The Bookshop on Jacaranda Street

by Marlish Glorie

  Had he been insane back then? Why, he had boxes of other people’s photographs. Photographs of strangers but precious few of his own children, to look at and savour. There was not even a single photograph of him, well not one he could find.

  He had a collection of old cameras but doubted that any worked.

  He thought back to Helen’s outburst over the photograph album. He remembered its photographs of a happy family and a mother and child, and felt sick with remorse. It was no wonder she had been so upset. How, thought Arnold, could I have been so stupid?

  Strange too was the fact there were no personal knick-knacks, no memorabilia, no trophies. After all, hadn’t the boys won trophies for sport events when they were younger? Where were they? Very little, he realised, marked the fact that his family had lived in this house for twenty-nine years.

  A person could easily walk in and not spot a scrap of evidence that his family had lived here. An entire forensic team could search in vain for clues.

  He knew Helen was gone. It felt like his innards had been scooped out and dumped somewhere. But there was something else missing too. It was an absence of her non-physical self, the possessions that he could identify as hers. There were none.

  Nothing about which he could say, ‘Oh this belongs to Helen.’ Nothing he could hold to bring back a vision or a memory of her. No ornament, no clothing, no plants. Only in the kitchen was the old and cracked crockery, dented pots and pans and the odds and ends of cutlery that she had handled. Nothing special. He mourned the paucity of objects she had worked with over the years to produce all those meals.

  The only thing he found of any meaning was her round china teapot, sitting in the centre of the kitchen table.

  He held it by its handle, as if he might be able to pour some of Helen out of it. She had always enjoyed her tea. Arnold’s gut twisted like twine. He would take it to her.

  *

  Gabriel dropped by at the bookshop once or twice a week. With each visit the influence the army once had upon him was noticeably less. His hair was longer and his shoulders relaxed as he lazily inspected changes to the bookshop and their lives. He always sat on the kitchen table, legs swinging.

  Tonight though was different; he was angry. He didn’t bother sitting on the kitchen table. He paced the floor while his mother cooked, then opened the fridge door wide and stood looking in, absentmindedly.

  ‘Close the fridge door,’ instructed Helen.

  Gabriel slammed it shut, then leaned against it with his gaze fixed on the wall. ‘Where’s Vivian?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Bloody impossible to get a hold of him these days.’

  ‘I think you need to relax a little,’ answered Helen.

  Gabriel stared at her for some seconds. ‘I’m in a tight spot here. I’ve got a baby to produce.’

  ‘And who’s to blame for that?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Me?’ Helen considered her son’s accusation. She didn’t want to fight, her appetite for fighting had long been sated; that was one good thing to come out of a demolished marriage.

  ‘If that’s how you feel, okay. My fault. Now can we sit down and eat.’

  Gabriel wasn’t to be placated so easily. ‘You always wanted Dad to get rid of his junk. Well now he is. And all because I promised him a baby. I wanted you back in the house. I wanted the family back together. But that’s all gone now. The thing is … I still have to come up with a baby.’

  ‘Honestly, do you think he still believes in the pregnant girlfriend story? For all his faults, he’s not an idiot.’

  ‘He’s talking and acting like he does.’ Gabriel’s voice was full of desperation and it pierced her resolve to remain quiet about Vivian and Ella.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’

  Gabriel sat, cautiously, and Helen sat down opposite him.

  ‘I told you that Vivian was out. You haven’t asked me where.’

  ‘Okay. Where is he?’

  ‘Out. With Ella.’

  ‘Out with Ella,’ he repeated, half laughing with relief. ‘Great. I never thought he’d go through with it. Honestly Mum, I never thought …’

  ‘Well he has.’

  ‘He’s just doing the groundwork for me. That’s all.’

  Helen gripped her knife and fork. ‘Well, I’ll guarantee he’s doing that. Laying the groundwork.’

  ‘But I’m the one,’ interrupted Gabriel, ‘who’ll be making the sacrifices here. Think I fancy seeing Ella again? She’s a wacko, I’m telling you, I should get an award for bravery.’

  Helen felt trepidation. ‘What makes you say she’s a wacko?’

