PARTISAN
Having very much enjoyed the crate of wine he’d been given as thanks for saving a child from drowning, Percy walked to Amanda’s party with less trepidation than he might have. Never one to enjoy enforced social interaction, and having always hated Sal’s work bashes, he felt this would be different. Naturally, he would have to endure further gratitude from the child’s parents, whom he guessed would be there, and from others, but an obvious lifeline for the whole thing was the close proximity of home. And having no one else determine how long he should stay meant he could slip away as and when. It was a very real saving grace, as was the promise of the party’s star, the lovely Kiwi.
Everything around Percy glowed amber, the glorious sunset reflecting brightly in the condo’s many windows. It was delightful to be walking at such a time, and to him it seemed a luxurious moment. To witness the intensifying colours of dusk was a rarity, the rapid pace of nightfall often still taking him by surprise. Rather than overcast, the last two days had brightened considerably, the hot sun drawing up many days of rain, sucking moisture into the air and creating a heaviness he would normally have moaned about. But feeling unusually optimistic about the evening ahead, the hot Percy simply thought how much more he was going to enjoy a cold beer when he got there.
He was carrying some flowers for Amanda; three roses, a kind of sunflower, a few scented flowers he didn’t recognise, plus some ferny stuff for greenery. The small bouquet had cost a fortune in the supermarket, Chilled Cupboard, and he hoped she would know this. Having recently attempted to buy a small wedge of real cheddar cheese before realising he’d got the decimal point in the wrong place, Percy was feeling sensitive to cost. Plus Sal had asked him how he was getting on finding a cheaper place to live; it wouldn’t be too many months more and he would have to think seriously about leaving; maybe he should return to England; had he looked into where he would live if he did go back; remember, the house was sold; blah blah blah.
‘Uncle Percy’s got a girlfriend!’
Wearing only board-shorts, Percy’s boy neighbour rounded the corner ahead of him, with Kojak stuffed under his arm.
‘I hope you haven’t been swimming alone,’ Percy said.
‘We haven’t been swimming at all, Uncle Percy.’ As he was prone to do, the boy spoke through the guinea pig.
‘Good.’
The boy scurried up to Percy. ‘You got a girlfriend then?’
Percy stopped. ‘No.’
‘Who are they for?’ the boy screwed his nose up in distain; the flowers were clearly an offensive display.
‘No one you know.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘That I don’t know them?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Who is it, then?’
‘Why do you care?’
The boy grinned, broadly. Percy could see a tooth was missing, a molar. ‘I want to know who your girlfriend is. You used to have a boyfriend. Are you trisexual?’
‘What the hell is trisexual?’ Percy sighed wearily. What was he doing? Why had he stopped to talk? Why was this lesson so difficult to learn? ‘I did not have a boyfriend. You know very well that was my friend, Art, visiting from England. Argh! Look. Your pig has just had a crap. Look at the path, it’s covered in it.’
On the ground, around the boy’s feet, was a scattering of brown pellets. ‘It’s only poo,’ the boy confirmed, rolling the droppings into the nearest flowerbed, with a toe. ‘You saved a girl from drowning,’ he remarked, changing the subject whilst manoeuvring.
‘Anyone would have done the same.’
‘I know. That’s what Dad said.’
‘Look, I’ve got to go. Just make sure you don’t muck about near the pool, especially when no one is there. Right?’ Percy didn’t wait for the boy’s response, but left him amongst another shower of guinea pig faeces.
He walked on, not with a skip in his step, for never would such a sensation find release in the legs of Percy Field, but with a pleasantly nervous anticipation. The romantic in him, the veiled side of himself enabling occasional creativity, was reflecting upon the Kiwi’s beauty and her presumed witty nature. Another, rather more straightforward part of Percy, however, was hoping for something far more intimate than conversation.
The noise from the party could be heard before he turned onto the path for the house. Then, he spotted lots of people, some on the footpath and others crammed onto the terrace inside the garden wall. He had never walked this way before. Here, the houses had a different orientation from his, and in comparison were gloomy, not in a position to enjoy either sunrise or sunset. Percy’s house, he then understood, was located in the best position. No pool noise, no playground screams, lots of light, and without the many poisonous visitors houses closest to the grass by the jungle received. The only possible downside was the road, which as it turned out was quiet. Had Sal picked carefully or been lucky?
Amongst the sea of people there were no faces he recognised. Briefly, Percy decided on an about-turn, because to continue meant elbowing a path through people he did not know, and all in the hope of finding Amanda so he could off-load the flowers. He regretted bringing them, kicking himself for the responsibility with which he had burdened himself. Empty handed, he could quietly slide through and find a drink and a corner, before going home. Then he remembered why he had come; the Kiwi. He also remembered there would mostly likely be a maid. She would take care of the bouquet.
