Beneath the Surface(67)

It was expected that Sheryl would be off her game, and conversation might not be as fluid as they were used to, but Kristin had not anticipated long silences from Sheryl, as though she was mourning something. Perhaps she was.

“Are you all right, babe?” she asked after Sheryl had cleared the starter plates.

Sheryl heaved a big sigh. “I didn’t think it would be so hard.”

“Take a deep breath,” Kristin said, “you’re doing just fine.” Depending on their definition of fine, this could very well have been a lie, but if it was, it was a white one at most.

“I think you’re right about one thing, at least,” Sheryl whispered. “I’m going to need some outside help dealing with this.”

“Then that’s what you shall have.” Kristin walked over to her and took Sheryl in her arms.

“What the hell have I let myself become?” Sheryl’s breath was moist in Kristin’s ear.

“Nothing a smart and gracious woman like yourself can’t come back from.” Kristin held her a little tighter.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to tell them a bit more about my decision.”

Kristin nodded. “The mains will be out in a few minutes. And yes, I can handle it on my own.” She kissed Sheryl on the cheek for a long moment, hoping the imprint of her lips on the soft flesh there could somehow inject her with the power to make it through this more easily.

Then Kristin’s mobile phone started ringing. They both jumped, the way they’d been doing every time Kristin got a call since returning from Trevor’s, and both of them seeing with their very own eyes the sorry state he was in.

Kristin picked up.

“Is this Sheryl? Trevor Johnson’s daughter?” an unknown voice blared through the receiver.

“Yes,” Kristin said, because it didn’t matter who got the news, and she figured that, either way, Sheryl would be better off hearing it from her.

“This is Harold Robinson from Robinson Funeral Home speaking. I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid Trevor’s no longer with us. He didn’t wake up from his afternoon nap. The paramedics have come and gone and he’s now in our care. Everything’s been taken care of, so no need to worry about practical arrangements.”

Kristin found Sheryl’s eyes and gave her a small nod. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“My condolences, Mrs Johnson,” he said, in a tone so practiced it made Kristin’s stomach turn. “My thoughts are with you in this difficult time.”

Kristin hung up and opened her arms. “It’s Trevor,” she said. “He’s gone.”



Sheryl’s first thought upon hearing the news was that she needed a drink. To cope with the death of a man who had drunk himself to death, she needed a little something to process it.

“Everything okay in here?” Martha stood in the doorframe.

Sheryl loosened her limp body from Kristin’s embrace. “My father died,” she said.

“I’m so sorry.” Martha stepped closer and rubbed Sheryl’s back. “What can we do?”

Sheryl shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Shall I whisk Micky and Robin discreetly out of here?” She looked at both of them.

Sheryl figured she didn’t reply fast enough, because Kristin said, “Yes, that would be a good idea. Thanks, Martha.”

“Consider it done.” She squeezed Sheryl’s shoulder. “Call me if you need anything at all.”

Sheryl watched her walk off, then heard murmurs in the living room. “I should probably say something to them.”

“No, babe. It’s okay. Stay here with me.”

Sheryl did, because she didn’t know how she would feel accepting condolences for the death of her father from people who had no idea what her relationship to him was.

After the whispers and shuffles in the living room had died down, Kristin escorted Sheryl to the sofa.

Sheryl’s voice came out all shaky when she tried to speak. “I promise you on everything I hold dear that I will stop tomorrow, but will you please pour me a drink?”

Kristin looked her in the eye. “We don’t have anything.”

“Then let’s go somewhere where they do.” They lived in Darlinghurst and it was Saturday evening, barely past eight in the evening. There was a bottle shop on the same block as The Pink Bean. Alcohol was everywhere, ready to fill that gaping wound that had just opened in Sheryl’s soul.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Kristin took her hands in hers. “Let’s talk.”

“It’s as if he was just hanging on until he had seen me again,” Sheryl whispered, changing tack. If Kristin wanted to talk first, fine. She would get that drink later.