The Outing, page 20
“Is that why you brought us away for the weekend?”
“What? No,” he looked down at his hands. “I've been working long hours, I've got tons of leave. I decided to take time off.”
She looked at him over her coffee cup.
“Sort of,” he admitted. “I felt bad about the other week, and our anniversary and...”
“Consider yourself well and truly forgiven.”
PART THREE 1986
Chapter 40
Robert's shoulders slumped and his head felt too heavy to hold up. He looked down at his upturned hands, spellbound by the black-grey ink staining his fingertips. Every so often his eyes gravitated to the corner of the holding cell, then back to his hands. How the fuck did helping with our enquiry turn into this?
He'd left a message for Duncan with his allotted call. Waiting impatiently, he counted and when he stopped himself, he filled the time with self-torture. The vacuum cleaner screaming. The flash of sunlight hitting metal. Emma and Thomas's tear-streaked faces looking at him from either side of a police-woman. An image of Lauren when the police arrived at the lecture hall looking for her at uni. Her face changing to confused to worried to angry. Did she think he'd done something terrible? Maybe. But she knew what they were like.
He consciously willed both the counting and the torture to stop and tried to figure out what was underneath the surface of this so-called line of enquiry. The coroner has no jurisdiction beyond establishing the facts. Cause of death. It can't establish guilt, but it can point to the existence of a possible perpetrator. And that had been his plan.
But geez. Not me.
He tried to imagine the progression, of things being presented. Harry said I was mentioned so why wasn't I asked to attend? To explain? That should have come first. Shouldn’t it?
The changes in the police records since that night had obviously moved on from what Constable Kowalski had shared. What else had disappeared, or found its way into the mishmash of lies?
He closed his eyes. Images, words, faces, a constant flurry, fought for space and dominance in his mind. He resolutely erased them but as fast as he worked more sprang up. He started counting again.
***
“Do you know why I'm in here? Who's said what?” Robert asked as Duncan joined him in the interview room.
Duncan shifted uncomfortably, stretching his neck, his hands bunched tightly until he saw Robert looking at them. “I've talked to Harry,” he said, watching Robert's face closely.
Robert was trying to figure out what the tight line of Duncan's mouth meant, “And?”
“And, I'm not going to be able to act for you.”
Robert's face drooped, “What exactly do you think you know?”
“No,” said Duncan. “You've got me wr-”
“Look,” Robert started out defensively, his voice escalating, “things are a bit… confused. I'm a bit confused. Johnny and I, we were close when we were young. Friends. Good friends. But I married your daughter. I love Lauren. I love my kids. You know that.”
Duncan sat still his hand hovering close to the tabletop, up and down as if it was gently pacifying an infant.
Robert didn't see it. “Haven't you ever done anything stupid or experimental?” He snorted, “Probably not.”
Duncan looked past Robert's shoulder and Robert ploughed on.
“If you talked to Harry, you know I could hardly go to the police, could I?”
“You're misunderst-”
“Fuck's sake Duncan? We had a drink and something to eat together. We're friends. It doesn't have to be any more than that. What's on the arrest report? Who's behind it? I have my suspicions, but I have to have an idea of where I stand,” Robert was shaking. His eyes met Duncan’s, “Don't you care? This is going to hurt Lauren. She doesn't need this.”
Duncan's eye squinted.
“I saw what happened. Most of it. Enough. I know who did it. And there's a witness. The police don't know I know that. And I don't want them to. Poor bastard will be the next one to turn up in the river. I'd probably be there too, except for the fact that their suicide story didn't pan out, and now they need to frame someone. That's what this is. I-”
“Robert,” Duncan's hand was doing a traffic stop. “There's a lot at stake here.”
“You don't say.”
“Harry suggested a course of action. It could work in your favour. And, he thinks it will keep your witness safe until we can locate him.”
