Elsewhere in Success

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Elsewhere in Success Page 10

by Iris Lavell


  Now he starts off slowly, shuffling more than running, his knees and his ankles hurting, and his muscles tense and unyielding. This is temporary. He knows that once his body warms up he will be able to move more freely. Buster is with him, sniffing the goal posts and lifting his leg to leave his messages. He runs ahead and back, and across Harry’s path, grinning and threatening to trip him up.

  ‘Get out of the way, Buster!’ Harry yells at him.

  It takes unnecessary effort to scold him and Harry feels mildly put out, but he soon falls into the old rhythm and begins to enjoy the cool of the early south-westerly against his face. He visualises his calf and thigh muscles contracting and strengthening with every step, his arms pumping him forwards as he laps the oval for the first time. Not too bad for an old codger. He slows to a shuffle again and then a walk, holding his side where a stitch has started to develop. Buster circles back and slows to a trot by his side.

  Harry finds himself thinking about the child at Carole and Gordon’s place. What was Carole playing at, asking them around while she had the kid there? He shouldn’t read too much into it, but he has a sneaking suspicion that Louisa has been talking to Carole about his history, and that Carole is trying her own brand of therapy on him. Women love to talk endlessly about their relationships. Apparently.

  Mind you, Louisa hasn’t talked to him much about Tom since the day he died, or what happened with her ex – not that he’s invited it. He knows some of the old guys that came back from Vietnam and he knows that sometimes it’s best to let it be. You don’t know what you’re playing with when you stir things up. People will talk to you when they’re good and ready and anything else you try to get out of them is just morbid curiosity.

  He is thinking too much. He starts to jog again and then to speed up, squeezing the thoughts out through his screwed-up eyes, out the sides of his head, leaving them behind. He begins to sprint, willing his body to work its hardest, until it is his body and nothing else that consumes him. He runs like that, pushing himself until he stumbles to ground. He kneels there panting and attending to the rhythm of his heartbeat until the siren sounds again to send him home.

  They have arranged to meet Carole and Gordon for lunch at a winery in the Swan Valley. Harry chooses the venue and instructs Louisa, who describes it to Carole over the phone. Consequently Carole and Gordon have gone to one section of the winery and Louisa and Harry to the other. They have all been sitting there waiting for the others for some time when Carole takes the initiative to call Louisa on her mobile phone.

  ‘Where are you?’ she says.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘We’re sitting outside where the hotel part is, near the bar. Where are you?’

  ‘At the cafe.’

  ‘Come over. It’s nice here.’

  ‘Hang on.’

  Louisa puts her hand over the phone and relays the situation, but Harry has already signalled that he wants to stay where he is. Gordon is probably saying the same thing.

  ‘It’s lovely here,’ says Louisa. ‘We’re outside too.’

  ‘We’re just having a beer,’ says Carole.

  ‘We’re having a wine. The food looks good.’

  ‘Just so long as there’s alcohol.’

  ‘It’s a winery.’

  ‘Do they have beer there?’ asks Carole. ‘Gordon’s got a taste for it now.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Louisa, mouthing the question to Harry and taking a punt while he checks the menu.

  Carole gives way and soon they are all sitting together.

  The day sparkles. Light sunshine filters through shade created by a loose layer of vine leaves over and through the treated-pine pergola. The small wooden table rocks on uneven red-brick paving. Louisa finds an old electricity bill in her bag and folds it for Harry to place under the shortest leg. He ignores her outstretched hand.

  ‘Why don’t you do it?’ he says.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ says Gordon.

  ‘We could move,’ says Carole.

  They stay.

  Harry has already moved himself and Louisa to the table with the moulded plastic seats rather than one of those with the more aesthetically pleasing wooden chairs that Louisa chose while he was in the toilet. She has given up trying to predict what he will choose as optimal seating, because he always changes position two or three times. This happens even when he initially chooses the seating himself.

