‘Shh,’ she giggled. ‘Is that yours or –? No, it’s mine. Sorry.’
‘Leave it,’ he said, but she was already moving, pushing herself up out of the couch, away from him.
‘I can’t, I’m sorry, it might be the babysitter.’ She smiled, a little witchy smile that made his skin tingle where she’d been. He could still feel her. She looked at the screen. ‘It is, I’ll be back. Make yourself comfortable.’
She actually winked. A playful, ironic nod to what was to come. He grinned as she left the room. ‘Hi Andrea, everything OK?’ he heard her say.
He blew out his cheeks, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Shook his head, took a slug of wine, sat up straighter on the couch. Waking up a little, but not too much, trying not to break the spell, anticipating her return.
Gretchen’s voice was a low murmur in the other room. He leaned his head back on the couch, listening to the indistinct sounds. He could hear the cadence, up and down, soothing. Yes, the thought popped into his head unbidden. Maybe he could almost get used to this. Not in Kiewarra, but somewhere else. Somewhere grassy and open where it rained. He knew how to handle the wide open spaces. Melbourne and his real life seemed five hours and a million miles away. The city might have got under his skin, but for the first time he wondered what was hidden in his core.
He shifted on the couch and his hand brushed against the cool covers of the photo albums. In the other room, Gretchen’s voice was a dull murmur. No urgency in her tone, she was patient, explaining something. Falk pulled the album into his lap, opening it half-heartedly, blinking away the heaviness from the wine.
He was looking for the photo of the two of them, but realised immediately he’d picked up the wrong album. Instead of the early childhood snaps on the first page, Gretchen was older in this one, nineteen or twenty maybe. Falk started to close the cover then stopped. He looked at the pictures with interest. He’d never really seen her at that age. He’d seen younger, and now older. Nothing in between. Gretchen was still looking a little suspiciously at the camera, but the reluctance to pose was gone. The skirt was shorter and the expression less coy.
He turned the page and felt a jolt as he came face to face with Gretchen and Luke, frozen in time in a glossy colour print. Both in their early twenties, intimate and laughing, heads close, smiles matching. What had she said?
We dated for a year or two. Nothing serious. It fell apart, of course.
A string of similar pictures spanned two double pages. Days out, holidays by the beach, a Christmas party. Then all of a sudden, they stopped. As Luke’s face was changing from a twenty-something bloke to a man nearing thirty. About the age Luke had met Karen, he disappeared from Gretchen’s album. That was OK, Falk told himself. That was fine. That made sense.
He flicked through the remaining pages as Gretchen’s muffled voice floated through from the other room. He was about to close the book when his hand stilled.
On the very last page, under the yellowing plastic protector, was a photo of Luke Hadler. He was looking down, away from the camera, with a serene smile on his face. The picture was cropped close, but he appeared to be in a hospital room, perched on the edge of a bed. In his arms, he held a newborn baby.
The tiny pink face, dark hair and chubby wrist peeked out from the folds of a blue blanket in his arms. Luke held the child comfortably, closely. Paternally.
Billy, Falk thought automatically. He’d seen a thousand similar photos at the Hadlers’ place. The name hit a dud note the moment it landed. Falk leaned in, over Gretchen’s photo album, rubbing his eyes, wide awake now. The picture was not a good one, taken in a dim room with a heavy flash. But the focus was sharp. Falk shoved the album under the tableside lamp, the mood lighting revealing the image more clearly. Nestled in the blue blanket, circling the baby’s fat wrist, was a white plastic bracelet. The child’s name was written on it in neat capital letters.
lachlan schoner.
Chapter Thirty-three
In the black windows, Falk could see his reflection warp and shift. Gretchen’s voice drifted down the hall. It sounded suddenly different to his ears. He grabbed the other album and flicked through. Photos showed Gretchen alone, Gretchen with her mother, on a night out in Sydney with her older sister.
No Luke. Until – he nearly missed it. He turned back a page. It was another bad photo, hardly worth including in an album. Taken at some community event. Gretchen was in the background of the action. Standing next to her was Karen Hadler. And standing next to Karen was Luke.
Over his wife’s head, Luke Hadler was looking straight at Gretchen. She was looking back with the same little witchy smile that she’d just flashed at Falk. He turned to the photo of Luke with Gretchen’s baby son. The son who, with his dark hair and brown eyes and sharp nose, had grown up to look nothing like his mother.
Falk jumped as Gretchen spoke behind him.
‘It was nothing,’ she said. Falk spun around. She smiled, put down her mobile and picked up her wineglass. ‘Lachie just needed to hear my voice –’
Her smile faded as she saw the look on his face and the photo album open in his hand. She looked back at him, her expression a mask.
‘Do Gerry and Barb Hadler know?’ Falk heard the edge in his own voice and didn’t like it. ‘Did Karen?’
She bristled, instantly defensive. ‘There’s nothing to know.’
‘Gretchen –’
‘I told you. Lachie’s dad’s not around. Luke was an old friend. So he visited. Spent a couple of hours with Lachie now and again. So what? What’s wrong with that? It was a male role model thing. It was nothing.’ Gretchen was babbling. She stopped. She took a deep breath. Looked at Falk. ‘Luke’s not his father.’
Falk said nothing.
‘He’s not,’ she snapped.
‘What does it say on Lachie’s birth certificate?’
