‘Three hundred and twenty grand is nothing. That bookshop has been my home and life for the last fifteen years.’
Helen felt the tension build in her body. She couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity. ‘Okay, three hundred and forty thousand. It’s all I have,’ she said hesitantly, thinking of Vivian’s injunction to drive a hard bargain. She felt she’d already failed him — she lacked the steel to haggle with such a vast amount of money.
Jim, sensing a crack in her armour, began to chisel away. ‘I can’t give it away. Sorry, but it’s four hundred grand or nothing. And that’s the bottom line. Take it or leave it,’ he slurred.
Helen wondered if he was bluffing. Either way it didn’t matter, as three hundred and forty was her absolute limit.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to leave it then. Better not waste any more of your time.’ The words tasted like vinegar in her mouth. As she got up to leave she felt a great weight of hopelessness descending on her shoulders. But Jim’s hand quickly shot out and grabbed her arm.
‘Wait,’ he cried. ‘Done! Got yourself a bargain though. Two-sixty below market value … not bad. I’ll get the papers organised for signing tomorrow. You can bring the money then.’
He started coughing, a lacerating sound; there was a scythe working in his lungs. ‘Bloody fags,’ he spluttered before his cough threatened to displace bone and flesh. He waited until it settled down before taking another swig of whisky and lighting up the next cigarette.
Recovered, he looked at Helen a little too long for comfort. She shifted uneasily but the anxiety she’d been feeling was fast dispersing and her body was beginning to feel lighter. She even dared to feel hopeful about the future.
*
The paperwork took less than a week. It was a smooth transaction with both parties signing a Transfer of Land document which Helen duly lodged with the appropriate government department.
Helen knew the deal wasn’t exactly above-board. Astrid had explained the possible legal ramifications of such a transaction. There was a chance, slim, but possible, that creditors would be after her if they ever found out that Jim had sold it to her for a song. If that happened, they could take the bookshop off her and sell it for current market value. Astrid had also spelled out the ramifications of doing business with a drunk — it was illegal. But sometimes doing the right thing isn’t right, Helen had managed to justify to herself. She had decided that it was a risk worth taking. In sympathy, Astrid turned a blind eye to her friend’s dealings.
Even so, Helen hesitated before signing the papers. This could all blow up in her face. She assessed her situation once again, and decided she had few options, if any, and signed.
*
When she received the keys for the shop she held them tightly. She needed to make copies. It was a detail, one more to add to the hundreds of other details running around in her head. Becoming dizzy with the swirl she began to write things down. One list spawned a dozen others, which she stuffed into her duffle bag. Lists, which if followed would convert the unkempt, neglected, profitless shop into a sparkling clean, well loved, thriving business. She could hear the ring of the till; the melodious sound of making money filled her with a deep satisfaction.
Her primary agenda was to get the shop fixed up as soon as possible so that they could move in and live in the flat above. The relationship between Astrid and Hendel was difficult to live with. They knew the rules and appeared relaxed, but Helen found it uncomfortable with Hendel condemned to hiding in his own home.
Besides, Astrid had already done enough for them.
10
It was a long shot. Crazy, even doomed, but anything was worth a try thought Gabriel as he approached his father who was leafing through his dusty record collection.
‘Dad, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Fire away,’ said Arnold, pulling a record out of its sleeve and examining it for scratches. He spied plenty and started rubbing at them with his finger in a hopeless attempt to remove them. Anything to occupy himself while feeling besieged by his son.
‘You listening to me?’ Gabriel demanded irritably. His father’s habit of fussing over junk always made him angry.
Arnold slid the record back into its sleeve. ‘There’s history in these records,’ he announced, patting the collection. Lifting his hand he briefly inspected the cladding of dust on it and then dragged his hand down his old fleecy shirt. The dust didn’t show — it was competing with too much accumulated filth.
‘I’ve got to go away. Up north for work,’ said Gabriel.
‘Wh … what?’ Arnold’s heart began to race; he could hear the stammer in his speech.
