Nobody’s Fault


by
Derek Haines


PUBLISHED BY:
Derek Haines on Createspace


Nobody’s Fault
Copyright © 2010 by Derek Haines


Cover photo courtesy of:
http://www.morguefile.com/lufra
http://www.morguefile.com/archive/display/613203


We read of a certain Roman emperor who built a magnificent palace. In digging the foundation, the workmen discovered a golden sarcophagus ornamented with three circlets, on which were inscribed, ‘I have expended; I have given; I have kept; I have possessed; I do possess; I have lost; I am punished. What I formerly expended, I have; what I gave away, I have.’
Gesta Romanorum

Man's love is of man's life a thing apart; 'T is woman's whole existence.
Lord Byron


Table of Contents
Preface
Chapter 1 Places
Chapter 2 David
Chapter 3 Tony
Chapter 4 Steven
Chapter 5 Trucks
Chapter 6 Luck
Chapter 7 Guilt
Chapter 8 Still Waters
Chapter 9 A Stone in a Pond
Chapter 10 Ripples to the Shore
Chapter 11 Waves of Discontent
Chapter 12 Washed Up
Chapter 13 Troubled Water
Chapter 14 Turbulence
Chapter 15 Shadows from the Dark
Chapter 16 Lucky Breaks
Chapter 17 Back in Business
Chapter 18 Battle Stations
Chapter 19 Deep Water
Chapter 20 Turning Worms
Chapter 21 Tastes of the Past
Chapter 22 On the Move
Chapter 23 Motivation
Chapter 24 Justice
Chapter 25 View from the Precipice
Chapter 26 One Last Call
About the Author

Preface

In a world and society where everything is scrutinised, analysed and examined by way of coronial inquests, police investigations, royal commissions, senate enquires and the media, one single issue is constantly ignored and brushed aside by a gender fearing population. The issue? The effect of separation and divorce upon men and fathers. Men are raised to be tough, unemotional breadwinners and protectors. Our society has changed in so many ways, some for the better, some for the worse. The upbringing of boys and young men is still based on a historic stereotype of toughness and strength. Does our society assume that because there are no loud bleating cries for help, that there is no problem? Or does it just not hear them? On October 23rd 1998 I read the following news report.
A Perth man who was believed to be upset over a Family Court custody ruling has been found dead, along with his three children.
Police had been searching for 35 year old Ronald Jonker and his children, aged seven, five and 17 months, after he failed to return to their mother on Wednesday.
It is believed Mr Jonker was angry with a Family Court decision that awarded his wife principal custody of the children.
The four bodies were found in a car at Regan’s Ford near Gin Gin, about 90 kilometres from Perth.
ABC News. 23/10/98
In reading this small story, which was followed up later that day with the names of the children, I had to ask myself this question.
To what degree of angry or upset does a father have to become to be capable of killing not just himself, but also his children? This is not the act of anyone who is simply upset or angry. This is an act of total insanity. If this story was unusual it would be tragic. That it is not, is a disgrace to our society. This book is not about this man. It is complete and total fiction. It is about the feelings of men. Feelings they will not admit to because of their upbringing to be strong at all times.
Men have become one of the silent wheels in society. Never attracting grease. A few small voices echoing small grievances about access rights or child support payments are howled down in a tirade of ridicule. Sometimes however, there are some who can see. And ask.
‘When you consider that we have gone from virtually zero employees employed by the Child Support Agency to about 2,400 people, at a cost to the taxpayer of something approaching $130 million for an agency that has a role of saying that parent A shall pay parent B for the care of their children, you have to ask the fundamental question of whether the pendulum has swung too far.’
Mr. Wakelin, Member for Grey. (Hansard 3/6/97).
And.
‘If the custodial parent, which is more commonly the mother, is prepared to be bloody minded and won’t admit any contact with the father, it is very difficult to do much about.’
Mr. Len Glare. Family Court Chief Executive Officer. Melbourne, Herald Sun, October 6, 1995.
Are these two observations by respected people in our society the key to this whole conundrum? The balance of power? One parent has a $130 million per annum Government Agency of 2,400 staff to enforce their Family Court orders pertaining to Child Support payments. The other fights for access rights alone under the same Family Court orders, and is told nothing can be done.
Is it any wonder there are problems?
I do not profess an answer, or a remedy. My only belief is that men and fathers feel much more than our society will let them outwardly express. Has society reacted to the simplistic superficial: of showing more sympathy for someone with a pricked finger because of the drop of blood, than someone with a severe migraine? Do we have to see everything to believe it is real?
How do we see that men hurt and suffer just as severely as women in family breakdown? And in how many cases do they suffer more?

