by Mark Brandi
WINNER OF THE CRIME WRITERS’ ASSOCIATION DEBUT DAGGER
WINNER OF THE 2018 INDIE DEBUT FICTION AWARD
SHORTLISTED FOR LITERARY FICTION BOOK OF THE YEAR, ABIA AWARDS 2018
SHORTLISTED FOR THE MATT RICHELL AWARD FOR NEW WRITER OF THE YEAR, ABIA AWARDS 2018
SHORTLISTED FOR THE NED KELLY AWARD FOR BEST FIRST FICTION 2018
‘This book is SO good. Published to huge acclaim in Australia, Into the River is dark, unsettling and makes for compulsive reading’
Hannah Richell, author of Secrets of the Tides
‘Brimming with tension and menace… an unforgettable story extremely well told. It had my heart racing and breaking in equal measure’
Sarah Bailey, author of The Dark Lake
‘Part crime fiction, part coming of age tale – a masterful evocation of a childhood gone awry’
Chris Hammer, author of Scrublands
‘I had a passionate response to this book; uncrowded, clean, powerful story-telling that held me in its grip… Writing like this is precious and rare’
Sofie Laguna, author of The Eye of the Sheep
‘Original and darkly memorable… Into the River deserves all of the praise it has won… Fans of Liz Nugent who like their crime fiction subtle and darkly literary will love this book’
Dervla McTiernan, author of The Ruin
‘A poignant gut-punch portrait of the lives of boys forever changed by the landscape of violence, masculinity and secrets. Brandi’s gift is his ability to take us to the dark places while reminding us that the sun will still shine overhead. Devastating, breathtaking, and effortless, Brandi has crafted a singular force of nature’
Sarah Schmidt, author of See What I Have Done
‘A bold new voice in fiction’
Louise Jensen, author of The Sister
‘Very little fiction is as emotionally true as this… A dark and disturbing story from a substantial new talent’
Saturday Paper
‘This is literary crime fiction at its best’
Books+Publishing
Legend Press Ltd, 107-111 Fleet Street, London, EC4A 2AB
[email protected] | www.legendpress.co.uk
Contents © Mark Brandi 2019
First published by Hachette Australia (an imprint of Hachette Australia Pty Limited), Level 17, 207 Kent Street, Sydney NSW 2000
www.hachette.com.au
The right of the above author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
Print ISBN 978-1-78955-012-2
Ebook ISBN 978-1-78955-011-5
Set in Times. Printing managed by Jellyfish Solutions Ltd.
Cover design by Steve Marking | www.stevemarking.com
All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
After initially studying law, then completing a degree in criminal justice, Mark Brandi worked extensively in corrections and emergency services before turning his hand to writing. His shorter pieces appear in The Guardian, The Age, The Big Issue, and in journals both in Australia and overseas. His writing is sometimes heard on Australia’s ABC Radio National.
Originally from Italy, growing up in a rural Australian town (in a pub) continues to influence his creative focus. He now lives in Melbourne. His second novel, The Rip, will be published by Legend Press in 2020.
Follow Mark at
www.markbrandi.com
or on Twitter
@mb_randi
For Tomassina and Tommaso
Prologue
Dad told them never to cross the highway.
But the dam hadn’t been much good that day. It was a green dam and Jed told Danny there were no yabbies in green dams, only fish if you’re lucky. Yabbies were only in muddy dams. But Danny, as usual, reckoned he knew better.
They caught nothing, so Jed got bored and reckoned they should go to the river, just for a look. But they had to cross the highway to get there.
‘What if Dad finds out?’ Danny said.
Jed shrugged. ‘How would he?’
They left the nets at the dam and Jed pushed down the lower lines of the fence with his foot so Danny could climb through without getting scratched by the barbed wire.
A long truck, belting north toward town, howled its horn as it tore past, destined for the abattoir. The smell of sheep shit and oily wool lingered, as Jed and Danny slid down the steep, stony embankment to the edge of the highway.
Jed was a good foot taller than Danny and could see down the road until it curved away to the west. To the east of the curve was a flat, yellow patchwork of paddocks that disappeared in a shimmer below the stony face of the Grampians, looming like a tidal wave at the horizon.
Above the range, blue-black clouds billowed and ruptured, and a grey veil descended across the mountains. The wind shifted quickly from the southwest to a cooler southerly, and Jed could tell the weather was coming soon. He could smell it, like the start of rain falling on a hot road. Like wet cement.
Then, without warning, Danny took off across the highway. Jed called out for him to stop, but his voice was lost in the wind as Danny disappeared down the slope on the other side.
The river. Shit. Danny couldn’t swim.
Jed heard the nearing rumble of another truck, so he ran while he had the chance. The wind blew at him, willing him back. But he was a good runner and he pushed against it, the highway smooth and warm under his bare feet. He made it to the dry grassy edge, eyes watering and chest heaving. The truck’s horn blasted as it passed.
He couldn’t see Danny anywhere.
‘Danny!’ he yelled. Across a lazy field of long yellow weeds, a tall row of eucalypts swayed as the air whooshed through their branches. Just past those trees, he knew the river ran deep and strong.
