Garrett & Sunny: Sometimes Love is Funny

by Peter Butler

  Megan nodded in agreement. 'It was just so sad the way he died. Good in one way, as he obviously didn't suffer very much, but horrible for Gran to come home from her walk and find him that way.'

  The police had determined that Gramps had been carrying a pot-plant down the back stairs, when he had fallen. The coroner had concluded that he had broken his neck instantly, and would have suffered very little pain. Liz's next door neighbor, Polly, had called in to have a cup of tea with them and was shocked to find Gran sitting on the ground, surrounded by the remains of the shattered pot-plant, cradling Ed's twisted head in her lap. With tears pouring down her face she had sobbed, "My beautiful Ed is dead, Polly."

  We dragged on through the traffic, seeming to make very little ground, but eventually we pulled into our grandparent's driveway.

  Ever since I can remember I always got a kick out of coming to this place. They had lived here for about thirty years and the house had always seemed too big for the two of them. They had help in running it with a housekeeper coming in three days a week.

  I drove up the fine gravel driveway, enjoying the crunching noise the tires made as they rolled along. The driveway curved gently around the numerous large trees that grew in front of the house and I looped around and parked near the front door, facing back the way we had just come in. Sitting on a half an acre of manicured land the double story Georgian house still looked timeless and majestic. Its brickwork was painted an off-white color with a gray trim around the windows and doors. A huge leafy ivy draped itself over various parts of the exterior. It looked amazing when its leaves started to turn orange and then gradually a brilliant red. Eventually it became a mess on the ground for the gardener to deal with. He complained to Liz that it needed to be cut back heavily for its health, but she would have none of it. She loved the way the ivy hugged at the house and softened its harsher angles. So they compromised and he got to trim it back each year. Just a little, to stop it blocking the gutters and covering the windows and doors.

  By the time we had climbed out of the car Liz was standing in the open doorway to welcome us. We all embraced warmly.

  'You look terrific, Gran.' Megan said, as she kissed her on the cheek and held her at arms length to look closely at her.

  Megan had been offered the right to call Gramps, Ed, at the same time I had, but she preferred to keep things the way they always had been - Gramps and Gran. I'd stuck with Gran for Liz, too, somehow she just seemed more like a granny than a Liz. But Ed and I had been working together on my special education since I was fourteen. He had taken me into his work quite a bit and as I grew older, and bigger, it seemed inappropriate to call him anything other than his name.

  Everyone at his work called him Ed, even the part-time people who cleaned the offices at night. Ed was the sort of guy who remembered everyone’s name and all of the important issues in their lives. He was universally loved, in spite of the fact that for most of his adult life he was the man in charge of one of the City's biggest Investment Banks and when necessary, he could be as tough as nails.

  'How ya doin, Gran?' I said as I took my turn to do the hugging. At seventy-eight, Liz Stratton was still in pretty good physical shape, but understandably, lately she was looking a little drawn, a little older and a lot more fragile than she had.

  She smiled warmly, 'I'm doing just fine now that both of you are here. It brings back memories of many years ago, the both of you racing around those trees over there.' She pointed to a couple of large maples in the middle of the lawn. 'Mind you they weren't quite that big back then.'

  Megan and I looked too. 'They were still big enough,' Megan said. 'I remember Gary talking me into climbing up that one on the right, when I was ten. And the resulting broken arm. And the month in plaster.' She punched me, semi-playfully, on the shoulder. 'Memories, eh! Gramps must have had so many good ones in his time here. He had a fabulous life with you, Gran. You were both so lucky.'

  I noticed she had the beginning of a tear in her eye, so I said, 'Let's get inside. I'm keen to hear what you wanted to talk about. The meeting with Gerald hit us a bit like a lightning bolt.'

  I led the two women into the foyer.

