When he returned to the car, he didn’t speak. Nothing was said all the way back to Fountain Gate where he stopped in at Bunnings to buy some straw. This was excruciating. He was forking out more money. There just didn’t seem to be a way of dealing with it. He went in alone, and when he returned he looked at me for a second, turned back to the front and said stiffly, “I intend to get it out of the landlord.”
He knew what that meant for me, but he was taking no notice. He had left nowhere to go with all his silence and everything. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. Perhaps helping him with all the unloading would have been the right thing to do, but running inside, grabbing my bag for Uni and the bike which hadn’t been used since the earthquake and riding off without looking back, seemed like a better idea.
***
Sandro had spent much of his life feeling a type of low grade unhappiness, but this was worse than anything he had felt for a very long time. He carried the purchases around the back one at a time daring Flagran to come back and interfere. Homarta said nothing as he ripped open sacks for her and spread straw bales around the backyard. “I need to get out of here Homarta,” he said eventually, and she gave him a smile of permission. Self-hatred is a terrible thing. It eats away until the loathing becomes unbearable, but there’s no escaping it. He didn’t know what to do. If he went home, Flagran would likely catch up with him. He couldn’t face work, and anyway there was nothing much he could do without his computer. So, he went to visit his mother.
He pulled up outside her lovely home in the Eastern green belt, where Nunawading was protecting many old and beautiful gardens. He phoned her along the way dreading she would tell him she was out, but no, whenever he needed her, she seemed to manage to be in the right place. He rarely talked to her. Their conversations frequently became guarded, and he changed moods so often she had learnt to just let him go and then wait for him to return. His two sisters, while they hadn’t quite given up on him, were a bit tougher.
Gabriella felt two things when her son had hung up the phone. The first was excitement to hear his voice. The second was how inconvenient he was. She had plans for her day. Sandro would never expect her to change her plans for him, but when he needed her there was only one choice. She had to be there. He rarely asked her for anything. She put on the coffee machine and was pulling some freshly baked muffins from the oven just as he reached her front door. He looked so broken she held on to him there for several minutes.
Sandro tore himself away and putting his arm around her led her back towards the smell of coffee. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched her pouring his coffee and splitting muffins for him, loading them up with butter. As he watched, a wave of affection came over him. He smiled. “How good are you?” he said. “I only have to ring and there you are with fresh muffins and brewed coffee. Someone should snap you up quick.”
“Jarrod is fine, thank you very much for asking,” she returned.
He ignored that. “Still...” he said. “You’re quite a find.”
He tucked into his muffin not even having to pretend to be hungry. Absolutely nothing put Sandro off his food. He picked up his coffee and sniffed it. “No, really Mum. I mean...” suddenly, he felt awkward and closed down.
“What’s going on, Sandro?” Gabriella asked him. “You looked like death when I opened the door.”
“And here I am looking a million dollars already, just because I’m here.” Gabriella knew her son well. The more he prevaricated the bigger the issue. She waited, nibbling her muffin and sipping her coffee in time with him. “I’ve really stuffed it up this time,” he said hopelessly.
His mother waited again in silence. “Well, go on,” he said, suddenly belligerent, “ask me what’s new.” That scowl had been there for over twenty five years, she thought.
“Tell me.”
“It’s a woman, of course,” he said the bitterness vying with the coffee for first place. He put it down on the table and stood up.
“Sit down, Sandro,” she said sternly. “Enough!”
Obediently, he sat, turned away from her. Give him time, Gabriella was telling herself. This was something it had taken her a long while to learn. Shaking him was a much more attractive proposition, but it tended to have lasting negative results for their relationship.
“I’m making a real mess of this.”
His mother thought at first he was referring to their conversation, but he was, she realised, talking about a girl. How extraordinary! As far as she could recall, he had never processed any of his relationships. He saw them all as a kind of experiment. This one failed. That one was looking okay, but in the end hadn’t worked. Always cheerful about it. Never a hint of loss.
