My father blew it, but we have another chance, Ben and I.
The following morning, Ben catches a taxi to the airport, and I get ready for work. As I sit in front of the pots and tubes facing myself in the mirror, I smooth the expensive elixir around my eyes and touch the hair at the side of my face. Time for another tint.
Tempus fugit.
When I get home that evening, there is no sign of Cheryl. The bedroom door is closed. I knock and call her name, but there is no answer. I push open the door.
The room is dark and I don’t see her immediately. She is on the floor beside the bed, clutching a green dress too slinky for my chief executive image. Her head leans against the side of the bed and her swollen eyes stare straight ahead.
My heart leaps in shock. “Cheryl!”
But then she moves, turning her face toward me. The light from the living room catches the tears on her cheeks.
“He didn’t love me at all.”
“Joe?”
She buries her face in the silk dress and sobs. I reach out and pat her shoulder, feeling ineffectual.
She lifts her head and stares blankly across the room. “There were clothes lying on the floor by the bed. Our bed!”
“Clothes?”
“A green dress a bit like this,” she says. “Black underwear. They weren’t mine.”
“Oh.”
“No one was looking after Ro properly. Her poor little bottom was raw with diaper rash and the twins were locked in the shed when I got there. I knew I had to leave him and take the kids. But now I’ll never see them again.”
Her face resumes its blank stare as if she looks into a future that holds nothing of joy ever again.
I retreat to the kitchen and pour a glass of wine and break open more chocolate. She takes them listlessly.
“I’ll get another DVD,” I say. “And Thai take-out. Okay?”
She nods, sniffing and wiping her cheeks with her hands.
When I arrive at the Thai restaurant to collect our order, it isn’t ready. The young girl apologizes and says the roti bread will take five minutes.
While I wait, I examine the wall. There is a photograph of a young man who looks like my nephew, sitting with two other people whose backs are to the camera. A woman and a man. The woman is wearing a maroon jacket I have seen before.
I look closer, but there is no mistake. Vivienne eats in my local restaurant.
Chapter 35
As I open the gate, I hear a shout and a cry from above, and the deep baying of Polly’s best bark from the back of the house where she is tied to her kennel. The front door stands wide open. Halfway up the staircase is a large and angry man, built like a bull. Muscled arms bulge from the sleeveless leather vest which strains across his chest. Joe?
“Bitch!” he calls to the closed door at the top of the stairs. “I’m coming for you!”
As I stare up, Jiro cautiously opens the door to his and Dirk’s apartment and gapes as the man surges past him up the stairs. “Just a minute,” he says and closes his door firmly.
Joe hammers on the penthouse door with his fist while I pause below. Damn, I’ve left my cell phone upstairs. I can’t call the police. I knock on Sally’s door. Joe hears and starts back down.
Angry eyes narrow and nostrils flare. “You must be the chink bitch.”
I stand holding the boxes of Thai take-out and consider my options. As I place the boxes on the hall table—no need to ruin our dinner—Sally’s door opens and she comes out.
“What the?” Then she sees Joe coming down the stairs. “Just a minute!” she says and ducks back into her place.
I am about to follow her when the door to the middle apartment bursts open and Jiro emerges wearing one of those white martial arts outfits. He smiles, adjusts his headband, and makes a few sample kicks in the air, landing like a cat.
Joe pauses to glance at him. His body tenses. He’s not backing off for some fancy-assed judo expert. Behind me Sally appears again, but now she is wearing thin latex gloves and holds a very large hypodermic needle. She points it in the air, checking the contents, and then stands beside me, smiling.
Joe stares at the needle. His eyes widen. Then his eyes narrow again, his nostrils flare, and he comes down the stairs toward us, his hands clenching into fists.
A thump shakes the house and then another thump. The sound is like some great Taniwha is trying to get in, or like the mother of all earthquakes. The house trembles with each blow. Thump, thump, thump.
For once in his wild and violent life, discretion overcomes Joe’s valor; his jaw drops, his eyes widen, then he runs past us and disappears out the gate.
Whump! Goes Polly’s kennel against the side of the house again, as she drags it behind her, desperate to defend her home against the invader.
“Good dog!” I call.
Sally peers down the road as a Mark IV Zephyr drives away with a squeal of tires. “Bugger!” she says. “I was looking forward to stabbing him.”
Jiro joins us, looking disappointed. “Has he gone? Damn, I was looking forward to a good workout.”
“I’d better go up and reassure Cheryl.”
When I open the door there is a smell of pee and Cheryl is cowering in the corner whimpering.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, bending down beside her and holding her tightly. “He’s gone.”
But still she cries, until Sally gives her a sedative and we tuck her to sleep in my bed and return downstairs to Sally’s.
“Cheryl is still refusing to talk to the cops. She still seems to care about the bastard.”
“But he threatened you, too, Lin. You can report him.”
“I don’t want any publicity, Sal. He’s just a buffoon. I’m not afraid of him.”
I would have to explain to the police why Joe is so angry with us. I can’t afford the risk.
“Cheryl is in danger.”
