The Secret Ingredient (15 page)

Neville sat down beside her, slipping his arm around her shoulders. ‘The car door was open,' he said quietly, ‘your father was slumped, face down, across the front seat. It looked as though he collapsed getting into the car. They suspect a coronary, or an embolism, heart, brain . . . They won't know until they've completed the autopsy.'

Andie brought her hand to her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks.

No one said anything for a while . . . minutes probably. The mantle clock ticked in the background, like a heartbeat.

Meredith lifted her head and dabbed at her eyes. ‘It must have happened on Friday.'

‘We don't know that,' said Neville.

‘Of course we know that,' she retorted. ‘The kettle was warm, Andrea said so herself. She was there, in the house, as my father lay dying!'

‘How was I supposed to know?' Andie cried.

‘Why didn't you check everywhere! How could you go to visit him and just assume —'

‘Okay,' said Neville over the top of them. ‘This isn't doing anyone any good. It's not going to bring him back.'

‘But she could have saved him,' Meredith shrilled at him.

‘You can't —'

Andie cut him off. ‘How do you know that? It might have happened hours before.'

‘The kettle was warm!'

‘So go see how long your kettle stays warm,' said Andie. ‘Even if it was only an hour, there's nothing I could have done.'

‘You don't know that!'

‘You don't either, he might have died instantly.'

‘Or he might have been lying there, gasping for breath while you were inside, pottering around —'

‘Meredith, that's enough!' Neville was a quiet, composed kind of man, so when he raised his voice, even slightly, it had an impact.

His wife began to sob. ‘My father died like someone who didn't even have family. Like those sad, lonely people you see on the news, discovered weeks later.'

They all sat in silence, reflecting the awful reality of that. The blasted clock kept ticking in the background. Andie couldn't take it any more, she had to get out of there. She stood up. ‘I have to go.'

‘No, Andrea . . .' Neville said, getting to his feet.

‘It's okay,' she said. ‘I really do have to go. We'll talk when we know something.'

Meredith didn't get up, didn't even look up. Andie grabbed her bag and walked into the hallway. Neville followed her.

‘You know, it's just the grief talking,' he said, holding the front door open for her.

Andie gave a faint nod. ‘Please let me know if you hear anything, anything at all.'

‘Of course.'

She walked briskly out to the car and got in. She had an overwhelming need to call Ross. Nothing else mattered now. He was her husband. Her father had died. He had to be told. She took out her phone and rang him.

She could hear the surprise in his voice when he answered. ‘Hi, Andie, I'm so happy to hear from you.'

She swallowed. ‘Something's happened,' she said, tears rising in her throat again.

‘What is it? What's wrong, darling?'

‘My father died.'

‘Oh my God,' he breathed. ‘When? What happened?'

‘They don't know. He collapsed suddenly,' she said in a strangled voice. ‘They have to do an autopsy.'

‘Oh, Andie, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?'

She couldn't answer.

‘Of course you're not all right,' he said gently. ‘Where are you now?'

‘I'm just leaving Meredith's.'

‘Okay, come straight home, I'll meet you there.'

‘No!' The thought of that place . . .

‘Andie, don't do this now, come home.'

‘I won't go there, Ross, it's not my home any more!' She didn't have a home. She had nowhere to go. Damn him.

‘Come on, Andie —'

‘No, just . . . forget it!' she shouted into the phone. She wished she could slam it down, stupid mobile. Instead she hung up and threw it onto the passenger seat. It started to ring seconds later. ‘Leave me alone!' She picked it up and turned it off, tossing it aside again. She started up the car and drove down the street and around the corner. But her tears were blinding her, her whole body was shaking with sobs. She couldn't drive. She pulled over to the side of the road and wailed, beating the steering wheel with her fists.

Suddenly there a knock on the window beside her. Andie looked up, startled. A woman was peering in at her. She mouthed, ‘Are you all right?'

Andie nodded. The woman indicated for her to lower the window, which Andie did, reluctantly, and only part of the way.

‘I've just had some bad news,' she explained to the woman. ‘I'm okay.'

‘Can I call someone for you?'

