In Jeopardy (5 page)

Richard’s first three messages are almost the same, word for word:
Where are you? I expect you are home. I’ll call back later. We have to talk.
Delete. Clearing his throat, in a concerned voice, the next message takes a different approach, one Christine suspects feigns concern.
I expect you have returned. Hope the trip was okay,
followed by impatience:
Pick up the phone we must talk.
Delete.
The volume of his voice increases as does his sense of outrage and desperation.
For f—k’s sake Christine, pick up the phone. This is so like you. Don’t you get it – we’re over?
Delete.
Please be reasonable and pick up the phone
, he pauses, draws breath and sighs.
I will be home Sunday and it would be of mutual benefit if you moved yourself out before I return. We must talk.
Delete.

A big ask – how dare the bastard! How dare the bastard have the temerity to make these outrageous demands over the phone! Does he think I will leave because it is convenient for him? Does he think that after nine years of marriage that I can be dispensed with in the same way as unwanted baggage?

Christine makes a cup of tea. Upstairs in the study she fires up her computer and check emails. She deletes the usual rubbish that floods the inbox on a daily basis without reading it. Richard attacks her inbox with a rash of messages, most demand Christine contact him followed by accusations that by delaying the inevitable she is only making the situation awkward for both parties.

His last message is a pathetic attempt to appear reasonable.
Christine, I realise you are angry that our relationship has ended. Must you make things worse for yourself when I’m offering a suggestion to give us a clean break and avoid bitter and heated disputes that will inevitably disrupt our lives if we are living under the same roof? Would you consider a lump sum cash payment ahead of legal proceedings to expedite the division of property and assets? This will allow you to purchase a property and move on from our relationship that you know has become stale and soured. You cannot deny that our relationship is over.

In Richard’s usual manner he implies he’s blameless. He simply states the marriage is over because the relationship is no longer convenient to him.

When he wasn’t subjecting Christine to protracted silent rages or explosive outbursts he patronised her, treating her as ignorant and needing every detail explained in simple terms. He often accused her of embellishing the minutiae, likened her to a dog with a bone. He claimed she hung on to
slights, collecting them to add to future disagreements and blowing them out of proportion. She cannot recall one instance where she had done what he had accused her of.

The tea has gone cold.

She plucks a strand of hair, twirls it around her finger. She stares out of the window at groups of people passing by, cars parked or pulling onto the high street and driving away, not fully conscious of the detail. The activity and noise in the café become a blur; each separate image is a block of colour. The only noise Christine hears is the coffee machine’s hissing in the background. She startles at the blonde, black-aproned girl who chirps, ‘Can I take these for you?’

Christine is surprised that she only left the crusts from one half of the sandwich. She nods.

‘Do you want another coffee or something else?’

Christine turns and looks at an assortment of cakes and individual chocolates in a glass cabinet. ‘Yes. I’ll have four chocolates.’

The girl picks up the menu, points to the sweets section. ‘You can choose your flavours from here.’

‘Can you select them for me?’

‘Do you like pralines, truffles, creams?’

‘I’ll leave it up to you. Thanks.’

In the café she still hasn’t decided how she will respond to Richard’s rash of demands. She pays the bill and returns home and back to the study to read emails. There is a hospital newsletter, one from her brother and another telephone missive from Richard.
Christine, please contact me to indicate your response and intentions. I’d like to avoid the unpleasantness of us finding ourselves in the house and the possibility of an explosion. We need to be civil about this.

Christine is furious.
Does the creep expect he can pull a stunt like this? Why should I leave? This is as much my home as his. He should be the one leaving since he wants me out of his life.

Christine wrings her hands with rage. She picks up the glass paperweight with the letter R embossed in it and bounces it ready to smash it into the computer screen. Instead she throws the glass against the door; it explodes into glittering pieces of hail that scatter over the floor.