“Yeah. She can’t stay here.” I fork up some cold green curry that looks like something Polly regurgitated.
“Tomorrow I’ll take her to my sister’s. He won’t know anything about Ngatirua. She’ll be safe there.”
Cheryl shivers beside me in the car as we drive north to Hawke’s Bay. Eventually, she closes her eyes and sleeps, and I can concentrate on my thoughts. Why would Vivienne be in my local restaurant? Stupidly, I hadn’t checked the date. Was it before or after I moved in? If after, why didn’t she try to see me?
My thoughts go around and around and make no progress and after another hour I arrive at the turnoff, climb the hill slowly, and arrive at Ngatirua.
Alison emerges from the house as I turn the car into their driveway.
“You poor thing,” Alison says, grasping Cheryl’s hands. “Wal! Take Cheryl’s bag to the studio,” she directs, and then ushers us into the house for a nice cup of tea.
I drink my tea seated on the comfortable sofa while Alison brings out cake, and a stack of magazines for Cheryl, and packs up a box of provisions to take to the studio.
It is curiously relaxing in my sister’s house. Here I am just a somewhat feckless younger sister who needs to be taken care of. I lie with my head tilted back on the headrest, my eyelids drooping closed, listening to the silence, broken only by the faint sound of sheep calling out in the paddocks.
“You look worn out,” says Alison. “Do you have to drive back straight away?”
I nod my head. “The staff Christmas party is tonight and they expect me to make an appearance. But I’ll be back on Christmas Eve.”
Half an hour later, I drag myself to my feet and prepare to leave. Wal puts a cooler on the backseat of my car.
“A leg of lamb,” he says. “It’s still frozen, and I’ve slapped in some freezer pads so you should be all right.”
Alison gives me a bag of vegetables from their garden and a basket of fresh eggs. “These should keep you going until you come up for Christmas.”
As I get into my car, bowed down under their gifts, I remember what I need to ask.
Alison looks into the space beyond my left shoulder. “We use the penthouse ourselves when it’s not being rented.”
“The penthouse?”
“I told Nick to send you flowers when you moved in, didn’t you get them?”
“There were flowers, yes, but they were from a company called Alienne.”
“That’s us. Alison and Vivienne. Oh, dear. I just took for granted he’d put our names on the card. I wondered why you didn’t reply.”
“You own the penthouse?”
“We own the whole house. I thought you knew that. Anyway, we’ll see you next weekend. Bye, dear!” and Alison shuts the car door and waves.
I drive away in a daze, coming to terms with the knowledge that Alison and Vivienne own the house in which I live. They are my landlords.
Chapter 36
As I reenter the house after spending the requisite hour at the staff Christmas party, Sally opens her door.
“Oh, it’s you. I thought it was Nick.”
“I thought you were out with your friends from the hospital.”
She shakes her head. “Karim has found himself a new young sweetie, and I can’t stomach listening to him cooing at her. And I don’t want—that is, I’m not, oh, I don’t know. I just didn’t want to go down to the ’horn tonight.”
“Nick?”
She flushes. “I taunted him about something, I can’t even remember, and so he decided to take his revenge.”
“Sally?” I ask.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
As I look into the strained green eyes, I remember this is my friend, and you don’t leave your friends alone when their faces are looking like Sally’s.
“I have a bottle of Bollinger I was going to drink in the Jacuzzi.”
Sally’s eyes light up. “Is it hot?”
“What? Oh, the Jacuzzi? I turned it on this morning. And I do believe there’s chocolate in the gift basket I scored.”
“Are you taking care of me, Lin?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
Sally ducks into her apartment and returns with a small plastic box with an aerial poking out of it.
“Baby monitor.”
We climb into the steaming water and lounge on the molded seats, sipping champagne and chewing chocolate caramels.
It is a calm night, one of the good ones in Wellington. Above us the stars twinkle in the dark sky, and below us the lights of the city glitter against the dark office towers. There is a distant, faint noise of people talking and music playing through opened windows.
“What has Nick done?” I ask.
Sally shakes her head and pulls on a smile. “Nothing important.” She throws her head back against the headrest. “I saw John at the Christmas party this week.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Uh-huh nothing. At least he’s not glaring balefully at me any longer.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He was with one of the admin staffers.”
“Uh-huh?”
“A nice enough girl. Woman. Ten years younger than me.”
Her voice is sad. She is looking up at the stars, but I don’t think she sees anything.
“How is the lovely Ben? Are you properly back together?”
“We’ll be together for the holidays. I don’t think about the future.”
“The daughter will eventually leave home. How old is she?”
“Seventeen. She’ll be at high school for another year, and then at university in Dunedin. Ben wants to stay close by.”
“So, no happy-ever-after story.”
“Happy for a couple of weeks is good enough for now.” I reach into the little box for my cigarillos. “Let’s wish for a better year next year.”
“A better year and better men. Oops. I suppose Ben counts as a good enough man.” Sally sighs. “We’re brainwashed that relationships are based on pure romantic love, but I think success is as much about the practicalities, the conveniences of being together, than some amorphous feeling.”
