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by Seraphina Parts 31-35 Part 31 "And this is the tree I ran into and got this scar. This is the tap I tripped over and fractured my skull. And this is the door that I broke my finger in when I jammed it." Paul looked at Sara in disbelief. He was seeing her childhood home for the first time. She�d said that she�d tell him of every injury she�d ever acquired within the house grounds. So far, he�d heard of one emergency surgery, three trips to casualty, four visits to the local doctor and numerous accidents that were minor enough to have been treated by her mother or father. What�s more, they�d only covered the tiny front yard of the town house. "Sara, you�re a shocker. I think you should be admitted to somewhere that has a padded cell although, I wouldn�t be in the least surprised if you managed to break your neck in there. I once told you that you�re the clumsiest person I know and I never knew how much of an understatement that was. I really have underestimated you, haven�t I? You�re the clumsiest being that ever walked the bloody planet. I don�t even want to know what happened to you outside the house grounds." She looked thoughtful, the camcorder in her left hand. "Well, there was that time in Lygon street when I tripped and got my little finger caught in the tram lines. Took about three times under the knife to get it relatively back to normal. Even so, I can only straighten it this much." She held her right hand up for him to see. All her fingers were straight except for the little one which was still curved slightly. "And then there was the time in Swanston street walk, out the front of Club X when-" Paul put his hand up to signal her to stop. "I really don�t want to know about that one." He looked around at the front yard. "The place looks pretty good considering it hasn�t been lived for over three years." Sara took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, after Mum was put in the home, I payed a caretaker to look after it. I don�t know what the inside is like. All the furniture is still here and no one�s been in there since she died." She pushed open the door and took a breath. "Well, here goes nothing." She stepped in, filming her way as she did, followed closely by Paul. They were both hit with a dusty, musty (and other �usty words) smell of stale air. Everything, from the floor boards to the paintings on the wall, was covered in about an inch of dust. Their foot falls on the floor caused nothing less than a mini dust storm in the hallway. Coughing, she led him into the lounge, come dining room. All the furniture was covered in white drop sheets that had acquired a slight yellow tinge over the last couple of years. Sara sighed. "Everything is just as I remember it." "You mean you kept sheets on your furniture when you lived here?" Paul joked. "Of course," she replied quite seriously. "Mum was always paranoid that I�d drop something on the furniture, what with me being like I am. Come on, I�ll show you my old room." She walked off and started ascending the stair case. Paul hurried to follow, calling after as he went. "You are joking aren�t you?" He could never be sure with Sara. She was just so damn good at acting serious. "What do you think?" He still wasn�t sure if she was being sarcastic or not but he didn�t like making a fool of himself, and so decided to leave it at that�for now anyway. He followed her up a hallway until she stopped at a door halfway along. "This," she said with grandeur, "is my room." She opened the door with a flourish to reveal a disappointingly sparse bedroom. The walls were painted a forest green with a frieze of cherubs and roses. The bed was made out of what looked to me mahogany, and on closer inspection, had a forest scene carved into both the bed head and the foot of the bed. Apart from that, there was a desk, an almost empty bookcase and a dusty rug on the floor. Sara beamed proudly at him. "So, what d�ya think?" she asked, the camera on him all of a sudden. "That�s it? I expected pink with lace and ruffles and porcelain dolls and stuff." She looked a little dejected. "Well, mum made me stick with the dark colours because light colours show up if you spill stuff on them and I did have a porcelain doll but I was carrying it one day, tripped on the rug, fell over and her face broke. Needless to say, no one bought me a porcelain doll again, no matter how much I begged and said I would be careful and look after it." "And here you are, holding a $1500 camcorder, that I payed for no less. Should I trust you with it?" he asked sceptically. "Probably not," she laughed. "Well, just a precaution, maybe you should take