‘What, because of some silly rumours, and all because he keeps to himself?’
‘No, not rumours, Laura – facts. He trained as a teacher – years ago. So why isn’t he teaching now? Well, I’ll tell you why – because they threw him out. Didn’t last one year. And now his sister hides him away from the world. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together, does it?’
‘We’ve all heard stories, but how do you know for certain that there’s any truth to them? People love to gossip and think the worst of others.’ Laura stopped quickly, embarrassed at her lack of tact.
Mrs Mossop paused before speaking, but when she began there was a cold edge to her voice. ‘And some people are afraid of the truth and hide from reality. I’m telling you this for your own good, and for Joseph’s. From what I’ve found out, from people who should know – people I trust – Tom Leyton’s teaching career lasted only a few months. Officially he resigned, but it was common knowledge that he was given no choice.’
‘But does it prove anything, really?’ Laura asked, with wavering conviction.
‘It proves that things are often swept under the carpet. It proves that no right-minded parent should let that man anywhere near their child, much less be alone with him.’
‘But Caroline said she would always be there with them.’
It was the second time Joseph had heard that claim and it was even less reassuring this time around.
‘Can you trust her to watch him all the time? He’s her brother. She loves him. She wants to believe he’s changed. But people don’t change – not that kind. They wait till someone drops their guard and then they crawl out of the dirt and strike.’
Joseph knew what his mother was going through. The last thing she wanted to do was to agree with the narrow-minded views of Mrs Mossop. But on the other hand, part of her was afraid that the truth might on this occasion be as ugly as Mrs Mossop had painted it. In any case it seemed he would have plenty of support for turning down Caroline Leyton’s offer.
But then Mrs Mossop said something that would cause Joseph’s life to lurch in a direction that he could never have anticipated. ‘Anyway, I don’t know why we’re arguing. There is no way that Joseph will agree. He wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone volunteer to be in the same room as Tom Leyton.’
His mother’s simple reply cut even deeper. ‘No, I suppose you’re right.’
Everyone was always saying that he was too quiet or too shy, blaming his father’s absence or his mother’s ‘mollycoddling’, whatever that meant. They were always asking if the cat had got his tongue. He hated it. It just made him feel less sure and more lost in his own silent world. And now Mrs Mossop and his mother were convinced that he was too timid, too scared – too much of a baby – to face up to Tom Leyton.
Without fully knowing what he intended to do, Joseph pushed open the door to his room and rounded the corner into the kitchen. ‘Oh hi, Mrs Mossop.’
‘Hello Joseph …’
Before she could continue, Joseph found himself saying, ‘Mum, did Caroline Leyton talk to you about the portrait I have to do for school?’
‘Yes, yes she did,’ his mother replied hesitantly. ‘She said she suggested you could paint her brother. I don’t mind telling you, it surprised me a bit.’
‘Me too.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing much … said I’d think about it.’
‘But you’re not going to do it, are you Joseph?’ Mrs Mossop burst in, unable to contain herself. ‘You couldn’t possibly be considering …’
It was only then that Joseph knew what he was going to say. He picked up an apple from the pile of groceries on the table, took a healthy bite from it and answered as casually as he could manage, ‘Probably,’ then strolled out of the kitchen and down the back steps, leaving his mother and Mrs Mossop speechless and wide-eyed with amazement.
Joseph left the house filled with a strange mix of triumph and regret. He had no real idea where he was headed, but ended up behind the timber trellis under the large mango tree at the back of the yard. He needed time to himself in order to go over what had just happened. Above him the broad welcoming branches of the mango tree caught his eye. It had been his favourite place when he was younger, but it was years since he had scrambled among those large friendly limbs and let the dark green wall of leaves encase him.
The spaces between the trellis timbers no longer provided an easy foothold and the whole structure rocked unsteadily beneath his weight, but nonetheless Joseph made his way quickly to the lower branches and pulled himself into the cool centre of the tree. Inside the dense outer shell of leaves was a surprisingly open space, crossed here and there by solid smooth-barked limbs.
Joseph made himself comfortable on a branch and leant back against the trunk of the tree. The world outside seemed no longer to exist. When he was little Joseph used to play inside the mango tree, imagining that he was Tarzan in his jungle hideaway. At other times he was a pirate in the rigging of a sailing ship and would climb to the uppermost branches and poke his head through the canopy, pretending he was in the crow’s nest.
High above, the patchy ceiling of leaves arched like a cathedral. Joseph pulled himself to his feet and made his way up the thick central bough of the tree. Climbing, as always, was easy because there were plenty of sturdy branches for hands and feet. As he neared the top of the tree, however, the branches tapered and he tested out a few footholds before finally committing his full weight to one and pulling himself up until he broke through the thin fringe of leaves into the sunlight.
Looking straight ahead he saw his house and through the side window above the stove in the kitchen he could just make out Mrs Mossop sitting at the table, talking as always. Joseph smiled when he remembered the look on her face when he announced that he would draw Tom Leyton. He couldn’t have got a better reaction if he had made his head spin around.
