Upstairs, the space by the urn was empty. The barrels were gone. A print-out of Ralph’s email was attached to the wall with his signature down the bottom in black pen, like a mediaeval edict.
‘Did you see this?’ said a man holding a Commonwealth Bank mug. ‘They’ve taken away the biscuits.’
‘I know,’ said a woman with a big nose. ‘They should have warned us. What will I have for lunch?’
‘Terrible,’ I said and went back downstairs.
‘People are very upset,’ I said to Eva. The words rolled over the top of her computer. We did not speak for the rest of the day.
The weekend came as a welcome respite. Sharon called and said, ‘What are you doing on Saturday? Why don’t you pay your mother a visit?’
‘But your birthday’s not until next week,’ I said.
Even if I’d wanted to I couldn’t have. The Melbourne Sudoku Forum was on. I got my ticket months ago, when they first went on sale.
I was so excited about going I couldn’t eat breakfast. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at a bowl of Weet-Bix, thinking. Not about anyone in particular.
I had my autograph book and a camera and was just about to leave, but then at the front door I thought to get some extra paper to collect a signature for Sharon and by the time I stepped into the hall I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t realise until it was too late.
Jin-Jin was there.
‘Germaine,’ she said.
I told her I couldn’t talk. I didn’t say where I was going by way of invitation, I only mentioned it so she’d know how important it was and wouldn’t hold me up any longer than was necessary. Problem was, Jin-Jin more than understood.
‘OMG, I love sudoku. Can I come?’
‘No. You need a ticket.’
‘I’ll buy one.’
‘I’m pretty sure they’re sold out.’
‘I’ll try anyway.’
I tried to lose her in the fire escape but though she was short, she was fast. She followed me all the way to the tram stop.
‘Do you think Rebecca Li will be there?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Magnus Magnus?’
‘I don’t know.’
On the tram I got out my book. Jin-Jin said, ‘What are you reading?’
I gave her a stern look and said, ‘This.’
±
Jin-Jin and I got off at Flinders Street and walked along the river to the Convention Centre. I thought there’d be more people, a slow-moving mass surging in the same direction, but it was like a normal day.
And Jin-Jin did get a ticket. The lady selling them said they had hundreds left. She even gave Jin-Jin a discount, which seemed unfair. You shouldn’t reward people for being disorganised.
I was hoping Jin-Jin and I might separate in the foyer but she stuck to me like glue. I looked around for familiar faces. I couldn’t see Don but I did see someone else I knew.
Jack might have been at work for what he was wearing: hiking shorts and a hooded jumper. ‘I knew you’d be here,’ he said.
I didn’t respond. My great day was turning out crappy. While he and Jin-Jin introduced themselves, I kept scanning the area.
When I turned back a fourth person had appeared in our circle. She looked like Jack—same hiking shorts, same gap between her teeth—only instead of sandy brown hair hers was red. I supposed she was his girlfriend. That’s what happens with couples. They morph into each other over time, like pets and their owners. Sharon and her labrador, Barney, were practically identical. I don’t know what the redhead’s name was. Jack told me but I didn’t listen, that’s how uninterested I was.
The bells rang and we went into the main hall for presentation. Because of the tardiness of our entry we couldn’t get a seat for four people in a row. We had to sit in twos, and I got stuck with Jin-Jin. It felt like a short straw, though in truth none of them was very long.
Jin-Jin said, ‘I love Magnus Magnus.’
‘I can’t stand him.’
‘How can you not like Magnus Magnus?’ she said.
Magnus was Sudoku Australia’s golden child. I’d have hated him for that anyway, but I hated him more for what he did to Alan Cosgrove. I scanned the row behind.
Jin-Jin said, ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘No one. I’ve got a crick in my neck.’
As the session was about to start, I had one final glance, which was fortuitous, because it turned out to be the most important one. Don was there, standing up the back. He had a hat on and sunglasses, but the same tan pants he’d worn in the mayor’s office.
