Let Her Go Read online

  Lachlan wasn’t in bed. Zoe heard the faint sounds of music videos coming from the television in the living room. He was always up early when he came back from the mines, still conditioned to the rigid shifts that controlled when he slept, ate, worked. She wanted to call out to him, ask him to bring her some water, to lie next to her, to cry with her, instead of carrying on as though this was just another Saturday, but didn’t want to ask for his help. He should know that she needed him. She was sick of this life, of being on her own all the time. What kind of relationship was it when her husband was six hundred kilometres away from her for half the year? Yes, when he was away, they talked every day on the phone, but over time the calls had become briefer, more practical, less emotional. She would open his mail, and ask him what bills he wanted her to pay. She’d tell him what she was having for dinner, or that the washing machine was leaking, and he’d tell her to call a repairman. But so much of a relationship was about the things unsaid – the looks, the gestures, the sensing of a mood. The little things: bringing your husband a cup of tea; interrupting each other on a Saturday morning to read out pieces from the weekend papers. When all that was reduced to a five-minute phone call each day, in snatched moments between Lachlan’s shifts and her work at the hospital, what kind of marriage was it?

  She moved her head slowly and propped herself up on her elbows. She hadn’t drunk that much last night, had she? But then she hadn’t eaten. Or slept. Her face burned as she remembered blurting everything out to Nadia, smashing a glass, crying. She had made an idiot of herself. A hot, clammy sweat came over her. She nodded her chin to her chest and closed her eyes, and let the tears fall as she lay back down on the pillow.

  She must have dozed off. Some time later, she woke to the sound of one of the wooden drawers grating as Lachlan pulled it open. ‘What are you doing?’ she croaked.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lachlan whispered. ‘I thought I’d go for a run.’

  ‘A run. Now?’

  ‘Yeah, I won’t be long.’

  Zoe sat up, ignoring the pounding in her head. Lachlan pulled his running top over his head then put his phone into his armband. She didn’t want him to leave. ‘But it’s too hot to run.’

  Lachlan sat on the end of the bed and pulled on his socks. ‘I’ll be OK. I thought you could do with a sleep-in.’

  ‘I’m awake now. Don’t go.’

  He stood up and ground one foot into a running shoe. ‘I won’t be long, then we’ll go out to breakfast.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to say anything? About last night?’

  He sighed, then looked at her. His shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Was it that bad?’ she whispered.

  He walked over and sat next to her on the edge of the bed, then gently swept her hair off her forehead. ‘It wasn’t bad at all.’

  ‘Do you think everyone’s talking about me?’

  ‘No, of course not. No one even noticed – the music was so loud you could barely hear people when they yelled in your ear!’ He smiled, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. ‘Don’t worry about last night. You did nothing wrong. The only person who heard what you said was Nadia. She’ll understand. Anyway, who gives a shit what people think? We’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’

  She couldn’t help but smile. Dear Lachlan. He always knew how to make her feel better. It wasn’t his fault he had to go away so much. ‘OK. Go for your run. But could you do one thing for me before you go?’

  He frowned. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Can you get me some water and painkillers?’

  He smiled again, hugged her tight and murmured into her ear, ‘Of course. I love you. Everything will be fine, I promise.’

  * * *

  They went to a local cafe in the back streets of Fremantle, away from the tourists. Zoe wasn’t hungry, but managed to stomach some toast and two flat whites. She tried, during breakfast, to be pleasant. Lachlan talked the whole time, about anything and everything: property prices, the other people in the cafe, the weather. She knew he was trying to make her feel better, to make jokes and laugh and smile, but she didn’t want to pretend this wasn’t happening to them. She wanted to talk about it, to dissect every detail, to make him open up and tell her exactly how he felt about it, about her.

