The jog was good, cathartic. The day was clear, not sunny but calm, the air was the normal weight, the footpath seemed friendly, there were no impediments. Even the mangy Alsatian cross with half an ear missing just looked at me with without interest, when usually he ran along his side of the fence, barking wildly. In my slowly clearing head, I had conversations with Gloria, with Geraldine, with Maxine.
When I returned, the clock told me it was seventeen minutes past ten. I wondered about the clear conversations I had when I ran, and whether exercise freed parts of the mind that may otherwise have stayed shut. Had I always had these conversations with myself when I jogged? Perhaps there were two Carters? Maybe it hadn’t been Warwick; maybe it was always me? But I was in my car when I first saw that other me. I couldn’t be jogging and in a car… could I? I needed to exercise more.
The Alley Cat had told me he would contact his friends at Melbourne University and I was to expect his call. I had told him to come and collect the painting whenever he wanted. He was stunned. ‘Surely you want to come with me?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘Of course, I’m a trustworthy soul but remember that it could be worth tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of dollars…’
‘Leonard, I’ll come with you if you prefer, but I trust you. What you have invested in this isn’t about the monetary worth, is it? It’s part of your existence, part of what means the most to you. I reckon you wouldn’t do the wrong thing by Elaine Tyson and I’m even more sure you wouldn’t do anything to upset her lovely daughter.’
He grinned. I think he even blushed.
At exactly one, I opened my front door. ‘Good afternoon, Leonard. Are you well?’
‘Fine, my boy, never better.’ He looked like a man with a purpose. In his left hand, he held a wooden frame, and in his right, a large plastic bag. ‘This frame, Carter, has had the honour of housing a number of fine works as they were transported. In fact, it has even had the privilege of cuddling a work by the great Russell Drysdale. So, I think it will be, ah-humph, the bee’s knees, for this painting. And in this bag, I have some pieces of foam rubber and a roll of bubble wrap, to make sure all is thoroughly protected.’
Suddenly, I did want to go with him. I suggested I drive him there, and either wait for him or return later and he seemed pleased to accept.
Together, we carefully placed the painting in the frame. He felt that more protection was needed, so I provided two towels. We made an odd pair; despite the painting being mine, he was slower and more meticulous than me, and he worked like a man with no doubt about the best way to do things. He reminded me of my grandmother, who, in such an instance, would have placed every piece of the packing side by side, placed the painting next to them and then rearranged the lot, before standing back and saying, ‘Now we can start. You know, you can never be too careful.’ As I remembered this, I knew I disagreed. Life was too short to be too careful.
‘You have my word, Carter, I will not let this out of my sight for one moment.’
‘I believe you. I mean, if anything happened to it, I’d have to break your neck and that would be even worse for me, because you’d haunt me for the rest of my life.’
He went very quiet.
As I moved past him towards the driver’s seat, I patted him on the back. ‘Leonard, I really appreciate all you’re doing. I hope you know that?’
‘Thank you, Carter.’
He was relaxed and talked easily as we drove, but he tended not to make eye contact and his head moved around as if he was trying not to miss anything. He gave me his opinion of the current state of Australian art, and spoke scathingly of two artists I had never heard of, insisting they were ‘simply untalented, upstart copycats without an ounce of the artistic integrity of the likes of Nolan, Perceval, Boyd or Tyson.’
I listened, nodded, and offered an occasional ‘Yes’ or ‘Really.’ That seemed to be all he needed.
Melbourne University had always enchanted me. I had only been in it on two previous occasions, and I admired the mixture of old and new buildings, and believed that those lucky enough to attend it had achieved the membership of something unique. I felt like what I was, a visitor. I could not shake the feeling that having studied at the university would have made me a wiser person. We passed two young men in their early twenties. One had a bushy brown beard, and I thought he looked at me with a long and piercing stare. I thought he was silently asking if I belonged.
Leonard navigated me down several small streets, then pointed. ‘Park over there, next to the blue sign. That’s the spot.’
I extracted the painting from the back seat, thinking he might enjoy a break from handling it, but he stayed very close and watched every movement. I felt he was forcing himself not to tell me to be very careful. When I was free of the door, the seat, or other potential hazard, I stood with my arms full, and felt like a new mother wondering exactly what to do with her firstborn.
But I didn’t need to worry. With a look befitting a general leading his troops into battle, the Alley Cat was there. He hovered, watching my every step. I momentarily felt nervous but then smiled, and reminded myself not to make another joke about breaking necks.
After a short walk, we arrived at the Arts Faculty building. The Alley Cat seemed pleased when the automatic glass doors closed behind us. A middle-aged woman with long grey hair and a large, toothy smile emerged, and he introduced her as Professor Angela Kostas. Her handshake was firm and her self-confidence palpable. Something about her, perhaps her eyes, perhaps her posture, with chin held high and back straight, reminded me of Shelagh and that made me feel melancholic. The professor explained what the X-raying entailed, and how it would not affect the surface or structure of the work in any way, then asked us to follow her. I explained I was not staying, and we agreed I would return at two-thirty unless I heard otherwise.