I saw him and he saw me. Suddenly, he moved towards the doors. I picked up my bag and walked crab-like over the other people in the row.
In the hall I didn’t know what to call. Alan or Don? I yelled both.
He either didn’t hear or didn’t want to stop. He went all the way to the other end of the foyer and might have gone out the door, but it was locked. I’d hoped one of us might pursue the other, but not like this. Still, the outcome was the same.
‘Hello, Alan,’ I said.
He tugged on the doorhandle. When it didn’t move he turned around and took his hat off. ‘Hello, Germaine.’
12
Six months ago I’d never have thought I’d be having coffee with Alan Cosgrove. Sharon would say I’d willed it into existence but I preferred to think of it as an event with a small but not non-existent likelihood of occurring. Not a coincidence. Don’t get me started on those.
We went to a café close by. As luck would have it, we were the only two there. It was as though one of us had hired the place out as a romantic gesture for the other. Only neither of us had.
The waiter got us waters and menus, which he left on the table. Don waited until he was gone, then said, ‘So you’re a sudoku fan?’
‘I guess. I mean, isn’t everyone?’
This was called ‘downplaying’. You don’t want to appear to care too much about things. Caring is a sign of weakness; Peter taught me that. A few people did, actually.
Don seemed different from how he was the other times I’d seen him. Less assured. He fiddled with the corner of his menu and seemed to have trouble making eye contact.
I knew why. He was trying to work out if I knew what happened. I did, but I didn’t believe any of it. Alan Cosgrove was not a cheater.
‘I hate Magnus Magnus,’ I said.
Faces are funny things. You don’t know one is not in its most relaxed position until every part of it adjusts a millimetre.
And then he smiled. It could have been a yawn for how contagious it was.
‘Are you mad at him?’ I said.
Don was like an elder statesman. ‘A little disappointed.’
I knew about being disappointed. ‘Is that why you changed your name?’
He ran his hand though his hair. ‘Sometimes you have to start over. Easier than it sounds, of course. But you know Gerry Adams lost his fortune three times.’
It was four, actually. I’d read Gerry’s biography. But I didn’t correct him. Being right felt like a secondary concern, which was unusual. I couldn’t pinpoint my primary concern.
The waiter chose that moment to appear. We flipped the menus open. I ordered quickly—focaccia, chips, drink, a muffin. Don wasn’t sure what he wanted. He read over each page slowly, affording me the opportunity to look at him.
He was older than I expected him to be. To me, he was always, perpetually, forever, the Alan Cosgrove of my teenage years. But I was thirty-seven now. It was inevitable he’d have faded and shrunk a little.
There was sixteen years’ difference in Don’s and my ages. When I was fifteen this had seemed an eternity, like he could have been my father. But now, the difference as a proportion of total age had reduced and it felt less like we were a generation apart and more like we were…Both adults. I was glad I’d worn my favourite shirt.
Don asked for a cup of coffee. The waiter bowed and backed away.
There was a silence.
I should have brought The List. All I could think of were forbidden topics, things I was not going to mention:
1. How I attended every sudoku-related event in the years 1994–2007 in the hope of seeing him.
2. How he’d signed my autograph book at Sudo-Con 2006.
3. Any of the facts I knew about him: birthday, place of birth, which Guinness Book of Records titles he’d held.
4. Any of the facts I didn’t know but wished I did: current earnings, asset profile, relationship status.
I settled on: ‘What’s been the highlight in your career so far?’ I only meant to give him the choice of talking about sudoku or something more current, like golf, but Don seemed to have difficulty answering the question.
‘Well, 2006 was good for obvious reasons. Being World Champion’s an honour and a privilege but…I don’t know, Germaine. Sometimes life gives you lemonade and other times it gives you lemons. I used to have all the luck. I’d think, some idiot out there must be having the roughest time of all because everything I touched turned to gold. And then…Well. It didn’t last forever.’ He examined the two hands in his lap, both his. Behind him, the coffee machine gave a dejected sigh.
