by Vanda Symon
‘Sam.’ A voice filtered vaguely through the murk.
‘Sam?’ A large hand turned my face and I registered Cole’s concerned eyes swimming inches from my own. ‘Sam, are you OK?’
I didn’t know if I would ever be OK. The blur of noise refocused into the sound of voices, the clinking of glasses, Tammy’s lament more mournful than ever. I remembered to breathe.
‘Do you want to go?’ he asked.
I shook my head. The thought of getting up and walking through that room of pitying eyes was unbearable. What I wanted was an anaesthetic.
‘I need a drink,’ I said.
Immediately a glass was thrust into one hand.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, as I wiped beneath my nose with the other.
‘Whisky.’
It looked like a big one, and I downed it in one gulp – then coughed violently as the fumes hit me square in the sinuses.
‘You knew what he was going to say?’ I spluttered.
‘Yes,’ was the simple reply.
Of course he did. I tried to feel some resentment, but the only sensation I could really muster up was exhaustion. I leaned heavily against his shoulder.
‘Did he ask you to look after me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have another drink?’
‘No, but I’ll get you a coffee.’
I tried to resent that too, but instead felt a flicker of gratitude. He propped me back up into the vertical, and then cupped my cheek with his giant hand before he uttered, ‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ with surprising tenderness, then disappeared off. My hand reached up to where his had been and I squeezed my eyes tight shut against the confusion that boiled in my head.
It took a couple of coffees before I was outwardly calm enough even to consider moving. For once, I was actually grateful that Cole was not the talkative type and didn’t need to fill my silence with hollow conversation. He sat, content to sip on his beer and assume the role of minder. On the odd occasion, when someone went to approach me, he subtly turned them away with a simple shake of the head.
Inwardly, I was still a writhing mess. How had it come to this? I was a suspect in a murder; I’d probably completely screwed my career; I felt a physical and emotional wreck; and now the man I still cared for most in this world had banned me from his wife’s funeral. That kind of thing only happened to social lepers and pariahs. My brittle veneer of composure ran the risk of fragmenting again.
‘Get me out of here, please.’
Cole helped me to my feet, then took my hand and led me to the door by the most direct route possible. I studied my footsteps the whole way, not daring to meet curious or accusing eyes, but I was acutely aware of the wane in conversation as we passed, and the crescendo that followed in our wake.
As the door shut behind us, that small part of me that had maintained some degree of strength succumbed to the strain. I stumbled my way down the steps, then collapsed to my knees, my body no longer able to contain the sheer size of my desolation.
‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ Cole’s hands grabbed me under the armpits, and he lifted me up and over his shoulder, then rearranged me so he could carry me like a child. With one arm around the back of his neck and the other around the front, I clung on and wept into his collar.
‘Hey, hang on there!’ A voice hailed us from the other side of the car park. I heard running footsteps approach.
‘What’s going on? Sam, are you alright?’
I lifted my tear-streaked face out of Cole’s neck and saw Paul Frost’s troubled features wavering before me.
‘She’s a bit upset,’ Cole said. ‘I’m just taking her home.’
‘Are you OK with that, Sam? Or do you want me to take you?’
I nodded my head at the first question and shook it for the other.
‘Hang on a second, mate.’ Cole opened the door to his ute and carefully lowered me into the seat. He rummaged in the glovebox and handed me a grimy man-sized handkerchief, then shut the door. I leaned my head against the window and watched the two men in discussion. Their voices were low; I couldn’t catch what they were saying and I didn’t really want to. It was fairly obvious who the topic of conversation was. They both stood stiffly, hands thrust in pockets except when pulled out to point or gesture, feet slowly shuffling. Several minutes later, I saw the conversation end as Paul waved his finger at Cole. Cole threw his hands up in the air, then strode around to the driver’s side of the ute. He climbed in and closed the door with enough force to make me jump.
‘What was that about?’ I asked. God, my voice sounded foreign.
‘Nothing,’ Cole said, and turned the key in the ignition.
38
The house was dark except for the porch light, a lone beacon. Maggie’s little Honda hatch wasn’t in the driveway. Shit, the last thing I wanted was to be alone. Cole pulled up close to the door and left the engine idling; I didn’t make any move to get out.
‘Are you going to be OK?’ he asked. ‘Is Maggie home?’
‘She went out with some work friends.’ I didn’t look at him and hesitated before asking a question I wasn’t sure was wise. ‘Do you mind coming in for a bit, till she gets back? I just need some company.’
‘Yeah, of course.’ He edged the ute forward, killed the engine and the lights, then hopped out and came around to open my door. ‘Do you want a hand?’
‘Thanks.’ I swung my legs around, took his hand and descended from the vehicle as gracefully as I could in a straight skirt.
My fingers fumbled the key into the lock. I opened the door, reached my hand around and flicked on the light switch. Everything looked in the same tidy order in which I’d left it, and the sense of relief made me realise how nervous I had been that the police would come back for another go.
‘Come in, please,’ I said as Cole hesitated in the entrance. ‘Have a seat, I’ll make a cup of tea.’ I filled the kettle, turned it on, then excused myself to the bathroom.
