Demons (3 page)

Once inside she picked up the phone. There was a layer of woodpowder on it. His secretary
answered. He’s not here, she said, he’s just left. Hang on—can I take a message?
No, she said. She put the phone down. She drank from the wineglass and steadied herself
against the bench. She went to his bedside chest of drawers and got out his bottle
of pills. She emptied it into her hand and lined the pills up on the kitchen bench
until they formed a row about half a metre long. She popped one into her mouth and
washed it down. It would make her feel better, but it would take a little while to
work. She took another. She wandered around the half-renovated church, stopping here
and there to inspect Jay’s handiwork.

She went back to the kitchen, gathered up the pills, took them back out into the
living area and lined them up this time on the low coffee table. She put the wine
bottle and the glass down beside them. She pointed the remote control at the television
and idly watched. She took another pill, drank a little more. She climbed the steps
to the mezzanine, walked through the unplastered stud wall, and from her husband’s
chest of drawers took out his favourite porno. She went back to the living area and
put it on. She watched, listened, a blur of flesh and moaning, as she sipped her
wine, kissing and sucking the rim of the glass. She turned it off, and returned it
to its place in the drawer. She went to the phone and called Jay’s mobile.

Where are you? she asked. He was at home, in the garage. Please come, she said; I
need you. There was a silence. It’s all right, she said, he’s not here, he’s working
late.

At the door she all but tore the clothes from his body. He could see she was far
gone, her eyes were rolling, she kept falling onto him. Her kisses were wet and misdirected.
But he couldn’t deny it, the idea of taking her like this was already making him
hard. He knew he’d have to extricate himself from this mess sooner or later but right
now it didn’t matter.

It was seven o’clock when Jay at last untied her, removed the blindfold and kissed
her on the forehead. I have to go, he said. Carly Ashburton lay spread and naked,
drifting in and out of a half-sleep. She was still lying like that when the phone
rang. It rang off into the answering machine, then a few seconds later it rang again.
Carly stirred. The church was dark. She staggered downstairs. The answering machine
cut in again; she lifted the phone. Yes? she said. With the receiver still held to
her ear she sank to the floor, repulsed at the way her naked body creased itself
into folds of fat flesh. There was a pause, then a sombre, official-sounding voice.
Hello? Is that Mrs Ashburton? it said.

She knew she shouldn’t be driving, but who was she going to ring? She thought for
a second of Lidia, Jay’s mother, but just as quickly dismissed it. Instead she concentrated
on the task of keeping the car to the left-hand side of the broken white line. She
got to the city, found the hospital, and walked through the front doors a little
after nine.

Two policewomen were standing outside the door to her husband’s room. They straightened
up and clasped their hands in front of them as she approached. I’m Carly Ashburton,
she said. One of them opened the door for her, like a footman. It was a single-bed
room, dimly lit. Her husband seemed to be sleeping. There were tubes coming out of
him, his lower body was suspended in some kind of traction, with steel wires and
counterweights connected to the ceiling above. Carly turned away: she didn’t want
to be there, didn’t know why she’d come. On top of the wine and the pills and the
stench of the hospital the sight of her husband made her nauseous.

You can talk to him, said a voice from behind.

Carly? said her husband from the bed. She turned around, a doctor had followed her
in; he smiled and gestured to move close. He’s very weak, he said.

She felt like she might vomit all over the patient as she moved to the side of the
bed and leaned over. His eyes were half-open; the left side of his face, from the
temple to the chin, was so swollen that it looked as if it had been attached there
by someone, as a joke. His right eye, the one closest to her, widened.

Carly, Tim whispered, I’m sorry. Carly looked at him, this ugly, broken, helpless
thing. I tried to kill myself, he said, but here I am, I survived, I don’t know how,
I don’t know why. He tried to smile but he couldn’t. I’ve been having an affair,
he said, straining with the effort. Tell me Carly, please, is something going on
with you too?

Carly Ashburton held her nerve. She could hear the hum of the medical equipment and
feel the presence of the doctor behind her. Yes, she said, something happened, but
it was just a kiss; I wanted to go on with it but I couldn’t, Tim, I couldn’t. Tim
held her gaze (and in that moment Carly Ashburton believed her lie as if it were
the truth) then he let out a sigh and sank back into the pillows.