I
Places

All cities have a character, some more than others. On the west coast of Australia a city grew from a small colony first settled in 1829. With the simple act by one Mrs Dance, of chopping down a tree, the colony was officially claimed in the name of the Queen by the recently appointed Governor. He had appointed himself that morning. As Captain of the ship that bought these first settlers to this remote location, James Stirling thought it only right that he should get the top job. This colony was built on the banks of the Swan River. Named so originally by Stirling that morning because of the large number of black swans floating on the river’s surface, and the fact that Stirling had had quite enough of the tradition of naming places after English locations and places, (the New Thames River was the choice of his second-in-command). He set about his second official act; naming the colony. With the assistance and input of his newly appointed bureaucrats, the very original name selected was, The Swan River Colony, in keeping with the aforementioned river and the fact that Stirling was inexperienced at naming things. So he ran with his one original idea. His legacy would be that name. In the next two hundred years no one ever had a better idea, so, anything that needed naming would be Swan something-or-other.
It was fitting that Stirling would be remembered in years to come by the virtue of a Highway named in his memory. The Stirling Highway meanders along the banks of the Swan River, making its way directly to the doors of the Swan Brewery.
A quick glance under S in the much later to be published White Pages telephone book reveals pages of entries under Swan something Co Pty Ltd. This fashion was changed for a short period in the 1980’s by a self made and self proclaimed multi millionaire named Bond. As he went about becoming the owner of anything worth anything, he changed all the names from Swan to Bond. When it looked likely that he was going to jail, the bureaucrats of the day decided to replace all the Bond names.
After various committees and inquiries and submissions to the nomenclature board, they chose the wonderfully original idea of replacing all the things named Bond with Swan!
From the beginning, this colony had a few small geographical disadvantages. Firstly, it was located nearly 2000 miles from the nearest colony on the continent. Secondly this colony, soon to be Adelaide, hadn’t been settled yet. Thirdly, it was bound on the western side by the Indian Ocean, with its vast areas of nothing until it bumped into Africa, and to the East, the almost equally vast Nullarbor Plain and Gibson Desert. To the North was the balance of Western Australia that consisted of desert, desert and more desert, until it ran out some 2500 miles north of the colony. Then further north of that was more ocean, until Asia appeared. To the South was Antarctica. Taking this pivotal location into account, it can be gathered that the sole and driving reason for creating this colony was to have it entered in the Guinness Book of Records as the most remote colony, village, town and more recently, city, in the whole world. In this endeavour they failed. The only mention of this remote place in the Guinness Book of Records is for having the most entries in a metropolitan telephone book starting with the word SWAN!
With its very own time zone, all to itself, ranging from two hours in winter to three hours in summer, behind the rest of Australia, Perth exists within itself, for itself, by itself. Some troublemakers on the east coast have even suggested that Perth is three hours and twenty years behind, but this is a point I will leave to others to debate. To the majority of the one million or so residents of this remote city, there are only two other types of people in the world. They are Eastern Staters, being anyone who lives in Australia but not in Perth, and Foreigners, those who do not live in Australia. This simplifies a vast array of confusion that the rest of the world struggles with every day. This type of thinking would put the United Nations out of work in an instant if the world and its population were simply divided into three categories.
Perth is on its own, and is inhabited by very unique creatures. It is a place where many immigrants from many cultures came to start a new life. Very many English, Scottish and Irish immigrants came to settle in Perth. This new life began for them as soon as they learned how to complain about the number of whinging Poms there were in the city. (Poms being a collective noun for anyone born in the United Kingdom.) It is the only place in the world where one would listen to the diatribe of a recently arrived Philippine mail order bride about the level of Asian immigration and what should be done to stop it. Of course she had an attentive audience. Dinky Di something-or-others sitting around the barbecue, cans of beer in hand, all nodding in approval of her sermon. Perth has this effect on people. No matter where they come from, what ethnic or cultural background. As soon as they arrive, they are consumed with the need to complain. Once bitten by this desire, and once they get the hang of it in practice, they are accepted as a local.
Unless you happen to come from Melbourne, Victoria. It is an unfortunate fact that anyone who uproots themselves from Melbourne and relocates to Perth, will never be accepted. Perth has three suburbs set aside for these Eastern Staters. Sorrento, Duncraig and Ocean Reef. As long as these drop ins, normally only there on transfer with a national company, stay in their allotted suburbs, there is peace. However, these poor creatures do have to quietly put up with being the butt of all jokes and pranks during their stay. The rest of the world has Irish, Polish and Jewish jokes. Perth has Vic jokes.
Apart from the mind set of the population, the place is outwardly normal. To the visitor it is a beautiful place to holiday. Beaches, sun, exotic wildflowers in spring. A sparkling city built on the banks of the Swan River. Almost rebuilt entirely in the money making days of the seventies and eighties, its tall glass and concrete towers can be seen by its inhabitants for miles. At night, from the trendy restaurants of South Perth, the lights of the cityscape dance in the still waters of the river. The reflections of every light symbolising the wealth that has been mined from the rich earth of the state, and all these jewels are on display in the night dance of the Swan River.
It is a tribal group that live here. Tribal battles are fought on the green grasses of sporting fields. The main battles are fought out mercilessly on the football field or the cricket pitch. In 1992, this tribalism came to fever pitch, when the local football team reached the Grand Final of the National League. This was the chance to defeat the dreaded Eastern Staters on their own battlefield. Now, sport has a following all over the world, but Perth must be the only place where a single football game would stop a city completely. The day of the event, the last Saturday in September, produced an eerie city. Not a soul was away from their television set. Roads, streets and major freeways were deserted. The main street of the city was populated by a couple of Japanese tourists looking as if they where the last survivors of a nuclear holocaust. Shopping centres closed. Nothing moved. The city died for those three hours.
Every single inhabitant wanted the blood of those Victorians. And blood they got. Perth won in a thrilling game. They had defeated the dreaded enemy. On the final siren, the city exploded in celebration. The type of celebration reserved for the end of major world wars. To the people of Perth, this was bigger than any world war, and they celebrated for days, weeks and months. In most other places in Australia, this victory hardly rated a mention. In Sydney it occupied six lines in the Sydney Morning Herald. Hidden somewhere next to the greyhounds and country trot results.
To the rest of the country, Perth is the city where people always want to go to, but never get there. In other cities, it is the place that you can never quite see tomorrows weather forecast, because the weather men in all other places in Australia stand in front of the map just where Perth is located. Its location is a convenient place for weather men to stand, because their little pointers can point to every other city from there.
A very long way to the east of Perth is Australia’s largest city. Sydney. Originally claimed by the British for use as a penal colony in 1788, it has grown from a small colony of convicts, gentry and police, to become a thriving metropolis of four million people. The ratio of convicts, gentry and police seems to have remained unchanged over the years! Another interesting fact about Sydney is that it took only a few months, from the time Captain Arthur Phillip landed with the First Fleet, to totally pollute the only water supply. To this day, the problem has not been rectified.
Sydney is a brash city. Fast. Aggressive. Dirty. Beautiful. Disgusting. Cultured. Loud. Greedy. Adventurous. Busy. Lazy. Everything for everybody. Bound by famous sandy beaches to the east and the Blue Mountains to the west, it is a city of activity. Two parts of the city, North Sydney and Sydney City are joined by the world’s largest replica ‘coat hanger’. It is an engineering marvel. It carries across its span, hundreds of thousands of cars and hundreds of trains every day. Hidden beneath the harbour it spans, is a tunnel carrying yet thousands upon thousands more cars, with drivers who pay their same $2.00 toll to cross the harbour, but pass on the spectacular view. Maybe they have seen it once too often.
Sydney is the home of the Sydney Opera House and The Love Machine. The Opera House being the height of culture, and The Love Machine being a famous club in King’s Cross. Located only a short distance apart, they make for an ideal night of entertainment. Shortly after enjoying the Sydney Symphony Orchestra at the Opera House and the privilege of paying a paltry $120.00 or so for a seat, it is only a short $5.00 taxi ride to the Love Machine. Both events are timed so you don’t miss a thing. When the last round of applause has finished at the concert, the best strippers are taking the stage at The Love Machine. The expensive champagne of the Opera House is replaced by exorbitantly priced cans of beer in the Cross, but once you are pissed, who cares. If you are still awake at 2.30a.m., you will get to see the live sex onstage that has been promised by the spruikers to every passing soul since 8.00pm. It is worth staying awake for. If you like comedy. Some poor pissed idiot is lured to the stage by something that resembles a naked female. Once there she yanks down his trousers and discovers ‘brewer’s droop’ as she has every other night and tries in vain to make it into something useful. The crowd have a laugh, the poor idiot will have forgotten it by the morning, and the ugly stripper takes a bow and disappears behind the tatty curtains of the stage. Once the poor idiot has hoisted his trousers up, it's your cue to go home.
When you do, you will encounter a Sydney phenomenon. At 3.00a.m., just when the entire entertainment and party scene of Sydney disgorges its human contents to the street, every Sydney taxi company has a shift change. Every single taxi in Sydney returns to base to change drivers. This presumably involves a chat with the new driver over coffee and scones, because it is well and truly 4.00a.m. before they reappear. If the police could organise the same arrangement, this en masse exodus of drunken, singing, vomiting party and club goers could drive home promptly without fear. But, being as it is that the chances of being caught for drink driving are bloody good, everyone waits patiently on sidewalks from 2.30a.m. to 4.00a.m. Pointlessly hailing taxis that are returning to base and have no inclination of stopping is the only way to pass the time.
The greater Sydney basin from Newcastle in the north, to Wollongong in the south, to Katoomba in the west is home to nearly one half of the population of Australia. This fact in itself ensures a city that has its own self propelled economy. It also has self propelled poverty and crime. Self propelled pollution and filth. It also has self propelled wealth and greed. Sydney reeks of opportunity, smells of garbage.
It is a magnet to many types of people from both within the country and without. Four out of five immigrants to Australia choose to settle in Sydney. Many people relocate to Sydney from other parts of Australia. As the rural heart of the country disappears, the cities swell. Sydney swells the fastest. Some come for the opportunities Sydney has to offer. Some come to hide in the enormity. Some come because there seems no other place to go. Three men from Perth are attracted to this vast metropolis. All come with hope in their hearts for a secure and prosperous future. They will all find what they are looking for, and more. It is the more that they will have difficulty with.

