Dead Dog in the Still of the Night (11 page)

Tone’s hearse was in the driveway when Primo came around the corner. Though surprised, he didn’t think much of it until he was almost in the driveway and saw Tone on the veranda, his hands up behind his head.

There was something smudged on Tone’s T-shirt.

‘Tone? What’re you doing here?’ Primo asked, hesitating mid-stride.

The smudge on Tone’s blue T-shirt cut across his chest and down toward his navel. Two streaks of bright red surrounded by dappled motes.

‘Prims,’ Tone said. ‘Where’ve you been? Why haven’t you been answering your mobile?’ Tone moved toward Primo as he spoke. Primo reached for the phone in his pocket.

‘I was with Maddie,’ Primo said, and activated the phone.

‘I tried to call you first, honest I did,’ Tone started. ‘A couple of times. But you didn’t answer, so I figured I had no choice but to bring him here. I had Alison in the car and all ...’

Primo was looking at the phone’s screen, reading the missed calls message. The phone beeped, alerting him to a voicemail.

‘That’s me for sure,’ Tone said. ‘I left you, like, a heap of messages.’ He reached out and touched Primo’s arm. ‘Alison won’t say a word.’

Primo saw that the red on Tone’s T-shirt was fresh blood, not yet congealed.

‘Tone?’ Primo’s voice rose sharply. ‘What’s happened?’ Something prickled under Primo’s skin. He looked past Tone at the house.

‘It’s Ad,’ Tone said. ‘I found him a few blocks away. Didn’t know it was him at first, eh? Just thought it was some drunk staggering about trying to get across the road. I was almost past him when I recognised him.’

Primo’s throat constricted.

‘He’s copped a savage beating, Prims. Cut up all over the face. Lip all blown up and shredded, eyes half-closed. He looks like shit, Prims.’

Primo pushed past Tone and took the steps to the front door in two leaping strides.

‘Your mum’s cleaning him up,’ Tone called to his back.

Primo threw back the security door so hard it cracked like a gunshot against the weatherboard of the house and slammed shut behind him as he disappeared inside.

‘Mum?’ Primo called. ‘Mum?’ he repeated and came to an abrupt halt when his father appeared suddenly in the kitchen doorway.

The unexpected presence of his father in the dim of the house startled Primo, and for a few moments the two just stared at one another. His father was barefoot, wearing only his pyjama top and his underpants, an incontinence pad bulging out the sides.

‘Mum?’ Primo called again.

‘They’re in the bathroom.’ Tone’s voice at his back.

Primo went round his father toward the bathroom at the rear of the house.

The bathroom door was ajar.

Primo didn’t see Adrian. He saw his mother, bent forward into the bathtub, bloodied bath towels scattered about her.

‘Mum?’ Primo said and stepped into the bathroom.

His mother acknowledged him briefly. Her eyes were red and puffy, and loose stands of grey hair feathered her crumpled face.

She turned back to her battered son, sitting in the empty bathtub catching shallow breaths.

‘Ad? Ad, what happened?’ Primo asked over his mother’s shoulder.

Adrian didn’t reply. He was whimpering, grimacing at every touch of his mother’s hands on his swollen face.

‘Keep your father out of here,’ Primo’s mother said. ‘I don’t want him to see any more of this than he already has.’ When Primo hesitated she added more forcefully, ‘Now, Primo. Do it!’

Primo swallowed a reply and backed out of the bathroom. He found his father and Tone in the kitchen. His father was at the sink, pouring water from one glass into another. Tone was leaning against the far wall staring into the middle of the room.

‘It was Ari, wasn’t it?’ Tone said heavily.

Primo made no response. He stared at his father.

‘Reckon he found out,’ Tone went on, as though he needed to speak aloud what was swirling about in his mind. ‘It was just a matter of time, right? Can’t keep something like what happened in the dark forever, eh?’

‘Shut up, Tone.’

Tone looked at Primo. But Primo’s eyes were fixed on the old man at the sink, his thin, hairless legs poking out from the incontinence pad that sagged between them.

