The Quilt (48 page)

“Your question is?”

Paul leaned forward and slipped an arm around my waist pulling me roughly against his body.  His lips find mine and before I have a chance to react he is demanding, possessing and I am responding.  He pulls away suddenly and regards me through narrow eyes.  

“What the
hell do you think you are doing?”

“You have just answe
red my second question.  Whether you are honest enough or aware enough to admit it I don’t know.  Joanne, we need to talk.” 

I don’t respond.

“I have to see the last of my guests off and when I get back I hope that you will still be here.”

He searches my face but I glare at him dispassionately. 

“If you
choose to leave tonight please don’t come back here.  You need to get on with your life and leave me to move forward with mine.”

“That is a little dramatic
, Tauranga is only a few hours away.  Is there no compromise with you?”

“
Compromise is something I will never consider in a relationship.”

“So it is all or nothing for you
?”

“Should a relationship be any other way?”

He turned and walked away.  I know he is right.  We will both have busy inflexible lifestyles separated by endless miles.  In time we would become an inconvenience to each other and slowly bleed apart. 

Paul lifted Glen Forrester off the tarmac.  The old man mumbled incoherently and slumped into the back of the taxi.  The driver shook his head sadly and eased the cab slowly down the driveway. 

He
stood on the sweeping green bank of the deserted amphitheatre.  Small areas of rich soil had been exposed by the trampled grass, the aroma of pizza still hung in the evening air but otherwise the day’s celebrations had been completely erased.    

Paul
sat down heavily in the restaurant, holding a hot cup of fresh coffee.  He had made no attempt to return to the house.  A kitchen hand was still working.  She scurried back and forth gathering pieces of linen ready for dry cleaning.

“
Would you like another cup of coffee or anything else done?”

“No
, thank you for staying.  Enjoy your day off tomorrow.”

Her footsteps sounded loud in the otherwise silent interior of the building.

Paul finished the last of his coffee and walked slowly back to his house. Small moths had congregated around the light in the entry.  He opened the door wearily and picked up his guitar.  Settling back on the sofa he cradled Jess’ face, her eyes soft and solemn, she no longer had the sharp eager look of a young highly driven dog.  His fingers picked at the strings without enthusiasm. 

He had known Joanne would not be there when he returned.  He had known what he had asked
of her was more than she was able to give. 

There was no point in trying to sleep and the music
was bringing no comfort tonight.  He wandered over to the sideboard and picked up the ledger and a pen. 

Chapter 40

“A Mothers Lesson”

Simon is standing in the flat when I enter.  He looks at my face and wraps me in his thin arms.  Jason hovers awkwardly in the background.  He then walks to the kitchen and begins to make tea.  He glances at me anxiously; Jason has been uncomfortable since the airport episode.  I wonder if he will ever forgive me for the hour he had had to spend dragging his bag around the car park looking for Simon’s nondescript car.

They don’t stay for long and
I can’t blame them.  I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to drink. I scowl at their small talk and my eyes fill with tears at the mention of Paul’s name.     They leave me alone to indulge in my self-pity. 

I begin to protectively wrap
my ornaments.   They create a pathetic display on the side board and an equally pathetic display in a tiny corner of my second suitcase. I burst into tears and eventually fall into an exhausted sleep on the couch.

I am drowning, falling rapidly and then a sudden jolt.    Strong arms had tried to stop my descent but it was too fast, careering out of control I had hit the bottom but there was nothing solid just the jarring terminal stop.  Is that what Sandy had felt when her lungs had filled with salty water?  Had she struggled suddenly desperate to hold on to her life no matter how bad the quality had been?  Or had she let go, relief flowing through every nerve end as her life had ebbed away.

The room tips around me and I sit up rigid with fear.  I feel disorientated and wonder why I am on the couch.  Slowly clarity seeps through my confusion and I look at the depressing two suitcases sitting near the front door.   I walk across the polished floor to the kitchen.  The flat smells of detergent and wood polish.  It feels sterile and ready for the next tenant to add their personality to its interior.

I had finally run out of tears and adrenalin four hours ago. 
I am tempted to crawl into bed and pull the duvet over my head but my nightmare is still too vivid.  It has been years since my dreams have been filled with fear.  Yesterday has formed a thread around the horrors of the last two years and they have now invaded my subconscious.

