A Shot at Freedom (20 page)

“We’re not here to fight with you Brooke. We just want you to hear from us. Things are different now. Your father and I, we travel three hours once a week for one and a half hours of therapy. It’s different at home. We’re honest with each other.”

“About everything,” her father added.

Brooke stared straight ahead. “Did she tell you about all the times she’d sneak over to see David’s
dad?”

“I know everything Brooke,” her father said
. “I’ve even spoken to David’s mother. I know it all.”

“How can you live with her? David’s life was hell because of her. She knew it and couldn’t stop butting in and making it worse.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do. There was nothing bad about what I was doing. It wasn’t an affair. I was caught in the past,” her mother defended.

But her father held a hand up to
them both. “Your mother is getting counselling separately for that. It’s something she has to work through.”

Her mother reached for her father
’s hand across the table and held it. Brooke couldn’t help staring at the way their fingers intertwined. She’d never seen that happen before. “There’s a lot I now know and need to make you understand. It was David’s father’s decision to drink. It was his decision to be violent. It was his decision to not get help. He played a part in this too. I can only take responsibility for what I was refusing to acknowledge all those years. I am not responsible for his death.”

“And neither is
David or his mother.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“They weren’t the ones who drove him mad. You did. You were there but not there.”

“I was married but we had a history.”

“We’re helping Mrs Banks,” her father interrupted. “We’re paying legal fees. She’s got a great lawyer.”

“She shouldn’t need one,” Brooke snapped.

“But she does. She killed someone. And that’s reality,” her father said.

Brooke felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose in an effort to suppress them,
and her breathing started to falter.

“It
’s okay, Brooke,” her mother said. “You know I know how you’re feeling.”

Brooke gasped. “Shit
Mum. Dad’s right here. Stop talking about your…your indiscretions. It’s sick making him listen. I don’t care how much counselling you are having.”

Her father cleared his throat. “There are no secrets anymore Brooke. We’re all just trying to get past the hurt.”

“It’s hard work,” her mother added.

Their hands were still cl
utching at each other, an unfamiliar unity that Brooke felt so separate from. Her father’s thumb caressed her mother’s hand and she squeezed his in return.

“I can’t believe this…what I’m seeing…hearing,” she stammered.

“Things are different now. We’re committed to making things work. We can get you the help you need to get past this too,” her father said. “You can come home.”

“Things don’t just change like that. It’s always good for a while, but then it always goes back,” Brooke argued.

“A lot has happened to shake us all up,” her father said.

“
We can’t make you forget about David. But we can help you get past him.”

“I can’t come home if you genuinely feel like that.”

“All I’m saying is that if we find the right person to help you, you can find out about how good things can be without David there all the time. If you find out what you like to do and what interests you have, you never know, things might feel fun at home.”

Brooke stared down at the glint in the salt and pepper.
Salt was always with the pepper.

“What if we agree to help David too,” her father added.

Her mother lifted her chin, and took a long breath in. “It happened to me. I got stuck on someone even when I tried not to. And now I’m here picking up every ugly piece and trying to make some sense out of where it fits.”

“Mum, you have to let me be free to do what I need to do. If I never spoke to
David again or acted like he was dead—”

“It’s not what we’re saying.”

“—it wouldn’t get me anywhere. It wouldn’t take long before you tried to get him out of my life.”

Her mother sighed. “
Eventually working out how to have a life without David might lead to some kind of peace.”

“See? There it is. You want us apart.”
Brooke sat back in her chair and looked around seeing nothing.

“Your life is going to be so hard if you keep holding onto him so tightly… the way I did with his father.”

“Some days will be I’m sure.”

Her mother leaned in. “I felt like you did for years. It’s what kept me stuck. I got married to your
dad and I loved him and I loved the image I had of our future together, but all I could think about was another man and that took all the magic away. When I had you, I struggled. I struggled being a mum. I wanted to escape. All I could think about was him. It was all in my head. Nothing was reality. I couldn’t have a life with all of this imaginary stuff in my head. I didn’t ever really let that go.”

“All I want is to be loved for being me.”

And there it was. The truth. It sat between them. She waited for the classic mother eye roll. But it didn’t come. A sickness spread through Brooke, but she held firm to those words. She held that idea strong. She wanted to repeat it. But couldn’t find any power in her throat.

“When David isn’t in pain, he sees me for me.”

“It’s because of the pain you need to let go. You will go down with him,” her mother said quietly.

“No
. I don’t need to let go. I need to get up and go.” Brooke stood up abruptly, picking up her notepad and pen.

Her father reached for her and pulled her back. “It might not be a good idea to tell David about what we’ve said.”

“We don’t keep secrets from each other Dad.”

Chapter Thirty Six

Brooke

Brooke took the long way home, nursing some left over pasta for David. She stank of sweat. Her uniform was slopped with juices from remains left over from dinners. Her hands stung and legs itched. Grime. It was something she’d never had to put up with working for her father. She was always given the easy job. Taking meal orders at a register used to make her complain about standing up all night. But it was nowhere near as hard on her legs and back as hauling a full cooking pot of putrid water or scrubbing oven racks from four commercial ovens left to ‘
soak
’ by the lazy guy on the last shift. But she had to take what she could get. Money wasn’t just needed to buy the latest music or take David to a movie. It kept a roof over their heads. It kept David with her. And now it seemed it gave her some power over her parents.

