by Greg Fleet
Instead, Tamara had made a will, in which she had provided generously for her daughter – or, as she described it to James, ‘I left her about fifteen million “in cash and prizes”, to use the parlance of a television game show.’
James thought, ‘Did she just say fifteen million?’
While Tamara had provided for Catherine, it seemed she hadn’t provided enough. Her will stated that her daughter would receive 40 per cent of the family fortune, but Tamara was and always had been a philanthropist, and so the other 60 per cent was to be shared between various charities, arts organisations and animal welfare groups. This didn’t please Catherine, who wanted the remaining 60 per cent to be shared between Catherine and Catherine. And thus began what Tamara described as a war of attrition, full of dirty tricks and double crosses. ‘Our tactics have occasionally changed,’ said Tamara, ‘our weapons occasionally change, but the prize remains the same.’
‘So am I a weapon?’ asked a thoroughly compelled James.
‘You were, yes. An ingenious one. Something of a Trojan horse.’
‘So why the wheelchair? Why the paralysis and the blindness?’ he asked.
‘It started out as a misguided appeal to her sense of humanity. Ha! It didn’t even slow her down. But the blindness? The blindness was a stroke of genius. I have a wonderful doctor who knows this whole story and is quite complicit with me. He suggested pretending to be blind as just another of my numerous symptoms. But it came with a bonus that neither of us had expected. With me wearing the dark glasses and Catherine accepting that I was blind, she started to physically relax in front of me. From behind my sunglasses I looked at her face, her expressions, her actions, and I could read her like a cheap airport novel.’
‘Jesus,’ said James ‘This is just so . . .’
‘I know, James, it is indeed. And the main problem for me now is that all of my contrived ailments haven’t made her back off at all. In fact, quite the opposite is true. She senses weakness. She’s like a shark with blood in the water.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ asked James.
Tamara paused for a moment and then looked him in the eyes before replying, ‘I guess eventually I will move into care, but I’d like to do it on my terms, not when my ungrateful child decides that I am no longer of use to her. Isn’t it fun meeting my family? I bet you are glad you came!’
‘I actually am, for some strange reason. I really like you, Mrs Higginson. Can I switch sides? I could be a double agent.’
‘You can do whatever you want, James, but if you ever call me Mrs Higginson again, I’ll have you killed. We rich people do that all the time.’
‘Okay, Tamara. Thanks for the tip.’
Tamara Higginson leaned back into the couch, crossing her legs at the ankles. She reminded James of someone like Charlotte Rampling, Maggie Smith or Bette Davis – some impossibly glamorous movie star from an impossibly glamorous movie.
‘James,’ she said, ‘it has been an absolute thrill to spend time with you, even if both of us were a trifle fraudulent on first meeting. To be able to honestly communicate with someone about what is going on in my life, to be able to take off those ludicrous glasses, to get up out of that ridiculous wheelchair, and to actually talk with someone who at least appeared to be listening – it has given me more than I can even say. You listened to my story, I listened to yours. It’s been very egalitarian. Although, of course, my story was more interesting than yours,’ she added, straight-faced.
‘No way!’ interjected James, smiling. ‘My life is way more interesting than yours, Tamara. You just haven’t heard much about my life yet, primarily because you’ve been going on and on about yourself: “Oh, poor me, I’ve got a mean daughter and heaps of cash, blah”.’
She laughed at his nerve.
‘I have a fascinating life. I haven’t even told you about my friend Cash Driveway yet,’ James went on.
‘Who?’ asked Tamara.
‘Exactly. See, you are intrigued.’
Tamara Higginson made them both bloody marys and some lovely stuff to munch on, and they continued on like this for the next couple of hours, laughing, listening to music and having a far better time in each other’s company than either of them could ever have imagined. At a certain point James decided that it was probably best if he rang Sophie and told her what was going on. He excused himself and went out to the beautifully landscaped backyard. After fumbling through most of what had happened he ended with ‘and that is pretty much where things stand’.
‘So,’ said Sophie, ‘it’s business as usual then. Everything sounds as though it’s going exactly to plan.’ She laughed.
‘I’m glad you’re not pissed off,’ said James.
‘Pissed off? How could I be? We always knew this wasn’t an exact science. And I’m actually really proud of the way you’re handling it. I probably would’ve freaked out in your situation. And Tamara Higginson sounds amazing. Have a bloody mary for me, and keep me informed.’
‘Will do, chief,’ said James.
‘Hey, Tamara Higginson,’ said James as he walked back in to the house. ‘Can I make you dinner tonight?’
‘Why, yes, James Rogers, so long as you can cook.’
‘Oh, I can cook,’ said James, forgetting about his recent attempt at tom yum soup. ‘And I assume you have every ingredient known to man. Is that a rich person thing?’
‘It is, James. Access to unlimited ingredients is one of the underestimated bonuses of being wealthy. That and having psychotically greedy children.’
