‘They love their mum, don’t they?’ he says, sneering, when they’ve left the room.
‘You’re torturing them. How could you do this to them? I understand to me. I get it – but them? Please, I’m asking you again to just let them go. I will listen to anything you have to say. Just let them go.’
‘No,’ he says shortly. ‘No.’
‘Why don’t you just say what you want to say? I won’t say anything. Just tell me what you want to say.’ She tries to conceal the rage that is inside her as she speaks. Rage will not help. She wonders if she could rush at him right now, and if she did, would she get to him before he shot her, and if he shot her, would he shoot them too? She believes him to be capable of this, even though yesterday she would never have thought it possible. Before today she was a different person. Before today she thought that her love could save him; today she knows that for all these years she’s been wasting her time.
‘Stop doing that,’ he says and she realises that she is still twisting the ring.
She can hear the children in the kitchen, packets being opened and something spilled on the floor. She closes her eyes and wishes they would just run but they won’t. She is their world, their whole world. They don’t know how to exist without her yet.
She picks up the stuffed monkey that Sophie carries everywhere with her when she’s home. It started off a rich, soft brown but it’s faded now, the face grey, one eye a little wonky where it has fallen off and she has sewn it back on, not quite in the right place.
‘I don’t think you deserve these children,’ he says. ‘Some women shouldn’t be mothers. Some women are too selfish.’
‘Some men shouldn’t be fathers,’ she says softly and then instantly curses her stupid words.
She glances over at the bookcase where her wedding photo stands. She and her new husband look impossibly happy. From the slight creasing of their eyes, it’s obvious they were standing in the sun when the photo was taken. ‘Let’s turn around,’ the photographer said when he noticed, and she and John laughed as he picked up her long train, helping her turn. It had looked beautiful going down the aisle of the church with the white lace roses on the end but was impractical for the reception. She put this picture on display even though she has better ones because of the way he is looking at her, because of the palpable feeling of love that exists in the image. Now, she looks away from it, feeling sympathy for her younger self, for everything she did not know then.
He is standing by the window that looks out onto the garden and the pool. Katherine can see it’s shimmering in the sun, perfectly blue and inviting. It’s too small for proper laps but she and the children would have spent the afternoon there, waiting for the oppressive heat to pass. He turns away from the window and looks at her and then down at the watch he has on his wrist, silver with a white face and an engraving on the back: With all my love, Katherine.
‘I don’t care about your opinion on fathers. I really don’t care at all,’ he says softly. ‘They have two minutes left and then I will shoot you.’
She has no idea what to say to this, so she just keeps quiet, remembering her joy at finding out she was pregnant and the frisson of fear upon learning that it was twins. She had no idea how she would cope. The utter exhaustion of the early weeks is a surreal memory now, and what she mostly feels is joy that they have each other, that there are two people in the world who will forever be joined. Friendships break, marriages end, even sibling relationships and parent and child bonds can fail, but it must be different with twins. Even when they fight, there is something that she can see between them, some connection that she feels can never be broken. One whole wall of the family room is covered in framed photographs of the twins at every age from scrunched-faced newborns until now. Sophie loves to hear the story of their birth, of the night they arrived.
Katherine had woken from a deep sleep – unusual because she had barely slept in the last month of her pregnancy. She was huge and waddled when she walked, her knees and back struggling with the weight. The twins moved all night, kicking and shoving for space. The night they arrived she had opened her eyes in the dark and moved her hand next to her leg to feel the soaked sheets. She knew what it was but fear had paralysed her as she contemplated the possibility that it could be blood. ‘John, John,’ she said, hearing her voice catch in her throat as if she was in a bad dream, screaming for help. He sat up instantly. ‘They’re coming,’ he said.
‘I don’t… I don’t know,’ she replied. He turned on the light and helped her sit up, throwing back the duvet so she could see that the liquid on the bed was clear.
‘Right,’ he said. Completely in charge, he helped her up and into the shower so she could clean up before they left for the hospital. The contractions only began when she was in a bed in her hospital room, and she knew it was because she had been afraid to begin until the doctors were close by. ‘You were born as the sun rose and light filled the room, and the doctor said that summer babies were the cleverest babies of all.’ Katherine always ends the story with these words.
Once upon a time John had sat with her and listened. Once he had enjoyed hearing the story as much as she enjoyed telling it.
‘I will love and protect you forever,’ he had whispered to them both as they lay cocooned in their clear bassinettes in their hospital room. She had been relieved to hear the words, to know that she and John were in this together. But now… now, her mind goes back to last night’s argument with him.
‘I’m not going to accept this behaviour, John, I’m just not.’ She was walking around the kitchen, putting dishes away and then wiping the counter, scraping crumbs into her hands. She always cleaned like this when they argued, feeling the need to control something, anything.
‘And what are you going to do for money without me? How are you going to take care of these kids?’ He was leaning up against the sink, his arms folded, watching her, just watching her work.
‘I’ll figure it out.’ She threw the crumbs in the garbage and dusted off her hands.
