The Naked Drinking Club

by Rhona Cameron

‘There’s not meant to be much going on. I mean, that’s the idea, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s banal, I think.’

  I didn’t respond to banal; I couldn’t, I didn’t know what it meant.

  ‘I feel empty,’ I said instead.

  ‘It’s very empty.’

  ‘Very, yeah, it’s meant to be, it’s how I feel.’

  She snapped away some more.

  I stayed still behind the sunglasses I was wearing. The others chatted away in the background, oblivious to us.

  ‘But you know something?’ She kept clicking, not looking up from her camera.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to buy it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. But I want you to sign it.’

  ‘It is signed.’

  ‘I want you to sign it.’ She looked up from the camera and over the top of her sunglasses. I didn’t feel the need to say any more on the subject. Everything fell into place for me at that moment; I understood exactly what was happening. The sunglasses made the wearer have more insight into what was going on, and a sense of power; that’s why I sold when I was wearing a pair, and that’s why Nick bought the unicorn when he was without them. And that’s why Robin had found me out only when she put her sunglasses on. I didn’t want to take off whoever’s glasses I had on, in case things started going wrong for me.

  Robin went to remove her glasses. I put my hand out to stop her, but it was too late. She too would be weakened now.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘One hundred and fifteen bucks.’

  ‘One hundred and fifty, there.’ She pressed money into my hand. ‘I’m giving you a bit more because my brother should have; he can afford it, trust me.’

  ‘Let’s take a bottle and go inside,’ I said, nudging her.

  ‘OK.’

  We walked through the patio doors into the lounge area; nobody noticed us or seemed to care what we were up to. There was no need to say any more; all feelings of nervousness had disappeared, and we had both joined the same altered reality and felt connected for what would inevitably be a short time.

  We moved with drinks in our hands. She walked backwards as I pushed her towards the kitchen, away from view. The moment we got through the kitchen door, I pushed her up against the worktop and started kissing her. She went to take off my sunglasses but I wouldn’t let her. We kissed intensely for about ten minutes without stopping. Then we had a break for wine.

  ‘Whose house is this?’ I asked.

  ‘My parents. Nick’s my brother, my mum and dad are away, we’re house-sitting.’

  We started kissing again.

  ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ I said, when we broke off.

  ‘There are no stairs,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Other room, then.’

  She took my hand and I took the bottle of wine. Then I stopped. ‘Wait. No. The pictures, I can’t leave them.’ I didn’t want to leave her for a second; I didn’t want anything to change for now, for her to go away, but I went back out to the patio.

  ‘You better look after my sister,’ shouted Nick, who was chopping out five lines. I grabbed my folder, hoping that Nick wouldn’t offer me some more coke because I couldn’t say no, but at the same time I didn’t want to unbalance my nostril distribution – if I took another, I’d have to take another one after that.

  He didn’t offer and I went back inside to find Robin as I’d left her, drinking her wine, leaning against the kitchen unit. We kissed more; the kissing was better than at the beginning. She took my hand and we went into a small bedroom with a single bed and a painting of a flamenco dancer. The blinds were half closed, making lines across Robin’s face as she sat on the bed and leant her head against the wall. She pulled me into her and we kissed for the longest time yet. I stopped it eventually to drink more wine. She would have kept going had I not, but I wanted my wine as much as the kissing. After all, I would not be kissing if it was not for the wine.

  We took off our clothes. She had a piercing in her belly button which I fiddled with. We could hear the others laughing and talking outside, and someone had turned up Grace Jones’s ‘La Vie En Rose’. We rubbed around a bit. I wanted more coke, more wine; I wanted to go back to the start with Robin. And although it was my idea to go into the room, I didn’t like it now that I was there. I didn’t understand why. I went down on her, whoever she was.

  After a while she pulled my head up and brought my face close to hers. We both stared at one another without talking.

  ‘I’m off my fucking tits,’ she whispered.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Take the fucking glasses off.’ I let her do it. Then I lay on the bed beside her.

