Sixty Seconds

by Jesse Blackadder

  ‘Laura,’ you say and try something approximating a smile. ‘Good to meet you.’ You glance at the mother, standing a few steps behind.

  ‘Adele,’ she says smoothly, and reaches a kind hand to shake yours. ‘I’m sorry about barging in on you like this, but we’ve been taking up so much of Jarrah’s time, it’s only fair we introduce ourselves, in case he’s been forgetting to tell you where he is.’

  Kind woman. In a sentence she’s let you off the hook for snapping at Jarrah, and for not knowing his whereabouts. Plus she doesn’t allude to the fact that your picture is plastered over the newspaper.

  She makes a few minutes of polite chat and then she and Laura excuse themselves and leave, heading back to their car and their presumably nice, normal, stable home, and some kind of family dinner. It’s nearly eight pm and you’ve drunk two glasses of wine and eaten half a packet of rice crackers and cheese.

  ‘Hungry?’ you ask Jarrah.

  He shrugs in that teenage way you can’t stand. ‘I’ll have some cereal.’

  He stands with his back to you, shaking cereal out of the box until a mound of it almost overflows the bowl. Sloshes milk onto it from the carton you remembered to pick up, spilling some on the bench, starts to eat noisily, standing up. You bite down the urge to point out to him that now he’s seeing a girl like Laura, he should stop eating like a starved ten-year-old.

  ‘She seems nice,’ you say instead.

  He nods, mouth full.

  ‘Kind of her mother to bring you home and come in. I didn’t know you’d been spending so much time with her.’

  ‘Mm.’

  You’re sure he’s shoving in mouthfuls as a pretext for not answering. How to ask what you want to know without being a stupid parent? You reject the first few questions that occur to you as being idiotic and finally come up with: ‘I guess she likes you too, then?’

  He blushes with such a theatrical cheek-reddening you could almost laugh.

  ‘That’s fantastic, Jarr,’ you say, and you mean it. That a girl like Laura could even notice him is miracle enough; that she would feel sorry for him is likely; that she might even be attracted to him is fantastic. It makes you weak with relief.

  ‘Are the two of you an item, then?’

  ‘I dunno.’ He shovels in another mouthful of cereal. ‘Maybe.’

  You actually smile, your muscles creaking from disuse. ‘That’s great.’

  He doesn’t smile back. He finishes the food, sticks the bowl in the dishwasher and looks back to you. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘He went to Sydney to see a barrister. He’ll be back on the weekend.’

  ‘Is he going to jail?’

  You hear the fear in his voice. ‘No,’ you say, too quickly. ‘It’s a technical case, that’s all. It probably won’t even get as far as court.’

  You have no idea if this is true, and clearly Jarrah doesn’t believe you. He looks at you for a moment, then turns his body away. ‘Night, Mum.’

  You glance at the clock. ‘Bit early for bed isn’t it?

  ‘Homework.’

  ‘Don’t I get a kiss?’

  He comes back to you, leans in, brushes your cheek with his lips. He seems taller since Toby died. You remember suddenly the sweet way Toby smelled. There’s a trace of it, almost indiscernible, somewhere in Jarrah’s teenage scent.

  The kitchen seems large and echoing once he’s thudded up the stairs and closed his door. You pour another glass of wine and drink half of it to build your courage before calling Finn.

  His number rings out to voicemail. He hasn’t changed the message; those calm, measured tones are a shocking reminder of happier days. You hang up silently, turn off the light and drink the rest of the wine in the dark.

  At nine pm the pool light switches on automatically. After the photographer you meant to change it, but you forgot to struggle over to the pool shed, tucked away in a weedy corner beside the studio, potential home to snakes and rats and oversized tropical things that crawl.

  You’ll do it now, you decide, after three glasses of wine. You find the torch app on the phone, slip on a pair of thongs and head out across the grass. The pool pump and filter live in a rickety metal garden shed. You lever the door open, holding back so that anything alive can get out without attacking you. Flash the light inside. Locate the damned switch. Turn it off. Shove the door closed and turn off the torch.

