Eleven

Day 2

Kilkenny Road

9.15 p.m. Monday, 26th October 1965

When Cardilini arrived home from the pub his sister, Roslyn, and Paul were sitting in the lounge watching television.

‘Robert.’ Roslyn stood, smoothing her apron. ‘We’ve already eaten. We rang the office but they didn’t know where you were.’

Paul stood to face his father, ‘Yes, they did. But they didn’t say. You bloody know Aunty Roslyn cooks tonight.’

‘Hey. Paul. Hey, mate.’

‘You’ve been to the pub,’ Paul said bitterly, ‘You’re a bloody drunk.’

‘Paul,’ Roslyn chastised.

‘What, Aunty? He’s not a drunk?’

Cardilini put his hand up as though to ward off an attack, ‘I did. I had a drink. I need to sit down and think.’

‘You …’ Paul clamped his mouth shut and left the room.

‘Paul, please. Please come back.’ Roslyn called.

‘Forget him. Ungrateful little …’ Cardilini stopped, disappointed with himself, and called, ‘Hey, Paul, I got something to tell you.’ A door slammed. Cardilini stood awkwardly.

Roslyn observed him for a moment before turning to the kitchen, ‘I’ll heat your dinner.’

‘Will you stay for a bit? It’s much better between Paul and me if you’re here.’

‘No. I can’t stay. It’s late,’ she said disappearing into the kitchen.

‘You going out?’ Cardilini called after a pause.

‘No,’ came the answer.

Cardilini sat fighting the impulse to get a bottle of beer from the fridge. ‘Would you like a beer?’ He called.

After a moment Roslyn stood in the doorway carrying a basket.

‘Five minutes, it’ll be ready. Make sure you turn the oven off.’

‘I’ll walk you home.’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s a two-minute walk.’

‘There might be a chance for Paul to get into the academy,’ Cardilini said.

‘How?’ Roslyn looked searchingly at Cardilini.

‘It’s just a chance. I’m not sure myself yet,’ Cardilini said turning aside.

‘Oh, dear God, please. He needs something,’ she said gripping Cardilini’s arm.

‘I know.’

‘Robert, if you can do this, it would mean so much.’

‘Yeah well … it’s not yet … you know.’

‘Don’t say anything to him unless you’re sure,’ Roslyn said, ‘He doesn’t need another disappointment.’

‘Okay.’

‘And don’t say anything now. You look awful. Don’t you have to shave for work?’ She reprimanded.

‘I was in a hurry.’

‘Goodbye,’ Roslyn said with a sigh and left.

‘Thanks. I’ll turn the oven off,’ he called reassuringly, and then looked back into the house. I should have stayed at the pub, he thought.

When he was sure she had gone he went to the kitchen, took a bottle of beer from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table. Paul stood in the doorway.

‘Son, do you want a drink?’

‘No.’

Cardilini attempted a friendly smile, ‘You didn’t mind a drink with the old man before.’

‘Before, you weren’t a drunk.’

‘Son, you don’t understand.’

‘No. I understand. Everyone understands. You’re a pathetic, selfish bastard.’

Cardilini pushed his chair away from the table.

‘You want to hit me?’ Paul braced himself.

Cardilini reacted as if punched, ‘What? I’ve never hit you. I’d never hit you.’

‘It would be easier than watching this. I told Aunty Roslyn not to bring any more meals around,’ Paul left the doorway, ‘And don’t leave the bloody oven on again,’ he yelled from the passageway before a door slammed.

Cardilini stared at the unopened beer bottle for some time. The oven timer sounded, he placed the unopened bottle back in the fridge. He drank several glasses of water then, with knife and fork in hand, sat down to eat. It wasn’t long before he checked his watch, put the knife and fork on the table, covered the untouched meal with a tea towel, and walked into the passage.

‘I’m going out, son. For work. I’m taking the car. Did you hear me? I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?’