by Bill Condon
‘No.’
‘But Dad, it could be something like that – we should let the police check it out.’
‘It’s nothing like that, Caitlin.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m guessing … but I don’t want the police involved.’
‘Why not? Tell me.’
‘Because I might know who it is.’
‘How could you know that?’
‘Does it matter? Please, Caitlin, don’t push this.’
‘I don’t have any secrets from you, Dad. I’d tell you anything.’
He looks out the window again, then back to me. I know he’s struggling; weighing up what to say, finding the nerve to say it.
‘All right. I think it’s her husband – the woman I used to see – I think it’s him.’
‘Aw, no.’
‘He’s followed me a few times.’
‘He’s followed you?’
‘I should have done something about it before this, I know.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I thought he’d stop.’
‘Dad, he’s stalking you.’
‘He’s trying to scare us, that’s all.’
‘And it’s working! You do what you like. I’m gunna call the cops!’
I march to the phone.
Dad’s voice stops me.
‘Don’t! I caused this. I’ll talk to him, Caitlin.’
I don’t have time to reply. Dad’s off and out of the room. I’m jabbering ‘No! No!’ I’m grabbing at his arms. I’m trying to make logical arguments on the run. I’m pleading. But he is beyond listening and then there’s a blare of a car horn, throwing down a challenge – Come out! Come out!
I’m yelling the house down, ‘Mum! Mum!’
And Dad steps out the front door into the blazing yellow light.
A door flings open. A man jumps out of the car. He walks so purposefully up to Dad, so fast. I’m watching a movie. A horror movie. The man is swearing. Dad is backing away. He walks further down the street. Out on the front lawn, three houses away. The man goes after him. My feet are leaden weights. I scream. That’s all I can do. I can’t move.
One punch. The crisp thud of bone on bone. Dad drops as if his legs have been cut off.
‘Get up!’ The man stands over him, ‘Get up, you bastard!’
I scream again and Dad looks helplessly towards me. He tries to stand but he’s not quick enough. The man shoves him backwards. Then both his hands are around Dad’s throat.
‘Alan!’ Mum flies out of the house. She turns around to Rory, ‘Stay there!’ And then she’s running hard, wailing, ‘Alan! Alan!’
Her voice snaps me out of my shock. I run with her.
‘Go back, Caitlin!’
I run faster.
Someone cries out for help. Dogs bark. The man’s fingers dig deeper into Dad’s neck.
In a blind panic we bash at him, kicking, dragging at his arms, his clothes. He is locked on. Unstoppable.
‘Dad!’ Rory reaches us. Before we can grab him his small hands beat on the man’s back. He’s howling and crying. ‘Dad, Dad!’
The man’s head jerks up. He stares at Rory as Mum pulls him close to her. ‘Don’t you touch him,’ she says. His eyes shift to each of us and he seems bewildered, as if we’ve popped up out of nowhere. He looks down at his hands, Dad, stares all around, taking in the scene before him – the horror movie of his own making.
He stands and steps away.
Dad holds his throat and coughs, but still manages a nod for Mum to tell her he’s all right. A siren blares in the distance. Neighbours watch from behind their fences. One of them has called the police. The man doesn’t care. Head bowed, he leans against the car door in his own unreachable space.
I strain to hear Dad’s wheezing voice as he sits up. ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s what he’s saying. And as the siren grows louder and closer, there’s something else. He mutters, ‘Go – go.’
Slowly the man climbs into his car and drives away.
When the police arrive Dad refuses to talk to them. ‘It’s a private matter,’ is all he’ll say. At first Mum is full of questions – ‘Who was he? Why did he attack you?’ – but after Rory and I have left them alone to talk, she doesn’t pursue it any further. I watch as she tends to Dad’s cuts and scratches, empty of feeling as if he’s just another anonymous patient. But that night, on Mum’s suggestion, we bundle in blankets and pillows from other rooms, and all bed down together on the lounge room floor. Even Dad.
