Drip Dry (27 page)

11.13 am

‘Well, all I can say is that we should be counting our blessings.' My mother puts a dribble of milk into each teacup except hers, and then puts the milk back in the fridge. ‘It could have been a lot worse, that's for sure.'

‘Mummy, keep still! I'm trying to draw your nose.' CJ holds her pencil up and squints down at me along its length.

‘How could it be worse, Mum?' Alex asks interestedly as he reaches out to take his cup of tea. ‘Apart from the fact that her septum
isn't
deviated,
whatever that means. But look at her! She's going to look like Jimmy Durante by the morning.'

‘Exactly my point, dear,' says Mum as she pours and then passes my tea over to me. ‘Imagine if I
had
made her part of the wedding party tomorrow.
What
a disaster!'

Trust my mother to put things in perspective. We are sitting around my kitchen table, drinking tea and discussing how to organise my afternoon. At least, the
others
are discussing my afternoon. I am not contributing to the conversation at all because (a) I'm heartily sick of not being able to enunciate, (b) I've long discovered it's a lot easier to deal with my mother this way, and (c) I've taken two of the strong painkillers and the world has turned an interesting blue hue (and I suspect this means I'm in that zone where what you want to say sounds fine until it actually leaves your mouth, at which point everyone looks at you as if you've suddenly had a cerebral haemorrhage).

I'm also a little bit in shock over the way my mother and Alex have picked up their relationship again so easily. He still calls her
Mum
, for heaven's sake! And we've been divorced for well over ten years! She's even tenderly ministrated to his eye with some magic ointment she brought over to lessen the bruising. Now, if I
was
talking, I would drop into the conversation a polite inquiry about his fiancée and watch him squirm, but I doubt I could even pronounce ‘fiancée' so he's safe for now. Mum passes Harold his cup of tea and he takes a seat opposite me next to CJ, who seems to be making heavy use of
the red colouring pencils for my portrait. I ladle some sugar into my tea and take a sip.

‘Ah.'

‘Is that good, dear? No, don't answer – just enjoy it. Now, do you have any biscuits around here that I could put out?' Mum turns around and grimaces at my kitchen cupboards. ‘Perhaps you could point out where they might be?'

‘I'll get them, Grandma.' CJ abandons my picture and scrambles across Harold's lap. He gasps audibly as she knees him in the midriff on the way through. ‘Here they are.'

Mum arranges some chocolate-chip biscuits on a plate and puts them on the table in front of Alex and me as CJ gets ready to scramble back across Harold. Harold leaps up.

‘Here you go!' He waves his arm in gentlemanly fashion, and remains standing until CJ is firmly settled. Alex laughs and turns to my mother.

‘Here, Mum, you take my seat.' He stands up and offers his chair to her.

‘No, no, Alex. You stay there.' Mum takes a sip of her tea. ‘I quite like standing over here. It means I can see all of you at once.'

‘Okay then.' Alex sits back down and gives me a grin. ‘How're the painkillers going, bruiser?'

I smile and nod.

‘Well, I'm dying to hear the rest of this sorry tale.' Mum frowns at me so I abruptly stop nodding. ‘I am guessing it wasn't old Mrs Waverley under the house, so what
was
it?'

‘Well,' says Alex grandly as he surveys his captive
audience, ‘I have to admit that I felt a bit nervous going under there just in case it
was
her – or even someone else – but I simply couldn't bring myself to say no to Ben. Anyway, I have to tell you, it was
disgusting
. The reek got worse as we got closer and it got darker and darker, and then, sure enough, exactly like Ben said, there was this strange lump wrapped in an old blanket up the far end. And it looked the right shape to be human as well. What made it even worse was that the damn torch kept flickering and I kept thinking that any minute it was going to go out for good and we'd be left in the dark with a putrefying corpse. I tell you, I don't know about Ben but I was shaking like a leaf.' At this point Alex, obviously enjoying himself, pauses to take a sip of his tea.

‘Was she a skelteton?' CJ breathes in awe.

‘A skeleton? Oh no.' Alex looks at her in surprise, as if he has just remembered that she's there. ‘And you're going to get nightmares if I drag this out, aren't you?'

CJ only stares at him bug-eyed while I smile and nod again.

‘Yes, she will, dear,' Mum says firmly, ‘so perhaps we'd better have the less graphic version for now.'

