Kenny the Kelpie

 A new short story...Kenny the Kelpie

Nothing makes any sense any more, Desiree – do you agree?

‘No, nothing does.’ She said, lighting another cigarette, and checking her manicure, bored but wanting to agree. Her husband was always pontificating and she didn’t really have to bother even arguing, not that she would anyway, he was a professor of psychology.

‘The mass psychology hypnosis is prevalent – they are looking for someone to give them ‘rules to live by’. 

‘A crowd arises when people have a lack of structure – they look for someone who offers them structure – an excess of rules, if you like.’

‘But the conditions have to be right for this to occur – firstly, the population has to have a lack of meaning in their lives. For example, so many people were doing ‘bullshit jobs’ that they hated anyway. Then they have to have a social disconnection and then anxiety, a free floating kind of anxiety. Then there has to be an object for that anxiety to latch onto – it can be anything, but the Corona virus was perfect. Experts in modelling the impact of the virus gave wildly pessimistic mortality predictions – for example, in Sweden, they predicted without a lockdown last year, in one month they would have 80,000 deaths – they didn’t lock down and had 6000. 

‘Can a surgeon hypnotise a patient when they’re allergic to anaesthesia? Is this possible? Apparently it is.’

Fletcher answered the question before she had a chance to. She was certainly hypnotised by him when they first met in that smoky bar – he had all the attributes she craved, good looks, charm and that indefinable something. Charisma? Nowadays she could only yawn or try to stifle one. Now he was just boring most of the time. What was his problem? 

It wasn’t as if he’d lost his job or they were on the breadline. Business was booming. His psychology practice was going gangbusters, people practically breaking down the door to divest themselves of their fears and terrors, as the pandemic raged. Although nowadays mostly it was on Zoom, and she had to keep their kelpie quiet while he worked.

Kenny the Kelpie was usually quiet when listening to Professor Fletcher. It was quite fascinating, all that talk about mass hypnosis and how the world was going to hell in a handbasket. Those weren’t the words he used of course, that was Kenny’s take on it. Sometimes Kenny thought the professor was off his trolley, but mostly he made a lot of sense, particularly when he was talking about the current situation.

‘So, when people are in a state of anxiety and are socially isolated with no clear focus for any length of time, this can lead to a mass hypnosis, and all people need is for a superhero to come along to tell them he has the answer for everyone to fall in line. This if course, was not entirely based on my own research, but I am going to expand on it.’

‘So, what do you think, Desiree, I was planning to wrap this up, add a few more of my personal observations and regional figures and deliver it at the Psychology Today lecture that I’m giving next month.’

His wife, pretty and unconcerned, was reading a Who magazine and drying her nails. Professor Fletcher frowned. Kenny raised an eyebrow and then dropped a paw on Desiree’s leg, just to keep her in the loop.

‘Oh, darling, what did you say? Sorry. I think that’s a great idea’ she replied, having no idea what the great idea was.

Kenny himself was very contented to be living in their household, where he had two square meals in a round bowl, lots of love and exercise. Desiree had given him applesauce once out of a desire to spoil him, but it led to an extended visit to the vet. She never did it again and Kenny had no complaints whatsoever.

His early years were spent working hard on a farm but when his owner had to leave the land and move into a bedsit he couldn’t take Kenny with him. What befell him next wasn’t pretty.

His new owner would keep him chained up on a truck all day while he whistled and listened to shock jocks on the radio. He suffered the odd kick in the ribs, but took it in his stride. Kenny couldn’t believe his luck when the tradie literally traded him in at the pound for a pit bull, who would do his guarding job properly he said.

Kenny suffered an anxious few days wondering what was next, but was bowled over when the lovely Desiree patted him through the bars at the Dog Pound and said:

‘Do you want to come home with me?’

Kenny wished he could speak English, and say yes, yes, yes, please, so instead he just whimpered and wagged his tail in appreciation. 

Professor Fletcher was still droning on about a two tier society. Kenny pricked up his ears. What was the matter with humans, didn’t they know there would always be masters and slaves? In his world, that’s the way it was. Dogs had owners, but of course lucky cats had staff. 

He couldn’t see why humans couldn’t just get along. They had everything, they could push a button and machines did their bidding, flick a switch and lights went on, communicate with a moving picture held in their hand.

Maybe it was time canines took charge? All this thinking was making Kenny sleepy and he 

‘Desiree, darling, where are my socks? I can only find one of the Mickey Mouse ones, you know the ones you got me for my birthday’.

Fletcher was such a softie and sook, and so completely incompetent in any day to day situations such as laundry, what to eat, where to go, and so perfect in his calibrations of statistics and his ability to measure social constructs that it was mind-boggling. 

‘Look in the laundry basket. Or they might be on the line, or one of the magpies might have made off with them. Can’t you wear some others? What does it matter/’

‘They’re my lucky ones. I’m giving my presentation today and it’s crucial that I wear these.’

Desiree got up from the couch, dramatically, switched off The Kardashians and went into the laundry. She returned with the sock and made Fletcher run for it, as she bounced around the room, dangling it in front of him. Eventually he caught her and they collapsed in laughter.

