Switchback Stories Page 10

  • • •

  Unlike the Friday before, this was a windy day. The sun still shone but the air had a cool bite. Stuart emerged from the building. The breeze ruffled his curly brown hair. As he drove away, I pulled my car out from the kerb, and followed from a safe distance.

  I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this, I thought. It’s like a movie. Do people really have these kinds of confrontations? Yes, they do, answered a side of me I’d never known was there. And yes, I’m going to go and meet this situation head on.

  Stuart turned the car into the Princes Highway, and drove past the turn-off for our home, and over the bridge that spanned the Georges River in Southern Sydney. I stayed up to half-a-dozen cars behind. My mind kept drifting to the newspaper clipping in the folder beside me. Just how many secrets did this man – my husband, my best friend – really have?

  I was driving though an unfamiliar area when I saw Stuart’s car turn off the highway. Less than a minute later I had reached the same spot and, like him, I turned into the street. It was a long, tree-lined avenue – and there was absolutely no sign of Stuart’s car up ahead. I felt a flutter of panic. I thought perhaps he must have turned into one of the streets running off this one.

  But which one?

  I turned into the first side street and drove several blocks to the point where it doubled back on itself and re-joined the highway. I made a U-turn and followed the road back the way I had come. I reached the intersection and kept going straight ahead. There was still no sign of Stuart’s car.

  I’ve lost him, I thought. He’s probably kilometres away by now. The frustration welled up inside me. I drove on to the next cross street and turned left again.

  I saw Stuart’s car immediately, parked on the left hand side of the road in the second block along. His car was parked outside a modest house, part-fibro and part-brick veneer. I pulled my car in directly behind. I wasn’t concerned that I might’ve been seen from the house.

  I marched up to the front door. The anger grew inside me with each step. I rapped loudly on the door. I could hear a shuffling sound from the passageway inside and a frail voice called out, ‘Hold on a minute, please.’

  An elderly woman, small and reed-thin, opened the door to me, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Tina Callaghan,’ I announced, glaring at her. ‘Stuart’s wife!’

  The woman said nothing. She simply stared at me.

  ‘I want … to see him,’ I stammered.

  ‘Stuart? Stuart? There’s no-one here by that name.’

  There was an awkward silence. Then the anger died inside me and I was lost for words.

  ‘Listen, dear, step inside a minute and sit down,’ the woman said. ‘You look rather flustered.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, really,’ I replied, ‘I must have the wrong house. I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed you.’

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’m acting like a madwoman.

  I turned and walked back onto the footpath, feeling incredibly stupid. Just because Stuart’s car is parked outside, that doesn’t mean he’s in that particular house, I told myself. Whatever was I thinking of – following him like this. Rushing up to strange houses.

  I opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. I needed a moment to think, to collect my thoughts. The light blue folder sat mysteriously on the seat beside me. I picked it up and turned to the old newspaper clipping.

  I read:

  ‘The mother of a twenty-year-old medical student broke down today as she told how her daughter died in a tragic car accident. Karen Radcliffe was a passenger in her boyfriend’s car when they were hit by another car driven by a drunken youth. Margaret Radcliffe and her husband, Bill, have vowed that they will not allow their daughter to have died in vain. They will fight for tougher measures to stop drink-driving on New South Wales roads. They are urging other victims of drink-drive tragedies to contact them with the aim of forming an action group to lobby both State and Federal Governments.’

  Ten years ago. Stuart would have been twenty at the time. The same age as the girl mentioned in the article.

  I stepped from the car and looked at the houses on either side of the house I’d just been to. Perhaps he was in one of those. I looked to the opposite side of the street. There were no houses there. Just a thick, six-metre-high hedge that ran the full length of the block, a scattering of tall trees beyond.

  Just over the top of the hedge I saw Stuart’s head. He was in the distance, moving away, further into this green, wooded area. I ran across the road and looked up and down the street for the entrance to this park. My mind was awash with thoughts but I pushed them all back. There was no time for thinking and theorizing now. I needed to confront Stuart. I had questions that had to be asked. So many questions.

