Mr Romanov's Garden in the Sky Page 4

  ‘I know, Brenda, I know.’

  ‘No, you don’t know, Sal. This is serious. And that’s why I’ve come on a Sunday. You’ve missed two appointments. Our last one was months ago and you probably don’t even remember that.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You were wasted, Sal.’

  ‘Me? Wasted? That’s a bit over the top.’

  Brenda closed the clipboard then. She took a deep breath, then turned to me and smiled.

  ‘Lexie, I need to talk to Mum, in private. There’s some grown-up stuff we need to discuss.’

  Grown-up. It wasn’t exactly a word I would have used to describe my mother. Grown-ups were supposed to be responsible, they were supposed to get up in the morning and look after their kids.

  ‘Do you mind?’ asked Brenda. ‘It won’t take long.’

  It was pretty obvious what Brenda wanted to talk about, so I shrugged my shoulders and went to leave. As I walked towards the door I heard my mother’s voice and looked back.

  ‘Why don’t you grab a newspaper, Lex?’ she said. ‘Have a look at what’s on at the Nova. Or what about shopping? We could go shopping, if you like? And dinner after, maybe.’

  The two of us were good at pretending. We’d practised our lies for situations just like this and over the years I’d come to recognise the look of deceit on my mother’s face, the sound of it in her voice. But lies were funny things, even the little white ones. They never really went away, not even after you told them.

  ‘Shopping’d be good,’ I said.

  The smile on my mother’s face said it all.

  ‘Shopping it is, then,’ she said.

  I didn’t feel like going anywhere so I sat down in the corridor and rested my back against the grey brick wall. As I shifted about to get comfortable, I felt something hard pressing against my thigh. I reached a hand into my pocket and pulled out the snow dome Ramesh had given me earlier that morning. I lifted it up in front of my face, and when I peered inside I saw that one of the plastic figures had broken free and was floating in a sea of white flecks. I held it still for a few seconds and when the snowflakes cleared the little girl drifted down and came to rest in her mother’s lap.

  Brenda seemed a little frazzled when she opened the apartment door, but when she saw me sitting against the wall, something in her face seemed to change. She walked over and stopped in front of me.

  ‘Hey, Lexie.’

  ‘Hey.’

  I got to my feet and she tucked the clipboard under her arm.

  ‘I’m not sure how much you know, Lexie,’ she said. ‘About what’s happening with your mum, I mean. But the situation . . .’

  ‘I know what the situation is,’ I said. ‘I’m not stupid.’

  ‘No, and I didn’t say you were. But I think . . .’

  All of a sudden my mother appeared in the doorway with a glass of wine in her hand.

  ‘There’s the birthday girl,’ she said. ‘I think we’re all done, sweetheart. It’s your birthday, after all.’

  Brenda snatched a quick look over her shoulder then turned back to me and smiled.

  ‘Happy birthday, Lexie,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you soon, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I watched her for a bit as she walked quickly down the corridor and stopped at the elevator doors. I wondered what she was thinking as she opened up the clipboard, if she’d forgotten us already, if her mind was now focused on some other family on another floor.

  My mother had disappeared inside when I walked into our apartment. She was standing at the kitchen bench, sipping from her glass as if drinking wine in the morning was normal.

  ‘I hope you’re happy, then,’ she said.

  I looked at her and shook my head.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘What did we agree on, Lexie?’

  I didn’t bother answering.

  ‘We agreed not to answer the door,’ she continued. ‘If Humorous Services come round, you’re supposed to pretend there’s no one home.’

  I snuck a look at the dome in my right hand and tucked it into a pocket.

  ‘I want you to stop, Mum,’ I said.

  The words found their mark like a slap in the face.

  ‘Stop what?’ she asked.

  ‘The drugs. You’re going to die.’

  ‘Die? Come off it, Lexie. I only use a little to take the edge off. Let’s think about your birthday, hey? Shopping, you said?’

