In The Company Of Strangers Part 14

It's still and warm as they perch for a moment on the low wall to concentrate on eating. Beyond them people sit on rugs, or in collapsible chairs, talking and occasionally singing, and the light from the oil lamps seems to grow stronger as the final vestiges of daylight fade away. Sitting on a big Esky a man with long straggly hair and a bandana tied around his head is strumming a guitar and singing something vaguely familiar.

'Look at that,' Declan says, nudging him, 'a Willie Nelson look-alike. He's even singing "On the Road Again". In your dreams, brother.'

Todd has never heard of Willie Nelson, but he laughs because he likes this, likes being here with Declan. He's never felt close to a man before. His dad had done the disappearing trick before he was even born, and he'd grown up with his mother in the caravan, very much alone. He had grandparents whom they'd visited a few times in Perth, but Pop was mostly drunk and Nan was always shouting at him, or at Todd and his mum. So it hadn't bothered him when they'd stopped going there. Todd thinks about his mum quite a lot. He likes getting the cards because it means she's okay, but he doesn't really miss her because she's so hard to be around.

They toss their rubbish in a nearby bin and stroll around the field, stopping from time to time to chat to the campers, listening to the music from various tents. Sometimes, like now, Todd pretends Declan is his dad, that they have some sort of shared history that links them not just now but into the future, a future in which they will always be there for each other. Declan treats him like an equal but Todd senses that he's also looking out for him, and that's a really good feeling. It's as good, no it's better than being with Catherine, although he feels a bit guilty thinking that, as though he's being disloyal. But that's how it is. He tries hard not to think that he's living a charmed life which could soon come to an end: Benson's Reach sold, and the people who now seem like a family to him dispersed, Ruby back to London, Alice and Fleur to who knows where. And Declan, where will he go? And, Todd wonders, is it remotely possible that wherever it is there might also be a place for him?

'Looks good, doesn't it?' Declan says, smiling with satisfaction as they reach the newly erected stage. Close up it seems huge, high and wide with a flight of steps at the side and an imposing canopy. 'Let's go up there and take a look around.'

As they mount the steps Todd imagines himself running up here and out onto the stage into the glaring white cone of light from a super trouper. He hears the roar of applause and the adoring fans chanting his name as he grasps the mike and launches into his first song.

'It must be awesome being up here,' he says as Declan joins him in the centre of the empty stage. And they stand together in the darkness, looking down the slope where, for the next few days, there will be a solid ma.s.s of people. 'Imagine it, all those faces, all those people waiting to hear you, clapping and yelling your name. Awesome.'

'Right on,' Declan says. 'We should've been rock stars, Todd. Fame and fortune, women screaming and throwing their knickers at us.'

'Gross,' Todd says. 'I'd have a stretch limo standing by, with pizza and a huge flat-screen TV.'

'You still may,' Declan says, 'who knows what's ahead for you, Todd? Sometimes I think you could do anything you set your mind to.'

Todd is not sure if this is a compliment or whether Declan is just being nice. 'Mrs Craddock's back,' he says. 'She was in the cafe just now. Did you see her?'

'Our cafe?' Declan says, turning to him in surprise. 'No I didn't see her, but she sent me a text saying she was coming back today.' He sighs. 'I stuffed up there well and truly, Todd, and I'm going to have to meet up with her and sort it out. Word of advice . . .' He stops suddenly and Todd looks up at him. 'No,' Declan shakes his head, 'you don't need advice from me. I'm a total loser when it comes to women.'

'Well then, you could tell me what not to do,' Todd says, trying to sound encouraging. 'You must've worked that out by now.'

'Not sure if I have, mate, not sure at all. But I will tell you one thing short-term gratification has its rewards but in the end it's just that, short term, essentially unsatisfying, and usually comes with messy complications.'

Todd is not sure he knows what gratification is, but he does grasp Declan's overall meaning. 'When Alice came I thought you and she were . . . like . . . a couple,' he says.

'Me and Alice?' Declan pauses, looking down across the wide open s.p.a.ce to the soft lights of the oil lamps and the shadowy shapes of the campers and their tents. 'Me and Alice,' he says again. 'No, man, she's way out of my league. Besides, she's got a few other things on her mind right now.'