  Further along the street I spotted the entrance to the wooded area, a parting in the hedge that was framed by an iron archway and gate. I ran toward it. The sign across the archway read “Willow Haven Cemetery.”

  I raced along one of the pathways leading between the long rows of graves, heading in the direction I’d last seen Stuart. He was up ahead of me, kneeling before a simple brick headstone, resting his bunch of roses against the metal nameplate. He didn’t hear me approach. He had risen to his feet again and was standing silently with his head bowed.

  I edged closer and saw the words etched into the metal plate:

  ‘Karen Cheryl Radcliffe. Loved and missed by her family and by all who knew her.’

  I felt a touch of jealousy. The thought that Stuart had once loved this girl so much that he’d kept up this ritual since her death, brought forth a mixture of emotions, envy among them. I knew I had to sweep that feeling aside. Rise above it. This was a time for supportive gestures, not defiant ones.

  ‘I’ve been so wrong about you, Stuart,’ I said out loud.

  He turned, startled, ‘Tina? How …?’

  ‘I followed you,’ I admitted, ‘and I feel so damned ashamed of myself. I found out you often left the office on a Friday lunchtime with a bunch of roses. I thought … well, I suppose you can imagine what I thought…’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Stuart said. ‘I should’ve told you. It’s not that I meant to keep secrets. I’ve always meant to talk about it. It’s just that it’s been a part of my life, a private part, for so long that I’ve never quite known … where to begin.’

  ‘It’s all right. I found the old newspaper cutting in the study. I just don’t understand … the note with the roses says Casey.’

  ‘Her nickname,’ he explained. ‘It came from her first and middle initials. Karen Cheryl, K.C. became Casey.’

  ‘You needn’t have worried about telling me, you know. I think it’s very special. You must have loved her very much to have kept visiting her resting place all these years.’

  ‘But I never even knew her, Tina.’ Tears formed at the corner of his eyes.

  I was puzzled. ‘Never knew her …?’

  Stuart came forward and placed his arms around me. ‘Let’s go home,’ he said, ‘because there’s something else in the desk drawer. Something I want you to read.’

  • • •

  At home there was another newspaper clipping that had slipped out of the folder and was further down in the drawer, wedged between his other papers. Stuart left me alone in the study to read it. It was September 10, six months after the other clipping. The headline read: “Serving Time – But With A Difference.”

  Beneath it the story went on:

  ‘When Karen Radcliffe died earlier this year in a car accident caused by a drunken youth, her shattered parents decided on a punishment like no other for the young man involved.

  ‘Stuart Callaghan, a student aged twenty, was found guilty today of involuntary manslaughter. He lost his licence for five years and was placed on a three-year good behaviour bond.

  ‘In a separate suit brought before the court, the parents of the victim sued the youth, claiming damages for grief. The C
hief Magistrate agreed to waive the payment, at the request of the parents, on condition that the youth agreed to an alternative punishment.

  ‘In lieu of the payment, Callaghan is to join the Radcliffes at their daughter’s graveside every Friday for the next ten years, bringing with him each time a bunch of roses.

  ‘Mr Bill Radcliffe, the dead girl’s father explained the bizarre request at his home today. ‘No amount of money can bring our daughter back,’ he said. ‘My wife and I don’t want any financial compensation. We want the boy to think of Karen every Friday for a long time to come. We want him to stand before her resting place with us and know the loss he’s caused us. Karen loved roses. She brought them home often, and we would like to see them at the grave constantly. They don’t need to be the expensive variety, just as long as they’re fresh.

  ‘Forgiveness needs understanding, but we just can’t understand how this lad got drunk and killed out daughter. If he’s here with us every week, perhaps, in time, he’ll learn to grieve for her the way we do. To suffer the same grief is the only worthwhile punishment that makes any sense to us.’

