The First Week Read online

  Being the finder was worse though, being the only one in the open, knowing that you were watched, that unseen enemies were working to outwit you. Then the silence was terrible and she would get flustered, double back to places she’d already searched, turn away just as someone was sneaking home.

  The hiding places themselves, the secret places, she liked.

  The axe hung in her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to swing it again. Putting it neatly back in the drum she went to the kitchen and laid the two bits of wood end to end in the box.

  The draining board was piled high with the best china. Cups and saucers, hideous wedding-present vases, casserole dishes too big for one person. There were mice in the cupboard, droppings everywhere, and she’d hauled everything out the night before.

  Well it would give her something to do. She ran water into the sink and pushed four cups under the suds.

  On top of the pile was a cake dish covered in tiny blue forget-me-nots, one of her mother’s few treasures. Not for everyday.

  The rhythm of washing and drying was soothing. The pile of clean crockery on the table grew. She dried a vase and started on the wine glasses.

  Just an ordinary morning, like so many others. The boys, young again, playing outside …

  A thought swam up into her mind. An old dark thought, unused to the light, a thought about her unreadable baby. Charlie needs watching.

  She turned the radio on. Warehouse overload. All stock must go. An ad for carpets. Who needed carpets? But when she turned it off the silence weighed on her. The numbers flickered on the tiny screen as she twiddled to get music. The green green grass of home. Better.

  That girl, the one who’d rung, sounded very young. Probably she’d got confused and rung by mistake. It was some other Marian with a son called Charlie.

  The trilling of the phone cut across Tom Jones.

  Marian was gripped by a tight band around her chest, a sudden absence of breath. Her jaw trembled.

  It was the girl again.

  We think you should come … can you get here by tomorrow morning?

  So that was it. There was no mistake.

  Marian had the strange sensation, physical, of willing her brain to work, winding it up like an old clock.

  She bit at the torn quick of her thumbnail and the sudden pain made her wince. Think, damn it.

  What did she need to take?

  Someone was mumbling, a monotonous drone. A moment passed before she realised that the sound came from her own mouth. Go to the city. Drive to Perth. Charlie’s dead.

  No. There was something wrong about that.

  Her lungs squeezed shut.

  Not Charlie. Someone else.

  She should ring Brian. He’d be home for his lunch by now. With her hand poised over the number pad she stopped. Brian and Michelle. A number that she rang every day, more familiar than her own.

  Nine two seven …

  She jiggled the button and tried again.

  Nine two seven …

  No use. The rest was gone from her mind.

  That frightened her more than anything. Shaking, she fumbled the contents of her handbag onto the bench. Pressing the address book open with one hand she dialled with the other.

  ‘Brian?’

  Her voice sounded tight. Clipped, no emotion. She had to hold herself together.

  After she’d hung up she felt her way along the bench to the sink, picked up the tea towel and dried a wineglass, seeing as though for the first time the object in her hands. A beautifully shaped glass from the set that her bridesmaid had given her.

  Evie.

  If only she was here.

  Evie always knew what to do.

  Marian pulled out a chair and sat down, still holding the tea towel in one hand.

  There were footsteps on the verandah, and voices. Marian jumped. How long had she been sitting there? There were things to do.

  ‘Marian?’

  Damn. Michelle and Tara. There’d been no sound of a car. They must have walked. Michelle would want to go over and over it, a family conference. She was a great one for talking things over, always dragging Brian off to classes and marriage guidance sessions. Relationship skills.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen.’

  The screen door squeaked.

  Michelle’s hair was ruffled, her face streaky from crying.

  Marian was irritated and turned away. Making a fuss. It was better to keep quiet and wait. There might still be some explanation. Perhaps it wasn’t as serious as it seemed.

  Tara shuffled up to the table, eyes big in her wide soft face. ‘Gramma?’

  Marian swallowed and tried to speak. ‘Hello …’

  She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Hello, darling.’

