Lessons From Ducks (2 page)

She straightened up the bed covers a little more, and then from the wardrobe on the other side of the bed she took down a folded T-shirt from the shelf and slid a pair of jeans off a hanger.

Downstairs, Anna opened curtains to let in the new day. As she made her way around the open plan dining/kitchen/lounge she casually, as if unaware, let items of clothing fall to the floor. The small T-shirts here, the jeans there, the tiny shorts over there.

Breakfast consisted of muesli, eaten from a chipped red and white striped bowl. Coffee was consumed, two cups, one right after the other. For background noise she pushed the button on the small transistor radio that sat on the windowsill, moving the aerial to the right slightly until most of the fuzziness went away. During the night, she learned, a suicide bomber had killed thirty nine people in a Middle Eastern country, and another well known celebrity cook had admitted to partaking in drugs and an extra marital affair. This didn’t come as a total surprise to Anna. He’d always seemed to have more energy and enthusiasm than she considered healthy.

As she ate she wandered over to the toy box with her bowl in hand, lifting the lid with a big toe and pushing it back against the wall. Colourful plastic faces greeted her.

“Morning,” she said.

Placing her bowl precariously on the small wooden table with the stained glass lamp she selected a few of the toys – different ones than yesterday, she liked to change it up – and scattered them willy nilly around the lounge, as if discarded by small hands.

It was only as she was getting ready to leave, switching the radio off, washing her bowl, spoon and mug and leaving them to air dry on the wooden dish rack, that she remembered the soon to be additions to her household.

The last thing she always did on her way out the door for work was feed the ducks. This morning they brushed around her ankles, tripping her lightly as she threw out their breakfast.

“Anyone would think you hadn’t been fed for a week,” she said, “but we both know it was only last night. If someone from animal control ever comes knocking I hope you won’t pull this starving nonsense on them.”

Mrs Dudley remained underneath her flax bush, eyeing Anna wearily.

“Rough night for you too huh?” Anna commiserated, “Just wait, it gets worse.”

The bread she had left for Mrs Dudley was gone, no way of knowing whether she had consumed it or the others had. She placed a few pieces even closer than the night before, as close as she dared.

‘HISSSSSS’

“Oh give me a break, I’m trying to help you, you daft bird.”

Mrs Dudley frowned and then clambered awkwardly to her feet, off the eggs and towards the bread, keeping a wary eye on Anna, who backed away. She could count eight eggs, and for the first time she considered the occupants.

“How lovely it will be,” she pondered, “to have some fluffy little babies around the place.” Then a thought occurred to her and she looked around anxiously. The garden, normally an innocuous and peaceful oasis of calm, suddenly seemed menacingly evil and littered with death traps. “I’ll have to do some baby proofing,” she fretted.

Finishing the bread, Mrs Dudley waddled over to the water bowl.

Anna watched her take her time filling her beak with water then throwing her head up and jerking her neck to shake the water down. She knew she was dangerously at risk of being late to work, but she couldn’t leave without making sure Mrs Dudley got back onto her eggs.

“Shoo,” she said after a few minutes, walking behind Mrs Dudley and waving her back towards her nest. “Get back on your babies you naughty mother.”

‘QUACK’

“Yes I know you must first look after your own needs in order to be the best mother you can be, but you don’t need to be so slow about it.”

‘QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK’

“That language is
very
unbecoming of a mother.”

‘QUACK’

“Honestly Mrs Dudley, I can’t stay here all day and argue the odds with you. I have to go to work in order to earn money to buy
you
more bread.
Especially
given your recent behaviour and the resulting fact that our numbers are soon to increase,” she added pointedly.

‘QUACK’

But with that last defiant quack and a glare, Mrs Dudley settled back down on to her eggs. Anna sighed in relief. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate all day if she’d been worried about the eggs. Then she heard from somewhere over the fence…

‘WOOF WOOF’

…and fresh worry sprang anew.

