Forgotten (8 page)

Mel glances at her visibly erect nipples, then stares back
at me. “Fuck the bloody bra, Claudia. Are you all right, just tell
me you’re all right.”

I nod but it is fragile.

Mel grips my elbow and carefully helps me
up.

“
What’re you doing?” Weatherly barks.

Mel throws him a long, examining look. “Taking her home
with me… now.”

A brief and heated exchange follows, until
the detective growls and unexpectedly gives in. The next thing I
remember is Mel guiding me into a waiting taxi.

She holds me in the back seat, tightly,
gently. I can smell the sweet scent of citrus on her and find it
soothing.

“
I think I knew this woman,” I say, as I glance at the cab
driver. He appears lost in the mundane lyrics from the radio.
Nevertheless, I lean closer to Mel’s ear; speak in what I hope is a
decipherable whisper. “I think I know from where. But I can’t tell
the police
; they’d think me
crazy.”

And the thought that I possibly am, doesn’t
quite escape me.

Mel pulls me closer still. “We’ll sort it
out,” she says. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out.”

I lifted my
head from the steering wheel and thought of the days that followed.
Police visits, invading journalists, nosy neighbors and of course,
my family, who were totally beside themselves with worry, my father
in particular, pleading for me to return to their home.

As did Mel.

But I
couldn’t. I wanted seclusion. I wanted the comfort of my own
surroundings. And that’s what I did, successfully squirrelling away
in my home, amongst what was safe and familiar.

I straightened up further and glanced at the
dashboard clock. It only confirmed what I already knew, that time
was moving faster than I liked. I re-focused on my meeting with
this man… this….

I swore and frantically rummaged through my
green beaded bag until I found his name scrawled on a crumpled
piece of paper.

This…
Saul Reardon.

I repeated
it over and
over. As I did, I sensed a
quiet strength about him. And then I laughed. I had to be going
crazy. Right? I knew so little about him. Other than what Matty
Galloway, Simon’s younger cousin, had told me three days
earlier.

We had met
on the beach, across from my complex. He had heard what had
happened and wanted to help. I was unsure how he could,
until
he passed me the paper with Saul
Reardon’s name and number
.

“
I don’t understand,” I say, staring at
the paper and then at him.

Matty looks like an ad for the grunge look in low-hanging
shorts and a black T-shirt that bears the words
- ‘Stop following me. I am not a shoplifter.’
Several piercings decorate his long, narrow face.

“
I know Simon would’ve wanted me to help,” he says. For a
brief moment, there is a pained sadness in his sleepy, hazel eyes
and my own hurting heart reaches out to him. I know how much he had
respected Simon, loved him, even though they were so dissimilar in
just about every way possible. I squeeze Matty’s hand and
smile.

He smiles
back.
“Anyway,” he continues, “the only thing I thought of was this.” He
nods towards the paper. “I don’t know how much trouble you’re in,
Claudia, maybe none, maybe shitloads. But what I do know is if you
need someone, see this man.”

I say nothing.

Matty hooks a thumb in his pocket, scrapes
back his long, dark hair. To me it looks as if it needs a good
wash. “Few years back,” he says, “I got myself in a heap of
shit.”

Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. “Did Simon
know?”

He shakes his head. “Simon had already done enough for me…
didn’t want to disappoint him… you know?” His voice is a little
rickety. “Well, this man helped me instead. He’s totally cool at
what he does.”

“
Which is what exactly?”

“
He just, well… helps people in trouble.”

“
Like a private investigator?”

“
Nah, just the opposite, not something he wants advertised
if you know what I mean.”

I have absolutely no idea what he means, and
I am convinced this shows on my face.

“
I was pretty screwed up, Claudia. Saul Reardon, he
was
like amazing. Don’t know
how he does it but he does. He has the skills, knows the right
people. More importantly, he just cares. He saved me literally. And
he can save you too.” He stops and his eyes waken wide. “I mean,
that’s of course if you need saving.”

“
We all need saving at some
point.”

I reflect upon how close to the truth my
thoughts are. After all, hadn’t I intentionally concealed
information from the police, the fact that the murdered woman knew
me, the curious yet familiar name she used, the birthday card; its
mysterious predecessors? Hadn’t I stated to Weatherly that I had no
knowledge as to her identity, even though I knew this to be
false?

Hadn’t I even considered the idea that the wrong person was
shot?

“
He is someone you can trust,” Matty says.

And I believe him.

The perpetual bustle of passing cars jolted
me back to reality. Recalling Matty had done little to change my
mounting insecurity.

I pictured
the forthcoming meeting with Saul Reardon. I played out the likely
conversation. I could even visualize the expressions on his face,
shifting from mild bewilderment to complete disbelief, perhaps even
amusement when I finally revealed the truth.

I cringed at the thought, anxiety swelling
larger than the late afternoon traffic. Visions of my home began to
spread through my chaotic mind, visions of soft, feather doonas and
thick, downy pillows where heads can sink forever.

It didn’t
tell me what I should do. It simply gave me the time to do it
myself. In a flash, I leaned forward and turned the ignition
key.

I was being
truthful when I said people needed saving at some point in their
life. I was being truthful when I said that this man could possibly
help.

Nevertheless, I had changed my mind.

I set the course for home.

***

“Claudia, wake up.” The voice was deep and
masculine.

“Leave me alone,” I grunted and pulled the
snuggly doona over my head.

“Like hell, I will.”

I heard a swish, felt the cool
air-conditioned air swiftly nip my skin.

“
You
are
getting up!” boomed the same insistent voice.

