The Colour of Sunday Afternoons Read online

  "No," said Jane. "I'd buy it all for myself."

  "Perhaps we should try elephants," Leslie suggested. "I don't think she's going to tell us anything about men."

  "Probably true," said Lilly, "under ordinary circumstances. But I am Jane's gardener – at no charge. That grass is getting long, isn't it? And if someone doesn't tend to those tulips, the whole lot could die out. What a pity."

  "Blackmail!" Jane exclaimed.

  "Oh, goodie. Now we'll get some action," said Leslie.

  Lilly leaned across the table and goaded Jane. "Yes, blackmail. Now, if you want to see those tulips alive again, tell your Aunty Lilly."

  "There's nothing to tell."

  "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. Tell, tell, tell."

  "No, Lilly,” said Leslie. “Wait. This isn't right."

  "It isn't?" said Lilly.

  "It isn't?" Jane repeated, surprised.

  "No. If Jane wants to tell us about it, she will. And, in the meantime, we shouldn't use blackmail or guilt to goad her into talking. I mean, if she doesn't trust us, her oldest friends, that is okay. If after all these years she doesn't ..."

  Jane raised her hands. "Okay! You win."

  "Oh, good!" said Leslie.

  "So, what happened?” said Lilly. “Did you like him, this Joe character? Did he have a double chin? What was he like? Tall?"

  "No double chin. He was kind of cute."

  "Cute? Hmmm." Leslie hummed appreciatively.

  "Yeah, he was cute." Jane laughed. "Actually, he seemed a little more evolved than the usual Neanderthal."

  "You get Neanderthal?" Lilly asked seriously. "You're lucky. I usually get Cro-Magnon. You know, with the forehead ..."

  "And apart from him being cute,” said Leslie, “what did you think?"

  "Well, he was okay. Works a little hard. Smart enough. Piano player ..."

  "So,” said Lilly, “did he invite you up to his place for a little Rachmaninov? You know, a quick tinkle on the ivories?"

  "No! We had coffee at Harold's. Joe seemed nice. A bit funny, maybe, but there's something about him."

  "We can guess," said Leslie, trying to look innocent.

  "Can you be serious for one moment?" Lilly hissed. "We are trying to extract gossip here. You're throwing us off the scent! So ..."

  "So?" said Jane.

  "So, Leslie and I, here, would like to know if you're gonna see him again. I mean, did I do good or did I do good?"

  Jane sighed. "Yes, I guess so. I'll probably see him again."

  Lilly turned to Leslie. "You see. I told you this guy was better than the accountant. I know these things."

  "Accountant? What accountant?" Jane demanded.

  Leslie went bright red. "I don't know what she's talking about! Must be the caffeine. It causes delusions, you know."

  "Right,” said Lilly. “Silly me. Accountant? Who said anything about an accountant? Never heard of him."

  Jane laughed. "You guys! Sometimes I wonder what you’d do with yourselves, without my personal life to manage. Ever thought of taking up golf?"

  "I tried it once," said Leslie. "Very dull. Gossip’s much better.”

  “You better believe it,” said Lilly.

  Leslie got up from the table and sauntered through to the kitchen to get dessert. She came back bearing a huge strawberry cheesecake.

  “Who needs men, anyway,” said Lilly, “when we’ve got baked cheesecake?”

  “Not me,” said Jane.

  “Right,” said Leslie. “And that’s why you went on a blind date?”

  Jane decided not to provide her friends with any more gossip. She sank her teeth into a slice of cheesecake. “Well, you’ll never know, will you?”

  Leslie looked very disappointed.

  Chapter 12

  Jane was staying up late doing homework again. She was sitting on her antique floral sofa, hunched over the coffee table, typing doggedly at her laptop computer. She ignored the giant television and the muted cable news it displayed. From the old grandfather clock in the corner there came the soft chime of midnight, but Jane hardly noticed. She yawned.

  After the long working day and several hours of programming at home, finally Jane couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Her tired body slumped back into the sofa. In a moment, she was asleep.

  As Jane lost consciousness, time seemed to slip away. The waking world was gone. In its place was a dreamland, all of white. She was standing in whiteness, in a place with no walls, no sky, just the endless, easy brilliance of winter, without the cold: white above and white below.

