The Better Woman (14 page)

‘Arghhhh! You bitch!'

Warm liquid spurted her face and hair: blood. She screamed and tried to wipe it away.

‘You
fucking bitch.
'

He let go of her and she stumbled backwards. In the shadows she saw him pull the knife from his neck. For a moment she thought he was going to come after her with it. But he fell to his knees and it clattered to the floor.

The room was suddenly lit up. Shirley, her face shocked and grey, surveyed the scene before her: her daughter, wearing a cloak of blood; her husband, bent over on his knees, his mouth gurgling.

‘Jesus Christ!' Her voice was so weak it could hardly be heard over Bob's gurgling. ‘What have you done, Jodi?'

‘I'm sorry, Mum . . . I'm sorry . . .'

Bob fell forward, his head hitting the floor with a thud.

Shirley's knees buckled. She held on tightly to the doorframe, the only thing keeping her upright.

‘He's dying,' she whispered. ‘You've killed him.'

Her words jolted Jodi into action.

‘Mum, hold him while I get something to stop the bleeding!'

Shirley came forward in a trance. She knelt down beside her second husband, the one with whom she'd thought she'd struck gold.

Jodi knotted two tea towels together and knelt alongside her mother.

‘Let's roll him over . . .'

His body was a dead weight as the life drained out of him. He landed on his back, his eyes glassy.

‘Now lift his head so I can tie this around the wound . . .'

Shirley wordlessly did as her daughter instructed.

‘You stay with him.' Jodi got to her feet. ‘I'll call an ambulance . . .'

She went out to the hall to make the phone call. She kept it short: her stepfather was dying; they needed to come quickly.
She called Grandma and told her she needed to come too. Then she broke down, loud gasping cries racking her body, streams of tears diluting Bob's blood, still on her face.

He was dead by the time she came back into the kitchen.

‘I'm sorry, Mum . . .'

Shirley didn't respond. Tears slithered down her face as she held him.

‘Mum . . .'

Jodi held her mother's shoulders and looked into her vacant eyes.

‘I'm sorry, Mum . . . he was going to rape me . . .'

Shirley looked right through her.

The police arrived. Two cars, sirens flashing silently, parked outside the house. Blue-shirted officers swarmed the small kitchen.

Shirley stood shivering in her frayed baby-blue nightgown.

‘I think we'll send your mum into hospital with the paramedics,' said the sergeant in charge. ‘She needs to be treated for shock.'

He sounded so matter-of-fact, as if it was all normal. Then again, he had probably seen plenty of dead bodies and shocked people in his time.

Grandma arrived, her face drawn and her hand quivering on her stick. There was no sign of Auntie Marlene; Grandma must have paid for a taxi.

She blessed herself at the sight of Bob's body. Then she hobbled in the direction of Jodi and the sergeant.

‘Don't say anything to him,' she commanded, lifting her stick off the ground to point at the policeman. ‘Don't say a
word
until I get you a lawyer.'

‘Do you know someone?' the sergeant asked.

‘No,' Grandma snapped. ‘But I'll ring around. And I'll get the best there is!'

She spoke with a lot of authority for a woman who knew precious little about criminal lawyers.

‘We need to take your granddaughter to the station. Can you bring along a change of clothes for her?'

‘I'll see to Shirley first.' Grandma began to step away but she turned back with one last warning. ‘Remember, Jodi, keep your mouth shut.'

At the station, Jodi was vaguely aware of being fingerprinted and photographed. They took her bloodstained pyjamas and sealed them in a plastic bag. She showered Bob's blood from her skin and hair. Someone gave her a cup of tea loaded with sugar. Then she was told that her lawyer was on the phone.

‘Jodi. I'm Prue Ledger.'

The woman had a strong, confident voice. She didn't sound at all daunted by the circumstances of her newest client.

‘Have you said anything to them?' she asked.

‘No.'

‘Good. I'll see you in court tomorrow.'

‘What for?'

‘Your grandmother has requested that I make an application for bail.'

