Chapter Forty-One

Nursing home, 1993

So the sun rises on my hundredth birthday and I don’t give a shit. It’s just another day without my Gracie. I’m fed and watered, dressed in my best suit and Tanya’s combing my hair in readiness for the day’s celebration. I’d let them know exactly what I think of all the palaver, if I could only find my tongue.

I spend much of the day reminiscing with Viv Morley again, but he reckons he can’t stay for the party. He’s just popped in for the couple of days he’s in town, and now he’s off again. He won’t say where. We’ve been practising my talking since he arrived and, you know, I reckon I’ve improved a lot. He’s better than any of those bloody therapists they’ve made me see over the years.

I might even make a speech today.

Finally it’s show time, and Tanya comes to fetch me. I can already hear the music travelling down the corridor and it’s bloody Slim Dusty. Did anyone check with me? I may have lived most of my life in the country, but that doesn’t mean I like the bloody music.

All the chairs in the lounge are stuck around the walls like spinsters at a ball, but there’s a table in the middle set up just for me, with helium balloons tied to it. Most of the residents are wearing silly hats. They’d better not try to put one on my head. The mayor and his wife aren’t wearing any, and neither is Shifty Harrison. And neither will I.

Tanya wheels me over to the table. I smack her hand away when she approaches me with the hat, and she understands. Someone turns off Slim and I feel like cheering, but I’d be drowned out by all the whistles and applause. I look around at everyone’s faces; these people don’t know a thing about me. They’re all insufferable bores.

My so-called family’s here: my son and his polished-to-within-an-inch-of-her-life wife, their eurotrash children, and their brats, and so on and so forth. They’re a pack of arrogant toffs. The mongrels only visit when they hear I’m sick and could die. That’s what happens when you raise your only son to be an educated man. Who’d have thought that sweet little Mikey would end up as Michael Furey QC, Supreme Court Judge? The trouble with my son is he became too important, and forgot all about who helped get him there. He married that blonde trophy wife of his (her father was the Australian Consul to some God-forsaken third world backwater), and suddenly we’re persona non grata. Gracie and I. We worked our fingers to the bone to get him where he was. And his family are insufferable. I’m surprised they’re even here.

They think I’m going to leave them everything in my will? Well, I have some bad news for them…

‘Happy birthday, Pa,’ my son says with a laugh as fake as his wife’s tits, ‘so good to see you.’

The wife bends over to kiss me, but I splutter and catch her with a little sputum on the cheek, and she nearly vomits. At one hundred, that sort of thing tends to happen. Just ask poor old Tanya.

Shifty Harrison comes over. He pats my hand again. ‘It’s the least we could do,’ he says, although I haven’t thanked him. ‘You’ve had a long and momentous life.’

Oily bastard. If I was a young bloke again, I’d give the show-pony the flogging of his life. Tanya wipes my eyes and gives me a hug.

After a bit of shush, the entertainment starts up. Val and her alcoholic husband Ron, well, they’re about as entertaining as a dog having a crap on your lawn. If they sing those hillbilly songs and do any of that stupid boot-scooting rubbish, I’m going to deliberately shit myself, just so I can get out of here. Give me Mario Lanza or Pavarotti any day.

They start off with ‘You are my Sunshine’, and the only reason I’m still sitting here is that Gracie liked to sing that song to me. My son looks over and he winks. It’s just a coincidence. He couldn’t possibly remember that.

Eventually Shifty Harrison carries in a cake. It’s nothing short of a joke. It’s big and blue and ugly and studded with candles. He starts to light them, but it soon becomes pretty obvious that the cake’s about to go up in flames, so he takes most of them off.

I’m one hundred, not five, you idiot.

I blow them out and wish they’d left me alone.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Tanya asks.

I shake my head.

‘I know it’s all a little overwhelming for you, Mr Furey,’ she says, ‘but people really care about you. You have done a lot for Wangamba.’

I really wish they did care, but I know people a bit better than she does. They don’t. No one cares about an old man who just sits in a chair most of the day, with only his good and bad thoughts to help him pass the hours, waiting to die. When the highlight of your day is getting showered, or when someone has to wipe your arse, then I think it’s time you should be moving on.

