In Jeopardy (6 page)

She speaks to Ben Thornton and rehashes the events that have unfolded over the past days. The solicitor clears his throat. ‘You say he sent you several emails. Have you responded to any of these?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Good, good a wise move. I trust they are still on your computer?’

‘I deleted most of them.’

‘Not so good – we need concrete evidence, allegations aren’t enough.’

‘I can retrieve them.’

‘Would you like to make an appointment?’

Christine makes an appointment for the next day. The solicitor instructs her to bring copies of Richard’s emails, the house title, bank accounts and other documentation verifying shared assets.

It’s the next morning when Christine returns to the house; the sky is dark and it’s raining. A day has passed since she left and the icy air in the house hits her from the moment she opens the door.

A fresh breeze tumbles down the staircase and 14 Bannerman Avenue has already become a foreign and forbidding place. She goes upstairs to the study, steps over and around the smashed glass scattered over the carpet she has left for Richard to deal with. She unlocks the safe, opens it and removes documentation confirming what she believes is the sum of their joint assets. Sizable and a galling reminder that along with his betrayals, the sum of their worth will be broken up. She moves
to the other safe in the cellar and removes jewellery he has given her and that she has no sentimental attachment to. Each piece is a reminder of how much he has wronged her and evidence of the comfortable and privileged existence she once basked in.

She stands for some minutes, reliving memories of her life in this expensive home and the envied life she shared with him that once defined her. The documents that Christine holds are a passport to bitter words, accusations, legal jousting between lawyers making demands and veiled threats. Her hands whiten, become numb and difficult to move. The room and its creeping quietness becomes a tomb. Death’s cool breath closes in on Christine forming a shroud over her head then down her back, before falling and spreading over the carpet.

Downstairs, she switches on the jug and holds her hands over the steam to warm them. Unable to escape the brooding atmosphere that spreads and seems to attach itself to her, she leaves the half-drunk mug of coffee and walks out of the house. As she steps into the car, her friend the magpie lands on the roof of the garage and screeches. She shuts the door on the likeable larrikin of a creature who became her friend. The bird leaps into mid-air, flapping its wings wildly. It raises the alarm and draws a crowd of feathered creatures.

She shuts her eyes and covers her ears against this bitter-sweet spectacle before backing out of the driveway. She accelerates along the avenue and turns the music up loud. The Ramones shout, ‘I wanna be sedated.’

The weekend is a blur filled with mindless activity as Christine packs her life into the new space that has become her home. She reads and re-reads the weekend newspapers alone in cafes drinking countless strong blacks.

She meets her flatmate Tim for the first time on Sunday when he returns from night shift. It’s a fleeting encounter as she is leaving the apartment. He bursts through the door nearly knocking her over before throwing an irritated glare at her. ‘Who are you?’ He remembers; his expression changes to one of apology. ‘Of course, you’re Christine. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be so rude.

‘I expected we would eventually meet. You must be Tim.’

He is pale, red-eyed with longish un-kept hair and appears drowsy.

‘I guess you’ve been putting in some long shifts.’

‘I’ve almost completed my internship at the hospital. It’s been a baptism of fire adapting to these graveyard shifts.’

‘Disrupted sleep patterns define hospital life. It gets easier – it does have its advantages.’

He looks at her in disbelief. ‘Can’t think of any.’

‘Does that mean that after six years of grinding study and finishing an internship you’re going to blow it away?’

‘I don’t know. I’m going on an extended holiday for the next year or more. I have an open ticket and no fixed plans.’

‘Sounds exciting; do you have any plans for when you return?’

‘I still want to work in medicine. I think a medical clinic might be a good option. The hours are certainly more attractive.’

‘Sounds like you need sleep and I have my life to sort out before I return to work tomorrow.’