‘Does that mean I can go home afterwards?' Jodi asked hopefully.

‘Good God, no!' the lawyer exclaimed. ‘I'm afraid no magistrate in the country would grant bail the morning after a death like this. No, tomorrow is just the local court down in Manly. A formality, really, until we get a bail hearing in the Supreme Court.'

Jodi swallowed nervously, too scared to ask how long it would
take to get to the Supreme Court and what would happen her until then.

She was taken to a cell and told to get some sleep. She lay down on the thin mattress and closed her eyes. Her mind was spinning, so much so that when she opened her eyes the room seemed to be spinning too. Eyes open or closed, she couldn't stop the rotating images. Some of them were insignificant, like her father's newly dyed hair and the smile on Samantha's face as she made her surprise appearance at the party. Others were perhaps a sign of what was to come: Bob knocking the glass; Grandma commenting that her dress ‘left little to the imagination'.

The most bittersweet was the chat with Shirley following the party. She'd finally been given her mother's blessing to leave home. Too late, though. Too late.

What if they lock me up for the rest of my life? What if I never run on the beach again, or finish my degree? What about Mum and Grandma? I can't end up in prison – my life would be as good as over.

There was nobody to hold her, to listen, to say it would be all right. She had to make do with wrapping her arms around herself and whispering her fears into the listening dark.

A police van transported Jodi to Manly Court the next morning. Initially she was taken to the cells but a short while later they moved her to an interview room. They sat her down in front of a window with toughened glass. A woman entered the room on the other side. She wore a short black skirt and fashionable high-heeled shoes. Once the woman was seated, and they were eye to eye, Jodi critically assessed the face of her lawyer.

Prue Ledger's eyes were sharp and knowing, set deep into her
angular face. Her short gelled hair had edges and angles that suited those on her face. She looked streetwise and chic all at once.

‘Did you sleep?' she asked.

‘No.'

Prue Ledger stared hard as she, in return, assessed her new client. She looked past the bleary eyes and dishevelled hair. She saw a pretty girl with golden skin and hair, a beach girl who didn't belong in this court or this terrible situation.

‘Your grandmother mentioned something about a birthday party last night,' she said in opening.

‘My eighteenth,' Jodi replied in a voice that had been cried into hoarseness.

‘She said that most of the guests left around midnight,' Prue continued. ‘What happened after that?'

‘I helped Mum clean up. Then I went to bed. I woke up about an hour later, thirsty. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I was just about to go back to bed when Bob grabbed me from behind. I didn't set out to kill him . . .'

Prue looked at her intently. ‘Did you have a sexual relationship with Bob?'

‘No!' Jodi shuddered. ‘He never touched me, other than once when I was twelve. But he used to mess with my head. He used to send me letters . . .'

‘What kind of letters?'

‘Love letters. He was in love with me, or so he said.'

‘How did he give you these letters?'

‘He left them under my pillow.'

Prue's mouth, with its plum-coloured lipstick, tightened in a sceptical line. ‘Your mother never came across them?'

‘Mum works,' Jodi told her. ‘She doesn't have time to go
around cleaning up after me. I was responsible for keeping my room tidy from a young age.'

Prue nodded and her mouth relaxed. She had teenage children and tried to run her household along the same lines.

‘Bob only left the letters once every few months,' Jodi went on. ‘So it was even more unlikely that my mother would find them. I never knew when there'd be one waiting. I was on tenterhooks all the time . . .'

‘Where are the letters? Did you keep them?'

‘I tore them up. I couldn't risk my mother finding them. He said that he'd kill us . . .' Jodi bit her lip to contain an involuntary sob. ‘But now all I have is my word – I've no letters to prove anything. I'm really in trouble, aren't I?'

‘Yes you are.' Prue's tone contained neither sympathy nor softness. She was tough and if Jodi Tyler was going to survive this ordeal, then she needed to be tough too. ‘But it's not hopeless, Jodi. I need you to stay strong.'

Through the glass she saw the young girl rally. Jodi wiped her tears away with her hands. Her shoulders squared. Her chin rose.

