by James Roy
'Yeah, that's me.'
'Gidday – I'm Greg.' He walked over and extended his hand, and Harry shook it warily. 'Trent told me you were staying here.'
'Did he?'
'Said you'd been helping with his jobs and that.'
'Yeah, I guess. Just feeding the chooks, that kind of thing. Nothing too farmer-y.'
'He said you might come out to our place some time – mine and Trent's. We can take you out shooting. Ever shot a pig?'
Harry shook his head. 'Not for a long time.'
Greg smiled. 'You should do it, mate. We've got a couple of rifles you could use.'
'I'd only need one, wouldn't I?'
'Yeah, one at a time,' Greg chuckled. 'Nothing too powerful. Can't have you being knocked on your arse while a pig's charging you.'
'You make it sound really appealing.'
'It is good fun, though. Trent loves it. You should definitely come out – you'd have a ball.'
Nodding politely, Harry said, 'Yeah, maybe I will.'
'Good-oh. Now, where's the old man?'
'Somewhere around the front, I think.'
'All righty then, I'll see you later on.' Greg patted Harry on the shoulder with strong, square hands, which were just like Frank's.
Harry watched him go. Nope, he was nothing like Trent had made him seem. Nothing at all.
Nineteen
The wedding started pretty much right on time. Even the guests who'd rung in a panic earlier that morning had arrived. They hurried around to the front of the house and along the verandah, coaxing their children to keep up, before their anxious expressions turned to relief to discover that they hadn't missed anything at all.
As the sun beat down on the roof of the marquee and the cicadas screeched in the surrounding bush, a woman wearing a fluffy brown scarf and a flowing moss-coloured dress began to strum the strange harp-like instrument resting on her knee. As she played, the celebrant went to the front, tapped the microphone to check that it was on, and asked the guests to stand.
There was a general shuffle as everyone stood and turned to face the entrance. Harry's view was interrupted by a woman wearing a ridiculously large hat, so he leaned around her, craning his neck to get a proper look, and saw Greta and Frank at the door, smiling broadly and holding hands.
Harry glanced at Mum. Her smile was strange, tight, as she fought back the tears. She was a sook like that. It never took much to make her cry. Happy, sad, heartbroken, hearing a song that carried particular memories, even watching someone win the grand prize on a TV game show was enough to set her off. 'That's what I loved about her when we first met,' Dad had told him more than once. 'I loved the way her emotions were always so close to the surface.'
Like at Joel's funeral service, Harry thought. That was the last time the three of them had sat together in a formal gathering like this. They'd been in the front row that time. And it had been rather different, watching a small coffin coming down the aisle rather than a beaming woman in white and a man in a technicolour waistcoat.
He shut the memory down like a huge, rusty switch on the wall of his mind. Shut down, turned off, plunged into darkness. Sometimes he couldn't remove it, but this time he was determined not to let his mind take him there. He didn't want the pain that came with it, and the guilt. He didn't want the pain and guilt that came with remembering his father standing at the microphone and talking in a wavering voice about his big brave boy, fighting back the tears as he gently placed his hand on the lid of the coffin. He didn't want to go back to hearing his mother sob as the curtain closed and his little brother's casket slid away from view on rumbling rollers.
Frank and Greta had reached the celebrant, who spread her arms wide, inclined her head slightly to one side, and said, in a voice that was deeper than Harry expected, 'Welcome, one and all. On behalf of Greta and Frank, welcome, welcome ... welcome.'
'Oh, gawd,' Dad muttered, before being elbowed in the ribs by Mum.
'Behave,' she whispered.
'Sorry, dear.'
Less than ten minutes later Frank and Greta were married, and walking slowly back down the aisle to the sound of more harp music, their faces beaming as they kissed and hugged their guests, one row at a time.
'Ain't love grand, Harold?' Dad said.
'So grand. Do you know much about Greg?' Harry asked as the newlyweds stopped to talk to Trent and his dad.
'Not a lot. Why?'
'Trent doesn't like him much. Thinks he's a loser.'
