The quiet of the room was punctuated only by Duke's persistent vigilance, his small form perched with unwavering attention on the arm of the sleek black leather couch that seemed to absorb the room's dim light. His gaze was fixed on the front door with a kind of stoic certainty that someone, at any moment, would walk through it. "Nobody is coming, Duke," I found myself whispering yet again, the repetition doing little to convince either of us, it seemed. Despite the frequent flickers of light and soft whooshes signalling my travels through the Portal, Duke remained undisturbed, his focus unshaken.
With a heavy sigh, laden with a mix of affection and mild frustration, I approached him, my hand reaching out to gently scratch his head in an attempt to offer comfort, or perhaps to seek it. "Daddy has gone away for a few days," I explained softly, though the concept felt as alien to him as the worlds I navigated between. Duke tilted his head, ears perked, eyes locked onto mine as if grappling with the complexity of my words. Intelligence shone through his gaze, a silent acknowledgment that he was indeed the more contemplative of my two canine companions.
Meanwhile, Henri's antics provided an amusing contrast to Duke's contemplative demeanour. The chubby little figure of Henri was a whirl of activity on the lounge room floor, his tiny legs flailing comically as he rolled from side to side. There was a certain joyous abandon in his movements, an embodiment of carefree existence that brought a smile even in moments of worry. "Your brother worries me, Duke," I couldn't help but remark, though the comment was tinged with a warmth born of fondness for both their unique characters.
Duke, perhaps sensing the shift in my mood or simply following his own unpredictable impulses, suddenly launched himself from the couch. The grace of his leap reminded me of a sugar glider, front paws extended forward as if embracing the air itself. However, the elegance of his jump was betrayed by the jarring thud of his landing, typical of his fearless nature and disregard for the potential consequences of his aerial adventures. It was a miracle, really, that he remained unscathed after so many daring flights.
As Duke pranced on his hind legs, circling near the door in a display of anticipation, the outside world breached our bubble with the audible slam of a car door. This mundane sound, so ordinary yet so charged with meaning in this moment, seemed to validate Duke's unwavering belief in someone’s arrival.
"Gladys?" The name slipped from my lips, a mixture of curiosity and recognition stirring within me. Duke, with his uncanny intuition, always seemed to sense her arrival moments before it happened, a reminder of the unique connections that weave through our lives, often unnoticed.
I leaned forward, the cool, narrow slats of the venetian blinds pressing lightly against my fingertips as I peered outside. The familiar sight of Gladys, making her way to my front door, confirmed Duke's silent prediction. With a swift movement, I scooped Duke into my arms, his small body wriggling with anticipation, and opened the door just as Gladys was about to knock.
"Duke!" Gladys's voice, filled with unmistakable warmth and joy, greeted my eager companion, her attention solely on him in that first moment. It was a scene replayed with each of her visits, a testament to the bond she shared with my furry friends.
Stepping back, I allowed Gladys to enter, the air shifting with the familiarity of her presence. Only after the door was securely closed did I set Duke down. He wasted no time, darting towards his toy box with a vigour that seemed to fill the room, returning triumphantly with his beloved horsey, his tail a blur of motion.
As Gladys turned her attention to Henri, her voice softened, calling out to him. Henri's response was less refined, his body swaying with the enthusiastic wag of his tail, which bore the majestic resemblance to that of a fox. It was a comical sight, his rear end swaying with such enthusiasm that it occasionally betrayed him, sending him tumbling in a clumsy dance of joy and excitement.
"I'm just returning Jamie's cake container," Gladys announced, her attention finally shifting towards me. The way she casually placed the container on the kitchen bench, as if this small act was the sole purpose of her visit, struck a chord within me.
"Oh, thanks. I forgot about that," I responded, my tone edging towards curt. A twinge of irritation flickered within me, an unwelcome guest in the warmth of the moment. It was a small thing, really, this feeling of being momentarily overshadowed by my own dogs. Yet, it was moments like these that reminded me of the intricate dance of relationships, the give and take, the moments of connection and the brief flashes of displacement that shape our interactions.
