by Kris Webb
‘I know three songs,’ he mouthed at me silently.
I laughed.
‘Don’t laugh. He swears it works,’ said Patrick, having missed the exchange.
Oblivious to my glares and attempts at telepathy, Patrick stayed where he was.
After half an hour, Grant stretched and stood up.
‘Well, I should get going. Thanks for a lovely evening, Julia. It was good to see you again, Patrick.’
I walked him to the door.
‘I really enjoyed tonight. Thanks,’ Grant said.
‘Me too.’
‘Well, I’ll see you later.’
Where, I wondered?
‘Ah, maybe you could give me your number?’ he said.
How was it that this whole dating thing didn’t get any easier just because we were older?
‘Okay – just give me a second.’ I darted into my bedroom and grabbed a card out of my wallet. ‘The mobile is generally the best way to find me,’ I said as I handed it over.
‘Great, well . . . goodbye.’
‘Bye.’
There was a moment’s silence and I wondered if he was going to kiss me.
‘Grant?’ Patrick’s voice came from behind me. ‘You know, it would be great to get together and play a few tunes. I’ll buy the pizza and the beers if you teach me your repertoire. Actually, just the ones the chicks like would be fine.’
He winked slyly at Grant. I had the distinct impression Patrick had regressed to the ten year old he’d been when he’d known Grant.
‘Thanks. Let’s do that,’ Grant replied, casting an amused glance in my direction. He paused awkwardly. ‘Well. I’ll see you both later.’
I watched him disappear into the darkness before I headed back inside to chop my younger brother into small pieces.
TWENTY-ONE
The doorbell rang and I looked at my watch. Seven-thirty at night was a strange time for someone to drop in.
Patrick was sitting at the table on the deck, attempting to write a script for the first cooking show he was supposed to be taping the next day. Oblivious to the fact that he was trying to concentrate, Maggie was talking him through her latest cocktail as she created it. She maintained that she was fine about Marcus’s move, but she didn’t want to talk about it. I just hoped she’d get used to the idea.
I’d been sitting in the study, trying to determine how much work I absolutely had to have finished by the morning.
I opened the door to see Tony standing there.
He smiled apologetically. ‘I always seem to be dropping in on you unannounced.’
‘Oh no, not at all,’ I lied, wondering if he had some kind of phone phobia.
‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’
‘Um . . . no . . . I . . . Do you want to come in?’
‘I’m not interrupting anything?’
I shook my head and stood back to let him in. ‘Maggie’s creating new cocktails and Patrick’s reluctantly road-testing them. I’m sure they’d be delighted to have another guinea pig.’
If I was to ignore the pile of files by my laptop, he’d actually arrived at a comparatively good moment. Jack was fast asleep and I’d done a half-hearted clean of the house that afternoon, which meant that for once it didn’t looked like something the health department would be getting complaints about.
As I followed Tony, I wished I’d called to thank him for the tape. I’d kept putting it off, not sure how, or if, I should respond.
‘Thanks for the tape.’ I spoke to his back.
He turned and flashed me a grin. ‘So you got it then? Was it a hit?’
‘Absolutely – your sister definitely knows what she is talking about.’
I didn’t think it was necessary to mention that Jack had watched the whole thing already – twice.
Before we reached the kitchen, Tony stopped so suddenly I almost bumped into him.
He turned towards me and spoke softly. I could feel his breath on my cheek. ‘I was kind of hoping you’d be home when I dropped it in.’
‘Really?’ I tried to keep my voice light. ‘And why was that?’
I was surprised to see some colour creep into his face and wished I hadn’t been quite so flippant.
Just as he started to answer, Maggie poked her head around the kitchen door. ‘I thought I heard voices. Hi Tony.’
I quickly stepped back from Tony and, like a true friend, Maggie pretended she hadn’t noticed anything.
‘This is perfect timing,’ she continued smoothly. ‘I’m sure Tony will respect this drink, unlike Patrick,’ she added pointedly.
