I didn’t even mean to. My finger was squeezing back before I understood what I was doing. Nothing happened anyway. Something in the gun clicked, but there was no explosion, no flare or recoil. And he was laughing softly, leaning back against the tree, his own gun still pointed at me.
‘There’s a safety on that thing somewhere,’ he said. ‘Or maybe the magazine is empty, with all that shooting. It was pretty crazy up here for a while.’ His head lolled back and he called out to the night. ‘May! Get down here or I’ll shoot George!’
And we waited, both of us, staring up into the hills. The wind pulled at the tarpaulins and the trees danced and the dogs barked as if they would never stop, but no one answered. My fingers were running vainly over the gun for a catch or a switch, but it was all steel and sharp edges, and I knew nothing about weapons.
‘Poor George,’ and the mockery was as elusive as his voice. ‘Always chasing after other men’s wives. At least Emily’s husband is dead. Nice monument, though.’ He proffered the bottle. ‘You want some of this?’
‘Don’t come near me.’
‘Not a drinker?’ He sounded surprised. ‘I heard different . . .’
‘May won’t come down,’ I said.
‘She will. You know her, George. It’s hardly the first time she’s run away. From Charlie, from you, from me. But she always comes back, sooner or later.’
‘Why come after her, then? Go home and wait for her there.’
And his tone was disapproving. ‘I think we all know it’s a bit late for that.’
There seemed nothing else to say, nothing else to do. All the evasion and fleeing and pursuit, it had come to this. And I didn’t know what was supposed to happen now, or who was supposed to decide. My thoughts pursued each other through the darkness, going nowhere. Minutes went by. No one spoke, there was only the wind in my ears. Clarke drank and I sat and the mountains stared down upon us and far above, unconcerned, the moon continued its infinite orbit of the earth.
Until I couldn’t bear the waiting.
‘Why her?’ I said.
He had been watching the sky, it seemed, but now the shape of his head turned my way.
‘What?’
‘Why May? Why did you track her down after the Inquiry? Of all people.’
‘She needed a job.’
‘She burnt down your property, for Christ’s sake. Why her?’
His head sagged again and he straightened it. ‘You know, of all those people who lit that fire, she was the only one who really meant it. The others were shit scared when they got caught. Not her. She was just angry.’
‘She hated you.’
He shook his head. ‘May didn’t know who she hated. She was a black hole, George. People could fill her up with anything they liked. Jeremy did it. Marvin did it. Maybe even you did it. But it was never what she wanted . . .’
I didn’t answer. I wished I’d never asked the question. There was nothing I wanted to hear from him. Not about May.
‘You people wasted her,’ he added. ‘You pissed her away on those clubs and casinos like she was something cheap off the street.’
I let the scorn into my voice. ‘But you were different?’
‘I gave her a way out. I got her away from that goddamn Inquiry, I got her off alcohol. It’s more than any of you ever did.’
‘And what did she have to do for you?’
‘Nothing. Nothing she didn’t want to do.’
‘That’s not the way she tells it.’
He only waved the bottle, dismissive.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said. ‘Maybe we wasted her. But you didn’t get it right either. The way we were back then, the way she was . . . it’s a part of her.’
‘That was just the drinking. She could never control it.’
‘Like you can?’
‘Yes, like I can.’
‘She didn’t want to control it. None of us did. That’s why we drank. That was the whole point of those days. If you don’t understand that, you don’t understand anything about her.’
He was amused. ‘You think you do? There’s more to her than just a fucking drinking partner, George. Even May worked that much out.’
‘Then why is she back with me? You know what we’ve been doing the last few nights? You know how many bottles of wine we’ve drunk, me and her?’
The gun lifted again, and his voice went low. ‘Be careful what you say here, George.’
And the threat was there . . . but this wasn’t the substation, and I wasn’t Charlie. He was alone now, just as I was, and we were in a forgotten corner of the world, beyond the reach of any power grid or electrical line. Out of anyone’s territory, his or mine.