  ‘I don’t usually like Sundays,’ I said, but she wasn’t listening.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  ‘IS THAT MR Duffy?’ Mosquitoes hummed round the phone booth. It was Monday night, a night we usually got off, but it was a public holiday and Greg wanted us out. I’d just finished my last house; I’d sold two in the evening, both in the same home to two different couples who were having dinner together. I drank some wine with them, and felt all loose and happy and cured of my hangover, so I bought a phone card and decided to make a start to my enquiries, before meeting up with the others. However, now that it came down to it, I was extremely nervous.

  I was holding the second page of Duffys from the phone book and had chosen a number at random.

  ‘Mr Duffy, does live here but I’m just a visitor,’ said an older voice.

  ‘Hello, my name is Kerry, and I’m trying to contact a possible relative of mine. I’m in Sydney just now but I live in the UK. His name was John Duffy and his wife is called Madeline, they moved here in 1965 or ’66, I think.’

  The man laughed. ‘Well, Kerry, that was a while ago, and it’s certainly not me. Not unless I’ve inherited any money.’

  I laughed back out of politeness. ‘Look, I’ll be honest with you, I’ve just torn a few pages out the phone book and I’m making a start going through all the Duffys.’

  ‘There are other ways you could do this, you know, easier than that.’ He sounded a pretty relaxed and open type, which I liked.

  ‘Yeah, but I want to do it this way for now, you know?’

  ‘I do, yes. Who is this relative, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘He’s a man that might be related to my mother, and I promised her I’d try to look him up when I got here. It would mean the world to her if I could trace him.’

  ‘I see.’ He sighed and half laughed ironically.

  ‘Sorry, am I wasting your time?’ I tried to move things along; at this rate it would take me a year to get through all the names.

  ‘No, not at all. It’s just weird, that’s all.’

  ‘How come?’ I breathed on the glass and drew a D on it.

  ‘For a number of reasons, but I may be able to help you a little more than you had hoped.’ He was really dragging this out.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Well, I have my own radio show for one thing.’

  ‘No way.’ I stopped drawing.

  ‘Yep, got around twenty thousand listeners.’

  ‘So, you’re a DJ?’

  ‘Among other things. I’m a qualified physio, the radio thing is more of a hobby, local radio, really. I’m a big country fan and that’s what my show is about, country music, it’s a show for old cowboys like me.’

  ‘I didn’t know there were any cowboys in Australia, apart from the ones I’m working with.’

  He laughed at my joke. The dollar sign changed to fifty cents, so I put another one in.

  ‘How many names have you tried already?’

  ‘I think I tried a few before, when I first came here, but I can’t remember because I was drunk. Tonight I just picked one out and it was you.’

  ‘Well, that’s incredible, kid, because like I said I’m not technically a Duffy. In fact, I’m not a Duffy at all, my name is Hank White, although my re
al name is Frank.’

  ‘Who is the Duffy, then?’ I traced over my old D.

  ‘This could all be a coincidence, see, but this isn’t my house, it’s my sister’s. She’s the Duffy. I’m down visiting from Brisbane, where I live.’

  ‘That is pretty strange, isn’t it? You answering and offering to help with your radio show?’

  This was starting to feel like the rest of my life, all of it a series of bizarre coincidences which, I believed, would eventually lead me to my answer.

  ‘I’ve gotta tell you, kid, this must be fate.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it must be, it always is.’ I was excited and speedy. I lit a cigarette and took in a massive drag.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve needed some help if you can’t remember who you’ve been phoning.’ He laughed again. I could tell that he fancied himself as a bit of a character – but then again, all the best people do. ‘Well, what are the chances? You phoning the Duffys, and getting me, when it’s not even my house. I answer the phone because my sister happens to be away tonight, and it turns out I’m a radio DJ with access to listeners through my show, who might be able to help with what you’re looking for. Think about it.’

  I had to agree with him, nutcase or not. ‘So what do you think I should do then?’

