Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

  Anne started to tell the story of Sarah as a young girl, obsessed by garden gnomes. Ginny had heard it a thousand times before and it annoyed her every time.

  ‘She used to steal garden gnomes from lawns in the neighbourhood, bring them home and repaint them,’ explained Anne. ‘If they originally had red britches and a yellow shirt she would repaint them with blue britches and a green shirt, or whatever. Then, weeks later, when they were all freshly painted she would sneak in and return them to their original positions in the gardens.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Marty, the only one at the table who hadn’t heard the story before.

  ‘Because she thought they were unloved,’ said Tom tenderly. ‘She only picked gnomes that needed a new coat of paint.’

  Thel nodded along throughout the story. It all made perfect sense to her.

  ‘But what did the owners think when they found their family gnome had changed colours?’ asked Marty, shaking his head.

  Ginny steeled herself to be further irritated.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ replied Sarah. ‘Perhaps they thought he had changed clothes.’

  Marty looked confused.

  Tom laughed.

  ‘Not everything Sarah does makes sense,’ he said. ‘At boarding school the teachers were always finding half-painted gnomes hidden in Sarah’s shoe cupboard. They threatened to expel her if she didn’t stop. Isn’t that right, Sarah?’

  Sarah groaned.

  ‘Oh, Ginny, do you remember Mrs Venn? She grounded me for a week. I was stuck in that awful place, not allowed to go anywhere but from my bedroom to the classroom. I thought I would die. That was the weekend you all went off to the planetarium.’

  Everyone at the table looked at Ginny as she nodded and laughed along. She remembered it well. A few times she had gone with Sarah, creeping out with her to return the gnomes to suburban gardens in the area. It had been the height of adventure for the two of them, who were closetted away from the world at the exclusive girls’ school in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. Ginny’s face was the picture of jolly humour as she joined in the merriment over Sarah’s childhood folly, but inside she seethed.

  Sarah looked happily about her, warmed by the alcohol, the occasion and being surrounded by the people who meant most to her in the world. She basked in their affection. Ginny looked around the same table but the faces she saw were those of fawning sycophants. She never understood why but that’s how she felt people behaved around Sarah. They just loved her. Ginny, who felt like an outsider in most social situations, found it intensely threatening. She never stopped to analyse the way she felt around Sarah. She had spent a lifetime wallpapering over the misconceptions of her psyche, each layer binding her more tightly to her distorted view of herself and the world.

  Ginny believed everything had been handed to Sarah on a silver plate. At senior school Ginny had to work like a dog to get the grades she needed to become a vet. Sarah had sailed through doing a minimum of work, which didn’t interfere with her socialising, but still managed to finish in the top ten per cent of the state and secure a spot in the journalism faculty at university. It was so unfair, but so typical.

  Ginny saw herself as the quiet achiever, strong and navy blue. But beside Sarah she felt beige. Sarah sapped her colour, her lifeblood. Her energy could be overpowering and Ginny was constantly struggling to assert herself.

  Once they had been innocent giggling schoolgirls together, spending hours sharing their important 11-year-old secrets. Then, when they hit puberty, a subtle battle had begun. Ginny had become intensely competitive, measuring her own progress and achievements against the progress and achievements of Sarah. It was a competition she couldn’t win, except in her own mind, where she was master of the universe. She saw Sarah through a veil of self-delusion, perceiving every success and kindness as further evidence that Sarah was really weak and vain and skilfully managing to fool the world. Only she, Ginny, seemed to be able to see through Sarah to the truth.

  To Ginny it seemed that Sarah had been adored since she was born and Ginny despised her for that. She also despised Sarah because she was smart and appeared so confident. Sarah had it all so easy, Ginny thought. And it was so bitterly unfair.

  It had been fine when they were young. Ginny had been happy to follow along in Sarah’s wake. She lacked confidence herself and admired Sarah’s easy grace and poise. She had been flattered that someone as popular as Sarah had chosen Ginny to be her special friend. But as they moved into womanhood, the dynamic had shifted and that’s when Ginny’s adoration had soured. It curdled inside her. She wore affection like a mask, but Ginny’s own inner world was different. It was a rich private place where Ginny ruled. It was a place Ginny had retreated to a long time ago and she allowed no-one inside, not even for a glimpse.

