‘So nothing’s better than something, is it? That’s the problem with you lot, too bloody idealistic for your own good. Do you know where all or nothing gets you in the end? Nowhere.’
Hazel stepped backwards. ‘The point about idealism…’ She petered out because the man was glaring now and she felt Adam watching her, waiting. She tried again. ‘Idealism is about long-term goals, and sometimes you have to hold out for the greater good. Or something.’
The man closed the door.
Hazel turned to Adam. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I guess I started something I didn’t know how to finish.’
‘Well, there’s no easy answer. It’s a decision that still divides the party. People left because of it, just like the man told you.’
‘Let me try the next one, Adam. It’s the last house on the street.’
It was falling off a horse, wasn’t it? Or was it a bike? And she wouldn’t be put off by the rusty gate in front of her, a gate topped with malicious-looking spikes, by the rubble in the driveway and—bloody hell—you couldn’t miss the car with a huge bumper sticker slapped on the rear window: Fat chicks shit me.
‘Seriously?’ She pointed at the sticker. ‘Words fail me.’
‘Do you want me to—’
‘No, really. I can do this.’
Knock knock knock. No answer. She tried again. Heard a shuffling and a groaning inside, and then a door opened onto a scruffy, skinny guy wearing a pair of stubbies. He looked about twenty, twenty-one, and he was scratching his balls, for crying out loud, before letting out an ugly yawn.
‘I’m so sorry if we woke you,’ she said, hearing the strain in her voice.
‘Yeah, so whadda youse want?’
She made the introductions, was courteous and concise. Then asked if he was a shiftworker, because—He shook his head. Asked if he was a student, but he shook his head again. Asked if he was currently unemployed, but he was stepping back, about to shut the door. Hazel knew she should let him go, consign him to the realm of lost moronic causes, but something snapped inside her: the long, fruitless morning, the boy’s yawning indifference, the crudeness of the fat chicks who gave him the shits.
‘Do you mind me asking your age?’ she said.
He looked baffled.
‘Like, how old are you?’ It was like talking to a child.
He mumbled that he was eighteen and she asked if he’d enrolled to vote. Because if not, then—but he was shaking his head, muttering Nah nah nah, not interested in politics, lady.
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘you might not be interested in politics, but politics is always interested in you.’
He slammed the door in her face.
She felt embarrassed beyond all measure but Adam was laughing. Actually laughing.
‘You were terrific,’ he said.
‘Terrific?’
‘Admirably persistent.’
‘But it’s stupid trying to argue with stupid people.’
‘You were astonishingly restrained. I was ready to shake him by the shoulders. And that line about politics being interested in him. Spot on.’
‘It’s Pericles,’ she said. ‘An ancient Greek philosopher. I’m a walking bundle of useless quotations.’
Then her phone rang and Hazel saw the name on her screen: Beth. Excited and gabbling and breathless because I got the job, I got the job, I start next week! Hazel stopped herself from saying You must be joking, as she watched Adam walk away, give her some space.
‘The manager liked me,’ said Beth. ‘She liked that I seemed prepared to work hard and she liked my confident manner. She didn’t see my knees trembling under my skirt.’
‘I am SO proud of you, Beth. And SO THRILLED for you.’ Was she sounding like Dora?
‘We have to celebrate, Hazie. Maybe we could do a really fancy restaurant where all the food’s nestled in or draped over and we can wear our best dresses and it’s all on me, three courses and a bucket of wine. Just for once in our lives we can sacrifice our principles or pretend we don’t have any at all.’ She took a breath, at last. ‘So how’s it going, all those doors you’re knocking on?’
‘Pretty awful. Maybe one vote so far, and that was under false pretences.’
‘And the man?’
‘I seem to make him laugh.’
They said their goodbyes and Hazel made her way back to Adam. Told him that her flatmate was over the moon because she’d finally landed a job.
‘A travel agent. No, consultant. Beth, my friend, she thought maybe we could celebrate in style, which means eating three tiny scallops and a lonely bit of seaweed on the side. With snooty waitpersons rushing up to our table with silver dustpans to sweep up our expensive crumbs.’
