Everything in its right place

by Tobias McCorkell

  ‘Just stop fighting. Please, just stop fighting.’

  ‘This is what I’ve had to inherit?’ he said. ‘This is what I’ve had to sacrifice for? For crying out loud, you’re all fucken mad.’

  He walked away from us, then. He’d never done that before. And the people in the hall were watching. They saw me in tears and my family busting up, and Dad only looked on confused from the catering table. I was on the wrong side of the room, I felt, but suppressed the feeling and left with Mum and Noonie. Didn’t even wave goodbye to Craig or Joel or Milly or Dad. Just left.

  We stopped in Nagambie on the way back to the city, and I followed Pop into the public restroom that Dad and I normally used. We didn’t say anything to each other. It wasn’t like going to the YMCA for laps on Saturdays. No, it was a whole lot shittier than that.

  I watched my urine splash against the yellow naphthalene balls in the trough. Nothing like the sound of hot piss on metal to drown out the silence, I thought.

  A Long, Strange Night

  It was a while after Queenie’s funeral before I saw Will again.

  ‘Took me ages to get here,’ he said, puffed and carrying a slab of beer as he walked down the driveway to Unit Two. ‘You live, like, so far away.’

  From what? I wondered. ‘Sorry, man,’ I said.

  ‘Nah, it’s all good. Train was slow.’ He carted the slab in through the living room and placed it on the kitchen counter, extracting two bottles and twisting off the tops. ‘Cheers,’ he said, and we clinked before taking a sip.

  The house was practically empty now, and I watched as Will took in the bare room and the few packed boxes that hadn’t made it over to Dawson Lakes yet.

  ‘So, where are your family moving to?’

  ‘Ah, just a new place. A bit smaller.’

  ‘And you’re staying here?’

  ‘For now. They’re gunna sell this place and then I’ll have to find somewhere of my own.’

  ‘Shit. I suppose that’s kind of cool, though. I’ll be living with my parents until I’m forty, I reckon.’ He laughed.

  We drank on, through the afternoon, until the sun was almost setting. We were sitting on the back porch at the trellis table, where Mum used to read her Maeve Binchy novels in summer.

  Looking at Will across the table as I polished off another stubbie, folding the metal bottle cap into a crescent and dropping it into the empty, where it clattered against the thick glass base, I asked, ‘So, did you make a decision about uni?’

  ‘Nah. I’ll probably take a year off, I reckon. Mum says I should travel maybe, you know. Go back to Europe on my own or something.’

  ‘Right.’

  I felt keenly the purposelessness of Will’s decision, but it was perhaps no different from going off to university. There was no great war to go and fight in, and little worth dying for. So, you either studied or went on holiday, and the outcomes, I imagined, would likely be the same.

  I didn’t know where Will got his drugs, only that he had them. When he suggested we take the ecstasy and do a few lines of the speed he’d brought with him, I was eager for anything that might lead us to speak of or do that omnipresent thing we were not speaking of nor doing.

  ‘So, what’s with your family anyway?’ Will asked, when the sun had gone down and the last of the myna birds had flown north over the backyard, out across the reserve next to Pentridge, to the trees by the creek. ‘I mean, I know they’re moving, obviously, but, like, what’s the deal?’

  ‘Whaddaya mean?’

  It’d been about half an hour since we’d dropped, and a dull warmth at the base of my skull was creeping down my neck.

  ‘I mean, like, you don’t have to tell me or anything, but how come you live with your grandparents or whatever?’

  ‘My dad left when I was little. And me and Mum moved in with her folks after that. It’s not that complicated.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. But how come your dad left?’

  ‘I dunno. Same reason everyone’s parents get divorced probably.’

  ‘Do you see your dad?’

  ‘Sometimes. Yeah. A bit.’

  ‘But, like … he’s not around, though, hey?’

  ‘Nah, not really. He moved to the country when I was little. He’s back in the city now, though.’

  ‘Right.’

  I started to laugh, the heatwave coming over me. ‘My father’s second wife, after he left my mum, she used to tell me there were demons under my bed.’

  ‘Why’d she do that?’

