In the Company of Strangers

by Liz Byrski

  Eating something seems like a good idea right now, and she opens the cupboard above the bench top, takes out a tin of baked beans, opens it and eats the cold beans with a spoon, just as she did when she was a kid. Knowing she is doing something that would send her mother right off her trolley has always been extremely satisfying. When she’s had enough she puts the tin, with the teaspoon still in it, into the fridge, pulls out a bottle of juice, takes a swig and wanders across to look at herself in the kitchen mirror. She doesn’t look bad for her age, though not as good as Kylie.

  When Paula was younger people used to say she looked like Kylie – or Charlene, as she was then. She’d had the same hair, but she was a bit taller. Paula turns side on to the mirror and does a few Kylie moves that she’s spent a lot of time perfecting. Years ago when she and Gary used to go to karaoke nights she would always do a Kylie number, and back then, when Kylie started singing, Paula had reckoned she looked and sounded just like her. ‘I should be so lucky,’ she sings. Kylie, well she’s really lucky. You’d think she was a goddess the way some people go on about her; there’s even a statue of her in Melbourne. Of course she had the cancer but she even made that into a hit. ‘I should be so lucky.’

  Paula reaches up, pulls the scrunchie off her ponytail, fluffs out her hair and swings her shoulders from side to side. It’s all luck, she thinks. She could have been just as good as Kylie, she could have been a goddess, an icon, all she needed was the luck, but there hadn’t been much of that around when she was growing up. While Kylie was starring in soap operas and cuddling up to Jason Donovan, Paula was doing night cleaning at the supermarket and screwing spotty losers in the car park.

  She’d been lucky once, though, only once and not for long, lucky with Gary, lucky in love. Until she was unlucky, until her bloody slut of a sister cut her right out of the picture. Paula has another big swig of juice. What she’d really like is to be up on that stage at Benson’s, singing ‘Dancing Queen’, wearing sequins and silver tassels and a big headdress thing with ostrich feathers, like Kylie wore at the Olympics. She’d driven up there earlier this evening and pushed her way through the people and gone up onto the darkened stage and stood there looking down, imagining herself strutting her stuff, microphone in hand. That’d give them all something to think about.

  Paula closes her eyes, wishing she felt more like normal. Perhaps she just needs to sleep. If only they could see what she can do. Tomorrow, maybe, she’ll get all dressed up and get up there on the stage and sing, she’ll make them listen to her and see her. Nobody ever sees her, and they don’t listen when she tells them interesting stuff or gives advice. She slips a CD into the ghetto blaster, and she’s singing along with Kylie to ‘Dancing Queen’, strutting back and forth across the spotlessly clean vinyl tiles, swinging her hips, pouting at the audience, one arm raised above her head. And she sings and dances and swings and pouts and twists and sways and struts until her feet hurt and her arms ache and the music stops, and in the silence of the empty kitchen she sinks into a chair and bursts into tears.

  Declan keys Lesley’s number into the phone and waits – one ring, two rings. It’s late, he thinks, maybe he should leave it and call in the morning. But then she answers and his stomach clenches. Had he made this call weeks ago things might by now be sorted. Faced with the emotional and practical consequences of his procrastination in the weeks before Catherine’s death, he had promised himself that in future he would face up to the next emotional challenge as soon as it reared its head. But here it is – his first crisis and again he tried to solve it by pretending to ignore it. He’s only calling Lesley now because Ruby passed on Lesley’s message so he feels he has no choice.

  ‘Er … hi,’ he says, ‘it’s me, Declan.’ He knows he sounds pathetic, so he clears his throat and tries again. ‘Sorry, it’s Declan here, Lesley, Ruby said you were looking for me.’

  ‘I was,’ she says, ‘but I couldn’t find you so I left. I really need to talk to you …’

  ‘Sure,’ he says, ‘sure, absolutely, but it’s difficult now. The festival … you’ve seen the crowds here … it’s going to be pretty frantic—’

  ‘Declan,’ Lesley interrupts, ‘I need to talk to you, it won’t take long. I know I’ve made a fool of myself and I’m sorry. I just want to put things right.’

