Things We Nearly Knew Page 7

  ‘Oh, sure,’ said Franky. ‘Of course you are. It was just that . . .’

  ‘. . . just what?’

  ‘Just that I imagined you’d be married.’

  ‘I am,’ said Marcie.

  ‘Oh,’ said Franky.

  ‘To me,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Franky. ‘I get it. I’d forgotten the two of you used to be an item. You run this place together.’

  ‘You got it,’ said Marcie.

  ‘Well, who’d have thought it?’ said Franky. ‘Who’d have thought it?’ He shook his head slowly. Marcie looked at me and raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’d have thought it?’ said Franky again.

  ‘It’s been over a quarter of a century,’ I said. ‘You can’t think that nothing’s changed.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Franky. ‘I’ve changed, for a start.’

  ‘So has everyone else,’ said Marcie.

  ‘How have you changed?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m older.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Marcie.

  ‘And wiser?’ I asked.

  Franky laughed. ‘I don’t think I was born to be wise,’ he said. ‘I think I was born to make every darned mistake known to man, one after the other.’

  It sounded as if we might soon learn something. You can pack a load of mistakes into thirty years. Just then, Arlene came through the door. She greeted Marcie and me in an absent-minded way, gave the impression of ignoring Franky, and looked around the bar.

  ‘Where’s Davy?’ she asked. ‘Has he been in?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Arlene. ‘We were meant to meet twenty minutes ago. I’m running late.’

  ‘He’s running later,’ said Marcie.

  Arlene was always running late. In fact, I can’t remember another instance when she turned up before Davy. Their meetings had appeared to happen by accident. And now that the two of them were winding down as a couple, they weren’t happening much at all. That evening, Arlene decided to attach herself to us. I made the introductions.

  ‘Arlene, this is Franky. He used to live in town years ago.’

  ‘Hi, Arlene,’ said Franky. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  For a moment, Arlene weighed up the offer. Then she said, ‘Vodka Martini, please.’

  ‘My lucky day,’ said Franky. ‘Come in here to see an old friend, and this gorgeous lady walks in.’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ said Arlene.

  ‘How do you know he wasn’t talking about me?’ asked Marcie.

  I don’t know how people like Franky get away with it. The point is they do. He didn’t make that remark to Arlene, not directly. He was looking at me as he said it, giving me a wink. I don’t know if he’d missed the bit about Arlene waiting for Davy, or had decided to ignore it. I sensed Marcie bristling next to me. Arlene smiled in a demure sort of way.

  She was sitting on her stool at the bar, and Franky was sitting next to her. In fact, he was sitting on Davy’s stool, not that he could have known that, although it was typical that he should have chosen it. Looking at the two of them together, they seemed perfectly matched, physically. I expect anthropologists have a classification for it. If Arlene was Caucasian female, type 3, Franky was Caucasian male, type 3. Pleasant, balanced features. Perfect teeth. A similar smile, slightly crooked, more frequently bestowed by Franky. Mid-length black hair in Arlene’s case; short black hair in Franky’s. The eyes differed, though. Arlene’s were so dark they were nearly black. Franky’s were brown. Both were well dressed, right down to their feet. Franky had always been particular about his footwear, even at school. Now he was wearing a pair of tan-and-white spectator shoes, which made him look the proper lounge lizard.

  If an anthropologist would lump the two of them together, a psychologist would not. Knowing them as well as I did, it’s easy for me to say that, but I think anyone could see it from looking at them. There was no mistaking the fact that one was an introvert and the other an extrovert. However, they did have one trait in common. Neither was open about themselves. Arlene did it by non-disclosure; Franky, unless he’d changed, did it by disclosing inaccurate information. It was easy to spot the type of person that each of them was, but not the specific person. That was kept well hidden in both cases.

  Franky looked at Arlene. ‘Shall we go and find a table somewhere?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Arlene. ‘I’m fine here.’ Her eyes were jammed on to Franky’s, and she didn’t repeat that she was waiting for someone. She wanted to be with Franky, but she wanted chaperones.

