In the rear-vision mirror past Jack's head Harley could see the guy in the Mercedes gesticulating wildly as Harley parked his battered red Mazda in the spot Mr Nasty obviously reckoned was his.
It was going to be one of those days. What was he thinking - it already was one of those days.
*
He had woken from a nightmare in which a gigantic beast had pursued him to the edge of a cliff and over, which was when he woke, bathed in sweat, remembering, One: that he was out of a job; Two - that the mortgage was due; Three - that he didn't have the money to pay it and; Four - because of all the above, life was not looking too bright at the moment.
Anne was awake beside him. He knew she was awake because she wasn't moving. In fact she was barely breathing, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. Fear struck him.
“What's up?”
He knew he shouldn't ask only he needed some contact with the world after his nightmare. She shifted impatiently.
“Nothing,” she said.
“That means something.”
“I said nothing.” There was a pause. “Nothing a bit of surgery wouldn't fix.”
He propped himself on his elbow, looking down at his wife - the green eyes, wide mouth, blonde hair spread over the pillow, one bare arm holding the sheet over her breasts.
“Surgery!”
His wife sighed.
“It's just a metaphor. But something needs cutting out, yes.”
“I'm not following you.”
“I want a divorce.”
The kids chose that moment to start fighting, Jack's screams and Melissa's shouts echoing down the hall to Harley and Anne's room like sounds from Dante's Inferno.
Harley leapt up, scratching his head with one hand and holding up his pants with the other, thinking: She's joking, she's got to be, you don't just -
“Daddy! Jack's biting me! Jack, stop biting people!”
“Gimme, Lissa, gimme! Daddy!”
He found them half-on, half-off Melissa's bed in a life and death struggle over a bear, his daughter holding it just out of reach of her brother while Jack clutched for his sister's throat.
“Come on you two!” He managed to separate them. Jack's face was tear-stained and a bruise marked his left cheek while Melissa had a scratch down the side of her face in which blood was beginning to appear. “Melissa, give me the bear!”
Somehow they had guessed something was up, or were just nasty little kids, or this was merely healthy sibling rivalry. Melissa handed over the bear and burst into tears.
Jack said: “Melissa hurt Bear.”
“I hate you, Jack!”
“Pooh to you!”
Holding them apart, Harley went to the kitchen. After a cup of tea Anne might change her mind. He found Weet-Bix for the kids and put on the electric kettle, struggling to see the situation clearly.
Was it because of money? Or because they didn't make love any more. He took the tea in to her. The bed was empty and he could hear the shower running. He sighed, arriving back in the kitchen in time to see Melissa throw her plate at Jack and the boy duck, his arm looping around the cord of the kettle, the spout just above his head.
“Jack!”
Harley threw himself forward, reaching for the kettle, missing as its steaming contents splashed out. Jack screamed, clutching his eyes. Harley pushed the kettle back on the bench and grabbed his son.
“Mate! Are you all right?”
He pulled the boy's hands away from his face. Melissa had set up a steady scream. Jack's left eye was bloodshot, the skin around it a livid red. Harley looked up - Anne was at the door, hair dripping, clutching her bathrobe around her.
“What the hell happened?”
Harley told her. She shook her head.
“I leave you alone for a second!” she said. “Now Jack, let Mummy see bad eye.”
They took Jack to Emergency. It was full of people on crutches and drugs but the triage gave Jack priority. The doctor examined the eye then the bruise Melissa had inflicted. She carefully checked the rest of his body and found two more boy bruises, one on his leg, another on his arm. She glanced at Melissa's face on which the scratch stood red raw.
“What caused these injuries?”
Harley hesitated, trying to remember.
Anne said: “He ran into a door.”
“And the eye?”
“It was a fight they had. Melissa - ”
Melissa burst into tears.
“I didn't touch him! It was Daddy!”
“What about your daughter's face.”
As they left the doctor said she would have to submit a report to Child Welfare.
Outside, Harley said: “Thank you, Melissa.”
“Oh, so you're blaming her now?”
“I was being ironic.”
“It doesn't help.”
“Nor does your lack of support.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“The doctor thought I'd bashed Jack.”
“Your irresponsibility with the kettle amounts to the same thing. And by the way, how did he come by those bruises?”
“What are you suggesting?”
She fell silent, just as the kids in the back of the Mazda were silent, in awe at their parents arguing. Harley felt a lump grow in his throat and his chest tighten.
“We'll talk about it later,” he said.
“There's nothing to talk about.”
While he was settling the children, Anne's mobile rang. He heard her answer it.
“Yes, I've told him, sort of.”
Told who what?
“Do you like this show?”
The children nodded. They were sitting close together on the couch sharing their favourite chippies from a plate, eyes glued to the screen. Harley wondered if the television would be the first or last to go when their furniture was repossessed.
Anne appeared.
“I've got to go out,” she said. “Why don't you take the kids somewhere?”
*
The car parked behind suddenly, miraculously, departed, and Harley watched as the Mercedes replaced it. As he got the children ready he saw Mr Nasty climb out, a man in his thirties, Harley's age.
