The First Year

by Genevieve Gannon

  ‘Did anyone actually track you down?’ she asked.

  ‘Did they? I made hundreds of dollars’ worth of sales.’

  ‘Really?’ Juliet threw her head back and laughed. ‘Ha! I wasn’t sure if anyone would actually go to the trouble.’

  ‘It worked too well. I could barely keep up.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. I’ll tell the other girls. My friend Leila loves that cuff and I wanted to get her one for her birthday. I’ll pay, of course.’

  ‘After all the sales you generated I wouldn’t dream of taking your money,’ Saskia said.

  ‘Leila’s a model too.’ Juliet showed Saskia Leila’s account. The redhead looked balefully at the camera, as if being gorgeous was a tremendous bore.

  ‘She looks familiar.’

  ‘She was on a billboard above Young and Jackson during February for the most recent Marc Jacobs fragrance campaign. Plus, she used to date the guy who starred in that movie about the zombie football team.’

  Leila had one million followers on Instagram.

  ‘She loves your jewellery,’ Juliet said.

  ‘I bet I have some in the car,’ Saskia said, knowing there were a few boxes to be delivered to her stockists. ‘After lunch we’ll see if you can find some things you like to take back to Italy.’

  *

  The car ride home was frosty.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t undermine me in front of your family. Millie doesn’t need more reasons to look down her nose at me.’

  ‘I defended you.’

  ‘You made me look stupid.’

  ‘How did I make you look stupid?’

  ‘The insurance.’

  ‘I – I was referring to myself. I meant I should have given you money for insurance when I agreed to back you.’

  ‘Because I can’t take care of my own affairs?’ The words: ‘Apparently not’ were on the tip of Andy’s tongue, but he held them back.

  ‘I have been living week to week for years. Insurance was a luxury I couldn’t afford.’

  ‘You can’t afford not to have it.’

  ‘And where was I supposed to get the money for the premiums? We didn’t all grow up among an orchard of money trees.’

  ‘Let’s not argue about it. We learnt from the mistake. We’ll arrange it on Monday.’

  ‘Don’t baby me.’

  ‘I’m not babying you. I’ll leave it to you to compare insurance providers.’

  ‘Oh thank you,’ she said, her pride wounded. She was seething. ‘You have no idea what it’s like not to have an endless supply of money.’

  Andy didn’t reply. Not only because he didn’t want to dignify her with a response, but also because he had no sound comeback.

  *

  They barely spoke until 11 p.m., when he entered the bedroom rattling a bottle of Temazapam.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Saskia said.

  ‘What do you mean, I’m going to sleep.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘We agreed we’d do it. For better or for worse.’

  ‘You really want this?’

  ‘I don’t really want to right now. But we swore we would do it.’

  ‘Fine.’ He pulled off his shorts and T-shirt.

  ‘Fine.’ She tore off her night dress. They stood, naked, staring at each other apace like two duelling cowboys.

  ‘Now what?’ he said.

  ‘This is stupid.’ She pulled her nightgown back on and got angrily into bed. He got in too and switched off the bedside lamp. They lay side by side in the dark, on their backs, not touching.

  ‘The stupid pact,’ she said after a little while. ‘I thought it would be easy.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Why is it so hard?’

  ‘Nothing worthwhile is easy.’

  For the first time since their wedding, they fell asleep without making love.

  Day 180, Thursday, April 9

  They had slowly mended things since Easter. After three days of careful words and painful over-politeness, Andy had pulled Saskia to him and carried her into the bedroom. By the morning of his interview with Walter Burns they were back in their daily routine. They showered together then Andy ironed a shirt. He whistled as he tied his tie.

  ‘It’s nice to look like a part of civilisation again,’ he said.

  ‘Good luck,’ Saskia said, kissing him as she left for the studio.

  ‘Hopefully it’s just a formality,’ he said. ‘After all, Burns sought me out.’

  Andy rode the tram up Bourke Street, wondering how he would be spending this unemployed morning if it weren’t for this appointment. Searching for jobs and trying to shake down former colleagues for leads, most likely. He was grateful for the lifeline from Walter Burns, and anxious for his expectations to be confirmed.