Rory is the first to drift off. Mum keeps an arm around him so they both feel safe. Sleep gradually creeps over her but she remains tucked up close to him. Dad and I are the sentinels. He is fully dressed, ready for anything that might come. I listen to the creaking house and wonder if it’s the wind or the man.
In a hush, I say, ‘You have to report this to the police, Dad. He’s crazy. He should be put away.’
‘No, he’s just hurting. I can understand how he feels.’
‘But, Dad –’
‘Go to sleep, Caitlin. It’s going to be all right. Go to sleep.’
I know Dad hasn’t killed anyone. He couldn’t possibly. But as I stare at his battered knuckles I’m no longer sure of anything.
‘Tell me what happened,’ I say. ‘You didn’t really hurt someone, did you?’
‘Yes, I did. I knocked him down, but that wasn’t enough for me. I was choking him, David. He’d stopped fighting. I think he’d accepted that he was going to die. And he was. He was.’
I can’t hear the baby crying anymore. The waitress with the smile is gone. I’m back in the darkness of Dad’s world. His words flow out in a long line without highs or lows. It’s the type of voice you’d take to the shops to buy bread and yet he’s talking about murder.
‘I heard the screams of the people around me but their faces were a blur. I had my whole weight on this man’s chest and no one could move me. I felt no sorrow. No pity. I wanted him dead.’
‘But you didn’t kill him!’ I say it loud enough for people to turn their heads. ‘Just tell me you didn’t do that.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘No, thank God, I didn’t kill the man. Only because of you. It was only you that stopped me, David.’
‘Me? What do you mean?’
‘A small boy ran out. He was much younger than you – I realise that now – he wasn’t anything like you. But in my crazy head I saw a memory in that boy, and he was you. He made me stop and look around and I suddenly realised what I was doing.’
‘Who was this guy, Dad? What did he do to you?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘Did it have anything to do with Mum?’
He looks up at me sharply.
‘What are you saying, David?’
‘Nothing. I’m trying to work it out, that’s all. You know, Mum leaves with me and Allie and then an hour later – two hours – whatever it was – you go to this guy and … Unless you didn’t go to him. Maybe you were out driving and just got into a fight. Road rage or something. Is that how it happened?’
Dad slides his wedding ring up over his finger and down again. I almost think he’s going to throw the ring away, but then he pushes it back in place and leaves it there.
‘David, I have never lied to you. Do you know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘So I’ll tell you the truth now – once only – and we’ll never talk about this again. Agreed?’
‘Fine by me.’
‘All you need to know is this: Everything that happened was my fault. Mine alone. If you are ever looking for someone to blame – here I am.’
He stares at me and when I nod and say ‘Okay’, it’s like signing a contract that I can never go back on. The subject is closed. I don’t fully understand it, but that’s all right, I don’t want to know any more than he’s prepared to tell. I trust him.
‘I’m glad you told me,’ I say, ‘about last night. But that’s all over now, Dad. The main
thing is you didn’t kill anyone. You got into a fight, that’s all. Nothing has changed. You can come home.’
‘Nothing has changed? I have lost my family and my self respect. I have become exactly like my father – the person I despised. David, look at me … everything has changed.’
He stands and takes out his wallet.
‘You ready to go?’
Before I can answer he tosses some money on the table.
Outside dark clouds track us as we walk through the streets. Dad pauses at a shop window. He asks me to help him find something that Allie would like for her birthday. I choose a ballerina music box. The lady in the shop makes sure it works. When she turns the key music plays and the ballerina dances. Dad watches it intently, as if it’s really Allie in the pink dress.
‘If it’s a present I can gift-wrap it for you,’ the lady says.
‘Thank you. That would be nice. It’s for my daughter. Her birthday. She’s twelve soon.’
‘Oh, they’re lovely at that age. It’s a priceless time.’
