Survivor's Guilt

by Michelle Arnold

  Abi smirked. “If that’s the case, you’re welcome to join me and the rest of the hair and makeup department for drinks at The Gilded Mermaid tonight. My mum says the first round is on her, and I know she’d love to meet an actress.”

  Greta met her eyes and grinned. “You’re on.”

  2

  Home

  ​July 2017

  ​“Greta love, are you sure you don’t want another drink?” Lola Okafor, Abi’s mother, asked her. It was a Friday evening, and Greta had come with Abi to The Gilded Mermaid for a casual dinner and drinks, as was becoming their habit. Abi was still the person Greta felt most comfortable around at her new job, although she could tell her preference for spending time with the crew was quickly creating a divide between herself and her fellow cast members. She didn’t really care, though. It was just a job, and they would all forget about her when they moved on. Abi was a real friend, and Lola was so nice, motherly towards all the bar patrons, but especially Greta. She knew Greta’s mother lived in LA and that she didn’t see her much, and it bothered her. “I’d never have let this one move across the ocean without me,” she had said of Abi, who had rolled her eyes.

  “I’m fine. Thank you, Ms. Okafor,” Greta said politely, eyeing her almost-empty appletini. Abi always teased her about the girly drinks she liked, and she enjoyed the teasing.

  “Please, call me Lola,” the older woman said before returning to the bar.

  “It’s not like you’re driving home,” said Abi, sipping her own lager.

  “No, but I like to stay sober.”

  “Well, you’re not one of those people who has to drink in order to be interesting,” Abi conceded.

  Greta felt her cheeks redden. Sometimes she couldn’t tell if Abi was flirting with her or not. She certainly didn’t want to assume anything and scare away her new friend. She did need a friend, very much. She decided it was best to stay out of flirting territory for now. There was a reason why Greta hadn’t had a serious relationship in ages. She just wasn’t that good with people.

  She did know Abi was gay. And she had let slip that she’d had a few flings with women herself in the past, although she dated men more. That wasn’t because she liked men better; they were just the ones who tended to show an interest in her. But it never went well, ever, with men or women. Greta thought she would probably die alone.

  Friendship, though; that was a little easier to hang onto. Still difficult, but the fewer demands you put on someone, the longer they stayed around. And she did want Abi to stay around.

  “There’s a woman in here who looks just like Barbara Windsor,” Abi remarked. “Just over there.”

  “Who is Barbara Windsor?”

  “She’s an actress. You know, from the Carry On films?”

  “Carry On?”

  “You’ve never seen any of those?”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They must not have been popular over here. Come on, let’s go back to my place and I’ll show you. I know you’ll love them.”

  She took Greta’s arm and led her out of the bar, passing her mother quickly to say goodnight and point out the woman who looked like Barbara Windsor. “Oh, she does!” Lola laughed.

  “Greta here doesn’t even know who that is, so I’m taking her home to educate her," Abi told her. “See you, Mum.” She kissed her mother on the cheek, something Greta could not remember ever doing to her own mother, and dragged Greta outside to catch a cab.

  The cab ride seemed to take forever. Greta watched as the familiar part of Manhattan went by – the “posh” part, as Abi called it – and she found herself looking up at the facades of plain brick buildings with fire escapes climbing up the front of them. The cab let them out in front of one of these buildings, and Greta felt an odd thrill of anticipation as she followed Abi into a small lobby with mosaic tile flooring. This Washington Heights building was so different from what she was used to. She was about to get a look at Abi’s inner world.

  “Right, I’m all the way up on the fifth floor, and there’s no lift, so good thing you didn’t get tipsy,” said Abi, starting up the staircase. When they got to the top, she unlocked her door and led Greta into a narrow hallway. To their left was a tiny kitchen, while a combined living/dining room was on their right. There was a bedroom at the end of the hall, and Greta knew instantly it had to be Abi’s because there was a big art print of a naked woman on the wall.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Abi said, motioning to the living/dining room. “I’ll make popcorn. Would you like a beer?”

  “I suppose I can manage one,” said Greta, making her way to a squashy burgundy couch that had clearly gotten more use than the month or two Abi and Lola had been living here. She lowered herself gingerly onto the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable. She looked around the small, homey room, taking in the personal touches Abi and Lola had put on the place. All she could see out the window was the brick wall of another identical building, mere feet away, but she sort of liked the insular feel of the place. It was like they were in their own little world.

  Abi returned to the living room, handing Greta a bottle of Stella Artois and putting a bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table. She began pawing through her DVDs.

  “This one seems appropriate for us, since we work on a medical show,” said Abi. “Carry On Doctor. It’ll be good to have a laugh after a long week.” She put the DVD on and settled next to Greta on the couch. “You’re in for a treat,” she promised with a grin.

  They weren’t touching, but they were close enough that Greta could feel Abi’s warmth. She felt herself relaxing a little more. She could easily come to feel at home here, she decided.

  3

  Football

  August 2017

  “So what are you doing this weekend?” Greta casually asked as Abi made her up for her last scenes of the week.

