by Les Zig
I don’t know why I don’t admit I already know about the bruises. Maybe because it leads to another cover-up—that I chased Beth down at her house. I could’ve just told the truth, said I saw her wrists any time through school. But it’s too late now.
‘She was wearing a long-sleeved blouse,’ Jane says, ‘like she was hiding them.’
‘I didn’t notice.’
‘You’re hopeless.’ Jane slaps me on the arm.
‘So you think he beat her?’
‘I don’t know. She wasn’t moving, like she was sore. It was just her wrists. Maybe she tried to get away and he grabbed her.’
The allure of drawing Jane is gone—for tonight, anyway. Sitting with Roger has dampened the thrill. Then there’s the thought of whatever he’s done to poor Beth.
‘Hey, I don’t need a lift tomorrow, by the way,’ Jane says.
‘Why not?’
‘Kai’s going to pick me up.’
‘Why? I’ll take you.’
‘I was thinking about it and what’s the point? We have to get up earlier so you can drive me in half an hour before I start, then you have to go all the way back to school. Kai can get me on his way.’
It’s logical. But I don’t like it. And I don’t want to let it go.
‘I thought you wanted me to take you,’ I say.
‘And I did when it seemed to make sense. But after giving it a test run this morning, it doesn’t.’
‘I should be taking you.’
‘What exactly is your problem here?’
‘I’m your husband, I should be taking you if you need a lift.’
‘I really don’t understand the issue here.’
Because there was a condom in your handbag. I don’t say it, although surely Jane’s made the connection, unless she believes I accepted her explanation unconditionally. Of course, why wouldn’t she? We’re one happy family, me, her, and Wallace.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘I thought this would be easier for both of us.’
‘Okay.’
‘We won’t have to get up earlier.’
‘Okay.’
‘I thought I was helping you out, too.’
‘Okay, all right, fine. Wonder-Kai’s getting you and dropping you off.’
We pull into our street, drive up to the house in silence. There’s an unspoken expectation between us. We both want to unleash what’s on our minds, although I recognise the irrationality of what I want to say. I don’t know what Jane’s exact words would be, but she’d want to drive her point home, even if it means repeating everything she’s already said.
I turn into the drive, reverse onto the nature strip, and kill the engine. There’s a flash of white and a thump at Jane’s window. We both start. The thump again—it’s Wallace, jumping at the car.
Jane opens the door and he hurtles onto her lap. She goes to pat him and he falls on his back so she can rub his belly.
‘How did you get out?’ Jane asks.
She lifts him like a baby and cradles him. He licks at her and she recoils. I put on the car’s internal light and see that his nose is dirty.
‘He’s burrowed under the fence again,’ I say.
‘Did you dig under the fence?’ Jane coos.
‘Great. Hope he hasn’t done anything next door. As if Vic hasn’t complained enough this week.’
‘You better check then.’ The flint is back in her tone.
‘Fine,’ I say.
‘Good,’ she says.
I get out of the car and choose not to respond to that.
17
I begin at the hole Wallace dug on Sunday night, but that’s still full. So I make my way down the fence, thinking it’s funny how you can never tell what direction a day will take. Things seemed to hit a high point when Jane suggested she’d pose for me. It’s Roger’s fault. He put a downer on the night, although I guess even if Roger weren’t around, I still would’ve got peeved at Jane revealing Kai’s going to take her to work tomorrow.
About halfway down the fence, I feel a gap. I kick the dirt back into it, stamp it down. Wallace will just dig it—or one of the other filled holes—back up. The dirt doesn’t pack. I should take more permanent action. Jane’s talked about starting a rose garden, so maybe that’s something worth investigating.
Done, I go back in the house.
Jane’s not downstairs. There’s a light coming from the bedroom. Wallace is in the study, lying on the couch.
‘No more with the holes, okay?’ I tell him.
He sighs, puts his chin on his paws, and closes his eyes.
