my face and squeezes, mashing my cheeks into my teeth. His chest is heaving ‘It’s His turn to say sorry to me! Yes, he will! And you will too.’
He lets go. He scrambles out of the tent and I can hear him muttering and the sound of his feet scuffing through the grass as he walks away.
He could leave me here. I could be rid of him altogether. For ever. It’s too easy.
That was all I had to do. I should have done it years ago.
I start to laugh, and then there it is, the un-electrified half of my cage. I can see it, but I don’t move. It’s a portcullis opening up in my mind. It’s a yawning guillotine and I know that what is worse than being with the Red Man is being without him.
P ART S IX
Going sane
Sinner, there is no such thing
Beginner, I have learned to sing
Forever I must walk this earth
Like some forgotten soldier.
‘ S INNER’
N EIL F INN
1
C HOKED
Scott winks at me and for once he’s not just the runner at the chemist’s shop who shares the same dad as me. He’s Scott who is family. Then there are sirens, but not for long, and the woman with the baby starts screaming.
There are policemen outside. Nobody has said anything, but I know. There’s a dread deep in my belly.
Scott isn’t joking any more. He steps forward and he opens the ziplock bags. He tips the pills into his mouth. He’s chewing them. He opens bags and vials and he’s throwing them back. I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he tries to swallow.
I think maybe they’re lollies after all.
There’s foam coming out of Scott’s mouth now. Dad is staring at him. His lips are turned down, but he doesn’t try to stop it. Dad should be trying to stop him. Nobody is saying anything. The only noise is the woman and the baby both screaming. It’s so high it goes right inside your head.
The door opens and the policemen are right there. The old man starts out of his chair and stumbles two steps and then sprawls on the floor.
One of the officers takes the baby out of the woman’s arms. She doesn’t resist. Her mouth is open wide so I can see her fillings. The snot gathers on her top lip and the tears slide down her throat and soak into her shirt.
Scott’s choking. He’s retching and retching, his chest heaves and his back arches. The foam is running over his chin and it hits the ground in little splatters. His face is going red. It’s so red it’s purple.
It’s all happening quickly, but none of the police officers is running. One of them kicks the back of Scott’s knees and he crumples to the ground. They turn him on his side. The policeman has Scott’s mouth open. He’s holding his tongue down with his fingers.
Scott’s staring at me. His eyes are so wide they look as though they’re going to pop out. He coughs again, a really big one, and suddenly the whites of his eyes go red, filled with blood. I scream and draw my knees up to my chest. He’s still staring at me, his face is red – all red, even his eyeballs – and purple and swollen.
Someone lifts me up by my underarms and carries me out of the room. The police officer carries me out into the street and it’s daylight. It’s an afternoon and the sun shines through the leaves, making dapples on the footpath. A pair of Indian myna birds squabble on a low branch.
An old lady down the road is wheeling out her rubbish bin. A car goes past and slows down. The driver is rubbernecking. Inside one of the police cars parked on the kerb I see an officer with the baby on his lap. The baby’s face is scrunched as it screams. Its little hands are waving and trembling with the strain of it.
A van turns into the laneway. It’s an ambulance. There are no lights and sirens. It’s come to take Scott away. Scott’s choked. He’s choked to death on Dad’s drugs.
2
D OBBERS WEAR NAPPIES
Itsy made me go to the court on the day my dad was going to be called to the stand. She dressed me in pink flounces and ribbons, as if I was a little kid. She was
He lets go. He scrambles out of the tent and I can hear him muttering and the sound of his feet scuffing through the grass as he walks away.
He could leave me here. I could be rid of him altogether. For ever. It’s too easy.
That was all I had to do. I should have done it years ago.
I start to laugh, and then there it is, the un-electrified half of my cage. I can see it, but I don’t move. It’s a portcullis opening up in my mind. It’s a yawning guillotine and I know that what is worse than being with the Red Man is being without him.
P ART S IX
Going sane
Sinner, there is no such thing
Beginner, I have learned to sing
Forever I must walk this earth
Like some forgotten soldier.
‘ S INNER’
N EIL F INN
1
C HOKED
Scott winks at me and for once he’s not just the runner at the chemist’s shop who shares the same dad as me. He’s Scott who is family. Then there are sirens, but not for long, and the woman with the baby starts screaming.
There are policemen outside. Nobody has said anything, but I know. There’s a dread deep in my belly.
Scott isn’t joking any more. He steps forward and he opens the ziplock bags. He tips the pills into his mouth. He’s chewing them. He opens bags and vials and he’s throwing them back. I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he tries to swallow.
I think maybe they’re lollies after all.
There’s foam coming out of Scott’s mouth now. Dad is staring at him. His lips are turned down, but he doesn’t try to stop it. Dad should be trying to stop him. Nobody is saying anything. The only noise is the woman and the baby both screaming. It’s so high it goes right inside your head.
The door opens and the policemen are right there. The old man starts out of his chair and stumbles two steps and then sprawls on the floor.
One of the officers takes the baby out of the woman’s arms. She doesn’t resist. Her mouth is open wide so I can see her fillings. The snot gathers on her top lip and the tears slide down her throat and soak into her shirt.
Scott’s choking. He’s retching and retching, his chest heaves and his back arches. The foam is running over his chin and it hits the ground in little splatters. His face is going red. It’s so red it’s purple.
It’s all happening quickly, but none of the police officers is running. One of them kicks the back of Scott’s knees and he crumples to the ground. They turn him on his side. The policeman has Scott’s mouth open. He’s holding his tongue down with his fingers.
Scott’s staring at me. His eyes are so wide they look as though they’re going to pop out. He coughs again, a really big one, and suddenly the whites of his eyes go red, filled with blood. I scream and draw my knees up to my chest. He’s still staring at me, his face is red – all red, even his eyeballs – and purple and swollen.
Someone lifts me up by my underarms and carries me out of the room. The police officer carries me out into the street and it’s daylight. It’s an afternoon and the sun shines through the leaves, making dapples on the footpath. A pair of Indian myna birds squabble on a low branch.
An old lady down the road is wheeling out her rubbish bin. A car goes past and slows down. The driver is rubbernecking. Inside one of the police cars parked on the kerb I see an officer with the baby on his lap. The baby’s face is scrunched as it screams. Its little hands are waving and trembling with the strain of it.
A van turns into the laneway. It’s an ambulance. There are no lights and sirens. It’s come to take Scott away. Scott’s choked. He’s choked to death on Dad’s drugs.
2
D OBBERS WEAR NAPPIES
Itsy made me go to the court on the day my dad was going to be called to the stand. She dressed me in pink flounces and ribbons, as if I was a little kid. She was
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