‘I know.’
‘I can’t say no to her. I suspended from uni today as soon as she asked me to do this. She says you used to say that you could get through things quicker and better if only you had reliable help.’
‘ I said that?’
‘Yeah. When you were married.’
‘How long have you known about that?’
‘Oh, we knew she’d been married before. So had Dad. But I guess we weren’t interested in the details. It didn’t seem to matter. I only found out who you were and all that today.’
I decided that I didn’t want to give the kid the wrong impression, so I reached for the Scotch bottle and gave myself a refill. ‘Look, if I said that, I was lying. Cyn didn’t like what I did for a living and looking back I don’t blame her. I wasn’t around when she needed me. I would’ve said that just as an excuse.’
‘It doesn’t matter. She reckons you’re going to need help with this if you’re going to find… Megan before Mum dies.’
‘I don’t understand. I thought… months…’
He shook his head and the hair flopped down, concealing his eyes, but I knew he was close to tears. ‘Latest report,’ he said. ‘Weeks. Maybe days.’
I made coffee. He went to the toilet and the bathroom and had re-gained his composure when he returned. I spiked my coffee and invited him to relight his joint. He did. He was taking in a lot more of his surroundings now – books, tatty carpet, worn furniture, good fax and answering machine.
‘You and Mum lived here?’ he said after drinking some of his coffee.
‘A long time ago.’
‘It’s a good house. Must be worth a bit.’
‘It wasn’t then.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘A freeway was supposed to go through it. That’s how we got it cheap.’
He nodded. The idea of a freeway going through Glebe must have seemed bizarre to him. How he felt, with his father dead and his mother on the way out, about the past I’d shared with her, was hard to judge. He finished his joint and the coffee and put the roach in his pocket. He was slumped, tired. My wallet was in the jacket hanging over the post at the foot of the stairs. I took Cyn’s cheque out and waved it.
‘I haven’t even banked your mother’s cheque.’
He sat up. ‘You’re not going to pull out?’
‘No, I’m just making a point. I don’t let clients dictate to me.’
‘This is different. I can’t go back to her and say you’ve turned me down. I think it’d kill her. This thing’s all that’s keeping her going.’
We looked at each other for a full minute without speaking. He was steady-eyed, determined. I could feel myself wavering. ‘How do you and your sister feel about the prospect of another one, a half-sister, being sprung on you? Especially now.’
‘I’m interested. Annie’d hate it.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘She and Mum don’t get along. Haven’t for years. Annie’ll be upset when… when Mum dies, but she was closer to Dad. She’s got ambitions to go into business for herself. She’s in advertising, like Dad was. She’ll be thinking about the money. You know, Mum’s estate, and how it’ll be divided. I suppose if this girl does turn out to be our sister, Mum’ll change her will. That’s fine with me, but Annie? Shit, she’ll freak. Plus she’s pregnant herself. Just.’
‘I see. Haven’t you got enough on your plate, what with studying and your mother and that kind of trouble in the family?’
‘I told you I’ve suspended. That’s cool. I can’t do anything for Mum except what she’s asking me to – work with you. Annie’s not my problem. At least, not yet.’
I stalled. ‘What’re you studying?’
‘Environmental engineering.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Like, how to plan and build things that don’t fuck up the environment. So I could be useful on this Tadpole Creek thing, Mr Hardy.’
I drank some coffee and didn’t say anything.
‘I can drive, I’m good with computers and I can help you with that problem of yours.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Another thing Mum said. Along the same lines. She said you always tried to be in two places at once when you worked. With me, you can. And there’s something else?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m about the same age as the Talbot guy. I’m more likely than you to know how he thinks than you are. I can talk to his friends and stuff like that.’
‘He also sounds dangerous. How much danger have you coped with? Has your mother thought about that, I wonder?’
‘I’m a rock climber. I know about danger and how to be careful’
I was unconvinced but he had all the answers. I could play it that way for a while. ‘You’ve sold me. Okay, we’ll work together and you can report to Cyn on our progress. What’s wrong?’
His lean, bony face had split into a grin. ‘I’ve never heard anyone call Mum Cyn before. Dad called her Cynthia always. Cyn. I like it. I think I’ll have a drink now if you’ve got some beer or wine.’
‘Sure, why now?’
‘Well, I won’t be driving tonight, will I? I’ve got everything I need in the car.’
12
Geoffrey had a beer, rang his mother and left the message that I’d agreed to let him work with me, hauled a huge backpack in from his car and went to bed in the spare room. No-one had used it for a while and it was musty, but if he was going to hang around with me he’d have to learn to take the rough with the rougher.
I looked over the notes I’d written and the scraps of information I’d collected during the day. I picked up my shirt to toss it in the laundry basket and noticed a blonde hair clinging to it. The memory of Tess Hewitt came back to me sharply. I’d had strong feelings for her and I’d thought the attraction had been mutual. I stood by my bed and thought how long it was since I’d been close to a woman. The night was cold but it suddenly seemed colder. I got into bed, tracksuit and all, and turned out the light. I was tired and the Scotch had relaxed me. I got to sleep pretty quickly, but my feet were cold all night and I couldn’t wake up enough to pull the extra blanket over them. All I could do was pull them up, move around, and put them where something warm had been. It doesn’t work.
Geoffrey had been up for hours when I appeared about 7.30. He’d made coffee and burnt some toast. Not even the with-it young can cope with some people’s toasters. He was sitting in the kitchen trying to read the headlines on the still-rolled newspaper.
‘My dad hated anyone to get to the paper before him,’ he said.
‘I don’t give a stuff,’ I grunted. ‘Open ‘er up and do as you like.’
I poured some coffee and was pleased to see that he’d brewed it at about the right strength. ‘You set the toaster on light and it toasts medium, set it on medium and it toasts dark, set it on dark and it bloody burns,’ I told him.
‘I’m sort of handy. I might be able to fix it.’
‘I’m not. Feel free.’
He took the elastic band off the paper, unrolled it, glanced at the headlines on the front and back pages and passed it to me. ‘Would you call yourself a morning person, Mr Hardy?’
‘You are, obviously. I’d say I’m not exactly an early morning person. More latish morning. Okay after eight with some coffee on board. Look, we can do without the Mr Hardy stuff. Cliff’ll do. I’d prefer Geoff to Geoffrey if
