New Years EveDISORIENTATION (from French, dsorienter, to turn from the east).(1) Loss of ones sense of position or direction.(2) Mental confusion.Later on, Jude Turner would look back on December thirty-first as the last morning her life had been firm, graspable, all in one piece.Shed been sleeping naked and dreamless. She woke at six, as always, in the house in Ireland, Ontario, where shed been born; she didnt own an alarm clock. In her old robe she gave her narrow face the briefest of glances in the mirror as she splashed it with cold water, damped down her hair, reached for her black rectangular glasses. The third and eighth stairs groaned under her feet, and the stove was almost out; she wedged logs into the bed of flushed ash. She drank her coffee black from a blue mug shed made in second grade.As Jude drew on her second cigarette it was beginning to get light. She watched the backyard through a portcullis of two-foot icicles: Were those fresh raccoon tracks? Soon shed shovel the driveway, then the Petersons next door. The neighbour on the other side was Bub, a cryptic turkey plucker with a huge mustache. Usually her mother would be down by now, hair in curlers, but since Boxing Day, Rachel Turner had been away at her sisters in England. The silence trickled like oil into Judes ears.Shed walk the three blocks to the museum by seven so she could get some real work done before anyone called, or dropped by to donate a mangy fur tippet, because this afternoon was the post-mortem on the feeble results of the Christmas fundraising campaign. At twenty-five, Judethe curatorwas the age of most of the board members grandchildren.The phone started up with a shrill jangle, and though she was inclined not to answer it, she did. It was the accent she recognized, more than the voice.Louise! Merry Christmas. Why are you whispering? Jude broke in on her aunts gabbled monologue. Not herself, how?I just dont think Louise interrupted herself in a louder voice: Im only on the phone, Rachel, Ill be right in.As she stubbed out her cigarette, Jude tried to picture the house in Englanda town called Lutonthough shed never seen it. Put Mom on the line, would you?Instead of answering, her aunt called out, Could you stick the kettle on? Then, hissed into the phone, Just a tick.Waiting, Jude felt irritation bloom behind her eyes. Her aunt had always liked her gin; could she possibly be drunk at, whatshe checked the grandfather clock and added five hours11:30 in the morning?Louise came back on the line, in the exaggerated style of a community theatre production: Your mothers making tea.Whats up, is she sick?Shed never complain, and I havent told her Im ringing you, her aunt whispered, but if you ask me, you should pop over and bring her home.Pop over, as if Luton were a couple of kilometres down the road. Jude couldnt keep her voice from cracking like a whip. Could I please speak to my mother?The yellow pot, Louise shouted, the others for herbal. And Excerpted from Landing by Emma Donoghue All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
