Finding Grace (8 page)

I'm trying to do a drumroll, but I sound more like an out-of-balance ceiling fan, so I do the
Jaws
suspense music instead.

I'm thinking it's weird beginning the day at seven o'clock in the night.

I
'm really looking forward to starting university. I'm a nerd. I'm not ashamed. I have a passion for science fiction. I've had braces. I put up my hand to answer questions. I go to the library. I even peek through my textbooks before the start of term.

So, I get to the university. There is a huge car park at the front the size of about two football fields, and two paths going down through the buildings. I pick the closest one. There are trees everywhere and students lying about on the grass slapping themselves.

I'm walking down the path to the lecture theater. I'm early, as every self-respecting nerd should be. There are a few other nerds waiting here too. They're slapping themselves.

Why are they slapping themselves?

I put my bag down at my feet and tighten the jumper I've got tied around my waist. I slap my forearm.

Mosquitoes!

A little cloud of mosquitoes circles lazily around me.

The door to the lecture theater opens and people start to come out. I choose a seat up front and I put all my fresh, bright, new colored pens out on the little half-table in front of me.

The first thing the lecturer tells us is that he's going to have the pleasure of the company of at least seventy percent of us for the same course this time next year, because that's the failure rate.

“Not I,” says the nerd.

We have a halftime break. All the other students file out to go to the toilet, or smoke, or chat to each other. I sit at my little desk, underlining the key phrases in purple and
turning my bullet points into cheery little stars. I've always taken great pride in my notes.

After the break, the lecturer puts up the dates of all the assignments and the chapters we are supposed to have read. I take down the dates and cross-reference them into my diary.

At the end of the lecture an Asian bloke approaches me. He's smiling and he's nodding. He's got long, thick black hair tied at the nape of his neck.

I think he says something about can he borrow my notes because he doesn't speak English very well, he's only been here for a short while and he can't keep up with the lecturer. I think he said his name was Hiro, but that could well have been part of the explanation.

I can feel an enormous radioactive blush coming on, because I can't understand what he's saying, and for some reason I'm finding that intensely embarrassing.

I can feel the redness rising up my neck and my chin first. Just my neck and chin. Everything else is a nice ordinary ivory. So I pull my collar up to my bottom lip. I'm nodding at him and smiling, like suddenly pulling your shirt up over half your face is a perfectly ordinary way to behave.

The blush has crept up the back of my neck and over my scalp to my ears. I push my chin out to keep the collar of my shirt over my chin while I let go with my hand. I'm undoing the jumper around my waist. I drop the collar and quickly wrap my jumper over my head so the collar reaches down to my eyebrows and the sleeves are wrapped loosely around my neck.

Every self-respecting nerd carries a jumper, even in the
height of summer. Every nerd knows it's important to be prepared for any eventuality.

I think he's telling me that he'll find me and give the notes back to me in the next day or two. I don't really know. I'm not concentrating on what he's saying. I'm blushentranced.

The blush is creeping down my temples and across my cheeks and since I can't put the jumper over my whole face and still maintain even a shred of dignity, I look intently over Hiro's shoulder instead.

I'm thinking to myself (safe now that I'm looking at something else, therefore he can't see the blush, good old Rachel logic in action) that Hiro is going to run off with my bright, fresh, new notepad with each paragraph written in a different bright, fresh, new color and I'll never see him again. But since it's got only one lot of notes in it (and I'm a nerd who is excited about learning so I've already memorized it all anyway), I give the notes to him. He walks backward away from me still smiling and nodding.

He's got really square shoulders. They don't slope down at all. They're very nice shoulders.

I'm not going to be able to do any revision tonight. I'm leaving the university now with my jumper still over my head and not looking at anyone who walks past me. It takes a while for one of these really intense blushes to subside.

My mother phones me as soon as I walk in the door.

“How was it? How did it go?”

“Oh, you know. It was OK.”

“Stop being so teenage,” she replies.

“OK then, it was pretty good. I sat down. A man talked. I came home.”

“And did you make any friends?” she asks.

“Yeah, there was a guy. He borrowed my notes.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“It'll be fine.”

I tell Mum about Hiro and the blush. She thinks it's funny. I can imagine her standing in the kitchen with her hand on her belly while she throws back her head laughing.

Next to the phone there is an address book. Flicking through the pages, I see the number for the Yvonne person. I punch in the numbers and listen to the dial tone.

“Hello?”

“Is this Yvonne?” I ask.

“Yes, who is this?”

“You don't know me. My name is Rachel. I'm Grace's carer. You rang for her yesterday. The reason she hasn't called you back is that she's brain-damaged.”

There is a pause on the line.

“Are you still there?” I ask.

The voice that answers me is choked.

“Oh God, I can't believe it.”

“Yes. Anyway, I just thought I'd let you know,” I say.

“Thank you,” says the voice, and then the line goes dead.

I took
Grace for a walk this morning. She moves slowly and she's easily distracted. I think it's good for her to get some exercise.

I thought I'd take her to the beach, but I was worried she'd tire and I wouldn't be able to get her home. I can't take her long distances in the car because I've only got one snorkel.