‘This isn’t just about May,’ I said.
‘It isn’t?’
‘What about Charlie?’
‘What about him?’
‘Why did do you what you did to him?’
‘Ask May. She brought me here.’
‘What does May have to do with Charlie?’
The arm holding the gun slipped down again, as if it was too heavy to hold. He drank another mouthful. ‘We didn’t mean to kill him, you know. We only wanted a few answers. If the poor fool had just told us . . . but he just stood there with that beaten up-face of his and snot running everywhere. And then he went and pissed himself. What could we do then? He’s the one, George. He’s the one to blame for this whole sorry mess.’
‘What answers? What wouldn’t he tell you?’
‘Where May was hiding, of course.’
The wind swirled up and the world seemed to go darker, but it was only in my mind, a dawning of comprehension that was a darkness, not a light.
‘May?’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t tell you where May was? Is that what you mean?’
He seemed to shrug. ‘What else? Why do you think I ended up in that detox ward? It got bad, George. I’d been looking for her for weeks. When I woke up I didn’t even know where I was. But there was Charlie. It was like a sign. I should’ve known she’d run back to her old friends. I begged him to tell me where she was, George. I begged him. That’s all I wanted.’
‘But Charlie didn’t know . . .’
‘He knew. I saw his face as soon as I mentioned her name.’
And finally I understood. That’s what had happened while Marvin was sleeping, while it was just Clarke and Charlie in that room. It wasn’t something about Clarke and his crimes that had sent Charlie off into the hills, looking for me, it was something about May . . .
I felt weak. ‘Charlie didn’t know where May was. He hadn’t seen her in years.’
‘Oh, he knew. He wouldn’t tell me a thing, not then, but as soon as he left, Marvin came in and told me about Highwood . . . and now look where May turns up. Charlie knew all right.’
‘No. No. She wasn’t here. That wasn’t what he meant.’
I didn’t want this to be possible. Charlie had wanted to fix everything up for May and me, Marvin had said, to apologise. And in that ward he’d heard that May was still in Brisbane, alone and in hiding, with Clarke searching for her, a man Charlie had never liked, a man desperate and capable of violence . . . that’s when he’d come looking for me. For her sake.
Clarke was gazing at the sky, his voice like mourning. ‘I only wanted to talk to him. So I got Jeffreys to pick me up and we went round to that little ward in Bardon. Charlie wasn’t there, but they were glad to see a policeman, they wanted to report that a car was missing. They gave us the description of it. After that, well . . . Highwood is only a little town. I remembered it from years ago. It wasn’t hard to find him.’
‘He was coming to see me. May wasn’t up here.’
Clarke wasn’t listening. ‘But when we got up here all we found was Charlie, all alone in the street. There was no May. So we took him off for a talk. Somewhere private. Just for a few quiet words, and maybe a drink . . .’
‘He didn’t know . . .’ and it was a refrain I seemed to be repeating to no one but the night and th
e wind and the dogs. ‘There was nothing he could tell you. You did it all for nothing.’
‘It was an accident. And we didn’t know about you then. Charlie never mentioned your name. We only found out the next day that you even lived up here. I could barely remember who you were. He should have said something. We might’ve let him go if he’d said something. We might have gone straight to your place.’
And more weight piled on my soul. Charlie had been coming because he wanted to help May, maybe even to help me, to heal all the old wounds. And then he’d died for not saying something as simple as my name. Had he known that? Had he realised what he was doing, and chosen the pain, the vodka bottle at his lips?
I looked up at the stars, as numerous as the mistakes we’d all made.
I said, ‘So then you had to find Marvin.’
He swigged from the bottle, almost conversational. ‘That was thanks to you, George. We couldn’t find him anywhere. But then Jeffreys heard you were in town, you were looking for Marvin too. That was interesting. So he started tailing you, and the very next morning you drive out to Redcliffe.’
