by Liz Byrski
Hayes Peterson Landscaping. It seemed extraordinary to Gayle that Josh could have been part of building this professional-looking business with its large premises, its staff and stock and vehicles. She’d expected something small and scruffy. But he’d always wanted manual work, building, or gardening, something in the open air, work he could do with his hands. It was Brian who had bullied and cajoled him into a business degree and Josh had hated every minute of it. Commerce, accounting, marketing – he loathed it all and abandoned it the day Brian drove him out of the house, but clearly some of it must have served him well.
Gayle took a deep breath and walked in through the car park, along the side of one of the shade houses where foliage glistened, still moist from the morning sprinklers, and towards the office.
‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ a voice said behind her, and she turned to see a tall, olive skinned man emerging from the shade house.
Gayle’s mouth went dry. ‘Dan?’ she said. ‘It is Dan, isn’t it? We only met once . . . a long time . . .’
Shock, or perhaps embarrassment, crossed his face. ‘Oh, it’s, um . . . Mrs Peterson. Sorry, I didn’t recognise you.’
They stared at each other, paralysed by awkwardness. Dan was older than Josh by five or six years. He looked strong and fit, and so much older than when she had last seen him. For the first time she wondered how his life had been changed by the events that had robbed her of her son.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely place you’ve got here. I didn’t expect it to be such a big business.’ She heard her voice sounding high and false. ‘I’m sorry, this is probably not the best time. I was looking for Josh.’
Dan ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’m afraid he’s out. I don’t think he was expecting you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘He won’t be long, though – fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe. Would you like to wait in the office?’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t want to get in the way. You must be very busy.’
Dan glanced around. ‘It’s not too bad for a Saturday morning, and we’ve plenty of staff on today. They can do without me for a bit. Come over to the office and I’ll make some coffee.’ He led the way behind the slabs past a forklift and in through glass doors to a large office where two desks were piled high with paperwork.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, indicating a couple of armchairs and a coffee table. ‘How would you like your coffee?’
Gayle sat in one of the low chairs, looking around her at the trade certificates hanging on the walls, the photographs of landscaping in different stages, some framed plans. She was fearful now of Josh’s reaction if he found her sitting there. Her heart started to race and she stood up and made for the door just as Dan entered with two mugs of coffee on a tray.
‘I think I should go,’ she said, so nervous that she felt herself shaking. ‘It was wrong of me to come, unfair, Josh won’t want to see me.’
Dan put the tray on the table and straightened up. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You must stay, really, Gayle – sorry, Mrs Peterson.’
‘Gayle is fine.’
‘Well then, Gayle, you have to stay. He will want to see you; it’s just that he won’t know how to handle it.’
‘He knew how to handle it the other day,’ she said. ‘And he was clear then that he didn’t want me interfering in his life, he doesn’t . . .’ She paused, blushing. ‘He doesn’t trust me and I can’t blame him for that. I’m sorry to have put you to the trouble, Dan, but I ought to go.’
He caught her arm. ‘No,’ he said, ‘please don’t. This is hard for both of you, it’s been so long, but Josh needs this. He may not have let you see it the other day, he would have been protecting himself, but he needs to see you, to get to know you again.’
‘He didn’t call,’ Gayle said, fighting back tears. ‘He said he would but he didn’t, and I’ll only be here a couple more days. I thought . . . I just couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t leave without seeing him again.’
‘Of course not and now you’re here you must stay. Josh needs this, Gayle, really he does.’
‘What exactly is it that I need, then?’ said a voice from the doorway. Josh was standing there, the look in his eyes a contrast to the hostility of his tone.
Oliver woke to brilliant sunshine pouring from the study window onto his face, temporarily blinding him as he opened his eyes. For a moment he couldn’t make out where he was until, turning away from the light, two empty wine bottles and a heavily fingermarked glass on the desk reminded him of his book packing, photo sorting and pizza. He straightened up uncomfortably, stretching his arms above his head, yawning and flexing his legs. It was only when his foot connected with the telephone that he remembered his call to Sonya. He picked up the phone, returned it to the desk, sank his head in his hands and groaned audibly. What had he said? And what about Gayle, hadn’t he spoken to her too? From her perch on the shelf the new Joan smiled down at him, her peep-toe shoe dangling sexily.
