The Telling Time : A Historical Family Saga Page 13

  ‘Steady on,’ Mike says, stumbling backwards, raising both hands as though surrendering. His deep brown eyes flash a look of confusion. ‘Jesus! Hear me out.’

  ‘You’re a shit!’ she yells, not caring who might hear. ‘A two-timing bastard! How do you think I feel?’ She scrunches her eyes against the tears but they sting at the corners.

  Mike rubs at his face. ‘Jesus, Loobs, I fucked up. Sorry.’ He shakes his head as though hoping the right words might settle. ‘What else can I say?’ And in that instant Mike Turipa is back. Those beautiful eyes, brown pools. It all feels so wrong. Only a few days ago he was drawing her close. He points towards his bed with the scrambled sheets. ‘Maybe sit down. I’ll try and explain.’

  His room smells so familiar, hints of aftershave doing battle with the mustiness left hanging from the damp towels. Luisa has an urge to fling the window open as she would usually do, but then the reality of what’s happening settles over her.

  ‘What’s there to explain? You’ve ruined everything.’ It’s a struggle to get her words out. Mike moves forward, reaching out. Luisa flinches. ‘Don’t. Just don’t.’

  His arms are left hanging as though he’s just dropped a parcel. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Trust me. It’s the last thing I wanted, and I was going to tell you today.’ He’s tracing circles on the bedroom floor with his bare foot as though trying to solve a puzzle.

  ‘How long have you been carrying on?’ She’s asking but she doesn’t want to know. It’s over. And there’s no way she’ll have him back. What more does she need to know? Luisa regrets being so nice to Fleur now.

  ‘Give me a break!’ he says, hands on his hips. ‘It’s just this minute happened. I was about to tell you. We’d organised to catch up later, hadn’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Amanda’s words are loud and clear in her ear. ‘You said you couldn’t see me this morning because you were training. I guess it depends on the context. Bloody hell, Mike!’

  She can’t bear it. The room feels as though it’s caving in. She doesn’t have a boyfriend or a travel mate now. She needs to escape, and she does so, like a whirlwind, slamming the door to his bedroom and then the front door. She’s determined it will be the last time she ever sets foot in that house again.

  Kermit, Luisa’s Ford Cortina, the car she scrimped and saved for after starting work at Slaughter and Co. a couple of years ago, is parked haphazardly to the kerb. For God’s sake, get a grip. What does it matter you’ve parked so badly! Your boyfriend’s just dumped you. Is it any wonder you’ve lost him?

  On the drive back her thoughts race: they’re still on the Christmas break and so she won’t have to cope with seeing Mike on Monday; it will be two weeks before they’re both back. She grips the steering wheel tighter. Why did she let her guard down and fall for someone at work? It was never going to end well, but then the details: at least the law firm is spread over four floors and she and Mike work in separate departments. Ironic, given that she used to find excuses to go down to his floor.

  Back at her Epsom flat, Luisa makes a beeline for her bedroom. Inside her ordered space, away from prying eyes, she collapses on her bed, fists clenched at her sides, staring up at the pink art-deco light fitting. It’s as though having kept her tears at bay she can’t release the tension now. Her mind flogs her options, but this problem can’t be solved by logic. She thumps her fists down and finally the tears well then run like rivulets, streaking her cheeks before breaking like a dam so that she has to crush her fist against her mouth to stifle her sobs.

  What now? She and Mike planned their overseas trip together: they were to leave in April and backpack through Asia. Most important for Luisa, their plans took them through Yugoslavia to meet up with Mum’s estranged relatives on Korčula, the island where Mum was born. Ever since her teenage years Luisa has been positive Mum’s hiding something. Too many things don’t stack up — the disconnect with her tata, the way she’s cut off her own brother.

  Mike was on board. After all, she was the catalyst for him reconnecting with his family. He used to joke about his quarter-strength blood, saying he was better shrugging off his Maori cloak. He’d even gone as far as anglicising his given name, Mikaere, changing it by deed poll the day after he turned eighteen. Luisa could never fathom why he wouldn’t embrace his culture; she worked on him for months. Last November he had reconnected with his Uncle Mikaere on a marae just north of Gisborne. Luisa still remembers the hongi Mike exchanged with his uncle, how they embraced. Mostly, though, she remembers how they made love that afternoon in their motel room, as though a weight had lifted from Mike and some tenderness had crept in over the bravado. It was then that she realised he’d changed for the better from knowing her. That she’d been a positive influence in encouraging him to dig deeper, past the surface layers. When they returned to Auckland she made it her first job to contact Uncle Josip and Aunt Mare.

  The phone rings.

  ‘Coming,’ Luisa groans when her flatmate taps on the door. It takes all her strength to drag herself off the bed and out to the hallway. ‘Hello. Luisa speaking.’

  ‘Lulu.’ Niamh’s cheerful Irish lilt sings down the line. ‘Just checking in after last night. I was worried. You okay?’

  ‘Hang on a tick,’ says Luisa, cradling the handset in the crook of her neck. Niamh is the one person she can tell but she needs privacy. She will tell her flatmates, but not yet, not until she absolutely has to. She picks up the telephone base unit and returns to her room, the cord snaking behind. Closing the door she collapses to sit cross-legged, cradling the base in her lap. ‘I’ll explain more later.’ She focuses on the flame tree outside her window. ‘Long story short, Mike’s dumped me.’

  Niamh’s reaction is immediate. ‘The fecker! Eejit! Oh, hon. Listen, I’m on my way over.’

  ‘No! You know me. I need time.’ Luisa keeps her voice steady, determined to hide how much she’s hurting.

  Niamh’s never seen her fall apart, not in all the years they’ve known each other. They’ve shared plenty of happy moments, but sadness is something Luisa prefers to deal with alone. It’s been years since she’s let anyone see that, even her family.

  ‘I’m fine. Let’s catch up early next week.’ Niamh is still protesting but Luisa cuts over her. ‘Honestly. And no, you don’t need to worry. I just need time to think.’

  ‘Well, only if you’re sure.’ Niamh sounds a little miffed. ‘I’m worried about you, hon. Promise you’ll call if you need.’

  ‘I will. And don’t worry.’ Tears threaten as she pictures Niamh’s kind face. ‘Hey, thanks. I’ll call next week. Promise.’ She replaces the receiver in a rush. One step at a time, polako, polako, as Mum would say.

  Back on her bed, the phone returned to the hallway, Luisa stares at the ceiling. Mike was her first true love. With him she felt she could be a different person, be less worried about what other people thought: he challenged her to be less rigid, to take risks. She makes an effort to unclench her fists but still feels worthless, as though she’s the one that’s failed. Luisa’s not used to flunking at anything, not unless you count her dismal past record with guys. Niamh so often teased her, You’re like a hedgehog Lulu. Get rid of those prickles. Mike had succeeded, though, as Luisa had always been confident the right guy would. He simply pounced, taking her by surprise at the firm’s Christmas party just over a year ago. In her mind she lists the reasons why she’s a good person. Stop it, Luisa. Just stop! She clenches her fists tighter and curls on her side to stare out the window.

  And what of her trip? There’s no way she can contemplate doing by herself what she and Mike had planned. Not when she’s never been out of New Zealand — the extent of her overseas travels has been down to the South Island, to Dunedin, to study law at Otago University. It was her way of gaining some independence, escaping the cauldron of home. There are too many stories in the newspapers about the Moonies and those other weird cult groups. About girls going missing. She’s brave but not stupid. There will be ple
nty of others heading off for their ‘overseas experience’ but Luisa knows from flatting that you want to be choosy who you travel with. Some people would be a disaster. Maybe she could fly straight to London. Get a job and travel to Yugoslavia as planned in September, once she’s met some new friends. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to show Mike he’s dispensable. That she can travel without him. Damn Mike! That’s another thing Luisa hates — plans changing. What the hell is she going to do?

  Niamh surprises Luisa early the next morning, auburn hair piled high, tennis racquet in hand. Luisa doesn’t think she’ll have the energy, but Niamh insists, driving them down to their local club. It’s a passion they shared through school, having worked their way up the ranks to make the top team. Niamh was right: bashing a ball helps. The mid-morning sun is biting, despite their choosing the far court to take advantage of the shade. Luisa returns the ball, the sound so satisfying as it curves off her racquet’s sweet spot to land deep, close to Niamh’s baseline. Niamh scrambles to retrieve it, her hair flying like a bunch of spring carrots tethered to her scalp, but her return smashes into the net.