‘Danny!’ The wind ripped his calls away and he could hear the coming thunder of another truck headed west.
Jed ran through the weeds and toward the trees, his legs bouncing on the dumb earth like rubber. He imagined telling his mum, trying to explain, but she’d never believe him. For certain, his dad would beat the living shit out of him, probably break some bones – maybe even kill him.
He would have to run away, go live in the bush somewhere, or the city.
He could never go back home.
‘Danny!’ he screamed. Startled, a cluster of sulphur-crested cockatoos erupted from the high branches of the eucalypts, squawking and screeching, their pure white feathers stark against the blackening sky.
The truck roared past behind him and, in the quiet after, Jed could hear the river surge, hidden deep within the trees and scrub.
* * *
As he first caught sight of water, flowing fast beyond a row of trees and thick shrubbery, the wind suddenly relented. He called out again, his voice broken and throat raw. Then, near the river, from behind a prickle bush, his brother stepped into view, with eyes wide and cheeks flushed red.
Jed felt a march of hot anger rise in his chest.
‘You’ll pay for that,’ he said. ‘You wait til later.’
Danny smiled. ‘But I found something. Quick, come look!’
Jed followed
him down to the river’s edge, to where an ancient ghost gum had fallen into purpose, forming a long bridge across the water, its thick roots upended by rain, the river and time.
‘There!’ Danny pointed.
‘Big deal,’ Jed shrugged. ‘A tree fell down.’ He looked up at the sky closing in – for certain, they’d be riding home wet and cold. Danny screwed up his face and pointed again.
‘Nah, look properly! Under the tree. It’s stuck.’
Jed looked at the dead tree, the black rush beneath and the gathering yellow foam until he saw what Danny was pointing at – a green wheelie bin, wedged under the middle of the trunk, with water streaming along its sides.
‘It’s a rubbish bin,’ Jed said. ‘So what?’
Danny’s face dropped. But Jed was intrigued. What was a town bin doing way out here?
He moved closer to the river, stepping through the low branches and over rocks to the soft earth at the water’s edge. He took hold of a root, a long dead artery, and leaned over the river, as close as he could without getting wet.
Rain began to fall through the canopy of eucalypts, but Jed wasn’t thinking about that now. He climbed aboard the slippery trunk and moved closer, gripping a slick flex of branches as he stepped slowly across the bridge.
Danny watched from the riverbank. ‘Be careful,’ he said. But the rain was falling heavily and Jed couldn’t hear a word.
As he got closer to the middle of the river, Jed thought he could see bolts screwed into the top of the bin. There were a lot of them, all around the edge of the lid.
It looked like someone wanted it closed up really tight. Like they didn’t want it ever to be opened.
Like they didn’t want what was in there to ever come out.
Part One
One
Ben saw the ambulance up the street when he was coming home from footy training, but he didn’t think that much of it. When he got inside, his mum and dad were quiet, looking at the telly. The Wonder Years was on, but the sound was turned off. Then the phone rang and his mum ran to it, almost like she knew it was coming.
* * *
At dinnertime, his dad put on the black-and-white telly in the kitchen. The A-Team was on and Hannibal and Murdock were making some sort of catapult to help them escape from prison. They were using a bed frame, steel springs and even the bed sheets to make it. They had tools though, which really didn’t make sense if they were supposed to be in prison.
Mum and Dad were both still quiet and Ben tried to think of something to say, so he told them about the ambulance up the road. Dad stopped chewing, looked at Mum and said, ‘Ah yeah.’ Then he went back to his chops and The A-Team. Mum didn’t say anything.
* * *
After dinner, Mum served dessert, which was weird because they only ever had dessert on Sundays if they sat in the special room. In the special room they would sometimes have chocolate mousse with chopped-up nuts on top, especially if guests came over. Even with chocolate mousse, Ben didn’t like the special room because it didn’t have a telly in it, and the chairs were uncomfortable.
This time though, they were in the kitchen and there was no chocolate mousse. It was just Neapolitan ice-cream, but only the vanilla and strawberry were left. Ben never understood why his mum didn’t just buy chocolate, but he never asked about it.
Dad went back to the couch and turned on the big telly, but Mum sat there at the kitchen table and watched Ben eat the ice-cream until he was finished. Then, after he’d licked all the melted bits at the bottom of the bowl, she told him that Daisy was dead. She had hanged herself on the clothesline.
No one said anything else after that.
* * *
Daisy Wolfe was fourteen, three years older than Ben, and they got on the same bus at the same stop. She never talked to anyone much, just chewed gum and listened to her Walkman.
One time, this total psycho grade six kid, Tom Joiner, was gonna bash Ben behind the bus shelter for no reason at all. But Daisy found out, grabbed hold of him and choked him in a headlock til he cried. She was pretty tough for a girl. And Ben kind of loved her a bit after that, though never told anyone.
He wondered why she’d done it, why she hanged herself. Maybe she was failing at high school or something. Or maybe the kids were teasing her. He didn’t reckon it would be that, but. She was pretty good looking. ‘Very popular with the boys’ – that’s what his mum said.
She must have been upset about something though. Ben wondered why she didn’t just run away. That’s what he would do if things ever got really bad. He’d never hang himself, no way. And definitely not in the backyard where his mum would find him.
He tried to imagine Daisy’s body hanging from that old steel clothesline, creaking as it shifted in the wind. He could see her dark eyes and her legs, perfectly white, swinging in the air.
Then the wind would blow harder, the clothesline would creak, and her summer school dress ripple as the shit and piss slid down those smooth, creamy legs. He knew about the shit and piss because Fab had told him that’s what happens. And Fab’s cousin, Marco, had told him about it. Marco was eighteen and from Melbourne, and he knew about things like that, so Fab said it must be true.
Ben imagined that’s how Daisy’s younger brother, Joe, would have found her, with the shit and piss running down her legs. Just before she did it, she’d given Joe fifty cents to buy mixed lollies from the milk bar. He’d bought raspberry jubes, jelly teeth and a ‘Big Boss’ cigar. The milk bar was opposite the footy oval and Ben had seen him walking past, showing off with his cigar. Joe didn’t know then that Ben and Fab had smashed his cubbyhouse at the block over the back. And he didn’t know the real reason Daisy had given him fifty cents.
Ben heard his mum say that Joe had tried to wake Daisy up. That he got hold of her legs, tried to lift her, and was screaming at her to stop mucking around and just wake up. That’s how Mrs Pickering, who lived next door, found out – she heard Joe crying like she’d never heard before. She called the ambulance and all that, but it was way too late.
And Mum said that Joe would never recover. But Ben didn’t really know what she meant by that.
* * *
They buried Daisy quick. That’s what Ben’s dad said, that it was really quick. Mum said, quietly, they were doing it quick because of what she did. Ben wondered if that was because she’d start rotting sooner than normal, but he thought he better not ask.
The funeral was just a couple of days later, a Saturday. It was the only time Ben had ever seen his dad in a suit. It was navy blue and it made him look like the prime minister, but smaller and with brown hair. Mum even made him put a tie on. She said it was the first time he’d worn one since their wedding day, but he hadn’t needed to tie that one up. So Mum had to help him do it and it took ages.
After she got Dad sorted, she cooked pancakes, then got all dressed up in a black skirt and jacket. She even had lipstick on, which made her look a bit fancy. But no one hardly said a word.
Ben was happy though. Mainly because he was allowed to stay home on his own, eat pancakes, and watch cartoons.
* * *
Two days after the funeral, Ben’s dad offered to get rid of the clothesline and Daisy’s parents agreed. He put his long blue overalls on and got the angle grinder from the shed. Ben wanted to go with him, but Mum said no. She said it wouldn’t be right. Then his dad said he could come to the tip after, which was even better. They always picked up some good stuff at the tip, and Ben liked chucking rocks at the feral cats.
Dad said he’d be about an hour, but he came back from the Wolfes’ nearly right away, his face all white. Mum asked what had happened and Dad said that Mrs Wolfe told him to get the fuck away from it you cunt in a voice like he’d never heard from a woman.
So the clothesline stayed. They didn’t go to the tip. And the Wolfes left town.
* * *
It was three months later that the new neighbour moved in.
‘A Statesman De Ville,’ his dad said
, without shifting his gaze from the telly. It was Friday, so he was drinking a big bottle of beer without a glass. ‘Nice car. Must be on good money.’ Mum didn’t say much about it, but slipped a cork coaster on the table, while his dad took a swig. The cork ones were for family – she had fancy wooden ones with pictures of kangaroos that she used for guests in the special room.
The news was on – it was something about the World Expo that had been on in Queensland and how they reckoned it was the best ever. Ben pretended to watch, but it was boring and he was mainly thinking about the new neighbour.
Ben wondered if the neighbour knew about the clothesline and the last thing that hung there. The clothesline that rattled in the wind when he rode his bike past, like it was calling him closer. The clothesline with its cold steel poles, bolts and wires, spinning forever in that relentless southerly wind.
In the front yard, weeds had sprouted and the grass had grown long. And that nice, shiny blue car just sat there in the driveway.
Two
Ben’s family never went on holidays. His parents just weren’t the type. The only one they’d been on was to Adelaide when he was four. The drive was really long to get there; he remembered that bit. Mum wanted to stop at a motel in some place called Kaniva, but Dad said he wanted to keep going because he was making good time. Ben remembered the drive, but he didn’t remember much about Adelaide. The only thing he remembered was that his dad made him go into the sea.
He stood there, waist deep and with his back to the ocean, waving to his mum in her stripy green bikini. She was trying to take a photo, but was having trouble with the camera. Dad was trying to unscrew the flashcube, but it wouldn’t come off. While Ben was watching all this, a wave smashed into him from behind. It flipped him upside down, the salty water filling his throat and lungs. He remembered his dad lifting him up out of the water, laughing, and carrying him back to the beach.
After that, Ben decided it was better to stay at home in the summer holidays.