Once there, I got brave and looked at my reflection. The face in the mirror was in dire need of repair. My supposedly waterproof mascara had failed dismally. Tears had washed pale tracks down my foundation. Lipstick was nowhere to be seen, only the drawn outline of my mouth where I had traced it with lip liner. Then there were my eyes. Even I didn’t like looking into those. God only knew what Cole thought: that was twice today he had seen me at my less than best. I turned on the hot tap and idly splashed my fingers through the stream as I waited for the heat to come through. All I wanted to do was collapse into my bed and hope that the oblivion of sleep would fix all my woes. Who knew, I might get lucky and never wake up. I soaked a facecloth with the now scalding water and held it against my face: the warmth was wonderful. I held it there till it started to cool, then heated it up again. Eventually, my face glowed bright pink – it was an improvement.
I took a few deep breaths and opened the door to return to my company. I had begun to feel a little odd about having him in my house.
Two mugs of tea emitted ribbons of steam on the side table; Cole sat in an armchair. I settled myself into the corner of the sofa and, with as much dramatic flair as I could muster, patted my hands against my cheeks and announced that I was ‘a bit more human now’.
‘It’s a definite improvement,’ he said, then resumed his study of the room, his body language a translation in discomfort. I reached forward and gingerly tested the tea he’d put in front of me. I gave a little sigh as its tannins registered on my taste buds; I appreciated its comfort. This Kiwi bloke had turned out to be a very thoughtful man. ‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘That’s OK, I found everything.’
‘No, not for that … I mean, yes, for that too. I mean thank you for tonight and for caring. I didn’t expect that from Lockie. It threw me.’ I shrugged.
Cole gave a small smile to show he knew just how much it threw me. I was slightly embarrassed by that. I wanted to think that if my day hadn’t been such a disaster up to that point, I would have handled
Lockie’s request a little more objectively. He had every right to ask me to stay away from the funeral. Well, that’s what my brain said. My heart held an altogether different opinion, and the mere acknowledgement of that set me to sniffing again.
‘Look, you’ve had a hell of a hard day. Why don’t you go to bed? I can wait out here till Maggie gets back.’
My eyes began to overflow again. ‘Shit, Cole, I’ve got myself into such a mess. I don’t know what to do.’
He looked over, and then with the great deliberation of having made a decision, he got up and came over to sit next to me. He enclosed my knee in his hand.
‘Look, why don’t you get away for a while? Go home to your folks?’
Christ, my family. As much as a part of me wanted to run home to my mother’s arms, another part knew too well the failure that would admit. My pride could never let me do that. And I could not subject myself to the inevitable lectures that would come my way. Oh yes, they would give me a day or two’s grace to recover, then the insidious little comments would start – the wee hints here, suggestions there, and all in my best interests, of course. Mum had already made her opinion quite clear, so it would only be Dad’s presence that would hold her back from a full-on launch: ‘You don’t have to go back, permanently. You could stay here. We could find you work. Maybe the police isn’t really for a girl like you.’
A girl like me.
I didn’t really know what kind of a girl I was any more. I burst into tears again, and then tried to utter an apology when I saw the look on Cole’s face. The poor man was just trying to be helpful and all he had was a pathetic, hysterical, snot-covered female on his hands.
I was so busy with my self-flagellation, it took a few moments to register that Cole was picking me up, lifting me onto his lap, and enveloping me in his long muscular arms. I stiffened; then, with a howl, leaned in to his chest and gave myself up to the sobs.
I don’t know how long I sobbed or how long Cole sat there cradling me like a hurt child, but at some indefinable point the dynamic changed – a vertiginous shift that confused my senses. The chest that had offered tender comfort now offered the promise of strength; the arms that gently rocked me to ease my tension now created a tension of a different kind.
My self-pitying, hazed mind made an abrupt lurch into the here and now. My hand that had rested on Cole’s shoulder now caressed it. I watched it as it ran up the side of his neck and paused, cupped on his cheek. He stopped rocking me, and I could feel his breath hold, his muscles tense, as if poised for … what? I slowly lifted my eyes up to meet his. The look that bore down on me was a perfect fusion of uncertainty and hunger and I just had to consume it. I slipped my hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth down onto mine. His lips were uncertain at first, but they did not pull away. I felt any resistance drain away, replaced by hot, urgent need. I pressed myself hard in against his body and his hand reached up into my hair, to pull my mouth impossibly deeper into his. White light and pain erupted in my mind and I screamed out, the sound muffled by Cole’s lips and tongue.
Cole leaped up and I fell in a heap onto the floor.
‘Shit, fuck, what?’ He stood poised for action; his head whipped around ready to fight whatever foe might be there. I groaned and sat up, then leaned forwards with my head between my knees and my hands around my wound.
Realisation dawned and he dropped to his knees in front of me.
‘Shit, I’ve hurt you. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let that happen,’ he said, and pulled his hands through his hair. He sat back on his heels and let out a sigh that sounded as tired as I felt. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll go. I shouldn’t be here.’ He stood back up slowly and started towards the door.
I couldn’t let that happen.
‘Cole, wait.’
