‘Tell you what,’ William said, leaning forward once more. His hands were clasped together before him and there was a wounded pride in his eyes that instilled something into Vernon. ‘If you go up there and apologise, you do the right thing, and Brendan still doesn’t stop? He hits your boy one more time? Then, when the time comes, I’ll be right there with you in the mud.’

SEVENTEEN

SHARON WORNKIN

Exiting the car, she found herself incapable of movement. Her shoes felt heavy, like they’d suddenly filled with water. She sank back into the seat, struggling to breathe. It felt like something was pinning her to the seat. Like a phantom in the back was wrenching on her seatbelt, constricting her lungs.

She looked at her shoes. Remembered them hitting the old man in his chest, the weight beneath collapsing with each kick. It hadn’t taken much. Like stepping on a snail, the old man’s old bones now much the same. There was nothing to him.

Vernon had had trouble getting up his steps. His walk had been awful. She almost cried thinking about it. Maybe he was dead. She’d have to send somebody around besides William Kelly to check on him.

With shaking hands, she gripped the wheel and rested her forehead on it. She pressed in hard, wanting to hurt herself. Her shaking hands shaking the wheel, her forehead shaking, her teeth were grinding. A low moan escaped her throat. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the car transformed into some beast, her rage manifested in mechanical form. In her mind her rage was far more powerful than impotent. But impotent it was.

When she finally got out of the car the morning sun over the horizon welcomed her. She walked up the path to Jack’s house, which was just like the rest in Port Napier, the same dirt lining the pathway, the same flowers embedded beside the house, though his had seen better days. She knocked on the door. She wondered briefly what Roger was doing. Still sleeping when she’d left him. He wouldn’t be up this early.

Jack answered the door in his dressing gown, blinking in the daylight.

‘Yeah? What’s going on?’ he asked, his face still a clouded bruise.

‘I need you to come with me,’ she found herself saying. Her hands were still shaking.

‘Are you serious?’ he said, looking down at his dressing gown. ‘I just worked yesterday with my face and neck feeling like they were stepped on. I should be getting worker’s comp or something. And you’ve got me coming in again later on.’

‘You don’t even need to get changed,’ she said. Anger at herself for trying to appease him. For once she’d like to walk around and just feel good about herself.

Jack sighed, looked back inside his house. Sharon knew there was nobody to miss him, that Jack’s wife Ruth and unborn kid had left that day to visit her folks in Berrambool for Easter. He hadn’t shut up about it.