by Dawn Barker
As I said it I knew that it was ridiculous. Alasdair lived forty minutes away, over the bridge on the Northern beaches, away from the city and anywhere Paul would have been. Why on earth did I even think that he would have gone there?
‘No. I’m assuming you’ve called his phone?’
‘Yeah, it’s out of batteries or something. I’m not worried. Just let me know if you hear from him. He probably just got drunk and stayed at a friend’s.’
‘I’ll make some calls.’
‘No, it’s fine—’ Inside, I was chanting, yes please, please help me, I don’t know what to do.
‘This is not like him, Emily.’
I wished I could agree with him. He was right, Paul had never stayed out all night before, but he’d come close to it, getting home in the early hours, sometimes sneaking in not long before the sun rose. I’d stopped asking where he’d been: I just hadn’t had the energy to confront it. Stupid, stupid me. But Alasdair, like anyone else looking at us from the outside, had no idea about any of that. To him, and so many other people, we looked perfect.
‘I’ll keep trying him. He’s probably just lost his phone and walking home or something. He’ll turn up. I’m just at Nash Oval, the kids, they think…’ And before I knew it, I was crying. In front of all the other school mums and dads, and I ducked my head down and wiped my eyes under my sunglasses. ‘Sorry, Al. I’ll call you back.’
I ended the call then glanced up and saw that Tilly was staring at me and not the ball. I raised my hand and waved, trying to look natural but instead like someone caught in a riptide after swimming outside the flags, just about to go under.
I composed myself, then forced myself to smile as I cut up the oranges on the side of the field, cursing as I realised I’d forgotten a box to put them in. I arranged them on the chopping board and laughed loudly when people told me they wished they’d thought of just taking the knife with them when it was their turn. At half time, as the girls sucked the juice from the segments and discarded the sticky rinds, I texted one of the mums at the rugby pitch whom I’d asked to keep an eye on Cameron. He was okay, but Paul hadn’t turned up there yet.
I was walking over to the rubbish bin with the orange skins when my phone rang. In just a fraction of a moment I dropped everything on the ground and pulled my phone out of my jeans’ pocket. It was an unknown number. I answered the call. When Paul spoke, I almost collapsed with relief.
‘Paul, thank God.’ My relief gave way to anger; my worries all seemed so ridiculous now. Of course he was just drunk. ‘Where the hell are you?’ I hissed, turning my back to the pitch and walking towards the fig trees that lined the park, shading the cars around the perimeter, my feet slipping on the figs that littered the ground amongst the gnarled tree roots.
‘I’m sorry,’ he croaked.
I froze, my anger transforming into fear in an instant. He was crying. ‘Paul. Where are you? What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve ruined everything.’
‘Paul. You’re scaring me. Where are you? I’ll come—’
‘No, don’t come, I’m okay.’
‘I’m at hockey. Cameron’s at rugby. Are you home? Are you—’
‘Emily, please!’
‘What? Don’t shout at me! You’ve been out all night, not answering your phone. After everything that happened yesterday… I’ve called your brother, now he’s all worried. Wait, whose phone is this?’
‘Stop, just stop. I can’t—’
And I did. I stopped talking, and I waited with my heart pounding in my ribcage and my hands shaking and I didn’t know if I wanted to hear what he had to say.
‘I need to tell you something,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve done something awful. It’s all gone.’
‘What’s gone? What are you—’
‘I’ve lost it all. Our money. There’s something wrong with me. I’m so sorry. I need to get myself sorted out.’
‘For God’s sake, Paul. You’re not making sense. Are you hurt? I’m coming now to get you. Where are you?’
‘I just need to get tidied up and I’ll come home soon. We’ll talk.’
And then, as my mouth was open and tears were streaming down my cheeks, he hung up, and when I called back the number, it rang out and went to the voicemail of Damian Talbot. What the hell was he doing with him? I rang it again and again until eventually, someone – Paul or Damian – turned the phone off.
