The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

Chapter Thirty-three

  Joe Judd waited in the dark at the bottom of her stairs. He heard Lola’s footsteps up on the boards and saw her step out under the porch light, wearing a beautiful, knee-length, satin dress and a silk scarf around her neck.

  ‘Hey, Lola,’ he said. Her eyes seemed large and wide like a possum’s.

  ‘Joe… you’re wearing a suit,’ she said.

  He glanced down at himself. ‘Well, suit pants... It’s the first time I’ve worn them,’ he said. The rose in his hand he had bought for her was, at this second, almost surreal and he remembered the other episodes of cinematic clarity he had experienced. Her soles slowly knocked down the steps and her scarf fluttered in the light breeze. Her hair was very black against the white house. A smile grew on her face and she stepped down onto the footpath and they started strolling towards the utility.

  ‘What have you got there?’ she said, glancing at his hand.

  Joe slowed. ‘Oh…’ he said and held it out. Her manicured fingers took the stem and she brought the petals to her nose.

  After a drive to the bay, the couple stepped onto the marina jetty. Lola began walking on her toes, keeping her heals up and away from the gaps in the boards. Suddenly, she lost balance and reached out to his shoulder, gripping him through his new Armani shirt. It felt very, very good.

  He looked up to the end of the jetty. ‘Hanrahan!’ he shouted. A man appeared from the bridge of a twin-hulled catamaran. ‘This is Hanrahan,’ he said to Lola. ‘He’ll be taking us out.’

  ‘Hello, Hanrahan,’ she called, walking on her toes. ‘Do you have a first name?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It’s Les.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Les.’

  They approached the sixty-foot-long sightseeing boat and stopped at the jetty ladder. It was low tide and the deck was metres below them.

  ‘Who goes first?’ he said.

  ‘Show me,’ she said.

  He gripped the metal runners, still warm from the sun, and carefully climbed down onto the deck.

  ‘OK, your turn,’ he said, up to her. She removed her heels and cast them down. Her loop earrings flashed in the harbour lights as she descended and he reached out and felt her thin waist. Her toes touched the fibreglass and she smiled, very satisfied with herself.

  She stepped up to the railing and glanced out at the marina. It was quiet and no boats were moving. ‘Oh, this is lovely, Joe,’ she said. ‘And it’s such a calm night.’

  The water was flat like a lagoon and Joe could see distant Fraser Island and a sandbar emerging in the centre of the straits. He turned and gesturing at a bench seat beside them. ‘Take a seat,’ he said.

  Hanrahan peered over the side of the upper deck. Joe nodded and he disappeared towards the bridge. He felt the engine start under his shoes and heard the exhaust gurgling at the aft. A man appeared on the dock and cast the tether into the water and Hanrahan’s son, on the bow, slowly hauled it in. The boat began moving away from the dock and Joe sat down beside Lola, leaving plenty of space between them. He glanced at his shirt sleeve and saw his working-class hand. It looked strange but he felt powerful and happy with his decision to bring her. Then a bald waiter appeared from inside the lower deck, wearing a tuxedo and carrying a leather-bounded book, which he presented to Lola.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

  ‘The wine list,’ the waiter said.

  ‘Oh, goodie,’ she said. ‘This is wonderful.’ She opened the book then suddenly stopped as if remembering something. She glanced up and looked around. ‘Where are the other passengers, Joe?’

  He waited then shrugged. ‘It’s just us two,’ he said.

  She stared at him, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said.

  ‘Never mind. Choose a bottle.’

  Lola waited then looked down. She tilted the page to catch the light and started pulling faces as she read. Joe smiled and she looked up at the waiter and ordered an Australian white.

  ‘We’re eating too,’ Joe said. ‘But it’s a set menu. You told me you eat fish?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Hanrahan’s son appeared carrying a folding table. He placed it on the deck and covered it with a white tablecloth. The waiter appeared with an ice bucket and two wine glasses, and filled the glasses carefully. He placed the bucket on the deck and the men waved goodbye and walked inside.

  ‘Joe…’ she whispered, ‘this must have cost a fortune.’ She stared at him for two or three seconds.

  ‘Hanrahan owes me a favour,’ he said. He smiled then looked at the water. The catamaran quietly motored past the rock wall and they gradually entered the straits. The engine noise increased in note and the deck rose gently beneath them.

