by Mel Campbell
‘Ehh,’ Rose said. ‘Maybe the show was good? I dunno, it’s not really my kind of thing.’
‘Yeah, well, I guess you don’t have to like the end product.’
‘I know,’ Rose said, ‘but it’s weird how sad I felt when I actually watched it. Guess I’d built it up in my own head.’
‘Well, it’s still a good job,’ Nicola said. ‘Better than working for Old Steve. Focus on that.’
‘I guess,’ Rose said. ‘I really need the money, too.’
‘Who even watches The Dock anyway?’ Nicola went on. ‘Mansions in the Sky is where all the action is.’
‘We saw a promo for it,’ Rose said. ‘Dave was on it.’
‘Oooh, “Dave”,’ Nicola said. ‘Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to stalk your new boyfriend yet.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Rose said. ‘I only met him once.’
‘Once is all it takes,’ Nicola said.
‘I dunno,’ Rose said, ‘Am I building it up too much?’
‘You’re a cabinetmaker,’ Nicola said, ‘Building things up is what you do.’
‘You wouldn’t know it from tonight’s episode,’ Rose said. ‘A guy at work said that none of the crew bother watching reality shows, and after tonight I kinda get why.’
Nicola gasped. ‘What? You’re giving up Grim Designs?’
Rose managed a small smile at her friend’s panic. ‘Never,’ she said. ‘I just … I wish you’d been here tonight.’ They exchanged a little more chit-chat before saying their goodbyes.
Rose lay down on her bed, but she couldn’t sleep. Her work was invisible, her family was hopeless, and she was worried she was developing a crush on a guy she’d never see again outside of a TV screen. The only thing she had to look forward to was watching a sinking ship. But at least she wasn’t working with Old Steve.
On the bedside table, her phone lit up. She looked over; it was a text from Old Steve.
SAW THE BOAT SHOW. ITS NOT TO LATE TO CVOME BACK
She didn’t answer it.
Rose looked at her phone, barely able to make out the screen in the gloomy bar. Why were cool bars always so dark? You’d think everyone there would want to be seen.
She’d almost cancelled this date twice, but in the end she figured she didn’t have much to lose. Dave was just a crush, and barely one at that; better to try and focus on something that could be real than wonder about a guy she’d never see again. But now Alistair was twenty minutes late and she’d already had to fend off half a dozen guys trying to hit on her. This was totally not her scene, but presumably Alistair had chosen this place to impress her; as soon as he finally arrived she was going to suggest they find somewhere less fashionable.
She scanned the crowd from her seat at the bar. The place seemed packed with a mix of suits, cocktail dresses and expensive haircuts, all crammed into a space not much bigger than a two-car garage. If this was what it was like on a weeknight, she thought, it must be unbearable on a Saturday.
Rose was wearing a black minidress and knee-high boots, which seemed to pass muster with the cool crowd; she figured her simple outfit must look a lot more expensive than it really was. She toyed with her necklace: seven polished wooden beads clustered along a silver chain, in shades from creamy white and honey-gold to pinkish-red and rich brown. She’d made it herself from offcuts of her favourite timbers.
Her phone beeped. It was Alistair. im outside, his message read.
She typed back, I’m inside at the bar.
Her phone beeped again. they say its at capacity
She looked over at the entrance. A clutch of model-gorgeous women walked in past the bouncer. While she was looking, another group walked in behind them. She finished off her beer and headed for the door.
Alistair was waiting for her outside the bar’s laneway entrance. He was a stocky man in a business suit, his collar open and bunched around his ears. Going by his red face, he seemed embarrassed that he couldn’t get into the bar; but when he spoke, he sounded like a footy club captain after a big win.
‘Hey babe,’ he said, leaning in for a kiss.
‘I’m Rose,’ she said, side-stepping his smooch. ‘You’re Alistair?’
‘All day,’ the man with no neck said with a smirk, ‘and all night.’
Rose laughed politely. It was too soon to write him off completely. ‘I thought we could go somewhere not as crowded.’
