Before the Poison (30 page)

Saturday, 24th August, 1940

November 2010

‘I don’t know how much Uncle Rolly told your friend,’ Louise said, ‘so if I’m going over familiar ground just stop me.’

‘Uncle Rolly?’

‘Don’t you know him? Roland Everett. He was Dad’s solicitor in Northallerton, and they became close friends. I just called him Uncle Rolly. He isn’t really my uncle. I’ve known him ever since I was a little girl.’

Uncle Rolly must have been Heather’s source, I realised, or one of them. I poked the fire and the logs split. Flames and smoke spiralled up the chimney. ‘Go on,’ I said. ‘What was your childhood like?’

She seemed surprised by the question, as if anybody should be interested. ‘Very happy,’ she said. ‘At least, the first eight or nine years were. We had a nice house by the sea, Dad was making a good living, and Mum co-owned a catering business. Then it all went wrong. I suppose it must have crept up on them very slowly, but it hit me like an express train. I mean, I remember late-night arguments, tears, hushed conversations, consultations with my grandparents – the Middletons, I mean – but really, the first time I knew there was something serious in the wind was when Mum told me to pack a bag and go with her.’

‘Why?’

‘I had no idea. I think I managed to piece it together a bit later. You see, Dad suffered from depression – fits, bouts, whatever you call them. He managed to function, go to work and all, and the doctor gave him pills, which seemed to help, but Mum was more outgoing, a social butterfly, and it just dragged her down, like he was sick all the time but there was nothing physically wrong. You know what some people are like. They can’t stand being around illness of any kind, they think everyone should stop malingering and just get on with life? Mum was like that, and she just couldn’t take it any more. Don’t get me wrong, she had a good heart. But she didn’t want to be a nursemaid, a carer. She wanted to go to dances and parties and meet people. She was always laughing and she loved gossip. She didn’t want to be stuck with an invalid for the rest of her life, so she bolted. And she took me with her.’ Here, Louise paused and stared back into the fire. She had been right, I could have done with another drink, but I restrained myself.

‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,’ I said. ‘I mean, the details. Heather – Rolly’s friend – told me some of it. I know what happened.’

‘Now I’ve come this far . . . Anyway, the next thing I knew we were in Brisbane. Suburbs, really.’

‘It must have been a wrench for you.’

‘Oh, Brissie’s all right. Plenty to do, nice weather and lots of beaches near by, even better than Brighton. The weather, anyway.’

‘But no father.’

‘No. That hurt. I missed Dad a lot, and I worried about him. He wrote, of course, phoned, and I visited him for holidays and stuff. But it’s not the same.’

‘And your mother?’

‘Mum started hanging out with the party crowd, mostly divorced. She drank a bit too much, talked a bit too loudly, wore short skirts, embarrassed me in front of my school friends once or twice. She was becoming a bit of a burden, but she was my mum. You couldn’t help but love her. There was no harm in her, do anything for anyone, except take care of the sick.’

‘So you stuck with her?’

‘Yes. What else could I do? Pretty soon I was entering my teens, and she was seeing Gray regularly. He seemed OK at first. Not the fullest bottle in the row, you know, but OK. It was only after they got married that he really started to show his true colours. I remember the first time clear as day. I was there, sitting at the table doing my homework. Mum was fixing dinner, and he came home late from an afternoon in the pub with his mates, pissed as usual. Mum said something, made some sarcastic comment, and he just punched her in the face, quick as lightning. No warning, nothing. Just turned, and smack. Not a slap, but a real punch. Meaty. Mum swayed then she just stood there, horrified, blood running down her chin, dripping on her white cotton blouse, then she put her hands to her face and ran to the bedroom, crying. I felt my skin crawling, my heart in my throat. I thought it was going to be me next.’

‘But it wasn’t?’

‘Not that time. He just held my chin in his hands tight, so it hurt, breathed alcohol fumes all over me and said, “Let that be a warning, young lady.” Then he laughed and went back to the pub.’