“We have to find him. He saw it happen. The whole thing. We even have his name and,” Robert stopped. “Oh, God, I'm rambling. You know all this. Harry's told you already.”
Duncan nodded.
“You don't think they've found him, do you?”
“If they have and he's alive, I strongly doubt he's going to be any use to you. Which brings me back to Harry's suggestion.”
Elbows heavy on the table, Robert prayered his hands together over his nose. His thumbs tucked under his chin and closed his eyes.
“You may not like what I'm going to say.”
Robert shrugged, rubbed his grey-stained fingertips against his temples, and after a precious moment of no thought, opened his eyes, “Beggars can't be choosers I suppose. What's the plan?”
*
“I can already see holes,” Robert's head had been moving in a rhythmic no as Duncan spoke. “If I'm in this frenzied gay panic state because he came on to me, how come we were friends. I knew he was gay for fuck's sake,” Robert raised a finger with each question. “And why then? And why did I leave him there at the edge of the water? Why did I take his wallet? And his money? And why on earth would I leave my jacket on the bridge?”
“We thought about it,” Duncan said. “First off, you were panicked. Doesn't matter if you're friends or not. Second. You didn't kill him. You fought. He fell. You came to your senses. You checked for a pulse, you checked he was away from the water's edge, and you went for help. Someone else robbed him. His wallet was empty. Maybe they fought too. The tide came in and he drowned. They planted the wallet and your jacket on the bridge.”
“So I'm a saint? A jury is going to believe that?”
“You were protecting yourself. Saving yourself. That's why it's called Homosexual Advance Defense in the statutes. You're fighting off potential rape . So if someone dies, it's justifiable. Sanctioned even. Look,” Duncan's voice lowered into reasonableness, “nothing anyone does is going to bring Johnny back. This isn't hurting anyone.”
“Oh?” Robert scoffed, “Johnny's family? Duncan it wasn't a shove, ‘get off me’. He was brutalized. I'd have to be some kind of monster. Lauren? My parents. Dad's reputation. Your business. It was me who encouraged Marnie and Harry to pursue this. It doesn't make sense. Oh God. Lauren will hate me. How can someone so violent be around kids?” his words tumbled out.
“I said you weren't going to like it. But it will give you time to find Mr Peters. Do you understand? They're going to blame you anyway. That's why you're here. Gay panic means public sympathy. Some people will think of you as a kind of hero.”
“Jeeez! God,” he exhaled, pressed his fingertips against his forehead this time. “Let me get this straight.” He went over the whole thing again, adding, “The ambulance said there was no-one there? And when I heard it was suicide, what then? Did I just think 'oh dear that's a shame, he probably felt terrible after doing that to me and killed himself. Never mind. What's for lunch?' Honestly Duncan,” his eyes begged, “there are too many questions.”
“Too many questions is good. It's confusing. It creates doubt. People saw you at the pub, shocked, scuffed, your hand was cut, bruised… but when you heard it was suicide you decided to put the whole thing behind you.”
“I feel like shit. Like I really did that to him. I wouldn't,” Robert pleaded.
“It's a risk,” said Duncan. “But…”
Robert put his hands on the table, “If this goes pear-shaped, I could end up in jail. Hah. No. Will. I will end up in jail.”
Duncan's head was shaking while Robert spoke, “We don't think so. The police who did this want- need, an out. Your out is their out. I guarantee this will be their offer. They don't want to see some poor straight guy go to jail for killing a,” he grimaced, “a poofter. Not when they would rather give you a medal. You even had the decency to go and find help.”
The silence between them stretched till Robert found his voice. The words came out flat, “It'd be a lot easier thinking about this if it was someone else's life.”
“We don't see any other way. It can't be them who did it. Your account of four against one wouldn't hold up as gay panic no matter how carefully it was packaged. It wouldn't hold up for one of them. This isn't what police officers do.”
“And yet this is precisely what they do. And they're getting away with it… Gharrh.”