  The article explained so many things about Stuart that I had simply taken for granted. Ever since I’d known him he’d never touched a drop of alcohol. Not even at parties or on our anniversaries or birthdays. And despite the loving, caring side to his nature, there was one thing he had never bought me. Roses.

  • • •

  Stuart was waiting quietly for me in the back garden. A light breeze sauntered through the air, depositing dry brown leaves along the edges of the garden path.

  ‘Are you bitter you’ve had to do this all these years?’ I asked, feeling as though my heart was crying out for him.

  ‘Bitter? Oh no…’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’ve never felt bitterness. Years ago I was angry at myself for what I’d done. I used to get incredibly depressed. But those feelings faded. After all, it’s been a long time now. After a while, in those early years, I started to feel a sense of calm come over me whenever I was out there with the Radcliffes. I started to get to know them and learn a little more each time about K.C and the sort of girl she was. I knew it was going to be important for me to lead as decent and helpful a life as I could. It was the only possible way I had to show my respect for the life she’d lost.

  ‘I don’t even need to come here any longer, haven’t for quite some time. The court’s requirements ended, and both Mr and Mrs Radcliffe have since died. I kept sending flowers from time to time, and whenever I felt the pressures of work getting to me, I’d come out here on the Friday. Sometimes for a few weeks in a row. Something about the ritual I suppose, it’s always helped me put things in perspective.’

  ‘Helps to keep you grounded?”

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And lately, with the finances, you’ve been stressed to the max.’

  ‘I’ve been out here the last few Fridays-’

  ‘You’ve always been a creature of habit.’

  ‘Karen had no brothers or sisters, her boyfriend moved away and, with her parents gone…seems like I was the only one left.’

  He forced back tears.

  I hugged him to me. I’d never loved him more than I did at that moment.

  ‘Must seem damn stupid of me,’ Stuart said.

  ‘Not at all. And I can feel it…the calm you spoke of.’

  We stood quietly for a while.

  ‘I would very much like it,’ I said, ‘if you’d let me come with you sometimes, and I’d like to bring some flowers of my own.’

  Stuart said, ‘If they’d still been here, Mr and Mrs Radcliffe would’ve welcomed you.’

  He smiled at me and I was warmed by the compassion in his eyes. I could feel the pain he felt, for the grief he’d caused, and for the loss of the girl he’d never known, but who he’d come to know through her parents.

  I could feel it as well.

  We simply stood and held each other, closer at that moment than I could ever have imagined.

  LADY LUCK

  Robert Madden saw her the moment he turned his car into the parking station. She was standing beside a bright red sedan, looking toward him. She raised her arm, signalling him, and his pulse raced. She’s beautiful, he thought.

  He drove his convertible into the first available spot, stepped from it and approached the young woman. She was tall and leggy, dressed in a figure-hugging green dress.

  ‘So damn stupid,’ she said. ‘My keys, I’ve locked them in the car.’

  ‘You’ll have to call for road service. Only straightforward way to break into these modern cars is by breaking a side window.’

  ‘How can I do that?’

  Robert gave her a quizzical look. ‘No need for that. Call for-’

  ‘I’m late for a meeting that I absolutely must attend. Missing this meeting will cost me a whole hell of a lot more than getting a broken window fixed.’

  ‘You’d rather bust the window.’ Robert was incredulous. Then again, if he needed to be at a vital meeting, he would do exactly the same thing himself. ‘I’ve got a toolbox in my boot.’

  ‘If you could help-’

  ‘Just hold on for a tick.’

  He dashed over to his car and reached for the screwdriver in his toolbox, glancing at his watch. Eight-forty am. Twenty minutes before his second interview with the six-man board of directors.

  Robert had worked for the law firm of MacInnes and Partners for three years and today was the day he’d been waiting for.

  An associate partnership was available, and the choice of who would be offered the position was now down to himself and a colleague, Jennifer Shaw.

