Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

  ‘I don’t understand,’ whispered Sarah. ‘What has happened?’

  It was as if she hadn’t spoken. Ginny continued to stare through her, clutching her bag tightly in her lap.

  ‘You have always had everything, everything,’ said Ginny. ‘Because you were Sarah Cowley.’ Her voice was thin and strained. She bared her teeth as she spoke.

  ‘Ginny, for God’s sake, what is going on? You’re my friend.’

  Ginny’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. Her voice dropped to a low hiss. ‘I was never your friend. ’

  Each word sliced through Sarah. The sentiment was hurtful enough but the malice in Ginny’s tone was sharp and shocking. Sarah struggled to make sense of what was happening.

  ‘You had everything, everything. Why? Because you were Sarah, beautiful, pampered Sarah. Smart Sarah. Pretty Sarah. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah,’ sneered Ginny. ‘God, how I hate you. Everything about you is by virtue of you being born. That was all you had to do. And you took it all as your due. Your birthright. While what was I? Poor old Ginny. Ginny, the orphan. Ginny, the also-ran.’

  Sarah sat mutely through the tirade, too shocked to speak.

  ‘Your life should have been mine.’

  Sarah barely recognised the twisted face of the woman sitting beside her as, for the first time, she saw past the public façade and into the real core of Ginny. It was rotten, putrid, like flyblown meat. The hatred in Ginny’s contorted face hit her hard, like a physical blow. Sarah started to tremble in the face of such malevolence. But Ginny was unmoved. She wanted to see Sarah suffer. She knew she was inflicting pain and it delighted her. She moved in for the final blow.

  ‘You have no idea, do you?’

  Sarah’s head started wobbling uncontrollably.

  ‘I’m your sister.’

  Ginny spat it out and Sarah felt a chasm open beneath her. The last vestiges of life as she had known it seeped away, leaving something ugly and deformed in its wake. Sarah felt the air, the garden, everything about her, sullied by its presence.

  Ginny threw back her head and laughed. ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m the bastard child of your father. Your precious Daddy. Couldn’t keep it in his pants, could he? Got his secretary pregnant. Oh don’t look so pathetic. It’s an old, old story. He had his fun then left her with the shame. Left her in Perth and went on to his next glamorous posting. She couldn’t tell her parents so I was farmed out, like some shameful secret that could never be exposed. Well, it’s time that secret was exposed.’

  Sarah recoiled. The images Ginny was painting were obscene. She wanted to run, to get away from this ugliness. Ginny’s hand snaked around her wrist, squeezing it tightly, pinning her to the bench.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere, precious little Sarah. It’s time you knew the ugly truth. What you and your father have done. How you robbed me of my life.’

  Sarah looked into the face of madness and braced herself. She stopped shaking as her strongest, most basic instincts of self-preservation took over. She stared back at Ginny, aware that the woman in front of her was her enemy. And she knew, beyond any doubt, that Ginny was the reason she was locked in here.

  ‘What have you done?’ she asked quietly.

  Ginny ignored her question.

  ‘Your life should have been my life. Except that your gutless father, our gutless father, wouldn’t acknowledge me.’

  Sarah kept her eyes fixed on Ginny but was aware of everyone else in the garden. The nurses were too far away to hear their conversation but Sarah knew she could scream and they would be there in an instant. She drew strength from that.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said.

  Ginny laughed contemptuously. ‘Oh, it’s true. You can believe it. It wasn’t my idea of good news either. I rather preferred the story of my parents being killed in a car crash when I was a baby. I wasn’t thrilled to discover that ageing Lothario you call Daddy is my father too. At least that vacuous bimbo he’s married to isn’t my mother. I suppose that’s something. My mother died when I was three and I was sent to live with that woman, my so-called aunt.’

  ‘What makes you think he is your father?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘You know that trust fund that paid my school fees? Guess who set that up? Mr Augustus Cowley Esquire, retired diplomat, current address Orchard Road, Singapore.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Ginny laughed with triumph. ‘You know my little trip to Perth, to see my aunt and sort out her will? It’s all there in her papers. She wasn’t my aunt. She was just someone paid to keep me from finding out.

