Soon

by Lois Murphy

  ‘Sounds bloody good to me. You can give the heap of shit to Blackie and buy yourself something flash. An Isuzu.’

  She nods, kisses the ticket. ‘Done!’

  I’m worn out when I get home, narrowly again. I have to get used to the earlier dusks; winter is almost upon us. I don’t want to think about it. I rustle up an uninspiring feed: chops and mashed potato, broccoli I overcook to mush. I hit the sack early, thinking the day I’d had would see me sleep like a newborn, but, like the hands of a drowned man reaching up to drag me into the twining reeds of a river, my dreams are ghastly and inescapable.

  In the sky above the turnaround outside Li’s place I desperately balance on the tray of the truck, which careens through the air while Gina and Blackie howl at me in terror from inside the cab. Below me I can see a clutch of figures; as the truck dips towards the ground I make out Milly and Li, sitting on the steps of Li’s porch. But they are not human, they are grotesque carnival clowns, swivelling their heads from side to side with their mouths gaping, shelves of gaudy prizes lined behind them. Their eyes are staring and their faces blank; their hands rest on their knees, and fingernails like claws drape down their shins. In Li’s left hand is a shredded lotto ticket.

  As their heads swivel in unison, their mouths spew huge quantities of money, which is caught in the slipstream from the truck and whirls overhead, while the other figures, who emerge to me now as Julie and Todd, and Gail and Tom, dance screaming around the steps, grabbing at the notes. Each time one gets close, either Milly or Li, without so much as focusing her eyes, raises a hand and swipes, so they all wear curtains of blood from deep slashes, but still they dance and chase the notes. Through the cab’s back window I can see the temperature gauge rising, and the hissing from the truck’s bonnet echoes the hissing from the clowns’ mouths. Just before the truck bursts into flames I see that Milly’s eyes have focused and are riveted on me.

  Laughter flies out of her mouth with the money.

  It’s a relief the next morning to throw open the doors and take my tea outside into the day’s chill. The heat of the shut-up house is uncomfortable, prickly instead of cosy, and I need the crisp autumn air to disperse the cloying remains of my dream.

  The early morning is deliciously fresh, one of those clear cold days that attain a sense of purity, everything stripped back, clean and calm. It’s funny how the cold can seem purging; heat can be hobbling with its languor, inertia, but the cold is exhilarating. It sharpens edges that heat blurs.

  I feel better than I have done for weeks, despite my terrible night. The sun shines through the cobwebs that have been clustering in my brain; I feel them dissolve and fall away, taking my awful dream with them and leaving me with the mental clarity I’ve so needed. By the time I hear Li’s truck rumbling off along the Woodford Highway, I’ve made my decision.

  I give Gina the vegemite crusts she is drooling for, and go in search of my camera. Today I’ll take my run out by Evans’s old place and take some holiday snaps of Stick’s enterprise for Sean.

  But mental clarity can be an elusive state; while it may seem attainable in the unsullied light of a new day, once the sun has risen enough to illuminate the surrounding landscape, strewn with half-finished and half-remembered tasks and plans, the clearness can start to fug. When Gina and I set out, in my zealousness I think that I’ll pace myself there easily, forgetting it is almost fifteen kilometres away and I’ve been jogging again for less than a week.

  It doesn’t take long for my fervour to dissipate – by the time I’ve reached that side of town my breath is burning my throat and my legs are wobblier than a DIY bookshelf. I have to slow to walking pace. Which doesn’t change the fact that I’m only just over halfway. At this rate I might get there by lunchtime. But I’ve come too far to backtrack, and I don’t want to alert Stick by driving there. Jogging wouldn’t concern him – he wouldn’t think for a minute I’d be stupid enough to go that distance on foot. How’s that for irony? Bit of mental clarity?

  When it no longer feels as if my lungs are being flayed, I accelerate to a power walk, feeling more than a little ridiculous. Gina gives me a sideways look, but seems content with the new pace. When I’ve taken my photos I’ll cut through the bush behind Stick’s crop and get Milly to pick me up along Mackie Road. That would make the entire distance only twenty k’s, perfectly doable. The last week should count for something.

