Fat, Fifty & F<li><li><li>ed!

by Geoffrey McGeachin

  Martin leaned back in his chair. ‘Whining like a ute with a rooted diff?’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m nothing if not colourful,’ she said.

  *

  Back on the road later that day, Martin noticed Faith examining a driver’s licence. ‘Whose is that?’ he asked.

  ‘It belongs to Red, the electrician,’ she said, tossing the licence back into the glove compartment. ‘I nicked it when I got that screwdriver.’

  Martin looked across at her. ‘Okay, I’ll bite. Why did you want his driver’s licence?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got his plates on the van and I noticed he looked a bit like you, so I figured we could use it as ID.’

  ‘He looked like me?’

  ‘Not as handsome, of course,’ she said, ‘but taller and better built.’

  Martin patted his stomach. ‘I think I’m losing weight, Faith. And if I put my mind to it, I’m pretty sure I could get taller.’

  ‘Well, you certainly took that like a man, Martin’, she smiled.

  ‘You won me over with handsome. But tell me, exactly why do I need ID?’ he asked.

  There was no answer. Martin glanced over to see Faith staring intently into the passenger-side rear-view mirror. He glanced into his mirror. The police car was about half a kilometre behind them on the narrow country road and closing fast.

  ‘How’s our speed?’ Faith asked.

  ‘Ninety,’ Martin answered, looking at the dash. ‘Well under the limit.’

  ‘Shit!’

  Martin looked back in his mirror. The lights on the roof of the police car were now flashing red and blue. Then the siren started.

  ‘Want to try to outrun them?’ Martin asked.

  ‘We just passed a sign saying we’re coming up to twenty k’s of winding road. We’d never make it.’

  ‘Well,’ Martin said, ‘I guess it was great while it lasted. Let’s go with the story that I kidnapped you, eh?’

  Faith shook her head. ‘No way. We’re in this together. Anyway, we eighty-sixed all the guns, remember? You want to try telling them you’ve been holding me hostage with one of Mum’s souvenir cheese knives?’

  Martin kept his eye firmly on the rear-view mirror. ‘You’ve got a point. But it has been fun,’ he said, ‘apart from that bit on the mountain. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, you know.’

  ‘Same here,’ Faith said, looking into the side mirror, which was now filled with blue flashing lights.

  ‘Really, you mean that?’ Martin asked.

  Faith put her hand on his thigh. ‘You’re a pretty interesting bloke, Mr Carter,’ she said. ‘And you have a very nice smile.’

  The police car was right behind them now, siren wailing, and the driver began flashing his headlights.

  ‘This looks like it then,’ Martin said. ‘Guess I’d better pull over.’

  As the campervan moved over to the verge, the police car was suddenly beside them, then just ahead of them, and then pulling away in the distance.

  ‘Jesus,’ Martin said, ‘I thought we were gone.’ He exhaled slowly.

  ‘You and me both,’ Faith said, sinking back into her seat.

  Martin slowed the van down and rolled into a rest stop. He switched the engine off. The lights of the police vehicle disappeared rapidly over a hill. They sat in silence, breathing deeply.

  ‘So you really don’t think I could have pulled off that souvenir cheese-knife thing?’ Martin said at last.

  Faith burst out laughing. After a moment, Martin joined in. It was a full five minutes before they managed to calm down.

  As he eased the van back onto the road, Martin suggested they find a caravan park and sleep off the excitement.

  Faith took out Red’s driver’s licence and held it up. ‘I think we should check into some schmick motel as Mr and Mrs Taree Electrician, have a great dinner and a couple of drinks, and then go to bed. Together.’

  ‘Oh,’ Martin said. And then, after a pause, ‘You sure about this?’

  ‘I was sure before those cops turned up, but now I’m absolutely certain.’

  Martin took the licence from her and slipped it into his shirt pocket. ‘Mr and Mrs Taree Electrician it is then,’ he smiled. They drove on into the twilight in silence.

  Twenty minutes later, a motel sign appeared.

  ‘The Jolly Roger,’ Faith said. ‘Nope. Too obvious.’

