Our Magic Hour

by Jennifer Down

  ‘I’ve slept with three people in the last year,’ Suze said, ‘and they’re all here tonight. This town’s too small.’ She gave Audrey a squeeze. ‘You look great, lady. Happy birthday.’

  Audrey drifted away. She was alone again, she was dopey with heat and wine, she was a sleepy satellite. She saw Josie and Vanessa and Chelsea and Penny, the four cynics, still cackling by the fireside. She saw tall Nick standing with friends. He was telling a story, talking with his hands.

  They all walked over to the Tote in a joyful cavalcade. She and Nick stood close in the bandroom, leaning against the bricks. Between sets the crowd shifted, moved into the courtyard or out into the front bar. Audrey waited in the bathroom. Her own small, dazed face flashed back at her from the dirty mirror. The two cubicle doors banged opened at the same time; a woman stumbled out of each, and they giggled.

  Outside the bathrooms she met Johnny with a pint in each hand. He offered one to her. She shook her head and he kissed her on both cheeks. She held up her wrist to the girl at the bandroom door. She threaded her way through the room, hot with bodies, and found Nick.

  The plastic beer jug was wedged between his feet on the carpet. He looked glad to see her, as though he’d been worried she’d disappear.

  It was late when everyone spilled out onto the pavement. They all stood around in the shocking cold, sobering up and making fast farewells, pressing cheek to cheek.

  Audrey looked around for Adam to say goodbye, but he was standing with a full-lipped boy. They were lighting each other’s cigarettes.

  Audrey turned to Patrick. ‘I think Adam’s got a thing for Minh.’

  ‘Fuck, I’ve got a thing for Minh, too,’ Pat said in a tortured voice, and kissed her hair. ‘Take care, you good woman.’

  Audrey took Nick’s hands and they reeled across the road in a debauched waltz. From the other side of the street they waved to the cheerful stragglers left standing outside the pub, and started down the slope.

  In the kitchen Nick leaned against the bench and slumped onto the floor.

  ‘You didn’t have a birthday cake,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t need a cake. I had a lovely day.’ Audrey sat beside him.

  ‘I feel like things have been weird for a while,’ he said clumsily. ‘And I know it’s probably just been everything that’s going on…’ What has been going on? thought Audrey. There’s no excuse for me.

  ‘I don’t want to give up,’ she said.

  ‘Is that what we’re doing?’

  ‘I think we’d know about it if we were giving up,’ she said. He smiled at that. Audrey grabbed his coat by the collar and pulled him close for a kiss. After a while she went to the cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of Hendrick’s.

  Nick stayed on the linoleum holding his woollen hat. ‘Spence,’ he said, ‘I know we don’t, but it’s okay to talk if you want. We’re not having a fight. You don’t have to make a joke.’

  Audrey handed him a glass. ‘Here’s cheers.’

  ‘You’ll chuck.’

  ‘No I won’t. Cheers,’ she said again.

  ‘Happy birthday.’

  They staggered to the bedroom. Audrey stood in the doorway, stripping off her skirt, and Nick fell onto the bed. His spidery legs dangled over the end.

  ‘Help me,’ he grunted, ‘can you pull my boots off?’

  ‘Do it yourself, you lazy cunt.’ They began to laugh. ‘Did I ever tell you,’ Audrey said, lying down beside him, ‘that I had a twin?’

  ‘No. What happened?’

  ‘It died before I was—before we were born. Darwin’s theory.’

  ‘So it wasn’t your twin for long.’

  ‘No, only a couple of weeks, probably.’ She must have sounded sad, because Nick stopped looking at the ceiling and put his arms around her.

  They lay there on top of the sheets. Neither of them moved for a long time.

  ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I feel like you’re going somewhere,’ Nick said, ‘and I can’t come.’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘But I don’t know what I can do. Tell me what’s wrong.’

  Audrey could only practise thinking hateful things about herself. ‘I’ve been feeling pretty dreadful,’ she said at last, ‘and as though it’s all very hard work.’

  ‘I know,’ Nick said. He was on his side now, facing her. Audrey had to go on staring at the ceiling in case any of the noxious black grief leaked out.

  ‘I don’t want to punish you,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not. I just want you to come back.’

  ‘I’m here,’ she said again. She wasn’t sure who should do the comforting, so she turned and kissed his neck, the hollow below his ear, and they settled like that. She felt Nick fall asleep, felt the rhythm of his chest change, and she rolled to the edge of the bed. She pressed her face into the pillow. Her breath made a dragging sound.

  In the morning, while Nick was still sleeping, she wrote him a note in very small letters, tucked it under the coffee plunger and went to work. When she got home he’d already left for his shift, but he’d written a reply on the same piece of paper. In her hand, I’m sorry for being a monster. And in his, below: We’re all at least half machine. She felt such a complete and terrible sorrow that she curled into bed before dusk and tried to f ind a new space between waking and dreaming.