That made Kenny very happy, hearing them laugh. And it allayed the fears that he’d had lately, of the authorities coming for the professor, rounding him up like stray cattle, and spiriting him off to somewhere. Kenny had been watching old documentaries of dissenters being brutalised and he didn’t want it to happen to his second favourite human. When Desiree was off getting snacks or polishing her already perfect nails, Kenny had perfected putting his paw on the remote just so, to change the channel. When she came back, she was quite happy to watch what he’d chosen, although she had a rather puzzled look on her face.

Kenny knew a thing or two about rounding up sheep. You just went round and round, barking and giving them an odd nip or two, it was quite harmless, and for their own good, particularly for the cagey ones who wanted to do their own thing and strayed away from the flock. Kenny was an excellent kelpie.  It was in his DNA – but he didn’t think Humans could be spirited off the footpath or anything. That would be just ridiculous.

So it was with wailing and gnashing of teeth, that Desiree and Kenny found out that the professor had indeed been spirited off the footpath and ushered into a large black car, and they even held his head down, lest he hurt himself getting in.

They were watching from the window, as they usually did every afternoon, for Professor Fletcher’s happy whistle as he came down the street from the bus – he always caught the bus, carrying his briefcase, when two men in suits stepped up, said something to him and bundled him into the car.

Desiree raced outside, Kenny’s nails skittering on the floor behind her, but by the time they got to the street, the car had slid away. Kenny wasn’t sure what his next move should be, so he just sat there, jumbled emotions churning away inside him. What had just happened? Was it anything to worry about? He knitted his brows, waiting for orders from his mistress.

Desiree was on her phone.

‘Fletcher, honey, I thought I just saw you come home but…um, call me as soon as you can. Love you…’

Kenny wanted to second that. But he had a bad feeling. And usually he could trust his instincts. The rude way those guys grabbed Professor Fletcher told him everything. They weren’t to be trusted. It’s not as if he could have run after them either. It wasn’t like herding sheep. Those days were long gone and they were in retrospect, enchanting. Endless green fields, a blue sky and the fresh growth of hay. At the end of the day he was exhausted but he felt satisfied and happy and that he was doing his job. Now all he felt was helplessness.

He followed Desiree inside. She sat there morosely for a while, after having tried to message and call her husband umpteen times. When she’d finally remembered to feed Kenny and herself, her phone rang. It was the professor.

‘Where are you?’ Kenny heard her say. He wished she would put him on speakerphone so he could listen. He pricked up his ears and stared soulfully at his mistress, giving her moral support if she needed it. He nudged closer to her and put his paw on her lap. She reciprocated absentmindedly by patting him.

‘Oh my God, they can’t do that, can they?’

Now Kenny was really worried. Where was the professor? What were they doing to him? It didn’t sound too good. He’d seen stuff on television which alarmed him, people being manhandled by police and even dogs involved. They were trained to hurt people. Now that was a new thing. They were herding people like sheep, and attacking them too. He was ashamed of his species sometimes.

‘I’m coming right down. I’ll see you soon.’

He wanted to go too, wherever it was, so once she got her car keys and bag he blocked the front door and just whimpered, those big soulful eyes of his dripping with longing.

‘Oh, alright, you can come in the car.’

Kenny threw himself into the backseat and curled his tail around him, waiting patiently as Desiree hurtled through the dark streets, completely ignoring red lights. He was getting worried they might not make it, that some truck would collect them at a red light and it would be ‘all over, red rover’.

When they got to the brightly lit police station, he waited patiently again and an hour later, he was greeted with hugs from the professor, who was surprised to see him.

Kenny had never been happier, and he was dying to hear what had happened. It turned out the professor had been charged as an ‘instigator’ because of his speeches at the university and while he was currently out on bail, pending a hearing, things were not looking too good.

Kenny knew that things would never be the same again, not now that the professor’s work and liberty were at stake from the wolves of tyranny. He was stumped. Once dinner was over and the professor’s face appeared on the telly with a banner marking him a terrorist and newsreaders alternately shrieking and wagging their fingers in horror at Professor Fletcher’s apparent defection and betrayal of his colleagues, Kenny beat a retreat to his backyard.  He could hardly eat his own dinner, the scenes on the television had so unnerved him and it was unusual for him to leave anything in the bowl. He lay there morosely for what seemed like hours, batting away flies and ants.

However, he kept his ears open and could still hear them whispering anxiously long into the night. What did this mean for him? If the professor went to jail for any length of time, would Desiree decide she didn’t need Kenny after all? Might she move to a tiny apartment and not be able to bring him? He’d put his horrible experience with Tom the Tradie behind him. Those cruel months chained up on the back of the ute, and then in the RSPCA kennels, waiting for a new owner, were something he had almost forgotten. Now the classic fear of abandonment came bubbling up again. 

But it wasn’t like Kenny just to think of himself. He had to come up with a plan. What could he do, as a mere canine, apart from offer solace and support to his owners? He couldn’t let the professor be done over. 

Desiree was always listening to those self-help tapes. There ought to be some wisdom there, some answers to their current predicament. He snuck into the office and put his paw on play, turning down the volume so as not to bother them. 

‘Take a long slow gentle breath…hold it…and let it go…then take another breath…

Soft sounds of the sea washed away in the background and he almost dropped off after the first five minutes, but made himself stay awake to the end. Now finally he had a plan, but it would require direct action for it to be effective.

