Losing the plot, p.29
Losing the Plot, page 29
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted. ‘I made a mistake this morning—I shouldn’t have gone with Marcus. He just, you know, the experience thing. But you were right. I want to accept the offer.’
Dave regarded her in silence.
Say something, she thought.
‘Then you need to tell Marcus.’
It wasn’t what she’d been hoping for.
‘But I want to tell you.’ She’d thought he’d be pleased. Why wasn’t he pleased? ‘Will you come back to the case?’
Dave shook his head. ‘I’m sorry—I don’t think that’s a good idea. And, besides, I’m out of the running. I’m closing my practice.’
Vanessa gaped. ‘Closing your practice?’
‘Yeah. I’m going to live on my savings while I do full-time volunteer work here and at Amnesty and the Human Rights Law Council.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. If I want to move into human rights law before it’s too late, I’ll need this kind of experience.’
Vanessa wanted to throw her arms around him and say, ‘I’m so proud of you,’ but instead she just stood there grinning like a nincompoop.
‘Oh, Dave, that’s wonderful. So you’re going to follow your dreams?’
‘Yeah, finally. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?’
Vanessa nodded. She opened her mouth but now words refused to come out. She and Dave stood in a long and excruciating silence and she could hear the low buzzing of the fridge.
‘Well …’ he said. I’m working, you should leave, he meant. What was it with all the subtext tonight?
Vanessa nodded tensely. ‘I should get going.’
But she found herself frozen to the spot. Why couldn’t she take that first step towards the door and out of Dave’s life? And then it hit her like a thunderbolt—because she loved him. ‘Der!’ said the sensible little voice, and her cheeks burned with sudden shame. She’d been an unmitigated fool, obsessed with status and appearance. She’d been as shallow as … well, as shallow as Marcus, and the whole time Dave had been a hundred times the man he was. Dave with the food stains on his tie and the eyebrow at a perpendicular angle and the biggest heart of anyone she’d ever met. She wanted to curl up on the couch with him, to take Daisy for long walks with him, to make a blended family with him and, yes, to make love with him. And, ideally, she’d like the making love part to start tonight.
‘Vanessa? Are you okay?’
No. Yes. I think so. I love you.
‘Dave, I don’t know why I didn’t realise before, but I—’
The buzz of the front door interrupted her.
‘Sorry,’ said Dave. ‘That’ll be my dinner.’
Oh, he’s ordered takeaway, thought Vanessa. How sweet! Not that ordering takeaway was intrinsically sweet, but the fact was anything Dave did at this point would be sweet. She pictured them nibbling on the same slice of pizza and meeting in the middle for a cheesy kiss.
‘What did you get? Pizza?’
‘Lasagne.’
Lasagne? That could present more of a challenge for nibbling on the same slice together. She followed Dave out of the kitchen. He pressed a button and the front door opened. Vanessa was expecting Uber Eats, but instead Heather Fitzpatrick entered with a Tupperware container, and Vanessa’s heart came loose from its moorings.
‘Home delivery fresh from the oven.’ Heather saw Vanessa and stopped. ‘Oh. Vanessa. Hi.’
‘Hi, Heather.’
In a pointedly territorial move, Heather kissed Dave on the lips. ‘Hey, you.’
‘G’day.’
Dave looked pink but pleased and Vanessa felt herself pale. Dave and Heather. Heather and Dave. While Vanessa had been obsessing about Marcus, Dave had found love somewhere else—and didn’t she just deserve it? She feigned a bright smile that she hoped was convincing.
‘I just dropped in to talk to Dave about the copyright case,’ she told Heather shrilly.
‘He’s closing his practice.’
‘Yes, I heard.’ Vanessa turned back to Dave, willing her voice not to crack. ‘Well, I’ll be off. Make sure you send me your bank account details so I can pay you.’
Dave gave her a subdued smile. ‘I don’t want your money. All the best, Vanessa.’
It sounded so final. But, then, it was.
‘And to you too,’ she said shakily. ‘Nice to see you, Heather.’
‘You too. See ya.’