‘You are so ready to toss me on the trash heap, Katherine, so ready to just get rid of me.’
She turned to look at him, reading the despair on his face. ‘You’re the one who wants to be with someone else.’ Her anger rose at her own words and she picked up her cloth again, wiping down already clean surfaces.
‘That’s crap and you know it. Just let me explain – I can explain if you just stop talking, stop bloody cleaning and listen.’ He slammed his hand on the countertop.
‘I know what I read. There can’t really be any other explanation.’ Without another word she walked out of the kitchen, leaving him standing there with his explanation on his lips and no one to listen to what he had to say.
How has her life come to this? She cannot even begin to unravel the threads that have led her here to this day.
He is watching her closely now. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asks.
She shakes her head. Whatever she says now will be the wrong thing. She can sense that.
The children come back into the room; Sophie’s face edged with chocolate. ‘I made her eat a banana,’ says George, and Katherine nods, swiping at tears that arrive because her little boy sounds, all of a sudden, decades older.
‘You always do what Mum says, don’t you, George?’ he sneers at the child.
George doesn’t reply, knowing even at five years old when to keep quiet.
He looks at George and gestures with the gun. ‘I’ll tell you what my father told me, Georgie boy, something someone needed to tell you one day, and maybe today’s the day and maybe you’ll listen because you’ll always remember me saying it. If you get the chance to grow up and go out into the big, wide world… big if… but if you do, you need to remember: never trust a woman. Don’t ever trust a woman.’
9
Logan
Four hours ago
Logan drums his hands on the steering wheel as he drives, debating what to do. Is he making more of this than h
e should be? He doesn’t think so. He’s been doing this job for a few months now and he’s never had a feeling like this before. He stops debating. He’ll swing by the house again, try to deliver the computer, just to see if the woman is okay.
He turns right instead of taking the left turn that would get him to his next delivery, shaking his head at his need to check on the woman. It’s going to make the day run late. His beer is getting further and further away.
Another text on his phone makes him sigh. She’s persistent all right.
You need to call me right now!!!!
This happens every few months. It’s usually something to do with money. ‘I can’t pay the rent, I can’t afford petrol for my car, I can’t afford to eat.’ The news of whatever latest disaster is delivered in a whiny voice, with much sniffing and many tears. The tears are for show and he knows that if he refuses her – and he does refuse her often – she’ll just move on to the next one in the family. Good luck to them, as long as she leaves Maddy alone. It doesn’t matter how far he pulls away, there is still a connection there and she knows it.
The first time she called him was a year after he’d moved out. Twelve months had gone by and he knows she hadn’t thought about him at all. He was only nineteen and struggling, and even though sometimes – like when he had to sleep rough for a night or two – he thought about calling to see if he would be able to go home for a month or two before he got back on his feet, he stopped himself.
He was shocked the first time she called, almost frightened by the desperation in her voice. ‘We’ll all be out on the street if we can’t make the rent, Logan.’ He sent the money to help, money he had to borrow so that Maddy would still have a roof over her head.
‘They took themselves off for a fancy meal,’ Maddy told him two days later. ‘She thought it was funny.’ He knew the money was never going to help but he gave in sometimes, the cord not quite severed enough between them, her voice still triggering something in him.
Another message comes through.
Call me right now. It’s about Maddy.
Logan groans. He’ll have to call now. He has no choice. She’s probably lying but he can’t take the chance.
He turns down a side street and puts the van into park. He doesn’t think the day can get any worse.
Before he rings her, he tries Maddy’s mobile and gets her voicemail again.
He taps her number, wishing that he didn’t have it and that she didn’t have his, but there’s nothing he can do about it.
‘Logan,’ she says when she answers her phone.
‘Carmella,’ he replies.
‘You could call me Mother or Mum, you know.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s not go down that road again, shall we.’ His hands grip the steering wheel and he’s glad he’s pulled over. There is no way he should resume driving until this conversation is done. ‘What about Maddy?’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me how I am? How your dad is? You know he’s not been well and I’ve had to put up with a lot. You could come over and help. That’s what a proper son would do. But then you’ve always had a way of cutting everyone out of your life, haven’t you, Logan?’
Logan grinds his teeth, stays silent.
‘Everyone is willing to let the past stay where it is, Logan, everyone except you – and you’ve encouraged Maddy to think the same way. Your dad is right about you, you’re terribly ungrateful.’
Logan watches his knuckles turn white and feels his jaw spasm because of how hard he is clenching it. ‘What about Maddy?’ he asks slowly, menace in his voice.
She sighs. ‘Well, I did warn her about that boy, but there you go, she wouldn’t listen. I mean she barely speaks to me as it is but I do try with her, Logan, just like I try with you, but the two of you seem to have your own way of remembering your childhood and no regard for everything that was done for you. Your father and I did our best with you kids, but nothing was ever good enough.’
He hears his father’s voice even though he hasn’t exchanged a word with the man in years. ‘Who would want to waste their time with you? You’re ugly enough to scare away even an animal. No one likes someone who never smiles. What’s your problem?’ His parents did not do their best – nowhere near it.