it and film me instead. I think I�ve recorded enough of your big fat head, it�s my turn to be the star." She thrust the camera at him before taking a running jump and landing on her bed, her head narrowly missing the bed head. "Sara! Be careful for fuck�s sake! You�ll be the bloody death of me one day if you�re not more careful. Take it easy!" He hated the way she always put him on edge like that. Didn�t she realise how easily she could just- "Yes Sir, Paul Sir." Her joking around interrupted his morbid thoughts and he couldn�t deny that he was glad of it. He�d promised himself he wouldn�t think of that during their time here. This could possibly be their last holiday together and he didn�t want to ruin it by thinking about- and there he went again. Cursing himself, he concentrated on zooming the camera in on the now prostrate Sara. "Comfy bed?" he asked, circling around her. "Yup. My Da made it for me. Carved the bed head and all by hand. He was good with his hands my Da was." It was then that Paul realised that he knew almost nothing about Sara�s father. He�d known her mother for eight months before her death when she�d been in the nursing home but her father had died long before he�d met her. "Tell me about your dad," he said, taking a seat beside her on the bed, focusing the camera on her a little more. Sara sighed and propped herself up on one elbow. "Da, well he was a big man, over six foot. People say that I�m the female version of him except for the whole bit about me being impishly short, that�s a trait from my mother. He was an investor, that�s where all our money came from although he made a lot of furniture like this," she patted the bed. "And I�m pretty sure he skimmed off the top of his earnings from when he sold stuff. His work was so good that he had a backlog of orders for years. Some of them didn�t even get done because he died so unexpectedly. He was helping a young couple get a table he�d made for them, upstairs. The ropes snapped and he was flattened my his own masterpiece. He died of internal injuries. Almost poetic in a way, killed by what he loved doing." "It�s still a little harsh," Paul thought out loud, surprised that he hadn�t heard this story before, and that he�d never inquired about it. "He wouldn�t have thought so," Sara said. "He used to say to me; �Morag, mo nighean dubh, Nad bheatha, tha am math an luib leis an dona. Gu mi-fhortanach, tha gu leor dhe an dona ann, agus dhan an diabhal leis a'mhath.�" Paul nodded in agreement. "Smart man. Now, for the people at home who have no idea what you just said, an English translation please." "Well the exact translation would be something like, �Sara, my black haired lass, in life you have to take the good with the bad. Unfortunately, there�s a hell of a lot of the bad and to the devil with the good.� We�d say something like, there�s a hell of a lot of the bad and fuck all of the good. Then, if ma was around she�d screech at him something along the lines of �Brian Fraser ye clot-heided gomeral! Don�t ye go teachin� the lass filthy language like that!� and then Da�d look all innocent and say, �I dinna ken what you�re talking about ye silly auld woman.�" Sara laughed as she remembered it. Paul chuckled too. "Do you think he would have liked me then?" "God no!" Sara looked at him, horrified at the thought of the two of them meeting. "He�d meet you once and then pull out his old rifle if you ever came near me or the house again. You�re too much like what he used to be like for him to have any good feelings towards you. Must have something to do with the fact that you both have the same birthday or something. God, I�d hate to think what it would be like if he were still alive now." She got up off the bed, ignoring Paul�s dejected look. "I�ll show you some of the photos from when I was growing up. They�re all packed away in the attic." Part 32 "So. What are you going to do?" Paul asked as they walked through the streets of Melbourne, more namely Swanston street walk, evening slowly falling around them. "Sell it. I mean, why keep it. It won�t have any sentimental value to me once I�m gone." She smiled meekly at him, trying to make light of it. "I�ll just get an auctioneer in and they can sell the whole lot, furniture and all." "All of it?" "All of it," she confirmed, handing a five dollar note to an old homeless man who mumbled a thankyou and scampered off [well as much as an old homeless man can scamper *g*-sera]. Paul glanced over his shoulder as they continued on their way but the old guy was already gone out of site. "You know, he�s just going to go off and spend that on booze." Sara shrugged. "Yeah, well that�s the way it goes. At least it�s