The Helpline
Page 28
‘Never, though…it’s a little over the top, don’t you think, Germaine? I mean, it’s not like it would be impossible.’
‘Nothing’s impossible. Well, some things are, but not that. I suppose, hypothetically, if I were drunk. And probably you’d have to be drunk too—’
‘Yes—?’
‘Well, if we were both hypothetically drunk enough… Maybe. Possibly. Not saying yes, but potentially.’
He said nothing.
I said nothing back. We looked at the Saucepan for a while.
Then Jack said, ‘I’ll open another bottle, will I?’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Might as well.’
46
Two weeks later, Sharon was in my apartment. ‘Isn’t this fun?’ she said as she wrapped a plate in newspaper and put it in a box.
‘Not really.’ I eased an old sudoku workbook carefully into an individual plastic slip, then added a piece of cardboard backing to make sure it stayed flat. I didn’t want the edges to curl on the way to my destination.
When I told Sharon I was going on a pilgrimage to Japan, the spiritual home of sudoku, she said, ‘Did you lose your job again?’
‘I didn’t lose it; they ran out of work. I don’t think they expected me to achieve so much in such a short space of time.’
The morning after the ball, when I checked my email, there was a message from the mayor. The subject line was: YOU’RE FIRED.
The email elaborated:
As per the conditions of your employment, specifically Clause
4 regarding a probation period of six months, your contract is terminated—effective immediately.
Goodbye, Germaine.
Sharon folded the top of the box and pushed it to the side. ‘Have you heard from Kimberly?’ she said.
‘Not since last time.’
Cousin Kimberly had called a day later. ‘Fuck you, Germaine,’ she said, ‘and double fuck you if you think I’m ever helping you get a job again.’
Once again, I utilised my Wallace Insurance training. ‘I understand where you’re coming from, Kimberly,’ I said. ‘I’m hearing you.’
‘Verity’s not talking to me, Germaine. She said, I rue the day I ever gave that cousin of yours a job.’
‘She didn’t give me a job, Kimberly, I earned it. Hey, are you planning any parties or ceremonies in the next little while? I know a good catering company.’
I didn’t get a reply before she hung up.
I was sticking down the top of the plastic slip when there was a knock on the door. It was Jack. He’d offered to come and help Sharon and me. ‘I can drive your stuff to a storage facility if you like,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a friend with a van.’
Jack had seemed enthusiastic when he proposed this idea, but now, when he came in, his expression was glum. I asked him what the matter was.
‘Nothing.’ He hovered by the door, his head hanging like a burst football. ‘How long are you going for, again?’
‘Not sure. Depends how much I like it.’
‘Don’t outstay your welcome, Germaine,’ called Sharon from the kitchen. ‘Jin-Jin’s parents aren’t going to want you to live with them forever.’
I’d asked Jin-Jin if I could stay with her and her family in Japan. Accommodation there is horrifyingly expensive, and Jin-Jin was going home for the university holidays anyway. I told her I’d be a great guest, they wouldn’t even notice I was there except for when they had to come along and translate things for me.
Sharon came out of the kitchen and said hi to Jack. ‘It’s nice of you help,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it, Germaine?’
I was busy putting another workbook inside a plastic slip, which required concentration and a steady hand. When Sharon nudged me, it knocked the corner out. ‘Aren’t you going to thank Jack for coming?’ she said.
‘He hasn’t done anything yet,’ I pointed out.
‘Germaine.’
‘What?’
Jack was still by the door, standing with his hands by his sides. All of a sudden he reached behind his back and out of nowhere appeared a single rose, wrapped in brown paper. He must have had it tucked into the back of his shorts.
He held it out. ‘This is for you.’
‘What’s it for?’
‘I don’t know, I just…saw it.’
I went and took it from him, holding the stem with two fingers, like pincers—I didn’t know precisely how it had been positioned in relation to his underwear.
‘Don’t know where I’ll put it,’ I said, looking around for a receptacle.
‘Go and get a glass from the kitchen,’ bossed Sharon.
‘You go and get a glass.’
Sharon turned to Jack. ‘You’re too good for her, Jack. Honestly. She’s not worth it.’
That’s what she said. My own mother.