Mistake upon mistake.
I said, ‘And Marvin wouldn’t tell you where May was either.’
‘No.’
‘He didn’t know. Neither of them knew.’
He didn’t speak for a long time, his head tilted, questioning.
‘Are you serious?’ he said.
I nodded. ‘You had everything wrong.’
‘I’ll be damned.’
We fell silent. It was like talking with a spirit. Fading in, fading off, with news of an afterlife where nothing was as it was supposed to be. The sound of the dogs had dwindled to mutters and growls, the kerosene shrunk to a single thread of fire. Even the wind had rolled away.
Clarke stirred. ‘Still, Marvin knew other things, George. Too much. We couldn’t just leave him. And besides, someone had to take the blame for Charlie.’
I didn’t need to ask about the rest. How they’d got in, the suicide note. I remembered what Marvin was like, the terror he was in. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done, once they had him. Anything for a few minutes more . . .
I said, ‘Why on the beach?’
‘That was his idea. He wanted it to be there. So we went down with him and let him have a last bit of scotch, and then we gave him the rifle. There was no harm in it. We took his glasses, he was always blind without them . . . and there was only the one bullet.’
I looked down at the dark shape of the gun in my hand.
‘And that left me.’
‘That left you. I still didn’t think you had anything to do with it. Who was this George person, anyway? I didn’t know, you see, that you and May ever had anything going. It was Marvin who told me. He said you two were in love once. He said if anyone would know where May was, it’d be George. He said that maybe you’d even mentioned something about seeing her. He was spilling his guts about you, George. He was pointing the finger. If we’d left him alone and gone straight off to blow your head away, he couldn’t have been happier. No, don’t feel too bad about Marvin.’
But I thought of Marvin’s blind eyes, trapped and squinting on the beach, looking for any way out, his last moments ticking away . . . and my hand was still on the trigger of the gun. I would have squeezed and squeezed and squeezed if I thought it would have made any difference.
Clarke’s voice went on, running endlessly. ‘So I finally saw where I’d been going wrong. May wasn’t with Charlie or with Marvin, she was with you all along. And then when we found out you’d skipped from your motel room, I smelt May all over the place. I was in your motel room, George, and I could smell her. She’d been there. So back to Highwood we came. We never should have left. You had May up here all the time.’
‘No. I only met her in Brisbane. And it wasn’t until after I’d seen Marvin. He was lying—I didn’t know where she was either.’
He laughed, shook his head so much he slid sideways, had to force himself upright. ‘Isn’t that fucking typical? Fucking Marvin.’
But I felt beaten. Cheated by everything I’d believed.
‘So all this . . . all this was just to find May?’
He was tilting the bottle higher now, to drink. It was getting empty. He swayed, straightened himself again, and I could tell he was peering at me, intent.
‘It was a terrible thing she did to me. She just disappeared, George. Why do you think I ended up in that ward?’
And I’d had enough of all this.
‘You didn’t end up in that ward because May left you. You were there because you’re sick.’
‘I’m not sick. It was just that one night it got to me. I can handle the drinking, don’t worry about that.’
‘No, you can’t. No one can.’
‘Maybe you couldn’t . . . ’
‘And I know it’s falling apart for you. I know there’s gonna be another inquiry. A serious one this time, just for you. That’s why you can’t take it any more.’
‘Don’t worry, I can handle that too.’
‘All over again? After the last time? May didn’t think so. That’s why she left.’
He was tapping at the bottle glumly. ‘May knows me . . . she knows I’ll survive.’
‘She doesn’t. She said you were just like Charlie and Marvin were, years ago. She said you were worse.’
‘Bullshit. I’m nothing like any of you. I mean, look at you, George . . .’
‘I gave up drinking at least. That’s more than you could do.’
‘My drinking isn’t a problem!’
‘You can’t even admit it!’
He reared up, threw the bottle away.
‘May! Goddamn it! Come back!’