‘Okay then, speeding along. Well, it wasn't Mrs Waverley and it wasn't any other type of human. It was only a lot of old blankets and a very small dog – looked a bit like a chihuahua-cross, actually.'

‘Oh my! The Waverleys had a little dog like that, didn't they, Camilla?' My mother turns to me for confirmation. ‘A little one with a nasty disposition?'

I smile and nod.

‘Well, they've been gone about six months or so, haven't they?' Alex asks Mum, who nods agreement. ‘I'm guessing it hasn't been there that long. I reckon the poor little blighter's come back a month or so ago and has died under there. He probably found the old blankets and burrowed his way in there to die.'

‘Well, that is sad,' says Mum.

‘Poor puppy!' says CJ, her eyes filling up with tears. ‘Poor,
poor
puppy!'

‘Oh no, CJ,' Harold suddenly speaks up. ‘It's not really that sad. You see old dogs like to find somewhere they feel comfortable to die. And that little fellow probably decided that, when his time came, he'd rather die under the house that he lived in for most of his life. So you see, he died happy. Is that right?'

Mum looks at Harold in admiration, Alex looks at him in astonishment and CJ looks at him in gratification. I just smile and nod.

‘So he was happy then?' asks CJ.

‘That's right, dear, exactly like Harold said,' answers Mum as Harold opens his mouth. No doubt she only encourages that type of verbosity in moderation.

‘Oh, good!' sighs CJ with relief. ‘So can I go ober and draw him, then?'

‘Certainly not,' says my mother with a disgusted look at me.

‘You can't anyway,' Alex chimes in as he tries to wipe the grin off his face. ‘I rang my sister Maggie from the hospital. She's got all
sorts
of contacts, and she got a guy to come straight away and remove
the dog.
And
give him a really good burial,' he adds quickly.

‘Oh,' says CJ, disappointed.

‘Good old Maggie,' says my mother. ‘She's a very useful person to have around.'

‘Sure is,' grins Alex.

‘Now onwards and upwards, as they say.' Mum holds out her hand for silence as she takes a sip of tea so that no-one dares speak. ‘Even though I've introduced you to Harold, I haven't had a chance to welcome you back home, Alex. Because my daughter neglected to let me know that you
were
back home. So we'll do so now. It is
lovely
to have you back, and I'm thrilled for the children. Welcome back.'

‘Why thanks, Mum,' Alex says with obvious pleasure. ‘It's good to be back. And let me say congratulations on your impending wedding – to both of you.'

‘Thank you, dear,' replies Mum, for both herself and Harold, who sits opposite me beaming at the table in general. ‘And of course you realise you're invited. In fact, we would be quite offended if you didn't show up.'

‘Well, thank you. I wouldn't dream of offending you so I'll attend with pleasure.'

‘Excellent, and – Camilla?' Mum turns to face me. ‘Perhaps you could please give Alex the details?'

I stopped smiling and nodding a few minutes ago, around the time that she issued the wedding invitation, and sort of froze, but my attention has now been distracted by the blue hue. It has formed a
type of angelic halo around my mother's head and is hovering there, shimmering. Very disturbing. I try to focus on her face but have little success so I simply smile and nod again.

My mother frowns at me. ‘I'd like to know what's in those tablets you took.'

‘What do I call you?' CJ has stopped drawing and is looking up at Alex pensively.

‘Why, you can call me Alex, because that's my name,' replies Alex courteously. ‘And what may I call you?'

‘You can call me CJ – it's for Christine Jain.'

‘That's a lovely name. And that's a lovely drawing you're doing there. In fact, I've just had a thought. Do you think that you could do a copy for me? I'd
really
appreciate it because I haven't got any recent pictures of your mother at all.'

‘Sure! You can hab this one when I'm done,' says CJ enthusiastically as she sets to work with new vigour. It's not often someone actually
requests
one of her artworks.

‘All right now. Perhaps we'd better organise a few things.' Mum tightens her control. ‘Firstly, I have put a bottle of tea-tree shampoo in your bathroom cabinet, Camilla. It will repel lice so I advise that you use it on CJ regularly. And I do think those tiles are a rather unwise colour choice for you, dear. They will show up all the dirt. Next, about today. I believe that you were picking up Sam from work at twelve?'

I smile and nod.

‘Good, then I think it might be best if Harold and I simply take over that job. Yes, Harold?'

‘Oh yes, dear. Yes, indeed. Is that right?'

