Читать книгу The Dragon's Skin - Ross Gray - Страница 13

Hazel Walker did experience a misgiving. It was when she was pouring the hot water into the teapot. But it was only a momentary misgiving, lasting from when the water splashed into the belly of the brown ceramic pot to when it lapped the bottom of the spout. And it was just a teensy misgiving. Well, if she thought about it, it was two misgivings really, one sort of plopped on top of the other like pancakes – or those drop scones Clarry liked. And, she supposed, if she thought even more about it, one was probably more of a little twinge of guilt than a true misgiving. Perhaps a guilty feeling could be a misgiving? She’d look it up in her Macquarie Dictionary when her visitor left. Anyway, the guilt was the bottom pancake; the misgiving was definitely the one on top.

The misgiving was about her visitor (in an indirect way so was the guilt). Her daughter-in-law and her niece were constantly warning her about the dangers of letting strangers, particularly strange men, into the house. Who’d want to jump her old bones? she’d scoffed, raising eyebrows. Jump her bones: she liked that phrase, she’d heard it on her favourite soap. She had tried, she really had, but old habits die hard. And here she was letting all manner of stranger cross her threshold. Of course some of them had been policemen and she didn’t think they would count. And Bron and Trish, they were lovely girls, and had her best interests at heart, but if they visited more often she wouldn’t be tempted.

The guilt, though, wasn’t about that. The guilt was about having so many visitors (and so much pleasure) because a very bad thing happened to someone else. Someone she liked a lot, who had been very kind to her.

The misgiving was about that. In particular, it concerned her present visitor. But it was as submerged as the bottom of the pot, before she finished pouring. Who’d want to jump her bones? Not a nice-looking young man like that, surely. And what did she have to steal? Her collection of salt and pepper shakers? Everyone said they must be very valuable, but she knew they weren’t – just sentimental frippery.

She slipped the crocheted cosy over the teapot – it was a cold day – and placed it on the tray with the cups and saucers, plates, sugar bowl, milk jug, Monte Carlos, Tim Tams and date scones. It made a fearful rattle as she lifted it and carried it down the draughty hall.

‘Hold on, I’ll give you a hand,’ came a voice from the lounge room.

‘No, no! You stay there and keep an eye on things,’ she cried over the clatter of the tea tray.

She put the tray on the low table between the couch and the widescreen television set, backed to her end of the couch and fell the last few centimetres into its plush cushions. She sighed deeply and smiled at her visitor.

‘Ooh, I think I got a little out of breath,’ she said. ‘Now, what’s happening?’

‘The one with the jaw …’ her visitor said, fingers spanning his lower face and pulling down.

‘Ridge.’

‘Ridge has been having a very long discussion with someone who might be his brother, his father-in-law or his uncle, perhaps all three.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Hazel said, reaching for the remote. ‘I should have taped it.’

He placed his hand over hers, which she had to admit gave her a little fright (or was it a thrill?). ‘No, it’s alright, let’s watch.’

‘You don’t mind?’

He just smiled and gave his head a small shake. She pushed her spec­tacles onto the bridge of her nose with one finger and turned to the TV. They sat on the couch in silence until the ad break.

‘That was funny,’ said Hazel as she poured the tea. He looked at her and one eyebrow hooked a little higher. ‘What you said about Ridge.’ He smiled. ‘I know they’re silly. These serials. But I enjoy them.’

‘Many of the girls do too,’ he said as he took his cup.

‘Girls?’

‘Ladies, really, that I work with.’

‘They can watch these shows during the day?’ Hazel asked, a little intrigued. ‘Is it night work?’

‘A lot of it. Service industry. All go one minute, time on your hands the next.’