  ‘That’s it!’ Niamh stamps her foot. ‘I’m letting you win. But only this time.’ She’s already moving towards the net. ‘Damn you, girl, I won’t make it so easy next time.’

  ‘That’s what you always say. Besides, I haven’t beaten you in ages. Must be my frustrations coming out. Hey, thanks. I needed that.’

  ‘No worries.’ Niamh rewards her with a beaming smile, her face the colour of beetroot. ‘But get me out of this heat unless you’re wanting to scrape me off the court too. How do you stand it? Must be your continental blood.’

  It’s true. Luisa feels as though she has hardly broken a sweat, but there’s a sheen coating her arms, intensifying her nut-brown complexion, which over the summer break has hit its full bronzed straps.

  ‘Come on. There’s some shade at the clubhouse,’ says Luisa. ‘Can’t have you flaking out and using more excuses.’

  They collapse on a wooden seat that’s shaded by a deck above. Luisa stretches out her legs.

  ‘Look at the state of ya,’ says Niamh, slapping Luisa’s thigh. ‘How do those greyhound legs hold you up?’

  Luisa laughs at the familiar joke, but then the reality of how everything else has changed hits her. Over the past twenty-four hours it’s been the same; there’s been no warning, as though her emotions are riding a tidal wave.

  ‘Come on, Lulu, I know you too well,’ says Niamh. ‘It’s time you told me the full story. You’ve got to admit I’ve been more than patient and here’s as good as anywhere.’ She places her hand over Luisa’s. ‘Come on. No more excuses.’

  Luisa confides and Niamh listens, all the while rubbing Luisa’s back. A young kid saunters past, one hand in the pocket of his stubby shorts, the other swinging his racquet. He lets himself into the caged volley-wall area and his shots sound like gunfire — crack, smack, thwack.

  Niamh pulls her close. ‘You poor hon. What an absolute fecker.’

  Luisa shakes her head. ‘Worst thing is, what to do about this trip? I still want to go. And I’m determined I won’t give him the pleasure of seeing me fail. But I’m shit-scared of heading off alone. I don’t think I can do it. Getting on a plane and heading half a world away will be challenging enough.’

  ‘You’re right there. I’d be worried myself.’ Niamh sits quietly for a moment. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking ever since our call yesterday. I wish I had the money to drop everything and go.’

  Luisa goes to protest, but Niamh taps her on the knee, cutting her short. ‘Hang on, hear me out. Look, this might be a dumb idea, but you’ve met Bex, right? She wants to head off. It wasn’t going to be until the end of the year, but perhaps you guys should talk? She might leave earlier. Could be worth a shot?’

  ‘I guess,’ says Luisa, her mind racing, already dismissing the idea. She knows so little about Bex. That she’s a good friend of Niamh’s says something, but she can’t rely on that. Friends aren’t always transferable. ‘I was thinking more that I could fly straight to London. I’ll get a job for sure. Seems there’s plenty of options for lawyers and I might be able to sort something before I leave. If I got myself there, and settled, I could travel once I’ve met some new friends.’

  ‘But what about your family in Yugoslavia? All your plans? You’ve already contacted your uncle. He’s expecting you, isn’t he?’

  ‘I could leave that for a while but still work it so Mum doesn’t get a whiff. It might be easier to fudge if I was working. Besides, Mike and I weren’t planning to get to Yugoslavia until September. I could stick to the same plan but just leave from London.’

  ‘Seems a shame to miss having a holiday and to travel on the way over. You’ve worked so hard for this. Why wouldn’t you ask Bex?’ Niamh looks intently at Luisa as though searching for the answer in her eyes. ‘How about I mention it? There’d be nothing to lose, surely?’

  Niamh seems so certain and her intuition is usually spot on. Besides, Bex does seem fun. ‘I guess there’s no harm in asking.’

  ‘Leave it with me,’ says Niamh.

  ‘Only if you’re sure.’

  ‘Couldn’t be more certain. But come on, this wrecked body needs a shower.’ Niamh nudges Luisa. ‘Hey, I’m glad I got you out — even if you did thrash me. Cross fingers my idea will work.’