II
David

Born in a small country town sixty miles east of Perth, David James Holdsworth began his life in 1956 after waiting for the local town doctor to come home from the picture theatre. He was ready to take his first breath, but somehow got stuck on his way to freedom. No doubt this was an unpleasant wait for his mother also. His passage to freedom and his first gulp of air in the middle of a loud squawk was assisted by the recently arrived doctor, and a pair of large forceps. David had waited impatiently for his freedom. In some manner the die had been cast for his life. David’s appetite for freedom would never be satisfied. He would never feel freedom as he wished it would feel or appear. He would spend an indeterminate amount of his life chasing freedom. The seemingly irrational urges to run, to escape, to flee, to be free that David would undergo during his life would be difficult for those close to him to understand.
David was a quiet boy. The type of baby that leads first time parents into a false sense of belief that child raising is easy. He was a normal baby who cried to be fed, to be held, to be changed. But he did not do as most babies do and cry for no obvious reason. This is what drives parents to distraction. David was easy to understand. But only as a baby. As David became older, he became harder to understand. Every year that passed led David’s parents further away from understanding their son.
David’s father was a carpenter. A simple hard working and honest man. His mother stayed at home with her child, and later children. Their life was not blessed with more money than was needed for a simple lifestyle. But they were happy. Until the work ran out in the small town. The town was dying. It was time to move on. The city was not an attraction for his parents, so David moved with his mum and dad to another larger country town three hundred miles north. Arriving at the age of four, it was here that David collected his first memories. Memories to build on through life. As he would discover later in life, some memories are easy to carry. Others become emotional baggage, and weigh one down heavily.
School was interesting to David. He thrived on the inter activity with other children. Being an only child, the company of other children was something David adored. Most were attracted to his warm personality, but this is not to say he didn’t stand up for himself and have the odd school yard fight. They were few and far between though, and his win loss ratio was about even. He was developing as a normal young boy. During his first few years of school, his marks were good. Always, near the top, but never right at the top. He was little trouble to teachers. The type of child who can be overlooked because they don’t need attention.
Behind his house, through an opening in the paling fence, was a small shop. The owners had built the shop on to the front of their house. They had two children. A boy and a girl. The boy a little older than David. The girl a little younger. The three became close friends. They played together after school, and their respective parents always knew they would be at either house, or somewhere in between. A few trees in David’s backyard were a favourite place for the three. Collecting and having races with cow beetles was a standard game. It didn’t matter if they were playing with a train set, cowboys and indians, cops and robbers, or with a tea set and mud cakes, the three were inseparable. Being children of course, they were not complete angels. But apart from one little game with matches under the house, and the resulting panic attack with the garden hose by David’s mum, and numerous cuts, abrasions and falls, dropped plastic cups full of soft drink when they walked around the houses instead of staying at the table as they were told, these three kids were normal, and abnormally well behaved.
Shortly after turning ten years old, and his little sister who was six years younger than him were told by their mum that they would be moving to the city. Dad’s work was slowing down again, and grandma was on her own in Perth. Grand-dad had died a year or so back. The excitement of the adventure of going to Perth and being able to watch television at grandma’s, overshadowed the fact to David that he would lose his best friends. But as he was ten years old, and there was no television in his country town, the thought of being able to watch television every night won the day. He was ready. Although far too young to realise how settled he was, David would look back later in life and realise this period of time in this country town would be the most stable and settled part of his life. His two friends would be the first of many he would lose along the way. He would reflect on this loss and wonder if he ever said goodbye to them.
Arriving in Perth was a disorganised time for the family. A rented house, a new school, looking for work, building a house. It was organised chaos. David shared a bed with his sister because the house was so small. He hated his new school. He hated the teachers. He wasn’t all that keen on the other kids. This was unusual for David. He retreated into himself. The only bright spot was the new black and white television set sitting in the lounge room. David would get impatient watching the test pattern, then waiting for the national anthem and the station announcement to finish before the programs started. But wait he would. He loved TV. Like any novelty, it would wear off, but while he hated where he lived and went to school, television was his escape.
After what seemed forever, but more likely one year, the new house was ready. It was in a different suburb and the change of schools was just what David needed. He made new friends quickly, and returned to his grades that took him near but not quite to the top of the class. He loved sport, but wasn’t very good. It didn’t matter. He tried his heart out. He started at this new school with a little less than two years of primary school to complete. There was a high school near by, so the future looked stable. But it wasn’t.
David entered a music scholarship contest at the suggestion of his teacher in his last year of primary school. He had no idea what it meant, he just enjoyed playing the violin. The adjudicator came to David’s school for the audition, so it didn’t seem like a big event to him. Once the audition was over, he forgot about it. Until he won. His parents were so proud of him. He had been accepted to go to a high school that specialised in music tuition. He would receive the standard education, but have extra periods of music and out of school activities. It was a marvellous opportunity. He loved music. However, the school was three buses and one and a half hours away from his home. In accepting the scholarship, David sentenced himself to three hours travel a day and the loss again of his newly acquired friends at his primary school.
For a skinny freckled face boy with a haircut always a little shorter than he really wanted, who thrived on the company of his friends, David had made a regretful decision. He knew it. He was an intelligent boy, with deep and thoughtful blue eyes that never revealed what was inside his mind. He fully understood that the scholarship was an honour and an opportunity he was lucky to have received. He also knew he would regret leaving his friends. The amount of travel he would have to do would not allow him to see his friends after school, or participate in local sporting activities near his home. At the young age of twelve, David was feeling that friends for him would only exist in short time frames. When other children were building on their friendships that had started at kindergarten or earlier primary school, David was starting high school without a solitary friend. Outwardly he didn’t show his feelings, nor discuss his fear and loss with anyone. The outside of David smiled, the inside cried.
While waiting for his third bus on the morning of his first day to his new school, David met, and made a new friend, also a scholarship winner, also on his own, also looking for someone to talk to on what was going to be a difficult day. A new school is always full of fears, and especially the first day of high school. He was relieved he was not totally alone now. He had only known his new friend for a few minutes, but it was a security he hadn’t had an hour before . David wondered how all his old friends from primary school were, secure in their own groups on this fearsome day, he jealously thought.
Within a few months, he had settled. He had a new group of friends, his school work and music progressed well. He navigated his first year without any drama. He must have been saving his energy for the following year.
Nineteen Seventy. David fell off the rails. He was about to cancel out all the years he had been such a good boy to his parents. His credits would be used up inside eighteen months. Simply, David got bored. School work had been easy to him. He had never struggled to learn. From simply missing a few periods of school to enjoy a smoke with his mates in a nearby lane way, David and a few of his friends found that life in the city, where they had to change buses in the morning provided a vast array of interesting things to do. The snooker hall was their number one favourite. This place was full of characters almost every hour of the day. The small barber shop in the small corridor at the bottom of the entrance stairs to this basement haven was a favourite haunt of David’s. He enjoyed the conversation of the old men, the drunks, the Vietnam vets, the losers and the winners. He often played a game of snooker with the jeweller who owned the jewellery shop at the top of the stairs at street level. He oozed money. David had never seen so much gold around someone’s neck and wrists. He also played and enjoyed equally the company of the cities down and outs. Their stories, mostly lies, dreams and exaggerated memories amused David for hours. He learned how to set someone up by playing badly for the first game for twenty cents and losing, then asking for another game for a dollar, and win by a whisker. He was not a hustler, just a quick learner. There were enough strangers coming in each week to let David make a few dollars. He wasn’t ever going to be world snooker champion, but he played well enough, and picked his marks well enough to succeed in his ploy on most occasions. It was enough to fund a few packs of smokes, and a Coke or two during what used to be school hours.
