The Better Woman (11 page)

‘God our Father . . .'

She recited her bedtime prayer in a solemn whisper. Then it was time to pray for special intentions.

‘Please, God, please let Bob break up with Mum, so I never ever have to see him again, and please let her find someone else, someone
really
nice . . .'

Jodi leaned across and switched off the bedside lamp. She lay in the dark, straining her ears to listen for sounds of Bob and her mother coming in from the deck. Bob was very drunk. Earlier on, he'd accidentally knocked a photo frame from the bookshelf and the glass shattered on the tiles. Her mother had been affectionately cross as she swept up the debris.

‘Bob! You've had far too much. You'll bring the house down around us if you're not careful.'

She'd steered him back out to the deck and into a chair.

‘Sit,' she'd ordered.

He'd pulled her onto his lap. ‘I'm the luckiest man alive to have this woman as my wife,' he'd told the family, a big grin on his bulldog face.

Tears smarted in Jodi's eyes and she turned on her side in the bed.

Why did Mum marry Bob? Why did Dad leave her? She's much nicer than Grace.

Her father had married Grace no sooner than the ink was dry on his divorce papers and Jodi had a baby stepbrother now.

She slid one hand under her pillow and pressed it to her face to soak her tears. Her hand touched against something foreign beneath the pillow: paper. She sat up and turned the lamp back on.

It was a sheet from a lined copybook, like the ones she used for school. She unfolded it.

I'm so proud that you won the race. I love you, Golden Girl
.

Bob
.

1984

Jodi looked at her reflection dispassionately. She'd been kissed for the first time. Did it show? Unlike most sixteen year olds, she rarely looked in the mirror.

Who are you? Who is Jodi Tyler?

She saw a round face framed by wavy blonde hair that was parted in the middle. Her skin was tanned and clear but for the shadows under her eyes. Her recently kissed lips looked the same as ever: too full at the bottom. Her school uniform, a plain white shirt and blue checked skirt, hung loosely on her body.

Yesterday, after the sausage sizzle at the surf club, Nicholas Green had told her she was ‘cute'. Nicholas was the Under 18s runner-up. He had tousled hair and piercing eyes. His lips had tasted like sea salt when he'd kissed her.

‘Jodi, you're going to be late. What's keeping you?' her mum called from the kitchen.

Jodi was being deliberately slow. Bob hadn't backed out his
Holden Commodore yet. She'd developed some core survival techniques over the past four years of living under the same roof as her stepfather: on weekdays she didn't leave her bedroom until he had left for work; after dinner, a meal her mother insisted they have as a family, Jodi would retire to her room to study; Saturdays and Sundays were spent training and competing at the beach. Avoiding Bob had some ancillary benefits: as a result of all the training and studying, Jodi was excelling in both sport and school.

She heard the front door slam, and a few seconds later the engine of the Commodore revved up. She stood by the window and peered through the small gap between the mesh curtain and the wall. Bob was looking over his shoulder as he reversed out of the drive. Once out on the road, he changed gear and drove off. She breathed a sigh of relief.

For breakfast, Jodi ate a large bowl of cereal. She kept a daily diet sheet to ensure she ate enough calories. Sportspeople needed to eat lots to keep up their energy levels and maintain their body weight. It had to be healthy food, though. No junk.

‘What's on at school today?' her mother asked as she wiped down the counter.

‘We're getting the results of last week's maths exam,' Jodi replied with a grimace.

Her mother glanced over her shoulder with a smile. ‘I'm sure you have nothing to worry about.'

‘It was really tough this time,' said Jodi. ‘I'm not sure I got it all right – question ten was a killer.'

Her mother laughed. ‘Darl, I wish I'd had half your brains when I was at school. There you are, aiming for full marks, when I would barely scratch a pass …'

This was the best part of the day. The kitchen was dated
but homely. Jodi had her mum all to herself. They chatted and laughed together. Bob was blocked out, in another compartment, not to be worried about for another ten hours.

Shirley took a compact from her handbag and, using the mirror, applied a dash of lipstick. She liked to look her best when she was working at the deli. Lots of the customers commented on her lovely smile. Jodi thought her mum was pretty too. She couldn't comprehend why she'd settled for Bob.

