Idle Lies. Lian Knight
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and put it back in the pantry. The small child retaliated briefly with an angry outburst and then dismissed it in favour of drawing a large D with the paste and decorating it with breadcrumbs. Jason stepped around him and collected his wallet from the hallway.
Angela waited but when he returned he appeared to be sufficiently distracted to have forgotten the question.
‘What if that happened to us?’ she asked quietly.
Her husband leaned back against the sink again, slipping his wallet into his suit pocket. He fixed his gaze firmly upon her. ‘I would be an idiot and you’re too smart for that.’
Her face softened.
‘Oh, better go,’ he said, glancing at his watch and standing up straight. My taxi will be here and I have a client to meet in Chatswood.’
Angela fetched his briefcase and returned in time to see her husband try to kiss the top of his son’s head.
‘You be a good boy for your mother,’ he said, twisting away just in time to avoid a grubby sideswipe.
‘Daddy,’ the small child asked, ‘can we go to the park today?’
‘Not today, Dylan. I’m going to Sydney. When I get back.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘You and I can go this afternoon,’ said Angela, stepping in. ‘Daddy can take you in a few weeks.’
Dylan stuffed a large bit of toast into his mouth and nodded.
‘Look after your sister while I’m away,’ Jason said. He glanced at his wife. ‘Shouldn’t she be up?’
‘I’ll get her in a little while. I’m going to have a word with the drama teacher, the classes are going too late. Will you be back for her first performance?’
Jason hesitated. ‘Maybe, I don’t know. I’ll have to see how much work this client is.’ He took the briefcase and they walked together to the front door. ‘See you in a few weeks.’
‘I’ll see you then,’ she said, squeezing him tightly.
He gave her a kiss on the forehead and another on the lips. ‘See you soon,’ he said, smiling.
Angela finished cleaning up the kitchen, and Dylan as well, sending him to his bedroom to get his things. Strolling upstairs, she was pleased to see that the painters had done a very good job; the Burwood house now had a clean fresh feel that complemented the renovations and gave the home a new sense of style. She had wanted to sell and move, and with their professional incomes they could have easily afforded to upgrade, but Jason had persuaded her against it. The home could be subtly improved, he had argued, and he didn’t see the need to splash out. She was disappointed, but she understood. Jason wasn’t ostentatious and never liked to be in the limelight, so she could see his logic. Relenting, she had agreed to renovate and, in turn, he had left her with the design and the project management. In between patients she had busied herself in the showrooms and engaged with the various tradies while he was gone. The final result was better than she had hoped for and she gave herself a small pat on the back as she padded down the wide corridor to her daughter’s room.
‘Sweetheart,’ she called gently, ‘are you awake? It’s time to get up.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ a small voice answered, ‘I will, don’t worry.’
She left Emily to get ready. At eight, her daughter was extraordinarily responsible and Angela was proud of her. Emily was just three when Angela had met Jason, and although it had taken him a time to adjust, Emily had accepted him immediately. After Dylan was born, she took on the role of big sister and assistant nanny, following Angela around the house, helping with his nappies and bottles or keeping him amused. Now, she could not only manage herself but she could look after Dylan too, and Angela knew that by the time she had everything organised for the clinic today Emily would be waiting at the door in her school uniform, with Dylan wearing his Ninja backpack ready for kindergarten.
Her briefcase was lying open on the desk in the study downstairs. It wouldn’t shut. She studied the contents, wondering why she had never been good at puzzles when she seemed to face this challenge on a daily basis. It always worsened when Jason went away and today was no exception – the case was full and something had to go or a total reshuffling was required. Opening her diary, she checked the appointments for the day. Right, she didn’t have to worry about asthmatic patients – she removed the nebulizer and inhalers and put them on the desk. She eased the lid down and clipped the lock in place.
There was a thud. A photo in a small silver frame had skidded over the edge of the desk and fallen to the floor. She picked it up examined the picture. A young couple stood by a flowering elm, locked in an embrace. Her hair had been longer then, falling over her shoulders and stretching almost to her waist as she gazed at him, a loving smile on her lips. He looked no different, his arms holding her firmly, his face impassive – just as he usually was, Angela lamented. That was Jason. His inner thoughts were his private and secret domain, and he rarely divulged them.
Getting information out of Jason had to be handled with the same delicacy and patience as an officer extracting a confession from a felon. There always seemed to be an invisible barrier that had to be handled with care. He could be distant and reclusive, and the wrong type of prodding could bring out either a man on sharp alert or a grizzly bear. At first, she was frustrated that he would not share his private thoughts. Why did he shut her out? She wondered if he was shy or aloof, yet the more she questioned, the more he withdrew, and now she knew better than to ask. Over time she’d learned to deal with the unpredictability of his frame of mind and to simply accept what information she was given.
But once, early in their relationship, he had opened a little. She had been talking about her parents and her father’s keen interest in golf since his retirement.
‘What did your father do?’ she asked innocently.
Jason had looked up from his laptop and glanced towards her. He put the device aside and tightened his fists in and out slowly, something he did lightly when he was agitated and fiercely when he was angry or upset. It was a habit Angela had seen before. The question had unnerved him.
‘He was an investment banker,’ he said after a time.
‘Is that where you got your finance background from?’
‘No, he didn’t have much time for me.’
‘What about now? He’d be retired, wouldn’t he?’
‘No, he died when I was young.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. That’s life.’
She had asked the next question gently, hoping for better news. ‘And your mother?’
‘She didn’t work.’ He’d fumbled oddly with the fold of his shorts, continuously bending and straightening out the pocket.
‘Did she stay at home to raise you?’
‘For a while. She had another fella and one day she took off, leaving my brother and me.’
‘Oh,’ Angela had said again. She wondered how a mother could walk out on her child. Wasn’t the maternal bond much stronger than that? She would never leave Emily and Dylan. ‘Where did she go?’
‘Who knows? I was told he was an uncle, although I never had one before he arrived. He was a South African bloke and I think she went with him to Cape Town. Or somewhere there,’ he added dismissively.
‘You don’t speak to her?’ she asked, quietly amazed.
‘No, I don’t know where she is.’
She reached out to touch him, but he pulled away. She didn’t ask why his mother had never been in contact, and she guessed he wouldn’t tell her anyway, it seemed too painful a memory. She waited for something further and then a thought struck her. ‘You must have been young. Did someone look after you?’