‘But they . . .’ My heart was bouncing in my chest. ‘They didn’t get anything from my father . . .’
‘No, no,’ Juan smiled at me. ‘Your father died a true hero . . .’
‘What does this man do in Australia?’ I asked.
‘He runs a restaurant,’ Juan said. ‘Apparently it’s a very fine one. He’s doing well . . . nice wife . . . children.’
‘Where is it?’ I whispered. Juan grabbed me by the shoulders.
‘I want you to promise me you’ll try to forget all this . . .’ he said, staring into my face. When I didn’t say anything he shook me a little. ‘Believe me, there is no purpose in doing anything at all . . .’ I nodded slowly, thinking hard, making myself stare right back into his face.
‘Orlando,’ Juan said. ‘And of course he’s called his restaurant after himself.’ Juan laughed and Miguel, who up to this time had simply been watching us, quietly began to laugh, too. My skin felt as though it was shrinking over my body, becoming thick like old, half-rotten orange peel. I had the oddest sensation of not knowing who I was. It was as though I had no name and lived nowhere. I had no sense of where I was standing at that moment. Just this terrifying feeling of being competely alone. But I said nothing, and as I waited my sense of myself gradually came back.
‘Do you promise me?’ Juan insisted.
‘I promise,’ I said, and throwing my arms open I hugged Juan, tightly, pulling his thin, ageing, cigarette-smelling body as close as I could to my own. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘There is nothing I could say to such a man.’
‘That’s the girl,’ he said and kissed my cheek. ‘Come on, Miguel, let’s get home. It’s freezing!’
‘I’m ready.’
The two men got into the car and waved sombrely as they drove off into the night.
The next day I woke late in a mad panic. Groggy with tiredness I sat up quickly, sure that something was dreadfully wrong. It took me ages to work out that it was only the shrill sound of the phone ringing. I almost flopped back down under the covers when I realised what it was. Damn it! If I just ignored it, it would be sure to stop. Wouldn’t it? I peered out over the blankets and groaned. On it went, screaming out its monotonous note. I pulled a dressing-gown on and stumbled irritably down to the kitchen.
‘Hello,’ I growled, thinking that if it was someone wanting to do a survey on the household then I’d spit into the phone before I hung up.
‘I want to speak to my daughter!’ It took a couple of moments for the voice to register. Nance McCaffrey. Carmel’s mother.
‘She’s in bed, Mrs McCaffrey,’ I said in my best polite voice. ‘She got to bed very late . . .’
‘I bet she did!’
‘Do you want me to wake her?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I do!’ her voice snapped back at me.
‘Okay,’ I said, a feeling of dread beginning to simmer in my foggy brain. ‘I’ll go and get her now. If you will just wait . . .’
‘What do you think you’re doing, dragging my daughter onto the streets?’ she screeched at me.
‘How do you know that?’ I said stupidly.
‘We saw her on TV ! We saw both of you!’ she said. Oh God! The modern age, eh? No bloody secrets from anyone. I didn’t know what to say.
‘I don’t care what you do,’ she went on vehemently. ‘Your mother has just been around here spouting all that drivel at me! Trying to excuse it.’ She sniffed scornfully and I felt hatred rise in my heart, like a poisonous blancmange.
‘You do what you like, missy!’ she went on. ‘But I don’t want . . . we don’t want our daughter out on the street with all that . . . riff-raff!’
‘You’re talking about my friends, Mrs McCaffrey. They are good people who would never hurt anyone . . .’ The fury in my head was dancing like ribbons of white light. I could hardly see the pale-green wall in front of me. ‘I think you should be careful what you say.’
‘Hey? What’s that you said?’ She hadn’t heard, so I didn’t repeat myself.
‘God,’ was all I said. Thoughtfully, and to myself really. So the demo had been on TV . I remembered the cameras that had arrived about eleven. I hadn’t registered it at the time.
‘Everyone in Manella is talking about it!’ she went on. ‘Everyone is ringing me up, checking that it was my daughter! I just have to . . .’
