Roskill: 'The River Always Flows' -- Chapter by chapter rel...

Roskill: 'The River Always Flows' -- Chapter by chapter rel...: The River Always Flows. BY  NEIL COLEMAN 1       When I think about how it could have been, I often cringe. It was so easy way ...

'The River Always Flows' -- Chapter by chapter release

The River Always Flows.

BY  NEIL COLEMAN

1

      When I think about how it could have been, I often cringe. It was so easy way back when there were endless holidays, long weekends and the odd day off school. The sun always seemed to be shining as I sat by the river, watching it flowing past the tree where I sat on an old chair that Mum had thrown out years ago. God forbid that I sit in it now; I doubt that it would hold me, even if it was still there, holding sway over the river bend.

      I used to imagine what lay just around the corner; pretending that a whole new world would open up to me, if only I could muster the courage to venture that far. It was forbidden territory; one that taunted me in my childhood. It was after all the river that had taken my dad away. No, he didn’t drown; although at times I wouldn’t have cared if he had. He simply packed his old suitcase with a few clothes and rowed away in the tiny rowing boat. My brothers and I were never allowed to use it. Dad always said that we were too young and that the river was treacherous. He used it to row across the river to visit our uncle on the farm opposite us.

      I was confused that he didn’t go in the other direction. That was where the nearest town lay; about two miles upriver, past the derelict factory that once served the district. There was a pathway along the river that meandered as far as the factory and we often played ‘war games’ there, shooting one another with arrows either shot from home-made bows or blown through pipes which we fashioned into crude blow-pipes. Neither weapon was particularly effective which was just well, because Mum’s wrath when we injured one another was not worth the fun of the game.

      When Dad left, my older brother tried to fill his place. He changed, from a fun guy, to a mean, foul-mouthed bully. He started to hit us, while Mum stood by, powerless to stop him. It wasn’t as if we had done anything to deserve the beatings. I will never forget the strange look in his eyes, as he raised a stick that he had cut from the bamboo grove near the river, before it came swishing down on whatever part of us he could hit. We tried yelling, crying, but he didn’t stop until it suited him. Mum’s only action was to keep us home from school for a few days.

      The beatings came to an end when one day, he too left us after he and Mum had a disagreement about money. She claimed that he had taken the ‘food money’ she kept in a tin above the fire place. We all knew it was there and even counted it for Mum from time to time. We also knew that our brother had changed in other ways.

      He had left the high school in the town when he was fifteen, a few months before Dad rowed away. Our neighbour took him on to help milk the cows for the ‘town supply,’ telling him that if he ‘did good,’ then a more substantial job was on offer. It was a sort of trial. It didn’t work out. The farmer came over one night, angry that my brother had ruined a whole day’s milk production by contaminating it with cow crap. He had been using the high pressure hose to clean up, without covering the holding tanks and the obvious happened; the shit hit the can as it were.

       A shouting match ensued, involving my mum, dad, brother and the farmer. The end result? ----my brother grabbed his worn-out old bag, filled it with his clothes and headed out the back door. The last I saw of him was his back, striding down the path towards town. It was soon after that Dad left too, leaving Mum, my little sister and me. What the hell were we going to do? Mum wasn’t a saver. We had always lived very much from payment to payment--- the ones that came every month from the milk company. I remember Mum saying that we could never save for a rainy day.

      With Dad and my brother gone, everything went pear-shaped. Dad had never managed to hold down a job in town for more than a few months. It would start off fine, then within weeks; he would start going in late or not at all. He and Mum used to argue, with their words getting harsher as they insulted one another. She would call him ‘a useless sack of shit,’ something that always made me wonder when I tried to visualize the possibility. Sometimes he hit her.

      That made me mad. Even as a twelve year old kid, I would fly at him; beating my little boy hands against his back. He would throw me off, like a piece of flotsam that had attached itself to his legs--- I couldn’t reach much higher.

      ‘I hate you, I hate you--- leave Mum alone!’ I screamed. It didn’t make any difference. He just ignored me and smacked Mum again, this time across the head. She fell, sobbing and curled up on the floor. Then he strode out the door, looking back at his handiwork and on to the pub. Just as well we couldn’t afford a car----he would have driven into the river. Mind you, that could have saved us from more of his nasty moods. I knew then, that I hated my Dad.

       After he left, Mum found a job at the supermarket in town. Her hours were strange; one day she would start at five in the morning, restocking the shelves, then the next, not until the afternoon and then she was on checkout duty. She liked that.  My job was to make sure that my little sister was fed and didn’t stay up too long.