I followed Tony into the kitchen, wondering what he’d been going to say. I couldn’t get a handle on him. Just when I was about to put him firmly in the too-hard basket, he’d turn up again, acting as though we’d exchanged ten phone calls since the last time we’d seen each other.
‘Couldn’t we have a gin and tonic tonight?’ I asked Maggie hopefully.
‘Nope,’ she replied shortly, consulting her notes.
‘Hi,’ Patrick greeted Tony from the deck, obviously as surprised as I was to see him.
Maggie put the lid on the blender, turned the dial and the red mixture swirled around for several seconds. The shattering noise made conversation impossible and Tony and I headed out to the deck. Pulling four glasses out of the overhead cupboard, Maggie poured a generous amount of the drink into each and handed them round. Tony took a glass, wisely realising that resisting Maggie was fruitless.
‘It’s called a Scarlett O’Hara,’ Maggie announced as we each took a tentative sip.
The horrific taste I’d expected didn’t materialise and I realised with shock that it was actually very nice.
Patrick and Tony both had surprised looks on their faces and each took another larger sip.
‘That’s actually good,’ Tony said.
‘See!’ Maggie glared at Patrick.
Tony and I sat down with our drinks.
‘Have you come to check up on me?’ Patrick joked. He gestured at the pages. ‘It’s coming along, although God only knows if it’s any good.’
Tony looked uncomfortably into his drink. ‘Ah, no – I’ve actually got some bad news. I’ve been offered another job.’
‘Isn’t that good news?’ I was confused.
‘Yeah, it’s good news for me . . .’
‘But not so good for me,’ Patrick finished.
‘No. There’s no way John will carry on with the cooking show when I’m gone. I haven’t told him yet, but my guess is that he’ll want me to leave straightaway.’
I looked over at Patrick. He looked really disappointed and I felt a big sisterly urge to protect him from the nasty world.
Patrick shook his head. ‘Ah well, there goes my shot at fame. Don’t worry about it, mate. You’ve probably done me a favour – I’ve been using it as an excuse not to look for a real job.’
‘I’m sorry to pull the rug out like this, but it’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.’
‘Yeah, of course. It’s not a problem. Tell us about the job.’ Patrick pushed the writing pad to one side and took another mouthful of his cocktail.
Tony’s face brightened. ‘I had two interviews with these guys a couple of months ago,’ he said, naming one of the commercial stations, ‘but then heard nothing. I’d assumed they didn’t want me until I got the call this afternoon. I can’t believe it’s actually happened.’
He stood up, drink in hand, and walked around the deck, his excitement visible.
‘So what shows will you be producing?’ Patrick asked.
‘Believe it or not, the main one we are trying to get off the ground is a new cooking show.’ He looked at Patrick. ‘I know, I must have poisoned a king or something in my last life and am paying my dues now. Apparently the concept is to have a chef who goes to a different person’s house each week. I don’t know anything about the other shows – all I know is they’re low budget.’
‘Well they can’t be any lower than the ze
ro TV53 allocated to this one,’ Patrick said, gesturing at the writing pad.
‘Yeah, I guess. And you know what? I don’t even care. This is the break I’ve been after for years. Finally it looks like I might actually be able to do what I’ve always wanted.’
Maggie refilled everyone’s glass and dropped the blender into the sink. ‘Well, I must love you and leave you. I need to enlighten my staff as to the secret Scarlett O’Hara recipe so they can prepare for the stampede of drinkers wanting to try it tomorrow night. Congratulations on the job, Tony.’
After shooting me a look of encouragement I prayed no one else had seen, Maggie made her usual noisy exit, clattering down the hall and slamming the door behind her. I thanked God that Jack was a heavy sleeper.
I gestured at Tony’s glass. ‘Now that Maggie’s gone, I can offer you a proper drink if you’d like.’
