Our Magic Hour (11 page)

‘How'd it go, Audrey?'

‘Oh—you know. I don't think he's going to appeal.'

Can I have a photo of her?
he'd asked. He'd been too shocked to even consider disputing
the decision. Audrey began to sift through emails from the morning. It seemed a long
time ago. Her desk phone rang.

‘This is Amal Ahmad calling on behalf of Mr Martin Stanley. I understand you're Maddison's
case worker?'

‘Yes, I visited Mr Stanley this morning—'

‘I've just been in contact with him and he's decided to make an appeal. He wants
access rights to his daughter.'

‘I understand that, but it's unlikely that the decision will be overturned. He has
a history of sexual abuse and he—'

‘I know his details. I'm just ringing to inform you that Mr Stanley has opted to
go ahead with the proceedings.'

‘Well,' Audrey said dully, ‘thanks for letting me know.'

She hung up and went to her manager's office.

‘Penny said you wanted a word,' she said from the doorway.

‘Yeah. Do you want to sit down?'

Audrey knew, then, what was coming. She felt very tired. She closed the door behind
her and sat. She looked at the pictures of Vanessa's kids.

‘What's happened?'

‘The Saaed baby died last night,' Vanessa said.

Audrey held on to the arms of the chair. ‘Fuck.'

‘I know how hard you tried. I'm sorry. It's not fair.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Audrey. You did everything you could have done.'

‘There'll be another inquest, won't there.'

‘We don't know that.'

Audrey pushed her chair back and stood. The floor was still there.

‘I need to tell you about the Bennetts, too,' Vanessa said. ‘Mum's run off and left
the kids with Grandad for the second time this month.'

Audrey stared at her.

‘He's a convicted paedophile,' Vanessa said.

‘Thanks. For telling me. I'll get onto it.'

It was dark by the time she left the office. She called her brother again as she
drove.

His lights were off when she arrived.

‘Bern?' She made her way to his room. The house was freezing. ‘Hello? Bernie?'

‘Audie?' he croaked.

She knelt beside the stained mattress. His eyes did not follow her, did not focus
on her approaching figure. Sallow face, dark hair matted with sweat, vomit congealing
on the floorboards beside him.

‘I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Bernie.'

His hand jerked. ‘What?' he said. ‘You were working. It's not your fault.'

‘Have you had anything to eat or drink since Hazel left?'

‘What?' he said again.

She went and got him a glass of water and a wet washcloth. She sat him up. He was
barely conscious as he drank. The water ran off his lips and onto his naked chest.

‘I'm cramping, Audie,' he said. ‘Everywhere. My legs.'

The room stank of vomit and shit. Audrey took him to the couch while she stripped
and re-made his bed, scrubbed the floor, opened the windows. She called Nick.

‘Bern's pretty crook,' she said. ‘Do you know if that clinic near Adam's is open
twenty-four hours?'

‘Bring him into St Vincent's.'

‘I don't want to wait hours for him to be looked at. He's so dehydrated he's cramping.
I should have come and seen him this morning. I shouldn't have waited.'

‘It's quiet tonight. You won't be waiting long. Sounds like he needs a drip. You
don't know what's wrong, anyway. He might have taken something.'

She walked Bernie out to the car in three stages: first to the front door, where
his knees buckled, then halfway to the gate, where he sat down on the concrete path,
and finally to the back seat. They drove slowly, with Audrey making low, soothing
sounds as if to a child or animal.

They sat in triage for three hours. Audrey folded herself into a plastic chair, and
Bernie lay across a bank of adjoining seats. Nick came by early in the night. He
looked over Bernie, crouched before him. He brought Audrey coffee in a polystyrene
cup and sat there as long as he could.

The other people waiting did not sit near Bernie. He was frightening, pitiful. One
of the nurses gave him a kidney dish, and he dutifully alternated between sleeping
and retching.

Three hours for an impassive woman to say
acute gastroenteritis
and prescribe him
some antibiotics. Another two before they found a bed for him.

‘I knew I was sick on Saturday,' he said, ‘but I wanted to go out, and I had a big
night. I think I did too much MD, and Hazel had some really good coke.'

‘Fuck, Bern.'

