The Road Back (21 page)

‘I suppose it is. Will you be right to ride your bike over tomorrow?' asked Chris.

‘Should be okay,' Megan replied.

Chris changed the subject. While Megan had been at the Watsons' farm, he'd had a call from the real estate agent in Sydney that was weighing on his mind. ‘Megan, something has come up. I'm a bit worried about the tenants I have in the Neutral Bay flat. I've been able to get a cheap flight to Sydney, so I've arranged with the agent to do an inspection on the place so I can see it for myself. I'll be going on the same flight as Bunny, so will you be okay to look after yourself until we get back on the six o'clock flight? It'll be dark by the time we drive home from the airport.'

‘That's cool, Dad. Not a problem. This is the big reunion lunch? Are you excited?' Megan asked Susan.

‘Well, maybe not excited, but now that I'm going I am looking forward to seeing everyone.'

‘What are you going to wear?'

‘Oh, Megan, I haven't even thought about that.'

‘But you have to look really knock-out. Why don't you go to the hairdresser, and get your nails done and stuff? That's so fun to do.'

‘Megan, it's not a ladies' luncheon, it's just some long-ago colleagues,' laughed Susan.

‘Anyway, your grandmother always looks lovely,' Chris said. He gave his mother a quick glance. He realised he hadn't looked at Susan properly for a long time, in the same way that most people stop looking at familiar faces objectively. But, he thought, Susan was still a very good-looking woman. He felt a rush of affection for his mother. She'd been reluctant to attend the reunion but she'd decided to go and he hoped she would enjoy herself.

*

It felt strange to be in the city again, Chris thought. They had taken the earliest flight so that Susan would have time to browse through David Jones department store before her lunch appointment. Chris walked down to York Street to catch the bus to Neutral Bay for his appointment with the real estate agent.

The agent had mentioned on the phone that Chris's tenants had been somewhat erratic in their rental payments, and Chris was concerned that if they were as careless in maintaining his apartment as they were in paying him, then he would have to get the real estate agent to cancel their lease. But when the agent let Chris into the flat, they were both amazed by its cleanliness and neatness.

‘Chris,' said the agent, ‘I know that these people can be a bit on the slow side in paying their rent, but they always get there in the end, and you have to admit that they keep your place in immaculate condition. I would advise you to put up with the irregular payments because you may not get tenants who are as good at looking after your place as these people are. Besides, cancelling leases can lead to a lot of expense and trouble for you.'

Chris looked about his small home and knew that the agent was giving him good advice.

‘Now that I've seen the place, I can only agree with you,' said Chris, relief evident in his voice.

The agent drove Chris back to the bus stop and Chris quickly caught a bus back into the city. Checking out his flat had turned out to be unnecessary, but it had set his mind at ease. Now, he wondered how he could fill in the rest of the morning before he met up with Mac again for lunch. He decided that perhaps the most constructive thing to do would be to visit the newspaper offices around Sydney to let people know that he was still out there, looking for work.

Over the past few weeks he'd continued to try to line up interviews and reconnect with people, but had been fobbed off at every turn. Maybe it was time to be more brazen and if he turned up in a friendly, casual manner, old colleagues would be more inclined to talk to him.

But getting into the offices of the main news organisations proved to be challenging without his media pass, especially as he found that many of his former workmates were no longer working there. Everyone he knew seemed to have disappeared. He finally got past security at the newspaper company he had worked for prior to joining Trinity Press when a photographer he knew from years ago recognised him and let him in. They had a brief conversation which did not encourage Chris at all. They shook hands and Chris took the lift up to the newsroom.

As he stepped out into the open space, he was stunned not only by the empty desks and offices, but by the general air of desultory tedium in the room, the lack of energy, and the absence of any buzz of things happening. It seemed even worse than the newsroom at Trinity Press. He stopped by the desk of a former colleague.

‘This is a surprise, Chris. How're you doing? What brings you in? Still at Trinity?' she asked.

