Indelible Ink (59 page)

At midday he made hommus and a tuna salad. Sylvia’s car was being serviced so he went to pick her up from Bondi Junction. Beachside trysts were so rare. They had three hours together and
Clark couldn’t wait to get her home.

Inside the car, she moved immediately into his embrace. ‘Franco confronted me today. He’s started to suspect something.’

‘Don’t you think it might be better just to tell him?’

‘I
can
’
t
.’

Clark headed down the hill. The sky in the east had turned pale grey. He drove with one hand, holding Sylvia’s with the other, surprised to find a spark of empathy for his rival glowing in
his heart. It flamed to mistrust and again he considered that if Sylvia was deceiving her husband, she was also capable of deceiving him. ‘I have to pick up my mother at three-thirty.
We’ve got three hours together, cheaptart.’

Sylvia squeezed his hand. Sunlight shafted through the light cloud cover then suddenly it began to hail. In seconds the patter became a violent, copious downpour. Clark moved into second gear
and crawled to a stop below his building. Onto the roof, inches above their heads, the hail thundered. Sylvia was laughing in the mayhem.

Clark looked in wonder at it falling through sunlight, piling up on the windscreen. ‘It’s incredible!’

Sylvia was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Isn’t the apocalypse beautiful?’

Clark touched her face. ‘You’ll be alright, Sylvia. So will we.’ He got out his cigarettes, and they smoked holding hands beneath the harsh drumming of ice on metal.

‘I spoke to Maurice,’ Sylvia said. ‘He’s seeing Leon tomorrow.’

‘Thank you so much for that.’

‘No worries. Maurice is a really good barrister and a nice guy.’

‘Leon said he hardly had anything on him. I can’t understand why this has to go to court.’

‘Poor bastard.’

‘And I can’t understand why he’s carrying drugs around at a time like this.’

‘Maybe he wanted an escape. Have some fun.’

‘He was taking
ice
.’

Sylvia looked out the window. Again Clark sensed her strain. Getting out of the car was not an option. The hail poured down, enclosing them in a white pod.

‘Clark, he doesn’t deserve this. He’s being charged with indecent exposure and resisting arrest as well. They got him at a beat. That’s just between you and
me.’

‘A
beat.
Where?’

‘Moore Park.’

Clark was silent. He couldn’t believe his lover, who had never met his brother, knew more than he did. He felt a twinge of embarrassment about the beat. Sylvia seemed to be hearing his
thoughts. ‘The law is an ass, Clark.’

‘Well, why did you become one then?’

‘I don’t know. I thought I could make a difference. One day soon we’ll be getting arrested for having pictures of fags on our hard drives.’

‘So that’s why he said the cops were homophobic.’

‘No doubt they were.’

Clark tightened. ‘I don’t agree with gay guys doing that in public. Call me homophobic too, if you like. It’s a park, for god’s sake. What if a kid comes across
that.’

‘Who takes their kids to the park at midnight?’

‘They do it in the day too. They’re everywhere.’

Sylvia pulled another cigarette out of the packet. ‘We’re living in a police state.’

‘Oh, come on, look at the rest of the world. It’s a fucking picnic here.’

‘The anti-terrorism laws might as well have no sunset clause and the sniffer dogs are a prime example of them being used against citizens for no better reason than good old oppression. The
operation that got Leon would have cost thousands of dollars. For what? Shaming and intimidating, a couple of petty fines. It’s just revenue-raising and fear-mongering.’ Sylvia grew
vehement. ‘And I’m sick of people pointing to worse places as an excuse for not opposing the creeping tyranny here.’

‘I’m way better informed than the average person and I care, you know that,’ Clark replied with equal vehemence. But he knew they weren’t fighting about issues, they were
fighting against each other pure and simple. He tried to calm down. ‘I didn’t know there was no sunset clause.’

‘Hardly anybody knows anything. Hardly anybody cares. The federal government has enclosed us in legislation so constrictive that the state government is forgotten. They pass these laws and
nobody says anything. We haven’t even got a bill of rights in this stupid country.’

She was getting that awful shrewish tone. The thrumming of hail was now muffled by a thick coat of ice all around them, and their voices boomed inside the small car. Clark was surprised to find
himself implicated, even defensive. He said, ‘Do you do anything?’

