Gravity's Chain Part 15

Bebe was on the phone that evening, happier than he'd been for weeks and bubbling with enthusiasm. Everyone at Taikon was excited, it seemed; even George Mason felt the future was now secure. Details of my visit to the clinic were already confirmed and the future after that mapped out. The company had negotiated a much-expanded American tour followed by more dates across twelve European countries; then there was talk of a major doc.u.mentary shot like a feature film and released as a Hollywood blockbuster. It would mean several months of filming in the States after the European tour ended. That was that then. All was rosy on planet fame. Bebe had already booked my return to England. I had just two days left in New Zealand. I wanted none of what was so meticulously mapped out for me. Is this how Mum felt? At least she manufactured an escape; there seemed no such relief for me.

Early next morning I put the meagre possessions I had with me into the hire car, bought several bottles of tequila and whisky and drove to the bach: it was the only place I wanted to be. The wind was stronger, as the storm relentlessly ground its way towards land. It was the first time I'd been to the bach since Caroline's death, the first time anyone had visited in all that time. The place was dirty and dark with cobwebs hanging from the corners. Sand, driven through cracks by years of wind, covered the floors and crackled under foot. Despite the weather I opened the windows and set about cleaning the rooms. I was thankful for the work.

FIFTEEN.

I rang Mary only to say goodbye, but my story about Mum melted her ice. I never meant it to happen, there was no searching for sympathy-I simply wanted to tell her I was leaving New Zealand. Mary knew all about loss, though, so my account of meeting Heather hit a sympathetic nerve. Suddenly she wanted to see me. I could hardly believe her change of mind, but I accepted the gift and thanked Mum under my breath. That same afternoon was the only time before my departure Mary could see me. I offered to return to Auckland, but she was keen to see the bach again, so, despite the storm warnings, she arranged to visit.

To fill in the time before her arrival I set about protecting the house from the imminent storm. Many years ago, Dad had made storm shutters to protect the sea-facing windows. Ours was the only bach to have them and I felt a sting of pride the first time we erected them in the face of the torrid remains of a tropical storm that had ravaged the coastline. None of the other beachfront baches actually suffered any damage, but whereas the other residents spent an anxious evening fretting about the strength of their buildings, Dad and I sat inside safe in the knowledge that we were protected. I remember we pretended to be in the Blitz, eating dry biscuits as though they were all that remained from our rations. We huddled close together when the thunderclaps came, protecting ourselves from bombs falling on the streets above our shelter. I loved him so much as we sat on the floor with blankets draped over our heads, making faces in the torchlight. That was before Mum left, before nights like that were stolen.

I found the shutters in the boat shed where Caroline hung herself. It was quite an effort entering that place again-I hadn't set foot there since I'd found her. The first time I tried to enter I turned back, went to the house, had a couple of stiff whiskies and returned with the bottle in hand. At the far end, behind where the Winston was parked, were the shutters under a heavy blue tarpaulin. I'd never had to handle them alone before and they weighed a ton. How strong was Dad? I remember him swinging them around as though they were made of plywood. Unless I moved the boat I wouldn't be able to manoeuvre the boards out of the shed, so what started as a whim became a full-scale task for which I was grateful. To remove the boat I needed the tractor, but it hadn't been started for years. I had no hope of it firing, but in a defiant moment I tried and to my amazement, after some coaxing and priming, the d.a.m.n thing started with a huge belch of smoke. I worked steadily, taking sips of whisky to keep me going. I removed the boat, pulled out the shutters, replaced the boat and then, one by one, manhandled the dead weight of the shutters to their windows. A final search of the shed produced the padlocks to secure them and after three hours I was able to rest. In the afternoon light the boards cast an eerie golden light into the front room. It was unnerving to sit there without a view of the sea, but still hear the waves as they steadily strengthened.

After an hour or so, and about the time Mary was due, the afternoon waned and the light suddenly dipped as though a sheet had been thrown over the house. The place creaked for the first time, a sure sign of the wind's increasing strength. I went to the deck to survey the storm's approach. The darkness on the horizon was clearly boiling storm clouds rather than approaching night. Waves thundered on the sh.o.r.e as the depression pushed billions of tons of water to the coast. The wind had a real bite now and a couple of stronger gusts knocked me off balance so I retreated inside and, gla.s.s in hand, continued the wait for Mary. The slow tick of time was almost unbearable.

