No Worries

by Bill Condon

‘Let me worry about that. Probably all I can do is listen when you want to talk, but that’s something, isn’t it?’

  She rested her hand lightly against my cheek.

  I didn’t tell her, but she was wrong. Her listening wasn’t just something, it was everything.

  22

  At home I sat on the verandah. Sassy lay on her back, munching on a ball. She rolled it in front of me so I could play with her. For the first time in so long I felt free. Auntie Joan had come to the rescue and I could forget about Mum for a while. Emma knew everything about me and it didn’t matter one bit. I tossed the ball high and Sassy flung herself off the ground to catch it in mid-air.

  I felt almost as happy as she did.

  Then Auntie Joan was behind me.

  ‘I’ve been calling you, Bri. There’s someone at the front door. Said his name is Norm.’

  Oh, no. The funeral.

  ‘You all set, Bri?’

  ‘Do I really have to go? I don’t feel like it.’

  ‘No one ever feels like goin’ to a funeral. Same as dentists. But it’s a team effort. Superstud and Ek’ll be there to keep you company. Come on, chop-chop. We don’t want to miss any of the action.’

  Norm waited in the lounge room while I put on some shoes and a clean shirt. I could hear him trying to crack on to Auntie Joan.

  ‘So you’re Bri’s auntie. I can see the resemblance. But I would’ve guessed you were his big sister. You’d only be about thirty, wouldn’t you?’

  Norm had probably used that line dozens of times. He didn’t expect anyone as old as Auntie Joan to take him seriously, but at least she might have thought he was amusing. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting the reply he got.

  ‘I’m fifty-two, Norm. And you’re not my type.’

  Bob waited outside the church, leaning against the wall like he was holding it up.

  Eric arrived at the same time as us. We were wearing our best daggy jeans. Bob was wearing a suit, one of those old-fashioned double-breasted ones, a white hanky in his coat pocket, and deep blue braces that begged to be stretched back and pinged against his chest.

  ‘Get a load of old Supers, will yer,’ exclaimed Eric. ‘He’s done up like a pox doctor’s clerk.’

  ‘Look what else is different,’ said Norm. ‘He hasn’t got a smoke in his mouth. First time in his life. I’m amazed.’

  ‘A man has to make sacrifices,’ Bob said, cool as ever.

  Eric was still gawking at the suit.

  ‘You never told me you had all this good gear, Supers.’

  ‘Never asked me.’

  ‘Fair dinkum, you’re better dressed than the corpse!’

  He said it so loudly that one of the men entering the church swung around and glared. Eric replied with his usual ‘only kidding’ grin.

  ‘Jeez,’ he muttered when the man was out of earshot, ‘we’re a bit touchy today, aren’t we?’

  ‘Keep it down, Rattlehead,’ said Bob. ‘That could be Cusack’s brother for all we know. You have to be a bit careful what you say at a funeral.’

  Eric shrugged.

  ‘Free country. I’ll say what I bloody like. If he hasn’t got a sense of humour, bad luck. Isn’t that right, Normie?’

  ‘Whatever yer reckon, Ek.’

  I’d never been to a funeral before. Perhaps I had when I was little, but that was too far back to remember.

  There were sniffles and sobs coming from the front row. Some of the mourners wore dark glasses or just kept their heads down, hiding their eyes. A couple cried openly, deep-from-the-gut stuff that’s all pain.

  That front row of black huddled close together, most of them holding hands, the closeness somehow helping them bear their grief.

  The coffin of shiny red wood, with brass handles, was at the front of the altar. Half a florist shop decorated the top of it — as if Cusack was the type to go for flowers — and a big colour photo of him sat at the front of the coffin. It was a side of Cusack I hadn’t known; he beamed with happiness.

  I thought how stupid it all was. He was angry and miserable in life and now in death he was the only one in the church smiling.

  Two people made speeches about Cusack — about how much they’d miss him. The last speaker broke down and couldn’t finish.

  Norm and Eric didn’t seem to notice the sadness around them as we walked out of the church.

