TV increased. Gary pulled a betting slip from his pocket. ‘Hang on. My horse is about to run.’ He swung around to watch the plasma TV above the bar. On the screen, seagulls hovered over the starting gate; some perched on the metal barriers and dropped little messages of good luck onto the jockeys’ hats.
The gates flew open and a mass of brown horse flesh and harlequin silks burst out of the barrier. Soon Gary’s horse was dead and gone; it trailed the pack by a length as the beasts thundered around the last corner. He couldn’t watch. Clapper Belle’s performance proved why the TAB and bookies rated her a rank outsider. When the race caller declared the winner and place-getters, Gary tore up his ticket.
‘Have a feeling about that horse, too? Like the feeling you’ve got about your Russian saviour?’ said Foss.
Gary looked up slowly. ‘Spare me the sarcasm. Horse racing’s just a laugh. Selling cars is my real game and I’m telling you to put money on the Russian deal happening.’
She chuckled softly as the clip played. a small child fell off a swing and swore. ‘Fookin’ ‘ell!’ the toddler cried in some northern English accent.
The little girl’s parents must be monsters. Any child Maddie raised would just cry and howl, like most kids. Fancy posting a video of your kid swearing on YouTube! But she had to admit, it was bloody funny. A friend of her cousin had posted the clip on Facebook. Maddie shared it on her page and hoped her friends would think she was cool for liking it.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven o’clock and still no Gary. She thought back to today’s conversation with her boss about doing more shifts at the coffee shop. The extra money would come in handy, but the work was hard. She’d got home at three and her back was still aching from being on her feet for hours.
Since then she’d been piss-farting about on Facebook and playing online video games.
She wished she and Gary had a little girl to brighten their lives. Her own life at least; Gaz said the time wasn’t right to have kids. Around the time they got married, he said they could have a child when he reached 35. Only three years away but she knew Gary didn’t want kids at all, ever.
Her mum suggested Maddie go off the pill and see what happened. Mum reckoned if Maddie fell pregnant, Gary would show his true colours. But Mum was just gunning for a grandchild to match and colour coordinate with the other two; Mum was forever going on about the gorgeous grandkids her brother Mike had produced. But Maddie just couldn’t bring herself to deceive Gary, even though he deceived her all the time.
She clicked the home button of her Facebook page. Katrina posted a photo of her dog on the beach chasing a stick. Tiffany shared a recipe for mud cake. Brendan put up a video of his Irish uncle falling off a ladder and Debbie was at the park having a picnic with her vanilla family. Same old shit, different day.
The computer’s clock glowed 00:12. Maddie shut down her laptop, put it in its carry bag and placed it under the bed. She put on a terry towelling dressing gown and wrapped it tight around her body, suddenly shivering for no apparent reason.
She shuffled into the bathroom and fumbled in the vanity cabinet drawer for her tablets. She’d stashed a strip of Xanax in her contraceptives packet; Gary probably wouldn’t snoop through her stuff in the bathroom, but better safe than sorry. He had the typical alcoholic’s hypocritical loathing of other drugs. She popped the pill in her mouth, craned her head under the tap and washed down her wonder candy.
No doubt Gary would arrive home pissed again. Every Friday night was the same. The only thing that differed was the degree of intoxication. Sometimes he just had a glow on, other times he stumbled through the door, elbows scraped and vomit spattered down his shirtfront. Maddie didn’t care if he was going out with the boss or not, as long as he didn’t die in a car accident or kill someone on the road.
She loved him more than anything in the world. When they were introduced at a mutual friend’s party, it was love at first sight. From the start she saw he was battling with the booze, but he was so much fun; a real party animal. Best of all, he loved to spoil her with little gifts, out of the blue sometimes. Gary said he had so little as a child, now as an adult he just wanted to give and make people happy. And by people, he mostly meant Maddie. Cliché, but Gary made her feel special.
If he were a violent wife-beater of a drunk – different story – she’d have left years ago. The grog never made Gary aggressive, but. It made him happy, inspired even. When the alcohol wore off, though, his mood crashed. And so the never-ending cycle continued – up and down, up and down. Bloody beer bipolar.
A car pulled up in the driveway; she heard a door slam, some incoherent words. She lumbered to her feet, half awake and blinking, and peeked through the blinds to see a taxi reversing out of the driveway.
Gary stood at the front door, underneath the coach light spanned by a web woven by a fat orb-weaver spider. He swayed like an ear of corn in the breeze and wrestled with a hefty set of keys. Each key he tried failed to open the door to his castle. He swore gently under his labouring breath, more and more frustrated with each attempt. Just as it seemed he’d slump to the ground in defeat, Maddie took pity and opened the door.
‘Bloody hell, Gary. Look at the state of you. Get inside.’
Maddie wedged her shoulder under his armpit and dragged him across the threshold. Slow and unsteady, she guided him to the bedroom; both banging into walls on the way. She undressed him, with great difficulty, and placed a bucket at the side of the bed. She was taking no chances – a few weeks ago Gary projectile vomited and left a masterpiece of abstract art on the walls. Once, after a heavy night out drinking Bundy, he shat himself; thank God it happened in the bathroom.
Tears welled in Maddie’s eyes. ‘Oh, Gary, you stupid man.’
His chest heaved like a panting greyhound, dribble at the corners of his lips. Sure as hell he’d chunder tonight. She prayed he’d get it in the bucket but doubted his accuracy in his intoxicated oblivion. She fetched some large towels and placed them beside the bed.
‘What the fuck are you doing to me, Gary?’ Maddie muttered. ‘What are you doing to yourself?’
He snored like a blocked vacuum cleaner so she’d sleep on the couch. She grabbed a blanket and her laptop for company. Tomorrow she’d be tough with him. This shit couldn’t go on for much longer. She turned on her computer and logged onto Facebook.
Ping! A text alert. She staggered to retrieve her phone which was recharging in the kitchen.
Number withheld.
Curious, she opened the message. A single exclamation mark. Three more texts followed, each time the same thing. She deleted them – probably just a glitch with Telstra. She set the mobile’s volume to mute and went to check on Gary.
His breathing had stabilised and she was sure he wouldn’t vomit. Still in her dressing gown she slid in next to him, turned her back, and flicked off the bedside lamp.
She awoke at 6:35am to Gary’s raspy snoring and no new texts.
She smiled with relief, but had no idea why.