‘I screech away in a lecture theatre and write papers on law reform for musty old journals with a readership of one legal-aid lawyer and his dog. What do you reckon?’ Sylvia began to
laugh. ‘I meant cigarette fags, by the way. Not men.’ She stubbed her cigarette out and ran her hand through his hair. ‘How’s your mother?’

‘Taking painkillers by the bucketload.’

As suddenly as it began, the hail stopped. Clark went to open the door, but Sylvia put a hand on his arm. ‘Let’s go down to the ocean.’

Clark drove slowly, the tyres crunching and slipping on ice. His neighbours were emerging, dazed and smiling, taking photographs, checking their cars for damage. It was surreal: Bondi icy in the
sun, every street completely white. They drove onto Campbell Parade and the grassy slopes that ran down to the ocean glittered like snowfields. The waves moved in, one after another, huge, angry,
relentless. He was elated by the day’s extreme weather yet scared of the tension emanating from Sylvia. He was sick of his single life in his little flat, his solo dinners, his paltry
fortnightly meetings with his daughter. He wanted more. He thought of Sylvia’s body with its history and strength and private concerns. It seemed a cathedral, and a fortress. He pulled up in
the car park facing the ocean and cut the ignition. On the path below, kids were throwing ice balls at each other. Everywhere were drifts of it. ‘I made us lunch,’ he said
hopefully.

‘I don’t have time to stay for lunch, Clark. I have to go home.’

‘Is Franco there?’

‘Yes. Right now, he thinks I’m at a staff meeting.’

Clark began to simmer. ‘It won’t be like that when we’re together, Sylvia. We’re going to be honest. We’re going to be monogamous. And you’re not going to do
any sex work.’

Sylvia swung around, her eyes wide. ‘Why do you
always
bring that up?’

‘I’m just jealous,’ Clark almost shouted. ‘It’s awful, I hate it, I’m sorry, but I can’t help it!’

‘I
trusted
you when I told you that. God! The last thing I need is
your
moralism.’

His heart shrivelled as though it had been thrown into a hot pan. ‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I had no right —’

She began to talk urgently. ‘Alright. You want honesty? I fell in love with you because I’m not fully satisfied where I am now. You
know
stuff, you tell me stuff. Franco
isn’t much of an intellectual and he doesn’t make me laugh like you do, and like any long-term couple we don’t have much sex anymore.’ She was rearing back against the
window staring at Clark with tears in her eyes. ‘
I
’
m
sorry.’

‘No,
I am.
We’re both really stressed out and taking it out on each other which is counterproductive.’ He put his hand on her thigh. It felt like a glove on a block of
wood. ‘
I
’
m
sorry, cheaptart. Okay? Forgive me?’

The pet name sounded lame and tawdry. Sylvia looked exhausted. ‘Let’s get into the back so we can cuddle.’

They climbed through the gap between the seats. She lay her head on his chest and he stroked her hair, its apple scent rising through his nicotine fingers. Sylvia touched his face. ‘I fell
in love with you, Clark, and I’ve been on the verge of leaving Franco for you. But as much as we get on, we’re really different in some fundamental ways.’

Clark swallowed. He was terrified she would mention what he had done — nearly done — the night she had stayed. He was still carrying guilt about it, and it was unbearable. He wanted
to pull his jumper over his head. He wanted to cut off his dick. He kept his face averted and his hand in Sylvia’s hair while she said what he had been afraid of her saying for a while, what
he had been driving her towards, out along the bending branch, further and further to the thin end till the final snap came as a relief.

‘I can’t do this anymore, Clark. You know I love you, but we’re just too different. We’re beginning to really hurt each other and we have to stop.’ She sat up when
she had finished speaking, her face hidden behind a curtain of hair.

‘I love you,’ said Clark.

‘I love you too.’ She held him for a long time.

Then she took his hand. ‘Listen, I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a walk alone on the beach, okay? Then I’m going to get the bus home. I feel pretty drained and I need to zone
out for a bit.’

‘Sure.’ He got out of the car, walked around to her side, and opened the door for her.

The wind whipped her hair about her face. ‘You hang in there with your mother, okay?’

He didn’t watch her walk away. He went down to a bench on the esplanade facing the beach. The clouds had peeled away and the sky resumed its rinsed, fresh autumn blue of the morning. The
swell was huge. Nobody was in the surf. You could die in a surf as big and wild as that. He had been swimming less as the weather turned even though the ocean was still twenty degrees. He must get
back to it. Looking at the churning surf he thought, as he had so often before, that it was a miracle to have this on his doorstep. It was the most beautiful place in the world.