“Another day, another way, Robert… are you hearing me? Of course, if Harry and I are wrong, and the prosecutor doesn't bring this to you, then you'll have to spell it out for them,” Duncan waited for Robert's nod, “carefully. Lead them. But for now, don't say anything. Let them come up with it.”
“Do I get bail?”
“I'd say for sure, after you make the deal.”
Robert shuddered his relief out loud.
“Robert,” Duncan's tone changed, “you can't discuss this. No-one knows. You agreed?”
“Lauren?”
“No-one. People can't help themselves. Lip-flapping could de-rail the whole thing.” He waited watching Robert’s face. “And of course, you're on leave. Harry's your legal sounding-board.”
“What?”
“That's what I was trying to tell you earlier. I can't act for you. No-one can.”
Robert's lips turned down and he frowned.
“It's a safeguard. It's your out. Trust me. When I leave, I'm telling them you've declined representation.”
The door closed behind Duncan and Robert sat mute until someone escorted him back to his cell and he stared at the walls and bars in turn, clutching onto threadbare strands of reason. He looked up remembering the last time he'd been in a courtroom. What if his judge didn't get the memo like Johnny's hadn't. Adrenalin spurted like blood from a cut artery, globs of it splattering the inside of his chest in time with his heartbeat, getting faster and bleeding out into everything. He rocked in time with it, hands fisted together into his lap, and tried to breathe past the boulder in his chest. It wasn't working. He sucked harder at the air. Fuck, fuck, fuck. One two three four… fifteen. One two three…
Chapter 41
Robert examined Lauren’s eyes. Sleeplessness, hurt, anger and fear were clear. There was something else. Something haughty. He felt her stiffen as his arms went around her, before adjusting her shoulders.
“Can we not talk until we get home?” she said holding up the car keys for him.
He shook his head and got into the passenger side, turning away from the windscreen to the side view. As trees, trucks and tall buildings swished past he counted them into categories.
*
Leaning against the kitchen benchtop, she flicked on the kettle, “Or do you want something stronger?”
“Whatever you want.”
“The kids are at your Mum's.”
“You OK with that?”
“It's early enough. I didn't have much choice.”
“Did she say anything?”
Lauren pursed her lips, “Just that she always knew you weren't 'one of them'. Honestly?”
“So how did she-”
“Know? Well, there's this thing in the living room. A sort of box and when you plug it in and switch it on, people appear, just like they were right there in the room with you.”
Robert looked down into his mug, a swirly mix of milky water. He pushed the teabag to the bottom of the cup and watched it try to float back to the surface before pushing it down again.
“It's all over the news, Robert,” she put her cup down heavily without lifting it to her lips. “What the hell got into you? I can't believe you'd do something like that. He was your friend.”
Holding his tongue still was his only focus. She needed to spew out the questions and comments and judgements and accusations. His job was to hold the bucket.
“Shit. I can barely look at you. Even if you didn't kill him, the fact that you could do what you did. How did you keep quiet about this? No wonder you've been distracted. Hah. Distracted? And all that with Marnie and Jack and Harry. How did you dare? You weaseled yourself into their grief like somehow you belonged in there with them.” She visibly shivered, “At least you weren't at the funeral with your fake sad teary face. I feel sick thinking about it. I'm surprised you can look at yourself in the mirror.”
She'd been staring at him and turned away.
It gave him time to let the air out.
He thought about how he'd feel if he heard something like this about her. Would he immediately jump to the conclusion that what everyone was saying was true? He liked to think he wouldn't. Maybe he should confide something. Would that help? He unconsciously shook his head, at the same time as she turned back.
“What's that for? Don't you think I've got a right to be angry? I'm furious. This isn't the man I married. This isn't the man I want around my children. Someone who could,” she stopped. “Gay panic. Really? That's bullshit. And when I think about how you wormed your way into my-” White hot anger turned to sickening pink shame. “I thought everything was going to be nice. Better. Normal. You knew this was going to happen. Didn't you?”