  Lola turned and joined him looking at the water. ‘So, this is your home?’ she said. ‘Your little town and the South Pacific?’

  He glanced at her. ‘Do you think it’s special?’ he said.

  She kept looking at the water. ‘Yes, darling, it’s glorious. London’s wonderful but in winter I felt it was a little too dark.’

  It was silent for a moment. He remembered again how much he liked being with her. ‘I would like to see them,’ he said: ‘the places you’ve been.’

  She smiled, looking at the water. ‘You would like them,’ she said. ‘At times, I miss Europe very much. In summer, it’s light until ten. I used to love drinking wine with my friends on the river at Hammersmith.’

  He imagined himself drinking with her on that river. He looked out at the straits and, enjoying his time so much, felt a warm swelling of excitement. He slowly stood, holding his glass, wandered across the deck and stopped at the railing. He looked forward towards the catamaran’s right bow, and watched it cutting through the water. He turned and sauntered back, listening to its soft hissing. He saw Lola watching him and pulled up in the middle of the deck.

  ‘Have you always lived here?’ she asked, her black hair blowing around in the breeze.

  ‘I was born in a town out west,’ he said. ‘It was a small community – one school, one pub.’ He looked down and gently kicked at the deck.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said.

  He reached out and the sound of touched glasses reverberated across the deck. His glass felt thin-stemmed and nicely top-heavy and he swirled the wine around like he had seen people do.

  ‘So, tell me more about home,’ he said.

  Lola looked back at the mainland. The boat was purring steadily. ‘It was a good place,’ she said, ‘but, like I said, I guess I made a few mistakes and it was a good time to leave.’ She sipped her glass and slowly swallowed. ‘Mmm!’ she said. ‘You people make nice wine. That’s a good reason to be here.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m still listening…’ he said.

  She glanced at him, smiled, then looked away. ‘How much do you want to know?’ she asked.

  ‘Everything,’ he said.

  She glanced at him. ‘You think you do,’ she said.

  He was silent. ‘I know the essential parts, anyway.’ He glanced out at the island. It was bigger now and he could see the white sands of the beach and a single coconut palm jutting up from the canopy. He looked behind and saw the wakes of the twin-hull diverging into the night. The mainland was now just a string of twinkling lights and he listened to the constant hypnotic note of the exhaust. The ice bucket was near his feet and he reached down and picked up the bottle. He carefully filled their glasses.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘where are we going, Joe?’ He put the bottle down in the bucket and straightened. He glanced at her. After reading his eyes – they were a type of answer – she reciprocated his smile.

  The waiter returned, holding two hot plates and placed them on the table.

  ‘So... let’s take a seat,’ Joe said. He gestured at her chair and she stood and sauntered towards the setting. Joe pulled out her chair.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said, unfolding her napkin.

  ‘How’s your
little housemate?’ he asked, stepping to his seat.

  Lola leaned over the plate and sniffed. ‘Oh... He’s a sweet little puppy,’ she said, ‘and he’s getting bigger.’

  He pulled his chair in. ‘He’s a boxer, right? I didn’t see him when I came over.’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve been keeping him in the yard until he’s trained. His name’s Buddy and he’s still a bit undisciplined. Do you have a pet?’

  ‘I’ve adopted the neighbour’s dog,’ he said. He picked up his knife and fork. ‘I love him – he knows me and can read my moods.’ The steam, rising from the plates, was dissipating in the wind.

  Lola picked up her cutlery.

  ‘It’s coral trout in mango sauce,’ he said. He took a gentle bite and it was good. He could not believe she was here, in this private place with him.

  ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘This is gorgeous!’ She swallowed. ‘So…’ she said. ‘Tell me something…’

  He rested his cutlery on the plate and it clinked quietly. He looked down and started picking at the tablecloth. ‘Are we being straight?’ he said.

  She reached out for her wine. ‘Oh, this sounds interesting,’ she said. ‘Yes, we are,’

  ‘How straight?’

  ‘Straight, straight,’ she said.

  He turned, looked out past the railing and stared at the bridge lights sparkling across the swell. He pondered, looking at them. ‘I’m very glad I met you,’ he said. ‘Right now, I feel like it’s morning and I’m waking up or something.’ He turned and placed his elbows on the table. ‘Do you mind my elbows?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘Just be straight and true.’

