I kissed her cheek. ‘I’m glad you told us, Bernie. I’m so sorry for what you had to go through.’
The Judge looked every moment of his eighty or so years when I met him in the visitor’s room — slouched, drawn, all the authority punched out of him.
Chapter 46
Bernadette Brennan
Saturday, 28 May
When Leo left I ran to the toilet and vomited, kneeling on the cold floor. Everything came up until there was nothing but water. I sat there for a long time, my eyes and nose running and my throat aching. I remembered the winey, boozy smell of him, the way his hands clutched at me, and the disgusting noises he made, the feeling that I was going to suffocate … and the pain and the blood. Couldn’t stop shaking.
I cried and cried until there were no tears left … not for now. I cried for the dead baby, how Mummy baptised him and took him away wrapped in a towel. I didn’t tell them about that.
Then the nurse came and helped me up, wiped my face and tucked me up in bed like a child.
Chapter 47
Colin Brennan
Saturday, 28 May
If only I could pretend that she had imagined it, put it down to her mental illness. Or that she made the story up to punish me for my emotional neglect, or even that the smug little doctor put the accusation into her head.
But in my moments of clarity, I knew that none of that would wash. Jack Constable was a lecher. There were plenty of sleazy stories, and Bernadette wouldn’t have been the first innocent young woman he preyed upon.
But when I faced the story’s truth, I was left with very little, just a self-important man who let a rapist roam his house unchecked; a man who didn’t protect his daughter; a man who let a criminal into his home over and over again; a man who cared more for his standing in the judicial community than for his relationship with his child.
Shame is what I’m left with. I’m left with just Colin Brennan, a pathetic failure as a man and a father.
Yes, I was ashamed of myself and mortified that this happened, angry that I failed the most important test of all. But when I thought of Constable, when his big, red face came into my mind, I wanted to beat it to the consistency of minced meat. I wanted to urinate on his grave. I wanted to dig up his bones and rotting flesh and spread them across the city.
There was no redress — the man was dead.
Perhaps Bernadette could sue his estate, but it was only her word. They’d portray her as delusional, a psychiatric patient fabricating lies about a respected member of the Melbourne judiciary. She’d have to testify and there’d be a panic attack, even if she agreed to do it. We couldn’t put her through it. So that was it. There were no witnesses and the only person who could corroborate her claim was Mary, also deceased.
Sylvia was still alive. She’d shout and bluster and accuse Bernadette of lying, accuse me of jealously trying to besmirch the reputation of her noble husband, but she would have heard the rumours, just like everyone else. There might be some small satisfaction in confronting her.
I didn’t know where to go to from here. I was tired of the stuffy Club, the memory of Constable and his like all around me. I wanted to go home to Golden Beach, but something had to be decided about Alison.
Then there was Bernadette. As Leo would say: ‘It’s not about you, Dad.’
I was not used to thinking about her as a real person, trying to imagine her feelings. She said that I never cared about her. She was probably right. Mostly, she was an annoyance.
Good God, how I’ve behaved!
Chapter 48
Leo Brennan
Saturday, 28 May
For the first time ever I felt sorry for the old boy. He was trembling as I helped him into the car, and I had to wait as he fumbled with his seatbelt.
‘Are you okay, Dad,’ I asked, as I pulled out into the traffic.
‘I will be, I suppose,’ he said.
We didn’t talk as we drove into the city. Bernie’s story was horrible and heavy between us.
When I pulled up outside his Club, it was still the middle of the afternoon. As I helped him out of the car he seemed old and frail. It struck me that I was treating him like a geriatric relative. He must have hated it.
‘Look Dad,’ I said, ‘there’s obviously a lot we need to talk about. Can you get some rest this afternoon? I’d like to come back and have dinner with you this evening. Sort some things out.’
He nodded.
‘See you here at six?’
‘Yes, Leo, good.’ He shook my hand then, and I watched as he walked slowly through the heavy doors.
I hated the Club — stuffy armchairs, obsequious waiters, the trappings of old money, inflated old men with the occasional token female guest. It wasn’t my scene, but it was Dad’s turf and I wanted him to be comfortable.
He waited in the lounge, at a corner table, private behind a Japanese-themed screen. We both ordered beer.
‘How are you, Dad?’ I asked, shaking his hand.
He was trembling slightly and his eyes were watery. ‘I’ve been better.’
I began cautiously. ‘Did you know anything of what Bernie told us this afternoon?’
‘No, of course not. It rocked me to the core. I knew nothing, nothing.’
‘But she said Mum knew. Later at least.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. Your mother and Bernadette were very close. Bernadette told her everything. The rape …’ he grimaced as he said the word, ‘was probably what set off her first breakdown. I wish your mother had told me, but that was her way of course.’
‘What, to protect you?’ That would be typical of Mum.
‘Yes, perhaps to protect me, but maybe it was just easier the less I knew. Unfortunately I used to make a fuss.’
‘But this was something to make a fuss about. He should have been charged.’