  ‘I don’t want to go shopping, Mum. I want you to stop. That’s what I want.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lexie. God, you’re as bad as Brenda.’

  ‘If you stopped, we could go away.’

  ‘Away? And where would we go?’

  ‘Surfers Paradise.’

  ‘Will you stop with the Surfers Paradise, all the time? Jesus, Lexie, you’re twelve years old, you’ve got no idea.’

  ‘I’m thirteen, actually.’

  ‘Don’t be a smart-arse.’

  My mother was angry now. She began to massage her forehead with her fingers.

  ‘You satisfied? I’ve got a headache now. I’m going back to bed.’

  As she made her way slowly to her bedroom, I muttered something under my breath but it came out louder than I’d hoped. She swung her head back, furious.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, it’s no wonder Dad left.’

  ‘How dare you.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. You think I don’t know but I do. He left because of you.’

  ‘Watch your mouth, Lexie.’

  ‘And if he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have been driving that car.’

  ‘Lexie!’

  ‘And now you’re going to die too. One morning I’m going to stand beside the bed – yeah, that’s what I do, Mum, every morning – I’m going to stand beside the bed and I’m going to wait for you to breathe and one morning the breath won’t come. And then what? What will I do then?’

  I was the angry one now. I didn’t wait for a reply. I turned myself around and headed out the door.

  My mother went out that night. She got herself ready and left without saying goodbye.

  I was kind of relieved, to be honest.

  ‘Typical.’

  I wasn’t in the mood for Miranda, so I pretended I hadn’t heard and kept stirring the pot of beans I was warming on the stove.

  ‘I know you can hear me, Lexie. I mean, what kind of mother goes out on her daughter’s birthday?’

  ‘I wouldn’t start, if I were you, Miranda, I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Calm down, Lex, I’m just saying . . . But you’re right, you know. She’ll probably die. They all do sooner or later. Still, good on you.’

  ‘Good on me, what?’

  ‘Good on you for standing up for yourself. And that bit about your father, what was his name again?’

  ‘Michael.’

  ‘Yeah, Michael. He had his own issues of course, moody bugger, up and down like a yoyo, but I liked him in a funny kind of way. I can’t believe he took off to Surfers Paradise without you, though. I mean, all that talk, all those camping trips under the blankets and he just takes off and leaves you behind. Then again, you’re probably glad now after he hit that tree. Personally, I think he did it on purpose.’

  ‘Shut up, Miranda.’

  ‘And what about that Brenda, isn’t she a piece of work? I can tell you what she said, if you like?’

  ‘I don’t care what she said.’

  ‘I think you do. She told your mum she had to get clean, told her that if she didn’t start looking after you, they’d have to take you away and put you in a home like they did with that boy from twelve B. What was his name again?’

  I left the beans for a moment and opened one of the kitchen drawers.

  ‘Peter Kotuziak,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s him, Peter Kotuziak. Hey, what are you doing?’

  ‘I’m shutting you up, Miranda. I did warn you.’

  ‘Not the paper, L
exie. Don’t stick the paper over me.’

  ‘Too late.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be quiet, I promise. Come on, Lex, put the sticky tape away. There’s no need to . . .’

  Peace. At last.

  I was looking forward to seeing Mr Romanov again. I’d been thinking about him all afternoon, thinking about the mess, mostly, and how I was going to clean it up. I didn’t mind cleaning. I’d become kind of obsessed with it over the last few months. I’d even managed to scrape together a few coins for some cheap homebrand cleaning products. It was something to do, I suppose, something to fill in time and I found it strangely satisfying. But Mr Romanov’s place was a big job and I decided that I was going to need some help.

  Davey lived in 8E. When I knocked on the door, his older brother Nick answered.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Is Davey home?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Could you get him for me?’

  I didn’t like Nick much. He walked around the place with a permanent scowl and seemed to love giving Davey a hard time. He rolled his eyes, then angled his head and bellowed.

  ‘Hey, dopey! Your weirdo hat friend is here.’

