The Soulmate(71)

I turned the car around and drove to the hospital.





79


AMANDA

AFTER



As Max talks to Detective Conroy, a sense of peace washes over him. I feel it too, even though I’m still not sure where I am, or what I’m doing here, on this strange threshold between the universe and beyond. What I do know is that while I’ve been in this liminal space, I’ve discovered things that most people never get to see. Things which have altered my perspective on the messiness of humanity.

It’s as if, while living your life, you view the world through a straw. You see only the tiniest sliver, all of it from your own perspective. Other people have their motives, their backstories, their feelings, but you don’t know that unless they share them with you, and even then there’s every chance they’re lying or prevaricating. What strikes me most now is the audacity of people, walking around with such certainty while armed with only the scantest information. I’m ashamed to say I was one of those people.

But in death, you see everything. All perspectives, all motives, all backstories. It’s overwhelming at first, wading through it all. Not to mention horribly unsatisfying. With perspective, you lose glorious things like self-righteousness, self-pity. You still feel deceived and hurt, but they swim among other, more compelling emotions, like understanding, and empathy, and concern. Emotions you don’t necessarily want to feel for those who have caused you pain.

Of course, of particular interest to me is Max’s infidelity with Pippa Gerard. In death, I can see the moment it happened, as well as everything that led up to it. The context is unsettling and, frankly, irritating. It takes away my white-hot rage and replaces it with a whole spectrum of feelings, ranging from betrayal to compassion.

I see that, like me, Pippa is a woman who loves her husband deeply. A woman who has put up with more than she should have for the sake of her marriage. A woman who, among other things, took in her husband’s love child and never once resented that baby for her father’s wrongdoing. A woman who made a bad choice on a desperate evening when she attempted to seduce Max, but who isn’t overall bad. If anything, in the context of her own marriage, I can almost understand it. There’s only so many times you can be hit before you decide to hit back.

In death I discover that Max’s intention, on meeting Pippa that night, was pure. I discover that, on top of the emotion he was feeling, the wine and pain medication created a perfect storm for Max. But the most interesting thing I discover in death is that I misunderstood what happened after the video stopped. In death, I see the whole scene unfurl. And instead of breaking my heart, it brings me such immense joy, I feel like my feet might lift off the ground and take me all the way to heaven.





80


PIPPA

NOW



The girls protest as I pull them from their beanbags.

‘We were watching In the Night Garden!’ Asha cries. She wriggles out of my grip and plonks back on the beanbag. ‘The Pinky Ponk has just arrived!’

‘And the Pontipines!’ Freya adds.

I grab a tote and throw in some snacks, spare clothes for the girls, and their teddies.

‘But we’re going to Nana and Papa’s,’ I say with forced cheerfulness.

The girls are torn. I watch their little faces as they weigh up the premature ending of In the Night Garden against the likelihood that their grandparents will shower them with treats. It’s a significant dilemma. I can almost see their little minds whirling.

My mind is whirling too. Max is coming here. Gabe has promised him the USB. When Max finds out he doesn’t have it . . . I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Or do I?

‘You need to go, Pip,’ Gabe says. ‘It’s been fifteen minutes.’

He’s strangely calm. It’s almost enough to calm me. Almost. We each strap a girl into their car seat and close the door, and then I meet Gabe in front of the car. ‘Gabe, are you sure . . .?’

‘Don’t worry, Pip. Leave everything to me.’

He kisses me and pushes me gently into the car. The girls are arguing before we even get out of the driveway, and I’m glad because it drowns out my thoughts.

It’s okay, I tell myself. Gabe’s got this.

‘Asha!’ Freya whines. ‘It’s my turn.’

‘But it’s my special treasure!’

‘Mummy,’ Freya cries. ‘Asha’s not sharing.’

I turn out of our street. ‘Share, Asha.’

‘But it’s mine!’ Asha says.

I glance in the rear-view mirror to see what they’re arguing over this time. And that’s when I see what Asha is holding. It’s tiny and silver.

I slam on the brakes and pull over to the side of the road.

‘Where did you get that?’ I say, leaning between the front seats to snatch it from Asha’s hand. I examine it closely, seeing the name engraved on the side. Amanda Cameron. I look back at my daughter. ‘Asha?’

‘At the beach,’ she says. She’s part sulky, part nervous about getting into trouble. ‘I found it in the rocks when Daddy was looking for money. But it’s mine!’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She blinks. Shrugs as if to say, Why would I?

I sit for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Should I go back? No, not with the girls in the car. I’ll drop them off and then return home with the USB. It’ll be fine, I think. Now, everything will be fine.