Already Dead (18 page)

Jax wished she had some advice to offer Kate about Scotty, but she'd failed her own child there. She'd never found any reasons to give Zoe for why her father was gone, had only come to the conclusion that if she could follow the trail, she might eventually get there.

Kate's story, on the other hand, was appalling and revealing, but it was history – not an answer, nothing in it to mark up as either Real or Not Real. Jax leaned forward, her forearms on the table. ‘Did you know Brendan had stopped taking the drugs?'

Kate nodded. ‘He did that six months ago. He thought they'd done enough and wanted to see how he coped without them. At the time, his doctor thought it was a good idea. He might not say that now.'

‘How was Brendan afterwards?'

‘Good. Better than either of us expected. The best he'd been since he got back from Afghanistan that second time. He said his head felt clearer but I think some of that was just the fact he hadn't fallen apart.'

‘Did something happen to set the PTSD off again?'

‘I didn't think so but it's such an insidious bloody thing and he got good at hiding it. He had some flashbacks a while ago after a reunion with some of the Afghanistan crew. He'd kept his distance after leaving the army, I thought it was because he was ashamed or embarrassed, but maybe he was worried about what he'd remember. Anyway, the job in Sydney came out of it and he talked to me about the flashbacks. I thought it was a good sign that he could.' Her hands tightened on her mug. ‘Maybe he thought the talking would shut me up.' She closed her eyes, dragged in a breath.

Jax wondered if she was blaming herself for not doing enough or for pushing him too hard. And how much had Brendan been hiding when he started the job?

‘Why did he move to Sydney without you?' Jax asked.

‘He got the job and travelling up and down for every shift was going to be difficult.'

‘But you stayed here?'

Her nod was laced with regret. ‘He wasn't sure how long it'd last and he didn't want to move us again.'

‘Was he on a contract?'

‘No, he was trying to be realistic. He hadn't worked since he left the army and he wasn't sure how he'd handle it.'

‘How did you feel about it?'

‘I thought it was good for him to be working but I didn't want him to go into security, or to Sydney. I was worried it might make the work we'd put in as a family go backwards.'

Backwards was an understatement. Jax pushed a thumbnail into a scrape on the table, remembering something she'd only summarised for Kate earlier. ‘He told me he left because he loved you.' Kate dropped her head, nodded
slowly. ‘He said there was something wrong with him and he had to keep it away from you and Scotty.'

She lifted her face. ‘He said that?'

‘Yes.'

A frown tightened. ‘We argued about him going. He felt guilty that I'd had to be the breadwinner and for making us move so many times. He said I didn't deserve to be packed up again when he might fuck it up. His words, not mine. He never said anything about having to keep away from us.' She paused, pressed fingers to her lips. ‘Oh, God, is that what he thought?'

Kate asked it as though Jax had been his confessor, not his hostage. And Jax had paraphrased without a clue to what he was thinking.

‘I don't know,' she answered quickly. ‘He was rambling when he said that. I thought he wanted to kill himself but I don't know. He said he loved you, though, and he wanted you to know.' More paraphrasing, but it seemed like the right message this time.

Kate's face crumpled as a sob escaped her lips. She cried silently for a moment, then swiped the tears from her cheeks, clasped her hands tightly on the table. ‘Sorry.'

‘There's nothing to be sorry for.'

‘You're wrong. I'm sorry for a lot of things. I'm sorry I couldn't make him better, that I let him go to Sydney and didn't see it coming. I'm sorry you were caught up in it.'

Jax reached across the table, held tight to Kate's bundle of fingers. ‘Oh, that's way too many things to be sorry for. How about you try to trim them down?'

‘You think that'd make it better?'

‘I think it's like multi-tasking. There are only so many things you can feel guilty about at one time and still do it well.'

Kate wiped an eye. ‘I'd hate not to do it well.'

‘I'm with you there. I mean, what's the point of feeling guilty if you're only going to be half-hearted about it?'

Kate's eyes met Jax's, guilt and gratitude and a tiny speck of amusement in them. ‘He never threatened me, you know. I've seen him worked up, agitated and confused. He even threw things a couple of times, but not
at
me. I was never frightened of him. I wouldn't have stayed if I was.'

‘But he could be irrational?'

‘It took a while for him to come down from the nightmares some days, and he'd get confused about what was memory or dream. For a long time, he thought he was teaching me something on the computer, but he didn't. I wondered if it was something he'd planned to do but never got around to, or whether it was a recurring dream. I never figured that one out.'

‘Did you figure any of it out?'

‘Some of it.'

‘Like what?'

