What Rosie Found Next (18 page)

Rosie stood there until she couldn’t hear the hum of the Ducati any more. When she finally closed the front door and returned to the kitchen, she touched a hand to her lips, remembering a kiss she’d never dared to imagine. She listened to the ticking clock, the cicadas so loud outside that their song carried through the walls.

She stood at the back door and stared into the abyss of roses that had harboured a horrible secret and broken the Owen she’d got to know.

Hours later she reluctantly climbed into bed. She lay staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows created by the moon outside peeping through the gap in the middle of the curtains. And for the first time in a long time, she felt grateful rather than sad about the family she’d once belonged to. She’d always known where she stood, never doubted how proud her parents were of her. There were no secrets, at least none she’d ever known, and she felt blessed for her happy memories.

The house was quiet without him. The cicadas outside continued their evening song as the temperature refused to dip, and the tinkle of a collar accompanied by the gentle pitter-patter of paws on the bedroom carpet announced George’s arrival.

‘Hey.’ Rosie rubbed her fingers beneath the cat’s chin when he jumped up onto the bed. He nestled in next to Rosie, purring, and stayed there until her eyelids began to droop and she dozed off.

At nearly four thirty in the morning, Rosie woke to the sound of the Ducati pulling into the driveway. Her movement beneath the duvet caused George to adjust his position, but he soon curled up again and got on with the business of sleeping.

‘He’s back.’ Rosie smiled. Knowing he was safe, she settled down, ready to join George in slumber again, but moments later her bedroom door slowly opened.

‘Hi.’ Owen stood in the doorway.

She sat up in bed. ‘Hi.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed in his leather bike pants and a white T-shirt that showed every contour of his upper body. George opened one eye in greeting as Owen reached out to stroke him.

‘I’m sorry I got so angry,’ he said.

She chewed the corner of her mouth. ‘You had every right to be.’

He smiled at her. ‘You’re crap at burying stuff, you know.’

She punched him playfully on the arm.

‘I’m sorry about the kiss, too,’ he added. ‘Maybe I’m like my biological father, making a move on a girl who’s off limits.’ He wasn’t smiling now.

‘That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?’ She wanted to say she wasn’t sorry about the kiss. She should be, but she wasn’t.

‘Well, I shouldn’t have kissed you. You’re with Adam.’

She wasn’t sure whether he was making a statement or asking a question, but after he said it he patted George on the head, smiled at Rosie and said, ‘I’ll let you get some sleep.’

*

The smell snaking up the stairs tore Owen away from his iPad. He’d been awake for hours, and his stomach growled in protest that it hadn’t had so much as a cup of coffee. He grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it over his head and down across his chest as he appeared in the kitchen. He smiled inwardly when he caught Rosie looking at his bare skin, her cheeks colouring.

‘What’s all this?’ He watched as Rosie lifted bacon rashers out of the pan and onto slices of toast, topping them with an egg and adding grilled mushrooms and tomatoes.

‘I thought you could use it after yesterday.’ She handed him the plate and a glass of fresh orange juice.

Owen was glad to have company after the events of yesterday and the drama of racing off last night. This reminded him of how his mum looked after him and his dad when they came home from a fire call – the CFA’s hidden support team was the wives, girlfriends and siblings at home who looked after members of the crew – and he was glad Rosie was here in much the same way.

‘Aren’t you eating?’ He looked up from his plate.

‘I already did. I’ve got to be at work in an hour.’ Her iPad sounded on the kitchen bench, but she ignored it.

He mopped egg yolk with a forkful of toast. ‘It might be Adam,’ he said.

‘I’ll call him another time.’

Carrie’s words about not rocking Rosie’s world echoed through his mind. He loaded another forkful of bacon, egg and a small piece of toast and ran it through the HP Sauce on the side of his plate. Over time he and Rosie had got used to one another’s preferences, and this morning she hadn’t asked him if he wanted sauce, it was just there waiting for him.

Rosie sat down. ‘Have you thought about calling your mum?’

Owen shook his head. ‘I won’t call her.’

‘I think you should.’

