I turned her exercise book to a clean page. ‘Or we could say that the probability of you breaking up is 1 minus the probability you stay together. If we assign breaking up the letter “B” and staying together the letter “S”—’
Jin-Jin interrupted. ‘Can we make staying together the letter “L”?’
‘L?’
‘For Love.’
‘We can assign any letter value, the letter is just a stand-in.’
Together we worked through the rest of the problem. It was simple, really. We assigned likelihoods to each scenario and multiplied the numbers out. We even adjusted the likelihoods to understand the effect of different values. Reduce the likelihood of Jin-Jin breaking up with Lee and the probability of them staying together increased. Conversely, increase the likelihood of Jin-Jin breaking up with Lee and the probability decreased.
‘This is good,’ said Jin-Jin. ‘They never did it this way in class.’
I covered my mouth with my hand and grinned behind it.
‘One day I might tell you about the golden ratio,’ I whispered, too quiet for her to hear.
After Jin-Jin (25 minutes) I stayed on to help Jake and after Jake I helped Penny and after Penny there was Charlie.
Charlie was six. He sidled up with a pair of plastic glasses on. ‘Who am I?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. Who are you?’
He pushed the glasses up his nose. ‘It’s for Book Day. This is my costume.’
I guessed Harry Potter (no) and Albert Einstein.
‘Einstein’s not a book,’ said Charlie.
‘There are books about Einstein,’ I said.
‘I’m Encyclopedia Brown. The boy detective?’
My lack of familiarity was a cause of exasperation.
‘No one ever guesses. This is exactly what he wears, pants, a T-shirt and glasses, but no one ever guesses.’
‘You should carry an encyclopaedia around.’
‘But he doesn’t carry an encyclopaedia around,’ said Charlie.
I said it might assist others in recognition, but Charlie said he couldn’t dumb things down just so people understood. He was unwilling to compromise or present an inaccurate portrayal of the truth. I fell a little bit in love with Charlie when he told me that.
And so the day went. Three hours passed and I didn’t even notice. When it was time to leave, Betsy came into the hall and asked everyone to put the tables away because aerobics was about to start, and they all did, really quickly. I heard a man say, ‘That’s Betsy, she won the CWA,’ like it was a big deal, on a par with a sudoku final, for example.
While Jin-Jin was preoccupied with folding the legs on a trestle, I slunk over to the door. Betsy saw me. ‘You don’t want to stay?’ she said. ‘It’s free.’
I told her the literature indicated aerobic activity was less important for wellbeing than other lifestyle factors.
Betsy didn’t contest this. ‘How’d you like homework club?’
I said it was pretty boring.
‘Can you come next week?’
‘Probably have to. Not like those idiots are going to work that stuff out for themselves.’
________________
* I’d stopped saying ‘Senior Citizens Helpline’ and was just saying ‘Helpline’. One day I might even reduce it to ‘Help’. It was a small efficiency, but a couple of words here and there and that’s ten seconds. Ten seconds times a hundred calls is a thousand seconds (16.666667 minutes).
17
Getting in the car and putting on my seatbelt I wondered if I should rethink my attitude to exercise. A lot of people had turned up to the aerobics class and, though I had never found popularity to be an indicator of merit, it did suggest the activity might have some value. I wondered what Professor Douglas would have thought: the newspaper article in which he’d featured was silent on the issue. That said, I knew he was in favour of experimentation.
I had an understanding of the impacts of doing no activity, but what about the impacts of doing some?
Aerobics didn’t sound that interesting, nor running or swimming, and I definitely didn’t want to do any team sports. But perhaps…golf?
I turned in at the entrance.
±
I wasn’t looking for Don. I only went in to ask about membership prices. Golf is notoriously expensive, even if you don’t live in Japan. But in doing so, I happened to mention to the woman on reception that I was a friend of his. ‘Is he in?’ I asked. There was a line of numbers in my stomach, wiggling in anticipation.
