Rating: NC: 17 - This story contains consensual sex between a man and a woman. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.
Disclaimer: The characters of John Lawless, Marla Lawless, Andy Deacon, Dave Bruford, Willy Kaa, Sonya Davidson and Alan Snow belong to South Pacific Pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement. The rest of the characters in this story are from my previous Lawless stories or my imagination and are copyrighted by me.
Author's Note: While this story is not a direct sequel to Lawless, the NZ Tele-film, it is somewhat of a sequel to the series of stories I've written and it does contain characters from and references to those previous stories. While it is not necessary to have read them to follow this, it will probably add to the reader's enjoyment if they are read first.
Kelly's doorbell chimed quite early that Saturday morning. John turned up wearing a radiant smile and armed with coffee, croissants and a pile of magazines. He breezed in, kissed her thoroughly, told her he loved her and then lounged on her sofa as if he belonged there. She was too surprised to be put off completely, but all the same; his presumption that everything was idyllic was more than a little annoying. As was his obvious belief that marriage was the be all and end all.
Marriage . . . Kelly had been ruminating over it ever since she had agreed, in a moment of what she was coming to believe was insanity, to marry John. She loved him and he loved her, of that she had no doubt. That John wanted, needed, to be married was also clear. That he saw wedded bliss through a gauzy rosy veil was also apparent. He seemed to think the act of marriage was a magic talisman that would make all their problems vanish.
Kelly had assumed John would be content and satisfied once she finally said yes. That he would leave off the constant harping on the future. Much to her dismay, nothing could have been further from the truth. John was full of energy. He wanted to pick a date and tell the world. Kelly wasn’t ready for that. She didn't want to plan a wedding she wasn't sure would happen, nor open the door to the world-class battle she expected from her parents when she announced the event.
John wasn’t thick; he was simply focused on what he wanted to the exclusion of any intrinsic difficulties. John, the bloke who thought too much about almost everything, seemed unable to think lucidly on this issue at all. He saw a future in a cozy white cottage with happily ever after written all over it. Kelly desperately wanted to believe a fairy tale ending was possible, but her practical mind cautioned her otherwise. She could see the wicked witch lurking in the shadows as well as some nasty ogres and trolls skulking on the footpath. It was with this pessimistic frame of mind that she now studied her lover.
He was sipping coffee, he had taken his shoes off and his bare feet were on the coffee table. His hair was loose and the thick dark curls framed his handsome face. His eyes were focused on the pages of a magazine, one of the ones he had brought. He looked relaxed and happy and completely oblivious to what she was feeling.
With a sigh, she realized she wanted out, although whether it was from her lounge or the relationship, she wasn't quite sure. She glanced out the window. The sun was sparkling; the sky was blue, the temperature hovered somewhere around 30 Celsius. She announced as if making a royal proclamation, "Let's go to the beach."
John sat up and dropped the magazine. He had bought a selection of bride publications as a gift for Kelly; sure that she would love them. To his surprise, she hadn't seemed thrilled or even particularly interested. He didn't get it. He thought all women were fascinated and entranced by marriage and all it's built-in traditions.
Marla sure had been. He could still remember the heaps of magazines, brochures and catalogues she had acquired during their short engagement. He had been so grief-stricken over the death of his Nana that he had paid scant attention to any of the details of his first go round. This time he was determined to be more than an innocent bystander. This time it would be different. He was going to be an active participant in his wedding. Still, he couldn't quite make out why Kelly was moving so slowly on it.
"The beach?" he echoed softly.
She turned and stared at him. "Yes. Water, sun, swimming. We’ve never gone. Let's do it."
He gazed at her almost incredulously. Her skin was so pale. "Kel, you'll burn."
She laughed. "Nah. I have great sunscreen. Besides, I want to see you in bathing togs. Bet you look choice!"
He felt his face begin to flush. "You've seen me starkers. Why should . . ."
She began to giggle. "You're such a bloke. You have no clue what turns women on." She paused and amended, "Outside of sex, I mean. You got the sex part knocked."
He grinned and pulled her close. "Glad ya think so." He stroked her hair. "Kelly, about the wedding."
She sighed again and pulled away. "You're turning into a real drag about that. I'm not ready to think about it, let alone plan it. Besides," she added almost mischievously. "I don't have a ring."
"We can fix that. I'll call Kyle tomorrow."
"Don't you dare!" she exclaimed. "John, please. I'm not even used to the idea of getting married and until I am . . . please, let's just take some time, eh?"
He sighed. "You are the MOST difficult woman."
"Still, you claim to love me, " she pointed out.
"I do. And I want to . . ."
She touched his mouth. "I know. But right now, I want to find a nice secluded spot of sand in the sun. If you're lucky, I might let you rub me . . . with oil. And if you're REALLY lucky, I'll . . . rub you back."
He grinned. "Don't you ever think about anything else?"
She smiled and her eyes sparkled. "Any reason why I should?"
They packed the car and stopped at John's briefly to get his gear. They drove to Winstone’s Cove on the North Shore between Long Bay and Waiake. They parked and then tramped in.
The beach was a lovely long stretch of blue ocean and rocky coastline. Tall whitecap waves gently rolled to shore to be met by sparkling sand. Kelly loved the diversity of the beaches; either black sand or white, they all looked different, the volcanic formations surrounding them varied just enough to give an individual character to each one. But the thing she loved best, was that there were so many of them, that unless you went to one with facilities, they tended to be deserted, especially those that you had to tramp to.
Kelly had put clothes on over her suit, but once they got their towels out, she stripped down.
To John's surprise, her bathing togs were not modest, not modest at all, despite her generally modest dress at other times. The bare minimum of her body was covered with tiny strings of cloth; the maximum skin was showing. "You'll burn to a crisp," he muttered uncomfortably. He could feel his own suit starting to be stretched to the limit of its capacity.
She shook her head, tied her hair back and pulled out the sunscreen. "Want to . . . oil me?" she teased.
He grinned and removed his jeans and T-shirt. He stuck out his hand for the oil.
She stared at him, licked her lips and requested, "Let me do you first."
He shrugged and sat down on a towel. Kelly stood for a moment staring. John's chest was massive, his skin a warm golden tone. The muscles in his arms, even at rest were impressive. She licked her lips as her eyes traveled over his well-defined upper body. His pecs were impressively sculpted; his abs flat and a line of hair ran from his chest down into his suit. The sight of this dark arrow never failed to thrill her with all that it implied. She knew he worked hard to stay fit, knew he did it because of his work, but it also kept him beautiful. She never got tired of looking at him. It was like having a statue come to life. "John," she remarked as she sat down next to him, "promise me you'll never let yourself go to seed."
"What?"
"You're so . . . pretty. I love looking at you. Promise me that you'll never get . . . fat and flabby."
He shook his head. His eyes widened and he asked, "Where did that come from?"
"Marriage. We're gonna be sleeping together for the next fifty years. I want my husband to be pretty."
He shook his head again. "You're crackers."
She laughed. "Maybe. But all the same . . ."
He stared at her. "You'd stop loving me if I got fat?"
She studied him thoughtfully. She tilted her head to one side as she pretended to consider this. "Probably not," she assured him. "But, John, you have to admit, the physical side, the sex, it's a major part of what we have."
"Physical attraction," he mused. "Yeah, I guess it is. But Kelly, I'd still love you if you . . ."
She laughed. "John . . ." she shook her head. "You're such a bloke. I do love that about you." She put some oil on her hands and began to rub it over his arms. They felt hot and hard, all firm muscle and bone. His skin was soft, his forearms covered with a thin silky layer of hair. She slathered the oil on, moving up to his thick biceps and then his shoulders.
John closed his eyes and reveled in her touch. Her fingers danced lightly over his skin, highly erotic in their movement. He lost himself in the feel of the sun beating down on his back, on the velvety touch of her hands, in the scent of the lotion. He drowned in the tactile sensations, losing track of time, space, his worries and concerns. He lived in that one moment for what seemed an eternity and then had an epiphany of sorts. "I DO think too much," he mumbled.
"What?"
John laughed. "I just realized. No wonder you think I'm a pain in the arse."
Kelly stopped rubbing lotion on his shoulders and looked at him. "I don't think that. Well, not often anyways. What do you mean?"
He laughed again and then his face turned serious as he tried to explain. "I'm always thinking about things, instead of . . . living in the moment. Instead of just being . . . I want to know what's next. What's gonna happen. I want to control the future."
"It's what makes you a good detective," she conceded, "but not always easy to be in love with. Are you saying you're gonna change?"
He grinned ruefully. "Probably not. But I'll try and . . . let things happen more naturally instead of always trying to control them."
"That'd be good," she agreed. "Because you know, the wedding WILL happen. Eventually. I love you, I'm just . . ."
"Scared," he suggested.
She nodded. "Yes. John, despite how much you think, there's quite a few things you HAVEN'T thought about and I don't want to think about them now. How about we enjoy today and then next weekend we can talk about things?"
"Done," he agreed. "Now, let me get some lotion on you before you burn."
She handed him the bottle.
John studied her for a moment. Her red hair was pulled off her freckled face. The rest of her was pale although also covered with freckles. Her body was lithe and compact, her breasts barely contained by the string bikini. His eyes traveled downward over her flat abs and belly to the mound of her womanhood, again barely covered. He could see a tiny wisp of red curl that had escaped and he found it highly erotic. Her legs were strong and muscled, her body toned and beautiful. A wave of desire washed over him, passion so strong it astounded him with its force.
He gasped for air and felt his suit tighten even more. He uncapped the bottle and poured some oil on Kelly's legs. Then slowly he began to massage it in. Over her strong hard calves and up her thick muscled thighs, he gently rubbed the lotion on. It smelled of coconuts.
Kelly closed her eyes and relaxed. The sun felt lovely and John's touch was tender, arousing and soothing all at once. She felt cool lotion splash on her arms and his strong hands were caressing her forearms and shoulders. Then he stopped.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. "You missed a few places," she teased. She eyed him carefully and hinted, "Maybe I need to . . . do you?" Her eyes were focused on his groin.
He grinned. "I thought you want to lay IN the sun. Not necessarily get laid."
She giggled. "Who said we can't do both? It's not like there's a crowd."
He rolled his eyes. Then he poured some oil on her belly and began to rub it in using only the tips of his fingers.
He moved closer and dropped a little oil on her throat. He massaged that in as well. Then he began to caress lower, moving to her breasts. He could see her nipples tighten under the bikini top. He tickled them then felt her fingers tangle in his hair as she pulled his head closer.
He kissed her cleavage, lightly tonguing the hollow. She moaned his name and wrapped her arms around him. Her hands and nails ran down his spine.
"Kelly," he whispered her name, his voice full of emotion, something precious and rare, a gift too special not to treasure.
"John," she whispered back, her heart in her throat.
He raised his face to gaze into her eyes. He swallowed hard, took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. She pulled him even closer and murmured, "You'd better do my back or I will burn."
He chuckled. "Not if you're lying on it."
She giggled and took the hint. She undid the string that held her top up and then lay down on her back. John smiled full out, his dimples appeared and Kelly opened her arms in invitation.
John ran his fingers lightly over her torso, caressing her skin, which was warm to the touch. He could feel the sun on his back, hot and sensual. She was watching him expectantly.
He lay down on his side and turned toward her. He ran a hand across her chest touching her firm breasts lightly. The nipples hardened even more, perking up like juicy ripe fruit. He bent his head to one, flicked his tongue out and teased it. Kelly moaned and her pelvis arched. He smiled and rubbed his lips over her nipple.
She sighed and ran her hands over his chest and belly. Her nails scrapped along the waistband of his suit and then her fingers began to wiggle inside.
She grasped his erect length and much to his surprise, the touch of her hand caused him to do something he hadn't done in years. He came immediately. He felt his face turn red with embarrassment and as if that wasn't bad enough, it also set Kelly to giggling uncontrollably.
"Kelly," he snorted, his entire body shaking, "stop it! It's not funny!"
She sat up, her breasts shimmying on her chest as she continued to giggle. "John . . ." she hiccupped. "I'm sorry, but . . . it is. I never had that effect on anyone before. Well, at least not that I know of. And certainly not since I was a teenager."
"It is not . . . amusing," he repeated.
"John," she gasped, "it just tells me how much . . ." she paused and studied his face. "It's flattering."
"Flattering?" he echoed sounding slightly mollified.
She nodded. "It tells me that I really turn you on. Still. That you want me just as much as you did before."
He shook his head. "Was there any doubt?"
She shrugged. "Well, you know, we've been together for a bit and . . . sometimes . . . anyway, I think it's . . . sweet."
"Sweet?" he shook his head. "It's bloody embarrassing and uncomfortable."
She took his face into her hands and said, "You know perfectly well that I can easily fix it." Her eyes twinkled at him mischievously. "And I do love to . . . fix you!"
"Humph," he grumbled, stubbornly refusing to be cajoled into agreeing with her.
She kissed his nose, then his lips. "John, please, don't let this spoil anything. I'm sorry I laughed, but the look of surprise on your face! I wish I had a camera. And it IS flattering that I can get you so excited."
He shook his head again, then grinned at her. "You do, ya know. I've never known anything quite like it."
That made her giggle again. "Why do you think that is?"
He shrugged. "It can't be . . . love, can it?"
"Absolutely not," she insisted. "Because that would mean something entirely too serious for today." She paused and suggested, "How about a swim?"
John thought a swim was a good idea. He jumped up and raced to the water. He was more than embarrassed and uncomfortable, he was also angry. He hadn't known that he would feel that way if Kelly laughed at him. It reminded him of being a little boy and the butt of jokes and razzing. He didn't like being made fun of, he realized, and although she swore that it wasn't what she felt, it had evoked some long buried memories.
He shook his head as he waited at the water for her to join him. He had never told her about growing up in Lower Hutt, about what it had been like, mainly because he realized, he didn't like remembering.
She sauntered up to him slowly, looking as if she were deep in thought. When she reached him she put her hand on his arm and asked, "John, there's more, isn't there? What just happened, it isn't about my laughing, is it?"
He nodded. "Yeah, there is. I didn't even . . ." he paused for a moment and added, "Let's table it, eh? I promise to tell you, but it's not . . . happy, so . . ."
"Up to you. Anytime you want to tell me, I'll listen. Even today." She touched his face. "I love you and whatever it is, we can handle it together."
Again, he nodded. Then he took her hand and pulled her into the blue water. Kelly squealed from the feel of the cool water hitting her hot skin as John continued to pull her along until they were out far enough to swim.
They laughed and splashed and frolicked like children, then Kelly spotted a rock and dared John into a race. John won, as she had known he would, his longer body and more powerful arms guaranteed that. Out of breath, they both rested briefly on the rock.
"You look SO good wet," she murmured softly.
He rolled his eyes at her. "What's that mean?"
She laughed. "Your hair gets all curly and I just want to run my fingers through it. Your skin glistens when it's covered with water. The hair on your chest and belly it looks all yummy too. In fact, in general, you look . . . good enough to eat!"
He rolled his eyes again and suggested, "You must be hungry."
She laughed. "Maybe. But, I'm also powerfully, madly, deeply in lust with you."
That brought a dimpled smile to his face. He leaned over and kissed her. "Race you back?" he asked, then without waiting for an answer began to swim.
She watched him for a moment, his powerful body cutting through the water. His muscled arms beaded with droplets, the skin glowing golden in the sun. The line of his back, his shoulder blades breaking the water, even his legs slicing it. She sighed and again felt the loss that she couldn't have his babies. They would have been so beautiful . . . she swallowed hard and willed herself not to think of it.
