by Hildy Fox
Lahra's eyes burst open, expecting to find a wall of water crashing in on her from the cinema screen, but all she saw was her bedroom window, and the rain that made dancing patterns across it from the other side. The rain sounded as heavy as the grey clouds outside looked.
The photograph of her parents sat silently by her bed, forever frozen in the moment before they kissed. Lahra looked at it for a long time as she adjusted from the dream world to the waking world. She pulled the blanket tightly around her, taking comfort in its softness and warmth.
It was nine o'clock. She hadn't meant to sleep this long, but when she had finally got to bed last night she had been exhausted. After finally convincing Kurt that she was alright and that there was no need for him to drive her home, she'd found Wally and Malcolm. They went back to the Town Hall and found Mayor Bronwyn Boyle, who seemed quite distressed by the invasion of Riverbank by this procession of giant machines. She was aware that some construction equipment would be active for a time, but she'd had no idea that there'd be this many.
However, the night had served its purpose. Mayor Boyle had conceded that there was no doubt in the minds of the council that there was sufficient evidence to consider seeking intervention in the Miracle Cinema redevelopment. When Lahra had pressed her on her selection of the word 'consider', she went suddenly apologetic. The fact of the matter, she had said, was that Stone Rowbottom & Partners were legally entitled to start demolition in the morning. Even with the help of a couple of lawyers who had rallied to the cause, and even allowing for some bending of the rules of due legal process, requesting an injunction couldn't happen overnight. Only the MP's blessing could speed things up, but she couldn't vouch for his position on the matter. They would just have to wait and hope for the quickest possible response. Beyond that, there was nothing they could do.
Then the camera crew finally caught up with them. A nice but very officious reporter introduced herself and requested short interviews with each of them. The lights came on, blinding Lahra's already tired eyes, and she complied.
The light now was anything but blinding. The sun was well buried beneath the thick, rain-filled clouds, and only a dull half-light filtered through. As Mayor Boyle had explained, there was nothing any of them could do, and right now that suited Lahra just fine. She closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
*
At midday, the rain was falling even harder than it had that morning.
Lahra stood at the verandah door sipping a cup of tea, staring out at the bleakness. Marcus’s house was a blur on the opposite hill, the river a black strip between them. The sound of the rain on the walls and windows was all at once soothing and maddening. She knew there was nothing she could do, but it didn't stop her from wanting to do something. She was trapped here, waiting, with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her time. Thoughts of Marcus siphoning petrol out of his tank. Thoughts of Marcus swimming naked in the river. Thoughts of Marcus with a fiery reflection in his eyes as he drew closer to kiss her. All thoughts which she'd rather not have.
She moved into the living room where the fire, no longer a significant memory of several nights before, was simply a fire, doing a fine job of warming things. Her eyes went to the couch. Not the couch on which Marcus had sat sipping his wine. But the couch on which boxes full of books and videos had sat. Boxes that hadn't been touched since the day she'd arrived here. In an instant, she made up her mind to set about building a new row of shelves. There was wood in the storeroom, and all the tools she would need. Yes, she would build shelves. Perhaps by doing that she could keep the thoughts that were trying invade her mind at bay a little longer. Perhaps long enough to keep them away forever.
No sooner had she gathered the necessary equipment to do the job than did the phone ring. She dropped everything on the spot and ran to the kitchen to answer it.
"Hello?" she said breathlessly.
"Doc, it's me. How are you?"
"Good, I'm good. What is it?" Lahra had no patience for small talk this morning. She just wanted to know if anything was happening, anything that might stop her from sitting around waiting to hear if anything was happening.
"Good news. Somebody up there must be on our side, because they can't start work in the rain. It's been coming down pretty heavy since about midnight, and it doesn't look like stopping any time in the near future. Forecast says it could last a couple more days."
"That's great!" Lahra said, genuinely enthused. "That means we'll have time to get a court order."
"Yeah, maybe." Wally sounded anything but convinced. "I spoke to Malcolm, and he's heard that the MP's office is really sitting on the fence on this one. The council along with Malcolm's lawyer friends are doing everything they can to provoke some action, but without the MP, their job is three times as hard."
"But what about the petitions... the meeting?"
"They're aware of all that, and we've still got petitions in circulation. They're just dubious about getting their hands dirty in court."
"Unbelievable," Lahra said, shaking her head.
"So is it wet enough up there for you?" Wally asked, changing the tone of the conversation.
"It's just fine. And from what you've told me, it can stay just as wet as it likes. I've got a raging fireplace and a whole set of bookshelves to build, so I'll be comfortable for as long as it takes."
"I guess if he isn't pulling down the cinema, that Marcus Dean would be free to come over and give you a hand if you needed it."
Lahra was shocked at the suggestion. Her cheeks burned. "Why do I get the feeling that your imagination has been working overtime? Maybe it's all this damp weather affecting your old bones."
Wally laughed. "Come now, Doc. I saw the way the two of you were looking at each other. I know you better than you think I do."
