On the other side of the city and in the clear liquid light of midday, Lucy prowled the ruined garden with her old dog. Dark red camellia blossom had fallen onto the muddy paths, detached petals fanned out in small heaps on the dirt. For Lucy, the glitter of the leaves in a pale sun and the transparency of the sky had the interior light of electricity. There was no depth to her perception of them, they could have been reflected on the surface of a shallow pool of water. Her balance and her thoughts were poised within this shallowness, she was chasing possibilities in her mind. If she had a car. If she could track Greg down. If she could get to Graeme. Getting into the Temple wasn’t easy when the door was locked against you and you had no key. The question remained: what then? This is my gun to your head, Graeme.
No, this is your gun to your head. What are you going to do about it?
Twist words. Play games. What was she going to do about it? Could she fire a gun a second time?
She sat on the edge of the escarpment near the sleep-out and took out her gun, aimed it at a tree and pretended to fire, making soft sounds to imitate the crack of shots. Ka-chung, ka-chung. As she sat there, she was caught unawares by a memory. In a clear vision in her mind, Dr Agnes Liu looked her in the face in the immediate second before she pulled the trigger that morning in the Chippendale alley. Lucy swallowed as she revisited the almost ordinary, surprised expression on Agnes Liu’s face when she looked up from seeing the gun and then directly into Lucy’s eyes. You didn’t know who I was, Lucy said to herself. You couldn’t see who I was because Graeme had said, don’t let them see you. So I didn’t.
I covered my face. I shouldn’t have. I should have let you see who I was.
Then you could have known why. Not to make it worse for you, but so that you at least knew why it was happening. And I should never have fired the second shot at that man. Never.
The word faded in her mind as she rested her gun in her lap. Every feeling she had ran out of her, leaving her empty, without will. I wish it wasn’t like this.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, out of this thought, ‘I am so sorry I did it.’
There’s nothing I can do now. I’ve just got to keep moving.
Stephen had gone to Hornsby first thing that morning, to shop, to pick up medications and to see the doctor who came daily to visit his father and who was due to call at the house early that afternoon, to talk over privately how things were. As Lucy climbed the hill, she saw Stevie’s car parked in the driveway. She found him in the kitchen unpacking white plastic bags. Several packets of cigarettes lay on top of the morning paper on the kitchen table.
‘I bought you some cigarettes. I thought you might need them,’ he said. He spoke quickly, without looking at her.
‘Yeah. Thanks.’ She was puzzled by the way he was speaking to her.
She picked up the cigarettes and saw the newspaper underneath. She put the packets down and stared at it.
‘Shit,’ she said softly.
DO YOU KNOW THIS GIRL? On the front page, she saw the picture -
of her back — taken in Belmore Park almost a year ago. She knew the picture well. Stephen knew it well, she had shown it to him herself. She looked up at him. His mouth was open a little, his round rimless glasses seemed to bring a refraction to the look of shock in his eyes.
They understood each other as clearly as they ever had in this room.
Their understanding remained unspoken. Just now, silence was the only kindness they had to offer each other.
‘You have to go,’ he began to say but she spoke over him.
‘I’m going to leave soon anyway, Stevie, as soon as I can and I won’t come back. But I’ve got to talk to Dad first. Whenever I can. I’ve got to talk to him. I’ve got to say something to him. I’ve got to finish it, I can’t go without finishing it.’
‘What do you think you want to say?’ He sat down, reached for his own cigarettes, lit one. She sat opposite, he pushed the cigarettes across the table towards her and she lit one as well. ‘Do you want to tell him — that this is all his fault? Is that what you want to say?’
He gestured to the paper as he spoke, an odd tight movement. Lucy smoked in silence. This was the closest Stephen would ever get to acknowledging what had happened.
‘No, Stevie, I’m not going to say that. Everything I do is what I do.
It’s not him, it’s me. I just want him to say that he shouldn’t have done what he did to me, that he’s sorry, anything like that … ’
‘Luce, I don’t know why you ever thought he was going to do that.’
‘It’s a craving you get. You want it really badly. Why wouldn’t I want it? Once you get it, it doesn’t want to go away. No, I know it’s no good now,’ she said. ‘He owes me. He owes me from here up to the sky for the rest of my life but, like Mel says, maybe it is too fucking late. Maybe I don’t care any more. I’ve got to see it finished before I go. That’s all I can do now. Fucking finish it. There’s nothing else. I’ve got to do that for me. Before I deal with anything else.’
