You seem to have the uncanny ability to write about exactly what is going on in my life. It’s a little scary, to be honest. I find myself saying ‘yes, yes, YES!’ while reading the column, and I probably sound like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. No wonder the neighbours keep giving me odd looks.
I dropped Quinn off at school in the morning and headed into town with the intention of grabbing some groceries and then catching up with Sam Emerson before returning home for the rest of the day to knock off a new column. However, Quinn’s insistence on arriving with ample locker time, and the lack of queues at the supermarket, meant that I found myself parking at Sheridan House at eight-forty am. The car park was as deserted as the supermarket, but within minutes an old but beautifully restored Ford Falcon pulled in. Willy Akermann emerged so I joined him as he strode towards the centre.
‘Nice car.’
‘It’s Leisl’s pride and joy. And what a pleasant surprise to see you here again. Two days in a row! Unless …’ He slowed to stare at me. ‘Nothing wrong is there?’
For an oddly malleable second, I was tempted to take this question literally. Which would be like opening Pandora’s box, only with more profanity. I swallowed, fixed a smile on my face. ‘No, nothing wrong. I’m meeting Sam Emerson but I’m a bit early.’
‘Meeting Sam? Is this about your daughter’s project? Not sure if he’ll be here yet.’
‘I’m early,’ I repeated. ‘Is it okay if I grab a coffee?’
‘Of course, of course.’ Will thrust a key towards the deadbolt on the front door, hit the rim and dropped his entire key ring onto the footpath. ‘God! This whole celebration has got me wired. It’s so important, and there’s so much to do, but very little time to do it.’
‘At least you have plenty of volunteers.’
‘That’s half the problem.’ Will bent to collect his keys and try again. ‘The funding guidelines ask that everybody feel involved, but juggling the different people and their ideas is a full-time job by itself.’
I thought of the well-hung crochet horse. ‘I can imagine.’
‘Here we go.’ Will swung the door open and waited for me to pass through. He flicked on a bank of switches and the cold, cavernous hall was immediately bathed in light. ‘Now I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t keep you company but I’d better get to work.’
‘No problem.’ I walked slowly towards the centre’s kitchen, listening to my footsteps echo and marvelling at how different the place felt when it was empty. I made coffee and carried it back out into the hall. The unfinished horse was now draped over a table, beside a pile of papier-mâché balloons. Another table held assorted jars of jam and marmalade, each with a cheerful scrap of material covering the lid. At the far end of the hall, in a haphazard circle reminiscent of Stonehenge, stood a series of display boards similar to those I had seen yesterday in the Historical Society’s room. I took a sip of coffee and then wandered over.
I soon realised that several of the boards were not just similar, they were the ones from upstairs, now moved to join their fellows. Alongside those was a pair that featured Sheridan House through the years. Sepia servants with uniformly grim expressions, a group of convalescing soldiers, and a starched nanny beside a perambulator, the occupant of which was only just visible amid a flurry of frills and lace. I stared at the tiny pudding face and felt my stomach fist. Not now.
The next boards were about Majic itself, views down the main street, town functions, sports teams. I moved from one to the other, drinking my coffee, taking particular interest as I reached the post-sixties. There was Petra, alongside a line of awkward adolescent girls with hockey sticks thrust forward, and now my mother, standing outside Renaissance on opening day. I stared at the latter and then backtracked chronologically until I found him – my father, in striped apron, grinning at the camera from the counter of the short-lived Forrest & Son Butchery. For a moment I could actually smell the sawdust on the floor, the clean meat, the pewter of his blade.
Suddenly I missed him. Not the man he was today, sending a Christmas card that contained an updated photo of his new family in England, but the hearty man who would sweep me onto his shoulders. There you go, Nelly girl, I’ve got you. Daddy’s got you. The marvel being that from so precarious a position, the world had never felt so secure. The fist in my stomach clenched and I moved away from Forrest & Son, but not without a final glance.
‘Nell? Back so soon?’
I turned to see Deb Taylor, who had paused by the stairs. ‘Just to see Sam. I’m early.’
‘Well, he’s in now if that’s any help.’ She nodded towards a double row of hooks on the wall, one of which held a yellow tag. ‘At least someone is, because that one’s theirs.’
‘Good system.’
‘Yes, Will put it in place a few years ago. It means everyone can see at a glance who’s upstairs. Anyway, join me, I’m headed there too. Love what you’ve done with your hair.’
I frowned, mainly because I hadn’t actually done anything with my hair beyond wash it. Which didn’t seem particularly noteworthy. Nevertheless I put my mug down on a side table and followed her into the stairwell. We started up the stairs in silence, but that didn’t last.