  I reached a hand up and pushed my hat down on my head.

  ‘It’s Lexie, actually.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  When Davey appeared in the living room, he didn’t seem pleased to see me. He sighed, then glanced at his brother who’d sat himself down in a beanbag in front of the TV. Luckily his back was to us, so I grabbed Davey’s arm and steered him into the corridor.

  ‘I need your help,’ I said quietly.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Davey.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m busy. There’s a doco on TV about Pearl Harbor.’

  ‘Davey, it’s important.’

  ‘So is Pearl Harbor,’ he said. ‘It was a turning point in World War Two. It forced the Americans to get involved. Seriously, if it wasn’t for the Yanks we’d all be eating noodles.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Japs,’ said Davey. ‘They . . .’

  ‘Davey, I can’t do this on my own. It’s . . .’

  ‘It’s what?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just can’t. It’s . . . it’s a surprise.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  Davey seemed to like that. He gave the idea some thought then snatched another look at his brother inside.

  ‘All right, Lexie, I’ll help. Just give me a second.’

  I didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, Davey reappeared in the living room and began to tiptoe quietly towards me. He kept coming and when he was almost at the door, his brother turned his head and called out.

  ‘Take a key, stupid.’

  Davey’s bung eye was going mental, darting about under the elevator lights.

  ‘A surprise, hey?’ he said. ‘What’s in the bag?’

  I kicked the black garbage bag behind my legs so that he couldn’t see what was inside.

  ‘Stuff,’ I said.

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  As soon as the elevator doors opened on the twenty-second floor, I picked up the bag and headed off down the corridor. Davey came with me. It took him a few metres to notice the floor.

  ‘Is that blood?’ he said. ‘Oh God, it is. It’s blood, Lexie!’

  I ignored him and kept walking, stopping in front of 22C. Davey pulled up beside me and when he saw the black writing on the door, he took a step back.

  ‘What the hell, Lexie?’

  ‘Relax, Davey.’

  ‘Relax? Are you nuts? This is the Creeper’s place.’

  ‘His name is Mr Romanov.’

  ‘You know his name? How the hell do you know his name? I thought you said it was a surprise. If you think I’m going to . . .’

  ‘Too late.’

  I reached a hand up and as I drummed my knuckles against the door, Davey ducked for cover behind me.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be the bloke?’ I asked.

  ‘And what gave you that idea?’

  ‘Stop hiding, Davey. He won’t bite.’

  ‘How do you know? I knew I shouldn’t have come, I knew it was a bad idea as soon as you asked me. God, I could be at home now. I could be at home in my room watching Pearl Harbor in my onesie.’

  On the other side of the door I heard the familiar sound of a safety chain sliding from its cylinder. The door opened and Mr Romanov appeared in front of me, sober and clean.

  ‘Ah, cowgirl.’

  ‘Cowgirl?’ whispered Davey.

  Mr Romanov seemed different now. It wasn’t just his appearance and the fact that he’d tidied himself up. It was more his manner. Without the vodka spurring him on, he seemed to have lost his spark. He seemed a little scared, and the way he was hiding behind the slightly open door made me wonder if he was going to let us in at all.

  ‘I see you have someone with you,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘A cowboy, perhaps?’

  I pursed my lips and shot out a puff of air.

  ‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘His name is Davey. He thinks you’re going to bite him.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, you are lucky, my friend, I have already eaten.’

  Davey moved slowly out from behind me and stood sheepishly by my side. He looked at me then turned back to Mr Romanov as if he was trying to work out what was going on.

  ‘Okay . . . so, this is weird,’ he said. ‘Why are we here, exactly?’

  ‘It’s called doing the right thing, Davey,’ I said.

  ‘Okay, and what right thing is that?’

  ‘We’re going to help clean up Mr Romanov’s apartment.’

  The door made a creaking sound and Mr Romanov eased himself out a little.

  ‘It is not necessary, cowgirl. Please.’

  ‘But I want to,’ I said. ‘I want to help.’