Dad looked sideways at Harry. 'In that case, I'm sure he's a lovely guy. When do they serve the food?' he asked, turning slowly on the spot.
Mum was muttering again. 'David. Behave.'
'I'm just saying, Sandy.'
'Can they at least get used to being married?'
'Has Frank ever been used to ... Never mind,' he said, spotting Mum's expression, and the tiny shake of her head. Harry was glad Dad had noticed, because he sensed very strongly that there was more muttering to come.
'Your mum's hot, Harold.'
As soon as Greta and Frank had reached the back row and headed outside, the guests poured after them, and the drink waiters reappeared with their trays of champagne and beer and orange juice and wine. Harry was standing to one side quietly drinking a juice when Trent wandered over, hands in pockets. 'We're going to get wet,' he said.
Harry looked up. The clear sky was gone, the sun lost behind low overcast clouds. 'Yeah, it's getting dark now, isn't it? And cold.'
'Yup. A wonderful day for a wedding.'
'Well, at least they're married now. What did you think?'
'About all ... that, in there? Not much. I don't even see the point. They won't be married in a year anyway.'
'How do you know?'
'It's always like that. It'll be the same this time. They only have a wedding for the presents.'
'I don't think they'd go to all this trouble for a couple of presents, do you?'
'How else do you explain all of this?' Trent asked, gesturing towards the marquee, the garden and the scrubbed-up guests standing around on the lawn sipping their drinks.
'Dunno. I can't, I guess. Unless they actually love each other.'
Trent snorted. 'Yeah, right.'
'Love does happen, you know.'
Trent stared at Harry. His eyes were set hard and narrow. 'Who are you – Oprah Winfrey?'
'No, it's just that ... I don't know. I mean, my parents have been married for twenty years or something, and they're happy.'
'How do you know they're happy?'
'Well, they still live together.'
'So?'
Harry shrugged. 'You wouldn't live together for twenty years if you weren't happy. At least, I wouldn't.'
Trent sipped his drink. 'Yeah, maybe you're right. But have you ever asked them?'
'Asked them what? "Mum, Dad, are you happy?" No, of course not.'
'Why not? Scared of what they'd say?'
'No. I just don't think it's any of my business.'
'Your parents not being happy is none of your business? Please.' Trent snorted again. 'Believe me, when your olds aren't happy, it's definitely your business. You should ask them.'
'Why?'
Trent's face was suddenly terribly sad, or angry, or something. 'Because it'll be a crap feeling when you discover that they're not, and one of them leaves.'
'They won't.'
Trent took another sip. 'No, of course they won't. Look out – waste of space at ten o'clock.'
Greg was approaching, orange juice in hand, and Harry noticed that as soon as Trent spotted his father, his shape changed. Had he become more hunched, or had he tightened up in some way? It was hard to know what it was about his body that had shifted, exactly. But certainly his voice was now different. He coughed, and mumbled something that Harry couldn't quite make out.
'Lads,' Greg said, nodding at them. 'What's the topic of conversation over here, then?'
'Parents,' Trent said. The word was said short and sharp, l
ike a bark.
Greg laughed self-consciously. 'Is that right? All good stuff, then.'
'Oh yes, of course,' Harry said quickly.
Greg pointed at Harry. 'I remember your parents' wedding, you know. How long ago was that?'
Harry was about to answer, but Trent beat him to it. 'Twenty years. Twenty years and still together. They're still happy, too. Harry can tell.'
'Well, that's great,' Greg said, smiling and raising his glass. 'I'll see you guys later on, then.' And he strolled away.
Either he hasn't noticed his son's tone, or he's a brilliant actor, Harry thought.
'What a jerk,' Trent muttered.
Mum had spent the entire afternoon catching up with family members, and by the time Harry met the last of his second and third cousins twice removed, he'd forgotten who the first one was. Tracey or Casey or Darcy or something like that. He'd found another job, though – he'd noticed that the music on the PA had looped around, and a particular song was on for at least the third time. He recognised the song because the tune reminded him of the theme for one of his favourite TV shows, so when it popped up again at the back of his consciousness, he wondered if at least three times was enough. Certainly any more would be too many.
