There is nothing for it. Jonty checks that no one is around before pushing the front gate open. He has to know. He walks down the path and up the three steps onto the familiar brickwork of the porch. About to ring the door bell he hesitates, tries to caution himself. It’s not as though he has the right to question whoever is in there! It isn’t his place. What the hell is he doing here at all? None of this makes much sense.
The blinds are drawn but he sees there are gaps.
Jonty sneaks across the lawn and peers in through the front window. Someone is moving around inside. His heart begins to hammer in his chest. Has she come back? It has to be her! Sure they put her body in the ground but . . . where did she really go? What is death anyway?
He can hear music now. Some girl singer is wailing over a thumping rock beat. It’s her!
But then the figure inside turns around and Jonty’s excitement drops away. It’s only his cousin dancing around the lounge room by herself. She has her eyes closed and she’s waving her arms and hands around, singing along. Jonty wonders if she is drunk or stoned and feels vaguely guilty to be spying on her. But he keeps watching anyway.
He remembers the shock on her face when she realised it was him that night after the concert. Like he was a figure who’d walked straight out of some kind of horror flick.
She’s your grandmother too. Her voice had been so cold!
He imagines walking in on her now. She’d soon get that dopey look off her face! He wouldn’t have to do a thing. He’s just stand there in the door, cross his arms over his chest and wait for the embarrassment to kick in.
Hey, it’s me, remember your cousin Jonty?
Imagining how her face would change from shock to embarrassment to outrage and fury makes him want to howl with laughter. All he has to do is tap on the window.
This night starts something new for Jonty. He finds himself walking past that house most nights after work. Sometimes she’s there, but mostly not. When there are no lights on he sneaks around trying to see into other windows.
Once he climbs the side fence, goes right up the back and just stands for a while in the backyard. It is a bright clear night with a full moon. The grass has grown long and there is a bit of a breeze. He has the feeling that he is on a boat, looking out at a vast expanse of water, a sea of black choppy waves. There is this sensation of drifting in and out of a dream. He’s on the verge of understanding something really important and then . . . it just slips away under the waves.
Okay. Jonty knows this is all pathetic in the extreme. Creeping around, looking in windows. Hey, Jonty, get a life! But it’s become one of those things he can’t help now. It’s become a kind of addiction.
Mostly Alice just reads magazines or sits at the table sketching or writing. Sometimes she watches television. He stands there on the outside for maybe half an hour just watching, thinking and wondering about her. She shows no sign that she knows he’s there, but strangely, Jonty feels that she does know, and that on some weird unconscious level they are getting to know each other at last.
alice
Alice arrives at the Blazing Glory coffee lounge in Robertson’s Road and stops to look inside before pushing open the glass door. She’s heard about this place. Only last night Sylvie had said, Oh but you can’t wear that to the Blazing Glory, and Leyla had smiled in secret agreement as she flipped Alice’s hair about this way and that to see what suited her best. That made Alice feel anxious.
She hadn’t rung Tom Mullaney in the end. They’d run into each other in the street and he’d invited her for coffee the following Saturday. So maybe it was meant to be. That’s what her mother would say. Alice isn’t so sure. No such thing as fate in a small town.
‘We should talk,’ he’d said, all serious, as though he had a perfect right to order her around. ‘How about coffee?’
What makes you so sure we need to talk about anything? Alice had wanted to say. But it wasn’t just Eric and the twins’ advice that had stopped her; she couldn’t shake the niggling thought that he must know something she needs to know.
She opens the door and steps inside. The place is big and busy, like a bustling railway station, with Art Deco trimmings. Reggae music plays loudly and waitresses flit about like bees. They stack plates and serve food, and smile constantly as though just being there is some kind of joke. Alice bites her lip and looks around.
She is wearing a new outfit for the occasion. It’s a long mauve knitted top, that covers her ample arse, over tight purple leggings and new black shoes that show off her small feet and nice ankles.