James cooked a zucchini, capsicum and red lentil dhal with rice as they continued chatting. They washed it down with a crisp sav blanc, which left them very happy indeed. After dinner, as Tamara put the plates in the dishwasher and James washed the pans in the sink, she calmly announced: ‘Okay, James, I have a plan. I think that it’s time Catherine and I made a deal. We are, after all, a family, or what’s left of one. I will meet with her and I will tell her the truth. I will also tell her that I will leave this house and move into your place of employment within the next fortnight.’
‘That’s pretty quick,’ said James. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I am. I can’t be bothered doing this any more. And, while I love this house, it’s beginning to feel very big and empty. So I will agree to move – but only on two conditions. She can take the house and the 40 per cent as laid down in my will, but she must drop her claim to everything else. The rest of my money goes exactly where I want it to go. She can either accept that deal or she can watch as I start to spend her inheritance on extremely expensive lawyers. What do you think?’
‘It sounds pretty severe, but it also sounds like a really good plan. Obviously I don’t know her all that well, but I reckon she’ll go for it.’
‘So do I,’ said Tamara confidently.
James was very much enjoying the company of this remarkable woman. ‘What was your other condition? You said you would do this but only on two conditions. What was the other one?’
‘The other condition, James, is that you and I go on a road trip.’
‘We go on a what?’ said James.
‘You heard. We go on a road trip.’
‘A road trip to where? Do you mean to the shops or something?’
This was getting more and more strange by the minute. A couple of hours ago they had been both happily lying to each other, now the woman whose son he had been pretending to be was suggesting that they go on a road trip together. When? How? Where to?
‘No, James, I don’t. I mean a proper road trip, to Byron Bay. There is someone there that I have to see. After that? I’ll happily come and live at your Peggy Day centre and you can pretend to be my son all day long if you want to,’ said Tamara.
Tamara sat down next to James on the couch and locked onto him with her steely blue eyes, which made James feel both utterly calm and completely terrified at the same time. Like a wave breaking in all directions, forward and backwards, fast and slow, all at once.
‘What? Yes, I can drive,’ said James, confused by this abrupt question.
‘Good. We’ll be driving. Or rather, you will be driving. I have a beautiful old Jag; you’ll love it. Everybody loves it. Listen, James, I know we’ve only just met and that the circumstances of our meeting could best be described as fraught, but I really need to take this trip, and I need someone young and capable to come with me. You seem like the ideal candidate to make the journey. One – you are young. Two – your schedule can best be described as “loose”. Three – you’re sitting right here. And four . . .ense that you are still feeling some residual guilt at having recently pretended to be my dead son. You’re perfect!’
James found himself smiling at Tamara Higginson’s confidence and infectious drive, and he found himself seriously considering her proposal. And she was pretty close to accurate about his schedule. He assumed that Sophie would understand if he left with the old woman; after all, it was kind of part of what they now did. He loved his job at the cinema – there was no way he was going to let himself lose it – but maybe he didn’t have to. If the trip wasn’t too long he supposed he could always get Cash to fill in for him. It was possible.
He had options.
Tamara Higginson clearly had plans.
But wasn’t he the one who was supposed to have the clever plans? Quite suddenly he’d gone from being the puppetmaster to being the puppet. And it was one of those horrid puppets, the ones with strings. The ones that murdered people in cheap horror films. He felt like he was probably going to do whatever Tamara Higginson wanted him to do, but he didn’t want to seem like a pushover. He asked her: ‘So, assuming I went with you, how long would this road trip be?’
‘We would be gone for a week. Ten days at the most. I would cover all of our expenses, and we would live well – otherwise, why bother? Then we would return to Melbourne and I would begin the tedious process of moving in to your loony bin,’ said Tamara. ‘Do we have a deal? Are you going to join me on my last great adventure, James?’
‘Yes. Yes, I will, Tamara. When do we leave?’
‘That depends. When is my daughter coming back for her pound of flesh?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said James, ‘in the afternoon.’
‘Excellent, then we shall leave in the morning. I say let her sweat it out for a while. It’s probably character-building. Why don’t you go home to pack, come back here and stay the night, and we’ll leave in the morning?’ Tamara offered graciously.
‘Jesus,’ thought James, ‘this is really happening.’ He desperately needed to talk it all through with someone, and when I say someone, I mean Sophie.
‘That sounds great to me,’ he said, trying not to show his sudden nerves to Tamara. ‘But I’ve had about five too many vodkas to make sensible packing decisions. Let me ring Sophie, and Cash – one of them can bring over my stuff.’
‘By all means,’ said Tamara. ‘I’d rather like to meet your friends. And in the meantime, I’ll make a pot of tea.’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ said James.
‘Is chamomile all right?’ she asked.
‘Chamomile is perfect.’
James called Cash to make sure that he would be home if Sophie came by to pick up his stuff, which was Tamara’s suggestion. According to her, if Sophie willingly went out of her way to pick up his gear and drop it over, it meant that she liked him. A lot. James also arranged for Cash to take over cleaning his beloved cinema for the time that he would be away. Cash loved the Byron Bay plan. He was a sucker for spontaneous travel. Cash always said, ‘Romance isn’t sex, romance is travel. A journey speaks of possibilities yet to be revealed. Fucking is far less romantic than stepping onto a train or a 747 with someone you love.’ He told James he’d be at the apartment and he’d wait for Sophie’s call.