  A length of shadow stretches across the road ahead of me, elongated, twisted gum trees, and I realise I don’t have my phone with me. I have a water bottle and the camera, but my phone is on the kitchen bench, with my car keys. And my house keys.

  It is going to be a very, very long day.

  It’s lucky I didn’t know in advance quite how long, but it would have been bloody useful to know how pointless. I’d been careful, checking the camera for film before I left – it’s been ages since I last used the thing. When I realise that I’ve taken off without my phone and keys I have a clutch of panic and recheck. Yes, a new film, only a couple of shots used, God only knows what for.

  At least something’s going right. I keep on with my shameful combination of jogging, marching and stumbling.

  It takes me almost four hours to get out to Evans’s, and by then the sun is well overhead and my morning toast is long gone. I have nothing with me except the small water bottle, which I share with my poor dog, who by now is looking as pissed off as her namesake used to. I am absolutely starving, so much so that I worry I might blur the shots.

  But there’s no need to worry. Because to take photos your camera needs a battery with some life in it. The one in mine is as flat as roadkill. I have just run (in a manner of speaking) fifteen kilometres, and achieved nothing except confirmation of my physical and mental decline. I am, unavoidably, a complete and utter dickhead.

  Milly’s place, which is closest, is nine kilometres away – probably a three-hour walk. The sooner I start the better. My mind fills with images of cheese Twisties, which I don’t even like. I think at that moment I would have been prepared to kill for a packet. In front of me Stick’s crop beams calm and safe.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m standing in a dope crop with the munchies,’ I say to Gina. She looks at me as though it’s all she could have expected. So much for crisp mornings.

  It’s after four by the time I stagger up Milly’s drive, and I’ve given up all pretence of being even remotely fit. I’ve decided to swear off health completely, it’s just too bloody painful. From now on I’ll drive to my own letterbox.

  ‘Anything,’ I mumble at Milly, ‘cooked, raw or still frozen, I will eat anything you put in front of me.’ She slots bread into the toaster and opens a tin of baked beans, while I try not to make myself sick gulping orange juice too fast.

  ‘What on earth made you think you could cover thirty kilometres on foot?’

  The cold juice has made my head spin; bright lights are flashing in my eyes. Gina is gulping from Felix’s water bowl for the third time.

  ‘Delusions of grandeur? I think my dog hates me.’

  ‘With good cause. You’re a clever girl, aren’t you, Gina?’ Milly bends to rub the panting dog’s ears. ‘Smarter than your owner, aren’t you? You wouldn’t go all that way without testing the camera first, now would you? No. That’s something a stupid person would do.’ Gina is lapping it up. When Milly serves my beans she pointedly spoons some onto half a piece of toast and puts the plate on the floor. Gina looks at her with utter devotion. ‘Poor thing,’ croons Milly.

  I try not to guzzle, but I barely chew the food I’m so ravenous. Milly watches with amusement. ‘I’ve never seen anyone inhale solids before,’ she comments.

  ‘All athletes eat like this.’

  ‘Good grief,’ she says to the wall.

  I start to feel human again once I’ve downed a cup of tea and nicked an apple. I wish it was Wednesday night, the night we cook up a feast for Li’s return – I could really go a roast meal, lashings of Gravox. I decide to make an apple p
ie again in the morning, to hell with repetition. And I’m certainly not going to go for a bloody run. I’ll probably be lucky if I can stand. With thoughts of hot, sugary pastry in my head, I wander out onto the deck for a smoke.

  Milly joins me, tea in hand. She’s enjoying herself. ‘You mean to tell me you left your keys and phone at home, but didn’t forget your tobacco? Where are your priorities?’

  ‘You’ve just laid them bare.’

  She’s looking at the sky. The sun is already falling towards the trees. Such a peaceful time of day, so calm; an empty room awaiting the arrival of its guests.

  ‘There’s more tea in the pot,’ says Milly, gathering our cups. ‘Or would you rather I ran you home? Figuratively speaking, of course. There’s still time.’

  The sun seems to be sapping the remaining dregs of my energy as it sinks languidly towards the horizon. I’m absolutely beat. ‘Would you mind if I just crashed here? Even the thought of getting in the car exhausts me.’

