Thick and Fast

by Tommy Dakar

Tombstones set in dried blood. Which was a shame, because otherwise she had a sweet smile. Because Pet was sweet. She was not bright, or witty, or even crafty. No, she was more like her brother when it came to mental agility, but somehow she was endearing. Pet hadn’t been criticising her, she now understood. She wasn’t like that. She was sweet, sweet natured, and kind too. Pet thought the world of little Sydney, she knew, and was only trying to help. Because despite her many faults, Pet was, deep down, and sincerely, a good woman. By good Andrea meant that she was not bad, that in Pet there was a lack of desire to do harm. Perhaps, unintentionally, she might hurt your feelings, or tread on your toes, or wake up grumpy and foul-mouthed, but when the chips were down, Pet, just like her brother, was submissive. How they both accepted their lot without complaint was to be admired, was something that maybe others might even learn from. Andrea imagined then a windy street, with icy blasts, and poor Pet waiting at the bus stop for the bus to arrive. But when it did, it was so full of people that it just swept past, leaving her freezing cold on the pavement. What should she do? Wait for the next bus, or start walking home? Either way she knew Pet would be alright, would eventually get home, and think no more of it. She was a good woman, and it had not been right to think what she had thought about her being a spinster, a motherless, unmarried, unattractive, middle-aged cook cum cleaner. That had been unfair, even if there was a germ of truth in it.

  Yes. Pet was sweet and good, and meant no harm to anyone. Could she say the same about herself, or about Harvey, come to that? Was there malice in Harvey? She checked her skin, scouring the surface of her face for blemishes. He was hard-nosed, they said, a hard-nosed business man. Was that the same? Could that be classed ‘bad’? In a way it was a trait she rather respected, the ability to get on in life like that. Thick-skinned. But it instils fear, too, in a way, his cold-hearted approach to others. Thank god he seemed to have eased up a bit on the home front, because he had been unnecessarily hard on poor Ambrose, on all of them, but especially on Bro. That was unfair; it was like picking on somebody younger or smaller than yourself. Luckily he had he had stopped all that; it was leading to nowhere, and just made life that much more unbearable.

  She laughed at herself. Of course Harvey wasn’t bad. What nonsense! Just because he drove a hard bargain and knew how to handle staff did not mean he was not good. Maybe he was not sweet. Alright, he definitely was not sweet! But he was attentive and correct, and despite his initial gruffness, he was often gentle and kind. And now, at long last, he was very slowly starting to bond with Sydney. They had a lot in common, it seems. At least that’s what she thought as she stared at her face in the mirror. But how could you ever know? What do we ever really see except what they want us to see? Everybody is like the façade of a Moorish home – nondescript, secretive, jealously guarding whatever lies beyond the whitewashed walls. Inside there could be fountains and ornate archways, but from the outside you would not be able to do more than venture a guess. Or like the repetitive doors of apartment blocks where the only element of distinction is a change in the number or the doormat. And people look at you through the spyholes in the doors, or open their homes just a little, as far as the chain allows. Even if they invite you in and show you round, you are always no more than a visitor. So how could she possibly claim to know Harvey, or Pet, or even herself for that matter?

  She concluded that it was probably best not to dwell on it. A waste of time really. She winked at herself in the mirror; everything was going to work out fine. Time to go and see what the boy was up to and let Pet get on with her chores.

  Luz was busy sorting out the bed linen and the bathroom towels in a utility room not far from where Andrea was examining herself inside and out. Had she been able to hear Andrea’s thoughts she would have agreed with her. It was so difficult to fathom a human soul. After all her years at the house, how many people could she honestly declare that she knew, knew well? Was she any wiser now about the true characters of Alice or Stein or Sydney than she had been when they had first taken her on, shortly after the master’s death? She was pretty sure they knew next to nothing about her.

