The First Week (11 page)

A blanket would be nice, but this wasn't bad. Warm enough. She slid down the post.

Sleep came in fits and starts, as she struggled against the cold, against consciousness, against the same heavy shape that she had to push away from her every time she woke. Something bad lay in wait for her.

She had done something bad.

Pins and needles prickled in her right foot and she eased it out cautiously. A cup of tea would be good. And a toilet.

Standing up was a gradual process, the way old women did it. Onto her knees first, then pulling herself up by the post, testing her feet to see if they were ready for the weight. Standing still for a few moments, one hand on the post, to get her balance.

She shrugged her shoulders and swung her arms. Not bad, she wasn't done for yet. Folding up the newspaper she balanced it on top of the bin. Somebody else might use it. A homeless person.

The ducks were out on the lake again as she crossed the grass to the upper gate and walked into Goderich Street.

By the time she got to the Mint, she was desperate for a toilet. It would have been good to sit for a while in the cathedral, but she skirted round it, thighs clenched. The hospital. Of course. There'd be toilets and a cup of tea.

The main doors swished open and she searched out, with a sure instinct, the sign.
Ladies.

The stream from her bladder made a strong satisfying noise in the toilet bowl. The emptiness inside was wonderful, a gift.

She went back into the foyer and over to the Information Counter. ‘Is there anywhere I can get a cup of tea?'

‘Along there. I'll show you on the map.'

The warmth of the tea was another gift. Strange process, emptying yourself out and then filling yourself up again. She held the cup close to her face and watched the comings and goings of the hospital.

People were just themselves in a hospital, reduced to basics. They walked around in pyjamas or hospital gowns pushing their own drip stands, or stood outside the main doors in their slippers to smoke. Harassed women drank quick cups of coffee before pulling their bundles together and rushing onwards. Intimidated visitors bought bunches of flowers at the kiosk and crept up in the lifts.

A big man shambled past. His arms and legs were stick-thin but his belly was huge, hanging over his shorts. He held his belt in one hand and spoke in a mournful monotone to a small woman who bustled him along like a tug. ‘It cuts into me,' he said, in the helpless whine of a six-year-old. ‘I don't want to put it on. It cuts into me.'

Expectations in a hospital were clear-cut. Either you helped or you waited for help. You could spend all day here, waiting, blending in, hidden. No one would know. Marian tucked the idea away in the part of her mind where she kept her list of safe places. Under the verandah floor, between the fence and the peppermint. Places to hide from the Japanese.

Silly, she knew. That war was over before she was born, her father's war, not hers. It was the films.
A Town Like Alice
on the flickering screen set up in the school playground. Saturday night films that came down on the bus in big square cases done up with leather straps.

The Japanese were only one version of the threat. Even as a child she'd known that. It was any creature from the Black Lagoon. Burglars, rapists, bombers, murderers.

Charlie.

Where was she going to hide from Charlie?

She stood up abruptly, and clutched the edge of the table till the buzzing in her head passed, the fading of light, not quite blackout.

‘You okay?' asked a young woman opposite. Her face was dead-white, in startling contrast to her lustreless black hair, and in her upper lip she had a pointed stud like Sam's eyebrow spike.

Marian smiled carefully. ‘I'm fine. Stood up too quickly.' Murmuring a goodbye she made her way back to the street.

School must be out. Kids with bags slung over their shoulders jostled at every bus stop and overflowed from coffee shops. Marian edged around a group of girls in green blazers and pleated skirts hanging below their knees. They were giggling at a shop window, but moved on when they noticed her. She went to see what had interested them and found an Aladdin's cave. Cushions and hangings of gold and red, trays of small brass cups, ornaments she could not imagine a use for. And there in the middle was a whole tray of bongs. Some were like Charlie's, others were made of glass, more like something from a laboratory.

But wasn't it illegal?

Marian's scalp tightened. Someone was looking at her. But when she glanced around there was no one on the footpath. Turning back to the window she realised that inside the shop, beyond the display, a woman was watching and smiling. Her face was framed by two thin plaits with red ribbon woven through them. The rest of her dark hair hung down loosely over a dress made of many flowing layers.

