“Are you not well?” He could hardly drive off with her still latched on to his car. “Do you need help?”
Apparently she hadn’t noticed him before then because she jumped and looked up at him, full of surprise. There was despair in her eyes. Its intensity left him stunned. He felt sober again in an instant.
“You might have climbed the hill too quickly,” he surmised. “It can have rough consequences in this heat. Would you maybe like to sit for a moment? Wait there, I’ll unlock the car.”
The car didn’t have automatic locks. He went alongside her and unlocked the passenger door. “There. Have a seat. You look like you’re about to faint.”
Her gray lips were moving, but she hardly made a sound. He tried to understand what she was saying.
“You’ll have to speak louder. What’s wrong?”
She sank back in the seat. In a massively weary movement she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. He went back to the trunk, rummaged in his bag, found a piece of grape candy, and went back to the woman. He took the candy out of its cellophane wrapper for her. “Eat this. It will do you good.”
She didn’t react, and so he carefully placed the candy between her teeth. For a moment she held it back with her tongue, but then she let it through.
“Don’t chew,” he warned, anxious. “Just let it slowly dissolve in your mouth.”
She opened her mouth. “I’m … okay,” she murmured.
“You still look quite unwell. Should I maybe take you to a doctor?”
She shook her head. “I … don’t have a room,” she said with an effort.
Just then he realized what had been confusing him the whole time: her English, though fluent, was that of a non-native. It was certain she didn’t come from the island, and she wasn’t English either. A tourist, apparently. But without a room? She didn’t look like a vagrant. She had closed her eyes again, which gave him the opportunity to take a closer look at her.
He couldn’t have said whether or not he found her pretty. She was rather dull looking for his taste. Pale, very thin, no make-up. She had tied her blond hair back with a plain hair tie. She wore jeans and a bright cotton sweater that looked creased and sweat-soaked. Perhaps she could have done something with herself, but she clearly wasn’t interested in how she looked.
“You don’t have a room?” He asked. “When was it that you got here?”
She opened her eyes once more. She has pretty eyes, thought Alan. They were an interesting blue-green color and set off by strikingly long eyelashes.
“I landed today,” she said. “From Germany.”
“And you don’t have a room?”
“There was … something wrong with the booking …” Her gaze grew slowly clearer. She sat up straighter. “I feel better. Really, it’s getting better.”
He saw that a bit of color was in fact coming back to her cheeks. “You’re looking better already. But just keep sitting down!” He added quickly when he saw that she was getting ready to try and stand. “You’re not in such good shape yet.”
“My husband’s secretary was going to book a room,” she explained, “but something went wrong.”
“Where were you going to stay?”
“In the St. George Inn. I always stay there. I left my luggage there. Mr. Karim — he owns the hotel — made calls all over but he couldn’t find another room that was available. I was on my way to the tourist information office, down by the harbor, and on the way there I went to …,” she knitted her brow, “What’s it called? A buffet-style restaurant right next to the church. A bit exotic …”
He knew it. “The Terrace. You’ll have been there, I bet.”
“Yes. I was standing in line at the counter. I already had food and a drink on my tray, and I was almost at the register, and …” She dropped off.
He looked at her closely. “Yes?”
“I panicked,” she continued softly, “and the room started spinning all around me. All these people … in just a few seconds I was completely frantic. I had to get out, I just couldn’t think of anything else … I dropped everything, the tray I mean, everything that was on it …”
“And you rushed out of there?”
“Yes. I just ran away. I wanted to get to the hotel, to my things. I ran up the street, and suddenly I couldn’t go any further. My legs got shaky … and I grabbed onto your car …” She tried to stand up a second time but Alan gently pushed her back down. “Just a moment more. You’re still somewhat pale about the nose.”
“But I’m keeping you …”
“You’re not keeping me. Do you know what? Let’s go over to The Cock and Bull,” he gestured towards the pub across the street, “and have something to drink. It’ll do you good.”
“I have to see about my accommodations.”
“I had an idea there. My mother rents a room in her house every now and again. I could call her, and if the room is available, you could have it. Le Variouf is isolated, to be sure, way down on the southern part of the island — but that doesn’t make a difference to you, right?”
“I don’t care about that at all. So long as I know where I can sleep tonight.”
She slowly pulled herself up, holding on to the open car door. She still seemed a bit wobbly on her legs, but she was clearly feeling better.
“I still have to go to The Terrace,” she said, “and pay for the dishes I broke.”
“They’ll be closed now, I’m afraid. You can go there tomorrow. There’s no big rush.” He considered whether he should take her arm, but then decided against it. He’d walk alongside her and could always grab hold of her if he noticed her growing faint again. But with every step her gait grew more assured.
