League of Lilith, The: A thriller with soul

by Sugrue, Rosalie

  Kat can’t think of anything she should be doing and she is feeling hungry. Pauline the witch! It is broad daylight; there won’t be candles and jack-o-lanterns.

  “If it’s no trouble,” she accepts.

  “No trouble at all, a pleasure.” Pauline ushers Kat through the gate, down a crazy-paving path that opens to a wide, paved area holding a brazier.

  “Nice spot for a barbecue,” comments Kat, pausing to take in the tree-fringed lawn and ring of garden lights. The green spread of the grass is interrupted by further paving. The paving isn’t a path; it outlines a large star.

  “Mosaic tiles,” says Pauline. “Isn’t it splendid?”

  “Yes,” murmurs Kat, unsure how to respond. “Is it a garden ornament?”

  “It’s where we Wiccans celebrate our rituals.” She glances from pentacle to Kat. “No worries, my dear, nothing witchy is in the air today.” As Pauline moves toward the door a shadow on the lawn causes Kat to glance back at the ornamental paving. A large black cat is settling down in the sunny centre of the star.

  In the conservatory off the kitchen Kat tucks into a generous portion of homemade quiche and finds herself chatting to Pauline as though she has known her for years. Pauline has the knack, she realises, of being interested without appearing nosy. They talk about waitressing work and Kat is so comfortable she almost divulges what her other job is. She stops herself in time but has the feeling that Pauline would not be judgemental.

  Pauline shares that she was raised Brethren and went a little wild after breaking away from that lifestyle. Kat has heard of the Brethren. The West Coast attracts such people. “They live in communes, don’t they, and they have very strict rules?”

  “They don’t all live in communes but they all have strict rules. The rules differ but most are repressive and soul destroying. It’s very sad. Don’t get me wrong, Kat, many Brethren are fine people trying to live as they believe God wants them to live. They simply fail to see the duality of their lifestyle and how repressed and oppressive they are, particularly toward women. In business the men keep up with modern trends but in religion they are shackled to the dark ages. They believe they have a God-given right to make all the decisions and control their women. I love my parents but I could not bear to watch my mother live like a person with no mind of her own, focused only on being an obedient wife and a good mother. She accepted the rules but I couldn’t.” Pauline takes a slow mouthful of tea.

  “Have you kept contact?”

  “The most terrible thing about their sect is that if a family member leaves they are completely cut off. They can’t meet or write. I am the third of four children. My brother left when I was too little to understand. My big sister told me Matthew had got into bad company, made friends with young people who were not Brethren. Matthew refused to give up his worldly friends so the decision was made that the Brethren would no longer walk with him. He was forced to leave. After that his name was never spoken by my parents. My leaving added to their sense of failure. Mother begged me to stay true to their teaching. I couldn’t make that promise, but I promised I would hold to their value of caring. It didn’t seem enough, so I said I wouldn’t cut my hair. It was all I could think of. It’s a terrible wrench leaving all the people you love, knowing you can never return.”

  “I don’t have parents either.” Much to her surprise Kat finds herself sharing that her mother died from cancer six years ago. It is not something she ever talks about. Her mother came back to the family home in Ross for the last six months of her life. The joy of having her close again was cancelled by the horror of watching her skin yellow and bones protrude until every eating attempt ended in spewing weakly into an ice-cream container. Having invoked the spectre Kat is suddenly anxious to move the conversation on.

  “You mentioned an older brother, did you ever find him?”

  “Yes. Matthew was doing just fine. We became very close. He had a partner, a lovely guy named Euan.” Pauline tails off and lowers her eyes. “Matthew and Euan discovered sailing. It cut up rough without warning, monster waves capsized the yacht … they drowned. Or died of exposure. They were wearing life-jackets but the rescue team couldn’t get out until the next day. I was the only family member at the funeral.”

  Not knowing what to say, Kat stays silent. Pauline raises her head and looks at Kat.

  “In life and death they were not divided,” she remarks with a slight smile and continues, “I have no blood family to call my own. All my relations are members of the sect. Family-wise I am quite alone.”

