Too Close to Home

by Georgia Blain

  The tremor in her voice cut Freya to the quick.

  As Matt found her a towel, Lisa searched in her handbag, her tea going cold next to her. ‘I’ve been taking valerian,’ she said, producing a couple of pills. ‘Not that it helps.’

  Freya offered to see if they had anything pharmaceutical.

  Lisa shook her head. ‘I don’t think anything much would work,’ she confessed. She looked at the pictures on the fridge, one of Ella in her school uniform on her first day, there in the centre. ‘She looks lovely.’

  ‘She is.’

  Lisa’s smile was wistful. ‘They’re good at that age. Nice, easy, want to do the right thing.’ She rested her cigarette in the ashtray, biting on her lip again. ‘They still love you.’ Her teeth were small and white against the chewed skin. ‘I’m so sorry about how messed up all this is.’

  Freya told her she didn’t need to apologise.

  Lisa looked out the back door to the darkness of the night. ‘It’s so hard to think of him being in a cell.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘And to think that he could have done that.’ There was a crack in her voice. ‘I don’t know which is worse.’

  ‘Have you spoken to him?’ Freya asked.

  Lisa shook her head. ‘He didn’t call when he was arrested.’ She stared up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know why. I wish he’d called.’

  Matt stood in the doorway, with a bundle of towels and an extra blanket. He put them down on the couch as Lisa started to cry, and then he stepped towards her, opening his arms as he did so. He held her, soothing her for a moment, her white blonde hair startling against the dark wool of his jumper. Awkward in the face of their intimacy, Freya just looked down at the table, not wanting to meet Matt’s eye as Lisa pulled back, wiping away the last of her tears.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she lied. ‘I’d better just sleep.’

  Now, in the pale morning light, Freya can see how worn Lisa is. The shadows under her eyes are like bruises and her lips are cracked beneath the lipstick. Freya had heard her during the night, getting up and turning on the kitchen light. And then she had heard the sob, a moment of deep, guttural anguish followed by quiet.

  Next to her, Matt hadn’t stirred, but Freya had sat up, uncertain as to whether she should go to her. On the floor Ella was sprawled across the mattress, her small fists curled up tight. She groaned in her sleep. The silence from the kitchen continued. Freya didn’t even know Lisa. She had no idea whether she would want comfort from a stranger, and so, sliding back down into the warmth of the bed, she had stayed where she was, awake to the sound of Lisa eventually returning to Ella’s room.

  Somewhere in the house Matt is on the phone, checking the court schedule for the day. Freya knows he has already looked at their bank account, wanting to find out how much is in there if Lucas is given bail. She also knows that a large proportion of what they have is her advance payment for the play and her university scholarship for the next six months.

  She butters toast, her whole being focused on the task at hand, as Ella eats, silent, reaching hesitantly to pour herself a juice, knocking over the carton of milk as she does so.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Freya tells her.

  ‘I’ll clean it,’ Ella promises, her eyes wide.

  There’s a knock on the door as Freya wipes the table, and Ella jumps up, eager for an escape. Archie and Darlene are here. Can they come in? She’s only asking because she’s scared of her mother’s mood. Freya knows this, and although she would like to say no, it’s not a good time, she doesn’t.

  Darlene has had her ears pierced.

  ‘See.’ She shows Freya, lifting up her soft curly brown hair to reveal two tiny silver studs in her lobes.

  ‘Can I get it done too?’ Ella asks.

  ‘It hurts,’ Freya tells her and Darlene nods solemnly.

  ‘Like how?’

  Darlene takes Ella’s earlobe between finger and thumb and pinches deftly. Ella doesn’t flinch.

  ‘That’s okay,’ she says.

  ‘It’s a bit more than that,’ Darlene says. ‘You might need to be older.’

  Archie is bouncing a tennis ball up and down, up and down, and Freya is about to tell him to take it outside, when Lisa comes in. Archie and Darlene stop and stare at her.

  ‘Is Matt off the phone yet?’ she asks.

  Freya doesn’t know. She introduces the kids, telling her they’re Shane’s, but Lisa just looks at them blankly.

