He’s rolling up a crisp two-hundred rand note when he finally notices me.
He freezes, but only for a second. Then he leans over and hoovers a white line up his nose.
I look at him. I don’t say anything. He snorts another line, then passes the photograph to the two girls.
He doesn’t look at me again. He turns his back, starts chatting to one of the girls in white. After a while he leans over and presses a button on the remote. The sound of that old-school jazz he likes so much fills the room.
I want to walk away, but I can’t. When someone offers me a line, I just shake my head. I feel frozen on the spot, enormous, pathetic, stupid. But I must look pretty normal, because nobody takes much notice of me.
More people come into the room; the place is getting full. Finn is now sitting next to the girl with the Southern Comfort. He takes a swig from the bottle, whispers in her ear. They both laugh.
I don’t leave.
By now everyone is jabbering and chattering away like a lot of monkeys, not listening to one another, their eyes glazed. Finn still pretends that I’m not there.
I look at what Finn’s life is. What he has chosen.
The other girl in white is lying on top of the soccer player now. They are simulating sexual positions, and everybody is laughing. I realise it’s time for the next round when the coke is passed my way again, the white lines laid out so carefully over a photo of me and Mom.
I feel my throat getting tight, so I turn around to leave.
Nobody tries to stop me.
* * *
I go for a long, long walk on the beach. I try to understand.
It’s a very dark night, and the lights from the houses and apartments against the mountain shine like jewels against the satiny black. A sliver of moonlight throws a cool, thin white line across the sea so that I can see where I’m going. The beach is completely deserted.
It’s low tide, so I have a stretch of firm sand to walk on, and it’s easy to get past the rocks from one beach to the other. I can hardly see my feet when I look down though, it’s that dark.
This is what I like about living right next to the sea. The smell. The sand under my feet. The idea of space. The sound of the waves. The emptiness. When you walk down the beach in the dark, it’s almost impossible to believe that there’s this huge city with all these millions of people just on the other side of the mountain.
After a while I don’t really try to make sense of anything any more. I simply walk.
It’s funny what you end up thinking about when you just let your mind go. I want to be angry at Finn. I am angry at Finn. He was a complete jerk tonight.
But that’s not really what I’m thinking about.
What I’m actually thinking about is the time when Mom and I were still living in Woodstock, and how I once woke up in the middle of the night because two bergies, a man and a woman, were shouting at each other outside my window.
They were very drunk, slurring their words, screaming and swearing, as if hating each other would make anything better. At one stage it must have gotten physically violent, because Mom phoned Finn, and he called untime.
When Finn arrived I walked outside with him. It was a good thing Mom had called, because the man had been about to shove a broken bottle into the woman’s face. She was already bleeding a bit from her mouth, and he had scratches all over his face.
Finn removed the bottle, dragged the man away.
I remember how tired he looked. Weary. He worked all the time then.
Anyway, those two were stinking, and dirty, and ugly, their faces frozen in expressions full of hatred. But do you know what I’ll always remember about that night? How Finn handled them so gently, how he treated them both with such compassion. I remember how he placed a blanket around that woman’s shoulders, how he carried her to the car, so carefully. Even the man, reeking of urine and alcohol, was handled kindly – Finn put him on the back seat, and drove off to deliver them to (separate) night shelters.
Before he left that night he told me that poverty and hopelessness do terrible things, and that all people, even people like these, were once bright-eyed children, full of dreams.
He said that everyone should be treated with respect, because everyone’s struggle is much harder than you realise.
When I get tired of walking up and down the four interlinked beaches, I sit on the cold sand for a long time, just watching the waves.
* * *
I’m in bed trying to fall asleep when I get an sms from Finn on my regular cellphone.
Can we talk?
I look at it for a long time before I answer.
Ok
He gets back to me immediately.
Now?
I don’t really want to talk to him now; I’m tired and kind of depressed. It’s almost three in the morning, for Pete’s sake. But I guess it’s better to just get it over with.
Ok
For the second time tonight I get out of bed and pull on my clothes. I’ve had about enough of stairs after climbing up all those steps from the beach, so I take the lift. Mom should be sound asleep now anyway.
For once, his door is open
I knock, not loudly, and walk in. Finn is sitting on that uncomfortable sofa of his, drinking whiskey.
I’ve never been here at night, and it takes me a moment to orientate myself. In the day the glass walls reflect only the dazzling blue and white and yellow of sea and sand and sun. At night it’s pure black, absolute darkness. It freaks me out, all this emptiness. I have the sudden, irrational desire to draw the curtains tightly closed, to protect us from the night outside. [19]
No wonder the man is losing it.
“Your place looks creepy at night.”
He looks at me, his eyes black pools of fire under his long lashes. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” I look around me. “It’s not that bad, actually. You just need to add some blinds maybe.”
“I meant about earlier.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
For a while we just look at each other.
