Marian rolled over onto her side.
Shit. Eleven o’clock.
Evie was standing next to the reception counter wearing hoop earrings, jangling gold bracelets and brilliant orange hair. Her cardigan was lime green, her skirt a floral polyester out of their childhood. Her boots were bright red vinyl. She clashed violently with the pinks and greys of the reception area, and won.
Marian recognised it as battle gear. Good old Evie. Here for Marian, as she always had been, no matter what the fight. No matter what sort of row she’d had about it with that awful husband.
Evie was peering closely at Marian’s face. ‘Have you been eating properly?’
‘Um … I had dinner last night.’ One or two mouthfuls. But she didn’t say that.
‘No breakfast? You have to have breakfast. I don’t want you going all pale. Let’s go and eat.’
‘I’m meant to be at Hakea to see Charlie. It’s in Canning Vale. Wherever that is.’
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When are you supposed to be there?’
‘Twelve.’
‘We’ll get food on the way. I’ll drive you. You can leave your car here.’
The car. ‘It’s at Kenwick.’
Evie paused, finger on the lift button. ‘What’s it doing at Kenwick?’ She shook her head. ‘No, don’t tell me. We can sort that out later.’
Ignoring the blaring horn of a van and several passing cars, Evie drove briskly out of the IN gate and settled into the line of cars.
Marian sat back. How wonderful to be driven around.
‘Have you been sleeping properly?’ Evie asked.
‘I did last night.’ The episode with Ron had almost slipped her mind, like all the other bits she kept losing track of.
She looked across at Evie. Should she tell her?
‘I went out with a man. Back to his hotel room.’
The car behind them honked furiously at Evie’s sudden swerve.
‘Marian. How could you?’
Marian was cheered again, thinking about it. Someone had fancied her. And it wasn’t often she could shock Evie.
‘Who was he?’
‘I met him at a pancake place. He picked me up,’ she added, with satisfaction.
Evie turned right round in her seat, to the further indignation of nearby drivers. ‘Oh keep your hair on,’ she shouted out the window and swerved back into the proper lane.
‘You’re mad,’ she said to Marian. ‘What if he was some sadistic bastard? And what if you caught something? AIDS?’
Marian considered. Possibly she was mad. ‘There’s no need to carry on. Nothing happened.’
‘What do you mean nothing happened. Why not?’
‘He couldn’t get it up.’
Evie giggled.
‘Then he fell asleep,’ Marian added, honesty getting the better of her.
Evie laughed out loud. ‘What did you do?’
‘Left him snoring.’
Evie drummed her fingers on the wheel. The sky was dark. Heavy drops of rain were spattering the windscreen.
‘What do you feel like eating?’
Marian thought of food without enthusiasm. ‘I’m not hungry. Don’t worry about it.’
‘All right. I’ll take you out to lunch later.’
Later. After she’d seen Charlie.
Charlie might not want to see her. What was there to say?
She let the blur of rain and the swish of tyres carry her away.
It’s a boy. Such a smug thing to say. Great. It’s another boy. Mac was pleased. It was like a bumper crop or a record price.
‘I wish I’d had a girl. A daughter.’
Evie glanced sideways at her. ‘Lucky to have any kids at all. Look at me.’
‘I didn’t know you wanted …’
‘No, you didn’t know.’ Evie’s voice was dry. ‘Oh well. No use pissing in the wind.’
Marian was shaken. She thought she knew Evie. But here was a part of Evie’s life that Marian had never seen.
She’d thought she knew Charlie too.
Marian opened her mouth to speak, apologise, but Evie got in first. ‘Anyhow, I prefer my freedom.’
Marian sat back again, chastised.
Evie was oblivious, businesslike again. ‘Here we are.’ They drove in silence through a thick belt of bush-land. The prison loomed up in front of them—a fortress with a razor-wire crown.
‘Plenty of parking. Not too many other visitors by the look of it.’ Evie was trying to be ordinary, but she was nervous, Marian could see.
