Death Actually Page 16

  “You poor thing. This is your home, remember, not his. Maybe I should change doctors.”

  Maggie walked over and sat on the bed, looking utterly dejected. “Of course you can’t change doctors. He’s the only one who listened to you. Just warn me when he’s coming and I’ll make sure I’m out. Maybe if I don’t see him for a few weeks then we can pretend nothing ever happened. It’s not as if we move in the same circles, is it?”

  Elka squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you have a nap? It was a long drive and you look exhausted.”

  “I can’t. I promised I’d go and see Lizzie as soon as I got home. And I have to let the others know I’m back. It was good of them to hold the fort when I was away, but… it’s back to work. Don’t worry. I’m a grown-up. I can do this. It’s you we need to look after, not me. Is there anything you need before I go?”

  Elka finished her tea and handed Maggie the cup. “I’m good. I’ll be up and around in no time. Thank you for having me here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Sleep. I’ll look in on you later.”

  Maggie went downstairs. As she rinsed out the mug and put it in the dishwasher, she thought about Elka. They’d been friends for over twenty years – their relationship had lasted. But was a friendship enough? Certainly it was less complicated than a marriage. In a way, they had the best of both worlds. Someone each could depend on when times were tough, but with room to be themselves, to live their lives exactly as they wished. Elka had been there for her through thick and thin, and she had done the same for her in return. It had suited them to be close, with neither feeling smothered by the other. When Maggie thought about the future, and God forbid, old age, it was Elka she was relying on to be there with her.

  A wave of acute embarrassment flooded over her when she thought about the scene in the hotel corridor last night. Why?Why did I do it? Whyput yourself at risk?

  You know why. For the first time in years, a man – a decent , healthy , good – looking , charming, funny , intelligent man – paid attention to you. He made you feel like a woman again. Not just a person , b ut a woman . A desirable woman. And you blew it.

  Maggie shook her head. She hoped she wouldn’t see him again for a long long time.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The sun was shining and there was an early spring warmth in the air, despite the dirty snow still banked high in the lee of some of the buildings. Driving was less treacherous today, but the same couldn’t be said for Lizzie’s stairs, which hadn’t fared well in the winter weather. Water had inveigled itself under the treads of the upper steps, and then frozen at night, expanding to rip the rubber away from the wood underneath. Maggie needed to warn Lizzie to get the landlord to make repairs, or someone could trip and fall. She would prefer that it wasn’t her son.

  She’d heard Nick talk about her old school friend, but even so she wasn’t prepared for the mountain of blubber she found sitting on the dirty sofa in this horrible little flat on the dark side of town. The young Lizzie she had known at school, and had seen in photos around the time of the World Champs, had been gorgeous. Maggie had fond memories of a confident energetic teenager with blonde hair and sparkly green eyes excitedly saying goodbye to her before leaving to train in the French Alps.

  Lizzie had stunned the country with her performance at the World Champs in the downhill slalom. Everyone had been backing her to win gold at the next Olympics, and there had been full- page photos of Queenstown’s 16 sixteen-year- old golden girl on the front covers of national papers, and magazines. The local and international press had clamoured for interviews and photographs, while sponsorships and endorsement requests had flooded in. There were rumours about late nights and wild parties, but no one believed them. How could someone so beautiful and talented risk everything, when sporting glory was within reach?

  Taking a deep breath and then regretting it instantly, Maggie tried not to look shocked when she saw Lizzie, or to react to the smell of living decay that smothered the atmosphere in the small room. She dug out one of the strong mints she carried in her bag and popped it in her mouth, waiting for the stringent peppermint relief to float up and absorb the odour of sweaty woman.

  “Good to see you, Lizzie,” she said, breathing through her mouth.

  There was only one spare chair in the room, so Maggie moved it closer to the sofa and sat down.

  “Sorry it’s taken so long, but you know I was in Dunedin with Elka, and before that Betty died and then Jilly …” Maggie trailed off weakly. “Actually … I should have come to see you sooner– much sooner. I’m sorry.”

