Double Bind

by Karen Bell

  It was evident that Robert’s death had taken its toll on both of them. She thought they’d both aged ten years in the space of a few months and she was more than a little self conscious that she herself had a glow from her holiday and from her generally elevated spirit that was hard to miss.

  She had taken the opportunity to drop by, knowing full well that she would be out for the next two nights in a row, and unavailable if they were to call. Before heading home, she made an arrangement to have Sunday lunch with them after church. Although sitting through a long service was a duty she could do without, Mila knew how much it would mean to them if she came, and their delight when she suggested it was reward enough.

  The rest of the afternoon and early evening flew by as Mila prepared for ‘getting a bite to eat’ with Sergeant Ryan. This is not a date, she kept reminding herself. You’ve only been widowed for a couple of weeks and just one week ago you could never even have imagined yourself falling for another man.

  Maybe Sergeant Ryan was just being gracious or pragmatic. Maybe he’d just thought: she’s got to eat, I’ve got to eat, she’s got Jack and it would be rude not to suggest it. Mila scolded herself for being overly analytical and tried not to visualise any form of potential physical intimacy because even fleeting thoughts sent her into a tailspin of anxiety.

  Jack had finally left his post and followed Mila upstairs where he lay down at the foot of her bed and went to sleep. Interesting. At least now I gather you don’t sleep in bed with your master. She focused on what to wear: black dress or off white. How much make up: a little, a lot or somewhere in between; and how to wear her hair – up or out. If this isn’t a date, then what am I supposed to wear, jeans?

  Mila had seen the way Holly and her friends dressed for even the most casual of get-togethers. They even wore heels to uni for goodness sake. Why, couldn’t Holly be at home instead of gallivanting on a tropical island somewhere? Mila could have called Adie but she wasn’t yet ready to share this development, since it would necessitate unravelling the whole story of the break-in.

  Mila had experience with two kinds of make-up – nothing, which was how Robert wanted her to be seen in public and the other kind that he demanded for the ritual weekly role-plays – plastered with the blackest eyeliner and the reddest lips.

  Thankfully Adie had insisted on conducting a make-up master class for Mila while on the cruise, so now squinting at a picture on her phone, taken of the two of them one night on board, she did her best to copy the soft, smoky eye make-up, trying not to mess up the eyeliner and mascara that somehow made her look sultry and mysterious instead of awkward and nervous. In the end she opted to wear her hair loose. It seemed to best complement the dress she had pinched from Holly’s wardrobe. It was a fitted style that was sleeveless but not low cut. Mila thought the off white colour showed off her tan but didn’t look formal as a black dress might. Inspecting herself critically in the mirror, she tried to tame a couple of unruly tendrils and finished with a little natural lip-gloss. It felt altogether strange for her to be so self-aware and she tried to identify the face that was looking back at her.

  Shoes were a problem as Holly’s feet were two sizes bigger than Mila’s, leaving her with no choice but to wear either ballet slippers which looked wrong, or a pair of perilously high black stiletto court shoes from the Discipline and Bondage come-fuck-me collection. The second she put on the heels, Mila felt agitated and immediately kicked them off.

  What was she going to do she wondered in a panic? Then it came to her as though channelled directly from her mother and Mila went to the bottom of her wardrobe to retrieve an old suitcase. She knew exactly where to find them beneath the carefully folded clothes. She had loved to see her mother dressed up in those shoes and Mila had paraded in them often enough as a child. They were high and yet classic with a sling back. Mila had adored them as a child because they were essentially clear plastic over the front of the foot, with the finest diamantes running over the instep and around the sling back, giving the effect of a bare foot adorned with a line of jewels. She slipped them on and stood in front of the mirror. Instead of feeling melancholy at the thought of her mother, Mila felt instantly at peace.

  She looked at her watch with five minutes to spare. Jack suddenly pricked up his ears and went charging from the room as fast as could be expected for an octogenarian. Mila heard his claws on the timber as he half ran, half slid down the staircase, skidding to a halt at the front door. She expected to hear the bell but it was a full five minutes before it finally rang.

