by Bill Condon
I’m in the first row at the funeral home, flanked by Zoe and Kayla. Bull’s in front of us, looking all official in his grey suit and tie. He’d be more at home directing traffic, but today he’s directing the ceremony. I know he’s nervous.
There are still a few minutes to go before we start; time to play the song Bull picked: ‘I Did It My Way’. The lyrics might be corny, but they’re not when Elvis sings them.
Tonight we’ll be hearing lots from the King, and even more from the Beatles. Bull’s bought a new set of speakers for his stereo and hooked up some heavy-duty lights; we’ve stocked up on meat and finger food and cake. This is going to be the best barbeque Gungee Creek has ever seen. And at exactly midnight we’re switching off the lights and all you’ll see is–
The music stops.
‘Right,’ Bull says. ‘We all ready?’
I’m not, but like everyone else, I mumble ‘yes’.
‘Then let’s get this show on the road.’
I take a look around and find that the chapel is almost full. You’re a star, Reggie.
Davey said he’d try to make it, but he wasn’t sure if he could get off work. He’s been great. We’ve been talking and texting heaps. He wanted to come over before now, but for a while there I didn’t feel like I could face anyone. No sign of him today. I’m about to turn around when a hand waves at me from one of the back rows. I see Joan smiling. She’s driven a long way and she hardly knows me. That really undermines my resolve not to cry.
‘The old bloke hated sad funerals,’ Bull says. ‘He told me if anyone howls, he’s gunna come back and haunt them.’
I dry my eyes as fast as I can.
‘So don’t say you haven’t been warned.’
A ripple of laughter rises above the sadness we’re all feeling.
‘Another thing he didn’t want was anyone making a speech about him. So to use his own words, “If you feel like saying somethin’ – put a sock in it.”’
- - + - -
I think back to the day Reggie died. Wolfie’s coat was still crusted in dried mud when Bull and Zoe brought me home from the Eagle. We filled buckets with warm water and sponged her down, and all the time she stood perfectly straight and still, even though she usually runs from water.
Earlier she’d slipped into a trench that the council had dug to lay some new drainpipes. We knew about that because Reggie had told Bull when he rang him at work.
Bull had the conversation locked in his head, word for word.
‘“The Wolf got herself into a ditch and it was boggy and she couldn’t get out and she was startin’ to panic.”
‘I’m sayin’, “Take it slow, Reggie. Nice and easy.” He’s breathless and wheezing like he’s got asthma.
‘“It’s all right now. I got her out. There’s mud and crap everywhere but I got her out.”
‘But how are you, Reggie? You don’t sound too good. You want me to come home?’
‘He tries to answer but he starts coughin’ and then the gasping gets really bad and – and then the phone hits the floor.’
Bull called ahead for an ambulance and drove home with the siren of his cop car blasting. He and the ambos arrived at the same time, but there wasn’t a thing they could do for Reggie. The ambos said it was his heart.
Wolfie squatted outside his door with her head tucked between her front legs. Big brown eyes alert for the door to open.
Bull peers at the checklist he’s working from to see what’s next. Charlie Dent has just delivered his rousing version of ‘Clancy of the Overflow’ – another favourite Banjo Paterson poem, and Mrs Muir has recited ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’ in her soft and gentle way. I helped Bull put the list together, so I know what’s coming.
‘I want you to take a few minutes now,’ he says, ‘to remember Reggie: his life, what he was like – well, you know what to do.’
My mind goes roaming again, this time to Gungee cemetery where Kayla and I held our own memorial service two nights ago. We ate crispy-skin chicken from Chans. Kayla drank a lot of bourbon and a little Coke, and I did the same thing, but back to front. We told ‘Reggie stories’ to each other, and to Monnie and Grogan Nash, and Kayla asked them to ‘please, please, keep Reggie safe’. By the time we left I think she was a little bit drunk. Maybe I was, too.
When I open my eyes the chapel is still quiet. I look at the one thing I’ve been trying to avoid: the coffin.
Well, Reggie, at least you didn’t have to suffer a long drawn-out death from some kind of cancer. Bull and I never talked about it, but I think we both thought that’s what your test results would reveal. I know I was scared. So glad you beat that one.
One other good thing is that as far back as I can remember, you were loved, by me and Bull for sure, but by so many others, too. And now you’re decked out just the way you wanted; in your oddball little hat with the feather in the brim, footy socks and boots, white shorts, the No 1 jersey, and – your most prized possession – the blazer given to you for fifty years’ membership with the Gunners.
You’re all packed and set to go, Reggie . . . I just wish I could really talk to you.
‘Hey.’
I feel Kayla’s welcome hand on my back.
‘How you goin’ there, Tiff?’
‘Goin’ fine. You?’
‘Hanging in there.’
Bull peeks at his watch. ‘Right. We have to move it along now. There’s only one more thing to do, so if you’d please be upstanding, while we sing a song that Reggie truly loved.’
Dusty strolls to the front of the chapel and acts as conductor for the Gunners’ players, past and present, and we all join in as they belt out the club song.
Givva the gun, givva the gun,
Givva the Gunners’ try.
