Cold Shoulder (20 page)

‘Lorraine?
Lorraine?
Mike was calling her, and she quickly slipped the letter back and hurried out.

At lunch, the conversation — strained at best — turned to the subject of cars.

‘What do you drive now?’ Lorraine asked.

Mike grunted and prodded one of the boys. ‘I have to have a coach for this crowd, it’s an old station wagon. Sissy, however, has an MG — it’s an English sports car.’

‘I do know what an MG is,’ Lorraine said.

Sissy flicked a look at Mike and then smiled. ‘That was more for my benefit — it’s always in the garage, not because I’ve damaged it, but because of the spares.’

‘Is there a good garage near you?’ Lorraine asked innocently.

Mike nodded. ‘Yeah, there is. It specializes in vintage and foreign cars, big money in it. They’ve got Rolls-Royces and Bentleys and Mercedes Benz—’

Lorraine interrupted, ‘Is it a big company?’

‘Pretty substantial.’

‘How many people does it employ?’

Mike looked a little puzzled, but said, ‘Maybe sixty, seventy, I don’t know. Why?’

Lorraine smiled. ‘I’m sure a friend of mine bought a car from a garage around here — maybe S and A?’

Mike nodded. ‘Well, that’s the company’s logo all right — in fact I’m doing some business with them. Have you got your licence back, then?’

Lorraine flushed. ‘No, but I can’t afford a car.’

‘Not from S and A.’ Mike laughed.

‘Does your friend live around here?’ Sissy asked.

‘No, I just heard the garage mentioned.’

Julia got up, cupping her hands to whisper in Sissy’s ear. She frowned and shook her head. ‘No, you can’t, now sit down.’

Julia pouted and slumped back at the table. The room grew silent. Sissy shrugged her perfect shoulders. ‘She wants to go play tennis.’

Julia snapped, ‘I always play tennis on Sunday afternoons.’

Mike wagged his finger. ‘Not this Sunday. Now, help your mother clear the table and—’

Lorraine stood up. ‘No, that’s okay — you go play tennis, Julia. I don’t mind, I have to go in a few minutes anyway.’

Mike stacked the dishes, anything to cover his embarrassment. ‘Well, it’s up to you, but as you’ve come all this way—’

‘I can come again — if you don’t mind…’

‘Where’s Rufus?’ Sally demanded, and suddenly they were all calling the dog. It seemed they all wanted to find an excuse to leave the room. Lorraine went over to the bag she’d brought, and took out the box with the doll. ‘Sally?’ She went out to the verandah. ‘I brought you this — maybe it’s a bit childish for you, I just thought you’d kind of like it.’

Sally opened the box and looked at the doll. ‘Does it talk? My friend Angela’s got one that talks and sleeps and cries, and you feed it with a bottle and it wets itself.’

Lorraine looked at the moody-faced child. ‘This one drinks and then if you press its stomach, it spits in your face.’

Sally’s mouth trembled.

‘It was just a joke!’

The child ran into the house, past Mike. Lorraine laughed at his worried expression. ‘’Sokay, Mike, I was never very good with them anyway. I got to go.’

Mike sat on the edge of the bench seat. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe they’ll take a while to get used to you — that is, if you’re planning to make this a regular—’

‘Would you mind?’

‘No — well, maybe… I don’t know, it’s kind of taken us all by surprise. I think they’re scared you’ve come to take them away.’ He stared at her. ‘You haven’t, though, have you?’

Lorraine hugged her arms round herself tightly. ‘I wouldn’t want to do anything that’d upset them. Besides, I kind of don’t know them any more — and you’ve changed. She’s got you domesticated, carrying dishes back and forth.’

Sissy came out, overhearing the last remark.

She put down the coffee pot, and went back into the house.

‘Can you call me a taxi?’

Lorraine was relieved when the cab arrived. She kept the doll she had bought for Julia, because she didn’t want Julia to know that she had still thought of her as a little girl; she noticed that Sally hadn’t even taken hers out of its box. Sally wouldn’t kiss Lorraine goodbye, but hung on to Sissy. Mike kissed her cheek, and Sissy shook her hand — she had a strong, firm grip. She stared coldly at Lorraine as she said, without any warmth, ‘Do come again.’ Seeing them grouped together, waving, Lorraine knew she would never come back.