James then called Sophie. In truth he could easily have made it the couple of kilometres to his flat and picked up his stuff by himself. He wasn’t that drunk. But he wanted Sophie.
He suddenly felt a need for her opinion on this whole deal. He wanted her to come over and meet Tamara, to listen to the plan, to tell him if he was a) losing his mind by agreeing to head off to Byron with a woman he’d known for a few hours, or b) doing something essential, something that simply should be done. In the brief time he’d known Tamara Higginson he had been quite taken by her. If Sophie felt the same way, then he would know he was doing the right thing.
‘Soph? I need your help with something.’
‘Sure,’ said Sophie, a bit surprised by how vulnerable James sounded, but secretly also a bit pleased that he was calling. ‘Name it.’
‘Tamara wants me to go to Byron Bay with her tomorrow. She said if I do this she will leave home and move into the Peggy Day. It would only be for a few days, and she is a fantastic woman, but I need your opinion. I’ve told her that you’re going to pick up some of my stuff from Cash and drop it off here. That way you can meet her and tell me if you think that I’m losing my mind by agreeing to do this. What do you think?’
‘Oh, James, you lost your mind years ago,’ said Sophie, completely intrigued now. ‘I’ll be over there as soon as possible.’
And with that they hung up and James went back inside, beaming.
‘How did you go?’ Tamara asked James.
‘So far, so good,’ he replied. ‘My flatmate will be there for Sophie to swing by and pick up some of my stuff. Oh, shit – how late is it?’
‘It’s not. It’s about seven-thirty. It just feels late because you and I started drinking at lunchtime, which is certainly not something that I usually do. And don’t worry about the time. She’s your girlfriend and you’re about to disappear for a week . . .’
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ said James quickly.
‘Well, you obviously love the woman. The only reason she’s not your girlfriend is that you, James, are not a closer.’
‘I’m not a what?’
‘James, in this world there are people who are openers, and people who are closers. Openers are fine; they are nice people. They facilitate. They are light and fun; they bring people and situations together. But they rarely benefit directly from those situations themselves. Having brought everything to the verge of completion, they don’t really know what to do next. But a closer? A closer knows what to do next.’
‘And I assume that you are a closer?’ said James.
‘Actually, James, I am both. Opener and closer, alpha and omega.’
‘So am I!’ he insisted.
‘If Sophie wants to stay, the only room that’s made up is Robert’s old room. The two of you can share it. Make of that what you will,’ Tamara told him slyly.
‘Ah!’ said James. ‘I think I know what you mean.’
‘You know, James Rogers,’ said Tamara. ‘You may just be a closer after all.’
An hour later, after a quick trip to see Cash, Sophie pulled up in Tamara’s driveway. (So many driveways, so little time!) The front door opened and she was confronted by the smiling faces of James Rogers and Tamara Higginson. It was immediately apparent to her that the two of them were very comfortable in each other’s company. Almost like old friends.
‘Hi, captain,’ said James. ‘Sophie Glass, meet Tamara Higginson.’
‘Hello, Mrs Higginson,’ said Sophie, taking the older woman’s offered hand.
‘Don’t call her Mrs Higginson, she’ll have you killed,’ said James.
After a brief tour of the house, they returned to the kitchen–dining area where Tamara and James had spent most of the day. As Tamara made more tea, Sophie handed James a small backpack that was about as full as a small backpack could be.
‘Okay,’ she told him. ‘This is going to have to do. There’s a couple of pairs of jeans, a hoodie, some shirts, T-shirts, socks, underwear . . .’
‘You’ve been in my underwear drawer?’ asked James.
‘Not really, no. They were all in the dryer. Cash said that you pretty muc
h get dressed straight from the dryer.’
‘I do not!’ he said.
‘How very sweet,’ interjected Tamara.
While Tamara and Sophie sat down on the couches to get to know each other, James cooked some more rice and heated up the leftover dhal for Sophie. He looked at the two women talking and thought about how everything was moving so fast. He’d known one of these people for a couple of months and the other for less than a day, and yet he felt connected to both of them. He hoped that Sophie and Tamara would become friends, and as he watched them talking and giggling, whispering and moving closer together, he realised that he didn’t have to hope very hard.
‘What are you two talking about? I’m feeling left out,’ he said.
‘Tamara just told me you pretended to be her son today. That’s pretty disgusting, James.’
‘It was your idea!’ he replied. ‘You’re the one who met with Catherine and sent me on this fool’s errand . . . Anyway, Tamara pretended to be blind. That’s not very cool!’
‘Oh James, stop dobbing on people,’ said Sophie.
He put Sophie’s food down in front of her. ‘Here is your dinner, you ungrateful human.’
James was loving all of this so much it was making him dizzy. He and Cash had often talked about how in life sometimes you were lucky enough to experience perfect moments, brief grabs of time when everything was heightened and beautiful and there was nowhere that you would rather be. They were rare, bright, glorious moments that balanced out the occasional darkness and made life the wonderful ride that it is. This was one of those moments and James Rogers wanted it to go on forever.