The Quilt (36 page)

“OK, you win.”

S
he opened the door and before there was even a chance to look outside Critter slipped past and careered down the path.

Paul
stood casually leaning against a black Range Rover, his arms folded across a pale blue polo.  He was regarding the infuriated little dog with an expression that conveyed a mixture of disgust and amusement.

“What are you doing here?”

Joanne spoke without making any effort to hide
her irritation. 

Paul scooped the indigna
nt dog up and walked forward.  He placed Critter in Joanne’s arms and looked at her sadly through his glacier blue eyes.

“She’s been found
, hasn’t she?”

Paul nodded.
  There was a movement in the window next door.  The curtains parted slightly revealing the enquiring face of an elderly neighbour.

“Perhaps you should come in
.”

An awkward silence enveloped the room. 

“I wasn’t sure if you would think it inappropriate for me to come to your house,” he shrugged. “It will probably be on the news tonight.  I thought that was an unfair way for you to find out.”

The defensive shell seemed to slowly evaporate. 
Paul watched doubt play across Joanne’s face.  A wisp of short honey blonde hair had broken loose from her bandana.  For a moment her face seemed to flicker with indecision before she looked up and her slate grey eyes held him in a moment of intense intimacy.

“It was suicide
.”

Paul spoke carefully.

“I thought a wake from a passing launch caused her to fall overboard.”

“A launch did pass too quickly and too close
.” 

Joanne looked down at her hands.  When she looked up Paul’s expression was troubled.

“No!  I did not assist her if that is what you are thinking!”

He
relaxed.

“Was there a note?  That would make things easier for you.  There is always an
official enquiry into a sudden death and in Sandy’s case there may be some questions asked as to why her life jacket had been removed.”

“There wasn’t an actual note but there was a diary. 
I cannot discuss the contents.”

“You might
want to reconsider that if there is an enquiry.”

“There would be nothing positive to gain from her death being attributed to suicide
.”

“No one can
control or judge anybody else’s actions when they are not living that person’s life.  You must have your reasons for wanting to protect her choice.”

Joanne held his eyes.

“It would destroy her family.  But do I have the right to sensor what I know?  What does that make me?”

Paul smiled and reached across the table gently taking her hand.

“Sandy’s friend.”

Again Joanne seemed
to struggle with some inner conflict.  She removed her hand and moisture pricked behind her eyelids.  Paul got up and walked to the tiny kitchen.

“Can I get you a warm drink?”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t even think to offer you something.”

“Let’s forget etiquette for today
.”

He
turned towards the bench.

“What is this
between us, Joanne?”

“I’m not sure what you mean
.”

Paul walked to the drawer and removed a spoon.  He allowed a moment of silence and
watched as Joanne’s eyes betrayed her.

“You know exactly what I mean
.  I realize the circumstances are not ideal but don’t you think we should talk?”

He walked to the rubbish bin to discard the tea bag and
stiffened.

“I
guess there is no reason for conversation.”

“I’m sorry
, your flowers!  Let me explain please.”

“You don’t owe me an
explanation.” He carried a cup of tea and placed it in front of Joanne. “Is there someone I can call so that you are not alone?”

Joanne ignored his question.

“Are you going to listen while I try to explain?”

“They were only flowers
, it isn’t important.” Paul looked pointedly at his watch. “If there is no one I can contact for you I had better go or I will miss the next ferry.” 

On the evening news a detached reporter announced the body of a young woman had been found in the Hauraki Gulf.  The body had not as yet been formally identified but was located close to where twenty five year old Auckland woman Sandra Cunningham went missing last Monday.  Sandra Cunningham was presumed drowned.    An autopsy would be performed to confirm the identity and the cause of death.

Chapter 33

“
Miscommunication”

“The acoustics are great. They make our studio sound live.” 

Chloe put
her guitar down on the edge of the grass amphitheatre and turned to Paul.

“Have you confirmed a date for the opening yet?  If you leave it much longer you will miss the last of the summer weather
.”

“
They are predicting good weather for February and into March. It has taken so much longer to organize than I had expected but I am almost ready to finalize the advertising.  At least with the new open fireplace we have something unique to offer dinners over the winter months.”

“Mari showed me that last week.  It is
very impressive.  It gives the restaurant an English pub atmosphere.”

Paul nodded and continued to fine tune the strings of his guitar.

“Are you going to the funeral
?”

“What funeral?
”  He looked confused.

“The
poor young woman that drowned in Sergeants Channel.”

“Sandra Cunningham? No
, why would I go to her funeral?”

Paul felt irritated by Chloe’s knowing smile.  He got
to his feet and brushed off imaginary grass.

“
Chloe, I do not think I would be welcome at the funeral after my last conversation with her friend.”

