Kilshannig

Their steps were like tip-tap shoes as they moved down the long corridor: Michael in front with Maureen just behind him, with no expression at all, followed by Bernard and Anthony. Hospital corridors have this fatal concept that they never end and always look the same. When they arrived at the doorway of no. 34, they all came to a halt. Maureen took Michael's arm, "You go in. We'll wait here". A white-faced Michael glanced at the tiny group, a desolate expression on his face. It wasn't possible: how could he, at 39 years of age, be in a situation where he must hold hands with death, this dreadful moment that would part him from the person he loved most in this life? He opened the door slowly and the doctor by the bed turned and said, "He hasn't long. He has been calling for you". The doctor left the room and Michael moved across to what was a fragile memory of Peter, stretched out under the sheet. "Peter", he said, "can you hear me?" "Of course I can", came the reply. "Michael, close the door", Peter said softly and he did as he was asked. He then sat on the edge of the bed. "They say I haven't got long now. Get into bed with me, please!" Michael undressed and slid into bed beside Peter, who whispered, "Take this thing off me". Michael removed his hospital gown and felt the warm body beside him. "Oh Peter", he began. "Ssh!" was the immediate response, and Michael felt his weak arms trying to embrace him. "Michael, I'm going", he said in a soft voice. "Hold me very tight!" Softly, Peter began to cry, tears running down his chalky-white face. Michael followed suit. "You can't go yet", he said, "I need you. I love you. You can't go, it's just not possible". Sobs made him pause. "Michael, will you promise me something?" "Anything! anything!" "Make sure Patrick gets a good musical education, please!" "I promise! I promise!" he repeated and held Peter very tightly. "It's all right, Michael! We'll always be together, no matter what!" His voice trailed off to a mere whisper. "We will always be together at Kilshannig ... I love Kilshannig. ... Michael, I love you ..." The pressure in his arms began to slacken and then everything stopped. Michael got out of the bed and dressed, then sat once more on the edge and ran his hand over Peter's naked body. Still warm, it gave him the wild hope that Peter would get out of bed and they would go back to Kilshannig together, forever. He smothered his face wildly with kisses and only slowly realised that Peter was no longer in this world. When the priest had given him the last rites the previous evening, Michael had been unable to conceive that his brother – the most important person in his world – was no longer going to be there as he had been for 39 years. They had been born exactly one year apart on May 12th. Peter was the first. Then, precisely one year later, to the very hour, Michael was born. They had always been inseparable, in every sense of the word. It wasn't a question of telepathy: they just thought the same; they liked the same things, the same architecture, art, books, and films. From an early age, they would never be separated, always together at Kilshannig.

Kilshannig was a large country estate about 60 miles from Melbourne in one direction and 11 from Warragul in the other. It lay amidst rolling hills and, as children, they had grown up between the big house on St George's Road and Kilshannig, a cosseted world in which their every need was supplied. There had never been any rivalry between them and, from their first moments they had loved and depended on one other, excluding everyone else from their world. Whenever school holidays came along, no beach for them, but back to Kilshannig.

Whatever their parents' ideas, they knew that it would be easier for everyone if they sent the boys to the country with the staff, and went off to do what they wanted alone without being accompanied by two rebellious and uncooperative youngsters: not an option when staying with friends. When not at school, the boys spent their time at Kilshannig: their riding, the swimming pool, Mrs. Rolland's cooking and their nights together contributed to weave it all into what seemed a magic dream, but it was not a dream. At puberty, they discovered their ability to make love, not only in an occasional, sexual way: it developed, so that the mere movement of a hand from one part of the body to another was sufficient to arouse them. Their love-making was always whole-hearted and they enjoyed it to the maximum; it continued as part of their lives until Peter's untimely death.

Michael sat on the side of the bed, his hand in Peter's. He shed no tears; indeed, he was experiencing a total absence of feeling, certain that if anyone touched him he would fall in a million shards upon the floor. The door opened and the doctor came back in. "I think you had better leave him", he said. Michael rose mechanically and headed for the door. As he came out, the first person he saw was Maureen: she came toward him very formally and took his arm. The other woman present said nothing, but narrowed her eyes. It was Anthony who broke the electric silence. "Go in if you want, Bernard. I'll walk down with Maureen and Michael". The other woman spun round as the three of them started off, "Well, it's finally finished", she said bitterly, and went into the room to see Peter, followed almost immediately by Bernard.

Minutes later, an agitated Bernard joined them halfway down the corridor. Not a word was said until they reached the spot where the car was parked. "I'll drive", said Bernard, and they all got in, but before he could pull out into the traffic, the small blonde woman came over to them. "O God", said Anthony, "this is all we need!"

"I suppose you spoke to him", she said, glaring at Michael. "Yes", came his quiet reply. "Well?" "Peter asked if I would pay for Patrick's musical education, and I said I would..."