‘That's right. And we'll take CJ with us so that we can take both girls on to the dress fittings and you can stay here and have a rest. Or perhaps a shower might be a good idea. The bathroom can be used like that, can't it?'

I smile and nod.

‘Then I think a shower would be an excellent idea.'

I smile and nod again.

‘And then we might as well simply keep the girls for the afternoon and run them through a wedding rehearsal – to make certain that everything is in order. And it'll give you the whole afternoon without them, how does that sound?'

I smile and nod yet again.

‘So now all I need is the shoes. Where are they, darling?'

I stop smiling.

‘Where – are – the – shoes?' Her cheerful, helpful tone freezes in an instant as her true persona looks narrowly through at me. ‘Do
not
tell me that you didn't pick up those shoes!'

Obligingly, I don't tell her. Instead I try smiling and nodding again – it worked before.

‘I
don't
believe this!'

‘Look, Mum.' Alex smiles placatingly at my mother. ‘Why don't you just tell me where these shoes are and I'll pick them up for you. I'll even drop them off at your house to save you the trip.'

‘That's not the point, Alex, and well you know it.' Mum hasn't taken her eyes off me for an instant.
‘The point is that I only asked you to do one thing –
one thing
– and you couldn't even manage to get that done. And that reminds me, I was going to let it slide because of your injury but what with you forgetting the shoes – well, I'd like to know what happened to you on Thursday? You forgot, didn't you? I only ask you to pick up some shoes and to help do some setting up and –'

‘Thad's doo thigs,' I interrupt.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I said thad's doo thigs – nod one.'

‘I can't understand a word you're saying. Thank god I didn't ask you to deliver any of our speeches tomorrow, that's all I can say,' says Mum as she pauses to take breath before going on.

Alex interrupts. ‘Look, Mum, I don't think there's any point in lectures at the moment, do you? Cam's obviously hovering around cloud nine and isn't coming down for a while, so why don't we just sort out what's happening between us. I think you taking the girls for the afternoon is an excellent idea. And I'll pick up Ben from St John's and do something special with him for the afternoon. How does that sound?'

‘Alex, all I can say is that I'm glad you're back.' Mum gives me a filthy look to emphasise her feelings. ‘I think that sounds excellent. And now, Harold and I had better make tracks if we're to be at the hot bread shop by twelve.
And
pick up the shoes before the store closes. CJ, dear, take Grandma down to your bedroom so that she can try to find something a little more appropriate for you to wear than your pyjamas.'

CJ leaps over Harold's lap again, causing him to gasp and suck in his stomach rather rapidly. Then she leans back over, picks up her picture and offers it to Alex with a shy smile.

‘Here you are. It's Mummy with her sore nose – see, I hab done it all red and big, and I hab done the bandage with little bits of red for the blood, and I hab done two big black holes under, and I hab done her with a big smile coz that's what she is doing a lot. And I hab done her hair all sticking up like it is and her eyes sort of little. Do you like it?'

‘I love it, CJ! It's exactly like your mother and I'm going straight home to put it somewhere extra special. In fact, I know exactly where! Right on the wall next to my beanbag, that's where I'll put it. Thank you very, very much.'

I just smile and nod.

3.20 pm

I am swimming gracefully deep in the ocean, gliding around little honeycomb shelves of brightly coloured coral and peering beneath ledges that drip with bottle-green seaweed with dinky mustard pinstripes. The multitude of fish themselves seem to be modelled on those that starred in
Bedknobs and Broomsticks
, a Disney movie that I last saw many
moons ago. In other words, they talk. And sing, and dance. In fact, it would be quite restful down here if they weren't so damn noisy. I breaststroke my way a bit deeper, and note that I am wearing a little polka dot bikini –
and
it looks good. I smile and dive still deeper to escape the incessant chattering of the sea-life. It doesn't work. In fact, they are getting louder, and louder, and louder – and their dancing is like an endless rhythmic knocking that simply goes on and on. Until I have no choice but to try to surface, just to get away. So I fight my way slowly back up, struggling through the heavy, murky water that tries to drag me back down, until I see the shimmering, diamond-strewn surface swimming rapidly towards me and I break free with one fluid forward propulsion.