As if in answer the wind soared in one vast tumbling rush. The tarpaulins cracked like sails and the kerosene flared one last time, a tattered flame, then snuffed out. The darkness seemed total, no shadows, no moon, no stars. Then the wind receded. The night fell back into place, and I realised something else. The dogs had gone silent.
Someone said, ‘Are you two finished fighting over her?’
Where the flame had been a figure now stood, outlined against a patch of sky, a rifle at its shoulder, aimed directly at us.
‘Stanley?’ I breathed.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m okay, but . . .’
I glanced sideways and Clarke was upright, his arm extended, the gun pointed straight back at Stanley.
‘Where is she?’ he said.
‘Up on the hill.’
‘Then you get her down here, right now.’
Stanley’s voice was calm. ‘She won’t be coming down. She can’t.’
The gun seemed to waver. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Is she all right?’ I asked.
‘No, George,’ and I wasn’t even sure which one of us he meant. ‘She’s dead.’
FORTY-EIGHT
He refused to believe it.
He screamed things and stumbled between Stanley and me, waving his gun and threatening to shoot us both, but Stanley just stood there with his rifle pointed patiently.
‘Come up and see then,’ he said after some time.
And at that Clarke fell silent.
We passed around the back of the house, each of us with our weapons still in our hands, none of us speaking. The dogs watched from their kennels, and before us a hill rose, dark and waiting. We began to climb.
Later Stanley would tell me a little of what had happened. In the end, I’d only been a few minutes behind Clarke and his detective, nor had they been expecting Stanley to be armed. They’d simply driven through the gate and straight up to the house.
Inside, Stanley and May had heard the vehicle coming. Thinking it was me, Stanley had gone out with a lamp. Or perhaps some sense had warned him, because first he’d taken down a rifle from the rack. He’d seen a four wheel drive that wasn’t his, he’d seen two men he didn’t know, climbing out the doors. They’d all stared at each other f
or a frozen moment, then the men had pulled out guns of their own, and the shooting had started before even a word was spoken.
And eternally I’d be left to wonder—was there anything I could have done? If I’d arrived five minutes earlier. Or even if, when I finally had arrived, I hadn’t simply waited at the gate. Listening. Afraid. My hands cold on the steering wheel . . .
Meanwhile, Stanley had run back inside the house, even as Clarke and Jeffreys sprayed the walls and windows with bullets. He’d yelled at May to get down, then dashed about the room, extinguishing the candles. He’d seen May on the floor. He’d thought she was doing what he’d told her to do. Then he’d got back to the windows, started returning fire. He’d kept firing until someone in the night had cried out, and then everything had gone quiet. Stanley hadn’t waited. He’d grabbed May and they fled out the back door. By the time they were in amongst the trees, May was flagging. He’d dragged her behind him. And by the time they were higher up he’d realised that her shortness of breath, her gasps, weren’t just from the running. And that there was something wet and warm on his hands.
We climbed.
It wasn’t far, through trees and undergrowth that were pitch black and strangely still. The canopy above swayed and hummed with the wind, but down on the ground nothing moved. I smelled the resin of the trees and felt the crunch of fallen branches under my feet. Every sense was aware, every sound and touch acute. And yet none of it meant anything, my mind was empty. I was walking in a dream with two silent sentinels, Stanley before me, a faceless man behind.
The trees thinned, and there was the sky again. The moon had lifted clear of the hills, and it shone a cold and pure white. We emerged on the hilltop, amidst grass and stone, and all around the night fell away, a jumble of grey and noise and the great tide of air. And there was May.
It was probably one of the first shots that came through the windows, according to Stanley. As if she’d been standing there at the glass, waiting to see who it was coming up the road.
Which of her men. Me. Or him.
She was on her back, her face to the stars, her skin pale against the ground. He eyes were open, darker than they’d ever been, and one hand lay over a black stain that spread across her chest.
Last Drinks Page 38
