by Alan Duff
‘Can I think about it?’
‘Sure. But there is a time limit, you’ll understand.’
She looked at her mother, hoping her father didn’t want to bring the champagne out. Overt celebration of even fifteen million in cash was just not Claire née Jennings.
Back chilling-out with her university buddies, Anna found it impossible to concentrate on her friends’ conversation, much as she loved idealistic discussion. Shifted the topic to music, hoping to force it on herself. But that ridiculous number, fifteen million, kept echoing in her head, as if she had been removed for ever from the ordinary world she loved.
Knew that the males in her circle would die to have such wealth; men love money, the power it is meant to bring. The toys, expensive cars, champagne lifestyle, all the bullshit that had never meant a thing to her. A lot of females loved money too. Perhaps she was more her mother’s daughter after all: zero materialistic outlook, at peace with herself, contented within? That was why she liked Madison, because she was a simple country girl the same.
A time like this Anna wished she had a permanent boyfriend, a confidant. But then how to confide being so troubled at one day inheriting such wealth? Would the love of her life need to come from a rich family to understand? Did it bring a new responsibility to choose a partner accustomed to money?
For some reason the image of the glaring woman at the fish market reappeared. To do with the subject of envy perhaps? Or was it a sign from the heavens that Anna Chadwick should count her blessings, in whatever form they came? Better than being so unhappy you stared murder at a complete stranger. So count your blessings, Anna. And stop your blubbering.
Chapter eighteen
Old mad bags had saned up for the visit. Talking like any normal person, all the way on the train from Central to Liverpool, Irene O’Brien was waxing bitter about the injuries inflicted on her brother Rick.
‘Why would they do that to a man?’
Asking Lu not in that tone of angry retribution, but in a feeble way, with the same defeated gene her brother inherited from their shit parents. A kind of ‘why do people have to die’ question. Duh, because they always do. Same as they suffer and, hey, justice happens too. Her mum’s other brother, Jacko, now he was nice — not ‘genetically challenged’, as Deano called anyone he considered trash. Lu supposed Deano would call that brother a ‘genetic fluke.’
‘Mum?’ Lu said. ‘Do you have to go on and on about it? Shit does happen, as you and me well know.’ Sometimes more than shit.
‘But why do that?’ came Reen’s whiny tone. ‘Why would such a thing happen to my brother?’
The suburbs sped by, ubiquitous red tile roofs and telephone poles and wires and thought of a million lives being lived, some endured, some suffering. People with mental conditions and booze problems, giving and receiving violence. Innocent girls being raped. Same as death, Lulu baby, life on Struggle Street till you give up the ghost or the ghost gets you. Don’t ask why, it just is.
‘Why do you think, Mum? He must’ve done something.’ Lu felt like yanking her mother round to repeat the question in her face. An Asian bloke with headphones stood bouncing nearby, you could hear his suck choice of canned music. Remembered suddenly the old bloke Deano jumped off at Redfern station for, something he said, and D didn’t explain why afterwards, even when the boys pressed him. Just said he thought the old fool gave him lip and he wasn’t standing for it, not even from an old man.
And when her mother did turn, only to give a seemingly genuine perplexed shrug, Lu felt like slapping her into reality — the reality — of her fuckin’ brother. But of course she couldn’t.
‘Mum. If you read about some other bloke getting his knackers cut off by attackers, what would be the first thought in your mind?’ Even your mind, thought Lu.
‘Oh, you mean that? Yeah, well, who says I didn’t? I bet my brother’s no angel in that area, what man is? Even priests do it don’t they, to little girls and even little boys, the bastards.’
‘Yes, and?’
‘And no reason to go that far, cut off his privates. Crikey, why didn’t they just give him a decent flogging? Take a crap on him or something?’
Got Lu giving her mum a second look in case her mind was turning, as it was an odd suggestion of punishment — the ultimate insult, only one up from sexual assault. Or, haha, getting your balls cut off.
‘Your own father,’ Irene O’Brien said, shooting a look.
‘Own father what?’
‘I just know I’m not the only one he touches.’