David and his friends would still attend school roughly sixty per cent of the time. He enjoyed his music classes, and surprisingly missed very few music periods. Somehow he attended enough classes to pass the year. This was an intelligent boy who could have stayed at the top of his classes. He didn’t however.
Nineteen seventy-one. This was the year David became a stranger to his parents. It is not unusual for fifteen year olds to be difficult to communicate with, but David was impossible to break through to. He closed off completely. The only open communication he had was with his small group of friends. The same ones he had inhabited the snooker hall with the year previous. From a platform of returning to the previous year's routine, this small group of lads began to stretch out for independence. They all felt fenced in and restricted. They lost life’s rule book that they had all learned so well as children. These young boys knew right from wrong. They were not from dysfunctional families. One boy was the only child of a wealthy couple. One was the son of a senior army officer. One was the child of a schoolteacher. And David was the son of a carpenter. Within a few months all had tasted new life adventures. Alcohol, grass, theft and sex. These boys abandoned any boundaries. The common bond these boys had was loneliness. None having friends of longstanding, they gelled together in a reaction to their lack of peers. Not as a gang. They just felt they were on their own and took sanctuary in each other's company. As misery does.
There was an attempt to run away to Sydney. David and the military officer’s son hatched a plan to ride their push bikes to Sydney. Being some 2700 miles away, the two boys had the good sense to pack a bag each of tinned food. Not far into their epic journey came their first problem. The climb up Greenmount to the top of the escarpment that borders the east side of Perth is very steep. Impossible to ride up on a push bike with no gears, and made all the more difficult by the heavy bags of tinned food hanging off their backs. They consoled each other with the thought that once they covered the twenty miles up Greenmount, it should be flat for the next 2680 miles to Sydney.
The next problem was a little more threatening to the journey. David’s friend dropped his bike and started running for the bush. ‘Run, it’s my old man! That’s his car coming behind us’. David jumped to the order and bolted with his friend deep into the scrub. They heard voices as they hid in a small gully, but couldn’t decipher what was said. After an hour or so, they popped their heads out for a look. No one. Nothing moved. Moving quietly and carefully they made their way back to the road side. Their bikes had disappeared. ‘Fuck it!’ pronounced David at the loudest volume he could muster.
A few minutes discussion ended up in agreement that they should camp the night in the scrub. It was probably about six o’clock in the evening. It was late winter and getting a little cool. They had no idea what time it was, but they did discover that they had forgotten to bring a watch. With the onset of hunger, they made another fascinating discovery. They hadn’t packed a can opener! ‘Fuck it, Fuck it, Fuck it!’ David screamed as he belted the living daylights out of a can of spaghetti with a rock. Its contents firmly entrenched inside the can. The two boys had missed many science lessons. But at least tonight they did discover the strength of tin.
When the can had been pummelled past its point of submission, a creamy pinkish red paste like sludge dribbled from a few cracks in its defence. This sludge was once spaghetti in a bolognese sauce. It was now just goo reacting to the pressure built up in the almost crushed tin. As it dripped to the ground, the boys made yet another discovery. A plate would have been a handy addition to their kit bags. With the lack of a plate they took turns in sucking the can.
With dinner complete, albeit because their fingers, hands and arms were sore from bashing cans with rocks, and not from being replete, the cold of the night started to have an effect. One last discovery was that a pullover, jacket or blanket would have come in very handy. As they shivered, they agreed that this trip to Sydney had not started all that well. The laughing fit they had, helped them forget the cold for a few minutes. Through the trees they could see the highway. West, 20 miles to Perth, east, 2680 miles to Sydney. After what seemed like all night, but more likely a few hours of shivering, David suggested they try again another day. Both boys strode off defiantly. Happy in their consoling excuse that they had run out of smokes anyway. Towards the highway they strode to hitch a lift back to Perth.
The police car and two constables who had been despatched to have a quick look for a couple of teenage runaways in the National Park did not notice the two lads. They would have had to have been quick in locating them, as for just once today the boy’s luck was in. No sooner had David popped his thumb out to hitch a lift, a car pulled over. The second slice of luck was that the driver, an elderly gentleman, was heading to Perth from a close by country town to see his daughter. He liked to avoid the traffic of the city by arriving very early in the morning. The boys hid their surprise when he told them it was 4.30am. His destination of Cottesloe was the last slice of luck to make up for a bad day. The man’s route to Cottesloe passed both boys' houses. Both were dropped at their front doors.
The police were advised of their safe return. David avoided a long questioning by his relieved but angry parents by going to bed. His mate got a belting from his father.
The next morning, David’s father accompanied him to the local police station. The Sergeant on duty explained to David the dangers he had placed himself in. He also explained what a waste of bloody time he had created. His officers had better things to do than look for runaways. Smiling as only a police sergeant seems to be able to do, with clenched teeth and cold piercing eyes, he told David about how this sort of behaviour could lead to big trouble with the police in future. David looked at his shoes to avoid the Sergeant’s eyes, and waited for the lecture to finish. When it had, he left with his father. David fully clammed up. The rest of the day he put up with his parents questioning. ‘Why did you do it son?’ they asked over and over. David’s answer was ‘I dunno.’
Although this answer did not satisfy them, they would probably have been worried even more so if they knew this was the truth. David just did it because it seemed like a good idea. He honestly had no idea what he was reacting to in running away. He just wanted to run. And did.
He went back to school for a few weeks. Part time as usual. At the mid point of the year, David abandoned the little time he attended school. A few of his mates joined him. To their surprise, it took three months for anyone to notice their absence and for anything to happen. When it did, some sanity would start to return to David’s life. He wasn’t a bad kid. Just lost, lonely and directionless.
It was towards the end of the school year, David’s third year at high school, that it was noticed by the school that he was missing.
Accompanied by his mother and father one Tuesday morning late in October 1971, David sat with his parents in the high school office waiting to see the deputy headmaster. David did not like him. The deputy headmaster’s feeling for David was mutual. For some reason David felt no fear. He just wanted to get this over. ‘Here comes another fucking lecture.’ he thought to himself. Once in the office, he turned off to the conversation his worried parents were having with the deputy headmaster. The deputy head felt compassion and sympathy for these obviously worried parents. David looked out the window at the group of students having a smoke behind the tennis courts. He wondered if it was only he who could see the kids with their cigarettes, and the obvious plumes of smoke, through the green cyclone wire of the tennis courts. ‘Surely the deputy headmaster had noticed this.’ he thought. ‘If he hadn’t he must be stupid.’ he pondered. ‘But he must see it. It’s so bloody obvious. So he must know about it, and does nothing to stop it. He must just……’
David’s thoughts were broken as his attention was caught by the word cane, mentioned by the deputy headmaster. His parents had been informed of what was going to happen. The deputy headmaster now explained it to David. Now that he had his attention.
‘David young fellow,’ he started, ‘I have decided to administer six strokes of the cane to you. Following this, you will leave this school with your parents, and you will not be welcomed back should you decide to continue your fourth year. You can however, sit for your Junior Examination in November. Judging by the little amount of school you have attended, it may be a waste of time, but you have this option.’
With this, the deputy headmaster rose from his chair, took a cane from the water filled cane holder in the corner, and flexed it a few times to check its subtlety. ‘Over here lad.’ he ordered in a strangely gentle voice. ‘Hand out. Right hand first.’ While his parents watched on he administered three stinging cracks across David’s right hand. His palm immediately swelled and went a livid colour. ‘Left hand lad.’ he almost whispered. And delivered the final three cuts. He sat back in his chair, looked at David’s parents and said, ‘I wish you well, thank you for coming. Good morning to you.’
David left with his distressed parents.
