Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

  *

  It was evening when Tom woke to the insistent ringing of the telephone. He lay in bed ignoring it. After a few minutes the answering machine picked it up. Whoever it was didn’t leave a message. He lay listening to the sounds of the silent apartment. The fluffy white bathrobe lay in a heap on the floor by the bed. The sight of it was an abomination to him. He rolled over, facing the empty spot beside him. ‘Sarah,’ he moaned inwardly.

  He got out of bed, aware that his body was stiff and he ached all over. At least his face had stopped throbbing. He smelled stale and sweaty. He wanted to wash, to be clean, to rid himself of all the ugliness of the past few days.

  His face stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. He was shocked by his appearance. He looked like a drunk who had been living on the streets.

  Blood had seeped through the bandage on his cheek and then dried. His jaw was swollen and the beginnings of a huge bruise, blue, black and yellow, spread across his chin like a birthmark. The other side of his face bore the imprint of the bed sheets, making the skin look like it had been folded.

  Tom ran a bath. He didn’t think he could stand for very long in the shower.

  When he sat in the bath it was painfully hot and the steam rose off the water in wisps, soaking his face and hair. He stared blankly at his naked knees. He didn’t often have a bath. That was Sarah’s domain. And everything around him was testament to that. There were bottles of shampoo and conditioner, bath bombs, scrubs, oils and all sorts of things that Tom couldn’t identify. He sat perched in the middle of the bath, feeling uncomfortable in the feminine surroundings. Everything around him screamed of Sarah.

  Then he cried. Soundlessly. Tears rose from deep within him and he let them run free to pour down his face and drop into the bath where they made soothing little sounds as they hit the water. When he was spent he dried himself carefully, took some pain-killers and went back to bed, crawling between the sheets. He didn’t move again until the morning sun had crept across the bedroom floor, tugging at his closed eyelids.

  *

  With the new day came a very different world for Tom to face and make sense of. He had dozens of messages on his answering machine. Linda at the newspaper had called repeatedly, looking for him, wondering why he hadn’t been at work for the past two days. Thel had called a few times. In the first call she sounded puzzled. In the next five calls she sounded increasingly frantic, then resigned. Each time she left Hal’s mobile number. Tom felt a pang of guilt. Detective-Sergeant Paul McCracken from Paddington Police Station wanted him to call back urgently. He had also left a number. Kate and Anne, unaware of what had happened, left cheery messages for Sarah. No calls from Peter Hatfield at the Daily News. Tom was surprised. They obviously didn’t know about it. Perhaps it hadn’t made the wires. Too much else to focus on at the Mardi Gras, he supposed.

  Tom’s head was clear for the first time in days. He knew exactly what his priorities were. He wanted to know where Sarah was and what the hell had happened. He wanted to see her. And really that was all he could think about. He had some questions, big basic questions, that only she could answer. They went around and around in his head. He felt a kaleidoscope of emotions. He was angry, hurt, worried for her, disbelieving and confused. But mostly he was hurt. It bore down on him like a heavy weight, oppressing him, almost crushing him.

  The episode with Ginny disgusted him. It was a surreal memory. He pushed it away.

  Tom phoned a mate at police headquarters who told him a police doctor had had Sarah committed for psychiatric evaluation. She was currently under the care of Orchard Park Psychiatric Hospital. The paperwork was still being processed so he could tell Tom little more than that. She hadn’t been charged. That would be why it hadn’t made the newspapers. He gave Tom the number of the hospital.

  ‘The police want to talk to you, Tom,’ he said. ‘They have her listed as a possible assault charge.’

  Tom wondered how long this nightmare would continue. He dialled Orchard Park Psychiatric Hospital but they would give him no information. He would have to talk to the supervising psychiatrist, Dr Hubert. Tom left his number. Then Tom phoned Thel. She burst into tears at the sound of his voice.

  ‘Where have you been? We have been so worried about you.’

