The Fall Ch. 07

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What have you done?
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Part 7 of the 8 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 09/20/2017
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ausfet
ausfet
385 Followers

She was drunk for the funeral. God knows there was no other way she was getting through it. She sat in the third pew, wedged against the wall, ignoring the whispers.

There was a wake at the local pub afterwards. She did her best to avoid everyone, and instead focussed on drinking. Cyril had paid for one hell of a bar tab, and she wasn't the only one putting it to good use.

She noted both Dylan's absence and Suchada's presence. She'd miss both of them, but at least she'd retain fond memories of the old Thai hooker. She'd made her Uncle happy, and judging by the hideous gold necklace she was wearing, Cyril had given her what she wanted. She wondered who'd take his Thursday night booking now he was gone.

'Lydia.'

She looked up to see Anna O'Sullivan. Lydia said the usual words, thanking her for coming and showing her respects, so on and so forth. When she'd finished speaking, Lydia expected Anna to move on, but instead Anna perched herself on a bar stool and commented that Suchada's necklace was gorgeous.

'She wouldn't want to lose it,' Lydia remarked. 'It cost a bomb.'

'Cora loves jewellery too,' Anna remarked. 'She sends her apologies, by the way. She's not well. Morning sickness.'

Lydia shrugged. 'If Dylan can't be bothered showing up, I don't see why she'd feel obliged. She barely knew who Cyril was.'

Anna stared thoughtfully at her. Lydia reached for her cigarettes and said she was sorry, but she needed to go outside for a smoke.

'I'll keep you company,' Anna offered.

Lydia wanted her to fuck off, but given there was no polite way to say that, she allowed Anna to follow her outside. As she lit up, she wondered what the woman wanted from her. She waited expectantly for Anna to talk, but when she failed to utter a word, Lydia asked her how her cruise had been.

'Oh, fine,' Anna replied vaguely. 'We went up North. I'd have loved to gone to the Pacific, but obviously I can't get travel insurance with the cancer... it was lovely, though, really lovely. I did a lot of shopping in Cairns.'

'I need to do that. Shopping. Washing my clothes in Cyril's old twin tub has killed them.'

Anna reached over and touched her hair. Lydia flinched at the contact. She'd never been comfortable with strangers putting their hands all over her, and she'd only gotten worse in the past week. Everyone wanted to hug, touch and stroke her. All she wanted was to be left alone.

'I'm sorry,' Anna apologised. 'I was just going to say how lovely your hair is.'

'It's fine.' Lydia drew on her cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke. 'I'm just...'

Anna regarded her carefully. 'I'm sorry about Dylan.'

She laughed humourlessly. 'Me too. That stupid fat hick. I've really got to look into becoming a dyke. My taste in men is shithouse. They all leave me, and they all do it at the worst possible time. Just lost a client? There goes a boyfriend. Found out I'm pregnant? Well, my husband is leaving me for the woman he's been sleeping with. Lost my Uncle? Dylan decides he's had enough.

It's shit, Anna, shit. Go inside. Eat some canapés. I'm just here because I have to be. Afterwards, I'm going to get so drunk I'll vomit everywhere and probably wet the bed. Then I'll wake up, drive home, and start afresh. Start drinking afresh, I mean. I won't start afresh... oh, just go inside.'

'Why do you do it?' Anna asked.

'What?'

'Why do you drink?' Anna asked. 'My son does it, too. Not at the moment, thank God, but he must have drank steadily for fifteen years of his life.'

'That's quite an achievement. I've only been doing this since I had an abortion. I was eighteen weeks two days gone. I have dreams that I hear a baby crying but I can't find it. I go searching through the house, but it dies before I can find it. My milk came in after the abortion, but there was no one to give it to. I drink because I'm trying not to think about it.'

Anna recoiled, horrified.

Lydia laughed, amused. 'You're just a prim and proper Catholic girl, aren't you? I'm willing to bet that when you got married, you actually deserved to wear white. Not me. I was fifteen when that went. It's only gone downhill since there. I've slept with nine men. Had two abortions. I make most of my money writing non-human smut. You'd be surprised how many people are interested in having sex with an alien, a fairy, or any other number of mythical creatures.'

The expression on Anna's face was now completely unreadable. Lydia took another draw on her cigarette and stared at a car parked across the road.

