‘We’re nearly there. Can you wake Willow? She won’t sleep tonight if she sleeps anymore.’
#
At the general store they bought a few staples and picked up the keys to the farmhouse they were renting. They didn’t linger, as the sun was already beginning to disappear behind the mountains. When they got back in the car, Michael turned on the radio – Mary Hopkin’s Those were the days.
Michael reached across and stroked Nicolette’s cheek. ‘Remember that?’
Nicolette nodded. Of course she remembered – the Meadows Technicolour Fair, held over three scorching hot days in January two years ago, the same long weekend as the Sunbury Festival. She’d just turned eighteen, and she and her friends had planned to hitchhike to Victoria for the Sunbury festival, but then the Meadows festival was just twenty miles from Adelaide, so they’d decided to go there instead. Nicolette had another reason for preferring the Meadows Festival – a keen amateur photographer, she hoped to become professional one day, and she thought the Meadows Festival was less likely to attract the press than the Sunbury Festival; there’d be less competition, and if she got lucky, she may be able to capture some shots she could sell.
That Sunday, as the waifish singer’s hauntingly beautiful voice filled the air, Nicolette had noticed a lone young man sitting on the grass, watching her, swaying to the music and smiling.
She’d smiled back and he’d walked over to her and said Do you know you’re the most beautiful woman here today? and she’d though his line a bit corny, but it was the first time anyone had called her a woman. She’d also realised he was high, but then, so many there were high that weekend that she didn’t think anything of it.
They’d spent that whole long weekend together, and he’d called her his beautiful flower child, and made her a coronet from the yellow soursob flowers that grew in the paddock. That first night he told her he was twenty-three and had been back from Vietnam a while, but couldn’t seem to settle down to anything. When she went back to Adelaide he went with her, and Nicolette truly believed she’d found her soul mate.
It didn’t take long before she was totally head-over-heels in love with him, and they would spend every moment they were together making love or planning their future. She even stopped seeing most of her friends because she’d rather spend time with Michael and he didn’t like to socialise.
Soon, however, she realised he had much bigger problems than not being able to settle into a job, and though he insisted he hadn’t done drugs for a long time, she was sure he was lying, but there was no way of knowing what he did while she was at work.
Within a couple of months she was pregnant, and he was so happy about it that he’d sworn he’d get work and stick with it, so he could look after her properly. And she’d really believed him then, believed this child she was carrying would be reason enough for him to change. She didn’t understand that the drugs were a way for him to forget. Two tours of duty, he’d told her – he’d been a medic because he didn’t want to carry a gun, not realising that Vietnam was the first war where these rules had been changed.
But her mother understood, and tried to tell her he wasn’t likely to give up, arguing she’d be better off on her own, even better off getting an abortion and getting on with her life, but that Nicolette could never do. In the end, they’d argued so much it had been easier just to cut all ties.
As promised, Michael did get work. But he could never stick to any job for more than a few weeks, and she was glad she’d kept her job at a friend’s Indian boutique in the city.
Then Willow had been born, and as she’d held that wonderful little being to her breast, Nicolette had found the strength to do what she hadn’t had the strength to do before – Get yourself treatment, she told Michael, or you’ll never see me or your daughter ever again.
To his credit, Michael had himself admitted as a voluntary patient to Hillcrest Psychiatric Hospital, and undergone their methadone treatment. It had taken months – endless days filled with torment, not because of any withdrawal, because they’d quickly managed to stabilise him, but because part of the treatment required he undergo counselling and psychotherapy, and that had been the most painful of all.
It hadn’t been an easy time for Nicolette either – each day she’d go to work, taking Willow with her and settling her in the back room amongst boxes of stock, over which she’d draped a length of curtain material featuring cute jungle animals, so that her baby would have something prettier to look at than boxes. Then after work they’d take the bus from the city to the hospital to see Michael, a journey that took well over an hour during peak hour, then home again to their flat where she was often too tired to eat, and only had enough energy to bath and feed Willow before falling exhausted into bed.
