by Liz Byrski
There was life beyond tobacco marketing, and he was glad that particular episode was over. Gayle would be pleased too – she’d always objected to it. Now that she’d got the damn fool dancing business out of her system they could concentrate on the future. It had briefly occurred to him that he should let her know about the Manly apartment, check that she liked the idea, but he had always made the big decisions, organised their life together, and she could hardly complain about this the way she had about the house. It was time to go back to Perth and get things going from that end.
Brian leaned back in his seat watching the bed of cloud beneath the aircraft wings and reflecting on his own ability to move forward, in this case at great speed. Three weeks ago he was in the pits. Now he owned a new home and had opened the door to a fresh start.
‘So what do you think?’ he asked, dropping his bag on the floor and smiling at the look of surprise on Gayle’s face. ‘Improvement, eh?’
‘It suits you,’ she said, but without the enthusiasm he felt was warranted. ‘Makes you look thinner – yes, an improvement.’
She’d only been home a few days but Brian didn’t think she looked any better for her weeks away. In fact, he thought she looked quite pale and strained. But then she was probably worried about having upset him and so she should be. He had a right to be angry, but equally he could now afford to be generous . . . magnanimous – that was the word. He would add it to his repertoire of negotiating options. It was only when he went upstairs to the bedroom that he sensed something was different. He wasn’t a particularly observant person at the best of times and couldn’t for the life of him make out what it was. The bedroom and bathroom were exceptionally tidy, and the vanity unit was pleasantly free of Gayle’s various creams and potions.
Brian washed his face and hands and studied his hair. It seemed that having one’s hair styled rather than just cut required rather more maintenance than he was used to. Was this the time to apply more gel or not? How did one tell? It looked okay, he thought. Gayle could probably advise him, and Angie would definitely know. He stepped back, satisfied with his appearance, and made his way downstairs, and that was when he became aware that the strangeness he’d detected in the bedroom seemed to have seeped into the other rooms. There was an uneasy atmosphere which was a little disturbing. Perhaps it was just Gayle’s long absence and the awkwardness she must be feeling about her shoddy behaviour.
‘Good to see you back,’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘All went well, did it?’
Gayle nodded. ‘Yes thanks, very well,’ she said. ‘And you? Good trip to Sydney?’
‘Excellent. Lots to tell you, got some interesting new ideas. I fancy a drink. Usual for you?’
They sat, for some reason, at the kitchen table. Later when Brian reflected on it he didn’t know why they hadn’t sat somewhere comfortable. He wondered if she’d done it deliberately. The kitchen was her domain, the only area she never complained about; perhaps she’d wanted to drop her bombshell in her own territory. It was a beautiful evening, clear and mild, and the view out through the open glass doors, over the terrace and across the river to the city, was spectacular at dusk.
‘Well – big news,’ he began. ‘There’s going to be a few changes. I’ve left the company.’
‘I know,’ Gayle said. ‘The office called. They need you to return the corporate credit card, and sort out payment for anything charged since they . . . since you left.’
‘Damn,’ he said, suddenly and unnervingly wrong footed, ‘I forgot about that. I’ll sort it out tomorrow. That bastard Mal put me in an impossible situation. Moral dilemma, really, something I couldn’t go along with. I’ll tell you about that later.’ He took a swig of his drink. ‘I’ve no doubt bloody Rod Campbell in Chicago was behind it.’
‘I thought it might be something like that,’ Gayle said. ‘I thought that’s what you’d say.’
She sounded a bit weird and Brian felt as though he’d lost ground. It was a damn nuisance she’d got that call, but still, no turning back.
‘One can only go along so far with things that one doesn’t think are right,’ he said.
She nodded without looking at him. ‘I’m sorry, it must have been hard for you.’
Brian swallowed the remains of his drink and got up to pour another. ‘It hasn’t been easy but, you know, Gayle, I’m starting to feel it’s all for the best. All those years I kept my head down, worked hard, gave it all I’d got, and in the end they don’t appreciate you. So, I thought, I’m sixty next month, this is the time for a new start, time to enjoy the good life. Refill?’
