Other People’s Diaries (33 page)

M
egan sat on the front step, arm around her dog Merlin's neck. The long flat hours of early afternoon surrounded her.

She'd called in sick for a second day today.

Wearily she rested her forehead on the dog's neck, her cheek pillowed against Merlin's wiry coat. She screwed her eyes up tight, trying to force the thoughts from her mind.

Megan hadn't contacted Greg since the night she'd run out of his place and he hadn't tried to get in touch with her.

He must have seen the article – everyone else in Brisbane had.

Megan's answer phone had been blinking madly when she'd returned home from the cafe on Sunday. Her sisters had each left several messages but, in true family form, they seemed to have forgotten she was a sinner and had left messages of support and outrage at the article. Megan smiled at the memory. Even her mother had called, asking if she'd like to come home and stay for a while. For once that didn't sound like such a bad idea.

But from Greg, there had been no word.

The day was burning hot, the sun edging across Megan's feet, her toes sweating in her sneakers.

Megan rubbed Merlin's head for a moment and stood up.

She walked inside and re-read the email she had drafted to Greg.

Who'd have thought you and I were interesting enough to be in the paper?

And here was I thinking it was just a harmless little affair
.

It looks as though I might have to take up your suggestion of a career change after all. My principal called this morning. When I admitted that ‘Megan' from the article was actually me (there didn't seem much point in denying it), she made it very clear that my behaviour does not set a good example. She suggested an ‘unpaid sabbatical', which I think is public-service speak for ‘don't come back'
.

So maybe I'll check out programming after all
.

As for the rest of the group – who knows? Alice has called one last meeting at the bar tonight – God knows why. Hope she's wearing a bullet-proof vest
.

And you and I? Maybe my moral compass isn't totally defective. Maybe it just went a bit haywire for a while
.

It's time to finish this
.

I wish you well
.

Megan

She hit the send button.

Trudging into her bedroom, she kicked her shoes off. Jeans and singlet top dropped onto the floor and she pulled a rancid running shirt and shorts from the washing basket. White socks smudged with dirt were stuffed in the toe of her running shoes and she pulled them on.

She felt a fool before she even reached the roundabout at the end of the street. The sun forced sweat onto her forehead and her arms jerked awkwardly, her normal running rhythm lost in the heat.

Megan turned up the hill. The pain ripped through her muscles, but she leaned into it, forcing her body faster. She reached the top of the hill and fell back into a shambling run, pulling air into her lungs in gasping coughs. But still she kept going, up and down several more hills until finally she reached the river.

There wasn't even a cool breeze off the water, which sat slack and brown in the beating sunshine. Megan turned down the pathway alongside the river. Suddenly she could bear it no longer and stopped, head bent to her knees, as she fought to regain her breath.

‘And people call me senile …' An unmistakably old voice rasped out the words.

Megan turned, the motion tipping a river of sweat from her forehead into one eye. She rubbed at it, seeing the old man in a strangely familiar blur.

The sweat prickled her flushed face.

She attempted a smile. ‘You're right. Bloody stupid idea.'

Megan caught sight of the low-slung blond-brick building on the rise behind the river and it triggered her memory. ‘You sit here a bit, don't you? I've seen you before when I run past here.'

The old man nodded. ‘Hell of a lot more interesting outside than in.' He gestured with one sharply pointed shoulder at the retirement home behind him.

‘Guess so,' Megan answered.

‘Never seen you down here in the middle of the day though,' the man said. ‘Lost your job have you?' he pried shamelessly.

‘Looks like it,' Megan answered flatly.

A silence fell.

‘Pull up a pew if you like.' He gestured at the bench.

The bench sat in a pool of shade. Megan sat down on the far end.

‘I'm Ray,' the man introduced himself.

‘Nice to meet you. I'm Megan.'

‘Not a good day?' Ray asked conversationally.

‘Nope,' Megan replied.

Ray nodded slowly.

‘Likely to get any better?'

‘Nope.'

‘If you think you'll get any pithy proverbs from me, forget it,' he said. ‘I'm a grumpy old bastard.'

‘Good,' Megan replied. ‘Pithy proverbs would make me throw up right now.'

Ray nodded.

A blue and white city cat cruised past regally and their eyes followed it around the bend in the river.

‘Do you sit here all day?' Megan asked.

