The Cult of Following, Book Two

by Barbara Jaques

  *

  Wherever Percy walked they walked, wherever he jogged they jogged – except Hester, who always managed to catch up eventually – and whenever he sought sanctuary in a shop, they merely waited outside. He avoided Joyann’s hardware store, though he didn’t know why.

  He threaded his way amongst the few small hawker centres serving the area, separate businesses but situated almost as if they were one. The tables were thick with people, and he weaved amongst the tangle before cutting through into the quiet residential streets beyond.

  As he strode on, Norm and Trudy were always close enough that he could hear them whispering, occasionally catching the sound of a crispy brown leaf or dry black pod skittering as a foot swept past, feet travelling too close for comfort. Percy was too hot to sprint, though had his life depended on it, he knew he could. He tried not to look back, thinking only of getting home and leaving the four lunatics behind. The friendships, such as they were, were finished. Percy felt vindicated; this was a classic example of why accepting the hand of those reaching out was a terrible idea.

  He frowned. Perhaps he really was asleep on the bed, because everything had the hallmark of a nightmare. The worry regarding Great Uncle Frank from Walthamstow resurfaced. Had Frank felt as if he were caught in a lurid dream, in those early days before the towelling dressing gown became his holy shroud?

  Rubbish. This was reality. Feelings emulated in dreams were never as uncompromisingly convincing as real life. In real life, awake is awake, something Sal’s leaving had made all too plain. Perhaps someone had put them up to it? Phrike? Why? For fun? No. Phrike would never do such a thing; it was far from his sense of humour. Joyann? Hardly. Sal? Why? Art? How? How would his good friend, Art, orchestrate this, when he had never met any of them? He had stayed with Percy in Singapore for a short time, got drunk, eaten too much, had a ball, and then gone back to England to continue digging over his vegetable patch. Percy hadn’t ever mentioned The Discussion Group to him, not even by email. Besides, pranks were not Art’s style any more than they were Phrike’s. At a push, he might leave plastic carrots buried in a rival’s raised beds, but he would have no interest in setting up something like this.

  Percy could feel his pursuers changing speed in time with his pace, a swarm of disgruntled bees not yet ready to envelop but in no doubt of success. It was a fair judgement, for the buzzing expats were utterly determined to speak with Percy again, and when finally he stopped, thirsty and fed up, they surrounded him without hesitation.

  ‘Jesus, will you just stop following me.’

  Hester gasped. ‘Did he mean us, or did he mean actual Jesus?’

  Trudy and Norm looked to Hester wide eyed, and then to Percy.

  Meera watched them all.

  ‘Don’t be angry, Percy,’ Hester reached out a hand but Percy avoided contact, ‘we thought you should know that we know, that’s all. Nothing more. It was silly to chase you, but I… we… felt we should talk with you.’ She was breathing hard.

  Norm took Hester’s arm and guided her to a garden wall, where he made her sit. ‘We didn’t mean to upset you, Percy,’ he said, taking the spot next to her, his tan glistening with a light sheen of sweat; linen shirt moist.

  ‘You could have run faster,’ Meera observed. ‘If you really did not want to talk.’

  Old face glowing with exertion, Hester agreed. A small smile appeared, ‘But you wanted us to,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you?’

  Percy wanted to say that, no, he had not wanted them to chase him; that he regretted not running faster. But he said nothing, because Meera and Hester had touched on the truth, absurd as it was. Absolutely he could have raced away home. And while one half of him expected they would give up the chase, so why bother wearing himself out, the other, perplexed half, had taken control of his legs and prevented them from moving too quickly. Besides, running in thirty-two degree heat with near one hundred percent humidity would be enough to make him feel as if his pulse were spurting jets of blood inside his skull. This he knew for a fact, having sprinted at MacRitchie after flinging the ants.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re playing at,’ he said, honestly, ‘but it’s not funny. Not even a little bit. If this is a joke, then I don’t get it.’

  ‘Why do you keep talking about jokes, Percy? You don’t need to hide from us.’ Trudy again tried to touch him, her neatly manicured hand reaching out as she manoeuvred her gaze to find his.

  ‘No thank you. You’re all piss-drunk or something.’

  ‘We are most certainly not,’ said Meera, tossing her black hair while sharing a look of repugnance with Norm. She folded her arms, and took a place on the wall. Of the four followers, only Trudy remained standing.

  Percy stepped away from her, irritated by her presence as much as the heat radiating from her body. He released a huge sigh and when he’d finished sighing, found it was still a struggle to muster up enough spirit to engage with any of them.

  He wanted to be rude, to push them away by being as nasty as he could possibly be, spewing all the fucks, bloodys, and cunts he could summon up. But despite their apparent shared role in it all, the presence of an old woman and a beautiful young one dulled his tongue. Trudy and Norm, the two truest believers, were the only pair he would have comfortably shouted at.

  ‘I don’t know what has got into you all,’ was all he muttered, before stalking off.

  The committed group of four followed.

  ‘It is you.’ Norm declared, loudly, ‘We know the truth. Hester has seen what you can do.’

  ‘And so has Norman,’ added Hester.

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘The hand… on your shoulder…’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes. Of course.’