“You can’t expect her to behave normally under the circumstances and from what you have said you didn’t
exactly give her a chance to explain herself.”

“
I really don’t want to discuss Joanne with you.  I obviously misinterpreted the situation.”

He knew that Chloe would not drop the subject easily and had already started to walk away when she spoke.

“Paul, at least consider going.  Your timing wasn’t exactly ideal and perhaps at the risk of a damaged pride you should give her the opportunity to explain.”

“It really
isn’t important Chloe.  Maybe she didn’t like pink and white flowers,” he smiled boyishly. “And it isn’t a matter of pride.  It is a matter of dignity.”

“There is very little that
divide dignity and pride.  In the end they can both result in the same negative outcome.  It is probably the last time you will ever have a reason to see her.  You can either risk loss of face or wonder if you should have given her one last chance.”

“I will think about it.  Now how would you like a glass of good red before you head home?”

Paul reached down and helped Chloe to her feet. 

The persistent knocking on the door woke Joanne from a fitful sleep.  Critter was yapping and his eyes were bulging in alarm.  Joanne opened the door and was formally greeted by two uniformed police officers.  The woman was in her mid to late twenties, she had cold detached eyes and the man was not much more than twenty.  He appeared far too young to be in authority and exuded an abundance of confidence in his abilities.  Joanne recognised them as a combination of vivid imagination, crisp newly acquired uniforms with information from their textbooks fresh in their minds and ready for quotation.

“Joanne Kyle?”

“Would you mind answering a few questions regarding the death of Sandra Louise Cunningham?”

Joanne stiffened.  She had accepted there
would be some sort of official enquiry to establish that there were no suspicious circumstances surrounding Sandy’s sudden death.   But waking up to this formality made her nerves stand on edge.  She took a minute to gather her composure. 

“Of course not
, please come in.”

Jo
anne glanced towards her drawers.  She had placed the diary deep underneath layers of clothing.  

Once settled at the table
, the woman who had introduced herself as Detective Donovan spoke.

“You were the last one to see Sandra alive?”

“Yes.”

O
bviously, Joanne thought.

“Did you know she was suffering from a terminal illness
?”

“Yes
.”

N
o, you’re kidding. I thought her hair fell out and her body shrunk to the size of a ten year old for no reason.

“Was there any sign
of depression recently or any changes in her routine?”

“Not that I had noticed
.”

She actually was happy that her life was almost
over and had taken up marathon running in her spare time.  What was it with these people?  Were they stupid? Joanne struggled to retain her professional face and composure.

“Where were you w
hen Sandra fell over board? Did you see her fall?  Or did you perhaps hear anything?”

“I was bringing in the anchor.  I had my back
turned to where she was sitting.  The noise was loud, too loud for me to hear anything.” 

Joanne smiled sweetly and explained.

“The anchor is attached to a chain.  The chain drags on the front of the boat when coming in.  There was also noise from the passing launch and the wind and water.”

“In your statement you advised a vessel
passed within a few feet of your boat, the Lucky Lady.” The woman referred quickly to her notes. “You said it was moving quickly and the wake created was severe.  Did you warn Miss Cunningham?”

“That is correct.  The lau
nch did not slow down and was very close.  The wake was severe, in fact I was bruised when I was thrown against the hatch.  I yelled to Sandy but as I have said previously there was a lot of noise and whether she heard me or not I have no way of knowing.  In fact I cannot be sure she was even on board at that stage.”

“
Were you in control of the vessel known as Lucky Lady at the time that Miss Cunningham disappeared?”

“Are you asking if I was literally
in control or if I was considered the skipper and therefore responsible?”

Joanne’s voice had taken on the
tone of a defence lawyer.  The police officer looked up in surprise and ignored the answer.  She continued, but this time appeared more cautious in her questioning.

“
Was Sandra Cunningham wearing a lifejacket? If so, did she put it on herself and was she competent enough to make sure it was correctly fitted and secure?”

“Sandy was wearing a
safety approved lifejacket. I can assure you it was correctly fitted and secure. I can also assure you that I personally checked it before leaving her to attend to the anchor.”

“
I understand she was physically affected by her disease?” The male officer had remained silent during the interview but both officers had been studying Joanne intently.

“She was terminally ill
, of course she was affected by her disease!”

It was then that Joanne
lost the tiny thread of composure she had been fighting to retain. This line of questioning had pushed her over the edge of the cliff she had been standing on.

“For fuck
’s sake!” she yelled like a mad woman. “Sandy not Sandra was having one of the few good days she had had for months.  She was an empty shell, living in a private hell while a cruel disease ate her from the inside out!  What do you want me to say? Yes, she was depressed.  What do you expect? Sandy loved life more than any one I have ever met and she knew she was running out of it.” 

