Thin Blood (11 page)

Tuesday dawned overcast, the dark
heavy clouds reflecting Jacinta’s mood. Monday had started badly with, first,
her apparent sighting of her stepbrother, followed by Grace Kevron’s bizarre
visit, and finally the confrontation with Craig Edmonds. But surely, Brett’s
decision to move back in should have overridden all that. After all, wasn’t it
what she wanted?

She shoved aside
the bedclothes, rolled on to her side and sat up, her legs dangling over the
edge of the bed. No question, her feelings for Brett were as strong as they had
ever been. However, she wasn’t certain of his feelings. The last thing she
wanted was for him to stay with her out of pity or some sense of duty. Telling
her he loved her in the afterglow of sex didn’t count.

Yawning, she
stood up and padded to the bathroom. A long, hot shower, followed by a
breakfast of tea and toast, left her feeling almost human again.

She was sipping
her second cup of tea, thinking about the mess her life was in and indulging in
a little self-pity, when the phone rang. Brett’s cheery ‘good morning’ lifted
her spirits no end, allaying her fears that he had snuck away from the house
that morning harbouring regrets. Dropping his voice to a low, sexy growl, he
told her how much he wanted her. She laughed. Love or lust: right at that
moment it didn’t matter. Still smiling, she hung up.

The doorbell
rang and she skipped to answer it, half-expecting to see a grinning Brett,
phone in hand. Who else would be calling at such an early hour? With a smile at
the ready, she flung the door open. Her face dropped.

Narelle stood
forlornly on the doorstep, a tartan suitcase in one hand and a blue boxy toilet
bag in the other. Her eyes, red and swollen shut, were no more than slits in
her tear-stained face. Her brunette curls, tied back off her face, only
accentuated her pallor. Without a word, Jacinta relieved Narelle of her
suitcase and ushered her inside.

“I’m so sorry,”
blubbered Narelle. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Don’t be
silly,” said Jacinta, lugging the heavy suitcase into the hall. “I’m glad to
help.” And she was genuinely pleased to see Narelle, but she could just imagine
what Brett would say if he knew. Not to mention Craig. Did she have a death
wish? Perhaps, but she couldn’t in all good conscience turn Narelle away. Part
of it, she realised, was also fuelled, rightly or wrongly, by guilt. In her
pursuit of a story, she hadn’t stopped to think of the possible consequences.

Narelle was
dressed unseasonably in jeans, black boots and a thick, woolly red jumper. It
was a muggy day, the heavy cloud cover pushing up the humidity, yet Narelle,
instead of sweating, was shivering.

Jacinta
collected a blanket from the linen cupboard in the hall, and took Narelle
through to the living room, leaving the bags sitting on the hall floor. After
settling Narelle on the sofa and swaddling her in the blanket, Jacinta excused
herself.

Minutes later,
she returned carrying two mugs of steaming hot tea, the one she placed in front
of Narelle loaded with sugar.

Narelle’s teeth
had stopped chattering, but the tremor in her hands was still evident. She
paused for a moment, cradling the mug in both hands before slowly lifting it to
her mouth. As she sipped the hot, sweet liquid, her eyes stayed downcast.

Drinking her own
tea, Jacinta bided her time, resisting the urge to ask what had happened.
Don’t
pressure her
, she told herself.
She’ll tell you in her own time
.
Peering over the rim of her cup, she studied Narelle. She had been crying. That
much was obvious. From the little skin that was visible, there was no evidence
of bruising. No black eyes. No split lip. Craig hadn’t beaten her up, then. Or
at least not so it would show.

Narelle lifted
her eyes, a small, apologetic, almost sheepish smile forming on her lips as she
met Jacinta’s watchful gaze. She set the mug of tea down. Her hands retreated
under the blanket, leaving only her head exposed.

“Are we alone?”

Bemused by the
odd question, Jacinta merely nodded.

“I mean, Brett’s
not asleep in the other room or anything like that, is he? I mean… Oh God, I
shouldn’t be bothering you like this.” Narelle’s pale hands emerged from the
blanket as she started to rise from the sofa.

Jacinta patted
the air. “Don’t go. Please stay. Honestly, it’s no bother at all. Brett’s at
work. We have the house to ourselves.” She didn’t add that until the previous
night, she had been alone in the house for the last week.

