A Straight Line to My Heart

by Bill Condon

  I reach across for the tissues. Grab a handful. Hide my face in them.

  He doesn’t talk, but I hear his exasperation loud and clear – it’s wrapped up in a worn-out crumpled sigh. I can only guess that his anger got hoisted up on that sigh and carried away, because when he finally does speak again, his voice is even and calm and all the spiky edges are gone.

  ‘Got a stack on today,’ he says, ‘so I can’t spend any time with you. That’s nothing to do with this mornin’ – I’m just flat out with Andrew being away. So this is what you do. Take a wander to the post office – grab yourself a coffee if you like – catch your breath. Come back, sort out the mail like I showed you. That’ll take you up to lunchtime. After lunch you go out on a job with Joanie – she’s always got something planned. The day’s bound to improve. They usually do. You don’t give it away because of one tough morning. You hang in there. All right?’

  I nod. And sniffle.

  ‘One final thing: you’re spot on about me not being happy with you – don’t know how you ever figured it out – must be psychic. You gotta toughen up or you just won’t make it. But don’t worry. I haven’t written you off yet – not quite. I’ve got rules. There’s one that says everyone gets a second chance.’ He taps my arm with his pen. ‘We’ll give it another try tomorrow, you and me. New day. Clean slate. What do you reckon, we good?’

  When I look at him my eyes are probably red, but I’m not crying.

  I tell him we’re good.

  ‘Tiff?’

  It’s Nancy on the office phone.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s someone out here to see you.’

  ‘Be right there.’

  ‘Wait.’ She whispers the next part. ‘Hope you haven’t been up to any mischief.’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘It’s the law.’

  When I go out, I find Zoe waiting for me. I know immediately that there’s nothing wrong with Reggie or Bull: her smile tells me that. So what’s she doing here?

  ‘Had to drive out this way for work. I was only a few clicks down the road so I thought, seeing I’m so close, might as well swing by and see if you want to have lunch. My treat.’

  I could sure do with some company, and a free lunch is always hard to resist. But not for a minute do I believe that she’s turned up by chance. She wants to tell me something.

  She’s moving in with us.

  Bull’s moving out to be with her.

  They’re getting married.

  They’re splitting up.

  No, she looks too happy for that.

  Maybe she’s pregnant!

  I hope the baby hasn’t got Bull’s big head.

  ‘I’m starving,’ I tell her. ‘Let’s eat.’

  I’m the vegetarian pizza. She’s the fettuccine with garlic prawns.

  Zoe is very big on food talk.

  ‘Oh, this is so good. Yum. What’s the pizza like? Can I have a bite? You gotta try these prawns. Wish I had the recipe. They’re de-lish.’

  There’s a lot more, too, but she doesn’t say it all in one chunk; it’s sprinkled in with her comments about passers-by. That’s why she wanted to sit at a table out in the street. She’s into people-watching. Says it’s the best free show in town.

  ‘Is that a wig?’

  ‘He’s too old for her.’

  ‘No one wants to see your navel, darling. Especially while we’re eating. Put it away.’

  In between all that she manages to squeeze in a question for me.

  ‘How’s your morning been?’

  I skip past my run-in with the Shark and concentrate on the girl.

  She nods. ‘I heard about that one. Some of the guys at the station were talking about it. So young . . . it’s a hard way to kick-off in journalism. You okay with it?’

  ‘No problems.’

  She studies my face carefully, trying to work out where the truth is, but I assure her that I’m all right and she drops it, and then picks up a new subject.

  ‘Before I forget, I bought something for Reggie.’

  She takes a dvd out of her bag and gives it to me: McLintock! A John Wayne movie.

  ‘It was only a few dollars. I saw it in a shop and thought he’d like it, especially being in colour. Could you give it to him for me?’

  ‘Sure, but why don’t you bring it over yourself and watch it with us – or do you hate John Wayne?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I don’t hate him. Don’t know the first thing about him.’

  ‘Then come over.’