She swallowed once more and began to swim back. John was waiting for her with a towel when she came out of the water. He wrapped her in it and said, "You're turning red."
"It was worth it," she muttered.
A week later they had the talk. They were at John's house and after finishing dinner they settled on his sofa. Kelly announced, "Marriage."
John grinned. "Great institution, let's do it."
She gave him a wan smile and then let him have it with both barrels. "Shay won't like it. Eric will feel torn between you. Where will we live? My family will expect you to convert, but I don't. Who will marry us? What about YOUR family? Are you moving your Mum up here? Where will she live? When will that happen? Will your Maori relatives come? My family is . . . well nothing could be further from your Maori roots, your grandfather . . ."
"Stop, stop!" John interrupted. He put up his hands as if to ward off evil spirits. "I get your point. But, Kel, why do we have to worry about all that? Why can't we just . . . get married?"
She sighed loudly. "John, maybe we can ignore some of it, but we can't ignore Eric or Shay."
"Eric will be fine and Shay will have to lump it."
"That's cold and not like you," she retorted, surprised.
He shrugged. "I've really tried, Kelly, but the woman makes me feel guilty every time I see her. I can't help that I don't love her and I can't change it. Eric tells me there's been no one in her life all these years. It's like she's been . . . holding on to me and . . . Kelly; I don't know what to do about her. I've tried to be her friend and she always seems to accept that, but . . ." he paused. "I . . . she won't cause any trouble."
Kelly shook her head. "I'm not worried about trouble. I'm worried about Eric. He loves BOTH of you. It's going to be hard on him. She won't mean to, but this will hurt her and so it will hurt him."
"So what do you suggest? I'm NOT gonna give up marrying you to . . . appease her."
"I'm not asking you to, but there has to be something we can do." She paused, then teased tentatively, "Find her a bloke?"
John sighed and then grinned. "That would be best, but somehow I don't think it's gonna happen."
"Maybe I could talk to her?" Kelly suggested softly.
"You?"
Kelly nodded and sat very still while she let John consider the possibility.
"Why?" he asked finally.
She took a deep breath and then explained, "Maybe if she had the opportunity to meet me, for us to clear the air, woman to woman, I could reassure her I won't take you away from Eric. Maybe I could ease her fears."
"Let me think on this, eh?"
Kelly nodded. First hurdle crossed. "Now, John, about living arrangements."
Home. It was something John seldom thought about and almost never considered, yet . . . now it was paramount in his life. Kelly had made it an issue, one he had never thought to examine. She was one hundred percent right and one hundred percent wrong when it came to his view of their marriage. She was right when she said he hadn't thought beyond the ceremony, but wrong that he didn't see the future. He did see it, but in broad strokes like a child's finger painting and not in specific details. Still, she required details and having put it to him that bluntly, he was willing to make the journey.
So . . . now he needed to consider the issue of a home. Not just a place to hang his clothes, sleep and eat, but a home. A place that would belong to them, where according to Kelly, they would be sheltered and protected, a safe haven from the rest of the world.
That kind of sanctuary had never been a part of his life. He had never experienced it. Not with his Mum or Marla and with Marla, he should have. Marla had always seemed more interested in acquiring things for the house seeing it as an extension of their professional success. She had never been interested in building a nest or refuge.
Growing up with his Mum, he had always felt a sense of isolation and unhappiness. It wasn't that his Mum or his home had been unpleasant, exactly; it was more that everything else around him was. Looking back, he could see that the other boys were no worse to him than they were to each other. He just hadn't been able to handle it in the casual way the others did. If he had taken the razzing good-naturedly, if he had given as good as he got, than maybe things would have been different. But he couldn't. His own introspective nature had set him apart from the others, kept him separate.
At times, even now, he still felt like a fraud, as if he were still Johnny Wilson, the man who had lived a lie for almost two years. Yet, his life was very changed from those days and different than it would have been had Caro lived. Still, Kelly seemed to understand what building a home entailed, even if he didn't and so despite his misgivings, he agreed to go with her to find their place.
They took their house-hunting search to Ponsonby. Kelly liked the area, although it started off "K" Road. The main drag, Ponsonby Road, was full of shops, restaurants and pubs. Most of them were of an upscale variety and John was sure the pubs would feature expensive wines by the glass and ferns. He thought it was a little too posh for them. Kelly just laughed and said he needed to get his mind off class issues and on to the important ones, like resale value. He laughed with her and followed her directions.
John drove up and down hilly streets filled with one and two story houses; cute little bungalows and miniature villas as Kelly consulted her list and looked out the window.
On the upside of a hill, Kelly gestured for him to stop. This house wasn’t on their list, but something about it attracted her. Perhaps it was the garden or the green and orange trim. Maybe it was the big notice that it had three bedrooms, three living areas and a separate office with workshop. Or perhaps it was the white picket fence. In any case, John magically found a parking spot and they got out to have a look.
The house was surrounded by that white picket fence, which smelled freshly painted. The garden was indeed wild and blooming. Kelly spotted ten different plants in the prime of life. The outside of the house looked even better close up. It was also freshly painted. There was no car in the driveway, so it seemed clear than no one was at home. However, the pictures on the sign made Kelly even more excited. They showed huge spacious rooms with hardwood floors. The photo of the backyard was also attractive.
It seemed to precisely match their needs, so Kelly copied down the particulars and said she would arrange a walk-through.
When Eric had turned thirteen, John hadn't known the boy was his son and had ignored the event. For Eric's fourteenth birthday, John was determined in his single-minded way to make up for all the birthdays he had missed. As a consequence, John had done too much.
He knew from Shay that Eric wanted a bicycle. John remembered when his Mum had surprised him with what was then a state-of-the-art bike. So . . . he found the most tricked out model he could, bought it, the helmet, the gloves and all the accessories that went with it.
Kelly found him assembling it in his garage the day before Eric's birthday. He was surrounded by bits and pieces, tools and she thought he looked utterly adorable. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, he wore baggy khaki shorts and a sleeveless black T-shirt and he was the very picture of a frustrated father right down to the smear of grease on his cheek. "What'cha doing?" she asked innocently.
He grinned sheepishly. "Putting together Eric's present."
She giggled. She couldn't help it. He looked so damn cute with his dimples and his flushed embarrassed face. "Having a little trouble?"
John shrugged. "It would help a lot if the instructions were in a language I spoke."
Kelly swallowed her laugh. She hadn't forgotten how upset John had gotten at the beach when she had laughed at him. Should she tell him that he could pay the store to assemble the bicycle? "Let me see."
John picked up a stack of papers and handed them to her.
Kelly smiled again and shuffled through the papers. Sure enough, they all seem to be in Japanese. "Where's the box?"
John pointed. She went to it and dived inside looking for something. Then as if she was pulling a rabbit out of a hat, she found a sheaf of papers. She walked over to him and announced, "English."
John's flush deepened and then he smiled. "What would I do without you?"
"Make a sculpture instead of a bicycle," she deadpanned.
He laughed, took the papers and then kissed her. "I love you."
She smiled. "You work on this. I'll go make dinner."
He nodded and began reading directions. Kelly watched him for another moment and then went into the house.
Later, after the bike was finished and a bow tied around it, Kelly helped John wrap everything else. In addition to the bike accessories, there was a portable CD player, CDs and a game for Eric's PS/2. She knew John had gone overboard, but she didn't begrudge it. Still, she thought this was one more thing likely to make Shay feel inadequate. Her gift for Eric was small and meant to please, not overwhelm. She had bought him a new pair of boxing gloves. John had said his present ones were worn out. No way Shay could complain about that. All the same, it bothered Kelly that she and John had to be so nervous about Shay and what she might or might not do. It wasn't that John thought she would take Eric away, it was more that John was afraid of Eric's being torn apart. Still, they were going to have to deal with it . . . and soon.
The plan for Eric's birthday was for John to have dinner with Shay and his son and then for Eric to come to John's house for dessert with Kelly. That way Eric would begin to get the feel of having two families.
John thought he was being subtle, but Shay understood and didn't much like it. John brought all the gifts not bike related to Shay's flat. Eric was more than delighted, he was thrilled. Shay had given him clothes as usual and after discussion with John, a video game for the system they had at the flat. After dinner, John and Eric left for John's house.
Eric greeted Kelly cheerfully. She wished him a happy birthday and gave him his gift. Though they had known each other for a while, Kelly had never attempted any kind of physical contact. She and John were more physically affectionate in Eric's presence now, but she had never hugged him. She was waiting for Eric to offer affection.
Eric opened his gift, his eyes got wide and a lovely smile, like his father's, lit his face. "That's so cool," he declared. "How did you know?"
Kelly smiled. "Your dad. He told me you were about to need new ones."
Eric put the box down, stood up and walked over to Kelly. He eyed her uncertainly as if he had a question he didn't know how to ask. She looked at him and reached out a tentative hand to ruffle his hair.
He smiled and opened his arms and Kelly took the offer of a hug. She felt her eyes fill with tears and she quickly backed away.
Eric looked at her for a moment, turned to John and commented, "All women do cry when they're happy."
John confirmed, "Yeah, they do, even Kelly."
Eric shook his head either in amazement or in agreement as Kelly wiped her eyes. John put an around her waist and pulled her close. "Eric, want the rest of your presents?" Kelly asked.
Eric's eyes widened. "There's more?"
Kelly laughed. "Oh yeah. You know your Dad. He can't control himself. Once the shopping urge comes over him, he goes crackers."
Eric laughed. John pointed to a pile of wrapped gifts. Eric's eyes widened further. "There's more than Christmas!" he exclaimed.
John flushed. "It's all kind of the same present."
That perplexed Eric, especially when he began opening things. After he opened them all he looked at John. "I don't . . . These are for a bike. But I don't . . . " he trailed off . . . his face confused and a little sad. His expression lightened considerably however when Kelly wheeled the bright red bike into the room.
"Is that for me?"
John laughed. "You didn't think I'd get you all that gear without getting you the bike, too?"
Eric grinned sheepishly and like his father, flushed. He walked over to the bike and touched it reverently. "It's something special, eh?"
"Top-of-the-line." John paused and then began to tell his son all about it.
Kelly stepped back to watch them. They looked so alike, their dark heads bent together. There was so much love between them; it was a pleasure to watch.
Shay knew something was in the wind when John called while Eric was in school. He asked if she was free for lunch and then suggested a coffee shop near the flat. Shay agreed. She guessed this was bad news.
She dressed carefully in a light peach sundress, curled her hair and put on makeup. She arrived to see John fidgeting at a table. He had a bottle of L & P and was pulling at the label. She strolled over to him trying to still the fast beating of her heart. She hated that her body was such a traitor. She stopped in front of him and said, "Gidday."
John rose and looked her over. She looked good; through he guessed what the effort cost her. "You look nice," he stated politely.
"Thanks." She sat down and then he did. She smiled and waited for him to get to the point of the meeting. Shay thought he seemed nervous and loath to begin.
He looked around and then asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Well, you did invite me for a feed, didn’t you?" she responded dryly.
To her surprise, he flushed scarlet.
He swallowed and admitted. "I did, didn’t I?" He grinned ruefully and added, "Sorry. I . . ."
"You have something to tell me that you think I’ll hate," she suggested.
He nodded. His face was full of guilt. "Yeah. I . . . shit . . ." he mumbled under his breath,
"John," she explained gently. "I’ve been prepared for this since Christmas. It hasn’t slipped my mind what you told me then, so just tell me. When’s the wedding?"
He swallowed hard and forced himself to meet her eyes. "We haven’t set a date yet, but . . . we are engaged."
"I see," she murmured. She paused and eyed him skeptically. "I’ve been stopping you?"
He shook his head. "No. Well . . . not exactly. I mean, she . . . I . . . WE . . . are concerned about how you and Eric will take it. But . . ."
"But?" she let the word dangle.
"It’s complicated."
Shay laughed. "What in your life isn’t?" she asked rhetorically. At his wide-eyed astonishment she added, "John, I won’t . . . There won’t be an issue with me or Eric. We . . . you know my ONLY concern is him. From what I can see, he’s fond of her and she of him. As long as he’s okay with it, I am."
"Good," he muttered, not sure if he should believe her. "She does care for Eric and she’s a good person. She’s . . ." he saw Shay’s eyes narrow. "What?" he asked defensively.
She shrugged. "I still worry about what happens when the two of you have kids."
John shook his head. "Shay, that’s not an issue."
"It is," she insisted. "Eric, he’s . . . he’s had so many hurts and disappointments. He’s just now adjusting to having both of us in his life. If you back away . . ."
"That’s not gonna happen."
"I wish I could be as sure of that as you are."
"You can be. You have to trust me."
"It’s not you," she mumbled unaware that she had spoken aloud, "that I don’t trust. It’s her."
"Her?" he echoed.
"She may not want YOUR son around, once she has her own kids with you," she insinuated.
He shook his head. "Shay, Kelly isn’t like that. She comes from a huge family. She . . . don’t worry. Maybe you should meet her."
Shay’s face went pale, as if all the blood had drained out of it. "Meet her?" she repeated. "Why?"
"So you can get to know her. She’s a good person. You’d like her, I think."
Shay suddenly laughed and a spot of color returned to her cheeks. "You are stupid about women, aren’t you?"
John flushed. "I don’t know WHY everyone says that," he complained bitterly.
Shay laughed harder. "You're a sweet bloke, John, but terribly naïve. What could . . . why would I like her?"
He shrugged. "She’s smart, funny and she’s got a huge heart."
"And you love her," Shay declared softly. "Her. Not me."
John felt as if he had been tackled by the front line of the All-Blacks. It was one thing to know something and quite another to hear it out loud. That was a declaration he couldn’t ignore and it knocked him for a loop. It took him a moment to find his voice. "I’m sorry. I guess, I thought . . . I dunno what I thought. Maybe I am naïve. But we ALL care about Eric. I want you to feel secure that this won't hurt him. I reckon I hoped if you met her you’d see that she would never do anything to hurt him."
Shay swallowed hard. "I’ll think on it."
John gave Kelly a blow by blow of the meeting. She could see how deeply it had effected him. There was tension in the set of his shoulders and a furrow to his brow that hadn't been there before. He appeared to be walking a thin line with Shay, one that was now threatening to turn from frustration and exasperation to bitter anger. Finally, when he ran down, she said, "John, you did your best. Let me talk to her."
He shook his head. "I don’t think she wants to meet you."
Kelly laughed. "Of course not. But . . . all the same, I think . . ." She sighed. "She needs reassurance. She’s worried for her son. I appreciate your not telling her about me, but . . . I think she needs to know. She’ll understand better if it comes from me."
It took her some cajoling, but eventually she overcame John’s reluctance. She called Shay the next night and asked for a meeting. Shay was oddly agreeable on the telephone and invited Kelly over to the flat at once. Kelly knew a power play when she heard one, but she didn’t mind. This had to be done and sooner rather than later.
Kelly was more nervous about meeting Shay than she had been about officially meeting Eric. Despite the calm exterior she had presented to John about the situation, she was terrified. If she buggered this up, John could lose his son and he would hate her for it. She changed her outfit five times, finally settling on her best suit and the cross that John had given her for Christmas. But she was still sure she was dressed wrong.
She wasn't surprised at the scungy nature of the block of flats where Shay and Eric lived. John had warned her that the neighborhood wasn't the best and that despite his offer of help, Shay refused to move. She insisted on being as independent as possible and living off the money she earned.