  Sarah cared deeply for Ginny. She worried about her friend. She sensed the deep-rooted unhappiness that lay at her core. Sarah did feel she was blessed. She did have everything. But she also carried with her her own insecurities, a range of emotional baggage that would fill an airport carousel. Being sent off to Kilvonia Ladies’ College on the other side of the world from her parents when she was just ten years old had created inside her a deep loneliness that neither her professional success nor Tom could ever erase.

  Like Ginny, Sarah wasn’t given to introspection. But unlike Ginny she had a basically kind heart. She would never set out to hurt anyone else. When she felt unsure and intimidated she had developed a way of switching off her own feelings to focus on someone else. As long as she had someone else to worry about she could avoid facing herself. It worked beautifully. Focussing on other people’s problems usually pushed her own to the background where they lost their intensity and power. It was part of the reason people naturally gravitated toward her. They sensed her genuine interest in them.

  Sarah made sure she included Ginny in everything she and Tom did, and worried that if she didn’t ask her out she would wither away in her apartment with just her stuffed cat for company. When Sarah looked at the forthright, attractive young woman sitting at the table she still saw the wild-eyed, scared 11-year-old girl who had appeared one evening in the boarding school dining room. She had looked like a little doll, petite and neat in her starched new uniform. The class bully had immediately locked onto Ginny, sensing her unease, hissing loudly so everyone could hear, ‘Check out the new girl, what a loser.’ Sarah’s heart had turned over at the look of bewilderment on Ginny’s face.

  Back then Sarah had instinctively reached out to the timid young girl. Ginny had been almost disbelieving when Sarah had loudly invited her to join her table. As the weeks progressed they spent every moment together and Ginny was so proud to be friends with the most popular girl at school. But as they grew older Ginny grew tired of living in Sarah’s shadow. She resented the role she felt she had been cast. She wanted more. She was tired of being a bit part in Sarah’s fabulous life. She wanted to feel the confidence, the adoration, and have the fun. And she wanted Tom. More than anything in the world, she wanted Tom. She wanted to see the love in his eyes when he looked at her. Not the friendly, good-natured affection she saw now, but the desire and hunger that was palpable when he looked at Sarah. She wanted to feel his desire, his passion.

  She felt it was her right. Sarah could have any man she wanted. Ginny wanted only one.

  Ginny’s love for Tom had twisted inside her over the years. It crystallised the resentment she felt for Sarah and that resentment had festered, growing like a malignant tumour. Ginny was powerless to walk away. She had to beat Sarah to reclaim her sense of self.

  They were an unlikely duo, their lives inexorably entwined. Ginny was locked in an unholy war that existed entirely in her own head. Sarah was equally trapped by her own blind loyalty. To her Ginny was still the scared and vulnerable little girl she had rescued from the school bully. Ginny needed her. Their friends knew – albeit instinctively – how it worked.

  When Sarah organised a birthday party for Ginny, they all
came armed with smiles and champagne. When they threw dinner parties at home they would include Ginny. But the relationships never took on a life of their own, independent of Sarah. Kate would never think to call Ginny and arrange lunch. And John and Anne wouldn’t have invited Ginny to their baby’s christening if Sarah hadn’t first suggested it. Sarah and Ginny were mostly a package. You wanted Sarah, you got Ginny thrown in.

  But, unbeknown to anyone at the table that night, Ginny had decided to change the script. Things were going to be different from now on. She had been thinking while she was in Perth. From behind her champagne glass she watched Sarah sparkle and shine among her friends and family, blissfully ignorant of the years of repressed venom Ginny was about to unleash.