‘Actually I don’t mind it – although I’m meeting my parents for dinner, so too many probably isn’t a great plan.’
‘A celebration dinner?’ Patrick asked.
‘Yeah.’ Tony leaned against the railing. ‘Definitely a celebration for them – I’ve never really done what they hoped for. I’m their only son and they always expected that I’d do something respectable, be a doctor like Dad, or something else they could tell their friends about.’ He half smiled. ‘Sorry, that sounded mean. They’ve always stood behind me, but I know they secretly wish I’d done things a little bit more by the book.’
This was a different Tony to the confident, outgoing person I’d seen so far. The breakthrough in his career, or possibly Maggie’s cocktail, seemed to be making him much more open than normal.
‘What did you do before you went to film school?’ I asked.
He paused and I expected him to answer vaguely and change the subject. I had the feeling he didn’t like talking about himself and he often seemed to dodge personal questions.
Instead he answered slowly. ‘I was a professional golfer for about five years. My uncle taught me to play when I was very young and I turned out to be pretty good. Mum and Dad thought it was great until I told them I’d decided to join the professional circuit. I always knew making it to the top was a long shot, but I decided that the regret of not having given it a go would be worse than doing it and failing.’
‘I knew your name was familiar.’ Patrick was clearly impressed. ‘Didn’t you play in the Australian Open a couple of times?’
I was relieved that Patrick was here to make intelligent comments. While he religiously devoured the sports pages of the newspaper each day, I couldn’t even sit through the sports segment on the news. I’d never held a golf club in my life and always had a mental block when it came to remembering how many holes were on a golf course.
He nodded. ‘I turned professional when I was nineteen and played the circuit until I was nearly twenty-four.’
‘The circuit sounds like a lot of fun,’ Patrick commented.
‘It was.’ Tony smiled. ‘I played a mixture of big events and smaller ones where I’d stand a good chance of making some money. In between, a few friends and I would find a beach and surf for a couple of weeks.’
‘Why did you give it up?’
‘I’d had problems with my shoulder for years but kept telling myself it would be okay. Finally, after my third injury in six months, I realised it just wasn’t going to last the distance.’
He wasn’t smiling any more.
‘So I pulled out. It’s not like I was that old when I finished. But all my friends were already well into their careers. Playing golf was really all I’d ever wanted to do and I didn’t know what else to do with my life.’
‘Kind of like me and accounting,’ Patrick joked.
Tony laughed and the mood lightened. One of the strange things about spending time with Patrick was realising that my little brother was actually an intelligent adult. Well-judged comments like that from someone who had spent years with a plastic dog turd in his pocket still surprised me.
‘A friend of mine owned a restaurant and I started helping him out. I enjoyed the business and ended up managing a couple of restaurants. The hours were bad, though, and it never really felt like something I would do forever.’ He paused. ‘This is kind of embarrassing to admit, but one day I was in an electronics shop and Oprah was playing on all the TVs. Some guy was talking about success and said you had to follow your passion. I decided my passion was films, so I found a good film course and well – here I am.’
With the realisation that he was a true film buff, the humiliation of my inane comments about the movie we’d seen hit me afresh.
There was a brief silence.
‘Sorry,’ Tony said. ‘I don’t often tell people the story. It’s not a state secret, it’s just not something I feel like talking about all the time.’
‘Don’t apologise.’ I had decided it was safe to talk now we were off sports. ‘I’m really glad things seem to be working out.’
‘Just think,’ Patrick added, ‘no more picketing mothers.’
Tony laughed. ‘Unless they find out where I’ve gone and follow me there.’
‘TV53 doesn’t know what it’s missing.’ Patrick shook his head mournfully. ‘The less likely it is to happen, the more convinced I am that I would have been great.’
‘Look at the bright side,’ I said. ‘At least you’ll be able to go shopping without being mobbed by lustful women trailing toddlers.’
Patrick didn’t look as though this was any great consolation.
