He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
‘Lachlan?’
He winced. ‘You would tell me though, wouldn’t you, Jo?’
‘Why? So you can pull a hissy fit like you did last night?’
‘No,’ he denied, stretching the word out while he came up with his rationale. ‘I’m only thinking about the safe sex aspect,’ he said finally. ‘If you were sleeping with someone I think you should tell me, so, you know, we can take the appropriate measures.’
Jo rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, Lach, here’s one for free. I haven’t slept with Bannister and I don’t intend to sleep with him. You can put that in the bank. It’s never going to happen.’
Now he looked relieved. ‘He’s not really your type, is he?’ he said happily.
‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘If you ever ask me that again, or accuse me, or carry on like you did last night, it’s over, Lachlan. I’ve never spent a Christmas or a New Year’s Eve or a birthday with you, I never know when I’m going to see you from one week to the next. I don’t believe I’ve ever made a single demand of you. And I’ve never complained or given you any grief whatsoever.’
‘But you knew what you were getting yourself into,’ he reminded her.
‘Of course I did, but I didn’t realise it would all be on your terms and that I’d be expected to have no life whatsoever. I didn’t sign up for that.’
There was a pause. Finally Lachlan straightened up and said, ‘Understood.’
He obviously decided that was sufficient and took two deliberate steps to close the gap between them. He cupped her face with his hands, looking intently into her eyes. ‘So are we okay?’ he asked in a low voice.
He brought his lips close to hers, just brushing them lightly, teasing her. Jo wondered whether to make him suffer a bit longer, but then Bannister came to mind, his judgemental contempt . . . as Lachlan’s lips slid down her neck . . . She was not going to let anyone impose their morality on her . . . Jo was in total control . . . His tongue curled behind her ear . . . She was doing exactly what she wanted to do . . . She pressed her body into Lachlan’s and looped her arms around his neck. Their lips met and the kiss took on a life of its own, fuelled by the tension still hovering between them, with a little help from the high-octane boost Bannister had added to the fire. Human emotion was a funny thing, it occurred to Jo. Tipped one way and you were barely speaking, tip the other way and you suddenly wanted to tear each other’s clothes off.
‘So can I please come over tonight?’ Lachlan murmured, his tone more suggestive than plaintive. ‘I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.’
‘I might hold you to that.’
‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’
Jo returned to her desk with a spring in her step. At least she was going to sleep well tonight, eventually. Bannister could take a flying leap. She lived her life the way she wanted, she didn’t hurt anyone, and she refused to feel guilty about it.
She reread the last line she’d written – First do no harm . . .
We could do worse than follow that mantra. In fact we do worse every day. The people who think it’s fine to send young men and women to war on a lie are often the same ones who decry the erosion of morals in our society. The people who strap bombs to their chests and walk into a crowd and blow themselves and everyone in the vicinity out of existence are the same ones who condemn the infidels for their blatant immorality.
But immorality is not the scourge of our society, it is rather the hasty or biased judgements of those who think they know better. Morality is relative, it changes according to the era you were born in, the religion you were born into, the society where you live. You simply cannot please everyone.
If you’re not hurting anybody, what business is it of anyone else to tell you how to live your life? If someone says ‘f@#k’ in the forest and nobody is around to hear it, are all the trees going to shrivel up and die?
Two weeks later
Joe dragged his backpack out into the living area as Will walked in through the door of the flat.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
They hadn’t seen much of each other in the last couple of weeks. Joe had always left for work before Will was up in the morning, and Will was out most nights. Occasionally Joe heard him come in late, but he hadn’t brought friends home again, not surprisingly.
Will glanced at the backpack. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘I’m staying up at the house for about a week, there’s a summit on climate change I’m covering.’
‘Yeah, they’ve been talking about it on the news,’ he nodded. ‘Well, just so you know, I’ll be moved out by the time you get home.’
Joe sighed, perching on the edge of the table. ‘You don’t have to do that, Will.’
‘Yeah, I do,’ he said, walking around into the kitchen. ‘We’re different, Joe. I hang out with my friends most nights, you want peace and quiet. That’s cool, this is your place. You were good enough to let me use it all this time, I appreciate that. Now I’m going to get out of your hair.’
Will opened the fridge door and peered in. This was too polite. They should have thrashed it out, sworn at each other, showed some emotion. But Joe couldn’t exactly argue with him, it was right that he moved on and made his own way. He just wished his only brother didn’t seem like a distant relative.
‘Where will you go?’
‘A friend of a friend moved out of a share house in Stanmore. It’s a cool place, I can move in next week.’
Joe nodded. ‘So why don’t you come up and see Dad this weekend?’ he suggested.
Will glanced over his shoulder. ‘Nah, I don’t think so.’
‘Why, are you busy?’ Joe persisted.
‘Not especially,’ Will dismissed, closing the fridge door with his elbow as he juggled tomatoes, a jar of mayonnaise, a knob of salami and more, before dumping it all on the bench.
‘So you could come if you wanted to?’
Will glanced at him. ‘I guess. If I wanted to.’
