‘I’m so hungry,’ he said.
‘Me too.’
The sun had nearly gone. The road was empty. I flicked the headlights to high beam and the sign lit up.
‘Stop,’ Ned said, pointing at it. ‘STOP.’
I registered the pup only when we were alongside it. I braked too fast and skidded on the crumbly shoulder. The pup stayed under the sign watching us, waiting. Ned got out and called for it. It ran to him. Back in the car it clamoured all over him. It was skinny, grubby and collarless. They looked at each other. It licked Ned’s face. Ned looked over, beaming, already in love.
Bistro
Ned flipped over his pizza. It landed with the thud of a plastic lid.
‘I can’t eat it,’ he said.
I pushed my roast lamb away.
‘Me either,’ I said. ‘So salty.’
‘Mine smells like a dirty sink.’
‘Maybe Bettina got the pub wrong,’ I said, as a bell rang and the waitress got up from behind the counter.
She approached us, carrying a plate of yellow nuggets.
‘On the house,’ she said.
We were in the right pub. I had stupidly sent a text to my sister, after we had ordered and paid, to say we had arrived. She must have contacted George’s cousin.
‘The chef wants to meet you after you’ve finished,’ said the waitress.
She walked back to behind the counter and resumed her heavy-lidded stare. I looked at Ned.
‘“Chef”?’
In one swoop, Ned looked at her, the nuggets, then me.
‘This is uncomfortable,’ he said.
I picked up a nugget. It collapsed in my fingers.
Ned poked one with a fork as if it were a dead mouse.
‘What’s in it?’
‘Don’t know,’ I said.
I pushed the plate towards him.
‘No way.’
‘Come on, give it – ’
I stopped. I didn’t want to argue over a nugget. We were the only customers except for an old couple behind a fake palm in a corner. They looked local yet lost. I looked towards the kitchen and back at the meat and gravy on my plate.
‘That sure redefines the word “cooking”,’ I said. ‘Don’t these people watch TV?’
‘Who?’
‘For God’s sake, with all those cooking shows, have they learnt nothing?’
‘You hate those shows.’
‘I don’t charge people to eat my food.’
Ned broke open a chip. It smelt of chicken fat and petrol.
I leant across the table so the waitress didn’t see me wrap the nuggets in a serviette and put them in my bag. My phone pinged a message. Ned grabbed it.
‘It’s Bettina,’ he said. ‘How’s dinner. Delicious?’
‘Write, “it was the worst food ever served on a plate in a public place”,’ I said.
Another message pinged through. Ned read it out.
‘Chef wants to meet you. Recently separated.’
My God.
‘What does that mean?’
I took the phone from Ned.
‘We’re out of here. That’s what it means.’
A family of five walked in. They stood checking out the blackboard menu above the counter. Two more couples came in.
‘Quick,’ I said.
We wrapped up more of the food, shoved it in my bag and, on our way out, waved to the flustered waitress. I pushed open the glass door and, in my reflection, saw the fluoro-yellow vest.
Motel Room
The motel room was stifling, as if wrapped in cling-wrap. The air-con, stuck on low, gave out next to no cool air. No air moved through the window. Ned was asleep, starfish, on the other bed and the pup – who Ned had called Sparkie – had curled up next to my head. He knew he was staying. We had snuck him in. I didn’t want him barking and shitting in my car all night. The airless heat and dread of Sparkie peeing on the pillow made sleep impossible.
I picked up the novel I’d been trying to finish for weeks. After ten pages I put it down. The author, Caroline Finch, was well known. She had moved to Walcha, to a house three doors down from us. Not that that helped her to remember my name. She was in her fifties and divorced. She got around in red, egg-shaped glasses and over-sized, asymmetrical dresses. She was hard to miss and that’s how she liked it. Caroline loved publicity. She loved a mic. She loved any chance to promote her books. Sometimes I wondered if people put up with her out of gratitude she’d chosen us, our country town, over any other town.
