‘Oh hello.’ She stood in the doorway, one foot on the landing. ‘I didn’t hear you knock.’ Her hair was a wet slick down her back. ‘I was shaving my legs,’ she said, ‘in your honour.’ She pulled up the bottom of the bathrobe to reveal her damp legs. They were long and pale, the skin perfectly smooth. ‘Aren’t they beautiful,’ she said.
They walked to a cheap restaurant on Cuba Street and ordered fish and chips and rough-tasting red wine. The fluorescent strip lighting above their table was dying a prolonged flickering death. Katherine sat on the scratchy seat, her long, smooth legs folded beneath her, and told David things about her life. She told him about her parents’ farm down in Nelson. She told him she was thinking of becoming a teacher.
‘Have you noticed my eyelashes?’ she said, just as they were standing up to leave. Above them the flickering light finally died. She took off her glasses and blinked. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘pull them, see if they’re real.’
David started to laugh. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I believe you.’
‘Go on,’ she said, ‘pull them.’
They walked back to Katherine’s apartment the long way, along the waterfront. Katherine walked ahead taking long, unselfconscious strides, her arms loose at her sides. David walked quickly after her, afraid he might be left behind.
On Wednesday afternoon, Simon, a coffee plunger in one hand and a pile of exam papers in the other, appears in the doorway of David’s office. ‘Have you got a minute?’ he says, and then, not waiting for an answer, walks to the red couch by the far wall and sits down.
Outside the northerly wind lashes against the building.
‘The thing is,’ says Simon and winces. He puts his coffee plunger on the floor by his feet. ‘We’re a bit concerned about you. Allison and I, that is. And the faculty.’
‘Sorry?’ says David.
Simon puts down the exam papers by the coffee plunger. David can read ‘Human Biology 103’ in Ariel font on the right hand corner of the paper on top.
‘Some students have complained to admin that you’ve been ending lectures early. And, also,’ Simon looks over the top of his glasses, ‘also you didn’t turn up to a lecture on Tuesday afternoon.’ He looks out the window. ‘Allison thinks you might need a break.’
The wind makes a whining sound, like a bored dog. David’s phone starts to ring.
‘Sorry, Simon,’ says David, ‘I need to get that. It’s probably Katherine.’
‘Well just think about it, all right?’ says Simon. ‘And, just quickly, are we still on for Saturday night? I mean, only if it’s not too much hassle. Allison was talking about maybe going out to a restaurant instead?’
‘No, it’s no hassle,’ says David. ‘We’ll see you Saturday.’
Simon closes the door as David picks up the phone. The smell of coffee lingers for the rest of the afternoon.
David and Katherine were married in 1978. A few months after their wedding they went on a trip to the South Island. It was meant to be a kind of honeymoon—they didn’t have much money and couldn’t afford to go overseas. Not yet, anyway. They took their car, a cream-coloured Lada, across Cook Strait on the ferry’s morning sailing and arrived in Picton at lunchtime. They had a vague plan to drive down the East Coast to Christchurch, cross Arthur’s Pass, then drive back up the West Coast. But it was just an idea.
‘Let’s just drive,’ said Katherine. ‘Let’s just get in the car and drive and see where we end up.’
They spent the first night in a lodge in Kaikoura, a windswept strip of a town. The lodge was small and wooden. It had a sliding glass door streaked with dirt. In their room was a tiny kitchen area marked out with brown linoleum tiles. It had a jug, a toaster and a yellow plastic rack with different kinds of tea. Katherine took all the teabags out and lined them up on the bedspread, a line of chamomile, a line of lemon tea, a line of Earl Grey. Like a game of cards.
‘Come to bed,’ said David. Katherine climbed up onto the bed and started to jump up and down. Teabags scattered onto the floor. The bedspread became a ripple of folds, the seashell pattern pulled out of shape.
‘What are you doing?’ said David. He was sitting on the pillow, his knees pulled towards his chest, trying to stay upright.
‘Come on,’ said Katherine, ‘it’s fun.’
