myth that Diane so firmly clung to; and the longer that myth flourished the more guilt Veronica felt and the more perilous the debunking of that myth became.
She knew that a text from her could inflame Max’s affection but she had to take that chance. She couldn’t handle this new ‘Diane situation’ alone; and since he was part of the conspiracy he needed to be part of the solution. The cruel paradox was all too real for her: with Diane’s belief in conspiracies that she saw all around her, the one conspiracy that was real she was blind to; and the thought of Diane finding out, after all this time... she shuddered at the evil idea of it.
They met on a harbour ferry, at Circular Quay, the Mosman run.
“This is a novel meeting place,” says Max as he sits down next to her. He is wearing a smile that shows how tickled he is that she wanted to see him and she wants to wipe that smile right off his face.
“Diane wouldn’t be been seen dead on a ferry.”
It works. “Oh, so that’s why we’re here.”
“Most certainly. What else?” says Veronica in a voice that is as business-like as she can make it.
“I was going to say how nice you looked,” he says.
“In this wind?”
“Especially in this wind.” She has to admit that the wind is emphasising his little-boy cuteness but, of course, she says nothing; as the wind whips her hair all over her head. She braves the whipping hair to sneak a look at that very attractive ridge of bone at the base of his neck.
“Diane came to visit me yesterday.”
“Yes, I know.”
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“Er … Jessica Dunstan, I think.”
“Jessica Dunnant.”
“Right. Jessica Dunnant.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“That she’s being stalked by this woman?”
“Yes. The poor woman just moved into the area a few weeks ago and now she thinks she’s being stalked by Diane.”
“Is that what Diane told you?”
“No, I spoke to her.”
“You spoke to Jessica Dunnant?!”
“Actually her name’s Paula Blackman. She’s rather nice.”
“You’re taking this very lightly.”
“And you’re not?”
“No I’m not. Did she tell you that she thinks this woman is your wife, and that’s why she’s following her?
“Oh, my god,” he wails. “I didn’t know that.”
“Now do you see the seriousness of all this?”
He is silent for a moment. “What’s more worrying is why did she tell me only half of it? … Hah!”
“What?”
“That would explain the strange look on her face. As she was telling me she was looking at me intensely, as if waiting to see something in my expression; to catch me out, or trip me up. It’s becoming increasingly common.”
Veronica suddenly has a thought. “What was your wife’s name?”
He just looks at her.
“Oh no,” groans Veronica.
“Mm, but we all called her Jessie.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Max, this is all getting far too deep, far too messy, and far too dangerous. I’m worried about her.”
“I know and that’s exactly why we have to do nothing.”
“That’s just like………”
“What? Just like a man? I thought you didn’t believe in that chauvinistic stuff.”
“I don’t but that doesn’t mean I don’t get tripped up by society’s conditioned clichés, just like everybody else.”
“Well said, Susan.”
They both stare into the wind to keep their hair from whipping their faces; circling around their own thoughts buffeting them just like the wind.
“Look,” says Max with some determination in his voice, “the nice Ms Blackman may even start shopping somewhere else which is what I suggested.”
“That’s a bit overbearing.”
“I just suggested it: that if Diane’s behaviour annoyed her she might think about it.”
“What did you tell her about Diane?”
“Just that she was recovering from a breakdown and often saw people she thinks she knows. That she is harmless and the alternative is locking her up at home and I’m not prepared to do that.”
“Ah,” she sighs wearily, “and the abyss gets deeper.”
“Don’t be so defeatist.”
“You’ve made Diane sound like your wife.”
“Well, in a way she is.”
“You had better hope that the nice Ms Blackman takes your advice and shops somewhere else because if she thinks a friendly little chat to Diane might be the answer to preventing more public embarrassment you’ve got two women chatting to each other when both of them think that the other one is your wife. How Ouorboric can you get!”
“What?”
“A Ouroboros is a symbol: a snake eating its tail.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, if the snake eats its way to its own head … what have you got?”
“A very stupid, snake?”
“Chaos!”
“I think you’ve gone a bit too far with the metaphor.”
“I’m just explaining….”
“No! Let’s not talk about it anymore.”
“That’s great coming from someone who just tried to do something about it and made it worse.”