‘It’s all
your
fault,’ Primo began after a moment.

‘Me?’ Tone pushed off the wall, pointing at himself with one hand and lifting the other in Primo’s direction.

Primo spat, ‘You and your women.’

Tone realised his mistake and dropped his arms to his sides.

‘Mum was too good to you. She should never of taken you back that first time. She should of left you out on the street. You should never of been allowed back into this house.’

Primo was moving now, circling the kitchen table, bearing down on his father who still had his back to them, hands busy pouring the water from one glass into the other, mumbling incoherently to himself.

‘Prims?’

‘It’s easy for you now, isn’t it?’ Primo went on, oblivious to Tone. ‘Losing your mind is a great way to escape all the shit you created!’

Before Tone could grab him, Primo was at the sink and had one hand on his father’s elbow, turning him around. The old man let out a sharp cry, as though in sudden pain.

The sound stopped Primo dead.

‘I good driver,’ his father said. He dropped the glasses into the sink and propped his hands, steering an imaginary car. ‘Like Fangio. I good driver. Like Fangio.’

The old man made sounds to mimic accelerating, and leaned to his left as though taking a tight corner.

‘You can’t catch me! I too fast!’

Primo’s clenched fists opened, his arms fell limp.

‘I want to buy a car. A special one. A Bambino. Red. Red for speed. Red for the sex.’

Primo drew a breath. Before him the old man that was his father turned slightly and looked in his direction.

‘One day, Papa, you’ll see, I’ll get it,’ his father said, in his native Italian dialect. ‘I won’t always be a goatherd. I won’t always be a peasant like you.’

And then the old man turned back to the sink and his ritual.

‘The goats need to drink. It’s so hot. They’ll die if they don’t have water.’

Something in Primo broke.

His shoulders drooped and he stepped back just enough to rest his backside against the kitchen table.

He couldn’t be angry at this old man. He couldn’t forgive him, Primo realised as he looked at his father, but he couldn’t stay angry at him any longer. It was destroying them.

‘He doesn’t remember buying Bambino,’ Primo said softly, his voice trembling. ‘He thinks he’s still a young kid in Italy.’

Primo watched his father lean forward and touch his smiling reflection in the windowpane.

There was sudden movement at his back and Primo turned to see his mother. She said nothing but strode past him and put an arm gently around her husband’s shoulders, easing the glass he gripped into her own hand, before turning the old man away from the sink.

‘I’ve run the bath for your brother,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Keep an eye on him while I change your father.’

It was not a request. Primo nodded and waited until his parents had shuffled past him, heading for the laundry.

Tone was beside him as Primo stepped into the bathroom and Primo heard the quick intake of a sharp breath.

‘Shit!’ Tone said.

In the bathtub, up to his neck in hot water, Adrian lay with his swollen eyes closed, moaning softly, face twitching almost imperceptibly.

The soiled towels had been removed, but blood smeared the tiles. The stiff scent of disinfectant filled the air. It was cloying and Tone almost gagged, stepping out of the narrow room to catch his breath.

Primo didn’t flinch. He sat down heavily on the stool his mother used to sit his father on when sponge-bathing him.

Adrian stirred but didn’t open his eyes. His fingers clawed at the edge of the bathtub for a second then relaxed just as quickly.

Primo felt another kick to the guts and sat forward. This was his fault, too. Yet not completely. His and Adrian’s, both. And their father’s, too. They were all complicit in what had happened, what
was
happening.

‘... wanted to kill me.’ Adrian’s voice was feeble, the words slurred.

Primo jolted and looked at his brother’s face.

Adrian’s eyes were still closed. He was biting his bottom lip, his face contorted in pain. ‘Would of, too.’

Primo reached out a hand to touch his brother, reassure him that he would be okay, but withdrew it when Adrian coughed suddenly, spewing blood and saliva over his chin.

‘Adrian?’ he managed, but didn’t get further because Tone returned and stood at the foot of the bathtub.

Primo exchanged glances with his mate.

‘Is it bad?’ Adrian asked suddenly, between rasping slow breaths.