  There is a backyard feel to the place, with some spider webs scattered around and no tablecloths on the slatted tables. Pretty soon everyone feels able to relax over a house red, and talk as freely as they would at home. A loud party is going on at the table next to them, comprised of what appears to be three or four generations of a large family. It is in the process of winding up. The restaurant manager carries out the birthday cake as Gordon and Carole arrive.

  ‘Now that takes the cake!’ says Gordon. They all laugh. Emboldened by Gordon and their age past caring, they join in the birthday song and applause, but skip the speeches. Apart from the party, there is only one other couple, who are halfway through their meal. They eat in silence and leave quickly.

  Harry, Louisa, Carole and Gordon relax into the comfort and familiarity of the weathered plastic chairs and prepare for a long lunch.

  ‘It’s great about Labor getting in,’ says Louisa.

  ‘Grape?’ says Harry, pointing upwards to the vine coming through the pergola and winking at Carole. Louisa rolls her eyes for Carole’s benefit. ‘Ha, ha,’ she says, but Carole strangely abandons their old sisterhood solidarity and humours Harry.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ she says, smiling into his eyes.

  ‘That’s a grape shame. I can’t seem to reach them,’ says Harry, winking again, and Carole laughs and takes a swig of wine.

  ‘They’re not ripe anyway,’ says Louisa.

  ‘Oh that’s just sour grapes,’ says Carole and they both laugh again.

  Louisa and Gordon exchange a look.

  ‘I don’t think–’ says Louisa, as Gordon cuts across her.

  ‘It looks like the prime minister is going to lose his seat. I don’t think that’s happened before to a prime minister, has it?’

  Nobody knows for sure.

  ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ says Carole.

  ‘Another drink,’ says Harry, pouring himself another.

  ‘I guess they usually get themselves into safer seats,’ says Louisa. ‘But it’s hard to tell what a safe seat is these days. Amazing all right.’

  ‘I think it’s gr...’ says Carole, choking on her wine, and she and Harry get the giggles.

  ‘I’m a bit worried about the guy who’s running for my mother’s electorate,’ says Louisa. ‘What’s his name again? Anyway, looks like he might just dip out. The Libs seem to have loaded that seat with retirement villages for decades. Nobody gives out how-to-vote cards for any of the other parties it seems. That’s according to my mother. They take them down to vote and give them the cards they want them to have. But my mother still has her wits about her. She noticed and protested. They said, what do you want to vote for them for? Sort of implying that she doesn’t know her own mind. I mean, she’s not stupid. She’s just old.’

  ‘Is that right?’ says Gordon.

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ says Louisa. ‘Don’t quote me.’

  Gordon and Louisa talk about the election while the others sit quietly, but soon there’s nothing more to say about it, so the conversation moves on.

  Carole and Gordon have recently returned from Scotland where Gordon was born and where Carole has discovered the graves of some of her own forebears. Everybody talks about ancestors while Louisa drinks wine from the carafe and also from a bottle that Carole has ordered. Gordon and Harry soon discover some uncomfortable ancient history. They work out that it’s possible that Harry’s ancestors slaughtered Gordon’s. Or perhaps it is the other way around. Louisa has had two or three glasses of wine by this time so her syntax is fuzzy, and everybody else is talking fast an
d over the top of one another. The warm feeling, in any case, is not spoiled by this new knowledge. Everyone seems to be floating along in a pleasant alcoholic haze.

  Carole says, ‘I’ve got a good idea. Why don’t we all go to Scotland together? We could check out all the ancestors. We might even find out that we’re related.’ She directs all of this at Harry, and then adds, somewhat suggestively. ‘I’ve always thought there was something familiar about you.’

  ‘Yes, that would be um, grape,’ says Louisa.

  It’s as if she hasn’t spoken.

  ‘I’ve always thought there was something overly familiar about you,’ Harry says to Carole.

  ‘Overly?’ says Carole, coyly. ‘Not overly, surely?’

  ‘Stop that flirting, you two. Another drink?’ says Gordon to Louisa, pouring one as he asks.