  Pillar Of Salt

  Nick left in a little hurricane of movement. He ate his dinner in a rush, read Audrey her horoscope from the newspaper to make her laugh, swilled a cup of coffee, brushed his teeth, kissed her up against the wall. The screen door slapped shut behind him; the broken concrete pavers rippled as he wheeled his bike out. He made all the noise that afternoon. He was trying hard.

  Audrey called Adam first, and then drove across the river to see him. She looked for the sign over the factories, the rainbow, OUR MAGIC HOUR. Adam’s hair was freshly cut. Audrey was glad to see him fussing over his reflection. They half-watched an American television program about psychics investigating a murder. Adam smeared ricotta on fig halves. Audrey listened to his latest escapades and conflicts. He talked about Minh. He went to the bathroom to piss, and told her about his placement supervisor through the open door. He settled beside her on the couch and theorised about Emy and Ben’s relationship. Audrey thought how suddenly he’d turned around. She couldn’t remember if she’d stopped worrying about him because he seemed better or because she was dog-paddling to keep her own head above water.

  ‘You lost weight, Spencer?’

  ‘No.’ Audrey gave him a Miss Universe smile. He pulled a face. He rolled a cigarette and smoked it while she watched the pictures on the screen. He picked up a crumpled napkin and pitched it at her.

  ‘Oi. Friend,’ he said, ‘what’s happened to you? I feel like we haven’t spoken in weeks.’

  ‘We talk all the time.’

  ‘Yeah, most days, but I don’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘Nothing very exciting. Work’s been full on.’

  They watched a soundless blender commercial.

&nbs
p; ‘Audrey. It’s like you’ve had some kind of bypass.’

  ‘I’ve been feeling a bit flat,’ she said.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Adam started on another cigarette, pinching the tobacco until it was spread in a perfectly even line.

  ‘I fucked up at work,’ said Audrey. ‘A child died. One of mine. Ten months.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Neglect.’

  ‘Shit.’ He nudged the filter. ‘Just because it was your case doesn’t mean you fucked up.’

  ‘The safety of those kids is my job. It’s my only job.’

  Audrey got up to put the kettle on.

  Adam didn’t move from the couch. ‘I bet Nick said the same as me.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Nick.’

  ‘You are a pain in the arse when you’re like this,’ Adam said. ‘I’d forgotten.’

  Audrey carried the mugs back to the sofa.

  ‘I’m being really awful to him at the moment. I can’t seem to stop myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’ve got no resilience. I keep getting more scared of everything. When I go out to gigs I want to hide in the bathrooms. I don’t know what to say to our friends. There’s too many awful things. I can’t stop it all from happening to people. I didn’t look out for Katy. I don’t know how to look out for Bernie or Maman. I don’t know how to stop it from happening.’

  ‘Oh, Spence. You can’t.’

  Audrey read something embarrassed and tender in Adam’s face. She was ashamed. It had been years since he’d seen her cry.

  Adam gathered her to him, spoke close to her ear. ‘Your religion is other people’s happiness. It’s absurd.’ He touched the bones of her neck. ‘You’ll be okay.’

  Audrey wiped her nose. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  They laughed. Adam kissed her on the lips.

  ‘I’m sorry. I feel awful to have done that to you,’ Audrey said.

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said.

  ‘I am sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I feel terrible.’

  ‘I think you should talk to Nick. Or maybe someone else, if you can’t talk to him. I think you’d both feel better,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not up to you, Adam.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s not.’

  Audrey drove home late and waited for Nick. When he got home she was asleep on the carpet.

  ‘Hey, babe.’

  She opened one eye and looked up at him.

  ‘What are you doing on the floor?’

  ‘I went to Adam’s, and…’ She was cold. ‘I don’t know.’

  He lay down next to her and picked up the book of stories she’d been reading. She watched him thumb through it.

  ‘Do you reckon I’d like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably not,’ she said gently. Reading was a chore for him, though he’d never say it.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘They’re stories about very small things.’

  She fell asleep again. It felt like only moments before Nick said Come on. Let’s get into bed.

  He was tactical. If he came home from work in the afternoon and found her asleep in bed he was frightened. He’d say Let’s go out for dinner. There’s a gig on at Shebeen. Can you help me make those zucchini fritters? Come with me to the laundromat, I haven’t seen you all day. She waited for him to lose patience, to say How come you can be normal at work but not with me, but he never did. On a bad night, one of the worst, he propped her at the kitchen table like a corpse. He cut up her food for her. He’d made an omelette with things she liked. She was paralysed with grief. He said Look at me and she couldn’t. He said I miss you. They both began to cry.

