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Alison Preston - Norwood Flats 01 - The Rain Barrel Baby

Page 15

by Alison Preston


  Tara laughed out loud as she climbed the steps out of the pool and dried her hands and face on a towel so thick she couldn’t dry the insides of her ears.

  She stretched out on a lawn chair and retrieved her notebook from her bag. She knew what each voice wanted and on a brand new page she wrote: Ivy’s Three Tasks. Beneath the heading she listed them in point form.

  And then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  And in spite of her afternoon nap, Ivy slept soundly on Friday night. Nothing worried her.

  She breakfasted with her husband early on Saturday morning.

  “Simon, I was wondering if we could get a swimming pool built in our backyard.”

  Simon was still reeling from the sight of his wife across the dining table from him. It had been weeks, maybe months, since she had joined him for breakfast. He peered at her as closely as he dared.

  “You look different, my dear. What is it that’s changed?”

  Ivy laughed. “You probably haven’t seen me without makeup for a very long time. Maybe that’s it.”

  Simon realized that she was right. She looked pretty in the sunlight shining through the window. A soft pretty — a little taut maybe — but not the hard scary gorgeous that he had grown used to.

  “You look nice,” he said and to his chagrin felt a tear escape and slide into one of the vertical crevices in his face.

  “What do you think?” Ivy asked. “The yard’s big enough.”

  She lit a cigarette. “I’ve found that I really like swimming.”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Simon.

  Although he dreaded the construction noise and workmen stomping about, it seemed like a good, healthy idea to him, one that should be encouraged.

  “Okay, great.” She pressed her cool lips against his forehead. “I’ve gotta run. I’m going to watch a golf tournament today.”

  “A what?”

  “A golf tournament. At the Prairie Hills. I’m a member there now. I swim mostly, but it’s starting to get crowded now the weather’s warming up. That’s why I’d like a pool here at home.”

  Ivy went off to get ready for the day and Simon spoke to his dog.

  “She’s a puzzler, Lucy girl. She puzzles the heck out of me. What do you think?”

  Lucy whapped her tail on the floor and rested her grizzled snout between her two front paws. Simon reached down to stroke her head and realized he felt better than he had in days.

  “How would you like to go for a walk today, Lucy?”

  It had been a long time since Simon had been out with his dog. Sometimes Lena was kind enough to take her for a modest romp in the park but nothing like what Lucy had been used to before Simon got sick. She sat up at the word walk, not excited yet but prepared for excitement if what she thought was happening should turn out to be true.

  Simon chuckled and called out, “Lena, let’s you and me and Lucy take a stroll.”

  Ivy prepared herself like a school girl going on a first date with a boy she loved. Except for the cuts. A school girl wouldn’t slice into the tender flesh of her most secret self to ensure that her tainted blood would flow easily.

  She bathed and showered till she shone and took extra care with her hair and makeup. There would be no swim today. She had to look perfect. The outfit she chose emphasized the curves of her body and her long shapely legs without seeming to do so on purpose: a crimson silk shirt that fell gently against the black lace covering the smooth skin of her breasts; a straight black skirt, also silk, long enough to look right on someone her age, but short enough to rise well above her knees when seated; and delicate Italian sandals with four-inch heels. Ivy admired the way she looked in high-heeled shoes and she had no intention of traipsing around the golf course. She was sure she could manage just fine from inside the clubhouse and patio areas.

  Tara Grace was a good new name. Ivy was glad she had chosen it and pleased with herself for taking out her membership under that name. She knew Wim wouldn’t know her. Why would he? Frank hadn’t recognized her and he was more the type who would. He looked at people.

  Maybe she would keep the name Tara even after she was done here. Ivy could disappear.

  It was easy. Wim Winston was easy.

  “Don’t I know you?” he said as he sidled up to her at the bar.

  “No, I’m sure you don’t.” She pushed away the image of him panting over her in the penalty box and with it the shame that covered her like a steamy blanket.

