CHAPTER 14
Ginny was on tenterhooks all day, unable to keep her mind on the tasks at hand. Dr Black became irritated as she excused herself for the third time to make a phone call.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
‘I’m sorry, Dr Black. My best friend is very sick and I just wanted to reassure myself that she is okay,’ replied Ginny, smiling sweetly, as she backed through the swing doors.
Alone in the storeroom she picked up the dusty old phone and dialled the mobile in the roof of Sarah’s apartment. Ginny was starting to get frustrated. She had tried Sarah at work and been told she had gone home. Then she had tried the apartment but all was deathly quiet. No-one home there. Where could Sarah be? Ginny couldn’t bear to be missing out on all the drama of the moment. The story in the newspaper that morning was the result of her own handiwork. She knew it. She shivered with delight. But how cruel to be denied seeing the ramifications unfold.
Ginny listened to the mobile ringing in her ear, taking a moment to appreciate her own cleverness. She pictured the mobile phone tucked into the ceiling insulation batt, ringing silently. After the phone rang three times, the circuit she had removed from the answering machine picked up the call and the line opened. She was in!
Ginny listened to the television playing. It was Oprah. ‘Ah, Sarah was home at last.’
Ginny sat listening to the TV show, wondering what Sarah was up to. Had she slit her wrists in despair? Jumped off the balcony? Maybe she was packing up all her belongings ready to disappear, leaving Tom just some pitiful note.
‘Don’t ever try to contact me …’
Ginny let her imagination run free, enjoying the endless variety of possibilities, the more unlikely the better.
She jumped as Annie crept up on her.
‘Dr Black wants you in the surgery, now,’ said Annie loudly.
Ginny hung up the line, grinning at Annie. Not even she could dampen her happy mood today.
*
Tom came home early with flowers. All day he had deflected questions about Sarah and her explosion at the RTA so he thought he had some idea of how it must have been for her. And she had the added trauma of facing McKenzie. He had tried to phone Sarah at the office and had spoken to Fay. She had said Sarah seemed okay and had left, taking two weeks’ leave effective immediately. Tom didn’t think that was a good sign. Fay was sure she said she was going home.
Tom had tried calling her at home and got the answering machine. Her mobile phone had been switched off. He had left messages, hoping she would call him but she hadn’t and he had been on tenterhooks all day. He had tried to give her the space she obviously wanted, but he was worried and anxious. Finally he gave up trying to concentrate in the office and came home.
He expected she would be feeling flat, probably depressed, maybe a bit foolish. He was ready for anything. He approached Sarah cautiously, feeling his way and trying to judge her mood. She was pleased with the flowers and she looked relaxed, but her eyelids were red around the rims. They looked painful.
‘How was your day?’ she asked, cheerfully enough.
She was wearing her bathrobe and her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail with just a few tendrils loose. She was twirling those around her finger. That usually meant she was agitated. She could be either angry or upset, thought Tom.
‘Good,’ replied Tom. ‘I spent some time at the library trying to understand how steroids function. I quite enjoyed it. It’s a fascinating topic.’
She nodded.
‘How about you? How did it go with McKenzie?’
At the mention of McKenzie’s name Sarah’s face crumpled and she started to cry again, big sad tears that rolled down her face, sliding unchecked down her cheeks and onto her bathrobe.
It must have been really bad, thought Tom. The bastard. What a bully. For two years Tom had listened to Sarah come home, upset at what McKenzie had said or done to her. Tom thought he knew the type. Newspaper offices were full of them. Aggressive, tough-talking men in positions of authority who loved the sound of their own shouting so much they had forgotten how to speak any other way.
‘Oh Sarah,’ said Tom, taking her in his arms. ‘Was it that bad?’
Sarah was struggling to speak, but her words came out as an incoherent gurgle.
Tom felt his anger rise.
‘He said I was the best,’ Sarah mumbled into his shirt. ‘He said one day I would be running a newsroom and he hoped I would be lucky enough to get a Sarah Cowley working for me.’
