by Robin Storey
He breathed a sigh of relief as he fixed the clasp at the back of her neck. She seemed to like it. Although in this situation it was hard to tell, because she’d have to pretend in front of the others, even if she didn’t like it. Maybe that was the real rationale behind the present-opening ritual.
‘Can’t go wrong with jewellery,’ Alec said.
Nancy gave Reuben a look that said she suspected it had fallen off the back of a truck. Alec opened his present from Carlene and Reuben – a box of his favourite imported cigars and a bottle of Gentleman Jack bourbon. Reuben looked at the bottle enviously. Carlene had shown it to him after she bought it, and he’d hoped she’d buy one for him as well, to replace the bottle Wayne and Thommo had drunk.
‘Your turn, Reuben,’ Alec said. ‘Lucky last.’ He handed him a small, flat package. ‘To Rubie, xxxxx,’ read the gift tag in Carlene’s large, sprawling handwriting. No bottle of Gentleman Jack.
Reuben opened the package. Inside was an envelope. He opened it. There was a hush, filled with a chorus of angelic voices. ‘All I want for Christmas is you…hoo.’
Out of the envelope fell a card. ‘Gift Certificate. Inner Radiance Life Coaching. Ten sessions, valued at six hundred dollars.’
He opened the card. ‘Welcome to Inner Radiance. We help you to formulate your goals, chart the course of your life’s journey, get rid of excess baggage and weed out unnecessary distractions. You will achieve the serenity and inner radiance of someone who feels good about themselves and is in charge of their life. This is our personal guarantee.’
Two faces shone out from the card, a male and a female, sparkling-eyed and glossy-haired, glowing with evangelical zeal. Their signatures were underneath. Molly Adams and Bradley Curtis.
‘What is it?’ Wayne asked.
‘It must be good,’ Alec said. ‘He’s lost for words.’
‘It’s a gift certificate for life coaching sessions,’ Carlene said. She looked anxiously at Reuben. ‘What do you think, honey?’
‘He’s thrilled, obviously,’ Wayne said. ‘About as much as I’d be if someone gave it to me.’
‘Shut up Wayne,’ Jo said. ‘No one asked you.’
‘Daddy, what’s life coaching?’ Indya asked. ‘Is it like tennis coaching?’
‘Sort of, sweetheart. Only without the racquet and balls. Or the net. Or the tennis court.’
Carlene gave him a dark look and Wayne got up, holding his hand out to Indya. ‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s see if we can find some more of those candy canes.’
Reuben met Carlene’s gaze. He wouldn’t spoil the day by saying anything now, but he wasn’t going to pretend, either.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he said and stuffed it in his pocket. ‘Anyone for more drinks?’
***
Christmas Day was not a success. No brawls or even arguments, just a simmering tension that threatened every now and then to boil over until someone – usually Nancy with one of her looks – clamped a lid on it.
Carlene darted around all day like a dragonfly, two red blobs burning on her cheeks as she prepared food, served and cleaned up. She refused Reuben’s attempts to help her with a curt, ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
They all crowded around the small table on the patio and ate stuffed turkey breast with cranberry jus, glazed ham, goat’s cheese quiche and salads containing a dozen varieties of lettuce. For dessert, there was the traditional Christmas pudding, citrus tart with double cream and brandy snap baskets with cognac-drenched strawberries and chocolate jus. The children sat in front of the TV and ate peanut butter sandwiches, with Brayden sampling a papier-mache angel from the Christmas tree for dessert.
The weather matched the mood of the day, sultry and heavy with the threat of rain. Even the crickets could only manage a desultory chorus. The day had a strange, breathless quality about it, as if this Christmas Day marked the end of the world. Reuben set up a pedestal fan outside to cool them down as they ate, but all it did was blow hot air around, with Jo complaining that it was making her food go cold.
After they’d finished dessert and were doing the obligatory groaning and patting of stomachs, Wayne said, ‘How about a game of cards, euchre or five hundred?’
