Demons (23 page)

He looked down. Hannah put a hand on his thigh.

You remember Dane? The director? In Aiden’s story? He ended up doing that Dostoevsky
thing. The title comes from that bit in the Bible where Jesus gets the demons out
of a madman and puts them into a herd of swine. The swine all run over a cliff. It’s
like throwing away all the troubling stuff, you know, the stuff that sends you mad.
But the trouble is, these days, we’ve got too many swine. It’s all swine, you know?
Everything’s on the outside, there’s nothing in the middle. Leon looked into the
bottom of his glass.
We will rush, insane and raging
, he said,
from the cliff down
into the sea.
I did good giving up drinking, it’s been three years now. He put his
hand on Hannah’s thigh the way she’d put hers on his. Well, he said, that’s me. Next?

Lauren shifted in her chair.

I fucked Leon, she said.

Adam was still catching up. So were the others, one by one. Leon and I fucked, said
Lauren, after I had the operation, before he went out with Hannah. It wasn’t planned,
it just happened, and I thought it would be best not to tell.

You’re fucking kidding me? said Adam. He looked at Leon. Leon looked at Lauren and
hung his head.

Guys, said Marshall, I just want you to know, I have done everything I can. I have
tried
so
hard, but everything, everything’s gone wrong, I don’t know how Jackie
and I can stay together any more, I just don’t, she wants my balls for breakfast,
every morning, and I don’t mean that in a good way. I shouldn’t be saying all this,
dumping all this stuff on you on this lovely weekend away. I’ve had a great time,
really I have. You’ve been my friends, through good times and bad. Tilly hates me,
I know that, she’s off on her own trip now and there’s nothing I can do. And now
there’s all this stuff going on at work. I mean I might have made a few mistakes—I’m
not saying I haven’t made mistakes—and maybe I’ve not always consulted properly,
you know, but you’ve got no idea what it’s like, every day, someone wants this, someone
wants that, running around putting out spot fires and then when you turn your back
for two seconds it’s like a fucking conflagration. Rylan was white-anting me. It
must have been him. Who else could it be? The slogans on the window, the rumours
all over the net. Death threats. You’ve got no idea.

He uncorked the Cointreau and drank.

You mean to tell me, said Adam, ignoring everything Marshall said, that you’ve kept
this from me all this time, even when I’ve gone on about him being a nice guy and
how he’s made mistakes but he’s a good person at heart and one day he’ll make a good
woman happy? Forget it, Adam, said Lauren, it’s not important now. What do you mean
it’s not important? he said, standing up. Let it go, she said. I’m sorry folks, said
Marshall, that was insensitive of me. Leon? said Adam.

I’m sorry, said Leon, really, I am. But it wasn’t about the sex.

Everyone looked at him or away. She was sad. I held her. It happened. Fuck me, said
Adam, rolling his eyes as if he was trying to see the back of his head. Leave it,
said Lauren.

Or did you go, said Evan, and all this Abbie-nurse-story-crap was just a cover-up
for five thousand miles of lesbian fucking? Evan, please, said Marshall. No, he said,
you can’t do that, you can’t make up some big elaborate story then tell us it was
all a lie!

Did
you
know? asked Adam. Megan nodded. Fuck me, he said. Who else?

You told that story, didn’t you, said Hannah, who’d been silent all this time, because
you wanted to get it off your chest? The woman having an affair, the man jumping
out of the building. She was talking to Lauren. Let it go, honey, said Leon. For
fuck’s sake, it just
happened
, said Lauren. I had the operation, I was feeling low,
things weren’t good between me and Adam. It
just happened
.

Marshall, are you okay? asked Megan. He was looking at the stairs.

Now Adam was up, out of his chair, pushing up his sleeves. You fuckhead, he said.
Leon didn’t respond. You fucked my wife, right after she had her breast removed.
How fucked up is that? Sit down, Adam, please, said Lauren. Adam, please, said Megan.
Come on mate, said Evan. Hit me, come on, said Leon. He stood up too. Don’t be stupid!
said Megan. Oh, don’t guys, please, said Marshall. Adam lowered his fists. You’re
children, said Lauren. They both sat down. There was a lull.

I mean, said Evan, picking up his thread again, there you all were giving it to me
about the footy scores and Megan’s just told us her whole fuckin’ story was a lie!
Shut up Evan, said Megan. Yeah shut up Evan, said Adam.

Adam stood up again. No, he said, I’m sorry, this is completely off the scale. You
can’t just fuckin’ say that, Lauren, in front of everybody, then sit there all smug
and go like oh it
just happened
. Forget it, said Leon. No, fuck you Lee, he said;
up, up, up you get, get up, get up, now! Marshall tried to hold Adam’s arm but Adam
threw him off. Up! he said. Leon stood. No! said Hannah. She was up too, clutching
Leon to her. Adam threw his fist; it was too late to stop it. Hannah went down and
Adam came down after. Fuck! screamed Megan. Leon started thumping his own fists into
the back of Adam’s head. Spit was flying out of his mouth. His bald head was all
blotchy and red. Evan had to drag him off and fell back onto the couch with him.
Please! said Lauren.

