‘What can I get you?’ The barmaid’s make-up is thick but doesn’t quite disguise a Celtic-style tattoo on her neck with a name in the middle of it, presumably a man she’s fallen out of love with.
Julia points at the fridge under the mirror. ‘I’ll try one of those blue things.’ She hands her a ten dollar note. ‘Are they any good?’
The woman puts the drink and change on the bar and shrugs.
‘Not my cup of tea, love.’
Probably not Julia’s either but, after the day she’s had, her tastebuds won’t be too fussy. She picks up her drink and notices, with faint irritation, a pile of Bryant’s brochures sitting in front of the beer taps. Why on earth would he put them here? No one in a pub does yoga. There is an elastic band holding them together, and someone has doodled devil horns and breasts on Bryant’s photo, coloured in half of his teeth. She removes the top defaced brochure, screws it up, and then notices that the next one has been scribbled on too. She pulls four more ruined ones out and puts them in the overflowing ashtray at her feet.
She folds her arms across her chest and turns to watch the karaoke stage; there is a bald man snapping his finger out of time to a Joe Cocker tune and a middle-aged woman with teased-up hair and tattoos beside him. They are doing a terrible rendition of the song. The woman doesn’t know the words and is squinting at the word cue screen. Her partner is grinding his crutch on her thigh, roaring, Leave your hat on. The crowd eggs him on. Julia can feel her own cheeks blushing with embarrassment for them.
Two men come and stand in front of her.
‘Hee-ey,’ one says. He’s dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt that reads, ‘Mick’s Fencing — Erections in a Flash’. ‘I’ve never seen you in here before.’
The other guy is wearing a camouflage jacket and tracksuit pants. He’s wiry and mean-faced. His boots are pointy and tipped with silver.
‘Do you have spurs to go with those?’ she says.
He angles his foot to the side so she can see them better. ‘Cool, huh? They weren’t cheap, believe me.’ He moves closer to Julia. ‘But I could get you some of these boots at cost price, love.’
‘I don’t think they’d suit me.’ Her fingers are tight around the bottle neck.
Erection Guy moves in closer too. Vultures fighting over meat. ‘I reckon you’d look pretty good in anything. Or nothing.’ They both snigger.
She takes a long swallow from the bottle. The buzz she’d hoped for hasn’t come, and isn’t coming. What exactly was she hoping to find in here? The man of her dreams? A group of like-minded friends? A one-night stand? ‘I think I’d better get going.’
‘Already?’ Pointy Shoes touches her shoulder, rubs her skin with self-conscious affection.
‘It’s late,’ she says.
‘Lady, it’s barely gone eleven. Are you going to turn into a pumpkin, or something?’ Both men laugh. ‘Just stay and talk for a while. No harm in that. We’re not trying to chat you up or anything.’
Julia downs another mouthful of the blue potion.
‘That’s right.’ Pointy Shoes pulls a packet of smokes out of his jacket pocket. ‘Just relax, love.’ He offers a cigarette to Julia.
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘What about me, Wilson?’ Erection Guy says. ‘You gonna offer me one of those?’
‘Fuck off. You wouldn’t shout me a beer back then.’
‘It wasn’t my fucking shout, you moron.’
‘It never is. Plus, you still owe me that twenty note I lent you last week.’
‘Like hell I do.’
Her hand, still burning and blistering inside the bandage, is like a siren, screaming at her to take action, something, anything, to take away this pain.
Wilson lights up, blows a thin stream of smoke towards Julia in a way he probably figures is seductive. ‘Anyway, love, how about you and me getting out of this dump, and I’ll measure your feet, maybe organise a pair of these cowboy boots for you.’
She puts the blue drink back on the bar and takes a deep breath. ‘I have to go.’ She parts the crowd with her non-injured hand and hurries towards the exit.
The karaoke announcer says into the mike, ‘Thanks guys, we’ll just take a short break and then …’
‘And then fuck off,’ Erection Guy screams at him.