Dad has to look away. I stand in front of him but the lady knows what’s happening. She wraps the music box in silver paper and when he pays her she nods her head a fraction and smiles warmly. It’s all done without words, a whole conversation that leaves them knowing each other and understanding.
Back at the car we find a parking ticket under the wiper. Dad crunches it up and throws it in the gutter. We clamber into our seats but he doesn’t start up the engine.
‘We can still go fishing if you like,’ I say. I really don’t want to do it, but it’s a good excuse to stay with him a little longer.
‘No, we can’t.’ Dad puts his hand on the side of my head and ruffles my hair. It’s been a while since he did that. ‘You and I aren’t going any further. When you get on the bus, borrow a phone and ring home. Your mother will pick you up when you arrive.’
I cringe at the mention of the bus. I’m tired of fighting Dad, but I have to. I draw my knees up in front of me and lock my arms around them. That’s all I can do. I’ve got nothing left.
‘David.’ He looks out the window, not at me. ‘We’ve both come a long way today. Maybe we’ve even got a bit closer. I don’t want to force you. When it comes, walk onto the bus like a man and make me proud.’
‘But I’m not a man. I’m sixteen. I don’t want you to be proud of me if it means I don’t see you again.’
Now Dad looks at me. ‘You have to do it. You don’t have a choice.’
‘Yeah, and when the bus pulls out, are you going to drive into a tree? Is that the plan?’
‘I’m sorry I said that. I shouldn’t have. There is no plan. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I just need time to work things out.’
‘How much time?’
‘I don’t know. As long as it takes.’
We hear a bus approaching. Dad leans into the back seat to get my bag. He won’t give in. In a couple of minutes I’m going to be on that bus whether I like it or not. There’s only one more thing I can try.
‘I’ll do it,’ I tell him. ‘Walk on like you said. Make you proud. But will you do something for me?’
‘If I can. What is it?’
‘Promise you’ll come home.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ He drags my bag over into the front seat. ‘We better go.’
‘It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow – just when you’re ready.’
There’s no answer.
‘What am I going to tell Allie, Dad?’
‘I wish I knew …’ He shuts his eyes. ‘Tell her I love her. Always.’
The bus pulls in behind us. We get out of the car. I’m writing it all down in my head, for later. The smell of diesel hot in the street. Dad with his shorts and knobbly knees. His face looks softer than I’ve ever known it, as if all the tears have melted his toughness. His hands rest lightly on my shoulder. I’m going away from him and I feel like I’ve just met him. We listen to a motor whirr and the door snaps open. Dad pays my fare. He sits with me. ‘Just until the bus goes.’ Five minutes, that’s all we’ve got left.
‘You’ll remember to give Allie the present, won’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I should have bought something for you. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay, Dad. There’s nothing that I want.’
Strangely, but predictably, the words dry up after that. We’re sitting in this bus like two strangers, two people who are never going to see each other again. The driver turns over the motor and it clicks away, counting off the minutes, the seconds, before I have to say goodbye.
I stand up and push past Dad.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Won’t be a sec.’
Two seats up there’s a woman Mum’s age. Could be a teacher or an office worker the way she’s dressed. I ask for a favour and she dips into her bag and comes up with a pen.
Back with Dad, I take his hand and scribble a date on it.
‘That’s the opening night of my play. It starts at eight. The school hall. Maybe I’ll see you there.’ He nods. No expression on his face. Not a shred of hope. So I make my own hope. ‘Great. I’ll be looking out for you. You can sit next to me in the lighting box.’
The driver raises his voice for our benefit. ‘All set to go now, folks.’
Dad stands. He puts out his hand but I don’t want it. I hang on to him. Writing every breath down in my head. Capital letters. He hugs me back. Just for a moment. We don’t say goodbye. He turns and walks.
