The Good Son

by Greg Fleet

  ‘Remind me – what exactly did we come here to do?’

  ‘Have a holiday and drink wine on the grave of a dead friend, of course,’ said Tamara. ‘And I have a surprise for you tomorrow.’

  ‘Can you tell me what it is?’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ she said. ‘But I’m not going to.’

  Eventually they picked up their stuff and wandered back to the hotel. In the foyer Phillip, the receptionist, asked James if he and his ‘mother’ would be having breakfast in the restaurant or up in their rooms the following morning.

  ‘Put us down for eight-thirty in the restaurant,’ interjected Tamara. ‘We have a lot on tomorrow, and if my son is not up and eating by eight-thirty, he will sleep until midday. He’s been like that ever since he was ten years old.’

  ‘Mum,’ complained James, ‘I haven’t slept like that for years.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Phillip. ‘The family secrets are safe here with us!’

  In the lift James and Tamara didn’t say a word, but neither of them could stop smiling.

  The next morning over breakfast Tamara seemed distracted.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked James.

  ‘Oh, my back has been giving me hell so I didn’t sleep very well,’ responded Tamara with a grimace.

  ‘Should we go see a doctor?’

  ‘No. A doctor would just tell me what they have all told me. I’m old and ill and I won’t be getting any younger or better. Anyway, we haven’t got time for doctors; today is your surprise.’

  Just then Tamara’s phone buzzed as she received a text. She read it and smiled.

  ‘It’s time.’

  Just then came the unmistakable sound of a champagne cork being popped and a waiter appeared with a bottle of Dom Pérignon and some glasses.

  ‘Tamara! This is so cool! Who doesn’t like Dom? Especially in the morning. I don’t know what I did to deserve this but . . . Thank you so much!’

  ‘It’s not from me,’ said Tamara, still smiling.

  ‘It’s from the couple behind you,’ said the waiter.

  James turned around in his chair to thank whoever it was who had provided the champagne, and he shrieked. He shrieked for two reasons.

  Reason #1: Usually when you are told someone is behind you they are at least a couple of metres away. These two people had snuck up and were about six inches behind James’ head and grinning madly.

  Reason #2: It was Cash Driveway and Sophie Glass.

  A surprise indeed.

  ‘Holy shit,’ said James, getting up and hugging everyone in sight. ‘Soph! Cash! This is the best! What are you doing here?’

  ‘We were invited,’ said a beaming Sophie, gesturing towards Tamara. ‘Someone thought that you might like to see us.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. This is the best thing ever. How long are you staying?’ asked James, still dancing around and hugging people. He even hugged the waiter who had just poured everyone champagne.

  ‘We’re here for a couple of days,’ said Cash. ‘You sounded like you were having way too much fun to not include us.’ He looked around. ‘This place is pretty cool. I think I could get used to it here.’

  ‘You haven’t seen anything yet, Mr Driveway,’ said Tamara, shaking his hand by way of introduction. ‘Come and look at the view. I hope you brought some paint and brushes.’ With that Tamara led Cash through the dining room and out onto one of the balconies. ‘I hope you two don’t mind if we leave you alone for a minute?’ she said over her shoulder to the still beaming Sophie and James.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Yes,’ added James, ‘no rush.’

  The two of them stood there, taking each other in.

  ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ said James. ‘I had no idea that you were coming.’

  ‘I know. I’ve missed you too, and in the last couple of days, whenever we spoke, it took every bit of my self-control not to blurt out, “We’re coming to meet you! I’ll see you in two days!” If Tamara wasn’t in her seventies, I’d be quite jealous. In fact, I’m quite jealous anyway. And I’m so proud of you. You should hear the way she talks about you on the phone. You’ve made this trip everything that it could be for her. She adores you.’

  ‘I adore her! She’s the best. Well, I mean, you’re the best, but she’s pretty fucking cool. And she’s always telling me what I should and shouldn’t do when it comes to you.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, like the other day I told her that I loved you.’ James downed half a glass of champagne in one awkward swallow.