She shook her head. ‘I'll be right in a minute.'

‘Maybe you shouldn't drive . . .'

‘I'll be all right. Really.'

The woman hesitated. ‘Are you sure?'

Andie took a deep, calming breath. ‘Yes. Thank you for your concern. I'll just sit here a minute, and then I'll be fine.'

The woman still hesitated, frowning down at her.

‘I called my husband,' Andie added, ‘he's waiting for me.'

That seemed to satisfy her. She nodded. ‘Okay then, you take care.'

Andie watched in the side mirror as the woman walked away, looking back once over her shoulder. The kindness of strangers. Andie only had to stop and cry on the side of the road and a Good Samaritan had appeared out of nowhere to see if she was all right. Why hadn't anyone been there for her dad?

Because he didn't know his neighbours any more. There weren't any left from Andie's childhood days, or even her young adult days, for that matter. Some had died, others had been shipped off to nursing homes. Houses had been sold, new people had moved in, but her father tended to keep to himself. His wife had been the talker, the instigator, without her he didn't know what to do with himself.

Could he really have been dead, or worse, dying, the day Andie was at the house? The idea was almost too unbearable to contemplate. Maybe Meredith was right, she should have checked everywhere, but it hadn't even occurred to her. She didn't suspect that anything was wrong, only that he was out. She had to admit it was rare not to find him at home, maybe that should have alerted her. But usually Andie visited him later in the afternoon, so she wasn't at all concerned that he wasn't home in the middle of the day. She remembered it vaguely crossing her mind as she prepared to leave, that it was odd he was out so long . . . If only she hadn't been so caught up in her own problems, she may have thought to check outside. But would it have done any good by then?

Her eyes filled again, and she wept until there were no more tears left. Until she felt empty. She leaned over and grabbed tissues out of the glove box. She wiped her eyes, her nose, her whole face. She should go. But where? She couldn't remember if Jess was working somewhere tonight, after she closed the shop. Andie couldn't bear to go back to that little flat if Jess wasn't there. Then it struck her. Toby. Of course. He'd known her family. He knew her father. They had grieved together for Brendan. It didn't matter what he knew about Ross, Toby wouldn't let that get in the way now.

She started up the car and pulled slowly away from the kerb.

Toby and Donna lived in the dearest little cottage that they had been renovating for a few years now. Toby dropped out of uni after Brendan died; he said he couldn't focus, that he didn't want to live inside his head any more, that he wanted to work for a living. But that was only part of the reason. The boys had been doing the same engineering course, Andie knew that Toby wouldn't be able to continue, that going to class every day would only make Brendan's absence all the greater. He had to do something completely different. He applied for an apprenticeship as a carpenter and had stuck with the trade ever since. He had almost entirely rebuilt much of the house, as well as adding a big, airy, family room extension off the back, opening directly onto a small yard. Andie loved their little house, she always felt at home there.

When Toby answered the door, she dissolved into tears as soon as she saw his face. He drew her inside and closed his arms around her in a brotherly hug. It was exactly what Brendan would have done, exactly what she needed.

‘What's the bastard done to you now?' Toby asked after a while.

Andie looked up at him. ‘No, you don't understand, this has nothing to do with Ross. It's my father . . . he died, Toby.'

That only brought on another wave of tears, and Donna appeared from the back of the house to see what was going on. Together they calmed Andie down, and comforted her, and listened while she poured out the whole story, including Meredith's accusations.

‘Look, you can't let her get to you,' said Toby. ‘I know she's your sister, but she's always been a bit of a hard case.'

‘Toby,' Donna chided. ‘But he's right, Andie. You can't let it get to you. It wasn't your fault.'

‘I know it wasn't my fault,' she said, ‘but I might have been able to do something if I'd found him . . . if I'd only looked for him.'

The concertina doors which ran across the back of the house were opened all the way, and Max was playing just outside, within earshot.

‘I'm going to take Max upstairs,' Donna announced, getting up.

‘Oh, sorry,' said Andie.

‘Nonsense, it's getting time for his bath anyway.'

