Keep Hold Page 7

  She shook the notion from her mind. Her entire thought process was ridiculous. Of course Claire wasn’t attracted to her. She unfolded the newspaper and read an entire paragraph on the British royal family without comprehending a single word. She felt a little flutter in her stomach.

  The thought that Claire might find her attractive was flattering. The fluttering grew.

  She tossed the paper on the coffee table and distracted herself by hobbling outside for some fresh air.

  Chapter Nine

  With the sun beating down at a scorching thirty-six degrees, Claire retreated to the far end of the garden under the wide-reaching branches of the imposing willow tree. From the corner of her eye, she watched Kathryn recline on the sun lounge near the patio doors and switch the radio on.

  It was one of those days where, further inland, it would be scorching hot. If the wind picked up, it usually signified a recipe for disaster. She assumed Kathryn was listening for any updates on bush fires. The heat was rising. After the fires of 2009, it seemed all of Victoria, and indeed the country, was watching and waiting. It hadn’t rained for months, but preparations to contain scrub and dry undergrowth had been under way in fire-prone areas for a long time now.

  Claire loved summer and coped with the heat better than most. She firmly pressed her iPod ear buds in and listened to relaxing forest sounds as she attempted to centre herself with t’ai chi. The heat acted as a blanket, restricting her thoughts by reducing them to tiny, insignificant fragments.

  Wearing only a crop top and shorts, she attracted the attention of the old man next door who bobbed up and down near the fence, copping a look now and then.

  When she turned, she saw that Kathryn had moved to sit against the trunk of the willow tree. She removed the buds from her ears. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “Do you do t’ai chi?”

  Kathryn laughed. “I’d always thought I’d enjoy Yoga or Pilates or anything that would empty my mind, but as with everything else in my life with Andy, I never took time for myself. I’m embarrassed to say all the best intentions in the world never got me to one single class.”

  Claire briefly wondered if all the time she spent running and doing t’ai chi alone contributed to her breakup. Victoria had zero interest in physical activity beyond the bedroom.

  She changed the subject. “Your ankle okay still?”

  “Yeah, it’s good. Well, it is when I sit.”

  “Good.”

  With nothing else to say, Claire inhaled deeply and attempted to refocus. It was useless. “Are you just going to sit and watch me?”

  “Do you mind? Thought I might get some tips. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

  Claire shrugged. “Sure, I don’t mind. You’ll get bored though, I guarantee it.” She turned her back and replaced her buds before remembering something. Shyly, she faced Kathryn again. “Thank you for writing in my notebook.” Beads of sweat dripped from her neck before disappearing between her breasts. “I read it this morning at some ungodly hour. It helped.” She lowered her head. “So, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I knew you wouldn’t ask me, so I just did it.”

  She was right. Claire wouldn’t have asked for her contribution. Slightly embarrassed, she turned her back, replaced her ear buds, and continued where she had left off in the smothering heat.

  After forty-five minutes, Claire finished her workout. Kathryn had fallen asleep, slumped against the tree trunk, breathing heavily.

  Conscious of her need to rehydrate, Claire retrieved a jug of iced water and two glasses. The cool, fresh water was heavenly, and she lay flat on her back alongside Kathryn for many minutes before she, too, fell asleep.

  When Claire woke, Kathryn sat sipping the iceless water, staring at her. “I bet you never snore,” she said.

  Claire rolled onto her stomach, stretching her back with half push-ups. “What makes you say that?”

  “I admit I’ve rarely paid such close attention to many people sleeping before, but you looked so peaceful.”

  “How long do you think I slept for?”

  “Not long.” Kathryn smiled knowingly. “Not long enough to dream I don’t think, sorry.”

  “Well, at least I didn’t scream the neighbourhood down.” Claire half laughed. “Did your husband snore?”

  “Yep, the snotty bastard. I used to go to bed at least an hour before him. If I wasn’t asleep, I’d pretend. Then he’d fall asleep and I’d lie awake half the night listening to him.” She shook her head. “Is that normal?”

