The Road Back

by Di Morrissey

  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 abou
t 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.

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Susan smiled warmly at her son.

  *

  Chris was immensely pleased when they walked into the house. The outside lights had been turned on and Megan’s music was cheerfully banging away, while a tantalising aroma wafted from the kitchen.

  ‘My goodness, what smells so good?’ asked Chris.

  ‘I defrosted that chicken soup Bunny made last week. I’m hungry, though I suppose you had fantastic lunches?’

  ‘I did rather,’ said Susan, sinking into her favourite chair and putting her feet up. ‘But soup and a bit of toast sounds perfect.’

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine, Mum?’ asked Chris.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘So? How was it?’ Megan sat on the footrest and lifted Susan’s feet into her lap. ‘Was it exciting? What were they like? Did they all say how fabulous you look?’

  Chris set a glass of wine beside Susan as Biddi jumped into her lap. ‘Thanks, Chris. Yes, Megan, they were very nice to me. We all looked older, of course, but essentially no one was very different from how I remember them.’

  ‘And it turns out that Bunny’s old friends are all quite important people,’ added Chris.

  ‘Are they? Would I know them, Bunny?’

  ‘Maybe not. I’ll tell you all about them later, if you want,’ replied Susan.

  ‘How was your day, Dad?’ Megan asked, solicitously.

  ‘Turns out that I had nothing to worry about regarding the flat, and I had lunch with Mac who gave me a good idea, and now, thanks to Bunny, I have a lead for a story I’m going to pursue. How was your day?’

  ‘School was the same old, same old. My new friend Jazzy and I hung out. After school I biked over to Mollie’s. I’m getting on quite well with Squire the horse now. Mollie’s Shetland pony is cute, too.’

  ‘Oh, that Gem is a naughty little pony. Do be careful of her. How are the baby goats?’ asked Susan.

  ‘Gorgeous. Adorable. I might ask Mollie if Jazzy can come over with me on Saturday.’

  ‘Who’s this Jazzy? Is she in your class?’ asked Chris, pleased to hear that Megan had made a friend at last.

  ‘Yep. She started at the beginning of the year, so she’s new too. Her parents live way out somewhere in the country, so Jazzy boards in town with a family they know.’

  ‘Oh, which family is that?’ asked Susan.

  ‘Forgotten, but could she stay here Friday and Saturday night?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Susan, pleased, like Chris, that Megan had found a friend.

  ‘Oh, and Carla rang, said she’d be in town on Friday, too. She said she might stay for a few nights.’

  ‘Wonderful. We haven’t seen her since Christmas,’ said Susan. ‘Let’s eat. Can you serve up the soup, please, Megan? Then I’m having an early night. It’s been a very interesting day. Lots to think about. Megan, I’m impressed by the way you looked after things so well here. Thank you, darling.’

  ‘Any time, Bunny. I’m more grown up than you guys think.’

  *

  Late on Friday afternoon the guttural rumble of Carla’s beloved motorbike announced her arrival. By the time Megan and her friend Jazzy arrived, Carla and Susan were busy cooking and chatting in the kitchen with Chris.

  ‘This is Jazzy,’ Megan announced, and made all the introductions.

  Jazzy had short braided hair, a small jewelled nose stud, and goth eye make-up, which Chris assumed had been added after school hours but which in no way detracted from her stunning beauty. She gave everyone a big smile.

  ‘Hi, Susan, Carla. Hey, Chris. Man, that’s a superior bike parked in your driveway. Is it yours?’

  Susan winced at the overfamiliarity. ‘No, it belongs to Carla, who is also staying for the weekend. And why don’t you call me Bunny, as Megan does. There’s some tea and scones I made earlier, if you’d like.’

  As Jazzy followed Megan down the hall, they all heard her whispering, ‘Tea and scones! What are they? The CWA? I thought you said they were cool.’

  ‘There’s always juice in the fridge, if you want that,’ said Megan.

  Susan raised an eyebrow.

  The girls kept to themselves in Megan’s room, playing music, though it must have been Jazzy’s selection as it was raucous and growling heavy metal Chris hadn’t heard before.

  After dinner that evening, the adults sat on the verandah while the girls stayed in Megan’s room watching a DVD. Susan was the first to retire and Carla and Chris talked a while longer before Carla said her good nights and walked across the back patio to the guest cottage. Chris sat staring into the darkness, wondering if an article for a weekend magazine would really change his fortunes, before also turning out the lights and heading to bed.

  He tapped on Megan’s door on the way past. ‘Not too late, you two, you have to be out at Mollie’s in the morning.’

  ‘Okay. G’night, Dad.’

  ‘Good night, Chris,’ chorused Jazzy.

  Both girls were still asleep the next morning when Carla came in to announce that she was heading off to see some of her friends in Coffs Harbour. Then she asked Chris if he could come and check something on her motorbike that was concerning her.

  ‘What’s up? I’m not much of a mechanic. I’d have thought you’d know more than me,’ Chris said as they made their way out to Carla’s bike.

  Carla began zipping up her jacket. ‘Chris, I wanted to speak to you on your own. Last night I read for a while and it was quite late when I turned out the light. Shortly after that, I thought I heard someone in the garden. I immediately thought about my bike parked in the driveway, so I stepped quietly outside to check on it and then I smelled something. When I looked around I saw young Jazzy standing beside the hedge and I realised she was smoking a joint.’

  Chris was startled. ‘Oh, shit! Was Megan with her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But Megan does seem rather struck by this girl, Jazzy, so I thought I’d better let you know. Maybe you need to have a talk with your daughter.’

  ‘Jazzy is Megan’s first real friend in Neverend, but ma
ybe she’s not the right sort of friend. This is awful. I’ll speak to Mum; she’s good with teenagers. She’ll put a stop to her seeing Jazzy right away.’

  Carla poked him in the chest. ‘No, Chris, you’ll do no such thing. You have to speak to your daughter yourself. The buck stops with you. Leave your mother out of it. You sort this out with Megan.’

  Carla buckled on her helmet and rode slowly down the driveway and out into the lane, leaving a stunned Chris behind.

  A few moments later, his shock began to turn to anger and disappointment. Surely Megan could have made a better choice of friends. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a coffee, glad his mother was in the shower. He glanced down the hall at the closed door of the room where Jazzy was staying. He turned and knocked quietly on Megan’s door and let himself in.

  ‘Are you awake? I need to speak with you.’

  ‘Sort of, come in.’ When she saw her father’s face, Megan sat up in bed and asked in alarm, ‘Dad, what’s up?’

  ‘Megan, I have to talk to you about this Jazzy girl. Did you know she was smoking pot? And what about you? Are you smoking dope too? I need you to be truthful or things will get far worse.’

  Megan looked stunned. ‘What? No, Dad. Never. How can you accuse me like this? What’s happened? What did Jazzy do?’

  ‘It seems that your new friend Jazzy was having a quiet joint behind the hedge last night. She brought pot into your grandmother’s home. God knows what sort of stash she has with her,’ said Chris, his voice rising. ‘You simply can’t mix with this girl. I forbid you to see her, and you are certainly never to bring her into this house again.’

  ‘What? You forbid me? She’s my friend and I don’t care what she does!’

  ‘Well, I care what you do. Just tell me if you are smoking pot or not.’