He looked at her helplessly, Duncan's words repeating themselves, no one can know. No one. “I didn't-”
“Didn't what. Know? Use me?”
“I know it looks bad. But honestly, I wasn't using you.”
Her head moved in a slowly repeated no, “Maybe you weren't but I don't know when you're lying any more. Hah! Maybe I never did.”
He looked down into the cooling mug of tea and wished it would swallow him.
“I thought about going to Dad's for a while.” Her words made him look up. “But then I thought, why should I move out? Disrupt the kids. This is their home. Mine. So, I'm going to get the kids now, and when I get back, I want you gone. I don’t want to have to look at you.”
Fear and hurt sprang from his eyes. He could feel the damp along with remorse and regret. He lifted his hand to brush them off, but put it back by his side.
“Oh no you don't,” she almost shouted, tears springing to her own eyes and her voice catching. “You did this. You! You fix it. This is not on me.”
*
After the door slammed behind her, his eyes found their mugs, facing each other, cold and untouched. He poured them into the sink and flushed it clear with tap water, before moving one foot ahead of the other towards the bedroom.
At Emma and Thomas's door he detoured. He picked up sleeping bear and sleeping cow. Touching them made his skin sing for an instant.
He put the toys down on their pillows and turned away.
In his own room his reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe confronted him. He flinched recalling Lauren's words and rearranged the sliding doors so he couldn't see himself. His clothes stared back uninterested.
“Shit,” he muttered and went back to the hall cupboard for a suitcase.
He started packing things for work and then took them out. He started again, wondering what he needed. Hah. Besides a new life.
The suitcase stood next to the front door draped in a suitpack. A plastic shopping bag of shoes propped next to it. He went to the study and took a sheet of paper.
Dear Lauren
He crossed out dear and then crumpled the paper and got a clean sheet.
I'll stay at Mum and Dad's. I have something to ask. It’s extremely (he underlined it) important for (he crossed out the trial, and changed it to) court. If an Alan John Peters calls, please ring me. If you can't reach me. Call Anna. Or Harry. Find out how I can reach him, if you can.
I don't know what else to say except I'm sorry. I don't know how this is going to turn out, but I never meant to hurt you. I'll update you.
I love you. I love the kids.
R.
He propped the letter against the kettle in the kitchen, trying not to remember the look on Lauren's face.
Chapter 42
She'd taken his car. He reversed out of the driveway in hers and pausing for the traffic looked over at the closed front door. An aching cold oozed from the inside of his bones.
Spotting his car still parked in the driveway at his mum and dad’s, he u-turned. Now what?
He drove unconsciously and found himself in the turning lane for Kangaroo Point and then slowing down at Johnny's apartment. There was a sign outside the building, 'Furnished - To Let', and he pulled over and wrote the number on a scrap of paper he found in the glove box. Then scrunched it into a ball and threw it on the floor. It would be weird. Wouldn't it? Considering you’re supposed to have… stop. He drove down to the park and turned off the engine. Anyway, you'll be back at home with Lauren, with the kids, soon. You’re disoriented.
He leaned forward to start the car. An involuntary smile pulling itself into place. Really? Disoriented? Your whole fucking world's been upended. I feel a bit disoriented. A chuckle escaped softly. Then out loud. Quick and jagged, escaping from somewhere around the rock in his chest in rippling bursts. And from nowhere, tears. He sat laughing and crying, hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel.
When the laughter subsided, he let go of the steering wheel, sniffing and looked ahead to the swings. On a whim he got out of the car and went over and sat. Then shuffled back till he was on tiptoe and lifting his legs off the ground, he let the swing carry him forward. With eyes closed, he let it drift back and forth. As it stilled, he stayed there, eyes shut, imagining Johnny sitting there with him on the other swing. Together they were watching what had happened to them both. He felt his bruised heart swell and heard the words, 'Stay here'.
