Chapter Nineteen
Hallie
I take my case up to my apartment, wheel it into the center of the room, then stand there, looking around. It’s dark and cool, and feels devoid of life and happiness. I really need to move. Even if it’s only a room in a shared apartment, anything would be better than staying here. It holds too many unpleasant memories, and I need to move on.
My eyes prick with tears, but I know it’s not really anything to do with the apartment or Ian. I miss Fraser. He’s never set foot in here, but I feel his absence so strongly that it’s almost painful.
I press my fingers to my mouth, fighting against letting the tears fall. I’m not going to cry over him. I knew it wouldn’t lead to anything, and I can’t now bawl my eyes out because I’m alone again.
It’s time I prioritize my wellbeing. It makes sense to spend some time alone and concentrate on healing. Ian has scarred me, and although being with Fraser made it better temporarily, I can’t rely on a man to make me whole again.
Equally, I can’t blame Ian for everything. My lack of self-confidence and the feeling that I’m unworthy of love began long before I met him. That’s what I need to deal with, before I even think about letting a man into my life again.
And I know where to start.
Mum works most days, but she has Thursdays off, so I text her and ask her if I can call in. She replies of course. So leaving my case in the center of the floor, I head out of the apartment and call for another Uber. She lives out in Ngaio, in a granny flat built to one side of a larger house that the owners rent out. It’s not where I lived when we first came to Wellington, but as soon as Dee and I left home, Mum sold that place, saying she didn’t need three bedrooms on her own. I suspect she might have had financial issues, but she never spoke to us about them, and still doesn’t, so I don’t know if she continues to have money worries.
She’s always been a private person. I guess it’s not surprising considering what happened, but sometimes I wonder whether she was like that before, and if it’s one reason why Dad did what he did. Even if that was the case, though, I don’t blame Mum for it. No other person was responsible for the terrible crimes he committed except himself.
I get out of the Uber, walk up the path, and knock on the door.
It opens after ten seconds, and Mum gives me a big smile and steps back to let me pass her. “Hello, darling,” she says, pecking me on the cheek. She’s never been a hugger. Again, I wonder if that was ever an issue in her marriage.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“Please.”
We go through to the kitchen, and she starts making us both a cup.
I sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, looking around as she sets the espresso pouring and then steams the milk. As far as I know, there’s never been another man. There’s certainly no sign of one in the house—no masculine magazines left on the table, no men’s sweater thrown over the chair or slippers by the fire, no scent of male cologne. She leads a busy life—she works at the local supermarket and has worked her way up to a management position, she’s a member of several clubs, she goes to yoga and plays badminton, and she’s out several times a week meeting friends. She seems happy. She doesn’t seem to feel the cloud of the past hanging over her.
“So where were you last night?” she asks, as I told her on the text that I’d been away.
I tell her about the ball and the letters, playing down Fraser’s role in the story. Either it works or she picks up that I don’t want to talk about him, and she just nods and asks questions about what I was wearing and what kind of food was served.
When the coffee’s ready, she sits across the breakfast bar, and we sip our drinks. The house is opposite a primary school, and I can hear the laughter of children in the playground in the distance. It brings a lump to my throat as I remember the moment I thought about having a baby with Fraser.
I’m not going to think about him now.
“Mum, I need to talk to you about something,” I say. I’ve thought about how to broach this subject many times, and in the end I decide to just come out with it.
“Oh?” She lifts her eyebrows.
“I’ve had a letter from Dad.”
She stares at me. Then she lowers her cup into the saucer carefully.
“Two, actually,” I continue, “and it wouldn’t surprise me if there was a third waiting for me when I go to work this afternoon. Because they were sent to the museum. He saw the article about its reopening, and he said he recognized me. And Dee said it’s because you’d sent him photos of us.”
She looks at her cup. Then she rests her elbows on the breakfast bar and puts her face in her hands.
“Why?” I whisper, terribly, terribly hurt. “Why would you do that?”
She lowers her hands, and her eyes are filled with tears. “Because he’s your father, and he asked.”
“He wants to see me,” I tell her. “He’s asked me to call the prison and arrange an appointment.”
She puts her face back in her hands again.
“Do you know how that makes me feel?” I say, so upset that it makes my voice raw. “I feel… violated.”
“Don’t,” she says.
“After everything we’ve been through. I feel…” I struggle to put it into words. “I feel as if you’ve cut out my heart and given it to him. Do you understand?” It sounds dramatic, but it’s true. “You had no right to do that,” I tell her. “I know he’s behind bars and he’s never coming out, but just the fact that he knows where I am… It’s made me feel incredibly vulnerable.”
“I’m sorry.”
I take her hands in mine and pull them away from her face. “Why are you in contact with him?” I’m desperate to understand. “Dee said you write to him every month, and always have done. Why?”
Tears roll down her face. “He’s my husband.”
“Not anymore.”
She meets my eyes, then lowers them again.
