The Evil Inside (5 page)

If it's to be, it's up to me.

If it's to be, it's up to me.

Guy! She screams out from the bathroom now.

Guuu-yyyy!

‘Uh, Guy,' Anthony had placed one hand on my slightly trembling shoulder while he turned off the tap with the other. ‘I think the cups are well and truly clean now, mate.'

*

‘Hi, Esmeralda.'

‘Hello, Guy.'

‘Daddyyyyyyy!' Callum came barrelling out of his hiding place behind the end of the couch and crash-tackled my knees.

‘Jesus – you little devil! I'm going to have to get you a grid-iron helmet.'

Esmeralda was standing on the arm of the couch, fiddling with the cord to the curtain, cocooning us in for the cold night ahead.

The sight of it unsettled me.

‘That looks dangerous – you might fall,' I said to our new nanny. ‘Where's Mia?'

Esmeralda stepped down lightly. ‘It's hokay – I'm used to it! Mia still don't come back from the realtor yet. He found some more places for her maybe.'

‘So what have you two been up to today?'

Callum's words burst out like a geyser. ‘We goed to da park an' I played on the swing an' dere were lots of peoples there an' I had an ice cream and there was a clown who didn't talk cos he was too scary so we comed back home and watched TV—'

‘A scary clown?'

‘Oh, he was one a those … waddya call them? … mime artistes.' Esmeralda said, freezing her arms to demonstrate. ‘He was just like standing there and not moving for like fifteen minutes.'

‘… An he had a white face and really really really scary eyes,' Callum's own little eyes bulged at the memory.

‘Yes, he was a leedle scary for the children,' Esmeralda picked up her bag. ‘Even maybe for the grown-ups, too. My second cousin, Estella – you know, Anthony and Susanna's maid? – she was with us and she was freaked out, man! His face looked like a death mask where I come from. Like a copse.'

‘Corpse.' I gave her back the ‘r'. ‘Well, apart from Mr Scary, it sounds like you two had quite a good time. Callum, Esmeralda's going now – say bye bye.'

‘Bye, Melda.'

‘Bye, leedle man. See you tomorrow.'

I saw that Esmeralda and Callum had documented their outing together on Callum's blackboard. There were some trees, a swing set, two larger stick figures,
Estella
and
Esmeralda
, a smaller one with an ice cream holding Esmeralda's hand,
Callum
, and a white unnamed blob at the extreme right.

Mia was tired. And seemed depressed.

The apartments had all been a waste of time.

I poured myself another glass of red. Mia had refused a third glass, though she seemed to have rediscovered her taste for wine if not coffee.

‘You look weary,' I said. She'd recently cut her hair into a short, sixties bob with a hard, horizontal fringe. I thought it made her look a little severe.

‘I didn't sleep well last night. I had a very strange dream about Callum.'

I nodded as I put her plate on mine.

‘He was flying through the air with his arms outstretched—'

‘Was he wearing a cape?'

‘Ha, ha, Guy. No. But he was really scared. Terrified. Like he was falling rather than flying. And he couldn't stop himself.'

‘Paging Dr Freud! You're probably just worried about how he'll adjust to living out here.' I put my hand over hers. ‘The change will be good. For all of us, I reckon. Kids are very adaptable.'

‘Mmmm.' She seemed unconvinced. ‘But it was
so
vivid. And he was flying through the dark! Poor little baby.'

Since we'd lost the baby in September, Mia's moods had been erratic. She seemed to be fighting an internal battle of attrition.

‘Why don't you take it easy for the rest of the week?' I suggested. ‘We've still got a couple more weeks after that to find somewhere to live before Brave Face stop footing the bill. Do some shopping. See some galleries.' Mia had had vague plans to resurrect her art-brokering business once we'd found Callum some reliable day care.

She held up a little brochure with the words Polonius Realty and a robotically happy couple about to open a stylish-looking front door on the cover. ‘But Susanna's already made three appointments for us tomorrow. She's been so helpful. Today she told this sleazy little landlord he was the “scuzzball of all scuzzballs”. She looked like she was gonna start beating him with her handbag!' Mia yawned and headed for the bedroom.

‘Really?' I stood up with the plates. ‘Well, see how you feel tomorrow. Just don't overdo it. OK?'

‘OK.'

After she'd gone to bed, I planned on going through Mia's handbag and grabbing one of the names off the ‘Shrink List' that Susanna had also kindly provided in case Mia felt like talking ‘to someone professional'.

I stepped into the kitchen and turned on the taps.

