The seafood was, compared to Tasmania’s, worse than average. The rain pissed holes into the river’s surface. Dangerous-looking pelicans cruised by, eyeing their scraps. Finn was still sweating uncomfortably, his shirt sticking to his skin. Bridget went off to change and came back looking odd and tightly buttoned in her new suit, which didn’t suit the climate.
‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I need thirty minutes of air-con before I go in, or I’ll be a puddle.’
They wound through Tweed Heads towards the Pacific Highway. He already hated the town Bridget had picked for them on the basis of this job, its proliferation of nursing homes, and its proximity to where her mother grew up on the Gold Coast. One big retirement village, trying too hard. Jammed up against its twin town on the other side of the border, big brash Coolangatta, trying even harder. Two different time zones to add to the culture clash. Flat and hot and humid and wet. How could he live here? How could Bridget think this would work?
It was his own fault. He and Sandra hadn’t had actual sex – it was just kissing that got out of hand. Neither of them wanted to lose their marriage. It was one of those stupid things. Or, in fact, three of those stupid things. The second and third times they weren’t drunk. Finn was no good at lying and Bridget fast saw something different between her husband and her best friend. Then she got it out of him and snapped. So she was calling the shots for this move, and he had no choice but to go along with it.
As the highway briefly curved southwest, the rain tailed off and the cloud lifted. Beyond the flat sugar-cane plains the knobbled crag of rock rose – shocking, massive – against a backdrop of ranges.
Finn stared. ‘What the hell is that?’
Bridget smiled. ‘Wollumbin. Cloudcatcher. Better known as Mount Warning. I told you, remember? That’s the solid core of the volcano, what remained after the rest wore away. Those mountains all round? The caldera. Forty clicks across. Imagine that erupting.’
They dodged the screaming B-doubles, turned off the highway and followed the sinuous curves and switchbacks of the Tweed River straight towards the mountain. As the rain passed, the whole place gleamed. Steam rose from the roadsides and cane fields, and the brilliant shades of green hurt Finn’s eyes. Even Jarrah and Toby gazed around with interest.
He wished Bridget luck as she got out of the car. Pumped the air-con higher and took the boys on a drive, winding out of town and following the signs to Mount Warning. They passed from cane fields to pasture, to trees, and pulled up in the car park at the mountain’s base, surrounded by thick, dank rainforest. A hidden creek trickled past, and signs warned against attempting the climb late in the day, or climbing at all for those who respected Bundjalung tradition. They stared wistfully up into the canopy, trying to spot the summit.
This was supposed to be a sea change, with a beach house. Bridget had chosen Tweed Heads, or one of the coastal villages south of it, for their new life, and had found a nursing home for her mother. She’d picked out a couple of houses on the coast and suggested they do a drive by while she was at the interview. But as they headed back into Murwillumbah, Jarrah was searching on his phone.
‘What about this one, Dad? It’s just round the corner.’
He tilted the screen and Finn saw purple weatherboards and red trim in miniature, a lush garden, a pool.
‘Don’t you want to live near the beach, Jarr?’ he asked, just in case.
‘Nup,’ Jarrah said. ‘Do you?’
‘Nup. Let’s check it out.’
He’d known, even before they pulled up out front and peered through the bushes into the garden. Even before he found out about the extra room – separate from the house and overlooking the pool, perfect for his first real art studio – he’d known the purple house would be theirs. Bridget had got her way with moving to the North Coast, but Finn and the boys chose living inside the volcano.
*
From the kitchen Finn could hear the real-estate agent’s feet upstairs, her efficient clip-clip-clip as she followed Edmund around, the pauses as she stood in open doorways, counted bedrooms, assessed the presence and absence of built-in wardrobes, checked the aspect of windows and proximity of bathrooms. She came down the stairs behind Edmund, stepped through lounge, bathroom, living area, kitchen. Stopped and glanced in the direction of the pool.
‘Shall I?’
