A Straight Line to My Heart (3 page)

After lunch reggie goes into his room and shuts the door – probably to do some last-minute packing – so I get to talk to Bull on his own.

I ask the most important question first. ‘Is he really sick?'

We're sitting on the front verandah, which we also call the Oval Office because across the road is Gungee Oval, where Bull and the Gunners have so often covered themselves in disgrace.

‘He quit the smokes today, Tiff. Been puffing away for sixty years, feels somethin' in his throat, gives it up in one day – bang.'

That bothers me too.

‘Smokers quit all the time,' I say, playing it down. ‘You'll see. Give him a couple of days and he'll light up again.'

Bull stares into the hazy distance as though the right words are out there somewhere and all he has to do is claim them as his own. Sometimes it gets so quiet in Gungee you can hear conversations from a hundred years ago breathing on a gust of wind. Least it feels that way now as I wait for Bull to say something. But finally he just shakes his head and shrugs, and lets it go at that.

I hear a scratchy sound at the screen door and the tiny but insistent whimper that belongs to Wolfie. She's a greyhound, a retired racer, fawn and white and beautiful.

‘Yes, you can come out.' I open the door for her. She wags her tail to thank me and toddles onto the verandah.

‘Don't you get up here,' snarls Bull. ‘This seat is taken.'

Wolfie clambers up next to him and gets the pat on the head that Bull always gives her, despite his protests. She's got him figured out.

She waits till I sit before she makes herself comfortable, turns all the way round – once, twice – flops down and sighs as if she's had a really hard day, and stretches out full-length, draping herself over my lap so I can rub her soft, warm coat.

Zoe breezes in, full of smiles: Bull's girlfriend. It's always real with her, like she's honestly glad to see me. She's the same with Reggie, though he doesn't exactly throw out the welcome mat in return. I think he likes her, deep down, but he's got his castle to defend, his home. He's set in his ways. He doesn't make any big speeches about it; doesn't carry on and thump the table. But every so often after Zoe's been over I'll hear him mumbling to himself about ‘females takin' over the joint'.

Zoe gets this. She doesn't poke her head in here all that often, and her Reggie-pecks-to-the-cheek are quick and painless – like shooting a tranquiliser dart into a bear. She takes it slow and easy with me, too. Doesn't try to push friendship at me – just as well, because I'd only push it right back at her.

Bull left home when he was nineteen. He had girlfriends then; lived with a couple of them for a while, went to Hawaii with one. When Nell died he moved back in, to look after Reggie, I suppose, and me. I remember lots of Saturday nights and dates with girls; him trying on shirt after shirt – I used to tease him about it. But I don't remember him being as happy as he is now, with Zoe.

She's no girly-girl. Not into fashion or make-up. With her it's jeans and plenty of soap and hot water. She's middle-of-the-road pretty but will never stop any traffic; medium height and sturdy build; and her blonde hair's all business, cropped short and straight. One look tells you she's tough; doesn't take backward steps. But she melts around Bull. He's the same with her.

‘She's got him under the thumb,' Reggie says, ‘and he doesn't even know it. It's pitiful. Next thing yer know he'll be buyin' her flowers.'

I don't think that's ever going to happen, but I'd love to see it. They sit on the front steps together swapping cop stories – she's in the job, too – and it isn't long before he says something that gets her laughing. Zoe is the kind of person you wouldn't want to have next to you in a funny movie. When she laughs she doesn't care what it sounds like or how loud it is, and I'm guessing she wouldn't care what anyone else thinks. Embarrassment City, that's where she lives.

Back inside again and all of us are gathered around the
tv
. Wolfie meanders over to say hello and Zoe drops to the floor to play a game – growling and hissing like the big bad dog Wolfie doesn't know how to be. The Wolf retreats to the tickle-position, flat on her back, legs up in the air.

I wouldn't go against Reggie and actively encourage Zoe to move in, but I think she and I would do okay together. If nothing else she could help me in my never-ending campaign. Some people want to save the rivers or save the whales, even save the entire planet – I just want to keep the toilet seat down.