  ‘She wrote me a little letter to be opened after her death. Well, she died and I opened it. And it was full of the whole dirty little secret. How he paid for me, paid for his sins with money, as if that was enough. Guilt money. He wanted me to have every privilege you had. When you were sent to boarding school he wanted me to go to the same school. When you had tennis lessons and piano lessons, I had to have them too. But I wasn’t quite as good as his precious little Sarah. While he gave you his name and his love, he gave me his shame. The shame of being born.

  ‘But you know what’s even sicker? What our sicko father did?’

  Ginny paused for effect.

  ‘It is a condition of the trust fund that if I ever found out, I was to keep the shameful secret of my being born or the payments would stop. If I told his precious little Sarah the truth, the trust fund would be dissolved.’

  Sarah reeled from the shock. ‘It’s not true. It can’t be true,’ she whispered.

  She thought of her father, heard him telling her to invite Ginny along whenever they came to visit, asking after Ginny when he called from Singapore. It couldn’t be true. That was just her father being friendly. Her mind grappled with the new information. She tried to reconcile her image of her father, kindly and honourable, with the man Ginny had just described. They were a world apart. Her father wouldn’t do that. He just wouldn’t. He wasn’t like that.

  Sarah felt her stomach clutch with the icy tendrils of dread.

  Ginny watched Sarah closely, relishing the confusion and anguish that played across her face. Ginny had one more trump card. But she wanted to hold onto it, let Sarah experience this pain completely before she played it. She savoured the moment.

  ‘You thought you could have it all didn’t you, little Sare Bear.’

  Sarah heard Ginny’s voice come to her from a long way off. What did she call her? Sare Bear. Why was she calling her that? Only Tom ever called her that. It was his silly pet name for her. Why was she using it? What did this have to do with Tom?

  Ginny giggled with delight. She let go of Sarah’s wrist and opened her handbag. She fished around inside and drew out a polaroid photo, brandishing it in the air. Sarah couldn’t make out what it was. Ginny dropped it face up in Sarah’s lap.

  It was a photo of Tom, his eyes closed and with Ginny’s arms draped around his neck. The picture was taken at an odd angle, from below the chest and Ginny’s naked breast was clearly visible. They appeared to be on a rug. Ginny was smiling dreamily at the camera, while Tom appeared to be asleep. Sarah stared at the image then turned and dry-retched onto the grass.

  ‘Did you think he would still want you after what you did?’ hissed Ginny. ‘He’s mine now.’

  Ginny opened her bag again and while Sarah heaved, silently pulled out a syringe. Her hands were perfectly steady as she withdrew the plastic cap.

  Sarah stayed bent over, waiting for the nausea to pass. The photo was an abomination. Ginny looked at Sarah’s bare arm, eyeing her from wrist to shoulder, then slid silently along the bench. She reached up deftly with one hand, gripping Sarah’s bicep, and with the other raised the syringe ready to jab.

  Tom hurled himself across the top of the bench, knocking Ginny to the ground. They landed in a heap on the grass. Ginny struggled but she was no match for Tom. He was stronger and angrier.

  The security guard and Sister Johns were seconds behind him. The guard moved Tom away and pinned Ginny
to the ground, sitting on her chest. He was a burly man and his weight knocked the breath from her body. When he was sure she had given up the fight, he eased the pressure.

  Sarah sat in shock, her arms wrapped about her, staring at the photo on the ground. Tom knelt in front of her. Her face was wretched. She focussed on him and said his name in a small, pained voice. It was as if her face was a mirror shattering in front of him. In her voice he could hear the breaking glass, falling underfoot and being trodden on. He wrapped his arms about her and held her tightly. She didn’t respond, just sat mutely in the circle of his arms.

  ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he soothed. ‘It’s all over now.’ He rocked her gently, patting her hair, trying to absorb her pain and impart his own love and strength.

  Thel and Dr Hubert arrived, Thel panting with the effort of running across the lawn.