‘Do you want me to get Carmel?’ I cut in.
‘Yes.’ I was at the point of putting the receiver down when she shouted, ‘No! Waiting for her to get to the phone would be just wasting money. Tell her, from me, that her father is on his way. He’s coming down there to bring her home!’
‘No, he’s not,’ I said quietly. There was an icy pause.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Her voice sounded like a long scratch along tin.
‘I won’t allow it,’ I said steadily.
‘Who do you think you are?’ she said savagely. ‘Some little . . . tramp from nowhere. We’ve lived in this town all our lives. My husband’s grandfather was born in this house! We owe money to no one. You understand? The McCaffreys are people of substance! And we won’t be brought down by a little . . .’
My God! What is this woman talking about?
‘I’m her friend.’
A loud dismissive snort blasted through into my ear, but I stayed there.
‘Well, just you tell her this, missy. Tell her that we’re on to all her tricks. Her father is just finishing up the milking and he’ll be down to get her. You tell her that!’ The receiver crashed down in my ear. She’d hung up on me. I hate it when people do that. Luckily I didn’t have her number at hand, or I would have rung her straight back and sworn at her in the wildest, dirtiest way I knew how.
I was wide awake now and trembling. My feet were freezing. Suddenly the phone began to ring again. This time I picked it up gingerly. What would I say if it was her again? But it was Mum. ‘Jude, darling.’
‘Mum,’ I said hoarsely, immensely relieved. ‘Listen, I know.’ ‘What, love?’
‘About . . .M rs McCaffrey.’
‘They’re very upset.’
‘They’re being ridiculous!’
‘I know that, love, but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘Well, I think they’re coming down there to drag her home.’ ‘Not without a fight,’ I snarled.
‘Jude!’
‘What?’
‘What does Carmel feel about it?’ That stopped me in my tracks.
‘She’s not even awake,’ I admitted with a hard laugh. ‘I took the mad woman’s phone call myself.’
‘Tread carefully, Jude,’ Mum said. ‘I tried to explain what it was all about, but they didn’t want to know.’ Then she chuckled in that lovely low way she has. The sound of it warmed me. I could picture her sitting at the kitchen table in her green dressing-gown, picking casually at the strands of grey that were beginning to spread through her hair.
‘Mum . . .’ I said. ‘I.. . .’
‘What, love?’
‘Oh, nothing . . .’
‘They think you’re the evil influence, Jude,’ she said. ‘So do be careful, won’t you?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘And thanks, Mum.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, for going out to the farm and trying to explain. I mean you didn’t have to. It would have been difficult for you.’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she sighed. ‘I tried to tell them a bit, but I could see that they weren’t listening, so I just left.’
‘Did you see it yourself?’
‘No. But the whole town is buzzing.’
‘Do you mind?’ I was suddenly anxious. ‘Are people being antagonistic?’ Mum and I had never exactly been popular in Manella. We’d kind of kept our heads down, never been part of any crowd. It was a small town. Some people were suspicious of us. It pained me to think that Mum might be ostracised for some stupid thing like this.
‘Too soon to tell really, love,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, don’t worry, Jude. Yo
u know I just want you to be happy.’ I mumbled that I knew that and was about to say goodbye. I was glad afterwards that I didn’t.
‘Hey, Mum,’ I said, ‘you got any suggestions?’
‘About what?’
‘About how to save Carmel,’ I said. Mum thought for a while.
‘Well . . .’ she said tentatively. ‘Just a short-term thing. They won’t be able to come and get her if she isn’t there, will they?’
‘You mean . . . ?’
‘Take her out for the day.’
‘You mean not even tell her Mrs McCaffrey rang?’ I said softly, a rush of hope hitting me as I realised that here could be my simple solution.
‘Well . . . perhaps you should tell Carmel,’ Mum went on. ‘But assuming she doesn’t want to go home, then you could make sure neither of you are there when her father arrives.’
‘Mum!’ I began to laugh. ‘I haven’t seen this sneaky side of you for ages!’