She might also be able to civilise Bull, or at least curb some of his bogan behaviour. Let's not beat about the bush. I'm talking gas. When Bull gets together with his footy mates and they've downed a few beers it's a competition to see who can blast the biggest hole in the ozone layer. And they think they're being witty. Somehow I don't think Zoe would appreciate their attempts at humour.

But regardless of whether she could tame Bull, she'd be fun to have around, and when I got to know her better we could talk long into the night about nothing, and everything. I'd really like that.

All that's a long way off, and it may never happen at all, but for now we've got the afternoon together, and that look in her eyes tells me she's in a playful mood.

‘You want to watch a movie with us, Reggie?' she asks.

‘Depends what it is. I'm a busy man, yer know. Always something needs doin' around the place.'

Zoe has put me up to this. So, with a straight face, I tell him, ‘It's a Western. Some guy called John Wayne. Have you heard of him?'

Reggie looks like he's about to launch into a cartwheel.

‘The old John Wayne, eh? Never made a crook movie in his life, that bloke. I seen just about every one he did but I could watch 'em all again. Even Nell liked him, and she really wasn't all that fond of Westerns. Yeah, I'll watch that with yers.'

But now Reggie takes a closer look at our faces. He sees Bull straining to keep his mouth closed for fear a laugh will come tumbling out. He sees Zoe try to look him in the eye, only to turn away when she realises he can see too much. And probably the thing that really gives it away, is when I giggle.

‘You cheeky buggers. You haven't got a John Wayne at all, have yers?'

‘Sorry, Reggie.' I put my arms around his waist, my head on his shoulder. ‘Are you still talking to me?'

‘Nuh. You've done yer dash with me. The lots of yers. That's it. Finished. Hooroo.'

‘Don't be like that, Reggie. Talk to me. Pleeeaase.'

It's a game we play. He acts tough and I act soft.

‘Aw, all right then. Might as well. Got no one else ter talk to . . . now what are yers really gunna watch?'

‘This.' Zoe hands him the
dvd
case.

‘
Eclipse
,' he says, holding the case at arm's length to read the title. ‘Don't suppose it's a documentary?'

Apart from
Dr Phil
– he loves
Dr Phil
– the only shows he likes to watch on
tv
are very old movies and documentaries.

‘No, sorry, Reggie. It's about vampires.'

‘Yeah? I don't mind the occasional vampire.'

‘It's got romance, too,' Zoe adds. ‘Loads of it.'

‘That's a pity.'

‘There's even kissing,' I say. ‘It won't be as good as John Wayne.'

‘That's for sure, luv. All Big John ever did was punch blokes and shoot 'em. Family entertainment. You can't go wrong with that formula. You never had to fast-forward any of his stuff. '

‘So you're not going to watch it with us?' asks Bull, trying to sound disappointed.

‘Well I wasn't goin' to, but I'd hate to let yer down.'

‘Don't worry about us, mate. If you're busy, you just go, we'll understand.'

‘No, no. You twisted me arm. Switch her on.'

I expect Reggie to last about ten minutes, but he stays the distance, kind of. He's wide awake and on the edge of his seat when the vampires are fighting.

‘This isn't too bad at all,' he says. ‘I reckon I could be a fan.'

But when the movie goes quiet, apart from squelchy kissing noises and heavy breathing, he gets up to go to the toilet. ‘No, no, don't pause it for me – I'll survive'. And when he comes back and there's more kissing, he goes to sleep with his mouth open, and dribbles.

‘I'm not asleep,' he insists when he catches me looking at him, ‘just restin' me eyes, that's all.'

Wolfie joins us, too. She prefers the commercials to movies, but if someone's there to rub her belly, she'll watch anything. Wolfie is very much like Reggie. She sleeps a lot, she's lovable, and she's desperate for company.

The credits start to roll. And Reggie wakes up, coughing. I've listened to his cough first thing every morning for years. Usually he hacks away for a minute or so and then there's quiet again. This isn't like that. He sits up, holding his throat, coughing and coughing.

‘Are you okay?'

‘Can I get you some water?'

‘Reggie?'

His fingers dig into the sides of the chair, his eyes wide and scared. The coughing rips through him, flings him forward and back. Zoe has her mobile in her hand ready to press triple-0.