Daylight has drained from the sky when Christine returns to the apartment. She is alone and checks her emails. Julian’s reads:

Thursday 4.30 at the front entrance of the hospital sounds great. I would like to treat you to dinner, something a bit more special than hot drinks and snacks. I was thinking of Captain’s Pier along Newman’s Bay. It’s not far from the hospital but we will need to catch a taxi. I’m curious as to why we are meeting at the hospital – don’t you have a home? Just joking. More likely you’re following my path where work consumes your life. And not a good move. You haven’t mentioned Richard. I assume he won’t be joining us. Does his work also consume his life? I’ve noted it’s not a myth that Australians are working longer hours than the Japanese. This is a different world from the country I left.

No further emails from Richard, perhaps he hasn’t returned home. She muses that no doubt he will have something to say about the changes she has made. He may regret and then curse that he didn’t suffer Christine’s company long enough to return home with her then hit her with his news. He could have wielded more power over her and most likely gained a legal advantage. Richard will regret his latest impulsive act.

Monday’s shift explodes into activity. Three student nurses arrive before mid-day. Jessica, the most experienced nurse on the Emergency Ward, dispatches patients to appropriate wards, into treatment rooms and out of the hospital following treatment. A number of patients were kept in overnight because they suffered from substantial blood loss and other injuries. Christine organises for Kim, the administrator of the floor, to manage the activity on the ward. She checks on patients waiting to go into surgery to ensure their treatment is running to schedule.

After the first shift back and in the apartment she checks her inbox, deletes the usual nuisance emails that flood in on a daily basis. Richard’s latest email reads:

Christine – you bitch. Did you think it was okay to take off with half the house? You’ve broken the rules and acted like the grasping slag I’ve always known you were. We were supposed to discuss and agree on property division. My solicitor will have something to say about this. And where in the hell are you? You don’t answer emails I’ve sent you. What kind of fool do you think you are playing me for? Don’t forget we are still married, as my wife you are still answerable to me. Watch your step Christine; you’re acting like we’re already divorced. I will clip your wings yet.

If the situation wasn’t so tragic and Richard wasn’t such a cruel bastard, his actions would appear comic. It has been a long time since Richard made Christine laugh. Rather than his love life becoming heavenly it has become a melodrama. He need not worry too much longer; Ben Thornton will contact him, setting him free to forge ahead with his new romance.

He should thank me for leaving without resistance or a showdown. I would have thought that this situation is to his liking.

Kim taps Christine on the shoulder. ‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’

‘I live here; I’m just finishing up showing Olivia how to reposition this patient’s broken arm.’

‘Actually, front desk phoned. Your brother is waiting for you downstairs.’

‘Is it that late already?’

‘It’s 4.45 and you better go, now. Annie’s finishing up with a patient in the other ward; she’ll oversee the rookie.’

Julian sits in the corner opposite the entrance that faces the front desk. He has a take-away drink from the cafeteria and reads a magazine. He’s always had the ability to occupy himself and finds it difficult to remain still. Christine reflects: being switched on all the time is a well-documented health hazard. Julian looks like the type that when not working is engaged in some other project; pushing himself to the point where he is likely to have an unfortunate accident. She calculates that he is at a high risk of burnout.

His skin is paler than she remembers. Greying hair has increased and extended from the temples. A fresh scar runs down the right side of his face, starting at above the eye and travelling diagonally before breaking then continuing in an almost vertical line stopping before the jaw line above the chin. He wears every one of the nine years since she last saw him. He seems unperturbed that she is over half an hour late. This seems unusual for a man in the habit of racing against time.

She wonders what he will think of her. It strikes her that she has only glimpsed a fleeting glance at herself in the mirror. She thinks that if her appearance is a reflection of her wretched state of existence, Julian may find her unrecognisable. She imagines that she resembles the frightened, alien figure in that painting
The Scream
bursting from the canvas. She catches herself thinking that her body aches. As she watches Julian she hears the deafening sound of her heart beat, the pulse in her veins racing.

