Can You Keep a Secret?

by Caroline Overington

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Colby said. He was drunk and annoyed. ‘Settle down.’

  Caitlin was crying hard, but Colby was in no condition to console her. He staggered down to the bedroom, bumping off the wallpaper. Caitlin found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his tie already loosened and his shoes undone.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Caitlin repeated.

  Colby swayed where he was sitting. He waved her away, saying, ‘Not now, Caitlin.’ He was tugging the white silk of his shirt out of his pants. ‘Please, not now.’

  He pulled his legs out of his pants and fell onto the bed, and was soon snoring like a man twenty years older. Come morning, he tried to apologise, saying, ‘I’m just feeling a bit hemmed in.’

  ‘You mean you’re sick of me,’ said Caitlin, tearily.

  ‘I’m not sick of you,’ said Colby, but at lunch that day at Balthazar, he told Robert, ‘It’s been great, but it’s a bit of a worry how clingy she’s getting. I mean, I’m not really ready to settle down.’

  ‘And you’ve told her that?’ asked Robert. They were drinking goblets of red, and sharing a platter of salty fries under the mottled mirrors.

  ‘Not exactly. But I mean, she’s due to fly out on the 14th.’

  ‘And what are we now?’

  ‘September 10.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try not to feel too sorry for you, shagging her silly between now and the end of the week.’

  ‘I’m just taking that a day at a time,’ said Colby, winking.

  The next day – Tuesday, September 11 – dawned clear and beautiful. Colby rolled out of bed at around 7 am. He kissed Caitlin as he always did on the nose, and called Robert from the foyer, saying, ‘Thanks for the lunch, buddy. I hope I didn’t go on too much. I’ve got a bit of a woolly head – want to meet up at the gym?’

  Robert laughed and said, ‘I’m already at my desk. Not that I’m trying to make you feel guilty! No, no! It’s okay, you go to the gym, and I guess I’ll see you when you get in.’

  Chapter 11

  Caitlin stayed in bed for an hour after Colby left, flicking through the Times and drinking lukewarm coffee. Shortly after 8.30, she went into the wet room to take a shower and was rinsing creamy conditioner out of her hair when she heard the tremendous noise that would change their lives.

  Caitlin thought it was an earthquake and her first instinct was to crouch down on the floor of the shower, but the shower head was shaking and she was scared. She reached up and turned the water off. What was going on? She strained to hear. There were sirens. Car alarms? Fire alarms? She wanted to know, but was reluctant to leave the bathroom. And yet she couldn’t stay naked on her knees in the shower.

  She reached for one of Colby’s towels and wrapped it around her body. With trembling legs she stood and peered cautiously around the door frame, and out through the picture windows in Colby’s lounge room.

  The building next door – Colby’s building – was on fire.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ she gasped.

  There was a gaping hole at the top of the tower, and smoke was pouring out into the blue sky.

  ‘Please, God, let Colby be at the gym.’

  Darting desperately around, Caitlin found the Hello Kitty phone Colby had given her, and with trembling hands she called him, but there was no answer. The building’s fire alarms started to ring. She would have to evacuate. That was fine. That was good. She wanted to be out of the apartment. She wanted to be on the street, outside the foyer of the burning building, trying to find Colby.

  Caitlin steadied her hands long enough to pull on jeans, a T-shirt and a zip-up jacket, because that seemed easier than trying to find, and fiddle with, a bra. She still had conditioner in her hair. She took her purse and the mobile phone and left the apartment. The alarm was still going and the lift lights were flashing. She would have to take the fire stairs. She opened the heavy door and was confronted by a trail of scared and trembling people, feeling their own way down in the darkened stairway. She could just make out that some were carrying pets. One was even lugging a pot plant. She could hear people ahead of her, saying, ‘Come on! Let’s get moving!’

  Caitlin was young and could easily have pushed past those who were older and moving more slowly, but she kept her place in the queue and listened to what people were saying, without knowing if any of it was true.

  ‘It’s a plane, crashed into the building.’

  ‘Terrible, terrible.’

  ‘Why don’t you all shut up and get your fat asses down these goddamn stairs?’