‘He was suspicious of people. He'd question me about the parents of Scotty's friends, write down car rego numbers, remember snippets of conversation and take them out of context. It was embarrassing at times. He didn't always keep it between us. Then, in counselling, he talked about a green-on-blue incident at one of the patrol bases he was stationed at. An Afghan soldier shot two Australians. Our guys were training him, he was living on the base, and it turned out he was a Taliban infiltrator. It happened at a lot of bases but I guess when it's suddenly in your face like
that, you'd be suspicious of everyone.' She twisted at the wedding band on her finger. ‘It took him a long time to work out how to turn that off.'

Jax remembered the checking back and forth, looking for the helicopter.
If we stop, we're easier to pick off.
‘Did he turn it off?'

‘Not entirely, but it improved.'

Had the recent flashbacks brought back some of his symptoms? Or had something caused another flashback after he spoke to Kate on Saturday afternoon? One that made him more than edgy? ‘Did he ever think people were following him?'

‘No.'

‘Did he ever accuse you of lying?'

‘No.'

‘Did he have a problem with mobile phones?'

Kate looked at her for a long moment, a crease slowly forming between her brows – and Jax realised what she'd been doing. Not listening patiently and talking kindly, but leaning forward and throwing questions like she was reeling them off a checklist. She straightened, eased back, reproof hot on her skin.

Kate shifted slightly, putting a little more space between them. ‘Why are you asking these questions?'

‘I'm …' What? Mining Kate's pain to satisfy her own curiosity. ‘I'm looking for answers too. I want to understand why this happened to me.'

Kate folded her arms across her chest. ‘Are you … planning to sue? Because if you're looking for someone to blame, you'll have to talk to Veterans' Affairs.'

‘What? No.'

‘Look, I understand it must have been bad for you, but I don't have any money.'

‘Kate, no, that's not what I meant. It's just that Brendan … well, I'm not exactly sure anymore. It's … I feel infected by his paranoia. It's not even that. There was something he wanted me to understand and I want to figure it out.'

Wariness filtered into Kate's gaze, maybe deciding Jax had a different motive for coming here. That maybe she'd shared too much. A sound from the house made her glance away. Jax turned too, saw a man in the doorway.

‘Hugh,' Kate said. Not an explanation, more a statement of relief.

As Kate stood, Jax sensed the closing up of whatever had opened between them. She covered Kate's hand before it left the table. ‘It's for myself, Kate. I want to understand why I almost died. Why my daughter almost lost both her parents.'

Kate glanced briefly at her, eyes guarded, a little hurt. Then she walked quickly away, across the yard to the house, and embraced the man in the doorway. She seemed to cling to him, a cheek pressed to his chest. Not a lovers' clinch but the kind of desperate holding on Jax remembered sharing with Russell in those early days. Christ, had she given Kate need for rescue? So much for healing wounds.

‘Uncle Hugh!' Scotty cried as he ran to join them, the man ruffling the boy's hair when he got there.

Beside Jax, Zoe wriggled onto the bench seat. ‘Is that Scotty's real uncle or fake uncle like Uncle Russell?'

‘I don't know, honey, but I think it's time we were leaving.'

She held Zoe's hand as they walked towards the house,
uncomfortable about interrupting the moment. Nauseated at the thought of herself.

Kate wiped more tears from her face as Jax approached. ‘Miranda, this is Hugh Talbotson, a friend of Brendan's. He got him the job in security. He's come all the way from Sydney for us.' It was a message: he was looking after them, they had all they needed. ‘Hugh, this is Miranda Jack.'

Jax's name was delivered as though inflection was explanation enough. Miranda Jack – italics followed by drumroll. Hugh obviously got it. His eyes settled on her for a good, solid look. Size, clothes, hair, face, the daughter at her side – a silent,
So that's the woman from the motorway
. Or was it more than that? What had Kate whispered in his ear while she hugged him? Jax felt heat crawling up the flesh on her throat as she waited for him to finish his perusal, taking in his jeans and T-shirt, the barrel chest and huge biceps. He held out his hand. Jax shook it, forced a smile.

‘The funeral director will be here in about five minutes,' he told her. ‘Kate needs to talk to him.' Time for you to leave, in other words.

‘Sure.'

‘I'll walk you out,' he said.

And make sure I do it now
, Jax thought, although she wasn't entirely unhappy he was there and directing traffic. Kate's family was missing in action, she needed a sergeant-at-arms – and she seemed more appreciative of Hugh than of her crusty neighbour.

Jax looked at Kate one more time, wanting to say something worthwhile before she walked out of her life. ‘Be kind to yourself,' she offered, borrowing Tilda's philosophy. ‘None of this is your fault. I live just up the hill, if
you ever decide you want to talk again.' She reached out, clutched Kate's arm briefly, hoping to convey some of the warmth she felt for her. Kate gave a single nod. Acknowledgement, nothing more.