  Michelle pushed the little girl gently towards the door. ‘Go and play outside, sweetie. I need to talk to Grandma.’

  Tara backed out of the door, then stood with her face against the fly wire as her mother spoke to Marian.

  ‘Brian told me. But it must be a mistake. Mustn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Marian shifted wearily. ‘Maybe.’ It’s not a mistake. It’s true.

  ‘Jesus. I can’t believe it. I heard it on the news you know, after I dropped Todd off. But I didn’t take any notice. I didn’t think … well you don’t.’ She perched on a chair. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Marian shrugged.

  ‘Brian says you’re going up to the city?’

  ‘Yes.’ Marian ran her hands over her hair. Had she brushed it that morning?

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She must clean her hairbrush before she packed it.

  ‘Maybe Brian should go? Haynes rang him to do that job, but he could finish early if you want. He said to ask you again.’

  ‘No. Someone has to stay here.’

  ‘It’s unreal.’ Michelle picked up a vase in the shape of a log with a woodpecker at one end. She frowned and put it down. ‘What’s everybody going to say?’

  ‘Who’s everybody?’

  ‘Like at work. What am I going to tell them at work?’

  Marian stared at her. Michelle’s face reddened. ‘Well it matters,’ she said. ‘And what am I going to tell Mum and Dad?’

  ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ said Marian. ‘Is that all you can think about?’

  ‘It’s okay for you. You don’t care what people say.’

  Marian took a breath to speak. But what was the point?

  Michelle was crying again. ‘Mum was right. I should have thought twice before I married Brian.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ A needle of anger disturbed Marian’s lethargy.

  Michelle paled but was carried into speech by her tears. ‘Well, you know.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Everything that’s gone wrong. Not just this. Money. The farm … always struggling. And Tara. Being like she is.’

  ‘Are you saying that’s Brian’s fault?’

  ‘Mum says there’s never been anything like that in our family.’

  Marian was filled with such rage that she could barely see Michelle. ‘How dare you. How dare you blame Brian!’

  Michelle flinched, but Marian’s anger ebbed as quickly as it had come and she turned away, not caring.

  Before Michelle could speak there was a howl from outside. Both women ran.

  Tara had fallen into the dusty sword ferns at the edge of the verandah and was holding her head in both hands and making a high pitched drone. ‘Nananananana.’

  ‘What happened,’ Michelle demanded, grabbing at her.

  ‘Bit me,’ the child cried.

  Michelle whirled around. ‘The dog,’ she said, ‘that bloody dog.’

  Jeb cowered behind Marian, tail down.

  ‘Bullshit,’ Marian said.

  She squatted down by Tara. ‘He was only trying to lick you. Remember? Like last time.’

  He wants to make friends, she thought of adding, but speaking seemed such an effort. For a
moment panic seized her. Was she having a stroke? But even that thought sank away as she stood up, steadying herself with one hand on the verandah post.

  Michelle checked Tara over and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘We’ll go,’ she said, mouth tight. ‘No point trying to help here.’

  ‘No,’ Marian said. She knew she shouldn’t let them go like that, but she couldn’t find the energy. All she wanted was sleep.

  How could this happen? Why hadn’t she known something was wrong?

  Charlie hadn’t rung for … how long? Weeks. A month or more.

  When he first went to the city Marian rang him every week, making conversation, telling him news, asking how he was getting on. Her own first time away from home was vivid in her memory, how lost she’d been.

  If Charlie felt like that, he wasn’t letting on. Okay, he’d say. Yeah. Or sometimes, in a burst of words, Mum, stop worry­ing! I’m fine.

  He started out boarding with a sister of Evie’s, did well in his exams, came home and helped with the harvest, and announced that he’d found his own place.

  In the long midnight hours Marian told herself he’d be all right. He was a clever boy and he’d manage.

  Brian was bracing. Don’t hassle him. What can happen? He’s too busy with his head in a book to get into trouble.