  ‘So who actually killed who?’ asks Louisa, but nobody responds. ‘I mean the ancestors,’ she says. She has been wondering vaguely why people thought or think that you can put one atrocity right by causing another. ‘I don’t have any ancestors that I know about,’ she says. No one is interested in this, but she blunders on anyway. ‘So I feel particularly virtuous. Nobody that I know of has been killed.’

  Carole, Gordon and Harry all look uncomfortable.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘I’m a bit drunk I think.’

  ‘Never mind,’ says Harry, and he places his hand protectively over the top of her hand. Carole drapes her hand over Gordon’s forearm.

  ‘I’ve saved just enough room for sweets,’ Carole says. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Me too,’ says Louisa.

  ‘I’ll go and get the dessert menu,’ says Harry. ‘I need a stretch anyway.’

  ‘I need the loo,’ says Carole, and she goes too, leaving Louisa and Gordon sitting there. They talk about something or other and Gordon attempts to refill the glasses.

  ‘Oops, we’ve run out,’ he says.

  ‘Coffee time,’ says Carole as she returns to the table.

  Over coffee they begin to sober up and the conversation winds down to a point of reflective silence. Harry and Carole seem to have lost interest in one another.

  They all go for a walk to look at arts and crafts in an old-fashioned gingham-curtained and overstocked craft shop on the site of the winery. Louisa lingers over a golf-playing frog but doesn’t want Carole to think that she is attracted to it, so makes a comical expression that she hides from the shop lady. Carole draws her attention to a Buddha water feature with an inbuilt light. Louisa shows Carole a picture of her own Buddha under the rosebush; it is the wallpaper on her mobile phone.

  Carole and Gordon haven’t been to Harry and Louisa’s place for some time so Carole hasn’t seen Louisa’s Buddha. She generously appears to be impressed by the statue, and they talk of their dreams of owning B&Bs, becoming artists and planting trees to ultimately save the earth from global warming. The men stand awkwardly, trying not to listen to what they describe as Louisa and Carole’s ‘secret women’s business’. Harry is starting to sober up. He talks to Gordon generally about politics and football.

  Carole and Louisa discuss their arrangements to catch up again with a mutual, but lapsed, friend, and they can try to recapture a feeling they had when they were younger and more optimistic about the future, before Harry and Gordon. After Victor. Before Tom. They have made plans to see Rhianna. They haven’t met as a group of three for some years. Perhaps it will be better, deeper and authentic in a different way from when they were all young and lovely, and looking forward to life’s uncertainties.

  It is time to go. Gordon and Harry shake hands and everyone hugs and kisses the women. Harry says he is feeling fit to drive, so he takes the keys. He listens to jazz on the way home while Louisa tries not to fall asleep. When they get home, Buster is caught napping on the couch. He struggles off too late, wags his tail and tries not to look guilty. Louisa tells him to relax.

  Harry says he is pooped. He staggers out to water the garden. The dog goes berserk as usual, jumping up at the water and trying to catch it in his mouth. Harry curses him as usual. Louisa potters around then comes outside to watch, to untangle the kinks from the hose for Harry, and feel a part of it all.

  Another day is acknowledged and, as the dog loses interest and settles down, and Louisa notices that Harry rubs Buddha’s good luck tummy as if there is something he is wishing for.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Harry is in the habit of browsing through the job section of the local paper. Nothing appeals enough to make a change. But one morning Louisa is hanging about without any work on, and he is worrying more than usual about their finances, when an advertisement captures his attention. It’s something he could conceivably do, so he decides that it doesn’t hurt to make an enquiry. The money looks good to him, the casual hours promise flexibility, and more importantly the job is out and about.

  He is really only fantasising about it when he closes the door behind himself and makes the call. He speaks quietly. He is placed on hold. He hears Louisa pick up her keys and leave the house. As the front door closes, someone from Human Resources takes his call.

  ‘Hello?’ A woman has picked up.

  ‘Hello? Yes, I’m calling about a job you advertised.’

  ‘Which one?’ There is a hint of exasperation in her voice.

  ‘Oh it’s the um, hang on a minute, ah, could you hold on a minute? I’ve just lost the page here.’

  It’s a good start. She already thinks he’s an idiot. At least he can tell Louisa about it. At least he can say he tried.