One night, feeling despondent, Nicolette had rung her mother, hoping to mend their relationship, but her mother had cut her short: Just tell me one thing – are you still with that man?
Over time, however, Nicolette became used to the routine and found she wasn’t always so tired. She saved enough to buy a little second-hand VW Beetle, and took out her photographic gear once again, so that on weekends she’d drive to the beach or to Mount Lofty, and with Willow in a baby sling spent a few hours taking photographs before going to visit Michael.
In the evening, after Willow had been settled for the night, she’d turn the bathroom into a darkroom, and for a while was able to be alone with her thoughts.
Then, one day when Nicolette was at work, she looked up to see Michael standing there. He missed her and Willow too much, he said, didn’t need any more treatment, anymore methadone. All he needed was Nicolette and Willow.
‘The faces, Nicky, the bodies – they’ll always be there. I know that now. They’ll never make them go away. They can’t understand that…’
And so he’d discharged himself.
Michael had been home from hospital for four months now, but Nicolette knew he wasn’t truly cured. He’d lost a lot of weight and looked ill, though he constantly reassured her he was fine. He took to going out every day for an hour or two, saying he needed to walk, and when Nicolette suggested she and Willow accompanying him, he refused, saying he wanted to think and that he couldn’t do that if they were there too. She knew then he was back on the drugs, but didn’t know what to do about it. She worried most about his moods – for no apparent reason he would fall into a dark mire that not even Willow’s hugs and giggles could pull him out of, and sometimes he’d end up disappearing for days at a time, with no explanation on his return.
Then one day Michael came home from one of his walks more excited than she’d seen in a long time. How would you like to live in the country? he’d asked. We could grow our own food – get some chickens, some sheep too maybe… It will be good for us, Nicky, good for Willow. There was an old property that belonged to the grandparents of someone he knew – eight acres and a river running through it. They never used it, and the rent was dirt cheap. It would be a new beginning for them – they could become self-sufficient, not have to worry about money…
And Nicolette had remembered then the stories her grandfather had told her about when he was a boy, how he’d gone with his father to a new country and started with nothing, but in time had thrived and prospered, and she thought maybe she and Michael could do the same. And if she was right in thinking he was still using, then the idea of him being far away from those who would supply him had to be a good thing. So sights unseen, she’d agreed they should move.
‘Here. Turn here,’ Michael said, pointing to a laneway. At its end he jumped out of the car and opened the gate, then waited for Nicolette to drive through. ‘Look, Possum,’ he said to Willow, ‘there’s our new house.’
The weatherboard house was anything but new – it looked like it hadn’t had a coat of paint since first built, and the corrugated iron roof has a sheet loose. Around the house was a low wooden fence with palings missing, and surrounding that, a wired fence bordered their few acres – just one big paddock that was
no more than a sea of tussocks. Nicolette hadn’t expected the property to be so run down, and for an instant wondered if this idea was a mistake, but then thought that it would take a lot of hard work to turn it into what they dreamed of, and maybe hard physical work was just what Michael needed to help him overcome his demons.
As Nicolette helped Willow out of the car, she heard a rustle in the grass and turned just in time to see the tail end of a snake disappear. She quickly lifted Willow to her hip.
‘She can’t play out here – there’s snakes!’
Michael laughed. ‘It’ll be ok. We’ll burn it all – that’ll get rid of them. Then you can plant a garden.’
But Nicolette wasn’t convinced.
5
It had been snowing on and off for two days now, and Nicolette was getting worried – if it didn’t ease soon, they’d be snowed in. She watched Willow lying on her belly on a blanket on the kitchen floor, next to Benji, a Border collie their landlord had given them as a pup when they’d moved here five months ago.
‘He’s the runt,’ he’d said when he’d come to see how they’d settled in, ‘and there’s too many other pups, so this one never gets a feed. If you don’t take him, I’ll have to put him down, but I thought the little tyke might like him.’