  To say Gran's house is impressive would be an understatement. It was more than just the large size of the rooms and the color coordination, it was the overall impression it emitted. Everything just worked together. This was totally the result of the love and effort that Gran had put into the place, Ed's input started with a checkbook... and ended with a signature.

  Gran had decorated the house in a tasteful homely way; there were many paintings and lithographs on the walls, and even a prized Persian silk rug hung on the dining-room wall. Nothing Gran had used to decorate their home had been put there to impress visitors. If she loved a painting by an undiscovered artist, she happily displayed it beside a well-known piece worth many thousands. Her choice in furnishings was equally inspired, and I guessed that an awful lot of it was expensive.

  I shuddered at that thought, Megan and I had been treated like little gods by our grandparents and, as young kids, allowed to run free and pretty much unchecked inside this place. I hate to think what damage we probably did.

  We continued on into the main living-room and my eyes instantly went to the beautiful painting by the Australian artist Arthur Boyd that dominated the wall facing the door we entered through. The painting's sky was an incredible cobalt blue blending into a darker almost indigo blue. In the foreground a sparkling river, encrusted with giant colorful boulders, wound its way across the front of a large, rocky cliff with trees clinging on to any available foothold. It was huge and impressive; about twenty feet wide, and would have looked out of place in a room of smaller size. Gran loved to tell visitors that the artist used his fingers to apply the paint and only rarely used a brush. This room was Gran's favorite as she had made a point of only using works by Australian artists. Boyd was joined by other contemporaries like Storrier, Whiteley, Olsen, Blackman and so on. The reason was simple; Gran had been born in Australia and this was her way of connecting with her past.

  Liz Shorrock had made the huge journey to England at the ripe age of twenty-one. The trip had been a gift from her parents in recognition of her outstanding academic achievements which had seen her accepted into Cambridge University. The family ran a 1000 acre pastoral property near the Victorian town of Ballarat and Liz was the first Shorrock to, not only graduate from high school, but top the state academically, at the same time. Being a female added even more weight to the achievement all those years ago.

  Liz had taken her place with many other new girls at Newnham College and during the first week she and a small group of new friends had visited the famous Mathematical Bridge over the River Cam. This footbridge links both sides of Queens' College which was home to a young mathematics student called Edward Stratton. While standing with her friends on the apex of the bridge Liz had looked down to one of the punts which had stopped just below her and found herself looking at a young man who was staring at her with a large grin on his face.

  'What exactly are you staring at, and why is it amusing you so much?' She had demanded in her sharp Australian accent.

  'As it turns out,' he had replied, gleefully, 'I'm staring at the most beautiful Australian woman in the world.'

  Liz had blushed and said, 'Thank-you... I think. But you haven't answered my question.'

  He had laughed in a confident way, and said, 'I just love the irony. You see, it just figures that I should meet the woman I'm going to marry, on the Mathematical Bridge.'

  The other girls had all groaned in unison at his line, but Liz had looked into his eyes and seen the intensity of his feelings.

  They had rarely left each others side from that day forward.

  That all changed a few weeks ago.

  Megan said, 'I'll get us some drinks.' She left Gran and me and headed to the kitchen.

  I had my arm around Gran's shoulder and she felt tiny and fragile as I led her to one of the comfortable s
ofas as Megan disappeared through the door.

  'I was just thinking what a fantastic job you've done with this place. I'd never really noticed before. I suppose when you see something so often you take it for granted, but now that Ed's gone I'm looking at what you've done with fresh eyes, and I have to say it is really special.'

  'Ed always liked to finesse whenever he could,' she laughed for the first time since I had been there, then she added, 'I'd always notice and tell him off... "Get your clumsy big paws off that Ed," I'd say. "It looks just fine where it is."' She shook her head, realizing the words sounded harsh and nothing like the playful banter between them actually was.

  I laughed along with her and at that moment Megan returned carrying a tray of glasses. 'That's music to my ears.' she said, as she placed the tray on the table in front of us. She handed Gran a glass of sherry with a single ice cube inside it. It clinked musically as it was transferred from hand to hand. My glass of beer made no such noise, but the frothy head looked just perfect. We'll make a bartender out of this girl one day.