Finn nodded. Of course she knew. Everyone knew. Even if she didn’t read the local papers, a fool could tell something dreadful had happened in their home. Flowers jammed every surface, the most delicate wilting, the robust long-lasting varieties blooming obscenely, the air stinking of vase water and pollen. The mess of sympathy cards, stacked in piles. The shattered boards, the twisted remains of Owl Sentry, the chained-up pool gate, the shrine spilling on to the road out the front.
Edmund took her to the pool. They were back in less than five minutes.
‘Mr Brennan, it’s a beautiful house,’ she said. ‘Charming paint job, good aspect, full of character.’ She sat down. ‘But let me be honest. It’ll be a difficult sale. Tragic events affect a property. The kinds of people who’ll be interested will drive a hard bargain. It may take a while, and you may need to take quite a loss.’
Loss was all relative, Finn thought. ‘It doesn’t matter. I want to get us out of here. We can leave it empty, can’t we?’
She shook her head. ‘Empty sends the wrong message. You want it to look normal.’
‘What about tenants?’ Edmund suggested.
‘You will have some of the same issues,’ she said. ‘There’ll be … resistance … to living where there’s been a tragedy, though if the rent is low enough you’ll get someone. That doesn’t send a good message either. You might do better with a house-sitter who could keep it nice for inspections. Depending on the issue of cost.’
‘There’s a bit to think over,’ Edmund said. He was getting good at stepping into the conversational gaps caused by Finn’s silences, buying Finn time to gather his thoughts. ‘Anything else?’
‘I see you need some repairs,’ she said carefully. ‘If you’d like help to get the house inspection-ready, my son Tom’s a handyman. He’s good. I can ask him to call by this afternoon and give you a quote.’
Finn nodded, though he wasn’t really following. ‘Inspection-ready?’ he repeated at last.
‘Here’s the thing,’ she said. ‘We don’t want you to look desperate. It’s a great home and we don’t want to draw attention to what’s happened. So the house needs to be clean and tidy, the garden in good nick, the pool looking clean and maintained. And you should to do some … clearing up … in your son’s bedroom.’
Finn got to his feet and went to the window. It was impossible to sit still, and he didn’t want her to see his trembling chin.
‘I know how hard it is,’ she said to his back. ‘My husband died of an aneurism and his life insurance had lapsed. I had to put our home on the market within a month. Tom and I have some idea what you’re going through.’
Finn turned. He’d thought there was something behind her professional face.
Angela slid her card on to the table and stood. ‘We’d try selling off-market first. No signs, no advertising. I’d just bring around qualified buyers who would be interested.’
Finn nodded. ‘I’d like to go ahead. I just need to talk to my wife.’
‘There’s one more thing. You’d be best to clear away the flowers from out the front.’
She shook his hand and Edmund walked her out, leaving Finn alone. From the window over the sink he could see the pool.
Bridget’s income had always sustained them. His artworks had only ever been cream on top. Nowhere near enough to pay a mortgage, let alone rent them another home in the meantime. But now Edmund had people who wanted to pay thousands for his work. Surely those sales could get them out of here and back to Hobart?
He paced up and down until Edmund came back in. ‘Let’s talk about those commissions.’
‘If you can fulfil the first commission,
the other client will come on board.’
‘I thought they were definite?’
Edmund shrugged. ‘They were based on getting into Sculpture by the Quay. But the first one has signed, and I think I can get the other one over the line.’
‘I need enough to get us home and cover us while Bridget looks for a job.’
Edmund thought for a moment. ‘Tell you what. Dismantle Dragon Sentry and adapt it for the first commission. It’d be easier than starting from scratch.’
Finn nodded. That he could do. It wasn’t art. It was a ticket out.
Edmund was visibly relieved at the prospect of action. ‘Let’s get that handyman started. Your time’s better spent working. He can get rid of Owl Sentry, patch up the boards, get the gate latches replaced. I’ll feel better leaving once that’s organised.’
He came and stood next to Finn, so close they were almost touching. ‘If you like, I can clear away the shrine?’