  Percy stopped and again sighed, the weary sound now tinged with frustration. ‘Am I asleep? I must be asleep.’ He raised his hands. It was a natural gesture, a physical demonstration of exasperation, but the open palms gave him the look of a Prophet gathering his flock. The palm of one hand bore a small but livid red scar, from a painful incident involving a tiny china cat. ‘Exactly!’ squealed Trudy, her face alight, all but her upper lip, nose and forehead captured in a smile, ‘that is exactly how we all felt, didn’t we? As if we had been sleeping our lives away.’

  ‘Okay, that’s it. I am dreaming. I knew it. Maybe if I call out I will wake up… Sal… Sal…’

  ‘But Sal has left you, Percy,’ mentioned Trudy, helpfully.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, I know that!’

  ‘It’s fine Percy,’ Hester’s tone was placatory, ‘settle down. We know who you are, dear. And so do you. The time has come, but you mustn’t worry about a thing. Nothing need change. Not for you. We can deal with everything. We’ll say no more about it for now.’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. Please leave me alone.’

  ‘But you are the Messiah, Percy.’ Trudy’s unresponsive face struggled into a pleading expression. ‘The Messiah!’ she repeated.

  Percy laughed sarcastically, ‘Messiah? That’s me, is it?’ He stared at them, softening just a fraction. ‘Have you been taking something?’

  ‘She meant Prophet,’ Hester corrected, glancing at Trudy, with a small frown.

  Trudy shook her head gently, stiff lips slowly parting to allow freedom for the words that made her heart race. ‘It’s you! Messiah, Prophet, who cares?’

  ‘I can think of a few people…’ Hester said, quietly.

  Trudy continued, ‘We all know the truth about you, so why hide it? Hester has seen what you can do, Norm too. And me, every night you come into my dreams and are there, loving me. We have a real connection. You must feel it. You are there, touching me.’

  Instinctively, Percy searched the immediate vicinity in case by some miracle Sal was nearby, about to beg him to have her back just when damning accusations were beginning to fly. ‘Just stop it right there! Trudy, if you think that by…’

  ‘Percy, you stop!’ Norm said it firmly and loudly, so not only did Percy sto
p speaking, but Trudy, clearly on the verge of more, also closed her mouth.

  Hester and Meera stood quietly, waiting composedly within the pause of the moment.

  ‘Reluctant you maybe, but Prophet you are,’ Norm said, evenly. ‘It is not Trudy’s fault, or Meera’s fault, or Hester’s fault, any more than it is mine. The facts speak for themselves.’

  ‘They do,’ agreed Hester. ‘But that you might choose to deny a gift that others have died defending, well, Percy, it is the only thing that makes me doubt you.’

  Percy stared at Hester. She doubted him. She was using doubt as an accusation, when he hadn’t claimed a thing. What was happening? ‘I am a messenger from whom exactly? The Great God Tiger Beer? Singha, The Almighty? Just who do I represent, the giant fucking coffee bean in the sky? Come on, spit it out, what Prophet? Norm, you’re Mormon, Meera’s Hindi and Trudy and Hester, well, I don’t know… Christian? There is no room for you to believe in whatever half-baked thing it is you claim.’ He took a shaky breath, and realising he had been shouting loudly, calmed a little. ‘In fact I think this really is an elaborate joke, after all. It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘I have relinquished my faith… for you.’ Norm said.

  ‘Meera’s Hindu, not Hindi. Hindi’s a language,’ remarked Hester, very softly.

  Meera shook her head and remained silent.

  ‘If I am some kind of Prophet, why don’t I know it? Did Jesus deny his birthright? Or Mohammed? Or whoever else… whoever the Hindu or Buddhist or…’

  ‘We believe it is a new faith you bring, Percy.’ Hester’s voice was so gentle it was barely audible, and even her fellow believers struggled to hear her words. Hester’s well-known habit was to adjust her volume according to the seriousness of the situation, but unlike most people the more serious it was the quieter she became.

  Percy placed a hand on his forehead, and sighed, ‘I see.’

  They stood back and stared.

  ‘He sees!’

  ‘Will you touch my forehead?’ asked Meera, her large dark eyes searching Percy’s face.

  Hester threw her a look.

  Percy saw it, but couldn’t decipher what was meant. ‘What? No!’ His hand fell to his side. ‘Listen, if I was some kind of… then I would know.’

  Norm smiled warmly, ‘So humble.’

  ‘No, Norm. I am not humble. That is the last thing I am.’

  The group exchanged a knowing look. Humble indeed.

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘You perform miracles, Percy.’ Trudy secured a corner of Percy’s shirt.

  Percy picked off her fingers, ‘I wish I could perform miracles. If I could there are a hundred things I would do, starting with you lot.’

  ‘Show us now,’ Norm suggested, with a smile full of hope.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you can perform a miracle, then we are right; if not, well… then…’ Norm’s voice trailed away.

  ‘That is a ridiculous proposition, Norm. I can’t perform miracles.’

  ‘You can,’ Trudy said.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ Percy made to leave the situation.

  ‘Wait,’ Meera cried.

  Against his better judgement, Percy paused.