  Opening the door, and seeing his form silhouetted in the streetlight, Mila’s heart skipped a beat. He looked like he might lean in, to greet her with a kiss on the cheek but Jack was up and between them, the second his master’s foot passed the threshold. Good old Jack, helping to make light of an awkward moment.

  Instead, Ryan reached across and gave Mila the big bear hug that may have been meant for the dog then catching himself, held her at arm’s length and looked at her from top to toe. He appeared lost for words, but his expression said it all. Rather than feeling anxious, Mila enjoyed the warm, fuzzy, feeling it gave her, taking the edge off her nerves.

  Sergeant Blake in civilian clothing was just as appealing as the man in uniform and Mila was relieved that he’d chosen a fitted dress shirt and well tailored pants, so she didn’t feel over-dressed by comparison.

  ‘So are you both hungry?’ he asked.

  ‘I am’ replied Mila ‘and Jack’s had nothing all day.’ It wasn’t quite the truth but Mila didn’t think a dry biscuit or two counted.

  ‘Great, because it’s his favourite restaurant too.’ Ryan answered, ushering Mila out of the house before him.

  Still with the jokes. Mila wondered what Sergeant Blake was up to. She knew dogs weren’t allowed in restaurants and she fully expected Jack to be dropped home but as they headed down Oxford St drawing closer to Darlinghurst, she became really intrigued.

  They pulled up, not at the front, but the back of a restaurant and Mila waited for Ryan to come around and open her door. She didn’t want to make the same mistake as she had earlier when she’d gone to get in, trying to open it for herself.

  She was still mystified as the sergeant folded forward the seat of the little two-door car for Jack to climb out. The dog was no stranger to this place. He had been hard pressed to contain his excitement for the last ten minutes. It was only the pattern of his breathing and the small noises in his throat that had given him away. He knew better than to try barking in the car.

  Entering the small courtyard, they were met by some commotion. A couple, who looked to be in their early seventies came rushing to greet them. Their faces and features were round, classically European in shape and Mediterranean in complexion and the sparkle of their eyes spoke of big families, open doors and a sense of inclusion that made Mila warm to them instantly.

  ‘Ah, it’s been too long, exclaimed the wife, reaching up to take hold of Ryan’s face before planting kisses on both cheeks.’

  ‘It’s been two weeks Mama,’ he laughed, while vigorously shaking her husband’s hand before gathering him into a familiar hug. Jack was dancing about like a puppy.

  ‘Mila, I’d like to introduce you to my other family. This is Irina and Mihael Banovic or Mama and Papa as they like me to call them.’

  Mila put out her hand but was instead gathered into warm embrace by first one, and then the other.

  ‘She is very beautiful,’ commented Mihael to Ryan ‘and familiar,’ he added looking at her more closely. ‘You’ve visited to our restaurant before, no?’

  ‘Never,’ answered Mila. She was pretty sure she’d never been to any restaurant in Sydney before. Robert didn’t believe in wasting money on eating out. He also scoffed at her attempts to cook Russian food at home. ‘Peasant food’ was how he described it, despite the fact that Mila’s family had been well educated and relatively well off.

  ‘Are you sure,’ he persisted. ‘Irina, doesn’t she look familiar?’


  ‘I don’t know. Every pretty girl looks familiar to you,’ she added dismissively. ‘But I tell you one thing, she’s a good soul. I can see it in the eyes.’ Mila blushed as Irina continued, ‘You know Mila means ‘kind’ in Russian.’ Then smiling to Mila, ‘I think you look like your name.’

  ‘Mila’s originally from the Ukraine Mama, but she speaks Russian. You and Papa speak Russian too don’t you?’

  ‘Of course, and we love to practice,’ she answered, addressing Mila fluently in her mother tongue. ‘Mihael and I came from very similar backgrounds. Our grandparents escaped south from the Ukraine in the pogroms of 1905.’

  It was the first Russian Mila had heard in over two years and she felt like bursting into tears, but she was able to keep it together as they were led into the restaurant, leaving Jack out the back of the kitchen with the biggest bowl of barbequed meat Mila had ever seen.