  ‘Vegetable curry for tea.’

  ‘Fine. Beautiful.’

  She returns with our cups refilled. ‘So what will you do about Stick?’

  ‘I’ll ring Sean when we go in. Stop dicking around. I should have just done it on day one, instead of going round there, thinking he’d cooperate. Stupid.’

  ‘Just desperate. We’re losing everyone. It’s going to make things so much harder.’

  ‘It has to be done, though, it’s too much. In my position I can’t just turn a blind eye. I’d be crucified. And I owe it to Sean.’

  In the house the phone starts to ring. Milly looks reluctantly at the last of the day and goes inside. The air is starting to cool. I stink, I need a shower. But there’s probably another twenty minutes, half an hour, of outside time left. I start to roll a last smoke when Milly calls out to me.

  It’s Liz on the phone. At last.

  It’s a long, emotional call. So much has happened since she left. Milly deflects her questions about us at first, diverting her with queries about the boys, their whereabouts. They are okay, Liz says, they’re in Denmark, west of Albany on the south coast. A friend lives in some kind of collective community there, and she’s staying in a caravan they use for accommodation, working about the place as rent in kind. It’s freezing and not ideal, but the people are great and have been really supportive. There are other kids there, and it’s been made clear she’s not to feel pressured, she can stay as long as she needs to. She’s applied to Social Services for a place, which will take forever, and thinks she might be able to pick up some work in Albany for now, even though it means a hefty commute.

  She’s good, she says. She still has traumatic dreams, but she’s settling. But what about us? Are we looking after Rolf for her?

  I can hear Liz’s grief from where I am standing. I leave Milly murmuring comfort into the phone and check that the house is closed up, then I indulge in a disgracefully hot shower that leaves me feeling broiled. I return to the kitchen where Milly is still on the phone, but now chuckling. The worst is over.

  ‘Hang on,’ she says, ‘he’s back now, and he’s all pink. I’ll put him on.’ She holds out the receiver. Her eyes are still smiling.

  ‘G’day, gorgeous.’

  ‘Hey, old man!’

  ‘Bout time you remembered us.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to have my head straight – hey, not to mention my life – before I got in touch. I know what you guys are like, you’d just worry like a pair of old chooks if I hadn’t.’

  ‘I’ll have you know I’m nothing if not pure goose. And anyway, you’re a very worrying person.’

  ‘Me?’ she squeals. ‘What’s this I hear about your Iron Man delusions, trying to jog thirty kilometres and nearly killing yourself? Talk about a bloody goose!’

  ‘That’s just Milly’s version. I happen to be in fine form. Thirty kilometres is a mere stroll.’

  ‘You dag!’ Liz, always an excitable person, is practically screeching. ‘Thank God you’ve got Milly and Li to supervise you, keep that ego in check.’

  ‘They certainly do that.’

  ‘Milly said Li’s lost the co-op.’ Skirting other news.

  ‘Yeah, today’s the last delivery. It’s going to be hard on her.’

  ‘She should get out while she can.’ Liz’s voice has taken on a tremor. ‘You all should. Before there’s no one …’ She breaks off. I can hear her breathing, working to stay in control.

  ‘I’m really sorry about Rolf, Liz.’

  ‘Oh God!’ She breaks, then calms herself again. ‘It’s awful. Awful. But I had no choice, I couldn’t have stayed, I couldn’t.’

  ‘You would have sacrificed your children if you had.’

  ‘That’s what Milly said too. And it’s true, I know that.’

  ‘He had that time with them, it was worth everything.’

  ‘I know. And he’s safe now. I guess that’s something.’ She gulps. ‘Where is he, um?’

  ‘He’s been cremated. His ashes are still at the crematorium, they’re having trouble locating a cousin.’

  There is a sizzle behind me and the smell of curry paste warms the kitchen.

  ‘Anyway,’ I say. ‘How are the brats?’

  ‘A bloody handful, I can tell you! As always. But coping well now, they think living in a caravan is being on holiday. It’s full-on.’

  ‘No aftershocks?’

  ‘A few, mostly Dylan. Stevie and Tyler are okay-ish. Quite a large ish. It’ll take a while for them to settle.’

