After the Darkness

by Brown, Honey

  In bed, Bruce and I lay with our backs to one another. I stared off into the darkness on my side of the room and Bruce stared off into the darkness on his side. I thought about how much better it would be if our troubles could lift and switch and sink back down into opposing heads. Guy Grant, a name, a face on a screen, untouchable, didn’t panic me, not like it panicked Bruce. And Guy Grant’s presence in Delaney, flesh and blood, sitting in that lobby, wouldn’t panic Bruce, not like it panicked me. It was like we’d been allocated the wrong thoughts to sift through.

  16

  The last poplar leaves were falling. A few had blown inside onto the carpet. I was sitting in the MAD office looking out through the open door. I rang Finn. He answered in a sleepy voice. Before I had a chance to apologise for waking him, he said, ‘I’m pleased you rang. Did you get my email?’

  ‘I need to ask you a question and request a favour.’

  I could hear him sitting up in the bed, rearranging the pillows and covers. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Are you able to get a list of the people who stayed in the Four Seasons Inn last night, and maybe the night before? Can you do that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Why?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to make a fuss. If you could ask someone who wouldn’t think much of it, or look it up on the computer on your own? I thought, if it was easy …’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  I shrugged and looked out towards the footpath. ‘It’s personal.’

  He was quiet a moment. I stared out the window and watched a black car park across the street.

  ‘I’ll try,’ he said.

  At ten o’clock Jem walked into the office. She was wearing a long top with a lace hem. Her pants were loose and her handbag big and bulky. Our greeting was as if nothing unusual had taken place the day before. She chatted about her morning as I made her a cup of tea.

  ‘You look great,’ she said, taking her cup and sitting down at the desk. ‘You’ll have Nadine hitting the gym and going on a new crash diet. You know she can’t stand it if one of us loses weight.’

  Then she said, ‘There is that “weight thing” though, isn’t there? Megan lost weight while she was having an affair. Every time Nadine gets thin it’s when she’s met the new love of her life. You do look great, but also …’ She narrowed her gaze. ‘You don’t seem to be yourself.’ After a pause she said, ‘Why were you in the lobby with that cook, Trudy?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about that. When did you see me? Whereabouts were you?’

  ‘I was outside, by the lobby doors. I saw you talking to him. I wouldn’t be saying this, but I’ve seen it before – we’ve both seen it – with Megan and Nadine, and Bonita, we can’t all mess it up. I’m not saying you and Bruce are at risk of that. You’ve probably got your reasons. But you don’t look happy. Whatever it is, it’s not suiting you. I’m sorry if that’s blunt. I know it’s probably none of my business. I’m only saying it because I care about you.’

  ‘Did you see a guy in a sports jacket and jeans in the lobby? He had dark hair and glasses.’

  She was holding her cup of tea and blowing the steam from the top of it. She eyed me over the rim. I knew I was doing nothing to alleviate her concerns about me. I also knew she wouldn’t object or press her point too strongly. Jem didn’t do confrontation. It had been brave of her to come here and speak so frankly to me. She was a dear friend. Perhaps, if I were to tell anyone about what had happened, I would tell Jem.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He was sitting in front of the window.’

  ‘Was he in the restaurant as well? Do you remember seeing him in there? At the bar? I’ve got this feeling he was at the bar. You didn’t happen to see what car he was driving? You didn’t see him get up and leave? I’ve been trying to think back to the cars in the parking lot. He would have been driving something snazzy.’

  I looked out the windows and across the road. The black car was still parked there.

  Jem gave me a look. ‘I don’t understand. Why is it important?’

  ‘You won’t believe me if I tell you – you really won’t believe me.’

  ‘Do you think he’s following you?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Has Bruce hired him? To see if you’re cheating?’

  Another lie presented itself to me. They seemed to fall effortlessly around me. Like the dry leaves shedding from the poplars. Like fairy dust.

  ‘Does that sound strange?’

