Afterlife of Alanna Miller Read online

  "Dad!" Even with my eyes squeezed shut, my vivid imagination was showing me pictures I didn't want to see. "I don't want to hear about you and Mum having sex in public in the Middle East! I can't believe you didn't get arrested!"

  "Shh, the waiter's looking at me like he's going to come over or call security or something. I thought you wanted to know how I fell in love with your mother."

  I swallowed. "I do, but not...not in graphic detail. I don't even read that sort of stuff in books."

  He stared. "There's graphic sex in books now? And you're reading them?"

  I wanted to laugh and tell him I had, just to see the shock on his face, but I doubted even he'd believe me. "Yes, there are a lot of books that are more open about these things now, but most of them involve bondage and tying women up who supposedly enjoy that sort of thing. I avoid them like the plague. So unless you'd like to discuss forced castration for convicted rapists and perpetrators of violent crimes against women, I think we should go back to Mum."

  Dad choked on his beer, but he pounded on his chest until he recovered. "Ah. Okay. You know I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you five years ago, when all that happened. It was like losing her all over again and I couldn't...I couldn't..." He looked like he was going to cry.

  "I know," I interjected. "There wasn't anything you could do, Dad. I had police and anti-terrorist teams looking out for me until they moved me into witness protection." Yes, my father was a coward about grief and loss and we both knew it. No one was perfect. It's not like I didn't have some serious phobias, too. He made time for the good stuff – graduations and award ceremonies and maybe even one day my wedding, if I ever got close enough to a guy to consider such a crazy thing – but when I was sick or in trouble, he'd be on the other side of the world, unable to cope with the possibility of losing me. I'd had appendicitis when I was ten and he didn't visit the hospital once. Jo's mum had had to drive me home and stay there until Dad came home from work, late that night. I wondered whether he'd have come home for my funeral if I hadn't survived the kidnapping. I guess I'd never know. I took a deep breath. "How did you guys ever decide to get married? I mean, I didn't think people dated over there the way they do here."

  He took a deep draught of his beer. "Violence was increasing and there was talk of war. My boss rang me one day and said they were evacuating all their field personnel, but the office staff could stay for the moment. There were only the two of us left. He said he'd call again if things changed, but to be ready to leave on short notice.

  "Fatima and I had been talking about politics, but if it came to evacuating, she'd go with her family and I'd go to the UK or Australia, depending on where the company sent me. They had the prospect of a new gas field opening up in Australia and plenty of exploration for me to do, but that meant leaving Fatima and maybe never seeing her again.

  "When I got off that phone, knowing she'd heard every word, I just looked at her without knowing what else to say. So she hesitated for maybe a few seconds before she asked me to marry her and take her with me. She was willing to leave behind her family and friends and everything she'd ever known to be my wife. She wanted to live in a country where she didn't have to wear a niqab to stop men from staring at her like she was a piece of meat.

  "And I agreed. I was so in love with her, but I hadn't really dared to hope that we could. The difference in culture and religion and everything...but I met her family the next day, and she told me her father had agreed to it, though the grumpy look on his face said that he wasn't happy about it. And within a week we were married – Fatima was my wife. She moved into my tiny company apartment near the university and things were good for a couple of months. I filled out all the paperwork for her Australian visa and citizenship and we waited. Before we even had a reply from the Australian embassy, we knew she was pregnant with you. I called the embassy every day, asking about her application until they evacuated, too. And then I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd have to leave. I could take her as far as Dubai, but she didn't have a visa to enter Australia, so she'd have to wait alone in Dubai until I could return for her with her visa. Alone and pregnant in a foreign country...I hated to do it, but we agreed she'd be safer with her family. They'd protect her and take her with them if they left.

  "So the last time I saw her, she had her hand on her belly, over you, her eyes filled with tears that she was too strong to let fall, and she kissed me goodbye in her father's house, because it was illegal to even kiss in public there, so she couldn’t do it in the airport. And the taxi drove me away."

  He drained his beer, hiding the tears he was shedding behind the glass.

  "War broke out a month later and I was reassigned to an Aussie project in Torres Strait. When I got home, her visa documentation was waiting for me and a crumpled letter with an ultrasound photograph, saying we were having a girl – it had arrived only a few days before. I tried to call her, but there was no answer at her family's house – their number was disconnected. It took months before I even knew that they'd left the country, but I didn't know where they'd gone. By that time, I'd filled out citizenship papers for you, too, and I filed them on your due date, saying it was your birthday. I had to choose your name before I'd even met you, without Fatima...I missed her so much. It took me almost two years before I finally tracked down her family in Saudi Arabia and another six months before I could contact them to ask for her. No one would tell me anything about her or you and I'm not sure anyone's English was good enough to, even if they'd wanted to.