Gabriel looked at his father with as much cheerless sincerity as could he muster. ‘I don’t want to go but I need to earn some money,’ he lied. The truth was, Gabriel had managed to save quite a decent amount of money.
‘Why?’ said Arnold.
‘I’m broke.’
‘Broke?’ Arnold was puzzled. ‘How? You’ve hardly been home two weeks. What’ve you spent it on?’
‘I’ve always been a spender. Never saved a cent in the army,’ he lied again, with an ease that even he found unsettling. But consoled himself with the fact that it was all in a good cause.
‘Well stay here. Let your old man look after you. It won’t cost you a cent.’
‘There’s more,’ Gabriel mumbled, and then putting his hand to his mouth stood perfectly still, trying his best to look dark and secretive. A look he remembered from Marlon Brando in The Godfather.
Arnold was confused. What the hell was going on? ‘Spit it out son. I got broad shoulders.’
His son stared at him long enough to emphasise the significance of what he was about to say. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ cried Arnold. ‘No problems, you don’t have to go anywhere. Bring her around. How long have you been together? What’s her name?’
‘About a year. Her name’s Ella. I met her when I was on leave. I needed a filling done, so I went to the dentist, and there she was. I asked her out, and one thing led to another … next thing … you know.’
He looked down, shook his head. Quiet. Gabriel had been practising this scene in his head for hours; he knew how to play to his audience.
‘Yeah?’ said Arnold, half begging, half encouraging.
‘Nothing,’ replied Gabriel despondently, before creasing his brow just enough to indicate that something profound was brewing within him.
‘I don’t believe you. Something’s wrong.’
Gabriel lifted his head up, this time looking distressed. Right now he’d pull a hair out of his nose to make his eyes spew tears if he thought it would help.
‘She’s pregnant dad. We’ve just found out — she’s pregnant.’ The anguish in his voice was heart wrenching and it had the desired effect.
Arnold’s jaw dropped. He needed to hear it again. ‘What did you say?’
‘Ella is pregnant. She’s going to have a baby.’
Arnold whispered the word, ‘Baby. A baby. A baby.’ He went silent for some moments, taking the news in. Then he looked at his son. ‘You got a girl pregnant?’ He was gaping in wonder, glowing with pride. ‘You sure she’s pregnant?’
‘One hundred percent,’ Gabriel’s tone was bleak, still playing the Merchant of Gloom.
Arnold began to dance around his son, firing questions at him. ‘She’s seen a doctor?’
Gabriel was caught off guard. But he was quick on his feet. ‘Yep. I went with her.’
‘Did she have a blood test? Ultrasound?’
Gabriel had underestimated his father’s obstetric knowledge. ‘You’re asking pretty personal stuff.’
‘Personal! I’m your dad. Tell me exactly what the doctor said. Word for word.’
Gabriel cleared his throat. ‘She said a lot of things but most importantly she said, “Your girlfriend’s pregnant.”’
‘How many weeks?’
Gabriel’s knowledge of pregna
ncy was rough, to say the least. He pulled a number out of thin air and hoped for the best. ‘Ten weeks.’ Arnold stared at his son in admiration.
‘Don’t look so … Dad, I am twenty-six years old.’
‘Of course, you’re old enough to …’
‘Have sex,’ Gabriel finished off for his father.
Arnold was silent for some seconds, trying to take in the miraculous fact that his son, Gabriel was going to be a father. He would be a grandfather. A baby would be here soon. Payday had, at long last, arrived.
He walked to the kitchen to put the kettle on, but instead turned on the cold tap and, lowering his head, doused it with water. Standing up, he shook his head, spraying droplets of water over Gabriel who had followed him.
‘Does your mum know?’
‘No. Thought I’d tell you first,’ said Gabriel, brushing droplets of water off his clothing.
‘You’ll tell her though, soon,’ said Arnold.
‘Yeah, whenever.’
Arnold studied his son briefly; Gabriel’s reply had been disquieting, too laidback. It occurred to him he might be lying in some ploy to get him to clear up his belongings. Arnold quickly suppressed the thought — how could his son lie about such a thing? It was too important.