  Settled is hardly a state I could imagine ever applying to those kids.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry I missed Li, I forgot it was Tuesday.’

  ‘Ring again tomorrow, she’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘Milly says it’s her birthday on … shit, I’ve run out of credit. Hang on, I might have another phone card, or some change.’

  ‘Saturday week. Call then, we’re having a shindig …’

  But she’s gone, too busy fumbling for coins to get in a goodbye.

  Milly’s stirring vegetables in the wok. ‘Lost her, she ran out of money,’ I tell her. The room is cosy with spice. It’s like a haven. ‘It must have cost her a fortune – look at the time.’

  ‘I’m so glad she rang, though. I’ve been so worried about her.’

  ‘She sounds like she’s on her feet.’

  ‘In a Liz, drunken two-step kind of way. Can you imagine those kids in a caravan? It would be a shambles.’

  ‘Chaos.’

  ‘Diabolical.’

  ‘Unbearable!’

  Milly’s turning from the stove with the next word when the phone rings again.

  ‘She’s back!’ I grab it. ‘Nebulah Health Resort.’

  There’s a pause. ‘Hello?’ says a man’s voice. ‘Pete? Is that you?’

  ‘Sorry, yes.’

  ‘Pete, it’s John Barry.’

  ‘John! Sorry, I thought it was someone else.’ Talking to Liz always makes me perky. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but I can’t get any answer at Li’s and I just wanted to make sure she got back okay. I thought she might be there.’

  I feel the warmth of the kitchen start to seep away through my feet. ‘What?’

  ‘She wouldn’t stay, said she had no shopping to do cos you guys were in town the other day and were all stocked up. She wanted to head straight back.’

  I can hear his words, but my skull is closing up. I don’t want them.

  ‘She said she’d phone to let us know she got back okay, but we haven’t … I was worried, I know she’s been having problems with the truck. I’ve been trying to get on to you since five, but there was no answer at your place, and Milly’s phone’s been engaged.’

  Yes, it had been engaged. We’d been keeping it busy, laughing with Liz. My bones feel like they’ve been doused with ice water.

  ‘Have you tried her mobile?’

  ‘I don’t have the number.’

  ‘I’ll try it now.’ I put
the phone down.

  My hands are shaking. Milly has turned from the stove and is watching me, eyes wide and worried, spoon suspended. I keep my face turned away. I know all the blood has left it.

  ‘The person you are calling,’ chirps a happy automaton, ‘has their phone switched off, or is out of range.’ My arm drops but I can’t get my hand to release the receiver. I cannot bring myself to hang up. ‘To leave a free text message …’

  And then I realise. Even with the phone hanging at my side I can still hear the recorded voice clearly.

  It’s been dark for nearly an hour but it’s silent outside the house. The mist is somewhere else.

  PART

  FOUR

  I aged a great deal after that night. We all did. Listen to me – ‘all’, as if two people could constitute such a state. Milly and I, the only two left, aged a great deal. Li’s death was like a series of body blows, each impact just that touch more bruising, making it that bit harder to breathe. A slow, one-sided assault. We crumpled in the face of it, the stuffing knocked out of us. Like a pair of old scarecrows.

  That first night marked the beginning of our decline. John Barry’s phone call was the first, the most winding, punch. Then the seemingly endless hours of waiting, and the terrible mocking silence outside – the silence we’d longed for all these months. A shrieking silence, void of life, like sitting in a morgue. We kept the curtains closed, terrified that the mist might come to find us, and dreading what it might bring with it.

  And knowing, through all this, that Li was out there. Praying that the piece of crap had shit itself before she reached Nebulah, that she was safely stranded somewhere on the side of the Woodford Highway. But getting only, over and over and over, that automated torment: ‘The person you are calling is not available …’

  We endured the night at the kitchen table, slumped and uncomfortable but unable to consider bed or the cosier lounge room. The vegetable curry congealed, untouched, in the pot; every now and then one of us would respond to a growling stomach by shoving a piece of bread into the toaster, and eating it standing, leaning against the sink. As if we weren’t really eating. I made pot after pot of tea, just to mark time.