by Liz Byrski
‘Bill Nighy,’ Connie says. ‘I would even watch a western if Bill Nighy was in it. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.’
‘It’s about old people,’ Flora says. ‘Our sort of old people. I mean, our age group. I read the reviews.’
‘Okay then,’ Connie says. ‘Let’s do it.’
And they join the queue, buy their tickets and ice creams, take their seats, watch the ads and the trailers and as the lights go down Connie leans towards Flora. ‘Some of what you said was right,’ she whispers. ‘The rest I’m not sure about but anyway I’m sorry I went for the jugular with you.’
Flora shrugs. ‘It’s okay. It was like when you used to have hissy fits at school and I had to hose you down. Practising to be a diva, I suppose. We’ll get through this. Now shut up and watch the film.’
*
Connie wakes early, restless and uneasy. She has had a night of strange fragmented dreams which she can now barely remember but which have left her with a sense of something unfinished, and vaguely threatening. She’s so uneasy she gets up, showers and dresses before Flora is awake. She sits on the window seat, drawing up her knees and clasping her arms around them, and sees that in Russell Square the fountain is already hard at work, and the old men are in their usual seats outside the café. It’s Sunday, no commuters hurrying to work, and she sits quietly watching the birds darting into the sparkling water, and the couples strolling arm in arm through the square. And she knows that despite her love for the places of her youth – the Kent and Sussex countryside, the Forest, the villages and towns, the windy coast and stony beaches, and London so dense with history and so rich in its cultural life – England is lost to her. Time and distance have intervened and whatever she came here to do is done. For the first time since she left Hobart she really wants to be back there, to be home. What’s wrong with me? she wonders. Yesterday I was devastated by the prospect of leaving, and now everything seems different. This all began with such a great sense of promise but Flora was right about one thing at least: she has become obsessed with what might have been, resentful about its loss.
Yesterday as she got to her feet in the restaurant, steadying herself against the table, sweat broke out on her forehead, her throat went dry, and outrage surged up within her until she felt it would choke her. She had to get out of there as fast and with as much dignity as possible and once on the street she had walked, with no sense of where she was going, for more than two hours until she was cold and exhausted.
This morning all that seems to matter is to be home again, back pottering around the house, doing the sort of small cleansing, healing things that will make it her place again, in her own way. On Thursday she and Flora are due to fly back to France and, a week later, she will be on her way home. Too long, she thinks; I need to go straight home.
It’s just after six-thirty and Flora is still sleeping. Connie gets up from the window seat, scribbles a note to Flora and, closing the door softly behind her, walks briskly along the carpeted passage to the lift, and then out through the hotel foyer into the sharp morning sunlight.
*
The sound of the door disturbs Flora and at first she simply shifts in the bed, yawns and lies there without moving. Memories of the previous day seep slowly into her consciousness and she keeps her eyes closed in an effort to hold off talking to Connie. But the unease will not let her rest and she sits up slowly and sees that Connie has gone out, leaving a note on the bedside table. Flora reaches for her glasses.
Flora, I need some time alone. Call me if you want to meet up somewhere later. Cx
Flora sighs with relief. She too needs time to herself, she has something to do and is relieved to be free of revisiting yesterday’s conversation for a while. Good call, Connie, she thinks, we both need time and space. Flora is already sure about what she is going to do this morning. She gets up and collects the newspaper that has been delivered to the door, then makes a cup of tea and sits with it on the window seat contemplating the sense of certainty and purpose that is not only entirely new to her, but fills her with the thrill of anticipation.
Twenty-five
‘I hope I remember the way,’ Kerry says on Sunday afternoon as Chris steers Andrew’s car out of the hospital car park and turns into the street. ‘Seems like forever since we were last at Andrew’s place.’
Chris passes her his phone. ‘Find it on GPS,’ he says. ‘Better than getting a bum steer right from the start. Shit, this is the one thing I hate about Melbourne, junctions where you have to get into a right lane if you want to turn left.’
Kerry fiddles with the phone, wondering whether her curiosity about Zachary outweighs her unease about this visit, and decides it probably does. They had tried calling the house several times but the phone seemed to be off the hook, so she and Chris had volunteered to go there and find out from Zachary where Linda was staying.