'What, about the prison and that?' Todd asks.

Declan swings round towards him so fast he almost trips over. 'Prison?' he says, grabbing Todd by the shoulder. 'What d'you know about that?'

Todd twists away from his grip. 'Get off,' he says, rubbing his shoulder. 'Nothing, I just know she was in prison, that's all.'

'Who told you that?'

'No one told me, I heard Paula talking to Mrs Craddock on the phone, she was telling her about Alice then. I overheard it, that's all.'

'Have you told anyone else?'

''Course not, not my business, is it? I only said something then because of what you said, about her having other things on her mind. Sorry.'

Declan relaxes his grip. 'No, no, I'm sorry,' he says. 'I should've known you wouldn't . . . but look, Todd, Alice isn't a criminal, you know. She was driving, she had too much to drink and there was an accident, and someone . . . well someone died. It could have happened to anyone. There were many times in the past when it could have happened to me.'

'But Alice doesn't drink.'

'Not anymore, but she used to. We both did. That's how we met, at Alcoholics Anonymous. Have you heard of that?'

Todd nods. 'Mum went there once. I think she went because Paula was always nagging her to, but she came back pretty quick and never went again.'

'Paula told her to go?'

Todd nods. 'Yeah, she went on and on about it.'

'So Paula knows your mum?'

Todd laughs. 'Knows her? Yeah, 'course she does, they're sisters.'

'You never told me that.'

Todd shrugs. 'I thought you knew. Catherine knew. Paula told her when I first came to work here. She told her she shouldn't let me come because I'd only be trouble.'

'That's interesting,' Declan says quietly, 'very interesting. She told me that too. So what's Paula got against you?'

'Dunno,' Todd says, bored now with the conversation. 'She's always been like that. Mum just said they had a big fight a long time ago and never made it up. So Paula hates Mum and I s'pose that's why she hates me too.'

Lesley has been trying to find Declan in the crowded field. It really is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack because the place is swarming with people who all seem to be in a party mood, although the festival doesn't start until tomorrow. Lesley has never been to a music festival. In her youth Perth had not had much to offer in terms of the counter-culture and in any case her parents would have been horrified by the mere idea. Music festivals were for hippies, hotbeds of illicit s.e.x and drugs, something from which daughters should be protected. Indeed, Bert and Dolly had very little interest in music at all and their record collection could be counted on the fingers of two hands: some Vera Lynn, the soundtracks of The Student Prince, The King and I and some Mario Lanza LPs are all Lesley can remember. By the time her own children were heading for the Big Day Out she knew there was no stopping them but that didn't prevent Lesley from worrying about their being captured by the forces of darkness. Now, as she picks her way through the growing maze of campers cooking meals by the light of oil lamps, dancing to the music from a guitar or the blue notes of an amateur saxophonist, or kissing in the shadows, she wonders what she may have missed. This world has pa.s.sed her by. While others were hanging out at festivals enjoying all the things her parents had feared, she was a girl guide leader making scones, teaching Sunday school and, later, proudly collecting items for her bottom drawer. Has Gordon ever been to a music festival, she wonders, and would he enjoy this? When they married he had a large record collection, most of it jazz, and she remembers an argument about where they would fit in the little flat that was to be their first home. Where are those records now, she wonders, packed up in the garage, given to a jumble sale?

Lesley sits down on a low wall looking around her, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her eyes to peer into the semi-darkness. It's hopeless she's never going to find Declan among all these people. She should have grabbed the opportunity when she saw him earlier in the cafe, but he had the boy with him, Todd, the one Paula was always complaining about. The obvious thing is to ring his mobile but he has consistently ignored her calls. Besides, a call won't solve anything. She wants to see him, to have a conversation like they had in the first few days, face to face, honest, companionable.

She takes out her phone to check whether by any remote chance he has responded to the text she sent this morning telling him she was driving down today, but the record of calls shows three and a text, all of them from Paula. Paula had called much earlier just as Lesley was collecting the keys to the house she had rented.

'You wanna get together later?' Paula had asked. 'We could drive out to Benson's see what's going on. Maybe get something to eat in the snotty cafe.'

