These are two short stories from a small collection contained in ‘Disclosures’. The stories are works of fiction although the characters are drawn from real people.
JASON
There’s a long walkway on the northern side of town that separates the lagoon near the caravan park from the ocean. It’s made of huge pieces of stone cut from the rocky headland further up the coast. A concrete path has been laid on it, making it popular for locals and tourists to stroll along or a place to cast a fishing line from, into the sea.
It was a soothing to go there after a hectic day as a teacher’s assistant. When I was taking the walk a while ago, just as the sun had begun to sink behind the houses on the western hill, I noticed a figure up ahead, sitting on a rock and staring out over the water. I came closer. Despite the cold wind coming off the ocean, he was wearing just a T shirt, shorts, and thongs. He looked windswept, probably about forty years old, though it was hard to say.
It was getting dark, and my eyes were watery from the icy wind. I stuck my hands into the warm pockets of my jacket and wondered how he could sit there freezing like that. There was something familiar about him and further along, I realised he was Jason from the butcher shop, a family business run by the father and his two sons. They were new to town, taking over the shop about four years ago.
The word about town was that the eldest boy would take over the business just as soon as the patriarch retired. That would have been Jason, the rumours had it, but he’d gone off the rails… drugs they say. He’d always been quiet, even when the shop was doing well, unusual for someone who deals with the public every day. In fact, the entire family was quiet, reserved rather than rude, but their demeanour did put a few people off.
The walkway extended for more than a kilometre until scrubby bush over the track made people turn around. I decided that I would say hello on the way back, but by the time I got to where he’d been sitting, he was gone.
A couple of days later I was doing my regular walk, and Jason was there again, his beard and hair down to his shoulders giving him a dishevelled Jesus look. He was wearing the same clothes. It was another cold winter day but at least the wind wasn’t as strong.
He was looking out to sea again, making me feel as though he wanted to be left alone, but I decided to say hello anyway. At first, I thought he didn’t hear me but after I took a couple more steps he turned his head, nodded, and returned his gaze to the open seas.
That night I told my wife, Sarah, about Jason and asked her if she knew anything about him. It was a small town and there was a fair chance that she would. She reminded me that about a month earlier the butcher shop had closed for a couple of weeks after there had been some family problems.
There had been rumours about Jason and his wife. Some said that Jason was crazy on drugs, and she took off with a fella from the city. Someone else had said she’d been killed in a car crash a few hours up the coast.
It felt surreal when the day after I saw him a second time, he was there yet again and in the same pose, fixated on the ocean. The only thing different was that he was wearing a hoodie. I said hello again and he turned his head to look at me and nodded.
I didn’t usually take the same walk on consecutive days, preferring to mix it up for variety, but the following day I felt an inclination to see if he was there again. Once again, despite a fine drizzle of rain, he was there, staring out over a grey ocean, oblivious to the weather. I said hello in passing and he acknowledged me with a nod before looking back out to sea.
It was getting dark when I turned around on the walkway, and he was gone by the time I got back to where he had been. On the way home, out of curiosity I detoured past the small line of shops opposite the Royal Hotel and looked at the butcher shop. There was something mysterious about Jason; I was seeking some type of connection to him.
The streetlights glowed to illuminate the fine drops of rain falling in front of them. The shops were all closed with no sign of anyone being around, except for the butcher shop. It was lit up behind the curtains drawn across the windows, hiding the source of the sound of power tools and hammering. I figured that some renovations were underway, maybe something to talk about next time I saw Jason.
When I did see him again, I decided to stop and say hello. He turned his head and nodded. I stood there, the only sound being small waves lapping at the rocks. I pushed the conversation a bit more. ‘Jason, isn’t it?’
He turned again and looked at me. ‘Yeah.’
‘The butcher?’
He looked back at the sea. ‘Hmph, maybe.’
‘I walk along here a fair bit; seen you sitting there a lot lately. Nice spot.’
‘It’s alright… spose.’
‘I’m Kurt, by the way...’