‘You’ve got to look good,’ the twins had commanded sternly. ‘Get out of those dowdy skirts and old-lady blouses. Show him you’re cool! Let your hair out for Christ’s sake! Wear earrings. Lipstick. Keep the guy onside. Use him!’
‘How?’
‘Alice!’ they’d laughed at her. ‘Don’t be so naive.’ They took her shopping and fixed her hair, both of them unbelievably finicky and precise about what image she had to project, which was amusing seeing as neither of them cared two hoots about their own appearance.
Alice stands inside the doorway feeling ridiculous as she scans the room. She should have stuck to the boring skirts and blouses. At least she knows who she is when she’s wearing them. Everyone else here seems to be in black of one sort or another.
It’s eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning and heaps of the tables are full already. All these people eating breakfast and brunch, laughing and chattering – how come they have so much to talk about? When she’s out, she often can’t think of a single thing to say after the preliminaries. It would be a relief to step outside again into the fresh air and forget the whole exercise.
‘Alice?’ Tom is suddenly at her side. ‘I was over there,’ he points to a corner table near the window, ‘reading the paper. Didn’t see you come in. Sorry!’
‘That’s okay,’ she gulps and follows him back to the table.
‘This all right?’ He pulls out the chair for her and, still standing himself, waits for her to sit. He dumps the paper on a nearby empty table. ‘Want a coffee?’
‘Thanks. A latte.’ she mumbles, although she doesn’t much like coffee.
‘Anything else?’ he asks, his eyes darting toward the nearby cake-counter for a moment. ‘I’m definitely going to have something. A cake, maybe?’ He smiles at her encouragingly.
‘No thanks.’ She would actually love something sticky and sweet. Too nervous to eat breakfast, her belly is suddenly responding to all the different delicious food smells. On tables all around her people are stuffing themselves. How come none of them are fat?
Tom rushes off to the counter to order and she stares after him. Tall and good-looking in his jeans and red striped sweatshirt, all that badly cut curly hair and blue soulful eyes. His movements are quick and easy. The dark growth on his chin has made him look older and more sophisticated than she remembers, and that unnerves her even as it adds to his charm.
‘Thanks for coming, Alice.’ He is sitting opposite her now, elbows on the table, both hands playing with the sugar sachets. Every now and again his face jerks up and he stares straight into her eyes as though waiting for her to say something important, before glancing back down to the sugar sachets. His nervousness makes her feel her own more keenly. How come he’s so jumpy?
The waitress brings over a tray and puts their coffees down, followed by a plate with three big fresh almond croissants. Her favourite! Damn. She swallows hard, trying to think about something else. Is he going to eat all three of those things?
‘I got extra,’ Tom smiles, ‘in case you changed your mind.’
Alice colours with embarrassment, but he’s motioning to the passing waitress. ‘Could we have another plate please?’
Should she be insulted? Does he just assume she’ll eat them because she’s fat? Well then, I won’t! Not even one little bite!
‘Do you see him . . . Jonty . . . regularly?’ She jumps right in as a way to divert herself from loo
king at the food.
‘No.’ Tom shakes his head. ‘You?’
‘No.’ She picks up her drink but her hand is trembling so much that the hot coffee sloshes out both sides onto the saucer before she can raise it to her mouth, so she settles it back down and turns to the window trying to calm herself. Stop watching me! she wants to scream. He is studying her closely. She can feel it in every one of those sharp sneaky glances.
‘But . . . are you still friends with him?’ is her next question. She needs to know the score. Have some kind of picture of things so she can work out what to do.
‘I haven’t had anything to do with Jonty since it . . . happened.’ His mouth tightens into a grimace. ‘I . . . I wiped him three years ago.’
Wiped him? ‘What about the night of the concert?’ Alice counters suspiciously.
‘I didn’t know he was there until . . . I got attacked.’
‘But he came to your aid?’
‘Jonty was always . . .’ He stops in mid sentence as a sudden furious flush floods his face. ‘He was always good like that.’
