by Ash Harlow
He carries me out to the window seat, props me up with cushions and wraps me in one of the throws.
I watch him working in the kitchen, making up a plate of our favourite foods. Pickles, cheese, olives, crackers. Some chocolate, and slices of pear. He brings water, wine and glasses, and we lie together, feeding each other and watching the moon weave its way in and out of the clouds.
I’ll leave in the morning for Auckland, and he tells me he doesn’t want to sleep.
***
Ox arrives at the jetty to pick me up. He has a few tourists on the boat with him, and as Reuben and I are kissing goodbye, they’re filming and photographing our precious bay. I can feel Reuben’s anxiety, and I whisper to him to keep his head low, his back to the people. I promise him I’ll be back as soon as I can.
I want to ask for his phone number, but I don’t want him to switch his phone on and have to deal with the barrage of people from his other world. If anything urgent crops up, I can send a message through Ox, who makes trips twice daily for tourists around the islands. I would trust Ox with my life, and I know that he’ll be loyal and make sure Reuben has the privacy he needs.
As the boat departs I feel uneasy watching Reuben retreat along the jetty.
The feeling doesn’t leave me for the entire trip. I stay in the cockpit with Ox, and apart from a fatherly hug, he doesn’t question me.
His wife, Shirley, is there to meet us and drive myself and two of the other passengers to the airport to catch the small Cessna to Auckland. I know Mike, the pilot, and sit up front alongside him. The trip is typical, turbulent over the ranges, but otherwise smooth.
From the airport I take a shuttle to my studio. The traffic is chaotic and slow. The city, noisy.
Being here doesn’t suit me, and I feel a pang of sympathy for Granddad, who truly doesn’t like the city but has no choice but to stay here until he’s well enough to care for himself. I want to talk to him about doing some renovations on the cottage, to make his life a little more comfortable, before he returns to the island.
Pushing open the door to my studio doesn’t fill me with the sense of place that usually comes with being here.
The studio is tiny, a portion of an old brick warehouse that’s been around for more than a hundred years at the top of town. It has a small kitchen, bathroom, then one open room that has my bed and a sofa. The tiny bedroom, I’ve turned into my workroom.
Usually, I’m excited to work, but all I want is Reuben and the island. I miss him already and wish I hadn’t been so strict about his phone. I want to talk to him and tell him about this feeling of unease I can’t shake.
I wonder if it’s the problem I have with the gallery that’s bothering me. We’ve reached an impasse, and I’ll produce the prints and show them to Prue and Jake. It’s up to them from there.
I fire up my computer, intending to work until ten p.m.
I stop earlier because I’m tired and I haven’t eaten since I arrived back in the city. I make a cup of tea and find a packet of ginger biscuits. Not exactly nutritious, but they’ll get me through until morning. When I’m finished, I shower and climb into bed.
It’s cold and lonely. So quickly I’ve become used to curling into Reuben and being cradled all night in his arms. I know I won’t sleep, so I grab my laptop. I’m curious, and if I can’t have Reuben at my side, I can look at him online.
I pull up his Instagram account, which makes me giggle. Apparently he’s in the mountains somewhere in Colorado, shuttered away, working hard on a new album. There are regular pictures of him in different settings. His social media manager must have a massive file of stuff to choose from.
Of course, I’m seeing him clean-shaven for the first time. The acute angle of his jaw is magnificent, the shadow it creates now hidden by a beard. Yet, I love his beard the most. Absolutely adore it, and obviously it’s the man within I adore even more.
I exit Instagram because although they are photos of him, the sentiments are those from a publicity company, and the words carry little meaning.
I go into Google Images to get a different take on him, one that’s not catalogued by someone on his payroll. Now I’m getting fan pics and selfies galore.
I’m horrified.
In front of me is a wall of thumbnails that look like a mobbing. I couldn’t bear to live that way. No wonder he was burned out and made a run for it. There’s no denying I’ve fantasized about spending my life with Reuben, but I don’t want to be any part of that insanity surrounding him.