“Damn,” she swore. She’d forgotten dogs occasionally roamed loose around the neighbourhood. Indeed, hundreds of them, if Mrs Gilbert - pale cream house at the end of the cul de sac, blue shutters – was to be believed. She told of a cat being mauled to death last summer right in the middle of the street; in the bright light of the middle of the day even, by a pack of vicious marauding dogs. Although she could recite the incident blow by blow with macabre glee and describe how the fur went flying into the tops of trees and the blood ran deep and fast in the gutters, she was a little sketchy on the finer details, such as whose cat it had been (none were reported as missing) and what had happened to the evidence (said mentioned fur, blood or even the forlorn remains of the corpse). Unfortunately, or rather fortunately in this case, no one else bore witness to the supposed Massacre on Oak Street, as Mrs Gilbert had christened the event, so it was left to the residents to decide amongst themselves whether to believe her or not. There was a rumour that Mrs Gilbert was somewhat fond of a midday sherry, although Anna held no truck with rumours.

Still, evidence or no evidence, Anna did not want to risk the same fate happening to the eggs, so she dragged the fireguard from the house, a cane table from the deck and the long bench seat from the other end of the garden and she set up a kind of barricade around a bemused Mrs Dudley.

“Don’t help or anything,” Anna huffed, dragging the heavy wooden seat into position.

‘QUACK’

Satisfied that, although the furniture was hardly Fort Knox it should at the very least act as a deterrent, she quickly washed her hands under the hose and set off to work, flustered and slightly sweaty, and by now very late indeed.

Chapter three

Her supervisor, Judy, glanced at her watch and gave an imperceptible shake of the head as Anna hurried through the front doors of the bank and made her way to her desk. She was fifteen minutes late and normally this should worry her, but it didn’t. She had stopped caring about some things in life a few years ago, and her place of employment was one of them.

She didn’t need the money anymore, not really. Once upon a time she had enjoyed her job, but a few months back the bank had been taken over by a much larger one, and along with the renovations that saw the old furniture go by way of the back door, customer service and morals and values had gone with it. Now everything was about selling and making money. Fee hikes, staff cuts; none of these made for a particularly happy work environment. Still, Anna stayed because it was somewhere to go each day.

From time to time she made noises about looking for something new to do, finding her career ‘passion’ in life, but she never did. She wasn’t sure whether to put it down to laziness or comfortable familiarity.

“You need something to put a rocket up your ass,” her grandfather eloquently told her every Christmas.

“Sorry,” Anna mouthed to Judy on her way past, but she was careful to make sure she didn’t look sorry at all.

Judy scowled. She was new to this branch and had come along as part of the recent acquisition. She would have loved to fire Anna. She even dreamt about it at least once a week, but the branch manager, Mr Hedley, was a soft soul who treasured all his employees, Anna in particular, so termination wasn’t an option. Not yet, anyway. So she hulked down at her desk and bid her time. Eventually the old bastard would have to retire; he could barely see four feet in front of himself as it was. Then she would be in control and a few people were in line to feel her wrath, Anna included.

Judy had a chip on her shoulder a foot wide and four inches deep. It sat there, fat and ugly and radiating unjustness. It must have been a fair weight, Anna considered, because it threw Judy’s shoulders out of alignment and caused the left one to droop slightly lower than the right, like the hunchback in that animated kids movie. To compensate, she jutted her right hip out when she walked and the whole effect was rather comical and reminded Anna of an awkward rotund puppet.

The chip was also multilayered; each layer testament to an event in Judy’s life when she had felt hard done by. Like the time her sister received the beautiful blond doll for Christmas that she had been coveting through a shop window for months, and she received its rather plain, brunette friend instead. The one with only a book for an accessory. Then there was a layer for not being asked to her high school ball, another for getting passed over three times for promotion in favour of
men
, and a particularly thick layer was courtesy of her fiancé dumping her three weeks before the wedding in favour of the lady hired to do the flowers.

Anna sat at her desk and reached underneath to push the button that powered up her computer. As it whirred slowly to life she noticed Judy still scowling at her, so she grinned and gave her the thumbs up. Judy frowned at her as if Anna were a lunatic and looked down at her desk.

Triumphant with the small victory Anna straightened the gold name plate at the front of her desk – Anna Jenkins, Personal Banker – and squirted some water into the small potted fern beside it from the water bottle she kept in her bottom drawer for just that purpose. The login screen had appeared so she entered her password –
judyhasalargebottom
– and recorded the day’s answering machine message onto her phone. They were all issued with official bank passwords that technically they were not supposed to change, but she and the other personal bankers had all changed them anyway.  They were all aimed at having a dig at Judy (
judysmellslikevodka
or, Anna’s personal favourite and the one she wished she’d thought of,
judylookslikejonbonjovi
).