In Gungee mud you’ll find our blood,
We’re Gunners do or die.
It’s the most sniffly, weepy, nose-blowing version I’ve ever heard. Reggie’s going to be doing a lot of haunting. He’ll have to take the names of everyone here.
We haven’t won for fifty years,
But that don’t mean a thing,
We’re gunna do it one day,
And that is why we sing.
We hear the low whirring of a motor as the chapel’s silver curtains are slowly drawn in front of the coffin.
Givva the gun, givva the gun,
Givva the Gunners’ try!
Tonight it’s like a different year, a different lifetime. Everyone is happy, happy.
The Gunners go to work on snags and steak in an eating display that would impress marauding Vikings. Their wives and girlfriends cluster together at the other end of the table in a kind of Viking women’s support club. And both groups laugh, very loudly.
While it’s still daylight, the guys form two raggedy teams of six or seven apiece for a game of touch footy on the back lawn. They’re still as hopeless as ever, but they’re also playing to the crowd; clowning around and running into each other, collapsing in pretend agony. It’s all aimed at getting some laughs, and they sure do that.
Not long into the game, Dusty’s car pulls up out front. I get a surprise when Joan walks along the driveway with him.
‘Hello, Tiff.’ She cups both my hands in hers. ‘I was going to drive straight home but I got talking to Dusty – isn’t that a lovely name? – and we found we had so much in common.’
‘Both Virgos,’ puts in Dusty.
I didn’t know he was into astrology.
‘And he’s a cat person, too,’ Joan adds.
That doesn’t sound right to me.
‘Didn’t you tell me once you were allergic to cats, Dusty?’
He glares at me for an instant, then smiles at Joan.
‘It’s only the furry ones,’ he say
s.
‘The furry ones?’ She crinkles her brow as she tries to work that out. ‘But aren’t they all–’
‘Come on, Joan.’ Dusty takes her hand. ‘Let’s get some tucker into us.’
‘We’ll catch up later, Tiff,’ she says as she’s half-dragged away. ‘Don’t let me go before I talk to you.’
At eight o’clock I’m on the verandah with Kayla and Bess.
Kayla: ‘Still no Davey. What a rat.’
Me: ‘Maybe I should ring him.’
Kayla: ‘No! Don’t you dare! He’s supposed to call you.’
Bess: ‘I agree, Tiff. You don’t want it to look like you’re chasing him.’
Me: ‘Yeah, you’re right – both of you.’
At nine I sneak into the shed and make the call.
‘Jeez is it that late? Sorry, Tiffany. I’ve been trying to fix the Holden – working flat-chat – that’s why I didn’t ring. I kept thinking I’d get it goin’, but it looks like it needs a new starter motor.’
‘So you’re not coming?’
‘Are you kidding? Last I heard there was free food up for grabs. I wouldn’t miss that.’
I let the silence tell him how I feel.
‘Hey, Tiffany. If I have to walk – if I have to steal a horse – I’ll be there.’
Not long afterwards I’m in the kitchen with Bull.
‘We haven’t had much of a chance to talk,’ I say. ‘How you holding up?’
‘Seen it better.’
He takes out the bread and starts whacking on the marg like he’s laying cement.
‘Think you’ve got enough there, Bull?’
For a moment he closes his eyes. Maybe he’s hoping it’s all a dream and when he opens them again Reggie will be back.
‘Bull?’
He looks up and skewers me with his leave-me-alone stare, and then he goes to the fridge, takes out a tomato and starts slicing, slicing . . .
Wherever he is, I can’t get to him.
‘I’ll catch you later. Okay?’
‘Yeah, Tiff . . . later.’
Back outside I get trapped by a gang of maniacs who all seem to have feet as big and agile as house bricks. They’re doing some weird cross between line dancing, Irish dancing, and hopping over red-hot coals.
‘Come on!’ says Zoe. ‘This is fun!’
Reluctantly, I join in, and quickly I’m as mad as the rest of them – twirling and laughing, silly and giddy.
Then over the speakers I hear ‘Let It Be’.
I couldn’t see Kayla while I was dancing, but now as I wend my way through the crowd, not really sure where I’m going, just wanting to get away, she finds me.
‘I can’t take that song, Kayla.’
‘Yeah, I know. Let’s get out of here.’
We escape the party and go into my room, Kayla leaving the door open long enough for Wolfie to shuffle in. I sit on the end of the bed and give her a pat. She rests her head on my knees, looking up at me like she knows exactly what’s going on.
‘I bet that dumb song got to you too, eh, Wolfie? You reckon it did, Kayla?’
‘Had to. It got to you, and Wolfie’s a whole lot smarter.’
I throw a pillow at her.
‘Surfers Paradise,’ she says, shoving the pillow aside.
‘What about it?’
‘The bus leaves at six a.m. I looked it up. In three days time we’re going to be on it. Say yes.’
‘Kayla, you know I want to go – but isn’t that too soon?’
‘You’ve got no other plans, have you? Except to sit around the house moping. Am I right?’
‘Probably – but Bull will need me.’
‘He’s got Zoe. Say yes.’
‘Okay – yes.’
