'I've thought about him quite a bit since then. How he always used to give me a book voucher for my birthday — an old-fashioned gift, in a way. And how very proud he was that you ended up at the university. He had an amateur love of scholarship, and that's old-fashioned too, I guess.' They talked of the service briefly, though Theo remembered the grounds more clearly.
'What sort of plaque are you getting?' he asked.
'The wording you mean?' said Stella.
'No, the actual plaque. There were some cheap and nasty ones. Brass and marble last well and they look so much better.'
'I think I chose granite,' she said. 'Not the cheap stuff anyway.'
'What's the difference between granite and marble?'
'I've no idea,' she said.
'Odd, isn't it. That's exactly the sort of thing Norman knew all about.'
'Anyway,' said Stella, 'I just wanted to thank you.'
'Sure.'
'Melanie tells me that you've met someone through work — that woman in the custody case you've been writing about. She seems to have had a real time of it. No doubt appreciates your support. I hope it works out for you, Theo.' It was distancing, the use of his name. Close people rarely use names.
'Likewise,' he said. 'I thought James seemed an all right guy, but I'm not so sure about Melanie's architect.' Better not to have said that. Stella told him things he didn't know about Sellus: how he came home from his office to find his wife dead on the kitchen floor and his two infant daughters with all the cupboard doors open and stuff everywhere. She became quite animated while recounting the tragedy, but then had not much more to say.
'Well, I'd better let you get back to the job. All busy in the madhouse as usual I suppose.'
'Pretty much,' said Theo.
'Okay then, bye.'
Theo knew that, with the phone replaced, Stella would still be standing by it. She always did. No matter that he'd never seen the inside of the house she now lived in, had no vision of the physical detail around her. She would be standing there, with one hand to her hair, as if fixing in her mind what was important from the conversation. That was Melanie, she used to say, or that was Dad, or Nicholas, Diane, or whoever, and go on to give a synopsis of what had been said. It didn't matter if Theo had been in sight, even in earshot. He might hear her from the kitchen, or his study down the hall, or turned in his chair from the television. It was always the same, and such habits aren't cast off when a partner is changed. She would be standing there with the phone, her hand to her short hair, and lawyer James would perhaps be hearing the summation of her conversation with Theo. Theo had become one of the them, not the us. The removal of familiarity bears so close a resemblance to the removal of love, that the feelings are sometimes indistinguishable.
27
The Family Court granted a stay in execution of the warrant in the second week of June, pending a rehearing, and Penny's exile at Drybread was over. She rang from Alexandra to give Theo the news after talking to Zack Heywood. 'That's bloody great, Penny,' he said. 'Jesus, what a relief it must be. What happens now?'
'The hearing's set down for the eighteenth of next month in Christchurch, and Erskine's coming out. We'll make a joint submission stating we've come to agreement regarding custody, access, the whole works.'
'Will you still have to go back to the States?'
'Probably. Just for the court there. It all starts and ends with the Californian court. But hey, I'm not the mad bitch on the run any more, and a favourable review here might help over there. I can visit Mum, I'm not tied to this place, I can give Ben some sort of decent life.'
'Are you coming up? Can I see you?' Theo asked. Penny said she was going to wait a few more days at the bach, finish there and travel up closer to the court date. There was a lot of media interest and she didn't want to have to cope with all that until she had to. 'It's my big story, isn't it,' Theo said. 'I can be in court, though Zack reckons you can only name parties at the judge's discretion.'
It should be the right ending, and the pay-off for the paper, but Penny, Zack and Theo all knew it was best that both his private and professional connection be played down. No extra guy to complicate matters for the judge; no triangle to give the story even more newsworthy angles; no obvious embarrassment for Erskine that might threaten his co-operation. And what was their relationship anyway? What was the basis of their somewhat uneasy move towards each other, apart from a mutual feeling of isolation and need, and the urge of Theo's cock.