  ‘If you are so sure, then you won’t mind trying,’ whispered Hester, ‘and proving us wrong.’

  ‘I know what to do,’ Trudy raised an arm as if in a school classroom, ‘how about you predict what colour car comes round the corner next?’

  ‘And that would be a miracle, would it?’ Percy said, impatiently.

  ‘Stop. I know, I really do.’ Meera’s eyes shone with excitement, as she pointed down the road to a man limping his way towards them.

  ‘Wait right there,’ instructed Hester. ‘I’ll go.’

  Meera set off regardless, but Hester’s reactions were mantis-like. She snatched a firm grip of Meera’s arm and held her fast. ‘I said I would go. You wait here.’

  As the old man shuffled up the road, Hester slowly walked down to meet him. Percy watched while they spoke. After a short exchange, Hester ambled alongside him until they reached the group. The man looked even more bent and crippled close up than he had from a distance.

  ‘Percy. This man has a chronically bent back. Straighten him.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Straighten him,’ she repeated.

  ‘Hester, stop it now.’ That she would drag an innocent bystander into such insanity made him feel embarrassed as much as angry.

  ‘Put your hands on him and do it. If it works it works, if not then we’ll know… we’ll know whatever Norm just said.’

  Perhaps all this would end if he did as Hester asked, Percy thought. Maybe he could then go home and bury himself in ten cold beers by the pool, because any fewer was not going to be enough today.

  ‘Fine.’ Percy manoeuvred around to face the old man. ‘I am so sorry. Really I am. Do you mind?’

  Rheumy eyes looked up at him, lower lids drooping into a wet pink smile. ‘Can.’ The old man nodded.

  Percy reached around and placed his hands on the old man’s back, holding them there for the few seconds Hester insisted upon.

  The old man straightened with surprising speed, nodded his thanks and with a vaguely pained expression beneath a huge grin, strolled away.

  All five stood in total silence.

  14. EYE OF THE DAY

  No part of the pool was deep enough to immerse a body entirely, so Percy crouched to keep beneath the surface. From clear skies the sun shone bright and hot, but he’d only rubbed sunscreen onto his face. His shoulders were already ripe for peeling.

  He moved a short way to a shallower point so he could kneel. The small tiles lining the pool were rough beneath his knees, and the heat penetrating his scalp burned. In a moment, once the warmed water had cooled him as much as it could, he would find shade and have a nap, before emailing Art, he decided.

  ‘Bloody hot today, isn’t it?’

  Percy turned to find the woman from New Zealand nearby, the beauty who had reprimanded him for hurling unwary children into the pool. She was slowly walking past, fingers trailing in the water.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, looking up, cupping his hands to protect his eyes from the sun.

  ‘Dazzle you, do I?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s the sun.’

  ‘It was a joke.’

  Percy was aware that she was towering over him.

  Beneath a cowboy style straw sun hat, she wore large dark glasses. ‘You should have your sunnies on. You’ll ruin your eyes.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘Do that. And while you’re at it, find a hat. You British are all the same. You’re like cardigan-wearing moths.’ He was about to question how a moth dressed in a cardigan might get sunburned, when she added, ‘But you’d even take your cardigan off if the flame was hot enough.’

  This he dare not question, since he feared there was more to her statement than was obvious. He chose not to ponder it, since it made his arms feel strange.

  The Kiwi had stopped wading and was standing quite close to him, he thought, for a barely dressed stranger. To avoid his gaze fixing on the two small triangles of blue and green bikini that he had already noticed bore the pattern of palm trees, he manoeuvred himself to face the other way, before standing up and making for the side.

  ‘Something I said?’

  Percy ignored her.

  ‘I’m just pulling your leg.’

  ‘And I am just going over there and sleeping.’

  ‘Oh. Well, nice to meet you again, Percy.’

  He turned and looked at her. She was following him from the water, her finely toned form seeming to rise from the depths, albeit depths of five foot two inches only. Dripping, Percy walked quickly to the free bed he’d spotted. The ground was scorching. A cautious backward glance revealed that the Kiwi had now stopped by a chair in the covered seating area, and was tying a short sarong about herself, the fabric sitting crossways
over her neat hips. Percy had to turn away.

  Before he settled down for a snooze on the perfectly shaded lounger, he looked at her again. Unusually, a name came back to him, though it wasn’t hers. Amanda. She had called her friend Amanda. It was Amanda who had recognised him from The Discussion Group. Amanda was attractive too, but recalling the toddler she was with, her image faded.

  He closed his eyes and shut out the steaming world, aware that again he would soon need to get back into the pool and cool off. For now, though, he was comfortable enough. His mind drifted to Joyann. He’d gone to her the afternoon of the back straightening incident, because try as he might, alone he couldn’t rationalise whatever it was that had happened to him on Sixth Avenue. After escaping the demented four and arriving home, he had needed the comfort of a wife, but finding only The Kraken in the process of moving the wastepaper basket, he’d turned on his heels and jumped into the nearest cab. Shaken by the back-straightening incident, and feeling particularly betrayed by Norm, the emptiness often still felt at home was in evidence even before Percy had got there; the sight of The Kraken doing her usual thing making it all seem emptier still. The Kraken expressing her control in this one small way ensured every ounce of gumption Percy had so carefully cultivated meant nothing. Isolation was the one place left to him, and its stare was unblinking. He’d hoped Joyann could help.