‘It’s still early, I think.’
The place silenced them. Cameras and guards, like a movie set, or a war zone. The building they needed was labelled Family Support Centre.
‘Marian? I think I’ll wait for you here. Is that okay? Charlie won’t want to see me anyway.’
Marian nodded, unable to speak. The gaol was a big machine, and already she was sucked into it. No turning back now.
There was a form to fill out, then Marian had to wait. An unsmiling woman searched her bag and patted the outside of her coat.
What did they think she might be carrying?
Even in court Marian hadn’t believed there was any need for security. But this made it real. They thought he was dangerous. A dangerous prisoner.
It’s only Charlie, she wanted to say. You don’t need all this rigmarole. Cops and robbers stuff.
There was a split in her universe. Try as she might she couldn’t get her old world to line up with this new one. Of course Charlie was dangerous. He’d shot two people.
She put a hand out to the wall to steady herself. Inside her someone was whimpering. Would they leave her alone with him?
A large shambling guard with a shaved head took over as her escort. At the first door he moved in front of her to punch numbers into a keypad, pulled the door open and stepped back awkwardly, knocking her arm.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
His embarrassment jolted her out of her own uneasiness. ‘That’s okay.’
‘First time?’ he asked, as they waited for the second door to be unlocked.
She nodded and forced her face into a smile.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Just pretend I’m not here.’
There was one other visitor, a small woman with white hair. The guard took them both into the visitors’ hall and pointed them to different clusters of chairs and tables. Marian couldn’t sit. She wanted to cry out, make some violent movement. But guards stood at both doors, silent, forbidding, so she made herself stand still and wait.
Finally the guard opposite opened the door and two men in grey tracksuits came in. The smaller one stood hesitating, then came and stood in front of Marian.
Charlie. Oh God! Charlie.
He was thin, unshaved and unsmiling. The grey made his skin sallow.
‘Hi Mum.’
Speech vanished. Her voice was shut off somewhere deep in her chest. She moved closer and put her arms round him, making a great effort, squeezing her voice up from deep down. ‘Oh my darling …’
Charlie shrugged, dislodging her arms and stepping back with a frown.
‘Why didn’t you come yesterday?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, stricken. He needed her. How could she have stayed away?
‘I waited.’
A seven-year-old Charlie, waiting at the school gate.
But this Charlie was not seven. And she wasn’t the one who’d done wrong, she had to hang on to that.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, voice more normal.
He gestured at the institutional chairs, the posters, the other prisoner, a big man with tattoos on his hands. ‘Great Mum. Really great.’
Marian bit her lip. ‘Can we sit down?’
‘Guess so.’
She spread her hands on her knees to steady them and made herself look at him. ‘Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?’
‘Oh yeah,’ he muttered. ‘You could
get me some cigarettes.’
‘I thought you’d stopped?’
Glancing quickly round he thrust his face closer to hers. ‘I can swap them for things.’
‘What’s the food like?’ As though it was a school camp.
She was too late to protect herself from the contempt on his face. Like when he didn’t want her to come to the Parents’ Night.
Breathe in, breathe out.
‘Would you like books? Magazines?’
His face was quizzical and he looked her straight in the eye. ‘Not the sort you’d want to buy.’
His mockery angered her and, though she felt herself blushing, she glared back at him until his eyes dropped.
But she saw his bent shoulders, still skinny, like a teenager. He didn’t have the bulk of his father or brother. Hadn’t done the physical work they had, of course. The skinniness moved her.
‘Oh Charlie, what happened?’
He met her eyes, the bravado gone. ‘I … I don’t know.’ His eyes filled with tears and he clenched his fists to stop them, his whole body tensed, scowling. ‘I don’t know!’
Childishly he kicked the leg of the table. The guard moved towards them and Charlie pulled himself up straight. ‘I don’t know,’ he said more quietly. ‘I don’t remember. Don’t hassle me.’