  ‘Sorry, Thel. Ginny picked me up from the hospital. Then I came home and I’ve just slept for days,’ he lied, hoping it sounded plausible. He didn’t want to tell Thel about Ginny. He didn’t feel he had the stomach for it.

  ‘Oh God, are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  Relief washed over Thel like a cool, refreshing wave. ‘I’m coming around now.’

  Tom knew better than to argue and he didn’t want to. He wanted to see Thel. She would provide some sanity in the midst of this madness. She was also the one person who may be able to help him understand what had happened at the Mardi Gras.

  Ten minutes later Thel was standing in his kitchen piling plastic containers of soup from the local deli into Tom’s fridge.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she said.

  Tom sat quietly in the kitchen while Thel fussed around him. She alternated between being bossy and being sympathetic. He accepted both patiently.

  ‘We tried everywhere to find Ginny’s address. I was so angry that she wouldn’t let me speak to you. Why did you go there?’

  Tom could tell by Thel’s tone she was beginning to relax. He didn’t want to start her worrying all over again.

  ‘Oh, stop worrying, Thel. I’m home and I’m fine,’ he said vaguely. He wanted to talk to his mother about Sarah. ‘What happened?’ he asked Thel. ‘You were there. The last thing I remember is chasing after Hal’s float, seeing Sarah upset in the crowd and then chasing after her. It’s all such a blur. I remember her screaming at me … then I was on the ground … and there were police.’

  Thel took a seat opposite him. Tom could see the lines of worry etched into her face.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. I don’t know. I didn’t see Sarah after we were sitting watching the parade.’

  ‘How did I get to the hospital?’

  ‘Hal and I took you in the ambulance. We saw police and a lot of commotion and we realised it was you on the stretcher. We didn’t see what happened before that.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I just don’t get it.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Thel looked tenderly at her son. ‘Why don’t you come down to Kiama for a few days? You need to take some time out. The sun and quiet will do you good.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I can’t. I need to see Sarah. I need to talk to her.’

  Thel understood. She had a few questions of her own for Sarah.

  ‘Sarah didn’t seem herself at all on Saturday,’ said Thel. ‘I noticed it as soon as I arrived. She seemed uptight. On edge. I wondered if she was on drugs.’

  Tom looked shocked. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. ‘Sarah never touches anything like that. She barely takes an aspirin. And as you know she hardly drinks.’

  ‘I know. I figured it was unlikely. But she definitely wasn’t herself.’

  Tom thought of the past few months and the way their relationship had soured so inexplicably.

  ‘She’s been uptight a lot lately,’ Tom admitted. ‘She’s been obsessive. Something has been bothering her, eating away at her. But I don’t know what.’

  ‘Could it be the wedding?’ asked Thel.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because getting married can add an extra strain to a relationship. It makes you question all sorts of things – about your relationship, about your partner, about yourself.’

  Tom considered Thel’s suggestion. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Was she upset that her parents couldn’t come?’

  ‘Yes, but it wasn’t exactly a huge shock.’

  Thel remembered the young girl Tom had brought home. She had seemed vivacious and confident but Thel had seen straight through that to the lonely person inside. Now that she could see for herself
that her son was okay she turned all her attention to Sarah.

  ‘Had the bulimia returned?’

  ‘I think so. You know how hard it is to tell. She has just been so … aggressive. I don’t know if that is a sign of bulimia or not. I don’t remember that last time. But for the past few weeks, months, she has been like a powder keg, ready to explode. At me or at anyone who gets in her way.’

  Tom recalled the incident at the RTA. Thel didn’t read the papers and probably wouldn’t know about that. Tom didn’t feel inclined to bring it up. He felt angry, hurt and confused about Sarah. But he also felt protective. He changed the subject.

  ‘So Hal is gay.’

  Thel nodded. They were both quiet for a moment.

  ‘Did you know?’ asked Tom. He looked at his mother.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. How could she not have known? She had known gay men. Why had it never occurred to her? She felt so foolish. ‘No. I guess maybe I should have, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Tom. ‘That was some way to find out, seeing him in the parade.’