She was starting to fidget with her hands, and once or twice she put her fingers to her mouth to chew on. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. ‘Because you don’t have to go on.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a smoke.’

I’d given up years ago, and smoking is practically illegal in California, but I just nodded. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Thanks.’ Louise lit a Marlboro Light and blew out the smoke with a sigh. ‘There’s not much more to tell, really. A couple of nights later the midnight visits to my room started. There was nothing I could do. He was much too strong. Believe me, more than once I thought of killing him myself.’

‘Did you tell your mother?’

‘No. There wouldn’t have been much point. She wouldn’t have wanted to believe it, and it would have only added to her burden. He kept on hitting her, and in the end it was all she could do to gather what little strength and dignity she had left and move us out of there.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Not far enough. Another suburb farther inland, on the river. A small apartment. Just the two of us. I had some of the happiest days of my life since my childhood there. Mum would help me with my homework – she was clever – and she’d cook really beautiful meals. Moreton Bay bugs. Delicious. On weekends we’d pretend we were tourists and take a drive along the Sunshine Coast or the Gold Coast. We’d even go to the Big Pineapple and the Australia Zoo.’ She seemed lost in her memories for a moment, and a ghost of a smile passed across her features. ‘Then I came home one day from school,’ she said in a flat tone. ‘I was sixteen. Mum was on the floor, that good heart of hers blown all over her favourite Axminster carpet. Gray was sitting on the sofa, the shotgun still in his hands. Most of his head was gone. That was eight years ago.’

I didn’t know what to say, so I swallowed and kept silent.

Louise looked at me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It is a bit gruesome, isn’t it? Not at all like movies or TV.’

I wanted to tell her about Laura, that I had sat with someone I loved and held her hand as she died, took her in my arms as her last breath fluttered from her exhausted body, but I didn’t. What good would it do? Was it supposed to trump her story, create a bond of sympathy between us? I just shook my head slowly.

‘After that, things were a bit of a blur for a while,’ Louise rushed on. ‘I went back to live with my dad in Brighton. He was still getting those bouts of depression, but he was seeing a shrink and learning how to cope better. And I didn’t mind taking care of him when he was down. I guess I didn’t inherit Mum’s gene on that one.’ She flicked her cigarette end into the fireplace.

‘Maybe your grandmother’s?’ I said. ‘She was a nurse.’

‘I know. But she was a murderer, too, wasn’t she?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I said.

She gave me a sideways glance through narrowed eyes. ‘Uncle Rolly said you were on some campaign to clear her name.’

‘I’m not on any campaign, I just have my doubts about what happened, that’s all. Would it make any difference to you?’

‘If my grandmother wasn’t a murderer?’ Louise contemplated the idea for a moment. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it would.’

‘When did you hear about Grace?’

‘When Dad knew he was dying. He was trying to explain his depressions and let me know that he had some understanding about how I felt when my mum was killed. I don’t know if that was the cause, or if the depressions were just a clinical thing, but it seemed important to him to talk about it. To be honest, he didn’t know that much. Just shared a few of his childhood memories. He was too young to follow the trial, and then his aunt and uncle brought him to Australia. He got on with his life and didn’t ask too many questions about his past, like most people who end up there. It’s a very long way from Pommy-land, and most of us prefer it that way.’

‘How did it make you feel?’

‘How did it make me feel? You sound like my shrink.’ She gave me a disappointed glance, then went on. ‘Oh, I suppose I was angry with Dad at first, for not telling me all those years, because he’d never talked about her before. But when I thought about it, I realised he couldn’t, really, could he? I mean, what do you say? And I was a bit sad, too, but more about losing my illusions than anything else. I had always thought of the Websters as my grandparents. Granny Felicity and Grandad Alf. We’d always been really close. But suddenly they weren’t who I thought they were any more. That hurt. I still loved them the same, of course, as they loved me, but it just felt different.’

