The First Week (12 page)

Now she should say
hi Ron
, but she couldn't do it, could only concentrate on one thing at a time.

‘I shouldn't have ordered this,' she said. ‘I thought it would be healthy to have pineapple. I don't like pineapple.' The words sounded as though they had come from someone else, some cranky child.

Ron sat up straighter and patted his tie. ‘My sister's allergic to pineapple. She gets a rash around her mouth. It lasts for hours. Allergies are like that. There's always a good reason for disliking a thing, don't you think? I'll tell you what, why don't we swap?'

Marian recoiled from the cheesy mess in front of him. ‘Thanks, but I'm not hungry. Really.'

This time his flush was brick red. ‘Oh no, of course not,' he mumbled. ‘Sorry.'

Marian made an effort. ‘I'll have a bit of this. I can push the pineapple to one side.'

Ron munched in silence. At least he keeps his mouth shut when he chews, she thought, and then wondered why it mattered. It was just a body. Why do we find it so disgusting? You have to push food into it. Mash the food up. Swallow it. Shit it out like any other animal.

She pushed her plate away from her.

Ron swallowed and wiped his mouth. ‘Could I order you a coffee?' he asked cautiously.

His face was friendly. Plain and kind.

‘You know what I'd like?' she said. ‘A brandy. Do you think we could go somewhere else?'

‘Of course,' he said, on his feet at once, beaming, shepherding her out from behind the table, trying to pick up her bag. Marian grabbed it first, defeating him, but allowed him to take her elbow and steer her towards the desk.

‘Let me pay. You've hardly eaten anything anyway.'

I should argue, she thought, but didn't have the energy. The room was spinning slowly round her and she was glad of this other solid presence.

The outside air was cold. They stood for a moment, awkwardly, then Ron straightened himself and spoke.

‘As a matter of fact I'm only staying a few minutes away. We could get a drink there. The Capri. Do you know it?'

‘No. I don't know the city all that well.'

‘I always stay there. It's comfortable and close to everything.'

Halfway round the revolving door Marian had a moment of doubt. Too much glass. What on earth was she doing?

‘I'm afraid I'm not dressed for this.'

Ron brushed this away. ‘You look very nice.' Here in the hotel he was unexpectedly confident and ushered her into the bar. Perhaps this was a more normal setting for him than
Martha's Pancakes
.

The bar was quiet, almost deserted, and more homely than the glass foyer.

Ron seemed to want her to subside into a large blue sofa. Its generous padding wrapped around her and she let her legs sprawl. With enormous relief she sank down, down, into a dream of soft blueness.

She came to the surface hours, or seconds, later as he plonked two drinks down on the low table. He handed her a glass and she struggled to sit upright.

‘Cheers,' he said.

‘Oh yes. Cheers. Thank you.'

The brandy went straight to her elbows and knees, a beautiful spreading warmth.

‘So. Marian. What brings you to the city?'

‘How do you know I don't live here?'

‘You said you don't know your way round.'

Oh yes.

‘Anyhow, you seem like a country woman to me.'

Her hands—that must be how he guessed. The bruised thumb, the lumpy knuckles and dry chapped skin, the lack of rings or nail polish. She moved to hide them under her coat and then changed her mind. No point pretending.

‘So you've just driven down for a break?'

Driven. Hell, she'd forgotten about the car.

‘I left the car …'

Ron waited and then laughed uncomfortably. ‘Fair enough. Not my business. Anything you do feel able to tell me?'

The warmth of the brandy had reached Marian's fingers and toes.

‘I like the blue of this lounge,' she said.

‘Yes,' he said, lying back beside her and pressing his thigh against hers. The pressure felt good.

Through a blur of fatigue and alcohol Marian became aware that he was talking about his daughter. ‘She's only fourteen. That's too young. Don't you think it's too young? And he's twenty-four so I blame him. He knows how old she is. But Moira won't do anything about it, says it's up to them. I should never have let her have custody. Do you have ­children?'

‘One daughter.'

Where did that come from?

‘Oh. You know all about it then. I can see you'd be a good mother.'

For a wild moment she thought of confessing.
I'm not. I've failed. You wouldn't want your children anywhere near me.

Ron patted her thigh. ‘Here. Let me get you another drink.'

While he was gone Marian gazed at the white fuzz above her. The ceiling. She put her glasses on but they were designed for reading and turned the whole room into a series of dim splodges.