‘No, I left them a while ago. I'm just touching base with a few people, seeing what's around. Seems to be a bit of a slow news day,' Chris commented, looking around the newsroom. ‘This is not exactly the high-energy place I remember.'

‘The twenty-four-seven news cycle doesn't stop, and there's fewer of us to cope with it.'

They chatted a few moments longer and Chris quickly understood that there were no immediate openings, and even if there were he would have to join the very long waiting list of hopeful journalists.

Back on the street, he called Mac to arrange somewhere to meet for lunch.

‘The Greeks okay?' asked the retired newsman.

‘Terrific. Meet you there at one.'

The colloquially named Greasy Greeks, whose real name was something fancy that no one could recall, was cheap as chips with hearty authentic Greek food. Over a bottle of red and a huge plate of moussaka, Chris told Mac what he was doing and how fruitless it was searching for work as a journalist.

‘Yeah, it's tough, all right. So much good talent wasted. And the older we get the faster change seems to happen. Back in the old days, you left school, worked hard in a solid business, got promoted and stayed there till you retired. In those days, companies valued loyalty. Nowadays it's very hard to stay ahead of the game. The future looks so uncertain, especially in the newspaper business,' Mac grumbled.

‘So what do I do? I don't want to be a courier for the rest of my life.'

Mac put down his knife and fork. ‘Maybe create your own work.'

‘I can't very well start my own newspaper!' said Chris.

‘No, but you could start by coming up with an idea for a story and then pitch it to one of the weekend magazines. That will give you the chance to write something of substance and get your name out there again. I know freelancing has its downsides, but newspapers love freelancers. No overheads. Are we having dessert?'

‘Couldn't touch another thing,' said Chris. ‘I have thought about it, but freelancing pays so poorly. I'm really not sure that is what I want to do, but thanks, Mac, maybe I should reconsider.'

‘Think of it as an ad for Chris Baxter. Let people know that you're still a bloody good journalist,' said Mac as he finished off the last of the red wine. ‘Let me know the next time you're in Sydney, won't you? Good to catch up.'

*

On the train to the airport, Chris asked Susan, ‘So? How was it?'

‘Amazing. I don't know where to start.' She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘It was good. I almost did a double take when I saw everyone. Those days were all so very long ago that they could be part of a dream, but seeing the others today made it all real again. You go first, though, how was your day? What are you going to do about your tenants?'

‘Nothing. They are really looking after my place, so it would be foolish not to keep them on. I had lunch with Mac, which was nice. He's still very cluey. Had a suggestion or two for me, which was good because I visited the old press office where I worked
before Trinity and there was nothing going on in the way of work there, I can tell you.'

‘You poor thing. I suppose with just Megan and me for company you must miss your colleagues almost as much as you miss your old job.'

Her remark touched a nerve, but he pushed the feelings away. ‘Enough about me. How were your old friends? Do you wish you'd kept in touch?'

‘Not really. But it was funny in a way. Once I got over the shock of seeing them as old men, when in my head I've always thought of them as young, we did slip back into feeling comfortable and familiar with each other. I'll tell you more when we're on the plane.'

‘But you're pleased you went?'

Susan was silent for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I am glad.'

Settled in their seats after take-off, Chris turned to his mother and asked, ‘So are you going to give me a few more details, or do I have to imagine what happened?'

Susan chuckled. ‘As I said, it was strange to see them again after all this time. Everyone looks different, which is hardly surprising, but they are still just the same in many ways. Mark is still handsome in that silver fox sort of way. He went into his father's firm, but he has just retired and is now chairing a wonderful philanthropic organisation which helps disadvantaged teenagers get jobs in the hospitality trade as well as finding them apprenticeships in other industries. He seems to have all manner of projects on the go.'

‘He sounds very altruistic. I don't think you've ever told me his full name. Would I have heard of him?'

