The Hermit Next Door Page 13

  “You can stay as long as you want to. I can keep you safe from the rest of the media here—if that’s what you want.”

  “I guess you want a story.”

  “Well yes. But there’s no rush, and it can be from whatever angle you’re comfortable with. You can have full control over it.”

  Willa looked a while at the young woman across from her and the easy conversation they were having now. The last time they’d met, Carolyn had been camped on her riverbank and Willa had been too intimidated to speak a word to the reporter. Eighteen years was a long time to bury yourself away, enduring a self-imposed penance. She’d forgotten what it was like to communicate, to talk over thoughts and feelings with another person. In just a few weeks with Jack she was beginning to see glimpses of the person she used to be. The type of person who, before the tragedy, could speak with others and not be afraid of losing perspective or feeling unworthy of friendship.

  Still, there was a lot on her mind. While the impact of the world knowing her secrets didn’t cut her as badly as she thought it might, the idea that Daniel would be searching her out, wanting to meet her, to have her recall the gruesome details of his circumstance, terrified her. And try as she might to block out the memory of Jack’s betrayal, it seeped into her thoughts unbidden and without warning, creating a pit of heaviness with every breath she took. That, coupled with the knowledge she had knowingly accepted him into her arms and her heart, when he had already betrayed her so many times before. Why had she been surprised? She physically shook her head in disbelief every time the memory of it invaded her consciousness. She started biting the skin around her fingernails again, a habit that took years to break from her twenties, and she cursed him for that as well.

  “Do you mind if I go lie down for a while. I’m feeling a bit…overwhelmed.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” said Carolyn, jumping up and popping the top from a champagne bottle.

  “Please… I don’t think—.”

  “You’re upset, Willa. The last thing you need is to lie in bed and feel sorry for yourself. Let’s put on a chick movie, eat some ice-cream and drink champagne. It might not take your mind off your misery for long, but it will be fun.” Carolyn wasn’t taking no for an answer and had already sipped the head off the first glass as she poured the second.

  Much to both women’s surprise, Willa conceded. “Can I put my pyjamas on first?”

  “An absolute necessity.”

  Jack had watched her leave with Carolyn from the verandah. He wanted to explain that he was different now, that he had been trying to save his job, his company, his employees, and that he didn’t have a choice. But he knew none of those excuses would be enough.

  The album would be released in a few days and there was a mammoth amount of work to be done, not to mention battling the incompetence claim that was heading his way thanks to Willa’s greedy brothers. He boarded the plane and felt his resolve fail him. Truly believing he would only have one drink, just to calm his nerves, he ordered tequila with a beer. By the time they arrived in LA he received an armed, two man escort off the plane and was held overnight in custody.

  Chapter 18

  “I want to do a piece with you and Daniel,” said Carolyn, spooning cereal into her mouth with one hand as she read The Australian with the other.

  “Absolutely not,” said Willa, pouring hot water into a tea pot and placing it between them.

  Carolyn looked up from the paper and said, “I don’t think he hates you.”

  “Of course he hates me. His siblings are dead because of me.”

  “Because their father killed them, not you.”

  Willa’s closed her lips tight, not wanting to take the conversation further.

  Carolyn dropped her spoon into her bowl, making a loud clatter. “He wants to meet you.” She lifted a page from the paper and placed it in front of the unresponsive woman.

  “I just can’t do it,” Willa said finally.

  “Why?”

  “Because I feel so guilty about it.”

  “What if you apologised? Maybe you would feel better.”

  “How can an apology make any difference to him?”

  “It might make a difference to you.”

  “Then that’s a selfish reason.”

  Carolyn was born without the subtlety gene. She never saw barriers—only alternate pathways. She had enjoyed two of the most amazing days with Willa in her home. They seemed to accommodate each other well, despite the differences in age and personality. Carolyn couldn’t deny she liked the woman, particularly when she sang. In those moments, she felt like she was in some other dimension, where all the spirits of the legends had joined together to form this miracle of a music-maker.

  Somewhere in the back of her brain Carolyn was convinced that Willa could only truly find her freedom once she’d met the boy.

  Daniel was easy to find, he’d received his share of press recently, and he was very keen to meet with the woman face to face. In less than twenty-four hours of making contact he was at her door and Carolyn led him through the house. Instinctively she knew that Willa’s state of mind was largely dependent on environment and had ensured she would be in the tree lined backyard when he arrived.

  Carolyn watched the meeting through the camera on her phone. She had considered bringing in a film crew but decided against it. Willa would be anxious enough with adding more people into the mix.

  “There’s someone here to see you. Willa, I’d like you to meet Daniel.”

  She must have thought she was joking, as she laughed as she turned around towards her. But her expression froze when she saw the young man standing before her.

  Daniel looked serious in dark jeans, a black t-shirt and grey jacket. Carolyn had trouble keeping the camera steady.

  He didn’t move at first, regarding Willa with distant eyes. A tinge of red spread up the woman’s neck leaving blotchy marks on her skin. Carolyn felt a pang of regret. Was it too soon? Maybe she shouldn’t have interfered.