      For a few short weeks, we began to believe that our lives were going to change; that we could ‘make plans’ as Mum like to say. Fat chance--- she blew it! After all of her bad words about Dad, she went and stuffed up. Mum had never been a ‘drinking person.’ I don’t remember ever seeing her drunk; not like Dad. Sure she had a few Shandys at Christmas and maybe on her birthday, but that was it. Now, she had some money and no Dad around to scrounge it from her, she had some sort of independence for the first time in years. 

      She met this bloke. He was a customer and he must have taken a shine to Mum. When Dad was in a good mood, sober and not pissing us off, I often heard him say that Mum was ‘a damned good looker.’ Well this bloke finally talked Mum into going to the pub with her for ’a’ drink. For someone like Mum, who had had a rotten time overall form Dad, this was new territory. She gave in and two hours later she was a pissed as a fart. She didn’t come home at all that night and even worse for her, she didn’t turn up for work the next day.

      If she had been at the job longer, maybe they would have been more understanding, but unfortunately Mum didn’t take into account that small towns have eyes and ears. What you do is soon known by everyone. She was heard slagging off the boss in her pissed state--- you can guess the outcome. Mum was out on her arse; the trial over and done with. She applied for the dole, but that didn’t go far. At the same time, the rent went up and we were soon on the bones of our arses again. Mum got depressed and we came home from school one day and an ambulance was in the driveway.

      The guy she had been shagging had come around for a freebie, but with Mum in her ‘state,’ she started to talk crazy and before long had a kitchen knife in her hand. The guy was useless. He stood by and watched as Mum slashed her wrists. At least he had the balls to call the ambulance, but he didn’t intend hanging around for the aftermath. CYFS (Children Young Persons and Family Service) were called and we were bundled into a car and taken to this ‘nice’ family for a few days. We hardly had time to gather a few bits and pieces. Mum killed herself a few days later.

2

      ‘Jesus, Tania--- you know that get them going. Shit--- we don’t wanna be here long but if you keep doing that, we ‘l never get out of here.’  I looked at my little sister. I don’t think it had quite hit her yet. I think she believed that Mum was coming back through the front door of the house where we were staying. Sure the couple who were looking after us did their best to make us feel at home, but it just wasn’t home. Tania may have only been eight, but she knew how to get me going.

      ‘I didn’t ask to come here! I want Mum.’ Her little face seemed to crumple up like a piece of old paper. For a while I thought she looked a lot older. I tried to calm her down.

      ‘Tania----- I reckon you know what’s happened. We’re gonna have to get on with it eh? We have to get ready for the funeral. Come on. Let’s give her a good send off.’  My words didn’t hit the spot, not in the way I had hoped anyway.

      ‘But what’s gonna happen to us then? Won’t Dad come back and get us or Grandma?’ Her voice had a pleading quality, one that I had no hope of answering without making matters worse. I could hear the couple getting ready to take us in their bedroom down the hall.

      ‘The social worker said that they are trying to find Granma in Aussie, but the last address wasn’t right. You know that Mum and Dad weren’t talking to them.’ Tania’s eyes were glistening with tears. I think she was just about all cried out. I had to be strong for her.

      ‘But can’t we go there and look for her Tom?’

      ‘I wish we could Tania, but I’m not old enough to get passports and get the money too. We gotta stay here for a while. I promise that one day we will find grandma.’ I crossed my fingers like Mum had taught me when I was younger, when I knew I was telling a porky. We were interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door. The couple had let us share the room--- just as well because I don’t think that Tania would have slept if she was away from me.

      ‘Tania--- Tom--- are you ready yet?’ Mrs Carver said as she entered the room. She cast her glance over us, satisfied that we were almost ready. ‘That’s a nice dress dear. Did you get it for birthday?’

      Tania stopped her fussing around and looked at me, as if I was going to answer for her. ‘It’s okay Tania--- just answer,’ I said.

     ‘Mum gave it to me last Christmas,’ she said in a tiny voice and then burst into tears. Mrs Carver came right into the room and put her arms around my sobbing sister. After a few seconds, Tania’s sobs diminished, apart from the occasional hiccup sound.

     ‘Let it out honey. I know it’s not fare when you lose your mum, especially at your age.’ I know the lady meant it, because she and her husband had been really kind to both of us.

      ‘But I want to go home--- to our house,’ Tania said. I thought she was going to start her wailing again so I told her what I thought would settle her down.

      ‘Tania, you know what I told you last night. We were only renting the house and the landlord wants it back. We couldn’t live there alone anyway.’

      ‘You are very mature for your age Tom,’ Mrs Carver said as she let Tania out of her arms. Tania didn’t attempt to move away. She looked washed out and there was a look of hopelessness in her eyes.  ‘How about we go to the funeral and we talk about what happens later eh?’

