I only had a quarter of a tank of petrol, so I pulled in at the first petrol station we passed, just south of the Ratai turn-off on State Highway One. Jed got out and began filling the car.
‘I’ll get it,’ he said as I started towards the shop.
I looked at his bloodstained shirt. ‘Perhaps you’d better not, looking like that. You’ll scare the person behind the counter.’
‘They’ll have seen it all before,’ he said. ‘Here, you finish this.’ And abandoning the pump he strode purposefully across the brightly lit forecourt.
I filled the car and got back behind the wheel. Jed followed a minute later, clamping two cans of energy drink under his right arm so he could open the door with his uninjured left hand. He got into the car and offered one of the drinks to me.
‘Not just now, thanks,’ I said.
He put both cans by his feet and did up his seatbelt, wincing as he pushed it home with the bandaged hand.
‘Do you want a couple of Panadol?’ I asked, starting the car. ‘There are some in my bag.’
‘No thanks.’ And the silence settled back over us, as heavy and uncomfortable as a horse blanket.
‘Don’t worry too much,’ I said at last. ‘It’s – I’m sure everything’s going to be okay.’
‘Are you?’ he said with grim amusement.
‘Before you answered the phone I was . . . worried. Like something bad was going to happen. But now I’m not. I know that sounds like complete New Age hippy crap.’
‘You knew my phone was going to ring, didn’t you?’
‘No, but – something felt wrong. I didn’t know what; just that something was going to happen.’
Jed reached out and extracted a dead leaf from the air vent in front of him. ‘Before I met you, I thought anyone who talked about being psychic was a total fraud,’ he said.
‘I don’t talk about it, if I can help it.’
‘I know you don’t,’ he said. ‘It’s like getting blood out of a stone.’
I laughed. ‘Now that’s ironic, coming from you.’
He looked at me. ‘Why?’
‘Well, you’re not exactly free with details about your personal life.’
‘Because sitting the girl you like down and telling her all about your train wreck of a marriage is such a great way to impress her,’ he said dryly.
I smiled, both touched and reassured. ‘A bit like telling the boy you like about your psychic powers.’ I said ‘psychic powers’ in an inverted comma–implying voice, so as not to sound as if I took myself quite that seriously.
‘Which are?’
‘You’re very persistent, aren’t you?’
Jed said nothing, pointedly.
‘They’re really not all that impressive,’ I said. ‘I can often tell what sort of mood Rob’s in, and vice versa. As you know. It’s mostly just a vague impression, though; having him turn up with a rifle was a first . . . I usually know who’s on the other end of the phone before I answer it, as long as it’s someone I’ve met before. And sometimes I’ll suddenly feel happy or worried or excited for no obvious reason, and then a few seconds later something’ll happen that fits the emotion.’
‘And your brother’s the same?’
‘He says he’s not, but I think he just refuses to pay any attention to his hunches on principle. Rob doesn’t like weird shit. That’s a direct quote.’
‘Do you?’ he asked.
‘I – I don’t dislike it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to take it all too seriously,’ I said slowly. ‘I used to think it must all mean something, and I was probably going to save the world some day. You know – go on a quest for the Grail, or rid the world of an evil overlord, or something. But eventually it occurred to me that being a little bit psychic isn’t all that impressive, and if I didn’t get over myself I was going to turn into the type of person who wants some sort of sign before deciding what to have for breakfast.’
Jed laughed.
‘Your turn,’ I said.
‘My turn?’
‘Why are you rushing off to see your ex-wife in the middle of the night? Actually, why would she ring you, if she was running away from you last week?’
He sighed and leant his head back against his seat. ‘Because she’s as high as a kite.’
‘Oh,’ I said blankly.
‘She’s not on drugs. Well, she might be, anything’s possible . . . Tracey’s bipolar. She’ll have stopped taking her medication. As she does.’ By now I had a reasonable handle on Jed’s less-is-more approach to the disclosure of personal information, so I was quite surprised when, after a moment, he continued, ‘We got together when we were seventeen. We flatted together when I moved to Thames, and then when I finished my apprenticeship we decided to get our own place and start a family. It was a bloody stupid idea, but when you’re twenty you think you know everything. And Trace had had a pretty crappy childhood, in and out of foster homes. She wanted to feel settled and have a family of her own. So we got married –’
‘At twenty?’
‘Mm. Went down like a lead balloon with our parents.’
‘Funny, that,’ I said.
‘Then she had a couple of miscarriages . . . Anyway, eventually we had Craig. And when he was two weeks old she was diagnosed with postnatal psychosis.’
‘That’s not the same as postnatal depression, is it?’
‘No. Not sleeping, overexcitement, talking flat out but not making any sense, delusions . . . It was pretty scary.’
‘I bet,’ I said softly.
‘Our parents were great. My mum and Tracey’s foster mum took turns to come and stay when I was at work, and Trace responded quite well to the medication, for a while. And then – she pretty much lost the plot. In the end they diagnosed rapidly cycling bipolar disorder. I don’t know how much you know about it . . . ?’