I will leave before he returns; amputate this gangrene from my life. I will be gone when he returns. He can fume and sweat it out to find that I have left without a word of where I will be or what my intentions are. He can suck s—t until he chokes waiting for me to answer his demands.
She is certain her strategy will dampen the romance, drain some colour from the rose-tinted glasses he’s wearing.
His fantasy will become more like a waking nightmare.

No doubt the next rush of biting emails from him will hurt.

Julian’s email reads:

Hi Christine

I’m in Sydney and am likely to remain in the country for the next six weeks or more. One of the big publishers is doing a new series of books on the Antipodes. I’m working on rural and outback Australia, its past, culture and the present. I will be in Melbourne at some stage to meet up with some rookies and assist them with their projects on major cities. It would be great to catch up with you. I will be in touch just before I reach Melbourne. Please let me know about your movements so we can arrange to meet up.

Christine shrinks at the thought; she can’t face Julian not now, the questions, retelling and reliving all that has happened over these past days. She doesn’t want to burden him, or worse, for him to think that she is some helpless and hopeless creature.
Julian cannot under any circumstances become
involved in this. This is something I must face alone. And there’s no need to contact Diana now or announce to friends and colleagues that Richard has thrown me out of his life.

She phones the hospital. Jessica, one of the ward nurses, answers. ‘I thought you weren’t going to be home until Sunday.’

‘Change of plans. Is Kim working this shift?’

‘Yes, but she’s on a break.’

‘Please leave a message for her to return my call.’

Christine knows if she is going to pack herself out of Richard’s life and their house she cannot delay another minute. She sweeps through the house, room by room, rakes through the things that once defined them as a couple. She removes personal effects: books, music, cut glass vases and collectable porcelain plates and figurines, decorative candelabras and the sound system. She arranges these into a corner of the living room.

She moves to the kitchen and takes the best dinner sets, glassware and silver. In the upstairs study she clears away her personal items. She leaves behind the valuable antiques Richard has collected and those given to them by his parents. Christine disdained these items, their aged appearance unsettled her. He told her that she lacked aesthetic values and the appreciation of fine historic things. He often claimed she was a philistine.

The phone rings; it’s Kim. Christine informs her that she agrees to take on the role of Charge Nurse. Kim asks if Christine can begin before Monday. She explains that this is impossible and fills Kim in with the barest of details. Kim expresses sympathy followed by silence.

‘Are you sure you are able to begin work on Monday?’

‘The Emergency Ward is the kind of distraction I need right now.’

‘I’m sorry – no – shocked. Richard struck me as being the perfect gentleman. I never would have thought.’

‘He’s good at impressions.’

‘And all this time you said nothing.’

‘What was there to say?’

Christine had been painfully aware that sick people, their desperate situations and the trials their families were often forced to face made her personal circumstance seem trite. People were rushed into Emergency unconscious, bleeding and broken; this has always served well as a reality check for her. Now that Richard has thrown her out of his life and the privileged existence she had been accustomed to, she is not so sure.

The awkward silence is again broken, ‘Are you okay? What are you going to do?’

‘I’m in the process of packing myself out of our house.’

‘Do you have anywhere to go?’

‘No.’ Christine hesitates. ‘I want to ask you a favour. Can you check if a hospital apartment is available? I realise they are usually reserved for interns and resident doctors.’

‘I can find out. I’m sure that given your situation the hospital can come to some arrangement.’

Christine adds the wingbacks, eight upholstered chairs and some other small pieces of furniture to her collection. Finally, she removes her guitar, sheet music and other music effects from the downstairs study. This room is largely taken up by Richard’s vintage train set. She arranges for a storage company to collect the boxes she has packed and the furniture.

Kim calls and offers Christine a shared apartment for the next two weeks until the intern occupying it leaves. She packs two cases containing clothes and a handful of personal effects, emptying the house of her presence.