  Claire laughed. “You’re asking the perverted lesbo if that’s normal? As if I’d know.”

  Kathryn shot her a warning glance. “Can we just leave that alone, please? I feel bad enough as it is.”

  Claire grinned, an awkward apology. “Why did you pretend to be asleep when you weren’t?”

  “Why do you think? You’re not that naive, surely.”

  No, Claire wasn’t that naive, and since Kathryn had asked, she answered. “So you didn’t have to have sex with your husband.”

  “You’ve never had to do that, have you?”

  Claire smiled. “Have sex with your husband? Nope.”

  “God, you’re a smart-arse.”

  “It’s my most endearing quality, but seriously, no, I can’t say I’ve ever pretended to be asleep to avoid sex. I honestly don’t understand why it’s even necessary. I mean, of course I understand that you didn’t want to have sex, and I can see why you might, for convenience sake, pretend to be asleep once or twice, but why didn’t you just talk about it, fix it in the long term?”

  “Fix what?” Kathryn’s tone suggested long endured frustration. “According to Andy, the only thing to fix was me. It was my problem that I didn’t want to have sex every night. It was my problem I couldn’t fulfil my duty as a wife. There was something really wrong with me, or so he’d say.” She eyed Claire. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

  Claire had a few friends with marital problems, and equally as many living in wedded bliss. How was she to answer such a personal question? She swallowed hard. “Well, if you and I were together, and you avoided having sex with me, other than for the obvious reason that you’re actually straight, I’d be devastated.”

  “Yeah, just like Andy.” Kathryn sighed.

  “No, hang on, no way. Nothing like Andy.” Claire sat up to explain. “I’d be asking why and expecting honest answers, unless it was a casual sex thing, in which case you wouldn’t have to behave that way, you’d just stop having sex with me. I think if you’re in someone’s bed every night, it’s because you like having sex with them, or you love them, preferably both.”

  “But I did love Andy,” Kathryn protested half-heartedly. “Well, I thought I did.”

  “Really?”

  “I was married to him for fifteen years.”

  “Didn’t you discuss this with your therapist?”

  “Of course, at great length, but I’m interested to hear your opinion.”

  “Look, I’m no expert, but if you loved him so much why’d you have to pretend every night? Why couldn’t you speak to him about your sex life?

  “Love means different things to different people, but if that were us, I’d be really interested to know why you behaved that way. Was it as a result of my behaviour in the first place? Do we have different libidos? Is there something wrong with the sex? Would you prefer we experimented, something different? Somewhere different? Your happiness and enjoyment would be equally important as mine.”

  “God, you sound like a saint. Victoria must need her head read.” Kathryn winced. “Sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

  “It’s okay.” Claire held her head high. “And you’re right; she was a twit to let me go.”

  “Thatta girl.”

  They exchanged a warm smile before Kathryn continued. “It was nothing like that with Andy. We never really talked about sex or about our roles in the relationship at all. I was ex
pected to cook, clean, do the washing, ironing, and keep the house tidy. He mowed the lawns. We only ever had sex in the missionary position.”

  “It sounds very traditional.”

  Kathryn screwed up her face. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

  “Was your orgasm important to him?” Claire gambled on prying so personally.

  Kathryn huffed. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Sexually inhibited women like me are apparently better at getting themselves off. It was best if I just made my own arrangements to orgasm.”

  Claire’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

  Kathryn slumped even further down the tree trunk. “You orgasm every time, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. I certainly try to make sure my partner does.” Claire raised her eyebrows apologetically.

  “I wasted my time with him, didn’t I?”

  “Not at all,” Claire said. “View it as a learning curve. Now at least you know exactly what you don’t want, and hopefully you have a good idea about what you do want, what you should look for in the future.”

  “I guess.”

  “My best advice.” Claire winked. “Get yourself a good woman.”