  He looked down at his glass. He knew he wanted to express a lot.

  ‘Hey, Joe,’ she said. ‘Look at me.’

  He glanced up.

  ‘I have an idea,’ she said. ‘Let’s make a pact.’ She leaned forward, also placing her elbows on the table.

  ‘Let’s agree we’ll always tell each other the truth,’ she said, ‘no matter what happens. Honesty is very important to me.’

  He smiled – it worked for him. He loved how her brain operated. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said, and they reached out and shook hands.

  The exhaust fell quiet and Hanrahan called out from the bridge. ‘Over to the north-east,’ he said. The engine died and the air went quiet. Harahan slowly walked downstairs, acknowledged them with a nod, and went inside.

  Joe stood and pointed up. ‘Come upstairs to the bridge,’ he said.

  ‘Oo! OK,’ she said. She smiled and quickly stood. The water was gently lapping at the hull as they walked upstairs. It was a wonderful view as Lola approached the railing.

  ‘Welcome to your fresh start,’ he said quietly.

  She looked out to sea and stared a long time. ‘What is it?’ she said, smiling, scanning the dark. ‘Oh, it’s very beautiful, but am I supposed to see something?’

  Joe studied her slightly upturned nose and the light olive skin. In character and beauty she had no equal. She sensed him staring and turned.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  He looked out to sea. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  She giggled. ‘Ah, huh,’ she said. ‘Don’t get strange.’

  Suddenly, there was the almighty crash, like a high-rise building collapsing into the sea. Lola jumped and almost fell backwards. Water sprayed up into the moonlight fifty metres away and green phosphorous sparkled in the air like fireworks. A large swell rolled towards the boat.

  ‘What the hell was that?’

  Joe chuckled. ‘That was a good one,’ he said. He gently took her hand and eased her towards the railing. The swell hit the boat and they held on. ‘They don’t normally breach that close.’

  She looked at him. ‘That was a whale?’ she said.

  ‘A humpback.’

  ‘You’re f—king joking?’ Out in the dark a pectoral fin poked up into the moonlight and slapped down hard. It sounded like a mischievous kid in a dingy slapping an oar.

  ‘They migrate here to calve,’ he said. In the far distance, a perfect fish-shaped, bus-sized silhouette broke the black floor, appearing with the speed of a dolphin. Gravity pulled it short of total flight and it fell in slow motion, crashing heavily into the sea. A second later, the sound of the impact reached the boat and Joe couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

  ‘How often do you contact Abasi?’ he said, striking while her guard was down.

  ‘Abasi? Oh!’ she said, looking out to sea. ‘Regularly. I love him. He’s wonderful.’

  She was a good person. ‘You’re OK, Lola,’ he whispered.

  He turned and looked south and could just see the sandbar and the tiny waves of the incoming tide rippling over it. He looked at the bridge and saw their reflection in the cockpit glass – his mature, not-yet-old face, and her figure beside him. Thoughts bombarded him: a pregnant Lola Bonita; a family with Lola. It was really possible and might just happen and it was mind-boggling. But clearly, you had to keep this to yourself.

  Lola prodded him and he turned. God – her eyes were brown. ‘It’s gone quiet,’ she said. ‘Tell them to come back.’

  ‘It happens sometimes,’ he said. ‘We’ve been lucky, I think.’ The air was cold as her eyes scanned the water.

  ‘I’m willing to wait a long time,’ she said. ‘Maybe, we might just get a little more lucky.’

  Four hours later Joe was back at Lola’s house. He looked at his watch and saw it was well past midnight. The street outside was quiet and the cannon shot of whale on water was still echoing in his ears. He heard the backdoor open and seconds later a boxer dog came scampering into the room, alert and seeking the intruder.

  ‘You must be Buddy,’ he said. The dog, long-limbed and white-socked, pranced out of the room and returned with a rubber ball. Joe tried to pull it from his mouth, but Buddy shook his head and freed the ball then presented it again for re-gripping. Joe wrapped his arms around his neck and, like a cowboy to steer, wrestled him to the ground.

  Lola entered the room, carrying two wine glasses. Joe and Buddy looked up simultaneously.