Julia ducks her head past the angry announcer and out of the pub.
She stands for a moment on the steps to the veranda, indecision causing her to sway. She should go home. But that’s not what she wants to do. She desperately wants — needs — to see Tom again. Shit. What to do? What to do? Follow her head? Or her heart? She closes her eyes and imagines each possibility. And the answer snaps into place almost immediately. As far as Julia can tell, there is only one option that doesn’t come with a heavy serving of guilt. Taking a deep breath, she reshoulders her handbag and walks resolutely home, thinking of her family, feeling virtuous.
But a sudden fierce wind hits her as she turns the corner at the far end of the mall, and it pushes and pushes against her on the walk home, as if trying to warn her she’s going the wrong way.
Tom
Bryant stays for a long time slumped against the cushions, looking sad and deflated. Eventually, he raises his head and apologises.
I tell him everything is okay, and I’m not offended, but I can’t help wondering why on earth he would do something like that. Why would he want to kiss me? It’s pure craziness.
He stares outside at the moon, sighing now and then. I have no idea what he is thinking. I shift my position on the mattress and wait.
After a while, he looks back into the room. ‘You’re partly to blame though, Tom. The way you stared at me all those times, so intently. Didn’t you realise what was happening?’
‘I just wanted to be healed.’
‘You encouraged my affections.’
‘But you’re a man.’
A slight smile twitches the corners of his mouth. ‘You know, Tom, some people wouldn’t see that as a problem.’
‘But …’ I have no idea what insane ideas are going through his head. I really like Bryant, despite his weirdness, but I can’t figure out what he wants from me.
‘Shit.’ He scrapes his fringe away from his forehead, as though trying to straighten out his thoughts. ‘What a bloody mess.’
I try to think of something nice to say, to cheer him up. ‘I’d give anything to have your life, Bryant. You’re the luckiest man I know.’
‘Lucky?’ He seems shocked. ‘Lucky? I’m an actor stuck in a bloody part I never should have auditioned for in the first place.’
‘But you’ve got Julia.’
‘Oh, Tom, you have no idea, do you?’ He starts to get to his feet, then stops. ‘You’re the lucky one, mate, you know that? You’re single, good looking, and life is just beginning for you. I wouldn’t be in a hurry to give up all that for marriage.’
He straightens his legs with a groan, and brushes ash from the front of his jeans. He doesn’t look me in the eyes anymore. ‘I’d better get home before they send out a search party.’ He picks up the cigarette and sucks it back to life.
I follow him outside.
‘You know what, Tom, let’s pretend that … you know, the thing that happened earlier. Let’s just pretend it never happened at all, hey?’
I tell him that suits me fine. In fact, I was planning to rub it from my memory anyway.
He takes a quick drag on the stub of his cigarette then throws it into the bushes at the side of the house. ‘And also,’ he says still not looking at me, ‘Perhaps it might be best if you stayed away from my wife from now on.’
After Bryant is gone, I lie on the bed, but I am too distraught to sleep. My mouth remains dry no matter how much water I drink. I walk outside and stand under the stars, my connection to them now broken, and their multitudinous twinkling now serves to make me feel small and insignificant, rather than part of the universe. The world is empty, like the rooms inside my head, and I wonder if my soul has been le
vied as payment for murder. Would God do that?
I walk down the driveway, kicking at the gravel. I am just out walking, nothing more than a stroll to clear my head. I shall walk to the end of the driveway and then back again.
I am not going anywhere near her house.
I will not sit on the pavement, begging for a glimpse of her colours through the window, praying for a taste of her song entwined in the warm summer air.
I will not close my eyes and remember her parted lips.
None of those things, just a walk to the letterbox and back again.
There is a foul odour as I pass the sign for the farm. I hesitate for a moment and lean over the ditch. An image of Whicker, our runaway cattle dog flashes before me, but I see nothing except black grass and a wedge of polystyrene down there.
There is a car on the road behind me. Its lights open up the night, erasing the stars. I step onto the hard shoulder, slipping a little as my feet stumble near the ditch. I stand and turn, wait for it to pass.
