There’d also been some re-shuffling at Libreville: Haveling was still there, but Bateson and two more of his clique had been suspended pending enquiries, while Tally Shavell had been transferred to Wetumpka Penitentiary in Alabama, where apparently they had an even harder-assed prison fixer. The bets were that if Shavell didn’t keep his head down low there, he wouldn’t last more than six months.
Alaysha stopped lap-dancing five months later, when, having turned more of her attention to interior decoration, her client list finally started to grow. She also started to become franker about telling people that she used to lap-dance, stopped trying to cover up or being embarrassed by it.
‘And now?’ they’d ask.
‘The same. Except now it’s just for an audience of one.’ A saucy glance at Jac as she joked.
Jac’s mother had also broken out more on her own, finally getting her work visa and with her past art expertise landing a job at a gallery on Chartres Street two days a week, which within three months became full-time. She and Jean-Marie moved out of Aunt Camille’s place in Hammond and into their own place in Bywater, only a mile from Jac and Alaysha.
With Jac busy with the new company, he and Alaysha had stayed as neighbours, constantly in and out of each other’s apartments, and while they’d talked about getting a place together, they didn’t finally start house-hunting until late summer — just as Katrina hit.
The hurricane completely transformed the city. Some districts, like the Ninth Ward, were totally flattened, and when they were re-built would never be the same again. The most vital criterion for New Orleans house-hunters would forever now be ‘find a place on high ground’.
Everything from the new firm was shifted in box files to a make shift office in Baton Rouge, and when they finally returned six weeks later, the city still looking like a war-zone and the smell of damp seeping through their newly-painted walls, Coultaine commented, ‘Oh well, just think of all the compensation and re-building claims.’ Jac shook his head and smiled wryly. As bad as his father: always look to the bright side.
Larry’s compensation was finally settled soon after they moved back into New Orleans: $1,500,000.
Larry had been seeing Joshua regularly every other weekend and some weekdays too, and whether from that pressure or other problems between Francine and Frank — apparently things had become increasingly tense between them — they finally split up just a month before Katrina hit.
Larry and Francine started seeing each other tentatively again then: occasional dinners out, or often she’d cook dinner for them all when Larry came round to see Joshua. When the compensation paperwork was being completed, Larry remarked to Jac how scared he was by the whole process.
‘So afraid of making the same mistakes as last time. It’s… it’s like starting out all over again.’
You and the city, Jac thought, but when he told Alaysha, she thought it was cute, touching. ‘Almost like they’re teenagers on their first dates all over again.’
Jac and Alaysha started looking at houses again in late November, and finally found a place on the West Bank at Algiers Point — a period bungalow with great river views from its front terrace — to move into just a week before Christmas.
Their first Christmas with family — Jean-Marie, his mother and Alaysha’s — since the nightmare of a year ago.
It was a mad rush. They were still unpacking boxes from their apartments as they put the last decorations on the Christmas tree. And as Jac opened one of their Christmas cards, he suddenly paused, his eyes starting to fill.
It was from Larry:
Jac, thanks for everything! Josh told me that he’d never seen snow before, so I thought it was a good idea to bring him and Fran up here to Aspen.
Merry Christmas!
But it was the small Polaroid inside that had brought a lump to Jac’s throat: Larry with an arm around Fran and Josh each side, the three of them by a snow-laden fir tree as they smiled at the camera.
Hands trembling as the emotions gripped him, Jac passed the photo to Alaysha. ‘Isn’t that… that picture worth a thousand — ’
Alaysha, hearing the tremor in his voice, simply touched one finger against his lips, seeing in his eyes in that moment all the softness and vulnerability that had first drawn her to him; and as she looked at the photo and felt the tears softly sting her eyes too, she started planting gentle kisses where a second ago her finger had been. ‘Yes, it is, Jac… yes it is.’
And Jac, feeling those kisses, was reminded of all the times in the dead of night when he’d suddenly find himself back in the dark water, struggling to make it to the surface, breathe again… and Alaysha would lay the same kisses on one cheek as she shook him gently back awake, ‘Are you okay, Jac… are you okay?’
The dreams were less frequent now, the stark, chilling memories fading with each passing month — until finally, hopefully, they’d be like Larry Durrant’s memory of being at the Roche house that night all those years ago.
Someone else’s memory, not even his.