Chapter 2

Present Day

A bitumen street, pocked with craters. A road-way neglected. Nature strips adorned with yellowing and dying vegetation. Gardens drab and straggly. There are trees and bushes but they are dark—lacking flowers, lacking colour. Lawns are either overgrown or non-existent. The hulk of a car sits on blocks in one yard—it has not seen a road in years. Stinking refuse piles up in another yard, a cornucopia of household rubbish, food scraps, an abandoned mattress, pieces of furniture. It is a haven for feral cats who rifle through it looking for mice or rats which exist in plentiful supply. Death metal music blasts from a window somewhere nearby; an oppressive, depressing maelstrom that could hardly be described as music. Not that anyone here would care. No one is prepared to confront the owner of it.

Red brick, semi detached commission houses stand in various states of disrepair. They lack any individuality; well, save for one or two…which strangely enough, appear to be reasonably well cared for. In the main, however, none of these houses are owned – they are tenanted, and no one here has any particular predilection toward pride of place.

This place…

Commission housing. Government accommodation provided to those who could least afford it. This place could best be described as a ghetto but no one would dare utter that term aloud. It was hard to think of it as anything else.

Here, in the northern suburban fringe of Adelaide, South Australia, the poky little houses lining the street were, at their most basic, a roof over one’s head, but little more. Where the red brick housing of the older design and build provided a little more warmth and comfort, the newer cinder block homes were draughty, cold and chronically damp. Again though, no one cared much. At the very least, it was shelter. Gratitude was expected in such circumstances.

It wasn’t always this way. In the post war boom, when the suburb was conceived and built, heavy industry was the epicentre of the community. It was a place of modest prosperity. Everyone had a job, a car, a family, a measure of security. There was a sense of pride and optimism.

The houses boasted perfectly manicured gardens, clipped nature strips, lush green lawns. A local legend told of a competition that was conducted amongst the residents where they would prepare and present their gardens as enthusiastically as anything put on at the Chelsea Flower Show. Judges assessed the gardens accordingly and awarded prizes for the best. Neighbours looked out for neighbours. Community spirit was bountiful.

With the passing of time, the decline in industry, the disappearance of jobs, the economic rationalism of the modern era, a new paradigm was created. Creeping unemployment was imperceptible at first but slowly and surely, as one generation birthed another, it became so entrenched that now children knew nothing of the notion of work because their parents—if they had any—had themselves never worked. Welfare spread like a cancer. Social dysfunction replaced the nuclear family, crime and drugs and despair seeped in to accompany the decay.

The misfits, the poor, the down trodden.

All of them living here. All of them existing.

But barely…

“Kick it long!”

The scuffed, red leather football sailed high through the air, reverse spinning slowly as it completed a beautiful, parabolic arc. At one end of the street stood a motley band of children, boys and girls all rough housing with one another, jockeying for a position to receive the lofty projectile as it floated toward them, while at the other end, a similar group watched the football on its journey down the street.

The children were a mixture of boys and girls, Caucasian and Aborigines, teens and children. They had been playing on the street for hours, kicking the football back and forth as they sought to emulate their Australian Rules heroes. The group waiting to receive the ball was laughing and chattering excitedly, preparing themselves to launch into the air once the football came within their reach.

Their clothing was as motley as the children themselves. Some of the boys wore the familiar jerseys of their favourite football teams. In Adelaide, there were only two national football teams and they were well represented here. The teal, black and white of Port Adelaide and the red, yellow and blue of the Adelaide Crows. Some of the children wore jerseys of both teams while the others wore a mixture of T-shirts bearing the images of the current crop of pop stars like Beyonce, Jay-Z, Eminem, Lady Gaga and Pink.

The leather ball reached the zenith of its arc and then whistled downward. The taller children drew closer together, pushing and shoving more forcefully in readiness to receive it. The ball plunged through a gap—none of the outstretched hands came even close to touching it—and landed in the waiting arms of a girl whose eyes were shut fast until she felt the impact of leather on skin.

There was a moment of silence as every eye turned toward the small scrap of a child who had seemingly emerged from nowhere and snatched the football into her grasp.

Then the group erupted into enthusiastic cheers and claps, slapping her back in congratulation and grabbing her free hand, shaking it vigorously.