a couple of hours that he�ll be feeling high and mighty and not so alone. No one should have to be alone, no matter how poor they are and if it takes a cheap bottle of scotch for him to beat the loneliness, then so be it. I just thank my lucky stars that it�s not me. Ooo, down here." As they hit Little Bourke, Sara indicated to China Town. "I haven�t been down here in years." "Hmmm, yes, well there�s a reason that I haven�t been down here in years either," he said sceptically. "Especially at this time. Chinese bloody Mafia, I tell you. Gangs running about all over the place." Sara grabbed his hand and dragged him, onto the main drag of China Town. "Don�t be such a stick in the mud. I just want some fortune cookies." "Fortune cookies? I�m risking life and limb for fortune cookies?" "Don�t be such a drama queen. The only thing that is being risked at the moment is my sanity if you don�t grow up some time soon. Now come on, this looks like the place I�m looking for." She coaxed, well, forced him into a little shop that smelt of Chinese medicinal herbs and other concoctions. Sara grabbed a box of fortune cookies from a shelf, then went up and placed it on the counter. There was a rattling of beads as an old, wizened Chinese woman appeared from what could only have been a back room. "Good evening," Sara greeted her. "Just the cookies thanks," she said, pointing to the box in front of her. The woman looked at her oddly, as if studying her, something flickering across her eyes before ducking out to the back room again. Paul rolled his eyes and looked her as if to say "Great, which loony bin did this one escape from?". A few seconds later, the woman returned, placing a box on the counter. "This cookie what you want," the woman said in broken English. Sara looked a little taken aback. She looked at Paul who shrugged, gave her an "I told you so." look before going back to fiddling with a pair of chopsticks. "Really, these cookies are just fine," Sara said, putting her hand on the box she�d got from the shelf. The woman snatched them off her and forced the other box into her hands. "No. Must have this cookie. This cookie for you." The woman seemed almost desperate for her to take them. Sara shrugged an took her purse out of her bag. "Ok, I�ll take these then. How much?" The woman shook her hands. "No pay me. This cookie for you. Take, take cookie, no pay." "Of course I have to pay. I couldn�t just take them," Sara said trying to hand some money over to the woman but she wouldn�t take it. Finally, Paul jumped in. "Look, if she�s silly enough to give �em away, then who�s to argue with her? Just take them and we can leave." Sara said thanks and they were about to leave but the woman stopped her. "Must eat now." Sick of arguing, Sara opened the box and removed a cookie. Biting into it, she removed the piece of paper from the middle and held it out to read it. Paul looked over her shoulder. "It�s in Chinese. No wonder she�s giving them away for free. No one can bloody understand what it says." The woman beckoned Sara to come closer and took the fortune of her. "Cookie says, must not be afraid. Chi will live forever, you will live forever. You loyal hearted, Chi live for many year." The whole time the woman spoke, she looked directly into Sara�s eyes. Sara stood in stunned silence for a while until Paul interrupted. "I want my fortune." He reached for a cookie but the woman slapped his hand away. "This cookie for her, not you." She handed him the box that Sara had originally picked up. He scowled but took the box anyway and was about to open when the woman stopped him and put her hand out. "Five dollar fifty." Paul couldn�t believe it but paid anyway. "These in English this time?" "Yes, cookie fortune in English" "Good, that means we can go." He stomped out of the shop, pulling Sara behind him. "Thankyou," she called after her. "You welcome but remember fortune," the woman called back. Paul lead them back onto Swanston Street, ripping open the box along the way. "What was she going on about anyway? What a stupid fortune. �You�re going to live forever.�" "She didn�t say I would live forever. She said my Chi would live forever." "And what�s that when it�s at home?" he asked grabbing a cookie out and biting into it. "It�s your life force. It�s like good Christians will have eternal life in heaven, that sort of thing. The thing is, she acted as if she knew. Strange." "It�s not strange, it�s just a bunch of crap. God knows what was written on that paper. She didn�t even look at it as she told your fortune," he was spraying bits of cookie everywhere as he began to unwrap his fortune. "But still, it was as if she could read my mind or something" Sara shook her head, trying to forget what had just happened, not wanting to dwell on it for too long. "What does your fortune say?" "It says��Do not dally in your childhood ways.