In the Company of Strangers

by Liz Byrski

  But she couldn’t stand the thought of the house; the house, which had become unbearable with Gordon in it, was even more unbearable in his absence. She would carry on, sort things out with Declan with as much humility and dignity as possible, and then pay some attention to her future. She unscrewed her water bottle, drank the remains and, once the road was clear, pulled out, swung the car back to face south and drove on, rather more slowly and without music, in the direction in which she had been travelling. And as she did so she had contemplated how she could talk to Declan about this in the least embarrassing way, if she could get him to talk to her at all.

  And so, earlier this evening, she had driven down to Benson’s Reach, parked the car and wandered around among the tents and up the hill, looking for him. There was no sign of him but as she passed the office window she could see Ruby sitting at the desk reading intently. Lesley knew that she should apologise to her and also to Alice. In the past both Sandi and Gordon had chided her for her brusque, sometimes imperious manner in shops and restaurants, but on this occasion she needed no chiding – she knew she had been downright rude. If she was to clear up the mess of her own making she had more than one apology to make. So she had headed for the café thinking she might catch Alice, apologise, and find out where Declan was likely to be. It was very busy in the café and there was no sign of Alice when Lesley ordered her coffee and toasted sandwich at the counter, so she sat down at a table which was partly obscured by one of the old telegraph poles which were both structural elements and design features of the building, and from where she could see both the entrance and the counter. Even so she had somehow missed the moment at which Declan came in with Todd, because when she looked up there they were at the counter, apparently waiting for take-away food.

  It had seemed like the perfect opportunity; she would catch him on his way out. She saw Alice emerge from the kitchen and hand two hamburgers across the counter, the first to Todd and then to Declan. He took it from her and smiled, reached out to take her hand, said something to her, and Alice, smiling in return, leaned across the counter and kissed him on the cheek. There was something tender and quite moving in the whole exchange and it brought a lump to Lesley’s throat. Even with her new and more realistic understanding of what happened between her and Declan she still felt a stab of jealousy and as Declan left the café with Todd she made no attempt to speak to, or follow, him. She just stayed there remembering the expression on his face and the respect and affection that was so obvious whenever he spoke of Alice.

  She had stayed on at her table for almost half an hour and when eventually she left the bright warmth of the café for the shadowy buzz of the outdoors there was no sign of him and she wandered around once more, finally coming to rest here on this low wall in the half-light. Her phone rings suddenly, jolting her out of her stillness. It’s Paula again, and Lesley switches it off and gets to her feet. Ruby is still alone in the office poring over a book. Maybe she knows where Declan is, and anyway, Lesley thinks, it’s time for her first act of humility and she takes a deep breath and sets off along the path to the office.

  uby is hiding. Officially she’s on duty in the office, a responsibility that Declan had felt was his but for which she has volunteered. He was clearly longing to be out among the crowd and this was a legitimate way for her to stay away from it. The prospect of the festival is daunting and she would have loved an excuse to disappear completely and return only when it was all over, but her conscience got the better of her. She feels she has a responsibility to Declan and Alice, and indeed the rest of the staff, who have all worked so hard on the preparations and will be putting in long hours over the next four days, so she has decided to grit her teeth and survive it.

  ‘I’ll take the early part of the evening in the office if you like. It’ll give you a chance to meet people, and you can come and take over for the last couple of hours.’

  Jackson Crow had called to say that they were running late and would arrive around ten, by which time Ruby planned to be tucked up in bed with a book.

  Even though she hadn’t been looking forward to it Ruby hadn’t anticipated her own reaction to the visitors who had been arriving since early this morning. She knew it was unreasonable but as the first few tents were erected it seemed as though Benson’s was being taken over and as the numbers grew so did her resentment. She wanted to march out onto the track that had been railed off for the cars and shout at them to turn back and go away. Even when Benson’s was fully booked it was usually peaceful; it attracted guests looking for quiet and relaxation rather than a party atmosphere. But now the place has been transformed into something frighteningly unmanageable where anything could happen. It’s just your age, she’d told herself several times, but when, towards the end of the afternoon, she had ventured out to see what was happening, she realised that many of the festival goers weren’t all that young – most of them were older baby boomers, some even as old as she was.