  ‘You don’t think it will look a bit odd driving a campervan into a motel?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Happens all the time,’ Faith said. ‘Even dedicated caravanners need a bit of luxury now and again. Besides, Martin, what do you care about how it looks? You’re a hardened criminal.’ She paused. ‘At least that’s what I’m counting on.’

  Martin nearly choked and Faith had to grab the wheel and steer until he recovered from his coughing fit.

  *

  Some time later, he read another sign as it flashed past. ‘EUREKA MOTEL. 20 K’S AHEAD. IN-ROOM MOVIES, SPA BATHS, WATERBEDS. Mmm, maybe not. I get seasick.’

  Faith swung around in her seat to face him. ‘Martin, this is going to be a bit odd for me. I know I might come on a bit strong occasionally, like some kind of wild woman –’

  ‘Occasionally?’

  ‘Okay, most times,’ Faith acknowledged, ‘but right now I’m actually pretty nervous. Giles and I were never really hot and heavy after the first couple of years, and this boob business put the total kybosh on what was left of our sex life.’

  ‘That’s okay, Faith,’ Martin said. ‘I understand. We can just cuddle if you like.’

  ‘You know, I think you do understand, Martin. And I don’t want to just cuddle. But I don’t want to be totally naked and I’d like the lights out. That okay with you?’

  Martin shot her a sly glance. ‘So I guess “Eureka” at the Eureka Motel would be me yelling, “I’ve found it”?’

  ‘Hey, come on,’ she said, ‘we’re not teenagers trying to figure out how all the bits go together.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, Faith. It’s been a long time for me too, and I was never really sure whether I was any good at it anyway.’

  ‘Terrific,’ Faith said, shaking her head, ‘what a couple we make. But it’s just incompetence you’re worried about, not one of those size-of-your-dick things?’

  ‘Christ, Faith,’ Martin groaned. ‘Be gentle. You know, I’m not good at talking about stuff like this in broad daylight.’

  ‘Oh, lighten up, Martin,’ she laughed. ‘I’m sure we can fumble through.’

  ‘Great. I’ve just gone from worrying about premature ejaculation the next time we hit a bump to regretting not taking your old man up on his offer of Viagra.’

  ‘I knew the randy bugger had a secret!’

  The van crested a rise and a motel appeared on the left. A large illuminated sign flashed: COUNTRY CHARM MOTEL – VACANCY.

  ‘Mmm. Country Charm. Heated pool, fully licensed restaurant and a trampoline. That’s for me,’ Faith said. ‘Pull in here, please, driver.’

  Martin swung the wheel hard to the left. ‘I hope there’s a major minibar,’ he muttered.

  twenty

  After checking in, they dined in the motel’s restaurant. Airfreighted Sydney rock oysters were featured on the menu. Faith suggested a dozen each, followed by grilled West Australian crayfish in a white wine and sambuca reduction with chopped fennel.

  ‘We owe it to all the other bank robbers on the run to live well,’ she pronounced.

  The oysters were cold, salty and delicious. When the crayfish arrived Faith inspected her plate. ‘Goodness, this part of the world has certainly changed! The first time I came up this way, you knew you were in a high-tone establishment if there was a pineapple ring on your hamburger.’

  They ate silently, savouring the meal.

  ‘That sauce was fantastic,’ Martin said, wiping his mouth with a crisp linen napkin.

  ‘Anchovy,’ Faith said. ‘Just a hint, but it really took it into another realm.’ She picked up the
dessert menus and handed him one. ‘Now, what are you having for dessert, Martin?’ she smiled. ‘Besides me?’

  Martin’s dessert, a delicate blue-cheese bavarois with mango coulis, was delicious, but he had a hard time giving it his full attention.

  The waitress suggested coffee. Faith considered this for a moment. ‘If he has coffee now he’ll be up all night.’

  Martin shifted uneasily in his chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  ‘A double espresso, darling?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘Just the bill, thank you,’ he said firmly.

  *

  They strolled arm in arm along the frangipani-fringed path to their room. ‘How come this feels so right?’ Martin asked. ‘But also kind of scary, somehow.’

  ‘Beware of your belonging,’ Faith said, plucking a frangipani from a tree and inhaling its heady perfume.

  Martin looked at her quizzically.