� Huh?" "It means grow up," Sara giggled. "That�s not even a fortune," Paul grumbled and dropped the whole box in the bin as they passed it. "Five-fifty and they�re not even bloody fortunes." Part 33 Paul was standing in the kitchen, polishing off a two litre tub of chocolate ice-cream. He was just lifting the final spoonful to his mouth when Sara ambled in stopping dead in her tracks when she saw him. A devastated look crossed her face as he shovelled the ice-cream in and swallowed. "D-did you leave any for me? she asked softly. A guilty look appeared across Paul�s face. "I haven�t licked this yet," he said, holding the all but empty tub out helpfully, in hopes of being forgiven. Sara�s Bottom lip quivered, she sniffed, her eyes welled and she broke into hysterical sobs. "What? What�s the matter? Paul asked frantically. "Get out! Just get out!" she screamed at him. Paul looked a little more than confused, not to mention completely shocked. "What have I done?" "What have you done? What have you done?! Of all the arsehole things you�ve ever done, this is the most heartless McDermott. Now get the hell out of here. I never want to see your ugly mug again. You hear me? Never again!" "But-" he stammered. "Just get out!" she shrieked. "But�it�s my house," he tried to reason. "I don�t give a flying fuck who�s house it is, just get out of my sight! Sometimes I think I�d be better off dead. No, wait. Not me, you!!!" Paul scampered out of the kitchen, down the hall and out of the front door, the ice-cream tub hitting him in the back of the head as he reached the front gate. "And don�t come back!" came Sara�s scream and the slamming of the door. Paul stood stunned on the footpath, replaying the past few minutes of his life over in his mind, trying to work out what had just happened. What was he going to do now? Sara had just kicked him out�of his house, more to the point. Where to go, where to go. At least he had his wallet in his pocket. Still, that didn�t solve the problem at hand. *Tim �ll know what to do,* he thought. *And if he doesn�t, at least he�s sure to have a beer or something.* And so, with the thought of a cold one to solve his problems, Paul headed off in the direction of Tim�s place in search of answers. "Yeah yeah, I�m coming. Just hold your bloody horses." Tim�s voice could be heard from the other side of the door as Paul continuously rang the doorbell, impatient as always. The door opened and Tim stood, Holy beverage in hand. "What do you want, McDermott?" he asked, just as impatiently. Normally, Paul would make a big song and dance, if not a Broadway production, about the greeting he had just received from one of his best friends no less, but he had other things on his mind. He was dealing with a crisis here. He had no where to go and he didn�t have a beer. "It�s Sara." Tim�s look of annoyance dissipated immediately and was replaced immediately with one of dread and concern. "God, What�s happened? Is she ok?" Paul looked a little confused and then caught drift of Tim�s assumptions. "No, it�s not that. She�s fine, well sort of�it�s just that�shit!" Tim dragged Paul inside and shut the door. "Mate, you sound like you could use a beer and then you can tell Rich and me the whole story." "Rich�s here?" "Yeah, he�s in the lounge room. No matter how many times I manage to get rid of him, he just keeps coming back. Must be my magnetic charm." Paul looked nonplussed. "Nah mate, it�s your beer." "So she just started crying and threw you out?" asked Rich. "And you don�t know why?" Paul nodded his agreement. "Well, there�s obviously something we�ve missed," Rich reasoned. "I mean, I know women are hard to understand and all, but they don�t usually do things for no reason whatsoever. Start from the beginning again, you might remember something." Paul sighed as Tim handed him another beer. "I�ve already told you everything. She�s PMTing, she walks in and-" "Whoa! Back your little red wagon up a few steps. You just said that she�s PMTing, you didn�t say that before," accused Tim. "So sue me. Now you know, Sara�s PMTing, not that that solves the whole problem or anything." Richard slapped his forehead. "Paul you said you were eating ice-cream at the time." "Yeah, so what if I was?" Richard shock his head and held it in his hands. "Please tell me you didn�t eat all the ice-cream." Paul giggled nervously. "Uh, I didn�t eat all the ice-cream." Tim rolled his eyes. "He ate all the ice-cream. Don�t you know anything about girls McDermott? Never