  ‘Because she is.’ He paused, trying to find the exact words to describe her. ‘For a smart lady she’s pretty mixed up. She’s a control freak.’

  ‘So why would you want anything to do with her?’

  Gabriel looked surprised. ‘Because I haven’t got time to hunt around for Ms Perfect.’

  Helen pointed her fork at Gabriel. ‘Just one more question. Did Ella dump you?’

  Gabriel looked away, as if searching for the right answer, ‘Does it matter, who dumped who?’

  ‘In this instance, I think so.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She dumps you. Your ego can’t take it, hence you badmouth her.’ Helen paused briefly before going on. ‘You know what? I think you still love her.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Then why chase her? Or rather, get Vivian to do your chasing. And don’t give me the old I’m-doing-it-for-Dad routine. That’s nonsense.’

  Gabriel’s face reddened. ‘You’ve been reading too many detective novels. Or romance novels, or whatever it is you read.’

  ‘In between the lines, is what I read,’ answered Helen sharply.

  *

  It was late at night but at the Tooth Fairy dental surgery Ella was still working, examining her instruments for signs of wear and tear. She found a tiny crack in her dental mirror and frowned; it would have to be replaced. She put it aside and sat thinking of Vivian. She realised with surprise that she was almost certainly falling in love with him. Something she hadn’t expected. She had fancied him, but to fall in love with the guy!

  She smiled, thinking of how proud she’d always been of her practical nature. Not prone to whimsy or impulse, and certainly not putting her fate in the hands of others. It was strange how the twin events of wanting a baby and meeting Vivian had changed all that, and how the two events had coincided, because she had fully expected to be a single mother. But a perfect father … and husband. It was only a matter of time.

  She looked down at her instruments, and whispered smugly to her shining tools of trade, ‘I’d like to introduce you to my family.’

  *

  Vivian felt as if he’d beaten the demon. Elated with his newfound love, he walked on air, way, way above all mundane cares. He bought Ella a Siamese kitten, which proved a good, if costly, investment; the dividends in the form of her affection rose dramatically. She named the kitten Siam, and lavished affection on the creature.

  *

  Gabriel glared at his mobile. Why the hell had Vivian turned his phone off? Again. Lately all Gabriel ever got was a recording: ‘The mobile phone is turned off. Or not in the mobile phone area. Please try again later.’

  22

  Noise, people and amusement were the things Astrid hankered after and the casino supplied them in abundance. She lingered by the blackjack table, absorbed not only in the croupier as he dealt the cards, but also by the people in her immediate vicinity.

  She was on nodding acquaintance with many of them, which meant it took her a while to settle as she nodded to this one and that. Her thoughts were not focused. She waved off game after game. She was thinking of Arnold. She had been spying on him continually by day, through her kitchen window, and at night, sneaking over and watching from the shadows.

  A house was beginning to emerge triumphant from all the rubbish that had once buried it.


  Her emotions ranged from anger to despair. Where was the justice? What would Arnold know of looking after a baby? She stopped short. Arnold knew a lot about looking after babies. He had done a fine job with his own sons when they were babies.

  Astrid fumed. Suddenly she hated fat middle-aged men and kicked the nearest one, a startled, innocent man who bore the full brunt of a strong sharp kick.

  Astrid was escorted out of the casino for her failure of manners while the fat middle-aged man went to the first aid room for treatment.

  *

  Astrid sat in her kitchen nursing her foot, her dissatisfaction unassuaged. She had been yearning for a baby as long as Arnold. Longer in fact. She felt she had a claim and it hurt that Helen and Gabriel ignored this fact. Something had to be done. And a better stratagem than kicking shins was wanted.

  Astrid had a problem that she needed to look at with a mathematical mind. And throughout the afternoon she figured and reconfigured her dilemma over and over in her head. Towards the end of the afternoon she found the solution and prepared herself to visit Helen.

  Helen glanced up from the True Life section to see Astrid standing before her, dressed for war. Her make-up had been applied like a bad crayon drawing. She was wearing a suit without a trace of lint and her hair looked as if it been tamed by a lion tamer. It dare not spring. Helen could tell Astrid was there on business. She could tell because Astrid looked ridiculous, as if she wanted to hide herself, ashamed for what she was about to do.

