Ina woke up with cold air on her face. Thursday morning and the window to the fire escape had been left open overnight. She checked her watch, 5.55. There was no light in the room, and none yet at the window. Her back pressed up against Ngaio’s, and the warmth between them glowed. The night came to her in waves, some of it hazy, some of it completely clear. Was it magic? Had some kind of magic been involved? Ina let her mind go backwards through time, from the evening to dinner at Ngaio’s table, to the afternoon and the walk through town. Suddenly out of nowhere came the memory of waking up the morning of the day before, Niko’s letter on the pillow beside her. Her heart lurched. She hadn’t replied. She hadn’t been in touch with him at all.
She got up quietly and crept towards the pile of clothes on the floor underneath the window. Quickly pulled them on, quietly so as not to wake Ngaio. She walked through to the bathroom to empty her stretched bladder. Trying not to make the floorboards creak. The face in the mirror above the sink was a shadow, in the light which was just in that moment beginning to turn grey. She picked up her bag from the lounge and then walked back into the bedroom. Her head was starting to clear, she was starting to wake up. But her stomach was in knots. Ngaio would have to understand.
Out through the window she went, into the greying light. The sky over on the other side of the black shapes of city roofs knit tightly together was just beginning to lighten. Tentatively down each metal step so as not to shake the whole staircase. At the bottom she stepped onto the narrow alleyway which carved a pathway across the back of the flat and its neighbours, turned ninety degrees to the right, and ushered her out onto the road. She didn’t stop, didn’t turn back, it was too dark down there to see much, and Ngaio’s window was empty anyway.
What colour is there in a city at six in the morning? The barest hint of grey lightens so quickly you hardly notice it until everywhere is awash with grey, as if seen through gauze. The road dark except for the cars, red at the tail and headlights yellow, everything else muted. Ina walked quickly, driven by something internal and impossible to ignore. She kept her eyes on the footpath ahead, across the main road at the lights which turned red just as she walked up to the pedestrian crossing. On the other side she started walking faster, she could feel her body starting to get it together. She was awake.
By the time she was halfway across the over bridge the sky had lightened completely, and towards the east the horizon was glowing pale orange. The harbour stretched out silver in front of her, still and glassy, the air growing saltier the closer she got to it. She knew where she was going. She knew exactly how to get there, she’d been there so many times before. Never walked this exact route though, never arrived this early barely even 6.30 when she walked up the stairs to the small flat above the panel beaters in the middle of the industrial area and tapped on Niko’s window.
The noise didn’t stir him at first. He was dreaming he was inside a vast room - a ballroom or a gallery or something cavernous and cold, and branches of a tree were scratching at the huge window in front of him. It wasn’t until the scratching turned into knocking that he started to swim up into consciousness, and then heard Ina’s voice, quietly, “Niko, are you in there?” He rushed over to the window, pulled back the curtain, and opened the window a crack. “Are you ok Ina?” His voice croaky. “I’ll open the door.”
By the time she walked into the flat she knew what she wanted to say.
“Do you want a drink?” Niko asked as she walked passed him. “Have you had breakfast? Toast?” He wasn’t making complete sense, he hadn’t woken up properly.
“Yes, a cup of tea,” she replied. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
Niko mumbled something and carried on down the hallway to the bathroom. Ina filled the kettle. She rummaged in the cupboard above the bench and found black tea and peppermint. Peppermint might help her stomach. She looked up at the narrow kitchen window above her, lit up white with the morning which was properly arriving. She mentally went through the time it would take to walk home and shower and then get back on the bus for work. She checked her phone, and there was the text from Ngaio, the one she knew was coming. Where are you Ina? Is everything ok?
She made Niko’s tea how he liked it, the bag steeping until the very last minute, and then a big slosh of milk. He sat down at the table and wrapped his hands around the mug and took a gulp. His hair was a mess, and he could barely look at her.
“I’m sorry I woke you. I just realised I hadn’t been in touch and I felt bad.”
He glanced up and then looked back down at the mug in his hands. Ina took a breath.
“I can’t be with you the way you want me to be. I’m sorry.”