'I tried mechophilia, but there wasn't much of an audience,' she added. 'Seemed a shame, really. If you ever come across a story about a twenty-one year old guy and his Charger, you'll know who wrote it. I thought it was a good story.'

'Do actually have a sense of shame?' Anna asked angrily. 'Why would you write about that?'

'Money?' Lydia guessed. 'Why are you so horrified? I was here three fucking weeks before I got told what your son was into. Holy shit, do you know how much gossip he provides for everyone? It's insane. He must be right into it. Do you honestly think he's going to be happy with the little princess bride you found him?'

Anna's face paled. Then, without saying another word, she headed back inside the pub.

Lydia felt guilty.

'I'm sorry,' she called out. 'That probably went too far, didn't it?'

Anna spun around. She marched back over to Lydia and grabbed her by the arm.

'You have your whole fucking life in front of you,' Anna hissed. 'And you just want to throw it away. I was going to tell you something. I was going to let you know what they think you shouldn't know, but you're a drunk, and you're pathetic, and there's a reason you haven't been told, so I'm not going to.'

'I don't need your fucking secrets, lady,' Lydia scoffed.

Anna stared at her for the longest period. No words were exchanged, but Lydia felt uneasy under the old woman's gaze, and she shrugged defensively and reached for her cigarettes.

'You should go in,' Lydia said.

Anna nodded. 'My condolences for your loss.'

'You're not sorry.'

'Oh, but I am. I'm sorry he's passed on, and I'm sorry for the rest of it. I'll never stop being sorry, Lydia.'

Lydia watched the old bitch head inside. Fuck it. She'd had enough. It was time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'Walter,' she said. 'We need to talk.'

It had been three weeks since Cyril died. Three weeks since Dylan had dumped her. She was back in her flat and yesterday morning had received an email from her property manager. The property manager understood she still had seven months remaining on her lease, but the owner's daughter was moving to Brisbane for a job and she needed somewhere to live. Would Lydia kindly mind moving?

This meant finding somewhere new to live and moving house. Packing up the cot and the chest of drawers. Packing away the baby toiletries, towels, bedding and clothes. She'd take it with her, but she wasn't planning on putting them up again. Not yet.

'I've been sober for ten days,' she continued, talking to the square metal urn. 'You need to stick with me, buddy. You need to send me some strength. I'm going to try and find a place to buy. Somewhere where maybe, in a year's time, I can try and have a baby.'

She didn't need a man. They only ever seemed to drag her down. She could do this on her own. She could buy a place, save some money, and find a sperm donor. It wouldn't be a perfect life, but it would be a good one. She'd have no one to rely on, but at the same time, at least she wouldn't be silly enough to think that her partner would have her back.

There was a knock at the door. That would be the mortgage broker. She put the cube down on the desk, smoothed her hair, and went to attend to her visitor.

The broker was optimistic, and after she left, Lydia went to a few open homes. She couldn't stop now. She had to keep forging forward.

It took her a week to find an apartment. She signed a contract, subject to finance and building and pest inspections. All seemed to be well. She started packing up her flat, and getting quotes from movers. All seemed in order, and she was on the verge of telling her property manager she was leaving when the insurance broker called.

'I'm sorry,' she said to Lydia. 'It's just you've been a bit late making credit card repayments in the last year. I can get you a loan, but you'll need to put twenty percent down, not ten.'

That wasn't going to happen. Lydia apologised for wasting her time, and got on to her solicitor to get the contract cancelled. Within two hours, the selling agent rang her. The agent wanted to know if Lydia couldn't get finance, or if she just wanted to back out.

'I can't get finance,' Lydia confirmed. 'Well, I can, but I need to put twenty percent down, and I don't have that.'

The agent asked her what sort of deposit she did have, and Lydia told her.

'Shit,' the agent swore. 'That's going to be next to impossible. Are you willing to give up a courtyard?'

'No, sorry,' Lydia replied. 'I'll just keep saving.'

It was disappointing, but Lydia told herself she still wouldn't drink. She steeled herself for the rental property hunt. She had a cat. She was self-employed. She was single. She was nobody's ideal tenant, least of all in the areas she wanted to live.

A week after learning her landlord wanted her out, and six weeks after Cyril had passed, Cyril's solicitor rang. The will was, as anticipated, being contested, and as executor he was concerned about the state of Cyril's property. The council had contacted him requesting the grass be slashed. Could Lydia go out and assess what needed to be done?

'I'll go tomorrow,' she promised, glancing at her calendar.

