My dinner circled before me on the microwave carousel. Home from work late again. I’d hoped to blow out the cobwebs and clear my mind with a quick run. Instead, even after a brisk shower, I’d barely the energy to heat the week-old meat pie. With a cold beer in one hand and ketchup bottle in the other, I counted down the seconds to the microwave’s ding letting my pie know the ride was over.
The week was shaping up to be the longest and most tedious yet in my short banking career. Eric, putting on his altruistic hat, decided to dedicate the entire week to “getting re-acquainted with his clients”. In true Eric style, he transformed this simple task into a prolonged sales pitch to the clients with whom he kept minimal contact; leaving me with a laundry list of notes with which to update customer profiles.
Mrs What’s-her-name’s husband got a promotion… This one’s now single… This couple were transferred to Perth… Additional funds here – make a note for me to call back in three weeks… Squeezed them dry – don’t bother calling again.
Eric, with feet propped lazily on his desk, wound his silver tongue through the phone line, across the ether and into the homes and pockets of his flock. And I stared at the computer screen and typed note after note into the system while – I imagined – blood slowly leaked from my eyes.
A trill ring shook me from my trance. I assumed the sound was the microwave, but my pie was still happily enjoying the slow-motion amusement ride. I reached for my mobile and answered.
Hello?
Craig.
Oh… hi, Judy. You calling from work?
Yes… umm, Craig. It’s your Mother.
I grabbed my keys and rushed out the front door. The microwave let out a weary ding as the door swung shut behind me.
Ten and three. The numbers stuck in my mind as I waited to be allowed into mother’s room. Ten minutes to get to the hospice, and three for the number of red lights I’d run. And there I sat, helpless, not knowing what was happening on the other side of the metal door painted a dreary eggshell white.
I’d commenced pacing the hall when Judy stepped from my mother’s room. She quickly made her way to my side and held both my hands in hers.
I let out a sigh of relief before asking.
Can I see her?
Yes. Doctor Jacobs is still in there; he’ll want to speak to you.
Doctor Jacobs, with the help of another nurse, positioned various machines around Mother’s bed. The nurse noticed me enter and signalled to the doctor.
As if not coming was an option. His professional nonchalance made a habit of rubbing me the wrong way.
A large clear mask covered her nose and mouth. A small tube connected the mask to an oxygen tank beside the bed. She lay flat on her back, the bed fully reclined. It was impossible to tell if she were alive or dead.
He turned, smiled and patted her arm as if these things happened every day. In his world, perhaps they did.
The manner in which he described Mother’s condition was so infuriatingly matter-of-fact. I knew deep down he was trying to keep me calm; but right now, it just pissed me off.
That’s it? You’ll just monitor her? Can’t something else be done?
Unfortunately, not, Craig. I believe Ms Graham already informed you – and she really shouldn’t have…
I detected a note of annoyance, I hoped Judy hadn’t gotten into trouble.
Prepare myself? And he’s afraid? What the fuck did he think I was feeling?
Such a calm way of putting it. She’s hung in there, but I wouldn’t take the over on the betting line. I’ve never wanted to hit someone so badly in all my life. I managed, somehow, to keep my temper in check.
Can I have a few minutes alone with her?
Of course, young man. I’ll be down the hall at the nurse’s station if you wish to talk further.
Leaning against the raised bars of her bed, I tracked the paths of wires and tubes leading from various machines back to my mother. She looked so tiny, so fragile; her chest rising and falling slightly but steadily. The bright green display above her bed showed oxygen level, blood pressure and pulse. And showed she was still with me.
Seeing her this way was more than I could bear, I kissed her goodnight and quietly left the room.
A light rain was falling. I made my way across the parking lot to the Beast. Leaning on the bonnet, I tipped my head back and let the coolness of the drops wash over my face.
The voice was quiet and soothing.
Judy stood before me. Arms folded, her head cocked to one side as if asking for permission to step closer.
Just hoping to drown.
Come on, it’s never as bad as you think it is.
Yes. Yes, it is, Judy. It is as bad as it seems. In fact, it just about can’t get any fucking worse.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could cram them back in. And they stung Judy more than I would have imagined.
You think you’re the only one having to deal with the loss of a parent, or a loved one? At least you have happy memories of them both. What about…
What about what?
She’d hit a nerve, one I’d kept buried for years but remained painfully raw. Who was she, thinking she knew all about my family?
About my dad… the one I never saw? The dad I barely even knew. Or the real him at least. How about the memory of his mistress coming to his funeral? Mum, having her tossed out of the church. First time I’d ever heard her swear. And I learnt a new word that day – whore – took me a while to figure out the spelling so as to learn the meaning.
Craig, I’m sorry… I didn’t…
The floodgates opened. The horse bolted. Years of pent-up anger burst forth, and I was powerless to stop it.
Yeah, that was my old man. A wife and kid at home, and any number of tarts waiting for him in country towns across the State. And all I have to show for his sorry existence is the CD collection he left me. Three hundred discs of his music, and as I listen, I wonder who he was with when it was playing on his car stereo.
Craig, you can’t keep torturing yourself like that.
Torture? What would you know of torture? Your work here? Sure, I couldn’t do it, but it’s your choice to be here, and you can always escape and go home to your lovely little house in Heidelberg and your lovely parents.
It’s not my choice. And I don’t live there.
Absorbed in my rant, I’d not taken in the words spoken softly by a clearly distressed Judy.
What? What do you mean?
