I thought of taking the picture with me, but it belonged in this empty space, in this vacuum where once there might have been the hope of atonement for past mistakes, so carefully I slipped it back from where it came. You never know, perhaps she might return for it. With a final look and a trickle of tears wiped away with the back of my hand, I turned and left.
Heather watched as I trudged back through the long grass and negotiated the slippery wooden steps. I was thankful that Trudy and the baby had left the kitchen. The old woman whom I’d met just an hour before held out her arms and I hugged as tightly as I’ve hugged anyone in my life. We didn’t speak; there were no appropriate words. Slowly we released our grip and parted.
The car was a place of comfort and I sat there for some time, trying to regain my composure smashed in the last hour. Finally I started to return to the barren, sterile house that Dad inhabited rather than lived in. There was no point in telling him. The information could never ease his pain and confusion. And so I entered his kitchen, its museum-like quality more poignant after I’d been so close to Mum, and pulled a bottle of whisky from the cupboard. There was a voice from the front room. Dad had a visitor.
This was as unexpected as finding life on the moon: Dad never had visitors. He had no friends and only modern neighbours who kept themselves to themselves and studied the pavement when walking past. During the days of my return he’d spoken to no one and received no phone calls.
Detectives Ryan and Orton sat next to each other on the old blue sofa at the far end of the front room, Dad facing them in the old armchair he’d sat in for as long as I could remember. He’d been there just days before when I’d returned unannounced, greeting me with a nod and a hello as though my appearance was the most natural of occurrences. He had the same look now, as though he regularly received visits from the police looking for his son who hadn’t lived with him for ten years. His face was passive, unresponsive to the strangeness around him.
‘Mr Mitchell, at last.’ Ryan replaced his cup on saucer with an unpleasant scrape of china. ‘I was just telling your father here that we’ve been trying to catch up with you for a couple of days now, but that you don’t seem too keen to talk to us. You should turn your phone on, Jack, you never know who might be trying to contact you.’ His voice was heavy with an irony that both he and Orton seemed to find amusing.
I made no move. Ryan and Orton remained seated and Dad continued to sip his tea with loud slurps.
‘Perhaps we could take a walk outside,’ Ryan invited me with a wave of his arm. For a moment I thought Dad was going to follow, but he turned to the kitchen instead as the three of us stepped outside. ‘There really was no need to avoid us like that, Jack.’
‘Sorry, I’ve had a few things to deal with.’
‘This is all a bit unexpected, isn’t it? This return to New Zealand, I mean. We called Bebe to contact you and got quite a surprise when he told us we could find you back here.’
‘That bad, is it, that you have to find me so urgently?’
‘Guilty conscience, Jack?’
‘I’m tired of games, Detective, so if you don’t mind, perhaps you could just tell me what it is you want.’
‘Is that what happened with Jo—a game gone too far? I went to the funeral, you know—a sad affair. When someone that young dies it really hammers home how fragile we all are. Her parents were distraught.’
‘I’m sorry I missed it.’ And I was.
‘I’ve come to tell you that we’ve completed our enquiries and we won’t be laying any charges.’ He searched my eyes for a reaction. ‘Are you surprised?’
‘Why should I be?’
‘We can find no corroborating evidence, Jack. I find this depressing and it angers me, because quite honestly, I’d have liked nothing better than to pin your sorry arse. You deserve prison for what you did to that woman and for the oh-so-smooth cover-up that you and your gofer Bebe executed. But I guess that’s what Taikon money buys: the best cover-up in town. The whole thing was too good for me to crack. I know you were there, but I can never prove it. So you’re a free man, Jack.’
‘Why don’t you like me?’
Ryan laughed at the question, shook his head and studied his shoes. I wasn’t used to being mocked: it was quite refreshing, almost enjoyable to be treated with contempt. And today was as good a day as any to be abused. ‘It’s not a case of liking or disliking you, Jack. I just think you’ve wasted your gifts. The rest of us have to slog away at everything, but you have the lot and somehow it’s not enough. You want more and in taking what you want you fuck it up for us normal people. Ordinary people like Jo.’
‘Thanks for coming round, Detective, I appreciate you letting me know.’
‘I’ve already told Bebe. I expect Taikon will be pleased.’
‘I expect they will.’
I watched them leave, pausing to talk to Dad, shaking his hand and disappearing. For the first time I realised how much the wind had picked up and I pulled my jacket tightly around my body. The relief I expected from Ryan’s news refused to materialise. I felt dirty. Perhaps Ryan was right to dislike me. As I stood under a thickening sky Dad joined me. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Fine.’
He tilted his head to the sky and almost seemed to sniff the air like a dog latching onto a familiar scent. ‘They say there’s a huge storm on the way. It’s going to hit Northland tomorrow.’
‘Do you think the bach will be okay?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘When was the last time anyone checked the place out?’
He didn’t even bother to answer this time, just walked away. That was that, the sudden appearance of the police dealt with in a simple question and answer. He didn’t need to know any more about me; perhaps he didn’t want to know any more about me.
Bebe was on the phone that evening, happier than he’d been for weeks and bubbling with enthusiasm. Everyone at Taikon was excited, it seemed; even George Mason felt the future was now secure. Details of my visit to the clinic were already confirmed and the future after that mapped out. The company had negotiated a much-expanded American tour followed by more dates across twelve European countries; then there was talk of a major documentary shot like a feature film and released as a Hollywood blockbuster. It would mean several months of filming in the States after the European tour ended. That was that then. All was rosy on planet fame. Bebe had already booked my return to England. I had just two days left in New Zealand. I wanted none of what was so meticulously mapped out for me. Is this how Mum felt? At least she manufactured an escape; there seemed no such relief for me.
Early next morning I put the meagre possessions I had with me into the hire car, bought several bottles of tequila and whisky and drove to the bach: it was the only place I wanted to be. The wind was stronger, as the storm relentlessly ground its way towards land. It was the first time I’d been to the bach since Caroline’s death, the first time anyone had visited in all that time. The place was dirty and dark with cobwebs hanging from the corners. Sand, driven through cracks by years of wind, covered the floors and crackled under foot. Despite the weather I opened the windows and set about cleaning the rooms. I was thankful for the work.