The Outing, page 27
He stood up, and felt his shoulders adjust. He wasn't alone. A sense of settled and quiet determination cloaked him in calm.
‘Time to go.’
He glanced briefly towards the wardrobe. And time to be real. He'd tell Mr O'Connor a tie wasn't needed at his paying job.
***
The fact there were two people waiting in the meeting room didn't disturb Robert's calm. A tinge of elation wafted around the edges of it. He felt gracious, as if he was making Callum feel comfortable and he smiled extending his hand, then presenting it to Callum’s guest.
“Alex Maddison, from CAMP,” said Alex.
“Alex arrived and I didn’t have time to call you back,” Callum apologized.
“Well, that’s good,” Robert said. “I understand we’d be liaising. But before I get ahead of myself, there’s something you should know.”
He told them the bones of his story, and that he wouldn’t have come at all, if he didn’t think it, or he, would be useful.
They exchanged looks.
“For a start, there’s the media interest,” said Robert. “I’m led to believe gay panic and my story is already causing a ruckus. I must admit I’ve been avoiding it till now. If nothing else, it’s polarizing, and that makes press. Plus, even though I can’t practice, doesn’t mean I don’t know the law. And I’ll have ample time. My paid job, I’m on my way to confirm it after I leave here, is part time and finishes around ten, and is only a short walk away from here.”
“Oh?” Alex’s head tilted.
“I’ll be gracing the halls of QIT with a broom and mop, as long as they’re happy with me,” his smile fresh and disingenuous.
Callum’s eyes narrowed.
Alex looked slightly confused, “You know I knew Johnny, don’t you? He’d been coming in, doing whatever,” he waited for Robert’s confirmation. “So the panic thing? That’s what they want you to say?”
Robert nodded.
“But why? Why don’t you just say you’re gay.”
Callum looked like he was going to say something, and Robert deferred, “Because, with no witness to the contrary, all they have to do is point a finger. The presumption of innocence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be in situations like this. Besides that, evidence isn’t exactly reliable these days. By pleading guilty to gay panic, you’ve got more of a chance. And for that you’d have to definitely not be gay.”
“I know you’re trying to be helpful, but at this point there’s not much anyone can do, and,” said Robert, “since I’m my own client, I really shouldn’t be discussing his case.”
“Of course. Of course,” Callum repeated. “Alex, what do you think?”
“Mind boggling,” Alex dropped the pretense of being a corporate style interviewer.
Callum’s mouth curled at the edges, “I meant about our new liaison officer?”
“Oh. He’ll be great. For as long as we have him. But,” Alex’s eyes were troubled, “given the circumstances…”
“How about you leave us to it?” Callum looked at Alex pointedly, and then the door.
When he'd gone, Callum spoke, “Were you serious? You're representing yourself?”
Robert nodded.
“I can help. We could sit down now and have a proper lawyer client meeting.”
“I was told I shouldn't have a lawyer,” Robert's frown apologized. “It's not that I wouldn't want you to.”
“Who advised you?” Callum could see Robert's hesitation.
“It's not exactly that he said I shouldn't have a lawyer,” Robert was looking back on his conversation with Duncan at remand. “He said, I was choosing to be unrepresented. He stressed it. Said it was my loophole. It took me a while, figuring it out. I believe his intention was that if I had a lawyer, to represent me, I couldn't change my plea.”
Callum scribbled on a blank sheet of paper, before passing it to Robert.
Robert read, “For the purpose of this and subsequent meetings, I Robert Carson, do not appoint Callum O'Connor as my legal representative. However, all the confidentiality provisions of the lawyer client relationship apply.”
“Haha, OK then. You've got me,” Robert signed. “Thanks.”
They talked, with Callum taking notes until Robert looked at the clock on the wall of the small conference room and said, “Hey Mr O'Connor, I have to go. I don't want to be late.”
“Callum,” he said. “I've got enough for now, see you tomorrow.”
*
On the walk over to QIT, Robert wondered about Gemma Thomas, whether she'd had any inkling that working for Callum O'Connor for free, might have turned out this way. He decided it didn't matter whether she did or not, and that sparkling and flowers might be a nice thank you. Lauren liked bubbly. And with that thought his mood flatlined.
***
Next morning after his QIT job, Robert bought the daily paper on the way to QCCL. It seemed like it might be a good time, and the fact that his story was old, and his photo was probably mopping up fish and chip oil while he mopped up floors, appealed to his tentatively re-emerging sense of humour. Not that it had ever been particularly raucous. He tucked the paper into his briefcase with his cleaning clothes, and swapped hands, deciding he needed a backpack and hoping Lauren would answer his call and let him take one from the cupboard at home, when he visited.
When he arrived a petite brown-eyed, brown-haired teenager was watching someone in a suit precede Callum into his office. She turned to Robert, “I'm Rose, I wasn't here when you came yesterday. But we spoke on the phone.”
She had a way of making a statement into a question.
“I remember.”
“I'll show you around.” Again the question.
It didn't take long, and they stood in the tea-room nook waiting for Rose to think of what to do next. “Do you want to put anything in the fridge?”
“No. Thanks.”
