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The woman was ridiculous. With her silly pink hair and tacky earrings. She was tiny. Like a pixie or an elf. And cheerful! Relentlessly cheerful — all sunshine and unicorns. It made him feel old and beige and, for God’s sake, why was he still thinking about her.
”... would be the cheapest option if you don’t want to go with the full shebang,” the electrician finished saying, and Bright realised he hadn’t been listening, too busy thinking about that ridiculous Mary with her dimple and her big blue
eyes.
“Yes, that sounds like the best way to go,” he said, hoping the cheapest option was a good one and too embarrassed to admit he’d drifted off. “Thanks for that, Dave. When do you suppose you’ll get it done?”
Dave scratched behind his rather large ear, looking up at the sky like it would give him some clue as to his work calendar.
“How does Monday sound? I’ll have to switch things off at the mains, so you might want to let the oldies know in advance.”
“Monday would be great. I’ll put a note in the Newsie,”
Bright said and then felt like an idiot when Dave gave him a weird look.
“Right, well, I’ll be off then. Got a job to get to, down at the mall grotto.”
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The day dragged on, with Bright trying to sort admin and being constantly interrupted by requests from residents. Somebody had emailed asking if he would be interested in participating in a Christmas parade. He gave them a firm no, along with the emails about Christmas cookies and chari- ty Christmas crackers, and replied no thank you to the staff email about joining in the Secret Santa exchange.
Lois was back asking about croquet clubs and Glenda, a plump woman with a sharp grey bob, arrived with a piece of
cake that she insisted he take, despite his protests.
Christmas wreaths now lined the office doors and entry- ways, the smell of fresh pine making him sneeze and itch.
Right before lunch he spotted Dougal heading up the path and deciding enough was enough, ducked out the fire exit, skirting past the pool to go the long way around to his dad’s place.
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Klaus was sitting at the kitchen bench, glasses perched on his nose, writing in a notebook. Beside him was an extremely large plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk.
“Are some of those for me?” he asked as he came in the door. “What are they? Ham and cheese?”
His dad did a funny little jump, his hand on his heart. “Cripes, don’t sneak up on a man like that!” He closed the
notebook and then put it on his seat and sat back down on top of it, then got up again. “I wasn’t expecting you, but I’ll make you a plate.” He went around to the other side of the bench, opening a drawer and sliding the notebook inside as he did, a cagey look on his face.
“You’ve got a pretty good pile there already, Dad,” Bright said. “I’ll have one of those.”
“No, I’ll make you one. I’m hungry today,” his father in- sisted, pulling out bread and opening the fridge.
“What’s with the notebook?” Bright asked, getting him- self a plate from the cupboard.
“Just making a list,” Klaus said vaguely, “Is it Friday?” “No, it’s Thursday.”
“I thought you came on Fridays?” Klaus said, pulling out a jar of apricot jam.
“I’m working up at the office for a bit,” Bright told him, trying to be patient. He put the jam back in the fridge and got out the pickle. “Andrew is away.”
“Who’s Andrew?” Klaus asked, his forehead furrowed. “The manager here, Dad.”
“I’d better put him on my list,” Klaus said. “Do you want a sandwich?”
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The weekend dragged by slowly. He’d done his laundry and a food shop and weeded the garden and it was only Saturday afternoon. When Gary rang to see if he wanted a game of golf, he was quick to agree.
They played nine holes and then went for a drink. The weather was getting warmer and the beer tasted bloody good. Bright eyed up the bowl of nuts on the table, trying to decide if he wanted to order food.
“How’s it going with all the oldies anyway?” Gary asked, wiping the back of his neck with his napkin. “Christ, it’s hot, my balls are like roast spuds in butter.”
He might pass on the food, Bright decided.
“It’s fine,” Bright said. “It’ll be easier now we’ve shut down for the holidays.”
“I’m happy about the Christmas bonus by the way,” Gary said. “Appreciate you sorting the books. Means I can get the kids something a bit more exciting from Santa this year.”
“No worries.” Bright took a long gulp of his beer. “Are you going away at all?”
“Yeah, off camping over New Year’s on a mate’s property. He’s got one of those lifestyle blocks. Keeps a few goats, a couple of ponies for his kids, that sort of thing. Even has a llama.” He drained his beer and raised the empty at Bright. “Another one?”
“Sure.”
“Cor, look at the rocks on that bird’s ears,” Gary said as he stood to go to the bar. Across from them, a rail-thin wom- an in a white monogrammed golf shirt was sitting, designer sunglasses perched on her head and the light hitting the side of her face where a mammoth cluster of diamonds sparkled. “Bet she’s high maintenance,” Gary added, “just your type.“ He sloped off with their empties. Bright sat and watched the woman, her red lips pursed in disgust at something the man opposite her was saying.
She was the polar opposite of Mary, he thought, with her silly dollar-shop earrings and her ready smile. And dammit; why was he still thinking about her?
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He turned up to Pacific Palms on Monday feeling rather odd. His stomach was acting up a bit, he thought, like the time
when Bern had made him bungee jump and he’d stood on the edge of the Kawarau bridge and belatedly remembered that he didn’t much care for heights. Or when he used to get excited about Santa as a kid.
Janice had left him a note to say she had an appointment and wouldn’t be in until lunchtime but that he’d find a list of residents’ issues on his desk. Whoever had come up with the idea of a complaints box was the bane of his life. He took the stack of notes and then a piece of coconut ice from its cel- lophane wrapper, popping it in his mouth without thinking. He didn’t normally indulge in sweets but he had to admit, it was delicious.
He sorted through some emails first, deleting anything that looked like spam and earmarking anything that Andrew would need to do from home. Someone had put on music, he realised, when he found himself horrified to discover he was singing along to ‘Snoopy’s Christmas’.
He started on the complaints. A resident had found a bag of rubbish in their bin that wasn’t theirs. Someone else thought the happy hour was getting too raucous and needed to start earlier so that the ‘shenanigans’ would be done by four. There was a complaint about a barking dog, one about how many lawn ornaments were allowed, one about inap- propriate use of the personal alarms, and one from Dougal
— he’d signed his — complaining about the ‘stupid bloody meditation class’. According to him, the humming was too loud and it put him off his chess game.
Bright quite liked a game of chess, and he could sym- pathise on being distracted. It was, after all, a very intel- lectual game. But he found it hard to imagine a meditation group could be that noisy.
A quick check showed the class was scheduled on Mondays at eleven. He glanced at his phone. Eleven-fifteen. Might as well have a look. Or listen.
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In the rec room, he found a gaggle of senior women in a sea of pastel leggings and cotton shirts, and one lone man in running shorts and singlet, sitting on chairs with their eyes closed, hands on their knees, palms up.
Mary was facing them, her pink hair boosted upright by a
neon-yellow sweatband, a pair of snowmen dangling from her ears. She was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a top with a cartoon avocado on it — the words ‘avo cardio’ written underneath.
She was very distracting, but Bright could still hear the dreadful noise they were all making. It was like a herd of cows waiting for milking, all lowing and oom-ing, and, for some reason, Bright found himself laughing. Out loud.
CHAPTER 6