We All Fall Down (24 page)

* * *

She was a little surprised when she heard the front door open. He hadn't called to let her know which train he was on, which he usually did. She thought, or more likely instinctively felt, that he'd caught the train which could neither be described as early (and therefore a sign of contrition), nor late (which might be interpreted as defiance).

She was in the kitchen. Tim was in bed, but still awake. ‘Daddy, come and say goodnight.' He went upstairs. His ‘Hi!' as he passed the kitchen door sounded, certainly to Kate, unnaturally cheerful. Ten minutes later, he was back downstairs. ‘Can I do anything?'

‘No. We'll eat in twenty minutes.' He went and switched on the TV. She brought him his dinner on a tray a short while later.

‘Aren't you eating?'

‘I'm not hungry.' She sat down in an armchair and stared at the screen. She took nothing in. She felt sick with apprehension. Uncharacteristically, she didn't approach the subject full on. ‘Did you have a good day?'

‘No. It was a dreadful day.'

She was taken aback. She'd expected a standard reply to her standard question, nothing meaningful, nothing to which she would have to reply. The only reason she'd asked the question was in the hope that it would lead, eventually, to the subject of this morning – or, more accurately, last night.

‘What happened?' She wasn't interested in his ‘dreadful' day at the office, but felt obliged to ask the question now that she'd raised the subject.

‘Russell's asked me to get a research report off Dieter. He wants to use the findings in a pitch for BMW.'

She could almost see the relief on his face as he spoke, the hope that maybe she wasn't going to mention last night after all. He started eating.

‘What's so dreadful about that?'

He was impatient at her lack of understanding. ‘It's secret information about the car market that Dieter paid for. BMW aren't entitled to see it.'

‘They probably know it all already.'

‘Unlikely.'

‘And what happens if you don't get it for Russell?'

‘That's problematic.'

‘Would he fire you?' Now she was half interested. ‘Could he do that?'

‘Hardly likely. Mind you, I wouldn't put it past him. I wouldn't put anything past that man. But no, it's not a real possibility.'

‘But if there's even the slightest chance that he might, why not give him what he wants?'

‘I don't believe that's ethical, Kate.'

‘Since when has anything been ethical in the advertising business?' She was exasperated, impatient to get onto what she really wanted to speak about. ‘Since when have ethics and advertising been comfortable bed partners?'

‘You're not exactly being helpful.'

‘Well I'm sorry, but it's obvious enough to me what you have to do. Get the report for Russell and hang onto your job. It's what anyone else would do. Most people wouldn't think twice about it. So stop agonising about it, Hugh, stop being so … so damned high principled.'

He stared out of the window while he ate. She didn't know what to say now, how to broach the subject she wanted to talk about – as her husband and his colleagues might have put it, ‘the elephant in the room'. She felt leaden and miserable, that her life had, quite without her being aware of it happening, come down to
this
, to sharing a house with a virtual stranger. She was unhappy with her marriage on so many different levels, but the foundation of her discontent probably originated in the fact that her husband had more of a relationship with his job than he did with her. He left in the morning, often before she was fully awake, and usually arrived home at night when she was about ready to go to bed. Could that be called a marriage?

They sat across from each other, silent, not unlike passengers on a train waiting an unexpected length of time at a station. Certainly, they were both waiting, waiting for her to speak, to voice what they both knew she was thinking. But instead of speaking, she listened. The sound of the waves was comforting. The sound, despite what Jodie had said when Hugh picked her and Tim up from Neutral Bay, was peaceful. ‘The waves are a continuous roar,' Jodie had claimed. ‘You can't hear individual breakers from your house, Hugh. It's the same sound you hear when you walk beneath a freeway – exactly the same sound. You had might as well have stayed in Sydney instead of moving down there.' She'd spoken with barely hidden aggression, wanting to stick up for her friend, but Hugh had only laughed. ‘I like that, Jodie. Makes me feel I have the best of both worlds: the coast and downtown Crows Nest.' Now she could feel herself being lulled by the sound, rocked gently, as if lying in a dinghy on a summer's afternoon.

