‘Television?’
Cool, she thought, stay cool and composed. She flicked her tongue against her teeth – she must stop doing that – and counted to five before replying. ‘My job is very fulfilling. I wasn’t considering a change.’
‘But you look like someone who enjoys a new challenge. Why don’t you call and see me when you’ve fully recovered from your ordeal.’ He handed his business card to her. ‘This is my private number. Ring me next week and we’ll talk again.’
He escorted her to the exit. When she glanced back he was still standing where she had left him, his gaze fixed on her.
By lunchtime the following day, Amanda’s phone had been returned to her. No luck, she was told by the guard on duty. She had debated changing her phone number when the calls began but that would be inconvenient. Anyway, Karl Lawson could easily discover her new number and taunt her with his knowledge.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Justin’s car was parked in his driveway. He was out running, Jenna said when she opened the front door. No more spare keys or treating each other’s houses like extensions of their own. Lara greeted Karl with her usual exuberance, demanding to know when Sasha was coming home. She quietened down at a sharp reprimand from Matthew, who had flushed violently as soon as Karl entered the Rimbles.
‘Lara!’ Jenna called from the kitchen. ‘Come and help me empty the dishwasher.’
Karl sat down beside his nephew as Lara ran from the room.
‘How are you, Matthew?’ he asked.
‘I’m good.’ His nephew stared steadfastly at the television. He had grown taller, his hair shorn at the sides, a quiff in front.
‘We don’t have to be cross with each other,’ Karl said. ‘I’m not angry with you. Are you angry with me?’
‘No.’ Stiff little shoulders, taut little face. He could have been speaking to a frightened stranger.
‘It’s okay, Matthew. You can tell me the truth.’
The boy shuffled his body deeper into the sofa. ‘You made me tell lies to the guards.’
‘How did I do that?’
‘I don’t know… you just did.’ He folded his arms and pressed them hard against his chest.
‘We were going through a terrifying time, Matthew. And now we’re going through a very sad time. It’s easy for everything that happened to us to become mixed up in our heads.’
‘Like scrambled eggs,’ said Matthew.
‘What?’
‘Scrambled eggs is what my head is like inside.’
‘That’s a very good way to describe it. We all miss Constance so much. It’s okay to cry buckets when you feel like it. She’ll look after you. You know she can do that, don’t you?’
Matthew looked directly at him for the first time since Karl entered the room.
‘Can you see her?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What does she look like?’
‘I see her dancing in a shining green light,’ said Karl. ‘ She probably comes to you in a different way.’
‘She’s always galloping off on her horse.’ Matthew nodded. ‘There’s sparks on his hooves. She never lets me catch up with her.’
‘Some day she will. But not for a long time yet.’
‘That’s when I’ll be dead like her, right?’
‘Yes,’ Karl nodded. ‘But she’s here with us in other ways. You can’t love someone as much as she loved you and just vanish forever. Talk to her. Tell her your problems. Write them out in a letter to her, if you like. She’ll hear you, I guarantee it.’
The boy’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned his head sideways to rest against Karl’s arm. ‘Words kept getting mixed up in my head when she was lost and when the journalist that made you free from jail came to the stables to ask about Constance—’
‘What did she say to you?’
‘She said I had to think really hard about what you said that night when I was looking for Constance ’cause it was important to tell the truth to the guards.’ He blinked hard and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. ‘It’s just that I don’t know what you said or I said or she said and it hurts my head so bad. You went to jail and that’s all my fault…’
‘Matthew, Matthew – you don’t have to cry over that. Jail didn’t matter. Are you listening to me? Only the truth matters. And that truth is that you and I did nothing to hurt Constance. I’m not angry with you. I love you as much as I ever did. And Constance didn’t stop loving you when she died. She understands all our mistakes and confusions, and the silly things we sometimes do. You talk to her and you’ll find she has an answer for everything.’
He left the house shortly afterwards and drove to North Beach Road. The sun, rimming the clouds, was sinking fast when he parked in the beach car park and cut across the dunes to Ben’s Shack. The cove was empty except for the lone figure of his brother sitting motionless, staring at the sea.
‘Karl.’ Justin breathed his name on an exhalation. His face, flushed from running, was grim as he put out his hand to steady himself against the rocks and struggled to his feet.
‘Jenna said I’d find you here.’ Karl moved closer, his gaze fixed on Justin, who had pressed his elbows into his sides as he prepared to run from the cove. ‘We have to talk—’
‘We’ve nothing to say to each other.’ Justin’s tone was definite.
‘We have everything to say to each other.’
‘The time to talk was when Constance was alive.’ His stance reminded Karl of their teen years, righteous, intractable.
‘I realise that. I made one terrible mistake—’
‘One terrible omission.’ Justin’s breathing was shallow, fast. ‘You chose not to tell me my daughter was in danger. Now, when it’s too late, you come here thinking a few fucking meaningless words can heal us.’
‘I know that apologies are useless but how else—’
‘Was Constance in your house that night?’
‘She must have been. But I didn’t know. Justin, you’ve got to believe me.’
‘How can you expect me to believe you? Or believe you didn’t influence Matthew? And Dominick Kelly was your friend. The two of you were fucked up when you were teenagers. The trouble you caused… and you thought Constance was made from that same reckless mould.’
‘For God’s sake, Justin, you’re not thinking straight—’
‘Don’t. You. Dare. Tell. Me. How. To. Think!’ With each word, Justin jabbed his finger into Karl’s shoulder and forced him backwards across the sand. ‘Constance was only a child. It was my duty to protect her. That’s what fathers are supposed to do. How can you expect me to forgive you for depriving me of that right?’
‘Does it help your grief to blame me?’ Karl’s anger blistered and broke. ‘Have you even begun to grieve for Constance? Or does your hatred for me leave room for nothing else? I’ve lost everything. Everything. Is that not enough to balance our scales of suffering?’