  Maggie felt Lizzie examine her. “We don’t always do what we should, do we, Maggie? You and I both know that, so let’s leave it there.” She paused. “You look wonderful – but then you always did.”

  Maggie was at a loss to know what to say in reply, and it showed.

  “I know how I look, so don’t say anything,” said Lizzie. “Honesty used to be your forte, so don’t start with false manners now. I know I look like shit, but that’s the way my life has turned out. The doctors didn’t do their job properly and I’m the one left with the problem.” She sighed, lifting her leg to show Maggie her foot. “My life was taken from me when my foot got broken. Can’t walk because of pain, certainly can’t ski. That was the only thing I was good at, so what can I do?”

  The scarred twisted foot hung in the air between them, seemingly on display, until Lizzie was sure Maggie understood the significance of her injury. Maggie duly commiserated, but she lacked sincerity and both knew it. The atmosphere in the room chilled as Maggie tried to maintain a polite façade, which she could see didn’t fool Lizzie for a moment. In full victim mode Lizzie was angry that Maggie was judging her and had found her wanting.

  “I heard your life didn’t work out that well either, Maggie Potter,” said Lizzie spitefully.

  “Maybe,” retorted Maggie, “but at least I didn’t let it beat me, Lizzie Martin.”

  “I’m not beaten,” said Lizzie, defiantly. “This is the way I want to be, at least until someone finds a cure. Unless you’ve been through this yourself, you couldn’t possibly understand what I have to go through every day. No one could.”

  Maggie could see from the petulant expression on her face, that Lizzie had become more accustomed to thinking about what she couldn’t do, rather than what she might be able to do. There would be no purpose in pointing out how others coped with far worse injuries, than she had experienced so she relented and let Lizzie’s disability win.

  “Why did you want to see me?” she asked.

  “You’re not the right person after all,” said Lizzie stiffly. “You’ve become very judgemental, Maggie, and I don’t know if l like you enough to trust you.”

  Maggie sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m lucky, because no matter what else has happened to me, I can walk and I’m not in pain. Of course things are awful for you, Lizzie, and of course I can’t possibly know what it’s like.”

  Lizzie picked up a little at this, settling with a resigned sigh into her helplessness within the depths of the stained sofa.

  “Tell me what happened,” said Maggie. “I remember the accident, but soon after I moved to Australia. Things weren’t good with Mum and Dad so I lost touch. Your father was with you when you had your accident, wasn’t he?”

  “He’d just arrived. There were rumours about my behaviour, and Dad said he’d come over to bring me home and knock some sense into me. The ski scene in Europe was such a shock, coming from little old New Zild. I knew I was out of control, but who wasn’t? I was seventeen, had just won the championship and the Olympics were coming up. Everyone wanted me. They were giving me stuff and saying nice things. After the years of training, the time in the gym, the early nights, it was mind-blowing to go out and party. One day, I’ll tell you all about the fun times.”

  “Anyway, Dad didn’t get on with Enzio, my new coach. They had this huge fight about the parties, the money, everything, a
nd Dad stormed out. I went after him to tell him I wasn’t coming home, and that’s when the car hit me. I’d been drinking and ran straight out across the road. I don’t blame the driver. It was my fault, but when the doctors couldn’t fix me properly, I lost everything. Dad stayed by my side at the hospital day and night, but he blamed himself. For a while, I blamed him too. I didn’t see Enzio again. He made one quick visit to the hospital the day after the accident, then I heard he was coaching an American. Not as good as me, though; got disqualified in ’92.”

  “Why didn’t you come home?” asked Maggie.