So they’d taken the puppy, and well away from his greedy brothers and sisters, Benji thrived. Now he never left Willow’s side, even slept on her bed at night, guarding her with a growl if anyone came into her room as she slept.
For the past few days Willow had complained of a sore throat, and she had a low temperature and seemed lethargic, but trying to keep the two-year-old in bed was practically impossible. Nicolette had wanted to take her to the doctor, but Michael had convinced her she was worrying over nothing, overreacting, and maybe she was. But the truth was they really couldn’t afford a visit to the doctor.
In all the time they’d been here Michael hadn’t been able to find work, and they’d been surviving on her savings and the little she earned from her photography – though only a hobby, she’d put up notices in the nearby towns when they’d first arrived, and as a result was given a few jobs photographing children, or the prize stock of local farmers, and sometimes she was asked to do a wedding or a twenty-first. She even got a bit of freelance work with the local paper of a nearby town, but these jobs were few and far between. She’d wanted them to apply for the dole, but Michael became angry whenever she mentioned it, saying he didn’t want anything to do with the government because they never gave without taken back ten-fold, so that she’d stopped suggesting it. Then one day she’d received in the mail a letter from her bank, to which was attached one of the new Bankcards, and with it an explanation that it had $300 pre-approved credit on it. That little green card became her lifeline as more and more businesses accepted it instead of cash, and she realised that she need only repay the absolute minimum each month.
Nicolette wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and finished her coffee. It had stopped snowing and she knew she should go split more logs for the fire, and some kindling for the bathroom’s chip heater. Michael had a cold too, but even if he hadn’t, she knew now that she couldn’t count on him for much.
As if reading her thoughts, he came into the kitchen. ‘Kettle still hot?’ Nicolette nodded. ‘I’ll have a cuppa, then I’ll go get some wood.’
‘I’ll get it. You stay and watch Willow.’
‘No, I’ll do it. I don’t like seeing you doing everything—’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t have much choice, do I? Just watch Willow.’ She put her cup in the sink and went out to the wood pile.
That was bitchy, she thought as she took off her shawl and placed a log upright on the section of tree trunk they used as a chopping block. She swung the axe, aiming just off centre. Missed the log entirely, sending it flying.
Damn it!
She sat on the chopping block and breathed deep. She wanted to cry but knew crying wouldn’t help. But she was tired – so tired. When had she become so tetchy? She remembered the days when they’d been each other’s everything, when just being together was enough. When she believed their love could conquer the world. How long had it been since Michael had said her name in that special way, when they’d talked all night about their dreams and their future? Now she felt he just didn’t hear her, and even if he did, how could she tell him how lonely she felt, how afraid? There were times – so many times nowadays – when all she wanted to do was shake Michael and tell him he was either going to have to genuinely pull his weight around the place, or pack his bags and leave.
She kept hoping something would change, but she knew she’d lost him to a world she could never be part of. So instead she pretended.
Pretended to be strong.
Pretended everything was alright.
Pretended for Michael, for herself, but most of all for Willow. Because Willow loved Michael, and he, her – that much was obvious.
But what about her? Did she still love Michael? Sometimes she would look at the black and white photos she’d taken of him over the years, and she could see the man she believed him to be – kind, gentle and thoughtful. But that wasn’t the Michael she saw every day. Only when he played with Willow could she see traces of that man – was that enough for her to go on pretending?
Nicolette looked across the bare paddock and thought of her Grandpa Louis. What would he say, if he were to see what a failure she’d made of all this, he who so loved the land? And even though she’d be ashamed to face him, still she wished she could go to him for advice. But her grandfather had died peacefully while watching television, just ten years or so after coming to Australia. All she had now were a few photos he’d given her – she as a toddler sitting on his lap, another of him reading a paper in a garden. A very serious one that was a spare passport photo. And her favourite of all, of the two of them together with a little Berber girl and boy – Rafiq and Jemilah – who had been her friends back in Algeria.
