The Turning by Tim Winton

and afraid of his own reactions, frightened of lapsing into old habits? Self-preservation – did it ever feel anything but ugly?
    He pushed the door to and switched off the porchlight.
    In the morning, bleary and unrested, he came upon Fay outside the school gate. He supposed that for a while at least such meetings would be inevitable. And then one day
she’d be gone again. The sky hung low and dark. There was a bitter wind from the south. Fay wore a huge stretched jumper that looked like one of Don’s and she hugged herself as she
turned to him.
    Haven’t done that for a while, she murmured.
    Bring her to school?
    I think she was embarrassed.
    Ah.
    Hurts, she said fishing out a fag. But I spose I deserve it.
    Dyson walked uphill, careful not to hurry, and she fell into step beside him.
    Sorry about last night.
    Well, he murmured. Me too.
    Out over the sea a storm brewed. The air in its path felt pure and steely. Dyson couldn’t help feel that Fay’s cigarette was an offence against such clarity. In even thinking it he
was, he knew, his mother’s son, but that did not make it less true.
    How’s your folks? he asked.
    Good. But I don’t know how long I can live with them. They want me to stay a while but nobody’s naming dates. I’m kind of on probation with Sky. And with them, I spose. They
won’t give her up easily. Not that I blame them. They’ve been good to me. Dad used to drive three hundred miles every fortnight to visit me in rehab. They’ve been great, you know,
but I think I’ll go mad if I stay too long.
    Where would you go? he asked.
    Oh, I’ll stay in town. Rent somewhere close so they can all see each other. Sky needs them now. She knows I’m a fuck-up so she’ll need reassurance. I have fantasies about a
little house on one of those old dairy farms out along the coast. Something clear and clean, somewhere I can start again from scratch. You know what I mean?
    Yeah, he said. I do.
    But there’s nowhere you can really do that. Everywhere you go there’ll be some link. A bit of history. Anyway, I’m broke. Need a job but still feel a bit too ginger to
cope with the stress.
    I understand.
    But in the meantime I’m going nuts. Jesus, I thought rehab was tough. I’ve got Mum watching me like a hawk and Sky expecting me to piss off at any moment. And the old man desperately
trying not to spew out all his resentment and scare me off.
    I spose it’ll take time.
    She sniffed angrily. Yeah. Time.
    They came to his street and paused a moment.
    You ever see any of the old crew? she said.
    No, he murmured. To be honest I can hardly remember anybody else.
    Scary.
    He shrugged.
    Well, she said. I’ll leave you alone. Don’t worry.
    Dyson arranged his mouth to speak but found nothing to say.
    Looks like I’m still trouble, she murmured. For you at least.
    Did he imagine it or was there really a tiny twist of satisfaction to Fay’s mouth as she said this, a thread of pride in knowing that she had a lingering influence over him?
    He mumbled goodbye and walked home in the same turmoil that he’d stewed in all night. How could you help someone like Fay? How could you trust her? If it wasn’t the drugs it was the
old thrill of the power that she wielded. He just wasn’t strong or confident enough to battle it right now. Wasn’t his first responsibility to Ricky, to his own sanity? He had his own
problems to deal with. Yet he felt like such a bloodless bastard and so disloyal to Don and Marjorie after all their years of kindness. He’d all but grown up in their home and here he was
refusing to help their daughter. And that poor, wary little girl. How could he live with himself?
    Rain fell all day. He sat inside with a fire burning, the household chores mounting up around him. It was the kind of day you could feel descending upon you, when you drag everything out and
hash it over once again despite yourself. When you looked back at Sophie and the pregnancy, wondering what signs you missed.