  ‘Hey, don’t push!’

  Caitlin said nothing. She had her phone in her hand and she was dialling Colby’s number over and over, but either he could not answer, or else deep within the fire escape, she could not get a signal. People behind her on the stairs started to push. She lost her footing and stumbled but kept going until she was spat out of the darkness into brilliant light in the alley outside Colby’s building. Some of the people she’d been in the fire escape with bolted. Others stood looking up at the North Tower with shocked faces.

  Somebody shouted, ‘Oh no, they’re jumping!’

  Caitlin broke free of the group and ran towards the burning building. She was quite near the front entrance when the second plane hit the South Tower.

  The impact and the noise forced Caitlin to her knees. She got up and tried to run, but her foot landed on something wet and heavy. She could not look because she knew it was a person, and that he’d exploded on landing.

  She started shaking and crying. Nothing in her history had prepared her for terrorism. She ran this way and that, and was barely out of the impact zone when the South Tower came down. A great cloud of pulverised concrete rolled towards her and coated the world with grey, and then the city was filled with grey ghosts, and Caitlin wandered among them, dazed, bleeding, and as pale and soot-covered as the rest. At some point, she found herself in the foyer of an apartment building where others had gathered, and she was given water and told to sit.

  There was a small TV on the bellman’s desk. The second tower had come down and a newsreader was saying, ‘God save the United States of America.’

  ‘Goddamn! Goddamn!’ the bellman said, pointing. ‘Ain’t nobody getting out of here alive.’

  Caitlin felt the fear and dread run through her. ‘My boyfriend works in that building.’

  They turned towards her, and perhaps because of her accent, perhaps because she was barefoot, bleeding, with soot settled like concrete into the conditioner in her hair, they showed some sympathy.

  ‘Your boyfriend, what’s his name?’ the doorman asked.

  ‘Col … Lachlan. His name is Lachlan Colbert. He works at Carnegie.’

  ‘Which tower?’

  ‘Carnegie’s in the North Tower,’ someone said.

  ‘You have his cell phone?’

  ‘He isn’t picking up.’ Caitlin looked down at the phone in her hand, as white as the hands of a corpse in the morgue.

  ‘Nobody’s picking up,’ someone said. ‘That don’t mean nothing.’

  The doorman said, ‘Let me see that phone.’

  He took the phone, and tried Colby’s number from the phone on his desk, but there was still no answer.

  ‘Where could he be?’ Caitlin said.

  ‘What you need to do is report him missing,’ the doorman said.

  Caitlin nodded and returned to the streets. How could she report Colby missing? There were thousands of people missing. She continued to wander, dazed and confused, until ping. A message. Two messages. Three. Caitlin’s phone had come to life. She fumbled through the keys, trying to reach the message bank.

  ‘Caitlin. Can you pick up?’

  ‘Caitlin, if you’re there, please call me back.’

  ‘Caitlin, where are you?’

  Colby was alive. Colby had left messages. She tried to call him back and finally they connected.

  ‘Thank God. Where are you?’ Colby asked.

&nbs
p; ‘Where am I? Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call. I couldn’t get through. I don’t know where I am.’ Caitlin had been crying so much she could barely see. ‘I’m just walking.’

  Colby tried to calm her. ‘Can you see a street sign?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you see a subway?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Caitlin, you’re not concentrating. You need to concentrate. How far have you walked?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She was crying again.

  ‘Okay, okay, hold tight. I’ll find you. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to find some kind of landmark. A shop. What shop can you see?’

  ‘Starbucks.’

  ‘Starbucks. That’s excellent. And now concentrate again. Look at the nearest corner. There will be a street sign on the pole at the corner. Walk there. What does the sign say?’

  ‘Central Park West.’

  ‘Central Park West?’

  ‘And Fifty-eight.’

  ‘You’re at Columbus Circle. Don’t move.’

  Caitlin stood rooted to the spot, and then in what may have been two minutes or ten minutes, or even longer than that, there was Colby, bounding across the traffic circle, barefoot in his suit trousers, his white shirt turned completely grey, with only his phone held up to his ear.

  ‘Colby, what’s happening?’