Her novel was about a woman getting on with her life after the death of her husband, but it felt wrong. It couldn’t be right. The tone was smart-alecy and distant. All I could think, as I read it, was how Caroline’s divorce must have crushed her heart to powder.
*
I must have fallen asleep because I woke to a different light in the room and to the sound of the pup scratching at the door. Once outside I saw the light was from the moon – a big, white, misshapen moon as bright as the motel’s neon. Sparkie zigzagged through the grass, his nose to the ground. Trucks worked their gears, out of sight, on the mountains. A hot, lonely gust of wind sent dust and dirt swirling around my legs and into my eyes. I tried to picture Frank again, wanting to slip into the comfort of the earlier daydream, but instead I remembered the service station attendant and the old woman who was waiting for her life to take off.
Pool
‘Something’s wrong with that dog,’ my sister said.
She lifted a jug of cordial, glasses and some snacks from a tray and put them on the table next to the pool. I had been dozing. I couldn’t recall what had been running through my mind, but it left me relaxed, almost swept away.
Sparkie was going crazy, running up and down the side of the pool and barking at Ned in the water.
‘No wonder someone dumped it,’ said Bettina.
‘Maybe that’s why it’s like it is,’ I said.
‘What, mad and clingy,’ she said. ‘Have you checked it for worms, fleas, parasites?’
We had arrived the day before and already I was glad her flight was tomorrow morning.
‘Ned, get out for a while and let the dog calm down,’ I said.
Ned climbed out and Sparkie stopped barking. I heard squeaking next door. Over the paling fence, a woman bounced up and down on a trampoline. She faced us. She had on a snorkel and mask. I laughed.
‘It’s not funny,’ Bettina said with quiet urgency. ‘She always does it. She gets her kid in on the act too.’
‘Why don’t you invite them over?’
‘Are you serious? My God, once you let someone like that in, who knows what will follow.’
I looked at my sister. She looked at me.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘You don’t carry on like that.’
She handed over a bowl of roasted chickpeas.
‘Here. You don’t want to be a woman with cholesterol,’ she said.
The squeaking went on.
‘My God, who behaves like that?’
‘A woman who wants a swim on a 40-degree day,’ I said.
A woman who had nothing to lose, I wanted to add.
The rhythm of the squeaking changed and a boy’s head appeared. He looked Ned’s age. He had on goggles, zinc across his nose and a towel over his shoulders.
I smiled.
‘Camille, don’t even think about it.’
Bettina stood up and grabbed a handful of chickpeas.
‘I’ve got to get ready.’
She had gym, and then a hair appointment. Ned jumped back in the pool, and Sparkie started up again.
‘If that dog refuses to listen, you’ll need to get rid of it,’ she said.
*
Fifteen minutes later, Bettina returned with a woman following her. They were dressed in pale, tight singlet-tops and black gym pants that stopped below the knee. She introduced Suzy to Ned and me. Suzy had her hair pulled back tightly into a high ponytail. She looked the sort of woman who lo
ved to organise school reunions. I was surprised to watch Bettina tie her hair back the same way and look more like someone else than like me, or any one from our family for that matter.
‘I’m across the road in the house with the Porsche,’ said Suzy. ‘Come over if you need anything. The gate is behind the Porsche. You’ll need to press the buzzer.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, knowing I never will.
‘I’ve left the $180 on the kitchen bench for Frank,’ Bettina said. ‘Remember he’s coming at two.’
‘I know, Bet,’ I said.
‘Just want you to be ready,’ she said.
A sentence like that was enough to make me pack my bags and head home. Suzy came closer. I had to move the banana chair and shade my eyes to see her against the sun.
‘I understand he’s an old flame. That’s exciting for you,’ she said.
Jesus Christ.
‘We just went to school together,’ I said.
‘Can’t be like that about it,’ said Suzy. ‘He gave Bet a special deal because of you.’
I looked at her.
‘You need to get back on the dating circuit,’ she said.
Dating circuit? I looked at Bettina, but she had turned to walk back inside.