  *

  Tom and Sarah’s table was still celebrating at midnight as the Thai restaurant owners started to clear away the other tables. No-one was in any mood to leave and the owners were happy for them to stay as long as they liked. Sarah finished her umpteenth glass of champagne and, feeling quite giddy, made her way to the ladies toilet. She passed the kitchen, smiling her greetings to the Thai owner. He was stocky and fit with a broad grin.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Sarah. Congratulations to you and Tom,’ he said with a faint bow. ‘May you be very happy together for many, many years.’

  Sarah was touched by his sincerity.

  ‘Thank you, Sawar. The food was delicious as always,’ she said, or at least it was what she tried to say. Her voice was slurred and unintelligible. She giggled and shrugged. Sawar smiled. Sarah and Tom often came to dinner there and he liked the friendly young couple. He was happy they chose his restaurant for their momentous announcement. He had taken special care tonight, giving them the best table, overlooking the floodlit courtyard. He and his wife Liam had been excited all night, watching discreetly what was happening at their table, waiting for Tom to give them the nod.

  As soon as Sarah left the table Tom leaned across to Ginny.

  ‘Ginny, could you do me a favour?’ he whispered.

  Ginny nodded immediately.

  ‘I’m surprising Sarah with a weekend in the Blue Mountains. We will be away for three days and I know Sarah will fret about the goldfish and the plants. Please, could you drop in and look after things?’

  ‘Tom, you are so sweet. Of course I will,’ said Ginny.

  Tom slipped a spare key to her under the table.

  ‘Thanks, Ginny. I want to take her away for a romantic break.’

  Ginny felt an electric current pass up her arm as Tom’s warm fingers grazed her palm. She held them for just a moment. The key was warm from Tom’s pocket and Ginny clutched it, smiling happily.

  As Sarah emerged from the cubicle she could still hear her rowdy table. Tom was laughing loudly, his deep baritone sounding masculine and sexy. Kate was firing up and launching into her favourite country and western song, ‘Delta Dawn’. It was going to be a long night. She splashed cold water on her face and pinched her cheeks. She could hear Tom and Marty erupt into another round of raucous laughter as the women of the table joined Kate singing ‘Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on, could it be a faded rose from days gone by …’ Sarah reapplied lipstick, pouting at her reflection. ‘… And did I hear you say, he was a meetin’ you here today … to take you … to his mansion in the skyyyyy …’ She was back at the table in time for the final chorus. She wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Kate, resplendent in her leopard skin, and Thel, braids flying, were on top of their chairs belting it out, while Sawar and his wife looked on in bemusement.

  ‘I said he’s going to take you … yeah, he’s going to take you … and you and you and you …’

  CHAPTER 3

  There’s something going on. I don’t know what it is. No-one will talk to me. Everyone is talking in urgent whispers. They think I don’t notice. But I do. I notice everything. I have seen the way Sister Johns looks when Dr Hubert comes around, like some lovesick twit, and how she fights with that other nurse to join him on his rounds.

  But it’s something else. I can smell it. Dr Hubert’s been asking some funny questions during our little talks. What’s he up to?

  He writes it all down, with that scratchy fountain pen on that frighteningly white, white paper. Whatever I say or don’t say, or think, goes into that folder. I know which drawer he keeps me in, in that big grey filing cabinet that looks like a slick, glossy whale, perched on its flippers. I’m in the chest cavity.

  *

  ‘Sarah, this is gorgeous,’ Kate said, looking around her with interest.

  The party, minus Thel, had staggered drunkenly down the street to Tom and Sarah’s new apartment in the very upmarket Toft Monks, one of Elizabeth Bay’s most famous buildings. The fresh air went some way towards sobering them up but they were still merry and charged with energy.

  ‘Isn’t it stunning?’ agreed Ginny. ‘Come and see the view, Kate.’

  Outside, the evening was warm and still, a beautiful Sydney night. The sky was filled with stars. The only sound was the gentle tinkling of halyards on boat masts and the distant sound of laughter and music from a cruising party boat.

  Ginny pointed out the lights of Taronga Park Zoo across the harbour.

  ‘You can’t see the bridge because of that building,’ Ginny said gesturing to the high-rise apartment block opposite.

