Elsewhere in Success (10 page)

Carole and Louisa discuss their arrangements to catch up again with a mutual, but lapsed, friend, and they can try to recapture a feeling they had when they were younger and more optimistic about the future, before Harry and Gordon. After Victor. Before Tom. They have made plans to see Rhianna. They haven't met as a group of three for some years. Perhaps it will be better, deeper and authentic in a different way from when they were all young and lovely, and looking forward to life's uncertainties.

It is time to go. Gordon and Harry shake hands and everyone hugs and kisses the women. Harry says he is feeling fit to drive, so he takes the keys. He listens to jazz on the way home while Louisa tries not to fall asleep. When they get home, Buster is caught napping on the couch. He struggles off too late, wags his tail and tries not to look guilty. Louisa tells him to relax.

Harry says he is pooped. He staggers out to water the garden. The dog goes berserk as usual, jumping up at the water and trying to catch it in his mouth. Harry curses him as usual. Louisa potters around then comes outside to watch, to untangle the kinks from the hose for Harry, and feel a part of it all.

Another day is acknowledged and, as the dog loses interest and settles down, and Louisa notices that Harry rubs Buddha's good luck tummy as if there is something he is wishing for.

Harry is in the habit of browsing through the job section of the local paper. Nothing appeals enough to make a change. But one morning Louisa is hanging about without any work on, and he is worrying more than usual about their finances, when an advertisement captures his attention. It's something he could conceivably do, so he decides that it doesn't hurt to make an enquiry. The money looks good to him, the casual hours promise flexibility, and more importantly the job is out and about.

He is really only fantasising about it when he closes the door behind himself and makes the call. He speaks quietly. He is placed on hold. He hears Louisa pick up her keys and leave the house. As the front door closes, someone from Human Resources takes his call.

‘Hello?' A woman has picked up.

‘Hello? Yes, I'm calling about a job you advertised.'

‘Which one?' There is a hint of exasperation in her voice.

‘Oh it's the um, hang on a minute, ah, could you hold on a minute? I've just lost the page here.'

It's a good start. She already thinks he's an idiot. At least he can tell Louisa about it. At least he can say he tried.

‘I'll put you through to John Doe,' says the woman. Is she kidding?

‘John Done,' says the man at the other end.

‘Oh, like Ken Done,' says Harry, ‘pronounced like “stone”, not, um, “fun”.'

The man laughs obligingly. ‘Yes,' he says. ‘I've heard that one before.'

‘I suppose you have,' says Harry, but he doubts it.

‘No worries,' says the man. ‘You're asking about the job we advertised in
The Gazette
this week, are you?' He sounds overly friendly.

‘Yes. I really just rang on the spur of the moment.' Harry is apologising for wasting their time, but John Doe chooses not to pick up on it.

‘Could you email your resume through this morning?'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘Or fax it.'

‘I don't have one. I've been working for myself for the last ten years or so. I could throw one together, I suppose.' Because he lacks any sort of resume, he doesn't think they'll take him seriously, but he hasn't counted on the dearth of suitable people for the job market in the booming Western Australian economy. His timing is perfect. Or not – he thought he was making a tentative inquiry and he finds himself being dragged in, arms and legs flailing, like a bug sucked into a vacuum cleaner.

‘Running your own business requires a lot of ability,' says John Doe. ‘The position needs someone with that sort of initiative.'

This John seems like a reasonable kind of bloke, Harry decides.

‘Yes, I have been running my own business, but when I saw the ad I also thought, I did major in chemistry,' he says, enjoying the opportunity to revisit this early achievement. ‘That seemed to fit what you were after. But I have to admit, it
was a long time ago, about twenty years or so.'

More like twenty-five, or just over.

‘So I'm getting on for my late forties.' And a little bit more.

‘A chemistry degree?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you're used to taking initiative, being a self-starter, taking responsibility for yourself?'

‘Sure, of course.'

‘Married?'

‘Mm.'

‘Not that it's an issue of course, just curious. These young ones are all over the place these days, unsettled. You sound exactly like the sort of person we need.' Harry's heart sinks. ‘We can go through the rest of your experience later. I can see you about eleven, no, half-past. If things turn out the way I think they might, when could you start?'