Tom did a mental double-take. This didn’t sound like the picture he held of Sarah’s boss. ‘He said that? That’s a lovely thing to say.’
Sarah nodded and burst into large howling sobs that racked her whole body. She was incapable of speaking and Tom held her till the worst of it passed.
‘He said he was hard on me because I was worth being hard on,’ wailed Sarah.
Tom was surprised. ‘Then, darling, why are you so upset? That sounds like he was nice to you.’
‘He was,’ wailed Sarah. ‘He’s always been nice to me. I just didn’t see it.’ Sarah lost control again, sobbing into Tom’s chest.
Tom and Sarah spent the rest of the evening quietly. Sarah didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to see anyone and didn’t want to return any phone calls. She wanted the world to go away. She curled up on one end of the couch and stared mindlessly at the TV. Tom skirted around her, making dinner, bringing her coffee and rubbing her feet. She smiled at him occasionally, but was mostly withdrawn. He wasn’t quite sure why McKenzie’s reaction had upset her so much. He filed it away as one of those unfathomable things and hoped tomorrow would bring a new day and a new mood.
*
‘What are you going to do today?’ Tom asked over breakfast.
‘I thought I might dig out all my old photos,’ replied Sarah. ‘They are loose in a box and I have been meaning to put them into photo albums. It looks like a miserable day outside so that’s what I feel like doing.’
‘Sounds like the perfect way to spend the first day of your holidays,’ said Tom.
‘I think so. Do you remember a cardboard box covered in yellow paper going up into the roof when we moved in?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Tom. ‘I vaguely remember passing it to Ginny and some photos falling out. Will you be all right getting up there by yourself? Do you want me to help you?’
‘No, I’ll be fine. I reckon I can get up there with the stepladder.’
Tom looked at Sarah doubtfully. She hated spiders. She hated confined spaces. This was most unlike her. But it sounded like a project for her to get into and he was sure that was better than moping around.
*
Ginny was getting ready for work and froze as she buttoned up her shirt. Had she heard right? Sarah wanted to get into the roof? What on earth for? ‘But you hate spiders,’ she screamed at the speaker in the corner of her bedroom. Ginny panicked. She remembered how professional the junction box had looked. There was just one new wire and Sarah would never notice that. But what about the phone buried in the insulation batts? What if Sarah stumbled across that? She was a clumsy oaf, thought Ginny, and it would be just her luck to stumble onto it.
She dialled Sarah’s number. She heard it ring on the loudspeaker, then click onto the answering machine. ‘Hi Sarah, it’s Ginny, just ringing to see how you are. Sending much love.’
Ginny paced around her bedroom, lifting the binoculars to her face then throwing them back on the bed in frustration because she couldn’t see into the kitchen. She heard Tom say goodbye and then the apartment was in silence. Ginny made another call. ‘Hi, it’s Ginny. I’m suffering from food poisoning. Please tell Dr Black I won’t be in today …’
*
Sarah looked at herself in the mirror. She looked how she felt, awful. She decided against a shower. What for? No-one would see her. She fetched her track pants and sweatshirt from the laundry basket and put them on. They probably should be washed but she didn’t
care. She was feeling grubby and took perverse pleasure in looking it. She wanted to be comfortable and she was.
Outside, the first of the rain landed on the balcony and the glass windows. It made a rhythmic drumming sound that deadened all other noise coming into the apartment. Sarah usually felt hemmed in on days like this. Today she felt cocooned.
She carried the stepladder into the lounge room and placed it under the manhole. She found the torch in the bottom kitchen drawer, checked that it worked and placed it on top of the stepladder. Just as she placed her foot on the bottom step, the intercom buzzed. She swore. She really didn’t want to see anyone. She decided to ignore it. She took another step up the ladder, then hesitated. Perhaps it was a delivery of flowers. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Everybody would expect her to be at work. She would hate to miss flowers. What if it was the police?
She was surprised when Ginny’s voice floated through the intercom. ‘Hi Sarah. It’s me, Ginny.’