He battled through and found the kitchen, also packed with people, but there was no maid to be seen. A woman asked if he needed something, and he told her what he was doing.
‘She always has Saturday afternoon until Monday morning off.’ The woman shrugged, ‘I know. They’re like that. They pay her too much, as well.’ She smiled, before stepping back and becoming reabsorbed into the revelry.
Percy picked up a used pint glass, filled it with tap water, and then left the flowers in the sink. He felt a hand resting lightly on his back.
‘Are they for me?’
‘They are,’ Percy smiled. He thought Amanda seemed to be slurring. She looked amazing.
‘That’s so nice of you. Come with me. I’ll find you somewhere quieter. It doesn’t matter where you go in the world, the party always ends up in the kitchen.’ She hooked a hand under his upper arm, close to his armpit. ‘Christ, you’re really hot.’
He followed, as she dragged him through the writhing masses and out onto the deck at the back of the house. These few short strides moved Percy into a different world, a quietly refined atmosphere where a small number of people were sitting and talking.
Amanda smiled, sweetly. ‘Kristen, look who has arrived.’
Kristen. So this was her name. Percy made an effort not to look like a drooling dog. Kristen was sitting on a black wicker-effect sofa, her long brown legs crossed at the ankle, the split of her sleek black dress revealing a perfect thigh. Percy shifted his gaze, but it became caught on her rounded breasts. Then he found her face.
Kristen shuffled across a little, inviting Percy to sit beside her.
‘So you’re going home?’ Percy said, as he sat down. He had rehearsed a few questions in the shower earlier, and this was number one on the list. There wasn’t a great deal of room on the small sofa, as Kristen hadn’t moved very far along; he was pleased to feel her hip pressing against his.
‘Yeah. It’s time. I’ll be back though. I love it here,’ she said. ‘The climate is beautiful.’
‘Drink?’ Amanda said, as she handed him a bottle anyway. ‘Beer okay for you?’
‘Thanks.’ He took it and immediately swigged a long mouthful.
‘Thirsty?’ laughed Kristen.
‘Very.’
‘Amanda,’ she called, ‘bring Percy another, will you?’
With a second beer soon at the ready, Percy tried to relax.
‘I hear you saved a girl from drowning. The French kid from next-door, little Amélie.’
‘Is that her nam
e?’
Kristen nodded. Percy felt a fool. Of course it was her name. Hadn’t this desirable woman just said so?
‘Her mum was telling Amanda that Amélie keeps getting out of the garden. She turned up walking along Sixth Avenue a couple of weeks ago. Nightmare. I was the same as a kid, always wandering off. Once my folks found me at the beach. I was only three. I was about to go for a swim, folded my clothes and everything.’
‘That sounds more like suicide,’ Percy remarked, instantly regretting it.
‘I guess. Too young to write a note though, eh?’ she smiled. ‘So I hear you spotted Amélie because you were getting a book back? Is that right? You’d left it behind, and gone back for it?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. Sort of. A novel. I’d left it there after swimming.’
‘Just incredible. So lucky you went back.’
‘It was,’ Percy agreed. There was a slight pause, he noticed, before Kristen spoke again.
‘Good book?’ She sipped her wine; glass beaded with condensation.
‘Total shit, actually. I wanted my bookmark, that’s all.’
She exploded with laughter, wine spraying from her mouth. Apologising profusely, she began wiping his now damp leg with the flat of her hand. ‘I am so sorry, Percy. That was disgusting. I’ll get a cloth.’
‘No don’t,’ Percy insisted, not wanting her to move. ‘It’s fine. Really.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
She laughed again, ‘But the book was that bad, eh?’
Feeling encouraged, Percy expanded, ‘Terrible. I have tried to leave that bloody book all over the place, but it’s like some kind of homing pigeon.’
‘Is it the one you were reading when I saw you by the pool that time? If you still can’t get on with it, why don’t you just stop reading? Or chuck it away?’
‘A good friend recommended it. I thought I’d keep trying.’
‘How far have you got with it?’
‘Thirty pages.’
‘Thirty?’
Percy could tell Kristen was outraged. ‘Maybe forty,’ he added.
‘Forty? That novel is more than three hundred pages long. How can you make a judgement on thirty pages? And, Mister Won’t-Read-Something-Different, I can tell you that by saying thirty you actually mean twenty. I know about these things. So keep the thirty or forty crap for someone else.’
‘So you know the book?’
‘Yes I know the book. Most people think it…’
‘Brilliant, is what it is,’ interrupted a soft velvety voice. ‘Hello Percy, I didn’t expect to see you here.’
Percy looked up to see Verity Sullivan, dressed almost the same as Kristen, but with an altogether different effect; no long legs in sight, just curves and allure.
‘Sorry I am late,’ she said, addressing Kristen, ‘I was waiting for Norm, but he’s running so late that I’m not certain he’ll make it at all. I left him to catch up if he can. Some group he’s joined is taking up all of his time.’