      Tania sneaked a look at me to see if I was going along with Mrs Carvers’ suggestion. I knew the lady was right so I nodded.

      ‘Okay, but I mean it---- I want us to go home. Dad will come back I’m sure.’ I didn’t have the heart to break the news that things were never going to be the same for us, so I just kept quiet and pretended to tie my laces again.

      ‘Right ----- that’s settled then,’ Mrs Carver said, relief showing on her face. ‘How about you come out to the car when you are ready and we can head off to the church. It was a command rather than a question, so I stood up and checked that Tania was following as I left the bedroom. A few minutes later we drove out onto the main road towards town. The traffic was light and five minutes later Mr Carver parked the car outside the church. There were only about six cars there, and I suspected that most of those were to do with the running of the funeral, an ugly black Hurst amongst them.

      Tania had been unusually quiet during the short drive to the church. As we pulled up a few meters away from the Hurst he said, ‘Is Mummy in there---- in that box?’ Mrs Carver hesitated before answering.

‘Yes she is dear. We’ll just go into the church shall we and then they can start.’

‘Oh--- okay then. Can we sit at the front so we can say goodbye to her properly?’ ’ I was surprised at the change in her mood, but knowing her from past ‘difficulties’, I knew that things could swing around like a puppy mid-flight in a game.

      I helped Tania out of the car. Before I could stop her she rushed into eh church. We followed her and even I was shocked at the emptiness of the place. Mr and Mrs Carver approached me from behind and I felt a hand on my shoulder. ‘How about we sit in the front row? I know you’re sad about there being no friends here to send your mum off.’

      I must admit that I hadn’t thought about it before then, but now as I surveyed the empty church I felt tears welling up, threatening to overflow onto the floor. I knew that we hadn’t really made friends in the district. Mum and Dad had always kept to themselves.  Uncles, aunts and cousins, all lived in other towns and cities or in Aussie, like my grandmother, so we were quite alone. Now, when we faced Mum’s funeral, it really hit me that Tania and I were the only family members. Tania must have had a similar realization, because once again she set up a wailing that bounced off the hard surfaces of the little church walls. I attempted to calm her.

      ‘Come and sit down Tania and Tom,’ a man dressed in a Minister’s garb said quietly. His voice had an immediate effect on Tania. Once again she flipped her mood. She slowly moved towards the front pews and sat, quickly followed by the Carvers and me.

      The sound of the Hurst being opened and the coffin being placed on a trolley could be clearly heard from the front where we were sitting. I turned around and was surprised to that only two men pushed the ungainly trolley down the aisle. I had always imagined about six people bringing the coffin in for a funeral. I turned to Mrs Carver but she must have anticipated my question.

      ‘They carry the casket out later dear ,but today we don’t have enough people to help, so we’ll mange won’t we?’

      ‘I am sure I can help with that,’ a voice said from behind us. We all turned. A middle-aged man with long scruffy hair had just sat in the pew behind us... ‘I’m your mum; s cousin from down the line---- Mick’s the name.

      His eyes were steely blue, reminding me of a guy in a horror movie I had seen a few weeks ago on Television. A shiver snaked down my spine. I didn’t remember Mum ever talking about a cousin called Mick. But there was something else about him. Those eyes twinkled and made me want to know more about him. Now was not the time.

     After the coffin was suitable placed the minister addressed us. My mind retreated to somewhere else. I’m buggered if I remember what he said but all of a sudden the three men, including Mick were taking the coffin back to the Hurst. Mrs Carver told us that we were going straight back to their house where she had a nice meal in the crockpot. She whispered something into Micks ear as he slowly accompanied Mum’s coffin back to the Hurst. He nodded and they disappeared out the front of the church.

       ‘Aren’t we gonna burry Mum?’ Tania asked. She didn’t seem too upset----yet.

      ‘No dear---- it’s all been arranged. They are taking your Mum to the crematorium and then she can go to heaven.’ My sister wasn’t stupid. Maybe it would have been better to have told her something more like the truth.

      Tania stomped her feet, so hard that I thought she might injure herself. ‘I want to see where they put her!’ She ran out through the door, just as the Hurst started to pull out of the car park. Tania didn’t stop. She tore out through the entrance and we could hear her screaming, ‘Mummy---Mummy!’

A shadowy figure whisked past me and followed, narrowing the gap between my fleeing sister, finally catching up with her. He swept her off her feet, just in time, as a car veered away from them, nearly colliding. The driver shouted abuse and carried on down the road, passing the Hurst and accelerating away. Mick brought Tania back to us, set her down and winked at me.

      ‘Thanks----Uncl----Mick,’ I said.

