The Naked Drinking Club (25 page)

‘Sure.’ He fumbled in his pocket and gave me what he had. I took out the piece of paper with the nursing-home number and dialled. Jim waited outside, inhaling as much sea air as he could.

‘Hello, Fernburn, can I help you?’

‘Yeah, hello, it’s Kerry Swaine trying to get a message to her grandfather.’

She sighed.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes, how can I help you?’

‘I just said I want to talk to my grandfather, please. I’ve called before and my mother tried to call with him a few days ago.’ She spoke over me, which caused some confusion in the delay; I was trying not to overreact but was finding it hard.

‘Can you please at least tell him I’m sorry I wasn’t there when they called and that we are twelve hours ahead here.’

‘Your grandfather had a little fall yesterday, but there’s nothing to worry about, he’s much better today, he just got a little fright, that’s all.’

‘What? Fuck!’ I slammed the coin box, causing Jim to turn round and press his face against the glass; I could see him mouthing was I all right.

‘Old people just fall, it’s very distressing, I know, but it’s part of them getting very old and frail. I think in your grandfather’s case, he was reaching over from his chair when it happened.’

‘Is he hurt?’

The delay of me asking if he was hurt ran over the beginning of what she said, plus I was half cut and was getting more and more frustrated.

‘Few bruises, that’s all.’

‘It’s that fucking window, I told you, he hates the sun directly in his face, it gives him a headache. You need to pull the curtain over to shade him …’ Beep beep beep. The line went dead; I had been too caught up in the conversation to notice that my money was running out.

I slammed my fist down on the phone.

‘You OK?’ asked Jim.

‘My grandfather. He’s in a fucking home and he’s had a fall.’

‘Yeah, I gathered that. OK?’ Jim put his massive arm round my shoulder, causing me to well up.

‘Yeah, I’m all right. Just can’t do anything.’

‘Oh dear, all part of them growing old, I’m afraid.’

‘Yeah I know, but I am really close to him, I was brought up by him for a while and I feel so guilty that I’m here. Fuck!’ I grabbed my hair. ‘I told him a long time ago that I would come here, and he understood, he told me to go and do what I had to, but I feel so bad that he’s in that fucking home. He hates it.’ I shook my head and stopped trying to explain things to Jim. I felt exhausted and frustrated.

Jim and I walked back to the van, I let his arm remain round me, he tried to joke with me to take my mind off things. I thought about telling him that it was my birthday in two days, and that I was hoping to find my real mother.

‘My divorce came through this week, it’s official.’ He kicked the gravel on the path that wove round the caravan park.

‘Shit, what do I say to that? I’ve never met a divorcee before. Do you say congratulations?’

He took his arm away and put his hands in his pockets. ‘Maybe to her.’

I didn’t know what to say, I had always been crap when other people needed comfort. Being better at it was another thing that I was hoping to improve on, just like the building and scenery appreciation. I could see the hurt in Jim, though; most days, despite his enthusiasm, it exuded from him and had done since the day we met. But Jim had to be left; he was the kind of man that would only say things when he really felt like it.

‘Come on, let’s get a beer and forget all this shit.’

‘Can’t argue with that,’ I said, patting him on the arm.

I thought about the Tammy Wynette song ‘D-I-V-O-R-C-E’, then I thought about an old song that was a hit when I was young, by Peaches & Herb, called ‘Reunited’. I sang it in my head and thought about Joyce Cane, my main focus of motherhood, then Anaya. Then we reached the van.

The atmosphere had changed since Jim and I left for the phone. Scotty and the girls were more subdued. Jim announced that we should all get some sleep, because we had a much earlier start than we were used to in the morning. He stretched the map out on the table while I moved through the stations on the radio.

‘You see, I think we’d be mad when we’re up that way not to stop at Hanging Rock. We could do it, you know.’

‘Oh yeah, gotta do that, haven’t even been there myself.’ Scotty leant over the table showing great interest in Jim’s plans for once.

‘What, you live here and you’ve never been to half these places?’

‘Working, mate, haven’t had the time. If I’m not down in Sydney, then I’m off up working the ski resorts for the winter.’

‘Oh yeah, it’s supposed to be amazing,’ said Andrea, loading another film into her complicated arty camera.

‘What do you do at the ski places, Scotty?’ I asked, still moving the radio dial.

‘Fit boots and shit. It’s cool, loads of chicks.’