‘And so he would have been, had I known.’ He paused. ‘You know, I can’t get out of my head that blundering fool having the nerve … you don’t expect a guest in your home to go prowling around and rape your daughter.’
I let him talk. He was full of shame and anger, and he blamed himself. But he was also bewildered. How could it have happened when he and Mum, not to mention the Constable’s wife, were sitting downstairs? Why didn’t Bernie tell them right away?
‘Dad, you hear it all the time. Rapists often terrify their victims into saying nothing. Tell them it was their fault, that no one will believe them; that their reputation will be shot, that sort of thing. You must know this from your time on the bench.’
‘Yes, but you don’t apply what you experience on the bench to your own family … How can I help her, Leo? I have almost no connection with her and she seems to hate me.’
‘Yes, she’s afraid of you. Feels she hasn’t lived up to expectations. But Dad, simple kindness is quite an easy thing. It might be the place to start.’
We were called to dinner then, but we continued to talk with an ease I hadn’t experienced with him before. He was humbled and bewildered, and I could see that he was turning Bernie’s story over and over in his mind.
But there was something else, and I had to mention it. ‘Dad, we need to make a decision about Alison.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said distracted.
‘Alison needs a secure and permanent home. She’ll be in Year Twelve next year and she needs space to study.’
‘Of course.’
I decided I’d take this gradually. ‘The room she’s using was my office where I kept my equipment, met clients and did my accounts. It wasn’t even adequate for that. Since Alison’s been there, I have had to store equipment wherever I can find a space, and meeting clients is difficult. The only space we have is the living area, and if Trent and Alison are both home, it’s hopeless.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a tiny house. I can see the problem.’
He was drifting again, no doubt back to the scene at the hospital. I had to keep him on track. ‘There’s another thing, Dad.’
‘Congratulations, Leo. What an opportunity. Your first real commission, eh?’
‘Yes, but there’s Alison.’ I wanted him to come to the solution himself, but he put it back to me.
‘What do you propose?’
‘Alison coming to us was always only an interim measure, a response to an emergency. I was determined to get her out of that house, but I don’t think our place is the permanent solution. And now this has come up. I can’t go and leave her for three months.’
‘I do see the difficulty.’
‘Dad, what about you? You and Alison are close.’
‘Yes, we are now, thank God. I love the dear child.’ He smiled again.
Was this the Judge speaking? Love wasn’t a word I often heard from him.
Then he said, ‘What are you getting at, Leo?’
Was he being deliberately obtuse or was this all too much after the revelations of the afternoon? So I just came out and asked, ‘Would it work for Alison to live with you?’
‘What, at Golden Beach?’ He looked genuinely surprised.
‘No, of course not. She has to go to school. But won’t there be an insurance payout on the Clifton Hill house?’
Did I need to spell it out for him?
‘Yes, a decent amount, my accountant tells me. And when the rubble’s cleared, I’ll sell the block.’
‘Well? Join the dots, Dad. A small house or apartment here in Melbourne for you and Alison. Somewhere close to her school. Somewhere she can have friends. Golden Beach will always be there to go back to.’ I watched him take the idea in — turn over its possibilities.
He shrugged. ‘I’m an old man, Leo. I’m not much fun for a teenage girl.’
‘Dad, Alison’s no ordinary teenager. She’s lived in dirt and chaos most of her life and she’s still turned out warm-hearted and kind … and very independent.’
‘Yes, she’s a wonderful girl. Like your mother.’
‘She didn’t descend into the mess of that house, but she needs somewhere clean, secure and orderly now, somewhere she can study, where she has privacy and a routine, somewhere she feels wanted. Somewhere she can finish her VCE. She needs an adult in her life. Despite everything, she still loves her parents and doesn’t blame them for anything. But we can’t expect her to take responsibility for her mother again. She was virtually Bernie’s unpaid carer, and it’s too much. Anyway, Bernie could be in hospital for months, we don’t know what her future is. Alison has the right to her own life … and Dad, she loves you.’
‘I know.’
We were both silent while he considered the idea.
He then said, ‘Let’s talk about it a bit more. Where would you think?’
‘Anywhere she can get a tram or walk to school.’
‘I like the idea, but we need to see what Alison thinks. What’s happening tomorrow?’ Suddenly he had more energy.
‘She’s working, and then Trent or I usually take her to visit Bernie for an hour or so. She’ll be home by six. Come over and have something to eat with us and we’ll put the idea to her.’
He agreed.
Thank God that’s over, I thought. This might be the beginning of something good for all of us.
There were more shocks to come, but for tonight the Judge had something to plan for.
Chapter 49
Alison Brennan
Sunday, 29 May
It’s been weeks since I slept in that house. I know it’s burned down now, but I still have nightmares about it. I dream that I’m back in my room, and it’s the middle of the night, and there’s a rat biting my foot.
In another dream, something really horrible, alive, is trying to get out of the fridge. Other times, I’m trying to clean, but the more rubbish I pick up, the more the piles grow, and I’m scratching and scratching because there are tiny fleas crawling all over me.