When Sharon returned with the glass of water she put the rose in it and set it on the mantelpiece, next to Gauss and Archimedes. Then she went and got her handbag. ‘I’m going for a coffee.’ Sharon didn’t normally drink coffee; she must have just started.
After Sharon slammed the door, Jack sat on the couch and took his cap off. It held its shape, a curved outer, like half his head was still inside.
‘I wish you weren’t going so soon. We’ve only just…’ His voice trailed off and he looked at the floor. Trying to hide the welling tears, probably—I watched closely, hoping I’d see one drop—because he’d been very emotional about my leaving.
He said for the eleventh time, ‘Why don’t you wait until after Christmas? I could get leave for all of January.’
‘Because I want to be there for Sudo-Con.’
‘But there’s another Sudo-Con then. If you waited, we could go together.’
‘You and me?’ No tears yet, but I could sense a lot of pent-up emotion. Maybe I could tip him over the edge…
‘What about your mum?’ I said.
‘She’d be okay. Marie will be there.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I meant.’ Imagine living with Marie Curie all the time.
For a bit we didn’t speak; Jack was presumably too distraught.
Maybe now was the time to tell him I wasn’t going anywhere. Not anywhere international, I mean. Japan is horrifyingly expensive full stop. I wasn’t going to waste that kind of money on stuff I could see in a book.
But I was moving, and I wanted to surprise Jack with the location: it was a romantic gesture. Those aren’t easily quantifiable, of course. There’s no international standard unit of measurement, for a start. But turning up on someone’s doorstep, the family home they can’t leave because their mother is so unwell, with everything you own would have to be one of the biggest. The floor plan would be a challenge but if we pushed Jack’s single bed up against the wall near the bathroom, my double could go in the middle of the room, in front of the TV.
Jack said, ‘I’ll miss you, Germaine.’
‘Do you wish I was staying?’
‘It’d be nice to spend some time together, that’s all. You know, hang out a little.’
‘Or a lot,’ I said.
‘Well, you know. A reasonable amount. You don’t want to get sick of each other.’
‘No, you don’t want to live in each other’s pockets,’ I said with a very serious expression.
Then I had to grab a cushion off the couch and stuff my face into it, so he couldn’t see me laughing.
He was going to be so excited when he found out.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My deepest thanks to:
My agent, Jacinta di Mase, who was enthusiastic about this book early on, and has been instrumental in making great things happen. I feel very lucky to have you in my corner.
My editor, Mandy Brett, who not only got the jokes, but made them infinitely better. You said I would learn a lot, and I have. Thank you for making The Helpline the best version of itself, but also me a better writer.
To Mandy, publisher Michael Heyward and the team at Text—this has been a dream and
I am very grateful.
My writers’ group, Kate Mildenhall, Kim Hood, Emily Brewin and Meg Dunley, who provide the kind of support and friendship that goes well beyond writing and books. Also, to very early readers Alice Drew and Kate Harding.
The ACT Writers Centre, via their Hardcopy program.
Varuna, the Writers’ House, where parts of this novel were written.
Students and teachers in the Associate Degree in Professional Writing and Editing at RMIT, where parts of The Helpline were workshopped.
Cathy and Peter Rogers, for the use of Musk farm, a very special place.
Stan and Marianna Kucharski who have provided much in the way of practical help and support, and whose family I feel very lucky to be a part of.
My parents, for all the books, even the ones that were too old for me. Thanks for your encouragement and enthusiasm, and the many (many) things you’ve done to help along the way.
Matilda and Oscar, for making life more fun, more interesting, and me a better person.
But most of all, to Carney, who, more than anyone, has listened, supported, provided perspective and only occasionally asked, ‘Are you finished yet?’ Carney, if not for you, I would never have started writing this in the first place. Thank you.
Katherine Collette is a writer and environmental engineer. She lives in Melbourne with her husband and two children. The Helpline is her first novel.
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Copyright © 2018 by Katherine Collette
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First published in 2018 by The Text Publishing Company
Book design by Jessica Horrocks
Cover images by iStock and Shutterstock
Typeset in Granjon 13/18 by J & M Typesetting
ISBN: 9781925603606 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781925626643 (ebook)
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia