by Melissa Hill
As Alex waited to order Louisiana gumbo at the Cajun stall, while Seth chose something else, she got into conversation with one of the hippies, who like many of the others were wearing T-shirts adorned with the usual ‘Peace & Love’ slogans.
‘See that guy?’ he said to Alex, pointing at an old black and white photograph printed on the back of his T-shirt. A long-haired youth was pictured in a crowd atop someone else’s shoulders. ‘That’s me here forty years ago,’ he told her proudly.
Alex peered at the photograph. ‘You haven’t aged a day,’ she joked, thinking that the man in front of her could easily be mistaken for a high-powered businessman or banker, albeit without the tie-dye bandana.
‘Those were good times – no, great times,’ he said wistfully and she had to smile. It must have been quite something to be a part of a movement that was a real catalyst for social change back then. Although in San Francisco, hippies had always been part of the culture, Alex didn’t know too much about the height of the movement in the sixties other than what her folks had told her. But her mom and dad had only flirted with the lifestyle and the politics, not like some of the guys here.
And while her folks had eventually moved on to a more conventional life, she could tell that most of the people here today still embraced the same philosophy that so appealed forty years before. There was a great sense of belonging and a spirited carefree approach that appealed to Alex – although she really didn’t think she could get used to all that pot.
‘Look at that,’ Seth said, pointing out an elderly couple strolling by hand-in–hand. Both had long grey hair tied back in a ponytail and were dressed in baggy, brightly coloured clothes. Alex had to look twice to confirm that the small animal they were walking on a lead alongside them really was a cat.
She chuckled. ‘Yes, I can see how that whole free love concept would suit you,’ she teased.
‘That’s not what I meant. I meant that,’ he clarified, pointing to how the old couple were holding hands. ‘That’ll be you and me one day.’
Alex laughed. ‘Minus the cat I hope!’
She remembered being touched by that; his easy belief that that they’d still be together holding hands in their old age. But she should have realised that this was nothing but naivety on Seth’s part, in the same way that he’d once commented on a father and child playing ball together and talked about having a son so he could do the very same. What Seth didn’t realise was that all of those things took commitment, maturity and a lot of hard work.
And in the end, she thought sadly, he was incapable of all three.
***
The phone was ringing when Leonie let herself into the apartment after work.
‘Hello, could I speak to Leonie Hayes please?’ a male voice asked.
‘This is Leonie speaking,’ she said pleasantly.
‘How do you do? I’m Gene Forrest, the owner of your apartment and I believe you wanted to speak with me.’
‘That’s right yes, thank you for phoning me back.’ Leonie was amazed that the rental agency had actually passed on the request for the landlord to contact her. It was such a long time ago that she’d almost forgotten about it.
‘I’m sorry it took so long for me to call. I’ve been out of town for a while and am only catching up on messages now. So how can I help?’
‘Well, I’m not sure if you can really …’ Leonie went on to explain about the letters she’d found. ‘I just wondered if Helena Abbott might have left you a forwarding address when she moved?’
‘I’m sorry Ma’am, I actually just bought the place the end of last year. I knew there were already tenants in place, but I have to tell you I don’t have much to do with any of that – the agency does it for me. That’s why I was surprised to get your message.’
‘So ownership of the property recently changed hands?’ Leonie asked, her brow furrowing. ‘Yes. Now I don’t know much of the details because it was an executor sale, and I think the previous owners may have lived there at one point, but I really couldn’t say for sure. I know there was some furniture and stuff left behind, but as far as I was aware it had been moved …’
Leonie almost dropped the phone. An executor sale?
Was there a chance that Helena, their Helena had actually owned this apartment and some of the ‘stuff’ left behind included the box of letters?
In which case it had been a complete waste of time looking for a forwarding address or driving all the way down to Monterey to grill some poor women who clearly couldn’t be her.
Because Helena Abbott was most likely dead.
Her mind racing, she thought back on what Alex had said about there being a ‘situation’ with the couple who had lived here previously, the couple that they’d assumed were the Abbotts.
‘Do you know how long it’s been since the previous owner died?’ she asked the landlord, her thoughts racing as things finally began slotting into place.
‘I have no idea. My lawyer handled all the legalities and paperwork so I really don’t know what else to tell you.’
‘No that’s fine –you’ve been a great help actually.’
‘You said there’s some mail still coming? I guess it’s probably best to just have it returned.’
‘You’re right yes of course. I’ll do that.’ Leonie didn’t see any point in explaining that this was what she’d been trying to do for the last couple of months. ‘Thank you so much again for calling.’
‘My pleasure. I hope the apartment suits your needs, but if you have any problems let the agency know. I’d give you my cell, except I’m in and out of the country quite a lot so -’
‘No, no that won’t be necessary. I won’t need to bother you again.’
‘All right then Ms Hayes,’ Gene Forrest said in conclusion. ‘You have a good day.’