She asked the cab driver to take her past the S and A garage. Two massive showrooms were filled with vintage cars, but it was closed. Lorraine got out and walked along the showroom window, peering inside, and shaded her eyes to look at the counter. Dinky toy cars and memorabilia were displayed, but she couldn’t see any cufflinks. By the time she returned to the cab, she was sweating again. It was three o’clock, the sun was blistering, so she asked the driver to stop at the next grocery store as she needed a can of Coke.

At ten o’clock Rosie called Jake to say that Lorraine still hadn’t come home, and she was worried. Perhaps she was staying over, he suggested. If she was really worried, why not call? She had the number. Jake was exhausted: they had decorated the kitchen and the bedroom, and all the furniture was back in place.

Rosie waited until eleven before she called Mike Page, and was told that Lorraine had left around three. She called Jake. Already in bed, he was tetchy at being disturbed again. ‘Rosie, what do you expect me to do? I’m not her keeper. I’m not responsible for what she does or does not do. Now lay off me, okay?’

Twelve o’clock, and Rosie went to bed. The smell of fresh paint made her feel sick, and she couldn’t get to sleep, so she got up, made herself some iced tea, and sat by the window. Then she watched some late-night television and eventually, at two thirty, went back to bed.

Monday morning and Lorraine had still not returned, so Rosie called Jake again, but he had left for work, and she didn’t want to pester him there. She told herself she was overreacting, but when Lorraine had still not appeared at four in the afternoon, she went along to the gallery. It was shut so she squinted through the window and saw that all the canvases had been removed. The place looked deserted, so she went home.

For want of something better to do, and to take her mind off Lorraine, Rosie began to clear her bedroom cupboards and drawers, tossing out junk she had hoarded. A new wardrobe kit had been assembled in a corner of the now tidy bedroom. Rosie pushed it into position and began to fill it with Lorraine’s few possessions. Lastly she put in the shoes — and that was when she found the roll of money. She was amazed at the amount, then felt guilty because it would look as if she had been searching through Lorraine’s personal belongings. She had, of course, but not with any ulterior motive.

Jake dropped by at seven o’clock. There was still no word from Lorraine. Rosie was upset. Jake took her to a meeting; he had a good idea that Lorraine would eventually come home, and he refused to borrow his friend’s car to go on a street search. If she had started out in Santa Monica, God alone knew where she was.

They came back to Rosie’s just after ten, and ate some takeaway food. Midway through the meal, they heard a screaming, hoarse voice. Jake gestured for Rosie to stay at the table and crossed to the window, peered out, and sighed. ‘She’s home. I’d better go and give her a hand.’

Rosie could hear the sound of breaking glass, and went to the window.

Lorraine was standing in the middle of the road, swinging a doll by its arm. Her blouse was torn, her skirt hanging off and she was filthy. She swiped at Jake.

‘Fuck off!
Fucking leave me alone, you shit!’

Jake backed off, arms raised, and Lorraine kicked out at him, swearing. A woman with a shopping cart was passing by and Lorraine caught her stare. ‘What you fucking looking at, you cunt?
Fuck off — go on?

Jake had to coax and cajole her to come to the stairs leading up to Rosie’s apartment. It took him fifteen minutes to get her up them. She took two steps up and fell down three. She screeched with laughter, then slowly crawled up, only to insist on going down again as she had dropped her doll.

At last Jake got her into the apartment. She stood by the door. ‘Hi, Rosie. He fucked you yet?’

Rosie went into the kitchen as Jake tried to get Lorraine onto the sofa. Halfway there she pulled out her shirt, stripping it away from her skinny body: she fumbled with his pants. He swiped her hand aside and dragged her to the sofa, she fell, and slithered onto the floor.

‘Run the shower, Rosie,’ Jake said.

Lorraine stank of booze, vomit and urine. She had no jacket. She refused to release the doll even when they half carried her into the shower, ran the cold water over her, and between them stripped off her clothes, Jake paying no attention to her naked body, apart from glancing at Rosie when he saw the fresh red bruises and the old scars.

Rosie wanted to weep at seeing her friend like this, but she fetched towels and soaped Lorraine clean. Lorraine became subdued and listless, but she would not let go of the doll. Washed, with a clean nightdress on, she lay down on Rosie’s bed.

‘Best let her sleep it off,’ Jake said, and ushered Rosie out of the bedroom. They picked up the filthy clothes and tossed them into the trash-can. Lorraine fell into a deep, coma-like sleep, with no idea where she was.

