Page 39 of The Tapes

THIRTY-ONE

My daughter is waiting for me in the kitchen when I get home.

Faith is on her phone but puts it down when I bluster inside, struggling with my bag, keys and phone.

My bag strap catches as I try to get it over my head and I end up dropping everything on the floor, before pawing through the lot to make sure nothing’s broken.

‘Why have you got a dead man’s wallet?’ Faith asks.

She’s calm but I know the tone – because, sometimes, she’s her father’s daughter. The disappointed, not angry voice. The why have you let me down this time way of phrasing a sentence.

‘Why were you in my drawers?’ I ask, knowing it’s the wrong thing to say, even as it comes out.

‘Really? That’s really the first thing you say?’

I’m not sure how else to respond and my daughter sighs with annoyance. Disappointed annoyance. ‘The drama trip’s in six weeks,’ she replies. ‘They want our passport numbers. I was looking for mine, when I found this.’

Of course that’s why she was in my drawer.

I keep our passports and birth certificates in the same place, along with a few other documents.

She knows this and I’ve told her she can retrieve her things anytime she needs them.

But I obviously went straight to defensiveness, because that’s what I do. Somebody else’s fault, not mine.

Faith glances to the wallet, to Owen’s face, then back to me, waiting for the answer.

‘It’s hard to explain,’ I say.

‘Are you drinking again?’

‘No!’

‘I know it’s Granddad’s funeral and?—’

‘I’m not drinking.’ I somehow need her to believe this more than anything else. ‘I’m not drinking,’ I repeat, quieter now.

Faith waits and I’m not sure whether she believes me. She’s never had to ask this before. We both look to the wallet together.

‘You told me he killed himself,’ she says.

‘Yes. It’s… very sad.’ I pause. ‘He was one of the landscapers,’ I say. ‘I’d see him more or less every day.’

It’s only now I remember I’ve not told anyone that I walked out on my job. I was always going to be off today because of the funeral. And Faith deserves to know. Because walking out of my job is a big part of why I have Owen’s wallet.

‘I’ll explain. But first you should know that I, uh… quit my job,’ I add.

Faith’s gaze shoots up from the wallet to take me in. ‘You quit?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s sort of complicated but I had a falling out with my boss. He wasn’t talking to me very kindly and I suppose I’d had enough. I probably should’ve tried to talk to him differently but I guess it’s been a long week or two. I lost my temper.’

There’s a quiver to my voice.

‘I should’ve told you before,’ I add.

Faith waits. ‘And you’re not…?’

‘I’m perfectly capable of ruining a career without alcohol.’

I force a snigger but get nothing in response, not that I blame my daughter.

This isn’t a laughing matter. ‘I had keys for the office but I’d accidentally left with them.

My boss wanted them back but I didn’t particularly want to talk to him again.

I thought I’d drop them off at the office but then, when I was there, I don’t know what came over me.

I ended up letting myself into the office and I found that wallet in the safe. ’

There’s a realisation of how bad that sounds as soon as it’s out. Faith is open-mouthed. ‘You broke into an office, then you broke into a safe?’

‘No… well… yes. But not really. I didn’t break anything. The safe was open.’

‘But even if the safe was open, why didn’t you just leave the wallet? And why did you go in at all? Why didn’t you just leave the keys?’

‘… I keep reading the same bit about impulse control. It says you want something, so you take it, even though you don’t necessarily need it, or even want it.’

I can’t stop thinking of Mum and the way she talked about herself. Is that me? I had the idea of letting myself into the office, so I did. I saw the wallet, so I took it.

Alcohol made me feel incredible, so I kept drinking it, even though I knew it was going to cost me my husband and possibly my daughter.

‘I don’t know,’ I reply – and it’s the truth.

‘Oh, Mum…’ The disappointment burns and I can’t meet my daughter’s eye.

‘I suppose… I’ve been thinking a lot about the future and maybe the past.’ I’m rambling now, but maybe Faith needs to know all this – so she can understand why I took the wallet.

‘Remember when Granddad came over a few months back and put up that shelf? It’s not a big thing but I guess I don’t know who to go to if I have a problem now.

Not just shelves but anything. Liam maybe.

Your dad – but he has his own family. I guess it’s just been a hard time.

’ I look up, making sure my daughter is looking at me. ‘But I’m not drinking. I promise.’

For a few seconds, Faith doesn’t move but then slowly, very slowly, she nods. She believes me.

‘I still don’t understand why you took the wallet…?’

I breathe. ‘Maybe I don’t either. But I’d had a conversation with Owen the day before he died. I told you about the tapes I found at Dad’s.’

‘Your mum’s podcasts?’

I smile. She can’t really comprehend the physical tapes – calling them a podcast is more familiar to her.

‘Something like that. Owen works at the studios in town in his free time. I gave him one of Mum’s tapes and he was going to see if he could clear up some of the audio for me.

Then, the next day, they were saying he’d killed himself.

I was really confused by it all. I suppose I saw the wallet and thought… well, I don’t know what I thought.’

It’s the truth, more or less. I can’t explain why I took it. By the time I overheard Mark saying ‘they can’t prove anything – just tell them I was with you’, I already had it.

Faith picks up the wallet, then puts it down.

‘Do you think he killed himself?’

I can’t tell the truth, because no seventeen-year-old wants to get involved with their parent’s conspiracy theories.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, which is the truth – even though there’s a second truth that I don’t think Owen killed himself and I’m terrified I got him killed.

‘I’ll give the wallet to the police,’ I add. ‘Or his mum, something like that. I’ll make sure it gets back to who it should – but I only found it last night, then it was Dad’s funeral today. It’s all got away from me.’

Faith nudges the wallet across the table, seemingly accepting the explanation. All kids think their parents are nuts but Faith has more reason than most.

‘… I keep reading the same bit about impulse control. It says you want something, so you take it, even though you don’t necessarily need it, or even want it.’

Is it hereditary? Have I cursed her? Or is this something about me that I’m choosing to blame on genetics because that’s easier? I wish I knew.

‘How was the wake?’ she asks.

‘Timothy tried to eat all the cakes and Tomothy went home with a stomach ache.’

Faith breaks immediately. ‘I almost called him that when his mum was there,’ she says. ‘We need to stop calling him Tomothy.’

My daughter and I share a wonderful, perfect moment of synergy knowing that we absolutely do need to stop using the name Tomothy, while also knowing it’ll be our inside joke forever.

‘Bridget told me to tell you that your reading was brilliant,’ I add. ‘I thought so too.’

‘I’m not used to reading from the Bible.’

‘Nobody would’ve ever guessed. You were word perfect.’

Faith swells and the guilt starts to creep through me that I’ve changed the subject in a way that doesn’t feel fair.

‘We had to do a soliloquy for tutorial the other day,’ she says. ‘I used the Bible reading for that.’

We’re at an impasse, which I’d know even if Faith didn’t pick up her phone. ‘Can I go upstairs?’ she asks.

‘You never have to ask.’

She stands and moves around me, quietly heading for the hall. ‘I love you,’ I say – and, in it, I hear my own mother saying the same in her crackly voice on the tape.

Faith misses half a step, though doesn’t stop. ‘Thank you,’ she replies.