Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect

by Knights, Sarah Catherine

  “Just that he wanted to sell, but you didn’t and he doesn’t think you’d want to – that you’re used to your lifestyle …”

  “When we talked about selling the house, it was him who seemed to reluctant … I was happy to move, to downsize. God, what’s going on?”

  I look up at the diamonds above us and say, “Jane, I think he’s really in need of a change. He said he can’t breathe … those were his words. He can’t breathe.”

  “Oh God,” says Jane and her eyes glitter like the stars, with tears. I put my arms around her.

  “We need to do something, don’t we?”

  “Yes, I think you do.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The next morning, Jane wakes me early. “Quick, get your camera, Anna. Quick.”

  I jump out of bed in a daze, wondering what’s the matter, and then I see why Jane’s called me. I pull back the cabin curtains and all along the river, a thick white mist hangs suspended, just above the water. It looks truly magical and I grab my camera and go outside.

  “This is amazing … it looks … dreamlike.” The early morning light adds to the magical luminescence of the scene. The pelicans shift in and out of sight, shrouded by clouds of whiteness. I take lots of pictures, but then stop and just simply look – I try to sear it into my memory. Cameras are great, but sometimes you need to look with your eyes and not through a lens. I can’t see the river banks, apart from skeletal trees poking through the cloudiness. It’s as if we’re floating in cotton wool.

  It passes, dissipating gently, so I go to shower and get myself presentable. I look at my reflection in the mirror – my cheekbones are more prominent and my skin has a healthy glow. I put on a bit of mascara and liner and even a bit of lipstick.

  “Hey, look at you,” says Jane, when I emerge. “Who are you trying to impress?”

  “Myself,” I laugh.

  “We’re going to go the same way for a few more hours and then we’re turning round, so that we can moor up for the night at Dan’s place. Do you remember those shacks we passed back there?”

  “Well, they’re hardly what I’d call ‘shacks’.”

  “No, they’re not shacks now, but they were, years back. It’s ‘Aussie’ for a house by the river now, even though some of them are glass and metal monuments to modernity. Dan’s place isn’t showy, it’s just ordinary, but it’s not a shack.”

  “What time’s he expecting us?”

  “I said about four. But he’s about as laid back as anyone I’ve ever met. If you want to meet an archetypal Aussie guy, Dan’s it! Never been known to wear a proper pair of shoes, doesn’t possess a pair of trousers and always wears an Akubra.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The hat … you know, the hat. Oh … and he’ll probably call you ‘Mate’ all the time. So … he wouldn’t mind if we turn up next week. He’ll have the tinnies cooling, that’s for sure.”

  I was intrigued to meet this guy. So far, I’d only met ‘real’ Aussies, in shops. Marcus and Jane didn’t count, as they were Brits at heart. I could hear their Aussie accent and upward inflection, but they wore their Britishness for all to see.

  “He sounds like a cross between Paul Hogan and Steve Irwin. Does he wrestle crocs?”

  “Not quite, but he loves the bush – every year, he goes to the Birdsville horse races in the middle of the bush, thousands of miles from civilisation. We’ve never been, but he’s always telling us to go. Maybe, one day … it would be an adventure.” It sounded a bit too adventurous for me – would I be able to drive across dirt tracks for hundreds of miles, without worrying about the car breaking down? I don’t know … in my present frame of mind, I feel anything’s possible.

  Marcus backs us out of our mooring and we head off down river again. The weather’s hot and Jane and I sunbathe on the top deck. The river is busier than yesterday – a few jet skis fly past, disturbing our peace and making the houseboat jiggle up and down. Then, in the far distance, we see a huge boat coming towards us; it turns out to be the Murray Princess paddle steamer – a huge version of our boat, painted in maroon and white, with a giant water wheel at the back.

  As it passes us, we wave to all the people on deck and watch the water cascading and rushing like a waterfall, from the wheel. Our boat is then buffeted by some serious wake and we bob slowly up and down for a while.

  “I’m glad we’re on our own – I wouldn’t want to be on that. Too many people,” I say to Jane.