Gayle shook her head. ‘Brian, I –’
He held up his hand to stop her. ‘Hang on, haven’t finished. It’s a gift, really, you know. It takes a bit of a crisis to make you sit up and take notice, take stock, and that’s what I’ve done.’ He reached for his briefcase. ‘First of all, I thought we’d make a move. I’ve bought a place in Manly –’
‘Brian, look,’ she cut in, ‘before you go any further there is something I need to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ he said. ‘This is big stuff, Gayle.’
‘So is mine,’ she said, and there was an unfamiliar sharp edge to her voice.
Magnanimous, he reminded himself. ‘Okay, go ahead, but I can promise you you’re going to like this.’ And he leaned back and folded his arms.
‘You’re probably not going to like what I’m going to say. The first thing is that it’s over, Brian. We’re finished, our marriage is over. I’m leaving you and I want a divorce –’
‘Ah, bloody hell!’ he said, throwing his hands in the air. ‘What is this? Some claptrap from those dancing women? Divorce, indeed! Don’t play silly buggers with me, Gayle.’
‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘It’s over, I’m leaving – in fact, I’ve already left. I’ve moved my things out of the house. I’ve just come back to talk to you.’
‘But you’ve only been back a few days.’
‘There’s more,’ she said. ‘I saw Josh in Broome. I told him everything. I’ve also told Angie. They both know that you aren’t Angie’s father and they know about the deal we made, about my affair, everything.’
Brian felt the colour drain from his face. ‘You what –’ he began, but again she stopped him.
‘I haven’t finished yet. I went to see Josh to put right what I did all those years ago. I should never have allowed you to throw him out. I should have left with him. That was what I wanted to do. I stayed for Angie, and then because I was too scared to do anything else. But that’s all changed now, and Josh and Angie are adults and have a right to know the truth.’
Rage consumed him. He could feel the pressure pounding in his temples, his heart racing. He clenched his hands into fists and smashed them down on the table, making her flinch.
‘You had no right, Gayle, no fucking right. What the hell do you think you’re doing? That dancing’s sent you right off your stupid bloody head . . . I don’t believe this . . .’
‘I still haven’t finished.’
‘Oh really?’ he yelled. ‘What? I suppose you told fucking Mal as well, did you, and put a notice in the newspaper?’
‘I’ve found a lawyer and he’ll be writing to you. I think it’s best if we let the lawyers work out some sort of settlement.’
‘Lawyers?’ he roared. ‘Settlement? You have no idea what you’re talking about, woman. There won’t be any divorce, or any settlement. We’re selling the house, like you always wanted, and moving to Manly. No divorce, you hear me? No fucking divorce. But Christ knows what damage you’ve done, Gayle. We had a deal, you promised me. I kept my side of the bargain. Jeez, what about Angie . . . ?’
‘You didn’t keep to the bargain, Brian –’
‘I bloody well did. It wasn’t me who shot my mouth off.’
‘Part of the bargain was that you would lay off me –’
‘I did,’ he said, knocking his chair backwards onto the floor as he stood up. ‘I never laid a fing
er on you since, so don’t start saying I did . . ..’
The extraordinary thing, he thought later, was that she kept going, kept arguing with him. She didn’t back down, didn’t suddenly go quiet like she always did. She kept going, trying to shoot him down every time.
‘No, you didn’t bash me again, but it was more than that, Brian. You promised the bullying would stop but it didn’t. In fact, absolutely nothing changed. You still bullied me whenever I didn’t agree with you. You ignored what I said, overruled me, intimidated me about everything.’ She paused and seemed to be swallowing hard. ‘You even bullied me into sex when I didn’t want –’
‘You never wanted it,’ he spat. ‘Not for years.’
‘No,’ she said, standing up. ‘I didn’t. You know why? I couldn’t bear the thought of it with someone who just made use of me, who never listened to me, who never had any respect for me or interest in who I was or what I cared about.’
Brian felt as though his head were going to burst, and it was hard for him to breathe. He kicked another chair away from the table and sat down abruptly, taking deep breaths.