‘Cool.’
‘But I’ll have to make sure it’s all right with Bull first.’
‘Already done that.’
‘And he didn’t mind?’
‘No way. Who do you think is going to drive us to the bus stop?’
‘You’ve thought of everything.’
‘Of course. And don’t worry about Davey. If he doesn’t show, he’s a loser – and who needs him?’
‘No, you’ve got him wrong. He’s had car trouble.’
‘He rang you?’
‘Sort of.’
‘You rang him. Didn’t you?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Oh, Tiff. I know that kind of guy. Lots of talk but they don’t deliver.’
‘He’ll be here. He will.’
At ten I run into Bull again, this time at the barbie.
‘Good night, eh, Tiff?’ He’s grinning now.
‘So you’re okay?’
‘Me? Yeah, couldn’t be better.’
‘You weren’t before, in the kitchen.’
‘Ah, well. Sometimes it gets to me a bit – about Reggie. But I’m back now.’
‘Great. Don’t go away again.’
Davey has his mobile turned off. Who does that in a crisis? Doesn’t he know this is a crisis? I hate him, and the Beatles and Elvis Presley – and I’ve eaten too much cake!
Where are you, Davey? I need you!
I kick the toilet door – twice and hard.
‘Are you all right, Tiff?’
Oops.
Joan.
I flush, even though there’s nothing to flush, run the tap as if I’m washing my hands, and slink out.
‘Yes, Joan, I’m fine.’
‘Good, dear, that’s good. I heard pounding on the door and I didn’t know what to think.’
‘Really? Pounding? That’s funny. I didn’t hear it.’
She looks at me suspiciously, but then shrugs. ‘Anyway, I’ve just popped in to say goodbye. Dusty’s going to drive me back to town. My car’s there. I’ve had a wonderful time; meeting everyone, and all that lovely food, and the music.’
‘Do you like Dusty?’
‘Yes. He’s good value. I think I might see him again – you never know.’
‘Go for it, Joan.’
‘Oh, I will. And I’m looking forward to seeing you back at the Eagle, when you’re feeling up to it.’
‘But I don’t think I’m going back. I told the Shark I couldn’t handle it.’
‘Did you? That’s odd, because he gave Andrew a very good report about you. He said you had lots of potential. I was there when he said it.’
‘The Shark said that? Wow, he is so lucky he isn’t here. He’d be so embarrassed if I kissed him.’
‘And the paper sent flowers. Did you get them? There was a note with them.’
‘We got so many flowers – I haven’t looked at them all.’
‘Well, take it from me, there’s a note from Andrew. He wants you to do another week of work experience so he can evaluate you. But if you don’t want to do it, then no one will think any the worse of you.’
‘No, no, I want to. It’s just that I know I’ll never be like the Shark.’
‘Now that’s just silly. I can’t be like him either, but I still get the job done. Be you. I’m sure that will be perfectly fine.’
‘Oh . . . okay.’
‘You give it some thought, Tiff. I’d love to have you there. We all would.’
‘That’s really nice. Thanks, Joan. I’ll ring Andrew in a day or two. Is that all right?’
‘Lovely!’ She taps me gently on the cheek. ‘Bye, dear.’
Kayla comes straight up to me. ‘I just caught the end of that, Tiff. It sounded like it might be good news. What’s happening?’
That time back at the cemetery when she got upset with me, got jealous – I remember that now, but I push it aside.
‘The
y’re giving me another chance, Kayla, at the paper!’
And she hugs me.
The party ends at midnight. Only a few more minutes to go. Kayla stands with me at the back of the throng. I’m falling apart. She’s picking up the pieces.
‘Even if Davey came now, I wouldn’t speak to him.’
‘Yeah, forget him. I’ll find you a boy in Surfers.’
‘I’ve had it with boys.’
‘Then I’ll find you a girl.’
‘Shut up.’
Bull has Zoe at his side as he steps up on the back verandah and signals for the music to be turned off.
‘Thanks for coming, everyone. Did you have a good time?’
A raucous cheer rises up to answer him.
‘Well done. Now in case you don’t know, this party was Reggie’s idea.’
‘On ya, Reggie!’
‘I’ve got to say that I’m a bit narky on the old bloke,’ Bull pauses and looks around, ‘because the bugger changed his will! Did the dirty on me! I was supposed to get the Falcon but all he left me was his tab account – with fifteen cents in it!’
The audience loves it – so does Bull.
‘But,’ he says, ‘he did do something right. He left the Falcon to Tiff. Come on up here and get the keys, luv.’
I never expected this. It means a lot to me, much more than the ‘thanks’ I mumble.
‘Reggie’s done a good job with the old bomb,’ Bull says. ‘Awesome job. But I’ll tweak it up some more. By the time you get your licence it’ll be a red-hot motor car.’
I take the keys, kiss him and Zoe, and then disappear into the crowd as fast as I can.
‘Okay now. Last thing we do tonight for Reggie.’ Iron man Bull suddenly gets a crack in his voice. Zoe puts her around him and snuggles in close. ‘Sparklers – that’s what he wanted,’ Bull says, only barely getting it together.