  And then, almost comforting in all the whiteness, there appeared a familiar cloud of green smoke. A chubby hand emerged from the cloud and began sweeping the smoke aside. Shamus Maguinty, bogus leprechaun and genuine guardian angel, stepped out of the haze. He looked well pleased with himself.

  Shamus spoke. "Ah, at last!"

  "Where ... where am I?" said Jane, suspiciously.

  Shamus had little patience for silly questions. “You're dreaming, of course. Don't you remember falling asleep? Well, this is your dream. Got it?"

  "I guess so. I’m dreaming? Okay. If you say."

  "Right!" Shamus brushed some dust off his emerald green trousers, patted his ample belly, and adjusted his little green hat. "How do I look?"

  "Ah, fine," said Jane. She thought it was probably bad form to criticise one's guardian angel on his looks, even if he did need to lose a few extra pounds and even if he had no dress sense at all. "You look great."

  "Great. Because we're expecting visitors, any minute."

  Shamus pulled out his gold watch, tapped it briefly in frustration, as if it were not working, and then tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket. "I keep forgetting there's no time, here. At least that means I don't have to hurry. Usually, I only have a few seconds, but here I can hang around as long as have to. It’s just a dream, you see, so time really doesn’t matter."

  "Shamus?" said Jane.

  "Uh huh."

  "What is this place?" Jane looked around. It was hard to measure distance. The foreground and the background were so white it was like being in a snowstorm, but everything was peaceful.

  "Oh, yeah. This is your imagination." Shamus gestured with a careless hand. "Look around. It's quite interesting, actually."

  "My imagination?"

  "Sure. Think of something. Anything at all."

  "Okay," said Jane.

  Suddenly, a rhinoceros appeared. It was wearing pink boots and had a long, pink ribbon tied around its horn. It trotted past, daintily – grunting as it went – and then disappeared in the distance, fading into the whiteness.

  Jane jumped behind Shamus. "Did you see that? It's not safe in here!"

  "Hey, you're messing up my jacket! What did you expect? If you think rhinoceros, you're going to get rhinoceros. That's how it works."

  "Oh." Jane paused. "I'm not sure I want to think about anything, right now. Seems a little risky. Can’t we just talk for a while?"

  "Sorry! No can do. Do you know how much power it takes just to light this place up? We gotta get right down to business."

  "Business?"

  "Hmmm. You're here to meet a couple of folks. I think you'll find them interesting. But first, let me show you something." Shamus motioned for Jane to turn and look behind her. "You see that?"

  Startled, Jane recognised her own house, life-size, with its white picket fence, the grass that needed mowing, even the tulips. It rose like an island of colour out of a sea of white nothingness. "But ... that's my house!"

  "That's right.” Shamus sniffed the air. “Now, do you smell something?"

  Jane looked a little worried. "Smoke. I smell smoke. Is something burning? What the ..." Suddenly, Jane realised her house was on fire. She could see little flames licking at the roof. "Hey! My house is on fire. My HOUSE is on fire! I have to wake up ... I have to ..."

  Shamus raised his index finger and shook it at her, gravely. "You don't need to wake up, Jane. This is just a dr
eam. Your real house isn't on fire."

  "It isn't?"

  "Of course not!"

  Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "So, I can relax now, right?"

  "No," said Shamus.

  "I can’t?"

  "Nope." Shamus indicated the living room window of Jane's house. "Can you see who’s in that window, there?"

  Jane squinted. In the living room, a woman was looking out, scratching at the window desperately, trying to open it, trying to get out. "But that's me!"

  "Uh huh." Shamus looked bored. He took out a white paper bag from his trouser pocket, fished inside it for some candy, and munched happily. He offered the bag to Jane. "Chocolate?"

  "Chocolate?!How can you think about chocolate at a time like this? Can't you see her in the window? She's terrified! Come on, we have to help her!"

  Jane tried to run toward the house, but seemed to bump into an invisible wall of rubber; she bounced backwards and landed unceremoniously on the hard white ground. "Ouch!” she yelped.

  Shamus shook his head. He sighed heavily. "First of all, Jane, it’s never the wrong time for chocolate. Second of all, it's not that easy to get at the problem, here. You can't just rush at it head on. You just don’t understand what's going on."

