Free-Falling Read online

  Evelyn was preparing her retort – and she was not going to hold back – when Bazza’s eyes widened and he leant forward and asked her a question in a slightly frantic, uncharacteristic voice. ‘Evelyn, I’m sorry to ask you this, but when did your son die? When exactly?’

  This was the first time he’d ever called her by her full first name. She decided to save her retaliation and respond. Something seemed to have spooked him.

  ‘It’s been four months, three weeks and six days. He died September eight, and if you want the time to the second, it was five-seventeen pm.’ She held his gaze, kept her voice level and emotionless. ‘Why?’ she added a little tiredly.

  He ignored her question. ‘And you say he was killed in an Ezymart store? The one on Pitt Street? And he was . . .’ he paused nervously, ‘he was shot?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Right. Um, you’re going to have to forgive me. I’ve gotta take off. Somewhere I need to be.’ He gestured vaguely towards the street as though that explained it all.

  Evelyn couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. ‘First, you sit there and tell me I’ve got my ex-future-daughter-in-law all wrong, and now you’re going to leave before I get the chance to defend myself? I can’t believe you’re standing me up when you were the one who invited me out.’

  Bazza reached across the table and gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘I’m really sorry – there’s just something that’s come up, okay? Plus I don’t think you quite know the meaning of being stood up. Does it count as standing someone up if you actually show up to start with?’

  And with that he was gone, leaving his half-eaten breakfast behind. She pushed her own plate away. Her appetite had evaporated.

  ‘Didn’t even get to talk to you properly about my fight with James,’ she murmured sulkily to herself.

  ‘What was that, ma’am?’

  Evelyn realised a waitress was standing right next to her. ‘Nothing,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Perhaps you could just bring me the bill?’ Ha, left with the bill yet again. First, James at dinner; now, Bazza at breakfast. Young men these days – no manners.

  ‘Nope, ’fraid I can’t do that. Bazza’s a regular here and he already asked for the bill to be put on his tab. Can I get you anything else?’

  Evelyn shook her head guiltily.

  Annoyingly, Evelyn didn’t get to catch up with Bazza again for the next few weeks. They kept missing each other at SkyChallenge, which meant she had to take a couple more of her jumps with the ever unimpressive Chad, and she couldn’t seem to reach him on the phone. She was getting very frustrated. She had all these comebacks saved up ready for him, perfectly sensible reasons as to why she should still be blaming Belinda, but she wasn’t being given the chance to share them.

  What was more annoying was the frequent calls that she had started getting from work. Apparently five months was long enough for a grieving mother to get over her son’s death and it was time she got back to her ‘responsibilities’.

  ‘Hi, Evelyn, just checking in again. So how are you today?’ Gabbie’s sugary-sweet voice was like a screwdriver to her spine. The calls had become a daily ritual.

  Then there was the morning that her boss had turned up on her doorstep. ‘We understand what you must be going through, but . . .’ he’d begun.

  Evelyn had barely hesitated before replying, quite matter-of-factly, ‘No you don’t, Alby. You don’t have a fucking clue.’ And she’d closed the door in his face. It had felt good – even if she didn’t really know why she hadn’t gone back to work yet.

  The next night, she decided that while it wasn’t time to return to work, it was time to return to book club. Although, to be perfectly honest, it seemed like such a bland hobby in comparison to her more recently acquired pastime. Book club was being hosted by Violet that night. The group was a rather eclectic mix that included: a couple of the women from Evelyn’s work whom she could actually tolerate, some mothers from Violet’s kids’ school, along with one mum’s somewhat sprightly mother-in-law and, finally, Violet’s extremely camp and yet happily (and heterosexually) married next-door neighbour, Neville.

  Violet was both pleased and surprised to see Evelyn when she turned up at the door. ‘Hello, stranger,’ she exclaimed happily.

  ‘Stranger? I just had coffee with you a week ago!’

  ‘Yes, but in the context of book club you’re a stranger.’