But then his usual doubt set in. He was numb with indecision. What could he do, as a mere canine? He’d heard Desiree saying she’d put her thinking cap on, maybe that was the way to go. He moped around the living room for a while, trying to find something to put on his head which might assist him, rejecting the cat’s bowl, finally finding a pair of the professor’s shorts, nudging them over his ears, hoping for some enlightenment.

After an hour and a numb feeling of hopelessness he gave up. This was ridiculous. You didn’t start a movement on your own. You had to call on your tribe. He’d call a canine council of war. The neighbourhood consisted of many pedigreed four legged friends, although Donnie the spotted Dalmation only had three. There was Felicity the Foxie at number 10,  Lionel the Labrador across the road at number nine, the various mutts which had no name who lived at Mrs Wilson’s, and his gorgeous best friend Suzie the Springer Spaniel next door. 

Ever since he’d moved in with the professor and his lovely wife, he’d made it his business to get to know his local comrades, whether it was out walking through the park near the flowering gums, or when he’d come across them at the shops, tied up to the railings. A friendly howl or two never did any harm. Now was the time for them to all get together and storm the courtroom. But what about the security? They had alarms and things, and the guards weren’t exactly negligent. Look how swiftly thy grabbed the professor and frogmarched him away. He’d have to consult Suzie, she would have some good ideas and plus, her human was a well-known barrister. Surely she’d picked up some tips during her tenure there. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and nor was this major operation. It would take some expert help.

Kenny the Kelpie snuck out the back door, scampering across the yard, nudging the loose fence paling, and gaining access to the neighbour’s yard. A friendly frog croaked at him, as he waited near the back steps. Suzie was just polishing off her dinner. She was lucky, only the best. Dine with Me, it was called.

He gave his special Woof a try. That would usually bring her out to the backyard, and waited. Dusk was coming up over the trees and it was rather beautiful. He sat there in reverie gazing at the full moon tentatively hanging in the trees. He got a shock when Suzie bounded down the steps. They nuzzled each other and inspected their hindquarters, obtaining important information about where they’d been and who they’d been with. There was no need for the protracted conversations Humans had. This was what had kept their ancestors, the wolves, safe for millennia.

Now to the matter at hand. Saving Professor Fletcher. 

It was a searingly hot Monday. There was a massive crowd swelling outside under the long columns surrounding the courtroom. Novice journalists jostled with spectators, shoving their fluffy mikes in front of anybody who looked important enough to interview. Professor Fletcher’s case was about to be heard. Desiree was wearing dark glasses and had a harness around Kenny. Kenny had finally realised he now had to behave in the opposite way he always had – not to be running around in open pastures and nipping sheep, instead now walking steadily and stopping at traffic lights, looking around anxiously every now and then at Desiree. She played her part with aplomb, wearing a dark dress and jacket, the loud nail polish and lipstick completely gone.

While they were waiting to go through security, Kenny noticed an extraordinary number of ostensibly seeing eye or companion dogs lining up with their owners. That was exactly what he was hoping to see. Kenny and Suzie had been planning this for ages and somehow the Humans had fallen into line, as though through mental telepathy. It was extraordinary, this show of support for the professor. 

It seemed to take hours for everyone to drop their phones and keys and whatever into the baskets, go through the screen and pass an unsmiling guard. 

Amazingly, the dogs were quietly obedient, something Kenny had never seen before. They’d all been friends at the park and in the neighbourhood, barking at each other and nipping and sniffing their nether regions. They realised suddenly that this was a place where justice would be served and they had to play their part.

The crusty old judge barely looked at the crowd in the courtroom, before reading out the 24 and a half complaints against the professor from his colleagues. He had to decide whether Professor Fletcher could continue in his role at the college. The case had been brought by two of his colleagues, who had 12 complaints each. The half a complaint was brought by the college’s cleaner, Myrtle, who actually liked Fletcher but who was tired of emptying the professor’s overfull bin and wanted him to stop creating so much paperwork.

While the judge droned on, Kenny wondered how long his friends could keep quiet. Some of the complaints were clearly ridiculous, like ‘inciting terrorism’ and ‘breaching the peace’– Kenny had never known the professor to even raise his voice.

It would all ultimately depend on the professor’s testimony, his credibility and proving the nefariousness of his colleagues who had reported him to ASIO initially. Although that case had been dropped, he was still in danger of losing his tenure. This hearing was crucial.

After the judge had read all 24 ½ complaints, he looked exhausted and quite simply over it and simply asked Professor Fletcher to explain, in his own words, why he should be reinstated.

Professor Fletcher began:

‘Well, as you know, my hypotheses have been sorely tested recently. But I am a loyal citizen and would never put my students or my family in harm’s way. I am not a terrorist, I am a peace-loving man. The people who have sought to demonise me have other agendas which as you will see from this short video produced by one of my students…may I, Your Honour?’

The judge nodded and Professor Fletcher pressed play. 

What followed was a video of a conversation between two men - Professor Miles and his associate, a rough type– it looked to be in a basement or in an underground carpark. Fletcher turned the volume up.