  Colby put the phone in his pocket and took Caitlin’s face in his hands. ‘It’s a terrorist attack.’

  ‘Somebody’s attacking us? Why?’

  ‘They think maybe it’s … Look, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got to find somewhere to go.’

  ‘I saw people. Bits of people. I think I stepped on somebody.’ Caitlin’s shoulders were slumped and she was staring down at her feet, bewildered and distressed.

  ‘Caitlin, please! Look up. Look at me.’ Colby lifted her chin with his finger. ‘We have to go. This isn’t over. We have to get inside.’

  ‘We can’t go,’ said Caitlin, shaking her head, which was thick with slimy conditioner and ash. ‘I won’t go back there.’

  ‘Not there!’ Colby paused. ‘Look, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll have to call my mother.’

  Caitlin looked shocked. ‘You haven’t called your mum?’ she said. ‘She’ll be worried sick.’

  ‘She won’t be worried sick,’ Colby said.

  ‘But you work in one of those buildings!’

  ‘I’m not sure she knows that. Look, listen, I’ll call her. I’ll do it now.’ He looked down at his phone as if about to do just that, but then said, ‘I just wish I could raise Robert. Bloody hell – I spoke to him this morning. He must have got out.’

  ‘Colby!’ said Caitlin. ‘Call your mother!’

  ‘I’m calling her! What about your mom? She’s going to be frantic, you being here.’

  ‘It’s the middle of the night in Townsville!’ said Caitlin, exasperated. Colby was clearly stalling. ‘She’ll have no idea what’s going on. I can call her later. You should call your mum now.’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ Colby said. Caitlin could hear only his side of the conversation, but it struck her as strange. She expected to hear him saying something like, ‘No, no, it’s okay, don’t worry, I’m sorry, I should have called earlier. No, I wasn’t in the office. I’m fine. It’s okay, Mom. I love you too.’ The conversation was more businesslike. Colby said, ‘Hello, it’s me,’ and then: ‘I wasn’t at work. I was at the gym.’

  There was a pause, and then he said, ‘Look, I’m going to have to come over to your place. I’ve lost my wallet. I have no credit cards … No, we can’t go back there. We’re going to have to stay with you … We, meaning my friend Caitlin and me … She has no family – she’s visiting from Australia … No, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go … Well, that’s the way it is. We’ll see you soon.’

  He folded his phone and put it in his pocket. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Caitlin didn’t move.

  ‘Come on!’ Colby said, tugging her hand. ‘Jesus, we’ve got to move.’ But Caitlin had started to cry again.

  ‘Oh, please, not now,’ said Colby. He took both of Caitlin’s dusty hands in his, and said, ‘Look, Caitlin, we can’t do this now. You’ve got to stop. It’s going to be okay.’

  ‘I stepped on somebody,’ she said. Her face crumpled.

  ‘I know,’ said Colby, lifting her face and kissing it. ‘It’s scary. That’s why we’ve got to get to my mother’s and get inside. We don’t even know if this is over. Have you been listening to what people are saying? They’ve had a go at the Pentagon. There’s a plane down in Pennsylvania. Did you see the Times Square ticker? The subways are shut. It’s dangerous out here, Caitlin. We’ve got to get moving. We’ve got to get inside.’

  Caitlin nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. She wiped the back of her hand under her nose – the tip of her nose was the only clean patch on her face – then Colby took her hand and they began to walk.

  ‘Where does your mother live?’

  ‘The Ansonia.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Seventy-third and Broadway.’

  ‘Is it far away?’

  ‘No.’

  They made their way uptown, passing many others who were also trudging along under clear blue skies, covered in soot, cuts and bruises. Some grimly pushed shopping trolleys loaded with bottled water, canned food and duct tape. Colby briefly wondered whether to join one of the queues, but he had lost his wallet and Caitlin realised she had, too.

  ‘But we’ll be okay at your mum’s. She’ll have bottled water, won’t she?’

  ‘Tonic water, yes,’ said Colby. ‘And she’ll certainly have gin.’

  Chapter 12

  The doorman at the Ansonia rushed forward upon seeing Colby dragging the pale and streaky Caitlin by the hand into his foyer.