  The night closes darkly around you in a damp embrace. You stand still, allowing your eyes to adjust, feeling the warm air lick the bare skin of your arms. You could never do this in Tasmania. Nights where you could go out bare-armed were few. That biting cold, seeping up from the south, was always only a breath away.

  It isn’t just warm; it’s hot. Sweat trickles down your back. No breeze, just the heavy moist air and the stars, hot and bright above. You take a deep breath and your feet move. You decide to let them walk where they want, and they seem to know something you don’t. Without hesitation they take you back across the grass, up the verandah steps, across to the pool gate. You raise the latch, swing the gate open, step inside.

  Without the light on, the pool seems menacing, and you feel somehow invisible, safe from watching eyes. Your feet take you to the edge and then, before you can react, step into the water and land on the first step.

  You step back out again in a flash, heart pounding and horrified. You can’t go in there, not in that water.

  Your feet tingle and the rest of your body, like an unthinking animal, lets you know that it desires immersion. It’s dark. Finn is hundreds of kilometres away. Jarrah’s room faces away from the pool. No one will know. You slide off your T-shirt, unclip your bra, hook your thumbs into your shorts and underpants and shuck them off.

  The night welcomes your bare hide.

  You step into the water again. It reaches the midpoint of your shin and all the hairs on your body stand straight up at the contact. You won’t think. You take another step down, and the water rises to mid-thigh. Another, and it shockingly comes right up your body to your waist, making you gasp. You hesitate for a moment, smelling the faint trace of chlorine, and then you let it take you.

  How could Toby have sunk? This water takes you gladly, holds you, buoys you. It laps around your neck with the lightest touch, and you take a deep breath and go down.

  Toby’s world, with its strange, amplified sounds. You open your eyes and in the dark you can see only glimmers and whorls, blurred. You reach out both arms and the water holds your entire body, like a lover. Like a womb. Like you once held Toby.

  He’s there.

  JARRAH

  Decided to skip school on Friday, the day after the newspapers. Wasn’t hard. Cycled around the block, waited until Mum drove off and headed back. Hadn’t worked out what to do with myself, though. The house was empty and echoing and sad. Made a hot chocolate and sat at the table. From there, if I looked out the window, I could only see a bit of the pool fence and a stripe of water through a whole bunch of leaves. If I turned my head, I was looking through the sliding doors that opened onto the verandah, through to the other side of the garden and the path to the gate and the road. The pool was off to the side, on the small end of the house. You could nearly forget it was there.

  What happened that day?

  From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see into the pool and I couldn’t see the gate. If Mum had been in the kitchen, she wouldn’t have seen anything in the water. But Dad’s studio looked right into the pool. Why didn’t he see Toby?

  Got up, went out and stood at the gate. There was no sign now of the thing that had once opened it. Just a latch on top of the post, the type you had to pull up. I opened it, stepped in and let go. It clanged shut behind me, hard enough to make the fence shake.

  Headed through the pool area, taking a wide path to stay as far away from the water as I could, and opened the studio door. It was a mess. Stuff everywhere. Empty coffee cups. Half-made bits of whatever you called those things he was meant to be making. Even I could tel
l it wasn’t the mess of someone making art. I’d forgotten he had that big breakthrough. Some outdoor sculpture thing that was going to change our lives. Well, it did that.

  I sat down on the unmade bed and looked out the double glass doors. You could see more than half the pool, even from there. Mum or Dad – or both – had looked away from Toby and somehow he’d got into the pool area. Who found him and what did they do? Dad had been wet when he came to get me at school. He must have been in the water.

  Dad kind of told me it was his fault because of the gate, but I thought the whole thing was an accident until he was arrested. What did it mean? Something more than an accident, I guess. I didn’t know, but it made more sense of why Mum wouldn’t sleep with him any more. Could she ever forgive him? Could I? I didn’t even know what for. Didn’t know if I wanted to know. Talk about fucked up.

  Looked like Mum and Dad were going to split. Couldn’t imagine where we’d go and how we’d live. Or what would happen while we were still waiting, stuck there together, Mum and Dad hating each other.

