In Jeopardy (7 page)

He describes how he became trapped between tribal gangs armed with nail guns, batons, knives and hand-held explosives.

Although he wasn’t a target before being struck he realised it would be almost impossible to avoid injury. He explains how he threw himself to the ground to protect his face, chest and ribs before being struck with a volley of nails aimed at the real enemy.

Less than a metre away two men fought on the ground littered with shrapnel. Molotov cocktails detonated, bringing with them showers of glass and rubble pounding onto the street. Unable and afraid to move he watched the two men struggle, the one with the knife striking at his opponent and missing him. The unarmed man seized his opponent’s hand, extending his arm towards where Julian lay; the knife lunged forward carving the jagged gash and witness to that night into Julian’s face.

‘How awful – how terribly awful! How did you manage to escape alive?’

‘I didn’t escape. I lost consciousness and gallons of blood. The rest of the story was relayed to me in the hospital.’

‘How do you manage to sound so calm about what happened? You could have died on the street.’

‘Some of the young Somali men I was with before we became caught up in the siege were injured and could have died. They too were law-abiding citizens and innocent victims.’

‘No deaths?’

‘No deaths. Since then, under the stillness of night and in daylight, memories of the blood spilled on that street bursts in on me, intruding into my life without announcement.’

He elaborates, explaining how one of these men who became a friend had fingers sliced off, another lost an eye.

Christine is embarrassed.
And I thought my marriage breakdown and the crisis that has followed is a nasty trick being played on me.
‘That’s some story. When did this happen?’

‘Almost six months ago.’

‘Does Diana know what happened to you?’

‘No.’

‘Why did you wait so long to tell one of your sisters?’

‘I was in intensive care for several days, heavily sedated, immobilised from broken limbs and too weak to connect with the world.’

‘Didn’t you nominate someone as next of kin?’

‘Yes, a friend. Lucy, a woman I went out with then lived with for some time. The relationship never ended. We continued it as friends.’

‘And you didn’t think to tell her to contact your sisters?’

‘I didn’t want to intrude into your lives. Diana is occupied with her family and you with Richard and your work.’

‘And you didn’t think that family would be concerned that your life was hanging by a thread?’

His skin flushes. Clearing his throat several times he runs his hand through his thick crop of greying hair. ‘Christine, as you said, we have become estranged from each other. I didn’t want to confront you or Diana with the damaged state I was in.’

‘What if you died?’

‘I knew I wasn’t going to die. I wanted to recover before I contacted you.’

‘Does Diana know you’re in Australia?’

‘No.’

‘But, I plan to fly to Perth in a fortnight when the project is finished.’

Darkness closes in on the day, street lights flicker on under the pale night sky. It’s difficult to see the city’s landscape. Christine checks the time, it’s 6.40pm.

‘Time to go before the sky blackens.’ They follow the lamp-lit path from the park and onto the street cramped with traffic.

In the restaurant Christine and Julian consume their meals almost without tasting them. Each fills the other in with details of their crammed and rushed lives. Sometimes conversation is reduced to stilted small talk. They tell stories about their lives, the people who occupy them and the events that continue to shape them. The evening dissolves in an instant, as if snapped on camera and locked away as a treasured memory.

Julian reprimands Christine for her delay in contacting him following her stormy split with Richard. Of course he knows nothing about Roland, only that the relationship ended abruptly shortly after she announced they were engaged. Christine dreamed big. She mapped out her life with a man who couldn’t be a more unsuitable marriage proposition. She believed, despite his aggressive streak, she could overcome this obstacle. Instead the relationship imploded, before ending violently.

Over their meal and despite the long separation, Christine muses on how alike Julian is to her: fiercely independent; and, she suspects, afflicted by stubborn pride, preferring to suffer rather than ask for help.

As a nurse she regularly deals with broken people. She isn’t aware that this has conditioned her stance of non-judgment and empathy towards others to the detriment of her own welfare. Julian, although conditioned by a different profession, shares her self-effacing manner.