‘No,' Ray replied. ‘Just most of it. This bench is the reason I wanted to come here. Drove my son mad. Wouldn't take up any of the fancy new places on the north side of town. I stayed in my place until someone croaked and I got a bed here.'

Megan looked over at Ray. He was still staring over the water, face expressionless.

‘It's a nice spot,' she ventured.

‘Yep,' he answered.

‘Is the retirement place okay?'

‘Pretty good. Food's terrible but there you go. I put up with that for sixty-five years, a few more won't hurt.'

‘Sorry?' Megan asked, not understanding.

‘Beryl – my wife – was an awful cook. Never told her though. Sixty-five years we were married and I reckon she died thinking she was a gourmet chef.'

Megan turned and looked at the side of Ray's face. ‘You're telling me you were married to your wife for all that time and never told her she was a bad cook?'

Ray turned to her. ‘No, of course not. I loved her.'

Megan thought of her relationship with Greg. She thought of the nights out in bars drinking too much and of the frantic sessions of sex, knowing he wouldn't be staying the night. It all suddenly seemed rather sad.

It wasn't love – nothing even like it. She'd known that rationally, been told it by others, but she'd never quite believed it until now.

‘That was kind,' she said, looking at her dirty running shoes.

He snorted a laugh. ‘Kind? Nah, she'd have set on me with a wooden spoon if I'd complained. A real firecracker was my Beryl.' His eyes lit up as he said his wife's name.

Megan smiled, not believing him. She put her hands on her thighs and pushed herself up.

‘Don't suppose you like chocolate and beetroot cake, do you?' she asked impulsively.

‘Never had it. Doesn't sound good though,' Ray replied.

Megan laughed. ‘You're right. Sixty-five years is enough. Don't worry.'

She raised a hand goodbye. The old man nodded in reply and Megan took a couple of steps back toward the path.

On an impulse Megan stopped and turned around.

‘Do you remember when you yelled out something at me one day? You were sitting further up the hill, I couldn't hear you. I've always wondered what you said.'

Perhaps there was an answer, something that a lifetime of a good love had given him, which might give her some direction.

The old man paused for a second, an expression she couldn't place catching at the corner of his mouth.

‘Nice legs.'

Megan must have looked blank.

‘I told you that you had nice legs,' Ray repeated.

Megan laughed for the first time since she'd read the article.

A
lice's hands were shaking as she accepted the glass of white wine from the bartender. She was deliberately late, figuring it was better to confront everyone at once.

They were all there, sitting at the same table they had been at two months earlier: Rebecca, Claire, Kerry, Megan. Even Lillian.

Alice's hair sat loose on her shoulders, uneven kinks replacing the controlled waves of the first meeting. She was wearing jeans that she knew were frayed at the hems and just a little too tight. But her shoes and her lips were the same as at previous meetings – both defiantly red.

She had woken early that morning after a restless sleep punctuated by dreams. One thing she was certain about was that it couldn't end like this. She had to face everybody.

So before anyone else woke, Alice had sat down at her computer. Unable to access the website, she had typed an email to everyone.

The article was terrible for all of us. I'm sorry. If you can, come along to the bar tonight – 8 pm
.

Alice had gone through the motions of making breakfast and lunches. The children had eyed her warily as if wondering what she'd do next.

She'd driven past Lillian's house on the way home from the school, dropping a note in her mailbox. Lillian had left the group long ago, but she had been mentioned in the article, so Alice thought she had a right to be there.

As Alice walked to the table, she noticed a woman sitting at the bar. The woman was staring into her glass, gripping it tightly, and it was the tension in her that drew Alice's attention.

‘Other people have problems too,' she reminded herself as she forced her eyes back to the table.

Straightening her shoulders she walked over to them. The chair at the head of the table was empty, and Alice sank into it. She put her glass carefully on the table in front of her and looked up.

‘You all want to know how this happened,' she said without preamble. ‘I'm so sorry about the article, but it wasn't me. I truly don't know how the journalist had access to the website.'

Rebecca shook her head, a disbelieving smile on her face. ‘Come on, Alice. Do you really expect us to believe that? Only six of us had the password. One of us leaked the information. You haven't written a book for years and all of a sudden there's some sensational story about your new one. You're the only one who gets any benefit from the publicity. The rest of us just get the consequences.'

‘Hang on a minute,' Kerry said. ‘However it happened, it's done now. Is there any point in dwelling on why?'

Megan opened her mouth to reply, but Rebecca beat her to it.