The ads finished and Hazel’s attention returned to the telly. The scene was a hospital room. The patient was a woman with strategically placed bruises and wounds decorating her pretty face. A handsome man with a cute child in his arms and another pretty woman were at the bedside. Everyone in the room took turns to say deep and meaningful things very slowly with long pauses between. When the man and child left the pretty patient called the pretty woman closer to the bedside to whisper weakly in her ear. She bit her instead, and accused her of malevolent manipulations designed to turn her husband and child against her. Dramatic theme swells. Fade to black.

There had been another question in Hazel’s mind about that job, those girls, but by the time the final program credits rolled she’d forgotten what it was. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Now we can talk. Have you had a biscuit? Just help yourself. I hope you like what’s there. I’ve had so many visitors over the last week. I haven’t had time to stock up my pantry.’ She giggled girlishly. ‘Too many cups of tea and cakes. I’ll be getting fat.’

She followed his gaze as his eyes swept the room taking in the cluttered crystal cabinets, tabletops and shelves.

‘You have an interesting collection,’ he said. ‘And a big one. You must be dedicated.’

Hazel shrugged. ‘Not really.’ She stared across the darkening room to the fading light in the grey oblong of the window. She reached over the fat arm of the couch and switched on an ornate standard lamp. The matching pairs of shapes and figures crowded toward the light like partners at a masque­rade. ‘They just – accumulated.’ She smiled privately as she smoothed her dress over her knees and picked some crumbs from her lap between thumb and finger and dropped them on her plate. ‘Clarry, my husband – late husband – spent a whole fortnight’s pay to take me to a posh restaurant the night he proposed, and I – you’re not a policeman?’ She fluttered a shy, sly smile at him.

‘No,’ he said.

‘I stole the salt and pepper shakers,’ she confessed. ‘It did seem like the right thing to do at the time. It felt so, so daring. He stole my heart, I stole the shakers.’ She laughed gaily, like a girl. ‘Then it became a habit. Not the stealing, I didn’t do that anymore – well once or twice, at places where they wouldn’t sell them. I’d buy them on holidays and special occasions. They were like good-luck charms and mementos. Then people began giving them to me. I can tell you who gave me which, and when.’

‘A lot of happy memories and good fortune,’ he said.

‘Mostly. Not all.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘But they’re all important. Without some sadness how do we know we’re happy? It’s like music, isn’t it? You need high notes and low notes to make your tune.’ She sighed softly and gazed around at her collection of odd couples. She could feel his cool gaze upon her. He had eyes like Clarry: blue as a summer sky when pleased, blue as polar ice when not, and like a misty morning when pensive. ‘Mr Bovell didn’t have any salt and pepper shakers. I gave him one of my favourite sets.’

‘That was very good of you.’

She shook her head. ‘No, no. He was kind to me. He was a nice man.’ She pointed at one of the cabinets. ‘He gave me that Mickey and Minnie Mouse. He stole it.’ Clarry’s bright blue gaze locked on hers. ‘He must have done. It’s a collector’s item. Mr Bovell couldn’t afford that.’ Her eyes drifted back to the cabinet. ‘It’s one of the sad memories now. But, happy too.’ She knew he was appraising her with increasing approval. ‘I knew – well, guessed – about Mr Bovell, Clarry …’

‘David.’

‘Pardon? Yes, David, of course. I’m sorry, what did I call you? It doesn’t matter, just old age. I knew about Mr Bovell because he was a friend of a friend of Trish’s Shane. Shane was in gaol before they married. For something he didn’t do, Trish says – but well, you know.’ He smiled. He knew. ‘I guessed Mr Bovell was just out of prison and couldn’t get a job. Shane’s a nice boy and I’m sure his friends are too. But they have been naughty. Trish says Shane’s square now. “Square” – I think that’s the same thing as “going straight” in American TV shows.’ He smiled as he reached for another Tim Tam. He offered her the plate and she shook her head.

‘Are you square, David?’ she asked, a little mischief in her eyes.

‘Quadrilateral,’ he admitted after some consideration. ‘A rather irregular one.’

She tut-tutted. ‘You like Tim Tams?’

