Chapter 28 Kim #2
Despite the time that’s passed, she’s still only told them that Chris died. Their relationship is an adult one, a bit distant, and when she said she didn’t want to talk about it further, they didn’t push.
Now there will be no getting away from it.
Seven rings. Her mum isn’t going to answer. She is about to end the call when half of her mum’s face appears on the screen. “Hello, Kim darling. Sorry, the phone was at the other end of the house.” Her mum sounds puffed, but her English accent is as crisp as ever.
“You could have called back.”
“You rarely call. I have a special ringtone for you. That Sinéad O’Connor song you like. Have you just called to chat? It’s been a while.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been working through a few things.”
“Yes.” Her mum looks off to one side. “The money’s on the hall table. Same time next week…? Thanks, Effie. I’ll see you then.” She looks back at Kim. “Sorry, the cleaner’s just leaving. Effie’s really good.”
“I’m glad,” Kim says automatically.
The phone sways as her mum’s footsteps echo over the call. The camera points toward the ceiling as a running tap sounds. “Won’t be a moment,” her mum calls. “Just putting the kettle on. It sounds as if this will be a long chat.”
Kim exhales slowly. Oh, Mum, you have no idea.
Eventually, her mum picks up the phone again and settles into her favourite wicker chair out on the terrace. There’s the gentle whop-whop of the ceiling fan, and somewhere a rainforest bird screeches. “Tell me what’s bothering you, darling.”
“Is Dad home? I have something difficult to say, and I’d rather say it only once.”
Her mum gasps. “Are you sick? Is Bella? Is there—”
“It’s nothing like that. We’re both fine. But this is going to be difficult.”
“I’ll get him.” The phone is set down again with a clatter, and her mum’s voice calls, “Jorge, where are you? Kim’s on the phone, and she wants to talk to both of us.”
After a minute, her dad’s wide, blunt face appears on the screen. “Kim, how are you?” Even after most of his life in Australia, he still has a strong Hungarian accent.
“I have something to say. Please hear me out before you say anything.”
Her parents exchange a glance.
“We’re listening,” her mother says.
“I told you Chris died in a car accident, and that I didn’t find out for some months. And that I didn’t want to talk about it. Now I do.”
A small silence. Her mum nods. Her dad simply stares at the screen, a wrinkle on his forehead.
“Chris was married to someone else. He had been married for a few years before he met me, and he was still married when he was killed. I had no idea, as his real name wasn’t Chris Henwood, it was Chris Henshall.
The two weeks he told me he was working in South Australia, he spent with his other family on the north side of Melbourne.
He told his wife—her name is Danika—the same thing, and the two weeks he told her he was working away, he spent with me.
Neither of us knew about the other. He kept that deception going the entire time he was with me—over nine years. ”
The silence on the line is thick with tension.
“That’s…unbelievable,” her mum says faintly.
“Believe it.”
“How did you find out?” her dad asks.
“After he failed to come home, I went to the police and filed a missing person report. They eventually said there was no such person. There was no will. No superannuation or life insurance in that name. Obviously not, as Chris Henwood didn’t exist.”
Her parents stare at her. Her mum’s mouth opens and closes; her dad’s brow is lowering over his angry face. Angry not at her, she thinks, but at Chris. And she can’t blame him for that.
“The fattyú,” her dad spits. “I never trusted him. I felt it here.” He hits his chest.
She lets him rant, sees the tears swimming in her mum’s eyes. Maybe she was wrong to keep this from them for so long. She could have done with her dad’s righteous anger, her mum’s sympathy, long ago.
“I’m so sorry, Kim,” her mum whispers. “I should have pressed you. Asked about Chris more. But when he disappeared, you were doing everything you could. And then you told us he’d died, but you didn’t want to talk about it. And I respected that. But I should have come down, should have asked you—”
“No.” She holds her hand out to the screen as if she could touch her mum’s face. “No, I really didn’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t talk about it because of Bella.”
“I understand,” her mother says softly. “But I think there’s more to this story.”
“A ló farát,” her father growls again. “The utter fucking bastard.”
Kim has never heard her dad swear in English before.
“I hired a private investigator,” Kim says.
“He found out about Chris’s other family.
He gave me all the details. And I turned up on Danika’s doorstep.
” She flicks her plait over her shoulder.
“In hindsight, that was a bad move. I should have gone about it differently. But eventually Danika listened to me, and although it took a while, now we’re… friends.”
“And Bella?” Her mum’s gaze never leaves Kim’s face.
“Bella has a sister. Danika’s daughter, Camille, is a few months younger.”
The silence is longer this time, the implications obvious.
“Bella found it difficult, but she had already met Cami at soccer. The girls were friends first, sisters later.”
Her parents have questions. Questions about how Chris got away with it for so long. About Bella. And then about Danika and Cami.
“So you pretend to be friends because of Bella,” her father says. “So she can have her sister?”
“No,” Kim says. “We are friends. It wasn’t easy, and yes, originally, it was for the girls’ sakes.
But now, we have a good relationship in its own right.
” Oops. Wrong word. Her mother’s ears are already pricking like a fruit bat’s at sunset.
“We’re good friends.” She says to deflect her mother.
She’s not ready to share whatever it is she has with Danika yet.
“We will come down,” her father says. “I want to hold you and Bella. I want to be angry at Chris.” He spits the name like a bullet. “If he were not already dead, I would murder him. And I would like to meet this Danika and Camille.”
“That’s one reason I’m calling you,” Kim says. “Bella wants a funeral for Chris. It’s all been so open-ended, so muddled, she never got proper closure. It will be small. Us, you, and hopefully Suze and Jorie.”
“Danika and Cami?” her mum asks.
“I hope so. I haven’t asked them yet. Danika’s parents, too.”
“We will be there,” her mum says. “And for Bella’s sake, we will be nice about Chris.
We will come because you are our daughter, and Bella is our grandchild, and we have failed you in this.
You get your stoicism from your dad, but I should have realised you were holding it tight to your chest.” She draws a deep breath.
“And I, too, would like to meet Bella’s sister and her mother. ”