'No, I wasn't asked,' said Nicholas when Theo went back out to the desks by the window. 'I'm too old, lack obsequious tact. You should take it though, if only to stop some useless fart here getting it, or worse, some useless fart from another paper.'
'I've had a bugger of a day, Nick.'
'Isn't life a bugger all round,' he said. 'Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you.' He turned away from his screen and gave Theo more attention. 'It's Penny Maine-King, right?'
'Yeah. She won't come back after the Californian court hearing. They're going to patch up something for the boy's sake, so that's it for Penny and me, I reckon.'
'Jesus,' said Nicholas. 'It was something serious for you, I know. But so much was hanging, undecided. So much pressure and agony, and now she just wants some respite I suppose, and to know the kid's okay.'
'I suppose so, but what's good news for every other bugger is a real slap for me. No, no. I don't mean that about Penny. It wasn't just convenience and calculation. But Christ, she's just through the worst of it, and we could've spent a lot more time together. Just when things seem to be coming right is when old Murphy puts the boot in.'
'Why don't we go out tonight?' said Nicholas. 'It can either be a celebration for promotion, or a commiseration. I suppose one thing is that you got a bloody good story out of the whole business.' It wasn't a very convincing effort to staunch emotion, and he briefly gripped Theo's arm above the elbow.
'Yeah, great,' said Theo.
No matter how much you tidy things away in your mind, life continues to make its own links, mostly unwelcome, but sometimes surprisingly cathartic. Close to the Thai restaurant where Nicholas and Theo parked independently that night Theo recognised the parson's Honda Civic, its maroon gloss glittering under the streetlights, and the chrome tow-bar knob a luminous mushroom. He stood close to the Honda's flank and scarred it with his door key. He could feel the metal edge getting well into the paint, and coughed to cover the sound. He moved to the petrol flap and made a satisfactory gouge there. That's a place proud car owners check often, fearful of careless, or malicious, damage. The parson was just the man to ensure he always filled his own tank. Theo imagined him discovering the marks in the morning, even that night, and felt a tide of satisfaction. He imagined the parson's heavy face sag and the mouth turn down. Whatever job-related success he came from wouldn't be enough to sustain him, and if things hadn't gone well, Theo's actions would turn the screw. Yes, how petty it all was, and the pleasure of his vindictiveness was nothing to his general unhappiness. But there was satisfaction: some small retribution for the parson's attempt to abduct Ben, and his persistent appearance in a chapter of Theo's life that was rapidly losing appeal. A small pleasure, diminished by being fleeting and ignoble.
Later, at the table, Theo said that misfortune maybe turns you towards viciousness, and that he found spite more often in his own responses after any disappointment. Nicholas saw nothing unnatural in that at all, but claimed that rational people should curb the impulse, and that having murdered your aunt yesterday was no reason to cheat the butcher today. Each action should have its own moral justification. On another occasion Theo may have been interested in the point, but not with Penny's decision so raw. He ate and drank dutifully, rather than with enjoyment: he recognised the effort Nicholas was making to support him, but it wasn't enough. Maybe even within his friend's concern was the unacknowledged satisfaction that Theo's life wouldn't eclipse his own in an attainment of love.
'I interviewed a murderer once,' said Nicholas. 'I call him that because he admitted it and was convicted. Most insist they're innocent. He murdered a neighbour he'd been feuding with for forty-two years. It started when they were at school together and fought in the playground, continued when they drank and fought behind country dance halls, and played against each other in rural rugby teams, Catholic and Protestant. One seduced the other's wife in a musty committee room after a Scottish pipe band evening, and the other poisoned sheepdogs that strayed onto his property. The final argument was over a maimai possie — the guy I interviewed blew his neighbour's head to pieces with a twelve gauge Hollis.'
'I remember that. The guy went to the police straight afterwards.'
'Some reports made a good deal of such a violent end to such a trivial issue, but they missed the point: what happened was the culmination of forty-odd years of hatred. "That bastard always had it coming," that's what the murderer said to me. He said it was always going to end that way.'