  Wim laughed. “Yes, I do. Don’t tell me what I do or don’t know!”

  He’s still an asshole, Tara thought. “Whatever.” She turned back to her mineral water and took a sip. If he knew she was Ivy Srutwa, chances were good he wouldn’t want to fuck her. She hadn’t bargained on this.

  “I’ve seen you before. I know I have,” Wim said. “I’ve got it. It was at the hospital a while back, the hospital where I work. I’d never forget someone as beautiful as you.”

  Tara sat up straight and smiled a slow smile. “Well, thank you.”

  “May I buy you another drink?” he asked.

  “No, thanks,” Tara said. “But you can tell me your name.”

  “Wim.”

  She laughed. “I know that from your name tag, I mean your last name, Wim.”

  “Winston. Dr. Winston,” he added and she laughed again.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Winston. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” She stood to go.

  “Wait! Don’t go! Are you a member here? Do you come here often?”

  Ivy backed her Triumph out of the parking lot. That was enough for today. It couldn’t have gone better, she thought. Except for the scare when he said he knew me. But that passed soon enough.

  She drove the Triumph only on certain occasions, left the Lincoln in the garage and went for a sportier look. The top was down on the little red car and Ivy hummed along with the radio. The days ahead looked tidy and clean. Everything in its place.

  CHAPTER 53

  Denise was being released soon to a room in a house for recovering addicts. She was neither glad nor sad. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about running into Wim at the hospital anymore. He had stopped coming to see her a couple of weeks before, but she didn’t feel safe from him, knowing that he could appear at any time, breezing into the ward with his doctor’s badge.

  She pulled the curtain around and lay down on her bed to wait for her husband to come by.

  Frank hung up his phone and sighed. This time when he called, he knew that the secretary was lying because he could hear Wim in the background. “If it’s Frank Foote, tell him I’m not here,” he said. “If it’s Frank Foote, tell him I’m gone.”

  Okay, Wim. You win.

  It was time to visit Denise.

  CHAPTER 54

  Wim Winston was a prick.

  He wanted to fuck her by the river and in the back of his car and in the washroom at the golf club. Tara had seen him with his wife at dinner in the restaurant and she pitied the woman who shared her life with such a loathsome man. She knew there was a chance she would be killing the wife as well, but she couldn’t think too much about that. And anyway, what was so terrible about death?

  Ivy approved of Wim’s taste in places. Blood mixed better with grass and old blankets than it did with crisp hotel sheets.

  But she didn’t want to have to do this for much longer. It was odious work. It wasn’t that Wim was a lousy fuck, as fucks went. But she hated every single thing about him. There was nothing that she didn’t hate. She would rather have fucked a mean dog.

  She didn’t want to have to kiss him anymore. If he could just do her it wouldn’t be so bad. But he wanted to smooch and cuddle and talk and she didn’t think she could stomach one more night of that.

  Ivy yanked out one of her back teeth. She used pliers and it took forever. The tooth broke and there was a horrible mess in her mouth by the time she held the roots in her hand. She grinned at her bloody face in the mirror over her bathroom sink.

&nb
sp; “You taste like blood,” Wim said.

  It was late Friday night and they lay on a blanket behind the pavilion in City Park.

  She hated the way he kissed her mouth while he fucked her. He opened his own mouth so wide he got her face all wet. And his tongue was pointed, like a snake’s head; it darted about leaving no corner unsullied. She was so glad it was over. Wim Winston was dead.

  “I pulled a tooth today,” she said.

  “What?” Wim stopped.

  “I had a tooth pulled today.” She changed the words to suit him.

  “I can’t get enough of you, Tara,” he said, and buried his face in her hair. “You’re killing me.”

  Ivy smiled. If he only knew. “I won’t be able to see you after tonight,” she said.

  “What!”

  “I can’t see you anymore, Wim.” Ivy lit a cigarette, lay back and gazed at the sliver of a moon.

