Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

  Hal didn’t say anything. He looked across the water to the Manly ferry making its way across the harbour.

  Sarah continued. ‘But I think everyone who has grown up in Sydney, no matter what part, would consider the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, and indeed the whole harbour, as theirs, part of their individual heritage. Whether they see it every day or not. Don’t you?’

  Hal smiled and looked like Tom again.

  ‘Do you think the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House are the heart of Sydney?’ asked Hal.

  Sarah, wishing she hadn’t started this, shook her head.

  ‘No, but I think they are at the geographical heart of Sydney,’ replied Sarah.

  ‘Well, physically speaking, the geographical heart of Sydney is closer to Parramatta,’ said Hal. ‘But I think I know what you are trying to say. To Sydneysiders the Harbour Bridge is Sydney and the Opera House, whether they ever go to a production there or not, is Sydney. Is that what you mean?’

  Sarah nodded. She didn’t really know what she had meant. She was just trying to keep the conversation going. She had no idea what to talk to this tall, imposing stranger about, but when faced with social silences, she would rush in to fill them, talking about anything and everything, whatever popped into her head. And after she had launched in, while all around her people were taking it slowly, she would feel foolish and wonder what she was talking about.

  She was relieved when Tom appeared with the drinks. He handed them out then draped his arm casually around Sarah’s shoulder. Their fight was forgotten. She felt a rush of affection for him.

  ‘I don’t see a helmet, Hal. Did you not ride over?’

  Hal shook his head. He looked Tom directly in the eye, Sarah noticed. Not many people could do that. Tom was unusually tall.

  ‘No. I never ride when I’m drinking.’

  The two men sipped at their drinks and Sarah was overcome again by the silence.

  ‘It’s easy to see you’re Tom’s father,’ she burst in.

  Tom and Hal both looked at her. Their faces shared the same questioning expression, eyebrows raised slightly, head cocked to one side.

  Sarah laughed. ‘You’re both so tall. Hal, you are the first person I’ve ever seen who is able to look Tom in the eye.’

  Hal and Tom puffed out their chests and drew themselves up to their full height.

  *

  Ginny, telephone glued to her ear, listened to this exchange.

  ‘Do you want a bag for that?’ the woman was asking her. Ginny could tell by her tone that she was repeating the question.

  ‘I’m sorry. Yes, please. In a bag,’ she said covering the mouthpiece.

  Ginny watched her place the cake box in a plastic shopping bag and hand it over the counter to her. The woman glared her disapproval at the mobile phone.

  ‘I said, that will be thirty-two dollars.’

  Ginny paid her while juggling the phone, not wanting to miss a moment of Sarah’s discomfort.

  By the time Ginny arrived at Toft Monks, Tom, Sarah and Hal had sat down for dinner and Ginny’s shoulder was aching from supporting the phone to her ear as she drove. She locked the phone in the glovebox and carefully removed the cake box from the shopping bag. Outside, she rang the doorbell marked T. Wilson and S. Cowley.

  Sarah’s breathy voice sounded over the intercom.

  ‘Hi, it’s Ginny. I’ve got something for you. Can I come up?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Sarah, sounding flustered.

  Sarah looked pleased to see Ginny and ushered her into the room.

  ‘Ginny, how lovely of you to drop by. Please come in.’

  Ginny smiled across the room at Tom then hesitated as she noticed Hal.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company,’ she said, pausing at the doorway.

  ‘It’s okay, Ginny. Come on in and meet my dad,’ said Tom.

  Shyly Ginny moved across to greet Hal. He pushed back his chair and Ginny found herself looking up into a pair of beautiful sparkling blue eyes just like Tom’s. Hal held his napkin in front of him and smiled awkwardly.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of dinner,’ said Ginny. ‘I just wanted to drop off this cake. It was given to me by a woman at work. I performed a miracle on her little dog and she wanted to say thank you. Unfortunately I’m not much into chocolate cake so I thought you guys might like it.’

  Tom looked at Ginny with a mixture of amazement and delight.