  ‘Sarah, oh honey,’ she said.

  While Tom held Sarah, Thel stroked her hair, tears coursing down her face.

  Dr Hubert retrieved the syringe from the grass, holding it carefully between two fingers.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said.

  ‘I think you’ll find that contains steroids,’ said Tom. ‘Or horse tranquilliser. She’s a vet and she’s been poisoning Sarah.’ Tom couldn’t bring himself to say Ginny’s name.

  Sarah heard the words, but they held no meaning. It was as though this was all happening to someone else, somewhere far away, a long time ago.

  ‘And this?’ Dr Hubert picked up the polaroid photo. He recognised the people in it. He raised an eyebrow, hesitated, then held it for Tom and Thel to see.

  Tom’s face drained of colour. ‘Oh God. She is sick. She drugged me, kept me in her apartment. She must have taken it then.’

  Thel gasped. ‘When you came out of hospital … I knew it. I knew there was something wrong. I rang but she wouldn’t let me speak to you.’ She glared at Ginny. Thel had never hated anyone in her life. But she felt an all-consuming black rage against Ginny at that moment. The force of it made her tremble. Dr Hubert noticed and put an arm around her shoulders. Thel leaned gratefully against him.

  The small group stood silently looking at Ginny, her small body trapped under the bodyguard, her neat navy skirt wet and stained with grass.

  Ginny kept her head turned away from them all, staring silently out at the pond.

  TWO YEARS ON

  Sarah peeked through the rhododendron bush, taking care not to be seen by the small group gathered at the water’s edge.

  ‘They’re all there,’ she whispered.

  Thel smiled at her. ‘Be careful of your dress, honey.’

  Sarah stood back and smoothed the loose flowing dress over her bump. She wore a pale pink shift that fell a few inches above her knee. ‘Do you think it shows?’

  Thel grinned. ‘Yep. I’d say it’s pretty obvious.’

  Sarah giggled with delight. Thel tucked the younger woman’s hand into the crook of her arm and patted it.

  ‘You should see Tom,’ whispered Sarah. ‘He looks so handsome in his tuxedo.’

  ‘All men do, honey,’ said Thel.

  Sarah was nervous, fidgeting in the small space behind the Toft Monks boatshed. By contrast, Thel was the picture of calm. Her long dark hair was loose, falling softly about her shoulders, a sprig of jasmine pinned behind one ear. She revelled in Sarah’s excitement.

  It was a vibrant spring afternoon and the waters of Rushcutters Bay shimmered in the sunlight. The boats moored in the bay jostled with each other, moved by the warm breeze. A sense of anticipation rippled through the small group of people assembled informally by the jetty. Kate, resplendent in figure-hugging leopard skin, took a step forward and began to sing.

  Never know how much I love you,

  Never know how much I care

  When you put your arms around me

  I get a fever that’s so hard to bear.

  You give me fever …

  Sarah and Thel linked arms and stepped out from behind the rhododendron bush. They fell into step together, easily and naturally, walking sedately across the manicured lawns to the water’s edge.

  … when you kiss me

  Fever when you hold me tight.

  Fever

  In the morning.

  Fever all through the night …

  Kate belted out the song with all the chutzpah and energy she possessed. Her enthusiasm was infectious. Sarah and Thel sashayed to the beat as they walked.

  … You give me fever,

  Fever when you kiss me

  Fever when you hold me tight.

  Fever

  In the morning.

  Fever all through the night …

  The buoyant mood was contagious and the rest of the group joined in the raunchy ballad. By the time Thel and Sarah reached them they were in full swing, tapping their feet and clapping along.

  Sun lights up the daytime

  Moon lights up the night

  I light up when you call my name

  And you know I’ m going to treat you right.

  The two women walked past Tom, handsome and proud in his tuxedo. Thel winked at her son and he grinned back. They came to a halt in front of the civil celebrant, a neat woman wearing a smart navy suit and the unmistakable air of officialdom. Kate finished singing and everyone clapped.

  ‘Who brings this woman here today?’ asked the celebrant.

