The Other Side of Sorrow ch-23

by Peter Corris

  It had been a considerable time since I’d had sex with someone and the need in me was great. She seemed to feel the same. But we were in no hurry. I enjoyed the feel and smell of her. Her body was well covered but not soft and when she lifted my hands onto her breasts I felt the smooth silk of her blouse and the fabric of her bra and the firmness underneath. I heard my own sharp intake of breath and kissed her hard. She moved her hand to my crotch and gripped me.

  ‘I want to,’ she said. ‘You do, too.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come on.’

  She led me through to her bedroom. We took off each other’s clothes in a slow-moving dance around the bed. She turned on a lamp. I pulled back the covers. We lay down and rolled together in an embrace that had us touching from head to toe. She was broad-shouldered and wide-hipped. She had the remnants of a deep summer tan except where her swimsuit had been. I kissed her pale breasts and she moaned and stroked me. Her nipples hardened. She opened her legs and I put my hand between them and probed.

  ‘You’re not married now, are you?’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I haven’t slept with a man for two years. I haven’t wanted to.’

  I was looking at her face. Her skin was taut over her cheekbones, smooth and clear. I was inside her, feeling the wetness and I knew I was filling her hand. My voice was hoarse. ‘Tess, we don’t have to fuck if you don’t want to. We can do something else.’

  She wriggled free of me and reached into a shelf under the bedside table. She held up a packet of condoms. ‘You’re a vile seducer to say something like that. Fuck me, please.’

  Later, she pulled the blankets up and we dozed for a little while, locked close together the way only new lovers can be. Discomfort isn’t an issue, only the contact. I felt her stirring and thought she was going to pull away but she didn’t.

  If anything, she moved closer. I took a firmer hold to show her my appreciation.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she murmured.

  ‘I’m a lot better than all right. You?’

  ‘Mm.’

  I began to take in details of the room for the first time – polished floor with rug, built-in wardrobes with mirrored doors, heavy curtains. The bed was queen size and low, with wicker bedside tables – one bare, the other holding books, a drinking glass and a lamp. The sheets were some kind of coarse, nubbly cotton. In the dim light I couldn’t make out the colour scheme, but I liked the unfussy, spartan feel of the room. It was something like my own bedroom, except that I was inclined to let the empty glasses and coffee mugs build up and the odd sock and T-shirt to lie about.

  ‘Detecting, are you?’ she said.

  I nuzzled down into her hair for the smell of roses it held. ‘Not really. It’s just that I was so blinded by lust when I came in that I didn’t notice a bloody thing.’

  ‘Controlled lust, I’d say. Whatever happens, I’m glad I broke the drought with you.’

  ‘Likewise, it’s been a bit of a drought for me, too. I nearly…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Now she did pull away, slightly. ‘Come on, I thought we were getting close here. I don’t want your life story, Cliff. But you were starting to say something about the here and now, weren’t you?’

  I had a sense that this was one of those crucial moments when you tell the truth and suffer the consequences, or don’t, and feel things slip way from you, go out of your control because you didn’t have the guts.

  ‘The other day I tracked Damien Talbot to an address in Homebush. He’d left. The woman who told me this was a prostitute. She had your leaflet about Tadpole Creek. She was at least my age, maybe older.’

  ‘You were tempted?’

  I nodded. ‘She was a nice woman.’

  She moved back to where she’d been before and her hand got busy again. ‘Use it or lose it,’ she said. ‘So I got lucky and she didn’t make a sale.’

  I laughed, and the feeling that I could do a lot of laughing with this woman excited me almost as much as the smooth, warm skin of her shoulders and what she was doing to me. We made love again.

  After, we lay close together with only the film of sweat on our bodies separating us. She raised herself up on one elbow and kissed me in what felt like an exploratory fashion.

  ‘You’ve been drinking.’

  ‘Yep. Whisky, very good Irish whisky in fact. With a woman.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Nice woman. Very small.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Older than me.’

  ‘How much older?’

  ‘Oh, I’d say thirty-five years, give or take a few.’

  She dropped back and I rolled over and I took her breasts in my hands, drew them together and kissed the nipples.