It was currently Tuesday. She could leave Wednesday morning, spend the night at Cyril's old house, then head back to her flat. She couldn't stay any longer than that, though - she was scheduled to view a flat that was for rent on Thursday morning.

Just as she was getting in her car on Wednesday, the real estate she'd tried to buy an apartment through rang.

'I have a listing,' she told Lydia. 'Old housing commission house. Acacia Ridge. Brick and tile, very solid. Completely liveable as is. The owner is six months behind in the mortgage and needs a sale ASAP or the bank is going to step in. You won't believe the asking price.'

'What's the catch?'

'The sellers need a five thousand dollar deposit, they need it to be released to them immediately and it needs to be non-refundable whether the sale goes ahead or not.'

Lydia baulked. 'No.'

'Someone else will take it if you don't.'

'I know, but I can't risk that kind of money... and I wanted an apartment, and I wanted to live closer to the city.'

'It's not far out,' the estate agent said. 'And the area hasn't been gentrified, so it's very quiet.'

Lydia wanted to laugh at the terminology. Liveable. Not gentrified. Solid. It kind of told her everything she needed to know and then some.

'I really, really think you should have a look,' the agent reiterated. 'You're not going to find anything else in your price range that has a yard and doesn't need major work.'

So the place only needed minor work. Lydia mentally took that to be 'kitchen, bathroom, flooring and paint'.

'Okay, I'll come and have a look,' she said.

The moments the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. What had she just said? This wasn't an area she wanted to live in. She didn't want the responsibility of a house. She wanted an apartment in a nice, gentrified area.

She was still rolling her eyes at herself when she pulled up outside the property. It was as ugly as she'd anticipated. Red brick, brown tile roof, and a yard that was fenced with that old style knee-high wire fencing. The grass was long, the driveway was two strips of concrete, and out the back was a shed that looked to be larger than the house. It was a monstrosity.

As she stood staring at it a tradesman came out of a neighbouring house and went to his ute. He retrieved an esky of cold water and drank from it thirstily. He reminded her of Dylan, somehow, even though he must have been in his late fifties and wasn't as fat as her lover had been.

'Hot day,' he remarked, noticing her looking.

'It is,' she said. 'Sorry. I'm supposed to be meeting my real estate agent. She wants to show me that house.'

He glanced at it. 'Solid house.'

'Cheap, too,' she said. 'But the owner wants a five thousand dollar non-refundable payment. I'm worried the building and pest inspection might show structural damage.'

'In that?' He asked, looking the house over. 'I doubt it. It looks solid. If you want reassurance, I'm happy to look through. I'm a builder by trade.'

'Awesome. What would you charge?'

'Fifty in cash?' he suggested. 'It won't be a super thorough inspection, but I'll be able to notice anything major.'

'Sounds great.'

The estate agent pulled up and go out. She noticed Lydia and waved her over.

'He's going to be having a look with me,' Lydia said, pointing to the builder.

The estate agent nodded. 'Works for me.'

The house had old wooden floors, yellow paint, and a laminate kitchen. The bathroom was a disgrace, and none of the rooms had built in wardrobes. To cap things off, there was no air conditioning. And yet, it felt like home.

'What do you think?' she whispered to the builder.

'Take it,' he said. 'Take it before they change their mind.'

She took it.

Two hours later she was finally on her way to Cyril's house. Contracts had been exchanged, and she was five thousand dollars lighter. She felt curiously happy. She just knew that in thirty days, she'd be moving in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kyle did a double take when he saw her. At first he thought it must be someone else, but then his brain kicked into gear. Which other woman else had bright red hair, dirty old work boots and a slew of tattoos? It could be no one else.

She was standing in front of him, in line at the bank, a cranky expression on her face. Should he say something? He should. It would be silly to pretend he didn't recognise her.

'Lydia,' he said. 'What are you doing here?'

She jumped in fright. 'Shit, sorry. Kyle. I was in my own little world.'

'It doesn't look like a very happy world.'

'Uh, no,' she laughed awkwardly. 'I was on my way out here this morning when I got a call about a house that was for sale. There was a builder working on the house next door and he said it looked like a good buy. I did a bank transfer for the deposit and paid the builder with the last of my cash.

I drove out here but I needed petrol so I filled up down the road. I tried to pay but my card was declined. I rang the bank, they said they were concerned about a large cash withdrawal in Brisbane followed by a petrol charge in Oakey...they wanted to me to come in and assure them it was legitimate.'

