Twisted Agendas

by Damian McNicholl

  Across from them, on a bench near the fountain that resembled a huge chalice, an old woman sat filing her nails while her heavily panting dog watched intently, as if willing her to finish up so he could get out of the midday sun.

  Her mother put her sandwich on her lap and turned round fully on the bench toward Piper. “What if there’s another incident? What if he goes crazy and kills Juan and I after you leave?”

  “He won’t.”

  “You’re an expert, are you?”

  “You can’t ruin Dad’s career. You were married to him for nearly twenty-five years. Cut him some slack, for Christ’s sake.”

  Her mother didn’t reply, instead brushed crumbs off her lap. She looked at her watch. Her mother’s selfish indifference to her father’s pain signaled how far she really had moved away from him.

  “You need to know I’ve been pissed at… ” Her mother stopped when the old woman looked over. “Oh, never mind.” Her mother sighed. “You wanna come see the dress?”

  “I’m meeting Dad.” Piper rose.

  “’Course, you are.”

  It’ll be more of a surprise when I see it on Monday.”

  “Your hair needs cutting before then.”

  Piper wiped her fringe from her left eye. “I’m not part of the bridal set-up.”

  “Yeah, but the photos… please.”

  “Will do, but only if you give Dad a chance. I’m working to get him help.”

  Her mother regarded her for a moment. “Has he agreed?”

  “He will.”

  “If he starts therapy, I’ll agree.”

  Piper spent the rest of the week alternately talking, threatening and pleading with her father, even shared the fact she’d had some therapy in London and would be having more so they could compare experiences if he wanted. When he asked about hers, she glossed over the reasons. As she pleaded with him, it felt on occasions as if she were the demanding parent and he the stubborn child. When the breakthrough came, she leapt into action and contacted anyone she could think of in the city who would be able to suggest names of psychiatrists or psychologists. After she and her father settled on a doctor, she made an appointment and insisted on accompanying him for good measure.

  The initial portion of the appointment comprised of a negotiating session about cost that began on hard chairs positioned before the taciturn administrator’s desk but quickly advanced to the buttery leather armchairs of the psychiatrist’s office commanding a view of the sparkling East River and cable car crossing to Roosevelt Island. Though fully insured, her father refused to file a claim because bills would be forwarded to his NYPD medical insurance carrier and he feared some anonymous insurance bureaucrat would pass on information he had an emotional problem to his precinct superiors. This fear, Piper took as an encouraging sign of his willingness to continue living.

  Labour Day morning was sunny with only wisps of cloud in the sky as she hurriedly entered the North Garden at Central Park’s Conservatory Garden. A refreshing breeze played with the leaves of the rosebushes climbing the nearest of the four archways to the Three Dancing Maidens fountain within the heart of the garden. Jets of water rose like a whale’s blow above the heads of the copper maidens before tumbling in bursts of coruscating droplets into the shallow basin below. In front of the mouth of the southerly arch, her mother stood with the wedding party that included Juan’s mother, his teenage daughter and a boyish-faced judge in a black robe who looked no older than twenty-five yet was a childhood friend of Juan’s.

  “You’ve come,” her mother said.

  That her mother articulated her fear Piper would be a no show was touching. The wedding dress was simple, elegant and snug, its snugness amplifying the curves of her mother’s hips and breasts. Her hair was tethered into a perfect bun and she wore a gold necklace Piper had never seen before. A small oval silver frame containing a photograph of her brother Rory was pinned just above her left breast.

  After requesting the photographer take photos of the two of them by the fountain, her mother said she wanted them to take a short stroll.

  “Don’t be long,” Juan called. He pointed to the judge. “He’s got another wedding before he can come to our party.”

  “Okay Papi,” her mother said, and blew him two kisses.