‘Yeah, okay.’
‘Well, see you later, Jason.’
I walked way; the ice had been broken.
~
Not much happens in a town like this without people knowing about it or coming up with their own version of events. I remember when Sarah took me to hospital after I fell off a ladder and got knocked out. I was in the Emergency Department for about three hours, getting checked out and receiving some words of advice from the over-worked nurse practitioner.
On the way home, we stopped at the general store where Wally the shop keeper told me that the next time I go up a ladder, make sure someone was holding it. Noel from across the street, had told him about the fall and Big John from the Fishing Co-op wanted to know if my ladder was dodgy, because he had a spare one if I wanted it. Small towns can be friendly like that and news travels fast.
But if someone is introverted, or out of step with the flow, they can be lonely places too. If they’re too far out of kilter, they can be fodder for those who liked to spread rumours.
After another walk during which I exchanged a few words with Jason, I spoke to Sarah about the rumours she’d heard. We were on the back veranda, rugged up to get the last bit out of the day before going inside to chop up the vegetables for our soup.
She reminded me how sad someone can get when they are lonely. ‘You know some people around here say he’s trouble, gossip probably. You need to talk to him, Kurt. He probably hasn’t got anyone to talk to.’
Her words hit the mark, throwing me back to a time when I was not in a good place, a time when someone who cared reached out and talked to me.
‘I don’t want to push him too much.’
‘Might have to... remember...’
‘Hmph... yeah.’
~
It was a couple of days before I took the walk again, and sure enough he was there. It had been one of those rare July days that bathed us in sunshine, and as it was getting towards dusk, the chill in the wind reminded me that it was still winter. He looked unkempt and the lines radiating from his eyes cut deeper.
I had rehearsed what I was going to say, determined to make more of an effort to prise something out of him. He turned and nodded as usual.
‘Nice day earlier; getting cold now though.’
I thought of Sarah and pushed ahead. ‘Mind if I take a seat on that rock?’
He glanced at the big piece of sandstone next to the one he was occupying and shrugged. ‘Free country.’
‘I see there’s some work going on at your shop.’
‘Wotchamean?’
‘The butcher shop... renovations?’
He covered his eyes and rubbed his forehead. ‘Wouldn’t know about that.’
‘Sorry if I’ve touched on something, Jason.’
‘Don’t worry.’
There was a man further down the walkway eating from some paper wrapping and throwing a few hot chips into the air. Seagulls called as they swooped to attack the offering. It was a welcome distraction while I decided whether to push a little further. ‘That’s your shop, isn’t it?’
The seagulls cackled and fought over the chips with one of the birds flying away, chip in beak, another bird in pursuit.
‘Well not your shop yet,’ I said. ‘But one day.’
Jason turned so I could see the scowl on his face. ‘Why don’t people around here mind their own business? I was never going to get that shop.’
‘You’re right, none of my business.’
It went quiet save the kafuffle from the aggressive seagulls. Jason picked up a rock and threw it into the water. The splash caught the attention of a seagull, and it flew towards it, diving down to investigate. Jason rocked back and forth a few times and then looked at me.
‘I’ve never spoken about any of that,’ he said. ‘The shop I mean, well only to my wife before...’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
He glanced my way and looked back at the water. ‘No one has got any idea… my old man... he’s a prick... Mum wised up before we moved up here with the business.’
‘She left?’
Jason picked up another rock and threw it. ‘I should have too but couldn’t really... I had to help with the shop. What a joke.’ He shuffled around on the rock, standing up for a moment and then sitting back down. ‘Don’t know why I’m telling you this stuff; I hardly know you.’
‘Maybe that’s why… Sometimes it’s good just to get things off the chest. Say what you want or leave it at that if you want.’
‘Kurt, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I called him Dad, the old prick, but he’s not really… He’s my brother’s dad, but not mine... didn’t know that ‘till Mum shot through... they can have it, the shop I mean... want nothing to do with it anymore...’ His voice began to taper off. ‘Haven’t been in it for weeks... not since...’