'Zack can keep you up with everything,' Penny said. 'I'm really looking forward to seeing you of course, but everything's pretty hectic. As soon as Erskine arrives, we'll have a final talk through things before the court appearance.' Theo found it hard to imagine Erskine at Drybread: a well-dressed, well-fleshed Yank on the old church pew at the back door, looking up to the long-drop, or awkward on the worn sofa in the combined kitchen and sitting room.
'He'll come down there?'
'No,' said Penny. 'We'll come up to Christchurch closer to the hearing.'
Ben would see his parents together for the first time in a long while. Despite everything, Theo found that thought surprisingly positive. The boy was the one most at risk, and not aware of it, least able to influence an outcome. His image came up in Theo's mind with surprising ease: the dark hair with the gloss of childhood, the smooth, trusting face unmarked by life, the utter relaxation of limbs when in repose.
And the parson had been called off. No need for domestic espionage now. He would have submitted a hefty fees claim to his American client. Maybe one of the items was for recompense because of a line of duty scuffle in a darkened Christchurch carpark. Another may have been for damage to his shoes in the coal shaft at Mount Somers.
The parson would close a file on Penny and Theo, and take a professional interest in the less high-profile troubles of some other poor bastards.
Theo heard nothing from Penny, or Zack, before the eighteenth, but he made the necessary application to the court to attend as an accredited journalist.
The morning of the hearing was a brooding one of low, rolling cloud and occasional drifts of fine rain. The city was nondescript and hunkered down. At the entrance to the court Theo saw a television crew that had been denied permission to film inside, and was waiting for shots of the Maine-Kings and comments as well. The frontperson was a young woman wearing an ankle-length blue coat embroidered with flowers; the two others were males in jeans and jackets. The lawyers they stalked were uniform in dark, well-cut suits. Such antithesis between media and the law is a conscious assertion on both sides.
Theo had to sign in, show photo ID, and was given a lapel sticker that had 'Media' written on it in green felt pen. The surroundings and proceedings were less formal than other courts he'd experienced, but still subdued, and rather solemn. Zack was there to represent Penny, a second lawyer for Erskine, and a third specifically to act in Ben's best interests. Theo couldn't see the boy anywhere in court: some caregiver must have been entertaining him while his happiness was in the balance.
It was all over in not much more than half an hour. The judge had decided from the documents filed that he would order a discharge of the warrant, and support the Maine- Kings' application for a rehearing of custody matters in the Californian court. He wanted just to have them before him, to have the surety of their own statements and obvious agreement to reach a compromise. Penny, Erskine and the lawyers sat only a short distance from Theo, but they gave no sign of recognition, even when the judge commented on the high publicity caused by Penny's flight. It seemed to Theo that Erskine was sensitive to the American stereotype, and made special efforts to be attentive and obliging, yet without obsequiousness. Even his voice was consciously subdued, and he sat quite still for most of the time. It wasn't that he lacked confidence, but rather that he was resolved to do everything he could that would restore his son to him.
Theo had a strong sense of exclusion, and it arose from more than the formal grouping, or the judicious concealme
nt of his involvement with Penny. The causes of the estrangement between Penny and Erskine had nothing to do with Theo, yet sitting there in a public forum he felt both pity for their son, and an odd guilt for his own intention to supplant Ben's father. Who could know what it meant to a child to lose a parent from the family?
And Penny had rejoined the free population: she was no longer alone, no longer reliant on Theo as her only visitor and champion. Outside the courtroom, Theo watched the small group of journalists and television people gather round Penny, her husband and Zack, heard her answer clearly that she regretted the flight from California, heard Erskine tactfully admitting to some insensitivity, heard the three of them agree that Ben's welfare was the central issue. Yes, it was all a long way from Drybread and what had begun for Theo and Penny there. Back in society, she was open to the persuasion of convention once again.