  She didn’t want to go straight back home afterwards. Lachlan drove north along the coast road, along stretches of white beach fringed by the Indian Ocean. Zoe stared out of the passenger window at the towering dunes covered with ugly plants with tentative footholds in the shifting sand. Across the road, in front of the showy houses, were parched verges, with shrivelled grass, crisp from weeks without rain. She hated the Western Australian summers, the relentless heat and the hot wind that whipped bare legs with stinging sand. Sweat dripped down her thighs beneath her baggy shorts; she turned up the air-conditioning and slumped down in her seat so that the cold air blew on her.

  ‘You OK?’ Lachlan said.

  ‘I’m so bloody hot.’

  ‘Is the vent open properly?’ Lachlan leaned towards her and began to fiddle with the air-conditioning.

  ‘Yes!’ Zoe said, swatting his hand out of the way. ‘I’m not stupid, I know how to work it!’

  Lachlan put his hand back on the steering wheel. Zoe looked at him and saw him raise his eyebrows.

  ‘What, Lachlan?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He looked straight ahead.

  ‘Just say it!’

  ‘Say what? I’m fine!’ He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t need you to be angry with me!’ Zoe’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I’m not the one who’s angry.’ Lachlan indicated right and slowed down as the traffic lights turned red. He looked over to her, then groaned. ‘Oh, Zoe, don’t cry …’

  She shook her head and turned away from him, feeling pathetic. ‘I just feel like … like it’s all my fault.’

  Lachlan put his hand on her leg. ‘Babe, don’t be silly.’ The lights turned green; he put his hand back on the steering wheel.

  ‘You don’t sound very convincing.’

  ‘Jesus, Zoe, what do you want me to say? I’m upset too!’

  ‘Well, why don’t you say anything, why are you just driving the car like nothing’s happened? You never talk about anything important, then you disappear back to work. It’s all right for you: you can go up there and forget about me for two weeks. I’ve been through hell, all on my own!’

  ‘You’re not on your own —’

  ‘Yes I am! You’re not here for me, who else is there?’ Zoe was sitting upright now, spitting the words at Lachlan. She knew she was hurting him, she knew she was being hysterical, but she wanted him to feel as bad as she did. A part of her wanted to push him until he stopped being so nice and admitted that he blamed her.

  ‘You have so many people who love you. Your friends, your parents, Nadia…’

  ‘She can’t understand. No one can.’ Zoe slumped back in her seat, exhausted. Tears fell down her face; she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She could see Lachlan reflected in her passenger-side window. He was staring straight ahead, but his eyes flicked towards her every few seconds.

  ‘We’ll be OK, Zoe,’ he said softly. ‘It’s not the end of the world. We’ll get through this.’

  She spoke quietly. ‘How? How can we get through this? I’ve pictured it for so long: our baby, us as a family. Haven’t you? All our friends have kids. How can I look at them without hating them for what they have? Everything has changed now, every single plan I had for us, for the future.’

  ‘We’ve still got each other, Zoe! It’s you I love. Let’s just give it some time, then see how we feel. As Dr Patel said, there are other options. There’s adoption —’

  ‘I want my own baby. Our baby.’ She turned away again. Lachlan just didn’t get it. He hadn’t felt the thrill of knowing there was a tiny life starting to grow inside him. He couldn’t understand her despair at knowing she’d never give birth, never go to mothers’ groups and swimming le
ssons and school coffee mornings. He said it wasn’t the end of the world, but he didn’t understand: it was.

  * * *

  They drove in silence for the next half hour, then turned around and drove south again. Lachlan parked the car in the street outside their house. He was silent for a moment, then he turned off the engine, sighed and opened the door gently. Zoe swallowed and climbed out too, then walked towards their home.

  She had loved this place when she’d first seen it: an old dockworker’s weatherboard cottage, the cladding whitewashed except for the chequered exposed brick around the sash windows and the dark green door. But today it looked tired, faded in the harsh midday sun. Zoe looked up at the blue sky, squinting despite her sunglasses. She longed to hear the clatter of rain on the tin roof again. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and pushed her sunglasses back up her nose.