There was little to be said. And little was said for a few days. David kept to himself. In his room most of the time. To him, being banished from the school meant losing his friends, again. Fifteen years old is a very early age to recognise a pattern of loss in one’s life. David felt it. His friends from high school were scattered over the city, and even though he still saw a few friends in his area from his primary school days, they were adrift from him with their longstanding friends. They were merely acquittances now. He felt very alone. His only friend, who would listen to his torment was his violin. And it would cry for him. It saved him from having to do this himself.
As David would remember later in life, his father was sparing with advice. He was about to receive his first of very few words of wisdom from his father, but later in life he would look back on a few rare occasions that he was offered them, and cherish and value each occasion. His father’s advice was simple, and delivered quietly over breakfast a few mornings after the caning. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘get a job. If you can’t, go back to school until you can find one. Once you have a job you are on you own. So, if that’s what you want, to be independent, start looking. An apprenticeship would be a good start in life.’
The lecture ended. Short and sweet. But for some reason, effective.
David attended the Junior Examination at his now banished High School. In January when the results came by mail, he had his certificate. He had passed all subjects. In doing so his parents must have wondered what he could have achieved if he had applied himself to his studies. Within a couple of weeks he had secured an apprenticeship with a large plumbing company, and had enrolled himself into night school for two subjects for his tertiary entrance subjects, english and mathematics.
During the next year, David passed his English tertiary exam, and was not altogether disappointed with forty-seven percent for his maths exam. His maths teacher had died suddenly after the sixth week of the course. He was a young man in his thirties, and had been a celebrated local footballer. Even though he was a teacher, and David had only known him a short time, his death was upsetting for David. The class had twelve relief teachers for the rest of the year. No one else in his class passed either. He considered doing the course again the following year, but didn’t.
His job was interesting and he learned quickly. Being indentured as an apprentice, he had basically signed his young life away for five years, and the owner of the company was a disciplinarian. The days had yet to arrive when it became incorrect to give a cheeky apprentice a clip around the ear. David only copped a couple, but he knuckled down to his job and his studies at technical college for the theory part of his apprenticeship. In the first two years he was top of his technical college class. By the time he reached his fourth year, he was nominated for apprentice of the year by the state industry body. He won. His prize was a seven day trip to Sydney, to visit factories and businesses within his industry. Travelling with a similar winner from Adelaide, the two young men laboured through their days of factory visits (although David was struck by how much bigger and busier industry was in Sydney), but relished the excitement at night of a city so alive with entertainment and life. To David, who had lived half his life in the isolation of country towns, and the other half in an isolated small city, Sydney was exhilarating, exciting, alive, and very, very big. It was an exciting week. He did tire of people he met being surprised to meet someone from Perth, and repetitively saying, ‘Oh I have heard that is a wonderful place. I have always wanted to go there. But it’s so far.’ On arriving home, he felt the isolation.
David had a girlfriend and a car. He was nineteen, earning good money, was living at home with his parents and sister. Outwardly he was settled and responsible and making a good start to life after a rebellious period in his mid teens. Only David was aware of a growing urge to run gathering in his gut. From an early age David had been possessed by an urge to run. To nowhere in particular, and from nothing in particular. It was just a feeling. A sensation of being bound and trapped on all sides. Not a physical entrapment. It was in his mind and gut. The feeling could manifest itself to run from a place, person, feeling, situation, or later in life relationships and responsibilities.
The first outward manifestation of this feeling came at a young age. Little more than seven years old, he rode his bicycle out the front gate. He knew he was not allowed to ride his bike out of the yard surrounding his house, because he had understood his parent’s warnings about the dangers of the road and motor cars. Heading these warnings, he rode on the footpath. Within 200 yards of home on his great escape he suffered the misfortune of a flat tyre. Noticing his absence from her vantage point at the kitchen window, his mother despatched his father to look for him. He found him within a minute, a forlorn little figure sitting by his prostrate bicycle. His father walked the short distance and sat down by his son. Not speaking straight away. After a minute or so, he asked, ‘What are you doing Son?’
‘Running away Dad.’ was his almost whispered reply. His father looked at his son, and held back a smile and said, ‘Well, I don’t think you are going to get very far with a flat tyre. Maybe we should head back home and see if we can repair it.’ David nodded in defeat, and pushed his bicycle home. His father walking slowly beside him. Within a few days the event was forgotten. Except by David.
The sensation would rise in David many times. Prior to his ill fated expedition to Sydney as a teenager, David had run away many times. In his early years, maybe just to the end of the street, or to a park. As he got older, he would wander further. He could never explain to anyone the reasons why he did it. Least of all himself. It was just an irresistible urge. An auto-response. It would perplex his parents until the day he left home for good at twenty. It was to perplex David for his entire life.
Shortly after turning twenty, and with a successful apprenticeship completed, David married his girlfriend. With hindsight David would admit to himself later in life that he married at an early age to satisfy his urge to run. To run from the environment of his family. To run to create a situation where he thought he would be independent and in control of himself. Highlighting this was his decision, which he gave his new bride little choice in, to move to Adelaide within a few months of being married. For a short time David felt he had escaped. From what? He had no idea. The move to Adelaide was a disaster. He didn’t settle at all. Although he found a job within days of arriving, he lasted there less than two weeks. After five years in the one and only job he had, he found his new job strange and uncomfortable. The sudden changes David had meted out to himself in such a short period of time scared him. He ran from his new job. No formal resignation, he just didn’t turn up for work there again. Luckily, he gathered himself and found another position within a couple of weeks. Which he tolerated.
The fear of change is a normal human reaction. To someone with an inbuilt auto-response to run, it would be prove to be a commonly faced fear for David. The clash of his inbuilt need to run away from events, feelings and situations, while not even understanding why, with his quite normal fear of change, would create a confusion he would find difficult to handle. Even more so considering that he also had a deep desire to keep friends and live a settled life.
In contrast his young wife found an interesting position and was enjoying her new life. Until, one day, just short of six months after their arrival in Adelaide, they returned home one evening from work to their apartment. They found nothing! Nothing except carpets and curtains and an open door. Everything gone. After the initial shock, and a quick check, they did find that their clothes had been left in the wardrobe. The event was traumatic for them both, but especially for David’s young wife. Shortly after the police had left and the eventful evening left them alone, she admitted to being homesick, and asked if they could go home to Perth. David agreed instantly. She was warmed by his understanding and care to agree so quickly. She did not understand that the events had been fortuitous for David. He had felt the urge to run building in him for some time. The events of the evening enabled him to satisfy the urge now. He could run away again. The perversity of running away to his home was lost on David at that moment.
Within seven years of marriage, David had fathered two wonderful children, bought a house, left his wife on three separate occasions for periods of time ranging from one week to three months. Notwithstanding the three times he left his wife, he otherwise stabilised his life into a boring routine as an ideal husband and ideal employee. In the last of these seven years, he ended his career as a plumber, and started a new life as a plumbing supplies salesman and shortly after this as a divorcee. He ran for what he thought would be the last time. The divorce cost him some more friends. It also cost him his house and home, most of his possessions, and his cherished role as a father. Leaving his wife did not overly concern David. The loss of his children did. The feeling that he had run away from his children, whom he loved dearly, would grind as a guilt in his very being for years to come. Drinking consoled his loss for short periods.
With the freedom of a single man at twenty seven, and a wish to make up for the fun years he perceived he missed by marrying so young, David made new friends quickly. In no time at all he had a whole new social circle, and was enjoying life to the fullest. Life was party time. With his new job, which paid well, and also paid a generous entertainment allowance, David partied very hard. And drank hard to numb his pain of the loss of his children.
Within a few months he met a young attractive red headed eighteen year old. She was on a working holiday from Sydney. He fell in lust with her, then in love with her.