The chair seemed to have expanded around her. It crossed her mind that she would have to get out of it eventually, but she couldn't imagine how.

Ron came back with more drinks and wriggled closer, talking right into her ear. He was a meteorologist. ‘Funny word, isn't it?' he said. ‘Not meteors, weather.'

He'd been at a conference. They had a new radar system that could tell the difference between the weather in your front yard and in your back. Marian wondered why you would need to know. Would you move the washing?

The washing. Had she brought it in? Perhaps Michelle would notice.

Ron's conference was about melting polar ice caps, global warming, global dimming, the threat to island nations, tsunami, typhoons and water temperature in the Gulf of Mexico.

Marian thought of the oceans surging, washing higher and higher up the beaches, the salt in the sea calling to the salt under the earth, drawing it to the surface in a white tide of its own, till the whole earth was covered in salty water.

By her third drink she realised that the ceiling was made of gauze bandages, drifting in the breeze, though she didn't know where the breeze came from. Some climatic event. The body next to hers had become familiar, and the silence pleasant. Ron seemed to have finished talking. She was startled when he spoke right against her cheek. Why was he so breathless?

‘How about coming up to my room, honey?'

He must be mixing her up with another woman.

‘I'm Marian.'

‘It's a beautiful name.' His mouth nuzzled damply at her ear.

He wants me, she thought.

It was a long time since anyone had wanted her.

‘So how about it?'

‘I don't mind.' She rolled over and felt the squidging together of their bodies. Old salty tides sloshed inside her. Nice. Giggling, she let him haul her out of the sofa and usher her into the lift.

Marian's head cleared as she sat on the toilet in the en-suite and realised with a start that the other people in the room were her. Mirrors everywhere. And why did they put such bright lights over them? There were brown marks under her eyes and her face was white, every line and wrinkle showing. She wiped herself and stood up, the room swinging around her.

Leaning into the mirror she opened her eyes wide. They were very red. Best keep them shut. Sunglasses would be good.

She had forgotten Ron. As soon as she opened the bathroom door she saw him sitting up expectantly in the bed, chest naked, sheet tucked over his lower half. Oh yes. That's right.

Gingerly she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

‘Um.'

Ron looked eager, like a little boy.

‘I don't suppose I could have a cup of tea?' she said.

He patted the pillows next to him. ‘Stay here. I'll see what I can rustle up.'

His boxers were white and his back was solid, with many freckles. It was a completely reliable and domestic back and matched his slightly hunched shoulders. He was a good man. No harm in this. Marian stretched out on the bed, feeling desire tighten her body. She dragged her jeans off, and her tee-shirt.

When Ron brought the cup she put it down next to the bed and reached out to touch him. He knelt heavily and put his arms around her but his weight was too much and they toppled sideways in an awkward embrace. Marian laughed.

Ron grunted angrily and pulled himself on top of her. With difficulty she freed her head from his arm so that she could breathe. He had pushed off his own underpants and was tugging at hers, trying to stuff himself inside her.

‘It's okay,' she gasped. ‘Slow down.'

If he heard her he didn't respond. His face was red and desperate. But the flesh would not be stuffed. After five minutes of sweaty exertion he fell away from her with a groan and threw one arm across his face.

For a moment she was irritated, but the feeling floated away as quickly as it had come.

‘Ron?'

‘It's no use,' he said, voice muffled. ‘It's no bloody use.'

Affection flooded her, not only for him but for all men. The frailty of them, their labouring, their longing to be big and grand and noble. Or at least to have an erection. The absurdity of them.

Quietly she moved alongside and cradled his bulk. He pulled away from her with a grunt, but she had all the patience of women. Generosity swelled in her. She could be gentle, lead him, coax him, and then could let him be master. When she felt his body softening she pressed herself against him, her own desire rising again.

But his breathing had slowed.

Surely he couldn't just …?

A harumphing snore escaped his mouth. He was asleep.

She rolled away and lay on her back for a few moments. The snores became more regular.

Levering herself carefully out of the bed she pulled on her clothes, quietly at first. But nothing was going to wake him now.

There was no paper in her bag. Oh well. Then she saw the Gideon Bible. Tearing a neat page from the front she wrote
thank you
in large letters.

But perhaps he would think it was sarcastic?

