Come Back to Me (22 page)

It had taken Alex three days of sleeping on his friend Justin's sofa to decide whether to go to see Amy again. It felt like betraying Chloe, but right now he couldn't find his wife to talk to her about it. She wasn't at the house, and she wouldn't take his calls. He had thought about going to her office, but it was such a public space that he knew this was a bad idea.

In the meantime he kept rereading the internet printouts he'd shown to Amy. Each time he did so he could feel his blood heating up rapidly.

The report was already weeks old. Each day it seemed more and more pressing that he come to a decision. If they didn't hurry, they might miss the trial altogether. This was their chance.

He had spent years after Amy had disappeared thinking of what those bastards had done to her, to him, to them. Not only that, but the more he remembered the time they had spent at the hospital, the more he felt he had let Amy down, unable to discern, much less offer her, the support she needed, and the stronger his urge had become to redeem himself and make it up to her. Time hadn't faded his feelings much; it was only upon meeting Chloe that he had been able to gradually lay them aside.

So many times he had dreamt of seeing those men caught and punished. Not quite as often as he had imagined the retribution he would inflict himself were he allowed, but this was certainly the next best thing. Amy's return had brought back all the old torments: the inadequacies he still felt; the rage he thought he'd quietened; and more and more his thoughts were consumed with at least seeing that justice was done.

Eventually, he left Chloe a long message on their home answering machine, explaining as much as he could think of,
and then made his way to see Amy, still hoping beyond hope that this was the right thing to do.

 

Amy was overwhelmed when she saw Alex at her door. She had almost given up on him. The last few days had seemed to exist separately in time, as though there were nothing imaginable either before or after: past and future were on an entirely different plane of existence. She had been in a bubble, scared almost to breathe in case it should burst.

She invited him in, and watched as he cast his eye over her surroundings for the first time. She saw his gaze run across the bare white walls scarred with dirty marks, and the damp spot on the ceiling, then on to the scuffed wooden floors and over to the sofa bed in the corner at one end, the kitchenette at the other.

‘This is … is …' He threw up his hands as if lost for words.

‘Horrible,' she finished for him, moving to the kettle that perched on a tiny sill of the kitchenette. ‘It's only temporary, though.'

Which was true, but the way she'd said it made it sound like she was about to buy a huge three-bedroomed semi-detached in the suburbs, whereas all her places in the past ten years had looked very similar to this, and she had no doubt the next one would too.

She looked up with a wry smile on her face as she said it, to let him know that she wasn't feeling sorry for herself, and he smiled back.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Eventually,
Alex walked across and put his arms around her, his cheek pressing against the top of her head. She kept her arms by her sides, but didn't want to push him away.

‘Look,' he said, holding on to her. She could smell his skin – aftershave mixed with something earthier and more natural. She breathed deeply, listening as he continued, ‘I don't know how much longer the trial will last …'

She moved away from him and walked over to the window. ‘You don't have to come, you know,' she said softly, looking at the grey sky outside.

There was anger in Alex's tone as he said from behind her, ‘Oh, really? For god's sake, have we really just picked up from where we left off ten years ago, Amy?' His voice became louder as he added, ‘Have you come back into my life, turned everything I know upside down, just so you can continue to shut me out?'

She turned and stared at him. ‘My name is
Julia
,' she replied, enunciating the name slowly as though he were a child.

‘No, it's not,' he said. He stomped over to the door, grabbing the handle before he came marching back across the room, cupped her face firmly between his palms, making her look at him, and said, ‘Amy –
Julia
– whoever you are – I am NOT leaving. This time, I am NOT going. I want to help you. You are GOING to let me help you.'

The force of his words terrified her for a moment – even though it was Alex, perhaps the one man she still trusted – and she burst into tears. And then he lifted her bodily, carried her to the sofa and sat her on his lap, shushing her as though she were an infant, holding her, letting her weep and weep. And
when she was done, she realised she didn't want him to leave ever again.

That afternoon she told him the story of the past ten years, all her adventures – as bold a narrator as some returning conquistador. She described climbing mountains, rappelling off cliff faces, rafting through white-water gorges, snorkelling in coral seas. And he stared at her in open amazement.