He’s the first to look away. “I don’t know what more you want me to say.”
I shrug, faking a casualness I certainly don’t feel. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”
“For the love of God, Katie …”
He’s still a bit wired. his eyes are too glittery, his gaze too intense. He keeps flicking back his hair, only to have it fall back into his eyes almost immediately. I surprise myself by wanting to walk over and smooth it behind his ear.
Okay then. So that must mean I’m not angry at him any more.
I walk over to the wall of windows, press my face to the glass and peer out. It doesn’t make much of a difference. All you can see is blackness. Absolute dark. There are only a few lights in my side vision; the rest is dark, endless ocean.
“I’m not mad at you any more, by the way,” I say without looking at him, just staring out into the night.
“Oh.” He sounds surprised. Maybe a bit sarcastic. “Good to know.”
“I am puzzled though.”
“Puzzled?” More wary. He knows he’s in for it now.
“Why are you living like this, Finn?”
He sighs. “Like what?”
“You know.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Why are you acting like such an asshole?”
He goes really still. “What did you just call me?’
“You heard me.” I turn around, wave my hands at him, at the house, the private gym, the view, the wall of insanely expensive electronic equipment. “Why are you doing all of … this? What’s with the whole playboy thing? Who were all those people?”
He glares at me, furious, but he takes great care to keep his voice calm. “What are you trying to say, Katie?”
I sigh. “What I’m trying to say is … It’s …” I struggle to find the words, even though I know I have a point. Then I se
e some lifestyle magazine lying on the table, one which featured Finn and his house last month.
It pictures him in black and white, wearing a buttoned-down shirt and leaning against a wall. His jeans are low slung enough that you can see the hollow next to his hipbone. His eyes are smouldering and he’s not smiling. He manages to look rich, haughty, bored and feral. The overall effect is breathtaking.
I wave the magazine in his face, hoping it will make my point for me. “When did you become such a poser?”
He gets half up from his seat, grabs the magazine out of my hands, throws it on the floor. “I’ve told you. I need to keep a high profile.”
“So you keep saying. Buy why? Why, when for years and years we just lived like normal people?”
“It’s none of your business how I run my life, Katie.”
“It is when it begins to affect mine.”
“Oh, grow up –”
“No!” I won’t let him make this about me. “You grow up.” I point a finger at him. “Jeez, Finn, I mean … drugs? Surely you know better. And those girls? What are you doing?”
“Don’t yell at me. And I don’t need you to approve of my friends, for God’s sake.”
“Friends? Those aren’t friends, Finn.” I know I’m skating on thin ice, but I can’t stop myself. “Even you’re not that clueless. You know what a real friend is. You used to have one, remember?”
He flinches visibly. “Don’t go there.” His eyes are cold, his voice a warning.
I back off, change tactics. “Last week you almost got killed, Finn. And it wasn’t because you were saving the world … or a family … or just one old lady … or even a teensy weensy kitty cat! It was because you got yourself all tangled up in the power battles of a fricken crime syndicate. What, are you just working for the highest bidder now?”
He rubs his eyes. “Okay. Look. Taking that job was a mistake, I admit.”
I can feel my throat constricting, my eyes burning. “And Finn, there are all these kids missing. One of them is a girl in my school. And you’re not doing anything about it!”
“I can’t solve all the problems in this world, Katie.”
“I know. I know. But does that mean you can’t solve even one?”
“I’m not getting involved in every little crisis any more. It doesn’t help anyway. I can’t make everything better. You’ll just have to learn to accept it.”
“Aarrggh!” I pull at my hair, frustrated at his pig-headedness and my own inability to express my complex feelings. “I accepted it long ago …”
“So what’s all this about then?”
“It’s about your inability to accept it. You’re the one who’s going all, like, ‘I can’t save the world, so now I won’t do anything’ …” I throw my hands up into the air. “Okay, fine, but what then? Does that mean you must just hang out, party, do drugs, sleep around, make money like some fricken businessman or something … I mean, for God’s sake, Finn, because you can’t do everything, you won’t do anything? In what universe is that logical?”
“Really nice language you’ve got tonight, Katie. Tessa will be proud.”
I ignore him. [20] “You’re sitting around in this palace, hanging out with those Eurotrash Barbie dolls, snorting expensive drugs up your nose, and out there,” I point to the darkness outside his wall of windows, “out there people need you.”
“I can’t help them.”
“You can’t help all of them, you mean. But you can help. Those kids are still missing, Finn. Children. Somebody took them and … nobody is doing anything about it!”
Finn drags his fingers through his hair. “I’m not getting involved in people’s problems unless they want me to, angel. Not any more. You know that.”
He wants me to stop. But I can’t.
“But who’s going to ask you? People think you’re just this hardcore enforcer guy. Nobody who’s weak and powerless, or hurt and confused, is going to turn to you. The only people using your ‘services’ these days are paranoid rich people and criminals! Don’t you get it?”