  ‘You won’t get that ball from him,’ she said. Buddy stood with the toy, poised for a rematch. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘He’s really taken to you.’ She put a bottle on the floor then walked to the window, struck a match and lit several candles. She turned off the light and sat on the floor, placing her back against the sofa.

  The furniture began to shadow and Joe chuckled. ‘It looks like a bl—dy séance,’ he said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, smiling. ‘Don’t be silly.’ Buddy stepped forward with the ball. ‘No. In your bed, please,’ she said, pointing at the hallway. Buddy glanced at her then at Joe. The subsequent silence confirmed the worst and he trotted out dutifully.

  Joe watched him leave. ‘He’s got stiffness in his hind legs,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes, it’s arthritis.’

  ‘At his age?’

  ‘It happens,’ she said. ‘That’s why I bought him. No one wanted to buy him.’

  She kicked off her heels and showed her tiny feet. Joe planted his size twelve shoe beside them.

  ‘You could water ski on those,’ she said. He laughed. ‘They’re liked webbed feet,’ she said. ‘I should call you Ducky. That’s your name from now on – I’m going to call you Ducky.’

  He chuckled. ‘Knock yourself out… Kooky.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you know what a kookaburra is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He shrugged, and said no more.

  ‘OK, now we’re being ridiculous,’ she said.

  He smiled and it fell quiet between them. She reached down and picked at a woolly mat on the floor. ‘See this?’ she said. ‘It was a gift from Bolivia.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. It’s lama wool.’ She reached for the bottle and began pouring it into a glass. Her slim manicured fingers took the stem and handed it to Joe. Lola, it seemed, was totally unguarded now. She looked up at the
window, stared at the candles and slowly brought her glass to her lips. ‘You know, Joe,’ she said. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.’ She sipped and placed her glass down onto the floor. ‘About what you said in the tearoom.’ She reached out and began picking at the hem of her skirt. ‘I want you to know something – tonight has been glorious. I’ve never been so relaxed.’

  He felt a beautiful calm stirring inside him.

  She slowly closed her eyes, perhaps thinking about something. ‘An end to all the running,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what I dream.’ If she was talking about their relationship she was openly proclaiming a lot but it was OK. She inhaled quietly and leaned sideways towards him. He watched, incredulously, as her head rested on his shoulder. It happened pretty suddenly and he was very surprised. She liked him – she seemed tired but really liked him. ‘Thank you for tonight,’ she said. ‘You are a good man.’ She waited, staring at the wall.

  He wanted to lean down and kiss her as gently as a man could. He carefully slipped his callused palm down around her waist. Lola laid her head down on his thigh, closed her eyes and slowly curled up into a foetal position. She had had enough to drink.

  ‘No more wine for you,’ he whispered.

  She was silent.

  He reached for the bottle and carefully poured more Shiraz into his glass. He swirled it around and eventually sipped. Lola did not move. He cleared his throat. ‘Hey, there, Kooky,’ he said. ‘Are you asleep?’

  She slowly shook her head, no, but moments later he felt her ribcage starting to rise and fall under his hand. He looked down at her face and saw her lips were loose. The night had served its purpose, and he decided it was a good time to leave. He reached back, quietly took a cushion from the sofa and gently slipped it under her head. He quietly stood and, finding his leg was asleep, limped towards the candles and extinguished them. The bedroom was nearby and he walked inside, feeling pins and needles in his leg, and took a duvet from her bed. Her cream satin shoulder was poking up in the streetlight and he carefully laid the duvet over her and tucked it in under her chin.

  He paused, staring at her soft sleeping face. It was simply impossible to believe, after all that had happened, that he had won her heart. He felt something coming up from deep down, slowly knelt beside her and lowered his lips. He hoped his coming words would delicately penetrate her dream.

  ‘I love you, Lola,’ he whispered. ‘My beautiful, beautiful friend.’ He slowly stood and began walking towards the door, smelling the fragrance of the extinguished candles. Buddy was waiting in the dark and he reached down and patted him.

  He stepped out onto the porch. The street was quiet and he slowly headed down the stairs.

  What a night, he thought. It was cold but he felt warm and proud in his new clothes. He looked up at the streetlights and smiled. And suddenly, once again, everything he saw had a sharp cinematic clarity about it.