The First Week (19 page)

Marian had seen it with Mac, years after Vietnam. Roaring machines, bulldozers, tractors with great chains to drag down the trees. At the end of the day he'd be filthy, covered in sweat, muscles aching. But still it wasn't enough to drown out the bombs that fell in his dreams at night.

Meanwhile the clearing left the naked soil exposed, so that it blew away in the next wind and washed away in the next rain. And then up from below, freed from its deep prison, came the salt.

The only time Mac had ever mentioned the army it wasn't noise that he talked about, it was silence.

Anzac Day was wet that year. The boys were watching telly, and Brian was old enough to ask about the men marching. Marian had already come to dread Anzac Day, tiptoeing round the house, making sure the radio wasn't on. But Mac seemed calm enough in the face of Brian's chatter.

‘I used to go on the march when I was your age,' he said. ‘Every year, with your Granddad. We went up to the city for it. And the dawn service in Kings Park.'

Marian was surprised into a question. ‘How come you stopped going?'

She saw his body tighten and his hands curl into fists and she reached instinctively to put Brian behind her. But at the same time she saw Mac's face. The unhappiness in it appalled her. He left the room without saying anything.

For days she tried to think of a way of getting him to talk but he was elusive, always busy somewhere else. Then he announced that they needed a break from the farm.

They stayed three nights in a caravan between sand hills. The boys spent all day on the beach, and Mac, unexpectedly relaxed, chatted to the other campers. Mostly Marian was happy reading and dozing in a sheltered spot in the dunes, but she did make one friend, a lively single mother called Julie. Nothing special, but it was good to walk on the beach, talk about babies, schools, have a few laughs.

The third night, after the kids were in bed, there was a gathering around a brazier, friendly, drunken. Marian didn't find it easy to join in that sort of thing, probably didn't drink enough. At eleven, when the voices were getting louder and the jokes more raucous, she went to check on the boys, then fell asleep herself on the narrow bunk.

When she woke in the quiet early hours of the morning Mac wasn't there. Half asleep, but worried, she pulled on a jumper and crept outside. The quarter-moon was going down over the ocean and the camp was quiet, only one light showing in Julie's caravan. Marian walked over with a confused idea of asking about Mac, and peeped through a gap in the curtains.

She drew in her breath sharply. The bed was under the window and she had a clear view of tangled limbs and a jiggling female bottom. The man's bony feet, toes up, were braced against the mattress right under her nose. Marian stepped back hastily, her mind doing impossible mathematics. There shouldn't be a man in Julie's caravan and there should be a man in Marian's.

Mac.

See nothing. Wipe it out.

With one thought only, to escape, she stumbled through the dark. Bushes whipped at her arms and legs, loose sand dragged at her feet. Finally she felt firmer sand, wetness, the lapping water. Without hesitation she stripped and plunged into the sea.

The cold water brought her back to herself. Seizing her clothes she ran through the sandy scrub to the van, teeth chattering.

By morning Mac was snoring in the fourth bunk.

Marian waited till they were home, sitting on the sofa, the boys in bed.

‘Mac?' There was no air in her lungs and it was hard to form words. But she knew that if they didn't tackle this there'd be no going on.

‘What is it, love?'

The
love
nearly undid her. He didn't often use endearments. But then she was angry. Love. All very well now.

‘I know where you were last night.'

She thought he might deny it, be self-righteous, shout. She still half-hoped that he might have an explanation. But instead he crumpled in on himself, clasped his arms around his body and started to rock, eyes closed, face contorted with grief.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I'm so sorry.'

Marian was confused, and then angry. First he stepped carelessly out of their marriage, threw her to one side. And then, when she longed to scream and cry and demand apologies, he cut the ground from under her.

Did he expect her to comfort him?

But as she watched him, her anger ebbed away.

Stretching out a tentative hand she cradled the back of his head. He groaned and reached towards her with both arms, pushing his head into her breast, an oversized parody of a toddler trying to climb into her lap.