‘Not really your style, then?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of food…I mean, would you like to come back for lunch? Jessie would be pleased to see you. He keeps talking about the ducks, and the fact that you poke out your tongue.’ He stopped, started again. ‘As long as you don’t mind the noise. The constant questions. The lack of adult conversation.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said, without a trace of irony.
He beckoned her to start walking. ‘It won’t be like your seaweed restaurant,’ he said, ‘but I guess that’s a bonus in your eyes.’
Everything was a bonus. All those ignorant, selfish people of the last few hours had simply melted into air.
‘You sound like very good friends,’ he said. ‘You and Beth.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t live without her. Or my parents. Or books.’ She was brimming with happiness now, glancing at his profile: that slightly hooked nose and the curve of his mouth, his beautiful mouth. ‘Do you have something you couldn’t live without?’ she said. ‘Apart from your son.’
‘Love,’ he said, in a flash.
As if she should have known the answer. Or maybe she shouldn’t have asked.
Animals
What else did she learn, as they walked down their final street, where there were another ten No Shows in the middle of the day because people in this suburb were likely to be working or working out at the gym or working on their golf game. She learned it was marginally better than doorknocking on weekends, when people were often home but preferred drinking to thinking, recreation to investigation. The timing was always a toss-up, Adam said. She also learned that this was the worst round of doorknocking Adam had ever experienced; that he was relentlessly optimistic; that she was madly attracted and didn’t know what to do next. Because he wasn’t exactly rushing her, was he, and she was much too uncertain, even afraid, to make her feelings known. She’d made a fool of herself before, declaring her hand with guys she’d liked, and her ego had been wounded. Well, maybe for a week or two. But this feeling—whatever it was—with Adam: it wasn’t a matter of ego but of precious self-respect.
As soon as they arrived at his house, she saw another sign of difference: Jessie bounding down the steps and flinging himself at his father, Adam rubbing his stubbly face against his son’s willing cheek. Jessie had a mop of dark curls in need of brushing, and he was wearing a very grubby T-shirt. He slid down from his father’s arms, told Hazel in a bossy little voice to come see my animals.
‘Jessie.’ Adam placed a hand on his son’s head. ‘Remember your manners, please. Hazel has come to have lunch with us, and it’s polite to say hello first.’
The little boy shrugged. ‘Hello first Hazel,’ he said. ‘Now come see my animals.’
‘Of course, Jessie. I’ve come especially to see them.’
He scowled. ‘No, you didn’t. Dad said he was gunna ask you to come to lunch.’
Well. She’d learnt two new things today: that lunch was Adam’s secret idea, and that you should never lie to a child.
‘Where’s Aunty Candace, buddy?’ said Adam.
‘Doing a wee,’ said Jessie, loudly. As though this was a matter of great public interest.
Hazel tried to settle her nerves. She would be meeting the aunt, the great helper, who might look aska
nce at a strange young woman walking in off the street. Because—ah, there she was now, drying her hands on her dress. No airs and graces there. A tall, slender woman with an intelligent, open face, and dark curly hair like Jessie’s.
‘Hazel, this is Candace. My wife’s sister.’
My wife. Because there was no other name for the person you’d been married to after that person had died.
‘Candace, this is Hazel. Our latest recruit for doorknocking, and a great one to have on board.’
They shook hands.
‘You must be terrific, then,’ said Candace, warmly. ‘Adam has very high standards.’
‘So you’ve been doorknocking with him?’
Candace threw back her head and laughed. ‘Not on your sweet life. I had enough after just one meeting with the Greens. Adam persuaded me to go, become a member, but the talk just dragged on and on and on.’ She laughed again. ‘At one point the people in charge of the meeting said—hang on, no one’s in charge with the Greens, they facilitate, or some nonsense like that. Anyway, whoever was meant to be facilitating realised they were running late and so everyone spent fifteen minutes debating how to speed up the meeting!’
Adam placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s called consensus,’ he said.