  ‘I think I’ll go and wait out the front.’ She searches for her handbag on each of the red wooden chairs around the long kitchen table. ‘I must have left it in the bedroom,’ she says, glancing around the room.

  Ella watches, eyes wide, as she takes in this stranger in her house, seemingly distressed and also the cause of friction. And then, noticing that Archie and Darlene are already in the garden, she turns and follows, pausing for an instant to pick up the missing bag from the outside table.

  ‘Is this it?’ she asks, shyly.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lisa takes it from her, tucking Ella’s hair behind her ears as she does so, looking at her in that moment as though seeing her for the first time.

  ‘I always thought I’d have a girl,’ she tells Freya. ‘It was such a shock when they told me Lucas was a boy …’ Her voice trails off. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Freya tells her, knowing she should hug her or, at the least, squeeze her hand.

  Lisa breathes in deeply. ‘Oh God.’

  And then Freya does reach for her, Lisa’s skin cold against her own, as she tells her it will be okay. Their eyes meet, and then Lisa looks back down at the ground.

  The kids are on the trampoline, the springs squeaking as they bounce high into the clear winter sky. Ella is explaining that Lisa is an old friend of Matt’s and that her kid (‘a teenager,’ she adds breathlessly) is in trouble. ‘I think he’s in jail,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what he did. But it’s bad.’

  Archie tells her that his dad has been in jail. ‘He got into a fight with the cops.’

  From the lounge room, Freya hears Matt hang up, calling out to Lisa that he’s on his way. Lucas’ bail application has been scheduled for just after lunch.

  She sits at the table, Ella’s uneaten cereal in the bowl in front of her, the honey jar open, the milk carton almost empty, all of it left for her to put away.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ Matt promises, ‘as soon as we get any word.’ He leans down to kiss her, and she doesn’t move, her face only half turned towards his as he brushes his lips against the cool of her cheek, her eyes still fixed on the table.

  Later, near the school gates, Ella wants to know if Lisa’s son will be there when she gets home.

  ‘I don’t want him at our house,’ she adds, holding Freya’s hand tight.

  They are at the top of the lane, waiting for Archie and Darlene to meet them with their school bags.

  Freya tries to reassure her. ‘If he does come, it will only be for a little while, I promise.’

  She bends down, holding Ella tight as she kisses her, her fingers knotted in her daughter’s pale hair, fine strands tangled in her grasp.

  ‘And what about her? Lisa? Is she going to stay for long?’

  Freya shakes her head. ‘She has a job and a house in Queensland. She has to get home to them.’

  Parents and children are walking around them, and Freya steps back, telling Ella that she’d better get to school, Archie and Darlene are probably running late. There’s a chill in the breeze and she zips up Ella’s jacket; Ella unzips it immediately.

  ‘No one wears them like that,’ she says, rolling her eyes.

  ‘But it’s freezing,’ Freya protests, aware that this is an argument they’ve had more than once and one she’s never won.

  ‘I don’t feel the cold,’ Ella tells her.

  The bell rings, harsh across the playground and out onto the street, and Ella lets go of her hand, waving goodbye as she runs to the zebra crossing, her ponytail swinging, a swish of pale
gold down her back. Standing perfectly still, Freya watches until she’s gone from sight. This is what keeps me, Freya thinks, brushing at her eyes angrily. And although she knows Ella is not her only hold, this morning she feels perilously close to seeing her daughter in this way.

  OUTSIDE THE COURTROOM, MATT, Lisa and Lucas stand in the warmth of the winter sun. It’s not yet peak hour but there’s already traffic banking up, cars inching forward only to be stopped by the red lights at each corner, their horns a constant noise in the background. There’s also construction opposite, the drill of jackhammers and the thud of metal on metal loud enough to make it necessary to shout.

  Lisa looks exhausted. Whatever energy she’d summoned for the meeting with the lawyer and then the hearing has gone. She has collapsed, small and thin in Freya’s jacket, her hands only just visible at the bottom of the sleeves. Her hair has come loose and it hangs lank to her shoulders. Her make-up has long since worn off, leaving her skin dry and old.

