by Tess Woods
‘That was one time!’ He argued. ‘One mistake! I was blind, I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing that night. And I swore black and blue to you that nothing happened with that chick. I thought we’d moved on from that.’
‘One time? Really?’ she replied accusingly. ‘So you’ve never touched a drug again since?’
He dropped his eyes to the ground.
‘I need it to stop, Scott. The late nights, the alcohol, the drugs. I need it all to stop. I need you to stop hanging around with the people who encourage you to live that life.’
‘So you want me to dump my friends?’ He let out a bitter laugh.
She crossed her arms. ‘What about me and my friends?’
He gave her a confused look.
‘Exactly. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually have any friends of my own. Protecting your image means I’ve had to keep everyone at a distance and the only people left in my life are my family. Which woman my age doesn’t have any friends?’
He nodded slowly. ‘I’m sorry. I know things have been shit for you.’
His acknowledgement made the tears sting her eyes. ‘I’m lonely, Scott. I’ve turned into this miserable cliché of a woman who sits at home alone every night freaking out about what her boyfriend’s up to. And then when you are home, we just end up arguing all the time. It’s all so pathetic and predictable.’
‘Okay, all right.’ He reached for her hand. ‘I hear you. I’ll cut back on the booze, on the coke, I promise. Look, we’re moving to Nashville soon. It will be a fresh start there, hey?’
‘I’m not finished yet. There’s more I want to tell you.’ She met his eyes. ‘I want to get married. I want children. I want a family.’
His face immediately hardened. ‘It always comes back to this, doesn’t it? Every time, it turns into a fight about marriage and babies.’
She put a protective hand over her stomach and thought back to their first four months together. When it was just the two of them. Before the Alive Records deal. Before Simon became Scott. Before the long weeks alone when he was away on tour, before the constant anxiety of wondering whether he was cheating on her, before she’d forgotten what it was like to arrive or leave a restaurant or cinema together. Before she’d had to live a life that was a lie, in which everyone at the schools she worked at thought she was a single recluse.
Those first four months, those were the days she treasured. And they were long, long gone.
He’d changed with the fame, of course he had. She had too, how could they not? But at his core she believed he was the same. Underneath it all, and despite their problems, he was still the man she loved. The only man she ever wanted.
He’d been unshakeable in his refusal to start a family with her. No kids. Ever. ‘Me and you, Princess. Just me and you. That’s all I want, all I need,’ he’d insisted.
‘But what about what I want? What I need?’ she’d argued time and time again.
‘Do you want a father for your kids who doesn’t want to be a father? My dad was never around. No kid deserves a deadbeat dad like the one I had. I don’t want to be that kind of dad and I’m not prepared to give up the tours, to give up on everything I’ve worked for.’
She’d clung on to the hope that in time he might change his mind, that some kind of broodiness would kick in and he’d soften his stance. Even when his drinking had become more regular, and the late nights out with ‘the boys’ outnumbered the nights he’d spend with her. Even when she’d started to worry he was becoming an addict, she’d still hung on to that fading wish that one day he’d want to settle down and leave his lifestyle behind. That they could finally have the family she so desperately craved.
Then she’d missed her period and today she’d vomited and now it was all coming to a head.
She took a big breath in and set her shoulders back. ‘I’m sorry but I have to have marriage and children. The older I get, the more I need them.’
‘But marriage is just a piece of paper.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Why is it so important to you?’
She wiped a tear away. ‘It just is. It’s what I’ve wanted my whole life. I’ve been your girlfriend for a decade. I’m ready to be a wife. I need a real family of my own, Scott. I need a marriage and children more than anything else.’
‘More than me?’ He blinked.
‘More than you.’
He let go of her hand. ‘For the millionth time, I can’t marry you when I don’t believe in marriage. I saw what it did to my parents and I never want that for myself. And I can’t agree to have children with you when I don’t want them. That’s just the way it is.’ His voice didn’t waver.
Deep down she’d believed she could win him over. That he loved her enough that the idea of losing her would be too much for him. She hadn’t bargained on him being as steadfast about what he wanted for his life as she was about hers.
He was silent for several long minutes before he said, ‘It’s six months in Nashville. Maybe I should go alone. We can take a break, have time to think. We could take another look at things when I get back.’
‘You don’t want me to come to Nashville with you?’ she croaked. ‘I’ve given in notice at work.’
‘Not if it’s going to be like this, no.’
She said shakily, ‘I don’t need a break to think, Scott. I’ll still want a family in six months.’
‘I’m not changing my mind either.’
They held each other’s stare.
‘I need space from this,’ he said finally. ‘I’m tired.’
‘Space from me, you mean? Ae you breaking up with me?’
He didn’t answer. He wiggled his jaw from side to side and cracked his knuckles.
‘I’ll move out.’ She couldn’t believe she was saying the words. That it had come to this.
He shook his head. ‘No, don’t move out. This is your home. Stay. Give it some time. When I come back from Nashville, if we don’t want to get back together, you can keep the house.’