Finn nodded. He knew what it was: the town’s expression of sympathy. But he couldn’t bear it any more. Each time they stepped out of the gate, it was an accusation.
JARRAH
Soon as I turned into the street I saw the stuff was gone. The teddy bears, the flowers, the cards tucked into the wire, the candles smoking in their glass jars. Disappeared.
No one knew, but I’d been adding to it. A flower or two I picked on the way home, and I tried to make sure there was always a candle burning – not one of those battery ones, but a real one. Someone had left a little glass lamp and I put new candles in and lit them, morning and night, when no one was watching.
Now all that was left was a patch of brown grass where the flowers had been lying for a week, a few crushed petals, a dead match or two.
Never knew what would be gone when I got home these days.
Kicked the gate open and wheeled the bike in. Added four pm to the list of times I hated. Getting home used to be my time with Toby, while Mum was at work and Dad in his studio.
I wondered what Dad had done all day. I was close to the house when a bang on the verandah made me jump. Hadn’t noticed a guy crouching below the gizmo, holding some kind of tool.
‘Who are you?’ I blurted.
He jumped and turned around, spanner in the air. ‘Man, you startled me. I’m Tom.’
Like that was meant to mean something. He was younger than I’d first thought – not much older than me. I kept staring.
‘I’m doing some repairs,’ he added. ‘Your – dad, is it? – wants some things fixed up before the sale. Hey, give me a hand to lift this thing off the wall?’
‘Isn’t Dad here?’
He shook his head. ‘He and the other guy have gone out.’
Dropped the bike on the grass, clomped up the three steps to the verandah and went over next to him in front of the smashed metalwork hanging from the splintered weatherboards. Tom had tidied it up, unscrewed it and spread a paint-covered sheet below to catch it.
‘Take it there and there.’ He gestured. When my hands were gripping the thing, he took hold and nodded at me to lift. It came away from the wall, trailing wires and screws, and we crouched and laid it on the sheet.
‘Thanks,’ he said, bending over it with the spanner. ‘I’ll be right now.’
Stood up, backed away. Walked past his bent back and into the kitchen. Wondered where Dad and Edmund had gone. Ate a huge bowl of cereal overflowing with milk as if it would give me the answers. It didn’t.
I vibed him to go and it worked. He knocked on the door ten minutes later.
‘Tell your dad I’ll be back first thing in the morning with the timber. I reckon I can knock it over tomorrow.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Before the sale.’
‘I dunno. That’s my mum’s side of things. I’m just the grunt.’ He brushed his hands on his overalls and looked at me through the screen. ‘Sorry about your brother, mate.’
That took me by surprise. I’d never met the guy. Did every person in town know what had happened? This handyman – Tom – said it without looking weird or embarrassed or anything.
‘Yeah.’ I did a stupid kind of nod. ‘Um. Thanks.’
‘See ya.’ He turned on his heel and was stomping down the steps before I could answer. He headed across the grass, head up, like he didn’t care about a thing. Not much older than me, but out of school, doing his own thing.
I went outside. The thing was gone. I couldn’t see what he’d done with it. There was just a smashed, splintery hole in the wall. There was no chain on the pool gate and no one else home.
First time I’d been in the house by myself.
I went to the gate and swung it open. The pool cleaner was plugged in, chugging around the bottom of the pool, sucking up all the dead leaves blown in over the past week. I stared into the water like it might have answers. It wouldn’t have happened while I was at home. I’d never have forgotten Toby long enough for him to get into the pool area, fall into the pool and drown.
Dad’s car pulled up out on the street and I bolted. I was sitting at the kitchen table like nothing was wrong by the time he came up the steps.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I just took Eddie to the airport. How’d you go today?’
‘Didn’t know we were selling the house.’
He stopped dead for a moment then sighed. Went over to the kettle and lifted it. That thing wasn’t for boiling water any more. It was for bad moments.
‘Some guy called Tom said he can finish up the repairs in the morning in time for the sale.’