  Head resting comfortably on the lounger, Percy wiped away a dribble of sweat that had rolled into his ear.

  Bloody Norm. It was his declaration that annoyed Percy more than any other. Firstly, because it meant that Norm had, as suspected, been secretly admiring Percy with significant intensity; secondly, because this very fact made their friendship a fraud; and thirdly, because for Percy to feel anything about it all meant at some level Norm mattered. More droplets of sweat ran free as Percy scowled. The only thing worse than realising others have been allowed to get under your skin, was unwittingly allowing it to happen in the first place.

  Joyann was not at the Sixth Avenue hardware store. Had she been, he would not have gone there. She was covering at the new dog boutique, in a mall Percy did not know.

  ‘So Percy,’ she had said, when she saw him coming in, ‘why the urgent message?’

  The shop, Percy had noted, contained only two shoppers, and felt very quiet.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Percy meant it. The moment Joyann’s question was posed he’d felt awkward, regretting asking her if she was free to talk. Not free, she had messaged back, but very happy to talk, adding then the address.

  Joyann told him to sit down in one of the leather armchairs meant for clients, or at least, owners of the clients. Following instructions, he did as he was told. All about him were rails of tiny coats and shelves of small round shoes. Percy Field feeling brighter would have had many comments to make about a shop catering for the whimsy of dog owners. But Percy Field feeling brighter would not have found himself sitting in a leather armchair, waiting to unburden his woes.

  She gave him a cup of green tea. ‘So,’ she said, as she watched the two shoppers browse, only one with a dog, ‘I think there must be something important to tell me, for you to come here? Is it something to do with Sal and Ethan? Have our ex’s decided to go swimming in shark infested waters or is the news less favourable?’ She smiled.

  Sitting there in the cool, luxuriously appointed shop, Percy had struggled to speak, for where does a person begin to explain they have just been harassed by four people seemingly convinced of something not true? Such an event would be upsetting enough if the accusation were mainstream; such as he’d been sleeping with someone he shouldn’t. But a claim so outlandish it should have been laughable, yet was not, was almost impossible to relate. And how does a person account for the occurrence of faith healing, when the healer has no faith?

  ‘Percy?’ she encouraged.

  He tried to begin but couldn’t.

  Joyann perched her backside neatly on the arm of the chair. ‘Percy? What is it?’

  He shook his head a little.

  ‘My God, she’s dead?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sal!’

  ‘No. Sal is not dead,’ Percy said, noting that Joyann’s voice had some element to it that verged on sarcasm, yet wasn’t. ‘This has nothing to do with Sal or Ethan. Or being dead, for that matter.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘It’s Norm.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, standing up, ‘what has he done now?’

  ‘Not just him. Trudy and Hester. And Meera.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘They chased me, the four of them. They followed me from Bread Chat, the one next door to The Bean on Sixth Avenue, and kept following me until I agreed to speak with them.’

  ‘Go on,’ Joyann said, as she rummaged through the rails to find something for one of the customers. ‘I am listening.’

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute,’ Percy said, unable to determine if she was listening as attentively as she could. ‘You do what you need to do first. I’ll wait and drink my tea. You haven’t any English breakfast tea, have you?’ He held out the cup of green tea hopefully, but Joyann was already too busy. ‘I’d prefer a cup of chimp,’ he added, quietly, thinking fondly of the chimpanzees that were used to advertise tea when he was a child, whilst not reflecting upon it too greatly.

  Percy watched with minor interest as each of the two customers asked for more help at the same time. Joyann deftly produced what was wanted, and calmly satisfied both. Soon, great piles of canine accessories and clothing were covering the counter. When Joyann announced what was owed, Percy was relieved to be sitting down the sum was so vast. The two customers paid and left, and Joyann shut the door behind them, flipping the open sign to closed.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said. ‘You’ll lose business.’

  ‘Just for a few minutes only. I want to hear what happened.’

  And so he had gone on to explain to Joyann the madness of the morning, finding comfort in her horror. She did not question the legitimacy of what he was telling her; never suggesting a joke might have been played. However, he did notice a faint smile when he told her about Trudy clutching at his clothes.

  Seeming to accept what he’d said, Joyann advised accordingly. ‘If I were you, Percy, I would stay away from them, which means avoiding The Discussion Group.’

  ‘That’s not so difficult. It’s changed too much anyway.’

  ‘True,’ she agreed. ‘It has. Vlad the Impala has virtually ruined what we started. It’s not the gentle thing it once was. Maybe we can have an offshoot of our own. Not like Norm’s crazy gang, more a return to what we intended. Not an offshoot. This is the wrong expression. It would be more rediscovering our roots.’

  ‘The group was never as I intended, anyway.’

  ‘You intended, Percy?’

  ‘It was entirely your idea, Joyann, we both know that, whatever you’ve said since to try and include me as a founder. I am not. You are. But I always wanted more men. More men like Phrike, and like me. And like an old mate of mine, Art. You don’t know him. With that sort of set up, maybe this mess would never have happened.’

