Unravelled (15 page)

The reading of this part of the will did not go over well with the group of yacht club members. At her request Erin and I also had to be present at the reading which was to be just before the memorial service. I asked Adam to come with, which in hind sight might not have been a good idea. His eyes stretched about as wide as
Erin
’s at hearing all her eccentric requests. No one seemed to mind that she left me all her books, but they did raise their eyebrows when I got her house. Even I was surprised, but in a delighted way.
Erin
was not happy to inherit the cats, but bore it stoically. I’m secretly grateful to Pam for not giving me the cats. One big farting dog is all I can handle at this moment, thank you very much.

No objections were raised when the part was read about her ashes, even though I was waiting for plenty and very loud protestations. But Pam knew them – she knew that her stuck-up family members would get their knickers in a knot, but they would comply, if only to prove how tolerant they are, which we all know they are not. She also insisted on doing it at sunrise with “Imagine” by John Lennon playing at full volume in the background. We had to walk around the house seven times with James carrying her ashes. I must admit that I had a moment where I thought Pam must have been on a high from smoking marijuana (for the pain, of course) when she wrote this into her will. Even my eyes stretched a bit at this.

We left for the family farm late Tuesday afternoon and spend an awkward evening with Katherine constantly throwing panicked glances at the urn on the mantelpiece. This morning we got up early – none as early as Katherine though. She was dressed in her black Channel suit with the required well-bred string of pearls and a hat that looked like it made a force landing on her head. She had fresh coffee waiting for us in the kitchen and I truly tried my best to look awake.
Erin
– bless his soul – pressed a cup of coffee in my hand with a shock of sugar in it which almost had me ready to see the sun rise. I thought hard about it last night and I’m almost sure that this morning was the first time ever I saw the sun crawl over the horizon. Not an unsightly thing to witness, I must admit. I might do it more often. Or not.

It was at this ungodly hour that we started our march around the house with the music blaring from the open windows. For a moment I thought of the Bible story about Joshua who led the Israelites around the walls of
Jericho
seven times and when they blew on their trumpets the walls fell. That led me to utter a frowned-upon giggle and we continued our march with James grumbling all the way as he clutched the vessel with a hold that I feared would crush the porcelain urn.

It was on our third turn around the house that the wind started up. I had to bite down hard on my lip as Katherine had to use both hands to hold her large designer hat on her head. It was on our sixth turn that all hell broke loose. James and Katherine had locked their dogs in the shed in fear of ruining the sombre moment. Somehow the Labrador female broke out and came galloping, like only
Labradors
do, towards us.

No matter how many dog trainers they’ve had, Gilly hasn’t been able to control her gusto and would always bounce around. She was especially fond of James and would come racing around the house every time he arrived home. I’ve had a moment in the car to reflect on how many amusing incidents in my life have been connected to dogs. What could be the deeper meaning of this? I should Google this. But, I digress.

Life took on that surreal feeling that, in my life, is reserved for accidents and boyfriends breaking up with me, while I watched Gilly gallop over the large lawn towards us and heard Katherine shout “no!”. This happened in Hollywood-style slow motion with her Dior lipsticked lips forming a perfectly rounded “o”. Gilly connected at full speed with James’ legs in happy greetings. The urn flew from James’ hands and shattered on the ground. The wind acted in perfect accordance with this moment and immediately picked up Pam’s ashes to whirl it around us and spread it all over the carefully tended garden. I stood there with my mouth shut very tightly even though I wanted to open wide and let the laughter bellow from my mouth. I mean, I really loved Pam, but did not want to breathe her in.

In that moment I so wished that Pam was there, so that I could tell her yet again how Fate makes fools of us all the time. Why else would this kind of thing happen?

James had picked up what was left of the urn and was trying to gather what was left of Pam’s ashes and put it back in the bottom shards of the urn. The wind did not allow him to get much before it picked up speed and took Pam even further away from us. James sat on his knees on the front lawn in his black suit with his arms stretched out towards the whirlwind and howled just when Gilly started chasing a bird to the other side of the yard.

“Pam, come back!” James’ futile order broke my temporary paralysis and I uttered a very unladylike snort. Erin and I made eye contact and that was the end of our composure. We laughed so hard that I had to sit down on the lawn next to a very flustered James. I did take care though to not sit on what was left of Pam. I mean, how would I explain the strange dust on my black trouser pants to the dry cleaner?

I looked up and saw that even Adam had a large smile on his face, but in his controlled manner turned away so that no one could see it. Katherine was fluttering around with her white embroidered hankie pressed to her mouth, mumbling to herself.

“Alex, please!” Adam’s order brings me back to the present. He’s been very gentlemanly about the whole episode, but I’m sure that it was a bit much for this man who did not stand in line when a strange sense of humour was handed out. The whole episode appealed to my and
Erin
’s sense of humour and I know that Pam would’ve loved it. I won’t be surprised if she made a deal with the wind-gods to give us that spectacle. She never agreed with my view on Fate having fun with human beings, but I think that after today, she might’ve changed her mind.

“I’m sorry Adam, but surely you can see the humour in this.”

“I can, but feel it is inappropriate to enjoy it as much as you and Erin seem to do.”

I choose to ignore his judgemental tone of voice. “Oh come on. Pam would’ve loved it. She wanted to be in the garden in any case.”

“Gmph.”

“And it serves James and Katherine right. They were always judgemental of her life. It was her last act of defiance towards their disapproval of her life choices.”

“Hmm.”

“And at least no one had to work her into the ground. The wind did all the work for us by spreading her everywhere.”

“Humph.” Adam is at the sound-making stage.