‘…so, let’s get rid of him then. He’s a pain in the arse. Your classes have always been less popular than his, but with him out of the picture, your numbers will soar, we’ll have less hassles, the students won’t hold demonstrations about their’ – here he crooked both index fingers – ‘rights’ and we can all breathe easier. He always was trouble, wasn’t he?’

‘You’re not suggesting rubbing him out, are you?’ the older one said.

‘Only metaphorically. This remains a non-violent campus.’ ‘I have contacts in ASIO. I’ll get the ball rolling.’

The courtroom was stunned – both humans and canines stared at the video, not quite believing what they were seeing.

The judge cleared his throat.

‘Well, I think I’ve seen enough. It appears there has been some collusion on the part of the College. Which is clearly unacceptable. Professor Fletcher, in view of your own testimony and what I have seen today, I believe you have no case to answer. You are free to go.’

 

 

 

 

 

Episode 8

 Episode 8

She kept thinking about Julie and her teenage years – still fresh in her mind. There was that time that she ran away.  God, that was something she hadn’t wanted to relive.  The pain of that in her gut could still wrench. 

Julie was fifteen and pretty as a picture and just as popular.  Doing well at school and never a problem for her parents. She’d gone from a chubby happy toddler, to a slim and just as happy teenager in the blink of an eye. Not a care in the world, apparently.  Therese used to feel almost smug when the other mothers went on about their unruly rude unresponsive teenage girls, who would walk on the other side of the street and studiously ignore them. That would never happen to her.

Then one day, apparently out of the blue, she began missing days at school – although she always left at the same time every day in her school uniform with all her books organised, her room tidy. She’d gone up to the school and they’d sorted it out.  Months went by and then suddenly, one day, she didn’t come home on the bus.  Therese stared up and down the street, asked the neighbours if they’d seen her.  Nothing. She began to get worried then.  She rang Michael at work and asked him to come home.  She even took the unprecedented step of stepping into her room and going through her things, looking for clues, anything, that might explain her absence.  But there was no need to panic yet, she might have had to stay back at school.  Perhaps she should ring the principal? He was only new, and didn’t know any of the kids by name, not like Mrs Lindsay.

Mrs Lindsay had been at the school for the previous twenty years and knew every girl by name.  It was unfathomable, how she could do this, but she did. The new regime at the school didn’t have the personal touch, but they certainly knew all about their guidelines and operational procedures.  They made all the parents jump through hoops all the time with their rules and regulations. Surely they’d be able to help her this time. So she picked up the phone.

“I’m worried about my daughter, Julie.  Can you tell me whether she caught the bus today?  She hasn’t come home.  I’m really worried. Is there someone there who can help me?”

“We don’t have any way of knowing in a school of fifteen hundred girls of who caught their buses, I’m afraid.  There’s no-one else here at the moment, except in the gym, where they are training for netball.  I could enquire there, if you like.  I’m sorry”

She put down the phone in disgust.  What was the matter with these people? Her daughter was missing and they didn’t even care.  She ran next door, but the Millers weren’t home.  Their cranky old Labrador started barking incessantly then, and her head was spinning with unnamed dread and the fear, the ever growing fear of something bad happening.  She knew the neighbours on the other side would be at work too, so there was no point in even venturing there.

Her throat was dry and the panic had already started rising up in her throat when Michael’s Datsun pulled into the driveway.  He jumped out and hugged her.

“What’s the matter, where the hell is she?  Have you rung the school?  Have you checked…” the words tumbled out of his mouth so fast, she didn’t even have time to register them all properly.

“I’ve done all that, and there’s no sign of her.”

“What about her friends?  That girl she had sleeping over the other weekend, what was her name?  Amanda? Weren’t her parents in the P and C?  We must have their number somewhere.”

By now he was inside rumbling through the teledex, searching for numbers and names. After another couple of hours of fruitless looking up and down the street, canvassing neighbours, ringing schoolfriends and anyone else they could think of, they sat down at the kitchen table and stared at each other blankly, not wanting to name the secret dread they both had. It was almost as if they didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t happen.

It was getting dark and they were contemplating calling the police when the front door opened, and in sauntered Julie, a scruffy looking boy behind her, looking on sheepishly.

She dropped her keys on the mantel and walked straight past them, dragging the boy behind her, to her room. The door banged shut.

“What the….?’ Spluttered Michael, springing up from his chair. “I will absolutely kill her…”

Therese got up too, more in trepidation at the rage on his face.

Once she had got him to calm down, and resolutely barred the entrance to Julie’s room with her body, standing in front of him, staring him down and hissing “don’t you dare” and steering him back into the lounge room for a soothing cup of tea, she suggested taking it quietly, not saying anything at all for a change.

“I didn’t even realise she had a boyfriend, if that’s what he is, a boyfriend, and not just some dropkick she’s picked up on the street.” Michael ventured.

“It’s news to me too.  Let’s just wait and see what happens.  They can’t be in there all night.  At least they’d better not be.”

Neither of them could eat. Michael got himself a tumbler of Scotch and was nursing that, sitting staring at the television but not registering anything.  There was no sound from the room.  Eventually, as it was getting close to nine o’clock, Therese went and knocked on Julie’s door.

“Julie.  It’s Mum.  Can I have a word?”

The door opened a crack and Julie stuck her head out.