Can we get in the car, please? I’m getting drenched standing out here.
Judy rubbed her arms against the cold and sunk into the cloth fabric of the front seat. Staring a hole through the Beast’s glove compartment, she first got her emotions under control before speaking.
The warmth of the Beast’s interior combined with our wet clothes quickly fogged the windows. The rain drummed a steady beat on the roof; the interior a warm cocoon sheltering us from the world outside.
The house in Heidelberg, where you met me, belongs to my friend’s parents. I live in a tiny hovel a couple of kilometres from there. I didn’t want you to see it, or my parents.
I don’t care where or how you live, and I’m sure…
No, Craig. You’re not bloody sure.
Judy turned to face me. The rising anger evident in her voice. The floodgates getting a good working over tonight.
She shook her head as if in disgust.
The light rain began to fall more steadily, sounding like muffled applause as it bounced off the Beast’s roof. Across from me, Judy stared sullenly through the fogged windscreen. Her tears now dry, just the tracks on her cheeks remained.
Then he had the accident; I guess falling became a habit. He fell through a ceiling on a job one day, which left him with a broken back. Permanently disabled he is, can’t work, but it hasn’t hindered his drinking any.
Is that what got you interested in nursing, from helping with your dad?
Judy turned to face me. A look of pity on her face.
Oh, Craig. You just don’t get it, do you?
Get what?
I was getting tired of being treated like a moron. Was I that slow? What was I missing?
The penny dropped.
I waited a moment for a denial, but none came.
A smart man would have taken the high road. Comforted her and been the steadying rock in a time of our mutual need. Oh, I was a rock alright. But only dumb as a whole box of them.
Her chin dropped to her chest, and tears overflowed from the corners of her eyes, the dry tracks on her cheeks replenished.
No, Craig. I really do want to be a nurse one day. I love helping the patients here.
Really? Help them? I know you don’t have access to the pharmacy’s pill supply. So how are you skimming them? Oh shit, from the patients? Is that it?
Judy continued to gaze at the floor mat under her feet.
An inexplicable need to lash out at something, somebody, overwhelmed me. Again, words escaped my mouth I immediately wished I could take back. But I was angry, out of control. Thirty metres away my last surviving family member lay on life-support, and I was as helpless as a new-born baby to do anything about it. And the instant self-loathing for my actions only made matters worse.
My outburst cut Judy to the bone. There was anger in her voice now.
Before I could answer, Judy leapt from the car and slammed the door. At least I knew better than to follow; I’d caused enough pain for one night. Using the heel of my hand on the foggy windscreen, I wiped clear a small opening. Rain running down the glass distorted the shape of Judy’s white uniform. She ran quickly across the parking lot, then disappeared from view.
***
Garth O’Neal stared out the front window of Stathis watching the traffic glide by on Glenferrie Road. Water sprayed out from beneath passing wheels, and the slick tram tracks gleamed under the yellowish glow of the street lights. Across the table, Eric Mullane refilled their wine glasses from the chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
For a wet Tuesday evening, the Greek restaurant in Malvern was very busy. Two waiters hustled back and forth between tables allowing the owner to glide by in their wake gaining assurances from the diners everything was to their liking.
Eric, my friend. I’m happy to see you again. Have we taken your orders yet?
G’day, Jon. No, not yet. I think I’ll have the seafood souvlaki. And some more tzatziki, if you don’t mind. How about you, Garth?
Garth leant back and studied the large mural of Santorini blanketing the wall.
Ahh… I think I’ll have the lamb cutlets.
Excellent choices, gentlemen. I’ll get those orders in for you immediately.
Jon departed with the menus, and Garth brushed pita crumbs from the gingham tablecloth forming a trail from the bread dish to the tzatziki bowl.
It was Garth who broke the silence.
So, for what do I owe the pleasure of a free dinner? You are paying, right?
Yes, I’m paying you stingy bastard.
Eric chuckled to keep the mood light but couldn’t help thinking a fish’s arse couldn’t have been as tight as the solicitor sitting across from him.
It’s part of my semi-annual check-in with my clients. I’ve been hard at it all week contacting those making me my money and thought one of my better clients deserved a meal. Besides, it was late; I was hungry, knew you’d be available and that way I could expense it.
Who’s the stingy one now?
Touché, Garth. Cheers!
Both men drained the last of their wine and ordered a second bottle from a passing waiter.
Eric followed the progress of a young couple as they hurriedly navigated puddles and traffic crossing Glenferrie Road, then turned to Garth.
Thom Lewis brought in the Catholic Archdiocese of Melbourne as a client many years ago. Then parcelled out the Sisters of Mercy account to Eric as a small reward. He wasn’t sure who’d been introduced to whom; however, for as long as he could recall, Williams & Teacher was the law firm on record for the archdiocese.
Garth withheld his answer as their dinner had arrived.
Enjoy, gentlemen.
Looks delicious!
The waiter nodded in thanks and melted into the background.
Eric, eyes downcast, slid tender chunks of fish and calamari from the wooden skewers with his fork. Garth, knife and fork poised above a lamb cutlet, looked across at the banker with whom he was now irrevocably joined.
No. No changes to concern you.
Good, exactly the answer I was hoping to hear.
Both men resumed working their way through their main course. Between mouthfuls of fish, Eric snatched at triangles of pita bread before dragging them through the tzatziki.
Garth kept his head lowered, fully concentrating on the dismantling of his lamb cutlets, but could feel Eric’s eyes piercing his skull.