  ‘I hear you’re staying at the Carradine Motel, Franky,’ I said.

  ‘For the time being, yeah.’

  ‘How do you find it?’

  ‘Same as any other place. The bed’s good and comfortable, anyway.’ He was glancing at Arlene’s chest as he said this. She seemed to find it amusing.

  ‘What do you want from us, Franky?’ Trust Marcie to get to the heart of the matter in a short time.

  ‘What do you mean, what do I want from you?’

  ‘Like I say. What do you want from us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Franky. ‘I don’t think I want anything in particular. Why do you assume I should want something?’

  ‘Because you always did,’ said Marcie.

  ‘We all want something,’ said Arlene.

  ‘Do we? What do you want?’

  ‘What I want is a hero,’ said Arlene. ‘A twenty-four-carat, rock-solid hero.’

  ‘I’m your man,’ said Franky.

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ said Marcie.

  ‘What sort of hero do you have in mind?’ asked Franky.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Arlene. ‘A regular guy type hero. Not a man who’s in love with money. Not a man who’s aiming for win, place or show in the rat race. Not a man who’s eyeing the next car, the next house, the next woman.’

  ‘I asked what sort of hero you wanted,’ said Franky. ‘Not what sort you didn’t.’

  ‘All right. I want someone who seems totally ordinary, then turns out not to be. Someone who will step up to the plate when the flash guys have chickened out.’

  ‘I knew you weren’t the man,’ said Marcie.

  Franky was about to lob a remark back at her, then thought better of it. That happened a few times while he was in town. The trouble with guys like Franky is they don’t have much of a memory for the things they do to other people. They do them, then they move on. If you’re on the receiving end, you don’t forget it. What Franky did to people in this town was done thirty years ago or more, so he would have remembered less. At the time, I thought Franky took the view that it would be wiser not to provoke Marcie into recalling something that he might have forgotten.

  All through this encounter, I had the feeling that I was watching the performance of a private drama between Arlene and Franky. Marcie had the same feeling, I discovered later. It was like they were acting out a script they’d written together. Yet they were strangers. When I introduced them, they were meeting for the first time, I could swear to it. By the end of the conversation, they’d known each other for years. This isn’t a loose way of saying it was love at first sight, although it might have been that as well. It was a mutual recognition of something.

  We had Franky, a renegade from this town, and Arlene, an enigma from anywhere except here. Two people who had never met, who seemed to make sense to the other and to no one else. I said this to Steve later, and to Mike and Nelson, and they didn’t buy it. They thought I was imagining it. Or perhaps that Franky and Arlene had once had a fling, and wanted to act like they hadn’t. I don’t think any of that was true.

  Davy came in at this point. He looked around, saw Arlene, headed toward us. Then he hesitated, then started toward us again. Franky shadowed off, making as if he was inspecting the electricity supply.

  ‘Hi, honey,’ said Davy. ‘Sorry I’m late. Why don’t we go someplace else tonight?’

  He didn’t wait for an answer, took
Arlene by the arm and led her to the door. Arlene looked back and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she didn’t know what was going on, but what the hell. Davy and Arlene never went anyplace else. Davy never failed to acknowledge Marcie or myself, to say good evening to us. Things were disjointed that night. Davy apologized afterwards, said the vibe hadn’t been good.

  Franky hung around for a short while, not saying much, then he left as well.

  ‘See you around, guys.’

  ‘See you around, Franky,’ I said.

  Marcie kept her mouth shut until he was through the doors. Then she said, ‘I’d forgotten quite how obvious he is.’

  She had a point. Franky Albertino was obvious. When we were kids, we didn’t realize that, except for Marcie, of course. Or perhaps we liked it. After all, there’s nothing so obvious as a comedian with a good catchphrase, and people go on laughing. We were constantly taken in by Franky. We were learning about people, and about life. The obvious wasn’t obvious, in those days. Looking at Franky when he came back, it seemed unbelievable that he had taken us in for a second. It could be that we’d become wiser, or that Franky had got more obvious still. He acted older than we did back then. Now he acted younger. As a general rule, it’s good to act your age.