Adam got to his feet, staggered, threw the sliding door back and walked out. The
clouds had cleared, the moon was out. A herd of pigs ran down the hill to the edge
of the cliff and threw themselves into the sea.

Evan held Leon in a bear hug while Leon shook and cried. Hannah was still on the
floor. Leon pushed himself free, went to her and held her close. Her skirt had ridden
up, there was a sliver of black satin showing. Leon was crouched right over now,
as if afraid she would escape. He looked like a sad man praying.

Evan looked around. Adam was at the rail, gazing out. Lauren was on the couch: upright,
jaw locked, lips tight.

Tilly was at the top of the stairs.

The commotion had brought her up. She was on the third step down, all but her head
and shoulders hidden by the timber balustrade. For a moment she caught Evan’s eye.
She looked around: the bottles, the glasses, the tipped-over table, the tilted painting,
the fire-alarm flap like a broken limb. She recorded the scene for memory and went
back down again.

Evan turned to Marshall who was staring into the fire. Marshall looked at him, brought
the bottle to his lips, and drank. The world’s got problems, he said, it’s true.
But if we really put our minds to it, Evan, I reckon we can solve them.

SUNDAY

Adam was last to wake. His head was sore, his hand throbbed. A truck or tractor or
something was revving somewhere on the hill. He put on some clothes and went to the
kitchen where Lauren was making the coffee: she touched him on the arm.

Evan came in with an empty bowl and put it in the sink. They’ve been clearing the
road since seven, he said, and he went out again.

Adam poured a coffee and took it out to the living room. The curtains were open,
the sky had cleared, it was a cold sunny day. Megan and Marshall were at the dining
table, talking, their faces close, almost touching. Marshall was holding his head.
Megan was whispering, it’s all right, it’s all right. For some reason he was dressed
in a suit. The fire door was open; Adam threw a log in and gave it a poke, then he
slid the balcony door back.

The air was rich with the smell of rain. The rosellas were chattering in the trees.
Leon was standing at the balcony rail, the stick in his hand, his jacket turned up
to his ears. The bulldozer was loud out here, working the road below, chugging,
revving. Adam stood at the rail. There was about a metre between them. Evan was below,
hosing the mud off Marshall’s car. It was parked across the end of the driveway now,
pointing downhill, ready to go.

I’m sorry, said Leon.

Me too, said Adam.

They went quiet again.

Look at us, Ad, said Leon, without looking at him: a bunch of well-off, well-educated
fucks, the generation in charge, and yet we don’t know shit. We went to uni, and
it didn’t cost us a cent. We found jobs, made careers. Marshall’s a member of parliament.
We’ve lived off the fat. We saw the world, conquered every corner of it, but what
did we ever do but stare at ourselves? We accuse that generation down there, Tilly,
of being narcissistic. Yeah, well. Ours was the golden age, Ad, money to burn. We
could have done something, left a legacy. But what did we do? Talked crap, argued,
bickered, ate, drank—we’re always eating and drinking, stuffing our faces, telling
everyone what we had for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s obscene. We’ve let the
world go to the dogs, Adam. We’ve got no rigour. What did we do? I’ll tell you what:
we lapped at the plate they left for us until we lapped it clean.

Leon turned to look at him but Adam wasn’t listening. He was looking back through
the glass doors to the living room where Megan was helping Marshall out of his chair.
Marshall straightened up and shook himself and gently pushed Megan away. He started
walking towards the stairs. He looked terrible.

Leon looked in briefly, then turned back to the view. Okay, he said, so this is what’s
going on. Tilly wasn’t on her phone talking to her friends. She’s been at it since
Friday night, right here under our noses, taking her father down. She’s a troll,
a good troll, mind you, working away in the dark. Facebook, Twitter, a trail of comments
on every blog of every politician and journalist and commentator in the country.
Marshall did this, Marshall did that, he took bribes, made false statements, rorted
his travel account, embezzled party funds, bought women, went with men, took photos
of himself. It’s all over the net. He’s a dead man walking.

But are they true? asked Adam. What? said Leon. The rumours: are they true? Leon
laughed. True? Jesus, Adam, you of all people.

A wisp of white cloud was hurrying away out over the water, the sky was the deepest
blue. Adam slid the door back and went inside. Leon watched him go. Down below, Evan
turned off the hose, wound it back on its reel and shook his hands dry.

Tilly appeared, carrying her bag. Hannah followed, a bruise over one eye. They walked
to the car. Tilly threw her bag in the back seat and got in after. Hannah closed
the door. From where Leon was standing he could just see the back of Tilly’s head.
She was sitting up straight, her neck oddly elongated, like a princess waiting in
the carriage before it sets off for the castle.