Oliver was a respectful and orderly person. It was a terrible shock to him to wake in a study that looked as though it had been trashed, with the memory of what would certainly be construed as an offensive phone call to a woman he liked and admired. Sick at heart and also sick in his stomach, he made a dash to the bathroom and spent the next few minutes with his head in the toilet bowl.
It was an hour or so later that he emerged from the house, showered, changed and feeling extremely hungover and in need of fresh air and coffee. He thought a walk might do him good and he set off cautiously towards the cappuccino strip, blinking in the sunlight, cringing at the sounds of noisy car engines, and wondering how he could redeem himself. By the time he was seated at a café table with a very strong coffee and a plate of raisin toast, he was convinced he had committed an act of total depravity. He would have been on the phone to Andrew’s rooms asking for an emergency consultation but fortunately it was Saturday – fortunate for Andrew, of course. So Oliver was on his own with his shame and embarrassment on a bright Saturday morning when everyone else in Fremantle seemed to be happy, lighthearted and free of guilt. On his own, that is, until a large shadow fell across him.
‘Oliver, isn’t it?’ a voice said, and Oliver looked up at a man who had his back to the sun and his features in shadow. ‘Aren’t you from the university, friend of Gayle’s? You remember me, don’t you? Angie’s dad. You were at the wedding. Brian, Brian Peterson. Mind if I join you?’ And without waiting for an answer he drew up a chair.
Oliver opened his mouth and shut it again. Had he compiled a list of all the people he would have preferred not to bump into this morning, Brian would certainly have been at the top. On second thoughts he would not have been on the list at all, for in all the years he had known Gayle, Oliver had never run into her anywhere off campus, and the likelihood of meeting Brian had been nowhere on his radar.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Oliver asked with a generosity he did not feel.
‘I’ve ordered, thanks, and it’s on its way,’ Brian said. ‘A cooked breakfast. Gayle was supposed to be home this weekend but she changed her plans . . . no one to cook for me.’
‘Sure,’ Oliver nodded. ‘Well, they do a good breakfast here.’
‘Trouble is,’ Brian continued, ‘I’m not used to it – being alone in the house, I mean. Seems a bit odd.’
‘Yes, it would, I suppose,’ Oliver said.
‘You married? Live with someone?’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Divorced, years ago. I live alone.’
‘I guess you get used to it,’ Brian observed as his coffee and a large plate of bacon, eggs, sausages and tomatoes were delivered to the table accompanied by thick slices of toast.
Oliver breathed deeply and hoped he wasn’t going to throw up again.
‘Women,’ Brian went on, unwrapping his cutlery from the paper napkin. ‘Up and down like yo-yos. I don’t understand them, never have. Take Gayle, for instance. You’ve known her a long time, haven’t you? What do you think of this belly dancing caper?’
/>
‘Well,’ Oliver began cautiously, ‘I don’t know, really –’
‘Exactly! Nor do I. It’s totally out of character. I told her to give it away but no, off she goes all over the place. Now that’s not like her, is it?’
Oliver’s heart sank. The last thing he needed this morning was to be drawn into some argument between Gayle and Brian about belly dancing. ‘Well,’ he began again, watching nervously as Brian stabbed an egg yolk with a piece of toast. ‘I suppose it is a little out of character for Gayle, but then we all change as we get older, don’t we?’
Brian looked at him in surprise. ‘Do we? Can’t say I do. I’ve been doing the same things for as long as I can remember: working hard mostly, used to play squash but gave that up some years ago, bit of golf from time to time. I don’t feel the need to do anything different.’
‘Women . . . women do, I think. I mean, I suppose they do. Empty nest, that sort of thing, you know.’ Oliver knew he sounded like an idiot. His capacity for conversation with a man like Brian was limited at the best of times; this morning he was bordering on the inane.
Brian leaned back and looked at him. ‘You reckon it’s common then, with women, doing something like this? Midlife crisis, menopause, something like that?’
