Our Magic Hour (4 page)

Audrey sat him down across from his mother again. He watched her intently for a moment,
but she could not capture him: he lost interest and turned back to Audrey. He smiled
with a slack mouth and reached a hand for her hair, making the gurgling noises of
a six-month-old baby.

The woman leaned forwards, trying to get his attention.

‘Brooklyn,' she said, touching his blond crown. His eyes were swimming-pool blue.
Audrey looked to the mother's face to see if they were the same, but her pupils were
stretched wide.

Audrey turned her head. It was all the privacy she could give them.

When the grief came, it was primitive and crippling. Audrey was kneecapped at the
coin laundry; in her fluorescent-lit cubicle at work; sitting on the rooftop at the
Labour in Vain, surrounded by friends. Minutes before, she'd been laughing so hard
she thought she would vomit. Walking through the university after a conference, her
head full of early intervention programs until suddenly it wasn't. Glimpsing a thickness
of hair that did not belong to Katy, hearing her dry cackle in someone else's throat:
impossible logic puzzles, a kick in the guts. She was struck crawling down Punt Road
on the way home from seeing Adam, cars slowing in a stream of lights. Rolling to
a stop just past Domain Road, where the hill fell away again and bared the Yarra
and the silos and the football ground and the commission flats and the suburbs and
trees whose leaves spilled brown and veiny. Tim Buckley on the radio and Audrey was
unravelling.

When she got home Nick had left for work.
Saving lives
, his mother told friends.
Audrey wrote another card to Katy's parents to say she was thinking of them. She
lay on Nick's side of the bed and began to re-read
L'Assommoir
. She woke with a wet
face, Nick's arms around her. The room was strange and bright. The thought crawled
into her mind, unbidden:
We won't survive this, any of us.

‘You okay?'

‘I was dreaming.' She'd stopped crying. She couldn't even remember what the dream
had been about. ‘What time did you get home?'

‘Just now.' He touched her hair. His T-shirt said CODE RED! VALUE OUR AMBOS.

‘Adam called again tonight,' she said. ‘I don't know what to do for him.'

‘We've all just got to get through it. There's no map.'

There was a bad smell in their kitchen. At first Nick didn't notice it
. Something's
died under the house
, Audrey kept saying.
Must be a possum or a rabbit
.

‘You'd know about it if there was a dead possum under there,' Nick said. But after
a few days he could smell it, too. ‘Reckon it's the sink,' he said. He took the strainer
out and poked around with a wooden spoon. It wasn't a terrible odour. It didn't really
smell like a dead animal. Only a dampness, something pungent and mildewy.

She drove out to her mother's house for dinner. She was the first to arrive. She
wasn't sure if she could face Sylvie alone.

Adam answered on the fourth ring.

‘It's only me,' she said.

‘Hi, Spence.'

‘How are you?'

‘I'm okay.' His voice so soft she could hardly hear it.

‘Just okay?'

‘Yeah.'

Her sister's family had arrived. Audrey watched Irène and David approach the front
door; she watched them take it in turns to greet Sylvie. Five-year-old Zoe was in
her school uniform. Sylvie feigned shock at the sight of her.

‘When are you thinking of going back to school?' Audrey asked.

‘I don't know. I think I've fucked it. I've missed too much and I didn't email anyone.'

‘All right.' It was an hour from here to Adam's flat, an hour back.
‘I'm going to
Maman's for dinner tonight. Do you want to come? Nick's working. I could use the
company.'

‘Nah, it's okay. Tell her I said hi.' He must have sensed her panic down the line.
He said, ‘I'm okay. Really. Just need to get it together.'

‘Okay,' Audrey said. She let her head drop for a moment.

Sylvie opened the door with a cigarette between her fingers and held out her arms
for an embrace. She said
P'tit lapin
the way she always had. She examined Audrey
as they separated. ‘Are you taking care of yourself? Where is Bernard?'

‘He couldn't come. He has a SAC tomorrow.'

‘C'est quoi, ce SAC?'