The same awful memory I'd tried to submerge in the Brave Face kitchen rose back up again to the surface like soap scum:

How I hate that voice.

That cunty, carping, wheedling, needling, emasculating, enervating, never-ending voice.

‘Guuu-yyyy!' she screams.

‘Guy! Bring me my towel will ya, you little shit!'

She often forgets to take her towel with her into the bathroom when she's been drinking. Which isn't uncommon.

‘It's hanging on the chair in the yard!' she calls.

On the way home from school, I've actually been thinking about Hamlet's mother:

Mother, for love of grace,

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul …

‘I'm not mad, it's
you
that's bad,' I've written in the margin of my book.

I like Shakespeare; I like the sound of the words, even when I don't know exactly what they mean.

But I always make notes and find out later.

And I'm still debating whether Polonius was stupid, unlucky or both.

I wonder the same about my mother now as I retrieve her towel from the back yard and re-enter the house.

I hear water beginning to gurgle down our often-blocked drain.

I walk into the bathroom and try not to look at her as she stands up in the bath.

‘What have you been doin' out there?

‘You're a disgrace.

‘You'll never be anything.

‘You're useless.

‘I can't stand you.'

But today Mr Punch has a surprise: I step right up close, holding her towel out to her with a great big smile.

And for once Judy is lost for words.

Leave Monday afternoon, back Tuesday afternoon: Anthony was right – San Francisco was a blitz.

A long wagon train of clouds plodded past my little oval window. A yellow tear across one of them made me feel anxious, as though something ungodly was oozing from the heavens.

I flicked distractedly through the
Red Herring
,
Industry Standard
and
Wired
magazines I'd bought at the airport newsstand. I was nervous. This was my first test at Brave Face. I wanted to repay Anthony's faith and investment in me. I also wanted some sort of divine affirmation that making the trip to the States had been the right decision, not just some crazy whim. Winning a new piece of business within just a few weeks of arriving would be a very reassuring pat on the head from above.

Anthony, by contrast, was the epitome of confidence. He made phone calls and wrote strategies for other forthcoming pitches. And he drank endless cups of the dreadful black aircraft oil that masqueraded as coffee.

By the time we checked into the Hotel Powell in downtown San Fran, it was already 7.30 p.m. – so 10.30 p.m. back in New York.

I phoned home. ‘Were you asleep?'

‘Not yet,' Mia yawned. ‘Just checking out some more apartments on the net.'

‘How's my boy?'

‘He's good. We just watched a great doco on Discovery Channel about panthers and pumas – did you know they're actually the same animal? And today Esmeralda took him to the Natural History Museum and he really got off on the dinosaurs. I thought he might have been scared, but he loved them. He misses you.'

‘At least someone does.'

There was a long pause before she yawned again.

‘Anyway, I'm just exhausted. Good night. And good luck tomorrow.'

Polite. Perfunctory. Not at all like the old Mia I knew and loved.

‘I'll call you afterwards,' I told the cold-sounding woman now impersonating my wife.

Before I left for Frisco, I'd made Mia agree to see a counsellor with me. Our move to New York hadn't had the resuscitative effect on her mental state that I'd hoped it would. Maybe this counsellor, who I'd booked us in to see Wednesday lunchtime, could help thaw her out a little.

*

‘So that's how we're going to make the world appear more interesting, more exciting – and, of course, more profitable – through coolcams.com.'

Anthony smiled and rubbed his hands together, like a surgeon scrubbing down after a successful operation. The room was silent. ‘Any questions, guys?' His face was still set on ‘trust me'.

The three kids who'd started the company broke into loose spontaneous applause and let out a couple of enthusiastic ‘whoa's. Even the forty-five-year-old suits found it hard to disguise their excitement: they too grinned like love-struck teenagers.

The larger of the two VCs tried to rein in the excitement a little. He'd seen a pitch or two in his time and knew that first impressions didn't always count, despite the obvious chemistry between our two companies.

‘Thank you very much, Anthony and Guy – and the other members of your team who put such a lot of work into today's presentation. Your efforts have obviously struck a chord with some of us here today. But, as you know, there are three other agencies in the race and we still have one more to meet with.'

‘Thanks for giving us the opportunity, Bob,' Anthony responded, now in full statesman mode. He straightened his tie and ran a Rolexed hand through his wheatfield hair. ‘We've really enjoyed working with you on this project and hope that – if we're fortunate enough to win your business – we can work together to make coolcams something really, really special.'