  As she stood watching from the verandah she was briefly back in 1969 on a crowded ferry heading for the Isle of Wight to see Bob Dylan. She was with Rowena, whose flat she had shared since she arrived in London a few months earlier. Rowena was a party animal and festivals were her favourite parties. The following year they were back again for Joni Mitchell, Jimi Hendrix and Leonard Cohen and a month later to Glastonbury, a festival Ruby remembers more for being the place she met Owen, and the collective grief that overtook the crowd as word got around that Jimi Hendrix had died. And although festivals today hold no attraction, they do draw her back into nostalgia.

  In the almost thirty years since Owen’s death she has lived alone, at first with difficulty, but later with increasing satisfaction and undeniably enjoyable freedom. She had been devastated when he died suddenly and dramatically of kidney failure caused by an infection contracted on a trip to Venezuela. In medical school he had specialised in tropical diseases and had soon made a name for himself in the field. When he was invited to visit a research project in the Amazon he had jumped at the chance and had laughed off Ruby’s concern. Three months later she was a widow. Since then there have been other short-term relationships that have fizzled out mainly due to her own lack of enthusiasm and commitment. Friendships grew stronger and more important as she battled through layers of grief over the losses in her life: her childhood, her friendship with Catherine, her first marriage, her inability to have children and finally the loss of Owen. These days she lives a pretty quiet life, declining most invitations to openings, launches and parties, finding pleasure and satisfaction in her work, a few close friends, her books, and the constant battle with the garden. Relationships – the hunt for them and the difficulties of being in them – are a thing of the past and that is both a relief and a regret. The excitement charged atmosphere of a music festival is alien to her now and burying her head in the sand seems infinitely preferable.

  Sitting in the office, her feet up on a chair, leaning sideways against the desk with one of Catherine’s journals in her hands, she’s expecting a quiet evening. Festival goers have no real need of the office but they’d decided to keep it open in case of unforeseen problems. Struggling with Catherine’s erratic writing she barely notices the sound of footsteps along the verandah. It is the shadow in the doorway that makes her glance up.

  Lesley Craddock looks the same but different, very different; vulnerability is apparent in both her posture and the expression on her face.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, hesitating in the doorway, as though going inside might be a step too far. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’

  Ruby puts down the journal. ‘You’re not,’ she says. ‘We’re open for business, so come on in. What can I do for you? If you’re looking for accommodation I’m afraid we’re fully booked,’ and she gestures to the chair on the other side of the desk.

  ‘I know,’ Lesley says, and she steps inside and perches stiffly on the edge of the chair. ‘Declan told me you were booked out for the festival. And in any case I’m planning on being arou
nd for a while, so I’ve rented a place in town.’ She pauses and the silence is awkward. ‘But I wanted to see you and just spotted you through the window … I’ve come to apologise. I was very rude to you and of course to Alice when I was last here. I can’t think what got into me. It’s been a difficult time and I suppose I let that get the better of me. When I thought about it later … well I’m sorry, very sorry.’

  Ruby nods. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that and I know Alice will too.’ The apology seems genuine, but there is clearly something else on Lesley’s mind and Ruby senses that humility does not come easily to her. ‘I hope things are settling down for you now.’

  ‘Sort of …’ Lesley says, ‘it’s messy.’

  ‘So you’re back here for a while – is your accommodation all right?’

  ‘It is, thanks. Very comfortable. It’s pretty busy out there, isn’t it?’

  Ruby pulls a face. ‘It certainly is – which is good, of course, but it’s all a bit much for me. These days I tend to panic at the prospect of large groups of people.’

  Lesley nods, and gives a nervous laugh. ‘Me too … do you think it’s a sign we’re getting old?’

  ‘You may be getting, I’ve gotten,’ Ruby says, grinning. ‘But I think you’re right.’

