The Outing, page 24
“Jesus,” said Barry.
“I called out, ‘Stop. Please. Stop. You're hurting him. Please,’ and I started to cry, really sobbing. And the boy shouted at me, ‘Shut the fuck up you little cissy.’ And then Terry’s face came up again wild-eyed. They were all laughing again. But there was this noise. A scraping sound, like someone raking stones. Except it wasn’t. It was Terry.
“And they slowly stopped laughing. And the loud boy stepped back. He shoved his old-fellah back in his shorts. They all did. And they rode off, and the big one half turned back and shouted, ‘Nothing happened here. Understand’.”
Robert looked into the distance, “And I got back into the water and hauled Terry up against the side of the rock. I scrunched his fingers around a plant and told him to hang on.
“Then I climbed out and pulled him further up, and got his puffer. He’d told me dad, if ever I can’t breathe just get some of this into me. I tried to get his lips around it. They were kind of bluey-gray like when you’re really cold.
“I squeezed the puffer. My hands were shaking. Maybe I wasn’t doing it right, I remember shouting at him to breathe it in and my eyes were blurring. I blinked, looking down at the water, trying to clear them, and saw the rest of the lollies, bright and colourful, almost cheerful sitting on the mud, and feeling this horrible weight pressing in on me, and all I could think was, Terry will be OK. I kept repeating it in my head, Terry will be OK.
“I told Terry I was going to get help. I’d get his dad. And I ran back to school.”
Robert looked at the empty beer in his hand and put it down.
“The principal’s secretary tried to stop me, but I burst past her desk, shouting into the open doorway of his office, ‘Mr Sullivan. It's Terry.’ A chair scraped.
“I remember saying stuff, but it felt like all the words were mushed together. Then I heard, ‘Call an ambulance. Where? Where to?’ And a hand on my shoulder. Mr Sullivan’s. Heavy. Tense, ‘Where?’
“When we got to the creek, Mr Sullivan knelt, lifting Terry into a hug, then laying him back down. He breathed his air into Terry. And I breathed in too. Then he pushed on Terry’s chest. One, two, three, four, five…
“I counted to fifteen. Then more air. Then pushing one two three… over and over until the ambulance came and put Terry on a stretcher and took them both away.
“After that, I got our bikes and stuff and walked home.”
When Robert finished talking, his dad put his face in his hands, and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he blinked, shaking his head, “Oh Robert, I'm sorry. I had no idea. I'm so sorry, son.”
There it was again. Son.
Robert breathed in. A slow breath. And the cords in his neck loosened as his eyes teared up again.
Chapter 48
The kids were all over him like a rash, and after the trauma of his revelation to his dad, his heart was flying in what felt for now like safe air-space. The three of them bounced around on the trampoline, till the syncopated body dumps gradually coalesced into a tumble of arms and legs and joyful contentment.
Lauren came out with Kool-pops, and they sat on the trampoline mat, legs dangling between the springs attaching it to the frame, bobbing softly, and sucking loudly on the frozen cordial. Slowly, Robert's pink faced enthusiasm drained under Lauren's icy stare.
“Hurry up you two, faces clean and nap time.”
“Will Daddy be here when we wake up?” said Thomas concentrating on the last of his coloured ice.
Emma looked from one parent to the other.
“We'll see,” said Lauren.
“I'll take them in,” said Robert.
“Don't be long.” It wasn't overly harsh or cold, but definitely not warm.
When he came back, tea was waiting on the verandah at the front of the house overlooking the street through the leaves of the purple flower tree. Not purple. Mauve. Jacaranda. Between the cork coasters, out of reach of any spills was a yellow Kodak envelope. Robert's heart hammered and he resisted the urge to turn around.
“It was in the box of things Anna brought over from your office. Dad thought it would be better to clear your personal stuff,” she said when he sat down. “I thought it was pictures of the kids, or I wouldn't have opened it.”
He reached over and picked it up, looking in and then looking at her face. Her eyes weren't angry or sad. They were blank.