Kelly knocked on the door hesitantly. She held her breath until she heard a soft voice and then footsteps. The door opened and her eyes widened at the diminutive woman who answered. Shay was tiny with long soft hair, big brown eyes and a voluptuous figure. She wore faded blue jeans and a man's white shirt. The clothes made her seem like a child.
Shay stood for a moment frankly studying her rival. Kelly was tall with a lithe athletic build. She wore an elegant black silk suit, her hair was carefully styled and her makeup exquisite. Despite the red hair, green eyes and freckles, she looked as chic and self-assured as a model on the cover of a fashion magazine. Shay's first impression was of confidence and class and she immediately felt inadequate. Kelly looked like everything she wasn't and Shay couldn't even say she was surprised.
Though she had never met Marla, John's first wife, she knew Marla was a lawyer and when John had had his blowout with the force, she had seen pictures of her. Marla, too, was sophisticated and professional. There was no way Shay could compete with that. She was a barely educated single Mum who was more concerned with putting food on the table than with current fashions.
Yet, John's choice of wives had surprised her in one way. The boy she had known was sweet, unpolished, he hadn't seemed to care about appearances or status. She knew he still preferred jeans to suits, yet his women seemed cut from a different cloth. It made her wonder if she really knew John at all.
The two women scrutinized each other for long time and finally Shay spoke. "Come in."
Kelly nodded and followed Shay into the cozy cluttered lounge. Everything was old and worn, but also lovingly cared for. She could see evidence of Eric everywhere. Shay followed her glance and confirmed, "He'll be with his father for hours. Dinner and a flick, I think."
"I know," Kelly admitted. "That's why . . ." She stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. From the way John had always described her, Kelly had pictured Shay as strong, bitter and plain. The woman she was looking at was lovely and appeared fragile and scared.
Shay wondered what Kelly thought she could possibly accomplish by this meeting. Finally, Shay suggested, "Please, sit down. Would you like a drink?"
"I don't drink," Kelly replied automatically.
Shay laughed. "I meant soda or water, although perhaps a glass of gin WOULD be helpful."
Kelly's eyes widened. Then she saw Shay's mouth twitch. "Sorry. It's just . . . John . . . his friends . . ."
"Booze hounds, all of them," Shay agreed, although she didn't know any such thing.
Kelly smiled. "They do like their beer anyways."
"John always did," Shay remarked dryly. She moved to the sofa and sat.
Kelly followed and sat on the other end. "I guess you're wondering why I called."
"Not in the least," Shay demurred. "John wanted us to meet, so . . ."
"I don't always do what he wants," Kelly disputed. "But actually, I wanted to meet you. To . . ." she took a deep breath and then continued, "I know you still care deeply for him. But this thing with you, it's tearing him apart in ways he doesn't even realize. He loves his son and he wants to do what's right for him. So he's cut you a lot more slack then he should have. He's let you dictate the rules and when it was just him that was fine. But it's not just him anymore. So I'm here to tell you, you need to let go. John is never going to love you. Even if I wasn't in his life, he wouldn't. He'd always be afraid of losing Eric. He does care about you, as the mother of his son and as a friend, but that's it. There is no more."
Kelly watched as all the blood drained from Shay's face. She could see her words had hit their mark, perhaps more accurately than she intended. She continued in a more conciliatory tone, "I'm sorry to be so blunt, but there's no way around it. John doesn't like hurting you and whether you believe it or not neither do I. I understand how you feel and if the roles were reversed, I'm not sure how I would handle it. But Shay, the important thing is Eric. That he not feel as if he has to choose."
"So you just take over?" Shay spit.
Kelly swallowed, then in a soft voice said, "No. I'm not his mother and I never could be. I don't want to take that place in his life. I wouldn't presume to try. I can be his friend though and I'd like to think I've made a start on that."
Shay glared at her, then demanded to know, "What do you want?"
"To reassure you that we're not going to take Eric away. That nothing will change John's love for his son or his commitment to him."
This was too much for Shay. She exploded; her voice was harsh and bitter, as she asked, "What about when you have kids?"
This was the crux of it. Kelly closed her eyes, counted to ten and then admitted, "That won't happen. I can't have children."
Shay's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "You can't . . ." she began to repeat the words but something in Kelly's face stopped her. Shay felt her anger melt away at the pain she heard in Kelly's voice. "I'm sorry," she condoled quietly.
"Thank you. So you must see, there's no reason for you to worry. Eric won't lose John to another family. There won't be one."
"Does John," she began and then she stopped. "I'm sorry," she repeated again. "That must be . . ." a new thought struck her. "It must be painful then, to be around Eric."
Kelly shook her head. "Not in the least. If it weren’t for Eric, I wouldn't even marry John. Because he loves kids. But he made me see that Eric was enough for him."
"I see." Shay studied her rival; only now, Kelly wasn't a flawless adversary, she was a person, imperfect and human. All the same, she couldn't keep the anxiety out of her voice as she asked, "You won't try to take him?"
"Oh, Shay," Kelly gulped. "We'd never do that. John would never want to keep you from Eric. He knows how much you two need each other. And truly, I don't think Eric would want that."
Shay was silent for a long moment, then she acknowledged, "Kelly, I appreciate your honesty and I must admit, it does ease my mind some, but . . ."
"John will put it in writing," Kelly replied quickly. "Visitation and such. You don't have to worry. Since he's making it legal, he'll make it legal all the way."
"That would be . . . thank you."
"You're welcome," Kelly rose as if she were finished.
"Wait," Shay requested.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry about . . . it must be very difficult for you. Is that why you and John haven't set a date?"
"No," Kelly claimed. "Although we did want to be sure that Eric wouldn't be torn apart by it."
"I'll do my best," Shay agreed. "I'm glad we met. You don't . . . you aren't what I expected."
Kelly smiled. "You either. Maybe John isn't as naive as I thought."
Shay laughed. "He did say that I'd like you."
Kelly laughed with her. "Same here."
John and Kelly had dinner together two nights after her meeting with Shay. She filled him in and to her surprise; he wasn't as pleased as she had hoped.
"You didn't have to tell her," he insisted. "It was none of her business."
"Maybe not," Kelly conceded, "but it did seem to chill her out and that was the important thing."
He sighed. "I guess. Still, knowing Shay, now she'll just find a new thing to worry at."
Kelly held back a smile. "I don't think so. But John, she will always love you. There's no backing away from that. So just be careful of her."
John looked at her with wonder. "What's that mean?"
"Be gentle with her. Ignore her bad humor on occasion and let her snipe at you. At least when you're alone with her."
He shook his head. "You're something."
John and Kelly told Eric the next night. John wasn't sure how the boy would respond, but what he did was surprise his father. Eric heard them out, smiled and said, "Good on ya." Then he added, "When?"
John and Kelly looked each other and shrugged. "Haven't set a date yet, why?"
Eric shrugged. "The sooner the better. Then we can all get back to normal."
"Normal?" John echoed.
Eric laughed. He grinned at Kelly and then at his father. "You won't have to um . . . schedule things."
That caused Kelly to giggle. "Eric, I hope you're really happy about this." She paused and added seriously, "I promise no real changes to your life. I want . . . I mean, we won't . . . John?"
"She means that we're not going to try to take you from your Mum. But I would like to have a more normalized relationship. You know, with regular weekends and such."
"Mum told me. She said you," he gestured at Kelly, "met with her. I think she liked you."
Kelly smiled. "I liked her too."
John woke the next morning with such an utter sense of well being he thought he was still dreaming. Kelly lay sleeping next to him her face relaxed and content. She had thrown off the sheets and he studied her naked body.
It wasn't only that Kelly was beautiful, John decided as his eyes traveled over the curve of her waist and the lush roundness of her breasts. Or even so much that she had a healthy toned body and sparkling eyes. It was the whole package. True, he had been drawn to her with lightening bolt lust, but the longer he was with her; the more right it all became. Would he love her if she looked different? If she had dark straight hair, tiny breasts or was overweight?
He decided that he couldn't know, because Kelly was Kelly and part of that WAS how she looked. It was as much a part of who she was as her cheeky attitude. If she looked different, she might be different. When he was married to Marla, he often felt he changed personalities with his clothes. Certainly, the Johnny Wilson apparel changed him. As much as clothes or hair might not have seemed part of who he was, apparently there was more to it than that. So maybe Kelly's comment on the beach about getting fat deserved more consideration than he had given it. If he changed something about himself, something as essential as working out, maybe it would change who he was too.
She still slept, unaware of John's thoughts. He touched a wisp of hair on her face and she opened one eye and mumbled. "What time is it?"
"I dunno. I was just thinking about how pretty you look naked."
She yawned. "Ya gonna do something about it?"
He smiled. "Don't you ever . . ."
She put her fingers over his mouth. "You better hope I never get tired of making love. I read somewhere that married couples don't do it more than once a week or once every two weeks. An excellent reason NOT to get hitched."
"We'll be the exception to the rule," he insisted, leaning down and kissing her nose.
She reached up and pulled him down to her. "Then we'd better start practicing now."
He laughed into her neck as he felt her arms wrap around him. His mouth found hers and all laughter ceased as they kissed.
He rolled on his side and pulled her close, their bodies touching here and there.
He ran his hands over her back and arms. Her skin felt like silk. She pushed close to him, pressing her breasts against his chest, her warmth lighting a fire inside him. She ran her nails lightly down his spine and pulled her mouth from his.
She squeezed his buttocks and whispered, "I swear to god, every single inch of you is hard as a rock."
He chuckled. "I'd have thought that was a good thing."
She reached down and fondled his erection. "It is. It is." She began to move her fingers up and down his length.
"Not so fast," he muttered. "I want to see that article about married couples."
She giggled. "We aren't married yet. We can still go at it like ferrets."
"I dunno," he said doubtfully, "I'm feeling more married by the minute."
She pushed him on to his back and straddled him. "Not me. I'm still randy as anything." She touched his face and then shifted up and reached for him again.
He didn't stop her. He loved it when she took control. Kelly could be warm and affectionate, but she could also get wild and he never knew which one of her would appear. The constant delight of their couplings was peppered with passionate play and loving warmth. It was as close to heaven as he ever thought he would get.
Later, holding her in the warm afterglow of sated passion, he couldn't quite believe the joy that coursed through him. He had her and his son. They would get married, live together and everything would be more wonderful than he had any right to expect. For the first time in his life, he felt like everything had come right. He couldn't quite believe it. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It did. Three hours later although he didn't realize it at the time.
His Mum called. She had decided to sell the house and move and she needed his help going through things and packing. Reluctantly he agreed to go to Lower Hutt for a few days.
When John arrived in Lower Hutt, his Mum and the bungalow looked good. It was clean and neat as a pin and she suggested he help her sort what to keep and what to throw away. There was a box of his father's things pushed to the back of his mother's closet. Mum had apparently packed them long ago and forgotten them. She insisted HE go through them. It looked as if things were thrown in hodge podge. There was a pair of coveralls stained with grease. A few white starched shirts, black shoes that looked brand new, a pair of loafers missing the ties, two paperback books on car maintenance, a hat from a pub and a jacket from the local rugby club. In the pocket of the jacket, John found an envelope. The envelope was long and white, thick as if it contained many documents. John put it aside as he went through the rest of the box. When he was finished, he opened the envelope slowly.
Inside the envelope were two bills of lading and a photo. The photo showed five men and was taken in front of the old mill before it burned down. He recognized his father, but who were the rest?
He studied the documents, but they didn't make sense. Why had his father saved them? Why had he put them away where they wouldn't be found? Despite his previous promise to his Mum that he wouldn't look into his father's death, he didn't see how he could keep that promise now. There was a part of him that had to know. He couldn't simply let his dad's death be written off.
He stuck the envelope in his pocket. The picture he studied again. It showed one man in a suit and four men in coveralls including his dad.
Other than his father, he recognized no one, yet there was something tantalizingly familiar about two of them. With a sigh, he decided to talk to his Mum.
He found her sitting at the kitchen table. She had a photo album open. There was a cigarette in her hand and one burning in the ashtray as if she had forgotten she lit it. An unopened bottle of beer stood on the table. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red. She had obviously been crying.
John took in the scene and then asked softly, "That for me?"
His Mum looked up to see him gesture at the beer. Her eyes were unfocused, lost in the past. With an effort, she brought them back to the present. She took a deep drag of her smoke and then stubbed it out.
"I thought you quit," John mumbled.
Jennifer Lawless laughed bitterly. "Giving up beer was easier than giving up smoking." She stared hungrily at the bottle of Steinlager. Beads of condensation rolled down the side. She licked her lips and then grimaced. "Take it."
John nodded, popped the cap and took a long drink. He didn't really want the beer, but he didn't want his Mum to have it either. He sat down at the table and asked, "What brought this on?"
She sighed and slammed shut the album. Then as an afterthought, she shoved it across the table at him.
John looked at the cover. It featured a large lacy heart. Gingerly he opened it. There was a photo of his Mum, young, beautiful, glowing in her wedding gown. Standing next her was his dad. Kenny Lawless looked strong, sure and happy. The couple looked blissfully in love and ready to take on the world.
He looked up at his Mum and saw fresh tears well in her eyes. "I haven't looked at it in years," she confessed.
"Mum," he mumbled helplessly.
"I miss him," she said.
John didn't know what to do. He gazed at her for a long moment and then began to look through the album. There were several wedding pictures, pictures of his Mum in various stages of pregnancy and his baby pictures. Then some family shots with him as a small child. There was even some sort of party with two men from the photo he had found. He looked up at his Mum again.
She was staring at him, her eyes full of tears. She looked fragile and helpless lost and alone. He suppressed a sigh and suggested, "I could really use something to eat."
She swallowed hard and muttered, "Sorry. I meant to make something. What would you like?"
He hoped giving her an activity would help. "I always liked your shepherd’s pie."
She laughed softly. "I have everything. I'll make it now."
"That'd be good," he agreed.
She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, sniffed twice and began to bustle around the kitchen.
John watched his Mum chop onions and start to cook them. She added more ingredients, suddenly the room was filled with cooking smells and he flashed on a childhood memory. He was in the kitchen playing on the floor. His Mum was cooking, the room was filled with the same spicy smells he could smell now and his Dad was sitting at the table drinking a beer. His Mum stopped for a moment, looked at him, then at his Dad and she smiled. His Dad grabbed her about the middle and pulled her on to his lap. She laughed, giggled and kissed his father. And John remembered, how for that one moment, the whole house was filled with joy. He had toddled over and his father had picked him up off the floor and set him down on his mother's lap. Both his parents had enfolded him into their love. At the time, it had seemed normal and until just that moment, he had completely forgotten it.
How had things gone so wrong? Once his Mum had been bright, happy, warm and loving. A woman full of energy and joy. Why had his father's death changed her so much? He knew now how much she had loved him, but surely, that wasn't enough to destroy a person. Why had it hit her so hard?
John continued to study the photo album and when he came to a blank space, since his mother's back was turned he slid in the picture he had found. After she put the pie into the oven, she turned back to him.
He smiled encouragingly. "Mum, do you feel up to looking at some of the photos with me?"
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I'd like to know who some of these people are. They were important enough for you take their pictures, so . . ." Eventually they got to the picture John had found. His Mum identified Joe from next door and Bill Reilly, a drinking mate of his Dad's. She couldn't remember the names of the two others in coveralls, but thought they had moved away. The man in the suit was the owner of the mill, Wilson Pappette, who had died two years before. The occasion for the picture was a big contract that they had just received.
The truth is never easy, often painful and usually leads to more questions than answers. John knew that, but tried to pretend he didn’t. He wanted, needed to know the truth, despite where it could lead. Or the heartache it might cause. His Mum didn't want him to go there, not only because was she was afraid for him, but also, he suspected, because she was afraid for her. Even if she wouldn't openly admit it.
She was convinced his father had died in a noble cause. That despite the evidence, he had not been drunk and had not gotten into a brawl. She needed to believe in the answer she had created. She had no proof of her version of events, but in some odd way, it appeared to bring her comfort. She wanted John to leave it. That was abundantly clear.
Only he couldn't leave it alone. He needed to know. His father was a part of him, even if he barely remembered him. He was just as important dead as he would have been alive for what he gave or didn’t give John. He knew his Mum would freak if he told her what he was doing, so he didn't tell her. He just did it.
He went to the cop house and asked to see the file. At first, they couldn't find it. It took them a day and a lot of encouragement to dig it out. If he hadn't been a former cop and a local boy, they probably wouldn't have bothered. The file was quite thin and marked unsolved, though not pending.
There was an autopsy report, missing person's report and a report by the cop that had found the body. There were some follow-up interviews with people from the pub and a status report by Ben Vale, the investigating officer. John was allowed to make a copy of everything. He took his set to a pub to read.
Over a pint, he perused the file, careful to make note of names and addresses, although most were surely out of date. The cops had done a fair job of it, the best they could with the information they had.
Kenny had left for the pub at 7 o’clock on 31, July. He hadn't come home. On the morning of 1, August, Jennifer had tried to report him missing. The police wouldn't accept the report. They insisted it had to be 48 hours. Finally on 2, August, they had taken the missing person's report. Later that day, a Wellington beat cop had found his body in an alley near the Wellington docks.
The basic facts were exactly as his Mum had told him. The autopsy report said he had been dead for two days, level of blood alcohol consistent with being drunk. His hands showed signs of fighting. He had died due to a blow to the head. According to the file, he hadn't been killed where he was found. They had never discovered where he died, how he had been moved or who had killed him.
The statements in the file were short and not very informative. The owner of the pub, the Jack of Diamonds, in Lower Hutt, Michael Downey, had seen Kenny Lawless that night. He had come in at seven, ordered his usual and then played snooker with Joe King, his next-door neighbor. At ten, Kenny had left. That was the last time Downey had seen him. The barmaid, Constance Downey, Michael's wife, told a similar story. Joe King said the same. And that was that.
No one had any idea where Kenny Lawless had gone, who he had met and how he had gotten into a fight. Somewhere along the way, he had had more alcohol, so the conjecture was that he had gone to another pub. All the witnesses agreed that he had only had three beers at the Jack, but whiskey was found in his blood at the autopsy. The police had made as thorough an investigation as they could. The assumption was that he had somehow gotten to Wellington, met someone in a pub there and gotten into a fight. Yet, . . . no one could find the pub or anything else.
John put the file aside with a sigh. It had happened nearly thirty years ago. The likelihood of his finding out the truth now was probably slim, but he had to try. He would start by talking to Joe who still lived next door. He could also talk to the owner of the Jack of Diamonds, Michael Downey as well as Ben Vale, the cop who had handled the case. John vaguely remembered Vale from his youth.
John knocked on Joe's front door almost tentatively. His Mum was out; she had taken a break from the packing and wanted to see about giving some things to the church. Or so she said. John suspected his presence and the presence of Kenny's things had sent her to a meeting.
He waited for an answer to his knock. The door opened and an old man appeared. It took John a moment to realize it was Joe. He looked ancient somehow and shrunken as if the years had been hard on him. Then Joe smiled. "I heard you were here. Jennifer said you were helping her move."
John nodded. "I thought it would be nice to have her closer."
Joe gestured for him to come in. The bungalow looked like an exact duplicate to the one John's Mum lived in. But here the ravages of time seemed to have done more damage. It was clean and yet all the furniture seemed worn and dingy. Joe led him into the kitchen and offered him a beer.
John accepted it and a chair. The kitchen looked bad too, the lino cracked and buckled. The wood table was scarred and the sink was full of dirty dishes.
Joe noticed John's scrutiny and shrugged. "Ever since Abby died, I just . . ."
Abby had been Joe's wife. John hazily recalled a brassy, blowsy blond who tended to shout when a whisper would have done as well. She had been full of laughter though. "How long now?"
"Two years," Joe acknowledged. His eyes began to well up. "I still miss her."
"I'm sorry," John mumbled. He studied Joe carefully. He knew that Joe had helped his Mum from time to time over the years. That he had fixed things around the house for her and shared a beer over the back fence, but he was an old man now. Though surely, he couldn't be more than sixty. What had aged him so badly?
Joe shrugged and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "What brings you over here?"
John swallowed and got to it. "My father."
"Your father?"
John nodded. "Mum told me how he died. Why she thinks he died. She'd kept it from me." John swallowed again. "I want to know the truth."
Joe's face went pale, his eyes widened and then he took a long drink of his beer. Finally, he asked, "Why come to me?"
"You were in the pub that night. You were one of the last people to see him. I've seen the police report. I want to know what you didn't tell them."
"Does your Mum know you're here?"
"No. She wants me to leave it. But I can't."
"Why?"
"I never knew my Dad. Growing up, Mum never talked about him. For a long time, I thought that was normal. But it's not. I have a son. Eric. He needs to know where he comes from. That means knowing about his grandfather. I need to know what happened to him. It killed something inside my Mum when he died. I want to know why."
Joe shook his head. "Kenny was a great bloke. It was a terrible thing that happened, but there's no mystery."
"Really?" John stared at Joe. "How did he get to Wellington? Who did he meet? Who did he fight with? If it was simply a drunken brawl, why didn't someone get him help BEFORE he died?"
"John, your Mum thinks you should leave it and she's right."
"What are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything."
"You are," John retorted. "If there's something that happened that night that you wouldn't want Mum to know, I can understand that. I don't want to hurt her. But I need to know and one way or another, I WILL find out. I'd rather you tell me."
"There's nothing to tell."
John rose from the table. "I don't understand why you're lying to me. Unless you . . ."
Joe laughed. "Me? Take a good look. You're the same size your Dad was. I'd have to stand on a box to reach your nose. I could never have beaten him to death. Anyways, I was still in the pub when your father left."
John knew that. It was in the police report. "What was going on at the mill?"
"The mill?"
"You worked there, didn't you? In shipping, I think."
"What's that got to do with this?"
"Mum thought that's why Dad was murdered."
"Murdered?" Joe shook his head. "Your father died in a fight."
John disagreed. "Not according to Mum."
Joe sighed. "John, your Mum . . . she has a very . . . your father liked to drink and fight. He had a quick temper, a trait that you seem to have inherited. He used to get into fights quite often."
John's eyes widened. "Mum never mentioned that."
"Of course not. She loved your Dad, but . . . sometimes when people die we don't want to remember the bad. She doesn't mean to mislead you, but . . . well, your father wasn't perfect."
"Are you saying . . . what are you saying?"
Joe sighed again. "Your Dad had a quick temper and he liked his beer. He . . ." Joe paused, swallowed and then added, "He was a big shot up where he was from, an important bloke. But down here? He was just another mill hand. That didn't always sit so well with him. He was proud and sometimes that . . . pride made him see insults where none were offered. Made him fight to defend his name, although no one was attacking it. John, leave it alone. You aren't going to find anything good by looking into this."
"I'll have the truth."
"And what about your Mum? You think, after all these years, the truth, whatever it might be, will make her happy?"
"You let me worry about Mum."
"I've known your Mum for over thirty years. I've been her neighbor and friend for all of them. She's as close to me as one of my sisters. I'm not gonna let you hurt her."
"I won't. I don't want . . . This isn't about her. It's about me."
"You?" Joe shook his head. "What will the truth do for you? It won't bring your father back."
"I just want to know," he insisted stubbornly. "For me and for my son."
"Your son? I don't see why knowing what happened to his grandfather will make a difference to him."
John sighed with frustration. "I'm going to find out. One way or another."
Joe shrugged. "Good luck."
John's next stop was the Jack of Diamonds on Riverside. The pub where his father was last seen. The pub where his Mum had worked all those years ago. It suddenly struck him as odd that she would go to work there and even odder that they would hire her. According to the police reports, the barmaid was the owner's wife, so why hire his Mum? Of course, that was several years after his Dad had died, but . . .
The Jack of Diamonds seemed to have remained stuck in time, like Brigadoon. It was exactly as John remembered it. Full of wood and brass, leaded windows, scarred wood tables, rickety chairs and a dartboard and billiard table. There was no fancy jukebox and no ferns.
The walls were covered with local and national rugby flags, pictures of the teams, signed jerseys and photos of local celebrities. It was a comfortable old-time pub, harking back to the slower simpler life that John knew had existed in Lower Hutt thirty years before.
The clientele was the same as well, old men and working class blokes. There was a small menu of cold pub food, sammies and chips, hard-boiled eggs and pickles. John wandered the perimeter of the room, checking out the pictures.
Close to the bar, there were several photos of people in the neighborhood including a duplicate of the picture he had found in his father's things. There was even a shot of his mother. Next to that was a shot of the owner, a lovely blond, blue-eyed woman and a little girl. He knew the man was Michael Downey, the owner, and he guessed the blond woman was Downey's wife. The little girl must be their daughter.
John strolled to the bar and sat down.
Downey was the archetypal pub-keeper; as if someone had called and said, send me a genial jovial bloke with a friendly face. His hair was blond and his blue eyes were bloodshot. He wore a starched white shirt and a green apron. He had a big smile and a red nose. He gave John a draft and stated, "You're Jennifer Lawless' boy, aren't you?"
"I am," he admitted. "You're Michael Downey, eh?"
Downey nodded. "I heard tell you're selling the house."
"Yeah. Mum's gonna move up north."
"Should have gone years ago," he grumbled under his breath. "Might have been better for her."
"Ya reckon?" John replied. "She never wanted to go."
"Maybe not, but staying here, all the memories. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing."
"I tend to agree. I was surprised she chose to work here."
"She needed a job and . . . I felt . . . she's a good woman, your Mum. She deserved better."
"Better than what?'
"I hear you got your own business up there, in Auckland."
John sipped his beer and nodded. "I do alright."
"You always took care of her, I'll give you that, after you got old enough. I was sorry when she stopped working here, but it was better for her."
"What did you mean, she deserved better?"
"Being a young widow. Not easy to raise a child alone."
"You knew my father. What was he like?"
"I didn't know him that well."
"This was his local. He spent a lot of time here."
"He'd sit with his mates, not me. Better, you talk to them."
"All the same, he was here most nights. You have to have had some sense of him."
Downey sighed. "Your Dad was a big man, both in size and attitude. He had strong opinions about everything. I can't say everyone liked him, but . . . we got along."
"He had enemies?"
"No. No. But Kenny . . . he wasn't the kind to keep his mouth shut when he had something to say. Many's the night he'd get into a shouting match here."
"But you never banned him."
Downey smiled. "Couldn't do that. Would spoil the entertainment."
"Entertainment?"
Downey's smile remained in place. "Not much went on around here. People worked at the mill and . . . time spent at the pub was their entertainment. Kenny was usually good for a laugh or two."
"People laughed at him?"
"No. No. He could tell great stories and he could have great arguments. Most times, he gave people something to focus on beside themselves. Occasionally he gave them a fight to watch. Honestly, I didn't know him that well. Just from across the bar."
John wasn't sure he believed him. Something didn't ring true. "Is your wife around?"
"My wife?" Downey repeated with a frown.
"She was here the night he died. I wonder if I could talk to her."
"Connie's dead. She died six months ago."
"I'm sorry."
Downey shrugged. "She had a good life and a good death."
"Good death?"
"She died in her sleep."
"Oh." John studied the man for a long moment. During the entire conversation, he had never moved and yet John had the feeling there were things inside him that were more alive than that, that the memories were still there, still tugging at him. There had to be a way to get at the truth. "Was she ill?"
Downey nodded. "Cancer. It was a blessing when she passed."
"I'm sorry," John said again. He drank his beer and then asked, "Is there anyone else I can talk to? Anyone else around who knew my father?"
"Joe probably knew him best."
"Spoke to him. Anyone else?"
Downey seemed to consider this for a long moment and then admitted, "You know, now that I think about it, for all that Kenny was here and chatty, I'm not sure he had any close mates."
That struck very close for John, almost too close. "No one else?"
"You might try Bill Reilly. He used to work with Kenny at the mill."
"Bill Reilly?"
Downey nodded. "He lives over on Malone. Around the corner from here. Other than your Mum and Joe, he probably spent the most time with Kenny."
John finished his beer, rose and said, "Thanks."
Downey eyed him speculatively. "You should leave it alone. Best to let sleeping dogs lie."
"So everyone keeps telling me," John retorted grumpily.
John checked the address twice. 1812 Malone Street. It was a vacant lot. Still, it was the last address he had for Bill Reilly, the man who was supposed to be a mate of his father's. John had no memory of Reilly and Joe wasn't speaking to him because of their last conversation. John looked around the neighborhood.
There were a few bungalows in a sad state of repair and several more vacant lots. It looked as if they were tearing everything down. Then he noticed a large brightly colored sign. "Future Home of Clayware Towers and Entertainment Centre." Progress, it seemed, was coming to Lower Hutt.
With a sigh, John began knocking on doors looking for answers. At the third and last house on the block, he got them.
The woman who answered the door had the look of someone that had seen better times and couldn't quite handle the current state of affairs. She was dressed for church, or at least, she reminded John of the way his Mum had looked when she was dressed for church.
Her ash blond hair was pulled back into a French twist and her face was carefully and lightly made up. She wore a pale blue twin set and a navy skirt. She had on dark hose, high heels and a choker of seed pearls around her neck. She had opened the door with an excited and anticipatory smile, which faded when he explained who he was and what he wanted.
"Oh," she said softly. "I thought you were the city."
"The city?"
"They're supposed to make an offer on the property today. Going to build a high-rise, parking garage and cinema here."
"Sorry. I'm looking for Bill Reilly. He used to live over there." John pointed at the vacant lot.
She shrugged. "He sold out a year ago. Too cheaply if you ask me. Still, there's only him and his needs are simple."
"Do you know where he went? "
Again, she shrugged. "He could be anywhere. Why?"
"I need to find him."
"Well," she remarked slowly, "you could try Crown's, Throne's or the Black Hole. He's a drunk," she added with distaste.
"A drunk?"
She nodded. "As I said, his needs are simple. A pint and a pack of smokes."
"Thank you," he said. Then added, "Good luck with the city."
"Luck doesn't come into it," she snapped. "They need my parcel. It's just timing."
"Isn't everything?" John replied. Then he turned and left.
He found Bill Reilly at the Feathers. It was the fourth pub he tried. He had started at the Crown and then been directed further. The woman hadn't exaggerated, Reilly was a drunk and he worked his way through a circuit of every pub in a two-mile radius. No one knew where he was living, but they seemed to know his drinking schedule to a tee.
Even without asking, John recognized Reilly at once. There were several people sitting at the bar, but only one sitting at the very end, a cigarette smoldering in a full ashtray, his eyes glazed and unseeing as they contemplated a half-full pint.
Reilly looked eighty, but John knew he had to be close to his Mum's age. His red hair was cut short and his skin had the flushed mottled condition of an alcoholic. His clothes however, were clean and neat. He wore a starched white shirt and khaki shorts. Incongruously on his feet were thick white hiking socks and brand new hiking boots.