‘You wiped him because you thought he was guilty?’ she asks in a whisper.
‘Yeah, I guess.’
Gutsy of you, Alice thinks. Big hearted. And the clichés run through her head: Judas, turncoat, fair-weather friend. But she holds herself back. After all, he was wiping her mother’s murderer! How can she despise him for that?
There is so much more she would like to find out. Does this guy sitting in front of her know a whole lot of things that she doesn’t? Has he got inside information that he didn’t tell the police? What was his friendship with her mother about? But asking those questions doesn’t seem possible now. Not here, sitting across the table from him with all these chattering people around. Not while he’s looking so awkward, gulping down coffee and stuffing croissants into his mouth.
‘So how do I find out if he really did it?’ she asks instead.
‘I’m not sure,’ Tom says slowly, looking straight into her eyes, ‘but I’ll help . . . if I can.’
‘He’s my cousin but . . . I don’t know him.’
‘Right.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Jonty?’ He seems surprised by the question.
‘Yes.’
Tom gulps down the rest of the coffee and stares into his empty glass. Then he motions to the waitress for another.
‘Jonno was . . . is . . . a fantastic guy,’ he says at last, weighing every word. ‘A fantastic guy.’
‘How could he be, if he—’ Alice’s voice falters.
‘But . . . completely fucked-up, you know,’ Tom cuts in sharply.
‘Fucked up?’ Alice is sharp. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Drugs mainly.’ Tom still isn’t looking at her. There is a slight tremor around one corner of his mouth that makes her wonder if he has a tic or if it’s just nerves. ‘And his old man, of course.’
‘Did you know his . . . old man?’
‘A bit.’
‘My mother hated Jed,’ Alice whispers.
Tom nods and shrugs. ‘No one likes Jed.’
They are quiet for a while. Alice can resist no longer. She breaks off a small piece of croissant. Tom immediately slides the whole thing onto the spare plate and pushes it towards her.
‘Please. It’s for you,’ he says, then smiles shyly. ‘I thought you might be just being polite.’
‘Thanks . . .’ The flaky sweet sensation in her mouth momentarily diverts her from the embarrassment of breaking her resolve not to eat in front of him.
‘Nice, eh?’ He smiles again. ‘These are my all-time favourite.’
‘Yeah,’ Alice agrees with a small reluctant smile, ‘me too.’
‘I’ll go you halves in the last one,’ he says breaking it in two and dumping the big half on her plate.
‘Thanks . . . If you two became friends again then he might give something away,’ Alice suddenly bursts out.
‘Yes,’ Tom nods, as though he’d considered it already.
‘How would you feel about doing that?’ she asks sharply, and then, when Tom shrugs and smiles wryly, she feels the anger rise in her. This is way more important than any friendship. I don’t care if you feel uncomfortable. My mother was murdered!
‘I want him caught,’ Alice snaps, ‘if he did it.’ And you can get that smile right off your face! she wants to yell. ‘We’re not talking about some minor misdemeanor here.’
Tom nods seriously and leans forward.
‘You know he calls my father every so often with some new theory?’ Tom’s voice fades as he begins an agitated tapping with his fingers on the table. ‘Like it’s eating away at him, too. Maybe he’s ready to be found out.’
‘New theory on what?’
‘On who killed your mother.’
His words smack her in the face like an open palm. She gulps, searching her mind frantically for something else to think about so she doesn’t keep hearing those words over and over again. On who killed your mother. Whenever the fact of it is spoken aloud there is this hard jarring clang deep down inside her. Just those few words! She breaks off more croissant and stuffs it in her mouth, then reaches out for the ragged big half that he’d just put on her plate.
‘I’m sorry, Alice.’
She looks up to see that he is distressed that his words have upset her. But that only makes it worse! Now she is torn. What the hell is she doing here? Putting herself through this for what? This guy, Tom, was never her friend. He’ll probably go back to her cousin and they’ll both laugh about her!