Narelle
hesitated slightly before sinking back down onto the sofa. The blanket that had
slipped from her shoulders bunched behind her. She gulped air, evidently on the
verge of tears. Her long fingernails tore at the backs of her hands, turning
them into angry red welts.

“These last few
days,” she blurted, “I’ve felt like a prisoner in my own home. I don’t know
what’s got into Craig. He’s become so paranoid. He’s convinced everyone is out
to get him.” Pausing only long enough to take a breath, she continued her
rapid-fire of words. “Jacinta, I so enjoyed the dinner party. I’d forgotten
what it was like to socialise. But Craig… I don’t know, Craig thinks we should
keep to ourselves. After everything that’s happened, he doesn’t trust anyone. I
understand that, I really do, but we have to get on with the rest of our lives.
Let go of the ghosts of the past…” Her voice petered out, her gaze dropping to
her restless hands.

Jacinta
uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her seat. Her problems had suddenly
paled into insignificance. She couldn’t imagine living Narelle’s life: a
reclusive and unsocial life devoid of any human relationships except that of
her husband. Could love for a man make a woman blind?

Narelle added in
a soft whisper, “Craig insinuated that you had an ulterior motive for inviting
us to dinner.”

Jacinta
swallowed hard, a hot flush enveloping her face.

Narelle’s gaze
remained fixed downwards. “It’s all right; I know you’re a reporter. Brett
probably doesn’t remember, but ages ago, I asked him what you did for a living.
When you invited us to dinner, I didn’t think it mattered. We all have a job to
do.”

Jacinta’s pulse
quickened, her mind racing. Narelle had known she was a journalist, yet she had
chosen to accept the dinner invitation. Brave, or just desperately lonely?

“That doesn’t mean
to say that I came to dinner unprepared. Over the years, I’ve learned the hard
way how to circumvent the probing questions. I was pleasantly surprised when
you didn’t pry. I left here so full of hope that the past was finally behind
us.” She took a deep breath. “That is until things started happening. Then I
didn’t know what to think.”

Jacinta opened
her mouth, hoping that by magic the right words would spring forth.

Narelle
continued, her voice remarkably calm. “All these years I’ve lived in hiding,
too scared to face the world. I can’t live like this anymore. I
don’t
want to live like this anymore.” She touched her stomach with her fingertips.
“I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and I’ve decided it’s time that my side
of the story was told.”

Both stunned and
intrigued, Jacinta shuffled forward on her seat.

“Craig and I are
guilty of adultery, not murder. No one knows what happened to Kirsty, but I
can’t believe that Craig is in any way responsible. In all the time I’ve known
him, I have never seen him raise a finger to anyone, man or woman, in anger.”
She closed her eyes, her hands pressed together in her lap. “You know, Jacinta,
I really pray that the skeleton they found in the forest is Kirsty’s. Maybe
then we’ll have some answers.” She shrugged her shoulders and opened her eyes.
“And if not, at least we’ll be able to lay her to rest.”

Jacinta cleared
her throat. “But weren’t you adamant that the gold cross they found didn’t
belong to Kirsty?”

Narelle shrugged
again. “It looked similar to hers, but I’ve only got my memory to go on and
it’s been so long. At the time, denial seemed my best bet.”

“And now?”
prompted Jacinta.

“Now, I want it
all to be over with. I’m sick of living like a leper. I want a real life.”

“Narelle, I hope
you’re telling me this as a friend and not a reporter. I want you to know that
whatever you tell me stays in this room.”

The tiny lines
around Narelle’s eyes deepened. “You mean off the record?”

“No, as a
friend. I’m not a reporter anymore. In fact,” Jacinta said, puffing out her
chest and trying to add a little levity to the situation, “I hope you’re
looking at Alvico Media’s next copywriter.”

Narelle’s face
brightened, her body visibly relaxing. “Really?”

Not quite
knowing which part Narelle was referring to, Jacinta nodded. Was she happy
about the friend part, the not-being-a-reporter part, or the possibility that
Jacinta had a new job?

“You don’t know
how relieved I am to hear that,” exclaimed Narelle, crossing her hands over her
chest. “You have been so nice to me and I’d wondered if it was only because you
were looking for a story.”

