Time's Long Ruin (27 page)

She looked along the tracks, then at her watch. 2.28. ‘Come on,' she whispered to herself, moistening her mouth and tasting strong, sweet coffee on her lips and tongue.

She started pacing up and down the platform, her head down and arms crossed. Then she looked at the sun, and closed her eyes, and saw a flash of pure white light. Magnesium. She wondered when that was. Second Year, Third Year? The lab with the shade from the jacaranda tree. Why am I thinking about that?

A neighbour came up beside her and said, ‘I hear Eric Hessian may be closing.'

‘What?' she replied.

‘Eric's shop. He's had enough. Them big stores can sell a lot cheaper. They buy in volume. People are buying his boots out of kindness, but there's a limit to that.'

Con was closing the gates. Liz looked down the tracks and saw the train. ‘My kids . . .' she said.

‘How are they?'

‘Fine.'

‘They go somewhere with Bill?'

‘No.'

By themselves, she thought.

The train stopped and nearly every door opened. ‘Janice, Anna,' Liz called, much louder this time.

‘Don't know how Eric will cope,' the neighbour continued. ‘He's paying for all three grandchildren, at St Peter's. And he doesn't own that home you know.'

Bodies: old, young, sunburnt. But no kids. Liz went to the first carriage and called in the window, ‘Janice? Anna?' Then she moved down past the others, looking in, calling, louder and louder, until the doors started closing and people left the platform.

Liz cupped her hands. ‘Has anyone seen three children?' she shouted. ‘A nine-year-old girl, her sister, her little brother?'

Most people looked at her but kept moving, wrestling with bags and beach blankets. One man turned to her and said, ‘I didn't see them, but there were kids everywhere at Semaphore. Maybe they didn't get on.'

No, no, Janice would've, Liz thought. She has enough sense. She knows when it's lunchtime. She can tell when the church bells are due or when
The Argonauts
are starting.

Janice knows.

‘Oh Christ,' she started to cry. ‘Gavin . . .'

‘They'll be on the next one,' her neighbour consoled.

‘Kids, please, it's time.' She placed one hand on her hip and wiped her forehead with the other. Con came waddling up to her and asked, ‘Did they miss another one?'

‘Janice wouldn't have missed both. She promised me.'

Con shrugged. ‘The trains have been full all day. They might have met someone. They might have got a lift home.'

Liz stared at him. ‘Yes, they might have.' She put her hands in her apron pocket, turned and walked towards Day Terrace. The world was frozen. There was a blue block of sky and a grey road; there were brown and red brick homes finished with green bushes and trees, and marble-coloured cats asleep in the shade. But it was a world on hold. Like the time she'd lost Anna. They were in Rundle Street on a busy weeknight. She stopped to talk to someone and when she turned around Anna was gone. ‘Anna! Anna!' Louder and louder, looking around, her heart racing. ‘Anna!' Only to find her at a book stall. ‘Mum, can I have this one?'

She approached the Johns' front door and knocked hard, three times. Mariel opened the door and smiled at her. ‘Hello, Missus Riley, has Janice come?'

‘No. You haven't seen her?'

‘They went to Semaphore. Janice asked me to go but Dad wouldn't let me.'

Liz almost stepped inside. ‘Where's your dad now?'

‘He went out.'

‘Do you know where?'

‘Something to do with work.'

Liz turned and almost ran down their garden path.

‘I'll see her later, eh?' Mariel called.

Liz checked the Housemans' and her own home before she came flying through our front door.

‘What is it?' Mum asked, meeting her in the hallway, taking her hand and trying to calm her.

‘The kids.' She slumped against the phone table. ‘They weren't on the train.'

‘Which train?'

‘From Semaphore.'

‘They asked me to go,' I said, emerging from the lounge room.

‘Did they say they were going anywhere else?' Liz asked.

‘No, just Semaphore, with you.'

Mum took Liz into the lounge room and settled her in Dad's recliner. ‘Now, tell me from the start.'

As she talked, Liz held a handkerchief in her hand. She pulled it through her fingers and then stuffed it in her apron pocket. She made her hands into a ball-and-socket and started turning one in the other. ‘It's Janice's watch,' she kept saying. ‘I was wearing it last Thursday, Friday, cos I couldn't find mine. Then I went and put my hand in the bath.' When she finished she asked, ‘What should we do now? Janice would've rung.'

‘She might've tried,' Mum smiled.

‘Yes, of course, I've gotta go home.'

We left the front door open and followed her across the garden. She fumbled for her key, opened the door and almost ran into the kitchen, standing by the phone, as if it might tell her it had been ringing. ‘We could drive down there,' she said.

‘What time's Bill home?' Mum asked.

Liz sighed. ‘Bloody hell . . . Bill . . .'

‘They'll be on the next train,' I offered.

‘Of course,' Mum agreed, pulling up a stool for Liz. ‘What time's the next one?'

Liz fumbled for the docket in her pocket. ‘No,' she said, reading, ‘she didn't write it down.'

I took the docket. ‘Looks like every half hour.'

‘Good,' Mum said, filling the kettle. ‘We'll go down in a minute. Cup of tea?'

‘Please.'

The phone rang and Liz grabbed the receiver. ‘Hello?' She rolled her eyes and her head dropped down onto her shoulder. ‘Yes, I know, Sonja, but I can't talk now. I'm expecting a call . . . it doesn't matter . . . I'll have to ring you later.' And then she carefully replaced the receiver, picking it up again and checking the dial tone.

‘Did they have the fare?' Mum asked, lighting the stove.

