Auntie Muriel invited them to use her barbecue for their steaks. They climbed a steep path at the side of the house to arrive at a tiled terrace. It not only held a modern gas barbecue but the terrace faced west and the evening sunshine meant a pleasant temperature for their outdoor meal. The steaks gave off a stomach-rumbling aroma. A barbecue. When had she last … she put that thought away and breathed deeply. Actual hunger. She couldn’t wait for that first mouthful.
‘Wonderful,’ Jeanie said, patting her stomach. ‘I haven’t lived this well for a long time.’ She finished the last bit of the Aussie red in her glass. Auntie Muriel appeared at the kitchen door.
‘Everything okay out here?’
‘Perfect, Auntie Muriel,’ Fred said.
‘Perfect, Auntie Muriel,’ Jeanie said too in a singsong voice. ‘Sorry, that was cheeky,’ she apologized. ‘It must be the wine. I’m not used to it.’
‘I answer to everything and I think I prefer Auntie Muriel to lots of other names I could think of,’ she said with a straight face. ‘How is your recovery, Freddie? Feeling a bit better in this cooler climate?’
‘Yes, thanks, Auntie. It was the right thing to do.’
After Muriel had left them, Jeanie asked, ‘Have you been ill too? As well as your mother?’
‘She’s had heart problems. Doesn’t want the stress of me being around.’
‘But you’ve been ill?’
‘Better now. I was on some heavy antibiotics for a while. I’m regaining my strength. Swims like that are good for me.’
‘And me. I’m a true water-baby.’
‘If it continues fine, we’ll have another tomorrow. Also I need to get a bank account and transfer some money over. Actually, there are all sorts of other things to do too.’
‘I suppose I should get a paper and see if there are any jobs I could apply for. I need a bank account too.’
‘Job? What’s that?’ he said. ‘Ick. Don’t remind me.’
‘What do you do, Fred? When you can stand having a job.’ Jeanie was piling up their plates and glasses.
‘I used to own a computer shop,’ he answered seriously. ‘I sold it.’
‘Do you want to do the same thing again? Or something different.’
‘Don’t quite have the energy to think about it yet. I’ve put a bit away that should keep me for a while if nothing comes up. What about you?’
‘Never worked until recently. Then I did cleaning.’
‘Cleaning? Commercial cleaning?’ Fred’s voice betrayed his surprise.
‘Nothing wrong with cleaning,’ Jeanie protested. ‘It’s a job, and my best cleaning job gave me all sorts of benefits.’ He probably thought she was talking about medical plans, superannuation and the like when she was really thinking of the benefits of knowing people like Mr Jensen and Mindi.
After dinner, they watched the sun go down and sipped at their replenished glasses. Suddenly it was getting dark, and they needed to tidy their things around the barbecue. Fred was loading various cutlery onto the plates when he dropped the combination slice, fork and knife he was holding onto the top of his foot, making a neat cut near his ankle, above the strap of his sandal.
‘Shit,’ he exploded. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’
Jeanie grabbed a paper serviette. ‘Here,’ she said, bending down to wipe the blood. It was not a big cut.
‘Get away!’ Fred cried. ‘Don’t touch me!’
Jeanie straightened. ‘Here, you do it then,’ she said as she handed him the serviette. No need to make such a fuss. He bent down and held the paper to the little cut.
‘I’ll just go get a plaster. Sorry I yelled,’ he said and disappeared down the path to their unit.
When she went to bed later that night, she went over the evening’s conversation in her head. He did over-react to his little cut. And he had a very middle-class attitude about cleaning. There was nothing wrong with cleaning. It had kept her solvent. Barely. Even with her expenses minimized in that little hippy caravan. If she were to have a more usual standard of living as Jeanie, she would have to think of what else she could do. Too bad she couldn’t use her degree. But what does one use a degree in English for, anyway. Teaching? She didn’t like unruly adolescents. Teaching adults, now that would be more interesting.
With the car, more parts of Auckland were accessible. Fred treated Jeanie to coffee on the beachfront of Mission Bay. To get there a trip over the harbour bridge, through the bottom part of the city and out along bay after bay. Coffees then a long flat walk towards St Heliers Bay, some five kilometres along the sea front.
‘What happened in your marriage,’ he asked her.