  ‘Helen, we must speak.’

  ‘Upstairs?’ Helen offered distractedly, unable to take her eyes off Astrid’s hair. How many cans of hair spray had gone into creating that helmet, she wondered.

  ‘I am in financial trouble,’ Astrid stammered. She had entered the bookshop full of steely determination but Helen’s stare was unsettling. She soldiered on. ‘I need my money back.’

  Helen was flabbergasted. ‘What kind of financial trouble?’

  At last, Astrid had her full attention. ‘You have the money?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Time you kicked Arnold out of the house. Time you sold it and got your half.’

  Helen reeled, unable to fathom what this was about. ‘Astrid, we can talk better upstairs,’ she begged, aware of customers drifting around the shop.

  ‘I don’t like heights,’ was Astrid’s stern reply. She wanted dominance, Helen guessed.

  Curious customers took furtive peeks at the two women in the True Life section. Soon there was a small audience, hidden throughout the maze, intrigued at the drama being played out. Helen was examining Astrid’s face. Where was her friend? Where was the person she knew and loved? Who was this hard-helmeted person that stood before her?

  ‘I can’t kick Arnold out,’ she said.

  ‘Why not? Half of the house belongs to you. Helen! Why are you staring at me like that?’

  Helen was searching for words. Astrid had become a stranger.

  Suddenly, Astrid’s face was much closer, making Helen retreat violently. ‘Are you listening to me? Why can’t you kick Arnold out?’

  ‘I would feel too guilty. Besides, it’s the family home.’

  ‘Guilty? This is crazy!’

  The few browsers still listening gave a nodding of heads and for a moment they resembled flowers with a breeze shaking their crowns.

  Painful as it was, Helen fought the caricature before her. ‘Guilt is not a crazy emotion. If we didn’t have guilty feelings, then we’d do terrible things.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ Astrid was panicking; things weren’t going her way. Dealing with Helen was trickier than she’d expected. She drew on her heaviest ammunition.

  ‘After all I did for you. I gave you all my money and this is how you repay me. I am owed the baby. Remember what you promised me in the church. You said you owed, and would repay me one way or another.’

  Helen felt dismayed, regretting the day she had ever accepted the money from Astrid. It had come with strings attached — promises, conditions, payback — invisible then, but now glaringly apparent. And her demand was not unreasonable. Helen had been the beneficiary of her winnings, and now was the agent of her loneliness. But Helen remained resolute.

  ‘Arnold is cleaning up all his junk,’ cried Astrid.

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘But Gabriel’s baby cannot live there!’

  Helen’s eyes swelled with tears; she felt sorry for Astrid, and mortified for not having appreciated until this moment the depth of her desire for a child, and of how being denied children had left such a huge void. She blinked back her tears, needing to gather her wits. ‘Astrid, I need to speak with you in private.’

  Astrid sensed the urgency in Helen’s tone. ‘All right,’ she said.

  Helen led Astrid upstairs to the kitchen where they sat at the table. Helen spoke immediately. ‘Astrid, there is no baby. Gabriel made it up. I tried to tell you this once before. Remember?’

  Astrid stuck her hands into her hair and scrubbed at, it irritated at her hair, the world, but mostly at herself.

  ‘Yes, I remember, but I just cannot believe it. It seems too fantastic for Gabriel to lie about such a thing.’

  ‘Well, why do you think you never got to meet her?’

  Astrid felt numb, but immediately thought of Arnold; poor Arnold going like a madman to clean up his house for a nonexistent baby.

  Helen gazed sadly at her friend. ‘Do you really want your money back? I can put this shop on the market today.’

  ‘Forget the money.’

  The two women looked at one another, lost for words. The roulette wheel had stopped, the ball had fallen, yet neither party had won.

  *

  They made love every night in Ella’s king-size bed, made love until they collapsed into a coma-like sleep. Vivian’s exhaustion was of a contented nature. Ella’s, though similar, also held shades of determination and a barely discernible impatience that Vivian failed to notice.