“I need to talk to you.”

Julie came out, shutting the door behind her, and walked straight past Therese into the loungeroom.

Michael stood up and exploded, yelling into her face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know very well what I mean.  Have you lost your senses?  Who is that guy?  You can’t just bring anyone into this house…”

“It’s my house too.”

“Our house, our rules.  And you know what they are.  You can’t just worry your mother like this, disappear for hours and then bring some stranger in here. I won’t have it.”

“Keep your voice down, Dad.  Damien’ll hear you.”

“I don’t give a damn whether he hears me or not.  Now, you are just going to come clean and tell us what is going on, or else….or else…”

“What are you going to do, take my straight As away from me?”

Therese jumped in now.

“What’s wrong, love? Why couldn’t you confide in me?  I thought we were close.  You’ve been behaving strangely lately.  But to just not turn up like this, I was worried to death, I rang the school, I checked with all the neighbours…”

“Oh, God, that’s so typical, just like a mother hen.”

Michael continued.

“Anyhow, you’re grounded.  And tell that young larrikin to get himself in here.  I’m going to give him a piece of my mind too.” Michael added.

“Oh, you are just so….oh…I don’t know….you’re just not cool.  Debbie’s mum lets her boyfriend sleep over.”

“What?”

“Yeah, what’s so horrifying about that? I’m fifteen, for Christs sake.”

“Fifteen.  Yes.  You’re a MINOR.”  Michael strode swiftly to Julie’s bedroom, opened the door and seeing aforesaid Damien with headphones listening to music on Julie’s bed, completely lost it and grabbed the guy by the collar and dragged him out along the hall.  Luckily, Michael had at least six inches on him, and quite a few kilos, having been a wrestling champion at his high school.

“Dad…you can’t…what are you DOING? You just don’t understand…I’ll never forgive you for this.”

The poor boy, his hair hanging limply in his eyes, already looked bedraggled as he stumbled into the lounge room.  He seemed weighed down by the presence of Michael, who was completely in control and very aggressive, which Therese wasn’t used to seeing – her husband was usually so mild-mannered, even acquiescent.

“Michael, calm down.  Let the boy speak.”

He seemed tongue-tied, his head hanging, completely cowed. Therese felt sorry for him. 

“You are such an arsehole, Dad. Come on Damien”

Julie took his arm and marched right out the front door with him, slamming it behind her.

Therese was flabbergasted.  What just happened?

“Michael, look at what you’ve done now.  You just can’t treat people like that.”

“The little bugger, who does he think he is, keeping my daughter out and then staying in her room for hours, we don’t know what went on?  What’s the matter with us?  I should have gone straight in there and given him a good talking to, at the very least. Or gone to the police.”

“Oh, Mr Superman now, what have you achieved?  She’s gone out again.  And who knows where to?  There might be drugs, or anything.  We don’t know.  Michael, you handled this all wrong.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m calling the cops right now.” He picked up the phone from its cradle.

“No, you’re not.” She blocked him again.

“What’s the matter with you, Therese, what do you think is going to happen now?  Our daughter could be in some drug den right now, or lying in a ditch…or….”

Both of them stood there, neither ceding.  The front door opened and Julie entered.

“You idiots.  You could have ruined one of the best friendships I’ve ever had.”

Michael snorted. “Friendship? Who is kidding whom now? Friendship…hahaha”

“That’s exactly what I said.  You are such a loser, dad.”

“I’M a loser?”

“That’s right. I’m the only one Damien can confide in.  At that bloody school.”

“Is that what they call it now, confiding?  It was called something else when I was at school.”

Therese took her daughter in her arms.  Julie was solid as a block of ice.

“Honey, it’s alright, your dad…and I were terribly worried about you.  You stay out for hours, don’t tell us and then bring this boy home and stay in your room.  You can understand surely, how we’ve been concerned.  Come on…”

“Neither of you understand what it’s like to be a teenager.  Since it’s a thousand years since you ever went…”

“Look, I know things were different then.  Everything was stricter, tougher, rules and all that, but this is the eighties now…and I’m trying to understand.”

“Well, can you understand that Damien is different?”

“Different, what do you mean?”

“He likes boys.”

Michael looked as though a bomb had just gone off in the house and he had to clean up the shards. Therese was just as shocked, but managed a weak smile, one that she hoped her daughter wouldn’t see as patronising.

 Episode 7

 

The phone tinkled in the background.  Therese jumped up.  She’d dozed off again during New York Housewives.  She’d have to stop watching television after lunch. It made you feel so sluggish, when you succumbed to a “Nanna” nap in the middle of the day.  She’d have to cut it out. It was Julie and she was somewhat shocked to get a call from her.

“Oh darling, It’s been such a long time…”

 “I know, I know, I’m sorry. Mum, I’ve got to go to Djakarta for work again and….and…Marcia can’t look after Lauren.   I just wondered if…if…if you could…it’d only be for two weeks?”

                                                            ***

Therese was making up the bed in the spare room.  She’d made it look quite girly for when Laura might stay, but now it looked a bit childish.  Would she absolutely hate it?  She’d better not get rid of the bunny and fluffy duck in case she still wanted them to cuddle at night. You didn’t know, really.  Was she out of touch? It would probably do her good to get a fresh perspective – to see things from a young person’s point of view – she could see them sitting at the breakfast table, chatting over a nice cup of tea or coffee and Vegemite on toast, or eggs or …. She wasn’t sure what teenagers ate nowadays really, maybe she was watching her weight…? They’d work it out.  