Marian couldn’t think of anything neutral to talk about so they sat in silence, staring at the table.
‘I met your friends,’ she said at last. ‘Ros and Sam.’
‘The araldykes.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Joke. Forget it. I saw them in court. They were late.’
She wanted to smack him. Late? They were there, weren’t they? Loyalty didn’t come much stronger than that.
But once again he dropped the sneering expression and she glimpsed something else. Sadness. Grief?
‘How’s Jeb?’ he asked.
It was the warmest tone she’d heard him use. Perhaps she should have brought Jeb. Maybe the dog was the only one Charlie could love.
But of course they wouldn’t let a dog in here.
‘Old, stiff. He’s all right though.’
‘Still looking after the chooks?’
Marian smiled. ‘You’d think he hatched the last lot of chickens himself, he’s so proud of them.’
Silence fell again.
‘Charlie,’ she began cautiously, ‘have you got everything you need? I mean about lawyers and all that. Do you know what to do?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I guess so. This guy Ingerson seems okay. It doesn’t matter anyhow, you know. I’m here. I’ll be here for a long time. They look after you. Sort of.’
There was a poster on the wall opposite Marian. A substance the consistency of cream cheese spilling out of a pink tube. Without her glasses she couldn’t see the detail, but she couldn’t take her eyes off it either. Every Cigarette Is Doing You Damage. That bit she could read clearly enough. She turned her head away.
Charlie. Was this young man the same as the little boy, her baby?
‘What should I have done?’ she said, speaking more to herself than to him.
‘You could send me a photo of Jeb,’ he said, following his own thought.
‘Is that all? Do you need money?’
‘Nothing valuable. That’s what they said. It gets pinched.’
‘Are you safe?’ Instinctively she lowered her voice and glanced around. ‘Are they … violent?’
He screwed up his face. ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘I’m only in Remand.’
Marian tried to gather her thoughts. ‘You would tell me? Not just pretend it’s okay?’
He laughed, face twisted. ‘So you can tell the headmaster and get it stopped?’
It was stupid she knew. ‘No.’ she mumbled. ‘But I want to know how you are. What it’s like.’
‘Like on telly. Rapes and bashings every day.’
She saw that he was kidding and tried to smile.
‘It’s not meant to be a picnic, Mum. It’s meant to be a punishment.’
‘Maybe you could go to Albany? Or Pardelup? Closer to home.’
‘It’s not up to me. You don’t get to choose, in here. They don’t send you to Pardelup unless they trust you. Anyhow, I have to stay here until the trial they reckon.’
Marian shifted restlessly. ‘I don’t know what to say, Charlie. I wish there was something I could do.’ She sounded so whiney. ‘I would like to know what happened, what went wrong.’
But he wouldn’t look at her.
‘You can’t tell me. I can see that.’
‘You don’t have to stay,’ he said.
‘Yeah. Perhaps I’d better go. Evie’s waiting.’ Marian got up, feelings in a jumble. Guilt, anger, despair.
The other mother was showing her son photos and they were both laughing. How did they do that? The son had a large tattoo of a red-back spider on the side of his neck.
‘I will come again before I go back down,’ Marian said awkwardly, putting her arms round Charlie’s stiff body.
‘I love you,’ she made herself add. ‘We’ll get through this. I’m still with you.’
But, as she retraced her steps through the locked doors, she wondered. She didn’t have the courage for this. What if she just walked away? Got Evie to drop her at the car, and drove home. Younger son? No, I don’t have a younger son.
Before the thought was fully formed, the cobweb strings of motherhood were tugging at her gut.
Evie jumped up and came across to her. Without a word, without questions, she took Marian’s arm and held it as their bags were searched again and they were regurgitated out into the fresh air. Cold, but the rain had stopped.
When they were sitting in the car, Evie spoke. ‘Well?’
‘He’s … I don’t know … oh my God, Evie. What am I going to do?’
