It was a warm and sunny afternoon, three months to the day since Peter had died, and Jess and the girls were at home. The children seemed settled, happy and playful, and she had every reason to be optimistic about the future.
Thanks to Peter their financial security was assured, although she’d have traded it all in an instant to have him back. His death had left a gaping hole in her world and she mourned him desperately; her biggest regret was that he’d died before he could see her beloved Leila, their emotional reunion the culmination of his remaining life’s work.
She stared out of the kitchen window, watching the girls playing in the garden, then looked at her watch. Michael was late. He’d phoned her to say that probate had been granted, and he’d give her an update on the transfer of assets. He needed some final signatures, after which his work was complete. It was unlike him not to be on time, but she had no other pressing engagements so it mattered little. Then, the doorbell rang.
“Hello, Michael,” she said as he stepped into the hallway and kissed her on both cheeks. “No Emma?”
“No. She has a lot on, what with the book club, golf, bridge and all that other stuff she fills her time with.” Jess could only imagine what it would be like having time to fill and had little concept or knowledge of the activities in which Emma seemed to be engaged.
“Do the girls still terrify her?” she asked smiling.
“Oh no, it’s not that,” he said, attempting to reassure her, but she gave him a wry smile to show she wasn’t convinced. “Well, not all that.”
“Would you like some tea?”
They had tea and cake in the kitchen while Michael shuffled some papers, briefed her on a range of issues that went over her head and got her to sign various documents she didn’t understand. But she sensed something different in his demeanour. Michael had always been calm and articulate, measured and unflappable. Over the years, that was the man she had come to know. She had total faith in him and trusted him completely, so to find him distracted and hesitant was unusual. She found it slightly unnerving that Michael, of all people, should have something on his mind. Something was bothering him.
“It’s all done, Jess,” he said, but he sounded tired and it disturbed her.
“I guess the next step is to think about selling the house and moving somewhere smaller,” she said tentatively, but instead of responding, he walked over to the kitchen window, removed his glasses and tucked them into the pocket of his tweed jacket.
“Shall we go for a walk?” he said after a moment, without turning, watching the girls running around on the grass.
“What is it, Michael?”
“Come on, I need some fresh air.”
They sat on the patio. The same place she and Peter often sat; the place where she’d finally plucked up the courage to ask him about Lisa and the place where the terrible truth about his own loss had been revealed.
Jess sat back on her chair, arms folded, watching the girls, subdued, a sense of foreboding growing in her mind. She had been through enough to recognise the signs. She was no longer the naïve, innocent, exploitable young woman whose unremitting trust in others had lured her into being systematically and persistently abused. She had learnt life the hard way, and if everything now appeared stable, secure and predictable, then it was most likely an illusion; a precursor to another difficult challenge. The challenges would always be there and she would deal with them, provided she knew what they were. Michael shifted in his seat and leant forward, but she refused to meet his eyes.
“Jess, there’s something I haven’t told you,” he said finally. “All that stuff about Peter and Leila was true, every word of it.” She continued to stare blankly into space, looking but not seeing, her mind wrestling with conflicting emotions, her face grim, her mouth set and closed. “But there’s something else. Something Peter didn’t know and something I only found out myself a week after he died.” She remained stiff and immobile but her breathing started to increase in intensity.
“I didn’t tell you before because it seemed to serve no purpose. I’ve agonised over what to do for a while now, but having gone through all Peter’s affairs and dealt with his estate, it’s become clear to me that, now, you really do need to know.”
She turned her head sharply to look at him, defiant, challenging him to speak, to continue, to say what he had to say, despite the large part of her dreading the outcome. He took a deep breath.
“Lisa … is alive.”
She didn’t react for a second but when she did, it was a simple snort, a short burst of air through her nostrils. She looked back to see her daughters running around, squealing as usual, the sounds of happiness mingling with the birdsong and the faint rustle of wind through the trees. And then the sounds of the past returned, the echoes rising in volume and intensity and her vision losing focus, blurring, reality dissolving all around her.
“I have to assume she’s dead. But I don’t know for certain. I just hope wherever she is, she’s at peace.”
“I’m sorry that—”
“How?” she snapped, a new reality forming, demanding she adapt. Instantly. She looked at him again but he seemed lost for words and avoided her eyes. “How do you know?” she demanded, her voice rising in intensity. He took a moment and she waited, patient, but unrelenting.
“I saw her.”
“Where?”
“She was at the funeral.”
“What funeral? Peter’s funeral?” Her eyes were wide, the shock profound and absolute. He nodded.
“She was standing at the other end of the graveyard, looking on.”
She felt a panic begin to take hold and twisted in her chair to try and keep control of her shaking body. She struggled to process the image.
“But … how do you know it was Lisa?” she demanded.
“I wasn’t sure at first, and then she turned and walked off.”
“So, it could have been anybody!”
“No,” he answered quickly. “She came to see me the next day. In my office.”
“What!?” Jess could barely contain her anger. Anger at the betrayal, the deceit. But also the anger of frustration, confusion and fear, and the shame of her own conflicting and irrational thoughts, and she wanted to lash out at something or someone and Michael was the only target. She put both hands over her eyes and rubbed them vigorously, and when she lowered them and turned to look at him, all she could see was sorrow and regret.
“She was with a Nepalese chap, Sujay. He was the one who took Peter to Langtang. He was the one who eventually found her.”
“And when was that?” she demanded, her voice clipped, chin up, eyes wet, the defiance contained but resolute.
“I got a call from Sujay the week after Peter died. He said they were coming back to see him but hadn’t been able to make contact and so had called me. I spoke to Lisa then and had to give her the bad news. She was too late. I told her not to come, at least not until after the funeral, but she insisted. Wanted to pay her respects.”
“Pay her respects?” asked Jess, incredulous, the words laced with bitterness and irony. He nodded. She released the tirade. “What does she know about respect? She had everything going for her, a wonderful father who would have done anything for her. She takes herself off on a self-indulgent, rich girl’s jaunt – to what, ‘find herself’? – because she’s a bit upset, and he doesn’t know where she is or whether she’s safe. She jets off to the other side of the world, totally ignores him, and all the while he’s left here, alone in this decrepit pile with his grief, thinking it’s all his fault. She doesn’t once think of letting him know she’s all right, even when he travels all the way to Nepal to try and find her? She lets him think he’s responsible for getting his own daughter killed and leaves the guilt to fester and eat away at him? For five years? What kind of respect is that? What happened, did she run out of money?” She knew she sounded truculent and irrational, but she couldn’t help it.
“It’s not as simple as that, Jess.”
“Oh, really?”
“No.” They sat quietly for a moment. Jess crossed her arms tightly across her chest and sat back in her chair. Her rage subsided, replaced by a steely determination. She had been here before, in one way or another. “I’d quite like to explain,” he said gently.
“What’s there to explain?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Nothing has changed, Jess.” She looked straight at him.
“Do you mind leaving us alone now, for a while.” She said it calmly, back in control. He tried again.
“It changes nothing.”
She nodded, but she knew and she didn’t need to be told by anyone.
“It changes everything, Michael.”