Читать книгу Veronica Tries to be Good, Again - Michael K Freundt - Страница 6

Veronica, in all the years she had known Max, had never contacted him; he had always contacted her because, it had to be admitted, he had an affection for her that Veronica felt could not be tolerated, and certainly not encouraged. Diane was her best friend and even if the friendship was now more history than affection, the fact remained that Veronica was Diane’s friend; her only friend, certainly her only female friend and any dent in her loyalty would be a knife in Diane’s back. However, Veronica found Diane’s bizarre revelation, false though she was sure it was, a serious development in Diane’s crumbly mental state. Diane had always had a slim and grim clutch on reality, and her constant conspiracy theories were all due to Diane’s mainly empty days, or so Veronica thought, and consequently harmless. The more Max was with her the better she was but he had to maintain a married home life with a wife (that, in reality, no longer existed): an arrangement that Diane sincerely believed in and relied on to maintain the life she believed she had and wanted.

But this! This belief that a total stranger was in fact an old acquaintance who was really Mrs. Swan, and now stalking her put Diane’s mental makeup in danger of falling away completely. Veronica was worried, very worried. Her fear also included her own subterfuge in maintaining the myth that Diane so firmly clung to; and the longer that myth flourished the more guilt Veronica felt and the more perilous the debunking of that myth became.

She knew that a text from her could inflame Max’s affection but she had to take that chance. She couldn’t handle this new ‘Diane situation’ alone; and since he was part of the conspiracy he needed to be part of the solution. The cruel paradox was all too real for her: with Diane’s belief in conspiracies that she saw all around her, the one conspiracy that was real she was blind to; and the thought of Diane finding out, after all this time... she shuddered at the evil idea of it.

They met on a harbour ferry, at Circular Quay, the Mosman run.

“This is a novel meeting place,” says Max as he sits down next to her. He is wearing a smile that shows how tickled he is that she wanted to see him and she wants to wipe that smile right off his face.

“Diane wouldn’t be been seen dead on a ferry.”

It works. “Oh, so that’s why we’re here.”

“Most certainly. What else?” says Veronica in a voice that is as business-like as she can make it.

“I was going to say how nice you looked,” he says.

“In this wind?”

“Especially in this wind.” She has to admit that the wind is emphasising his little-boy cuteness but, of course, she says nothing; as the wind whips her hair all over her head. She braves the whipping hair to sneak a look at that very attractive ridge of bone at the base of his neck.

“Diane came to visit me yesterday.”

“Yes, I know.”

“She told you?”

“Yes.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“Er … Jessica Dunstan, I think.”

“Jessica Dunnant.”

“Right. Jessica Dunnant.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“That she’s being stalked by this woman?”

“Yes. The poor woman just moved into the area a few weeks ago and now she thinks she’s being stalked by Diane.”

“Is that what Diane told you?”

“No, I spoke to her.”

“You spoke to Jessica Dunnant?!”

“Actually her name’s Paula Blackman. She’s rather nice.”

“You’re taking this very lightly.”

“And you’re not?”

“No I’m not. Did she tell you that she thinks this woman is your wife, and that’s why she’s following her?

“Oh, my god,” he wails. “I didn’t know that.”

“Now do you see the seriousness of all this?”

He is silent for a moment. “What’s more worrying is why did she tell me only half of it? … Hah!”

“What?”

“That would explain the strange look on her face. As she was telling me she was looking at me intensely, as if waiting to see something in my expression; to catch me out, or trip me up. It’s becoming increasingly common.”

Veronica suddenly has a thought. “What was your wife’s name?”

He just looks at her.

“Oh no,” groans Veronica.

“Mm, but we all called her Jessie.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Max, this is all getting far too deep, far too messy, and far too dangerous. I’m worried about her.”

“I know and that’s exactly why we have to do nothing.”

“That’s just like………”

“What? Just like a man? I thought you didn’t believe in that chauvinistic stuff.”

“I don’t but that doesn’t mean I don’t get tripped up by society’s conditioned clichés, just like everybody else.”

“Well said, Susan.”

They both stare into the wind to keep their hair from whipping their faces; circling around their own thoughts buffeting them just like the wind.

“Look,” says Max with some determination in his voice, “the nice Ms Blackman may even start shopping somewhere else which is what I suggested.”

“That’s a bit overbearing.”

