Still Waving (9 page)

Aunt Jean arrived home from work with a large package under her arm.

‘What's that?'

Aunt Jean looked embarrassed. ‘It's a transcript of your father's trial.'

‘What do you want that for?'

An audible sigh escaped Aunt Jean's lips. ‘There is a chance the prosecution is going to appeal the sentence to counter your father's lawyer's appeal.'

When was this nightmare going to cease? I'd had enough.

‘Why? Dad was found guilty by a jury.'

‘The prosecution thinks the sentence isn't long enough. The defence thinks it's too long.'

‘That's crazy.'

‘Both sides have to be able to prove the judge made a mistake in law.'

‘How can a judge make a mistake? They don't decide if someone's guilty. The jury does.'

‘It could be a technical thing. Possibly something the judge said to the jury in the summing-up of the case.'

‘Why doesn't everyone leave well enough alone?'

I plonked myself down at the table and put my head on my arms. I wasn't going to cry. I was too exhausted. Was I being punished for having a good day? Kate and I had explored for miles. It had been great, having someone to share the fascinating history around the rocks with. Kate shared my enthusiasm as we speculated on the past. Aunt Jean's voice invaded my peace.

‘Mr Willich, the prosecutor, wants me to read the transcript and give him my opinion.' Aunt Jean paused and looked at me to see if I was listening. ‘He's not convinced by post-traumatic stress syndrome as a defence. He places more importance on the history of domestic violence and the numerous existing police reports.'

‘I don't believe this is happening again. I thought Dad was going to be in jail till he was over seventy.'

‘Neither legal team may find grounds for an appeal. Let's not worry about what might not even happen.'

‘What does it all mean? Will I have to go to court again?' I looked at Aunt Jean imploringly. ‘I couldn't. I won't.'

A floodgate of tears opened and my nose began to run. Aunt Jean handed me a hankie. I sniffed and snorted. I didn't care what I sounded like.

‘It is all very preliminary at this stage. It's argued between lawyers and a panel of judges. I'm pretty confident there won't be a retrial. I don't believe the judge erred.'

‘Why is the law so complicated?'

‘That's a very good question but greater minds than mine haven't been able to come up with an answer.'

‘Why did you choose it as your career, it seems so stupid.'

‘It can be satisfying. I enjoy the logic in arguing a case and that I've put the words together on my client's behalf. It can be challenging.'

‘Is that statue standing outside the court blind-folded because justice is blind?'

‘No, quite the opposite. The statue originally was Themis, the mother of justice and law in Greek mythology.'

Why did I ask? I could tell Aunt Jean was just warming up.

‘Themis was said to be a Titaness, a giant who worked with Zeus,' Aunt Jean glanced at me.

‘I'm listening,' I stifled a yawn.

‘The present-day statue is said to be the goddess, Demeter.'

Aunt Jean's face lit up, like she'd struck gold and the look on her face was as if Themis and Demeter were about to knock on the front door.

‘Will I go on?' Aunt Jean enquired.

I knew the answer was yes, so I nodded.

‘The story has changed over the years and I don't think it's quite accurate any more, but many people believe that the scales Demeter carries are about equality before the law. The sword is for those who have the power to make law. The statue became blindfolded in the sixteenth century in England.'

Aunt Jean paused. I tried to look fascinated. I don't know if Aunt Jean was fooled, but she carried on regardless.

‘The statue represents that the rich and the poor are equal in front of the law.'

I laughed. ‘That's a joke.'

‘It might seem like that now, but back then, the judges were corrupt.'

‘So what's changed?'

‘Don't be naïve, Julie. Our courtrooms are vastly different from the courts of the sixteenth century.' Aunt Jean took a breath.

I thought she was finished talking. I started to get up. Aunt Jean put her hand on my shoulder and sort of held me down.

‘I haven't finished answering your question.'

It was so long ago, I'd forgotten I'd even asked a question.

‘What question?'

‘Why the statue outside the court is blindfolded!' Aunt Jean sounded exasperated.

‘Chill out Aunt Jean, don't bust a boiler.'