  “I’m not alone. I have my grandma. She looked after me from the time I was nine. I didn’t get on with my mother’s partner. My dad took off soon after I was born,” Kat explains dismissively.

  Pauline looks as if she is about to ask a question so Kat rushes on. “Grandma’s old and knows nothing about city life but she cares about me, and I can visit her any time. I have uncles, aunts, and cousins, and two half-brothers, not that I’ve seen any of them for ages but there is always extended family around at Christmas time.” The realisation that she is wealthy in family comes as a surprise. Pauline has no one she can relate to as family. Her kin are on the other side of the world and refuse to have anything to do with her. It is a sobering thought.

  “But you do have family here, don’t you, Kat?” Pauline gently interrupts her reverie, “Your father.”

  “I have a grandmother in Ross,” responds Kat sharply, in a tone that leaves no doubt paternity is not a subject open for discussion.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Grandma is delighted to hear Kat’s voice, and impressed to learn she is attending lectures at university. “You always were good at your school work,” she reminds Kat. “But I never thought anyone from our family would go to the University.” Kat hears the capital U. “Mind you, a posh education doesn’t help when it comes to catching a husband. Or even catching whitebait.”

  Kat is pleased to hear that Grandma has got rid of her old drag net and is organising a set net for the next whitebait season. Grandma laments there are four months to wait before the season opens.

  “You’re a tough old biddy,” Kat says affectionately. “But you take care, you’re not as young as you used to be.”

  “Tough as old boots me. Coasters are a hardy breed. Don’t you go getting soft with all that la-di-da city living. I hope you’ll be home for Christmas. Your cousin Veronica will have made me a great-grandma by then.”

  Kat pushes the red button, feeling warm about family. But as the glow fades she realises ‘family’ relates to past. She has an adult life to make for herself and extended family doesn’t feature in that landscape. Visiting at Christmas is fine but the Coast is no longer ‘home’ and she will never feel close to her half-brothers or cousins. She doesn’t consider Vonnie’s husband much of a catch.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Kat checks her diary. Monday 4 May 2009. Monday can be a busy day with clients. No bookings, period due. It is a blessing that she is regular and can plan. Usually regular, she amends her thoughts. Almost always regular, she re-amends, and is gripped in a sudden clutch of panic. Don’t be silly, she chides, it’s morning, have a sleep-in, conserve strength for sheet changing, room cleaning, and restocking the kitchen cupboard — quite enough to make anyone tired, she soothes, returning to sleep.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Wednesday morning Kat has a hair appointment. Becky, her favourite stylist, usually seems to verge on anorexic, but today she looks radiant and rounder. Kat’s eyes move to Becky’s waistline. The suspicion of pregnancy manifests with a jolt.

  Becky’s eyes follow hers, she smiles. “I’m pregnant.”

  Kat offers the obligatory congratulations and thinks, How ghastly.

  Becky prattles on about maternity leave, so good that it’s been extended, and her need to return to work. “Did you not mean to get pregnant?” Kat inquires.

  “Oh yes, we’re delighted. We’ve been trying for almost three years but we knew I’d have to go back to
work. Babies are expensive.”

  “Took you almost three years,” says Kat meditatively. “I have a friend who’s trying for a baby. Have you got any tips?”

  Becky looks around. “I wouldn’t tell everyone this, but you’re one of my specials.” She lowers her voice. “Wiccans.”

  “Witches!”

  “Sh!”

  “I know a Wiccan. Her name is Pauline.”

  “Yes, that’s her. Pauline is a Wiccan Priestess.”

  “But Pauline doesn’t get her hair cut.”

  “I met her feeding ducks. She’s very kind.”

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The woman chemist looks at Kat with a knowing gaze. “It’s best to wait until morning. The first pee of the day is the most concentrated.”