‘A little more private? I like it.’ Suddenly his face fell. ‘But you look amazing in that dress. I bet you’d be the most stunning woman in this place.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Rose said. ‘How about we go somewhere we can both get in?’
‘Fair enough,’ Alistair said. ‘It’s a shame, though – that’s the coolest bar in town. They know me in there. I guess it must be crazy busy tonight. Where else did you have in mind? Bar Exclusif? Club Money? The Vault?’
‘How about we start with a drink?’ She pointed down the laneway. ‘I see the Smuggler’s Dog is still open.’
‘A pub,’ Alistair said, horrified.
‘C’mon,’ she said, ‘it’s good to try new things.’
Half an hour later they were both throwing glances at the pub’s exit. Rose wasn’t feeling a spark with Alistair and was thinking of heading home; Alistair clearly wanted to kick on somewhere else. He had taken offence at the pub from the moment they’d stepped inside, dropping minor digs into a conversation that he was increasingly making into a running monologue. He wasn’t happy that he’d had to order a tap beer when they hadn’t known how to make the cocktail he’d wanted; he was the only man there in a suit and clearly looked out of place; his nose wrinkled every time one of the pokies in the next room paid out.
‘Maybe we should get going,’ Alistair said.
‘Yeah, sounds good,’ Rose said. ‘I’ve got an early start in the morning.’
Alistair took out his phone. ‘Cool, cool. I’ll book us an Uber to Semi-Automatic.’
‘Is that a club? I don’t really feel like a big night …’
‘We could go somewhere else? Club Thuggery?’ He saw the look on her face. ‘Or maybe we could stay here? One more drink?’
Rose nodded. ‘I’ll get them this time.’
‘No way, babe – tonight is on me. A gentleman never lets a lady pay for her own drinks.’
Rose was already on her feet. ‘Same again?’ she said.
He hesitated. ‘Sure,’ he said flatly.
Rose was back with the beers in a minute; it had taken Alistair ten just to get the barman’s attention. ‘There you go, mate,’ she said, putting his beer down in front of him. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ he said, taking the smallest possible sip; Rose downed half her beer in one gulp.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rose was now very familiar with pretty much everything there was to know about Alistair, and there wasn’t really that much to know. He worked in finance and acted like it was the centre of the universe, even though all he seemed to do was manage a team that ripped off little old ladies. He lived in a brand-new McMansion out in the suburbs, which had briefly interested Rose, but Alistair saw it entirely as a status symbol, proudly reeling off the prices of every feature and fixture. He’d overpaid for it all. His hobbies seemed confined to yachting and polo. Not participating; just watching from the sidelines with people as boring and status-obsessed as he was.
Eventually, Alistair ventured a new line of conversation. ‘Nicola tells me you’re helping out your parents.’
‘That’s right,’ Rose said. ‘Well, I contribute financially. Physically, they’re fine.’
He shook his head and took another fastidious little sip. ‘Bad move, babe – some people need to sink before they can swim.’
‘That’s a pretty ruthless way to think. Family’s worth investing in.’
Alistair considered this. ‘Maybe. Do they have extensive real estate holdings?’
Rose shook her head.
‘I just think you have to be a little ruthless to get what you want in this life. I know what I want.’ He leant over the table in an attempt to grab her wrists. She pulled them away just in time.
‘A hot babe like you shouldn’t be embarrassed about having scars, calluses and … whatnot,’ he said. ‘It’s not your fault you have to work with your hands.’
She looked down at his hands. They were soft and pink, like a baby’s. A creepy, sexist baby.
Alistair was still talking. ‘A woman’s hands should be doing more … delicate work.’
‘Like what?’ she said, then instantly regretted it.
He smirked and winked. ‘Seriously, though, being a tradie, babe … it’s not a good look. You should be hiring tradies, not … being one.’
Astounded, Rose stared at his face. The redness there was clearly just his natural colouring; it couldn’t be shame, because the man in front of her was shameless.