  It felt strange for Piper to see her mother so beautifully dressed for her marriage to another man, especially when her father was at this very moment at work in a shabby precinct twenty blocks away. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being disloyal to him just by being here, even though she was attending with his blessing. The harsh hiss of water from the fountain softened as they strolled further from the garden’s centre.

  “I wanted to say something,” her mother said.

  “He’s started therapy.”

  “It’s about you and me.”

  A bumble bee started dancing around the head of a large pink rose whose inner petals were brown and withered.

  “Today’s a new beginning and I want to have good luck from the get-go. I wanted to tell you that day in the plaza but I chickened out.”

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “I’ve been real pissed at you Phila but I’m working on letting it all go.”

  Piper took a step back. “For what?”

  The corners of her mother’s glossy lips quivered before she spoke. “For one, you said at Rory’s grave that I’m the one in the wrong. You’re blaming me for ending the marriage.”

  “I’m going to get the ‘two to tango’ argument, am I?”

  “Even the way you say that Phil… Piper.”

  “And what way’s that?”

  “Real mean.”

  Juan called out to them to come back. Her mother gathered the skirt of her dress in preparation to leave.

  “What’s the other thing?”

  “I made a mistake. Now’s not the right time.”

  “Come on, Mom.”

  Her mother paused. “My future’s happening right now and that’s what today is all about.” She touched Piper’s arm. It felt like a bolt of electricity travelled through her body rendering her immobile. “I know we haven’t been all that close but I need you to know right now I’m trying to forgive you.”

  Piper snatched her arm away. “What the hell am I missing here?”

  “Philomena, come on,” Juan called. “You wanna get married today or not?”

  Her mother quickly walked away.

  The ceremony unfolded in the garden as if Piper were watching it through a pair of photochromic glasses after they’ve been transitioning from sun to shade and vice-versa for three or four months: the colours of her mother’s white and scarlet roses were no longer as vibrant, the grass and leaves of the shrubs were still green but not as fresh as viewed with the naked eye, the sky blue but no longer azure. Her mother’s words ‘real pissed’ and ‘trying to forgive’ circled her brain.

  After boarding a limo outside the Vanderbilt Gate with five of Juan’s relatives including his mother and her new minted half-sister, Piper immediately popped open the bottle of free champagne. Four of them were teetotalers and Juan’s mother, a diminutive, elegant woman, watched disapprovingly as the car made its way uptown.

  At the party held in the lush quadrangle of a brownstone on the Upper East Side belonging to Juan’s sister who’d married up. Piper quickly drank two more flutes of champagne and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, nibbling on hot fried plantains and assorted canapés to keep the effects of the alcohol in check. Communication with her mother throughout the afternoon was confined to exchanges of glances, nods and smiles when they found themselves near one another on the dance floor. Cool embraces also occurred when they were asked to pose for guest photographs. Towards the end of the evening, her mother left to change as Juan and she were catching a flight from JFK to St. Barts for their honeymoon.

  Ten minutes later, Piper went looking for her. She found her in the bathroom of the master bedroom. She’d already changed and was applying lipstick.

&n
bsp; “I’ll be in London when you get home.” Piper stepped into the bathroom. “I need to know.”

  “I’ll call when I get back to the office.” Her mother licked her lips. “I promise. Hey, we’ll come over for your graduation. The dollar’s doing good now.” She examined her reflection in the mirror and then tugged her dress to smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle. “Would you fix my hair at the back? The limo’s gonna be here soon.”

  The walls of the spacious bathroom were sheathed in oversized dove-grey, black and dusty pink marble tiles and accented by a heavy wall-to-ceiling guilt mirror that permitted the confident to admire their body profiles even while sitting on the john. It smelled of French lavender, though whether from the mound of enticingly shaped soaps or votive candle burning on a glass shelf, Piper wasn’t sure.

  “Mom, please tell… ”

  “Not now.”

  Piper stopped brushing her mother’s hair. “Now.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No.”