  ‘I’ll put you through to John Doe,’ says the woman. Is she kidding?

  ‘John Done,’ says the man at the other end.

  ‘Oh, like Ken Done,’ says Harry, ‘pronounced like “stone”, not, um, “fun”.’

  The man laughs obligingly. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’ve heard that one before.’

  ‘I suppose you have,’ says Harry, but he doubts it.

  ‘No worries,’ says the man. ‘You’re asking about the job we advertised in The Gazette this week, are you?’ He sounds overly friendly.

  ‘Yes. I really just rang on the spur of the moment.’ Harry is apologising for wasting their time, but John Doe chooses not to pick up on it.

  ‘Could you email your resume through this morning?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Or fax it.’

  ‘I don’t have one. I’ve been working for myself for the last ten years or so. I could throw one together, I suppose.’ Because he lacks any sort of resume, he doesn’t think they’ll take him seriously, but he hasn’t counted on the dearth of suitable people for the job market in the booming Western Australian economy. His timing is perfect. Or not – he thought he was making a tentative inquiry and he finds himself being dragged in, arms and legs flailing, like a bug sucked into a vacuum cleaner.

  ‘Running your own business requires a lot of ability,’ says John Doe. ‘The position needs someone with that sort of initiative.’

  This John seems like a reasonable kind of bloke, Harry decides.

  ‘Yes, I have been running my own business, but when I saw the ad I also thought, I did major in chemistry,’ he says, enjoying the opportunity to revisit this early achievement. ‘That seemed to fit what you were after. But I have to admit, it was a long time ago, about twenty years or so.’

  More like twenty-five, or just over.

  ‘So I’m getting on for my late forties.’ And a little bit more.

  ‘A chemistry degree?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re used to taking initiative, being a self-starter, taking responsibility for yourself?’

  ‘Sure, of course.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Not that it’s an issue of course, just curious. These young ones are all over the place these days, unsettled. You sound exactly like the sort of person we need.’ Harry’s heart sinks. ‘We can go through the rest of your experience later. I can see you about eleve
n, no, half-past. If things turn out the way I think they might, when could you start?’

  ‘Next week probably,’ says Harry automatically. Later he will decide that he responded while he was in shock. What was he thinking? There used to be zero chance of getting a job once you were pushing fifty. What’s happened in the last few years? The world’s gone mad. People have lost sight of what’s really important. They don’t know who they are any more. They even call themselves names that sound like ‘John Doe’.

  After he hangs up, Harry sits by the phone, stunned. How is it possible that on a day that started normally, he suddenly finds himself with a job interview? He tosses up whether to go or not, but the man has been so decent, and trusting of him, and of his potentially Oscar-winning performance on the phone, that it would feel bad to stand him up. He decides it wouldn’t hurt to see where it leads. He changes into something more presentable. He goes. He can always turn the job down if they offer it to him. He can tell them when they ring back that he’s been offered something else.

  ‘The job’s yours!’ says Doe. He looks so pleased at the offer he’s making that Harry feels compelled to return his handshake with a similar level of enthusiasm. Before he knows it, Harry has agreed to a medical that afternoon, and a Monday start.

  The medical turns out to be a formality, apart from the drug test, which he will pass. Alcohol and coffee are his drugs of choice. He gave up on smokes and recreational dope years ago. The deal is done. Harry has a regular job.

  He doesn’t know what to feel, but this is something new and mildly exciting and he feels like telling someone. He won’t tell Louisa yet. He needs time to think. He might still pull out. No harm done.

  He tries out the news on Buster, but the dog is typically self-interested and pays no attention. He waits politely but anxiously for his turn to speak, then asks for a throw of the ball. So Harry tells Buddha, who is predictably enigmatic and leaves him to discover the truth for himself. Harry makes himself a cup of tea, stands outside, and gazes out at the scattering of treetops that spread across the suburb beyond the back fence. He notices the not-too-distant hum of traffic from the freeway, of people involved in their lives with places to go and things to do. He decides to call his mother.

 

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