The next day the wind howled along the beach. David wanted to get in the car and keep driving, maybe get to Geraldine or even further. But Katherine wanted to stay.
‘One more day,’ she said. ‘It’s not like we need to be anywhere.’
‘Two hours,’ said David.
‘Four,’ said Katherine, ‘till lunchtime.’
They walked, side by side, along the beach. Their bodies bent forward in the wind. It whipped up windmills of sand, whistling through their hair. Sand in their mouths, their eyes. Katherine ran ahead, shouting. She waved her hands up above her head. Her hair a mess of tangles.
The wind had stopped by the time they got back to the car. The waves were churning, but moving slowly and noiselessly, ironing their way to the shore in long lines of calm white froth. Behind the car, the mountain range towered. White peaks at the top of dark turquoise slopes that reached out towards the sea. The mountains had been there all along, hidden behind the clouds.
‘Look at that,’ said Katherine. ‘Wasn’t it worth waiting for?’
Katherine is in the garden when David arrives home on Thursday. It has rained again, just after lunch—a brief, intense downpour. But now the sun is shining thinly. The air has a faint dampness.
Katherine is crouching beside the vegetable garden as David rounds the corner of the house. For a few minutes he watches her, unobserved. She is wearing a pair of green overalls that show the narrowness of her shoulders and her hair is tied up in a scarf with golden tassels around the edges.
Katherine looks up suddenly and notices him standing there. ‘I’m putting in lettuce seedlings,’ she says and blows him a kiss—her palm dark with dirt. At her feet are three sets of white punnets, each with six lettuce plants neatly segmented.
‘Did you buy them yourself?’ David puts his briefcase by his feet.
Katherine looks up at him, shading her eyes against the sun. The golden tassels on the scarf jiggle as she moves. ‘Of course, who else would’ve bought them?’
‘Did you go in the car?’
‘No. I flew on my magic carpet.’ She laughs and holds up her hands above her head, waving at the sky.
‘Katherine, I’m serious, did you take the car?’
‘Of course.’
David rolls up his shirt sleeves. ‘I don’t think that’s safe,’ he says. He kneels down and steadies himself with his hands on the grass; it feels soft and damp. ‘I don’t think you should be driving anymore.’
She looks down and says nothing, her arms slack at her sides.
David and Katherine met Simon and Allison in 1981. It was the year before Katherine became pregnant with Alex. Simon and Allison had just moved to Wellington for Simon to take up a teaching position at the university. But it was Katherine who initiated the friendship. She met Allison one afternoon in the university car park and they went out for coffee the next day.
‘They’ve invited us over for dinner,’ Katherine told David a week later.
David frowned. ‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
Simon and Allison’s house was at the top of a windy street and then down a narrow path, one of those Wellington houses that was nearly impossible to locate unless you’d been there before. Simon and Allison were sitting outside on the porch when David and Katherine finally arrived, between them a bottle of white wine, unopened, and a sphere of yellow cheese, its surface slightly greasy from the heat.
‘Welcome,’ said Simon. He stood up and kissed Katherine on the cheek and then shook David’s hand. The fabric of his shirt strained slightly against his stomach.
Allison smiled and stayed seated. ‘You’re late,’ she said. She smiled again.
‘I’m not very good
at being on time,’ said Katherine.
Dinner began silently. Allison had made a frittata that had a rubbery texture. Simon and David talked in short bursts about work—the other faculty staff, the students, the inadequate funding. Katherine filled the remaining silent spaces. Her voice undulating, creating a tide that broke across the table in waves.
On the way home Katherine sat in the passenger seat, one foot tucked underneath her, the other resting on the dashboard.
‘Let’s not cultivate that friendship,’ said David holding the steering wheel tightly.
Katherine looked out the window at the Botanical Gardens. ‘Why not?’ She turned towards him; her hair hung in a blond mass down her back.
‘They’re so—um—I don’t know.’
‘Regimented?’ Katherine wound a strand of hair around her middle finger. ‘I think they’re interesting. She seems so determined.’
