by Brown, Honey
Nico, the builder, came and found me. He was drunk enough to speak without hesitation.
‘Trude, what’s goin’ on?’ Nico was a greyhound of a man, gaunt, light on his feet, big-hearted under a stripped-back frame. He waggled his fingers in front of my face like a magician, as though conjuring up the ability to read my thoughts. He shivered in the cold. ‘Can’t fool me …’
‘How’s he going in there?’ I asked.
Nico shut one eye, pressed two fingers to his temple and made the action of cocking a trigger with his thumb, shooting himself in the head. ‘Not good.’
‘No.’
‘Not a happy camper. You two on the rocks?’
‘Nothing like that.’
‘Good. Long as it’s not that.’ He shivered again. ‘Jeez. Cold.’ He darted off behind a gum tree. ‘Block your ears, this might go for a while.’
On the way home in the car Bruce talked about how well he thought the night had gone. Everyone seemed to have had a good time. The steaks had cooked up nicely. There’d been enough beer. Some of the boys would have sore heads in the morning. It was as though he was reading from a transcript of a previous trip home we’d had after such a party.
I found myself playing along. ‘I didn’t know the sparky’s apprentice was home from his overseas trip.’
‘Cut it a bit short from what I can gather.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Sounds like he enjoyed himself, though.’
‘Yes, it did sound like he enjoyed himself.’
Finn wrote me emails and sent me texts. He was just as he had been before, coming into the office, standing too close, being too familiar. It was a relief, because it was as though nothing had happened between us. He’d not changed the way he was towards me, and he’d not disappeared. I got to underline that we were no more than friends. I waved him back and frowned when he flirted. I acted as though there was no basis for his behaviour. I did go into the office each day, though. Found myself wondering when he’d turn up and what bumbling attempt at intimacy he would make.
Bruce went to Cove Street, laid flooring, put down paving, watered turf, fitted curtains and did other fiddly final jobs.
I put the jade plant outside the office door, swept the poplar leaves from the footpath, paid some bills, did some paperwork, and waited for Finn.
‘Whatever happened to Bridget?’ I said one day as Finn walked in through the door.
‘Hello to you to, Ms Harrison.’
He was wearing what I’d come to think of as his favourite shirt – a tan-coloured one, with short sleeves, high breast pockets and a button-down collar. He had on red jeans and blue sneakers. It was verging on a nauseating clash of colours, but on some level it worked, just. He’d perhaps lost some weight in the weeks he’d been in town (Jem would be proud). His face was slimmer and more manly. His love handles were vanishing. He walked with a bounce and his eyes sparkled.
‘Bridget?’ he said, as though he’d forgotten who she was.
‘The girl you’re meant to be living with.’
‘Oh, her. I split up with her. Hey …’ he said, ‘the girls on the desk at work reckon that man is back at the hotel again.’
‘He’s there now?’
‘That’s what they said.’
‘The same man?’
‘Oh yeah, baby,’ Finn said, mimicking Austin Powers. Then his expression grew serious. ‘He’s booked in under John Jones. Do you want me to go and knock on his door and see if it’s him? I can make like I’m up from the kitchen and went to the wrong door for room service. Easy.’
‘You could see if it’s him and then just leave straightaway?’
‘Let’s do it.’
‘Really?’
It was an obvious effort for Finn not to slip back into an Austin Powers parody to respond to this. As it was his answer wasn’t without mischievousness.
‘If you come with me, I’ll do it,’ he said.
Finn parked around by the hotel loading bay and service entry. He took me through the service door and then away from the sounds and activity of the restaurant kitchen. He put on his black apron, wrapping the ties around his middle, right around to the front, knotting them off tightly against his stomach. We went down an empty and unfriendly staff corridor. Jokingly, he took the black cap from his pocket with a flourish, twisting the peak back into shape and smoothing the cap down over his head, tugging the front low over his eyes, pretending to be undercover. We walked past storage rooms and into a dark, narrow passageway, through a door marked Staff Only. We emerged into the foyer, down the back, out of sight of the reception desk. Finn ushered me to the elevators. I noticed the dark mirrored finish of a domed ceiling fixture above us, concealing the security cameras inside.
