Maserov was in his car driving into the CBD, where he would go, first, to Freely Savage in order to comply with the absurd demands of its HR department and thereby not re-enter Hamilton’s consciousness any more than he had to ever since his meteoric rise to the status of target, and then on to Torrent Industries, where he would see Malcolm Torrent to try to get the authority to make the best offer to Carla and the other three plaintiffs that he could.
The traffic was barely crawling and sometimes not even that but it gave him time to survey his life and as long as his car didn’t shudder more violently than usual between spasms of forward motion he didn’t mind. Today was a new day. In this it was just like every other day. But this was the first day he had arisen, showered and put on a suit and tie knowing that a woman like Jessica Annand had wanted to kiss him passionately. In fact, it wasn’t a woman like Jessica Annand, it was Jessica Annand. He hadn’t been trying to charm or entice her. He didn’t remember how to be flirtatious, couldn’t recall when he had last been, if ever. No, Jessica had got to know him during a time where he had merely been himself, Stephen Maserov, a man in increasingly difficult circumstances, circumstances that he had never attempted to hide.
At risk of sleepily veering left into the lane meant for the airport, from which there would be no return other than by plane, Maserov tried to imagine how she saw him. He was a desperate man trying to save his job, his family and even his marriage while simultaneously attempting to negotiate a fair settlement for deserving victims of sexual assault for whom he felt sincere compassion. He had never tried to pretend to be any more than that. This was the man Jessica Annand wanted to hold and to kiss. And on a fading cracked leather seat that trembled under the burden of his car’s twenty-seven years’ service and its tortoise-like progress in the traffic on Kings Way, Maserov felt great. Then the lights changed.
Had he been unfaithful to his wife? The one thing he’d always had was his integrity. Was he on the slippery slope towards becoming Betga? But then, Eleanor had been unfaithful to him. Hadn’t she? Probably, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, all he had done was kiss Jessica, nothing more. But that was more than he knew for sure Eleanor had done with the drama teacher. Was it the drama teacher? Or was it the PE teacher? Was it a mitigating factor if he reasonably thought his wife had been unfaithful before he had kissed Jessica, unequivocally an act of infidelity but a trivial one, incredibly trivial? But perhaps it wasn’t an act of infidelity at all. He was separated, after all. And the separation had been at Eleanor’s instigation and against his will. If you kick your husband out of home what do you expect? What had Eleanor expected? They hadn’t ever discussed it.
But the real guilt lay not so much in the act of kissing Jessica but in how much he had enjoyed it. He had replayed it in his mind over and over. But memories fray and need to be refreshed. He would have to do it again. But that’s not a way to live, kissing someone repeatedly so as not to forget what it was like. Where was the future in this? Did Jessica envisage a future with this separated man with two children who would sooner or later probably be without a job? Did she want to be a mother? He already had two children. Would she want to be a stepmother and, if so, what kind of stepmother would she be? Perhaps she would agree to be a stepmother on the condition they have their own children together. Had he already left Eleanor in his mind? Wasn’t it a bit early to be imagining a blended family with Jessica? He hadn’t even reached Sturt Street.
The only things he knew for certain were that he didn’t want to be without his children and that he wanted to kiss Jessica again, just once before he died. He was already living without his children, which felt like the beginning of a slow death. That had to change. Then the phone rang. It was Betga.
‘She hasn’t changed her mind?’ Maserov asked before saying ‘hello’.
‘You don’t say “good morning” or “hello” anymore?’ came Betga’s voice through speakerphone.
‘Good morning, Betga. She hasn’t changed her mind, has she?’
‘No, not as of the time I left last night.’ There was a pause. ‘No, if you’re wondering, she’s still not letting me stay the night.’
‘No, that wasn’t where my mind was headed.’
‘Where’s your body headed, Torrent HQ?’
‘It will be. First I have to appease the gods at Freely Savage by doing something inane for HR.’
‘Is this Hamilton trying to fuck you up?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Listen, as long as you’re going into Freely Savage, could you pop your head into Featherby’s office?’