  ‘Not a bad roll-up, was it?’ said Norm quietly, as if he was talking about the size of a footie crowd. ‘I mean, Cusack wouldn’t have won any popularity contests when he was alive, would he? Yet the place was packed to the rafters. Can’t work that one out. They must be givin’ somethin’ away.’

  ‘Arr, it’s rent-a-crowd,’ scoffed Eric, not so quietly. ‘What do yer want to bet? Apart from his family — who had to come — none of these bludgers would know him from a bar of soap. After some free grog at the wake, they are. Guarantee it.’

  Bob frowned and shook his head.

  ‘Poor old Rattlehead,’ he said, almost to himself, ‘there’s not a lot of hope for him.’

  We ended up in a pub.

  ‘But, Eric, don’t you have to be eighteeen to buy a beer?’

  ‘Just shut yer trap, Dreamy. Yer not buyin’, yer drinkin’.’

  Norm and Eric racked the balls up for a game of pool while Bob found a table. As soon as we sat down, he lit up a smoke and sucked the fumes deep into him, his shoulders rising, then slumping as he slowly, reluctantly, let the smoke escape.

  ‘You want to break ‘em, Normie?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  The white ball smashed into the colours, and a striped one clinked into a pocket.

  ‘What a fluke!’

  ‘Fluke nothin’. I’ve been practising that shot, Ek.’

  ‘Bull yer have!’

  The beer arrived in long narrow glasses, lots of froth on top that hung around the edges of my mouth when I drank it. It still tasted like medicine but I didn’t show it.

  ‘Here’s to Cusack,’ said Bob, knocking his glass against mine.

  ‘Yeah,’ I mumbled, ‘Cusack.’

  Eric came over and scooped up his glass.

  ‘I need this after that bloody funeral. Talk about a downer. That was a real pain in the arse, that was.’

  Norm collected his beer.

  ‘Yeah, Superstud, not the brightest idea yer ever had.’

  ‘Do you good,’ said Bob. ‘Funerals always make you appreciate what you’ve got.’

  Eric took a deep swig, downing half his glass.

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s the last funeral I go to, I’ll tell yer that.’

  ‘What about yer own, Rattlehead?’

  ‘Nah, not goin’ to that one either. Wouldn’t go to that prick’s funeral.’

  Eric laughed. Norm laughed.

  ‘Whose shot is it?’

  ‘Yours, Ekka. And I’ve left yer all set up.’

  ‘Bull yer have!’

  Bob watched them play, smiling to himself.

  ‘The more I see those two in action,’ he said, ‘the more I believe in birth control.’

  They joked around for another hour. When I said no to more beer, Eric bought me an orange juice.

  ‘This tastes a bit funny.’

  ‘It’s a special kind, Dreamy. I’ll get yer another one later. Gotta have at least two. Get it into yer.’

  I started talking a lot after that. I might have told Bob about Emma but I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything much except that when I tried to stand my legs buckled under me.

  The next thing I remember was Auntie Joan answering the door. Bob was lurking around. Norm and Eric were holding me up.

  23

  I saw Dad in the morning just before he left for work.

  ‘Bri, me boy. You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.’

  ‘The blokes from the milk factory got me drunk last night. Bastards.’

  His eyes sparkled. The proud father.

  ‘Is that right?’

  Big broad smile.<
br />
  ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘Not feelin’ too well now, I s’pose?’

  ‘I feel awful.’

  He looked like a dad seeing his son’s first steps or hearing his first words. I could imagine the heading in his scrapbook: ‘Bri’s First Hangover’.

  Forcing the smile away for a moment, he remembered to play the dutiful father.

  ‘Now don’t you go makin’ a habit of it, will yer.’

  ‘Not likely.’

  Dad drove off to work, probably grinning all the way.

  * *

  At the breakfast table I waited for Auntie Joan to mention the night before, hoping she wouldn’t.

  No chance.

  ‘Those friends of yours that brought you home, are they always like that?’

  ‘What did that mean? What did they say to her?’

  ‘I suppose,’ I said.

  ‘Very strange chaps … very strange.’

  She drank some tomato juice and my stomach churned.

  ‘Oh, if you’re looking for the clothes you had on last night,’ she added, ‘they’re in the washing machine. I couldn’t let you get into bed in those.’