He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
With the help of the sofa for support, I stood up, then walked over to him on unsteady legs. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his back. I could hear his heart pound beneath my ear.
‘Please don’t go. I need you here.’
He grasped my hands and lifted them to his lips, then kissed the knuckle of each thumb in turn. Then he separated my hands and placed them down at my sides.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t know what you want.’
No single word was complex enough to express what I wanted. But there was something he could give me that would assuage some of my needs for the moment. I turned him around to face me, then reached up my hand and, once again, guided his lips down to mine. When he eventually pulled away, he again offered me the opportunity to stop what was apparent from becoming inevitable.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’
His chivalry only made me more certain.
I smiled, took his hand and led him towards my room.
39
I lay on my side, tense and wary, and listened for any indication that he was awake. The monotonous, regular breathing and slight nasal whistle signalled Cole was in a state of blissful slumber. It really pissed me off how men could fall asleep at the drop of a hat after sex, while we women lay wide awake, minds enlivened, going over everything from shopping lists to recriminations. Mine worked on the latter.
What the hell had I been thinking, sleeping with Cole? I had answered my own question really – thinking was precisely what I hadn’t been doing.
My eyes studied Cole’s bulky outline in the semi-darkness. They traced a line from the curve of his head to the fall of his neck, the sharp rise of muscular shoulder to the gentle falling away of his back. It was a silhouette that oozed solidity and an earthiness that in a strange way felt strong and safe at some primeval level.
I released a sigh and risked an examination of my motives. Put in blunt terms, I’d just screwed my ex’s best friend. Lockie had hurt me terribly last night, then left Cole to pick up the pieces. End result? Well, here we were.
Was Cole my Lockie substitute? Was I trying to make him jealous? Surely, I wasn’t shallow and manipulative enough to do that. I couldn’t have turned into that hated and spiteful creature – the vindictive ex.
Cole let out a small snuffling snort and I smiled despite myself. I certainly had an affection for him. I’d always been curious about him, with his undeniable physicality teamed with an endearing reserve. He had a manner and an economy of speech which was common among Kiwi heartland men. It did not reflect a lack of imagination or brainpower, rather the self-assurance brought about by being one in a line of generations who made a life on this land. Perhaps we’d had sex simply because I needed him and he was there. He wasn’t an unwitting participant in my game of tit for tat. I’d screwed him, but I hadn’t screwed him over. He wasn’t Mr Charisma. He might only be a good, solid kind of a man, but what was wrong with that?
I smiled. It felt as if I’d passed some important self-diagnostic. I leaned forwards, kissed him gently between his shoulder blades, and at last went to sleep.
I woke to the sound and movement of Cole getting up. The early-morning light crept in around the edges of the drapes. We kissed goodbye, parting with the awkwardness of people who didn’t know what to say or what was to come next, if anything.
I stayed on in bed, nursing my headache and contemplating the night’s unexpected turn of events. I replayed it all, over and over. I was, in the end, surprised to find that I seemed to be in a much better place, emotionally speaking. My assignation with Cole hadn’t messed up my head the way I’d expected. If anything, I felt more centred and calm. Would I see him again? I didn’t need to decide that here and now. And it certainly wasn’t the kind of decision to be made before coffee.
I could hear Maggie clanking around in the kitchen and hollered out my regular refrain. ‘Need coffee, bring it to me, please, ta, please.’ I seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
Her morning-shamble-haired head poked around the corner of my door. ‘Was that who I think it was skulking out of here
at some ungodly hour?’
‘Maybe, and he wasn’t skulking, thank you.’
‘Ha, I told you you liked him!’ Maggie’s glee was obvious.
‘Oh, what a load of crap.’
‘Oh, so you don’t like him, but slept with him anyway. What a nice girl you turned out to be.’ A school-ma’am look was plastered across her face.
‘If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d get up and kick you.’
‘That’s kind of what I was counting on,’ she said, and smiled. ‘But really, what happened? I thought you were just going out for a drink.’
‘Yeah, well, so did I. But it was all your fault, anyway. If you hadn’t abandoned me and gone off gallivanting around the countryside, if you’d been at home where you belonged, none of this would have happened.’ All I’d needed was some company. As it turned out, I had got a whole lot more than that.
‘Oh, I forgot, I’m not allowed a social life. News flash for Sam Shephard: I’m not going to hang around home on the off chance you have a dud date and an early night. I’m not your bloody mother. Anyway, you’re not the only one who gets offers from eligible young men,’ she said, and waggled her eyebrows up and down. ‘And, I’ve seen the way Cole looks at you, and you flirt back. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’
I did my scoffing indignation act. I did not flirt; flirting was for teenagers.
Maggie pressed on with her point. ‘I think something would have happened whether I was here or not. I’m just glad I wasn’t here to hear it.’ I threw my pillow across the room at her. Its aerodynamics left much to be desired, as did its effect as a deterrent. Maggie laughed, picked it up off the floor and flung it back.
My reflexes were a bit off and I caught it with my face.
‘See, the truth hurts, doesn’t it?’
‘You’re lucky I didn’t throw the alarm clock. I could hit you square between the eyes, ya know.’