  “It’s expensive too … we did look into it, but it’s more fun this way.”

  “Certainly is,” I say, as I drift, once again, into a light slumber.

  *

  We arrive at Dan’s shack at about five; the current has made our progress even slower going back – it felt as if I could have hopped on one leg faster than the boat was going. Marcus manoeuvres it expertly in and as he does so, Dan appears, waving, as he walks across the vast expanse of communal grass that’s in front of the line of shacks. Tall gum trees stand majestically on the land; Dan’s wooden mooring platform, serves as our point of disembarkation.

  He is exactly how I imagined; as he nears the boat, I can see his craggy features, his broad smile, his muscly physique. He’s wearing khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, leather thongs and the Aussie hat. His hair, a kind of straw colour, straggles out. As he looks up at the boat, I notice his piercing green eyes.

  “G’day mate,” he shouts to Marcus. “Good trip?”

  “Great. Looking forward to some beer,” says Marcus, as he flings the rope over to Dan, who catches it expertly and ties it, in seconds, round a convenient trunk.

  “Hey, Jane – is that yer sister?”

  “Yep, Anna, meet Dan.” I hop down the small gang plank and Dan throws his arms around me, like a long lost friend. His arms are amazingly strong and I’m squeezed, in a vice like grip.

  I’m aware that I sound so English when I say, “Hi Dan, nice to meet you.” He eventually lets me go and holding my shoulders at arm’s length, he studies my face and says, “Yer look just like y’sister, mate, only prettier!”

  “Thanks, Dan,” says Jane, slapping him affectionately on the shoulder. “Nice to see you, too.”

  He then envelops Jane in his arms and lifting her up, he puts her over his shoulder and runs up the grass towards the house, with her screaming and banging his back with her fists. I look at Marcus to see how he’s reacting, but he’s totally unfazed, as he walks up the grass, carrying bags of booze.

  There are a couple of other people and a dog on this open area; the dog comes bounding up to me and pushes his nose into my hand. It’s a cross-breed – a labradoodle or cockerpoo or some such breed that used to be called a mongrel. I stroke its head and a longing for Gaz reaches out to me across the space of thousands of miles, as I feel the warm fur and cold nose. I’ve tried to bury his presence in my memory, to let him lie at peace there, but at moments like this, he rises like a spirit to lick my hand and wag his tail. Tears appear from nowhere and as I walk on, I try to brush them away, along with his face.

  “Y’all right, mate?” says Dan. He has now put Jane down and he’s striding back towards me to take a bag I’m carrying. He looks at me directly.

  “Yea, I’m fine. Seeing that dog back there … it er … reminded me of my Gaz.” Dan is more sensitive than he looks, I think to myself.

  “What happened to him?” he asks.

  “Cancer.”

  “Bummer,” he says simply and squeezes my shoulder. I like the way he doesn’t ask me any more questions. I’m sure I couldn’t answer them right now.

  “Yea … bummer,” I say.

  *

  The barby is on, the boys are clutching some cold tinnies and two glasses of white wine are sitting on the wooden table on the patio. We chat about life on the river and Dan regales us with stories of fishing and boats.

  Jane and Dan wander inside, to do something with the food; Marcus and I stand next to each other, surveying the scene. Corellas are darting the
ir noisy way to the trees, white streaks in the sky – the whole area alive with their screeching. The other people and their dog have disappeared; we have the whole area to ourselves. Our boat sits idly on the river at the end of Dan’s plot, surrounded by little groups of pelicans; swallows are swooping low over the water and the sun is beginning to paint the sky a rosy pink.

  “Wow,” I say. “What a place. I feel so peaceful.”

  Marcus doesn’t say anything for a while; he takes a swig from his beer and says, “It’s beautiful. I could live here.”

  “What’s Dan’s situation? How come he’s on his own?”

  “His wife died about five years ago – cancer – and he’s never appeared to want to find someone else.”

  Now I understand the empathy I felt – poor guy. I look back into the house to make sure Dan isn’t within hearing distance; I don’t want him to think we’re talking about him, which we are, of course.

