Authors: S.L. Grey
Clive smiles sycophantically at Glenn. Glenn ignores him.
‘It’s disrespectful.’
‘Don’t you talk to me like that, my girl,’ Glenn says, pointing his knife at her. ‘I know more about respect than you’ll ever learn.’
I manage to swallow a mouthful of meat, and try to catch Farrell’s eye. He’s staring down at his phone, the food on his plate forgotten.
June finally sits down to eat just as everyone else is finishing. I push the rest of my pork behind the potatoes.
Glenn pats his stomach. ‘June, what’s on the menu for dessert?’
Silently, and without eating a mouthful from her plate, June starts stacking the dishes. Again, no one offers to help.
There’s another series of beeps. Farrell jumps, almost sending his glass flying.
Glenn slams his fist on the table. ‘I told you to switch that fucking thing off!’ he roars.
‘Dad, calm down,’ Marina says.
Farrell excuses himself and leaves the room again.
‘What the fuck is the matter with him, Kat?’ Glenn says. ‘Fucking rude.’
I can’t just sit at the table. I can’t stand it any longer. I stand up and start gathering plates together.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Glenn says.
‘It’s fine,’ I whisper. ‘I want to.’
Marina rolls her eyes. ‘Jesus. Suddenly she’s turned into the Good Samaritan.’ I grab the plates and head in what I hope is the direction of the kitchen. I can hear muffled
whines and scratches from behind a door as the dog scrabbles to be let out of its prison, and then the sound of running water at the end of the corridor.
The large kitchen is plainly decorated with simple white tiles and melamine cupboards. June is leaning over the sink, her back to me. She doesn’t turn around as I enter. ‘Thank you
for the food,’ I whisper. ‘It was—’
She whirls around. ‘Who are you?’
Time freezes for a second. ‘I’m your daughter.’
‘No you’re not,’ she says, almost matter-of-factly. ‘You can fool that monster out there, but you can’t fool me.’
My hands start shaking and I have to put the plates down on the marble counter before I drop them.
‘What are you going to do?’ I whisper.
She turns back to the sink. ‘Do?’ she says bitterly. ‘
Do?
Nothing of course. Who’d believe me? They’d only think I was cracking up again.’
‘Again?’
‘Oh dear. Josh has forgotten to fill you in on the sordid family history, hasn’t he?’
‘He—’
‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ June says. ‘And you know what?’ She slowly turns to face me. ‘I don’t really care.’
‘Everything all right in here?’ Farrell walks in carrying the pork platter. ‘Christ, Kay. You look sick as a dog.’ His eyes flick from me to June and back again.
‘I’m not feeling well, Josh,’ I say.
‘Let’s get you home.’
‘I think that’s best,’ June says with a cold smile. She staggers slightly and clings to the edge of the sink to steady herself. Is she drunk? I didn’t see her drinking
any alcohol at the dining table.
‘Goodbye,’ I say.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she says, and lets out a noise that could be a laugh or a hiccough.
Farrell leads me back into the dining room. ‘What did she say to you?’ he hisses. ‘Why the fuck did you go in there?’
His grip on my arm tightens. ‘Nothing. She didn’t say anything. I just couldn’t sit there doing nothing. I had to help.’
He relaxes. ‘Right. Yeah. Sorry. What a fucking family.’ He brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead. ‘Look, just say a quick goodbye and we’re done.’
I stand at the doorway and let Farrell do the talking.
‘We have to go,’ he says to Glenn, who’s pouring the dregs of a bottle of wine into his glass. Gran-Gran has fallen asleep, her toothless mouth gaping open, and Clive looks as
if he’s about to pass out.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Katya’s not feeling well.’
‘Then she should stay here. I know how to take care of my own fucking daughter. Kat, Pumpkin, you can have your old room.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I whisper, looking at my feet. It takes all my strength not to run to the front door.
‘You doing the
Sports Illustrated
this year, Kat?’ Clive slurs, managing to smirk and resemble a
Wind in the Willows
character at the same time.
‘Shut the fuck up, Clive,’ Glenn says, then to me, ‘Come and give Daddy a kiss, Kitty-Kat.’
Marina rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. I do my best impression of a Katya smile and hobble over to his chair. I lean my face to the side, but he manages to kiss me on the
lips.
‘Bye,’ I say.
I wave at Marina but she’s too busy glaring at Clive to acknowledge me. Then Farrell ushers me towards the front door and escape.
Farrell flops backwards onto the bed. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of bright-blue boxer shorts.
‘Don’t be long,’ he says, patting the sheets next to him. ‘I know just what you need.’
Extensive therapy and a serious reality check
.
‘What?’ I say, ignoring the Dr Meka voice.
‘A foot massage.’
I wonder if this is something he used to do for Katya, but for once I don’t feel the stirrings of jealousy. I’ve got other things on my mind.
‘Farrell? Who was trying to call you?’
‘What?’
‘At Glenn’s house. Who was it?’
He doesn’t answer straight away. ‘Wrong number.’
‘Really? Because you were acting… strange. Worried.’
He sighs. ‘It’s all under control, Lisa. Chill out.’
‘You really think we did okay?’ I ask again. I haven’t told him about June, just like I didn’t tell him what Noli said to me.
Coward
.
‘How many more times? You were brilliant. Stop obsessing.’
‘But the vegetarian thing—’
‘It’s cool. We did okay. We’re almost done.’
A stone drops in my gut. So this must mean it’s time for the second part of the plan. For Katya to disappear. For
me
to disappear out of Farrell’s life.
‘Now hurry up and come to bed.’
‘I’ll just be a minute.’ I slip into the bathroom and drag the dress over my head, breathing with relief to be free of the constricting fabric. Using Katya’s Clarins
lotions, I carefully wipe off the make-up.
Oh God.
I lean closer to the mirror. My left eyelid seems to be drooping slightly. I turn my face to the side. Has it always been like this? I would have noticed it before, wouldn’t I? It’s
just my imagination playing tricks. I’m just tired. That’s it. Exhausted.
‘Lisa?’ Farrell calls. ‘What are you
doing
?’
‘I’ll be out in a second.’
I pull the wig off and kick it away, shaking my own hair over my face. It’s greasy and flattened from hiding under the mop of fake hair all evening.
‘I’m just going to shower.’
‘Jesus. Get a move on.’
It’s only the thought of Farrell waiting for me that allows me to wrench myself away from my reflection.
I turn the water on full power, scrub my body and wash my hair twice. Dammit. I’ll have to reapply the fake tan. It’s starting to streak over my belly, my pale white skin shining
through in jagged strips. I rub myself dry and smear the foul-smelling stuff over my stomach and along the tops of my thighs. A quick last glance in the mirror while it dries.
Oh God. My left eyelid is
definitely
hanging lower than the other. I blink rapidly. It doesn’t help.
Dr Meka sighs in my head.
Five more minutes, and then I’ll stop. I swear it.
Christ, Lisa’s not bad in bed. She’s got something Katya didn’t have. Along with that extra bit of flesh to grab, there’s something else. I don’t
know. Need. Urgency. Lisa fucks as if she wants it just that little bit more.
But she’s seriously nuts. Last night, after June’s birthday dinner, she locked herself in the bathroom for two and a half hours. And I’m pretty sure she was at it all day today
as well. At least this evening I’ve managed to keep her occupied. What the fuck does she do in there? I know she’s got some serious self-esteem issues, but come on.
Still, Glenn believes Katya’s fine, and that’s the most important thing. Lisa’s neuroses I can deal with.
I felt better than I have for weeks today, so I came home early this afternoon, bringing takeout from Carlito’s and a bottle of Veuve. Lisa started to relax after a couple of glasses, and
we took the rest of the champagne to bed.
I slump back panting and my phone vibrates again. I pick it off the nightstand and check it. It’s Rosen again.
I’ve been ignoring the messages all day. Told Lizzie that I was unavailable; that some guy was hounding me to buy life insurance and that she should field his calls.
‘Who is it?’ Lisa asks, shaking her hair over her face.
I wonder for the hundredth time whether to tell her the truth. Fuck knows how Rosen got those messages through to my phone yesterday while it was off. There must be some way to push a message
through with the charge from the SIM card or something, because the phone was definitely off. I took the battery out after the second message. The third message came through regardless.
