Drip Dry

by Ilsa Evans

  ‘Was she a skelteton?’ CJ breathes in awe.

  ‘A skeleton? Oh no.’ Alex looks at her in surprise, as if he has just remembered that she’s there. ‘And you’re going to get nightmares if I drag this out, aren’t you?’

  CJ only stares at him bug-eyed while I smile and nod again.

  ‘Yes, she will, dear,’ Mum says firmly, ‘so perhaps we’d better have the less graphic version for now.’

  ‘Okay then, speeding along. Well, it wasn’t Mrs Waverley and it wasn’t any other type of human. It was only a lot of old blankets and a very small dog – looked a bit like a chihuahua-cross, actually.’

  ‘Oh my! The Waverleys had a little dog like that, didn’t they, Camilla?’ My mother turns to me for confirmation. ‘A little one with a nasty disposition?’

  I smile and nod.

  ‘Well, they’ve been gone about six months or so, haven’t they?’ Alex asks Mum, who nods agreement. ‘I’m guessing it hasn’t been there that long. I reckon the poor little blighter’s come back a month or so ago and has died under there. He probably found the old blankets and burrowed his way in there to die.’

  ‘Well, that is sad,’ says Mum.

  ‘Poor puppy!’ says CJ, her eyes filling up with tears. ‘Poor, poor puppy!’

  ‘Oh no, CJ,’ Harold suddenly speaks up. ‘It’s not really that sad. You see old dogs like to find somewhere they feel comfortable to die. And that little fellow probably decided that, when his time came, he’d rather die under the house that he lived in for most of his life. So you see, he died happy. Is that right?’

  Mum looks at Harold in admiration, Alex looks at him in astonishment and CJ looks at him in gratification. I just smile and nod.

  ‘So he was happy then?’ asks CJ.

  ‘That’s right, dear, exactly like Harold said,’ answers Mum as Harold opens his mouth. No doubt she only encourages that type of verbosity in moderation.

  ‘Oh, good!’ sighs CJ with relief. ‘So can I go ober and draw him, then?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ says my mother with a disgusted look at me.

  ‘You can’t anyway,’ Alex chimes in as he tries to wipe the grin off his face. ‘I rang my sister Maggie from the hospital. She’s got all sorts of contacts, and she got a guy to come straight away and remove the dog. And give him a really good burial,’ he adds quickly.

  ‘Oh,’ says CJ, disappointed.

  ‘Good old Maggie,’ says my mother. ‘She’s a very useful person to have around.’

  ‘Sure is,’ grins Alex.

  ‘Now onwards and upwards, as they say.’ Mum holds out her hand for silence as she takes a sip of tea so that no-one dares speak. ‘Even though I’ve introduced you to Harold, I haven’t had a chance to welcome you back home, Alex. Because my daughter neglected to let me know that you were back home. So we’ll do so now. It is lovely to have you back, and I’m thrilled for the children. Welcome back.’

  ‘Why thanks, Mum,’ Alex says with obvious pleasure. ‘It’s good to be back. And let me say congratulations on your impending wedding – to both of you.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ replies Mum, for both herself and Harold, who sits opposite me beaming at the table in general. ‘And of course you realise you’re invited. In fact, we would be quite offended if you didn’t show up.’

  ‘Well, thank you. I wouldn’t dream of offending you so I’ll attend with pleasure.’

  ‘Excellent, and – Camilla?’ Mum turns to face me. ‘Perhaps you could please give Alex the details?’

  I stopped smiling and nodding a few minutes ago, around the time that she issued the wedding invitation, and sort of froze, but my attention has now been distracted by the blue hue. It has formed a type of angelic halo around my mother’s head and is hovering there, shimmering. Very disturbing. I try to focus on her face but have little success so I simply smile and nod again.

  My mother frowns at me. ‘I’d like to know what’s in those tablets you took.’

  ‘What do I call you?’ CJ has stopped drawing and is looking up at Alex pensively.

  ‘Why, you can call me Alex, because that’s my name,’ replies Alex courteously. ‘And what may I call you?’