He’ll be all right, said the doctor, drawing her over to the other side of the room,
but it’s going to take time. He will need care, and lots of it. His body will heal
but—and here the doctor paused—there is a complication. You’ve seen the police outside;
they will speak to you in a moment. They’re still trying to work out the exact circumstances
but, well, the fact is, according to witnesses, he jumped from a long way up. About
twenty floors, we’re estimating. Normally this would be enough to kill a person.
But the thing is, Mrs Ashburton, there was someone walking below, a woman—and, well,
your husband landed on her; she broke his fall. Your husband doesn’t know any of
this yet, of course, but, well, the fact is, she was killed by the impact, crushed,
literally, and your husband is to be charged with manslaughter.

The door opened. A hushed conversation took place between the doctor and one of the
policewomen and Carly Ashburton was ushered to a windowless room down the corridor.
She answered their questions—no, her husband’s fears were unfounded, she’d not been
having an affair, and why her husband would want to do this, their guess was as good
as hers. Although, she said, he had been on medication and did seem lately to have
grown disillusioned with things generally and work especially. Perhaps it had all
just got to him? No, she didn’t know what he was doing in that building, up there.
She gave the police her contact details. They told her that, regrettably, her husband
would have to be charged—but, they said, for some time yet he would remain in the
care of the medical staff here.

The woman killed, they said, was actually a work colleague, a woman by the name of
Adele. Carly’s husband had no memory of the incident but he would have to be told
eventually. The police had left it in the hands of the doctor as to the best time
to do this. Counselling was available to her, Carly, through the hospital, should
she feel the need; they suggested she follow this up.

It was after midnight when Carly Ashburton crossed the hospital car park, pointed
the remote and unlocked her car. She was tired, sore, hungry; her brain was a mess.
She wanted to go home, sleep it off, but as soon as she thought about this, her bed,
the image of what she’d left behind—a house strewn with the evidence of her dishonesty,
not to say depravity—was too much for her. How could she revisit the shambles of
her life? She sat for a long time thinking about all this, staring at the dark concrete
wall in front of her. Then she locked the doors, lowered the seat, and slept.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, wondering had Lauren finished. She half shrugged
as if to say: Yes.

And did they get back together? asked Hannah.

They did, said Lauren.

Did he go to prison? asked Leon.

For a while, said Lauren: yes.

But how could they live with themselves? said Hannah.

They should never have sold the house in Auburn, said Evan. That was the start of
their troubles: everything would have been fine if they hadn’t sold the house. It
always comes back to money with you, doesn’t it? said Lauren, but with a sort of
smile. Evan drank his wine. Megan rolled her eyes.

I just feel really sorry for them, said Hannah; it’s awful how things can go wrong
sometimes and you have no control over it. You can’t blame either of them for what
happened, can you, really? It’s like they were caught up in something bigger than
them both. We don’t stop to make decisions any more. It’s like the decisions are
making us. I don’t think that couple—or the marketing manager, or the carpenter—knew
what they were doing, really, it was like someone had chucked them in a river that
swept them downstream and all they could do was try to avoid the rocks. But it’s
like that for all of us, isn’t it, a lot of the time, don’t you think? They weren’t
making a real estate decision, Evan; I don’t think you think that either.

Hannah speaks! said Evan. He was up off the couch, half standing, half sitting, his
glass held high above his head. Everyone smiled. Evan lowered himself and looked
around for approval. Leon, next to Hannah, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear
and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

It’s always tragic, said Leon, when a relationship goes bad. I had some messy ones
too, you all know that. Megan, so did you. We’re all stumbling through this stuff,
doing the best we can. It’s a sad story, Lauren; it’s a very, very sad story.

But it’s a funny one too, said Adam. They all looked at him. The way things happen,
he said. It’s sad, don’t get me wrong, but you’ve got to see the funny side.

No, said Lauren.

Everyone went quiet.

There was the sound of a car outside and a flash of headlights on the window.

Is he with Jackie? said Megan. Evan looked out, and shook his head. If he thinks
he can still get something to eat then he can go fuck himself, she said. Marsh! said
Evan, waving, but Marshall was already at the door.

