What Matters Most

by Dianne Maguire

  Laurie was sinking his big teeth into a ham salad sandwich when Tim returned with the timber oil. ‘I’ll be off then. See you next week,’ he told Laurie as he grabbed his bag and exited through the side door, hoping there was fresh bread at home.

  The ute idled towards their house, causing an uncharacteristically docile crunch along the gravel driveway, but Tim was determined not to make any noise in case his sister had finally managed to grab some sleep. He was glad to be home because he did not like the idea of her being left alone for the entire day.

  The house seemed steeped in shadows, dark and forlorn, and cruising by Monnie’s yard was like rolling past a wasteland. Her feed bins lay abandoned on their sides. Weeds threatened to fill the already faint path Monnie had created when she had frequently trotted along the fence, her head and tail held high to welcome whoever approached. The patch of sand she loved rolling in had hardened and was now dimpled with potholes. Tim wondered if he would ever look at the space again without feeling anguished.

  He pulled up outside the external door to his bedroom. Gently and silently pushed his car door closed. Unlocked the room, removed his shoes and stepped inside, gently pulling the door closed. His immediate plan was to check on his sister. Then he’d make sandwiches, knowing deep down the old man deserved a lunch break before they both got stuck into the fencing.

  He crept slowly along the passage towards her room, stopping for a moment when he thought he had heard a noise — like a soft whispering — instantly afraid his presence had caused her to stir from sleep. With even more stealth he crept further along the passage, stopping again and frowning. Straining to hear what he now realised was the sound of whimpering — or was it muffled laughter — coming from the other side of her closed door, he scuttled forward on the balls of his feet. Stood with his ear pressed against her door. Heard the sound again, certain this time that it was not laughter, but soft whimpers. His heart echoed in his chest. Her mewlings were unmistakable now and with that realisation came the words Johnno had uttered at the counter of his hardware store not an hour previous: Poor bastard rang in this morning, sick as a dog … Trev’s never taken a day off … Tim’s realisation of the sickening happening behind the door was instant. He pushed the door open. Neither of them was aware of his presence as he stood in the doorway frozen with horror and disbelief.

  Rachel lay on her back, her feet flat on the bed, her legs bent. The anguish in her stifled cries was now shockingly obvious. He was straddling her, one hand over her mouth, his greasy windcheater — an additional dimension of filth and horror — and his white buttocks facing Tim. His right arm shook with the same fervour as his frenzied breaths. Tim’s legs refused to move, despite his horror, despite his primal urge to make this nightmare of all nightmares stop. He watched him throw his head back and gasp for breath. Heard the moans as his head lagged forward again, his hand still moving gently, even though its work seemed complete as he shuddered and moaned his supreme satisfaction.

  Swallowing a mouthful of bile, Tim finally found the wherewithal to lurch forward, grab his greasy green windcheater and drag his filthy, perverted body off his sister. ‘You filthy, fucking bastard,’ he screamed from the top of his lungs. ‘You hideous piece of shit.’

  Tim dragged him to the floor. Like a startled rabbit on speed, he scooped up his overalls, his dick pendulous between his legs and pushed Tim aside before shooting out through the bedroom door and thumping down the passage.

  Tim pounded after him. ‘You stinking, fucking maggoty pile of garbage,’ he shouted, watching the old man’s back turn the corner before disappearing into the family room. ‘Jeezus! What sort of a father are you?’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dumping her jacket and scarf on the settee, Mia stood before the dying flames and reflected on how stabilising this break had been … how much she had enjoyed this morning’s chat with Tim on the beach, despite her persistent concerns about Rachel. And how in two days she had grown used to being here without Eric. She thought back on Declan’s visit, cringed at the recollection of her desperate attempt at winning his deeper affections — or whatever it could be called — and resolved she would contact Debra Illingworth for an appointment next week.