‘What are you saying?’ said Joe, crossing to the kitchen bench as Will started to make a sandwich.
He sighed loudly. ‘Let’s just say I don’t think I bring the old man a whole lot of joy.’
‘Not when you never visit him,’ said Joe. ‘Mim said it’s been ages.’
‘I just upset him. It’s easier if I stay away.’
‘I think that’s what upsets him.’
‘You don’t know that, Joe. You don’t know what it’s like between me and Dad, it’s not like it is for you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re the golden child, Joe, you always have been. You followed in his footsteps, did everything right, even scored yourself a matching Walkley. I can’t get close to that.’
Joe was listening. ‘But you don’t want to, right?’
Will looked up. ‘Right.’
‘So get over it.’
‘What?’
‘You’re always harping on about this, and frankly, Will, it’s a little juvenile,’ said Joe. ‘You’re happy with the life choices you’ve made so far, I assume?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then why keep defending them? Just get on with it.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m doing,’ he said, slapping his sandwich onto a plate and walking around into the living area. He sat down on the lounge and began to eat.
Joe went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. ‘Wanna beer?’
‘Do you need to ask?’
He picked up two bottles and brought one over to Will, before lowering himself into an armchair.
‘So,’ Joe said, opening his, ‘why don’t you come up and see Dad this weekend?’
Will sighed, dropping his sandwich back onto the plate. ‘Jesus, Joe, give it a rest, will you?’
‘What? Like I’ve just been saying, you don’t have to explain yourself to Dad. I’m sure he only wants you to be happy, and if you show him you are, then he’ll be happy too.’ Joe paused. ‘He’s
not doing well. You really should go and see him, Will.’
‘It’s not that simple, Joe. You don’t understand.’
‘Then explain it to me.’
He put his plate on the coffee table and picked up his beer. ‘You and Dad are close, you always have been, and no, I’m not going to harp about the other stuff, but you don’t know what it was like for the rest of us.’
Joe frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘He was never there, Joe. Mum may as well have been a single parent, she brought us up on her own.’
‘No she didn’t, Will. He went away for months, but then he was back again for months.’
‘Not after you and Hil left,’ he said plainly. ‘Things changed.’
‘How?’
‘You probably saw him as much we did, when you met up overseas. He was hardly ever at home. He’d come back after three months away, and then after a week or two he’d start to get restless. He wasn’t interested in coming to the school, watching our sports, nothing. He’d start picking fights with Mum –’
‘No,’ said Joe. ‘That’s just what they were like. They always argued about politics and –’
‘No, Joe, this wasn’t politics. This was Dad picking on her about stupid stuff, the clutter around the house, what she cooked for dinner, for Chrissakes.’
Joe sat there, shaking his head. This was a child’s perspective. Will didn’t understand the spark between them, the love, the passion.
‘After a few weeks, Mum’d get fed up,’ Will went on. ‘She’d tell him to go. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And he stayed away longer and longer, often up to six months, once it was eight. He’d come back for a couple of weeks, out of some sense of obligation. I don’t know why he bothered.’
Joe was sure now that Will didn’t have a clue. ‘Maybe it looked that way to you, Will, but they were solid. Mum was just incredibly independent, she did fine without Dad. It’s the way they were. It worked for them.’
Will looked at him directly. ‘You can be an arrogant tosser, Joe,’ he said, but there was no aggression in his tone. ‘You weren’t even there, and yet you think you know how it was.’
‘I was there, some of the time,’ he defended, ‘a lot of the time. Whenever I came home things were fine. In fact, we always had a great time.’
‘That’s true, they killed the fatted calf and celebrated the return of the prodigal son.’
Joe rolled his eyes.
‘And not just for you, for Hil as well. Crinny was only down in Sydney, so she didn’t get quite the same reception, but still, when you all came home, Dad was in his element. He was happy, he was always nicer to Mum, and we’d have a ball. Then you’d all leave, and so would he soon after.’
Joe could only take what Will was saying with a grain of salt, not from arrogance on his part, but from a deep knowing. His parents were tight, he’d never known two people so close, so in sync. Will had been a difficult kid, easily distracted and disruptive at school, always getting into trouble. Joe recalled both his parents sharing their concerns with him at one time or another. Will obviously had a lot of resentment about his father not being around when he was growing up, and that was probably fair enough. But his interpretation of the bigger picture was way off kilter.
‘I just felt for Mum, you know,’ Will was saying. ‘She never got to fulfil her dreams, it was all about him. She was a frustrated journalist her whole life. She used to write angry letters to the paper all the time, you know.’
‘What, the local paper?’
‘And Sydney ones,’ he said. ‘The local mob invited her to write articles from time to time. I think she was really starting to get into it when –’ He stopped abruptly.
The loss of their mother hung in the space between them, and neither of them spoke for a while. And then it all made sense. Will was still so young when their mum died, he was a teenager. He had never even got to see his parents together through the eyes of an adult. So his grief for his mother had been channelled into anger towards his father. Her lost opportunities were his fault, not the fact that her life had been taken away from her, from all of them, prematurely, inexplicably, without even the chance to say goodbye.
