Chapter 7
The undertaker was a rotund man with rosy cheeks and a neat white beard, a solemn Santa Claus who greeted them warmly and offered condolences in a soothing baritone.
Cath led him to the dining room where she’d prepared a pot of tea and a plate of Scotch Finger biscuits, and then sat back with a glazed expression as Lauren made rapid-fire decisions about everything from the timing of the funeral (Thursday at eleven) to the catering (a selection of finger sandwiches and assorted canapés).
Nel stared out the window at the mist on the hilltops.
She’d felt a little off balance since she’d seen Ryan.
Or thought she’d seen Ryan. She pictured the cyclist again now, leaning on one foot, his gaze fixed on her.
Had she imagined the likeness? He had been staring, hadn’t he?
Yes. It was almost as though he wanted her to see him and—
‘Geoff Marshall,’ Cath said.
Nel looked at her mother, frowning. Why was she talking about Geoff Marshall?
‘Lovely,’ the undertaker said, making a note. ‘Eulogy, Geoff Marshall.’
Nel felt dread creep up her spine. She cleared her throat. ‘Won’t he be too busy campaigning to—’
‘They still played golf every second Friday, Nel,’ Lauren said. ‘I’m sure he’ll manage to find the time to speak at Dad’s funeral.’
Nel took a deep breath. Lauren looked at her Apple watch as the undertaker pulled some loose pages out of his folder.
‘I’ll leave you with some suggested readings,’ he said. ‘Have a look through them and let me know which ones you like in the next day or two. You’ll also need to provide any photos you’d like included in the service booklet.’
Lauren took the pages and folded them in half. ‘I’ll read through them this afternoon. Nel, you can do the photos.’
Yes, ma’am, Nel thought, but she mumbled agreement instead.
Lauren checked the time again. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got a bootcamp at midday.’
‘You’re running your bootcamp today?’ Nel said.
‘It’s a business, Nel, not some little hobby.’
‘Sorry, of course. I didn’t mean …’ She didn’t intend it as criticism. She was just surprised. ‘Never mind,’ she said, feeling tears threaten. She pinched the back of her hand under the table.
When the meeting was over, Cath dug a pile of yellowing photo albums out of a cupboard before going for a nap.
Nel sat cross-legged in front of the fire and flipped one open.
It was filled with photos from the era when she was a pot-bellied toddler and Lauren was a pigtailed preschooler with a cheesy smile.
Pictures of camping trips, icecream-stained faces, Book Week costumes and birthday cakes.
Nel seemed to be naked in at least fifty per cent of them.
She stopped at a picture of her dad holding her as a chubby baby and put it to one side, starting a ‘maybe’ pile for the booklet.
When she flipped open the next album, she inhaled sharply at the sight of herself and Maddie at thirteen or fourteen, dressed up for a school dance.
Maddie wore a floppy cap and dark eyeliner, channelling Britney Spears, one arm slung around Nel’s bony shoulders.
A wave of nausea rose up in her chest and she shut the album.
Everywhere she turned she was bombarded with memories of Maddie, and now Geoff was saying the eulogy! This was a nightmare.
As she tossed the album aside, she noticed something tucked into the back.
A newspaper clipping. She pulled it out and Maddie’s face beamed back at her from her school photo, reprinted in black and white on the front page of The Opal Coast Chronicle.
Her beaming smile showed two rows of white teeth.
A shiny satin ribbon tied her hair up in a high ponytail.
A picture of innocence under the headline: Fears for MP’s Missing Daughter, 16.
Her own name leaped off the page, halfway down the text: Penelope Foley is assisting police with their inquiries. She pictured her sixteen-year-old self, sitting in that bleak room opposite Sergeant O’Neill with his kind eyes, and Constable Frisk with his blank stare, her dad by her side.
Three weeks later, the headline in the Chronicle had read, FAMILY, FRIENDS OF MP MOURN DAUGHTER MADELINE.
A large colour photo of Geoff and Faye in dark suits dominated the page, their eyes downcast. Below was a smaller one of Nel, taken as she emerged from the church behind the white coffin, her gangly frame awkward in the navy dress Cath had bought her especially for the occasion.
The photographer had snapped the picture when the corners of her mouth were upturned in a strange smile that seemed callous and out of place.
Was she squinting in the bright sunlight, she wondered?
Were her eyes adjusting to the glare after the darkness inside the church?
When she first saw that edition of the paper on that Saturday back in November 2010, she’d felt sick with shame. She didn’t remember smiling. She remembered feeling such deep, pervasive sadness it seemed to engulf her and swallow her whole.
It was the first time she’d seen herself in the paper, but it wasn’t the last. The photo resurfaced every time there was a feature about Geoff Marshall.
It’s why she’d dropped the ‘Penelope’ and officially changed her name to Nel.
At least that way prospective employers didn’t stumble upon the articles when they googled her.
The captions invariably referred to her as ‘the last person to see Madeline alive’, which always upset her.
Surely it should say, ‘last known person’?
If Nel was right, the last person to see Maddie alive was Ryan War—
The sound of efficient footsteps in the hallway pulled her out of her thoughts. She screwed the article into a tight ball in her fist, then walked to the doorway of the kitchen as Lauren heaved shopping bags onto the bench. She wore a hot pink tank top and leggings.
