by Di Morrissey
‘I suppose, but I miss my friends! There’s no one here to talk to and the phone’s my lifeline. Anyway, Mum wants you to call her.’
‘I’m not surprised. Was there anything else she wanted to talk about?’
‘No. She just ranted.’
‘Okay, I’ll leave you to get on with your homework and make that call to your mother,’ said Chris tersely. He’d have a further talk with Megan after speaking to Jill.
*
Chris held the phone slightly away from his ear.
‘Are you listening, Chris? This simply can’t go on. You said you wanted to be responsible for her, so why am I getting her damn bills?’
‘I’m sorry, Jill. I’m not totally across everything yet. I’m dealing with things as they come up. I’ll handle this right away and make sure the plan is changed or stopped.’
‘I think you and your mother are letting Megan get away with blue murder!’
‘That’s not true, Jill. Mum might be very loving but she doesn’t let Megan get away with much. We are both very clear about what her boundaries are. But, according to Megan, she hasn’t made any friends up here so the phone is her lifeline and that’s why the bill is so high. I’m sorry that I didn’t realise you were still responsible for paying for it. We’ll get Megan a new plan straight away so this doesn’t happen again.’
‘I hope you can afford one. Have you got a job yet?’ Jill said cuttingly.
‘I’m working. We’re managing,’ said Chris. ‘I’ll try to get Megan out of the house more so she’s not on her phone so much. That should help keep the bills down.’
‘Well, that might be difficult. By the amount she seems to use her phone, it would seem that she’s not at all interested in life in Nowhereville.’
‘Jill, it’s all a big adjustment for her. She is actually doing well at school. Her grades are excellent. And I’m doing the best I can. I’m hoping this arrangement will be temporary, but so far living in Neverend hasn’t been too bad.’ Chris took a breath. ‘I’ll sort the phone out. It won’t happen again.’
‘Okay, well, I’m glad she’s still doing well at school at least.’ Jill sounded somewhat mollified. ‘Tell Megan I’ll Skype with her later in the week.’
Chris rang off and stood for a moment, considering the conversation.
‘How did that go?’ asked Susan, coming into the room.
Chris filled her in on the situation with Megan’s phone bill. ‘I have to say that I felt a bit guilty at not realising that Jill was still being billed for Megan’s mobile, but she settled down when I said I’d pay it,’ Chris told Susan.
‘Really Megan has to pay the bill,’ said Susan, pointedly. ‘She can’t be so selfish. Fancy just ignoring the phone company’s warning that she had exceeded her limit. It’s totally irresponsible.’
Chris sighed. ‘I know that, Mum, but I’m not sure how she’ll get the money to repay me. I don’t give her that much pocket money and she’s too young to get a job in one of the local cafés or shops.’
‘She can certainly help me in the garden, but that won’t be very lucrative.’ Susan tapped her fingers together and thought for a moment. ‘Hmm, I’ve got a solution, I think. Mollie Watson could use someone to give her a hand out at her place. She’s broken her wrist and can’t do as much as she would like. Megan can ride that bike the Fergusons lent her down there – it’s only about three kilometres – and feed the animals and help with anything else that Mollie needs done.’
Chris nodded slowly. ‘That sounds promising. I’m not sure how she is going to take to farm work, though.’
‘She’ll be perfectly fine. She just needs to accept a bit of responsibility. Kids can’t have everything their own way all the time, you know that. Megan might not like the idea, but just tell her she hasn’t a choice,’ said Susan, crisply.
*
‘But Dad, I don’t know what to do with farm animals. It sounds yucky. Couldn’t I just help out here or something?’ wailed Megan, sitting up straight on her bed.
Chris stood firm. ‘No! Your grandmother has managed to arrange a job for you so that you can repay that monstrous mobile phone bill, and you should be grateful.’
When Megan stared sulkily back at her father and didn’t answer, Chris snapped. ‘Give me your phone. It’s confiscated for the time being. Email your friends and tell them that you’re off the air for a bit.’
‘What? No way! What if it’s urgent?’ Megan’s voice rose.