Tanya dabs my eyes again and I pretend to smile. I’d love to tell her why I’m really upset. It’s not just the party that I’ve been press-ganged to attend, it’s the memories. There are the good ones, like the ones of my lovely wife. But there aren’t enough of them. Then there are the other ones, the ones I wish I could forget. Those depression tablets don’t do a thing for them, let me tell you.

The dreams always get worse around my birthday.

Shifty Harrison’s introduced the mayor and now they’re talking about my career like they have a clue, and I’m not in the room. ‘What some of you might not know is that, as well as being a decorated war hero, Jack is a Member of the British Empire. He didn’t have to wait until today to receive recognition from the Queen. He’s also received a Knight’s Cross from the Pope… ’

Ancient bloody history.

I put out my hand and snatch the microphone off him. I figure it’s about time I had my say. The mayor looks taken aback, and he tries to make a joke of it, but I’m deadly serious.

I begin, ‘I’d like to say I’m glad to see you all here, except I’m not.’ I’m pleased at how well I’m speaking, and how successful Viv’s tuition has been. I look around at the crowd and, I have to say, they all look shocked. I continue, ‘I really never wanted this…’

Michael’s turned white as a sheet. He leaps up and tries to wrestle the microphone away from me. ‘No, Father!’ he yells. ‘Stop!’

I wonder what’s got his goat. ‘Sit down, young fella,’ I growl, ‘haven’t you had enough public speaking, sitting on the bench for all these years?’

‘Stop!’

‘What’s bloody wrong with them?’ I ask Shifty. He looks like he’s about to cry.

Around the cheap seats, my fellow inmates are roaring with laughter.

Tanya steps forward and whispers in my ear, ‘I know you think you’re talking to us, but you’re not. All we can hear is gibberish.’

I start up again, this time without the microphone.

‘For God’s sake, shut up!’ Mikey bellows. ‘You’re an embarrassment to yourself and to us!’

But I continue. Mikey’s wife’s inconsolable. The TV reporter’s having a blast.

Above all the din, I can hear Mikey screeching. ‘For fuck’s sake, Dad, will you stop saying fuck!’

My mouth drops open. I attempt to talk again but all I can do is dribble. My head feels like lead. So bloody heavy. I feel myself slumping forward. Strangely, I don’t feel any pain when my head hits the floor. Maybe I’m already dead. Now’s that a darn relief. I don’t have to stay at the birthday party any longer.

Here I come, Gracie.

I don’t care about dying one bit. Why should I? I thought I was going to die every day when I was in that awful war, and a fair few times when I was a copper. I’m not afraid. When I glimpse Gracie, there’s not a worry in the world. In fact, I’ve never felt so happy and calm.

She still looks young and beautiful: skin the colour of ripe peaches, huggable curves, rosy lips. I could go on forever about her. She’s wearing that dress of hers, the green one, my favourite. It fits her like a glove. I want to hold her again and kiss her from head to foot.

Well, it has been a long time.

I’m happy as the proverbial muddy pig. I hear Shifty’s frantic voice calling me. And Tanya’s. And even Mikey’s. I’d like to tell them all to bugger off, leave me alone. I want to be with my wife. Tanya shakes me. I hear the emergency bell ringing.

After that, I hear Grace’s soft, tender voice calling me. ‘Come on, Jack, my dear, I’ve missed you,’ she beckons. ‘You’ve mucked around in this place for too long. Come on.’

‘I’m glad you’re here. my love,’ I reply, ‘I’ve been waiting for you to get me for thirty years. Where have you been? Get me out this bloody dump.’

‘Just take my hand, Jack.’

She holds my hand and we walk away into the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen.

‘Cup of tea, love?’ she asks.

‘Love one. I bet you haven’t forgotten how to make it.’

‘I’ve never forgotten anything about you, especially how you liked your tea,’ she replies.

‘Same here, love, same here. I’ve never forgotten a thing about you.’

‘Now, let’s head home. It’s been a long day.’

THE END