  Evelyn shook her head at her sister as she stepped past into the house.

  The rest of the group were equally pleased to see her. ‘Darling, it’s so good to have you back!’ Neville cried, touching his fingers dramatically to his throat, his voice choking up a little as he spoke.

  Evelyn took one look at the group sitting around her sister’s lounge room – all dressed in their comfy knitted cardigans (Neville included), regardless of the fact that the early autumn weather was still quite warm and comfortable – and was simultaneously hit by two trains of thought. The first was simply, ‘Goodness, this lot seem so boring now.’ The next was a memory that surfaced as flashbacks often did when she smelt something strong and familiar: sudden and clear. It was of book club quite a few years back. The faces were a little different – there were some old members who had since dropped out, while some of the newer ones were missing – but the knitted cardigans were the same. And while the room in this memory was her own lounge room, the set-up was similar: dim, warm lighting, Arnott’s assorted biscuits on the coffee table and cups of tea and coffee scattered around amongst several books.

  On this particular night, they had just started a rather lively and spirited discussion on the merits of some author or other when Andy, James and three or four of their mates had poured into the room, all wearing pastel-coloured cardigans. They had sat themselves down amongst the book club members and begun to nod along with the conversation, their faces dead serious. Violet had cracked up, Neville had got flustered, worrying about new members joining without official approval, and Beryl, the blue-haired mother-in-law, had clasped her hands together with joy at having some ‘young blood’ in the group. The boys had kept up the charade for a good twenty minutes before getting bored and taking off – presumably to the pub to congratulate themselves on their hilarious little skit.

  Now, back in Violet’s lounge room, feeling immensely nostalgic and thinking she would give anything to be transported to that evening again, when she had so easily taken Andy’s existence for granted, Evelyn wondered if she’d perhaps returned to book club a tad prematurely. But it was too late: Neville was already leading her to the couch and the girls from work were delightedly asking her if the rumour that she’d slammed the door in the boss’s face was true.

  Later, when all was finished and they were done packing coffee cups into Violet’s dishwasher, Evelyn asked her sister if she remembered that night.

  ‘Oh God, yes. They even dressed up in the cardigans and everything.’ Violet grinned fondly. ‘I know you thought they were being disrespectful and silly, but I just found them so funny. I mean, Lord knows what possessed them to do it, but you had to admire their commitment to a joke. They hung around with us for almost half an hour!’

  Evelyn smiled sadly at Violet. ‘Yes, I guess you do.’ It was funny how a joke from three or four years ago could only make sense to her now. When it was simply too late to have a good laugh about it.

  Evelyn was brought back to the present by Violet’s quiet voice. ‘Ev, I’m thinking about leaving Mark.’

  She looked up at her sister. Surely she hadn’t heard her correctly. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘I said, I’m thinking about leaving Mark.’

  Evelyn let her mouth drop open. ‘What do you mean? Where is this coming from?’

  ‘Oh, you know, this and that . . .’ Violet faltered and turned her back to press the controls on the dishwasher.

  ‘You’re n
ot serious. Come here and stop jabbing at those buttons – let’s sit down and you can explain yourself properly.’ Evelyn took her sister by the elbow and led her to the kitchen table.

  Violet gave a huge sigh. ‘Look, I didn’t want to say anything to you, I figured you’ve got enough on your mind, but . . . I needed someone to talk to . . .’

  Evelyn nodded along encouragingly.

  ‘Right, well, you know that his long working hours have always been a bit of a sticking point between us. I was so mad with him when he missed Andy’s engagement party, for instance. And there’s been so many other things: weekend activities with the kids, sports carnivals, that sort of thing. But Christmas Day was just horrendous. There you were, dragging yourself through the day like death warmed up, and I just wanted his support . . . I wanted to be there for you, but I also wanted him to be there for me. And he just doesn’t get it. He has no idea I even feel this way, completely oblivious.’ Violet put her face into her hands. ‘I don’t even know what I’m saying here. Am I being crazy?’