When they’d arrived at the hospital that morning Andrew’s doctor had been with him and Andrew himself was looking considerably better than the night before.
‘He’s doing well,’ Dr Reese had said, ‘but I’m afraid there’s a delay with the MRI. We’ve only got two machines and one’s out of order, so there’s a backlog. It looks like Monday afternoon at best before we can get Andrew in there.’
Brooke’s face had fallen dramatically. ‘But shouldn’t Dad go first?’ she’d said, and Kerry could hear from her voice that she was close to tears. ‘I mean, his neck … doesn’t he get some sort of urgent status or something?’
‘Everyone who’s waiting at the moment is urgent, Brooke,’ Dr Reese had said, ‘some of them in a worse situation than your dad, and some are in acute pain. So while he is, of course, a priority, there are some people who are higher up the list.’
‘Don’t worry about the delay,’ Kerry said when the doctor had left. ‘We’ll stay – at least I’ll stay until we know what’s happening, longer if necessary.’ She looked across at Chris. ‘I guess you’ll need to go back in a day or two at the most.’
He nodded and said he would call the Principal at home this afternoon. ‘She owes me one – well, several actually, since I covered so much for her last year. But I should probably try to get back by Wednesday. Meanwhile our two will just have to miss a few days at school and stay on with Farah and Erin at Connie’s place.’
‘That’s the other thing,’ Kerry had said to Andrew. ‘Do you want to let Mum know?’
‘Not yet. Not ’til we know the MRI verdict,’ Andrew had said. ‘If we tell her now she’ll want to rush back and if my neck is okay we’ll have frightened the life out of her for no reason.’
‘She’d want to know anyway,’ Brooke had said. ‘Wouldn’t you want to know if it was me?’
‘Of course I would, but it’s a bit different. She’s on her own on the other side of the world. And she really needs this holiday. I don’t want her to wind up in an unnecessary panic about me. I promise we’ll let her know as soon as everything’s clear, and you can be the one to tell her if you want.’
Earlier in the morning Brooke had seemed in reasonably good spirits. Kerry could see that she was very relieved to have them there with her. She’d enjoyed showing them the new house and they’d been able to persuade her to tell Andrew what she’d heard about Zachary.
‘Linda has to know about this,’ Andrew had said. ‘And you and I can tell her together when she gets back, Brooke. There’s no way she’ll blame you, sweetheart, don’t worry about it. I think your mum has already started to wake up to what he’s really like.’
‘And try to get a sense of whether anything else dodgy might be going on,’ Andrew had said to Chris when Brooke slipped out to get him some chocolate from the machine in the passage. ‘Go inside if you get the chance. And if he’s not there you could try his house. It’s supposed to be on the market but he might have gone back there for something.’ Chris noted down the address.
‘I know this is very posh,’ Kerry says now as they drive in through the imposing entrance to the encl
ave of townhouses, ‘but I wouldn’t like to live here. It seems a bit soulless.’
‘Mmmm. Linda’s choice more than Andrew’s, I should think,’ Chris says. ‘She’s always been very concerned about appearances, but I did quite like her, and I bet she’ll be shattered when she hears about Zachary.’
It’s almost midday and the blinds on both floors of the house are closed, but there are two cars parked on the driveway.
‘You stay here,’ Chris says, ‘probably won’t take long.’
‘But I want to see him,’ Kerry insists, opening her door. ‘And we do need to check that everything’s okay – like Andrew said.’
‘You’re just a nosey tart,’ Chris says, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘C’mon then.’
There is no response the first time they ring the bell so Chris tries again, and then again – this time keeping his finger on the bell for much longer. There are sounds of life from within. He presses the bell once more.
‘For fuck’s sake, wind ya neck in,’ a man shouts.
Chris grins and winks at Linda. ‘Wait for it!’
There is a thud of footsteps on the staircase, a key turns in the lock and the door is flung open.
‘It’s Sunday morning, for Chrissakes. Who the fuck are you?’