Although very much alive, her vital signs register stress and distress. She retreats to the bathroom and notices her hair is dull. Skin and eyes are the usual tell-tale signs of deteriorating health and Christine is confronted by her appearance of exhaustion. Her skin is pale. She is lined around the eyes and mouth; her hair and nails are brittle and breaking. She appears to have aged five years in the past weeks. Before facing Julian she flushes water over her face, pinches her cheeks to add colour to them. She runs lipstick along her lips and brushes her hair. Finally she rearranges a scarf to cover her thin, ropey neck and rubs hand cream over her chapped hands.

Julian is still engrossed in a magazine. When he looks up and sees her he absorbs her presence before speaking and coming to terms with how long it has been since they last met. He thinks of how the passage of time changes an absent friend or relative, transforming that person into a recognisable stranger.

She breaks the awkward silence between them. ‘Julian – sorry I kept you waiting for such an age – sorry I was so slow to respond to your emails.’

‘Christine, it’s been a long time. I’ve been away from home too long.’

‘Indeed – you have.’

‘It’s still early. Do we have time for a coffee before dinner?’

‘The restaurant’s booked for seven.’

‘Would you prefer a walk in the park?’

‘That sounds refreshing and a change from living fast, light and from suitcases.’

The park is almost abandoned. The breeze plays in trees and light rain begins to fall. They climb up the narrow steps of a gazebo that offers a view of the inner western suburbs’ patchwork of rooftops, gardens, tramlines set into the city’s grid-like pattern.

‘What’s Richard up to?’

‘Where do you want me to start?’

‘At the beginning – fill in the gaps left from greeting cards and emails.’
Sanitised impressions of how things really are – that at best are hollow sketches.

‘Do you really want to know the truth?’

He nods.

‘He threw me out. He said,
stay out of my life.
’

‘Surely these were words said in anger and he will regret them later.’

She shakes her head.

‘Then this isn’t a disagreement that will eventually blow over? When did it happen?’

‘Life with Richard has been filled with explosive moments, silent rages, lies and threats, all disguised under the pretence of living an enviable existence.’

‘I didn’t know you had a tempestuous, darker side to your nature.’

She summarises the whole horrible saga she endured from the early days of her marriage.

Julian shakes his head, although little of her account surprises him.

‘I’m sorry Christine. I – don’t know what to say.’

‘You’re about the hundredth person who’s said that.’

He shrugs.
Better keep my mouth shut before I say something really tacky.

‘You’ve been away for a long time. Is your work on the Antipodes project the only reason you’ve returned to Australia?’

She wonders if something more dramatic has brought her brother back to Melbourne and ‘home’ as he put it. There must be some story behind his pale appearance and fragility. This can’t be explained away by age alone. She suspects the scar is not a result of some thrill-seeking adventure.

Julian looks down at the decking. Christine notes his shoes are black, highly polished and expensive. This strikes her as different from the sporty shoes she recalls he used to wear.

His attention is absorbed by a trail of ants marching through a sticky mess left on the gazebo floor. They are loaded up with crumbs twice their size. He points to the trail moving away from where they are standing.

He says, ‘That’s how I feel.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like an industrious creature, small and insignificant. I could be squashed out of existence and no one would know.’

‘Why do you say that?’

He pauses, looks into her face and says, ‘Do you really want to know?’

She nods.

‘You’ve heard about the riots in the UK – racial gangs and their warfare spilling into the streets?’

‘I hear the occasional snippet on international news, fires and damaged property, injuries, no deaths.’

He takes in deep breaths as he arranges the details of how things happened. ‘I became caught up in street fighting between racial gangs.’

‘I thought you were an international correspondent?’

‘I still am. Over the past ten years I had been working on and off for the British Embassy in Egypt alongside a number of refugee programs for Muslim, Somali and Sudanese people. More recently I have worked with refugee groups who have migrated to the UK. I interview these people, track and oversee their integration and try to assist them to adapt to their new home and environment.’