Marian walked away quickly, forcing herself not to run. It was just a shop, like any other in the city. The shop owner was just looking for customers. Nobody else saw her. But she couldn't shake off the idea that she must be extra careful, that she was only free to walk around on sufferance. If people knew …
There may be charges.

The Barrack Street footpaths were so crowded that she continued on to the Terrace, thinking there would be more space. But the traffic noise, trapped in the bottom of the canyon, was overwhelming and the air stank. She retreated hastily into the mock-Tudor arcade behind her. London Court, alone in this city, hadn't changed. It was forever connected with the thrill of her first pair of new shoes, school shoes, and the machine that showed the bones of your toes through the ghostly outline of the leather. Afterwards her mother had let her wait for St George and the Dragon to clank out above the clock and complete their lurching dance past each other.

There were more people in the Mall, away from the traffic. The faces were winter-pale, grey and tired with no energy left to smile or chat. Where were they all going? Did they have families waiting at home? They'd sit in comfortable chairs and relax and laugh and watch TV and help children with homework.

For a moment Marian missed Jeb painfully, her evening companion, her uncomplaining loyal friend. She wished she was going home to him. She wished she'd had a completely ordinary day, shopping in town. How good it would be to pull up near the shed. Jeb would be on the verandah, stretching, tail waving, pleased to see her.

Marian shut her eyes with the urgent longing to blot out everything, wind back the last few days, start again. Come up to the city on a long delayed visit. Hold Charlie close, stay with him. Not let him out of her sight, not let anything bad happen.

A sudden buffet knocked her sideways. Her eyes flew open and she took a half step to regain her balance. A woman with two huge shopping bags was scowling at her. ‘Watch where you're going.'

Before Marian could say a word the woman had pushed past and was gone.

Marian walked on, shaken.

By the time she got to the freeway there was more room and she stopped to lean over the parapet. Lane after lane of traffic, almost immobile, exhaust fumes floating upwards. She hurried on and was glad of the straggly West Perth street trees.

The CWA lift was too small, unbearable. How would Charlie manage, shut up in a cell? Would it be a cell, with bars? Charlie who'd spent his childhood roaming far and wide.

Don't think about that.

She stopped for breath on the stairs and then dragged herself across the foyer. The girl with blue streaks came out from behind the desk. ‘Mrs Anditon?'

‘Yes?'

‘There's two phone messages for you. This one's urgent. She insisted.'

Marian peered at the first piece of paper, fumbling in her bag for her glasses. ‘Is there a phone I can use?'

The young woman examined her curiously. ‘Don't you have a mobile?'

‘No.'

‘Here, use the office phone,' she said, with kindly pity for such inefficiency. ‘They're only local calls. I'm going downstairs anyway.'

Marian dialled anxiously.

‘Hello?' It was Evie's voice.

‘Evie? It's Marian here.'

‘Marian. Oh thank goodness. I've been so worried.'

Marian's mind was blank. What was Evie worried about?

‘Marian? Are you all right? I couldn't sleep last night, I felt so bad. I should never have let you go off on your own. I'm sorry.'

‘How did you find me?'

‘I rang Brian.'

Irritation wormed in Marian's gut. More complications, Brian and Michelle to deal with. ‘Damn.'

‘Don't eat me. I couldn't think what else to do. He suggested the YWCA or the CWA so I tried both.'

‘Now he'll be after me.'

‘It's me who's after you.'

‘I don't mind that so much.'

Evie snorted. ‘Why are you being so hard on Brian? He cares about you, Marian. He's worried.'

Marian stared at the picture on the wall behind the phone. A boy herded three unlikely looking cows towards a tumbledown shed. Pink mist swirled disturbingly around their feet. Marian shivered.

‘Thanks for ringing, Evie.'

‘What's happening? Have you seen Charlie? Surely it's a mistake. I keep thinking it must be a mistake.'

‘No. It's true.'