Why was he doing this? He wasn’t particularly attracted to this woman, and now in certain respects he was stuck with her. He was going for a drink with her and had also taken upon himself the problem of her accommodations for the night. If the room at his mother’s wasn’t available, or if she simply didn’t want any guests at the moment — which might well happen, and if she refused, she refused — then he couldn’t just leave this quivering ball of nerves on the side of the road. He’d have to figure something out for her.
The thought came to him, unsparingly honest: I’m only doing it because it gives me the chance to go back to the bar and drink more.
Meanwhile, at The Cock and Bull, a large crowd of customers had found their way in. Most of them were packed in around the bar; one group had gathered around the fireplace. The musicians from that night’s band had just arrived and were unpacking their instruments. One of them was tuning his cello.
The woman froze in the doorway and looked, all of a sudden, like she was ready to turn around and run off. “So many people …”
“It’s not so many. With such a big room, they all spread out well enough.” He hoped she wouldn’t back out, for he could smell the alcohol now, and all at once the craving had seized him. “Take a seat here close to the door. That way you’ll feel like you can leave at any time.”
He coaxed and cooed and kept up the smooth talk. Finally he’d gotten her so far as to hesitantly take a seat by the door — perched at the edge of her seat, ready to flee at first notice, with an expression like she was in terrible danger, completely surrounded on all sides. He went to the bar and asked if he could make a phone call, and while he did this he went ahead and knocked back the first shot. The foreign woman was getting on his nerves, but the alcohol steadied him. Enough, at any rate, that he could handle his mother’s reproaches. And he knew they were coming.
She was already worried, of course. She knew when his plane had landed, and had been wondering what was keeping him.
“Couldn’t you have at least called? Where are you now? At a bar?”
He could hardly deny it, not with the telltale noise in the background.
“Yes, with an acquaintance.” He didn’t even know the woman’s name, but he didn’t have to let his mother know that right away. “Listen, Mum, is that room you rent available by any chance? Would you be interested in having a guest?”
Just as he’d suspected, she would need some convincing. “Actually, no. We’ve got the big party on Sunday, there’s a lot of preparations to make, and …”
“This woman is totally low-maintenance.” She struck him as neurotic in the extreme, but to be safe he kept this to himself, too. “I’ll bring her along in a bit. She has no other options, lodging-wise. It would be great if you could help out.”
She sighed. “The main thing is that you finally show yourself. You haven’t been on Guernsey in so long, now you’re back and you waste an entire afternoon in a bar. I’m worried, Alan, you know it’s dangerous for you, once you’ve started drinking. You …”
He couldn’t listen to any more. “Till later, then, Mum. It won’t be too late.” He put down the receiver, got himself two whiskeys and took them back to the table. Meanwhile, the foreign woman was sitting so close to the edge of her seat he was worried she’d fall off at any moment.
“Here we are!” He set the glass in front of her. “Drink this. My name’s Alan Shaye, by the way.”
“Franca Palmer. From Berlin.” She took a sip of her whiskey. Her eyes wandered frantically around the room, then zeroed in on Alan. “What did your mother say?”
“All taken care of. The room’s free, you can have it.” He sat down next to her. The smell of the malt in the glass made him utterly weak. He knew he shouldn’t have come here a second time. It was possible he wouldn’t be able to stop drinking now, and he was too familiar with how things would end: Alan Shaye, the babbling pile of misery, crawling around on the floor.
He saw that Franca was apparently starting to relax. A bit of her strength had returned at the prospect of having a room to stay the night.
“My God,” she said. “What a day!”
“It was probably all just a bit too much for you,” said Alan, “and so your circulation just went kaputt. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better again tomorrow.”
Again her eyes started to dart back and forth. It was excruciating for him to see that she’d barely touched her whiskey glass. His own glass was almost empty already. He’d have liked to grab hers and take a drink from it.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I have to go to the bank.”
“That won’t be a problem. You can take a bus from Le Variouf. But someone could probably drive you there, too. I’m sure my mother will be going into St. Peter Port tomorrow, and I probably will be as well. You don’t have to worry about it.”
She let out a deep sigh and turned her glass left and right.
What was she so terribly afraid of, he asked himself. She looks like a rabbit in front of a shotgun barrel.
“I’ll be staying on Guernsey until Monday,” he told her. He had no real interest in telling this strange woman anything about his life, but he wanted to get a conversation started — the main reason being to distract himself. The thought of the next glass of whiskey was agonizing.
“I live in London, but I grew up on the island. My mother’s family has lived here for generations.”
“What do you do in London?” She asked politely. “For a profession, I mean.”
“I’m an attorney.”
“An interesting profession.”
“I like it. I’ve wanted to be a lawyer for as long as I can remember.” He paused to think. “And I rather like London as well. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Have you ever been to London?”
“No. I travelled some as a child, but I was never in London.”
“And now you don’t travel any more?”
She shook her head. “Not for almost ten years.”
“Why’s that?”
He noticed that his question had embarrassed her. “I don’t mean to pry …”
“No, no.” She paused to think. “I just don’t really know how to answer, exactly. It’s a long story.”