  ‘It was a sign in a Chinese restaurant in Sydney,’ she explained. ‘Great yum cha. Prawn gow gee to die for. Must have been a literal translation from the Cantonese, warning customers to keep an eye on their valuables. And it was taped up over a bloody great dried shark fin on display by the door, which I thought was a touch ironic.’ She waved the frangipani gently under his nose, sharing the fragrance.

  ‘Beware of your belonging,’ he mused.

  ‘I just found something about the grammatical incongruity of it quite charming. And somehow it seemed to sum up love. Mixing up longing and belonging and being wary and watchful.’

  At the door to their room Martin put his arms around her. ‘You’re a very intriguing woman, Faith.’ They kissed. They seemed to melt together somehow and Martin felt a sense of happiness and completeness he’d never known before. They kissed for a long time, then Martin finally broke away and opened the door. ‘Why don’t I have a quick shower while you get ready?’

  ‘Great. That’ll give me time to fold back the bedclothes and squirt some oil on my handcuffs.’

  Martin couldn’t stop smiling as he let the warm water run over his body. He felt oddly calm and wildly excited at the same time.

  When he came out of the bathroom, the room was in darkness, apart from some candles on the dresser. A gentle breeze blowing through the open balcony door made the curtains sway. There was an almost-full moon and he could see Faith on the bed. She was wearing a creamy silk top with thin shoulder straps. And nothing else.

  He took off his watch and put it on the bedside table. The time was 11.12 p.m.

  At 11.27 p.m. Martin thought he was going to die. And die very happy. But he didn’t.

  At 12.41 a.m. Faith said, ‘Mmm, tastes like mango. How very odd.’

  At 1.20 a.m. Faith told him to hold that thought while she rolled over.

  At 2.46 a.m. Martin asked if she knew of any medical device for the unclenching of toes.

  At 3.51 a.m. Faith wondered if he was still up and discovered he most certainly was.

  At 4.47 a.m. Martin considered risking a quick phone call to Colin to boast. But he fell asleep.

  *

  They checked out late and headed for breakfast. Faith ordered pineapple juice, eggs over easy, extra-crispy bacon, sausages, grilled tomato, hash browns, mushrooms and toast. And a cappuccino. Martin ordered orange juice and muesli with fresh fruit.

  ‘You’ve got quite an appetite,’ Martin commented.

  ‘Thank you. And I like a big breakfast too.’

  Martin grinned. ‘My life is in total uproar and you’re in the middle whipping things up and it’s freaking me out, but somehow I don’t think I want to change a thing. What happened to me and who the hell am I?’

  Faith reached across the table for his hand. ‘That’s very sweet, Martin. And freaking out is so ’60s, you little stud-muffin.’

  ‘See, that’s what I mean,’ Martin said. ‘You say something nice and romantic and bust my chops all at the same time.’

  ‘My, we are sensitive this morning,’ she smiled.

  ‘No, we are not.’ Martin lowered his voice. ‘I’m almost completely numb. I’m surprised I can still walk. At one point last night I thought my legs were going to turn to jelly.’

  Faith looked disappointed. ‘Only at one point?’ she asked. ‘I’m letting the side down. There were at least three points last night when I thought I might require urgent medical assistance.’

  ‘I guess I did okay then,’ Martin said.

  ‘We did better than okay. In fact we did great. We might have even broken a record or two.’

  ‘Ah Faith, I think the waitress can hear you.’

  Faith glanced around. ‘Let her find her own stud-muffin,’ she said. ‘Grab the tomato sauce off that table, will you, spunky buns?’

  Martin handed her the sauce and took a spoonful of his muesli. He looked at Faith’s plate.

  She gave him a black look. ‘Yes, I am going to finish all of this. Order your own. You’re the aficionado of the highway breakfast and this is very, very good. Why are you eating muesli, anyway?’

  Martin took a sip of his orange juice. ‘The level of, ah, physical exertion in my new lifestyle,’ he said. ‘I do have high blood pressure. I’m not supposed to start any strenuous exercise regimen without consulting a doctor.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Faith laughed. ‘Sounds like Medicare fraud to me. You just want to boast to someone.’ She speared a sausage with her fork and offered it to him. ‘Want a bite? Fair’s fair. You let me nibble –’

  ‘Jesus, Faith,’ Martin whispered, taking the sausage, ‘keep your voice down.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk about keeping things down,’ she said, biting into a piece of crispy bacon.