John watched him for a moment and then casually strolled over. He opened his mouth to speak, when Reilly looked up, his brown eyes focused, then went wide with shock. His skin turn pale and his jaw dropped. "Am I that bad? Are you real or am I having DT's?"
John had forgotten how much he resembled his father. Reilly thought he was Kenny! "I'm his son, John," he said softly. "Kenny Lawless' son. Not him. Mind if I sit?"
Relief flooded the man's face. Still, his hand was anything but steady as he picked up his glass and drained it. "His son?" John nodded. "Sit, let me buy you a pint."
John sat down on a stool and watched as Reilly's smallest movement got the bartender's attention. He waited while the beer was poured and glasses distributed. He waited as Reilly drained half of his glass and lit yet another smoke.
He waited until Reilly finally asked, "How's your Mum?"
"My Mum?" John repeated.
"She was a nice woman and lovely to boot," Reilly mused. "Always sorry I lost track of her. Of course, she was never . . . after your father died she . . . how is she?"
John's jaw dropped. Had Reilly been in love with his mother? It sounded as if . . . "She's fine," John replied quickly. "Getting ready to move up north. With me. Actually, that's why I looked you up."
"Is that so?" The man took a drag of his smoke. "What's one thing got to do with another?"
"It's about my father. His death. I was clearing out some stuff and I found this. Thought you might know about it." Carefully John took out the white envelope and the bills of lading. He handed them to Reilly.
Reilly studied the papers for a moment and then handed them back to John. "It's just paperwork from the mill. Some shipping information."
"Any idea why Dad would have saved and hidden them?"
"Not a clue. Probably didn't mean to do either."
John shook his head. "Mum thought he died because of the mill."
Reilly threw back his head and laughed.
John waited him out, trying to keep his anger in check.
Reilly laughed until his eyes ran with tears. "There weren't nothing going on in that mill that didn't go on everywhere else in the world. The usual petty stealing, cheating spouses, fabric walking out the back instead of the front. Your father, Kenny, he was such a card. Mr. High and Mighty when it came to right and wrong, but get a little drink in him and . . ."
John wasn't quite sure where to start, the words registered, but . . . He grasped for the obvious first. "You saying there WERE irregularities at the mill?"
Reilly laughed again. "About as many as there were people that worked there. Your Dad would take on about it sometimes, but really, weren't nothing big. Just the usual."
"The usual?" John repeated.
Reilly nodded. "As I said, fabric would occasionally go out the back door instead of the front. Now and again, other things would go missing. A sewing machine, file cabinet. But it weren't a big deal if that's what you're thinking. If you ask me, and you are, Pappette knew all about it. He just figured it was the cost of doing business."
"But Dad got upset? Made a noise about it? Maybe upset the people who did it?"
Reilly sighed. "Kenny did, but tweren't nothing. He was always on about how things weren't right, that you shouldn't take what didn't belong to you. Still, that didn't . . ." Reilly stopped and closed his eyes. "What are you looking for anyways?"
"Some answers," John stated. "Why he died. Mum claims it was 'cause of the mill."
Reilly shook his head. "Nah, that's not right. They said it was a brawl gone wrong. Now that I can well believe."
The words hit John in the stomach. "Why?"
"Many's the night Kenny and I went for a quiet one. Those were the days . . . " Reilly took a deep breath and continued, "the days when I handled the beast, before the beast handled me." He swallowed and added, "There was nothing your Dad liked better than a pint and a fight."
"A pint and a fight?"
"He was great fighter, Kenny was. Loved to argue about as much as he loved a good pint." Reilly's eyes seemed to look back over the years with fondness. "We had some great times. Never once thought any man could beat your Dad. Not with words or with fists."
"He fought a lot?"
Reilly shrugged. "It didn't always come to blows. It would depend on how much beer he had. But when Kenny got going . . ."
"Who did he fight with?"
"Everyone."
It was hardly the answer John was looking for. "You saying anyone could have killed him?"
Reilly studied John. Sympathy suddenly appeared in his eyes and on his face. "This is hard to hear, eh? Sorry, but I learned a long time ago not to sugarcoat the truth. Kenny was a good man. He loved your Mum, he worked hard and he tried to do right by you. All the same, when he drank, he forgot everything but his anger and he had a lot of anger. Beer seemed to bring out the worst in him."
"So you don't know who finally beat him up the night he died?"
Reilly shrugged. "Not a clue. Could be anyone. Someone he knew or a stranger he pissed off that night. I'm sorry."
Not as sorry as John was. He thanked the man for his time and offered to pay for the drinks. Reilly shook his head and insisted with a drunkard's dignity that he would pay. It was the least he could do for a dead mate's son.
That night John had dinner with his mother. Jennifer had cooked some kind of pasty that he had a vague memory of eating in his youth. He realized that most of what he remembered of his childhood was painful. The good memories were fuzzy, hazy, outweighed by all the pain and trouble. Looking at his Mum, now sober and trying so hard to make up to him for everything, he was struck by the sadness of her life. As tough as it had been for him, how much harder had it all been on her?
"Mum," he asked, when he had finished eating, "can we talk about some things?"
"What kind of things?" she asked nervously.
"The past."
"The past?" she echoed. She sighed deeply and pushed her plate away. She had barely touched the food on it. She lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the air.
"Yeah. I've been doing some thinking trying to remember."
"Why?"
John stared at her. "It was never important before. But because of Eric, it's important now."
She shook her head. "I lived in the past and look where it got me. You did better always looking forward, not back. Looking back won't help."
"I need . . . Eric needs to know where he came from."
She shook her head. "No, John. He KNOWS where he came from. You and Shay. He doesn't need more than that."
He shrugged. "Maybe not, but I . . ."
"You . . ." she repeated. She took a deep breath. "What do you want to talk about?"
"I have so few memories of Dad. Most of them are blurred. I was thinking, maybe you could refresh the memories. He played soccer with me. I remember that. And I remember him hugging me."
Jennifer's eyes softened. "He was a good father. On his days off he liked to spend time with you. Liked to roughhouse with you. Sometimes he was just like a big kid. He would take you to the park. And every Sunday we'd go to dinner at your Nana’s. Do you remember that?"
"I remember Nana's house on Sunday. She'd always have a sweet for me. You never let me have them."
Jennifer laughed. "Your Nana spoiled you. She adored you." Jennifer swallowed. "I miss her."
John reached across the table to take her hand. "When she died . . . I thought part of me died too."
"I wasn't much of a Mum to you for a lot of years. I know she was. I'm sorry." Tears welled in her eyes. "I can't make it up, I know that. But . . ."
"Mum, don't dwell on it. It's over and done. You did the best you could."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry. For everything."
John felt the tears well in his own eyes. "Mum, I . . . I managed okay."
"But you deserved better. I let you down so many times. But I swear, now, I won't. Things will be different."
He squeezed her hand. "I know. I can see that."
"Eric, he's like a miracle, isn't he? A chance to do it right."
"He's gonna have everything," John agreed. "We'll see to it." He paused and added, "But Mum, there are things I need to know."
"We're back to that?" He nodded. "What?"
"I've been talking to people about Dad. They said . . . is it true that he had a quick temper?"
Jennifer smiled. "You're a lot like your father. Or at least, you used to be. He did like his beer and yes, he was quick to anger. Like you used to be. I don't see it in you so much anymore. But there was a time, when you were younger, when I used to worry about that."
"They say he got into a lot of fights."
Jennifer shrugged. "Kenny liked to argue. He always thought he knew right and wrong and he was always damn sure he was right. I never met his father, but I used to wonder."
John smiled. "I've met Polu. He's the same. Very sure he's right. Very sure he knows the truth."
"You've met your grandfather?"
John nodded. "I've met most of Dad's family. Mama Abba, she's amazing. And Dad's brothers and sisters. They're a real family."
Jennifer gaped at her son. "When?"
John told her about his trips to see the Lawless clan. He watched her face. She seemed pleased by their acceptance of him. Pleased that he liked them and they him. Happy that he had found an additional part of himself. When he had finished telling her, she said, "I'm so glad. You need family. You need to have the sense of belonging."
He knew the truth in that. He knew so much of the mess in his life had come from his sense of being an island. All his life he had felt isolated and alone, no matter that he had his Mum and Nana, that later he had Marla. He had never really felt connected to Marla. Now though, now he had a chance to be a part of something with Kelly. Yet, before he could wholeheartedly commit to the future he HAD to understand his past.
His next step toward resolving the past was Marla. He called her parents the next day. They had never forgiven him for the divorce. For the embarrassment and discomfort the publicity of his situation with the force had caused. Still, they gave him Marla's new telephone number. She was in Wellington now, no longer in Christchurch.
He had never called her after Caro died and then he had met Kelly and all thoughts of Marla and anything she could offer faded away. Marla was the past, but he owed her a debt. He owed her some closure, too. He called her office and made a date.
Marla still used his name. That surprised him. Still, she had received her law degree as Marla Lawless and so . . . that was the name she went by. She was in private practice and from the looks of her office, she was doing well. John was glad, but then, he had always known she could do anything she set her mind to do. Marla was strong and tough, even if she didn't always think so.
He knocked tentatively on her office door. Her soft voice said, "Come in."
He pushed open the door and she was standing in front of her desk. She looked beautiful and poised. An ice princess in a black suit and a blue blouse that matched her eyes. Her body was still lush, her hair, makeup and nails impeccable. Despite the mannish suit, she was soft and feminine. She was posed as if waiting for a photo shoot and John knew it was for his benefit.
"Hello, John." Her eyes looked him up and down curiously.
"Marla, you look good."
She smiled. "You, too."
He wore jeans and a T-shirt and he knew she hated the informality. His hair was still long and his goatee was scruffy. Still, he knew he looked better than when he had last seen her. He grinned knowingly. "Thank you for seeing me," he replied formally.
Her eyes widened as if surprised by the stiffness in his words. She admitted, "I was . . . surprised by your call."
"I'm sorry I didn't call sooner," he began awkwardly. Then he paused and asked, "Can we go somewhere to talk?"
She gestured to a chair and went behind the desk. "I think here is fine."
He swallowed. She wasn't going to make this easy on him, but then, if he was honest, he didn't deserve easy. He probably deserved whatever she wanted to dish at him. With a sigh, he sat down. "Marla, I . . ."
"You what?" she asked coldly.
He swallowed again. "I probably owe you ten thousand apologies and a heap of groveling, but . . . what I really want to say is thank you."
He could tell his words had shocked her. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. She began to tap her pen on her desk as if she were impatient for him to get to the point.
"Thank me for what?" she finally managed to ask.
"For everything. Not just for coming to see me after Caro was killed, but for all that went before. For helping me become a cop, for helping when Nana died, for all the good years and good times we had . . . before . . ." he stopped there.
"Before things changed?"
"Before WE changed. Not things. Us. When I met you, I was lost and alone. You . . . you had faith in me. You saw things in me that I never saw in myself. If you hadn't come along . . . anyways, I just want you to know I'm grateful."
"Grateful," she repeated slowly. "You're grateful?"
He swallowed. "I feel as if I owe you. As if I should somehow . . . pay you back. Except really, I can only thank you." Unspoken was the knowledge that he couldn't be with her again. Didn't want that and he didn't want to say the words. He could see she understood. Her eyes narrowed and the flush left her cheeks.
"I see," she acknowledged slowly. She paused, looked at him for one more long moment and then said, "Thank you for coming to tell me. It's nice to know I was appreciated."
"I do appreciate you. And I'm sorry for how things turned out. I never meant to hurt you. I just . . ." he sighed. "I'm sorry."
She smiled. "I'm sorry, too. Maybe . . ." she paused, "it's probably better this way."
John nodded. He had nothing left to say. He could see that despite the calm front she presented, she was hurt anyway. "I should go."
She nodded. He rose from the chair and took one last look at his ex-wife. She still looked like an ice princess, beautiful and cool and he suspected after he was gone, she would cry and then get on with her life. He supposed that was best.
John reached Ben Vale by telephone and found him more than willing to meet for a drink. It struck John, not without irony, that most of his information was being gathered over a pint in a pub. He supposed there was synchronicity in that, but it still bothered him.
They met at Gleason's, around the corner from the Jack of Diamonds. It might have been another planet, as far as clientele and decor were concerned. Where the Jack looked as it had for thirty years, Gleason's was all shiny and new, full of sparkling chrome and ferns. John was surprised by the choice.
The old cop was waiting for him at a table. Vale was in his early sixties and his hair was liberally sprinkled with white. He wore a shiny suit and had a pint in front of him along with a thick manila folder. John did vaguely remember him from his younger days. He thought Vale might have been a friend of Mick Sullivan's.
Vale's first words confirmed that. "Mick would be pleased to see how well you've done for yourself," the cop said.
John grinned ruefully. "I dunno about that. I don't think he would care for the way I left the force."
Vale's gray eyes widened slightly. "Ya reckon? Seems to me, Mick knew how to be a maverick, eh? I think he'd have understood."
John shook his head. "Most cops still think I'm bent."
Vale smiled. "Most people think ALL cops are. Besides, in your present line of work, that might not be such a bad thing."
John smiled back. "Too true. As I said when I rang you, I want to talk about my father's death. You were the investigating officer."
Vale nodded. "I took the liberty of bringing the file with me."
"I've seen it."
"Not this one. It's MY file."
"Oh. So . . . what can you tell me?"
Vale eyed him speculatively. "How much do you know?"
Now John's eyes widened. "I'm not sure what you mean. I was five when he died. What am I supposed to know?"
Vale sighed. "You can hear it or read it. You have a preference?"
John took the file. "I'll read it and then if you don't mind ask questions."
Vale nodded and signaled a waitress for a refill. John declined a drink. The file showed a man who cared about his neighborhood and looked out for his "people." The picture that emerged of John's father was anything but flattering. According to the file, his father had seven major fights during the last year of his life. Kenny was always three sheets into the wind at the time. For some reason, the cops never arrested him, just broke up the melee and took Kenny home. They were no domestic complaints, so whatever his need to fight, he didn't take it home. But there was a pattern there, a pattern that seemed to confirm all the negative things John had already heard.
Kenny Lawless was definitely loaded for bear when he drank. And clearly, he drank seven nights a week. John looked at the names of the people Kenny had fought with and there were no repeat offenders. As Bill Reilly had said, Kenny would fight with anyone.
John closed the file with a sigh. "Not a pretty picture, is it? Dad was a mixer, eh?"
Vale actually smiled. "Your father was all right. Just a little too quick to bring his fists into it. To be fair, he never hurt anyone as badly as he could have. He just . . . liked to fight."
"Sounds like you knew him."
"I knew everyone back then. It was a smaller town. Not so . . ." he paused. "More slow-like. Less of a need to rush. Thirty years makes quite a difference."
"You never looked into the mill?"
"The mill?"
John repeated his mother's theory of his father's death.
Vale shook his head. "Doubt there was anything in that. There was thievery all right, but nothing big. Nothing that was reported anyway. And the owner, Wilson Pappette, he would have reported it. I'm sorry, John. But I think you have to accept your father's death for what it was, a fight."
"Someone, somewhere, MUST know something."
Vale shrugged. "It's been a long time."
"Anything seem odd to you back then?"
Again, he shrugged. "Nothing. We tried to find someone who might have seen your father after ten, but we never did."
"How the bloody hell did he get to Wellington?"
Vale shook his head. "No one knows. My best guess is that he met someone and went to have a drink. We know he was moved after he was dead."