‘It still doesn’t change the fact that it’s so damned inefficient.’
‘You take care of Jessie. That’s your contribution to the cause.’
‘And because I love him,’ she said.
Adam began to clear the table, scattered with crayons and paper.
‘What’s consensus?’ said the boy.
His aunt bent down and cupped his face with her hands. ‘It’s when a whole bunch of people do a whole lot of talking,’ she said. ‘And then they all agree. It can take a very long time.’
The child nodded. ‘Like when Dad makes me go to bed. He feels like a whole bunch of people.’
‘And it can take a very long time,’ said Adam, and ruffled Jessie’s hair.
Candace kissed Jessie on the cheek, said she had to dash.
‘I have another date with The Bearded One,’ she said.
Jessie screwed up his nose. ‘Aunty Candace has a new boyfriend,’ he said. ‘He’s got this ginormous beard what goes way down to here.’ He pointed to his stomach and his aunt rolled her eyes.
‘Jessie’s inclined to be hyperbolic,’ she said.
‘What’s hyper—that thing.’
‘It means that Derrick’s beard only comes down to his shoulders.’
Candace was jangling her car keys now, gave Jessie a quick hug, a peck on the cheek for Adam, and nice to meet you, Hazel, hope to see you again. What did that mean, anyway: nice to meet you? And would she actually see her again?
Adam brushed back his hair. It seemed to be a nervous habit.
Jessie suddenly grabbed her by the hand and dragged her away, into a little boy’s room scattered with blocks and Lego. In the middle of the mess she saw a train set surrounded by a zoo of plastic animals. Jessie told her to sit on the floor while he pointed out the tracks and lights and every single animal, making animal noises and train noises and when lunch was finished, he said, his dad would turn on the train and make everything happen all over again.
He had the darkest brown eyes and a rosebud mouth. He was a very pretty child. His mother must have been a very pretty woman.
‘Pick your favourite animal,’ he said. ‘Go on, go on, pick one.’
Hazel surveyed the zoo. ‘OK. The cat.’ Because kids always like cats, didn’t they?
‘My friend Martin has a cat,’ said Jessie, ‘and all he does is sleep sleep sleep on the couch or his special rug wiv stripes all over and he only ever wakes up to eat. And one time he got really mad at me when I went to pat him.’
He struck out a hand and made a loud hissing noise.
‘Pick another animal,’ he said.
‘OK. A dog.’
‘One day this dog ran after me and bounced up at me and made me really scared. Only Dad said it wouldn’t hurt me cos you could see the waggy tail.’ He gasped. ‘If we all had waggy tails, then no one would get scared.’
‘That’s an excellent idea, Jessie. As long as the tail doesn’t give us itchy bottoms.’
He puzzled up his face. ‘You’d put your tail on the outside of your shorts and then you wouldn’t feel itchy.’
‘Well. That’s another excellent idea. You’re full of them.’
‘I’m not full cos I’m hungry and I’m waiting for my lunch.’ He pointed to his animals again. ‘Go on. Pick another one.’
‘OK. Let me see.’ She took a closer look. ‘I’m keen on the dinosaur.’
Because kids always liked dinosaurs, didn’t they? She’d been fascinated as a child, knowing that those huge, scary creatures had once ruled the world.
‘Dinosaurs are dumb,’ said Jessie, waving his arms about. ‘They’ve got big fat legs and really tiny flappy arms what couldn’t hurt no one and they look really stupid.’
‘You’re right.’
‘So go on, pick another one.’
Hazel sighed. But then she saw the boy’s pout.
‘The pig,’ she said.
Jessie pinched his nose. ‘Yukko. Pigs are really dirty. They roll around in the mud and their noses are full of snot.’
‘Pigs are actually very clean animals.’
He looked at her, suspiciously. ‘Have you ever seen a clean pig?’ he said.
‘Seven,’ she lied.
‘But I haven’t seen one for me so I don’t want you to pick the pig.’
‘Alright then. I think—on reflection—I like the elephant best of all.’
‘What does on reflection mean?’