With Zoe in hand, Jax followed Hugh back up the hallway, eyeing his broad shoulders, his muscled legs. He was built like Arnold Schwarzenegger, deflated by about a third. His short-cropped hair showed flecks of small scars on his scalp, as though his head had taken the brunt of a hard life. The slightly reddened line of a scratch behind one ear suggested he was still living it. Jax hoped it wasn't all brawn, that he had the kind of strength Kate and Scotty needed behind them for a while.

As he pulled open the door, Jax reminded herself she'd done what she came for and had learned more from Kate than she hoped – she should leave it at that.

But as she squinted into the sunlight outside, she couldn't make herself keep walking. Not without one last shot.

‘I'm sorry for your loss,' Jax said. Hugh Talbotson nodded. ‘Were you and Brendan in the army together?' The guy walked like he was ready to salute.

‘Yes.'

‘Afghanistan?'

He hesitated, watched her for a beat or two. ‘We did two tours together.'

‘How many did you do?'

‘Four with the ADF, eighteen months in private security.'

She tried to look impressed, wondering if he was a glutton for punishment or a soldier of fortune. Why some went back when others couldn't bring themselves to think about it. And how many of the scars on his scalp he'd got over there. ‘Brendan must have had a hard time in Afghanistan.'

‘Hard place.'

His answer was curt but it didn't seem to be evasion. More like a tough guy's shorthand and, after an hour and a half with Kate's grief, Jax needed to find another gear if she was going to engage him.

‘Did you see the chopper crash?' It was a long shot. She didn't know if Brendan had witnessed one but it was the only thing from his rambling she could think to use before she was shunted out the door.

‘I saw two go down.'

‘Was Brendan with you one of those times?'

His eyes flicked away briefly. ‘Yeah, I was there. Three Australians killed, one American, an Afghan interpreter.' Just the facts.

‘That would've been a hard day.'

He didn't answer and she wondered if talking about
how
hard was territory he didn't step into.

‘It seemed to be hard on Brendan,' she said.

Maybe she hit the right mark because something about the way Hugh held himself seemed to loosen, as though he'd exhaled some of the starch that kept his military bearing in place. ‘Kate told me he talked to you in the car. Is that what it was about? The chopper crash?'

‘That and other things.'

He nodded. ‘I think Kate's heard enough. You've explained yourself, now you need to leave her alone.'

It must have been what Kate told him when he arrived, but his spin on it made Jax defensive. ‘She called me this morning. She wanted to talk.'

‘She's barely slept since it happened. I doubt she knows what she wants.'

Now Jax wanted to defend Kate. But she didn't. She thought of Russell instead, remembering he'd also suggested to well-meaning colleagues – the kind who didn't know how to let a good story drop – that rehashing the events wasn't in Jax's best interests. ‘I'm trying to make sense of it too,' she told Hugh.

‘Brendan had PTSD,' he said, as though that covered everything.

‘Did you spend much time with him?'

‘We kept in touch.'

It could be bloke-talk for sending the odd email, but Kate had gone to him like a friend and Scotty called him uncle. And Hugh had helped Brendan into his job. ‘I want to understand what happened to him. Would you talk to me? Tell me about him?'

For five or six long seconds, they eyed each other off across the hallway. Hugh's irises were hazel, a dull mix of green and brown, but what they lacked in vibrancy they made up for in his direct, fixed gaze. Jax wondered what he was weighing up: was he deciding whether he wanted to know about his friend's last hours, or was Brendan's break with reality a sign of weakness Hugh didn't want to explore? Or maybe Hugh was just waiting to see who'd blink first. She was determined not to, trying to send the message that she was strong and resolute, that she wouldn't turn into a blubbering mess – the kind of thing she figured a guy like Hugh would want to avoid.

‘Mummy?' With one word, Zoe popped the thought bubble in the hallway.

‘We'll go in a second, baby,' Jax said, as much to her daughter as to Hugh.

He glanced down at Zoe, caught her bored sigh, and the hint of a sad smile softened his mouth, making Jax think she had a chance.

‘I don't mean now,' she told him. ‘Or here. I could meet you somewhere. Without Kate. Buy you a coffee. Or a beer. Maybe we can both understand what went wrong for Brendan.'

 

It was at least ten degrees hotter outside when they left Kate's house and, not wanting to look like she was lingering, Jax called a cab as she and Zoe walked the block and a half to the main road. Hugh had agreed to think about meeting her later in the afternoon. She'd written a time and the name of a cafe – the only one she knew in Newcastle – on the back of a business card and told him she'd be waiting there if he didn't call.

