by S. L. Grey
Marina kisses Glenn on the cheek – I notice he doesn’t squeeze her waist – does the same to June and with a wince of distaste bends forward to kiss the air next to my cheeks. I can’t see any trace of Katya in her features whatsoever. The husband scuttles forward. With a lurch I realise I’ve forgotten his name. Calvin? Charles? Then I have it. Clive. Thank God.
‘Lovely to see you, Kat,’ he says to my chest. He moistens his lips with a small pink tongue.
‘That from the accident?’ Marina says, indicating the dressing on my cheek.
‘Yes,’ Farrell says. ‘It’s healing nicely.’
‘You done something to your hair, Kat?’ Marina says.
‘Why do you say that?’ Farrell says.
Marina shrugs. ‘There’s something different about her.’
If you only knew! Dr Meka pipes in.
‘Well?’ Marina says to me.
‘Not really…’
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘Laryngitis,’ Farrell says. ‘She’s had it since the accident.’
‘Oh well, it’s not as if they expect you to talk in your line of work, is it?’ She gestures impatiently to her husband, whose eyes haven’t left my chest. ‘Clive, give Mom the present.’
He hands a wrapped box-shape to June. I notice that she’s dropped the scarf onto the coffee table.
‘It’s an external hard drive,’ Marina says. ‘So you can back up your computer.’
‘Oh. What a thoughtful present,’ June says.
‘How long before we bloody eat?’ Glenn says.
‘You can come through to the dining room now. Marina, will you help me in the kitchen?’
Marina sighs. ‘Where’s Primrose?’
‘I gave her the day off. Family funeral.’
‘Fucking darkies. Everyone in the township’s their fucking mother or brother.’ Glenn turns to me and grins as if he expects me to agree. I look down and blush.
I make a move to follow June and Marina, but Farrell grips my arm and shakes his head. There’s a loud insistent beeping sound. Farrell fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his phone.
Glenn glares at him. ‘Turn that bloody thing off.’
Farrell stares at it in confusion. ‘I thought I had turned it off.’
June hesitates at the door; for a second our eyes lock. That same look of confusion flashes over her face. ‘Clive?’ she says, her eyes still on me. ‘Would you mind wheeling Gran-Gran into the dining room?’
Farrell pockets his phone and pats my bum. ‘You’re doing great,’ he murmurs in my ear.
Like the rest of the house, the dining room is stunning. The table could easily seat twenty and is laid with crystal glasses, piled with wine bottles and strewn with more silk-flower arrangements. There’s a hotel-style buffet set out on an enormous sideboard; serving platters are laden with vegetables, a slab of beef Wellington and the largest pork roast I’ve ever seen.
Glenn pours me a glass of red wine, fills his own glass and passes the bottle to Farrell. ‘Make yourself useful, Josh.’
Farrell’s phone trills again.
‘I told you to turn that bloody thing off,’ Glenn snaps. ‘Where are your fucking manners?’
Farrell kills the call, but it rings again immediately. I don’t like the way he’s staring at the screen. ‘I’ll just be a second,’ he says, leaving the room.
‘Go on, Kat. You go first,’ Glenn says, earning me a spiteful glance from Marina.
I pick up my plate and head to the buffet. I don’t know where to start, and I don’t know how I’ll even manage to swallow a single bite. I take a couple of potatoes, a slice of pork and a portion of beef Wellington and wobble back to the table.
Everyone is staring at me.
‘When did you start eating meat again?’ Marina snipes.
Oh God. Oh shit. ‘Um…’
Farrell returns just in time. He stares at my plate. The blood runs out of the pastry casing and pools around the potatoes. ‘Doctor’s orders,’ he says. ‘Low blood pressure. Kay has to up her iron intake.’
‘But I thought you were going to do that PETA shoot?’ Marina says. She’s like a dog with a bone. ‘They’re not going to like that, are they?’
‘Katya’s health must come before any of that animal-rights shit,’ Glenn says.
