I didn’t want to talk about it. ‘No idea. Lovely chat, apres wine appreciation, apres brief sleep, beach walk, diary reading, whatever. Unfortunately you find me at the beginning of a working day. I’ll have to say goodbye.’
Silence. ‘You resent happiness in others, don’t you, Jack?’ said Rosa. ‘Well, that’s perfectly understandable.’
I felt a coldness in my heart and I said, flippant voice, ‘It’s always nice to have one’s frailties understood and forgiven.’
She felt the coldness, it passed to her across the wire.
‘Jack, I didn’t mean that, Jack, listen, I meant…’
I said, ‘I’ve got to go. Miles to go. Promises to keep. Woods lovely dark and deep. Don’t accept any en primeur offers.’
‘En what?’
‘You pay now and get the wine later.’
‘I’m not sure brothers are worth the trouble,’ she said, a tremble in her voice. ‘They don’t seem to have any utility value.’
‘Except to tell you that they love you,’ I said.
I had never said that to her before. It had never crossed my mind to say it. Any more than it had occurred to me to be the one to offer the kiss on meeting or parting.
A long silence. ‘Is that so?’ she said, stronger voice now. ‘Well, perhaps they have some limited use.’
31
Taub’s. I had to let myself in. Not unusual. Charlie often failed to take the door off the latch.
Cold. That was unusual.
In winter, which was most of the year in Melbourne, Charlie’s first act was to light the big potbelly. The building took at least an hour to warm up.
No Charlie. I felt a pulse of anxiety in my throat, phoned.
It rang. Rang. Rang.
‘Ja, Taub,’ he said. It sounded like a command.
I breathed out. ‘So,’ I said. ‘The work. Who needs the work? How many lives you got? The work, the work can wait. Lie in bed, think about how the pishers gave you a good thrashing.’
Charlie laughed, the full laugh, leading to wheezing and sniffing. You didn’t hear the full laugh too often. The Charlie minimalist smile was enough to make you think you’d said something acute.
‘On my foot,’ he said. ‘The toes. Can’t walk. Like a cripple.’
‘On your foot what?’
‘What? What you think? The ball. The bowl.’
I said, ‘Oh. Sorry to hear that. Didn’t realise it was a contact sport. I’ll just struggle on here on my own then.’
Charlie said, ‘Ten to eleven in the morning. Two hours before you see I’m not there?’
‘I thought you were at the back, being very quiet.’
The snort. ‘Tomorrow, I make up the time.’
I said goodbye, put down the phone. Boss of Taub’s today. I went over to my glue-up of the evening before, admired my efforts, set to work taking off the clamps, all a little less tight now. A very pleasant task, spiced with anxiety about the perfection of the joints, the squareness of the frame.
Boss of Taub’s. A person could come in wanting something made. From time to time, a person did. Hi, they said. This is really old-fashioned. Terrific. Like Europe. More machines though. We stayed in this villa in Italy. In Umbria? Yes? Part of Italy. And there was this table. Really unusual. Long, I don’t know, from here to that wall. And narrow, that’s the difference. I’ve looked everywhere, they’re all too wide. But amazing, it had three sets of legs? Six legs? The outside ones sort of go outwards. I’ll draw it for you. Dark wood. Think you can make that? In pine. I’ll stain it myself. Not too many knots. I’ll need a price. I have to tell you, I’ve been ripped off by some so-called carpenters.
Listen politely. Show the person the door.
A person didn’t come in.
I passed the day in solitude, absorbed by the effort of bringing into being something people would admire and which would outlive them. I pushed away thoughts about Gary Connors, about the morass into which I had ventured so blithely.
A good day.
Charlie once said, elevation of chin, narrowing of eyes revealing that he was about to deliver a message, ‘Jack, make something, you look at it, you’re happy. The work it took, that’s not work.’
At home, cleansed by the day’s honest efforts, I was struck by the disgusting condition of the place. A frenzy came over me. As I vacuumed and scrubbed and dusted, my mind turned over the questions I should have asked Dave. The first one was why on earth I should believe him. I was on the downstairs de-cobwebbing when the phone rang.
‘Jack, Lyall Cronin.’ Voice deeper than I remembered.
‘You find me with a featherduster in my hand.’
Measured interval.
‘If I’m interrupting something…’
‘Between me and this featherduster you can come,’ I said. ‘A welcome interposition.’
She laughed. ‘Interposition. Good word. Bandied about a lot in suburban legal practices, I imagine.’
‘Endlessly bandied.’
‘Jack, I remembered something, I don’t know if it’s of any use.’ Pause. ‘You might want to drop by some time?’
‘I want to. When’s a good time?’
Pause.
‘Well, when’s a good time? Thursday? Friday? Actually, now’s a good time. No, God, Tuesday night, it wouldn’t be a good time for you…’
Sight, identify, fire. Not a millisecond of hesitation. ‘Tuesday night’s a very acceptable time. I could holster the featherduster, shower, be around shortly.’
‘Good. Yes. Well. You know how to find it.’
‘Yes. Well, see you.’
I stood for a moment, thought about my motives, decided not to think about them, went upstairs to shower, get the glue off my fingertips. Then I considered driving, phoning for a cab, instead walked down to Brunswick Street, fended off two pushers, got a cab, Ukrainian driver. I was in safe hands. He was a qualified surgeon and an Olympic skier, shockingly unappreciated in his adopted land and seriously thinking about going back.
32
Lyall Cronin’s hair was damp, black, back from her forehead. Cotton sweater, jeans. Barefoot. Taller than I recalled. Even barefoot.
‘Mr Irish.’ The crooked smile. ‘That was quick.’
‘Like to see the ID?’ I asked.
‘I think I remember you. Come in.’
She led the way down the passage into the room on the right, a room I hadn’t seen, a comfortable sitting room, long and narrow, assortment of armchairs, two big sofas facing each other, paintings and photographs on the walls, books and newspapers on the coffee table. On the CD player, something classical, piano. A near-full bottle of red wine and a glass stood on the ornate wooden mantelpiece above a badly made and dying fire.