‘Well,’ she replied heatedly. ‘I think they should calm down! They were really over the top with me. She’s eighteen after all.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Bye . . . darling girl.’
‘Hey, you two, thanks a lot for last night. I mean, I can’t remember much, except that I was pretty far gone . . .’ Katerina, a little pale, but looking more or less as perfect as ever, dumped a bulging soft purple leather satchel into the corner of the room, smiled briefly at Carmel and me as we sat at the table drinking tea, and headed over to fill the kettle. ‘It was good of you to take the time . . .’ she added, her eyes shifting away from us. I reached out and took another piece of toast from the plate in the middle of the table. I’d been building up to telling Carmel about the conversation I’d had with her mother and Katerina’s casual appearance was annoying.
‘That’s okay,’ I said, dry as sand. ‘What were you on?’
‘Excuse me?’ She jerked around quickly to face me. That familiar glint of steel was back in her eyes, daring me to ask anything else. But I only shrugged carelessly. I was way past being intimidated by her.
‘Well, you were on some kind of dope, right?’ I said looking straight at her.
She pursed up her mouth and looked at the ceiling for a few moments. I could tell she was deciding whether to come clean, or whether to act outraged or noncommittal.
‘Well, that’s . . . an interesting theory, Jude,’ she said eventually, with an enigmatic laugh.
‘Don’t bullshit me, Katerina,’ I said lightly. ‘I’m a medical student. I know an overdose when I see one . . .’
Actually we hadn’t learnt much about drugs of addiction at this point in my course, but I thought I might as well try and bluff her.
‘Oh dear!’ she mocked. ‘The moral squad is on to me again!’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘It’s just that the next time we have to scrape you off the floor we’d like to have a better idea of what the problem might have been in the first place.’
Katerina’s amused expression disappeared.
‘I hardly think it was that bad,’ she said defensively. She didn’t like me talking like this one little bit. Too bad. There were a couple of uncomfortable moments during which no one spoke and no one looked at anyone else.
‘Are you feeling okay now?’ Carmel asked her.
‘Fine thanks.’
‘Well, I’m going to have to go now,’ Carmel said, standing up and looking at her watch. ‘We’ve got a long rehearsal this afternoon.’
‘Oh,’ I said, remembering the phone call. Should I tell her now?
‘But you haven’t had a shower!’ I said, trying to stall her.
‘I had one last night before I went to bed,’ Carmel laughed, pretending to be offended. ‘If it’s anything to do with you! Which it isn’t. Then again I suppose if you’re trying to be a saint you have to go around minding other people’s personal business . . .’ I threw a dishcloth at her.
‘Aren’t you even going to wash your face?’
‘Nope!’
She had stopped in the doorway to smile at us. With the canvas bag over her shoulder and her hair pulled straight back from her face she looked so big and beautiful and in such good spirits I just couldn’t ruin it for her.
‘Okay, Carm,’ I said. ‘What time will you be back?’
‘I probably won’t be back at all,’ she said. ‘We’ve got our first gig tonight. So we’ll probably just get something to eat and then go on down to the bar.’
‘Your first gig?’ I spluttered in surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Yep,’ she smiled shyly. ‘It’s coming together, you know. We’re starting to sound okay . . .’
‘So how come you never told us?’ I said, pretending to be outraged. In fact she had mentioned something, but I’d forgotten. ‘Well, I thought it might be better for people to come when we’ve got a few gigs under our belts . . .’ She grinned. ‘I am going to ask you to come, Jude!’ She turned to Katerina, not wanting to be rude. ‘And you too, Katerina.’
Katerina nodded in an offhand way. It flashed through my head that she might have been just a tad jealous.
‘It’s at Virgona’s,’ Carmel said. ‘Brunswick Street. You know it?’ Katerina shook her head in a superior way. ‘Well,’ Carmel went on, ‘apparently the club has lost appeal lately. The drinks are so expensive! Anyway, the guy is expecting us to draw a crowd for him over the next few weeks. If we don’t, we’re sacked!’ She grinned happily. ‘I don’t care. It’s all experience.’ ‘Okay, then,’ I said, looking at the time and trying to calculate how long it would take her father to get down from Manella. ‘You’d better go now or you’ll be late.’