The girl gazed down upon the football in her arm. Her jaw fell open in shock. Her face morphed into an expression of utter amazement. She was barely able to comprehend her sudden and unexpected achievement. One of the teen-aged boys lifted her up off the ground and, holding her aloft on his shoulder, turned several circles, bouncing her small frame up and down, before setting her down again.

Eight year old Ruby Delfey beamed proudly and she hand passed the ball to that teen-aged boy who took it, stepped forward a few paces then dropped it onto his foot, punting it high and long toward the second group of children some twenty yards or so down the street.

As she watched it sail high, Ruby spied a strapping, athletic teen-aged boy in amongst that group. He was shirtless, his rippling muscles and coffee brown skin glistening with sweat and he stood apart from the others, clapping his hands slowly and nodding admiringly in her direction. Her eyes met his and she directed her smile toward him now, a moment of silent affection between herself and her cousin, Jeremy.

“Good mark, Ruby,” Jeremy complimented softly.

Her wind-blasted, shoulder length hair, seemingly frozen in a dozen different directions was loosely tied back with a simple elastic band. Her large, dark eyes were worldly, expressing an intelligence and wisdom far beyond her tender years. She stood no more than perhaps four feet tall – not especially unusual for a child her age – but considering that she was only half a head taller than her five year old cousin beside her, she was, perhaps, a little on the petite side. Her delicate light brown skin was her most striking feature. It was flawless – unusually so. It was a talking point among her circle of family and friends. Though, unbeknownst to many of those very same people her skin was not completely without blemish.

As Ruby watched the ball sail back down the street, she discreetly took the opportunity to step away from the group. As plucky as she was and outwardly equal in stamina to the older children, Ruby did her best to conceal her exhaustion. They had, after all, been out here on the street all day, playing in the warm sun with little respite. She took a moment to catch her breath, putting her hand to her chest to slow her breathing and her heartbeat. She could feel under the T-shirt she wore, that single blemish to her otherwise perfect skin—a singular, thin scar over her sternum – the remnant of a surgeon’s cut from when she was an infant to repair a hole in her heart.

Before the others noticed her absence, Ruby quickly rejoined them as the ball came barrelling back down the street, bouncing crazily along the bitumen. The game continued on, back and forth, the children blissfully ignorant of anything else other than the favoured activity. Ignorant of the death metal blasting from the front window of number 27. Unaware of the stinking refuse pile in number 18, its wafting odour of rotting food and cat urine. Blind to a drunken duo—a father and son—bickering over a car hulk at number 24, all tools and beer and bad language.

Ruby lived with her cousins, fifteen year old Jeremy, his eleven year old sister Asher—whom she stood beside now—and their five year old brother who they called “Minty” on account of his obsession with the sweet of the same name.

On the porch of the red brick house at number 22, quietly watching over the children, sat an elderly woman on a battered kitchen chair with ripped upholstery on the seat back and rusted patches on the chrome legs.

She watched, occasionally flicking ash from the end of a cigarette that she held in her nicotine stained fingers. Bringing it to her lips, she gave life to the freshly exposed ember and coughed, a hacking gag that forced her to hunch over. Her ill-fitting cotton dress hugged her larger frame up top and hung down over her legs, ending at the knees. The flip flops she wore on her cracked and dry feet were far too small—but she seemed oblivious. Her wild grey hair was messy and ungroomed and it framed a dark, leathery face that was heavily lined. Her eyes—one of which was a glass prosthetic—were sunken into the shadows under a prominent brow. A faded but mighty scar traversed over her left eye socket from her cheek to just below her brow. When she looked up, her left eye looked out at an odd angle. Her nose was at once typical of an Aboriginal woman, yet it was slightly thinner and more delicate than one would expect.

She had been sitting on the porch for as long as the children had been playing in the street, content to watch them and smoke her cigarettes. A small can with a label for pear slices peeling away from it sat near her right foot, half filled with extinguished cigarette butts she added throughout the morning. Beside that sat a chipped china tea cup, half filled with milky tea, the tea bag string hanging over the side. Leaning up against the red brick of the house, was a worn and gnarled walking stick with a brass inlay on its handle.

Occasionally she stood to get a better view of the children over the top of the pomegranate tree at the edge of the driveway. Her attention was drawn to two of the children in particular, her grandchildren Asher and Ruby. She watched them competing ferociously, occasionally wincing when either of them took a tumble on the unforgiving pavement. Then, as the football was kicked long back to the other end of the street out of view, she would settle back on her rickety kitchen chair once more and doze in the afternoon sun.

