Crisis of Identity

Mitch and I shared a cab for the twenty-five minute ride from Perth airport to Nedlands, a suburb south-west of Perth, where he still lives with his parents; something I never let him forget. Of course, whenever I do, he always reminds me that his parents didn’t buy him a house.

From Mitch’s, the cab continued to mine in Cottesloe, 10 minutes further, towards the coast. My house is located in the north end of Cottesloe, near the golf course.

At my age, I am quite fortunate to be able to purchase my own place, let alone one in such a prestigious suburb. Ordinarily, this house would’ve been way out of my reach, financially. But I was lucky to firstly have a well-paid career, and from the bank’s viewpoint, parents with adequate resources to help me out.

I have no comeback to Mitch. He is correct. Two years ago, with their financial assistance and guidance, I bought a comfortable and spacious 1990 built home in a leafy street. With three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two large living areas, high ceilings and a nice pool, dad said it was a “great buy”.

By current standards, the 1990 decor was tiring a little, so I am slowly renovating her. It was something dad and I did together, so it may be a little while before I find the motivation to continue the renos.

After unlocking the front door I dumped my case in the bedroom, opened all the blinds and slid open the rear patio door to let in some fresh air. My year yard faces west so it wasn’t long before the afternoon sun warmed up the chilly family room.

First things first. Following a quick check of my fridge I made a list and headed to the supermarket, hoping to beat the school pick up mums calling in for supplies on their way home.

Fortunately, the supermarket was quiet. In and out in no time. While strolling through the car park with three bags of groceries in hand, my phone rang.

‘Hi mum… How you doing? Is everything OK?’

‘Hi dear. I was just calling to check you arrived home safely.’

‘Yep. All’s good. Just grabbing something from the supermarket for tonight’s dinner.’

‘That’s why I called, actually. I was hoping you’d join me for dinner tonight. I haven’t seen you for two weeks. I’d love to hear about your holiday.’

‘That’d be great. I’d love to… I’ll just drop these things off at home and I’ll come on down.’ We said our goodbyes and I ended the call.

Mum lives seven to eight minute drive south of me, right on the beach. Her home — my family home growing up — is a luxurious two-storey overlooking the beach. It has five bedrooms, each with its own en-suite and walk in robe.

There are three living areas, a massive media room that resembles a small cinema and a large kitchen with adjoining butler’s pantry, larger than the average bedroom. The family room opens out on to a spacious alfresco deck. Beyond that a fifteen metre Roman shaped pool sits among landscaped gardens.

The mining industry has been good to us. Dad earned a seven-figure executive salary that afforded our family a very comfortable lifestyle and me, my private-school education.

Despite their considerable affluence however, mum and dad remained grounded. They were humble and treated everybody with respect.

After dad passed, mum considered selling her home. She had it valued - 5.8 million dollars. They paid two million around fifteen years ago when we moved there from Karratha. A decision on the sale is still pending.

Mum greeted me at the front door in a way that only a loving mum can. Her cheek kiss and warm embrace was comforting.

‘Something smells great… Is it a roast?’

Mum smiled. She knows her roast is one of my favourite meals. ‘It is. Roast beef.’

She took my hand and led me through to the family room where we sat and chatted over a red wine.

Once I had learned how mum was coping with everything, and I was satisfied she was in a good place, I talked about my holiday, at least the parts I could share with my mum.

I shared things like the views from our 12th floor accommodation, the pristine beaches, the magnificent weather, the friendly people and the pumping night life.

Up until this stage my unfortunate encounter with Detective Dawes had intentionally been left out of my holiday review. But it was a subject I had to broach, sooner or later, if I was do what he asked of me.

I topped up mum’s glass then returned the bottle. I thought I would ease into discussing what Dawes put me through. ‘Have you ever heard of the name Jayden Evans…?’

Mum eyed me from over her glass as she sipped her red. She lowered her glass and shook her head. ‘No. That name doesn’t ring a bell. Should it…?’

‘What about Mandy and Graham Evans…? Have you heard of them? They live in Robina on the Gold Coast.’

‘Can’t say I do. Why do you ask?’

‘Their son, Jayden Evans was three years old when he was taken from the front yard of their home twenty-five years ago.’

Mum’s eyes lifted upwards. ‘I think I remember that…Wasn’t it all over the news…?’ She didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. ‘Did they ever find the poor boy?’

‘Not officially. Although some thought they did over the last ten days, or so…’ I said cryptically.

Mum understandably frowned her confusion at me.

‘It’s a long story. There’s a cop on the Gold Coast… A Detective who’s been investigating the disappearance of Jayden Evans since 1994.’

Mum reclined back and crossed her legs. She sipped her wine as I continued.

‘I happened to bump into this cop in a bar on the first night we were in the Gold Coast. He tried to tell me I was Jayden Evans, all grown up.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘Why on earth would he say that?’

‘He has this computer generated photo of Jayden predicting what he would look like as an adult. According to this cop, I look like this photo.’

‘You and thousands of other people across the country. Did you tell him you were born in WA…?’

‘Of course, but he didn’t want to believe it. As far as he is concerned…I am that missing kid.’

Mum waved a dismissive hand. ‘That’s just ridiculous…’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I would’ve told him to get lost.’

‘I sort of did. But he is relentless. Anyway…’ I took a sip to keep my throat hydrated. ‘I did one better. I met up with the missing kid’s mother, Mandy Evans, to explain to her I was not her son.’

Mum’s face tightened. She sat forward in her chair. ’You visited the mother of that missing boy…?’

‘I did.’

‘Why would you do that, Kade…?’ she said firmly. ‘That poor woman would’ve been through a lifetime of hell. The last thing she needed was for you to re-hash all those horrible memories.’

’That’s what I thought, at first. But this cop would’ve told her about me sooner or later and I didn’t want her to get her hopes up, when I am not her kid.’

Mum reclined back in her chair. ‘What did she say when you visited her…? Did she get upset?’

‘No. She agreed I was not her son. She mention-’

‘Of course she would. How could you be? One thing is certain… A mother knows her own son.’

‘She mentioned that her boy has a small birthmark on his ribs about here somewhere,’ I said tapping my ribs. ‘And I don’t…so,’ I said, holding out my hands.

Mum nodded slowly as she silently held my gaze. She held out a hand. ‘There you go… Not that you needed a birthmark to tell you that.’