  "You can say that again!" Jane got up, dusted herself off, and noted with frustration that the fire was getting worse in her house. The figure in the window seemed to have given up. She was just standing there, looking at them, while the house burned around her. Jane decided to yell. "Hang on, in there! We'll get you out!"

  "Jane," said Shamus, calling quietly for her attention.

  "What?"

  "It's not your house that's on fire."

  "It's not?"

  "No, Jane. It's your life that's on fire. Your life is burning down and you're trapped inside it. The house you see over there is just a ...” Shamus waved his hand, “ ... a metaphor. This is a dream, remember? But your real life isn't a dream, and I’m telling you it's burning just as surely as that house is. And if you don't put out the fire pretty darned quick, Jane, you're going down with the ship. So, tell me: do you know what the fire is?"

  "Fire. Flames. Smoke. Sure." Jane shrugged.

  "No. Let me show you the fire."

  Suddenly, there was a terrifying sound: a howling wind. It was like standing in the middle of a twister. Jane's hair blew wildly around her face. There was a storm of paper. A4 sheets, business letters, memos and print-outs were flying and spinning all around them, thousands and thousands of sheets of paper, like so many leaves.

  Jane was terrified.

  "WHAT'S GOING ON?" she yelled at Shamus, above the din.

  "DUCK!"

  "WHAT?!"

  "DUCK!”

  At that very moment, a laptop computer came flying through the air and hit Jane in the arm, with a sickening thud; then it dropped to the floor, like a spent cannon ball. Jane grabbed her arm and yelled out in pain.

  "HEY! THAT REALLY HURT!"

  Shamus looked frightened. “LOOK OUT, JANE!”

  This time, Jane wasn't taking any chances. She hit the floor like a professional soldier in an artillery barrage. A huge business desk sailed violently through the air, where Jane had been standing only an instant before. From somewhere above, three or four computer terminals dropped like stones, their screens cracking as they smashed into the ground.

  By now, even Shamus had taken cover.

  "SHAMUS! THIS IS DANGEROUS IN HERE. TURN IT OFF! STOP IT! STOP ..." Jane's voice rang out loudly against the sudden silence.

  The wind had stopped.

  After a few moments, Jane got up, apprehensively.

  Shamus was busy surveying the disaster area around them. There was paper everywhere, smashed computer terminals, desks, clocks, pens, typewriters; it was like a battlefield after the gunsmoke had cleared.

  Shamus turned and looked seriously at Jane.

  "That, Jane, was the fire. Do you understand?"

  "I get the picture," Jane said soberly.

  "Good!" Shamus snapped his fingers and it all disappeared.

  There was nothing but whiteness again, nothing but whiteness until at once the sound of a crackling fire returned; then there was the creaking groan of wooden roof beams breaking. Jane's house had appeared once more. The fire was worse than ever. In the front window, the figure of an identical Jane stood mute, doing nothing, not even trying to get out. It was a pathetic sight.

  "But why is my house still burning?" said Jane, horrified.

  "Not your house, Jane. Your life."

  "Okay, okay. My life. Why?" Jane was frustrated. She was a mess. Her hair was astray, clothing out of place, and she had a sore arm which she was rubbing angrily. Meanwhile, her alter ego was trapped in a burning house.

  "Your life is still on fire because of the voice you're listening to," said Shamus, cryptically. He waited for a reply.

  "But I'm listening to YOU!"

  "Cute,” said Shamus, unimpressed. “I mean the voice you're letting run your life. The one that makes you sit up half the night working."

  "What are you talking about?!”

  "Her!" Shamus pointed dramatically at the burning house. There was a second figure now, another woman, but this one was outside. She wore a smart tan business suit, diamond jewellery, expensive Italian shoes, and she held a burning torch in each hand. She looked very much like Jane.

  "What the hell?!" said Jane, shocked.

  "Good choice of words," said Shamus.

  As they watched, the new figure threw one of the blazing torches into the flower patch. Then she lobbed the second torch onto the roof. The figure dusted off her hands and stood back to admire the inferno. She seemed unaware of the mute woman, so much her double, standing in the living room window. Then she started to walk over toward Shamus and Jane.