Arnold clapped Gabriel on his shoulder. ‘My God, you’re having a baby, that’ll make you a father.’
‘Sure will, grandad.’
Arnold glowed in the warmth of his prospective new role. ‘Grandad, me a grandfather. I’ll be.’
It almost caused Gabriel pain to continue. ‘But I’m still broke. I don’t want to leave, but …’
Nothing was going to get in the way of Arnold’s euphoria; the thought of having a baby in the family put him into a spin. Plans began to explode like fireworks. He rubbed his hands and looked around him as if preparing to build a future for his unborn grandchild. ‘We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us son; having a child is a big responsibility, but a great joy too. You don’t have to worry about money. I will provide.’
‘How?’
‘Look around you … we can sell some of these ventures and collections. That’s what I’ve been keeping them for.’ Arnold beamed with joy, his eyes moist. He hugged his son in his bear-like arms, and the cement in his chest began to develop hairline cracks.
Gabriel was already having doubts about the strategy he had hatched in the solitude of his bedroom. His mind had sifted through a million schemes, and somewhere he’d come up with the idea of a baby. In his bedroom the idea had appeared innocent and simple. But now, in the clear light of day, it seemed a little different. He had promised his father a baby. And the enthusiasm of Arnold’s response far exceeded anything he’d imagined.
Arnold was puzzled by his son’s apparent calm. And proud of it. The ability to be so relaxed in the face of having children, family, and all that meant. Then again, Arnold thought, his son had no idea of the perils that lay ahead.
‘You better go tell your mother. She’ll be at her bookshop. And don’t worry. We’ll get the money together. You can’t leave town at a time like this. Ella and the baby must live here.’
Gabriel’s ears shot up, his lips curving into a microscopic smile, his eyes twinkling bright. Yes! This was what he’d been angling for. He turned around to face Arnold square on: he wanted his words to sink in. ‘I don’t think so, Dad. I mean look at the place. Ella’s a real neat freak. You know what dentists are like. She’ll want to live in a house clean as a dental surgery. Especially with a new baby.’
‘No sweat, I’ll have this place looking like a dental surgery in no time,’ replied Arnold with surprising assurance.
Gabriel kneaded his hand. ‘Dunno,’ he answered sadly. ‘I’ve heard that before Dad … I don’t think it’s a risk I can take.’ He turned to leave, and walked out of the house with shoulders slumped. It was a brutal trick to play upon his father, but something had to be done. The time had come for the heavy artillery — sperm warfare.
As he walked away Gabriel thought about Ella. It was true, their brief relationship had ended almost as soon as it had begun. But the important thing was, they had once clicked. He could win her back.
She was an extremely passionate woman if their final encounter was anything to go by. He had run over her pedigree kitten while drunk and tried to replace it with a tabby he’d picked up for nothing. A cat was a cat to Gabriel. Why the hell would anyone pay money for a cat?
Ella had not appreciated his logic and her parting shot to him had been along the lines of, ‘I never want to see your dumb-arse face again, shit-head.’ For someone who was a dentist she sure had a foul mouth, thought Gabriel.
However, her verbal communication skills were not his main concern right now. It was how to win her back, and then make a baby. The possibility that she had since married, or otherwise hooked up with some other punter, or might not want children, or especially might not want children with him, briefly occurred — but no. She’ll come around, he thought; she was just a little hot headed.
*
Doctor Ella Ipp smiled, though she’d seen enough photographs of herself to know that her smiles never quite worked out. They broke out appearing rehearsed and flat. It was an occupational hazard, summoning up genuine smiles for patient after patient.
Still, the heavily pregnant woman sitting in the dental chair before her didn’t seem to care as she rambled on about her pregnancy. ‘Everything gets swollen, not just yer stomach. My fingers are like sausages! My boobs, look at ’em, they’re like balloons. And leak!’ The woman held them, as if waiting for Ella to inspect them.
Ella ignored the woman’s breasts, concentrating on her face as she spoke. ‘Your teeth are fine, keep up the calcium intake though.’
