Tua looked down at his legs and blinked. He screamed.
His left shinbone had burst through the skin above his ankle and stood like a forty-five degree erection out from his flesh, some of which was clinging pinkly to the bone.
He fainted.
Joss could see that the little one was just conscious; he was nursing his broken arm as he lay in the gutter.
'Don't go to sleep now,' he said calmly to the Asian youth at his feet. 'Your friend needs an ambulance.'
A couple of people stared as he jumped on the train just before it pulled out from Cabramatta station. Joss looked down at his hands, clothes. No blood. What?
He didn't realise that his eyes glittered and his grin had stuck his lips to his teeth.
The unit felt empty tonight. In the past, that had been the only way Jill could bear it. She liked it locked down and silent – the only noises those she generated herself, or the familiar hums and purrs of her cleaning appliances. On odd occasions, she'd feel an urge to invite her mum and dad over for dinner. Sometimes her brother and sister-in-law would drop by with Lily and Avery, her four-year-old niece and six-year-old nephew. More often, she'd visit them in their homes. She could probably count the number of times Cassie, her sister, had been by. When she did have visitors, while she wanted to be with them, Jill also found herself watching and waiting for the cues that indicated they would soon leave.
Control. It meant everything to her. And when people were in her house, when she couldn't see where everyone was, or identify each noise in her space, she couldn't relax. She'd do her best, but couldn't resist the urge to maintain her order – surreptitiously re-straightening magazines, re-aligning cushions when she thought people didn't notice. She often caught her mum at such moments, smiling in her direction, cueing her to try to let things go until everyone left.
Tonight felt different. She frowned at her apartment. For the first time ever the gleaming surfaces, blonde beech, stainless steel and cool granite seemed sterile somehow. She wondered whether more colour could help – some jewel-coloured cushions on the chocolate sofas, maybe a big painting on the loungeroom wall. A rug?
Maybe I should move altogether, she thought suddenly. This unit had quadrupled in value since she had taken out the mortgage ten years ago. The outrageous Sydney property boom, coupled with her gorgeous ocean view, had made her rich. Well, on paper. Of course, as soon as she purchased another Sydney property she'd be back in debt.
She'd never thought this way before. She hated change. Anyway, where would she go? It would be pretty hard to give up living at the beach. The noise of the inner city would drive her crazy. And she couldn't see herself in a house in the suburbs, mowing the lawns.
Why was that? Where was that urge for kids and a husband? Holidays to the Gold Coast, school fetes, a four-wheel drive? She paced her kitchen, opened cupboards, closed them again, looking for something.
She walked to the phone. Punched in seven digits and hung up before dialling the eighth. Scotty. What would he be doing now? Probably Emma Gibson. She smiled viciously, thinking of the grey-eyed glamour girl they'd worked with at Maroubra. She's one person glad to see me out of there, she thought.
The next number she dialled unconsciously, listening to the machine's familiar message while she pictured Emma's shiny black hair in Scotty's big hands. Her mum picked up at the end of the recorded spiel. She always let it play whether she was home or not – stopped the telemarketers, she said.
'So, how's the case going, darling?' her mum wanted to know.
'Mmm, okay. Not fast enough though of course. It never is, is it? Especially this case.'
'It's just terrible. I hate to think of you working on these things. The stories on the news today were just awful.'
'Don't watch the news.' Jill modified her tone when she realised how abrupt she sounded. 'Yeah, it's a pretty bad case. We hope to get a breakthrough soon.'
'How's everything else out there, Jill? What are the people like? You didn't manage to tell me anything about Gabriel last time we spoke,' her mum reminded her.
'They're okay. I don't really know anyone yet. Gabriel seems okay, though.'
'How old is he?'
'Mum. I don't know how old he is. Maybe the same age as me.'
'And he's nice?'
Jill paused. Nice? It was probably not the first word she'd use to describe her new partner. What could she say about him him?
'He's a good cook,' she tried.
'He's cooked for you? You had dinner at his house? Was his wife there?'
Oh boy. 'He doesn't have a wife.' As far as I know. 'We had to watch some videos from the case. His house was close and he cooked. Lunch.'
'So what did you eat?'
'Fish. Look, Mum, tell me what's happening out your way. How's Dad?'
'Your father – I don't know what's got into him lately. He hasn't been himself.'
'What do you mean? Is he okay?' Jill sat up straight at her breakfast bar.
'Oh, he seems healthy enough. But he's… well he's doing a lot of shopping.'
'Shopping. Dad?'
'I know. Stuff for the house. Clothes for him. Yesterday he bought me a swimming costume.'
'He did not.'
'With parrots on it.'
Jill felt her eyebrows rising. Her father could not be dragged into a shopping mall, and had always made her or Cassie buy his presents for their mum. He had no difficulties at the hardware shop – but visiting a store that sold women's clothing? She couldn't imagine it.
'I know what you're thinking,' her mother continued. 'Midlife crisis. I bought a book today.'
Jill smiled. Pop psychology. Her mother had a library.
'Oprah recommended it. He's a little old for it all, according to the book, but I'll finish reading it and let you know.'
'How's everyone else?'
Frances Jackson sighed through the phone.
'Cassie.' Jill guessed.
'I don't know, love. I think she's not eating again.'
Jill's younger sister made a living as a swimsuit model. Like the rest of her colleagues, she perennially flirted with anorexia nervosa. Jill shifted on the barstool. Not a lot she could do about it: she found it harder to talk to Cassie than almost anyone, and when she tried to discuss weight with her sister, Cassie would scoff – Jill's own struggles with food from time to time made her concern seem hypocritical.
'Bob and I called around there on Tuesday,' Frances continued. 'It was after lunch, Jill, and she was still in bed.'
'She'd probably been on a shoot, Ma.'
'That's what she said, but it looked more like she'd had a party over there. It was a mess.'
'Good for her,' said Jill, suddenly almost envying her sister's glamorous lifestyle.
'Mmm.' Jill's mother did not approve. 'Some of her friends had stayed the night.'
'Uh huh.'
'They're all very beautiful, Jill, but none of them seem very… diligent.'
'Diligent?'
'Oh, I don't know. I just wish she'd settle down a bit. She's thirty now. And you should have seen the empty bottles everywhere.'
Jill rubbed at a non-existent smudge on her breakfast bar. 'Well, you said it was a party.' None of them spoke overtly about the fact that they rarely saw Cassie without a drink in her hand.
'Yes. Anyway, darling, I don't want to worry you. I'm sure things will be fine. How's Scotty? Have you seen him since you started at Liverpool?'
'No. Oh, Mum, I just got call waiting.' Jill lied. 'I'll give you a ring again tomorrow.'
Jill hung up feeling slightly guilty about lying to her mother. But speaking about Scotty was the last thing she felt like tonight. Right now, she just wished he was here scoffing food in her loungeroom, his huge feet overhanging her lounge.
She walked dispiritedly around her empty unit and finally found herself in her gym. She got to work.