Sarah’s first reaction was disappointment. She really did want to be on her own to go through all her old photos. She had thought of it driving home yesterday and it had become something that, suddenly and inexplicably, she felt driven to do. Her second reaction was relief. She was pleased to see Ginny. It meant she may not have to go up into the roof. Sarah felt guilty at the thought. She really shouldn’t use her friend in this way. She decided she would wait to see if Ginny offered.
Ginny was all concern and sympathy, worrying that her friend had not returned her call. She looked at Sarah. Her face showed no sign of tears, yet she looked bruised. Her skin was an unhealthy grey and she had black circles under her eyes. Ginny could smell the bitter scent of dried sweat. She saw all this but carefully avoided noticing the stepladder in the centre of the room.
‘What happened on Monday? I read the story in the paper. I’ve been so worried about you.’
Sarah assured her that she was fine. It was all an overreaction. She told Ginny she shouldn’t believe everything she read in the newspaper.
‘I lost my temper. That’s all. I’ve been a bit … overwrought lately and it all just got on top of me. I’m taking some time off and I plan to just chill out for a while. Read all those books I’ve been wanting to read, watch Oprah, have long lunches and cook proper dinners for Tom.’
Sarah almost convinced herself. She hadn’t thought about what she would do for the next two weeks but as she spoke, she started to like the sound of it.
‘Hell, I might even clean out the shoe cupboard!’
Ginny seemed to notice the stepladder for the first time.
‘What’s this then?’ she asked.
‘I wanted to get my box of photos out and sort them. I’ve been meaning to for ages. Do you remember a yellow cardboard box full of photos going up there?’
‘Yes, I think I do,’ replied Ginny. ‘I remember putting it up the back, near Tom’s scuba gear. Would you like me to get it down for you?’
‘Oh Ginny, would you mind? I hate the thought of going up there. I’d be grateful if you would.’
Ginny smiled. It looked genuine enough but the warmth didn’t reach her eyes. Sarah was too distracted to notice.
‘Why don’t you make us coffee and I’ll get down the box?’ suggested Ginny.
‘Oh thanks, Ginny. You have come by just at the right time.’
As Ginny climbed the stepladder, Sarah called out to her from the kitchen. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
‘Dr Black gave me the day off,’ replied Ginny, easing the manhole cover open and laying it carefully down inside. Tossing the torch through first, she hoisted herself into the roof. The air was warm and musty and exactly how Ginny remembered it. Once inside the false ceiling it didn’t matter whether it was daylight or not outside. In here it was heavy, cloying blackness. Ginny could hear Sarah’s muffled voice as she tried to continue their conversation. Ginny ignored her.
She shone the torchlight around and quickly located the telephone, sitting in its cradle, nestled into the pink insulation batt. Ginny felt the stinging microshards of fibreglass on her hands. It was a prickly, unpleasant feeling and she wiped them on her jeans. The telephone looked exactly as she had left it. She crawled across the crossbeams to the junction box and opened it. Not even the spiders had been interested. There wasn’t a single cobweb.
Sarah’s voice drifted up to her. ‘How are you doing up there?’ she called.
‘I can’t hear you,’ yelled Ginny.
Ginny was proud of her handiwork. She would have loved to show Tom how she had rigged this all up. It was so clever. She was so clever. She smiled to herself. It was unbearably stifling above the false ceiling and Ginny wavered between wanting more time to admire her simple but ingenious set-up and wanting to get out. She made her way across to the yellow cardboard box and shuffled it along the beams to the manhole opening. She saw Sarah’s head below and passed her the box.
Ginny stepped off the ladder, brushing her jeans and imaginary cobwebs from her hair. ‘Oh, there are so many spiders up there,’ she said. ‘They don’t bother me but gee there were some interesting ones, big and hairy.’
Sarah looked horrified.
‘None that could hurt you, they just look fierce,’ said Ginny. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Sarah.’
‘That’s okay, Ginny. I’m just a bit jumpy.’