But nothing could lessen his desolation.

Half an hour later, Clark drove home. He had left all the windows of his flat open and it was chilly inside. Hailstones and water were strewn across the table, on the floor.
His stomach felt like a screwed-up rag so he put the lunch in the fridge. He shut the windows, cleaned up, then switched on the computer and checked his email. He realised at some stage that he had
a raging thirst and drank some water. Then he realised that he was late to pick up his mother. He ran down to the car and drove as fast as he could into town. At Centennial Park the traffic
stalled. The hail was still banked in drifts around bushes. He switched on the radio.
We
’
re all compulsive home renovators
, said an announcer in a crisp white voice. Clark moved
the dial.
Sydney Afri-can community
, said a fruity black voice,
is goin’ dance this weekend, oooh yeah.
Seun Kuti poured into the car, the music running over him like sunlight
on stone.

He ran into Susan at the hospital entrance. ‘She’s gone,’ Susan said, flustered.

‘How? Who with?’ Clark didn’t know Susan was coming today. ‘Blanche? I thought she was working.’ Maybe Blanche had handed in her resignation today. He felt excited
for her.

‘No, that tattoo woman.’ Susan touched her wrists.

‘Rhys,’ Clark affirmed. Although he had never met her, he had heard enough; and he had resented her so strongly he felt like he had met her. Susan looked around as though she were
expecting someone, and Clark felt sorry for her. For better or worse, she was his mother’s oldest friend and she was still here, still looking in on her. He asked her the time and realised he
was a whole hour late. He was glad that Rhys had been on hand and he found himself wanting to defend the tattoo artist against Susan. That this feeling was also an attack on his own previous
animosity did not escape him. He took out his mobile. ‘How is she?’

‘I barely recognised her, she looked so small and frail. I’m finding it all
extremely
difficult.’

Clark pressed his mother’s number. ‘Yeah.’ He held the phone to his ear, not expecting anyone to pick up. ‘Where’re you parked, Susan?’

‘Over there. No. Bloody hell. I don’t know. I hate it around here.’

‘I’m that way. Why don’t you walk with me? You might remember.’

They set out across the road. ‘I hear Blanche is expecting. That’s exciting news. Louise said she’d been sick.’

‘Yeah, but she’s better now, her first trimester’s nearly over. The hormones’ll start kicking in soon.’

‘That’s wonderful news for Marie too, isn’t it. Grandchildren are such a delight.’

They entered the maze of laneways on the other side of Missenden Road. ‘God,’ said Clark. ‘We just had the most incredible hailstorm in Bondi. And nothing here.’

‘Oh, it hit Mosman. Bloody well damaged my car, actually. Leon’s still there trying to save the garden.’

Clark was wondering whether or not to invite Susan home. She might just come anyway. She had left a pot of vichyssoise on the patio a week ago. She was carrying a box of mints with her now: she
never arrived without some sort of gift. And the cap — colourful, jaunty, almost a collusion with Marie’s latter-day self. Yes, invite her home, she’s been kind. A text came
through and Clark whipped his phone open, but it wasn’t his mother, it was Sylvia.
I had such a great time with you, Clark cheaptart. Thank you for everything, and sorry for everything
too. Much love. xxo.
Clark wanted to throw his phone on the ground and jump up and down on it.

‘Do you want to give these to your mother? Or should I come over?’

‘I, um, yeah! Come over. If she wants to go to bed, she’ll just go to bed.’

They arrived at a sleek new Peugeot with a pockmarked bonnet. ‘Oh, my car. Thank you, Clark.’

‘No worries.’

Susan fished into her bag for keys. ‘So I’ve finally seen Rhys,’ she mused. ‘She’s quite pretty underneath all that nonsense, isn’t she.’

Rhys didn’t stay long when they arrived at Sirius Cove. Marie was too tired and they knew the others would arrive soon. She took Marie’s bags up to her bedroom and
they said goodbye. Marie was glad for the time alone.

Her house was like a palace, her bedroom a luxury suite. She sat on the bed and gathered strength, then slowly began to undress. Her body was tiny, the flesh drooping around her hips. The bones
of her chest emerged and her breasts lolled, empty. She went into the ensuite. She took off Susan’s cap and moved closer to her looming head, the yellowing skin like an old cloth dropped onto
the bones of her face, the irises like beacons around diminished pupils. The tattoos were wrinkling but still looked beautiful, like crushed silk.