Julian tells Christine that he disapproved of Richard the moment they met. What remained unsaid seemed to crystallise his view of Richard. Christine’s accounts of him over the phone and in greeting cards failed to wipe away Julian’s distrust and contempt for the man.

He couldn’t help revealing his disdain at Richard for treating his sister, or any woman the way he did.
He showered her with gifts, indulged her with extravagant treats, whisked her away to fabulous places then left her with a generous credit card to make her own fun. He has treated her little better
than a pampered pet. A man can smell that type a mile off.
‘Now you are no longer a novelty to him he has discarded you with impunity. Is this how it is?’

‘Very candidly put – you’ve summed up the situation. Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘There wasn’t any point. You would have been deaf to advice, because you hung onto an idealised image.’

Julian asks questions he wouldn’t have dared to ask in the past. He offers Christine any assistance he can give her. She is touched and tells her brother he’s kind, but that she doesn’t want to burden him. She informs him that she has engaged a solicitor to attend these affairs.

During the next week they meet daily for dinner or lunch before Julian returns to Sydney then flies to Perth. He suggests that Christine come to Perth with him. She tells him this is too generous. She reasons that she has recently returned from Sydney, instigated legal action against Richard, and since she has accepted the responsibility as Charge Nurse of the ward she cannot abandon the hospital. He dismisses her reasons as minor obstacles that she can easily overcome.

He impresses on her that the hospital won’t object to her taking a long weekend off. He suggests she ask for the days off in exchange for her taking on extra shifts. She asks him if he has cleared a proposed visit with Diana. He counters that the matter won’t be a problem, he will attend to it and Diana will be delighted. After convincing Christine, he arranges her flight and insists on paying her fare.

When Julian returns to Sydney Christine has almost forgotten about Perth. She organises shifts, oversees and trains student nurses, fits in extra shifts to make up for time she will take off. These duties keep her in a rushed state. Days seamlessly merge into each other. She returns to the apartment wanting to collapse and sleep following the seven shifts she has worked this week.

Tim is in the living-room on the floor, suitcases open, personal effects litter the floor and he doesn’t hear her enter. He looks up, revealing a wide-eyed startled possum stare. She apologises for catching him unaware. Following an awkward silence he says, ‘Hi Christine. Your mail is buried under my stuff.’

He moves an armful of crumpled clothing to retrieve her stack. She walks away from him and her mail. ‘It can wait. I’m making a cup of tea. Do you want one?’

‘Thanks; white tea, two sugars.’

She drops into one of the armchairs, one of the few pieces of furniture that is bare and stares at nothingness, almost unaware of Tim’s presence. Her head bursts from the noise of the ward, being consumed by too many tasks and loose ends she has to tie up before taking four days from work to go to Perth.

‘Christine?’

She snaps back to the present. ‘Did you say something?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘I must have drifted off.’

‘You haven’t opened your mail.’

‘I’m tired – I’d rather not.’

‘Expecting bad news? Open your mail. I’m here to protect you from the big bad wolf of bills.’

‘Since when have you become so interested in my welfare? You’re just burning with curiosity aren’t you?’

The first letter has the travel agency’s logo stamped in bold red print. Christine hasn’t mentioned her travel arrangements to Tim. It’s probably this letter that caught his attention. He stops packing and watches Christine open the letter.

‘Bad news? Tragedy? Disaster?’

‘A ticket to Perth.’

‘That would make me dance on stars. What a charmed life you must lead! You only just returned from Sydney and now you’re off to Perth.’

‘I’m meeting up with family and I’ll only be away for a few days.’

‘You make it sound painful, like a chore.’

‘Travel is painful, packing your life into and out of suitcases; isn’t that what you’re doing now?’

‘You’re funny – in an unfunny way – but I get your point.’

She rips open each letter, followed by Tim’s question, ‘Bad news?’

She responds, ‘Boring, another bill or landfill,’ and they both laugh until she picks up the letter from Ben Thornton’s legal firm. She had half forgotten about legal proceedings. Thornton requests she contact him by phone. He explains he has received correspondence from Richard’s lawyer, and includes some available times for Christine to arrange an appointment with him.