Though Virginia was now in her 67th year, she looked and felt much older. Time had not been kind to her. Her hands, once nimble and dexterous, were swollen now. They were slowly being consumed by arthritis. Her spine was similarly deteriorating and because of this, Virginia could no longer move as freely as she once did. Without the aid of the walking stick, Virginia was unsteady on her feet. Transient memory lapses, which she had previously dismissed, were now becoming more frequent and she was grappling with a recent diagnosis of mild dementia.

Virginia lived here at her son’s home, with his wife and three children, along with Ruby—for whom Virginia was legal guardian. She and Ruby had moved out of the house Virginia owned and had lived in for most of her adult life, after an incident where she had put a saucepan to heat on the gas stove top and forgotten it. The resulting fire had gutted the entire kitchen and would have extended much further, had it not been for Ruby’s quick intervention. Ruby had single-handedly stopped the fire before it could spread.

Though the house here was patently inadequate in size to accommodate this extended family, somehow they made it work.

Both her son Rex and her daughter in law Belle were presently at work. Outwardly, Virginia was charged with looking after the children though, for most of the time, it was more the case that the children were caring for Virginia.

The football floated high and came into view from the far end of the street on a trajectory that would have it land right at Virginia’s feet. As the children in the street watched it hawk-like, honing in on its target, all of them shouted out in their loudest voices.

“Mark it, Nana!!”

Virginia flinched and she lifted her head skyward as the ball dropped like a stone and bounced at her feet.

“Bloody hell,” she grumbled under her breath, jumping in her seat once more as the football bounced crazily in front of her while she fumbled impotently where she sat in a vain attempt to lay a hand on the crazed projectile.

Ruby skipped up the driveway and made a bee-line for the football, securing it in her grasp. She went over to her grandmother who was still collecting her frayed nerves. Ruby smiled broadly and reached out, placing a steadying hand on her grandmother’s arm.

“Sorry, Nana. We thought you were watching.”

Virginia looked at her granddaughter blankly for a moment. Then a grizzled smile spread across her lips.

“Daydreaming again,” she answered softly, her aged voice barely cracking above a whisper.

Virginia noticed beads of sweat glistening on Ruby’s brow and she lifted a hand to wipe them away.

“I hope you’re bein’ careful out there. You know you gotta watch yourself with that heart of yours.”

Ruby rolled her eyes discreetly in a ‘how many times have I heard this before’ expression.

“I’m fine Nana,” Ruby stressed as she backed down from the porch and prepared to turn away back to the street.

“Hmm…” Virginia grumbled disapprovingly. She pointed a gnarled finger at her granddaughter. “Don’t forget you’ve got a lesson this evening. We can’t have you exhausted for that, now can we. And I certainly don’t want you to damage those fingers of yours with that dashed football.”

At the mention of ‘a lesson’ Ruby’s eyes brightened and she smiled broadly once more.

“Oh don’t worry Nana. I’ll be fully up for it.”

Ruby’s infectious grin soon cracked the disapproving facade of Virginia’s own expression and, eventually, the elderly woman smiled warmly in return.

With that, Ruby turned away and trotted out onto the road, passing the ball over to one of the older boys as she rejoined them.

On the porch, a still smiling Virginia leaned back in her chair and began humming the first notes of Spring from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons.

That evening, the children sat at the kitchen table eagerly awaiting their dinner, watching Asher who stood on a wooden stool at the battered stove, tending to a large pan on the gas cook top. Asher was a willowy girl with two precisely fashioned plaited tails that hung down either side of her face so that they just brushed the tops of her shoulders. She possessed jewel-like green eyes that were ensconced behind a pair of glasses—a hand me down from Virginia who had discovered, quite by accident, that Asher’s poor eye sight was vastly improved with her own prescription. Thus, no one had actually gotten around to taking her to an eye doctor to have her eyesight assessed properly—not that they could afford it anyway.

Asher stirred the beef stroganoff with a wooden spoon while Virginia prepared plates beside her, spooning out dollops of piping hot mashed potato from a larger saucepan, depositing fluffy white mounds onto each plate. Virginia hummed a tune as she served up the meal, occasionally glancing across at her granddaughter, inspecting her handiwork and smiling approvingly. Asher’s cooking had really come along of late and, though the recipes that she and her grandmother attempted were becoming increasingly challenging, Asher was proving herself more than capable every time. Virginia often said of Asher that she could go far as a chef, if she wanted to.