‘Tell them to call the landline. You’re sounding like a spoiled brat, Megan. Tomorrow afternoon you’re to put on some old clothes to work in, and we’ll take you out to meet Bunny’s friend. If you work afternoons after school and Saturdays, you’ll pay off this debt before you know it. And won’t that feel good?’ Chris walked back to the kitchen, leaving a fuming Megan behind. She slammed her bedroom door with a bang.
‘Well, that cleared the air,’ he said to Susan, his voice filled with irony.
‘I’ve never heard you raise your voice to Megan before. Probably shocked her a bit. I suppose she’s always seen you as the father who comes along with presents, spoils her and leaves again. Not quite that way now.’
‘We’re both learning,’ he sighed. ‘So, off to see Mollie tomorrow?’
‘Indeed. She’s looking forward to having regular help until her wrist heals.’
Chris nodded, and gazing down the hallway at Megan’s closed door, he realised he felt real satisfaction about the way they’d handled the issue, in spite of the drama it had caused. He turned back to Susan, who changed the subject.
‘Chris, I have formally accepted the invitation to go to the reunion,’ she said.
Chris smiled, pleased to hear she’d reconsidered. He thought she’d enjoy connecting with the people of her past, despite the sad ending to her trip to Indonesia. ‘Are you going to drive down to Sydney, or fly?’
‘Fly. Airfares are pretty cheap these days and if I drive I’ll have to overnight in Sydney and I see no point in doing that. No, I shall just be away for the day, and I have to say that now I have made the decision, I’m quite looking forward to the lunch. I am curious to see everyone again after all these years.’
*
‘You look the part,’ said Susan the next day as Megan appeared in the kitchen in cut-off shorts, an old shirt of Susan’s and a pair of gumboots.
‘I look stupid in these.’ Megan lifted one booted foot.
‘You’ll look worse if you come home from the farm with your favourite shoes covered in cow poo,’ said Chris cheerfully as he joined them.
‘Dad, I can’t believe that you’re coming too. It’s so embarrassing. It’s like you’re chaperoning me.’
‘Rubbish. I haven’t seen Mollie Watson for years. I used to ride out to her place all the time when I was your age, and the Watsons were always pleased to see me. I’m looking forward to catching up.’
As the three of them drove out to the Watsons’ place, Megan asked, ‘So who is this lady?’
‘Mrs Watson,’ said Susan, ‘is a lovely person. Her husband, Don, was a great friend of Poppy’s. Don ran quite a few head of cattle back then, but Mollie sold off some of the land after Don died and really only keeps a couple of horses and some goats. She sells the kids.’
‘The baby goats? What for?’ asked Megan.
‘For their meat,’ her grandmother replied.
Megan made a face. ‘To eat? Oh, yuck. Poor things. That’s awful.’
They were driving along an old road lined on either side with poplars that cast their dappled shadows across the paddocks. Susan braked and turned into a driveway marked by an old milk can with Watson painted on its side that served as a mailbox. She drove up the short driveway to a rambling farmhouse.
Mollie Watson was tall and lean with curling brown hair speckled with grey. One arm was in a sling, but she was carrying a bucket in the other. She put it down to wave as Susan parked near the house.
‘Hey, Susan. Chris, it’s good to see you,’ sh
e said, embracing them both. ‘Let’s go in and have a cuppa. I’ll show you round what’s left of the farm later, if you like.’ She looked past Susan and Chris to Megan, who was standing at a distance with her arms crossed. ‘Hello, Megan,’ she said, looking her up and down. ‘Ah, smart girl, you came dressed in the right clothes. Here, Megan, could you carry this bucket for me, please? It’s got the chook food in it. The hens’ yard is over there. You can put the food in their feeder and check if there are any eggs in the laying boxes. We’ll be in the kitchen.’ She handed the bucket to Megan as if they were old friends.
‘Pushing her in the deep end,’ said Susan with a smile as an uncertain-looking Megan headed towards the chook house. The hens, which had been pecking about in the back garden, recognised the feed bucket and followed behind the young girl in hysterical excitement.