Vanessa turned blindly and walked outside. She climbed into her car and sat staring into the middle distance as she tried to rally. Time passed. Was it five minutes? It felt like an hour. Her mobile rang. She was tempted to ignore it, but what if it was one of the boys? No, the screen said it was Marcus. She was about to toss the phone back into her bag, but somehow, through her slough of despair, she remembered the settlement. She wanted this awful business behind her, and the sooner the better. She pressed accept.
‘Marcus.’
‘Vanessa,’ he said, sounding all energised. ‘I’ve got something to—’
‘I want to accept the offer,’ she interrupted.
‘What? But I just had a—’
‘I appreciate all your experience,’ she ploughed on, ‘but I just want this whole thing to end with some financial security for me and the boys. I don’t have a new solicitor yet and I’m not allowed to do it myself, so I’m instructing you to accept the offer.’
‘The offer’s been withdrawn.’
No, please tell me I didn’t hear that, she thought.
‘What did you say?’
‘It’s been withdrawn, regrettably,’ Marcus confirmed, although he didn’t sound at all perturbed. ‘I would have called sooner but I had that Bar Council thing tonight. Mike Schwartz called me—we’re off to court.’
Vanessa felt her whole body seize.
‘But why would they withdraw the offer? They only made it this morning!’
‘Who knows?’ Marcus said airily. ‘Although Schwartz did allude to the goalposts having shifted.’
‘The goalposts? But the goalposts could only have shifted if they know we’ve lost our evidence. Nobody knows we’ve lost our evidence except you, me, Dave and Ms—’ Ms Thingie’s contemptuous smile flashed in front of her. ‘I bet it was Ms Izet … Ms Iz …’ How the hell did you pronounce that woman’s name? ‘I bet it was her!’
‘Who?’
‘Dave’s PA.’
‘Are you sure about that? Maybe it was Dave. He was pretty unhappy with me before. He might have thought a well-timed leak to opposing counsel was a good way to get back at me.’
‘Dave would never do that,’ Vanessa bit back heatedly. ‘And believe it or not, everything isn’t about you.’
She heard a sharp intake of breath, then Marcus said in a teasing tone, ‘Uppity today, aren’t you? Have you been taking feisty pills?’
Vanessa attempted a chuckle but it came out sounding like a snort.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Want to come over and be feisty at my place?’
The voice that Vanessa had once found so sexy now just sounded smarmy.
‘Of course, with the boys at Craig’s place I’d come to yours, but I’m too—’
‘Too selfish to inconvenience yourself?’
In the stunned silence that followed, she suddenly realised that she was overcome with boredom.
‘Actually, Marcus—I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s going to work out between us on a personal level.’
‘What?’
‘I think it’s best we don’t see each other outside the case anymore. It’s nothing to do with you, it’s just … we’re on different paths.’ She winced and held her breath.
Marcus’s voice came back laced with ice. ‘I see. Different paths. Am I correct in assuming that you’re breaking up with me over the phone?’
‘Yes,’ said Vanessa, shrugging off a tiny soupçon of guilt. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t be bothered making a special trip.’
Vanessa arrived home to her daily standing ovation from Daisy and, in spite of everything, she found herself smiling. Daisy was so easily pleased. All Vanessa had to do was turn up and give her a bit of food and attention, and it was pure devotion twenty-four seven. She was a fluffy ray of sunshine, and Vanessa had no idea what she’d do without her.
Jackson and Lachie were in the living room playing AFL Evolution on the Xbox. It was after 9.30 pm but school holidays were starting tomorrow and they were too excited about the grand final to sleep anyway, so Vanessa let it slide. At least with AFL Evolution there was no warfare or car theft involved—although there was still plenty of conflict.
‘Free kick!’
‘That sucks!’
‘You suck!’
‘Shut up!’
‘Hi, boys.’
‘Hey, Mum.’
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘And he kicks a screamer!’
‘Ha, that was a clanger!’
‘Was not!’
‘Was so!’
As Vanessa watched Jackson cuff his younger brother, guilt stabbed at her like a knife again. Poor pubescent Jackson and his misguided ‘move’ on Nickie—no matter what he said, she knew it was her responsibility. Had her shenanigans with Marcus damaged his future love life irreparably? Hopefully not but, still, the sooner she gave him the good news the better.
‘Boys, can you turn that off for a sec? I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Ball!’