  "I had your citizenship certificates in my hand luggage when I boarded the plane. I was going to bring my girls home. Yet when I entered their house, and looked into her father – your grandfather's eyes, I already knew. My beautiful, wonderful wife of only two months was dead. When I asked about you, he tried to say the same thing, that you were dead, and I almost believed him, but one of the women brought a screaming toddler into the room who ran straight to him. Right away, he softened as he picked up the tiny girl, kissed her grazed knee, and wiped away her tears. It was like I wasn't even there – he was holding a child who mattered more than anyone else. And then she turned to look at me with Fatima's eyes and I knew who you were. I argued with him for two days – bloody impossible, seeing as his English was terrible – that you were my daughter, an Australian citizen, and you'd be coming home with me."

  He sighed and lifted his beer, as if hoping the dregs would become a fresh pint before his eyes, but they didn't. The glass clunked back to the table. "You didn't understand a word of English. A woman I didn't know gave me a bag of clothes and toys that you seemed to recognise and that's all you had. The flight home was hell. My heart had died with Fatima and I had no idea what to do with a child, least of all one with her eyes, the part of her I knew best."

  "Do you even know how she died?" I asked, stunned that he'd offered so little explanation. All these years, I'd waited to learn something, but it seemed like he didn't know, either.

  "For many years, no. I wanted to, but all my Farsi was good for was making Fatima laugh as I made mistakes. I couldn't speak Farsi and her family didn't speak English. Or at least, that's what I thought. A few months ago, I learned that I was wrong." He rose from his chair and waved his credit card. A waiter hurried over to take the payment and we left, Dad tucking his wallet back into his pocket as we walked. "If I'm going to tell you the rest, I need something stronger than beer. Let's go to the bar and hope they have cask strength whisky."

  FOUR

  I sipped a lemon, lime and bitters as Dad nursed his whisky. I'd rarely seen him drink at home – he'd consumed more alcohol tonight than I'd seen him drink in a year. Once again, he'd picked an isolated corner table as if he was afraid of being overheard. Yet he sat in silence for several minutes.

  "What happened a few months ago?" I prompted when impatience got the better of me.

  "I was in Dubai for a couple of days before my flight to Sana'a, having coffee, minding my own business, when three men approached
my table. The thinner, better-dressed of the three sat down across from me, while the other two flanked him, like bodyguards. And those two were armed. So instead of asking what they were doing at my table, I got up to leave and the seated man said, 'Stay, Malcolm Lockyer.'" He laughed nervously. "He had two blokes with guns, so I stayed.

  "But then he said, 'You were Fatima's husband, weren't you?' The last thing I expected him to say. Twenty years of never hearing her name and here was this scary bloke speaking perfect English, who mentions her. And she was all he wanted to talk about.

  "He explained that he was her cousin and when Fatima's family fled to Saudi Arabia, she stayed with his parents. She was his favourite cousin, even though he was a bit younger than her, because she wanted to get out and see the world, too. He'd been shocked to see her heavily pregnant – he hadn't even known she was married. Because he was home between finishing school and going to university in France, he spent all his time with her. And she told him stories about this crazy Englishman who thought she was going to kill him, but who loved her and wanted to take her to Australia to live with him. Her and her little girl – you. He said he'd never seen her so happy. And she made him promise to visit her in Australia on his holidays from university.

  "The baby wasn't due until after he left for France, but Fatima went into premature labour and you were born a month early. August, not September. He said how much she adored you – couldn't look at you without smiling. She wouldn't allow her father to hire a nanny to help her care for you. She wanted to do everything herself because in Australia, she wouldn't have servants and she'd need to know. Fatima had her life all mapped out with me and I didn't even know.

  "Then he went to university and everything was fine, until he received an early morning phone call from his father, telling him that Fatima had died. He jumped on the next plane home and made it just in time for the funeral. He demanded to know why her husband and daughter weren't there. Not even her own father stood by the graveside to see her buried. He swore that he would make those who'd killed her regret their actions in both this life and the next." Dad sniffled though not a single tear fell, and he drank again. "When he reached home, he found the house in an uproar. His uncle, Fatima's father, was shouting at his own father about trust and family and obligation and treachery, but it was clear that he was leaving. He said he approached Fatima's father to offer his condolences and was told that he was the only one in his family to be sorry for her passing.

  "When he couldn't get much more information out of either man, he sought out his sister, who seemed to be avoiding all the arguing. She had her own problems, he found – she'd been promised in marriage to someone only a week before and she was angry at being sold, as she called it. When he asked about Fatima, she told him she'd been very sad about her husband's rejection for some time, so she'd killed herself. His sister had been the one who found her."

  For the first time in my life, I watched my father burst into tears. "She killed herself because I didn't find her soon enough."

  Roles reversed, but I didn't care. I hugged him, trying to soothe a grieving widower whose grief I could never comprehend, for I'd never lost my own world and believed myself responsible.

  Some time later, I coaxed Dad into finishing his whisky and I helped him upstairs to his hotel room. As he hiccupped, he related the final tidbits of his meeting with my mother's cousin. "He said her father died earlier this year and he'd been named as heir and executor of the will. Under Islamic law, it had to be a man, and Fatima had no brothers, only younger sisters. In her father's effects were some photographs of Fatima that he thought I'd like to have. He wanted to visit me in Australia and bring them with him. Visit us, so he could see you again."