  The first pee of Thursday runs its concentrated course to the second blue line. Kat stares in disbelief. It can’t be. It took Becky three years and Jen has been trying for months and months. It can’t be. I took the morning-after pill; both of them. Kat rummages in her room and finds the empty box … must be taken exactly twelve hours apart. What difference could a few hours make? All the difference in the world! Implications come crowding in. Pregnant — a baby! How will she cope? Lapsed Catholic she may be, but termination is not an option, not of a child. Termination of escorting, yes; termination of university life, yes; termination of waitressing, yes; and termination of travel ambitions! Anger gives way to rage. She locks herself in her room and starts throwing things. When there is nothing left to throw on the floor she kicks the carnage.

  Finally she throws herself on her denuded mattress. When regular breathing is re-established Kat feels a need to tell someone. Not a flatmate, someone with maturity. ‘She’s very kind,’ Becky’s words filter though the mire. Pauline will understand.

  Fifteen minutes later Kat is banging the toad knocker at Pauline’s front door. She visualises Pauline’s surprise and concern and bangs again. Is she indecently early? Perhaps Pauline doesn’t get up until late. She doesn’t have a proper job, only voluntary work. Why is she taking so long? Kat scans for clues and notices a van parked on the front lawn. Before she can process this information the door opens. She turns to greet Pauline and sees a leather belt securing male jeans. She lifts her chin and meets the grey-green eyes of Kevin (Fish) Salmon.

  For a long moment both try to make sense of what they are seeing. Fish reacts first. “Pauline has just popped down to the dairy. Come on in, she’ll be back in a few minutes,” his voice is soft and coaxing. He steps back and opens the door wider. A whiff of bacon and onions sidles down the passage. “I’m cooking breakfast. Come and join us. Pauline would want you to.”

  Kat is still in shock, multiple shocks, she analyses later. For the moment she is drawn to the coaxing voice as a child of Hamlin to the piper. A radio is playing upbeat music and sun is warming the conservatory. Fish nods to the small cane sofa and lowers himself into a matching chair. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? I’m a good listener.”

  The radio music continues spilling its unrelenting cheer, concealing the sound of the back door opening. “What about your cooking?”

  “Heaped on plates in the oven patiently waiting.”

  Had he touched her, called her by name, or claimed any closeness, she would have fled but he just sat, waiting. “I’m pregnant.” The words fall with no expression. Why is she telling this intimate fact to this man, of all men? He is the last person she would seek to tell anything to if she were rational. But she can’t get sufficiently motivated to be rational. She is drained of emotion. All she feels is numbness.

  “It happens,” he responds gently.

  Later she wonders how many women he has said this to and did he say it to her mother, but for now she is a prisoner of the dim, closed present. His voice is comforting.

  “You have choices and you will be strong enough to make them when the time comes. For now a good cry might help.” He stands and extracts a folded handkerchief from his top pocket.

  Kat also stands. She has no intention of crying. She must go. She shouldn’t be here. Embarrassingly her eyes fill as though cued by the unused handkerchief. Without the sanction of her head her hand clasps the comforting cloth. Fish holds her as she sobs.

  “I’m back,” announces Pauline, thumping milk on the kitchen table. “I see we have a guest; a good thing I bought two litres. Would anyone like muesli to begin with?”

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  15 — What’s up, Kat?

  Thursday, 7 May

  Where r u watz up, texts Jen. She drums a finger tattoo on the steering wheel and doesn’t turn on the ignition. Another lecture missed. Why? Come on, Kat, respond. Something’s wrong, I’m sure. Is it any of my business? Of course it is. We are Sarai’s chosen ones, whatever that means! Is the bonding Sarai’s engineering or is it natural attraction? Jen’s thoughts turn to that first terrible morning in the lobby when Kat intervened on her behalf. Jen comes to a decision, pulls out of the car park, and turns the opposite way to usual.

