Odd One Out (10 page)

They laughed a little at that.

“Is that why you moved out so young?” Sebastian had just turned eighteen when he got a flat on his own, she remembered.

“Part of the reason. I knew that if I stayed, I’d be forever bailing him out. I’d done enough of that. And that wasn’t doing either of us any good. Especially after he lost his job. He kept skipping lectures to go to the bookies. It took a while, but eventually I realized it wasn’t my job to take care of him.”

“Seb, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known. For you, if not him.”

“I was okay, Sylvie. Really. I got mad sometimes, and then I’d get sad. It’s the same now. But I still enjoy him. When he’s in good form—pardon the racing pun—he’s good company. He still reads a lot, still thinks. But I’m not in charge of his life, and he’s not in charge of mine.”

“This is why he never got in contact with us, isn’t it?”

“Most of the reason.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’ve thought a lot about it, talked to people about it—”

“Therapy, you mean?”

“Nothing so interesting. I went to Gam-Anon. For families of gamblers. I didn’t like what I heard, but it made me understand there was nothing I could do about it. It suited Dad to live separately from me. It suited him to live separately from all of us. No Mum on his back, no kids to feel responsible for. Out of sight, out of mind, out of guilt.”

She felt tears well and blinked them away. “I wanted to like him. I thought he would be the missing piece in my life. That meeting him would make everything right. And . . .”

Sebastian waited.

“I didn’t feel anything. He was just an old man. An old man who got up and left in the middle of dinner.”

“Not even the middle. You didn’t even get started, did you? Talk about a cheap date.”

She couldn’t laugh. She was still too angry. Too hurt. “What do I do now, Seb? Do I meet him again? Do I have to get to know him? Do I have to love him?”

“You have to do whatever feels right. But how can you love him yet? You don’t know him.”

“He’s my father. I’m supposed to love him, aren’t I?”

“I don’t think there are rules about that. If there are, he’s broken a few of them. So I’d say you’re even on that score.”

“Do you love him?”

“I like him. I feel sorry for him. I care what happens to him. Is that love? I don’t know.”

During dinner Sebastian told her more stories of life with their father. Her eyes filled with tears again.

He noticed. “Don’t cry for me, Sylvie. Seriously. I still think I got the better end of the deal. You’re the one who had to live with Fidelma and Heckle and Jeckle.”

“I wish I’d known. I wish I could have helped you.”

“There was no help to be done. And you know now.”

“Better late than never?”

“Exactly.”

Over coffee, she told him about the job offer from Jill. He was delighted for her. “But you don’t look too pleased.” He hesitated. “It’s not because of Dad being here in Melbourne, is it? Knowing about him? Has it ruined things?”

“No.” She thought about it. “No, it hasn’t. I’m still trying to work it all out. Whether I should take it. Where I would live. How I would live.”

“Of course you should take it. And the rest is simple. You’d live with me until you found your own place. My friends would be your friends. It’s all here waiting for you, Sylvie. Your new life, waiting to be lived. Come on, get that sad look off your face. It’s not the end of the world with Dad, I promise you. He’s not the devil, or evil. He’s just a mess. But it’s his life, and he’s living it the way he wants to. And we have to live our lives too.”

“I think I wanted a happy ending, Seb. I wanted it to all work out differently.”

“You’re not at the end yet. Who knows how it will be between you? Give him some time. And give yourself some time as well. And try not to expect too much. He’s only human. And so are you.”

“It’s not that simple, is it?”

“I’ve had twenty years to think about it, Sylvie. It actually is that simple. Not easy, but simple.” He reached across and touched her hand. “Trust me. I’m your big brother.”

They left the restaurant straight after their meal. No visits to bars or late-night clubs. Sylvie helped Sebastian carry his bags up the stairs to his apartment. He was staying just the one night, returning to the film set the next morning.

“There’ll be a message from Mill,” she said over her shoulder. “She’s started ringing each night with one of her handy household tips.”

“She has? I’m changing the number first thing tomorrow.”

The light was flashing. Sylvie smiled. “Told you.” She pressed the button.

“Sylvie, it’s Mill.” Her voice sounded odd. “I need some help. I’ve a pain in my chest. I’ve rung my neighbors but they’re out. I didn’t want to make a fuss and ring the doctor but . . . it’s a sharp pain. You’re not there. I’ll try—”

Sylvie exchanged an alarmed glance with Sebastian. She replayed the message.

“It’s not a joke, is it?” Sebastian asked.