‘Nearly ready to go?'

‘Yes.' Jodi scraped back her chair.

I'll never settle for less than I deserve when I get married
, she thought, picking up her satchel from the tiled floor.
Even if it is for the second time
.

Miss Butler, the maths teacher, stood at the front of the class, a pile of exam papers hugged to her ample breast.

‘Quiet!' she ordered her pupils, who were settling into their seats. ‘We have a lot to get through today. First, your results from last week …'

The class groaned and Jodi felt a twinge of worry.

‘Katrina, you passed – only just …'

Katrina Stuart, looking rather pleased that she hadn't wasted any effort, sashayed up the aisle to collect her paper. Her skirt was rolled up at the waist so that the boys could admire her shapely thighs. Everybody knew, including Miss Butler, that she was much more interested in smoking cigarettes in the toilets than in mathematics.

‘Jodi, an outstanding result, well done.'

Jodi stood up to take the outstretched test paper. She glanced at the mark on the top right hand corner: one hundred per cent.

‘Samantha, you stumbled on question ten …'

Miss Butler finished distributing the papers and then, in brisk tones, began to explain methods of integration. She hadn't quite finished by the time the bell rang for morning break. Much to the disgruntlement of her pupils, she continued on for a few extra minutes.

‘What have you got?' Samantha asked Jodi when Miss Butler finally gave them permission to leave.

‘Cheese, crackers and an apple. You?'

‘Banana bread – Mum baked it last night. I had it for breakfast too!'

Samantha didn't like sports and ate whatever she liked. Taller than Jodi, with red hair and freckles, she was starting to show the signs of her relaxed attitude to food. She and Jodi had been friends since Year Seven but their friendship was limited to school; they didn't go to each other's houses and didn't hang out at weekends. Samantha didn't know about Bob. Nobody did.

It was already oppressively hot in the school yard and most of the kids clustered under the trees to eat. Jodi's heart missed a beat when she caught sight of Nicholas Green, his friends circled around him. His blond hair glinted under a stray ray of sun that broke through the canopy of trees. Colour flooded Jodi's face as she recalled what it felt like to be kissed by him. Her lips suddenly salty, she gulped back some water from her drink bottle. The cold water regulated her blush and she risked another look his way. Her heart fell when she saw that he was talking to Katrina Stuart.

Jodi glanced at the wall clock: five minutes past six. Bob was slightly late.

Shirley wiped her brow. The dinner, roast chicken with boiled
potatoes and mashed pumpkin, was ready. The kitchen was like a sauna thanks to the hot oven. But Bob loved a roast dinner.

Shirley's work day finished at four. She'd spent two hours preparing Bob's feast, with no time for even a cup of tea. It didn't stop there: after dinner she would do all the cleaning up while Bob slouched with a beer and newspaper.

‘Cup of coffee, Bob?'

‘Need that shirt ironed for tomorrow, Bob?'

She was perpetually at his service, so eager to please that it made Jodi want to gag.

‘We're getting a real stretch from summer this year,' Shirley commented, her face flushed as she wiped her brow once again.

‘Go outside, Mum,' said Jodi, becoming the adult. ‘I'll get you a cold drink.'

Shirley took a look around the kitchen to ensure all was in order before leaving her post. Jodi poured two glasses of icy water from the pitcher in the fridge.

‘You should do salad in the summer months,' she said when she joined her mother outside.

‘Bob doesn't like salad,' Shirley replied, moving along the wooden bench so Jodi could slide in next to her. ‘He's a big man, he needs a hearty dinner.'

Silence fell and ten minutes passed. Bob was unusually late.

‘Must be bad traffic,' Shirley remarked, looking down at her watch.

Jodi allowed herself to drift into a fantasy where Bob had a fatal crash on his way home. Taking one of the bends on Spit Road, he veered into the next lane, his driving as sloppy as his personal hygiene. The oncoming bus, propelled by the steep incline, had no chance to stop and crushed the Commodore as if it was nothing more than a matchbox car. The police read Bob's
address from his driver's licence and radioed the Dee Why station to send a car around to Lewis Street. The officers, a man and woman, took off their hats respectfully when Shirley opened the door.

