Playing Friends

by Marilyn Duckworth

  'I'm going to the dairy for some chocolate. Do you want anything?' I asked first Una and then Sheree, who was ironing a wide purple shirt on the floor.

  'If you scorch my carpet I'll kill you,' Una lifted her head to say.

  'Our carpet,' I corrected, catching her irritable mood.

  'So, do you? Want anything?'

  'No thanks. Well, maybe a winning Lotto ticket.'

  I grabbed my handbag and was nearly down the stairs before I changed my mind about chocolate and folded up on one of the steps, thinking. I cupped my chin in my hands and listened to the silence of the building. To my left the door to Kevin's floor was only inches away and if I sat for long enough he might appear, glance up and notice me. Of course I could go and knock on his door, but I wouldn't. That would be pathetic. He could have phoned.

  Sitting there, I was reminded of an occasion when I waited at a city council tram stop for a schoolfriend: we'd planned to spend an afternoon at the fairground of the Winter Show. The friend hadn't turned up but I sat on, too shamed to go home and tell Mother that I was unloved and abandoned. I'd sat in the shelter all afternoon while tram after tram deposited passengers who dispersed busily to go about their lives while I just slumped there, reading the graffiti until it was time for me to go home. This kind of abandonment and disappointment was too embarrassing: I never confessed to it. I must have nodded my head when asked if I'd had a good time. Now there was no graffiti to distract me as I sat on the unyielding green-carpeted stair, looking at the lumpy cream wall.

  A noise that wasn't quite a creak announced the swing doors admitting someone from on the street. Upgraded security had been one of the subjects discussed at the meeting in Marge's English lounge but so far everyone was content with the current system, which meant that until seven in the evening anyone was free to enter the building without a key. I lurched to my feet, feeling a bit silly sitting there and nearly hopeful that it might be someone I knew. It was: Beryl! I laughed with surprise to see her about to mount the steps, a slightly balding section of scalp visible in a ray of light from the slitted window.

  'Hello! For goodness' sake — Beryl! I thought you'd forgotten the address. I was just on my way out, but I'm not going anywhere, just the dairy. I told Una I'd get her a Lotto ticket. Will you walk with me, and we can get some muffins? I don't think Sheree's left any biscuits in the tin.'

  Some ball game was in progress inside the Basin Reserve and cars were thronging, swooping across lanes, impatient on their way to find parking spaces. We walked past the imposing entrance to Government House and kept on walking, talking above the cries and whoops from the sporting ground. 'It's a bit like school, eh? I hated sports day, not like Una.'

  'Did you really? I thought I was unusual when I hid in the bushes with a book. So what did Una do?'

  'Everything. Tennis mostly. We didn't really know each other at school.' And don't know each other now. At the same moment I thought, I can tell Beryl about Kevin. The idea comforted me even while I was deciding to put it off until another time. 'How about your Greg? Will he be watching the game on the box?'

  Beryl gave a little laugh. 'Sport on the box — I can't stand sport on television. I just have to get away.'

  'Well, I'm glad you did. Una's in one of her moods and Sheree's not much better. You'll be good for them.'

  'It can't be too far off now.'

  I looked puzzled.

  'The baby.'

  'Oh, the baby. I think it's a couple of months. We don't talk about it a lot. Una's not too happy about being a great-grandmother. Crazy to think of, really. I told you the father was only fourteen, didn't I?"

  'But you must have done some shopping. There's so much you have to buy for a little one.'

  'I suppose you've been there. How many grandchildren in your life?'

  'Me? None. We couldn't manage a family, Don and I.'

  'Oh God, I'm sorry. How could I forget? You did tell me. I really am a clod sometimes. I can't imagine how you must feel. I've got no siblings — I know what that's like. Is there no one . . . ? What about Greg's family?'

  'No. Just the two of us.' She ducked her head, flushing with embarrassment. 'I mean . . .'

  'I had a favourite aunty who spoiled me when I was little. I've got a koala bear for the new arrival but I hid it because Una laughed at me. You know Sheree's arranged to have the baby adopted?'