      ‘Just call me Mick--- that’s fine. Now young lady, you don’t want to be running on that busy road---what with all those crazy drivers around, you could have been bowled over.’

      Tania actually looked a little guilty. She looked up at Mick, unsure how to respond. Finally she said, ‘Where’s Mummy going?’

      Mick didn’t beat about the bush like the rest of us had. ‘Look princess---you know that when people die that they have to be buried or cremated--- you know what cremated is?’

      Tania shook her head, looking up at Mick towering above her. ‘No---do they put cream on her?’

      Mick kept a straight face while looked away, just about busting. I think it was the first time I had smiled all day. Mrs Carver took the opportunity to bring a bit of order to the proceedings. ‘No dear--- some people like to be burnt when they die and then they have a little headstone or plaque in a place they loved. Perhaps that’s what we will do in a few months when you are feeling better.’

      ‘But I’m not sick----does it hurt--? I suppose it doesn’t eh, cause you don’t feel anything when you’re dead---right?’

      ‘That’s right little one,’ Mick said. You’re a big girl; now so you understand.

      ‘My names Tania --- not little one or princess,’ Tania replied. ‘What are we gonna do now?’

      ‘We’re all going back home now--- you too mick. I think you may want to get to know your young relatives.’

      ‘I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll bring my missus too, if that’s okay.

Talk To Me-- first 2 chapters

I am doing this to make it easier to find.

Chapers 1 and 2 of 'Talk To Me'

Published by Neil Coleman---2012

Thanks to the people who inspired me.

The characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

ISBN-----978-0-473-20842-4

Other books by Neil Coleman:

‘Coastal Yarns’ (A compilation of nine short stories)

‘Roskill’

Available from the author direct at,

neilcolemanauthor@gmail.com

Or

neilcolemanauthor.blogspot.com

 

TALK TO ME

1

    Damn, I’m late---I pulled into the underground car park and rushed upstairs to the studio. They were playing music from the sixties to fill in time, presumably until I was in the hot seat. I had to go past my producer, Jean first.

    ‘You’re on Garry,’ Jean whined.

    It’s always the same—the rush of adrenaline, along with the dread----yes dread.  I get old fashioned nerves each time that red light goes on. Up until that moment, I’m in my own world; thinking about what’s for dinner, how my face looks in the mirror, did I put on that new cologne I got for Christmas?  Damn--- my heads in the clouds one minute, and then I remember I forgot to turn off the element after I had fried my eggs for breakfast.

     Shit--- this has to stop. It’s the same each morning. Maybe I should try the graveyard shift. There’s plenty of lulas on there. I can relate to them--- more my kind of person, give or take a few brain cells of course. But this is where I am now so I better get on with it.

    ‘Good morning fellow humans and those of you who are still wishing to attain that level.’

    ‘Careful Garry’, Jean interrupted---- ‘you know what the boss said.’

    Damn—does Jean have to remind me, the gormless twat?  I wish she’d stop crawling up the bosses arse. God she’s so far up there, she needs rescuing.

     ‘Better pull back on that one my lovelies---what’s it gonna be this morning—the bus or are you gonna risk driving? Lookin’ out the window, I can tell you that you’d by superficially mad to take the wheels. It’s fair pissing down and the roads are like rivers of tears—

     Jean intruded again--- ‘Keep this up boyo and it’ll be your tears.’

    Jesus--- will this cow shut the fuck up? Get a life. It’s not like I give a stuff what she thinks, boss or no boss. I thought she had agreed to cut me a bit of slack.

    ‘If you’re still in bed---stay there. Ring in--- light up those boards--- talk to me. Ok---first caller--- John---how’s your day going?

    ‘Crap—just bloody crap.’

    ‘Careful John, I don’t want to yellow-card you.’

    ‘It’s my damned neighbour--- the creeps had a party going all night. I haven’t had any bloody sleep---‘

    ‘What—music, yelling?’

    ‘You name it Garry—they done it--- hell, if it wasn’t for my missus, I’d have taken a bat to the creeps.’

    ‘Warn him just once more Garry,’ Jean said.

    ‘Hey John--- this is your last warning--- come on mate--- this isn’t the graveyard shift—you don’t want the boss in my ear eh?’

    ‘Sorry there Garry--- but it’s just so frustrating. I tried Noise Control, but they didn’t do stuff all—is it OK to say that?’

    ‘Yeah, John.’

    ‘Well they came, for what damned good that did--- Jesus, these shit---oops sorry Garry---swine---they---‘

    ‘Who, John?’

    ‘What--- oh---- the Noise Control dudes--- they did nothing--- aren’t they supposed to take the sounds or something? --- Well it made no difference. They were at it again within minutes.’