III
Tony

Fremantle is a port city twenty miles south of Perth. It is like all ports. Full of the smell of salt, rusting cargo and container vessels, all registered in strange far off places for the benefit of cheap insurance and cheap labour. Fremantle is the home, as it was in the late 1950’s, to many Greek and Italian immigrants. Many ending up as owners of fish and chip shops, green grocery stores or a corner deli. Many prospered in the simpler days of the late 1950’s and 1960’s. All needed the support of all the family to survive. Normality was father going to the market at 4.30a.m. to buy the produce, and have his family business open for trade at 7.00a.m. Of course the children worked in the shop as well. When they were tall enough to reach the cash register, they were ready to work. Working before school, and again when they came home from school, they had little time for any other activity. But, they were always the best kids at adding up and subtracting in class. Father taught them very well at the cash register.
Mother worked out the back of the shop. Rarely seen in the shop, she attended to the accounts, cooked for the family and the customers, and most importantly, held the family together as they all toiled eighteen hours a day to exist in their new homeland.
It was here that a young boy named Antonio Leonardi Pilletto arrived with his family in 1958. He was two years old when the immigrant ship disgorged him and his family along with six hundred other wogs onto the shores of Fremantle. His father, a stone mason and a master craftsman in his home land, became one of the wog shopkeepers of Fremantle. Nick’s Fish and Chips became home for Antonio. Before he was five years old, Antonio became used to being called Tony by the locals, and a wog, itie and dago by people who did not know him. These were days when there was no political correctness, and if you happened to be a wog, or an itie, or a dago, or chink, or a towel head, well, that’s what you were. This was Fremantle, a southern suburb of Perth. A young fat little Italian immigrant had to learn to cop it sweet, and work his little heart out with his family to survive this new country.
In the days of the late 1950’s Tony was lucky. There were many men like his father working in almost slave like conditions, building a dam to trap the Snowy River. This was on the east coast of Australia, half way between Sydney and Melbourne. It was also cold and isolated. Many, if not most, lived in tents during its construction and suffered enormous hardship during those years. The mentality of that time did not give a single thought to the fact, that this dam was to destroy an icon of Australia. The heart and spirit of Australia lived in A. B. ‘Banjo’ Patterson’s poem, The Man from Snowy River. When the Snowy River ceased to run, somehow Australia seemed to lose some of its heart and spirit.
To Tony though, life was not new, this place was all he knew. Arriving at two years old, his only contact with his home country was in the stories and memories of his parents. And in the learning of two languages. Speaking Italian at home, but thinking in English. He lived in an Italian household and he survived in a bigoted racist and isolated Australian society.
At school Tony was not an exceptional student, but as with all dagoes who had the advantage of working six hours a day at a cash register, he was always top of his class at arithmetic. This acumen with adding up and subtracting didn’t however do him a lot of good in his other subjects. Nor did the fact that he had worked three hours before school preparing fish for the day's trade, and had another six hours to work once he had finished school. The family’s combined labour paid dividends. Nick’s Fish and Chip shop prospered. Within ten years Tony’s father and mother had joined the elite of home owners. It was not far from the shop. Such a luxury after all the years of living in the back of the shop. This was their dream when they decided to come to Australia for a new start. To settle. To own their own business and their own house. Now they had achieved their aim. Now all they had to do was to continue to work to secure their children’s future, and their own old age. To these new goals the family worked. Just as hard as they had done before, but at least now in the comfort of their own home, away from the smell of fish.
High school for Tony was where he really discovered he was Italian. Closeted from the broad society at primary school, he was now in a melting pot of kids from a far wider area than his little area of South Fremantle. This is where he was not protected by mothering teachers. He was on his own. And just as other kids who were different, he had to find his own ways to survive. Young children can be cruel with their honesty. ‘Where did that man’s legs go Mummy?’ can be difficult and embarrassing for a mother of a verbose four year old to answer in a busy and crowded greengrocery store, but teenagers take this child like honesty to a new level of cruelty.
Tony was immediately targeted for simply being a dago, a wog, fat and having a moustache! His parents must have arrived in Fremantle by sliding on the grease of previous ities who made their way to Australia. Busy defending himself, he didn’t really notice how the abo’ kids, bought down from a remote Aboriginal tribal community in the north west by some do gooders in the local Catholic Church parish, were called chocolate drops or niggers or bungs. The white kids loved the funny story their dad’s had told them about how abo’s got called bungs. ‘Because that’s the sound they make when they get hit by the roo bar on the front of a car son!’
It didn’t really matter what you were. An itie or an abo or a fatty or a mummy’s boy. Teacher’s pet, cry baby. Any small difference was going to be targeted by the other kids. Tony soon learned that almost all kids got targeted one way or another. So he just took it as it came, and as he understood how this peer put down worked, he gave as good as he got. He had his share of fights. Won a few, lost a few, same as all the other kids. He also learned by experience a valuable lesson to take through life. If you are going to pick a fight with someone, pick it with someone smaller than yourself. And if it looks like any possibility of a fight with someone bigger than yourself, hit him before the fight has started, and hit him fucking hard because it might be the only punch you get in!
It wasn’t unusual in 1971 for a boy to leave school at fifteen. After three years at high school, and passing the Junior School Certificate, the only point in carrying on for a further two years was to gain university entrance. As Tony wasn’t breaking any scholastic records, and as the cost of a university education was seen as only affordable by the idle rich, Tony’s parents wondered if it might be time for him to find a job. As working was nothing new to Tony, it was a simple and easy choice for him to make.
