‘There’s more?’ Addie asked. ‘How could there possibly be anything else?’
‘The day Mum died was the day she and dad had the big argument, and I heard about the affair.’ She waited. ‘That day, Mum was angry, upset, and she walked out of the house, got into the car, and never came back.’
‘That was the day of the accident.’ Addie tried to take it all in.
‘For years I blamed Dad,’ said Susanna. ‘I told myself that if he hadn’t had the affair, if they hadn’t argued, Mum would still be alive.’
Addie didn’t know how to process it all. It was too much. Her dad, an affair, her parents’ argument, her mother’s death, Louisa.
Voice wobbly, tears flowing, she said, ‘But Mum and Dad never argued.’
Susanna looked down at the ground, at her polished black boots against the patchy grass near one of the tree’s visible roots. ‘They argued a lot in the year leading up to the day Mum died. You were so young. I always tried to protect you from it, hide it from you however I could. Sometimes I’d go into your bedroom, close the door and make up a loud game or put music on, or other times I’d make sure we were in the garden so we wouldn’t overhear what they were saying to each other.’
Addie felt her whole body stiffen. ‘What did they argue about? Tell me, I’m not a kid any more. You don’t need to hide things from me. You shouldn’t!’ She couldn’t imagine her parents arguing. But she’d been so little before they lost their mum. Had her rose-coloured little-girl glasses stopped her from seeing what really went on? ‘Susanna, please… I need to know.’
‘Mostly it was about money, the demands of the café. The only different argument I remember was the one that day, about the affair with a woman called Lily.’
‘Was Dad in love with this woman?’
‘No, he said it was over. He told Mum he lovedher.’
Addie slumped against the tree trunk. ‘You never told me the truth, in all these years.’
‘Believe me, I thought about it, but I knew what it would do to you. You idolised Dad, you missed him so much. You missed Mum too and you couldn’t even remember much about her. I gave you as many memories as I could, but that one?’ She shook her head. ‘Why would I torture my sister with thoughts that take up too much room in my head, thoughts that have haunted me for far too long?’
Addie realised something else. ‘That’s what you fought about.’
‘Who?’
‘You and Dad. When we were going through his boxes, you found Mum’s bracelet with the tiny blue flowers and you said that you and Dad had argued.’
‘Yes. I thought he’d given it to her… to Lily.’
‘Iknewthere was more to it. You denied it!’
‘Addie—’
‘No! No more.’ Addie began to cry, and she felt her sister’s arms around her, but she pushed her away. She turned. She ducked beneath the low-hanging branches of the tree. And she ran.
She ran down the street. When she reached the point where she’d got tangled in the kite’s strings, she headed for the pathway beyond that would take her all the way round the island. And she kept on running.
She didn’t stop at the first bench, nor the second; she only stopped when she had no more energy left.
She stood, got her breath back, looked out at the vastness of the ocean.
It wasn’t long before she began to feel the cold. She needed comfort. She had to hear her son’s voice.
She took her phone from her cardigan pocket and, hands shaking, she made the call.
‘Hello, love,’ said Jarrett when he answered, only briefly getting a word in before Maurie was on the line.
‘Addie, what’s happened? Are you okay?’ Maurie asked.
‘I’m fine, I promise. I just wanted to say hello to Isaac, ask him if he had a good time with his dad today.’ She got up, moved around, jumped a little on the spot to keep herself warm.
Maurie hesitated. ‘I knew you’d be worried, but he’s safe and sound. He’s fallen asleep on the sofa. They played a lot of football. I can wake him up?’
‘No, no, don’t do that.’ She wanted to hear his voice, but knowing he’d had a good time with his dad was suddenly enough. ‘How long is Jonty staying with you?’