Her mind
kept replaying every word they said, except by now she had replayed it so many times she wasn’t sure what her take on it was and what had actually been said. Either way it pissed her off. David had to be told but she couldn’t think what part of it wouldn’t hurt like hell to say. Any arguments they had been having had evaporated.

As she passed giggling holiday makers, freshly showered heading for the beach or the bar, she fought to keep
to the shadows. She took the stairs cut into the hillside up to the staff quarters. Hidden among eucalypts the buildings were only visible to those who were aware of them. She paused half way. Counting the rooms along the veranda, she noticed a strange glow at her window. She reached in her pocket for the key, but didn’t need it. The door had been left ajar.

***
David

P
ain was his constant companion. He sat with it, lost in line and colour and shading. The warmer hues browns, yellows, reds heated up his mind while the greens, blues and purples, cooled it down. He loved the way the tips slipped across the paper. The longer he was at it, the way he saw the world changed, from dark and dramatic to light, flowing sketches.

He drew the room as he saw it by the light of the candle.
At first all the dark corners leapt out at him. Threatening angles protruded from furnishings. Hollow imaginary faces peered out at him from cushions and curtains. It had taken hours for the shadows to brighten enough for the rainbow of colours to emerge. He’d begun to notice things he hadn’t seen before, curvaceous shapes that became cartoon like, the brilliance of colour in a single candle flame.

He found a way of sitting that suited him.
The pain became a distant ache, the further he drifted into the depths of his imagination.

A
tap on his shoulder yanked him back to reality. He spun to face Brooke, coughing in an effort to catch his breath, gazing up into her face, taking a moment to register.

“Brooke,” he gasped, coughing again
, clearing his throat. “How was work?”

“Sorry. I forgot…about the creeping up thing.”

With a hand resting on his shoulder, she peered down at the sketchbook.

He covered it with his cast.
“What?”

“
Can I see what you’ve been drawing?”

“I was just drawing
… stuff. Just to be doing something.”

He watched her back away, but she was smiling.

“Keep going. I need a shower,” she said.

She
pulled out her pyjamas from under the pillows and headed for the bathroom. Pushing the chair out, he stood at the table, unsteady on his feet. When she flicked the bathroom light on, from where he was even he could see the fluoro light pick up every stray hair and murky tile. She looked back at him.

“
I know you wanted the bathroom clean.”

“
Sit down. I’ll fix it. I’m a mess anyway.”

He s
tretched then settled back in front of his art work aware she was still watching him. “I just didn’t think about it,” he offered in lame explanation.

“
It’s okay.” She walked over and sat down in a chair opposite him, stroking the rough surface of his cast.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. Her face looked different when she wasn’t so mad at him. Not so hard. But it made him uneasy. She was holding something back.
Please no more sex stories.

“Mum and Dad are here.”

David started tapping his pencil. He felt his knee begin to jiggle under the table and stretched it out to settle it. He wished the grumpy girl would walk back in the room. That he could deal with.

“You know what they want,” Brooke told him.

“You’re going home.”

She shook her head. “We have to stay together David. When Mum and Dad work that out they’ll leave us in peace.”

“Are you tempted?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Have they offered you money?”

She sat back, and picked up one of his pencils, tapping the tip on the table top. “If they did, I’d take it, go home for a week, then come straight back here to be with you.”

“So there’s nothing they could say that would make you go back.”

“Nope. I’d always be thinking about you up here.
But then would you move on if I went? I mean I can go if you want me to.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend
. You have to believe me.”

“It’s difficult to believe right now.”

“She’s just a girl I met.”

“Was there ever anything between you?”

David was scared to open him mouth in case a high pitched squeak came out.

“Don’t say anything please,” she begged, heading for the bathroom.

***

Brooke

It was nice watching him work by candlelight. Through heavy lids she pretended to doze so she could watch his expressions transform his face. It wasn’t that long ago that she used to lie in their bunker, or out in a paddock or under an apple tree with chores done and nothing else to do but watch him work. He was all that ever mattered to her.

The magic stopped when he took a break.
It worried her when she saw the way he relied on the chair and table to stand. His back was rigid, neck stiff. When he peered over her, she pressed her eyes tight, and turned away. She heard him leave, pacing the veranda and venturing down the stairs.

She was still awake when he returned. She noticed the strain in his face, the way he held his breath and let it leak out bit by bit.

“You need a tablet,” she said.

He shook his head.
“It helps to walk around a bit.”

“Come to bed.”

“I’m not ready. I won’t be able to sleep.”