I’ve had this dream before. I wander through the house and every room is empty. I call out to Mum and Dad and Rory and there’s only silence. There is no furniture, no ornaments on the mantel, no souvenirs of trips or family photos. It’s a ghost house and even when I sit up, wide awake, the memory haunts me. I jump out of bed and open the blinds to a blue and pink sky and noisy birds that have never been so welcome. Soon a frypan sizzles and Rory gallops down the hall, always in such a hurry to arrive at nowhere. I wait and listen, knowing what I’ll hear next but needing it for reassurance. Mum’s voice. Dad’s voice.
The dream was wrong. They’re still together.
Dad was packed and ready to leave, until Mum relented. ‘I’m not giving any guarantees,’ she said. ‘Just one more chance, and I can’t say I’m very hopeful.’
That was six weeks ago. Hard weeks. Things ran hot and cold between Mum and Dad. They both tried so hard, but two weeks ago Mum packed a bag and tossed it into her car. ‘I have to get away for a while,’ she said. ‘I need to breathe.’
Dad kept telling me and Rory not to worry. ‘Your mum will come home,’ he said. ‘She’s just a bit sad right now.’
She rang us every night, and yesterday she came home. I was so glad to see her.
The bad dream fades rapidly as I wander out to the toilet in time to see Dad leaving with Rory for basketball. It’s their Saturday morning ritual and they love it. As I head back, Mum calls me into her room. She’s having a picnic of crumpets on her bed. There’s a plate for me, too, and a mug of hot chocolate.
‘I’ve kept a place for you.’ She taps the pillow beside her. ‘Where have you been? I’ve missed you.’
I thought this would never happen again. I hop onto the bed before she can change her mind.
‘Well, it’s the big day,’ she says. ‘Cyrano tonight. You must be so excited.’
‘I guess. But all I really care about is that you’ll be there. You and Rory and Dad – he is coming with you, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
She smiles as a thought crosses her mind.
‘Tell me.’
‘He asked if he could sit next to me – if I’d mind. We haven’t been out together for so long, he thought he should check.’
‘You said it was okay?’
‘I had a moment of weakness.’
Mum has scars that run deep. They’re still raw and she’s more like a cactus with Dad than a rose, ready to spike him if he gets too close. W
atching them together, there’s a moment in every day when I wonder if it will be their last. But when Mum lets her guard slip, as she does now, it feels like sunshine in the middle of winter.
‘So what’s been happening?’ She holds her mug close to her lips like it’s a musical instrument. ‘It seems so long since we’ve had a good talk.’
I tell her these things:
Megan is still dating Jimmy the rock singer. Only now he calls himself James and he’s working as an apprentice plumber. He’s given up singing. By popular demand.
Glenna is deep into poetry, as always. I can understand a lot of her poems now, especially when she writes about feelings. And the really big news about Glenna is that she’s made it crystal clear that she likes David, and he likes her just as much.
I’d told Mum before about David’s parents breaking up. Now she shakes her head sadly when I tell her his dad still hasn’t come home.
‘How is David coping?’
I can only guess at an answer. ‘I think he’s doing all right, Mum.’
Boys don’t tell you much. I do know that he hopes his dad will make it to the play tonight. It’s unlikely to happen if you ask me, but you can’t give up hoping.
‘And what about Lanny?’
I thought she’d never ask.
‘Well, you know how he keeps asking me to go out?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Next week it’s on – the big date.’
‘Really? Where’s he taking you?’
‘The monster truck show.’
She moves in closer to get a better look at me. Am I really her daughter?
‘I know, Mum. Don’t say it. I think it’s dumb, too. It’s just that he’s been trying to get me to go out for ages and he finally wore me down.’
‘But you hate monster trucks – don’t you?’
‘I was trying to be nice.’
‘You must really like him.’
‘I do. That’s the trouble.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I only like him, Mum. I mean, that’s not enough. I don’t love him or anything like that. It would be so much easier if I did. I’ve tried hard to make it happen but it just won’t.’
‘Oh, Caitlin. That’s silly. You can’t make yourself love someone. And why would you want to anyway?’
