The Last Road Trip

by Gareth Crocker

  ‘So Paul’s letter has made you … what?’

  ‘Reconsider things,’ she whispered, fiddling with her hands. ‘Maybe it’s time I went back. To face what I did.’ They were both silent for a while.

  ‘Then let me take you,’ Jack said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll drive you. I’m going to Cape Town anyway and there’s no way in hell you should do this by yourself.’

  ‘Hold on, Jack. I don’t even know if— I still need to think about— Wait … are you serious?’

  Jack leaned in and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Let me help you with this.’

  As Elizabeth stared back at him, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks, she felt herself begin to nod. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  Four

  Sitting on the veranda with its elevated view of the golf course, Sam looked up and admired how the sprinklers sprayed liquid rainbows over the fairways. An early summer sky framed a clear and fresh blue morning. There were few places on earth that could compete with Johannesburg when the weather was just so.

  ‘How beautiful is that?’ he asked, almost whispering the words.

  ‘Not bad,’ Rosie replied. ‘For a prison.’

  ‘Ah yes. Touché.’

  ‘As a matter of interest, why’ve you never played golf? Is it a black thing?’

  ‘What? I think you’ll find that Tiger Woods is black. And he can play a bit.’

  ‘Nice try, but he’s more like a tanned Hawaiian. A poached Mexican, maybe.’

  Sam shrugged and reached for his orange juice. ‘I tried playing a couple times but the game didn’t do anything for me. I found that I just preferred walking around the course.’

  Rosie was about to reply, when Jack and Elizabeth arrived at the table. As they exchanged pleasantries, Rosie glanced down at Elizabeth’s plate. It contained a single slice of watermelon and a tablespoon of yoghurt.

  ‘Lizzy,’ Rosie began, ‘please tell me you have a sparrow with a broken wing in your pocket.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie, this is more than enough for me.’

  ‘C’mon, that’s ridiculous,’ she replied, throwing up her arms. ‘I’ve flossed more food out of my teeth.’

  Elizabeth pulled a face as she sat down. ‘That’s some imagery I could probably do without.’

  ‘Do you know what else you’re going to have to probably do without?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Hair. Because that’s what you lose when your body doesn’t get the nutrients it needs. Your hair starts to fall out in clumps. You think I enjoy eating this much? The only reason I do it is because I’m on a strict hair-care maintenance plan.’ She then ran her hands through her short brown hair in the seductive manner of a 1980s’ shampoo advert. ‘This doesn’t just happen, you know. It’s hard work. Sacrifice. Dedication.’

  Jack pulled a face. ‘Sometimes I wonder about you, Rosie.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack, but I’m not sure your private thoughts of me are appropriate breakfast-table conversation. In any case, just imagine how boring your chats would be if I wasn’t around? What the hell would you talk about? The weather? Elizabeth’s alopecia?’

  ‘Well,’ Jack said, ‘this might surprise you, but Lizzy and I actually have some interesting news for once. News and a proposition, to put a finer point on it.’

  ‘A proposition?’ Sam asked.

  ‘It’s not an orgy, is it?’

  Jack ignored Rosie’s quip. ‘As you know, I was planning to drive down to Cape Town in a couple weeks. Anyway, Lizzie and I have been talking, and she’s decided that she wants to visit her childhood home in Sutherland. If you can believe this, it’s remained in her family for more than fifty years and nobody’s lived there since her father passed away. I’ve offered to drive her down. The idea is that she can spend some time on the farm and, when she’s ready, she can fly back to Johannesburg.’

  ‘So we were wondering,’ Elizabeth cut in, ‘if you two might like to join us on the trip. There’s no rush so we thought we could take our time. Maybe spend a couple weeks making our way down the country. Visiting some of the small towns off the main roads. That sort of thing. What do you think?’

  Sam thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Hell, why not? It sounds like a fine idea.’

