Trilemma (23 page)

“It's a family thing,” I say.

He nods, satisfied, and turns away.

I am vacuuming the apartment when I get Cheryl's text to say they're off the ferry and are on the road north.

I text back and ask her to let me know when they reach Lola's, finish cleaning the kitchen, and go to bed, where I lie awake worrying about what could go wrong at the last minute. What if Lola refuses to take the children? What if she calls the police? What if she calls Joe? Cheryl says Joe's far too lazy to do anything about her once she's away from Picton, but who knows what an angry man might do?

Then I start worrying about whether it was really necessary. Was I sure Cheryl's fears were justified? Or would Joe behave differently to his children than he did to her? Have I just deprived another set of children of their father?

My eyes close and I drift off to sleep and jerk awake only when the text comes through that they have safely delivered the kidnapped children to Lola's.

I call Cheryl's mobile. She is weeping uncontrollably, and I get no sense from her.

“Can you put Ben on?”

“The grandmother says she will keep them safe,” Ben's voice says. “But she is an old cow. She made it clear Cheryl was no longer part of the family and had better stay away.”

“No visits with the children?”

“None. Anyway, we're almost at Alison's. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“It was the right thing to do, wasn't it?”

“Probably. Only time will tell.”

When I put down the phone, I drop my head into my hands and run my fingers through my hair. The children are safe, but they've lost their father as well as Cheryl. Cheryl is safe but she has lost the children.

Was it the right choice?

When I get home from the office, Ben is there.

“Hey,” he says, getting up from the sofa and taking a step toward me before halting in the middle of the room.

He's wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt with “It's Willamette, Dammit” emblazoned across the front in bright yellow. I bought him that t-shirt in Portland a year ago.

He starts to hold out his hand, but then his arm drops as if he waits for me to give him a signal.

Maybe I'm waiting too. “Hey.”

He clears his throat. “So how was your day?”

“Just the usual,” I reply.

Cheryl rises from the sofa. The bruises have faded. Her hair is clean and she is wearing a dress I bought for her since she'd packed so few clothes.

“Thanks for loaning us the car and everything,” she says.

“I'm trying to persuade Cheryl to come back with me to Dipton,” says Ben.

Cheryl's eyes start to fill. “I hate Dipton,” she says, her mouth quivering. “I want to get a job. There aren't any jobs in Dipton.”

The thought of coming home to Cheryl is not remotely appealing. It's not that I don't like her, but we have nothing to say to each other. And she makes one hell of a mess.

But she is Ben's sister. Family.

“You can stay here as long as you want, Cheryl.”

She gives me a tremulous smile. “Are you sure? I don't want to be a nuisance, and I know you're busy.”

“I insist.”

I put away the opened loaf of bread and the dish of butter that has melted and coagulated again, put the dirty plates in the dishwasher and the banana skins and sheets of newspaper in the rubbish, and take a quick shower. When I emerge Cheryl is planted in front of the television, but Ben is up on the terrace with the barbecue. I join him.

“How was the trip back?”

“Joe called Cheryl's cell phone on our way home today. I threw the phone out the car window without answering.”

I smile.
Looks like we're in the clear.
“How was Alison?”

“She insisted on feeding us a cooked breakfast. I like your sister. Sure, she's a bit of a fusspot but she is a bloody good cook.”

I stand next to him and turn the kebabs. Ben turns the steak.

“Alison asked if I would like to join you all for Christmas,” he says, flicking a sidelong glance at me. “I told her I normally share Emmy with her mother over Christmas. But it turns out Fay wants Emmy in Cape Town for two weeks. The old boy has offered to cough up the fare.”

“Yes?”

“So I guess I could.”

He is frowning at the steak.

“Look done.”

“So are these.” I add the kebabs to the platter.

“I could come for a couple of weeks,” Ben says. “What do you think?”

As I look up and examine his face, I see the feet of the crow at the edges of his eyes, and the tendrils of hair at his temples fading to silver.
Tempus fugit.

“I think that would be a great idea.”

I touch Ben's hand and he reaches his arm around me and pulls me close. I lean my head on his shoulder and let him hold me.

Later, when Cheryl has gone to bed, we take out the sheets and the blankets and make the two sofas ready for the night. In the bathroom, I change and emerge, nonchalant, in a gold silken nightdress that starts low on my chest and finishes high on my thighs. The fabric molds to the curves of my body and glistens in the pale light. As I bend over the sink the silk slithers across my hips and stretches around my bottom.

When I turn back, Ben's eyes are on his book. Which is upside down.

“Water?” I ask.

“What? Oh, yes, thank you.”

“Is that pillow comfortable?” I ask, reaching across to plump out the pillow behind his head.