  ‘Percy Field, are you blaming me for the craziness of your morning?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Percy!’

  He smiled, feeling a little lightness return. ‘No. But it would have been different, that’s for sure. Vlad wouldn’t dare to try and stop Art talking about his veg. Not even his wife does that.’

  ‘I do not understand. Are you being vulgar?’

  ‘What? No! Not meat and two veg. Art’s an avid gardener. I agree that we should get back to what we started, but this time we should be more selective. Try and keep out reconstructed executives with de-constructed brains.’

  ‘It grew so quickly we couldn’t control it.’ Joyann had reopened the shop, allowing a young woman and small dog to enter. ‘But it was exciting to see an idea grow so fast.’

  Silently, Percy observed that the new potential customers
had three matching eyes. All four were protruding and tinged with red, too large for the head transporting them, but only three were brown. One of the dog’s massive eyes was blue. As the tiny animal passed by his chair, it darted at the tea Percy had put on the floor, neck straining, eyes bulging further. Percy had nudged the animal away with his foot, though he hadn’t wanted the tea for himself. The owner’s eyeballs had nearly come out on stalks.

  When they were again alone Joyann returned to the subject of the chase. ‘I think something very strange happens to people who are expatriates for a long time.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Yes. I have met many, and those who stay for longer than usual become increasingly peculiar.’

  ‘Really?’ Percy couldn’t recall if Sal had also said something similar, because the idea wasn’t new to him.

  ‘I think at around six or seven years people are beginning lose touch with reality. At ten years they are different people than when they arrived. At twenty years they can never leave. This is what I think.’

  ‘Is that exclusive to Singapore?’

  ‘That is something I cannot know, Percy, of course. But I think probably not. And it is not a rule, you understand? Just my own observations.’

  ‘Did you notice that dog’s eyes matched the woman’s?’

  Joyann sighed and went off to make herself a drink.

  Lying on the lounger by the pool, mulling over the fact that dogs and owners really do look alike, while unable to pigeonhole Norm and Cocoa, Percy felt something cold and wet squash against his leg. Usually when this happened, it made his blood boil. Today, feeling as if his blood were already boiling with the heat, it simply made him decide to get back into the pool. He opened his eyes.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello boy.’

  ‘Coming for a swim, Uncle Percy?’

  ‘Can’t you swim on your own?’

  ‘Want a race? Bet I can beat you.’

  ‘How far?’ asked Percy, unable to resist a swimming challenge, having beaten the boy several times already.

  ‘One length.’

  ‘Again? I thrashed you last time.’

  The boy stood up. ‘Come on, Uncle Percy. If you win then you can look after Kojak while we’re away. Our maid is going home for a week and me and Dad are going on holiday. He says we need it.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. If I win I get to look after a bald rodent for a week, a revolting animal I don’t like or want? An animal that I gave to you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How about this: if I lose, then I will look after it, but if I win, you find someone else?’

  The boy grinned. ‘Sure.’

  Percy studied him. The child was moving through the rodent stage of development. His front teeth were large, body odour often similar to that of a buck rabbit. Percy knew precisely how buck rabbits smelled; when young he had boxed with a friend’s pet, after his friend had dared him to take the ferocious maniac from its hutch.

  ‘You look like Kojak,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not bald,’ the boy said, before gnashing his teeth at Percy and leaping into the pool, gleefully.

  15. JOYANN’S DOGGY DELIGHTS

  Whilst Joyann’s son, Lucas, was safely heading to school on the bus, Joyann herself was settling down for a quiet day at home, when she learned that she needed to work. The glamorous young woman employed to run the new dog boutique was unwell; a statement reinforced with a short and delicate sneeze down the phone.

  Disappointed, Joyann set about changing her clothes and gathering her things, while making a conscious effort to shift her mindset. It was true that a day doing nothing was long overdue, but equally it would be interesting to see first-hand how things were going with the new business. So far, on paper, everything appeared to be going well.

  In part, it was Norm’s wish to see Cocoa in a nice raincoat that inspired the venture, yet even so, with the raincoat secured, he continued shopping at Joyann’s hardware store on Sixth Avenue, as he always had. There, he bought poo bags, plus any little extras he took a fancy to on behalf of his canine companion. Joyann strongly urged him to visit the new shop, and he did, enthusiastically buying up almost every glitzy collar that fitted his furry friend. It was a single visit, despite Norm’s obvious delight. Old habits die hard, Joyann supposed, and old dogs really cannot learn new tricks unless it involves a new master.

  But Norm’s persistence in patronising the Sixth Avenue store meant she still got to chat with him from time to time. Since, with the exception of work, Joyann stayed at home far more than she went out, she appreciated a friendly face that wasn’t Lucas or their maid. Generally, Joyann’s social life had slipped from fairly good to almost non-existent, its demise, she considered, not of her doing.