Tony looked at his watch. ‘I really should get going. I’ve cancelled the last few times I’ve planned to see my parents and our booking’s for eight.’
I tried to pretend I wasn’t disappointed.
‘Well I hope things go really well for you.’ Patrick stood up and extended his hand.
Tony shook it and turned towards me.
‘I’ll walk you out,’ I said, hoping he would finish what he’d started to say earlier. It had definitely sounded like something I wanted to hear. With Patrick’s television career finished, there would be no reason for Tony to drop around again, and after the sit-up ball incident, I had no intention of ever again showing my face in the gym.
Tony opened the door and turned to face me.
‘Thanks for the drink. I guess I’ll see you around.’
He waved and ran down the stairs.
Right. Well obviously what Tony had left unsaid hadn’t exactly been torturing him.
I slowly closed the door. It occurred to me that this was the second time in two days that a good-looking man had headed down these stairs without kissing me. And this time I couldn’t even blame Patrick – or Jack. Morosely I trudged back inside to my pile of unfinished work.
TWENTY-TWO
I sank onto the vinyl bus seat with relief.
Jack had woken determined to make life difficult and everything from feeding him breakfast to putting on his shoes had been a battle. So it was with a guilty delight that I’d closed the front door of Carla’s shop and walked towards my toddler-free day. No doubt I’d be wishing I was anywhere but at work within two hours, but for the moment I allowed myself the optimistic thought it was going to be a good day.
Reaching into my handbag I pulled out my phone and turned it on.
‘You have four new messages,’ the recorded voice intoned. My stomach dropped. This was not good.
‘First message recorded at 3 p.m. on Thursday, March Four.’
Yesterday. How could that be? I always had my mobile on. Unless – my stomach lodged somewhere near my left ankle – I hadn’t turned it back on after Jack had gone to sleep yesterday.
To my great dismay, Jack was starting to refuse to go to sleep in the afternoons. I had relentlessly analysed the circumstances each time it happened and had decided that the problem seemed to occur if he was disturbed in the critical ten minutes after I’d put him to bed.
Extreme situations called for extreme measures and I’d taken to shutting every door and window
in the house and putting rolled-up towels across the bottom of his door. Usually I turned my mobile back on and reconnected the phone line once he was asleep but I couldn’t remember doing either yesterday. Which explained why the afternoon had been so blissfully free of calls.
‘Julia, it’s Brian Randall. We’ve got a situation with Procan. I need your input. Please call me as soon as you pick this message up.’
Brian Randall was a partner in Jennings Walker’s litigation group. Procan, a large pharmaceutical company, was engaged in some serious litigation with another company which Procan alleged had infringed the patent of one of its bestselling drugs. Although Brian and his lawyers were handling the dispute, I was looking after anything that affected the ongoing operations of the company.
No need to panic, I told myself. Most of the stuff I was doing was pretty routine, definitely something I could handle today.
Message two – 3.20.
‘Julia, it’s Kerry.’ Kerry was my secretary.
‘Something big is happening with Procan and everyone is looking for you. I’ve called your home number a stack of times but can’t get through. Call me soon – please.’
Two messages to go. This made medieval water torture look like a walk in the park.
Message three – 3.45.
‘Julia. Gavin here.’
No, no, no. Gavin was the head partner of the corporate section. Despite telling myself it was ridiculously childish, he terrified me. Had on the day I started and still did. He was frighteningly intelligent, was on the board of a handful of companies and had only recently started acknowledging my existence.
‘Julia. Neither your home number nor your mobile number seems to be helping us locate you. Do call when it suits.’
The sarcasm dripped down the line and the palms of my hands were suddenly clammy.
Message four – 5.30.
‘Julia. It’s Mark. It’s probably best if you come to see me first thing in the morning. Bye.’
The Brisbane River appeared on my right. Maybe a suicide attempt would evoke a bit of sympathy. I dismissed the thought immediately. These people were lawyers. Appealing to their emotions was hopeless.