Page 43 of Don't Point at the Moon

“Look, it was long ago, and I don’t know all the deets. I was barely three when it happened. But he had this friend—more than a friend, if you know what I mean—called Joel. My mum and dad really liked him. Joel and Mitchell had all these plans and things. I think it was at the end of their college year. They’d done their finals and were out celebrating. Mitchell came home early, but Joel stayed out drinking with friends, said he’d get a cab home later. Then Mitchell was woken the next morning at their student digs by Joel’s parents, calling to say the cab Joel had been in had collided with an articulated lorry. The lorry driver had been asleep at the wheel. They rushed Joel to hospital, but he didn’t survive. Mum reckons Uncle Mitchell was never the same, and thinks that’s why he took the job in Hong Kong.”

Tommy stared at the young cast and crew, their lives barely beginning. They would eventually have stories to tell, but some would be harder than others. Had Mitchell really made peace with himself? How did you ever get over something like that?

“Poor Mitchell.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Some things stay with us for life.”

“That’s what Mum said. She thinks he never really gave himself time to deal with his grief. Thought he could run away to Hong Kong and that would be that. Says he’s stuck feeling guilty that he didn’t insist on Joel coming home with him that night. I used to think he just didn’t like us. He rarely visited and when he did, he spent most of the time ignoring us and talking to our parents. “

“Remember he’s also not used to having kids around. Not at work or at play. Whereas I have to put up with you little shits all day long.”

Zane laughed. “He seems to put up with you okay.”

“Careful, Zane. Or I won’t speak to your uncle for you.”

“Will you do it, then?”

“There’s actually no need, but I will.”

“Cool,” said Zane before heading back to his group.

Tommy pulled out his phone, and was ready to send Mitchell a note when he saw a message from a newly set up group called Daley & Sammi Club. When he checked the group members, they included the two bridesmaids, Daley’s brothers Liam and Cho, Best Man Alec—gulp—and Daley’s Aunt Florence, who was an event coordinator in her day job and had been working as the wedding organiser. She was the one who had set up the group. As he looked on, a string of messages came through from her.

Florence:Welcome to the group, everyone.

Florence:Big news.

Florence:Daley’s father agreed with the editor-in-chief of StarAsia Monthly

Florence:They’re doing a photoshoot of the wedding day for their August edition.

Florence:Apparently, they’re good friends.

Florence:How amazing is that?

Cho:Fantastic. Defo wearing our velvet tuxes

Tommy stared at the screen for a full minute.StarAsiawas the magazine that had published the photograph of the mysterious woman holding Daley’s hand.

Florence:DO NOT say anything to the bride and groom. It’s going to be a huge surprise.

Of that, Tommy was absolutely certain.

Hereallyneeded to talk to Daley.

Chapter Eleven

Pauline loaded paper files into her wheelie document case—she preferred to view and amend physical documents when flying rather than try to work from her laptop—and, citing her need to get home and pack for her evening flight to London, hurried out of the door, leaving Mitchell to clear up the mess and switch everything off.

Once she had gone, he took a moment to breathe and centre himself before switching his phone from silent mode and firing off a quick message to Zane. Another half an hour, and he should be ready to leave. Maybe his nephew had been right. His job did suck far too often of late. Having gone through spreadsheet after depressing spreadsheet containing the personnel history and financial remuneration of almost every staff member—people he had worked alongside for years and knew personally—coldly ensuring their redundancy figures added up, he felt emotionally drained.

Worst of all, Pauline would return to the office on Thursday morning and her number two, Helen Cheong, would be the first casualty. Pauline had reminded Mitchell that he would be sitting in the meeting as an observer, something he dreaded. Naturally, Pauline alone collated redundancy packages for the senior managers, the information sensitive and confidential, entailing more considerable sums she would need to negotiate and get approved by the directors in London. Not that anybody would challenge her. She had a reputation for being unerringly parsimonious in financial matters.

Somewhat out of character, she had talked him through Helen’s remuneration package and asked his opinion. Considering Helen’s long service for the bank’s operation back in Australia, he had suggested she push for the maximum. Pauline had agreed, and Helen’s payout would be fairly generous. Maybe the lump sum would not compensate for losing her livelihood, but would hopefully be enough to give her options. Mitchell wondered if his boss had agreed to the sum to ensure Helen left without creating too many waves.

During the afternoon, Pauline had installed him at the small table in the corner of her office, collating reports as she printed them off her computer. Unneeded pages lay scattered around the room, confidential data that he would need to shred. Before anything, he stood and stretched, then walked around the space, collecting papers from surfaces or the carpet and turning off devices like the standalone computer she had been provided to print confidential data, her desktop scanner, her aroma air purifier and the snazzy black and chrome coffee machine.

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