And there it was. The words outside of her, away, spoken. Her shoulders dropped and she leant her head on her hands. Niko shifted in his chair. He took another gulp of tea and then got up and put the half empty mug in the sink.
“I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you later,” he said, walking out of the kitchen. Ina looked up just as he turned away.
She shut the front door to the flat and walked down the stairs. Then she was back on the main road and striding, like she had done on the way over. It would take her an hour to walk home, unless a bus came. There was enough time, as long as she kept up the pace. She took deep breaths of cool air, and felt her stomach slowly untie. Niko was answered. Now there was only Ngaio to think about. And that’s what she did. She thought about Ngaio, and Ngaio’s body, and Ngaio’s hands and they way they held her, like nobody had ever held her before, strong and steady and yet so soft at the same time.
The morning was ripe. The sky pale blue with patches of cloud, and a light wind which made the air feel even cooler. Everything was awake in her, her feet pounding the footpath, her face tingling. Hopefully Niko would be ok. Hopefully he wouldn’t get stuck in a funk. But she couldn’t think about that, she had to let him be. She certainly couldn’t be responsible. She had to think about herself, that was what the counsellor was always saying. The one she saw last year at the student medical centre. The one with the print of the bird people behind her desk, those strange cave creatures with elongated beaks. The counsellor had come up with the idea that Ina should try painting. That it might help her process. But the counsellor had no clue, no clue at all, that Ina couldn’t paint or even draw, not even slightly, it wasn’t even worth trying.
Ina was on the home stretch now, the road which wound its way along the bottom of the hill. On her left the houses perched, almost one on top of the other, clinging to the bushy hillside. To her right the streets stretched out in a grid, each block intersected at right angles, equidistant. She started to imagine what it would be like to live down one of those tidy suburban streets, in a bungalow with a garden, with fruit trees maybe. Would she like that life? What kind of life would that be?
She didn’t have plans any more, not like she used to. When she thought about the future something inside of her went numb. Did it really matter? What she did or didn’t do? University was just to keep her busy, to keep her grandfather from bugging her. To give her mother a bit of hope. But it wasn’t part of a plan, there was no plan. Other than to be ok, of course. There was always that plan. The plan of getting though. Of getting to the end of one day and riding it through to the next. Was that enough?
Ina pulled her phone out of her pocket. More messages from Ngaio. Where are you? I’m worried. Should I be worried? Ina opened the message thread and went to reply, but just at that moment the phone rang. It was her grandfather. Why now? It wasn’t even eight in the morning. And then she remembered, with a sinking feeling.
“Hello Ina,” his voice was warm. “I hope I haven’t rung too early.”
“It’s ok Poppa, how are you?”
“Good thanks darling, no news really to report except that it’s your mother’s birthday today and I’m going to visit her this morning and I wanted to know if you had a message to pass on.”
Ina went silent. She focused on the ground ahead of her, and kept on moving. Her feet pounding the footpath, her own rhythm.
“Ina? Are you there? Can you hear me?” His voice was so kind, the concern so palpable she felt tears rise.
“Yes Poppa, I’m here.” She cleared her throat. “I was going to send her a card but I’ve had an essay due this week and I’ve been working a lot, I’m sorry.”
She could hear him shift position, and make that little swallow cough in his throat he always did.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about my dear, I’ve bought her a couple of things and I’m going to sign the card from you as well, of course.”
“Thanks Poppa. Tell her I’m doing well.”
“Well I will, of course, you know she loves hearing from you.”
Ina went silent again.
“Anyway, I need to go and feed the dogs before I get ready to leave.”
“Yeah ok” she replied, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Thanks for calling.”
There was nothing to do now but keep on walking. There were tears, she wiped them roughly with the back of her hand and tried to ignore them. Tried to ignore the rising panic. What had her counsellor said? Look for something blue? She was a block away from her street now so she crossed over, jogging to catch the gap between the steady stream of cars. Home for a shower, that was what she told herself. Home for a shower and then dressed and hopefully something in the fridge to eat, and then back out again to catch the bus. She was tired, her legs were growing heavy and the bag on her back was pulling at her shoulders. She thought about how it would feel if she called in sick, went to bed and stayed there. But she needed the job.
So keen to read NO.6 - loved it ❤and intrigued about the emerging back story!