‘So where have you been staying?’
‘In a van... old shit box at the back of the caravan park… It’s cheap... I don’t need much.’
I wondered if he was going to say anything more about his wife. I didn’t want to push it.
‘Nice spot here though… I can understand why you come here.’
‘Hmph.’ He stood up. ‘Probably should be getting back; the track is tricky in the dark.’
‘Okay. I’ll get on with my walk.’
That night I was quiet around the dinner table though Sarah probed about Jason. She was frustrated I hadn’t asked more questions.
‘He’d said enough.’
‘Do you think he is alright?... you know what the rumours are?’
‘Rumours are exactly that... rumours.’
‘The butcher shop is up for sale, you know… did you talk about that?’
‘A bit… nothing about it being sold though, I didn’t know about that. Don’t think he did either.’
‘Strange, don’t you think?’
~
The following day was cold and wet. I got on with the job at work, helping struggling kids understand what some big words meant and mitigating the conflict between some boys playing basketball. All the while though, Jason sat in the back of my mind, and I hoped that there would be a break in the weather by the late afternoon so I would see him on the walkway.
The clouds broke up as I drove home towards the coast. I decided to make the most of the few patches of blue sky and went to the walkway. I figured Jason would be there regardless of the weather. I parked near the caravan park and saw him walking ahead. Light rain began to sprinkle again as I hurried to catch up. ‘Might be lucky with the weather,’ I said from behind.
He turned to see me. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘The rocks are pretty wet,’ I said. ‘Do you want to walk with me instead of sitting?’
‘Nah, the rain doesn’t bother me.’ He stopped at the same rock. ‘I sit here every day, I promised I would.’
‘Promised? Promised who?’
‘Ah, doesn’t matter, forget it.’
‘Orright… might see you on my way back.’
I continued along the walkway. I had the feeling he wanted to say more… maybe on my way back. I decided to cut my walk short and turned around. As I got closer, I saw him turn his head to see me approaching.
‘Mind if I take a seat?’
‘Go on.’
Words had banked up in both of us. It was me who went first. ‘Sorry if I spoke too much yesterday.’
‘That’s orright... I had a bit to say too.’
‘Just so you know… if you don’t want to say any more about the shop, your father, your...’
‘My wife?’
‘Yeah, your wife.’
‘Hmph… there’s more to the story… like I said, I haven’t spoken to anyone about it before.’
‘Okay.’
‘I reckon the old prick knew I wasn’t his kid before all hell broke loose and Mum took off… the thing is, now I’m glad he’s not my father, it makes it easier to hate him.’
‘You must have your reasons.’
‘When we opened the shop here, he made it clear that my brother was his partner, and I was bludging off him. A couple of months ago he tells me straight... he can’t afford to keep me on, and I had two weeks to find some decent work... me and Lisa had the flat out the back of the shop... two weeks to find somewhere to rent or out we go.’
‘Jesus. What’d you do?’
Jason went quiet. He picked up a rock and threw it into the water. As it splashed, he tossed another one.
‘There’s not much work around here,’ he began. ‘So I tell Lisa I’ll be away for a couple of days, looking for something, a job somewhere and a place just for us two. I tell her, when I get back, we’ll pack up and go.’
‘And how’d that go?’
He stared into the distance, his eyes welling up as he hit himself hard on the forehead twice and then again. ‘I should never have left her there.’
‘Okay, Jason.’
He made no attempt to stem the flow from his eyes. ‘I get a call from her… the first night I’m away… she sounded scared, so I ask her what was wrong.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Just that she was missing me... so I tell her that things might be looking up because there’s a bit of work around where I was at Mimbi... maybe just a couple more days... and I’d be back... to get her.’
‘Take your time, Jason.’
‘I get another call the next night... she was so scared... the old prick has put it on her... even said that if she did what he wanted, he’d keep me on and we could stay there, rent free… That’s when she got away from him… she was ringing me from God-knows-where.’