It's true.
The words left her mouth slowly and swelled until they filled the whole room, bulging the glass outwards in the windows, swelling into the corridor and down the stairs. True true true true true …
My son's a killer … a killer … a killer …

‘But what happened? Was it a fight?'

‘No. They happened to be the first two people he saw. He just shot them.'
Shot
sank to the floor, a great weight that freed Marian to float upwards.

‘Oh my God,' Evie said.

There was silence.

‘They said that, in the paper,' she went on. ‘But I thought … I thought … Charlie wouldn't do that. Not Charlie.'

Marian floated above the phone listening to Evie snuffling. Poor Evie, she thought. She's very upset. Something has upset her.

There were nose-blowing sounds from the other end of the phone. ‘I'm sorry. I'm meant to be helping you, not bawling all over you. What can I do?'

Do?

‘Hey. Marian. Are you still there? Don't blank out on me.'

Marian dragged herself down from the ceiling. ‘I'm all right. Tired.'

‘I can't come over tonight. I've got a bloody dinner on. What do you have to do tomorrow?'

Go and see Charlie. ‘Um. Not much.'

‘I'll come over. I've got to do a couple of things first. How about eleven?'

‘Oh. Yeah.'

‘Okay? Don't go off anywhere without me.'

‘Okay.'

‘Bye Marian.'

Marian gripped the receiver. Go off? Where would she go?

The other piece of paper the girl had given her was blank. She turned it over.
Please ring Ros 92714121.

Fear sent waves of acid up into her mouth. Why would Ros be ringing? Something must have happened. She dialled with shaking hands.

The ringing stopped and a voice said
hello?

‘It's Marian.'

‘Hi Marian. Thanks for ringing back.'

‘What's wrong?' Marian's heart was pounding. She held the phone near her cheek.

The voice crackled nervously at her, a reflection of her own panic. ‘Wrong? Is something wrong?'

Marian tried to slow her breathing. ‘I thought you must have heard from the police. Or something.'

‘No. I didn't mean to worry you. I just … Sam told me about yesterday. I'm sorry. I know Lee can get a bit prickly. She's stressing about this presentation at Uni.'

‘I said things I shouldn't have.'

‘Everyone's upset. I was sort of hoping you might come and see us.'

No.

‘Maybe tomorrow?' Ros went on. ‘For tea?'

‘Well …'

‘I mean it's cool if you can't come. It's just, like, I thought we could make up for yesterday. Lee too.'

Marian didn't want to see Lee again. The thought of Lee's provocative smile made her angry all over again. Smug.

And even Ros and Sam. These young people … what did they have to do with her?

But she was touched, in spite of herself. Ros was young and different and believed in things Marian didn't. But she was friendly.

‘I'm seeing someone tomorrow … I'm not sure …'

‘No worries. Really. Just come if you can. '

Marian put the phone back in its cradle and stood with her hand on the counter. This light-headedness. Perhaps she should eat, she hadn't had a proper meal for … but she couldn't pin the days down.

There was that pancake place she'd passed not too far back. One foot in front of the other.

She stared listlessly at the partition until her Hawaiian Stack arrived, then she stared at the plate. A man stopped at the entrance to the booth and spoke to her.

‘Mind if I join you? They're a bit full.'

Marian peered out. It didn't look full to her but she couldn't be bothered arguing.

‘Okay,' she said, unsmiling.

The man sat on the edge of the bench diagonally opposite her. Having intruded, he now seemed anxious not to take up too much space. Once he'd ordered, he pushed himself back on the seat and cleared his throat. He was stocky and freckled, with colourless eyelashes and a raw, scrubbed face.

‘Sorry to push in on you. I thought you might not mind having company.'

‘Yes. I mean no. I don't mind.'

‘It's meal times, isn't it?'

‘Meal times?'

‘I mean that's when it gets you. You know, being on your own.'

On your own? Marian studied his face and he turned pink. With that colouring he would blush easily.

‘Anyway I'm Ron.'

‘Marian.'

‘Hi Marian.'