Anyway, I smothered her in sunscreen and we walked through the park. It was a really lovely sunny day, not too hot.

We walked through the tidy park with its rotunda and play equipment painted in primary colors. The roses were
in bloom, so when Grace got tired we sat under a big fig tree and I tucked some tiny yellow rosebuds in her hair.

She had her mouth closed and except for the dullness of her eyes, she almost looked pretty.

In the tidy park there is a little coffee shop, except it's not called a coffee shop, it's called a teahouse. Coffee shops are only called coffee shops, or cafés, if they are in the street. If they are in the park or anywhere else where there's a view, they're called a teahouse.

I saw Mr. Preston sitting at one of the outside tables with another man. Mr. Preston was sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, slouched back with his hands laced behind his head. The other man was dressed the same, in a dark suit and sunglasses. He was quite a bit slimmer than Mr. Preston.

Mr. Preston stood up and waved us over.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said, looking intense.

“Good morning, Mr. Preston.” It came out in the singsong way we used to welcome our principal in primary school. I couldn't help it! It was ingrained. Mr. Preston smiled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and I realized that he might have thought that I was making fun of him.

“Rachel, this is my brother, Anthony.”

Anthony Preston stood up and took my hand in both of his. He didn't shake it; instead he held it for a moment. His palms were soft and dry. I couldn't see his eyes because of his sunglasses, but he had perfectly straight white teeth.

His lips turned up at the edges when he smiled. Some people's lips, when they smile, just pull back from their
teeth sideways. Anthony Preston's lips definitely turned upward.

He was very good-looking. He was smiling at me in that amused way of someone who knows you're thinking they're good-looking.

He looked the same as Mr. Preston, but about five years younger and twenty kilos lighter.

“Anthony, this is Rachel, our wonderful carer, and of course you know Grace.”

Anthony turned his head in Grace's direction. Then he lifted his glasses up to the top of his head and smiled at me again. His eyes were almost unnaturally blue. He held eye contact with me for just long enough for me to feel uncomfortable. The weight of his eyes felt like a physical touch. I shivered.

I've always felt uncomfortable around really good-looking people. It's as if they remind me how awkward I am. I never know what to say or how to behave.

We all stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say. Finally, Anthony said, “Won't you join us, Rachel?” He pulled out a chair next to his and sat down, patting the seat. He had a sort of hungry look in his eye that made me very self-conscious.

Mr. Preston was frowning, still standing looking at his brother. I watched as he transformed into
the large and growly bear.
“You rude, arrogant bastard,” he snarled.

Anthony Preston, still smiling, turned to look at Mr. Preston, who was standing with his hands on his hips, frowning.

I didn't know what to do, so I just stood still.

Anthony Preston threw back his head and laughed
through his white teeth. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Won't you join us, Rachel
and Grace
.”

He patted the seat next to him and then in an exaggerated movement leaned across to the next seat and patted that one as well. Then he sat back and raised both his hands up to his shoulders, palms outward.

I looked at Mr. Preston and his brother, involved in some kind of masculine power struggle.

“Umm, no. Thank you. Grace and I are walking. I, that is
we
, hope you have a pleasant afternoon.”

Then I took Grace by the elbow, steering her away toward home.

I have
made a discovery. I was in Grace's study and I found something. I'd just put her to bed. The last few days I've been reading before she goes to sleep, or before I do. I put her to bed, and then I sit on the bed next to her and read to her until she goes to sleep.

Sometimes I wake up dribbling on my arm. Grace is staring at the ceiling, waiting patiently for me to get on with the story. I wonder if she's thinking, “Well, I'm all for dramatic pauses, but really!”

Sometimes I've been reading in bed and fallen asleep and dropped the book on my face. Boy, that doesn't half give me a fright!
Ahh, someone just dropped a book on my face! Oh … it was me.

Sometimes I do that thing where my body sort of convulses and I shock myself awake with the involuntary movement. Watching people do this is my favorite method of alleviating boredom on long train trips. I purposely sit in full view of lone passengers who look really tired, so I can have a chuckle. Especially those really respectable people dressed in fancy clothes. I just love that head-lolling-about thing, it kills me!

Anyway, I think Grace enjoys it. I mean the reading, not the convulsing or head-lolling. Her eyes rove around the room. She looks at the ceiling. After a while, she starts to blink slow, long blinks, until eventually her eyes stay closed. Then I slowly stand up and go to bed.

Sometimes I read some more in my own bed. Grace doesn't seem to notice the missed bits. Besides, she's probably read them all before anyway.

I'd just put her to bed and I walked into the study to pick a new book. I'd pulled out a few likely prospects— nothing heavy, murder mysteries mostly. I try to avoid anything that's likely to have a sex scene in it. It's the same with videos. I blush like crazy. You can see it coming a mile away, you're reading away and then all of a sudden someone starts to
feel warm skin
, or they start to notice
soft curves
about each other's persons or they start letting
soft moans
escape. I'm out of there before backs start arching. It's all too much.