The interior of the lift was also mirrored. I checked my reflection. My hair was up. I’d pulled down a few strands that morning to avoid looking matronly. I had on a black dress, figure-hugging, with a wide black belt and my knee-high boots. My necklace was a plain red square hanging on a thin leather strap. Finn was looking at my reflection too. A stealthy grin stretched across his face. The lift doors opened.
The Four Seasons Inn was a three-storey hotel. We were on the third floor. The decor was conservative up here. Delaney wasn’t a holiday destination, nor was it the place for a romantic getaway. The hotel was there to service business types, and set up to host seminars: a junket hotel. We stopped close to room 3023. I wrapped my arms around my body.
‘Will I wait near the lift?’ I asked. ‘Don’t say anything to him, will you? All I want to know is if it’s him. Look at him and come away, okay? Then we’ll go.’
Finn took me by the hand, leading me, using his free hand to open up a door behind him, pulling me into a disused hotel room. It was filled with cleaning products, stacks of toilet paper and other bathroom supplies. The bed remained, stripped down to the mattress, with trundle beds pushed in all around it. I was instantly wary of the bed – every other flat surface in the room was being used.
Finn didn’t let go of my hand. His grin was guilty but no less sly.
My heart began pumping hard, and slow. I glanced over my shoulder, at the heavy door that had swung shut, the silver handle, the chocolate-coloured carpet, the papered wall beside me. Even if Finn hadn’t been holding my hand, he’d have to stand near to me, because the room was so cramped. The curtains covering the two small windows were pulled across, the light was murky and the air empty, no substance to it. I opened my mouth to get a decent dose of oxygen.
‘Is he even staying at the hotel?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ Finn answered defensively, and then added, ‘Well, they said he was yesterday.’
‘You haven’t checked to see if he’s here today?’
‘I’ll find out when I knock. Will you tell me what it’s all about when I come back?’
‘No.’
‘Will you kiss me when I come back?’
‘No.’
‘I might not go then. Until you kiss me.’
He made a humming sound in his throat.
How naive had I been? I couldn’t even blame him. Shy suitors get impatient too.
‘Waiting by the lifts is going to be the better option.’
He stepped closer.
The wallpaper had textured strips between wide bands of smooth paper. The textured part was velvety beneath my fingertips. Strands of my hair clung lightly to the downy strips as I pressed back against the wall. The skirting board had a bevelled edge; the heel of my boot caught on it momentarily.
‘I apologise, Finn, if I’ve given you the wrong impression.’
‘But I like the impression you’ve give me.’
He took off the black cap and tossed it onto the floor. Letting go of my hand, he began to undo the knot at the front of his apron. ‘I’ll go over and knock in a minute.’
I used my free hands to still his. ‘I know I’ve perhaps not been clear enough. I do feel guilty, because I think I’ve let you misinterpret my reactio
ns.’
And shy suitors can get angry too.
A flash of dark thought ran through him. It was easy to read. How much groundwork did a guy have to do? This was where we were headed, where we’d been headed for weeks. Dropping by for coffee and talking is all well and good, but now we have the sex. I was reminded then of his overconfidence during the interview. And in thinking this, an image of the workshop, the furnace and gantry passed like a shadow across my mind; I pretended not to have the vision, though.
‘You can’t be serious, Trudy? What do you think we’ve been doing?’
I’d forgotten about this side of boys and men. And Finn’s efforts hadn’t been half-hearted either, unlike the young men I remembered from nightclubs, who thought buying one drink entitled them to certain rights. No, Finn had applied himself. Too late it was dawning on me how vigorously he had pursued me. Calling, texting, emailing, the new clothes, new haircut, a straighter way of walking, girlfriend ditched, pleasantries exchanged with my friends, dogged in the face of my odd behaviour. He finished undoing the knot beneath my hands and pulled the apron ties apart. As he went to slip the apron off over his head, I stepped sideways. He stepped sideways too, forgetting the apron, letting it hang, pressing his body against me, pinning me to the wall.
