574

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By this time, Esmé had woken up.  She yawned and stretched, but didn’t speak. 

“Lou’s in trouble,” said Keith, his voice strained, but talking softly so he didn’t interrupt Jason.  “He’s been taken by the Mount Macedon killer.  Well, we think he has.  He phoned Jason just now.  Jason’s on the phone to the police.”

Jason ended his conversation with the police.  “We’re going round to Luigi’s flat now, and then we’re going to phone the police and tell them where his flat is.  Key, can we use your car?”

“Yeah.  C’mon.  Let’s go.”

In a whirl of activity, the three of them fled the flat.

The streets were empty.  It was still dark and very chilly.  There was a mist.  The heater of Jason’s old Holden was erratic, alternating between frigid blasts and torrid plastic-smelling gusts.  No one noticed.  All of them leaned forward as if somehow they could by their very bodies urge the car faster through the streets.

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458

The wine was delicious, and felt just right for a chilly autumn night.

Jason wondered what the two women had been talking about.  It was obvious they had become friends, close friends.  He envied that.  Women seemed to be able to do that, to drop the barriers to intimacy, so much easier than men.  It had taken weeks for him and Keith to become friends.  And maybe, if he hadn’t been grieving about Brent’s suicide, he himself might never have let his barriers down and so got close to Keith.  The sex helped.   But only if you already liked each other.  Well.  Maybe not.  He and Luigi were friends.  And lovers. 

They talked about neutral subjects and then both women rose and headed off to bed.

As she bade them goodnight, Eleanor said, with a slight quirk in her eyebrows, that there were more bottles of wine in the pantry in the kitchen and they were welcome to it if they wanted.

“Thank you!” replied Jason.  “Good night.  See you in the morning.”

“Good night Jason dear so nice to be here and now at last I will be able to sleep properly this jet lag business so barbarous bring back the Queen Mary I say.”

After this surprisingly short speech, Lucasta too headed off up the stairs to the bedroom.

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452

After, they talked of less fraught topics—the perfect autumn weather, the beauty of the scenery, the food and the wine.

On the way home, Lucasta dozed.  Eleanor drove.  She had been careful to have only two glasses of champagne over lunch, so that she was still safe to drive.

“I should get an Ozzie driving licence,” Jason observed.

“Do you have a UK licence?”

“Yes, but it’s not valid here.”

“Yes it is.  For a while, anyway, as far as I know.  Until it expires or until you change citizenship.”

“I didn’t know.  It’s valid for another five years, then.  That’s good news.  I thought I would have to take my driving test again.  All that palaver.”

“Well, you will, but not for the next few years.”

“I’ll be able to borrow Keith’s car.  He doesn’t use it that much because he lives near to the pub.”

“You could borrow this car.”

Jason turned to look at Eleanor.

“You’ve been very kind to me already,” he murmured.

“Nonsense.  It’s a pleasure having you.”

Jason knew she was lonely, and often oppressed by thoughts of Bart and his suicide.  She thinks of me as her son, he thought.  Why not?  She means more to me than my real mother.

He smiled at her.  “Well, when you’re not using it.  But public transport here is so good, like London, I don’t feel the lack of a car.  It’s just that one of these days, I’d like to go and see the countryside, drive up to Sydney.”

“You must take the route along the coast.  It’s quite lovely.  All those deserted beaches.”

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397

The autumn sun was warm, but the air felt like champagne, sparkling and full of light.  Luigi, Cody and Jason sat in the garden chairs on the back verandah and chatted with Lucasta and Eleanor.  It was peaceful in the sun.  In the distance, there was the grumble of lorries on the main road, the clang and ping of trams.  From neighbouring gardens there came the indistinct mumble of people chatting, of washing machines going, of some energetic soul mowing.  The world felt right.

Even Cody felt some peace.  His life was in ruins; worse, he had ruined Phillippa’s life.  Well, there was nothing he could do now.  He had to start again.  From scratch.  And his grief and humiliation and terror still howled deep inside him.  And yet, on this autumn morning, with people who didn’t judge him or who at least had suspended judgment, he had hope.  He could start again.  He wasn’t dead, murdered by a demented pervert.  His life was in front of him.  And into his head came the renewed vow, that he would make his life worthwhile, and do something to pay back Fate or God or Life for his good luck.

And he wasn’t alone.  He had friends.  Luigi and maybe Jason.  And Eleanor and Lucasta.  Perhaps he could get a room here.  So he wouldn’t be a burden on Lou and piss him off.  If he still had a job.  If.

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390

There was cooked bacon in a dish on the table, covered with a cloth, and toast in the rack.

Jason went to door to the courtyard, where his grandmother and Eleanor Cumberledge were sitting.  “Good mornin’ Grandam.  Mornin’ Eleanor.”  He sounded more than normally English and aristocratic.

“Morning Jason!  How are you feeling this morning?”  Eleanor smiled with pleasure.

“Beaut, thank you.” 

Lucasta noticed the Australianism with amusement. 

“Um, sorry I didn’t clean up last night.  I meant to, and we got to talking and then  … it slipped my mind.”

“Oh, please don’t concern yourself with that, Jason,” entreated Eleanor.  “It was our party, anyway.”

“Where more than half the guests were me and my friends!”

“Well, next time, then.”  Eleanor waved the issue away.  “Help yourself to some bacon and toast and tea, and come out and join us.  It’s such a beautiful morning.”

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