Heading Inland

‘You won’t believe this, Sydney. Something so odd happened . . .’ They were pulling on their leotards and tying up their laces.

‘Try me.’

‘Jack rang. He left a message on the machine. He wants to drop by. On Wednesday.’

Sydney pulled the bow stiff on her lace. She straightened up.

‘But Wednesday!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that ballet night?’

Carrie looked uneasy, momentarily, like she didn’t know quite what Sydney was getting at. ‘Uh, yes . . .’

‘So you won’t be needing your tickets?’

‘I suppose not, unless . . .’

‘So I could have them both, maybe?’

‘You?’

‘Yeah. I quite got a taste for it the other night. How about it, huh?’

Heinz started when he saw her. He wondered whether Carrie had come with her but had popped to the Ladies for some reason, or to the bar. He squeezed his way over to his seat.

‘Hello there.’

Sydney looked up. ‘Oh, hi. How are you?’

‘Not too bad. Not too bad at all.’

He sat down, adjusted his position, pulled at his little bow tie which constricted him, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled from its depths a Cadbury’s Chocolate Orange. He unwrapped the foil and offered the orange to Sydney.

‘Dark chocolate,’ he said.

Sydney tried to pull off a slice but it wouldn’t come loose. Heinz intervened, knocked at the chocolate orange with the centre of his palm and then offered it her again.

‘Thanks,’ Sydney said, smiling, showing him what fine, straight teeth she had and just how sweet and obliging she could be.

Jack had brought flowers. Lilies. Her favourites.

‘Look, Carrie, I met up with Sydney the other day.’

Carrie was putting the flowers in water, but preparing each stem first by slicing an inch off the bottom at a sharp angle. That way, she knew, the flower could drink so much more.

‘Sydney?’

‘Yeah.’

‘She didn’t mention it.’

‘No?’

Jack was actually relieved. He’d been worried in case Sydney might have blotted his copybook with Carrie by suggesting things about him, by exaggerating or maligning. Sydney could bitch with the best when she felt the urge. She was dangerous.

‘Let me tell you something,’ Jack said, leaning his back up against one of the kitchen cupboards.

‘What?’ Carrie was wide-eyed and restless. What had Sydney said? Had she been indiscreet? Had she mentioned Heinz?

‘I know what’s been going on,’ Jack said, ‘and I’m here to tell you that I don’t care. I’ve given it some thought . . .’

‘What do you know?’

‘About you and Sydney.’

‘What about us?’

He put out both his hands. ‘Just tell me,’ he said, ‘that it’s over. Because my suitcase,’ he couldn’t hide his smile, ‘my suitcase, darling, is lying packed in the boot of my car.’

‘I’ll tell you something else,’ Sydney said, lounging on Heinz’s sofa and drinking her fourth martini.

‘What?’

Heinz was sitting on his comfy chair sipping a cup of tea.

‘I went and saw Jack the other day, right? A private tête à tête, and he came into the café where we’d arranged to meet with the buttons on his coat done up all . . .’ Sydney made a higgledy-piggledy movement with her hands, ‘like so . . .’

‘He’s missing her?’ Heinz interjected, almost sympathetic.

‘No. Not at all. That’s my point. It’s the three button trick.’

‘The what?’

‘Men do it. Some men. To make them look . . .’ she burped, ‘vul-ner-a-ble. And this is the best bit . . .’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘Pardon me.’

‘The best bit?’

‘Yeah. Turns out, he only pulled that trick the very first time he ever spoke to Carrie. 1972. Outside the National Portrait Gallery. Took her in completely. Beguiled her, absolutely. And there he was, large as life, trying it on with me!’

‘Did you tell her?’

Sydney knocked back the rest of her drink. ‘Who?’

‘Carrie.’

‘Nope. Seemed a shame.’

Heinz nodded.

‘Nice flat,’ Sydney said, looking around her.