I make myself a cup of coffee and try to focus
on the strangers problems depicted in my out of date woman’s interest magazine.  Finally the sun creeps weekly through my curtains and I pick up the telephone.

“Hello Miss Kyle.  Yes, we have your reservation.  You are arriving on Sunday and staying with us until you can locate suitable rental accommodation.”

“I am considering driving to Tauranga this afternoon. Is there any possibility you have a vacancy from today?”

“I am sorry we are fully booked.  I think at this stage you would be lucky to find anything before Friday.  There is an international conference in Tauranga this week.”

I hang up and rub my eyes. Jason was now competently managing my duties at the café and my suitcases were packed and ready to go.  It is going to be a long week.  I pick up Critters lead and walk to the busy beach front.  It is bustling with people, the restaurants are full and skateboarders weave in and out of couples strolling arm in arm.  I settle in a chair and try to bury my thoughts by watching the expressions on the unknown faces.

I am falling, trying desperately to kick my way back to the surface.  There is a dim diffused light above my head but the murky sickly water is filling my mouth and burning my lungs.  Strong arms reach out to stop my descent but I am falling too fast.  Flaying, kicking and screeching, how could I scream under water?  There is no sudden stop just a high pitched noise followed by a dull thud.

My eyes fly open and I try to orientate myself.  Bright light seems to be shining through the net curtains.  Is it morning?  I can hear a muffled voice although it is barely audible.  I feel my stomach contract.  That was not a scream it was the sound of tires fighting for traction followed by the soft sicking thud of an impact.  My nostrils flare as they register the acrid smell of burning rubber.  I pull back the curtains and look into the confused unfocused eyes of my mother.  She sits staring out wildly from behind the steering wheel of her SLK Mercedes.  It has come to rest in the middle of the flats rock garden.  Two angry black lines mark the path of the vehicle.

I pul
l on a sweater and wrestle open the driver’s door.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”

My normally composed mother tries unsuccessfully to focus on me.  I reach over her swaying body and remove the keys from the ignition pushing aside an airbag that has deployed and now hangs limply from the dashboard.  Randal Kyle is not going to find this situation amusing.

A light
came on next door and a concerned voice asks if they can help or ring for assistance.

“No thank you.  It was just a relative misjudging our driveway
.”

“You had better come ins
ide before the police get involved.”

I quickly scan my mother for injuries and recoil horrified as I inhale strong liquor on her breath. 
  A lock of long blonde hair is stuck to her bright red lipstick.  I am shocked that it has been applied too heavily resulting in a vivid scarlet line that smears down to her chin.  She looks at me through    bloodshot blue eyes emphasized by a mess of sky coloured shadow.  The mascara has crusted in the corners. 

“Your father
.”

Her voice is slurred and I feel sudden panic.

“He’s isn’t in the car?”

“I’d be so bloody lucky!
No, he has run off with his PA!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. 
Paula is half his age.  Would you like me to ring him?”

“He is your father and you can ring him anytime you want.”

She narrows her eyes and spits.

“But he is not my husband!”

She settles like a rag doll on the couch and clutches a glass of cool water in both hands.  I
stare in disbelief at this irresponsible stranger that has invaded my mother’s body and wrecked her car.  She puts down her water and her arms begin to make circles; they tangle hopelessly and fall in a soft mass beside her.

“Satellites
, that is what Randal and I are!  Orbiting around and around.”

She giggles and tries to locate my face
.

“Find
a career my girl that makes you want to get out of bed.  But find a man that makes you want to stay in bed more.”

She points in my general direction and I notice her finger is devoid of a wedding band.

“You know I love you don’t you?  Your father has broken it.” 

Her head begins
to slump and after a few more sentences that are mumbled with no semblance of order she falls asleep.

I put another large glass of water on the coffee table and fill it with ice so that it will remain cold.  I then cover this stranger that has invaded my mother’s body with a blanket.  I
lean down and kiss her lightly on the forehead, something she would never tolerate if she was conscious.

“I love you to.  But you have been bloody stupid tonight
.”

The phone was answered on the second ring.

“Natalie Kyle speaking
.”

“
Are you alright?  I expected you would still be asleep when I got up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous
, Joanne, of course I am alright. I had a meeting first thing this morning so indulging in sleep was not an option. If you are ringing about the car I’ll get my secretary to organize a tow company to get it this morning.  I don’t think there is any other damage is there?”