‘Did you run a red light – get caught speeding – driving and talking on your phone?’

‘I wish it was that simple.’

‘Is it that bad?’

‘Worse. You don’t know – do you?’

‘Know what?’

‘This is a hospital, news travels faster than any grapevine.’

‘You don’t have some dreaded disease – nothing terminal I hope?’

‘My husband threw me out of his life when we were in Sydney. The whole ugly affair exploded in our hotel room. He thinks he’s in love with this woman – at least a girl I swear is half his age. I didn’t exactly want to hang around and I returned alone.’

‘Wow – that’s amazing – I’m sorry – I really feel for you – that’s bad. I mean, he’s some bad person.’

‘I’d call him a son of a bitch.’

‘I’d call him that and more. You’ve shown remarkable self-control. I never would have guessed this is the reason you are living in residents’ quarters.’

‘I didn’t want to air my personal life in public. I don’t want people to think I’m some fragile creature you have to tip-toe around. No one needs to make allowances for me, half expecting that I will fall apart – that’s not going to happen.’
This is a hospital and medical workers must be made of tough stuff. This job is self-selecting – a hospital’s no place for sooks.
‘You can’t fall to pieces at any little crisis when you work in a place like this.’

Christine calls Ben Thornton’s office and arranges an appointment before she leaves for Perth.

Thornton doesn’t waste time on small talk. ‘I trust you’ve read my letter.’

‘Your letter makes the situation sound serious. Do I have any reason to panic?’

‘Your estranged husband has responded and has since engaged a legal representative. She acknowledges our orders that your husband is not to contact you.’

‘I guess that explains why email contact from him has stopped.’

‘Mr Banks contacted me personally when he received my letter and ahead of his solicitor. He made it clear he was angry with you, and me for that matter. Your estranged husband accused me of filling your head with rubbish. He told me I was unethical, shouting down the phone at me.’

‘That’s so like Richard.’

‘I gave Mr Banks enough rope to hang himself. I have his measure.’

He doesn’t reveal to Christine that Richard threatened violence and accused Thornton of interfering with his life then inciting theft from his house. Thornton secretly prides himself on breaking with the protocols of his profession. He cannot think of any of his peers who would not only engage in a conversation with a client’s adversary, but who would enjoy such a confrontation. By allowing Richard free reign Thornton learnt that he wouldn’t hesitate to threaten and intimidate his client and possibly use violence against her.

Christine expects bad news and from the moment she decided to leave the house of her own accord she assumed she would become embroiled in drawn out and complicated litigation. Since she left the house the cramped hospital apartment has become a refuge. She has thrown herself into her work with the prime purpose of blocking out Richard and the ugly saga he instigated. Times when she half forgets that he exists are short lived, until she feels the sting of being betrayed slapped hard across her face.

Thornton tells Christine that she is fortunate that she doesn’t have the complication of children and these words strike at Christine’s heart. Although Thornton’s words inflict pain she continues to listen to his assurances that her childless state has spared her more grief than she already has to contend with, and reminds her that she has nothing of value to take away from a barren marriage, except for stuff and money.

‘I’m sorry Ms Francis – I should think before I speak. I don’t have children and dislike them, but this is no excuse for what I just said.’

‘Call me Christine.’

Richard’s earlier offer to pay Christine a large enough sum of cash that would enable her to buy another property is too good to be true. He made this offer to remind Christine that he wanted to expel her from his life. She suspects that Richard will, not for the first time, press his elderly parents to release funds from their family trust to buy her out of his life. She is convinced that he has money salted away in accounts that she has no knowledge of.

His offer of the payout still stands. However, Thornton implores her to reject the offer. ‘Any man able to write out a cheque for more than half a million dollars is likely to have considerably more to spare.’

Thornton explains that although this amount sounds like a handsome sum it is likely to buy Christine a dinky house with nothing to spare. He looks directly at her. ‘Are you prepared to acquiesce to this deal? It’s no more than shut up and piss off money.’ Before she has a chance to answer he continues, ‘I am under your instruction, but I recommend you insist on more.’