I growled
and bolted upright. Several dialects of swear words crossed my
hot-tempered head. I recognized my brother, Nathaniel, or as I
called him, Nate. I immediately bit back any blasphemous
counter-attack.

“Jeez, Clauds, you look terrible.” His frown
was heavy.

“Thanks,” I replied sarcastically. I tried
straightening my hair. Ugh! It felt all knotted and coarse. I
grumpily peeked up at Nate. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

I threw out my palms and mouthed,
“What?”

He stared at me as if I had just sprouted a
pair of large horns. I patted my head to check.

“
Would
a
Buon
Natale
, [Merry Christmas]
suffice?”

It sufficed plenty. “Shit!” I scrambled
along the bed. Something wobbled in my head from the sudden rush as
I soundlessly begged forgiveness from my Mama, Papa and all the
heavens above for my shameful exclamations on such a reverent day.
I instinctually grabbed onto my brother and waited for the spinning
to pass. I then stumbled to my wardrobe.

“
And put on
some makeup,” Nate suggested. “Mama and Papa are going to go
ballistic if they see you looking so pale!”

While I was
getting ready, I spotted Nate casting a long, slow look around him.
I bit my lip. Several items of clothing littered the floor or hung
from two semi-opened drawers of the tall, wooden chest. Shoes were
scattered in all directions. Partially opened books scored the two
bedside cabinets along with three half-emptied coffee cups and an
open packet of musk sticks.

Nate closed his eyes and groaned.

The kitchen
and the bathroom bore a similar, dismal outlook. I recalled
countless times when I tried to clean, but the brief motivation
collapsed along with my own miserable depression. I flushed hot
with shame.

Pushing it
all aside, I instead focused on my appearance. Before long, I posed
before Nate, dressed in a white strappy dress, the hemline bordered
with a bright floral design. A long, richly hued necklace swayed
between my breasts; matching bangles jingled playfully along my
wrist. I had pinned my hair back in a lazy knot and curled some
wisps around my now made up face. I appealed to Nate for
approval.

“Better,” he said, holding a green object.
“Here’s your bag. Let’s go.”

I collected the bag, grabbed my keys and a
fresh packet of musk sticks and tossed them both into it.

***

The drive to
my parents’ home began wordlessly, my brother absorbed with the
challenging twists in the road. Physically, we could have been
twins; both tall and leanly built, both possessing thick,
russet-
colored hair and very distinctive,
wide-set eyes. As Mel so bluntly put it once,
“Your eyes are like bloody newborn calves,
Claudia, a pair of pure, chocolate innocence and unbearable
cuteness. Even, fricking Hitler would’ve laid down his army for
them.”

Mel was always prone to over exaggeration,
but the thought made me smile all the same. I turned my thoughts
back to Nate.

He was
younger than
I was by almost seven years
but often assumed the role of big brother. This wasn’t simply a
by-product of my occasional, emotional requirements. He just
retained a maturity, a common ‘senseness,’ well beyond his years,
often attracting girls older than him, like his ex, Suzy Baker and
his current girlfriend Ellen. And once again, he had come to my
rescue. I reached out, touched his knee and thanked him.

“
Not
needed,” he said. “But Mama and Papa think we had this prearranged,
me picking you up.”

“Got it.”

“And if I were you, I’d clean your place up
before the olds see it.”

“
That
bad?”
As if, I didn’t already
know.

“Ooo… yeah,” Nate gave me a cheeky looking
wink.

Silence again.

“
You okay,
Clauds?”

I shifted my
gaze out the window and scrutinized inner suburbia zipping
past.
Children with beaming faces dotted
the yards, amusing themselves with their new possessions.
Christmas, I mused, was happy children.
I
sighed wearily. When would I
ever
be okay?

“
Not
really,” I said. I had never lied to him but I
had no desire to talk about recent events either. “You know, I
searched for my name on the internet the other week.”

That caused an intrigued looking smile.
“Why?”

“To discover its meaning.”

“And?”

“
And it
means
crippled
.” I let that hang for a
while. Nate appeared a little bewildered. “Do you reckon Mama and
Papa foresaw they had a train wreck in nappies when they chose that
name?” I knew I was being over dramatic and over emotional, but
I
could
with Nate.

“You’re not crippled, you’re just….”

“What?” I pressed him.

“Going through a bad time.”

I sighed, allowing my thoughts to wander.
Not long after, we arrived at our parents’ home.

“Ready for this?”

My stomach
flipped as I stared at my parents’ two story brick home. “Are they
all here, like even Uncle Franco and...?”

“Uh huh.”

I had no
basis to be astounded by this. After all, it was Christmas and this
was what the Cabriati family did, some members traveling great
distances just to be present. Maybe it was the unsettling
recognition of what was yet to come. “And I guess they’ve all been
worrying too.”

“
Um, more
like agonizing!”

I winced.
“Great. Can you take me back home
now?”

“As if the family would ever let that
happen.” He hopped out of the car. “Just suck it up, chicken!”

I reluctantly pulled myself out. “I have no
presents.”

“No one expects any from you.” Nate paused.
“Look, I know what they’re like but cut them some slack. They’ve
been really worried.” He sidled up to me, throwing his long,
sleeveless arm around my neck. “Anyway,” he said cheerfully, “don’t
forget what Papa always says. Blood is thicker than water and…”

“…the Cabriati blood is thicker than that!
How could I possibly forget?”

We both laughed and entered where the
celebrations were already well under way.

December 25, 2010

12:05 pm

“
HOW IS
MY
favorite daughter?” a low, accented
voice muttered near my ear.

I was seated
on an old, timber seat situated at the rear of my parent’s sizeable
backyard. “Your
only
daughter is just fine.” I patted the vacant spot
beside me.