Lesley had prevaricated. 'Not sure yet,' she'd said. 'I'll call you back later. I might just have a quiet night in. I had a near-miss on the road on the way down and it seems to have knocked the stuffing out of me.'

'Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in four-wheel-drives,' Paula had said. 'Think they own the road. If I had my way I'd have them banned. You'll probably feel better if you have a bit of a lie-down. Ring me later.'

Lesley had agreed but had hung up with no intention of calling back. Going out on the town with Paula was never going to happen. She had been helpful over Declan's phone number and with other bits of information but they have nothing in common and it's not as though they're friends, or ever likely to be. Except for a couple of times when she'd been in a strangely dark mood Paula was far too full on for Lesley's liking. Besides, what she'd said was true, the near-miss on the road had been a horrible shock and its impact is far more complicated than Lesley had made it sound.

She'd been travelling fast on a wide straight road lined with tall trees and dense bush. A couple of patchy showers had left the road itself and the surrounding trees glistening as the sunlight flickered through the branches. It was the first rain for months and she wondered if it had rained at Benson's Reach. What would they do if it rained on the festival, rained really hard? She drove on singing along to a compilation alb.u.m of sixties. .h.i.ts which she only ever plays when she's alone in the car because Gordon and her children think it's tacky. She was doing a splendid accompaniment to Gary Puckett and the Union Gap with 'Young Girl' when she realised that a song she had always thought of as being about love was actually about a man's desire for s.e.x with an underage girl. In fact, the more she thought about it, a lot of the songs on the alb.u.m were like that. Suddenly the innocence of romantic first love was obviously something quite different. And as Gary gave way to Billy Fury and her favourite, 'Halfway to Paradise', she heard for the first time that Billy was not singing about unrequited love but frustrated l.u.s.t. Abruptly she stopped singing and flicked the b.u.t.ton to go back to the start of the track and make sure, but as she did so she missed the moment that the dog darted out of the bush and into the road and she had hit it before she knew it was there. Braking sharply she skidded into a wide semicircle across the wet surface of the road into the opposite lane and ended up in the red gravel of the hard shoulder, facing back in the direction from which she had come. A four-wheel-drive whose trajectory she had crossed with terrifying proximity roared on past, the driver furiously blasting his horn while a pa.s.senger gave her two fingers from the nearside window.

'Well thanks for stopping, guys,' Lesley yelled as she switched off the engine. The dog was dead, the seriously flattened sort of dead, she could see that from where she was sitting. Should she remove it from the road? But as she considered what to do a panel van flattened it further and was soon followed by half a dozen other cars. She sat there wondering: there might be something in the boot she could use to move it, although by that time a few more vehicles had pa.s.sed over the poor thing and it looked more as though it would take a scrubbing brush and a bucket of soapy water to get it off the road. Lesley stopped thinking about the dog and began to think about herself.

Billy had wound up now and Mark Wynter had launched into 'Go Away Little Girl'. Lesley switched off the CD player, leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, thinking back to her youth, to the other songs on the alb.u.m, 'Sweet Sixteen', 'Little Sister'. Alone in the car she blushes at her own naivety, and it reminds her that it wasn't only the music that was not all it seemed. She remembered the occasions before she met Gordon when she herself had confused desire with love. Dolly's attempts at s.e.x education had been of the 'save it for the one you love' variety. For Lesley and probably for many other girls, this instruction translated to doing it and then convincing yourself that you'd done it because you were in love, which would somehow make it all right. Lesley had not done it much she was too frightened of getting pregnant but whenever she had 'gone all the way' there had been a brief period of romantic self-delusion to justify what she had done, and to enjoy the feeling of being s.e.xually attractive, desirable. It usually didn't take long before the boy concerned either dumped her, or the scales would fall from her own eyes and she would dump him.

Sitting there, facing in the wrong direction, her heart only just slowing to normal rate after her near-miss, Lesley saw that she had done it again. She had conned herself at almost sixty just as she had at sixteen, only this time there is much more at stake, and very much more to be embarra.s.sed about. She had embarked on an adventure which, like the shopping, had been a distraction from the fact that her marriage, in fact her whole life, seemed to be falling apart. And then the combination of guilt and that same old longing to be loved and wanted had come to her rescue. Only of course it was no sort of rescue at all, it was a potential disaster. And now her skin crawled with shame as she remembered how she had behaved, not simply that night, but more importantly since then.

