Page 5 of The Family Across the Street
‘Then you know she’ll ask you if she needs you,’ huffs Lou. ‘Now do you have any idea when you might get around to a cup of tea? I’m completely parched and you know I have to take my medication early in the morning.’
‘Right now, Lou,’ says Gladys, and she leaves their room and walks slowly down the stairs to the kitchen. She feels her knees protest but at least she can still walk; she feels terrible for Lou that it’s such a difficult process. Last year they had a stair lift installed for Lou but she wants to avoid using it herself. Using it would feel like giving in to the aging process when she is supposed to be the strong one.
She fills the kettle and watches the lorikeets in the tree outside the window, waddling up and down the branches, their green wings flashing in the sun. Usually, the children would be out in the garden by now. ‘They seem to be powered by an inexhaustible supply of energy,’ Katherine has said. But Gladys can’t hear the creaking of the swing set or the children chattering to each other as she usually does. She decides that she might go over later, just to see, just to check. It’s the neighbourly thing to do. There is no reason for her to feel worried for the family except for that little incident yesterday that has somehow thrown her off a little. When she thinks about it, she experiences a tickle of concern, as though there is something she needs to remember or something she needs to do about it.
Maybe she should have mentioned it to Lou, or maybe even Katherine, but she’s sure that it was nothing.
The first time she met Katherine and John she noticed Katherine’s striking deep brown eyes and her beautiful thick hair hanging in lovely honey-brown waves down her back. A small bump was only obvious as she turned and the wind pushed her top against her stomach. Gladys didn’t say anything, knowing that it was never a good idea to comment on a woman’s body. She’d been asked once or twice if she was pregnant when she was younger, and having to answer that she was not always broke her heart. But Katherine placed her hand protectively on her stomach when she saw Gladys notice. ‘Twins,’ she said, smiling. ‘As soon as we started trying, it just happened.’
Gladys smiled widely, the ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ chocolate cake growing heavy in her hands. ‘How lovely,’ she said.
If there was something wrong, Katherine would tell her. She would, wouldn’t she? They’ve been neighbours for long enough. They’re not quite friends but Gladys hopes Katherine knows she can count on her if she needs her.
As she makes Lou’s tea for him and takes it upstairs, she decides she will definitely go over there later and see if everything is all right. There’s no harm in checking up on a neighbour, no harm at all.
3
Monsters are made, not born. I’m sure that I was an ordinary baby. I’m sure I was an okay toddler. I hit all my milestones; I talked and laughed and said cute things. I’m sure I would have grown up to be a pretty good man, if I had been given the chance.
I remember being seven and playing marbles at school, winning game after game and clapping with glee. I remember telling my mother and the way she smiled as she listened to me. I remember sharing the story with my father that night. He listened intently, nodding his head and smiling when I told him how well I’d done. I felt seen, loved. I try to remind myself of how he was then, for at least the first ten years of my life, but it doesn’t always work. How he was then has been submerged by how he was in the years I remember more clearly, because those are the years filled with pain and confusion. They left their scars.
I can’t say exactly when things changed because it was quite gradual. Simply pointing to their divorce and saying, ‘That’s when it happened,’ doesn’t feel right. It happened over time, one incident after another. And at some point, I realised that I didn’t matter anymore. My mother would deny that. When she thought I was still listening she would shake her head and say, ‘That’s not what happened. You’re remembering it wrong.’
But I know the truth. Caught up in their own fascinating drama, my parents stopped seeing me.
People get divorced and lives go on. It is possible for there to be an amicable split, an understanding between two people, and a resolution to look after any children involved. There doesn’t have to be anger, betrayal, hate and death. It’s not necessary to blow up everything around you just to prove you’ve been hurt.
But sometimes, that’s exactly what happens, and when it does, those involved can hardly be expected to survive without being affected.
Whatever happened in my childhood, I thought I had left it all behind me. But I didn’t, I haven’t. It’s still here.
My father hated the idea of the love of his life no longer being in love with him. That was what he couldn’t handle. ‘She told me she could never imagine loving anyone else and then she asks for a divorce? How is that possible? What about our wedding vows, what about honouring each other through the good and the bad times, what about that?’ His confusion was obvious, his despair something I could feel.
I am my father’s son.
I did not fall in love easily. I did not expect it to happen to me, but once it did, I wanted it to be for life. She had other ideas.
Now, three sets of eyes stare at me, naked fear on their faces. If someone had asked me last week if I was capable of this, I would have said no. But that’s only because I’ve been hiding the monster for such a long time. Perhaps I haven’t been hiding him as well as I thought. He’s crept out bit by bit over the years and now there’s more monster than me. That’s what it feels like right now as I stare down at the three of them.
They are looking at me as though my teeth are pointed, my fingernails razor-sharp. The monster is here now and I know myself to be capable of anything. I looked in a mirror this morning, noting my red-rimmed eyes and the scratches on my face. I liked the way I looked. It’s fitting to look this way when I’m going to do what I’m going to do.
‘What…?’ she begins. Her voice catches in her throat, her face pale, only fear in her brown eyes. She is afraid of me. I don’t mind the feeling. Her hands are wound tightly in theirs, knuckles white as they squeeze, and she squeezes back, trying for reassurance but failing. She would like them to believe that everything will be okay because that’s what all mothers want their children to believe. My mother certainly wanted me to believe it. But it’s not always the truth and it’s certainly not the truth today.
‘Why?’ she wants to ask me. But I know if she thought about it at all, she would know why, she would understand why.
‘Shh, shh, shh,’ I caution her. ‘No talking. I’m in charge now.’
I think I tried to be a nice man, to be the kind of man who could be loved, but that didn’t work. Nice men don’t get to be in charge. Monsters, on the other hand…
‘Shh,’ I tell her again, just because I can, because now she has no choice but to listen.
‘Shh.’
4
Katherine
If she could unlock her hands from theirs, she would like to grab the skin on her arm and twist it hard enough to leave a mark just so she could be sure she is actually here. That she is actually looking at someone she loves and who supposedly loves her, standing in front of her and these two small children, casually holding a way to end all their lives. But as their little hands grow sweaty in hers, she understands that she cannot let go because they are desperate for the reassurance she is trying to communicate through her fingers. Mama’s here. It’s okay. Mama’s here. But it’s not okay because how can it be? How on earth has the day become this nightmare from which she cannot wake? He loves me. I thought he loved me despite everything. How can he be doing this?