My breast hovers an inch from his face. His hand rises to caress my back. I slip my leg over him, grasp his shoulders, and kiss him until we run out of breath. We fall together and twist and turn as silently as we can so his sister won't hear and then fall asleep in a tangle of limbs.

My father blew it, but we have another chance, Ben and I.

The following morning, Ben catches a taxi to the airport, and I get ready for work. As I sit in front of the pots and tubes facing myself in the mirror, I smooth the expensive elixir around my eyes and touch the hair at the side of my face. Time for another tint.

Tempus fugit.

When I get home that evening, there is no sign of Cheryl. The bedroom door is closed. I knock and call her name, but there is no answer. I push open the door.

The room is dark and I don't see her immediately. She is on the floor beside the bed, clutching a green dress too slinky for my chief executive image. Her head leans against the side of the bed and her swollen eyes stare straight ahead.

My heart leaps in shock. “Cheryl!”

But then she moves, turning her face toward me. The light from the living room catches the tears on her cheeks.

“He didn't love me at all.”

“Joe?”

She buries her face in the silk dress and sobs. I reach out and pat her shoulder, feeling ineffectual.

She lifts her head and stares blankly across the room. “There were clothes lying on the floor by the bed. Our bed!”

“Clothes?”

“A green dress a bit like this,” she says. “Black underwear. They weren't mine.”

“Oh.”

“No one was looking after Ro properly. Her poor little bottom was raw with diaper rash and the twins were locked in the shed when I got there. I knew I had to leave him and take the kids. But now I'll never see them again.”

Her face resumes its blank stare as if she looks into a future that holds nothing of joy ever again.

I retreat to the kitchen and pour a glass of wine and break open more chocolate. She takes them listlessly.

“I'll get another DVD,” I say. “And Thai take-out. Okay?”

She nods, sniffing and wiping her cheeks with her hands.

When I arrive at the Thai restaurant to collect our order, it isn't ready. The young girl apologizes and says the roti bread will take five minutes.

While I wait, I examine the wall. There is a photograph of a young man who looks like my nephew, sitting with two other people whose backs are to the camera. A woman and a man. The woman is wearing a maroon jacket I have seen before.

I look closer, but there is no mistake. Vivienne eats in my local restaurant.

As I open the gate, I hear a shout and a cry from above, and the deep baying of Polly's best bark from the back of the house where she is tied to her kennel. The front door stands wide open. Halfway up the staircase is a large and angry man, built like a bull. Muscled arms bulge from the sleeveless leather vest which strains across his chest.
Joe?

“Bitch!” he calls to the closed door at the top of the stairs. “I'm coming for you!”

As I stare up, Jiro cautiously opens the door to his and Dirk's apartment and gapes as the man surges past him up the stairs. “Just a minute,” he says and closes his door firmly.

Joe hammers on the penthouse door with his fist while I pause below.
Damn, I've left my cell phone upstairs. I can't call the police.
I knock on Sally's door. Joe hears and starts back down.

Angry eyes narrow and nostrils flare. “You must be the chink bitch.”

I stand holding the boxes of Thai take-out and consider my options. As I place the boxes on the hall table—no need to ruin our dinner—Sally's door opens and she comes out.

“What the?” Then she sees Joe coming down the stairs. “Just a minute!” she says and ducks back into her place.

I am about to follow her when the door to the middle apartment bursts open and Jiro emerges wearing one of those white martial arts outfits. He smiles, adjusts his headband, and makes a few sample kicks in the air, landing like a cat.

Joe pauses to glance at him. His body tenses. He's not backing off for some fancy-assed judo expert. Behind me Sally appears again, but now she is wearing thin latex gloves and holds a very large hypodermic needle. She points it in the air, checking the contents, and then stands beside me, smiling.

Joe stares at the needle. His eyes widen. Then his eyes narrow again, his nostrils flare, and he comes down the stairs toward us, his hands clenching into fists.

A thump shakes the house and then another thump. The sound is like some great
Taniwha
is trying to get in, or like the mother of all earthquakes. The house trembles with each blow. Thump, thump, thump.

For once in his wild and violent life, discretion overcomes Joe's valor; his jaw drops, his eyes widen, then he runs past us and disappears out the gate.

Whump!
Goes Polly's kennel against the side of the house again, as she drags it behind her, desperate to defend her home against the invader.

“Good dog!” I call.

Sally peers down the road as a Mark IV Zephyr drives away with a squeal of tires. “Bugger!” she says. “I was looking forward to stabbing him.”

Jiro joins us, looking disappointed. “Has he gone? Damn, I was looking forward to a good workout.”

“I'd better go up and reassure Cheryl.”

When I open the door there is a smell of pee and Cheryl is cowering in the corner whimpering.