  ‘Do we get fed as well as he does?’ she asked with wide eyes.

  ‘Better…definitely better,’ he laughed.

  The restaurant was alive with conversation and music. Mila couldn’t believe how many people could afford to eat out on a Monday night but a cosy table had been reserved for the two of them in the garden courtyard where they were in fact under the stars. Along the wall was a mural typical of the Dubrovnik coastline and overhead a pergola dripping with grapevines. The place was unpretentious and utterly charming and Mila felt transported in time and place.

  Standing over a huge flaming grill in the front window were two chefs barbequing all kinds of meat and seafood. The aroma of charcoal and garlic made Mila’s stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was looking forward to this.

  They were barely seated when a waiter arrived at their table, beaming at Ryan as though the two shared a great secret. Mila wondered whether there had been a passing parade of women seated with him at this very table over the years.

  ‘May I offer you the wine menu or maybe the lady would like an aperitif?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Ryan answered. ‘Maybe the lady would like to select the wine tonight. Mila do you have a preference or would you like something else like a cocktail?’ Ryan smiled benignly, evidently having no clue as to the pandemonium he had just unleashed within Mila’s fragile psyche. She knew nothing at all about wine let alone ever been consulted on such matters.

  ‘No no, you choose. I’ll only have half a glass anyway.’

  ‘Let’s decide what we’re eating then before we commit to red or white.’

  An extensive menu was supplemented with additional blackboard specials that Irina brought and placed on a chair before them. Sensing that Mila was overwhelmed by the array, Ryan suggested they order an entrée of fettuccini marinara followed by a mixed grill platter for two with the house salads. That way she could try a little of everything.

  Mila took mental note of the wine selection for first course, which was a Semillon Sauvignon Blanc from the Margaret River in Western Australia that Ryan thought she might enjoy. She would have to do some research before their next date -if there was a next date of course. Irina stayed and chatted with them both, she and Mila swapping seamlessly from English to Russian when they wanted to say something for each other’s ears only.

  ‘Hey, unfair advantage,’ Ryan complained, as if wondering what secrets were being given away.

  Mila asked intentionally in English ‘So, does the Sergeant always select the pasta and the mixed grill when he brings a girl here for the first time?’

  Ryan feigned injury by clutching his chest. ‘Oh, that’s a low blow. Mama, you have to defend me here.’

  ‘Actually for years we’ve been asking him to bring company here - we need the business, but you are the first one he’s brought to us since his wife. No I’m sorry, that’s not quite true. He has brought that pretty constable for take away lunch once or twice but that doesn’t count. She’s business, not pleasure.’

  ‘How much does extra does he pay you to say that?’ Mila laughed.

  ‘He has paid us many times over, but that’s another story. I will come back between courses and tell you.’

  ‘She will too,’ Ryan added after she’d left, ‘and you’ll wish you hadn’t been quite so charming.’

  The evening was balmy and the wine was well chilled. It had a fruitiness that she liked immediately followed by a smoothness that lingered on her tongue. It was too easy to drink and the waiter hovered in the vicinity, refilling their glasses each time they got low.

  The conversation flowed easily and Mila caught herself alternately laughing and blushing as he looked directly into her eyes while they exchanged childhood stories and tried to slurp creamy pasta without flicking sauce over themselves and each other. Mila was full after the first course and was grateful when Irina and Mihael came and sat to talk. The restaurant was beginning to empty out so the pressure was off.

  Mihael shared a colourful account about how they’d met Ryan when he first came to Sydney, fresh off the farm at the age of eighteen. As the tale unfolded, Irina interrupted Mihael at will, scolding him when he missed important details and elaborating where she felt necessary.

  ‘So picture, it’s 1996, and this fresh-faced boy is staying in a very seedy place in Kings Cross just down the road from here,’ Mihael began.

  ‘Back then, the red light district was not like today, the prostitutes were on the street, and the sailors would come in to port nearly every other week.’ Irina interjected as though it was of vital importance to the story.

  ‘Because of his size, Ryan immediately got work as a bouncer,’ Mihael continued.

