Brunswick Street Blues by Sally Bothroyd

Author:Sally Bothroyd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQ Fiction
Published: 2022-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I opened my eyes to find I was lying on the floor in the corridor with a cushion under my head. For a moment I just stared at the ceiling. The paint was discoloured and peeling. Like the Phoenix, Baz’s flat was in need of a spruce up.

I became aware of Mitch sitting next to me. He was fanning me with a manila folder, but when I tried to sit up, I felt dizzy again. I lay back down and kept breathing as deeply as possible.

‘Just stay there for a minute,’ said Mitchell. ‘You can’t fall lower than the floor.’

Ain’t that the truth, I thought, as I ran my hands over my face. My forehead was damp with sweat, although Baz’s flat wasn’t in any way warm.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ asked Mitchell. ‘Or something stronger?’

I tried blinking my eyes to see if it would make me feel more alert. ‘There’s some bourbon in the kitchen.’

He held up a mug. ‘What you think I’m drinking?’

I leveraged myself gingerly up into a sitting position and Mitchell helped me take the two steps into the living room where he deposited me on the couch. Then he went into the kitchen and returned with another mug of bourbon.

‘This’ll fix you up.’

I doubted it, but I took a big swallow anyway and relished the burning in the back of my throat.

‘I was going to ask whether you could be pregnant—but the way you’re necking that down makes me think it was something else.’

‘There’s no getting anything past you.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘With a journalist who’s mixing prescription drugs with alcohol at ten in the morning? Are you kidding me?’ I took another mouthful.

Mitchell left me to my mug for a minute while he continued looking through some papers. ‘Looky here,’ he said, removing a document from the sheaf. ‘I think it’s your uncle’s will.’ He squinted at it more closely. ‘Congratulations, you’re getting the record collection. That could be worth a few bob.’

‘I don’t think my uncle’s will is any of your business.’ I tried to grab the document but he stood up, out of reach.

‘But he’s not leaving you the Phoenix, I see.’ He handed me the will and disappeared back into the kitchen.

My eyes were slow to focus, but then I could see it there in black and white: I leave the Phoenix to Delilah Russell, if she is still living and can be found, or any children or grandchildren that she may have, if she is no longer living.

The ringing in my ears was back, along with the dizziness and nausea. ‘Who the fuck is this Delilah Russell?’ My voice came out as a croak.

‘I don’t know.’ Mitchell had returned from the kitchen with the bourbon bottle. ‘But your uncle also has her birth certificate in his safe.’

He handed me another document. It was indeed a birth certificate for a Delilah Russell. Born to a Daphne Russell in Melbourne in 1960. No father named.

‘It looks to me like your uncle may have had a daughter,’ said Mitchell.

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