Book of Lost Threads (7 page)

And he seemed totally unaware of the magnitude, the abiding significance, of this moment.

4
Finn and a girl called Amber-Lee

T
HOUGH
F
INN
C
ONTINUED TO STARE at
M
oss in silence, he was far from indifferent. Words assembled in his head and, just as they began to make sense, rearranged themselves in a new configuration. It was like some sort of folk dance where the dancers’ positions kept changing in a flurry of colour and ribbons, leaving the onlooker puzzled and a little queasy. He continued to lift the mug to his lips, unaware it was empty. Moss looked back at him, expectation in the dark blue eyes that were so like his own. So like his mother’s. And his grandfather’s too, he recalled.

Moss was not used to silence. ‘I’d like to stay for a few days,’ she said tentatively. ‘We could maybe . . . get to know each other a bit?’

Finn felt a sort of panic and tried to slow his breathing. ‘Your mothers and I had an agreement. My name was to be kept out of—of
things
.’ He saw her flinch and looked down, shame burning two red patches across his cheekbones. ‘I’m sorry, Moss,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s just that I’m used to being alone and this has come out of the blue. I . . .’

Finn paused. What
did
he want? He looked at the girl’s face. His
daughter
. He turned the word over in his mouth. Absorbed its unfamiliar taste and texture. What did he owe her? Did he owe her anything at all? She was his in only the most technical sense. He tested himself for some emotional connection and found only bewilderment. Bewilderment—overlaid with his natural reticence. It suited him to be alone. He liked it—relished it, in fact. Was that all? Was that all there was to him? He probed deeper and found curiosity. Just a little, but it was there. Who was she? How had she turned out?

He cleared his throat. ‘I—it’s like this.’ He stopped again. If he was curious about her, she must be curious about him. What sort of man did she think she was dealing with? What sort of father did she deserve?
Not one like me
, he thought miserably.
I’m sure she’s done nothing to deserve a father like me.
She’d gone to a lot of trouble to find him, though. His thoughts completed the circle. If he owed her anything, it was the truth. He started again.

‘It’s like this. I’ll tell you a few things about myself. If you still want to stay, you can. Just for a few days.’ He blew out his cheeks unhappily. ‘You won’t find me great company, and after you know my story . . .’

They moved closer to the fire and Moss tucked her feet up, hugging her knees. She remembered this was exactly how she used to sit when she was waiting for Amy or Linsey to read her a bedtime story.

‘I guess you know how Amy became pregnant,’ he began and looked relieved when she nodded. ‘Well, after the phone call to say we were successful, I felt a bit sad that I’d never see the baby, but to be honest—and we have to be honest with each other, Moss—the feeling passed and I more or less forgot. No, I didn’t forget, it was just a—a
fragment
of my life with no special significance.’ His smile was tentative, placating.

Moss was hurt, but her face remained impassive. She had often wondered about her father, but only lately dared to ask. For one thing, she didn’t want to hurt her mothers, but on a deeper level, she feared rejection. When Finn referred to her as a fragment of his life, she began to taste that fear and clenched her teeth in misery.

Disconcerted by her rigid expression, Finn played for time. ‘They seemed like good women. They treated you well?’

‘Very well,’ she snapped. ‘They were my parents, remember.’

‘Yes. Yes. Of course they were,’ he mused. ‘I was just a—a
tool
. No pun intended.’ He interrupted himself hastily as he saw her faint grin. He grinned back. ‘It was a strange situation, Moss . . . I hope I haven’t . . .’

‘No. It’s okay. Go on.’

As he continued, his hesitancy gradually dissipated. This was, after all, a story he had told himself and Father Jerome many, many times.

‘I left uni with a PhD in maths and then went on to do some research on probability.’ She nodded impatiently. ‘Not exactly riveting for your average punter, but I found it fascinating. After a few years, I was offered a research fellowship at Oxford. I was there for five years and then came back to Melbourne.’

Moss nodded again. She’d gleaned this much from the 55 publications.

‘I came back because of a woman I was seeing. She was one of my post-grad students, another Australian. Her student visa expired and she decided to move back home. I sounded out a few Aussie universities and landed a job at Melbourne—my old stamping ground. Different from Oxford, you know. Not as well funded, but it’s got some top academics.

