‘Why couldn’t I?’ he said to himself. What was to stop him? Not money. ‘Why bloody not?’ He smiled.
He turned the key in the office door, pushed it open and secured it with the boot scrape so a breeze could blow in. It was silent inside. Dead silent. No tapping typewriters, no chatting staff, no clients making demands. He was surrounded by the woody, responsible smells of oak and teak and he let them seep into him. He propped his umbrella in the stand and he went to his desk behind a glass partition at the back of the office. He was protected there. Clients had to get past his staff to get to him and he could see everything from where he sat. There was his pipe, patiently waiting for him. He took it and filled it with the Havelock that he kept in his top drawer. The tobacco, the wood, the oily polish seeped decency and steadiness into his pores.
He dipped his nib in the inkwell and thought of what he wanted to say at tomorrow night’s meeting. Most likely his audience would be a bunch of rowdy miners and some council members, not to mention hecklers. If he was lucky there’d be some like him who were concerned about the future of the nation. He should mention Eureka. He thought of Eureka as Australia’s first war. Most of the miners could cite an uncle, a father or grandfather who had been part of the uprising fifty-odd years ago. It had taken place just a few blocks from his office. The town had memories of rebellion that sat rumbling and fermenting in its bowels. He wrote:
I have never come across a miner who would take tributes if he could take wages and the miners of this town only take tributes because they CANNOT get wages! What man would work for piece rates instead of a wage? The chance of a miner coming across a block that will give him twenty pounds a fortnight is as likely as winning one thousand pounds in Tattersalls sweeps …
Paul paused to collect his thoughts. He looked at his watch and the time surprised him. Already it was past three and here was Beth coming in to see him. He smiled.
Five
The Gift
Which is unwanted and cannot be returned.
It took Paul a moment to realise that Beth was in a panic. She leant on the clerk’s counter, her whole body heaving. Beads of sweat wet her hair and tears stained her cheeks. He jumped up and ran to her.
‘You must come. Edie sent me and said to come immediately,’ she panted.
Paul didn’t ask any questions; he was too afraid of the answers. He kicked the boot scraper away from the door too hard and it toppled over and he had to kick it again to get it out of the way. As the door swung shut he caught it and held it open for Beth. He told himself not to panic until he knew what he was panicking about, even though he knew full well what he was panicking about. His pulse was racing and he could hear his breath coming in short ragged gasps. He grabbed his umbrella and bowler hat. Beth stepped into the street, still breathing heavily and holding her waist and he wondered how quickly she’d be able to get back home in this state.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked at last, bracing himself. But Beth just looked at him.
‘Go on,’ she said, ‘hurry.’
And he did. He ran home, his heart thumping furiously, his thighs burning. What had seemed a short walk now seemed like an expedition. Finally he got to his house, which buckled and bowed, its iron lacework drooping like melting ice-cream as moans and sobs escaped its walls. He gasped for air. His lungs had shrivelled and the air he needed wouldn’t come.
‘Oh house,’ he said, ‘what shame are you hiding?’
He went in through the back door that was always open and in the kitchen his heart froze at the sounds of pain echoing down the hallway. He dropped his umbrella on the kitchen table. It rolled off and clattered onto the floor but he left it and ran up the hallway to Lucy’s bedroom and stood in the doorway. Edie was bent over the bed, mopping her mother’s forehead with a flannel. He saw his wife, her skin clammy, her body heaving. Sweat trickled down her forehead.
Edie was crying. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong. She collapsed in the hallway. There’s blood. If you call Doctor Appleby he’s more likely to come than if I call him. He’ll think I’m just a panicky woman.’
‘I think this is normal. This is what happens. It’s just too soon, that’s all,’ he said.
‘What’s normal?’ Edie cried, terrified. ‘What’s too soon?’
He tried to answer, but the words suffocated in his airless lungs.
‘I’ll call the doctor,’ was the best he could manage.
He went to the telephone on the wall beside the hallstand and put the call through.
‘There’s no answer,’ Doris the operator told him in her I-don’t-care voice. He looked accusingly down at the earpiece and slammed it into its cradle. He went back to the bedroom door. He wanted to go to her and sweep her up in his arms but it was as if there was an invisible barrier that he couldn’t get past — women only.
‘He’s not there, we should get your mother to the hospital, I’ll call the ambulance cart,’ he said.
‘I don’t need the hospital, call Nurse Drake,’ said Lucy from the bed. It didn’t sound like her voice; it was harsh and rasping instead of supple and inviting. She hardly sounded alive. He watched with sudden horror as she heaved herself out of bed, stumbled