Without further warning the storm hit. In the midst of a huge gust of wind, rain smashed against the wooden shutters as though someone outside had sprayed them with a fire hose. Immediately the rain increased in ferocity, beating against the wood, driving in harder and harder. I paced the room, the noise almost deafening in the dark confines of the coffin-like room. Ten minutes later my phone finally rang. In that short time the storm had strengthened and I could hardly hear Mary above the rain. She was still in the next bay, unable to drive the connecting road because the sea was washing over the road. She was afraid to try walking through. I shouted for her to wait and said I would come and collect her. I pulled on the thickest clothes I had, claimed the newest oilskin from the collection kept downstairs and pulled on the highest boots. I tried three torches from the collection in the cupboard and, having found one that worked, braved the elements.

Immediately the storm embraced me, clawing at every part of my body as I crossed the short stretch of gra.s.s leading to the beach. I half scrambled, half fell down the slope to the sand and, head bowed, battled my way into the battering wind. The rain drove into my face as I raised my head to navigate. It was a half kilometre walk to the rocks, which marked the beginning of the narrow road that linked the bays. The wind came from my left and it took almost all my strength just to hold a straight line. Halfway to the rocks I rested in the lee of an old pohutukawa tree: even its solid trunk, which would have seen worse storms than this, swayed.

By the time I reached the rocks, the wind seemed to have gained even more strength. Waves crashed and thudded against the ragged rock line. Water, tipped with foam, spilled over the road, but it was pa.s.sable-a considerable relief given Mary's desperate description. At worse the water was fifteen centimetres deep so I sloshed my way through. A larger wave sent spray across my path and filled my boots with cold water. I waited for the sea to wash back across the road before continuing. When I reached the end of the rock outcrop I saw for the first time the lights of Mary's car parked about a hundred metres from the end of the road. She was so grateful to see me that she hugged me before planting a warm kiss on my wet cheek.

Mary was driving an old Honda. I didn't fancy our chances of guiding it through the water-one decent wave, the electrics would blow and we'd be stranded-so I parked the car further back on the beach where I hoped the sea couldn't reach it. Any attempt to talk was ripped away by the wind, so we mimed our intentions and found an easy understanding. The trees edging the beach buckled against the wind's power and, in brief pauses in the gusts, whipped back to their old shape before a fresh onslaught bent them again. The afternoon light was all but gone now, so I pulled the torch from my pocket as we began the trip back to the bach.

At the rocks marking the beginning of the road, Mary stopped and looked at me. There was fear in her eyes and she was shaking, pleading to turn back. I held up a thumb and shouted that all was well, but my words were immediately stolen. Rea.s.suringly I touched her shoulder. I knew the worsening storm had made the return far more difficult but I was not to be denied now. My mind was set on getting to the bach. The wind cranked up yet another notch, forcing waves to break over the rocks and wash across the road to where it cut through the headland, making a cliff on the left-hand side. The narrow stretch of tarmac was now a river with the waves surging along its length. We started along the road, walking close to the solid cliff. A huge wave crashed onto the rocks and across the road some thirty metres ahead. Spray, as heavy as the rain, washed over us, followed by a high surge of water that rolled down the road like a mini tidal wave. It hit us above the knee with considerable force. Mary reeled and flailed with her arms to regain balance. I managed to catch her elbow and we easily rode out the smaller afterwaves that followed like children chasing their father.

We reached the curve where the road was most open. The wind drove harder at this exposed point, forcing us to turn sideways. I turned in time to see a mountainous wave cover the rocks with the greatest of ease. Mary, still turned away, let go of my hand to adjust her jacket. Desperately I tried to regain it, but failed and shouted at her. As before, my words were greedily eaten by the wind. The wave marched toward us, seemingly oblivious to the land attempting to break its progress. It made the previous monster look like the weakest sibling of the family. Frantically I tried to grab Mary as the water hit. I managed to catch her sleeve, but my hand slipped on the greasy material of her coat.

The water smashed like a ma.s.sive punch in the back, throwing me forward. I gripped the rock I was thrown against and felt my chin sting as it glanced the sharp shards of the rock face. Mary was swept away, her arms flapping like orange flags, carried back to the sea by the now receding water. As it retreated, the water lost its strength. I tried running after her, but the wind blew straight into me and with the water still above my knee I was unable to make any real progress. Helplessly I watched as the water gently plopped Mary on the last outcrop before the sea. Like a monkey she gripped the rocks with all four limbs. A secondary wave swept over her body, but it didn't have the strength to loosen her grip. I battled on toward her, finally reaching the first rocks at the road edge and splashing through the pools left by the retreating water.