The sound of an engine in the driveway brought her fantasy to an abrupt end.

‘He's home.' Shirley smiled.

A few moments later Bob walked around the side of the house and up the steps to the deck. With patches of sweat on the underarms of his white shirt, a red tinge to his heavy jowls, he was horribly alive and, other than hot, well.

‘Hard at work, ladies?' he asked sardonically.

Bob worked in a government department pushing paper and sitting on his fat ass while his staff did all the work. Shirley was on her feet all day serving customers, yet Bob didn't count her job as
real
work.

‘You've caught us playing truant,' Shirley giggled, not hearing the sarcasm in his tone. She started to get up. ‘I'll get you a cold beer.'

‘No, I'll do it.' Jodi jumped to her feet, not wanting to be left alone with Bob.

The kitchen was still boiling hot. Jodi got a bottle of VB from the fridge. Unfamiliar with the bottle opener, she used too much force and the lid bounced off the counter and under the cooker. Unrecoverable.

Outside, she handed Bob his beer and addressed her mother.

‘I'll put out the dinner.'

Dusk was starting to fall and Jodi lit the citronella lamp on the table. She served the food, Bob's plate piled high. They ate mostly in silence. Conversation, when it occurred, was between Bob and her mother. Bob rarely spoke to Jodi. His means of
communication were the letters he periodically left under her pillow.

Last night's had read:
Have I told you how beautiful your legs are? So evenly tanned. So lean. I love all of you, but your legs are my favourite part.

The letters were irregular. A few months would pass without any. But Jodi could never relax. The bastard knew that.

She read them and then destroyed them, tore them into a thousand tiny pieces that could never be put back together and read by her mother.

‘Are you keeping our little secret?' he'd whisper in her ear every now and then. ‘You'd better be.'

She'd nod, feeling more like his accomplice than his victim.

Because of the reference in last night's letter to her legs, Jodi had slipped on some track pants after school. The heavy cotton clung to her thighs in the sticky heat. She kept her eyes down as she ate, away from Bob's face. But his hands were in her direct line of vision. Those hands, with their fat, bulbous knuckles, commanded her silence. She could see them around her neck. Around her mother's neck. Squeezing. Killing. So she kept quiet about the letters, about Bob's so-called love, about everything.

It won't always be so
, she promised herself.
One day I'll have a job where I can speak out. Where people will respect what I have to say. Where I'll be the boss, and not some fat bulldog man.

1986

‘My baby girl going to
university –
I'm so proud of you!'

Shirley had tears in her eyes. Jodi felt emotional too. Today was her first day at the University of Sydney. It hadn't been her preferred choice; she had wanted to go to the Australian National University.

‘Why go all the way to Canberra?' Shirley had protested.

‘ANU is the best.'

‘Nonsense – you can get just as good a degree here, and I wouldn't have to pay your rent.'

‘I can get a part-time job.'

‘It doesn't matter, you're still throwing good money away.'

‘It's what I want to do.'

‘Until you're eighteen, you'll do what
I
want you to do.' Then, seeing that her daughter was on the verge of tears, Shirley softened her tone. ‘Bob says that there's alcohol – and drugs – and
all sorts of things
available at universities these days. We want to
protect you from that. Give you some more time to be mature enough to say no if you're offered anything.'

So Bob was behind this, pulling strings, making sure she could never get away from him. Jodi had no choice but to play along and pretend she was reconciled to living at home. But in her head she was counting every day to her eighteenth birthday, when Shirley would hopefully give both her approval and some financial assistance towards the rent.

‘Wish me luck,' she said to her mother.

Shirley kissed her cheek. ‘You got the best HSC in your school, you're too smart to need luck.'

Jodi heard a door open and another slam shut. Bob was up and had gone into the bathroom.

‘See you, Mum.' She rushed out the door. Now that she was the first to leave the house in the mornings, she would have to finetune her timing so she wouldn't cross paths with Bob. She couldn't cope with seeing him, especially not after last night's letter.