“Oh all right! You know, talking to you when you “gmph” and “hmm” and “humph” is as interesting as watching paint dry.” I tsk at him – just to get my own sound effect in – and turn to look out the window again.

I must’ve nodded off. We’ve stopped at a fuel station and Adam is touching my face with the back of his fingers. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. We’re fuelling up and stopping for a coffee.”

“Hmm,” is all I can manage as thoughts start rushing through my head. I’m not a good sleeper when travelling. I usually land up with my mouth open, drooling and making strangled noises. So
Erin
told me. Oh dear! I hope I didn’t do any of that. I’m still smarting from the ‘ugly cry’ and don’t want to lower myself even more on my personal dignity scale. I look at Adam trying to detect laughter or any form of mocking in his eyes. Another kind of look in his eyes registers in my muddled brain and I blink a few times as unwelcome butterflies start flapping in my stomach.

Since I’ve moved in with Adam, I’ve seen that look a few times. His eyes are burning into mine and I’m convinced that he’s imagining things that would only be on late-night TV. I know that right now I’m imagining running my hands through his hair. Then I’ll slowly unbutton his shirt, while exploring every inch of his muscular chest. I’ll let my hands slowly lower over his stomach until I reach… Wait. Stop. I have to get away from him so that I can stop thinking these things.

I turn away from him, open the door and swing my legs out assuming that the rest of my body would follow. In a few moments I would be standing next to the car, away from that look that only leads to anguish (and delightful pleasure). Only, this is not what happens. I’m pulled back into the car with a force that knocks the air from my lungs and nearly cuts my body in half. My head bounces against the head rest, my feet dangle like a rag doll’s out the door and I feel very confused.

I look at Adam and his face does the Olympics of wry as he leans very close to me. His hand touches my hip and I hear a click where his hand is.

“You need to unbuckle before you get out the car.” His tone is the one he’s been using on me when I do something silly and he finds it highly amusing. How, I pray ask, how do you respond in a situation like this? I offer him a something that should be categorised as a laugh, but sounds more like a seal in mating season, and search for my handbag by my feet.

I feel like bouncing my head against the dashboard in an attempt to rid myself of this ghost-of-daftness that has possessed me. Instead I concentrate on my posture in an attempt to gain composure and climb out of the car with as much dignity as one can muster in such dire circumstances.

“Ready?” Adam is leaning against the front of the car with a nonchalance that I envy and hate him for at this moment.

“I suppose so.” Why do I sound so defiant? I focus on my breathing and smile at Adam with sincerity and hope it comes through in my voice. “Let’s go.”

He moves away from the car and we walk to the roadside restaurant. I’m sure any respected restaurant critic would not define this establishment as such, but at least that is how they define themselves and we should give them that. Actually, it’s a greasy spoon, but looks clean enough to have coffee. Hopefully it’s not been brewing the whole day waiting to burn holes in our stomach linings. I excuse myself and toddle of to the ladies, which is mercifully clean. I rush to the mirror to make sure that I don’t look as sleepy as I feel and stand there staring at myself in the faded mirror.

“Alexandra Fields, what are you going to do?” I say this in a huge sigh and look deep into my hazel-coloured eyes to find an answer. That burning look that I got from Adam in the car is truly scaring me. As exciting as a fling with him would be, my past has proved to me eight times (to be exact) that I should never be in any kind of relationship. Not even the sex-only-no-strings-attached kind worked for me.

I lean closer to the mirror and groan when I see the beginnings of an unwelcome zit on my top lip. Why do they always appear in the most obvious and most painful places, and never behind one’s ear? I decide to cover it up with a litre of that special cream Juan gave me when I get home tonight. I wish I had a special cream to cover up my growing feelings for Adam to make it disappear like this unwanted zit. And then I giggle out loud in the wash room – I just compared Adam to a zit. I’m rather convinced that he would not appreciate this analogy.

Another woman walks into the wash room and gives me a strange look. I suppose standing close to a mirror and grinning into it like a fool would look suspicious, so I do what I came to the loo for and on my way out give myself one last once over in the mirror. Why is he interested in me? He is so gorgeous, surely he can have any woman he wants. Why me? But more importantly, why do I even think about this? I pull myself up into the confident pose and give myself a stern look in the mirror.

I will be strong. I will be strong. I will be strong.

Chapter 13

“Marry me, Alex.” Everybody bursts out laughing when Charles asks me for the fourth time.

“Oh, Charles. You are too good a man for me.” More laughter. “You deserve so much more.”

“He deserves exactly what he has,” another man whose name I can’t remember says. Charles’ wife Anne left not long after I arrived and she seemed a very spirited woman. In other words she’s a woman who does not take nonsense. The last comment inspires a toast and I feel warm inside. It’s Friday night and I’m in Earl’s pub with the ‘gentlemen’ from my pool night. The last two days has been busy but good. Adam and I arrived home late Wednesday evening, with no other embarrassing events. When I got into the office yesterday morning I was welcomed by a succession of phone calls and have not stopped since. This little gathering at the pub is supposed to be festival related, but the guys are having too much fun and I’ve not been successful at getting them to focus on the festival.

“C'mon Alex! Just another round of beer and then we can talk buhznizz.”

“I tell you what we’ll do. Instead of another round of beer, why don’t we play a round of pool and we can talk about the festival as I whip your butts?” This has the predictable effect of load protestations and before you can say, ‘How now brown cow?’ we are all at the pool table with cues in our hands and the men are arguing about whose team I will be on. What throws me is that they are not arguing to not have me (that used to happen all the time at school), but the two teams both want me to help them lose. Never have I felt this wanted. Except for the few times Adam looked at me like that. But I suppose we’re not talking about the same kind of want then.