'Nothing like a close-knit rural community,' said Theo.
'He told me it was something that had to be done, and he seemed a quiet enough, thoughtful guy. He had a damn good farm too.'
'Became obsessed, I suppose,' said Theo. He understood that Nicholas was trying to distract him but wondered what Penny would be doing; where she was; if Erskine was perhaps laying out a business plan for the future of their family. How absurd and flimsy Theo's hopes for Penny and himself had become.
'Exactly,' said Nicholas. 'Anyway, here's a toast to your promotion, and I'm really sorry it doesn't seem to be working out with Penny. Don't give up on it, though. Give it your best shot.'
29
Theo was watching a documentary on Bactrian camels when Melanie came round. The programme had a certain inconsequential fascination, and was pleasantly remote from his own life. He liked the sardonic droop nature had given to the camels' lips, and their worn, utilitarian tails.
The evening wasn't advanced, but at that time of year darkness had already come, and when he opened the door, Melanie's small, pale face, velveteen jacket and mass of hair caught the spilling light. 'Hi,' she said. 'Nick said I should check up on you, but bugger Nick, I'd made up my mind to call anyway. The phone's not the same, is it?'
They sat on the sofa. 'I was wondering if I preferred one hump or two,' said Theo.
'Funny,' said Melanie.
'So what do you know?' said Theo. He surprised himself with the pleasure her visit gave him, though he hadn't thought of her for days.
'I know you've been offered the chief reporter's job. Congratulations. I know things haven't worked out for you with Penny Maine-King, right? I'm sorry about that. We can talk about any of those things, we can sit and watch the camels, or we can have a drink, and bitch about the usual journo stuff.'
Theo switched off the camels. He said he'd decided to accept the job as long as Nicholas was willing to carry on as deputy chief reporter and actually accept some responsibility. He told Melanie he didn't feel like talking about Penny: it was all too fresh, too confused. 'In the morning I wake up feeling okay, but then I remember what's happened, and everything rolls in again.'
'You don't ever want to end up like Nick,' Melanie said. 'I know he's a good friend to you, but you realise that, don't you?'
They both knew that was something that needed to be said, but then set aside for elaboration at another time.
Melanie's romance with the architect neighbour hadn't worked out either. It was the daughters who were the sticking point — not that they weren't great kids in themselves, but that Robin put them first. It was understandable, even admirable, she said, but no basis for a marriage. His need was first a mother for them, rather than a wife for himself. No good, that, Melanie said: not the right motive for a marriage. He took her decision badly. The thing she'd noticed most since the split, wasn't the loss of his companionship, but the awkwardness created by their still being neighbours: mutual furtiveness in their respective sections, and the reluctance to speak, or acknowledge each other. 'It's so confusing for the girls, too. They still want to come over and tell me about their lives. They say they miss the treats I used to make for them. How do you explain these things to kids.'
'I'm sorry,' said Theo, but he wasn't. He could have said he'd never taken to Robin — thought him a self-satisfied prick in fact — but such honesty after the event would only highlight the earlier hypocrisy. He did wish that he could see Penny's loss with the same equanimity Melanie apparently felt about her br
eak with the architect. There were obvious parallels: Penny with her son, and Robin Sellus with his daughters, and the outcomes for Melanie and Theo. No one else, of course, could feel as sharply and poignantly as he did himself; no one else could have so much at stake, or have lost a relationship with the possibility of such extraordinary and exemplary completeness. Stella had said one of his faults was selfishness, and for maybe the first time Theo admitted to himself the truth of the charge.
'Still, better that we made the decision now,' said Melanie. 'For us both. I think his pride's hurt as much as anything. I'm not expecting you to talk about Penny and what happened. Guys don't seem to find it helps much, right? And you've never been much of a one for crying on shoulders.'
'But it's really good of you to come round,' said Theo. Even with her own problems, Melanie had come to give some support. Empathy is perhaps a more natural and persistent quality in women.