  ‘Ah … I see, that’s good,’ he says, not at all sure what putting things right might involve. ‘We must get together sometime soon …’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow morning,’ she says. ‘Can you meet me for breakfast?’

  He hesitates, again.

  ‘Look, I’ve been really stupid but you were pretty stupid too,’ she says, ‘sneaking off at dawn, fetching my car and leaving it outside so you wouldn’t have to face me, and then ignoring my calls. Let’s just get this painful bit over and done with, then we can start behaving normally again.’

  Over and done with is just what he wants. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘but I really do have a lot on tomorrow. Could you come down to the café at, say, eight o’clock?’

  ‘I’ll see you then,’ she says.

  And she hangs up, leaving him standing there in the darkness feeling as though the conversation is not quite finished. He pockets his phone with a sigh as a light goes out behind him and he turns to see Alice locking the back door of the café.

  ‘There you are,’ she says, strolling over to him. ‘How were the hamburgers?’

  ‘To die for. Todd says he could have eaten four more.’

  ‘Only four? Everything go okay today?’

  ‘Pretty good,’ he says, ‘no major dramas, and Jackson Crow and his merry men arrived about an hour ago so everyone’s here now. Cup of tea or are you too tired?’

  ‘I’m tired but also too wide awake to go to bed so, yes, tea would be good. Strange, isn’t it,’ she says as they walk towards the house, ‘all those tents, the cars, all those people just moving in and setting up camp and waiting – you can actually feel them waiting.’

  They let themselves in through the back door and Declan fills the kettle.

  ‘No Ruby?’ Alice asks.

  ‘She’s gone to bed,’ he says. ‘Her first meeting with Jackson Crow seemed to be something of a shock, and of course it’s been a very long day. Look, Alice,’ he crosses to the table and sits down to face her, ‘there’s something I need to tell you. It’s about that business with the computer search. It’s … well, it’s just as we suspected – it was Paula, it must have been.’

  Alice nods. ‘I was pretty sure it had to be but how do you know?’

  ‘Todd,’ Declan says, ‘he knows you were in prison. He overheard Paula on the phone when she was talking to Lesley.’ He sees her face, white in the bright fluorescent light of the kitchen. ‘Now, I know this is a shock, but you really don’t need to worry about Todd. I talked to him, he hasn’t told anyone and he won’t, I trust him, he thinks the world of you—’

  ‘I’m not worried about Todd,’ Alice cuts in, ‘and I’ll talk to him myself. But Lesley, and Paula …’

  ‘I’ll talk to Lesley when I see her tomorrow.’

  ‘She was really friendly tonight, she came to see me to apologise.’

  ‘Apologise for what?’

  ‘Oh, of course, you didn’t know. Well, when you were up in Perth she wanted to know where you were and was asking for your number and she was really rude when I wouldn’t give it to her. But tonight she just said she was sorry, she’d been in a bit of a crisis and knew she’d behaved badly.’

  Declan leaned back in his chair. ‘And that was all?’

  Alice nods. ‘Yes – well, we talked about other things, the festival, whether it might rain … She seemed different, I think she meant it.’

  He nods. ‘She’s a nice woman having a really difficult time, and I made it more difficult.’ He’s about to elaborate but stops himself just in time. ‘I think it will be fine with Lesley, honestly. It’s Paula I’m concerned about, not just her talking to people but the fact that she went into the office
and logged onto the computer. I’m going to set a password tomorrow and only you and Ruby and I will have it, but we’re also going to have to do something about this, we can’t just ignore it.’

  Alice sighs. ‘I suppose we can’t, but Paula will never admit it. And, really, there’s not much we can do about it.’

  Declan gets up to make the tea. ‘I think there is. If we – by which I mean if Ruby – carpets her she might just take offence and leave. She thinks I’m a wanker but she’s a bit scared of Ruby.’