Sarah sat on the floor and opened the box as she sipped her coffee. It was full of photos of varying sizes and dimensions. She upended the box on the carpet, laughing as they fell all about her. Images of her life spilled out in front of her in vibrant, living technicolour. Sarah as a baby with her hair standing on end, sitting happily on her father’s knee, Sarah and her mother on a rug at some beach, Sarah and Tom during the first year they met, photos of thirty schoolgirls lined up on chairs saying ‘cheese’ and ‘TV’ to the camera, skiing holidays, beach holidays, drinking competitions at uni – silly photos, mad photos, funny photos, poignant photos. It was her life, in a box.
Sarah laughed with delight as she pulled out a colour photo and handed it across to Ginny. Ginny flinched as she recognised it.
The photo showed Ginny and Sarah, arm-in-arm, looking at the camera. Sarah was laughing, her overwide mouth revealing lots of teeth. Her features didn’t quite fit her face. But there was already the hint of the beauty she was to become. She looked carefree and confident. Ginny stood beside her, smiling shyly. She was petite and pretty with a neat little turned-up nose and grey-blue eyes. She looked like a little doll. Behind them stood Gus Cowley, one hand on each girl’s shoulder. He was smiling broadly while the easy camaraderie between the two young girls was unmistakable. The photographer had perfectly captured their mutual affection. It was palpable and it made Ginny’s heart ache.
She remembered that day. Sarah’s parents had taken the two girls for Sunday lunch at one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, overlooking the harbour. Ginny always felt awkward around Sarah’s impossibly glamorous mother. Sarah and Geraldine had prattled on gaily, keeping a running banter of amusing stories and asides about other diners that had left Ginny in awe. Sarah’s father had tried to draw her into conversation, kindly asking about her favourite school subjects. Ginny couldn’t believe he would be genuinely interested but she warmed to his attention, talking about the science experiments she was doing. She was uncomfortable around adults, always feeling as if she should be on her best behaviour. And she desperately wanted Sarah’s parents to like her.
After lunch they had walked through the park and Geraldine had insisted the three pose for a photo. She remembered the feel of Gus’s warm, leathery hand on her bare shoulder, and Sarah tickling her waist to make her smile. An elderly couple enjoying a walk in the park had stopped and told Geraldine what a lovely family she had. Geraldine had beamed proudly and Gus had squeezed her shoulder.
Later that night, when the two girls were sitting on Sarah’s bed, Ginny had blurted out to Sarah how lucky she was to have parents who loved her. She was surpr
ised when Sarah had burst into tears.
‘I wish they would move to Sydney soon,’ Sarah had cried. ‘If they really loved me don’t you think they would want to be with me?’
Ginny hadn’t known what to say, how to comfort her friend. ‘Your mother said they would move here next year.’
‘She has said that every year for four years,’ sniffed Sarah.
Ginny had never heard Sarah speak this way. Nevertheless, the sadness passed in an instant and Sarah brightened as an idea occurred to her.
‘But when they do, maybe you could come and live with us.’
Ginny thought that was a lovely idea. The two girls imagined what it would be like, living together outside the high walls of the boarding school.
‘We could go to parties all the time,’ said Sarah.
‘We could go to cafés,’ said Ginny.
‘We could wear real clothes,’ said Sarah. ‘Instead of these dull grey things.’
The two girls made plans and giggled until the night-duty nun came and told Ginny it was past lights out and she would have to go back to her own room.
Seeing the photograph of the two of them so young and innocent brought everything back to Ginny. It was around that time they had sliced open the tips of their thumbs with a Stanley knife during a science class and pressed them together as a testament to their friendship and their vow to always be friends, no matter what life brought along. Blood sisters – ‘till death do us part’. Ginny’s school memories seemed full of Sarah, laughing and talking, always talking.
‘Do you remember Sister Conigrave telling us off for talking?’ said Ginny.
Sarah remembered. They were constantly in trouble for talking, during class, after lights out, in assembly. It was one long conversation that never seemed to end.
‘What did we talk about for so long?’ asked Ginny.
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