But wishing wouldn’t achieve anything… With a sigh she picked up the axe and concentrated on splitting wood. She heard the back door slam.
‘There’s Mummy, see? She’s asking for you. Not a very happy Possum, are you, sweetheart?’
Nicolette took Willow from Michael and felt her forehead.
‘She feels hotter than before… Is your throat still sore, little one?’ Willow nodded and snuggled into Nicolette. ‘Come on, let’s go inside where it’s warm and I’ll get you a glass of milk, ok? Look, it’s starting to snow again. Maybe if the snow’s still here when you feel a bit better, we can make a snowman. Would you like that? With a big carrot for a nose?’
But Willow didn’t answer. Instead she rested her head on Nicolette’s shoulder and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
#
Nicolette woke to the sound of Benji whimpering by her bed; he probably needed to go out. She checked the luminous hands of the alarm clock – 3.25. She rose, put on a dressing gown and looked outside – trees flossed in snow, the night gleaming blue, iced. She went to let the dog out, but Benji didn’t want to go out. He licked her hand then headed down the corridor to Willow’s room, turning to make sure she followed.
Even before she reached her daughter’s room Nicolette could hear Willow’s breathing – it sounded wrong, laboured, a high-pitched wheezing sound as if she couldn’t get air down her throat. From the light of the corridor, Nicolette could see her daughter spread-eagle across the bed, still asleep, her blankets kicked to the floor. Benji jumped on the bed, put his head on Willow’s chest and whimpered once more.
‘Shhh, Benji. Don’t wake her.’ She pushed the dog’s head off her daughter’s chest. Benji gave one quick wag of his tail then lay still.
Nicolette turned on the bedside lamp. Saw the swollen throat, the paleness of her daughter’s skin. This was no ordinary sore throat. She picked a blanket off the floor and covered Willow, then hurried back to their bedroom to wake Michael.
As Michael palpated Willow’s throat,
she woke and crunched her eyes to the light.
‘Hi Possum.’ Michael felt for her pulse. ‘Does the light hurt?’
Willow nodded and Nicolette turned off the light, opening the bedroom door wider so that the light from the corridor shone through.
‘We have to get the doctor.’
Michael nodded. ‘Wait till daylight and I’ll go to the general store to ring.’
‘What do you think it is?’
‘Probably just tonsillitis. Or mumps – her throat’s definitely swollen. She’ll be alright, don’t worry.’
But Nicolette was worried. Her daughter looked too ill for just tonsillitis, and her breathing really frightened her. It seemed as if Willow was fighting for every breath she took. ‘I’ll get her some aspirin for her temperature. That won’t hurt, will it?’
In the kitchen Nicolette crushed half an aspirin tablet between two spoons, then mixed it with a little jam. But when she tried to give it to Willow, the child couldn’t swallow.
‘Please, Michael, get the doctor now…’
#
‘I can’t go,’ Michael said a few minutes later, handing her a cup of coffee. ‘I think there’s too much snow out there, and it’s still coming down. The car won’t make it through all that.’
Nicolette looked at Michael, stunned. The car won’t make it?
‘So walk. Leave the car, take a torch and walk. For crying out loud, Michael, look at her! They’d have cleared the highway during the day – it’s only our lane that’s a problem. I’m sure of it. The highway’ll only have this evening’s fall, that’s all. You only have to get to the highway. The general store’s not far – you’ll be okay, we’ve walked it before. Please, Michael, go now. Wait for him there – come back with him in case he doesn’t know our place.’
#
For the rest of the night Nicolette stayed beside her daughter, wiping her forehead and body with a damp face washer to try and lessen her temperature, but this seemed to achieve little. She thought of a neighbour whose child had had whooping cough, and how steam had helped, but his breathing had sounded different. Maybe she should light the water heater in the bathroom anyway, and take Willow out there – turn on the shower? Did they have enough kindling? But that little wood-fired heater took forever to heat the water; the firebox was so small it only took the smallest bits of wood…
That Devil's Madness Page 3