“The damag
e is irrelevant Mum.  Are you alright and do you want me to ring my father?  Maybe there is a misunderstanding or you could benefit with some counselling.”

My
mother laughed without humour.

“Joanne
, your father has left.  Packed up his rubbish and gone.  He will not be coming back and that applies even if he wanted to.   Please don’t be naïve darling, counselling would not help his infidelity nor would it help me forgive it.”

There wa
s a moment of silence and I wondered if she is checking the time.

“
I am sorry to cut you short but I have another meeting and I’m already running late.”

The stranger has left my
mother’s body.

“Do you remember what you said last
night?  I always thought you and Dad were happy.”

“
Appearances, Joanne, that is what my profession is all about.  In this industry I have to give the illusion of being perfectly happy in every aspect of my life and that includes personally. I hope you were listening last night or you could easily become me.   Strive for a better life balance than I have ever managed to achieve.”

A
m I transparent? 

“Don’t worry
.  Your father and I are happy, just not happy together.  You are almost ready to leave for Tauranga aren’t you?”

I can hear someone in the background and her voice has become muffled behind her hand.

“Are you there, Joanne?  Send me your new address and I will contact you when I get back.  I don’t think I told you I fly to New York tonight and will be there for a week.” 

I hang on to the phone.  I don’t
want her to go.  I want to feel anchored.  My mother’s life is unravelling and while I don’t want to burden her with my own selfish insecurities I need to know we are connected. 

“I love you
.”

“Joanne
, I love you to.  I really have to go or I will miss both my meeting and my flight.  We will talk when I get back next week.”

I have a meal at the local pub with Simon and Jason.  I have learnt what it is like to feel alone while you are in the company of others.  I unpack the bare necessities to survive for the next few days from my two suitcases and purchase up to date magazines and a mindless book to read. 

Wednesday
, and I feel my sanity has returned.  I spent the day managing the café so that Simon and Jason could go into the city.  I again feel focused and have allowed a small amount of positivity to invade the darkness. I have compiled a long list of things to do when I start my new life. Friday no longer feels like an unattainable goal at the end of a long tunnel. 

I have allowe
d my fling with Paul to fall into perspective; he has been allowed to take up residence in a tiny corner at the back of my mind.  I have accepted my decision to leave.  I know that it would have been irrational to turn my back on  opportunity to be with a stranger.  My derailed career will soon be on track.  Today I spoke to Peter Simms and he mentioned there could be a future opportunity for partnership.  I smile; Simms, Graham and Kyle. 

The phone ringing pulls me out of the depths of a dreamless deep sleep.  A quick glance confirmed it was three o’clock in the morning.  No one rings at this hour with good news.  Dread flows through my veins as I answer.

“Joanne
, it’s your father.  Is there someone there with you?”

“Has the world gone mad?  What are you doing ringing at this hour and who do you think would be here with me?”

I rub my eyes and try to focus.

“It’s your m
other.”

“Please don’t even start this conversation
with me especially at three o’clock in the morning.  What the hell do you think you are doing running off with someone half your age?”

“Shut up
, Joanne, and listen please.  Natalie has been in an accident.  I would have come over to tell you in person but I’m in Sydney.  I thought it was best it came from me rather than you hear through the media.”

“What accident?
  I know about the Mercedes but surely the media would not find that newsworthy?  She would only just have arrived in New York.”

“
Mercedes? The SLK?”

He sounds confused and I feel a cold crawl go down my arms and settle like lead in the pit of my stomach.

“Sit down, honey, and I’ll tell you what I know.” 

His voice is soft and co
mforting, one of the voices he reserves for the families of victims.

“The p
olice have just contacted me.  I am listed as next of kin and they located me through the firm.  Joanne, she is in a bad way.  It sounds as though the taxi she took from the airport crossed the centre and ran into a line of oncoming traffic.  It went through the barrier and was hit head on by a light truck travelling in the opposite direction.”

“
Joanne, are you still there?”

I have sat down and I am fighting to keep calm.  I know if I allow myself to fall apart I will not be able to absorb the information.

“Yes, I am still here.  She is going to be OK isn’t she?”

“I really don’t know.
What I have been told seems sketchy.  I think tests are still being run to ascertain the full extent of her injuries. Both the taxi driver and truck driver were killed instantly.”