Page 26 of Into the Rain

He shook his head, needing to get this off his chest; his mind was still whirling, going to dark places he normally kept tightly secured. A voice in his head kept chanting,Your father is dead, your father is dead. There had to be some other explanation. His mother had got it wrong. She must’ve got it wrong, that was the only explanation.

“Why don’t you start by telling me about your mum,” Lacey said helpfully, and he realized he’d been sitting in a silent daze, staring at the wall, still trying to comprehend his mother’s words. He sat up straighter and brushed the hair from his eyes. He could do that. He and his mother were close; they spoke on the phone at least once a week. She was a solid base with which to start this story.

“My mother is usually a very reasonable person,” he said as an image of Catarina Favreau formed in his mind. Smartly dressed in a pantsuit that showed off her petite figure, her blonde hair, always neatly done up in a loose chignon, with a smattering of grays showing through; he thought they suited her, gave her a certain gravitas. “Catarina was a seamstress back in Paris, and she started her own business when we moved to Canberra. Cultivating her way into the wealthy and powerful circle of clientele, most of whom worked in politics. It was a thriving business, and she even employed two other women to help out in her heyday. But now, she’s practically retired. She still does the odd job, more as a favor than for the money, stating that her eyesight is failing, and her stitches aren’t what they used to be.”

“She sounds like a strong woman,” Lacey said. “It takes guts to start up a new business in a foreign country, especially with a young family to look after.”

Yes, it had. Their father had dragged them away from France on a whim, but his mother had never complained, merely got on with the process of surviving and building a new life. He’d never put it into quite those words before, but Catarina was definitely a survivor. She’d put up with Serge for all those years, after all.

“She still lives in Canberra,” he added. “She made a good life for herself there, after Dad died. Has been seeing a man called Andy for the past five years. Says she’s never going to marry again, but she enjoys his company.” Nico had only met Andy twice, on trips back home to see his mother. He was a solid guy who owned a small accounting firm. Andy had grown-up kids of his own, and he and Catarina maintained separate houses and saw each other a couple of times a week. Nico liked that his mother valued her independence. It might be a reflex to having spent so many years living with Serge’s domineering ways, but that was better than letting herself be sucked into another man’s life too easily.

“Once she got over the shock of my father’s death, she’s been happy and self-sufficient. My younger sister, Gaëlle, stayed in Canberra, and she lives nearby.” It was good that Gaëlle had chosen to stay in the same town. It didn’t absolve himself and his older brother from moving away to follow their careers, but it helped to soften the blow. His little sister had a steady job working in a government department, and she’d just started seeing a man called Oscar, who Gaëlle had told him in a hushed whisper one night over the phone thathe might be the one. His mother was secretly hoping for grandchildren from Gaëlle soon—she’d given up on Nico ever settling down; she knew his job practically precluded him from that. And Brice…well, who knew what was going on with Brice. He liked money more than he liked female company, so he may never marry either. “My older brother, Brice moved to Sydney to follow his career, and then I joined the force, and eventually moved here. So, it’s good Mum has Gaëlle to keep her company. The four of us were a pretty tight-knit family. Still are, in lots of ways.”

Lacey inclined her head in understanding but didn’t interrupt him.

Nico drew in a breath. He knew he’d been avoiding the true topic of this conversation. Because his father hadn’t been part of that tight-knit group. He’d always been a loner, floating around the edges of the family core.

“My father, Serge, spent fifteen years in the French Foreign Legion. He was involved in the Gulf War in 1991.” Perhaps that helped to explain some of Serge’s behavior. That was where his mother said Serge had changed. Something had happened over there to permanently alter his character. Serge had always been strict and a tad remote before that according to Brice, but he’d only been five when Serge returned from his stint in the war, and didn’t recall much. Catarina agreed that it was when Serge returned from The Gulf War that she first became truly scared of him. His temper seemed to be on a knife’s edge in those years afterward, and he was also drinking heavily.

“I was only two years old when he came back from the war, so I don’t remember much. He left the Foreign Legion a few years later and then we moved to Canberra when I was ten.” Serge had believed a better life awaited them all in Australia. Maybe he hoped to evade his demons by moving half a world away. At the time, Nico had been too young to understand his father’s motivations, and so had become resentful and sullen at having been forced to leave his culture and his friends behind.

“We’d only been in Canberra for five years. Had just started to feel like we belonged there and then Serge died when I was fifteen,” Nico said bluntly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s a hard age for a boy to lose a parent.” Her voice was soft and compassionate. He looked up, surprised that she’d grasped his pain so quickly, and nearly got lost in her amber eyes. A quick flash of that kiss this morning buzzed through his brain, but now wasn’t the time to be reliving stolen kisses that perhaps shouldn’t have happened. Zeroing in on Lacey’s words, he decided ithadbeen a hard time, but not for the reasons she was probably thinking.

“Hmm.” He shrugged. Maybe he needed that refill after all. Talking about his father was bound to drag up all those unhealthy memories he’d been trying to keep at bay for so many years. The red wine was on the table between them, and so he poured himself a generous glass and topped up Lacey’s as well.

“Gaëlle took it hard,” he agreed. “She was only ten at the time, and I think she was worried she’d lose her whole family. That once Dad was gone, our family would fall apart. But Brice—he’d just turned eighteen—he stepped up and became the man of the family. He made sure we were all okay.” Brice had been about to complete high school and had big plans to move to Sydney and make his fortune. He’d put all that on hold to make sure he took care of them. Nico remembered clearly the day they’d received the news of Serge’s death, how Brice had faced the two policemen at the front door with solemn dignity. Taking his mother by the shoulders and supporting her to the couch, while the police told them the barely believable news.