  ‘She was some kind of religious nut, I guess. Either that or she just liked scaring kids.’

  ‘And you believed her?’ He laughed.

  ‘No. I mean … nah.’

  ‘You still see her?’

  ‘Nah. Dad divorced and remarried again. He’s onto the third now. But they’ve been together a while.’

  ‘What a stud.’

  ‘Ha! Yeah …’

  ‘…’

  ‘You believe in demons?’ I asked.

  ‘Personal demons, you mean? Everyone has those.’

  ‘No. I mean, real ones. The devil, ya know? Like, Lucifer and shit.’

  ‘Fuck no. Why?’

  ‘No reason,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t tell me you do?’

  ‘Sometimes, I think. Yeah. Maybe. Sometimes … sometimes it’s, like, I can feel this other thing inside me, ya know? Like, maybe it’s the devil. Whatever that woman put inside me, whatever fear she put there, that maybe it’s more than fear, that maybe it’s something else, something that can control me a little.’

  ‘You don’t seriously think this shit, do you?’

  ‘I can’t explain it. Like, my family have always thought they were kind of cursed, ya know, and sometimes I get to thinking it might be true. There’s just a blackness inside me sometimes, I think. I can feel it.’

  Will looked at me and I knew he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t understand.

  I said, ‘Maybe we should do a line or something.’

  ‘Sure, man.’

  We went back inside and I watched him cut lines on the kitchen counter. The fact was, he didn’t know all that much about me or the things I’d seen – Ellie’s face, Ken. He didn’t know what it was to grow up this side of town.

  I realised that was my biggest problem: if the outside remained intact, nobody knew. You had to flail and scream like Mum for attention, then everyone knew you were broken. And I wasn’t going to do that. I didn’t have it in me to make a spectacle.

  ‘That lady,’ I said, trying to explain it right for once, and fully. ‘My dad’s ex. She … she used to do all kinds of things to me … You know? Stuff I’ve never gotten over, I don’t think.’

  ‘Like what?’ Will asked. He didn’t seem to have much enthusiasm for the question, and I couldn’t tell if I liked him, hated him, needed him or wanted to use him or be used by him.

  ‘Nah. Never mind,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to talk about it really. She was very sad, I think. Angry, you know.’

  He passed me a tightly rolled note, and I snorted a line. The quick went straight to my head and brought the ecstasy into sharp focus, and I could see through the beers I’d spent all afternoon downing.

  ‘You can fuck me if you want,’ I said.

  I didn’t like the way Will’s eyes went when we fucked. It wasn’t like with Ellie. His eyes didn’t reveal any more of him to me. He didn’t become some subtler, more vulnerable version of himself, but was instead, seemingly, a different person entirely. Maybe it was different with men, like this. I didn’t much like it. It mostly hurt. But I wanted something done to me. And I thought of Ken in that room in Seymour. I wanted for it to be him, and pretended it was.

  Later, when we were lying together in my bed and had finished off the last of the whip, I ran my hand through Will’s hair like I’d done before Christmas, brushing my fingers across his forehead and pushing his hair back. But I didn’t feel much of anything.

  Looking at his spidery body, his u
nhandsome features, I said, ‘I think I love you.’

  I didn’t know where the words had come from, and I kissed his shoulder, wanting nothing but to hear him say them in return. He didn’t. He only looked at me curiously and tried to smile, and it occurred to me that I mightn’t’ve ever heard those words.

  In the morning, Will was gone. I knew I’d never see him again. And I never did.

  Confrontation

  For days after Will left, I did nothing except drink and write. And I found that the writing was all the same. I wrote copious letters to my father, redrafting them over and over. But nothing came out right. Long, disjointed sentences addressed this point and then that point and then another. I couldn’t focus on a single incident or issue, and had no idea what I was saying – what, even, my real problem was. I simply wanted to say something, and something honest, because although we’d talked, exchanged countless words over the eighteen years I’d known him, we’d never really said anything.