  ‘When I was young they didn’t need lifting up.’

  ‘They don’t need much now. When I was young I’d be getting ready for you again pretty soon. Come to think of it…’

  ‘What?’

  I told her about the impotence clinic and she laughed until she ran out of breath. Then she stopped laughing and looked at me seriously.

  ‘I didn’t realise just how far you’re prepared to go in your work. I shouldn’t have objected when you questioned me that way. You can’t help it, can you?’

  ‘I could’ve been more subtle.’

  ‘Bugger subtlety. A man’s dead, a dangerous bastard’s on the loose and you’ve still got to find this girl for your poor ex-wife – and for yourself, if you’d just be honest about it. I want to help. No restrictions. I mean it.’

  ‘Okay. Have you got any of that good plonk to hand and an egg or two?’

  ‘I think I can manage something a bit better than that. Where the hell did my knickers finish up?’

  I got dressed, Tess put on a black kimono and pretty soon we were sitting in the kitchen eating microwaved lasagne and drinking Jacob’s Creek red. She’d also made a salad out of what she called the wreckage of her vegetable garden. Mindful of how touchy she’d been the time before, I ate and drank appreciatively and didn’t jump straight in.

  She grinned at me. ‘Okay, you’ve shown enough restraint for now. Ask away?’

  ‘I want to talk to Ramsay to see if he can help me find Talbot. Can you tell me where he’s likely to be?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at her wrist and grinned again when she realised she hadn’t put her watch back on. Neither had I. I guessed that we both had the same thought: Was I staying the night? She fetched her watch from the bedroom. ‘He’ll be here around ten. He’s going to tell me what went on with the TV interview.’

  ‘D’you think he’d know anything about Talbot that he wouldn’t tell the police?’

  Tess took a mouthful, chewed and swallowed and washed it down with some red. ‘Possibly. Ramsay’s an anarchist. He’s got no time for the police. The question is, if he does know anything, would he tell you?’

  This was tricky territory. How do brothers feel about their sister’s lovers? I hadn’t met any of the men my sister had known at uni before she was engaged and swiftly married, so I had no experience in the area.

  Tess seemed amused. ‘I can read your mind,’ she said. ‘Will Ramsay be so upset if he knows we’re fucking that he won’t talk to you?’

  ‘Will he?’

  ‘Probably. He’d have strong doubts about you, seeing that you’re a lackey of the capitalist establishment. That’s one thing.’

  She got up, came around behind me and locked me to the chair with her arms. ‘I don’t think you’re a shit, are you? You’re not just using me to get information.’

  I let my head drop back until I could feel it pressing against her breasts, loose under the kimono. ‘Not at all. I went to sleep thinking about you the other night and I thought about you through the day. I was very glad when you rang, Tess.’

  She kissed the top of my head. ‘Still thick on top, very thick. That’s nice.’ She let go and returned to her seat. ‘Okay. We’ll have a go at him together
. If he does have any clues about getting on to Talbot we’ll find out. Might be best if I got dressed, not that he won’t be able to tell. You’ve got such an apres sex look on you.’

  ‘You too.’

  We finished the food and most of the bottle. Tess showered and put on white jeans, medium heels and a black velvet blouse. Despite what she’d said she seemed a bit nervous about her brother’s visit. She tidied things until I stopped her. I kissed her and held her against me.

  ‘Like that, is it?’ she said.

  ‘Like that.’

  ‘Good. Oh, that’s good.’

  We kissed hard and when we let go she laughed and did a few dance steps. ‘You make me feel so young,’ she crooned in a very fair Sinatra impersonation.

  ‘If you want me to join in with spring is sprung and so on, forget it. I sing as flat as a tack.’

  ‘Maybe you could be taught. Coffee?’

  As she was making the coffee she said, ‘You know it’s a funny thing. There was a kid down at the site today asking questions about us. Sort of, I don’t know, questions like you might ask, or did ask.’

  Well, we were at it now. In this business, no matter how hard you try, if you get emotionally involved with one of the players, there comes a time when you have to choose between being honest with the person and the requirements of the investigation. It usually comes out the same way. I kept my voice neutral. ‘A kid?’

