him even, so they’re not too happy he’s disappeared without the pills, to say the least.
Fingers crossed this is nothing.
Take care, won’t you.
Your son,
Beau.
Jeanie was frozen. But her mind was ticking at a frenetic pace. Pete could be here. Those times she thought she was being watched. It must have been him. No, she thought, no. The timing was all wrong. Stuff was happening well before he left Brisbane. Besides, he’s too impulsive. He would never just keep tabs on her – he would be compelled to do something. Patience was not his strong point.
She thought of that last physical fight she had with him. If there was any one specific point that triggered all of the events that followed, it was that night. She couldn’t remember what had set him off. Perhaps he’d had a bad day at the office? Or had she forgotten to pick up his dry cleaning? Yes, it was something about clothes. Now she remembered. A week or so before, he had spilled some curry sauce on his favourite chinos leaving a permanent yellowish stain after she’d both washed them and had them dry cleaned.
When he saw the imperfection, he bellowed. ‘What the…? Look at these! Ruined! You incompetent bitch….’ And he leapt at her, pinning her against the bedroom door with his hands around her throat. She couldn’t breathe; she scrabbled at his fingers, sinking slowly to her knees as the world turned first red then grey as his hands tightened around her neck. He was still yelling … something about ending it once and for all….
Jeanie touched her throat. Even after a year, she could still feel those hands cutting off her oxygen supply, dooming her to an ignominious death – all because he spilled curry over his own trousers. She took a shaky breath. Even now she felt wonder that she survived the attack. She had come to in her own bed, still clothed, but with the covers pulled up to her chin. Her eyes were bloodshot and the bruises on her neck stood out like sentinels that mutely proclaimed what had happened. She hid from the world, of course, until all visible signs disappeared. But the chaos within didn’t disappear; it sealed his fate.
This personality change Beau referred to … could it possibly make him more patient? More easy-going? Jeanie started to pace. Up and down and around Kitty’s little house, her mind awhirl. She wanted to find out, needed to. The phone. She could call Beau. Maybe Pete went home again?
‘Beau?’ she asked. ‘It’s Mum.’ A short pause and Jeanie’s heart thumped.
‘You okay? Is Dad with you?’
‘Yes, I’m okay. But no, I haven’t seen your father.’
‘Damn. I’d hoped….’
‘So he’s not home yet?’
‘No. But the police have found out he did fly to New Zealand. Left the car at the airport. But he hasn’t found you?’
‘I guess not,’ Jeanie said slowly. ‘Tell me about his personality change? Did he change to a more mellow personality? More patient?’
Beau snorted. ‘God, no! He’s always been an irascible old bugger but he’s ten times worse now.’
Jeanie held her breath. ‘Should I be frightened, Beau?’
He let a silence develop. ‘Take precautions, Mum. Please. I hope he’s nowhere near. We found that picture of you in the rubbish. The one taken on your wedding day you had beside the bed? Smashed.’
‘Oh no,’ she breathed. Pete loved that photo.
‘I’ve discovered a number he’d been calling in New Zealand. Is it yours?’ He read out an unfamiliar number.
‘No. It’s an Auckland number, area code nine. Give it to me again so I can find out.’ She groped for paper and pen.
‘Do you have a mobile?’ Beau asked. ‘Can you please give me its number? Then we can keep in touch wherever you are.’ Jeanie heard the anguish in his voice. Walking-on-eggshells type of voice. As if he felt he was intruding into her new life by asking for her telephone number. With the exchange of numbers they promised to be in daily contact.
‘Take care, Mum. Understand? I don’t want to lose you again.’
‘Beau, dear boy. I don’t want to be lost again either. We have an awful lot of catching up to do.’ She couldn’t say more. Her voice was breaking.
After ringing off, Jeanie rang the Auckland number. Voice mail for a company called ‘Benson’s’. She didn’t leave a message. She’d just keep ringing.