Into the Night

by Sarah Bailey

  Scott yells something back then swipes his phone on, scrolling the screen with his thumb and pressing it off again. He looks like a nice man. A nice guy. There’s still a kindness about him, a friendliness, even after all I’ve done to him. His hair is sweetly scruffy. He’s average height, average build, average-looking. He’s a way better person than me.

  He bends down, gesturing for Ben to kick the ball to him.

  I get out of the car, squinting into the sun as Scott runs forward to catch it. They both turn around when I slam the car door. Scott’s eyes slide into mine and he brings his head back to my level. His eyebrows raise slightly while he snaps his limbs into action.

  I lift my hand as if I’m visiting a distant relative. I drop it again and it slaps my side and I have to scramble to keep my bag on my shoulder. I don’t know how to do this.

  ‘Gem,’ says Scott, and the years of our closeness are concentrated into that one familiar sound.

  ‘Mum!’ yells Ben, racing across the lawn and jumping into my arms. As I hold him, Scott’s eyes crease and I can’t tell if it’s in fondness or frustration. I could never really tell.

  Scott walks over and puts an arm around me in a distinctly brotherly manner. ‘This is a surprise,’ he says neutrally.

  ‘Mum, Mum, Mum,’ Ben is saying over and over. ‘We didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘I barely knew I was coming,’ I tell him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Scott asks.

  I place Ben back on the ground and hold his small head in my hands. I feel such an intense desire for him that I don’t quite know what to do next.

  ‘I had to speak with someone who lives up this way, so I thought I’d come to visit. And apparently, someone has a special soccer presentation tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Are you coming to the awards, Mum?’

  I smile and kiss the tip of his nose. ‘Yes, darling, if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘Yes, definitely,’ says Ben and my insides start to slowly untwist. He wriggles to get down. ‘Let me show you how I kick the ball, Mum,’ he says, racing off across the lawn.

  Scott and I stand side by side, watching our little boy.

  ‘Are you heading back to Melbourne on Monday?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Ben will love you being there tomorrow, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s lucky how this worked out.’

  ‘You should have told me you were coming though. You can’t just turn up, Gem.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Ben scores a goal in the game he has created and yells as he runs in a circle.

  ‘Are you going to go and see your dad?’ Scott asks.

  ‘I just came from there,’ I say, the anxiety knotting inside me again. ‘He told me that he and Rebecca are engaged and that she’s moved in.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Scott, ducking his head.

  ‘You already knew!’ I exclaim, hurt.

  ‘I noticed her ring,’ says Scott sheepishly.

  ‘Aren’t you a bloody detective,’ I say bitterly.

  Scott looks like he’s about to say something then decides against it. His eyes still on Ben, he says, ‘I’ve actually got some work stuff to catch up on, so why don’t you hang with Ben and then we can all go out for dinner if you’re not busy? We were just going to the pub anyway.’

  ‘That sounds great,’ I say, relieved that he is making this so easy.

  ‘Okay, good.’ We stand there awkwardly until Scott shouts out to Ben, ‘Hey, kiddo, Mum’s going to have a kick with you for a bit. I’ve got some stuff to do.’

  Ben nods happily. ‘Mum, you stand at the letterbox and I’ll show you how far I can kick.’

  Pushing everything else out of my mind, I nod and jog over to my position, for once happy to be told what to do.

  Saturday, 25 August

  6.12 pm

  ‘Ready to go?’ asks Scott, his hair still wet from the shower as he pulls on a jumper.

  ‘Yep,’ I say, ruffling Ben’s hair while he rolls the dice. ‘We might need to finish our game another time,’ I tell him, pulling my shoes on.

  After carefully moving the board game to the desk in Ben’s room, we head outside.

  ‘Aren’t you going to drive your rental?’ Scott says as I walk over to his car.

  I look at him, confused. ‘No, why would I?’

  ‘The pub is closer to your dad’s place so there’s no point in you coming back here and then driving all the way back again.’

  ‘I thought I might stay here tonight,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Gemma, you can’t stay here.’ Scott pulls open the back door and straps Ben into his car seat.