Blessed with a squat frame and a pug nose, Judy’s blonde hair was her pride and joy and she wore it like a mane around her head. Sprayed to within an inch of its life it stood high and proud, and Anna had to resist the urge to pat it every time she walked by. She often spent whole meetings transfixed by it, wondering how it was possible Judy still had hair on her head when it was been subjected to so much bleach, perm solution and fervent teasing with a comb over the years. She looked like an 80’s rock bands lead singer, a male one. All she needed was a pair of spray on leggings and a ripped singlet and she’d be a dead ringer, although the mental picture this conjured set Anna shuddering.

“Late again were we?” Judy’s obvious question snapped her out of her reverie. She had paused on her way past Anna’s desk and was clearly spoiling for a fight.

“We? You were late as well?” Anna gave her a conspiratorial wink.

Caught on the off, Judy’s mouth opened and shut as she tried to think of a retort.

“No
I
wasn’t late,” she finally managed to say. “Unlike
you
I happen to take my job seriously, not flit in and out whenever it takes my fancy.”

“Good to know.”

“I suppose you have an excellent excuse for being late. What was it this time? Let me guess, you were almost out the door when you suddenly remembered your plants would die unless you watered them right then? Oh no hang on, wait, I know,” she smirked and held up a hand, “you saw a squashed cat on the side of the road and you just couldn’t leave it there, so you held an impromptu roadside funeral for it. You and your bleeding heart.”

“I don’t know why you bother to ask when you clearly won’t believe me anyway.”

“Try me. Go on, nothing surprises me anymore when it comes to you.”

“Fine. I was late because I had to build a temporary protective shelter in the back garden.”

“To protect what?”

“Not what,
whom
. Mrs Dudley. She is with child.”

“And who is Mrs Dudley when she’s at home?”

Anna pretended to look confused. “She’s only ever Mrs Dudley at home.”

Judy slapped her thigh comically. “HaHa. Not. I should have guessed it would be your stupid ducks again. How many times have they made you late now? Five? Six?”

“You’ll have to tell me. I’m not the one keeping count.”

Judy leant in closer, her pug nose flaring so that Anna could see a fine black hair waving erect out of her left nostril. “You think you’re untouchable don’t you,” she hissed. “You and your smart ass friends thinking you can do whatever you want around here. Well I’ve got news for you. Whisper is that Hedley’s going to announce his retirement very soon. Then your ass is mine.”

“My ass is…? Oh! Oh dear, how can I put this. I’m flattered Judy, truly I am, but I’m just not that way inclined. Sorry.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“What?” It took a moment for Judy to catch up and when she did she turned a bright shade of puce. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t report you for sexual harassment, although should you continue to make advances then I may have to rethink that decision. It’s not nice to be made to feel uncomfortable in ones workplace after all.”

“I didn’t…I wasn’t…that’s disgusting!”

“There there, Judy. You should know by now that I don’t judge people based on their personal preferences. You need not fear prejudice from me.”

“I am
not
a bloody dyke!”

Anna crinkled up her nose. “Are we even allowed to say that word these days? I get confused with what’s pc and what’s not.”

“I don’t care what you call it, I have sex with men, you idiot, as in someone with a bloody penis!”

Unfortunately as she got more and more heated her voice rose and just as she made that last declaration a hush fell over the bank. Everyone turned to stare at Judy, including Mr Hedley and Mr Ferguson, - the nationwide manager who was visiting for the day - and who both paused on their way up the stairs upon hearing the commotion below.

Any hopes Judy have held that Hedley’s decrepit hearing might have spared her were dashed when he spoke in clipped tones. “Ms Pettigrew,” he said formally. “Do join me in my office will you.”

“Sir I’m sorry, I didn’t…
she
started it.” She jabbed a stubby finger at Anna.

“
My office,
Ms Pettigrew.”