He'd scanned the crowd for Frank's conveniently crazy waistcoat. He and Greta were talking to a group of serious-looking people near the door of the marquee, so Harry went over and excused himself.
Frank stopped mid-conversation. 'Harry, what's on your mind?'
He found it hard to meet Frank's eyes, but he did manage, somehow. 'I just wanted to say congratulations.'
'Thank you, Harry, that's very kind. I'm glad you could be here, and thanks so much for all your help.'
'That's OK.' He scanned Frank's face for any hint of the matter that still hung between them. There was none. 'I'm just wondering, did you want me to change the music or anything?'
'Why's that?'
'It's just that this is like the third time this song's been on –'
'It is? Oh, yes, then change it by all means. In fact, if you'd like to be in charge of that, I'd be very grateful. Just not too loud.' He lowered his voice. 'Keep Trent away from the volume knob, and definitely don't let him go and get any of his music.' Frank winked. 'Deal?'
'Deal.' Harry was relieved. With a job, he wouldn't have to worry too much about finding people to talk to.
Overhead, thunder rumbled, like a giant clearing its throat, and everyone looked skyward. 'This is why we hired the marquee,' Greta said, and the people in their group nodded approvingly, made various noises of agreement.
The PA gear was on a fold-up card table with a linen tablecloth draped over it. Harry shuffled through the CDs that Frank and Greta had chosen, and created a bit of a mental playlist, even though he'd never even heard of most of the artists. Wanting to look the part, he adjusted the knobs on the mixer from time to time. He would have liked a pair of cool Sennheisers to hang around his neck, or to cup over one of his ears like a proper DJ, but since there were no Sennheisers to be had, he grabbed a pen and notepad from beside the phone inside the house, laid out the CDs in the order he planned to play them, and listed them on his page. He even had a section headed REQUESTS, just in case any of the guests should come over with one. Then, when twiddling knobs became dull, he took out his cards and began playing with them, shuffling and flipping them, forcing certain cards to the top of the deck, fanning them and folding them. He hadn't quite managed the spinning card trick his dad had shown him, but he was getting there.
The two boys he'd met the night before had noticed Harry's position at the sound desk, and came over to watch from a safe distance. Again, they were fixated on the cards.
'Do you remember us?' one asked.
'Sure I do. You're Luke.'
'Yeah, and he's Daniel. Can you do some more magic for us?'
'I don't have any more magic left,' Harry replied, wiggling the fingers of his right hand. 'I've run out of magic dust.'
'There's no such thing as magic dust!' Luke scoffed.
Harry nodded towards the staring Daniel. 'He thinks there is. So, are you having a good day?'
'Yeah, we've been exploring,' Luke said.
'Where?'
'Everywhere.'
'Yeah, everywhere,' Daniel agreed.
'You've got your trousers muddy, wherever you've been.' Harry pointed at Luke's knees, each of which was highlighted with a round, dark patch.
Luke looked down at his knees, and brushed at them with his hands. 'That's not mud – it's just dirt,' he replied.
'Well whatever you do, you should be careful,' Harry told them. 'You don't want to go stepping on a snake in the bush.'
The boys' eyes widened. 'Are there snakes?' Luke asked.
'Oh yeah, for sure.'
'Have you seen any?'
Harry shook his head. 'No, I haven't,' he admitted.
'Then how do you know?'
'I guess I don't. But look out for them anyway.'
Trent arrived then, his hands in his pockets. 'Go on, you, get lost,' he said to the kids. 'You're getting in the way.'
'We are not, are we, Harry?' said Luke.
Trent didn't give Harry time to respond. Before he'd even opened his mouth to reply, Trent leaned close to Luke and snarled, 'Get lost or I'll hurt you when no one's looking.'
'Come on, Luke,' Daniel said, finally removing his finger from his nose. 'Let's go and look at that thing we found.'
'What did you find?' Trent asked, suddenly interested, but Luke simply poked his tongue out at him.
'Not telling.'
