Free-Falling Page 20

  ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ she scolded herself as she waited. She stared up into the clear, blue sky and tried to figure out where she’d gone wrong. As she gazed upwards, a memory popped into her head. It was a memory of Andrew’s voice – not his deep, adult voice – but his squeaky, pre-pubescent voice, the one he’d had at about thirteen. He was groaning crossly as he spoke to her. ‘I said, “See you later, Mum,” not “See you soon!”’ What was that? When was that from?

  The memory’s smells reached her first: popcorn, Coca-Cola, Maltesers. That’s right! It was the movies. It was Andrew and James’s first trip to the movies with their friends without an adult there to chaperone. Well, it was supposed to be – but Evelyn couldn’t help herself. She had been intending to give them half an hour after the movie to play a few games in the Timezone next door, but she was too anxious. So she had been standing out in the foyer, ready to meet them the moment they came filtering out of the cinema.

  James had just ignored her, carefully avoiding eye contact as he followed his friends into Timezone. But Andrew had stopped to grin up at her, the look on his face saying he should have known better but, deep down, he really didn’t mind that much. The exasperated voice was more of a put-on for his friends. I said see you later, Mum, not see you soon.

  Evelyn started to cry, just as Bazza reached her. ‘What is it?’ he asked frantically. ‘What have you hurt? Is there something broken?’

  ‘It was a pregnancy test,’ she replied through her tears.

  ‘What?’ he asked, clearly thrown.

  ‘That’s what he was holding when he died. It was a pregnancy test. He must have thought he was about to become a dad.’

  ‘Shit, she’s lost it,’ Bazza said as he reached into his vest for his mobile phone.

  Back at the SkyChallenge warehouse, after all the incident report forms had been filled in and they had both been checked over, Evelyn sat with an icepack on her ankle and got the full rundown from Bazza on what exactly had happened. Apparently, as soon as he’d realised she wasn’t going to the pull the chute on time, he’d spent several seconds trying to signal to her to let her know she’d lost track of her counting. Then he’d realised that her eyes were shut. She’d looked as though she was in some sort of a trance, he said. Evelyn sat listening to the story, feeling absolutely humiliated that she’d made such a huge mistake, and yet exhilarated that the whole experience had led her to some sort of mental breakthrough.

  The rest of the staff wanted to quiz the two of them on the incident, but Bazza was adamant that Evelyn be left alone. He seemed very protective of her, probably worried that they might make her feel more embarrassed, or perhaps guilty for endangering their mate’s life. Eventually, Evelyn felt the shock start to wear off and her nerves start to calm down a little. She checked her watch and realised she was already running late if she wanted to make herself look presentable for tonight and be ready for Violet to pick her up at 7.45.

  ‘Listen, Bazza, I’m so sorry to rush off, but I’ve got something quite important on tonight.’ She felt guilty to leave him so soon after he had saved her life, but she got the sense he was still hyped up on adrenalin from their near-death experience anyway. He was probably keen to head out to a nightclub with his mates.

  ‘Sure, no worries,’ he responded with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Hey, Bazza,’ she said, pausing at the door, ‘you truly are a hero.’ Then, without waiting for a response, she began to hobble out to her car, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle.

  She climbed into the car, feeling relieved that she drove an auto and that it was her left ankle that she’d hurt. Her mind turned to tonight and to the phone call she planned to make as soon as she got home. Bazza was pushed to the back of her mind and she completely forgot about the important conversation he had wanted to have with her before they had jumped from the plane and everything had changed.

  In between showering, dressing, blowdrying her hair and applying make-up (all with great difficulty as she hopped about the house on one foot) she kept trying to make the phone call but kept getting voicemail. Violet turned up in a taxi to collect her and was furious when she saw Evelyn’s injury.

  ‘I told you it was a stupid hobby! I don’t know what you were ever thinking doing such a crazy sport!’

  ‘You don’t even know the half of it,’ Evelyn replied loftily, then shushed her sister as she climbed into the cab. She proceeded to take out her mobile to keep trying to make the phone call.