  The silence is less awkward this time. ‘I’ve been looking for Declan,’ Lesley says. ‘I caught sight of him earlier in the café, but by the time I’d squeezed out through the crowd he seemed to have disappeared.’

  ‘He’s pretty busy,’ Ruby says. ‘It’s been a chaotic day and I suspect tomorrow will be the same, or worse. All I can tell you is that he’ll be somewhere on the property if you want to wander around and see if you can find him.’

  She nods. ‘I’ve tried that but I might give it another go.’ She gets up, hovering awkwardly in front of the desk. ‘If you see him could you tell him I was looking for him, please? And thanks again.’ And with a nervous smile she heads out of the door and back towards the café.

  Eight o’clock. Ruby sighs, longing for the delicious seclusion of her own room. She gets up from the desk, fills the kettle and stands waiting for it to boil, wondering what has happened to create this change in Lesley. She makes her tea, turns off the harsh central light, switches on the standard lamp and, picking up Catherine’s journal from the desk, she settles herself on the small two-seater sofa with her feet up.

  Catherine’s style is erratic: part catalogue of events, part poignant reflection on their time in the convent, and all of it woven through with dreams for the future. It’s a future in which the two of them are always together, travelling together, working together, side by side, like twins – inseparably linked by the shared traumas of their childhood. For Ruby it is a powerful reminder of the years when Catherine was her anchor, her protector and the only person she could trust. Even when they had left the convent for jobs at the hotel in Perth they had continued to cling together, but as Ruby’s confidence grew their closeness seemed suffocating.

  The words weave sentences that prise open memories of enmeshment and mutual dependence, and she feels her chest tighten now, as it did then, when she struggled to break free from what had been her life support, but which had become a barrier to independence. They’d had their first arguments then, the first painful and challenging silences, the first hurts and small jealousies, the inevitable intrusion of others into what had for so long been exclusive. It is all there, all in the journal, raw, honest, and it makes for painful reading. Is it just tiredness, she wonders, or the desire to escape from this vivid evocation of the past that makes it so hard to keep her eyes open? The exercise book slips from her hands and she shifts further down on the sofa. Muddled images of the steep flights of the hotel stairs, the deep red flocked wallpaper of the restaurant, the harsh bright lights and clatter of the kitchens, whirl and blur through her head, drawing her down into memories fraught with tension.

  ‘Excuse me.’ A tap on the already open door. ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’

  Ruby’s eyes snap open, the journal thumps down onto the floor and she stumbles to her feet, heart pounding with the shock of waking.

  ‘Goodness me,’ she says, flustered. ‘Goodness me, I’m so sorry. I’m supposed to be on duty but I must have fallen asleep.’ Her glasses slip down from the top of her head, skimming her forehead and settling conveniently on the bridge of her nose. And, smoothing down her hair, she looks up and sees him – a dark skinned man with crisp silver grey hair that curls around his neck and ears, and deep, disturbingly familiar eyes. A stranger, yet a man she feels she knows like she knows herself, and her heart seems to lurch, stop beating, then struggle to start again. ‘Ah!’ she says as their eyes meet, and for an instant she thinks she hears his heart hesitate too. But that, of course is just too fanciful for words. ‘You must be Mr Crow. You’re rather earlier than we expected.’

  Paula can count on one hand the things that make her feel peaceful; watering and talking to her plants is usually one of them. They don’t need watering every day but she still goes down to see them, to chat to them. But this evening they don’t seem to be having the required effect. It’s been a hard day, new guests arriving, cars everywhere, people asking questions and putting up tents, noise, all messing with her head. She’s feeling really spacey tonight. Maybe she shouldn’t have stopped taking the medication. It’s a while now, and she’s done it before, but always gone back on it again. But right now she can’t be doing with that dozy feeling the drugs give her, the awful thirst and the constant need to pee. It’s unfair, Paula thinks, because it’s other people who need her to take them – they find her easier to get on with when she’s on the drugs – but what she wants is to feel okay without them, to be just like everyone else – and how will she know if she can be like that if she doesn’t even try?