  “What are you talking about? You can’t not see me anymore!”

  “Yes, I can’t.” She giggled. A silvery new moon sound. “Go away now, Wim. I can walk home from here.”

  Ivy lay naked and beautiful in the starlight and Wim hounded her while she laughed at him. He begged for an explanation but she didn’t think he deserved one. When he slapped her face she howled. He struggled with his shoes and finally ran off half clothed towards Park Boulevard where he had left his car.

  Ivy watched the dark night enshroud his pale form before he reached the street. It would be easy never to lay eyes on him again. She would just quit the club.

  CHAPTER 55

  Emma and Donald were baby-sitting Garth and Sadie. They still hadn’t kissed and Emma thought about it all the time. There was no way she was going to be the one to start it. But she would be ready when it finally happened.

  They built a mountain, smoothing the papier mâché into shape, adding water to keep it workable till it looked just right. They leaned over the volcano from opposite sides of the kitchen table, meeting in the middle. Emma worked at forming the opening at the top, where they hoped their dry ice and baking powder mixture would do its job of simulating an eruption. They were going to light it up from the inside with a couple of reddish-orange Christmas lights to give it a fiery glow. An unsteady light — Donald was working on that.

  He had spoken to a friend of his, Leonard, who was an ice-cream man, about getting a slab of dry ice. And he had a book called Let’s Experiment which he had brought with him tonight. They planned to pore over it later to see if it contained any tips on modest explosions.

  Donald started to kiss her for the first time, on the lips, there over the volcano. At the precise moment that his lips touched hers a scream echoed wildly through the house from the direction of Garth’s bedroom. Emma and Donald raced up the stairs to find a terrified Garth on the floor beside his bed. His small body quivered and Emma held him in her mucky papier mâché arms.

  “Shh, little guy. It was just a bad dream.”

  “I dreamed I was buried alive,” Garth whispered.

  “Oh, Garth.” Emma kissed his damp forehead. “That’s what comes from watching those scary movies.”

  He’d had a friend over to sleep the night before, and Emma had heard them sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and then the television sounds.

  “You’re all wet,” Garth said.

  “We’re working on the volcano.”

  “What movie did you watch?” Donald asked.

  “Premature Burial.”

  “Oh boy. I saw that one too. It scared the hell out of me. ’Specially that scene when they dug the guy up. No wonder you were frightened right out of your bed. I’m surprised you weren’t propelled clear out the window.”

  Garth smiled a little. “Yeah, that was the part that scared me too.”

  “Do you wanna come down and help us build the volcano for a while?” Emma asked. “We could make some cocoa.”

  “Yes, please.”

  When Emma bundled Garth into his little maroon robe and slippers she noticed that he was wearing two watches.

  “What’s with the watches, Garth?”

  “Well…if I wear two, I’ll still know what time it is when one of them stops…while I get a new battery. And then I can be sure the new battery will tide me over when the other watch stops. It’s foolproof. Unless a huge rock falls on my wrist or something.”

  “Sounds complicated,” Emma said.

  “Not really.” Garth checked his wrist and then his alarm clock.

  “Why do you wear them to bed?” Donald asked.

  “It saves putting them on in the morning. Also, if there’s a fire in the night and we have to escape and leave everything behind, I’ll at least have my watches and know what time it is.”

  “Whew!” Emma hoped Donald didn’t think Garth was too weird. She carried her brother down the stairs piggyback, stopping first to check on Sadie, who was sound asleep.

  “Amazing,” Emma said.

  When they were settled around the volcano, with their cocoa and marshmallows, Garth said, “I don’t want anybody to die.”

  Emma looked at Donald and he looked back at her. Garth watched them look at each other.

  “No one’s gonna die,” Emma said.

  “Yes they are. Mum and Dad are gonna die because they’re way older than us.”

  “Well, someday, yeah. But not for a long, long, long, long time. Not until you’ve been a grownup yourself for many, many years. And by that time you’ll get that it’s okay.”