Gladys's cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, the sudden attention making her momentarily self-conscious. "Well, it has been several months since my birthday. So, I figured it was about time," she murmured, her voice trailing off as she sought to deflect the focus from her delayed gratitude to something, or someone, else. "Where's Jamie?" Her question seemed more like an attempt to navigate away from her own embarrassment, her eyes briefly scanning the hallway as if she might catch a glimpse of Jamie lurking in the shadows.
"He's in bed. He’s not feeling well," I found myself saying, the lie slipping out more smoothly than I'd anticipated. A part of me recoiled at the deception, but the urgency of the situation, the need to protect the secret of Clivilius, outweighed my discomfort.
"Oh no! What's wrong with him?" Gladys's concern was genuine, her brows knitting together in worry.
"Not sure. I think it's just a tummy bug," I replied, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. The falsehoods were piling up, each one adding weight to the elaborate tapestry of deceit I was weaving.
"I'll just pop my head in and say hello," she announced, her determination to offer her well wishes propelling her down the hallway. My heart hammered against my chest, panic setting in as she moved closer to the empty bedroom.
"No!" The word burst from me with more force than I'd intended, echoing off the walls and halting Gladys in her tracks. The silence that followed was deafening, charged with a mixture of confusion and concern. "I think he's asleep. He didn't sleep very well last night," I added quickly, softening my tone in an attempt to smooth over my earlier outburst.
"Fair enough," Gladys finally said, her voice laced with disappointment but accepting my explanation. She retraced her steps back into the living room, the tension slowly dissipating but leaving a residue of unease in its wake.
Seizing the opportunity to redirect our conversation, I broached the subject of Paul’s list, guising it as a house project Jamie was supposedly excited about. "But he was planning to start a new little house project. He’s made a list of things he needs. Don't suppose you could do us a massive favour and grab a few things?" I ventured, pushing the list towards her with a hopeful expression. "You know how I hate driving, and he is so excited to get the project started."
Gladys took the list, her eyes scanning the items with a mix of curiosity and bemusement. "Concrete mix, cement mixer, post hole digger, mattock…” she read aloud, her voice tinged with surprise at the ambitious nature of Jamie's supposed project.
As I watched her reaction, a part of me felt a twinge of guilt for roping her into this elaborate charade. Yet, the necessity of maintaining our secret, of keeping the true nature of our situation hidden, overshadowed these reservations.
"You can use this," I offered, my voice carrying a mix of hesitation and resolve. The credit card, belonging to Paul, felt like a tangible link to a plan that was quickly spiralling into a complex web of half-truths and outright fabrications. I flicked the card towards her with a practiced nonchalance I didn't feel, watching it arc through the air before it landed gracefully in Gladys's open palm.
"What's this?" Gladys inquired, her voice laced with a curiosity that was as much about the card as it was about the unfolding situation. She turned it over in her hands, her eyes narrowing slightly as she read the name embossed on the front. "Paul Smith," she echoed, her gaze lifting to mine, searching for an explanation.
I found myself at a crossroads, teetering on the edge of honesty and deception. The urge to come clean was strong, yet the reality of our situation dictated a different course of action. "Paul has come down to visit. Jamie asked him to. Apparently, he thinks Paul can help him with his project," I heard myself say, the words flowing more easily than I cared to admit. Each syllable was a brick in the façade I was constructing, a necessary shield to protect Gladys from the complexities that lay beneath.
"Are you sure he won't mind?" Gladys's voice was tinged with skepticism, her intuition obviously sensing the irregularities in my story. Her trust in me, juxtaposed with her innate caution, painted a vivid picture of the internal conflict she was experiencing.
"Not at all. Oh, and you might need this too," I continued, hastily jotting down the PIN on a scrap of paper. As I passed it to her, I could feel the weight of my decisions, of involving Gladys in this charade.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still, Gladys's hesitation hanging in the air like a dense fog. I braced myself for further questions, for a demand for the truth that I was ill-prepared to give.
"Okay," she finally acquiesced, her tone conveying a mix of reluctance and commitment. "Yeah, I guess I can help."