For some time Lesley had sat there in the car by the side of the road thinking over everything that had happened. What if this had been Karen? Well, she would have told her daughter that she was being ridiculous, would have sent her away to sort out whatever it was that had happened with Nick and told her to grow up. Not that Lesley thought it was immature to fall in love, just foolish to pretend that a one night stand with a comparative stranger was the answer to the complex problems of mid-life and a marriage in crisis. In that moment she considered heading back home. She was, after all, facing in the right direction. Perhaps the incident with the poor dead dog was a message from the universe. Maybe even her fall on the way home last time was part of it, a message that she was not supposed to be on this road at all.

But she couldn't stand the thought of the house; the house, which had become unbearable with Gordon in it, was even more unbearable in his absence. She would carry on, sort things out with Declan with as much humility and dignity as possible, and then pay some attention to her future. She unscrewed her water bottle, drank the remains and, once the road was clear, pulled out, swung the car back to face south and drove on, rather more slowly and without music, in the direction in which she had been travelling. And as she did so she had contemplated how she could talk to Declan about this in the least embarra.s.sing way, if she could get him to talk to her at all.

And so, earlier this evening, she had driven down to Benson's Reach, parked the car and wandered around among the tents and up the hill, looking for him. There was no sign of him but as she pa.s.sed the office window she could see Ruby sitting at the desk reading intently. Lesley knew that she should apologise to her and also to Alice. In the past both Sandi and Gordon had chided her for her brusque, sometimes imperious manner in shops and restaurants, but on this occasion she needed no chiding she knew she had been downright rude. If she was to clear up the mess of her own making she had more than one apology to make. So she had headed for the cafe thinking she might catch Alice, apologise, and find out where Declan was likely to be. It was very busy in the cafe and there was no sign of Alice when Lesley ordered her coffee and toasted sandwich at the counter, so she sat down at a table which was partly obscured by one of the old telegraph poles which were both structural elements and design features of the building, and from where she could see both the entrance and the counter. Even so she had somehow missed the moment at which Declan came in with Todd, because when she looked up there they were at the counter, apparently waiting for take-away food.

It had seemed like the perfect opportunity; she would catch him on his way out. She saw Alice emerge from the kitchen and hand two hamburgers across the counter, the first to Todd and then to Declan. He took it from her and smiled, reached out to take her hand, said something to her, and Alice, smiling in return, leaned across the counter and kissed him on the cheek. There was something tender and quite moving in the whole exchange and it brought a lump to Lesley's throat. Even with her new and more realistic understanding of what happened between her and Declan she still felt a stab of jealousy and as Declan left the cafe with Todd she made no attempt to speak to, or follow, him. She just stayed there remembering the expression on his face and the respect and affection that was so obvious whenever he spoke of Alice.

She had stayed on at her table for almost half an hour and when eventually she left the bright warmth of the cafe for the shadowy buzz of the outdoors there was no sign of him and she wandered around once more, finally coming to rest here on this low wall in the half-light. Her phone rings suddenly, jolting her out of her stillness. It's Paula again, and Lesley switches it off and gets to her feet. Ruby is still alone in the office poring over a book. Maybe she knows where Declan is, and anyway, Lesley thinks, it's time for her first act of humility and she takes a deep breath and sets off along the path to the office.

uby is hiding. Officially she's on duty in the office, a responsibility that Declan had felt was his but for which she has volunteered. He was clearly longing to be out among the crowd and this was a legitimate way for her to stay away from it. The prospect of the festival is daunting and she would have loved an excuse to disappear completely and return only when it was all over, but her conscience got the better of her. She feels she has a responsibility to Declan and Alice, and indeed the rest of the staff, who have all worked so hard on the preparations and will be putting in long hours over the next four days, so she has decided to grit her teeth and survive it.

'I'll take the early part of the evening in the office if you like. It'll give you a chance to meet people, and you can come and take over for the last couple of hours.'