I stare at her as horror fills me. “But you divorced him, not long after we came to Wellington.”
She wipes her cheeks, but more tears take their place. “I didn’t. I couldn’t go through with it.”
My heart bangs on my ribs. “You’re still married to him?”
“Yes.”
I’m breathing fast. Suddenly, the urge to vomit sweeps over me. I run around the breakfast bar to the sink and retch, although nothing comes up.
“Hallie…” Mum rests a hand on my back, but I shake it off. I retch again, and again, then burst into tears.
“Darling…” She turns me and pulls me into her arms.
Too upset to fight her, I sob into her shoulder for a minute or so. As I calm a little, though, I move back and walk around the breakfast bar so she can’t touch me.
We stand, looking at each other, both with tears on our cheeks. I wrap my arms tightly around me like a shield.
“Do you visit him?” I whisper.
She nods.
Oh God. I don’t think Dee knows. She’s going to go ballistic.
I pick up my purse. “If you tell him anything else about me… if I get one more letter, or any communication from him… we’re done, you and I. Do you understand?”
She presses her fingers to her lips, but she nods.
I turn and walk out of the door.
*
I’m halfway back to the museum when my mobile buzzes in my pocket, announcing a phone call. Thinking it might be Mum, I’m about to cancel it, not ready to talk to her again, when I see it says ‘unknown number’. My thumb hovers over the red button, but at the last minute I slide the green one across and put it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Hallie, I’m sorry to bother you, it’s Whina Cooper here.”
“Oh. Hello.” I think about the events of the past few days and feel heat rising inside me. Is she going to ask me what happened with Fraser?”
But instead she says, “I’d like to talk to you about something. Would you be able to call at my house?”
“Um, yes, okay. What time?”
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m on my way to the museum.”
“Can you come now? And please, don’t tell Fraser.”
That makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t know how to refuse, so I say, “Okay.”
She gives me the address and ends the call. I ask the Uber driver if he’ll take me there, and he turns the car around and heads off to Karori.
I check my appearance in my hand mirror on the way, worried that all my makeup has run. It turns out not to be too bad—I wipe away a smudge or two, apply a little powder and lipstick, and I’m as good as new.
I push the thoughts of my parents to the back of my mind. It’s getting very crowded back there right now. All the things I can’t bring myself to think about—Mum and Dad, telling Dee, Fraser, Ian, my past… At some point I think I need to find myself a new therapist. I had one when I was a teen, but eventually grew tired of going over the same old details and stopped attending. I need to learn ways to process all these conflicting emotions, though. I want to move on, and I don’t know how to do it on my own. I want to be better. I want to heal. I want to be whole again. But how do you do that when you’re like a bath being filled with water, and the past is the plug that’s sitting on the side? I’m never going to be full until I can place it firmly where it belongs and stop the water leaking out.
For now, I need to concentrate on this meeting with Whina. What does she want to talk to me about? It can only be Fraser, otherwise why didn’t she come into the museum and see me? She obviously wants a conversation without him around, especially as she instructed me not to tell him. It makes me uncomfortable to see her without him knowing, but I’ll follow her directions for now, until I find out what it’s about.
For the first time, it occurs to me that if she’s somehow found out that we’ve had a fling, she’s not going to let us work together, and she might ask me to resign so that Fraser doesn’t have to. I frown as the Uber weaves through the traffic, past the shops and houses. Would I give up my position at the museum to save his job? I shift on my seat, feeling a wave of resentment and frustration. The last thing I want is for Fraser to be fired, but equally I don’t see why I should give up my job. It wasn’t my fault.
Then I feel ashamed. I knew about Ginger, and that he’d been warned that if it happened again, he’d be in trouble. And I still slept with him. First and foremost, the responsibility for his own actions lies with him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not culpable. Twice now, he’s tried to fight his feelings, and been unable to. Ginger was bad enough, being married to someone else and initiating an affair with him. But I’m certainly not innocent.
I ponder on that while the Uber finds its way to Whina’s house. It draws up outside a bungalow on a decent bit of land at one end of the suburb, and I get out and thank the driver, then walk up the garden path. The lawn is well-tended, with flowers hanging in baskets around the house, which is wide and sprawling. I go up to the front door, and it opens before I get there to reveal Whina, dressed in a smart business suit. Conscious of my somewhat scruffy jeans, I resist the urge to straighten my clothing and smile as she welcomes me in.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, closing the door behind me. “Come through to the conservatory. Would you like coffee? Or I’ve just made some iced tea.”
“Iced tea sounds lovely, thank you.”
I follow her directions through an open plan living and dining room to the conservatory out the back. Here a cream outdoor sofa and chairs sit surrounded by green plants in pots, with mobiles made from stained glass hanging on threads from the roof, which cast jeweled lights across the tiled floor.
“What a beautiful room,” I say, and she smiles as we sit opposite each other.
“Thank you.” She pours us both a glass of iced tea from the pitcher on the table. “I’m sorry to have to ask you to come all the way out here.”