  ‘What did she say to that?’ asked Sophie, unintentionally moving from one foot to the other. She kind of knew that he loved her, but he’d never said it before. Now he had. It was one of those things that can’t be unsaid. She took the remaining half-glass of champagne from James and finished it.

  ‘She said that I should tell you as soon as I saw you next.’

  ‘Do you think you will tell me?’

  ‘I doubt it. I’m too shy.’

  ‘Fair enough. And if you did tell me, I’d probably just say something like, “And I love you too, you massive idiot.” And that’s just predictable.’

  James’ face lit up. Did she just say that? She just said that. He was smiling so much it almost hurt. He took the empty glass from her hand and put it down on the table. ‘I’ll fill this up in a minute,’ he said as they came together in a hug that was so meant to be that they virtually disappeared into each other.

  ‘But now we’ve both said it. I love you, Sophie Glass.’

  ‘You know James, if this was a film, this would be the bit where we kissed.’

  ‘I agree. It totally would be. I reckon even if it was just a book this is the bit where we would kiss.’

  ‘Probably . . . Books are like that.’

  They kissed.

  After a few seconds the kiss was interrupted by a voice asking, ‘More champagne?’

  It was the waiter.

  ‘Um . . . Sure,’ said Sophie, feeling equal parts happy and exposed.

  ‘Sir?’ the waiter asked James.

  ‘That would be great,’ he said, before adding, ‘You know, we were just kissing.’

  ‘I know,’ said the waiter, looking embarrassed. ‘It’s just, you were chatting and I came to fill your glasses, but just as I was going to ask, you said something about books and then started kissing and I was kind of stuck standing there with the bottle. So I thought, “Let them have the best bit of the kiss, and then ask . . .”’

  ‘And the first bit of a kiss is the best bit,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Yes. At least usually,’ said the waiter. ‘I mean, some people probably love the end bit of kissing, but I prefer the beginning. It’s all about potential. I do feel like a bit of a killjoy now, though.’

  ‘Oh, no. Don’t feel like that. You definitely let us have the best bit. Don’t you agree, Soph?’

  ‘Yes. For sure. It was a great kiss but, to be honest, it had peaked.’

  ‘Would you like a glass yourself?’ Sophie asked the waiter. He looked around carefully to see if anyone was watching.

  ‘I’d love one.’

  Sophie picked up a glass from the table and the waiter filled it. They all clinked a toast and had a much-needed drink.

  That night, Tamara, Cash, Sophie and James met in the foyer bar for a martini before heading out to a dinner that Tamara had organised for them. On the beach, a table had been set up for the four of them. It was beautiful. Flowers had been arranged and smelled like heaven. Candles burned. The only thing that could have made it even better was if Malcolm was sitting under a palm tree playing the cello. They reached the table as a waiter poured them all champagne and waves rolled calmly shoreward.

  As the others sat down, Tamara stood strongly (no doubt aided to some degree by painkillers) and embarked on a speech, framed by the glory of a Byron Bay sunset.

  ‘I am going to speak. I am going to speak about you. I’ve paid for dinner, so the least
you can do is humour me by listening. To begin with, I am thrilled that we are all here, especially Sophie and Cash. Please don’t misunderstand me; seeing James has become a daily thrill but to have all three of you here together has its own special joy.’

  James was about to comment on Tamara’s sarcasm when he realised that she was being completely straight. As I have mentioned earlier there was a certain nobility to Tamara Higginson, and that nobility was enhanced when she was being sincere. This was one of those times.

  ‘The lives of others, you see, have rarely dragged me in. But after driving all this way, listening to James talking of the two of you, I have become compelled. I am left feeling that the whole point of life is other people. Is closeness. Is friendship.