  All too soon she was driving through the Fleurieu countryside again, this time pointing in the opposite direction, an early shift next day being the only reason she was leaving. The sweeping hills, magical coastline and powerfully tall trees were beautiful on any day and from any direction. But without exception, the trip home lacked the anticipatory joy that always came from travelling towards the Peninsula.

  She drove onto the expressway safe in the knowledge that within 30 minutes she would be home. She planned an early dinner, with the ultimate intention of crawling into bed with her novel for an exceptionally early night.

  So, when she turned into the undercroft to the sight of Eric’s car parked in its usual spot, she slouched in the middle like a deflated balloon. Her newfound confidence bled from her body, instantly besieged by uncertainty. But she knew one thing — she was not ready to confront him. Pulling the handles of her overnight bag onto her shoulder, she crept gingerly up the steps leading to their back door, stopping before she reached the top and telling herself, ‘Why the hell am I skulking around in my own house?’ Standing to her full height she thundered up the remaining stairs, shoved the key into the lock of the back door and stepped inside as noisily — hell no, more noisily then she would on any normal day.

  The kitchen was eerily empty. Coffee cups, glasses and plates lay abandoned on the sideboard and in the sink, flagging that Eric had either had a party or had been home for a couple of days. On her way to the bedroom she heard the thud of drawers opening and closing. Taking a deep breath she mentally prepared herself for what she sensed would be the best performance of her life — and stepped into the doorway.

  It seemed the only time Eric spent in this house of late was spent in front of the wardrobe. But this time it had been emptied — every section, every rail, every single drawer. And this time he stood there in jeans and a jacket, rather than his business suit. Every item he owned whether large or small, precious or mundane, had been tossed into cases and crates scattered about the room.

  Stunned into silence, she stood unnoticed and watched, thinking that although she had never felt prepared for this moment, no one could ever have warned her just how gut-wrenchingly awful it would be.

  Eric turned then and looked her up and down before turning his back on her again. After folding his black jumper, the one she had always loved on him, he tossed it into an already brimming suitcase. She eagerly searched for words, knowing that if she failed to say anything, so would he. She knew it came easy for him to simply pack his belongings, to walk through the door and never see her again — until, of course, it came time to settle their assets. Yes, leaving was supremely easier for him than talking to her about what was happening, what he was feeling at this moment. With blinding clarity she knew that to let him go without a word would be to live with ambiguity for the rest of their lives. At best, matters would bleed into a new normality for them both. They would each go their own separate ways, perhaps eventually striking a civil silence for Adam’s sake, but still without explanation, and still leaving her to carry a mountain of unresolved heartache.

  ‘What’s happening, Eric?’ she said.

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘We should talk.’

  ‘What’s there to talk about?’

  ‘I’ve seen you two together, Eric. I know about her.’

  ‘We know that. We saw you skulking around the airport like a demented troll.’

  He turned to her with such hatred in his eyes that at that very second, two thoughts hit her like dual strikes of lightning. First, this was indeed a different man to the one she had married. And second, there was definitely no turning back now. The finality of both realisations made her feel strong — and pathetically empty.

  ‘I would not have had to s
kulk around anywhere if you had just told me about her.’ She stepped up to him, put her hands on his arms and looked into his eyes. ‘I get that you have fallen out of love with me, Eric. But I would have thought some mutual respect could be salvaged from our years together.’

  Eric shrugged her hands from his arms and continued packing.

  The suffocating lump in her throat built, although not because Eric was leaving. Not even because of the ease with which he was walking away from the life they had built together. It was because she was totally perplexed about his palpable hatred for her and where it had come from.

  She walked away quietly.

  Back in the kitchen, the coffee machine whirled and ground into life with mocking energy the moment she flicked it on. She turned as the hot dark liquid ran into the cup, gazed through the window at the parrots cavorting and screeching in the Manchurian pear trees and pondered whether she celebrated or resented their joie de vivre in the face of her own tragedy.

  The muffled sound of his footfall on the carpet broke when he stepped onto the tiles and like a man on a mission he thundered past her with a suitcase in each hand.

