You Belong Here

by Laurie Steed

  ‘We could have done it together.’

  ‘Can we still?’ He touched her cheek. She held his hand in place. He pulled it away, let it fall to his side.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Can we?’

  They stood there, silent; Alex counted breaths, thinking, Please, just go.

  Jay came back mid-afternoon. He switched on the television, the computer, and the stereo to create a sea of sound. It’s the noise, he had told Alex. You have to shut it out.

  Alex used to play this game with Jay, or they’d played it once. Not a game, just this thing: Alex said ‘you,’ and Jay said ‘me.’ Like the song. He used to love it too. Not the song, but the way his little brother would light up at a mention, hoping, begging for him to start the game, keep it going, whipping him up into a frenzy.

  ‘You get your pills?’ said Alex.

  ‘Thirty mil,’ Jay said. He fished a box out of his pocket, waved it in the air. Threw it onto the couch. It bounced once and settled on the thick, torn cushion.

  ‘They’re not your meds,’ said Alex.

  ‘I don’t want to take my meds.’

  ‘Then you’re going back.’

  ‘You promised,’ said Jay.

  ‘They have people there. They can help you.’

  ‘You worry about your life, hey?’ said Jay. ‘I’ll worry about mine.’

  Alex shook his head, walked out down the corridor. Leaving, quick as he could, out the door, the gate, jogging, sprints until the traffic lights, counting tens until he hit 500.

  Alex’s phone rang at nine-thirty that night. He took the call and headed out back.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘I didn’t know if you’d answer,’ said Penny. ‘You’re scared, aren’t you?’

  ‘Penny——’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m scared, too.’

  He felt a knot in his gut turning, tightening. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she said. ‘You want me to go?’

  He knew there were reasons he should hang up the phone. ‘We can’t. Just——’

  ‘Come around,’ she said. ‘After the funeral.’

  He stayed on the line. For a second, saw her riding him. Felt her bite down on his lip, his fingers running up and onto her breasts.

  That night he drifted in and out of sleep, in and out of her, and at times woke thinking Jay had left the house. Wondered what they had done to get to this point. How, despite best intentions, he was as bad as the rest of them.

  Jay was perched on the couch in his pyjamas the next morning, a strung-out skeleton. He held his phone, texting frantically.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Alex.

  Jay didn’t respond.

  ‘Jay.’

  He looked up. ‘It’s fine.’

  It was ‘fine’ like a blowout was fine. Like a broken leg was fine once you put a cast on it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ repeated Alex.

  ‘I sent Penny a message. She’s not replying. Seriously, it’s fine.’

  ‘Give me the phone.’

  ‘But Alex——’

  ‘Give me the phone.’

  There were six sent texts, all saying, Call me, repeated three times in each message. Then two more texts saying, Please, and one that said, Sorry, I’m fine, it’s all right, honestly, no dramas.

  ‘Shit, Jay.’

  ‘What? We’re good.’

  ‘You think?’ said Alex. ‘You and your no-show, you’re Tom and Nicole, right?’

  ‘But Penny, she’s——’

  Unreliable. Unfaithful. Impossible.

  ‘She’s not coming,’ said Alex. ‘Forget her. Take your Risperidone. Then shower, get dressed, okay?’

  They started the car. Backed slowly onto Heytesbury. Turned right, headed towards Subiaco.

  Jay opened a CD case and lifted out the disc, balancing it between thumb and middle finger. ‘Badloves?’

  ‘If you have to.’

  Jay slotted Get on Board into the stereo.

  ‘You okay?’ said Alex.

  ‘I feel like crying, but I don’t know why. Is that normal?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘You ever feel like crying?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  All the time. From day to night, months, years stretched out. Whenever he found himself alone or unguarded. When he felt close to Jay or far away.

  And he’d say it out loud if he thought it would make a difference. He’d open up if he weren’t certain it would sink his brother once and for all.

  Jay skipped the CD to track seven. ‘Lost’ echoed out from tinny speakers. Up near Irwin Barracks, the day half cloudy, half fine. Jay’s voice, half song, half prayer.