  ‘Well, just to add something even more bizarre into the equation, my brother-in-law down here, the Duffy part of things, is a minister!’

  ‘Oh right, OK, so you mean he could put out a call as well? In his church?’

  ‘I was more thinking his parish magazine. He could reach quite a few people in Sydney.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Were they church-goers, these relatives, or relative?’

  ‘Relative. I don’t know. Doubt it.’ I couldn’t see, in the circumstances, how she could go to church.

  ‘Well, it’s worth a try, kid.’

  ‘What’s next then?’ I was dizzy from oversucking on my Marlboro, a brand usually too strong for me.

  ‘I could take more information from you on what you know about John Duffy, talk to Bob, my sister’s husband, and I could put out a call on air for anyone who might know of him, and ask them to call the station. How does that sound to you?’

  ‘Good, yeah. Good, thanks, but that’ll be in Brisbane and I don’t know if he’s there or in Sydney.’

  ‘Sure, well, it’s a start, and it’s covering two more areas than you were five minutes ago, isn’t it? And you really don’t know for sure if it’s Sydney or Brisbane or Melbourne even, by the sounds of it, do you, love?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I don’t know much at all.’

  ‘Exactly, and Australia is a big place.’

  He spoke to me as if I was about ten years old; I finished my cigarette in record time and stamped on it.

  ‘OK, so tell me, what you do know then?’ I could hear him scrabbling around looking for a piece of paper.

  ‘John Duffy was in the Australian army around 1965. In 1966 he met a woman called Madeline Thomson. She was a nurse and they married and moved to Sydney or Brisbane, not sure. I think she came on the ten-pound package, maybe – don’t know – but more than likely because I don’t think they had much money, and she was from Newcastle.’

  ‘Newcastle, England, not Newcastle, Oz?’

  ‘Yeah, England. I didn’t know there was one here.’

  ‘Oh yeah, they’ve got everything English here, except the weather.’ He amused himself no end. ‘That’s all you have on this, kid?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s all I know.’ I liked his corny detective talk.

  ‘Do you have a phone number, Kerry? Do you know I haven’t even asked where you’re calling from?’

  ‘I’m in Sydney, I’m working here. But Hank, there’s one more thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s very important that you tell them a Joanna Thomson is looking for them.’

  ‘Is that your mum?’

  ‘No, but I can’t explain that right now, it’s a long story.’

  ‘So I’d better take your number, then.’

  ‘Yeah, sure, there’s a phone at the place I work but we can’t really receive calls too much, it’s more for emergencies. I’ll give it to you just in case but don’t overuse it, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t, unless I have something concrete for you, but I’ll give you my number. I’ll be going home tomorrow and I’ve got my show on Wednesday night, so I’ll put something out then.’

  ‘What will you say?’ Despite my eagerness I didn’t want to completely fuck up someone else’s life unnecessarily.

  ‘Just that there’s a person trying to trace someone by the name of John Duffy, and all the stuff you gave me; I don’t want to go upsetting anyone’s life now, Kerry. You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Why did you say that?’ It was almost as if he knew more than he was letting on.

  ‘Just making sure, kid, that’s all.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  The car pulled up alongside the phone booth, with Jim tooting. I signalled that I would be one minute.

  ‘Hank, can you play a tune to go with the message?’

  ‘Well, that might be stretching things a little, but I’ll do my best. It’s a country show though, so I wouldn’t be playing any of your pop crap.’

  ‘Good, I hate that myself.’

  ‘What do you want then? But I can’t promise, mind you.’

  ‘Can you play Bob Dylan’s “You’re A Big Girl Now”, please?’

  ‘Well, that’s not pop, but it’s not country either. I tell you what, I’ll do my very best.’

  ‘Please, just play it, Hank, will you?’

  ‘OK, just for you, love. I’ll see if I can dig it out from somewhere.’

