Set Me Free

by Jennifer Collin

  ‘Charlotte, you run an art gallery that exhibits other people’s work. I don’t think your moving costs will be that unmanageable,’ said Emily, dryly.

  ‘Just looking for something positive, Missy.’

  The space was promising. It was a vacant shop among a stretch of restaurants, which insinuated afternoon browsers; ladies-who-lunch walking off their meals before picking the kids up from school.

  The building was old, but from the street front, there was no sign of potential collapse, unlike other budget sites she’d seen. Charlotte peered in through the glass. It was basic. Four walls and a sink at the back.

  ‘No back room,’ she observed as she forced the stubborn key into the lock and led Emily inside. ‘And I’m not sure about that colour.’

  ‘I’m sure about it,’ Emily said. ‘It’s disgusting. Fluorescent green. Can we leave now? There’s nothing more to this place, and it’s turning my stomach.’

  Charlotte complied, but not before doing a circuit of the room, trying to visualise its possibilities. Walls could be painted if she became desperate.

  Their next stop was on Musgrave Road, across the river and up the hill from West End. It was a free-standing shop front with a tenanted house behind it. The real estate agent’s pitch said off-street parking. On the map, it looked isolated. Just thinking about it, Charlotte felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

  ‘I’m going to miss having Ben next door,’ she said.

  ‘You might find a new Ben,’ Emily suggested.

  ‘He’s my best friend, Em. He’s not replaceable.' She didn’t want a new Ben. She was happy with the way things were, and she didn’t want anything to change.

  ‘No, I suspect he’s not.’

  They pulled up outside the address but decided not to get out of the car. It was once a prestigious old building, but the smashed glass window at the front and the car body in the vacant lot next door spoke volumes about neglect. The guttering hung loose, and the paint was peeling off in great swathes.

  ‘Drive on,’ suggested Emily and Charlotte didn’t hesitate.

  ‘Did you ask Geoff if he has any property law contacts?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘I did. He couldn’t think of anyone, but he was going to ask around at work.’

  ‘Can you pass on my thanks? It would be brilliant if we could get someone on our side who understood the law. Hey, how’s his case going?’

  ‘Still no end in sight. At least we managed a night together last Thursday, though. Thanks to Mr Property Developer chasing you out of the door and dragging Cassette with him. You never told me if he caught up with you.’

  ‘He chased me out the door?’

  ‘He pretty much jumped out of his seat as soon as your back was turned. Cassette was not happy. Did you see them outside?’

  Charlotte tried to be nonchalant as she parked the car at the front of the next shop. The realtor they’d arranged to meet was waiting for them. ‘He put her in a taxi and walked me home,’ she replied, and promptly climbed out of the car. Emily’s eyes widened. For now at least, shaking the realtor’s hand, Charlotte dodged further questioning.

  After the third and fourth inspection, the first one was coming up trumps. Number five was on the north side of town in Hamilton, further away than Charlotte wanted, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Following Emily’s directions and driving through the thick traffic that choked the northern suburbs, she tried not to feel despondent.

  ‘Turn here!’ Emily suddenly screeched. Charlotte braked and took the left hand corner too sharply.

  ‘Bit more warning next time, please. Need I remind you I am borrowing this car?' She slowed down, expecting the unexpected. ‘Where now?’ she asked.

  ‘Hmm, I’m not sure. I think that was a wrong turn back there.’

  ‘Emily,’ Charlotte moaned. ‘Can I please turn on the Sat Nav?' Emily had flatly refused to use it, preferring instead to flick through the pages of a fifteen-year-old street directory.

  ‘No, I can get us there. That dreadful robotic voice will make my brain explode if you put that thing on.’

  ‘Well, my brain is going to explode if we get lost again.’

  ‘You could always let me drive.’

  ‘Ben lent me this car on the condition that I don’t let you drive.’

  ‘Well shut up then and turn right,’ Emily instructed.

  Charlotte turned into what was clearly a residential street. Typical of the suburb, it was a blend of majestic weatherboard Queenslanders surrounded by enormous well-manicured gardens and neighbouring mid-twentieth century apartment blocks.