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘I told her to get one of the cars... there was always one at the back of the shop... just get in it and drive north... let me know where she got to, and I’d come for her. So, I pack up what I was doing at Mimbi and head north too...’
‘Did you find her okay?’
He was breathing heavily, and saliva was dripping from the side of his mouth. He looked at me with terror in his eyes. ‘Fifty k’s up the highway I see the lights flashing everywhere... the roads blocked, and sirens are going off all over the place... she must have been so fucking scared when it happened...’
‘Jesus…’
‘I never saw her again.’
My heart feeling like it was being ripped out of my chest. ‘I’m so sorry… I put an arm around him. I’m so sorry.’
‘I nearly killed him when I saw him again… I wish I did.’
Drops of rain started to fall and we sat there getting cold and wet. It was several minutes before either of us said anything more. It felt much longer.
‘The promise?’ I asked.
‘I spread her ashes here. She loved this place. I can feel her with me here and I promised that I would come every day.’
By the time either of us could move, it was freezing cold, wet, and dark. I brought Jason home with me that night and introduced him to Sarah. She was startled at first, but it didn’t take long for her to warm to him. She helped me make up the spare bed and Jason accepted our invitation to stay the night. Sarah mustered up a towel and some of my clothes and tried to make him feel at home. He ate and said that he was tired.
~
Jason stayed with us for three weeks, the lost soul we brought into our home. Every day, he would do as much as he could around the house for us before walking out in the late afternoon to sit on his rock. Sometimes I walked with him, and sometimes he would come back much later and go straight to the spare room.
Last Sunday, Jason tidied up the room he had been staying in. After lunch, he thanked Sarah and me for taking him in, but he knew that the time had come for him to move on. Sarah had grown fond of him and when he told us, I saw her bottom lip quiver, the way it does when she is upset.
‘You know you are welcome to stay,’ I told him.
‘Thanks.’ There was a sadness in his eyes. ‘It’s time though.’
‘I’ll still see you around… I’ll bring Sarah walking with me. We know where to find you.’
‘Sure.’ He managed a smile.
Last Monday morning the authorities fished Jason’s body from the sea. His clothes had been discarded and left on his rock before he went to be with her. When we found out, Sarah and I held each other tighter than we ever had before and cried.
Last Friday, I took Sarah with me to sit on Jason’s rock and look out to sea to remember him, a man we knew only briefly yet who left his mark on us. It was the sound of the sea, the lapping of the water onto the rocks and the caw of the gulls.
Sarah held my hand tightly. ‘He was in too much pain.’
‘I miss him.’
I shuffled my feet around to kick loose a few rocks and bent over to pick two of them up. I put one into Sarah’s hand and motioned for us to throw them. ‘After three... one, two, three.’ The rocks splashed into the blue sea as a seagull swooped down to have a close look before arcing back up into the sky.
‘I miss him too.’
TREVOR…
The joker
Trevor didn’t think he was mean with money; nor was he a cranky old bastard or any of the other things he’d been called to his face. The insults didn’t worry him, but after a heated exchange one day when he hosed down a bike rider who rode too close to his front yard, he reflected for a moment.
I’m just honest, that’s all... tell people what I think... Most of ‘em, are damned annoying anyway. No sense of humour, some people.
Yesterday was garbage day and to prove he had a sense of humour, he got up when it was still dark to wheel his bins out. The red one went out for collection every week but whether it’s the green or the yellow bin to with it, caused weekly confusion.
He chuckled to himself, wheeling out the green bin instead of the scheduled yellow, as the first rays of sun glistened on the streetscape of manicured lawns. In his dressing gown and thongs, he walked back across the lawn leaving footprints on the dewy grass. The screen door snapped shut behind him as he whistled on his way to the kitchen.
He used the same teabag from supper last night; there was still plenty in that. From the front room, he sipped the hot water and looked through the curtains. One by one, neighbours wheeled out their yellow bins, looked up and down the street scratching their heads, and dragged them back to swap for the green.