  That studio felt like Dad’s hell. Had to get out of there, or I’d start thinking about slitting my wrists or something. Got up, ran past the pool, got to the kitchen. Made another hot chocolate in the microwave. Felt kind of scared. Being alone in that empty house felt like it could make me do anything.

  My phone pinged.

 

  Laura. Chucking me a lifeline.

 

  A few minutes passed. Imagined her hiding the phone under the desk, waiting until a teacher looked away.

 

  I stared at the screen. If Laura snuck out of school and came over, no one would know. Mum was at work; Dad was in Sydney until tonight. It’d just be the two of us.

  I sent, before I had time to think any more.

 

  Shit. It was too late to change my mind. I just wanted to hang around the house and not feel bad about crying. Or not crying. But that felt kind of dangerous too. Like if I went too far down, I wouldn’t get back up again. Laura would take my mind off it. But what would we do?

  Headed upstairs to my room. Didn’t know if we’d hang out there, but I wanted to check if it was too gross.

  It was pretty bad. Clothes everywhere. Crusted muesli bowls. Nearly as sad as Dad’s studio. Started picking up clothes. Easiest was to throw everything into the wash. I clattered the old cups and bowls together and put them out by the stairs, stacked up other stuff lying around. Looked at my bed. Unmade since who knows. Hair on the pillow. Gross. But way too scary to think about changing the sheets or anything. Pulled up the covers to hide it all. She probably wouldn’t even come upstairs, I told myself. We’d probably watch TV or something.

  What would we do? I’d never had a girl over, let alone when the house was empty.

  Clumped downstairs clutching the bowls and cups. It was a stupid idea. Laura wasn’t the kind who wagged school anyhow. I couldn’t believe she’d suggested it. I was crazy to say yes. Grabbed the phone so I could text her not to come. Remind her she’d get in trouble if she got caught sneaking out of school. She probably didn’t even know how to sneak out without being seen.

  ‘Hello?’

  Too late. She was right there, outside the screen door.

  ‘That was fast,’ I said, going over.

  ‘I pinched Jade’s bike.’ She smiled, but looked kind of nervous.

  ‘Wow. Bike thief and truant. Double criminal.’ Straight away wished I’d kept my mouth shut. God, the dumb things that came out before I thought about them. Slid the door open and she stepped past me into the kitchen.

  ‘Are you by yourself?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, like it was nothing. ‘Mum’s at work. Dad’s in Sydney. I’m in charge.’

  Stood awkwardly while she looked around. ‘Got any coffee?’

  That was something I could do. Didn’t drink coffee, but Dad had drilled me so I could bring them espresso in bed on Sunday mornings. Hadn’t done it for a while, but I remembered.

  ‘Flat white? Latte? Long black?’

  ‘Latte,’ she said. Watched me flick on the stove and start preparing the Atomic. ‘What’s that? An antique?’

  ‘Pretty much. Only way to make real coffee, Dad says.’

  I ground the beans. Laura watched over my shoulder, sniffing. I liked the coffee smell too, even though I didn’t drink it. Stuck the head in the machine, put it on the stove.

  ‘Just takes a minute,’ I said, watching it like it wouldn’t work otherwise.

  ‘I’m missing maths,’ she said, behind my back. ‘Needed an excuse to skip it. I couldn’t finish the homework. Guess I’ll be in trouble for that too.’

  I hesitated. Didn’t want to sound too dorky. ‘I could have a look at it with you?’

  The Atomic started to hiss. I was about to turn my head to see why she didn’t answer when she came up behind me. Slid her arms around my waist, put her face against my back, and leaned on me.

  Couldn’t put my arms around her, or do much except kind of lean back into her. I slid one hand down and put it on her hands, which were clasped on my stomach. My other hand gripped the edge of the stove to keep me up. Also, I knew the Atomic was going to start dripping out coffee any moment.

  ‘Where do you think they go, Jarrah?’ she murmured.

  They?

  On cue, the coffee started gurgling.