‘Next week probably,' says Harry automatically. Later he will decide that he responded while he was in shock. What was he thinking? There used to be zero chance of getting a job once you were pushing fifty. What's happened in the last few years? The world's gone mad. People have lost sight of what's really important. They don't know who they are any more. They even call themselves names that sound like ‘John Doe'.

After he hangs up, Harry sits by the phone, stunned. How is it possible that on a day that started normally, he suddenly finds himself with a job interview? He tosses up whether to go or not, but the man has been so decent, and trusting of him, and of his potentially Oscar-winning performance on the phone, that it would feel bad to stand him up. He decides it wouldn't hurt to see where it leads. He changes into something more presentable. He goes. He can always turn the job down if they offer it to him. He can tell them when they ring back that he's been offered something else.

‘The job's yours!' says Doe. He looks so pleased at the offer he's making that Harry feels compelled to return his handshake with a similar level of enthusiasm. Before he knows it, Harry has agreed to a medical that afternoon, and a Monday start.

The medical turns out to be a formality, apart from the drug test, which he will pass. Alcohol and coffee are his drugs of choice. He gave up on smokes and recreational dope years ago. The deal is done. Harry has a regular job.

He doesn't know what to feel, but this is something new and mildly exciting and he feels like telling someone. He won't tell Louisa yet. He needs time to think. He might still pull out. No harm done.

He tries out the news on Buster, but the dog is typically self-interested and pays no attention. He waits politely but anxiously for his turn to speak, then asks for a throw of the ball. So Harry tells Buddha, who is predictably enigmatic and leaves him to discover the truth for himself. Harry makes himself a cup of tea, stands outside, and gazes out at the scattering of treetops that spread across the suburb beyond the back fence. He notices the not-too-distant hum of traffic from the freeway, of people involved in their lives with places to go and things to do. He decides to call his mother.

‘Come over and tell me all about it,' she says. ‘That's great news, Harry.'

This is the point at which he knows that he will give it a go. He'll tell Louisa when he gets home. She'll be pleased, encouraging, but careful not to pressure him.

He has a sudden urge to do something nice for her, to give her something. Some romance. Some flowers. A bit further down the track when he gets his first pay cheque, they'll have a night out. She can get dressed up.

He'll make an effort.

Harry negotiates the steep driveway and parks under the old lilac tree. His mother comes out to meet him and gives him an
awkward hug. They have never been given much to displays of affection.

‘Well done, son,' she says. ‘What does Louisa think?'

‘I haven't told her yet. She's out. I just found out myself.'

‘I'm honoured then.'

‘Don't let it go to your head,' says Harry.

She has made a batch of cupcakes in the time since she spoke with him on the phone, and him getting there.

You shouldn't have,' he says, taking one and disposing of it in two bites.

‘Looks like I should have made more.'

‘Why didn't you?'

She gives him a playful punch on the arm.

‘Sit down then,' she says. ‘Don't stand around looking untidy.'

He studies her as she goes about making tea. She's slightly built and as energetic as ever she was. Possibly more so. She seemed to find a new lease of life after his father passed away. He can't remember if she's just turned seventy-five, or seventy-six. She climbs on a step to reach a packet of biscuits on the top pantry shelf.

‘Let me do that, Mum,' says Harry, getting up. ‘You'll hurt yourself.'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' she says. ‘You know what they say: use it or lose it.'

‘You'll lose something all right, if you keep being so stubborn.'

She arranges the biscuits on a fancy china plate, and places them next to the rapidly diminishing cupcakes. They sip their tea. She is watching his face closely, making him uncomfortable. She puts her hand over his.

‘I'm very proud of you, you know Harry. Not just this, I mean. It takes courage to keep going. Life.'

‘Yes, okay, thanks.' He wishes she wouldn't. She deserves something in return. ‘Me too. Of you.'

‘That's my boy!' she says. ‘Now come and see what I've done to the garden since you were last here. Bring your tea. You can tell me all about the new job.'

Harry arrives home with ten red roses and a bottle of midrange bubbly. He dislikes bubbly so this is some concession. His enthusiasm rivals that of a teenage boy on the verge of his first licensed drive. He recalls the feeling. He is a bit of a lad again. There is a definite spring in his step. There might be sex later. His mood must be infectious. Louisa seems excited too.

‘Guess how much they're going to pay me?' he says.

‘How much?'

‘More than I get now,' he says. ‘I start Monday.' He kisses Louisa on the mouth. She takes the roses from him, looking flustered.