‘You know, Will,’ said Joe eventually. ‘I’m sorry you don’t feel close to Dad, but you’re going to feel bad when he’s gone. And worse, you’ll feel guilty if you haven’t made an effort to see him, and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do to change that.’
Will was listening, his head bowed.
‘Think about it,’ said Joe. ‘But don’t take too long. There isn’t much time.’
Inaugural Australasian Summit on Climate Change
Jo was settling into her room at the hotel. It was worthwhile unpacking properly for three nights. You could live out of a suitcase for a single night, but beyond that it was untenable. At least as far as Jo was concerned. But halfway through she got bored, and flipped the lid of her suitcase closed. She sat back on the bed and sighed heavily.
She had driven up with Matt, a staff photographer, in a work car, in various degrees of awkwardness. He was a reliable guy and hardworking, but she didn’t know him all that well and there was a definite Gen X/Y schism between them. Used to be that you had to be old enough to be someone’s mother to feel a generation gap; not any more. It had been a relief to finally arrive at the hotel and merge in with everyone else for welcome drinks. Jo recognised the odd face – colleagues from other papers, government delegates, business identities – and she engaged in a few trite conversations while she scanned the crowd for Bannister. If he was here, he certainly wasn’t making himself known.
So she slipped away after one glass of wine and went to her room. She felt restless and agitated. There was that word again. She’d hardly clapped eyes on Bannister in the last two weeks. He had apparently travelled up to the mountains on the weekend, but Jo had had no contact with him. And it annoyed her. He was clearly not prepared to make even the slightest effort to get along, so how the hell were they supposed to work together?
She should just call him. She took her phone from her bag and flipped it open, but then she hesitated, tapping it against her lips. She just wanted to check that he was still coming, that everything was all right. That was reasonable, surely? He had a sick father, anything could have happened. She scrolled for his number and pressed call before she thought about it too much.
‘Joe Bannister’s phone,’ came a woman’s voice when it picked up.
Jo was taken aback momentarily. ‘Oh, um, sorry, I didn’t, um . . .’
‘You’re after Joe? I’ll just get him. Can I ask who’s calling?’
‘It’s a –’ Jo cleared the crackle from her throat, ‘– it’s Jo Liddell. From the Tribune . . . we, um, we work together.’
‘Sure, I’ll tell him, just a minute.’
Jo heard footsteps and voices, muffled and indistinct. She paced back and forth across the carpet at the end of the bed. That was probably one of his sisters who’d answered. He had three, she remembered that, three sisters in the Blue Mountains, and the actor brother. But of course it could have been anyone picking up his phone. It was certainly none of Jo’s business. At least she knew when something was none of her business.
‘Yep?’ His voice came suddenly and abruptly onto the line, catching her by surprise so she didn’t respond straightaway.
‘Jo, are you there?’
‘Yeah, sorry, um, it’s Jo . . . oh, you know that already.’
‘What is it?’ Now he sounded impatient.
‘Well, I just wanted to check that you’re still on for tomorrow?’
‘For the summit?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘I don’t know, lots of reasons. Something could have happened.’
‘I would have let you know if I wasn’t going to make it.’
‘Okay.’
Silence.
‘Was that all?’ he asked.
‘Yeah
, sure, sorry for bothering you.’
And then he hung up. Ouch. Jo had a feeling this could turn out to be the longest four days of her life.
Opening address by the Hon MP, Federal Minister for the Environment, Liv Khouri
Jo deliberately sat on the side of the hall closest to the bank of glass doors that opened out to the courtyard, and from where latecomers would be most likely to slip in unnoticed, or with the least amount of disruption. Bannister was missing in action, or else being very effective at hiding from her. But surely he wouldn’t be so petulant? And perhaps she shouldn’t be so paranoid. He did say he was coming, maybe he was not a punctual person generally, she had no idea. She also suddenly had no idea what everyone was laughing at. She had to focus, pay attention, there was every chance she was doing this on her own, after all.
Twenty minutes into the opening address, Bannister suddenly and unceremoniously dropped into the seat beside her, giving her a start. Jo turned to look at him. ‘You’re late,’ she whispered.
‘Did you miss me?’
She bristled, looking ahead again, but keeping her voice low. ‘I’m just saying, you’ve missed most of the opening. Puts you rather on the back foot.’
He didn’t respond so she turned to look at him again. He was smiling, shaking his head.
‘Have there been any new policy announcements? Surprise guests? Unexpected budget pledges? Anything?’
Jo sighed, turning her attention back to the speaker as though she was riveted. A moment later she felt him lean into her, his breath on her ear.
‘I’ll hazard a guess that Ms Khouri has offered a warm welcome,’ he said in a low voice, ‘appealed to everyone to work cooperatively, outlined what is hoped to be achieved, without being so specific that she can be challenged on it later, and then launched into global warming statistics that I can probably find on Google, but which are included in the press kit anyway.’
Jo turned her head, their faces were close. Bannister smiled a big, fake cheesy smile and then got up from his seat, keeping his head down. ‘See you around,’ he whispered, and then he was gone.
Crossing Paths Page 18