A van with a satellite dish came into view. Leon watched as it moved around the bend
from behind the trees up the slope. You could see the marks the tyres made, dragging
the mud up from below. A guy in a suit got out and crossed to Marshall’s car. He
was lifting his feet high, careful not to soil his shoes, while the driver and another
guy started unloading the gear.

Now Marshall appeared, and walked down the driveway to meet them. He looked calm.
He straightened his tie and extended a hand to the reporter who, confused at first,
shook it. They both stood talking in the driveway, the reporter occasionally pointing
to his van, then at the sky. Marshall pointed to his car, then back behind him to
the house. The two guys with the gear stood at a respectful distance. The reporter
gave the signal. The cameraman and boom operator set up. The light went on and Marshall
blinked. The cameraman pointed with a flat hand, adjusting Marshall’s position. The
reporter waited, straightening the lapels of his suit.

Leon watched.

He’d been up since early morning, the only one without a hangover, to go for a run
down the beach. The air had oxygen and electricity in it. He felt solid, clear, alive.
The weekend faded behind. The cooking, the drinking, the talking, telling stories,
the confessions, the flare-up, the look on Lauren’s face, all that faded until the
only thing left was the picture of Marshall in the driveway, lit by that harsh TV
light, and the reporter plying him with questions.

Be careful, Marshall, thought Leon, be careful how you go. Keep it at the front of
your mind, friend, that solid little nugget.
I am an honest man. A simple man. I
am honest and simple and you will not undo me.
But no. Marshall was getting too animated,
Leon could see him, pointing here and there, cutting the palm of one hand with the
edge of the other, shaking his head too vigorously when he said no. He couldn’t keep
that solid nugget at the front of his mind, or—and Leon didn’t want to think this—there
was no nugget to keep. He kept pointing and waving and chopping and shrugging, feeding
that hungry beast with every good piece of himself he had left. He was disintegrating.
Even a false truth can hold up the sky, thought Leon, so long as it is solid and
still. Still, Marshall, still.

The others were watching from the edge of the carport: Megan, Evan, Lauren, Adam,
Hannah. They shouldn’t be out there, thought Leon, they were only making things worse.
He tried to get their attention, wave them back. Marshall’s floundering, he wanted
to say, can’t you see?

He saw Megan hold her face in her hands and turn to go inside. He saw Hannah follow.
He saw Evan look up. He saw Lauren take Adam’s hand. Then, strangeness upon strangeness,
another noise, above the talking, coming from somewhere way out over on the other
side of the hill. Marshall glanced up. The reporter and crew looked up too.

It was the TV chopper. The sound got louder. Megan came back outside and threw her
arms out as if to say: What the hell? Now Marshall was throwing his arms out too.
He pointed, threw a finger at the reporter, then pointed up again. The reporter clamped
his hand to his ear like he was talking to his colleagues up there and maybe even
asking them to back off. But the chopper kept thumping above the house. Marshall
went berserk. He lunged at the reporter and tried to throw a punch; the reporter
fell backwards, the boom operator stepped over him and held a straight arm out.
Marshall, he was fighting. The cameraman kept shooting. Marshall hit the boom operator’s
hand away and lunged towards the car, screaming at Tilly inside. The cameraman was
getting it all. Megan came running down the driveway and grabbed Marshall, pleading
with him to stop. The others looked on. Marshall backed away. The reporter was getting
to his feet, Megan was calming Marshall down but Marshall was flicking his arms left
and right like the drunk in the streetfight who’s been dragged.

Then everything changed again.

From below the hill, behind the trees, came a blue light, languidly flashing. A cop
car stopped below the drive. Two plain-clothes cops got out, one from each side.
The first cop waved the TV reporter away and started talking to Marshall. The other
cop opened the Mercedes door and asked Tilly to step outside. The reporter said something
to the chopper and went back to his crew. The second cop put a hand on Tilly’s back.
Marshall flapped his arms. Megan moved back and forth between them. Tilly’s cop led
her to the car. The TV crew followed. Marshall’s cop gestured to Marshall’s car,
indicating he should get in and follow. Marshall brushed down his suit, had some
last words, flicked his hand a couple more times here and there.

Megan yelled at the reporter and pointed up at the chopper. The reporter lifted his
thumb and called his crew back. Marshall got into his car. The cop car did a three-point
turn and headed off down the hill. Marshall followed. The TV van followed him. Megan
joined the others watching from the drive. The blue light flashed as it rounded the
bend and kept flashing all the way past the muddy scar of the landslip and on down
the hill.

The chopper wheeled and rose. The sea was flat and blue. They were all just specks
now, way down there in the distance, winding along the Great Ocean Road. The cameraman
was checking his footage, the reporter writing his lead. The boom operator, tired
from driving (he’d been up since five), was watching Marshall’s brake lights brighten
and dull. There was a swoop and swoosh as they rounded the bends. Marshall was watching
the back of Tilly’s head, her black hair hanging down. Tilly, for her part, was thumbing
her phone. The cop checked the mirror. Turn it off now, please, he said.