  “I couldn’t. I thought the doctors in Europe would be so much better than the ones here, but they weren’t, and by the time I found out it was too late. I had four operations but my ankle just got worse. When they told me I would never ski again – well, not competitively – I gave up. Skiing was my life; it was everything to me and it was gone, taken. Dad tried, but then Mum got sick and he had to come home to look after her. I felt really bad about everything I’d put them through. They’d sacrificed so much for me and here I was a cripple and unable to repay them. Sure I had money, but that’s not the point is it? I wanted my old life back. I wanted to be Queenstown’s golden girl, but I was just some gimp in pain, talking about past glories, with no future. So I stayed there. Mum died first and then Dad a few weeks later, broken-hearted, as someone kindly pointed out in a newspaper. What could I have done for them, Maggie? Nothing. I didn’t want to come back when I knew they were sick, and have them look after me. You understand, don’t you?”

  “I think so. Your poor parents must have missed you, though. You were their only child. How could you let them die without seeing you?”

  “Isn’t that what you did to your parents? You can’t sit there and lecture me about being a good daughter. My father told me you broke your father’s heart when you buggered off to Australia with the first ski bum who asked you out.”

  A big fat tear rolled down Lizzie’s cheek. “I know it was wrong, Maggie. I felt so bad, and I still do. I let them down. I know it was different for you. You had no warning of what was going to happen to your mum and dad. Anyway, after my parents died, I knew everyone would hate me for not coming back, so that was another reason to stay away. I couldn’t face anyone who knew me in the old days. Still can’t. Look at me, Maggie. Imagine what people would say. My life is never going to be the way I want it to be. It’s all gone. I have nothing. You don’t understand.” Lizzie was crying in earnest now.

  Maggie knew she should be trying to comfort Lizzie. That she should give her a hug, even, but instead she had to work hard not to get angry with her and tell her a few home truths about how selfish she’d been and how pathetic she was now.

  For goodness sake, it was just one bloody foot. There are paraplegics who don’t give up and hide away, she thought. They don’t blameeveryone else for their problems. She’d seen people with all sorts of disabilities skiing on Coronet.

  She found a paper serviette that had been delivered with that morning’s KFC, and offered it to Lizzie, who took it gratefully and blew loudly, before handing the crumpled serviette straight back. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I suppose I’d better tell you why I wanted to see you then,” she said,“so you can get back to The Stables. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your family.”

  “And Elka. She needs me too at the moment,” said Maggie. “She’s had surgery and we’re looking after her until she gets back on her feet.”

  “Lucky her, to have feet to get back on to,” muttered Lizzie.

  Maggie purposely kept her face still. “What is it you want?”

  “As you can see, I’m not in the best of health.” Lizzie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I wanted to make sure you’ll have a coffin big enough for me, should anything happen.”

  “It’s only your foot, isn’t it? That’s hardly going to kill you. Don’t you think ordering a coffin or casket – they are different – is maybe getting a bit melodramatic?”

  “I didn’t know you had a medical degree as well as being an undertaker,” snapped Lizzie. “As you can see, I’m bigger than I used to be. I’m fat, Maggie. Not my fault. It happens when you can’t exercise. I have conditions because of my weight, and the new doctor, Ben Goodman, has told me I don’t have long to live.”

  “Have you got cancer?” asked Maggie, suddenly feeling guilty.

  “Not yet, but he did say I was at a higher risk of cancer because of my weight.”

  “What did he actually say? What were his words?”

  “He said I could go at any time, if I carried on the way I was. You have to accept that when a doctor says it. It’s not good – which is why I needed to see you, to prepare. I know it’ll be hard to find anything big enough to put me in and I don’t want to be left lying around. I want to get it organised now.”

  “The obvious question, Lizzie, is why don’t you stop carrying on the way you are and then you won’t need me? Try exercising – lose some weight, stop eating KFC. Surely that’s what Ben was trying to say to you. He wasn’t telling you to prepare for your imminent demise.”

  Lizzie bristled with anger. “Do you want my business or not, Maggie? I could go to the other outfit. I thought of you first, but if you won’t take me seriously, then perhaps you’d better leave. Don’t bother coming back. Seeing you again has not been as nice as I thought it would be.”