***

David

Back pain was his punishment.
If he held himself straight and didn’t move too much, drawing offered some relief. But there were times he wanted the pain because he deserved it, because it helped him justify visiting the bottle he’d stashed out in the bushes. Walking helped shift the pain and took him out to the hidden alcohol stash. The buzz he was able to feel most of the day was waning.  It was getting harder to remain happy on a few swigs. It took forever for Brooke to quit pretending to sleep. Forever.

The relief he felt when her body s
ank into the mattress was immense. No more need to be something he wasn’t. No more need to team up with the vodka bottle outside just to lift his mood for her. No more need to stress over the plague of thoughts that disturbed him about how he chose to kiss the lips of a bottle over hers. 

It was obvious she was tired, tired from working hard to support them both. It was another point of contention for him, something that couldn’t be impressing her parents one bit. He
knew what it felt to slave away, to be no more highly regarded than the cleaning fluids you used. But her deep sleep was enabling him to drink through each night.

Late at night, h
e’d started back on rum and some nights had moved onto bourbon. The guilt was all his, but only until the buzz from the next swig. It was a cinch to slip out of bed and edge his way down to recover his bottles from the fern fronds in the gardens below or under the rocks at the cliff. The liquid hit his tongue and burnt a warm trail to the depths of his stomach. As soon as he stopped he wanted more.

He would find a quiet place to sit where he wouldn’t be disturbed.
One at a time, the night noises merged with the silence until quiet rained down around him. The only sound he was conscious of was the swish of liquid in the bottle, the only weapon for the rattle of thoughts in his head. 

***

Brooke

Brooke woke to a
sickly emptiness that engulfed her. When she realised she was alone in the bed, her first thought was of David. A deep sleep had almost convinced her that she still hadn’t found him, that she was still all alone. But as the last cloudy dream drifted from her mind, the heaviness in the room was enough to remind her of the truth. He was in her life but she was losing him.  She couldn’t believe in him anymore.

She was alone in the bed
, but could sense someone else nearby.

With some hesitation
, she whispered, “David?”

“I’m awake
,” he murmured.

“Can I turn on the light?”

“No.” Even in the dull room, Brooke zeroed in on him. He was leaning up against the wall on Dana’s
bed with a bottle in one hand.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, umm…” Brooke rubbed her face, “…I don’t know.”

Moonlight shone through the window. The night was very still. David was tapping the bottle against something hard, fiddling with it, making a clicking sound. She watched him play with the object in between sips from his drink.

“Is that a gun?”

He raised it and aimed it at her, dropping it to take another swig.

“David?”

“I could kill you and then I could kill me before anyone got here.”

“You couldn’t do that.”

“I have before.”

Brooke shifted uncomfortably on the bed, her eyes scanning the distance to the doorway but not wanting to make any sudden moves.
She started to think it was a dream, a night terror that she couldn’t wake up from, and not yet at the point of needing to scream.

But she was able to talk
. “What’s happening David?”

He put his finger to his lips
. “Shush.”

She didn’t know what to say. Her pounding heart affected any sense her brain was trying to make. “We can
—”

“Shush.”

“David—”

“
Shhhhh.” David balanced the gun on his legs.

“It’s just a snake gun, David.”

They sat in the dark and the quiet. Brooke didn’t take her eyes off the gun, even when he threw the bottle towards the kitchenette sink and it bounced onto the floor.

David dropped his head in his hands and cried.

Brooke wrestled her way out of the clutches of the sheet and tiptoed towards him.

David scrambled up off the bed, and stumbled towards the door.

His sudden movement forced Brooke back. And then he was gone. The door swung on its hinges, rocking to a stop.

Brooke
leapt off the bed and turned on the light. The gun was gone too. She took off down the veranda after him, catching sight of the ferns still swaying along the path towards the cliff. She leapt down the stairs, her heaving chest and pounding strides preventing her from hearing him as she negotiated the uneven ground, stumbling and slapping back stray branches. Slowing to a walk, she gripped her side, and tried to catch her breath.

When she looked down
at her feet, she realised she was off the path. She turned around slowly, looking for a hint of life on the stillest of summer nights. Nothing. The moon was only a slip of a crescent. The stars gave off more light. The darkness grew heavy just like in the room, and she scared herself with the idea he might be nearby, watching her with a gun in his hand, pissed out of his mind. She staggered towards a bush, slipping past a few more and then crouching. It hit her, the fear, like a sledge hammer.
I could kill you and then me before anyone got here.
He could kill them both.

Her legs began to shake. Weak knees gave out and she crumbled under
a bush, wincing. She curled up in a ball, her cheeks pressing into the ground, still warm from the heat of the day. They played cops and robbers when they were kids. She remembered the stress of hiding and the panic of being found. Back then the feelings were real, hard to distinguish between imagination and reality. It was the same now, only this time the gun was real. She wept silent stinging tears.

Slow irregular
footsteps passed her head, so close she could have tripped him.

***

David

David tripped over untied shoelaces, hitting
rough shards of crumbly earth. He brushed himself down, smearing something dark and wet over his arms. Blood.
The gun?
It was tucked in his waistband. He drew it out. It was cool to touch. Swaying, he smelt the barrel. It hadn’t been fired. But there was blood.