‘Flesh wounds,’ Primo replied. ‘Bitch slaps.’ He tried to add a laugh and failed.

Ad hiccupped a half-laugh of his own.

‘Hey, Ad?’ Tone said.

Adrian didn’t reply. He writhed in discomfort and water spilled over the lip of the bath.

‘It was her brother, wasn’t it?’ Primo asked. He needed to know.

Adrian reached up and felt for his nose. He tensed visibly at what he felt.

‘It was her brother, right?’ Primo persisted.

Adrian laughed. He coughed up more blood and saliva, and forced his eyes open.

‘Her brother, yeah,’ he muttered indistinctly.

When he tried to smile Primo saw the shattered front teeth.

‘Shit!’ Tone exclaimed.

‘Did he say anything?’ Primo asked. Did he mention my name? he thought but didn’t ask.

‘No. I was just jumped,’ Adrian said slowly and winced. His fingertips brushed along his lips and he felt the jagged edge of his broken teeth for the first time. He yelped and started weeping.

Primo knelt down at the edge of the tub, reached forward and pulled Adrian into a sitting position, cradling him against his own body.

‘I’m sorry, Ad,’ he whispered through tears. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And he rocked Adrian gently back and forth, his brother’s low plaintive sobs punching at him.

The next thing Primo knew he was being prised away from his brother and led out of the bathroom. When he looked around, expecting to see Tone at his side, Primo was startled to discover that his mother had an arm about his shoulders.

She held him tight for a few moments then motioned that he and Tone leave her alone with Adrian.

‘Should I call the cops?’ Tone asked when he and Primo were in the kitchen.

Primo sat across the table from his father who was busy shuffling a deck of cards. He was neatly dressed now, hair combed, reading glasses fixed to the bridge of his nose.

Primo didn’t say anything. It was as though the old ghosts and the new spectres were brushing up against the family. Even Tone, standing awkwardly by the door into the hallway, knew enough to be both embarrassed and concerned.

Minutes later, when his mother entered the kitchen, Primo swallowed hard, feeling unable to meet her gaze.

‘It had to come to this,’ she said into his ear so her husband and Tone couldn’t hear.

‘This is the price we all pay for me not being strong when I needed to be,’ she added, not bothering to whisper. ‘For your father’s weaknesses too. For all of it.’

Primo looked up. ‘Mum,’ he started and stopped when his mother glared at him. She was playing absentmindedly with her wedding band, rubbing it gently back and forth.

A pitiful keening began, inhuman, primitively animal.

Tone cursed under his breath and instinctively his hands went up to cover his ears.

Primo saw that his dad’s face was buried in his hands and his entire body was racked with sobs.

No one moved. The world stood still, the semicircle of shattered figures leaning slightly in toward the centre of the kitchen table.

Primo’s hands came up from his lap, and he brought them to rest on the table palms down. His mother was looking at him, through him. Tendrils of surprise and knots of fear bristled between them.

‘I knew it would come to this one day,’ his mother said with deep certainty. ‘But it has to stop. Now.’

‘I deal.’

Primo jumped at his father’s voice.

Frowning, his father dealt three cards across the table for Primo, then three for himself. He carefully laid four more face up between them, sat back and held his hand to his face. He was no longer weeping, but his eyes glistened.

‘You see what’s happened to Ad?’ Primo asked. ‘You see his face?’ He brushed the cards his father had dealt him aside and made a fist. ‘He doesn’t deserve that. Not even Ad deserves that.’

‘Go find another dead dog perhaps, Primo?’ his mother challenged him firmly, taking the cards he’d discarded and holding them up as though to play the hand. ‘Maybe I can go find all those women your father wronged me with and slap them?’

She moved too quickly for Primo to react, pulling her right hand across her shoulder, lining up beside her husband’s head.

‘Maybe I should just kill this man here and now and be done with it all.’

When her hand swept just a hair’s breadth from his father’s head Primo jumped to his feet, lunged forward and grabbed his mother’s arm.

The momentum carried them forward so that Primo had his mother sandwiched against the sink even as Tone rushed forward to steady her.