  ‘What do you think?’ she asks, leaning in closely to the last plant in the line and taking a leaf between her fingers. ‘Pills or no pills? To take or not to take?’ The plant moves slightly in the breeze and she takes it as a sign that she should stay off the drugs – keep trying to manage without them. ‘I agree,’ Paula says to the plant, setting down the empty watering can. ‘Thanks for the advice.’

  Tonight she feels as though she is made of very thin, brittle ice that could shatter at any moment, each little shard melting away to nothing while she watches herself disintegrate. It’s better than the dozy feeling but it makes her seem unreal and so she talks more and louder to try to make herself seem real again. She might even say or do a few things that aren’t quite right. She’d be very clear about what should happen, and then other people would argue with her and she’d know they were wrong but she’d be the one who’d come out of it looking bad.

  ‘You don’t seem to understand about boundaries, Paula,’ Catherine had said to her once. ‘You can be really intrusive, even overbearing. You only seem able to see things your way and you don’t listen. It’s like you’re disconnected from everyone else, only focused on yourself. I know it’s hard for you, and I understand you don’t want to keep taking the drugs, but you’re difficult to get along with without them.’

  Paula had trusted Catherine, but twice in the time she’s worked there she’s come off the drugs and twice Catherine had told her that she had to get back on them or leave Benson’s. But Catherine’s gone now and, anyway, she didn’t know everything. Maybe, Paula thinks, I’ll be okay this time.

  She walks along the little path of irregular shaped, broken slabs back to the kitchen. It’s deadly quiet in the house and the 100 watt bulb in the kitchen makes her feel she’s about to be interrogated by the thought police. She wishes there was someone to call, to talk to. All day, every day she is surrounded by people who are ringing other people on their posh little phones. Paula has a phone, nice, Samsung, in a shiny pink plastic cover, but nobody ever rings it – well, not for a conversation; work stuff or someone telling her she’s forgotten to make a payment on her credit card, or trying to sell her something, that’s all.

 
‘You can always ring me if you need to talk to someone,’ Catherine had said. And quite often Paula had done that and it had worked, but most of the time just knowing she could call was enough. It was odd because Paula had never felt that Catherine actually liked her, it was more like she tolerated her, perhaps she felt sorry for her, but she also needed her because Paula is the best cleaner for miles around. Anywhere else she’d be paid more and would be called an executive housekeeper or a domestic manager, but nobody at Benson’s sees her potential, she’s just Paula the Cleaner. She imagines her card in the Benson’s deck of Happy Families: Paula the Cleaner, Ruby the Inquisitor, Declan the Loser, Alice the Intruder, Fleur the Outsider and Todd, of course, the Spoiler. But she can’t quite get herself together to go and look for a different job because the whole idea of it just does her head in. If they don’t sort things out soon, or end up giving Fleur’s job to someone else she’s definitely going to go. Sod ’em, no point staying on where you’re not appreciated. Not that she’s ever really been appreciated. If she had been, if someone had only really appreciated her, she wouldn’t be here now, living in this little matchbox, which she keeps as spotless as she keeps the rooms at Benson’s Reach. She wouldn’t be stuck here all on her own with no one to talk to and no one to call.

  ‘People always seem to slip away,’ she says aloud to the empty kitchen. ‘Just when you think you’ve made a friend they’re gone. They need you, use you, then leave you when they’ve got what they want.’

  Lesley Craddock, for example, inviting her in to chat in her cottage, making her cups of tea and pumping her for information, and just when she’d thought they were friends it all stops. Just like that. ‘Too busy to talk now, Paula.’ ‘Must dash.’ ‘Must get on.’ ‘No, don’t call tomorrow, I have to look after the twins.’ ‘No, I don’t want to go out, had a near-miss in the car.’ Typical, Paula thinks, you put yourself out for people and they just make use of you. Catherine had understood that. Paula thought she and Catherine probably had quite a lot in common. That’s why she’s keen to get into that room now, make sure Catherine’s little secret is not going to come sneaking out to damage her reputation.