“So talk about it,” she prompted.
“She’s really cute,” he said. “She’s such a fighter. She’s got no money,” he paused here feeling awkward.
“Is that a problem for you, Sandro?”
“No. It makes me want to look after her, and she is fiercely independent, or something, because I keep making her agro.” She watched him turn inwards again with a groan, but he continued. “I just want to touch her, kiss her, look after her. Be with her all the time.” Gabriella was astounded. She looked at him shocked.
“What?” he said. “What’s wrong with that? I didn’t say I wanted to fuck her all the time.” She glared back at him, and in that moment they looked so alike. “Don’t start putting things on me, Sandro. I’m not the enemy here. I’m only surprised because I haven’t heard you talk like that about a girl since you were sixteen.”
He stood up and came around to her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he said “Help me Mum! I’m a disaster waiting to happen.” If she could have drawn him onto her lap and shut out the pain, she would have. Oh, if only some woman would take over for her.
“I’m having trouble understanding the problem… I mean the difficulty you’re having.”
“That’s just it,” he said. “I can’t tell you, and I can’t tell her.”
“What can’t you tell her?” This was such a stupid question that he couldn’t help but answer.
Gabriella listened without comment, and when it was finished, she laughed at him.
“What an idiot you are Sandro. Of course you can tell her. She absolutely has to know. She’ll be more frustrated and angry with you the longer you leave it. What’s such a big deal about it?”
“The thing is Mum, she’s already angry with me. I roughed her up a bit.”
Gabriella stood up. “What does ‘roughed her up’ mean exactly?” she asked him slowly. His temper had always been a bit knife edged, but she had never known him to hurt anyone physically; well not a girl anyway. Maybe, he just hadn’t told her about it before. Her mind flew around to all manner of nasty situations. Of course he didn’t normally tell her, his mother, that he was in the habit of physically abusing his girlfriends.
Sandro, catching on to what she was thinking, put her out of her misery. “I was just pulling her out the car because she’d cracked it with me, and I wanted to get my arms around her, but she was furious.”
Well done, girl, his mother thought, though she wisely kept this to herself. “So what happened then?”
Sandro was beginning to regret having said all this and was trying to back out of the corner into which he had painted himself. “We didn’t talk all the way home, and she stalked off.”
“So that’s easy fixed” his mother said.
He shook his head. “No, she’s also pissed because she thinks I’m going to demand money from her landlord, and she doesn’t want to upset him because apparently he’s a real bastard.” His mother laughed again.
“What a tangle you’ve got yourself into!” She didn’t seem to be too worried, Sandro decided. Maybe it was fixable after all. But no. He knew Bridey would be furious with him. “The worst of it Mum, is, you haven’t seen the dive I’ve had her living in. And even worse, she has no water at the moment and is having to use buckets to shower. And, here
I am pretending to be the good guy. She’s been feeling guilty because I’m being so helpful offering to speak to the landlord for her.”
His mother shook her head “Oh Sandro. What a mess you’ve made of this.”
Then he wanted to justify himself and tell her all about their first meeting, but that couldn’t be explained. She was right. He had to come clean.
“What’s her name?”
“Bridey,” he told her softly. And that was a first.
***
Bridey
Anger builds up until it tries to explode the top off your head. Imagining what could and should be said was satisfying at the beginning of the afternoon, but it gradually drove me crazy. Why can’t you just fall for a lovely gentle guy who treats you nice? The worst of it was feeling that kiss over and over again. The library was a good, quiet place to think, but work had to be done, and there was no way to make up the time if I wasted the entire week mooning over an idiot. As the afternoon wore on, I became increasingly desperate to see him again. And increasingly furious with myself.