  ‘Oh,’ I reply stupidly. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s just not a good idea,’ he says firmly, over the roof of the car.

  I look out into the street. A trail of fairy lights flicks on across Sheri Faber’s veranda. Sheri always was a show-off, desperate for attention.

  ‘Are you seeing someone?’ I ask Scott.

  He follows my line of sight and turns back to me with a withering look. ‘Gemma. I promise you, I’m not seeing Sheri Faber. Never have, never will.’ He shakes his head. ‘God, you’re unbelievable.’

  ‘Well, why can’t I stay with you then?’

  He sighs—the deep, exhausted sigh of someone who has big responsibilities. ‘Because, Gemma. You just can’t, okay?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to confuse Ben. Because I don’t want to go backwards. Because I am seeing someone and I don’t want to stuff it up. Because of all those reasons, Gem.’

  ‘You’re seeing someone?’ I repeat.

  ‘Yes, Gemma. I am. You don’t know her.’ Scott talks slowly, as if I’m a child.

  ‘But you just said you don’t want to confuse Ben, so explain to me how that works if you’re seeing someone?’

  ‘We’ll meet you there,’ Scott says, getting in the car and slamming the door.

  Bronte’s Bar and Grill is a half-decent pub on the western edge of Smithson. My rental car rattles along the uneven roads. I know this town back to front but in the fading light I notice little changes, as if someone has added brushstrokes to a painting. My childhood whips past. I’m going too fast and just for a moment I wonder what would happen if I put my foot to the floor and closed my eyes and completely let go. Let the universe decide what should happen to me. Instead, I grip the wheel and breathe through the madness until I enter the dimly lit car park.

  ‘We’re going to get a dog,’ Ben says, after we’ve been shown to our table and served drinks. I can’t stop breathing in his clean earthy smell. He smells like home. Like memories. I clutch his small hand under the table as we order food—I hope it takes a while to come so that I can keep holding his hand.

  ‘We’re going to think about getting a dog,’ Scott clarifies.

  ‘Well, that’s exciting,’ I say, smiling at Ben.

  As Scott sips his beer, I watch him, trying to work out if he seems different, trying to work out if he loves this new woman.

  ‘What?’ he says to me and I shake my head.

  Ben’s head whips back and forth between the two of us, his hands wrapped around his glass of water.

  ‘If you’re not leaving until a bit later on Monday, maybe Ben can stay home from school for the morning.’ Scott is talking slowly. He doesn’t usually talk like that. ‘Can you manage to get him back to school before you head off?’

  I bristle, he sounds so condescending. ‘I don’t know if I can manage that,’ I reply sarcastically.

  Scott takes a long sip of his beer before letting his eyes settle on me. ‘Gemma,’ he warns, like I’m a misbehaving pet.

  ‘Another drink?’ asks a perky waitress, her eyes flicking over Scott and then to our ring-less fingers.

  ‘No,’ I say rudely, even though I’m desperate for another glass of wine.

  ‘Yes, please,’ says Scott, smiling at her and indicating his almost empty beer.

  ‘Can I plea
se have a lemonade?’ asks Ben politely.

  ‘Of course,’ we say at the same time.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink, Gem?’ Scott asks.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I don’t really drink these days.’

  He raises an eyebrow at me.

  The waitress shoves her pen and notepad back into her apron pocket. ‘One Sprite and one beer coming right up!’ she says, her voice tinkling like a bell.

  ‘So, the Sterling Wade case must be pretty interesting.’ Scott says it sincerely but I know he hates everything to do with my job. To him, death—especially of the suspicious kind—has always simply meant my mind is absent, closely followed by my body. He’s never understood my instinctive need to solve a puzzle. Over time, I swear he could smell my cases on me; he would scrunch up his face when I walked in the door as if the evil had followed me home. But I suppose even Scott isn’t completely immune to celebrity.

  ‘It’s like nothing I’ve ever known,’ I say. ‘The media coverage is insane.’

