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“I love you, too,” I tell her.
“Bye,” she says.
“Bye.”
I end the call.
Sliding down in the chair, I look up at the sky. She sounded very down. I probably should drive over to see her. But I’m tired, and hungry, and in the end, like all of us, she’s made her bed and has to lie in it. I don’t know why she fell pregnant—if a condom broke, or if they chose not to use one. She didn’t say. I know that when she found out, it was too late for her to use the morning-after pill. But she chose not to have an abortion. She wanted the baby, and of course I’m glad she did, because Leia is precious, but they were all forks in the road, and she chose her path.
Postnatal depression isn’t her choice, obviously. Nor is mastitis. But I can’t live her life for her. I’ve asked her to come and live with me. I’ve offered to get her more help at home. I spent all Christmas talking to her and trying to convince her to go back to the doctor for help. What else am I supposed to do?
I should go and get myself some dinner. But I continue to sit, as the sun slowly sinks toward the horizon, coating the garden with gold.
*
The next morning, Aroha turns up at eight on the dot. I spend a while showing her how the printer works, and explain how we want the spreadsheets on one side and the color graphs on the other. There’s lots to do, and once she’s happy, I leave her to it and get back to work in the boardroom.
We stop for lunch, and it’s early afternoon before she brings all the copies into the boardroom. We’re just sorting through them when the buzzer sounds on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Aroha says, and she goes out.
“What are you going to get her working on next?” Henry asks me.
“I might send her out in the Porsche, if I can talk her into it. She wasn’t keen on the idea.”
“You’re a brave man,” Henry says. “Not sure I’d let anyone else drive my Jag.” His 1970 Jaguar E-Type Series 2 is his pride and joy, and he only gets it out for special occasions.
“You let Juliette.”
“She doesn’t count.”
I smirk, and he gives me the finger.
“Uh-oh,” Alex says.
I look over at him, then follow his gaze. Aroha is walking back toward us, and behind her are two police officers, one male, one female.
We all glance at each other, then get to our feet as they approach the boardroom, and the doors open. Aroha looks straight at me, her face full of concern. “James, they want to talk to you.”
My heart skips a beat, and I walk around the table and approach them.
“James Rutherford?” the male officer says.
“Yes.”
“I’m Sergeant Jones, and this is Constable Broughton. Would it be possible to talk in private?”
“Of course.” I glance at the others, then gesture for the officers to follow me down to my office. The walls are all glass, so the others will be able to see us, but they won’t be able to hear what’s being said.
We go into my office, I gesture for them to sit on the sofa, and I take one of the armchairs. I have no idea what this is about. Briefly, I wonder if it’s something to do with my father, as he had a Sudden Cardiac Arrest in Australia back in March of last year.
“Mr. Rutherford,” the sergeant says, “I’m afraid I have some very bad news.”
My heart is banging on my ribs. “Okay.”
“I’m very sorry to tell you that your sister has died. Her body was found at the bottom of a cliff in Lyttelton just before eleven this morning.”
I stare at him. “What?”