  Señora Luz was in reality señorita Luz, but Alice Haute had decided on hiring her that ‘señorita’ sounded too frivolous, almost insulting. Was she simply unmarried, or a spinster? Was she a young, foolish girl, or a fully trained housemaid? Señora Luz it became. Now Mrs. Haute was in her grave alongside her husband and her son. But what did Luz know of that strange lady? Had she ever understood her? What a mass of contradictions that woman had been. At times the perfect lady, well-bred, aristocratic almost, a woman who could feel comfortable in stately homes and halls of learning. But at others she was more like a pampered Hollywood star, drinking whiskey on the rocks and smoking cheroots in slacks and bra. Refined and disdainful of foul language, except her own. The perfect widow and mother, but whose overnight bag told a different story.

  How you made a mental picture of them all, and how they never failed to surprise you.

  Then there was Stein, so much like herself. Reserved, diplomatic, cunning, over-cautious. They say he was having an affair with Alice, but he was far too smart for that. He had his own little secrets, his own little ambitions. Or maybe not. There was man who knew how to cover his tracks.

  And now we have Harvey Paulson to examine. A man who charms his way in and bullies his way out. Who was going to dare an analysis of the new boss’s personality? How she would have liked to be able to sum him up in a phrase. But she knew she was incapable of that, even given more time, more evidence. She had failed with all of them to date, so what chance did she have with smarty pants Harvey? He was far too slippery to catch.

  She had noticed a definite shift in the atmosphere of late. It was as if everyone were manoeuvring for position, as in some kind of unstated game of strategy. Harvey conferring with Stein, Harvey trusting Bro, Stein supporting Bro, Harvey and Andrea playing happy families. Now even the unheard of: Harvey playing with Sydney. How they all watched each other, trying to guess one another’s moves in advance. Or at least that was the impression she had. But perhaps she was getting it all wrong again, who could tell? We are so expert in deceit when the occasion rises.

  She looked out of the window and saw Pet coming back from the kennels. Ambrose would be showing Sydney the dogs again, no doubt with Andrea hovering around nervously, unsure whether to trust him with the boy or not, but dying to get away to her idling.

  Ambrose and Pet. She made no attempt at categorising them, it would be unfair. They were simple folk. You could almost see inside their brains and watch the words being made, they were so transparent. Borderline? No, just not very bright. Which made machination impossible. Which in Luz’s mind made them free of guilt, so they were not to be judged. They were to be left out of things, like children. They would make foolish mistakes and out of place comments, bungle and stumble through their allotted tasks no doubt, but they would always give what they had without so much as a second thought. They were naturals, meant no harm to anyone, and therefore deserved nothing less than pity and forgiveness. It appeared that Harvey had scented this latent support for them, because he had eased up on Bro ever since that letter. Maybe he had realised he would have to face a rebellion, a mutiny, if he tried to lay any blame at Bro’s door, or Pet’s come to that. He was a shrewd customer all right.

  She would have to keep her wits about her for the time being, until things settled down again, until the new pool was built and the family left for Kenton Beach. Then perhaps they would all have a bit of peace and calm.

  Andrea had never liked dogs. Her neighbour had had a Yorkshire which had been pretty and cute, with a bow in its hair and a little jacket for winter, but that had been more like a toy than an animal. And guide dogs were nice in a boring, responsible way. Apart from that she hated the beasts. It wasn’t so much the sniffing and dribbling, the damp hair smell, the foul breath, the scratching and licking and genital hunting habits that so irritated most dog haters. It was
n’t their ferocity, or their warm deposits, or their comical sexual urges either. It was that they reminded her so much of people. By which she meant ‘other’ people.

  Other people were all those who existed outside her closed circuit of friends and family. Other people eked out their days in submissive servility and unquestioning loyalty. Their lives were a homogenous routine of stupidity and dependence. They came in all shapes and sizes but rarely got beyond chasing sticks. Once she had seen a man on the beach beating his dog. That huge animal could have jumped up and taken out his throat with one snap. But it didn’t. It got beaten then came back for more. So much for dumb animals. Luckily for her she was a breed apart.

  The kennels had been tacked on to the back of the garages, a fenced off area where the three dogs were kept most of the day. A strip of green construction site cloth supplied a little shade, and here the dogs would lie and doze, scratch and dream, or lap at semi clean water from an old saucepan. They were guard dogs, at least officially. Cross breeds all of them, a curious mix of Alsatian, Doberman and other bits