The Helpline

by Katherine Collette

  ‘You’re not…overly invested in this Don person, are you?’

  I raised my chin. ‘We’re invested in each other.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  I put the cushion aside and went to get up.

  Sharon tried to stop me. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I’m only asking. Germaine, come on. Don’t be like that. It’s only…you do have a history of reading things into things that aren’t there…You have a way of latching on.’

  This was why I didn’t tell Sharon anything. She made me sound like a piece of unwanted Velcro.

  ‘Germaine, I don’t want you to be disappointed, that’s all. Come on, sit down. It’s not worth getting upset about…You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Who cares? Those old people sound boring anyway. And they’ll be dead soon. Or incapacitated.’

  Typical Sharon, always being negative. ‘They’re very nice people, actually. They’re interesting, I quite like them.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. I can’t win.’

  28

  I was back at Sharon’s house the next day to pick her up for Kimberly’s vow-renewal ceremony. I got there ten minutes late just to spite her. Unfortunately, she didn’t notice. I ignored her in the car. She didn’t notice that either.

  Kimberly’s vow-renewal ceremony went for an hour and forty-five minutes and differed from her wedding only by orders of magnitude: it was bigger, longer and more elaborate. There were two ring bearers, four flower girls and a dozen doves, which Uncle Barry released when the priest said, ‘You may kiss the bride.’

  Afterwards, everyone stood in the courtyard eating hors d’oeuvres and having drinks while we waited for the dinner to start. Kimberly flitted around in a dress made of taffeta and lace with 817 glittering diamantes hand-sewn across the bodice. She whispered the precise number to us when we congratulated her at the end of the ceremony.

  ‘I bet it came from a sweatshop in China. That would be just like Kimberly. They work in appalling conditions, the Chinese. Sometimes they can’t even see what they’re doing, the room is so dim.’

  I looked around for a waiter.

  ‘Germaine, are you going to talk to me?’

  ‘Sure. What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘Look. I’m sorry if I implied that Don wasn’t invested in you.’

  ‘You didn’t imply, you said he wasn’t invested in me.’

  ‘Fine. Sorry if I said he wasn’t invested in you.’ She moved her face in front of mine so I had to look at her. ‘I’d like to meet him,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know if he wants to meet you.’

  ‘Perhaps you could ask.’

  I swished my drink. Some of the ice thawed. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  At that point Kimberly swanned over to say hello and tell us she was glad we could make it. Channelling the mayor, but not completely, I muttered a perfunctory Thanks for having us.

  Sharon told Kimberly she looked nice, which was diplomatic of her.

  ‘I’d want to look good,’ said Kimberly. ‘Been working out with a PT for the past twelve weeks. That’s a personal trainer, Auntie Sharon. Dropped three kilos and toned up. You wouldn’t have thought I’d have three kilos to lose, would you? Well, I did. It was carbs. No carbs after five and the weight just fell off. That’s how you do it—carbs. Most effective way to lose weight.’

  Being around Kimberly brought out my corrective instinct.

  ‘Wrong,’ I said. ‘Quitting carbs wouldn’t be the most effective way to lose weight. Most effective would be starvation. Don’t eat anything. That would make you lose the most weight.’

  ‘Yeah, fasting works. Gastro’s pretty good too,’ said Kimberly. ‘I got gastro last time I went to Bali and I was like a Czech gymnast when I got back.’

  ‘Great,’ said Sharon as a cool breeze blew across the courtyard. The three of us were standing in front of the glass wall that looked into the dining room. All the tables and chairs were covered in white linen and the centrepiece of each was a glass bowl with goldfish in it. Sharon asked what was happening to the fish when the reception was over.

  ‘Don’t worry about them, Auntie Sharon,’ said Kimberly. ‘Those fish are only worth about eighty cents each. The pebbles and seaweed probably cost more than that.’

  Sharon’s knuckles went white around her wine glass. ‘Is that a joke?’

  ‘No, seriously. Eighty cents.’ Kimberly picked up a savoury mini cronut as the waiter went past. ‘Eating all the carbs I can now. Yeah, we’ll chuck the fish out at the end of the night. Staff can take them home if they want, but I’m not going to.’