‘It's—' Audrey followed her mother down the hall to the kitchen. She waved at David
and Zoe as they passed through the lounge room. ‘It's like a test. It counts towards
your exams.' She'd invented the SAC. Bernie was probably sitting on his bed, high
and happy.

‘And Nick? He is working?'

‘Yeah, he's on night shift.' She poured herself a glass of wine and leaned against
the bench. ‘Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?'

‘I will tell you.'

Everyone mumbled through grace at Sylvie's request. Audrey was tired, glad for the
simple conversation. David's going to Singapore in April. His first overseas work
trip. If they'd had more notice, they could have all gone together. It would have
been nice for Zoe to see another country. Sylvie is volunteering at the old people's
home. She's made some lovely friends. The elderly people are so sweet. Sylvie is
kind too—she takes them biscuits and flowers and puzzles. Irène is planning to pick
up more copywriting work now that Zoe's at school. She just wants to make sure Zoe
is all settled. She'll start looking in a few weeks.

‘And how are Mr and Mrs Shields?' Sylvie asked.

Audrey froze.
They're devastated
, she wanted to say.
They will come to dust.

‘Helen called last night,' she said instead. ‘She didn't say much. I'd sent a couple
of cards and she thanked me for those. Wanted to know how I was doing.' She cleared
her throat. ‘She and Steve seem very strong.'

‘I can't even imagine it,' Irène said. The five of them were quiet. Zoe was swinging
her legs, oblivious.

The grandfather clock struck eight.

‘Adam's the biggest worry,' Audrey said. ‘He's not doing too well.' She finished
her glass of wine and excused herself. From the next room she heard the conversation
turn.

The sisters stood at the sink to wash and dry the dishes.

‘It was a nice service the other day,' Irène said.

‘Thanks for coming. You didn't have to.'

‘God, Audrey, she was family.' She was polishing the cutlery with the efficiency
of a waitress. ‘You spoke well.'

Audrey felt something, a filament of steel wool, stuck beneath her fingernail. She
held her hand to the light, but she couldn't see anything.

‘I like your dress,' Audrey said. ‘You look like Maman.' She caught them both unawares,
but it was true. Irène had their mother's wild hair and regal nose, but she was taller,
broader across the shoulders. Audrey had their mother's frame.
Little-boy legs
,
Sylvie had said once, standing in front of the mirror naked and hollow-thighed when
Audrey was a child.

‘It's funny.' Irène hung the tea towel on the dishrack. ‘I was thinking the same
thing about you when you and Maman were standing in here before. I think I don't
notice it as much because she's always flapping around,' she said, ‘and you're so
still.'

Audrey could feel the tiny steel fibre lodged under her nail.
It was a mild, monotonous
pain.

The strange smell was still in the kitchen. Audrey scrubbed at the bottom of the
fridge. She knelt in front of the pantry and looked at the onions.

‘How long have we had these potatoes?' she asked Nick.

He shrugged. ‘Since the weekend, maybe. Not that long.'

He took apart the sink, lying on his back like a mechanic looking under a car, sheepish
about his lack of expertise.

‘There's nothing there,' he said at last, exasperated. ‘It's clear.'

Sometimes Audrey thought she was imagining the odour, when cooking smells covered
it or when the afternoons were warm enough to leave the back door open. But when
she got up in the morning it was there, clammy and foul.

As long as she was still moving, still thinking about the next thing, there was no
need to think of Katy. She caught the tram down to the Children's Court. She visited
the Richmond f lats, Odyssey House. She drove to Mill Park for a home visit, asked
for a police officer to accompany her.

‘Only thing, love,' he said. ‘Have to take a guvvy car. We haven't got one spare.'
Audrey drove. He was a grey-faced man about the age her father would have been. Audrey
could tell he resented having to come with her. She jollied him along at first, then
gave up when the traffic got heavier.

The client refused to use pads or tampons. When she stood up to put the baby in his
highchair, blood trailed to her ankles and made neat crime-scene spots on the linoleum.
The visit passed without incident. The car was waiting on the nature strip where
they'd left it.

‘Sorry to drag you out here,' Audrey said. ‘I thought the boyfriend might have been
home.'

The officer wedged himself into the passenger seat. ‘She's living like a fucken animal,'
he said from inside the car.