‘Why do you want to help?’ she asks gruffly, tearing off another big piece of croissant. ‘I mean, what is it to you?’
‘A million reasons.’
‘Such as?’ she snaps, and gulps down the tears with the last bit of croissant.
‘You want the full million do you?’ His smile becomes broader, and although she has to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand she does smile back.
‘Yeah, start at the top!’ she whispers. ‘At number one.’
‘For you, Alice.’
She stares back at him, not knowing what to say.
‘You’re lovely,’ he says quietly, not smiling any more. ‘Do you know that? I think you’re fantastic. That day in the courtroom I thought, You are really . . . special.’
She gives a nervous laugh as a rush of blood hits her face. He didn’t say that, did he? Did she hear right? No! Must have imagined it. She stops smiling, picks up her coffee and tries to concentrate on the taste. So bitter! How come people love this stuff? So strong. So bitter. So fucking horrible! She empties another sachet of sugar into it. Number four at least.
‘I could have a party,’ Alice suggests quickly, more out of desperation to change the topic than anything else. ‘Invite Jonty, and you might know some other people. Just to get the ball rolling,’ she hesitates.
‘But what about your grandmother?’ Tom smiles.
‘Not in her house!’ Alice laughs at the thought. ‘At my old place. You know, the Pitt Street house?’
‘Pitt Street!’ Tom sits back, startled. ‘You mean . . . But that place is rented out, isn’t it?’
Alice watches in astonishment as the colour drains from his face. His eyes are suddenly very dark and luminous against his pale skin. His mouth has become a thin straight line in his face, twitching a little in one corner.
‘It’s mine now.’ She raises her chin defiantly. ‘My mother left it too me. It’s been mine since I turned eighteen. The renters have left. I’ve already been in there and worked out what I’m going to do with the place. I like it there. Sometimes I go for a walk down there in the evening and just sit about a bit.’
‘You like it there?’ he whispers, shaking his head.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Why?
‘Why not?’ She is still outwardly defiant but his reaction has unnerved and humiliated her. ‘I’m going to get it renovated soon. When I’ve got money. It would be fun to hav
e people there and . . .’ How can she explain what that little house meant to both her and her mother?
‘No it wouldn’t!’ Tom says adamantly, shaking his head.
‘Why not?’
‘I couldn’t handle it, Alice!’
‘But why?’
‘A party there would be . . . ghoulish,’ he mumbles.
‘I love that house!’ she declares defensively.
‘I’m sure you do, but it’s where . . .’
‘What have you got to hide?’ she spits the words into his face before she can think. He gulps in shock and she watches appalled with herself as his expression closes over into one of cold discomfort, his mouth tight with tension.
‘I didn’t kill her, Alice, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘I’m not saying that!’
He sits back in his chair, fingers drumming the table, looking around as though trying to distance himself from where he is. To her dismay she sees he’s really upset and is looking for a fast exit.
The waitress sidles over and begins to take their used dishes.
‘Can I get you guys something else?’ she asks cheerily. They both shake their heads. The croissants are all gone and Alice has eaten more than half of them.
‘I need a smoke, actually.’ Tom frowns not looking at Alice ‘Want to go now?’
Once outside he turns to her without smiling. ‘I guess we both need to think about things then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bye, then.’
Alice hurries off down the street, wishing like crazy that she hadn’t listened to her stupid friends! Eric, Sylvie and Leyla. They meant well, but what do they know? It’s just a game to them. He’d told her nothing and she’d made a fool of herself. Jonty is your cousin! Lillian had exclaimed that time Alice had tried to explain how she didn’t want those two boys around all the time. He’s the nearest you’ll ever have to a brother. A brother! Alice always wanted a brother. From the time she was a little girl still living with her father it was, When am I going to get a brother, Dad?
Ask your mother, Mal used to grin.
Mum?
But what if we had another girl? Lillian used to tease.
Somebody's Crying Page 17