  “No, I won’t,” Garth said.

  Emma didn’t argue.

  “My dad died,” Donald said. “He was in a car accident a few years ago.”

  Emma and Garth stared at him.

  “The way I got to finally thinking about it is that if a great guy like my dad died, it must be okay to die.”

  “My dad’s great too,” Garth said.

  “I’m sorry about your dad, Donald,” Emma said. “I figured your parents were probably divorced or something.”

  “It’s okay. I’m really okay with it. I mean, I miss him and all, but…”

  “Do you think guys get buried alive very often?” Garth asked.

  The back door slammed.

  “I’ll bury you alive in a minute!”

  “Dad!” Garth zoomed into his father’s arms.

  “Garth’s a little freaked out from watching Premature Burial,” Emma said.

  “Oh he is, is he? And what’s he doing watching something like that? Hi, Donald.”

  “Hi, Mr. Foote.”

  “Him and Gilbert watched it last night in secret,” Emma said. “Do you want some cocoa, Dad? There’s lots.”

  “Well, maybe just this once, Em. Just half a cup.” Frank sat down with Garth on his knee.

  “You’d think the way I sleep I’d wake up long enough to holler at my boy in the middle of the night when he’s doing something stupid. Wow! Look at your volcano! It looks wonderful!”

  “Yeah,” Emma said. “It’s comin’ along.”

  Frank smoothed the hair back off Garth’s forehead. “The answer to your buried alive question is no. People never get buried alive.”

  Emma placed a steaming mug of cocoa on the table in front of her dad.

  “Thanks, Em.” He gently nudged Garth off his knee. “The folks who get the bodies ready for burial, the undertakers they call them, make one hundred per cent certain that people are dead forever before they put them in their coffins.”

  “What if there’s an evil undertaker?” Garth asked.

  “He’s really freaked,” Emma explained.

  “Well, something else you can do is be cremated.” Frank sipped his drink. “Mmm. This is great.”

  “What’s that?” Garth asked. “What’s cremated?”

  “Well, the body gets burned in a big fire so that nothing is left but ashes. Kind of an enclosed bonfire. No one watches or anything.”

  “Hmm,” Garth said.

  “That sounds good to me,” Donald said. “Sign me u
p.”

  “Yeah, that does sound good,” Garth said. “How do you let people know that’s what you want to have happen to you?”

  “Well, most folks make their wishes known before they die. To their loved ones and so on. Or they can write them down on a piece of paper and put it in a safe place. And be sure to let someone know where that safe place is.”

  “What if you have no one to let your wishes be known to or to tell where the piece of paper is?” Garth asked.

  “Then you attach it to your fridge with a fridge magnet,” Emma said.

  “That’s a good idea, Em.” Frank drained his mug. “Is there any more of that cocoa?”

  “I’ll make some more,” Emma said. “I don’t think anyone’s very sleepy yet.”

  “Yeah, what the heck,” Frank said.

  The next morning when he was getting cream for his coffee Frank saw a piece of foolscap attached firmly to the fridge with a magnet on each corner. He recognized Garth’s backhanded printing:

  I Garth Foote wish to be kreemated when I die. Thanks.

  And then his carefully written signature.

  Frank would have preferred that his son’s wishes involved going to the Red River Exhibition or maybe taking swimming lessons this summer, but what could you do? Garth had made his wishes known.

  Frank began to think up some answers for questions he figured would be coming up in the near future. Avalanches, earthquakes and other natural disasters that could result in someone being buried alive. But not on the Canadian prairies.

  CHAPTER 56

  1975

  Ivy has been employed for six years as a legal secretary at the firm of Grace, Royston & Wells on Portage Avenue. She has been promoted to the position of personal secretary to Simon Grace, a founder and partner in the firm. He pays her one hundred dollars a week to start. She has paid Wilf back the money he fronted her when she first left home.

 

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