'We've both taken a bit of a pounding. On the rebound and all that. Let's just keep in touch casually for a while. Phone when we can, meet with the others for a Friday drink. You know? There's no one I think of more as a friend than you. Nobody's more important to me.'
'Me too. Yeah, you're probably right.'
'You're an okay guy, Theo. You don't have to do things wrong for them not to work out. That's something we need to remember. Penny's had to make one of those hard choices, I suppose. Anyway, I'm going to leave you with the camels, if they're still on. I just wanted to come and make sure you were okay.'
Melanie sat forward on the sofa in preparation for leaving. She gave her springy hair several customary and ineffectual pats.
'I read your pieces on eating habits and on changing attitudes to debt,' said Theo, to show he was interested in what she did, and not overpowered by his experience with Penny. He didn't want to be pitied.
'I quite enjoyed doing it. Those appalling credit card figures — mind-boggling what some people said.'
'I did this story once about a Lyttelton woman who won several hundred thousand in the lottery,' said Theo. 'She was a radiologist and unmarried. She had her own house and had always been responsible with money, but the win seemed to set her off somehow. She decided to be a poet, and a whole bunch of pseudo literati and artistic wankers battened onto her until the money was gone on parties and vanity publishing. The house too. The friends moved on, of course, and she went back to radiology. About a year later she won an even bigger prize in an Australian lottery, bought a house in Merivale and invested the rest.'
'I remember that story,' said Melanie. 'What are the chances, eh?'
'Just sometimes life plays out a morality tale, doesn't it? She was a great person to interview — she really appreciated the humour of it all. She knew she'd fluked an almost impossible recovery, and made the most of it.'
'It's a good story, but I would have enjoyed it more if she'd squandered the second lot of money exactly as she did with the first.'
'That's been done too,' said Theo.
Even as he talked it occurred to him that, despite Melanie's warning, he was becoming more and more like Nicholas: packaging his life and experience into anecdotes which deflected his own attention and that of others. He didn't give a damn for the Lyttelton woman. He yearned to offer something sincere and revelatory to Melanie, something close and consoling concerning their disappointments, but all he found was banal and secondhand commentary. He wanted her to know that he admired her generosity and friendship, that he sympathised with her in an emotional setback, but instead he continued to talk of unlikely coincidences in life, and windfalls against the odds.
Melanie put on her black, velveteen jacket and gave him a brief kiss on the mouth. Theo walked out to the roadway with her, then watched until she reached her car. Three cats crouched close together on the grassed verge, waiting to regain their privacy. A cool breeze moved in the darkness. She was there for him, supportive, even though she and Robin Sellus didn't go to each other's homes any more, and only his daughters came, and would visit less and less as they realised that things had changed. Melanie was having a bad time of it, yet she was still concerned for Theo. Theo hadn't given a bugger for anyone except Penny, Ben and himself.
Melanie's visit didn't leave Theo content, or resigned. He'd had several whiskies before she came, and he settled before the television with the bottle when she'd gone. Sustained and solitary drinking to the point of inebriation wasn't a habit with him, but then what was the point of being sensible when life was otherwise? The programmes continued upon the screen, but Theo paid little attention. His unhappiness inclined him to anger, and that was intensified by alcohol. He released the bitterness by directing it at someone whose responsibility was specious, but that's one of the conveniences of becoming drunk. What a bastard Robin Sellus was. How badly he'd treated Melanie. And nothing would happen, would it, because Melanie was too reasonable. A self-satisfied wanker of a guy who'd hurt someone so much his superior in every way. Action was needed on her behalf. That's what friends were for, weren't they? And Theo nodded at the screen in his own support, convincing himself that his concern for Melanie obliged him to be her champion. He found the phone book and the architect's number.
'Robin Sellus speaking.'
'What sort of a bastard treats a woman like Melanie in that way?' said Theo.
'Who is this?' The words were very clipped, deliberate.