He watched the entertainment, consuming four cups of tea (two teabags) and four pieces of buttered toast. When he heard the approaching rumble of the garbage trucks he dashed out and swapped the green bin for yellow.
Jesus, I’m funny.
~
The Economist
Trevor rose early the next morning. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floors as he rattled around his sparsely furnished house, turning the radio up to full volume so that he could hear it when he was outside watering his tomatoes. It had to be that loud or else he’d hear those damn neighbours cursing him about his radio being too loud.
Trevor thought himself frugal; those who knew him used different words. He lived by himself ever since his wife left him thirty years ago. The issue that broke them was about having kids. She wanted them desperately, but the numbers were heavily stacked against her - he’d calculated that with lost income and the purchase of resources it would cost more than $350,000 to bring a kid into the world and keep it alive until it was eighteen, and that’s with a state education. The damage was unfathomable should there be more offspring!
Christ, I’m good with numbers.
He was lonely when she left, at least until lunchtime.
~
The Romantic
He sold the home and split the proceedings carefully, though only as palatable enough to his wife so she didn’t seek expensive legal guidance. He calculated the loss of his assets from the settlement to be approximately equivalent to seven tenths of the cost to raise one child from birth to eviction at age eighteen. Way in front!
That left him with enough money to purchase the two-bedroom cottage he now lived in, with ten square metres of lawn at the front and double that space at the back where he grew tomatoes in summer and cabbages in winter.
After he separated, he began to feel good about the world again. There would be no outlay on children and the new place was entirely his!
Jesus Christ, I’m clever.
There were times since, when he had been drawn towards a potential mate, someone to share his life with, but these occasions were few and far between. Thrice over the years he had worked at Morbid, Dreary and Woe Ltd, a lady had him questioning his devotion to bachelorhood. Inside the company bathroom, he would suck in his girth, stared at the bathroom mirror, and use his fingers to brush his hair.
Jesus, I’d be a good catch!
There had been one particularly close call. He had been so smitten with a new arrival in the workplace that he was prepared to take her out on a dinner date and pay for her meal. It was only fair that she buy a round of drinks first. From the moment of taking a first sip, the evening was all downhill. He couldn’t understand why. After all, it was ‘buy one, get one free’ night at the bowling club, best night of the week, and she had the choice of either mushroom sauce or pepper sauce on her chicken schnitzel.
She left without even touching her meal. Trevor wondered what her problem was and asked for a takeaway container. Alone later at home, he told himself he had just dodged a bullet.
Ended up in front anyway; tomorrow night’s dinner is in the fridge and I only paid for one meal… and she bought the drinks!
~
The Dependable
Trevor remained single until his retirement. His working days were those of routine. He worked from 8:30 in the morning until 4:30 in the afternoon as an underwriter for an insurance company. His role was to assess who was too big a risk for the company to take on as a client, and who was likely to help them turn a profit.
Each day he would break from 10:45 am until 11 am for morning tea (save the tea bag), 12:30 until 1pm for his lunch which consisted of a ham and mustard sandwich or a cheese and pickles sandwich (he loved variety) and an orange, and then from 3:45 pm until 4pm when he would enjoy another cup of tea (second use of the tea bag) with a milk arrowroot biscuit. His evening meals were even more varied - round steak or a lamb chop, sometimes a piece of chicken. All with boiled potatoes, carrots, and… fried tomatoes in summer/cabbage in winter.
He’d had two sick days in his life. The first was to compensate himself for when he worked late three afternoons in a row without being paid overtime. The second, soon after that, just in case he had worked unpaid overtime in the past but had forgotten about it.
Since, however, he discovered that a significant proportion of unused sick pay was redeemable for cash upon retirement, and he hadn’t missed another day since.
Jesus, I’m reliable.
~
The Athlete
Every Saturday Trevor played lawn bowls. Over the years his skills never improved but that didn’t matter. He had fallen in with some like-minded men who enjoyed the discounted beer prices for playing-members. After the game he would sit with the men, unwrap the devon sandwich he brought from home and wash it down with the first of six beers.