  Sharon’s corrective instinct also began to surface. ‘Kimberly. You can’t do that, they’re living things.’

  ‘What? Oh, I forgot. You’re a vegetarian, aren’t you? Vegetarian? Vegan. That’s where you don’t wear leather, isn’t it? God, I could never not wear leather. Can you imagine only owning synthetic shoes? Well, I suppose you can.’

  I thought Sharon would have something more to say but suddenly she was incapable of speech. Not that Kimberly noticed. She turned to me. ‘How’s work, Germaine? Hope you’re not embarrassing me.’

  ‘I got a promotion,’ I told her.

  ‘Verity says she likes you. She’s very polite, though. She’d never say anything bad. I just hope you’re not, you know…I hope you’re not overthinking things.’

  ‘What do you mean by “overthinking”?’ I said. ‘It’s all just thinking, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not saying don’t think, I’m just saying…You can’t think about everything, can you? If everyone thought about everything all the time then nothing would ever happen, would it?’ She finished the cronut and wiped her hands on a napkin. ‘It’s like those goldfish. It’s not my problem what happens to them, is it? All I want is a few beautiful centrepieces for my big day. If I thought about what happened to the goldfish afterwards then I probably wouldn’t have got them and if I hadn’t got them then I wouldn’t have all those beautiful centrepieces. You see? Point is sometimes it’s better not to think too much.’

  All of a sudden I felt sorry for the goldfish. They were only a few stupid guppies, but it didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t their fault they’d ended up at Kimberly’s reception.

  I looked across at Sharon. Something seemed to pass between us. Not only a shared defiance; it had a noble quality to it too. I felt lighter inside.

  Kimberly was still talking. ‘There’s sorbet for dessert, ladies. You’d be happy about that, Auntie Sharon. No animals died in the making of it.’

  Kimberly said later we made a big song and dance about nothing but I thought we were quite discreet. During the bridal waltz I asked a waiter for two garbage bags. We put one inside the other and walked from table to table, pouring the fish in. We tied the bags at the top, and they sat on my lap during the speeches. Then Sharon held them in the car on the way home. The water sloshed when we went around the corners.

  We opened the front door and Sharon went into her bathroom and put the plug in the bath. The water rose and the fish went in, plink-plonk, plink-plonk, thirty-seven times.

  I peered down at them. ‘Are they still alive?’

  ‘There’s two dead ones.’ She fished the bodies out with a tea strainer. ‘But the rest seem okay. Poor little things. Your cousin’s an idiot. I mean, please.’ She swished the water with her hand. ‘I’ll have to get them some plants in the morning…I think Marion’s got a spare tank. She used to have fish.’

  ‘A tank?’ I looked at them dubiously. There were an awful lot of them.

  ‘You might be right…Maybe I should dig a pond? Give them some room.’

  We stared at the golden blobs swimming around. They had no idea we were there. I felt benevolent, like a parent wanting the best for them. Like some parents.

  I looked at Sharon, kneeling on the floor, one hand trailing through the water, the other resting on the side of the bath.

  Photographs had long revealed that Sharon and I possessed a similar
side profile. But that was the only thing we had in common. Other than nose shape, we were opposites. She had blonde hair and mine was brown. She tanned easily; I burned. She liked fish but, to be honest, I didn’t. All they did was blink and swim around. Nothing would change in my life if they all died. And yet, their presence at this moment seemed to expand it somehow.

  Sharon touched my leg. ‘That one reminds me of you.’

  An orange one with brown splotches was hanging back on its own at the tap end. ‘Because none of the others likes it?’

  ‘No.’ Sharon gave me a look. ‘Because it’s got a big head. Lots of brains.’

  Yes, lots of brains. Not much of anything else. That’s how I was. Even if I did save a few fish one time, it didn’t mean it was going to become a pattern.

  ‘It’s eleven o’clock,’ said Sharon. ‘You probably have to get home.’

  But it was late and I was tired. ‘Maybe I’ll stay over. For safety reasons. It’s very dark.’