I scroll down the page and…oh shit.
Somehow the photo of Reuben I accidentally sent to the gallery has made it online. Clicking on the link takes me to some trashy gossip website.
They’re speculating he’s in New Zealand. I read through the short article twice. They’ve got nothing. Well, they’ve got a lot in fact, but not much truth. It’s all speculation and a stolen photo.
I search for details on who runs the site and spend time, which is probably wasted, filling in a form for a breach of copyright take down notice.
Every time I look, there seem to be more websites running the story and using the picture. I fill in a couple more take down forms, aiming for the bigger websites who may actually take my request seriously, then call it a night.
I wish Reuben were here to help me with this. I don’t want to go through this alone because I’m so scared I’m going to make it worse for him than I already have.
There’s nothing I can do until morning, when I intend to give Prue and Jake the full force of my anger. To calm me, I download some of Reuben’s music and set it playing, switch off my lamp, and try to get to sleep, pretending Reuben’s on the sofa, playing to me.
I’m woken from sleep by my phone going. It takes me a few seconds to work out where I am. Still groggy, I stumble from bed and find my phone. It’s Granddad’s convalescent home. He’s been suffering chest pain and they’ve just put him in an ambulance.
I only take enough time to thank them before tugging on clothes and calling a taxi while trying to clean my teeth. It’s early enough that the traffic is okay, and I’m thankful, for once, that my studio is in the city and close to the hospital.
The taxi drops me off at the emergency department, and I run through the doors. There’s a queue at reception, and of course everybody thinks their query is the most important. I’m told to take a seat and wait. As far as they can tell, he’s been admitted, but the doctors are attending right now.
I feel totally numb. I’m not prepared for the unthinkable to happen to Granddad. He’s all I have.
My need for Reuben grows. As soon as I find out what’s going on, I’ll call Ox and ask him to get a message to Reuben. I know he can’t come here, but I want him to switch on his phone so that I can call him and hear his voice. I’ve always been independent and happy with my own company, but today I need to share my fears with someone.
The waiting room is chaotic, and I retreat into myself and try to hold everything together.
It’s two hours before somebody comes for me. From what I can gather, Granddad has multiple blockages in his arteries that need clearing. Of course, those arteries are hard, he’s eighty-two and the risks are concerning. But there’s a surgeon who wants to give fixing him a go. There is, in fact, no palatable alternative.
I’m taken through to visit him. My usually vital grandfather looks frail, as though half of him is missing. I need to know that this operation is what he wants, too, because although he’s always cheerful, he does speak comfortably of the moment he passes and gets to be with Grandma again.
This vulnerability makes me feel like a child again, but I’m determined to be brave and listen to his wants.
We kiss and hug, and the grip in his hands is remarkably strong.
“They’re going to clear the blockages, and I’ll be good as new,” he says. His voice is weak, and I’m low to his mouth to hear him.
“Is that what you want, Granddad? You don’t have to go through with this i
f you don’t want to.”
“I haven’t seen a great-grandchild yet, Stella. I’m not going anywhere until that happens, girl.”
I kiss him and tell him how much I love him. He’s drowsy and drops off to sleep, but when he wakens I tell him about the storm, about the old wall that was uncovered at Ahunui, and he brightens significantly.
“I’ll be back there soon,” he says. “Don’t you worry.”
Through the next few hours, he’s visited by a guy who takes blood, then the surgeon, followed shortly after by an anaesthetist. I let Granddad answer whatever questions he can, and step in when he tires, or to confirm details.
It’s mid-afternoon when they come to take him to theatre. They let me go down with him, holding his hand the entire way. I kiss his cheek, and we tell each other lots of ‘love-yous’, then it’s time for me to leave him.
I go to the park, walking all the way to the museum in a daze. My world has been turned upside down, and I feel exhausted. Finding myself near a kiosk, I realise I haven’t eaten anything today, so I buy a coffee and a sandwich and take them to the park to eat. I don’t know how long I stay there, but when the sun starts to dip below the treeline, the temperature drops, and I make my way slowly back to the hospital.