But the car doesn’t pass. It slams hard into my legs. I am flying through the air, soaring and tumbling. I am blending with the stars again. Then, I hit the ground and pain rushes in to fill every corner of my body. And, as the pain expands inside me, the bulging suitcase of guilt and shame and emotional torment bursts open wide and flaps up into the night sky.
I can hear again. That’s all that matters. Stars shimmer with pearl music, trees provide gentle harmonies overhead, and the night is a choir of insect song. I close my eyes and sink gratefully into the earth.
The familiar sound of Wilson swearing brings me back again. ‘What the fucking hell were you fucking doing here? You fucking moron. Shit!’ His breath is close to my face; beer and cigarettes.
Is he crying?
I try to tell him I feel better now. The physical pain has absorbed the emotional pain, mopped it up like oil into bread. But my voice isn’t working. I can hear a gurgling sound in my throat.
‘Shut up!’ he screams at me, putting his chin close to mine. ‘You’re probably gonna die.’
Another voice, coming from the car. ‘What …? Wilson, what’s …?’
‘You shut up too, you fucking drunk.’ And I can hear him sobbing now. ‘I only just got my licence back.’
I hear the crunch of feet on gravel. ‘What the fuck happened?’
Wilson sniffs. ‘We hit him, mate. I didn’t see him till the last minute.’
‘You’ll lose your licence, mate.’
‘I fucking know that. shit.’
‘It’s justice.’ I recognise Mick Morton’s drunk but cold-edged voice. ‘He killed your cousin, mate. No one would blame you if you left him here.’
Although I can’t say it aloud, I agree with him. Let death have me.
Wilson spits. He curses under his breath. ‘Back the car up, mate, and put the roo lights on. I want to see how bad he is.’
Julia
Barbara is asleep on the couch, the TV flickering on her face. The lines around her eyes and mouth have surrendered to sleep’s hospitality. Her skin is wrinkled, but there is still a child-like vulnerability to the slack lips and fluttering eyes and she appears fragile despite her bulk.
Julia doesn’t want to be at war with this woman. They could be friends. Well, maybe not friends, but at least colleagues, working together for the good of the family. Don’t they have the same goal — Happiness for the Heath Family? Perhaps Barbara can sense a changing of allegiance; maybe she doesn’t want to commit herself to an out-of-favour wife. Julia takes the crocheted rug off Amber’s dolls and lays it over her motherin-law’s lap.
Then she tiptoes outside to the shed where Oscar is tangled up in his blankets, and moonlight makes his face angelic. She leans over and kisses his forehead while he snores in quiet huffs.
‘It’s comfier inside,’ she says, ‘in your little bed,’ hoping his subconscious mind will listen and take the hint and return to the house in the morning.
Julia walks into the bathroom. It still smells noxious in the small room, and half the tiles have blistered like her hand. She removes her make-up, flosses awkwardly with one hand, brushes her teeth and stares at her pale reflection.
There has to be some way of repairing her family and marriage. It’s probably a simple solution. A wise person would laugh at her frustration and show her where she was going wrong — see Julia, this bit here? You just need to gather the slack and pull it into a bow. There, all better.
How do you ignore the holes though? Is that what most people do, once the kids are born, and the mortgage procured, and the romance has been rubbed away? Do they pretend to the outside world, to themselves, that everything is fine?
She just wants Bryant to desire her again. That’s it. She wants him to stride through the house, take her firmly in his arms and love her the way he used to; before the children were born, before she put on the extra weight.
She switches off the light and creeps into the kids’ bedroom.
Lying in Oscar’s empty bed, her hand aching like a song, she listens to Amber’s soft breathing, the hum of cicadas outside the window and, moments later, she hears the car pull into the driveway.
He enters the kids’ room. ‘You won’t believe this,’ he says in a whisper. ‘Some bastard put a brick through the yoga centre window. I had a look through the hole and it looks like red paint has been thrown all over the floor. Who would do that?’