eat all the ice-cream when they�re pre menstrual. It�s an unspoken rule, it�s just not done, not unless you�re begging to be castrated that is." "But, it was calling me, begging to be eaten. I just couldn�t say-" Tim put his hand up signalling Paul to stop. "Tis no excuse. When they�re hormonal, stay away from the ice-cream. There�s only one way to fix this." "Have a another beer?" asked Paul hopefully. Tim shock his head, looked at Richard and then they both looked at him. "Beg," they said in unison. "Beg? I�ve never begged. Begging is not in my vocabulary. Begging is pathetic-" "Which is why I�m very surprised to hear that you have never partaken in it Paulie," smirked Richard. "Yeah good one Rich. Now, are you certain that I have to beg? There�s no other way around it?" "None," replied Tim. "You have to beg, and beg and beg some more and if that doesn�t work, you get down on your knees and plead for forgiveness. Now, finish your beer, this operation calls for some shopping." "Shopping? But I thought I had to beg." "It�s all part of the big picture Paul, all part of the scheme of things and I hope you have plenty of cash coz you�re sure as hell gonna need it." Part 34 "Get out of the trolley Paul." "But I like it in the trolley." "Paul, do you wish to save your relationship or jeopardize it even more?" Paul sighed and clambered out of the trolley in the middle of the confectionary isle. "So, what are we doing in the confectionary isle, Timmy?" "Buying confectionary Paul. Chocolate is the first essential for the pre-menstrual female." "As opposed to the pre-menstrual male, Timmy?" "We�re all affected by PMT Paul, now go get a family size �top deck� and make it snappy. We�re running on a tight schedule. She�ll expect you back in no less than four hours. Any later and your life won�t be worth living," Tim said as he studied the shelves of chocolate, grabbing a block every so often and adding it to the already quite large collection in the trolley. "But she said that she never wanted to see me again," Paul whined, itching to jump back in the trolley and have Rich push him around like a lunatic again. "Yes, but that doesn�t actually mean that she never wants to see you again. On the other hand, if you don�t go back, she�ll never want to see you again. Women are like boats [here we go again *g*-sera]. You have to turn the wheel one way to make it go the other. When they say one thing, they actually mean the exact opposite. It�s confusing, I know, but once you understand it, and learn to think backwards as well as I can, then you�ll have no problems deciphering them. Now go get the chocolate." Paul was about to make another objection but decided bet of it at the thought of having to sit through another sentence, of Time trying to explain something as confusing as women. Instead, he toddled off down the isle, returning just as Richard was approaching the trolley, resembling a walking pile of whipped cream, chocolate sauce and a selection of cream liqueurs. "Do I really need all that? I don't have to pay for all of it do I?" Paul whined. "Yes, and yes," replied Richard, dumping his load into the trolley. Paul huffed but otherwise stayed silent as Tim threw a few more items into the trolley before turning to the both of them. "Ok, and now for the most important thing. Without this, all will be lost." "Beer?" asked Paul. "NO! Get over the beer McDermott�although I could go a Crownie�away to the dairy case Sir Richard," Tim cried, pointing his finger down the isle. Richard grabbed the handle of the trolley and plummeted in the same direction, Tim running stupidly behind him. Richard made a screeching noise as they disappeared at top speed around the corner. Paul stood in the confectionary isle shaking his head. "What the hell am I doing taking these two moron's advice on how to handle a grown woman?" "Paulie," came Tim's voice from somewhere right beside him. He turned to see a pair of brown eyes with perfect eyebrows sitting above them, staring at him over the m&m's from the adjacent isle. "Are you coming?" Paul sighed. "Yes Tim, I�m coming. God knows why I'm putting my trust in you though." "Because I'm the most educated out of the three of us when it comes to women, plus I give you free beer. Now get your arse over here. We're running out of time." Part 35 "No, not that one Paul, this one," Tim said exasperatedly. "But that one�s three times the price." "Which is why you�re going to get this one instead of that one," explained Richard. "There is no way that Sara�s going to let you back into the house if you offer her a tub of Bulla 98% fat free vanilla ice-cream." Paul scowled and threw the tub of ice-cream he had in