Every Second Counts

Chapter Four

AS I WALK, OR SHOULD I SAY STUMBLE along the street and head to Damien's shop my head space is all over the place and I rubber neck like the two young teenagers with backpacks walking in front of me. Only I am not a tourist like them, taking in their quaint surroundings. I am scanning the area for the man in the Black Sedan and anyone that looks as if they are KGB, or FBI or...? For fucks sake, I'm a paranoid mess!

When I arrive at Damien's shop, it's 3 p.m. Although I want to see Damien and continue our intimate discussion where I will probably swoon and tell him how much I have loved him over the years, the discussion at the Heslop's has drowned any remnants of my previous flirtatious mood and instead of going into his shop, I unlock my car and slide into the front seat. When I take off down the street to head back into the city, I see Damien putting up his closed sign. Obviously he's had enough of the day too.

White washed farm houses amongst fields of green, villages of stone cottages enclosed in white picket fences and a windy road edged with brambles and thickets drift past as I drive with my head totally someplace else...back in the Heslop's cosy kitchen being told some serious far-fetched information. I cannot believe any of it is true, but honest to God you couldn't make that shit up!

It is with exhaustion when I finally garage my Holden and take the lift to Red's apartment. Floppy is beside herself with wanting and I suddenly feel the same about her. She lays beside me on my bed with her head nestled into my belly and I stroke the soft fur down the bridge of her nose. She falls asleep long before I do.

My fitful sleep does not erase the horrors of my life and I cannot settle my head for a long time, trying with all the stubborn traits of both Athena and Red to eradicate the information Mrs. Heslop chose to tell me. The following morning, wandering aimlessly around Red's local suburb doesn't ease my troubled mind and when Carter Johnson strides down the street toward me, just adds to my stress. Will he recognise me?

'Hey,' he says and his smile goes right to his eyes.

'Hey,' I say and keep on walking.

'Hang about,' he says as he does an about turn and walks in step with me. 'I was hoping to run into you sometime.'

'Why?' My voice is churlish, but I hoped he didn't recognise me. Especially because the first time we sort of met was in the middle of the night when I was completely sloshed and had gate-crashed his cab. Like a gentleman or 'Just some fucking do-gooder' which I had called him that night, he allowed me to share his cab and then he escorted me to my Psychiatrists. Unfortunately, my blond wig which was meant to camouflage Red's bright red short hair, slipped sideways which Carter decided was part of my 'gear' and assumed I was a hooker and Patrick was my 'John.'

'Well, you know, we sort of hit it off the other night. Didn't you think?' Carter tells me referring to the second time we met. My head goes right back to the night I bumped into him at the Gay Bar. So, very embarrassing. And although I was decked from tip to toe in Red Picasso attire (no Athena blond wig) he recognised me. He tried to converse with me, but me being me, told him to piss off...not in so many words, but that was the impression the man who came to my aid, was under. So there I was, in a gay bar, and the man who came to my rescue actually thought I was a transvestite. Carter immediately came to my aid but the man then accused Carter of saving me for himself! Seriously, you couldn't make this stuff up and all of these unsavoury memories makes me wish I had not run into him today. I mean, where the fuck do we go from here? Like, what sort of conversation do I have with this man, whom I think I could like, but is gay. And, because of the circumstances surrounding our first meeting...he thinks I'm a prostitute! Loose with my morals, yes! Prostitute, no!

'Look, I'm in a hurry. I have to be somewhere,' I tell him.

He quirks an eyebrow and scans my clothes, Athena's jeans and hoody, both in dire need of a dunk in the washing machine. 'You're not ready for work. So, you have time for a coffee,' he tells me. Fuck. Now he's making reference to my supposed prozzy work clothes!

I pick up my walking speed, elbows swishing by my sides. He keeps up. 'I've had a bad day. OK? I'm in no mood for company. Especially with you. You have the wrong impression about me.' I stop in the middle of the street. He stops. Pedestrians straddle around us as I tell him, 'And, it's none of your business what I get up to, or don't.' He looks at me with interest. A deep frown and I can see his cobalt eyes trying to fathom out what I mean. At the same time I'm hoping my face isn't portraying just what a sad excuse of a woman I actually am. I mean, in all fairness, if Carter Johnson thinks of me as a prostitute and is offended, how would he react if he discovered I was a murderer?

I'm not sure why, but I let him lead me to the nearest café called A Pound Something and we order two coffees.

'Hey,' he says, 'I heard about Patrick Gladstone.'

'You know about him?'

He laughs. 'Sure. But I thought he was, um, someone else entirely. You know, the night we met.'

'Really?' I ask feigning surprise. 'Who did you think he was?' As if I didn't know!

I eye him and although he doesn't bat an eyelid, I can see the tension in the lower side of his jaw. That will teach him to interfere in my life! Let him squirm.

'That's not important. What's important is I now know who he was. Bad luck, aye?'

Apart from now having to think about Patrick, I cannot understand where he's going with this. 'Bad luck? What do you mean?'

'Well, now you're going to have to find...'

He stops amid sentence. My lips are so tight and he cannot misconstrue my meaning. There is no way he is going to verbalise his thoughts...I do not want him to say, 'now you're going to have to find a new John.'

'For your information, I was going to him, that night we um met...for his services. He was my Psychiatrist.'

'Yeah, I know he was a Psychiatrist. But, you were going to him for his services? At night?'

'Yes, not that it is any of your Godsdammed business, I was seeing him for professional reasons, at night.'

'Mmm,' Carter observes me now, with both eyebrows raised.

'I've had very bad things happen in my life. Sometimes I needed his help desperately. And yeah, sometimes it's in the middle of the night,' I snap and stand up. I have to get out of his fucking sight. How dare he? But then he reaches over and places his hand on mine. My eyes snap to his as I jerk my hand out of his reach. Then it happens. He's full of concern. I can see it all over his face. He stands up quickly and says, 'Athena, or whatever your name is, I am so sorry. Trust me, I am the last person to judge anyone. Please sit back down. Drink your coffee and I promise I'll behave.'

Sod it! Right now all I want is a friendly face. I'm not sure what Carter Johnson is really up to, but I have no one else at the moment. I wish Lila still lived nearby. I need her right now. And I wish I had allowed Betsy my Solicitor, inside my narrow world. She's a neat lady. Clever, gorgeous and right now if I had a personal friendship with her, I could be confiding in her. Letting her guide me. But, no. I'd turned her offer of friendship down so many times, I am confident she won't be pursuing that line ever again.

So, here I am. Staring into Mr Gaylords friendly face and down I sit.

'If you were going to Patrick Gladstone for his professional services then I am extremely sorry if I have said anything to upset you.'

'You mean judging me?' I ask and I eyeball him for the longest moment. He ends our eye connection first when he flutters his eyelashes and casts his eyes downward. At the same time his face flushes I note the return of the nervous tick in the lower side of his jaw. Helooks so guilty about something!

I have no control over the shuddering paranoia that sweeps through every bone in my body.

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