Aunt Jean smiled. ‘I know where you got that expression from.'

I blushed. It was one of Dad's.

‘The blindfold represents justice not seeing those who come before the court as either rich or poor but the same.'

‘Well I think it's outlived its use-by date. They should have a statue of a snail these days.'

‘I'll put your suggestion before the Law Reform Committee.'

As if!

‘Have your school results come?' Aunt Jean asked.

‘No. It won't matter, I've chosen my career. I'm going to be the world champion surfer.'

‘That's not really a career, Julie.'

‘Yes it is. The women on the circuit get paid better these days. It will be plenty for me to live and travel on. When I'm world champ, everyone will want me to advertise their gear, so I'll get heaps. I'll be richer than you, Aunt Jean.'

I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

‘Julie, what if you don't become a world champion? What if you got injured and couldn't surf anymore? You have to think of a back-up plan. I'm sure a lot of
the girls on tour would have to do something else to earn money, if they aren't the ones winning the tournaments, or getting advertising sponsorship.'

‘You don't believe I'm going to be the champion, do you?' Why didn't Aunt Jean believe in me? She knew how dedicated I was.

‘I'm not saying that, Julie. I do believe it's what you want to do and I believe with how much you love surfing, you may get there. I'm just being realistic, and I think you better start being a bit more sensible about this.'

I was boiling mad, furious. I wanted to kick the furniture, smash the windows and yell at Aunt Jean. I did none of these things because, contrary to what Aunt Jean thinks, I am sensible. Ask my friends who's the sensible one. They'll tell you. Me. I pouted and stared out the window. As far as I was concerned the conversation was over. My lips were sealed. I wasn't going to say another word for the rest of the evening. I had another year of school to go before I started worrying. Why was Aunt Jean on about it now? You're meant to forget about school in the holidays.

‘Julie.'

I didn't answer.

‘Maybe you could combine your love of photography with your surfing. If that is what you chose to do next year, you may become successful at both.'

Aunt Jean was trying to pour oil on troubled waters. Too bad, if she didn't believe me it was her loss. I hated her. I stayed silent.

‘Julie, don't ignore me. I'm sorry if I upset you. If you believe in yourself, that's great. I hope you can achieve it. All I'm saying is that you also have to be practical.'

I pretended I wasn't listening.

‘You know as well as I do, that you won't be ready to become the champion the minute school's over. It will take years of practice and working your way through the ranks. In the meantime you will have to support yourself. How are you going to do that?'

‘I don't care.' Bugger, I'd spoken.

‘Well you ought to care.' Aunt Jean sounded just like Mum. For a moment I'd caught the cadence of Mum's voice. I shivered.

‘Are you cold?' Aunt Jean asked in a concerned voice. Just like Mum's.

‘I'm going to my room.' I stood up.

‘Julie. Don't run away from this conversation. It's no good avoiding it. Are you worried about your results? Is that what the problem is?'

The problem's you! I wanted to shout.

‘I don't care.' I walked out of the lounge room. I was going to slam my bedroom door louder than I'd ever done before, but didn't. Aunt Jean would've
come to my room to tell me off. I didn't want the disbeliever anywhere near my room.

I lay on my bed for ages. Thousands of thoughts rushed about in my head. What if I wasn't good enough to be world champion? After seeing Kate surf and what Aunt Jean had said, I seriously wondered if I could achieve my dream.

After a while there was a light knock at my bedroom door.

‘Julie, I've made dinner. Do you want some?'

‘No thanks, I'm not hungry.' It was a stupid lie, I was starving.

‘Come on, Julie. It's not necessary to carry this on.'

Aunt Jean was right. I was more upset than the situation warranted because of the appeal and everything being dragged up again. It had put me in a bad mood. My stomach was rumbling. I needed to eat. I had to give in. I knew these fights went nowhere, but it didn't stop them from happening. I guess I'm too sensitive. I'll have to grow a rhinoceros skin.

‘I'll come out and eat, as long as we don't talk about my results and stuff.'