Harry laughed as the kids ran off. 'That'll happen when you threaten to thump someone.'
'Cousins,' said Trent, rolling his eyes. 'They're little pains in the arse. So, what's that crap music you're playing, anyway?'
'It's the crap your pop chose.'
'Huh. D'you want me to go and get some real music out of my room?'
Harry smiled. 'No thanks.'
'Why not?'
'Because I don't think many of them' – he nodded towards the guests, who were drinking, chatting, laughing – 'want to listen to Kill Kill Kill by Deathbringer.'
Trent nodded his approval. 'So you were paying attention.'
'Yes, I was.'
'They might enjoy it.'
'I doubt it. Not at a wedding.'
'We could find out,' Trent suggested, another one of those sly grins developing.
'Or not.'
'What are the cards for? Are you playing solitaire or something?'
'No, I'm just mucking around.'
More thunder sounded then, a little louder than the last, and for a little longer. Some of the guests raised their eyebrows at one another and smiled wryly. The storm that had been threatening all day had finally decided it was time to crash the party.
Twenty
'Harry,' said Frank. He and Greta were standing on the other side of the PA table, holding hands like schoolkids, and they glanced up in unison as another thunderclap pealed overhead. 'Harry, we thought we'd get a couple of speeches out of the way before this storm busts open. I might get you to turn the music down and the microphone up for a second. The mike's on channel three,' he added as Harry quickly scanned the knobs with busy fingers.
'OK, good to go,' Harry said a moment later, giving the thumbs-up to Frank, who unclipped the microphone from the stand.
'Can I have your attention please?' he said, wincing as the speakers shrieked briefly. One by one the guests stopped and turned to face the front of the marquee. Those who were outside came to the door and stood there to listen, drinks in hand.
'Thanks, everyone.' Frank's voice was low and muffled, and shaking slightly with nerves, or was it emotion? Either way, his words were quite hard to make out. 'I don't want to talk for very long, since it looks like a storm's about to kick off and no one will be able to hear a thing once it starts, but I do want to thank you all for coming.'
'We can't hear you properly,' someone calle
d from down the back, and Frank licked his lips as Greta took his hand and moved the microphone closer to his mouth. She rested her hand on his shoulder to encourage him.
'Sorry. Um ... some of you are friends, some are family, or both. Some of you have come from far away, others live here in this wonderful part of the world. Wherever you hail from, Greta and I ... sorry, my wife and I ...' he paused and waited for the applause to die away, 'my wife and I would like to say how much we appreciate you all coming to wish us well as we begin our life together.
'You might be wondering why we'd even bother, two old crusties like us. Why not just shack up together and fade away gracefully, without any fanfare? Well, I want to say that we're here before you today because we love each other. I know it's an old-fashioned idea, love and marriage and all that. But this made sense to us, and we're glad you came to share our day with us.' He raised his glass. 'Thank you all.' Then, after returning the microphone to the stand and blowing out a long, relieved breath, he turned and kissed Greta.
During the applause, Harry spotted his dad standing over near the other side of the marquee, and their eyes met. Dad smiled at him. Frank the orator had spoken.
Greta had the microphone now, and the applause gradually fell quiet. There was something about her, Harry thought. There was something in the way she looked around at everyone that made them pay attention. While everyone waited for her to speak, a few heavy drops of rain began to fall on the roof of the marquee.
'Many of you have known my husband for a lot longer than I have,' she began. Her voice was low and soft, but unlike Frank's it was clear and full of presence, and Harry didn't feel that he was straining even slightly to hear her words. 'Those of you who've known Frank for a long time will have more stories about him than I ever will. I've heard some of those stories, and I know enough. I feel that I know who he is, and that I love who he is. I hear about what he saw and did in another lifetime, and wonder how it could be. I hear about the friends he loved and lost and went through so much with, and I'm well aware that I can never know that side of him, or pretend to really understand it. I know I can never fill that space.' She turned to Frank. 'But I can tell you this, Frank – I will always love you, and I'll fill what little space I can fill, and be the best wife I can be. Whatever else comes with that, I'll take it.'