Audrey looked back at the house. Plastic venetian blinds clacking against the open
window, overgrown bougainvillea by the front door. She thought of her father.
Fucken
animal.
Which was the Zola novel where the lovers had fucked and killed like beasts?
Her mother might know.

Back at the office she called her brother.

‘Are you at school?' she asked.

‘Y-y-y—nah, I bailed on Psych. I might go back later.'

‘Promise?'

‘I'm not gunna promise.'

‘Six months, Bern, that's all you've got left. Can't you just do it?' He said
Yes
petulantly, to get her off the phone.

In the tearoom Sean watched her spoon Nescafé into a mug that said
München Weihnachtsmarkt
.
He was standing by the sink, forking pasta out of a plastic container. Audrey wondered
if he'd heated it.

‘You didn't want to give Johannison another shot?' he asked.

‘Sorry?'

‘Bradley Johannison. He's done his dash, has he?'

‘I don't think access is a great idea,' Audrey said slowly. She watched the bolognaise
sauce spatter his shirt collar. ‘He breached an intervention order and left Mum with
a head injury.'

‘Nah, good on you,' Sean said. ‘That's ballsy. I just mean—I mean, he was never after
the kids, he was pissed with Mum. And he came through that new program.'

‘There is no rehabilitation for someone like Bradley Johannison,' Audrey said. ‘He's
not going to learn to get better.'

Sean shrugged. ‘Good on you,' he said again.

‘Would you have given him another shot?'

‘Look, he's not my client. I guess I think you're a bit more inter
ventionist than
I am. That's all.'

Audrey reached past him for the milk. Her coffee turned the colour of mud, of the
driveway at her mother's house after rain.

She phoned Nick. He was ramped out at Sunshine.

‘Spence,' he said, ‘what are you wearing?'

‘The blood of my enemies.' She sat in the empty conference room to tell him about
Sean.

‘Interventionist,'
he said. Audrey imagined his eyebrows wiggling.

‘The way he said it—like I was Thatcher.'

‘Maybe he was coming on to you,' Nick said. ‘Maybe he's got a thing for—what did
he call you?—ballsy women. Fuck him. Don't doubt yourself. Everyone else in that
office wants to adopt you. Have you told Vanessa?'

She went for drinks with the other workers. Audrey liked being friends with older
women, liked the stories about their children and husbands. Audrey could not relate:
her only point of reference was Zoe, and she saw her only occasionally. These women's
kids dressed up as hotdogs for school plays and put gumnuts up their noses and masturbated
in the cubby house. Audrey sat with her wine and her disbelief, never saying a word.
When she left it was after midnight. She wondered if Nick was still awake.

‘Hey! Audrey!' She turned around. Emy was sprinting down Sydney Road in heels. Audrey
held out her arms and Emy fell against her, breathless. ‘Are you going home? I'm
fucked. I've got to be up at five-thirty again tomorrow. Do you want to get a cab
together?' she asked.

In the taxi Emy leaned her head on Audrey's shoulder. ‘I haven't seen you since the
funeral,' she said. ‘How's Adam doing?'

‘He's missing Katy. He won't leave his apartment.'

‘I called the other night and he bit my head off. I wish there was something I could
do.'

‘They'd been friends for a long time.'

‘And you, too,' Emy said. She sat up. Her glasses sat crookedly across her nose.
Audrey wanted to kiss her.

Emy yawned. ‘I'll call him tomorrow. See if he wants to come out and get breakfast
on the weekend. I'll tell him I want him to give an assessment of Ben. You and Nick
should come, too.'

‘How's it going with Ben?'

‘So good,' said Emy. She lolled across the back seat, rested an elbow against the
window. ‘Really
easy
?'

They looked at each other in the grey shadows. Nicholson Street flashed by outside
the window, weeknight-sleepy.

After work Audrey took the tram through the city to St Kilda. She stood opposite
three private-school boys in blazers. They could have only been twelve or thirteen.
They were eating Wizz-Fizz, scooping the sherbet out with their index fingers, and
watching the floor show: a junkie couple screaming at each other at the far end of
the carriage.