The pregnant woman rattled on, ‘Even the brain swells up! It’s why pregnant women get vague. My specialist says it’s fluid retention.’ Her gaze fixed on Ella, as if waiting for clucking sounds of sympathy.
But Ella said nothing, and gave her mandatory smile, thinking that for this woman pregnancy was a power trip: I’m important. The Main Event. Accommodate Me!
‘And the pressure on my bladder! Up and down to the toilet all night. And I’ve put on so much weight, not just baby fat, but fat fat,’ she lamented.
Ella smiled. ‘When’s the baby due?’
The pregnant woman rubbed her abdomen and replied airily, ‘Any day now. I think it’s a girl. I’d love to have a girl. My husband, of course, wants a boy. Footy and all that.’
Ella hated the woman’s smug self-satisfaction, but tried to sound pleasant. ‘Amazing what happens when you miss a period.’
The woman gave a weak smile as she struggled to get out of the dental chair.
Ella watched her with folded arms. ‘Now, don’t forget to floss, and good luck with the labour,’ she sang as she watched the woman waddle out of her surgery — and added, once the woman was well out of earshot, ‘And may you have twin boys who grow up wanting to be ballet dancers.’
Ella wondered what it was that bugged her so much. Why did she resent the pregnant woman? Then she realised with some surprise that she was envious. Envious of her pregnancy, of the all-consuming effect it produced, as though nothing else mattered in the world.
Ella ran a calculation through her head: Husband + Marriage + Baby = Family. It stank to high heaven of respectability, but she suddenly wanted to be a part of that equation. She sat on her stool in contemplation, while holding her dental probe as if getting a family was a procedural matter.
*
It was less than a week since taking possession of the bookshop, and Helen and Vivian were spending most of their time there, surveying and planning. They were in the kitchen, trying to judge what was needed to restore it, when Gabriel broke the news to them.
When she realised that in fact it was only a device, and there was no baby as yet, Helen shook her head. ‘Your father certainly needs a jolt. But this? No. This is cruel.’
‘Chill out. If it’s cruel, it’s for a go
od cause,’ said Gabriel.
‘Has your father actually promised to move his junk?’
‘Yes … no … he’s getting there. I’ve set the scene. He really wants us to live there.’
‘Dear God,’ moaned Helen.
‘Might work,’ Vivian lobbed in.
Helen, infuriated by Vivian’s siding with his brother, spoke tersely. ‘No way. And why would a professional woman with her own successful business want to live in our family home?’
‘Minor detail,’ retorted Gabriel.
‘Honestly! This is insane!’ Her eyes widened with disbelief. How could Gabriel be so flippant and brash? And how could Arnold swallow such an idiotic story?
Vivian came to his brother’s defence. ‘He did it for you Mum.’
Helen was hit by the truth of Vivian’s remark. She had set all this in motion. It was she who had pulled the pin on the grenade. Gabriel had merely thrown it.
‘You’re right,’ she admitted with reluctance, a waver of doubt in her voice. ‘But to promise a grandchild …’
‘If that’s what it takes.’ Gabriel was annoyed by his mother’s response. ‘All that matters is that Dad believes it. And I can give him the real thing. Now, I got things to figure.’
‘Like?’ said Helen uneasily.
‘How to get her pregnant,’ Gabriel said casually, as if stating the obvious. He wondered why Vivian looked at him with such amused scepticism while his mother’s face was an ever-widening splash of distress.
‘Let’s not be too analytical about it,’ said Vivian.
‘No Gabriel, you can’t just go round making babies on a whim,’ Helen cried.
‘Bit late for that piece of advice,’ declared Gabriel. ‘I’ve already told Dad a stork is on its way. Been flying for ten weeks now.’
‘Gabriel, you are not thinking. Are you even ready to have children? What about this girl, does she want a family? Have you discussed it with her? For heaven’s sake, some people try for years to get pregnant.’ Too late, she realised, she was starting to take the idiotic scheme seriously.
‘Mum, I’m doing this for you. Haven’t you always wanted the crap to go?’
The Bookshop on Jacaranda Street Page 7