Eleven
Paul
Have you ever had to lie to your children? I don’t mean little white lies, like telling them that Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy is real, or that you have a stomach bug when you’re retching into the toilet bowl with your head pounding after only stumbling home a few hours ago. I mean a real, fat, ugly lie.
I wish I could say it was horrible to lie to Tilly and Cameron, but to be honest, looking into their big blue eyes and opening my mouth and letting the untruths just slide off my tongue was the kinder thing to do. I’d become so good at it by then, and the alternative – telling my children that I was a failure – was so inconceivably impossible.
The night before I left, I called them through to the living room. Tilly had flounced through from her bedroom, complaining that she was doing her homework and how was she meant to get it done when I kept interrupting her? Cameron had ignored me the first time I called him, and the second time, so finally I went into his room and unplugged his headphones from his iPad. He didn’t protest, just followed me out of his room to the couch. The news was on the TV; I paused it, the newsreader’s mouth frozen open mid-speech. Emily, in the kitchen overlooking the sitting area, had almost the same expression on her face as she leaned on the dark grey granite bench top, barely moving, waiting to hear how I was going to tell them.
I wanted to tell the children alone, but I didn’t have the energy to fight her. Emily was on my side, I knew that. She was trying to support me the best way that she could. But I hadn’t been able to stop gambling for her, or for the children. I had to believe that Damian’s way would cleanse me of the addiction that had pushed its way into my cells, like an infection after I’d touched the handle of a dirty shopping trolley then brought my fingers to my lips.
The kids sat on the couch against the back wall; I sat opposite them on the armchair. ‘So, I need to tell you something,’ I said, my voice strong.
Cameron turned his head from me and stared at the TV; I wanted to shake him. Tilly looked straight at me, frowning, looking for a moment like the toddler that she had been all those years ago, except that her face now was long and thin, her high cheekbones replacing the chubby cheeks she had as a little girl. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms. For just a moment, I started to waver, and I considered telling them the truth. Emily was always on about honesty and working as a team, but I couldn’t do that to them. Kids should be allowed to be kids, shouldn’t they? They don’t need to know the problems of adults; my job was to shield them from the hell that goes on in the real world. Was it so wrong to want my children to look up to me, to let them believe for a little while longer that I was a hero?
‘I have to go away for a few weeks, for work. It might even be longer. I’m not sure.’
‘Where?’ Tilly said, and by the way she screwed up her beautiful eyes I knew her too-smart little mind was whirring through the possibilities. ‘Why?’
I made myself laugh. ‘Don’t be so serious, sweetie. It’s just work, I’m just touring around a few places.’
‘Oh. Where are you going?’
‘All over,’ I said. ‘Melbourne, Adelaide, New Zealand—’
‘No way.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Can you bring me back something from Hobbinton?’
‘It’s not real, Tilly,’ Cameron said in that bored, deadpan way of his that I knew infuriated her.
‘I know that, Cameron. I’m not stupid—’
‘Hey, hey.’ I held my hands up. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be near there. I’m not even sure where it is!’
‘The South Island. You can do this Lord of Th
e Rings tour, I saw a video of it.’
I smiled and ruffled her hair. ‘I don’t know my schedule yet, but I don’t think I’ll be on the South Island. I’ll try though!’ See, that wasn’t really a lie. ‘Cameron, mate, do you have anything you want to say?’
He looked at his knees, scratching at a scab, but said nothing. I could sense Emily trying to catch my eye; I shifted in my seat so that she disappeared from my peripheral vision.
‘When are you going?’ Tilly said.
‘Tomorrow. Early, before you wake up. I’ll…’ My voice started to quiver; I cleared my throat. ‘I’ll miss you both. Be good for Mum.’
Both kids looked at me for a moment too long. ‘I won’t be gone long, I promise, a few weeks,’ I said quickly, before they could ask any more questions. I stood up and hugged Tilly, then clapped Cameron on the shoulder. They disappeared back to their rooms.
