Chapter Three

Behind the Mirror

Claire Mason had always believed there was a difference between getting dressed and getting ready.

Getting dressed was practical, but getting ready was an act of respect.

Not for other people, just for the day itself.

Even if that day involved nothing more glamorous than buying milk from the supermarket.

She stood before the antique dressing table in the upstairs bedroom, adjusting a pearl earring.

The mirror had belonged to Daniel's grandmother, and its silver backing had faded in places, softening every reflection so reality appeared just a little kinder than it really was and Claire preferred it that way.

She brushed a loose strand of silver-blonde hair behind one ear before applying the final touch of lipstick, choosing one not too bright,just enough colour to remind herself that life deserved a little ceremony.

Years ago, Daniel had smiled as he watched her preparing to drive to the local shops.

"You know you're only going to Coles?"

"I know."

"You look as though you're opening Parliament."

"I might meet somebody interesting."

"Buying tomatoes?"

"You never know where stories are hiding."

Here, Daniel raised his eyes from his never-ending paper spread across the desk and presided over two computer screens.

"You don't collect groceries."

"I collect experinces"

She still remembered that conversation.

Sometimes she wondered if that had been one of the last afternoons when they had laughed without carrying the weight of something unspoken between them.

She picked up the small leather notebook lying beside her perfume.

Its pages were filled with observations; it wasn’t a diary.

People often lie in diaries, because the temptation to rewrite their lives while pretending to remember them is too much, or because we add imagination to days that are similar, like a row of cars on a busy street.

Claire preferred moments: here, a sentence overheard or an old man carefully choosing a newspaper like it was a new car.

A woman is trying on a bright blue hat before quietly returning it to the shelf because the little one asks why the cloud moves: “Do they have hidden engines like dad's car?”

Stories grew from moments, and she tried to catch that glimpse before it melted into the next one. She opened the notebook, and the latest entry read simply:

Some people wear makeup to hide themselves.

Others wear it to become the person they have always imagined.

She smiled and thought that perhaps this would become something, or perhaps not, but she liked, anyway, to catch these thoughts like others catch butterflies in albums.

Downstairs, Eleanor struck a triumphant chord on the piano, then another, then a third,another,then a third.

"Claire!" she called.

"I've just remembered a poem."

"Did you ever forget it?"

"No."

"Then why remember it?"

"So I can surprise everyone."

Claire laughed as she descended the polished cedar staircase and as she aproahed the hallway had become noisier.

Jack was inspecting a bottle of red wine as though preparing expert evidence for a court case.

Ty was balancing his phone against a fruit bowl while recording what he insisted was a "behind-the-scenes family documentary."

Michael stood on the veranda, watching the lights across Hobsons Bay, and he didn’t look bothered by the darkness; he somehow felt more comfortable than he did with people.

Claire had noticed that about him long ago. There was something about men who worked in deserts; if they did it long enough, they learned to live with silence.

Eleanor swept dramatically across the room and stopped directly in front of Claire.

"I've written something."

"I'm not surprised."

"It's only four lines."

"It rarely stops at four"

Eleanor ignored the comment, and theatrically she closed her eyes and, raising her chin, recited:

Mirror smiling and lipstick waiting because even ordinary Tuesdays deserve an opening night.

Ty applauded immediately.

"That's actually brilliant."

"I know."

"You've been reading Claire again."

"I've been watching Claire."

Claire felt herself blush, and she hated

"You make me sound terribly theatrical."

"You are."

"I go to the supermarket, and why should I take flip-flops and not brush my hair just to fit?"

"Exactly."

Jack looked up from the wine bottle.

"You wear pearls to buy potatoes."

"They're very understanding potatoes, and I wear pearls because it's past noon and match the little white petals from my dress, but all  of these are none of your business: so keeps you shirt on."

The room erupted in laughter.

Even Daniel smiled.

Only briefly and just enough for Claire to notice.

Then his phone vibrated again.

The smile disappeared when he glanced at the screen.

Whatever he read tightened his expression at once, and without a word, he slipped the phone back into his jacket and walked towards the study.

Without a word, he slipped the phone back into his jacket and walked towards the study.

Claire watched him go, but Michael noticed her watching because Eleanor stopped smiling.

For the first time that evening, the music did not follow Daniel down the hallway; silence did.

Outside, beyond the bay, the first distant fireworks painted brief flashes of colour across the sky.

Inside Seaview House, nobody realised that before the night was over, those ordinary memories would become evidence.

Inside Seaview House, nobody realised that before the night was over, those ordinary memories would become evidence.

Because evidence rarely looks important when it happens;sometimes it is just a glance held for too long, or a door is closing too quietly.

A sentence could be left unfinished, or a person could leave the room at exactly the wrong moment.

Claire remained near the staircase, watching the hallway where Daniel had disappeared and she knew that walk and noticed footsteps.

Daniel's footsteps had changed during the last few weeks.

For twenty-two years, they had been certain, impatient, always moving towards a destination,the footsteps of a man who spent his life solving problems.

Ships had problems, and machines had problems:metal cracked, and engines failed, systems broke.

In his world, everything had a reason, everything could be repaired, and made better.

People were different because they could break quietly and have hidden buttons that arený working all the time in the same way as expected. He felt much better when everything behaved as it should. People often did not know. That fact made him pace when he was troubled, and lately he had been pacing a lot.

She turned towards the veranda, and she noticed that Michael quickly looked away but it was all too late.

She had caught him watching her as he lifted his glass slightly, pretending it was a casual greeting. Claire smiled.

A small smile, the kind type the sort of smile that gave nothing away.

Michael hated that and loved it at the same time and then at the piano, Eleanor suddenly stopped playing.

"That's strange."

Nobody paid attention and this was a common mistake with Eleanor.

Everyone listened when she played music, but almost nobody listened when she spoke.

"What is strange?" Ty asked, still filming.

"The house."

Jack sighed.

"Please don't tell me the house is talking now."

"No."

"Good."

"It's listening."

Jack looked at Michael.

"Do they test artists for this kind of thing?"

"They should," Michael replied.

Eleanor ignored them, and he was looking intently towards the hallway.

"The study door opened twice."

Claire turned.

"What?"

"Daniel went in."

"Yes."

"Then somebody else."

The laughter around the room continued but nobody reacted because it was New Year's Eve.

People walked around,talked, and looked for missing phones, drinks, and handbags.

A door opening meant nothing except later, later, everyone would remember it differently, only if it meant something.

Ty lowered his phone, and for once, even he seemed uncertain.

"Actually..."

Everyone looked at him.

"What?"

"I think I caught someone walking past in the background."

"Who?" Michael asked.

Ty checked the video, and the screen reflected in his glasses, while a confident smile slowly disappeared from his face.

"I don't know."

He zoomed in, and the image blurred but faintly, as a dark figure crossed behind the reflection in the hallway mirror.

Only for a second, a shadow passed quickly, and it was gone.

Before anyone could say anything, a sound came from Daniel's study.

It was a sharp, violent noise of shattering glass.

​

The music stopped, and all the conversations fell silent; even the old house seemed to stop breathing, and Claire was the first to move.

"Daniel?"