  ‘If she does leave she’ll tell everyone, all the staff, everyone.’ Alice pauses. ‘And there’s another thing. Paula’s one of the most irritating people I’ve ever met but she’s really good at her job, and sometimes I think it’s all she’s got. Sometimes I think the brashness that we find so abrasive is just a cover. She’s quite fragile, really.’

  Declan carries the teapot and mugs to the table and fetches the milk from the fridge. ‘You’re being very generous. I think you’d be well within your rights to ask us to sack her.’

  Alice shakes her head. ‘When Ruby found out about me she could’ve asked – or told you – that I had to go, but she didn’t. I don’t like Paula, and I’m furious that she’s done this, but I sort of think it’s more about the power of having the information than about malice.’

  ‘Frankly, to me she is just a pain in the arse and I’d be glad to see the back of her,’ Declan says.

  ‘Declan, you and I know all about stuffing things up, we’ve both been experts at that. Maybe what Paula needs is someone to take an interest in her.’

  He shrugs. ‘Maybe, but there’s something else too. I found out tonight that Paula is Todd’s aunt, his mother’s sister. Apparently Catherine knew this although she didn’t tell me. But then I didn’t get here in time for her to tell me half the things I needed to know. It seems there was some big bust-up years ago and they’ve never spoken to each other since.’

  ‘How odd,’ Alice says, ‘I wonder what that’s all about. Not that it makes any difference to this situation. I do think we need to know a bit more about her, but it might be best to wait until after the festival. We’ll all have more than enough to cope with over the next few days.’ She sips her tea and, putting her hand into her pocket, brings out a folded piece of paper. ‘Look at this,’ she says, handing it to him, ‘it came a while ago.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asks.

  ‘Just read it.’

  Declan unfolds the letter, reads the curt message once and then a second time and looks up at her. ‘She put her phone number,’ he says. ‘She actually gave you her number.’

  Alice nods and he sees that there are tears in her eyes.

  ‘You haven’t used it, have you? You haven’t called her?’

  ‘No,’ she says, ‘of course not.’

  ‘Good.’ He nods slowly and reads it again. ‘It’s a test, isn’t it? I think it’s a test.’

  ‘That’s what I thought – a test. And if I pass it … well, who knows … ?’

  ‘You’ll pass it,’ Declan says. ‘You’ll pass it, I know you will. You’re not alone now, I can help. You can pass all her tests, one at a time. Alice, I know how much you want your family back, but promise me one thing – don’t sacrifice yourself in the process. You’ve come so far in the past few months, nothing is worth sacrificing that for.’

  t’s after midnight and Ruby is wide awake, sitting up in bed surrounded by Catherine’s journals. She’s trying to find a specific entry from some time during their first year at Benson’s Hotel but before Harry had arrived back from London. The faster she flicks through the pages the more agitated she becomes. There are long entries for almost every day: stuff about their work, what Mrs Benson said to the chef, what the chef said about Mrs Benson once she’d left the kitchen. And there are earlier reminiscences that Catherine has woven into her journal often for no apparent reason. Ruby stops at one which she’d almost forgotten. It was that moment on the dock when they had just set foot in Australia, when she was seven and Catherine eight, just a year between them.

  ‘We’ll pretend we’re the same age,’ Catherine had whispered as they were lined up on the dock in Fremantle. ‘Then we won’t be separated. Say you’re eight. Don’t forget when they ask you, Ruby, say you’re eight years old.’

  Ruby wonders now how Catherine had known to do this. She’d been right, though. Quite soon after that the girls had been separated from the boys, and then the man in charge began asking each one how old they were. Catherine had given Ruby a nudge and she had promptly announced her age as eight and the two of them had been moved in with the other eight-year-olds. She was always such a knowing child, and so authoritative, at least that was what Ruby used to think. Later she changed from authoritative to controlling, but back then it was different. Changing her age had meant that they were together in the convent and that they were able to leave the convent together. It was pure luck that Mrs Benson had approached the nuns about finding two girls for the hotel.