They spoke to each other like two people who have agreed to finish their marriage, neither of them wishing to do so but both knowing they have no choice. Both trying to avoid saying what cannot be retracted, or doing anything that will make matters worse.
‘If you’re going to talk to him, just don’t make it harder for us.’
‘No, I won’t do that. I don’t want to hurt you and Mel. You tell him from me it’s okay. I’ve got nothing to forgive him for but I just want to talk to him. And I’m not going to hurt him or accuse him. Or anything.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not going to hurt him,’ she repeated. ‘What a joke.’
‘It doesn’t matter any more,’ Stephen said very softly.
‘It does matter. It’s just that there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve got a favour to ask you. Have you got a car I can borrow?’
‘Yeah. You can have the old Datsun, I’ve just had it fixed up. Take it when you go if you want. I can give you all the papers. I’ll get some petrol for you this afternoon. Is that okay? It’s all I can do, Luce. It should take you some way away from here. I don’t know how far.’
‘No, that’s good. Don’t worry.’
‘I’ll talk to Mel about Dad for you,’ he said.
They did not seem to know what else to say to each other. As they sat in silence, there was a knock on the back door.
‘That’s the quacktor,’ Stevie said, ‘he said he’d be early.’
‘Can I take the paper?’
‘Yeah, take it with you when you go,’ he said, not looking at her.
‘Yeah, I will,’ she said, ‘I’ll get rid of it for you.’
Stephen ushered the doctor, a man of about thirty-five, into the kitchen just as Lucy was gathering up her packets of cigarettes.
‘Good morning,’ he said, glancing at them. ‘They’re very bad for you, you know. You don’t want to end up like your father.’
Who gives a shit, Lucy thought, looking at him in disbelief. She did not bother to reply and walked out.
In her room, Lucy turned the newspaper pages, looking over the reproductions of her website, photographs of Greg, pictures of the scene of the shooting. She read paragraphs which described her in ways she did not recognise as herself. She was not cruel, she felt this deeply.
What were the magic words that would make the newspaper people and the radio announcers understand what she had really tried to do?
These thoughts occupied her until she came across a photograph in the paper, not of herself or Greg, but of someone she nonetheless recognised. A face that she knew well but from a different place. She sat looking at it for some moments before opening up her computer, logging on and going out onto the Net. After she found what she was looking for, she felt what was almost a sense of relief, a final letting go of everything. As Greg had said to her often enough, nothing matters.
Are you out there, Turtle?
I’m here Firewall I’ve been waiting 4 u Why is that?
I just am
Lucy did not type anything for a few moments.
Are u there?
I’m here, I’m always here for you. Or I was. Turtle, you said that you never lied to me. That you never have and you never will.
Never have never U believe me Its true I have never lied 2 u No? Are you sure about that?
No I never have
I saw a picture in the paper today. It’s the policeman who’s looking for me. And I thought, I know who that is. That’s your father, isn’t it?
I know who he is because I’ve looked at his picture, all your family’s pictures. I used to look at them for hours and think, Gee, I wish they were mine. You said he really looked after you. You said he loved you. And I thought, wouldn’t that be nice. People who did that. And then I read the paper today and there he is. You never said that’s what he did. You never said he was a pig.
He is not that He told me not 2 tell any1 He said people wouldkeep on at me if I did I didn’t tell u It didn’t matter It had nothing 2 dowith u amp; me
So when you’re telling me that I should go to the police, you’re saying that because it’s good for him. He gets what he wants. And you’re doing that for him. I don’t know if it’s any good for me, but it’s good for him.
I didn’t say it because of that I am not my father U should knowthat better than anyone U are not your parents are u??? Everythingbetween us is u amp; me Nothing else Its never been anything else U
can’t say it is
I don’t believe you. You tell lies like everyone else. People tell you lies and then they laugh at you behind your back. And you’re a liar, Turtle. You lie like everyone else does. You just lie. Lie like a dog.
No
Do you know what they’re saying about me in the paper? That I’m a really cruel person. I like killing people. I like seeing blood. They had this poll — they asked people what they thought should happen to me and all these people said they thought I ought to be shot too.
Every day I think about what I did. I didn’t do it for fun. I did it because I had to. Is that what your father thinks I am?
There was a brief hesitation.