  Marcie disliked Franky, as you may have gathered. I didn’t know whether there was a specific reason for this, or if she simply disliked him the way most other people did. It hadn’t mattered before now. There might have been a story I’d once been told and had now forgotten. Or maybe there hadn’t been a story. I decided to play it safe and act as if I knew, which is tough if you don’t know, and are worried you’ll say the wrong thing and put your foot in it, while hoping that at some point you’ll be given a clue as to what it is you’ve forgotten, assuming you were ever told, and can then give the impression of having known all along.

  ‘Some nerve coming back, after the way he left,’ Marcie said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. Be more specific, woman, if you please. But she wasn’t.

  ‘He’ll be in town for a reason. And he’ll be back here before long to bend you into helping him.’

  ‘Why should he want to do that?’

  ‘Because Franky always asked for help and you never refused it. You couldn’t say no to Franky. You managed to see a good side to him after he’d done a hundred and one pirouettes and no one else could see one.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘It’s OK, honey,’ said Marcie. ‘It’s not a criticism. It was noble of you, in a way. It’s just that you were wrong.’ As a verdict, I settled for that. ‘Noble, but wrong’ was good in the circumstances. It could have been a lot worse and maybe yet would be.

  I can’t disagree with Marcie’s assessment of Franky, but you’ve got to hand it to the guy for livening things up. Life’s never dull when Franky’s around. Since tedium is public enemy number one, that’s saying plenty. Personally, I was glad he was back in town, even if I had to finesse that view around the house, especially after what happened a week or two later.

  Marcie and I had retired for the night after an unmemorable evening. Outside, it was blowing a gale. I couldn’t get to sleep for a while, what with the wind rattling the casements, and I’d only just nodded off when there came a bang, bang, bang from the general direction of the front door. You know how it is in situations like that. You’re barely awake and you don’t want to make yourself any more awake, in case you can’t get back to sleep, so you convince yourself of things you know to be baloney. Bang. Must have imagined it. Ignore it. Bang. Must have got tangled up with a dream. Ignore it. Bang. Goddamned wind. Maybe I forgot to close the porch screen. Ignore it. Bang. No use. Somebody’s there. Who would come calling at two in the morning? No one I’d want to see. Ignore it. Bang.

  ‘Aren’t you going to find out who it is, honey?’ I hadn’t suspected Marcie of being awake. She’s too good at playing possum.

  Marcie was not planning on going herself. It’s a man’s job to deal with people who come calling in the middle of the night. The tide of gender equality has come rolling up the foreshore, but it hasn’t left a neat line. It has grabbed the easy pickings, like money, and left others untouched. Physical danger, for example. I’m not making a big deal of it. I’m just saying. Anyway, now there was nothing for it. I had to go to the front door. On the other side of it stood Franky, soaking wet, dishevelled, suffering from assorted abrasions to head and arms.

  ‘What the hell, Franky?’ I said. ‘You’d better come in.’

  I sat him down at the kitchen table and went to fetch Marcie. Yes, I know. Nursing has remained a female preserve in our household. I wouldn’t have had a clue what to do. My medical cabinet consists of a bottle of bourbon. The following twenty minutes or so were a pastiche of gender stereotyping. Female acquired bandages and plasters and disinfectant and bottles of lotions and hot, soapy water, and set about bathing and dressing the wounds of male number one, cooing while she did it, even though she detested him. Male number one who, to be factual, had nothing much wrong with him, winced at every touch and sucked in air through clenched teeth. ‘Thhhhhhhh,’ he went, ‘thhhhhhhh.’ As if he was brave as hell and had survived a war. Male number two produced the bottle of bourbon, poured two glasses, wafted the bottle in the direction of the female, who shook her head puritanically, and proceeded to talk to male number one about the sports results.