I’m escorted to a smaller waiting room away from the emergency department. About a dozen other people sit there with the same pinched look of concern I expect I’m wearing. There’s a television playing in the corner, which I could totally do without, but I guess it’s a welcome distraction for some of these people, so I find a seat, and wait.
My mind is a hundred miles way, on Ahunui, when I hear Reuben’s name. I snap to attention.
It’s some flimsy piece speculating where he is right now, as if that’s important when countries are bombing the shit out of each other and killing innocent people, and Granddad’s somewhere in this building having his arteries stretched and poked by a surgeon who hopefully has a steady hand.
When my photograph of Reuben pops up on the screen, I’m ready to throw my chair through the television. Has nobody heard of copyright in this world? I come to realise that it’s an American entertainment channel we’re watching. #WhereIsReuben is trending on the internet. Then they switch live to a reporter.
He’s standing in the main street of Waitapu. I wonder if he understands how very close he is to his prize. I need to contact Ox, to tell him to get over to the island and get Reuben off there.
There’s a telephone on the wall for our use, but only for local calls. The sign above it says use of cell phones is forbidden in this ward, so I’ll have to go outside.
The door opens before I reach it, and my name is called by the nurse. She takes me into a smaller room and tells me the surgeon is on his way. When I ask after Granddad, she repeats that the surgeon will be with me soon, and it’s impossible for me to tell if this is good news or not.
The surgeon, Dr. Ko, looks as drained as I feel, but the news is good. Granddad’s in recovery and will be moved to ICU for monitoring overnight, and should be in a ward by the morning.
Dr. Ko gives me the once-over. “I suggest you go home and get some sleep. Visit your grandfather tomorrow when he’s awake and can talk to you. Go on now.”
I thank him for his work and leave the hospital.
15 ~ STELLA
I’m allowed to visit Granddad at ten, and I’m at the hospital, waiting for the doors to open, with fifteen minutes up my sleeve.
Poor Granddad looks battered, but says he’s feeling great. Bullshit, I know. He looks like he’s been mowed down by a truck. But I’m pleased he feels well enough to put my mind at ease. The main thing is that he’s still here, still with me.
I stay with him and help him with his lunch, then he drops off to sleep. The kindest thing he can do for his healing is to sleep and rest, and I know that he tries too hard to appear well when I’m there. I write him a note to say that I’ll be back late afternoon and leave him to sleep.
I still feel wiped out, and I return to the park, to walk and get some fresh air while I try to locate Ox. I tried first thing this morning, but his phone was out of range. Living in the back of beyond is fabulous, until it isn’t. Easy communication is the first thing that is sacrificed.
I stand by the small lake and watch kids feeding the ducks. It’s such a completely normal thing, and the children are giggling and calling to the ducks. There’s that one kid who’s over-bossy, shaking a finger and telling the noisy ducks who push to the front of the group, ‘No, you’ve had enough’.
I feel as though I’ve almost had enough.
I pull my phone out to have another try at contacting Ox. I’m so tired my hands can’t even function properly and I scroll right past Ox’s name. That’s when I discover that Reuben’s put his name and number in my contacts. Just seeing it there fills me with warmth. I hit the number, but it goes straight to a ‘not in service’ recording. I guess he still hasn’t charged up his phone.
I scroll back to Ox’s number, and this time I make a connection. I give Ox the lowdown on Reuben.
“I guessed that was the reason town has seen a whole bunch of guys with massive cameras in today. I’m fully booked for tours tomorrow.”
“Ox, please, you can’t take them to the island.”
“Don’t you worry. I’m going to tell them that some crazy old bastard with a gun lives there and that we’re not allowed to land. I’ll race right on past.”
For the first time since I arrived in Auckland, I feel as though the dark cloud oppressing me has lifted. I tell him about Granddad, and he sends his best wishes and asks me to tell Granddad that he has a dozen bottles of home brew waiting to share with him on his return.