“She doesn’t make those kinds of jokes.” Sylvie picked up the phone and rang Mill’s number. There was no answer. She tried again. It rang out one more time.

She didn’t hesitate. She dialed 000 and quickly explained.

“We can send someone around,” the operator said. “What’s the address?”

She didn’t know. She’d never been to Vincent’s house. “It’s a terrace in Surry Hills.”

“Miss, we can’t help without an address. Can you find it out? Call us back?”

Sebastian rang Fidelma’s number on the landline. He got the answering machine. Sylvie rang Cleo and Vanessa on their mobiles. She got their voicemail in both cases.

At Sylvie’s suggestion, Sebastian logged onto the web and googled Vincent Langan’s name. “No good,” he called. “It just says he lived in Surry Hills.”

Sylvie had a brainwave. “Seb, quick, get the website for George’s Gorgeous Gardens. He knows where she lives.”

George answered his mobile immediately. Sylvie urgently explained.

“I live just three streets away,” he said. “I’ll call the ambulance and go there right now myself. I’ve got a key.”

“Will you call me back?”

“As soon as I can.”

***

George rang back thirty minutes later. Mill was on her way to hospital. He’d found her unconscious on her living room floor. She’d had a heart attack.

“She’s got a heart condition?”

“It’s usually under control with tablets. But she’s been so busy getting Vincent’s house organized, she wasn’t taking care of herself. But she’ll be okay. She said it, the doctor said it. She also told me to give you a tip from her.”

“A tip? At a time like this?”

There was amusement in his voice. “She said it was a simple one. ‘Never forget to take your medication.’”

***

Sylvie awoke at seven the next morning. Sebastian was still asleep, his bedroom door shut. She dressed quietly and walked out into the misty morning.

She loved autumn in Melbourne. It felt different than it did in Sydney. She felt closer to nature, though it did help living next to the Botanic Gardens. She walked around the boundary of the gardens, listening to the traffic, the pounding feet of the joggers, snatches of conversation. She thought of the different parts of the city she had visited. All there was still to be uncovered. The possibility of getting to know her father better, if he let her and if she decided she wanted to.

There were great opportunities for her, she could feel it. Different work, a new share-house, the distance she needed from her mother and sisters, the fun she would have with Sebastian. She got the feeling again. Of anticipation. Knowing she could take charge of her own life.

Sebastian was coming out of the bathroom in his dressing gown when she let herself in.

“You’ve been to get me fresh croissants and orange juice. What a thoughtful sister.”

“I haven’t but I can.”

“I don’t eat breakfast. Make me coffee, though, and you’ll be in my good books all day.”

She had a tray of coffee waiting on the table beside the bay window when he came back from getting dressed. She poured them both a coffee and then sat down opposite him.

“You look serious,” he said.

“I am.” It was the right thing to do. She knew it. “Seb, I’ve decided something.”

“What?”

“I’m going back to Sydney. I was offered a job before I came down here. I’m going to take it.”

“What job? With the agency?”

She shook her head. “As Mill’s companion.”

He burst out laughing. “That’s a cracker, Sylvie. Bedpans. Tablets. Oh yes, you’ll be really happy.” He stopped and looked at her. “Oh, my God. You’re serious.”

She nodded.

“But what about the big Melbourne job?”

“I don’t want it.”

“You’d be so good at it.”

“It’s not what I want to do. I feel like I’ve done work like it already. Long hours. Stressful demands. It wouldn’t feel new.”

“But Melbourne would be new. There’s so much here.”

“I’ll come down more often. See you more regularly.”

“It’s not because of Dad, is it?”

“No.” She was sure of that. “I wanted him to be different. I wanted him to want to get to know me. But that won’t change whether I’m here or in Sydney, will it?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But, Sylvie, talk about frying pan into fire. You’re a young woman. Mill’s an old, mad woman.”

“She’s not. She’s only in her seventies and she’s not mad. Eccentric, but not mad. Did you know she was Vincent Langan’s lover for forty years? That he was one of the best jazz musicians of his age? That what she doesn’t know about household tips isn’t worth knowing? That she has lived through a world war? That she cooked dinner for every jazz and blues singer worth their note in Sydney in the fifties and sixties? She’s full of stories. She’s funny. I like her.”

“So ring her once a week. Become pen pals. Why do you have to go and live with her?”

“I want to get to know her while there’s still time. And she needs a hand getting her affairs in order.”

“More affairs? A woman of her age?”