  “So what’s he do?”

  “He spends a lot of time here, fishing and moseying around on the river. He’s got a house in Hove too, but prefers it here. He owns three surf shops, but he’s got life hacked – he’s got good managers.”

  “Sounds like a nice life,” I say, “but – don’t forget … he’s lost his wife … he may seem okay on the surface, but I bet he’s lonely … at least you’ve got Jane.” I wonder if I’ve said too much, but he doesn’t appear to mind.

  “I know … I just wish I could somehow get out of the rat race; I’d be perfectly content somewhere like this.”

  The corellas have stopped their screaming; the peace, however, is broken by a loud sound that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up – two kookaburras, one in a tree just near us and one further away, are calling to each other. It’s the first time I’ve heard the sound since I’ve arrived, and I can't believe how deafening it is and how like a laugh it really is. They cackle to each other three or four times, their noise echoing around the whole area.

  “That’s brilliant! It’s made my day,” I say to Marcus, grinning. To an Australian, it’s nothing I suppose, but it’s such an alien noise to me. I wish I could bottle it and take it home with me, along with the sight and smells of this place.

  “Okay, mate,” says Dan, ambling out of the house, “Marcus, come and help me burn the snags.” He has a plateful of sausages and behind him, Jane is carrying another plate of meat.

  “We’ve got enough food to sink the boat here,” she says. “I think Dan was expecting ravening hordes.”

  “Nah … but I believe in having enough tucker … I can always eat it tomorrow, when you’ve gone, mate.”

  The empty bottles of beer are steadily accumulating by the door of the kitchen. Dan and Marcus are cooking and Jane takes me inside and shows me around the house. It’s homely, but lacks a woman’s touch: things are strewn messily around and the bathroom looks like it could do with a good scrub. It has a balcony upstairs, so we go out and stand on it, looking down at the smoke drifting upwards from the barby; there are a few lit candles on the tables now and moths and insects are flying near the lights attached to the outside walls. The steady presence of the river rolling by, adds to the surreal feel.

  “Marcus loves it here, you know, Jane. He was telling me how he’d be content (his word, not mine) if he lived somewhere like this. I hope I’m not being presumptuous but, here’s an idea for you – maybe you could sell up and buy a small place near where you are now and something along this part of the river?”

  “Maybe … I’m not sure I’d want to live here permanently, though.”

  “No, of course not … but it could be a compromise – a bit of sea and city life and then weekends, here. It might just be what Marcus needs. You can do your work anywhere, can’t you?”

  “That’s true. It’s a thought, Anna. Perhaps we could buy something that needs a lot of renovation. Marcus used to say he’d love to do something up.”

  “There you are, then … you should suggest it.” We stare ahead and I put my arm around her, pulling her in towards me. She puts her head on my shoulder.

  “It’s so good to have you here … I’ll miss you when you’ve gone, you know,” she says.

  “I’ll miss you, too … but now I’m a lady of leisure, maybe I’ll be able to come again. We mustn't let distance come between us again. I’m realising all sorts of things while I’m here – I haven’t made enough effort with you, or David …”

  “Don’t go blaming yourself for David’s …”

  “No, I’m not blaming myself, as such, but … I was so … so … middle-aged, so boring … so accepting of my life …”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “No … as long as you’re not blind to other people. David needed something from me that I wasn’t able … or willing to give. I didn’t see how unhappy he was … if I’d been a better wife, he wouldn’t have felt the need to …”

  “Look, Anna, he chose to act, to fall in love, he …”

  “That’s what I mean …”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I mean, sometimes in life, you have to take drastic steps to change things. He chose to change things. And maybe he was right to … did I want to continue living like we were? I thought I was happy, but looking back, I don’t think I was. Hardly noticing each other … what would it have been like, just the two of us, with Adam gone? Two people living in the same house … that’s it … existing. Me, hating my job … putting on weight … him, resenting me … maybe he’s done us all a favour? Here I am, in Australia – reconnecting with my sister – he and Adam are now communicating, which they weren’t before. I can see now, the change has been good. Being so far away from everything familiar, has opened my eyes.