  Ginny felt her face grow hot under his admiring gaze. She knew she was blushing and hoped no-one would notice.

  ‘We’d love it, wouldn’t we, Sarah?’ said Tom.

  ‘We sure would,’ agreed Sarah, taking the box gratefully.

  ‘Will you stay for dinner, Ginny?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ said Ginny, hesitating for just the right amount of time.

  ‘Of course you could,’ said Hal, gallantly pulling back a chair.

  Tom fetched another glass, Sarah served another meal and Ginny joined the little party. Her palms were clammy with nerves and excitement. This was such an important night for Tom and she was going to be part of it. She wouldn’t miss a thing. She smiled warmly at Hal as he filled her glass. He really had the most beautiful eyes. She took a big gulp of wine and then another. It made her feel giddy.

  Hal leaned forward and asked about her miracle. Ginny explained about the little dog’s asthmatic wheeze and how it was having trouble climbing the owner’s back stairs. Hal listened attentively, his eyes following every expression on Ginny’s face. Tom and Sarah listened too. Ginny was acutely aware of Sarah at the head of the table, silent except for murmuring noises of encouragement. Ginny didn’t often talk about her work to them. Sarah usually did most of the talking. But tonight Sarah was looking to her for help. Ginny warmed to the attention and explained about the lung operation she had performed on the little dog’s lungs. In fact Dr Black had performed the painstakingly difficult microsurgery and she had assisted him – administering the anaesthetic, handing across each instrument as it was needed and stemming the blood flow while Dr Black sewed up the wound. But other than that minor detail, Ginny accurately described the operation that had taken place on Mrs Ronaldson’s ageing Pekinese that afternoon in the surgery.

  Hal was fascinated. ‘How could you perform such a delicate operation on something so tiny?’ he asked.

  Ginny explained about the huge magnifying glass that was held in position above the animal throughout the operation. She explained about cauterising tiny wounds, anaesthetising small animals. To demonstrate the point she talked of the huge hydraulic tables they used for horses, strapping them as they stood to the side of the table, anaesthetising them, then swivelling the table.

  They all looked at her uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Imagine trying to lift an unconscious horse onto an operating table,’ she said.

  Hal shook his head. ‘I must admit, it never occurred to me,’ he said.

  ‘Before hydraulic tables vets used to operate on horses on the ground. Once the horse lay down, asleep, they would lay out their instruments and get down on their hands and knees. Can’t have been very comfortable. But I’ll bet the floors in their surgeries were pretty clean.’

  ‘How similar is veterinary surgery to surgery on humans?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Very and not at all,’ replied Ginny. ‘The basics of hygiene and the principles of anatomy are the same but that’s about where it stops. Animals have organs that we don’t have and different muscle groups. They use their muscles differently and the ratio between organs varies from animal to animal. The difference between treating a guinea pig’s heart and a racing horse’s lung would be the same as the differences between a human and a cat. Then there are differences within species. Like dogs. A German shepherd is prone to different diseases from a poodle.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ nodded Hal.

  Sarah cleared away the plates and disappeared into the kitchen. Ginny didn’t follow her. She had the spotlight and she was
blossoming under the attention. She didn’t feel beige at all.

  ‘My poor old mutt has been having a bit of trouble,’ said Hal. ‘Laddie. He’s a border collie cross. Been with me for about fourteen years. He’s lost his bounce. I don’t know what it is.’

  ‘Could be old age, Hal,’ suggested Tom.

  ‘Perhaps you could let the expert speak,’ replied Hal, smiling at Ginny.

  He didn’t really look like Tom, thought Ginny, except when he smiled his face lit up with that same expression of joy and delight. Ginny looked at Tom. His expression mirrored his father’s. It was like the sun beaming at her in stereo. Ginny basked in its warmth.

  ‘Sounds to me like he may be chronologically challenged,’ she said with a mischievous grin. ‘Of course, I’d have to examine him to be sure.’

  Hal looked confused.

  ‘She’s telling you he’s old,’ explained Tom.