He drops his head onto the steering wheel, his temples throbbing. He knows that he can’t react to her, can’t give her an opening, can’t give an inch because that results in him screaming and her screaming. It’s not like she’s ever going to acknowledge what kind of a mother she was.
‘I’m going to hang up now,’ he says instead.
‘Fine, fine,’ she says, aggrieved that he won’t get into an argument. He knows that she thrives on the drama. ‘Someone beat her up. They have no idea who but I told the constable who called me I thought it could be that boy. He just beat her up and left her for dead. She’s in the hospital and I’m trying to get on a flight down to Melbourne to be with her.’
‘What?’ asks Logan stupidly.
‘Do I need to explain it again?’
‘No… no. How badly hurt is she? Will she be okay? Which hospital? When did it happen?’ He fires questions at her as his gut churns. I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him.
‘The doctors are hopeful she’ll pull through, and… It was… Um… a few days ago maybe,’ says his mother, sounding bored.
‘Days ago, and you only called me now?’ he practically hisses into the phone.
‘Yeah, well… I’ve been… I’ve called you now, haven’t I?’
Irritation runs through his veins at her wounded tone. It’s never her fault. She’s always only doing her best. ‘What hospital is she at? Tell me so I can call and… I need to get on a plane.’
‘Footscray Hospital.’
‘Have they arrested him?’ he barks.
‘They can’t find him.’
‘What?’
‘They can’t find him. Obviously, they’re looking for him – the police, I mean.’
‘How do they know it was him?’
‘Well, I mean, they don’t know absolutely but she’s in hospital and he’s gone and the neighbours said they heard fighting and you know… I told them I thought it was him. It’s always the boyfriend or the husband, isn’t it?’
‘I can’t believe this,’ he murmurs because he can’t. Patrick is a loser, but in the couple of times Logan has met him, he has never gotten a violent vibe off him. He’s tall and skinny and he seemed intimidated by Logan, which was how Logan liked it.
‘Okay, I’m tired of this conversation now. I called you because I know she would want me to. But the thing is that I need some money to get down to Melbourne. She would want me there. I’m her mother after all.’
Logan feels a scream rise up inside him. He brings a clenched fist to his mouth and bites down on a finger, breaking the skin and drawing blood just so that he doesn’t say, ‘No, she wouldn’t want you there. She hates you because you were a useless mother. Your only job was to protect your children and you failed.’
‘How did they know to call you?’ he asks, his voice strangled with fury.
‘Unlike you, she has me in her phone as “Mum”. I guess they thought that would be the best person.’ There is a pathetic hint of smugness in her tone as though having the title means anything at all beyond her biological contribution.
Logan takes a deep breath.
‘About the money…’ she says, and he hangs up the phone, hoping that she’s still speaking to dead air.
He sits quietly for a moment, breathing in and out, trying to formulate a plan. Wherever he was going and whatever he was going to do, nothing matters now except getting to Maddy. He needs to get to Melbourne.
‘Call Debbie,’ he says aloud, because she will know what to do first.
‘Hey babes,’ she answers, and he explains. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘poor girl. Poor, poor girl. We knew that Patrick was no good.’
‘Yeah, and now I have to get down there. I have to take the parcels back to
the depot and Mack is going to be pissed.’
‘You leave Mack to me. Now wait a moment…’ He hears the sound of her tapping on her computer. ‘The planes are full, babes. The earliest I can get you on one is tonight at eight.’
‘I need to get there now.’ He pushes at each one of his fingers, taking some comfort in the loud cracking sound his knuckles make. He cannot keep still.
‘Okay, just wait. You do the next delivery and give me a few minutes. I can call Terri, who I know from school. She’s a nurse there. Just give me a few minutes. There’s no point in running off to the airport to just sit there for hours going mad.’
‘Okay,’ he agrees, relieved that Debbie knows what to do, as she always does.
He starts driving, breathing deeply to calm himself, seeing his little sister with her wide smile, her delicate hands that seem to dance in the air when she’s explaining something that excites her. If he finds Patrick, he will kill him. He knows that. He really hopes the police find him first. Nightmarish scenarios run through his head, making him sweat despite the air conditioning. He takes two wrong turns.
‘Concentrate,’ he admonishes himself.
His phone rings, and he looks at the screen on his dashboard, hoping it’s Debbie, but it’s Mack. Mack checks up on him at least twice a day. Logan knows that he will finally have earned his brother-in-law’s trust when the phone calls stop. He takes a deep breath and answers the call.
‘Hey Mack.’
He opens his mouth to tell his brother-in-law about Maddy but before he can say anything Mack starts talking.
‘So, bit of a weird one. You know those emails that we usually send out after a parcel has been delivered, the ones that ask how our service was?’
‘Yes,’ says Logan warily.
‘Yeah, well, something went wrong with the computer system and the emails went out before deliveries had been logged as done…’
The Family Across the Street Page 7