  I’m going to stop being bitter and twisted about Suzie. I’ve been jealous of her … her youth and her sexiness. I’ve been horrible to David, but somehow, now, from a distance, I don’t care so much, anymore. They’re having a baby together … and I want to be able to be happy for them. Maybe all those years we had together were our … allotted time. Maybe there was a predestined time limit. Whatever it is, I can see that it’s … over. I’ve met Ben, I’ve moved to Bath. I’m going to enjoy my future, whatever it holds, without David. I was quietly sleepwalking into old age and I didn’t even realise it, until now. Australia’s woken me up.

  Maybe it’s time for you to make a big change too. Time to reassess. Do you want to continue on this path, with Marcus blatantly unhappy and slowly killing himself, or do you want to make your marriage work? For you, it’s different – the thing that’s coming between you two is Life, not another woman. Why don’t you go to those races with Dan, in the wilds of the bush? Why don’t you visit me, in England? It would be amazing …” I turn to look at her and she looks back at me, smiling.

  “When did you become so bloody wise and philosophical?” she laughs, leaning forward to kiss my cheek.

  “I don’t know … it’s just crept up on me … I feel like a lifestyle guru,” I laugh. “It’s just that I can see things from a new perspective, I suppose, and I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. You’re my little sister and I’m looking out for you.”

  “What do you suggest I do, then?”

  “Well … I think you ought to say you want to sell your house; that you’ve ‘seen the light’ and that you both need a change. He thinks you want to stay and I know he wants to sell. It will take the pressure off him … if you suggest it.”

  “Yea, you’re right.”

  Looking down, I can see Dan walking to the table, carrying a tray of cooked meat.

  “Hey, you girls up there … get your arses down here, the food’s ready,” shouts Dan. “You sheilas, you’re all the same … leaving us men to do all the work …”

  “Yea, right,” says Jane, smiling, and we turn to go downstairs.

  *

  We’ve all eaten and drunk loads – I feel I don’t have much right to preach about the amount my brother
-in-law is eating and drinking, right now. My waistband feels tight and my head’s fuzzy. We’ve talked and laughed for an hour – I’ve noticed how happy Marcus seems. He and Dan get on so well: Dan taking the piss out of him relentlessly and Marcus belly laughing, like I’ve never seen him do before.

  Dan suggests we go for a walk – the whole river frontage belongs to the people in the fifteen or so shacks ranging along its length; everyone maintains and looks after their ‘bit’ and the end result is a massive area of manicured grass, with huge gum trees distributed around. The trees have a ghost-like presence now, silhouetted against the blackening sky; bats flutter through the air above us and a lone owl hoots, in the distance.

  We wander past several shacks; most of them appear to be empty.

  “Is it always this quiet, here?” I ask Dan. “No one seems about.”

  “People tend to come at weekends … sometimes there’s bloody people everywhere. Hate the buggers. I much prefer it when I’m here on my own.”

  “Thanks!” says Jane, trying to trip Dan up.

  “Present company excepted,” laughs Dan.

  “Isn’t it a bit lonely here, though?” I say.

  “Nah … just me and the pelicans. That’s good.”

  In the looming light, the empty shacks look almost menacing. We’ve nearly reached the end of the grassed area, when I notice a ‘For Sale’ sign, sticking up in front of the second to last house. I nudge Jane in the ribs, not wanting to say anything and point to it. Her eyes follow my gaze and to my surprise she says, “Hey, Marcus, there’s one for sale. Maybe we should buy it!”

  I hope it’s not the drink talking – maybe she’s really taken on board what I said.

  “Yea, the old guy who owns it, has just died and his kids don’t want it,” says Dan. “It’s a bit of a bloody mess – he’s had it for years and not done anything to it. In need on renovation, is putting it politely.”

  Marcus walks up to the house and we all start peering through windows, but it’s too dark now to see anything. Even in the near darkness, however, you get the impression of a neglected house – bits of wood litter the front, tyres are piled at the side and a table is upended on the grass.