  Davey raised a hand up, smiled at Mr Romanov and turned my way.

  ‘A word please, Lexie.’

  He grabbed my arm and steered me a few metres down the corridor.

  ‘Are you completely nuts?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘The Creeper? You’re actually going to clean his apartment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Davey came back before I could get anything out.

  ‘The right thing,’ he said, ‘I get it. But there are heaps of old people in the commission, you know. What about Mrs Hennessy on the ninth floor? You could clean her place. She’s lovely and she bakes. You should try her brownies.’

  ‘I like Mr Romanov,’ I said. ‘He’s sad.’

  ‘He’s old, Lexie. Old people get sad. It’s what they do. Okay, then, what about Mr Weiner on four? If you’re looking for sad, he’s your man. I mean, he’s beyond sad. I think he’s practically bedridden. He can’t even feed himself, he can’t even . . .’

  ‘Davey, stop.’

  I shifted myself sideways a little and just for a moment I think about telling Davey the truth. I think about telling him that I know what it feels like when people make decisions about who you are without ever bothering to find out, when people think you’re a boy when you’re actually a girl. The moment passes and I chicken out.

  ‘Look, I like Mr Romanov,’ I said. ‘Everyone’s got him wrong. Everyone in this place hates him and no one even knows why. Someone threw his dog off the commission, Davey. Jesus, go if you want. Go back to your stupid show. I’ll do it by myself.’

  I turned around and headed back to 22C. I picked up the bag and slipped past Mr Romanov at the door. A few minutes later, Davey ambled in and gazed around at the mess on the living room floor.

  ‘And I thought our place was bad,’ he said.

  He walked through the junk on the floor and as he passed a pile of boxes, the bright orange flames on the TV caught his eye. He snatched a quick look at Mr Romanov behind him.

  ‘Pearl Harbor,’ said Davey. ‘You’
re watching it too?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’

  Mr Romanov shifted up beside him and the two of them stood gazing at the screen.

  ‘The Japanese Zero,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘Now there was a plane.’

  ‘Fair call,’ said Davey, ‘but it had nothing on the Messerschmitt. Best plane ever made. Those Germans knew how to make an engine.’

  ‘You are forgetting the Spitfire, I think.’

  ‘No, no, I am not forgetting the Spitfire. The Spitfire, although more manoeuvrable had poor climbing capability and limited firepower.’

  ‘That is true at the start of the war, but you will find that many improvements were made to its engine and . . .’

  ‘Hello?’

  Captivated by the action on the TV, neither of them seemed to hear me so I drummed a scrubbing brush against the kitchen bench and the two of them turned as one.

  ‘You’re supposed to be cleaning, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, but, Lexie.’

  ‘No buts, Davey. We’re here to clean, now clean.’

  It was a mistake to put Davey and Mr Romanov on general rubbish detail. While I got to work and attacked the dirty dishes in the sink, they breezed around the apartment and kept stopping for secret meetings in front of the screen. They didn’t listen when I told them to stop, so I marched over and turned the TV off. Neither of them were happy, but it put an end to all the chitchat and soon we began to make progress.

  When I’d finished in the kitchen, I joined them with a couple of bags and got stuck in. The rubbish itself was easy enough. We bagged it all up and then tossed it down the rubbish chute at the end of the corridor outside. But I hadn’t thought about what the cleaning would mean to Mr Romanov.

  He’d been living alone for so long, he’d accumulated so much stuff, it was hard to know what was important to him and what wasn’t. He seemed to panic when we worked too fast, so we slowed things down and handled even the junkiest pieces with care.

  To simplify things, we made three piles on the living floor – a stay pile, a go pile and a not-sure pile. At first Mr Romanov had trouble letting things go. It was as if everything Davey and I held up for consideration was a family heirloom or a priceless piece of art. But after a while, when the floor became visible, when a beautiful Turkish rug showed itself and the legs of chairs appeared, Mr Romanov began to relax a little and enjoy the cull.