I sit down, hoping to God that I don’t look as flustered as I feel.
‘June! Get my girl here some of that crackling,’ Glenn slurs.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say.
‘You used to love crackling when you were a girl,’ Glenn says.
I do my best to smile at him. The smell of the beef is starting to make me feel sick again. I take a sip of wine, wipe my sodden palms on the dress.
‘Who was that on the phone, Josh?’ Glenn says.
Farrell shrugs. ‘Persistent editor. Needs some mock-ups for next week’s layout.’
Glenn grunts, instantly disinterested. ‘June? I’ll have some of the beef and make sure you pile on the potatoes.’
June hands him a plate and he takes it from her without a word of thanks. No one seems to think that it’s strange that, although it’s her birthday, she’s the one who’s waiting on him.
‘Where’s the gravy? You know I like gravy.’
‘Sorry.’
She heads back to the sideboard. Glenn glances at me and rolls his eyes. I don’t know how to react to this. It’s clearly a father–daughter moment. I drop my gaze and start cutting into the beef.
‘Mom, why didn’t you make any cauliflower cheese?’ Marina grumbles.
Clive tops up his wine glass and leers at me. I’m trying to avoid looking at him.
‘So tell us what happened, Kat,’ Marina says. ‘The accident.’
‘She’d rather not,’ Farrell says.
‘Can’t she speak for herself anymore?’
‘I can’t really remember much, to be honest,’ I mumble, almost forgetting to whisper.
‘We don’t want to go over that again,’ Glenn says. ‘Clive. How are my stocks doing?’
Clive almost chokes on a mouthful of food in his eagerness to answer. ‘Great. Great, Glenn.’
‘That’s what I like to hear.’
Talking with his mouth full, Glenn launches into a monologue about some poor senior manager he’s fired for what sounds to me like absolutely no reason. June hasn’t sat down to eat yet; she’s now cutting Gran-Gran’s food into tiny pieces. The old lady picks up her fork and stares at it. Then she chucks it onto the floor. I bend down to pick it up.
‘Can I help?’ I whisper to June.
She looks at me as if I’ve sprouted another head.
‘Your mother’s fine,’ Glenn slurs. ‘She knows how to deal with that senile old relic.’
‘Dad,’ Marina says. ‘Don’t say that about Gran-Gran.’
‘Why not? That’s what she is. Not as if she can understand, is it?’
Clive smiles sycophantically at Glenn. Glenn ignores him.
‘It’s disrespectful.’
‘Don’t you talk to me like that, my girl,’ Glenn says, pointing his knife at her. ‘I know more about respect than you’ll ever learn.’
I manage to swallow a mouthful of meat, and try to catch Farrell’s eye. He’s staring down at his phone, the food on his plate forgotten.
June finally sits down to eat just as everyone else is finishing. I push the rest of my pork behind the potatoes.
Glenn pats his stomach. ‘June, what’s on the menu for dessert?’
Silently, and without eating a mouthful from her plate, June starts stacking the dishes. Again, no one offers to help.
There’s another series of beeps. Farrell jumps, almost sending his glass flying.
Glenn slams his fist on the table. ‘I told you to switch that fucking thing off!’ he roars.
‘Dad, calm down,’ Marina says.
Farrell excuses himself and leaves the room again.
‘What the fuck is the matter with him, Kat?’ Glenn says. �
��Fucking rude.’
I can’t just sit at the table. I can’t stand it any longer. I stand up and start gathering plates together.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Glenn says.
‘It’s fine,’ I whisper. ‘I want to.’
Marina rolls her eyes. ‘Jesus. Suddenly she’s turned into the Good Samaritan.’ I grab the plates and head in what I hope is the direction of the kitchen. I can hear muffled whines and scratches from behind a door as the dog scrabbles to be let out of its prison, and then the sound of running water at the end of the corridor.