  ‘On a float with the leather men,’ added Thel.

  The incongruity of it struck them both at the same time. Thel started to laugh. She laughed and laughed, holding her sides when they started to ache. Tom stared at his mother uncomprehendingly. At that moment she didn’t look like his mother. Then before Tom realised what he was doing, he was joining in. It felt good.

  ‘My dad, the leather man,’ said Tom. ‘Didn’t you ever suspect he was gay?’

  ‘No,’ replied Thel. ‘You’ve got to remember we were very young when we married. We were both so innocent.’

  Tom tried to imagine his parents as a young couple, innocent and unaware. He couldn’t do it. He saw them through eight-year-old eyes and the memories were too vague and coloured by distance.

  Thel tried to explain. ‘In those days it wasn’t as acceptable as it is now. Homosexuality was considered an aberration, a sickness that you had to be cured of.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Why did you never remarry?’

  Thel looked away. ‘I could have, I suppose. There were a couple of possibilities along the way. But it was quite tough on me, as a woman, being rejected in that way. I guess for a long time I lost my faith in myself.’

  Tom tried to understand. Thel had always been so open with him about sex and yet he had never seen his mother as a sexual being. He got up and started to move around the room, restless. Thel watched him.

  ‘I don’t think any kid wants to imagine his parents having a sex life. You want to change the subject?’ she said with a smile.

  After Thel left, Tom phoned Dr Hubert again. This time he was in but not very helpful. Tom had dealt with enough doctors in his job to expect that. They were extremely reluctant to discuss patients with anyone but the immediate family and then not normally on the telephone. All Tom learned was that yes, Sarah was there, and yes, she was being treated by Dr Hubert. Tom made an appointment to see him the following day.

  He phoned Linda at the newspaper to explain he had been in an accident and would need the rest of the week off. The police he would worry about later. If they wanted him, he thought, they would have to come and get him. He needed to know a lot more before he would help them put Sarah in jail.

  He wandered aimlessly about the apartment. It was the home he had made with Sarah and without her in it, it felt oddly empty. Yet it was full of their things: photos, ornaments, paintings they had bought together. Things that on their own didn’t mean anything. Everything in it harked back to a happier time.

  He found himself standing at the balcony doors looking across at the opposite building. He had never really noticed it before, always looking past it to appreciate the harbour view. He thought he knew which balcony belonged to Ginny’s apartment. It looked different from the others. He could see lounge rooms and bedrooms in the other apartments, but Ginny’s was a blank. The windows and doors reflected Toft Monks back to him. The apartment looked as if it had no soul of its own.

  Tom recalled what it had been like inside. The stuffed cat. Ginny in a sexy gown coming on to him. The bizarre seduction scene she had set up. She had knocked him out and stripped him naked. He remembered the sight of her head on his chest. The two of them naked and entwined under the blanket. He wondered what had happened. She didn’t, did she? She couldn’t have. But then he wouldn’t have. Would he? He had an uncomfortable memory of something happening. He hoped he had dreamed it.

  Tom went back over the years, remembering conversations he had with Ginny. He had got on well with Ginny. She was pleasant enough. She was Sarah’s best friend. He didn’t see her in any light other than that. But now that he analysed his feelings for her, he realised he had never truly liked her. The realisation surprised him. There had always been something unsettling about her, an intensity that made her uncomfortable to be around. He had seen her look at him in a way that seemed odd. But he had assumed she was like that with everyone. He had been too uninterested to give it much thought.

  What had she said? That she had always loved him. That they were meant to be together. Tom felt the disgust well up inside him. He shuddered. He didn’t want to think about her.

  He thought back over his conversation with Thel. She had noticed something wrong with Sarah on Saturday. She had suggested drugs. Tom was sure Sarah didn’t take drugs. It was too out of character. She was obsessed with fitness. He tried to imagine her shooting up heroin in the bathroom without him knowing. The image just didn’t fit. But there were those mood swings, her aggression.