And the messages today are getting increasingly… urgent. And strange. I still haven’t dug that fucking medical-aid contract out of the bin to read it; it’s like I’ve got
some mental block or something. I fucking hate small print at the best of times. That’s why we have a fucking PA and accounts department, for fuck’s sake. But from what Rosen said at
the office on Monday, I need to pay something. I scroll down through the messages I received during dinner while Glenn was bursting an artery. They all say much the same thing, if you can get past
the piss-poor English:
And more of the same bullshit today:
All from the same number. Something with a foreign prefix.
‘Josh? Who is it?’
‘Sorry. It’s…’
We were both in that clinic; we were in it together. I decide to tell her the truth.
‘This guy visited me at the studio on Monday. Remember that medicalaid contract I signed? Apparently I owe them something. Urgently.’
‘God. I told you. I said you shouldn’t just sign it without reading it.’
‘I know. I know. I was going to read it, I promise. But, you know, I got busy.’
‘But you’ve signed it now, and those people… you know they’re going to want you to pay. When must you pay?’
‘By midnight tonight, apparently.’
She glances at the clock. It reads 20.02. ‘And how much?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t you think you should speak to them and find out?’
‘It’s all bullshit, Lisa,’ I say. ‘They’ll go away eventually.’
She doesn’t say anything, just peers at me through Katya’s fringe.
The phone beeps again, and Lisa flinches.
This time it reads:
Fuck.
She’s right. I’m going to have to speak to this guy – Rosen – and sort it out. Stall him or something.
I dial the number, looking at Lisa’s legs on my sheets as the call connects. One ring.
‘Rosen intercoursing.’
‘It’s Josh Farrell calling.’
‘Mr Farrell! I’m thrilled to parts that you have chosen to contact me. You must deliver on your Donor Swap contract by midnight tonight and I am here to assist you. The Ministry does
its utmost to assist contractees to find their stumps in the complex.’
‘How much do I owe? Can I make an electronic transfer?’
‘Excuse me, Mr Farrell?’
‘A transfer. Can I make a payment into your account?’
‘Oh! Apologies, Mr Farrell. I did not understand. I believe you are referring to brown currency.’ He laughs as if I’ve told an unfunny joke. ‘The Ministry does not deal
in figurative currency. I shall come to your abode in fifteen moments to introduce you to the deliverance kit and to offer any physical assistance you may require in your collection.’
‘No, hang on. Not here.’ I don’t want him in my apartment. ‘Let’s meet at the studio.’
I hang up. Lisa is watching me wide-eyed, unconsciously pinching the skin on the left side of her face. I stop myself from reaching out and slapping her hand away.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I won’t be long.’
She nods, swings her legs off the bed, scuttles into the bathroom and slams the door behind her.
Rosen is already waiting at the studio door when I arrive. We swap greetings and I hastily unlock and lead him to my desk before he offers to shake my hand. He’s dressed
the same as when I met him on Monday, and still has the fedora lodged on his head. Along with his briefcase, he carries a small steel make-up case.
‘Time is running away, Mr Farrell,’ he says as he sits. ‘It was a good idea to meet here, because it is likely we can collect some viable right here at the workplace. Shall we
proceed?’
‘Hang on. Hang on, please. I don’t understand what you need from me. Just explain it slowly.’
‘You have read the contract, Mr Farrell?’ he says, and there’s a cold edge to his voice that puts me on guard.
‘No, I, uh… I meant to. But contracts and finance aren’t my strong point.’ I hear an ingratiating tone in my voice, a scared tone. I scan the corners of the ceiling for
the comforting red wink of the security cameras. ‘Can you talk me through it?’
‘Really, Mr Farrell, time
is
running away.’ He sighs and scratches at the back of his head with his mutilated hand, digging under the rim of the hat. ‘You should have
been aware of the terms by now. If you are in breach, as your case agent, I will be in disregard. We
must
act.’ He pulls his finger away. It’s discoloured with something dark but
I don’t get a close look before he wipes his hand on his trousers. ‘We have until midnight.’