Fremantle was alive with work for a keen young man. Within two days of leaving school, Tony started work for Simpson’s Transport Company. His job title was storeman, but in practice it was young shitkicker and tea maker. It didn’t matter to Tony. He thrived on working with men. No more schoolyard humour and pranks. The men he now worked with were real Aussie men and punctuated every sentence with the words fuck and cunt at least three times, and it wasn’t to shock, it was just the way they communicated. What wasn’t fucked, or a little cunt of a thing, was bloody good, or not worth a pinch of shit. As with all groups in society there are rules. It took Tony a little while to grasp these rules, but with looking, listening, and the odd clip around the ear from his older workmates he learned quick smart. When Bob the truckie asked Tony to get him a cup of fucking tea, because he was as dry as a nun’s cunt, Tony found out the hard way what not to do. He made the tea just fine, but in delivering it to Bob who was sitting having smoko with a few mates, he handed the cup to Bob and said, ‘Here you are Bob, your cup of fucking tea!’ Within a millisecond of uttering the last word of what Tony thought was what he should say to become one of the boys he was hit across the back of his head with a huge open handed clout by the warehouse foreman. ‘You watch your language you little shit!’ echoed in Tony’s ears as his head recoiled from the blow. Tony discovered by trial and error where he was to fit into this group of men. He knew for sure he was at the bottom of the pecking order. This was easy because he got all the shit jobs, and always made the tea for smoko. But he did gradually find his place, and accepted it without complaint. And it was easier to conform than get clouted by the warehouse foreman.
The work ethic Tony had as habit from all his years in the fish and chip shop did him no harm. After two years with Simpson’s Transport, almost to the day, the warehouse foreman craned his neck out of his office and yelled, ‘Hey Tony, get your arse over here!’. Tony came running over as usual. But this wasn’t usual. Instead of being asked to make tea, sweep the back of a truck that had been loaded with incontinent sheep, or run down the Post Office, he was asked to take a seat. Tony’s pulse raced. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. ‘Shit’, he thought as his mind raced, ‘I am going to get sacked.’
‘Tony,’ started the foreman, ‘you have been with us now two years, and soon you will be turning seventeen. It is time we had a look at what you do here.’
‘Oh no!’ thought Tony, ‘This is it. I am in for the chop.’
‘Tony, I have made arrangements for you to take driving lessons. Normally the company would ask you to do this in your own time and at your own expense, but I have discussed with the manager your future role. You know you can’t be tea maker forever.’ he said with a chuckle. Tony wore a smile, but the shock of just sitting in the foreman’s office hadn’t entirely worn off yet. But it was slowly sinking into his head that he wasn’t getting sacked. The bile started to obey gravity and head back down his throat.
‘We need a driver for small local deliveries. Deliveries too small really for a truck. We believe you have shown a great deal of commitment to your job Tony. Do you realise you have not had one day off sick since you started with us?’
Tony didn’t answer, as he knew somehow that this was a statement and not a question.
‘Tomorrow morning Tony, I will have Bob start giving you driving lessons in the company ute. One hour each morning starting at seven a.m. I have booked you in for a driving test at the police station in Fremantle for tomorrow fortnight. Any questions Tony?’
‘No Sir, thank you very much Sir.’ was all Tony could mutter. His head was spinning.
‘Ok son, get your arse out of here, there’s work to be done.’
This was the first step towards Tony achieving his ultimate qualification. An articulated vehicle licence. Tony didn’t know it then, but his die had been cast. Tony was to be a truck driver.
With Bob’s patience and swearing, Tony learned how to drive. He passed his test first time. Tony didn’t know that the sergeant at the Fremantle police station was a friend of the warehouse foreman, and unless he had run over a pedestrian or side swiped five cars, he was guaranteed to pass anyway. All that mattered was that he could now drive. He could work with and along side the other drivers. To Tony, working for a transport company meant driving. So, he could see his days of sweeping, unloading and making tea were coming to an end.
If there was an official end to being the company shitkicker, it came a few weeks after Tony had gained his driver’s licence. He had just finished a delivery to Kwinana, about ten miles south of Fremantle, and was heading for the tea urn, when he heard a familiar shrill.
‘Hey Tony, get your arse over here!’ came the bellow from the foreman’s office. Tony walked over to the open office door. He had stopped running to this command since a young lad was hired to take over his shitkicker duties ten days before.
‘Tony this is Bill Hodges. He is the local union rep for the Transport Worker’s Union. You will have to join the union now that you are a driver.’
‘Hello Mr Hodges,’ said Tony as he reached out to shake his hand.
‘Nice to meet you Tony. Do you know much about the union Tony?’
‘Yes Sir, some Sir. The other men here have told me a little.’ replied Tony.
‘Well, the union will look after you son. I just need to take a few details from you, and have you sign up, and you will need to come to our next meeting at Trades Hall. Ok with you?’
‘Yes Sir.’ Tony boldly answered. Tony knew that the transport industry was a closed shop, so he simply had to be in the union. He had also gleaned in conversations with his workmates that the Union was there to look after workers. So it must be good. And, there was no choice in the matter. Tony was now a driver and a union man. And bloody proud to be just that.
One of Tony’s regular deliveries was to a ceramic tile wholesaler in Spearwood. An industrial suburb near Fremantle. The shipments of tiles came by ship from overseas, and on semi from the east. Most were small consignments so Tony delivered these in his ute nearly every week. He got to know most of the staff at the warehouse, and one member of the staff really caught his attention. She was a little blonde girl. He thought she was about sixteen, but it is always a difficult task for a seventeen year old boy to know how old a young lady is. He exchanged glances with her for weeks before he finally summoned up the courage to actually say hello.
He finally did, and to his relief she said ‘Hello, how are you?’
‘I am fine.’ he struggled to say in his excitement.
Over the next few weeks, Tony became a little more at ease with this little blonde. At first he had to cut his conversations short, because he was sure she and everyone else within a mile would notice him getting a hard on. It was just as well it was a fifteen minute drive back to the depot. He needed all this time just to be able to stand up straight without embarrassment. It took Tony two months before he summoned up the courage to ask her a question he had been practicing in his mind since he had first seen her.
‘Would you like to go to the drive-in or something on Saturday night?’ he asked with all the surety of someone asking a beggar for a thousand dollars!
She seemed to take a fortnight to answer, and Tony thought he had blown it. But finally she replied in what was really only a second or two, ‘Yeah sure, that would be great. What’s on?’
‘I dunno.’ replied Tony. He realised then that he hadn’t planned this too well.
Tony did not know what this innocent beginning was going to lead to. He had just met his future wife.