The doorbell rang.  She was excited to open the door.

Julie was struggling with an enormous sports bag, looking over her shoulder at a sullen Laura, who was scuffing her feet along the footpath. Therese never remembered Julie being sullen.  Maybe the Gen Ys were? Therese rushed out, wanted to take the bag from Julia, but it was just too heavy. Therese embraced her and then she went to hug Laura.  Laura looked as though she was being forced to kiss an ogre, so Therese pulled back.  She smiled.

“Come on in, you two.  I’ve just been waiting for you to get here.  How about a nice cup of tea? Have you got time to…?”

Julie heaved the bag inside the door and then turned to Therese apologetically.

“Sorry, Mum, I’ve really got to run.”

“…are you sure?”

Therese couldn’t express how disappointed she felt.  Months since they had had a meaningful exchange of any kind, and now she had to rush off again?  But she couldn’t say anything.  It would break the bubble of pseudo “everything’s alright” between them and then what would happen? She put that out of her mind.  Besides, there was something else – someone else to consider now.  Laura had flopped down on the lounge, apparently too exhausted to even talk to her. What made these kids so uninterested nowadays?  Was it all the technology and staying up till the wee hours?  What?  

 As Julie rushed out, not even hearing her plea, and Therese was still considering what to do and what to say, Laura found the remote and turned on the television. She expertly flicked through the channels and when there was obviously nothing there to her liking, she said:

“Have you got Netflix?”

Therese had had to shake her head.

“How about we sit down and have a nice cuppa, Laura, would you like tea or coffee?”

“Have you got any Coke?”

“Sorry.  I’ve got mineral water. So do you want to take your bag into your room and I’ll get the drinks?”

She dragged, half carried, the bag into the little bedroom.  Therese wondered what she kept in there.  Was it a dead body? Books, so she could study?  She’d always been smart and curious. Therese remembered when she was little and she could form perfect sentences, conversing almost like an adult, apparently out of nowhere and seeming to understand really complicated processes.  She had a love of nature and used to have one of those contraptions, a plastic one, one that could capture insects.  She’d stare at an elegant spiky green praying mantis lovingly for hours and be very reluctant to let him go.

“Would you like a snack?  I’ve got biscuits, cheese…?”

The response was muffled, and Therese thought it might have been a No.

 As Therese got the mineral water out of the fridge, poured it, and put the kettle on, she could hear the drawers opening and closing and was thankful that at least she was putting her stuff away.  She wouldn’t have to chide her about tidiness or anything.  Still, she felt some trepidation as the next two weeks stretched interminably ahead of her.  How would she keep her amused?  What would she want to do?  She didn’t have any friends up here.  Perhaps she would spend most of her time on the phone or in her room. That wouldn’t do at all, Therese decided and she made herself a promise right there and then to get to know her granddaughter properly, whatever it took.

When Laura finally emerged from the bedroom, Therese patted the lounge next to her.

“Want to sit with grandma, love? It’s been a really long time. I’ve missed you”

She didn’t say anything but you could see she was looking for the tv remote again.  What was it with these kids today, did they not know how to make conversation? What made them so uncomfortable? She had to be honest though, she didn’t know where to start either.  She sat down, and started drinking the mineral water in the coloured tumbler.  Therese stirred her tea.

“So how’s school going?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What subjects are you doing?  You used to be really good at art, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Um, English, Art, Science, Maths…the usual”

“So which one do you like best?”

A long pause ensued, broken only by the sound of the gurgling in the kitchen from that pipe that needed to be fixed.  The plumber had been underground for what seemed like hours and was unable to find the source of the problem.  God, it was like pulling teeth. It’s not as if she was asking an essay question.  Therese couldn’t believe that she’d have to get through two weeks of this.  She would be pulling out her grey hair, what was left of it. Surely a routine question like this would provoke some sort of answer, she’d find out a little bit more about her. Be able to relate to her on some level. 

“None of them, actually.  I hate school and can’t wait to leave.”

“Oh.” 

Therese hadn’t thought this through at all.  Maybe she should have asked a different question – something a little less predictable, maybe ask whether she had a boyfriend – but was that really something she wanted to know? 

She tried a fresher approach.

“Well, then, have you got any hobbies that you like?  What do you do in your spare time?

“Not much.”

“Well, you’ve had a long drive, love.  Do you want to have a shower now, or do you want dinner?  I made your favourite.  Lasagne, wasn’t it? You used to love it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Therese was looking forward to having a nice dinner with Laura, to watching her helping to set the little table in the kitchen cum dining room and to chatting.  To a nice and cosy and warm feeling of having someone to cook for again, to fuss over.  It was never fun, sitting by herself and washing her own plate and afterwards trying to be enlightened by Q and A or whatever was on the ABC.  Now it hit her - what if her granddaughter was anorexic or bulimic?  She did look thin, but that ran in the family, didn’t it? God, that would be dreadful, how would she know, what would she do?  Did Julie know?   