Finally she spoke. ‘I've given this a lot of thought, Hugh.' She could see him coming back into the room, from wherever it was he had drifted off to. Yet he still looked preoccupied. She thought,
He's so caught up with that damned research report, he's forgotten all about last night.
She was astonished. How dare he! ‘I want a trial separation.'

She watched him close his eyes, as if in pain, but he didn't say anything, he didn't protest. She was surprised. She'd expected him to argue.

‘If that's what you want …'

‘It's not what I want. But I think we need some time apart. We need to give each other more space. Just to see if we can get through this.' She worried about the logic of what she'd just said. Surely they should be together if they were to get through this? ‘I've asked my parents if I can stay in the beach house for a while.' She wanted it to sound as if it had already all been arranged.

‘You've talked about this with your parents?'

She could hear the disapproval in his voice. ‘I told them that Tim and I would like to go there for a short break, that's all.' It seemed to her that he'd slumped a little further into the sofa. She thought how sad he looked, and that made her feel uncomfortable, as if she was to blame. ‘It's a temporary measure, to give me time to get my head back together.'

And without mentioning her suspicions about the previous night, as she'd intended to do, without any further discussion, leaving so much unsaid, unfinished, like a juggler with knives suspended in mid-air, she went up to bed. As she walked behind his armchair, she paused and said, ‘You're not the man I married, Hugh. You're no longer mine. You belong to Alpha. I want the old Hugh back.' In the doorway she turned round, ‘I think you should sleep in the spare room again.' Then she left him alone to ponder what she'd said.

She lay in bed, and was afraid. She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to have to bring up Tim by herself. She wanted them to be together, as a family. She had only told Hugh she wanted to separate in the hope that it would make him understand how important it was to hang on to what they had. They mustn't lose that. She'd also wanted him to fight for what they had, to argue against a trial separation, but he hadn't done so. And that filled her with dread. Was there someone else? She lay, frightened, in the white sheeted, queen-size bed like a seal in the middle of a vast crumpled ice floe.

* * *

Kate was still in bed when he left home the next morning, and Tim was either not yet up or had climbed into bed with his mother. On the train into the city, his mind was in turmoil. Trying to minimise what Russell had asked him to do, trying in his own mind to make it seem unimportant, and neither approach helping. He knew it was the wrong thing to do. He couldn't attempt to get hold of Bauer's research report, even though, as Kate pointed out, no one else would hesitate. Anyway, what did she know about his work situation? She had no idea what he had to put up with, no idea of the sacrifices he made for her and their son. Why couldn't she try and be a little more understanding? Why couldn't she be more supportive? What a time to choose to leave him, so she could get her head back together or whatever it was she'd said. What the hell did that mean? It must be one of her madcap notions about being an artist or something. Jesus, she was really letting him down.

And from there, his mind skipping randomly from one memory to the next, millions of neurotransmitters working overtime, somewhere out there on the periphery and without doubt superfluous in the greater scheme of things, was Alison. Fey, spiritual Alison, the young woman in Media, the gentle, tender soul who, when they were together, always made it hesitatingly obvious that she liked him, and who was always telling him that the life everyone is leading now, in the West, is about to end and mankind is on the threshold of a spiritual age.

‘How can you say that, Alison, with this kind of thing going on?' They were in the office watching the aftermath of the Bali bombing, the rescue workers stepping through the remains of Paddy's Bar and the Sari Club, the cameras jammed into the faces of survivors or lingering over bloody articles of clothing lying amongst the rubble, while the dirge-like announcements by the newsreaders wrung every possible drop of emotion from the scene.

‘These are the death throes of our culture, Hugh. This is the end. Things are changing, I know they are.'