The water gushed out of the tap. He filled the kettle right to the top, a bad habit that Mum used to hassle him about. Boiling two litres of water every time he wanted a cup of tea.
He turned the kettle on. ‘Nothing’s been decided, Jarrah.’
I didn’t say anything while the kettle hissed and finally boiled in the silence. He sloshed the water into a mug, jiggled the bag, added milk. Then looked at me. ‘You can’t honestly tell me you want to stay in this house.’
I shrugged. ‘Where would we go?’
‘Where we belong, of course,’ he said. ‘We need family and friends, Jarr, at a time like this.’
It sounded like a line he’d rehearsed. But I got it. I got why he’d want to be with his brother and sisters. I was an only child again. I had cousins in Tasmania and they were OK, but they weren’t brothers. Toby was the person I’d been closest to in the world. If I had a brother, I’d want to be with him.
‘I don’t want to put more pressure on your mother,’ Dad said. ‘I’m just looking at all the options, working out what we can do, how we can get home as easily as possible. It’ll be all right.’
It wouldn’t. Moving was never going to make it all right. And the last place I wanted to go was back to Tasmania.
‘I’ll talk to your mother when she gets home. Can you keep it quiet until then?’
‘Whatever.’ That wasn’t something I was allowed to say to my parents, before. I got up. ‘I’ve got homework.’
‘Give me a hug.’
I didn’t want to. It wasn’t like our family didn’t hug – we did – and Dad was famous for being a bonecrusher. That was the problem. I didn’t think I could handle one of his hugs. But his chin was trembling and I couldn’t stand that either. I clenched my teeth and stepped into his hug. I stepped back as soon as I could, scooped up my schoolbag and headed upstairs. Shut the door and flopped down on my bed.
Dad had family in Tassie, and I had Oliver Neumann.
The worst thing was, our parents were friends. It’d been bad enough to face him at school, where he was a couple of years ahead of me, but then we’d go to the Neumanns’ for Sunday barbecues. Toby was still little then, and after lunch he’d fall asleep in his car capsule and we’d be waved off to ‘play’ in Oliver Neumann’s bedroom as the olds opened another bottle of wine.
‘Don’t fucking come near me, you pervert,’ he’d say, and get on the computer. I’d sit in the chair across the room at an impossible angle from t
he screen while he surfed, stopping when he found something to hassle me about.
‘Ever touch me and I’ll fucking kill you,’ he said often enough.
What was it about me? I didn’t want to touch him. I’d never have thought of it if he hadn’t gone on and on. I’d spend hours perched on the edge of his chair by the desk, praying he’d find something to watch and forget about me.
‘Check this out, perv,’ he said one time. ‘Stupid parents have no idea how to block stuff.’
The image that came up was three naked men. It took me a moment to understand what was happening and where their penises were and I felt sick.
‘Like that, don’t you, faggot?’
‘It’s gross.’ I turned away from the screen, but not before I saw the bulge in his shorts.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he snapped. ‘Like you want it in your fucking mouth.’
That time I did something. I walked across the room, opened the door and let myself out.
‘Don’t think you can run away from it, Jarrah,’ he yelled after me. ‘Doesn’t matter how fast you are.’
I was down the hall before he could follow, and downstairs. The olds were still laughing in the living area. I found a big built-in cupboard down there, in the laundry, and wedged myself into it. It smelled of clean sheets, and I shut my eyes and tried to get rid of the picture of those men. I stayed there for two hours, until it was time to go home and I could sneak out.
It didn’t work. I still remembered it. I still remembered the look on Oliver Neumann’s face as he laughed at me. The main thing I’d achieved since we came to Murwillumbah was avoiding seeing that look on anyone’s face.
Tasmania. Home, Dad called it.
BRIDGET
You are weary to the cartilage of your joints, the marrow of your bones, the vessels of your blood. Too weary from deciding what to do each minute of your working day and the prospect of deciding what to do each waking minute of your evenings to face anything else at all. Too weary to summon outrage when Finn tells you he’s had an agent appraise your home.
Sixty Seconds Page 8