‘He’s around…But he’s pretty busy.’ The receptionist slipped a flyer under the window. ‘Here’s the price list. If you’d like me to call Daisy, our membership manager, she can show you around. Or if this is not a convenient time, I can book something in during the week.’
I looked down the hall. Don’s door was open. If only he’d come out. If only I could go in. I was worried I hadn’t thanked him properly for his gift. Maybe he’d like to see a photo of it all, set out on the mantelpiece. I had several, mostly landscape but a couple in panoramic view. It would only take a minute.
‘Daisy is free at half past,’ said the receptionist.
Plus, if Don knew I was here and hadn’t gone to see him it was likely he’d be upset. He’d said, Don’t be a stranger; I didn’t want him to think I was trying to be one.
I started walking down the hall.
The woman on reception called out but I waved my hand at her. ‘It’s okay. I know where I’m going.’
Don did look busy. He was squinting at his computer screen and typing madly, sheets of paper all across the desk. When I said, ‘Hello there,’ his first facial expression was one of irritation but it softened when he saw it was me.
‘Hello, Germaine.’
There is nothing better than the sound of one’s name. Nothing, except the sound of one’s name on the lips of someone you are grateful knows your name.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he said.
I turned into an irrational number. I couldn’t express myself. ‘I was just…Which is to say…’ I stopped and held up the flyer. ‘I’m thinking about joining.’
‘Wouldn’t have picked you for a golfer,’ he said.
‘Golf and sudoku. That’s two things we have in common.’ Or would have if I joined.
Don didn’t say to come in but the chair opposite him was empty so I filled it. ‘I really liked your gift,’ I said.
The way his face lifted. I had a flash of the old Alan Cosgrove.
‘Suppose you’ve put it in a drawer somewhere,’ he said.
‘Oh no. It’s on display.’
‘Ha. Yes, I’m sure.’
I got my phone out. Don protested and said he didn’t need to see, he didn’t mind what I did with all that crap but he took the phone eagerly when offered. Zoomed in, even.
‘That’s very flattering,’ he said.
‘I’m going to have to increase my insurance premium, though. What if someone tries to steal it?’
He laughed and handed the phone back. ‘Verity said you were funny.’
‘Did she?’
‘She did.’
So they had talked about me, and positively. If only I’d been privy to their entire conversation. ‘Are you nearly finished for today?’
‘No, we’ve got another dinner this evening. Be a big day and a late night.’
He was tireless. That was another thing we had in common. I should be documenting them, in case he hadn’t noticed.
‘Daisy going to give you a tour?’ said Don.
‘Yes, but not today. During the week, I think.’ I’d have to come back.
‘I’ll speak to her. Make sure she gives you a good deal.’
I made a time with the receptionist on the way out.
On Sunday it was Sharon’s birthday. In the morning I went shopping for a present. I got her six vegan cupcakes and a book on financial planning for people in their fifties and sixties. She better get on top of it. No way
is she living with me when she gets dementia and forgets to feed herself.
But even if she didn’t get dementia, us living together was not a good idea. We were not great housemates. This wasn’t because of differences in cleanliness or because one of us was late in paying bills. (Sharon paid all the bills. Eventually.) It was more the disappointment.
It took me a while to realise about Sharon’s disappointment. It was only when I had her approval, albeit fleetingly, that I understood it was there.
When I was in Grade 5, Sharon came home from parent–teacher interviews and said, ‘Ms Phillips thinks you might be a Gifted.’
I wasn’t surprised, but Sharon was. She was surprised to an almost offensive degree. First thing she did was drag the phone from the dining room into her bedroom. Then she called Aunt Caroline. ‘Germaine’s teacher thinks she’s a Gifted,’ she said. ‘I know…It explains everything.’
The test was expensive but Ms Phillips said the school would pay. The morning of, Sharon called in sick and the two of us walked to the bus stop. It took ages to get from Boronia to the city but I didn’t care. I’d been waiting forever for something like this to happen.