‘Maybe you should call yours once in a while,’ he snapped.

When she stayed silent he said, ‘Sorry, that was unnecessary.’

‘No need to apologise. You’re right. I should call her more than I do. And I shouldn’t be lecturing you.’

After a while he said, ‘I’m going to London, Stevens.’ She put down her glass of juice. ‘I need to see her, face-to-face.’

‘That’s probably a good idea.’

‘I leave tonight.’

‘Wow, you must’ve been busy after I went to sleep last night.’

Owen swallowed a mouthful. ‘Why the long face?’

‘What face?’

‘You look disappointed.’ And she was fiddling with her necklace, a dead giveaway.

‘It’s just that the tree arrives in a few days, and I was looking forward to decorating it together.’

He didn’t miss her voice waver on the word ‘together’.

‘You’ll have to do the tree on your own, but I’ll be back on Christmas Eve.’ He’d paid over the odds for a ticket to return at that time. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

Outside his hotel in London, his mind still fuggy with jetlag, Owen zipped up the ski jacket he’d had the foresight to bring, glad of the jumper beneath and the jeans. The blanket of winter darkness in London was interrupted by the blue lights bouncing off the London Eye, the giant Ferris wheel standing on the banks of the River Thames; the yellow tinge of streetlamps; the ever moving headlamps of cars.

He flagged down a taxi in amongst the chaos of illuminations. The British cabbie was a chatty one – the drivers in Melbourne were a silent bunch in comparison, needing directions on a major scale as though they’d got their licence from the back of a cereal packet. Their lack of local knowledge was shocking compared to these cabbies, who, according to his mum, were often ranked as number one in the world.

They zigzagged their way in and out of traffic, up and down streets lined with parked cars. The cabbie, Brian, told Owen how he’d been through rigorous training to get his licence. He’d studied for three years, knew thousands of landmarks and streets and hundreds of routes. And as he talked, Owen looked out at a cold, dismal city that was transformed with the twinkling lights of Christmas. A Santa’s sleigh pulled by reindeer was strung up in lights high above the shops and office fronts. An iconic red double-decker London bus passed by, its colour just visible beneath the shining lights of the city. Shop fronts were illuminated to entice people in out of the cold.

He wanted to show all this to Rosie, show her how life could be magical. He wanted to show her she didn’t have to settle for anything less than extraordinary. Thoughts of Rosie had been a welcome distraction on the long flight from Australia, a way to block out the confrontation he was about to have now that they’d pulled up outside the pillar-box red front door in Camden where his Auntie Sarah had lived for almost two decades.

Puffs of grey air came from his mouth as he stood outside the house, the toes of his feet numb as they lingered on the doorstep and the tips of his ears cold enough to remind him of how Rosie had cut his hair before the wedding.

A warm glow came from the downstairs window, and it took him a while to extricate his hand from the warm embrace of his coat pocket and knock on the wooden front door.

He held his breath while a figure shuffled down the hallway.

This was it. It was truth time.

*

Jane Harrison stood at the front door of the townhouse, the cold billowing its way through the open door as she stared, unblinking at her son.

Owen had thought about this moment a lot since he’d found the box of secrets lurking beneath the rose bush. He’d thought about the hatred he could feel, the spite for the secrets she’d kept from him and the begging he could do to find out who he really was. But now he was here, he had no idea how to react. It felt as though he was part of a game of dizzy astronauts, and sooner or later he’d stop whizzing round and have to stagger in one direction and hope it got him to where he needed to go.

His mum ushered him inside, out of the cold. ‘What are you doing here?’

He turned to her in the hallway, still bundled up in his coat. ‘I found the box.’

The colour drained from her face, and Owen moved past her to shut the front door. He stared at it long after it clicked into place, and when he turned Jane had slumped down onto the bottom stair.

‘I’d like to say I know everything,’ he said, ‘but I don’t. I’ve got no idea what the real truth is, and that’s why I’m here.’

‘I see.’

‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

‘It’s a shock.’

‘I’ll say!’ The house was silent apart from their voices filling the hallway. ‘Where’s Dad?’