  'You mean she just hands it over? I don't know how she can do that! None of my business, of course. She'll have had adoption counselling, I suppose.'

  I shrugged as we walked into the dairy and the two warning notes sounded. 'Will she? I don't know anything about that.'

  'Oh yes. I think it's compulsory. I did a bit of research once when Don and I were thinking about — well, just me really, he wasn't so sure. Of course everything's changed since then . . .'

  We were crossing the road to the apartment before Sheree's name came up again. Beryl wanted to know if she had anyone to go to antenatal classes with her and I realised I knew next to nothing about the girl. For all I knew Sheree might have had the photo of a scan and multiple pamphlets about childbirth hidden under her bed. 'She's booked in at Wellington Public. I don't know what happens after that. Una's got it all sorted but she's a bit touchy about the subject — you might as well be warned.'

  Kevin's name signalled to me from the letterboxes in the foyer as we headed for the lift. I felt again the weight of the lead sculpture — a bird, he had said — resting in my hand and then his cool fingers touching mine. Something like a bird had spread wings inside me that day and the memory ached to fly again. Bugger.

  Beryl

  Beryl hung out the washing while she talked to Greg, who was pacing on the swollen shoulder of the garden in his duffel coat and peaked cap. She pouched the faded, striped sheets before pegging them so that they would catch the wind, and hung her underwear discreetly — involving a delicate twist so that her knickers radiated no hint of intimacy should the neighbours be looking. But all the time she was keeping her eye on Greg so that he didn't slide off her range of vision while she told him about her visit to Clarice's apartment.

  'I don't believe she's happy about it really — the adoption idea. I'm not even sure Una's happy — Clarice thinks she might not like the idea of being a great-grandmother. I read somewhere that the emphasis is on responsibility these days, rather than rights. The girl might not want to exercise her right to contact with the child once it's born, but she still has a responsibility to own up to its DNA.'

  'You don't know what you're talking about,' Greg laughed at her. 'What do you know about DNA and responsibility? You just want to hold her and give her a bath and pretend you're not sixty-four years old.'

  'That's not true. I'm fine with being sixty-four. I could give her a bath without dropping her — or him. What makes you think she's a girl?'

  'She?' Now Greg was laughing at her, that deep nasal gurgle dancing between the flapping tea-towels she had just finished pegging on the line.

  'All right, I'm a silly old lady.' She turned her back on him haughtily, then whipped around, checking that she hadn't frightened him away. He was still there, still smiling, but quite kindly now. 'I knew you'd understand. You know how much it matters to me. I could help with a baby — I know I could. I'd really appreciate anything you can think of to make it happen.'

  She hoisted the empty plastic basket against her chest and as she did so caught sight of a dark jacket moving beside the house to the back gate. How had he moved so fast? And why was he running away again? No, he hadn't gone. For when she hung the basket inside the door he was behind her. She was pleased, but confused, and pushed her glasses up to rub her eyes briskly.

  Sheree was staring in her bedroom mirror and Tyler was standing behind her staring over her shoulder. Damp prickles of hair clutched his bony scalp and she could feel the gun pressing against her hip. He thought it turned her on, but it didn't, it made her feel weak and sick like she might be going to throw up. She told him this
but he laughed.

  'Nah. You're pregnant that's what. I'm gonna die and you're going to have my kid. I tell you, if my kid does anything like I've done I'll kill him. If I'm alive.'

  'You're not going to die. Why are you going to die?'

  'They'll get me. They always get you. Four of my friends got done. There's nowhere far enough.'

  In the mirror Sheree moved sideways to hide his face and his quivering lip. She punched the mirror and reached behind her for the Walkman.

  In the living room Una had the television on full bore but she didn't seem to be watching it, there was a distracted expression on her face. She jumped when Sheree pushed past her. 'Oh. You going out?'

  'Might as well. You are.'

  'What d'you mean?'

  'You've got your coat on.'

  'I've been out.' Una shrugged the black raincoat off her shoulders and hung it carelessly on the coat stand.

  'I can't find Clarice.'

  'What do you want her for?'

  'Nothing. I just thought I'd look for her. It's Sunday.'