‘Thanks for that, Mum. Just what I wanted to hear on our way to visit Uncle Rick — who I always hated; hated — to hear about your sex life.’
‘Sex life? You must be kidding. What, helping himself and over in two minutes flat? You call that —’
‘Too much information, Mum. Just leave it will you?’
But Irene was not finished. ‘Years ago, before my head went on me, we used to go to the pub together, he’d get a babysitter and I’d, like, feel kind of loved. Y’know?’ No, Lu didn’t know. ‘Being just down the road at The Bells, he’d say he had to come back for something, he’d even say to check on you kids.’
‘Oh yeah? And then what?’ Lu fighting something, same as her mother was.
‘Turned out it was to do the business on the babysitter,’ said Irene so quietly.
A memory came hurtling then, from outer space. Lu actually looked up, at the carriage ceiling. And it landed — oomph! — in her lap.
I remember … coming into the big room and seeing Dad struggling with Nora our babysitter, I thought they were fighting. He had his pants down round his ankles. Her legs were bare. I remember.
‘Whole fuckin’ world’s fucked,’ Lu said with lip curled, ‘and everyone in it.’
His mouth didn’t say what his eyes were screaming. At seeing her walk in with her mother, his sister, his mouth just fell open. And his eyes caught fire with knowing.
Seeing him propped up in bed brought an instant, incredible sense of satisfaction, almost a delirious happiness to Lu. To make this visit to the man who’d abused her so long, the guilt and dirtiness he loaded her with now put right. For now anyway, even if she wasn’t exactly dancing. It would come. Had to.
The boys said they might have turned him into a eunuch. Felt like dropping her jeans and showing herself to him. Give the bastard a stiffy only in his mind now.
‘Gidday, Uncle,’ Lu said close to breezily. Though nervous as hell.
Couldn’t call him by name, hard enough giving him a title of respect. Uncle Jacko, she loved calling him uncle, the few times she’d seen him over a lifetime. Confided in his nieces and nephews that he knew it was hard living with the old man they had, a good-fer-nothing drunk. Every time Uncle Jacko visited he brought not only sweets but books, which the O’Brien siblings read over and over. Even her terror brothers. The Woollo O’Brien kids couldn’t figure how their mum and uncles were raised in the same household. Uncle should be a title a person had to earn.
‘Dear oh dear, you look a sight. How ya goin’, Rick?’ Irene drawled. Sister and brother didn’t kiss. No one in the family did. Both sides of her parentage hardly even talked, not proper conversation, just shouting and screaming when they weren’t whining and moaning about everyone and everything. Wonder they left out themselves.
‘God, Ricky, you look a sorry mess.’
And why the hell wouldn’t I, his expression fumed back.
‘Remember, you arsed off the old Woollo wharf one time as a kid? Scraped all one side of you, from toe to head, as you went down the post covered in mussels and oysters,’ Irene was moved to recall. ‘It hurting?’ Her face screwed into a picture of excruciating pain on her brother’s behalf.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Rick asked the question directly. Oh, he knew all right. Just as Lu knew he couldn’t say a word, no matter how he wanted to accuse her.
‘Gawd, Rick,’ Irene said. ‘Yer own niece? I told her to come. I might get l
ost on the way. My other stuff in me head might come on.’
Glaring at Lu with all his knowing, and she throwing back like a warped mirror of pure innocence: What?
‘Sheez,’ Lu said. ‘He’d be a grateful one wouldn’t he?’ Watching the man now effectively in her shoes — the ones he’d put her in for years — how he hated every moment.
‘I’m in pain you wouldn’t believe, if you really wanna know.’
‘Yeah, guess it must hurt.’ Lu put mocking in her eyes, just to drive it in. His voice was croaky, but not squeaky as expected like a female’s, though at the end of some words it went up a note or two, she’d report back to the boys. Talk about a laugh. God, it was a laugh. Now it was.
‘They get your balls?’ She just had to say it. With disbelief and yet knowing at the same time.
Murder stared back at her. Same eyes that had given her lust and contempt. Same eyes saying he knew she was behind it. She could have said, Ha fuckin’ ha, sicko Ricko, my mates gave you their all, showed you their loyalty to me. I’d go so far as say love. Yeah, love. And if there was a state beyond love then this act had taken her mates there too and her with it.