‘Have a fun afternoon,’ said Suzy, twirling car keys on her finger. ‘Call in sometime for a wine in the spa. If the Porsche is there, so am I.’
They left. I closed my eyes. The sun lit up my eyelids. I felt swollen and tangled inside. I knew that in the Porsche, Bettina will retell her take on my life and Suzy will nod, tutting as if I were her sister messing up.
I told myself I didn’t care if Frank came this afternoon or not, but that was untrue.
‘Mum, have you seen my flippers?’
Ned leant over the pool’s edge kicking water over me.
‘No, sure you packed them?’
‘Yeah … oh I know where,’ he said. ‘In the Corolla.’
We looked at each other and laughed.
Piano Room
Frank was late. Ned was with Sparkie in the lounge-room, watching a movie and eating popcorn to avoid the heat. I was in the front room punching cushions into shape when a van pulled up out the front. It was after three. My heart tightened. I let out my breath slowly. A heavyset man with big thighs got out. It wasn’t Frank. He must have sent someone else. The disappointment was physical. I patted my pocket with the $180 in it. My hands hardly felt they were mine.
I had expected the doorbell, yet its ring startled me.
‘Frank,’ I said, still startled – mostly at his dyed orange hair.
‘Hello Camille,’ he said with a lift of his chin.
I moved aside. He came in, smelling of soap and cigarettes. I led him into the front room and stood pointing to the couch until I realised what I was doing. I had put the cushions along the couch in a neat row of diamonds. Never in my life had I placed cushions like that. Frank tipped his head towards the sheet music on top of the piano.
‘Who plays?’
‘George, Bettina’s husband.’
He nodded. I stared at him and as I struggled to find words, I saw that he was doing the same. It had been fourteen years. Frank had been a lean, languid teenager. His limbs used to move like poured mercury. I could see how his unhurried manner had led to his changed buttery appearance, although it didn’t explain his hair. That had to be a post-divorce decision. As he looked at me, I picked up a cushion and put it back the same way.
‘You look different,’ he said, and moved over to the piano.
He put down his toolbox and pulled off the piano lid. He’s going to let a remark like that just hang between us? He had taken off the front panel and the fallboard and was bending over to get something from his toolbox. His t-shirt rode up over his jeans. I look different? He took his phone out of his back pocket and, after tapping some buttons, propped it on the keys. He played some notes, a loose tune, as he asked how long I was staying in Sydney.
‘A week, maybe two,’ I said.
A lie. I had to get back to work in the second week.
‘Do you ever go back to Walcha?’
He went on playing as if he hadn’t heard. I pictured the row of abandoned shops on the first bend into Walcha and felt embarrassed I had asked.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
He heard that. I went into the kitchen, turned on the kettle and ducked into the bathroom to see what he saw. I wished I hadn’t.
As I made the tea I listened to him test notes. I thought of the drive here and of how the daydreaming had taken me so easily and effortlessly from the back of the school bus to here, to now.
*
Frank took a sip of tea and as he put the cup on the coffee table, he told me about the free tuner app on his iPhone – how it was as good as the $2000 machine in his van. He went on playing and adjusting notes and discussing the app. I listened, irritated he chose not to use the expensive machine. He hammered more pegs.
‘It’s in pretty poor shape,’ he said, tapping and tightening another stubborn peg.
‘I thought it sounded ok.’
‘There’s been a lot of hidden wear and tear on the keys,’ he said.
He looked at me.
‘It’s seen better days.’
I smiled, trying not to take these comments to heart. His phone pinged. He read the message and texted back. He stopped to run his hand through his hair.
‘I’m too busy. I’m looking for a girl to help with repairs in the shop,’ he said.
A girl?
‘I want to concentrate on getting the band back together.’
‘What sort of music?’
‘Jazz-rock,’ he said, texting.
I had no idea what that was and felt no inclination to ask.
‘You should come to a gig,’ he said.
Something about that word grated. He looked over. I nodded, as I had with Suzy. I was still nodding when the front gate clicked and two young men in ill-fitting, old-fashioned suits came into the front yard.