Nobody answered. Carlene had already begun clearing the table, assisted by Nancy, whose help she didn’t refuse. Reuben went into the living room. Indya was still glued to the TV, Brayden asleep on the floor with his head in her lap, clutching a decapitated angel.
Indya jumped up. Brayden’s head flopped onto the floor and he woke up with a wail. ‘Uncle Reuben, can you take me for a ride on the Barbiemobile? You said you would! Please, please, please?’
It was hard to resist her when she did the big pleading eyes bit. And at least it would get him out of the house for a while.
‘I’d love to, but I don’t know if your mother will let you.’
‘Yes, she will,’ Indya said. She opened her mouth and screeched at the top of her voice, ‘Mummy!’
Jo came running in with a tea towel over her shoulder. ‘What’s the matter darling?’
She bent down and picked up Brayden who was still howling. ‘What’s the matter with your brother?’
‘Nothing, he’s just being sooky,’ she said. ‘Mummy, can I go for a ride on the Barbiemobile with Uncle Reuben? Pretty please?’
Jo hesitated. ‘I don’t...’
‘It’s Christmas, you said I could have anything I wanted!’
Jo’s shoulders sagged. ‘All right.’ She looked at Reuben. ‘It’s okay with you?’
‘It’s fine by me. I’ve got a spare helmet.’
‘Yippee!’ Indya scooped up her Barbie and Ken dolls. ‘Can they come too?’
‘Have they got helmets?’ Reuben said.
She shook her head. ‘They don’t have to at Christmas because it’s a special day.’
She had an answer for everything; she was destined for politics. Reuben fetched the extra helmet and slipped his mobile phone in his shorts pocket. On his way out, he darted into the bedroom and pocketed the mobile phone Frank had given him. It was well-hidden but he wasn’t taking any chances. He wouldn’t put it past Carlene to do some snooping if she got half a chance.
They rode up and down the surrounding suburban streets – Indya perched behind him, her little head swimming in her crash helmet and her arms gripping his waist. Her Ken and Barbie dolls were stuffed down the front of her dress, with their heads peeking out so they could enjoy the view. In reality, the only view they had was the back of Reuben’s sweaty t-shirt against which their faces were rammed.
The streets were deserted, steeped in post-Christmas-lunch torpor. The lifelessness and the oppression of the heat weighed him down. This was life in suburbia, the life he’d chosen. Same city as he’d live in before, geographically, but so different to the one he’d known before, that he may as well be living on another planet. His life stretched before him like an endless desert. If I get out of Operation Luce End alive, I should be thankful to be living anywhere, even in a desert. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t conjure up any gratitude. He couldn’t even conjure up a Lucy fantasy to cheer himself up.
A shrill ringing made him jump. It was from the mobile phone Frank had given him. It could only be him. Or Bomber.
Reuben pulled over to the side of the road. By the time he’d dismounted, helped Indya off and taken off his helmet, the ringing had stopped. He checked the number of the missed call. It wasn’t familiar, but Frank had used a different number each time he called Reuben. The ringing started again.
‘Just got to take this call,’ he said.
He wandered up the footpath, away from Indya, but she followed him, unstrapping her helmet.
‘Merry Christmas, Littledick,’ Frank’s voice boomed at him. He sounded as if he had been indulging in some Christmas cheer. Probably Gentleman Jack, the bastard.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Reuben said, frowning at Indya, who was right beside him, unashamedly listening.
‘Jus
t wanting to check in re our operation. All still on track?’
‘Yes.’ He felt around for the volume switch on the side of the phone. ‘The … er patient is still away as per the schedule. As far as I know, she still gets back on the 29th, so I can confirm then.’
‘Excellent. Stuff this one up, mate, and you’re up shit creek without a paddle.’
Frank’s voice bellowed through his head. He’d turned the volume up instead of down. He jabbed at the switch again.
‘Yes, you’ve already reminded me of that. Everything’s on track. The only thing that will prevent it, will be if the patient changes her mind about going to ... the hospital.’
Silence. ‘You’re not alone,’ Frank said, in more subdued tones.
‘No.’
‘Okay. Talk to you on the 29th.’
‘Hang on. What are you drinking?’
