The Full Legacy by Jane Retzig Page B

steady.
    ‘Oh, for goodness sake Kay!’ I staggered to my feet, hardly able to see. ‘So what? They work together, remember.’
    ‘Not on a night, they don’t.’
    ‘Well, they’d probably been at some meeting or other.’
    ‘No, Gill. Not at 10.30.’
    Kay stood up too, balanced her drink on the edge of the bench, and reached for my arm. Her hay fever was getting worse. She was wheezing a little as I snatched myself away from her. I was so angry I wanted to hit her. I had never ever felt that angry in my life before. And I was so angry I wasn’t even shocked by it.
    ‘Everybody’s so bloody interested in Turner, aren’t they?’ I snapped.
    ‘It’s because we...’
    I didn’t let her finish.
    ‘Everybody thinks they know what’s best for me... and for Suzanne... and for Mary... Well, they don’t Kay, so don’t come running to me with your stories.’
    I picked up the watering can and stomped off towards the garden shed, emptying out the last dregs of water on the flower beds as I went. It was getting dark, and not only in my soul. It was time to put everything away.
    ‘Ten thirty,’ Kay’s voice followed me, still trying to get me to hear. ‘Taking their time over coffee and liqueurs at some flash restaurant down town.’
    I felt sick. I slammed the shed door after me as I got inside. The mellow smell of wood preserver greeted me. There was an old work bench down the wall under the cobwebby window – a rickety wooden seat under the bench. I hung up my watering can and sat down, rocking myself on the chair, my elbows on the workbench and my head in my hands. I remembered all the times this exact same thing had happened with Corinne.... well meaning friends trying to warn me and make me face up to what was going on. Kay of all people knew about that.
    ‘Oh, shit! ’ I groaned, rubbing my hands through my hair in frustration.
    I could feel tears stinging my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to feel that much of a fool. Since Corinne, I’d always held back from caring enough about anyone to be hurt that badly by them. But with Turner I’d seen all the signs and I’d gone for it anyway. Maybe I’d inherited my mother’s unerring capacity to attract and fall for the wrong people. Kay was right when she said she’d got under my skin. I was falling in love and it hurt like hell.
    I took a deep breath.
    ‘I’m old enough to look after myself!’ I announced, swinging out of the shed on a wave of ‘fuck you all!’ bravado. I didn’t feel brave. I felt like I’d felt at Corinne’s funeral with Kay sitting there at the back of the crematorium and everybody’s eyes flitting between us, their whispers rustling like a breeze through leaves in autumn.
    But Kay wasn’t there anymore.
    The lager can was on its side, trickling Carlsberg into a steadily growing pool on the crazy paving. I stared at it, shocked.
    Then suddenly, I was very afraid.
    I broke into a run.
     
    I found Kay in her room, panicked, grey, and wheezing like someone who was having all the breath squeezed out of them. She was searching frantically for something in her dressing table, tugging out the drawers, tipping clothes all over the floor. She looked glazed, completely unfocused as she half registered me standing in the doorway.
    ‘H... I’m... H....  H.... InHaler...’ she gasped.
    I never was good at thinking under pressure. The thoughts always got jumbled up in my head. I struggled to grasp onto what she needed. Then, even when I realised what it was, I couldn’t remember where I’d last seen it.
    Suddenly, I knew.
    ‘It’s in the bathroom cabinet,’ I said, already on my way there, flinging open the mirrored door and plowing through ancient containers of Paracetamol – Friar’s Balsam – Arnica – before I got to the box with its tiny aerosol.
     
    Kay was slumped by the side of her bed by the time I got back. She looked like a fish, half dead on a river bank, washed up, past struggling, all her