  The Discussion Group had become boringly elitist and so Joyann went only when she herself could organise something. And since Ethan had run off with Sal, old friends were husks in a desert. Some friendships, if they could be called that, had withered the moment the estrangement became known. Perhaps these were ladies who did not want a single woman roaming loose amongst happy couples, or maybe they were simply too embarrassed to talk to her, unsure of what they should or shouldn’t say. After all, the marriage had been a long one. Possibly, the break-up had unsettled them, stirring a dread of the future, and a fear of uncertainty. In this, Joyann saw irony, since her opinion was that uncertainty should be viewed as a unifying force; uncertainty of tomorrow one of the few things all people share in common. Whatever the explanation, for Joyann reasons were an irrelevance, because true friends never duck for cover when faced with an enemy, common or otherwise. They hadn’t all run away, of course. Support had come, mainly from unexpected places; from friends she had not realised thought so much of her.

  On the upside, she and Lucas were eating out together far more than they had as a family of three, and Joyann made new acquaintances whilst cheering on his football team every Saturday morning. Seeking interaction beyond the familiar wasn’t new, for she was gregarious by nature, happily setting up her discussion group with two strange men; easily leading her business into new territories. But feeling forced to be outgoing made it less appealing. Her world felt narrowed.

  There was some new thing going on, she’d heard, involving Norm and a small group of women from The Discussion Group. Whatever it was, Joyann wanted no part of it. It was to do with Percy, some nonsense that sounded remarkably like a fan club. Norm’s crush was clearly contagious. Much as Joyann liked the man, Percy Field and fan club were not words that made good bedfellows. She was very fond of Norm, too, so on the occasions he called in she avoided talking about anything too controversial.

  The mall was quiet when Joyann arrived for work. It wasn’t her first choice for the location of the boutique, but made for a decent stepping-stone. Some of the best stores on Orchard Road had begun in modest circumstances, tucked away in some awkward unit on an unpopular floor of an unpretentious mall, before eventually rising to the prime spot. Her first choice had been Lucky Plaza, an old mall on Orchard Road harking back to earlier times. But the rent didn’t hark back quite far enough, and there were no available units, in any case.

  Someone was waiting for the store to open. Focussed solely on unlocking the unit, Joyann smiled and said good morning, assuring the woman she would need only two minutes to get things ready, and then she could welcome her in. Joyann bent down and unlocked the metal shutter, pushing it up until it was rolled away.

  Only when this was done did she look at the person. Two painful beats heaved inside her chest.

  ‘And what do you want?’ she asked, coldly.

  Sal stood very straight, with both hands clutching a smart black leather handbag, covering her groin.

  Too late to cover it now, thought Joyann.

  Instead of her usual long dress, Sal wore a sharp suit, dark grey herringbone, and tailored to flatter her narrow waist and full bosom; as far as Joyann could tell, she wore nothing else. Sal took a few steps
towards the door of the shop, high heels tapping the tile floor.

  ‘You cannot come in,’ Joyann said, quickly. She was glad to have chosen her favourite blue dress today.

  ‘Not even for a moment?’

  ‘No.’ Joyann was trembling with nerves, but she squared up to Sal regardless. ‘You are not welcome here, or in any of my stores.’

  Sal nodded, meekly.

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘Ethan asked me to talk to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘About the divorce.’

  Joyann huffed loudly. The sound echoed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sal added, ‘I know it’s awkward.’

  ‘Awkward?’ Joyann’s mouth dried.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘He thought we might talk, woman to woman.’

  ‘Woman to woman?’

  Joyann watched as Sal took a submissive posture, allowing her hands to fall to her sides, as if she were a schoolgirl suddenly accused of something she thought she’d got away with.

  ‘We’d like to get married.’

  ‘I’ll sign when I am ready.’ Joyann folded her arms. Sal seemed incredibly tall.

  ‘We thought if we were married, it might be more reassuring for Lucas. More settling.’

  ‘How dare you even mention his name! This has nothing to do with Lucas! Ethan does not even bother with him…’

  ‘That’s not true, Joyann, we took him…’

  Joyann slammed Sal her fiercest look, ‘How dare you! You took him where? To Universal Studios, once! And even then he was meant to be at the beach! Did anyone bother to tell me of the change? No. Do either of you ever think about anyone else? No.’

  ‘We’ve had him more than once, and you know it.’

  Joyann was incredulous. ‘Had him more than once? He is his father!’

  ‘I am making a point.’

  ‘Yes! And always late back!’

  Sal looked about, and sighed quietly. ‘Joyann…?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Will you sign?’

  ‘Have I ever said that I wouldn’t?’

  ‘But you haven’t actually done it.’

  ‘Go away.’ Joyann opened the shop door. ‘How did you know I’d be working here today?’

  ‘Ethan told me.’

  ‘And how did Ethan know?’

  ‘I don’t know. Isn’t someone sick?’

  Joyann felt her heart sink. He had always been controlling. Clearly nothing had changed. ‘Tell him I will sign when he stops interfering in my life.’

  She did not allow Sal time to ask what she meant, but went inside, closed the door behind her, and walked straight to the little area set aside for staff, tucked around a corner. She opened a tiny fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

  A dilemma. If she fired the girl who ran the store she would have to find a replacement, and until she did, Joyann would need to work in it herself. Frankly, she had enough to do already. But if she let the girl stay, was that condoning a lie? For certainly the girl had been coerced into taking the day off. Joyann remembered the sneeze, and thinking that the girl was one of those people who felt obliged to add sound effects when phoning in sick; one of those people who forced their voices to sound rough and miserable, always too high pitched as if this made them extra honest.