Oliver shrugged and looked around for an escape route. ‘I’m not sure, really, but one hears about it. I think the desire to reinvent oneself in later life is not uncommon. Men too, of course, but particularly women.’
‘So you mean I shouldn’t worry? You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her?’
‘Who can say?’ Oliver replied, preparing to back off now that Brian seemed to be treating him as an authority on the subject. ‘You’d know Gayle better than I do.’
‘That’s the thing, you see,’ Brian said. ‘That’s what’s worrying me. Hope you don’t mind me confiding in you like this but I’ve been wondering how well I do know her. You’d know her pretty well, I should think. Did she say anything about it to you?’
Oliver moved his chair a few degrees away from Brian and crossed his legs. ‘Not really. I mean, she told me she was going but we didn’t discuss it.’ He wasn’t sure now if Brian were simply looking for help or interrogating him. ‘In fact, I’ve only seen her a couple of times since Angie’s wedding. I’ve been away myself, to Berlin – now there’s a wonderful city. Have you ever been there?’
‘Never. Can’t stand the Germans. So you think it’s all right, do you? Nothing to worry about?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Oliver said, abandoning his unsuccessful attempt to change the subject. ‘Why don’t you give her a call, talk to her?’
‘Phone’s always switched off,’ Brian said through a mouthful of sausage. ‘I’ve left messages but she hasn’t called back. Have you spoken to her recently?’
A memory from the previous night flashed through Oliver’s mind and he discarded it as irrelevant. ‘No,’ he lied, ‘not for a while now. Might be best to give her some space, you know.’
‘You think so? Someone else told me that.’
‘There you are, then.’
‘I s’pose you’re right. I’d thought of flying up there, to Broome. There’s a flight this afternoon, thought I might surprise her.’
Oliver hoped his sharp intake of breath hadn’t been audible. ‘I wouldn’t do that. She might think you were interfering, see it as an intrusion.’
‘Really? I thought she’d be pleased. I could liven things up a bit, take her and the other ladies out for a nice meal.’
‘Not a good idea,’ Oliver said, moving more enthusiastically now into his advisory role. ‘I’d play it cool if I were you. Don’t call for a while, back off.’
‘That’s what she said, the other person I asked. “Back off,” she said.’
‘There you are, then.’ Oliver rose from his chair and stood up. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, Brian.’
‘Sure,’ Brian said, wiping his mouth with his serviette and reaching out to shake hands. ‘Nice to meet you again. Thanks for the advice.’
Oliver shook the proffered hand, picked up his newspaper and headed off down the street, hoping that his efforts to dissuade Brian from racing up to Broome would go some way towards mitigating his earlier bad behaviour.
‘You shouldn’t have come,’ Josh said when Dan had closed the door behind him. ‘Not here, you shouldn’t have come here.’
‘Where then?’ Gayle asked. ‘Tell me where and when and I’ll go there, but you didn’t call and I have to talk to you before I leave.’
Josh dropped into a chair and looked at the coffee Dan had put on the table. He shrugged. ‘You’re here now, I suppose.’
Gayle sat down facing him, wishing she’d had the courage to tell him the last time they met. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I’m doing this all wrong but you’re not making it very easy.’
He glanced away, irritated. ‘Easy, no, why would I? It hasn’t been easy, any of it, but it was okay, I’d come to terms with it. Now you’re stirring it all up again.’
Gayle leaned forward. ‘Look, Josh, what you said the other day was right. I let you down badly and you don’t trust me anymore. I understand that, really I do. But I came here to try to explain to you–’
‘Explain what? What is there to explain? Dad chucked me out, you let him. Oh, I know you said stuff and were upset and all that, but in the end you didn’t do anything. You phoned, you sent me money, but you didn’t fight for me. You had a choice, him or me, and you chose him. That’s how it was – what’s to explain?’
‘It wasn’t as simple as that,’ Gayle said, her voice shaky with emotion. ‘I thought I could make him change his mind.’
