by Ber Carroll
Jodi glanced at the wall clock: five minutes past six. Bob was slightly late.
Shirley wiped her brow. The dinner, roast chicken with boiled potatoes and mashed pumpkin, was ready. The kitchen was like a sauna thanks to the hot oven. But Bob loved a roast dinner.
Shirley’s work day finished at four. She’d spent two hours preparing Bob’s feast, with no time for even a cup of tea. It didn’t stop there: after dinner she would do all the cleaning up while Bob slouched with a beer and newspaper.
‘Cup of coffee, Bob?’
‘Need that shirt ironed for tomorrow, Bob?’
She was perpetually at his service, so eager to please that it made Jodi want to gag.
‘We’re getting a real stretch from summer this year,’ Shirley commented, her face flushed as she wiped her brow once again.
‘Go outside, Mum,’ said Jodi, becoming the adult. ‘I’ll get you a cold drink.’
Shirley took a look around the kitchen to ensure all was in order before leaving her post. Jodi poured two glasses of icy water from the pitcher in the fridge.
‘You should do salad in the summer months,’ she said when she joined her mother outside.
‘Bob doesn’t like salad,’ Shirley replied, moving along the wooden bench so Jodi could slide in next to her. ‘He’s a big man, he needs a hearty dinner.’
Silence fell and ten minutes passed. Bob was unusually late.
‘Must be bad traffic,’ Shirley remarked, looking down at her watch.
Jodi allowed herself to drift into a fantasy where Bob had a fatal crash on his way home. Taking one of the bends on Spit Road, he veered into the next lane, his driving as sloppy as his personal hygiene. The oncoming bus, propelled by the steep incline, had no chance to stop and crushed the Commodore as if it was nothing more than a matchbox car. The police read Bob’s address from his driver’s licence and radioed the Dee Why station to send a car around to Lewis Street. The officers, a man and woman, took off their hats respectfully when Shirley opened the door.
The sound of an engine in the driveway brought her fantasy to an abrupt end.
‘He’s home.’ Shirley smiled.
A few moments later Bob walked around the side of the house and up the steps to the deck. With patches of sweat on the underarms of his white shirt, a red tinge to his heavy jowls, he was horribly alive and, other than hot, well.
‘Hard at work, ladies?’ he asked sardonically.
Bob worked in a government department pushing paper and sitting on his fat ass while his staff did all the work. Shirley was on her feet all day serving customers, yet Bob didn’t count her job as real work.
‘You’ve caught us playing truant,’ Shirley giggled, not hearing the sarcasm in his tone. She started to get up. ‘I’ll get you a cold beer.’
‘No, I’ll do it.’ Jodi jumped to her feet, not wanting to be left alone with Bob.
The kitchen was still boiling hot. Jodi got a bottle of VB from the fridge. Unfamiliar with the bottle opener, she used too much force and the lid bounced off the counter and under the cooker. Unrecoverable.
Outside, she handed Bob his beer and addressed her mother.
‘I’ll put out the dinner.’
Dusk was starting to fall and Jodi lit the citronella lamp on the table. She served the food, Bob’s plate piled high. They ate mostly in silence. Conversation, when it occurred, was between Bob and her mother. Bob rarely spoke to Jodi. His means of communication were the letters he periodically left under her pillow.
Last night’s had read: Have I told you how beautiful your legs are? So evenly tanned. So lean. I love all of you, but your legs are my favourite part.
The letters were irregular. A few months would pass without any. But Jodi could never relax. The bastard knew that.
She read them and then destroyed them, tore them into a thousand tiny pieces that could never be put back together and read by her mother.
‘Are you keeping our little secret?’ he’d whisper in her ear every now and then. ‘You’d better be.’
She’d nod, feeling more like his accomplice than his victim.
Because of the reference in last night’s letter to her legs, Jodi had slipped on some track pants after school. The heavy cotton clung to her thighs in the sticky heat. She kept her eyes down as she ate, away from Bob’s face. But his hands were in her direct line of vision. Those hands, with their fat, bulbous knuckles, commanded her silence. She could see them around her neck. Around her mother’s neck. Squeezing. Killing. So she kept quiet about the letters, about Bob’s so-called love, about everything.
It won’t always be so, she promised herself. One day I’ll have a job where I can speak out. Where people will respect what I have to say. Where I’ll be the boss, and not some fat bulldog man.
Chapter 11
1986
‘My baby girl going to university – I’m so proud of you!’
Shirley had tears in her eyes. Jodi felt emotional too. Today was her first day at the University of Sydney. It hadn’t been her preferred choice; she had wanted to go to the Australian National University.
‘Why go all the way to Canberra?’ Shirley had protested.
‘ANU is the best.’
‘Nonsense – you can get just as good a degree here, and I wouldn’t have to pay your rent.’
‘I can get a part-time job.’
‘It doesn’t matter, you’re still throwing good money away.’
‘It’s what I want to do.’
‘Until you’re eighteen, you’ll do what I want you to do.’ Then, seeing that her daughter was on the verge of tears, Shirley softened her tone. ‘Bob says that there’s alcohol – and drugs – and all sorts of things available at universities these days. We want to protect you from that. Give you some more time to be mature enough to say no if you’re offered anything.’