Really, I mean it
, she added, and put the page on the pillow. She draped the bedcover over him and tiptoed to the door, afraid now that he might wake. Nothing worse than to be caught half way, neither here nor gone.

When the lift doors closed behind her and the hum of descent began she was as relieved as if she'd reached home in a game of chasey. At the revolving door she ran into a girl and boy with their arms around each other. Marian stumbled in an attempt to avoid them and the girl reached out a steadying hand. Both young people beamed at her, including her in their abundant love, willing her to be happy too.

‘Have a good night,' Marian said.

Their voices floated back as the door swallowed them. ‘You too.'

The street was still brightly lit and full of people. It wasn't late after all.

Marian walked briskly back to West Perth, passed
CWA for Home and Country
and let herself in to her room. Undressing again she got into bed and fell deeply and instantly asleep.

thursday

A dull throbbing boom woke her. The wool stuffing in her head muffled the sound, and it took her a moment to realise that it was not outside but inside her. Staggering to the basin she rinsed out her mouth, then stuck her head cautiously out the door and ran for the toilet.

Back in her room she lay down on the bed. There was something she was supposed to think about, or do. She pulled the duna right over her head, making a safe cave.

But sleep had deserted her. Her head was pounding now and her teeth were fuzzy. The man in the hotel.
Ron.
That wasn't her who'd done that, surely? What had come over her? Just now, when everything was in turmoil and Charlie needed her. To go off with some strange man.

She groaned and rolled over. The bedclothes were no longer a safe cave. The duna tangled and imprisoned her legs. Kicking it away in a panic she sat up.

Have a shower, said a small sane voice.

Draping a towel over her arm and picking up her toothbrush she went back to the bathroom. The shower water ran on and on. Bugger water restrictions, she needed it. The heat was calming and washed away any thoughts.

Dry and warm she pulled the bed straight, climbed into it, and slept again.

Marian and Evie were going out. But first Evie wanted Marian to put on different clothes.
Not the fawn skirt
, she kept saying, eyebrows raised, inviting the other girls to join her in laughing at Marian's taste. Marian struggled to speak, but her mouth wouldn't work properly.
Mum bought it for me
, she managed to squeeze out. She wanted to wear the right things, live up to these new friends. But pity and loyalty for her shabby mother tore at her. Her mother, who had packed Marian's case with such anxious and hopeful loving. Tears spouted from Marian's eyes.

Mum
, she cried, waking herself up.

But Mum was gone.

Marian lay still and filled her mind with Evie instead.

That wasn't hard since she'd always seen Evie as larger than life, ever since the first day at Teachers College. Marian, stiff and alone, hesitated at the edges with the other misfits. Evie, also new, was already at the heart of what was going to be the in-crowd. Miraculously Evie had scooped Marian up, included her. Evie knew how to make friends, was lively and generous. She might borrow your hand-knitted jumper and then leave it on the bus in a careless moment. But she'd be genuinely sorry and find you something special to take its place.

Marian rolled over onto her side.

Shit. Eleven o'clock.

Evie was standing next to the reception counter wearing hoop earrings, jangling gold bracelets and brilliant orange hair. Her cardigan was lime green, her skirt a floral polyester out of their childhood. Her boots were bright red vinyl. She clashed violently with the pinks and greys of the reception area, and won.

Marian recognised it as battle gear. Good old Evie. Here for Marian, as she always had been, no matter what the fight. No matter what sort of row she'd had about it with that awful husband.

Evie was peering closely at Marian's face. ‘Have you been eating properly?'

‘Um … I had dinner last night.' One or two mouthfuls. But she didn't say that.

‘No breakfast? You have to have breakfast. I don't want you going all pale. Let's go and eat.'

‘I'm meant to be at Hakea to see Charlie. It's in Canning Vale. Wherever that is.'

‘When?'

‘When what?'

‘When are you supposed to be there?'

‘Twelve.'

‘We'll get food on the way. I'll drive you. You can leave your car here.'

The car. ‘It's at Kenwick.'

Evie paused, finger on the lift button. ‘What's it doing at Kenwick?' She shook her head. ‘No, don't tell me. We can sort that out later.'

Ignoring the blaring horn of a van and several passing cars, Evie drove briskly out of the
IN
gate and settled into the line of cars.

Marian sat back. How wonderful to be driven around.