“It wasn’t a problem. I was actually in Ngaio, seeing my mum.”
“Oh, well, that’s not too bad, then.” She passes me my glass. “Hallie, I need to talk to you about the events of the past couple of days.”
I pause in the act of drinking the iced tea. Slowly, I force myself to have a sip, then replace the glass on the table. “Okay…”
“My brother-in-law is Wiremu Roberts,” she says.
“Oh…” So it wasn’t Isabel who told her?
“He rang me last night, after he got home from the ball. He just called to chat, but he also revealed a few things that had transpired throughout the evening…”
I look at my hands, my heart sinking.
“I’ve just come from seeing Fraser,” she reveals gently. “And he’s told me everything that happened, so you don’t have to worry about getting him into trouble. He insisted it was all his fault.” She smiles.
“It wasn’t,” I say immediately. I put my face in my hands, the same way my mother did earlier. “I knew he’d gotten into trouble before, with Ginger. And that you’d told him if it happened again, he’d be fired. I should have kept him at a distance, but…” I let out a long, shaky breath.
“He told me he’s in love with you.”
My heart bangs. Slowly, I lower my hands. “What?”
She studies me thoughtfully for a long moment. Then, eventually, she says, “I have an idea for how to save the museum. And I wondered whether you would be interested in helping me.”
“Me? Of course, but I don’t know what I can do.”
“It would mean not telling Fraser for now, because I don’t think he’d agree to you playing a part in it. Would you be able to do that?”
I nod. “If it means saving the museum, I’ll do anything.”
She smiles. “Good girl.”
“What about Fraser?”
“I’ve suggested we give each other a few days to think about things. I have a meeting with him on Monday afternoon to discuss where we go from here. I want him to think about his actions for a while.”
“He’s very sorry,” I say immediately. “He’s gutted that he’s let you down, and himself. He loves the museum. The last thing he’d want to do would be to put it in jeopardy. He felt he’d let you down, and his father, of course. You know Atticus Bell was friends with Sebastian Williams?”
Her eyebrows rise. “No. I’ve met them both, but I didn’t realize they knew each other.”
“Fraser’s father was very strict with his children while they were growing up. Not in a physical sense, nothing like that, but he set incredibly high standards for them. Joel—the middle child—realized early on, I think, that he would never be able to meet them, and just gave up and went his own way. I don’t know if you know what happened to their sister, Elora?”
“I do,” she says. “Fraser told me some time ago.”
That surprises me, as he rarely talks about it, and it reinforces how close he is to Whina. “Well, she’s obviously struggled to recover from her assault. Fraser was the one who suggested she go to university in Wellington so he could keep an eye on her. I’ve only known them both a year, but from what I understand, he was a rock for her those first few years. He supported her, took her to therapy, and gave her just enough room to breathe while making sure she felt safe and supported. She’s said several times that without him she’d still be cowering in her room in Hanmer Springs.”
“I didn’t know that,” Whina murmurs.
“I’m not trying to influence your decision,” I say. Then I think, be honest, Hallie. “Or maybe I am. I just want you to have the whole picture. He’s tried so hard to be the kind of man his father expects him to be. And I know he looks up to you, too. He’s always trying to be the Fraser that everyone else wants. To be honest, I think he’s been so worried about it all that the pressure kinda got to him. He was depressed about the museum’s financial situation. He thought he could talk Isabel around, and when it went wrong, he didn’t know how to handle it. And he just kind of broke and thought fuck it. Oh, sorry.”
Her lips curve up. “You think that’s why the two of you finally hooked up?”
I give a short laugh. “Maybe. It’s one reason, anyway.” I give her a curious look. “He really said he was in love with me?”
“He said he had been for a long time. My guess is that he liked you from the moment you started work there, but after the problems with Ginger, he did his best to ignore it.”
“I was with someone else, too,” I admit. “And he’d never have made a move on me until I was free.”
“When did you break up with your ex?”
“Last Friday.”
“Oh…” She laughs. “Well, that explains a lot.” She sips her iced tea, her eyes twinkling. “Are you in love with him, too?”
I look down at my drink as I swirl the liquid over the ice. I am… but my spirits sink slowly as I think about the pointlessness of our situation. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “I’m not good enough for him.”
She glares at me then. “Young lady, what a terrible thing to say. No person on this earth is better than another.”
“That’s an admirable point of view, but it’s not really practical. His father is a deacon, and from what he’s told me about him, I’m really not the sort of girl he’d like for his son.”
“Why?” she asks, clearly baffled. “What can you possibly have done to make that statement true?”
I put down my drink. “I’d rather not discuss my relationship with Fraser, if that’s okay.”
She bites her bottom lip, then says, “No, you’re right. It’s none of my business. Okay, let’s concentrate on the museum, and I’ll go through my idea. Are you busy Saturday?”
“No.”
“Good. Then this is how I think you can help.”