‘What? No, why on earth should I do that?’
‘Featherby keeps calling me. Says he’s in a bad way and wants the support of the Freely Savage Survivors. He doesn’t know it’s me he’s talking to. I keep telling him that he has to have left before he can join. But he calls ’cause he’s convinced he’s going to get canned. Says Hamilton’s playing mind games with him.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, you know, walking down his department’s corridor towards the end of the day, joking with the lawyers whose workstations sandwich Featherby’s but never stopping to talk to Featherby. That sort of shit.’
‘Is that all?’
‘No, he says he gets told of departmental meetings after other people and then has to reschedule with clients. Then, when he comes late, Hamilton berates him for being late in front of everyone else at the meeting. Sometimes he comes into Hamilton’s office to keep a scheduled appointment that Hamilton’s secretary has called and Hamilton stays on the phone for up to an hour without acknowledging his presence in the room.’
‘Betga, I would kill to be the victim of such benign mind games.’
‘I don’t know,’ warned Betga. ‘He certainly sounds freaked out.’
‘Well, he might be but frankly if you guys, the FSS, aren’t willing to help Featherby he sure as hell isn’t my problem.’
‘We’re not willing to help him yet. Once he leaves he qualifies for our emergency assistance package.’
‘Well, that distinction, important as it is for you, doesn’t really change anything for me.’
‘Okay, but if you see him while you’re there —’
‘Yeah, what? What should I do if I see him?’
‘Observe and report back.’
‘Will do, captain. Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘Actually, there is. It’s in the nature of parenting advice. Do you mind?’
‘No, not at all. Not that I’m holding myself out as any expert.’
‘Okay, listen. You know I’m trying to improve my bond, my relationship with my daughter.’
‘Marietta, yes.’
‘Well, Carla is using me as a babysitter, which is fine, but it means I’m often alone with Marietta, I mean really alone, for long periods of time. And she’s not yet two.’
‘Where are you going with this?’
‘Well, I don’t know if I’m allowed to admit this,’ said Betga tentatively over the phone, ‘but . . . how do you deal with the boredom? I mean . . . I love her, I absolutely love her. But often, I mean not infrequently, it’s like watching paint dry. She’ll jump up and down, kind of sing, I suppose that’s what she’s doing. Roll around. She’ll put two of her soft toys together in a kind of . . . I guess it’s an embrace or maybe they’re kissing. I’m supposed to be endlessly fascinated by all this. But I can’t wait for her sleep time. Is there something wrong with me as a parent . . .?’
‘No, there’s nothing wrong with you.’
‘Well, how do you deal with it?’
‘So here’s what you should do if you’re getting bored. When you’re certain you’re completely alone and that no one but her can hear you, talk to her as you would to an adult. Have a conversation with her about how you feel about her, about Carla. Talk to her about your life, about your family, about the things you believe.’
‘She’s not yet two.’
‘It’s not for her in the first instance. But if it relieves the boredom then you’ll be making it more pleasant for yourself and she’ll benefit from that too. She’ll feel it. Grab these moments with both hands before she grows up and you’re an embarrassment to her.’
‘Wow, that sounds like incredibly good advice.’ Betga was impressed. ‘Thanks, Maserov.’
‘Glad to help. I’m at the car park now so I have to go. I’ll call you when I’ve got the authority to make an offer but it may not be till late afternoon.’
‘Okay,’ said Betga. ‘I’ve got a suggestion. If it’s bad news, if you have any kind of problem, text me. Otherwise meet me at Carla’s place and tell us the figure there. I’ll have a bottle of something sparkling in the fridge and we can turn it into a celebration.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, I think it will make her feel better about settling if we present it that way.’
‘Okay, I gotta go now,’ said Maserov. ‘I’ll text you if there’s a problem. Otherwise, see you there.’
Maserov was reaching for his phone to end the call when he heard Betga say, ‘You can bring your girlfriend.’