A sigh of relief escaped me, invisible chains of tension unwinding as I realised she was on board. "Awesome. Thanks so much. If you get stuck with anything, just give me a call and I’ll explain it to the cashier," I assured her, feeling a semblance of control returning. The promise was a lifeline, an offer of support in a sea of uncertainty.
"Sure, will do," Gladys confirmed, her acceptance of the task reinforcing the bond of trust that, despite the circumstances, remained intact between us. In that moment, the complexity of our relationship was laid bare, a delicate balance of trust and deceit, of friendship and necessity, all woven together in the pursuit of a goal that was as much about preservation as it was about progress.
As Gladys meticulously reviewed the list once more, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "It's an interesting list. What on earth has Jamie got planned this time?" she mused aloud, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
"I know. Isn’t it just?" I echoed her sentiment, my voice carrying a blend of intrigue and mock exasperation. Leaning back against the cool, granite countertop, I crossed my arms, a playful smirk dancing on my lips. "I'm not totally sure what mischief he’s up to. He wouldn't tell me. I’m secretly hoping it involves a few chickens." The words tumbled out with a lightheartedness I hoped would ease any lingering doubts she harboured.
Gladys's laughter, rich and genuine, filled the room, effectively slicing through the remnants of tension that had lingered in the air. Her reaction was a balm to my anxious heart. I knew she would understand. She had never been the best at keeping secrets. Only a few years ago, Gladys had inadvertently revealed Jamie's plans to surprise me with a hen house—a plan that, regrettably, never saw the light of day. The memory of that incident brought a nostalgic smile to my face.
"So, you can get the stuff?" I ventured once more, seeking confirmation. My eyes locked with hers, conveying a mix of hopefulness and gratitude. “I promise that I'll get Jamie to tell you what he's up to when you return." The offer was a token of my appreciation, a small assurance in exchange for her willingness to embark on this peculiar errand.
Gladys regarded me with a cautious, yet understanding gaze. "Sure. I'll get it all for him."
With a sense of purpose, Gladys turned towards the door, her steps decisive. As she bid a fond farewell to Duke and Henri, her voice softened, imbuing the room with a warmth that lingered long after her departure.
As the door closed with a soft click behind Gladys, a wave of unease washed over me. There was a certain look in her eyes, a glimmer of skepticism that told me she wasn't entirely convinced by the tale of Jamie's ill health. Gladys and Jamie's bond stretched back decades—a friendship so deep and enduring that the notion of her not reaching out to him directly was, frankly, laughable. The realisation settled heavily in my stomach; I was on borrowed time.
Barely had this thought taken root when the familiar chime of Jamie’s phone pierced the silence, announcing a new message. My heart skipped a beat. Despite the gnawing sense that I was venturing into forbidden territory, curiosity overpowered my hesitation. I found myself gravitating towards the phone, driven by an insatiable need to know.
Gladys: Sorry to hear you don’t feel well. Call me when you wake up. G.
The message, so simple yet laden with concern, elicited a muttered curse from my lips. "Crap." The reality of the situation was dawning on me with unsettling clarity. Gladys's intuition, coupled with her and Jamie's storied history, left little room for deception. The likelihood of maintaining the façade for even a day was rapidly diminishing, and with it, my window of opportunity.
A resigned sigh escaped me as I acknowledged the inevitable. "Oh well," I murmured, trying to muster a semblance of nonchalance. My shoulders slumped slightly, conceding to the weight of the situation before I consciously straightened, forcing a casual smile to reclaim my features. This smile, a mask I had worn throughout the morning, felt increasingly tenuous, yet necessary.
I can deal with Gladys later, I reassured myself, attempting to push the rising tide of concern to the back of my mind. There were more pressing issues at hand, tasks that demanded my immediate focus. The clock was indeed ticking, but not just for the ruse with Gladys. A myriad of challenges awaited, each requiring a delicate balance of cunning and improvisation. For now, the priority was clear: navigate the immediate crisis while strategising for the inevitable confrontation that loomed on the horizon. The game was afoot, and time, as ever, was of the essence.