‘Yes,' he said, ‘it probably wasn't one of my better ideas.'

He slept. Nick's shift finished, and in solidarity he offered to stay the night,
but Audrey told him to go home. ‘Take the car,' she said.

‘How will you get home?'

‘I'll get a cab.'

‘Promise?'

She spent the night in the vinyl chair beside Bernie. Early in the morning she touched
his arm. ‘Hey. I have to go to work,' she said. ‘I'll come back later in the day.
The nurse thinks you'll be discharged tonight. You should probably stay at ours.'

‘Okay.' He closed his eyes again.

Outside the sky was a cold, smoky blue. Audrey wrapped her scarf around her neck
and walked up Young Street. The cafés were just opening. She was fumbling for her
coin purse before she realised she didn't want any more coffee. Her body was confused.

Nick was sleeping when she got home. For a moment she stood in the doorway looking
at him, his throat white and exposed, one arm flung out across the sheets. He looked
vulnerable, boyish. She opened and closed the drawers quietly, gathering clean clothes,
and then she ran the shower. She sank down onto her knees and sat on the slate tiles.

The door opened. Nick stood there in the steam, rubbing his eyes. Audrey's clothes
were on the floor, shed skin. He nudged them with his foot.

‘You should have called me,' he said. ‘I would've come and picked you up.'

‘You were tired.'

‘So are you,' he said. ‘You look pathetic.' He pulled off his T-shirt and slid open
the shower screen gently so it wouldn't jam on its metal runner. She thought
I can't,
I'm so tired I feel sick
, but all he did was
reach for the shampoo. He began to wash
her hair. Audrey's heart loosened at the small kindness. She watched Nick's face
until he said
Close your eyes
. His fingers scrunched at her scalp.

He threw her a towel, and she shivered in it.

‘How's Bern?' he asked.

‘He's all right. He can go home this afternoon.' She leaned forwards to fasten her
bra. Nick sat on the edge of the bathtub.

‘Spence,' he said as she towelled her hair, ‘you should talk to your mum. You shouldn't
have to look after him like this.'

Nick's mother had driven him to football practice, ironed the number onto his guernsey,
cooked him roast chicken every Sunday night of his life. He'd never had to worry
about his brother.

Audrey opened the cabinet over the sink and poked around, fishing through empty paracetamol
cartons and discarded tabs.

‘Don't we have
any
Panadol?'

Nick leaned over her and found an unopened packet.

‘Here.' He popped two capsules into her palm.

‘He's seventeen,' Audrey said. She tipped back her head. ‘I can't just abandon him.'

‘I'm not asking you to!'

‘This is just how it goes,' she said. ‘Maman can't look after any of us. She doesn't
know how. She expects me to look after him. If I don't, nobody will. That's how it
works.'

‘What about your sister?'

‘If I don't look after him, nobody will,' Audrey said. ‘Nothing's changed. It's always
been like this.'

‘Right. Nothing's changed. And look at you.'

She turned and pulled a face at the mirror. ‘Yeah, what a hag.'

‘There must be an easier way of doing this. That's all I mean,' said Nick. ‘All this
running around and pulling all-nighters in Emergency. You don't even have a good
story to tell for it.'

She yawned. ‘I've got to go. I'm going to be late.'

‘Come on,' he said to her retreating back. ‘You can't go to work. We're still talking.'

She pulled on her shoes and tied back her hair. She kissed him. They clung to each
other.

‘Nick. There is nothing to talk about.' Her heart beat fast.

‘One of the first times my mum met you, she said
Audrey's very contained, isn't she?
'

‘What do you mean,' Audrey said, ‘by telling me that?'

She was very alive at that moment. She felt her eyes wide and tired; she felt her
body made of blood and bone and nerves and something else, something harder, like
steel. She could have run for days.

Nick held her at arm's length, peered down into her face.

‘Are you all right?' he asked.

Shy worry: Audrey was taken aback.

‘I'm fine. It was just a long night.' She pulled away. ‘I was thinking. I might see
if I can get a prescription for some sleeping pills.'

‘That's a good idea,' Nick said. ‘You might feel better if you could get some sleep.'

‘I'll see you tonight.'