  ‘You’re a good brother,’ said Jay.

  ‘That matters to you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It’s what we’re about. You and me, working together.’

  He turned right, took a quick left onto Stubbs Terrace.

  Alex knew that soon enough his brother would spot the inconsistencies. That, despite the way trips tended to blur, there were still subtle differences. That time could pass, circumstances spinning out of control, but eventually you’d click: you’d see the streets, the turns that led you there.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Jay, but Alex didn’t answer. ‘Bro, where are we going?’

  Onto Quintilian and up Brockway. Jay had stopped singing. His hands were shaking.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ he said, tapping his fingers on the dash. ‘I promise I’ll take the meds. I’ll do anything . . . just turn the car around.’

  Alex knew he was doing the right thing. But his stomach spasmed, like it was being kicked. Feeling sick, and afraid. But you’re doing the right thing. Say that enough, and it almost sounds true.

  Bore water stained the walls, oak sunsets that covered the brick from soil to window frame. Open, but barred, those windows. As if they needed to release the madness, just not all at once.

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ said Alex, pulling into the car park. The seat started to shake, Jay’s fist, cocked, a quick jab to his brother’s jaw, and by then it was on, and Alex grabbed him, held him tight, saying, Please, Jay. I’m doing this for you.

  Once

  Steven had not planned on spending quality time with his ex-wife again.

  In the lead-up to the trip back west, he had found an old shoebox that held wedding photos, the wrapping ribbon from the first gift she had given him, and, strangely, a card he’d given her on her twenty-fifth birthday that presumably she’d put into his things once she knew they were screwed.

  It said, Always.

  He took the box, slotted it into his suitcase. Cradled it with tissue paper. Hated himself for doing so, and in the end left it on the kitchen counter; it did not seem right, or fair, to be so sentimental.

  Received the call from Alex, three days prior. They’d talked bits and bobs over the years. On that particular day, discovered Jay was back at Bell’s.

  ‘What made you take him in?’ said Steven.

  ‘You never noticed?’ said Alex.

  ‘Noticed what?’

  ‘He took it on, swallowed whole, that shit, the mess that you and Mum left. And what did you do? You moved to the other side of the country. Meanwhile Mum’s barely there, she’s frightened, broke, and we’re going through cassettes at the swap meet.’

  ‘So this is about us, hey? Nothing else going on?’

  ‘I had to make a call,’ said Alex. ‘It’s possible, hell likely, that I made the wrong one. But it’s not like you were around.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Steven.

  ‘It’s fine, Dad. Peachy-fucking-keen. Just maybe, maybe, I would have liked a little help.’

  Now, Steven sat on the edge of his hotel bed, stranded in Perth, and more than a little hungover. Considered wetting a towel to numb his head, but that involved movement and his skull was already throbbing with every cough or sneeze.

  His phone buzzed on the bedside table. He grabbed it, almost
killing the call by mistake, and pressed accept.

  ‘Hey,’ said Steven.

  ‘You didn’t ring,’ said Jen.

  ‘Neither did you.’

  ‘I’m not looking forward to this. Come when you can, we’ll play parents,’ she said and hung up the phone.

  *

  Steven had already drunk a Powerade by the time he reached his former family home. It was a last resort at the BP, a blue nonsense sports scam that looked a bit like Windex, which had eventually cleared away his headache.

  He knocked twice on the screen door. Ran his fingers through his hair, heard footsteps inside. Jen opened the door, smiled. Their hug was awkward, familiar. He remembered how they used to embrace, only now it felt stilted, strange, his arms too big, and her frame too small.

  She wore a dress that showed off her boobs with an unfair degree of subtlety, the lightest of lines from them gently touching. A white dress—maxi, he guessed—with a shock of blue and orange flowers across the waist and up towards her ribs.

  A line or two more deeply defined in her forehead, the tiniest crow’s-feet cradling her eyes. Her eyes. Still the same, to his dismay and relief. Turned on and afraid, in love and in pain, both at once.