"Well even if there is anything in what you say, Wally, it's not something I'm wasting any time thinking about, so I suggest you don't waste any of your time either." Lahra's fingers had started becoming entangled with the phone cord.
"Okay, Doc. Whatever you say. If you do need anything, though, give me a call."
"Don't worry, I will. Same to you."
"Okay. I'll talk to you when one of us hears something."
They traded farewells, and then Lahra was alone with the sound of the rain once more.
Had it been so obvious the way she had looked at Marcus? If Wally had noticed, then surely the whole town had seen. And the TV camera. Curse Marcus for standing up there and praising her. She only called him up onto the stage as a pre-emptive strike. She knew that the last thing he'd have expected was an invitation to tell his side of the story. But instead he had turned the situation around on her yet again, commanding the attention of hundreds of witnesses while she had just stood there staring like a stupid, lovestruck girl. Why couldn't she have just let it go? Why didn't she just ignore his conspicuous silence, or at least be thankful for it?
She put her hands to her cheeks and felt their heat. She ran to the living room, flung herself on the couch, and buried her head beneath a cushion. She hated having such little control over herself. She hated the blushing, the trembling, the racing heart, and now most of all she hated that somebody else had seen it written in her eyes. Where she had planned tirelessly for several days to undo Marcus’s plans, he had successfully robbed her of her self control with only the barest of efforts.
Through bleary eyes Lahra regarded the hammer and nails on the floor. The way she felt it was best if she didn't attempt to use them for some time, until she felt in control enough to avoid doing herself some serious damage.
*
The day passed surprisingly quickly. Lahra had been right when she supposed that doing something constructive, in this case literally, would free her mind of unwanted thought. Having commandeered a section of the wall as her target, she had measured, cut and mounted six tiers of shelving that perfectly matched the existing shelves on the feature wall. By the time she'd begun stacking books and movies on them, nob
ody would have guessed that the shelves hadn't been there since the day the house was built.
The rain was unrelenting. There hadn't been a break in the clouds all day, and it had started to grow very dark by four o'clock. It was almost as if the entire house was under water, Lahra thought whenever she looked out a window. As if any moment now the house would float free of its foundations and be swept away.
At six she switched the television on, aware that if the camera crew from the town hall had compiled a story it would be on air tonight. Factions within her were debating the notion of her appearing on TV. A good story could do untold good for the Miracle Cinema cause. But the thought of seeing herself as everybody else had seen her with Marcus right there beside her made her want to hide under the nearest rock.
She half watched the broadcast as she sorted and rearranged books, and it wasn't long before the Miracle Cinema story indeed came on.
She barely heard the words of the reporter as she sat on the edge of the seat directly in front of the television to watch. All she could think about was whether there would be any footage of her with her emotions let loose across her face.
"The main force behind the movement to save the cinema from being turned into a state-of-the-art entertainment complex is Lahra Brook," the reporter was saying, "a lecturer in Film History at the city campus of Charlton University. Her message is clear." At this point, the image on the screen cut from Lahra on the stage to Lahra out in front of the Town Hall when she was being interviewed. "If we let developers do this to such an historically and culturally significant landmark as the Miracle Cinema without putting up a fight," her TV image said, "then we're paving the way to let them come in and do whatever they want to Riverbank and towns just like us. Before we know it, our home will be unrecognisable, irreversibly altered." The reporter appeared again now, standing in front of the darkened cinema. "The man behind the redevelopment project, Marcus Dean, has a somewhat different view." Now the vision cut to Marcus on the stage, addressing the crowd. "I'll ask you now not to feel animosity towards me," he was saying, "or any of the people who have found work through the redevelopment of the Miracle Cinema. None of us has a devious plan to destroy the past. All we're doing is getting on with our futures." Lahra held her breath, waiting for the camera to pan across to find her standing there with some awestruck expression on her face. But it didn't happen. The reporter began talking about the convoy of demolition machinery that they had filmed rolling into town. And the final word went to Wally, whom they had asked what it was like to be suddenly out of a job after nearly fifty years. "Who's out of a job? Apparently I get to be head urinal cleaner at the new entertainment complex. Now there's a career move!"
Lahra smiled at Wally's comment as the news anchor appeared and began the next story.
A heavy sigh of relief rose from inside her like a giant air bubble from the sea floor. She looked absolutely terrible on screen, what with the ravages of the wind and the rain, but she could not have hoped for a better showing. If Marcus was sitting at home watching the news, he would have seen no evidence of his effect on her. Nothing that he could gloat over.
Lahra reached for the pile of books she'd been stacking and the phone rang. She ran to the kitchen to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Well, how does it feel to be a television star?" Marcus said dryly on the other end.
"I don't know. You tell me." What on earth did he mean to achieve by calling her now, Lahra wondered. She pictured him sitting at home in his bathrobe and slippers, feet up on an ottoman, smug smile on his face.
"I suppose you heard about the delay in construction."
"I think you mean deconstruction. Yes, I did."
"I didn't realise you'd got Mother Nature to sign one of your petitions."
Lahra didn't respond. If there was a point to Marcus calling her at her home at night she wished he'd just hurry up and get to it. As far as she was concerned, they had said all there was to be said last night. "Where did you get my number?"