I thought the testing place would be modern and new age, like something out of the Jetsons, but it was a dark and dingy office at the top of three flights of stairs, the kind of place you’d find Scientologists lurking. That was something I knew all about, thanks to Sharon.
The receptionist led me to a room and handed me a booklet. She said, ‘You’ve got ninety minutes.’ She didn’t click a stopwatch; maybe it was back at her desk. Sharon, standing behind, held up a crystal and mouthed the words, ‘Do you want this? For good luck?’
I ignored her, like I always did.
The test was easy. I didn’t even use a calculator or make notes in the margins of the paper and after, Sharon asked how it went and I told her it was a cinch.
We had to wait two weeks for the results to come in. That whole time, Sharon bragged to anyone who’d listen and to a bunch of people for whom listening wasn’t their strong suit, Germaine might be a Gifted, Germaine might be a Gifted. It was unlike Sharon to do that. Insofar as she ever talked about me to other people, normally it was to roll her eyes and say, ‘Try living with her.’
Those two weeks were the most pleasant in my primary school career. I don’t know if Ms Phillips told the class but they seemed to sense it. Instead of tripping me up in the queue for tuckshop or hiding my lunch, they ignored me. It was a satisfactory outcome for all involved.
I knew the results had come back because Ms Phillips sent the class to lunch and asked me to stay behind.
I walked to her desk, a fluttering feeling in my chest. It was like being in the final round of a game show. I was about to find out if I’d answered the million-dollar question correctly.
‘The letter came from the testing facility,’ said Ms Phillips.
I could see a scoreboard all lit up; the name GERMAINE was flashing.
‘I was wrong,’ she said. Ms Phillips didn’t even wince. ‘You’re not gifted.’
At home, Sharon told me she knew she shouldn’t have got her hopes up. Then she swept me into a hug, her curly hair irritating the skin on my cheek, and said, ‘But I’m probably not gifted either, if that helps.’
‘No, it doesn’t help.’
In the afternoon I drove to the house I grew up in. On a straight street with shaved lawns and concrete driveways, ours was the one with the long grass and the multicoloured fence.
Sharon was on the verandah out front, looking at her laptop. The dogs were lying on their sides at her feet. When they saw me they started barking. All four of them ran down the steps and wiped their snotty noses on my pants as I got out.
‘Get off. Sharon, make them go away. These pants are dry-clean only. Ugh, it’s licking my hand.’
‘He’s just being affectionate, Germaine. He’s trying to give you some attention. Ooh, he does like you. Are you premenstrual? Barney is very attuned to pheromones.’
How annoying. Just my luck to be wasting pheromones on an old black labrador. I should have been at the golf club.
Inside, Sharon put the kettle on. I dumped the present and the cupcakes on the table and fished in my handbag for the antibacterial gel, rubbing it on my hands while we waited for the water to boil.
‘What were you doing on the computer?’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘Just asking.’
‘Never know with you. Wouldn’t be surprised if you were in a thing with the government. Suppose I can’t do much about it if you are. Just remember, there’ll be a lot of dead chickens on your head if Friends of the Animals goes down for tax fraud.’
‘It won’t be my fault if Friends of the Animals goes down for tax fraud. It’ll be yours for not complying with the legislation. Everyone has to pay taxes, Sharon. It’s part of being in a civilised society.’
‘Oh, God, I shouldn’t have said anything. You’d sell your own mother down the river, wouldn’t you? Done it before.’
‘Rules are rules,’ I said. I didn’t regret turning Sharon in to Greenpeace. If you’re going to collect money for a charity, the least you can do is give it to them.
‘You’re a monster, Germaine.’ Sharon always said that.
The kettle boiled and Sharon made the tea. She got the cups from the cupboard and came and sat down.
I slid the present across the table. ‘Happy birthday.’
She undid the wrapping. ‘A book.’ She turned it over. ‘About superannuation. Gee, thanks. This going to make me a millionaire, is it?’ She flicked through a couple of pages and set it aside. ‘Suppose I should ask about the new job.’