He stood at the front door and watched her go. She wanted to make him feel better.
She turned back at the gate, mimed an extravagant goodbye.

She called Nick to come and get her from the pub. She couldn't be there another second.
It was only the girls from work, but she couldn't remember what to say. By the bar
Chelsea said
You okay? You look knackered
. Audrey couldn't see faces any more. She
tried to think about where Nick would be. Two minutes to put on his shoes and jacket
and find his keys, ten minutes up Nicholson Street to Glenlyon Road.

He called when he arrived. She felt her phone vibrate in her hand. She said goodbye
to the others, bent over to kiss their cheeks where they sat around the table.

Nick met her at the door of the pub.

‘I'm so glad you're here,' she said.

He hugged her a long time. ‘What happened?'

‘I just got scared.'

‘Weren't you with work people?'

‘Yes.'

‘I don't want to be an arsehole about it,' he said, ‘but I don't get why it was so
scary. Can you just explain it to me a bit?'

‘I can't. I know it doesn't make sense.'

He'd parked in Edward Street, opposite the warehouses. Audrey stopped by the car.
‘Can we just wait here a second before we go home?'

They sat down at the kerb, and she put her head between her knees.

‘I wish I wasn't getting into a vehicle,' she said.

‘Yeah, I wish you weren't, too,' Nick laughed, but he rubbed her shoulders while
she spewed stringy red-wine vomit out the car door later, and undressed her, and
gave her a glass of water. He said
You don't need to keep saying thank you
.

Irène arrived mid-morning with Zoe, miniature coat and backpack hanging from her
elbow. The heels of her boots made a smart
clonk clonk
along the floorboards. She
didn't have time for a cup of tea, wouldn't sit down. Her clothes were tastefully
drapey.

They all stood in the warm kitchen.

‘Thanks for doing this,' Irène said. ‘She's had bronchitis. We've just about knocked
it over, but she hasn't finished the antibiotics yet. She needs four mill after lunch.
It's printed on the bottle, anyway. It's in a Ziploc bag in her backpack.' She fished
around for the
medicine. Audrey glanced at Nick. He was working to suppress a laugh.
‘Tiens,'
Irène said, handing Audrey the brown bottle. ‘Can you make sure she's rugged
up? Sorry if I sound neurotic. She's just been a bit sick, haven't you, Zoe?' She
turned to Audrey and Nick. ‘Thank you so much.'

‘No worries,' Audrey said. ‘Happy anniversary.'

Irène left.

‘Your mother,' Nick said to Zoe, ‘is very intense.'

They drove across the West Gate to Williamstown, past the factories and shipping
yards, past the Backwash. They sprawled out on the grass by the water. Audrey unpacked
the picnic, plastic-wrapped salad rolls, and poured coffee from the thermos.

‘What a Honey Homemaker,' Nick grinned. ‘I'll have to pat you on the bum and call
you
love
.'

Audrey pitched a mandarine at him. It hit him squarely in the chest.

‘Ooh,' he said to Zoe. ‘Punk's not dead.'

Zoe appraised the roll gravely.

‘Audrey,' she said, ‘I don't like tomato.'

‘Doesn't matter. Just pick it out.'

‘Here, I'll eat it for you,' said Nick, and opened his mouth.

Later he went to move the car, and brought his old Sherrin back with him.

‘Here, Zoe, see if you can mark this. I'll do a big one.' He moved back and Zoe stood
with her hands ready, fingers splayed rigidly. Nick booted the Sherrin, but it landed
too high. It hit Zoe in the face. There was a moment of shock before she put her
hand to her nose, and saw blood. She started to cry. Nick and Audrey ran across the
grass.

‘Fuck,' Nick said. ‘I'm sorry, Zo. Are you okay?' There seemed to be a lot of blood.
It was in her blond hair, down the front of her T-shirt, smeared with mucous and
tears across her face. Audrey knelt
beside her, digging around in her bag for tissues.
She pressed them to Zoe's nose.

‘You're all right. It's okay.' She turned to Nick. ‘Here, have a look. Do you think
it's'—she glanced back at the sobbing kid—‘broken?' she mouthed. She took the tissue
away for a moment. Nick looked at Zoe's nose, touched it gently.