“Her paperwork. She’s got boxes of recipes and tips. All of Vincent’s papers and his music collection. I’d like to help her with them.”

“You are serious, aren’t you?” He laughed ruefully. “Where did I go so terribly wrong?”

“You didn’t go wrong. You went right. You showed me another way of living. A different way. And I realized this morning I liked the old way. I just needed to come at it from a different direction.”

“So you’re moving back home?”

She shook her head. “I’m moving into an upstairs room in Mill’s house. It’s painted blue and it looks out on a fig tree.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me.”

“But what if I said I want you to stay here with me?”

An echo. She thought of herself as a child.
I want to be with my brother.

“If you still want me when we are old and gray, I’ll come and be your housekeeper. I just need to pick up all the tips from Mill first.”

“Not the racy ones. I don’t want some slapper of a housekeeper living with me, bringing home elderly gents from the local bowls club.”

“I promise. No elderly gents.”

“Are you sure, Sylvie?”

“About the elderly gents? Yes, positive.”

“Not them.”

She smiled. “I am sure, Seb. I’m absolutely sure.” She said it in a crisp English accent.

He grinned at her. “Then come here and give your poor lonely brother a big hug. Your poor lonely abandoned brother.”

“That’s emotional blackmail, isn’t it?”

He leaned back and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “She recognizes it at last. My work here has not been in vain. Go forth, young Sylvie. You have my blessing.”

They hugged on it.

***

One week later, she had a farewell night out with Sebastian, Donald, Leila and Max. Dinner, drinks, lots of laughing. She was very aware of Leila and Max, still in the early stages of their relationship, all glances and touching. She felt pangs of regret, mixed up with jealousy, uncomfortable feelings. She made a conscious effort to seem relaxed and pleased for them both.

Sebastian was the life of the party, bemoaning the fact she was leaving, making fun of her. “My plan went awry. I had it all sorted. Sylvie rents my spare room and cooks all my dinners, works part-time in Donald’s bookshop and forms a long and lasting relationship with you, Max.”

Max shrugged, putting on a sad expression. “She wasn’t interested in me, I’m afraid. Obviously too used to those Flash Harry Sydney types. Still, I was able to drown my sorrows with Leila.”

“Stop that, you,” Leila said, with a too-loud giggle. “Our meeting was fate and you know it.” She planted a big kiss on his cheek.

Sylvie kept a bright smile on her face, laughing with everyone else. Is that what Max had thought? That she hadn’t shown any interest? Would everything have been different if she hadn’t left the music club that night? Not taken offense at his curiosity about Vincent Langan? Would Leila still have knocked him off his feet? She was glad when Donald engaged her in conversation and she could turn away from Max and Leila.

The party ended soon after. Leila gave her a big farewell hug. “I’ll ring you, Sylvie. Every week, I promise. We can be long-distance friends.”

“I’d love that.” She meant it too.

Donald hugged her as well. “Good luck, Sylvie. See you soon, I hope.”

“I hope so too,” she said.

Max was next. “I hope Sydney treats you well. Keep in touch.”

“I will. You too.” She wondered if they would. She hugged him then pulled away first, for her own sake. He still felt good. Tall and solid. But out of her reach.

***

She arrived back in Sydney on the two thirty flight. She’d rung Fidelma and told her the news. Fidelma said it all sounded like a marvelous idea. She then told Sylvie about her plans for her new exhibition opening. Flame throwers, she was thinking, to tie in with the idea of the elements. Sylvie said she thought it sounded wonderful and gave her the name of two excellent event organizers. Fidelma didn’t offer to collect her from the airport and Sylvie didn’t ask. She was nearly thirty. She was perfectly capable of getting a taxi or a bus home. To her new home.

Mill had rung the night before to tell her once more how pleased she was at Sylvie’s decision. She’d been out of the hospital for four days. She was fighting fit again, she said.

“We’ll set some ground rules too, I promise. You’re not coming to be my nurse. Or my companion, really, now I think about it. We can be partners. How does that sound?”

Sylvie thought it sounded good.

As she came out into the arrivals area, a man in his mid-thirties came up to her. Medium height, brown-faced, dressed in faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt pushed up over muscled arms.

“Sylvie?” At her nod, he put out his hand. “I’m George. Your aunt’s gardener. She asked me to come and collect you.”

He had a smiling open face. She found herself smiling back at him. “How did you know it was me?”

He picked up her case as if it was a matchbox. “She said you were small and lovely. And you are. Come on, the car’s this way.”