Don was a shadow of his former self. Once upon a time he was a 9.99999 recurring, now he was a 7. But I didn’t mind. There was a kind of beauty in imperfection. A mathematical proof founded on a misconception could still have some elegance. Also, he was more attainable now.
I had half a thought to touch him.
The other half a thought was about Peter. Peter could be inconsistent in his affections, depending on what time it was. If the time was right, he’d say, ‘Germaine. I’m glad you’re here,’ but if the time was wrong, he’d say, ‘Stop it. What if someone sees?’
Was this the right time or the wrong time?
Don said, ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to…’
I fixed him with my gaze. ‘Don’t worry. You didn’t.’
I wish it had ended there. That was our best and truest moment. But the food arrived. I didn’t mind him watching while I ate; I chewed with thoughtful rigour. But I did mind what happened next.
The waiter brought the bill and Don said, ‘I’ll pay,’ and handed over his card. That would have been a fine ending too. Only the waiter came back and said, ‘There seems to be a problem.’
Don coloured and looked through his wallet. The waiter hovered, hands behind his back. Don said, ‘Oh, dear…I’ve given you the wrong…I can’t seem to find…Germaine, do you mind?’
Don put his hat and sunglasses on and we walked back to the Convention Centre. We didn’t hold hands but I stood close enough so if he decided he wanted to, he’d only have to reach the tiniest amount and mine would be there, waiting.
Just my luck, the session was on a break and Jack, Jin-Jin and Jack’s girlfriend were all hanging around in the foyer. When they saw me they came over.
I was forced to introduce them. ‘Don, this is Jack and Jin-Jin and…I don’t know who she is.’
‘Germaine,’ said Jack.
‘What?’ I couldn’t be expected to remember everyone.
Don was very accommodating. He was used to crowds of people vying for his attention. He shook all their unimportant hands and asked how they’d liked the first session.
Jack’s girlfriend piped up but I don’t know what she said. Something boring.
Jin-Jin gave Don a funny look. ‘You know, you look a bit like Alan Cos—’
‘Shh,’ I said.
Don, who had kind eyes and the patience of a saint, said, ‘Can you keep a secret?’
Jin-Jin started hyperventilating. ‘OMG, OMG.’
I translated, as she was a foreigner. ‘He means shut up about it.’
Jin-Jin stopped talking but got her phone out and took a photo.
Jack, who had been quiet up until now, hovering in the background, started talking. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ he said.
‘Watch the 2006 final, did you?’
Jack glowered at him. ‘No, at the town hall…With Mayor Bainbridge.’
Jack seemed to be in a mood. I knew how it was; sometimes when you come out of a really interesting, really motivating talk it makes you realise how inadequate you are. It can be confronting. But I don’t know what he expected. Didn’t seem like Jack tried very hard at anything, let alone sudoku.
Don said, ‘I’ve known Verity for years.’
‘They’re friends,’ I told Jack. What I was really saying was, We all are. Me, Mayor Bainbridge and Don Thomas: three vertices of a collegiate triangle.
Jack might have said something more but the bell began to ding over the loudspeaker. The break was over. Don checked his watch. Then he turned to me—to me—and said, ‘I have to go…I’ll see you later.’
How much later? I wanted to know exactly when but I was cautious. I could still hear Peter’s voice in my ear: Don’t be so needy, he’d told me a few times. Quite a few times, actually.*
________________
* Fourteen, spread over a six-month period.
13
The afternoon provided an opportunity for people to practise their sudoku and get feedback on how to improve. There were tables set out in the main hall and representatives from the Victorian Sudoku Federation walked around offering assistance. I wasn’t an official mentor but I was helping anyway. And nothing is more helpful than standing behind someone as they fill out their card, whispering tips and insights.
Jack, Jin-Jin and the mysterious redhead all seemed to get bored. ‘You can go,’ I said. But they said they’d wait and went and sat on a line of chairs near the window. I don’t know what they were waiting for.