    ‘I take it you rang again John.’

    ‘Yeah--- but a fat lot of good that did eh--- they were at it for another hour before they came back.’

    ‘And then?’

    ‘Nothing---- bloody nothing--- oops.’

    ‘I’m taking him down Garry.’ Jean again

    ‘No wait Jean!—oh damn— I’m sick of you doin’ this Jean.’

    ‘We’re gonna take a break peoples--- be right back.’

    ‘Jean---How the fuck do you think I can run a show with you bitching it up all the time--- for Christ’s sake.’

    ‘Calm down Garry--- you know the rules---how many times do I have to pull the plug. You know it affects our ratings---‘

    ‘Stuff the ratings--- anyway, my show is at its highest since I came here!’

    ‘Don’t shout Garry--- this has come from the top----breaks over.’

    ‘Welcome back people--- well you heard what happened to John--- let’s keep it seemly. Right--- who have we on line two----Tania--- no-----Janet. Talk to me Janet.’

    ‘‘That last guy was a wimp Garry----hell, I’m a first time caller and I know the rules. Hey---all he had to do was keep ringing--- they eventually fix it--- hell--- he needs to grow some--- well you know what I mean. Gosh, we sorted out our neighbourhood real quick--- we don’t have any loud all-night parties here anymore--- you know what we did?---we----?’

    ‘You gonna tell me I-----‘

    ‘It’s real good around here now—I mean--- we don’t wanna spoil people’s parties, but hey, they gotta have respect--- yes that’s what it’s all about----When  I call them they-----.’

     ‘Garry--- for God’s sake—we need to hear you too,’ Jean said, once again interrupting my thoughts.

    “I know--- just get out of my damn ear Jean--- I know what I’m doing without you butting in every few second.”

    ‘Just do your job Garry---we can talk about this later?’

    ‘Janet--- It’s talkback--- not some platform for you--- you know--- a two way process. So how have you solved the perennial problem of loud all night partied then?’

     ‘By not using big words Garry. We warn them like---and then call the Noise Control. We got this system where  heaps of neighbours all call in and we swamp them--- that gets action and if they still don’t shut up, we go around ourselves--- I can tell you we have had a few real good stand ups with a few of the ones who weren’t getting the message---they soon---‘

    ‘Well it seems that Janet’s got it all sussed. How about we hear from a few of you who live in suburbs where--- to put it kindly--- the police and Noise Control are simply not doing their job.’

    ‘Careful Garry.’

   ‘Hey will you just stay out of my head for a while—damn—I’m gonna push the wrong button soon and the listeners will get a mouthful--- is that what you want Jean?’

    ‘We need to talk after your shift Garry--- back on’

    ‘Peter—how’s your day going?’

    ‘Do you always cut people off Garry—why don’t you let them finish?’

    ‘Sometimes people go a bit overboard---you know what I mean Peter?’

    ‘Like they swear and say something you disagree with--- you are all, the same---‘

    ‘Whoa---stop right there Peter---it’s not so much the disagreeing---hey--- let’s face it—I sometimes play the Devil’s Advocate--- you know--- to keep things going----- we wouldn’t want just people agreeing all the time would we?’

    ‘Yeah—suppose so—anyway---I disagree with that Janet lady----I have nothing but praise for the Noise Control in my area. We don’t need to confront the noisy ones ourselves.’

    ‘So you’re more than happy with them then?  Got any examples Peter?’

    ‘Well, the other night, some young hoons were having a bit of a barmy in their garage—you now--- all that language like F this and Mother—oops you get the picture--- I swear they were on something, cause they were really goin’ for it---- language, fights--- the lot along with that low-life music.’

    ‘What’s low-life music Peter?’

    ‘That stuff with no tune and heaps of bad language like what I nearly said before---‘

    ‘Glad you didn’t Peter--- very glad.’

    ‘They need to throw away the key with those sort--- stick the sods in the army—make them sweat. It wasn’t like that in my day.’

    ‘Was your day that much better Peter---? I take it you were around in the last war.’

    ‘I was--- we all pulled together then--- not like now--- it’s dog eat dog--- too bad about the community--- what they need is faith.’

    ‘You sure are covering a lot of ground Peter--- what---- we’ve had faith, war, low-life, music--- you’re on a roll.’

    ‘We need to lock ‘em all up--- chuck away the key.’

    ‘What about sticking them all on an island?’

    ‘Garry----I know where you’re going with this. Stop playing with him.’

    ‘Sure Jean and you stop---‘

    ‘You agree with me then, Garry--- discipline.’

    ‘I’m not agreeing or disagreeing with you Peter.’

