The Older Man (22 page)

“He won’t worry if you’re with me,” Shane assured her. “Come on, Ren, say you’ll come.”

It was noisy and crowded, and there wasn’t anyone there over twenty-five. All the men appeared youthful and boringly full of themselves. Rennie tried to shake off a feeling that she had been to umpteen parties just like it, and that there were more interesting things in life than listening to tapes played at top decibel level, conducting a shouted conversation with people only inches away, and trying to dance on the minuscule bit of floor space that was left by the several dozen people squeezed into three quite small and not very comfortable rooms. Drink flowed freely, and at eleven o’clock the owner of the flat had a loud argument with one of the neighbours, after which the tape player was turned down for a time, but Rennie suspected that someone later inched it up again.

Kevin was there, ignoring Rennie either because he was embarrassed about his drunken attempt at making love to her at last year’s legal ball, or because he was too engrossed in his partner.

The girl at his side looked about fifteen, and was wearing a miniskirt that barely covered her hips. As the evening wore on, Rennie noticed her getting progressively gigglier, apparently trying to keep up with the number of drinks Kevin was having.

It was none of her business, Rennie told herself, but when she went to the bathroom and found the girl vomiting into the toilet bowl, she couldn’t retreat and leave her to it.

She found a cloth and wet it with cold water to wipe the girl’s pale, sweaty forehead. Then, as she patently couldn’t stand up, Rennie helped her to lean back against the wall, her thin legs sprawled on the vinyl floor.

“Thanks,” the girl said weakly. What’s your name?”

“Rennie. What’s yours?”

“Amanda. Oh, I suppose you wanted the bathroom. Sorry.” She tried rather unsuccessfully to get up, and had to hold onto the washbasin, swaying.

“Maybe you should lie down.”

“I just want to go home!” Amanda wailed, putting a hand to her head. “Could you find my boyfriend for me, and ask him to come and get me, do you think?”

“He drove you here?”

Amanda nodded, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Mmm.”

“Are you going to be sick again?”

“Yes,” Amanda gasped. “No.” She gulped in some deep breaths. “No, I don’t think so. If you fetch Kevin for me…”

“Okay,” Rennie agreed doubtfully. She returned to the other room and made her way to where Kevin was leaning heavily on the young man next to him, waving a beer can splashily and hazily eyeballing another man standing less than a foot away.

She plucked at his arm, and tried the ignore the leering grin he gave her as he turned and recognised her. “Amanda,” she told him, “wants to go home. She’s sick.”

He guffawed. “Sick? She’s shickered, that’s what. Told her she couldn’t keep up with me. Silly bitch. Anyway, don’t want to go home jus’ yet. You tell her.”

Rennie itched to slap him. Maybe her childhood instincts had been correct, after all. Turning on her heel, she went back to the bathroom. Amanda had subsided to the floor again, and was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed.

“Kevin isn’t going to be much use, I’m afraid,” Rennie told her. “I wouldn’t trust him to drive a car tonight, and I don’t think I’d trust him in any other capacity, either.”

“You mean he’s drunk,” Amanda said, without opening her eyes. “So am I. My mother’ll kill me! I’ve never had more than two or three glasses of anything. Only Kevin dared me. Oh, God, I feel sick!”

Rennie said, “Tell you what, I’ve had enough of this party, anyway. My brother and I will drive you home.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to — he’ll think it’s an awful cheek, won’t he?”

“You didn’t ask. And I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Shane showed surprisingly willing and competent, helping to remove Amanda from the bathroom to his car with a minimum of fuss, and even firmly calming Kevin, who was inclined to be belligerent at what he apparently conceived as some infringement of his rights.

“I’d drop that nerd if I were you,” Shane advised Amanda as he helped her into the rear seat. “If you ask me he’s got a big fat hole where his brains ought to be.”

As Rennie climbed into the front beside him, he added, over his shoulder, “Where do you live, kiddo?”

She told him and he nodded. “Not far from our place.”

When they got there Shane helped Rennie get Amanda up the path. She threw up again on the doorstep. Then her father flung open the door and seemed to think Shane was responsible. Amanda was too busy being sick to talk, and the man wouldn’t listen to Shane’s explanation or Rennie’s.

