‘Come on, mate,’ he said. ‘It’s too dark out here.’ He carried Theo to his mother’s bed where Lilly fed him warm soup and Auntie June and Uncle Cliff sat on the end of the bed and watched. When the soup was finished Lilly laid him down and held his hand and Uncle Cliff nodded at her and Lilly said, ‘He’s not coming home tonight, Theo.’ Theo looked at her hand that completely covered his. Her hand was soft and smooth and fine. His dad had said, ‘Look, Theo, look what lovely slender hands you mama has, hey? You’ve got her hands, they’re piano hands, son.’
‘I know,’ said Theo because he thought that’s what Lilly wanted to hear him say. Then he turned over and buried his head in the pillow.
When Theo woke in the morning Aunty June and Uncle Cliff were still there. Uncle Cliff was reading a letter out loud and his mother was crying and Aunty June was holding the teapot in mid-air like a statue. Uncle Cliff stopped reading when Theo walked into the kitchen, so Theo shrugged and wandered off to do all the things he would normally do until the afternoon. Then he went and sat on the step and waited for his father until his mother finally came and took his hand and pulled him up saying, ‘He’s not coming home tonight, Theo.’
The next day Aunty June and Uncle Cliff went back to their house in Humffray Street with lots of ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay? Are you sure you don’t want us to stay longer?’ And Theo mimicked their words to his teddy bear.
That night, lying in the big bed, Theo asked, ‘Where’s he gone, Mum? He’s coming back, isn’t he?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said brushing his hair from his face. ‘I hope so. We just have to wait and see.’
‘Wait and see,’ Theo said to his teddy bear.
Theo thought that if waiting was what he had to do to get his father back, then that was certainly something he could do. Waiting was easy; waiting was sitting on the step each night, no matter how long it took, until his father walked through the front gate.
Peter hadn’t planned to walk away from his home, his job and his young wife in her rosebud dress and her curls that fell across her face even when she tried to pin them back and her laugh that was like sunlight bursting from a raindrop. He hadn’t planned to walk away from his son, a funny skinny little thing who thought the world would only ever bring him kindness and love. But the further away he walked, the more convinced he was that leaving was the right thing to do. He knew there wasn’t much hope for him. He couldn’t burden them with what was to come or sit back and wait until everything good in their lives had been ripped up. He wasn’t going to let Lilly and Theo watch him disintegrate to nothing before their very eyes. He wasn’t going to burden Lilly with his care that could go on for months, or have her doing the most intimate things he would need as though she was not his wife but his mother. He didn’t want his son to remember him as a sick, shrivelling man. He had no choice but to disappear. This was the kinder path. This was something he had to do and pray to God they would one day understand.
Peter had passed by Maud Blackmarsh’s house and as luck would have it the devil herself was collecting her milk. Peter kept his head down and said good morning from under his bowler and made sure to keep walking so she was left with her hand in the air and her voice trailing, ‘Ahhh Peterrrr …’ after him.
‘Morning to you too, Mister Hooley,’ she snapped to the milk bottles and wondered again what an old man like him was doing with such a young wife, and decided he must have money. She saw Theo about to topple over the verandah railing into the wild daisy bushes below and she pointed to him to alert Lilly, who she considered a lax parent at the best of times. She hadn’t seen the tears that stained Peter’s face as he scurried down the street.
Peter was expected at the bank at 8.30 a.m. but instead he walked to the train station where he handed over 13 shillings and twopence for a first class ticket. Then he walked to the end of the platform, away from the café and the newsstand where he might bump into people he knew, and sat on the bench, pulled the bowler down over his head and waited for the morning train to Melbourne, which was due in at eleven. He had the carriage to himself and he sat in the corner, his head against the window, and for the three-and-a-half-hour journey he stared at the passing landscape. When he arrived at Spencer Street Station he walked to Little Bourke Street and booked a room for one night only at Gordon Place. As he threw his bag on the bed he realised what he had done and a moan escaped from deep within him. He sat at the desk and wrote a letter to Lilly begging her forgiveness and explaining where he was, what he was doing and, hardest of all, he explained that he didn’t know if he would be returning. Then he wrote out a cheque and put it in with the letter. The letter would take three days to reach her.
In the morning he walked to Collins Street. Starting at