“We’re trying to keep him alive, Ox, not wipe him out.”
“Yeah, but girl, what a way to go, eh?”
I finish the call and head over to a vacant park bench. Reuben’s life is insane. No, that’s wrong. What’s insane is that people would travel to the other side of the world to try and get a photograph of him.
I open a news app to see if the New Zealand dailies have joined in on the act and just about drop my phone. Top of the entertainment section is a photo of Reuben and me kissing on the jetty. I stare at it in disbelief. One of those tourists taking photos from the boat has realised who they’ve captured on the jetty. I check the photo again, and this time I notice the headline.
Reuben Creed’s Secret Love Hideaway with Local Woman.
Good God, I’m even named. I glance at the people around me. Suddenly I feel as though everyone knows who I am. I’m wishing for a cap and sunglasses now. A beard would be even better.
It’s still two hours until I can see Granddad again, so I wave down a taxi and give the address of Prue and Jake’s gallery. I need to vent, need to get mad at someone, and they’ve set this whole thing off by somehow releasing my photograph.
I pull myself back into line. They’re not exactly to blame. If I hadn’t sent the photograph, they’d never have had it to release, but they were careless and should never have sent out the pictures when we didn’t have anything beyond a verbal agreement for the exhibition.
I march into the gallery. Jake is near the door.
“Hey there, dirty girl, you’ve been keeping secrets from us.”
I am so not up for his teasing, and I stride past him, my hand in the air. “Shut it,” I hiss so that the clients wandering about looking at the pictures can almost not hear. “The office, now.”
“Darling, so aggressive,” Jake says. At least he’s following me. “All that sex with a hot guy should have put you in a much better mood.”
Prue looks up, shocked, as I enter and kick the door closed, almost hitting Jake with it.
“Stella, hi.”
I don’t even return the greeting; I just sort of detonate. “Really fucking pissed off here, Prue. First, you do not respect me when I tell you that a certain image is not part of the collection I’m offering. Then you release it to the fucking internet. The
re are so many copyright, and privacy breach issues going on, I can’t keep up. Want to explain?”
“Calm down. It was an error.”
“An error would be my name misspelled in the exhibition catalogue. I’ve sold exclusive rights to that image. No, correct that. I had sold exclusive rights to that image, but now it’s worthless because every trashy gossip blogger is running it. How…I mean…” I’m losing steam. “Explain to me how they got hold of it.”
Jake’s perched on the desk, and he freaking rolls his eyes, which makes me want to grab a pen and stab them out.
“Stella, settle down, sweetie,” he says. “I sent the photos to a few clients I knew would be interested. That’s our job. It’s called marketing, and we do it because we presume you want to sell these images. One of the recipients has obviously been indiscreet. It happens.” He reaches out to touch my shoulder as if he’s about to give me a patronising there-there.
I slap his hand way. “I want take down notices sent to all of those websites. Every one of them. I want that photo to disappear from the internet.” I have to concentrate on Granddad and trying to get hold of Reuben, so Prue and Jake can put some effort into fixing their error.
“That’s impossible—”
“Make it happen. Ring your lawyers and have them get somebody onto it. And while I’m at it, I’m officially withdrawing all of the other photos as well. You no longer represent my work.” I push to my feet. My knees are shaking and my lungs feel scrunched up in my chest. “I want a progress report on the take downs by the end of the week, or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
They probably know how empty the threat is. I don’t have a lawyer, and I can’t afford to hire one, especially now that I’ve cut off my only money supply.
It’s time for me to get back to the hospital. If things get worse, I’ll be asking to be admitted.
I step back onto the street, unsure how I feel about burning my bridges. In my heart, I feel as though they may be burned with Reuben, too. Unless he’s connected his laptop to the Wi-Fi, it’s likely he has no idea what’s going down, but once he finds out, I’m sure it’s over between us. The one thing he needed when he came to New Zealand was anonymity for a few weeks so he could rest.