  Jen hasn’t been to Kat’s flat but has her address. She pulls up outside an old villa and winces at the state of what should have been a front lawn. A piebald church pew sits on the veranda. A fitting icon for this church-dominated city, grins Jen to herself. A sudden vision of North Dunedin tugs with nostalgia. Ruptured sofas litter the verandas of Dunedin student flats. Jen drank her first beer on such a sofa, pulled onto the street for a party. Her reverie is disturbed by the front door opening. A tubby youth emerges wearing a student backpack. Jen slides out of her car. “Excuse me, does Kat Mergagh live here?”

  “Yep, down the hall — there’s a Siamese cat on the door.”

  He walks off in the direction of uni, leaving the door ajar. Jen knocks. There is no response. She gives the door a push and sees a passage guarded by closed doors. The only light source is narrow glass panels framing the front door. Jen peers at each door. Halfway down the passage a door bears a cream cat stretched in elegant silhouette. Jen knocks.

  “Go away.”

  “Kat, it’s me, Jen. Can I come in?”

  After a pause Jen hears the clack of a key turning and a slice of Kat appears in a slit of open door. “What do you want?”

  “I just wondered if you were sick or something.”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “So there must be a something. Do you want to tell me?”

  “I’m in a bit of a mess at the moment.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I know how flats can get. I flatted for a couple of years.”

  “Don’t say you weren’t warned.” Kat opens the door and steps back.

  Despite having flatted in the heartland of scarfie Dunedin, Jen has to work at concealing her surprise. Instinctively she sniffs for telling substances but cannot detect any. Mustering nonchalant ease she steps over a sheet, nudges a folder of notes out of the way, rights the one chair, and sits on it. “So, what is this all about?”

  Kat gathers up an armload of bedding, drops it on the bed and plonks herself alongside. “I was just letting off a bit of steam.”

  “Well, you don’t do things by halves, I’ll give you that.”

  “I’m an idiot, I’m in a mess. I’ve been careless.”

  “This looks more intentional than careless?”

  “Not this mess, me. I’m pregnant.”

  Jen experiences a rapid succession of emotions. Why Kat, why not her? Why is it so easy for some people? She wasn’t even trying. Of course she wasn’t trying. It’s a total disaster for her.

  “Oh Kat, surely not. You know how to take care of yourself. What happened?”

  “I told you about the client who raped me. It was a shock. He seemed nice, sophisticated so I thought, exciting even. For him to do that was a total fuck-up. Fact is I messed up on the morning-after pill.” Her body droops into a heap as lifeless as the bedding pile beside her.

  “If you don’t want to be pregnant, Kat, you don’t have to go through with it. I know abortion is not an easy option bu
t done early …” She trails off, seeing Kat stiffen. Her head rises, but her eyes don’t engage with Jen’s.

  “I’m a Catholic, Jen. Life is sacred. I will not have an abortion.”

  Jen says nothing but thinks plenty. Catholic! When did you last go to church? Why do intelligent women get hooked into superstitions spread by male priests who fear sex and hate women? Life sacred? Not that sacred! The planet is over populated. Quality of life is what’s sacred.

  Kat sits rigid and silent.

  “OK, Kat, I hear you, but don’t ever forget it is your body. You have the say over your body. A child is a life-changing thing. Raising a child alone is not easy. I’ve encountered clients who couldn’t cope.”

  Kat moves her arms, Jen thinks she is going to goad them into a show of body-language defiance but her left arm remains straight and she holds it with her right hand. Jen wonders what the action means. Kat seems unaware of what she is doing. Her brow is creased in determination.

  “I’m having the baby.” She glances at her hand and drops it as if burnt. “I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to keep it. Plenty of people want to adopt.”

  The core of Jen’s being contracts with another surge of emotion. Adoption! She had never considered such a thing. What if she can’t have a child? How would Wilkin feel about adoption? Instinct tells her Wilkin’s genes are important to him.

  “If you’re going to keep the child the father needs to know. You said he’s a client and that you’d quite liked him?”

  “Was a client. Now he is a rapist. I’m having nothing more to do with him.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Don’t know and don’t care. He’s out of my life.”

  “No, you have to name him and he has to pay. That’s how it works. He has to contribute to the maintenance of the child. Don’t let him get off.”

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~