  They arrived at the awards night just on time and began dutifully wandering around the room, looking at the huge screens displaying GameTech’s latest products. However, they both found they had a bit of trouble knowing quite how to react. Gazing at violent video games wasn’t quite the same as admiring art in a gallery. They weren’t sure whether it was wrong to look so repulsed by what they saw, or if this was the desired reaction.

  Evelyn kept trying her phone until Violet snapped crossly at her, ‘What is so important that you need to make a call right now?’

  Evelyn sighed as she reached voicemail again and hung up. ‘I’m trying to get hold of Belinda. I had what I guess you could call a bit of an epiphany this afternoon and I realised I do need to let go of this thing I’ve got against her. Plus there’s something rather important I have to ask her. Actually, I half expected to see her here tonight. I’m wondering whether or not she did get an invite herself.’

  ‘This is quite the turnaround. Must have been one hell of an “epiphany” you had.’ Violet gave her a somewhat dubious look.

  ‘Trust me, it was. But all I keep getting is her voicemail or the phone ringing out on her home line.’

  ‘Look, Ev, why don’t you stop trying to phone her and see if you can relax and enjoy the night? Surely whatever you need to ask her can wait until tomorrow? Anyway, isn’t that Andy’s friend Michael Coombes over there? Let’s go over and find out which of these extraordinarily gruesome games your very talented son had a hand in.’

  Evelyn gave in and accepted the glass of champagne her sister handed to her as they headed over to Michael. An hour or so, and many more champagnes later, she was feeling much more relaxed, her ankle was barely hurting, and it was time for the special tribute.

  Andy’s boss spoke first. It seemed as though he wasn’t much of a public speaker. As he stepped nervously in front of the microphone, his voice was shaking. ‘Um, hello? If I could have your attention, please, everybody – a little bit of shush, thanks – great, thank you. Right, it’s time we took a moment to acknowledge a person who can’t be here with us tonight. This person is Andy McGavin, and he was a very big part of GameTech. In particular, he was a major player on the “Snowboard Slasher” project, but he was also an all-round great guy. So his good mate and colleague Michael Coombes would like to tell you all a bit more about him.’

  He stepped away, looking relieved, and Michael took his place, adjusted the mic for his height, and began to speak much more confidently. ‘Anyone who knew Andy McGavin knew he was a great guy. Friendly, bloody hard-working, classic sense of humour, and just a fricken awesome guy. By far one of my best mates. Losing him in September last year was a dark time for me and the rest of our mates. But that said, I knew Andy well, and I know he’d be wanting us to celebrate the good times. So I’d like everyone to raise your glasses to Andy, a legend.’ Michael lifted his beer high into the air.

  ‘To Andy, a legend,’ chorused back the crowd, obediently raising their own drinks.

  Michael leant back into the microphone and added, ‘Now please turn to the large screen up here to my right. Keep in mind this is in the early stages . . . but, Andy, this is for you.’

  An image appeared on the screen with the words: ‘Presenting GameTech’s newest prototype, due for release later this year . . . Andy’s Urban Soccer Match.’ A series of images followed, showing grabs from the game. The main char
acter within the game had brown, slightly curly hair and was wearing a cap that looked to Evelyn suspiciously like Andy’s favourite cap, the one he used to wear constantly. It appeared to her to be a game where the player took their character around a rather familiar looking neighbourhood and challenged people in the street to soccer juggling contests. Once the character beat them, he then took them with him, gathering up people until he had enough for a soccerball match in the park. Evelyn realised she could see familiar traits in many of the little computer-animated characters, linking them to each of Andy’s mates.

  She gasped and nudged Violet. ‘Look, I think that one might be me!’

  There was an image on the screen of a middle-aged female character with auburn-coloured hair and a cream cardigan she was quite sure she recognised as her own.

  ‘Yep. And that one’s gotta be Belinda.’

  Evelyn was flooded with guilt as she looked up at the tiny, dark-haired figure. ‘Goodness, she really was such an important part of his life, wasn’t she? I’d better try her again.’