  “You smoked weed then? Your Dad’s to blame. It’s not just me, you know? He had an affair with a woman at his precinct when you were a kid.” She pulled away unexpectedly from Piper’s reach, leaving her holding the brush in mid-air. “I stood by him.”

  “Is this true, Mom or… ?”

  “Yeah, your father. The religious man who doesn’t believe in divorce but does in suicide. Him. He screwed around on me.”

  Piper stared at her mother for a moment. She needed to know and yet understood it wasn’t relevant to the conversation. “Did you enjoy the sex, Mom?”

  “Jesus, what’s that got to do with what I’m telling you? He screwed around and I took him back when the affair ended. I did, because you needed bringing up in a normal home. But something inside me was changed. When you fall out of love, it’s forever. You can’t ever get it back. So Rory… ” Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Your brother was made without a scrap of love or respect for your father.”

  Piper wasn’t sure what was worse, not wanting sex or having it without any emotion. She took a gulp of wine.

  “The other thing, Mom. You said there were two reasons you’re pissed at me.”

  “I’m definitely not going there today.”

  Her mother started to leave the bathroom. Piper quickly crossed to the door, slammed it shut and stood with her back to it.

  “Let me out.”

  “Not until you tell me.”

  As she tugged the door handle, the wine glass dropped out of her mother’s hand and smashed on the tiles. Piper looked at it but didn’t move. “You’re not leaving till you tell me.”

  Her mother’s head slowly lifted from looking at the broken glass. “I blame you,” she said. “I blame you for Rory dying. You let him die.”

  Her mother’s face blurred. Piper’s ears began to ring. It sounded as if a tuning fork was vibrating inside her head. She felt she was going to pass out. She inhaled slowly and willed herself to clarity as her mother continued to assail her.

  “How could you let your brother burn to death? He loved you. Do you know how scared he must have been?” Her mother’s hand raised to cover her mouth as if she were reliving the terror her brother must have experienced. “The… ”

  Fully sober now, Piper’s mind’s eye returned to the terrible summer evening. She was back inside the house again, felt the fierce wall of heat scorch her arms and face. She heard the splintering glass. “I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t get up the stairs.” Was this true? Could she really not have done anything? She’d replayed the scenario in her mind so often since it happened, she wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.

  “I asked you this before and this time I want the truth.” Her mother’s lips formed a perfect straight line. “Had you smoked pot in your bedroom that night?”

  Piper didn’t speak.

  “Did you?”

  “I’d smoked earlier with friends. But I wasn’t high when I got home. I fell asleep on the couch. He was playing upstairs.” She tried to keep her mother’s face in focus, but even rapid blinking didn’t help. “Mom, I wasn’t high when he… ”

  “You’re lying again.”

  “Honest to God. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

  “Then you didn’t try hard enough to save him. You didn’t. You saved your goddamned cat instead.” Her mother’s hands rose and she covered her face. Her shoulders began to heave. She whipped her hands away and regarded Piper with pure venom. “A cat! How could you pick the cat over your baby brother?”

  “I couldn’t get upstairs, Mom. The banister was in flames. I was running out of the house when I saw her and just scooped her up.” Tears streamed down Piper’s face. “I was only sixteen.”

  “You were selfish. You did everything to provoke me. Well, I did my duty by you.”

  “I was working through stuff, Mom. I still am. But please… please, I would never have left Rory there to die.” She felt her body move as her legs buckled. Her back slid down the door. “I loved him so much.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Everything okay in there, Philomena?” Juan’s sister asked.

  Her mother went to the mirror and began to rub her eyes. “I’m fine, Salina.”

  “Limo’s outside.”

  “Be right there.”

  Piper stood. “Mom.”

  “I didn’t want to talk about this, Phila. You shouldn’t have made me. Not today.”

  She went over, pressed herself against her mother’s back and wrapped her arms around her neck. Her mother’s arms didn’t rise, not even to seize her wrists. “Please hug me, Mom.” Still her mother’s arms did not move. “Mom, hug me back. Please.”