‘Dwelling on it? Tell me you're joking? My daughter has had a car accident and my husband has left me. My in-laws have it in ink that my life is a disaster and you want to chalk it up to experience? No way!'

Megan leaned forward and spoke. ‘Apparently there is a petition circulating at school asking for my removal.' She paused and for a moment Alice thought she was going to cry.

Then Megan shook her head and when she spoke again it was with her normal aggression. ‘Okay Alice, so if you say it wasn't
you, then who did leak the story? I want to know who it was and I want to sue their asses off!'

Rebecca put down her glass with a clatter. ‘I've already checked it out. We put our diaries online. Someone else wrote about what was in them. It's not defamation because it's all true.'

‘Are you serious?' Megan was outraged. ‘How about invasion of privacy? Or breach of trust? How about –'

Megan broke off abruptly and the colour drained from her face. She was looking over Alice's shoulder.

‘How about encouraging marriage-wrecking behaviour?' came a voice Alice didn't know. ‘How about recklessly ruining the lives of innocent people who don't even care about your bullshit “little things”?'

Alice turned. The woman she'd noticed on the way in was standing beside her. She was clearly a little drunk and very, very angry.

‘You!' she pointed a red-nailed finger at Alice, ‘told one of these women,' the finger moved over the rest of the table, ‘to follow her own road. To find something that made her happy and to do it without thinking about the consequences.'

Alice was vaguely aware that the bar had fallen silent. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the bartender move toward the phone, clearly wondering if the police were going to be needed.

‘So she shagged my husband. Again. Shit, she even shagged him in my house. How's that for not worrying about the consequences?'

Alice looked back at Megan who was staring at the woman, transfixed.

‘Lucky for me, my husband has used the same password for his phone and emails for years. I know what he did. I even know about the night at my house.'

Alice's mind tumbled as she tried to make sense of everything.

‘Even luckier for me your ridiculous website made a great story. The editor loved it – reckons it's the best article I've sold him this year. Just a shame I had to use a pseudonym.'

The woman put out a hand against the wall to steady herself.
The silence echoed as everyone registered what she had said. Greg's wife was a journalist – it was she who had broken the story.

‘So now all I have to do is figure out which one is Megan.'

The woman's eyes swept over the group, settling on Rebecca. Megan's chair scraped as she stood up.

‘Deborah.'

Her gaze shifted reluctantly from Rebecca to Megan. They stared at each other for several seconds.

Deborah's words were low. ‘So this is what he wants.'

‘I'm sorry, Deborah.'

Deborah laughed harshly. ‘Yeah great, thanks. That helps a lot.'

‘It's over,' Megan told her.

‘Yes, I do know that,' Deborah said, a mock brightness in her voice. ‘And I know that it wasn't even my wonderful husband who finished it. It was you. Why?'

Megan didn't take her eyes off the older woman. ‘It just didn't seem right any more.'

‘Damn right it wasn't right,' Deborah yelled, anger back in full force. ‘Shame you didn't figure that out a bit earlier.'

She looked around wildly. ‘I hate you! I hate all of you and your stupid little tasks that ruin people's lives.'

Lillian spoke then. Her voice was soft but filled with quiet confidence. ‘We are very, very sorry for your loss.'

A tear tricked down Deborah's cheek. Then another.

‘I wish he had died,' she whispered. ‘It would have hurt less.'

Deborah turned back to Megan, rubbed her hand over her eyes and then shook her head. Slowly she turned and walked out of the bar.

There was a moment of shocked silence.

Alice looked over at Megan, who was still standing, hands gripping the edge of the table, eyes fixed on the glass in front of her.

Alice was filled with horror. She had caused this tragedy. Her pithy little suggestion had led to the destruction of a family.

‘It's not your fault, Alice.' Lillian's voice was firm. ‘Everyone
is responsible for their own actions. Just because Megan chose to take something you said to justify being with that woman's husband does not make it your fault.'

Megan sat down slowly and stared around at the group. She looked stunned, as if she'd just hit her head and was trying to figure out where she was.

‘I'm sorry,' she said softly.

More silence, as if no one could think of anything to say.

‘What I don't understand,' Kerry said finally, ‘is how Deborah got access to the website. She said she'd seen Greg's emails, which means the information must have been there.

‘That means,' he said, turning to Megan, ‘you sent him the password.'

Megan said nothing and Kerry kept speaking.