Yet in between each word she spoke there was the void of everything she left out. She held his attention with the solidity of her words, distracting him from the great white sea of absence around them. What would he see, she wondered, if he could peer into this ocean of things held back? And what would he think of the terrible thing she hadn't yet told him? Would he understand that she had tried to live the life they had dreamed of having together? Or would he see that when she went rappelling she had been praying the rope would have an undetected fray; that halfway through her descent it would snap, leaving her plummeting to earth. Or that her life jacket would deflate, her scuba tank be empty of oxygen, her foot brush against a deadly creature that would not hesitate to bite. That she had spent the years since death first took a long, appraising look at her, actively seeking it out once more. But because of the promise she had made to her mother – and perhaps also the prospect of facing her father in the afterlife – she couldn't empower herself to take charge of her destiny. How galling it was that as much as she had become a victim of life, she was still forced to wait to be the victim of death – it was out of her hands, there was nothing she could do.

When she had finished talking, they both said little. The atmosphere in the cramped flat was dense.

After a while, he whispered to her:

‘It wasn't easy for me, Amy. I was miserable for a long, long time. I even went back, you know – to Perth – a couple of years later. I thought I could play detective somehow, that if I found the men who attacked you, I might somehow karmically bring you back to me. But it was a waste of time, of course. There were no unsolved precedents to your attack; nothing new to uncover, however long I wandered around for. I didn't really know what I was looking for anyway, and the police didn't have time for me. I gave up after a few weeks and came home. Then I drank for a while … but pulled myself through that eventually when I realised how much I was upsetting my folks. And I tried to support your mum, until she cut me off. I checked in with missing persons regularly. I saw you everywhere, on the street, waiting for buses. I thought about you all the time, every minute …' His voice trailed off. Silence reigned again.

After an age, Alex lifted his head and said softly: ‘I haven't changed my mind, Amy. I'll come with you … to Australia.'

‘Alex, you really don't have to … there's no point,' she replied, hardened against his emotion.

‘Yes, I do,' he answered, reaching across to tilt her chin up so she could look him in the eye. ‘And there is a point, of course there is. I'm sorry, it's just that Chloe …' His voice cracked on her name and he shook his head as he added, ‘God knows what she's thinking, I can't even find her to talk to right now. It's not an easy situation all round,' he finished.

Spite ran through her like an electric current. ‘I'm not asking you to risk your perfect marriage,' she spat at him. ‘I haven't asked you for anything.'

‘I know,' he said, studying her face. ‘But if you want to go back, then I will go with you,' he added, and there was fire in his eyes.

The bitterness ebbed in her as fast as it flowed. She looked down. ‘Thank you.'

Alex reached across and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She had to stop herself from leaning into the pressure of his fingers. ‘It will be okay, Amy. You can do this. I think maybe you should do this. I think perhaps I've come back into your life for this.'

She nodded, looking down at his chest. ‘I know,' she said as he pulled her close. She wanted so much to believe in his words. She was praying that now he was back with her, Alex could make it all right.

An avalanche of decisions and deliberations came crashing over her, and she realised she couldn't do it. She wasn't strong enough. What was she thinking? But she had no choice now. She had to go to Australia. If she backed out, then Alex would disappear from her life again.

Alex began to tell her that he was trying to reshuffle his client commitments for the next few weeks, and some were being more cooperative than others. He spoke anecdotally, but she felt guilty. It hadn't really registered or concerned her at all that he was risking his marriage for her, as a large part of her thought that he shouldn't be married in the first place. But causing his business to go on the slide suddenly felt like too much to ask.

‘Alex, you don't have to –' she began.

‘Amy, stop it. I'm coming.' His voice was firm. Then he paused, and she could tell he had something more he wanted
to say to her by the stiffness of his shoulders and the set of his jaw. He took a deep breath. ‘Amy … your dad …'

‘Is dead,' she said in a monotone. She put down a biscuit she had been nibbling on, which seemed suddenly dry and stale.

Alex nodded. ‘I went to his funeral,' he murmured. ‘I was hoping you would be there.'

‘I couldn't …' she said, staring at the wall behind his head.

‘I know. I spoke to your mum. She was very upset.'

Her gaze moved to meet his. ‘Al, what is this? Are you trying to give me a guilt trip? You don't need to, okay? I already feel responsible. If it hadn't happened, if I hadn't run away, caused him so much stress …'

Alex looked alarmed, and she saw the knife edge he was on, trying to talk to her yet worried she might snap at any second.