I sat down on the couch and leaned back, closing my eyes as I listened to their doors closing and Emily’s footsteps approaching. She sat beside me, but not too close. She spoke quietly. ‘What if they find out?’
‘They won’t.’
‘It would only take one person to talk and it’d be all over the papers.’
‘No one will talk, and no one cares. Journos have got more exciting people to write about than me.’
‘Why did you say you were only going for a few weeks when it’s going to be six? And did you have to say New Zealand? Now they’ll expect postcards and—’
I opened my eyes, but couldn’t look at her. ‘I did my best.’
We sat in silence, our legs almost touching. I looked at my hands, the sunspots on the back of them, the bitten nails. How did I get to this point?
Emily spoke quietly. ‘What is it that you want, Paul?’
‘What do you mean? I want to get myself sorted out.’
‘But what have you been missing? What have you been chasing?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shook my head.
‘What more do you need in life? We were happy. We had enough. Weren’t we enough?’
‘I don’t know,’ I repeated, my eyes prickling.
‘It’s like this part of you always wants more. When everyone else is settling down, you want to keep moving up, but at what cost?’
‘You used to want it too, Emily. We always spoke about making enough money to have a big house, a boat, go travelling, or have enough to take a year off and live in London or New York.’
She sighed, rubbed her face. ‘We did. But that was just a dream, Paul. That’s not real life. This is. Kids and a house and dishes to do and lawns to mow and hard work.’ She opened her arms up wide. ‘We have a family. What would you be happy with? A million dollars? Ten million? What do you want?’
I shrugged. I couldn’t tell her what I really thought, that ten million wouldn’t even buy us a house on the harbour. I said nothing; I felt her anger decrease again and longed for her to reach out and touch me.
‘The kids will be fine,’ she finally said. ‘They’re used to you going away.’
I shook my head.
‘You know what I mean, Paul.’
I stood up. ‘It’ll go quickly.’
She stood too and placed her hand on my arm, just lightly. I stilled, then after a moment, went to pack.
Twelve
Emily
It didn’t seem so different, not yet. Tonight, I had eaten sausages with the kids, because it didn’t seem worth cooking a tastier meal for just myself, and nagged them both to eat more. I had cleared the table and done the dishes and the children were in their rooms doing their homework, supposedly. I just wanted to put on my pyjamas and make a cup of tea and lie on the couch and watch something easy on Netflix to distract myself from worrying about Paul. But I had to talk to the children first.
I knocked lightly on Tilly’s door. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Hold on.’
I heard a rustle, a drawer closing. Hiding her iPad, no doubt. Another time, I might have insisted that she show me what she was doing, but not today. The door opened. Tilly’s face was flushed. ‘What?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Can I come in?’
Tilly shrugged and stepped back a little. ‘I’m doing my homework.’
I walked in, stepping around the clothes on the floor, and sat on the bed as Tilly sat back down at her desk. Her books were open.
‘What homework do you have today?’
‘Maths, English, the usual.’
‘Need any help?’
Tilly shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Mum, are you okay?’
I smiled a little, sighed. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Just missing your dad.’
Tilly nodded.
‘How are you going? I know the last day or two has been a bit…’
‘Weird.’
‘Yes, I suppose it has been weird. I’m sorry. It’ll settle down, it’s just that going on this trip for Dad has been… difficult.’
‘Why?’
I pressed my lips together. I was forgetting who I was talking to. ‘Oh, nothing. You know how he gets. He’s been working hard. But the three of us, we’ll get things back to normal while he’s gone and we’ll have our routine and the time will fly by. I feel like I don’t know what’s going on with you, or your brother.’
‘I’m fine, Mum.’ Tilly looked back at her desk. ‘It’s just that I need to get this homework done, I have hockey training early before school tomorrow.’