‘Determined?’
‘To persevere. To carry on. I admire her for that.’
David stopped at the lights and indicated right. ‘I don’t know what you mean?’
‘Perhaps she needs the security,’ said Katherine, watching him. Her eyes were pale blue and flecked, like the shells of sparrows’ eggs.
‘And what about him?’
Katherine began to run her fingers through her hair. ‘Maybe he needs to be needed. Maybe that’s enough.’ She sighed and stretched her arms up above her head. David could see her fine collarbones, the smooth arc of pale skin. On the side of her neck was a faded birthmark shaped a little like a four-leafed clover, only noticeable if he looked very closely.
On Friday morning, Katherine stands in the hallway in her green overalls, brushing her hair. David, his briefcase in his hand, is about to leave for work.
‘Wait for me,’ says Katherine, ‘I’ll just be a minute. We can walk together.’
‘Where to?’ says David.
‘Sorry love?’ She stops brushing her hair and looks at him.
‘Where are you walking to?’
‘School. Of course.’ She ties her hair into a bun on top of her head. ‘I’ve got Year Ten for maths this morning.’ She makes a face, screwing up her nose, her forehead creasing into little horizontal lines. ‘Horror of all horrors.’
David walks quickly through Kelburn. Katherine is behind him; he can hear her footsteps on the pavement. It is half past nine by the time they reach the university. David has not decided what to do. Perhaps he could call Allison and get her to pick Katherine up and take her back home?
At the zebra crossing he stops, Katherine by his side, and waits. Cars pass by in pulses of exhaust fumes. A blue Honda stops at the crossing and the driver waves for David and Katherine to cross. David is about to take a step onto the road, but then, instead of moving forward, he freezes. He turns around, and taking Katherine’s hand, he starts to walk quickly down the street, away from the university. Wordlessly, Katherine follows. They pass the bus stop, the row of Student Union buildings, the sports field crackling with morning frost. At the cable car stop they wait for the car to collect them on its way down the hill.
The city is noisy and busy. Men and women in business suits bustle by. Leaving Lambton Quay, they walk around the corner to Willis Street. David stops outside a coffee shop opposite a church. Inside he finds a table with two seats. He puts his briefcase on the floor and sits down heavily, leaning his elbows on the table. Katherine sits beside him and smiles. He looks at her and notices, for the first time, that she is wearing lipstick.
‘I’m thinking of putting in freesias along the driveway.’ Katherine smiles again, expectantly. ‘You love freesias.’
‘Yes,’ says David, ‘I do.’
The annual trips down south began in 1998. It was the year Alex turned sixteen and didn’t want to go on holiday with David and Katherine any more.
‘We need to start something new,’ Katherine said to David. ‘We need a new phase.’ She decided to ask Simon and Allison if they wanted to do a trip together, just the four of them.
‘We’d love to,’ said Allison. And that was how it started.
The first year they crossed on the ferry in the morning and drove down to Wanaka. The motel they stayed at looked out over a lake that unfolded itself from the mist every morning, like a hand. The next five days, at Allison’s initiation, were conducted with precision. Breakfast was at eight o’clock. Lunch at one. Dinner at six. In between were walks in the hills, drives to Queenstown, bike rides on the limestone track by the lakefront.
On the third day, David and Katherine woke up late. There was a note waiting under their door—a pink square of notepaper, folded twice. ‘Good morning,’ said the note in erect, spiky handwriting, ‘come and meet us at the café when you wake up.’
‘We’re in trouble,’ said Katherine and she started to laugh. ‘Let’s tell them we were having sex. I dare you.’
When they arrived at the café, Allison and Simon were sitting at either side of a square table by a large bay window. Simon said, ‘Howdy’, and Allison smiled up at them and said, ‘You’re late.’
Katherine laughed and pulled out a chair, scraping it on the wooden floor.
David looked out the bay window where the lake reflected the underbelly of white clouds. Behind the lake the mountains rose up, sharp and white, the result of millions of years of tectonic uplift, centimetre by centimetre.