‘But you didn’t,’ Josh cut in. ‘You never made him change his mind about anything, not the colour of the wallpaper or what he ate for breakfast. He is an unchangeable person because he’s always right. He’s a pig-headed bigot, immoveable. You know that, you must’ve always known it. How could you believe you could change his mind about something as big as this?’
‘I kept hoping,’ Gayle said. ‘It sounds stupid but I kept going back to the fact that he loved you. I thought he’d see sense and realise what he’d lost, that in the end the love would overcome the prejudice.’
‘Well, it didn’t, and whenever it was that you realised that, you still did nothing.’
Gayle sighed. ‘What should I have done? Tell me.’
‘You should’ve left him,’ Josh said, looking straight at her, years of hurt and disappointment burning on his face. ‘That’s what I kept waiting for you to do. Leave him. Show him that I mattered more. I kept thinking you’d do it – it’s not like he was such a great husband, after all.’
‘He was a good provider, always generous, he looked after us in that way . . .’ She faltered as Josh rolled his eyes in exasperation. ‘You might not think that’s important but it was important to him. That’s what he thought it was about. To Brian being a husband and a father is about being a provider, and being in control. It was his attempt to do the right thing.’
‘It didn’t work,’ Josh said, surly now. ‘He was never there, never at assemblies or prize givings, never even bothered to come when I played football. We never did anything together and when I asked him for the one thing that really mattered, acceptance of who I am, he couldn’t even give me that.’
‘Josh, I’m not here to defend your father. What he did was indefensible, and what I did was no better. I’m here to tell you something about the past. I can’t explain Brian to you except to say that he’s the product of his times and circumstances. You remember what his parents were like, you know what his brothers are like, but he’s not all bad. I’m here to tell you something I should have told you years ago, something that might help you to understand why I am the way I am, or at least have been.’
Josh put his cup down on the table. ‘It can’t change anything,’ he said. ‘It happened. It’s history and I’ve moved on.’
Gayle shook her head. ‘In
some ways, yes,’ she said, ‘but not in others. The anger and the hurt are still there and I guess they always will be, but please give me some time, listen to what I’ve come here to tell you.’
Josh shrugged and stood up.
‘This is what I should have done a long time ago,’ she said, watching him as he walked towards the window. ‘Everything I’m doing now and will do when I get home I should have done years ago. I know it’s all too late, that the damage is done, that I’ve hurt you beyond belief. But it’s not as simple as you think, Josh, and although I know you can’t forgive me, I hope you might begin to understand.’
On Monday morning Brian sat in the stream of commuter traffic crawling along the Kwinana Freeway into Perth feeling quite pleased with himself. Gayle’s absence had been a blow but he’d coped all right. Spent the weekend alone and enjoyed it in a strange sort of way. Watched the footy and the soccer, cleaned the pool, read the papers from cover to cover, had a couple of siestas. Maybe this was what he needed, a bit more time to enjoy life, smell the roses. Perhaps he’d been too hung up on work all this time, and maybe Gayle really was trying to tell him something. Now that the regulation board drama had been put to bed he could relax a bit, they could have a holiday somewhere. And Oliver had surprised him. Nice bloke, really, not the sort of university wanker he’d expected, and he seemed to have a bit of common sense. Helpful too.
Brian took the left lane off the Narrows Bridge, turned right onto Mounts Bay Road up the Terrace past Parliament House and on to the office in West Perth. Kings Park was bathed in sunlight and as he drove down into the car park under the building he felt unusually peaceful and optimistic. All his life he had struggled: struggled to be tougher than the other boys at school, struggled to keep up with the schoolwork that had always been hard for him, struggled to succeed, to be on top.
As he switched off the engine and leaned back in the driver’s seat he realised that he was on top, that he had been for some time, that he really didn’t need to struggle any more. He had a good job, plenty of money, property, investments, his daughter was happily married, his son – well, he hadn’t got a son. And Gayle – this weird patch was a pain in the arse, but they’d had a good run. Awareness of his good fortune filled him with pleasant warmth. Locking the car he set off up the back steps into the building. It was almost ten o’clock, more than an hour later than his usual time, but it would be a quiet day.