Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (27 page)

I discover that liquor, as Aussies call booze, isn’t sold in supermarkets, but in ‘bottle shops’ so I go two shops down the road.  I don’t really know what to do about wine – I buy some, not knowing if Jane will curse me or not, but it feels wrong not to.  I try to choose local wine from the Adelaide Hills’ vineyards, which Jane says we’ll visit later.  The guy serving offers me some ‘clean skins’ – bottles with no labels – and says what a good buy they are.  I succumb and buy two.

I watch Marcus like a hawk, now that I know the truth.  He tries to be friendly, but I can see he’s distant and dismissive with Jane.  He reaches for a glass, almost the moment he comes in from work and keeps it permanently topped up, during the evening.  He does indeed fall asleep in front of the TV and I notice Jane leaves him snoring and slumped in a chair, most nights.  I worry what to do, but think there’s little I can do.  It’s got to be
him
who sees the light in the end.

The following weekend, they are both the perfect hosts and take me on a road trip with one night in a B and B.  We go down the Fleurieu Peninsular, visiting places with exotic Aboriginal names.  We drive onto the beach at Aldinga, even though we’re not in a four by four and then we drive all the way down to Cape Jervis, where the ferry goes to Kangaroo island.  The weather becomes positively English down there and we end up eating fish and chips in the steamed up car, as the rain pours down outside.

We drive along the coast to Victor Harbour and gaze down at Horseshoe Bay; we go to Port Elliot and finally Goolwa, the mouth of the mighty Murray.  We walk to the barrage and see pelicans, black swans and even seals, basking quietly in the sun.  The light down there is stunning and I take some great photos on my new camera.  A bird with an amazing warbling sound, which Jane tells me is a Murray magpie, sits and poses for me.  He lets me go right up to him as he sits on a wooden post and stays long enough for me to practise taking close-ups.

I love our native bird population and their familiar songs, but the thing that’s struck me here very forcefully has been the beauty and difference of Australian birds.  Virtually none of them are familiar to me – except the sparrow.  I hear a constant cacophony of calls that I don’t recognise and when I look up, I see flashes of bright colours - the iridescent pink of the galah, the bright green of the lorikeet and the red and blue of the rosella.  I’m driving Jane mad by constantly pointing and asking for their names.  To me, they are the defining thing that makes me realise I’m somewhere far away from the land of robins and blackbirds.  Their voices and their colours dazzle me.

I feel guilty that Jane and Marcus are doing all this travelling – they must have been to these places many times – but they don’t seem to mind and we have fun together, stopping for refreshments in pubs and cafés.  I love the variety of the food and the unusual menus, even in the most simple of establishments.  The Aussies certainly know how to eat well. 

Marcus does most of the driving and I’m pleased to see he doesn’t drink when we stop; I grab a little smile from Jane when he comes back to the table with a pint of orange juice, but can see that he eats huge amounts.  I tend to choose the salads wherever we go – I look back at the salad I had with Holly after Warhorse and decide Australian salads are even better than that.  They combine unusual flavours and textures, herbs and nuts. 

I could get used to this.

The trip down the Murray is scheduled for Tuesday.  Even though I’ve only been driven around all weekend, I’m exhausted on the Monday.  I get up late and mooch about, catching up on emails and Facebook, read my book and swim in the mighty Gulf of St Vincent, which I learn is the official name of the sea off Adelaide.  Ben and I are writing little emails to each other every day.  It’s strange, but just the process of writing to him, is making our relationship stronger somehow.  We’re sharing our innermost thoughts with each other, along with the more mundane everyday occurrences.

That Monday evening, things are particularly fraught in the house; I can sense the atmosphere the moment I get in from my walk.  Marcus is already drinking and poor Jane is trying to get the food organised for our trip.  There are no shops where we’re going and so we have to take everything with us.  I muck in and when we realise we’re missing a few important items, I offer to go and get them, wanting to get out of the house.

