Page 16 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

I take a seat at the stone-topped breakfast bar and once again pick up my phone. Like every other time I’ve tried to do this, my hand shakes. This time, I promise myself, I’m calling my sister.

Bringing up her contact, I press the dial button. The urge to immediately hang up is so strong, I almost do, then I hear her voice.

“Hey, what’s up?” She sounds so damn happy amid the loud background chatter.

“You’re not in your room?”

“Nope. Just hanging with some of the other cadets at the pub. Why?”

“Are they good friends?” I ask, remembering Gavin’s words about dealing with this alone.

“Sure. Jamie, what’s going on?” Her light tone has taken on an edge. We know each other too well.

I’d love nothing more than to say I’ll speak to her later, but I don’t want her to get the news while she’s sitting in her room alone. Better she’s surrounded by friends. At least I can give her something I don’t have.

“There’s no easy way to say this, Ank. I wish to God I didn’t have to do it over the phone.”

“It’s Dad, isn’t it? He’s gone?”

“Yeah,” I choke.

She’s silent for a long moment, the only noises reaching my ear are those of the other cadets. Happy people enjoying their lives.

“You okay?” she finally asks.

I blink back the threatening tears. “I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

“Well,” she says carefully, “it’s not exactly a shock, is it? Were you there for him? At the end?”

“I was … he … he didn’t die alone.” How do I tell her that’s not what has my throat constricting? That he may be gone, but he’s left behind a fucked-up mess?

More silence for a long moment, then she says, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Didn’t I?” Does she know I’m hiding something?

“I asked if you were okay.”

Swallowing, I plaster a smile on my face, knowing she can’t see it, but hoping she can hear it. “Of course. Like you said, we’ve known this was coming. I suppose it’s a bit of a surprise that it’s actually happened.”

“Should I come home?”

I really should tell her yes . One benefit of family is that we’re there for each other.

Right? Except when you’re a liar who killed your wife.

Fuck. Now that I have her on the phone, I realise I can’t tell her what he did until she’s here with me.

This isn’t news you blurt out over the phone.

He didn’t just kill my mother, he killed hers too.

“No,” I say, “No, don’t do that. I’m fine. I’ve got work and everything that comes with a death to sort out.”

“He didn’t want a funeral, Jamie. You remember that, right?”

The reality of why he’d been adamant about that sinks in. How could a man who killed his wife and lied to his children about it for sixteen years expect anyone to gather to mourn his loss?

“There are other things that need to be dealt with,” I tell my sister. “No point in you being here. I’ll barely see you anyway. Plus, there’s the shit timing. You’ve only got a few more weeks until you graduate.”

“Yeah, almost done. It’d really fuck everything up if I had to leave now, but if you need me, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll send you straight back if you turn up. Graduate, Ank. Don’t let him take that away from you. It’s not like he was your favourite person in the world.”

Another long silence.

Finally, she says, “As long as you’re sure. Just ring if you need me. I’m only a couple of hours away. I mean it, Jamie.”

“Thanks, but like I said, I’m fine. More than anything, I want you to be happy. Be with your friends, Ank. That’s what’ll make me feel better.”

“Yeah … I will.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She hangs up and I sit there staring at the phone, my whole body shaking.

God, I need her. I should have told her to come home.

She needs to know the truth, needs to know about all the lies we’ve been told.

But I refuse to let our father’s actions throw a spanner in the career she’s working towards.

I won’t allow him to hurt her any more than he already has.

Hitching in a sob, I clamp down on it. I’m fine. I’ll call her in a few days when my mind is in a more cohesive state and nail down her graduation date. That’ll give me a deadline. I’ll let her celebrate her graduation, then I’ll tell her who our father really was.

But there is someone I can tell right now.

Scrolling through my contacts I find Detective Jarrod Reid’s number and dial. He answers after two rings.

“Well, well. Jamie Evans. It’s been a while,” Jarrod says, his tone overly friendly.

I cringe a little, remembering the last time I saw him.

Five years ago. I’d already been on one date with him, and was a little hesitant to accept his offer of a second date, but Dad talked me into it.

Jarrod took me shooting at his pistol club.

I’d surprisingly enjoyed learning how to handle and fire a few different guns.

What I didn’t enjoy was the kiss he’d tried to force on me afterward.

There was something about the way he seemed to think it was his right to take what he wanted.

Not to mention the look in his eyes when I stopped him.

That alone made me realise I most certainly did not want a romantic relationship with the man, no matter how attentive he’d been toward us after Mum’s murder.

“Jarrod. How are you?” I ask, though I couldn’t care less.

“Couldn’t be better. And you?”

“Dad died,” I tell him, my voice flat.

“Shit, Jamie. I’m sorry. The cancer?” I have to give it to him, his condolences sound genuine. I’m also surprised he knows about my father’s cancer. Obviously, they’d kept in touch.

As much as I don’t want anything to do with Jarrod anymore, I find myself feeling sorry for him.

It’ll come as quite a shock to learn he locked away an innocent man while staying in touch with the actual killer.

I suppose he’ll be embarrassed, especially now that he’s worked his way up to Detective Inspector.

