Dirty Weekend Read Free

without experiencing real love and, with Iona, this was possible. It had taken both of us so long to find the other and I’d lived long enough to know that a woman like her was a rare gem. We were financially independent of each other and had no small children, so the usual grounds for conflict were not in place. Neither of us viewed the other as a means to an end, nor wished to derive any benefit from the other apart from mutual happiness and growth. My marriage—ill-judged and hormone-driven—had quite quickly turned into a war zone and I was determined to do things differently this time, and was very hopeful that I could.
    ‘I really will do better,’ I said, trying to lighten her mood, leaning to kiss her solemn face. ‘Charlie and Greg will be down sometime today. I promise I’ll be around for the next few days.’
    Maybe I overdid the enthusiasm a bit.
    ‘Practically a lifetime,’ she said, turning back to her books with the hint of a smile on her full lips.
    I went to kiss her properly but she fended me off with a cheek.
    ‘You’re pissed off at me,’ I said.
    ‘You can redeem yourself this time,’ she said, smiling. ‘Just remember the extra milk and bread and other basics for our visitors.’
    I promised I wouldn’t forget.
    As I left the cottage, she kissed me goodbye on the doorstep then stepped back to regard me with her sombre, smoky eyes. ‘I love you,’ she said, steadily regarding me. ‘But I can only do fifty per cent of our relationship.’
    ‘I’d better go,’ I said.

 
Two
    I was still thinking of Iona’s words as I slammed my car door shut in the area behind the Blackspot Nightclub, in an outer suburb of Canberra. Signs of the terrible bushfires of a couple of years before were still visible, but rebuilding and the growth of new vegetation had softened the scars.
    Iona was right. Not only did we need to spend more time together, but I needed to examine what it was that sabotaged the plans I made to do exactly this. I knew as few others can how easily and quickly a couple can start to grow apart, living separate lives, becoming estranged. It was partly what had happened in my marriage. The routine set in, the job, the shopping, the housekeeping, the taxi service for the kids. Too tired to make love at the end of a difficult day, physical intimacy fell away. And although my marriage had fallen apart inevitably because of the emotional immaturity of both parties, I was only too aware that my alcoholism had played a large part in its destruction. I knew how important it was for a couple to spend unhurried time together and Iona needed me to make that time for her.
    I wasn’t too sure I understood what she meant about me shutting her out. But it was true that too often lately she’d had to eat dinner alone because I’d been catching up on urgent work at Forensic Services. Or she’d have a couple of late evening music lessons to teach and would eat in town, coming back to the cottage later to find me crashed out with exhaustion. My kids, although both now studying at university, still needed the emotional support and occasional financial help of a father and I wasn’t spending as much time with them as I wanted either. I needed to make more time for my kids, time for my woman and time for myself. Even forensic analysts have souls, I’d joked to my brother, Charlie, not so long ago. And it had been too long since I’d taken out my paintbrushes and completed the watercolour of Boora Point, the sandstone headland that butted out in the ocean at Malabar. Yet no matter how much I told myself that I wanted to do these things, something always seemed to be getting in the way. A talk with Charlie might help clarify things—if I could bring myself to do it.
    I decided to give my brain a break by surveying the landscape for a while before I headed to the crime scene proper. I spent a moment taking in the place—dull, heavy skies that threatened rain, a bird of prey high above,