  Tom went into the bathroom. He slid open the mirrored cabinet. It was a sight he looked at every day but never really noticed. His shaving gear. Sarah’s hair dryer. Spare toothpaste. Sarah’s beauty creams. Suntan lotion. Vitamin pills, C and B complex. He opened each of the vitamin jars and looked inside. He didn’t really know what he was looking for but he was satisfied they looked like vitamin pills. He reached up to the shelf and brought down the blue ice-cream container that held their first aid supplies. Bandaids. Throat lozenges that were well past their use-by date. Mercurochrome. Iodine. A bandage. Mouthwash. Pills for period pain. Cottonwool. Everything looked terribly normal.

  Tom moved into the bedroom. He opened the drawers beside Sarah’s side of the bed. It felt strange to be rifling through her things. He had never looked in here before. There were a couple of books. A bridal magazine. Some bed socks. A couple of photos of him. Hair clips. Chewing gum. A walkman and two tapes.

  How well do you really know someone? he thought. How well did Thel know Hal? Not at all as it turned out.

  He pulled out a pile of letters buried at the bottom of the drawer and sat on the bed to read them. One was from him when he was in London on a story. He remembered writing it. He had been missing her badly and decided to write and tell her, even though he knew he would be home before she received the letter. It was the only love letter he had ever written. The others were bright and breezy letters from her mother, monologues about their oh-so-fabulous life in Singapore. She signed each of them simply ‘Geraldine’. He skimmed them then put them back, feeling guilty for invading her privacy.

  There was nothing in there that would suggest she was taking drugs.

  *

  Tom sat in the waiting room at Orchard Park. It was a majestic old sandstone building but inside it looked much like any other public hospital, except for the locked cage doors at the end of the corridor. Sarah would be through there, thought Tom. His heart ached for her. How she would hate that. He wondered what she was doing, what she was thinking. Did she hate him? Was that what this was all about? Or was she really mad?

  Dr Hubert kept him waiting for half an hour. Every second was agonising for Tom. He rifled through a National Geographic that was two years old. He looked blankly at the photo essay of National Fly Swatting Day in China. Hundreds of thousands of Chinese catching flies and presenting them in jars to the judges. That could take off in Australia, he thought idly. Finally a silv
er-haired man appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Mr Wilson?’ Dr Hubert was a grave-faced, short man with a neat silver goatee, steel-rimmed glasses and a jaunty tartan bow tie. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s been a rather hectic morning.’

  Tom greeted the doctor then followed him down the grey linoleum towards the locked cage doors. He expected they would go through the doors and for a moment thought he was being taken straight to Sarah, but just as they drew close Dr Hubert veered off to the right and motioned him through an open doorway.

  It was a basic meeting room, like those in police stations or employment offices. It was bare except for a wooden table and chairs in the centre of the room.

  ‘I’m afraid my office is being painted but we shouldn’t be disturbed in here,’ the doctor explained.

  They took their places opposite each other. Dr Hubert had a manila folder with ‘Sarah Cowley’ written on it sideways in red capital letters. Seeing her name there made Tom’s stomach lurch. The last vestige of hope that Sarah wasn’t really here and that it had all been a ghastly mistake disappeared. Dr Hubert placed the file on the table in front of him, his hands clasped on top.

  Tom looked into his kindly, intelligent face.

  ‘I am Sarah’s fiancé,’ said Tom. ‘How is she?’

  Dr Hubert studied the battered face in front of him, the vivid blue eyes focussed intently on him and the voice thick with concern. He remembered the wildcat who had been brought in on Saturday night, kicking and screaming abuse at the attendants. If this was her fiancé, heaven help him, he thought.

  ‘Did Sarah do this?’ he asked, gesturing to Tom’s face.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Tom reluctantly. He took a deep breath then explained what had happened. How Sarah had looked anxious and stressed, how he had followed her into the alley and how she had attacked him. He was surprised by his own reticence. The account he gave was accurate enough but he was aware he was feeling defensive for Sarah, and trying to play it down. It was instinctive.