  ‘You look nice,’ said Steven. ‘Bit hippie with the long- flowing goddess-of-the-earth stuff.’

  ‘It’s called middle age. Come in for Christ’s sake, you’re like a Jehovah’s Witness.’

  They walked through to the kitchen. A typical mess, he thought: knives on the chopping board; a half-tomato facedown, seeds stuck to the chopping board.

  He felt like an intruder. Noted almost immediately how unfamiliar the house now felt. A Sark inspirational poster now hung above the dining table, rainbow words of warmth at odds with the darkened room.

  They walked into the lounge. Jen adjusted the blinds, her figure more familiar when cast in silhouette. She flicked on the light and he was back in the room.

  ‘You’re going to have to scale down at some point,’ said Steven.

  ‘It’s never been easy living in a place with so many memories,’ said Jen.

  ‘Kids are nearly out though, right?’

  ‘Nearly, said Jen. ‘Now just me and Emily. It’s nice.

  Thought maybe we could get Sophie to come live here too. Been a bit worried since she split with Amanda.’

  ‘What happened with her and Louise?’

  ‘They broke up ages ago. Was pretty rough for a while. She’d see her quite a bit at GLCS, couldn’t get a clean break.

  We caught up most nights. Not to talk, just to help her sort things as best we could. At least until the dust settled.’

  ‘You always do that, you and Soph. You look out for each other.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘It’s not what guys do,’ said Steven. ‘Or we do, but it’s all messed up. You do it when they’ve kicked a torpedo goal from near the centre square or you’ve both caught bream on a fishing trip. Doesn’t work, though. When you’re sad, it’s all “hit the drink and we’ll talk it out,” and you do, you hit it hard, get your head on straight but it’s not like you remember the morning after.’

  On the mantelpiece, a row of photo frames: Jen and friends, a sea of new faces.

  ‘You’ve been to Bora Bora?’ said Steven.

  ‘I went with the gang from Therapeutics.’

  ‘You do beauty therapy? What happened to Laurie Potter’s?’

  ‘Went under. Seems he wasn’t in it for the long haul. Was unemployed for a bit, but it’s not like our man Potter was coming back, and the kids have to eat.’

  ‘I pay the mortgage,’ said Steven.

  ‘You’re not on trial,’ said Jen. ‘You asked, I’m telling.’

  ‘Sorry. So you got a job at Therapeutics.’

  ‘Now I manage the business,’ said Jen. ‘Ten years all up, so we went the big trip.’

  ‘Wild times? Flirtinis and a massage from the pool boy?’

  ‘And how,’ she asked, ‘is that any of your business?’

  It used to be, he thought. Was surprised to find how little he’d forgotten: her lips on his cheek, his hand holding hers. Their time in Royal Melbourne: Alex born premature, wheeled down in the incubator for a half-day with him and Jen, the day both short and long.

  How blissful Jen had seemed with Alex in her arms. How broken once he’d been hurried back to the special care nursery.

  He thought back to their house. Her things in the bathroom cabinet: polish, cotton buds, and an emery board.

  Did he really miss her emery board?

  ‘Thought maybe I’d find Peter on the couch,’ said Steven.

  ‘He went back to his wife,’ said Jen. ‘The men get to do that, women not so much.’

  ‘I didn’t get the memo on Peter’s departure.’

  ‘And what would I have said?’ said Jen. ‘Come on in, I fixed the mess?’

  ‘“Sorry” would have been a start,’ said Steven.

  ‘I said it, more than once.’

  ‘But I didn’t hear you,’ said Steven.

  She sighed. ‘Are we always going to be like this?’

  ‘Divorced?’

  ‘Cold.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be,’ he said.

  She frowned. ‘Then don’t.’

  Steven was unsure of what kept him so guarded. He knew that at some point he’d built a wall and decided to keep it. That were he to tear it down, he’d want to be with her, to love her once again, and that just wouldn’t do.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he said.

  ‘Please.’

  Steven tapped the dash of his white Camry rental. They cruised down Riverside Drive, on past the Esplanade and under the freeway overpass, reaching the outskirts of the CBD.

