Page 45 of Lights, Camera, Love

A ball of tension sits heavy in my gut as Mike pulls into the Long Bay Correctional Complex visitor carpark and switches off the engine of his silver Kia.

Through the windscreen, a string of bored-looking visitors stretches from the security office, past the boom gate and around to the other end of the carpark.

‘You better get in that line,’ Mike says.

I try to breathe, but my lungs feel empty. ‘Okay. Fuck, wish me luck.’

‘Good luck. You’ve got this. Now, get going.’ He reaches across the console to take off my sunglasses.

‘Shit, thanks. Forgot about that.’ The list of rules I received specified no sunglasses, no hat, no hooded jumpers—I’m not even allowed to wear shorts, and it’s hot as hell today.

I step out of Mike’s car and run my sweaty palms down the front of my grey jeans as I find my way to the back of the visitors’ queue.

The line moves surprisingly—unnervingly—fast. When I reach the front, the security officer checks my details, then directs me to the part of the prison that houses Jace Evans.

Here, though, he’s just a number: 917883.

Once I’m past security, I’m ushered through a series of solid steel doors and into a stark room.

Round concrete tables and stools are scattered about, each piece of furniture bolted to the floor.

Most of the tables are already occupied by inmates and their visitors, while correctional officers mill about, keeping watch.

Looking for a vacant spot, I wind past the grubby kids’ play corner, where a bearded inmate with arms covered in ink sits facing the padded mat, bouncing a baby on his thigh.

The guy catches me looking and flings me a chilling glower.

Point taken: stares are not welcome here.

I lower my eyes and slip onto a cold cement stool at an empty table. My trembling fingers reach for my wrist, finding only bare skin. With the exception of wedding bands, jewellery is banned for visits, so I had to take off my leather strap this morning. I’d been hoping that Jace would see it.

A heavy door at the opposite end of the room swings open, and a young man steps through it.

My stomach drops into freefall. Jace’s jawline is peppered with a short, scruffy beard, and his hair sits up off his face in a messy tangle, just like mine but a shade lighter.

He’s wearing green sweatpants, a green T-shirt and a pair of threadbare sneakers with no socks.

His eyes land on me, and I break into a cold sweat. He drags the back of his hand across his nose, then swaggers over to me. Is he limping, or is this some kind of gang walk?

He flops onto the stool opposite mine and crosses his bulging, tattooed arms, his light-green eyes staring past my shoulder. I’m struck by how young he looks. Too young to be in here.

‘Hi,’ I manage to get out.

Without looking at me, Jace links his fingers behind his head and rocks backwards before dropping his forearms onto the table. All the while, he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. He has the same sort of manic energy as Austin. Unease claws into my stomach.

‘Thanks for … for letting me visit,’ I stumble.

He continues to stare past my shoulder, dead-eyed.

I twist around, but there’s only a wall behind me.

‘How are you?’ I say, and instantly, I want to fall through the floor. He’s in fucking jail—how do you think he is?

Thankfully, he doesn’t reply to that stupid question, but nor does he say anything else. He doesn’t even make eye contact.

‘Are you going to look at me, Jace?’ I eventually mumble, my gut tightening.

A line crosses his brow, and I expect him to finally meet my gaze, but he doesn’t. All he does is fold his arms again, push his tongue into the inside of his cheek and turn his face away.

A stifling realisation dawns on me. This is happening exactly how I feared it would.

Jace doesn’t want to talk to me.

‘Hey, listen,’ I say weakly, sitting forward. ‘You know, I wanted to come and visit you sooner. A lot sooner. But—’

A ‘pfshh’ sound escapes his lips. He shakes his head and blinks down. At least I’m getting some kind of reaction now.

‘I’m really glad I’m here now, though,’ I continue, the thickening feeling in my throat making every word a struggle. ‘It’s so good to see you, man—’

He lurches to his feet, his dirty sneakers squeaking against the floor. ‘You know what? Forget it, bruh,’ he says, speaking in a deep voice that resembles mine. ‘This was a waste of fucking time.’

‘No, don’t do this,’ I plead as he turns to go, horror crashing into my stomach. ‘Just please—sit down.’

He spins back around and glares at me, his brows jammed together. ‘You fucking telling me what to do?’ His tone brings a few head-turns from the correctional officers.

‘Jace, please,’ I choke out.