The clumsiness of it, the appeal, moved her and she stroked his back. His eyes were squeezed shut and he made no sound but she could feel the battle in his body, his whole will focused on forcing down the sobs, preventing himself from weeping.

Eventually he quietened and looked up at her.

‘I'm scared of the night time,' he said. ‘When it's quiet. In the silence, that's when they get you.'

‘Who does?'

But he sat up, ignoring her question.

‘I'm sorry,' he said again. ‘I never want to hurt you.'

The anti-climax was painful but she hurried to meet him halfway. ‘It's okay,' she said. ‘It's okay.'

Over time she understood that it wasn't okay. The thing with Julie, that didn't matter. The outbursts didn't matter. What mattered was that he wouldn't talk and couldn't cry, wouldn't let himself. That he would never trust her that much.

Years later when they carried him out to the ambulance she saw his lifeless feet sticking up at the end of the stretcher. In that moment she remembered looking through the caravan window. The driver must have noticed her expression. He tucked a blanket down around Mac's legs.

A masked man advanced on the rotunda, knapsack spray on his back, nozzle held in front of him like a sword. Bending over he sprayed the weeds around the edge of the paving.

Marian retreated back up the hill to the
Court of Contemplation
. A flame burned on a tripod in the middle of a still pool. There must be a gas bottle underneath, or a pipe.

The names of battlefields were listed around a curved wall. Ypres. Tobruk. Borneo.

You gave birth to them and you loved them and you wiped their eyes and their noses and their bottoms. You only ever wanted them to be happy. But instead they went off and killed other women's babies.

And if they didn't get killed themselves then they came back as ghosts.

Next to the wishing well a tourist, ignoring the stretches of kangaroo paws and everlastings, was taking a close-up of a bed of pansies. Beyond the pansies sat Queen Victoria, flanked by four cannons, one covering each point of the compass. Marian crossed out of the park and walked back through West Perth until she came to shops.

She needed a birthday present for Tara. Probably a present for Todd too, but Tara's birthday was next week. A present that Michelle would approve. A peace offering, a start towards being kinder to Michelle.

The first few shops were full of adult clothing, but in the next window was a row of small baskets each holding a stuffed animal.

From inside the shop Marian could see that they were puppies, soft and very cute, but their eyes were closed. Would that be frustrating? Hard to know with Tara. Her terror of dogs, even of old Jeb, might outweigh the cuteness. But she was also fascinated by Jeb and couldn't keep away.

Marian picked up the black and white puppy.

‘Sweet, isn't it?'

The speaker was a woman Marian's own age with a hard face and short bleached hair. She didn't look as though she'd ever cuddled a toy in her life. Her badge said May.

‘Um. Yes. I'm trying to find something for my granddaughter.'

‘Lovely,' the woman said briskly. ‘Just the thing.'

Marian looked at the toy in her hands. May scooped up its basket and ushered Marian towards the cash register.

‘But …' Marian pulled herself up. ‘How much is it?'

‘$39.95.'

‘$39.95? You're kidding.'

But May stood her ground between Marian and the door.

‘That includes the basket,' she said firmly.

‘Oh well.' Marian lost interest in fighting. That was her last fifty-dollar note, she'd have to find a bank.

‘They breathe, you know. Did you see?' May paused with the toy half way into a bag.

‘Umm …'

‘Here. I'll throw in a battery for you.' Turning the toy over, May opened a small flap, stuck in a battery and pushed the whole thing across the counter. Marian saw with horror that the puppy's belly had started to rise and fall. A corpse reanimated.

‘Isn't it gorgeous?' May said. ‘Your granddaughter will love that.'

Mutely, Marian accepted the toy, now in its bag, and went out feeling conned. It was a real puppy that Tara needed, not this hideous thing.

Marian should have her over more often. But Michelle might not want that.

Marian peered into the bag. Perhaps she could take the battery out and sew up the flap.

The puppy was cuddly, despite closed eyes. Tara might take to it, a friend to have beside her in bed.

Service to the Country. Through Country Women. For Country Women. By Country Women.