I bought a strong takeaway coffee and returned home. I’d planned to pay some bills, do some overdue paperwork but couldn’t concentrate. I felt ill at ease, somehow unbalanced, as if I was being pulled in a number of directions and I was not sure which was the right one. I stared at myself in my bathroom mirror. It was not easy: the longer I looked, the less sure I was. The eyes that stared back at me looked like they should belong in some other head and there were wrinkles on my face I didn’t recall seeing before. Was this the ‘me’ who was always in this mirror? I had always avoided looking at myself more than was necessary.
At that moment, I knew who I needed to be with. I wasn’t sure I really knew these people, but they were my invention and, somehow, they made sense. The urge to continue their story consumed me irregularly and inconsistently but more often now. Had the archer become the target?
I made myself enter her world, wanting to feel her emotions as she wondered whether what is not said can be louder than words. How would she make sense of this? She’s gone to the funeral of someone she doesn’t know and met a man there who she seems to have some connection to. Yet, despite the illogical nature of it all, she had to go on with it. Both of them were independently moving forward along unknown paths, each subtly questioning their families and friends, each trying to discover more of their past, to see if there was a door somewhere that needed opening. They seemed to possess pieces of someone else’s jigsaw. Each day was a new fit, each question led to another. As the scene started to take shape, they realised that perhaps the jigsaw was not someone else’s.
I looked up from the keyboard; the clouds that seemed to cling to the ceiling had moved on. The words were coming easily. I was surprised, but somehow it made sense. Had recent events heightened my perceptions? Maybe, with all the realities of existence, surprise seemed more natural to me. I put my head down and again employed my fingers, only to be interrupted by my telephone. I didn’t want reality.
I could almost feel him at the other end of the phone as he spoke, his words fat with satisfaction: ’She�
��s there, Carter, she’s there.’
Thirty minutes later, I was carrying the painting back to my car. The Alley Cat hovered as he had before, but, despite a greater probability that the painting was the real thing, he seemed less concerned about me having an accident. He was off the ground, hovering on a cloud named Elaine.
‘It seems she is on the swing. We knew, or sort of knew. It’s not a big figure, only child sized and, so painting it out, or really, I should say, painting over it is… actually, let’s say that she was hidden; for some reason, the artist, ah-humph, hid the girl…and I would love to know why; in fact, I’m going to do some research, …and I do think it was Elaine who painted over it because it’s very skilfully done. Angela noted that also, and that’s one of the reasons it’s so hard to see the paint-over job. You know, Carter, perhaps I should call a meeting of those who are most knowledgeable about Elaine’s work and try to deduce who the girl might be… and why Elaine bothered to paint over...I mean, hide her.’
As he drew breath, I seized my opportunity. ‘Leonard, what exactly did you see?’
‘Yes, yes, of course, sorry – the X-ray. It appears to be the back of a head with long hair, which is consistent with the figure being a girl. You can see her shoulders and the upper part of her back. And also, below the swing, her feet are dangling just above the ground and there’s a line that seems to be the bottom of a dress. She is facing the sea, and, ah, well, I guess that is about all we can make out.’
We soon had the painting back in the car, and were sharing smiles. The Alley Cat’s was wide, like he was boy getting away with being naughty. Finally, he spoke again.
‘Another meeting, that’s what I recommend. We get Alexander and Geraldine together, and I tell them what I saw, what the X-ray revealed. He might doubt it; he shouldn’t, but if he does, I will remind him Professor Kostas also saw the image. And if he wants to see for himself, then he can get another X-ray and,’ he leaned towards me, his smile now mischievous, ‘he can pay. I got a freebie today because Angela’s an old friend but he’ll have to pay for his X-ray and that’s fine with me.’ He oozed satisfaction. ‘Of course, as I have said previously, these are just my thoughts. It’s your call, Carter.’
We were silent for several minutes. I could feel the Alley Cat’s anticipation; he wanted action, he wanted my agreement. As I drove, I tried to analyse my feelings, as the world around me seemed normal: cars moved, lights changed, and people went about their business. I realised that while I was pleased at what the X-ray had revealed, I was surprised not to feel excited. So, what was it? I decided I felt a certain satisfaction – yes, that it was an appropriate result, that it was somehow as it should be. But was that enough? I wanted to consider my reaction further but knew that, more immediately, I needed to end the suspense for the Alley Cat. ‘I hear what you say about another meeting, Leonard, but I’m going to ask you to be patient. Let’s just keep it to ourselves for a day or two, while I think about it.’
It started to rain. It was not heavy and the wipers dismissed the water from the windscreen easily, their rhythmic slapping melodic. Then the rain got heavier but, as we arrived at the house, it eased. It was a reminder of the need to be patient, that everything has its time.
Leonard offered to help me in with the painting but I said no. We faced each other on the footpath and I shook his hand. He tried to smile but now it was like the naughty boy had been caught.
‘Leonard, thanks for what you have done and I’ll talk to you very soon, I promise.’
He nodded. He knew he had to settle for that.
CHAPTER 41
Soon afterwards, my mobile rang. It was Gloria. I grimaced as I realised that I should have called her.
‘How was Geraldine’s visit? I thought I might have heard from you yesterday.’
‘Yes, sorry, you should have. It’s been an interesting few days. I caught up with a couple of old friends, and also went to Melbourne University, to have the painting X-rayed.’
‘X-rayed? Heavens, that sounds scientific. What’s all that about?’
‘Well, it’s a long story that needs to be told over a cup of tea, but Geraldine’s visit went about as we expected. She was emotional while I gave her a brief version of Max’s history and as we looked at photos. I told her that there was more to Maxine’s life than the time she and I were together, and that it would be good if she met you and Virginia. I let her know that you and Maxine had a great mother–daughter relationship, and I have no doubt she envies that. It felt right telling her about the life I shared with Max and I think it’d be good if you did the same. I think that’s what your daughter would have wanted.’
There was a pause.
‘Then we’d better meet.’
‘Do you want me to discuss this with Virginia?’
‘No, no, she’ll be fine, leave it to me. It’s time.’
‘Yes, I think it is, but we need to be sure Geraldine’s all right. I’ll talk to her again, and I guess you’ll need to trust me in terms of the timing.’
‘I trust you completely, Carter.’
‘Completely’ was more than I expected.
I needed to get my thoughts straight. The X-ray had accelerated a dull feeling I had been suppressing for some time, disregarded as another part of me readjusting to life. But I needed be honest; that it was about Maxine’s identity. Had I the right to orchestrate all this, should I have left things alone? Or was I fooling myself, was it already too late? I had trouble coming to terms with the feeling that this painting I once hated was now her, it re-told her history…and I was narrating. I had discovered what she never knew, that her birth parents were not the couple she called Mum and Dad. I was about to introduce her birth mother to the woman she had believed was her mother. I was assisting a man called the Alley Cat to prove that she was immortalised in two Elaine Tyson paintings (although only visible to the naked eye in one of them.) If she came back tomorrow, her world would be changed. Much of me wanted to retain Maxine for me, selfishly keep the image of the woman I knew and loved as she was, as we were. But I knew I had to continue to seek the full story, and believed that she would want it that way – that she would have accepted, even embraced, these additions to her story. I would find a way to live with a new image of Maxine…but why shouldn’t I?
I don’t know how long I sat looking at the phone. It had seen better days, but seemed to looked back at me with disdain. Then it occurred to me that it was challenging me, because it could, because it knew so much. It had heard things, words that were personal and intimate, and never to be repeated. It had had breath on it that I had also tasted but never would again. It had heard things that were for no one else’s ears. Maybe it was time for it to go. But not yet.
I picked it up and dialled. She answered.
‘Shelagh, it’s Carter…before you hang up, I want to apologise. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I didn’t want it to happen, it was…wrong, stupid.’
‘Have you lost Hannah’s number? I can get it for you.’
‘No, I’m not interested in her, it was a mistake…’
‘Aw, come on, Carter, a fuck isn’t a mistake to a bloke. Surely, it’s just part of the landscape, somewhere else to plant a seed, or at least bounce one off the condom?’
‘Can we have coffee, talk, let me try to…’
‘No, Carter, we can’t. Now, I have a date, why don’t you call me in say…oh, I don’t know…about ten years?’
The line went dead.
I let the next two days pass without challenges. I jogged, read, ate takeaway food, watched inane television and drank wine. Two days of procrastination.
CHAPTER 42
The next morning, I phoned the Alley Cat and told him it was time to reassemble the quartet. We agreed I would contact Alexander and Geraldine, and tell them I had new and important information. I would map the route and drive the bus and, hopefully, we wo
uld reach the same destination.
I again had the phone to my ear. ‘Geraldine, it’s Carter. I need to discuss two matters with you. First, I think you should meet Gloria and Virginia. They want to meet you.’ I breathed deeply, nervously.
‘You told them…I thought you weren’t going to tell them until…’ Her voice trailed away.
‘I felt it was the right thing. I believe you should meet them. I’m sure it’s what Maxine would want. It can be anywhere you like, and be as short or as long as you want. It’s your call but please know I’m doing this with the best of intentions. I hope you’re not angry with me.’
‘The second thing?
‘I want you and Alexander to come here again. There’s some other information about the painting that wasn’t revealed the other night.’
‘Well, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? When?’
‘As soon as you’re both available, but I’d hoped it would be in the next few days. I’ll phone Alexander now, and ask him to call you and agree on a time.’
‘You’re not planning to tell them, are you? It’s not up to you, Carter…you can’t just…’
‘No, you have my word that I won’t, that’s entirely up to you; please believe me. I told Gloria and Virginia, but that’s different. They’re now like my family but Alexander is your family. And, likewise, I won’t breathe a word to Leonard.’
I waited through a lengthy pause.
‘All right. Let’s do the painting this week and leave the other meeting until next week.’
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