Jackson Crow had called to say that they were running late and would arrive around ten, by which time Ruby planned to be tucked up in bed with a book.

Even though she hadn't been looking forward to it Ruby hadn't antic.i.p.ated her own reaction to the visitors who had been arriving since early this morning. She knew it was unreasonable but as the first few tents were erected it seemed as though Benson's was being taken over and as the numbers grew so did her resentment. She wanted to march out onto the track that had been railed off for the cars and shout at them to turn back and go away. Even when Benson's was fully booked it was usually peaceful; it attracted guests looking for quiet and relaxation rather than a party atmosphere. But now the place has been transformed into something frighteningly unmanageable where anything could happen. It's just your age, she'd told herself several times, but when, towards the end of the afternoon, she had ventured out to see what was happening, she realised that many of the festival goers weren't all that young most of them were older baby boomers, some even as old as she was.

As she stood watching from the verandah she was briefly back in 1969 on a crowded ferry heading for the Isle of Wight to see Bob Dylan. She was with Rowena, whose flat she had shared since she arrived in London a few months earlier. Rowena was a party animal and festivals were her favourite parties. The following year they were back again for Joni Mitch.e.l.l, Jimi Hendrix and Leonard Cohen and a month later to Glas...o...b..ry, a festival Ruby remembers more for being the place she met Owen, and the collective grief that overtook the crowd as word got around that Jimi Hendrix had died. And although festivals today hold no attraction, they do draw her back into nostalgia.

In the almost thirty years since Owen's death she has lived alone, at first with difficulty, but later with increasing satisfaction and undeniably enjoyable freedom. She had been devastated when he died suddenly and dramatically of kidney failure caused by an infection contracted on a trip to Venezuela. In medical school he had specialised in tropical diseases and had soon made a name for himself in the field. When he was invited to visit a research project in the Amazon he had jumped at the chance and had laughed off Ruby's concern. Three months later she was a widow. Since then there have been other short-term relations.h.i.+ps that have fizzled out mainly due to her own lack of enthusiasm and commitment. Friends.h.i.+ps grew stronger and more important as she battled through layers of grief over the losses in her life: her childhood, her friends.h.i.+p with Catherine, her first marriage, her inability to have children and finally the loss of Owen. These days she lives a pretty quiet life, declining most invitations to openings, launches and parties, finding pleasure and satisfaction in her work, a few close friends, her books, and the constant battle with the garden. Relations.h.i.+ps the hunt for them and the difficulties of being in them are a thing of the past and that is both a relief and a regret. The excitement charged atmosphere of a music festival is alien to her now and burying her head in the sand seems infinitely preferable.

Sitting in the office, her feet up on a chair, leaning sideways against the desk with one of Catherine's journals in her hands, she's expecting a quiet evening. Festival goers have no real need of the office but they'd decided to keep it open in case of unforeseen problems. Struggling with Catherine's erratic writing she barely notices the sound of footsteps along the verandah. It is the shadow in the doorway that makes her glance up.

Lesley Craddock looks the same but different, very different; vulnerability is apparent in both her posture and the expression on her face.

'Hi,' she says, hesitating in the doorway, as though going inside might be a step too far. 'Sorry to disturb you.'

Ruby puts down the journal. 'You're not,' she says. 'We're open for business, so come on in. What can I do for you? If you're looking for accommodation I'm afraid we're fully booked,' and she gestures to the chair on the other side of the desk.

'I know,' Lesley says, and she steps inside and perches stiffly on the edge of the chair. 'Declan told me you were booked out for the festival. And in any case I'm planning on being around for a while, so I've rented a place in town.' She pauses and the silence is awkward. 'But I wanted to see you and just spotted you through the window . . . I've come to apologise. I was very rude to you and of course to Alice when I was last here. I can't think what got into me. It's been a difficult time and I suppose I let that get the better of me. When I thought about it later . . . well I'm sorry, very sorry.'

Ruby nods. 'Thank you. I appreciate that and I know Alice will too.' The apology seems genuine, but there is clearly something else on Lesley's mind and Ruby senses that humility does not come easily to her. 'I hope things are settling down for you now.'

'Sort of . . .' Lesley says, 'it's messy.'