  Marian bit back the list of dangers. Drugs, drink, cars.

  Lucky Brian had fixed the ute. It meant she could take the Astra and be comfortable.

  Maybe she should get Brian to come after all. But there was the farm. One of them had to stay, him or her. And these days it was Brian who did the bulk of the work.

  Anyway he wouldn’t care about seeing Charlie, wouldn’t have anything to say.

  They were friends when they were little.

  Michelle disliked Charlie. That didn’t help.

  Marian stood at the gate of the chook yard. What was she doing?

  That’s right. Fill the hopper. Check the water.

  The second gate, into the veggie garden, scraped against the soil. The hinge needed fixing. But not now. Now there was only time for watering. If she gave everything a good soak, it would be all right for a day or so. The lettuces might suffer though. She knelt down, knees straining, and touched the leaves. The green against the brown soil, rich with compost, gave her no pleasure today. Pushing herself upright she hung on to the tap while a wave of humming darkness engulfed her. She breathed in and out slowly and turned on the tap.

  The house. What did she need to do about the house? The kitchen?

  The sink was still piled high with the good china. She slid a stack of plates into the lukewarm water, then thought of something else. Tins of meat so that Brian could feed Jeb. Forgetting about the dishes Marian wandered over to the table and started a note to Brian.

  Jeb. Chooks. Lettuce seedlings. What else? The point of the pencil pressed into the paper, but her hand was paralysed. There must be other things. If it doesn’t rain, she wrote carefully. They always said that, for luck, to try and outwit fate.

  Oh God! The tap was still running on the veggies. She ran outside and wrenched it off, heart pounding.

  Back in the house she pulled a bag down from the wardrobe and put it on the bed. Pack a warm jumper. Which pyjamas should she take?

  Would they let her stay there with him? But even as the thought formed she knew it was stupid. Not a hospital. It’d be … where was he?

  Her hand was shaking.

  She pushed the bag shut and pulled the zip across. Then, realising that she still hadn’t put any pyjamas in, she opened it a crack and pushed in an old tee shirt from the chair next to the bed.

  There would be somewhere to stay. She could find somewhere. There was money in her purse. Or she could sleep in the car.

  That idea was comforting. She could always sleep in the Astra.

  He wasn’t dead.

  It took some moments of staring at the clock before she realised that it said four. And she was still sitting on the bed. How could it be four? This was no good.

  Stay focused.

  The first part of the trip passed in a daze. As the thin winter sunlight faded she dragged her attention back again and again to the road. Concentrate.

  She gripped the wheel tight, hands at ten-to-two.

  Before long the world had shrunk into darkness, the night-time trees looming up in the headlights and dropping away behind. Each white post menaced her, then fell away again, mocking.

  Normally, driving at night, she would sing to keep herself awake. Singing always made her think of her father, a man who spoke little but knew every song there was.

  She opened her mouth. The bear went over the mountain …

  The words came out as a grotesque croak, sending shockwaves through the quiet hum inside the car. Heat flooded up into her face. How could she think of singing at a time like this?

  There wasn’t a lot of traffic. Afterwards she couldn’t remember any other cars except hers, alone on the road, pushing through the dark towards the terror.

  Must stay alert. Turn the heater off. But she was soon shivering and pushed the lever back on, wriggling her toes and drumming on the wheel to stay awake. She clicked the radio knob, though she knew nothing would happen. It hadn’t worked for ages. If only she’d dug out some cassettes.

  She drove slowly through a deserted town, spitting on her fingers and rubbing the wet onto her eyes. The coldness kept her awake for another few minutes.

  The pull to sleep was a soft downward slide, punctuated with shots of adrenalin when the car drifted sideways onto the rumble strips.

  The warning sign for a truck stop flashed up and she made herself pull over. Sleep. She’d have to sleep.