‘He’s meeting a doctor friend who he was at University with and he’ll stop for takeaway on his way home.’

Owen was glad. He needed this explanation to come from her. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the rack behind the front door before he followed her through to the dining room.

An oak table dominated the space in front of a characterful fireplace with a tiled surround. His mum motioned him to sit down.

‘I don’t want to,’ he answered.

‘Owen, for goodness sake …’

‘I said I don’t want to!’

Her composure threatened to send him over the edge, even though common sense told him that inside she was anything but calm. He’d expected a little more panic, more fear in her than this.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’

Owen harrumphed. ‘The truth is all I’m here for.’

If it was possible, her shoulders sagged further south. ‘I wanted to tell you everything, when I was ready, when I thought you could handle it.’

‘When I could handle it?’ His voice bounced off the walls. ‘Did you ever really think that moment would come?’

‘I guess not. Maybe I was kidding myself. Maybe I was scared of what would happen when you knew.’

‘Rosie found the box you know, not me.’ He wasn’t sure why he told her that part, but it felt important. ‘Out of some misguided sense of loyalty to you, she didn’t tell me about it. But then when I was cutting some roses, I found it for myself.’

Jane looked towards the bay window. Owen assumed there must be a garden out there, but for now, all they could see were the two reflections staring back at each other, searching for answers.

She rubbed her arms even though the heating was working overtime in the place. ‘Let’s go into the lounge, it’s too cold in here.’

Owen followed her. She could run from room to room for all he cared, as long as she gave him answers in the end. He had nowhere he needed to be.

‘I guess I’d better start from the beginning.’ She sat in the small, square lounge with floral sofas and plain walls. Her hands nervously clinched her knees in her black corduroy trousers as Owen sank into an armchair opposite. ‘Let me tell the whole story before you jump in.’

‘Okay.’ He didn’t see why he had to promise her anything, but he’d do his best if it meant he got answers. ‘Go on,’ he urged when it seemed she was never going to continue.

‘I met Gregory – Gregory Falmer was his name then – when I was eighteen. He was all charm, good-looking and successful, qualities that left him with no problem attracting attention from women, including me.’ She met Owen’s eyes briefly but then looked away. ‘Gregory was seven years older than I was, and when I found out I was pregnant with you, he didn’t hesitate in asking me to marry him. I thought my life was all mapped out for me, I was so happy. My sister …’ Her voice faltered.

‘Auntie Natasha?’

She nodded.

‘You never talk about her,’ said Owen.

‘No, I don’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Natasha was younger than me and idolised me, her big sister. She was forever trying on my clothes, borrowing make-up and never returning it, begging me to take her out for the evening with my friends if we were going into the city.

‘Natasha said something to me, shortly after I got married. She told me Gregory had forced himself on her.’

‘You mean he raped her?’ Owen didn’t want any misunderstandings, not any more. He wanted nothing but the truth.

Jane’s fingers curled into her palms. ‘Yes.’

‘And you stayed with him?’

‘When she told me what had happened, I didn’t believe her.’

Stunned, Owen said nothing and let her continue.

‘I’d seen the way Natasha looked at Gregory, like he was something else of mine she wanted to borrow. She’d flirt around him, giggle at his jokes. When I confronted Gregory he said she’d come on to him, and under no circumstances did he force himself on her.’

‘Did you believe him?’

‘I had no reason not to. My God, he was convincing. He actually looked upset when I asked him about it. He told me she’d been flinging herself at him from the moment we started dating, and he hadn’t wanted to tell me because he knew I’d be upset. It was her word against his, and I’m ashamed to say I believed him and not her.’

Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. ‘Natasha stopped speaking to me after that, and I was busy looking after you. I was sleep deprived and assumed I had a husband I could trust.’

‘So what happened then?’ Owen leaned forwards, arms resting on his thighs as Jane fell silent. ‘Mum, tell me everything, please.’

She pulled a tissue from her sleeve, wiped her eyes, scared away the quivering lip and carried on.

‘Natasha went travelling with friends after I refused to listen to her. She went bungee jumping in New Zealand, white water rafting, even worked in America for a while. I hoped that when she eventually came home, we’d move on from what had happened and be sisters again, friends.’