Asher, for her part, smiled bashfully as she listened to the quaint little ditty from her grandmother. Asher often observed her grandmother humming like that for no reason at all and on the most random occasions. She had no idea what the tunes were, but they were light and happy tunes that made her feel safe—especially during those times when she didn’t feel safe at all.

Virginia studied her family. Ruby and Minty were giggling at one another as they stole glances at Belle—the children’s mother, Ruby’s aunt—who sat at the end of the table, nodding off to sleep. A single tear-drop of saliva hung precariously from the corner of her lips and the children were wagering as to how long it was going to stay there before it broke free. Virginia frowned at the children momentarily then her attention drifted through the doorway where an audible racket spewed forth from the TV in the living room. Evidently, Jeremy was in there now lounging on the sofa, watching American wrestling.

“Jeremy!” Virginia called out authoritatively. “Get yourself in here to the dinner table now. And turn that bloody racket off.”

Belle shuddered in her chair at the old woman’s bellowing voice, disturbing the bead of saliva as she instinctively wiped at her face.

Belle was still in her nurse’s aid uniform—a striped blue blouse, gold fob watch on the breast pocket, navy culottes. Though she was in her mid thirties, Belle appeared much older. Her dark hair was greying such at the temples, that it almost rivalled her elderly mother in law. She was thin, gaunt almost, with high cheek bones but leathery, tanned skin.

Belle had worked her seventh straight shift at a local nursing home and the relentless hours were taking their toll. As an Enrolled Nurse, Belle was usually at the coalface of hard work. But recently she had been called upon to work additional overtime hours because of a staff shortage at the home and it was clear that she was struggling. She had barely spoken to the children this week. Usually, she would come home from work, stumble through a few mouthfuls of food before collapsing into bed in order to steal as much sleep as she could before having to get up early to do it all over again.

Virginia leaned over to take a closer view of the stroganoff in the pot and she nodded approvingly once more.

“Now—take that pepper and toss a couple more pinches into it. I reckon she’ll be just about ready.”

Asher did so. Then, proudly, she and her grandmother delivered the dinner plates to the table, setting them down in front of Belle, Ruby and Minty then placing their own plates down along with Jeremy’s.

Belle sat up straight in her chair and rubbed her nose with her hand. Both Ruby’s and Minty’s eyes went wide as they admired the hearty dish before them, licking their lips and arming themselves with mismatched cutlery.

Virginia gave the children a warning glower, signalling for them to wait while she looked through the doorway to the living room again.

“Jeremy!” she thundered. “Get your bum in here now!”

She waited, listening for movement in the other room and was rewarded when the noise from the television abruptly silenced and Jeremy appeared in the doorway. Virginia swatted the air with her hand near his right ear as he passed and cursed under her breath. Jeremy flashed her a dopey grin and took his place at the dinner table.

Once they were all seated, Virginia glanced at Ruby and Minty and gave a subtle nod of her head. They instantly dove into their meal with gusto and Virginia chuckled softly. She nudged Asher beside her and smiled warmly.

“You’ve done a marvellous job, dear,” she praised.

Asher returned her smile.

This was, perhaps, the best meal they had eaten all week. Fresh vegetables and quality meat were commodities the family could rarely afford. To eat such a salubrious meal as this was a treat indeed.

Belle absently nudged a few morsels of meat around her plate but didn’t immediately eat any. Not until she realised that Asher was looking at her hopefully.

Sensing her daughter’s eagerness for her opinion, Belle caught herself and quickly took in a mouthful.

Finally she spoke.

“I’m sorry love,” she offered apologetically. “I’m a million miles away. This is real good.”

Virginia considered Belle disapprovingly.

“How many more shifts is that place gonna make you work before you drop dead where you sit?”

Belle rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly. She’d evidently heard this question before.

“Only one more, Virgie. Then I’ve got a day off.”

“A day!? Then what? Another seven day stretch to contend with? That’s not working—it’s bloody slavery.”

Belle didn’t respond. She was too exhausted. But Virginia continued without missing a beat.

“These children need you here, Belle. They can’t keep coming home to a broken down old bullock like me.”