  ‘I really doubt we’re going to find a shop for lease up here,’ Charlotte complained as she shifted down gears to climb the steep hill.

  Suddenly she braked again, this time to a complete stop. ‘Oh my,’ she whispered, gazing out of the window at the most perfect example of Art Deco architecture she’d ever seen in Brisbane. A car behind her beeped.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ she asked it, steering the Mazda into a tight parking spot.

  ‘Um, Charlotte?’ Emily asked.

  ‘I just need to have a look at this building.'

  It was crumbling around the edges, derelict, abandoned and desperately in need of some love. The garden was a jungle of weeds, overgrown with lantana, cat’s claw and morning glory. Nevertheless, a little concrete path still paved the way to the front door.

  ‘That building?' Emily asked, horrified. ‘That thing looks like something from one of my paintings. Seriously, Charlotte, it looks like it could collapse any second. I don’t think we are safe here.’

  Charlotte got out of the car. ‘Emily, it’s amazing. Look at those lines down the sides and the ziggurat shapes in the windows.' Charlotte was mesmerised.

  Peering out from the safety of her seat, all Emily could see was an overgrown garden, several windows boarded up with plywood, and crumbling stucco. But to Charlotte the two-story 1930s apartment building was a work of art equal to anything Emily would put on a canvas.

  Where Emily saw neglected responsibility and society’s failings, Charlotte saw an opportunity to repair and make things better than they were before. She gazed at the building before her, imagining how she might restore it and wondering what condition it was in inside.

  A slight and sudden pang of regret, for what she'd left behind to come to Queensland, stung her. She never meant to give up architecture entirely, but running the gallery left little time for anything else. Not to mention the cost of re-enrolling. She was getting by, but the gallery afforded very few additional extras in her life.

  She took the building in for a few more moments then, reminding herself she was happy, climbed back into the car.

  ‘Can you please check the map again and find us a way out of here?'

  Charlotte took one last look before putting the car into gear.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Emily. ‘Go straight ahead and then turn left, then right, then a sharp left. That should be the street with the shop on it.'

  It was, and the shop was of the same vintage and style as the Hardgrave Road option. It was a little out of the way, and the customer base would be completely different. While a lick of paint might work for the Hardgrave Road place; in this neighbourhood, it would definitely not be enough. This was the money part of town. It was infinitely suitable, but this space would require a refurbishment befitting a more exclusive clientele.

  As they left, they were subdued. The surprising lack of substitute gallery spaces made Charlotte question whether she should actually be exploring some entirely different ideas altogether. She thought of the magnificent Art Deco apartment block and felt the faint tingle of inspiration. Perhaps she could…

  No. Her sister still needed her.

  ‘Let’s get some lunch,’ Emily suggested. It was after 2pm. ‘There’s a cute little place Geoff and I discovered on Margaret Street in the city.’

  Charlotte found a parking space right outside the café. She turned off the Mazda and loo
ked at the building’s beautifully preserved façade. 1890s vintage, she guessed. As she took it in, the solid oak front doors opened and a familiar figure stepped out, dressed in a strappy, floaty, white sundress that blew around her in the gentle breeze. Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. A run in with Cassette would be difficult to stomach right now. As she watched, Cassette turned to tug someone out on to the street behind her. Charlotte’s dread escalated, and her mouth went dry.

  ‘Bloody hell, I think your secret little café has been discovered,’ she grumbled, finding her voice.

  Emily glanced up, clocked Cassette and turned to eyeball her sister. ‘Hey, she’s mine to loathe, not yours. Oh but I get it, you’ve got issues since seeing her fawning all over Mr Property Developer. There’s something going on with you two, isn’t there? You're going to spill over lunch, young lady.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Charlotte snapped.

  Emily laughed. ‘No need to fret over Cassette though is there?’ she teased. ‘What is it you’re always telling me? She’s harmless?’

  But as Emily was speaking, Charlotte decided that Cassette, performance artist extraordinaire, was very harmful indeed. The man following her out of the café and being swept into her clingy embrace was not Craig Carmichael.

