Enza Gandolfo - The Bridge

Jo gripped the edges of the chair. She’d expected the judge to talk directly to her, to point her finger and yell out ‘lock her up’, but the judge was reading from her notes and addressing the whole court.

‘… At approximately 12.45 am you were driving along Douglas Parade towards Footscray. You were driving over 90 kilometres an hour. This was well over the speed limit. You were arguing with Ashleigh and you were distracted. Ashleigh asked you to slow down. You …’

Ash had asked her to slow down. Ash had switched the radio off. Jo had been so angry at Ash. She wanted to stop the car and hit Ash, to stop the car and throw Ash out. But she kept driving: Focus on the road. Focus on the road. She knew she wasn’t in control… lights racing across the windscreen… the steering wheel slipping out of her grasp…

Loud sobbing thrust Jo back into the room. The jolt resonated through her body as if she’d been caught in the grip of a powerful tornado and then dropped. The judge paused. Ash’s grandmother Paolina was crying. Antonello reached out to hold her hand.

Jo felt tears running down her own face. They were unexpected, and she was bewildered by them. She hadn’t heard all of what the judge said, but she was getting what she deserved, so there was nothing to cry about. She didn’t dare to lift her hands to reach for the tissues on the table next to her; she didn’t dare move. Paolina’s sobbing continued. Others were crying too.

The judge made a note in the margins of her papers before continuing. ‘As referred to earlier, your conduct had catastrophic consequences.’

The end of the statement was coming — Jo sensed it in the changing tone of the judge’s voice, the intake of breath.

‘The penalty for this crime must involve a sentence of imprisonment so as to recognise the sanctity of life and the gravity of taking a life.’

Jo closed her eyes, but that only made the crying seem louder.

‘Ms Neilson, please stand.’

Jo stood up. Her knees trembled. She gripped the rail in front of her and pushed her weight against it.

‘On the one charge of dangerous driving causing death, you will be convicted. You’re sentenced to be imprisoned for five years, with a non-parole period of three years.’ Mary stood up, but Mandy pulled her back down into her chair. ‘Do you understand, Ms Neilson?’

Jo nodded, though she knew she’d missed the details of the sentence. Five years. The sentencing came as a relief. She fell back into her chair.

The policewoman opened the dock gate and lead Jo out through the back door, while everyone else remained seated.

‘Will they take me away now?’ Jo asked.

The policewoman shook her head. ‘You’ll be here for a while. Give your family a chance to say goodbye.’

Please, Jo thought, take me now.

Mandy and Mary were weeping when they came into the room, led by Sarah. Mary didn’t make any effort to stop; she hugged Jo close to her and sobbed. Mandy drew in her breath, wiped away her tears. ‘I’ll come and see you as often as they let me,’ she said.

Jo nodded. When Mary let her go, Mandy gave her a hug. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

Maybe it’s better, Jo wanted to say, if you don’t visit at all. But that seemed cruel.

‘Five years,’ Jo said. ‘A lot can change in that time.’

‘Less,’ Sarah answered. ‘We can apply for parole in three years.’

Up until recently, one year had seemed like an eternity. Another whole year of school , Jo had said to her mother at the beginning of Year 12, not sure I can last that long .

The week after the court case, Mandy stayed home in bed. She hadn’t slept for days and couldn’t get herself across town to work. She’d spoken to Jo twice on the phone — the fear in Jo’s voice was raw, but neither of them acknowledged it. They were both being stoic: what choice did they have?

‘Have you put the house on the market?’ Jo had asked.

‘No.’

‘Mum, what are you waiting for?’

‘I’ll do it soon. I’m planning to ring the agent today. I’ll let you know how I go when I come to visit you next week.’

Mandy planned to visit once a fortnight. Jo said that was too often, too long a journey, but Mandy insisted. She didn’t tell Jo that once she sold the house she planned to rent in Bendigo, only half an hour’s drive from Tarrengower Prison. Once Jo was released they could decide on where to move permanently.

But Mandy knew she couldn’t leave Yarraville without seeing Ashleigh’s parents. To sell the house, pack up, and disappear without speaking to Rae or Alex — especially to Rae — was not right. She was being a coward.

Once the real-estate agent set a date for the auction, Mandy took out the photograph albums and carefully removed all the photographs she’d taken over the years of Ashleigh and Jo — during family outings, at birthday parties, when Ashleigh stayed over. She picked a dozen or so of them and put them in an envelope. She planned to give them to Rae and Alex in person, but they might not want to speak to her, so she wrote a brief note as well:

Dear Rae, Alex, and Jane,

I have enclosed some photographs of Ashleigh that I took over the years that I thought you might like to have. Ashleigh was a beautiful young woman. She was bright and kind and a good friend to Jo. I am so sorry for your loss — and for Jo’s part in it and for my part in it. I know that no apology will ever be enough. I understand that you may never be able to forgive me or Jo.

These photographs represent memories that I hold precious. Memories of the girls together. Please know that when your daughter was with us she was loved and cared for, and that I’ll always remember her.

As she made her way towards Ashleigh’s house with the photographs and the note, Mandy was nervous. If Rae and Alex were angry, she needed to let them vent their anger. If they sent her away, she would need to go.

When she reached the house, she saw that a magnolia had been planted where the rose garden used to be. It already had a spattering of white buds; soon it would flower. Mandy took a deep breath to stop herself from spiralling back into the past and the many times she’d walked up the path with Jo, and with Jo and Ashleigh. She went up to the door and rang the bell.

Rae opened the door. ‘Mandy,’ she murmured, as if it Mandy were a ghost.

‘Hello, Rae.’

She looked better than the last time Mandy had seen her, neat and well-groomed, but she had lost more weight and the suit she was wearing was loose. There was a fragility, an unsteadiness about her that Mandy recognised. She saw it each time she looked in the mirror.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to see you and Alex and —’

‘Alex isn’t home.’

‘It’s… I wanted to give you these.’ She held the envelope out to Rae, who didn’t take it. ‘They’re photographs of Ashleigh — of Ashleigh and Jo. Photographs I’ve taken over the years that I thought you might not have. That you might like.’

Rae took the envelope but didn’t open it. ‘I went through a period of wanting to cut your daughter out of every photograph I had with her and Ashleigh. Jane said I was acting crazy.’

Mandy nodded.

‘Seeing your daughter in court, I kept thinking that Ashleigh loved Jo, but Jo doubted that love, and that doubt ruined everything.’

‘We all have doubts, but they loved each other. They did.’

‘We loved your daughter,’ Rae said.

They were both crying now, tears falling down their faces.

‘I loved Ashleigh too,’ Mandy said. ‘And I am so sorry, so sorry.’

Rae wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. ‘I can’t ask you in. I can’t have you in my house.’