  Pleased at Sam’s response, Jack turned to look at Rosie. She blinked twice, then clapped her hands together. ‘Screw it, I’m in.’

  ‘Just like that?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘I had a whole sales pitch lined up.’

  ‘No need for the sales pitch. Just so long as my hair nutrition needs are met. It sounds like fun. Besides, it’s about time we bust out of this prison,’ she said, and swept an arm out over the manicured golf course.

  ‘Lizzy, if you don’t mind me asking, does this have anything to do with Paul’s letter?’

  Elizabeth looked up at Sam and nodded. ‘I should’ve done this a long time ago. I don’t want to put it off any longer.’

  ‘What about you guys?’ Jack asked. ‘Is there anything you might want to do on the trip? Somewhere you’d like to go?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘Just coming along for the ride is good enough for me.’

  ‘Same here,’ Rosie agreed. ‘So when do we go?’

  ‘How about next Friday?’ Jack suggested. ‘That gives us a good week or so to prepare. I only have to be in Cape Town by New Year’s.’

  They each looked back at Jack and nodded, knowing that any questions around the mysterious New Year’s Day deadline would be glossed over.

  After a moment’s contemplation, Rosie pushed to her feet and hefted up her glass. ‘To our road trip,’ she called out, loud enough to attract attention from across the room.

  ‘Our road trip,’ they echoed, raising their glasses.

  ‘To the final charge of the Light Brigade! And to breaking out of this godforsaken hellhole,’ she called out, banging her crystal glass down on the table.

  Five

  The next few days sailed by in a blur of lists and road maps. Routes were investigated and discussed. Articles on forgotten back roads and ghost towns were researched and pored over. And while accommodation was sought out and notes were taken, no firm bookings were made. It wasn’t going to be that sort of trip.

  Jack, for his part, spent most of his time making sure that his old Chrysler Voyager would be up for the journey. While the car had not given him any serious problems in the past and was still in good shape in terms of miles on the clock, she wasn’t exactly in concourse condition – a side effect of living in an estate where every amenity could be reached by golf cart. The old girl’s tyres had to be pumped, her battery replaced, and the engine needed both a tune-up and a service. At the end of the week, once everything had been done, Jack felt a twinge of guilt at the way he had neglected the car.

  It was late afternoon and, once again, they were all sitting around the swimming pool – all but Rosie, who was on her way back from a routine doctor’s appointment to check on her blood pressure. Jack had just finished his swim and was about to serve the first round of drinks when he noticed the slight form of Albert Brooks sitting quietly in his wheelchair under the oak tree to their left. As usual, he was staring down at the book in his lap.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him outside without that birding book of his,’ Jack said.

  Sam nodded. ‘I think with his condition it gives him a degree of comfort. It’s like an anchor in his memory.’

  Elizabeth adjusted her chair to get a better look at Albert. ‘I hear they want to move him into frail care. I think they’re worried that he’s not going to be able to take care of himself for much longer. That he might inadvertently set fire to his home or something.’

  As they watched Albert from across the pool, knowing that what little quality of life he had left was likely to be measured out in months, not years, Jack slowly got to his feet.

  ‘And now?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Well, he’s not in frail care yet.’ With that, he tu
rned away and began to make his way towards Albert. Sam and Elizabeth quickly stood up and followed after him.

  ‘Albert,’ Jack called out. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  Albert looked up, a dazed smile dancing over his lips. ‘Hello … good afternoon,’ he said, reaching for a name. ‘Jack.’

  ‘Do you remember Sam and Elizabeth?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he replied, though his expression suggested otherwise.

  They all shook hands before Jack pointed to the book. ‘I tried getting into the whole birding thing myself once. I enjoyed it for a while.’

  ‘Do you know that we have some fantastic birds on the estate? Johannesburg is awash with birds.’ He threw out his arms exuberantly. ‘Awash.’

  Jack peered into the book and saw that detailed notes had been written beside each of the six birds depicted on the page. ‘Do you have a favourite?’