‘To cut a long story short, this woman met someone else. I was furious. Well, you can imagine . . . I’d given up my post at Oxford because I thought we had some sort of future together, and within six months she was off to South Africa with a structural engineer.’ For the first time since Moss had met him, he raised his voice. ‘Have you ever met a structural engineer? No? You don’t know how lucky you are. They’re the most boring people. And think they’re God’s gift. What would they do without maths? That’s what I’d like to know. The mathematicians do all the groundwork and the engineers take all the credit with their flashy bridges and—and
stuff
.’

Moss was a bit taken aback. It had never occurred to her that structural engineers could be so venal. There was a whole world out there where such declarations might be considered odd, but here, in Finn’s kitchen, she found herself cheering for the mathematicians.

‘Go on,’ she encouraged. ‘What happened then?’

‘Well, life became a bit
complicated
. For some reason, I never had much trouble finding a woman. You’d be surprised how many women are interested in maths,’ he added quite guilelessly.

Not so very surprised
, Moss thought as she looked at his dark blue eyes and hollow, high-boned cheeks. Despite his bad haircut and daggy green jumper, her father had a sort of wistful charm and vestiges of a physical beauty long since disregarded.

Finn continued. ‘Annetta—that was this woman’s name— she was special, I really thought she was the one. Should’ve known better. Anyway, I’d always been a drinker. Especially during my student days.’ He grinned despite himself. ‘I remember Linsey insisting I give up the booze while I was ah . . .
employed
by her. Kept my word, too. Even though she’d never have known.’ Finn looked at Moss expectantly.

She was beginning to read him. ‘I’m glad, Finn,’ she responded. ‘I’d hate to have been born an alcoholic.’ She wasn’t sure that this was an issue, but was eager to please.

‘Yeah. I smoked a bit of pot, too. Just a joint with friends every now and then.’ He patted his pockets. ‘I need a bit of Dutch courage for this next bit. Do you mind if I smoke? Tobacco, I mean. I’ve given up pot. And alcohol too, for that matter. Another one of Linsey’s prohibitions,’ he added, indicating the cigarette that he rolled with practised fingers.

‘One night, I’d smoked a couple of joints with some friends and was feeling, you know, pretty happy. Then, just after they left, I get this phone call from Annetta. She couldn’t even tell me face to face.
I’m leaving
, she says.
I’m sorry
, she says.
I’m
going to South Africa with Pieter Langeveldt. I’ll get my things
tomorrow when you’re at work.

‘I just put down the phone and poured a whisky. It was like I was watching myself from the ceiling or somewhere. I remember thinking,
I’ll feel this tomorrow
. Then I had another whisky and decided I’d go over to Pieter’s place. If she was there, I’d talk her out of going with him. If she wasn’t there, I’d punch Pieter in the nose. It seemed like such a brilliant plan at the time. Win-win, I think they call it.

‘So I jumped in the car and headed off for Langeveldt’s. He was only a few blocks away. I could have walked. Should have walked. But I didn’t. And that’s how my life changed.’ Finn drew hard on his cigarette. The ash was perilously long and Moss began to understand how his jumper had come to be punctuated with all those little black holes. She stared at the cigarette because she couldn’t bear to look at his face.

His voice was flat now. ‘Just around the corner from Pieter’s, a girl ran out in front of the car. I didn’t see her until it was too late.’ He inhaled slowly—a long, painful breath. ‘I can still hear the thud. It’s an awful sound, Moss—the sound of a body hitting a car.’ The ash fell but they both ignored it. ‘She landed in the path of a truck. People came running. I got out of my car, but they pulled me back. Then I saw a shoe. It was lying there as though she’d just kicked it off. The sole was all worn down. I remember thinking,
I’d better get the shoe. She’ll wonder what
happened to it.
But a policeman put it in a plastic bag. Did I tell you? The sole was worn right through.’

Finn blew out his cheeks again. ‘Do you mind if I stop for a bit? We’ll do the dishes.’ When he didn’t move, Moss got up and refilled the teapot before running some water into the sink and washing their plates. She moved delicately, fearing to disturb her father who was sitting, knees apart, hands dangling between them. His head was turned to the fire and he was shaking it slightly, as if trying to dislodge something.

‘Finn? I’ve made us a nice strong cup of tea. Don’t let it get cold now.’ She was his daughter but she sounded like his mother.