Percy saw a look flash his way. Not accusatory, more recognition. He hoped she wouldn’t say anything more.
‘Hey, no worries. It’s good to have you here.’ Kristen stood up. ‘Here, have my seat. I was just going to circulate; say a few farewells before we are all too drunk.’
Percy watched while the taut frame of Kristen was replaced by the voluptuous Verity. His mouth dried a little. He could feel Vee’s softness pressing against him, her forearm slightly overlapping his, her little finger brushing against his hand.
‘How are you Percy?’ she asked, after Kristen had gone.
‘I’m okay. You?’
A coy smile formed. ‘I am very well, thank you.’
‘You know Kristen?’
‘I know Amanda. I met Kristen a few weeks ago and we got on. She’s one of those people. You know the sort.’
‘Do I?’
Verity chuckled. ‘Oh Percy, you never change. I mean she is the sort of person to make one feel at ease. Old friend-new friend, do you know what I mean? Or maybe it would be new friend-old friend?’
Though increasingly hot with Verity’s ample body enveloping him, Percy did not want to move. His only regret now was that he might not get to talk with Kristen again, and having been so close to so much exposed skin and gentle banter, hopes of a more intimate encounter had been raised.
Verity seemed to read his thoughts. ‘She’ll be back. You’ll have your chance. If not today then in a few months.’
Percy dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head, but he knew he looked like a nervous child in denial.
Verity laughed, and nudged him, playfully. ‘Shall we go for another walk, sometime?’
Percy said he would like that very much. He tried not to picture Norm’s bright smile.
‘Good. I’ll let you know when I am free. Now tell me, what had Kristen so wound up when I came out here just now?’
‘Wound up?’
‘Yes, Percy, wound up. Surely you’re not that daft, are you?’
At that moment, an array of white fairy lights lit up all around, the shift from sunset to twilight enough to offer a satisfactory glow. Amanda reappeared. She offered Verity a glass of wine and Percy a third bottle of beer and a damp cloth, before disappearing back inside.
‘I have wine on my leg,’ Percy said, noting Verity’s questioning expression. ‘Kristen sprayed me.’
‘I see. I won’t ask why. Goodness, it’s early for a party, don’t you think?’ she said.
Percy replied by saying that he didn’t know.
‘I think Kristen has an early flight, or something,’ Verity went on, ‘not that starting a party early will make any difference. It won’t finish any sooner, only leave everyone with an even bigger hangover, don’t you think?’
‘Are you sure she was annoyed with me?’ he asked.
‘Kristen? Yes. She looked ready to kill.’
‘I don’t see why. We were only talking about a book.’
‘Her book, yes, I know, I gathered that.’
‘No. Not hers. Mine.’
‘Your book? You’ve written a book?’
‘No, I have not written a book,’ Percy stated. ‘I mean the book I left by the pool when… well never mind that. It’s a novel that I can’t get on with. It’s crap. I was telling Kristen how bad it is, that’s all.’
‘Is this the book you went back for, when you saw the girl?’
‘You know about Amélie?’
‘Oh my God, Percy who doesn’t know about her? I’m surprised it’s not in the Straits Times.’
‘Oh. Well… yes, it was that book.’
‘Well that book, you great banana, is Kristen’s. I know it is, because Amanda told me.’
‘It’s mine.’ Percy said again. He was beginning to think Verity had been drinking before the party.
‘Yes, Percy,’ Verity slowed her speech. ‘You own the book, but you see, Kristen wrote the book.’
25. THE TEMPLE ROOM
It had caused a degree of upset within her household, but Hester had ploughed ahead and converted one of the reception rooms into a temple. The veranda was too small for the growing number of believers, the lawn often too wet. Following was not a group that could easily meet in public, so the decision had been an easy one.
Davina packed away Hester’s collection of Asian artefacts with her employer overseeing every piece of tissue and box as if the girl were an imbecile. Hester was well aware that she seemed a fussy old woman, but these were precious memories of a life well lived and they mattered. Hester would have preferred to stand over the girl, literally, but a bout of ill-health had left her unable to do anything more than sit in a chair and wave ferociously.
Once the room was emptied, Hester adorned it with porcelain white lilies and an image of Percy. The picture was her favourite thing, because it had been taken without him knowing, and so captured his face in a contemplative frown. The expression was genuine, which marshalled her approval since Pe
rcy was a man true to himself. The portrait was taller than Hester, greyed-out black and white; an artistic image she felt would make a lovely wall hanging with or without any sentiment attached to it.