The large kitchen is plainly decorated with simple white tiles and melamine cupboards. June is leaning over the sink, her back to me. She doesn’t turn around as I enter. ‘Thank you for the food,’ I whisper. ‘It was—’
She whirls around. ‘Who are you?’
Time freezes for a second. ‘I’m your daughter.’
‘No you’re not,’ she says, almost matter-of-factly. ‘You can fool that monster out there, but you can’t fool me.’
My hands start shaking and I have to put the plates down on the marble counter before I drop them.
‘What are you going to do?’ I whisper.
She turns back to the sink. ‘Do?’ she says bitterly. ‘Do? Nothing of course. Who’d believe me? They’d only think I was cracking up again.’
‘Again?’
‘Oh dear. Josh has forgotten to fill you in on the sordid family history, hasn’t he?’
‘He—’
‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ June says. ‘And you know what?’ She slowly turns to face me. ‘I don’t really care.’
‘Everything all right in here?’ Farrell walks in carrying the pork platter. ‘Christ, Kay. You look sick as a dog.’ His eyes flick from me to June and back again.
‘I’m not feeling well, Josh,’ I say.
‘Let’s get you home.’
‘I think that’s best,’ June says with a cold smile. She staggers slightly and clings to the edge of the sink to steady herself. Is she drunk? I didn’t see her drinking any alcohol at the dining table.
‘Goodbye,’ I say.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she says, and lets out a noise that could be a laugh or a hiccough.
Farrell leads me back into the dining room. ‘What did she say to you?’ he hisses. ‘Why the fuck did you go in there?’
His grip on my arm tightens. ‘Nothing. She didn’t say anything. I just couldn’t sit there doing nothing. I had to help.’
He relaxes. ‘Right. Yeah. Sorry. What a fucking family.’ He brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead. ‘Look, just say a quick goodbye and we’re done.’
I stand at the doorway and let Farrell do the talking.
‘We have to go,’ he says to Glenn, who’s pouring the dregs of a bottle of wine into his glass. Gran-Gran has fallen asleep, her toothless mouth gaping open, and Clive looks as if he’s about to pass out.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Katya’s not feeling well.’
‘Then she should stay here. I know how to take care of my own fucking daughter. Kat, Pumpkin, you can have your old room.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I whisper, looking at my feet. It takes all my strength not to run to the front door.
‘You doing the Sports Illustrated this year, Kat?’ Clive slurs, managing to smirk and resemble a Wind in the Willows character at the same time.
‘Shut the fuck up, Clive,’ Glenn says, then to me, ‘Come and give Daddy a kiss, Kitty-Kat.’
Marina rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. I do my best impression of a Katya smile and hobble over to his chair. I lean my face to the side, but he manages to kiss me on the lips.
‘Bye,’ I say.
I wave at Marina but she’s too busy glaring at Clive to acknowledge me. Then Farrell ushers me towards the front door and escape.
Farrell flops backwards onto the bed. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of bright-blue boxer shorts.
‘Don’t be long,’ he says, patting the sheets next to him. ‘I know just what you need.’
Extensive therapy and a serious reality check.
‘What?’ I say, ignoring the Dr Meka voice.
‘A foot massage.’
I wonder if this is something he used to do for Katya, but for once I don’t feel the stirrings of jealousy. I’ve got other things on my mind.
‘Farrell? Who was trying to call you?’
‘What?’
‘At Glenn’s house. Who was it?’
He doesn’t answer straight away. ‘Wrong number.’
‘Really? Because you were acting… strange. Worried.’
He sighs. ‘It’s all under control, Lisa. Chill out.’
‘You really think we did okay?’ I ask again. I haven’t told him about June, just like I didn’t tell him what Noli said to me.
Coward.
‘How many more times? You were brilliant. Stop obsessing.’
‘But the vegetarian thing—’
‘It’s cool. We did okay. We’re almost done.’
A stone drops in my gut. So this must mean it’s time for the second part of the plan. For Katya to disappear. For me to disappear out of Farrell’s life.