‘Reggie – I'll get help.'

‘No. No.' He gasps it, a hanky to his mouth. ‘I'm all right.'

Gradually the coughing eases and my heart stops pounding. He manages to get to his feet. Bull and Zoe hang on to him but he pulls away.

‘Don't fuss. It's nothin' to worry over. I just need a glass of water. I swallowed the wrong way, that's all. Let me catch me breath. I'll be right.'

Then I see the blood on his lips.

Bull insists he's going to call a doctor. Reggie insists right back at him.

‘No you bloody will not. I don't need no doctor.' He retreats into his room and slams the door behind him. ‘Let a man have some peace, will yer?'

Bull: ‘Stubborn bugger. I oughta just drag him into the car and make him see Anna.'

Zoe: ‘No, we should back off; let him settle down for a while.'

Me: ‘Reggie. I'm coming in.'

When there's no reply, I twist the doorknob . . .

‘Before yer start on me, Tiffy, don't waste yer breath. I'm not seein' a doctor.'

‘Can I at least sit on the bed? I won't say anything. I just want to be here with you.'

It's so dark with the curtains drawn I could believe I was in a cave, if not for a clock banging out the seconds.

Reggie finally answers, his voice caught somewhere between sad and strong.

‘A man doesn't deserve a girl like you.'

‘Does that mean I can sit down?'

‘I could never say no to you, Tiffy, you know that. Twirled me around yer finger from when you were a little kid. Yeah, go ahead.'

He taps the side of the bed and I take his hand in mine.

‘Don't know what all that coughin' was about, but it knocked the stuffin' out of me. I'm worn out now.'

‘Then go with it, Reggie. Close your eyes.'

‘Don't think I can sleep. I feel a bit rattled. A smoke might settle me down but I don't want one. Can't remember the last time I felt like that.'

‘How about I read to you?'

‘Nah. I think I'm past bedtime stories.'

‘No you're not.'

I switch on the light so I can see his bookshelf. I know exactly which one to choose.

‘Your favourite poet, Reggie?'

He looks at the cover and nods.

‘Banjo Paterson, eh?'

‘So I can read to you?'

‘I wouldn't say no. But I can tell yer now, I won't be able to sleep.'

Reggie used to read these poems to me when I was little.

I start: ‘
On the Outer Barcoo–
'

And Reggie joins in –

‘
Where the churches are few–
'

‘Shh! I'm the reader. You're the audience.'

‘Aw. Righto. Carry on.'

I read it to the end.

‘It's a good 'un that.'

‘Let's see what else is here. How about–'

‘No, Tiffy. I've had enough for now, thanks. You run along. I'll be fine.'

I don't feel good about leaving him, not yet, so I go over to his record player, turn it down low, and play ‘Let It Be'.

He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, letting go of any remaining tension.

Our house has heard that song so often it's a wonder it just doesn't come on automatically when we go inside. It's Reggie's all-time fave, and his philosophy of life. For nearly anything that went wrong with me as I grew up – school or boys or a mortal fear of swimming costumes that made me look like Shrek's hideous sister – ‘Let It Be' was Reggie's answer. And when the message finally got through to me – when I stopped worrying and started going with the flow – everything gradually worked itself out, just like he said it would.

I'm about to play the record for a second time when I notice that Reggie is making little whistly snores.

I creep out of the room and back to Bull and Zoe.

‘How is he?'

‘Zonked.'

Bull nods. ‘Kayla rang. Said you were going to help her babysit tonight.'

‘I was, but I can't now. Did you tell her?'

‘Nah. Told her you'd be there.'

‘But I can't, Bull. I have to stay home, in case something happens.'

‘Nothing's going to happen.'

‘How do you know?'

He glances at Zoe. It's that tag-team thing that old married couples do. With one look he passes the question to her, and she answers.

‘We see a lot of sick people in our job, Tiff. Old people, especially. You get to know how bad it is. Reggie's okay for now. He'll soon let us know if he's not. We'll be right here – won't we, Bull?'

‘For sure,' he says. ‘So you go see Kayla like you planned. There could be other times when you're needed here, but we got it covered tonight.'