'Where is your car now?'

'A kilometre down the road at the service station. I didn't know what time the bank closed, and of course my phone battery is nearly dead so I couldn't check, so I sprinted here. That's why I probably stink of sweat.'

She randomly decided to buy a house, used a tradesman who was working next door to check it for her, and then drove out here as if nothing was amiss? She was either crazy or brave. Probably a bit of both.

'I was, uh, a bit out of line towards your mother at Cyril's wake,' she added. 'Please tell her I'm sorry. I was having a hard time. Cyril dying, Dylan breaking things off... Nobody would even look me in the eye after Cyril died. I'd go to the local shop and suddenly everyone would stop talking. I wasn't in a good place. Not that it's any excuse of course. I'm sorry I spoke to her like that.'

Kyle had always hoped Lydia would just disappear into the night. He wanted her to be the sort of woman who showed she hadn't actually cared about Dylan, and that she'd used him as nothing more than a distraction while she was out in the country.

That was his selfish side. If he acknowledged who she was, and what she'd been to Dylan, then he had to own up to how badly he'd messed things up. The damage he'd caused to Dylan had been insurmountable, and the damage he'd caused to Lydia... what was that? Collateral damage? Was that the term he should use?

A teller called Lydia up, and she hurried forward, her bag flapping open as she dived inside it to retrieve her purse. She wasn't graceful like Cora. Nor was she particularly pretty. And she definitely wasn't the sort of woman one could imagine Dylan attracting.

Nonetheless, he liked her as a person. She was a hard worker. She hadn't moved out here for a tree change, or to meet a man, or for shits and giggles, she'd done it because a family member was dying and needed her help. Lydia hadn't asked for their judgement or opinions, and yet she'd received both, hadn't she? As an outsider she'd been treated with suspicion and disdain, her motives judged, her flaws dissected, and her feelings never considered.

He thought of her swimming in the waterhole on the weekend she had gone with him to Dylan's place to help him catch up on his work. Her shirt had been glued to her body and her face was sunburned but he'd looked at her and seen something in her, something pure and unadulterated. She was Dylan's partner, not just some girl he liked to poke his dick into.

He'd have to come clean. He'd have to tell her what he'd done.

She finished her banking just as he was being called up.

'Wait for me,' he said. 'I'll give you a lift back to your car.'

'It's okay,' she said. 'I can walk.'

'No, no, I want to talk to you.'

She hesitated. 'Okay.'

Ten minutes later they were in his old Nissan ute. He asked her what she was doing in town, and she explained she'd been asked to look over Cyril's property and advise what maintenance was required.

'Do you know what you need to look for?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'No. I don't even know why they're asking me. I live in a flat for fuck's sakes.'

'Do you want me to take a look?'

She turned to him suspiciously, and he realised she probably thought he was hitting on her. He wasn't; he just wanted to talk to her uninterrupted, and he tried to explain this as best he could. It sounded weak and feeble to his own ears, so he could only imagine how it sounded to hers.

'What exactly do you need to talk to me about?' she asked as he pulled up at the Matilda.

'Dylan,' he replied simply.

'What about him? He dumped me, I cried, I moved on.'

She looked defensive, and he didn't blame her. They shouldn't have lied to her. She didn't deserve that. She'd never done anything to hurt Dylan.

'Well?' she challenged.

'How about I just come around a little later?' he offered. 'I can bring booze.'

'I've cleaned up.'

'I'll bring dinner.'

'I'm not interested in having sex with you,' she retorted. 'Thanks for the lift. I'll figure out what to do about Cyril's property on my own. It can't be too hard.'

He watched her leave. She walked into the petrol station, paid her bill, and got in her car. She caught him staring at her and flipped him the bird.

That went far worse than he'd anticipated. He drove to the local supermarket, bought cigarettes and a lighter, and lit up. He'd officially quit smoking several years ago, but he always returned to them when he was stressed, and right now, he was stressed.

Fuck it. He made a U-turn and followed Lydia out to Cyril's property. She was going to have to talk to him, whether she wanted to or not. He called Cora on the way out and told her he had some business to take care of, and that he'd be back late. She didn't care. Why would she? His existence was what mattered to her, not his presence and, likewise, while he liked knowing she was at home, he didn't miss her company. They weren't like other people. They weren't like Dylan or Lydia.

ausfet
ausfet
385 Followers