  ‘I can’t imagine him doing that. Wouldn’t he simply ask you? Has he asked you? And are you cheating on him?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  Finn’s brown Jag pulled up out the front. He looked through the office windows and saw I had one of my friends with me. I could see his face fill with indecision. He left the car idling a moment before cutting the engine. He stayed seated behind the wheel.

  Jem turned and looked in the direction of my gaze. ‘Is that him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Trudy?’

  It was easy to understand her doubting me, especially given that Finn didn’t get out of the car.

  My phone rang.

  ‘Is that Bruce?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ Bruce said down the line. ‘How are you? We didn’t talk much last night or this morning …’ He left the sentence hanging. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay.’

  ‘I’m okay. Are you?’

  Jem was staring at me.

  ‘The building inspector’s at Cove Street to check what we’ve done,’ Bruce said. ‘I’m about to go there now.’

  ‘Do you need me to come?’

  ‘No … Trudy,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry I got angry. I know you don’t need that.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too.’

  Once I’d hung up, Jem said, ‘How can you do this?’ Her eyes had lightened. There was colour in her cheeks and breathlessness in her voice. ‘I wouldn’t have the nerves for this. You say that to your husband and then you go off … with him? Is that what you’re doing?’ She glanced out at the Jag. ‘No wonder people lose weight … Where do you go? Is it in one of your townhouses? It’s so bizarre to me. I’m going home to watch Oprah and have a salad sandwich. I haven’t had sex for months, no … a year. Shit. And you go off with this boy and do … What? What do you do? How often do you do it? How old is he?’

  ‘He’s older than he looks. He’s twenty-nine or something.’

  ‘I think he’s lied to you about that.’

  ‘No, I have a copy of his license, and a note from his mum.’ I smiled. It was my first smile since it had happened. I touched my hand to my face and felt the smile fade beneath my fingers. My friend misread my troubled expression.

  ‘Jesus, Trudy.’

  ‘Do you want him?’ I said. Nothing I could say would make much difference anyway. ‘I think I should send him around to you. From what I can gather he likes older women. You’re thinner than I am, and you’ve got the best bum out of all of us. He’ll have hit pay dirt with you. If you haven’t had sex for a year he won’t be able to keep up with you.’

  ‘I know one thing – it wouldn’t bother Robert much if I did. But Bruce would be devastated about this. He adores you. I don’t know, you and Megan, you have these husbands that worship the ground you walk on, and you both turn around and cheat as though they’re the biggest bastards ever.’

  ‘I’m not cheating on Bruce, Jem.’

  Before leaving, she said to me, ‘In all seriousness, Trude, I saw how he looked at you in that lobby. I don’t think he’d swap you for me, or anyone for that matter. When he comes in here, just take note of the way he looks at you.’

  Finn came in with a sheet of paper in his hand. I did as my girlfriend had suggested, and I paid attention to his face. His lips were red, his eyes were bright and his brow wrinkled. His steps slowed under the directness of my gaze and an uncertain smile broke across his face.
Then the smile was gone and he was swallowing, chewing at his bottom lip, then he was smiling again, his eyes were downcast, his cheeks burning red. In the seconds it took him to walk to the desk, his expression had changed multiple times.

  He sat down and waved the piece of paper.

  ‘I got it,’ he said. ‘They asked why I needed it, but I told this cool story about how I wanted to compare it with the restaurant records, to get an idea of how many of the restaurant patrons booked a meal to their rooms and how many paid direct.’ He passed the sheet of paper over to me. ‘Pretty clever of me, hey? To come up with that.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I flattened the printout on the desk.

  I leaned close, and scanned each name. No Guy Grant. He wouldn’t have used his name, though. It was foolish of me to think that he would. Finn was silent, watching me. I picked up a pencil and went through the list, circling the single rooms and the corporate rooms and the suites that might appeal to a man staying alone. The longer I stared at them, the more all the names began to look invented, and poorly invented at that – John Jones: what sort of generic name was that?

