Peter Corris - The Other Side of Sorrow

The Other Side

[Cliff Hardy 23]

Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

Hello,Cliff. Its Cyn, as you always used to call me. Cynthia Samuels. I knowthis must be a bolt from the blue, but I have to see you. I need to tell yousomething. Ill be in the city tomorrow and I want you to meet me at thecafe in the State Library, say at eleven-thirty. Please, please try to make it.Heres my number in case you cant, but please try.

I scarcely heard the numbers sherecited on the answering machine tape in that strange way people reel off theirtelephone numbers. Her voice and tone were unmistakable even though I hadntheard them for more than twenty years. Cyn was my ex-wife and our parting hadbeen as tempestuous as the relationship itself. We got a no-fault divorce underthe new law and went our ways. I kept vaguely in touch with Cyns lifethrough her father who I played a bit of tennis with. But hed died someyears back and that broke the connection.

I played the message again. Iwant you to meet me That was typical of Cyn. She always expectedto get her own way. With me she had, but only for a shortish time. As it turnedout, our ideas of how to live were completely different. This had been obscuredfrom us at first. By sex, mainly. Cyn was an architect who either sat in anoffice or went out to places she was helping to put into strict order. Sheliked life to follow suit. I was a private detective who spent as little timein my office as possible and most of it out dealing with messes that rarely gotcompletely cleaned up.

When we split up we had virtually noassets. Our equity in the Glebe terrace consisted of the small deposit wedjointly put down. I took out a personal loan and paid back her half and thatwas about it. Shed disliked the house and Glebe anyway, and went back tothe other side of the harbour. I signed the divorce kit papers she sent me andwe spent about five minutes in court establishing that our marriage hadirretrievably broken down. We didnt shake hands and wish each otherluck. Id always felt bad about that.

All this and much more came back asI listened to the tape for a third time. Inevitably, I remembered the fightsmore clearly than the good times. There were plenty of both - screaming matchesthat almost, but never quite, got physical, at least on my side. Cyn accused meof every crime in the book - neglect, dishonesty, infidelity, drunkenness,irresponsibility. Increasingly, as things got worse between us, the accusationswere valid. In the end my failure to show up for a talk which Idsworn to do was the last straw for Cyn and she left, cleaning the house out ofall her possessions.

I remember getting home full ofremorse for not keeping my promise and finding her gone. I immediately wentlooking for the gin bottle to help me through it, but shed taken thegin.

The good times were less sharplyfocused in my memory - beach holidays, dinners, late night walks through Glebeand sexual bouts that left us both exhausted.

On the third run-through I paid moreattention to the present than the past. The voice, although recognisable, hadchanged a bit. Still firm, but not as firm, still clear but not as clear. And for Cyn to say please three times in a short message was unusual.This made me curious. But I was surprised to find that traces of the oldhostility persisted. Buggerit, why should I put myself out for her ? was one impulse. Againstthat, she said she had something to tell me and information was my business. Ihad the phone number written down and I could have called and suggested ameeting in another place at another time. But how petty was that?

Asit happened, I didnt have a lot on at the time and after successfullyconcluding a long-running fraud investigation I was solvent if not flush. Thatevening I wandered around the house, noting the signs of neglect and decay thatadvanced and retreated over the years as I spent or withheld money. The housewas worth a fair bit now, but I could never bring myself to move. Inertia?Nostalgia? I wasnt sure. As I moved around I kept thinking about Cyn andthe short time wed spent here. Were there any traces left of that time?I laughed when I realised that there was at least one - a missing staircasebaluster which Id grabbed on the way down after Cyn had pushed me. Hard.After a while I gave up and went to bed. The last Id heard Cyn wasliving with her advertising executive husband in a Wahroonga mansion and I betthere wasnt a broken baluster in the place.

Inthe morning I took a good look at myself in the bathroom. I still had all myhair and it was more dark than grey. The cheeks were seamed and the multiplebroken nose wasnt beautiful, but the money Id spent on my teethhad been worthwhile. Plenty of crows feet, but no jowls yet. A bit softin the middle but not too bad. I knew it was ridiculous, but I shampooed myhair, shaved closely and put on a clean shirt, newly dry-cleaned pants andbrushed lint from my well-worn blazer. No tie.

In these pre-Olympic days, when theyreripping up the city and turning it into a series of holes in the ground andcranes in the air, it makes no sense to take a car into the CBD. The trafficcrawls and is diverted into places where you dont want to go. Parkingcosts a packet and you never know when youre going to be a victim ofroad rage, or a perpetrator. It was Monday, supposedly a light traffic day, butI wasnt tempted. Some day a politician is going to have to find the gutsto ban private cars in the city or institute an odds and evens system. I wasntholding my breath. Theres talk of reinstating a ferry from Glebe toCircular Quay and Im looking forward to it. I caught a bus.

As I sat on the bus I looked at mydollar-twenty ticket. Geoff Towers, my accountant, would insist on mesubmitting it as an expense even if I wasnt on the way to see a clientor pursuing an investigation.

Youre riding on publictransport, right? Geoff Towers once said over a similar tiny amount fora rail journey. Youre seeing things, right? Noting changes inschedules and timetables. Security arrangements or the lack of them morelikely. Thats a professional activity. You think those consultantarseholes the Tax Office hires dont write off paper clips?

How about when Im havinga beer in the Toxteth on a Friday night? Observing humanity.

Arguable, Geoff said. Eminentlyarguable.

That train of thought led me back toCyn and what she had to tell me. After telling me goodbye shed hadnothing else to tell me for twenty-plus years. I hope I never see youagain, was one of the things shed said towards the end. Well shehadnt, apart from our moment in court. In the time between the split andthe divorce Id tried often to contact her but shed thrown up ahigh wall. Shed told our few mutual friends not to talk to me about herand instructed them to tell me not to ask. In all the time I was with her Inever knew Cyn to change her mind. This had to be something serious.

Librarieshave changed in the last twenty-five years more than most institutions. Theyused to be gloomy, wood-panelled places with a musty smell and tight-lippedwomen in twinsets. Now theyre brightly lit, computerised, and the seniorreference librarian is likely to be sporting tattoos and a lip ring. The cafewas below decks in the library but natural light flooded down from a massivelightwell. That was welcome. Since I incurred some damage to the cornea of myleft eye Im slow to adapt to changes in the light. Too dim and Imfumbling, too bright and Im dazzled. As it was, in this bright spacewith very few of the tables occupied, I spotted Cyn almost straight away andbefore she spotted me. Always an advantage, that. The tables were groupedaround an indoor garden and waterfall. Cyn was sitting near the centre of theplace. She was reading with the book held well out in front of her. That was asign that she was short-sighted. Cyn would be too vain to wear glasses inpublic. I pulled up and looked at her. The hair was still blonde and luxuriant;her wide mouth was closed firmly and the sculptured features that had thrilledme were still in evidence. Always slim, she looked even thinner in her lateforties than shed been in her twenties. That was Cyn. When she wasslender shed tried to be skinny. Well, shed made it.