‘What?’ His voice rose again. ‘You sound like my fucking wife. What’s it to you?’
‘Nothing. I’m just interested.’
‘Scotch on the rocks. Johnnie Walker, black label. Anything else you want to know?’
‘That’s all.’
Frank hung up. Reuben didn’t like Scotch. But if he did, Johnnie Walker black label would be his favourite.
‘Who was that, Uncle Reuben?’
Indya regarded him with solemn curiosity, hugging her dolls to her chest.
‘Just a friend. Come on, let’s get back on and finish our ride.’
‘Are you playing doctors and nurses?’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘Why did he call you Littledick?’
‘It’s just a nickname.’
‘Mummy doesn’t let me say dick, but I say it at kindy. Me and Ethan whisper it so Miss Watson doesn’t hear.’
‘Just as well,’ Reuben said. ‘Miss Watson sounds far too young and innocent for such language.’ Indya giggled and he fastened the helmet back on her head before she could elaborate any further.
As they started off, a huge clap of thunder struck. It echoed around them and seemed to shake the earth. Indya gave a muffled squeal. Then came the rain in fierce, driving sheets, and in a few seconds they were saturated. There wasn’t much point trying to find shelter. Reuben turned around and mouthed ‘you okay?’ to Indya. She nodded. She’d pushed Ken and Barbie right down her front, but they were still getting soaked. It hadn’t been much of a ride for them.
They were about two kilometres from home. Reuben bent his head against the onslaught and rode at a snail’s pace. His breath was fogging up the visor and he could hardly see. After the initial shock, he enjoyed the sensation of the wet clothes against his skin – it was cool and refreshing, and strangely exhilarating.
He was a child again, playing out in the rain while Mum was at work, knowing how much she would scold him (no, worse, give him a beating) if she could see him. That was part of the fun of it. Once he was wet through to the skin, he couldn’t get any wetter, so he stayed out in the rain while everyone else cowered inside – racing up and down the street, slipping and sliding in the mud, tilting his head up and closing his eyes as it pounded his face, mouth open to drink it in.
Then he rushed inside, peeled off his saturated clothes and had a shower. By the time Mum came home, he was in front of the TV in his pyjamas, the washing machine chugging away in the laundry. She hugged him and told him how wonderful he was to do the washing. If it occurred to her that the only time he did the washing was when it rained, she never let on.
The rain was easing as he rode through the front gate into the carport. Reuben dismounted and took off their helmets. Water dripped in puddles around them. Indya was a picture of pathos, her thin dress plastered to her body and her hair hanging like a rat’s tail, but her eyes were bright.
‘That was fun, Uncle Reuben.’ She held up the soaked Barbie and Ken, their rosebud lips still parted in vacuous smiles. ‘And they liked it too.’
As Reuben led her around to the back door, he realised it was the most fun he’d had with his clothes on for a long time.
Jo rushed over and scooped Indya up in her arms. ‘Darling! I’ve been so worried about you! Look at you!’
‘But Mummy, I was having fun!’ Indya wriggled out of Jo’s arms.
‘You won’t think it’s so much fun tomorrow when you wake up with pneumonia.’
With a venomous glance at Reuben, she bustled Indya off to the bathroom. Nancy, tight-lipped, followed them in. Reuben went into the bedroom, stripped off his clothes and stood in the shower, the warm water streaming over him. As well as his other numerous faults, it looked as if he were also responsible for the weather.
By four o’clock Indya was dressed again, her clothes fresh and warm from the dryer. As they were all getting ready to leave, she said, ‘Can we go for another ride in the rain soon, Uncle Reuben?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Indya,’ Wayne said.
‘Don’t call her stupid,’ Jo snapped. ‘It’s damaging to her self-esteem.’
Indya ignored the comments, her self-esteem appearing remarkably intact. She looked up at Reuben. ‘Can I help you with your operation?’
‘What operation?’ Then he realised what she meant. ‘I don’t think...’
‘I’ve got a nurse’s hat. Can I be a nurse?’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Jo said.
‘Uncle Reuben said it on the phone. He’s going to play doctors and nurses and do an operation.’