“It wouldn’t be very convenient for me to live in Dipton.”
“For whom? You or Ben?”
“Between being the chief executive of an exciting new venture and a housewife in Dipton, there isn’t much of a choice is there?”
“The Dipton scenario is a bit of a challenge, I will admit. God!” she says. “What is that?”
“A girly cigar. Would you like one?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
She puffs on her cigarillo, blowing the smoke out like she’s blowing a last retreat. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“One of the things I keep to myself.”
“Like the fact you have a family in New Zealand.” Sally takes a few more puffs. “How did you lose touch in the first place? Surely, your father would have made sure his children met each other.”
“He tried. They refused all of his overtures, my stepmother said. And then he died when I was twelve.”
“I would have thought the lawyers settling his estate would have chased up the children from his first marriage.”
“Mom told me he left nothing but debts. I think she did get the authorities involved so at least they would know their father had died, but she was never given any contact information.”
“A detective could have tracked them down.”
“I wanted to do it myself, in person. And I did.”
“What about your mother? Did you ever find her?”
I don’t want to talk about the mother who left me. “Nope. She died before Dad did, apparently.”
“How did you end up living in the same house as your father?”
“That was a bit of blind luck. When I Googled the address from his papers, the advertisement for the penthouse came up. There I was, trying to work out whether to stay or go and trying to work out where to start looking for my sisters. How could I turn down the opportunity?
“But, Sally, here’s the odd thing.” I tap out the ashy end of my cigarillo. “My sisters still own the house. They knew I was coming as soon as Nicholas told them my name.”
“Your sisters are the Alienne people?” She whistles. “I think I’ve met one of them. An elegant redheaded woman. She stayed a few days just before you moved in.”
“Leave me alone!”
Sally holds up her hand and turns her head toward the sound.
“Get back!” says the voice.
She leaps out of the Jacuzzi with alacrity unexpected in so large a woman and hurtles, dripping, down the steps, through the penthouse, and out the door. I can hear her feet running down the stairs.
I get out of the Jacuzzi and wrap my towel around my body.
My God, what is happening?
“You stupid dog, stop licking me!” comes Michael’s sleepy voice.
“Polly, get down! You know you’re not supposed to be up there!” says Sally’s voice over the monitor.
I let myself smile, turn off the Jacuzzi, and put the cover back on, collect up our glasses and the bottle and the ashtray and return indoors to my bed.
But although it is very late and I am physically spent, my mind churns and I can’t sleep.
Why didn’t my sisters ask why I didn’t respond to the flowers? It seems odd they didn’t comment on the fact I’m living in their house.
And what has Nicholas done to hurt Sally?
Chapter 37
The week before Christmas flashes by in a blur and finally it is the morning of Christmas Eve. I glance up from my PC to the painting that adorns my office wall, the picture I bought over the Internet as my Christmas gift to myself. If anyone looks closely, they will see the artist bears the same surname as me.
At midday Helen carries in a plate of fruit mince pies, and Ian follows bearing a bottle of bubbly.
“Time to knock off, Lin!” says Ian. “Where are Tom
and Fred? And Marion? Call them, Helen, tell them we’re in Lin’s office.”
When we’re all there, Ian opens the bottle. The cork hits the ceiling, and the wine bursts forth. He tips the bottle toward our waiting glasses.
“Merry Christmas!” “Cheers!” “Bums up!” “Cheers!”
“Salut!” I say, and we sit together drinking our wine and nibbling the pies.
There is an empty chair on the far side of the table, where Deepak should have been. Scott Peake was invited, but he hasn’t come. He follows his own path and doesn’t inform me what he is doing.
Tom explains he will be traveling up to stay at the family bach in Lake Waikaremoana.
“Bach?”
“That’s what Kiwis call our holiday homes. It’s short for bachelor pad, because typically they’re small, rustic, and shabby,” Marion explains.
She is having Christmas in Wellington and then going to her bach on Flat Point beach. Ian hasn’t got a bach yet, but his girlfriend’s parents have a holiday home in the Marlborough Sounds so they’re going down for New Year’s. Fred’s wife is not well so they’re having a quiet Christmas at home.
Me? I am staying at my sister’s farm, I tell them. Yes, I have a sister. Actually, I have two sisters. They live in Hawke’s Bay. Yes, it’s a lovely part of New Zealand. See my new picture? That zigzag road is the road to Ngatirua farm.
Tom walks over to the wall and examines the painting and says he knows the area well. Then we finish the wine and sweep away the crumbs and head off for our Christmas break.
Sally and Michael are packing their Prius when I get home. Polly is padding back and forth with her brow furrowed, hoping she gets to go too. Sally is not smiling her beautiful wide smile today.
“Don’t try and carry all that, Michael!”
Too late. He has dropped the bag, and Sally’s makeup splatters across the path. Her face contorts, and for one awful moment, I think she’s going to cry—Sally the brave, the never serious, the always sanguine. But she pastes her face back together, and her lips stretch into the semblance of a smile.
“You’re looking happy,” she says. “When does he get here?”
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