‘Oh, thank you, St Jude, patron saint of the hopeless.’ She made a sarcastic face. ‘What would I do without you to organise me? See you both late tonight or tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, bye,’ I called. ‘And good luck. Make sure you break a leg, okay?’ Carmel waved and disappeared down the hallway.
Katerina and I were left looking at each other uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t know Carmel’s band was serious,’ she said, pulling the purple satchel onto her knees and opening the catch, frowning as she searched through her things. She spoke as if the thought really peeved her.
‘Oh, they’re very good!’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Very professional . . .’ I was bullshitting. I actually had no idea what they were like.
Katerina began pulling things out of the satchel. A cardigan, an expensive-looking camera, a purse, two textbooks, and about half a dozen large square pieces of thick cardboard, which she placed on the table face down. I leant forward and peered over my cup of tea. Photos. The photograph on the front of each bit of cardboard was protected by a thick sheet of tracing paper. She put the cardigan on top of the pile, as though to hide them, and went on searching.
‘There’s this article I cut out for you,’ she said. ‘About dreams. I can’t seem to find it . . . thought you might be interested.’
‘What’ve you got there?’ I asked curiously, my hand outstretched to pick up the top photo.
‘No.’ Her hand darted out to stop me and our eyes locked. Hers looked very green in the pale wintry light coming through the kitchen window, very green and anxious. ‘Look, I’d prefer you didn’t,’ she added in a soft voice.
‘Okay,’ I said, surprised.
‘It’s just that . . .’ She was clearly very embarrassed. ‘Oh well, I suppose I don’t really care.’ She turned the pile the right way up and handed it to me.
‘See what you think . . .’ she said stiffly. ‘A few shots. Jordan wants to publish a calendar for next year, but . . . I don’t know.’
I lifted the protective paper and stared. The first was of Katerina lolling naked across a deck-chair. Her face and eyes were mostly covered by dark glasses and a huge hat, her feet were in stiletto shoes and her hands, which were holding a newspaper, were encased in long black gloves. She looked like a high-class whore. Her face leant forward, mouth parted as though she was about to kiss the camera. On
ly the position of the newspaper stopped us seeing her crotch.
‘Jeeze!’ I said. I moved on to the next one. This time she was kneeling naked, except for a tiny G-string, on the beach, patches of sand sticking to her golden skin, a giant wave rolling in behind her, and the huge blue sky above. The real focus was her round bum, which was jutting out provocatively. Once again the wide-brimmed hat and the open, painted mouth. I flipped quickly through the others. I suppose I was shocked. I’d never really taken any notice of this kind of stuff before. I mean, I’d passed by newsagents’ stalls like everyone else, seen the front covers, all the bare breasts and cute bums, big mouths smiling coquettishly, but I’d never really thought about it. I’d never considered that the photos were of real girls. Real people.
‘So,’ I said, putting them down at last, ‘you’ve decided to go through with it then?’
‘Well, no . . . actually, I haven’t,’ she sighed, staring at where the sun was making a quivering square of yellow light on the floor. ‘I haven’t decided anything yet.’ I nodded and tried not to feel totally repulsed by the pictures. What was wrong with me? They were obviously very well done. Classy erotic photos. Was I some kind of prude that I found the idea of her posing like this totally . . . well, embarrassing and tacky?
‘What do you think?’ she asked anxiously, looking at me. ‘He says he’s got an English publisher interested. There’s about twenty-five thousand in it for me, plus royalties . . .’
‘Do you need the money?’ I asked.
‘No . . . I guess I don’t. Not really,’ she replied slowly. ‘But it’s not just the money.’
‘What else is it?’
‘Well, I’ve always thought of getting into acting. Jordan thinks it would be a great way in . . .’
Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life Page 24