  ‘Ev, no, that’s not a good idea. You’ve had a lot to drink and it’s getting pretty late. I really think this is a conversation you need to be fairly sober for.’ Violet tried to grab the phone.

  ‘No, no, it’ll be fine. Let me just give it one more try.’ She swatted Violet’s hand away and turned her back, heading for a quiet corner.

  The phone rang once, twice, three times, and was finally picked up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sakes, I thought I was never going to get you! Belinda, sweetheart! It’s me! Ev!’

  There was a big pause and Evelyn started to worry. Hmm, maybe that was a bit too casual. She supposed she had probably never called herself ‘Ev’ to Belinda before. In fact, she didn’t normally refer to herself as Ev to anyone. Perhaps she had had a bit too much to drink. She ploughed on regardless.

  ‘Look, I’m so sorry to call you so late, but I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’ve been feeling terrible – there’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘Oka-a-a-y.’ Belinda dragged her voice out on the other end of the phone. She sounded like she was trying to talk to a mental patient or something.

  ‘I’ve taken up skydiving, you see. And today, I had a bit of an accident. Almost killed myself in fact. But before I landed, I realised something. I’ve not been fair to you. All this time I’ve been blaming you for . . . well, for everything really. But I’ve finally realised I have to let it all go. I simply don’t need to be mad anymore!’ Evelyn paused, and when she was greeted with silence from the other end of the phone, she continued in a rush, ‘So that’s what I’m doing. I’m letting it all go. Starting with making things up to you. Anyway, it would really speed up the process if you would forgive me. I’m not particularly enjoying this guilty feeling – it’s really very unpleasant.’

  ‘Right. Yeah, you’re making a hell of a lot of sense. What are you on about? Skydiving? And you nearly died? Mrs McGavin, are you drunk?’ The voice on the other end of the phone was sounding quite disapproving.

  ‘Just a little, but that’s beside the point. So tell me, can you forgive me? I’ll make sure to get you a copy of the new GameTech tribute to Andy soccer-game thingy.’

  ‘Okay, I’m not even going to ask about that one, but I’m guessing you’re calling from the awards night. Had a few too many champagnes, have you? Look, Mrs McGavin, I’m really tired, I’ve had a long day, and you’ve sort of come right out of left field here. But if it’s what you need to hear then, sure, I’ll forgive you – although I’m not going to be surprised if tomorrow you sober up and have a change of heart. Is that all? Cause it’s getting late and I’m thinking I might start getting ready for bed.’ Was there just a hint of amusement in her voice now?

  ‘Sure, of course. You go to bed.’ Evelyn was just about to hang up when she realised she had forgotten to ask the most important question, the thing that had been on her mind all afternoon.

  ‘No wait! There’s one more thing. Belinda . . . you’re not pregnant, are you?’

  ‘What? Why do you ask? Did someone say something to you?’ The voice came back very sharply.

  Ah, of course she’s not, I’ve just gone and offended the poor girl. She’s thinking someone thinks she looks pregnant when she’s not. How terribly awkward! ‘No, no, it wasn’t something anyone said. It was just something I saw . . . the day . . .’ She took a deep breath before continuing, ‘the day Andrew died. I guess it was a mistake.’

  ‘What? What did you see?’

  ‘When I went into that store and saw him there, he was holding a pregnancy test. He must have thought that you were pregnant, for some reason. I guess he had it wrong then.’

  There was a long pause and eventually Belinda spoke in a small voice.

  ‘Not entirely, no.’

  Chapter 16

  Bazza

  On the first day after some guy in his apartment block was killed, Bazza kept hearing different stories. Every time he got in the lift to go out, or checked the mail or took out the garbage, someone else had an opinion on what had happened.

  ‘I heard it was one of those noisy boys from apartment 8A. You know, the ones that are always playing that “techno” music? Apparently he was in a “gang”. Well, if you get involved in these things – it’s just inevitable, isn’t it?’

  ‘Did you hear about Mrs Pritchard’s son in 17B? Turns out he was a drug dealer and he got killed in some undercover drug bust operation in the city. Always knew he was a fishy character.’