  'She'll be in church then, eh.' This was a joke and gave them an excuse to laugh together.

  Clarice was not in church. When Una was searching the bathroom cupboard for paracetamol Clarice was beneath her feet, blotting herself dry on Kevin's canary-yellow towel.

  My mouth felt swollen, Botoxed with pleasure when I stroked lipgloss across the phantom of his fierce kisses. I'd remembered my handbag this time and didn't have to resort to sticky cough sweets. In the living room he was pouring aromatic coffee from a steel carafe into wide yellow cups with a daisy on the side.

  'I can't send you home without a coffee, can I?'

  'You want to get rid of me?'

  'No! That's not what I'm saying.' He glanced at the wall clock. 'It's been a couple of hours. I didn't mean to go to sleep. I've got some papers I need to . . . I'm on a late shift.'

  'It's all right, I should be getting back. After this.' I picked up the cup and held its warmth close to my chin, breathing in the comforting smell.

  Kevin reached for my other hand and stroked it. 'You're not cold? Shall I put on the heater? It's getting to be that time of year.'

  'No, no I'm fine. This is lovely.'

  He smiled and moved in closer. 'It was lovely, wasn't it? I'm lucky to have you so close at hand. I knew I could trust you to be discreet. Only someone as moral as you could turn me down because it might upset her friend. Don't you know the saying all's fair in love and war?' He laughed at me and his eyes crinkled in the way that made my stomach jump.

  I looked down into my coffee. 'There are different rules for war these days — you're supposed to fight fair. Soldiers are peacemakers, right?'

  'So you think the rules for love are changing too? Don't seem to be any hard and fast rules so far as I can make out.'

  'But you make rules yourself! You think it's okay to fuck me because your wife's in England — so long as I keep my mouth shut.'

  'Nothing new about that rule. And I'm glad you didn't want to upset Una. I'm all for friendship — that's what we are, isn't it? Friends?'

  'Is that what we are?'

  'Well — with extras of course.'

  'You could try Vivian Street instead, if you want young.'

  'Oops. You're mad at me. Why? I don't need young.'

  'I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I just thought — prostitution's legal now. Of course it's a bit of a walk to Vivian Street and I'm right here.'

  'Clarice! I don't want just sex. If you're not happy we won't do it at all.'

  I gulped at my coffee so carelessly it slopped into the saucer and made me cough. 'Don't say that. I am happy. That's the trouble, I suppose. I'm just not used to this. I don't have affairs, not since I grew up and got married. I've always been married.'

  'You haven't always been happy.'

  'Mmm — most of the time. And then I was in shock after David died.'

  'What about sex? You said . . .'

  'Forget what I said. That wasn't fair of me to say that. Lester was a good man although he wasn't always faithful. And he could piss me off. Yes.' I paused. 'I don't know why we stayed together as long as we did.'

  'People get scared of change. I was scared when Dale went.'

  'You're not scared now?'

  'Why would I be? I've got everything I need — and Dale too. She's just not here.'

  'You're still going to die.'

  'Oh yeah, there's that. Goodness, you are a cheerful person when you get out of bed.'

  'Sorry. I'm not really like this. I'd better go. I said I'd cook tonight.'

  By the time I let myself into the apartment a cosy fried-onion aroma was already scenting the kitchen. I apologised to Una and explained I was visiting a friend.

  'What friend? Not Beryl.'

  'No.' I was puzzled. Why should I have been at Beryl's, I had plenty of other friends. Or had I? It seemed to have become a habit for my contemporaries to move outside the city as they got older, or up the coast, a train journey or at least a bus trip away, leaving their crooked steps and twisted paths behind to wrestle with the Wellington wind. 'I haven't been inside Beryl's place — she hasn't asked me. What's in the oven then?'

  'A casserole. Nearly the last of Garth's meat.'

  'Oh God.'

  'Never mind God. I cut it up without any help from him, in proper bite-sized pieces this time. Sheree's gone walkabout. I gave her some money so we don't have to wait for her. Shouldn't be too long — I just put the spuds in.' She tugged at the fridge door. 'I need a G and T. How about you? Or have you started without me?'

