We All Fall Down (21 page)

‘I'll take your word for it.'

‘I have to tell you, water is a licence to print money. A large percentage of the population believes it has to drink lots of water every day to be healthy, and if those people want to be really healthy, then they have to drink bottled water. They can't get enough of the stuff. We don't even have to create the demand. It's already there.'

* * *

Less than a dozen people went back to Caitlin's place. It was a subdued gathering. Mr. and Mrs. Bricknell clung to their glasses of wine with the enthusiasm of drowning people clinging to a log. They sipped from their glasses rarely, and so tentatively they might have been testing the liquid for traces of poison. They were both dry eyed, but Hugh suspected their emotional energy was fully taken up with worrying about whether or not they'd find their hotel later. ‘We're not used to the city,' they informed many different people. ‘We're only staying the one night. We might try and get in a show. You see, we have animals at home that need feeding.'

In the kitchen, Caitlin was sobbing. ‘I think she killed herself. I know I shouldn't say that, but I think she did.'

Hugh and Penny stared at each other, shocked. The three of them were the only people in the kitchen.

‘She was so depressed.'

‘About losing her job?' he asked.

‘And everything else. Being alone, living in the city … everything, really.'

‘Wouldn't she have left a note?' Penny asked. ‘If it had been suicide,' she added.

‘Perhaps she felt she had no one to leave a note to. Imagine that, being so alone.' Caitlin put down the glass she was holding to tear off some kitchen towel and blow her nose. Hugh wondered if he should put his arms round her, try and comfort her, but thought it more appropriate if Penny did that kind of thing.

‘I'm sure that's not true,' he said. ‘Maybe she didn't want to –'

‘I'm telling you, Hugh, she had no one to leave a note to. Or that's what she thought. And that's fucking sad. She never even considered me …' She started crying again. He put an arm round her then.

‘I'm sure she did.'

‘What?' Raising her head from his chest, looking up at him.

‘I'm sure she considered you. It's just –'

‘I'm telling you, she never thought of me.' And she thrust her head belligerently back against his chest.

‘I think you could be wrong.' He addressed the top of her head. ‘I think it could just have been a car accident. She'd drunk quite a bit, someone told me.'

‘Yes, and Fiona never drank and drove, never. That's why I think she killed herself. She needed some Dutch courage. It's so awful.'

Penny said, ‘Caitlin, when someone decides they've had enough, no one can do anything. No one can make them change their mind.'

‘I might have done.'

Penny and Hugh exchanged a look over the top of Caitlin's head.

‘What about her parents …?'

‘She never had two words to say to them.'

‘She didn't have any siblings, did she?' He could feel Caitlin's breasts against his arm. He liked the feeling, but thought he should move away; it didn't seem appropriate. Penny grinned at him, as if she sensed his discomfort.

‘She was an only child.' Caitlin blew her nose again. ‘She was a fucking writer and she never wrote a note, never wrote down why she wanted to leave us. Imagine that, a writer not bothering to have her final say.'

Hugh agreed that it didn't make much sense.

‘And if anyone else tells me how fucking good she was at her job, I'll clock them, I really will.'

Penny laughed. ‘I know what you mean.'

Looking up at Hugh, ‘She hated your business, I'm sure you know that. She hated the hypocrisy, the double standards, the sheer ineptitude of the people she had to deal with – you two excluded, of course.'

Caitlin put a hand briefly on his arm, and at that moment he almost bent down to kiss her. If it hadn't been for the presence of Penny, and if he hadn't been worried about what his dead friend might have thought, he probably would have kissed her – although there was also the small matter of his wife.

‘She's well out of it if you ask me.' And Caitlin took another mouthful of wine.

Hugh stared out of the window and wondered at the emptiness of it all.

‘You know what she wanted to do more than anything? To get out of Sydney and go back to Armidale. That's the place she loved. She wanted horses.'

Penny said, ‘I remember her being crazy about horses when she was in London. She used to go riding in Hyde Park.'

Hugh had never associated Fiona with horses.