Her husband’s mild criticism did not bother Hester any more than if it had been fierce. She remained his great love, and he hers, no matter what. And just as she lived her own life, so he lived his as he always had, doing his own thing exactly when it suited him. His nagging regarding her health occasionally sparked a rough exchange, but mostly he said very little even about this. Though sometimes questioning of her, Hester’s husband was not acutely aware of her untruthful habit, and nor did she wish him to be. She accepted his teasing suspicion that she was edging towards some kind of age related brain disease, because other than confess what she was doing, there was no choice. Besides, it was fun to seem forgetful and have him fuss over her a little more than he used to. She would not confide her ruse, even in him; the rule regarding never sharing secrets applied to all.
That rule had been stretched at the Science Centre, the old school friend who still retained her once infamous hyper-extending ligaments, quite sick. Terminal cancer had announced itself only after the spread, smacking the poor woman right between the eyes. The dislocation episode was as much for the friend’s benefit as for Hester’s, Hester told herself. It was a jolly farewell. And farewell it had been, a telephone call revealed only that morning. She sighed, thinking of it. There were so many goodbyes these days; they might as well be fun.
Hester was resting in a chair admiring the new temple room when Davina announced guests were beginning to arrive. She heaved herself up, and walked with the maid to the front door. She felt stiff and slow, not at all the same woman who’d managed to keep up with three spritely comrades in the pursuit of Percy. She’d grown a little fatter, she knew, and decided that extra weight must require extra effort.
It was no surprise to see Trudy standing there, immaculately dressed and heavily made up, with dark hair perfectly shiny and smooth, though worn in a massive coiffure. Her face and neck appeared somewhat inert, Hester thought, assuming some kind of procedure must have taken place. Hester knew this would happen. Not the procedure, because those were hard to predict, but that a spotlessly turned out Trudy would be early. Davina had been instructed to make certain plenty of white wine was chilled at the ready.
Once inside, Trudy naturally made for the veranda and Hester let her, thinking that she would reveal the new space only when everyone was gathered. There was no ribbon to be cut, but no one would notice the lack of a conventional ritual. Whether by subconscious design or lucky chance, Following had accumulated a wealth of devotees who thought of little, other than their new faith. A ceremonial ribbon cutting would be the last thing on their minds; in fact, they might even view the tradition as out of keeping.
Davina brought out two glasses of wine, and then returned to the kitchen.
‘She’s making these little pastry things. Delicious.’ Hester grinned. ‘It’s early yet. We might as well enjoy a glass before everyone arrives. Cheers.’
Trudy smiled and held up her glass.
Nearby, a cicada was calling loudly. Trudy looked about, searching for it.
‘You won’t see it,’ Hester said. ‘One can be looking straight at the damn thing and miss it. Is it bothering you?’
‘Not especially.’
Hester watched Trudy’s face change from passive wine drinker to person thinking of something annoying. It was subtle. ‘What is it?’ Hester asked. ‘We can go inside if it’s the sound. It is rather loud.’
‘It’s really not the cicada, Hester. I like them. It’s nothing. Only that I heard from Meera earlier. She asked her brother to print up some leaflets about Following. I think he’s had a visit from someone, the police maybe. Anyway, she says all the leaflets were confiscated.’
Hester already knew about this. ‘They didn’t get all the leaflets. Meera had taken two boxes home. I have them here.’ The picture on the leaflet was the same image enlarged for the temple. ‘I wonder why they’re being so fussy about it all? There’s no name on it. The last thing anyone wants is for Percy to be incarcerated. The leaflets were not destined for letterboxes, for goodness sake, but for members to pass on to friends.’
The fine line being walked was narrow indeed.
‘Her brother was cross, Hester.’
‘He knew what he was doing.’
‘I guess. I think this means we should be careful, though.’
‘Yes, it does. But I wouldn’t worry too much.’ Hester thought about all the people she knew in high places, and of the things she knew. There was no guarantee of protection, of course, but a blind eye might be turned if Following could be proved an innocuous club rather than a religious movement. There would be no slamming of other faiths, no annoying people with evangelical door knocking. Within the law, they would continue as they were, and talk only to people prepared to listen. Even the temple room was not a place likely to become controversial.
‘Can I see one?’
‘A leaflet? Why of course. I shall hand some out at the end of the sermon.’
‘Sermon?’
‘You’ll see,’ Hester said, winking whilst raising her glass once more. ‘You’ll see.’
Trudy was not prepared to wait. ‘How can there be a sermon? We haven’t anything to preach.’
‘Who said anything about preaching?’
‘What else happens in a sermon?’
Hester tapped the side of her nose, ‘Just wait and see. I’ve a new take on it. ’ She placed her glass on a small side table and clasped her fingers across her round belly, satisfied. ‘One day, Percy Field will come here, you know.’
‘He’s been here, hasn’t he? With The Discussion Group.’
‘I meant as Prophet. He can’t deny it forever.’ At times like this, Hester almost forgot it was a lie.
Trudy tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, smoothing it into place several times over.
The Cult of Following, Book Two Page 18