  “Well, Liverpool are playing tomorrow, their first game of the season, so I’ll be watching that, five hours earlier than I’m used to,” Abi answered, concentrating on Greta’s mascara. “I figured out what channel it comes on here, but it’s a shame I have to watch on such a small TV. I had a big one back in London, but gave it to my mate when I moved. We could only afford a small one when we got here, since we had to buy practically everything all over again for the new flat. I’ll get a bigger one someday though.”

  “You could always come over and watch at my house,” said Greta.

  “Since when do you care about football?”

  “I don’t, but…I have a 52-inch plasma TV you could watch it on.”

  “Blimey. That’d be almost like sitting in the dugout.”

  “You can bring your mother too, if you like.”

  “Nah, she doesn’t care about football. But I’ll come. Where do you live?”

  “Lincoln Square, just off the park. I’ll write down the address for your cab driver.”

  When Abi gave the address to the cab driver the next day, he let out a low whistle. “Who do you know there?” he asked in a Congolese accent.

  “Just a friend.”

  “I’d like friends like that,” he chuckled.

  She understood what he meant when they turned from Central Park West onto 70th Street. The block was nothing but stately, ornate brick buildings, all stuck together but each with its own distinct feel. They all had grand, sweeping stone staircases leading to a set of double doors, and little sunken courtyards in front that had single doors going inside under the staircase. She wondered if that was the poshest flat, the one with its own separate entrance. She supposed there was a doorman who could help her figure out which flat to go to for Greta.

  She walked up the grand stone staircase, proudly sporting her red Liverpool shirt, and rang the bell. Within seconds, she saw movement in the entry vestibule, and Greta herself opened the door.

  “Hi!” she said breathlessly. “Come on in. I’ve got lunch ready.”

  “Great, I’m famished,” said Abi, stepping into a vestibule with
mind-blowingly gorgeous woodwork. She could see behind it into a lobby with parquet floors and an ornate wooden staircase. “So what floor do you live on?”

  “Um, all of them,” Greta mumbled.

  “This whole building is yours?”

  “Well yes, it’s a house.” Greta bit her lip nervously. “I was planning to watch upstairs in the library. It’s where I spend most of my time when I’m home. This floor is more for socializing.”

  Swallowing, Abi stepped into what she now realized was a foyer, not a lobby, and followed Greta up the big staircase, registering that apparently Greta did not consider time with her to be “socializing.” She looked up as she walked, noticing more staircases above them. At the very top of the house was a stained glass skylight, letting light shine down onto all the staircases.

  “How many floors are in this house?” Abi asked.

  “Five, not counting the basement,” said Greta. “Which I don’t. It’s unfinished and very creepy, except for the laundry room and wine cellar.”

  “But it has a door going to it and a little courtyard thing.”

  “Oh no, that’s the garden level. The basement is under that. You came in on the second floor, and now we’re going to the third floor.”

  “And then there are two floors above that?”

  “Yes, spare bedrooms. It’s more than I need, really, but…”

  They came to the landing at the top of the stairs and Greta led her down the hall to a big room at the front of the house: the library. There was a huge bow window at the front overlooking the street, and one wall was lined with built-in bookcases absolutely crammed with books, while the opposite wall had an ornate fireplace with a huge TV mounted over it. There was a wide velvet tufted couch facing the TV, which Greta motioned to.

  “Make yourself at home. I’ll get our sandwiches,” said Greta, dashing into a tiny kitchen attached to the library. She came back with a tray, on which were sandwiches, crackers with herbal cheese, and assorted fruits. She laid it on the coffee table and then dashed back into the little kitchen, returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “I’ve never gotten quite this fancy while watching a football match,” Abi confessed.

  “Is it too much?” Greta asked, looking pained. “I just thought—”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I like it,” Abi insisted. “It beats Bovril and a pastie.”

  “What is Bovril?” Greta asked, sitting down beside her.

  “It’s a hot drink, beef stock cube in hot water with Worcestershire sauce. They serve it at matches.”

  Great wrinkled her nose. “I’d much rather have the wine.”

  Abi laughed. “You realize your house is the size of my entire building?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is almost that big,” Greta said, her cheeks reddening. “But I like your apartment. It’s very cozy.”

  “Yes, but why is your kitchen smaller than mine? And why is it way up here?”

  “Oh, that’s not my kitchen. The real kitchen is on the garden level, and it’s much bigger. That’s just a kitchenette. I…” Her cheeks reddened a little more. “I live alone, in this giant house. And I don’t have many guests. So, I made this floor the place that has everything I need most. The library has my books and TV, the kitchenette has the most basic food I need, then through there is my bedroom and the master bath. I spend most of my time on this floor, right in the middle of the house.”

  “While the other four floors and the creepy basement sit empty.”

  “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I should have gotten an apartment. But I really wanted a private garden, and I do spend a lot of time out there when the weather’s nice.”

  “Hey, you’re entitled to live wherever you want,” said Abi. “But I think you need company more often.”

  Greta looked at her and smiled. “Maybe I do.”

  4

  The Prodigal Father

  February 2018

  Greta rolled over in bed, slowly realizing that the buzzing she heard was coming from her phone. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and noted two things: one was that it was only 8:03 a.m. on a Sunday. The other was that Abi was the one calling. She swiped to answer.