  Sharon was pleased with my risk-averse behaviour. ‘I’d like that. You could help me dig the pond in the morning.’

  We never did things together. It never seemed to work out when I spent too much time with Sharon. But maybe… for the fish?

  I wasn’t what you’d call an ichthyophile but perhaps, deep inside, I had the capacity for loving fish. Or liking them. Even just noticing they were there. Maybe a fish had something to offer, inherently, without trying.

  ±

  In bed, I thought about Don. I was having second thoughts about him, which are generally the opposite of first thoughts. If a first thought was black, a second thought might be white. Or if a first thought was: Don wouldn’t do anything wrong. A second thought might be: he has before.

  But this was different. In this instance, Don would have known there was a chance I might be implicated if things got found out; I could get in trouble. He wouldn’t sacrifice our relationship, a relationship he personally had progressed by coming to see me, for his own personal profit.

  Would he?

  Talking to Sharon had made me paranoid. I reminded myself Don thought I was—quote—‘great’. He wouldn’t have said that unless he meant it, and he wouldn’t have come to see me if he didn’t want to.

  But then…

  He hadn’t come back.

  I had this sticky memory, one I was trying to let go of…I’d told Don the centre was rundown. It was just a passing comment, and everyone knew already, however the audit had been announced quite quickly afterwards. Was this also a coincidence? Did I really believe in them? Professor Douglas didn’t.

  I rolled onto my back and started counting the cracks on the ceiling. One, two…

  I kept trying to focus on the cracks and, when I couldn’t focus on them, on the weight of the blanket, and on the goldfish. When this didn’t work I tried to identify the positives in the situation.

  Once the seniors centre was closed, I’d have all my spare time back. Not going to homework club meant I could do other things, like sudoku or tidy my apartment. I wouldn’t have to talk to Jin-Jin all the time or let Charlie win at Trivial Pursuit anymore. With all this new time, maybe I really would take up golf? I wasn’t sure if I’d like golf but I was willing to try. If Don was involved.

  Don…

  What would Sharon think of Don? She hadn’t liked Peter, the one time they met. She tried, though. She wore a brown suit without me even asking, and her hair in a bun. I was touched. She eyed his unusually dark hair and said to him, ‘I’ve often wondered what sort of person Germaine would end up with.’

  ‘Well, keep wondering,’ he said.

  29

  Sharon and I got up the next morning feeling enthusiastic. About everything: breakfast, putting on old clothes, getting the shovels out of the shed. It was just unfortunate our enthusiasm didn’t assist us with an effective digging technique. Also, we were both better at bossing than we were at being bossed.

  ‘Sharon, you need to put your body weight into it. You have to really push it in.’

  ‘If you’d managed to remove more than a cubic centimetre of soil I might take on board what you had to say, but I don’t see a lot of anything happening over there.’

  We persevered for a while but it was very difficult.

  Mid-morning we decided a tank with regulated temperature would be better for the fish.

  Marion said she’d come over and drop it off in the afternoon.

  Sharon and I made tea and we sat on the porch to drink it. ‘That was fun,’ she said and I agreed. We hadn’t achieved anything at all, but I felt better than I had in days. Somewhere between the wedding and digging (not-digging) the pond, the feeling of restlessness and anxiety had dissipated.

  Sharon patted Barney. ‘Hope Kimberly likes her goat.’

  ‘She’ll hate it.’

  ‘I know.’ Sharon gave a gleeful laugh. It reminded me of Celia.

  Sharon would have liked Celia. She would have liked Betsy and Gladys too. And Jin-Jin, and Charlie and Jack. Maybe even Eva.

  ‘I don’t want them to sell the senior citizens centre,’ I said, not looking at her. ‘But I understand why they have to.’ Once you understood something you couldn’t suddenly not understand.

  ‘Okay,’ said Sharon.

  ‘There are incoming expenses and outgoing expenses and they have to balance. It’s got nothing to do with people.’

  ‘You really are a monster—’ She went to laugh but I cut her off.

  ‘Stop saying that.’

