Chapter 48 Bardy
BARDY
For where thou art, there is the world itself.
“Is Satya here?” Jack comes into the gallery at a run.
“No, is she okay?” Bardy asks, concerned.
Jack draws a deep breath. “No, nothing wrong, just thought I was late and would get a bollocking. Ah, great, Linda’s got cake.
” He claps Bardy on the shoulder and wanders off to where Linda and Leonard are now serving tea and coffee.
Leonard let off his piano duties for a while.
There is quite a crowd. He’s not surprised, Linda has made some great cakes.
He’s already had one of her chocolate and chili brownies.
He knows a few faces. Some retired teachers.
Tash is there with a big guy who he presumes is her husband.
And Simon. Which makes him immediately think of Kate.
Is he with someone? Seems to have a brunette hanging on his arm.
Moving on or trying to score a point knowing Kate would be here?
Tay and Uzma pass him, heading toward where Hana is standing. He doesn’t feel like joining them, but touches Tay on the arm. “Could we talk later?”
“Yeah,” she says briefly. She adds, “Thought you were writing short stories, like, you know, the girl who surprised the world.”
“Thought I’d give the poems about color a bit of an airing.”
“No offense, but about time.”
“You knew?”
“Hana told me once about your color thing.”
He’s not sure how he feels about that. Before she moves on, Tay asks, “Do I have a color?”
He nods. “Red ocher.”
She frowns. “Is that good?”
“It’s bloody beautiful.”
And who thought Tay could blush? She punches his arm as she moves on. It’s not a hug, but he’ll take it.
Bardy looks around the rest of the room.
Pretty good turnout. He must start talking to people about next year’s group, and try to recruit a few.
This brings him up short. Will he even be here?
He doubts it. His decision is pretty well made.
Tom and Ned. Family, Clemenza had said. He hasn’t said as much to Hana.
But it seems she has taken it rather for granted.
Started talking about dates. He sees Kate with Lou.
Nothing but a chasm of pain looming that way.
He turns away to smile at Pia, who has come up beside him.
“You are a fool. You do know that. You choose a woman who left you, didn’t bother with you for years, over Kate?”
“Whoa. Has Kate said something?”
“No, Linda. Bardy, you are out of your fucking mind.”
He has never heard Pia swear before.
“Oh, babe!”
They both turn to the cry. Jack and Satya are standing close by them, beside Satya’s photographs: Details of a Guitar. Close-up images of parts of a well-used guitar. All black and white. They remind Bardy of a jazz club he once went to.
Jack and Satya are standing a few meters apart. The cry had come from Jack.
Satya is carrying a guitar. Bardy is pretty certain it is the guitar in the photos.
“How did you? Where the hell?” Jack isn’t making any sense as far as Bardy can tell. But Satya seems to know what’s going on.
“I knew it was your favorite, so I tracked it down. Took bloody ages, and the bloke was an old sod. Racist, and so mean, mean as a . . . well as a really mean fucker.”
English composition had never been Satya’s subject.
“But I got it!” She holds it out triumphantly to her husband.
“Oh, babe!” he says again and takes the guitar reverently in his hands and holds it, looking down at it. Without looking up, he says, “I know we’re shit. We don’t help you like we could, and we leave you out of stuff sometimes.”
“Oh, babe,” this time from Satya.
“We all think you’re incredible. I just think sometimes you might need the boys, but you don’t really need me.” The last part is almost a whisper.
Satya gets up close to her husband, a beloved guitar between them. “You’re right, I don’t need you, Jack.” He looks up, startled.
She has her palms open. “Why does a woman always have to need a man? And you’re right, I am incredible. I know women aren’t supposed to say it, but I’m a bloody good businesswoman.”
“Mission statement,” her husband murmurs, and Satya laughs.
“I’ll give you that one.” She takes the guitar from her husband and looks around.
Bardy steps forward and takes it from her.
Now she is up and close to Jack, the man she has adored since she was fourteen.
“I don’t need you, Jack. But I choose you.
How much better is that? And I will never stop wanting you and choosing you and loving you and all that shit. ”
No, terrible at English composition. But Bardy is welling up again.
What is it about these people?
Jack pulls Satya to him and wraps her in his arms. And there they are locked together, making out like they are back in the cupboard off the sports hall. Bardy wonders if there are any new stories left to be told in the world.
“I like your poems. The ones about color.”
“What? Oh, God, Kate, I’m so sorry,” he blurts.
Then stops. He has no idea what to say to her.
Just wants to look at her and keep looking at her.
She puts her hand on his arm. Which only makes him feel ten times worse.
Waves of silver now washing over him, then ebbing.
Not creating the normal feeling of exhilaration, just a sense of something precious lost. Kate glances at Satya and Jack, still locked together, his hands in her hair.
“That’s good,” she says, and sighs, looking directly at him, “and the other stuff, that’s okay too, Bardy.” She says brightly, “Jess is going to have a baby. I’m going to be a granny.” And she lets go of his arm. The loss of her touch feels like a burn.
“Kate . . . I don’t know . . .”
“I think Lou’s sculpture is really good too.
I’m not sure what it is or how he got the driftwood to hold together like that, but I like it.
Looks like it would be good in a garden.
Perhaps it could go in Linda’s garden. Linda has met a blacksmith, and she’s been getting some tips from him.
I bet he ends up helping her.” She stops abruptly. “Sorry. Going on a bit.”
Leonard bustles up beside them. “The mayor’s here.”
“The what?” Bardy tries to refocus. “Sorry. Right, got it. With you.”
“Why’s the mayor here?” Kate asks.
Bardy hurries off with Leonard. “You’ll see.”