‘What about Angie?’ he said. ‘My girl . . . I treated her like my daughter. She is my daughter. I love that girl.’
‘I know you do,’ Gayle said, softening, ‘and she loves you. It’s me she’s angry with. She’s refused to speak to me since I told her. As far as Angie’s concerned, you’re the victim and I’m the villain. She wants to see you as soon as possible.’ She got up and took her handbag off the workbench.
‘Where the hell are you –’ he began.
‘I think it’s best you have time to think about this and calm down,’ she said. ‘But there’s probably not much more that we can say to each other that’s productive. You never listened to me, anyway, so it’s best to let the lawyers sort it out.’
‘But you can’t . . . I’m your husband, this is your home . . .’
‘I’ve told you, Brian. I’ve left,’ Gayle said. ‘I don’t live here anymore.’
TWENTY-THREE
Frank had been flat out since he got back from Geraldton: interrogating prisoners, interviewing witnesses, dealing with the media, meeting with the police prosecutor, and generally doing everything possible to build a watertight case. Thankful that he had something so demanding to focus on, he’d worked long hours and fallen into bed each night mentally and physically exhausted. Now, in the passenger seat of a squad car heading back to the station after interviewing another possible witness, he was in an emotional and psychological no-go zone in which he operated mechanically, feeling nothing but detachment. He was numbed by what had happened with Marissa, by his own stupidity and the role it had played in that awful night. Whatever had overwhelmed her, he knew that his message had been the catalyst, and if he needed any confirmation of that, it was in Marissa’s reaction to him at the hospital.
Accident and Emergency was busy with the usual Friday night parade of injured drunks, road accidents and suspected heart attacks. Frank was used to hospitals, particularly emergency wards, used to facing the injured victims and perpetrators of crimes, their faces a mass of wounds and stitching, or heavily bandaged, tubes and masks connecting them to drips and oxygen. He was used to the smell of fear, to weary, stricken relatives and overworked medical staff, and he had learned to manage it all by focusing on the situation and what needed to be done, leaving his emotions at the door. But that night it was different. Objectivity and detachment had evaporated the moment he opened the door of Marissa’s room – he’d been a seething mass of raw nerves and chaotic feelings.
‘She’s in here, Inspector,’ the nurse said, opening the curtains. ‘Not too long now, please.’
Marissa, propped up on pillows, eyes closed, was attached to a drip and her wounded wrist was heavily bandaged.
‘Marissa,’ Frank said softly. ‘Marissa, how’re you doing?’
Her eyes shot open and he could see that it took her a few seconds to focus. ‘Hi,’ he tried again, moving to take her hand. ‘So you are awake.’
Her eyes were black with fear – or was it anger? ‘Go away, Frank,’ she said, turning her head away from him. ‘I don’t want to see you. Please go away.’
He shifted his weight and drew back his hand. ‘I just wanted to see if you were okay . . . I . . .’
‘Well, you’ve seen me, and I’m okay. So now you can go.’
Frank hesitated. Nothing in his life until now had felt like this, the yearning to make it right, the agony of understanding some of what had happened, along with the pain that neither logic nor understanding could dispel.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sure, okay. I understand. If that’s what you want. I’ll . . . I’ll come back tomorrow –’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t come back.’ She paused and turned to face him again. ‘You probably saved my life . . .’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I ought to be grateful but gratitude isn’t what I feel.’
‘I don’t want gratitude –’ he began.
‘Fine. So just go,’ she’d said. ‘Just go, Frank, and don’t come back. Please don’t come back.’
Frank brought his mind back to the present as the uniformed constable slowed the car at the traffic lights, and slipped into the left hand lane to wait for the green arrow.
‘We were down here last night,’ he commented as the lights changed. ‘Great big house along here on the left.’
Frank straightened up and glanced at where the officer was pointing. ‘That place?’ he asked. ‘Slow down, constable.’ Letting down the window he peered in through the open gates of the property. It was Gayle’s place. He’d driven in and around that circular rose bed the morning he’d given her a lift to the airport. ‘So what was the trouble?’