We packed up our boards and Anthony's Dell laptop and shook a warm circle of hands. My boss couldn't resist a final little plug. ‘And remember, even if you choose
not
to use Brave Face as your ad agency, we can still help you out with your PR – if we're still talking to you, that is!' The coolcams crew laughed. It's a good closer.

‘They'll probably want to make a decision relatively soon,' Anthony smiled. We were approaching the airport car park.

‘When do you think we might hear?' I asked.

‘It seems like they want everything yesterday.' Anthony swung the hire car into the Hertz check-out lane. ‘Not surprising when you're smart-ass kids with big ideas and egos to match.' We parked, got out, and started trotting towards Departures.

‘I reckon they'll get back to us by the end of the week. At the latest.'

‘Olcott Races, Callum's Day, doo dah, doo dah … Olcott Races, Callum's Day, oh–the-doo-dah-day …'

Even though I'd only been gone a day, I'd really missed my boy. ‘Go!' I yelled. We raced each other down the long ninth-floor corridor.

I usually let Callum win. But every now and again, I sprinted at full tilt – just to freak him out.

‘Wow, Daddy!' he panted as we trotted back and round the dogleg to room 901. ‘You're even faster than a … really fast rocket!'

He paused and pointed to an electrical socket on the corridor wall between our room and 902. ‘Hey, “rocket” – that sounds the same as “socket”, doesn't it, Daddy?'

I nodded. I didn't even know he knew the word ‘socket' – it was quite advanced, even for an especially curious three year old.

‘Stay away from the sockets, Daddy!' he cried gaily as he pushed our door open and bounded down the hallway.

A sudden chill passed through me. I felt a little faint.

Mia frowned at me from the kitchenette with a ladle dripping passata sauce in her hand.

‘What's wrong, Guy?' You look like you've just seen a ghost?'

She was right: in a way I had.

*

‘And what brings you good people here today?'

Our counsellor was wearing an open-necked Ralph Lauren check shirt while a heavy gold chain encircled his fat bull neck.

Dr David Kane looked a little like Henry Kissinger. I hoped he shared some of the former's diplomatic expertize. On his side table, there was a green Post-it pad with
Freudian Slips
printed across the top.

Mia hadn't wanted to come. She'd spent the first seven minutes crying. I knew it was seven minutes because Dr Kane also had his alarm clock set up on the table beside him.

Dr Kane and I either looked at each other or out of the window. He sucked on his teeth, then handed Mia a box of tissues and folded his hands over his ample belly.

Mia blew her nose and finally gathered herself.

‘I … I … I lost a baby last September. Back in Australia.'

‘Go on, Mia,' Dr Kane smiled benevolently. ‘Take your time.'

Mia started weeping again. I reached for her hand, but she left it dangling over the arm of her chair like a dead eel. And then she turned to me. ‘We lost a baby …'

We.
At least now she was including me in the terrible equation. ‘ … but despite what the doctor there told us at the time, I'm just not sure we did everything we could to save her.'

She continued to stare at me. I realized that I'd been holding my breath for quite a while, and let it out like a punctured tyre. Was it a question or an accusation? I looked at Dr Kane again for some support.

I can see what you're dealing with here
, his expression seemed to say. He checked his clock and opened his hands out to both of us. ‘Well, why don't we talk about it?'

Mia pointed angrily at Dr Kane and turned back to me. ‘But
he
wasn't there! He doesn't know!' She dropped her head and sobbed. ‘
How
can
he
help us?'

Kane looked bemused. ‘Mia … I can't help you, unless—'

Mia sprang up and ran out of the room, taking the tissue box with her.

I jolted awake in the wee small hours: Callum had been crying in his sleep. Really bawling.

‘What is it, darling?' I asked him.

He snorted then choked: ‘T-t-there was a scary 'lectric skeleton and it was chasing me and Mum so we ran up on the roof!' He started to wail again. ‘Our old roof house. In Stray-ya.'

I tried to stroke the fear out of him. ‘Yes? And what else did he do, this scary skeleton?'

His little face turned to me in the glow coming from under the bathroom door. ‘H-he hided under your desk and he plugged hisself into the wall. Into the socket.'

Socket.

There was that word again.

I shivered.

‘Then he was all red on the inside. And bright, too, like a fire!'

‘Then what happened?'

‘I sneaked down and pulled out his plug …' He stopped sniffing for a moment, surprised at the thought of it. ‘But then he plugged it back into hisself and started chasing me again!'

I got up and switched the main bedroom light on and unplugged Callum's beloved Noddy lamp and the voltage converter. I pointed at the harmless empty sockets.