    ‘It’s fence-sitting guys like you that has got us into all this mess, if you ask me.’

    ‘What mess Peter.’

    ‘It’s all going to the dogs.’

    ‘You need to be specific Peter.’

    ‘I know what you’re doing--- you’re taking the piss--- you know what I mean.’

    ‘I keep asking you to give me an example--- then we will all know what you mean.’

    ‘‘Young people don’t respect us anymore—if we did what they do—hell we would get what for----who’s gonna employ them--- they’re lazy and----.’

    ‘Gee Peter--- you really don’t like the world do you.’

    ‘You are----‘

    ‘Well that was Peter’s take on---what can I say--- everything?’

    ‘You goaded that guy Garry--- this has to stop.’

    ‘Just play some music Jean.’

    ‘You must stop playing with them Garry.’

    ‘Jean--- how long have you been in talkback--- it’s not about you. I have to push them, or it goes nowhere. I can’t let every bloody crackpot have a stage without challenging them. You are cramping my style--- Why don’t you look at the ratings when I’m on? ---- Doesn’t that tell you something?’

    What can I say? You see what I put up with every day from that cow. She has no damn idea what talkback-radio is all about. Christ knows how she got her job. Rumour has it she left the last job under a bit of a cloud. Nothing gets me going more than been interrupted in the middle of a session with a caller. Of course I goad them. If I didn’t, the show---yes show---because that’s all it is, would be pretty damn boring. Sure they all say it’s about letting people exchange ideas and putting alternatives across, but I don’t care what they say it’s a “show” and it’s simply about ratings and money.

    OK--- I’d had my hissy-fit. The rest of my shift was the usual crap; a mixture of religious nuttos, trendy lefties and right-wing yesterday men. Somewhere in the middle, I heard from a few ’reasonable’ people, not too many. After all--- who the hell reacts to nice people? I try to keep their calls short.

    So it’s home to an empty house—well, not quite. There is a crazy Jack Russell who has most probably been driving Jasmine the cat nuts for the last few hours. Yes, Jasmine uses her brains and goes to visit the neighbours. She has worn them down with her unremitting love, and now they think that she’s the cat’s whiskers. My partner comes home at some crazy hour--- I am well asleep by then.

    I open the gate and there she is, peering out the window. No--- not the neighbour--- the dog, the Jack Russell--- there is a distinct difference. Most dogs welcome their masters, with an ebullient wagging of the tail.  Not this one. She jumps, wimps, whines, scratches, barks and demands. Demands what? Well—she just wants to go and meet her mates down at the bay.

    It’s like this every day, without fail, no matter what the weather is doing.  I win in two ways; my physical and mental health. If I don’t take her, all hell breaks loose. Honestly--- you should see the damage she does when I resist her pleas. The toll so far is: two computer chargers, numerous speaker leads, Mum’s old rocking chair and all of the pillows. Then there is the unknown damage or soon to be discovered trail of destruction. So I give in and peace resumes, after the walk of course.

    ‘How’s my little girl?’ I say. I try to open the door without dropping anything, because it’s into the garden for objects I drop and then, damned if I can get her to return it without a bribe. I pile my stuff onto the table, increasing the general flotsam that has gathered over the last few days. My partner clears it every so often, which equates to piling it up somewhere else. Bills, important receipts, library books, dog lead, shopping that hasn’t been put away--- all of them compete for space on the little table.

    By now, Spot’s excitement has reached a level that cannot be ignored. I have to say—‘It’s OK we are going walkies—just wait.’  She knows what I mean. If I don’t say those words, she kind of figures we are not going walkies and eventually settles down, planning revenge on the furniture and any part of me that drapes over the couch. Of course I know that postponing or putting off the walk, is a no-go zone.

    I change as quickly as I can, make a decision as to whether I take the gumboots, jacket and on extreme weather days, the leggings. If I have time I may put the slow-cooker on so that I can arrive home to the aroma of a stew or some other delight. Usually that has been taken care of by the partner.

    Now begins the attempt to put the lead on. She has often grabbed it in her mouth and in her excitement, attacks it with her little sharp teeth. After a few commands of ‘up—up’ she jumps with the lead onto the top of the couch. I click the lead around her neck and she dives down and heads for the door. I gather the poop bags, car keys and we head out the door.

 

2   

   ‘Right Garry--- lets not have the shenanigans today eh?’

    ‘Oh God—does she ever let off--- I’ve just walked in the door. It’s bad enough that I have to look at the cow. Damn, it wasn’t like this with Fran. We got on just fine. She intervened rarely and I have to say, appropriately, but this woman--- well--- I don’t know what her problem is--- she seems to want to control every moment that I’m on air.