  Chapter Ten

  What was left in Claire’s apartment was all hers. What was left.

  Everything trendy, modern, and technologically advanced beyond the nineties had been Victoria’s, with the exception of Claire’s iPod and laptop. The TV, stereo, Blu-ray recorder, home theatre system, food processor, juicer, and of course the coffee machine all belonged to Victoria.

  The rest, hardly amounting to much in value, and mostly old second-hand furniture, was to be placed in storage.

  Murray had kindly offered the services of her husband, Steve, to assist in the clean out. He was an engineer and drove a shiny silver 4x4 that pulled a shiny silver trailer. Within a few hours, all of Claire’s worldly goods would be snugly loaded and en route to a storage location she would share with Kathryn when her container arrived after the house was sold.

  It was off limits for Jess to do any heavy lifting, especially in the heat, so she dusted and vacuumed looking radiantly pregnant in linen pants and a tank top. Alex had her regular Saturday shift at the clinic so was absent, and Kathryn had insisted on helping even though her ankle still couldn’t support her full weight. In fact, Kathryn was ruthless.

  “Can I throw this dinner set out?” She held aloft a cup as if it were diseased, barely gripping it with her thumb and index finger. “I think the blue and white stripe look went out a while ago now.”

  Claire nodded despairingly, just like she continued to nod when Kathryn raised her eyebrows and asked about her glass top coffee table, her jumble sale wall clock that ticked too loudly, her bright yellow lava lamp, and finally, the plastic hand that once held the TV remote (which Victoria took), so now just sat there, empty-handed.

  After living overseas with few material possessions, Claire had returned home and kept things simple. She liked living “light,” as she called it. Victoria had called it living cheap. Claire loved reading, but never bought new books, only second-hand, and she never kept them, always passing them on to share the joy. Victoria hated reading anything other than real life non-fiction, and there was no way she would ever give her books away, let alone read a second-hand one.

  Disillusioned by the process and the possibility of four wasted years, Claire wandered aimlessly through the space she used to call home. The tiny backyard appeared neglected already, but the contents of the shed had been taken away so James, the new tenant, would have to deal with the long grass and weeds when he arrived.

  A huge part of Claire didn’t want to be there packing up and driving the final nail into the coffin that was her miserable life. However, this mess was hers, and the sooner she sorted it, the better.

  She stood in the kitchen where it all began to go wrong months ago. In reality, it had been wrong for a long time, but Claire remembered that Saturday morning with disturbing clarity. Victoria had begun her Saturday morning with a massive clean out. Her excuse—lighten the load and rejuvenate. Claire had kissed Victoria on the top of the head and left for a long run, returning to eat breakfast and read the paper in the garden. The entire time, she veiled a smug grin; after four years, Victoria was finally coming round to the concept of living “light.” Claire secretly felt triumphant.

  Her euphoric sense of victory was only an illusion. She failed to notice the seven boxes Victoria had carefully packed and stacked behind the study door. She failed to notice that the clothes she had left in the wardrobe—neatly packing the rest—were only enough to last two weeks.

  She had been a naive fool. Her stupidity made her feel sick.

  What also induced a wave of nausea every time she thought about it was the annual leave Victoria had taken for the entirety of their final two weeks together. With the exception of the odd day here or there, they had always taken leave together. This unexpected leave wasn’t discussed, planned, or even mentioned, not until the Friday evening when Victoria had dined with workmates and returned home drunk, announcing she was taking two weeks off.

  Now, the humiliating, gut-wrenching truth slapped Claire squarely in the face. It hadn’t been annual leave, it was permanent leave, and the dinner and drinks had been her farewell.

  Upsetting Claire now, more than anything, was her own behaviour leading up to that Saturday morning. She was so wrapped up in herself, her own life, that she hadn’t paid Victoria enough attention. Was the fact that she hadn’t even realised Victoria had packed up her belongings and resigned from her job an indication that she took her for granted?