‘You too,’ Leonie said, replacing the receiver.
***
‘What? You’re kidding me!’ Downstairs, Alex seemed just as surprised at this news as Leonie. ‘Although, now that I think about it, her being dead is probably the simplest explanation.’
‘Remember you said there was some kind of fuss upstairs last year when that couple were moving out?’ Leonie reminded her. ‘A situation, I think you said. What was that?’
‘I really can’t say – it was just stuff I heard gossip I guess,’ Alex replied, pulling her dark hair into a ponytail. ‘Although I think someone said something about the police being called and –’ she gasped, dropping her hands. ‘You’re not thinking … you really don’t think that Helena could have been –’
‘It’s certainly worth a thought,’ Leonie said. ‘You said those two were always fighting. We know from at least one of the letters that Helena was already married and having an affair with Nathan. So maybe the husband found out.’
‘And you’re thinking he did something – out of jealousy?’
Leonie sighed jadedly. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know what to think anymore Alex,’ she said. ‘We’ve been going around in circles with this thing for a while now. Maybe the husband found the letters and that’s how he discovered the affair. And maybe he’s the one who locked them away in the back of the wardrobe.’
‘But they were still sealed when you found them,’ Alex pointed out, ‘So he couldn’t have read them.’
‘What if there were others before those though? If the husband knew who they were from and they kept coming, maybe he suspected that the affair was still going on.’
‘Well, if the husband was intervening, it would also explain why Helena never replied,’ Alex conceded.
Leonie shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I just couldn’t believe it when the landlord said it was an executor sale.’
She thought back to that first day she’d viewed the property with the guy from the agency, and how she’d sensed at the time that the apartment hadn’t been lived in for some time, yet there were still belongings to be moved. Although thinking about it again, if it was an executor sale, and Helena and her
husband both owned the property, then it must mean that the husband had died too.
‘I wonder if that couple did actually own this place?’ Alex pondered when Leonie put this to her. ‘I guess it’s a possibility as they were here when I moved in, but for some reason I always assumed the whole place was rented.’
‘Is there any way we could find out?’ Leonie wondered out loud. ‘Or find out if there was any kind of …incident …upstairs.’
‘I’m sure we could but does it really matter now? If Helena’s gone, then we can’t exactly forward the letters to her, can we? So what’s the point? We might as well just throw them out and forget all about it.’
But Leonie was so involved now, and wanted so much to get to the bottom of their story, that she still found it hard to just discard the whole thing. Today’s news had only added to the list of unanswered questions about this situation. Yet, as Alex pointed out, there was really no longer much of a mystery to be solved where the letters were concerned, was there? If Helena had died, then one way or the other –
Then suddenly the thought hit Leonie like a speeding train.
Just wondered if you ever got those other letters I sent you? I guess not.
She looked at Alex. ‘Nathan doesn’t know.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘Helena – if she’s dead, be it by natural causes or otherwise, he doesn’t know it. The last letter came around Valentine’s Day, remember?’
Alex’s face changed. ‘Wow. You’re right.’
Poor Nathan. There he was still sending heartfelt, pleading letters to the love of his life, pouring his heart out and desperately hoping for a reply. Yet if what they now suspected about Helena were true, then no reply would ever be forthcoming.
‘So no, I don’t think we should give up looking for Nathan,’ she said, feeling more sorry than ever for him. ‘If anything, we should be trying even harder.’
Chapter 28
My darling,
I don’t think I can take much more of this. Things are getting harder and crazier here now and I just don’t know if I can cope any more. I know what you’re thinking, that it’s all my own fault for being here in the first place, but even I couldn’t have imagined how tough it would be.
Again, you were right. There is no justification, no explanation for what is happening here and while I thought my intentions were pure, I realise now how stupid I was.
I wish I’d listened to you more and understood what you were really trying to tell me. But we come from very different worlds you and I, and while I thought this wouldn’t matter, and that we’d be together forever, I realise now how truly naïve I really was.
I had no right to ask to you to wait for me, and no right to ask you to change your mind.
So I guess it’s payback time in a way. I was stupid, and you were right and now we both have to live with the consequences.
Please Forgive Me.
Nathan.
Nathan marked a page of the book he was reading and set it aside. It was a good book, decent enough, but he wasn’t in the mood for reading today. To be honest, he was tired of reading, tired of watching TV and sleeping which was just about all he seemed to do these days.
Although he hadn’t slept all that much the night before (which was likely the very reason he felt so antsy) but then again, this place would make anyone feel antsy.
‘What’s up with you, Nate?’ Frank had asked him over breakfast that morning but Nathan knew he didn’t really care. He was really just going through the motions, same as everyone around here. No, that was lousy, Frank was a decent sort and he in particular had gone out of his way to help Nathan settle in when he first got here.
He looked around the room, although you could hardly call it a room.