  Matt suggests they go somewhere quieter, wanting a drink more than anything else, but knowing it isn’t possible. He’s putting off returning home. He looks at Lucas standing opposite him, scratching at a sore on his arm, eyes downcast, and he doesn’t know what he was thinking in suggesting that he could come and stay.

  ‘You must be hungry,’ he says to the boy.

  Lucas shakes his head. ‘They fed me,’ he eventually mumbles, but Matt doesn’t really catch the words, he just guesses them.

  ‘There’s a place around the corner.’ He turns to Lisa for confirmation and she nods, probably also failing to hear what’s being said and too numb to do anything other than comply.

  It’s a cafe near his work, one he goes to occasionally when he wants to get out of the office. The owner raises a hand in greeting as he enters, telling them food service is finished, but they can have whatever sandwiches are left.

  Lucas fidgets, jiggling his leg up and down and keeping his eyes fixed on the table as he asks the waiter for a Coke. There is none. He looks confused, and Matt realises it’s the first time he’s seen any expression on the boy’s face. Of course they wouldn’t have Coke. Not in a place like this. Lucas hasn’t said a word but Matt knows this is what he’s thinking as he runs his finger down the menu and then orders a smoothie, only to be told that the blender has been packed up and put away. He can have a juice, the waiter suggests. Or a mineral water?

  ‘An orange juice,’ Lucas mumbles, and Matt can only pray the waiter won’t ask him if he wants the lightly carbonated blood orange that they serve.

  But she doesn’t. ‘Anything to eat?’

  He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he taps at the edge of the table. The waiter looks irritated and Matt just suggests she bring over a couple of sandwiches – whatever is left.

  Lisa reaches across the table for Lucas’ forearm. Her knuckles are raw and her fingernails bitten down to the quick.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she urges her son, and there is some thing in the timbre of her voice, the complete emptiness in her being that stops him from doing what he was about to do – pull away and tell her to ‘lay off of me’.

  Instead he stays still, head hanging low, lank hair covering his pale, pimply face.

  ‘You understood what the lawyer said?’

  He doesn’t move. Lisa takes her other hand and places it under his chin, lifting his gaze so that he’s forced to look at her. There is both pain and shame there, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to glance away and she continues to keep him stilled.

  He sniffs loudly, and then he nods. ‘I don’t want to go back there,’ he tells her, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the deserted cafe. The sob, when it eventually comes, is loud.

  Matt looks away, an interloper.

  He remembers sitting with Lisa in her house only a few months ago, turning the pages of that photo album, the images of Lucas as a small child – gap-toothed grin, freckles, bikes and toys – so at odds with the young man he has become. In the dim overhead light, he had seen the love on Lisa’s face as she had shown him the pictures, and he had recognised that joy. The warmth he feels at any thought of Ella is there, strong, sustaining and primal. Yet, there is always the curl of potential pain beyond imagining inherent in any love for your child. Your light and your vulnerability, the sweetness and its shadow.

  He hadn’t wanted to look at Lisa in court as the prosecution lawyer opposed bail, describing the attack on the old woman, the brutality of the blows in detail. Matt had winced involuntarily, keeping his gaze on the judge, and not on Lucas, who sat, eyes fixed on the ground, nor on Lisa, who flinched at the lawyer’s words, and then tried so hard to lift her head in an attempt to demonstrate that she believed in her son.

  Seeing Lisa now is almost too much to bear.

  She wipes Lucas’ tears with a paper serviette and tells him that he has to stay with her until the hearing. ‘You cannot run off.’ She is still holding his chin in her palm. ‘You must understand this. I’ll be getting a mortgage on the house and we will lose it if you disappear.’

  Lucas remains silent. And then he looks at Matt, his eyes cloudy, bloodshot. He clears his throat and when he speaks, his words are clearer, louder than any of them had expected. ‘He was the one who coughed up the bail.’

  Matt is about to reply but Lisa interrupts him. ‘I’m paying him back.’

  ‘Why’d you do that?’ Lucas hasn’t shifted his gaze from Matt, who twitches, uncomfortable. ‘Are you her boyfriend?’ He scratches at his cheek, still staring at him as he does so.

