I have to admit, it’s helpful, journalling all of this. And my therapist is right, the subconscious has a funny way of connecting things. Joy connects to fear. Good connects to bad. And so, on a day when I’m feeling good about my decision to come home, guess who I find myself thinking about?
Gary.
Gary was Mum’s boyfriend when we were eleven. Mum’s first boyfriend, or at least the first we knew about, after Dad left. Gary was a welcome addition to our lives at first. A novelty, you might say. He was a PE teacher. He wore shorts and trainers every single day, even on the weekends. I remember wondering if he even owned other clothes. The best thing about Gary was that when he was around, Mum was nicer.
Gary was affectionate – which was also a novelty. He used to give us bear hugs and shoulder rubs. It was strange, being touched in this way by an adult. Sometimes I liked it, but most of the time it confused me. One time, as we all sat in front of the television, he picked up my legs and began to massage them. I wanted to ask him to stop, but Mum was there and she didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either. He tried it with Fern next, but she told him to stop. Fern could always get away with those things better than I could.
One day, Gary took us swimming while Mum was getting her hair done. Fern and I were excited. I don’t know if it was the swimming or just the idea of doing something so normal that intoxicated me. Fern loved the water. When we arrived at the local council pool, she dived into the open section away from the lanes and paddled away immediately. I wasn’t as good a swimmer as Fern, and I got into the pool slowly and stayed close to the shallow end. Gary sat on the side the whole time, watching. When I ventured toward the deep end, he called me back.
‘I promised your mum I wouldn’t let you drown,’ he said, sliding off the edge and into the pool. I still remember his arms circling my waist under the water and pulling me against him. I remember his bare thighs pressing against mine. And I remember the distinct feeling that something wasn’t right about it.
‘Relax,’ he whispered. ‘Just relax.’
It was the strangest thing. There were people everywhere, all around us. And yet I was entirely alone.
FERN
Rose gets me to work on time (just). After all the excitement of her surprise return, it is a relief that my morning at the library is uneventful. The afternoon, however, is another story.
I am in the children’s corner reading to a child who has refused to take part in the school holiday singing and dancing group (Too loud, she’d said, and I quite agreed) when I hear a shout from the other side of the library.
‘Get. Out. Of. My. Face.’
The little girl looks up at me worriedly. I share her concern. The voice is deep and guttural and doesn’t sound friendly. It’s most unusual to hear a voice like this in the library.
‘Stand back! Get the fuck away from me!’
I get to my feet to try and locate its owner. I see a large man towering over Carmel. Carmel looks uncharacteristically unsure of herself. She holds out both palms toward him in a surrender gesture, but he doesn’t appear to be backing off.
I scan the area around them. A few people quietly vacate their computers, gathering in small groups closer to the door. Gayle watches from the front desk, her ear pressed to the phone. I cross the floor quickly to stand beside Carmel. Up close, I can see the man is shaking and sweating. He appears to be in quite the state.
‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘Are you requiring some assistance?’
He looks at me. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘I’m a librarian,’ I say. The children, I notice, have stopped singing and dancing. The whole library is silent, which is unusual for this time of the day.
‘A librarian?’
He seems surprised by this; I take it as evidence that he’s found himself in the wrong place. ‘Yes. You’re in the Bayside Public Library. Where were you hoping to be?’
‘I need my money!’ His eyes look bizarre, large and black like a cartoon character’s. He grinds his jaw and picks at his fingers. He is clearly agitated. In his right hand, he holds a pocketknife, the small sharp blade pointing outward.
‘I’m sorry, but weapons aren’t permitted in the library,’ I say. ‘I’m going to have to take that.’ At first, he doesn’t protest, but at the last moment he shifts, extending his arm with the blade. It narrowly misses my shoulder.
‘Fern,’ Carmel says quietly.
‘Hey!’ I cry. ‘You almost got me.’
‘Where’s my money?’ he says. ‘Do you have it?’
‘We don’t keep money on the premises,’ Carmel tells him. Her tone is sharp and authoritative, but he mustn’t take well to it, because he lunges forward, jabbing the knife at her. I pull her backward by her shirt and frown at the man.
‘Careful! You could hurt someone with that.’
The man looks right at me for the first time. ‘Where’s. MY. MONEY.’
The man is sweating, panicky. He must be really worried about his money.
‘It must be frustrating, not knowing where your money is,’ I say. ‘It ruins my entire day if I lose something, believe me. Most likely, it will turn up. In the meantime, why don’t you sit down on this beanbag and I’ll read