After Donna had scooped Max up and left them alone, Toby sat next to Andie and placed his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

‘Look, Andie,' he said, ‘it's very unlikely you could have done anything to save your dad. If it was a massive heart attack —'

‘We don't know that it was. It might have been something milder.'

Toby took a breath, shifting to look at her. ‘Andie, if your father keeled over as he was getting into the car, it must have been sudden and acute. It could have even been a brain haemorrhage, and there's really nothing anyone could have done about that, even if they were there right as it happened.'

Andie sighed deeply. She would just have to wait for the autopsy report, and hope that what Toby was saying was right, that it would prove beyond question that there was nothing she could have done. That should get Meredith off her back . . . But that wasn't all. Andie had to be certain her father hadn't suffered, so she could find a way to live with herself.

‘This is how I felt after Brendan died,' she said quietly. ‘If only I'd been there . . .'

‘I was there, Andie,' Toby reminded her. ‘And there was nothing I could do to save him, nothing anyone could do.' He paused. ‘Brendan would never have blamed you, or held you responsible, you know that.'

‘I know.'

‘And if he was here now, he wouldn't have you talking like this. And he'd have put Meredith in her place.'

That made Andie smile. ‘Hm, he was the only one who ever could.'

‘I reckon,' said Toby. ‘He'd be gutted about the old man.'

He would. Her father was typical of his generation, and he wasn't given to displays of affection towards his son. But they shared a strong bond as the men of the family, and when Brendan decided to go into engineering, like his dad, he could not have been more proud.

‘So, you're staying here, right?' said Toby. ‘Until the funeral, and after that, as long as you want.'

‘Thank you.' Andie had some decisions to make, but they could wait, and she honestly couldn't think of a better place to stay in the meantime. It was a real home, and she needed that right now. ‘How am I going to get through another funeral?'

Toby drew his arm around her tighter. ‘With me right beside you, and Donna, and Jess.'

She hadn't even spoken to Jess yet to tell her what had happened. She hoped she wouldn't be offended if she stayed here. But Jess was not easily offended, and she was canny enough to understand that Andie should do whatever she needed to get through this.

Donna was about to start preparing dinner, and she wouldn't hear of Andie helping. She suggested instead that she take a nice long shower and wind down, while Toby made up her room. Donna offered to lend her some clothes, but Andie remembered she had a lot of her stuff with her. It was too crowded at Jess's to leave her giant suitcase in the middle of the floor, but there was nowhere else to put it, so it had ended up living in the boot of her car. Toby went to fetch it for her, and Andie was relieved to find clean underwear and enough clothes to keep her going for now. She felt a lot better after her shower. They put her in the small third bedroom which doubled as study and guestroom, with one of those couches that folded out into a futon – Andie was becoming quite the connoisseur of convertible bedding. It was a nice little room, it felt cosy and safe, and it gave her some privacy. She would be able to come in here whenever she needed to be alone. Despite every rotten thing that had happened over the past week, at that moment Andie felt blessed to have friends like Toby and Donna, and Jess. Which reminded her, she had to ring her.

When she fished her phone out of her handbag, she realised she'd forgotten that she'd turned it off after she spoke to Ross. She turned it back on, and sure enough, there were six missed calls from him, and a few messages. Andie went through them; they all pleaded for her to call him back, not to ignore him at a time like this, that he was worried about her. She was calmer now, she supposed she could handle talking to him.

She heard the relief in his voice when he answered. ‘Thank God, Andie, I've been worried sick about you. I didn't want to start ringing around your friends in case you hadn't told them about your father. I didn't want to alarm anyone.'

‘I'm okay, Ross, it was all just too much for me before.'

‘Of course, I understand. Where are you now?'

‘I'm at Toby and Donna's. Toby knew my family.'

‘Yes, I remember.'

‘They said I can stay until the funeral.'

There was a pause. ‘Andie, don't you think I should be with you at a time like this?'

She sighed heavily. ‘Up to a week ago, I would have said yes, absolutely.'

‘Then how is it different now?'

‘How is it different?' she said, raising her voice. ‘Do you really have to ask that?'