  Evelyn rubbed her hand across Violet’s back soothingly. ‘All right, first things first. When you say he has no idea, you haven’t actually brought any of this up with him yet? He doesn’t know you’re considering leaving him, or that there’s actually a problem to begin with?’

  ‘No, not exactly.’ Violet’s voice was uncharacteristically small.

  ‘Here’s my opinion then: you’re jumping the gun, my dear. And this is what you’re going to do: you’ll bring the kids to me this weekend, make sure he clears his calendar, and the two of you need to go away somewhere and talk this whole thing out. I’ll admit I’ve always thought that husband of yours was a bit off-balance with the career/family juggling act, but he still deserves the chance to change. You have to at least let him know that there’s a problem, give him the opportunity to fix it if he can. I’d wager that by the end of the weekend you’ll know whether there’s a marriage still worth saving.’ Evelyn clapped her hands together happily. Problem solved! ‘It’s about time I “hung out” with my niece and nephew anyway. I’ll show them their old aunt still has some fun left in her.’

  Violet nodded. She looked relieved that her sister had taken charge. ‘Thanks, Ev, I should have known that all I needed was to talk with you about it.’

  ‘Yes, you should have. I’m your big sister. Just because you’ve spent most of your life thinking you’re the one who needs to tell me what to do, doesn’t mean I don’t have some good advice to give.’ She stood up and pulled her cardigan off the back of the chair, swinging it around to place it on her shoulders. She picked up her car keys. ‘But don’t think I didn’t notice you saying I looked like death warmed up at Christmas. You’ll pay for that one.’

  Violet smiled. ‘Yes, I thought I might.’

  Driving back home that night, Evelyn realised that she was starting to feel sort of good about herself. She’d done something nice for her sister. She was thinking about someone else instead of wallowing in self pity, as she had been for the last few months. And she had the feeling that Violet and Mark were going to be just fine. Every marriage had its rough patches – you had to hit the low points to really enjoy the highs. Although, admittedly, she could barely remember any low points with Carl, apart from the cancer. Yet even then they’d still had some beautiful days together.

  ‘Goodness, we had an easy marriage, didn’t we?’ she thought wistfully to herself. But instead of crying, she turned up the radio and smiled. ‘And I was lucky to have it.’

  Chapter 13

  Andy

  On the last day of his life, Andy woke up, opened one eye to see that Belle was still sleeping, then rolled over and climbed out of bed as quietly and quickly as he could. He tiptoed into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, taking a moment to himself.

  It was definitely time to broach the subject with her, and tonight after work he would do just that. Andy had never been this excited in his life. Even on the day that he had proposed to his Belle he had been nervous and pumping with adrenalin, but today he was just excited.

  He also felt damn smart. He couldn’t believe he had figured it out. He was like a detective! He knew exactly when the last one was, he was sure of it. And it had now been seven weeks. There definitely had not been another one in between. He had been testing his theory every couple of nights to keep an eye on things, and each time things had been perfectly fine. In fact, things had never been better.

  She was definitely pregnant. And he was pretty certain that she had no idea.

  He thought back to that night, several weeks ago, when Belle had arrived home from a hen’s night absolutely toasted. She had left the apartment earlier that evening, looking stunning as always, assuring Andy as she went that he needn’t wait up. Andy had enjoyed an evening to himself for a change. He watched a sci-fi flick on TV that Belinda would have hated, ordered takeaway from the Hills House of Dumplings, and turned into bed around eleven, feeling pleasantly satisfied both from the food and the entertainment (the sci-fi flick had included some excellent gratuitous nudity – tastefully done, of course).

  He had woken with a start at what seemed like just half an hour later and looked first at the bedside clock to double check the time. It was quarter to four. He sat in bed, blinking in the dark, trying to figure out what had woken him up so suddenly. Then he heard a crash from the living room. ‘Yep, that’ll do it,’ he thought as he climbed groggily out of bed. Nothing like a drunk chick home from a hen’s night to wake you up in the middle of the night.