Beyond the roofline of the house the neighbourhood stretched away to the rough semi-circle of low grey-green hills that cradled the suburb like a protective arm. Everything looked familiar and safe. But when Joseph swivelled further around to his left and glimpsed Leytons’ house over the roof of their garage, that feeling drained away. Suddenly the world seemed close and threatening. Why did he say he would draw Tom Leyton? Couldn’t he just change his mind? Isn’t that what Mrs Mossop would expect?
Some slight movement drew Joseph’s attention back to Leytons’ house. The back door was open and Caroline Leyton was a little way down the corridor, near the entrance to a room. She spoke briefly to someone inside, then turned and disappeared into the shadows. A moment later a tall figure left the room and loitered in the corridor. Joseph watched as Tom Leyton moved a step or two closer to the back door before stopping just inside. In one hand he held a mug from which he took small sips from time to time as he looked over the backyard.
It was impossible to make out too much detail from that distance but, besides the length of his hair, Joseph was surprised by how ordinary Tom Leyton looked. He began to think that perhaps all his worries had been groundless, that drawing Tom Leyton might not be such a bad thing after all. He felt a sense of relief and strained to inch himself higher for a clearer view.
The crack of the branch and the sudden drop that followed hit Joseph’s heart like a jolt of electricity. As he slid, his ankle and calf raked against the jagged limb and his knee butted hard against the trunk of the tree. Luckily for Joseph, both his hands closed automatically like a vice around secure branches and held firm.
He was still shaking as he lowered himself on to a wide bough. His ankle and calf were streaked with angry, red scratches and a thin, watery line of blood had begun to trail down his leg. As Joseph watched, a single droplet rolled off his heel and fell silently to the dead leaves on the ground below.
All around him the mango tree towered in mocking silence.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following Saturday Joseph found himself walking slowly across L
eytons’ big backyard towards their old timber house. Images of the previous week flickered in his mind like a badly edited video clip. Mrs Mossop’s disapproving frown, his mother’s scarcely hidden fear, and Caroline’s grateful smile all jostled for position, along with his own growing dread.
All week at school he had thought about this day and this moment. It wouldn’t leave him alone but lingered like a taunting bully, unavoidable and frightening, casting its shadow everywhere he went and on everything he did. It seemed his entire life was on hold. Nothing would begin again until this meeting was over. Then he could walk down those back steps and across this same lawn and enter once more the security of his own yard. Yet it seemed almost impossible and unreal that it could soon be behind him, that it could fall into the past and never touch him again.
How many times over the last week had he imagined that walk away from the Leytons’ house? How light he would feel, how he would have to strain to keep himself from running and laughing. Joseph longed for that moment. But always, as now, he would crash from his flight of fancy to the hard, dull reality that faced him. It was still there. It still had to be done, and even though he reasoned that in an hour or so it would be over, he could find no comfort in the thought.
The real question was, why was he here at all – the last place he wanted to be? He liked Caroline, but even making her happy was not enough to convince him to agree to this – and as for his mother, she would have been glad if he had said no. Yet here he was like a convicted man heading towards the gallows with no one to blame but himself.
‘He wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’ Mrs Mossop’s words were a bitter memory that Joseph couldn’t erase. He wanted to throw them back at her, back at everyone – and even though he knew he was probably being childish, coming face to face with Tom Leyton seemed the only way to do it.
When he reached the Leytons’ back steps Joseph hesitated a moment before climbing to the small landing and twisting the dull bronze bell key. A flat jangling ring was ground out inside. He waited, shuffling his drawing pad and pencils nervously from hand to hand.
The door opened and Caroline greeted him with a beaming smile. ‘Joseph. There you are – right on time! Come on in. Got all your equipment, everything you need? Ready for the masterpiece?’
Joseph smiled and nodded, but he could tell that Caroline was nervous and trying too hard to appear relaxed.
‘Come through and we’ll get you organised.’
They moved down a small corridor past a kitchen on the left, through an archway, and into the lounge room. As they did so, Joseph was aware of the closed door that they had passed on the right. He knew that this was Tom Leyton’s room.
‘Would you like something to eat? Or a glass of juice perhaps?’
‘No thanks, I’m fine.’
‘No? Sure I can’t get you something? Well, have a seat and we’ll get the show on the road, eh?’
Caroline’s fixed smile was almost a grimace and her movements a little too quick and edgy. She seemed worried that Joseph would take flight if she didn’t hurry. As she turned to leave the room, Joseph thought he saw her forehead creasing into a frown. He watched as she moved down the corridor. She hesitated slightly as she passed the door to her brother’s room then headed, he assumed, for the kitchen.
Joseph sank awkwardly into the bulky cushions of the old lounge and the springs let out a muffled twang. He moved to the hard edge of the seat and placed his drawing gear on the coffee table. He could hear movement in the kitchen. When Caroline returned she placed a glass of juice and a plate with cream biscuits in front of him saying, ‘Now I know you said you didn’t want anything, so leave it if you’re not hungry, but it’s there just in case. OK?’
Joseph mumbled ‘Thanks,’ and, glad for something to do, picked up a biscuit and took a sip from the glass.
‘Good. Right, won’t be long,’ Caroline said, but stood there, looking at Joseph as if unsure what to do next. Then for the second time she left the room.