  Albert looked up at Jack and nodded without hesitation. He seemed almost grateful for the question. ‘Ardeotis kori. The kori bustard. The world’s heaviest flying bird. The jumbo of the sky!’ He immediately flipped to a page that was so dog-eared that the edge of the paper was beginning to disintegrate. And there, highlighted and underlined, was a photo of a kori bustard.

  ‘Proof enough that there is a God. Has to be,’ Albert whispered, tapping at the page with his finger.

  ‘It’s a beautiful specimen,’ Jack replied, but felt really that it looked like a bloated pigeon. It was a rather insipid-looking greyish brown bird with a splotch of black-and-white speckles on its wings.

  ‘Why’s the kori bustard your favourite?’

  Albert began to reply and then seemed to swallow his words. He frowned as he searched for an answer. ‘Sorry, I get a little … lost now and again.’ He pointed to the side of his head. ‘Some of the marbles are falling out. It’s the whole Alzheimer’s thing.’

  ‘I understand, Albert. It’s no problem. Have you ever seen one of these birds in the wild?’

  Albert stared back at him, his eyes glistening in the afternoon light. ‘No. I’ve never had the privilege, I’m afraid.’

  Largely bald, with a wisp of grey hair trailing over the roof of his head, Albert looked forlornly down at the page.

  The moment needed a woman’s touch and Elizabeth quickly obliged. She lowered onto her haunches and placed a hand on his knee. ‘Where can they be found?’

  ‘They’re quite rare in South Africa. One’s best bet is to search in the Kruger Park.’

  Elizabeth smiled at him. ‘It’s not too late, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Elizabeth glanced up at Jack and he nodded at once. ‘Well, a few of us are going on a trip quite soon. If you like, we could take you up into the Park for a few days. Try to find your bird. What do you think?’

  Albert seemed to blink at the question. ‘You would take me to Kruger to find a kori bustard?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said, smiling. ‘How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds … wonderful. Truly wonderful.’

  Sam leaned over and placed a hand on Albert’s thin shoulder. ‘We’ll have a grand old time.’

  ‘Yes … yes, thank you! But what about my wheelchair?’

  ‘It’s no problem at all. We’ll put it in the trailer. And if we need to carry you anywhere, Sam and I will manage easily,’ Jack offered, guessing that Albert couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, that’s the most—’

  ‘Just say you’ll come, Albert.’

  Albert turned to Elizabeth. ‘Yes. Of course! Thank you. Thank you all so much.’

  ‘It’s our pleasure,’ Jack replied. ‘How do you feel about leaving on Friday?’

  ‘That depends,’ Albert replied.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On what day it is today,’ he said, and then began to laugh. ‘I can’t really keep a hold of dates any more.’ He was about to ask another question, when he stopped himself.

  ‘What is it?’ Jack asked.

  Albert hesitated. ‘I have no right to ask this of you, but I think I’m going to ask it anyway.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Might you have room for one more?’

  Jack contemplated the question. The Chrysler would seat five of them comfortably, but six was certainly possible. ‘We might be able to manage it. Who do you have in mind?’

  ‘My dog, Pilot.’

  Jack exchanged quick looks with Elizabeth and Sam. ‘I didn’t realise you had a dog, Albert?’

  ‘Oh yes. He’s an old black Labrador. Probably about my age in dog years. A wonderful animal,’ Albert replied, emotion hitching in his voice. ‘I miss him so much.’

  For a moment, Jack wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘Where’s he now?’

  ‘My son-in-law has him. Despicable man. He keeps Pilot chained up in his backyard. Chained up! Can you believe that?’

  ‘Why does he have your dog?’

  ‘I— I can’t remember. I just know that he took him away from me. And I want him back.’

  ‘Do you think your son-in-law will give him to us?’ Sam asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I convinced my daughter to leave him. He’s a horrible man and he never deserved her.’

  Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to frown. ‘I never realised you had a daughter.’