  I had no idea what Megan had made herself, it was crimson colored and had ice in it. It looked suitably 'girlie', but without the straw or umbrella, or even a cherry. I've been to a few kid's birthday parties at Megan's place and one thing I've learned is that the mothers of young children seem to take great comfort in alcohol. I'm not calling them drunks, on the contrary, they seem to do a great job, but it must be more stressful than my job, because at the end of the day I rarely think about having a drink to "take the edge off", as Megan explains it.

  My inappropriate thought on the topic of mothers and alcohol was interrupted by Gran.

  'I imagine you're both intrigued by Ed's decision to transfer those shares into your hands?' She asked, as it turned out, rhetorically. 'There are two components to the gift. The first is, that we love you both dearly, and want you to have something from my side of the family. Those shares were purchased with the money I inherited from the sale of my parent's farm. The second reason is more like a baton-change than a gift. I'll put it bluntly; it's a request for a favor.' She smiled wryly at both Megan and me. 'I'm a little embarrassed about this, kids. I had Ed buy those shares to help out an old friend of mine in Australia. I'm afraid to say that between the two of us we managed to do very little to help that friend. I'm hoping that your youth and vitality will be more effective. Obviously, that is if you agree to help out.'

  Gran paused as if to gather her thoughts, took a sip of sherry and then put the glass back on the table.

  'I will say, at this point, that if you are unable to assist I'll completely understand. You both have busy lives and responsibilities that must take preference over a second-hand promise that was made by a senile old lady, without your knowledge.'

  I noticed Megan had put her drink to the side, so I followed her lead. She was looking at me in a way that I knew well.

  'It goes without saying, Gran that we will help out any way we can. Especially now that we know you're senile.' I smiled broadly as I said it, hoping that the actual request would be something relatively simple. Megan was nodding in agreement.

  'Thank you both,' she responded, returning my grin. Gran was about as senile as your average teenager and was deliberately being self-deprecating. 'It might make things easier to understand if I tell you some of the background. As you know I'm an Australian by birth. I still have many family members over there and until recently Ed and I visited at least once a year. Very early on I fell in love with some of the local art - it was so vibrant and fresh and it reminded me of my early years in that wonderful country. I began buying works and over the years met and became friends with a lot of the artists. One, in particular caught my attention. He is an aboriginal artist called Warra Goomagawa, and we became very good friends,' she looked up to see two very attentive faces looking back at her. She smiled.

  'We have a few of his works scattered throughout the house, and I love them all. Maybe you have noticed the large one in the dining room opposite the Persian rug? All I know is that Warra is the aboriginal word for water, but I can't see any water in his painting.'

  Gran reached over and took another quick sip of sherry to keep her throat moist.

  I knew the work she was talking about. It was a large painting, done in the style of dot painting that aboriginal artists have become famous for the world over. It's theme was very simple, a black to dark gray under-painting with a huge number of curved lines made up of white, to light-gray dots that gradually changed in size. This gave an effect of a wave within a wave. The curves run side by side only to be intersected with another series of curved lines of dots. And so on. The painting had mesmerized me on many occasions, but unlike Gran, I could see water in the painting. To my eyes the lines seemed to flow like water drops cascading over a waterfall. But who would know, these things are subjective.

  'Warra Goomagawa lives in the middle of Queensland, the closest landmark is a small town called Culgawinya. His people still lead simple tribal lives staying mainly within their own community. I bought his art, not only because I love it, I wanted to spread goodwill throughout his community. They are the loveliest people you will ever meet.' She paused and shifted position slightly allowing her to make use of the armrest. She smoothed out the lap of her dress as she settled in to her new place on the couch.

