Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(59)

“Joel’s home. Good.” She sat back, but her face showed a trace of tension now. “Listen, thank you. For helping him clean up the plaque. It means a lot to him. And me, as well.” She paused. “I guess Joel told you what happened to Dean?”

Falk nodded. “Shane McAfee brought it up as well.”

“Right.” Gemma sounded sad for a moment. “Yeah, they both find the festival difficult, with the anniversary of Dean’s accident.”

“Do you?” Falk asked, curious. “Being so involved here?”

“Well—” She hesitated. “The anniversary itself’s never my favorite day, obviously. But the festival, no. I don’t feel the same way they do. I don’t have that association, I guess, maybe because this is a year-round job for me. And…” She glanced out across the site. “I mean, we’d already lost Dean. Who was a huge important part of life for me and Joel. I really didn’t want to lose this as well.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I can understand that.” Grief hit people in different ways, though, and Falk found himself picturing Joel once more. Down there at the reservoir on a Friday night, a lonely figure with his cleaning cloths. From Gemma’s frown, he suspected she was thinking the same.

“Joel had actually been doing pretty well for a while,” she said. “I mean, it’s six years now since Dean died and he seemed to be going okay. But then last year—God, that whole nightmare with Kim.” Her voice was tight and she picked at her thumbnail.

“Were you and Kim close?” Falk asked.

Gemma’s nod was automatic, but then slowed. “We definitely used to be. When we were at school, and then again when I moved back. Dean and Charlie were friends, and Zara and Joel were around the same age. Did you know her?”

“No,” Falk said. “We never met.”

“Kim was the first one who said I should go for this job, as festival director.” Gemma smiled a little at the memory.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think I had any real chance when it came up, but one night Dean and I were at the pub with her and Charlie and Naomi, and we were talking about who might go for it and then Kim went and got a piece of paper from the bar. She made us all sit there and list everyone and then compare my strengths and experience against theirs. And we were laughing and everything, but by the end it made me feel like, yeah, I could actually do this. And she was right. But if it weren’t for Kim, I probably wouldn’t have applied.”

“Good on her.” Falk smiled. “And you.”

“Thanks. She was always doing things like that. Or she used to, anyway.” Gemma’s smile faded. “We’d grown apart in the last few years, so I hadn’t seen her for a while.” She examined the glass in her hand, and Falk could hear the guilt.

“Rita said something similar,” he offered, not sure if it would help or not.

She gave him a small smile and nodded. “It all got a bit tricky for a while after Kim and Charlie split up and she moved away. It’s no excuse, but time passed and we lost touch a little. But she was still my friend, and what happened last year was—” She struggled to find the right word. “God. So disturbing. And then Joel got dragged right in. He was only seventeen then, so it was a lot at that age. Any age, really. Losing Dean was bad enough, but this left him feeling very”—Gemma shrugged sadly—“alone, I think.”

Falk nodded. “Is his mum in the picture?”

“Not so much.” Gemma refilled their glasses and sat back in her chair. “It’s not bad blood or anything, but she got married a few years ago and lives out near Port Pirie. Has two little kids now, so it’s hard for Joel. She definitely does her best, but she and Dean got together pretty young, and Joel probably came along before either of them were ready. And now he’s this awkward teenager and his mum has a whole new family that she was ready for, and I’m not saying she doesn’t love him—not at all.” She shook her head. “But it’s different. And whatever you say to Joel, he’s smart enough to—”

Gemma stopped as they both suddenly sensed movement from the dimly lit patch of ground behind the tree. She leaned forward and craned her neck to see.

“Just me,” a voice called, and an older man wearing a festival T-shirt appeared out of the gloom. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and was frowning at a dull metal bolt in his oil-stained fingers. He raised his free hand, and Gemma settled back in her chair.

“Bloody canopy pin’s coming loose on the Chardonnay Revival tent again,” the man said. “I’ll replace it for now, take a proper look in daylight.”

“Great, thanks, Kev,” Gemma said as he paused in front of the caravan and held the bolt up to the light to examine it. “Do you need anyone to help?”

“No, you’re all right. Matty’s already over there.” The man went inside, and they heard the sound of rummaging. He emerged a moment later with a toolbox and smiled at Gemma. His gaze moved to Falk, where it lingered for a moment and cooled.

“I delivered Charlie Raco’s signed waivers to you last year,” Falk said, answering the man’s unasked question.

The guy snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you did.” The curiosity on his face flickered again, now laced with mild suspicion. “All right, well.” He kept his eyes firmly on Falk. “I’m on the mobile if you need me, Gemma.”