  ‘No, Tiff. It wouldn’t be right. You get in some ice-cream and chocolate – watch a movie. It’s a family thing. I don’t want to barge in on that.’

  And it’s precisely because she doesn’t barge in, that I want her there.

  ‘Hey, Zoe, if you supply some of that ice-cream and chocolate, you can come over every night of the week.’

  I hand back the dvd.

  ‘We’ll expect you about seven.’

  Her meal done with, she glides a spoon leisurely around a coffee mug, not stirring it, just gliding for something to do, waiting for the right second, to say this:

  ‘To tell you the truth I really wasn’t working out this way.’

  Knew it!

  ‘Bull told me about Kayla leaving. I’m sorry, Tiff. I know how close you two are. That’s why I called in. Wanted you to know I’m here if you’d like to talk about it – any time at all.’

  ‘You came all this way – for me?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! It was for the food. I’ve heard good things about this place. You were just an afterthought.’

  Thanks, Zoe.

  ‘I expected you were going to tell me you were moving in with us.’

  ‘Good God, no. Do I look that desperate?’

  I almost choke on my orange juice. She aims her finger at me like a gun and smiles.

  ‘Maybe one day that could happen,’ she says. ‘If you and Reggie were okay with it. I’d ask you first. But there’s no rush. We’re trundling along just fine the way we are. But getting back to you, since I’m here – you want a talk?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Whatever you got – I’m not fussy.’

  I’ve always told Reggie and Bull what’s going on in my life, but mostly they get the outside layers. That works best for them, and for me. My secret thoughts and feelings are shared with just Kayla, my journal and Wolfie. They’re all very good listeners, although Wolfie spoils the mood sometimes by chasing a flea right in the middle of an earth-shattering disclosure.

  But now Zoe is here and willing, and it feels right.

  ‘Well, it’s like this . . .’

  It’s easy enough telling her about Colin and Bess’s good news, all the excitement of the new house and the possibility of Hales and Cody leaving their foster families and coming home. It gets tougher as I move on to Kayla going to Perth.

  ‘Always knew we’d go our separate ways one day,’ I tell her. ‘But it still took me completely by surprise.’

  There’s a skill in knowing when to meet someone else’s eyes with yours, and when to look away. I’m glad that Zoe has mastered the art, so I can blink out the speck of dust in my eyes. Ask anyone who knows me, I rarely do tears. But today, with the Shark, and now here, those specks of dust have been a real nuisance.

  ‘The thing I’ve noticed about life–’ Zoe pauses to drain the last of her coffee and lick the foam off her lips, ‘is that it just keeps coming at you. And it can be a real bummer. What you need to remember, Tiff, is that you’re not alone. You’ve got friends and family. That’s how we get by. We talk and share and eat cake and giggle in the dark, even when we’re scared – no, especially when we’re scared.’

  Wow. Reggie wou
ld be really impressed. She’s as good as Dr Phil. And not bald.

  ‘You’ll get through this,’ she says. ‘You and Kayla will still see each other. Jump on a plane and you’ll be in Perth in no time at all.’

  ‘That’s true. And before she leaves we’re going to Surfers Paradise, just like we planned – I’m going to find my mum’s grave.’

  ‘That should cheer you up!’ She immediately slaps a hand across her mouth. Through her spread-out fingers I hear, ‘Sorry. That was awful . . . but I couldn’t resist it.’

  ‘It was funny,’ I say, to her immense relief.

  She laughs; not her big uproarious laugh, just a little one, between her and me. ‘Tell you what, Tiff,’ she says. ‘I’ll make a prediction – no, two predictions. One: Your friendship with Kayla is going to stay rock solid. Two: Your mobile bill is going to shoot through the roof!’

  A few minutes later we stand outside the Eagle. It’s time for Zoe to leave. I sense her hesitancy. The other night I pushed her away and now she doesn’t know how to say goodbye. It’s not a hard problem to fix. I make the first move – a quick hug and a simple smooch of her cheek; just the normal way you’d treat a friend.

