‘I ran into Jo at the bridge. She was on the boardwalk. I don’t think she saw me, otherwise I think she would’ve left before I arrived there. But then we were both there and we talked.’
‘I’m sorry. I mean, her going to the bridge must be difficult for you.’
‘It’s fine, Mandy. I know she misses Ashleigh. I know she feels terrible and guilty and sad. I know. She loved Ashleigh too.’
‘And the journals?’
‘She told me about the journals, about having them and not knowing what to do with them, worrying whether to give them to Alex and Rae, what will happen to them if she leaves them and you sell the house while she’s in prison.’
‘She talked about prison, about selling the house?’ Mandy said, turning away from Antonello. She filled the kettle and turned it on.
‘She didn’t say much — mostly it was about the journals. I said she should give them to Rae and Alex.’
‘That’s what I would’ve said, if I’d known.’
‘She asked me if I’d take them.’
When the kettle boiled, she pulled out two cups. Antonello didn’t remind her that he didn’t want tea. He watched her fill both cups with hot water, dunk a teabag in and out of each, and place one cup and the sugar and milk in front of him. The tea was already stronger than he liked it. Weak and black was the only way he could drink it, when he drank it at all, which wasn’t often. Coffee with milk for breakfast. Coffee, black, at morning tea. That was it. After that, if he drank, it was red wine, although not during the day. He used to drink during the day, when he was younger, when he was a rigger, when some of them went to the pub at lunchtime even though they weren’t supposed to. Even though it was irresponsible and dangerous, especially for the guys who had managed a second drink and then went straight back to work and onto the cranes, into the lifts, hoisting steel and concrete. Of course, in the library, they did occasionally go out for lunch, for a birthday or a promotion, and he did have a wine or a beer, but when they went back to work, the only machinery they had to operate was a computer.
‘How are Rae and Alex doing?’ Mandy asked.
‘Not great. They’ve sent Jane to spend some time with friends on a farm by the coast, which is good. But Rae and Alex aren’t doing well at all.’
‘I wish I could help, do something, but I think I’d be the last person they’d want to see.’
‘They have friends and family around. You have Jo to worry about.’
‘Yes. Everyone must be so angry at her.’
‘Yes, we’re angry at Jo and at Ashleigh and at the other two girls too. Stupid. How many times have we told them not to drink and drive, not to get in a car with a drunk driver… But it’s useless now. And we all make mistakes. My wife would say it’s God’s will, but I don’t believe in God. I think it’s more random than that. It’s bad luck.’
‘Bad luck…’ Mandy said, as if she were testing out the words.
‘When I was young, we drank and then drove home,’ Antonello said. ‘There weren’t all the ads and the warnings. I guess the laws were the same, but we didn’t think about it. People died on the road, but we kept doing it. We could’ve been killed or killed someone else, but we were lucky, I suppose. Not that I’m saying it’s okay — of course it’s not; they shouldn’t have got in the car, any of them — but they did and were unlucky and life won’t be the same for any of us again.’ Antonello paused. He was close to tears, but he didn’t want to cry in Mandy’s kitchen. The place was already infested with guilt and sadness; he wouldn’t add to it. He took a sip of the bitter tea and continued, ‘Jo is alive and she has to learn to live with it. She has to grieve and to face whatever the law decides is her punishment, and then she’ll have to learn to make a life for herself.’
‘That’s the hard thing. The difficult thing. Even for me. I think, what right has she to a life when she’s responsible for Ashleigh’s death?’
Just as Mandy finished, they both noticed Jo standing at the door with a box.
‘It’s okay, Mum. It’s what I think too,’ Jo said as she put the box on the table. Mandy and Jo were no different to Alex and Rae. The accident had left them all with the sense of ruin, of good things gone irretrievably bad.
‘That sort of thinking is useless,’ Antonello said, too sternly, and then, regretting his tone, dropping his voice to a barely audible whisper, ‘I know how useless it is. There’s nothing fair about life. That kind of talk is useless, unless of course you want to be miserable for the rest of your life.’
There was a pause. ‘Here they are, anyway,’ Jo said, breaking the silence. ‘These are all of Ash’s journals. I hope this is the right thing to do. I hope this is okay with Ash.’
Antonello stood up. The cardboard box on the table had once held a dinner set — the image on the side showed blue-and-white-striped plates and bowls — and now it was filled with his granddaughter’s journals. And for the third time in less than half an hour, he was almost crying. ‘Thank you for the tea, Mandy. Jo, look after yourself.’
He picked up the box. Even though it wasn’t heavy, his back twitched, but he didn’t hesitate, moving along the hallway, out the front door, down the path through the rusty gate, and onto the street. He wasn’t sure about the journals now he had them in his hands, but he knew he needed to take them straight to Ashleigh’s parents, without stopping. Because if he didn’t, he might change his mind. So many things people did in the name of protecting those they loved, but in the end you can’t protect people; you have to give them what they have a right to. You have to let them deal with what there is to deal with.
When he arrived at the house, he went down the side drive and knocked lightly on the back door. No one answered. He called out twice before Rae appeared in her pyjamas.
‘Nello,’ she said, and opened the sliding door for him.
‘Rae, sorry if I woke you.’
‘Oh, I don’t sleep,’ she said, moving aside to let him pass. ‘Alex is out. He told me where, but I wasn’t listening. I don’t know when he’ll be back.’
‘It would’ve been better to give this to both of you, but now I’m here …’
‘What is it? What’s in the box?’
Antonello thought about delaying by asking for a coffee, by sitting down, but they were standing in the kitchen with the box between them, and what could he say that needed to be tamed, qualified, when the worst news a mother could ever hear had already been delivered and registered?
‘Ashleigh’s journals.’
He watched Rae reach out to a chair and steady herself. Such a strong woman, his daughter-in-law — she ran a school and a household, and lots of people were scared of her: some of her teachers, many of her students. He’d heard her described as formidable and fearsome. But she was weak now, drained of her strength like a sick athlete whose muscles have gone soft.
‘Where?’ was all Rae managed.
‘From Jo.’
‘You went to see Jo?’ There was an edge to her question, an insinuation: how dare you? Or, how could you?
‘I went to the bridge, and she was there.’
‘All this time, she’s had these.’ Rae clutched the back of the chair, her eyes fixed on the box.
‘She didn’t know what to do with them. Ashleigh hid them at her house so no one would read them. She didn’t know what Ashleigh would want.’