"If he had died here, after a fight, maybe I could see it, based on this," John tapped the file. "But it doesn't feel right. He wasn't killed where he was found, no one he knew went to Wellington with him and no one saw him after ten. It's as if someone wanted to hide the murder. In all these years, you've never heard a whisper?"
Vale again shook his head. "Not a word. Your father didn't have any enemies. Even the blokes he fought with never carried a grudge. They knew that was just Kenny. He didn't take it personal once he sobered up and he always apologized."
"So he was only violent when he drank?"
"I wouldn't even call him violent. Not like some of them. He just had a quick temper once he was three sheets. It never took much to set him off. Kenny had a chip on his shoulder that came out with the alcohol. All the same, everyone liked him. There was a big turn out for his funeral."
"I remember."
"Look, John, I can appreciate your wanting to know, but, there's nothing to find. You should just let it go. Remember your father as a good man who loved your Mum and died too soon. It's tragic, but it happened."
John sighed. "You're sure the mill had nothing to do with it?"
Vale nodded. "Despite what your Mum thought, we did check. Although Pappette never reported any trouble, in those days, we knew everything. Anyone that might have been involved had an alibi."
John sighed again. "Another dead end then."
"I'm sorry," Vale repeated. "I know you want answers, but I'm afraid there aren't any."
"Thank you for seeing me," John said as he rose.
"It was the least I could do, all things considered. Believe me, if there's one thing I hate, it's an unsolved case."
John believed him. It made him feel sad and hopeless. In that grim mood, he went to visit his father's grave. He had been there with Eric but he seldom went there alone. He hated cemeteries and rarely went near them. Too many people he loved were in them. Nana, Mick and his father here and Caro in Auckland. Sonya was in Auckland too, although he couldn't say he loved her. He had barely known her and the Johnny she had known was a lie. So many lies and secrets. So many things that had been buried or hidden for so many years.
John wondered if everyone's life was like that. As one got older, did everyone discover their parents kept secrets? Were all lives based on lies? Based on buried facts? Sometimes he felt as if his life was a mine tunnel and he was forever doomed to excavate the shafts. Never to come into the light, but always searching in the darkness.
Kelly's life was different. Her family hadn't hidden anything from her. Maybe they weren't perfect, but they were all aboveboard. His life was a morass, a swamp of murky secrets.
He sighed as he looked at his father's grave. He guessed his Mum tended it regularly as she tended his Nana's. He would have to arrange with the caretaker to do it now that she was moving.
The headstone was small and simple. Kenny Lawless—Loving father and husband 1940—1972. The mound of grass was green and healthy. It was clear of weeds and there was a small bouquet of what looked like dying flowers on it.
He stood in front of his father’s grave for a long time trying to make sense of things. He had no more clue about his father's death than when he had started. A larger picture of Kenny Lawless had emerged, but no answers. He could keep picking at it, the truth was out there, someone knew it, but what would it accomplish? If his Mum was right, if Kenny had died because of the mill, well, the mill was gone, burned to the ground. The Pappette family who had owned it when he had worked there were dead. There might be no one to bring to justice. At least no one alive. And even if he could nail someone, it wouldn't bring his Dad back.
Would knowing exactly how his dad died really give him closure? Did it actually matter if Kenny had died in a noble cause or not? It didn't change anything. His father would still be as dead. Would still be an empty hole in his life. He had claimed he was doing this for Eric, but maybe it really wasn't about that at all. His Mum was right in one respect. Eric did have his parents, some grandparents and even some great grandparents as well as a huge clan of Maori cousins and aunts and uncles. When he married Kelly, Eric would have all her rellies as well. He doubted whether it really mattered to Eric how his paternal grandfather had died. So . . . how important was it for him to find the truth?
He turned from the grave and noticed a woman staring at him. She was nearly as tall as he and dressed in a gray silk trouser suit. She had shoulder length brown hair that curled under on the ends. Her brown eyes were carefully made up to accentuate the almond shape and the curve of her long eyelashes. Her mouth was scarlet with lipstick, but the flush on her cheeks was natural. She looked both nervous and embarrassed as if she had been caught doing something naughty. His first thought was that she was young, but as he studied her, he noticed lines around her eyes and mouth and he revised his estimate slightly upward. She held a small bouquet of flowers in her hand and as he continued to stare, her lower lip began to tremble and her eyes incongruously began to fill with tears.
At first he thought he might be blocking her way, but as she stood there, unmoving, he realized that wasn't the case. Something about her seemed so familiar. Was she waiting for him to speak? Did he know her?
Suddenly, she moved slowly forward, bent down and gently replaced the dead flowers with the fresh ones she held. She rose, all without speaking and turned as if to go to.
John reached out to stop her. "Why did you do that?"
She turned to stare at him. "I do it every week."
"Why?"
She shook her head and tried to walk away.
"Who are you?"
"Angela Downey."
John felt a cold wind wash over him; a chill crawled over his skin and up his spine, like a ghost. "Angela Downey," he repeated. "What was my father to you?" he asked.
She shook her head and tried once more to leave.
"Please tell me," John asked, although he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.
"Your father?" she echoed as if his words had just sunk in.
"Yes. My father."
Her skin paled and she seemed to stumble for a moment. John helped her to a bench on the nearby footpath. They sat down.
She stared at him, her dark eyes full of tears. "You must be . . . John?"
He nodded. "Yes," he admitted. "John Lawless."
"Oh . . . oh . . ." she swallowed convulsively and then began to cry. The tears dribbled down her cheeks and her hands clenched in her lap.
John dug frantically in his pockets for a tissue, but had none. Angela sat very still and then seemed to finally get herself under control. "I didn't know. Not until . . . I'm afraid . . . oh, it's such a mess."
"What's a mess?" he asked.
"When Mum was dying . . . she . . . I had no idea. This is SO difficult."
"You're Mum told you something when she was dying? Something . . . that upset you?"
Angela nodded. "Mum told me . . ." she swallowed again and then wiped her eyes on her hand. "Mum said she and Michael . . . They had difficulties. He used to hit her. One night she ran away from him. She ran into a . . . man. He'd had a fight with his wife over something stupid and he was drunk. Mum was hurt, angry, she wanted comfort and the bloke offered it. I guess one thing led to another. It didn't happen again, they both knew it was wrong. And the . . . man . . . he really loved his family. When he sobered up, he was guilt stricken about what they had done. But he also felt somewhat responsible for Mum. He didn't think she should go back to Michael. But Mum, she really loved Michael, so . . . they pretended it never happened."
John could guess the rest. His father and Constance Downey had made a mistake one night and no one would ever have known, except . . . there was Angela. Michael Downey was fair and had blue eyes, so was his wife, Constance.
Angela was still talking. "Mum only told me because she thought . . . she didn't want me to be too hard on Michael. And she thought . . . she was sure that . . . I'm so sorry."
"How old are you?"
"31. I was born in '69. I was three when he died."
"You're saying that the man . . . he was my father . . . OUR father?"
"Yes. You're my half-brother."
John swallowed. He didn't doubt it for a second; the familiarity he saw when he looked at her was the same features he saw everyday in his mirror and in his son's face. "Did your Mum ever say if . . . Dad knew? If my Mum knew?"
Angela's eyes widened. "I don't think anyone knows. At least, Mum never said. Michael, he knows. He's known since I was little. But other than that . . ."
John took a deep breath. "Did you . . . do you know my Mum?"
The girl sucked in her breath. "I do know her. I remember when your Mum worked in the pub. She was always kind to me. But I can't exactly say . . . " she paused and swallowed. "Do you think she knows?"
John had no idea. The resemblance was striking, but unless you thought to make the connection, would you? He had been blind to his son's resemblance to him because it hadn't occurred to him to look for it. If his Mum suspected, then perhaps she did know. Otherwise, . . . he sighed. "I'm not going to tell her."
"You believe me?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Just like that?"
He nodded. "I can see the resemblance." He paused and asked, "Other than your father . . . Michael . . . do you have anyone else?"
She sniffed and then blew her nose into a crumpled tissue she had found. "No. There's Michael. He and Mum never had any other children. Mum had a couple of miscarriages."
"So you're alone." She nodded. He swallowed, "Angela, I . . ."
"I don't expect anything," she replied quickly. "Honestly. I know you came to the pub the other day. I didn't mean to . . . scrape acquaintance. I do come every week, least since I've known. Mum used to do it."
"Your Mum?"
Angela nodded. "She used to help your Mum tend the grave. Didn't you know?"
John shook his head. His mother must have known then. If she had shared Kenny's grave with Constance it was a sure bet that she knew the truth about Angela. It went a long way toward explaining the reason she rarely spoke of his father and also her alcoholism. "Did your Mum, when she was telling you all this, say anything about my . . . our father's death?"
Angela shook her head. "Never. She told me how . . . well . . . how I got here and that Michael really loved me even if he couldn't show it so good. And how I shouldn't be so hard on him, cause he didn't have to raise me like his own. He knew early on, even before Mum did, that I wasn't his."
"Your Mum didn't realize that you were . . ."
"Mum never had much school. It's funny," Angela mused reflectively. "But I have this sort of odd memory about it. I was three and I remember hearing this funny rhyme in my head. I think my parents must have been fighting, but all I really remember is two blues don't make a brown. I repeated that for days until my Mum washed me mouth out with soap and told me never to say it again."
The minute he heard it, John knew the truth and wished that he had listened to his Mum. It would have been best to let sleeping dogs lie.
After Angela left the gravesite, John sat and thought and then finally he went to see the man who had raised her.
"It was an accident."
"An accident?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you cover it up?"
He shrugged. "I didn't think anyone would believe me."
"Why not?"
Downey looked at him. "Would you? The bloke was the father of my wife's child. I knew. She knew. I thought he knew. Bloody hell, I thought EVERYONE knew. Though as it turned out, they didn't. No one's ever suggested that . . ."
"What happened?"
Downey sighed. "About a fortnight before . . . the accident . . . a few university students were here. They were talking nonsense and I wasn't paying much attention until I heard them talking about DNA and parentage. Nowadays everyone knows shit all about it, but in those days, well, it was still new. They were talking about eye color and it stuck in my head."
As Downey described it, John could see the scene. It was as vivid in his mind as if he had been there.
"The Jack wasn't full and Connie let Angela play on the floor while she wiped down the tables. The customers liked the little girl; she had a sunny disposition and made everyone smile. A couple of kids from University were there. They were sitting at a table talking. They saw Angela, Connie and me. They asked Connie if Angela was hers and I saw their surprise when she said yes. One of them began whispering to the other about how it was impossible. Two blue-eyed people can't have a brown-eyed child. DNA, eh? I listened then Connie took Angela out of the pub."
He stopped and poured himself a large whiskey. He drank deep and then said, "After I closed for the night I asked Constance. It was clear that she hadn't even considered that Angela wasn't mine, but she said that it was impossible. I knew from the way she lied that I was right. That Angela WASN'T mine. But I still didn't know who. Not then."
He took another drink. "I'm not proud of what I did, but . . . I asked around and then finally, the night before the . . . I beat her until she confessed. I gave her a black eye and the night . . . your father died . . . when he saw her . . . I knew then. Knew Angela was his. I thought he knew, too."
John swallowed hard and forced himself to keep still. Now that Downey was talking, he needed to let him finish.
"I asked him to meet me after I closed. Told him that I knew something about the mill, something that worried me. Your father, he had a bug up his arse about the mill. He thought something was going on there. So . . . he left and went to Te Whiti Park. I closed at eleven and went off to meet him."
Downey swallowed and shuddered as if the cost of the memory was physically painful. "He'd gotten a hold of a bottle and he was drunk and belligerent. Said he wanted to discuss Constance and her black eye. That he didn't believe she'd walked into a door. Claimed he didn't care about the mill at that moment."
Downey sighed. "We had words. Lots of them, all loud and angry. Then we were fighting and your father hit his head. It WAS an accident. But I knew with . . . if the truth about Angela came out . . . it would look like murder. I loved my daughter and wife. And your Mum, I didn't . . . Christ, I'm sorry."
"So you bundled him into your car and drove to Wellington?"
Downey nodded. "Yes. And I never told anyone. Ever. Your Mum, I helped out when the money ran down. I gave her a job. It was the least . . ."
John kept his mouth clamped shut. It WAS the least. The absolute least. Yet, what other choice had Downey had? He could well believe, from the stories he had heard that his father might have been angry and physical. That in a drunken state he could have lost control and fallen. Maybe it was an accident. The autopsy was clear that his father HAD been fighting. So there was some physical evidence to support Downey's story. Still . . . "He might have lived if you'd taken him to hospital."
"No. I swear to you, he hit his head and he was gone."
"We'll never know, will we?"
Downey sighed. "You're right. I should have taken him to hospital. I should have told the truth. But . . . I . . . " he shook his head and John saw tears in the man's eyes. "I was a coward. Then and now. And I swear, I didn't mean to kill him. It was an accident."
John wasn't sure if he believed him, but there was Angela to think of. She had no one but Michael Downey and if she lost him . . . Despite the change in her relations with him, he was still her father. John was quiet, ruminating on the situation.
Finally, Downey asked, "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing," John said after a long moment.
"Nothing?" he repeated.
"I expect you've paid for it already. Raising Angela. Knowing that . . . I don't see what good telling the authorities would do. It's just my word against yours. And it would hurt my Mum dreadfully."
"Your Mum. I feel so . . ."
"Don't," John snapped. "Don't go there. His death destroyed a large part of her, but she has a second chance now, for a good life, a happy one. She told me to leave it, to let it go and for her sake, I'm going to pretend I did. So whatever you intend to do with the rest of your life, leave her out of it."
Downey nodded. "I love Angela. Like she was my own."
John knew that. Knew from the way Angela was that she loved Michael Downey as well. "She's not sorry that you raised her. And it would hurt her too if she found out the truth."
"How much . . . are you going to tell your Mum about . . ."
"I suspect she knows, but unless or until SHE brings it up, it stays a secret."
"Thank you. That's more generous than I deserve."
"I'm not doing this for you, but for my Mum and Angela. And if I hear anything that tells me . . ."
"I won't hurt them. I swear it. I love Angela. I always have. She's all I've got left."
John walked out and went to his home. He found his Mum in the kitchen wrapping plates and humming. She looked cheerful and for the first time in years, happy. He walked in, kissed the top of her head and grabbed a beer.
She stared at him and then asked, "Are you all right?"
He forced himself to smile. "I went to the cemetery. Visited Nana, Dad and Mick. I arranged for the graves to be tended. Well, not Mick's, 'cause the police still do that one, but Dad and Nana's. You've carried quite a load all these years, haven't you?"
She studied him carefully. "Anything else?" she asked slowly.
He shrugged. "I saw Marla. I needed to . . . finish things. Try to make them a little better."
She shook her head. "Marla . . . she was never right for you."
John rolled his eyes. "So you always said." He raised his bottle and saluted her. "Here's hoping you like Kelly better. 'Cause she IS right for me."
Jennifer smiled. "I’m sure I'll love her. From what Eric says she's perfect."
John smiled. "She's not perfect, but she is right for me."
"The smile you get every time you mention her name tells me everything. I know you always thought I was too hard on Marla, but truly, John, you never got that look on your face when you spoke of her. You never seemed very happy to be with Marla. You just seemed to work hard at it, as if it was a task you needed to succeed at. Like somehow if you could be good enough for Marla then you were someone. You never could see you were fine as you were. That you were already someone."
John's jaw dropped. It was a more accurate insight to his younger self than he ever expected his Mum to have. It had taken him ten years to get there. "When did you get so clever?" he asked.