More like a coffin. Although maybe that was unfair, the place was OK from time to time and Nathan gradually gotten used to it over the last while, but still he liked his freedom. Who didn’t?
A lot of the others were OK too, although some of them were a bit too loopy for his liking. Nathan preferred to stay away from the loopy ones, just in case it was catchin’. He gave a wan smile. He shouldn’t be so grouchy really; this place wasn’t the worst.
Anyway, he had a pretty good idea why he’d been so antsy lately and it was all his own fault.
He should have known better than to open up old wounds by deciding to write to Helena. What did he think he’d achieve? She couldn’t care less about him now, much less give a damn about what he thought. Most likely, she’d forgotten him completely.
Nathan was annoyed with himself for daring to hope – at least for a while – that Helena would read it and maybe try and make contact.
Idiot. That was before he realised that even if she did get it and by some long shot wanted to reach him, he hadn’t thought to tell her how to go about it. Man, he was stupid!
Oh well, Nathan thought, picking up his book again. What was done was done and it was own fault for getting carried away by crazy dreams and nostalgia, the kind of stuff that had been getting him into trouble for most of his life.
So yeah, today, Nathan felt annoyed, stupid and frustrated, but perhaps more than anything else, he felt lonely.
***
It was Monday morning and Leonie meandered slowly through the crowds on Fisherman’s Wharf. She had a day off from Flower Power and was heading for the pier to do something she’d wanted to do since her arrival, but for various reasons had just never got round to. She’d thought that she and Grace might do it during her friend’s trip that time, but Grace hadn’t been in the least bit interested …
But more importantly, she felt she needed a diversion. While she’d absolutely loved having her here, Grace’s visit and their subsequent chats had somehow brought into sharp focus everything that had happened back home, which had caused Leonie to brood a little.
This, coupled with the frustration of being so helpless in trying to uncover the truth behind Nathan’s letters was gradually starting to wear her down and she didn’t want that. She wanted to feel as liberated and optimistic as she had when she first arrived in San Francisco four months ago, confident that she was leaving all the bad stuff behind. Chances were this was also partly the reason she’d become so absorbed with pursuing the letters in the first place; it had kept her focussed and her mind occupied, and not only that, but there was also the possibility that she might be able to do some good. And Leonie needed that.
Even Marcy had noticed her recent change of form. ‘Geez, what’s gotten into you lately?’ her boss had asked on Saturday, when Leonie seemed less communicative than usual.
‘To be honest, I don’t really know,’ she’d told her. ‘I think I’m probably just missing Grace.’
But was it really Grace she was missing or Adam? Leonie swore she wouldn’t think about it, had promised herself that no good would come of going back over it again, but still she wished she’d done things differently, that she hadn’t been so rash in her decision-making. Who knows what way things might have turned out then?
‘Maybe I’ve been working you too hard,’ Marcy ventured. ‘I can be a tough old broad sometimes, but don’t think I don’t already know that.’
Leonie smiled. ‘Don’t be silly of course you haven’t!’
‘Well even so, I think you need a day off. But don’t just sit at home staring out the window – do something with it. You’re living in one of the greatest cities in the US of A, sweetheart. Go and enjoy it!’
Which was how today Leonie found herself taking her place behind a long queue of tourists snaking all the way along Pier 33, waiting to board the ferry.
Standing at the back of the line, she shivered lightly, glad that she’d heeded Alex’s advice and brought a sweater.
‘The boat’s chilly on the way over and it can be just as cold on the Rock,’ her friend advised when Leonie told her where she was headed. ‘And for more reasons than one too – that place creeps me out,’ she added with a shudder.
She took the stairs to the top deck, and headed for a seat on the right hand side, again taking Alex’s informed advice. ‘Much better for views on the approach to the island. Sit towards the back if you can though, the front gets very windy.’
The journey across the bay took about fifteen minutes, and when the ferry docked on the rear of Alcatraz island, it was met by a ranger who gave the tour group a brief orientation and history of the place, before leading them up a series of steep slopes towards the cell house.
Leonie was held rapt by the man’s colourful accounts of the prison’s history and the details of so many unsuccessful escape attempts over the years. Looking back across the bay to the city skyline, which to the naked eye looked deceptively close, Leonie could see why inmates – misled by the true swimming distance – had drowned or died of hypothermia in the ice-cold waters before reaching shore.
But today the island looked beautiful, and the crumbly old buildings juxtaposed against a sleek, glistening city skyline and cloudless blue sky was breathtaking.
At the entrance to the prison block, all visitors were given headphones for an audio tour of the cell house.
Leonie ambled through the old, dusty, concrete building, mesmerised by the narrow, empty cells and their extraordinarily stark appearance. The tour narrator’s voice and accompanying sound effects through the headphones of cell doors clanging and prisoners shouting gave a spooky and disconcertingly vivid sense of what it must have been like to be banged up in a place like this.