Love, Uncle bloody sex abuser Rick. Called looking out for one another. Three soul brothers and a sister who didn’t get dealt such good hands but when they joined their hurt it was the same as forces joined: something good happened. Nothing he would understand or grasp of life. Not of good.
‘Jeez, it must’ve hurt?’ Pouring on the pained expression — not. Tone as flat as a pancake. Like to a kid she didn’t like just fallen off his bike. Her mother staring vacantly at her brother patient, as if now she was here and he was his same old grumpy self, her sympathy had expired.
‘What we read in the papers … what was done to you … oh, man,’ Lu intoned. ‘You were on the television news. They even had front-page photos of you in the friggin’ big papers.’
She paused, for the timing. Said, ‘Those combed over strands of hair didn’t look too smart, but.’
Lifting a finger at Lu, he said in his new voice, ‘I’ll get every last one.’ Of you, quivering lips wanted to add. ‘Don’t worry, the cops are on to this case in a big way.’
‘They must think you’re important, Uncle Rick.’
‘The bloody case is! How many — You laughing at me, kid?’
‘Why would she be laughing at you, Ricky?’
‘He’s just upset, Mum. Who wouldn’t with what happened to him? Guess if it was a woman they would cut off her breasts and maybe mutilate down there.’ Again felt like peeling off her jeans and showing herself to him.
‘Know who I’m gonna mutilate, promise you.’ Rick hardly audible, meant only for Lu’s ears. She gave him a look back, just between them, of the coldest most indifferent eyes telling him: Got you.
She wanted to ask what would he do now, use his fingers, a dildo in a violent manner, how would it be wanting sex so badly in his mind but unable to do it? One thing for sure, this knackerless wonder was never coming near her ever again. It was over. Needed something dramatic and final like this to bring it to an end.
‘How will you take a pee?’ Irene in her guileless way.
‘I use a bag, you idiot,’ he hissed.
‘Why’d you call me that? Been calling me idiot for as long as we’ve been able to talk.’
‘Because you are one,’ he snarled.
‘How will you, you know?’ Lu dared to let out. Looked hard at him, not blinking. Watched his mouth tremble, words gargling in his throat, gagging on them, as she had on his ejected semen. ‘Like, you know: the actual bizzo?’ God, was she enjoying this.
‘Come in here asking your smartarse questions, girlie. I’m a very sick man. I have been grossly violated.’
A funny thing, truth, when neither side could openly state it. The dynamics it produced, the tiny hospital space charged with energy which no one was allowed to acknowledge — just play it. Or wear it.
‘What?’ Lu said. ‘Mum asked about how you’ll go to the toilet. Why wouldn’t I ask how you’re going to perform in bed? No need to be rude about it. What’ll Aunty Mabes do? Or …?’
She took a step closer to him. Wanting to say, maybe he stopped doing it with his fat wife seeing he had a young slim one on tap? Loving it, his squirming, the frustration at not being able to grab her and strangle her. No cock to shove in her mouth, in her cunt, her arse, put the thing in her hand like a pet she hated. The voice, the shallow breathing as it slowly quickened, how he snatched at parts of her, an arm, shoulder, handful of hair, clenched hard on her buttocks, as he drove himself into her. The silent scream of his climax as it shuddered through his body like a hot wind, turned him limp. Often he bit her; never, though, where anyone could see it. Just something between them, a sign of his power over her.
‘Your Aunty Mabes will stick by me as she always has — Loo toilet mouth!’ he near roared.
‘Fuck me, I only asked if they cut it all off.’ Lu put false hands up as in peace. ‘Woo-woo, but no need to scream at me. I’m only the visitor.’
Thinking: Go on, say it. Out with it. Accuse me. Then I can accuse you right back. Maybe I can ask the boys if we can give you up to the cops, your whole sordid story, get you put into jail to make this full and final?
Looking at this pitiful man, glaring so hard his eyes watered and his hands were trembling on the bed cover.
‘The papers said they got all of you,’ Irene said. ‘No man wants that.’