“Yes, but there’s something else. Something he told me right before he passed. It’s a bit of a shock, but you need to know.”

He pauses briefly before he says, “Okay.”

“He told me he’s the one who killed my mother.”

Absolute silence.

I wait. I wait way too long. “Jarrod?”

“Yeah, ah … you know that’s not right, Jamie.”

My heart accelerates as my anger rises. “Except it is.”

A long sigh travels into my ear. “It was an open and shut case. You know that. You sat through the whole trial. Maybe your father was confused. He must have been on a lot of medication, so he—”

“No, he wasn’t. I believe him. It makes sense. The man who went to prison for a crime he didn’t commit always maintained his innocence. Remember?” I certainly do. I remember the way Gavin looked at me in the courtroom, how he pleaded his innocence before they dragged him away.

“You saw the evidence, Jamie. Besides, he’s out now. I’m sure he just wants to put it all behind him and get on with his life.”

What the fuck? That’s not what I expected him to say at all. I thought he’d be as stunned as I am. Outraged, even. He had, after all, been completely outsmarted by my father.

“That’s a little dismissive,” I say through clenched teeth. “Gavin Lake may be out of prison, but he’s still a convicted murderer. He doesn’t deserve to go through the rest of his life slapped with that label.”

“Jamie, seriously, just let it be. You’ll only stir up a hornet’s nest. And for what? It’s over. Let your father’s memory remain untarnished. You don’t want to go creating a problem where there isn’t one. Why dwell on the past? It’s behind everyone now. Keep it there.”

I hang up, every hair on my body standing at attention.

Detective Inspector Jarrod Reid just told me exactly who he is.

He used to be the man who gave our broken family comfort and reassurances during the worst time of our lives.

Now he’s exactly the type of person Gavin spoke of in the caravan today.

Nearly jumping out of my skin when my phone rings in my hand, I stare at the screen.

It’s Jarrod. I reject the call, then block his number.

Five years ago, I trusted my instincts. I’m glad I did.

The man has no integrity. I can’t believe that he’s risen so high within the police department.

Shouldn’t a man so invested in the law also be invested in the truth?

Instead, he views the truth as an inconvenience.

Shaking with anger, I slide off the barstool and hurry into the kitchen, suddenly remembering the bottle of vodka I hid behind the cleaning products under the sink.

I’d bought it the day my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and hid it from him so he wouldn’t be tempted while undergoing treatment.

Although I’ve barely touched it, I feel like making quite a dent in it now.

From the fridge I find a bottle of lemon, lime and bitters, pour a couple of fingers of vodka into a glass and top it off with the fizzy liquid. I manage to swallow the whole lot in one go. Then I pour myself another and take it into the bathroom.

After I undress and step under the shower, I wash the sticky humidity from my skin, wishing I could wash everything else away just as easily. More tears want to come, but I clamp down on them. I’m not a crier. I’ve done enough crying today to last me another sixteen years.

Besides, the alcohol’s already working its magic. I’m no longer shaking, and there’s a nice fuzziness creeping into my over stimulated brain.

When I’m done, I plonk on the couch in front of the television, but as hard as I try to concentrate, my mind keeps drifting back to that caravan.

To Gavin Lake.

The very thought of him used to make my skin crawl and my blood pressure rise.

No more, apparently. He’s an innocent man my father stole sixteen years from.

Well, that’s an understatement. My father’s still stealing from him.

Even though Gavin’s out of prison, he’s not free.

He can’t go wherever he wants, can’t have the career he deserves, can’t even have a fucking drink.

It’s up to me to get his conviction quashed, to put his life back in his own hands. I don’t for a second regret promising I’ll do that for him. But it’s another burden I have to bear on top of everything else right now.

And although I’m a lawyer, I’ll have to conduct some research into how to go about reversing a conviction.

That’s not part of the law I’ve studied.

Doesn’t matter. I’m a fast learner and I know people who can help.

But it does fall to me. I’m the only person on this planet who heard my father’s confession.

I take another long swallow of the liquid that’s starting to numb me. As it slides down my throat, I remember Gavin’s words again. I shouldn’t be alone. I suppose I shouldn’t be drinking on my own either.

As I glance around the empty living room, I realise that apart from the flickering TV, it’s dark. When did that happen?

Agitated, I get up, head to my bedroom and stare at the bed.

One part of me wants to collapse onto it, fall asleep and disappear into oblivion.

Another part knows I’m not anywhere near drunk enough to do that yet.

I’ll just lie there going over everything.

Round and round and round until I want to scream.

I need more alcohol, but I shouldn’t sit here and drink alone.

After booking an Uber, I change out of my pyjamas and put on a summery white dress and a little makeup. I consider letting my hair down, but I’m not in the mood to try and tame it, so I neaten up my ponytail instead.

My reflection tells me I’m not good enough, but it also tells me I don’t give a fuck.

Once I get to the leagues club I’ve been to with a couple of colleagues, I find the classier cocktail bar at the rear of the venue and position myself on a tall stool at the bar.

I’m not drunk. Yet. So I have no problem ordering a Long Island Iced Tea from the young bartender. By the time he places it in front of me, I tell him to start making another. And so begins my mission to obliterate my problems.