  Martin took a sip of Faith’s cappuccino. ‘I have to admit I was pretty impressed with last night,’ he said. ‘I’m not even sure I did anything like that in my twenties.’

  ‘I’m surprised. I’d have thought that a gangly young teller in flares and a bri-nylon bodyshirt would have been a real chick magnet,’ she said with a straight face.

  ‘We weren’t allowed to wear – oh.’ Martin caught himself mid-sentence and smiled. ‘I really can’t tell when you’re serious and when you’re joking, Faith.’

  ‘Might take you years to figure that out,’ she said, polishing off the last of the bacon.

  ‘Do I have years?’ he asked seriously.

  ‘Who knows what anyone’s got, Martin. I’m forty-five, I’ve had cancer, and I don’t really see any point in dicking around.’

  ‘And I’m on the run for robbery and murder,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘It was self-defence, Martin. He was going to kill both of us.’

  ‘Okay,’ he agreed, ‘but I’m still not exactly a prime candidate for a long-term relationship.’

  She took his hand again. ‘When I was a little girl I wrote one of those Prince Charming lists about my ideal man.’

  ‘Let me guess – handsome, rich, riding a white stallion?’

  ‘Close. Okay-looking, saves my life, million in cash, and drives a white campervan.’

  ‘Only okay-looking?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Oh, all right. Better than okay-looking,’ she said. ‘And rogers me rigid all night long. Happy now?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ Martin smiled. ‘But you’re busting my chops, right?’

  ‘You bet,’ Faith said. ‘You’re taking it well, though, which is a very good sign.’

  *

  ‘Bingo!’ she said.

  Martin looked up from the map he was studying. Faith was driving.

  ‘Did we win the jackpot?’ he asked. ‘Or have we avoided another radar speed trap by travelling at close to the speed of light, thus becoming invisible?’

  ‘I am not a recidivist speedster,’ she protested, ‘despite your accusations. I just thought we should know exactly what this van was capable of for future reference.’

  ‘It was the sonic boom from breaking the sound barrier that got the Concorde banned from travelling over land, you know,�
�� Martin said

  ‘Cheap shot,’ Faith replied, ‘and anyway, that little aberration was hours ago. I would have thought the blood would have come back to your funny bone by now.’

  ‘We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Look at the speedo, Martin. One-fifteen in a 110 zone. We’re almost going backwards.’

  ‘Faith, it’s a campervan, remember?’

  She considered this. ‘You make an excellent point, fearless leader,’ she said, saluting and easing off the accelerator. ‘And there’s this nice little town coming up, as you can see,’ she continued, ‘which was what my “Bingo” was about, actually. We passed a sign advertising the presence of the Minerva Cafe, so perhaps we should decelerate from warp speed to late-lunch mode.’

  Martin checked out the shops along the town’s main street. The place reminded him a little of Burrinjuruk, but it was a quite a bit larger and appeared to be a lot more prosperous. ‘You know this Minerva joint?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but the name’s Greek, and the sign said “Established 1928”. Everything points to a classic, late-deco country cafe. I’m seeing booths, real Aussie hamburgers with egg and bacon and beetroot, and thick malted milks in icy metal containers dripping with condensation.’

  ‘You reckon they’ll still do breakfast?’

  ‘Such optimism,’ she sighed, pulling into a parking space at the kerb.

  Inside the cafe Faith was in raptures. The Minerva was an almost perfect time capsule of the 1930s. A worn but well-polished wooden floor, panelled walls, and deep, comfortable booths. A long counter ran the length of the room and behind it there were mirrors, stainless-steel and chrome refrigerator cabinets, brass soda-fountain heads and shiny milkshake mixers. The walls were covered with framed black and white photographs, some dating back to the ’30s and ’40s, showing the local district, large family groups and visiting celebrities.

  It was well past two and they had the place to themselves. A young woman came out of the kitchen and smiled at them. Olive-skinned, dark-haired and attractive, she was dressed in a 1930s waitress uniform, including a white apron and cap. Her name tag said ‘Diana’. She bore a strong resemblance to some of the faces in the photographs.