"You've got it written on your kitchen phone." Lahra looked at the phone and saw the number scrawled there in her father's handwriting. He'd written it up for her and Janie's benefit.
"Marcus, I really don't think we have very much to say to each other at the moment, so if you do have something to say, please just say it." A nervous knot had formed in her stomach, that familiar first sign that Marcus was beginning to erode her control.
"I just wanted to tell you that I meant what I said last night about you being proud. You should be. I know that we're generals of opposing armies, but that doesn't mean that I can't admire my adversary. Particularly one as beautiful as you."
The knot tripled in size in the space of a heartbeat. These weren't the words that she needed to hear. These weren't the things that would make her life easier. She grimaced and closed her eyes. "Marcus, you can't say things like that. You can't-"
She was interrupted by a loud banging on the front door. Half of her wondered who it could be, but the other half was thankful for not having to think up an excuse to end the conversation.
"I... I have to go, Marcus. There's somebody at the door. Please don't call again."
"Lahra, wait-"
She hung up, and turned to look out of the water-rippled window to the small light that burned on the opposite hill. The banging on the door sounded again, more insistently. She tried to think who it could be at this hour in this rain, but drew a blank. It wasn't like Wally to drop over unannounced.
She went to the door and opened it just wide enough to see a wet, dark figure standing there.
"Kurt," she said in half surprise, half despondency. "What are you doing here?"
"Mind if I come in? It's a little wet out." Lahra's first instinct was to say yes, she did mind him coming in. But instead she opened the door and ushered him in, directing him toward the fire.
"Place still looks good," Kurt announced as he shrugged off his wet jacket and laid it near the hearth. "Even better than I remember it."
Lahra stood with the couch between her and her visitor. "Would you like a drink?"
"Yeah, sure. Beer?"
"No, sorry."
"Oh. Well don't worry. I'm just passing through, anyway. Phew, this fire's good."
"What are you doing up here?" Lahra wanted to relax, but there was something in Kurt's manner that made her uneasy. Even more so than usual.
"Mum was afraid that there might be some flooding, with all this rain. So I told her I'd drive up and check the rivers, see if they were lookin' bad. The water's pretty high, but I doubt if the rain will keep up like this for too much longer. At least you're nice and safe up here! But when you live down in the valley like us, you can't be too careful." He laughed a nervous laugh, and shifted restlessly on his feet. Lahra suddenly found herself searching for excuses to get rid of him. There was something in the sidewards way he looked at her that set off warning bells inside her.
"You've actually caught me at a really bad time," she said, adjusting her glasses. "I was just about to get ready to go and have dinner with Wally and Malcolm McGuire." Kurt nodded in understanding. "You should have called. We could have arranged something."
"Yeah, well, you know. I was just in the area..." Kurt began moving around the couch towards her. "Just thought I'd drop in to check up on you. You were a bit shook up last night." Kurt swaggered closer, and the muscles in Lahra's legs tightened involuntarily. "You know, ever since I bumped into you at the shops the other day I've been thinking about you a lot." He was very close to her now, but she didn't back away. She didn't dare show any signs of vulnerability that might signal that she was now feeling quite afraid of him. He looked at her the way she imagined a farmer might look at a prize cow before making an offer for it. "You're even better looking than you were when we were going out together."
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that we were going out together. A couple of dates."
"You're not like the other women around here, Lahra." Kurt's hand
reached out and stroked Lahra's cheek. "You're different. More... oh, I dunno. I just wanted you to know that I haven't forgotten you. And if you need some company while you're here in town, you know who to call." A thin-lipped smile stretched across his face. "We're all grown up now, so maybe we can have a little grown up fun together."
"I'm really going to be late," she managed to say. She hoped she looked more convincing than she sounded. "Why don't we arrange to get together after the whole Miracle Cinema thing is sorted out? Perhaps lunch or something."
Kurt's eyes travelled down from her eyes to her lips, and lower still. They finally came back up, and he took a step backwards. He didn't say anything. He just smiled and watched her as he moved away and bent down to pick up his jacket.
"Lunch. Okay," he said at last. "We can catch up properly. Celebrate your victory over that Marcus Dean guy." The flash of suspicion in Kurt's eyes was not lost on Lahra. "I'll be just as glad as you to see the back of him." Not just suspicion, either. Embers of hatred glowed there too. "Hope you have a nice dinner. Say hello to Wally for me."
"I will," she said, feigning a smile and moving to the door. "Say hello to your mother."
Lahra opened the door and the sound of the pouring rain invaded the room. Kurt hesitated in the doorway, straightening his jacket. "Talk to you soon then."
"Okay. Talk to you soon."
He left, and Lahra closed and bolted the door so quickly that she feared she might have clipped his heels.
What was wrong with her? Why was she feeling so highly strung over a simple visit from someone she'd known for years? She had no real reason to feel so threatened by Kurt. He was just a guy from the country who had taken a shine to her in high school and thought he was still in with a chance. He wasn't a rapist, or a murderer. As far as she knew.