Her mother came out and helped her inside, and Shane hastily backed off while her dad shook a clenched fist in his face and threatened to have his guts for garters — and other parts of him for less mentionable things — if he ever set foot inside the gate again. Rennie followed, still futilely trying to explain what had happened.

“And we were just doing his little darling a good turn!” Rennie sympathised as they climbed into the car.

“Oh, well,” Shane said philosophically, “it’s all experience, I guess.”

Shane won two tickets to an Oscar-winning film in a phone quiz run by a radio station. “Want to come with me?” he asked his sister. “The tickets are for tomorrow night, and every girl in my little black book is booked up.”

She knew he didn’t have one, that he was rather shy about asking girls to go out. “Okay,” she said. “How can I refuse such a gracious invitation?”

In the foyer afterwards, as they made their way from the theatre, they were discussing the film’s excellence when a warm feminine voice said, “It’s Rennie, isn’t it?” And she turned to see Lorna Fielding smiling at her, one hand hooked into Grant Morrison’s arm. Rennie’s hand clenched in the pocket of her light jacket, and she carefully refrained from looking at Grant.

Grant said, “Good evening, Rennie. Hello, Shane.” The four of them stood discussing the film for a few minutes. Then after a slight pause Grant said, “We were going to have some supper. How about you two joining us?”

“Do come with us,” Lorna said, smiling at them both.

“Thank you, but — ” Rennie started to say.

Grant added, “I’m paying.”

Shane leapt in with, “Thanks. That’d be great.”

Shane was hardly starved at home but he had a healthy appetite and an appreciation of food — good, bad or indifferent. The chance of a free supper in a good restaurant rarely came his way. Rennie looked at his eager expression and nodded. “If we’re not too long. I have an early start tomorrow,” she reminded him.

“How’s the study going, Rennie?” Grant asked when they were seated around a table in a small, comfortable supper restaurant.

She risked a glance at him, thought he looked slightly strained in spite of the air of neutral interest he had adopted. “Okay,” she said. “My tutors seem pleased.”

“Good.” A waiter approached with menus, and after they had all made their choices the talk turned to the film they had just seen.

As they had coffee, Shane said, “I forgot to tell you, Rennie, that girl came round yesterday, before you got home.”

“What girl?”

“The one we did the rescue act on — whatsername — Amanda.”

Grant said, mildly interested, “Who have you been rescuing, Rennie?”

Shane explained, and added, “She must have remembered me pointing out our place when we passed it taking her home. She was on the doorstep when I got home yesterday from school. Said she wanted to thank me — us — properly, and apologise for her father.”

Rennie thoughtfully noted his slight embarrassment. But he was saying to the other two, “Her father thought I was the one who got her drunk, you see.”

“Went after you with a horsewhip, did he?” Grant enquired.

“If he’d had one, I reckon he would’ve.”

Rennie said, “She seemed like a good kid, really.”

Looking at the quirk of his lips, she could tell what Grant was thinking. But she had felt much older than the other girl.

“Yeah,” Shane said.

“Something bothered you?” Grant asked shrewdly.

“She had a bruise on her face.

“Do you think her father beat her?” Grant asked, frowning.

Shane looked worried. “He was pretty angry. And I was sorry for her, you know. The way she thanked me, you’d think I was some kind of knight in shining armour. All I did was drive her home.”

Grant said, “It sounds as though the girl’s set to develop a bad case of hero-worship. She could turn into a real headache, and you’ll end up having to hurt her. Which is bad news all round.”

Rennie didn’t look at him, but she felt herself going hot. Bending her head, she fiddled with the spoon in her coffee cup, waiting for the tell-tale flush to subside.

“But if her parents are ill-treating her — ” Lorna objected.

“We can’t jump to conclusions on the strength of one small bruise,” Grant said. “The girl wasn’t afraid to go home. She was with a boy at the party? Maybe he hit her.”

“Very likely,” Rennie said. She decided not to mention that he knew Kevin.

Shane said, “The bastard!”

Shane was one of the most non-violent people Rennie knew, but he looked positively murderous now, his fists clenched on the table, and a furious scowl on his face. Seeing their surprise, he said sheepishly, “She’s a skinny little kid, you know? Brings out a man’s protective instincts.”

“I know the feeling,” Grant said dryly. “Believe me, those instincts can bring a man a whole heap of trouble.”