  ‘Oh shit!’ Charlotte exclaimed and froze, paralysed with shock.

  ‘What ...?’ Emily looked back at Cassette in time to see her husband playfully pull her into a passionate and extended embrace. Emily turned to stone.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Charlotte found her faculties and fumbled to reinsert the keys into the ignition. She stole a glance at her paling sister. ‘Hang on a minute, honey. I’m going to get you out of here.’

  Before she could start the car, Emily opened the door and threw up on the street. The sound of retching distracted the lip-locked lovers, and they both turned in scorn towards the source. Then, recognising his wife, Geoff raced towards the car, leaving his flummoxed lover behind.

  ‘Emily!’ he cried, as she pulled herself back into the car, slamming and locking the door.

  ‘Please, Char,’ she begged, whispering.

  Charlotte revved the engine excessively as she pulled out, causing an approaching car to brake suddenly in a cloud of burnt rubber. Without an apology she sped off, leaving Geoff chasing after them, calling, ‘Emily, it’s not what you think!’

  They were instantly foiled by a red light, giving him the opportunity to catch up, run out into the traffic and pound on Emily’s window. Mercifully, the lights changed seconds later and Charlotte sped off. Lost for words, she threw repeated glances towards her sister, who was hunched forward, clutching her stomach and rocking slightly.

  Emily’s mobile began to ring. She dug it out of her handbag and turned it off. A minute later, Charlotte’s began to ring, and Emily did the same again.

  ‘Oh my God, Charlotte,’ she groaned. ‘Did I really just see that?’

  Charlotte said nothing, still searching for the right thing to say.

  ‘Can we go to your place?’ Emily murmured.

  ‘We are, honey. Are you okay?' It was a ridiculous question; born of futility.

  ‘No. It fucking hurts,’ Emily growled.

  Charlotte parked Ben’s car down a side street near her building.

  Once inside the sanctum of her sister’s flat, Emily’s tears began to flow. Charlotte led her to the couch.

  ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ Emily despaired as she rocked in Charlotte’s arms. ‘I can’t believe how much this hurts. How could he do this to me?’

  ‘I have absolutely no fucking idea, Em.’

  How could this happen? Emily and Geoff were high school sweethearts who only had eyes for each other from the age of sixteen. Geoff adored Emily. Sure, when they were younger Charlotte had wondered if his corporate career would clash with Emily’s slightly bohemian lifestyle. But after nearly ten years together they'd withstood the test of time, and she'd long since given up doubting. She might have thought their differences had finally driven them apart, but the woman they’d caught in his arms was Cassette, who was even more bohemian than Emily. What the hell was going on? On the surface, it seemed Cassette’s maliciousness had reached new, unforeseen, and unbelievable lows.

  After some time smoothing down her hair and shushing her, Charlotte let Emily go in order to make some chicken noodle soup, a family staple for all kinds of crises.

  She brought it back to Emily and waved it under her sniffling nose. ‘Here honey, you need to eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Of course you’re not, but you have to eat okay? We were on our way to lunch, remember?’

  Emily took the soup and looked into the bowl as though it was a crystal ball.

  ‘Eat,’ Charlotte commanded, standing over her.

  Before she could, the front door was assaulted. Emily jumped, scalding her legs as the soup sloshed out of the bowl.

  ‘Charlotte!’ Geoff bellowed. ‘I know you’re in there! I want to see my wife!' And then changing his tone dramatically, ‘Emily honey, Emily? I can explain. Please talk to me, babe. She means nothing to me,’ he pleaded.

  Charlotte groaned. ‘Is that some kind of script they’re all given at fourteen? Can he be any more of a cliché?’

  ‘Can you make him go away?' Emily’s voice was small.

  ‘Of course I can. You go into the bedroom and lock the door. Take the soup with you.’