‘I can understand why you'd tell your boyfriend what you were doing. But why would you give him the website and the password? This group has been private, the deal has always been that we share personal stuff, all of us. It was only ever going to be read by other people if Alice wrote a book and changed all our names.'

Megan paled, but met Kerry's eye. ‘You're right. I told him the details, because I wanted him to look at the website.'

‘You were laughing at it, weren't you – at us?' It was Claire who spoke. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, her face clean of make-up.

‘Yes.' Megan didn't attempt to lie.

‘Does it occur to you that you're the same as us? You're not some superior being who can sit in judgement upon us poor mortals?'

Megan went to speak, but Claire put up her hand. ‘You don't realise, do you? You tried not to be part of it, not to tell us what you were about. But you did.

‘You're bitter about having a job that you hate. You can't make yourself open up enough for a proper relationship. So the best way to avoid anything too serious was to take up with a married guy. You don't get on with your family, you have no friends.'

‘Easy on, Claire,' Kerry tried to intervene.

‘It's okay, Kerry,' Megan held out a hand and Claire continued speaking.

‘You needed this group as much as any of us. It's made you realise these things – maybe even find a new direction. But just to prove you were too cool, you ridiculed the group, us, everything.'

‘I think that's too harsh, Claire,' Lillian said. ‘Things have happened to us all that we didn't expect. I think most of us still can't believe we were ever part of this group. It just … somehow happened.'

‘But you weren't part of the group,' Claire said. ‘You left.'

Lillian was quiet for a moment. ‘Actually, I didn't really.'

She smiled at the looks of confusion.

‘I just took a leave of absence while I was in Paris.'

Alice looked stunned, then laughed suddenly. ‘You went?'

Lillian nodded.

‘And?'

‘And did I meet a debonair French millionaire who fell hopelessly in love with me, besotted by my suburban charm? Well no … But I had a good time.' She smiled. ‘I had a very good time. And I realised that I wasn't buried with David.'

Claire leaned forward. ‘So there's someone else then?'

She looked like a schoolgirl, Alice thought. Despite the carnage that surrounded her, Claire was still able to be delighted at the prospect of a new romance.

‘No,' Lillian answered slowly, shaking her head. ‘I can't ask someone else to spend their days watching me for symptoms, trying to protect me from whatever this illness is. And I can't in all honesty be involved with someone who doesn't know. But that's okay. Sometimes it's better to be by yourself.'

‘Well I hope you're right,' Claire said, ‘because I'm about to find out for real. Peter has moved out.'

Her words hit Alice like blows. ‘Oh Claire, I'm so sorry … I never meant …'

Claire shook her head. ‘It wasn't the group. That just pushed us over the edge. We've done nothing but go through the motions for a long time now.'

Kerry spoke as he put his arm in the air, signalling for the waiter. ‘I think we need another drink,' he said.

‘Can I have a beer please?' he asked the waiter.

‘Actually,' he corrected himself a second later, ‘can you make it a water? I'm driving.'

No one else wanted a drink and there was a strained silence.

‘I want to apologise,' Alice said quietly. ‘What I wanted to do was to make everyone's lives a little better. Not to end relationships or cause tensions in families. I'm sorry.'

‘Don't kid yourself, Alice.' Megan had recovered her composure and her words were characteristically brusque. ‘You told us to bake cakes, do good deeds, buy pretty necklaces. We did the other stuff – not you.'

‘I think what Megan is trying to say – a little tactlessly,' said Lillian, ‘is that we don't blame you. We're all grown-ups and if we'd had perfect lives we'd never even have filled in your red folders.'

‘God, Lillian, speak for yourself. I've had my life turned upside down. I'll take my not so perfect life, thanks very much.' Rebecca banged her glass down on the table.

Lillian looked back at her, not even slightly intimidated. ‘Really? Would you really, Rebecca? You don't think that perhaps this group has shown you how badly you need to fix things?'

She pinned Rebecca with a gaze that Alice was sure would have been the equal of any Rebecca had seen in the business world.

Rebecca looked back at her defiantly. But after several seconds she looked away.

Lillian spoke again. ‘You all have lives. They can be good or bad. It's up to you.'

Lillian stood up.

‘Goodnight.'

She picked up her bag and left, her slight figure looking surprisingly strong as she walked out of the door.

Kerry spoke after several seconds. ‘You know what? How about we call it a day? What do you think, Madame Chairperson?'