Alex Barclay - Time of Death

Ren helped Robbie up the path to Annie’s and managed to drag him over the threshold.

‘Hmm, which room to choose?’ said Ren.

‘Yours,’ said Robbie.

‘Hey, I thought you were asleep down there,’ said Ren, giving him a light kick on the leg. ‘That question was for me. Based on what is the easiest room to secure you in.’

‘I’m just drunk, I’m not, like prone to violent outbursts. Why did you kick me?’

Ren let out a breath.

‘Are you like this when you’re drunk?’

No, I would be having sex with someone by now…

Ren dragged him up by the arm. ‘You’ve seen me drunk a million times.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Robbie. ‘Why aren’t you drunk tonight? Am I not fun to drink with? Am I a bad drunk?’

‘You’re a sixteen-year-old drunk,’ said Ren. ‘Which is adorable. But ultimately making me feel dirty. And not in a good way.’

‘You hate me now.’

‘Yes, you’re right — our prom date is off. I’m going with Biff.’

‘Who?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Ren. ‘Right — I have chosen your room. It’s up one flight of stairs. That’s all I’m asking.’

‘Where’s your room?’

‘On the eleventy-sixth floor. Come on. Move it. We have work in…you don’t want to know.’

Four hours later, Ren arrived, showered and dressed, into the guest room. Robbie was on his side, staring her way, gray- and shame-faced.

‘Oh, Lawsy.’ He groaned and tried to sit up. ‘Ohhh.’

Ren sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Lay back down,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’ She stroked his forehead with the back of her cold hand.

‘Thanks,’ said Robbie. ‘I am so sorry. And I don’t even know for what. I’m an idiot.’

Ren looked at the floor. ‘Ah. There’s the water I couldn’t get you to drink.’ She picked up the empty glass and put it on the nightstand. ‘You don’t need to be sorry, OK? You didn’t do anything.’

‘I feel like I did,’ said Robbie.

‘Sweetheart, anyone who says “Oh lawsy” instead of “Oh Lord” or “ye gads” instead of “Oh God” can’t be all bad,’ said Ren. ‘In fact, I’m the one who should be apologizing.’

‘Why?’ said Robbie.

‘I really am every mother’s worst nightmare. Even at thirty-seven years old.’ She smiled at him. ‘You have nothing to worry about, OK?’

‘You’re just being nice.’

‘Like all women who get thirty-year-old beer-virgins drunk.’

‘Oh — laughing is not good.’

‘Don’t puke in Annie’s bed.’

‘Then get out of my way.’

Robbie Truax did not speak to Ren until lunch-time. His gaze moved between his computer screen, the floor and the television.

When everyone else had left the office for lunch, Ren stood up at her desk and held a bottle of water in her hand like an Oscar. ‘I’d like to thank my colleague, Robbie Truax, for casting me in the role of the Sensible and the Sober in the movie of the same name. I’d like to thank the Academy…at Quantico. I’d like to thank the basement karaoke bar you dragged us into — you don’t remember that do you? — where we brought to life that great American country classic “Long-Neck Bottle, Let Go of My Hand”. Thank You.’

Robbie smiled at her and relaxed back in his chair. ‘Ren, you are-’

‘Amazing, I know. I get it…’

Robbie blushed.

Ren laughed. ‘Dude, you are not used to what is known in Irish circles as “the drink talking”. Drink makes you think people are more fabulous than they are and goes on to make you say this out loud to them. That’s all it is. So it’s your

first time: that always hurts a little.’

Robbie looked up. ‘You are obsessed with sex.’

‘Me? You should have heard you last night.’

‘Aw, Ren…’

‘Aw, I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I’m only teasing.’

‘Why would anyone want to do this to themselves all the time?’

‘Those long-neck bottles hold hands real well. And as soon as you let go of one of them, you discover that shot glasses are verrry sticky,’ said Ren.

Robbie’s face was desolate. ‘We were in a karaoke bar.’

‘Come on, baby,’ said Ren. ‘Do that little dance for me again. Shake it, baby! Shake it!’

Douglas Hammond’s funeral was covered in a short report on 9 News late that afternoon. According to the newscaster, his daughter Mia was the woman standing at the front door of the church behind her father’s coffin, her face pressed against the chest of a man believed to be her fiancé.

Colin stopped what he was doing and watched the screen. ‘I didn’t know you could be cremated and then buried in a coffin,’ he said.

‘You’re sick.’ Ren looked at him. ‘I really liked Naomi. She’s very warm. She’s got a very pretty face.’

Colin took up his new sport of blushing. ‘Uh…I know. Thank you.’

‘She’s a keeper,’ said Ren. ‘So keep her, for Christ’s sake. The best advice ever is “be yourself”…but that advice is just for other people.’ Ren paused. ‘In your case? Please don’t. For the love of God, don’t be yourself.’

Colin smiled.

‘Check the Hammond daughter out,’ said Ren, pointing to the screen. ‘She’s a carbon copy of her mother.’

‘I’ve never seen her mother,’ said Colin.

‘Google Image her,’ said Ren.

‘I don’t care that much.’

‘She’s like a modern version of her mom.’ Ren leaned in a little closer. ‘But with her father’s eyes.’ She glanced at Colin. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to respond, I’m just entertaining myself.’

Cliff got up from the file cabinet he had been fighting with. ‘Da-da! Fixed.’ He stood beside Ren and watched the television with her.

‘That poor girl,’ said Ren. ‘I hope I die before everyone in my family. And before all my friends.’

‘Look who we have here,’ said Cliff, pointing at an attractive, well-dressed woman in the crowd, wearing a beige coat and fur hat. ‘That is the famous Lucinda Kerr.’

‘Peter Everett’s ex-wife?’ said Ren.

‘Yup.’

‘I wonder how she knows Douglas Hammond.’

‘Same circles, probably,’ said Cliff.

‘Just because they’re rich?’ said Ren.

‘It could be anything — legal stuff, charity work, whatever…’ Cliff shrugged. ‘She was at Helen Wheeler’s memorial too.’

‘Was she?’

‘Yup, Glenn mentioned it. Why didn’t you go?’

Because I couldn’t bear it and conveniently arranged a flight to El Paso the same day. ‘Unfortunate timing,’ said Ren.

‘I guess Lucinda Kerr was there to support her ex-husband.’ Cliff gave a shrug. ‘Like I said, they were still friends.’

‘Maybe she’s one of those professional mourners,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe she’s so rich, she has to find new things to amuse herself, and showing up at funerals is her thing.’

There was more footage of the crowd and then it was back to the regular news.

‘Did you see Lucinda Kerr’s father there?’ said Ren, gesturing toward the television. ‘Old Mr Kerr?’

‘No,’ said Cliff.

‘She looked like she was on her own.’ Ren frowned. ‘Wouldn’t she have been with her father if it was a business connection? Or a charity thing? Maybe she plays golf with Douglas Hammond. Or…’

Cliff looked at her. ‘Sometimes your mind moves at such a speed, I feel like I’m on a car chase and you’re all over the road, taking all these side streets and I keep losing you…’

Mortifying.

‘Ren Bryce, you are actually blushing,’ said Cliff. ‘I meant it as a compliment. It’s like you have these bursts of thoughts and-’