He really had no desire to hear her life story, especially since he suspected it was boring as can be. But he didn’t want to go home. He knew that by this time he’d gotten at least mildly drunk, and he simply couldn’t deal with his mother making a fuss. He didn’t want to go to bed either. If he did he’d probably start thinking of Maya, and then about himself, and eventually it would all end in agonizing self-criticism.
“Go on, tell me your story,” he encouraged her. “After you almost passed out next to my car …”
She smiled, but it looked pained. “Where should I start? I …” Then she suddenly broke off, and all at once her face wore a serious expression that Alan found quite winning. It suited her, he thought, far better than the pained expression she’d had before. “Oh, actually I can tell it all in just a few words. I was a teacher. I was a failure at my job. Since then I can’t seem to get myself back together, psychologically. And for a number of years I’ve been taking strong anti-anxiety medication. Without the pills I can barely leave the house.”
“Oh,” said Alan, surprised. He wouldn’t have taken such a boring person for a drug addict. But right away he asked himself, how are drug addicts supposed to look anyway? Somehow dramatic? This kind of thing happened to completely normal-looking people.
“So what happened today was …,” he started to guess.
Franca nodded. “It wasn’t the heat. Not my circulation, either. I forgot my pills. At home, in Germany. I had only one left. It got me through the flight. But then the effects wore off — in the line at The Terrace. And well, yeah,” she shrugged her shoulders. “You know the rest.”
“Yes. I know the rest.” He stood up. “Excuse me, I’m just going to get myself another whiskey.” Walking to the bar, it was a bit difficult for him to stay on course. He felt light-headed. He only hoped he’d manage to drive home. I really shouldn’t have any more …, he thought, but at the same time he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. His whole body yearned for more alcohol. His soul, too. Maya mattered less to him with every sip he took, but she didn’t matter little enough yet. He still needed one, maybe two more glasses, and then he’d be able to look on calmly as she fooled around with every man on the island.
Somewhat unsteadily, he walked with glass in hand back to the table, where the pale woman from Germany still sat balancing on the very edge of her seat. Her hands clutching her full glass, she fixed each new person who walked in with her gaze, eyes wide with terror.
How weak she is. The thought came with a hint of aggression, but then in the very next moment he could almost have laughed. Who was he to think that? He clung to alcohol just as tightly as she to her pills. His fears, his agonizing thoughts, his problems might all have been of a different nature than hers, but that made no real difference when you got down to it. He couldn’t bear life without whiskey, and she had to swallow anti-anxiety pills just to be able to walk down the street.
Here were two people who’d really found each other, both in the same boat, he thought, and seeing her anguished face he found the notion extremely unpleasant. There was no way he radiated instability like she did, was there? Or maybe that was already the case, and he just hadn’t noticed it yet?
“It seems you still travel every now and then, though,” he remarked. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, right?”
“Twice a year,” she said. “Twice a year I fly to Guernsey for two or three days. But that’s it.”
“And you’re able to pull it off?”
She shrugged her shoulders apologetically. “With the pills’ help, yes.”
“And why do you only come for such a short stay? It’s barely worth the flight. You can’t get to know the island at all.”
She grew a bit evasive. “I’m here for business. For my husband.”
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“I understand.” In fact he did understand. In all likelihood it had to do with taxes. He assumed that Franca was picking up money on Guernsey that her husband had smuggled past the German authorities. There were always these kinds of transactions here. It had nothing to do with him. Even if there were illegal activities involved, he didn’t need to worry himself with it.
“You should try to stay on the island longer sometime,” he said. “This time around, for example. The weather is magnificent. And it’s supposed to stay this nice all next week. You could go hiking, swimming, relax a bit.”
She smiled wearily. “It won’t work. I have to go home as soon as possible. I need my pills and my doctor’s prescription. You don’t understand …” She furrowed her brow, seemed to be making a great effort in thinking of how she could make such a complicated matter clear to him. “I don’t do well at all without medication. I’m not sure what could happen. I get horrible panic attacks, and have no idea how to get through them.
“You got through this one though.”
She looked at him, astonished. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, you just had one of these panic attacks around two hours ago at The Terrace. And you weren’t able to reach for your pills. You got through it.”
“Well, I …”
“No. You got through it. It was rough, it was awful, but it didn’t kill you.”
“I thought I was going to die. I didn’t know anymore …”
This time he didn’t hesitate to touch her. He laid a reassuring hand on her arm. He could feel her body trembling lightly. “You thought you were going to die. Sure, I can understand that. You thought that you wouldn’t get through it. But what happened then?”
“You came by and took care of me.”
He shook his head. “I offered to let you sit in my car. But that wasn’t pivotal. One way or another, the panic would have subsided. That’s just how it is.”
“And how are you supposed to know all that?”
The Rose Gardener Page 5