Anyway, said Tilly. Megan had all this time been staring at the damp spot above the bucket where a new drip, a half-drip, was forming. I don’t know, said Tilly, putting her phone facedown, if there’s much point us talking any more. She seemed suddenly to have grown to twice her age. I appreciate your concern, Megan, really I do; I know you’re a good person. There was a quiver in her eyes. Mum and I are no good. Dad too. She looked up and blinked. What a beautiful girl, thought Megan. I don’t really know what else to say, said Tilly, the hood half-covering her face, eyes glistening, jet-black hair hanging down. I don’t really want to talk. You only get one life. A while ago at school this story went around, I still don’t know if it’s true, about this girl, my age, whose parents had split up. (But I thought you didn’t want to talk, thought Megan.) The father was living in Darwin and he offered to pay for her to come up and see him. She didn’t want to go but her mother said she should. She was tall, long legs, thin ankles; her dad got her a seat by the exit door so she could stretch out. Halfway to Darwin, over the desert, the door blew off and the girl was sucked out. There was nothing anyone could do. The other passengers managed to hang on to their seats and the plane limped into Darwin. It was the middle of the day, a bright-blue sky, and this long-legged girl went floating down through the air. It was way out—way, way out. No-one saw her fall. Why would anyone be looking up, to see a thing like that? She was out there two weeks before they found her. Animals had eaten her face. She didn’t want to go. She said to her mum she didn’t want to go. Her long legs put her in that seat. What did she live for? What was the point?
So, you see, said Tilly, turning again and locking eyes: I am not going to be that girl.
Fuck me, said Evan, that’s heavy.
The rain had carved channels out of the dirt on either side of the driveway, fanning out into muddy deltas across the road below. Marshall and Evan were in the front, Adam and Leon in the back. They’d made a dash with two umbrellas. It felt weird being in the car that Tilly had slept in; they could still smell her, faintly, perfume, shampoo, and something else like skin and hair and pores.
All right boys, said Evan, party time! No-one responded. Jesus, he said, it’s like a fucking funeral in here. Marsh? Come on. You were all fired up when you got here and now it’s all misery-me. Marshall put the car in reverse and turned around to look. Fuck, Evan, he said, for chrissakes, can’t you see? I shouldn’t have come, there’ll be shit when I get home; my daughter won’t speak to me, she’s spent the night in the car; this is all fucked up, mate, totally fucked up. All the time he was saying this he was reversing the car down the driveway through the rain. Adam and Leon didn’t know where to look, they glanced at the side of Marshall’s face then behind them to see how he was going.
And you know what’s happening back there, don’t you? he said. I mean, Megan’s a great woman and all that but, I’m sorry, she’s also a fucking interfering bitch. She’ll be down there now, for sure, the others too, giving Tilly the third degree. What happened, love? Are you all right? Have you heard from Mum? Is she all right? Can I use your phone? Just for a sec? They’re not doing that are they? said Adam. Jesus you’re a bunch of knuckleheads, said Marshall: do you really think they haven’t already schmoozed up to Tilly, used her phone, spoken to Jackie, stabbed a couple more knives in my back? Oh come on, Marsh, that’s a bit rich, said Leon: they’re our wives and partners, mate, they’re not a pack of fuckin’ hyenas. Yeah, well, that’s a matter of opinion, said Marshall, and he put the car in drive.
They were out on the road now; Marshall turned the wipers up high. I think you might be making a big deal out of this, said Evan, I don’t think it’s all that bad. Sometimes, you know, women just give me the shits, said Marshall. Do you know what I’m saying? I mean, if they want to take over the world, just fuckin’ take over the world, stop fuckin’ cheering and jeering from the sides. Do you know what I mean? Life’s complicated, you think we don’t know that? But we’re trying, for fuck’s sake, aren’t we? I don’t think Evan’s saying you’re not trying, said Adam. Shut your fuckin’ mouth will you, Adam, you fuckin’ know-it-all, said Marshall. Honestly, mate, I just won a fuckin’ seat in state parliament, I’m representing my constituents—so tell me, where’s the love been coming from for you lately? Evan turned and gave Adam an ironic sort of oo-take-that look. Honestly, guys, I love you all, you know, said Marshall, but things are shit for me at home right now; a bit of understanding wouldn’t go astray.
Marshall decided to concentrate on the road. He was driving slowly, but the rain was coming down so hard that the wipers could barely keep up. The car came around a corner, then down a short, straight run, then started descending more sharply around a long, sweeping bend. Evan was fiddling with the radio, looking for the football, but all he could find was static. The unfinished conversation hung there. But they were all so conscious of the rain now and the stupidity of going out in it to get a loaf of bread and a couple of bottles of wine that no-one said anything. They looked out through the arcs the wipers made and tried to see what was ahead. Marshall negotiated the bend, in places the water was gushing over the road, and they were just coming to the end of it when he braked.
Fuck! said Evan. What’s that? said Leon. Shit, said Marshall. The hill above had slipped. A big swathe of earth had come down over the road, blocking their way and going on to carve a tract through the bush below. On the mound in front a stand of acacia bushes still stood, rooted, upright, as if nothing had happened.