  Emy was back for a fortnight. She phoned Audrey.

  ‘Dad drove out to get me from the airport. It’s kind of weird, with Ben. Long-distance is hard. We hadn’t been seeing each other all that long.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Audrey said.

  ‘Don’t be. I still don’t know. We’re going out tomorrow night, so we’ll see what happens.’

  Audrey was still typing in the bleak kitchen light when Nick arrived home. She heard his boots on the porch, heard him drop his keys on the sideboard. The reckless noise he made told her he’d be playing the cheerful, dopey drunk. He stumped through the door and she lifted her face to him.

  ‘Ponytail,’ he said.

  ‘It’s getting long. I have to get a haircut.’

  ‘A ponytail always means shit’s about to go down.’

  ‘Does it.’

  ‘Yep. You’re ready to phone your mum, or clean the windows, or help me write a submission. Tie those hairs back.’

  ‘I’m doing a court report. Maybe you’re right,’ she said. ‘How was tonight?’

  ‘Good. We just went to the Napier. You should’ve come.’ He picked up her cold mug of tea and tipped it down the sink. ‘How much longer with the report?’

  ‘Don’t know. I’m almost done. Maybe I’ll get up early tomorrow and finish it.’ He moved behind her. He touched her shoulder blade; she felt that part of her tense. She stopped typing. ‘Hang on, I can’t work on two things at once.’

  ‘Jesus, Audrey,’ he said, and fell back. ‘It’s not meant to be work.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You know that’s not what I meant.’

  He looked injured.

  Audrey reached for his sleeve. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

  ‘Something happened,’ Nick said as they undressed. He stood in his shirt and socks looking like a solemn child. If his voice hadn’t been so earnest Audrey would have smiled.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I did something bad,’ he said. ‘Outside the pub I ran into this girl I went to uni with, and we went for a drink, and we hooked up.’ Audrey caught sight of herself in the mirror: black stockings, black bra, the ribs of a mean dog. Her chest made her think of the chicken they bought at the market. ‘I don’t know why I did it,’ he went on. ‘I’m not attracted to her. It was just really weird and intense. And I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Nick. Stop.’

  ‘Then I was coming back down Condell Street and this older guy stepped out of one of the houses, and I imagined what I’d do to him if he pulled a knife on me, and I was ready. This big adrenaline rush. I could have killed him.’ He sounded as if he were about to cry. ‘He just walked right past me. I felt sick that I’d even imagined it. And I don’t know why I hooked up with Georgia. I’m sorry.’

  The panic strangled his speech. Audrey almost didn’t recognise him. His brows were drawn together; he might have been confessing a murder.

  Sometimes when they fucked now she thought of other things. Not other men, but of fields and waves and streams. She felt as though he were humouring her, that he was touching her because he felt sorry for her or because he was daring himself to. The
joy had gone out of their bodies.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Audrey said. ‘It’s all right. I get it. You didn’t fuck her, did you? You’re wasted, you hooked up—I’m not missing anything, am I?’

  ‘Don’t say it like that.’

  ‘Like what? I’m not upset, Nick. I get it more than you think. I know I’m not’—now she faltered—‘You’ve been patient. I get it.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be bloody sacrificial about it.’

  She threw open her arms. ‘Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. How should I react? What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I want you to care! It’s like you’re saying Go on, fuck whoever, I don’t give a shit.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ she said. She turned away. ‘I resent that.’

  In bed they tried to salvage what they could.

  Audrey pulled the sheet up over their heads like a sail. ‘When we were kids, we had this ratty orange canvas tent. Maman used to set it up in the middle of the living room. She’d let me and Irène eat lunch in there, bring our books and blankets in.’ Their breath was hot under the cotton ceiling. ‘You know how when you’re a kid, you think you’re invisible because you can’t see anyone else.’

  Nick stretched the sheet taut overhead, let it slacken.

  ‘Sometimes you make it sound okay,’ he said.

  ‘We were happy most of the time.’

  ‘I still don’t understand it.’ Nick went on pressing the sheet with his hand. A great fold fell between their faces. ‘I still don’t get what it was like.’

  Audrey’s phone sounded in the middle of the night but by the time she came to, Nick was already switching on the light, licking his lips, climbing across her body to answer the thing.

  ‘Are you all right? Where are you?’ he croaked. ‘Listen, mate, it’s not really a good time. Isn’t there—’

  Audrey felt everything stratify. Adam. She hadn’t imagined he could go backwards, that this could start again. Nick was rubbing his eyes. She pulled on her jumper and waited. Those endless nights spent with Adam, chasing his grief around their kitchen table or his, all the late-night phone calls. She didn’t know if she could weather a second wave.