Belle snapped her head up and glared at Virginia then. Her fork clattered to the plate.

“Well, what am I supposed to do Virgie—tell me? Rex can’t get any decent work right now can he? I’m the only one who can bring in any sort of income. If I don’t work, this household will fall apart!”

The children stopped eating and gawked at the two women. Even Jeremy shared an awkward expression with Ruby. Virginia was stuck for a response and Belle knew, with a measure of bitter satisfaction, that she’d made her point—not that it made her feel any better.

Collecting herself, she reached across and squeezed Virginia’s hand fleetingly.

“Look Mum,” she offered, more softly this time. “It won’t last. The home says they’ll be taking on new staff soon, so I won’t need to work so many overtime hours. It’ll be fine.”

Virginia’s own expression softened though her concern remained.

“Have you heard from him today?”

Belle shook her head, knowing immediately to which “him” Virginia was referring to.

“Davo managed to get him a few hours at that building site over at the Corner, but I haven’t heard from him since this morning. I thought he would have been home by now.”

Immediately, an unspoken feeling of dread passed between the two women and both of them glanced at the clock above the stove.

It was almost seven pm—well past the end of the working day.

Virginia and Belle looked at each other knowingly but said nothing. There was no need.

“How did you kids go at school?” Belle queried, changing the subject as swiftly as she could. She looked to Jeremy, who sat hunched over his food, head down, chewing in silence. He shrugged his shoulders without speaking.

“Well,” Belle pressed, nudging her son. “You’re not in trouble with that bloody teacher again are you?”

Now it was Jeremy’s turn to roll his eyes. Stubbornly, he refused to respond.

Belle gauged him with suspicion as well as sympathy and touched her hand to his arm.

“It’s just that I worry about you love,” Belle implored softly. “You’ve gotta do well at school, if you’re gonna make a go of it.”

Jeremy’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he offered her a single nod. Belle then diverted her eyes slowly toward the others.

Minty sat upright in his chair, beaming proudly through a mouthful of food. He twisted in his seat and pointed at the refrigerator where a bright piece of artwork had been pinned to the door. The centre piece of the work was a rainbow that curved across the page in a slightly crooked, but charming arc that featured all of the correct colours. Surrounding this were several birds whose bodies were no less than scrunched up “Minties” wrappers, neatly arranged so that the tails, wings and feet of each bird were clearly discernible. There were pieces of multicoloured wool for trees and cellophane flowers arranged along the bottom.

It was in fact, quite an accomplished piece for someone so young.

For the first time this evening, Belle smiled and clucked.

“Well! Isn’t that impressive. And of course, you didn’t leave out your favourite things with those “Minty” birds did you?”

Virginia blinked at the sound of Belle’s descriptor and a shiver passed through her as a long dormant memory flashed inside her and was gone before it could take root.

The memory of a bird.

Virginia turned to Ruby who ate quietly, whilst watching her older cousin Jeremy with concern.

“You’ve had a good day today too, haven’t you?”

Ruby blinked and looked at her grandmother. She smiled wanly and nodded.

“I got a good mark on my music project,” she said, turning toward her aunt.

Belle studied her niece with an expression that was completely devoid of emotion.

“Is that right,” she said flatly.

“Oh come now Ruby,” Virginia interjected. “It wasn’t just a good mark—it was a great mark! 9 out of 10! The teacher was very pleased.”

Ruby blushed as Asher dug her in the ribs playfully. Belle remained unmoving.

“Humph,” she muttered under her breath as she ate a mouthful from her plate. “Don’t understand what use music is. Just a waste of time if you ask me.”

She offered nothing more, which didn’t escape Virginia’s notice while Ruby felt an acute twinge of embarrassment and she shrank in her seat.

“I reckon it’s real good, Ruby,” Jeremy said, through a mouthful of food, coming to her defence with a subtle smile from the corner of his mouth. He offered her an encouraging wink.

Their dinnertime conversation was interrupted, as the sound of a car screeching to a stop in the driveway outside caused Ruby, Asher and Minty to jump in their seats. Belle stiffened where she sat and listened intently for the sounds of activity outside.

There was a gap of several seconds as the car idled in the driveway, before the engine was extinguished.

A car door snapped open. A man could be heard shouting at the top of his voice, a mouthful of expletives spilling forth as the crash and clang of a rubbish bin on the concrete made everyone jump again.