  Kate was uncomfortably aware of how close Ginny was. The large balcony was empty but Ginny stood next to Kate, her arm against Kate’s. Kate shifted her weight onto her back foot and eased herself imperceptibly away.

  ‘God, it’s ugly,’ continued Kate. ‘It looks like something out of the eastern bloc. Moscow is filled with apartment blocks that look just like that – ugly.’

  Ginny leaned towards Kate. Her shoulder rubbed against Kate’s shoulder. She was so close Kate could smell the alcohol on her breath.

  ‘But the beauty of living inside an ugly building like that would be that you wouldn’t notice it. You would only see out, to the view. It’s the other people, like the people who live here, who have to put up with its ugliness,’ said Ginny.

  Kate knew Ginny was looking at her, expecting some sort of reply. Her face was a short distance from her own. Kate nodded, unable to turn her head and meet Ginny’s gaze. She felt herself tense. Ginny always had this effect on her. She always stood too close, crashing through that invisible comfort zone that Kate felt was her own inviolate body space. It wasn’t that Ginny was overly intimate. She was just intrusive. She didn’t seem to recognise people’s natural boundaries.

  ‘My father shared that same philosophy,’ said Tom, stepping onto the balcony, his booming voice making Ginny jump. ‘When we were kids he used to buy the ugliest cars secondhand because they were cheaper. He had a bright orange Holden and then, when he had driven that into the ground, a lime-green Ford. No-one else would buy them because the colours were so awful but Dad figured he didn’t have to look at them. He was in the car looking out at all the nice white or red or navy-blue cars with their shiny chrome.’

  Kate was relieved Tom had appeared. It meant she could extricate herself from Ginny.

  ‘I’ll just go and see how that Versace cushion looks on your couch,’ she said, sliding past Ginny.

  Ginny didn’t notice her leave. She was aware only of Tom.

  ‘You know in all the years I’ve known you that is the first time I have heard you mention your father,’ said Ginny. Her face softened as she looked up at Tom. ‘You don’t talk about him much, do you?’

  It was a calculated understatement. Tom never spoke of his father. Ginny felt a rush of warmth, standing on the darkened balcony, drinking in his nearness.

  ‘Well, I guess there hasn’t been much to say. He left us when I was eight, took off for Sydney and I haven’t seen him since. But, funnily enough, I got a message at the newspaper from him the other day. He had read something I wrote and realised I was living in Sydney. He wants to catch up.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ enthused Ginny.

>   ‘That’s what Sarah said.’

  ‘You’re not so sure?’

  Tom breathed in deeply, leaning forward on the railing. The merriment of the night had loosened his tongue. He wasn’t the kind of man to share his innermost feelings, except perhaps with Sarah.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s been so long,’ he said slowly, looking across the harbour. ‘What if I don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like me?’

  ‘I doubt that, Tom,’ said Ginny softly.

  ‘Hey, it’s possible,’ said Tom with a grin. ‘Unlikely, but possible. And then there’s all those other questions like, for starters, why did he leave, why didn’t he keep in touch? Why now?’

  Ginny pictured Tom as a small, tousle-haired boy, bewildered by his adult world. She ached for him. She had her own painful childhood memories that she kept locked away in a secret place. She leaned on the railing, her arm comfortably, companionably against Tom’s bare, muscular arm. She warmed to his body heat.

  ‘What does Thel say?’ she said carefully, desperate to say the right thing and not break the mood.

  ‘I haven’t told her. It would upset her. We don’t talk about him at all. We haven’t talked about him since he left. It was pretty rough for her then, bringing up a son on her own. I don’t want to upset her.’

  Sarah’s voice interrupted them. She called them inside for coffee, shattering the moment. Tom moved inside and reluctantly Ginny followed. Ginny watched as Sarah heaped three teaspoons of sugar into her coffee.

  ‘Why do you have to have so much sugar?’ commented Ginny, happy to find a focus for her annoyance.

  ‘Oh, yes, Sarah likes her sugar,’ said Tom. His tone was soft and suggestive and he was looking at Sarah in a way that made Ginny hurt inside.