‘What did your father actually tell you?’

‘Not much. Just what she’d done, you know, and what happened to her. He told me that his mother had been hanged for murdering his father back in England when he was seven, and he told me about the lover and all. Sam Porter. He said he didn’t remember much about it. Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Not at that age. But it’s like a cancer growing in me. I can’t forget.’

‘Not even now?’

Louise shook her head. ‘I don’t mean I think about it all the time or have nightmares or anything. I don’t. I sleep fine. I just feel blighted, heavy, cursed. I can’t really explain it. First Mum and Gray, then finding out about Grandmother and Grandfather. Maybe it would make a difference if my grandmother turned out not to be a murderer, though I never even met her. I do feel I know her a little bit. Maybe he did pass on some of her genes. I have to say she doesn’t strike me as the murdering kind. But what do I know? I didn’t even spot Gray for what he was at first. I’m taken in by surfaces just as much as everyone else. I couldn’t even help my own mother.’

‘It wasn’t your fault.’

She glared at me. ‘Everyone says that. But I should have been there, been with her. I had a tummy ache that morning, and I so wanted the day off school, but it wasn’t long from exam time, and she made me go, thought I was malingering. I was sick as a dingo. I should have been at home. I should have saved her.’

‘Or died with her,’ I said.

‘Even that would have been better, I think, sometimes.’

‘What happened when you went back to live with your dad?’

‘What happened? Dad did his best. I had everything money could buy. He was only in his fifties then, at the peak of his career, making good money. But I blew it.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘It was easy. It’s amazing what a few snorts of coke and a bottle of vodka will do. I suppose I didn’t much care for myself, or my life, so I just kind of drifted with the flow, took whatever pills or powders were handed me, ended up with the rest of the flotsam and jetsam. I dropped out of uni after my first year, lived in Sydney for a while, in Kings Cross, with a bloke twice my age, a dealer. Hitchhiked to Perth with a few long stops on the way. It’s the usual story. I did heroin, gave twenty-dollar blowjobs to pervs for a fix. I drank until I couldn’t feel the pain or see the images in my mind any more. Woke up in more strangers’ beds than you’ve had hot dinners. Spent a few months in jail. You must know the story. It’s common enough. Pathetic.’

‘I’ve had a few friends whose kids have gone off the rails like that,’ I said. ‘And not always with as much reason as you had.’

‘There’s never a reason,’ she said. ‘Only an excuse.’

‘I don’t know. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I guess I was lucky with my own kids.’

‘Luck has nothing to do with it.’

I could see that there was no point arguing this matter with Louise. She had come to her own unshakable conclusions, and a certain vehemence, almost evangelical, had crept into her voice. I could hear the unmistakable tone of self-blame, and wondered whether, along with the piercings, she also went in for self-harm. I had known kids back in LA who had done exactly that, slashed themselves with knives, burned themselves with cigarettes. I wanted to cool Louise down, not fan the flames of her self-hatred. ‘But you came out the other side,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘When Dad first got sick with cancer – oh, three or four years before he finally died – I went back home and cared for him. I was about twenty-one then, and I was a mess. But I quit drugs and booze, stayed away from men, got some professional help from a colleague of Dad’s shrink.’

‘Is that when you went to the movies nearly every day?’

She gave me a surprised glance. ‘You remembered. Yes. It was my escape, just like you said. Granny Felicity was a great help, too, though she was in her eighties by then and starting to show Alzheimer’s symptoms. She’s in a home now. I go and see her sometimes, but she doesn’t know me. It’s too sad. Anyway, I got into a computer course and it turned out I was quite good at it. I’m not saying life wasn’t tough, and there weren’t times I thought of giving up, or even ending it all, but for some reason I held on. I guess Dad being sick gave me a reason to stay alive. Isn’t that weird? Then, last January, he died.’