“I came over to talk to you about that.”
“Did you?” she said. “And, what exactly were you planning to say?”
“Honestly, I-”
“Please Robert. Honestly?” she looked out over the front yard.
“Sorry, I,” he stopped, put the photos back where she'd originally placed them, looked at the tea, and reached over for it. She turned to face him, and he knocked the cup. They both watched the wave crescendo over the lip and splosh into a pool around the darkened cork.
“Honestly Robert!”
He disappeared into the house and came back with some paper towel.
“What is it?” she said. “Is this whole clumsy uncoordinated incompetence a diversion. Something to hide behind?”
He looked down at the brown-stained soppy coaster.
“You let me think you were some kind of violent depraved,” she petered out. “That I'd married someone who could do that to another human being. You never said a word. Was keeping your secret life so important you couldn’t-”
“I didn't-”
“Didn't what? Didn't think to tell me? Didn't think I'd notice? I think you need to let me finish. I'll tell you when you can talk.”
He stared at the cup on the damp coaster. Lauren picked it up and handed it to him.
“This whole time, you were pretending. Was this, us, the kids, some kind of game?” her retreating anger was regaining traction. “I'm angry, I'm hurt. Humiliated. What did you think? Or didn't you? I thought I married a lovely caring gentle man. Someone kind, like my dad. Now, I don't know who I married. I don't know who you are. Has this been forever? Am I a completely gullible idiot? Am I the only one who doesn't know? Is my whole life a bloody sham?”
The questions came at him like fists.
“When I think about our little holiday. I was so happy. I thought you'd sorted yourself out, you were getting over the grief. I'm… I feel cheap and used and dirty. Like some second rate stand in. How could you do this? How could you?”
Robert alternated looking up through the leaves and down at his hand clutching the cup, and away from her eyes.
When the silence was long enough, he thought she'd forgotten to say he could speak. He opened his mouth but the apology was mislaid. “I love you,” he said. “Always have. I don't know what to say.” He paused. “I don't know who I am. What I am. I didn't do that to Johnny. I'm sorry I let you think that. I thought, part of me thought I was protecting you, and the kids. But honest-” he cringed and changed words. “I have to be truthful… I didn't want people knowing who I am. I didn't know.” His eyes found a gap in the leaves, “I didn't know, because I didn't want to know. And you made it so easy. You were, are, so perfect. When I did, finally figure it out, I didn't want to hurt you. And Johnny didn't want to hurt Harry. We thought we'd found a way, to have each other and still have, to still love…”
Lauren looked up into the tree canopy too. Perhaps she was looking for what he could see. She waited.
“None of this was supposed to happen. And when it did, I didn't know what to do. I've been telling myself I was trying to do the right thing, but honest- that's a lie. I was trying to do the best thing for me.” He snorted, “Except the joke's on me. All I've done is make things worse. For everyone. Not just me.”
She sighed, and her shoulders surrendered their sharp edges, sinking like marshmallows too close to the heat, “Come inside. Help me in the kitchen. I want the whole story. Going right back. Let's start at ten years old. Or five, or earlier. And you stay till we're finished talking.”
PART FOUR 1986-1987
Chapter 49
After finishing his montage, a selective history according to Robert, they ate and he filled in some recent gaps, ending with Johnny turning up in Duncan’s office.
Now with the kids tucked into their beds, Lauren turned the lounge into a makeshift one for him, and sat at the end, “But how can you say you didn't know?”
“Hones-” he stopped, “I still don't.”
“How can you say that?” Lauren's smooth pale forehead and mouth puckered with suspicion.
“I don't. Really,” said Robert. “How gay is gay? You didn't figure it? Some people don't like me. I'm used to that.”
“But Johnny?”
“I know. I know,” said Robert. “That's the thing. He's the only one.”
She looked down into the diminishing wine glass, and Robert looked to his usual place and said, “I don't know if I'm gay, or it's love. I love you. I love him,” he changed direction and looked down at his hands, “I thought I was lucky for a while… I didn't have to make a choice.”
