‘Heavens!’
Only desperation could have brought her up here. A shaft of light felt palpable, like a witness. Marion saw the gleam from the gilt frame of a small portrait she’d hidden away. Her parents in wedding clothes, posing in the manner of people who are scared but have learned to pretend. When she’d packed up her mother’s room (her father had already been dead ten years) she’d been surprised to find the portrait preserved, challenging the reality of their divorce. Why had her mother not got rid of it? And then she, Marion, had discovered her own inability to throw the picture away. As if the photograph, this record of the past, had some magical power.
Marion glanced at the faces, grimaced. This was going to be hard. Best to avoid as much as possible. Gosh, there was the valise full of Max’s suits. Marion teetered in the tracks of space left between the many things she’d stored away over the decades. There was only one thing she really needed. She moved towards a wall of boxes, certain she had hidden it behind there. A scratching noise gave her a jolt. She was relieved she’d closed the attic door.
‘Alvar! Stay out.’
He scratched some more and then she heard him skitter down the stairs. She’ll feed him later.
All the while worrying about being found buried underneath boxes and photographs of frightened people, Marion made a path to the back wall. There it was. Muscles she hadn’t known were tense eased up. She’d been careful to bubble-wrap it, but even so she realised she’d been careless to leave it here and felt lucky to find it undamaged. If Max was right, the painting would fetch enough to last her till she finally died. But she’d need to hide it for the next few months, or however long the scavenge would go on for. The hunt. She lifted it and found it light enough to carry. She moved back towards the door, averting her gaze from her parents, her cheeks pinked with shame.
Back downstairs, she sensed the commotion rather than heard it. Out on her stoep Marion watched the ambulance park alongside No. 10. Had the man finally croaked? Alvar curled in her lap. She watched the activities, half-distracted. She was thinking about the painting. About hiding the painting. A stretcher was carried out of Hortensia’s home. On it was a covered body. Marion felt too harassed by bankruptcy and lawyers to enjoy her neighbour’s misfortune. The ambulance drove off, Hortensia trailing behind in her car; she’d looked more irritated than worried.
‘Ma’am.’
‘Oh my goodness, Agnes, you gave me a fright. You’re back early.’
‘Sorry to scare you.’
Marion noticed Agnes eyeing the dusty bubble-wrapped parcel by her side.
‘Well, never mind. Continue with your work.’
Once Agnes was safely occupied in the kitchen, Marion dragged the painting back upstairs and leaned it against the wall in her bedroom. But it looked at her. She wanted it close but out of sight. Underneath the bed. She got onto her knees, pushed aside her bedroom slippers – always ready, to attention. She knew it was stupid to keep the painting around. The whole business could get quite nasty, her lawyer had warned, especially if you’re suspected of circumventing the law. As she leaned and slid the painting underneath the bed, her brow creased. She had to hide the painting away somewhere no one would suspect to look for it. When the creditors came with their investigators, prying and questioning and … investigating … where would be the last place they would think to look? Marion had to restrain herself from calling Hortensia immediately. Despite her excitement about this new solution, she had the presence of mind to know such an action would be inappropriate. She’d have to wait a bit, although time wasn’t something she had in abundance. And she’d have to cajole Hortensia, somehow convince her and avoid suspicion – even with a newly dead husband, the woman would be sharp as a needle.
Too excited to feel foolish, Marion carted the painting downstairs, yet again, and set it by the front door. She made herself tea and allowed the taste of the idea to sink in. A perfectly good idea. And of course she won’t mention the bankruptcy – Heavens, no. Pretend the alarm is broken or something. Hortensia, can you help me keep this? It’s the most valuable thing I own … would be terrible if something happened … if someone broke in and stole it … Won’t you …?