They went back into the living room. People were talking about football, about whether Sydney would make it to the Grand Final again this year. It didn't seem right to Hugh. Fiona had left them forever; a human being whom they'd all known, and many of them had loved, was no longer in this world, and yet here was everyone, within minutes of her leaving, putting her out of their minds to talk about football. It wasn't decent.

Later, long after most people had left, he made his excuses. Caitlin clutched his arm. ‘You don't have to leave yet, Hugh. I'm going to open another bottle. We'll toast Fi.' She was like a child, desperate not to be left alone in the dark.

‘But we've already done that,' he slurred. ‘Can't go on doing it, you know, Caitlin.'

‘Yes, we can.' She giggled. ‘No harm in doing it again. Fi'd like that. Just her real friends this time.'

‘No, really I have to go, Caitlin. Expected back home, you know …' He faded away, even though he was trying to remain present. Talking was too much of an effort, and he couldn't cope with becoming immersed in her sorrow; he might drown. He leant forward to kiss her on the cheek, but she moved her head and he was suddenly kissing her on the lips. They were still salty. She moved closer to him. He tried to pull away.
I'm a married man
, he thought;
this isn't good
. She was looking up at him, her eyes earnest, searching his. ‘Why don't you stay? I don't want to be by myself.' He tried to get his thoughts together, to find something appropriate to say, so that he could leave without upsetting her. He was rescued by Penny, standing close by, a half amused expression on her face. ‘You're not driving, are you? Not in your state.'

He tried to look indignant. ‘What's wrong with my state?' She rolled her eyes. ‘No, I'm not driving.' He disengaged himself gently from Caitlin, who looked spurned, or scorned, or maybe just disappointed. ‘I'll get a cab.'

‘Want to share?'

‘Sure, that'll be great.'

‘You're going to Central, aren't you?'

‘You're all leaving me,' said Caitlin. ‘How can you?'

Outside, it was getting dark. There was a bustle about the streets, the rush of people leaving their workplaces and returning to their homes.

They sat side by side in the back of the cab in silence. He wanted to shut his eyes, but felt compelled to be polite. He said, ‘Caitlin's very upset.'

She smiled at him in the gloom. ‘Why didn't you stay and console her?'

He wasn't sure what she meant. ‘I'm the one who needs consoling.'

‘That's sounding just a little self-pitying.'

‘Sorry.'

‘Don't be.'

He was slumped in his seat, his body language reflecting his inner state. ‘Don't think I'm travelling too well right now.'

She reached across and put a hand on his arm. ‘Is it the wine?'

‘I feel bad about Fiona.'

‘I think we all do.' She squeezed his arm.

Outside the cab, the road was a flood of lights, a fast flowing river of white in one direction and, on their side, a sluggish, almost stationary flow of red.

‘I never called her back, Penny. She called me, and I never called her back. I should have done. That's all it might have taken.'

‘You can't blame yourself.'

‘Well, I do.' It was said almost petulantly. ‘That's the trouble, I do.'

The taxi driver said something. Hugh didn't catch it, and was too tired to ask him to repeat whatever he'd said, but Penny answered him. The taxi braked, and he was flung forwards. The taxi driver swore at another driver.

‘You should put your belt on,' she said. He fumbled around with the strap. She helped him, and their hands touched. His hand suddenly became the only part of his body that he was aware of.

He must have dozed off for a minute or two. He opened his eyes. The lights had all gone. The street outside was dark. She was talking. ‘Sorry?'

‘Do you want to come up? Not sure you're up to catching a train, to be honest. Let me give you a coffee.' She paid the driver, and she put an arm through his as they walked into a block of apartments.

‘Where are we?'

‘Sydney.'

‘Ha ha. You know what I mean.'

‘Glebe.'

The apartment was very Penny, he thought. ‘It's very you,' he said to the empty doorway leading into the kitchen.

‘You mean vulgar and rather over the top?'