‘Jehovah’s Witnesses. God, in this heat,’ I said, and headed to the door before the bell rang.
*
When I came back into the room, Frank was texting. He finished the text and put the phone back on the keys.
‘That was quick,’ he said.
It wasn’t. The two men had a tall glass of cordial each and one had a second glass while the other held up what looked like a very old copy of Watchtower in his sweaty, beefy hand and heaved his way through a rave about the perils of modern stress.
‘Jehovah’s Witnesses lack an understanding of the part,’ I said.
‘The what?’
‘They don’t understand how to part their hair. The parts are too straight and never in the right place, the low angle makes the men look – ’
‘I forgot that about you,’ he said.
He went back to hitting a B flat.
‘Your sister said you’ve been on your own since your divorce,’ he said.
My face grew hot.
‘I have my son. And dog,’ I said, but I knew how that sounded.
‘So you haven’t met anyone at all, in three years?’
Frank looked at me. His look was hard to gauge. I looked away, out the window, and drank my tea hardly feeling the cup in my hand. I stayed silent. My voice would’ve given away the sudden stampede of memories, memories of wanting too much and of desertion. A leaf blower started up nearby and set a flurry of birds across the sky. I turned around. Frank was oblivious. He was finishing his cup of tea. I wanted to tell him his hips were girlish and thanks to his shit hair, his nose stood out and he looked like Shrek.
He put his cup down.
‘What about you?’
I was trying to gain ground, trying to gain something.
‘You should move to Sydney,’ he said.
‘I’ve thought about it,’ I said.
I hadn’t. I had never felt a reason to leave Walcha. Ned was happy there. His father knew where to find hi
m on birthdays and at Christmas. I felt at home there, too, although at times I wished it wasn’t Walcha where I felt that way.
‘Want another cup,’ I said.
‘Why not,’ he said.
*
I took my time making the tea. I washed up, wiped the table and benches, took the rubbish out the back and made Ned a sandwich. All the time trying to feel as I did when I was at home.
*
My eyes smarted as I entered the room. I put Frank’s cup on the coffee table. The room reeked of aftershave. I hadn’t seen any in his toolbox and there wasn’t any in the downstairs bathroom. The panels were back on the piano and he had packed his toolbox. He’s finished so soon? He ran his hands up and down the piano, banging the thing with too many jazz chords.
‘It sounds good,’ he said. ‘Came up better than I thought.’
I couldn’t hear any difference.
‘It surprised me,’ he said, and broke into a smile that put me back on the school bus.
‘Mum!’
‘MUM!’
Ned ran in with Sparkie.
‘Can I go in the pool?’
He looked around.
‘What’s that sm—’
‘Ned, this is Frank,’ I said, quickly grabbing Ned’s shoulder. ‘We went to school together. Frank, my son Ned.’
‘Hi,’ said Ned.
Frank had stopped playing and was looking at Ned. He went on looking at him. After a few beats, I steered Ned towards the door.
‘Have an ice-cream,’ I said.
He ran out followed by Sparkie. Frank looked back at the piano and got up. He picked up the cup, had a sip and another, and put the cup on top of the piano.
‘Right, I’m off,’ he said.
He pressed his lips together and waited. I handed him the money. He unfolded it as if deciding whether to count it or not, then he thanked me and put it in his wallet. He walked into the hallway. I followed. He stopped and I bumped into him.
‘You know,’ he said, half-turning around. ‘I charge $200.’
My heart thumped.
‘Sorry?’
‘I gave your sister a discount … I thought maybe … well, I don’t know what I thought, but I will take the extra $20.’
I walked around him and into the guest room, feeling as if I were leaping from one canoe to another. I opened my handbag. Frank stood in the doorway staring at the fluoro-yellow vest hanging over the doorknob. I had two ten-dollar notes in my purse, but, as my heart pounded, I tipped the contents of my handbag onto the bed and took my time to rummage around for loose change to make twenty.
The Best Australian Stories 2015 Page 21