I notice that there’s a lot of wine in bottles and cartons in the bags, but I tell myself we’re away for three nights, so that’s fair enough.

We’re up early the next day and drive quite a way to a place called Mannum, where we are to get on our houseboat.  We park up near the boat we’ve been allocated and start to load our things.  I’m amazed at how big it is and begin to get nervous – I wonder if either Jane or Marcus has any idea about driving the thing?

Trying to sound nonchalant, I say as I’m loading the fridge, “So … who’s going to drive the boat, then?  I hope you’re not relying on me!”

“Marcus and I have done this before, don’t worry.  We haven’t gone from this Marina, but we’ve done the whole houseboat thing, further up the river.  They look huge, but to be honest, they’re easy to drive.  They go so slowly … you’ll see.”

After a long time, filling in forms and being told in minute detail how the boat works, we set off.  One of the men manoeuvres the houseboat through a maze of other boats, but then, when he’s got us out of the enclosed space of the Marina, he jumps off, waves and we’re on our own. 

Marcus drives and I begin to relax, as I see he’s perfectly competent.  It does, indeed, go
very
slowly – you could keep up with it, if it was possible to walk alongside.

As we ‘set sail’ Jane and I explore the boat – it’s much bigger than we need as it sleeps six.  It’s luxurious; I test my bed and as I lie on it, I can see the river banks slipping by, outside the window.  I decide to go up to the top deck and stand at the front, mesmerised by the slow passing scenery.  I’ve got my camera round my neck and take pictures of pelicans coming in to land, in their comical way. There are hundreds of them floating past, oblivious to our presence; the river is a mysterious green colour and the sandy earth, on each side, makes for a beautiful backdrop.

We make sure that Marcus is okay driving the boat and get some coffee.  “Do you want me to take over?” asks Jane.

“No, I’m fine,” he says,  “I find it relaxing.  I can think about …
nothing.
” 

I think this is perhaps exactly what he needs.  The slow pace of the boat forces us all to relax.  There is nothing to do … but drift.

I can only compare it to being on a canal boat in England – which David and I did many years ago.  You feel cut off from the outside world, as if you’re travelling vast distances, but in reality, you’re covering very few miles.  Here though, there are no locks to negotiate, no pubs to pass.  There are just miles and miles of pre-historic looking trees, half-submerged in water, or clinging to the edge, with cormorants drying their wings, in silence, on their branches. 

I feel as if I’m suspended in time: no past, no future, just the present, in all its glory and quiet beauty.  I can’t help but be ‘at one’ with nature here; it’s just me, the gentle swoosh of the water, the sapphire blue sky and the red earth.

We see very few other houseboats; one comes by in the opposite direction and we wave languidly to the people on board.  A speedboat with two water skiers behind it, drives past and shocks us out of dreamlike trance; we’ve almost forgotten that noise and motion exists.

Jane takes over the driving for a while.  Marcus and I lie down on the sun loungers on the top deck and simply watch the world go by.  It’s so peaceful, I fall asleep. 

I’m woken suddenly, by a distant noise I don't understand.

“What’s that?” I say, sitting up.

“Corellas,” says Marcus.

“What are
they
?” I say, now standing up, trying to see the cause of the commotion.  And then I do.  There are hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of white birds heading our way.  They are all squawking and screaming – the sound is deafening.  I grab my camera to try to capture the sheer numbers of birds speeding past us, but I give up and simply marvel at the phenomenon.

“Noisy bastards,” says Marcus.

“They’re amazing,” I shout above the noise.  “What are they doing?”

“They’re going to roost in the trees.”

“Wow!  That was incredible,” I say, sitting back down as the stragglers go past.  “Thank you so much for this trip, Marcus.  What an amazing experience.  I’m sure I’d never have seen any of  this if we hadn’t done it …”

“Yea, we thought you’d like it.  I just wish life could always be like this – so laid back, so relaxed.  I feel so … so … uptight … most of the time, and today, for the first time in ages, I feel as if … as if I can breathe.”