'So you're back here for a while is your accommodation all right?'

'It is, thanks. Very comfortable. It's pretty busy out there, isn't it?'

Ruby pulls a face. 'It certainly is which is good, of course, but it's all a bit much for me. These days I tend to panic at the prospect of large groups of people.'

Lesley nods, and gives a nervous laugh. 'Me too . . . do you think it's a sign we're getting old?'

'You may be getting, I've gotten,' Ruby says, grinning. 'But I think you're right.'

The silence is less awkward this time. 'I've been looking for Declan,' Lesley says. 'I caught sight of him earlier in the cafe, but by the time I'd squeezed out through the crowd he seemed to have disappeared.'

'He's pretty busy,' Ruby says. 'It's been a chaotic day and I suspect tomorrow will be the same, or worse. All I can tell you is that he'll be somewhere on the property if you want to wander around and see if you can find him.'

She nods. 'I've tried that but I might give it another go.' She gets up, hovering awkwardly in front of the desk. 'If you see him could you tell him I was looking for him, please? And thanks again.' And with a nervous smile she heads out of the door and back towards the cafe.

Eight o'clock. Ruby sighs, longing for the delicious seclusion of her own room. She gets up from the desk, fills the kettle and stands waiting for it to boil, wondering what has happened to create this change in Lesley. She makes her tea, turns off the harsh central light, switches on the standard lamp and, picking up Catherine's journal from the desk, she settles herself on the small two-seater sofa with her feet up.

Catherine's style is erratic: part catalogue of events, part poignant reflection on their time in the convent, and all of it woven through with dreams for the future. It's a future in which the two of them are always together, travelling together, working together, side by side, like twins inseparably linked by the shared traumas of their childhood. For Ruby it is a powerful reminder of the years when Catherine was her anchor, her protector and the only person she could trust. Even when they had left the convent for jobs at the hotel in Perth they had continued to cling together, but as Ruby's confidence grew their closeness seemed suffocating.

The words weave sentences that prise open memories of enmeshment and mutual dependence, and she feels her chest tighten now, as it did then, when she struggled to break free from what had been her life support, but which had become a barrier to independence. They'd had their first arguments then, the first painful and challenging silences, the first hurts and small jealousies, the inevitable intrusion of others into what had for so long been exclusive. It is all there, all in the journal, raw, honest, and it makes for painful reading. Is it just tiredness, she wonders, or the desire to escape from this vivid evocation of the past that makes it so hard to keep her eyes open? The exercise book slips from her hands and she s.h.i.+fts further down on the sofa. Muddled images of the steep flights of the hotel stairs, the deep red flocked wallpaper of the restaurant, the harsh bright lights and clatter of the kitchens, whirl and blur through her head, drawing her down into memories fraught with tension.

'Excuse me.' A tap on the already open door. 'Excuse me, ma'am.'

Ruby's eyes snap open, the journal thumps down onto the floor and she stumbles to her feet, heart pounding with the shock of waking.

'Goodness me,' she says, fl.u.s.tered. 'Goodness me, I'm so sorry. I'm supposed to be on duty but I must have fallen asleep.' Her gla.s.ses slip down from the top of her head, skimming her forehead and settling conveniently on the bridge of her nose. And, smoothing down her hair, she looks up and sees him a dark skinned man with crisp silver grey hair that curls around his neck and ears, and deep, disturbingly familiar eyes. A stranger, yet a man she feels she knows like she knows herself, and her heart seems to lurch, stop beating, then struggle to start again. 'Ah!' she says as their eyes meet, and for an instant she thinks she hears his heart hesitate too. But that, of course is just too fanciful for words. 'You must be Mr Crow. You're rather earlier than we expected.'

Paula can count on one hand the things that make her feel peaceful; watering and talking to her plants is usually one of them. They don't need watering every day but she still goes down to see them, to chat to them. But this evening they don't seem to be having the required effect. It's been a hard day, new guests arriving, cars everywhere, people asking questions and putting up tents, noise, all messing with her head. She's feeling really s.p.a.cey tonight. Maybe she shouldn't have stopped taking the medication. It's a while now, and she's done it before, but always gone back on it again. But right now she can't be doing with that dozy feeling the drugs give her, the awful thirst and the constant need to pee. It's unfair, Paula thinks, because it's other people who need her to take them they find her easier to get on with when she's on the drugs but what she wants is to feel okay without them, to be just like everyone else and how will she know if she can be like that if she doesn't even try?