“I just suggested it: that if Diane’s behaviour annoyed her she might think about it.”

“What did you tell her about Diane?”

“Just that she was recovering from a breakdown and often saw people she thinks she knows. That she is harmless and the alternative is locking her up at home and I’m not prepared to do that.”

“Ah,” she sighs wearily, “and the abyss gets deeper.”

“Don’t be so defeatist.”

“You’ve made Diane sound like your wife.”

“Well, in a way she is.”

“You had better hope that the nice Ms Blackman takes your advice and shops somewhere else because if she thinks a friendly little chat to Diane might be the answer to preventing more public embarrassment you’ve got two women chatting to each other when both of them think that the other one is your wife. How Ouorboric can you get!”

“What?”

“A Ouroboros is a symbol: a snake eating its tail.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, if the snake eats its way to its own head … what have you got?”

“A very stupid, snake?”

“Chaos!”

“I think you’ve gone a bit too far with the metaphor.”

“I’m just explaining….”

“No! Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“That’s great coming from someone who just tried to do something about it and made it worse.”

“OK! So I fucked up! All the more reason to stop now. Nothing! We will do nothing because there is nothing we can do. Nothing more that we can do. I tried to do something and I just made it worse. Point taken and proof given that doing something is foolish. So. Let’s talk about something else.”

“I’d love a door I could walk through and slam.”

And they stare at the waves, the sailboats, and the gulls and try to keep their hair out of their eyes.

“What’s that word again? Hori-boric?”, says Max.

“Ouroboros. But I don’t think there’s really an adjective.”

“Well there is now. I like it. Ouroboric. I’ll find a use for it.”

And that conversation topic goes nowhere.

Eventually Veronica said, “The Earl of Sandwich.”

“Who’s he?”

“John Montague, the 4th Earl of Sandwich was Captain Cook’s patron, the head of the Royal Navy and a habitual gambler who refused to leave the gambling table to eat so had bits of meat put between two pieces of bread so he could eat and gamble at the same time.”

“The birth of the humble sandwich.”

“Exactly. Which was why Cook gave the name of Sandwich Islands to what we now know as Hawaii. And the current Earl of Sandwich, the 11th, has a chain of sandwich restaurants across the States and recently at Disney-world in Paris.”

“You want to buy a sandwich franchise?”

“No no. He’s watered it down with salads, soups and dinners. My idea is not just a sandwich shop but THE sandwich shop; nothing but sandwiches, the best sandwiches. There are over 250 recipes to choose from. Not only can you get your own spreads or combination of spreads, anything you want, but you can try the universally famous ones, the Dagwood, the Reuben and Lox ‘a’ Bagel; Croque Monsieur, Croque Madam, the Aussie Toastie; even the Chip Butty, Welsh Rarebit, Fairy Bread, and the ice-cream sandwich.”

“You’ve been doing some homework.”

“I can see it.”

“And some dreaming.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. And why no dinners?”

“Sandwiches for dinner?”

“Why not?”

“I want a good work-life balance.”

“Is Susan not doing so well?”

“Susan is doing just fine. I want Jack back. I’m losing him. I want him back, back under my care.”

”What does he think?”

“He disapproves of Susan.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I haven’t … He’ll be eighteen in three years and can do what he likes. I want to be automatically on his visiting list, not automatically off his visiting list, which is where I’m dangerously close to being.”

“Does he have plans?”

“His father has talked him into university and business administration.”

“And you’d like to have a business that needs a business administrator.”

“Something like that. Well, he’s only 15; he wouldn’t graduate from such a degree for years yet, and I’m itching to get…” She laughs; more at her immediate enthusiasm, than at the supposed absurdity of the idea. Her face takes on a dreamy look as she gazes into the middle distance.

“You’re serious.”

She laughs again and then adds, “I’d like to have the opportunity to be serious.”

He looks at her in the way he always does that makes her realise that she’s stayed too long in his company; he is smiling and thinking. He’ll want to touch her soon. She stands up.

“And here we are,” she says, “back where we started. Bye!” The ferry is pulling into the Quay and Veronica joins the disembarking passengers leaving Max to find his own way. When she is sure she is out of sight she turns and watches him sitting alone on the ferry, waiting for the crowd to disperse. He really is a very nice man and the warm attraction she feels worries her so she turns and walks away.