Page 43 of The Family Across the Street
‘Because of what happened with Maddy? Debbie told us. Surely not.’
‘I think so. Please just take Debbie with you. Take her to your house. I’m getting there as fast as I can.’ He squeezes the steering wheel, watching the bird as it struts up and down a tree branch. He looks around and pulls out into the road again, keeping to the speed limit, concentrating on what he’s doing.
‘All right, son. You calm down and drive carefully. I’ll take her with me and text you when we’re at my house. You come there and we’ll call the police and explain. Now just calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘Thanks, Paul,’ says Logan and he is ashamed that he’s shedding a few tears.
He watches the road, tries to orient himself because he’s gotten himself a bit lost.
She’s with her dad, she’s with her dad.
He can handle this because Debbie is safe and that’s all he needs to know. He spots the name of a road he recognises and turns the van around. ‘She’s safe,’ he repeats aloud. ‘She’s safe.’
After driving for a few minutes, Debbie calls him. ‘We’re on the way to my parents’ house. There wasn’t anyone there, like in the street or anything. Maybe he isn’t coming after you.’ In the background he can hear the classical music that Paul always plays in his car. Just after Logan asked Debbie to marry him – getting down on one knee on a beach, embarrassed that he couldn’t think of a less clichéd idea but so excited he dropped the ring with a small diamond it took him months to save for – Paul took the whole family to hear a string quartet at the opera house to celebrate. The music was beautiful at first, but soon Logan found himself drifting off and Debbie had to keep nudging him awake. ‘Guess it’s not for everyone,’ Paul said afterwards and he remembers the way Debbie and her mother laughed at him but he also remembers that the laughter was gentle and inclusive and that for the first time in his life he didn’t feel judged. This is family, he thought and he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have found a woman like Debbie with a family who accepted him. He doesn’t deserve Debbie, he knows that. And he will give his life to keep her safe if he has to. It’s not even something he has to consider. It’s just the truth.
‘I think he is, Debs. Just get to your parents’ house and make sure everything is locked. I’m on my way.’
He takes a few shortcuts, hoping to make his trip to Debbie’s parents’ place shorter. He looks around at the houses in the street where he’s driving and realises that it’s the street from this morning, the street where he started his day – where he first understood that it was going to be a really, really shitty day. He could never have imagined how bad it was going to get.
How is it that he’s back here? How is it possible? He wasn’t thinking about a particular route, just about getting to Debbie’s parents’ house as soon as he could.
Why is he even thinking about this woman? It doesn’t matter. He’s sure the police will check on Katherine West and her family.
But dammit, the niggling feeling is there again and just won’t go away.
Without knowing why, or what he plans to do, he cruises to a stop in front of Katherine’s house and gets out of the van.
A large tree on the pavement rustles in the silent afternoon and he looks up to see a whole host of cockatoos resting in the heat. One of them peers down at him and then spreads its wings and leaps, landing on the front of his van.
‘Okay, universe,’ he grumbles. ‘I understand.’
26
Gladys
She marches out of her house and into the street, where a white van with the words ‘Pack and Go’ is pulling up. As she watches, the door opens and a tall man, covered head to toe in tattoos, gets out. Gladys feels like she might just faint away. She opens her mouth as a flock of cockatoos takes flight from the tree in front of Katherine’s house, startling her and disturbing the still air, creating a tiny gust of wind, and then everything is quiet again. She squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath. ‘Excuse me,’ she says, holding her chin high. ‘Excuse me!’
27
I feel my eyes growing heavy, my body slipping as though I’m falling, and I jerk myself awake, lifting the gun in case they were thinking about trying anything.
I sit up straighter and then I get up and walk around a bit, watching them, trying to generate a little more energy. Her wrist is grotesquely swollen and bright red. I notice for the first time how pale her face is, how she keeps biting down on her lip. I think she must be in a lot of pain. Somewhere inside me, I feel something twisting, something churning – maybe it’s guilt. Is it guilt? My arms are heavy holding this gun; my body wants to sink to the floor. The walking isn’t helping and I drop down into the chair again. I could leave now, just get up and leave. Start over somewhere else, maybe try to find another woman to love me the way I deserve to be loved. I think about leaving this house, walking out into the stifling heat and finding my way to a main road. I imagine holding my thumb out, getting a lift to the ocean where there would be a breeze coming off the water because there is always a breeze. I could wade into the sea where it would be cool and quiet and it wouldn’t matter that I have no one who loves me. I could walk out until the water covered my head and then I would be alone in the floating space and it would feel better.
I am so tired, so incredibly tired. I put my hands against my eyes, the gun hurting my temple. I shove it into my waistband and rub my eyes, rub them hard so black dots appear. I need to get rid of this fuzzy exhaustion. I have to think clearly now.
Taking a deep breath, I pull my hands away from my face. And she’s standing there, holding a pair of scissors above me, small blue-handled scissors. She holds them high up and I can see that she wants to hurt me but at the same time she doesn’t want to hurt me. She has never caused anyone physical pain. But she’s pretty good at mental torture. I want to laugh at her silly attempt to stop me. Me! I have a gun. I’m bigger than her and yet she thinks she can do this. And I am no longer tired. I’m furious at her stupidity and at her tiny, stupid moment of hesitation.
‘This has to stop,’ she says and she brings the scissors down, going for my face, but I’m too quick for her. I leap up and grab her hand, pull the scissors away and chuck them across the room, and then I backhand her hard, as hard as I can. I feel the power in my hand as it connects with her face and I could roar with fury. I cannot deny how good it feels.
Sophie screams. She opens her mouth and screams loud and long.
I put my hands over my ears because the scream has been waiting inside her all day. I know it’s the scream of a terrified child. It fills the air and tears at my eardrums.
She lies there, still. I think I may have killed her, but then she moves and rolls on her side.
‘Sophie, stop,’ she commands and the little girl closes her mouth. Her voice is thick with pain but still trying for calm.
The room is silent. George is watching me, his fists clenched. Sophie is huddled on the sofa and she is on the floor, trying to get up without hurting her wrist. I go over to her and extend a hand. ‘Let me help you.’ I would like to touch her kindly, just one more time. I want to help her as she struggles and there is something inside me that regrets hurting her.