“Are you sure, you won’t change your mind?  I spent all day…”

Laura abruptly got up and went to her room. Therese didn’t know what to think.  Had she offended her? What was it? What had she done?  Nothing, as far as she could tell. Now she felt as though she was adrift.  What was she going to do for the next two weeks? And interminable two weeks.  

She turned on the television.  There was no sound from the bedroom.  Therese watched the news on ABC and then a documentary.  Therese was tired then, and decided to go to her room.  She turned off the lights after putting the lasagne, now cold, in the fridge.  She herself hadn’t felt like eating anything. Her usually hearty appetite had deserted her. There was still no sound or movement from the spare bedroom. She wondered whether she should go in – what if something was really wrong? She decided there and then she ought to at least knock on the door and find out if anything was wrong, but it took her a long time before she could bring herself to do it. She sat there in the dark with her cold tea staring back at her for what seemed like an age.

Episode 6

                                              

 

The oven dinged that it was ready.  Patricia, wiping her wet hands on her Laura Ashley apron, only slightly flecked with flour, opened the oven, pressed the sponge lightly and when it sprang back, slid the tray carefully out of the oven and onto a wire rack.  It was important there be no excess airflow while it was cooling, so she shut the window.  She was beating the cream when the doorbell ring.  Patricia wasn’t expecting anyone this early.  When you lived alone, all you got was the odd earnest Mormon or Jehovah’s Witnesses.  She had always accepted their pamphlets which graciously, and used them to line her bins.  She didn’t have one of those peepholes, so she didn’t want to say “Who is it?” which would sound like a suspicious old person, terrified of being mugged by some teenager on Ice and having the house turned upside down or worse.

The pale bearded face was oddly familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.  Was it an old neighbour?  The father of a student? You didn’t want to pre-empt anything by saying too much. So she smiled and waited for the man to introduce himself.

“Hello.  Patricia?”

“Yes…”

“Don’t you remember me?  From St Marys?”

Now she remembered.  But the face was so much older.  Hers must be too.  Suddenly it hit her.  The priest.  That must have been when she broke up with Rory, how many years was it? Oh God, don’t let me revisit that.  It was so long ago and what was the point now?  He looked older, and somehow different – it was the absence of the collar. 

“Oh yes, of course.  Father Williams”

“Oh, come now.  Not Father Williams, it was never that.  James.”

She went slightly red and noticed her palms were turning sweaty

“Of course.  Come in.”

She wondered why he was here.  What could he possibly want? After she’d got him sitting down on the couch and offered a cup of tea.  It would seem rude not to offer him a slice of sponge, but she wanted to keep it intact for the Book Club.  Was that being mean?  So she pulled out a few Arnotts Creams and fanned them out on a plate.  When she finally brought the tray into the living room, he wasn’t sitting but turning over her photos on the mantelpiece. She wanted to scream:

“What the hell are you doing?  Do you live here, or something?” but instead she said:

“Here’s your tea.  Do you take milk? Sugar? Do have a biscuit.” She nudged the plate across the coffee table. 

He sat down and smiled.

“It’s been such a long time, hasn’t it, Patricia?”

“Yes, it has.” She murmured uncertainly.  What was he here for?  Should she say something? 

“So, what are you doing these days?  Are you retired?”

“Yes, thank goodness.  And I don’t know where the days go.  I’m actually expecting some people in about…” she quickly consulted her watch “about…half an hour…sorry”

“Oh, that’s no problem.  Now that I’ve tracked you down and know where you live…I can pop by anytime.”

An expletive ran through her brain, and didn’t quite make it to her mouth, so she said…

“So…how did you find me?  It’s been years”

                                                                      ***

It was pouring with rain and Therese’s umbrella which she’d purchased from Coles was not living up to its promise. When she got it back up again, the plops of moisture had escaped down her collar. It was already 3.30 when Therese pressed the bell on Patricia’s door.  Her unit was one of twelve in an immaculate row – surrounded by topiary trimmed with in an inch of its life and little brick paths that led to each individual unit.  It was so perfect, just like Patricia herself.  Therese  carried a plate of Tim Tams, which she knew might be privately sneered at by her hostess, but it was the best she could do, and they would be eclipsed by whatever fantastic concoction Patricia herself had made.

Still, she was never quite prepared for Diana’s high- pitched voice with its siren-like laugh that made her shudder every time she heard it.

“Oh, Therese, how are you? You’re late” Diana would have to state the bleeding obvious, so she automatically turned red and offered profuse apologies. Patricia whisked the plate out of her hand, waving her in the direction of the lounge room.

It was then she realised she’d forgotten her copy of the book.  She’d only read half of it anyway – what was it? The latest Margaret Atwood.  She’d remembered reading her books years ago, and always found them rather strange – all that stuff about what was it? Dystopia? Some of it she really didn’t understand.  When were they going to pick a book that was funny, so they could all have a good laugh?  There was no doubt she could do more, but sometimes she just didn’t feel like it – she hated to admit that sometimes she just wanted to loll about on the couch and watch reality tv.  Although she’d never admit it.  They’d hang, draw and quarter her. Give her no mercy.

“I’ve just got a few things to take care of in the kitchen, make yourself at home, Therese” Patricia said.