  “I’m sorry, Lizzie. Of course I’ll help. Why don’t you go online and look at what’s available. A casket would suit you more than a coffin, rectangular shape whereas a coffin goes in at the feet and shoulders, so look at those.” Maggie found a clean serviette and wrote down the name of several websites. “I’ll get Nick to bring some brochures and then you can let me know when you want to discuss this again.”

  Slightly mollified by Maggie’s apologetic tone, Lizzie nodded. “OK, I will. In case you’re worrying about being paid, money isn’t a problem. Dad set up a trust for me when I was a baby and it’s doing quite well. Plus I get the gaming money.”

  “Gaming? Are you a gambler?”

  “No. World of Warcraft, it’s a computer game. Oh never mind, ask Nick.”

  Maggie shrugged and got up, then stopped and looked at the door. “This won’t be wide enough to get you out and down the stairs, Lizzie. If you can’t lose weight, I’ll have to arrange for the fire service to take the side of the house off and get you out that way – but that means there’ll be sightseers. Think about it. If you lost weight, we could get you out of here with dignity. Just a thought. Oh, and tell your landlord about the stairs – the tread’s lifted on these top ones and they’re really dangerous. I don’t want Nick to trip.”

  When Maggie got home, she found Nick asleep in front of the TV. He stretched out as he woke. “All go well?” he asked, yawning.

  “Seemed to. I’ll go back and see her in a few days. How’s Elka?”

  “She’s been asleep since you left. But I meant to ask, how did it go in Dunedin? Anything exciting happen in the big smoke?”

  “Nothing exciting, just the usual,” lied Maggie, picking up a piece of paper from the bench. “What’s this?”

  “There’s a guy who keeps ringing Kate, but she’s never here when he calls. Wants her to ring him.”

  “Probably work. I knew it wouldn’t take long for people to find out she’s back. Put it on the bench by the coffee and she’ll see it in the morning. I’m going to bed.”

  “There’s a letter for you too.”

  Maggie found a thick envelope under the day’s paper. “I’ve been invited to a party – next week at the restaurant.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “Estelle, the real estate agent. She remembered.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  Maggie hesitated. She knew Ben would be there. Next week was too soon.

  “Of course she’s going,” called Elka from upstairs. “I am, and she’s got to look after me.”

  Chapter Thi
rty

  Tim was relieved to be back on set, especially after the fuss that had gone down in Auckland. He was more relieved his scar was healing up. With the help of the make-up artist, filming could start again. The weather had cleared, the river was down, the crew were ready and he was back where he belonged, where he felt safe – in front of the camera.

  But he couldn’t wait to get home.

  The press, led by Bramble, had made his life hell for the past few days. He’d realised too late it was a mistake to go to the charity ball. Seated at a table of people who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut, his every utterance had been reported and commented on, mostly negatively.

  Photos of him talking to the celebrity organised to be his date had been uploaded to social media while he was still at the ball, for chrissakes. The only consolations were that she was shorter than him and looked great – you can’t go past big breasts and a low-cut dress.

  Tim was well aware dancing was his weak point, and usually avoided public displays that would expose his lack of rhythm, so he only had himself to blame when some asshole filmed him taking to the floor with the encouragement of his partner, after he’d had one whisky too many. When he was overly relaxed, his timing and arms went even more to shit, but he’d been powerless to resist the breasts swaying in the cleavage displayed in front of him. The resulting fiasco had made him a laughing stock on YouTube, with the clip getting more than three million hits so far, and climbing. And his PR team could do nothing about it.

  Even the footage of him with one of the biggest trout caught in the Tongariro that year made not one whit of difference to the online derision that was growing by the second. The worst of it was, Tim had genuinely caught that trout, reeling it in after a long battle, without help from the fishing guide who admitted to being genuinely impressed with his effort. But did anyone apart from other fishermen watch that clip on YouTube? Nope. Anglers didn’t count in his world. Tim’s target audience consisted of women and young people who paid to see his movies. Ted Turner had sent him a text saying Well caught!, which he supposed was something. Maybe he would hear from Putin, another guy who triumphed in manly pursuits but was always misunderstood.