  Hal stepped forward.

  ‘I do,’ he said loudly and clearly. He took his place by Thel while Sarah stepped back, slipping her arm through Tom’s.

  ‘Do you, Thelma Valda Wilson, take Nicholas Charles Maxwell Hubert …’

  Dr Hubert looked into Thel’s sparkling brown eyes and grinned.

  The formal part of the day was over in a matter of minutes. The happy little group reconvened in Tom and Sarah’s apartment. Sarah handed around canapés and Tom served champagne.

  Sarah had spent days cooking, insisting on doing it all herself despite her advanced state of pregnancy. Thel threw her head back and laughed when she saw the pastry pie Sarah had baked. She noticed Hal’s boyfriend David staring at it.

  ‘That’s Sarah’s specialty,’ she said to him.

  ‘What is it … a lighthouse?’

  Thel chuckled.

  ‘Actually, it’s a penis.’

  David looked shocked, which amused Thel even further.

  ‘Not like any I’ve seen,’ he said.

  Thel raised one eyebrow.

  He looked at it again, more critically. ‘Mind you, now that you mention it …’

  They both laughed conspiratorially, like naughty children. Hal joined them by the table, asking what was so funny. They both shook their heads.

  ‘Nothing, Hal.’

  Sarah offered a plate of canapés to Dr Hubert, who was standing apart from the rest looking out across the bay.

  ‘How is the nervous groom?’

  ‘I’m doing fine, just fine. How are you?’

  ‘That’s such a loaded question coming from a psychiatrist. What can I say? I’m no more neurotic than usual.’

  Dr Hubert smiled down his beaked nose. ‘Sarah Cowley, you are one of the sanest people I know. To have come through what you did as well as you have is the mark of a very strong character.’

  Sarah was thoughtful for a moment. She carried deep and painful wounds from that time, which were still healing. Often in the very early hours of the morning, while Tom slept, she would prowl the apartment, tense and wired, asking herself how it could have happened, going over it all again and again. She relived her school years with Ginny, the horror of the four months when she had lost control of her body, her mind and her life, and the painful showdown she had had with her father.

  It had torn apart her relationship with her parents. Her mother had refused to believe any of it while her father had privately admitted it was true, breaking down and sobbing his shame to Sarah. One day the wounds may heal, but Sarah wasn’t ready for that yet. Discovering she was pregnant had marked
the beginning of her recovery. The anger that had kept her in a holding pattern had started to dissipate. Instead of focussing on what had happened and what could have been, she found herself looking forward to the future and making plans.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘It is very reassuring to hear you say that.’

  Dr Hubert placed a hand on her arm. ‘Do you think you will ever stop seeing me as a psychiatrist?’

  Sarah laughed. ‘That may take more time, I think. But I’m working on it.’

  They sipped their champagne, looking out across at the apartment building facing them. Sarah’s gaze settled on a balcony. The doors were flung open and she could see inside to a young couple painting the walls. Dr Hubert followed her gaze.

  ‘It doesn’t worry you, still living here?’ he asked.

  ‘I won’t let it,’ said Sarah, defiantly.

  Tom cleared his throat and tapped a champagne glass to get everyone’s attention. ‘I would like to toast my mother and the very lucky man who this afternoon married her.’

  Thel took her place by her new husband, her dark eyes sparkling.

  ‘My mother is an amazing woman. She has been my best friend all my life. I admire her for her strength, her character, her integrity and most of all her extraordinary compassion. She is mad, of course, everyone here knows that. And that’s just one reason that Nicholas is perfect for her. But she is also one gutsy lady. Thel, I pay tribute to you. You light up the world.’

  Thel’s eyes filled with tears. Everyone raised their glass and toasted her.

  ‘I would like also to pay tribute to Nicholas. I couldn’t have picked a finer man for Thel. You share her passion for art, her sense of humour and you have my deepest respect for the way you have come into this unorthodox family and accepted us all exactly as we are. You have seen us at the best and worst of times and yet you are still here. We welcome you with open arms.’