    ‘Now look Garry--- we don’t have to fight. I’m just doing my job. We’re supposed to be a team you know.’

    That tone--- it drives me nuts.  ‘No—you look Jean. You’re supposed to encourage the smooth flow of my show and comment when needed, but that’s it--- when needed. Got the picture? You talk too much and I’m bloody sick of hearing your voice in the middle of my chats. It interrupts my chain of thought. You don’t understand the subtleties of talk back. If people get upset by what I say--- that adds to the appeal. That’s why people listen--- it’s a bloody show!’  Ooops--- I’m shouting. Good—her face looks red—maybe she will get it.

    ‘You’re so wrong Garry. Yes it’s a show, but it is an informative one, where people get to discuss their views in a safe and rationale way.’

    ‘Give me a break Jean. What the fuck are you on?’

    Please don’t use that language to me Garry. I won’t take it.’

    ‘Then get the fuck off my back you silly cow.’

    ‘You’ve gone too far Garry. I am going to take this to the manager. You haven’t heard the last of this. Now – please get to your place--- the programme starts in a few minutes.’

    ‘Show--- Jean--- it’s a show. Programme my arse.’

   ‘Damn--- I think I have gone too far this time--- but she gets me going. Oh well—it’s not the first time the boss has needed to see me. I better get the latest ratings--- that usually shuts him up.  Two minutes to go--- better get in. I set myself up--- I have my favourite chair--- fits me like a glove, but speaking of gloves--- they are off if she speaks to me like that again.

    ‘Garry---we have breaking news---- stand by please.’

    She said please--- Oh my God. ‘Ah---- OK Jean.’ Mmmm—that’s wasn’t so hard.

    ‘Good morning everyone. Hey we have breaking news--- be back to you in a few minutes.’

    ‘A body has been found at the lagoon near the old port. Police report that a group of walkers and their dogs found the body hidden in a flax bush. One of the dogs alerted its owner, who immediately called the police. The identity is unknown at this stage. Police are not saying at this stage if foul play is involved. The ladies who were walking are unavailable at this stage for comment. Victim support is talking to them.’

    ‘OK Garry--- you’re on.’

    ‘Wait Jean--- that’s the ladies I walk with after work--- give me a moment please?’

    Shit--- I wonder if that was Cecelia or Marge—maybe it was Shirley. Hell--- they must be pretty messed up. Better text them.

    ‘Garry--- you look terrible--- are you OK?’

    ‘Can you play some music---ah---I think I know those ladies--- that’s where I walk.’

    ‘Just take your time Garry—I will play a back-up interview we have been meaning to air for quite some time--- mind you it may generate a bit of traffic too--- it’s about an unsolved murder--- you know--- that girl who disappeared last year--- the ten year old?

    ‘Yes I remember that--- thanks Jean.’  She is being nice to me.

    I texted Cecelia.  ‘Was dat yu hu found body?’  I waited a minute then—‘yip--- bloody awful—talkin to vikt suprt.’  I sent back----‘R u going back there later?’  She said---‘see ya then—bring a bottle--- joke’ I said---‘Right—bye—back on air..’ I sat for a few minutes thinking.  Shit, those poor ladies. I know they’re pretty tough but that’s terrible. I hope they didn’t know the dead person.

    ‘Garry--- are you OK to continue? The interview has nearly finished.’

    Where’s the tone?  I’m not sure I can cope with this. The light came on.

    ‘Talk to me people. Yet another murder in our fair city. At least it’s not a kid this time.

    ‘Bad tastes Garry’

    The bitch is back--- Oh well--- I knew it wouldn’t last.

    ‘Bad news--- the real bad thing is that I walk in that park. Makes you feel unsafe I reckon. We have John on line one. Hi John—how’s your day?’ 

    ‘Morning Garry. I suppose they’ll catch the bugger and give him a few years so he can come back and do it all again. I’m so sick of----‘

    ‘We all are John--- but lets catch him—or is it a her?’

    ‘Course it’s a man. Women don’t do that. Anyway—is the body a man or a woman?’

    ‘Wait John--- something’s just coming through.’

    Police have just announced that the body found in the lagoon was that of a male aged in his early twenties. From all appearances, the body was dumped but shows no signs of injury. The police are interviewing several women who regularly walk in that area. Victim Support is also talking to the women. As yet, the victim has not been identified. The police are appealing for anyone who may have been in the vicinity of the lagoon late last night to contact the following number.

    ‘Still there John?

    ‘Yes-----I bet it’s gang related---a deal gone wrong.’

    ‘Don’t you think we should wait John--- you know—until we know more?’