I rang a friend hoping he was around the Uni somewhere, and we had coffee. The conversation never even touched on what was going on in my head, but it passed some time. I kept wondering about going home. Maybe, he would be there. It was an uncomfortable thought. Jonathon was a cheery sort and was holding up his end of the conversation well, when Sandro walked into the cafe off the street. He stood for a minute, doing a double flip because I was with a guy probably. It wasn’t that he needed the cold shoulder but more to do with how hard it was to speak which stopped me from saying anything. He held back a minute or so, and then just strode over, excused himself in a rough sort of way to Jonathon, and asked me to go outside for a second because he wanted to talk. There wasn’t much Jonathon could do about it. Not wanting to make things worse, I shoved down my indignation and followed him out to his car. My legs were not behaving themselves, and there were all sorts of sensations running through my thighs. Being not so good with the whole cool thing, I settled with trying to keep my tongue from hanging out.
It was the Ferrari. Much better than the Camry, which I now held responsible for this morning’s stuff ups. Well, apart from the first bit, after that. He held the door open for me and closed it quietly. Perhaps, it was intended as a lesson or something. When he sat in his side, the silence was, again, deafening. What was wrong with this man? Couldn’t he just get on with the kissing bit? But no, he had to talk.
“Bridey,” he started.
Oh goodness he was going with a formal brush off. What an idiot to think he couldn’t wait to get to me. “It doesn’t matter,” I said hastily. “Just leave it at that.” He stared at me, puzzled. Perhaps it wasn’t the dumping before we even got started.
“Bridey, I’ve made a real balls-up of this.” I nodded. “No,” he said “I mean you have no idea.” He was married, with three kids! No wonder Flagran was calling him a mongrel. How could he not tell me? I started to turn towards the door, and he put his hand on my arm to stop me going. All it took was a look for him to drop it, but before things went any further in that direction, he spoke again, and the only thing to do was listen. “You need to know,” he said, “I’m your landlord.”
At first the words held no meaning for me. They were a complete mystery. Then it slowly began to sink in. I stared at him. “Take me home,” I ordered. He started up the car without a word and, again, we drove along in silence. This was becoming a habit. As the kilometres passed, various bits began to fall into place. We were on Hoddle St before the desperation hit. He was just trying to please the Caretakers by being nice and making himself look good. He wasn’t interested at all. It was essential to reach home before the tears started.
Torrenclar was waiting on my bed. How did he know this stuff? The only thing he didn’t have was the tissues ready. Perhaps tears and snot running down your chest don’t worry spirit people. They don’t do washing. When questioned about what he knew, Torrenclar wouldn’t give much away. Nor would he bag Sandro, which was curious. He listened to it all and soothed me in his wonderful way. He did suggest Sandro was not all bad, and things may not be what they seem. In the end, I curled my head into his lap, and he sang to me the most beautiful song. It reminded me of rain on tin roofs, and the sea at night when you’re curled up warm in a tent. Gradually, my sobbing eased, and I went to sleep. It was darker when movement woke me up. Torrenclar was stretched out on the bed beside me. We faced each other and just gazed. When complete consciousness returned, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.
“Let’s go run you a bath,” he said. It was a wondrous plan, but how could we make the water hot?
“By the time the bath is filled to your very great pleasure Madam, Flagran will have arrived to heat it for you.” This was odd. Why hadn’t the thought occurred before? Why were all these Caretakers hanging around here and giving us so much attention. It made no sense.
“Is there something I should know about all this?” I asked him, suddenly not so trusting.
“Yes,” he replied. “But you’re going to have to figure it out for yourself as we go along.” His voice was calm and clear, and there were no loopholes for me to find. From now on, I determined to be more watchful. This was all too weird, and it was time to grow up. Being a child in fantasy land was not an option.
Sandro sent around some plumbers the following morning. They even arrived at a respectable hour and knocked on the door as they should. In one way, I was delighted to see them, but it meant there was little possibility of Sandro coming to continue fixing things himself. I hated the way, even though I was angry with him, I couldn’t stop myself from hoping, listening for clues from the plumbers, alert to every car noise in the street.