  He wasn’t blind to how much he needed this job. The thought of being let go had sat heavily in his gut. Harris hadn’t said ‘fired’, he’d said ‘let go’. The wishy-washy euphemism was somehow worse. Letting something go sounded like what happened when people responsible for a sick, feeble life form all agreed it was best to let it die.

  ‘Go right in,’ the young man at reception said after Andy announced himself on level 13 of the brand new building. He smiled, taking the lack of formality as a good sign. It was as if he was already part of the firm.

  ‘Andy, thank you for coming.’ Walter stood and greeted him with a handshake. His jacket was off, and he wore red suspenders stretched over a blocky, muscular chest.

  ‘Glad to be here,’ Andy said. Now they were standing face-to-face, he noticed that Walter Burns was not all that much older than him. His hair was grey, which gave the impression of a more mature man, but his eyes were vibrant and his skin tanned and healthy. He couldn’t have been too far into his forties.

  ‘I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me,’ Walter said, after offering Andy a coffee. ‘It’s quite delicate, for you to come from HM&L straight here.’

  Andy wasn’t sure what he meant by the comment. ‘It was good to get your call.’

  ‘Take a seat,’ Walter said, pressing his fingertips together.

  When he didn’t proceed, Andy plunged in: ‘So, what can you tell me about the role?’

  ‘I don’t know too much, I’m afraid. I was rather hoping you could guide me a little.’

  ‘Of course.’ Andy smiled. This was more promising than he had hoped. Walter wanted to know what he could bring to the firm. ‘Obviously IP,’ he said.

  ‘HM&L is a multidisciplinary firm.’

  ‘Yes, but I headed up IP.’

  ‘You?’ Surprise registered on Walter’s face. ‘Don’t tell me they’re replacing you.’

  ‘Replacing?’ Now it was Andy’s turn to be taken aback.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No, they’re not replacing me. I don’t think.’ He was confused. HM&L was still trying to cut jobs, and why would Walter be interested in whether they were replacing Andy or not?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Walter said. ‘We seem to be at cross purposes. Harris called me last week to see if I would consider coming across to fill a senior role at HM&L. That’s why I asked you here. I know you’ve recently taken on a senior position yourself, but I had heard they weren’t doing too well. I’m doing my due diligence. I wanted to get an insider’s perspective on the firm.’

  Andy looked Walter squarely in the eye, searching for a hint of playfulness, or irony, to suggest this was a joke. But Walter Burns was deadly serious, and seemed to have no idea Andy had been fired. It took all of his willpower to compose himself enough to say: ‘Walt, my sincere advice is to stay as far away from HM&L as you can.’

  *

  Saskia was nervously awaiting news from Andy when her phone sprang to life.

  ‘Hello?’ she answered eagerly.

  ‘Sas?’

  ‘Oh, Aiden.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘I’m expecting a call abou
t something important.’

  ‘Well, the Tombalas just got a call about something important. Have you heard of Centrifuge?’

  ‘Are they a German band?’

  ‘Yes. They’re huge in Europe and they’ve got a devoted following here too. They’re playing at the Leopold next month and they’ve asked us to open for them.’

  ‘Oh, wow, Aiden, that’s great.’

  ‘So you and Andy will come?’

  ‘Of course . . . of course . . . Will Seth be there?’

  ‘Will our bass player be present for the most significant gig we’ve ever had? Um, wait, let me call him and check.’

  ‘Aiden. What am I going to tell Andy—’

  ‘C’mon, Sas. He’ll be up on stage. You two will be nowhere near each other.’

  ‘You’re right. I wouldn’t let him stop me from coming to see you support Centrifuge anyway.’

  ‘Great.’ The next bit he shouted. ‘Centrifuge and Tombolas rocking the Leopold!’

  Saskia laughed.

  *

  ‘It’s not going to be as easy as I thought,’ Andy said. He was propped up in bed next to Saskia, who was massaging his hand, having just heard the whole sorry story. ‘Now I feel like I’m behind. I should have spent this week making calls and taking meetings, not resting on my laurels.’