The smell of freshly cut timber filled my nostrils. I heard the sound of the workshop door sliding open. ‘Finn, what are you doing?’
‘You knew this is what it was about,’ he said, and kissed me.
There were strong feelings this time, clear precise things I knew I did not want. At the same time though, I was too afraid to put my hands on his chest and shove him. I didn’t want to move in an aggressive way or struggle. I didn’t want to scream. Screaming would intensify my fear. I knew that I didn’t want to kiss him, touch him, be in the room with him. I wanted him to stop. I didn’t want to have to force him to stop, though.
I tried what should work. ‘Finn. Don’t.’
He felt my body through the fabric of my dress, cupped my breast, lightly bit my neck.
‘Stop now.’
Shy suitors get assertive too.
‘I know you’ve been hurt. I understand. I’ve been hurt too. It’s okay.’
He reached down and lifted the hem of my skirt as he ran his hand slowly up my leg. He was holding me against the wall, keeping me in place with his body. I could feel his erection against my hip. I’d misjudged this man. He probably had been hurt. That didn’t mean he was weak, though. He might have some insight into fear and sadness, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of causing fear and sadness in others. ‘You want this,’ he said.
‘No, Finn.’
‘I understand.’ He kissed me again.
I turned my face away, drew in a breath.
‘Touch me,’ he said.
He grabbed my hand and put it under his loose apron, on his erection, made me rub the length and size of him. His eyes half-closed. This level of arousal had not come about in the last few minutes. Hours, days, weeks, it had been building. Perhaps ever since he’d walked into my office. He didn’t find me attractive in spite of my despair, but, in large part, because of it. When I tried to pull away, he made me rub harder.
The hotel floor was quiet. It felt as though the third level was deserted. I yanked my hand free and braced to push him off. My teeth clamped down in readiness. I felt a rising sense of my own entitlement. But he clasped my shoulders and moved me sideways, towards the bed. He took me to the foot of the mattress, using my unsteadiness and shock, unbalancing me and making me sit. Boxes and supplies had me hemmed in. Beside a freestanding lamp stood a bucket of cold dirty water with a mop sitting in it, a line of scum around the handle. Antiseptic smells flooded my nostrils. The light was poor. My vision was down to fifty percent. When I tried to stand he held me down. His hands stayed on my shoulders. I’m not going to hurt you. He wound the black apron ties back and forth around his knuckles. Knowing in my heart of hearts that it was Finn – a different stranger, a different trap I’d wandered into – that it was a black cooking apron in his hands, not ties to bind me, didn’t stop my mind from freezing and freefalling at the same time. Knowing didn’t stop the fear. It came from every direction; I could hear it, a rush, a building roar. Nothing stopped it. Nothing could. I covered my face, pressing my fingertips into my eyes. Too terrified to move.
‘Shh.’ He pulled my hands away, eased me back. ‘Lie down.’
No one had pushed me onto my back that other day. No one had kissed my neck or stroked my face or breathed into my hair, muttering things about attraction and desire. That saved me: knowing I was not back in the house, but in a disused hotel room in Delaney. The fear was slow to drain away though, and while it did, Finn used his knee to push my legs apart, telling me I didn’t have to fight, insisting that I’d like it. When he released me I blinked, saw that he had gotten to his feet and was hurriedly undoing his belt. I sat up and pushed my dress down. The room tilted. The door seemed way off at the end of a tunnel.
‘Don’t,’ I heard myself say. I sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. Not yet confident it was over, all I said was, ‘I have to go.’ I didn’t want to provoke him.
Finn angrily stepped back. Fed the belt back through the buckle with a stiff, shoving movement.
My dizziness increased. I couldn’t stand up.
‘Jesus,’ he said.
I felt precariously close to the edge of a great dark hole.
‘You didn’t tell me to stop coming ’round after I kissed you,’ he accused.
‘I’ll catch a taxi back to the office.’
‘What were you expecting?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What did you think we were doing, Trudy?’