  On the bus back to Gungee Creek, I try to write a few lines about the girl in the park. What I come up with is not good – well, okay, it’s seriously bad. I cross it out quickly, in case someone looks over my shoulder. All I can do is dig deeper. Have to find the girl I saw when I looked in that car window. I’ll keep trying. With a bit of luck one day she might tell me what to write.

  ‘Somehow she should be remembered.’

  That’s what I tell Bull when I get home.

  For once he listens to every word I say, because it means a lot to me and I show it – and he doesn’t give me any of that ‘just a druggy’ stuff.

  ‘If you like,’ he says, ‘I’ll try to get an address for her parents. When you write the poem and you’re happy with it, you can send it off.’

  I hug him. It takes us both by surprise.

  After I had lunch with Zoe, I went out on two jobs with Joan. Now, over dinner, I revisit the highlights for Reggie and Bull.

  ‘My picture will be in the paper next week,’ I say. ‘Jordie, our photographer, got me to sit on top of a giant pumpkin, while he took photos.’

  ‘That might pose a problem.’ Bull rubs his chin. ‘How will people know which one’s the pumpkin?’

  Reggie to Bull: ‘Give yerself an uppercut, mate.’

  Forging ahead, I move on to the interview Joan did with an old couple, Merv and Eileen.

  ‘They’ve been married fifty years.’

  ‘Not a bad innings,’ says Reggie.

  ‘But not that unusual, either,’ adds Bull.

  ‘No, but get this. They didn’t marry till they were nearly forty – and they’ve still racked up fifty years together! I’m seventeen and I’m thinking it’s all over because I haven’t got a guy, but now I can tell myself I’ve got till I’m forty. It gives me hope.’

  Reggie: ‘Knock it off, Tiffy. Some bloke’ll snaffle you up long before forty.’

  Bull: ‘Be a pumpkin fancier, most likely.’

  I give him the slow-burn glare. He says, ‘Sorry!’ but he still smirks away like the naughty schoolboy he’ll always be. Poor Zoe. She doesn’t know what she’s letting herself in for.

  There are things about that interview which I’ll write in my journal later tonight. Years from now I’ll still be sad to read about Eileen, losing the fight with dementia right before my eyes; but it will be good to remember Merv, who held her hand the whole time as she dozed, and called her ‘Mum’. I’ll remember Joan, too. The story really got to her because her own husband died a few years ago. Through the interview she kept dabbing at her eyes.

  ‘The most important thing I got from sitting in on that story,’ I tell Reggie, ‘was realising that by the time it was over, I knew more about those people than I do about you. And that’s not right . . . so I want to interview you.’

  ‘What, for the Eagle?’

  ‘No. For me and Bull – and for you, too, of course.’

  ‘Why don’t you just talk to me?’

  ‘I’ll do that, too, but I want to make it special. I’ll type it all up and get Kayla to take some photos – she’ll want to help. I’ll do it on good-quality paper. It’ll be a one-off, collector’s edition book – the story of your life. Please say you’ll do it, Reggie.’

  I expect some resistance but the answer flashes back in a second.

  ‘Aw, yeah,’ he says, casual as can be. ‘I’ll be in that.’

  ‘Excellent. We’ll start on it tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re on, Tiffy.’

  Reggie gets the results of his tests back in a couple of days but he’s not a bit worried about that now. Tonight he’s got a John Wayne movie; it can’t get any better.

  Zoe is in his good books for buying the movie and he’s happy for her to watch it with us. I asked Kayla to come over, too, with her camera. Fine with Reggie. The more the merrier. But there is one condition.

  ‘No one talks durin’ McLintock!’ He gives us each a little piece of the evil eye. ‘You wouldn’t do it at the Kalatta Regent, and you’re not doin’ it here – not in a John Wayne, yer not.’

  Bull puts up his hand. ‘What about snoring? That allowed?’