  Franky got patched up. He began to concentrate less on his ailments and more on the bourbon. He remembered to thank Marcie for her ministrations. Then he started making moves to go. Oh, no. Not yet, Franky. We need to get something out of this. You’re not leaving till you’ve told us what the hell you’ve been up to.

  ‘Had a bit of bother, that’s all,’ said Franky.

  ‘We can see that. What happened?’

  ‘Got in a scrap.’

  I’ve seen a few scraps over the years, and I know the sorts of injury that result from them. Franky’s didn’t come from a scrap.

  ‘Where was that? You been fighting in our parking lot?’

  ‘No,’ said Franky. ‘It was a distance away. You were the nearest people I could think of. I thought you might be up. Sorry.’

  ‘We’re not normally up at two in the morning,’ I said. ‘Who are you in the habit of fighting at this hour?’

  ‘No one in particular.’

  Most people don’t lie, or not much. When they do, they get embarrassed, and give themselves away, and change the subject as quickly as they can. Habitual liars don’t do that. They carry on lying as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, which for them it is. Franky is a habitual liar. He would have gone on like this for an hour or more if we’d let him. Marcie didn’t let him.

  ‘Why were you climbing a tree out the back here in the middle of the night?’

  Franky looked rattled. I don’t think he was expecting to be believed, but he wasn’t expecting to be contradicted. Still, Franky didn’t get to be a seasoned liar by conceding ground to the enemy.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m grateful to you for patching me up. I’d like to be getting home now, if you don’t mind. It’s late.’

  ‘We’re aware of that,’ said Marcie. ‘How are you planning on getting home?’

  ‘Got a car outside.’

  ‘In our parking lot?’

  ‘Yeah.’ There was no way out of that one.

  ‘Do you normally drive to your sporting fixtures?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a complicated story,’ said Franky. ‘I’ll tell you some other time.’

  And with that, he was gone. We heard a car start up and drive away. Marcie and I looked at each other and returned to bed.

  ‘How did you know he was climbing a tree?’

  ‘I heard him,’ said Marcie. ‘Must have been one of the trees on the edge of Mr Hammond’s property. I heard a rustling of the branches. I heard a snapping of twigs as he lost his footing. I heard the thump as he landed.’

  ‘Why would Franky be climbing one of Mr Hammond’s trees in t
he middle of the night? What was he hoping to see?’

  ‘It’s like I said before,’ said Marcie. ‘Franky’s back in town for a reason. Franky Albertino doesn’t do anything without a reason. I expect we’ll get to find out what it is one of these days. I suspect it’s got to do with Mr Hammond.’

  ‘Or with his house.’

  ‘Yes. Or that. Do you remember there being anything between the Albertinos and Mr Hammond?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘I’m sure there was something,’ said Marcie. ‘I don’t remember what it was. Maybe it’ll come back to me. It was one of my frustrations when I was a child. Adults discussed things that I couldn’t understand. I knew the words, and I knew what they meant, but I didn’t understand the conversation.’

  6

  It was a while before we knew that Arlene and Davy had parted. We had suspected it; we had debated it when Davy wasn’t there; but it was nearly three weeks before we knew. That was because Davy gave an Oscar performance in the role of normal Norman.

  The first few days after his exit with Arlene, the night that Franky was in the bar, Davy didn’t come in. He was probably at home taking it out on the cat, not that he had a cat. Nothing unusual about his absence. A few days often went by without Davy or Arlene showing up. By the time he did come in, Davy had composed himself. He smiled at everyone, bought us drinks and had conversations. He didn’t go and reserve himself a table like he did when he was waiting for Arlene; otherwise he was the same as ever. He acted like he hadn’t noticed that Arlene wasn’t there, so we acted that way too. Because Davy behaved as if her absence was natural, we assumed it must be. Maybe she was ill, or had needed to go away somewhere.

  By the end of week two, we felt like we should be saying something. She was a friend of ours as well. Not to ask after her would sound like indifference. But asking after someone implied they were no longer around, which would be abnormal, and Davy was busy advertising the fact that nothing was abnormal, so we hesitated. One day I found the courage.