1966, Sydney.
They drove to the first day of the two day Inquiry together. Janet and Edward in the back, Janet’s parents in the front. Her father drove. Her mother hadn’t driven since they’d arrived in Australia. She couldn’t, she’d say tearfully when anyone suggested it. I’d just be a danger to others. I don’t care about myself, she’d continue. But what if I killed a mother’s son? Or a young man’s brother? She’d look at Janet when she said this, her eyes damp and blaming. Janet would stare back. What was she on about? Philip had died at sea, not in a car crash. Her mother’s grief was exhausting. But her constant bitter accusations were worse. When would her mother accept it was an accident and leave Janet alone?
Two men in suits hurried towards the car as they parked up. One of the men opened the door for Janet’s mother. It was their lawyer. Mr Higgins. Janet didn’t trust him. Everything he did or said was overcooked or overwrung. His plasticine hands were damp and hot and were always pressed too hard on her back or her shoulder or her waist. He took Bernadette’s arm and whispered something to her as Eric locked the car. Bernadette dabbed at her eyes with a fresh white handkerchief. Edward waited for his father. Nobody waited for Janet.
A woman in a neat navy suit with a notepad approached Janet from the steps of the court house as she walked up the street behind her mother and Mr Higgins. Miss Waters? Are you Miss Waters? I’m from the Sydney Morning Herald. What are you hoping will happen today? Janet stopped and looked at the woman. She didn’t know what to say.
Miss Waters, this must be a terrible time. Could you tell me what happened? You were the last to see your brother alive? Janet couldn’t move. How did she know that? Who had been talking? The woman was smiling through tart cherry lipstick. Her blue mascara gave her eyes a baby doll look that didn’t go with the conservative cut of the suit. Reporters weren’t supposed to be glamorous. Not in Janet’s world. Janet looked around for help. For a way out. You must be devastated, the reporter said. How is your mother? Her pen hovered over the notebook. Janet couldn’t make out the squiggles already on the page.
Heh Barbara! The shout was from further up the street. The Inspector? He knew her? Janet swiveled around. The Inspector was standing at the top of the steps. He had a large brown cardboard folder tucked under one arm and a black leather brief case in his other hand. Leave her be, Barbara, she’s not used to the cut and thrust. Go and pick on someone your own size. Cut and thrust? There was something in the Inspector’s tone that caught at Janet’s stomach. Friends, they were friends. Maybe more than that. Janet looked over the woman’s shoulder. The Inspector nodded to her. A brief nod and a shallow smile. Just doing my job, Colin, Barbara shouted back. Catch you later.
Janet’s feet were stuck to the pavement. Barbara had called him Colin. Did he kiss her too? Take her on picnics and fondle those stupid over cherried lips? Never mind him, Barbara said. You know what the police are like. How about a quick comment before you go in? You can trust me, I’m always very fair. Janet looked around the street. Her mother had gone up the steps with Mr Higgins and disappeared into the building. Her father was stooped, tightening his shoe laces as he always did when he was anxious or playing for time. Edward was eying up the journalist, the way he did with the sports cars parked up with their tops down at Manly Beach on Saturday afternoons.
It was nothing to do with me, Janet said. It was an accident. A horrible accident. She pushed past the journalist and hurried towards the Inspector. But the Inspector had disappeared. And Janet was left to walk into the court house on her own.
To be continued.
SANDERLINGS 