‘Odd, really,’ the constable said. ‘Got a call from the lady, a Mrs . . . er . . .’
‘Peterson?’ Frank supplied.
‘Peterson, that’s it. Know them do you, sir?’
‘Just get on with it.’
‘Yes, sir. Well, we got this call saying that she and her husband had had a bit of an argument. She was outside the house and he was inside smashing the place up. She was afraid he might do himself some damage. We were the nearest car so we came in and had a chat with him.’
‘And?’
‘It seems that she’d told him she was leaving him and he wasn’t real keen on the idea, so he was laying into the furniture. Anyway, we calmed him down. He’s a big bloke and he’d done quite a bit of damage – hurled a few chairs through the windows, thrown a lot of stuff in the swimming pool, cut his foot on some broken glass, but nothing serious. He was all right when we left.’
‘And Mrs Peterson?’
‘She went off to wherever she was staying.’
‘Which was?’
Constable Ng screwed up his face. ‘Como, I think. She did give us the address.’
Frank took his organiser from his inside pocket and keyed in Sonya’s name. ‘Twenty-three Antrim Street?’
‘That’s right, Antrim Street.’
‘Okay, constable. Just take the next left, will you, and run me over there now.’
‘Ah, you heard about last night,’ Sonya said. ‘Gayle’s just gone down to Fremantle to see Marissa. She’s fine, though – Gayle, I mean. I think she feels the worst is over now she’s told Brian. From this point on it’s just a matter of hanging in there and getting the legal stuff sorted out as soon as possible.’
‘Must have been pretty hard for her, though,’ Frank said. ‘From my brief encounter with Brian Peterson he’s not a bloke I’d want to take on too often. If she’d let me know I could have hung around in the background in case it got nasty.’
Sonya smiled. ‘Aren’t you a knight in shining armour? Oh, get off with you, I’m only taking the piss. Why don’t you come in? Gayle’ll be back soon. Have a glass of wine. I’m making risotto, there’ll be plenty for three. Oh . . .’ she had just looked past him to the car. ‘What about the young bloke?�
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Frank hesitated, then said, ‘Well, if you’re sure, I can send him back to the station.’
‘What’ll you have?’ Sonya asked, opening a packet of rice when he came back.
‘A beer, please,’ Frank said, looking around the kitchen. ‘Nice place.’
‘In the fridge, help yourself,’ she said, reaching up to a high cupboard and lifting out a salad bowl. ‘Yes, it’s nice. I was thinking of moving somewhere a bit fancier but now I’m not. Getting away for a while helps sort out the priorities. Anyway, you’re probably dying to know how Marissa is.’
Frank walked to the other side of the workbench and pulled out a stool. ‘Obviously. Subtlety is not my thing, and I clearly don’t know when to leave well alone.’ He twisted the top off a VB stubby.
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Sonya said, sitting down opposite him and reaching for her own glass. ‘Quite subtle, I think, and sensitive. Maybe too sensitive for your own good at the moment.’
Frank shrugged and looked away. ‘So how is she?’
‘Fragile, I’d say. Still fragile, but improving. Physically she’s fine, her wrist is healing well, but emotionally it’s going to take a while. Do you think it was a real attempt to kill herself? If so, she wasn’t very good at it.’
Frank took a swig of his beer. ‘I think it’s hard to tell. She was in a bad way and she had a panic attack. Sometimes people freeze. They become totally detached and cut off from everything around them. Others harm themselves and it’s not really clear whether it’s suicidal in intent or something to do with the belief – conscious or otherwise – that physical pain will kill the emotional pain. My feeling is that it was the latter, and I don’t think she’d done it before – but then, what would I know?’
‘Quite a lot, it would seem,’ Sonya said. ‘Anyway, I stayed there with her for a couple of nights and despite her protests I think she was glad of it. I’ve been down to see her every day since then and so has Gayle, and we’ll keep doing that for a while. That house means a lot to her – it’s almost like a cocoon and she feels safe there. We’ve talked to her about counselling but she’s resisting that pretty strongly at the moment.’