  ‘Sophie, if you feel anything for James that approaches what he feels for you, then you have a friend (clearly more than a friend) for life. There is something quite beautiful about hearing a smart-arse like James melt as he talks, or even thinks, about someone else. And in this case that someone else is you. You are a couple, you just haven’t had time to acknowledge it yet.

  ‘Cash and James, you are so very lucky to have each other in your lives. Whenever I have heard one of you speak of the other, what I hear more than anything else is unmitigated joy. You see each other’s lunacy and madness, but you also see each other’s potential and wonder. You would truly do anything for each other, and that is what I consider to be true love.’

  James was surprised that he didn’t have anything smart-arsed to say about the ‘true love’ that he and Cash apparently shared. Perhaps Tamara’s sincerity was rubbing off on him.

  Cash was moved by Tamara’s declaration as well. He was almost twice James’ age and felt at once both older and younger than his friend. Cash often thought of love as the shared experience of feelings that didn’t need explanation. If this was in fact what love was, then Cash loved James without reservation.

  As they continued drinking and eating the night became something of a thank-you frenzy. Tamara thanked James for joining her on their adventure, and for being so understanding about not actually getting to meet Baylor Petersen. Sophie and Cash thanked Tamara for the unexpected trip. James (a little drunkenly) thanked everyone for everything, but mostly thanked Tamara for something that he couldn’t quite define. Something life-changing. She had taught him much about friendship and he intended to spend as much time with his new friend as he possibly could. Before the inevitable. Before the end. But that was a long way into the future, and the present was plenty.

  That night Sophie and James did it.

  They made love, had sex, fucked, got it on, or what have you. And according to both of them, it was wonderful.

  I could go into detail but as I wasn’t there and as neither of them would appreciate me telling you what they told me in confidence, let’s just be happy to know that they did eventually get to the place that they had both been wanting to get to from very early on.

  We can all let out a relieved sigh.

  I’m sure they both did.

  Hooray for love. Hooray for sex.

  Hooray for Sophie and James.

  The next morning Sophie and James got up together, dressed and headed down for breakfast. James was bouncing and dancing around like a puppy. You could safely say that he was pleased to have woken up in the same bed as Sophie.

  ‘Do you have the feeling that everyone we pass knows what we did last night?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘But it’s pretty wild to know that your self-obsession runs so deep that you think people would even care.’

  ‘Are we going to have our first fight?’ he asked as they got into the lift and Sophie kissed him into silence.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘We had that ages ago.’

  As they wandered into the breakfast area they saw Cash at a small table surrounded by about twenty staff members and guests.

  ‘I don’t know what Cash is doing or has done, but try to find Tamara,’ said James nervously. ‘We may have to leave here fairly quickly.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Sophie as they approached the scene. ‘No one looks angry. Nothing is on fire. Everything might be fine.’

  And fine it was.

  They could hear the observers ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ appreciatively as they got closer to Cash’s table. They arrived just in time to see him putting the finishing touches on what was a remarkable reproduction of the view from the balcony, from one end of the beach right around to the lighthouse. Cash had made his interpretation of this scene using nothing but the rinds and husks of the various fruits that were available in the buffet. The fruits were the paint and the tablecloth was the canvas. Waves were formed from the rinds of honeydew melons. Brown sugar was sand. There were even surfboats carved from apple with the surf lifesavers wearing little orange lifejackets made from little orange oranges. The whole thing was so perfectly Cash Driveway. A work of genius that could not possibly last more than an hour or two. People were taking photos of the art and the artist. Children were bringing him the last few pieces of fruit that he needed to finish the work. Cash would tell them the size and shape of what he needed and the children would gleefully chew away in an attempt to provide him with exactly what he required. One set of happy parents commented that their child had probably eaten more fruit that morning than he had in his entire life. Any fear of James’ that the management would be angry at the mess Cash was making was quickly forgotten when both the manager and the chef insisted on getting a photograph with Cash and his creation.

  ‘Cash! That is beautiful!’ said Sophie.