  “I’m trying to work though this, Phila.” Her mother stared at her in the mirror. “I’ll get there with time.” Her arms rose and her warm soft hands began to loosen Piper’s grip. “I need to leave.”

  Her mother stooped and began to pick up the pieces of broken glass.

  “Go. I’ll clean up.”

  Her mother cracked the door open. “One last thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “That name you go by now. Did you stop wanting to be Philomena because you hate it or because it’s also my name?”

  “I don’t know. I… yes.”

  “I thought that might be the case.” Her mother came over and her eyes roamed Piper’s face. “Look, maybe it’s good we’ve talked now. It’ll take me time but I will get to where I need to be and then we can go on.” She laid her hands on Piper’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “I’ll come see you in London.”

  The rapid click of her pumps grew fainter and fainter as she passed down the hallway. The front door opened and the quiet roar of passing traffic rushed inside. Whistling and cheering followed swiftly in its wake as the guests moved down the staircase to the street.

  Hawks and Sparrows

  He’d been detained now along the hard shoulder of the A4 for forty minutes. If the flight from New York was on schedule, Piper would have collected her luggage and already be waiting in the terminal building. The traffic was loud, moved very fast and he could feel his car shake as if wanting to lift into the air every time a large lorry passed. First, the traffic officer accused him of exceeding the speed limit, which he had but only by three miles per hour, something everybody did. Then the officer walked leisurely around the car three times, checking each tyre at a snail’s pace, asking him to switch on in turn the brake lights, headlights in low and high beams, the indicator lights and parking and emergency light. Finding everything in order, he’d demanded he open the bonnet and boot. Danny didn’t have to consent to any such search, but it wasn’t worth protesting because refusal provided grounds to accuse him of a public order offence, which meant court appearances and fines.

  He was being harassed again. Since his release, he’d been stopped by a policeman on his way to the shops on King Street and asked for his name and address. Very politely, of course. “Be seeing you around I’m sure, sir,” the bobby said, and str
olled away with his hands linked behind his back. He’d also been pulled in by a traffic officer on a motorbike while driving from the Institut after getting his examination results, which had crimped his happiness about his success. Again, the tyres and lights had been checked. He was now driving the safest vehicle in London.

  The lawyer he’d appointed to represent him was an Englishman who’d served as an officer in British military intelligence before going to law school. He had experience defending people accused under the new ‘mainland’ terrorism legislation. At the initial interview, he’d sympathised with Danny and said there’d be harassment that might even escalate if he decided not to cooperate. “It’s how they work when they feel they can get someone to turn,” he’d said. “The army was against using blackmail to recruit agents this way. It leads to unpredictable results, but the police never seem to learn that lesson.” He’d advised Danny he had a case, both with regard to the technicalities (they’d held him longer than the statutory forty-eight hours without allowing him access to a lawyer) and facts, but also admitted the Crown was tough, inflexible and dogged in these matters should they decide to prosecute vigorously. Curiously, rather than make him more afraid, his words firmed Danny’s resolve to fight the injustice and clear his name.

  The traffic officer handed Danny a fine that included three penalty points on his driving license and a summons to appear in court. When he got to the airport and explained to Piper the reason for the delay, she felt so guilty for asking him to pick her up she offered to pay the fine.

  “I’m going to fight it.”

  “And so you bloody should.”

  “Hey, I had a good teacher,” he said, and winked. “We can’t let them take away our rights now, can we?”

  His mobile rang as he was climbing out of his car.

  “Your father’s on his way to London,” his mother said before he could speak. “I just dropped him off at the airport.”

  “He didn’t ring to tell me.”

  “It was spur of the moment. He asked me to call and tell you he’ll be at your house round twelve-thirty and you should be there.”

  Danny checked the time. A taxi took forty minutes from Heathrow so he figured he had about two hours. “Why all the secrecy, Mum?”