'What do you think?' she asks, leaning in closely to the last plant in the line and taking a leaf between her fingers. 'Pills or no pills? To take or not to take?' The plant moves slightly in the breeze and she takes it as a sign that she should stay off the drugs keep trying to manage without them. 'I agree,' Paula says to the plant, setting down the empty watering can. 'Thanks for the advice.'

Tonight she feels as though she is made of very thin, brittle ice that could shatter at any moment, each little shard melting away to nothing while she watches herself disintegrate. It's better than the dozy feeling but it makes her seem unreal and so she talks more and louder to try to make herself seem real again. She might even say or do a few things that aren't quite right. She'd be very clear about what should happen, and then other people would argue with her and she'd know they were wrong but she'd be the one who'd come out of it looking bad.

'You don't seem to understand about boundaries, Paula,' Catherine had said to her once. 'You can be really intrusive, even overbearing. You only seem able to see things your way and you don't listen. It's like you're disconnected from everyone else, only focused on yourself. I know it's hard for you, and I understand you don't want to keep taking the drugs, but you're difficult to get along with without them.'

Paula had trusted Catherine, but twice in the time she's worked there she's come off the drugs and twice Catherine had told her that she had to get back on them or leave Benson's. But Catherine's gone now and, anyway, she didn't know everything. Maybe, Paula thinks, I'll be okay this time.

She walks along the little path of irregular shaped, broken slabs back to the kitchen. It's deadly quiet in the house and the 100 watt bulb in the kitchen makes her feel she's about to be interrogated by the thought police. She wishes there was someone to call, to talk to. All day, every day she is surrounded by people who are ringing other people on their posh little phones. Paula has a phone, nice, Samsung, in a s.h.i.+ny pink plastic cover, but n.o.body ever rings it well, not for a conversation; work stuff or someone telling her she's forgotten to make a payment on her credit card, or trying to sell her something, that's all.

'You can always ring me if you need to talk to someone,' Catherine had said. And quite often Paula had done that and it had worked, but most of the time just knowing she could call was enough. It was odd because Paula had never felt that Catherine actually liked her, it was more like she tolerated her, perhaps she felt sorry for her, but she also needed her because Paula is the best cleaner for miles around. Anywhere else she'd be paid more and would be called an executive housekeeper or a domestic manager, but n.o.body at Benson's sees her potential, she's just Paula the Cleaner. She imagines her card in the Benson's deck of Happy Families: Paula the Cleaner, Ruby the Inquisitor, Declan the Loser, Alice the Intruder, Fleur the Outsider and Todd, of course, the Spoiler. But she can't quite get herself together to go and look for a different job because the whole idea of it just does her head in. If they don't sort things out soon, or end up giving Fleur's job to someone else she's definitely going to go. Sod 'em, no point staying on where you're not appreciated. Not that she's ever really been appreciated. If she had been, if someone had only really appreciated her, she wouldn't be here now, living in this little matchbox, which she keeps as spotless as she keeps the rooms at Benson's Reach. She wouldn't be stuck here all on her own with no one to talk to and no one to call.

'People always seem to slip away,' she says aloud to the empty kitchen. 'Just when you think you've made a friend they're gone. They need you, use you, then leave you when they've got what they want.'

Lesley Craddock, for example, inviting her in to chat in her cottage, making her cups of tea and pumping her for information, and just when she'd thought they were friends it all stops. Just like that. 'Too busy to talk now, Paula.' 'Must dash.' 'Must get on.' 'No, don't call tomorrow, I have to look after the twins.' 'No, I don't want to go out, had a near-miss in the car.' Typical, Paula thinks, you put yourself out for people and they just make use of you. Catherine had understood that. Paula thought she and Catherine probably had quite a lot in common. That's why she's keen to get into that room now, make sure Catherine's little secret is not going to come sneaking out to damage her reputation.