Shit, said Marshall, again. What do we do? said Evan. Can you get around? said Leon. Give us an umbrella, said Evan. Leon and Evan both threw open their doors and put up their umbrellas. The rain sounded like a waterfall, roaring in. Put your lights on high! shouted Evan. Marshall flicked them up. Pyooew, said Adam. He and Marshall watched Evan and Leon moving first to one side, then the other, trying to figure out how even Marshall’s four-wheel drive Mercedes could ever get over or around.
Sorry about before, said Marshall, out of nowhere; I’ve got a lot going on, but I shouldn’t have snapped. That’s okay, said Adam. They had nothing else to say; with the mound of earth and bush in front of them and the rain pelting on the roof, everything else seemed petty. The other two got back in the car, bringing in the smell of dirt and rain.
It’s blocked, said Leon; we’re going to have to turn around. How the fuck am I going to do that? said Marshall. You’ll need to back up, said Leon; there’s a driveway about half a k back. Marshall lifted his hands off the wheel and turned his palms up as if to say and? Put your hazards on, said Evan. Again there was the rush of rain as the doors opened and again Evan and Leon threw up their umbrellas.
It was a tricky manoeuvre all right, but after a while Marshall got the hang of it, his head turned, one arm wrapped around the headrest on the passenger side. Adam knelt up on the back seat and pushed himself into the corner so Marshall could see: Yeah, that’s good, to the left, steady, straight. The back wipers were cleaning the window in quick, manic strokes while the hazard lights lit the comical figures on the road above; Evan waving one hand out from under his umbrella and Leon, further up, shouting: Yep, all good, no dramas, you’re good.
A voice, barely discernible, emerged from the radio-crackle and then was lost again. It felt quiet and calm in the car, all the craziness was outside. Marshall was in the zone, looking back, taking instructions, moving the wheel this way then that, al
most without thinking. When he spoke, it sounded as if the words had come out of a dream.
My life’s fucked, said Marshall. Adam had to look around and study his face to be sure he was talking to him. Marshall didn’t make eye contact. It’s hard to pin down when it all went wrong, he said, but I think I can guess. You’re smart, mate, you’re a lawyer, you know what it’s like to get caught in lies. I lived truly once, he said, back in the days when I was a student, in student politics and that: do you remember? Back then those two things, living and truth, just sort of went hand in glove. And we were tolerant, too, weren’t we? We forgave people. That’s probably the other thing that happens when you live the truth, you find it easier to forgive. Jesus said that, or something like that, didn’t he? I’ve got so much shit going down in my life at the moment, Adam, said Marshall, I couldn’t even start.
Adam was looking at the side of Marshall’s face but he wasn’t really listening. With Leon’s story still fresh in his mind all he could think of was that dreadful student production and that scene after the fire with them all sitting around and Marshall as Tuzenbakh saying: And what a vision I had then of a happy life! Where has it gone?
Marshall braked. Evan and Leon were waving their arms around; Evan for Marshall to stop, Leon to point like a traffic cop at what they now realised was a steep gravel drive. They were encouraging Marshall to back in, so he could turn the car around.
Yeah, well, he said.
He began to reverse up. As soon as he got the rear in, the nose poking out onto the road, the front and back doors opened, the sound of rain rushed in, and Evan and Leon dived in after.
Jesus! said Evan. They both shook their umbrellas and folded them down and pulled the doors closed. Phew, said Leon. We should tell someone, said Adam. But they had no phone and for a moment there was only the sound of the radio static and the rain.
They headed back up the hill. If we see a car, or a light on, said Adam, let’s stop. They all thought this was a good idea but the trouble was they saw neither. When they finally saw their own driveway and the light on high up in the living room it felt like they’d stumbled onto civilisation deep in the heart of darkness.
The four men trooped in downstairs: Evan first, then Adam, then Leon. Marshall was at the rear. The door to Tilly’s room was closed. First shower, said Evan. Second, said Leon. Evan called out—Hey! The road’s blocked!—but everything upstairs was quiet.
What are you doing? said Lauren, coming out of the kitchen. The road’s blocked, said Evan, with a little lift of his shoulders. Hannah was in the living room. The road’s blocked, said Leon, to her. What’s going on? said Megan, from below—there was no hiding it, she’d just come out of Tilly’s room. I’m having a shower, said Evan. It’s a landslide, said Leon. We’ll use the white bread, said Lauren, and she went back to the kitchen. Is she okay? asked Marshall, looking down. Megan nodded, but didn’t speak. Marshall stood in the living room and put his back to the fire. Hannah looked out the window. Is there a bucket? said Evan. He was standing at the head of the hallway, pointing behind.
The roof was leaking onto the carpet directly above Tilly’s room. Everyone started looking for a bucket. Megan came back from the kitchen with a big pasta pot and positioned it below the leak. They all stood, looking up. Bloody hell, said Leon. It’s the leaves, said Marshall. The water dripped, loud and tinny at first, then with a pweup, into the pot.