‘And how’s Alex doing?’ says Allison on Saturday night, prodding at a bean with her fork. She is sitting opposite David. Simon is at the head of the table, far away. Katherine is in the kitchen fetching the wine from the fridge. They can hear her opening the cupboard below the sink, and then the click-click of the pantry door. A light is turned on, then off.
‘Great,’ says David. ‘He’s still enjoying London. I can’t see him coming back anytime soon—if at all.’
Allison looks across the table at Simon who smiles tightly and tears the crust off a piece of bread. David picks at the remnants of his salad with his fork. The slithers of watery tomato are bleeding onto the plate.
‘We wanted to talk to you about our trip down south this year,’ says Allison. She looks over at Simon. As she turns, David notices the skin around her neck is crepey and tanned.
‘We were thinking,’ says Allison. She smiles sadly, her bottom lip disappearing into a pale white line. ‘It might be nice for you to have a proper holiday.’
‘We were thinking of the Sounds,’ says Simon.
‘And we were thinking it might be nice for you to just come alone.’ Allison looks at Simon again. Outside a morepork begins to call.
‘Sorry?’ says David.
‘I mean just you and us,’ says Allison.
‘We could hire a boat and do a bit of a sailing in the Sounds,’ says Simon. ‘And fishing.’
‘But what about Katherine?’ says David.
Allison reaches over and rests her hand on David’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps you could get someone in to care for her. Just for the week. To give you a break.’ Her fingers, on David’s shoulder, are cold.
Katherine switches on the light as she enters the dining room—the fluorescent bulb crackling into life. David, Allison and Simon blink in the unexpected brightness.
‘I couldn’t find the grapefruit juice,’ says Katherine, ‘but I brought this instead.’ She is holding the vase of pink roses from the kitchen bench.
‘Thank you,’ says David. Katherine, in the bright light, looks almost ethereal, the light illuminating her pale skin. David can smell the scent of the roses she is holding—they smell like brown sugar crystals left in the sun.
‘Sit down over here by me,’ says Allison to Katherine. Katherine sits beside her obediently, like a child. She starts to laugh.
Later David washes the dishes alone in the kitchen. Katherine is talking with Simon and Allison in the dining room. The conversation rises and falls. Falls and rises. Allison laughs in a high-pitched way; the sound reverberates around the house. Someone knocks a spoon against a bottle.
‘Can I help?’ Simon is suddenly standing in the doorway, his solid frame outlined against the bright light from the dining room.
‘Not really,’ says David. ‘I’m almost done.’
Simon takes another step into the kitchen and then stands there, awkwardly. He crosses his arms. ‘I’m sorry if Allison came across too strong before,’ he says. ‘She’s worried about you.’
David picks up the salad bowl and dips it into the foamy water.
‘We know you’re trying hard,’ says Simon. He scratches at an invisible place near the back of his head. ‘But maybe there’s a point where you can’t go on like this any more.’
The trip that year was to Te Anau. It took two days to drive down—David and Katherine in convoy behind Simon and Allison. Katherine slept for most of the first day, nestled against the car door. Sometimes, in her sleep, she reached up and touched her face with her hand, restlessly, as if she was trying to brush something away. David watched her, an unsettled feeling somewhere inside his ribcage.
They stayed for three nights in a motor camp in the middle of the town. Simon and Allison got a unit with a bathroom and kitchen and television. David and Katherine camped nearby in their big canvas tent that took over an hour to put up.
‘We could just get a unit,’ said David, ‘like normal people.’
Katherine looked at him and rolled her eyes.
It happened on the third day. It was late afternoon. David and Katherine had spent the day walking along the lake front, slightly behind Allison and Simon. The lake was glassy and still—along its edge a track ran on and on through groves of red and silver beech trees. After the walk, David and Katherine went to the supermarket to get something for dinner. ‘Perhaps a cooked chicken,’ Allison had said, ‘but only if it’s organic.’
The Red Queen Page 17