  It was a ridiculous sneeze and it was ridiculous of Ethan, she thought. Sal could have waited in any number of places to talk, if that was all he’d wanted. No, he was flexing his muscles, pathetic as they were. Flex away, Joyann thought, it will get you nowhere, and with that in mind she resolved to keep the girl on.

  Joyann heard the door open, and her pulse rose once more. Bracing herself, Joyann strode out, to be faced with a woman and her two small children.

  ‘Okay to look?’ the woman asked, ‘We’re picking up our new dog later.’ She smiled, her brilliant white teeth and tanned face not unlike the woman Joyann feared had returned.

  ‘Of course,’ Joyann, said, summoning a smile. ‘Please let me know if you need anything.’

  After the two children had inspected every article of clothing in the store, the family left having bought nothing. Soon after, another young family came in and rummaged in the same way, but stacked up five hundred dollars worth of dresses and shoes for their beloved Muffin. Muffin was at home, Joyann learned, because of the law regarding certain breeds. Muffin the English bull terrier didn’t like the muzzle, they said. Suspecting it was the family that didn’t like the muzzle more than Muffin, Joyann showed them a range she had in pretty colours and patterns, one style made to look like a lip-sticked mouth. The children hooted with laughter, and the pile grew higher.

  After they’d gone, bags bulging, there was a short respite before more customers came in. After this, Joyann found a moment to enjoy a cup of tea. It was then the message from Percy arrived. Already feeling sapped of energy, Joyann had to remind herself what true friendship was, before inviting him over. She checked the time. How was it lunchtime? What had happened to the morning? Hours had reeled away unnoticed off the back of Sal’s unsettling presence.

  The thought of lunch made her stomach grumble. If she was quick, she could grab something from the hawker centre beneath the mall, and eat it in the back room before Percy arrived. Leaving her tea, she closed the shop and hurried out.

  When she returned, no one was waiting, and so she made herself comfortable out of sight and ate char kway teow from a polystyrene container, enjoying the softness of the flat rice noodles and the hot, salty flavours. Finishing just before more customers arrived, Joyann refreshed her tea and started the afternoon feeling very much better than she had. Soon after, Percy arrived, looking pale and tired.

  When Joyann heard what had happened, she decided not to share the events of her own morning. As far as Joyann knew, Percy’s divorce was all but settled, so there was little point in raising the subject, other than for the sake of reminding Percy that his wife was keen to remarry. Today, she felt, that sort of conversation constituted nothing better than the stirring up of gossip. Instead of unburdening her own irritations, Joyann listened to Percy’s, wondering if it was possible for the day to become anymore bizarre than it already was. As it happened, it was.

  Long after Percy had gone and the last customer was served, Joyann locked the door and was in the process of pulling down the metal shutter, when from behind her a voice spoke.

  ‘I am sorry I upset you,’ Sal said. ‘It’s been a very difficult time.’

  Joyann listened in silence, continuing to do what was needed to secure the unit. More tired than she’d been in a long time, she could find no reserve of energy to draw upon. Earlier, the surprise of Sal had caused adrenalin to surge; now, Sal only exacerbated a dulling sense of burden.

  ‘I wouldn’t have come back, normally,’ Sal continued, ‘I wouldn’t have come at all. And I can imagine how it seems, me coming here. But it’s just… well… things have been a little difficult for me lately, and Ethan thought that… well…’

  Joyann waited to see what would follow the drifting pause Sal had chosen to leave. It was a silence she clearly wanted Joyann to fill. She would not oblige. Turning to face her, Joyann was shocked to see fat tears rolling. She held firm. This was genuine distress, but no matter.

  Sal put her knuckles to her painted lips, and set her focus on Joyann. Clearly she was trying to control herself. Joyann continued to watch as Sal tried to speak, and more tears came.

  Pity stirred. Joyann fought it.

  After several steadying breaths, Sal said, ‘I am sorry. My mother died. I’m not coping very well.’

  ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ Joyann said, despite herself.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Joyann could see the gratitude in Sal’s soft brown eyes, but stopped herself from offering any words of comfort. What was Ethan thinking of, sending a grieving woman on an errand like this? Or was it exactly what he’d planned, using Sal to rouse Joyann’s sympathy? Her ow
n family had never liked him, and now she was beginning to see what they had seen. Not the cheating man he revealed himself to be, but the manipulator he always was. As sorry as she was for Sal’s loss, Joyann could not pity her. Sal had chosen Ethan – stolen Ethan – a married man with a child, and she could suffer the shame of it. Just as Joyann had seen friends fall away after the break-up, so Sal would find new friendships tainted because of it. As far as Joyann could tell, everyone was sitting in judgement, one way or the other.

  No more was exchanged, but Joyann’s resolve not to sign as quickly as Ethan wanted weakened, in spite of everything. A question rose up: might it be better to be free of this kind of nonsense, than have it repeat and repeat, just because she did not want to do as he wished. Did Joyann’s own childish resistance trivialise everything? Perhaps, she thought, he should be allowed the success of this one last manipulation, and she could console herself with the knowledge that he did not complete his manoeuvre without being discovered.