  ‘Have you told Adam,’ she said as he hip and shouldered the door open.

  ‘Yes.’ He pushed his way through, leaving the door to slam closed behind him, his footfall thundering down the stairs to the car park.

  Grimacing as the first sip of her coffee burned its way down, Mia tried to take in what Eric had just told her. She could not believe he would have discussed his affair with their son before he had said anything to her. Her reflection in the window stared back at her — a sad, angry, incredulous older woman. Wishing she had less wrinkles, she straightened her shoulders and blew on the coffee’s surface.

  Eric’s feet stomped back up the stairs towards her. She held her breath. Waited for the door to open and for him to step in.

  ‘I’m surprised Adam hasn’t phoned me,’ she said, as the door banged closed behind him.

  ‘I asked him not to because I wanted to tell you first. That’s one of the reasons I’m here,’ he said as he passed her, neither his pace nor his voice faltering.

  ‘Oh. So I should consider myself told then, should I?’ Mia shouted after him, her anger rising like mercury.

  ‘Seriously, Mia. I do not care what you do,’ his voice echoed from the passage.

  Mia clenched her fists and chased after him. ‘I’ve been to see a lawyer. We need to talk,’ she spluttered, instantly wishing she had taken Declan’s unremitting advice and that she really had been to see her lawyer.

  ‘When the time is right,’ he called from the bedroom. Seconds later he passed her again, toting another pair of suitcases.

  ‘And when do you think the time will be right, Eric?’ she said, eyeing off the suitcases which looked new.

  ‘Who knows? I have other priorities.’

  She stared at the blank surface once the door had closed again. And in the absence of knowing what else to do, she made her way to the bedroom. Sat in the corner chair and waited until he stomped again through the doorway.

  ‘Why can’t you talk to me about what has happened, Eric? Are you so immobilised by guilt?’

  He snorted and rolled his eyes. He always does that when I get too close to the truth, she thought.

  ‘At least tell me where you are going.’

  ‘You have my mobile. Ring if you need me. And by that I mean only in the event of dire emergency.’ He picked up the crate jammed with old football boots, soccer trophies and other useless bits and pieces she had been waiting for him to toss for years and left the room. She wondered if he had also cleaned out the study.

  ‘If you don’t answer your mobile I’ll ring work. Leila always knows where to find you,’ she said, as she chased him down the passage and into the kitchen, regretting that her words sounded as though she was actually asking his permission.’

  ‘No point. I’m not working there anymore,’ he said, his words and the final brutal slamming of the door blending to strike Mia earth-shatteringly silent.

  ‘Could this get any crazier?’ she eventually murmured.

  She needed to cook — to create something heartening and beautiful from this turmoil. Even though she knew she could not swallow a morsel at this time, she wanted to shop for the future, to come home with bags brimming with fresh produce and to cook a few delicious dishes which she would freeze and consume during her next frantic work schedule.

  She hurriedly threw off the cargo pants and windcheater she had worn for the return journey from the beach, and changed into a short, red skirt and black tights with her black cropped jacket, noticing with pleasure that she had lost more weight.

  Sunday afternoons always brought a diverse crowd to North Adelaide, she thought, soaking up the atmosphere and the music spilling from shop doorways while the smells of food mingled with the light fragrance of Jacaranda blossom. She made her way along the footpath, past people pushing prams and leading or being led by dogs, and pavement tables full of people enjoying long lunches.

  She calmly loaded her neatly packaged groceries into the boot of her car. Gently closed the lid and sauntered towards the mall, checking her list for the meat she needed to buy from the butcher before returning home. She had just slipped the list back into her shoulder bag when she looked up, only to see the round shape of Sandy, a colleague of Eric’s, alter his trajectory in order to intercept her, meaning her frenzied thoughts of finding an escape route were futile. He strode towards her, his beam of greeting emphasising his piggy eyes. She tried to conjure up a smile while her mind scrambled for his wife’s name in case it came up in conversation. He drew to a stop only inches from her nose with the look of someone who’d been struck by delighted astonishment at the coincidence of their meeting. Mia’s few encounters with Sandy and his still nameless wife at a few of Eric’s work functions had been unremarkable. She wished he would sod off and let her get on with her business.