28
Over the following two days, Theo heard nothing from Penny, so in the second evening he rang Zack at home. 'Do you know where Penny's staying here?' he said casually after some general chat. Zack thought he had a number in his briefcase, and excused himself to go in search of it. Theo could hear Zack's progress through the house, and the voice of one of his daughters asking how long he was going to be on the line.
'Not long, sweetheart,' he said, then, 'Okay, Theo, I've got it now.' His daughter was amused at something, and the warmth of her laughter made Theo aware of the silence in his own house.
When he rang Penny, she said she'd been going to call, that the hearing had gone well enough, though there were new developments. She said she wanted to see him, but her voice was subdued. 'I'd like that,' Theo said. 'Where are you staying?'
'We're in a hotel.'
'Why don't you bring Ben round here tomorrow, and I'll take some time off work?'
'Maybe it would be better if you and I meet somewhere in town,' she said.
He knew right then that something important had changed, some process of withdrawal had begun, although he didn't admit it to himself. He felt that slight constriction of breathing, that sense of colour leaching from the world, which come as premonitions of disappointment. 'Sure,' he said, 'sure, okay. You name a place.' The thing is to soak up punishment, isn't it, and stay standing.
The café was quite close to the Bridge of Remembrance.
They sat outside with glass baffles between them and the traffic, coats between them and the cool breeze, and awkwardness between them as individuals. It was city Penny who met him, not easy Penny of the sod house at Drybread. She wore make-up, medium-heel black shoes, her hair was loose almost to her shoulders. Her teeth were as white and perfect as ever, and for the first time in his experience she wore jewellery: a heavy gold chain, a large diamond solitaire, and beside it a plain gold band. It was city and winter Penny, but she still had the brown, country skin of Central Otago.
'I've decided to go back to California almost straight away,' she said. 'Judge Weallans says it's the best thing to do in terms of showing respect for the court there and a final outcome. He's going write a letter to the judge and give a summary of what happened here.'
The sense of intimacy can be lost so quickly and absolutely. It wasn't so much that they had kissed at Drybread, stroked each other, that she had smoothed sweat from Theo's face, taken his cock in her mouth, and he had tongued her nipples. It was more that each of them had been allowed to feel valued in the life of the other: slipped beneath the barrier with which individuals hold back the world. And here she was, telling him of her new plans, and in a way she hoped wouldn't be unduly ungrateful, or hurtful. No, she told him, it wasn't really a reconciliation, and she and Erskine would probably live apart. But Ben had to be safeguarded, have the opportunities he deserved.
'But Erskine agreed to give you money, plenty of money,' Theo said.
She said a child needed more than money, and that Erskine and she had to take greater responsibility. 'I can't just please myself, Theo,' she said.
'You worked all this out at Drybread?'
'Pretty much,' she said.
'I thought you were going to stay here, that we'd keep on seeing each other. Jesus, have you moved on.'
'I'm sorry. My life's been such a mess. I shouldn't have gone back to Drybread with Ben, but I had nowhere else. I went mad there, thinking about what I'd done, being cooped up and worrying about Ben, worrying about the court order. Raving mad some days. Sometimes you make a decision that tips you into a headlong slide which you can't seem to recover from. You just keep going down, down, past people, without making contact.'
'I thought we were making contact. I took it all seriously: took it to heart you could say.' The air was thinning, yielding less oxygen. Subtle changes in everything he could see gave a semblance of indifference.
'You were the only one I had. You were the only one I trusted. The only one who really helped.'
A Chinese girl at the next table was talking to her Chinese boyfriend about buying a present: evidently it was important that the gift be exchangeable. Her accent was completely New Zealand. This is how it is at a crisis point in life. Something is collapsing, roads to travel are being closed off, expectation is revealed as absurdity, and around you the world presses on regardless with talk of footwear sizes, the groin injury of a sports star, and the formation of a tsunami watch organisation by Grey Power in coastal communities. Misfortune is the corrective that teaches you your place in the world.