  He headed out into the living room and fumbled for the light switch. When he flicked it on, he was greeted with the sight of his fiancée, sprawled on the floor, arms entangled in the leaves of their pot plant, ‘Vern the Fern’, which she must have walked straight into and sent flying. It lay on its side, looking rather despondent as it leaked dirt onto the carpet.

  ‘Oh, babe, did I wake you?’ Belinda slurred up at him, a look of innocent surprise on her face, the sweet smell of girly mixed-drinks strong on her breath. Andy smiled down at her – even trashed she was still beautiful. Okay, so he didn’t find her quite so beautiful when, just half an hour later, he was woken yet again to find her clambering urgently across him and then half running, half stumbling into their ensuite to throw up.

  It wasn’t until the following evening that a sudden thought crossed Andy’s mind. Wasn’t it quite soon after taking the pill that she’d started emptying the contents of her stomach last night? He decided it wasn’t worth worrying about though. Surely one single pill couldn’t make that much difference, could it?

  Now it looked as though he’d been right to wonder. Would she be mad at him for having dismissed his fears and not having told her? But, really, how could she be – she obviously hadn’t thought it was anything to worry about either. Besides, they were getting married; they’d be having children eventually, so why the hell not now? He liked the idea of being a young dad. That meant when his kids got old enough to want to kick a soccer ball around the backyard, he’d still be fit enough to give them a good run for their money. And fishing! He’d take their kids fishing one day. Man, he hoped Belinda wanted to have a nice big family like he did.

  He managed to pull his mind back to the present day and out of the rosy, Partridge-family future he had been concocting. This was brilliant: how many guys got to surprise the girl with this kind of news? The plan for tonight was simple. When they got home from work, he’d tell her to put her feet up and relax while he cooked her dinner, something gourmet, but no glasses of wine. Then Almond Magnums for dessert (her favourite); and afterwards he’d pull a home pregnancy test out of his pocket and hand it over, then wait for her to realise and probably (hopefully) get as excited as he was. Oh, and flowers! How could he forget his go-to move for any tricky situation? He’d have to pick up a nice bunch of roses today – to add to the romance.

  As
he showered, he thought about the first time he had discovered the astonishing power that a decent bunch of flowers had over a girl’s mind. He was in Year Eight, it was lunchtime, and he was waiting to be tagged in on an informal game of soccer he and his mates were playing. The previous day, James had done the unthinkable: he’d humiliated him in front of his high-school crush, Tania Stevens. Andy had vowed never to return to school, but that obviously wasn’t going to fly with his mum. So he’d resolved himself to the fact that he would just have to try and avoid Tania for the remainder of his school life. That’s when it happened. He was facing the action on the field, expecting to be tagged in at any second. There was a tap on his shoulder. He smelt her before he turned to face her. Strawberries and cinnamon. He took a shaky breath before meeting her eyes. What was she going to say to him in front of all the guys?

  ‘You are the sweetest guy ever.’

  Andy was stunned – was she being sarcastic?

  And then it happened: she just leant in . . . and kissed him – just like that. The kiss was all over in less than three seconds, but it felt like a lifetime that her lips were against his. Then she whispered in his ear, ‘If only you were a senior, I’d be dating you for sure.’ And she was gone, swallowed up in a gaggle of her giggling girlfriends.

  The guys went absolutely mental. But the best part was James’s reaction. He was absolutely flabbergasted and clearly pissed off that his brother had outdone him. Andy had just received his first kiss – before James. Later, he found out that all his mum had done was have a beautiful bunch of roses delivered to the school for Tania, with some romantic sentiment on the card, apparently sent from Andy. Apparently, the thrill of receiving the flowers in front of all of her classmates was enough to make her melt. Ever since that day, Andy had been harnessing the power of this secret weapon for any fight, special occasion, or sometimes just for that shocking time of the month when a girl simply needed to be cheered up. Somehow, it always seemed to do the trick.