They made a roster. When the egg timer went off you had to set a small saucepan temporarily under the leak, empty the pasta pot in the bath, take the saucepan away, put the pot back, re-set the timer and put a tick beside your name on the list. That took a while. Evan had his shower. Leon had one after—and Hannah went in with him. Lauren noted it, and went back to her soup.
Adam started microwaving the frozen slices of white bread. What were you talking about before? he said. Marshall should go home, said Lauren, and take Tilly with him. She kept stirring the soup. But the road’s blocked, said Adam. Yes I know the fucking road’s blocked, Adam, you just told me that, said Lauren, spitting the words out under her breath; I’m telling you what we were talking about before you came back and told us the road was blocked. If we knew the road was blocked, Adam, dick, there’d be no point in saying they should go home.
Have you been drinking? he said. Get the bowls, she said. He got seven bowls from the cupboard. Eight, she said. He got another. Ah that’s better, said Evan, coming in freshly showered. Where’s Meg?
She was on the couch in the corner of the living room with Marshall, talking. Marshall was holding one side of his head like it hurt. Megan was leaning in close to catch his eye. When Adam came in from the kitchen carrying the basket of microwaved bread he could see how she even had a hand on his knee. Evan followed with two bowls of soup.
Soup’s up! he said. Leon and Hannah entered, separately, from their room. Hannah’s hair was wet. Oo hello! said Evan. Shut up, said Hannah. What’s going on over there? said Leon. There was an awkward silence then while all five—Lauren had come in from the kitchen too, carrying more soup—stared into the living room at Megan and Marshall together on the couch.
The egg timer went off. They looked at the roster. Evan emptied the pot while the others sat down to lunch. Megan took a tray down to Tilly. When she came back Marshall thought it best to tell everyone what they’d been talking about. We’re all friends here, he said. Megan took most of the conversation. She said how tricky it was with kids at that age and how we all know you can’t always indulge them, but, by the same token, they’d agreed that maybe in this instance Marshall had been a little insensitive about the extent of the emotional impact of his brother-in-law’s suicide and how, in a father’s book, coming here might have seemed like a good idea while in truth maybe Tilly should have stayed at home. Marshall nodded at that. He looked tired.
Megan’s right, he said, this father–daughter thing is tough. But it was going to be fireworks back there. We’ll get in the car and get away from this, I thought, that’s the best thing to do. But maybe I misread it; maybe I made a mistake. We all make mistakes, mate, said Evan, sitting down. I’ve had a lot going on, said Marshall, with the new job, I know I’ve neglected her. And maybe she hasn’t agreed with all the decisions I’ve made. I know she’s got involved with all this political stuff—occupy and anarchy and all that—but in the end you’ve got to follow your conscience, don’t you? I mean, I didn’t make the party’s policy but, all the same, I’m not going to go howling in the streets in protest about it either. You’ve got to work within the system. You can’t change major political decisions just because you think you might upset your teenage daughter.
Of course not, said Megan, and no-one would expect you to, but you’ve got to keep your antenna up, too, be sensitive to how they see things. They’re the only thing we might have, said Adam, to prove we were even here. It’s true, said Hannah, who had been quiet all this time (they all looked up at once), you complain about your children but don’t forget they’ll be a comfort to you in your old age. You, Megan, now Sam’s graduated, do you think he’s going to let you live on the street? The best superannuation you can have, said Leon, is a kid with a career. They all laughed.
It’s true, said Evan, I’m a bit younger than you guys, but what’s it going to be like for us once those fully qualified baby boomers start clogging up the system? Doesn’t matter how man
y kids you’ve got. You’re fucked, aren’t you?
A strange new society is apparently erupting in our midst, said Adam. He looked up from his soup. It’s from that book in the toilet, he said. The earth can’t sustain itself, said Hannah, it’s either adapt or die. It’s going to get ugly for sure, said Leon. We’ve got to change our ways. Evan flapped his hands: The sky is falling! The sky is falling!
Tilly appeared at the top of the stairs.
Everything seemed to stop. Even the rain falling into the gutters and leaking into the stainless steel pasta pot with a steady drip-drip-drip—even this seemed to stop.
She’d changed out of her pyjamas and was dressed in black jeans and a black top, her hair looped behind one ear. She was carrying her empty bowl and plate. No-one knew what to say. Most of them hadn’t seen her up close like this since at least the start of the year. She’d filled out: her breasts, her cheeks, her hips. Her skin was dotted with ruby-red pimples, she still had some dark eyeliner clinging to her lashes and lids. Megan took the things from her and balanced the spoon back in the bowl.
Thanks, said Tilly—but not to Megan. I appreciate your concern, everyone, really I do. But I’m okay. I’m happy to go back tomorrow, Dad, with you. She held her father’s gaze. He looked down, and across. Tilly turned and walked back down the stairs. They heard the door below click.
She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she? said Hannah. She is, said Lauren. I know she’s going through a phase, but what other kid would do that, say that? Everyone nodded. Adam and Leon, then Lauren and Hannah, began relaying the dishes to the kitchen. They kept going on about it, each in their own way, what a sweet girl Tilly was and how lucky Marshall was to have her. He said nothing, did nothing. The table was cleared around him.
Demons Page 11