"All these formal arrangements can be resolved next week after the funeral, Janice. You have our deepest condolences", said Maureen coolly. "Let's go, Bernard!" The car moved off, leaving the short blonde woman staring after them.

"She hasn't improved with age, has she?" said Anthony. "Please, darling, not now!" smiled Maureen and turned to Michael who seemed oblivious to everything except his dreadful sensation of loss. Passing through automatic gates, the car drew up in front of an imposing mansion, one of the few original ones now left in St Georges Road. They all got out and entered the house. "Would anyone like a drink?" asked Maureen. "You're kidding!" said Anthony. "A bottle a head, after a day like this!" "I think I'll lie down for a while", said Michael and disappeared upstairs.

"What would you like, boys?" asked Maureen, and then looked at Bernard, who said, "Open a bottle of champagne!" "Sounds like a real Irish wake", smiled Anthony. Bernard returned with a bottle and Anthony organised the glasses. "It's going to be a very difficult time for Michael. I want you to know, Maureen, that if there's anything we can do, please don't hesitate to call on us." "Thank you, Bernard. You're right, it's going to be very difficult for Michael, but let's hope we can pull him through!"

"Oh, there's a message here on the table", said Anthony. He walked across and handed it to Maureen. "Oh dear, Kilshannig again!" she sighed. "Yet another problem!" "What's wrong?" asked Bernard. "Apparently Michael hasn't answered Mr. Rolands' last request, and the guttering between the two roofs is leaking all down the wall in the entrance hall." "Why doesn't Michael take an interest in Kilshannig?" asked Anthony looking at Maureen. "Oh, but he does. He just doesn't want anyone to change anything, and after today it can only get worse." "He sounds crazy to me!" said Anthony. "Yes, darling, it is a little bizarre, but that's the way it is. I'll call Mr. Rolands in a minute and tell him to have it fixed. Bits and pieces not working is one thing, but rain pouring down the walls is another!"

"We must go", said Bernard, standing up. "Are you coming to work tomorrow?" "I don't know. It depends on Michael." "Don't worry! If you don't want to come in for a week, we can hold the fort!" "Thanks boys!" With that, Bernard and Anthony headed out to their car. Maureen rang Mr Rolands to get a plumber and do whatever might be necessary. He was to send the account to the shop and not to St. Georges Road.

"What did she look like!" said Anthony. "All that dyed blonde thatch and as for her face! Well, really! Not smart! She can hardly play the distressed widow looking like that, can she?" "Not really", said Bernard, "but you must remember that she does have two children and Peter was their father ..." "Mistakes happen, sweetie!" "Anthony, you're being vicious!" "Who, me? How could you say such a thing?" "Easily", came Bernard's comment. "I suppose dear Janice thinks she is going to clean everything up with the will, and so forth!" "If she does", said Bernard, "she's in for a hell of a shock!" "Really?" said Anthony, as they pulled up in front of their terrace house on Grey Street, East Melbourne. "Wait, I'll tell you when we're inside. Just look at all that junk mail all over the garden. Do pick it up! I'll get our briefcases from the boot", and with that Bernard opened the boot. "Oh, Anthony! What's this sample book here for?" "Bring it in if you can. I want to show you something." Anthony opened the steel security door and then the front door, and turned off the burglar alarm. Bernard followed, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, I'm dying for a drink! That one glass of bubbly just whetted my appetite!" "OK, it's on its way!" Bernard deposited his and Anthony's briefcases and the sample book of fabric on a chair in the entrance and moved down the hall, past an elegant living room in the softest cream and gold, making it look even larger than it was. He then passed the second room with the television and a large comfortable black chesterfield. This room was done in a stronger colour, with beautiful hand-blocked wallpaper in old rose, beige and gold. The whole house followed this same elegant, restful look: it screamed chic and certainly was, since the two owners belonged to the most elegant interior decorator store in Melbourne – Maureen O'Sullivan & Associates.

"Darling, where is the firewater?" called Anthony, dropping onto the chesterfield. "Coming, coming!" and Bernard entered, placing a tray with a bottle of champagne and two glasses in front of him. "Good heavens! Are we really having a wake?" said Anthony, looking at Bernard. "Don't be silly, and open the bottle!" Once this was done, Anthony said, "Finish the story about Janice. I'm dying to know!" "Well, it's like this: she probably thinks she's going to get half of Kilshannig and St. Georges Road, but she won't! I was with Michael when he made Peter sign his half of the property over to him." "Why?" "Michael and Peter were inseparable, as you know ..." "Of course, get on with the story!" "Michael was expert at making money and Peter was expert at spending it, and when he got into hot water over a rather shady business deal, he lost a great deal of money. Michael coughed up, on condition that he signed his rights to the property over to Michael." "Well, he can't have been very happy about that!" said Anthony. "Quite the opposite! Peter knew that the one thing he really loved after Michael was Kilshannig. He also knew it was 100% safe in Michael's hands, even if it is falling down!"