  Daniel broke the silence stretching out between them. “Hi Willa.”

  His words seemed to snap her into action. “I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” With that she ran through the house and out the front door, Carolyn following with her camera in tow.

  The media reaction out the front of the house was instantaneous. Cameras flashed and voices crowded around her.

  “Was that Daniel Cleary?”

  “How does it feel to meet the baby who lived?”

  “What did you say to him?”

  Willa stood still a moment, then turned and stared down the phone in Carolyn’s hand, her face spelling death. With no alternative, she headed back into the house and found her way to Daniel who hadn’t moved.

  “Daniel.”

  “Hi, Willa.”

  “I don’t know what I can say.”

  “I have some questions.”

  “I’m not sure I can answer them.”

  “Please?”

  Her eyes were glistening with pain, as she sat heavily in a dining room chair. “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve read the transcripts and the reports. I know the details. I just wanted to know if you knew my mother?”

  She had closed her eyes as if preparing herself to be slapped. At his question she opened them, looking surprised. “Your mother? No, I’m sorry. I didn’t. I was only assigned to your case after she died.”

  “When I was six weeks old.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I had known her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I look like him? My father, I mean?”

  She studied his face closely. Was he really asking this question or was he getting ready to rip her apart? His expression seemed anxious, but not angry. She tried to think about a response. “You look remarkably unlike your father. He was a dark, olive-skinned man originating from somewhere in Spain I think. And yet your hair is—”

  “Red.”

  “Yes.”

  “My mother was
a brunette.”

  “So I believe.”

  “So where do you think the red hair come from?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well it’s just…”

  “Yes?”

  She wasn’t sure how much she should say. When would the screaming start? “None of your siblings had red hair.”

  He stared at her as if she held every answer to every question in the world. “He wasn’t my real father?”

  She could see the hope his eyes. He wanted this to be true and she was in no position to deny him this hope. But at the same time it was just a guess. It might explain why he had been left when all the others had been taken. “Maybe.”

  “Is there any way I can find out?” He asked stepping closer to her as if about to make a grab.

  She nodded, resisting the urge to move away. “Yes.”

  He bit his lip and found a chair beside her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  She looked across at the young man in front of her, shoulders bent over in relief, his head in his hands. Could it be possible this was all he wanted from her?

  “Daniel, I’m so sorry things turned out the way they did. I will never forget your loss for the rest of my life. I wish I could go back and do things differently. Every day I wish for that.”

  “The money that was sent every year. Was that you?”

  “Yes.”

  He got to his feet and took her hands in his. She willed herself not to flinch. Would he hurt her? He didn’t look angry or crazy. Her hands went limp in anticipation of the pain.

  “The thought of having some mystery person watching out for me, caring about me, paying for my education. It gave me a sense of purpose—a sense of belonging. You have nothing to be sorry for…”

  “If only that were true.”

  “But it is true. And now, you’ve given me hope. You couldn’t understand the shame and humility I’ve lived with, thinking myself biologically related to a killer. If it turns out I have another father out there somewhere—I can’t begin to tell you how differently I could see myself.”

  There was no malice and no blame. His gratitude was undeniable. She allowed herself to be pulled into a tight hug before he left. When the front door closed and Carolyn’s camera turned off, the tears began to roll. Once they started, they wouldn’t stop. Like a pressure valve released, she cried until her belly ached and her face stung. Sometime after that the tears turned to uncontrollable laughter. Carolyn couldn’t help get caught up in the wonderment of such extreme emotions, crying and laughing along with her.

  Willa couldn’t remember ever feeling so alive.

  Chapter 19

  Willa enjoyed staying at Carolyn’s house. Weeks turned into a month. Carolyn was gone most of the day and Willa could potter around, cook, sing. Not having any outside space to explore but an average town block backyard was not as tough as it used to be, but she suspected her constant tiredness was due to a lack of fresh air and sunshine. The sick, restless feeling within her persisted, despite the resolution with Daniel. Jack’s betrayal sat inside her like a stone.

  A knock on the door startled her. They didn’t get many knocks on the door, the 24/7 security detail on both entrances saw to that. People made appointments to see her now and most requests were rejected.

  It was a guy with registered mail. He didn’t wear a uniform. Just an old pink floyd t-shirt with pants that hung scarily low beneath his belly. The small white delivery truck was double parked beside the media camp, and a number of photographers stood up, long lensed cameras in hand, hoping for a shot. The man understood who the package was for—her name was clearly labeled across the top. It didn’t stop him from gaping at her, jaw dropped, as she signed her name on the electronic device. As she handed him back the stylus he replaced it with a pen, a blank sheet of paper balanced on the machine. Nerves caught his tongue but his eyes pleaded ‘please?’

  Willa hadn’t signed an autograph before. Did she just write Willa Jones? Or was she expected to write more? Willa looked at the security guys for an answer but they just stared straight ahead, arms crossed, ready for action against an unlikely threat.

  “Who should I make it out to?” Willa asked.

  The man cleared his throat and managed, “To Karen, my wife.”

  Willa nodded, placed her hands on the page and wrote in her best handwriting, ‘To dear Karen. Your husband loves you. He told me. Willa Jones.”