Playing membership per year equals $450; discount of $2.60 per beer multiplied by 6 equals $15.60 per week which comes to $702 over the 45 weeks of games; leaving profit of $252 every year or just under $9000 over a thirty-year membership.
On Sundays he mowed the lawn, worked in his vegetable patch, went shopping for specials and did what needed to be done around the house. Overall, a very full and active life... according to Trevor.
~
It wasn’t until 2020, when approaching retirement age, Trevor faced his biggest dilemma to date. He had too much money... well, too much to keep and still draw a government pension. He had sleepless nights for the first time since he lost the senior citizens discount card he found at a bus stop a couple of years earlier. He had calculated he needed to hide more than $25000 to qualify for his pension. How could he do that without attracting unwanted concern from those who keep tabs on such matters?
One night he woke in a cold sweat. In an awful dream he’d gifted thousands of dollars to a charity in a permissible strategy to bring his assets under the desired threshold. He was woken by his own thrashing and screaming at the turmoil from the images in his restless slumber, wrestling wads of cash back from hungry orphans and demanding they give it back. It was all far too life-like and left him with palpitations.
After that tumultuous night Trevor set to work withdrawing cash and methodically secreting packages of it about the place. But he needed more ways to disguise his assets, and for some time it was all he could think about.
One Saturday on his way through to the locker room before bowls, he passed a small poster on the noticeboard in the foyer. ‘Multi-year memberships available; save $; discount rates.’ His mind went into overdrive; could this be what he was looking for?
Life expectancy another 18 years... what if I can work out a deal with the club... pay in advance for the next 15 years membership... that’s approximately $6750...less discount... maybe $1000... maybe I could pay for my beer in advance too... no management in its right mind is going to knock back an advance sale of over $15000...that’s getting up around $22000 hidden nicely and the next fifteen years of beer and bowls taken care of. It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere else! Not like I need to think about a partner either... been down that road, having a Mrs... not for me...Hello, fortnightly pension!
The Retiree
The club management jumped at the advance of cash and locked in the agreement. The only sticking point to them was Trevor writing into the contract, that all his future beer purchases would be at current discounted prices. Initially the management declined the condition, pushing for an amendment that limited the price freeze to two years. But when it was obvious that Trevor would walk away from that deal, along with $22000 cash, they caved in and gave him what he wanted.
Trevor was beside himself, confusing the unfamiliar feeling of joy in his chest with a heart attack. When he didn’t keel over, he realised that the strange phenomenon was happiness and there was a lot of it coming his way his way in the event of future inflation of beer prices. Oh joy!
After the deal was done and he had received his first government pension instalment, Trevor decided to treat himself to a mid-week meal at the bowling club. After all, it was cheap-Tuesday, and the steak and chips special would cost no more than if he cooked his own. Besides, with the new arrangement the accompanying beers felt as though they were free.
I’ve nailed this retirement business!
From then on, Tuesdays at the club became the first major shift in his life since finishing work. Dressed in Bermuda shorts and a polo shirt instead of his bowls creams, he would sit at the same corner table, where the only other diners around him were thrifty pensioner couples enjoying a cheap night out.
Silly old buggers, putting up with each other like that.
The Socialite
Retirement brought more changes to the weekly routine. Talk about adaptable! Mondays and Wednesdays were for the backyard, extending the vegetable patch to grow more plants; Tuesdays were for household chores before going out to have dinner at the club, steak and chips of course. Thursdays became the new shopping day because that was the day when there was a 5% discount for seniors. It also became another evening at the club because it was ‘two for one’ Schnitzel night! That was a bargain because he could eat one meal and shovel the other one into his Tupperware container to take home for Friday night.
Friday was left open for anything that may unexpectantly come his way. That hasn’t happened yet.
Christ, I’m spontaneous!
With his newly acquired, devil may care attitude, sometimes he’d re-heat his schnitzel at lunchtime but on other days he’d wait until late afternoon. Crazy days! Either way, he’d watch Gardening Australia and then a British crime show before having an early night. The weekend was different too now, more freed up since the shopping was already done on Thursday.