I rifle through Jane’s handbag—for the hell of it—and find nothing. Then I check her phone where it’s charging on the kitchen counter. That’s clear, too. Satisfied, I trudge up the stairs, scowling at the trail of anniversary pictures, and our wedding picture. Those hopeful versions of us look towards a brighter future. Now all I can see is myself, worried about a condom.
Jane’s in bed. ‘Sorry, I’m really tired,’ she says. ‘Early start. And shouldn’t have had that extra wine with Beth and Roger. Do you mind?’
‘No,’ I say.
I undress, pausing as I pull off my cargo pants when I feel the bulge in the side pocket. It’s the gift from Sunderland’s. I check to see if Jane’s looking, but she has her back to me. I take the gift out, and slip it into my top bedside drawer.
Then I finish getting undressed and crawl into bed, my back to Jane.
Thursday
18
The house is still when I wake. Jane breathes quietly next to me. A gust of wind blows outside. Spatter on the window—rain. What light comes in is gloomy. It’s before dawn—how much, I don’t know.
I could check the clock radio, but decide to lie there.
I must drift in and out of a light sleep, although I think I’m awake the whole time. The clock radio goes off.
Jane rolls onto her side, slaps off the alarm. She sits up on the edge of the bed, takes a deep breath. Her back arches. It’s so smooth I want to run my finger down her spine to the crack of her butt peeking out above the top of her boxers.
But she almost shoots from bed and into the bathroom. Her stretches are abrupt. She slides her boxers down her legs, steps out of them, and turns the taps on in the shower. Steam fills the bathroom. She tests the water, casts a look over her shoulder, and catches my gaze. I close my eyes, although I don’t know why. When I open them again, she’s in the shower.
I push myself out of bed.
By the time I’ve finished my own shower, dressed, and gone into the kitchen, it’s raining hard. I have to switch on the kitchen light it’s so dark.
Wallace stands by the rear windows. He looks at me, lamenting what it’s like outside. I fill his bowls, coax him to eat, and make breakfast.
The morning ritual is subdued. When Jane comes down, she picks up the coffee I’ve made for her and sips at it. I’m prepared to leave the dishes until I get home, like I always do, but realise that’s a bad idea when Jane assumes her position by the sink and shoves the tap on. She clatters through the washing.
‘Did you find that hole last night?’ she asks finally.
‘Yeah. Filled it.’
The doorbell rings. Wallace runs to the front door and barks at it. Jane finishes washing and shakes her hands dry over the sink. I watch, unsure how we’ll part. She leans over the kitchen counter. We kiss without our lips ever touching the other’s cheek.
‘I’ll see ya,’ I say.
‘Bye.’
Jane goes to the front door. ‘Shhh, Wallace!’ she says. ‘Quiet!’
She opens the door. I see a flash of Kai, still in black, hair still upstanding like he’s had an electric shock. He grins at Jane, greets her. I can’t tell if Jane smiles at him, although I’m sure she must. She pushes open the security door, shoos Wallace back inside, closes the front door, and is gone.
Wallace runs up to the kitchen counter and looks at me. He’s a creature of habit. He doesn’t understand
why the habit’s changed.
I finish cleaning the dishes and go sit in the study.
I draw a line on the blank page in my sketchpad. Then another. Then another. Then another. I have a square. I dog-ear a corner. Draw a circle in the square. Then I rip out the sheet, scrunch it up, and throw it across the room.
Wallace pounces on it and tears it to shreds.
Good boy.
I push Wallace into the house and slip out through the front. I lock the door, and face the world through a curtain of rain.
Across the road, Josh and Karen hurry from their house, shielding their heads with their hands. Josh waves to me before they both slip into their car.
Tarika pulls out of her drive, Kirit and Pia in the back seat. I’m sure they wave, but it’s too dark to know for sure. I wave anyway.
Chloe pulls up outside her house, gets out of her car. She’s in her leotard. She runs for the front door, sees me, flashes a grin and waves. I wave back.