  ‘Do you get any sense of the hotel customers?’ I said, looking up at Finn. ‘If they come into the restaurant, you must get to know who’s come down from the rooms? Has there been anyone over the last few days that has stood out to you, or any talk of a wealthy guy?’

  Finn shook his head. ‘I don’t get out of the kitchen much.’

  ‘When you came out into the lobby and I was sitting by the window, do you remember the man sitting in front of the other window? He had a sports jacket on.’

  ‘I do remember him.’

  I nodded. This didn’t surprise me. Guy Grant had the glow.

  ‘I wonder if he’s still there? I need to make sure he’s not the person I think he is.’

  Finn said, ‘Do you want me to go and ask the staff on the desk? If I describe him to them, they might know.’

  ‘Would you do that for me?’

  Finn looked down at the floor for a moment. His hands were resting on his knees. After a pause he looked up and gave me an apologetic smile.

  ‘I’d pretty much do anything for you, Trudy.’

  I stayed in Finn’s car while he went in with my description of Guy Grant to relay to the reception staff. His car was tidy. The seats were laidback and comfortable, made of leather. The steering wheel had the Jaguar insignia on it. I had a peek in the glove box while he was gone. He had a small packet of tissues, some sunscreen, and a folder of business cards – restaurants and catering places mostly. I closed the glove box as he approached.

  ‘They don’t remember him,’ Finn said as he climbed in. ‘They don’t think he stayed. I didn’t want to ask too much more. The woman on the desk is starting to think I’ve got a problem.’

  Back at the MAD office, I closed the blinds, shut the door, and sank down into the couch. It was an indulgence for me to be afraid of closed spaces. Only the spoilt wallowed in fears and phobias. Finn sat down beside me.

  ‘Will you tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘You’ve got the wrong idea about me, Finn.’

  The Roman blinds were made of thick material. I turned and pulled aside a blind to see if the black car from that morning was still parked across the street. It was gone. I should have taken down the number plate. I needed to get better at this. I let the blind fall back into place. The office was muted and dark once more.

  Finn settled into the cushions beside me.

  ‘I think you should probably go.’

  ‘I’ll just stay a moment.’

  He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in to rest his lips against the back of his own hand. It was a partitioned kiss, separate but intimate. The gesture made my heart sink and my head grow light with disbelief. It was as though my friends’ mistaken beliefs were self-fulfilling prophecies. Finn and I hadn’t even been real friends before now – had we? – let alone the sort of friends to confide in and touch one another. Or had the innocence slipped away incrementally, and only now that it was gone did I notice?

  He sat back, a little. He was talking, explaining his understanding of what I was going through. I wasn’t listening. There was too much turning in my mind. The gist of his narrative was as much as I could manage. He seemed to think we had some common ground. He touched my leg. It occurred to me that I wasn’t feeling fear. The anxiety his proximity and touch were triggering was mild in comparison to what I’d felt in bed with Bruce and what I’d felt in the empty townhouse. He inched nearer. Still nothing. His voice had dropped. He was saying something about not fitting in, and feeling as though life played out around him. But he didn’t feel that way with me. With me he felt in sync.

  He kissed me.

  I waited for the shock, surprise, fear, panic – anything. But I felt absolutely nothing. There was a warning bell, a red light flashing way back in my brain. What are you doing, Trudy? I eased away. He was breathing heavily; he was feeling something while I was feeling nothing … I frowned. How strange that I wanted to feel a jolt, a clear, sharp and precise feeling, like fear. I needed that. It was as though I’d had botox injections to my brain, when all I wanted was for my natural responses and instinctive behaviour to return. Terror, fear and panic had been ugly, frightening, but not as frightening as being numb. At least then I’d known I was … alive, in sync. Finn’s words made sense. If he’d been stuck like this too, in this strange nothing world, it seemed wrong to deny him this moment of connection. Sad people did perhaps have a duty to help one another out.

