Part 9 (1/2)

'Good for you, darling. So long as you're safe.'

'About the apartment?'

'Oh, yes, well, it's a little tricky. You'll need the fat key to unlock the garage and then the eighth key to unlock the first lock, the sixth key to unlock the second lock and-'

I stopped her. 'Are these instructions written anywhere on the map Debs gave me?'

'No.'

'I'll call you when I get there.'

I examined the key ring Debs had given me. There were nineteen keys on the Snoopy ring, and an attached subsidiary ring, distinguished by a fetching Artisan Baker a.s.sociation tag, held an additional eleven.

We pulled up outside an old warehouse. I paid the driver and hit redial on my phone. 'I'm here, I think.'

'Walk towards the far-right end of the warehouse and you'll see a largish, rusty, industrial garage.'

I followed her instructions. 'Largish' was an understatement. The red, corrugated garage door was three times my height.

'Now use the fat key to unlock the garage.'

I looked at the key ring. 'There are three relatively obese keys. Which one is it?'

'The one with the bit of old gum stuck on the end.'

A sticky, heavy key unlocked the door. I turned the handle.

'Don't turn the handle.'

'Help!' I yelped. The door jolted upwards and rolled inwards, taking me with it. Dangling precariously close to the top, I let go of everything and fell to the ground with a thud. My phone was now on top of the garage door four metres in the air.

'AUNT DAPHNE,' I screamed, 'IF YOU'RE STILL ON THE PHONE, I'M NOT VERY HURT, BUT MY PHONE IS ON TOP OF THE GARAGE AND THE KEYS ARE IN THE HANDLE. I WILL CALL YOU BACK WHEN I'VE FIGURED OUT A SOLUTION.

'c.o.c.k,' I said, looking down at my freshly waxed knees to find them gashed and bruised. They now matched my toe. I picked myself up, and dusted the leaves and twigs from my frock.

First, I tried jumping on the spot. A short piece of rope dangled from the door but no amount of self-generated bounce would propel me three metres off the ground. I am not the tallest person, even in my elongating Miu Mius.

Next, I turned to nature, grabbing a branch to hook onto the rope. MacGyver would be proud, I thought, leaping into the air and splitting the lining of my already sullied s.h.i.+ft dress. My days as a truant of athletics cla.s.s had come back to bite me. 'It was your idea,' I yelled back at my laughing head.

With silk lining trailing tail-like behind me, I slumped against the garage wall, where I b.u.mped into a b.u.t.ton. 'No,' I whispered, disbelievingly. I pushed it. Sure enough, in a smooth motorised motion, down came the door. I pushed it again to halt the door halfway, hobbled out of the garage, retrieved my phone and keys and redialled my aunt.

She answered immediately. 'Are you all right?'

'Stephen King would have nightmares about that door.'

'Did you hurt yourself?'

'No, I didn't hurt myself,' I said. 'Your evil beast of a door hurt me-I haven't had grazed knees since I was six!'

'I'm so very sorry, darling.'

'Just talk me through the rest of it.'

'Get the eighth key-'

'They're unnumbered.'

'I know, sweetheart. Count clockwise from the green key.'

I fumbled through them.

'That one's for the top lock on the door inside the garage.'

'Next?'

'The key two back from the eighth key goes in the lock below and then the green key works with the third lock.'

So far, so good.

'Are you in?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'You're so much like your mother when you're angry.'

If I hadn't been so furious, I'd have been able to appreciate the place. It was a striking old warehouse converted into a large loft with high ceilings and graffitied walls. The kitchen was the centrepiece, with an enormous woodfired stove between two electric ovens.

I tended to my knees using the plasters in my Toolkit, and called Debs.

Her PA answered. 'She's in a meeting,' he said. 'Is there something I can help you with?'

I explained about my luggage.

'I'm sorry, Ruby. She hasn't been able to get there yet. She should be there by sixish.'

I looked at my watch. It was 4.30 p.m. 'I need you to get an urgent message to her,' I said. 'I'm flying with the Leader of the Opposition to Sydney at half six, so I'll need it within the hour.'

'That's not possible,' he said. 'Even if she leaves now, which she can't, with peak-hour traffic she won't be at your aunt's in time.'

'c.o.c.k.' I was dishevelled, dusty, bruised and bloodied. I had nothing to change into except the spare bra and pants in my Toolkit.

'Ruby?' he said. 'You need to get to the airport p.r.o.nto if you're going to make that flight. I'll arrange a cab. In the meantime-and this didn't come from me-Debs keeps an overnight bag in Daphne's closet.'

Close to despair, I limped into the vast, main bedroom and rummaged through the rainbow of Irish linen in Daphne's wardrobe for something structured. Nada. But there, at the end, was the pot of gold: an ostrich-leather overnight bag embossed with Debs' initials. I grabbed it along with my handbag and ran down the stairs and out the door, locking it behind me. I sent up a quick prayer to the G.o.ddess of Garages, pressed the b.u.t.ton and jumped into the waiting taxi.

'Tullamarine. Fast.' In the back seat, I dug through the overnight bag. 'Hallelujah!'

The cabby shot me a quizzical look as I held up a stunning pair of black Scanlan & Theodore cigaretteleg trousers. Size eight and clearly intended for giraffes, judging by the length of them. Underneath was a folded white-collared s.h.i.+rt. It would be a squeeze, but one worth making. The piece de resistance was the cosmetics bag containing a range of travel-sized La Prairie products.

Out the window, everything about Melbourne appeared artistic; from buildings to overpa.s.ses, there was an eye for the aesthetic. Beneath a phallic yellow sculpture arching over the airport expressway, my driver asked which terminal I was going to. I showed him the instructions Beryl had given me.