‘Look, I apologise if I came over a bit rude yesterday. I meant the exact opposite. I thought I should just put it out from the get-go that I was Tessa’s sister.’
‘No problem.’
‘If we’d started chatting and what have you, then it came out, it might have seemed that I was being underhand.’ She slowed to face me. ‘You know?’
‘No problem,’ I repeated, wishing I was fit enough to take the stairs two at a time.
‘I always put my foot in my mouth. Always. And it probably didn’t help that I was a little star-struck. I love your columns. Absolutely love them.’
‘Oh. Really?’ I looked at her for the first time since we began our ascent. She was more tailored than her sister, and less showy. I guessed she was the older, although not by much, despite the grey roots.
‘Absolutely.’ She reached the door and held it open. ‘I put the really good ones up on the noticeboard at work.’
‘Where’s work? Here?’
‘No – although yes at the moment. I’m the council’s arts and entertainment officer, but I’ve been seconded to give Will a hand until after the commemoration. The council’s invested quite a bit in the whole thing, you know.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen the billboards.’
She laughed. ‘James can’t miss a photo opportunity. Here we go.’
We paused before the Historical Society door and Deb reached out to give it a push. When it didn’t budge she tried the handle, then knocked sharply. We stood in silence for a few moments and she tried the handle again, as if the time delay might have made a difference.
‘That’s funny.’ She knocked once more. ‘Maybe he forgot to take his tag down.’
‘No problem, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. I’ll just go back down–’
‘Stay here. I’ll grab the master key so you can wait inside.’
I watched her set off back down the corridor at a trot and disappear into the stairwell. She seemed a lot more pleasant today, and not just because she admired my work. Although that certainly helped. I wondered whether the two sisters got on, and if she knew about the prospective addition.
Minutes later she reappeared with a large key ring in one hand. It was the one Will had dropped earlier. ‘Here we go.’ She unlocked the door, pushing it open for me to pass through. ‘I’ve just got to grab some stuff then I’ll leave you to it. Make yourself comfortable.’
‘Thanks.’ I stepped into the room and saw him immediately. My surprise burgeoned into shock, bringing me to an abrupt halt. Deb bumped against my back.
‘God, sorry, Nell. I didn’t –’
Urgency surged, as if it had required a two-second suspension, jerking my limbs to life. He was sitting at a desk, slumped forward with his head almost face down on the keyboard, one arm hanging limply with fingers trailing on the floor. I seized the hand, knowing even as I felt frantically for a pulse that it was too late. His flesh was frigid.
‘Ambulance, please,’ Deb was saying behind me. ‘Sheridan House. Third floor. Looks like a heart attack. Debra Taylor, from the council.’
I let my fingers slip from pulse to palm, and then clasped his hand between both of mine. It felt like defrosted chicken.
‘Will? It’s Deb. I’m upstairs and it looks like Sam Emerson’s had a heart attack. I’ve called an ambulance but, well … no.’
I let go of Sam’s hand, placed it gently on his lap.
‘Are you okay, Nell?’
I nodded, my eyes burning. ‘Bloody hell. I wonder how long he’s been here, like this?’
‘Since last night, I’d guess. That’s why the tag was still there.’
‘I’m surprised his wife didn’t call. Oh, poor Loretta.’
Deb bobbed down beside the chair. ‘Look.’
I followed her gaze to the computer screen. A frenetic blur of the letter D ran across the screen, speeding to the edge and then flashing into a new line, over and over. Deb reached out towards Sam’s head, hesitated, and then moved it, just slightly. The D barrage stopped, the cursor blinking expectantly beside the final one. Now I could see Sam’s left eye, half closed.
‘He looks like he’s asleep,’ whispered Deb. ‘I want to reach out and shake him. Wake him up.’
I nodded. I had known Sam Emerson for as long as I had been alive. He was part of the fabric of Majic, to be met walking down the street, or glimpsed on a variety of committees, or seen in the pages of the local newspaper. Always involved in something.
Will appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. He was actually, literally, wringing his hands. He took a step forward, stopped. ‘Is he …?’
Deb nodded. ‘Heart attack maybe. His tag was still up so probably last night.’
‘God, I don’t believe this.’
Sam’s right hand suddenly juddered, stilled, and then juddered again. I gasped.
‘It’s his mobile,’ said Deb, reaching forward to move the hand. Beneath was his phone, now vibrating cheerfully. The screen said Loretta. After a moment it stopped and Loretta’s name was replaced with 5 missed calls.
‘God,’ said Will again, speaking for us all.