  ‘Think yer funny, don’t yer?’

  Bull pleads ignorance. ‘Huh?’

  Before the movie starts Kayla takes some photos of Reggie. He poses for three or four shots then asks for my opinion.

  ‘You reckon I should put me teeth in, luv?

  ‘Doesn’t matter, Reggie. Either way, you’re still one pretty cool dude.’

  ‘Righto then. It’s settled. No teeth it is.’

  Kayla gets every possible combination. Reggie sits and stands. He poses with each of us separately, then together. But he looks most relaxed of all when Wolfie pushes her nose up against him, wagging her tail at the camera.

  ‘All done,’ Kayla says at last.

  ‘Thank gawd for that.’ Reggie sighs with relief. ‘Now let’s watch Big John.’

  We’re not long into the movie when the doorbell rings. Wolfie barks then burrows down in her bed, in case it’s a burglar. We don’t get visitors at night in the middle of the week. The cop car out the front seems to deter home invaders, so if the bell rings the caller is either broken down or they’re lost. There’s only one other alternative – John Wayne’s ridden in to town.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Bull goes out to the door. We pause the dvd and strain to listen as the conversation on the verandah floats back to us. The first words are lost when Wolfie responds to the stranger’s voice with a rumbly growl. She tries so hard to be brave.

  ‘Quiet, girl.’

  And then it all wafts through to us loud and clear.

  ‘Yeah, I remember you – you’re the young smart-arse who tried to take my head off at the footy game.’

  ‘Only because you kicked me.’

  ‘Get real. That was an accident.’

  ‘In that case I punched you by accident. So now we’re square.’

  Kayla looks at me and mouths, ‘Davey.’

  I bolt to the door, reverting to slow motion before I get there. Can’t look too keen. In fact, must look surprised.

  ‘Oh. Hello.’

  ‘Hiya, Tiffany.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘There was nothing on tv.’

  I’m not sure how to react. Has to be a joke, right?

  He looks back at me perfectly straight and solemn.

  It’s really hard to force a smile. I don’t think I make a very convincing job of it.

  Bull opens the door wider. ‘You better come inside,’ he tells Davey. ‘I’ll try to expla
in things for you . . .’ With an exaggerated sigh he turns back to me. ‘It’s a good long drive from Tarwyn, Tiff. You think about it. No one comes all that way ’cause there’s nothing on tv. Not even Bonehead, here.’

  I can almost hear Davey’s thoughts. They’re saying: Aw, no. Now I have to punch him again.

  But before he can launch a blow, Bull redeems himself.

  ‘Term of affection, mate.’ He says it with a big puppy dog grin that no one would want to punch.

  ‘What did you come here for?’ he asks Davey.

  ‘To see Tiffany.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tiffany.’

  ‘Awww, riiight.’

  Bull ambles off – dirty big smirk on his face – trying out all the la-di-dah ways he can say ‘Tiffany’.

  That leaves me alone with Davey. He starts talking first, which is great because I have no idea what to say.

  ‘Had no trouble tracking you down. Everyone knows each other in small towns. I just asked up at the shop.’

  So much for the witness protection program.

  ‘Been thinkin’ about you for a while now,’ he says, ‘wonderin’ if I should come over, say hello. Couldn’t find an excuse till tonight.’

  He hands over a package he’s been trying to hide behind his back.

  ‘This is my excuse – it’s a present for you.’

  ‘Really? How come?’

  ‘Open it. You’ll see.’

  It’s wrapped up in red paper held together by a zillion pieces of sticky tape. I try to get them off without tearing the paper but quickly give up and rip it to shreds.

  Breakfast At Tiffany’s.

  ‘Sorry it’s a bit tatty. It’s an old book but the words are still in good nick. I wanted you to have it.’

  I know a gulp isn’t enough of a reply, but it’s the best I can do. I open the book carefully, half expecting I’ll be squirted by water or a spider will pop out. This has to be a joke. But all I find inside is a folded-up note.