Chapter Fourteen

Charades

Sleep did not come easily, but she had expected this. Her and Liz had spent hours organising her housemate’s room, working from memory to try and replicate how it was before. Given that nothing was taken, it was easier to pretend nothing had happened than explain that the house had been ransacked, and nothing had been taken. Trust was not the greatest at club 51 since Liz and Sandra, in a moment of insipid inspiration, had helped themselves to her housemate’s stash, made brownies, and by way of forgiveness saved them two.

Sandra and Liz had thought it both hilarious and terrifying, and had quite literally wet their pants. The housemates were not amused. Everyone in that house stopped having names that day, and simply became ‘housemates.’

“It was six months ago” Liz was saying as they sorted through their belongings. “You’d think they’d have forgiven you by now.”

“That’s the other problem. The door was padlocked on the outside, and whoever did this clipped it off.”

“We can’t just replace it. They’re gonna realise something is wrong when they go to remove the padlock you know.”

“Yes. Yes thankyou, I had realised that. Figured I’d just tell them I lost the TV remote and thought it might be in their room and had to cut the lock.”

“That’s a pretty poor excuse isn’t it?”

“They have a pretty low opinion of me.”

It took the better part of three hours, but by midnight they felt like it was sorted. The kitchen, living, and in particular Sandra’s room were still a disaster, but Liz had declared the night over and crawled into ‘the housemate’s’ bed.

Sandra continued to work, trying to wear herself out, and cleaned the living room and the kitchen, but left her room alone. By 3am she was lying in bed, physically exhausted by still wide awake, staring upwards contemplating how long it would be before her ceiling caved in. This was the first chance she’d actually had to pause and reflect on the last three days, and all she could think of was the cracks and mould in the roof. How long was it before this house fell down? How long before townhouses spring up here, and the backyard becomes one of many courtyards, the tree becomes mulch and the façade a photograph?

Did it matter? Should she be resisting this sort of change – was it because the older one was pretty, or was she just unsure of change? Her mother would say a little bit of both, and then launch into a long-winded but perfectly pitched speech that would be completely right, completely fair and completely ignored. But, she asked herself, if she owned the joint and someone bought it to knock it down, would she fight it? How much passion must there be in a person to actively fight a machine far greater than themselves? Even if that machine was run by family? She tried to put herself in that situation, but found herself just running in circles.

Instead she wondered about her phone. Her missing little shitbox phone. After losing her first iPhone she’d given up on modern technology and gone back to an old beeping ringtone model with no games or predictive text. She told herself it was for financial reasons but she knew, deep down inside, she was punishing herself. Long enough with this piece of shit and she’d cherish an iPhone; only after a few months she realised how unnecessary the smart phone was. She stopped worrying about being lost, or having nothing to do at the bus stop, and started carrying a book instead. It was, in a strange way, liberating. And now she’d been given one for free, and she wondered how she’d gotten by without it. And once Sebastian’s real phone was fully backed up, she’d restore his settings onto it and find out what he knew.

Except she didn’t want to. She knew there was more she could learn a lot from Sebastian’s phone, but she suspect there was more in this than she’d found. This phone was deliberate. It had been given to her with a purpose. Sebastian had been trying to tell her something, and she needed to find out what that was. He may have died because of some piece of information in that phone.

She sat up in the mess that was her room. There was no way she was sleeping tonight. That collapse-nap she’d had on – whoever’s – balcony had recharged her batteries. Her arms and legs ached, but she could feel the fire within burning. She got out of bed, and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

There were all these things, but there was also her missing bag. She couldn’t even remember what she’d had in it. Probably not much, since she’d gone out drinking. Her phone, some cash, lipstick, what else? She’d stop taking her purse out drinking with her years ago. It got far too laborious cancelling bank cards again and again and again. She made sure she always took a bag that was hard to forget, and just some cash. No ID, nothing, since she hadn’t needed it in years why bother? Of course, having made that decision she’d often forget to leave her purse at home. It was very confusing being her sometimes. Every time she made a decision about her life she did all she could to usurp it.

Her tea made, she grabbed a cigarette from Liz’s packet on the table, grabbed the stove lighter and headed out the front door to sit on the requisite couch on the porch. As she set the end of the cigarette on fire, she thought about her official Last Cigarette, the one she had before she quit. That was two years ago. It was about six months before she’d had another, thinking she’d ‘be okay’ and could just have one for old time sake. Since then it had been a constant battle. If things were going fine, then she wouldn’t crave one. But then she’d invent things to be irritated about, just to have a smoke. Or go out drinking when she really didn’t want to, just to have a smoke. As she dragged on this current cigarette, she thought about how much she didn’t want it. And then dragged again.