  She busied herself with the coffee. ‘Yeah. Nice looking youngster. I mean, twenty or so. The girls took to him.’

  I hesitated. Show too much interest and her suspicions could be aroused, too little likewise. Think of something neutral, Cliff and do it quickly.

  I was saved by a noise outside. Tess finished with the percolator and smoothed back her hair. ‘That’s Ramsay. I can hear that beat-up old Honda of his a mile away. I’ll just go and turn on the front porch light.’

  She brushed against me as she left the kitchen and I stood listening to the percolator, wishing that I could be totally honest with her.

  18

  Ramsay Hewitt, standing a full head taller, followed his sister into the kitchen

  ‘You remember Cliff Hardy,’ Tess said.

  Hewitt did remember. He didn’t like the memory and he didn’t like what he was seeing now. His craggy, but somehow spoiled-looking face, arranged itself in something close to a scowl. “What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He’s looking for Damien and Megan. I’ve been trying to help him.’

  Hewitt shrugged out of his bomber jacket and threw it at a chair. It only half-caught but that was apparently enough for him. He looked at Tess, then at me. His expression was hard to judge. ‘I don’t think you should have anything to do with him. Jesus, Tessie…’

  ‘Don’t call me that! I’ve told you not to call me that!’

  I had the feeling that I was witnessing something more than a brother and sister spat. These people were well into adulthood but their behaviour was childish with some sort of edge.

  I’d left my holstered pistol over a chair not far from where Hewitt’s jacket hung. My jacket was covering it and I thought I could remove gun and jacket without exposing it. I moved towards the chair. ‘Perhaps I’d better go, Tess.’

  She moved abruptly into my path. ‘No! You’re being stupid, Ramsay. You’re tired out after what you’ve been through. Calm down and have a drink.’

  ‘That’s your solution for everything,’ he said sulkily. But he let Tess pour him some wine and set it down in front of him.

  ‘Cliff?’

  ‘The coffee’s done,’ I said. ‘I’d like some of that.’ I looked at Hewitt. ‘With a splash of Scotch if you’ve got any.’

  Hewitt was watching us closely and I suppose he could tell the way things were. A halfway intelligent person usually can. I decided to make it easier for him to react by moving close to Tess while she poured the coffee, opening the cupboard at her direction and adding whisky to both our cups.

  We sat at the table. ‘Snap out of it, Ramsay. Tell us about the night in the lockup.’

  Us, she said. Hewitt drank some wine and looked resentful but resigned. I guessed that his wish to talk about himself overrode his other feelings. ‘It was interesting,’ he said. ‘Being deprived of your liberty. Powerful stuff.’

  ‘You should try it long term,’ I said.

  He looked at me with something that might have been respect if it hadn’t been filtered through dislike. ‘You’ve been inside?’

  ‘On remand for a few months in the Bay years back, and I did a short stint at Berrima not so long ago.’

  ‘Yeah? What for?’

  I shrugged and drank some of the laced coffee. ‘Oh, destroying evidence and generally pissing off the police.’

  ‘All very interesting,’ Tess said. ‘What about the TV interview?’

  The spoiled look came back again. ‘You didn’t see it?’

  I’d forgotten all about it, but Tess came to the rescue.

  ‘I taped it. I was waiting for you to come and watch it and tell me how it went and how much they edited.’

  Me, this time, not us. I was beginning to get an idea of how Ramsay felt about his sister, the question for me was: were the feelings reciprocated? I’d been in this particular neck of the woods before.

  ‘Well, let’s see it,’ Hewitt said. ‘And I’ll tell you.’

  He was happy now and, without actually including me, wasn’t positively leaving me out. After all, he was going to be the star of the show. Nothing competes with television, especially not reality.

  Tess glanced at me. I kept my expression just on the right side of neutral. I did want to see the tape. We trooped into the living room and Tess hit the buttons. They left their drinks behind; I topped myself up from the bottle. Seating arrangements were straightforward. Ramsay on the two-seater couch; me on a chair; Tess between us.

