The First Week (13 page)

‘Like on telly. Rapes and bashings every day.'

She saw that he was kidding and tried to smile.

‘It's not meant to be a picnic, Mum. It's meant to be a punishment.'

‘Maybe you could go to Albany? Or Pardelup? Closer to home.'

‘It's not up to me. You don't get to choose, in here. They don't send you to Pardelup unless they trust you. Anyhow, I have to stay here until the trial they reckon.'

Marian shifted restlessly. ‘I don't know what to say, Charlie. I wish there was something I could do.' She sounded so whiney. ‘I would like to know what happened, what went wrong.'

But he wouldn't look at her.

‘You can't tell me. I can see that.'

‘You don't have to stay,' he said.

‘Yeah. Perhaps I'd better go. Evie's waiting.' Marian got up, feelings in a jumble. Guilt, anger, despair.

The other mother was showing her son photos and they were both laughing. How did they do that? The son had a large tattoo of a red-back spider on the side of his neck.

‘I will come again before I go back down,' Marian said awkwardly, putting her arms round Charlie's stiff body.

‘I love you,' she made herself add. ‘We'll get through this. I'm still with you.'

But, as she retraced her steps through the locked doors, she wondered. She didn't have the courage for this. What if she just walked away? Got Evie to drop her at the car, and drove home.
Younger son? No, I don't have a younger son.

Before the thought was fully formed, the cobweb strings of motherhood were tugging at her gut.

Evie jumped up and came across to her. Without a word, without questions, she took Marian's arm and held it as their bags were searched again and they were regurgitated out into the fresh air. Cold, but the rain had stopped.

When they were sitting in the car, Evie spoke. ‘Well?'

‘He's … I don't know … oh my God, Evie. What am I going to do?'

The screaming that was trapped inside her forced its way out as giant sobs. She didn't try to cover her face, just sat and let the tears pour out. Great strangled cries burst from her. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.'

Evie handed her tissues and wound the window down a crack when the windscreen fogged. She took Marian's hand and sat beside her in silence.

Once Marian's sniffs had subsided, Evie let go her hand and fiddled the key in the ignition. ‘Let's get out of here. This wire is giving me the heebies.'

Marian became aware that the windscreen was filled with a view of the wire fence of the car park.

‘It's lunchtime,' Evie added. ‘You said I could buy you lunch.'

‘Are you sure you've got time?'

‘I've always got time for lunch. And I'm not leaving you now. Come on, I'll take you somewhere nice.'

Marian twisted uneasily. ‘We don't have to go anywhere flash.'

‘You're wrong. That's exactly what we do have to do. We have to have a good meal in a quiet place with
VIP
treatment, sit still while other people wait on us. This is a day for pampering, not for cutting costs.'

In spite of herself Marian was comforted. Let Evie take over and make the decisions. Let the whole mess go for a few hours. In the city, where no one knew Marian Anditon, she could do that. She could be a different person, a blameless woman lunching with a friend.

She leaned back in the seat and shut her eyes.

Evie had always known what to do. How to get a job, even if it was only weekend work in a vineyard. How to save the money for a clapped-out van. Evie never worried, she always had a friend who could fix it. Evie had enough flair for herself and Marian combined. Enough guts to drop out of Teachers' College, take off in the van and get a job in the country.

But there they'd parted company. The hospital kitchen was too dull for Evie. She got a job as a barmaid and led the wildest life available, always knew everyone, knew where the parties were happening, worked her way through all the young men.

Mac as well?

Marian had never asked herself that before. How extraordinary. Until now, and now it didn't matter. It seemed such a long way away. A gulf in time.

The two women sat outside the restaurant so that Evie could smoke. They were protected from the wind by a clear plastic blind and warmed, to Marian's amazement, by a large gas heater on a pole.

The wastefulness of it, practically in the open air.

But it certainly made the space comfortable. Marian sat rolling a glass between her hands. A great yawn started in her chest and burst out, stretching her mouth impossibly wide so that she grabbed for air like a grounded fish.

