The Wrong Door
Page 26
She checked her watch. Shit, shit, shit. He would be here in five minutes. She pulled the dress over her head, found her shoes and was just applying lipstick when the buzzer sounded. Right on time. The butterflies in her stomach did one final somersault. She opened the door. Naresh stood there, suave and handsome in a light-coloured suit.
*
Marla’s voice sounded so familiar it gave Clare a jolt to hear it over the telephone.
‘Thank you for calling, Clare. I wasn’t sure if you would.’ It was three months since they had spoken and Marla’s tone was almost excessively polite. She was using what Peg called her ‘phone voice’.
‘I wasn’t sure I would,’ said Clare. ‘But you told Susan it was urgent. Are you all right? Is Peg?’
‘Yes, yes, we’re both fine.’
‘So, what’s so urgent?’
Marla hesitated. ‘I want to see Micky and I was hoping you would drive me up there.’
Clare was silent as she considered the request.
‘Please, Clare,’ said Marla quietly, ‘I don’t think I could face it on my own.’
Marla’s timing was spot on. Clare’s anger wasn’t completely spent but she was beginning to miss Peg and Marla and the mad goings on of Dadue Street. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’d be happy to.’
They made plans for the following Saturday. Clare would pick her up from number 44 at 10 am. Clare told her sister to be waiting outside as she didn’t want to see Peg and she had no intention of going inside the house.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ promised Marla.
Initially the atmosphere had been strained. After they had been driving for a few minutes Clare asked about Peg in such a clipped tone that it seemed she didn’t really want to know.
‘She’s well. She has lots of work on at the moment. Plenty to keep her busy.’
‘Uh-uh,’ said Clare.
‘She misses you though.’
Clare said nothing.
‘Why don’t you come over for dinner one night? She’d love that. It would mean so much to her.’
‘Maybe,’ said Clare. ‘I’ll see.’ Her words were noncommittal but her demeanour softened. She changed the subject. ‘And what about you? What have you been up to?’
‘I’ve been sober. And, strange as it may sound, that takes up a lot of my time. I go to a meeting most evenings and sometimes during the day as well. There is always one on somewhere. I’m also at the frock shop three days a week. And … I’m taking a word processing course.’ Marla smiled self-consciously.
‘Word processing?’
‘Yes. And typing. I want to become qualified on a computer and then look for a job as a secretary or receptionist. Or personal assistant to someone very powerful and important.’
‘I thought you wanted to be a school teacher?’
‘A school teacher? Did I? I’m not sure I would be any good at that. I was never very good at school. No, I want to join the corporate world, I think. I’m not sure. But I think having some secretarial skills will make me employable in a couple of different ways. Hey, maybe you might like to hire me. I could be your receptionist and assistant and run your thriving vet practice, once you get one. It could be Dalton and Dalton.’ Marla gestured in the air as if drawing a billboard in the sky.
Clare rolled her eyes.
Marla sighed. ‘Okay, okay. Just Dalton then.’
In spite of herself Clare laughed. The mood between them relaxed and stayed that way for the rest of the drive up to the Blue Mountains.
Marla talked of Micky. ‘You are like him you know. You look like me but you have inherited his sense of righteousness. He was always railing against the world. Wanting to help the underdog. And he loved animals, just like you.’
It wasn’t much but Clare hung on every word. ‘Were you very much in love?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes. I think the first time you fall in love is the most intense. It is such a discovery. About yourself and the world.’ Marla sounded nostalgic. ‘Listen to me. I sound like a schoolgirl. You must know what that is like. Have you fallen in love yet, little one? What about that boy Richard who used to ring you?’
‘Love? Ugh. No way. He was just a friend.’
‘And Jeremy? He was a boyfriend, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, for a little while. But no, I don’t see him any more.’ Clare gave a little smile.
It was quick and fleeting but Marla caught it. ‘Hello? What was that little smile for?’
Clare blushed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it yet. Too early, too precious. She felt like she held a delicious secret, tucked inside her shirt.
Marla laughed. ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’
Suddenly Clare did want to share. She wanted to stop the car, stand on the bonnet and yell it out to the mountains. ‘I have met someone I like … very much.’
‘Go on,’ said Marla.
‘It’s Mr Sanjay’s son.’
Marla’s jaw dropped. ‘The Indian man next door?’
Clare nodded.
‘You’re seeing each other?’
‘We have been going out for a couple of months. And Marla … I really, really like him. He is the most amazing and beautiful man.’
Marla squealed with delight. The two women chatted and laughed and said silly, nonsensical things for the rest of the drive to Blackheath. It wasn’t until they turned off the highway that they became serious again.
‘You will find him very different now. You do understand that, don’t you?’ said Clare.
‘I know. He’s Jimmy now. And he most likely won’t remember anything about me. It’s okay, little one. I know what to expect. Really. I’m ready.’
*
Clare and Terri stood on the verandah watching Marla walk towards Micky. Dusk was still a few hours away but already the early evening chill was coming up from the valley, wrapping itself around the women’s bare legs.
‘Why don’t we go inside,’ said Terri. ‘Briony will have lit the fire in the sitting room.’
Clare appreciated the older woman’s sensitivity. It wasn’t the cold that Terri was offering them an escape from, but the feeling of intruding. She was as uncomfortable as Clare about watching the two old lovers meet. Clare agonised for Marla as Terri led the way into the sitting room. It was cosy and welcoming, obviously the centre of family life. A roaring fire warmed the room. On the mantelpiece and spread over every available surface were dozens of different-sized photographs, each in a different frame. The effect was chaotic but friendly.
Clare walked slowly past them all, studying each picture in turn. Micky, or Jimmy, as he was to this family, was in many of them – posing with Terri’s two daughters, grinning at the camera, joining in silly antics. Always, he looked happy.
When they were sitting comfortably in the two armchairs on either side of the fire, Terri asked about Gwennie. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Clare.
‘How is she?’
‘Better. She talks about Pete now. Just a little bit every now and then. I think that’s healthy. She is back at work teaching and has sold the house.’
‘Is she going to go back to England?’
‘No, she decided to stay in Australia. She bought a large apartment by the water. No garden, no maintenance. And she decided she didn’t want to live alone so she has taken in a boarder.’
‘Who?’ asked Terri.
Clare smiled. ‘Me.’
Acknowledgements
With thanks to Selwa Anthony, Cate Paterson, Linda Smith, Dr Krishna Hort, Swati Roy and my sister, Christine Ronaldson. And a big kiss to Mal Watson and our daughter, Kathryn.
About Bunty Avieson
Bunty Avieson was born and raised in Victoria. She worked for twenty years as a journalist on newspapers and magazines in Australia and Britain. She was editor of Woman's Day and editorial director of New Idea, winning three Magazine Publishers Association awards. She is also a Williamson Fellow (1999).
In 2000 Bunty took up fic
tion writing full-time. Her first novel Apartment 255 was a bestseller in Australia and Germany. This is her third novel.
Also by Bunty Avieson
Apartment 255
The Affair
First published by Macmillan Australia in 2003
This edition published in 2016 by Momentum
Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
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Copyright © Bunty Avieson 2003
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The Wrong Door
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