Greg Scowen: The Spanish Helmet

‘Nervous isn’t a strong enough word. It’s a mixture of feelings. I don’t really know what to feel.’

‘Good luck, I hope it goes well.’

‘Thanks, Julia. I reckon I need all the luck I can get. Take care, alright? I’ll get in touch if I have more news. Otherwise, I’ll just wait for you to e-mail me with anything you can tell me about the mirror.’

‘OK, Matt. Bye’

Matt pressed the little red button on the phone and watched as the screen dimmed. Looking out the window, he wondered if going to see his father was a wise move. It might just dredge up the past. An unwanted past. Like a Spanish helmet, better left undisturbed.

It was 10:46am when Matt pulled the car over to the side of the road in what had to be the prettiest little area in Auckland. Devonport was laden with beautiful wooden-clad villas and seemed to carry with it some history. Matt couldn’t help but notice the small naval base as he came past the wharfs, but this part of the village, tucked around the side of a volcano and away from the main street and noise was lovely. It struck Matt that his father at least had some taste. But leaving his mother and him, well, that just wasn’t on. She had never talked about it, except to ensure Matt his father had abandoned them. She never told him his father’s name, he had to learn that one from his Grandmother during her last days. It was her that begged Matt to find his father. And now, here he was. He decided during the drive that he would be open and listen to the excuses he was expecting to hear, but he was also determined to be steadfast in his conviction that his father had done them wrong.

Locating the correct house number on the wooden letterbox out the front, Matt pulled up the car on the kerbside. As he did so, he noticed a black car parking on the road not more than one hundred metres behind him. Matt released his seat-belt and eased himself out of the car, turning to look at the black car as he did. Yep, it was a Corolla. And bold as brass, in the driver’s seat sat the same man that Matt had seen on the airport road. The cheeky bugger was smiling at him! The fact that he was so clearly not trying to hide himself made Matt nervous. In all the films and books, if the bad guy lets you see him, it was because it didn’t matter. He was going to kill you anyway. Oh, don’t be silly Matt. He’s a government agent interested in protecting the cultural identity of their country. Not a killer. Matt smiled back. He even surprised himself by raising his hand slightly in a sort of half-wave. He quickly took it down again though, not wanting to provoke that killing instinct.

Putting thoughts of his chaperone as far to the side as possible, Matt made his way up the path to the front door of the house with a mixture of nerves and determination. It was one of the nicer looking villas. His father had done well for himself. He lifted his shaking hand to the doorbell, rang it, took a step back, and waited.

Hemi laughed to himself as he watched Matt waiting at the door of the house he had stopped at. You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you Dr. Cameron? We’ll see about wiping that bloody smile off your face.

The door was answered by a woman. No one Hemi knew. He needed to find out who she was. He waited until Matt had entered the house and started the car. Driving at a snail’s pace past the letterbox, he noted the house number. At the end of the street, he looked up at the white sign and confirmed the name. Armed with just these details, Hemi dialled Leigh’s number.

Hemi was impressed with her speed in answering.

‘Is that you Hemi?’ Leigh asked.

‘Yeah. Nothing escapes you, does it?’

‘What can I do you for, gorgeous?’

‘Got an address I want you to run.’

‘Fire away.’

Hemi gave the details he had and waited as he listened to typing in the background. It only took a few seconds.

‘The resident would be one Nadine Robertson. House ownership is under the name Andy Robertson though. Maybe the husband. Gimme a sec.’

‘Take your time,’ Hemi said, as he scrawled down the two names.

‘Ah, not the husband. It’s the father.’

‘Thanks Leigh. Could you put together a file on them and get it across to me ASAP?’

‘I’ll get it done this arvo.’

Hemi disconnected the call and turned the car around. Driving back past the house, he glanced briefly at the front windows. Who are you? He put the car into second gear and sped away. He had some more research to do.

Matt stood, glued to the doorstep, transfixed by the young woman looking back at him. She was beautiful. So familiar. It was a strange feeling.

‘Ah, excuse me?’ She interrupted his thoughts.

‘S… sorry.’ Matt stammered for the first time he could recall and realising that he had ignored her when she opened the door, he added, ‘I was expecting somebody else.’

‘Oh.’ She looked almost deflated. ‘Maybe I can point you in the right direction?’

Matt was unsure if it was worth taking this any further. Oh, what the hell. ‘I’m looking for Andy Robertson.’ Matt rushed the words out. ‘This was the last known address that I found for him.’

‘Andy Robertson?’ She looked concerned. ‘What do you need him for?’

‘He’s my father, I’ve come to find my father.’

The woman trembled and steadied herself by grabbing the door frame.

‘Matthew?’

Matt was stunned. Who was this woman? How did she know his name?

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe it. All these years.’ The shock on her face eased into a calm smile. ‘I’m Nadine, your half-sister. You’d better come in.’

All of a sudden the familiarity registered with Matt. Her deep brown eyes, the broad nose, the dimples that formed with her smile. It was like a feminine reflection in the mirror. Matt followed her into the house in a state of absolute shock. He had a sister. Matthew Peter Cameron had a sister. You might as well have just presented him with a million pounds, he was so stunned.

‘How old are you?’ Matt asked, realising too late that this wasn’t the time or place.

‘I’m thirty-two, a couple years younger than you.’

Someone just handed Matt another million pounds. He sat down on a chair at the dining table without asking. If he hadn’t he might have fallen over.

‘But that means…’ Matt wasn’t sure he wanted to think about what it meant.

‘We have a lot to catch up on. I can tell from your reaction that you knew nothing about me, but I’ve heard about you my whole life. Have you got time for a coffee?’

She spoke Matt’s language. Not a tea drinker. ‘I’ve got all day.’

‘Good. I’ll tell you everything I know before I take you to meet Dad. That will make things easier for everyone.’

‘He’s alive?’ Matt stood up. ‘I’d just assumed…’

‘Yes,’ Nadine said, pushing him gently back into the seat with her trembling hand. ‘But he’s not the man he used to be and he’s probably not the man you expect him to be either.’

‘What do you mean?’ Matt asked. He felt transparent.

‘If you don’t know about me, chances are you don’t know anything about your father, right?’

‘Of course I know nothing about him, he walked out on us when I was a four.’

‘He didn’t walk out.’ Nadine corrected him like a disappointed school-teacher. ‘He was pushed.’

The emotions swirling around in Matt’s head overwhelmed him. What did she mean he was pushed? His mother had told him for years that his father had walked out. Just not returned from one of his trips to New Zealand. It couldn’t really be any other way, could it? He blurted out his story a little uncontrolled. ‘He went to visit his parents. Every year. When I was four, he didn’t come back.’ Fighting back tears now. He didn’t know how to confront this. At the same time, he didn’t want to appear weak.