A man – unwashed, unshaven, hair on end, wearing a grubby black t-shirt and black cotton boxers, stands glaring in the doorway, his gut bulging above the waistline of his pants. Kerry gets a blast of stale alcohol and body odour. How on earth could Linda have fallen for someone like this? Chris turns on what Kerry always thinks of as his best, parents’ evening smile.
‘You must be Zachary,’ he says. ‘Chris McGinty, Andrew’s brother-in-law, and Kerry, my wife, Andrew’s sister. We’re trying to get hold of Linda.’
Zachary grunts irritably, but Kerry sees a flash of anxiety cross his face.
‘She’s in Singapore, back Wednesday or Thursday.’ And he moves to close the door.
Chris shifts his weight and puts his foot inside the door. ‘We know that, mate, but she’s not answering her phone.’
‘Brooke wants to talk to her mum,’ Kerry adds. ‘She thinks Linda might have left the hotel details on the corkboard in the kitchen.’
He grunts again. ‘She forgot to take her phone. She rang from the hotel and wanted me to check the messages but I’ve got a lot on, haven’t had time.’
‘Ah, we thought that might have happened,’ Chris says, maintaining the charm. ‘So d’you think you could have a look for the hotel details, please?’
Zachary looks them up and down with distaste. ‘Stone the crows. On a Sunday morning.’
‘It’s past midday.’
He sighs irritably. ‘Wait there, I’ll go and have a look,’ and he turns and starts up the stairs.
‘Go with him, Chris,’ Kerry whispers, and Chris pulls a face, waits until Zachary is more than halfway up, then runs up behind him.
‘I said, fucking wait there …’
‘Sorry, mate, need a pee,’ Chris says.
Zachary grunts again, and points in the direction of the toilet.
Kerry waits until he has moved away from the top of the stairs and creeps quietly up. What greets her takes her breath away. Empty bottles, dirty glasses, ashtrays brimming with cigarette butts and the remains of spliffs and a black lace bra draped over a lamp. From where she’s standing she can see a couple of Eskys in which a few crown corks, more cigarette butts and some empty cans are floating in discoloured water. And underneath the dining table a man in stained and faded jeans and a torn t-shirt is fast asleep.
Zachary, lighting a cigarette in the kitchen, looks up and sees her.
‘Bit of a mess,’ he says, looking around as though he’s only just noticed it. ‘I’ll get it cleaned up by the time Linda gets back.’
‘You’d better,’ Kerry says. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if she sees it like this.’
He shrugs. ‘No real damage.’
Kerry gives a loud, false laugh. ‘You’re kidding. How do you think you’re going to get the stains off that sofa, and what about the scratches on the table?’ She looks down at the wood blocked floor, nudging a couple of cigarette ends with the toe of her shoe. ‘And then there are the cigarette burns on the floor.’
Zachary shrugs again. ‘Yeah, well, let me worry about that. Just do us a favour and don’t mention it to her.’ He leans over to the corkboard, unpins a post-it note and hands it to her.
Kerry has never had much time for Linda, and she can’t imagine how she ever came to be involved with Zachary, but she can’t contain her anger and disgust any longer.
‘You are a complete bastard,’ she shouts, her voice echoing off the walls. ‘You couldn’t even take time to check her messages. I’ll be telling Linda everything I’ve seen and I hope she chucks you out the minute she gets back and sends you the bill for the damage. You’re disgusting and you have no respect.’
‘Now look here …’ Zachary begins.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ A girl appears up on the mezzanine naked except for a black thong. ‘Who’s she?’ she asks, pointing at Kerry. ‘Why’s she shouting like that?’
‘Get back in there and put some clothes on,’ Zachary says, and turns to Kerry and Chris. ‘Sorry about that … she’s er … well, look, Linda doesn’t need to know about that. I mean, I wasn’t …’
‘I’m sure you were,’ Chris cuts in, ‘and Linda’s certainly going to hear about it. We’ll take her phone too,’ he says, reaching out across the worktop for the Blackberry. ‘Come on, Kerry, let’s get out of here.’ And he puts his hand on Kerry’s shoulder and steers her down the stairs ahead of him.
‘Good riddance! Fuck off,’ Zachary shouts, running down the stairs and slamming the front door behind them.