  Leaning over the iron gate, she lifted the latch and pushed it open. Lachlan followed close behind her. The gate creaked as it swung closed, then shut with a clang. She walked up the steps to the wooden verandah and waited for Lachlan to unlock the door. When they had bought this house, she had imagined herself sitting out here, with a drink, at the white wrought-iron table on warm summer evenings, but the whining mosquitoes and the acrid stench of sheep urine from the animals packed on the ships in the harbour had driven her inside. The grevillea tree screened them a little from the people who walked along the pavement to the cappuccino strip, but it also littered the ground with old red flowers that gave her a rash when she touched them.

  Zoe swatted away a blowfly that buzzed around her face, and followed Lachlan inside. She closed the door quickly behind her and immediately switched on the air conditioning.

  As she walked along the dull, scratched jarrah floorboards of the hallway, past the two bedrooms and the tiny bathroom towards the small living room and kitchen at the back of the house, she reminded herself that they didn’t have room for a child anyway. The spare room was full of clothes, surfboards, junk that they had nowhere else to store. She put her handbag down on the beige laminate benchtop of the kitchen, a previous owner’s ugly renovation from the eighties. When she and Lachlan bought the house, they had laughed at the decor and vowed to do it up. But three years later, they had done nothing. There had always been something more important to worry about. And now she was used to it. You can get used to anything, she knew that. You habituate, no longer notice the things that were once so important.

  She collapsed into a chair at the small wooden table squeezed into the centre of the kitchen where she’d imagined making pancakes with her son or daughter one day. Despair welled up in her chest. She clutched her head in her hands.

  Lachlan put his hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Do you want some lunch?’

  ‘We just ate.’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’

  She knew that he was trying to do something, anything, to make her feel better. ‘I’d love some tea,’ she said, trying to smile at him.

  Lachlan sighed. ‘Zoe. I’m so sorry.’

  She looked down. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’

  ‘I’m sorry that I haven’t been here, that you’ve had to deal with so much of this on your own.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘I’ll look for a different job. One that’s based here.’

  ‘No. Don’t be silly. We need the money.’

  ‘We can manage.’

  Zoe shook her head. They both knew there weren’t many jobs for mining engineers in the city. Although now they wouldn’t be having a baby, now she didn’t have to give up nursing, maybe they could survive without the extra money he got from working fly in, fly out.

  Lachlan walked over to the bench and stood near the fridge, staring at the kettle as if he didn’t know what it was, his arms hanging by his side. His face was red, but as he looked down from the kettle to the floor, Zoe could see the pale skin on the back of his neck where the desert sun didn’t reach. She walked over to him, stretched her arms around him and they held each other.

  After a few moments, Zoe helped him make the tea, then they went through to the living room together and sat on the couch, staring at a chat show on the television, a story about a woman addicted to plastic surgery, who had spent thousands fixing her non-existent problems. If only it was that easy to go into hospital and come out with what you really wanted.

  Lachlan put his mug on the coffee table, then leaned back and put his feet up. Would they be doing this exact same thing, sitting here – just the two of them – with cups of tea in front of the television for the rest of their lives? Zoe picked up her own cup, walked back along the hallway to their bedroom, and closed the door.

  The bed hadn’t been made, as usual, but today she couldn’t stand it. The quilt lay in a lumpy heap at the end of the bed, and the sheet that they had slept under was tangled and knotted, probably still damp from the sweaty night. She started to straighten the sheet, then pulled it off, bundled it up and threw it into the corner of the room. Every single drawer of the chest was pulled open, like a skewed staircase. She slammed them closed.

  She sat down on the bare mattress, then, keeping her feet on the floor, lay back and covered her face with her hands. All that she could remember from her teens was being the sick girl who was treated differently by everyone. Over the years, she’d learned to live with it, but now to know that it had also taken any chance that she had of being a mother …

  Zoe sighed. What could she do, except get used to this too?