She sagged. “Yes sir.” When he continued on up the stairs she rounded on Anna furiously. “You did that on purpose. Just you wait, your turn will come.”

“I’m positively shaking in my shoes, Ms Pettigrew.”

With one last snarl Judy turned as speedily as someone with her girth could and stomped off up the stairs. As soon as she was out of sight the other personal bankers applauded.

Anna stood up and took a bow. “Why thank you,” she said. “I’ll be here all season.”

Peace restored, she sat back at her desk and opened up the personal bankers shared outlook calendar, where she deleted a couple of Judy’s appointments and moved others to different times. It was something they often did to make Judy look unprofessional in front of her clients. Normally it was the sort of the thing Anna wouldn’t dream of doing, as she was a peaceful, non confrontational sort of person, but for Judy she made an exception.

That done, she scrolled across and checked her own calendar. Her first appointment - a couple wanting advice on superannuation investments - were due in ten minutes, enough time to check her personal emails first.

A few spam emails trying to sell her Viagra and other such drugs, she moved these to the junk folder. Some more legitimate spam emails from legitimate companies such as Farmers and The Warehouse. It was her own fault; she couldn’t resist entering in-store competitions when they were offered, and a side effect of this was that she found herself subscribed to their advertising emails. There was always an innocuous little box somewhere on the form that said ‘tick here to receive promotional offers and other exciting news!’, and she feared that if she didn’t ‘tick here’ they might throw her form away and she’d not be eligible for the competition. She knew there must be a way she could unsubscribe, especially when months had passed and she clearly hadn’t won whatever the prize was that had been on offer (did anyone ever?) but she was yet to figure out how. With a click of her mouse she deleted them. Easy enough.

Then she saw a name in her inbox that made her heart quicken.

From
: Frank and Barbara Jenkins

Subject
: when are you coming to visit?

She squeezed her eyes shut. How long had it been since she’d fobbed them off last time? Easter? Anniversary Weekend? She couldn’t remember. Whenever it had been she’d bought herself months only. They were persistent; her in-laws. Once they had an idea in their heads it would take nothing short of an all out nuclear war to stop them in their tracks.

She couldn’t deal with it just then, she couldn’t. Not at work and not with clients due in shortly. She needed to be able to smile professionally and act as if she had not a care in the world. Opening that email would be inviting a trip down memory lane and she wasn’t prepared to do that to herself. Not today. She quickly closed the internet window and opened up the banks system instead. But still, the email niggled in the back of her mind all day. As she dealt with clients, while she sat through a training session, (how to slash appointment times and
still
double the banks commission!), and even while she ate her sandwiches outside on a patch of grass underneath some bushy green trees. It was like someone had inserted a worm into her ear and it was wriggling its merry way around her brain.

If she tried to think about anything else it wouldn’t be long before -
wiggle wiggle squirm -
here it came, back into sight, puffing from the effort and waving its little body furiously at her as if to say, “Here I am! Don’t forget about me!”

“Like I could,” she muttered, attracting an odd look from a businessman enjoying his own sandwiches nearby. She gave him a friendly, its-quite-alright-I’m-not-insane smile and he smiled nervously back then pretended to study his shoelaces. She sighed. Damn email.

The rest of the day passed much the same. Judy emerged downstairs after roughly half an hour and stomped past Anna loudly. Anna pretended to hold onto her desk, stapler and sticky tape holder as if the ground were shaking.

“Grow up,” Judy hissed. Then she went and sat at her desk and stewed angrily for the rest of the day. Anna could feel the hate aimed at the back of her head. It made her ears itchy. Home time arrived and she shut down her computer, swapped her tidy black small heels for sneakers and bid the others, excepting Judy of course, good night.

Remembering the ‘incident’ the night before she regretfully decided yes, it would be best if she avoided the playground for a time. She stopped at the supermarket, where she eyed the large shiny trolleys, lined up neatly and primed for use. Once they were her weapon of choice, but now she dejectedly picked a small green plastic basket instead. Up and down the aisles she went, admiring the many brands and flavours.

“We really are spoilt for choice these days, aren’t we?” she smiled conspiratorially at a frazzled woman pushing a heavily laden trolley. The woman jerked her mouth up briefly in what Anna supposed was some sort of reply, then pushed on by.