Club nights punctuated the week. He became familiar with the faces there for ‘Cheap Tuesday’ and ‘Two for One’ night. The same faces at the same seven tables, their patronage so predictable in the opinion of the management, that spare tables had been relocated from the bistro to the gaming room.
Trevor was content with his own company; there was enough to keep him occupied watching the silly buggers staring at the coloured Bingo and Keno numbers on the wall mounted screens. He managed a grunt, if any of them happened to catch his eye and say hello.
Jesus, I can be sociable!
The Benevolent
One Thursday night, as he sat down and waited for his schnitzel, he noticed a small disturbance in the nearby foyer. There was a plump woman, probably about his age and dressed in egg-yolk yellow dress with a handbag looped over one forearm. Her other arm extended to a finger she waved at the duty manager she was having words with. Trevor leaned towards the noise to try and hear what was being said.
‘You can plainly see what it says on the back of this shopping docket,’ she scorned.
‘But Madam, if the docket hadn’t been cut off, you would see that the offer had an expiry date - yesterday.’
‘Do you mean to tell me...’
‘Okay, okay, if you give me the docket, I will write a note on it for the bar staff to give you the free drink.’
Trevor’s food buzzer went. It was time to collect his two meals on a tray and an extra plastic container. Nice work, lady!
While Trevor was at the counter with his vibrating buzzer flashing in his hand, the plump woman ignored his beer glass and made the most of the vacant table by plonking down her handbag to claim her patch. She then took her free-drink docket to the bar. Trevor, with his tray of food in his hands, watched as she walked straight past him.
He returned to claim back his territory, pushing the handbag back to the edge of the table to make room for his tray. He sat down and nearly jumped out of the seat when from behind, the shrill voice attacked. ‘What do you think you are doing?’
He strained to look over his shoulder. ‘I’m sitting here; didn’t you see my drink on the table?’
‘It’s a big table for just one person,’ she said, ‘although I see you have two schnitzels there; is someone else with you?’
‘You ask a lot of questions,’ he said, cutting a piece of the schnitzel, ‘No, just me... one for now and I take one home.’
She sat down and took a sip of her shandy. ‘I’m Daisy and you are...’
‘Er...my name is Trevor.’ He swallowed what was in his mouth and cut another piece of chicken. ‘Look I’ll be honest; I come here alone, and I like it like that.’
‘Well don’t mind me, Trevor. Just pretend I’m not here.’
He chewed with haste, washing down each mouthful with a sip of his drink. His personal space had been invaded and although he tried, he wasn’t able to ignore the yellow figure in his peripheral vision.
‘Two for one, eh?’ she prattled on. ‘Every night?’
Trevor shook his head and stared blankly as he chewed. ‘Thursdays.’
‘Ooh, I see. That’s good to know. I’m new to the district.’
Trevor gazed at his plate. If I ignore her, she might go away.
‘It’s just me.’ She wasn’t about to take a hint. ‘Well, I do have two children, a son and a daughter. They’re all grown up now… coming up soon to live here too.’
‘Hmph.’
‘They want to move in with me, but I can tell you, I’m way past that.’
‘Hmph.’ He moved the last piece of schnitzel over the plate to mop up the gravy before popping it in his mouth. He then used the fork to push the second schnitzel into the plastic container along with the vegetables and chips. He stood up and drained the last of his drink.
‘Nice talking to you, Trevor,’ she babbled on. ‘Bye-bye, probably see you next Thursday; two for one is a good deal.’
‘I’ll get the manager to bring over another table; plenty of room on the other side near the window.’
~
Another week in the life of Trevor; the next day was crazy Friday during which anything could happen (schnitzel from the plastic container and an early night), then bowls and six beers on Saturday and mow the lawn on Sunday whether it needed it or not. Then there was the vegetable patch that needed watering and weeding, not to mention house chores on Monday and Wednesday, ‘Cheap Tuesday’ at the club, and shopping for specials on ‘discount Thursday’.