‘Bull!’
‘Boys!’ Vanessa yelled. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
Jackson switched off the XBox.
‘Hey!’ Lachie protested.
‘Mum’s got something to tell us, idiot.’
‘What is it?’
They looked up at her with their grubby boy faces and her heart overflowed.
‘I just wanted you to know that I’ve broken up with Marcus.’
Lachie whooped with delight. ‘You’ve broken up? Sweet! Marcus is a tool.’
Jackson thumped him. ‘Shut up.’
‘It’s okay, Jackson—Lachie’s right.’ Vanessa looked into Jackson’s soulful grey eyes, determined to drive her point home. ‘Marcus is a big fat arsehole wanker.’
Jackson’s jaw dropped. ‘Mum!’
Lachie laughed his head off. ‘You swore!’
‘I know. And you know what else? He’s a nob.’
Both boys burst into guffaws and Vanessa chuckled along before she found herself sobering. It wasn’t fair to hang everything on Marcus.
‘But seriously, like I told you last night, it’s my fault too. No means no, and men should never ignore that word and women should never allow them to.’ She added for good measure, ‘If you want to know how to treat a woman, follow Dave’s example instead.’
Yes, watch how Dave treats Heather. Her eyes welled and she threw her arms wide. ‘Group hug?’
The boys shuffled into the embrace and Daisy jumped around their ankles, keen to be part of the love-in.
Lachie snickered. ‘Mum said nob.’
‘And wanker.’ Jackson sniggered.
‘And don’t forget arsehole,’ said Vanessa.
They all laughed together, and Vanessa had a sudden image of Dave sharing the moment. She pictured the two of them exchanging loving looks over the boys’ heads, and bleakness rushed at her like a wave. That ship had sailed. She tried to drag her head above water.
‘Love you, guys.’
‘Love you too, Mum …’ they mumbled in boyish embarrassment.
As Vanessa opened the kitchen bin to empty the vacuum cleaner, she glanced at the oven clock. It was 10.41 pm. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d started vacuuming at this hour. Maybe she’d been hoping that the noise of the vacuum cleaner would drown out her thoughts?
No such luck.
All night she’d been assailed by images of Dave and Heather holding hands at the movies and gazing at each other across candlelit tables. It was torture. She wished she could be big enough to feel happy for them, but it would probably take a few more lives before she became quite that evolved. Not that she believed in reincarnation, but still.
She bent to empty the vacuum cleaner, and was stunned to discover Joy’s tatty old panda discarded in the vegetable peelings. She leaned down for a closer look and found the Fame tickets ripped into pieces and her mother’s cherished pressed rose obscured beneath a snotty tissue.
Vanessa was aghast. Was this her fault? She hated to think her mum felt forced to throw out her most precious keepsakes. Vanessa took the panda out of the bin and brushed it off gently, and then she padded down the hall to Joy’s room. As she stopped in the doorway she caught her breath. Jack’s photograph was gone from the wall, his makeshift shrine had been dismantled, and Joy was blowing out the eternal candle. Her face was almost make-up free and the hair extensions she usually wore were lying like a dead ferret on the bed.
She turned and saw Vanessa. Their eyes met for a long, still moment, and then Joy smiled sadly. ‘You think I don’t know how ridiculous I’ve been?’
Vanessa’s heart broke for her. ‘Don’t say that. You’re not ridiculous.’
‘It’s all right …’
Vanessa gestured towards the dresser. ‘Mum, you don’t have to do this because of me. I’m a big girl, I chose to buy into it.’
‘No,’ Joy said gravely. ‘I should have done this a long time ago.’ She put the candle in her bottom drawer and closed it. ‘I heard you and Jackson talking last night, and I thought, what have I done? It’s rippling down the generations.’
‘Oh, Mum. Don’t say that.’
But Joy was clearly stricken. ‘I’m so sorry I lied about your father … I suppose the truth was too hard to bear.’
She sank down onto the bed. Vanessa sat beside her and took her hand and, for a moment, the only sound was silence.
‘I thought that if I could turn myself into the sexiest woman he knew, he’d stop looking elsewhere,’ Joy confessed out of the blue. ‘I bought every copy of Cleo and I devoured all those articles about how to keep your man happy in bed. I tried so hard, but it still didn’t work.’