She entered the living/sitting room and found them all sitting at the antique dining table, Caroline looking stunning, Brenda with the book propped up in front of her, Diana sipping tea and holding forth about her latest excursion into the city with her friends from her art group – they went to some cultural event every week – and bellowing about how much she enjoyed it. Sometimes she would go on about politics – and you just had to tread a fine line of pretending to agree with her or saying nothing.

“Oh, yes, we had such a wonderful time.  But then we got on the wrong train.  Silly me I read the wrong timetable and it took us four hours to get home.  Hubby was not pleased.”

Therese thought that this was highly unlikely and that Hugh, quiet and methodical was definitely under Diana’s thumb. He wouldn’t dare. Let Diana preserve the fiction, though, she seemed to enjoy it.  Therese was just relieved that she was not on the receiving end of Diana’s viper tongue, which she’d been polishing since high school.

Patricia entered, bearing a magnificent sponge cake oozing with cream. They all oohed and aahed and Patricia smiled, setting it down on the table. She sat down herself.

“Wow, that’s amazing.  How do you do it Patricia?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, just something I whipped up. But before we tuck in, should we have a chat about the book?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t actually finished it, Patricia.  Sorry. I’ve been so busy recently.”

“I thought it was wonderful.  One of the best of hers” Brenda said, uncharacteristically - she was usually the last one to venture an opinion.

Patricia chimed in now.

“Me too. I thought it was one of the best books I’ve read this year.  All the environment aspects of it – so interesting, coupled with her brilliant writing.  What did you think, Caroline?”

“Oh, I haven’t actually read it, sorry. I couldn’t get past the first few pages.”

“Anybody like another slice of cake?” She held the knife aloft.

“What about you, Diana?”

“Found it a bit strange.  I like something that you don’t have to think about too much, really.  Life is so difficult these days isn’t it, every day some new terrorist plot, the economy’s failing, the new Safe Schools is completely corrupting the children – I think it’s some kind of genetic engineering with all this gay activism being shoved down people’s throats.  I’m so glad I don’t have young children now.”

Therese wanted to give Diana a piece of her mind, but she had vowed to keep her mouth shut for the sake of peace, but then Diana continued:

“So I was wondering if we want to take this Book Club thing a little further.”

“What do you mean? Further?” said Patricia, flicking the cream off the side of her mouth.

“Do we still want to meet every Monday at the same time, or do we want to meet on another day as well - a little more social?  What does everyone think?  I was thinking about lunch out at a nice café – afternoon tea, the art gallery on occasion, that sort of thing. There’s a great exhibition on at the moment, French Impressionists, I think.”

 “Oh, I’m working, sorry.  I’ve only got Mondays free.” Caroline replied brightly.

“Okay, you’re excused.  What about you, Therese?”

Quite frankly, Therese didn’t want to tie herself down to any regular social outings.  The book club was more than she could manage. She’d once had a friend, she’d met on the school run when Julie was a teenager.   Nice enough at first, but pretty soon, she had taken over Therese’s life – she didn’t quite know how it happened – she became a “yes” woman overnight, coerced into things she had absolutely no interest in – like lingerie parties.

“I don’t know, I’m really busy at the moment.”

“Oh, come on, Therese, how can you be so busy in retirement?  What is there to do after all, smell the roses? Do the washing up?”

 Everyone was looking at her, and God forbid, she was reddening, she hadn’t done that for years, not since menopause crept up on her silently and without warning, like a thief in the night, stealing her sleep and turning her from a cool cucumber to a hot mess in an instant.  Thank goodness that was over and done with. Should she acquiesce? Pretend she hadn’t heard? That would be difficult, next to impossible. Give in, go along with it, and then just not turn up?  There were a few choices here, but mostly they would lead to her to giving up her power.  Well, she’d never had any power really. Not like some of these women.  How did they do it?  Was it some gene they were born with?

“Or perhaps there is some lovely man lurking in the wings that has you so busy?  I did see a black Mercedes parked outside your villa some time ago.  Is there something you’re not telling us?” Diana trilled, with a little laugh at the end.

Now Therese was really shocked.  Diana had always been a busybody, milking stories about disastrous first dates, gossip from the entire form, turning them into interesting stories.  God, she ought to write a book!  Diana really had a lot of time on her hands, didn’t she?  But it was scary as well. Why would she be keeping an eye on her like this?  Stalking her?

“What?” Therese blinked.

“I just wonder whether there is something you’re keeping from us. Some secret life that you’re leading that has you so busy.”

Caroline interjected now. “Surely that’s her business.”

Therese shot her a grateful look.  Caroline?  The only one to stand up, to defend her. 

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve seen, Diana, but I don’t know anybody with a Mercedes.”

Damn!  Why did she have to defend herself?  That response just sounded so lame!  Ridiculous! She was berating herself even as the words came out of her mouth. She should have just cut her dead with some clever remark, but the problem was, she could never think of anything in time.  It was only once she got in the car and on her way home that the witty rejoinder would pop up in her head and she could see herself using it in all confidence …far too late! Suddenly, she felt really sad again that she was on her own and Michael wasn’t there to use as an excuse – “I’ll have to talk to Michael – we’ve got something on – Michael wants me to go to his annual Goatherding Conference and so on and so on.”