  ‘Terrible day, Mr Colbert.’

  ‘Shithouse,’ Colby agreed. It was a word he’d picked up in Australia and had not had much occasion to use. ‘But we’re alive. And that’s more than can be said about others. I’m going up to see my mother. This is my friend, Caitlin.’

  The doorman nodded.

  ‘Not a problem, Mr Colbert. You mustn’t worry about your mother. She hasn’t left the building all day.’

  ‘She hasn’t left the building all year,’ Colby muttered.

  They crossed the foyer, past a dusty floral display, and waited by the iron gates for the elevator.

  ‘How old is this place?’ Caitlin asked, looking around. The floors were marble; the walls were giant blocks of stone.

  ‘Ancient.’

  ‘It’s like everything’s antique.’

  ‘Everything is antique.’

  The elevator crawled upward. Pearl’s apartment was on the sixteenth floor. They stepped into the corridor, and Colby rapped his knuckles on a door built wide enough for a grand piano to pass through. A small man in a faded uniform answered. He looked like he might be military, with a loose gold braid dangling over one shoulder. This was Reginald, Pearl’s butler. His shirt cuffs were frayed, his buttons dull, and one shoe had a stacked heel.

  Colby asked, ‘Is mother home?’

  ‘In the parlour,’ Reginald replied. He dipped his head slightly, in what Caitlin took to be a bow, in her direction. Colby still had her hand. Reginald stepped back, and Colby strode past into a room that was both cavernous and decrepit, dominated by soaring ceilings and curved windows. The room was on the second of two floors in the building’s south turret, with stone walls that were three-feet thick, faded drapes, a parquetry floor, and heavy furniture that smelt of wet dog and stale smoke.

  Pearl was sitting where she always sat, in a red velvet armchair that faced the window, her head wreathed in cigarette smoke.

  ‘It’s me, Mom,’ said Colby, but Pearl did not get up. She stayed in her chair, waiting for Colby to drag Caitlin around to face her. She was thin, with bright red lipstick bleeding into the vertical lines around her mo
uth. Not old, but no longer young. A small dog that had been lying on its stomach by her feet got up and began to yap.

  ‘Shut up, Miffy,’ Pearl said, but Miffy yapped louder.

  ‘Mother, this is Caitlin.’

  Caitlin felt embarrassed. Her clothes were filthy and her hair matted with ash and conditioner. It wasn’t how she’d imagined meeting Colby’s mum, but in the circumstances, how could it even matter?

  ‘Hello, Mrs Colbert,’ she said. It was a bit confusing, how Colby’s mum hadn’t jumped up, and how she wasn’t saying, ‘Oh, thank God you’re alive. Look at the two of you. Sit down and we’ll get Reg to get you something to drink.’

  Exasperated, Colby said, ‘Are you even going to say hello?’

  ‘Alright,’ said Pearl, ‘I’ll say hello. Hello.’ She was reaching for another cigarette. There was a packet on every surface, but her hand seemed to have difficulty locating the box closest to her.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ said Colby. He turned to look at the TV. It wasn’t on. He grabbed a remote control. ‘I can’t believe you’re not even watching this.’

  ‘What’s to see?’ said Pearl. ‘The same thing over and over.’

  ‘We need to find out what’s going on.’

  ‘We know what’s going on,’ said Pearl, waving her cigarette lighter. ‘Somebody has smashed some planes into some buildings.’ She took a few quick puffs of her cigarette, decided she didn’t want it, and bent it into the ashtray.

  ‘Bring some coffee, Reginald.’

  Reginald dipped his head and shuffled back out of the room.

  ‘This is a catastrophe,’ Colby said, pointing to the images on the TV. ‘Where does it end? We’re going to war, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, you won’t get drafted,’ said Pearl. ‘They’ll take the poor and the unemployed before they take you.’

  Colby’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m not thinking about me,’ he said. ‘There are so many people missing … we’ve got a whole team on that floor. I’ve been trying to reach people but …’ As he spoke, the phone in his hand rang. ‘Thank God,’ he said. It was Summer, the most organised person he knew.