Marian mumbled it like a mantra now each time she came through the foyer. It had become familiar, as reassuring as the creak of the lift. Funny how quickly a place could become home.

The young woman with blue hair was standing at the foot of the stairs. Must find out her name.

‘Oh yeah,' the woman said, looking, as usual, to the left of Marian's head. ‘There's a guy to see you.' She jerked her thumb backwards. ‘In the lounge.'

Not … what was his name? Ron? Marian straightened her shoulders and walked into the lounge.

The man huddled side-on in one of the armchairs, a picture of discomfort, was Brian.

Marian touched his shoulder. ‘What are you doing here?'

Lumbering to his feet he stood, hangdog. ‘I was worried.'

She opened her mouth to speak, but he got in first. ‘Damn it, Mum. You went off on Monday and we haven't heard a peep out of you since. What have you been doing?'

Marian hesitated. The fact that you loved them wasn't the point, didn't make any difference to the dragging. You couldn't even go to the toilet on your own. Did it never end?

But already she was moving towards him, the automatic response, reassuring, putting her arms around him. ‘Sorry Brian. I should have rung. Thanks for coming.'

He patted her awkwardly on the back. ‘We missed you,' he said gruffly, then stepped back, clearing his throat.

Marian sat down and Brian took the chair next to her.

‘When did you get here?' she asked.

‘About four. I had to get the bus.' He sounded grumpy and tired, and stretched his legs and shoulders.

The bus. Even the school bus had always annoyed him. Not enough leg room.

‘I left the ute for Michelle.' But he seemed to think better of complaining. ‘She sends her love.'

‘Oh yes.'

‘She felt bad about upsetting you, Mum.' He pulled out a large hanky and blew his nose.

‘Have you got a cold?'

‘I don't know. Might be the air-conditioning on the bus.' He sniffed. ‘Michelle said to tell you she could come up too if you need her.'

What for?

Brian twisted in his chair. ‘She means well, Mum, she cares about you.'

‘Oh well. It was my fault too. I was upset. It wasn't exactly a good day.'

‘Have you seen him?'

‘Charlie? Yesterday. I'm going again tomorrow. You can come too.'

Brian drew back. ‘Uh …'

‘Three adults can go every day for an hour while he's on remand.'

‘Should I?'

That chafing irritation again. ‘Well, he is your brother.'

‘Yes,' Brian said unhappily.

‘It's up to you.'

‘What would I say to him?'

‘God, Brian. How would I know? What do you normally talk about? Tell him what you're up to. Tell him about the farm.'

Brian wiped his nose. ‘He'll have a go at me. He hates it when I talk about the farm, says we're doing everything wrong. The city's given him these greenie ideas.'

What a baby he was. But he had come to find her and he always would do the right thing. It can't have been easy for him either, caught between her and Michelle. And all the gossip that must be flying round the district.

‘Are people talking?'

Brian scowled. ‘Oh you know. It isn't going to be easy. All that stuff in the paper didn't help. And on telly.'

Marian's heart sank. Instead of burying her head in the sand she should have kept up with it all, watched TV, read the papers. Better to know what you were up against.

‘Michelle made sure Tara didn't see it. Not that she would have understood. Todd didn't want to go to school on Wednesday, so I guess there was something going on there. Michelle kept him home.' Brian wiped his nose again.

‘You should be in bed, with that cold. Did you get yourself a room?'

‘Yeah. I thought I'd better. I have to go back tomorrow though.'

‘That's fine with me. We can drive together. See Charlie on the way.'

Brian sneezed.

‘Why don't you go to bed? There's something I need to do, then I'll get take-away.'

What Marian wanted to do was to say goodbye properly to Ros and Sam.

Yes, and Lee.

First she found a deli with buckets of flowers out the front, bought two big bunches of jonquils and laid them carefully on the back seat.

There was no answer when she knocked on Ros and Sam's door, so she crossed over to Lee's place.

Lee appeared behind the screen and opened the door, just as she had the first time. But now Marian knew what to expect.

‘Come in,' Lee said, serious, but not hostile.