  ‘It will be okay,’ she said. ‘They gave you a decent package.’

  ‘That won’t last long.’

  ‘We’ll be more careful with our spending until something else comes along,’ she said. Andy didn’t reply. ‘You know I don’t care about these sheets,’ she said after a moment, burrowing under his arm.

  ‘The sheets?’

  ‘These sheets. Silk-cotton blend. Five hundred thread count. Six hundred dollars at David Jones.’

  ‘You don’t like them?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that fancy sheets aren’t important to me. You worked so hard to put food on the table. But I’d far prefer to have you working nine-hour days and eat canned tuna, rather than you working fourteen-hour days so we can eat tuna steaks. It’s the same with the sheets. We don’t need six hundred dollar sheets.’

  ‘Mum bought these sheets.’

  ‘You know what I mean. We could sleep between strips of sandpaper and I wouldn’t be any less happy. A bit grazed perhaps, but no less happy.’

  Day 196, Saturday, April 25

  ‘I thought perhaps we could drive to the Yarra Valley and sample a few wines.’ Andy tossed an apple in the air. He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard was bushy and soft. He had spent the morning ripping up blackberry weeds in the backyard, which had left him feeling useful and rejuvenated after a fruitless week of sifting through job ads.

  ‘What do you say, Sas?’ He tossed the apple again. ‘It might be nice to get out of the city.’

  ‘I’d love to, but I’ve got to go into my studio today.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday.’

  ‘I know. But Dressage are expecting orders, and there’s this new design I was working on . . .’ she trailed off. ‘Why don’t you see if Hugh wants to go?’

  ‘He and Tilly are still remodelling the bathroom. They’re tile shopping today, or something.’

  As Hugh and his wife raced against their due date to complete their house renovations, his life was starting to resemble a home improvement reality show, complete with plot twists that even the most malevolent TV producer could not have thought up. In February they’d had to shut everything down after an excavator found what they called ‘human remains’ in the yard. ‘Teeth,’ Hugh had explained to Andy, pulling his hair out. ‘They found buried human teeth so they’ve had to bring forensic teams in, the coroner’s involved.’

  It was a month before the renovations could get started again, when investigations revealed the teeth were eighty years old, and at the time they were buried, the building had been operating as a dental clinic.

  ‘I’ll be home early,’ Saskia said, gathering up some sketches from her workbench.

  After the door shut behind Saskia, Andy wandered around the house tossing the apple up in the air and catching it. He meandered into the kitchen and flipped through a copy of Royal Auto that was on the benchtop. A feature on the new Tesla was accompanied by a photo spread of the car driving through Victoria’s lush vineyards.

  It was only ten thirty and he was bored. The newspaper was sitting on the dining room table but he wasn’t in the mood for political stoushes and global conflict. He was in the mood for driving with the sunroof open, and feeling the autumn wind rush around him. He lay down on the couch in a bar of sunlight and flipped the paper over to the sports section. This, he told himself, was that free time he had always thought he’d wanted when he was at HM&L on Saturday mornings. He dozed. About twenty minutes later his phone woke him.

  ‘Andy!’

  ‘Alberto?’

  ‘Andy! I am back!’

  Alberto explained that he was once again in Melbourne on business, but it being Saturday, was at a loose end. Soon he and Andy were speeding towards the wine region just outside of Melbourne’s city limits.

  *

  The reason Saskia had to go into the studio was Juliet had written to her earlier in the week to say Leila had loved the ear cuffs and she was going to photograph them when they went out on Saturday night. Now, as Saskia was sitting at her work table she got another message from Juliet: Get ready!

  Saskia’s heart started to thump. She opened her Instagram feed — she had started following Leila — and a moment later there it was: The Hero cuff. Bright and bold, filtered and sharpened by the app. The morsel of silver was clinging to Leila’s ear, above her aristocratic cheek. Leila’s eyes were closed, caught in the middle of an ecstatic laugh as she hugged a man in a tuxedo. The caption read: So excited to see @Massimo_02 at @TheSmallClub_Milano. Beautiful ear jewels by Little Hill Designs, Australia. Contact sas@littlehill.com.au.’