“What about a tea or coffee?” she asked.
“Tea sounds good.”
“OK then,” she started back towards the reception area. “Milk's in the fridge. Yell if you need anything.”
He collected himself, “Do you want one?”
Her bottom lip pushed forward, reminding him of his kids, “Nup. Thanks. When you're ready, you can watch over my shoulder a bit.”
To one side and under the desktop of the reception area, was a cabinet like a library catalogue. A drawer was open, and Rose was typing the contents of one of the cards in it, into a form on the computer screen.
“You can use a computer. Wow,” he said.
“Once you know the ins and outs it's simple. Like typing,” she said. “Wanna try?”
*
Callum peered at them over the counter-top after seeing his appointment out, “Ah, upskilling. Good idea, Rose. You've got some catching up to do Robert, I'm her star pupil. We'll all have to know how these things work soon.” He turned towards Robert, “got a minute?”
Robert thanked Rose.
“Really,” said Callum, “take the opportunity. She's here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. How was the new job?”
Robert looked surprised to be asked, “I'll probably be aching this time tomorrow. I didn't realise how physical it was.”
“First things,” Callum pushed a folder towards him. “Have you ever done a submission before?”
Robert shook his head.
“Thought not. Read through this. It's one we did recently. It'll give you an idea of how we put them together.”
Robert started to reach for it, but there was also an expanding file in front of him, so he waited.
“And this, is a bunch of notes, affidavits, declarations, reports, notices, newspaper articles, letters to the editor, editorials. I think that’s it,” he smiled. “You'll also need to access Hansard. No need to go right back to the beginning. Alex has a summary in here of the early years. But the recent stuff needs to be logged and summarized. And there's rather a lot of it.”
“We're working on?”
“Legalising my gay brothers and sisters. Go through all this first. You'll probably locate the parliamentary debates more easily using the news cuttings for indicative dates.” He pointed his head towards the expander file, “not so much guff to get through.”
Robert nodded.
“I want you to note particularly who's saying what in the debates. For and against obviously, but it’s the fencers… we want to know who they are too. And from both sides.”
“I'll go see my dad-”
“Of course, yes, Carson. Barry Carson. Taking it he's on our side?”
Robert nodded again, “If you'd asked me not so long ago, I might have had a different answer. But what's even better is, he's a fixture. He knows what's in people's heads, not just what comes out of their mouths.”
“I knew you'd come in handy,” Callum joked. “Now, for you,” he put his hands together under his chin, “I have an idea.”
Chapter 54
“Want a drink?” Marnie offered even before he'd sat down. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table and a spare glass.
He wanted to say yes, but he had to get up early. Way early. “Better not. I'm driving.”
She poured anyway, “In case you change your mind.”
“What's going on?”
She picked up the glass and handed it to him, “It's only one, and I've got something to tell you. Two things actually. But one you're not going to like.”
He took the glass and sniffed the contents, “OK?”
“I spoke to Lauren today. There's a reason she hasn't been answering your calls. She isn't there.”
He put the glass down. It hit the table with a thick clunk, “Sorry. I-”
“No. I am. I didn't know how to break it to you, so I blurted,” she watched his confusion. “She moved into her dad's. Packed everything up. Put it into storage. Except it seems, the phone.”
“But, she never said anything, I don't understand. How-”
“She said you'd have tried to talk her out of it.”
“But…”
“Yeah. But. I know,” Marnie’s lips pressed together. “She said she was going to call you after things had calmed down a bit. It's all a bit confusing for the kids. They need to be settled. People are moving into your place.”
“I should go and see her.”
“Don't. Not now. She'll know I told you.”
“And?”
“And I wasn't supposed to. No-one else knows. Except Duncan. And she is always going to come before you.” She handed him back his glass, “And as much as I don't want to be in the middle, I kind of have been from the start so don't go racing over there. Call Duncan tomorrow and tell him you haven't been able to reach her and you're worried. He'll tell you then, and I'll be in the clear.”
The glass wavered on its way to his mouth.
“This way she'll still talk to me. I- It might be useful to have me as a go between.”
He put the glass down gently this time, “Who does that? Who takes your children, packs up your life, and doesn't tell you? Not even a message.”
“There's something else,” her shoulders caved forward watching his pain. “It's not bad this time. It's the apartment. Technically it's mine. Johnny left everything to me,” she leaned forward and took his hand. She gave it tiny strokes, trying to wipe off some of the pain, “It's actually a little bit good.”
He felt his nose prickle, and he could see the teary sheen in her eyes, because none of this was good.
“Johnny had insurance. He took it out because of the mortgage. Anyway, when the new coroner's report was tabled, the insurance company had to turn around and pay after all.”
“Because it wasn't suicide.” The comment had as much life to it as a pool of tar. He picked up his wine and drank the rest. She reached for the bottle, and he shook his head, “No. Thanks though.”
Ignoring him again, she poured a tiny amount into the empty glass. “I know you don't want to celebrate. Neither do I, but,” she clinked his glass, “to Johnny, and his foresight.”