Charlie? Julia wonders, nervously. No, surely not. The knife was for a roast. He said so. But what if the red stuff is blood?
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I’ll help you get it off.’ If the red stuff is what she thinks it is, then cleaning it up should probably be her job.
‘Hey, I saw Tom tonight,’ he says. ‘Move over.’ He climbs on the bed beside her. His mouth is next to her ear, annoyingly hot. She can smell cigarettes. ‘He told me he kissed you.’ Bryant nuzzles his lip against her neck, his stubbly chin scratching her skin. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
She prickles with anger. ‘I’m a bit tired,’ she says, trying to shift out of his way, but coming up against the wall, unable to move further.
‘Was Tom a good kisser?’
He leans over and his lips are suction cups on her mouth. They are dry and sticky, like he’s been kissing sap from a tree. She turns her head away, almost gagging for breath.
Isn’t this what she wanted? Passion? But, in that moment, she realises it’s too late for sex to heal them; the damage has been done, the relationship shattered into too many pieces for intimacy to repair. He’s fucking another woman.
Panic begins like a saucer and escalates into a clattering, teetering pile of crockery she can no longer balance in the air. It’s all going to come crashing down around her, she realises. She presses her hand to her ribs, fighting for air.
‘What’s happening to us, Bryant?’
‘Nothing.’ She can hear the bewilderment in his voice.
‘How can you say, nothing? You don’t …’ Julia sits up, her heart beating too high in her chest, scared that if she speaks these words, they’ll become true. She must do something, quick, before the pain destroys her. The words come out of her mouth before she can stop them. ‘I’m leaving you.’
And go where? How on earth will she support herself, and the kids? She isn’t trained to do anything, apart from ballet and what good is that? She has no savings put aside. She’s been with Bryant since she was nineteen. He replaced the emotionally absent father nature gave her.
‘For goodness sake, darling,’ he says, gently. ‘You’re overreacting about something, hey? That’s all. And it’s making you irrational.’
‘It doesn’t change the fact that you don’t love me anymore.’ There, she’s said it. She waits for his reassurance, his denial.
He places his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s a rough patch, sweetheart. All couples go through them.’
‘It’s not a rough patch; you’re having a bloody affair.’ Oh God, she can feel the hysteria building inside he
r now.
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Summer if that’s what you’re getting at. She’s a friend.’
‘Shut up. Shut up,’ she says, holding onto her voice like the controls of a nose-diving plane. ‘Why won’t you just admit it, Bryant? Why won’t you say it? You’re having an affair and you don’t love me anymore.’ She gets to her feet, frightened she will start screaming and wake Amber. Her whole body is shaking.
She hurries into the kitchen and sits alone at the table, forcing deep breaths in and out of her lungs. She must get control of herself. In the bedroom she’d sounded like her mother. Julia was never able to get inside Moira’s mind; that was a well-protected fortress not even Julia’s father entered. But she knows the outside signs well enough — hysteria, drama, shrill outbursts.
‘You’re wrong, Julia.’ Bryant appears as a darker shadow in the doorway. ‘I don’t want to lose you. I won’t lose you, not over something as silly as a misunderstanding.’
‘Go away.’
He sits down. His edges are blurred by grey light. She hears him sigh. ‘Won’t you trust me?’
‘Like I did with Craig?’ Julia presses her fingers against her temples. Their marriage was never the same after Craig.
He leans across the table and tries to grab one of her hands. She presses her injured hand to her chest and allows him to hold the other.
‘Help me,’ he says. ‘Can’t you see I’m trying my hardest to be a good husband? I’ll do more around the house. I’ll be more romantic if you like.’ He squeezes her fingers. ‘Just give me a chance, Julia. Let me rebuild our relationship.’
‘But you’re cheating on me. And your lover is pregnant. How do you expect me to live with that?’
In the dim light, she can see tears on Bryant’s cheeks. ‘You don’t understand, Julia, you really don’t.’
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