What was the point of dragging it out with Penny, forcing her to give some explanation for deciding her own life, to make an apology that wouldn't assuage his own hurt? He'd been there before, talking with Stella as their marriage foundered, and found no relief in it. Those sudden changes others make in their lives, as if something has been stretched too far, then snaps, can never be reversed. 'Well, I hope it works out for you,' he said.
'Don't be like that,' Penny said. Her face screwed up a little, as if the traffic noise had suddenly intensified, or the wind had blown grit into her eyes.
'I really do hope so. I know it must have been terrible when the custody thing went against you, and you had to come back home and hide out without friends, or much money, or anything. I just had this feeling that perhaps there was something for us, you know. We met in the middle of all that grimness, and yet it felt special.'
'I did too, but all the uncertainty, the things that were going wrong. Christ, I don't know. Maybe if we hadn't been at Drybread it would've been different, but there wasn't anywhere else. I'm not good with men, Theo, for reasons that don't matter now. It's not as easy for me as it is for other women.'
Although Penny still sat there, full size, he had a sense of her receding, losing the lustre which made her so different from the people who talked and walked around them. Ben was with his father he assumed, and she'd go back to them after talking to Theo.
'Anyway,' said Penny, 'I wanted to tell you this now, as soon as I got it straight myself. And I want us to talk again before I go. I think that's really important, because everything's happening quickly, racing ahead. I've got to get back, but I promise I'll ring soon.' The promise relieved her, relieved them both, of any need to kiss, or touch each other: any need to cope with the occasion as the final time they'd see each other. So she didn't touch him, but passed so close that Theo felt the faint disturbance she caused in the air.
He was to pass that café by the Bridge of Remembrance quite often: recognise precisely where they'd been sitting, recall the Chinese New Zealand girl talking of gifts, and Penny still with the tan from Drybread and dressed up for the winter city. That's how it is when you live in the same place for much of your life. Tableaux from the past form in school assembly halls, hospital corridors, concrete block motels, bus shelters and restaurants. He'd pass a two-storeyed house inhabited by strangers, and have in his mind for an instant the view from the top, east bedroom in which a colleague lay dying. Spring, and his eyes would drift from the decline within, to the massed, red rhododendron flowers that bordered the unmown l
awn, and the pulse of sunset beyond. He'd read of the desecration of a park monument, and be transported to a night tryst there so long ago that the girl's name was lost, and only the fragrance of her dark hair remained. In the backyard next to his own he saw always, when he glanced over, the sobbing and obscured figure of the fat woman who used to live there. She was struggling to peg a sheet up in the wind, and her rotund body was modelled loosely by the flapping fabric, just her gumboots visible beneath. He'd called out to ask if she was okay. She'd remained hidden, her rubber toes lifting, but after a pause to gain control of her voice she said, 'I'm at a loss, but thank you for your concern.' Such formality and such pain. The place you live in accumulates as a collage of experience, and the selection isn't always comforting.
When Theo got back to the office, Nicholas told him the editor wanted to see him. The editor wasn't a vain man, though he always took care to comb his thin hair evenly across his pate whenever he'd been outside. His office was large, but not impressive, strewn with books, folders and papers that he beat back from his desk with desperate energy. He told Theo that Anna was leaving to run a women's sports and fitness magazine, and that he wanted him to be chief reporter. The first piece of information wasn't a surprise. 'Don't pass it up this time, Theo,' the editor said. 'I promise you'll have time to do some feature stories that take your fancy. Okay? The work on the Maine-King custody thing — first rate. Absolutely first rate.'
It was a nice irony: a day earlier Theo would have accepted the job to provide additional security for Penny, Ben and himself. Maybe instead it would become a means of filling up his time.
'Take a day or two to think it over anyway, but keep it to yourself in the meantime,' said the editor. 'I think you're the man for the job. I really do. You've got a lot of support here, and I think you could pump up the administrative side of the position.'
Drybread: A Novel Page 19