  ‘Can you believe the news? One of the young men up on level three, killed in a service station hold-up. Poor boy, I think I know which one it was, a real polite young man. He was the one with the three-year-old daughter. How awful. Little girl’s lost her father.’

  ‘Yep, Mrs Pritchard, it is sad news – but I am glad to find out it wasn’t your son who died after all.’

  ‘What’s that, dear?’

  ‘Nothing, never mind. I’ll see you later, Mrs P.’ Bazza headed out of the heavy front door and up the steps to the footpath. He couldn’t believe how many different theories there were. He wondered who it actually was who had been killed and whether it was anyone he knew. He’d got to know a lot of the tenants in the building – especially those who were at the Christmas party by the pool last year. That had been a little weird at first: a bunch of complete strangers getting together simply because they all shared the same apartment block. But it was Christmas – so why not, right? Once the barbecue had been fired, the music turned up loud and the beers started getting passed around, everyone had relaxed and got to know each other.

  He jingled his change in his pockets as he walked and wished he’d brought his iPod with him. It was only a five-minute trip up to the video store, but he felt like blocking out his thoughts. He didn’t want to think anymore about the guy who’d been killed yesterday, whoever it was.

  He reached the video store and made his way straight to the back of the shop, where they kept the old black-and-white classics. Tonight was the perfect night to watch one of these. All his mates were away for the weekend – he’d decided not to go because of all the study he needed to do for his TAFE course – but it wouldn’t hurt to take tonight off and relax with a movie, right? His mates had absolutely crucified him when they found out he had a secret passion for movies with actors like James Dean, Humphrey Bogart or Rita Hayworth. But Bazza stood by his love for old movies; as far as he was concerned, they just didn’t make them like they used to.

  He picked out a classic Hitchcock thriller – Strangers on a Train – looking forward to his quiet night in. Sometimes it was such a relief to have the guys out of his hair (or lack thereof) for a weekend. Going out to pubs and clubs every Friday and Saturday night was great, obviously, but it could also get bloody exhausting at times. Ahh, I must
be getting old, he chided himself.

  In the lift on the way up to his floor, he heard yet another theory about the guy who’d been killed. This time it was from his good friends, Mr and Mrs Crease from down the hall. They were a really decent old couple who he’d got to know quite well over the past year. Mrs Crease was often bringing him freshly baked scones, and Mr Crease liked to offer him advice on his TAFE course. In exchange, Bazza came by and did little bits and pieces that Mr Crease was a bit too frail to do. Sometimes it was changing a light globe, other times it was moving their entire living room furniture around – Mrs Crease frequently liked to rearrange it. ‘Variety is the spice of life, my dear boy,’ she always said.

  Now, as they walked away from the lift, Mrs Crease spoke in a sad, heavy voice. ‘I’m quite sure it was that tall boy from upstairs. I believe he got engaged a little while ago. How sad for his poor fiancée.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a hanky. ‘It’s not that I knew him well. I didn’t at all – not like you, Barry . . . But it’s still just awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep, sure is,’ he responded, taking bags of shopping out of both Mr and Mrs Crease’s hands and following them down the hall to their apartment. He held their door open with his elbow to let them both in, then stepped in after them and took their shopping to the kitchen.

  ‘I just don’t know what I’d do with myself if it was you, Barry – you’re such a good friend to us.’ Mrs Crease shook her head sadly.

  ‘And yet you keep on calling me Barry, you persistent woman. I’ve told you, all my good friends call me—’

  Mrs Crease cut him off. ‘Yes, yes, I know, but you can’t expect me not to use the Christian name your mother and father gave you, and that’s that. Here, have a sugared lemon and be off with you,’ she said, inexplicably brightening up as she practically pushed him back out the door.

  Back in his own apartment, he cooked up a quick, easy pasta for dinner, chucking cherry tomatoes, onion and a spoonful of pesto into the pan, along with a generous drizzle of olive oil. Then he sat down with the movie and his dinner, kicked off his shoes and immersed himself in his Friday night.