‘I was destroyed.’ She wanted to be as honest as she could be. Jeanie as herself found it hard to lie; indeed, hard to act a role of any sort.
Fred shook his head. ‘All these words. “Destroyed”. “Finding yourself again”. They don’t make sense. Not about you anyway.’
‘Thank you, Fred,’ she said simply. ‘You don’t know how much that pleases me. Says to me what I’ve been doing over the past few months is working. Because I was destroyed. He even changed my name. Jeanie was gone for years and years. I am only now starting to think you may be right. That I’m coming back. Some of the time anyway.’ They were walking along the shore on a wide footpath, a volcanic rock retaining wall on the water-side and across the road, a high yellow-pink cliff. Clear colours. Blue sea, black wall and roadway, yellowish cliff. Just a bit of hardy green vegetation here and there on the rock face. The morning was warm and Jeanie was pleased she had retained the floppy hat from her Rebecca days.
‘So he was bad to you.’ It was a statement of fact.
‘You could say that,’ she said, the sarcasm obvious. ‘A persistent squashing of every opinion I ever had. Bulldozing of any sensibilities of mine. He stole me from myself.’ She walked in silence for a while. ‘But I was weak. Couldn’t take it.’
‘You seem strong to me. Not abrasive strong, just strong in yourself.’
‘Sounds more like you’re describing yourself.’
‘Strong? Not me. Not any more. I used to think I was strong. Even after my divorce. My first wife merrily went through life on what was once my money. Both before and after our divorce.’
‘Oh, bitter, bitter,’ Jeanie teased.
‘Not at all. I sailed through that. Glad she left. It freed me.’
‘One divorce? Not divorced yet from your second?’
‘She died.’
Jeanie was shocked. ‘How insensitive of me. It’s just that you’re a young man….’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’
‘No, I handled that poorly. She was from Harare. Zimbabwe. I guess you’d say she was a political refugee, getting away from the regime over there. She … she died two years ago,’ he said, straightening his shoulders. ‘I’ve been living with my mother ever since. I kind of lost it. Business went downhill. Lucky to sell it.’ A small flock of dove-grey gulls lifted off from the flat rocks extending out into the water. Circled and landed again. ‘That’s me. Going around in circles. You’re an inspiration, Jeanie. I hope you stick around a bit. I’ve done more in the last few days than the last few months.’
‘Done?’
‘Bought myself a car. Arranged for a bank account. Put food in the flat that we are actually eating without resorting to takeaways. Had a swim and now a long walk. Believe me, this is progress.’
Jeanie smiled. Nice to be useful. Needed even. ‘Well, we’ll see how you feel at the end of the week. But thank you for that.’
At St Heliers they treated themselves to ice cream cones. Jeanie well remembered the last one she had. The prop on that day. That Day of the Plan. To put it out of mind she concentrated on the beauty before her. The gnarled trees she now knew were Pohutukawa trees and famous for the shade they produced at the edges of beaches. The golden sand. The blue sea stretching towards a perfect volcanic cone that provided shape for a dark green island.
‘Tell me the name of the island again?’
‘Rangitoto. We’ll go over one day if you want. I’ll have to take the little land train up, but we can walk down afterwards.’
‘Oh good, there’s a way of getting to the top. Great. It looks uninhabited.’ The green was unblemished by the hand of man from where they were sitting on a bench directly across from the island.
‘It is uninhabited. And very young. The last eruption was only six hundred years ago. A mere blip in time.’
She tried to think of how long it was since she embarked upon the Plan. Quite a few months now. Early spring. Was it a mere blip in time?
A bank account for Jeanie was proving to be a bit more difficult than she had anticipated. The authorities wanted not only something to show she was employed but also a utility bill with her name on it to prove she was living in a place for which she paid bills. Putting her money in an account would have to go on hold. In the meantime, she secreted her Australian cash under her mattress. Maybe an obvious spot, but at least the casual robber wouldn’t find it in her handbag or suitcase. It was enough to keep her going for a short while. Having those cleaning jobs had helped enormously and would pay for her first few months in New Zealand. The rent Auntie Muriel was charging was certainly less than she would have to spend if she were on her own, as well.