‘Scott, you can’t just give me a house,’ she said through her tears. ‘This is your house. You’ve made me save every cent of my wages and I’ve barely touched my trust fund in all these years. I can’t take your house.’
‘But I want you to have it.’ He began to cry. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ she whispered.
‘If you loved me, you wouldn’t be giving me an ultimatum. You wouldn’t choose kids over me.’ He stood up and walked over to the bar, tucking a bottle of whiskey under his arm before he made for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
He answered without looking back. ‘Does it even matter?’
And then he left.
***
Two hours later, in a doctor’s office, Jamie had her pregnancy confirmed. She arrived home to find Scott passed out in bed and a pool of vomit on the ensuite floor.
She began to pack her things.
5 MARCH 2018
Jess kissed her husband’s forehead as he slept, and then made her way to the car park. She hated to leave him, especially when he was this unwell, but she had to get back to the hospital. Jamie had barely left CJ’s side since she’d been admitted. Jess hoped her arrival at the hospital would let Jamie could go home and get the sleep she needed so badly.
She sat in the car and rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.
His shaking that morning had been out of control. He’d stayed stooped in the chair, the drool dripping at a slow and steady rate from his always slightly open mouth. His delayed nods showed her that he understood everything she told him about CJ and the trauma of Thursday night, but his muffled responses made no sense, even to her. The effort of taking him to the toilet exhausted her as much as it seemed to exhaust him. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her arrest on top of everything else. That, at least, she could protect him from.
The first thing he’d said to her when she had turned up in the morning was ‘Pain.’ He’d alway
s been the most stoic man, never one to complain. If he said he was in pain, then there was no question that he was in a significant amount. She’d tried to convince the nurse on duty to give him an extra dose of his painkiller but her request was refused. They monitored his drugs here with unyielding precision.
Her heart ached for him. He suffered from debilitating pain and unbearable stiffness, he had great difficulty speaking and he was completely dependent on others for his most basic needs. This wasn’t the man she’d known. He’d always been strong, fit and capable. He’d been a talented orator who’d passionately advocated for those who served in Vietnam when he’d returned from the war and joined the National Council of the Vietnam Veterans Association. He’d always been the heartbeat of their family, adored equally by her and Jamie. It was too cruel that such a force of a man could be reduced to the shell he was now. Far too cruel.
When she opened her eyes again, the other cars in the car park were spinning. The whole world was spinning. She really should take herself off to the doctor and get these annoying headaches and dizzy spells checked out. Maybe she needed new glasses? The thought wafted out of her brain as easily as it had wafted in. She knew she wouldn’t actually make an appointment. There were more important things to worry about. In all likelihood, the doctor would probably just scramble around for a polite way to tell her that it was just another sign she was getting old.
She massaged her temples and the dizziness eased, which it always did after a minute or two. Then she turned the key in the ignition and drove in the direction of the hospital.
Her thoughts drifted back to a conversation that had taken place a week after she’d settled her darling husband into residential care the year before, once it had become impossible for him to stay home.
He’d taken her hand. ‘J-Jess, I can’t live like this. I thought I could, but I can’t. Don’t let me rot. Do s-something. Please. End it.’
‘What do you mean end it?’
‘End me.’
‘Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry you’re suffering. But “ending it” isn’t up to me, love.’
He’d given her a long look. ‘It can be.’ His face had the typical Parkinsonian ‘mask’ that took away his expression, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.
The spit had dried in her mouth. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Jess, this is n-no life. Let me die with dignity. P-please.’ The tremor in his fingers had reverberated through her.
‘What? No!’ She’d stared at him, shocked that he would even suggest it. ‘No. You can’t ask me that. It’s not fair.’
He’d coughed and coughed again. ‘P-please, Jess.’
‘Stop it!’ Her voice had cracked. ‘Don’t write yourself off. We’ll find something. We’ll fix this.’ She’d blinked away the tears.
He hadn’t answered.
‘We will fix this, okay?’ And then the idea had come to her. ‘The medical marijuana helps you more than the other medicines, doesn’t it?’
He’d sighed and nodded.
‘What if having more made you feel better? How about I get some plants and find a way to give you more without anyone knowing. Maybe I could put it in food.’ Her eyes were wide with promise.
But he’d shaken his head. ‘Nothing will m-make it okay, Jess. Help me to end it. P-please.’
She’d clenched her jaw. ‘I can’t. I can’t end your life for you. You can’t ask me that.’
‘But I am asking,’ he’d insisted. ‘I’m b-begging.’
‘How? How can you ask me to murder you? What would you have me do? Smother you in your sleep? Are you crazy?’
‘You’re a nurse. You know how. It’s easy.’
‘Easy?’ she’d cried. ‘Easy? You think it would be easy for me? I need to go. I’m so angry, I can’t even look at you right now.’