  The man beamed with gratitude. “She’ll love that.”

  “I’m glad. Thanks for the parcel.”

  The man practically bowed out backwards. Would she ever get used to this?

  She closed the door and turned the package over in her hands. From Jack. It was like the starter flag, her pulse took off around a formula one circuit. Even if there was nothing he could say, even if he apologised to the moon and back, even if she didn’t give a damn, her pulse still raced. All it took was his name on a delivery.

  Inside the package where six different sized envelopes, five numbered chronologically, and one addressed to Carolyn. A bolt of defiance made her want to open the third or fourth envelope first, just to prove he didn’t still control her. I have a mind and spirit of my own, Jack. I don’t have to follow your rules any more.

  She picked up envelope one. Business size, thin. Turned it over in her hands, lifted it to her nose, smelt it. A dusty, grittiness. Nothing more. No sign of him. No evidence he’d even touched it. She gathered all the envelopes and stood them in a line, leaning against the television, then sat back on the couch and stared.

  Carolyn found her that way an hour later, still staring at a blank TV screen, six oddly shaped envelopes, standing in a row in front of it. Carolyn didn’t say a word. She sat in the armchair beside Willa and waited.

  “They’re from Jack,” said Willa.

  Carolyn nodded. “Want me to burn them?”

  “There’s one for you, too.”

  “I only get one? You get five and I get one?”

  “Lucky me.”

  Carolyn patted Willa on the knee, stood and walked to the kitchen. Willa could hear her open the fridge, the pop of a champagne cork, the rattle of glasses. She came back to the room, picked up the envelope with her name and tucked it under her arm, tossed the envelope with the number one in Willa’s lap and handed her a glass brimming with sparkling liquid.

  “You go first,” Carolyn said as she sat, took a long sip.

  “I don’t think there’s anything Jack could say in any one of those envelopes that could make the slightest bit of difference.”

  “Yada, yada, yada. Open the envelope, Willa. I can’t bear the suspense. It’s killing me.”

  “Open yours then.”

  “I tell you what. You open mine, and I’ll open yours.”

  Willa could hear the wheels ticking in Carolyn’s head. This was a ploy. “Deal.”

  “You go first”

  Carolyn was clever. It was easier for Willa to open an envelope that was intended for Carolyn than one for herself. She ripped the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper with Jack’s handwriting.

  Carolyn - please do whatever you can to convince Willa to open these envelopes. And if possible, in order. Much obliged, Jack.

  Willa passed the note to Carolyn and said, “After what he did to you, I can’t believe he’d ask a favour.”

  Carolyn nodded. “I’ll say. The nerve of the man.” Her voice was forced as she buried her head in the note, avoiding Willa’s eyes. It wasn’t like Carolyn to miss an opportunity to rant about Jack’s shortcomings. Strange.

  “Okay, my turn,” said Carolyn. She slide her finger into the corner and tore open the number one envelope before Willa could change her mind. Inside was a single cheque and another handwritten note.

  Carolyn read.

  Willa - open a new bank account with this deposit but not until after the contents of envelope number two have been dealt with.

  “So, he’s finally
paying me the money he owes,” said Willa. “I hope he doesn’t expect me to thank him.”

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “Hit me.”

  “Six point two million.”

  “Holy cow.” Carolyn handed it over and Willa stared down at the slip in her hands. It was made out to Willa Jones, an EP records cheque, signed by Jack Gilmore. What had he been thinking as he signed this? Was he sorry? Or just glad to be rid of her? Pay her off?

  “Do you think they all have cheques?” asked Carolyn, her eyes wide, her voice high.

  Willa laughed. “It’s unlikely, given the different shapes.”

  “Come on, open another one.”

  The second envelope was thicker and wider, the size of an official document. Willa picked it up, pulled back the seal, taking her time, mostly to tease Carolyn. Inside she found a collection of papers pinned together in the corner by a single clip.

  The first was a form to revoke guardianship over her affairs from her brothers that needed to be signed and returned. The second was a letter of notification of an out-of-court appearance, a week from today with an appointment for a psychiatric assessment in case her brothers appealed. There were bookings for full security detail, accommodation at the Windsor, luxury car transfers and the name and details of a personal assistant to guide them through the process. The bookings were made for both Willa and Carolyn.

  “He’s organised everything.” Willa handed Carolyn the documents. It might look like he was trying to help, but it was still Jack, doing what he needed to help himself. “This way my brothers will have to drop the suit against the label on my behalf.”

  “Look Willa. He’s hired look-a-like decoys for us both so you can make these appointments without anyone knowing. This is so cool. He has thought of everything. It’s like a movie script.” Carolyn’s delighted face met Willa’s serious one. “I mean, he’s still a shit.” She bent her mouth closed.

  “Do you have a pen?”

  Carolyn scrambled through her handbag, found one and passed it over. Willa signed the guardianship forms, had Carolyn witness them, sealed them in the envelope provided and took it outside to the security guy with instructions to send it registered mail. It might suit Jack for her to have her power of attorney withdrawn from her brothers, but it suited her as well. No use delaying it.