Heller's Regret (32 page)

I saw him to the door when darkness fell,
waving to him as he drove off. I joined Brian and Sean, trying to
muster up some energy from the dark corners of my body to gently
roughhouse with my nieces. They’d behaved themselves so well all
day, but were now ready to let off a bit of steam, just as we
adults were thinking of going to bed early.

Brian stepped in when they became a little
too rowdy, both of the girls taking turns to belly slam me as I lay
curled up in a defensive position on the carpet, wondering how it
had got to this point. He bathed them and fed them, Gayle now awake
to read them a story and put them to bed.

I pecked on a leftover sandwich, hitting the
sack at eight. I woke just after midnight, spending a long time
thinking about the funeral, and an even longer time thinking about
Heller and my future. Did I have a future with him? I barely felt
like I had a present with him, let alone a future.

I kept dwelling on the notion that with the
passing of my father came a passing of a stage in my life that I’d
wallowed in for far too long. Perhaps it was time for me to grow
up, plan some goals. Maybe I needed to forge out a clearer
direction for my life, instead of just going with the flow all the
time.

With these thoughts swirling around my head,
I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I tiptoed to the kitchen to fetch
a glass of cold milk. I took it into the lounge room, thinking I’d
watch a bit of boring late night TV to relax me.

“Tilly,” said a voice in the darkness, the
face eerily illuminated by the glow of the TV. I thought it was Dad
for a second, shrieking and spilling some of my milk down my
pyjamas.

“Brian!” I scolded. “You scared the shit out
of me.” I returned to the kitchen to mop up the spill off my pyjama
top with paper towel.

“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.” I sat next to him on the lounge.
“You really looked like Dad for a second then.” I placed my hand on
my chest, my heart still thumping. “God, that totally freaked me
out.”

“Did I really? He was a handsome man, even as
he got older, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I probably hadn’t paid much attention to
Brian’s looks, but now I thought about it, I could see a lot of
resemblance between Dad and him. They had the same coloured-eyes,
same chin, same kink in their hair at the back, same build, though
Brian worked out more. I suppose that meant I looked like my Dad
too, because I’d always thought Brian and I shared a lot of
similarities in our looks. It was kind of a comforting thought that
Dad’s genes would be carried on, though in my case, no further than
me.

“It was a good funeral, as far as funerals
go,” I said, yawning hard.

That made him yawn too, even harder than me.
“Yeah, I was pleased with how it went. And I thought your eulogy
was very touching. Straight from the heart.”

“Yours was better.”

“Nah. Mine was a bit too cold fish. I find it
hard not to write like that these days, after so many police
reports.”

“You did a great job. Did you decide to stay
over tonight?”

“Yeah. Gayle and the kids fell asleep after
dinner, so it was just easier to stay, seeing tomorrow’s my last
day of leave. Elise and Sean stayed over too. I thought it would be
nice to have a big family breakfast in the morning. It’s been a
while since we’ve done that. Maybe too long.”

We both thought of how of our family had now
been diminished by one.

“It would be nice. And it’s lucky Mum and Dad
replaced your single beds with queen-sized ones – more comfortable
than the four of you trying to squeeze into a single. I wonder why
they didn’t replace mine?”

“Didn’t want their precious daughter bringing
home guys to sleep with, I suppose.”

“Ha! As if I would with my parents around.
Though there were a few times when they weren’t . . .”

“No! You didn’t? In Mum and Dad’s house?”

“I did. God, don’t tell Mum, whatever you do.
I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. I might have
been a little casual with the truth with them about my girlfriends
visiting too.”

“Ha! I bet Sean was worse than both of us. He
always had so many girls hanging off him.”

“Yeah, lucky bastard.”

I blew him a rude raspberry. “You didn’t do
too badly, if I recall correctly.”

“Anyway, speaking of boyfriends . . .”

“Which we weren’t.”

“So, Daniel?”

“Yes, Daniel.”

“Just a friend?”

“No, not just a friend. He’s a very close,
dear friend. One of the sweetest men I’ve ever been lucky enough to
meet.”