‘No, no, that wasn't what I meant. I just –'

She held her hand up. ‘I just couldn't, okay? I hope perhaps Mum understands now – now it was so long ago. At the time it was too … difficult for me.'

‘Of course,' Alex nodded, and his hand moved to cover hers. She let it, but her eyes slid away from his, down to her lap. Because she couldn't deny it any longer – she was still lying to him. He thought he knew everything now but he had barely scratched the surface. And what would he think of her when he did?

‘Sit down, Mark,' Neil said from behind the desk as Mark appeared at his office door. He waved a hand in the direction of a vacant chair.

Mark sat.

‘Now then,' Neil began, leaning forward. ‘You two give me a rundown of exactly how far you've got with the Abbott research.'

Mark stared at his yellow legal pad uncomfortably, waiting to see if Chloe would speak first, but she appeared to be deferring to him.

‘Anytime now would be good,' Neil said, leaning back and steepling his fingers.

Mark looked up. ‘I've been going over everything,' he said. ‘And I've found a few interesting and relevant precedents. When I've finished I'll draw up a memo –'

Neil held up a hand. ‘The time for memos has long passed,
Mark.' He leaned forward again, and this time there was menace in it. ‘Do you realise,' he growled, looking between the two of them, ‘that we begin in two weeks? It is undoubtedly the biggest case we have ever had in this office and we are woefully – WOEFULLY – under-prepared.'

Mark surreptitiously looked at Chloe, wishing she would join in. She glanced at both of them, then back to the files on her lap. Mark was alarmed to see her eyes were moist.
Oh god, Chloe, don't cry. Not in the office.

Mark's gaze moved back to Neil, unsure of what to do next, but to his surprise found that Neil was distracted, staring over Mark's head, his face alarmed. Mark barely had time to turn around before he registered, with dismay, a booming voice.

‘Not disturbing anything, am I?' it said, and then there was a showy and rather irrelevant rat-a-tat on the office door.

There stood Henry, last seen semicomatose on Mark's bed, where he'd left him an hour earlier.

At first glance, Mark thought it might have been worse. Henry was decked out in what appeared to be one of Mark's pinstriped suits, with a navy tie neatly tucked in. But his father hadn't shaved. And the waft of alcohol hit Mark and disturbed his recently breakfast-lined stomach at the same time that he registered Henry hadn't done up the button of his trousers, which were straining badly at the extra bulk of him, plus he was only wearing one shoe.

Mark had a horrible flashback to the only time his father had come to school sports day, when he had run second in the egg-and-spoon race and caused a huge fuss afterwards, saying that the winner had made a false start and demanding
a rematch. That had been excruciating, and it was about one hundred times less embarrassing than this.

He turned briefly back to the others, as if looking for help, but Neil appeared dumbstruck, and Chloe's mouth was slightly open, though her face showed both concern and surprise.

There was nothing else for it. Mark sprang into action, jumping out of his chair and heading towards the door. ‘Dad …'

‘Not now, Mark,' Henry said grumpily, and sidestepped him. ‘What are you fellows discussing?' He glanced at the contents of Neil's desk. ‘Ah, Abbott. Tricky one. Maybe I can help?' And he sat down with a thump in the chair Mark had just vacated.

Mark looked at Neil, who was slowly recovering himself. ‘Henry,' Neil said. ‘Would you like some water?'

‘I'll get it,' Chloe interjected, and rushed out before anyone could say anything.

Henry looked between Mark and Neil. ‘Good god, what's wrong with you two? You look like a pair of imbeciles.' He guffawed, with no apparent awareness that the other two men remained stony-faced.

‘Excuse me a second, Henry,' Neil said. He gave Mark a studied look as he walked past him, and Mark watched through the open door as Neil bent and murmured into his secretary's ear, her glance behind confirming the topic of their discussion.

Mark looked at his father. ‘Dad, where's your shoe?'

Henry peered down at his feet. ‘It's …' He lifted up his leg and wiggled his toes beneath his sock. ‘I thought
it was …' he mumbled, and looked around the floor and under the desk as though it had just jumped off his foot and hidden itself nearby.

Neil spoke from the doorway. ‘Mark. A word?'

Henry was down on his hands and knees now, searching for his missing shoe. ‘Sounds like you're in trouble,' he growled from the floor. ‘What have you done now?'