  ‘You should have seen him then…’ said Irina pinching his cheeks, ‘he was so handsome but so…so…naïve,’ she exclaimed, delighted to have found the word, ‘that he made friends with everyone. He had no radar for good or bad or even criminal.’

  ‘Can I continue?’ asked Mihael. ‘Then one day, he happens to walk into our restaurant for a soup and we get to talking, I don’t remember about what. He tastes Irina’s pork and bean soup and that’s it, he’s back every day, our new best friend.’

  ‘That soup is a meal,’ chimed in Ryan earnestly. ‘Mila will have to try it next time.’

  Her heart sang to hear him say the words. The promise of another night like this one? It was an eternity since she’d felt this completely at home.

  ‘Then, about a month later, a couple of his ‘friends’ from work invite him to go for a walk together. First they walk him into one restaurant where these thugs go up to the owner and demand money. You know in exchange for not making trouble. Every week they do this, for maybe ten years but it’s Ryan’s first time. Then they go into another.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Mila asked, by now completely engrossed in the story.

  ‘Well at first nothing,’ answered Ryan. ‘There I was, a young kid from the country, flanked by two pretty tough characters; both have clearly done time. They’re wearing suits but you know that under the collar they’re sporting neck tats and most likely knives or possibly even a firearm. I’d seen them throw a punch or two outside the club and I wasn’t about to take them on.’

  ‘Then they come in here and I practically see steam coming from his ears!’ Mihael had drawn the four of them into a tight circle as he recounted the incident. He was really warming to the story. ‘So they come up to me, these two thugs in front and Ryan behind, and demand three hundred dollars.’

  Irina cut in again: ‘Three hundred. Can you believe it?’ Every week and back then, that’s not petty cash; it’s at least a full day’s takings. Those thieves!’ she spat, as though reliving the moment.

  ‘Hush, you’re spoiling my story.’ Mihael gave her a look of affectionate exasperation and continued. ‘So I see Ryan, I see a look come across his face and I think ‘Oh no, here’s trouble. And he just goes crazy – how you call it? ‘Ballistic’. He’s just king hits the first one – Lights Out, Pow, and then he grabs the second one in a head lock and they’re wrestling on the floor and furn
iture’s flying and Irina’s screaming and I’m calling the police. By the time the cops get here he’s cleaned the floor with them. So you know what the police say? They say ‘Son, we admire your style but these guys don’t act alone. From now on I think it’s you that’s gonna need protection. What’s say we get you signed up for the Force because there’s no other way you’re gonna last a week more on these streets.’

  Telling the story, Mihael was by then was shrieking with laughter and banging his fists on the table and the whole restaurant had turned to see what in hell was going on. Ryan was laughing hard and it was contagious.

  ‘So in the end he takes their advice. He leaves his boarding house and he comes to stay with us instead.’

  ‘I have moved out since then,’ added Ryan with a reassuring grin.

  ‘He’s a very special man there,’ said Irina, ‘one in a million.’

  ‘Now you know why I brought you here,’ he laughed, and Mila noticed that he was just a little embarrassed by the fuss.

  ‘So, now we leave you two to your dinner.’ Irina stood, suddenly conscious that they’d been dominating the conversation.

  Mila’s jaw dropped when she saw the enormous platter of barbequed meats and salads coming towards them. She was already happily full from the pasta and light headed from the wine, which the waiter kept surreptitiously refilling. They cancelled the bottle of Merlot that Ryan had ordered to go with the main course when he realised that he would be drinking it alone. Mila hoped that the Sergeant had an appetite to match his build or Jack was going to have a ‘doggy bag’ to end all doggy bags.

  If Mila had been concerned that she would have nothing to contribute to the conversation given her eighteen years of no career, no travel, and no discussable history, she needn’t have worried. Ryan had a way of drawing out conversation about life, the universe and everything. Equally when it began edging towards darker terrain and Mila felt her walls starting to go up, Ryan seemed to sense it, and seamlessly diverted the course of the conversation back to the light-hearted with that dry sense of humour to which Mila was becoming accustomed.