The children shared worried glances, hesitating with their food.

“Ginnie, why don’t you run the children a bath,” Belle suggested evenly, keeping her ear attuned to the commotion outside.

Virginia didn’t hesitate. She was too old for a confrontation right now, even if it was her son. In the past, she had been able to get him to listen to her when she stood her ground. But his recent behaviour where alcohol was involved was too unpredictable.

A single gesture from Virginia and the three younger children rose from their seats and filed quickly out of the kitchen. Belle shot a quick glance at Jeremy.

“Stay with me,” she said firmly. “I might need you.”

Virginia took Minty by the hand and led him straight to the bathroom while the others followed close behind. Asher paused beside Jeremy and she looked up at him through eyes that were filled with dread. He simply nodded as encouragingly as he could and brushed her away.

Asher retreated to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Looking at both Ruby and Minty, it was clear that they were as frightened as she was.

In the living room, Belle and Jeremy approached the front door and cautiously opened it, just in time to see the silhouette of two men standing in the headlights of the vehicle which sat at a crazy angle in the driveway.

Both men were drunk—very drunk.

One of them was being supported by the other as they limped up onto the porch. Belle flicked the porch light switch and squinted in the blazing head lamps.

Just as she suspected, it was her husband who was the worse for wear, although his companion, their friend—Davo Thompson—clearly wasn’t far behind him.

Davo was a tall, lanky Aborigine with a wild and curly shock of hair and a thick beard. He wore dusty work clothes—a flannelette shirt, dark jeans and solid steel capped boots.

He looked up as the porch light came on and he squinted at the shadow of Belle standing behind the wire screen door. Rex lifted his head slowly, as though it weighed a tonne, and he gurgled something incomprehensible, before slumping further into the grip of his friend.

Belle shook her head in disgust as she opened the door. Both men reeked. She stepped out to face them, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

Davo fixed her with a stupid grin.

“G’day love. How are ya?”

Belle’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head slowly.

“Where have you two been?”

Davo worked his lower jaw impotently, unable to produce a response.

Extricating Rex from his grip, Davo steadied his drunken friend on the porch, gently slapping Rex’s cheek in an effort to snap him awake. He was cautious in doing so however, for fear of how Rex might react.

Rex Delfey stood nearly six feet tall and had an exceptionally muscular build underneath a dusty, blue workman’s singlet. His dark, rippling arms were adorned with several tattoos. His face, though contorted into a chemically impaired expression, was hard but handsome. He had intense eyes and a closely shaven head which revealed yet another tattoo haloing his right ear.

Any sense of his innate intensity was completely buried underneath untold pints of beer.

“W-we finished on the build early today. Problems with supply,” Davo finally spluttered. “We had a few beers at the t-tavern…just a few.”

Belle hissed disgustedly and stepped forward to take Rex’s arm. She was less fearful of her husband, knowing that he was completely incapacitated.

She made a critical mistake. As soon as she tightened her grip on his arm, Rex spasmed and wrenched his arm away before whipping it around, fist balled, and she was forced to duck. The stinging blow glanced off the side of her cheek and ear as she baulked and though she didn’t absorb its full impact, the blow was enough to make her yelp in pain.

All of a sudden, Rex was bouncing around like a crazed boxer, arms raised in preparation for a repeat assault.

Inside the bathroom, Virginia and Asher tended to Ruby and Minty as they splashed in the bath, encouraging the kids to make as much noise as possible. Virginia began to hum a tune and she eyed Asher, encouraging both her and the littler ones to join in.

Asher took off her glasses and set them on the edge of the bathroom sink behind her. Ruby watched as she wiped at her reddened eyes and tried to hold her composure. For Asher, it was a long suffering ordeal—her father’s drunkenness. Ruby hadn’t lived here long enough to experience it with the frequency that she and Minty had.

Upon hearing Belle’s cry, Virginia looked at the bathroom door and began fidgeting where she sat.

She turned to Asher and gripped her shoulder.

“Stay here sweetie. Keep the girls safe.”

Asher and Ruby’s eyes went wide and they both gasped as Virginia stood and opened the bathroom door.

Out on the porch, Belle steadied herself and shook her head to rid herself of the pain. With one hand to her stinging ear, she looked up at Davo.

“Help me get him inside,” she hissed shakily.