Mary was on her knees when I reached her and I crouched down over her body like a mother protecting its young. I gulped for air, my strength close to consumed. I gripped Mary's wrist, pulled her arms free of the rocks and held her hands. Mary tried to respond, but her energy was gone, so I adjusted my stance, grasping more tightly. We wouldn't have time to get back to the road before the next wave came upon us so we had no choice but to ride out the onslaught where we knelt. I could hear it breaking in the distance and I braced myself.

The wave thundered into the rocks. The angle of the wave's impact and the rocks to our right protected us from the break; it was the water receding our way that threatened our safety. The now familiar wall of water rushed across the road and back to where we waited. I braced for the impact, crouching over Mary, holding her as tightly as possible without squeezing the air from her lungs and crushing ribs. We survived the initial hit, but the relentless weight of water forced me to take a step and my balance was gone. I knocked Mary and, like a parachute jumper, she instantly disappeared from sight as the water sucked her from the rock. I saw her bobbing in the water like a piece of driftwood, gulping for air just ten metres from the rocks.

I fell to my stomach and hugged the rocks, which tore the sleeves of my oilskin and jumper almost to the skin. The remnants of the wave washed over me and with nothing of similar size following I relaxed my grip. Up I crawled onto all fours, wiping salt water from stinging eyes. I'd lost sight of Mary and for what seemed like long panicky seconds I scoured the sea for the familiar orange of her coat. Gulping in great lungfuls of air, I bellowed her name at the grey water. It was useless but I kept shouting so loudly that I imagined my throat exploding. I couldn't let her go, I couldn't lose her.

Suddenly there she was, just metres away, her head popping out of the water like a cork, her mouth gulping air like a beached fish. When she saw me she thrashed her arms, but that only turned her in a fruitless circle. Her head slipped under the water and I watched helplessly until she reappeared, closer this time as a fortunate swell pushed her toward the rocks I grimly inhabited. The sea was building for another drive. I held out my hand and watched her close in on me so slowly it reminded me of one of those grainy old black and white films of an Apollo s.p.a.ceship docking. Another swell lifted her toward me and I grabbed her hair, yanking her head so I could catch hold of her jacket collar. She was weak and lifeless with hardly the strength to move her arms. Hand over hand, centimetre by centimetre, I hauled her onto my rock. In the distance I heard the smack of a new wave and knew it would be just seconds before another wall of water was upon us. Mary was almost out of the water-just her legs dangled in the sea-but there was no more time, so I pushed her flat and lay across her body, holding the rocks on either side. Thankfully the wave lacked the ferocity of some of its predecessors and water washed over us with a power I was easily able to withstand.

Quickly I was on my feet and pulling Mary clear of the water. She stood, but there was no strength in her legs and she buckled under her own weight. Half carrying, half stumbling, I managed to get her across the rocks, over the road and to the shelter of the cliff where we leant against its solid face, panting for breath. The waves were calmer, but I knew it was just a matter of seconds before bigger ones would come again. I hauled Mary over my shoulder, dropped my head and ran as fast as I could. Another wave crashed over the rocks and swept down the road, but I kept my balance and pushed on regardless. Finally, with no further monster waves, I came to the end of the road and felt the welcome softness of sand. Clumsily I lowered Mary and sank to my knees, panting. Mary was awake but silent, her body convulsed with shivers. Her cheeks were white and her lips blue. The hollow look in her eyes frightened me and I knew there was a new threat now. Although far from rested I stood and hitched her back onto my shoulders.

Fatigue attacked as I was halfway back to the bach. Wind and rain still tore at me, but their discomforts were nothing compared with the screaming complaints of my body. Shoulders, legs, back and arms were all stretched to breaking point. I imagined muscle and tendons breaking strand by strand with almost audible pings.

I couldn't climb the bank from the beach to the bach with Mary on my shoulders so I ended up dragging her. I'd crawl, then turn and start hauling her dead weight up the slope, the sand giving way and slipping us back, but never to the starting point: each time there was a gain. Several times Mary groaned and feebly pushed out a leg, but her efforts were hopeless. Once we were on the gra.s.s at the summit of the bank I could only pull her to the bach as though she were a dead body ready for burial. The last act was to drag her inside and slam the door shut on the storm.

I didn't even contemplate the stairs but got Mary into the downstairs bedroom where I'd last seen Caroline alive. She lay on the floor, murmuring as her body shook with cold. Upstairs I found some old trackpants and a sweatshirt. Mary was now close to unconsciousness, her eyes rolling in their sockets. I fought with her sopping clothes, yanking at trousers, jumper and shirt. She wore no bra. The sudden revelation took my breath away. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were as I remembered, pale and strong, the dark nipples erect from the cold. Slow with guilt I bent and laid the lightest of kisses on each nipple.