  Finally, I sobered up enough to make the decision to call my father. I hadn’t spoken to him since the days following Queenie’s funeral, when her will had been read, dividing up the large inheritance of her estate, all the money generated by the property development. But I’d received a postcard: Dad and Craig had gone to Hawaii, and the card displayed palm trees and young women in grass skirts and leis. I couldn’t picture Craig in Hawaii.

  I made the call.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, after he’d picked up.

  ‘Mr Motor! How are ya? I was wondering if you were ever gunna get in touch with your old man. Did you get my postcard?’

  ‘Yeah, I did. Thanks.’

  ‘So, what’s been —’

  ‘Hey, look,’ I said, becoming suddenly nervous, ‘I think we need to talk.’

  ‘Well, yes, it’d be great to catch up with you, son. Craig would be keen to —’

  ‘No. Not with Craig. I mean, just you and me. I mean, we need to talk.’

  ‘Oh. Right, well … What should I tell Craig?’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ I said. ‘I need to see you.’

  ‘…’

  ‘Can you meet me?’

  ‘Well, I’m pretty busy at the moment. I’m back at work, ya know.’

  Dad’s voice had changed, and I realised I was sweating, my palm slick against the phone. ‘I know. I mean, that’s fine. Can you just meet me on the weekend?’

  ‘Let me get back to you. I’ll see what I can do. But Craig will be disappointed. I’ll speak with you soon.’

  ‘Um, alri—’

  But Dad was off the line.

  I felt as though I’d done something terrible. Even then it upset me to think I’d somehow hurt him.

  Days passed before I received a text from Dad asking where and when I’d like to meet. I didn’t have the stomach to choose somewhere private; the thought of us being alone together was eerie somehow. So, I suggested a pub on Sydney Road, where I knew it would be busy on a Saturday afternoon.

  I arrived early with a pocketful of my scrawled notes and half-started letters, hoping this would help me find the words when talking with my father. The river of thoughts had to find their estuary this time. They had to.

  I bought a pint and got a table by the window, where I could see the street. I watched the cars roll by one after the next, the hordes of people walking past the shopfronts.

  When Dad arrived, he purchased a Scotch and joined me. ‘Long time, no see,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Yeah. Hey. How’s getting back to work?’

  ‘Oh, ya know, same old.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, about to take a sip.

  As I brought the pint up to my lips, Dad forced me into a cheers, we clinked glasses where the afternoon sunlight coming in from the window caught the beer and the whisky, making them glow a bright amber. The sight of this startled me, and I dipped my hand into my pocket to touch my notes. Queenie’s funeral seemed like it had been years ago, so, too, my family’s decision to move out of The Compound, and school, and Ellie, and everything else. It was all in the past, but the past ruled over everything.

  I watched as Dad placed his glass back on the tabletop, where it was shaded from the light. The cubes of ice were melting. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what did ya need to see me for?’

  The traffic outside was at a standstill.

  ‘Um, look,’ I said. ‘Basically, I just, ah, want to, like —’

  ‘Actually, before you go on, I really want you to know, Craig was quite put out by your not wanting him here today. It was really hard for me to have to explain it, because we always spend time together, and we both thought you liked that. And now with me back at work, Craig and I only have our weekends.’

  ‘Oh, well, um, like, sorry about that.’

  ‘Well, it’s not an issue now, so don’t worry, I suppose.’

  ‘Okay. Well, like, I thought we really needed to talk. Like, we’ve never spoken about, ah, ya know, the past and stuff. And I really think, like, maybe we should clear the air. Ya know?’

  ‘Ah.’ Dad took another sip of whisky – light – amber – back to tabletop – shadowed. The cars were moving again.

  ‘Ya know,’ I said, ‘I think that a lotta stuff happened that wasn’t, I dunno, that maybe wasn’t all that good.’

  ‘I see,’ said Dad, becoming very tired and very stern. ‘And now you’re looking for an apology.’

  ‘No. Well, ah, no, not exactly. I just feel like the stuff, ya know, in Seymour, ya know, with Ken —’

  ‘Let me stop you right there. Now, before you go on with this, and this is a track I really don’t see much point in going down quite frankly, but what you need to know is this: I am who I am, Ford. I am what I am. And you’re not going to find me apologising for that.’