Yes he does but I told him no I said u are not like that I said hemustn’t see u like that
What difference does that make? You’ve been telling me one thing, and maybe you’ve been telling him something else as well, and all the time you’ve got some other reason for what you’re saying to both of us.
U have 2 listen I care about u I don’t talk 2 anyone else the way Italk 2 u U don’t have a choice Firewall U have nowhere 2 go That’sthe only reason I said u should go 2 the police Because if u don’t Idon’t know wots going 2 happen 2 u If u do this my dad can help u Ican make him help u
No. Where I go and what I do, that’s my choice. And if I end up dead, so what? No one’s going to care. You’re deciding things for me and you can’t do that.
Wot do u want??
Nothing that’s possible, but that doesn’t matter. I wanted to say goodbye, that’s all.
U never listen U never listen 2 anyone
I almost listened to you. But you were lying to me.
She was gone, closing down, logging out. She was floating in space, there was nothing to anchor her, only the next step, the next action.
She picked up the phone and rang Graeme. As she did, she thought that he had no power over her any more, the next action was just whatever game the two of them were playing at the time. He answered his phone almost immediately.
‘Hi, Graeme,’ she said. ‘Are you okay to talk?’
‘Lucy. Yes, I am. Where have you been? You’ve kept me waiting.
I’ve been here with Greg for hours.’
‘We’re all waiting for something. Last time I talked to you, you were waiting for the end of the world, weren’t you? How are you?’
‘I am fine, Lucy. I am very well indeed and I’m very glad to hear you are in such good spirits. I’ve got someone here you want to talk to. Just as you’ve asked.’
There was shuffling as the phone was passed over.
‘Hi, Luce.’
‘Hi there, Greg. How are you?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yeah, I am, Luce,’ he said. ‘It’s sort of okay at the moment.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not? You said it was sort of okay.’
‘Yeah. But only sort of. I’ve got to go now.’
‘No. I — ’
The preacher came back on. Lucy listened to his voice with irritation. ‘It’s time we got together,’ he said.
‘Yeah, I’ve got a car but there’s a couple of things I’ve got to do here. Tomorrow at the latest. Tomorrow night. Okay?’
‘Why do we have to wait till then?’
‘Because I have things I’ve got to do here, Graeme. And they’re important.’
‘What time?’
‘I’ll just be there, Graeme. From about ten. You can come by whenever you want to. But we’ll all be there, the three of us, won’t we?’
‘Of course. We have an arrangement then?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ she replied impatiently. ‘You want to put Greg back on again?’
‘All right,’ he replied, after a pause.
‘Before you go,’ she said, ‘like I told you, don’t ring me. I’ll call you.’
There was no need for this. She just wanted to make him dance a little.
‘As you wish,’ he said.
‘I just wanted to say we’ll see each other,’ she said, once Greg was back.
‘Yeah, we will sometime, Luce. Look — you make sure you’re okay, all right. And don’t worry about me. Because everything’s going to be all right. You just remember that. You don’t think about me any more.
You’ve just got to think about yourself,’ he replied, and then the phone went dead.
Lucy went out into the fresh air again, to a clearer if colder day than yesterday. This time she did not take her gun with her, she left it behind, pleased not to feel its pressure against her skin. The doctor had gone, ages ago probably. She stood on the edge of the slope looking down to the escarpment. The dog was not in her kennel, although the remains of some bones were scattered by her dish. No one had replaced the chain. Wherever she was, Dora was living in freedom.
Stephen appeared, coasting the old Datsun he had promised her down the driveway, parking it behind his car. He got out and walked towards her. He stopped at a short distance.
‘I got you a full tank, Luce,’ he said. ‘Do you want some money as well? I can give you a few hundred dollars if you need it.’
‘Yeah, if you could,’ she replied. ‘How’s Dad?’
‘The quack’s given him a shot so he’ll be out to it for quite a while.
Mel said she’d give you a call when he wakes up but that could be pretty late tonight. You might not be able to talk to him until tomorrow.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll just wait. I’ve got the time.’
Because this is the endpoint, this will be goodbye for ever. It was the last piece of time left to her.
She watched him walk into the house. It seemed to crowd forward to the edge of the slope, a squat red-brick dwelling. Her choice would have been to burn it, not to paint it over. When she left here this time, she would not be able to come back. She accepted this as final before she turned to walk back inside and go up to her room. It was growing late in the afternoon but perhaps it would be as much as another day before she could leave. I’m waiting for you again, Dad. It’s what I always seem to do.