‘Hi,’ Nel said.
‘Shit!’ Lauren exclaimed, shooting her a sharp look as though she suspected Nel had scared her deliberately. ‘I didn’t realise you were here.’
Nel frowned. Where else would she be? ‘I’ve been going through the photos,’ she said.
‘Oh, good.’ Lauren held up a Tupperware container. ‘Chicken curry from one of the girls at my bootcamp. You and Mum can have it for dinner. I’ll let it defrost in the fridge.’
‘Thanks,’ Nel mumbled, tossing the article in the bin under the bench and reaching for the kettle. ‘Do you have time for a cup of tea?’
Lauren looked at her watch. ‘It’ll have to be quick. I have a P and F meeting at two.’ She took the jug from Nel’s hands and started filling it at the sink. ‘I’ll make it. You get back to the photos. I’ll bring it in.’
Nel sighed and went back to the lounge room.
A few minutes later Lauren joined her, giving the fire a disapproving glance.
She set the mugs down then took a log from the wicker basket beside the fireplace.
When she was satisfied with the state of the fire, she picked up an album and opened it in the middle.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the crackle of flames and the flipping of pages.
Nel stopped at a photo of her dad, in his mid-forties she guessed, and met his blue-eyed gaze.
He was handsome, broad-shouldered, with laughing eyes and a year-round tan.
He stood inside a window looking out at the person taking the photo.
Cath, she supposed. His expression was bemused, as though he was thinking about something funny that had just happened.
Nel pulled it out of the plastic pocket and studied his surroundings, trying to work out where it was taken, but she couldn’t place it.
She passed it to Lauren. ‘What do you think of this one for the cover of the booklet?’ She spoke casually—no doubt Lauren would have a different idea—but when her sister looked up she was glassy-eyed.
‘It’s perfect.’
Nel smiled to herself, grateful for the small victory.
Lauren cleared her throat. ‘Mum said she spoke to you about the clinic. Will you stay?’
‘Just for a couple of weeks,’ Nel said.
Lauren held her gaze for a moment, then looked back at the album. ‘Well I guess that’s better than nothing,’ she muttered.
Nel ignored the comment. ‘I think I saw Ryan Warner this morning at the lighthouse,’ she said. Noticing Lauren’s puzzled expression, she added, ‘I went surfing.’
Lauren shrugged. ‘Well, he lives here so it’s hardly surprising that you’d see him.’ She opened her mouth to go on, but then she seemed to change her mind and looked back at the album.
‘Does he still work for Warner Property?’
‘Yeah. He must be killing it. House prices have been bonkers ever since Daniel Hammond bought the old brewery and the boathouse at the wharf.’ Nel mustn’t have looked impressed enough, because Lauren frowned and added, ‘Don’t you know who Daniel Hammond is?’
‘Yes,’ Nel said, irritated. The pub baron owned half the waterfront pubs in Sydney.
‘Well, Steve reckons house prices in Carrinya have gone up thirty per cent in the last year,’ Lauren said.
‘Gee, that’s good,’ Nel said, hoping she sounded awe-struck enough to satisfy her sister. Her thoughts turned back to Ryan. ‘Does Ryan cycle?’
Lauren sighed. ‘How would I know?’
‘You seem to know everything about everyone else.’
After a long pause, Lauren said, ‘What’s with all the questions about Ryan Warner?’
Nel shrugged.
Lauren pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘The last thing this town needs is for you to reappear after all this time and stir things up.’
Nel glared at her. She knew she should probably drop it, but she couldn’t.
‘The thing is, Lauren, you and Mum want me to stay, but you also want me to pretend that nothing happened.’ Her voice was slow, her words deliberate.
‘Well, I can’t do that, because something did happen and Ryan Warner had something to do with it.
’ Nel held her sister’s gaze. ‘And he’s walking around here like he owns the place while I feel like a fucking fugitive. ’
A long silence.
‘No one’s made you feel like a fugitive, Nel. You’ve done that to yourself.’
There was a crack from the fire. Orange sparks shot up from the flames. Nel glared at her, but Lauren looked back at the album and flipped a page.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Lauren looked up. ‘Just that we all have choices.’
Nel waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.
Lauren shut the album and tossed it aside. ‘I have to go.’
She took her mug into the kitchen, then disappeared down the hall and out the front door.
Good riddance, Nel thought as the door slammed behind her.
She pushed the album aside and stared into the fire.
When did her sister become so overbearing?
She’d always been bossy—in a typical, firstborn-girl kind of way—but now she was completely insufferable.
Was she like this with everyone, Nel wondered?
Or was it something to do with her? Everything she said seemed laced with disapproval and irritation.
‘I thought I heard Lauren.’
Nel looked up to see Cath standing in the doorway.
‘You did,’ Nel said. ‘She dropped off some groceries.’
‘Have you sorted out the photos?’
She nodded and passed her mum the photo she’d selected for the cover. ‘We thought this one would be nice on the front of the booklet.’
Cath looked at it for a long time, then put it down on the coffee table. ‘I was thinking of one from just after we were married.’ She reached for the shoebox and started shuffling through the pictures. ‘He was sitting on a beach. Have you come across that one?’