  Sharon recoiled. ‘Fine, I won’t say anything. I won’t talk. I’ll just sit here and be quiet.’ She crossed her arms and pouted.

  I should have known that brief period of companionship wouldn’t last. We were too different; I put it down to the Douglas in me. The Douglas was the dominant gene pool. Hers were all recessive—like the hair.

  ‘The Douglas?’ said Sharon. I hadn’t realised I’d spoken aloud. ‘You’re not going on about the Douglas again, are you?’

  I shrugged. The truth of it was, I’d long since given up caring about Professor John Douglas. He was most likely deceased and anyway, one-sided caring isn’t very satisfying; you’re better off forming a relationship with a plank of wood. At least you can touch it if you want to, or make a bookcase.

  But I couldn’t deny Professor Douglas had had an influence on me. There was part of him in me; I was how I was because of him. A leopard can’t change its spots; a prime number’s always indivisible.

  ‘Oh, Germaine.’ Sharon looked at me with a mixture of pity and condescension. ‘I probably should have said this a while ago…John Douglas isn’t your father.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘No.’ She looked uncharacteristically grave. ‘He’s not.’

  I stared at her. The dog was still.

  ‘He’s not your father. I know, I know. I should have told you sooner. Look, it was a joke and it got out of hand.’

  ‘No…wait…my father, he’s Professor John Douglas. He is.’

  ‘No. Douglas is just some guy you saw in the paper when you were little. You were the one that decided he was your father, I just went along with it. Wasn’t until later I realised it had kind of…set. What’s it matter anyway?’

  I couldn’t compute what she was saying. I felt like an Excel sheet with an error code, a loop where the summation of the loop mistakenly includes the cell doing the summing.

  ‘So who is my father?’

  ‘Sperm donor. Don’t know much about him, to be honest.’

  ‘Don’t know…He could be anyone?’

  My father was an unknown variable.

  And I was…I wasn’t sure what I was. Right now I was aghast. ‘What is wrong with you?’ I said.

  ‘My therapist says—’

  ‘You’re the monster. You are.’

  ‘I won’t do it again.’ Sharon didn’t look at all contrite. ‘I don’t know why you’re so upset. You’re a bit old to have daddy issues.’

  I realised there were noises coming
out of my mouth. It was opening and closing; I felt like the rescue guppies in the bath.

  IF (Germaine [did not] = [descent of] John Douglas), then what did Germaine = ?

  I felt…I had no idea what I felt.

  ‘Germaine?’ said Sharon in a small voice.

  ‘What.’

  ‘You’re not a monster. You’re just a bit unusual. Which is good. I wouldn’t want you to be the same as everyone else.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘Sure.’

  I drove home, a quiet drive through quiet streets. Numb. There was no Douglas in me. No Douglas, none at all.

  Who was I?

  Everything had changed and nothing had. I felt like the mediaeval people must have felt, living their whole lives thinking the world was flat and then being told it wasn’t. It must have been hard to accept the idea, even when the proof was explained.

  How could I not be the scion of John Douglas? What about our similarities? He was a mathematics professor and I was good at maths. And…

  There were others, surely. I couldn’t think of them. Was that all? The list did not seem comprehensive.

  I was intending to drive home but, distracted, made a wrong turn and by chance ended up near the town hall. Then I found myself going down the side street by the oval and turning and before I knew it I was at the golf club.

  Don seemed extra enthusiastic to see me. I wished Sharon was there to witness his excitement. ‘Look who it is,’ he said. ‘My favourite council worker.’

  Was I, though? Was I?

  I stood in front of him, looking at his innocent face. I was one hundred per cent sure I trusted him. I didn’t think he’d do anything illegal or that might compromise our relationship.

  Ninety-five per cent sure.

  It used to be, if there was a degree of uncertainty about something, I’d say to myself: what would Professor John Douglas do in this situation? I only meant: would he be satisfied with the level of proof? But now that was irrelevant. What did it matter what he thought? I only had to answer to myself. Was I satisfied?

  I’d proved it to Sharon using probability statements but I could reduce the level of uncertainty further by asking questions.