  As soon as she shut her eyes, her mind was clearer than it had been all afternoon. A lawyer, that’s what she needed. She should have rung Kettleworths. They might have been able to suggest someone in the city.

  But she couldn’t bear the thought of speaking, couldn’t think what she’d say, how the words would go.

  Charlie’s dead?

  Sleep was fitful. The discomfort woke her a dozen times. She turned and twisted and tried to stretch different parts of her body, pulling the sleeping bag closer around her. And each time, in the first moment, half-sleeping and half-waking, she felt the dread lodged like a great hollow box in her chest.

  tuesday

  Marian woke with a start.

  The city, it changed him. He must have got into bad company.

  But he seemed all right, the first year. Something must have gone wrong when he moved out on his own. Who were these friends he lived with?

  The windows had fogged up and Marian’s feet were numb with cold. Someone was tapping on the glass.

  She wiped the window with the end of her scarf and a frowning face appeared.

  Sickness snaked in Marian’s belly. This woman knew. She’d been sent to … arrest Marian.

  The face was mouthing at her. ‘Are you all right?’

  Marian wound the window down a crack. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’re parked across the entrance. We thought something must have happened.’

  Something must have happened.

  Marian glanced around. Trees everywhere, their tops lit by the rising sun. Ahead of her, the rest-stop was a small oasis of red gravel surrounded by bush, connected to the highway by a sandy track.

  Sure enough, she had barely made it off the edge of the road and was blocking the track.

  ‘Sorry,’ she croaked, then cleared her throat. ‘I had to pull over last night.’

  The smile she tried for felt more like a grimace. ‘I’m all right now.’

  The woman seemed unconvinced. ‘You sure we can’t do anything?’

  ‘No. I’m fine. Thanks for checking.’

  ‘Okay. Drive safely.’ The woman backed away, still frowning.

  Marian ran her fingers through her hair. If she was going to talk to people later, official people, she should tidy herself up. She had to tell t
hem … something. She had to fight. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. He’s not a bad boy.

  Grabbing a rag from the floor she wiped the inside of the windscreen, then climbed out of the car and stretched, bladder bursting.

  She looked round to see if there was any cover. Oh shit. The woman was still there, car just off the bitumen. A bald man in the passenger seat and two kids in the back all gawked at Marian. They were waiting for her to move.

  Marian opened the back door, leaned in to wipe the rear window, and backed out awkwardly. Waving with what she hoped was nonchalance, she squeezed into the driver’s seat. God, let it start first time. The engine wheezed into life and she pulled out on to the road. The rear vision mirror showed the rescuer lifting her hand in doubtful acknowledgement.

  Marian crawled along at eighty until she saw the sign for a roadhouse. Thank goodness. A toilet. And she’d better wash her face, have a coffee.

  A frieze of blue dolphins and whales circled the toilet wall. Marian sat and studied them. Each dolphin was chasing a diamond shaped shoal of smaller fish.

  Even if she’d been able to keep Charlie at the farm, it wouldn’t have been right. Brian was the older son, the farm was his. You couldn’t buck that. People tried sharing farms or dividing them. But it didn’t work, not without a lot of capital to buy up more land. The old places were barely viable as it was, supporting just one family.

  And anyway, Charlie had never shown any interest in farming.

  What had he wanted?

  Running water into the basin Marian splashed her hair to damp down the bits that stuck out. The cold made her wince. She rubbed her head dry with a handful of paper towels and combed her hair flat in front of the mirror. Mouse. Mouse with grey bits, and there were bags under her eyes. Already she looked the way her mother had at sixty, dry skin on her cheeks and a red tip to her nose.

  Perhaps she could get a hat in Perth. Did people wear hats? She didn’t want to stand out.

  The girl on the phone would be there today, and the others.

  Charlie was always vague about who he was actually living with. Oh … just friends.

  What if it was some sort of gang thing? Drugs?

  The girl had sounded young and frightened, but there would be others. Someone had been there in the background.