‘I got a promotion,’ I said. ‘They’ve expanded my role.’ I threw the patty pan from the cake at the bin. It went straight in but Sharon didn’t notice. ‘I’m working for the mayor now. Do you know Mayor Bainbridge? She’s Kimberly’s friend, but she’s very intelligent. She was a “Woman of Influence” last year. They only picked a hundred.’
‘Speaking of Kimberly,’ Sharon screwed her nose up. ‘Did you get her invitation?’
‘What invitation?’ I picked the icing off a second cupcake.
‘Germaine.’
‘What? I’m going to be really busy with my new job. I’ll probably be working most weekends.’
‘She’s your only cousin. Family’s important, no matter how unlikeable they are. Plus, I already said you’d go. It’s okay, you don’t have to buy a present. I’m getting them a Ugandan goat. Well, not them. I’m getting a Ugandan village a goat and I’ll give Kimberly the certificate.’
‘Sure you’re not just printing a certificate and pocketing the money?’
‘Shut up, Germaine.’ She gave me a look. ‘That was a one-off thing.’
18
The opportunity to help Don arose quicker than I’d imagined. On Monday the mayor sent an email to me and Francine. It read like a wartime telegram:
HAVE RECEIVED ANOTHER COMPLAINT RE CELIA BROWN. (Stop.) PLEASE EXPLAIN. (Stop.)
Francine came past five minutes later, her hair looking more frazzled than usual. ‘Are you busy?’ she said. ‘The mayor wants to see us.’
Stacey grimaced as we entered. She mouthed the words Not happy and waved us through. Francine pushed her glasses up on her nose, though they hadn’t fallen down.
In her office the mayor was glaring at her computer. ‘I thought we’d addressed this,’ she said, without looking over.
Francine hurried to sit down. ‘Has there been another complaint?’
‘Yes there has been another complaint.’ The mayor turned the monitor so Francine and I could see the screen.
It was a photograph, taken from the front steps of the golf club, looking towards the senior citizens centre and the car park in front of it. Normally, both were visible through the tall wire fence—but not now. The fence was covered in banners. There were dozens of them. They had black capital letters and ran for metres in each direction. CAR P
ARK FOR SENIOR CITIZENS CENTRE ACTIVITIES ONLY, said one. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED, said another.
‘Not sure how she plans to prosecute trespassers, given it’s a public car park.’ The mayor pressed her lips together.
I shook my head, incensed. All I could think about was Don—indignant on his behalf.
‘Don’s been very good about it,’ said the mayor, as though she could hear my thoughts, ‘but it’s more than a little embarrassing.’ She said she’d had the banners removed but they’d been there since at least Sunday morning. I didn’t say I was there on Saturday morning. Was that relevant? I didn’t think so.
When the mayor said, ‘This cannot continue,’ I was in complete agreement.
‘Rules are rules,’ I said.
‘We’ll have to think about our approach. If the papers get wind of it they’ll put some ridiculous spin on things and there’ll be hell to pay.’
Francine made a comment, something about waiting or giving another chance—I don’t know, I was too busy working out how to tell Celia. It would have to be person to person, face to face. ‘You’re fired,’ I’d say, pretty much the way Peter said it to me. This was different, of course: she deserved it.
The mayor picked up a pen and clicked it down. ‘Francine, you’re going to have to help with the communications. What’s the nicest way of saying, We’re shutting you down?’
Wait, what? Shutting them down?
It took a minute for the mayor’s words to sink in.
‘We’ve spoken about this before,’ said the mayor. ‘Haven’t we, Francine?’
Francine’s jaw had dropped. She was struggling to respond. ‘I’m not sure that’s what we’ve said, exactly.’
Unbidden, an image of homework club came into my head. What about Gladys and Betsy? And, to a lesser extent, Jin-Jin? The little boy Charlie whispered in my ear: I have so much potential, Germaine.
What were they doing, invading my private thoughts? I bit my lip. Concentrate on Don, I told myself.
‘We can shut it down.’ The mayor was firm. ‘And we will.’
The Helpline Page 10