‘Have you been sleeping properly?' Evie asked.

‘I did last night.' The episode with Ron had almost slipped her mind, like all the other bits she kept losing track of.

She looked across at Evie. Should she tell her?

‘I went out with a man. Back to his hotel room.'

The car behind them honked furiously at Evie's sudden swerve.

‘Marian. How could you?'

Marian was cheered again, thinking about it. Someone had fancied her. And it wasn't often she could shock Evie.

‘Who was he?'

‘I met him at a pancake place. He picked me up,' she added, with satisfaction.

Evie turned right round in her seat, to the further indignation of nearby drivers. ‘Oh keep your hair on,' she shouted out the window and swerved back into the proper lane.

‘You're mad,' she said to Marian. ‘What if he was some sadistic bastard? And what if you caught something?
AIDS
?'

Marian considered. Possibly she was mad. ‘There's no need to carry on. Nothing happened.'

‘What do you mean
nothing happened
. Why not?'

‘He couldn't get it up.'

Evie giggled.

‘Then he fell asleep,' Marian added, honesty getting the better of her.

Evie laughed out loud. ‘What did you do?'

‘Left him snoring.'

Evie drummed her fingers on the wheel. The sky was dark. Heavy drops of rain were spattering the windscreen.

‘What do you feel like eating?'

Marian thought of food without enthusiasm. ‘I'm not hungry. Don't worry about it.'

‘All right. I'll take you out to lunch later.'

Later. After she'd seen Charlie.

Charlie might not want to see her. What was there to say?

She let the blur of rain and the swish of tyres carry her away.

It's a boy.
Such a smug thing to say. Great. It's another boy. Mac was pleased. It was like a bumper crop or a record price.

‘I wish I'd had a girl. A daughter.'

Evie glanced sideways at her. ‘Lucky to have any kids at all. Look at me.'

‘I didn't know you wanted …'

‘No, you didn't know.' Evie's voice was dry. ‘Oh well. No use pissing in the wind.'

Marian was shaken. She thought she knew Evie. But here was a part of Evie's life that Marian had never seen.

She'd thought she knew Charlie too.

Marian opened her mouth to speak, apologise, but Evie got in first. ‘Anyhow, I prefer my freedom.'

Marian sat back again, chastised.

Evie was oblivious, businesslike again. ‘Here we are.' They drove in silence through a thick belt of bush-land. The prison loomed up in front of them—a fortress with a razor-wire crown.

‘Plenty of parking. Not too many other visitors by the look of it.' Evie was trying to be ordinary, but she was nervous, Marian could see.

‘It's still early, I think.'

The place silenced them. Cameras and guards, like a movie set, or a war zone. The building they needed was labelled
Family Support Centre
.

‘Marian? I think I'll wait for you here. Is that okay? Charlie won't want to see me anyway.'

Marian nodded, unable to speak. The gaol was a big machine, and already she was sucked into it. No turning back now.

There was a form to fill out, then Marian had to wait. An unsmiling woman searched her bag and patted the outside of her coat.

What did they think she might be carrying?

Even in court Marian hadn't believed there was any need for security. But this made it real. They thought he was dangerous. A dangerous prisoner.

It's only Charlie, she wanted to say. You don't need all this rigmarole. Cops and robbers stuff.

There was a split in her universe. Try as she might she couldn't get her old world to line up with this new one. Of course Charlie was dangerous. He'd shot two people.

She put a hand out to the wall to steady herself. Inside her someone was whimpering. Would they leave her alone with him?

A large shambling guard with a shaved head took over as her escort. At the first door he moved in front of her to punch numbers into a keypad, pulled the door open and stepped back awkwardly, knocking her arm.

‘Sorry,' he mumbled.

His embarrassment jolted her out of her own uneasiness. ‘That's okay.'

‘First time?' he asked, as they waited for the second door to be unlocked.

She nodded and forced her face into a smile.

‘It's okay,' he said. ‘Just pretend I'm not here.'

There was one other visitor, a small woman with white hair. The guard took them both into the visitors' hall and pointed them to different clusters of chairs and tables. Marian couldn't sit. She wanted to cry out, make some violent movement. But guards stood at both doors, silent, forbidding, so she made herself stand still and wait.

Finally the guard opposite opened the door and two men in grey tracksuits came in. The smaller one stood hesitating, then came and stood in front of Marian.