‘It means I’ve thought about it again, more carefully. Harder.’
Jessie took this in. ‘So why did you pick the elephant when you tried more harder?’
‘Because’—she thought of the obvious—‘I like its long, swaying trunk. It makes the elephant different from all the other animals.’
‘But if everyone was different, everyone would be the same.’
Well, what an interesting, curly-haired child. A philosopher in the making.
He suddenly looked up and shouted. Hazel turned to see Adam standing in the doorway.
‘Dad! Dad!’ Jessie scrambled to his feet. ‘Hazel likes the elephant best and I told her all about the dog what nearly bited me.’
‘I’m sure you did. Now go and wash your hands, please. And how about changing that shirt while you’re at it?’
‘But Dad…’
‘It’s good to be clean when you’re eating. You don’t want to look like a pig.’
‘Hazel says pigs are clean.’
‘Then I stand corrected,’ said Adam, solemnly. ‘Now go and clean up, please.’
‘Because you said to?’
‘Got it in one, buddy.’
Jessie nodded, then scampered away, and Adam was smiling like, well, a cat.
‘Thanks for putting up with him,’ he said.
‘Not at all. I liked talking with him.’
‘You mean you did a lot of listening.’
‘Well, you know what they say. We’re not learning anything when we’re talking.’
‘Still. I can’t seem to stop him running at the mouth.’
‘Have you tried industrial strength gaffer tape, then? It worked a treat with my year eights. Or try putting a bag over his head. It’s more humane, although not nearly as effective.’
Adam was smiling as she hauled herself up from the floor, wishing he would offer his hand—it would make life so much easier—but he was keeping his distance, gesturing for her to pass. And then she felt him touch her lightly, ever so lightly, in the small of her back. A courtly gesture to guide her, a new erotic charge.
She tried not to buckle at the knees.
Lunch was wholemeal bread, cheese, olives and salad, plus some peanut paste and Vegemite for Jessie. She couldn’t have asked for a more lavish spread.
/> Jessie shoved a piece of bread in his mouth and turned to her, said something incomprehensible.
‘Jessie, please.’ Adam leaned across the table. ‘You know not to talk with your mouth full.’
‘Why not?’ he said, sloppily.
‘Because people can’t understand what you’re saying.’
Jessie mumbled something else, food spilling onto his chin. Adam picked up a piece of bread, slapped on a hunk of cheese and stuffed it into his mouth. Chewed roughly, then opened his mouth for Jessie.
‘Yuk. That’s really gross, Dad.’
‘That’s what other people see when you eat and talk at the same time.’ He turned to Hazel. ‘Excuse the display,’ he said. ‘Sometimes showing works better than telling.’
‘Exactly like teaching. And you were pretty yuk, I have to say.’
Jessie held up a piece of bread for inspection. ‘Why are you called Hazel?’ he said.
‘Because my mother liked the name.’
‘But Hazel’s a nut, like a peanut. It’s my favourite ice-cream what we get from the shop.’ He suddenly threw back his head and laughed. ‘You could be called Pea. Ha-ha.’
‘Jessie. Hazel might not like being called that.’
‘Sorry, Hazel.’ He shrugged his skinny shoulders. ‘Dad’s always telling me to say sorry,’ he said. ‘I like him much better when he tells me stories, really good ones about the sea and the stars and buckets and things.’
‘Buckets?’
Jessie sat up. ‘He pretended to be a bucket so I could pick him up and take him where he wanted to go.’ His big eyes grew bigger. ‘Dad could be Superbucket. I could make him fly through the air and he could see all over the world and come down and rescue people what get stuck in trees or if their house was on fire.’ He waved his hands about. ‘Whoosh! Fire!’ he shouted.
‘That’s a great story,’ said Hazel. ‘Maybe you could make up another one about your friend Martin’s cat.’
‘But he doesn’t do nothing.’
‘Well, you could pretend he does.’
Jessie’s eyes widened again. ‘I could take him for a walk,’ he said, ‘and he could scare the dog what nearly bited me.’
The Art of Persuasion Page 9