‘We could stop off at Hanging Rock. It’s possible but it’s out of the way.’ Jim was in a map dream. ‘Tamworth, give that a miss, but then double back.’ He made clicking noises with his mouth as he thought out the route.

‘Sound like a bloody ’roo, mate,’ said Scotty.

‘Yeah, when we gonna see some kangaroos?’ asked Karin.

Jim stopped map reading and gave her his full attention. ‘Listen, you, we’ll see all the sights but we have to work a bit as well, OK?’

‘Plenty everywhere, don’t worry,’ said Scotty.

I hadn’t seen kangaroos during my time in Sydney, only dead ones at the side of the road on the journey up. You knew you were approaching one because there’d be the terrible stench of rot. Its stomach swelled up like a balloon and would eventually burst in the sun, Scotty told us.

‘We’ve seen some at the zoo in the city, but I’d love to see a pack of them wild,’ said Andrea. The Danish were such swots and never ceased to annoy me, but in a bearable way.

Jim went back to his map. I wondered how he did it, how he just kept on organising us, how he would drink with us then retire early to read a book, then wake up early and eat a proper breakfast and walk, and learn things. No matter what went on in his life, what fucked him up before, he didn’t let it run him.

‘Mmm, Port Macquarie. We could in theory still get there by night … yep, that’s the best bet,’ he said.

I flicked past a song I recognised. I went back to find it. The reception was bad; excitedly, I held up the radio, trying to get it fixed on the station. It was crackly and soundwaves pinged in between the verses but I could make it out.

‘FUCK!’ I said. ‘What are the fucking chances? ‘Reunited’!’ I shouted with my hands clasped round my head.

I turned it up full; the others looked at me clueless as to what was making me pace up and down the van.

‘It’s a fucking sign, I’m telling you.’ I shook my head and grinned. ‘A fucking sign.’

I slumped down next to the radio and listened to the rest of the song. The others kept quiet, just watching me. When it finished I went outside and leant against the van, looking out into the night, wondering who was running this show, and how it would end.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

I WOKE UP
feeling thirsty and bloated from a mild hangover, exacerbated by the sun streaming directly onto me through a small orange porthole in the van roof.

Scotty was still snoring underneath me on the bottom bunk. I had slept badly due to the excitement of Peaches & Herb, but despite everything I felt strangely optimistic at the bizarre way things were shaping up.

I reached up and opened the porthole, letting in some air to override the smell of my and Scotty’s stale beer breath, and his general sweaty demeanour. I lay back with my hands resting behind my head, listening to the sea birds outside and enjoying the feeling of the van rocking as Jim and the ever-keen Danish moved around in the other room. For a moment it felt like childhood when the three of us, in happier times, would go caravanning, before it all went wrong, before they told me, and before they became so unhappy together.

‘Morning, children.’ Jim knocked and came in. ‘Fuck me, what a stink, Scotty, is that your arse?’

‘Do me a favour, mate?’ Scotty mumbled.

‘How are you, sir?’ I joked.

‘I’m good. It’s a beautiful day.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Eight o’clock, Australia time.’

Scotty and I both complained in sync. Jim threw a tea towel at me and was about to leave when he turned back.

‘Shit, Kerry, I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you that last night Greg said there was a message for you back at William Street, from a friend of yours called Hank. Sorry, completely forgot.’

I leapt out of the bunk, grabbed my shorts and some change from the floor from Scotty’s jeans, and ran out to the call box.

‘Hey there, we’re not in just now, leave a message.’

‘Greg, Anaya, it’s Kerry, please pick up if you’re there. It’s important.’

Anaya answered. ‘So, how are you?’

The excitement of some possible news took over from my usual interest in her.

‘Yeah, please listen, this is important.’

‘Oh, OK.’

‘The man that called for me, what did he say? Did you tell him I was on the way to Brisbane?’

‘He left a voice message. We didn’t talk to him, we were lying down.’ She laughed, trying to draw me in, but it was the wrong time. I had no interest.

‘And what did he say?’

‘That he was a friend of yours and that he had to go to a music festival for a few days but would try again soon, and that he had some news.’

‘That’s all?’ My heart was in my mouth. I let out a big breath. ‘OK, if he calls again, please tell him where we are going and that I’ll call him, and get him to leave a number, OK?’

‘OK. That all?’

‘Yeah, gotta go, Anaya, speak another time.’