  ‘No, but that’s not really —’

  ‘Now, we can either sit here and talk all kinds of things, or we can have a nice afternoon and enjoy our drinks.’

  The cars had stopped moving again, and I removed my hand from my pocket, where my fingers had been resting against the notes. ‘Ah, yeah,’ I said.

  ‘The past is the past, son. You need to let it go. And look, I know I’m coming over a bit insensitive right now, but, Ford, this is a really hard time for me with your grandmother having just passed away. It would be nice if we could just enjoy life for a minute, don’t ya reckon?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Mmm, that was good,’ he said, finishing off his drink. ‘I’ll get us another round, shall I?’

  ‘Sure. Yeah. Cheers.’

  I wanted to tell him to fuck right off, but my desire to react died somewhere in the dark floor lengthening between us as he walked back to the bar. I sat there, hurt, still the boy who could not follow Joel out the window, who had stood by and watched Moose take his beating, who had not intervened to help Ellie, and waited for my father to return with more drinks. I realised drinking hardened me and let me forget I was the type of person who’d spent their life doing what others wanted, never taking action when I needed to the most.

  When Dad returned, he placed the drinks down along with a small bowl of salt-and-vinegar crisps, and I got started on the second pint. My notes were burning a hole in my pocket, and I wanted to be a million miles away.

  ‘Really, Mr Motor,’ he said, gathering a handful of chips and removing them from the bowl, ‘I don’t know what more ya can ask for. You’ve had a great life, son, better than I had to your age, trust me.’

  I wondered why my father had placed his crisps on a coaster nearest him instead of eating from the bowl. I thought it was odd, this habit of his to so rigidly manage his food.

  ‘Queenie’s given you the very best education money can buy,’ he said. ‘And now it’s my turn to take care of you. Ya read the will, didn’t you? And, listen, if we’re speaking openly, then there’s something I need to know, and that’s that you value and respect Craig, which is why I brought it up before. We’re a family, Ford. What if something were to happen to him? Or
Joel? Or any one of his boys? Or me, for that matter? I need to know you’re gunna be there for your family, for your old man. It’s important that you understand what your grandmother’s will states regarding these matters. As the lawyers have said, the money is really in the hands of only …’

  As my father droned on – about his mother’s money, about his deluded concept of ‘family’, about the need for me to act more responsibly now that I was eighteen – I gave up on him entirely.

  Outside, the traffic was moving, people were walking past the grocers and bars and hookah pipe lounges, and they were likely doing the same on other streets, in other suburbs, and in other countries. Life went out and beyond, infinitely, and the choices you made, the ones that felt very big, were miniscule in that context.

  It was easy, then, to make a decision in such a context: I was simply never going to see my father again.

  The Gambler

  It was getting close to winter, nearing the end of my first semester at university, when my family found a buyer for The Compound. They wanted a private sale and so contracts were being drawn up and soon I had only a few months to vacate Unit Two on Barrow Street and find myself somewhere cheap to live. It crossed my mind that as a joke I should move into Pentridge, but after consideration it wasn’t so funny.

  Part of me was thrilled to be moving out alone, though I hadn’t expected it to happen so shortly after leaving school. I’d even come round to convincing myself that selling off The Compound was a good, cathartic act. While I couldn’t bring myself to approve of the new arrangement between Noonie, Pop and Mum, perhaps severing their tie with the two units was something like their version of moving on; if it was, that had to be a good thing.

  In the weeks before the sale, I went out to Dawson Lakes for a visit to let my family know how uni was going and to assure Pop that I really didn’t need a hand packing my belongings. The three of them were living in a two-bedroom unit at the back of the retirement village, an area kind of like its own gated community within Dawson Lakes. Their unit was smaller than either of the ones we’d occupied on Barrow Street, and only a single storey.There were rows of similar houses on short, manicured streets away from the central building in the village: a large apartment block, whose residents had balcony views of the man-made lake. Dawson Lakes was structured so that those in the units were self-reliant, though when the time came they would move into an apartment in the main building, where they had access to permanent care, and where the residents ate in a communal food hall, counting down the days until they made their final move.