‘Best way, I think. She’ll be fine. Once she sees the new baby kids, she might even come to like it here. How about we have that tea and then you two can come back for her in a couple of hours? I’ll have worn her out by then,’ said Mollie, grinning.
‘That’s fine, but don’t give her an animal to bring home, Mollie!’ said Chris. ‘We don’t want any more complications in our lives.’
*
When Susan and Chris went back to collect Megan later on, she was full of chatter about the animals on Mollie’s farm.
‘I had to feed one of the little kids with a baby’s bottle, because his mother wasn’t interested in him. He was so sweet. Wish I could bring him home and look after him,’ she said, beaming.
‘No way. Besides, you don’t want to get too attached. You know what happens to them. Anyway, it will be romping around before you know it. So how was the rest of the work?’ asked Susan.
‘It was fine, a bit smelly in the hen house, though, and the chooks are stupid. But I managed. I helped Mollie – she asked me to call her that – chop up her vegetables for dinner. It’s hard for her with only one hand.’
‘I suppose it is. Will you be right to ride your bike over tomorrow?’ asked Chris.
‘Should be okay,’ Megan replied.
Chris changed the subject. While Megan had been at the Watsons’ farm, he’d had a call from the real estate agent in Sydney that was weighing on his mind. ‘Megan, something has come up. I’m a bit worried about the tenants I have in the Neutral Bay flat. I’ve been able to get a cheap flight to Sydney, so I’ve arranged with the agent to do an inspection on the place so I can see it for myself. I’ll be going on the same flight as Bunny, so will you be okay to look after yourself until we get back on the six o’clock flight? It’ll be dark by the time we drive home from the airport.’
‘That’s cool, Dad. Not a problem. This is the big reunion lunch? Are you excited?’ Megan asked Susan.
‘Well, maybe not excited, but now that I’m going I am looking forward to seeing everyone.’
‘What are you going to wear?’
‘Oh, Megan, I haven’t even thought about that.’
‘But you have to look really knock-out. Why don’t you go to the hairdresser, and get your nails done and stuff? That’s so fun to do.’
‘Megan, it’s not a ladies’ luncheon, it’s just some long-ago colleagues,’ laughed Susan.
‘Anyway, your grandmother always looks lovely,’ Chris said. He gave his mother a quick glance. He realised he hadn’t looked at Susan properly for a long time, in the same way that most people stop looking at familiar faces objectively. But, he thought, Susan was still a very good-looking woman. He felt a rush of affection for his mother. She’d been reluctant to attend the reunion but she’d decided to go and he hoped she would enjoy herself.
*
It felt strange to be in the city again, Chris thought. They had taken the earliest flight so that Susan would have time to browse through David Jones department store before her lunch appointment. Chris walked down to York Street to catch the bus to Neutral Bay for his appointment with the real estate agent.
The agent had mentioned on the phone that Chris’s tenants had been somewhat erratic in their rental payments, and Chris was concerned that if they were as careless in maintaining his apartment as they were in paying him, then he would have to get the real estate agent to cancel their lease. But when the agent let Chris into the flat, they were both amazed by its cleanliness and neatness.
‘Chris,’ said the agent, ‘I know that these people can be a bit on the slow side in paying their rent, but they always get there in the end, and you have to admit that they keep your place in immaculate condition. I would advise you to put up with the irregular payments because you may not get tenants who are as good at looking after your place as these people are. Besides, cancelling leases can lead to a lot of expense and trouble for you.’
Chris looked about his small home and knew that the agent was giving him good advice.
‘Now that I’ve seen the place, I can only agree with you,’ said Chris, relief evident in his voice.
The agent drove Chris back to the bus stop and Chris quickly caught a bus back into the city. Checking out his flat had turned out to be unnecessary, but it had set his mind at ease. Now, he wondered how he could fill in the rest of the morning before he met up with Mac again for lunch. He decided that perhaps the most constructive thing to do would be to visit the newspaper offices around Sydney to let people know that he was still out there, looking for work.