‘He's Mark Chambers.'

Chris looked at her, eyes wide. ‘Mum! He's well known. When I was at university he used to give guest lectures on the economic problems of developing countries and his work with disadvantaged groups is widely known. What about the others?'

‘Oh, well, I guess if you've heard of Mark, then you might know of Evan. He's a surgeon – Dr Evan Llewellyn.'

‘The heart surgeon! Everyone's heard of him.
Wow. He's great media talent. Comes across as very caring and manages to make complex medical procedures understandable. He has kept the medical profession on its toes for years.'

‘That's him. Lovely man.'

Chris was astounded. ‘Mum, you must have known how famous and successful these men became after your time in Indonesia! Why didn't you say something?'

Susan shrugged. ‘What on earth for? I'm not a name dropper and they stopped being part of my life a long time ago. And I don't think of them as being the big names that they've become.'

‘What about David, would I know his name too?'

Susan shook her head. ‘Probably not. It's David Moore. He still looks amazingly fit and is as funny as ever. He more or less carried on with the work he did in Indonesia. He spent his working life with the FAO, the Food and Agriculture Organization that is part of the UN. He's lived in many developing countries, helping farmers develop more productive ways of growing food. But you might recognise the name of the other man I was in Indonesia with, Alan Carmichael.'

‘Mum! Are you telling me that you know Alan Carmichael, the billionaire?' Chris was incredulous. How could his mother, a former teacher from the modest town of Neverend, know someone as rich and as powerful as the property developer Alan Carmichael? And to have never mentioned it! It was almost comical.

‘I suppose there's no need for them to big-note themselves when they all had pretty spectacular careers, one way or another,' he said with a laugh.

‘That's exactly right. There was no boasting. I think it must be restful for them to be surrounded by old friends they can relax and be frank with, rather than by people wanting something. Although Mark did want something. He managed to extract a rather large sum from Alan for his youth foundation.'

‘Good for him. And your other friend, Norma, was she there?' Chris opened a bag of nuts and offered it to her. Susan waved them away.

‘No. They told me that she'd gone to an earlier
reunion but then they'd lost touch.'

‘Does anyone know what happened to her?'

‘She stayed in the nursing profession when she came home but I'm sure she has retired by now. No one has heard from her in years. I can't remember when I last had even a Christmas card from her and neither can the others.'

‘Did you talk about the old days?'

‘Not really. We talked more about current events and politics in light of what we knew about things back then. We all agreed the present links between Australia and Indonesia are a bit too fragile for our liking and that made me sad. We wondered what had happened to the people we knew in Java. Alan told me that he has a mansion in Bali. Evidently he flies there on his private jet. That made us all remember the night we met K'tut Tantri and her stories about her paradise on Bali that was ruined.'

‘Did Alan Carmichael give you his opinion about Bali?'

‘Yes, he said that he'd been there a few times in the mid-seventies and loved it, which is why he decided to build himself a place on the island, but he said that over the years it has changed so much that now it's more like Brighton Pier.'

‘Sad how beautiful places get spoiled. I suppose
they just get loved to death,' said Chris.

‘I imagine that Alan's place is well out of range of the popular tourist spots. David told me that Alan has his own beach and the place is surrounded by acres of padi fields and privacy.'

‘Gosh, Mum, they're certainly an impressive lot. Serious movers and shakers,' said Chris, thoughtfully. ‘And the time you spent together
in Indonesia is an interesting link between you all.' He stopped and chewed on a nut for a moment. ‘You know, there could be a great story here. It's inspiring, when you consider it. Mac suggested that I pitch an idea to one of the weekend magazines to keep my name out there, and I think that telling the tale of a group of young people working together selflessly to improve the lives of our near neighbours, who went on to become prominent Australians, could make fascinating reading. If I did want to write about it, do you think your friends would talk to me about those days?' As the idea took shape in Chris's mind, he suddenly felt energised, better than he had in months.