Breathing heavily, I open my eyes and my bedroom ceiling comes into focus. I look around stupidly for a few moments while I try to remember who I am, what I am and what I'm doing here. My head feels incredibly thick and my whole body feels sluggish. More sluggish than usual, that is. Slowly but surely I register that there is an incessant knocking going on at the front door, and has been for quite some time. I swing my legs reluctantly out of bed, reach for my dressing-gown and pad slowly down to open the door. It's Fergus. In apricot overalls and a lemon t-shirt today.

‘Why, hello there – I'd almost given up. My goodness! What's happened to your nose?'

‘Broge id.'

‘You
broke
it? How? When? Does it hurt?'

‘Yes. With a door. This mordig. Yes.'

‘You poor thing! No –' he holds up his hand as if I was just about to speak – ‘don't talk. To be sure, I can see that it's causing you discomfort. I'll only grab my tools, be getting on with the job and leaving you in peace.'

I nod resignedly and move to one side to let him through.

‘And I suppose that you were having a wee nap when I came along and disturbed you and for that I apologise but wasn't I the one being unavoidably detained? Absolutely unavoidably. And I suppose that now you'll be wanting to know what detained me so unavoidably so I'll simply have to let you know that it was that delightful girlfriend of yours that you so kindly introduced me to last night.' Fergus pauses as he deposits his tool bag down on the bathroom floor and turns to smile at me winsomely. ‘And I'll be telling you all about that in just a minute. Now I don't suppose there's a cup of tea going begging around here, is there?'

I nod and leave him to his setting up while I move down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. I have noticed that Fergus's Irish accent seems to blow hot and cold according to whatever mood he's in. He's probably originally from Broadmeadows or somewhere, but has decided that an Irish accent is going to get him further in life. The kettle boils so I pour hot water over teabags in two cups and wait for it to brew a bit. My nose feels as if it has taken over my entire face. I sigh and peer out of the window at Murphy, who is doing some sort of weird contortionist act in the remains of the tree fern. At least the
weather is still mild in comparison with the heatwave we had earlier in the week. It's only around the mid-twenties out there, with a pleasant southerly breeze that I can see rustling through the garden.

I add some sugar to my tea, and remember that Fergus is the one who likes his black, sweet and strong. So where does that leave Terry, I wonder? I carry the two cups back down to the bathroom and put Fergus's on the sink behind him. Then I sit down cross-legged in the passage facing the bathroom, put my cup on the floor, pull my dressing-gown more securely around me, and prepare to listen to this story – which I am obviously going to hear whether I like it or not, so I might as well make myself comfortable.

‘Ah, delicious, thank you.' Fergus takes a sip of tea with his finger crooked as usual. Then he puts the tea back down on the sink and starts to mix the grout. The tiles were all positioned last night and there are little matchsticks sticking out left, right and centre. Trying to get in the shower earlier had been like dancing across a bed of nails. I'll be very glad when this is all finished, although I think I'm going to miss Fergus and his amusing antics.

‘Now for my excuses.' Fergus talks as he removes matches and smooths the grout over the tiles. ‘And excellent ones they are. You see, there I was last night after I dropped your delightful friend off at her house –' He turns to look at me.

I nod encouragement and take a sip of tea.

‘I did, you know. Dropped her off there in her driveway and went home to my own wee bed.'

I nod again as he pauses.

‘That's right. Dropped her off right at her door and went off home. Why are you
looking
at me like that? Aren't you believing me?'

I shrug philosophically and take another sip.

‘All right, all right! I cannot lie! I
didn't
only drop her off – I went inside with the lovely lassie, but only to be making sure that she was safely settled within. And then I just stayed for a wee drink or two and then said my goodbyes and –' He looks at me again.

I nod encouragement once more.

‘You don't believe me, I can tell! And why don't you believe me? Isn't it completely honest I've always been? Isn't it?'

I think about this for a moment and then shake my head.

‘All right, all right. I asked for that, and you're totally right. I didn't just stay for a wee drink or two – I stayed the night! I stayed the whole night and didn't we make mad, passionate love. All night long. On the couch, in the bed, under the table – all night long. Nonstop. There, are you satisfied now?' He gives me a disgusted look and turns away to start ladling the grout over the top of the tiles.

Well,
I
mightn't be satisfied, but it certainly sounds like he and Terry should be. And I didn't really need to know the graphic details – all I wanted to know was why he was late today, and we haven't even
got
to that part. I take another sip of tea.