“I’m not sticking my nose in other people’s business any more.”
“But …”
“That’s final.”
He’s angry now, but so am I.
“That’s not good enough.”
“Go to bed, Katie.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry about what happened to Simon, Finn. You know that.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I loved him too, remember.”
“I’m not talking about this.”
He gets up, starts walking towards the door.
But I’m not letting it go, not this time. I follow him and grab his arm.
“Stop being such a coward!”
He’s suddenly very close, and very angry. His pupils are dilated and I can feel his breath on my cheek.
“I am not discussing what happened to …” he swallows, “what happened that day, with you,” he says right in my face. “Or anyone. Ever.” He grabs me by the top of my arms, shakes me. “Do. You. Understand. Me.”
I wait till he’s finished, and tug myself loose. “You can shake me till my head falls off, but that won’t change a thing. You’re using Simon’s death as an excuse.”
He stomps away, but I grab his shirt, yanking him back.
“You’re not dealing with it, Finn. If you want to take a holiday from your real work, go ahead. But at least be honest about it. Stop using Simon as an excuse for just … slacking off.”
We glare at each other in the doorway, our faces centimetres apart. His fists are balled at his sides, my hands are on my hips. I have an insane urge to reach out and touch him, but I’m not sure whether I want to stroke his cheek or slap him. So I do nothing. That muscle in his cheek is jumping again, his chest rising and falling.
We stay like that for a few seconds before he backs up, just the tiniest bit.
“This is my life, Katie.” He takes a step away. “Mine.”
I am astonished that a grown man can be so stupid. “What planet are you living on?”
He frowns at me, not understanding, and suddenly I feel like crying. Instead I sit down, right there on the floor.
“Nobody likes me, Finn.”
“Heh?”
“Nobody likes me.” I rest my chin on my knees and I don’t look at him. “I’m weird, I don’t fit in. People think I’m strange.”
“Oh Katie …”
“No! This isn’t some lame teenage stuff, Finn. I’m not fourteen any more. I’m trying to talk to you about my life.”
“Okay.”
“I’m different. The way I grew up, the training, all those hours of untime, it made me different …”
He nods.
“And now, living like this, with you all ‘high profile’ or whatever …”
He puts an arm around me. To my annoyance this makes me feel quite a lot better.
“Angel. I know it’s hard for you. But surely you can’t expect me to change my entire life just so that you can make more friends at school?”
I shrug off his arm, irritated. “Of course that’s not what I’m saying. You idiot. I know the whole world doesn’t revolve around me. I’m talking about something else entirely.”
“And what, pray tell me, would that be?”
He gives me his best smile, the one that makes weaker women go all jittery and stupid. But I don’t let it get to me, even though it takes almost superhuman control not to melt.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
The smile disappears. He runs his fingers through his hair tiredly. “You have about three seconds to make your point, Katie.”
I grope for words, not sure how to say what I think I want to. “I don’t mind being weird. I never have. I don’t even mind not having loads of friends. Or boyfriends …”
He nods.
I take his one hand in mine. For a moment the feel of his warm, smooth skin almost breaks my concentration, but I take a deep bre
ath. “I never used to mind the fact that my life was so strange, Finn. Because I always knew we were special, that we were doing something amazing. It’s not like I have delusions of grandeur or anything. I know I was only ever your sidekick, someone who could help out every now and then …”
“You’ve been so great …”
“Thanks, but I know I’m not the star of the show. And I never minded. I was glad to have this secret. Glad to be involved in something so special. What I’m trying to tell you is … that I don’t feel that way any more. I don’t feel that we’re doing anything special. I just feel like a weirdo and a freak.”
“Oh Katie.” He puts his arm around me, hugging me close. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes. I feel a slow heat in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it, the way I always do.
He stays still like that for a long time, and when he speaks his voice is absolutely calm. For a brief moment I feel a flicker of hope, but then I realise he only sounds calm because he’s so defeated.
“I can’t be that guy any more, angel. I’m just … I can’t do it any more. You have to stop expecting me to be that guy.” He gives a deep sigh. “Live your own life. I’m living mine.”
He’s just not getting it.
But I’m too tired, too disheartened, to say anything more. I can’t even think of a parting shot.
So I take his hand off my shoulder.
I get up. I walk out.
Chapter 10
“That is just so pathetic.”
“Who does she think she is anyway?”
“Katie Holmes, obviously.”
Laughter.
“Ja, and I’m Halle Berry from now on. You can be Blake Lively, and you …”
“Rihanna.”
“More like Queen Latifah with that ass.”
“Shut up!”
“She should never have gotten that role anyway.”
“I know.”
“She only got it because of her looks.”
“The real Katie Holmes has better hair though.”
Sidekick Page 8