The apartment is white-painted walls and cabinets with chrome fittings. Cherry red carpet adds a splash of colour. The walls are almost bare except for a large framed print of a zebra and other wildlife dropped into a tropical fantasy; it’s unmistakably a Graeme Base. Christine’s flatmate Tim isn’t in the apartment when she arrives. Unwashed dishes and a bunch of soggy towels left on the floor in the bathroom confirm his existence.

She pulls a chipped cup from the cupboard, the best of a battered and stained collection. She makes a tea and braces herself for a fresh lot of emails. The hospital confirms her new position including shifts over the next fortnight.

The expected heated emails from Richard are in Christine’s inbox. He demands that she be reasonable and contact him. There is another one from Julian telling her he will be in Melbourne next week.

Not expecting to hear from Julian this quickly, she isn’t prepared to face her brother so soon after her life has been torn apart.
What if he regrets returning to Melbourne, finds me morose, distracted, absorbed in melodrama and leaves sooner than intended?

She returns Julian’s email, offers an apology for not responding earlier and the excuse that she has been preoccupied with work commitments. She expresses the expected surprise that her brother is in Australia and suggests some times and places where they can meet. Christine suggests
Capote’s,
around the corner from the hospital, or perhaps he can meet her at the hospital foyer and they can eat at a place of his choice.

She muses over Richard waiting and smouldering because she still hasn’t responded to any of his emails.
He can wait – torture himself. Let him curse. Let him regret, demand and threaten before returning home to find I have already complied with his wishes.

At the Blue Moon Christine switches on her phone and again the battery is flat. She salvages the napkin that came with the coffee and biscuits she ordered. She writes on it: How to put my life back in order.

She suspects that the latest bomb Richard has dropped on her is only the beginning of her grief, conflict and the dirty tricks she expects will follow. She thinks since Richard threw her out of his life her days of complying with his demands are over. His days of explosive words, followed by:
Darling this and darling that, are over.

Christine writes:
Do I inform Richard where I am living?

This is a weapon I will use against him. This will frustrate him.
It satisfies Christine that he can strike at her and miss each time.

Moving from the house was the first step. The hospital is a perfect place to hide. She is convinced Richard will be enraged when he realises that her leaving won’t be the convenient solution he thought it would be.
I’m going to make
separation
, divorce and all the ugly steps involved difficult for Richard. I won’t meekly accept his terms.
She smiles at the thought that he is in for some surprises.

Christine finds Kim in the staffroom.

‘Christine, how are things?’

‘I’ve moved into the apartment.’

‘I mean how
you
are?’

‘Soldiering on.’

‘If there’s anything I can do just ask.’

‘No – yes – do you know a solicitor? I’m going to need one.’

‘So soon? You could be rushing things.’

‘No, it’s over. Richard’s made that clear.’

‘Things might blow over when he comes home.’

‘Not this time.’

‘Annie’s brother is a solicitor. You could ask her.’

‘Thanks Kim.’

She finds Annie with her head buried in a glossy mag at one of the workstations. She calls, ‘Annie.’

Annie lifts her head. ‘You scared me half to death. I thought you were Christine’s ghost! Aren’t you supposed to be in Sydney?’ She stares at Christine through large-framed fluoro-green glasses.

‘Richard and I have split up.’

‘You didn’t need to go to Sydney for that. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to say that – I so didn’t mean to sound that awful.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s not okay – what I said – what happened is not okay.’

‘Kim said your brother is a solicitor. I’m looking for one.’

‘He doesn’t work as a family lawyer anymore. He is a mediator and deals with warring couples face to face. Now he’s the meat in the sandwich. I can give you the name of the legal firm he works for; one of his colleagues may be able to assist you.’

Annie writes his name on a post-it-note: Angus Hamilton.

When Christine calls he has left for the day. The receptionist enquires if she wants to leave a message or whether anyone else can assist. She requests to speak to someone today and arrange to meeting with a legal adviser tomorrow, before Richard returns. She knows she has to face him and this situation and wants to be armed for battle to avoid being ambushed.