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Lost Time

Kerry Lown Whalen

    Loaded down with shopping bags, Annie wandered along the bottle shop aisle, checking out the merlot and shiraz wines.
    A man approached, his face questioning. “Annie?”
    She looked at his olive skin, dark eyes. “Nick.”
    He smiled, eyes crinkling. “It must be ten years. You haven’t changed a bit.”
    Her heart thumped. She’d met Nick in her first year of university and adored him. So did her friends, but she was the lucky one he’d invited to parties and plays. “What are you doing in Randwick?”
    “I live around the corner.”
    Her eyes widened. “So do I.”
    “Got time for coffee?”
    “Sure.” She turned to the shelf, selected two bottles of merlot and paid at the checkout. He tucked them under his arm and guided her to Coffee Culture on the corner. Their table overlooked the park.
    “You’re looking smart, Nick. What’ve you been doing?”
    “All kinds of things.” Their coffee arrived and he leaned back. “You first. What’s news?”
    “Well, I married Tom six years ago. In Brisbane. We came back to Sydney early this year.”
    “Kids?”
    “Sadly, none yet. But we’re working on it.”
    “You a qualified librarian now?”
    She nodded. “Just waiting for the right job.”
    She watched him rip open a sugar sachet, empty it into his cup and stir. Coffee sloshed over the sides.
    He spoke softly. “Ever think about me, Annie?”
    She blushed. “Sometimes.”
    “We were good together.”
    “Young though. And you were into drugs.” She sipped her coffee.
    A muscle flickered in his cheek. “Surprised when I dropped out?”
    “We all were.”
    She noticed his hand shaking as he held the cup. “It was tough but I’m fine now.”
    “I’m glad.” She gazed at his face, thinking about what might have been.
    “I’ve started a business.”
    “What kind?”
    His face brightened. “I’ll show you. We can be there in fifteen minutes.”
    “Not today. It’s Tom’s birthday. I’m cooking a special dinner.”
    His jaw clenched. “How about tomorrow?”
    “What’s the rush?”
    “I’m proud of my achievements. I want to show you.”
    She hesitated. “Give me your mobile number. I’ll let you know.”

    Even on special occasions, Tom’s mother liked to eat early and Annie bustled around the kitchen, browning the chicken and throwing ingredients into a casserole. A large splash of merlot provided the finishing touch and she popped the dish into the oven. The fragrance of chicken and herbs permeated the house.
    Memories of Nick filled Annie’s head. She had photos of him from their uni days, a carefree time of parties, barbecues and movies. Over the years, she’d wondered what had become of him. Thank goodness he’d turned his life around.
    She swung open the door when she heard Tom’s footsteps on the path. “It’s the birthday boy. Have a good day?”
    “Yep.” He kissed her. “I missed you though.”
    The doorbell’s chime announced his mother’s arrival. Annie watched her ruffle his hair and thrust a gift wrapped in blue tissue paper at him. “Happy birthday, darling.”
    Tom threw off the wrapping paper and held up a white shirt. He hugged her. “Thanks, Mum. I can never have too many business shirts.”
    “You have to look the part now you’ve made it to the top.” She beamed at him.
    Annie winced. “Why don’t you two chat while I serve dinner?” She headed to the kitchen.

    Next morning Tom hurtled out the door, shouting over his shoulder he’d be home late after a few drinks with the boys. Annie sighed. She’d meant to tell him she’d seen Nick, but hadn’t had a chance. She shrugged. It didn’t matter – she’d tell him tonight.
    She emptied the dishwasher, made a cup of tea and sat down at the island bench. Through the kitchen window she watched dark-lipped clouds build and wind gusts shake the Moreton Bay Fig.
    The phone rang. “Guess who?”
    “Nick. How’d you get my number?”
    “It was easy. What time will I pick you up?”
    “I can’t make it today. I’m tired, had a late . . .”
    “If I promise to have you home by lunchtime will you come?”
    She hesitated. “I have things to do . . . but I suppose they can wait.”
    “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    “You’ll need my address.”
    “I’ve got it.” He hung up.
    How did he know her address, phone number and married name? It was a bit scary. Had he always been so pushy?
    She riffled through her wardrobe looking for a casual outfit. At the far end was a black top that would go with her beige skirt. She tried it on. A glance in the mirror showed a fit, well-groomed woman.
    When the doorbell dinged, she took a deep breath and opened the door. Nick stood framed in the doorway, a Greek god.
    “You look terrific.” His Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed.
    He bundled her into the car and roared down Alison Road. Annie didn’t have a clue where they were going. Hunched over the steering wheel, Nick wove in and out of traffic. He passed Randwick Racecourse, the golf links and entered an industrial area where factories and a brewery belched smoke into the air.
    He pulled up outside a dingy warehouse indistinguishable from a row of others. Under a darkening sky, papers skittered down the street, flirting with car tires and gutters before fluttering away. He opened her door.
    “Is this it?” she asked, as she climbed out. “There’s no signage.”
    He shrugged. “I’ve been busy. Haven’t got around to it.” He unlocked the solid wooden door. “You’re in for a surprise.” The door slammed behind them, shutting out the gloomy day. He shot home the bolt and guided her over a concrete floor to a sliding door.
    Hair on the back of her neck bristled. She shouldn’t have come.
    “Close your eyes.”
    “No way!”
    He slid the door open and flicked the light switch. “Voila.”
    Fluorescent lights illuminated the area. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes. Clustered in the far corner beside a stove and fridge were a King-sized bed, two chairs and a table. Huge blank canvases leaned against the wall in the immense space between them and the furniture.
    “There’s a bathroom.” He pointed to a closed door near the bed.
    Annie’s pulse quickened. “I thought you lived in Randwick.”
    He reddened. “My parents do.” He waved his arms. “I can please myself here.”
     She turned to him. “What sort of business is it, Nick?”
    Confusion etched his face. “Can’t you see?”
    Her body swayed. She was locked in a warehouse with a delusional man. And no one knew.