Fred organized a post office box and his bank account. He had brought over a letter of introduction to the New Zealand bank and, for him, all it took was the filling out of a form or two. The transfer would occur imminently and in the meantime he could use his bankcard to withdraw money from his Australian account at any hole-in-the-wall. Jeanie had almost forgotten the ease of money handling since she had left her previous life.
They were getting into a routine. Fred was up early and always had breakfast ready for Jeanie’s arrival. Going out sightseeing, visiting a museum or landmark, then back for a swim. Fred’s energy levels were increasing day by day and he had put a bit of weight on his thin frame. He still had his afternoon nap while Jeanie read and walked. They often shopped for dinner together then cooked up their purchases. Evenings were spent watching television or reading. Sometimes they went out into the evening air, depending upon how Fred was feeling. They rarely spoke to the busy Auntie Muriel, but they could hear laughter periodically as she provided dinners or barbecues for her guests.
Jeanie realized she was happy. She awoke one morning and the world was a different and more cheerful place. Strange. She couldn’t think the last time she actually said to herself she was happy. When Beau was little? Why was she happy now? She was lying in bed and she could hear Fred fussing in the kitchen. She would have to get up, but she was loath to break the spell. What made life good now? She liked Fred and she liked their life. Maybe it was because she was Jeanie again. She was Jeanie again. Jeanie. She sighed and got out of bed.
‘I realized this morning I feel happy. Content,’ she said to Fred over their breakfast.
He looked up surprised. ‘That’s nice,’ he said slowly. ‘I gather feeling happy is not something you are overly familiar with?’
She shook her head. ‘Years. I can’t even count how many years it’s been since I would ever use that word about myself. Thank you, Fred.’
He looked pleased. ‘Not my doing, I’m sure. But you are very welcome.’
‘What are your plans? I mean, are you going to have this flat forever? Or are you going to move to a more permanent place?’
‘Change of subject?’
‘Nope.’
‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘Well, my friend, I thought I might stay here until Auntie Muriel says she needs the place. I know she always rents it out for good money at Easter, and I should have either found myself someplace by then or have to move into one of the smaller rooms she has here to vacate the flat. Are you thinking what I am thinking? That we get along well, and we should consider being flatmates longer term?’
Jeanie was flung into a state of confusion. Is that what she wanted? Or did she just mean to extend their sharing expenses for another week or two? ‘Softly softly, but it is worthy of exploration, isn’t it?’ she said. She had been living day to day for so long that thinking beyond a week or so was outside the envelope. She reached for another toast and busied herself loading it up with marmalade. ‘I guess we both have to think about money. Earning it, I mean.’
‘What did you do? And I don’t mean the cleaning.’
‘I never had a job. No gainful employment. Awful, isn’t it, in this day and age. But I was married to a very old fashioned bloke.’ She snorted. ‘Bloke. That is one term that does not describe my ex. He was no bloke. He was a somebody and the word ‘bloke’ is reserved for nobodies. That’s what he thought, anyway.’
‘Well, this bloke thinks we should figure out what suits you. Did you ever train for anything?’
‘I have an English degree. Not exactly a preparation for the workplace.’
‘You’d be surprised, Jeanie. Any degree opens doors,’ he said with some enthusiasm. ‘What interests you? What should we be thinking about?’
‘I have given it some thought. Not much,’ she admitted, ‘but teaching is the obvious, of course. A one-year post-graduate course to become a high school teacher. The only problem is I really don’t like children very much. I like them when they are good, of course, but teenagers are so troublesome.’ Her voice faded. ‘I know, it’s unnatural. But they change then.…’ She had almost started talking about Beau. Tears pressed against her lids.
‘You have children?’
She nodded.
‘What happened to them?’
‘A boy. Grew apart from me. His father’s son.’
‘How old is he now?’
‘Mid twenties. All grown up.’
Fred stared at her. ‘How could you have a child that old? You had him as a teenager?’
‘Heaven’s no. I was twenty-four. Hardly a teenager.’
‘How old are you anyway?’ He looked disconcerted. ‘Oh, sorry, Jeanie. Shouldn’t ever ask a woman her age.’
‘Forty-seven. I’m not bashful about my age.’
‘You don’t look it.’ He was not flattering her. It came across as a truthful statement.
‘Thanks, Fred. How old are you?’