  ‘Thanks, Sophie. Have you got any idea how much fruit I had to eat to even get this started? If it wasn’t for my fellow diners we would never have got anywhere near completing this.’

  ‘Well, you certainly won’t be getting scurvy any time soon,’ said James, smiling at the beauty of his friend’s creation.

  ‘Hey, James, look who’s in the bottom corner.’

  And there she was. Made from white bread and brown crust. A little creature that simply had to be Charlie Girl. She even had a tiny green ball in her mouth made out of apple skin.

  ‘Where’s Tamara? She has to see this,’ said Cash.

  ‘She hasn’t been down yet?’

  ‘Not that I’ve seen,’ said Cash. ‘Mind you, I’ve been – doing this.’ He swept an arm in the direction of his artwork.

  ‘Maybe she’s sleeping in. It was a big night,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Not for her,’ replied James. ‘There is no night big enough to slow that woman down.’

  ‘Maybe you should check on her,’ said Cash.

  ‘Yeah, okay. Back in a minute. Don’t let anyone chuck that out; she’ll want to see it,’ said James as he headed back to the elevator.

  When he got to Tamara’s room he saw a note on her door, and he also noticed that the door was being held open with a towel. The note, handwritten and stuck to the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, read: ‘James. It looks like I’ll be flying home after all. Thank you for everything.’

  He knew before he pushed the door open.

  Tamara Higginson was gone.

  The room smelled of incense she had bought in town and Patti Smith was playing on the stereo. The bedside light was on and she lay on her back with the hint of a smile on her face. There was another note addressed to James on the bedside table, next to a half-empty bottle of vodka and the blue container that she kept her painkillers in. James picked it up and shook it. It was empty. Yesterday, when James had seen it at breakfast, it had been full.

  For the first time in his life James found himself hoping that there was something after death, and in Tamara’s case he hoped that thing was Baylor Petersen. His eyes started to tear up but then he stopped. There would be time for crying. There would be time for lots of stuff. There seemed no rush to do anything. For a moment he felt the urge to talk, to tell her everything, everything important, and then he smiled as he realised he already had.

  At so
me point he called Sophie. A minute or two later she and Cash were with James in the room, Sophie holding James and Cash sitting on the bed holding Tamara’s hand. They stayed with her as long as they needed to and then they called the hotel manager, who in turn called the authorities.

  ‘We are all so sorry, sir. Your mother was such a wonderful person,’ said the manager to James.

  ‘Yes,’ said James. ‘Yes, she was.’

  After everyone had left, James, Sophie and Cash went downstairs and drank martinis. They figured that is what Tamara would have wanted. They were right.

  ‘Do you think she ever intended to leave here?’ asked Cash. ‘Was she ever going to move out of her place and into the home?’

  ‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘She wanted to see Baylor. Maybe she was telling him that she was on her way to join him.’

  ‘She left me this,’ said James, producing the letter he’d found on the bedside table.

  ‘Please read it slowly,’ said Cash.

  ‘Why slowly?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Because this is it. I know we haven’t known her for long, but this is the last time we’ll hear from her . . . I know it sounds dumb but I want her to last.’

  ‘You’re right. I won’t rush her.’

  And with that James read the first and last letter he would ever get from Tamara Higginson.

  Dearest James,

  I don’t know if you expected me to do this, but I hope not; after all, no one wants to be predictable. I assume you know that this was not an act of sorrow or desperation. It was simply a stubborn old lady going out, her own way, in her own time. I had been planning this for months before I met you. I was way more ill than any of you, or anyone beside my doctor, knew. I only had a couple of months left, even if I’d let this happen organically. This wasn’t an act of sorrow; it was release. Letting go. The only place I was ever going to go was to snuggle down next to Baylor Petersen in the little racist cemetery on the hill.

  I have left various letters with my attorney in Melbourne making it clear that I will be buried here, next to Baylor, regardless of what Catherine wants. It’s my body; it will go where I want it to. And I want the three of you to handle the arrangements for my funeral.