  ‘You can call me CJ – it’s for Christine Jain.’

  ‘That’s a lovely name. And that’s a lovely drawing you’re doing there. In fact, I’ve just had a thought. Do you think that you could do a copy for me? I’d really appreciate it because I haven’t got any recent pictures of your mother at all.’

  ‘Sure! You can hab this one when I’m done,’ says CJ enthusiastically as she sets to work with new vigour. It’s not often someone actually requests one of her artworks.

  ‘All right now. Perhaps we’d better organise a few things.’ Mum tightens her control. ‘Firstly, I have put a bottle of tea-tree shampoo in your bathroom cabinet, Camilla. It will repel lice so I advise that you use it on CJ regularly. And I do think those tiles are a rather unwise colour choice for you, dear. They will show up all the dirt. Next, about today. I believe that you were picking up Sam from work at twelve?’

  I smile and nod.

  ‘Good, then I think it might be best if Harold and I simply take over that job. Yes, Harold?’

  ‘Oh yes, dear. Yes, indeed. Is that right?’

  ‘That’s right. And we’ll take CJ with us so that we can take both girls on to the dress fittings and you can stay here and have a rest. Or perhaps a shower might be a good idea. The bathroom can be used like that, can’t it?’

  I smile and nod.

  ‘Then I think a shower would be an excellent idea.’

  I smile and nod again.

  ‘And then we might as well simply keep the girls for the afternoon and run them through a wedding rehearsal – to make certain that everything is in order. And it’ll give you the whole afternoon without them, how does that sound?’

  I smile and nod yet again.

  ‘So now all I need is the shoes. Where are they, darling?’

  I stop smiling.

  ‘Where – are – the – shoes?’ Her cheerful, helpful tone freezes in an instant as her true persona looks narrowly through at me. ‘Do not tell me that you didn’t pick up those shoes!’

  Obligingly, I don’t tell her. Instead I try smiling and nodding again – it worked before.

  ‘I don’t believe this!’

  ‘Look, Mum.’ Alex smiles placatingly at my mother. ‘Why don’t you just tell me where these shoes are and I’ll pick them up for you. I’ll even drop them off at your house to save you the trip.’

  ‘That’s not the point, Alex, and well you know it.’ Mum hasn’t taken her eyes off me for an instant. ‘The point is that I only asked you to do one thing – one thing – and you couldn’t even manage to get that done. And that reminds me, I was going to let it slide because of your injury but what with you forgetting the shoes – well, I’d like to know what happened to you on Thursday? You forgot, didn’t you? I only ask you to pick up some shoes and to help do some setting up and –’

  ‘Thad’s doo thigs,’ I interrupt.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said thad’s doo thigs – nod one.’

  ‘I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Thank god I didn’t ask you to deliver any of our speeches tomorrow, that’s all I can say,’ says Mum as she pauses to take breath before going on.

  Alex interrupts. ‘Look, Mum, I don’t think there’s any point in lectures at the moment, do you? Cam’s obviously hovering around cloud nine and isn’t coming down for a while, so why don’t we just sort out what’s happening between us. I think you taking the girls for the afternoon is an excellent idea. And I’ll pick up Ben from St John’s and do something special with him for the afternoon. How does that sound?’

  ‘Alex, all I can say is that I’m glad you’re back.’ Mum gives me a filthy look to emphasise her feelings. ‘I think that sounds excellent. And now, Harold and I had better make tracks if we’re to be at the hot bread shop by twelve. And pick up the shoes
before the store closes. CJ, dear, take Grandma down to your bedroom so that she can try to find something a little more appropriate for you to wear than your pyjamas.’

  CJ leaps over Harold’s lap again, causing him to gasp and suck in his stomach rather rapidly. Then she leans back over, picks up her picture and offers it to Alex with a shy smile.

  ‘Here you are. It’s Mummy with her sore nose – see, I hab done it all red and big, and I hab done the bandage with little bits of red for the blood, and I hab done two big black holes under, and I hab done her with a big smile coz that’s what she is doing a lot. And I hab done her hair all sticking up like it is and her eyes sort of little. Do you like it?’