“Do you mind me asking, how he died?” Lacey asked gently.

“His car hit a tree. It burst into flames. The coroner said he died on impact.”

Lacey covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, that’s terrible.”

He frowned. Itwasa pretty violent way to die. But then it also seemed like a fitting way for Serge to go—in a fiery flash of glory. Nico was sure Serge would’ve liked that. There’d been rumors Serge may have even planned it that way. Committed suicide in the grandest way possible. But that’d never been proven, and no one in the family ever discussed it openly. At least the Foreign Legion widows’ fund had helped them in the months after Serge’s death. It’d been a financial lifeline. If Serge had actually committed suicide, at least his time in the Legion had made sure they were well cared for after his death.

“That was seventeen years ago, but I can still remember the funeral like it was yesterday.” The images were seared into his brain. The French flag draped over the coffin, honoring a fallen hero. Which made Nico feel physically sick. His dad was far from a hero. Everyone else had been somber, some openly sobbing, patting him on the back, pity in their eyes for the three kids who’d lost their father at such an impressionable age. But all Nico could think was that they were finally free. And then afterward he was filled with shame that he’d felt no sadness at his father’s passing. The man who was supposed to love him and Brice and Gaëlle, but who had treated them more like his own personal little army instead. Barking military commands at them and using his belt as a form of punishment, making sure they understood the rules. Rules were very important to Serge. The times he wasn’t teaching them how strict discipline was good for the soul, Serge was aloof and uncaring, flitting through their lives as if they were of no importance to him. It was a relief to have that finally come to an end.

“I’m sorry,” Lacey said simply. He forced himself to meet her gaze again, expecting to see pity in their depths. The well-meaning friends and neighbors who’d been at the funeral had all looked at him with pity and sadness, making him feel all the more angry and resentful. They didn’t understand. No one would ever understand. But Lacey wasn’t looking at him with pity. It went deeper than that. It was as if she could see through all his bitterness, shame, and hurt down to the boy who’d just wanted his father to notice him but knowing that, in his father’s eyes, he’d never come up to the standard Serge demanded. He could never please his father, no matter what he did.

“I can see his death left a mark on you. How could it not,” she added. “But I think you came through it a little stronger. More determined, maybe?”

He pursed his lips, unsure where she was going with this, and she tilted her head to the side to consider him. “A loved one’s death always changes us, leaves us a different person to who we were before they died. But you endured, Nico. You became a detective in the police force. A protector of the innocent. That’s a good thing. Isn’t it?”

He took another gulp of wine as he turned her words over in his head. Lacey was trying to find the positives in his father’s death. And there were positives, of that he had no doubt. Not least of which he was free to pursue the career he wanted. Serge had always pushed and pushed, telling him that he would join the army when he was old enough. Then specialize into the ranks of the SAS or some other elite squad. Nico had silently resisted his father’s command, until at last, he was able to choose for himself after Serge’s death.

He’d never really dissected his motives for joining the force. All he knew was that it was an ethical, solid job, and it allowed him to use his sharp, logical mind for the power of good. Back when Serge had been alive, both Nico and Brice had done their best to protect their mother against their father’s harsh demands and cold manner. Serge was never physically violent toward her, but his words often cut like knives. Nico had sometimes ended up in shouting matches with his father after he said something particularly mean to Catarina. Perhaps a small part of him had been worried that he might turn out to be like his father. And joining the police was a way to stop that. To force himself to turn his intellect to ways to help people, rather than allow his mind to become corrupted.

Nico knew he had a sharp tongue and there were a few times when he’d been fighting with Brice that he’d said unforgivable things just to prove a point. He desperately didn’t want to become his father. The military and the police might not have been worlds apart in some people’s eyes, but to Nico, they were like night and day. A policeman would never be forced to go to war. Would never be forced to see the carnage a war could commit on a land and on a people. Would never have to see a dead mother or a child as collateral damage because they were trying to kill an enemy who hid amongst the community like a coward.

“Yes,” he finally agreed. “It is a good thing.” She was right. Something good had come out of his father’s death.

“So, what is this terrible cryptic message you got from your mum about him?” she prompted. “I mean, obviously I listened to your conversation. But that was because you wanted me to stay,” she added in a hurry. “And I got the gist that something your father said or did has come back to haunt you? Is that right?”

“Yes. And no.” He knew he was being as cryptic as she’d accused his mother of being, but it was hard to force the words between his lips. He just needed to say it. “My mother ran into some old friends today. A couple she and my dad got to know when we first moved to Canberra. Marco worked with Dad at the military college, and we sometimes had him and Priscilla around for a barbecue on a Sunday, or drinks on a Friday.” Nico remembered them well, mainly because they were possibly the only friends his parents had. The only people Serge could tolerate. Serge had been able to secure a job as a consultant to the Royal Military College, Duntroon. His skills and experience were highly valued by the academy to help the young cadets get ready to take up professional roles in the army. And perhaps he respected Marco as a fellow officer and comrade—Marco had served in the French Army, not the Foreign Legion, but at least on a similar par, in Serge’s eyes. They’d been good friends for at least three or four years. Then Marco had been offered another job, and the friendship had evaporated.

“These friends moved to somewhere in Victoria well before Dad died.” Nico stopped and thought about Marco and Priscilla. They were good people. But Marco had something about him, the same dangerous edge that Serge possessed. The same edge that only someone who’d lived through a war and seen atrocities other people hadn’t gave them.

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