Sudden silence, as if someone had pressed the mute button on the conversation. Nancy dropped something on the kitchen floor that made a clang. All eyes were on Reuben. Alex cleared his throat.
‘That was just a private joke between friends, honey,’ Reuben said. ‘Does anyone want this left-over ham?’
After they’d all gathered up their presents and hugged and kissed their goodbyes, with Reuben deserving only of air kisses and suspicious glances, they stood out on the street by the cars and talked for another half an hour. Why don’t women know how to say goodbye? When men say goodbye, they leave, without further ado. For women the word ‘goodbye’ triggers the memory of several important topics that must be discussed right at that moment. Indya became bored and pinched Brayden. He wailed. That was the signal for them to bundle themselves into their cars and drive off.
The rain had only briefly cleansed the air, and an oppressive mugginess settled in again. Carlene slumped onto the couch. Her hair was lank and stringy, her face flushed. She’d managed to sneak in a few sips of wine during her hosting duties. Reuben poured himself another glass of red. He had a feeling he’d need the fortification.
‘So,’ Carlene said, ‘what’s this about an operation and playing doctors and nurses?’
Reuben came and sat down beside her. ‘Just me regressing back to my childhood again. Nothing to worry about.’
‘I am worried. Who were you talking to on the phone?’
Why did Indya have to be such a know-it-all busybody? Sadly, there was only one person he could have been talking to on the phone on Christmas Day.
‘Finn rang me to wish me Merry Christmas.’
‘And you’re going to play doctors and nurses with him?’
‘Of course not. We were just reminiscing about our school days when we played doctors and nurses.’
‘And performed operations.’
‘Pretended to. It was all very innocent.’
‘Of course.’
‘I don’t know what you’re so shitty about – it’s the truth. Anyway, I’m the one who should be shitty with you, and in fact, I am.’
‘Oh, really?’ Her voice held a dangerous note. ‘And why is that?’
She knew why. She wanted to make him say it.
‘You know very well why. The gift certificate. Besides the fact I don’t need counselling, which you don’t seem to understand, life coaching is a total wank. I don’t need some buffed, puncy tosser telling me how to live my life.’
‘It seems to me he might have a better idea than
you do. Tell me, what are your goals? What do you want to achieve in life?’
Her questions were impossible to answer. He’d been living from day to day, ricocheting from one event to the next. Employment, yes, an unfortunate necessity of life. Over and above that, he hadn’t the slightest idea. A family? A home of his own? Stability? Predictability? It was too depressing to think about. Yet it’s what Carlene wanted.
‘I don’t know,’ he muttered.
‘See?’ She sat up, eyes sharp with triumph. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. If you don’t know what you want, how can you hope to get anywhere? If you don’t have goals, next thing you know, ten years will have passed and you’ll still be a kitchen hand in a crummy cafe.’
‘It might be boring and dead-end, but at least it’s honest. And what’s wrong with not knowing what you want? I’ve only been out of jail for six months, it’s going to take time for me to work all that out.’
‘A very convenient excuse. How long are you going to use that one for?’
‘As long as I need to.’
The ceiling fan whirred above them, going at full pelt but barely moving the air. He’d wanted to ask her this question, it had been on the tip of his tongue for a while; but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Now he had to.
‘Why did you marry me?’
She met his gaze, twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers. ‘What a question! Because I love you.’
There was no tenderness in her words, rather an air of accusation. Honesty came in so many shades and subtleties – he hadn’t always been honest with Carlene, but he owed her this now. And himself. If he didn’t say it now, it might never be said. He took a deep breath.
‘I think you’re mixing up love with rescuing. You see me the same way as the refugees and the orphans you’re trying to save.’
‘That’s bullshit! And you accuse me of psychoanalysing!’
She swiped at the tears running down her cheeks. ‘So why did you marry me?’
‘I thought it was what I wanted; that marriage would help me to stay straight. But now I’m not so sure.’
She stared at him, glassy-eyed. When she spoke, her voice was just a whisper. ‘What about love? You said you loved me.’