  He walked back over to the woman and the sedan.

  ‘You can get into my car with that?’ she said, puzzled.

  ‘I haven’t tried it myself, but I believe if the screwdriver is fitted down into the top of the crevasse at the edge of the window, like this…’ he manoeuvred the screwdriver into place, ‘…and then I very quickly remove and twist it at the same time, it will shatter the glass.

  ‘Thank God. I feel like a real fool. I’m not holding you up or anything am I?’

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Robert, flashing his debonair smile. ‘I have twenty minutes before I’m due at a meeting. This shouldn’t take more than a few seconds.’

  He braced himself and then pulled and twisted the screwdriver.

  No effect.

  ‘This could be trickier than I thought,’ he commented. ‘But not beaten yet. If I’m successful, perhaps we could celebrate over some lunch today. Just be ready to jump in and turn off your alarm once the window breaks. Hopefully, I’ll be celebrating a promotion as well.’

  There was no reply. Playing a little hard to get, thought Robert.

  But then I haven’t switched on the full extent of the charm yet.

  He tried again. Nothing.

  I’m being too gentle, he thought.

  Time to get serious.

  He manipulated the tip of the tool, pushing it a little deeper, then twisted and pulled with every ounce of muscle to could muster.

  The glass shattered and the piercing wail of the alarm assaulted his ears.

  Maybe meeting this stunning blonde is the start of a lucky day for me.

  ‘Success,’ he shouted above the alarm. ‘And by the way, my name is Robert.’ He straightened up and turned to face her.

  ‘Stay right where you are!’ A uniformed police officer was sprinting across the car park towards him. Robert looked about for the woman.

  There was no sign of her.

  A little awkward, he thought.

  ‘Not what it looks like, officer.’ Robert smiled. ‘Just helping out a young lady. She locked her keys in her car.’

  The office glared at him.

  Robert shrugged. ‘Well, she was here a moment ago.’

  ‘You’re to accompany me to the station, sir,’ said the constable. A second police officer came running up to them.

  Rober
t wondered what was going on.

  ‘There’s some news about the ownership of that car you’ll find surprising …’

  • • •

  ‘Take a seat, Jennifer,’ said Arthur MacInnes. ‘I must say this has been a remarkably close contest. The board’s vote was shaping up as a deadlock – three votes for you, three votes for Robert. Until just a moment ago, that is.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Robert didn’t arrive for his final interview this morning. Then an hour ago my secretary received a call from him. He was at the local police station. Arrested. Something about trying to steal a policeman’s car.’

  ‘Robert? That’s ridiculous,’ said Jennifer.

  MacInnes shrugged. ‘Caught red-handed, apparently, but yes, it must be some kind of mix-up, surely. Can you imagine the embarrassment to the firm if one of our barristers goes up on a car theft charge? Anyway, this will take a little while to resolve, but it throws a different light on things. As you know, the final decision had to be made today, as it will be more than a month before all the members of the board can be brought together again. The board is unanimous now in appointing you our new associate. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’m … well, for once I’m totally speechless.’ Jennifer shook his hand and left his office. She felt slightly giddy.

  It was a dream come true.

  Back in her office, Jennifer picked up the phone and dialled her long-time friend, Carly Walker.

  Carly worked just a few city blocks away.

  ‘I got the associate spot.’

  ‘Looks like you owe me one,’ said Carly, tossing back her long blonde hair.

  ‘So it went as planned?’

  ‘Like a dream. As I said last night, Jen, I can see straight across from my office window into the car park. That copper parks there every morning, about an hour before Robert Madden arrives. All I had to do was stand by the car until Madden drove in. I called the police station on my cell as he was parking, just enough time to set things up and then, while he was turned away from me, I slipped out the side exit before the officer arrived.’

  ‘Let me know next time you’re competing for a promotion,’ said Jennifer, ‘We’ll see what a little lady luck can do for you.’