‘One of my weaknesses,’ he said with a guilty grin.

‘See the tape over there?’ She pointed to a chair near the door with a neat roll of something blue and white on it. ‘Crime scene tape. I’ve been a crime scene,’ she said proudly and giggled. ‘Or my bungalow has.’

Hazel sipped her tea and watched her visitor sip his and eat his Tim Tam. Then she said: ‘He said you’d come.’

‘Ben did?’

‘You’re Dave, aren’t you?’

‘Most likely. My name is David Edge.’ She realised she hadn’t asked his name. It was her vague recollection that he offered it, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had invited him in immediately he said he was a friend of Mr Bovell’s.

‘He left something for you. In an envelope. I didn’t look at the front. None of my business. He said “Dave’ll come, make sure he gets it”. So I suppose it’s addressed to you.’

‘It probably is. You didn’t mention it to the police?’

‘It wasn’t any of their business either. It’s a private package. I’ll fetch it when we’ve had another cuppa.’ She studied him, possum-like through her thick lenses. He didn’t protest that he was late for an appointment or had to get home to the wife, didn’t sneak a quick peek at his watch. He was relaxed, unhurried. He paid his social dues, this one. That was like Clarry too.

‘Mr Bovell’s – Ben’s – tune was rather flat, I think?’ she said.

‘Not many highs,’ he agreed.

‘He loved his children dearly. That was a high.’ She snuck a quick calculating glance at her visitor. ‘He thought highly of you.’ The blue eyes became watchful over his teacup rim. ‘He said to me once – we were sitting here like this – he said he only had two real friends. One was a woman, Karen—’

‘Sharon.’

‘—Sharon. The other was Dave. He said with friends like Sharon and Dave you didn’t need more.’ Hazel had the distinct impression that, although he smiled, her visitor wasn’t pleased to hear this. ‘They said on the news that Ben has a bullet in his spine.’

‘A fragment. Lodged between his fourth and fifth vertebrae.’

‘A fragment. Is that better?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Will he be paralysed?’

‘He can’t move his arms and legs at present. So I’ve heard. If they can operate successfully, who knows, he may be good as new, one day.’ He placed his cup and saucer on the table and sank back.

Her spectacles seemed to fill like goldfish bowls. She could feel rivulets cooling on her cheeks. A pendulous droplet swelled and swung on the tip of her nose. He stretched across and took the tissue box from the small table next to the Jason Recliner: an arm’s reach supply for the soaps. Suddenly, as she dabbed at her face, she was telling him everything she knew about Ben Bovell – which wasn’t much. It was as if he interrogated her without asking a question.

‘… his favourite actor is Lee Marvin, did you know? He said he was tough, but he could be funny and dumb and kind as well – that’s why he likes him. We often sat here and watched old Lee Marvin movies. Cat Ballou – quite a lot – The Professionals I think another was called … and let me see … The Emperor of … something …’

‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’ he asked when she’d exhausted her memory.

‘The night before he, he … He sat where you are now.’ Then anticipating his next question, ‘I thought someone who was going to do what he did would be sad – depressed or agitated. But he seemed happier than I’d seen him. Just kind of excited. He said things were sorted between Sharon and him – that he knew what he had to do. When he told me he wouldn’t need the bungalow anymore I assumed he was moving back with her. He said “this time tomorrow I’ll be square”.’

They sat in silence for a while, then he said, ‘Do you think I could have Shane’s address? I’d like to talk to this friend of Ben’s.’

She nodded her head and turned away to blow her nose noisily.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘He left his salt and pepper shakers in the bungalow,’ said Hazel. ‘When he’s allowed visitors I think I’ll take them to him. They’ve always been good luck for me.’ She began to inch her bottom forward in preparation to rise. He got up from the couch and offered his hand. ‘Thank you, Clarry,’ she said. ‘I’ll get Ben’s package for you now. And then you can tell me what I missed on The Bold and the Beautiful.’