Appalled, I quickly struggled with the sweatshirt, then lifted her into the bed and tucked the blankets under her chin. I made up two hot water bottles and put them on either side of her.

For once I deserved a drink. I drank tequila and listened to the wind and sea as they slowly calmed. Suddenly I felt colder than I could ever remember and I shivered uncontrollably. Finally I allowed myself the luxury of savouring my achievement. I had saved Mary. I had prevented her loss and I felt the joy of triumph. The drink washed over my tired and aching body and disturbed my stomach. I drank through the remnants of the storm and fell asleep on the sofa as the wind abated and the rain died to the occasional drizzle.

The sky was clear in the morning and the air electric clean as always after a storm. Gulls squawked with delight as they paraded on the beach, poking and prodding an array of gourmet treats washed up the night before. Waves gently rolled on sh.o.r.e without the power to trouble a toddler. There was a half gla.s.s of tequila left in the bottle, which I finished with one gulp. With some caution I went to Mary's room. I'd never considered that she might die in the night, but now, in the cold light of day, it struck me as a distinct possibility. I opened the door and with great relief saw her move.

'Is that you, Jack?' Her voice was feeble and she coughed.

'Yes.'

I hesitated at the door. 'Come in,' she urged.

'I'll make you some coffee.'

'Thank you, Jack, thank you for saving my life.'

'Christ, Mary, at one point I thought you'd gone. I thought I'd never see you again.'

Her voice cracked and she fought back a sob. 'Me too.'

I sat on the side of her bed, both of us lost for words, as though what had happened was too much for us to contemplate and erased all our history. 'I'll make that coffee.'

She didn't have the strength to answer and simply lay back in bed, her eyes slowly closing. She slept most of the day, waking only in the afternoon for a drink before sleeping again. By the following day she'd regained some strength and easily sat up in bed for coffee.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, I set about the task of removing the boards from the front windows. Within minutes, though, I felt exhausted again and for the first time realised how draining the rescue had been. Although I had regained some strength, I regretted having started, but was determined to keep going, so I took shutters back to the boat shed, storing them where they'd been kept before.

'Is this where she died?'

Mary's voice made me jump. Pale and shaky, she was standing in the door, just where I had been when I found Caroline.

'Yes,' I replied.

'Where exactly?'

'Sorry?'

'Where did she...hang herself from?'

I pointed to the middle of the shed and the central beam where I'd found her hanging. For the briefest of moments I saw her again, saw those slowly swinging feet and their painted toenails. 'There.'

Mary shuddered, stared at the spot for a minute and walked away. My instinct was to follow, but instead I finished the job of replacing the boards. It was an hour before I sought out Mary, who was sitting in the front room nibbling on some toast. Tired beyond belief, I lay on the sofa. 'Mary, I need to know what you meant in the hospital.'

'I know.' She stared at the sea. 'You broke my heart when you went with Caroline.'

'I know.'

'And do you know what hurt the most?'

'No.'

'You never saw me and told me to my face-you never took responsibility for what you did. You sent Caroline to do your dirty work and you just slid away.'

'I turned my back, Mary, I know that-it was what my mother was trying to tell me.' Mary looked quizzically at me, but there was no need to explain. Don't turn your back, look beyond yourself, she had written: the message couldn't have been clearer. 'What did you mean in the hospital, about my being responsible for Caroline's death?'

'For so long it amazed me just how ignorant you were of the effect of what you did. You never used to be that way, but it was as though some cosmic switch was thrown in your head and you just forgot about other people. No one mattered but you and Caroline. You forgot that actions have consequences. You refused to take responsibility.'

'But I didn't kill Caroline.' I sat with my head bowed, my chin almost on my chest. My words were barely audible.

She laughed and threw back her head. 'You did, Jack. You mightn't have dragged her out there and strung her up over that b.l.o.o.d.y beam, but you might just as well have. I have to take some blame-I accept that. That's my penance.' The first tears slid down her cheek. 'Believe me, I still lie awake at night and want to scream at the dark.'

'Why do you take any blame, Mary?' For the first time I looked at her. I was shaking.

'After you and Caroline came back from England and the arrangements were made for Caroline to meet Mum and Dad, they were so happy. I'd never seen them so happy. You have no idea just how much Caroline's estrangement hurt them. It was bad enough for me, but they used to sit in silence night after night, unable to even broach the subject. They only talked about what she'd done as a child. That's all they had, the past-the future was gone. And then suddenly, as though she'd risen from the dead, she was back. And then she failed to show up that night at the restaurant and all the s.h.i.t started again. I hated her for that. It's funny, but after all the stuff with you and going away and her letter, I never actually hated her, but I did that night because she'd given them hope and taken it away again. She had to be punished, Jack, she had to be punished for putting us through all that again.' She was sobbing.