Vanessa was lost for words. Was Joy’s whole ‘sex bomb’ persona a construct designed to keep a man who didn’t deserve her? A ludicrous picture popped into her head of her mother dressed like a straitlaced librarian. Was that the real Joy? Surely not.
‘And then, after Jack died, I suppose I didn’t know how to stop playing the sex kitten. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the attention.’ Joy allowed herself the ghost of a wicked smile. ‘But it wasn’t the attention I wanted.’
‘Dad didn’t deserve you,’ Vanessa heard herself say fiercely. ‘Where did he get off, cheating like that?’
‘It was my fault too—I turned a blind eye. If I was stronger I would have sent him packing.’
‘That’s victim blaming, Mum. He’s the one who was unfaithful.’
Joy smiled wearily. ‘But I’m the one who invented the fairytale, and now I’ve not only ruined my life but yours and Jackson’s too.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
But Vanessa could see that Joy didn’t believe her.
‘Are you happy, Nessie?’
Vanessa hesitated a fraction too long, and Joy dissolved into tears. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘But I pushed you to be with Marcus when my gut was telling me all along that Dave Rendall was the man for you.’
Vanessa was gobsmacked. But, then, why should she be surprised? Hadn’t her own gut been telling her the same thing, while she’d been consumed with trying to mould herself into the kind of woman that Marcus wanted? She and her mum were peas in a pod.
‘Dave? Really?’
Joy nodded. ‘Oh, I tried to deny it—he doesn’t quite fit the picture, does he? But Marcus hasn’t made you happy and I’ve lost my darling Keith, and now poor Jackson’s in trouble over Nickie. We’re a romantically dysfunctional family, and it’s all my doing.’
But Vanessa knew that wasn’t true.
‘I’m an adult, Mum, and I’m the one who’s been carrying on with Marcus in front of the kids. And don’t worry too much about Jackson—we’ve had a chat and I’ve set him straight. He’ll be fine.’
‘Really?’
Vanessa nodded. ‘I promise.’
Joy exhaled with relief, then said anxiously, ‘But what about you?’
‘Marcus and I have broken up.’
Joy clutched at that news like a lifeline. ‘Then run to Dave! I think he loves you.’
‘It’s too late. He’s with somebody else.’
As despair settled over Joy’s face, Vanessa squeezed her hand. ‘It’s all right—I’ll be okay. We both will.’
But would they?
Vanessa and Joy sat hand in hand, surveying the bare dresser in silence. Their delusions had led them to a lonely future, and they had no one to blame but themselves.
DAVE
Dave squinted as he proofread page 11 of the NorMel Community Legal Centre’s submission to the Victorian Law Reform Commission Police Accountability Review. He was wearing those thirteen-dollar magnifying glasses from the chemist because he’d left his own glasses at home. Good one, Dave. But the document was only thirty-one pages, so it shouldn’t take too long. By the time he finished it’d be about 5 pm and he could duck out for noodles before coming back to do his shift on the advice line.
Sometimes he found it hard to believe that it was two months since he’d closed his practice, but in other ways it felt like years. Between NorMel, Amnesty and the HRLC, he was witnessing brilliant but largely unsung work around domestic violence, youth detainees and refugee family reunions. It wasn’t the lofty heights of The Hague that he’d dreamed about, but these lawyers were at the coalface of social inequities in the communities where they worked. They were thinking globally and acting locally, and Dave found that inspiring.
‘How are you going with that fucking thing?’ Chris asked as he passed Dave’s desk in the cramped cubicle he time-shared with another volunteer. ‘Your eyesight fucked yet?’
Dave grinned. ‘Not yet.’
‘Good man.’
Chris sauntered off. As a volunteer Dave was mostly doing menial stuff, like this proofreading. He was champing at the bit to dive into a case, but Chris had a phalanx of idealistic young full-time lawyers, so the ageing volunteer would have to wait, unless he poisoned one of the millennials—although, judging by the state of the kitchen, that could happen anyway. They might be gung-ho about social justice but they were all still resolutely ignoring Chris’s KEEP THE FUCKING KITCHEN CLEAN sign.