He lies back and closes his eyes, but even so, I feel as if he wants to talk, so I say, “Life’s too short to feel like that, Marcus.  Maybe you should do something …”

He opens his eyes and tilts his head towards me.  “What can I do?”

“Have you ever thought of retiring?  Like me.  How old are you?”

“I’m only fifty-eight …”

“Well, maybe you should think of … changing your lifestyle?”  I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I want to help.  “Jane mentioned that you have a huge project on at work and that you’re finding it all too stressful.  Could you perhaps …”

“Yea, she’s right there.  But, Jane doesn’t realise how much money we need to run the house and …”

“I’m sure Jane would …”

“Jane doesn’t understand, she really doesn’t.  Her job doesn’t pay that well and we live in that huge house …”

“I thought you were going to sell it, a while back?”

“We were, but Jane said she wanted to stay.  I’d be happy living anywhere, but Jane loves the beach view and the …”

“Have you told Jane how you feel, Marcus?  I’m sure she’d move if …”

“I’ve given up … she wouldn’t move before and now we’re stuck there, getting into debt.”

“Does Jane know things are bad … financially?”

“Not really … I do all the paperwork and I’ve tried to shield her from it.”

“Marcus, I think Jane would be fine …”

“No, she wouldn’t.  You haven’t seen her for years.  She’s too used to spending money, buying clothes, going out, changing her car every five minutes.  She’s no idea.”

I look across at him.  His eyes are closed again, but now his hands are in front of his eyes and he’s rubbing them.  Is this all true about Jane?  He’s making her out to be some sort of spendthrift and that’s not the Jane I know, or have seen.  Maybe he’s blaming
her
for his problems?  All I know is, they need to talk to each other; they need to address whatever is at the root of all this.  Are they really in debt?

I hear Jane calling from downstairs.  I say to Marcus, “Look, I think you really need to talk to her about how you’re feeling.  She’s worried about you … I better go down and see what she wants.”

I go down the stairs and over to Jane who’s sitting in the chair, one leg up on the dashboard, steering the large boat with her finger.  “Wow, weren’t those corellas amazing?” I say, trying to move on from the conversation I’d had upstairs.

“Noisy bastards!” she says.

“That’s just what Marcus said.  Obviously, Aussies don’t have the same feeling of awe I had,” I laughed.  “Shall I take over for a bit?”

“Are you sure you want to?”

“Well, it seems easy enough to me.  Just stay with me for a while.”

I take over, Jane explaining how I have to anticipate any bends in the river and take action early, as it takes so long for the boat to change direction.  I settle down, looking ahead at the wide green river stretching on forever, in front of me.  The large steering wheel hardly moves and I learn to adjust the course by simply moving one finger. 

Jane wanders off and I marvel at what I’m doing.  I’m in charge of this huge vessel; I’m navigating our way down this mighty river, now edged with high red cliffs. 

I’m really on an adventure.

*

Marcus takes over again and we look for a convenient mooring post.  They said we had to find somewhere with two trees to tie up to and seeing a little grassy inlet with conveniently placed trees coming up, Marcus uses the loud horn to indicate that we’re changing course and drives the boat in.  This takes a certain amount of skill and I’m pleased I don’t have to do it.  There’s a lot of revving and reverse thrust and then we’re still.

Jane and I organise the ropes, throwing them out and tying them around the huge gum tree trunks.  Marcus, meantime, is letting the engine idle, until we’re fully secure.  It’s a perfect spot.

It’s five o’clock and we’re all hungry, so we set to and start the barby.  Marcus, having stopped the engine, immediately opens a bottle of wine and starts drinking.  We make the salad and he cooks the steak and sausages.  We take it all up onto the top deck and eat round the table.

“A typical sausage sizzle,” says Jane.  “You’re seeing how us Aussies live.  The great outdoors, the river running by, the smell of cooking meat …”

“It’s brilliant,” I say.  “I never dreamt when I first planned my visit that we would do anything like this.  It’s perfect.”