  ‘I love it, CJ! It’s exactly like your mother and I’m going straight home to put it somewhere extra special. In fact, I know exactly where! Right on the wall next to my beanbag, that’s where I’ll put it. Thank you very, very much.’

  I just smile and nod.

  SATURDAY

  3.20 pm

  I am swimming gracefully deep in the ocean, gliding around little honeycomb shelves of brightly coloured coral and peering beneath ledges that drip with bottle-green seaweed with dinky mustard pinstripes. The multitude of fish themselves seem to be modelled on those that starred in Bedknobs and Broomsticks, a Disney movie that I last saw many moons ago. In other words, they talk. And sing, and dance. In fact, it would be quite restful down here if they weren’t so damn noisy. I breaststroke my way a bit deeper, and note that I am wearing a little polka dot bikini – and it looks good. I smile and dive still deeper to escape the incessant chattering of the sea-life. It doesn’t work. In fact, they are getting louder, and louder, and louder – and their dancing is like an endless rhythmic knocking that simply goes on and on. Until I have no choice but to try to surface, just to get away. So I fight my way slowly back up, struggling through the heavy, murky water that tries to drag me back down, until I see the shimmering, diamond-strewn surface swimming rapidly towards me and I break free with one fluid forward propulsion.

  Breathing heavily, I open my eyes and my bedroom ceiling comes into focus. I look around stupidly for a few moments while I try to remember who I am, what I am and what I’m doing here. My head feels incredibly thick and my whole body feels sluggish. More sluggish than usual, that is. Slowly but surely I register that there is an incessant knocking going on at the front door, and has been for quite some time. I swing my legs reluctantly out of bed, reach for my dressing-gown and pad slowly down to open the door. It’s Fergus. In apricot overalls and a lemon t-shirt today.

  ‘Why, hello there – I’d almost given up. My goodness! What’s happened to your nose?’

  ‘Broge id.’

  ‘You broke it? How? When? Does it hurt?’

  ‘Yes. With a door. This mordig. Yes.’

  ‘You poor thing! No –’ he holds up his hand as if I was just about to speak – ‘don’t talk. To be sure, I can see that it’s causing you discomfort. I’ll only grab my tools, be getting on with the job and leaving you in peace.’

  I nod resignedly and move to one side to let him through.

  ‘And I suppose that you were having a wee nap when I came along and disturbed you and for that I apologise but wasn’t I the one being unavoidably detained? Absolutely unavoidably. And I suppose that now you’ll be wanting to know what detained me so unavoidably so I’ll simply have to let you know that it was that delightful girlfriend of yours that you so kindly introduced me to last night.’ Fergus pauses as he deposits his tool bag down on the bathroom floor and turns to smile at me winsomely. ‘And I’ll be telling you all about that in just a minute. Now I don’t suppose there’s a cup of tea going begging around here, is there?’

  I nod and leave him to his setting up while I move down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. I have noticed that Fergus’s Irish accent seems to blow hot and cold according to whatever mood he’s in. He’s probably originally from Broadmeadows or somewhere, but has decided that an Irish accent is going to get him further in life. The kettle boils so I pour hot water over teabags in two cups and wait for it to brew a bit. My nose feels as if it has taken over my entire face. I sigh and peer out of the window at Murphy, who is doing some sort of weird contortionist act in the remains of the tree fern. At least the weather is still mild in comparison with the heatwave we had earlier in the week. It’s only around the mid-twenties out there, with a pleasant southerly breeze that I can see rustling through the garden.

  I add some sugar to my tea, and remember that Fergus is the one who likes his black, sweet and strong. So where does that leave Terry, I wonder? I carry the two cups back down to the bathroom and put Fergus’s on the sink behind him. Then I sit down cross-legged in the passage facing the bathroom, put my cup on the floor, pull my dressing-gown more securely around me, and prepare to listen to this story – which I am obviously going to hear whether I like it or not, so I might as well make myself comfortable.