‘Sorry,' she gasped. ‘I don't know where that came from.'

Evie was right. It was soothing to be waited on and treated kindly. Marian found that at last she could eat, was actually hungry. The prawns were covered in a creamy sauce and tasted wonderful.

Evie was the edgy one now, playing with her food, lighting a cigarette before Marian had finished.

‘Is this lawyer any good?'

‘I don't know,' Marian said, cautious. ‘He seems okay.'

‘How did you find him?'

‘I didn't. He came off some list. The police or someone must have teed it up with Charlie. Isn't that how they do it?'

‘I don't know. What list? Sounds like a hack job to me. I'm not saying he's no good. But maybe you need someone more high-powered.'

‘Wouldn't that cost a lot?' A familiar feeling was taking hold of Marian. She'd been naïve, should have asked.

Evie turned her head and blew smoke away from the table. It drifted back and filled Marian's nose.
Every cigarette …

‘Won't Charlie get legal aid?' Evie asked.

‘He did it, Evie. He's guilty.' The word echoed in her head. Guilty. ‘It's not like TV. Nobody's going to pay to prove that he's innocent.'

‘But it might be, you know,
diminished responsibility
or whatever. Perhaps he's insane.'

Marian winced at the word. Insane.

But it was what she'd thought herself, before she saw him in court.

Evie shifted defensively. ‘It's no good hiding from it. We have to think about all the possibilities. I mean something happened. Ordinary people don't go round killing strangers. Perhaps you need to get a psychiatrist.'

That must be what Simon Ingerson was thinking. All that rigmarole about brain scans and psychologists. Or psychiatrists. Whichever was which.

Was it a defence, being mad?

The questions spread out around her, growing in size and multiplying uncontrollably. All the things she didn't know and should find out. Whole worlds that she never knew existed. Courts and lawyers and prisons and psychiatrists and government departments.

‘He's angry,' she said. That was true, he'd always been angry.

Evie twitched another cigarette out of the packet and lit it impatiently. ‘You don't shoot people because you're angry.'

But perhaps you do.

Angry was what other people were. Bellowing about the children being late for the bus, or the tractor coupling not arriving in time, or the baler breaking down when rain was threatening. Marian knew about anger. Anger was when you scuttled. Pushed the kids out the door, picked up the phone to check the order, anything that looked busy and helpful.

Evie seemed to be waiting. ‘Well?'

‘Well what?'

‘Why did he do it? That's what they'll want to know. They'll poke him and prod him and measure his brain until they find out why. There always has to be a reason. We can never just let things be.'

Marian knew she shouldn't have eaten so much. A pulse of sickness pushed into her throat and she swallowed hastily. Her ears were ringing, but she mustn't faint. There was something she had to face.

This was it. The idea that had been stalking her all week, all her life perhaps, though it was hard to remember anything clearly before this week.

‘It's my fault,' she whispered, her mouth filling with saliva.

But Evie was tapping the ash carefully off her cigarette, and didn't hear. ‘What's that?'

Marian cleared her throat. She had the sensation of her stomach dropping away, the feeling that came before you wet your pants.

‘It's my fault,' she said clearly. ‘It must be my fault.'

‘Why?'

Marian's thoughts collapsed. The idea had seemed solid, but was hollow in the middle after all. The only thing she could be sure about was that she had done wrong, fundamental wrong. She had failed.

‘If I'd been firmer. I was too soft on him. Mac said that and he was right, I was too weak. I let Charlie get away with things.'

Evie moved uneasily. ‘You did all right.'

‘No. I didn't teach him properly. Maybe I should have sent him to church. Mac's mother made me promise I would, you know, before she died. Promise that I'd send my kids to church. I've always felt guilty about that.'

‘Going to church is no guarantee,' Evie said dryly.

‘That reminds me. Charlie had my old Bible in his room. I meant to ask the girls about it. Maybe he's joined some religious group.'

‘Lots of people have Bibles. Even you. It doesn't necessarily mean anything.'

‘Kids his age?'

‘I don't know. Perhaps he likes the poetry.'