  ‘Yeah, we saw you on the news a few times. Mum sent me an email about it. It was the first time I’d heard from her in ages.’ Scott’s parents live in the UK and are essentially hermits. I can picture his large docile mother firmly embedded in her floral lounge suite, enthusiastically watching episodes of The Street.

  ‘Did he really just get attacked by some stranger in broad daylight?’ continues Scott.

  ‘Pretty much. You know I can’t say too much but there’s a lot of weird stuff underneath the surface. It’s pretty frustrating.’

  ‘But you’re the lead on it, right? That’s good.’

  ‘I am. Well, Fleet and I are. And Isaacs, my boss, is obviously overseeing everything. I don’t think he trusts us yet,’ I add.

  ‘Fleet’s another detective?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Is he a nice guy?’ asks Scott mildly.

  ‘He’s a weird guy,’ I say.

  Scott nods and then smiles at Ben before picking up a napkin and wiping the corners of his mouth. I wonder if Scott is thinking about my relationship with my old partner Felix. Scott and I never talked about it, not really, but I think he suspects something was going on. I blink an avalanche of Felix memories away. I have no idea where he is now, though I assume he’s still in Sydney with his wife and daughters.

  ‘Are you staying at our place, Mum?’ asks Ben, interrupting my thoughts. He has a sip of his drink as he pushes his fringe out of his eyes.

  ‘Come on, mate, I already told you that Mum is going to stay at Grandad and Rebecca’s,’ says Scott lightly. ‘She needs to keep Rebecca company.’

  I roll my eyes just as our food arrives.

  ‘She’s not that bad, Gem,’ says Scott. ‘I know it’s all been pretty quick but your dad seems really happy. She obviously cares about him. It’s good for him to have someone like that in his life.’

  ‘Well, she’s certainly made her mark on the house,’ I say gloomily, as I saw into my rare steak. ‘There are bloody plants and flowers everywhere.’

  ‘I like Rebecca,’ Ben declares as he shoves chips into his mouth.

  ‘Sure, well, she’s a nice lady,’ I say diplomatically, keeping my eyes on my plate as I eat another corner of meat. We all chew in silence and then Scott bursts out laughing. Ben starts laughing too and eventually so do I.

  After the meal, we all order hot chocolates and Ben really warms up, chatting to me about his schoolmates and the play he has a small role in. Scott talks a little about the new retail strip his company is developing, the sharp line of stress that slices into his brow deepening. I can tell he’s worried about money.

  Outside, the still warm air is thick and creamy. The sky blinks with stars.

  ‘Bye, Mum,’ says Ben, holding on to me with his strong little arms.

  I close my eyes and breathe him in. ‘Bye, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

  He gives me a tiny wave as he climbs into his car seat.

  ‘So how serious is it? With the woman?’ I ask Scott, after he settles Ben in, slams the car door shut and leans against it.

  ‘God, Gemma, you are unbelievable. You really are.’ He laughs nastily and shoves his hands in his pockets.

  ‘I’m just interested,’ I say. ‘Come on, tell me.’ I start to shift on the spot; my limbs feel itchy. ‘Do you have her over to our place? Does she know about me?’

  ‘Know what about you, Gem?’

  ‘I don’t know. Everything, I guess. Tell me. Do you screw her when Ben’s there?’

  ‘Seriously, Gemma, you’re out of line. I know you’re upset about your dad and Rebecca but I’m not doing this with you.’ His face relaxes and suddenly it’s more worried than angry. ‘Look, Ben stays at your dad’s once a week. Sometimes I see her then. Ben has met her a few times. Sometimes we go out for dinner. My behaviour is definitely not something you need to worry about. She’s nice. Ben is fine. He’s a happy little boy.’

  ‘Lovely. So you have cosy little dinners just like the one we just had. And when my son is at my dad’s, you fuck some girl’s brains out. That’s just great.’

  A couple exit the restaurant and shoot us curious looks as they walk quickly to their car. I see Ben’s face, a slice of white in the shadowy back seat.

  ‘Our son lives with you,’ I go on. ‘I have a right to know who he’s exposed to.’