  Hal’s confusion cleared and he laughed. It was a loud and relaxed laugh, full of power that swelled and filled the room. Tom joined in, his own hearty chuckle blending in perfect harmony. Ginny smiled coquettishly from one to the other.

  ‘Really, why don’t you let me take a look at him? Old age may not be curable but the ailments of old age certainly are. It could be something as simple as cataracts. Blurred vision will rob a dog of any age of his confidence. A problem with hearing will do the same. Of course, it could be canine Alzheimer’s, which isn’t curable. But bring him in and I’ll have a look.’

  Hal looked relieved. Tom looked delighted. And when Sarah reappeared she kept smiling at Ginny.

  After dessert Ginny decided she had starred enough and cleared away the cake plates. Sarah followed her to the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks, Ginny. You are a lifesaver. We were having such a boring time till you arrived. Who’d have thought you would save the day?’

  Sarah looked aghast as soon as the words escaped her mouth.

  ‘Sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded.’

  Ginny smiled benignly. It would take more than a comment from Sarah to dent her happiness tonight. ‘That’s all right. I have been having a lovely evening.’

  ‘You don’t have to see his silly old dog. I mean it was nice of you to be polite but don’t feel that you have to.’

  ‘Well, I can’t very well back out now, Sarah, can I? Anyway, he obviously loves his old dog. I’d be happy to take a look at him.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Sarah.

  ‘It’s what I do all day, Sarah, look at sick animals, see if I can help them. That’s my job. I’m a vet.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose,’ said Sarah.

  Ginny could see Sarah had lost interest in the vet talk. She wasn’t at all herself tonight.

  ‘So, what do you think of Hal?’ asked Sarah. ‘He doesn’t look much like Tom, and yet when he smiles and laughs he does. Sometimes there is an expression in his eyes. It’s quite unsettling.’

  Ginny started to speak, keen to share her observations of the similarities and differences between the two men, but Sarah continued, not noticing her friend’s sudden keenness to talk.

  ‘He’s older than I expected, more urbane too. When Tom said he was a biker I just expected a Hell’s Angel. He’s not at all like that. Just goes to show you shouldn’t make judgements about people, I suppose. So that’s my new father-in-law. A new member of the family.’

  Sarah sounded so proprietorial that Ginny felt resentment burn at the back of her throat. She recognised its bitter taste and tried to swallow it away. It stayed, a persistent lump. She reached for the sugar bowl. She noticed it was nearly empty and asked Sarah where she kept her sugar to refill it. Sarah gestured vaguely towards the food cupboard.

  ‘I’m so glad you dropped by, Ginny. I hadn’t organised a dessert. It was a lovely cake. Really. But more than that, thank God, you came and talked about your work. You lost me a bit with the details of the operations. Bit gruesome. But very interesting. Hal is hard work, don’t you think? I couldn’t think what to talk to him about. Imagine that. Me stuck for words.’

  Ginny poured the last of the sugar in the canister into the sugar bowl, carefully scraping the fine dust from the sides of the canister.

  ‘You’re out of sugar, Sarah. You’ll need to buy more.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Ever tried to open your veins with a plastic knife, pulling that pathetic excuse for a serrated edge across your wrists? They don’t cut vegetables, much less meat. That’s all we’re allowed. No steel cutlery, no pins, not even a brooch or belt buckle. They think we’ll try to kill ourselves. Or, worse still, try to carve each other up. Then there would really be trouble. Loon kills loon. I don’t want to die. And I don’t want to kill anyone else either. Not in my nature, I keep telling them that. But I did try once, I know. I didn’t really mean it. Not really. But they won’t let me forget.

  *

  Ginny felt uneasy. She was tense and feeling as if something was about to happen. It was like that heightening of the senses before the climax of a movie, that moment when she realised she was holding her breath. She would let it out and try to relax her shoulders but it didn’t ever help. She always still felt scared. That’s how Ginny felt but she didn’t understand why. It was like there was something in the air. It was all around her. She stood on her balcony and looked across the bay at the sun sparkling on the water and shivered involuntarily.