  ‘You’ll be cleaning the rooms, changing linen and so on, and there’ll be work in the kitchen and the restaurant too. You’ll get all your meals, and you’ll share a room. One day off a week, no mixing with the guests,’ she’d said, looking them up and down with an obviously critical eye. But then she’d smiled and Ruby can still remember that smile, not just how it looked but the sudden intense joy of a smile from someone in authority.

  ‘So what do you think?’

  They were in Mother Superior’s office at the time and they hardly knew what to think. She was actually asking them if they wanted the job, as if they had some sort of choice, as if their opinions were worth something. They had no choice, of course, the alternative would have meant being separated. In the years since then Ruby has often thought of this as one of her ‘what if?’ moments: what if someone else had arrived at the convent instead of Mrs Benson? What if they’d been separated then? What if their lives had gone in totally different directions? But there they were, Mother Superior glaring at them, willing them to go, Freda Benson waiting for an answer. All they had to do was to say yes to freedom.

  But what Ruby’s looking for now in the journals is something she had forgotten but which had returned to her the moment she looked up and saw Jackson Crow – a conversation and then an entry in the journal from the night of Catherine’s first date. They had been at the hotel for some time by then because at first Mrs Benson was very strict about what they could and couldn’t do and dates were not on the agenda. She was kind but firm and although the work was hard it was nothing like as hard as the convent. The nuns had treated them with dislike and disgust but Mrs Benson seemed to like them, and she hadn’t forgotten how it felt to be young.

  ‘I feel I’m responsible for you,’ she’d said. ‘You’re not only young, you’re very naive. I don’t think they taught you much at all in the convent so someone has to look out for you.’ She had taken that responsibility very seriously, behaving at first more like a guardian than an employer. On this particular night Catherine, who had been told to be home by ten-thirty, had scraped in with about thirty seconds to spare, and Ruby was sitting bolt upright in bed, breathless for details.

  ‘So, how was it? Did he try to kiss you? You have to tell me everything, absolutely everything.’

  Catherine had pulled off her clothes and climbed into bed. ‘He was so boring,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think that’s the worst sin a man could commit, Ruby, being boring?’ And Ruby, in her ignorance, had agreed. Now she knows that there are far greater possible sins, although being boring still rates fairly highly.

  Catherine groaned. ‘I swear he told me his whole life story, and then everything about his football team, and probably every other team in the whole world. He never stopped talking and he didn’t even try to kiss me in the cinema, just held my hand. You really can’t tell, can you?’ she went on. ‘I mean, how would you know if you’d met the right man? We know nothing about this, Ruby, we just don’t have a clue. I bet other girls
know much more than we do.’

  And she was right. Even a few months of Freda Benson’s guidance hadn’t prepared them for the shark infested waters of the dating game. Men hadn’t figured much in the life of the convent, apart from the two local priests, but they were remote, almost godlike figures around whom the nuns, normally hatchet faced, vicious tongued and prone to physical violence bordering on torture, turned into fawning, simpering creatures hungry for a word or nod of approval. Other men came and went: the maintenance man, a local builder, delivery men, the man who serviced the nuns’ ancient car, but they too were creatures apart – alien beings with whom the girls were not even supposed to exchange a greeting. There was no television, no magazines, not even newspapers, and although there were books the ones the girls were allowed to read were not the stuff of romance, nor did they contain even the elements of human biology. It was only in their final year that the subject of boys somehow became the topic of whispered conversations and speculation, all of which was firmly rooted in ignorance.

  Once freed from the convent, however, their knowledge increased exponentially. In that little attic bedroom at the hotel they dived into Mrs Benson’s copies of New Idea and Australian Women’s Weekly, and lay with the lights out far into the night, listening to Harry’s LPs on his old record player that Mrs Benson had loaned them in his absence. On days when there were few guests and the hotel lounge was empty, they discovered the wonders of black and white television, or escaped to the cinema on their afternoons off. But it was when they joined the library that they really started to learn about life, love and the opposite sex as they worked their way through the novels on a list Mrs Benson had drawn up for them.

  ‘So how will we know?’ Catherine had asked again. ‘How will we know when we meet the right man?’