‘Bloody hell,’ Chris says, grabbing Kerry’s hand as they walk down the path. ‘Would you ever have believed it?’
Kerry shakes her head, unable to speak, so angry that she can’t get words together into a sentence. Chris opens the passenger door for her but she leans against the side of the car and buries her face in her hands. ‘Poor Linda,’ she says eventually. ‘Whatever will we say to her, Chris? It’ll break her heart.’
Chris puts his arms around her. ‘I don’t know, love, but we’ll work something out with Andrew. We’ll help her. You were wonderful in there, darlin’, bloody marvellous. My Kerry back again, I was so proud of you.’
*
Lying flat on your back the whole time, gazing at the ceiling, not being able to see anything that’s going on around you, is, Andrew thinks, mind-bendingly boring. He’s not in any real pain, although the cut on his bum is a bit sore, but strangely he’s not really worried about his neck. He has a gut feeling that it’s going to be okay, in fact he feels he could rip off the stupid neck brace right now, just discharge himself and go home, but he is still pretty dopey. They’re giving him drugs of some sort to keep him this way, so he doesn’t move about too much. Everything feels better now that Kerry and Chris are here and he doesn’t have to worry about Brooke. And it’s really quite peaceful now, without any of them around, and he closes his eyes again and the sounds of the ward start to drift away.
It’s Chris who wakes him, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Andrew,’ he whispers. ‘You awake, Andrew?’
Andrew forces his eyes open. ‘Yep,’ he says, yawning, fighting the urge to sit up straight and talk. ‘You were quick.’
Chris glances at his watch. ‘Not really. You’ve been asleep. We just got back and Kerry took Brooke straight down to the café for a sandwich, so that I can talk to you. Look, mate, we got the info on Linda’s hotel, and a whole lot more, and I need to tell you about it before Brooke comes back.’
Now Andrew really wants to sit up; being flat on his back makes him feel useless.
‘Christ,’ he says, when Chris has described their encounter with Zachary and the state of the house. ‘It’s worse than I imagined.’
‘And there’s more,’ Chri
s continues. ‘On the way back we decided to check out the other address, the one you said Zachary was selling.’
‘Yes, he’s selling it so he and Linda can buy me out of the townhouse. I drove past it one day – nice-looking place, they should get a good price for it.’
‘They won’t get anything,’ Chris says, ‘and Linda’s in for another shock, I’m afraid. It’s not for sale and it’s not going to be because Zachary doesn’t own it. He was supposed to be looking after it for a mate who was working up in the Pilbara on a mine site. Zachary was supposed to check it out once or twice a week, make sure it was okay. But this guy, Frank, came back unexpectedly and found Zachary living there. He’d been kicked out of the place he was renting, because of damage, and the owner’s taking action against him for that and non-payment of rent. Anyway, he’d been in Frank’s place for a few months and it was a pigsty. They had a big bust-up and Frank kicked him out. It sounded to me as though that was round about the time that he suddenly moved into your place. He’s been in trouble before too, but Frank wouldn’t tell me what about – I suspect he’s not entirely squeaky clean himself. I can’t imagine how Linda ever got herself into this.’
Andrew hesitates. ‘No, he’s certainly not what you’d expect but we were in a mess and she was miserable. I suppose Zachary managed to say the right things at the right time. Poor old Linda.’ He pauses, thinking. ‘Look, I don’t want Brooke to know about this, okay?’
Chris nods. ‘I think I should meet Linda’s flight and go with her to the house. We can’t let her go there unprepared, and she shouldn’t go alone. I’ll ring work and tell them I need the rest of the week.’
‘That’d be great,’ Andrew says. ‘It’s really good of you, mate. Depending on the MRI I might be able to go with you, but either way I’m not going to be able to handle all this on my own. And I want to keep Brooke out of it. Kerry won’t say anything to her, will she?’
Chris shakes his head. ‘No, we thought that too. We’ve just told her that the place was a bit messy but that Zachary had found the hotel details, and that we’d got Linda’s phone. Kerry told her not to call her mum until Linda could speak to you at the same time.’