It was a hectic schedule, and by Thursday evening, when he was again pulling the drawstring on his favourite pair of trousers for ‘Two for One Schnitzel Night’, he had forgotten all about Daisy in the yellow dress.
He made sure he was at the club bistro five minutes before it opened to secure his usual table, his eyes nearly popping out of his head when he saw there with her shandy. No egg-yolk dress, this week she was wearing a bright, canary yellow frock.
He approached the table with a gaping mouth.
‘Now, before you say anything,’ said Daisy. ‘The meal deal is a good idea, so how about we go halves?
‘No, no, no. I come here by myself...’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘So, I knew there’d be room at this table.’
‘I have one meal here and take one home!’
‘Sit down, you silly old thing. Here’s my idea.’ She spoke softly and leant forward. ‘Share tonight’s deal, that’s half-price each and… you know that the other club in town...’
‘I don’t go to that one.’
‘Happy hour and free bar snacks on Friday nights.’
For a moment Trevor had nothing to say. He processed the balance sheet, weighing up the discounted beer he had already paid for in advance at the Bowling Club against a potentially free meal at the RSL Club. ‘I’ll grab a drink and think about it.’
Mm, she does make sense.
Over dinner, Trevor learnt a lot about Daisy. While he didn’t have much to say, his interest was sparked by the long list of bargains and profitable schemes she described, especially the one in which she bought items from clueless ‘Op shops’ only to sell them on to old-ware shops for a profit.
‘I don’t sell everything to the old-wares shop,’ she said. ‘Only yesterday, I bought a beautiful butter yellow dress. I’m keeping that one.’
By the end of the meal, Daisy had Trevor’s attention.
My kind of lady.
As he stood to go to the bar, he did something totally out of character and asked if she would also like a drink.
‘That’s very nice of you,’ she answered. ‘Just a shandy please.’
Trevor stood and waited, for to him, there was more to that part of the conversation.
Daisy reached for her handbag and pulled out her purse. Rummaging through it, she extracted a handful of coins. ‘There you go, ‘she said as she counted it out. ‘Correct money.’
Trevor returned with the drinks, for the first time he could remember, willing to continue a conversation. ‘And your two kids?’ he said. ‘Are they still coming to live with you?’
‘Well, if you must know,’ she began, ‘there’s a lot more to that story.’
Trevor sipped his discounted beer and listened to Daisy’s explanation of how her daughter was about to move in because she has a new job in town. Not only that, but her son also needed somewhere to stay for a while since his divorce. Trevor was bored with the details, just monotonous noise. He did, however, notice that at a certain angle, she was quite pretty.
Trevor was keen to get back to hearing more about her money-making schemes, though she was more intent on talking about her children. ‘They would drive me crazy, if they lived with me.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘So, I have a plan.’
His interest was once again tweaked. ‘What sort of plan?’
‘I haven’t told you yet,’ she began, ‘but the house I have bought here is quite large, probably too big for me if I was being honest.’
‘So, it sounds as though you have plenty of room for them.’
‘Like I said, Trevor, they would drive me absolutely bananas. So, my idea is that they each pay me rent, let’s say $350 each, current market rates; total $700 and I find myself somewhere else to stay for about $350. Net profit ...’
‘$350!’ I like this woman!
‘So, have you found a place yet?’ he probed.
‘Not yet, just after something reasonably small, I’d even be happy to share with someone... I don’t need much really, just a small yard to grow some vegetables in.’
‘About $350, you say?’
‘Give or take.’
‘It’s all very interesting, Daisy,’ he said. ‘Would you like another drink?’
She went to grab the purse from her handbag. ‘Sure, just a...’
‘Shandy,’ he said, holding up the palm of his hand. ‘My shout.’
Trevor walked to the bar. I could easily move that desk and chair out of the spare room.
He looked at her over his shoulder. She gave him a playful wave and smiled back. After all those years, it seemed that the love-gods were not quite finished with Trevor just yet.