I rose unsteadily to my feet. Got my bearings. ‘I have to go now.’
Finn sighed. ‘I’ll take you back. And, just so you know, the girls really did say that guy was here yesterday. He’s been in a couple of times over the last few weeks, always during the day. He orders room service, pays by cash, orders the most expensive bottle on the wine list. He’s just some guy cheating on his wife, Trudy. I think you know that. I think you knew why I wanted you to come here. I think you’re playing with me.’
A woman was standing outside the office so I got Finn to do a blocky.
‘I’m sorry,’ he was saying now. ‘That’s not how I wanted it to turn out. It’s only because I feel so much for you. I’m so sorry if it seemed … Say something, Trudy.’
I made him let me out further up the street.
‘Trudy?’
‘Don’t come and see me any more,’ I said as I shut the door.
I walked back towards the office. Sue Murdoch, the teacher who had tried to flag me down in the car park a few weeks ago, the one I had accelerated away from, was coming up the street.
‘Hi, Trudy,’ she said. ‘I was looking for you.’
I couldn’t tell if she was trying to track me down in an official capacity or as a friend.
‘Hi, Sue.’
‘Are you okay?’ she asked as she drew level with me. ‘You look …’ Sue’s wooden bangles clacked together as she suddenly fossicked in her handbag and took out a tissue. She sneezed into it and gave me an apologetic look. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with what I’ve got. You look very pale.’
‘Getting over it, I think.’
Between swipes at her nose, Sue said, ‘I was down this way and going to stick my head in to the office and say hello. I’ll walk back with you. Promise I won’t sneeze in your direction.’
‘I’m sorry about taking off on you that day in the parking lot, Sue.’
‘That’s okay, I could see you were in a hurry. It’s part of why I wanted to catch up with you, though. To talk to you about this call I received.’
Finn had parked a few shops further down the street. I felt his gaze on me as we walked past the Jag.
‘I can’t get it out of my mind,’ Sue said.
At the office I fumbled with t
he keys. I heard the Jag door slam. I’d left my mobile phone on my desk and it alerted me to a new message as I walked in. Sue took a seat. I looked at my phone and I saw the text was from Finn: Forgive me …
He gave me a tight, pleading smile as he wiped his feet on the doormat. His phone was in his hand. Sue turned in her seat to look at him, surprised, as Finn made a beeline for the sink and put on the kettle.
Despite my anger at him, I felt I had to introduce him. ‘Sue, this is Finn. He’s one of our tenants.’
‘Hi,’ Finn said, his back to us.
Sue looked at me to see if I was made uncomfortable by his manner.
I was. My phone lit up again. Finn must have typed this message one-handed and superfast, in tech-head time. I’m in love with you.
I set my phone to silent.
‘Have I caught you at a bad time, Trudy?’
‘Coffee?’ Finn asked and held up a mug.
‘No thanks,’ Sue answered, ‘I’m pretty right. I won’t stay too long.’
‘Trudy, you want a drink?’
‘No, thank you,’ I said abruptly.
Sue raised her eyebrows and gave me a look, meant to reassure me that she understood the problem – an overfriendly tenant crossing the line and taking up my time. ‘I won’t hold you up,’ she said with emphasis. She lowered her voice. ‘Let me tell you quickly about this call I received. You might be able to explain it. I know it’s probably nothing, and a little while ago now. I kept it for you to listen to, but after I missed you in the car park, I deleted it. I wish I’d kept it now.’ She unzipped her handbag, took out a tissue and sneezed again. ‘It went through to my message bank. I think you must have knocked your phone and it accidentally rang me. The recording was hard to hear.’
‘When was this?’
‘That last weekend of your holiday. I rang you – remember? – about who was picking up Steven from the school debate night. It was the day after that.’ Sue glanced at Finn and hushed her voice again. ‘The recording was strange. I couldn’t really make out what was being said. It was whispered and fast and … quite dramatic. It sounded like … I’m not sure what it sounded like. It had this creepiness though. That’s why it’s been nagging away at the back of my mind and I wanted to —’