And for a while they stayed in the confines of their own thoughts.
“What about this court thing and gay panic. You can't say that.”
“Your dad,” Robert said, “he, Harry, the prosecutor, I don't know whose idea it was, but I know that's what they want. They've got a reason and I'm pretty sure it's to make sure the scumbags, who did it get off, and I agreed to it. Your dad said not to say anything to anyone. He meant you too. And I'd gotten pretty good at keeping secrets…”
“So you know who did it? Robert,” the shock made her voice sharp. “I’ve got people phoning and knocking on the door asking me how I could live with someone who could- Why haven’t you said anything?”
“I can't prove it. Not without the cooperation of people I have no control over.”
“But-”
“It was the police, Lauren.”
“But,” she stopped herself, “OK. I get it. They know they did it. They aren't going to say so, and you can't do anything about it. They are giving you an out, but if you try to make them own up, which they won't, they can adjust evidence. Alter it, lose it. Whatever they want. Make it up completely. Like they did for Johnny. You’d be completely screwed.”
“That’s why I need this up my sleeve. As far as I can see, outing myself could be the only way I can get out of this. It would hardly be gay panic if I’m out as gay. But it has consequences. As well as all the drama that goes with it, I'd be illegal. I'd lose my job. We'd have no income. We'd probably lose the house. I'd find something. I always want to support you and the kids. You know that?”
Her bewilderment softened into confusion. “No,” she said. And when she caught sight of his crumpled forehead she added, “I mean, no, I don't know how I feel about us, but also, I mean no, I had no idea this was all going on. My God Robert.”
Chapter 50
Robert closed the cupboard door on the last dry plate and draped the tea-towel over the sink-edge. In charge of his own kitchen now, he liked the idea of only starting a new mess after the previous one had been completely tidied. With a satisfied out breath he headed for the bedroom, glancing at the clock before reaching into his pocket and rubbing the broken face of his watch.
'Stop it.' Johnny's voice was clear and firm.
Robert placed the watch on the bedside table, his chest deflating.
'In the drawer. Put it in the drawer.'
He pressed the jagged watch-face firmly against his thigh, imprinting the feel of it before placing it in the drawer. He could still feel it in the shower.
The phone was ringing when he got out. He grabbed a towel and fumbling, dropped it with the receiver. He could hear Simon’s voice from the floor, “Hello? Robert? Are you there?”
“Yeah. Dropped the phone,” said Robert. “Wasn’t expecting to hear back, it’s Saturday night. Can you hold on a minute? I just got out of the shower. It’s a bit breezy.”
“Don’t need the details mate. What’s up?”
“I’ve got some places that might suit for when Norm’s out of hospital, but that’s not urgent. What I really wanted was a sounding board. Advice. And, this investigation you’re working on, I’ve got some questions. I thought perhaps this pickle I’ve found myself in could help you, but I’m not sure how exactly.”
Simon laughed, “Pickle, eh? I’d have said you were properly fucked, but that may be misconstrued. How about Monday first up. We can meet at Tuppy’s again. Ten?”
Robert hesitated, “Yeah. Sure. Monday’s OK.”
He was pulling a clean white T-shirt over his head when the phone rang again.
“It’s me again. Tim and I, remember, I told you about Tim, 4 Corners?” Simon didn’t wait, for an answer, “We were already supposed to meet. He suggested we both come now. If that’s OK with you?”
“Absolutely. Perfect.”
“You eaten? We’ll bring takeaway.”
*
“So,” Tim said, “Simon's told me a bit about the story. Johnny. You.”
They chatted about Robert's predicament over beers, and Tim began to outline what he was working on.
“I'm calling it The Moonlight State,” he said. “You can't breathe a word.”
Robert raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah sorry. Habit,” said Tim. “It's slowly coming together. People were a bit shy about fessing anything at first. But there's been a bit of a shift recently.”
“How come?” said Robert.