I nodded. I pressed down the part of me that wanted to tell Tilly what was going on, to explain to her that this wasn’t my fault, that I was trying my best to hold on tight to the edges to pull everything together but I wasn’t sure if my hands were strong enough. She’d find out, soon enough. I thought back to my own childhood; parents thought they could hide things but children knew, if not the facts, then at least the mood by the cold stares and the tension in the air. I cleared my throat and stood up. ‘Okay, darling, well, I’m here if you need any help. I was pretty good at maths when I was your age, you know.’ I smiled, and she sort of smiled back at me.
I had to knock twice on Cameron’s door before he answered; his music was playing, the same bloody song I’d heard for weeks and weeks now.
‘What?’ he called.
‘Just me. Mum. You okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I come in?’
‘No,’ he called, sounding bored.
‘I’m coming in.’
The music stopped and a moment later, the door opened. He peered through the crack.
I tilted my head to the side. ‘You okay, Cam?’
He nodded, looking at the floor.
‘Can I get you anything? A drink? A snack?’
He shook his head.
‘Dad won’t be gone long, you know.’
‘I know.’
I wanted to push the door fully open, but knew better. ‘Well, come and get me if you need anything.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded, flicking his eyes up to meet mine for a moment, then looked away. Did they fill with tears? It was too late; the door had closed and I heard his steps cross his floor then his music came back on. I rested my head on his door and made myself breathe slowly.
Back in the kitchen, as I made my single cup of tea, I felt the absence of Paul all around me like a cold chill. He wouldn’t be coming home tonight, even if it was in the middle of the night to find me anxious and angry. I wouldn’t see him, or even talk to him, for six weeks. That was how the treatment programme worked, and I had – reluctantly – agreed to it. I could cope without the contact, but I hated having to lie to the children. I only had a vague idea of where he was, but I imagined a big, clinical building, grey carpets, large rooms with chairs in a circle. Was he frightened? I knew how hard it would be for him to admit to weakness. I felt fire in my cheeks as I admitted to myself that I hoped he was scared and humiliated. I was frightened, and yet I was the one who had to lie to the kids and pick up the pieces, pretending that everything was fine, while he got to hide aw
ay for six weeks and have someone cook and clean for him, and he could go to bed early and sleep in and take lots of hearty walks and talk about himself. It wasn’t Paul who had to stammer to some faux-sympathetic woman at the bank that we couldn’t pay the mortgage and beg to defer our payments for two months. Yes, Damian had arranged for his wages to continue, but minus a huge percentage to pay for the treatment, and I couldn’t even think about how long it would take to pay back. It wasn’t Paul who had called the credit card company to extend our limit and lie about the reason why. It wasn’t Paul who would have to take extra shifts at work and clean the house and do all the washing and shopping and cooking and organise the children as well as worrying about him and me and our future. It was all me. So yes, let him feel frightened and judged for what he was doing to our family.
I picked up my mug of tea, gripping the handle. My hand slipped. Hot tea sloshed over the side and onto my hand. ‘Shit!’ I shouted, then slammed it down again as my tears began to fall. I grabbed a towel and dried my hand then mopped up the spillage, trying not to let it overwhelm me.
I longed to speak to Paul, to yell at him and ask all the questions he kept avoiding, to blame him and shout at him and to tell him that I loved him. But I couldn’t, for six weeks. I doubted that he’d need to be there that long, though. Once he’d settled in, surely we’d be able to visit, or at least call.
I stared out of the glass doors to the dusk settling over the back garden, the dark outline of the lemon gum tree, black against the streaked purple sky. When the kids were little, we’d always told them to look at the moon, no matter where Paul was travelling, as he’d be looking at the same moon too. The moon was barely visible but I gazed at it. And as I did, I understood that the worst had happened. I was on my own. We were broke. Now that my worst fears had come true, something inside me switched on. I had to keep control of my family, and of myself. I turned away from the moon, back to my home and my children and stood up a little taller. It was all up to me now.