  Matt shakes his head. ‘I knew your mum years ago. I wanted to help.’

  The waiter puts a plate of sandwiches down and Lucas picks one up without looking at it, shovelling most of it into his mouth in one bite. He chews slowly, his mouth open, his eyes remaining fixed on Matt.

  ‘You turn up a few months ago, and then here you are again.’ He is shaking his head now, turning his gaze back to Lisa, who ignores him.

  ‘Listen.’ Her voice is firm, despite the strain of exhaustion. ‘You have to do as they say until the case is heard. We’ll be staying with Matt and his –’ Lisa searches for the word, eventually settling on ‘wife’. She keeps her hand on his. ‘And then we’ll have to find a place to rent. You must stay under my care. You must report to the police each week. It’s important.’ Her voice cracks now, and Matt can see she is crying. It is tears of frustration and exhaustion, and she wipes at them, not wanting anything to distract from the urgency of her words.

  Lucas sniffs again, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, and then shielding his eyes from her gaze. His fingernails are dirty, and there is a homemade tattoo on his wrist, a star, inked in blue, the edges blurred.

  It takes a moment before Matt realises that Lucas is also crying. There’s only a slight shudder that gives him away, his thin shoulders shaking beneath his T-shirt. He must be cold, and Matt reaches for his own jacket, draping it over his frame so that it falls lightly, aware that any heaviness of touch could tip the balance again, with Lucas as liable to sneer with anger in the next instant as to continue sobbing.

  Lisa hands him another paper napkin and he blows his nose loudly.

  ‘I don’t want to go back there,’ he repeats, still sniffing. ‘I can’t.’

  She just moves her chair and holds him, pulling him in as close as she can so that his head rests on her shoulder and she can rock him gently, back and forth, back and forth, while the waiters continue packing up the cafe behind them.

  Freya is not there when they get home. She has left a note saying Ella is at Shane’s and she is out. As he reads it, he realises he forgot to call her as he had promised he would.

  The kitchen is clean. All the dishes put away, the piles of paper on the table ordered, the floor swept. Everything is quiet. He looks around him, seeing his domestic life as an outsider, and he is overwhelmed by the sense of having walked into a place that is not his, a home that belongs to someone he doesn’t know. Ella’s drawings
are stuck to the fridge, along with invitations and a calendar. There are dates marked, events he went to but can barely remember.

  He can smell something sweet, delicate and floral and he suddenly notices the tall green vase of jonquils and daffodils on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. A chaos of brilliant yellow and creamy white, ruffled petals curling in and out of each other. He doesn’t remember Freya buying them or putting them there, but he can only assume it was some time ago because a few of the flowers have begun to die, their edges turning up, crinkled and brown.

  He looks at her coat slung over the back of a chair and touches the red wool, lifting the fabric to his face and breathing in the scent of her skin. He misses her. She has the ability to cut to the heart of the matter, he thinks, and this is what he loves and needs.

  As he sits at the table to phone her, he sees Ella’s writing scrawled across a piece of paper. The words are in purple Texta, the letters badly formed, and the spelling terrible. He smiles to himself. ‘My Life,’ she has written, followed by a list:

  17: finish skool

  18, 19: traval round the world

  20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25: university (He can only presume Freya helped her spell that one.)

  25: bekom a vet in the country (Again, there must have been help.)

  27: Marrie. 2 kids – Jasper and Ash

  28: Rite a book

  The rest.

  His eyes smart and he wipes at them before folding up the paper and putting it in his pocket.

  There’s no answer on Freya’s phone so he leaves a message, apologising for having failed to let her know what’s going on. But Lucas was given bail, he says, which is good for him, and they are all home now. ‘Thank you,’ he says, and he means it. ‘I know it can’t be easy. But it won’t be forever.’

  And then, as he hangs up, he wonders at the stupidity of his words.

  Lucas is his son. Lisa has told him this, although he has not yet told Freya, and nor has Lisa told the truth to Lucas.

  ‘I want to get through this first,’ she’d said on the way to court.