I only had fifty cents left in change; I dialled Hank’s number in Brisbane.

‘Come on, come on.’

It rang for the longest time. Just as it went beyond the limit when anybody would answer, a woman’s voice did.

‘Hello, how can I help you?’ The voice sounded oriental.

‘Hello, is Hank there, please?’

‘Hank left yesterday. He’s gone down to Tamworth for the music festival, he’ll be gone for the rest of the week. Can I give him a message?’

‘Did he say anything to you about a message for me about some relatives? He’s helping me, you see. My name’s Kerry.’

‘Oh dear, I am sorry I cannot help, I have been away and have not spoken to Hank properly. It would be better if you call back on Friday, or maybe you can try his hotel. I’m sorry I could not help.’

The fucking beeps started.

‘WHERE’S HE STAYING, WHICH HOTEL?’ I was getting hysterical.

‘Station Hotel, he alwa—’ The line went dead.

I called directory enquiries and got the number for the Station Hotel in Tamworth.

Hank had checked in that morning but was out for the time being. I left a message saying I was on the way to Brisbane and just a couple of hours from Tamworth. I said I’d call back when I could, and asked him to tell reception when he would be in his room so that I could call him.

When I got back to the van, the others wanted to know why I was so excited. I told them an old friend was in Brisbane and that there was a chance I could meet up with him. Then I realised saying ‘old friend’ sounded ridiculous coming from a twenty-four-year-old.

We left the Pacific Highway to go inland, which was my first real taste of the Australian countryside. We drove through towns with wide unmarked roads, where all the shops lining the front had striped awnings to act as shade. All the store names were painted blue or yellow; everywhere was so very bright and dry. Miles of nothing but parched trees lay between each town, which all seemed to have a name ending in Creek or Brook. When we reached our first stretch of countryside, we all had turns standing on the car seat with our bodies half out the sunroof. Jim drove fast and we screamed and howled as our hair swept back and our faces distorted with the force. Even the Danish let themselves go and made some noise. Jim laughed each time one of us did it.

We didn’t talk much for the stretch between Newcastle and the last town before Hanging Rock. It was early and we were tired from talking so much to one another the night before. The journey was only about two hours, and in between bursts of the sunroof, we listened to the radio and sang along to the odd song
that
we all knew. Jim changed the channel again during another song; this time it was Tracy Chapman’s popular dirge ‘Sorry’.

I felt the car jolt forward and I woke up.

‘I reckon we should stop here and use the toilets, get a sandwich, some cold drinks and then we’ll go on to the rock, OK, folks?’ said Jim enthusiastically.

I asked Jim to get me a cheese sandwich and went straight to a pay phone.

‘Mr White said to send his regards and that he will be back in his room between five and six,’ said the Irish receptionist.

We stood on a porch outside a bakery, reminiscent of something I’d only ever seen in cowboy and Indian films, and ate our lunch.

‘Hey, some fucking picnic, eh?’ I said. Jim laughed.

It was boiling hot by the time we parked up in the small, woodland, dirt car park at Hanging Rock.

‘Okayee, this is us,’ said Jim, stretching at the wheel.

‘Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if a couple of us got lost, eh?’ said Scotty, nudging Karin, who rode the last part of the journey up front for some reason. We all rolled our eyes at poor old Scotty; he didn’t deserve the treatment he got, but he was just so predictable.

We climbed uphill on a well-worn path, passing some Japanese people, lots of Scandinavian backpacker types and men with sandals. Jim was one of these at-one-with-nature people; he took long slow strides, his head back, looking up at the sky and the top of the trees, taking in exaggerated breaths. I hoped that soon after being reunited with my mother, I too would be able to concentrate on any surrounding beauty; everything would fall into place, all problems alleviated, all gaps filled. However, for the time being, I loved and appreciated being free of the intense heat of the city mixed with car fumes.

The walk to the top took about forty minutes; Karin and I were slightly behind because we wore flip-flops. I had come to Australia with one pair of shoes, and bought the flip-flops soon after my arrival, and had subsequently worn them almost the entire time. When we reached the actual picnic spot, it was packed with tourists. Many of them, including
Jim,
stood round a tree watching a koala chewing on some leaves. A ranger-type man with a hat and safari clothes explained to his group that the koala was eating eucalyptus leaves, which sedated them. The koala paid no attention to the chattering, photographing group of Japanese.