  I nodded, not paying any attention, but then the horrible truth dawned on me. The boxers I had on weren’t the ones I was wearing last night. Two and two makes … Auntie Joan got me undressed! She changed my clothes and put me to bed!

  That thought made me feel much, much sicker.

  ‘You all right, Bri?’

  I couldn’t look her in the eyes.

  ‘Perfect.’

  Then I went to the toilet to throw up.

  That night I looked in on Mum before going to work.

  ‘I’m sorry about yesterday, Brian.’ She cleared a space on the bed for me. ‘Were you still able to go for your licence?’

  ‘No. It was too late.’

  ‘You must hate me.’

  ‘You were sick. It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘I’m always sick.’

  She covered her face with a hand and sobbed.

  I touched her arm.

  ‘You’ll be okay, Mum. Don’t worry.’

  ‘You think so, Brian? Do you think I’ll ever be well again?’

  No chance in the world, my head told me.

  ‘I know it,’ I told her. ‘Not a doubt.’

  I wanted to clear my mind of all memories of that night at the pub. The blokes at work wanted to lock them in there forever.

  ‘We gave Superstud the job of explaining things to your auntie,’ said Norm.

  ‘Go on, Supers.’ Eric grinned. ‘Tell him what you said.’

  ‘All I said was, “The lad’s not feeling very well”, which would have worked, if it hadn’t been for Rattlehead here …’

  ‘Jeez! Why do I always get the blame?’

  ‘Go on, Ek, tell him what you said. Listen to this, Bri. It’s a classic.’

  ‘ “Not feelin’ well?” I says. “Come off it, Superstud — he’s pissed as a fart!” ’

  Norm shook with laughter. ‘Well, you should have seen the look yer auntie gives us!’

  ‘It wasn’t friendly,’ added Eric.

  ‘Then she grabs you by the scruff of the neck and shuts the door in our faces.’

  ‘I think she might have been upset, Normie.’

  ‘Can’t imagine why, Ek.’

  Bob took a puff of his cigarette and shook his head.

  ‘You blokes,’ he said, ‘not a spare brain between the pair of yers.’

  I got home just in time to see Auntie Joan bounce into Mum’s room and whoosh open the curtains.

  ‘Please close those things.’ Mum shielded her eyes. ‘I’m being blinded.’

  ‘Not for long. Come on. Up you get.’

  Mum pulled the blanket over her head. Auntie Joan yanked it down again.

  ‘Can’t you just go away and leave me alone?’

  ‘No. First thing this morning we’re going to see your doctor.’

  ‘You see him if you want, but I’m not going. He’s useless. He can’t help me.’

  ‘Then we’ll find someone who can.’

  ‘No. I won’t have it. This is my life, Joan. Butt out!’

  Auntie Joan got on the phone, ringing around all the shrinks.

  ‘The doctor’s completely booked out, I’m sorry.’

  ‘We can’t fit you in for about six weeks at the earliest.’

  Same story again and again.

  No.

  Each call got only as far as the office secretary — the brick wall. But then Auntie Joan dialled once more …

  ‘Hello. Doctor Rezni speaking.’

  ‘It was meant to be,’ said Auntie Joan. ‘The doctor just happened to be walking past the phone when it rang and she picked it up. You can’t argue with Fate, Ruby.’

  ‘Fate my eye,’ sniped Mum. ‘It’s a waste of time.’

  ‘No, it’s not. She actually listened to me. And she sounds very concerned about you.’

  ‘Sure she does. I mean money for her. I bet she won’t see me for months.’

  ‘Then you’ve lost the bet. Doctor Rezni’s had a cancellation. She can see you this week, as soon you get a referral from your GP. So guess where we’re going now?’

  By that afternoon they had the referral. ‘You see,’ said Auntie Joan, ‘everything’s falling into place.’

  Mum had been negative for so long it was hard for her to break the habit.

  ‘No,’ she shot back. ‘Everything’s just falling.’