    She watched Nick open the fridge and reach for a bottle of champagne.
    “Sit down.” He pointed to a chair.
    “It’s morning, Nick. Too early for champagne.”
    He chuckled. “It’s never too early for champagne.” He popped the cork, filled two flutes and handed her one. “Here’s to us. It’s been too long.”
    She sipped. “It’s lovely. But I rarely drink alcohol.” A bitter taste lingered on her tongue. “It’s obvious you’re an artist. But what’s the plan?”
    The words spilled out of his mouth along with flecks of saliva. “I have energy to burn. Don’t need much sleep.” He pointed to the blank canvases. “I’ll cover those in no time. Create masterpieces. It’ll be a dynamic business. We’ll be up to our armpits in money.” He topped-up her glass and re-filled his own. “Drink up, Annie. It’s not every day we begin a new venture.”
    What was he talking about? His new venture had nothing to do with her. His irrationality suggested a mental illness. Could he have bipolar disorder? Her throat tightened. A symptom was increased libido. Bile rose in her throat when she looked at the bed. Her pulse raced.
    “Do you still take drugs?”
    “No.”
    She thought he was lying. “How did you get clean?”
    “Rehab.” He drummed his fingers. “Why all the questions?”
    “I haven’t seen you for years. I’m interested.”
    A smile played on his lips. “I guess you never got over me.”
    “That was years ago. We were just kids.”
    “Rubbish.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m going to make up for lost time.”
    “No. I love Tom. And I want to go home.”
    He slammed his fist on the table. “You’ll do as you’re told.” He gulped down the remaining champagne and grabbed her wrist.
    A black curtain dropped.

    Howling wind and rain thrashed the warehouse as Annie stirred. Forgotten by Nick, she lay shivering on the bed, a sour taste in her mouth. Slapping crimson paint on canvas, Nick worked with his back to her, his brush making bold strokes on the white background. Paint fumes filled her nostrils.
    Her head spinning, she lowered her feet to the floor and straightened her clothing. Nick remained immersed in his creation. Carrying her coat, bag and shoes, she tip-toed to the door. Rain hammered the iron roof as she slid the door open and crept into the foyer. The bolt on the wooden outer door yielded smoothly. She stepped into her shoes, shrugged on her coat and shuffled along the bleak, rain-swept street to the main road. Pain lanced her abdomen as she sheltered under the awning of a vacant shop. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground.
    The rain had eased when she regained consciousness. Abandoned warehouses surrounded her, water gushing from their broken downpipes. Lights dotted the street, their sickly glow reflecting on wet bitumen. She fumbled in her bag for her mobile and dialed. Tom didn’t answer. It was nearly seven o’clock, ample time for a few drinks with the boys.
    She tried to stand but her legs gave way and she sagged to the footpath. A feline shape slunk along the road, its head turning to look at her. A distant siren wailed as she re-dialed, but Tom didn’t answer. She sucked in several deep breaths, struggled to her feet and crossed the road to read the sign – Reeve Street. Leaning against the pole, she dialed Yellow Cabs and waited, her body rigid as another spasm struck.
    Minutes later a cab pulled up, the turbaned driver flashing his white teeth.
    “Hop in, lady.”
    Her teeth chattered all the way home. She unlocked the front door, turned on the light, pulled off her sodden clothes and staggered to the bathroom. She sat in the shower recess hugging her knees, hot water spilling over her shuddering body. Nick had spiked her drink, but what else had he done? The possibilities terrified her. Why had she agreed to go with him?

    Goose bumps pricked her skin as she lay on the lounge waiting for Tom. The mantelpiece clock chimed several times before he staggered into the room, reeking of beer.
    “Why aren’t you in bed?”
    “I’ve been waiting for you.” Tears filled her eyes. “I had pains. Was worried I’d miscarry.”
    He blanched. “What did the doctor say?”
    “I haven’t seen him.”
    “Why not?”
    “Too scared.”
    He gripped her hand. “What can I do?”
    She propped herself up. “Hold me.”
    He wrapped her in his arms. “I’m frightened, Annie. What if we lost the baby?”
    She sighed, knowing she couldn’t explain what had happened that day. Instead, she pressed her cheek against his. “Let’s hope it was a false alarm.” The warmth of his arms reassured her.

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