When he got to the top of the stairs he stood for a moment; pale, wavering; as if
trying to find his balance. Have you got a drink? he said. That’s the Heathcote,
said Evan. Marshall took a sip.

Jackie’s brother Rylan’s just killed himself, he said. What? said Megan. Threw himself
from a rooftop café, the fuckin’ exhibitionist. Asked his girlfriend to hold his
drink. Can you believe that? Sorry, sorry. Hello everybody, sorry I’m late. Really.
Evan, that’s good. Jackie couldn’t come. Go, go, she said; you go. I shouldn’t have
come, I know—don’t look at me like that, please—but she
told
me to, she didn’t want
me around. I won’t go into it, for God’s sake, please, don’t make me go into it.
But maybe I will. This is good. How have you guys been? Have you eaten? I’ve got
to tell you, before we start: things are not good between me and Jackie. I don’t
know if you know that. She didn’t tell me to go, that was a lie. I just did. There’s
no way I could be around that family while they cried their eyes out over that selfish
little prick. Sorry. And you know
why
he did it? Why? Because he’d asked Mummy and
Daddy for some money to start up a business—he wanted to do craft jewellery—but they
said he had to match them dollar for dollar. So he went to his sister and asked her
but she said the same: dollar for dollar or nothing, Rylan, even though she’d usually
hand over fistfuls, but she didn’t want to disagree with me this time because, well.
It’s been going on for months. A lazy little slug. Or was. Sorry. How are we all?
Have you eaten?

Marshall had recently won a seat in state parliament, last week he was on the news,
but he looked like any ordinary person now. Clean-shaven, a boyish face, a few old-man
lines, his hair just starting to turn.

You shouldn’t have come, mate, said Leon. I know, I know, said Marshall; did you
already start the stories? We did one, said Hannah. Maybe we should leave it, said
Lauren. No, no, don’t worry about me, said Marshall; I’ll have a couple of drinks
and I’ll be fine. I’ve already told mine, anyway, he said, smiling, about Rylan,
the little toad. But we’re doing more than one though, yeah?

Megan turned the dimmer up. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the room.

I’ve got one, said Hannah. No-one was sure what to say. I might get that other bottle,
said Evan. That’s weird, said Lauren. They all looked at her. My story had a jumper
too. Don’t worry, said Adam, people are doing it all the time. Evan came back with
the wine. Lauren wants us to score her story out of ten, said Adam. What? said Lauren.
Hannah? said Evan. Before you start? Hannah held out her glass.

Marsh, are you okay? asked Adam. That’s the other Heathcote, said Evan. Tilly’s in
the car, said Marshall. What? said Megan, standing up.

I had to bring her, he said. I told her it was just adults, she didn’t want to come
inside. Everyone was staring at him. No, she’ll be right, he said, she’s got her
phone, let’s leave her there, I’ll tell her to come in later, she can sleep in my
room. All good, all good.

The story stick was on the table, still damp and smelling of the sea. Hannah picked
it up.

Well, she said, my story is called
Pan
. Pan? said Marshall. Like dust pan? said Evan.
Pan like the Greek god Pan, said Hannah, protector of sheep and goats. He was associated
with wild places: forests, mountains. Pan means ‘all’, said Adam. That’s true, said
Hannah, and even though Pan was a playful god he could sometimes suddenly turn and
the vibe would change and everyone would get frightened and that’s where we get the
word ‘panic’. But anyway, to the story.

This is good, said Marshall.

Lauren’s story made me think of it, said Hannah, how Carly wanted to get away, how
we all want to get away somehow, somewhere. There’s always some dissatisfaction in
us, isn’t there?

Speak for yourself, said Evan. (Everyone laughed.)

It’s about a girl I knew when I was younger, said Hannah, she wasn’t really my friend,
just one of those girls who hung around on the edges of the group, hard to get to
know. We were in our last year of school. Then one day she disappeared. I say one
day because that’s what it felt like but actually what was happening was she was
hanging around with us less and less then hardly at all and it was weeks since we’d
seen her when one day we turned around, so to speak, and said: Where’s Elena? Her
name was Elena. Anyway, I’ll tell you what happened.