“You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“I don’t mention my friends very much at all.
Do you hear me talking about Dixie much?”

“I can understand you not talking about
Dixie. Her exploits are rather notorious. She’s lucky no guy’s ever
reported her to the police.”

“She’s not being notorious lately. In fact,
she’s fallen head over heels for someone I think is playing her for
a sucker.”

“No way! Dixie falling for someone? And a
player at that?” He laughed unkindly. “It’s kind of poetic justice
in a way.”

“Brian! That’s not very nice of you. I’m
worried about her. She’s my friend.”

“Maybe she needs a good dose of heartbreak to
open her eyes about how she exploits men.”

“You’re so hard.”

“You have to be to survive in my job. But
anyway, speaking of boyfriends . . .”

“Which, again, we weren’t,” I snapped.

“How’s the fling going with Heller?”

“It’s not a fling,” I said hotly. He was
being deliberately provocative, something which reminded me of my
childhood. He’d rile me up so much I’d start punching him in
frustration at not being as clever as him at twisting words. At
that stage he’d call Mum and Dad and I’d be punished. Stupidly, I
fell for it every time.

“Does that mean wedding bells in the
future?”

“Marriage isn’t the be-all and end-all of
every relationship, you know,” I said, slightly defensive.

“It is for long-term committed
relationships.”

“That’s rubbish. Stop being so old-fashioned.
Lots of couples have long-term, committed relationships without
ever getting married.”

“Lots of studies shows that marriage makes
people happier.”

“How do you explain the high divorce rate
then? A lot of people clearly aren’t happy being married. Better to
be in a happy
de facto
relationship than an unhappy
marriage.”

“Maybe, but nothing beats a happy marriage,”
he said smugly.

I could have rubbed his nose in the sorry
memory of Gayle’s sordid one-nighter with Heller that temporarily
broke up their marriage, but I didn’t, no matter how snotty he was
being. Instead I said, “I’m going to bed,” leaving him behind in
the dark, wondering if we could ever have a conversation that
didn’t descend into some kind of argument.

Everyone was already awake and bustling
around when I woke up the next morning. I tousled my nieces’ hair,
kissed Mum on the cheek, and said a vague “good morning” to
everyone else. I eased myself into a chair squeezed between Sean
and Mum. I piled my plate high with bacon, eggs, mushrooms,
tomatoes and toast, filling my huge mug with coffee. My ravenous
hunger astonished me, but I still managed to slip Puddles some
bacon under the table. When he waddled out from under the
tablecloth and promptly fell asleep in an uncomfortable position
across a pair of Brian’s shoes, I suspected I hadn’t been the only
one giving him a covert feed.

Conversation was general and light, but there
was an undercurrent of sadness every time one of us looked at the
chair Dad had habitually sat in, now sadly vacant. It was going to
take an age to get used to the idea of him not being here with
us.

I spent the next couple of days with Mum,
helping her with the thank yous, and answering all the cards and
emails we’d received from people who hadn’t been able to make it to
the funeral. That took an entire day.

Returning to the Warehouse made me nervous,
not wanting to confront Clive again. I made it to my flat without
meeting anyone, but I’d hardly had time to put down my handbag and
overnight bag when someone knocked on my door.
What I wouldn’t
do for some personal privacy in this place
, I thought sourly,
opening the door to Clive.

“Have you been lurking near my flat waiting
to intercept me the very second I stepped inside?” I asked with a
bit of attitude.

“We need to talk. Can I come in?”

“S’pose,” I said with a distinct lack of
graciousness. I turned my back on him to dump my handbag in its
usual place on my kitchen bench and my overnight bag in my bedroom.
“What do we have to talk about? I’m not going to listen to anything
more you say about that stupid woman, so you might as well save
your breath.”

“I’m sorry about your father.”

Definitely no privacy in this building. I’d
deliberately not told anyone here, because I didn’t want to share
my family or their grief with them. “How did you know?”

“Daniel told me where he was going.”

“Oh.” I added reluctantly, “Thank you.”