  ‘Right. And what are you exposing yourself to down in Melbourne? No, no, come on, tell me,’ Scott says, as I throw my eyes skyward. ‘What kind of wonderful role models are you mixing with?’ He slaps his hand comically against his forehead. ‘Oh, that’s right. It doesn’t matter. You can do whatever you like.’

  ‘You want Ben to live here with you, right?’ I ask, scared for a moment what his answer will be.

  Scott sighs and I remember him doing that a lot before I left. ‘Of course I want him here with me. I definitely don’t want him in the city with you. But still, Gem, it’s not easy. Even you must get that?’

  I nod absently, thinking about Ben’s visit to Melbourne. The unrelenting responsibility of looking after him, of worrying, had been overwhelming. My days in Melbourne are still anchored by him, but they don’t have the forceful pull of his wellbeing tugging at me all the time. I am, despite my anxiety, essentially free.

  ‘I guess I just don’t want him to forget me. That’s all.’ I whisper the words because saying them too loud is terrifying.

  Scott rubs at his eyes. ‘Oh, Gemma. He worships you. Can’t you see that? It’s probably the thing I worry about the most.’

  ‘You used to worship me too,’ I point out.

  ‘True,’ Scott agrees. ‘But now I know better. That little guy, on the other hand, will never get over you.’

  I look at Ben, his head tipped to the side as he cruises toward sleep. ‘I don’t know about that,’ I say.

  ‘Well, I do.’ Scott yanks open the driver’s door. ‘You’re welcome to come over tomorrow before the soccer presentation. Otherwise we’ll see you there.’

  ‘Okay.’ I wish we were just arriving at the pub so we could go inside and have dinner all over again.

  The door slams and Scott waves as he turns out of the car park. Two glowing red eyes bob along in the dark before disappearing into nothing.

  I stand completely still, letting the loose breeze circle around me. Then I spin around and find myself accosted by a wave of disorientation as it takes me a few seconds to remember I have a rental car. Standing next to it, I fish out my cigarettes and light one. There is no one around and the leaves of the gum trees paw at the lamp lights, turning the ground into a flickering ocean. I smoke hard and fast, scenes from the day encoring in my head. Stomping on the cigarette I beep open the car. Inside the air is hollow and fake, the smell of newness jarring in a place like Smithson.

  I drive back into town and head to Main Street. Parking the car, I shut off the lights and look at the bar. Music pulses and the silhouettes laugh and talk and drink through the windows. I picture m
yself walking in, ordering a drink. Laughing, flirting. Getting lost in time and not worrying about tomorrow.

  I get out my phone.

  ‘Gemma!’

  ‘Hey, Candy,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Are you home? I’m in Smithson and I need somewhere to stay.’

  Monday, 27 August

  2.14 pm

  Melbourne’s skyline comes into view as the taxi creeps along the freeway. I raise my eyes to the road as we slam to a halt. A horn blares.

  ‘Arsehole!’ yells the cabbie. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters to me.

  More horns join the chorus, blending with the eighties song on the radio.

  I shift in my seat. My legs have twisted with cramps the entire way home. My ankles are itchy and so is the back of my neck. I lean forward to see past the line of cars.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

  The driver shrugs. ‘No one in this city knows how to drive anymore.’

  We inch forward again. I resume scanning my emails. A few minutes later my ears prick up as the radio host announces that he is about to interview Lizzie Short to find out how she’s dealing with the tragic death of her fiancé.

  ‘Can you please turn up the volume?’ I ask the driver as I try to decide how to reply to a text from Dad. He is clearly beside himself about my reaction to his engagement news and while part of me feels guilty at marring his happiness, every other part of my being hates the idea so much that I simply can’t be rational about it.

  The ad break ends and the radio host introduces Lizzie solemnly, recapping Sterling’s brutal death. Her voice fills the car, and I picture her pale face and glossy long hair. She sounds older, weary. She speaks cautiously; there’s a beat between each question and her answer.

  ‘The whole country is mourning with you, Lizzie,’ says the host earnestly. ‘Tell us, how are you coping?’