  "I've seen ... her before,” said Jane, in horror. It was the woman Jane had seen in her nightmare, the night Michael died, a woman with a face as cold as steel: her face, Jane's face. Suddenly Jane felt very ill. Her legs buckled under her. She fell.

  Everything faded to black.

  As Jane came slowly around again, Shamus's face came into focus. She had never noticed it before, but clipped to his hat was a little badge which read, ‘United Association of Angels, Inc.’

  Shamus looked concerned. "Jane, what are you doing?! You're already asleep and now you faint in your dream? This is pretty advanced stuff!"

  Jane sat up on the white ground, then stood. "Can I wake up now? I think I've had enough of dreaming for one night."

  "Nonsense! Now, Jane, I’d like you to meet someone. Jane Hamilton, meet ... Jane Hamilton." Shamus indicated the sinister figure who had torched the house. She looked exactly like Jane, but very sharply dressed, impressive, imposing, and icy cold. She stood right in front of Jane, silent. "But to avoid confusion, we'll call her Lucy."

  "Lucy?" Jane asked, confused.

  "It's kind of appropriate. She doesn't have horns or anything, and as for the forked tail, that went out years ago, but you've probably heard of Lucifer? Well, this is Lucy."

  The figure pushed Shamus aside. "That's enough of that!” she snarled. “Here, leprechaun. Play with this!" Lucy tossed him a gold coin.

  As Shamus caught it, he froze like a statue.

  "Hey!” said Jane. “What have you done to him? Leave him alone! Wait a minute—he’s an angel. How can you do that to an angel?" She tapped Shamus on the arm. He was as solid as stone and as cold as a snowman.

  "Oh, he's all right. Just froze him for a while. He'll thaw." Lucy began pacing, like a genie let out of a bottle after a very long time. She smiled a steely smile. "So, I see you've been promoted. At last. Took you long enough."

  "Well, yes. I've been promoted. As if it's any of your business!” said Jane.

  "My business?!” Lucy growled. “Of course it's my business. It's my job to look after you! If it hadn't been for my advice, you'd probably still be some good-for-nothing nobody, a clerk third-class, locked a
way in a basement somewhere, typing up memos. Look at yourself. You're somebody!"

  Lucy paused from her tirade for a moment and examined her diamond bracelet. Then she turned to Jane again. "But you really have to learn to dress. Find yourself a good jeweller. A girl just isn't complete without diamonds, you know. No wonder your love life is such a mess!"

  Jane found it bizarre talking to someone who looked exactly like her, with her own face, but who was so completely different to the Jane Hamilton she knew herself as. Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to take insults. "My love life is none of your goddamn business! I never asked for your advice. And what about my house?" Jane looked around, but the house had disappeared. There was just Lucy, pacing around formidably, and Shamus, frozen and helpless. “Who do you think you are, anyway?”

  "Who do I think I am?" Lucy broke into an angry laugh. Then she yelled at Jane, at point-blank range. "WHO DO I THINK I AM?!"

  Jane took a step backwards.

  Lucy shook her head and raised her arms. "That’s right. I'm you, Jane! Don't you get it? I'm part of you. The real you. I'm the woman you always wanted to be: a success." She put an arm around Jane, leading her over to the frozen figure of Shamus. "This guy's just a pretender. He's a mere angel. Muddling, incompetent, not even allowed to appear for more than a few seconds. But I’m with you all the time. I'm the answer to your prayers. I'm the cream in your coffee."

  Jane pushed her away. "Look, I don't know what is going on here. I don’t know who the hell you are. I just want to wake up."

  Lucy imitated her, in a baby voice. "I just want to wake up,” she whined. “Oh, please! You're a big girl now, Jane, and you’re finally getting somewhere. Don’t stuff it up. Head Office is watching you. You have to deliver. You have to get results, so don't get soft on me now. Just a few more years, Jane, and you'll be at the top. I'll help you."

  "What about Michael?" Jane asked doubtfully. "He was trying to reach the top. And now he's dead. Is that what you want for me?"

  "Jane, Jane. Of course I don't want that! I only want the best for you. I just don't want you to let yourself down, okay? You've worked all these years. Now’s the time to make it pay, and make it pay, big time. All I'm saying is, don't get soft. That’s all." Lucy shook her head, held out her palms and looked as innocent as a sleeping child.