I shrug. ‘It’s good for him to go out with his mates. My job makes that hard sometimes.’
Scott and I met at Riders. Back then Riders was new and the only club in town that was considered appropriate if you were over twenty-one. At twenty-five, I had outstayed my welcome at all of the bars in Smithson and wasn’t quite ready to embrace the full cop stereotype of drinking at Bessie’s or The Green Frog, so Riders was my standard Saturday night. As was getting stupidly drunk and passing out, either at my place or at the home of whichever lucky stranger had taken my fancy a few hours earlier. It’s fair to say it wasn’t the best of times, but I did have some fun. The evening I met Scott, I had bumped into a guy I’d slept with a few weeks earlier who was mad keen for a repeat episode. I’d let him kiss me and then had spent over an hour trying to lose him by disappearing to the toilet every ten minutes and hoping he’d be gone by the time I came out. This strategy wasn’t working, so I had reluctantly started to let him buy me drinks. The last thing I remember is telling a nice-looking guy that I was a cop. I woke up the next morning with a hangover that seemed determined to kill me from the inside, so bad was the stabbing pain. The guy was there too, nervously offering me an energy drink and Panadol capsules. Scott had been amazed to discover that I really was a cop and then had insisted on staying into the evening to cook me dinner, lecturing me on the importance of decent food as I sat on the cold tiles, my head pressed against the toilet seat. To this day I don’t know whether we had sex that night but I suspect not. The pattern of our relationship was established and set in that first encounter. Scott was suddenly just simply there, looking after me, and has been ever since.
‘You should go out with your friends too, Gemma. Not always people from work.’
‘I don’t really have any, Dad. You know cops, married to the job!’ I say it cheerily but it comes out flat, even though it is partly true.
‘What about Catherine?’
‘You mean Carol?’
‘Yes, yes. From your mothers’ group. Weren’t you friendly with her for a bit?’
‘Sure, I guess. I’m supposed to see her on the weekend. She’s pretty busy with her kids. She has a new baby.’ I have some of the soda water that Dad has placed in front of me. ‘Plus I think that she feels like my job is contagious. I don’t think she likes me being around her kids.’
Dad is dishing up our dinner and he stops to raise an eyebrow at me. ‘Did she say that?’
I jump off the stool and call Ben into the kitchen. ‘Not really. Just a vibe I get.’
Dad makes a sceptical sound as we sit down at the table.
Ben chatters his way through the meal, and Dad and I talk around him. Despite being almost sixty-five, Dad is busy. He works almost full-time and swims at least two kilometres a day. He’s telling me about some mirrored cabinets he’s building for a new development out past Gowran when my phone rings.
‘Hey,’ I say, flashing an apologetic look at Dad as I walk into the lounge room. The TV is playing the credits of some cartoon I don’t recognise. I flick to the news.
‘Hey,’ says Felix. ‘Where are you? Home?’
‘At my dad’s.’ I pick up some of Ben’s toys and place them in the wooden chest my dad made for him last Christmas.
‘Well, after arvo checkin I spent some time digging into the RYAN empire. Mainly just financials but I made a few calls as well.’ I can hear female voices teasing each other in the background and I know he must be at home with his daughters.
‘And?’
‘There’s definitely some juicy stuff. George Ryan’s company has majorly pissed off a whole lot of people recently. They’re cutting jobs across Australia and replacing them with overseas staff. There’s talk of dodgy deals, insider trading, the whole shebang.’
‘You think it’s connected?’
There’s a loud shriek down the phone and a girl’s voice is accusing someone of stealing her hairbrush. A tightness forms in my chest as I picture Felix’s family, the three teenage girls from the photo on his desk. Ben comes into the room and wraps his arms around my legs, probably covering them with pasta sauce. He looks up at me while I look down at him. His dark eyes sparkle in the dim light. I sigh into the phone as Felix shushes the teenage cacophony at his end.
‘Sorry. Anyway, look, I don’t know if it’s linked or not but it’s something. Maybe one of these disgruntled guys wanted to teach George a lesson?’
‘Yeah. Maybe,’ I say.
‘Anything else come your way tonight?’
‘Not really. Anna got the tox report. Rose was a bit pissed and had smoked weed in the past month but that was it. I spoke to Marcus earlier too, just to let him know how we’re getting on. He was polite but very vague. They want to have the funeral on Friday afternoon.’
‘Is Anna okay with that?’ Felix asks.
‘Seems so. She’s already spoken to them apparently.’
‘She could have spoken to us.’ He yawns. ‘Well, good, I guess. You never know who that might bring out.’
We agree to meet at Reggie’s before morning checkin and hang up. I pick up Ben and stand in front of the mantelpiece for a few minutes, looking at photos of Mum. There’s one I particularly like of us when I was about Ben’s age. We’re staring into the camera, our round moss-coloured eyes dancing with light. We look so happy. I brush some dust off the glass and run a finger along the side of Mum’s face.
Ben is heavy in my arms as I carry him back into the kitchen. Dad is wiping down the table and the kettle whistles from the bench.
‘Work?’
‘Yep,’ I reply.
‘Still partnered with the older guy? Fred, right?’
‘Uh-huh. Felix.’
‘That’s good.’
I watch Dad make us tea, dipping the bags in and out of the mugs and squeezing them with a teaspoon. I almost tell him about Felix. About my miscarriage. My mouth opens and I inhale as if I’m about to speak, but the moment passes and Dad places the steaming tea in front of me and suddenly the thought of telling him is unfathomable.
‘Terrible business with the Ryan girl.’ He passes a sleepy Ben a Monte Carlo. I shift so Ben is sitting across my lap rather than clasped around me. ‘One of your cases, I assume.’
‘Sure is.’
‘I remember her, you know. Pretty little thing. She was in your prep class. I knew her mother. Olivia. She was something, she was.’
I sit up, surprised. ‘How did you know her?’
Dad stares at the wall, clearly accessing old memories. A smile plays across his face. ‘My old man was friendly with her family, I think. I remember her playing with your aunt Megan when we were young. They must have been in the same class. Olivia was very clever but always in trouble. And very beautiful, which never helps.’ Dad smiles at me. ‘I used to worry about you so much for that very reason. Still do.’
I swat his comment away. ‘Dad, come on. I hardly look like Olivia Ryan did.’