‘Will I need to speak at the court?' she asked.

‘No. You're not to say anything to anyone except me. Understood?'

‘Yes.'

As Prue predicted, the bail application was turned down.

‘This is a very serious and violent offence,' the magistrate declared, directing his words to Jodi. His face was grave. ‘Based on the police report and the presence of a weapon, it is a strong case for the prosecution. Bail is refused.'

Grandma and Auntie Marlene were in the courtroom, both dressed in their Sunday best.

Is Mum still at hospital? Or is it that she can't bear to look at me?

Jodi asked the question with her eyes, but Grandma and Marlene stared blankly back at her, unable to interpret.

Jodi was led out of the courtroom. At the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. Marlene was crying, Grandma comforting her.

‘I'll start work on the Supreme Court application,' said Prue when they were back in the interview room.

‘How long will it take?'

‘At least ten days.'

A silence followed, underscored by Jodi's dread and Prue's empathy.

Then Prue answered the question that Jodi was too scared to ask. ‘They'll take you to the prison in Silverwater. Initially, you'll be put in a safe cell. If you're very lucky, they'll leave you there, away from the main population, until the application is heard . . .'

Going to prison was simply unthinkable and Jodi shut off from the process as much as possible. She was given a number and a green tracksuit to wear. She half listened as a faceless woman reeled off the rules and regulations. En route to her cell, she was dimly aware of the bare floors, walls and faces. Rough voices, sounding more like those of men than women, broke through her daze.

‘Got any cigarettes, darlin'?'

‘Don't look so scared, pretty thing.'

Jodi's cell was square and painted in drab grey. Her bed constituted a mattress on a raised cement block with rounded edges. The wash basin was made of stainless steel, and the perspex door
had a surveillance camera perched overhead. Looking around, Jodi understood what Prue had meant by the term
safe cell
: it was a place where they put people who were at risk of killing themselves.

A day passed. A day where she wasn't tired enough to sleep. A day with too much time to think.

‘Can I get a book to read?' she asked the officer who delivered her meals.

‘No. Not allowed.'

‘Why?'

‘Because you might self-harm.'

‘What harm could I do with a book?'

‘You'd be surprised.'

‘What am I supposed to do in here? I'm going crazy.'

‘You can watch TV.'

The TV was outside the door and could only be watched through the perspex. The screen was fuzzy, the volume blaring, the channel unalterable.

Prue was her one and only visitor. She stalked into the interview room in a short skirt, a folder tucked under her arm. In her abrupt manner, she asked how Jodi had slept. She made a brief complaint about having been kept waiting at security. Then she talked about the bail application.

‘Your grandmother has put her house up as security. I received the deeds yesterday and filed them with the court.'

Tears pricked Jodi's eyes at the mention of her grandmother. She longed to be with her family, to feel their touch, to hear their voices, to witness their everyday habits, like her mother putting on her lipstick and Grandma shuffling after her walking stick.

‘Will Mum be at the hearing?'

‘I don't think so,' Prue replied. ‘She's not doing too well, your mother. She's still very shocked.'

‘Does she hate me?'

‘I don't know how she feels.' Prue was blunt as ever. ‘It's you I'm concerned with, not her.'

Jodi would have understood if her mother hated her. She'd killed her husband.
Killed him!
It was there in her head, too terrible to think about, her thoughts darting around it, unable to dwell on it, unable to analyse the magnitude, the utter awfulness, of what she'd done.

Unlike the last hearing, Prue was more confident that bail would be granted this time around.

‘The judge is very understanding. The Crown, although they're opposing, are sympathetic to the fact that you're just eighteen years of age. I think we have a reasonable chance; after all, you are not likely to reoffend or flee the jurisdiction. Hopefully the hearing will be more about agreeing on the conditions than anything else.'

Jodi whiled the days away, lying on her mattress, her mind flitting from one thing to another. She changed channels in her head in a way that she couldn't with the TV: Shirley, Tony, the surf club, the classes she was missing at university, Grandma, Bob, Shirley . . .