Finn came and sat at the table. ‘I’ll finish the story tomorrow,’ he said, suddenly aware that this would mean she was staying another night. ‘Tell me some more about yourself. What do you do?’

This was the very question she’d dreaded since dropping 59 out of her course.

‘Why, Moss?’ an exasperated Amy had asked, over and over. ‘You know Linsey put aside the money so you could continue with your singing lessons. We were all so happy when you were accepted into the Conservatorium. You were doing so well.’ Such persistence was unusual for Amy.

‘If I’m not speaking to Linsey, I’ve got no right to take her money. She was the one who wanted me to go to the Con.’

‘You’re as bull-headed as each other.’ Amy sighed. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this just to spite Linsey.’

‘It has nothing to do with spite,’ Moss retorted. ‘Haven’t you heard of
integrity
?’

‘Yes,’ said Amy. ‘But pragmatism makes the world go round. Be reasonable, Moss. Linsey has plenty of money. She’s made a fortune since she started working for that bank of hers.’

Amy’s objections still ringing in her ears, Moss looked at Finn defiantly. ‘I was studying singing at the Melba Con. I dropped out a few months ago.’

‘Didn’t you like it?’

‘I loved it. But I’d stopped talking to Linsey and she was supporting me, so you see, I couldn’t go on. I’ve deferred. We’ll see what happens.’
Oh God
, she thought,
I hope he doesn’t think
I’m here after money
. ‘Grandma Kathy left me some money,’ she added quickly. ‘I’ve got enough to keep me going.’

It hadn’t occurred to Finn that she might be after money. He generally believed the best of people; more often than not, he was right. But he was interested in Moss’s refusal of Linsey’s money.

‘You must’ve felt quite strongly to stop speaking to her. I can see why you couldn’t go on taking her money, though.’

‘Can you? Everyone else says I’m crazy.’

‘Perhaps. But your craziness might come from the not-speaking in the first place. I don’t know anything about that, of course.’ Finn spoke cautiously, wary of involvement. His agreement with her mothers had already been breached, and he didn’t want the sort of entanglement that his intervention could provoke. He felt he was on shaky ground morally, perhaps even legally.

Anyone else would have asked why we weren’t speaking
, Moss thought.
Asked why I had to drop out of my course.
She could have continued without Linsey’s money, working her way through university as so many students did. But in her anger and confusion over the circumstances of her conception, Moss punished herself as well as Linsey, excising from her life not only a loved mother but the music that brought them both so much pleasure.

Each slightly embarrassed by their revelations, Moss and Finn fussed over who would wash the mugs and empty the teapot.

‘Can you go on with your story, Finn?’ his daughter asked, almost plaintively, hoping to take her mind off her own painful thoughts. ‘It must have been a very hard time for you.’

Finn wiped the sink with exaggerated care. ‘I have to work this afternoon and I’ll be out between six and eight. Perhaps we can talk over dinner? I don’t know what you’d like to eat . . .’

Moss had a healthy young appetite and had eaten nothing but bread and tea in the last twenty-four hours. Although she was not an enthusiastic cook, to avoid the prospect of more Vegemite on toast, she offered to prepare the evening meal. ‘My treat,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll hunt about in the cupboard and buy what else I need. I think I saw some shops last night.’

‘Yeah. Just around the corner from the bus stop where you got off. Or you could take the short-cut across the footy ground.’ He gestured in the direction of the backyard. ‘There should be some onions and spinach in the vegie garden if you need them.’

After a quick lunch, Finn disappeared down the hall to his room. Ever resourceful, Moss found some pasta and a bottle of bolognaise sauce in the cupboard and fetched some onions from the garden. This seemed to be a good basis for an easy meal. She put on her japara and took a shopping bag from behind the door. Instead of retracing last night’s route, she set out across the footy ground. The ragged grass around the perimeter wet the hem of her jeans, but the day was sunny and she enjoyed the feeling of purpose. There were two small shelters just inside the fence and a low brick building with cyclone wire over the windows, above which a sign enigmatically proclaimed HOME OF THE OPPORTUNITY KNOCKERS.
Bizarre name
for a football team
, she thought. She crossed a bridge over the creek, which flowed sluggishly after the night’s rain. She could just make out the original sign, HALFWAY BRIDGE, smothered as it was under layers of graffiti.