  Jen traced a line along the rim of the passenger door. ‘How’s Toni?’

  ‘We broke up,’ said Steven.

  ‘You or her?’

  ‘Mutual.’

  She picked at her fingernail. ‘Nothing’s ever mutual,’ she said.

  Jen filled time on the drive. Talked of anything and everything, except for the divorce.

  ‘I rang Alex,’ she said. ‘A girl answered.’

  Christ, thought Steven. The Spanish Inquisition of modern relationships. ‘You know he’s an adult, right?’

  ‘Her name’s Penny. A right little miss she is, too.’

  ‘Jealous?’

  ‘I’m worried,’ said Jen. ‘He hasn’t been the same since you left. You know how much it shook him up?’

  ‘If I didn’t, you’d remind me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like her.’ said Jen.

  ‘I’m sure the feeling’s mutual,’ said Steven, flicking the indicator.

  They reached Bell’s Lake at around one and parked the car, lifting presents, quiche, and a now slightly warm bottle of Appletiser from the boot.

  ‘Who are you seeing?’ said the attendant.

  ‘Jay Slater,’ said Steven.

  He scanned the sheet. ‘And your relationship to the patient?’

  ‘We’re his parents.’

  They took the ID badges and were given a locker to store their belongings. Told to come back at two. Pointed to a dusty, flickering vending machine with trays half-stocked with chips and chocolate bars. Found shade beneath a nest of trees and sat down, each scoping out a suitable distance. Jen folded her knees up in front of her, a barrier of sorts, while Steven sat side on, legs stretched out towards the hospital. He’d given her a suitably gauged space, though this felt more like something they’d have done in their early days.

  He pulled apart the quiche, rested his piece on the paper bag. Squirted half the ketchup sachet on top, and tossed it over.

  ‘I’m sorry about before,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’ She plucked a blade of grass, rubbed it till it stained. ‘I didn’t think you would.’

  ‘I’m their father,’ said Steven.

  ‘It’s just that last time——’

  ‘Last time, what?’ said Steven.

 
‘I was going to say last time you snapped, but now it seems redundant.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been great with my temper.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘It’s not like you ever know. Just sometimes, bubbles up. Can we start again? I mean, really, wipe the slate?’

  She nodded, and in time gave moments, memories. Steven listened, for the most part, adding thoughts or questions.

  He loved hearing her voice again. A voice he remembered from countless calls, late nights, well past one and a few too many wines. For thirteen years, as constant as a heartbeat.

  Who knew that one day it would be only an occasional pleasure?

  They headed in just before two. A balding guard led them down a bathroom-blue hallway, the same card swiping each successive door.

  ‘Parents?’ he said.

  ‘Mm-hmm,’ said Steven, and they walked through the doorway.

  They entered the room, half empty, looking more like a community centre. They sat at a laminate table bolted to the floor, waiting for movement.

  ‘Can you stop biting your nails?’ said Jen.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Steven. ‘Didn’t realise I was.’

  ‘There’s a surprise,’ said Jen, and it seemed they were headed for round two, a barrage of head strikes and uppercuts, when Jay emerged, grinning, from behind the reinforced door. Steven braced himself for a pause, a moment of awkwardness, but Jay showed little restraint or memory of the distance he’d requested months earlier. He bounded over to the table, gripped his dad in a bear hug. An orderly watched on, tensing up.

  ‘They think you’re going to slip me something,’ said Jay.

  ‘How have you been?’ said Steven.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ said Jay. ‘You want a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Jen.

  ‘I have to get it,’ he said. ‘Won’t be a sec.’

  Steven scanned the room, noted guards at similar points on opposite sides of the room. Five fans, four corners, and it could have been an airport lounge but for the rules bolted to the walls. It could have been a motel were it not for the names scratched into the tabletops.

  ‘You look thin. More than usual,’ said Jen.

  It was a shock for Steven, who’d only recently re- established contact. He’d thought Jay wanted it that way. At least, that was what Emily had told him. Slow drips and drabs since then. A phone call here, stilted, awkward at times, but something at least.