He found it hard to believe her. Certainly the world was in chaos. There were wars everywhere you looked, an ever-widening gap between the rich and poor, corporations riding roughshod over governments and citizens in every corner of the globe, Africa going down the plughole at an alarming speed, a gung-ho idiot in the White House who couldn't see further than his next barrel of oil, never-ending threats of terrorism, the rape and pillaging of the environment, and – always striking him more than anything else – the sheer amount of hatred in the world, of one neighbour for another, of one country for another, of one race for another, and one religion for another.

‘Do you know how our age will be remembered?' she asked him. He shook his head. ‘As the Age of Self. It's an age of self-involvement, self-indulgence, self-satisfaction,
selfishness
. It's an age of narcissism. It takes absolutely no account of others, Hugh. That's the legacy we'll leave behind us.'

He hadn't had a reply, any rebuttal to what she'd said to him. Probably, because he wasn't sure that he disagreed with her. What he always felt when they spoke together was the inspiration and desire to disengage from the world, to step aside from reality, from the practicalities of work and money, and exist on some nebulous
higher plane
, above it all, in peace. Yet he never did. He lacked the courage or conviction to do so.

He couldn't even do it now, when he was being hounded by Kate. She'd never mentioned the evening of the funeral, and couldn't possibly know that he'd slept with Penny – although she might have guessed – but this must surely be the reason behind her announcing her departure from their home. It made him sick to think of her leaving, positively sick, yet it was maybe, as she suggested, what they both needed: some time apart. This didn't prevent him wondering if he should have fought more, argued with her to stay; but it was as if a numbness had come over him, a feeling of no longer being in control, and he had sunk back into the lethargy of resignation. Everything was inevitable, and he found himself going along with whatever she arranged or suggested. He felt, although he'd resisted the temptation to say this to her, that she wasn't the woman he had married.

There had been a time when she looked up to him, almost worshipped him. In those days, he could do no wrong. And he hadn't disappointed her, at least not in any way that he could see. He'd loved her, cared for her, provided her with everything that anyone could possibly need – including a beautiful son. So how could she suddenly
turn
on him like this? Because that's how it seemed to him: it was a betrayal. And no, it probably hadn't been sudden. It had been more of a creeping thing, a slow, sluggish disintegration over the years, before they'd arrived at a stage when she was able to decide she could do without him. She'd cast off by herself, and it had been made clear to him, in many subtle and often not so subtle ways, that if he couldn't keep up, then she would go on alone. Now that he'd served his purpose, she was off, she was out of there. He'd done everything for her, and this was his reward. No wonder he was angry.

As soon as he arrived at the office, he went to tell Russell he wasn't happy about trying to get the research report off Dieter in order to reveal its contents to another car company. He walked into the managing director's office armed with all the reasons he could think of for not doing so, ready for every argument, determined to explain why it was such a problem for him and why he didn't feel he could morally cooperate. It was unethical business practice, plain and simple. He would also emphasise how he was more than happy to work every hour of the day, and more, to land the BMW account for The Alpha Agency. It was important he said that too.

Russell barely looked up from his computer. ‘Suit yourself, Hughsy. Wanted to have you on board, but not if that's the way you feel. I'll sort something out with Murray.'

He hovered near the desk, uncertain what to do or say, but wanting to explain or justify his non-cooperation. He needed to talk, but was ignored, so he left. And that, for the foreseeable future, seemed to be that.

11

It had been during the Christmas holidays. The month and year were engraved on his memory because of what happened at home, but etched even more deeply because of what happened on the other side of the world. The Americans managed to elevate his family life into the realm of History.

He was playing with friends, most likely Tom and Andy, in the local park. They were either cycling pell mell over the top of the steep bank that surrounded the municipal playing field and running track, launching themselves into the air over the brick hard ground, or they were on the field itself, kicking a soccer ball. It would have been one of those two activities, and it would have been Tom who decided which they were doing because he was the leader. It wasn't a gang as such, more like the aimless, rootless leftovers who couldn't find a place in the area's only real gang, a bunch which called itself the Rats and which the headmaster of the local school referred to as ‘those hooligans.'