By leaning back slightly in his seat Joseph could see down the corridor to Tom Leyton’s room. Caroline was now standing in front of the closed door; her head was tilted forward, nearly touching the frame. She seemed to be listening. She had her back to him and Joseph felt a twinge of guilt for spying on her. Caroline lifted her right hand and knocked softly. Almost simultaneously she eased the door open and slid into the room, closing the door behind her.
Sounds of voices came from the room but Joseph could not make out any words. An extended pause followed and all his attention was drawn to the tarnished brass door knob on the door to Tom Leyton’s room. Without knowing, Joseph squeezed his glass tighter and waited. Then the voices started up again, although this time a little louder.
Joseph caught snatches of Caroline’s words. ‘Here now … Can’t you just … for me …?’ The other voice was deeper and less distinct. He felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Something was wrong. There was too much talking. The deep voice rumbled once more from behind the closed door. It was cold and abrupt. An uneasy thought crept into Joseph’s mind. He wondered if there was someone else who didn’t want this meeting to take place: someone who, like himself, wished it would all just go away. All week he had agonised over what he, his mother, Caroline and Mrs Mossop thought about him drawing Tom Leyton, but he had never considered Tom Leyton himself. What did he think about it?
Joseph was pondering this question when he became aware that the voices in the other room had fallen silent. For a second the notion of running away scuttled through Joseph’s brain, but he dismissed it as childish and ridiculous. It was too late anyway. Down the corridor, the old brass door knob rattled and squeaked, then slowly began to turn.
Joseph sat motionless as the door edged half open then stopped. Caroline entered the hallway and paused to glance briefly back into the room. She pushed some hair behind her ear, lowered her eyes and drew in a deep breath before slowly closing the door. Blotches of colour darkened her cheeks.
When she returned to the lounge room and stood beside Joseph she looked tired and defeated, like a boxer who had been knocked down once too often and now wondered whether it was worth the effort to keep standing. ‘Joseph, look … I’m sorry.’ She slumped a little and rubbed her fingertips against her forehead as if saying those words had taken what little strength was left within her. When she continued, her head shook slightly in exasperation. ‘You’ve brought all your equipment and now …’ She hesitated once more and then her words tumbled out like spilled groceries. ‘It’s just that my brother isn’t quite up to it today. A bit off-colour. It might be better if we leave it. Perhaps you should find someone else for the portrait. I’m so sorry. We’ve wasted your time, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’
At any other time these words would have almost caused Joseph to leap for joy. But at that moment they were merely background noise, for every nerve of Joseph’s being was locked on to the tall, silent figure that had followed Caroline like a hesitant shadow into the room and now stood framed beneath the archway.
Caroline was about to continue with her apology when she looked up and saw that the boy in front of her was gazing somewhere past her left shoulder. She turned quickly and looked steadily at her brother’s face, speaking calmly and evenly as if she were dealing with an unpredictable animal.
‘Joseph. This is my brother Tom.’
Her voice had an eerie singsong quality to it like that of a kindergarten teacher. She waited a moment as if to let her words sink in before continuing.
‘Tom. This is Joseph Davidson from next door.’
Joseph smiled weakly and attempted to say hello, but it came out more like a croaking sound than a recognisable word. Tom Leyton remained motionless. Only his eyes shifted towards Joseph, hesitated a moment and then quickly fell away.
It would always be those eyes that Joseph recalled most vividly whenever he reflected on that first face-to-face meeting – not because they sparkled with life or because of the intensity of their colour
but rather because of the absence of either. If he were someone who noticed such things, Joseph would have seen that Tom Leyton’s eyes were dark green with deep flecks of gold within them, but they appeared to him only as the ghostly remains of a fire that had been swallowed by the night and gone cold.
Stifled by the awkward tension in the room, Joseph gained only a vague and fleeting impression of Tom Leyton – loose dark clothing, large hands and solid forearms and a reddish face framed by sandy hair and beard.
Finally, when the heavy silence had hung long enough for her to realise that her brother was not going to speak, Caroline burst into life as if someone had released the pause button on the scene. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll want to get started. No sense in standing around wasting time. Right? I thought this would be a good room to work in. I hope the light’s all right. What do you think, Joseph? Tell me if it’s not. After all, you’re the artist.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Joseph managed to mumble.
‘Are you all right where you are then? Sure? What if Tom sits here? Would that be OK?’
Joseph nodded in agreement and Caroline indicated the lounge chair across from him by patting the armrest.
‘Tom? Would you like to sit down?’
A hint of tension sounded in Caroline’s voice. Tom Leyton stood frozen like someone caught in a time delay on a satellite interview. For a terrible moment Joseph thought that he was not going to respond at all, but then his eyes flicked up at his sister and he lowered himself into the chair.
‘Well, I’ll let you two get on with it. I’ve got my ironing to do, but if you need anything just let me know, otherwise I’ll try not to disturb you too much.’
Caroline moved to the ironing board that was set up in the small adjoining dining room and began to pick through the pile of clothes that spilled over the table. She busied herself with her chore but threw hurried glances into the lounge room whenever possible.