‘Well look,' I said brushing the tears from his cheeks. ‘There's no scary skeleton in this room now – just your good old Noddy lamp.'

Callum nodded uncertainly. He wasn't convinced.

Before I reinserted the lamp plug, I looked twice at the socket myself: for a moment, I could have sworn it was grinning malevolently at me.

I eventually managed to rock the both of us back to sleep, my last thought being that Mia had been in the bathroom a long while. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in there.

*

Anthony was right: we heard late Thursday.

Bill and I had decided to visit the Museum of Modern Art. Research for our next pitch: an online art exhibition site for a major phone manufacturer. There was a huge floor-to-ceiling hanging banner in the foyer showing a little boy crying and a headline that said: I
WANT MY
M
O
M
A!

‘Commerce usurping art once again,' Bill sighed, pulling his coffee-stained brief out of his moleskin bag. ‘Enough to make one puke, hey, bro?'

My mobile phone rang. I still couldn't get used to calling it a ‘cell' – it sounded like something you'd use in prison.

‘Hey, Girly, get straight home and put your bloody drinking shoes on!' It was Anthony. ‘And tell that cheeky bald-headed bastard to do the same!'

‘What? We won?' I asked. My heart began ricocheting round my rib cage.

‘Not only did we fucking win, you bloody creative wanker!' Anthony paused to prolong the suspense. I thought I could already hear liquid sloshing in a glass at the other end. ‘Those snotty-nosed coolcams kids got second-round funding this morning and are going to double both the ad—' another delicious pause ‘—and the PR budget!'

‘What's he saying?' Bill mouthed silently, his smile widening.

‘He's saying that we have official permission from the boss to go out and get completely legless!'

To celebrate, Anthony had booked the tiny circular bar at the Royalton. It was the perfect place to down a few martinis. There seemed no point now in either going home or back to work; my Nikes would have to double as drinking shoes. Anthony said he'd meet us at the bar in half an hour – along with Lucy.

I rang the Olcott.

‘That's fantastic,' Mia said. ‘Well done.'

But she sounded a little flat. ‘How was your day?' I asked.

‘We didn't get it,' she said glumly. ‘The apartment, I mean.'

A two-bedroom with lots of natural light up near Carl Schurz Park on the Upper East. She'd had her heart set on it.

‘Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find something soon.'

She sounded really forlorn now. ‘I hope so – we have to start paying the Olcott bill ourselves after next week, remember? Now I know how Bubby must have felt: nowhere safe or happy to live.'

Now Mia was bringing up Bubby as well. I didn't know what to say, so I changed the subject. ‘Is Callum there?'

‘No, Esmeralda hasn't brought him back from playing with Courtney yet.'

‘Well say goodnight to him from me. I'll be home—'

‘Late,' Mia knew. ‘Enjoy yourself.'

But she didn't sound like she meant it.

*

‘I've had enush.' After six hours on the grog, Anthony could no longer keep up with us.

‘Hey, mate,' I toasted him. ‘I'm going to let the old Booze Brothers boys know about your piss-weak performance here tonight and you'll be thrown out of the club!'

He frowned at his gabardine Canali coat as if it was some unsolvable cosmic conundrum, inserted his arm into the wrong sleeve, shrugged and decided to wear it like a poncho instead. ‘Don't be rude to your boss or … ' He tried to think of a parting rejoinder, but at this stage of the game decided a gentle pat on my shoulder was easier. ‘Say goodbye to the bald bastard.'

Bill was at the bar, getting us another round and some cigars.

Anthony saluted Lucy, threw his scarf flamboyantly over his shoulder like Warren Beatty on a yacht and weaved unsteadily towards the Royalton's exit.

‘So, Guy,' Lucy leaned forward, ‘how are you and the family settling in?' Her hazel eyes were kind and genuine. It'd been all work talk, office gossip and silly anecdotes up till this point. But the crowd was thinning a little now and the mood was becoming more intimate.

‘Well, you know. Mia's hunting for apartments like a madwoman. Callum, my little boy, seems to be enjoying himself. But I guess moving from one city to another is always going to be tougher than you think.'

Lucy nodded. ‘Took me at least six months to get the measure of this town – even though I'd already lived in Washington and Chicago and LA.'

‘LA?'

‘Record company assistant. Sweet Jesus, the things they expected me to do!' Her deep, throaty, smoker's laugh was very pleasant on the ear. ‘Those guys make advertising seem like the priesthood. It's so true what Hunter S. Thompson said about the music business being a long, plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free.'