‘Yes . . . unless they lost it. But Janice wouldn't have; she had it in her white purse . . . unless it was stolen. But she would've gone into a shop, and asked to use their phone.'

‘Liz, it's okay,' Mum repeated, sitting down beside her and taking her hand. ‘They're only a few minutes late.'

‘We should go wait,' Liz said.

‘Liz . . .'

But she was gone, down the hallway and out the front door. Mum switched off the stove and we followed her.

‘That damn watch,' she said, as she broke into a trot and we tried to keep up – as I heard Janice's voice coming in my bedroom window.
You don't need to go swimming
, she was saying.

I gotta get my stuff ready for school.

But that's next week.

They were still on their way to the train. Janice was struggling with her bag. She passed one handle to Anna and they shared the load.

Why didn't Henry come?

He was busy, he had to cover his books.

We followed Liz onto the platform. She cupped her hands and called down to the gatehouse. ‘Con, when's the next train from Semaphore?'

He appeared and smiled at us, checking his watch and holding up ten fingers. ‘Everything in order?' he asked.

‘They're on the next one,' Liz replied.

Con returned to his gatehouse and we sat on the bench. No one spoke for several minutes. Then Con came walking towards us. He handed Liz a small square of wood with broken shells glued on one side. They'd been grouted in and the whole thing had been painted light blue. ‘What do you think?' he asked. ‘It's Rosa's birthday present. Made entirely from Henry's shells.'

‘It's beautiful,' Liz smiled, handing it to Mum.

‘Wonderful,' she confirmed. ‘She'll love it.'

‘I made it to kill time, sitting in my little cell.'

Liz ran a finger over the painted shells. To her it wasn't a coaster – it was a beach, covered in hot white sand, smelling of rotten seaweed, sounding of crashing waves and children's voices. ‘That was kind of you, Con,' she managed.

‘It's nothing special.'

It is, Janice had replied, when he'd shown it to her earlier. You made it . . . that's better than a shop one . . .

Con looked at the two mums. ‘I can make you one, if you like,' he said. ‘Henry can get me more shells, can't you?'

‘I can get thousands.'

‘See.'

Liz was staring at the tracks. ‘Thanks anyway, Con, but I use teabags.'

‘I wouldn't say no,' Mum said.

‘Good. I'll do you one. Give me a few weeks.'

‘No rush. Bob's birthday isn't until April.' She turned and looked at me, and winked.

Janice was still at my window:
Mum's takin' us to Semaphore.

Wanna come?

No.

Why not?

It's too hot.

That's why you go to the beach.

Con looked up and saw the train in the distance. ‘A few weeks,' he said to Mum, reclaiming his coaster. ‘Henry, some more shells please.'

‘I should've gone to Semaphore,' I replied, and Liz looked at me.

Con returned to the road and started closing the gates. Liz stood up and moved to the yellow line. She folded her arms and followed the progress of the train. I stood back with Mum, watching her.

You awake, Henry?

I'm awake. What y' in your bathers for?

Mum's takin' us to Semaphore.

The train stopped. There were three carriages. All six doors opened and bodies started oozing out. There were a lot of children carrying empty drink bottles and sandy thongs, wearing towels as hats and jumping around on the platform. Liz searched their faces. Nothing . . . She looked at the adults; she noticed an old man with a cane and even peered inside a pram. Then the first of the doors closed. ‘Janice, Anna,' she called. ‘Here I am.' She started looking inside the carriages. ‘Gavin, are you there?'

Then she looked at Mum. ‘Can you help?'

So Mum followed her, scanning every face before the last few doors closed and the train started moving.

‘Janice, Anna . . . don't go!' She ran towards the front of the train. ‘Stop, please!'

Con ran up from the road, waving his hands. ‘Wait, please, for the lady.'

The train jolted to a stop and the driver stuck his head out of a window. ‘What's up?' he asked Liz.

‘My children should be here.'

And so she started again, walking along the platform, checking each of the carriages and calling her children's names. Soon she stood back, dejected. The platform was clear. The driver shrugged and the train moved off.

Con walked over to her. ‘Where are they?'

Liz held her hands in the air and started rocking to and fro. ‘They've gone to Semaphore . . .'

Con noticed cars waiting on Elizabeth Street. ‘Con,' one of them called. ‘What you doin'?'

He started back down to the gates.

‘Semaphore,' Liz cried, looking up at the sky. ‘It's that bloody watch.' She looked at Mum. ‘I was trying to pull the plug from the kids' bath.'

And remembered Janice saying,
You're getting my watch wet.

As she dried it off and looked at it.
I think it's stopped.

Mum!

Alright? You don't make mistakes?

Mum led Liz over to the shelter and sat her down. ‘Don't worry. An hour would seem like five minutes to them.'

Liz looked at her. ‘What have I done?' She started to cry – a few tears at first and then a loud, fitting noise, like the old women in black outside the Greek church after a funeral. She gasped for air, turning to Mum and holding her, slipping from the seat onto her knees on the platform. ‘Ellen, what have I done?'

I wondered what I should do. Hold her, look around the station, say something, cry, pace? I was worried but I knew there would be an explanation. There always was. I knew why things went wrong. Because of something forgotten or overlooked: a watch, a fare, an over-full train. Dad would have an explanation. He'd have Liz sorted out in no time. Come on, he'd say, I just need to make a few phone calls.

Mum knelt on the platform next to Liz. She hugged her and rocked and did a little Ssh like she used to for me.

Con came running back. ‘What will we do?' he asked.