‘I like being a tradie,’ Rose said. ‘I like that I work with my hands.’
‘But babe, don’t you ever want to do something less … dirty? Something less menial?’
‘There’s nothing menial about creating things,’ Rose said. ‘Helping people’s dreams come true.’
Alistair wrinkled his nose. ‘Don’t you want to live your dream?’
Rose drained the last of her beer. ‘What do you know about my dreams? You haven’t asked me a question about myself all night.’
‘Not true, babe. I asked about your family.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Only to insult them.’
He took another sip of his beer. ‘I’m just trying to look out for you. I know I haven’t known you for long, but I know you can do better than being a tradie.’
‘Aw, that’s sweet,’ Rose said, standing up. ‘I haven’t known you for long, either,’ she paused, ‘but I know I can do better than you.’
‘You didn’t!’ Nicola said.
‘I did,’ Rose said, giggling as she kicked off the boots she’d worn on the failed date. On the computer monitor Nicola clapped.
‘I never come up with good one-liners,’ Rose said, carrying the laptop over to her bed. ‘I reckon if I’d looked back he would have been crying.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Nicola said, ‘he seemed like a nice guy at the polo.’
‘That’s his natural environment,’ Rose said. ‘He didn’t even know how to order a beer at the pub. Did I tell you he said that fluoro yellow wasn’t my colour?’
‘Wow,’ Nicola said, ‘you’ve really had a bad run of it. First Marco, now … Polo?’
They both laughed.
‘I promise I’ll find someone better for you next time.’
‘Can we put a hold on “next time”?’ Rose said. ‘I really just want to focus on my new job for a while.’
‘And what new job is that?’ Nicola said. ‘Fantasising about Dave?’
‘Hardly,’ Rose said. ‘I’ve only met him once.’
‘I’d believe that excuse more if you’d only mentioned him once,’ Nicola said.
‘Hey! You’re the one who brought him up,’ Rose said, almost believing it.
‘Fair enough,’ Nicola said. ‘No more Dave talk. But a new man would be good for you. Don’t you ever just wish for some strong arms to hold you?’
‘I’ve got my own strong arms,’ Rose said, hugging herself theatrically.
‘Yes, well, I’m sure your strong arm can satisfy you in the short term,’ Nicola said. ‘But I know you, and I know you need some love in your life. Someone who’s there for you, the way you’re there for everyone else.’ Nicola giggled. ‘Someone who can build you up, the way you build … stuff.’
Rose laughed. ‘You have no idea what I do, do you?’
‘Yeah, well, you have no idea what I do!’ Behind Nicola a Japanese man ran past, shouting.
‘Is everything okay?’ Rose said.
‘It’s fine,’ Nicola said, glancing briefly behind her. ‘The love robot tests didn’t go quite as well as we’d hoped.’ Smoke started billowing out behind her. ‘No big deal.’ The shouting man ran back into view, now holding a fire extinguisher.
Off screen someone shouted, ‘Tetsuooooooooooooooo!’
‘I’d better go,’ Nicola said.
‘Good luck,’ Rose said.
‘You too. Sounds like we’ll both need it.’
Getting out of her ute at the docks at lunchtime on Sunday, Rose knew the funk she was in would pass. Probably not today, though. She felt a little foolish that she’d ever hoped something would come of her job at The Dock. So why couldn’t she shake this sense of vague disappointment?
She’d quit Old Steve’s because he was never going to let her take charge of her skills and make things from start to finish. And while the conditions were better on The Dock, Rose was still doing the same kind of piecework. Of course, she understood that this was what working on a renovation show meant. The contestants would always get to do the fun stuff – and get the credit for it. But this job was never going to lead where Rose wanted to go.
It was dawning on Rose how naive she’d been. Without even really admitting it to herself, she’d been thinking of The Dock as a stepping stone to a new kind of career. Something more challenging, more exciting, than a regular cabinetmaking gig. She’d been lured in by the same TV dream that reality shows always sold – the magic of transformation. But now she was realising what DIY really meant: that if she ever wanted to run her own business, she’d have to make it herself.