‘Shut your mouth, Reen. Who pulled your cord?’
‘I’m pulling the cord on this bus and getting out of here,’ Lu said. ‘Leave you to it, Mum. Be outside having a smoke. Ungrateful bastard. Came all this way and all.’
Walked along polished lino, patients in curtained-off areas, nurses on the move, through the floating smells, the clashing odours of sickness and bashed-around bodies and cleansing and disinfecting agents. A male doctor in a white coat just like on telly, handsome in that soft unmanly way, visitors looking tentatively into cubicles for their loved ones, a lot of fat people. Lu fighting to keep the smile, the laughter suppressed. Or to scream out in accusation at the patient back there behind her, tell everyone why he was here.
Even outside the big glass reception doors she held her joy in check; people in pyjamas grabbing a cigarette in the bright sunlight, the lovely heat, on her cell calling Deano, she held herself — just.
‘Deano.’
‘Yo, Lu. How’s the patient?’
‘He’s — he’s — shit, he’s —’ The laughter erupted from her. Hysterical laughter gushed and went on for some time; she had to step away from the public area.
Followed by an opposite feeling to elation, almost a fear. ‘He’s not a danger to me no more now, is he, D?’
‘Nah, not now, Lu. No danger to our princess.’ He was laughing too. While she was beside herself again. And what did he just call her — a princess?
‘I’ll be back soon. We can have a laugh.’
She glanced up, half expecting to see the figure of Rick in his second-floor window staring down at her. Thought of him jumping, taking her with him in the fall.
Try it, Uncs, and I’ll step out of the way and laugh at you splattering at my feet. Covered in your blood, the last of you. But I could take that, Ricko. Anything but your semen.
Chapter nineteen
Seeing Lu at visits just tore Rocky up, the parting, the jealousy she might be with Jay, handsome dude that he was, if of weak character. So being a tough guy he made the decision: No more visits, gonna do this on my own. If Lu is still around when I get out, maybe I will push my case. She can only say no.
He often thought of Lu, and his dreams of her weren’t exactly platonic, hell no. Nor the waking thoughts. Wondered why he hadn’t pushed it with her, figured it had something to do with his mother being a slut, a serial one who slept around the block and beyond. Rocky guessed he’d made up his mind there and then he’d never go with anyone remotely like his old lady, and Lu at first glance
just reminded Rocky of his mother except seriously better looking.
Till he saw her shyness. And how rare, for a woman whose good looks could not possibly be in doubt, he quickly discovered she actually believed herself not to be. Indeed, she called herself ugly. ‘And if you don’t think so, then I’m plain at my best. Now drop it, will you.’ Lu. The beautiful Lu. Jesus Christ, what the human mind could do to itself. Unless it was other circumstances.
He wondered, when he took her to that derelict old mansion due for demolition up by the flash Observatory Hotel — the vibes she gave off as if he was about to turn into a rapist or a murderous monster. In fact he’d hoped she might respond to being alone, just as long as he didn’t force the issue. Except when she went all frightened and nervous he backed right off his plan. I ain’t no rapist.
One night conjuring up Lu’s image his brain slotted the near perfect comparison: some chick called Heidi Fleiss, a high-class madam from Los Angeles who’d featured in a television doco Rocky had happened to switch on. Of course her being a professional slut had turned him off in the instant, though not so her looks, that dark hair, the crazily innocent eyes and facial expressions, the way she shrugged as if everything life threw at her she had to accept even if all of it was grossly unfair. Well that was Lu. Staunch. A quality he admired.
But a man had to get on with being staunch himself. Dealing with what was in front of him. Like being challenged to a fight, especially here in prison with a bunch chasing what they called a rep, their most important and singular mission in life to get a couple more steps up the ladder of fighting success. When a real fighter wasn’t bothered, why would he be? Who wanted to be a somebody in here and a nobody outside? Rocky never looked for trouble, but if it came he dealt with it — brutally. Strength and speed he was born with, the decisiveness and ruthless bursts he’d worked on. Much prefer, though, a life without incident. He was always a loving kid, now grown to the same man. Just leave me alone.