Mark didn't reply and moved over to the doorway, his eyes not daring to leave his father so he could intercede in whichever embarrassing move Henry decided upon next.

‘Della is ordering a taxi,' Neil hissed. ‘What's going on?'

‘I wish I knew,' Mark replied, casting an uneasy glance in Neil's direction. ‘He's been like this all weekend.'

Neil grimaced. ‘You're going to have to take him home.' He turned to look at Mark. ‘Are you sure you're up for this workload at the moment, all things considered?'

Mark's heart sank. He wanted to be in on this case; and he didn't want to be remembered for letting them down when they needed him. ‘Of course,' he said. ‘It's fine – I can do what you asked, honestly, I'll work on it all night if I have to.'

‘Mark, I don't think –'

‘Neil,' Mark said, his voice so unintentionally aggressive he feared Neil might react and sack him on the spot. ‘I can do it – I'm a good way through already – further on than it looks. I'll bring all my research in first thing tomorrow.'

Neil sighed. ‘Okay then. It looks like you've got a lot to deal with today, but if you're going to do this then don't let me down, okay? We're out of time on this one.'

‘I won't,' said Mark, wondering why he couldn't have just taken the easy way out.

 

Henry refused to leave the office, until Mark told him that he was taking him home to show him the Abbott research as he needed his advice. It was humiliating, addressing his father in such a condescending way while Neil and Chloe watched. Neil had wanted to help them outside, but Mark had assured him they were fine, and had managed to steer his father through to the entranceway fairly quickly, just grateful that Neil's office was near the main doors so there wasn't far to go or too many people to pass. With the one or two offices they couldn't avoid, Mark had looked in and waved at his colleagues, trying to keep up the appearance of normality, though since there was a secretary in on this, the episode would be travelling through the office gossip lines faster than the speed of light once they'd left, he was sure of that.

He was bundling his dad into the taxi when he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Chloe running up to him.

She looked at Henry in the car. ‘Mark, I'm so …'

He held up his hand. ‘Don't, Chloe.'

‘God, Mark, I'm only saying –'

‘Look, I've got to go.'

She put a hand on his arm. ‘Call me, if you can't cope with the work. I'll help you. I've got nothing better to do.'

He looked at her hand and then into her face. ‘I thought you had just as many problems as me at the moment.'

She stared back at him. ‘My problems seem to have walked out on me,' she said, her mouth a tight line.

Mark's brow furrowed as he looked at her, slowly comprehending, then he heard a groan from inside the taxi. A look inside told him his father was going a strange colour, and the driver had turned around, eyeing him suspiciously.

‘I'm sorry, I've got to go,' he said, and Chloe nodded and stepped back, then turned away and walked inside.

 

In the taxi Mark dialled his mother's number.

‘Mark, I'm very busy,' she snapped as she picked up. ‘What is it?'

‘I'm with Dad,' he said. ‘He's not very well.'

At that point his father leaned into his shoulder. ‘Are you speaking to Emily?' he asked.

‘He sounds drunk,' came his mother's waspish voice on the other end. How the hell she could tell that from just a few words overheard down a phone line, Mark had no idea. ‘Is he drunk?'

‘Mum, Dad isn't well,' Mark tried again.

She snorted down the line. ‘I could have told you that years ago,' she said.

‘MUM!' Mark's gradually eroded patience finally crumbled. ‘Dad is sick. Something is very wrong. I am taking him back to my apartment, and I want you to come over and sort this out. RIGHT NOW! My boss is going to sack me if I don't keep on top of my caseloads, it's a critical time at the moment –'

‘Mark, I'm at work
right now
.' His mother wasn't one
for backing out of an argument. ‘I can't just drop everything because your father chooses to –'

‘Dad just walked into the office wearing my suit with the trousers undone, and with only one shoe on,' Mark announced. ‘From the sopping wet sock, I think he came all the way into town like that. He's been comatose in my bed for much of the week. I haven't had a straight word out of him. This is not
just
my problem, so stop being so selfish.'

He turned around to see Henry had fallen asleep, his head lolling back, his white-bristled jaw loose and his mouth hanging slackly open.

There was a long pause on the line, so long Mark thought his mother might have hung up. Then he heard her sigh. ‘I'm on my way,' she said, her voice flat and defeated.