The boatshed looked suspiciously empty. ‘Where are the tradies?’ Rose asked a passing runner.
He shrugged. ‘It’s elimination day. We only keep one tradie on for emergencies.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘Guess you’re it. You might see the others later at the barbecue.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ The runner hurried off, leaving Rose looking for someone to report to. Over by the whiteboard, Bernie was going over the day’s shot list with a couple of the camera crew, and Rose hovered on the fringes of the conversation until the producer looked up.
‘Emergency tradie, reporting for duty,’ Rose said.
‘Okay, great,’ Bernie said, already bored. ‘Wait over by your station. We’ll let you know if there’s anything that we need done.’ He turned back to the camera crew, not bothering to wait for Rose’s reply.
Always good to know where you stand in the scheme of things, Rose thought, dragging a chair back with her across the shed’s concrete floor to where a stack of lumber was piled. Was every new job going to be like this forever? Being kept in the dark and doing all the shit jobs until someone new came along and she could dump all the boring work onto them?
She checked her watch; it was barely 1 p.m. She couldn’t really complain about sitting around doing nothing. If she’d stayed at home she’d be doing basically the same thing: sitting in silence, not wanting to wake up her sleeping parents and brother. At least at home she could play on her phone; she didn’t really think anyone here would care, but it was still her first week on the job and she wanted to give the impression she was paying attention. So she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
By three she could hear people gathering outside the shed, and figured it was safe to crack open a door and peer out into the afternoon sun to see what was going on. A smallish crowd had gathered on the other side of the chain-link fence that cut the dock off from the foreshore, clawing at the fence and rattling it like a horde of zombie football hooligans.
‘They’re angry today,’ one of the production staff said, seeing Rose’s expression of horror. ‘If we don’t get them some fresh meat, who knows what they’ll do.’
‘Fresh meat?’ Rose said. Surely he was joking. B
ut no. ‘Fire up the barbecue!’ Bernie shouted.
A pair of grips walked towards the fence, carrying a hotplate; another grip trailed behind, wheeling the gas bottles to heat it up. A fourth grip had an entire fridge on a trolley. It was so stuffed with meat the door didn’t shut properly; plastic-wrapped packs of sausages and hamburgers spilled out as he dragged the fridge along behind the others. A lighting technician followed, paying out coils of extension cord from inside the shed to power the whole setup.
No sooner had they set up the barbecue by the fence – the crowd was stamping their feet and chanting now – than Thor Thorsson appeared, wearing a striped butcher’s apron over his usual seafaring gear. ‘I am here to give these sausages a Viking funeral!’ he bellowed as the crowd roared their encouragement. ‘May they find Odin’s grace in your bellies!’
Behind the barbecue Rose saw a couple of grips setting up a viewing platform. Presumably once the crowd had been lured in by the smell of fresh meat, they’d be herded onto the platform to become the audience for the sinking. Her gaze moved past them to take in the boats bobbing gently at their moorings; they all looked pretty much the same to her, though a couple of them were definitely dodgy when she’d seen them up close. If there’d been any gossip about who’d be going home today, it hadn’t reached her ears.
She knew that in later weeks there’d be themed challenges to complete – the decking challenge, or the seaworthy challenge. But as this was the first week that the boats were in the water, they were being judged on everything from style to seaworthiness to general maintenance. The boat that was at the bottom of the rankings when it came to those factors today would be the boat that was at the bottom of the harbour by tonight.
If it were up to Rose, she’d say goodbye to Beverley. A middle-aged woman with no evident sailing experience, Beverley was clearly trying her best and she had some good ideas – though maybe not the giant decorative polystyrene starfish lining her boat’s cabin walls. But she also spent half her time chasing around the little dog Rose had patted in the boatshed, which, bizarrely, was her partner on the show. Rose had to admit that Snuggles was very cute, but if Beverley’s boat was coming last, not even a cute dog would save her.