“You know,” he said, “if those bastards had gotten away with faking suicide, that money wouldn't be there. Harry and I even talked about it. The trauma is bad enough. The guilt, the blame, the grief. The loss. They’ve literally taken someone you love. The emotional cost. But they steal your money too. Imagine if there were kids or a partner, a wife or… how dare they? How dare they? They have to be stopped. This has all got to be stopped.”
They were both silent then, “There was just a little bit more,” Marnie said softly. “Since I don't have to try to find the money to pay for the mortgage…”
He looked at her, his eyes swimming with sadness against a tide of anger.
“You don't have to pay me any rent. If you can cover the rates and things. At least until you're on your feet.”
She shuffled over on the couch and wrapped her arms around him. He lifted his around her, and buried his face against her shoulder, and she buried hers against his.
A few droplets of sad and grateful were spilled.
Chapter 55
Arriving home with a packet of spaghetti, a container of frozen Bolognese sauce, and no inclination to talk to anyone, Robert didn’t even look at the answering machine.
First domestic stop was the kitchen. Water in a saucepan, and the container of sauce into the microwave. He heard Marnie in his head saying ‘it has to breathe’ – don’t we all? - and flipped the lid up on one side. Next, he opened his briefcase. The newspaper went onto the coffee table in front of the TV, where he’d join it for dinner. Now that he wasn’t going to be confronted with his own face and circumstances, and given his current roles, he wanted to know what was going on. His uniforms, grey overshirts with QIT-MD for maintenance department stitched on the pocket, came out next. There were three, since he was now a full-time, part-time employee. Five shirts were for full-time, full-time employees. The pro-rata logic of a big institution evaded him. In his world five mornings of work required five shirts, but hey, he wasn’t about to argue the point. The dirty one went into the washing machine.
The spaghetti water was still dithering, so he showered. The microwave beeped as he was drying off. He started wrapping himself in a towel and stopped, letting it fall to the floor where he stomped on it. He could go to the kitchen naked if he wanted to.
‘Well, well, well. Look at you,’ he heard Johnny.
The feeling of brave moved down a notch to a confident nonchalance he hadn’t felt in a while. Or ever? He decided not to think about that, but slightly too late, and the feeling had moved down to nonchalance without the confident bit. He still felt good as he spurted wine from the box, into an oversized glass and surveyed the fridge interior. It looked lonely in there. Butter, vegemite, milk and bread, a puckered carrot and yellowing broccoli reminding him to eat more vegetables. He prodded them. And was that an unopened packet of cheese? He found a grater.
Tomorrow he’d take some money from his and Lauren’s joint account and buy more groceries. He wanted a full fridge. Lauren wouldn’t mind. Would she? She wouldn’t want him to suffer. Would she? No. But. No.
He hacked open the pasta packet, with a not very sharp knife and felt a tinge of naked vulnerability. He doused the feeling with a slosh of wine and went back to the packet. How much? Half? It splayed outwards from the centre of the saucepan. He’d watched Lauren do that. Salt. He prodded the resistant strands pushing them under. And, the thought arrived from somewhere, you’ll need your own account too now won’t you? You can do that before going to the office. And you have to call Duncan. Is it OK to use the phone at the office? Did Anna use the office phone? What would he have said if she asked? He saw Callum’s face instead saying are you fucking kidding me? OK. OK. Sorry. Slink off.
The glass was empty.
The pasta bubbled in white water. He opened the microwave. The sauce was a frozen floating island. His skin goose-bumped. He put the sauce in the fridge and tipped off the pasta water. Spaghetti escaped into the sink. His fingertips recoiled when he tried to pick it up. He ran them under the cold tap, chilling the pasta underneath. He lifted some into a bowl with tongs and doused it with salt and pepper and a mini mountain of cheese, and shivered, and went to the bedroom for a pair of boxers and a t-shirt.
More comfortably unexposed, he sat with his paper dinner companion and scanned headlines, but he’d never been a fan of overcooked cool spaghetti and half-melted cheese, and half-eaten, it joined the other lonely fridge dwellers while he went to bed. And slept.
***
In the morning he saw the light from the answering machine throbbing like a slow pulse.
Jeez. Who was he going to call back at 4am?
Outside the front door, he turned. What if- the kids? Fuck’s sake, stop it. Duncan, Harry, Marnie? No they’d have called back. Probably just Lauren with her moving out moving on message. He closed his eyes, to shut off the noise and felt a weirdly one-directional swaying pulling him towards the phone. No. You can’t be late on day two. You need an income. Still? He shook his head. Knowing right this minute won’t make any difference.
*
The flashing red light of the answering machine seemed to appear against the grey lino flooring as the mop changed direction.
He ignored the urge to go home between jobs but sitting at the conference table reading through the folder, he noticed a series of circles alongside the notes he’d been taking.
When Callum came in, he asked if he could work from home sometimes. When he had personal calls to make.
“You can make calls from here you know,” he registered Robert’s relief. “But yeah, it’s OK, as long as someone’s here. And…”
“And?”
“And, what else?”
“I have to go to the bank.”
“Go. I’m here,” Callum’s hand flicked towards the door. “Don’t be all day. Not sure if I’ll be able to figure out how to use the phone on my own.”