  In the tearing off of clothes, the kissing and fondling and throes of sexual passion, Vivian forgot everything. His liaison with Ella had blossomed into a full-on love affair, and he even forgot his earlier hopeless limitations in the pursuit of intimacy.

  *

  It was around noon when Gabriel showed up the bookshop. Vivian was rearranging books in the Fantasy section.

  ‘Hi ya,’ said Gabriel as he picked a book at random and fluttered its pages with his thumb. ‘Who reads this garbage?’

  ‘People,’ snapped Vivian.

  Gabriel shuffled the book back into its place. ‘Keep your shirt on. Never had much time for books. All that made up stuff.’

  Vivian was astonished to hear such rubbish come from Gabriel who bent the truth with ease. ‘Fiction is a lie which tells the truth,’ he retorted.

  Feeling outsmarted by his younger brother, Gabriel was momentarily lost for words, but not for long. ‘What’s happening with Ella?’

  ‘Let me see, twelve noon, I believe she’ll be seeing a Mr Puttock who apparently has teeth like a horse and the breath to go with it, or so she tells me. And did you know, she even has a patient who bites her.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, but I’m not surprised,’ said Gabriel.

  Vivian glared at him.

  ‘So does Ella want to see me, or not?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Should have known better than to ask you for help. Your track record with women isn’t exactly crash hot.’

  Vivian, miffed by his older brother’s arrogance, decided he’d make Gabriel suffer for his offensive remarks.

  ‘She’s softening up, just give me a little more time, and I’m sure I can bring her around.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Why not?’

  23

  The people who came into the Book Maze were as varied as the kaleidoscopic array of books the shop held on its wooden shelves. Helen and Vivian created a game whereby they catalogued customers as they had their books, making sure not to delegate
anyone to the Limbo section.

  There were the gardeners, the sports buffs, the cooks, the scifi’s, the criminals, the horrors, the self-helps (or students of fairy studies as Vivian put it, his search for help in these books having turned to cynicism). There were the buyers, the tyre kickers, the ‘I don’t knows’, the PINs (pain in the necks) and the vagrants — who were just looking for a place to get some shelter and a bit of company. On these last desperate souls Helen had bestowed the grand title of ‘writers’. So when she said to Vivian, ‘There’s a writer sleeping in the corner, behind the science fiction,’ he knew what she meant.

  *

  Helen found her, her body buckling as she vomited into an open book. She knew straight away. ‘Vivian,’ she cried out. ‘We’ve got a young writer in Historical Romance. Better hurry. She just threw up.’

  Vivian reacted quickly, excusing himself from a customer and rushing to Historical Romance where he could see a slender dishevelled-looking figure lying on the floor.

  It was a young woman; her clothes were grubby and loose. Jeans, a number of T-shirts and jumpers layered one over the other, and joggers so filthy she looked as though she’d come through a sodden paddock.

  Her body hauled itself up to vomit once more. Helen noticed there wasn’t much coming out and wondered when her writer had eaten last.

  She carefully lifted the girl’s head from the floor. ‘Precious writer,’ she whispered reverently, stroking the girl’s hair as if she’d been waiting a hundred years for such a person to turn up on her doorstep. ‘Quick, Vivian, let’s get her upstairs.’

  They navigated the stairs with their featherweight ‘writer’, and laid her on the bed in the spare bedroom. Both Helen and Vivian noticed that her eyes watched them. She seemed aware of her situation, but remained silent.

  Helen covered her with blankets while Vivian collected a bucket of warm water and some damp face cloths.

  ‘I’d better call for a doctor. I don’t think she’s going to stop vomiting in a hurry,’ said Helen.

  But it was not easy to find a doctor prepared to make a home visit, and it was hours before a rushed and breathless young doctor arrived. By then, Helen had nursed her vagrant through the worst of it all, but the doctor examined the young woman and declared she had food poisoning. He gave her an injection of an anti-emetic, and left Helen with a quantity of painkillers for the girl’s stomach cramps. When her nausea subsided she should be able to hold them down.