After an hour, the three of them came back, a delegation. Jack asked if I wanted to get dinner when it was over.
I said no. ‘I have to go home.’
‘Why?’ said Jin-Jin. ‘Come on. You never go anywhere.’
This was not true. I went to work. I visited Sharon once a month and I walked to a local park at least three times a week.
But Jin-Jin acted like I was some kind of invalid. And invisible. She said to Jack and the redhead, ‘When I go past Germaine’s apartment I stop and sniff the air to make sure I can’t smell a decomposing body…She could easily die and not be found for months.’
What rubbish. The Red Emperor would come knocking if I didn’t order a meal on a Friday night. And if I failed to pick up my packages from the letterboxes downstairs, Cynthia from the body corporate would notice. I order a lot of things online. And what if…perhaps…also Don? If he didn’t see me ‘later’, like we’d coordinated, he too might concern himself with my whereabouts.
No, my body wouldn’t spend more than ten minutes decomposing before it got discovered.
‘Come on, Germaine,’ said Jack.
Despite my misgivings, I agreed to go. Not because I thought it would be fun but because they wouldn’t shut up about it. They were practically begging, which was kind of endearing. Even if you don’t like someone (/multiple someones), you can’t help but be flattered if they like you. You have to admire their good taste, at the very least.
We went to all-you-can-eat yum cha. It was thirty-six dollars per person, justifiable only on account of my having a water bottle with a wide neck, which I filled with dumplings to take home. This reduced the price per meal to an acceptable level.
The four of us were discussing the highlights of the convention when the redhead siphoned me off from the general conversation.
‘Jack said you just started at the council,’ she said.
‘Did he?’ I tried to reel the other two back in. ‘One of the easiest things to do when you’re starting out in sudoku is to concentrate on a single nonet. A nonet is a three by three.’
But the redhead turned her body, blocking them from participation. ‘How do you like it?’ she said.
‘It’s fine,’ I told her.
‘You work in the call centre, right?’
‘I’m on the senior citizens helpline bu
t I have other duties as well.’
‘Helpline, call centre. Is there a difference? You answer the phone.’
In my lap, the dumpling-filled water bottle got hot. ‘Who are you?’ I said.
She patted her mouth with a serviette. ‘I’m Marie Curie.’
I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t going to fall for that.
‘No, it’s true. My dad’s surname happens to be Curie and my mum wanted to name me after her mum: Marie.’
‘How unfortunate,’ I said.
‘I don’t mind.’ She tossed her red hair, which I’d never seen anyone do before, not so assiduously. ‘Everyone always remembers my name.’
‘Everyone always remembers my name, too,’ I said.
‘Do they?’ she said, with a very negative inflection.
We stared at each other until a new trolley appeared and the waitress removed a bamboo lid. ‘Chicken feet?’
Marie gave the gelatinous dish a disgusted look.
I picked up my fork. ‘We’ll have two serves,’ I said.
The conversation returned to a four-way interface. Jack was still in his mood, feeling poorly about his sudoku inadequacies. Or his taste in women. Marie had very little to contribute to the conversation that was even half-intelligent. Jack, meanwhile, took his frustrations out on Don.
‘I don’t like that guy,’ he said.
‘Me either,’ said Marie, clearly not a free thinker. Lucky we weren’t relying on her to discover radium.
Meanwhile, two beers had gone to Jin-Jin’s head. She said again how she couldn’t believe Alan Cosgrove and Don Thomas were the same person and I said again she shouldn’t talk so loud.
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t think anyone’s interested.’ He said this even after I explained the situation—how big a scandal it had been in the national world of sudoku, which comprised at least fifty people.
Jin-Jin said, ‘I think Don’s very handsome.’
‘I don’t,’ said Jack, and Marie smirked at me.
Jin-Jin asked what I thought and they all seemed particularly interested in my answer. It was most unusual. So often I had to repeat myself and now look, three people hanging on my every word.
The Helpline Page 7