The screaming that was trapped inside her forced its way out as giant sobs. She didn’t try to cover her face, just sat and let the tears pour out. Great strangled cries burst from her. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’
Evie handed her tissues and wound the window down a crack when the windscreen fogged. She took Marian’s hand and sat beside her in silence.
Once Marian’s sniffs had subsided, Evie let go her hand and fiddled the key in the ignition. ‘Let’s get out of here. This wire is giving me the heebies.’
Marian became aware that the windscreen was filled with a view of the wire fence of the car park.
‘It’s lunchtime,’ Evie added. ‘You said I could buy you lunch.’
‘Are you sure you’ve got time?’
‘I’ve always got time for lunch. And I’m not leaving you now. Come on, I’ll take you somewhere nice.’
Marian twisted uneasily. ‘We don’t have to go anywhere flash.’
‘You’re wrong. That’s exactly what we do have to do. We have to have a good meal in a quiet place with VIP treatment, sit still while other people wait on us. This is a day for pampering, not for cutting costs.’
In spite of herself Marian was comforted. Let Evie take over and make the decisions. Let the whole mess go for a few hours. In the city, where no one knew Marian Anditon, she could do that. She could be a different person, a blameless woman lunching with a friend.
She leaned back in the seat and shut her eyes.
Evie had always known what to do. How to get a job, even if it was only weekend work in a vineyard. How to save the money for a clapped-out van. Evie never worried, she always had a friend who could fix it. Evie had enough flair for herself and Marian combined. Enough guts to drop out of Teachers’ College, take off in the van and get a job in the country.
But there they’d parted company. The hospital kitchen was too dull for Evie. She got a job as a barmaid and led the wildest life available, always knew everyone, knew where the parties were happening, worked her way through all the young men.
Mac as well?
Marian had never asked herself that before. How extraordinary. Until now, and now it didn’t matter. I
t seemed such a long way away. A gulf in time.
The two women sat outside the restaurant so that Evie could smoke. They were protected from the wind by a clear plastic blind and warmed, to Marian’s amazement, by a large gas heater on a pole.
The wastefulness of it, practically in the open air.
But it certainly made the space comfortable. Marian sat rolling a glass between her hands. A great yawn started in her chest and burst out, stretching her mouth impossibly wide so that she grabbed for air like a grounded fish.
‘Sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I don’t know where that came from.’
Evie was right. It was soothing to be waited on and treated kindly. Marian found that at last she could eat, was actually hungry. The prawns were covered in a creamy sauce and tasted wonderful.
Evie was the edgy one now, playing with her food, lighting a cigarette before Marian had finished.
‘Is this lawyer any good?’
‘I don’t know,’ Marian said, cautious. ‘He seems okay.’
‘How did you find him?’
‘I didn’t. He came off some list. The police or someone must have teed it up with Charlie. Isn’t that how they do it?’
‘I don’t know. What list? Sounds like a hack job to me. I’m not saying he’s no good. But maybe you need someone more high-powered.’
‘Wouldn’t that cost a lot?’ A familiar feeling was taking hold of Marian. She’d been naïve, should have asked.
Evie turned her head and blew smoke away from the table. It drifted back and filled Marian’s nose. Every cigarette …
‘Won’t Charlie get legal aid?’ Evie asked.
‘He did it, Evie. He’s guilty.’ The word echoed in her head. Guilty. ‘It’s not like TV. Nobody’s going to pay to prove that he’s innocent.’
‘But it might be, you know, diminished responsibility or whatever. Perhaps he’s insane.’
Marian winced at the word. Insane.
But it was what she’d thought herself, before she saw him in court.
Evie shifted defensively. ‘It’s no good hiding from it. We have to think about all the possibilities. I mean something happened. Ordinary people don’t go round killing strangers. Perhaps you need to get a psychiatrist.’
That must be what Simon Ingerson was thinking. All that rigmarole about brain scans and psychologists. Or psychiatrists. Whichever was which.
Was it a defence, being mad?
The First Week Page 11