  Once Emily was safely out of sight, Charlotte opened the door but kept the chain on. Geoff looked hysterical, sweating and dishevelled, like he’d run all the way there. ‘Let me in, Charlotte!’ he demanded. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I will let you in, Geoffrey, but only to stop you making a scene on my doorstep. But I will not let you in until you lower your voice and change your tone. Need I remind you that you're the one who has fucked up here? If you will kindly stop yelling at me and demonstrate a little remorse, you might find yourself on the other side of this door.’

  Geoff was shaking as he stepped back to pull himself together. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I really need to talk to her, Charlotte.' He exhaled heavily.

  Without further comment, Charlotte closed the door again and unhooked the chain. When she re-opened it, she expected him to push her aside and barge into the flat, but he surprised her with his slightly shaky composure. Clocking her closed bedroom door, Geoff went to plead through it.

  ‘Emily, please let me in,’ he begged. ‘I can explain, honey.' Charlotte scoffed behind him, but he ignored her. ‘Baby, you are my life,’ he continued. ‘Please, please talk to me!’

  The stony silence that met him left him momentarily at a loss. When he lifted his fist to recommence his angry hammering, Charlotte snapped.

  ‘Geoffrey!'

  Although refusing to look at her, Geoff dropped his fist. He sank to the floor and leaned his head against the closed door.

  ‘You’ve got to help me, Charlotte,’ he mumbled, turning to her.

  ‘Get real, Geoff. You know where my loyalties lie.’

  ‘Please?’ he begged.

  She considered him. What the hell did he think she'd do, convince Emily to forgive and forget? He looked so desperate; she might have felt sorry for him had the betrayal not been so unfathomable. It was one thing to cheat on your wife, it was another to do it with Cassette.

  Charlotte refocused on getting rid of him.

  ‘Alright, Geoff. I’ll help you,’ she lied. ‘But you need to help me too. She needs time to digest what she saw okay? Give her tonight and I’ll bring her home in the morning.’

  ‘But I need to explain.’

  What possible explanation could there be? she wanted to ask, but held her tongue.

  Keeping the derision out of her voice, she told him he could explain in the morning. ‘Give her tonight, Geoff. You owe her that.’

  It was Geoff’s turn to assess the situation. Nervously she watched his mind tick over, uncertain of what to try next if he refused.

  He
didn’t.

  He virtually crawled out of the flat. ‘I love you, Emily,’ he called feebly as Charlotte shut the door in his face, resisting the urge to slam it.

  She heard the lock on the bedroom door give and opened it to find Emily folded on the floor weeping silently. She picked her sister up, steered her back to the couch and phoned her best friend.

  Ben arrived ten minutes later and made a beeline for Emily. He pulled her into a tight embrace, squeezing more tears out of her, all over his t-shirt. Charlotte watched them from the kitchen, loving Ben for being so rock solid.

  Ben had no idea what to do, so he just kept holding on. God, the number of times he’d dreamed of being where he was right now. At the lowest point of indulging in the misery of his unrequited love, he’d even fantasised about the unfolding scenario: Geoff cheating on Emily and her turning to him for comfort. There was also the more palatable daydream, where one day she simply walked into Bean Drinkin’ and told him she was leaving Geoff because she’d discovered she was madly in love with him. Now, as he held a shaking, snorting, clearly devastated Emily, Ben desperately wished the latter was the dream that was coming true.

  Charlotte busied herself with the kettle in the kitchen. He steeled his expression. It wouldn't do to have Charlotte read his thoughts. For four years now he'd been mastering his impassive face, not reacting whenever Emily walked into the room, ignoring the way her musical laugh made him certain the world was full of wonder.

  Being in love with a married woman was hard work. But hiding it from your best friend was even harder.

  After some time, Emily’s sobs and snorts subsided, and she extracted herself from Ben’s arms.

  ‘Oh God, look at you,’ she groaned, gripping the dampness on his chest.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Em,’ he said quietly, gently brushing her hair back from her face.

  Emily sniffed. ‘Me too.’

  Charlotte placed a tray of steaming cups on the coffee table.

  ‘Is that…tea?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Yes. It’s what you need in a crisis,’ Charlotte replied, her tone both officious and sarcastic.