“It's getting to be too much,” Simon jumped in. “But every time we get anything into the paper, all that happens is 'We'll be investigating further' and then someone resigns, gets promoted or disappears. And the further investigating fizzles.”
“Or the PR team from the Premier's office, discovers some proposed protest which might end up as a street march and endanger all our lives, and any heat is doused in iced water. But, where it was cold feet before, I think they're really getting scared now.”
Simon weighed in, “Not just them. Some of the pollies too. I've been talking to Robert's dad. He said the mood is subtly shifting. No-one would spot it. And no-one's saying anything, but…”
Tim dropped a piece of black-bean chicken back into the opaque plastic container, “Can I raid your kitchen for a proper fork, this plastic stuff is shit.”
“I'll get it,” said Robert. “More beers?”
The conversation was still on politics when he came back. He passed the beers across and resumed listening to the ins and outs of the Premier’s mysterious trips to Charleville to see a disgraced Terry Lewis, who instead of being chucked out of the Force altogether, on the back of his role in some scandal, was suddenly brought back to Brisbane and elevated to Assistant Commissioner.
“And no-one knows who owed who, or who's paying the rent,” said Simon. “All we know is that Whitrod resigns straight after that appointment, and we've conveniently got a new Commissioner.”
“Nobody ever thought for a moment that Whitrod was part of anything shady,” said Tim. “My guess? He was getting too close, but couldn't do anything. I mean even if you're head honcho, you still can't do anything if everyone under you and around you aren't playing by the same rules.”
“Johnny said something similar when we were stymied at his hearing. You told him about that didn't you?” Robert looked at Simon, but the nod didn't come. “Johnny said it all still looks like a chess game, the pieces look the same, so everyone thinks it’s chess, but it isn’t. The rules are made up on the go, and no-one, none of us mere mortals anyway, knows who’s making them.”
“We kind of know,” said Tim. “Proving it? That’s another kettle of fish.”
“And getting them to stop,” one side of Simon’s lip curled.
After the subdued pause, Robert asked, “So, how close are you to getting your story out there?”
“Close,” said Tim. “But that's where I was going before I got sidetracked. I think your stuff is too big to lump in with what I've got. It's an hour time slot.”
The spark in Robert's eyes faded, but his face kept its composure.
“It's not that I don't want to mate. It won't all fit. It needs its own headline. And it needs an investigation. I'm sort of up to my armpits.”
“What if I help get it all for you. Work on it, with Simon,” Robert looked hopefully at Simon. “Some of the people Johnny knew. They know things.”
Simon looked down for a moment and nodded, “Could you do some on-camera interviews?”
“I don't see why not,” said Tim. “And I'll run it by the boss. Maybe we can make it a follow up.”
Robert considered for a moment and said, “I know it doesn't completely tie in with your main storyline, but there are links. I'd need to delve a bit deeper, but… I think Kowal- my policeman would step up if he thinks it will go somewhere at last. And there's a possible, no, almost certain link on the narcotics front. Abduction, Mr Peters,” he looked at Simon, “murder, Johnny; Harry, evidence tampering. It ties in. The homophobic strand is an element, granted, but… Am I clutching at straws here?” he said.
Tim pressed his lips together, his head nodding slightly, “Let's work on it. We'll do the interviews. We can pixelate the faces and do voice distortion.”
“But,” Simon frowned, “without something big happening as a result, everyone'll be in the shit. Big time. The cops'll know who they are. Pixelated faces or not.”
“What about the Feds?” Robert sounded hopeful.
“Lost cause,” said Simon. “The Joh and Terry show have been out-maneuvering them forever. It jurisdictional. Federal involvement has to go past the Police Commissioner first, and our mate Terry Lewis, he's the one who doesn't want them involved.”
“Maybes aside,” Simon said, “we're living in a fascist nightmare, and because it smiles at us in our sleep, we wake up every day thinking it's a democracy. We have to do something don't we?”
“Here's to wiping the smile off their faces,” Tim raised his glass. “Let's hope we all get out of this in one piece.”