‘Fine, let's just eat in peace.'

Aunt Jean had made linguini, a salad and garlic bread. It smelt delicious. My mouth started watering. I sat down and immediately served myself a big plateful. We ate in silence. I finished and gathered up both our plates.

‘Your Uncle Wayne is coming down to see your father. He's going to try and get him to drop the appeal.'

I didn't say anything. What could I say? I just nodded to indicate I'd heard.

‘Apparently Toby wanted to stay on the farm, but Wayne wouldn't let him stay on his own.'

‘Why? Did he think he'd do something stupid?'

‘No. I think it was more to do with him being worried about Toby getting lonely.'

‘Did Uncle Wayne tell you this last night?'

‘I rang him today, to tell him what was going on after I'd spoken with Ray Willich. They're coming down tomorrow, early.'

‘Why?'

‘Wayne is going to see your father's lawyers, before he sees your father.'

‘Does Uncle Wayne think he's crazy?'

‘We've never really talked about it. The only thing Wayne has said to me was that your father changed drastically after Vietnam.'

‘Why didn't anyone ask Uncle Wayne anything in court? How come he wasn't a witness?'

‘I don't think anyone thought of it. They'd been estranged as brothers for so long, they probably thought Wayne wouldn't have anything relevant to say.'

‘You were a witness, yet you hardly ever saw Mum and Dad.'

‘Yes, but your mother used to talk with me, and write letters. I know now that she didn't really tell me much, but it was enough to be seen as relevant by the prosecution. I knew that there was violence in the relationship. Your mother had told me that much.'

My anger rose at my Mum. It was her fault we were in this situation. I wanted to scream at her for not doing anything about it. I knew it was futile. She never did listen to my anger.

I washed up the dinner dishes. Aunt Jean had put the horrible transcript away where I didn't have to be reminded of it. I knew it would be her bedtime reading and couldn't understand how she could. It'd give me nightmares. Reliving the court case was worse than hell, I thought. I wasn't going to do it. I'd run away if they tried to make me go through that again.

I went to bed feeling the unhappiest I'd felt in a long time. It took me ages to get to sleep. I was afraid of what the future was going to bring. Was the past going to resurface and scream out from the newspapers once again? I got up and stared out to sea. The fingernail moon was rising. It looked so lonely tonight. Just like me, I thought, staring at the shimmering reflection on the top of the water. I sat there chilled and not caring as I listened to the sea
crashing against the rocks. I held my breath when the sea went out and blew it out in time with the crash as the waves hit the rocks. I wished I could just lie down and go to sleep. I knew I couldn't. I'd just lay there with my eyes open.

The cold finally got to me. I'd read somewhere that warm milk helped sleep.

I heated a cup in the microwave. Why couldn't I sleep? All the walking and laughing today had tired me, yet my mind refused to stop racing. How could I get rid of these unwanted thoughts? A flash of intuition came. It was the bloody letter of Dad's preventing sleep. I should destroy it once and for all. Would I regret it, if I did? I imagined taking it to the viewing platform, above the cliffs. I'd tear it into a hundred pieces and throw it into the swirling sea.

Aunt Jean came in to the kitchen. ‘I thought I heard something, what's up?'

‘I can't sleep. It's … it's Dad's letter. You know, the one he wrote to Toby and me before the trial.'

Aunt Jean looked away. I'd discussed my quandary about the letter with her before. The night silence surrounded us. It was as if all noises had stopped. I breathed in and out deeply. I wanted to get control. Somehow I needed to break this oppressive stalking of my grey matter. I had to sort this Dad thing out. Otherwise I was at risk of spiraling down.
I was already feeling shaky about my dreams. What if Dad killed me? Not physically, but mentally. His lurking shadow darkened a corner of my brain. It was like he wanted something from me. What was it? Surely he couldn't expect me to forgive him? Did he want my love back? I was scared and thought for the millionth time, why was I born?

‘I wonder if there's new evidence in Dad's letter.'

Aunt Jean seemed taken aback. ‘Good heavens, Julie what made you think of that?'