  Luisa feels lighter somehow as they climb the steps that wind up to the parking area. The bank is planted with sweet-smelling jasmine. It’s as though her best friend has just held out a silver tray and lifted the cloche lid on a new possibility. And wouldn’t it be fantastic to show Mike he’s dispensable. That she can make her own plans. Travel without him. But even as she’s thinking this, the worries creep back. She hardly knows Bex. But then again, she’d thought she knew Mike and look where that’s left her.

  APRIL

  Ordinarily Luisa would race up the stairs, any opportunity to build fitness into her day, but tonight her feet drag and the echo sounds ominous. The thrum from the boardroom collides with the quiet of the stairwell. Her first instinct is to bolt, but she chooses the bathroom at the side as a temporary sanctuary and checks herself in the mirror. Her hair needs some attention, nothing that a rustle and scrunch with her fingers won’t fix. Lipstick could do with a touch-up. She fishes in her satchel for her latest favourite, Clementine Burst, perfect for that shot of boldness. She flies out in two weeks and she wants Mike to see that she’s back in control. He’s sure to be there. Her workmates tell her he’s had no qualms, always a regular at Friday night drinks. Whenever she saw him over the past weeks she avoided speaking to him. It feels as though she’s been hiding herself away. Her gold hoop earrings catch the light, matching the sun-kissed tips of her spiral curls. You’re good to go, Luisa Tomich. No excuses.

  Even so, she hesitates at the wide doorway of the corner boardroom. A bank of windows face the harbour and the suburbs south. Free drinks are always a drawcard so her colleagues are packed shoulder to shoulder, probably seventy-odd people. An occasional shriek or lower-gauge laugh pierces the din. Luisa feels as if it might engulf her, that she might be swallowed up.

  Sharp dark suits, a mix of trousers and skirts cut off at the knee; business shirts; flowing blouses; a few dresses scattered throughout. Most of the women jiggle on dagger heels. Luisa flexes her toes, conscious of the tired ache. She’s tall enough to see over most of the heads and scans the room for her friend Kath. Her mop of blonde hair and bright purple suit should be easy to spot but it’s Mike her eyes fix on. He’s in the centre of the room with his back to her. Kath is off to the right, close to the windows, purple arms flying while chatting to James and Tony, two of Luisa’s fellow litigation lawyers. Luisa collects a glass of bubbly from a table just inside the doorway and weaves her way around the outside of the room.

  ‘Good to see you back!’ says Kath, waving Luisa over and pulling her into their huddle.

  ‘Hey, Luisa,’ says James, pushing his big red-framed glasses fur
ther up his nose as if to take a better look.

  ‘We were worried,’ says Tony. ‘Glad you’ve got your mojo back.’ His striped shirt is open at the neck and his tie is stuffed in his trouser pocket. He raises his bottle of Steinlager.

  ‘Here’s to that,’ says Luisa. ‘Cheers!’ She raises her glass and takes a large swig.

  Luisa lets their patter about weekend plans wash over her and flicks a glance towards Mike. He’s still there, back turned, talking with his supervising partner. Luisa doesn’t have a hope of blending in beside Kath, but wasn’t that the whole purpose of coming? Out to the side, Auckland sprawls from the dense city cluster to the suburbs, a view Luisa is sure she will never tire of. Having grown up in Mount Wellington, she always dreamed of getting off ground-level and would gaze up and wonder about being inside these high-flying spaces. She still feels privileged to be working here. Mum and Dad joined her in this same room last year after the ceremony for being admitted to the bar. Luisa was embarrassed by her mum’s wide-eyed reaction and her comments to one of the senior partners: All this tiny food! It’s a lot of money to spend! It took all Luisa’s self-control not to bundle Mum up and get her outside. Dad wasn’t a problem, but then he knows how to hold his tongue. Luisa doesn’t doubt Mum’s proud of what she’s achieved, but it’s also increased the distance between them, as though her mum can’t relate to the world Luisa now lives in.

  Kath touches her elbow. ‘Earth to Luisa, come in.’

  Luisa makes a show of laughing it off. ‘Shit, sorry. I’m not the best company.’

  ‘Nothing that a few drinks won’t help.’ Kath turns to James, who’s tapping her shoulder. ‘What? Go away, pest.’

  Tony leans in. ‘How’re you feeling, Luisa? Pleased to escape all this soon?’

  ‘Nervous and excited. Bex and I are having another planning session Sunday night. You’ve met her, eh? At the pub for our combined farewells.’