  The program presenter, a glossy blonde in a severely tailored suit with a very short skirt, crossed her legs and sailed in: ‘Tonight, in the studio we have Ramsay Hewitt, the leader…’

  ‘Excuse me. Everyone involved in the Tadpole Creek protest is a leader, or there’s no leader. Have it whichever way you like.’

  She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I see. Ramsay Hewitt of the Homebush protest…’

  ‘Tadpole Creek environmental protest.’

  ‘Right. Ramsay is here to explain the tragic event of the other night and…’

  Ramsay got out of his chair and advanced on the camera. ‘I’m not here to do any such thing. I’m here to tell the viewers about what’s being done at Homebush Bay. How they’re being conned into thinking that these are going to be green Olympics whereas in fact they’re going to be dirty brown…’

  The camera panned quickly back to the presenter. To be fair to her, she was coping well with her obstreperous guest. ‘Red, wouldn’t you say, Ramsay? Blood red? That man was beaten to death.’

  A floor attendant shepherded Ramsay back to his seat. He combed his long hair back with his fingers. He was good-looking or would have been but for a nervous, twitchy manner that seemed to affect his facial expressions and bodily movements. He bore some resemblance to his sister and would’ve looked more like her still if he survived another ten years and managed to resolve some of his all too apparent inner conflicts. “I’m very sorry about the guard,’ he said slowly. ‘It shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘But it did. What can you tell us about…’ the presenter’s eyes flickered to a cue card, ‘…Damien Talbot?’

  ‘Every organisation has rotten apples.’

  The presenter leaned forward. “Would you like to expand on that, Ramsay?’

  ‘Yes.’ He broke off and reached for a glass of water. ‘I mean the police, the church, the media, they all have unworthy people in them, don’t they? I’d much rather talk about what the protest is designed to do.’

  The presenter felt herself to be on top now and she showed signs of knowing that she’d presided over a pretty good short grab and
that it was time to close off. ‘I’m sure you would, but what I want to know is why would one of your people behave so violently?’

  ‘I don’t consider him to be a member of the group.’

  ‘So there’s division within the protest. That’s not going to help your cause, is it?’

  Ramsay didn’t answer.

  ‘What can you tell us about the young woman with him – Megan French?’

  ‘Nothing. I scarcely knew her.’

  ‘I see what you mean about the protest having no leader. Maybe it should have had one. I’m Tracey-Jane Marshall and this is Newsbeat.’

  A commercial followed and then the tape stopped. It was a lame performance from Ramsay who was clearly out of his depth. He didn’t seem to realise it and looked at Tess for her approval. When he didn’t get it he wet his lips and fidgeted in his seat. ‘That bloody bitch set me up. Her questions weren’t fair.’

  No questions would ever be fair for Ramsay, he was one of those people who found something or someone else to blame at every turn.

  Tess said, ‘Well, it’ll be forgotten tomorrow. What we have to do is…’

  Ramsay jumped from his seat and stood over her. ‘You seem to have forgotten bloody everything. Everything except screwing with this fascist thug…’

  He was working himself up to do something, anything, to relieve his frustration, even if it meant hitting Tess. I moved quickly and grabbed his flailing arm.

  ‘Take it easy, Ramsay. Get a grip on yourself or you’ll do something you’re sorry for.’

  For all his size he wasn’t strong and it was child’s play to get him off balance. He sensed that he had no leverage to resist me and it made him even wilder and less effective. He stumbled and almost fell into Tess’s lap. I hauled him upright and he sprayed spittle as he shook himself free.

  ‘You slut! Screw your brains out. See if I care. I don’t need you. Go to hell’ He stormed back to the kitchen and swore as he hit something solid. Then the back door crashed open against the wall and I heard his boots on the cement path at the side of the house. Tess was huddled in the chair with her face in her hands. I was torn. I still wanted to talk to Ramsay but Tess’s distress was strong and visible. I knelt by the chair and stroked her head. I heard an engine start, run roughly and then a squeal of tyres as he drove away. Tess heard it all as well and felt it more – her body shook at the sounds. When she looked up there was a pain in her eyes and expression that was hard to watch.