I step out into the rain. It hits me hard, splashes on my face, and drips down my collar. I should use my bag as a shield and run to my car. Instead I walk, and fumble with the keys. The door to Vic’s garage slides open. His car reverses out, screeches to a halt in the driveway. He pulls back up so he’s adjacent to me. Rolls down his window.
‘Hey, Gray, was your damned dog in my yard last night?’ he says.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I thought I saw him!’
Water runs through my hair, down my forehead, my cheeks and my neck. My jacket is soaked.
‘I’ve warned you about him,’ Vic says.
‘He’s just a little dog.’
‘He’s your little dog. Keep your little dog in your big backyard. I don’t need him scaring my cat. You got it?’
Go fuck yourself.
‘You got it?’
I open my door, sink into my car. The rain’s a drum roll vibrating all around me. Vic reverses onto the road, so his car’s parallel with mine. I can’t see him with all the rain, but I can feel his eyes on me. Can almost imagine him shouting, You got it?
His car revs. Rear tyres spin on the street and plume smoke.
He speeds off.
19
I am in the staff room by 8.42. The heating’s on, so it’s warm and toasty. Stuart, seated on the other side of the staff room, gives me a thumbs up. I curl my lips—it’s meant to be a smile. I don’t know how it comes out. The other teachers sit or stand around me, chatting, the stench of their instant coffee pungent.
Beth darts into the staff room, closing an umbrella, and lays it against the wall by the door. She takes a seat next to me. ‘Hey, how’re you doing?’ she asks, grabbing my wrist.
I’m not sure what to say to that.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘Sure?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘I need to ask you another favour. Sorry—I’ve been such a burden on you this week.’
‘It’s okay. Makes me feel useful, I guess. What is it?’
Before she can tell me, Stuart calls us to attention. His big concern today is The Corner, and that kids have been ‘absconding’ there. ‘Absconding’—that’s how he puts it. He talks about how if that isn’t worrying enough, he knows that teachers also go there to eat, but don’t do anything about the kids they see, so it’s up to us to not only be vigilant, but responsible.
The bell rings. I get up. This is the first morning meeting I’ve been to in a week, and it hardly seems worthy of all the grief Stuart’s put me through for missing the others.
‘Can we talk during recess?’ Beth says. ‘I have yard duty, although in this …’ She gestures out the window.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Is there anything for me to be worried about?’
‘I’m leaving Roger.’
‘What?’
‘We’ll talk about it at recess.’ Beth laughs—a sound of genuine relief and delight. ‘It’s okay. I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘Okay.’
‘I need to get to class. But, Casper?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks for being a friend.’
She clasps my hand, then leaves the staff room.
In first period, I teach humanities to a mixed class of Year 10s and 11s, but I stumble through the lesson. Even the kids notice it, and they frown and whisper to one another—all but Maya, who sits in the front row and beams at me. It makes me all the more uncomfortable. The way she looks at me is the way you look at somebody who’s infallible. If only she knew.
Next is a social studies class. Maya’s in this one as well. But so are some of my regulars, like Justine, Dom, and Bianca.
I look at Bianca a lot. My manic thoughts fluctuate from Jane and all the horrid possibilities that have preoccupied me all week, sidestep Beth’s declaration to leave Roger, and fix on Bianca, and whether she had interaction with Jean Jacket yesterday.
When the bell goes, I ask Bianca to stay back a moment. The other kids storm out. Justine and Dom go more slowly. They stand outside the door, peering through the window while Bianca shifts in front of me from one foot to the other, head bowed.
‘What is it, Mr Gray?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know how to broach this exactly, Bianca,’ I say, ‘and it’s not entirely my business because it wasn’t during school hours or on school premises …’ It’s the lamest start I could’ve made. I’ve disarmed any authority I might’ve had—that I should’ve had. ‘I saw you yesterday,’ I say.
Bianca looks up. Her eyes are dark. As are the shadows.
