FIFTEEN

SHARON WORNKIN

The next morning Sharon woke late. She turned over, saw that Roger’s side of the bed was still made up. His digital clock said nine o’clock. Did she have to work today? She sat upright. Remembered what had happened the previous night. Held her face in her hands. Groaned. She had to go in later. That’s right. Afternoon shift.

She changed into her exercise clothes––loose fitting, so she didn’t feel too self-conscious––and slumped into the living room. All her joints ached with drink, with effort. Was she hungover? She hadn’t drunk that much? She turned the television on and inserted a VHS tape of Aerobics Oz Style. She hit ‘play’ on the remote and a woman, bright and cheery, coaxed her onwards. Sharon had never met a person in real life with a smile like that. The exercises never made her feel fit, but did make her feel better, like she was working towards something.

Afterwards, in the shower, she started crying. She soaped herself and rinsed and soaped again. Last night she hadn’t done the right thing. Roger would say she had. That she’d preserved herself, their relationship with Ernie. That it was important. But she should’ve acted. Stepped up. Drawn her weapon. If she’d had her weapon. Smashed their noses in with it. Let them bleed onto the soggy carpet. Let the locals witness what it meant to harm one of hers.

She sank to the floor of the shower recess and put her face on the white tiles and breathed, watching her breath make ripples that quickly dispersed. She hadn’t done a thing as her father had lopped Daisy’s head off. As Ernie had damn near ripped his son’s head off. Never stood up for a damn thing, ever.

When she entered the kitchen her son was at the bench eating Coco Pops and reading a guitar magazine. Sharon was still towelling her hair. Coco Pops hadn’t been her intention, but she found herself grabbing a bowl and pouring milk.

‘You were out late last night?’ she said to Peter.

He didn’t look up. ‘I was right here. You were the one who was out late.’

She couldn’t tell if his inattention was forced or accidental.

‘What’re you up to today?’ she said.

‘Don’t know. Might go see Cassie later.’

‘Yeah? And do what?’

‘Don’t know. What about you?’ Peter asked, still not looking at her.

‘Not sure, yet.’

‘You have the day off?’

She remembered what she’d promised to do last night. It made her angry at herself, at Ernie for having asked. She wondered if Cassie knew, how much Peter knew about what went on out there.

‘I have to go in later.’

Peter looked up finally. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve got the afternoon shift. And there’s something I have to take care of. Probably be out late tonight with it.’

‘With what?’

Lying to her own son. ‘Some old bloke at Port Napier stole a car last night.’ She poured more milk into her bowl, as if to cover her shame. While she chewed she asked, ‘Did you hear what else happened last night? Down at the pub?’