‘Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Don't get upset, I didn't mean to upset you, that's the last thing I want to do.' She heard him take a breath. ‘The thing is, Andie, I am still your husband, and you are still very much my wife, and I want to be there for you, in whatever way I can.'

Andie couldn't help it, when Ross spoke like that, she just wanted to feel his arms around her at the same time.

‘I really want to see you,' he said carefully. ‘I need to see you, Andie. We need to talk.'

‘Ross, I can't deal with all that now.'

‘I know, I'm not talking about any of that. I just want to see you, make sure you're all right.'

She was thinking about it. ‘I don't know, Ross. It might make Donna and Toby feel uncomfortable. And it is their house.'

‘They know . . . about us?'

‘Actually, they don't, not the whole story, not the worst of it. But you know how Toby's very protective of me.'

‘What if I come by and pick you up and we go somewhere to talk?'

‘Donna's making dinner.'

‘Well, what about later?'

‘I don't know . . .' she hesitated.

‘You say the time, whatever suits you.'

Andie finally agreed that he could come at eight-thirty, but that he should wait for her out front, in the car. Then she had to break it to Toby.

‘You know, Ross just wants to make sure I'm okay,' she explained over dinner.

Toby didn't say anything.

‘Of course he does,' Donna said, reaching over to pat Andie's arm. ‘And it's right that he should, and that you should see him, and talk to him. Toby . . .?'

He shrugged. ‘Well, I'll wait up for you.'

‘That's not necessary,' said Andie. ‘I don't want to put you out.'

‘We'll be up anyway,' Donna dismissed.

‘I won't be that long,' she assured them.

Andie looked out the front door a few minutes past eight-thirty, and Ross was already waiting. That was a first. He jumped out of the car when she appeared and came around to greet her, taking both of her hands in his.

‘I'm so sorry about your dad, Andie.'

She nodded. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. She didn't flinch or pull away. She liked the feel of his face close to hers. Andie knew if she took half a step towards him, she could be in his arms, and right then she was aching to feel those arms around her.

But she had to restrain herself. She had to be careful. When she came out of this awful fog of grief she didn't want to find herself back in that apartment, as though nothing had ever happened.

Ross opened the car door for her and she got in.

‘Where are we going?' she asked when he climbed in behind the steering wheel.

‘Wherever you want,' he said.

She shrugged. ‘I don't know.'

‘We won't go far then,' he said as he started the engine.

They drove past the racecourse and through Randwick, and then Andie stopped paying attention. She settled back into her seat as the houses and shops and streets flickered by in the window. And then they were turning into a carpark, by the beach. Andie looked around to get her bearings. They were at Bronte, and Ross was pulling into a spot overlooking the water. There was barely anyone about, being a weeknight in late winter.

‘Why are we stopping here?' she asked.

‘I thought this would be more private,' said Ross, turning off the engine. ‘You won't have anyone gawking at you. You can relax.'

She was frowning at him. ‘Did you plan this all along?'

‘No, I promise,' he insisted. ‘Give me some credit, Andie, you just lost your father. I'm not a complete animal.'

‘I know that.'

He sighed. ‘Look, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. If you'd rather, we can go somewhere for coffee, or a drink . . . just say the word.'

Andie rested her head back against the seat and gazed out at the ocean. Ross was right, they could talk here, she could cry . . . she could yell at him if it came to that.

‘It's fine here,' she said eventually.

‘Are you sure?'

‘I'm sure.'

He took his hands off the steering wheel and shifted in his seat, turning to face her. ‘So, how are you feeling?'

‘Numb, I guess. You know I went to Dad's house last Friday?'

‘Oh?'

Andie looked at him. ‘I wasn't going to tell Dad what happened, obviously. I just needed . . . somewhere to hide out for a while, I guess.'

‘That was after you went to the apartment?' asked Ross.

‘Hm.'

‘Where did you go the night before? You know . . . after . . .'

Shit. She stayed with his ex-wife. Andie turned away, staring out the window beside her.

‘Sorry, it's none of my business,' he said.

‘So, anyway,' she continued after a while, ‘on Friday, Dad wasn't home, or at least, I didn't know he was.'