‘They're beautiful,' she gushes. ‘I'll put them in water.' They have their own home-grown roses, but tend not to pick them. ‘Red roses,' she says meaningfully, bouncing her eyebrows playfully and tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear.

‘Sniff them,' he tells her. ‘They smell.'

‘Beautiful,' she says. ‘Where did you get them?'

‘From Mum's. I got this myself.' He indicates the wine. ‘Mum gave us some walnuts too. There's nothing wrong with them. They get stuck under her plate, so she said we might as well have them.'

‘Oh, that's nice of her,' Louisa says. She picks up the bubbly, coyly. ‘So this is a celebration for the new job.'

‘Yes. Then we might have a little lie-down, eh?'

‘Ooh!'

The job is for a drug-testing contractor for an occupational health and safety company. Harry's degree in chemistry is ancient and has barely been used, so they will give him some on-the-job training, and put him on roster to send him out
in the middle of the night whenever there is a workplace fatality. He will be given a pager. He'll like that, he tells her, walking around with a pager on his belt, playing the part.

The job pays quite well with penalty rates and on-call fees, he tells her. Now that he's a proper working man, he might start to demand more of her, if she knows what he means. Promises, promises, she says to that.

They leave their wine and have their lie-down first. Afterwards, Harry falls asleep, snoring loudly. Louisa makes soup for dinner. She hopes he'll be all right. She wonders about the changes ahead. She decides not to think too much about it.

After an hour Harry won't be woken; he barely struggles out after three. ‘Bugger!' he says. ‘The day's gone.'

‘Glass of bubbly?' she calls out, too loudly. She is on about her third. She is standing alone outside watching the sky change. The colours are reflected in her glass of wine.

‘Oh, why not?' he says, drains the bottle into a mug, and comes out to join her. He stands by her with his legs apart, a real man, mug of wine in one hand, his other arm around her shoulders.

‘Bloody beautiful,' he says of the intensifying sunset.

‘You know you,' she says. ‘You're all class.'

‘Sometimes I feel like I'm floating through life,' she tells him one morning, ‘like I'm half asleep.'

‘Floating's better than sinking.'

‘I guess so.'

Something strange seems to have happened all of a sudden. Maybe it's the news of Harry's job, or the gift of roses, or the return of their sex life after an unusually long hiatus. Or maybe she's kidding herself. What does it matter what's causing it? Something feels like a new start. It could be a false spring, but she's feeling more optimistic. This comes with a freshness of perception she hasn't had for some time. In the last few days it's as if she is being shown wonderful things. She could force
her old calmness back, but the idea of some sort of heightened reality stays in her mind, leading her to speculate on the possibility of a higher purpose. Everything happens for a reason. The Truth about everything is on the tip of her tongue. She looks for signs.

In the afternoon she is driving along a familiar stretch of road when she sees a snake from the corner of her eye. It appears to her first as silver, then black as she turns her head to see it properly. She takes her foot off the accelerator so that she doesn't run it over, and it moves off to the side, disappearing into the brush lining this section of road. Against a perfect sky two pelicans play over the familiar territory of the lake. She feels her heart slow and wonders why, at this moment of all moments, she is recapturing the ability to see beauty. It is something that she remembers from when she was small, but somewhere along the line of her life it fell away. She wonders if she will take out her paints today so that she can study the way that the light falls on objects, so that she can break this phenomenon down into its component parts and see what is really there.

The last few nights she has been sleeping without dreams. She goes to bed at night, wakes refreshed in the morning, and it seems no time at all has passed. This has done something to the way she sees things, clearing her vision. Birds, snakes, trees moving against the sky – everything seems remarkable.

When she returns home, Harry is wheeling and dealing on the phone in the study. He has the door closed and Louisa puts her finger to her lips to warn the dog not to bark and thus destroy the illusion of an office-based phone call for the person on the other end of the line. He has started the new job but he continues to maintain the trickle of work from the business. He has a foot in both camps.

He laughs. Now he sounds as if he's making a social call. His voice sounds as relaxed and comfortable as a politician settling
in for another term, although she can't make out the words. She is about to go through the back door when she sees that there is a bobtail goanna guarding the threshold. She uses the alternative exit and moves around the side to get a better look. Its head turns slowly towards her. It extends its blue tongue in warning and hisses. Louisa feels doubly blessed today.