This time Rennie did look at him, sure that he was deliberately needling. There was a gleam of affectionate humour in his eyes, inviting her to laugh with him. He was reminding her of the revenge she had planned after their first meeting. But too much had passed between them since then. She gave him a frosty, indignant stare, and the humour was replaced by a rueful sadness.

“It’s time we were going,” she said abruptly. “Thank you for the supper, Grant. And it was good to meet you again, Lorna.”

It had been, too. Lorna was a nice, caring person, capable of showing concern for a girl she’d never even met. Rennie scolded herself for allowing that depress her.

Several days later Rennie was curled up on her bed with a stack of study books when Shane came into her room.

“It was the boyfriend,” he said. “Kevin.”

It was maybe a second before she made the connection. “You’ve been talking to Amanda?”

“I phoned her. Met her downtown. Got her to talk to me eventually. She told Kevin she didn’t want to see him again, and he hit her.”

Rennie made a disgusted exclamation and Shane said, “Yeah, I was tempted to go and sort him out, myself. But you know me. One of nature’s little cowards.”

“You’re not!” Rennie said loyally. “But it wouldn’t have done any good.”

“I know. He’d have beaten me to a pulp. As far as fighting goes, I hardly know my right fist from my left. Anyway, Amanda won’t be seeing him again.”

“Good,” Rennie said. “That’s very sensible of her.” She wondered if Amanda was going to be seeing her brother, instead.

Each time Rennie visited Grant’s house she was overwhelmed by a sense of his presence, even when he wasn’t there. And she kept looking for signs of him in his children, in Toby’s grave and considering expression, in Ellen’s smile.

She was just making things harder. She was pretty good at dispensing advice, she told herself, but maybe she ought to put her own life in order. She had to stick to her decision to ease herself out of Toby and Ellen’s lives. But it was very hard letting go.

All the final year students were beginning to look hollow-eyed and haunted. Rennie curtailed a social life which she had to admit had not filled the empty spaces left by Grant and his children.

Glad that mid-year exams required her concentrated energy, Rennie tried to push all thoughts of Grant from her mind. When the exams were finished and she surfaced from a sea of text-books and lecture notes and timetables, her mother said casually one day, “What are you planning to wear to the legal ball this year, Rennie? Your father’s offering to subsidise a new dress.”

“I … hadn’t thought about it.” The legal ball. Where she had met Grant a year ago. Only a year. But it seemed an age. So much had happened in that year. She had grown from a girl into a woman, for one thing. Learned to love a man. And to go on living after losing him. “I don’t think I’ll go,” she blurted out.

“But we always go. And now, in your final year? Why don’t you want to?”

“I just don’t feel like it,” Rennie said vaguely. “I’m tired.”

Her mother looked at her shrewdly, and Rennie was almost tempted to tell her everything — or nearly everything. But now she was all grown up, capable of coping with her own problems, supposedly.

“You’ve worked very hard this year,” Marian coaxed. “Maybe a night out is just what you need. Shane’s coming too. I think he wants to impress Amanda.”

Amanda and Shane had been a twosome for a while now. Rennie recalled his relief when he’d told her that Amanda was actually seventeen. “I asked her mother,” he said. “And her father finally agreed to meet me.”

He too, seemed anxious for Rennie to attend the ball. “The only balls I’ve been to are school ones, and they don’t count, with the teachers egging you on to ask every dog in the hall to dance … and Amanda’s … well, I want her to have a good time.”

“Mum and Dad will be there.”

“Yeah, and they’ll be surrounded by people. Older people! We won’t know anyone in our age group.”

“Okay,” Rennie finally capitulated. “I’ll go if you want me that much.”

It wasn’t until some time later that she wondered if their mother had put him up to it.

Ethan and Celeste arrived in Auckland again a few days before the ball, and when they called round, Frank offered them tickets.

Ethan glanced at his wife. “Shall we go? A sentimental occasion? If it hadn’t been for the legal fraternity and their annual celebration, we might never have got together again.”

Celeste smiled. “Yes, I’d like to.”

“Fine.” Frank smiled. “You’ll join our party, of course.”

Rennie was glad there was to be a party of them. After some thought, she had invited Larry Townsend to accompany her. She had been seeing him now and then, but kept the relationship casually friendly. It wouldn’t have mattered in the least if she went to the ball on her own, except that Grant might be there. Somehow for him to see her without an escort would be galling.