Page 45 of The Soulmate

He jumped up and took a few steps, acting super casual. Then he pretended to catch his foot on the corner of the rug. ‘Whoa!’

To his credit, it was a good fall. He didn’t brace himself or land lightly. He threw himself across the room and landed on his face. I was certain he’d have a bruise tomorrow.

Asha lost it. She threw her head back, slapped her hands against her tray. I’d never heard a laugh like it. It was a dirty laugh, deep and husky and from the soul. She held her stomach. It was the kind of laughter that ends wars, cracks you open, makes everything okay.

Gabe’s eyes were glistening with tears. I assumed they were tears of mirth, but then his chin quivered. ‘She’s laughing,’ he said. ‘I’m so happy that she’s laughing.’ He pressed his lips to Asha’s mop of dark hair and just stayed there for a moment, breathing her in. I forgave him in that moment, as I always knew I would. It was impossible not to forgive this man. Even though I knew that, eventually, this would probably be my downfall.

Asha’s arrival into our family was complicated in many ways. The love part, though, was simple. We all adored her. We adored the crevices in her belly, the pads of fat on the backs of her hands. We adored the way she nestled against my chest when she was tired.

My family knew how she came to be, of course, and they didn’t miss a beat. If anything, they worked harder to prove their love for her, to make up for the fact that I was afraid it wouldn’t come naturally. They needn’t have worried, just as I needn’t have. The love was fast and fierce.

If there was a book about adoption, I read it. I knew about reactive attachment disorder. I was on the lookout for signs of trauma, behavioural issues and hidden disabilities. We followed the professionals’ advice to the letter. How else did one follow advice?

We did the cocooning. Stayed home and kept our world small. We carried Asha around in a baby carrier. Gabe and I were the only ones who held her for months on end, the only ones to feed her and put her to bed. She needed to understand that we were her parents, so she would attach to us in a healthy, appropriate way.

For a year, I braced for Asha’s regression – the anger, the sadness, the behaviours my books told me to expect. They didn’t come. She attached, primarily to me but she liked Gabe too, from afar. She adored Freya, and Freya adored her back.

I also braced for my anger, my sadness. Asha was the product of my husband’s affair. Her very existence should have been a painful reminder, a slap in the face. Somehow, though, the opposite was true. Asha was a living breathing embodiment of the magic of Gabe. The beauty that came from the ugliness. She was the pay-off for all the pain. If I could have turned back the clock and undone things from our past, I might have – but never at the cost of Asha’s existence.

41

AMANDA

AFTER

It’s funny to watch Max let himself into the Portsea house. Usually, there’s a cleaning service that prepares the house for us. When we are planning a visit, I call the service to let them know. They arrive, open the curtains, fill the fridges with groceries, put the towels out and change the sheets on the bed. They put on the heater or air conditioner. They might even light a fire. Thus, this is Max’s expectation when he arrives there.

It is fun to watch him fumble for the light switches and then look around, perplexed by the cold dark space. Later, when he tries to warm up with a cup of tea, he’ll be surprised to find there is no milk in the fridge. He knows that someone has to put it there, and when he really thinks about it he’ll understand that, of course, no one has rung the service, but it will take a while for him to connect the dots. He is someone who has always had domestic things done for him.

He’s just set down his bag when his phone starts to ring. He retrieves it from his pocket, frowns at the screen. I can tell by his body language that he doesn’t recognise the number. Finally, he accepts the call, putting it on speaker.

‘Max Cameron.’

‘Mr Cameron? My name is Detective Sergeant Conroy and I –’

‘Detective,’ Max says, his shoulders relaxing. ‘Is this about my wife?’

A pause. ‘Not exactly. It’s a related matter. Your wife’s death has prompted another inquiry that I am hoping you can help us with.’

‘All right.’ Max’s voice is as cool as ever, but I can sense his wariness.

‘Our inquiry relates to a business relationship between NewZ and A.S. Holdings. According to our records, A.S. Holdings provided funds to NewZ for an acquisition.’

Max is quiet now. He knows better than to confirm or deny this. After several moments, he pulls out a dining chair and sits.

‘Mr Cameron, some information about this investor has come to light and we’d like to discuss it with you. We’d appreciate it if you could come in to the station for an interview.’

‘I’m out of town for a few days,’ Max says. ‘Is it urgent?’

For a moment, both men hang on the line.

‘Any time in the next week would be all right, I expect,’ Detective Conroy says.

‘Right then. I’ll have my lawyer call you and set something up,’ Max says. After a few seconds he adds, ‘So this is a financial investigation?’

‘Our inquiry isrelatedto a financial investigation,’ the policeman replies.

‘And which department are you from?’