So Bob was behind this, pulling strings, making sure she could never get away from him. Jodi had no choice but to play along and pretend she was reconciled to living at home. But in her head she was counting every day to her eighteenth birthday, when Shirley would hopefully give both her approval and some financial assistance towards the rent.
‘Wish me luck,’ she said to her mother.
Shirley kissed her cheek. ‘You got the best HSC in your school, you’re too smart to need luck.’
Jodi heard a door open and another slam shut. Bob was up and had gone into the bathroom.
‘See you, Mum.’ She rushed out the door. Now that she was the first to leave the house in the mornings, she would have to finetune her timing so she wouldn’t cross paths with Bob. She couldn’t cope with seeing him, especially not after last night’s letter.
University! Golden Girl is all grown up. A young woman now.
She didn’t want him thinking of her as a grown-up. Being a child was better, offered some level of protection.
Jodi inhaled gulps of humid air and tried to erase Bob from her thoughts. She walked towards the bus stop, only a short distance from the house. Wearing bootleg jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, she felt both excited and nervous, grown-up and naive. Never would she have to wear a school uniform again. Sick notes, end-of-term reports and parent-teacher meetings were all part of the past. In fact, tertiary education came with unnerving freedom.
Will I make friends at university? Will they be more worldly than my school friends? Will they be able to tell that my stepfather is in love with me?
Jodi reached the bus stop to see that her bus was already there and a long line of commuters were in the process of getting on. She was the last to board and had to stand, hanging onto the overhead railing, for the entire forty-minute journey to the city. The airconditioning wasn’t working and her jeans felt heavy and uncomfortable.
Getting off in Wynyard, she walked briskly to Martin Place and then up to Castlereagh Street. This time she was luckier and got a seat on the 422 bus which, according to the timetable, would take fifteen minutes to reach the campus. When she was settled into
a routine, she could run this part of the commute. It wasn’t the same as running on the sand, but it would keep her fitness up. Next year she wanted to compete in the Ironwoman Series. She hoped that her schedule would allow some early marks, afternoons where she could get to the beach and do some serious training.
Jodi’s degree doubled Economics and Commerce, an ideal qualification for the banking career she’d already decided on. She’d always liked going to the local bank with her mother. The environment was clean and efficient, the staff polite and respectful. Transparency ruled: deposits and withdrawals were always double-checked, and sometimes the paperwork had to go to another staff member for sign-off. It seemed that nothing untoward could ever happen in a bank. She really, really liked that idea.
Jodi’s goal was to end the four-year degree with first-class honours. That goal was at the forefront of her mind as she walked towards the Faculty of Economics and Business, a building of faded brown brick on the corner of City Road. Once inside, the first thing she noticed was a large poster, in bright orange, advocating Marxism. Much less noticeable were the directions for the new students: Orientation address in auditorium downstairs.
Jodi descended the dappled grey stairs. She paused when she reached the lower level. She spotted another inconspicuous poster and turned in the direction of its arrow.
The auditorium looked quite full. Jodi noticed some free seats towards the front. She had only just sat down when the address began.
‘Good morning all! I’m Professor Phelps, the dean of the Faculty of Economics and Business.’ The man who spoke into the microphone looked extraordinarily young for his exalted position. His face was classically handsome with a strong sculpted jaw. His hair, dark, thick and wavy, had not a strand of grey.
The girl sitting next to Jodi leaned over to whisper, ‘Isn’t he drop-dead gorgeous?’
Jodi nodded without taking her eyes off him.
‘On behalf of all my colleagues, I have great pleasure in welcoming you as a student of the faculty. Founded sixty-four years ago, the faculty has an outstanding reputation for excellence in teaching, learning and research.’
‘My name is Alison,’ the girl whispered.
Jodi glanced her way. She saw a silver nose stud, purple hair and a friendly smile.
‘I’m Jodi.’
Professor Phelps spoke in a clipped voice that suggested he had lived in the UK for some part of his life. ‘The faculty is a part of an international learning community incorporating academics, students, corporate partners and governments. We equip our students educationally for a professionally rewarding and successful career in their chosen field, with many of our alumni holding senior positions in the business, professional and government communities within Australia and around the world.’
Jodi felt a wave of ambition as she listened to him speak. She was very determined that she would be one of those who went on to hold a senior position; someone Professor Phelps would not forget.
It transpired that Alison was also doing a double degree and was in many of Jodi’s classes. She would flash her friendly smile and move places to sit next to Jodi. Once class was finished, they would stroll to whatever venue was next on the schedule or grab a Coke from one of the many dispensers around the campus.
Alison lived in student digs in Ultimo.
‘You can stay over at my place any time you want,’ she offered generously.
Shortly into the term, Jodi took her up on her offer.
‘I’m going to a social event at the university tonight,’ she told Shirley, a spare set of clothes packed in her satchel along with her books. ‘I’m sleeping at Alison’s.’