  Saskia sucked in her breath as she waited for the tidal wave. A second ticked by. Then another. She put her phone down and walked over to her cupboard. She took a jar of instant coffee from the shelf and boiled the kettle. She made herself a black coffee and sipped it slowly. Then she went back to her desk.

  In six minutes she had received twenty-seven emails. ‘Fuck,’ Saskia whispered, as she sat down to start recording the orders. ‘This is no way to run a business.’

  *

  Alberto screwed up his nose in distaste. He spat a mouthful of flat Chablis into a barrel.

  ‘If I wanted vinegar I would have asked for it. Do I look like a salad?’ he said, shaking his head at the glass in his hand.

  Over Rieslings and Chardonnays Andy had explained that he was now jobless. Alberto swilled and spat as he moved down the row of bottles on the chestnut bar while Andy recounted the details of the Bright Box case and the meeting with Walter Burns.

  ‘And now I don’t know where to look. I don’t think I can go back to criminal work.’

  ‘You can come and work for me. Try this.’ Alberto stuck a glass of pale yellow wine under Andy’s nose. ‘It’s good, yes?’ he said when Andy drank.

  ‘That’s our Sangiovese.’ The girl in a branded white shirt said.

  ‘Delizioso,’ Alberto sang, winking at the girl, who giggled and went pink in the cheek.

  ‘I’m not sure Saskia would be too happy about moving to Italy so I can be a coffee lawyer.’

  ‘Not coffee, my business. I have had enough of my father. I’m starting my own company.’

  Andy furrowed his brow. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Maybe I will spend more time in Australia.’

  ‘What does Carla think?’

  ‘Things with Carla . . . aren’t going too well.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Women,’ Alberto said vaguely with a wave of his hand. ‘Let’s head back to the city. I have an invitation for a fashion week after-party. There will be models.’ He clapped his hand on Andy’s shoulder. ‘Excuse me.’<
br />
  Andy watched Alberto’s back as he disappeared into the men’s room, assuming he was going to prime himself for a big night with his stimulant of choice. Andy refilled his glass with a generous glug of Shiraz.

  *

  Orders poured in. Saskia marshalled all of her Melbourne stockists to help fill the demand. Emails kept coming and coming and coming. After nine hours of answering requests she turned on her Out of Office auto-response directing people to Dressage or Harem, then shut down her machine.

  ‘You won’t believe what happened today,’ she sang out as she entered the flat. ‘Andy?’

  The lights were off. The only sign of her husband was a hastily written note: Sas, Went to the Yarra Valley with Alberto. Back for dinner X.

  She went into the bedroom to kick off her boots, then pulled out her phone to check how long Andy would be. After the call connected she heard the digitised theme from Law and Order — Andy’s ringtone — begin to play in the kitchen. He had left his phone on the bench. She pulled a box of cereal out of the cupboard because she had no energy to cook.

  It was after eleven when Andy’s phone rang again. Saskia pounced on it. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, is this Andrew’s phone?’ said a woman’s voice.

  Saskia was taken aback. ‘Yes, who’s calling?’

  ‘This is Carla Ingrisciano.’

  ‘Carla,’ Saskia exhaled. ‘Hello. I didn’t recognise your voice.’

  ‘I found this number in Alberto’s computer. Is this Saskia?’

  ‘Yes.’ Saskia was no longer intimidated by Carla who sounded small and unsure of herself.

  ‘I thought Alberto might be with you,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been able to reach him for days. Nor have his parents.’

  ‘Oh. Actually Carla, he’s with Andy. They’re in the Yarra Valley.’

  ‘So he is in Australia.’

  Saskia didn’t know what to say that could alleviate whatever Carla might be feeling at discovering her partner had left the country without telling her. ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him?’ Carla said.

  ‘No. I was working this morning. Andy just left a note saying they were going out.’