She heard a noise next door, and peaking around the edge of the terrace she saw the crazy old Greek lady, sitting as per usual on her porch. At 3 o’clock in the morning. Did she ever sleep? Was she even human? She saw Sandra, smiled, and said something in Greek that sounded quite nice. Sandra smiled and waved back. Greek Lady said the same thing, only this time made the gesture for a cigarette. Sandra, surprised, pointed to the cig, and Greek Lady nodded. Shrugging, she leapt the fence, pulled another cigarette out of Liz’s packet, handed it to Greek Lady and lit it for her.

Sandra suspected it had been more than six months since Greek Lady had last had a cigarette. There was a profound look of satisfaction, of memory, that cracked her face as she sat back, relaxed, and said something else in Greek, something that reeked of reminiscence. Sandra suddenly felt envious. She wished she’d gone long enough to reminisce about smoking. She wished she’d had something to reminisce about.

“Yeah I don’t know crazy Old Greek Lady”, Sandra said, confident that despite however may years, there was no comprehension of English. “I don’t know what you’re doing out here at 3am, but you seem to be quite content about it.”

Greek Lady smiled, and said something in reply. Sandra continued the conversation she thought she was having.

“Seems nice. You know, I’ve wanted all this stuff, all these things I’ve wanted to do and not done in my life. And now I just wish I could have a reason to sit on my veranda, have a cigarette and not give two shits about the rest of the world.”

Greek Lady nodded. Said something. Nodded in agreed wisdom.

“You have no idea what the hell I’m talking about do you?”

Smile. Nod. Smoke. Smile.

“Seems nice.” She said again, and finishing her cigarette she rubbed it out on the ground. “Well, goodnight Crazy Lady.” She got up to leave, and was about to leap the fence again when Greek Lady spoke up, more animated that before. Sandra stopped, unsure what the concern was.

“What? You want me to use the gate? It’s not like there’s a garden to be concerned about.” There was, incidentally, but this wasn’t part of Sandra’s radar, and it wasn’t what Greek Lady was talking about. She said it again, only this time gesturing from Sandra’s front gate, to her door. She seemed to be miming banging of some kind.

“People coming here, is that what you’re talking about?”

Greek Lady nodded, even though she didn’t know the words Sandra was using, she assumed that Sandra knew what she was talking about. In truth it could have been anything, but human communication can be remarkably efficient if you remove language from the equation.

“How many people?” Sandra asked, counting through her fingers to demonstrate.

“Tria” she replied. Sandra knew the number, but Greek Lady held up three fingers just in case.

“How were they dressed?” Sandra asked. “Suits?” and she mimed a jacket and tie.

Greek Lady nodded, and indicated that they had shiny shoes (she mimed spitting and polishing her shoes), and their heights as well by standing up and using her hand to demonstrate. One of them seemed particularly tall. At least, compared to her.

Sandra had a thought. She mimed the tall one, and then mimed a conversation between tall guy and Greek Lady.

“Did he talk to you? Did he ask you anything?”

She nodded.

“Did he smile? Did he have a smile, like a smug half-smile or something?” and she pulled a smug face that was half-convincing, but not enough for Greek Lady. It was when she used her finger to draw the half-smile across her face that she excitedly replied that she understood the charades.

“Sebastian”, she said out loud. “You son of a bitch.”

Greek Lady stood up, and narrated as she mimed them banging on the door. Then mimed tall one reaching into his pocket, stepping forward and then the door opening and they all went inside.

Son of a bitch had a key too. Sandra upgraded.

“Mother fucker.”

This was new. Sebastian had turned her house over. She repeated it in her head. Sebastian had turned her house over. Everything she thought about him was in a constant state of flux. And that was probably how he liked it, really. Dead or alive, always mysterious. Prick.

She thanked Greek Lady, went to offer her another cigarette but she refused. Her reminiscence was over. Sandra waved again, and jumped the fence.

She sat on the couch the veranda, drank her now cool cup of tea, and smoked another cigarette. Her mind tried to process all that she had learned. She sat, and concentrated on the facts. Shortly afterwards she fell asleep, and didn’t wake up when she spilt the rest of her tea on her crotch.