Eating something seems like a good idea right now, and she opens the cupboard above the bench top, takes out a tin of baked beans, opens it and eats the cold beans with a spoon, just as she did when she was a kid. Knowing she is doing something that would send her mother right off her trolley has always been extremely satisfying. When she's had enough she puts the tin, with the teaspoon still in it, into the fridge, pulls out a bottle of juice, takes a swig and wanders across to look at herself in the kitchen mirror. She doesn't look bad for her age, though not as good as Kylie.

When Paula was younger people used to say she looked like Kylie or Charlene, as she was then. She'd had the same hair, but she was a bit taller. Paula turns side on to the mirror and does a few Kylie moves that she's spent a lot of time perfecting. Years ago when she and Gary used to go to karaoke nights she would always do a Kylie number, and back then, when Kylie started singing, Paula had reckoned she looked and sounded just like her. 'I should be so lucky,' she sings. Kylie, well she's really lucky. You'd think she was a G.o.ddess the way some people go on about her; there's even a statue of her in Melbourne. Of course she had the cancer but she even made that into a hit. 'I should be so lucky.'

Paula reaches up, pulls the scrunchie off her ponytail, fluffs out her hair and swings her shoulders from side to side. It's all luck, she thinks. She could have been just as good as Kylie, she could have been a G.o.ddess, an icon, all she needed was the luck, but there hadn't been much of that around when she was growing up. While Kylie was starring in soap operas and cuddling up to Jason Donovan, Paula was doing night cleaning at the supermarket and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g spotty losers in the car park.

She'd been lucky once, though, only once and not for long, lucky with Gary, lucky in love. Until she was unlucky, until her b.l.o.o.d.y s.l.u.t of a sister cut her right out of the picture. Paula has another big swig of juice. What she'd really like is to be up on that stage at Benson's, singing 'Dancing Queen', wearing sequins and silver ta.s.sels and a big headdress thing with ostrich feathers, like Kylie wore at the Olympics. She'd driven up there earlier this evening and pushed her way through the people and gone up onto the darkened stage and stood there looking down, imagining herself strutting her stuff, microphone in hand. That'd give them all something to think about.

Paula closes her eyes, wis.h.i.+ng she felt more like normal. Perhaps she just needs to sleep. If only they could see what she can do. Tomorrow, maybe, she'll get all dressed up and get up there on the stage and sing, she'll make them listen to her and see her. n.o.body ever sees her, and they don't listen when she tells them interesting stuff or gives advice. She slips a CD into the ghetto blaster, and she's singing along with Kylie to 'Dancing Queen', strutting back and forth across the spotlessly clean vinyl tiles, swinging her hips, pouting at the audience, one arm raised above her head. And she sings and dances and swings and pouts and twists and sways and struts until her feet hurt and her arms ache and the music stops, and in the silence of the empty kitchen she sinks into a chair and bursts into tears.

Declan keys Lesley's number into the phone and waits one ring, two rings. It's late, he thinks, maybe he should leave it and call in the morning. But then she answers and his stomach clenches. Had he made this call weeks ago things might by now be sorted. Faced with the emotional and practical consequences of his procrastination in the weeks before Catherine's death, he had promised himself that in future he would face up to the next emotional challenge as soon as it reared its head. But here it is his first crisis and again he tried to solve it by pretending to ignore it. He's only calling Lesley now because Ruby pa.s.sed on Lesley's message so he feels he has no choice.

'Er . . . hi,' he says, 'it's me, Declan.' He knows he sounds pathetic, so he clears his throat and tries again. 'Sorry, it's Declan here, Lesley, Ruby said you were looking for me.'

'I was,' she says, 'but I couldn't find you so I left. I really need to talk to you . . .'

'Sure,' he says, 'sure, absolutely, but it's difficult now. The festival . . . you've seen the crowds here . . . it's going to be pretty frantic-'

'Declan,' Lesley interrupts, 'I need to talk to you, it won't take long. I know I've made a fool of myself and I'm sorry. I just want to put things right.'

'Ah . . . I see, that's good,' he says, not at all sure what putting things right might involve. 'We must get together sometime soon . . .'

'Yes, tomorrow morning,' she says. 'Can you meet me for breakfast?'

He hesitates, again.