  Having never lived a life requiring ammunition, Joyann was beginning to suspect it could be useful to have something in the armoury.

  16. HESTER’S CREATIVITY

  Percy was sitting amongst the rest of The Discussion Group, gathered together for a welcome break in the shade of the café. Joyann had organised one of her occasional day meetings, the message also stating she was fed up with other people trying to run her life. When Hester read it she’d felt sad. Certainly, The Discussion Group had changed. Hester had been pleased with the idea of returning yet again to Haw Par Villa, and very glad that someone had thought to forward the message on to her. Joyann, it seemed, had accidentally forgotten a few people.

  The day had grown oppressively hot. The sun was lost behind an even greyness, but the searing heat could be felt. By mid afternoon most of the group had moved themselves to the protective awning of the café, where they were sitting eating ice-lollies as if they had never been away.

  Hester had chosen a can of iced tea, rather than an ice-lolly, a vague nod to her doctor’s advice and her husband’s sideways glances. Again, she was being nagged about her weight and health. The drink was sugary, she’d noticed, but at least it wasn’t full of fat. Holding the cold can against the thin skin of her cheek, she was watching something unfold.

  ‘Percy, I need to speak to you,’ Trudy’s voice trembled as she called across to him.

  He sighed, ‘Not now, Trudy. And definitely not if it is about what I think it is about. I’ve got enough on my plate with a bald rodent stinking the house out. I came here to relax.’

  Hester was pleased to see Percy. Since they had pursued him across the larger part of Sixth Avenue and surrounding streets, he’d been hard to find. She suspected Joyann had persuaded him to come. Joyann had been rather cool towards her, Hester felt, and Trudy too. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that she still spoke with Norm using her usual friendly manner, however.

  ‘It’s not the usual thing, as you put it,’ Trudy twiddled her dark hair. ‘But it is private. Could we talk over there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Percy said no, Trudy,’ Joyann used a firm tone. ‘Please respect this.’

  Hester noted a strange look pass over Percy’s face. He didn’t like being defended, she concluded.

  Percy turned to Joyann and began talking quietly.

  ‘I tried,’ Trudy said to Hester.

  ‘You did, dear. You did try. But I think fiddling with your hair made you look as if you planned to pin him against the nearest giant frog and stick your hand in his trousers.’

  ‘You told me to do it.’

  ‘I did not tell you to twist your hair around your finger like a teenager. I merely suggested,’ Hester leaned across a little and lowered her voice, ‘that you might feel better if you cleared the air with him, and got to the bottom of these dreams you’ve been having. Now I know some of them are perhaps a little embarrassing for you to talk about, particularly the one involving live yoghurt and three tomatoes, but unless you talk to him you’ll just keep feeling frustrated. And you certainly need to discuss the dream where you meet him here, and get that one out of your mind. It sounds more nightmare than dream, frankly. I know it is a hard thing to accept, Trudy, but while Percy is a wonderful man, I really do not think he is interested in you in that way. If you need him to tell you this, then so be it.’

  ‘But he looks at me in that way, looks at my…’ Trudy indicated her breasts.

  ‘Well, they are rather hard to miss, dear. I for one have looked at them several times and have no wish to sleep with you.’

  Trudy’s full lips clamped together, and Hester knew she was fighting tears.

  ‘Trudy, what is the matter with you lately? You’re a married woman but all you think about is Percy, Percy, Percy. It’s not like you. You’ve become silly. It is fine to admire him as a Prophet, but there, I believe, is the limit. And really, admiring someone as Prophet might even be viewed as the absolute height of admiration.’

  Trudy glared, ‘And you don’t think about him?’

  ‘Of course I do. But because he is someone special, not because I want to sleep with the man.’

  ‘Norm feels like I do, and I don’t hear you talking to him like this. I’m a grown woman, Hester, and you’re patronising me. Again.’

  ‘Then act like a grown woman and sort it out. I have no idea why you have decided there is something between you when plainly there isn’t, but if you are so convinced then do something, because I don’t think I can stand you mooning around much longer. You are dear to me, Trudy, you know that, and I hate to see you this way. It’s a crush, you’ll get over it.’

  ‘It’s not a crush.’

  She looked deep into Trudy’s eyes, and patted her arm. Hester’s face portrayed an apology, but inside she felt anything but sorry. Trudy had taken the prompt to adore Percy readily, but run with it far faster than expected. Not only that, she’d taken off in a direction Hester failed to anticipate, because she hadn’t realised just how lonely Trudy was. But, in a sense, her neediness and sexual infatuation were useful, Hester knew. Trudy was every bit as human as the next person; the more Trudy was told she was wrong about her feelings the more convinced she became of them. She made the perfect follower for a man like Percy.

  ‘I’m sorry for snapping,’ Trudy said.

  ‘Are you quite well? You might not like me saying this, but I wonder if you are menopausal?’

  Trudy’s face, though stiff, managed to take on a look of horror. ‘I am not that old.’

  ‘You are, dear,’ Hester said, quietly.

  The two fell silent. Without looking, Hester could tell that Trudy was gazing at Percy. She said nothing.