  ‘Thanks, I really appreciate this.’ I was trying to turn round and shield my eyes from Scotty, who had his arse pressed against the phone box; I could see the Danish rolling around in the back of the car in response to it. I tried to ignore him as I took down Hank’s number in Brisbane on the inside of my Marlboro packet.

  ‘Got to go now, Hank. I’ve got people waiting for me outside.’

  ‘OK, love, I’ll be in touch whenever I have any news.’

  ‘Uh-huh, thanks now.’

  ‘Take care, love, see ya.’

  I hung up, folded away the phone book pages again and got in the car, laughing reluctantly with the rest of them. From a random phone call in six minutes, I’d come further in my search than I had in six weeks. This all felt right.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  * * *

  IT WAS WARM and turquoise out there. I didn’t miss the Edinburgh buildings, the austere gloomy Georgian sandstone, and the pasty tight-lipped people that lived and worked behind it. Fuck that, I thought, as I drank a pineapple and guava smoothie outside a café, updating my ‘Paintings Sold’ list in my notebook. I liked the mornings alone; there was always enough chatter with the others during the car journeys in the late afternoon to exhaust me before I even knocked on a door. I had quickly learned to pace myself, and was beginning to feel like an actress exhausted all day from putting on a show every night.

  I was feeling positive again after my call to Hank, and fairly pleased with myself, a rare occurrence. Things felt as if they were being dealt with better. I was happy walking along the street, I saw the good in people; I smiled at a child who passed by who was humming the Batman theme. The sun seemed a good thing for a change, the slight breeze was perfect and the day felt as though it had a sense of purpose. I had decided, when I woke up, that I would start my life again.

  I was full of promises. Big and small. Small ones like: I must get fit, I must write to my granddad, I must eat better, and I must save more money. And big ones, things that were harder to change: I must stop having sex with strangers, I must stop drinking, and I must start to have a life plan.

  The queue in Hercus Loan, the pawnbroker, was longer than before. I stood behind a man in stained trousers that smelt of layers of drink. Everybody was quie
t. There was a real absence of angry people in Sydney. Even the odd drunk would just wander along aimlessly. Back home everybody was always shouting, all the tramps and winos were raging against the world all the time.

  The man behind the counter took the optic out of his left eye and finished off the cigarette in the ashtray on the counter.

  ‘I’ll give you one hundred and seventy-five dollars, mate, and no more.’

  ‘It’s a bloody good watch that, reckon it’s worth more.’

  ‘Well, fair play to you, mate, if you can get it elsewhere, but that’s my price, end of, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Go on then.’ The man shuffled a little in embarrassment.

  I waited my turn and then handed over my ticket. I hummed a tune under my breath while he searched the drawers beneath the counter for my item, happy to be a collector for a change. I paid him the cash, putting my grandmother’s ring back on my finger for what I had promised to myself was the last time. It wasn’t coming off again.

  Greg and Anaya called me into their office when I returned. Greg had been away for the last three Saturday evenings on some kind of business trip. I had never been asked into the office before. It made me nervous.

  Greg stood behind a desk surrounded by at least twenty Blue Mountains, with lots of credit-card-authorisation forms and ashtrays strewn all over it. There was a small storeroom off the office behind him, with more paintings piled up in their landscape groups. Anaya was sitting on the edge of Greg’s desk, swinging her perfect legs and eating a sandwich, which she shared with Greg. I sensed a problem, as Greg appeared slightly tense.

  ‘Hey, Greg, how was your trip?’ I asked, keeping it light, but sneaking a look over to Anaya, hoping she’d reciprocate, which she didn’t.

  ‘Yeah, good, thanks, mate, good. I’ll tell you about it later maybe. It was interesting.’

  ‘What have I done wrong?’ I asked to pre-empt any awkwardness.

  ‘It’s bad, Kerry, we’re gonna have to let you go,’ said Anaya, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows.

  ‘What?’ My heart started thumping. Now I was fucked, but at least I had the ring, I thought.

  ‘She’s taking the piss, mate, just ignore her.’