‘Walking away from that guy with the jean jacket—that guy who’s always at The Corner. You know the one?’
Bianca nods.
‘I don’t know the exact details, but he’s not somebody you want to be dealing with.’
Bianca says nothing. I’ve handled this terribly, confronting her with little information. I should’ve bluffed, told her I’d seen her with Jean Jacket, and awaited her explanation. That’s how Stuart would’ve done it.
‘Well, Bianca?’
‘I wasn’t dealing with him.’
‘Is that the truth?’
Bianca’s jaws clench. I’ve seen this reaction before—kids trying to work out whether to go with the truth or a lie.
‘It is,’ she says.
I’m sure she’s lying, but I don’t know where to take this. ‘Bianca, I don’t want to be the bad guy. I just want to know you’re okay. We can talk here, or we could talk to Stuart—to Mr Piper—who’ll probably want to talk to your parents.’
Bianca takes a deep breath. ‘He flirts with me, Mr Gray. “Nice smile,” he says. “Killer legs.” Or, “How about a date?” He’s not serious. He’s just teasing.’
It’s the truth—I’m sure of it; just as I’m sure it’s only some of it.
‘Mr Piper doesn’t want kids going to The Corner at all,’ I say. ‘I know it was after school, but he’ll still think that’s in his jurisdiction.’
Bianca’s head twists one way, body the other, then back again. She doesn’t want to meet my eye. I should report what I saw. It’s the responsible thing to do. But I don’t want to be Stuart. I don’t want to be anal. My relationship with the kids has existed in this easy familiarity. If I assert myself like Stuart would, I lose that. But maybe this should be about being grown up. I’ve hardly handled Jane with maturity.
‘It’s okay, Mr Gray. He’s no different to the boys around here, like Anthony or Eric. I know they’re always leering at me. I can handle them. And him.’
‘Stay away from him, please, Bianca. Give him a wide berth.’
‘I will, Mr Gray. Can I go?’
I nod.
She leaves the classroom. Justine and Dom huddle around her. They disappear from my sight, but she’s probably telling them everything I’ve said.
I hope I haven’t made a mistake. I should’ve reported what happened. But it seems such an overreaction. Bianca can handle Jean Jacket with an
aplomb I can’t even imagine in myself. Maybe it’s not her who needs the help.
It’s still raining, so what kids are outside crowd into the locker room, in the toilets, or under anything that gives them cover. It means Beth’s job performing yard duty is easy. When I find her, she’s standing outside the canteen intersecting the two main buildings.
‘Hey, I was wondering where you’d got to,’ she says.
‘I had to talk to Bianca.’
‘Everything okay?’
‘Uh-huh. What’s up? You’re leaving Roger?’
‘Yep.’
‘On Monday, you wanted to take the relationship to the next level. Now you’re ending it?’
‘Things will never get better than they are with Roger now. He wants what he wants. He can humour me otherwise, but that’s all it is. And I’m sick of playing his games.’
‘His games?’ I think of Beth in the reflection of the mirror, lying on the bed; of the buzzing I heard.
‘Every relationship has games—how affectionate you are, what you put in, what you expect back, all the parameters that define it, and all the things you do to get what you want. Sometimes, couples mesh, like you and Jane seem to.’
Seem to.
‘That’s when a relationship’s selfless. But other times there’s an unhealthy co-dependency. I like to think I’m selfless with Roger, but he’s not with me. And he’s not going to change. So that’s it. This is why I want your help. I want to pack my stuff after work and go. Would you come with me in case Roger comes home?’
‘You haven’t told him, have you?’
‘I don’t want to engage in some protracted discussion with Roger. He said he wouldn’t finish tonight until seven or so. So I can pack up after school and be out before he’s home. But will you come in case? Sorry. That sounds ominous. I don’t think he’ll cause a scene if there’s somebody else with me. And there’s been enough scenes this week—I want a clean break and to move on.’