‘Poetry! Imagine what Mac would have said about poetry.
What are you, some sort of poofter?
That's just it. I didn't want Mac heavying Charlie the way he did with Brian. All that make-a-man-of-him stuff. I tried to protect Charlie.'

The tears were starting again. ‘You know what it's like, farm life, you've seen it. Pushing things around, animals, noise, machinery. The killing and the blood and the dust. It's brutal and a struggle and it never lets up. There's no softness, you have to make yourself hard. But I didn't want Charlie to be like that. I thought I could save him.'

Marian was crying uncontrollably again. Where did all the tears come from? Something inside her had broken and she would never be able to stop.

‘I didn't want him to have a gun,' she said, shaking now. ‘I didn't want him to know about guns. I tried to interfere. And now look what's happened.'

She looked at Evie, hoping for help. But Evie's face was pale, drained.

‘It's that place,' Marian said. ‘I wish I'd never seen it. I wish we'd never gone there and I'd never met Mac.'

‘Marian!'

Marian stopped herself and gulped down the tears, though she couldn't stop shaking.

‘Here, wipe your eyes,' Evie said.

Marian took the tissue and blew her nose loudly.

Evie was frowning. ‘I thought you loved it. You said you loved the life, all that space. You said it felt like home.'

Marian tried a shaky smile. ‘What else would I say to you?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You were so … successful. Snaffling Luke and being rich and living in the city. Cocktail parties, sailing to Rottnest. I couldn't match that. But I wasn't going to admit how hard it was, was I? Anyway, it's true. I do love it. It suits me. But it's terrible too. I can't explain it.'

‘You don't have to explain
terrible
to me. I couldn't get out of there quick enough. I grew up fast that six months in the pub.'

It was Marian's turn to stare. ‘I thought you were enjoying yourself. You knew everyone. Everyone knew you.'

‘Yeah, I know. The town bike.' She laughed shortly. ‘Not Mac, by the way, if you want to know.'

Marian was pleased, in spite of herself. ‘Oh.'

‘Like you said, it was no place to admit to weakness. You were tough, or you got married, or you went under. They seem like such good blokes, salt of the earth, but they're all in it. The violence. It's just below the surface, all the time. All it takes is a few drinks. The noise on a Saturday night! You'd think it was a war.'

Just below the surface. Evie was right. The surface was never solid. You could never be sure. You lived all the time with uncertainty, the fear of what was underneath.

Everyone pretended it was straightforward. A hard life, but an honest one. But it wasn't. Nothing was what it seemed. All the blood and sweat of clearing the land, thinking the worst of it was done, satisfied with the ploughed earth. But while you smiled, the salt was already beginning its escape.

The salt of the earth. A white stain leaking upwards. A crust at the dry edge of the dam, the low-lying parts of the paddocks. A new enemy. The land, getting its own back. ‘Like the salt,' she said.

‘What?'

Marian blinked. ‘Oh. Nothing.' What was Evie talking about? Noise. The pub. ‘What was the story with the blacks? From the Reserve. Were you allowed to serve them?'

‘Only through the hatch.' Evie pushed her plate away. As though at a signal, a waiter appeared and cleared the table.

‘That was wrong,' Evie went on. ‘It was years after the Referendum.'

‘What referendum?'

‘When we were kids. 1967. Don't you remember?'

The usual feeling of inadequacy filled Marian. ‘No' she said baldly. No use pretending.

‘Oh well. I remember it because Dad was angry. For the first time I saw what an arsehole he was and that the whole of Australia disagreed with him. Well nearly.'

Evie turned sideways on her chair and crossed her legs. ‘Anyhow, it made Aboriginal people citizens. All in together, everyone equal. They didn't seem to have heard about it in Tolgerup though.'

She ground her cigarette butt into the ashtray. ‘It was the way people spoke about them. To them. It was horrible. I started to get headaches all the time. I'm not a stirrer, but that got to me.'

‘They got handouts. Got the Reserve for free, from the government, somewhere to live.' Marian pushed away the thought of Lee and her Granny.