‘Almost nothing.’
‘Lucky you,’ he said. ‘Mostly it was severe depression, but every few months she’d have a couple of weeks of mania. She’d be over-the-top excited, deciding she didn’t need her medication, buying stuff we couldn’t afford . . . I bailed out six months ago.’ His voice was flat and tired. ‘She’s having a manic episode at the moment, by the sound of it. She’s not fit to look after herself, let alone Craig. And her foster mum can’t go over at this time of night; her dad’s not well. I called one of her friends – she’s there now, but –’ He bent and picked up a can of energy drink, holding it between his knees and opening it with his left hand.
‘Craig’s nearly four, isn’t he?’ I asked.
‘He’s four in February.’
‘Staying for over three years with someone who isn’t the person you married any more doesn’t really sound like bailing out to me.’
‘You’re very good at making people feel better about themselves, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I don’t know. I felt like I’d tried everything and nothing had worked. I thought maybe she’d take a bit more responsibility for getting better if I wasn’t there. But maybe it’s made things worse.’ Evidently feeling that enough feelings had been shared for one evening he leant forwards and turned on the radio, and Taylor Swift assured us loudly that she wasn’t a princess.
I winced. It’s so uncool to be discovered listening to girly pop music; almost as bad as being caught reading Mills and Boon. Although of course someone really cool wouldn’t care.
‘The radio’s broken,’ I said. ‘I can only listen to CDs. But if Taylor Swift isn’t your cup of tea you’ll find Mariah Carey in the glove box.’
‘Please tell me you’re kidding,’ he said.
‘I’m kidding,’ I admitted. ‘Pass me a drink?’
* * *
It was quarter past one in the morning when we got to Thames. Jed directed me through the quiet streets to a small, rectangular weatherboard house with the kitchen and living room lights on, set close to the road behind a low brick wall.
‘Thank you,’ he said as I pulled up beneath a streetlight in front of the house. ‘Will you be okay driving back?’
‘Yes, fine. Would you like me to wait for ten minutes in case you need the car for something, or just leave you to it?’
‘Could you wait just a minute? I’ll go in and see what’s happening, and give you a wave if everything’s alright.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘Hey, I’m sorry for stuffing up your New Year’s.’
‘There were some pretty nice bits,’ I said softly.
‘Yes. Yes, there were.’ He smiled at me, got out of the car and went quickly up the path. I climbed out more slowly, carefully straightening my sore knee, and watched him knock on the sliding door leading to the living room.
After a few seconds a round-faced girl with dark hair drew back the curtain.
‘Jesus, Jed,’ she said, sliding the door open. ‘What have you done to yourself?’
He looked down at his blood-smeared shirt. ‘Nothing. I cut my hand. Sorry, it looks a bit gory.’
‘Baby, what happened? Are you okay?’ cried a second woman, hurtling through the doorway to throw her arms around his neck. She was nearly as tall as he was, with long blonde hair pulled back untidily into a ponytail. She was fairly overweight, and she wore sagging track pants and a thin cotton T-shirt that would have looked better with a bra underneath it, but she was still very pretty. No, I corrected myself. Beautiful. Anyone who’s recognisably lovely without making any effort whatsoever is beautiful.
‘I’m fine,’ Jed said. ‘How are you?’
She pulled back to look at him. ‘Freaking amazing. Jess, my head’s so clear, it’s like the clouds have lifted, and all that shit that stops you seeing your way’s just gone, and you know what you’re meant to do, it’s fucking brilliant!’ She was talking very fast, her hands on Jed’s shoulders and her lovely face ablaze with excitement. If that was mania, I thought it would almost be worth the depression.
With a lightning change from hyperactive to sultry she moved closer to him and slid her hands down his arms. ‘Baby, it’s good to see you . . .’
Jed caught her hands as they reached the front of his jeans. ‘Come inside,’ he said, leading her in. Turning to close the door behind them, he lifted a hand to me, then slid the door shut and pulled the curtain across.
I was limping slowly along the pavement in a fruitless effort to ease the ache in my knee, which would have much preferred a Voltarin and a lie-down to a short walk and a few more hours of driving, when the door reopened and the dark-haired girl came down the path, handbag under her arm.
‘Hi,’ I said as she drew level with me.
She stopped, looking at me curiously. ‘Hi. I’m Rochelle.’
‘I’m Lia. I’m just the chauffeur – Jed had had a few drinks, so I drove him down.’
‘And you’re going to wait out here?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m heading back up north. I’ve got to work tomorrow.’
‘You live in Ratai? That’s a long drive.’
‘At least there’s not much traffic at this time of night,’ I said. She yawned and, taking my cue, I added, ‘I’d better get going. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
We climbed into our respective cars and drove away. The only thing that was even slightly good about the trip home was that, between my knee and the evening’s many and startling revelations, I was in no danger of falling asleep at the wheel.