"And doesn't Janice know anything about this?"

"I don't think so; they hardly saw one another! Michael and Peter lived at St. Georges Road, remember, with Maureen all their lives! I don't think he ever saw her during that period."

"But what about those two kids of his?"

"Well, he didn't have much to do with them either, since Janice forbade Michael ever to come near the house. As Michael couldn't go, Peter never went. So the children grew up with the knowledge that they had a vile father and even viler uncle. That was Janice's revenge for a situation she could never understand, and never wanted to, poisoning the boys' minds. So that's it, I'm afraid. Do give me a refill!"

"Here we are! It really is a mess isn't it? Do you think the children will be at the funeral?"

"I doubt it! Janice would die rather than let them see Michael; she hates Maureen as well! She saw the three of them as a group, set to destroy her life."

"Why on earth did Peter marry her? It seems insane; after all, he was with Michael. And for that matter, how come Michael married Maureen? I've wanted to ask you for years, but now that it's all in the open and we'll have a funeral in a few days, I feel I'd like to be prepared."

"Not true", said Bernard, "you just want to take advantage of this very sad situation to get all the gossip!"

"But of course, darling", Anthony said, bending over to kiss Bernard. "Of course! Hey, just a moment! What about the house here at the end of Grey Street? Whose is that?"

"It belongs to Michael. It was left him by an aunt when he was about fifteen, I think. The two of them virtually moved in. It was quite remarkable really, the two boys dictating to their parents: most odd! But everything worked out ..."

"What did Peter and Michael do to the interior of the terrace house?"

"Absolutely nothing, except the bed."

"The bed!" exclaimed Anthony.

"Well, if I remember rightly, the aunt had this single bed in the big room upstairs, but the boys bought a huge cedar-wood bed at auction with a quarter canopy, upholstered in green, I think, with matching curtains and bedspread. They had a new base and mattress fitted, since Peter was quite superstitious and wouldn't sleep on a mattress someone might have died on."

"Good heavens! So it's just the same as when the old aunt died?" "Yes, to my knowledge there haven't been any changes at all."

"A bit Miss Havisham, isn't it?" smiled Anthony. "Yes", replied Bernard. "It's the same at Kilshannig: everything is trapped in the past, and that's how the boys liked it."

"Well, it seems that our Janice isn't going to get a bean!"

"So it seems. Maureen said that Michael would now pay all expenses for Patrick's musical education. Janice has agreed on condition that Michael never sees Patrick."

"How old are those children?" asked Anthony.

"There's about a year's difference between them. Kevin is the elder and must be almost eighteen, so that makes Patrick sixteen-and-a-half or seventeen."

"But why on earth did Peter marry Janice?"

"Listen: give me a drink and I'll start from the beginning. By the way, you're cooking tonight!"

"Suits me, but not before you've filled me in on all the details, Sweetie!"

"Peter, Michael, Terry and I all went to the same school."

"So who's Terry?"

"Terry was Maureen's brother."

"Was?" asked Anthony, topping up Bernard's glass.

"Yes, he's been dead a long time now. He died about a week after his twentieth birthday. He had a passion for very smart fast cars, and returning one night from Portsea, he misjudged a bend and was killed outright. It took Maureen years to get over it. She was very close to him. But", said Bernard, "even when we were twelve or thirteen, every Friday afternoon after school, Michael and Peter would take a taxi to Flinder Street station and take the Gippslander to Warragul, where Mr. Rolands would be waiting to drive them down to Kilshannig. They would spend the weekend there and then he'd take them back to the station on Sunday evening, and they would return to St Georges Road. It was like a pattern and hardly ever changed. The only difference between Peter and Michael was occupation: Peter, Michael and I took law. Michael loved it, as his father had, but Peter and I loathed it and, after a lot of drama with his parents, Peter moved to the Conservatory to study music. He was a brilliant pianist and loved his studies. It was there that he met Janice, and the inevitable happened."

"Michael must have been furious!"

"No, he wasn't. You don't seem to have grasped the depth of their relationship: they couldn't breathe without each other. They forgave one another when it was necessary, but were never, never jealous. Michael probably thought that Peter was stupid, but that didn't change their love for each other."

"But", said Anthony, "one mistake may be acceptable, but two: there are two children, not one!"

"Yes, I forget exactly how the second child was conceived, but Janice's parents threatened legal action if Peter didn't marry her. So he did, although just a civil ceremony. His family was furious, so he just left her with her parents and went back to sharing the terrace house in Grey Street with Michael."

"Well, what a story! Just a minute, let me throw something in the oven and then you can tell me the rest."

Anthony disappeared into the kitchen and ten minutes later returned with a fresh bottle, only to find Bernard watching the news.

"Oh, turn it off! It's so depressing. I'll put on some music." This he did and, while filling up Bernard's glass, said, "Bernard, have you ever stayed at Kilshannig?"