The Question of Love by Hugh Mackay

Author:Hugh Mackay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia
Published: 2020-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

16

Coming Home –

8th Variation – ‘A Text from Jean-Pierre’

The sight of his convivium gladdens Richard’s heart, as it always does when he comes home, the delight only slightly dulled by his growing conviction that a polished concrete floor would be a marked improvement on the travertine pavers. The natural next step. A building is a living thing, subject to constant decay and needing constant renewal. That’s a line that goes down better with clients eager to renovate than it does with Freya.

Freya is sitting at the farmhouse table – that table had certainly not been a mistake, in spite of her resistance to the cost – with her back to him. Richard notices that her shoulders are shaking, though whether she is laughing, shivering, coughing or sobbing it is impossible to tell.

‘Home is the –’

‘Shut up, Richard.’

So she is shaking with anger.

‘You okay, Frey?’

‘I am not okay. I am as far from okay as it is possible to be.’

Richard’s mind runs quickly over the events of last night. All clear, as far as he can recall. And today has been uneventful, until now. They’d had a brief phone conversation and an exchange of texts about their expected arrival times at home, and it was agreed they wouldn’t need to bother with a proper dinner. A plate of cheese and crackers is already out on the table, together with a plastic tub of potato salad and another of coleslaw, both from the deli. It seems safe to proceed.

‘What is it?’

‘See for yourself.’ Freya hands him her smartphone and he reads the text message on the screen: I’m out. J-P

Richard scans the screen for a sign of the author, but doesn’t recognise the number of the sender.

‘Who is J-P? And what is he or she out of?’

These are innocent questions but they provoke more rage from Freya. She howls like an animal, her face reddening.

‘Fucking Jean-Pierre. Gone. Left. Quit. Just like that.’

‘Jean-Pierre?’

‘Our second violinist, Richard. You have met him on at least five occasions. Do you never pay attention to anything or anyone to do with my work?’

Richard is stung. That feels like an unfair remark. He would describe himself as broadly supportive of Continental Drift, if somewhat detached from the fine detail.

‘You feel upset.’ That is a line Richard has recently picked up from a speaker at one of the Socially Aware Architects workshops on resolving interpersonal conflict.

Freya gazes at him, open-mouthed with disbelief. ‘Upset? Yes, you could say upset. You could also say suicidal, homicidal . . . no, not homicidal, genocidal. I want to kill all Frenchmen.’

‘Is that entirely rational, Frey?’

‘Entirely rational, Richard. Today is Wednesday. It’s actually Wednesday night. We have a major, major gig on Saturday night. Big event. Big money. New work. That is three days away. Count them, Richard. One, Thursday. Two, Friday. Three, Saturday. Three days. And the fucking Frenchman has quit. Cold. And by text.’

‘No warning?’

‘Ha. It depends what you mean by warning. Tantrums every single rehearsal. Maybe that was a warning. Storming out of today’s rehearsal because of some light-hearted remark Daniel made.

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