  Albert looked down at his bird book and began to rifle through the pages. ‘She passed away.’

  ‘Oh I’m so sorry, Albert.’

  He looked back at her, tears brimming in his eyes. ‘You’d really like Pilot. He’s something special.’

  ‘Then we’ll just have to go and get him,’ Jack offered, having absolutely no idea how they were going to do it. ‘Anyone who keeps a dog chained up doesn’t deserve to own one.’

  Six

  Jack was sitting opposite Arnold West, the estate’s General Manager. ‘Come on, forget about the fine print. How much longer can he possibly have?’

  ‘Look,’ Arnold replied, shutting Albert’s file more forcefully than he needed to. ‘We have guidelines. Every resident, including you, Jack, has signed a contract stating that in the case of a severe deterioration in health, with no family to turn to, we reserve the right to make decisions on behalf—’

  ‘Are you honestly telling me that it would be in Albert’s best interests if he were sent away to frail care to die? Rather than let him come out with us for a few days? Would you rather confine him to a bed when we can take perfectly good care of him?’

  ‘Jack, I’ve just given you an insight into his medical status. Alzheimer’s is almost the least of his problems. His heart is very weak. He needs to be in frail care. If something happens out on the road, he could be gone before you know it.’

  ‘Then so be it.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Jack was running out of patience. ‘How old are you? Forty?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  Jack stared back at him, waiting for an answer.

  ‘I’m forty-two. What’s your point?’

  ‘My point is that you have no idea what it feels like to be where Albert is in his life. Nobody wants to die on their own in a hospital ward. Nobody. Albert is desperate to come out with us. You’ve seen how he is with that book. He wants to find his bird. For God’s sake, let me do this for him.’

  Arnold took a breath, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘You’re being unreasonable here, Jack. You’re making me out to be the bad guy. My hands are tied.’

  ‘Your hands are tied? With what? Red tape?’

  ‘These are binding contracts. I could lose my job.’

  Jack sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘So this is just about covering your arse, really. It’s not about Albert at all.’

  Arnold bristled. ‘The decision’s made, Jack. And don’t try to go over my head on this one, either. Albert will be moved to frail care first thing in the morning. It’
s an open-and-shut case. That’s the end of it.’

  Jack allowed himself a humourless smile. ‘I didn’t see you at Paul’s funeral.’

  ‘I couldn’t make it.’

  ‘It’s a real pity. He wrote a letter. There were some interesting things in it.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘He wanted people to try to reach for something in their lives. To go after what they still can. It’s a good message.’

  ‘It’s quaintly idealistic, Jack, but not exactly practical. Especially for people like Albert Brooks.’

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’

  Arnold checked his watch. ‘Listen, it’s getting late and I’d like to go home. Talking around in circles isn’t going to change my decision. Tomorrow morning Albert will be admitted to frail care and that’s that.’

  ‘Where, coincidentally, you and your board have an opportunity to make quite a bit of money out of Albert. Isn’t that right? The sooner you can get him in, the better. What’s the daily rate for round-the-clock medical care these days? At your own frail-care unit?’

  Jack knew that he was overstepping the mark, but he didn’t care.

  ‘I won’t reply to that. And I caution you to think very carefully about what you say next.’

  Jack stood up. ‘You know, it’s interesting. Paul described this place as a prison. At the time I thought he meant it figuratively. Guess I was wrong.’

  ‘Goodnight, Jack,’ Arnold said, pointing to the door.

  Jack began to walk away, then pulled up. ‘It must be tiring,’ he said, without turning around.

  ‘What must be?’

  ‘Playing God from behind that desk.’

  Seven

  ‘Wake up, Rosie,’ a voice whispered in the darkness.

  Rosie stirred and rolled onto her back.

  ‘Hey, Rosie. There you are … wake up.’

  This time she blinked and wiped her eyes. ‘Jack, is that you?’

  ‘Or an older George Clooney, if you prefer.’