  As she was about to unplug her ancient black and tacky wood-grain panelled answering machine, Claire noticed the tiny green light flash. Victoria hated the machine, and Claire had promised to throw it away when the tape eventually wore out, but it still worked as good as gold. She rewound the tape and pressed play, hearing her own voice requesting the caller to leave a message. It wasn’t until she heard Victoria’s voice that she froze, riveted. “Claire, it’s me. I’m settled in now. Thought you might like to know, maybe not though. Anyway, our term deposit matured. You probably didn’t remember we had one. I withdrew the entire amount. Mum says I should keep it all, says you probably owe me, but that doesn’t feel right, so I’ll transfer half back to you as soon as I can. Berlin is great, but you already know that. Well, that’s all I wanted to say, I guess.” There was a long pause. “Um, I miss you.”

  The final words were mumbled, barely audible, but it didn’t stop the growing ball of anger rising in Claire’s chest. Victoria had been right; she had forgotten about the investment. To her annoyance, rage exploded with the gushing of tears and the catapulting of the vase she was holding against the kitchen door. Her mind became a jumbled mess of thoughts, conversations, and emotions. She felt Victoria’s hands all over her body, but she didn’t feel the love she thought they had shared. Love would have been making decisions together. Love would have been telling the truth, not lying, not hiding, not deceiving, and certainly not leaving.

  Thankfully, there was no one around to witness her loss of control. Jess went home after a gallant contribution, and Kathryn had left with Steve and the laden truck to finalise the paperwork at the storage facility.

  Desperate for distraction, Claire remembered the half empty bottle of ouzo she’d thrown in the rubbish. She wouldn’t normally throw out alcohol, but she had no idea how long the ouzo had been there, she couldn’t recall ever buying it, and didn’t really like ouzo, but neither did Victoria—although Victoria had been full of surprises lately.

  The first gulp burned, but the second, now tasting more like a delicious liquorice lolly, slid down her throat as if heaven sent. Claire relaxed and her anger subsided. “Fuck you, Victoria Francis Wallace,” Claire said, taking another huge swig. “And fuck your mother, too!”

  She stood and raised the bottle to the empty space where the coffee machine used to live. “Fuck you, overpric
ed coffee maker.”

  The alcohol warmly saturated every cell of her body, providing her with the appealing sensation of thawing from the inside out. She loved that feeling and likened it to the aftermath of a satisfying orgasm. Claire skipped to the now empty bedroom, gulping frantically. “Fuck you, bedroom where we used to have sex.”

  There was little ouzo left now, but she bounced into every other room where she and Victoria had made love, and repeated the same toast, draining the bottle completely.

  Claire felt as light as a feather and skipped through the house and into the garden. Music, I need music. The radio was gone, so she pulled her iPod and earphones from her satchel and turned the volume up nice and loud. Feeling warm and fuzzy thanks to the ouzo, she danced throughout the house, in every room and around the tiny garden. Claire dirty-danced with doorframes and dry humped the bathroom vanity. Empty toilet roll in hand—a makeshift microphone—she sang at the top of her lungs.

  Ouzo was fabulously Greek, her new Greek best friend—although she didn’t recall ever having had this much fun on her travels through Greece. Cheap beer, cheap gyros, and the attention of a young Greek goddess had certainly made Athens memorable though. Then, remembering the dinner set and other crockery Kathryn had culled, she dragged the rubbish bin inside, retrieved the crockery, and began smashing the plates back into the bin.

  Claire was having the time of her life. Nothing on her iPod vaguely resembled Greek music, traditional or otherwise, but she seemed to smash along quite well to the beat of every song.

  In her ears, where the music filled her head, her singing sounded wonderful. The taste of ouzo remained on her lips and she longed for more, but for the moment, she relished the warm buzz it sent tingling down her spine. Claire danced, smashed, and sang at full volume. Stuff the neighbours!