Meg shook her head. ‘Why should I hate you? My cousin ran out in front of your car. She died. That’s it.’
‘I expected you to be angry. To be grieving.’
‘Look, I was eight when she left. She was really nothing to me. I just came out because the TV people offered to pay. That’s why I came in with you just now. They wanted me to abuse you and cry but I can’t. I’m not a bloody actress.’
Finn was shattered. He’d been about to say how sorry he was, how he wanted to make up for the harm he’d done. It would have been better if she had abused him. He would still say sorry, but he knew in his heart that she couldn’t offer the absolution he craved. It could only come from someone who cared for Jilly Baker. With her father dead, there was no-one alive who could restore Finn to a state of grace. He knew her name, but redemption was still beyond his grasp.
‘I’m sorry, anyway.’
‘Yeah. Well, it was a long time ago…’
Meg left the house and faced the camera. ‘I’m too emotional to speak for long,’ she said. ‘I just want to say that Jilly will always be in my heart. Now that I’ve seen where she died, and spoken to the driver, I’m content.’ (I’m getting better at this, she thought as she paused on the steps.) ‘And now,’ she dabbed her eyes, ‘if you don’t mind, I need some time to myself.’
Which she took at the Seahorse Hotel, Palm Beach, on the far north coast. The swimmers she’d brought from home made her look hippy so she bought new ones. The new ones looked much better.
When the film crew were finished and had adjourned to the pub, Sandy, encouraged by his aunt, called out at Finn’s back door.
‘Finn, it’s Sandy. Can I come in, mate?’ He pushed at the door, fully expecting it to be open as usual. The door stayed stubbornly shut. Of course! Sandy realised. He’d want to keep out the TV crew. He tried again. ‘It’s me, mate. The door’s locked.’
‘Go away.’
‘Just checking how you are. You are okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sure?’
‘Go away, Sandy.’
Sandy returned to his aunt’s house. ‘He won’t let me in, Aunt Lily. He sounded sort of down. I’m worried. Should we leave him alone?’ Disquieted, they looked at each other. They’d both experienced depression and knew the thoughts that arose in times of darkness.
‘I’ll go back,’ said Sandy in response to Mrs Pargetter’s unspoken command, and he headed up the path again, to the front door this time, feeling for the key hidden under the loose verandah board. This decisive action surprised him. The incident with Aunt Lily, his mother’s journals and the Great Galah protest had served to slough off the fears that had encased him, and from this unpromising chrysalis there emerged a man that even he was beginning to respect.
‘I’m coming in, Finn,’ he announced as he turned the key in the lock. ‘We need to talk.’
Finn was slumped in the armchair by the fire. He didn’t move or speak as Sandy came in, switched on the light and sat down in the chair opposite.
‘Talk to me, Finn,’ said Sandy, looking at him steadily. ‘Talk to me. I’m your mate.’
Finn stared at the wall and drew hard on his cigarette. All he’d ever asked was to be left alone, and now it seemed he’d acquired the obligations of a friendship he’d never sought from a man whose ambition it was to build a giant galah. He didn’t want to talk; he wasn’t even sure he could articulate his pain. He continued to stare resentfully at a point somewhere above Sandy’s head.
With new-found wisdom, the usually garrulous Sandy sat challenging Finn’s silence with his own. Finn was more practised, but with enormous self-control his visitor remained determinedly mute, waiting him out.
‘She didn’t care about her cousin, you know,’ Finn said finally. ‘It was all about the money. Even the police won’t absolutely confirm her identity.’
‘Are you convinced she was Jilly Baker?’
‘Of course. That’s obvious to any idiot.’
‘So what’s the problem? Isn’t that what you wanted?’
Finn shook his head in irritation. ‘Yes, of course I did. But I also wanted her to have a caring family. People to mourn her.’
‘That’s not going to happen, Finn.’ Sandy’s voice was firm. ‘You’ll just have to accept that and get on with your life.’
Finn fought to contain his anger. He stood up and looked down at the seated man. ‘You’re presuming on our friendship, Sandy. I want you to get out of my house. Now.’
‘I’ll go. But before I do, think about this. You have a daughter who cares for you and an old lady who relies on you.’ Sandy stood up and indicated his own broad chest. ‘You have someone who’s willing to risk losing his only friend to tell him the truth.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s time to move on, Finn. I know what it’s like to be stuck in the past. You have what you say you’ve always wanted. Be grateful. All the rest is just self-indulgence.’ With some dignity, Sandy turned and opened the door. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ Heading down the path, he heard the decisive click of the lock behind him.
‘I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger, Aunt Lily,’ Sandy reported. ‘We’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll give Moss a call.’
Finn, meanwhile, had returned to his chair, shocked at Sandy’s outburst. Self-indulgent. That was so undeserved. Was it self-indulgent to care about the fate of another human being? Was it self-indulgent to accept blame where blame was due? Sandy may have had his own epiphany, but he, Finn, would always be bound by the past. No-one could say he hadn’t tried to lay Jilly Baker to rest.
He stopped himself there as an unpleasant truth presented itself. He had tried to do so for the first few weeks after the accident but then he’d just given up. It was Moss who’d tried to uncover the truth. Even the TV people had tried, whatever their motives were. He, Finn, had given up. Through this fog of self-loathing, the memory of an old man’s voice echoed in his head. Boniface had never given up on him.
Look into your heart, Finn. That’s all the help I can offer.
It’s not easy, Father Boniface. I’m not sure I know how.
Your Silence. How do you spend your Silence?
I fear I may have squandered my Silence, Father.
Squandered?
I used the time to relive my guilt.
Wiser to seek beyond your guilt. Listen to your heart.
The old priest’s voice faded, and Finn stirred the fire. Sandy’s words had shaken him, and he needed time to work things through. Ashamed of his outburst, he picked up the phone.
‘You’ve given me a few things to think about, mate,’ he told the relieved Sandy. ‘I’m going to go bush for a couple of days. No, I need to be alone, but I’ll be okay. Tell Moss and Mrs Pargetter I’ll see them when I get back. I’ll get a few things together in the morning and hike along to the Two Speck- you know, the usual camping spot-near old Jim’s.’
‘Okay, Finn.’ Sandy kept his voice neutral. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, mate.’ He hung up the phone and turned to Mrs Pargetter. ‘Finn’s going bush for a couple of days. Do him good. As a matter of fact, I need a couple of days away myself. I’ll ask Nessie Ferguson to look in on you until Moss comes up for the weekend.’
The old lady clicked her teeth in annoyance. ‘I’ve managed alone for most of my eighty-three years, Sandy. I don’t need a babysitter now. Anyway,’ she added, ‘what’s wrong with asking Helen? Nessie Ferguson is a nosey parker.’
‘Helen’s going to be busy,’ he said, and disappeared out the door before she could protest any further.