She stood and walked over to the window, staring out at the night sky, at the headlamps of cars filled with people heading out for the evening or bringing people home to their families. ‘Natasha was the quietest out of all three of us girls. She loved to paint and draw, but after our confrontation she never picked up a brush again, she never sat at the easel with a blank canvas and turned it into something beautiful.’

Jane stared into the darkness some more before she came back to the sofa. ‘What I loved about Gregory was how he didn’t just sit around waiting for life to happen to him. He went out and grabbed what he wanted. He told me he’d worked crappy jobs over the years, but with every position he’d kept his eyes and ears open, learning from the bottom up. Not too unlike someone else I know.’ She smiled at her son.

Owen wasn’t sure whether he liked the comparison. ‘I get the feeling that what Gregory Falmer wanted he got, and stuff everyone else?’

‘I got swept along with Gregory and the holiday home business. His career was going well, we had a bouncing baby boy, and apart from the fallout with Natasha, I was content with my life. Gregory encouraged me to take an accountancy course and work from home, which I did, and that meant we could keep the business a “family business”, which he hoped one day you would be able to run.’

A car outside beeped and another answered back with its own horn.

‘One day I questioned an item on a bank statement,’ Jane went on. ‘It was a simple item that read “roof repairs” but it was repeated three times, for the exact same amount. Anyway, Gregory told me he was perfectly capable of running a business and that I should concentrate on doing the accounts as he’d asked rather than worrying about minor details.

‘A few more items appeared on the next bank statement, but this time I didn’t mention it because I wanted to find out what was going on. I was panicking that Gregory was in financial trouble, trying to syphon off money for a loan shark or something equally as terrifying. I was scared we’d lose everything.’

Owen almost reached his hand out to cover hers, but he couldn’t, not yet. ‘Who were the payments really going to?’

‘C. Gilbertson,’ she breathed. ‘I looked into roofing companies with the same name, I viewed the customer database, but nothing came up. Then the phone calls started.’

‘Phone calls?’

‘You were three months old and sometimes the phone would ring in the day – I’d curse if you were asleep, it took such an effort to get you to sleep sometimes – or else it was in the middle of the night when Gregory was out of town. There was always silence at the other end, and the calls never happened when Gregory was around. I mentioned it to him and he wasn’t rattled, but he changed our number anyway.

‘Tamsin Fielding turned up at the house one day when Gregory was up in Cairns on business, and that was the day my world began to fall apart, bit by bit.’

Owen passed her a tissue, keeping the box in his hand, afraid to put it down and miss the story that could help him understand the complexities of this whole mess.

‘Tamsin worked for Gregory, designing and maintaining the interiors of the holiday properties and adding the finishing touches. Well, she certainly did that.’

‘They had an affair?’

‘They’d had a brief fling. Tamsin said it was over before it really even started, but she came to me when she found something else out about Gregory.’

‘Was Tamsin the girl in the photograph?’ Owen cringed at the memory of the photo lying with all the other bumf in the box, the picture of his father half naked with a girl even more scantily clad than him.

Jane shook her head. ‘That was Carly.’ Her hands pulled apart the sodden tissue in her hands.

‘Carly?’

‘Carly Gilbertson.’

Owen’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘C. Gilbertson.’

‘She was fifteen.’

He exhaled long and hard. ‘Did he know she was underage?’

‘Who knows, but a quick check of the personnel records could’ve told him she was a minor. Anyway, Tamsin caught Gregory and Carly on camera – she’s the one who took the photograph and made a copy of the personnel records to prove Carly’s age – and the only reason she didn’t go to the police was because she felt guilty about me. She felt it should be my decision.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I told Tamsin to get that girl away from Gregory. Tamsin wheedled the truth out of her in the end. I couldn’t bear to go near her. Anyway, Gregory got bored of Carly once he’d overcome the challenge and she’d given him what he wanted. She threatened to go to the police and claim the sex wasn’t consensual. She got a hundred thousand dollars out of him in the end.’