  ‘Hi, Mia,’ he said, his smile sliding into a pained expression. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks Sandy.’

  ‘Good on you,’ he said punching the air at waist height. ‘What a woman!’ He leaned in closer and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Eric made the announcement at work last Friday. I would totally get it if you told me you were feeling … well … miffed. I must say none of us was surprised. Eric always did have a roving eye, as you would know.’

  What the hell are you saying, Sandy? ‘Well, it wasn’t totally unexpected,’ Mia said, deciding it was easier to counter cryptic comments with more cryptic comments.

  ‘God, I admire you. How many women would just accept it when their guy throws everything away for another woman?’ he said, his hand slipping into the pocket of his baggy track pants, his smile returning — tiny, grey teeth peeking through thick lips. ‘Truth is, Mia, I thought Eric was mighty lucky to have you. I’ve always admired you and I get the sense the feeling is mutual.’ He leaned into her again. ‘If you’re ever … you know, lonely … we could have dinner … discreetly, of course.’

  ‘Thank you, Sandy. But I don’t anticipate ever being that lonely,’ she said, stepping to the side, her boots clicking along the concrete floor of the car park as she hurriedly made her way towards the mall’s entrance.

  Mia’s decision was instant. Turning into the undercroft and being confronted by Eric’s now-empty parking spot, along with the memory of his eye-wateringly callous departure, she ran up the steps two at a time. She scuttled to the bedroom to pick up her overnight bag from the floor where she had left it during her first and final confrontation with Eric, pushed a few more items of clothing in and dialled a number on her mobile.

  ‘Hi, Geoff. It’s Mia,’ she said, throwing her overnight bag over her shoulder, running through the back door and locking it, then running down the stairs to her car.

  ‘Hello, Mia.’ Geoff’s mellow tone screamed curiosity and concern. They both knew that as the head of the entire Emergency Department
a phone call to him from one of his staff during an off-duty Sunday could only mean something had occurred that was well out of the ordinary.

  ‘Eric and I have made a decision to split up,’ she said. She heard his intake of breath and continued: ‘I wondered if it would be okay for me to take a couple of days off?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course, Mia. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘No, thanks Geoff. I’ll be fine after a couple of days to myself. We’ll talk more when I come back to work.’

  ‘Well, in the meantime, just call if there’s anything you need, Mia. I’m truly sorry about your news. Look after yourself, you hear? I hope you two can work something out.’

  ‘Thanks, Geoff.’ Mia felt as though someone had lifted an elephant from her shoulders. ‘I’m about to tidy up a couple of loose ends at work. Then I’m out of here,’ she told him.

  It was unfathomable to her that her office felt so different, so strange, even though it looked the same as it had when she had left it on Friday. She sat behind her desk and looked around, her eyes finally resting on two photographs facing her — one of her and Eric during a recent holiday in Europe and the other, her favourite photograph of Adam, taken with her on the beach about two years ago. She ceremoniously opened her top drawer and dumped Eric’s photo facedown into it before slipping off her wedding and engagement rings and dropping them on top. She smiled, gently closing the drawer, quickly looking up to the source of a sharp rap sounding on her door. She felt the smile immediately leave her face, not because of the hunky guy dressed in a business suit standing in her doorway, but because she was not really at work and did not want to be disturbed.

  ‘Are you Mia?’ the tall guy said quizzically.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her brow furrowing.

  He smiled and stepped in. ‘The nurses told me I would be lucky to catch you … that you’re about to take a couple of days of.’ He bent across her desk and extended his hand. ‘I’m Noah Tamblyn.’