  ‘Ah, delicious, thank you.’ Fergus takes a sip of tea with his finger crooked as usual. Then he puts the tea back down on the sink and starts to mix the grout. The tiles were all positioned last night and there are little matchsticks sticking out left, right and centre. Trying to get in the shower earlier had been like dancing across a bed of nails. I’ll be very glad when this is all finished, although I think I’m going to miss Fergus and his amusing antics.

  ‘Now for my excuses.’ Fergus talks as he removes matches and smooths the grout over the tiles. ‘And excellent ones they are. You see, there I was last night after I dropped your delightful friend off at her house –’ He turns to look at me.

  I nod encouragement and take a sip of tea.

  ‘I did, you know. Dropped her off there in her driveway and went home to my own wee bed.’

  I nod again as he pauses.

  ‘That’s right. Dropped her off right at her door and went off home. Why are you looking at me like that? Aren’t you believing me?’

  I shrug philosophically and take another sip.

  ‘All right, all right! I cannot lie! I didn’t only drop her off – I went inside with the lovely lassie, but only to be making sure that she was safely settled within. And then I just stayed for a wee drink or two and then said my goodbyes and –’ He looks at me again.

  I nod encouragement once more.

  ‘You don’t believe me, I can tell! And why don’t you believe me? Isn’t it completely honest I’ve always been? Isn’t it?’

  I think about this for a moment and then shake my head.

  ‘All right, all right. I asked for that, and you’re totally right. I didn’t just stay for a wee drink or two – I stayed the night! I stayed the whole night and didn’t we make mad, passionate love. All night long. On the couch, in the bed, under the table – all night long. Nonstop. There, are you satisfied now?’ He gives me a disgusted look and turns away to start ladling the grout over the top of the tiles.

  Well, I mightn’t be satisfied, but it certainly sounds like he and Terry should be. And I didn’t really need to know the graphic details – all I wanted to know was why he was late today, and we haven’t even got to that part. I take another sip of tea.

  ‘Well, now you know. You have forced the truth out of me.’ Fergus pauses in his efforts with the grouting to glance up at me again. ‘Oh, you’re a hard woman. And now I suppose you’ll be telling her that I’m a kiss-and-tell sort of fellow and she’ll be having nothing more to do with me. And won’t my life be over just as it is about to begin.’

  I shift my position on the floor slightly because my legs are starting to go numb, and take the last gulp of my tea. My nose is beginning to throb again. I wonder if it’s too soon to take some more of those magic little tablets?

  ‘And so anyway, there we were, this morning. All worn out and totally incapable of doing any sort of quality work. And I refuse to do any less – especially for a friend such as yourself. Who makes such superb lasagne. So we took ourselves a little nap and when we woke, wasn’t it nearin
g noon. And your friend had to be playing tennis at one, so she very kindly asked me if I’d like to watch. And I did. And doesn’t she play like the goddess she is. She does.’ Fergus stops speaking as he glances heavenward and sighs. Then he grabs a small trowel from his tool bag and starts smoothing out the grout.

  Knowing what I know about Terry after a night of heavy drinking, never mind the night-long, mad, passionate love-making, I very much doubt she was playing like any sort of goddess I know. Although I’ve also seen what she looks like in her minuscule little tennis skirts and I suspect that the finer points of her tennis playing escaped Fergus’s attention in favour of the length of her legs.

  ‘So as soon as I could be getting away, I came straight here to finish your job off. So you see, although I do apologise, wasn’t the delay simply unavoidable? Couldn’t be helped. No sir-ree. Her eyes! Like the blue of a summer’s day. Her hair! Like pure liquid gold. Her lips! Like –’

  I get up noisily so that I don’t have to hear what her lips are like. Besides, he is running out of facial features and who knows what’s going to come next? I clear my throat loudly to attract his attention and stop the litany of adoration.

  ‘Oh, it’s sorry I am, indeed. I simply can’t help myself when I start to think about her. Just can’t be helping myself. What is it you wanted?’