'What did you do?' Seeing her so distraught brought the first tears to my eyes.

'The morning she died she'd rung me. She was so upset. You'd argued and she was so desperate she had to talk to someone, and there was no one but me.'

I remembered the broken phone from the morning of her death, the cord snaking across the floor.

'There was my chance, so I told her about the letter, Jack. I told her about our letters. I told her how you'd apologised on the bottom of her vile letter from London and I told her how we carried on writing after that. It couldn't have been worse. s.h.a.gging she could have understood-s.e.x wasn't that important-but she thought she had your entire mind, your wonderful b.l.o.o.d.y mind, but she didn't. I had some of it still and she couldn't bear that betrayal.'

'You should have told me.' I gripped my head in my hands.

'I blamed you too much. If you hadn't written those words at the end of her letter, none of this would have happened, but there was that little bit of kindness left in you-and it was enough to kill her.'

'I'm sorry, Mary,' I whispered in my grief.

'You've repaid your debt now, Jack. There's no need to be sorry.'

I shook my head. 'No, there are much greater debts for me to pay, believe me.'

Detective Ryan,

I'm writing to tell you I wish to amend the statement I made about the unfortunate death of Jo Thompson. I lied. I know you never believed me, and you were right to be so suspicious. I'm available for re-interview at any time.

I was in the room with Jo and the Russian prost.i.tute. Drugs were taken. Honestly, I can't remember where they came from. I had enough in that room to knock out an elephant.

For too long I've avoided the truth of what I did. Well, no longer. I lied to you and to Jo's family and you all deserve to know the truth.

Yours faithfully, Jack Mitch.e.l.l

THE NEW ZEALAND HERALD.

Mitch.e.l.l Sentenced

At the Auckland High Court yesterday world-renowned New Zealand scientist Jack Mitch.e.l.l was sentenced to one year's supervision.

The 30-year-old founder of the Superforce theory pleaded guilty to a charge of perverting the course of justice. The charges arose following the death of 31-year-old Joanne Thompson at Auckland Hospital in March of this year. Thompson died from a cocaine overdose, taken at a celebrity party at the Hilton Hotel held for Mitch.e.l.l following his successful national speaking tour.

When interviewed by police, Mitch.e.l.l denied any involvement but later admitted his role in the cover-up. In mitigation, Mitch.e.l.l's counsel confirmed that the charges and court appearance had ended his lucrative contract with the Taikon Corporation and that the cancellation of Mitch.e.l.l's shows across the United States, together with the loss of other commercial deals, had left him bankrupt and out of work.

In sentencing Mitch.e.l.l, Justice Simon Paine told him that he was one of the world's most gifted men and it personally saddened him to see him before the court. However he accepted that Mitch.e.l.l's belated actions in admitting his role and his plea of guilty saved him from a custodial sentence.

Outside court, Mitch.e.l.l asked to be left alone to start work again.

Dear Jack, I'm sorry I've left it so long to write. I know I should have said something before, but somehow it all seemed too hard. I read about your sentence. I'm glad you avoided prison-you certainly didn't deserve that.

Things were pretty rough after your little confession. My G.o.d, meeting after meeting, more debriefs than if I was a spy coming in from the cold. Mason was as wild as any man could be without bursting blood vessels. He swore vengeance against you, and I think he got what he wanted. He could never understand how, having got away with it, you turned yourself in. I tried to persuade him just to release you, but that isn't his way, and no one was listening to me any more. I warned you this would happen. Taikon will make sure you never get anything. You won't be able to fart without having to pay for it.

As for me, well, I survived. You know me. In fact I've been a.s.signed to look after your old sparring partner, Frank Driesler. Yes, I thought that might amuse you. Nothing has been announced, but he has been signed up as the next big thing. I've only met him twice and both times he could do little but talk about you. He really is quite obsessed. Only time will tell, but I'm sure it won't be anywhere near as much fun as the time with you.

I miss you, Jack. You were a complete idiot at times, but there was never a dull moment with you. I admire you for that; in fact I admire you for what you did. Taikon can take all the material stuff away from you, but they can never take away your genius. Your achievement will be with all of us until the day the human race just gives up.

Finally, I'm sorry about the n.o.bel not going your way. It will be yours one day, once all the rage has died down and what you did in that hotel room is forgotten. If anyone deserves it, you do.

I hope one day we meet again.

Regards, Bebe