Page 59 of The Tapes
‘This is my second go at this…’
I listen to that voice note again, trying to work out why Mum would have made two recordings. Unless she means she tried to record her thoughts once and it didn’t come out?
One thing that’s become clear from listening through the tapes is that Mum talks about herself a lot, as well as me, but she barely mentions my father. The name ‘Bruce’ is clearly – and likely deliberately – absent from Mum’s thoughts, no matter which year or month I choose. She was books, he was TV. She was outdoors, he was indoors. She was flights of fancy, he was practicality and the real world.
The cassette with her claims of being killed had my name specifically written on the sleeve, but there’s nothing for my father. She would have never left a confessional for him, because he wouldn’t have understood.
But there is one other person she was oddly close to. I never particularly understood why but it’s undeniable.
And that’s why I pick up my phone and scroll until I reach the number of my ex-husband.
THIRTY
The front door opens when I’m still half-a-dozen paces away. Henry’s in shorts that show a chunky set of thighs, plus a long-sleeve T-shirt. There’s more heft across his shoulders and upper arms than the last time I saw him.
‘I always knew I had the power to open front doors with my mind,’ I say.
He smiles kindly and holds it wider. He’s bare-footed and his legs aren’t as hairy as I remember, which has me wondering if he shaves them now. I’d never ask, of course.
‘Will Tiffany mind?’ I ask, waiting on the step, even though he’s welcoming me in.
‘She’s at CrossFit and it’s girls’ night, so they hang around after. She wouldn’t mind anyway.’
I don’t let on that I find it mildly annoying that Henry’s current wife would seemingly have no problems with him inviting his old one into their home. Couldn’t she at least have the decency to be jealous, like everyone else? What is it with these people who are secure in their own bodies and relationships?
Henry plods through the house, his great big swimmer’s feet slapping on the bare floors as he takes me through to the deckat the back of the house. The sun is setting, but an orangey glow is in the perfect spot to bathe the table and chairs in evening warmth. Henry doesn’t sit, so neither do I. Instead, we stand a couple of paces apart, the chairs between us.
‘How’s Libby?’ I ask.
‘She’s great. She’s in bed at the moment. She started walking around three weeks ago, so we’ve had to pick up everything from the floor. There are child gates all over.’ He laughs and it’s impossible not to remember those days.
‘How are you?’ he asks.
A shrug. ‘Y’know…’
‘How was the funeral?’
‘As good as could be expected.’ I wait, then: ‘Faith’s doing great on her course and really looking forward to the trip…’
He smiles as I realise he knows. Faith would’ve texted him and they probably talk anyway. She and her father have a proper grown-up relationship.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks. There’s a second and then he almost jumps. ‘Tea! I mean tea, or water, or Coke, or whatever. I didn’t mean?—’
‘I can’t drink any more tea today but I’ll have a water.’
He eyes me for a moment, wondering whether I really did take offence – but then he heads into the house, leaving me on his annoyingly beautiful deck.
There’s a covered hot tub off to the side, next to a barbecue grill. A row of towels and swimming costumes are hanging from a line that follows the fence. I sit on the impossibly comfortable bamboo sofa, with its plush cushions, wishing just one thing about the setup wasn’t perfect. Even the bloody sun sets in the ideal spot.
When Henry returns, he has a jug of water, ice sloshing around, plus a pair of glasses. He places everything on the table,then sits on the second sofa which I will guarantee is equally as comfortable as the one on which I’m sitting.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asks.
‘I’m fine.’
He squints towards me, lips close, unconvinced. ‘It’s just it’s the day of your dad’s funeral and you’re texting your ex-husband at eight o’clock, asking if we can have a chat…?’
‘Well, when you put it that way…’