Charlie. Oh God! Charlie.

He was thin, unshaved and unsmiling. The grey made his skin sallow.

‘Hi Mum.'

Speech vanished. Her voice was shut off somewhere deep in her chest. She moved closer and put her arms round him, making a great effort, squeezing her voice up from deep down. ‘Oh my darling …'

Charlie shrugged, dislodging her arms and stepping back with a frown.

‘Why didn't you come yesterday?'

‘I'm sorry,' she said, stricken. He needed her. How could she have stayed away?

‘I waited.'

A seven-year-old Charlie, waiting at the school gate.

But this Charlie was not seven. And she wasn't the one who'd done wrong, she had to hang on to that.

‘Are you okay?' she asked, voice more normal.

He gestured at the institutional chairs, the posters, the other prisoner, a big man with tattoos on his hands. ‘Great Mum. Really great.'

Marian bit her lip. ‘Can we sit down?'

‘Guess so.'

She spread her hands on her knees to steady them and made herself look at him. ‘Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?'

‘Oh yeah,' he muttered. ‘You could get me some cigarettes.'

‘I thought you'd stopped?'

Glancing quickly round he thrust his face closer to hers. ‘I can swap them for things.'

‘What's the food like?' As though it was a school camp.

She was too late to protect herself from the contempt on his face. Like when he didn't want her to come to the Parents' Night.

Breathe in, breathe out.

‘Would you like books? Magazines?'

His face was quizzical and he looked her straight in the eye. ‘Not the sort you'd want to buy.'

His mockery angered her and, though she felt herself blushing, she glared back at him until his eyes dropped.

But she saw his bent shoulders, still skinny, like a teenager. He didn't have the bulk of his father or brother. Hadn't done the physical work they had, of course. The skinniness moved her.

‘Oh Charlie, what happened?'

He met her eyes, the bravado gone. ‘I … I don't know.' His eyes filled with tears and he clenched his fists to stop them, his whole body tensed, scowling. ‘I don't know!'

Childishly he kicked the leg of the table. The guard moved towards them and Charlie pulled himself up straight. ‘I don't know,' he said more quietly. ‘I don't remember. Don't hassle me.'

Marian couldn't think of anything neutral to talk about so they sat in silence, staring at the table.

‘I met your friends,' she said at last. ‘Ros and Sam.'

‘The araldykes.'

‘Pardon?'

‘Joke. Forget it. I saw them in court. They were late.'

She wanted to smack him. Late? They were there, weren't they? Loyalty didn't come much stronger than that.

But once again he dropped the sneering expression and she glimpsed something else. Sadness. Grief?

‘How's Jeb?' he asked.

It was the warmest tone she'd heard him use. Perhaps she should have brought Jeb. Maybe the dog was the only one Charlie could love.

But of course they wouldn't let a dog in here.

‘Old, stiff. He's all right though.'

‘Still looking after the chooks?'

Marian smiled. ‘You'd think he hatched the last lot of chickens himself, he's so proud of them.'

Silence fell again.

‘Charlie,' she began cautiously, ‘have you got everything you need? I mean about lawyers and all that. Do you know what to do?'

Charlie shrugged. ‘I guess so. This guy Ingerson seems okay. It doesn't matter anyhow, you know. I'm here. I'll be here for a long time. They look after you. Sort of.'

There was a poster on the wall opposite Marian. A substance the consistency of cream cheese spilling out of a pink tube. Without her glasses she couldn't see the detail, but she couldn't take her eyes off it either.
Every Cigarette Is Doing You Damage.
That bit she could read clearly enough. She turned her head away.

Charlie. Was this young man the same as the little boy, her baby?

‘What should I have done?' she said, speaking more to herself than to him.

‘You could send me a photo of Jeb,' he said, following his own thought.

‘Is that all? Do you need money?'

‘Nothing valuable. That's what they said. It gets pinched.'

‘Are you safe?' Instinctively she lowered her voice and glanced around. ‘Are they … violent?'

He screwed up his face. ‘I don't know,' he muttered. ‘I'm only in Remand.'

Marian tried to gather her thoughts. ‘You would tell me? Not just pretend it's okay?'

He laughed, face twisted. ‘So you can tell the headmaster and get it stopped?'

It was stupid she knew. ‘No.' she mumbled. ‘But I want to know how you are. What it's like.'