Jennifer laughed. "Thought all I saw was my beer, eh? It wasn't, but you wouldn't have believed me if I'd told you. You had to learn for yourself. Had to find your own acceptance within you before you could find it elsewhere. No one can give you that. Not a parent, friend, spouse or lover. I know it's trite, but you have to love yourself before you can love someone else."
John shook his head. "Where did you learn that?"
"A. A. The meetings. I've learned a lot getting sober."
John went to his mother and hugged her. "You're a great lady and I love you."
"Well, now I think you actually have someone to love." She disentangled herself from his arms and studied him. "Are you sure you're all right? You still look a little . . . shell shocked."
"Marla has that effect on me," he lied quickly. The moment to mention Angela had come and gone. He had given his Mum the opportunity when he had mentioned the grave. If she wasn't going to open that door, neither would he. He would keep this one secret. He would tell Kelly, but for the moment, no one else. Down the road, he would see. He had told Angela that her wanted to get to know her, but his Mum and other responsibilities took precedence. They had exchanged telephone numbers and e-mails and he was sure he could find a way for them to get together eventually, but not at the expense of his Mum.
If his Mum knew, she would tell him eventually. He knew enough about the 12-step AA program to know that. He doubted that she knew how Kenny had really died. He would take that secret to his grave. He doubted if he would even tell Kelly. Some things were never meant to see the light of day.
John spoke with Kelly as often as he could though he hated the impersonality of the telephone. Despite the normalcy of their conversations, he had the feeling that something was going on back in Auckland. Indeed, something was.
Shay talked with Eric about John and Kelly's wedding. She could see that her son liked Kelly, liked his father with her and was pleased. She could also tell that Kelly was true to her word. She, Kelly, didn't want to replace Shay or even try. Kelly seemed content to become John's wife and Eric's friend. The topic of a new family had never come up, but there didn't seem to be any concern. Eric did; however, like that one of Kelly's brothers had a son who was also into boxing. It seemed to Shay, at least from her son's perspective, this would work, especially since his father wanted regular visits and such.
Shay thought about it for a few days and then called Kelly to request another meeting. Kelly, to her surprise, invited her to dinner. She agreed and met Kelly at a small cafe in downtown Auckland. Kelly had come from work and she was again the chic sophisticated woman of business. Yet, this time, Shay did not feel dowdy or inadequate.
After they ordered Kelly said, "I'm glad you called."
"You are?"
Kelly nodded. "Yes. John's gone to Lower Hutt; he's helping his Mum pack. They're moving her up here once the bungalow sells. It will be good for Eric to have his Nana handy."
"Last I recall," Shay began carefully, "she had a problem."
"She's fine now. Right after John told her about Eric, she got sober. She's doing meetings and according to John, she's staying with the program."
"Have you met her?"
Kelly shook her head. "Not yet. But . . . well, it can't be worse than what I put John through with my family."
"Difficult?"
"My Da's a mean drunk. My Mum and brothers are luvs, the sisters are all right, but Da . . . in any case, John knows my worst. And his can't be nearly as bad."
"She WAS a nice woman, before . . ."
"So he said. In any case," Kelly shrugged and then studied Shay carefully. "You didn't call me to talk about John's Mum, did you?"
Shay shook her head. "No. Eric."
"Is there a problem?" Kelly asked hesitantly.
"No. Not at all. That's really why I . . . " Shay took a deep breath. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. I also spent quite a bit of time talking to Eric. I," she swallowed hard. "I guess I've been loving a memory for fourteen years. John was the boy I fell in love with, but I don't know the man he's become. Not really. I kept thinking that . . . if I was more this or that . . . if he'd been more open that he might feel the same. But the truth is, you and I are nothing alike and judging by appearances, I'm nothing like his first wife either. The flat out ugly truth is, John will never love me. I'm not his type."
Kelly held her breath for moment and then slowly released it. "Shay," she said gently, "it's not you. Not anything about you. John does care for you, he really does. Just not in that way."
"I know. He'd never be romantic about me. He might feel lust for a moment, he's a bloke after all, but it wouldn't last. I had myself believing that it was everyone else standing in my way. But I realize now, whatever it is that he needs, I don't have it."
"I wish . . ." Kelly sighed. "I know this must be hard on you. I can't imagine how I would behave if the situation was reversed."
Shay looked at her and said, not without irony, "Unlike me, you'd have gotten over your broken heart and moved on with your life. I clung to John's memory and stopped living for everything but his son. I kept loving a ghost, one who doesn't even exist."
Kelly didn't know what to say.
Shay smiled. "It's been a long time coming, hasn't it? Of course," she added with a bitter laugh, "saying a thing and doing a thing aren't the same or even always possible. But I wanted you to know I'm going to try."
"That's . . ." Kelly swallowed and tried again. "I hope that . . ." she paused, "I wish you the best."
Shay gave another little laugh. "It's not going to be easy. Whenever I look at Eric I see the John I fell in love with."
Kelly impulsively reached across the table to touch Shay's hand. "He's no angel, in fact, most times John is very difficult. He's stubborn and single-minded. He has some crazy ideas about right and wrong and . . ." her voice trailed off.
"He's pretty and a great kisser. Lust can go a long way toward blinding you to other things."
Kelly blushed. "I suppose it can."
John knew nothing about the changes that were happening up North. He was more than a little overwhelmed with the situation in Lower Hutt. Still, now that his Mum had made a decision and was mostly packed, he was free to return to Auckland. She would stay in Lower Hutt and make the final move once the house sold. The realtor there, whom John thought was overly optimistic, suggested it might only be a few weeks. The area in Lower Hutt where he had grown-up, which was once considered a marginal neighborhood, was now "hot." John saw little different about it, but then, as Kelly had pointed out before, he didn't pay much attention to things like that.
John was glad to get back to Auckland although he was still preoccupied with what he had learned. He was now a keeper of secrets, secrets that weren't his and he wasn't sure how he felt about them. A part of him was pleased to have a sister, but the other part of him was furious over it. Still, it wasn't his mother's fault, it wasn't Angela's fault and to blame either of them was pointless. The bigger question, really, was what to do about his father's death. He had promised not to do anything and yet, he itched to do something. Only, . . . what could he do? Despite what he now knew, it didn't bring him closure.
Kelly was pleased to have him back. When he called to tell her he was home, she insisted on coming over.
She arrived carrying a large picnic hamper. She insisted he sit on the couch and then she proceeded to put on a show.
First she opened the hamper and removed a chilled bottle of cider, two glasses, opened the bottle and poured. She then toasted, "To our wedding."
"Wedding?"
She smiled. "I heard we were getting married. Think we need to set a date."
John smiled back. "Ya reckon?"
"I do," she nodded. She began to pull wedding planning paraphernalia out of the hamper. "How about June?"
"June?" John repeated in shock. Kelly had done a complete turnaround while he was gone. What had happened?
"Yes, June. I fancy the idea of a fall wedding. How does thirteen, June, sound?"
"It sounds fine, but then so does tomorrow."
She nodded. "Good. Good." She bent her head and wrote something in a notebook.
"Kelly," John asked, unable to contain his curiosity, "what brought this on?"
She smiled. "I love you."
"You loved me before," he stated. "What changed?"
She grinned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"Shay. She . . . we worked things out. Eric and her, it will all be fine. I . . . with that obstacle gone, it just seemed like it was time."
John shook his head. "What did you work out with her?"
"John, trust me, it's fixed. All you need to know is that I am ready to marry you. Unless you've changed your mind."
"Of course I haven't changed my mind. I WANT to get married. I just . . ." he ran his fingers through his hair. "Are you sure? 'Cause in the past . . . I thought I'd settled things and . . ."
"No worries," Kelly insisted. "It's really okay."
"How can you be so sure?"
She smiled like a cat. "A woman knows these things."
Kelly had already done a walk-through of the house in Ponsonby. It was even better than she hoped and they could get a quick close. It meant the house would be ready for them to move into by the time they got married. Her own house was already up for sale and was sure to move quickly. So she arranged for John to see it. The place cost a little more than they had originally wanted to spend, but with the sale of her present home and their combined income, she was sure they could swing it.
Slowly, she walked John through the spacious rooms. She pointed out the special features, the moldings, the hardwood floors and the fireplaces. She sounded more like a seller than a buyer.
John spent more time watching her than he did looking at the house. He wondered for a moment if Kelly was turning into Marla and seeing the house as proof of their success. However, when he listened to her words, it was about how they could make the house into a home for them, not about acquisition. She even suggested he take the office/workshop for his own space.
He liked the house, but more than that, he loved the vibe he got from her. "Let's do it," he agreed.
"Don't you want to know how much?"
He shook his head. "You're better with money than I am. You know my finances better than I do. If you say we can afford to do it, then let's do it."
She threw her arms around him and said, "I love you."
He hugged her and teased, "You've been saying that a lot lately."
"It must be true."
"Yeah," he whispered into her neck, "it must be."
To John's surprise, his Mum's bungalow sold in three weeks and for more money than John would have believed possible. There was enough to get his Mum her own place in Auckland and keep her in style for years to come. For the moment, she would stay with him while she got settled. He was actually looking forward to it.
Jennifer moved without a moment's regret. She was excited and happy, not just because she would be near her son and grandson, but because of the potential opportunity.
She loved the neighborhood where John was living. The water was nearby and there was a park. There was shopping and restaurants, too. She settled in and began, to John's surprise, to look for a job.
After they set the date, John insisted they tell Kelly's parents together. She warned him it would be unpleasant, but he insisted anyway. Kelly suggested that they go out to dinner to do it; her Da was less likely to make a scene in public. John wanted to see the worst and put his foot down. So . . . Kelly brought John to the Callahan house for Sunday dinner.
She now had a ring, Vicki, Kyle's wife, had made it. A beautiful platinum filigree setting with a half-carat brilliant cut flawless diamond, surrounded by quarter-carat emeralds. It was stunning and the first thing her Mum noticed when they walked in the door.
"Kelly?" Her Mum asked with a glance at her ring.
Kelly shrugged and whispered, "Want the blowout now or after dinner?"
"Now."
Kelly nodded. The family was gathered in the lounge having a post-church pint. Her Da looked as if he had had six. Kelly took a firm hold on John's hand, walked to the center of the room and announced, "Gidday. You all know John. He and I are getting married. Thirteenth of June, which isn't too far away. Yes, we love each other. No, he's not converting. Yes, we are having a large wedding. No, there will not be a priest. Yes, he knows I can't have children. No, he doesn't care." She paused and looked at John, who had a perplexed expression on his face. "Did I forget anything?"
John shook his head looking more shell-shocked than happy.
"Okay then, Da, do your worst."
To Kelly's everlasting gratitude, her brother Brian spoke up first. "It's about time you found a bloke to put up with ya," he said. "John, welcome to the family." Brian walked up, followed by the rest of Kelly's brothers, shook his hand and hugged her. The sisters all had to see the ring. Kelly showed them with one eye on her father who sat in his chair silently waiting for the hubbub to die down.
After fifteen minutes her father burped and rose from his chair. He made his unsteady way to where Kelly and John stood.
He glanced at his daughter then at John. To Kelly's utter astonishment he said, "You got the toughest and best of the lot. I'd tell you to take care of her, but something tells me 'tis the other way around."
Kelly's jaw dropped. John smiled and offered his hand. "She's something special, eh? A hundred pounds of bite and twenty-five of sugar. Still, she makes life interesting."
Her Da took the offered hand, shook it and then laughed. "She's just like her Mum." He turned from John and said to Kelly, "Your Mum's gonna chuck a fit about the judge. Maybe not today, but soon. She had her heart set on a high church wedding and a priest."
Kelly's mouth opened and closed twice before she finally said, "John isn't Catholic. And I'm not going to have him be a hypocrite."
"Good on ya," her father nodded. "Stand your ground, girl. Have the wedding you want." Then he turned and stumbled back to his chair.
Kelly was flabbergasted. It was a month before she discovered that Brian had given her father strict orders on how to behave.
Jennifer was more nervous about meeting Kelly then Kelly was about meeting her. John arranged to take his Mum and Kelly to Orbit, the new revolving restaurant at the top of the Sky Tower. When Jennifer heard she said he didn't need to make it such a big deal.
He demurred. "It's an excuse so my two favorite women can dress up. Besides, when's the last time you saw me in a suit?"
Jennifer shook her head. Sometimes she wondered who this man was. Surely, he was still her son, but after a week of living with him, it felt like she was getting to know him all over again.
John was more comfortable with his mother in Auckland. Away from an environment rife with bad memories, he no longer felt their negative emotional history. In Auckland, he was the man he had become, not the boy he used to be. It made for a new and interesting dynamic to the mother-son relationship.
Kelly met up with John and his Mum at the restaurant. They were already seated when she self-consciously went to join them. John wore the gray silk suit that he had worn on their first "official" date. Kelly hadn't been sure what to expect, but his Mum had clearly made an effort and she looked lovely. Her blond hair was in a French twist and despite the ravages of time and drink, she looked good. She wore a blue silk outfit that matched her eyes. She was fidgeting with the salt and pepper shakers, but Kelly could see her nails were manicured.
Jennifer's first impression was that in a very superficial way, Kelly was like Marla. They looked nothing alike, but Kelly was dressed in what Jennifer recognized as current fashion for professional women. Her hair, make up and accessories were faultless. She was very put together. What's more, Kelly carried herself with confidence. Her demeanor seemed to say, "Here I am. Take me or leave me." Jennifer understood instinctively why John had been attracted. Kelly represented, at least in her physical being; the antithesis of what John himself had often felt. She seemed sure of who and what she was and Jennifer guessed that in John's unconscious mind, he equated someone who knew who they were having the ability to see someone else clearly. It was something of the same quality Marla had had, but in Kelly Jennifer sensed it was real and not feigned.
John jumped up when Kelly finally reached the table and offered her his hand.
She grinned at him, shook her head, threw her arms around his neck and said, "We're not starting this again." She pulled his head to hers and kissed him hard on the mouth.
Jennifer started to laugh. Kelly was everything her son said and nothing like Marla, despite the surface similarities.
Kelly kissed her lover and then turned her head to look at John's Mum. She said, "Your son has a few old-fashioned ideas. I have no idea where he got them, but if we're going to be family . . ."
"If?" John repeated.
"When," Kelly amended. "When we're family, I don't want to tiptoe around things."
Jennifer smiled. "Kelly, I'm so happy to meet you. And please, don't ever tiptoe around me. There's been far too much of that for far too many years."
Kelly and John exchanged glances, then John pulled out a chair and they both sat. "How are you liking Auckland?" Kelly asked.
"It's different, of course. Much bigger, but still everywhere is kind of the same in the end." She paused. "A neighborhood is a neighborhood."
Kelly laughed. "I know exactly what you mean. John was concerned about moving to Ponsonby, because it's more . . . posh, but really, when you explore it, it's just like everywhere else. Pubs, shops, dairies. Same thing, different face."
Jennifer nodded. "Exactly. "
"You like the house, I hear."
Jennifer nodded. "Yes, I'd like to stay there after John moves."
Kelly and John exchanged another look and John said, "I know it's more customary for the bride and groom to receive presents, but we'd like to buy you the house."
Jennifer's eyes filled with tears. "That's . . ."
Kelly smiled. "It was your bungalow in Lower Hutt."
"Only because John bought it for me."
"All the same," Kelly stated, "it's only fair."
Jennifer smiled. "Thank you. May I ask how the wedding plans are coming?"