Jodi left the house feeling high at the thought of having a whole day away from Bob. She was still on a high that night as she knocked back countless shots of spirits that burned her throat and brought water to her eyes.
‘You Spin Me Round’ blared over the speakers. Students flocked to the dance floor. Rather than join them, Jodi went to the bar to get another drink. On the way back, a boy she recognised from Political Science asked her to dance.
‘No, thanks. Two left feet.’
It wasn’t a lie. She had no rhythm when it came to dancing.
‘Hey, you need to slow down,’ Alison advised when she returned, her drink already half gone. ‘You won’t last the distance if you drink too fast.’
Jodi, dismissing her advice, declared drunkenly, ‘You know, Alison, I’ve just discovered that I love alcohol …’
‘Well, that’s becoming obvious.’
‘And I love being at university …’ Jodi continued.
‘Anything you hate?’ asked Alison wryly.
‘Bob.’
‘Who’s Bob?’
‘My stepfather.’
Jodi hadn’t as much as mentioned Bob’s name the entire six years she’d been in high school. Yet here she was, telling Alison, a girl she barely knew, that she hated him.
‘He says he’s in love with me,’ Jodi heard herself confess. ‘He wants to fuck me.’
She was appalled at what she was saying, but relieved too. Extraordinarily relieved.
Alison looked utterly shocked. ‘No shit!’
‘It’s true. Horribly true.’
‘Does your mother know?’
‘No.’ Jodi shook her head so vehemently that she began to feel dizzy.
‘Why haven’t you told her?’
‘Because he said he’d kill us both.’
Alison’s horrified expression was blurring before Jodi’s eyes. In fact, everything was blurring. And spinning. The words from the song reverberated in her head. She staggered on her feet.
‘Jodi?’ Alison’s voice sounded far away. ‘I think I need to get you home …’
Alison propelled her through the gyrating crowd. The exit was in sight when she slumped and fell to the floor.
A series of discomfiting sensations followed. Gentle slaps to her face. Hands under her armpits, dragging her along the floor. Horrible bile in her throat. Floating on the flat of her back. Pinpricks on her arm. Then, at long last, she was left alone to sleep.
She woke with a sandpaper mouth and clanging head. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut. She forced them open. The first thing she saw was a floral curtain. It swept around her bed, ensconcing her in a cell of fabric. She was wearing a blue cotton gown, and her right hand was bandaged and attached to a drip.
I’m in hospital …
Shirley would be so disappointed with her, and rightly so. Moving out of home would be off the cards for years. Jodi squeezed her eyes shut, the consequences too much for her to face.
A few minutes later she heard the curtains being drawn back. Warily, not knowing what to expect, she opened her eyes again. A nurse, who looked not a lot older than her, stood by the bed.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Awful.’ Jodi propped herself up. ‘And embarrassed.’
The nurse gave her a small smile as she checked the drip. ‘You’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last person we’ve had in here in that state. We monitor you while you sleep it off. That’s all we can do.’
‘What hospital is this?’
‘Royal Prince Alfred.’
‘Does my mother know I’m here?’
The nurse gave her a sharp look. ‘Your friend told us that your parents were away on holiday.’
Jodi felt a wave of gratitude towards Alison.
‘Sorry that she lied, but it’s best my mother doesn’t know, it really is.’
The nurse checked Jodi’s pulse and pressed her fingers around her tummy. ‘You seem to have survived okay. You’ll have to wait until the consultant comes around before you can be discharged, though.’
‘Okay.’ Jodi was relieved but already thinking ahead. Her overnight bag, which contained a spare set of clothes, was at Alison’s digs. ‘Is there a phone I can use to call my friend?’
‘If you’re referring to the girl who was with you last night, she’s in the v
isitors’ room. She slept on one of the armchairs.’
‘Yes – that’s Alison.’
‘I’ll tell her to come in.’
The nurse slipped away through the crack in the floral curtains.
Jodi’s overnight stay in Royal Prince Alfred Hospital was a life-changing event in more than one way. Firstly, it cemented her friendship with Alison, who had not only shielded Jodi from trouble at home but had waited faithfully in the visitors’ room until the next morning.
‘Thanks,’ said Jodi when Alison, bleary-eyed and dishevelled, came to her bedside.
She shrugged. ‘That’s what friends are for.’
Jodi hung her head. ‘You know what I said about Bob last night …’
‘Yes …’
‘Well, I don’t like to talk about it – I only blurted it out because I was drunk …’
‘No worries.’ Alison squeezed her hand. ‘I won’t bring it up if you don’t. Just one thing, though …’
‘What?’ Jodi looked up, apprehensive.
‘My digs, as you know, are pretty basic, but you’re welcome to stay on my spare mattress any time – seven nights a week if you want.’
Her offer turned out to be a lifeline.
When Jodi got home from the hospital, she found a letter waiting under her pillow.
I can’t get you out of my head tonight – where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re talking to. You’re too beautiful for those spotty boys – I’m the one who should teach you how to kiss, how to touch a man …
The letter became more and more explicit and, despite it being a torturous experience to read the full length of it, Jodi did so. Her survival instincts told her it was better to know what he was thinking than not.