It was Zoe's first time in a taxi and she asked questions without pause: how long would it take, how many cabs had Jax been in, where do cabs go at night, how much does it cost to buy one. ‘Can you get purple ones?' They were dropped off at the top of the driveway and Zoe ran ahead, ready to draw a picture of the taxi for Aunty Tilda.

‘Can I go upstairs and get my colouring things?' Zoe asked, skipping in and waiting at the turn in the stairs for permission.

Jax had told her she wasn't to go upstairs whenever she felt like it, that downstairs and upstairs were two separate houses, even though they didn't have front doors. She was reluctant to let her six-year-old wander around without Tilda, but Zoe had been patient and ‘nice' all morning. ‘Where are they?' Jax asked.

‘On the kitchen bench.'

‘Okay. But come straight back down, all right?'

‘All right,' she sang, starting on another complicated hop-skip up the steps. If she did it again on the way down, it could take her half an hour.

The heat and the cab and an hour and a half with Kate Walsh's grief had dulled the memory of last night's chase, and Jax was halfway down the stairs, juggling a handbag,
two hats and a wad of mail, before the hairs on the back of her neck came to life.

She froze, not sure why. All she could see was the white tube of the stairwell and one of Tilda's pastels on canvas on the wall at the bottom, lit from the right by light spilling in from the sitting room. So she listened. The ocean. A dull clomp from Zoe upstairs. A shush of sound from …

Thump. Something hard against soft. Footfall on carpet or body into wall. It shuddered through her bones; adrenaline fired like an electrical current. Then her hands were empty and her back was pressed to the plaster, head twisting right and left. The noise had come from deep in the house. Up or down?

Then shoes were moving fast across tiles. Downstairs. A chair clattering. And Jax was bounding – two steps and a leap to the bottom, her shoulder slamming the wall, swinging into the living room as the sliding door rocked in its track and a figure moved fast through the courtyard.

‘
Hey!
' The word tore from her mouth of its own accord. The same force carried her outside and into the heat and glare and the empty square of yard before fear and logic pulled up her fight instinct. She whirled around, the dull clomp from upstairs replaying in her mind. ‘Oh, fuck. Zoe.'

She yelled as she hit the stairs. ‘
Zoe!
' Tried to listen for sounds of her daughter as she thundered upwards, hearing only her own feet and high-pitched panic ringing in her ears. She didn't register the turn in the stairs or reaching the top, just the frenzied swinging of her head as she stood in the centre of the room trying to find her. Colouring pencils spilled from a case on the counter, a pair of sandals were discarded on the floor. Jax was vaguely aware of a
need for caution, of trying to sound calm for Zoe's sake. But it was too late to hold her fear in check. ‘
Zoe!
'

‘I'm here, Mummy.'

Zoe was on the floor. Beside the TV. Pointing the remote at it.

‘What the hell are you doing? I told you to come straight back downstairs.' The words tumbled out fast and cross as she lurched across the room, fell to her knees and locked her arms around her daughter's small body.

‘Sorry, Mummy.' Zoe's voice was muffled against Jax's chest.

‘No, baby. You're a good girl. The best girl.' Her voice was firm with conviction, choked with tenderness.

‘My movie won't come out of the player.'

Still holding her daughter tight, Jax lifted her eyes, saw why Zoe couldn't get the disc out. She was pointing the remote at the equipment on the stand under the flat-screen TV – an old CD stacker and video recorder. The DVD player was gone.

Jax glanced around the room. It was barely disturbed, just a few books scattered on the floor by the old walnut desk, a painting knocked askew. And Tilda's laptop was missing. She wanted to run downstairs, see what was left, but thirty seconds ago she'd thought someone was still in the house with Zoe. No reason to dismiss that assumption.

Jax slipped her arms from around Zoe's back, pulled her close to her side.

‘Mummy?'

Pressing a finger to her lips, Jax made the
shhhh
shape without the noise. Zoe got it, and more. Her eyes widened, mouth closed, and she burrowed into her mother's side – and Jax felt something grow large and hard inside her,
something she hadn't felt on the motorway with Brendan. Anger, a protective instinct, a mother's ferocity.

She stood, lifted Zoe off the ground and to her hip. It had been a few years since she'd carried her daughter that way. Zoe had grown, filled out; Jax thought her strained muscles might not manage it. But her daughter was no weight at all. Jax could have carried her across the country.

Eyeing the hallway to Tilda's bedrooms, Jax saw three doors open, one closed – and she wasn't heading down there to check out the damage. Moving quickly, quietly to the steps, she held tight to Zoe as she started down, checked the lower stairwell, crept across the foyer, opened the door just enough to ease them both through, and ran to the top of the driveway.