  “Hello?” she croaked.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?”

  “Well it is Sunday morning. What’s going on?”

  “It’s my dad. He contacted my mum on Facebook!”

  It took a moment to digest, and then Greta sat up in bed. “Your dad?”

  “Yeah. He wants to video chat with both of us and explain himself. I told Mum we don’t have to listen to him, I mean I’ve been here thirty-six years and he’s never tried to find out anything about me, it’s a bit late for him to explain himself now. But she wants to listen. Still a bit hung up on him, I reckon.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “She insists on doing this chat, so I guess I have no choice but to go along with it. I’m not going to let her do it alone.”

  “When is this happening?” Greta pushed her blankets back and forced herself out of bed.

  “Really soon. I just know my mum is going to be a mess over this. Do you think you could come and help me calm her down?”

  “I’ll try,” said Greta, pulling the cord to open the drapes covering the French doors leading out onto her balcony. Sunlight flooded the bedroom, and she looked down at her snowy garden. “Maybe this is what your mother needs. Closure.”

  “Well, we’ll see. I’ve got to go; she’s calling for me. He’s urgent about wanting to talk to us both.”

  Greta hung up the phone and began preparing for her trek up to Washington Heights. Once she was dressed in a sweater and jeans, with her hair brushed and just a little makeup on, she pulled on her coat and went outside to her shiny black Mercedes, which was parked on the street in front of her house. She started her engine and began the 30-minute drive along the Hudson River.

  Finding a place to park when she got to Abi’s street was always a challenge. Every time she thought she saw an empty space, it turned out to be a fire hydrant. She understood why Abi and Lola hadn’t bothered getting cars and just took the subway to work each day.

  She finally found an open spot around the corner, in front of a discount store, and walked briskly to the building where her friend lived. Abi buzzed her in, and Greta trekked up the four flights of stairs to the now-familiar apartment.

  “Hey,” said Abi grimly, opening the door. “You’re just in time.”

  “I never knew!” Lola was sobbing. “I never knew he was married!”

  “He was married when you met him?” Greta asked.

  “Yes, that was why he never answered my letter!” Lola moaned. “The address he gave me was his brother’s house. He was trying to move to London and then bring his pregnant wife over, but his application was denied, so he had to go back to Nigeria. He’s still married to her. They have children. He doesn’t want them to know about me, and especially not about Abi.”

  Greta looked at Abi. “So you have siblings?”

  “Yeah. Not that it matters, since they’re not allowed to know about me.”

  “I would never, ever have been with a man I knew was married,” Lola said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Never! I would never commit that sin! He swept me off my feet…I thought he would marry me! Never once did he mention having a wife back in Nigeria! Oh, I feel so awful for what I did to her!”

  Greta looked at Abi, who stood helplessly, looking down in shame. Greta was struck, not for the first time, by how beautiful her friend was. She realized, though, why Abi was so worried: it wasn’t just that her mother was so upset, but that she was expressing regret over Abi’s very existence.

  “Lola, come on, have a seat,” Greta urged, guiding the older woman towards the burgundy couch and fetching the box of tissues. “It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She sat beside Lola, patting her arm.

  “I did. I committed adultery with another woman’s husband.”

 
“No, you can’t take the blame for that, because you couldn’t have known. He lied to you. He’s the one who cheated on his wife. You had no idea. You should be angry with him, not yourself. He lied to you and cheated on his pregnant wife.”

  “Makes you wonder what he would have done if his application to immigrate had been approved,” said Abi.

  “He must have known it was a longshot,” said Greta thoughtfully. “Your mother had family in England, but he didn’t.”

  “I feel so stupid for believing him,” sniffled Lola.

  “You were young and trusting,” Greta reminded her. “Anyway, it all worked out for the best. If you hadn’t fallen for his lies, you would never have had Abi.” She looked up to see Abi watching them. “Can you even imagine life without Abi?”

  “No,” Lola sniffed, smiling at her daughter. “She’s been my whole world for thirty-six years.”

  “So you can’t beat yourself up for having her. Abi is a gift to the world. I’ve known her less than a year, and I already can’t imagine my life without her.”

  “No, I could never not want her.” Lola reached her arms out. “Come here, Abi.”

  Abi sat down on the other side of her mother and embraced her. “Just forget about him,” she urged her. “He never deserved you. And you know what? He never deserved me either.”

  “Why did he want to get your forgiveness now, after all these years?” Greta asked.

  “He has cancer,” Abi explained. “He’s just about to start treatment and he doesn’t know yet how it will go, so he wanted to make things right with us because he’s always felt bad knowing he got my mum pregnant and just ignored her when she told him. He just wanted to get that off his chest in case the treatment doesn’t work.”

  “And did you forgive him?”

  “I told him I understood he couldn’t leave his wife,” said Lola. “And I told him we had done very well in life on our own.”

  “And I told him he shouldn’t have gotten a woman up the duff in London when he already had a preggers wife back in Nigeria,” said Abi hotly. “I said he deserved for both women to hate him, and that we did just fine without him, and I’m now living a very interesting life that he’ll never be part of, and that’s because of choices he made.”