‘Well, now you know. You have
forced
the truth out of me.' Fergus pauses in his efforts with the grouting to glance up at me again. ‘Oh, you're a hard
woman. And now I suppose you'll be telling her that I'm a kiss-and-tell sort of fellow and she'll be having nothing more to do with me. And won't my life be over just as it is about to begin.'

I shift my position on the floor slightly because my legs are starting to go numb, and take the last gulp of my tea. My nose is beginning to throb again. I wonder if it's too soon to take some more of those magic little tablets?

‘And so anyway, there we were, this morning. All worn out and totally incapable of doing any sort of quality work. And I refuse to do any less –
especially
for a friend such as yourself. Who makes such
superb
lasagne. So we took ourselves a little nap and when we woke, wasn't it nearing noon. And your friend had to be playing tennis at one, so she very kindly asked me if I'd like to watch. And I did. And doesn't she play like the goddess she is. She does.' Fergus stops speaking as he glances heavenward and sighs. Then he grabs a small trowel from his tool bag and starts smoothing out the grout.

Knowing what I know about Terry after a night of heavy drinking, never mind the night-long, mad, passionate love-making, I very much doubt she was playing like any sort of goddess I know. Although I've also seen what she looks like in her minuscule little tennis skirts and I suspect that the finer points of her tennis playing escaped Fergus's attention in favour of the length of her legs.

‘So as soon as I could be getting away, I came straight here to finish your job off. So you see, although I do apologise, wasn't the delay simply
unavoidable? Couldn't be helped. No sir-ree. Her eyes! Like the blue of a summer's day. Her hair! Like pure liquid gold. Her lips! Like –'

I get up noisily so that I don't have to hear what her lips are like. Besides, he is running out of facial features and who knows what's going to come next? I clear my throat loudly to attract his attention and stop the litany of adoration.

‘Oh, it's sorry I am, indeed. I simply can't help myself when I start to think about her. Just can't be helping myself. What is it you wanted?'

‘I'b go-ig do bed.'

‘You're going to bed?'

‘Yes.'

‘Would you like me to be letting myself out when I've finished?'

‘Yes.'

‘In that case, fair lady, I shall be seeing you on the morrow.'

‘Yes?' I say with surprise, because surely he can get the damn floor finished today?

‘No, no, not the floor,' he says with hearty amusement. ‘That, of course, will be well done. No, your kind friend, your delightful friend, your –'

‘Yes, yes, the goddess – whaddever.'

‘Yes, that's her.' Fergus looks at me with a rather pained expression. ‘Well, to cut it short, she has kindly invited me to partner her to a wedding tomorrow. And I believe that she mentioned that you would also be attending. So I simply meant that I would be seeing you there, that's all.'

‘Oh. Yes. Good.' I smile at him in a feeble attempt
to make up for what he obviously thought was a slight on the object of his adoration. He smiles tightly back and returns to the job at hand. It doesn't look like there will be any more confidences shared here, that's for sure. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

I take my empty cup down to the kitchen and swallow a couple more of the painkillers while I'm there. Then I head back down the hallway towards my bedroom just as the phone rings. I stare at it for a few moments while I assess my chances of making myself understood. I decide that they are not particularly good so I wait for the machine to pick up.

‘Hello? Hello? Oh, you're not there. Listen, it's Diane. I'm home safe and sound, and very glad to be here, let me tell you. What those boys – and Bronte – have done to this house doesn't bear talking about. So I won't. But the real reason I'm ringing is that when David came to pick me up he reckons that he saw you in the emergency waiting room at the hospital on his way past. With Alex. Is this possible? We checked on our way out but you weren't there then. Was it you? What's going on? Ring me.'

Is it impossible to do anything around here without everybody finding out within hours? It's damn lucky I've never hankered after a secret life. I walk into my bedroom and shut the door firmly behind me. Not that I think Fergus is capable of rushing in here and taking advantage of my middle-aged body (judging by his vivid description of his exploits last night, that should be the last thing on his mind), but because I don't want to be woken up by the noise of his working. I am really, really tired. I shed my dressing-gown and let it fall on the floor as I
crawl back into bed. I pull the covers up around me and burrow myself into the mattress. My nose is really hurting but the painkillers should kick in shortly, and then it'll be back to briny old seaworld I go. Apart from the coral, the seaweed, and the friendly fish, I want to get another look at myself in that polka-dot bikini.

It's been a very long time since I've worn anything like that –
and
looked good.