  She couldn’t see the huge storm that was approaching, but she could sense it. It was rolling across the Tasman Sea, sucking up the energy in its path, swelling and growing, increasing its power and might as it charged towards Elizabeth Bay. It was still nearly an hour away but the atmospheric pressure was building and the air was alive with electricity. Ginny’s nerves felt sharp and raw. She saw Kitty pacing on the back of the couch looking out at her. Kitty sensed the change in energy and was agitated too.

  Ginny stared across at Toft Monks. Sarah and Tom’s balcony was like a closed face. It was 8 pm and they should have been home from work by now. Ginny felt her irritation grow. Her moods, her thoughts, her whole being, revolved around Sarah and Tom. She no longer had a life of her own. She was completely consumed by what went on inside that four-room apartment at Toft Monks.

  Her days at the clinic were an interruption. Shopping for food was an interruption. Anything that took her away from her apartment, her binoculars and the loud speaker was an interruption. Every waking moment her senses were strained toward that apartment. When Sarah and Tom were home she listened and watched their every movement, their every word. She took notes, writing the minutiae of their lives down in a big spiral-bound notebook.

  She had different headings on different pages: ‘Fights’, ‘Possibilities’ and ‘Tom’s dad’. The section she added to most, writing away furiously with a tight, satisfied smile, was ‘Bitch’, where she recorded her observations of Sarah and what Ginny considered her unreasonable behaviour. A simple friendly discussion between Sarah and Tom about who had last used the TV remote control, the sort of discussion that went on amiably in homes across the country every evening, would be recorded under the ‘Bitch’ heading as a further example of Sarah’s lies and callous manipulation of Tom.

  Indeed, Tom and Sarah would have been astounded to read their lives as perceived by their secret observer. They would have struggled to recognise either of themselves in Ginny’s record of their lives. Even though it was an extraordinarily detailed and accurate record of what went on in the supposed privacy of their own apartment, Ginny’s spiral-bound notebook actually revealed very little of them and an awful lot about her own warped and malicious sense of reality.

  The storm continued to roll towards Elizabeth Bay. Ginny glanced again at Toft Monks. Lights were on in half the apartments as people went about their evening rituals, cooking dinner, settling down in front of the television, but Tom and Sarah’s windows stayed stubbornly dark. Ginny sighed and bent down to pet Kitty.

  ‘Where are they, Kitty? Do you know?�
�� she murmured, tickling her under the chin.

  Kitty tossed her head. She wasn’t interested right now, thank you.

  Ginny did another restless lap of her small apartment. She peered into the fishbowl. The water was a bit murky. Probably should clean it in the next few days.

  ‘How are you little fishy?’ she said putting her face close to the glass. ‘You look like I feel – bored. Want to come for a swim?’ Ginny picked up the bowl, smiling as the startled fish rocked in the suddenly choppy water.

  She turned up the speaker in her bedroom, so she would know the minute her prey arrived home. The sound of static bounced around the walls of the apartment. It was a piercing hiss that added to Kitty’s agitation but satisfied Ginny. She placed the fishbowl in the wash-basin. As she ran the bath she stripped off her clothes. She was small-boned and slight and very, very pale. She slowly lowered herself into the bath, holding the fishbowl tightly to her chest. As the water settled she placed the bowl on her stomach, being careful to keep the rim just above water level.

  The fish was an exotic bubble-eyed fish from South America. It had small gold and black spots on a squat white body, with huge fluid-filled pouches under each eye, which looked to Ginny like swollen blisters. Every time she looked at it she felt the urge to pierce the pouches with a needle. It was the same curiosity she had about animals ever since she was a child and it was the reason she had wanted to become a vet. She didn’t really love animals in the way the other students in her university class had. She was intrigued by their unique bodily functions, their differences, their variety and how each species differed so dramatically from humans and then from every other animal species. She saw the whole animal kingdom as one huge puzzle and it appealed to her intellect to unravel how it all worked, to find connections. She loved dissecting them, poking around inside their little bodies, discovering their intriguing little organs. Most people found the bubble-eyed fish grotesque but to Ginny its uniqueness made it terribly appealing.