“
I didn’t see her fall overboard, I didn’t hear her fall overboard, I didn’t see the bloody lifejacket slip from what was left of her ruined body and if I had, you know something? I really don’t know what I would have done to prevent it.”

Jo
anne burst into tears. 

The
male officer spoke in a lowered voice.  The air of confidence had evaporated revealing doubt and inexperience.

“But the fasteners on the lifejacket were not done up
when it was found.”

The two police o
fficers sat silently although the icy woman continued to scribble notes on her page.  Eventually she looked up and her expression seemed slightly softer.

“Did
Sandra Cunningham, in your opinion, die as the result of accidental drowning?”

Joanne sighed.

“Absolutely. I have no doubt whatsoever.”

Chloe pushed through the front door impatiently.  Geoff followed; he paused briefly to smile an apology at Paul.

“You are not even getting ready
.” 

Chloe handed over a small piece of paper before sitting to watch as Paul read the details.

“I am reluctant to ask what this is.” 

She continued to study his face for a moment before replying.

“Sandra Cunningham’s funeral starts at one thirty this afternoon.”

“I know you mean well
, but I have no intention of attending her funeral.”

Chloe looked exasperated but Paul didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“Sandra Cunningham was a complete stranger and I am not a person that needs to feel involved in a tragedy by watching other people’s grief.”

“
I think you are making a mistake, a big mistake.  I know it appears Joanne has no interest in even talking to you; actually it appears she does not welcome any outside support.  But there have been unusual circumstances each time you have seen her and those circumstances could easily lead to misunderstandings.  At least take this last opportunity to open up some form of communication.”

“And you think attending the funeral of her friend is not another unusual circumstance?”

Geoff cleared his throat.

“Chloe
, I really do not think this is your business.  I told you before we left and I will tell you again.  If Paul is happy to leave things how they are that is his decision.”

“Well
, his decision is wrong!” Chloe snapped.  Her eyes flashed at Geoff angrily.

“Alright stop!”  Paul held up his hand.
He had never seen Chloe and Geoff argue and now the tension between them was tangible.  “I will go, despite my reservations.  But please, after today, can we move past Joanne and the incident on Lucky Lady?”

Joanne and Simon slipped into the church and sat almost at the rear.  Most of the pews were taken and she only recognised a few faces from their high school years.  There seemed a disproportionate number of young trendy men most of whom resembled Stephen either in physical appearance or mannerism.  Joanne wiped her clammy hands on the black fabric of her tailored skirt.

The coffin was highly polished and made of a dark stained timber.  It looked suitably conservative and sombre. 
The flowers were formal and feminine a lavish display of light pink, cream and white that generously adorned every surface of the church.  Droning on in the background was the inevitable dull organ music.  She leant over to speak to Simon but he was distracted by the flamboyant dark haired young man that was sitting directly in front of them.

Joanne focused morbidly on the coffin.  How the hell had it gone this wrong for someone so young and full of life?  Sandy had been such a large part of her life and now she lay cold and ruined
; everything she had struggled for and everything she had achieved wasted. 

The organ music continued to drone as the last few people filtered through the rear doors.  Joanne shifted
on the hard wooden seat and then dug her nails into the palm of her hand in an effort to distract herself.  The smoky grey eye shadow would run in ribbons like the tarseal on a road if she didn’t control herself. 

The music should be rock and roll and the coffin should be bright purple, the flowers blood red and scarlet with canary yellows and vibrant orange.    Sandy would have hated this, the dull pastel colours and equally dull music did not reflect her life.

Please can this be over? 

Joanne looked towards Simon, but he had
now entered into an animated conversation with the flamboyant dark haired man. 

T
he Kean family really hadn’t known or understood their daughter at all.  She must have been like an alien landing in their midst.  Sent to disrupt their lives and test their beliefs.

Please get on with the service. 

Joanne looked around desperately for a familiar face.  The crowd was a diverse mix of the elderly, a scattering of arty types huddled together like an island of colour, the relatives sitting stiffly in their grief, the disproportionately represented men that would look more in place at a bar, a few educated looking young people and the inevitable bored humans associated only by a need to share the drama surrounding Sandy’s death.

Please
, can this be over. 

Joanne looked
towards Simon hoping for support but he was busy exchanging contact details with the flamboyant dark haired man.

Paul followed the last group of people to arrive into the vestibule of the small church.  He stood watching a screen flicking through early pictures of a bright faced young girl.  Her eyes were dancing with the excitement of youth and her remarkable red hair was secured with either a head band or tied with brightly coloured ribbons.  He felt an emptiness as he watched the memories of this stranger change over.  She was riding a small bay pony, eating an ice cream and standing proudly holding a small silver fish.  Random photo’s that would be all her family had left to treasure.