'I say what sort of a bastard takes up with a woman just so she can look after his kids? It's not on, and she deserved better than you.' Theo was leaning down as he spoke, the mobile phone in one hand, with the other trying to reach the remote to turn off the television. Stooping in that way wasn't pleasant with so many drinks on board. His head seemed to enlarge painfully with each pulse of blood.
'Who the hell are you, and what business is it of yours?'
'I've been watching you,' said Theo. 'I've been watching you and I've got you sussed. A jumped up bloody draughtsman who's taken advantage of Melanie's sympathy for your kids.' Theo felt rather better when he was sitting on the sofa again.
'You're that guy on the other side, aren't you. I know you. The neighbour on the other side that Melanie's told me about, who can't keep his nose out. Mellhop, or Bellhop, or something. You need to mind your own business.'
'I've been watching you,' said Theo. He considered the possibilities created by Robin Sellus's mistaken identification. 'You haven't heard the last of this, you know. We're not going to let you get away with, ah, with treating Melanie like this.'
'You're drunk,' said Sellus triumphantly. 'I don't have to listen to your nonsense. I'll ring the police if you bother me any more.'
'I should come over right now and sort you out,' said Theo. 'I will — that's what I'll do. And you can bet you'll know all about it when I get there.' He took another swallow of whisky, but his stomach rebelled and his eyes hurt if he moved them. Abruptly the conversation no longer interested him: accusing Sellus and allowing a second neighbour of Melanie's to be falsely impugned weren't important. He wanted to rest. He interrupted the architect's angry reply to his threat by coming up with what seemed to him a very original and appropriate remark. 'I've been watching you,' he said slyly, and cut the call.
All he wanted to do was sit quietly back with his eyes closed. It would've been better if the light was out. Was the necessary movement beyond him? With an effort he reached the switch and returned heavily to the sofa. He wasn't aware of relaxing his grip, but he heard the whisky glass thump on the carpet and give a slight bounce. Each time Theo breathed out he made a small noise, something between a sigh and a groan, which was soothing and seemed to release the pain from his head. He fell asleep there finally, alone in the dim room with the flickering colours from the television screen playing on his face.
Did he dream? Perhaps a dream of sitting in the Mack while his father drove the unsealed country roads, the heat coming through from the engine, and his father's hand resting on the smooth, black top of the gear change with the fingers vibrating as
some of the abundant torque came back through the lever. Did he dream? Perhaps a dream of first wearing his mid-calf, soft leather coat as he walked hand in hand with Stella into a London art gallery. Did he dream? Perhaps a dream of the Dunstan hills above Drybread and ascending there with a happy, loved woman who'd been able to escape the abuse of her girlhood. Did he dream? Perhaps a dream of being quite different from the man he was, with high purpose and some nobility of spirit. Did he dream? Does a sad drunk dream?
30
There was a farewell for Anna at the paper: Theo organised it, and gave a speech. He exaggerated one or two of the prevailing stories about her for effect, as is expected on such occasions. Anna took it well, and responded in kind when congratulating him on becoming her replacement. She said she'd been over him in more ways than one. There was a lot of laughter and goodwill during the night, and although Theo joined in, everything seemed somewhat reduced and at remove. In the midst of conversations with his colleagues, his mind slipped away to concern itself with the loss of Penny, and he found himself nonplussed when some response was required of him. Incompetent Michael kept coming up to tell him mediocre dirty jokes, and, under the guise of congratulation, insinuating that Anna was better gone. Theo was exasperated and also embarrassed, because one of his first jobs as chief reporter would be to recommend that Michael be sacked.
Late at night, when the celebration was winding down, when the editor and his broad-beamed wife had already left, when the grand swirl of the party was past its peak, and those people remaining had subsided into smaller, seated groups, Anna and Theo found an opportunity to talk together by the buffet slide. Three catering women washed dishes close at hand, but were engrossed with their own conversation. Michael, wearing a green smock donned during some nonsense earlier in the evening, came open mouthed towards Theo and Anna to distract them from friendship by yet another sexual cliché.
'Not now, Mike,' said Theo.
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