  Dad dropped his keycard twice before I took pity on him and unlocked the door with my steady hands.

  "And what did you say?" I asked, dying to know before I left.

  "Whatever he wanted," Dad replied, laughing shakily. "I'd have agreed to whatever he wanted, because he had two bodyguards ready to shoot me if I didn't."

  I bade him goodnight and headed downstairs for a taxi. The whole ride home, Dad's words were swirling through my head. My mother's death was suicide and her cousin had sworn vengeance – her scary cousin, who brought heavily armed bodyguards with him to have coffee – and he wanted to meet me. None of it made any sense. All I knew was that my life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

  FIVE

  "Seriously, what the hell is this, mate?"

  Navid swallowed his huge mouthful of pie. "What do you mean?"

  "This!" I shook the letter at him. "Is ASIO trying to buy my silence or what?"

  Navid took the letter, held it at arm's length and squinted at it. Looked like he needed reading glasses. Was he really getting that old? He passed the paper back to me. "It's not a bad sum for not telling a story you're not going to talk about anyway. I'd take it and book a nice holiday with it if I were single like you. You could spend a month touring in the US or Europe for that, including flights."

  "But I can't take a holiday if you need me as a witness in the inquiry. Have they finally set a date yet? It's weird, getting offered money for silence before the hearings. Is this because there'll be press coverage on the inquiry into that bastard Mott? And they want to make sure we won't talk to the press?"

  Navid stared at something in the distance. "No, no one's set a date for the inquiry."

  "So why now?" I persisted. "Why are they throwing money at me? It's Caitlin they have to worry about, and this is nowhere near as much money as the TV stations or magazines offer. I don't see her agreeing to take ten grand to keep quiet. Not when she can get a hundred times that for an exclusive."

  Navid coughed. "I think they'll be offering her a lot more than that. After all, she's the one who almost died."

  "So it's not just hush money? It's compensation for damages suffered and...all the other shit it says in the letter? What about my sister? What about Alanna? Did she get a posthumous payout, too? And a hypocritical letter saying the department deeply regrets her kidnapping, rape, torture and death, but here's some money to make it feel better? Shit, if Caitlin's letter says that, expect fireworks." My heart ached at just the sound of her name. I'd give anything to see her explode. I'd know she was alive and okay, wherever she was.

  He lowered his voice. "If they can find her. There's a rumour in the department that all the documents in her file are gone. Papers, digital, recordings of statements...everything, just gone. And the details of her witness protection arrangements, too, so that means she's disappeared."

  I stared at him in shock, silence money forgotten. "You don't know where she is? She could be dead or hurt or God knows what! You have to find her! She'll need to give evidence at the inquiry, too. I mean, she nearly died because of him." And I'd get to see her if she came for the inquiry, even if I had to camp outside the building. I'd know she was alive and okay, even if only for a moment. "Ask him where she is. He'll know."

  "She was never going to be part of the inquiry. She didn't have any contact with him beforehand and her statements will be enough, or they would have been, if we could find them. All we have are the enraged emails from the hospital, which they were only too happy to give me. Mott forced them to go against hospital policy, allowing you to share a room with Caitlin. Said it was a matter of national security, for her safety...he said he'd have any hospital staff who objected arrested for assisting a known terrorist. I can't believe I didn't realise then that he was corrupt. Now, I don't even know if there'll be an inquiry at all." He sighed and lobbed his empty pie bag into the nearest bin.

  I stopped dead. "What do you mean, no inquiry? I get paid off to shut up while that dickhead gets off scot-free? Fuck that."

  Navid sighed again. "The justice system isn't geared toward punishing dead people."

  "Yeah, which leaves Mott, seeing as everyone else is dead. Wait, hang on...are you saying he's dead, too?" My mouth hung open. "Who killed him? Whoever di
d it's a legend and I owe him a carton of beer. I've wanted to do it for years!"

  Navid coughed out a laugh. "Then you owe Mott a carton of beer, because the official report says he killed himself. With an ornamental dagger, no less. Bit melodramatic, if you ask me."

  I found myself shaking my head. "That can't be right. Mott was a mean bastard. He'd never do the world a favour and off himself. And if he did, he'd take people with him or at least set someone up for his murder so he could laugh all the way to hell. Who do you suspect?"

  Navid shrugged. "Well, how many people hated him? It could be anyone."

  Caitlin was good with a knife, I thought idly, not willing to believe it was her. If anyone deserved to be on the point of her blade, it was him. His negligence...his indifference to what she might suffer had almost gotten her killed.

  "Look, I got to get back to work. They've got Michael and me looking for her. One girl in twenty million people, if she's even still in the country. The guys in Canberra want this whole affair over and done with as quickly as possible, so we got pulled off other projects to look for a girl who doesn't want to be found." He laughed but sobered quickly. "Hey, she never mentioned anything to you, did she? About where she was headed, or the new name she'd be using? I remember the day Mott told her about the arrangements. She was really pissed off about them. Wish I'd asked her then."