Page 75 of The Absence of You
“And?”
“And if it looks like mafia, and it swims like mafia…” Asher casually shrugs.
“Wow, okay. And was Don Messina actually carrying out a hit at the time or…” I chuckle at Asher’s overactive imagination.
“Hear me out. Calliope has shown zero interest in making friends at Heathley Academy. Until Dahlia. She’s obviously important to her. If she knew there was a threat to your girl’s future happiness, I think she would use everything at her disposal to deal with it.” He sips at his smoothie and dabs at his mouth with a napkin nonchalantly, as though he’s just suggesting I ask Callie for the name of her dry cleaners instead of asking her to order a hit for me.
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not,” I say before shovelling a handful of cold fries into my mouth.
“Oh, I’m deadly fucking serious.” I take a sideways look at him and see that he really is. And even though his suggestion is ridiculous, for a long minute I consider it, because I’m sure as fuck running out of other options.
DAHLIA
I throw my school uniform in the wash and have a quick shower. Joseph’s solicitor is due at the house any minute. After yesterday’s visit to the prison, I was keen to get moving with the DNA test. I know who I want my father to be, without a doubt, and maybe the results won’t be what I want, but at least I’ll know. In my head I was already thinking of Joseph as my dad, and if he’s not, if he’s my brother, it’d be better to know sooner rather than later so I could begin to think of him that way instead.
“Dahlia, he’s here,” Dee calls up the stairs. My hair is still dripping from the shower so I wrap a towel around it tightly and pull on some leggings and a jumper as quickly as I can, so Mr. Lamont isn’t here any longer than necessary. No doubt he’s charging Dee an extortionate amount of money for his time.
The two of them are walking through the hallway as I get to the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Lamont looks like your average professional businessman, he’s in his mid-fifties, and he’s wearing a well-fitting dark grey suit. He’s carrying a leather briefcase and has a very misjudged comb over, but he has kind eyes that crinkle in the corners when he sees me.
“Shall we go into the kitchen?” Dee gestures towards the door, and we both follow her into the kitchen and sit down at the table while she puts the kettle on.
“Thank you for coming out so quickly. My son and granddaughter are keen to have the test processed as soon as possible.”
“It’s no problem. Once this is signed and the blood test is done, the results will take around ten days.” He opens his briefcase and passes over two lots of papers. “Just take a few moments to read over it all. I’ve marked everywhere you need to sign with a yellow sticky arrow.” I thank him and start reading. “There’s something else I need to talk to you both about once that’s done.”
Dee places the pot of tea and cups on the table and sits down next to me, “Oh? Your secretary didn’t mention anything when I arranged the appointment.”
“It has only recently been confirmed. This afternoon in fact.”
Dee’s cup clatters against the saucer, and I’m vaguely aware of her stiffening next to me.
“Is it what we’ve been waiting for… is it… is it good news?” I stop reading and look up. Dee is holding her breath, and Mr. Lamont smiles widely, offering her a small nod. Dee grips my hand.
“What’s going on?”
“Your dad-”
I interrupt her, wanting to be clear about who she’s referring to, “Joseph?”
“Sorry, yes, Joseph. His parole hearing is due again, and Mr. Lamont believes there is a good chance it will be granted this time.”
“I don’t understand, what’s changed from the other times he applied?”
Mr. Lamont clears his throat.
“Joseph has served eighteen years in jail. The average time served for murder in this country is twelve years. He’s had an impeccable behaviour record while he’s been incarcerated. The presiding judge at the previous parole hearings was the same one from the original trial. Judge Farrelly. He was a very experienced and well-respected judge, but he was also an old friend of Roger’s. When I took on your father’s case, I immediately suspected Judge Farrelly was the reason Joseph wasn’t released at either of the previous two parole hearings.”
“So can we apply for a different judge?” My gaze swings between the two of them as I ask hopefully. I’m not sure if I’m jumping ahead of myself, but when I catch the loaded look between Dee and Mr. Lamont, I realise they are already a few steps ahead of me.
“Richard Farrelly passed away last year, Dahlia.” Mr. Lamont slides a printed piece of paper over to us. “Joseph’s case was heard by a Judge Beverley Peterson two weeks ago. This afternoon I received confirmation that parole has been granted.” Dee gasps and holds her hand to her mouth. I yank the paper towards me, and there, in black and white, it confirms what Mr. Lamont has told us. Joseph has served his sentence.
Dee rounds the table and hugs Mr Lamont. He’s trying to be professional but it’s clear he’s as thrilled by the news as we are.
“I am so pleased for you all. This should have happened years ago.” Dee is openly sobbing now. She moves to the fridge and rummages around before pulling out a bottle of champagne. Mr. Lamont laughs,
“Well prepared I see.”
“This bottle has been in the fridge for a very, very long time.”
