She made cheese and bacon sandwiches and we wolfed down a couple each with the wine. We sat very close together at the bench and I could smell her and feel the warmth from her body. She shivered and I took off my jacket and hung it around her shoulders. She was good to touch, firm and straight-backed with a softness over the bones.
She lifted her glass. ‘Washington,’ she said.
‘Washington.’ We drank. ‘Has there been any more nutty mail?’
‘Ah, work,’ she said. ‘Safe ground. No, nothing since the bomb. What d’you make of that?’
‘I don’t know.’ I wasn’t really concentrating on the words. There was a battle going on inside me. The four l’s-love, loyalty, lust and loneliness -were having a hell of a good time slugging it out and I was feeling miserable. Trudi fell silent and seemed to brood. Then she jumped off her stool and bounced up and down on the board floor.
‘Tell you what, I know a place where they have great coffee and they put French brandy in it. Costs a mint. I’ll play you some table tennis. Loser buys the coffee. Okay?’
I laughed. She kept bouncing and the chopped-off hair swung around her head. I wondered how long she could bounce like that-longer than me for sure. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘You’re on. Best of three?’
She nodded. ‘Toss for ends.’
She won the toss, turned on the big hooded light over the table and offered me a selection of bats. I chose a heavy one. She held up two balls, one white, one red.
‘White. I’m old-fashioned.’
‘I can see that.’
She turned off the other lights apart from a lamp down by the bench. We hit up. That is, she hit up. She put the first few past me on either side using wicked spin and plenty of power.
‘You could at least take the jacket off.’
‘Sorry.’ She slung the jacket aside. ‘Home ground advantage. Is the lighting okay?’
It wasn’t quite. Since my eye injury I’d had a little trouble with shadows and adapting from light to dark quickly. But I had no real excuses other than rustiness. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Can we rally a bit on both sides while I get my eye in?’
‘Sure.’
We rallied steadily, forehand and backhand, and I began to get the rhythm back. I’d played the game like a madman at the Maroubra YMCA as a kid and later in long, boring lay-off times in Malaya. I’d had a few games since, away on holiday with Cyn and at other places with other people, but I’d played much more court tennis and the two styles don’t mix well. I took too much swing and advertised my moves from right to left too clearly. Still, after the rallying and a few practice serves, I felt I was ready.
‘Three over for serve.’ She was concentrating, bent over, serious. I lost the serve in four shots.
The first game was over pretty quickly. I lost 21-9. She had a tricky, whippy style which depended a lot on spin and an ability to drop the ball short over the net. I won a few points by pushing her back and forcing her to hit long. She aced me at least eight times, but it wasn’t all bad: I aced her once. I won most of my points towards the end when I’d figured out some of the elements of her game. She liked to take the ball late and very low, below the level of the table if possible. This disguised the spin and direction; the ball came back breaking to either side and skipping down the middle or skimming the sidelines. But I watched and picked up something from the way she dropped her shoulder when she made the shots.
I held her in the second game. The ways of neutralising spin came back to me and I could control her serve better. I read the tricky low shots and did better than before when she had to play long. But she was fitter than me and I had to end the points quickly if I could-most of the really long rallies she won. I hit my straps at 16-19 down. I won all five points and the game.
We changed ends. I was sweating freely but she seemed cool and untroubled.
‘You’re all right,’ she said.
‘I thought I was good and you were terrific’
‘I’m just getting warmed up.’
And she was. She won her serve to love and I was struggling to get three points on mine. I pegged her back a bit over the next few serves but she’d been reading my style while I’d been reading hers. She fought to keep the points long and with a lot of side to side movement. She bounced; I lumbered. She spun and I smashed.
‘That coffee’ll be good,’ she said at 16-10 up.
‘You can’t leave your purse at home yet.’
She laughed and seemed to lose concentration a little. The serve changed at 17-13.
She flicked the ball to me. ‘You’re gone,’ she said.
I won four points and got set to serve at 17 all.
‘I get the feeling that whoever wins this point’ll win the match,’ she said. She was gasping just a little.
‘You’re stalling for breath,’ I said.
She crouched, bounced and wove from side to side to prove me wrong.
I served. The window exploded and the lights went out. Glass showered onto the top of the table. I rushed forward around the table, slithered on broken glass and fought for balance.
‘Where are you?’ I yelled.
‘Down! I’m down!’
I hit the floor myself, half falling, half diving and trying to keep my hands and face out of the glass. I was almost under the table and I heard frantic scrabbling at the other end.
‘Trudi! Are you hurt?’
‘No! What the hell was that?’
I rolled over and looked out the shattered window. There’s nothing wrong with my distance vision at night. A hundred yards away, out among the dark patches and bright pools of light, I glimpsed a quick, flurried movement on the top of the viaduct. A dark shape moved down and out of sight, then a car engine started and I caught a quick glimpse of red light.
10
Mrs Bell!’ The shout came from the house below and in front of the loft.
Trudi scrambled up from the floor and rushed to the window. ‘It’s all right. Mr Jamieson. An accident.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I broke a window. Nobody hurt.’
We turned on some more lights and surveyed the damage.
‘Shit,’ Trudi said. ‘Look at my bedroom.’
I looked sharply at her but she meant the stack of room dividers. A bullet had hit them, passing through and gouging the wall behind. Another had hit the light. Trudi went to the end of the room and poured us both some wine. She shoved things around and then gave a low moan. ‘I had some cigarettes here, I’ll swear.’
I went over and took the glass. ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’
‘I stopped.’
‘You’ll be okay without,’ I said. ‘Have some wine.’
‘Yeah.’ We both drank and she grinned at me. ‘I woulda won.’
‘I think you’re right. You’d have been cooler than me at 20-20.’
She sniffed and drank. ‘It’s nothing after the bomb. God, that poor little kid.’
We drew close and stood with our arms around each other, still holding our glasses. We stood like that for a long time and then I took her back to Glebe watching the rear vision mirror all the way.
I circled the block and checked every parked car before I stopped. Inside, I made her some tea and put her to bed in the room Hilde used to occupy. I went out the back way and checked the area thoroughly again. When I got back she was asleep.
We didn’t tell January or anyone else about the shots. Glazing is one of the few practical jobs I can do. I replaced the window panes; Trudi bought a new light and partitions. She stayed five nights at my place and moved back to her loft a few nights before we were due to fly to Washington. Helen had rung one night when I was out and left a message on the machine that she’d call again in 12 hours. I didn’t get the message and Trudi answered when she rang. Helen hung up. I tried to call her at the radio station where she worked part-time and was told she was on leave. I didn’t want to ring her at home. I never had.