Then I wake up sweating and shouting and remember that I’m at Leo’s house. I’m safe; it was only a dream. But the feeling of relief is followed by wide-awake worrying. Everything crowds into my mind together. What will happen to Mum? Will she ever get well? Is Dad safe in jail? Where am I going to live?
Mrs Goodall told me about visualisation, how visualising certain ‘happy’ things could help you to be calm, and so when I was wide-awake and worrying in the early hours of the morning, I had a special visualisation I did.
I imagined my perfect home. It was small, but not cramped, just big enough for me. It was painted pure, clean white. There were white tiles in the kitchen and bathroom, and shiny wood floors with bright mats. There was no piece of hair or fluff or dust on any of them. The benches in the kitchen and bathroom were a rich blue. The whole house was spotlessly clean and there was nothing in it that wasn’t necessary.
There was space in the cupboards for everything to be put away, and all the benchtops and surfaces were clear. There were no dusty ornaments, congealing soap or tatty cushions and doilies. The fridge held only clean, fresh food, and only as much as I needed. My bed was thick, with white, cotton sheets and a white quilt. There was a bookcase with all the books I loved. Everything smelt very faintly of sandalwood, the same oil Mrs Goodall liked to burn in her office.
After a while of imagining my perfect home, I fell asleep again.
Today was Sunday. I worked at Hungry Jacks, and then Trent drove me to the hospital to see Mum. He waited outside, and I bought flowers for her at the little shop in the lobby. When I had taken some flowers to her on Mother’s Day, her face had lit up, so I decided to take some every visit.
Mum was sitting in the same chair by the window, but today she was knitting. I’d never seen her knit before, and I didn’t even know she knew how to, or how she learnt to knit. It was a thin strip, blue, almost long enough to tie around my waist. Mum actually spoke to me this time.
‘Hello, dear,’ she said.
She didn’t say my name. Did she know who I was, I wondered? ‘Mum, it’s me, Alison.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said, still knitting.
So I talked about school, and about Leo and Trent. I didn’t mention Grandpa. I asked her what she was making and who it was for. She didn’t really answer me, just made vague little noises, but she smiled once or twice when I told her funny stories about school. She smiled again while I arranged the flowers in a vase.
After an hour I kissed her goodbye and told her I’d come again next Sunday. Just as I was leaving, I thought of something. ‘Mum, would you teach me how to knit?’
She met my eyes then, and nodded her head, just slightly.
Next time I’d bring wool and knitting needles.
When we got back to Leo’s house, Grandpa was there. There was a funny feeling. Something was happening, as if they’d been talking about me.
When we sat down to eat, Leo said, ‘Allie, there’s something your grandpa and I want to discuss with you.’
‘Yes? What it is?’ I asked. I pretended not to be concerned, to give my attention to the food, but I was listening carefully.
‘It’s been a terrible time for you. I know how worried you must be about your parents. I suppose you’re also worried about where you’re going to live.’
I didn’t want Leo to think I was ungrateful, but I did worry. There wasn’t enough room for the three of us in this tiny house. Also, Mum would need somewhere to live when she came out of hospital, but I didn’t think I could look after Mum without Dad there. I’d have to leave school. All of this was going through my mind.
Leo told me then about his prize and his commission for an outback photography trip early next year. He’d be away for three months, and he was hoping Trent could go with him. I w
as excited for him, but more worried than ever. Where would I go? And what about Mum?
Then Grandpa told us his idea.
‘So,’ he said, ‘I was thinking that I’d like to buy an apartment close to your school, where you and I could live at least until you’ve finished Year Twelve.’
I wondered if I’d heard him correctly. ‘What about Golden Beach?’
‘We can go there for holidays.’
‘But what about Mum? When she comes out of hospital?’
‘We don’t know what may be best for your mum in the future, Alison. We have to be guided by her doctor. But we’ll make sure there’s a room there for her when she needs it.’
Uncle Leo was staring at him. Maybe they hadn’t talked about that part.
I put my head down to hide my face, but the tears rolled down and soaked into the tablecloth. I was so tired and so sick of being worried.
‘Why, dear girl,’ Grandpa said, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. If you prefer to stay here with Leo and Trent, we can arrange something.’
I stood, went to the back of Grandpa’s chair and put my arms around his neck. I remembered Golden Beach and how quiet and restful it was to live with him, how we ate good food and how we both worked peacefully in the evenings.
‘Grandpa, it’s perfect. Just perfect. I’m crying because I’m relieved and happy.’
He just patted my hand, and said, ‘It’s time you were happy.’
So we talked about where we might begin looking, and pulled up some internet sites that advertised apartments for sale, close to the city on a tram line. The school holidays were coming soon and Grandpa and I would go house hunting,
I didn’t have bad dreams that night, and I didn’t have to use my visualisation.
The Blooming Of Alison Brennan Page 16