  Una almost sounded like a jealous spouse, who had been waiting at home for me, slaving in the kitchen. 'We had coffee, that's all.' I might as well be as truthful as possible.

  'She's a nutter. A raving nutter,' Una said, handling her gin clumsily, as if it might be her third drink or even more.

  'Sheree?'

  'No, that Beryl.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about. Why is Beryl a nutter?'

  'Goodness knows why, but she is. She talks to herself. I went round there looking for you and . . .'

  'Are you sure you got the right house?'

  'Of course I got the right house — I can read street numbers. She was in the garden talking to herself. It was embarrassing. I didn't stay — I came right on home.'

  I gave a little laugh. 'People do talk to themselves sometimes. When they're on their own. I've done it myself. Just the other day I was walking along the road and I didn't know there was someone behind me. Felt a real fool.'

  'But you're not mad. I think Beryl is. Some of the things she said . . .'

  'Like what?'

  'I can't remember exactly. It was like she really believed someone was answering her. I don't think you should get too close to her.'

  'Don't be silly. Why not? Perhaps someone else was there and you just couldn't see them.'

  'No.' Una shook her head. 'She's a case. A nutcase. Why are you laughing at me? I suppose you think I'm the nutter. Just because I saw a therapist . . . it takes courage to see someone professional. You wouldn't understand something like that.'

  Oh God, I told myself. She's in a mood. I'm going to have to eat a whole plateful of her bloody casserole and humour her or keep my mouth shut. But then I heard myself saying, 'You're right, it must take guts. So perhaps Beryl needs a therapist. You could be sympathetic instead of judging her. And you say I'm judgemental!'

  'When? I've never said any such thing.'

  'But you have!' Suddenly I'd had enough of skirting around the words I really wanted to say. 'I don't know. Is there something wrong with your memory or are you just a liar? We know you tell lies.'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'Going to the cemetery to visit your dear departed husband! He's not departed and he's not dear either. I had lunch with him last week.' I noticed belatedly this wasn't quite true.

  Una was staring. 'You what? You had lunch with my husband?' She shook her head disb
elievingly.

  'He rang up. I needed to know why you told me he was dead.'

  'He is dead, as far as I'm concerned — dead and buried. How dare he invite you to have lunch!'

  I started to laugh. This was easier than I'd expected it to be. 'Coffee actually,' I muttered through bubbles of levity. 'He's got a blackhead.' Surely Una would see the funny side. No — now she was glaring, her teeth pressing against her top lip.

  'And I bet you had a good old time talking about me, picking over my bones.'

  Una's bones were so buried in flesh it was hard to imagine their shape. 'No,' I spluttered, shaking my head. 'He cares about you actually.'

  'Oh, come on. He cares about his bank account. He'd rather fuck the business pages than a proper woman. What did he say about me? What did you talk about?'

  I don't recall rising from my chair but somehow we were both standing beside the table, facing each other like wrestlers in a ring, poised for confrontation. Sheree's bedroom door had swung open too quietly and we were parted unexpectedly by the swollen shape brushing past us with her head down. She plonked herself in the burgundy armchair and gazed at us questioningly, waiting for something to begin.

  Nothing began. Something seemed to end. Una's shoulders sank below her dangly earrings and I took a deep breath that became a sigh. A smell of charred gravy bloomed behind the kitchen bench.

  'Oh!' Una ran to the oven. 'Damn. I've done it again, haven't I? That's your fault anyway, not mine. We're both disasters. I don't think it's quite ruined.'

  I tilted my head and looked sceptical. I was glad to be spared the overflavoured, clumsily herbed offering and soggy potatoes.

  'No, it's all right. I'll just add a bit of curry — that should do it.'

  'I've eaten,' Sheree said defensively. 'So what was the fight about?'

  I woke with a start in the middle of the night because something was prodding my shoulder. The door was open and light from the living room was leaking into the room, across the carpet, revealing a shadowy bulge hunched beside my pillow. The shadow settled and sharpened as my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. I sat up and reached for the switch. Sheree.