“Did it happen that night we had that . . .
er . . . discussion on the landing?”

Discussion?
“Yes.”

“I regret getting in your face that night. I
was insensitive in my timing and I apologise for that.”

What the . . .?
Clive apologising to
me again? Clive admitting to being insensitive without me holding
him in a vicious nipple grip? What was the world coming to? Next
he’d be asking to friend me on Facebook and suggesting we do each
other’s hair on Friday nights.

“I hated my father with every fibre of my
being and I celebrated by getting rat-arsed drunk when word reached
Sid and me that he finally died. But I understand that not everyone
feels that way about their father.”

“No, they don’t. I loved Dad very much. He
was a wonderful man,” I said, tearful again. He squirmed with
discomfort.

“Are you up to doing another job yet?” he
blurted out.

I shrugged one shoulder with indifference.
Nothing much interested me at the moment. “S’pose. I’m not doing
anything else.”

“Okay. I’ve allocated Farrell to the
assignment with you.”

“Are you deliberately sending me on every job
with Farrell?”

“He seems more capable than anyone else of
keeping you out of trouble.”
Here we go – this was more like the
Clive I knew.
“Plus he’s more mature than most of the men, and
this is a job likely to result in sniggers and lots of bad jokes in
the others.”

“It better not be any swingers’ parties. I’m
not
doing any of those again.”

“Relax, it’s not. It’s providing security at
a conference, not a job that should be particularly dangerous or
onerous.”

“What’s the conference about?” I asked
suspiciously. I’d learned my lesson the hard way here about jobs
that weren’t supposed to be ‘particularly dangerous’.

He looked uncomfortable again. “It’s the
Second International Conference for Virgins.”

I goggled at him. “Sorry?” I was positive I’d
misunderstood what he said.
Virgins?

“You heard me. Virgins. You know, people
who’ve maintained their virginity,” he said, irritated at being
forced to explain. For someone who collected pornography for a
hobby, he was sure squeamish talking about virgins.

“Okay,” I said, my mind whirling. “Why do
they need a conference? What do they talk about?”

“How would I know? Go online and look at the
conference program.” He moved to the door. “Oh, and it starts
tomorrow. Be down in the section at eight.”

“What? How about a bit of warning next
time?”

“Don’t be late,” he ordered, closing the door
behind him.

I took his advice and looked up the
conference online. The program advised that experienced
facilitators would guide discussions on issues such as
Resisting
Temptation
,
Ten Proven Tips on Holding Off Before
Marriage
, and the ever-popular
How You Can Convince Others
to Cherish Their Virginity
.

I couldn’t believe when I read the organisers
were expecting about one thousand attendees, up on the first
conference’s six hundred attendees. Wow! Who’d have thought there
would be that many people interested in talking about their
virginity? I might even learn something, though it was a bit late
for me to cherish my virginity or to resist temptation. And when
temptation came in such delicious packaging as Heller did, I wasn’t
sure I’d ever want to resist it.

What was he doing now? Was he thinking of
me? Did he ever think of me or did he forget all about me the
minute he set foot outside of the Warehouse?

I abandoned my virgin research to take the
necklace he’d given me from its case. I sat on my bed, pensively
running my fingers over that symbol that said so much, but at the
same time, too little. Eternal love. Did he think that’s what I
felt for him? Was he telling me that’s what he felt for me? Why
couldn’t he ever just say things outright?

I could handle hearing I was just a pleasant
regular source of sexual release for him and nothing more. At least
I’d know where I stood and he’d know why I kicked him out of my
life after he told me that. But all his enigmatic references to
love, declarations of ‘caring’ for me, and long absences from my
life were doing my head in. I mean, I ‘cared’ deeply for chocolate,
but it didn’t mean I wanted to pledge eternal love for it.

Instead of placing the necklace around my
neck, I put it back in its case and shut it away in the drawer
again. An impulse made me pick up the phone and ring Clive.

He sighed audibly when he noticed my number.
“I told you. Be down here at eight sharp tomorrow morning.”