his hand, unceremoniously into the supermarket freezer. "So instead, you�re going to make me fork out seven bucks for half a litre of�" he snatched the tub of Sara-Lee off Tim and looked at the label. "Of �ultra chocolate�. I can�t believe this. This whole thing started over a tub of �Peter�s� for Christ�s sake so why can�t it end with something on the same Goddamn level?" "Stop complaining McDermott. This all for your own good. And you�re not forking out seven dollars for one tub, you�re forking out twenty one for three tubs," Tim smiled and started digging around in the freezer. "I think the occasion calls for an �Irish Cream� and another �ultra chocolate� to keep her happy." "What about keeping me happy?" Paul demanded childishly. "I�m gonna be completely broke after this!" "Look, if it helps you out, I�ll pay for something," offered Rich. "It�s the least I can do to stop you bloody whining." Paul�s mood brightened. "Really? Thanks Rich mate. So what�re you putting in for? The grog perhaps, or the chocolate?" "The primrose oil." Paul�s mood��unbrightened� [sorry, couldn�t think of the right word so I made one up- sera] "The primrose oil?!!! But that�s the cheapest thing here! You may as well forget about it and let me pay for the whole damn lot." "Well fine. Don�t say that I didn�t offer," Rich said dejectedly. "You know Tim, maybe helping him wasn�t such a good idea. Are you sure Sara wouldn�t be better off without the moody little dwarf?" Tim turned and regarded Paul before looking back at Richard. "You�re most probably right Rich but I don�t think I could stand him hanging around us all the time. Now, we�ll both pay for the grog and chocolate. Are you happy now you schizophrenic midget?" Paul all but exploded. "WOULD YOU BE HAPPY IF SOMEONE JUST CALLED YOU A SCHIZOPHRENIC MIDGET?!!!!!" "No, I�d probably just laugh in their face for their clear lack of observation skills," Tim retorted, handing over a fifty dollar note. "Here�s mine and Richard�s contribution, now go pay for all this, there�s a good boy." Paul, very begrudgingly and roughly, I might add, grabbed hold of the shopping trolley handle and stomped off in the direction of the checkouts. Tim and Richard snickered to each other before following Paul, both of them in a painfully happy mood. Tim pulled the car up a couple of houses down from Paul�s place whilst Richard tried his best to make Paul a bit more presentable by attempting to fix up his hair. It was not working. Paul�s mop was unfixable. It just sat in a big mess on his head, probably as a result of the weird shit he�d done to it in the past and also the fact that he didn�t have enough fingers to count how many days past before he decided to wash. Richard once again had second thoughts about helping Paul sort out his relationship problems. Surely Sara deserved better that, but then again, he�d rather Sara be stuck with Paul than have himself and Tim have to put up with him twenty four seven. It was bad enough when they went on tour together. Paul was really one digesting human being although even Richard had to admit that he had improved since Sara came into the picture. Tim stopped the engine and turned to Paul and Richard in the back seat. "You ready to go get your woman back McDermott?" "Well I didn�t just bust all that cash for nothing now did I you oversized idiot?!" Paul scowled, slapping Richard�s hands away from his hair and ruffling it back into one big mess again before turning to Richard. "Would you leave my bloody hair alone you moron!" "Are you sure you�re not suffering from PMT too Paul?" Tim asked sweetly. "We�re all affected by PMT Timothy," Paul said mockingly, mimicking Tim�s earlier comments. "Let�s just get this over and done with shall we? Where�s the flowers?" Paul asked scrabbling through the mass of shopping bags that surrounded him and Richard. "Here," called Richard from under a bag of chocolate as he handed a bunch of roses to Paul who accepted them with grace. "Aww, Richie, I didn�t know you cared," he said and snatched them rudely from Richard�s hands. "Ok, I�ll take the ice-cream and the grog, you two share the rest of the load between you." Tim laughed in his face. "What are you laughing at? Stop it and give me a hand would you?" Paul said impatiently. Richard joined in with the laughing. "You seem to be having a but of a misunderstanding Paulie. You�re on your own from here on in," Tim informed him cheerfully. "What do you mean I�m on my own?" "This is where Richie boy and I get off." "You�re not even gonna help me carry this stuff?" asked Paul dejectedly. "Nope." "Well, couldn�t you at least park in front of my house?" he asked hopefully. part 35 continued |