‘Thirty-five. Thirty-six in a month or so.’ They stared at each other, then Fred burst into laughter. ‘How funny! Just shows that age as adults is unimportant.’
Jeanie laughed with him and the tension was broken. ‘Come on, kiddo. Time to wash up.’
Beau, her boy. She never missed a performance when he was in school plays. He was tall for his age until fourteen or so when the other boys started catching up, eventually towering over him. Dark hair, dark eyes and broad shoulders once he was sixteen or so. He had been quite good at throwing a discus in field sports. But never a school jock. One little girlfriend when he was fifteen for several months. Not that Jeanie saw him enough to talk about anything but practicalities, much less confidences. He was an awkward teenager. She had always been immensely proud of him but she had to conclude she had been a spectator of Beau’s life rather than a fellow participant. After he was six or so.
Pete, to give him his due, took him to countless sporting events, not that Beau was sporty. She didn’t like thinking of anything positive about Pete. He was hard on the boy and she was a spectator to that also. Beau couldn’t wait to be old enough to leave home.
Fred read the paper while Jeanie put away the dishes. He folded it open at the Situations Vacant section. Jeanie read it through from start to finish. Nothing. Over the next few days, they repeated the exercise.
‘It’s no use, Fred. Everyone wants experience. Imagine applying at age forty-seven without a speck of experience at anything.’
‘Except running a home and the cleaning job.’
‘Yeah. Right.’ Sarcasm dripped.
‘Nothing appeals? Nothing?’
She poked her finger at one ad. ‘That one does. A bit. But again, I don’t have the right background.’ The ad had been appearing every day that week. She kept looking at it, and dismissing it for practical reasons.
He turned the paper so he could read it. They were sitting outside at the little picnic bench overlooking the sea. The sky was cloudless and the water that particular sun-sparkling blue that occurs only early in the morning.
‘Teaching English as a second language? That’s what appeals?’
‘Helping people to communicate. I think that would be wonderful.’ She meant it. Communication was what made a person feel like they belonged. ‘Imagine being an immigrant and you couldn’t talk with anyone. English is such a complex language. My heart has always gone out to people who can’t speak with others. I always think of those little Greek grandmothers who’ve joined their Australian children at the end of their lives. They must be so lonely. Trying to shop for the family so they can be useful and not even able to ask for what they want at the greengrocers.’
Fred collected his mobile phone. ‘Call them and ask about it.’
Jeanie hesitated before taking the phone into her hand. She hated cell phones, ever since she threw away the one that betrayed her whereabouts. ‘They won’t want me. Same thing, Fred. I’m not experienced. Or qualified. And besides, this is at a school. They want someone to teach their foreign students. Teens. Not what I’m interested in.’
‘Ask them about adult education. They don’t specify anything, and you’re making an assumption.’
Jeanie wavered. ‘Really, Fred. I can’t see. . . .’
‘Do it.’ He picked up her hand with the phone in it. ‘They can only say they are not interested.’
‘Scary,’ she muttered. But Fred only smiled.
She rang and spoke to someone who told her they would be very interested in her application given her degree in English, once she had the ESL training.
‘This is teaching children or adults?’
‘We are a school. The children are mostly teenagers. But we’re considering extending our services to adults in the next year or two.’
She came off the phone, thoughtful. ‘I’ll have to do a course. They recommended two places for training. Both courses take a few months. But I wouldn’t really be interested in a job with these people. They only teach kids.’
Fred just stared at her. ‘Do you realize what you’re saying? You’ve actually found something you are interested in.’ His voice was rising. ‘Appreciate it, Jeanie. You are one of very few people who actually have a goal they’re interested in.’
‘A goal?’ she asked, a bit bewildered at the speed of things happening. ‘A goal. You mean getting the training so I could teach English to foreigners?’
‘Yes, you ninny. Do the training and you’ll never be unemployed again.’ He reached over and lightly touched her shoulder.
Jeanie smiled as she thought it through. ‘Yes, it would be wonderful. But probably very expensive.’
‘Don’t be a nay-sayer. I know you, and you have more get-up-and-go than this. I mean, you might have a part-time job to help you through. Cleaning. Anything. This is a plan, Jeanie. A plan.’
She wasn’t too sure of that use of the word ‘plan’. Too many associations with a life left behind.