Cadan said, “It’s the lolly stick. He knows you’ve got it. He wants to be petted again.”
“C’n I pet him, then? C’n I hold him?”
“Jennifer, you know how I feel about that bird.” These words were spoken by her mother. Ione Soutar was standing in the bay window, gazing out at Victoria Road. She’d been doing that for thirty minutes, and she didn’t look like a woman who intended to stop doing it anytime soon. “Birds carry germs and diseases.”
“But Cade touches him all the time.”
Ione shot her daughter a look. It seemed to say, “And just look at Cade, will you?”
Jennie interpreted the expression on her mother’s face in whatever way Ione intended. She scooted back on the sofa-her legs sticking out in front of her-and she puffed out her lips in disappointment. It was, Cadan saw, a facial expression unwittingly identical to Ione’s.
No doubt the feeling behind it was the same as welclass="underline" disappointment. Cadan wanted to tell Ione Soutar that she was going to be endlessly disappointed as long as she had his father in her marital sights. On the surface it looked as if they were perfect for each other-two independent businesspeople with workshops in the same location on Binner Down, two parents years without partners, two parents who surfed, two children for each of them, two little girls interested in surfing, with a third older girl their role model and instructor, two family-oriented families…There was probably also good sex involved as well, but Cadan didn’t like to speculate about that, as the thought of his father in a carnal embrace with Ione made his skin go prickly. Nonetheless, superficially it appeared to be logical that nearly three years in this association between man and woman ought to have resulted in something akin to a commitment from Lew Angarrack. But it hadn’t done, and Cadan had heard enough of his father’s end of telephone conversations to know Ione was no longer happy with the situation.
She was currently annoyed as well. Two takeaway Pukkas pizzas had long since gone cold in the kitchen while she waited in the sitting room for Lew’s return. It was a wait that was beginning to seem futile to Cadan, for his father had showered and changed and rushed off on what Cadan saw as a real fool’s errand.
It seemed to Cadan that a visit from Will Mendick had prompted Lew’s departure. Will had rumbled up Victoria Road in his wheezing old Beetle and as he’d unfolded his wiry frame from the car and approached the front door, Cadan could see from his ruddy face that something troubled him.
He’d asked for Madlyn directly and said curtly, “Where is she, then? She wasn’t at the bakery either,” when Cadan revealed that she wasn’t at home.
“We don’t have her on the GPS yet,” Cadan told him. “That’s next week, Will.”
Will hadn’t seemed to appreciate the humour. “I need to find her.”
“Why?”
So he’d told him the news he’d had off the bird at Clean Barrel Surf Shop: Santo Kerne was dead as a doornail, his head mashed in or whatever it was that happened when one fell during a cliff climb.
“He was climbing alone?” Climbing at all was the real question since Cadan knew what Santo Kerne really preferred doing, which was surf and shag, and shag and surf, both of which came quite easily to him.
“I didn’t say he was alone,” Will pointed out sharply. “I don’t know who was with him or even if there was someone with him. Why d’you think he was alone?”
Cadan didn’t have to reply at that point because Lew had heard Will’s voice and had apparently read something dire from the tone. He’d come from the back of the house where he’d been working on the computer and Will had brought him into the picture as well. “I’ve come to tell Madlyn,” Will explained.
Too right, Cadan thought. The way to Madlyn was open, and Will was not a man to ignore a gaping doorway.
“Damn,” Lew said in a thoughtful tone. “Santo Kerne.”
Not one of them was exactly in extremis over the news, Cadan admitted to himself. He reckoned that he was the one who probably felt the worst, but that was likely because he had the least at stake in matters.
“I’ll go look for her, then,” Will Mendick had said. “Where do you think…?”
Who bloody knew? Madlyn’s emotions had been running their usual mad course since her breakup with Santo. She’d started with devastation and moved on to blind and unreasonable anger. As far as Cadan was concerned, the less he saw of her the better until she’d gone through her last stage-it was always revenge-and then got back to normal again. She might have been anywhere: robbing banks, breaking windows, pulling men in pubs, tattooing her eyelids, beating up small children, or off to regions unknown for a surf. With Madlyn, you just never knew.
Lew said, “We’ve not seen her since breakfast.”
“Damn.” Will bit the side of his thumb. “Well, someone’s got to tell her what’s happened.”
Why? was what Cadan thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he said, “Think it should be you?” And he added foolishly, “Wise up, mate. When’re you planning to work things out? You’re not her type.”
Will’s face flared. His skin was spotty anyway, and the spots enflamed.
Lew said, “Cade.”
Cade said, “But it’s true. Come on, man-”
Will didn’t wait to hear the rest. He was out of the room and out of the door before Cadan could say another word.
Lew said, “Christ, Cade,” as apparent commentary on Cadan’s finesse. Then he went upstairs for his shower.
He hadn’t had one after his surf, so Cadan had first assumed his father was just doing what he ordinarily did: getting the sand and saltwater off. But then he’d left the house and he’d not returned. This had put Cadan in the position of trying and failing to entertain Ione and her daughters as they waited for his father.
“Looking for Madlyn,” was what Cadan had told his father’s girlfriend. He’d explained about Santo and said nothing more. Ione was already fully in the picture about the Madlyn-Santo situation. She could not have been involved with Lew Angarrack and not known about the situation. Madlyn’s well-developed sense of drama would have made that completely impossible.
Ione had gone into the kitchen, where she’d deposited the pizzas on the work top, set the table, and made a mixed salad. Then she’d returned to the sitting room. After forty minutes, she’d rung Lew’s mobile. If he had it with him, he didn’t have it on.
“How stupid of him,” Ione said. “What if she comes home while he’s out looking for her? How’re we to let him know?”
“He probably didn’t think of that,” Cadan said. “He went out in a rush.”
This wasn’t exactly true, but it seemed more…well, more likely that a worried father would depart in a rush than as Lew had departed, which was quite calmly, as if he’d made a grim decision about something or as if he knew something that no one else knew.
Now, having finished studying her fashion magazine, Leigh Soutar piped up in her usual fashion, with that bizarre cadence peculiar to young girls with too much exposure to adolescent films on satellite television. “Mum, I’m hungry?” she said. “I’m starving? Lookit the time, okay? Aren’t we having dinner?”
“Want a Bacon Streakie?” Cadan asked her.
“Yuck,” Leigh said. “Junk food?”
“And pizza is what?” Cadan enquired politely.
“Pizza,” Leigh told him, “is highly nutritious? There are at least two food groups involved and anyway I’m having only one slice, okay?”
“Right,” Cadan said. He’d seen Leigh at the trough before this night, and when it came to pizza she regularly forgot her intention of becoming the Kate Moss of her generation. The day she stopped at one slice of pizza would be the day pigs took to the air in droves.