Rosie checked on her throughout the night, in case she vomited and choked to death. Jake left, depressed, though it was hardly unexpected. He’d seen it all before with Rosie — but at least Lorraine had been easier to get up the stairs.

Rosie slept on the sofa. She was woken by Lorraine stumbling out of the bedroom. Her face looked pale green, and there were deep, dark rings beneath her eyes.

‘Coffee,’ was about the only word she could squeeze out. Her head felt like someone had attached a chunk of concrete to it, with a bolt hammered into her skull to keep it steady. She needed Rosie to help her back to bed, and she moaned in agony as she lay down. Ice packs were prepared, and gently Rosie rested them on her forehead. Lorraine slept for the remainder of the day, rising in the early evening for a shower. By then she was able to move around more easily. ‘What day is it?’

‘Wednesday evening.’

‘Wake me Friday.’ Lorraine gave a wan smile and lay down on the sofa.

Rosie shopped, using Lorraine’s hidden savings: she would tell her when the time was right, but she couldn’t work with Lorraine as she was, and the rent was due. So Rosie kept dipping in.

It was Friday before Lorraine’s hangover lifted. She was quiet, staring into space, unable to hold a conversation. Every time she attempted to explain herself, her voice trailed off mid-sentence. Rosie stroked her head. ‘Honey, you don’t have to explain, because I’ve been there. Just get better, then we can talk.’

Lorraine clasped her hand. ‘Thanks.’

Rosie smiled, dipped into the savings again and went out to buy some fillet steak: Lorraine needed her strength building up. She also paid the telephone bill, the electricity bill — dip, dip, dip — but she’d admit it when Lorraine was better. It wasn’t stealing, she told herself — what was hers was Lorraine’s, after all — it was just that, right now, she was short of cash.

At the weekend when Jake came round, Lorraine greeted him warmly.

He cocked his head to one side. ‘Back in the land of the living now, are we?’

Lorraine flushed. ‘Oh. Were you here?’

‘Who do you think carried you up the fuckin’ stairs? You really went for it, didn’t you?’

Lorraine gave him that odd lopsided, squint-eyed look. ‘Christ only knows what I went with — my crotch feels like I been sittin’ on hot coals.’

Jake turned away: he was never sure about her, she had a filthy mouth one minute, the next she came on like a real lady. ‘If I was you, I’d get down to a clinic and get checked out. You smelt like a sewer.’

She was unable to meet his steady gaze. At least she could still be ashamed, he thought, that was something in her favour. ‘Rosie’s been taking good care of you so you make sure you say thank you.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me to do that, Jake.’ Her voice was so husky he had to strain to hear what she said.

‘What?’

‘I said I’d go and have a medical,
okay?’

‘Good. I suggest you come to a meeting, and keep on coming for a few days, unless you got to go to work. You still think you got work at the gallery? Only I passed it two days ago and it looked all shut up.’

She walked into the bedroom. ‘Soon as I feel fit enough I’ll be out looking for another job.’

Rosie banged open the screen door, her arms bulging with groceries. Jake took the loaded bags from her. ‘You’ve been spending a bit freely lately haven’t you?’

‘Let’s just say I got a bit of a windfall. Now, will you stay for dinner? I got fillet steak and salad and I’ll make jacket potatoes.’

Jake put the bags on the kitchen table. ‘Sounds good!’ He continued, whispering, ‘She should have herself checked out at a clinic.’

‘She’s only got a hangover, Jake.’

‘She could also have HIV, venereal disease and Christ only knows what else, so have her down to a clinic.’

Rosie looked towards the bedroom wondering if Lorraine had heard, then started unpacking the groceries.

Lorraine had heard, and rested back on Rosie’s bed. She was sober. She had little or no recollection of what she had done or where she had been. She dimly remembered stopping off in the cab, going to buy a can of Coke and coming out with two litres of vodka. She had a vague impression of having been thrown out of the same taxi, thumbing a lift from a trucker, and then — blank.

She sighed. Maybe it was better this way. She didn’t know why she was getting herself straightened out again. Now she knew she didn’t have anyone to do it for. She closed her eyes, making a silent decision that as soon as Rosie and Jake left the apartment, she’d pack up what she’d got, get her stash of money and go. Go and get so drunk she would never get sober again. Her resolution to blow it all — blow herself — made her feel light-hearted, and she sat up, wrapped her robe around her and went into the kitchen.