He looked round the room, taking in the deep sofa, an old armchair, a modern stainless steel standard lamp, the shelves of books and the paintings on the walls. ‘Maybe it's the books,' he said, but so quietly she couldn't possibly have heard. The room was tasteful, he supposed, and feminine. It wasn't dominated by a TV to start with. ‘Where's your TV?'

‘In the bedroom. You're not wanting to watch something, I hope?'

‘It would be a good excuse to go into the bedroom.'

‘What did you say?' She put her head round the kitchen door.

‘I said it would be a good excuse to go through to your bedroom.'

She stared at him intently. ‘I wouldn't have thought you'd need one.'

He raised his arms feebly, then let them fall back onto the sofa. He could tell she was more sober than he was, and he felt at a disadvantage.

‘I'm not sure it would be worth my while taking you into the bedroom right now, Mr. Drysdale.' And she disappeared back into the kitchen. ‘Coffee coming up.'

She brought through a tray, and put on some music. ‘Are you OK?'

He shook his head. He was hunched forward, holding the mug, looking down at the carpet. He felt he was about to topple forwards onto it.

He told her how Fiona wanted to go into business with him, set up their own agency, and how he'd put off making a decision. He was a little incoherent. ‘I didn't say no to her, but I didn't say yes either.'

‘That's understandable. She wouldn't have expected you to make a decision straight off like that.'

‘I think she did. And, anyway, it was so the right thing to do. I can see that now. I was mad to even stop and think about it.' He took a sip of coffee. ‘I let her down, Penny, I know I did.' He felt the tears well up. He turned away.

She reached out and clasped his arm. ‘Hugh, you can't blame yourself for this, you really can't. If someone's going to take their own life, they'll do it no matter what. And, anyway, it could have been an accident, a genuine accident.'

‘You know it wasn't.'

She moved closer to him, and put her arm round his shoulders. He fell against her, closing his eyes. It was so comfortable, so reassuring … but almost immediately he lurched upright, moving away from her. ‘I'm sorry.'

She looked at him, puzzled. Suddenly she was no longer Penny. She wasn't being funny or outrageous, she simply wanted to comfort him. He leant towards her, half expecting her to leap backwards or to crack a joke, or in some way not to take him seriously, but at the same time he knew she wouldn't do any of those things, not this time. He placed his lips on hers. She responded. And they kissed more deeply.

In the bedroom, as he undressed, he attempted to shut from his mind, push it back into the blur of alcohol that was befuddling his brain, the image of his wife, facing him, as if in a portrait. Undressing was like attempting to take his clothes off inside a washing machine, on spin mode, but at least it made it a little easier not to focus on Kate. He was lying flat on his back in bed when Penny came out of the bathroom.

She opened the bedside cabinet and dropped a condom onto the bed. ‘I don't suppose you have one of those on you.'

It was all too rushed, too fast, and he was too drunk to appreciate what was going on, and he wished later that it hadn't been like that, not the first time, not after waiting so long. It was almost meaningless, and it shouldn't have been like that, not with Penny.

They both dozed. When he woke up, he almost groaned. She was lying beside him, watching him, a patient smile on her face, like he was a kid who'd done something naughty, but she wasn't going to let herself get too upset about it. ‘Feel better now?'

He sat up. The sheet was pulled off her breasts and she didn't bother to cover them.
They're beautiful
, he thought – just as he remembered them from that London pub. ‘You've always had beautiful breasts, you know.'

She grinned. ‘Bet you say that to all the girls.'

He turned away, ‘God, I need a drink.'

‘Not alcohol, I hope?'

‘Water.' He got out of bed, being careful to keep his back to her. He slipped on his underpants.

‘My, we are being modest.'

In the kitchen he closed his eyes as he drank two glasses of water in quick succession.
How stupid, how bloody stupid
. He had to get home. He looked at his watch. He'd already missed his usual train. He'd have to come up with something, with a story. He'd have to put things right.

Penny regarded him with a mocking smile when he returned to the bedroom. He was picking his clothes up off the floor. She patted the bed next to her.

‘What?'

‘Hugh, come back into bed. You're not leaving like this.'