The Soulmate(41)

On the seat beside him is the article about Gabe Gerard. It’s the only thing he looks at on the whole two-hour drive.

What are you going to do, Max? I wonder, as the car pulls up in the Gerards’ street.

He picks up the article, tucks it under his arm and gets out of the vehicle.





38


AMANDA

BEFORE



Max was always a self-confessed security freak. It took some getting used to. The deadlocks, the security systems, the CCTV cameras. The alarms that went back to base. Every time I got used to a new system, he’d install something newer and more high-tech. I thought of it as a ‘man fetish’. Some men had car fetishes. For others it was grass or tools or golf. Max lusted after security systems. It never occurred to me that his obsession with security might spring from a fear for our safety. Until the day that it did.

It was a Tuesday. Max had left for work an hour or so before and I was in the house alone, doing some stretches before my 9.30 am Body Pump class. The first hint that something wasn’t right came with the knock on the door. Not the most ominous thing in the world, but this was not how people signalled their arrival at our house. Usually, visitors pressed the intercom at the gate. I would examine their face on a screen while they told me what they wanted, and then I would decide whether or not to open the gates to let them in.

I’ll admit, the knock unnerved me, but I was a nervy type. I froze right there on my yoga mat and listened.

There was another knock, this time louder. As I made my way to the door, I remembered that the intercom hadn’t been working and Max had said someone was coming to fix it.

I walked through the living room to the foyer. ‘Who is it?’ I said through the door.

‘Mrs Cameron? Sorry to bother you – it’s Adam. I work for Max’s security team. We’re installing a new intercom system today. I just need access to your unit so I can connect it, and then I’d like to run some tests, if that’s okay?’

I’d started to open the door even before he finished talking. By the time I saw the two giant men, it was too late to close it again. A boot thudded into the door. It flew backwards, taking me with it. My head hit the wall. I was still seeing stars when the door closed again, and the men were inside.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘Don’t hurt me.’

The men wore black jeans, T-shirts, stockings over their faces. One was tall and muscular. The other was shorter but wider, like a body builder, with veins bulging from his biceps. They had hands like baseball mitts, with fingers covered in gold rings.

‘Don’t be scared,’ the shorter one said. But his unsmiling face and dull gaze did nothing to reassure me.

‘I have money. Or jewellery. Whatever you want – you can have it.’

The taller man said, ‘We don’t want money.’ He sounded amused.

‘We have some business with your husband that we need to sort out,’ the shorter one said just as the phone in my hand started to ring. I glanced at the screen. Max.

‘Speak of the devil,’ the shorter man said. His tone told me that this was expected. ‘Answer it.’

I lifted the phone to my ear.

‘Amanda?’ Max said, before I could speak. His voice was strained. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. But there are two men here.’

‘Inside the house?’

‘Yes.’

I heard him exhale slowly. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No. They just said . . . they have some business with you that needs sorting out?’ My voice rose in desperation. Sort out the business, it said. For God’s sake, sort out the business.

‘Okay.’ Max took a long breath. ‘Put me on the phone to them.’

When I held out the phone, neither man looked surprised. The shorter man took it.

‘Max? . . . Glad to hear it . . . She’s fine, not a scratch on her. Just a minute.’

He handed the phone back to me. I lifted it to my ear.

‘The men are going to leave now,’ Max said. ‘When they’re gone, lock the door and don’t answer it for anyone. Don’t call the police. I’m on my way home, but I want you to wait on the phone with me until they are gone, all right?’

The men were already gone.

‘All right.’

When Max arrived home ten minutes later with two security guards in tow, I was still sitting on the floor in the foyer with my back against the wall. It was as though my limbs had frozen into position. Max had to put both arms around me and pull me to my feet to get me to move to the living room. There, he helped me onto the couch, even though I was entirely uninjured apart from the bump to my head.

‘I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am, Amanda.’

Max looked worse than I did. His skin was grey. I worried he might be having a stroke or a heart attack. He pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. ‘When they said they had you . . . I went out of my mind . . . The idea that they might hurt you . . .’

We sat there for a long time, just holding each other, while Max apologised. In the end, I was the one comforting him.

I’ll never forget those moments, sitting together on the couch like that. I remember thinking: I didn’t realise how much you cared. That’s another funny thing about marriage. Sometimes, when you look back on it, the worst moments are in fact the best.