Kelly rolled her eyes. "It's a mess. I don't know what I'm going to do. Usually I'm the most organized person, but even with planners and such, I'm lost."
"Well," Jennifer suggested tentatively, "if you'd like my help . . ."
"I'd love it!"
Jennifer didn't ask about Kelly's Mum. She knew about her disappointment and that now they were feuding.
John looked from one woman to the other. "Do I sense a future full of women running my life?" He asked rhetorically.
Jennifer and Kelly exchanged a glance of delighted complicity.
John had never really mourned his father. He had been a child of five when Kenny had died. It would have been difficult for the boy he had been to mourn a loss he didn't understand.
As he grew older, he missed having a father and he supposed in some ways he grieved for the lack of guidance, love, direction and mentorship that a father could have given him. He had been lucky enough to meet Mick Sullivan and that had helped. Now that Alan Snow was dead and all the residual baggage with him, John could see that even Alan had for a time, served in a fatherly capacity. All the same, he knew he had never dealt with all those feelings. Knew that somehow, his own parenting of Eric was bound up in his conflicted and confused feelings. Further, now knowing how much of his father's life he had repeated . . .
As the wedding drew closer, John's unresolved feelings about his father's death, his burden of secrets and his own growing concerns about history repeating itself began to expand. He had told Kelly about Angela, but not a word about his father. Kelly wanted to immediately embrace his sister, to the extent of including her in the wedding party, but John said no. There was his Mum to consider.
Still John was troubled and finally he did what he always did, he went to see Frances. Despite her never marrying or having children of her own, Frances had served as loco parentis for hundreds of children over the years. He hoped she would be able to talk him through his emotions.
He went over to France's house for tea. She opened the door, aware from the moment she saw him, that he had a problem. Still, she welcomed him, settled him in his spot on the sofa and gave him tea and biscuits.
He marginally relaxed as he sipped and nibbled and gave Frances the abbreviated version of his trip to Lower Hutt.
After the telling of what Frances could clearly see was only half the story, she said, "And is your Mum still . . . all right?"
John actually smiled. "She seems better than all right. She found a little church, a place for AA and now she's looking for a job. She'd like to . . . I mentioned you to her. She wants to meet you."
Frances laughed. "I'd love to meet her. But, John," she teased, "don't you think between the two of us, we'll take over your life?"
That made John laugh. "You're welcome to it. Your advice has always been spot on. You've never steered me wrong."
Frances sighed. "What's happened now?" He shook his head as she added, "Tell me."
He did. Although he thought he would never tell another soul about his father's death, he found that he needed to. To work through his feelings about his father and Angela, someone had to know the whole story, not just the half. Frances, as she always did, listened without judgment. She let him speak and then when he was done, sighed loudly. "Such a horribly sad story. So tragic for everyone."
"Tragic for everyone?" he repeated.
"Yes. Not just for your Mum and you, but also the Downeys'. Poor Constance. She loved Michael. She never meant to hurt him. It must have grieved her to know what she forced him to do. And Michael, I'm sure it was an accident. He couldn't have done what he did for Angela and your Mum if he had been a cold-blooded murderer."
"You buy that?"
Frances nodded. "Of course. You know, better than most, how alcohol can make you lose control. How belligerent, how physical a bloke can get. How many times in the past, have you come close to killing or being killed in a fight? I'm sure that Michael Downey was protecting himself as he said."
John nodded. "I suspect you're right, only . . ."
"The tiny shadow of doubt, because it was a convenient way to save face over the child. All the same, you made the right choice to leave it. No good can come of trying to get justice. Your Mum has clearly come to terms with it and she does know about Angela."
"You think?"
Frances nodded. "I'm sure of it. Especially if Angela's been tending the grave. She hasn't mentioned it?"
John shook his head. "Not a word."
Frances eyes him thoughtfully. "Well, you know I'm all for dealing with things head on, but . . ." she paused, cocked her head and asked, "What do you plan to do?"
John shrugged. "I'm not sure. She's blood, after all, but if Mum . . ." he paused and asked, "what SHOULD I do?"
Frances smiled. "Why do you think I have the answer?"
John grinned ruefully. "You usually do."
Frances laughed softly. "Do nothing."
"Nothing?"
Frances nodded. She studied his face and then asked, "That isn't all there is . . . you have more on your mind?"
"I'm worried," he admitted.
"Why?"
"I . . . when I look back, my life . . . even though my father was gone, so much of my life, I repeated his behavior."
"Explain."
"I used to drink and fight as you well know. I cheated on my wife. I have a child I didn't know about. What if . . . when Kelly and I are married, I start all over again?"
She shook her head. "John," she chided him, "all those things already happened. You're different now. Why would you think you'd go backwards?"
He ran his fingers through his hair. "Marla once said I was an adrenaline junkie. She said I loved, needed the danger of my undercover life. She thought I preferred that to the real world."
"Do you?"
He was still for a long moment and his brow furrowed with thought. "I guess maybe I did then. Back then, Marla was . . . shit . . . other than sex, life with her was kind of dull."
"Is life with Kelly?"
"No."
"So . . . you don't lack for excitement?"
He laughed. "No I don't. She's . . . it's never boring."
"Well, I believe you used to drink and fight mostly because it was a way to avoid dealing with your unhappiness and anger. But you aren't unhappy and I suspect you aren't very angry anymore."
John thought for moment. "I'm not," he acknowledged with surprise. "The anger is still there, it probably always will be, but I'm not so conscious of it. Though I still lose my temper fairly often."
"But you usually have reason?"
He nodded. "I don't drink anywhere near like I used to. And I'm not hanging out in pubs, so I'm not fighting."
"John," she said slowly, "I understand your worries, but truly, the circumstances are completely changed. I think your fears are groundless. After all," she added with an ironic smile, "even adults can grow up."
Kelly didn't think she would enjoy planning a big wedding, but she found with the help of John's Mum, that she did. John was as much a help as a hindrance, but he was so thrilled that they were finally going to do it, that he agreed to most everything.
All the same, now that they were actually into the wedding plans, things were changing.
Suddenly, there were thousands of details to be handled and lots of parties. Having big families seemed to come with more socializing than John realized.
Eric and Ian, Brian's oldest son, had already formed a bond. It was benefiting his son greatly to have a sort of older brother/cousin.
Kelly had insisted on telling the Lawless clan in person and invited all of them including Polu to the wedding. John never knew what Kelly had said to his grandfather, but every one of the Lawless clan was coming. It was going to be a very large wedding.
Her sisters plus Jenny and Kathy were to be the bridesmaids. Ian, Brian, Andy, Dave and Willy were John's ushers and Eric was John's best man. Kelly thought that was a beautiful gesture and was happy he had agreed.
The guest list was enormous. Kelly's family, John's Maori relatives, all their friends, business associates and assorted others gave them a list of 130 people. It was immense. So they rented a hall for the wedding and they decided on a buffet reception afterward.
Despite her Mum's fit over the judge, her folks were paying for the wedding. Kelly tried to decline, but John convinced her that it was her father's way of apologizing for things. Kelly wasn't sure she believed him. She thought it was her father's guilt, blood money, but John was adamant. Further, she didn't trust her father's new attitude. Despite Brian's insistence that it was real, Kelly kept waiting for the explosion. Only it never happened. The wedding drew closer and closer and everything was still going right.
Kelly and John's Mum had forged a bond and were slowly, but surely, running his life. Eric was thrilled with having so much "new" family. He had met his Maori relatives and they had enfolded him into the family, just as they had embraced John. The wedding plans were in full flower and in less than a week; John and Kelly were going to be married
His Mum was working part time at the school where Frances taught. She and Frances had become friends as well. Two days before the wedding, John and his Mum sat down to dinner. It was just the two of them. Kelly was in the midst of final preparations and too busy. Everything was ready, yet . . . he felt like something was going to go wrong anyway.
"You're looking pensive," she said.
He grinned ruefully. "Just waiting for everything to crash down around me."
Jennifer Lawless laughed. "Not gonna happen. You've got it together."
"Ya reckon?" he retorted. "I can't help thinking . . ."
"It's what you're used to," she agreed. "John, I was looking at the guest list for the wedding."
He wondered how she would react to some of the names on the list. "And?" he prompted.
"I was glad to see you invited some people from home. Angela especially."
He had been waiting for her to say something. They had never again discussed his father, not since she had moved to Auckland. "Why?" he asked bluntly.
Jennifer took a deep breath. "She's got no one left, now that her Mum's gone. It would be nice if you two . . . got to know each other."
So his Mum DID know. "I thought so too," he agreed.
Jennifer's eyes filled with tears. "Family is so important," she said. "All family."
John reached across the table and took her hand. "We've got lots of rellies now. Neither of us ever has to be alone again."
Jennifer swallowed and then she smiled. "I love you."
John smiled back and knew that it was all going to be all right.
When John had shared the details of his coming marriage with Willy, his friend had been ecstatic. Married life and running the garage agreed with him. Dave, who had never left the force, and even with all his complaining, never would, was also thrilled. Andy was his usual frenetic self and he wanted to arrange a boy's night out. John put his foot down and said no, but Andy ignored him. The night before the wedding with Kelly's connivance, John went off to have one final fling with his friends and some of his new family. In addition to his old friends, all of Kelly's brothers were there as well as several of his Maori cousins.
Dave was supposed to be the sobering influence, so he was the first to get drunk, followed by Willy and then Andy. John was calm, almost serene about the wedding and stayed reasonably sober.
Andy, still traveling solo became quite maudlin, pondering lost opportunities and missing a certain blonde. John suggested he call her.
Willy regaled them with tales of how he was always refusing to be sucked into crooked deals at the garage. It made Dave laugh to see how the former crim had taken to the straight and narrow. Kelly's brothers and John's cousins got along like a house afire. They played pool and talked rugby. John basked in the warm glow.
The morning of the wedding dawned crisp, clear and pleasantly sunny. Kelly was staying in her parents' house, having moved out of her own, but not yet into the new house. Her things had been moved there, but she wanted to wait until she was married to move in herself. She knew it was silly, but there it was. Her Mum had finally forgiven her and now she brought Kelly early morning tea. Her Mum sat on the bed and asked, "So?"
Kelly laughed. "As ready as I'll ever be."
"You have the some things?"
"Some things?"
"Old, new, borrowed, blue."
Kelly shrugged and said, "New is the dress, blue is the garter, old is my groom or so he says these days and as for borrowed, well, I was kind of hoping . . ."
Her Mum smiled. "It qualifies as both old and borrowed." She handed Kelly a small jewelry box. Inside were pearl drop earrings. They were her Mum's and had been her Nana's. The earrings appeared not only in her Mum and Grandmother's wedding pictures, but in all her sister's photos as well. "A tradition, eh?" Kelly asked.
"One that you are keeping," her Mum snapped. She shrugged and added, "Kelly, I do understand. But I don't have to like it."
Kelly reached out to hug her. "I know, but if there's one thing I've learned in the last year, it's to be up front about things. Especially with John. He treats truth and honesty like a religion. I couldn't ask him to get married in a way he doesn't believe. It would be a lie and he . . . I love him too much to start a marriage like that."
Her Mum sighed. "I know. All the same, you're the last girl. I was really hoping . . ."
"Mum, I'm sorry, really, I AM. But thank you for the earrings."
Her Mum disentangled herself. "You're welcome. Have your tea and then we'll see about lugging all your gear to the hall. At least you had the sense to rent a place where there was a dressing room."
"I'm a sensible girl, Mum. Always have been."
John woke up in a panic. He was alone in his bed, the alarm hadn't rung and the digital clock was flashing. Shit, he was getting married today. What the bloody hell was the time? He searched frantically for his watch, finally finding it in the loo, where for some reason he had removed it. With a sign of relief, he saw it was only nine. That was all right. The wedding was scheduled for noon. He had three hours. He looked in the mirror. His hair was wild, his beard thickish but despite his bachelor party, his eyes were clear. He needed coffee.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and opened his bedroom door. He heard laughter from the kitchen. He wandered in and there was his Mum and son, their faces wreathed in smiles. Eric had stayed over although John had been out. Apparently, he had a great time alone with his Nana.
"Good morning," his Mum said.
"Hi Dad."
John smiled and asked, "I don't suppose there's any coffee?"
His Mum laughed and stepped away from the table. John saw a little pot of coffee, scones and thick cream. "For me?"
"You're getting married today. You need a good brekkie."
"I need coffee."
Eric laughed. "You don't look . . . hung over. Have too much fun last night?"
John rolled his eyes. "No, I did not. Nothing stronger than beer either. I'm just . . ."
"Nervous?"
He laughed and poured coffee. He raised the cup to his mouth, inhaled the rich scent and then drank. "Better." He paused, "Oddly enough, I'm not nervous. I'm . . ."
"Scared?"
He shook his head. "Not that either." He ran his fingers through his hair. "To tell you true, I'm not sure what I feel."
"I bet Kelly's a basket case," Eric suggested.
Both John and Jennifer shook their heads. "Not her." Then they laughed.
John added, "It took her a long time to commit, but once she's in, she's in. She's probably calm, serene and thinking that I'm going round the bend."
At that very moment, Kelly, her Mum and her sisters were anything but serene. They entered the hall only to discover the florist hadn't arrived, the caterer was going to be late and the dressing room had sprung a leak. Luckily, her dress was safely in the car. Still, Kelly was as close to hysterics as she had ever been in her life. It was her Mum, veteran of six weddings, who took charge.
At eleven, John and Eric in tuxedos, his Mum in a beautiful silver dress and Frances in green were on their way. John had been ordered by both Kelly and her mother not to try to see the bride before the ceremony. John agreed to the injunction, it was, after all, tradition.
He was ready for the wedding and looking forward to seeing Kelly's dress. He had no idea what it looked like; she’d kept it secret. When they arrived at the hall at eleven thirty, it had already begun to be filled with guests. Dave, Willy, Andy, Brian and Ian were ushering people to their sides. The hall was fragrant with flowers. There was no sign of Kelly, her Mum or any bridesmaids.
In fact, to John's surprise, there was no sign of the uncontrolled chaos that he had expected.
At noon, the hall was filled and everyone was seated. Both sides of the aisle were packed. In fact, when John peeked in, he realized that his side was actually more full than Kelly's was, thanks to the Lawless clan.
The wedding party waited for the signal to begin.
In the dressing room, Kelly was taking one last look in the mirror. Her earlier hysterics over the pending disasters, which were now all straightened out, was over. She felt an almost mystic calm and serenity settle over her. She nodded to her Mum who sent Gail out to tell them to start. She heard the music and it was time.
Kelly stood on the threshold of the hall and heard ohs and ahs as they saw her dress. She smiled and with joy and confidence began her march to join John.
John thought she had never looked lovelier.
Kelly had decided on a white dress, although it felt a little fraudulent. All the same, this was to be her only wedding. The dress was simple, a tea length sheath with a tight bodice and short puff sleeves. The bodice was dotted with seed pearls. Her hair was upswept and she had a headband also set with seed pearls and a short veil. She wore her Mum's earrings and the gold cross John has given her for Christmas.
Kelly walked down the aisle to John. Her face glowed and she looked as if she was sure that she was doing the exact right thing. She reached him, placed her hand in his and the ceremony began. It went off without a hitch and before either of them knew it, they were married. The reception was large, loud and no one managed to get into a fight, although it was a close thing between John's grandfather, Polu and Kelly's Da. Willy had to break them up.
John and Kelly left for their honeymoon and everyone lived happily ever after, at least until John found a body on the honeymoon, Kelly was kidnapped and Willy was arrested for fraud!