Every time he’d tried to bring it up after that, she’d shut him down. Instead she’d rung an old friend and bought five marijuana plants, finding the perfect place to plant them, deep in the fernery in the back garden where she’d felt confident that neither Jamie nor CJ would find them. She’d always had her own plants, right up until CJ was born when Jamie was living with them again and had insisted her parents didn’t smoke with a new baby in the house. As hard as it was for them to stop smoking, out of their love for Jamie, they had let the plants die.
But she still remembered how to look after them and these five new plants had flourished under her tender care. When the buds were ready, she’d harvested and dried them, and had then baked the first batch of laced muffins. For a short while, he’d been pacified. It had in fact made a difference to his symptoms, making him more comfortable for a few hours a day at least. But the novelty had worn off soon enough.
He still had no future, he’d said. He would only get worse, he’d insisted. This was no life for either of them, he’d nagged.
‘Help me. You know how.’ He’d asked her every single day, and every single day she’d said no.
And now here they were. Even without the extra marijuana to help his speech, even when most of his words were jumbled, his message was still crystal clear.
With great effort, earlier that afternoon, he’d lifted his head so that they were eye to eye. ‘End it, J-Jess.’
All the effort she’d gone to with the marijuana — and for what? She was now facing criminal charges, he was still begging her to murder him, and CJ’s and Jamie’s lives had been forever rocked by the existence of the plants. How had her good intentions descended into this?
It was no wonder she had a headache.
7 MARCH 2018
A hot shower. CJ had never appreciated just how good a hot shower was as much as she did standing under one now, with the temperature exactly right and the water pouring onto her sweaty sticky body that hadn’t been washed properly in a week.
She closed her eyes and relished every drop.
Just as good as the warm water was the fact that nobody was watching her. There had been someone watching all week — even when she slept, there was always someone there. Watching. But tonight would be her first night away from the hospital. Here at the psych clinic, they wouldn’t watch her sleep. And they let her shower.
She tilted her head back and the water dripped down her forehead, over her face and splosh onto her chest. She stayed like that, breathing slowly in through her nose, out through her mouth, silencing her thoughts.
When she opened her eyes again she stared at her arms. The left one had a plastic covering wrapped around the bandage all the way up to her elbow. She hadn’t seen the scar yet, she wasn’t ready. Whenever the nurses cleaned the wound and changed her bandage, she turned her head the other way. She remembered exactly how long it was, how deep it was — she didn’t need to see it. It would never go away. Ever. It would be a constant reminder to her of how close she’d come to losing everything.
It was hard to believe it had all happened less than a week ago.
She hadn’t wanted to die. Her new psych, Megan, had been very clear about that.
‘You didn’t try to take your life because you wanted to die,’ Megan had told her. ‘You just didn’t know how to keep living.’
She still didn’t know how to keep living. How was she going to start again after what had happened? How could she ever forget Finn? How could she make the video go away?
And the whole Scott Gunn thing — what was she supposed to do with that? Should she contact him? What if he didn’t want to know her? Told her to get lost? She’d idolised him from afar since she was a little girl. But he’d been in lots of trouble over the years — fights, arrests, drug busts. What if he was actually a dick?
One thing at a time.
Megan had told her the only thing to focus on for now was piecing herself back together.
After keeping everything inside for so long, CJ had surprised herself with how much she’d opened up to Megan this morning in her first session, which was supposed to just be an introductory chat but had lasted
nearly two hours.
Megan had taken her to a small room with a long couch and a noisy coffee machine. CJ had cried a lot. The plug that had been keeping her pain in for months had been pulled out the minute she sat down and it had all poured from her in an uncontrolled gush of words.
Megan hadn’t said much. She’d handed her tissues, nodded a lot, written down a few notes that CJ couldn’t see, and then at the end she’d explained how suicide wasn’t about wanting to die. She’d prescribed her antidepressant tablets, made her take one straight away, told her that she needed to take part in family therapy, then ordered her to go and have a shower.
CJ didn’t want to go to the family therapy session with her mum. She didn’t want to, more than anything else she could think of. But it was compulsory. And she couldn’t risk getting kicked out of this place because that would mean having to face the outside world again. She didn’t want to die but she didn’t want to start living again, not yet.
21 OCTOBER 1969
Flower Child,
I’m here to report back to you, ma’am, after my first Rest in Country — RIC. I behaved just like I promised. The other fellas were right, there’s no shortage of girls offering to spend the night with you but I went prepared. I bought myself a cheap plain ring from the market to wear as a wedding ring so I could have a beer or two in peace. A night with one of the boys earns the women here around the same as their families earn in a month. It’s sad when you think about it.
I did, however, have to get Mick, the young guy I bunk with, out of a sticky situation with the owner of the hotel after he found him in bed with his wife. Thousands of girls to choose from and the idiot lands himself a middle-aged woman whose husband chases him with a machete. The second night I found him face down in a monsoon drain having drunk more booze than his scrawny little body could handle. Never planned to be responsible for the kid but there you have it.
I’m back to work tomorrow, on patrol for the next three nights, which is a bit easier to take than day patrol in this heat. It stinks more than ever, the wet isn’t helping.