  'About two years ago, Warra made the trek into town and phoned me. He asked if I could come out and visit them, because they had a big problem. I knew that for Warra to make that trip meant walking for many days - not something he would do lightly. Ed was unwell at the time so I had to go on my own. What I saw broke my heart and also frightened me. Where there used to be, gentle free running streams there were evil smelling stagnant cesspools, with a horrid green sludge covering the surface. Needless to say the fish and yabbies' had all died, these used to be a big source of food for the aborigines.'

  Megan and I exchanged looks of shock as Gran explained further. 'It seems a company had started drilling wells all over the land they live on. It wasn't the drilling that was causing the problem, it was the chemicals that they put down the holes they made. They were trying to extract Coal Seam Gas and the method they use has the dreadful name of "fracking". Apparently some of these chemicals had escaped, or maybe the miners just dumped them when they were finished. It's very remote country. The result was the same, they were killing the land that Warra's people live on. Quite a few members of the tribe had become ill, some had even died, but no one could prove a link between the illnesses and the fracking.'

  I asked, 'Would I be right if I suggested the name of this drilling company was Plutarch Resources?'

  'The very same one,' Gran nodded. 'So, you can probably see where I'm going with this.' She reached for her drink and we all took a moment to digest what she had said.

  Eventually Megan said, 'I don't get it, Gran. What possible good would buying those shares do?'

  Gran turned to her and shook her head. 'I had no idea how I could help Warra's people. I researched the whole issue of Coal Seam Gas, or CSG as they now call it. Anything that is really bad is converted to an acronym these days, to soften the impact on average peoples ears. It seems the local Government has turned a blind eye to the damage these mining techniques can do. Local farmers had had little success trying to stop the miners through legal means. So I thought I could buy some shares and maybe get some influence over the company. Sadly, the answer to your question is... not very much.'

  Megan was looking to me to provide an answer, but I didn't have one.

  'Ed let me keep buying until just under the twenty percent limit. He'd received permission for us to buy that many shares. I had forced the price up considerably with my on-market buying, the broker I had used was a complete idiot. I was considering the process of nominating for a position on the Board of Directors. But Ed's death has put an end to that.'

  I was thinking about the situation but I couldn't see any quick fix, either. 'Maybe we could get together with the oth
er large shareholders and see what they think about the direction the company has chosen.'

  'A Chinese fellow by the name of Ling Mein has a holding about the size of mine, or rather the same as the two of you now. I have looked him up on the internet but getting information about Chinese people is very difficult, compounded by the language difference, plus he's a pretty secretive character. He's quite young and it seems his father is quite wealthy. My guess is that he's out to impress his father and prove to him that he's the man to take over the family business when the time comes. But he has two brothers who might have something to say about that. Either way I don't think he has much empathy for the Australian countryside. He's a Chinese businessman and I suspect his shareholding would be solely for profit.'

  Gran eased herself up and walked over to the solid, dark-wood bookcase that lined the wall beside the door through which we had entered. She searched for a second or two, then extracted a book, brought it back to the table and gave it to Megan. It was called, "Tribal Art" and she began to flip the pages. From where I was sitting I could see it had many pictures of aborigines doing bark paintings as well as hunting and preparing food. She put her hand out and stopped Megan when she came to a picture of an old man with a paintbrush in one hand and a thin stick in the other, standing in front of a large canvas that was stretched out on the ground.

  Gran said, 'That is Warra Goomagawa. Golly, I must have read this book twenty times. Those people to the right of Warra are his family. The little girl sitting in front of them is his granddaughter, she's dead now. She developed a rare form of cancer for which the doctors had no cure.' She shook her head sadly, leaving the underlying cause to our imagination.

  I moved over and stood behind Megs looking at the book over her shoulder. Warra seemed to be middle-aged, but the woman, whom I presumed was his wife, appeared to be a lot younger. The kids also seemed quite young.

  Gran said, 'Take the book with you, it might give you some help in deciding what you want to do.'