    ‘They should all be lined up against the wall and shot--- or stick them on an island and let the buggers kill one another.’

    Right--- thanks John.  That was John’s take folks. Let’s have a commercial break.

    I looked across at Jean, behind the glass. She sits alongside a receptionist. They love to save space and money. God--- they’re so damn penny pinching. I would have thought with the great ratings we achieve that they’d be raking in the money. Perhaps she feels a bit cramped. She smiles, in that supercilious way that I am sure she has cultivated since she came here. It seems to say---‘just remember Garry--- I’m your boss,’ and ‘you need me.’

    ‘Ready for the next call Garry?’

    ‘I nod and turn away, looking at the clock on the side-wall.

    ‘Todd—how’s your morning going?’

    ‘Better than yours is gonna be Garry.’  What a God-damned awful voice, I thought. It’s one of those that you can’t get out of your mind.

    ‘And why would that be Todd?’

    ‘I killed him Garry--- right by where you walk every day.’

    ‘What---this isn’t something to be joking about Todd—someone is dead.’

    ‘Just think Garry. It could have been you and that little black and white dog you walk with.’

    ‘Keep him on Garry.’ Jeans face looked ashen. That smile was well and truly gone. I felt a sudden chill course down my back.

    ‘You think you’re so smart eh---- you and your lady friends. I bet they’re shitting themselves now, cause I know they listen to you on their headphones if they’re walking.’

    He’s been watching me. I don’t believe him, but he knows I walk with Spot and the ladies. Pull yourself together boy.

    ‘So you know I walk my dog there. What’s that prove Todd--- if that’s your real name.’

    ‘Keep him on Garry--we are on to the police and they are trying to check out where he’s ringing from--- hang in there.’  She had a desperate tone in her voice, quite unlike anything I had ever heard before--- even when I swear at her.

    ‘Todd---- this is all a bit hard to believe. Heaps of people know where I walk. God--- it’s even on my blog.’  Don’t lose it. He’s full of crap.

    ‘Don’t bother to try and trace me producer person. You really think I’m so stupid as to ring from my own phone. I just broke into a house--- they got nice stuff here too. I’ll take that gold antique clock when I leave--- better go—catch ya.’

    I’m sure I’m sweating now—its dripping down my back. I doubt the guys for real, but still--- I’m getting an uncomfortable feeling about this.

    ‘Garry—they got the address—but I bet he’s long gone. You did well. I think you better call it a day. Jim here’s gonna take over the rest of your shift.’

    ‘‘Thanks Jean.’ My God—the lady’s got a heart.’

    ‘‘The police are here Garry. They would like to talk to you before you disappear.’

    Bugger--- that’s all I need. Picking Spot up and going for an early walk sounds like a much better idea. They better be here soon, otherwise they can see me down at the lagoon—I bet the ladies will want to catch up with me too. ‘I’ll drink some of that crap coffee they try to make out as top-shelf.

    ‘Garry Thompson’? ----- Detective Sam Hunter. I won’t take up much of your time. Pity we didn’t get to that guy in time. It wasn’t far from here actually—but he had gone, with his goodies and I suspect that the car he used was stolen too.’

    ‘What---- you got all that already?’ I thought I’d be nice to them. You never know if this all turns out to be true.’

    ‘It’s looking pretty much that he knows a lot, even if he didn’t kill the guy. His knowledge of you and your mates walking must be taken seriously. I would stay away from the lagoon if I was you though.’

    ‘Fat chance detective--- I think I am more sacred of my dog not walking than that creep.’ Shit did I really say that? ‘I doubt that the ladies I walk with will be put off too.’

    ‘Look Garry--- we can’t be putting a watch tag on you--- it’s your risk.’

    ‘Fine with me Sam. Now, how can I help you? No doubt the lady behind the glass can let you hear the caller--- we keep the recordings for quite a while.’

    ‘Did he sound familiar to you Garry? More often than not, these people are known to the victim--- well you’re not a victim--- yet.’

    ‘You trying to scare me Sam--- well it’s working but I’m still going down there—just as soon as I pick up my monster.’  I really don’t feel like I sound.

    ‘Suit yourself Garry, but here’s my card, if you notice anything or anyone, should I say.’

    ‘Oh--- right. I’ll be off then.’

    ‘Just one more thing Garry. The dead guy was pretty messed up. We’re dealing with something pretty bad here and we don’t have a clue as to who it is. When I came in here, I heard from headquarters, that there is absolutely nothing on the deceased that points us in any direction. We know who he is now. He lives at a half-way house--- he seems or seemed harmless to anyone--- wouldn’t hurt a fly from what I can gather---- so be careful.’

    ‘Will do Sam,’ I said confidently----not.