  But Finn and I weren’t in sync, not really, not at all. He didn’t understand me. He pressed against me and kissed my neck and thought to touch me; he was aroused and thought I might become that way too if he kissed and touched me more. He was talking quickly in my ear, whispering, ‘I understand.’ But he didn’t.

  What woke me from my torpor was the terrible sudden thought that I wanted him to hurt me. I wanted to be shaken, pushed back, and hit. Then at least I’d feel. I cringed from the realisation, and cringed from him at the same time.

  ‘Oh God,’ I said.

  He stopped abruptly, sat back, straightened his clothes. I looked down, to check that I was dressed. I was. I wasn’t sure how far we’d gone or how much we’d done. Already I had no recollection. My forehead was burning hot against my palm. I couldn’t breathe for the tightness in my chest. I didn’t want to think, and shook all thoughts from my mind. I hadn’t let it happen. Not really. It simply hadn’t happened.

  ‘That …’ Finn said, and swallowed, ‘was wrong of me. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Would you please go now?’

  17

  After a week of hectic work for Bruce and the crew, Cove Street passed inspection. The occupancy certificates didn’t necessarily calm Bruce, though. I sensed they made him feel foolish, as though he’d jumped to wild conclusions about the reasons for the audit. He put the documents in the study for me to take into the office and file away.

  We had to throw the usual party for the tradies and the crew, to toast their work. Several of them had gone above and beyond on this build. They were loyal and professional men, friends, who never let us down. Bruce manned the barbecue, his beer going warm on the upturned roll of foam underlay beside him. The men grabbed his shoulders in an effort to startle him; they shook him, slapped his back, gripped him around the nape of the neck and playfully squeezed him with affection.

  ‘Big fella!’ ‘Harry!’ ‘Harrison!’ ‘Fucking Jesus, man!’ said right in his ear. ‘You getting rich enough, old boy?’ ‘Magnate.’ ‘What’s next?’ ‘Bruce!’ ‘Boss!’

  They leaned in over the hotplate, trying to make eye contact, smiling hard to inspire a smile in him.

  ‘Not feeling too well tonight,’ he offered. ‘A bit off colour.’

  ‘Crook?’ ‘Sick?’ ‘Bullshit!’ ‘Beer will fix that!’

  Sickness wasn’t a topic the men were comfortable with. When Bruce didn’t make light of his myst
ery illness or snap out of it, they visibly squirmed. They started looking green around the gills themselves.

  An invisible quarantine tent went up around him. If he was spoken to it was from a safe distance and through this imaginary barrier. The men could see it was an emotional condition ailing Bruce, and that, more than any virus or stomach bug, had them backing up. They weren’t unfeeling in their response; there was real concern in their faces as they turned away from him.

  I kept finding reasons to go to our car. I stood on the side furthest from the light and noise, breathing steady breaths, closing my eyes and running my fingertips back and forth across my forehead. Recharging, ready for another burst of remembering names and concentrating on what people were saying and monitoring my answers to check that I was making sense.

  It was my turn to cover for my husband. I couldn’t put my arm around him like he had with me when he’d taken me through the townhouses and told the painters to do the job I’d ordered. I couldn’t talk for him, smile for him, chastise anyone who didn’t show him respect. Doing that would only make things worse. The best way to help my husband was to behave as if absolutely nothing was wrong. We were a tag team – and not so dissimilar in the way we see-sawed through different phases. When I had been burning evidence and planning an all-night drive to retrieve our business card, Bruce had been the voice of reason, and when he’d been imagining Cove Street sabotage and was ready to test the police, I’d talked him down off his ledge. It was a good thing we weren’t always in line with one another. This way we had one another’s back.

  With no curtains on the windows and the rooms bare and empty, townhouse number one was a bright rowdy box of activity in the darkened street. Barbecue smells filled the damp air. Some of the men had brought their girlfriends and wives. The women wore inappropriate footwear for what was essentially still a work site. They tottered and tripped their way to the portaloo, giggled for the first hour, got surly with their inattentive boyfriends and husbands after that.