I forced myself to study diligently at the kitchen table. When I needed a break, I went outside and helped Homarta plant. Hundreds of plants had arrived in the backyard late the afternoon before. Vegetables mainly, the delivery also included three fruit trees and some shrubs.
Conferring about the positioning of vegetables, choosing places for the trees, and even making a small effort with the shovel, diverted my mind from its misery. Pulling up and laying new pipes was not the work of a day. It turned out to be more like three. There was the digging of trenches, the repairing of connections, the waiting for parts to arrive, and all the other distractions met with when tradesmen juggle customers. My new determination not to be hoodwinked meant paying very close attention to all this and learning as it went along. In between events in the plumbing arena, Torrenclar occasionally, but not always, replenished my water. I made trips to the supermarket for drinking water and, when Torrenclar was willing, we refilled containers which eked out the supply with all the care of a miser counting coins. It was difficult to understand the way the Caretakers worked. Sometimes they held back, and at other times they were supportive and helpful. Determined not to become dependent on the help, I held back, and in turn Torrenclar kept more distance. It was all painful.
Homarta seemed to be the only truly contented member of the team. As her garden grew and flourished under expert eye and hands, she regained her powers in part. Although still confined to the block of land, it was with less frustration. Flagran was conspicuously absent. Probably this was because he remained as close to Sandro as Sandro would allow. His absence was a huge loss. Friday came and went with a shift at the Hotel that night which included a long hot shower. My hair washing used way more water than three minutes worth. You never appreciate a shower more than after you haven’t been able to shower properly for a week.
Saturday brought Elaine to visit once more. “What on earth has been going on here?” she said in her irritable voice, one calculated to impact on the listener in the manner of fingernails on a chalk board. You would think it had all been done to annoy her specifically. “The landlord must be going to sell. All that work around the front digging everything up and then neatening it is a bad sign, Bridey.” And, she of course would know. That was clear be
cause she knew everything.
“Mum, the landlord is trying to do the right thing.” Even to my ears it sounded ridiculous.
“Now, why would he do that?” she asked, suspicious.
“Heaven knows.” Hopefully that was true. And, maybe, it would eventually become clear.
Next, Elaine decided to make her way around the back, and as Homarta was unable to leave the area, or to disappear, the two met. It was not exactly love at first sight. For some reason Homarta had it in her head that Elaine had come to upset me, and she was, if not belligerent exactly, something close to it.
“Now don’t you go upsetting Bridey,” she said.
Mum just stared at her as though she was a slug on a lettuce. “What business is it of yours how I relate to my own daughter?” she asked. If it had been aimed at me, it would have resulted in retreat, but Homarta was indomitable.
“She’s had a hard time lately, and she doesn’t need you having a go at her.” It was horrifying to hear my mother being spoken to like this by a large, badly clad woman covered in dirt. Which was difficult enough, but why did she have to bring up my affairs with my mother of all people?
“What?” she said facing me, now, “What have you been up to?” Which was what she was like. It was no news to me, but the familiar stab of panic made me feel about five.
Homarta then made the whole situation incredibly worse by insisting Elaine apologise. It was horrific. Mum was jealous of this other woman in my life, and it was perfectly clear that Homarta was by far the stronger of the two. The damage could be fatal. Mum seemed to sense this because she discovered she had an urgent appointment and left as abruptly as she had arrived. I sat on a garden chair (they were my kitchen ones really, but it worked for me having them out there) and tried to calm my trembling legs. Homarta came over and tried to give me a shoulder massage, but I told her to piss off.
The best about Homarta was when she just understood. All the Caretakers were like that. She went back to fiddling with her plants, humming over them, making them grow almost as we watched. You could see them picking up, alert, looking towards her for direction. I can understand why people use the expression ‘watching plants grow’ but they don’t usually mean it like this. A line from Dylan Thomas popped into my head. ‘the force that through the green fuse drives the flower’
Reluctant Activists Page 11