Putting the kiddy-chair on his back he became aware of a large dog which accompanied the man. The man was holding a leash but it wasn't attached to the dog. Harley kept the kids close by. You never knew with dogs.
Finally he had Jack in the seat on his back, the car locked and Melissa's hand gripped tightly in his. As he turned he saw the dog cock its leg on the sign between the two cars.
Melissa clung close to him even though they were already some distance away, Mr Nasty heading down to the beach, the dog bounding ahead.
Harley followed, making his way carefully down the steps, watching his footing.
“Look at the fiddly-sticks!”
“That's part of the exhibition.”
“What's an exhibition?”
Harley explained that artists had made things they thought were interesting and set them up by the sea.
“Why?”
“So people like us can see them.”
“Why?”
“Because they think they're interesting.”
“You said that before.”
“Said what before?”
“That they're interesting.”
Harley's heart wasn't in it. Since Anne had told him the marriage was over his heart never be be in anything again.
“Daddy?”
“What?”
“What's that?”
Harley looked. Melissa was pointing at a work of art that looked like a power pole. The dog was busy urinating on it while its owner was arguing with a man in a hat.
As Harley watched, the man in the hat pointed to the path. Mr Nasty shrugged and bent to his dog. When he straightened the dog was on its leash. They left the beach and Harley felt an intense satisfaction over the tableau. Then he collected Melissa and headed back up the cliff after them.
Near a sculpture called The Dying Man, Harley started to feel extremely weary. The nightmare had exhausted him, Anne's news had given him a headache, and the kids had done the rest. Melissa was pulling at his arm.
“I want to ride like Jack! It's my turn! It's my turn!”
“No,” said Jack, digging dug his heels into his father. “It's mine.”
Ahead, Harley could see Mr Nasty. The dog was off its leash again.
“Da-ddee!”
Harley shook Melissa's hand angrily.
“Will you shut up!”
He looked back to where the man had been but he was out of sight. Melissa, shocked by her father's shouting, had started crying. Harley, shocked at himself, tried to distract her.
“Look at the giant ant! Look at the giant ant eating the car! I bet there's someone in it!”
He felt Jack trying to stand, eager to see. But Melissa was older and wasn't falling for an old trick like that.
“Not walking up the hill,” she said.
Harley bent and none too gently lifted her under his arm. Then he thrust his way up the hill. The dog appeared.
Tense and angry, Harley looked around for its owner, locating him at last near the cast-iron kangaroo.
“Hey you!” he shouted. “Control your bloody dog!”
“What's wrong, mate? Not getting any?”
At first Harley didn't understand what the man had said. When he did, he felt the blood rush to his face and his hands tremble.
“Can't you see my daughter's afraid?”
His voice shook. The man laughed. The dog stayed where it was, wagging its tail. Harley looked around for someone in authority, like the man in the hat who had ordered the dog off the beach, but they were never around when you wanted them. Instead he saw a heavy stick on the ground and bent to pick it up.
Harley swung the stick at random, smiling to himself. The man started running down the hill towards them. Harley turned to Melissa.
“Would you like an ice-cream, darling?”
The stick was wrenched from his grasp. He heard a crack and the stick fell in halves at his feet. Anger surged in him. He picked up one of the halves.
“Yes please Daddy!”
“Yes what?”
“I want an ice-cream, like you said.”
“Me too! Me too!”
“Just wait!” Harley was almost shouting. “Can't you just wait?”
Melissa screamed. Harley looked down. The dog was very close, wagging its tail and slobbering. Harley kicked out, missed, then in reflex brought the knob of wood down hard on the animal's head. The dog sank to the ground and lay motionless. Melissa screamed.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
“You bastard!”
Harley swung around. He felt Melissa gripping one leg. Before him stood Mr Nasty clutching a piece of sculpture, a length of metal, high over his head like an axeman.
“You're crazy,” Harley began. “I've got a kid on my back.”
The man brought the piece of sculpture down hard. Harley ducked but the metal caught his left shoulder and he felt a searing pain shoot through his shoulder and his arm fell limp. The man dropped the lump of steel and ran to his dog. Melissa and Jack were both screaming.
Harley grabbed Melissa with his good hand and backed away. A crowd was gathering around the dog.
“I want an ice-cream!”
“I want one, too!”
“Shut up!” Harley muttered.
Then he started running, Jack bobbing in his chair, Melissa's hand gripped in his good one. He heard shouts. He increased his pace.
The path suddenly veered close to the edge of the cliff. Jack lurched in the opposite direction swinging Harley with him. Harley's feet skidded on loose gravel. He tried to straighten but with Jack on his back and Melissa pulling the other way, and one shoulder useless, he lost his balance, watching in wonder as the sculpture of an unbalanced man rose up the cliff towards them, a fixed smile on its face and its hand outstretched in greeting.
*
The man in the hat checked the sign in front of the Mercedes that said NO STANDING, still stained at its base with dog pee, wrote out a ticket for the parking infringement and tucked it under the windscreen wiper of the battered red Mazda.
That, he said to himself, will ruin someone's day.