For a fleeting
moment, Jacinta debated whether to be brutally honest and confess that perhaps
her original motivation had been journalistic, or just let it slide. Common
sense told her it wouldn’t be in either of their interests to reveal what no
longer mattered.

“It’s times like
this I wish I still smoked,” Narelle said, wringing her hands. “Oh God, I’m
blathering on like an idiot again. I should go.”

Once more, she
started to stand and once more, Jacinta stalled her. Narelle obviously needed
to talk to someone, and Jacinta wanted to help in any way she could. It took
some doing, but eventually she convinced Narelle that she wasn’t being a
nuisance, nor was she taking up valuable time.

Narelle exhaled,
her body deflating as the air left her lungs and her shoulders sagged. With her
gaze focused on her knees, she began to talk.

“It was just a
fling, a stupid bloody fling. Neither of us meant it to happen. Sure, they had
their ups and downs like every couple, but he loved her. God, if only we could
have our time over again, it would be so different. What sort of woman falls
for her own sister’s husband?”

Not waiting for
an answer, Narelle spoke quickly, the pitch of her voice rising and falling as
she relived the emotional roller coaster of her past.

“I can’t even
remember how it all started. But it all came to a head after one of Kirsty’s
nursing conferences.” Narelle sighed. “She was away a lot. Anyway, she must
have got wind that all wasn’t as it should be with Craig. Although at that
stage she didn’t suspect her own sister of being the other woman. Who would? He
denied it, of course.”

Jacinta listened
in astonishment to the impassioned outpouring, trying to absorb the
increasingly disjointed words. After years of bottling everything up, Narelle
was finally letting go.

“Craig and I
decided it couldn’t go on. For the sake of his marriage and my sister, we had
to end it. And we did – for about a month. We thought if we kept our affair
secret, no one would get hurt.” Tears ran unchecked down Narelle’s face. “I
knew what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. She was so devastated
when she found out. She hated me, I hated me.”

Jacinta reached
around the arm of the sofa, and opened the small drawer in the side table,
feeling for the box of tissues she thought was there. She found it and slid it
across the coffee table. Narelle leaned forward and plucked out a handful of
tissues. Her words continued uninterrupted with only a few lost in the wad of
tissues mopping her face.

By the time the
box was empty, Narelle’s voice was no more than a raspy crackle, yet she
pressed on, continuing to divest herself of years of pent-up feelings. If
Jacinta had pieced all the bits together correctly, the affair between Craig
and Narelle had lasted for about five or six months, ending at least a year
before Kirsty disappeared. Were the two connected? Narelle was adamant that
they weren’t. It was Kirsty’s disappearance that had thrown the two lovers back
together again.

Nothing could
sway Narelle’s conviction that Craig was not a murderer. She had stuck by her
man, her steadfast faith in his innocence carrying her through the lonely years
of her estrangement from family and friends. Even when working, she had kept to
herself, coming across to her co-workers as cold and aloof.

“After the court
case, I suggested to Craig that he sell the house and we move to some place no
one knew us. Somewhere we could start afresh. He wouldn’t have a bar of it.”
Narelle shook her head as if still not believing it. “Said that would be like
admitting he was guilty. But I just can’t take it anymore. Tell me,” she
croaked, “what am I supposed to do? I love Craig but I’m so scared about what’s
happening to him.”

Narelle looked
to Jacinta for a response, her expression so miserable that Jacinta couldn’t
help herself. She jumped to her feet, skirted the coffee table, and wrapped
both arms tightly around the distressed woman’s shoulders.

Narelle gasped,
her chest heaving as she choked on her sobs. “And I think I’m pregnant…”

Cradling the large, bulky bouquet
of red roses in his left arm, Brett used his right to check the mailbox. He
withdrew his hand, bringing with it one brown and two white envelopes. Reminder
notices, no doubt. Whistling, he walked to the front door, Jacinta’s financial
predicament failing to dent his mood.

He had booked
the restaurant for 7:30, hoping to surprise her. By his calculations, that
would give her more than enough time to tart herself up without stressing. He
bounced up the concrete steps, wondering if he should ring the doorbell or use
the key she had returned to him that morning.