  Chapter Three

  Lou giggled as she turned back to look at the car. Her laugh seemed to echo through the quiet street; she clasped her hand over her mouth, and glanced around, but saw nothing to worry about. The engine and headlights were off, but she could just hear the muffled laughter of the others from inside. She dangled the bunch of keys in the air, and heard her friends cheer. She brought her index finger up to her lips, hunched over theatrically, then tiptoed to the front door of the surgery. Nobody would be there, she knew: it was after eleven on a Saturday night; they wouldn’t be back until Monday. And even then, she doubted anyone would notice. They never had before.

  She hesitated, holding the key millimetres from the lock, then glanced back at the car again. It belonged to Theo’s mum – he was in the driver’s seat. The passenger seat, where Lou had been sitting, was empty. For a moment she wanted to run back over and jump in, swig some red wine and have a drag of the joint to take this edge off. How many pills had they taken? She laughed at herself – was it out loud? Not enough, that was the answer. Astrid and Ben were sitting forward in the back seat, their hands waving wildly as they chattered at Theo. Lou took a deep breath, unlocked the door and walked inside.

  The alarm began to beep, quietly. She knew she had thirty seconds to switch it off before it would escalate and alert the security company. Her fingers trembled as she moved them towards the display; dexies always gave her the shakes. She wasn’t nervous, not really. She knew the code: it hadn’t changed since her mum had started working here, years ago. Lou typed it in, pressed enter, and the beeping stopped. She let out a breath, grinned, then poked her head back out of the doorway and gave her friends the thumbs-up. She heard them all cheer inside the car again; she wanted to run over and hug them all. They understood each other so well, they were like her family – no, better than her family.

  She turned back inside, stuffing her mother’s key ring into the back pocket of her skinny jeans. She wouldn’t put the light on; she knew where she was going. In the doctor’s office, dimly lit by the streetlight outside, she opened the top drawer of the desk and found the small key for the filing cabinet. It unlocked easily. She pulled open the filing cabinet drawer, screwing up her face at the grinding noise and clunk as it stopped at full extension, then paused for a moment in case anyone came running to investigate. No one did. She took another deep breath. She should have made Astrid come in with her. Her stomach knotted and her pulse quickened; she wanted to get out of
here, get back in the car with the others. She thought about her bedroom at home, her own bed, her parents asleep in the next room, thinking she was safe, at Astrid’s place. Maybe she could just go back outside and say she couldn’t find anything, that the drugs must have been used up or moved; then they could just go home and tomorrow they could go to the movies or something.

  She thought of Theo again, waiting outside in the car, waiting to spend a few more hours – the night – with her. She was just being paranoid. The drugs did that sometimes, gave her this feeling, this edginess as she started to sober up. She was here now, and she knew that soon it’d all be better. Lou reached into the open drawer and riffled through the cardboard sample boxes. She knew what she was looking for. Not the antidepressants – they’d tried those and they did nothing except make them dizzy. Here they were: the ADHD drugs. There were six boxes, each with four pills in them. She couldn’t take them all. Two boxes were enough: one for her and Theo to share; one for Ben and Astrid. Before she could change her mind she grabbed them, slammed the drawer shut and locked it again.

  Then she stopped.

  The sallow glow cast by the streetlamp outside had been replaced by red and blue lights that rotated silently around the room. Lou closed her eyes for a moment, hoping it was a hallucination, but she could still see the lights pulsing through her eyelids. She heard a car start and the screech of its tyres as it sped away, a car door opening, then closing, and footsteps clip-clopping across the car park to the front door of the building where she was now trapped. Voices yelled. The lights went on; Lou couldn’t move, but saw herself as if she was the officer about to walk through the doorway: a thin, bedraggled teenager, too much make-up, drunk, high. Stealing amphetamines. Her hands began to shake as she desperately tried to think of what she could say to get out of this. When she heard the voices at the doorway to the office – one male, one female – she knew it was all over and there was nothing she could do. She hadn’t even had the sense to drop the boxes of tablets into the bin or kick them under the desk. Lou suddenly felt very sober. Sick. She sank down to the floor and waited.