Over the past few weeks he’d continued to try to line up interviews and reconnect with people, but had been fobbed off at every turn. Maybe it was time to be more brazen and if he turned up in a friendly, casual manner, old colleagues would be more inclined to talk to him.
But getting into the offices of the main news organisations proved to be challenging without his media pass, especially as he found that many of his former workmates were no longer working there. Everyone he knew seemed to have disappeared. He finally got past security at the newspaper company he had worked for prior to joining Trinity Press when a photographer he knew from years ago recognised him and let him in. They had a brief conversation which did not encourage Chris at all. They shook hands and Chris took the lift up to the newsroom.
As he stepped out into the open space, he was stunned not only by the empty desks and offices, but by the general air of desultory tedium in the room, the lack of energy, and the absence of any buzz of things happening. It seemed even worse than the newsroom at Trinity Press. He stopped by the desk of a former colleague.
‘This is a surprise, Chris. How’re you doing? What brings you in? Still at Trinity?’ she asked.
‘No, I left them a while ago. I’m just touching base with a few people, seeing what’s around. Seems to be a bit of a slow news day,’ Chris commented, looking around the newsroom. ‘This is not exactly the high-energy place I remember.’
‘The twenty-four-seven news cycle doesn’t stop, and there’s fewer of us to cope with it.’
They chatted a few moments longer and Chris quickly understood that there were no immediate openings, and even if there were he would have to join the very long waiting list of hopeful journalists.
Back on the street, he called Mac to arrange somewhere to meet for lunch.
‘The Greeks okay?’ asked the retired newsman.
‘Terrific. Meet you there at one.’
The colloquially named Greasy Greeks, whose real name was something fancy that no one could recall, was cheap as chips with hearty authentic Greek food. Over a bottle of red and a huge plate of moussaka, Chris told Mac what he was doing and how fruitless it was searching for work as a journalist.
‘Yeah, it’s tough, all right. So much good talent wasted. And the older we get the faster change seems to happen. Back in the old days, you left school, worked hard in a solid business, got promoted and stayed there till you retired. In those days, companies valued loyalty. Nowadays it’s very hard to stay ahead of the game. The future looks so uncertain, especially in the newspaper business,’ Mac grumbled.
‘So what do
I do? I don’t want to be a courier for the rest of my life.’
Mac put down his knife and fork. ‘Maybe create your own work.’
‘I can’t very well start my own newspaper!’ said Chris.
‘No, but you could start by coming up with an idea for a story and then pitch it to one of the weekend magazines. That will give you the chance to write something of substance and get your name out there again. I know freelancing has its downsides, but newspapers love freelancers. No overheads. Are we having dessert?’
‘Couldn’t touch another thing,’ said Chris. ‘I have thought about it, but freelancing pays so poorly. I’m really not sure that is what I want to do, but thanks, Mac, maybe I should reconsider.’
‘Think of it as an ad for Chris Baxter. Let people know that you’re still a bloody good journalist,’ said Mac as he finished off the last of the red wine. ‘Let me know the next time you’re in Sydney, won’t you? Good to catch up.’
*
On the train to the airport, Chris asked Susan, ‘So? How was it?’
‘Amazing. I don’t know where to start.’ She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘It was good. I almost did a double take when I saw everyone. Those days were all so very long ago that they could be part of a dream, but seeing the others today made it all real again. You go first, though, how was your day? What are you going to do about your tenants?’
‘Nothing. They are really looking after my place, so it would be foolish not to keep them on. I had lunch with Mac, which was nice. He’s still very cluey. Had a suggestion or two for me, which was good because I visited the old press office where I worked before Trinity and there was nothing going on in the way of work there, I can tell you.’
‘You poor thing. I suppose with just Megan and me for company you must miss your colleagues almost as much as you miss your old job.’
Her remark touched a nerve, but he pushed the feelings away. ‘Enough about me. How were your old friends? Do you wish you’d kept in touch?’
‘Not really. But it was funny in a way. Once I got over the shock of seeing them as old men, when in my head I’ve always thought of them as young, we did slip back into feeling comfortable and familiar with each other. I’ll tell you more when we’re on the plane.’