‘Now hurry up and come to bed.’
‘I’ll just be a minute.’ I slip into the bathroom and drag the dress over my head, breathing with relief to be free of the constricting fabric. Using Katya’s Clarins lotions, I carefully wipe off the make-up.
Oh God.
I lean closer to the mirror. My left eyelid seems to be drooping slightly. I turn my face to the side. Has it always been like this? I would have noticed it before, wouldn’t I? It’s just my imagination playing tricks. I’m just tired. That’s it. Exhausted.
‘Lisa?’ Farrell calls. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’ll be out in a second.’
I pull the wig off and kick it away, shaking my own hair over my face. It’s greasy and flattened from hiding under the mop of fake hair all evening.
‘I’m just going to shower.’
‘Jesus. Get a move on.’
It’s only the thought of Farrell waiting for me that allows me to wrench myself away from my reflection.
I turn the water on full power, scrub my body and wash my hair twice. Dammit. I’ll have to reapply the fake tan. It’s starting to streak over my belly, my pale white skin shining through in jagged strips. I rub myself dry and smear the foul-smelling stuff over my stomach and along the tops of my thighs. A quick last glance in the mirror while it dries.
Oh God. My left eyelid is definitely hanging lower than the other. I blink rapidly. It doesn’t help.
Dr Meka sighs in my head.
Five more minutes, and then I’ll stop. I swear it.
Chapter 25
FARRELL
Christ, Lisa’s not bad in bed. She’s got something Katya didn’t have. Along with that extra bit of flesh to grab, there’s something else. I don’t know. Need. Urgency. Lisa fucks as if she wants it just that little bit more.
But she’s seriously nuts. Last night, after June’s birthday dinner, she locked herself in the bathroom for two and a half hours. And I’m pretty sure she was at it all day today as well. At least this evening I’ve managed to keep her occupied. What the fuck does she do in there? I know she’s got some serious self-esteem issues, but come on.
Still, Glenn believes Katya’s fine, and that’s the most important thing. Lisa’s neuroses I can deal with.
I felt better than I have for weeks today, so I came home early this afternoon, bringing takeout from Carlito’s and a bottle of Veuve. Lisa started to relax after a couple of glasses, and we took the rest of the champagne to bed.
I slump back panting and my phone vibrates again. I pick it off the nightstand and check it. It’s Rosen again.
I’ve been ignoring the messages all day. Told Lizzie that I was unavailable; that some guy was hounding me to buy life insurance and that she shou
ld field his calls.
‘Who is it?’ Lisa asks, shaking her hair over her face.
I wonder for the hundredth time whether to tell her the truth. Fuck knows how Rosen got those messages through to my phone yesterday while it was off. There must be some way to push a message through with the charge from the SIM card or something, because the phone was definitely off. I took the battery out after the second message. The third message came through regardless.
And the messages today are getting increasingly… urgent. And strange. I still haven’t dug that fucking medical-aid contract out of the bin to read it; it’s like I’ve got some mental block or something. I fucking hate small print at the best of times. That’s why we have a fucking PA and accounts department, for fuck’s sake. But from what Rosen said at the office on Monday, I need to pay something. I scroll down through the messages I received during dinner while Glenn was bursting an artery. They all say much the same thing, if you can get past the piss-poor English:
And more of the same bullshit today:
All from the same number. Something with a foreign prefix.
‘Josh? Who is it?’
‘Sorry. It’s…’
We were both in that clinic; we were in it together. I decide to tell her the truth.
‘This guy visited me at the studio on Monday. Remember that medicalaid contract I signed? Apparently I owe them something. Urgently.’
‘God. I told you. I said you shouldn’t just sign it without reading it.’
‘I know. I know. I was going to read it, I promise. But, you know, I got busy.’
‘But you’ve signed it now, and those people… you know they’re going to want you to pay. When must you pay?’