‘You think you can come in here after all this time and fucking order me around? Who the fuck are you?’

‘No, not at all. I’m not trying to do anything like that.’

In a lightning-fast move, he grips the edge of the concrete table and lowers his face down to stare right into my eyes. ‘You come back in here again, and I’ll drop you, dickhead.’

My lips pop open as he draws back and then huffs off towards the door he came in through.

‘Jace,’ I croak, jumping up to follow him.

He nods to one of the guards beside the door, who pushes a button.

‘ Jace! ’ I repeat as the heavy door swings open.

I dart towards it, but the officer thrusts his hand out to stop me. Jace passes through the door without a backwards glance. It locks shut with a jarring clang.

That’s it?

I stare at the guard, open-mouthed, hoping he’ll say something like, Just wait here—he’s probably going to the bathroom. Instead, he tells me the visit is over and escorts me back out the way I came.

Acid burns the back of my tongue as I retrieve my stuff from the locker and head outside into the blinding sunlight. I’m still dumbstruck after pacing back down the hill, past the boom gate and over to Mike’s car. When I open the door, he turns down the radio and gives me a wide-eyed look.

‘What happened? You’re back so fast.’

‘Can we get out of here?’ I mutter.

‘Sure, but are you—’

‘Mike, can you please drive me the fuck out of here?’

With his lips pursed, he presses the ignition key. ‘Come on.’

I click on my seatbelt as he reverses out of the parking spot and turns onto the main road.

‘You want to talk about it?’ he asks.

I don’t say anything, I just rest my temple against the passenger window.

He tries again. ‘Did you see him at all, or did he not come out?’

‘I saw him.’ I squirm in my seat and tap the air-con button a few times to turn it up. ‘He came out, he hardly looked at me, and when I started talking, he told me not to waste my time and that if I came back, he’d deck me. He also called me a dickhead.’

‘Oh, Kye,’ Mike says. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I feel him glancing over as I stare out at the saplings they’ve planted along this new section of highway.

‘Difficult relationships between siblings can be especially emotional, but they can be repaired,’ he tries.

‘Okay? I’ve seen it. Many, many times. Today was a start, and that’s what matters.

Jace agreed to the visit, which shows you that he wants to reconnect.

Perhaps when he saw you, he found it more difficult than he expected. ’

I don’t have an answer for any of that because other people’s stories aren’t my story. And Jace’s instant, visceral reaction to me made it pretty clear how he feels. I’m too late. I blew it, and he hates me.

Shame clamps around my neck as I accept that today was a monumental mistake. Before I came to visit Jace, I pictured him as a younger, tougher version of me—hardly a walking smile, as Evie’s nickname for me can attest, but somewhat of a functioning person.

I didn’t imagine him looking like he runs a prison gang—looking like he’d happily use one of those concrete stools to smash my face in given the chance, without so much as raising his pulse. A tear wobbles in the corner of my eye, but I manage to blink it back.

Today wasn’t a start, it was a fucking end.

As I stare out the window, all I feel like doing is telling Mike to keep driving … away from Jace and the prison, away from Austin, as far from the shitshow that is my life as we can get. Right now, everything around me feels so toxic.

An idea slices through the noise in my head. Maybe there is one way to break free of all this and make the escape I’ve been silently yearning for. A chance to begin again.

‘Hey, Mike, you know that job you mentioned at Angel Care?’ I mumble. ‘The one in Melbourne? Have you found someone for it?’

He shoots me a sympathetic glance. ‘Not yet. It’s taken longer than we thought to find the right candidate.

That said, it should be filled soon—we’ve shortlisted some strong applicants.

But I still think you’d be ideal for it.

In fact, I can almost guarantee that the job would be yours if you applied. ’

I ask if he could forward me the details, and a flicker of hope lights in my chest. But it’s quickly extinguished when I consider the crushing feeling of loss that would engulf me if I moved.

Evie doesn’t live in Melbourne.

‘So where to?’ Mike asks, interrupting my thoughts. We’re closing in on the turnoff to the coastline. ‘Back to Bondi like you planned? Or no?’

‘Yeah, just head there for now. Thanks.’

Of course, I don’t share with Mike the hankering need I feel to see Evie: to cradle her against my chest. Seeing her the other night—making love to her, sleeping beside her—made me feel like I have too many emotions trapped inside my body, choking me from the inside out.