  24

  I’d been to see doctors with Mum before. It was never a happy time. They were used to getting respect from their patients. Everyone knew they were important people. Everyone except Mum.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about bloody doctors,’ she’d say. ‘They don’t care about you. They load you up with pills, then shove you out the door as quick as they can.’

  In Mum’s case it was true. But why wouldn’t they get rid of her? There were easier patients. She fired questions at them and demanded service, and didn’t hold anything back if they didn’t play ball.

  I used to try to explain it to her …

  ‘Mum, don’t you see? You’re bringing this on yourself, by the way you talk to them — your attitude.’

  ‘That’s right, Brian. Take their side. You always do.’

  So now it was time to roll out the next victim: Doctor Rezni.

  Reluctantly I went along as the driver — Auntie Joan’s idea.

  ‘Just wanted to check you out,’ she said.

  ‘He goes too fast,’ Mum commented from the back seat.

  Auntie Joan pulled a face that said ‘Don’t listen to her’.

  ‘Perhaps it’s a little bit fast, Ruby,’ she answered, choosing her words carefully, ‘but basically I think he’s doing well.’

  ‘You reckon I’ll get my licence?’

  ‘Of course. Book that test again as soon as you can. You won’t have any trouble.’

  In the doctor’s waiting room the radio was loud.

  Mum was agitated. She stalked around, picking up maga zines, flicking through them, tossing them back.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘About half-past two.’

  ‘Why is she late? Why are they always late? Why are these doctors so bloody arrogant?’

  Auntie Joan stifled a groan and smiled instead.

  ‘It’s okay, Ruby. I’m sure she won’t be much longer.’

  ‘Take it easy, Mum.’

  She strode up to the receptionist’s desk.

  ‘Look, I’ve got an appointment for two o’clock. Do you suppose I’ll get to see this Dr Rezni some time today? This week? This month? Why is this woman late?’

  ‘She won’t be long — if you’d just care to take a seat …’

  ‘No, I do not care to take a seat.’

  ‘Okay then.’

  ‘How long will she be?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure.’

  ‘Right. It’s two-thirty now. And I’m exactly sure
of this: I’ll give her another ten minutes of my time. Then I’m gone. And I won’t ever be back!’

  The two other people in the room stared.

  I wanted to run away.

  Auntie Joan walked over to Mum, an open magazine in her hands. ‘Look at this, Ruby.’

  Good thinking. Distract her. Keep her occupied anyway you can.

  Mum ignored the magazine.

  ‘Oh, it’s different if you’re late for an appointment. Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all … and why have they got that radio so bloody loud?’

  Stomp. Stomp. Back to the receptionist.

  ‘Can you turn that down? This is supposed to be a doctor’s waiting room, isn’t it? With sick people — duh!’

  The receptionist was good-looking, about eighteen or twenty. She had pale skin that was fast turning bright red.

  A door opened and a tall thin woman in a white shirt and black skirt walked up to Mum, her arm outstretched to shake hands.

  ‘Hello, I’m Eve Rezni.’

  The three women went into the doctor’s office and I stayed in the waiting room. Even that was too close to the action for me. Mum was impossible when she was like this. So angry and impatient. Over the years I’d become pretty good at predicting when there was going to be trouble. I knew it was close.

  It took about two minutes. The surgery door burst open and there was Mum. Out of control.

  ‘Is my medical record here?’ — she said it more to herself than anyone in particular — ‘No, of course not! She expects me to tell her everything that ever happened to me from the year dot!’

  She stormed outside, swearing to herself.

  Auntie Joan and I hurried after her, but Doctor Rezni — her face serene, her voice soft and calm — told us to stop.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said.

  She followed Mum out onto the street, while we watched anxiously from the office steps.

  ‘Go away!’

  It sounded like a devil voice that Mum had copied from a horror movie.

  Doctor Rezni wasn’t the slightest bit fazed.

  ‘I can help you, Ruby.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve heard that before. You can help me. Ha! Help yourself, that’s all you shrinks do! What would you know? Hey? Just what would you know?’

  ‘I know what’s wrong with you.’

  ‘Oh, listen to yourself! You’ve known me for ten seconds and you know what’s wrong with me! How? How would you fucking know what’s wrong with me?’