Still Midnight

30

Morrow drove home through the calm traffic, wishing it was heavier, hoping someone not far in front would have an accident. No one did.

Blair Avenue was settling in front of the television after a heavy dinner, curtains were being pulled, lights were on upstairs as families spread out and children steeled themselves to do their homework. A man coaxed an old dog along the road, touching its back to remind it of the direction. Three teenage boys eyed two girls chatting showily on a far corner.

Her curtains were drawn open, the light was on in the living room but she couldn’t see the flicker from the TV. They had a security timer on the lights. He might not even be in there.

Taking her courage in both hands she reach forward, took the car key from the engine and opened the door to the street. She put one foot on the road, made the other one follow it, slammed the door, locked it and kept her head down as she walked up the path to the house. He’d done some tidying in the garden since this morning. Weeds pulled up and the loose soil brushed back off the tiled path. He’d brushed the steps as well.

Her key was in and the door half open before she heard the radio from the kitchen. Her chin crumpled, a hot red flush rose to her eyes, making her stop on the step to take a deep shuddering breath. Dread of home. Not tonight. Not him and not tonight.

Being stuck on her own doorstep made her angry and she used the feeling to open the door and step in. Shutting it carefully behind her, she dropped her shoulders and let the coat slide down her back and into her hands. She threw the coat on the end of the banister, dropped her bag so that it would be in the way and marched into the kitchen.

Perched at the end of the kitchen table, Brian was doing some work on his laptop. He had heard her coming in, was already looking up at her, the resentment smothered by his pursed lips. White light from the computer screen glinted off his glasses, turning his eyes into harsh silver razor blades.

‘Alex…?’

‘Hi.’ She meant to sound light but it came out leaden. She dropped her keys on the counter. ‘Big case, didn’t get back last night. Haven’t slept for about forty hours.’

‘Hm. You must be tired.’

She almost laughed at the banality of the observation. He sat back, one of his broad shoulders turning a circle as if his neck was sore. He looked at her, his mouth twitched softly. He was waiting patiently for her to answer. ‘Yes,’ she responded in the same bland tone. ‘I am. How are you?’

‘Fine. Neck’s a bit sore again. The plumber came, sorted out that drain in the garden.’

She flicked through the gathered letters on the table to give herself something to do. ‘Good. Did he find the blockage?’

‘Newspaper, he said.’ Brian was trying to catch her eye, ducking his head to meet her, missing every time. ‘He said someone in the street has been using newspaper instead of toilet paper. It doesn’t dissolve in the same way.’ She didn’t speak. He waited for a beat. ‘I think it’s the students farther down, probably, in the Bianci house. They probably ran out of paper and were improvising.’ He forced his mouth to smile, half closing his eyes, keeping them shut when the smile was gone, trying to mask his hurt. ‘Can I run a bath for you?’

Morrow no longer loved the texture of skin on his neck, no longer loved the way he held his mug or the steadiness of his gaze. ‘Think I’ll have some herbal tea. Want some?’

‘I’m on the beer tonight.’ He held his bottle up, as if guilty. ‘Needed a beer…’

She turned away and flicked on the kettle, biting her bottom lip hard to stop herself shouting.

Brian was skirting it, getting around to talking about things. Losing her breath she turned away to the crockery cupboard and issued a warning: ‘God, I’m absolutely exhausted.’ She took out a mug and watched the kettle rumble to its high C. Don’t say that, Brian. Don’t fucking say it.

Brian watched her back for a moment, she could feel him reaching for her and finding her gone. ‘Well, you know what they say.’ Don’t Brian, don’t say that. ‘A watched kettle never… well, you know.’ He sniggered to cover his embarrassment.

Morrow kept her face to the kettle and brought her index finger to her mouth. She bit the knuckle so hard she could taste blood.

In the dark the artexed ceiling of the bedroom was a jagged mountain range. Morrow stared hard at it, angrily wishing herself asleep, making her way from one side of the room to the other, through the passes, sticking to the low ground. It calmed her, a big job, and the ceiling was broad and dark, hard to keep track of all the ridges. She had been doing it for almost an hour when she heard movement downstairs, a light snapping off, a door shutting. She listened, mapping the movements of Brian’s slow, inexorable approach.

He had finished working, had pushed his chair back on the stone floor with the backs of his knees. She heard him slap his laptop shut. He moved to the hall to put the laptop into the protective foam zip bag and then into his bag for the morning. He’d say it in his head because she wasn’t there to say it to: sorting things out, ready for the morning.

Brain stayed safe in routine, in cliches. He ate the same lunch every day, ham and cheese on brown bread and an apple. Regular in his habits, predictable. Safe.

She was halfway along the ceiling, almost dead centre, when Brian had a quiet moment and she wasn’t sure where he was, but then the dishwasher began its evening churn. Hall lights snapped off and then the steady thud of his feet up the carpeted stairs heading to the bathroom for his routine. Tooth brushing, flossing, examining the floss. Face washed and then dried, three pats of a towel – cheek, cheek, neck.

But Brian didn’t go into the bathroom. At the top of the stairs he left the grid of predictability. He had stopped outside the nursery. She listened for him to move but he didn’t. Brian stopped too long for it to mean he’d forgotten something, remembered something, was lost in an extraneous thought. He thought she was asleep, that he was alone, and out there in the lonely dark she heard him keening softly.

Separated by the splinters of the door, Brian cried quietly for the lost axis of his world and Morrow lost her way among the mountains.