Signalling to Jeremy, who stood inside the door, Belle turned and stepped back from her husband. Though she gave nothing away, her heart was racing, the white hot pain from her ear fed into her fear of him. It took all of her resolve to keep herself composed.

“Come inside the house now Rex. Come on, before you hurt yourself.”

“Bugger off!” Rex slurred, spitting saliva in all directions, which captured the light from the globe of the porch light and glittered in the space between himself and his wife.

Davo was not so out of it that he didn’t feel a terrible awkwardness at what he was witnessing. He stepped forward and gingerly put his hands out, placing them cautiously on his friend’s outstretched arms.

“Come on Rex, let’s get you in the house, mate.”

Rex lurched his head in Davo’s direction and steeled himself against his friend’s hands. But this time, he did not protest. He lowered his arms slowly as Davo moved in closer and guided him toward the front door.

“There you are, mate. That’s it,” Davo said evenly.

Belle stood fast, her expression stony as her husband passed her.

Jeremy held the door open for his father and Davo. When Davo looked at Jeremy, he nodded and smiled bashfully.

“How are ya, fella?” he greeted encouragingly. Jeremy nodded respectfully but said nothing. He was watching his father with a mixture of revulsion and fear.

Rex snapped his head up abruptly and glared maniacally at his son, through bloodshot eyes that were suddenly filled with a frightening focus. His face came to within mere inches of Jeremy’s.

“He asked you a question boy,” Rex hissed malevolently. “Answer him!”

Jeremy stifled his sense of smell against his father’s putrid breath and gulped.

He looked sideways at Davo and cleared his throat.

“Good, Davo,” he whispered.

Without warning, Rex exploded from Davo’s grip and clasped one hand firmly around Jeremy’s neck, locking it like a vice. He shoved his son up against the wall beside the door so hard that Jeremy’s head hit the plaster, causing him to see stars. Filled with an incomprehensible rage, Rex tightened his grip on Jeremy, choking him mercilessly, lifting him fully off the floor. Despite Jeremy’s considerable biceps, which were flexed like stone, he was powerless to overcome his father’s grip. All he could do was flail impotently.

“You show him some fucking respect boy! You useless little shit.”

Belle was still following them in and screamed when Rex erupted. Davo reacted immediately and pushing a flailing Belle aside, he bull-rushed his drunken friend, knocking him off balance and forcing Rex to release his son from his grip. He crashed to the floor in the hallway roaring in pain.

The children in the bathroom huddled together with tears streaming down their faces while Asher did her best to cuddle them close to her. Upon hearing the sound of Rex crashing to the floor, they jumped, fairly paralysed with fear.

Without warning, Virginia appeared, as if from nowhere and shrieked at her drunken son. Grabbing a folded umbrella from just inside the doorway, she wielded it like a club.

“You miserable bastard!” she screamed as she thwacked him hard in the side of the head, over and over again. All Rex could do was scramble impotently along the floor, tripping and falling over himself through the kitchen and toward the back door of the house, desperate now to escape his rampaging mother.

Anywhere she could get in a good strike, Virginia found it easily. She seemed determined to beat him senseless, drawing blood with the metal frame of the umbrella as it began to disintegrate under the strength of her blows.

Rex collapsed against the screen door and tumbled down the back stoop. Virginia finally stopped and flung the ruined umbrella at him.

Lying spread-eagled on the lawn, Rex finally lost all momentum and promptly vomited all over himself. Out of breath and smarting all over, he finally lapsed into unconsciousness.

Giving a satisfied nod, Virginia turned on her heel and slammed the back door shut locking it behind her.

Returning to the lounge room, Virginia found Davo standing in the doorway behind Belle, who was rocking back and forth, tears falling down her cheeks and looking out into the night. Virginia knew instantly that Jeremy was no longer there and she felt a pall of dread in the pit of her stomach.

“He j…just ran off,” Davo spluttered worriedly. “I turned ba…”

“Go home Davo,” Virginia ordered malevolently. “Hopefully Cherie will kill you.”

Davo didn’t linger. Without another word he stumbled out of the house and swaggered wildly toward the car, leaving Virginia and Belle standing on the porch, a relative peace having returned to her home.

Virginia placed a hand on her daughter in law’s shoulder, but Belle brushed it away.

Fighting to prevent herself from breaking down completely, Belle pushed the threatening sobs down and stood holding the door, looking for her son in the darkness.