  ‘Don’t know.’ All I could feel was Toby had gone. The church stuff didn’t mean anything. I didn’t know if heaven existed, or hell. It all sounded like something humans had made up to suit themselves. If there was something afterwards I hoped it’d be more than just rewards and punishments.

  I squeezed her hands. ‘Um, the coffee—’

  ‘Don’t want it any more.’

  She let go and stepped away and I felt cool all along the parts of my body where she’d been pressed. Flicked the stove off and turned. She was standing at the window and I couldn’t see her face.

  ‘What did you do with your brother’s ashes?’ she asked.

  I swallowed. Toby’s ashes were one of the things I forced myself not to think about. ‘Nothing, yet. I guess they haven’t decided.’

  ‘Have you looked at them?’

  ‘Nope.’

  I’d thought of it. When the box first came home I was desperate to look inside. But it never felt like the right moment to ask.

  She turned. ‘Don’t you want to know what they look like?’

  ‘Guess so. But I don’t know where they are.’

  She came over, grabbed my hand. ‘Let’s find them.’

  We started in the lounge room. Looked inside the cupboards and at the back of the shelves. Nothing. Not in the kitchen, I was pretty sure of that. Checked under the stairs, where Toby’s things were packed away in boxes. Was pretty sure Mum wouldn’t let Toby’s ashes go over to Dad’s studio.

  We tiptoed upstairs, which was stupid, given the house was empty. I led Laura along the hallway and opened the door.

  ‘Is this Toby’s room?’

  ‘Was. They cleared it out to sell the house.’

  We both stood in the doorway, not wanting to go in.

  ‘Where are you moving?’

  ‘Dad wants us to go back to Tasmania.’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  Right at that moment I didn’t want to go anywhere. Standing next to Laura, gripping her hand, looking for Toby’s ashes – it was the most alive I’d felt since he died. She turned her face up to mine and I kissed her. Was starting to get the hang of it. When we’d kissed before, in the forest, it was kind of soft, but today she kissed me hard, pulling me into her. Startled me at first, and then I responded.

  She pulled away. ‘Do you think they’re in here?’

  There was nothing of Toby in there. Shook my head. And then I knew. ‘My parents’ room.’

  For my whole life my parents’ bedroom had been a welcoming place, but as we walked in,
I realised I hadn’t been in there since Toby died. So many places in my home I’d stopped going to.

  The bed was made, tight and hard, with cushions. The room was super tidy, apart from a few clothes over the armchair in the corner. The door to the bathroom stood open, and that mostly looked neat too. Like a hotel room. Mum must be keeping it tidy for inspections. I’d cleaned up my room when they asked and then forgotten to keep it that way. No one had said anything more about the house being for sale. Didn’t even know if it still was.

  The built-in wardrobe was the logical place for Toby’s ashes. Slid the door open and looked in, thinking the box would be tucked up the top.

  ‘Here,’ Laura said.

  She was crouched down by the bed. The grey plastic box was right under where Mum slept. I got down on my knees, reached under, slid it out. If Laura hadn’t been there I would’ve pressed it against my chest. It was sealed with heavy grey tape. I scraped my fingers along the tape until I found the edge, picked at it.

  ‘Let me?’

  Her fingernails were longer than mine. She slid them under the edge of the tape and pulled it off with a loud rip. I prised the lid off, scared suddenly the whole lot would spill on me.

  Don’t know what I expected. Black and white ash, like you see in a fireplace? But the box was full of grey grit, like crushed shells. Felt a lump in my throat. Wanted to touch it, but was scared.

  Laura reached past me and ran her fingers through the ashes. Fine grey dust rose up in a little cloud and she made a sound in her throat, like a half sob. I looked up. She was crying.

  ‘At least you’ve got something of him,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s not him,’ I said. I wanted to run outside and chuck it in the air and let it blow away. I hated it. How could Mum sleep so close to something that used to be Toby?

  We both heard the noise at the same moment. The heavy thump of feet on the stairs, my dad’s voice calling out.

  ‘Hey, anyone home? Is that you, Jarr?’