IV
Steven

In the middle of a wet winter in 1971, a P&O liner full of ten pound tourists arrived and tied up at the passenger terminal of Fremantle Harbour. They were immigrants from the United Kingdom, and were called this because it only cost them ten pounds for a one way passage to Australia. The Australian government of the day was keen to have white English stock as migrants. In 1971, England was still referred to as the Mother country or simply home by many Australians. Most had never been there. It was just that the ties of a colony had yet to be fully broken. It was still a time when English accents were needed to get a job with the ABC as a newsreader or announcer.
As the gangplank was lowered, a young couple from East London waited to disembark after their long voyage. Six weeks aboard a crowded ocean liner with three young children was not a pleasant experience. They just wanted to get onto dry land. Little were they to know that the next three months in a migrant hostel would be worse.
Nissan huts were used as accommodation for some newly arrived migrants. It was only temporary, but then again, nissan huts were used to house POWs in the second world war, so they were certainly not built for comfort. They resembled half of a corrugated iron water tank, cut in half from top to bottom and then laid on their side. Being made of corrugated iron they were very strong structurally, and very cheap to make. They were also very cold in winter, screaming hot in summer, and would deafen the dead when it rained. Heaven forbid if it hailed.
Into one of these huts one young Steven Sharp was housed with his mother, father and two older sisters. Steven was four years old. His sisters six and nine. It was a trying time for them all, and if it had not been for a stroke of luck in Steven’s father getting a job after only a month, they might have given in to Steven’s mother’s tears of wanting to go home. The conditions were uncomfortable, crowded, wet, cold and noisy. Nothing like the beaches, sun and suntanned bodies they had seen in the brochures at Australia House in London. Winter anywhere can be miserable. Perth was no exception.
Many families from England went back. And who could really blame them. They really got sold a pup in many ways. They were sold on Australia by slick advertising and colourful brochures. A promise of a land of plenty and sunny days and sandy beaches. Nobody told them about clouds and rain, and cold winds of winter. Nor about the scorching heat they would suffer during a Perth summer. They were sold a holiday. This was not a holiday for any of them.
With all the normal adjustment and settling process over, Steven’s family settled into their new life. His mother had reduced her complaining about wanting to go home to as little as twice a week now, so things must have been improving. By 1977 all thoughts of going home had gone. The family had just moved into their new state house for which they had been on the waiting list since shortly after their arrival. A state house was a house bought from the government under the Public Housing Scheme. They were cheaper than buying privately, and as long as your income was below a certain level, and you qualified under various criteria including children, age and married, you applied to join the waiting list. The interest rate was also subsidised. One drawback was that these state houses were built in large estates. This created a whole suburb or sometimes, suburbs of low income residents. Not that this was going to equal slums, but undoubtedly it was going to lead to some social problems. The ingredients of low incomes, young children, struggling parents, unemployment, alcohol, domestic violence and lack of education were to be the environment for Steven Sharp’s childhood.
School didn’t hold much interest for Steven. He wasn’t unintelligent, but neither was he academically inclined. It bored him. He would rather play football or cricket, or go looking for tadpoles in the nearby swamp. He skipped school a few times to go to the swamp. He thought he would get into serious trouble, but to his surprise, when he took a letter home to his mother from his teacher regarding his absence, his mum scribbled on the bottom that he had been home sick, and signed it. She didn’t really care. Her interest had now been taken by alcohol and valium. Steven wasn’t sure, but he thought she took the tablets for her headaches. The ones she got after dad slapped her around a bit. Steven also discovered his mother’s signature wasn’t hard to copy. This little trick kept him out of school with immunity.
Arguments, alcohol, abuse and violence were just a part of Steven’s home life. He found the best way to handle it was to climb out of his bedroom window and walk down to the shops. He always found a couple of his mates there. He never thought to ask if they were there for the same reason. If he had asked, he might not have felt so unusual. To Steven, his was the only family that behaved like this. He was too young to understand that it was only his family he saw from the inside. Everyone else’s he only saw from the outside. And they all look normal and well adjusted from there.
Just after his thirteenth birthday Steven stopped bothering to go to school. After a bit of coming and going of a truant officer, and a few letters from the school’s headmaster, and his parents disinterest in the whole episode, officialdom just forgot about Steven. And he forgot about it. Now he had time on his hands, and for all intents and purposes was on his own.
With little guidance from his parents, and the only role models for him to look up to being older lads in the neighbourhood who had dropped out like him, Steven was always heading for trouble. Although he had an understanding of right from wrong, the amount of time he had on his hands, and the discovery that everything cost money, of which he had none, soon led to his first act of theft. He had seen his mates pocketing a few small things from the corner store. The old Greek owner behind the counter kept his eyes peeled whenever these lads entered. He knew what they were up to, and had asked the local police to help, but as they hadn’t been caught doing anything illegal, there was nothing that could be done. And anyway, it was just a few sweets and gum balls.
Steven joined in the game. The first time he pocketed a few gum balls, he nearly shat himself in fear. His heart was still racing when he was out of sight of the shop. But the fear did not last long. He became adept at shoplifting. He was a smart kid, and using his mates as decoys and lookouts, he started find ways of getting most things he wanted or needed. Food, drink, sweets, sunglasses, LPs. Anything that would fit in his pocket or under his pullover, or under his arm inside a jacket were easy pickings for Steven. Even his mates thought he was crazy. He earned the nickname of Snake, because his mates kept saying to him, ‘Shit Steve, you are as mad as a cut snake!’
The name stuck. Steve was now Snake. He was proud to have earned a nickname. It didn’t matter what it was really. But to have a nickname meant he really belonged to his gang. They had accepted him fully. Even if they thought he was mad. Maybe just to prove the worth of his new name, Steven decided he wanted to steal something big. He was making a few dollars stealing fashionable Polaroid sunglasses for less adventurous kids and selling them for two dollars a pair. This was a good deal, as they cost over ten dollars. And it gave Steve a few dollars for smokes, which were always difficult to steal, being normally directly behind the cash register in most shops.
He announced to his fellow gang members one afternoon, while they were hanging around the shops, that he wanted a record player. ‘I like that AWA one in the Retravision shop.’ he started. ‘Its a portable one, with a speaker in the lid, it has a radio, and it can run on batteries too.’
His mates looked at him blandly, all thinking he was just wishful thinking out loud. This was a normal type of conversation amongst these lads. If it wasn’t wanting something they didn’t have, it was talking about doing something they couldn’t do. Steve listened just as uninterestedly to his mates' ravings many times. Except when one of the older boys, who was sixteen, would talk about fucking the woman who lived next door. At that time, Steve wasn’t too sure what fucking really was, and didn’t want to admit he didn’t know, so he never asked for a detailed explanation. He just listened intently for more clues to what it was, but knew from his mate’s enthusiasm for the subject, that it had to be good.
Steve stood up, looked at his mates and said, ‘C’mon, lets go. I want that record player!’
Well, there was nothing better to do, so they all followed the Snake. They didn’t believe he was going to do it. But it was a fun place to look around. The Retravision store had all sorts of great things to look at and hope to have one day. Electrical appliances, records, stereograms. Just before they got to the front door of the shop, Steve said to them all, ‘Go down the back of the shop and flick through the LPs. And look over your shoulders at the two blokes behind the counter. They’ll be between you an’ me. The AWA is on display at the front of the shop, so when you see me leave with it, pull a few faces at ‘em, and give me a few minutes to get ‘round the corner. I’ll meet you all at the park.’
His mates couldn’t believe it. He really was mad! As the shop assistants at the store watched them intently, they watched as Steve just picked up his new record player, and as if to thumb his nose completely, he held it on top of his head, and slowly walked out the door. Once out of sight of his mates he tucked it under his wing, and ran like buggery to the park.
About fifteen minutes later his fellow gang members arrived. They found Steve listening to the radio on his new AWA. Steve was one of the youngest members of his gang, but this deed had earned him respect. They all thought he was still as mad as a cut snake, but he out of all of them had the most guts.
By fifteen, Steven had been caught twice for shoplifting and was well known to the local police. The Children’s Court handed down its normal slap on the wrist to Steven, and he learned that while he was under eighteen, there was little consequence to his behaviour and lifestyle. His parents gave him little attention. Mum was still at home, drunk most of the time, and his dad made irregular appearances at the house. Normally just to argue with his mum, give her a smack across the gob, then leave in a temper. His older sisters had each left home shortly after turning sixteen, and were now sharing a flat in the city somewhere. He didn’t see them much at all. They came to see their mum occasionally. Their visits became less and less frequent.
One of the older boys told Steve there was a party on Friday night at his next door neighbour's house. He knew this was the woman that his mate had been fucking for a couple of years. Steve had also figured out what fucking was by now, and although he bragged with the boys about his conquests, he was still a virgin. He had a slight hope that this party might fix that. It did! What Steve didn’t know was that this woman, who he thought was way over thirty and ancient in his eyes, just adored young boys. None of the details mattered to Steve, she had tits and Steve was, beneath all his bravado, just an inquisitive and hormone filled young man.
The party turned out to be a party for his gang alone. She supplied the beer. They supplied her favourite entertainment. Not only did Steve discover what a fuck was, (he watched intently, two boys before him, and lasted a whole twenty seconds when it was his turn, before he exploded inside the slut), his education was enriched through the evening with gang bangs, head jobs and hand jobs. Although the effects of the beer caught up with Steven, before he passed out, he had discovered a whole new adventure in life. His cock was red raw, his balls ached, and he now knew exactly what the older guys had meant when they said they were fucked from the night before.
He woke up the next morning. Lying on the grass in front of the house where the party had been. Something smelled bad. He realised in his stupor that his head was lying in a patch of drying vomit. From the realisation that it was all through his hair, he concluded that it must have been of his own doing. No one else was around. It was Saturday morning. ‘Maybe about seven o’clock.’ he thought. He was as thirsty as hell. The garden hose proved a life saver. First a drink, then he sprayed out his hair and washed his face. The beer and vomit stains on his T-shirt would have to wait.
He felt like a bucket of shit. He had never felt so ill. But he also felt he was a man now. Steven had no role model or father figure to make this judgement. With no one to compare or look up to, his own judgement was the best he was going to get. He went home to sleep off his hangover.
He didn’t enjoy living with his mother. She was an alcoholic, and had become bitter and abusive. The occasional violent visits of his father had stopped, but this seemed to make her even worse. He went to visit his sisters. He hadn’t seen them in a long time. He only tracked them down by finding his mother’s small address book in her handbag while he was looking through it for some cash.
On his first visit, he discovered his eldest sister had moved out long ago. She had a kid to a guy from Darwin, and had followed him up there. His younger sister told him she had received a letter from her last Christmas, and that she had had another kid. She didn’t like Darwin all that much, but as neither of them had a job, they couldn’t afford to move. Steve listened, but wasn’t all that interested.
He met his niece and nephew for the first time. His sister, only two years older than him, was living by herself with her two young kids. She seemed to be doing alright for herself. The flat was clean and furnished nicely. Steve was impressed. ‘Looks like you’re doin’ alright.’ he muttered. She then went into what sounded like an advertising pitch for the Social Security Department. She explained in great detail to Steven how she got heaps of money being a single mother. She didn’t want either of the fathers staying with her because she was better off financially without them. ‘If either of ‘em lived with me I’d lose their maintenance payments.’ She knew the system inside out, and explained in detail to Steve how she got an extra fifteen dollars a week by not giving the youngest one its asthma medication. The visits to the hospital when ‘it’ had an attack meant she got the extra money because she had a kid with a disability. Anyone with a conscience or solitary ounce of compassion would have recoiled in horror at her explanation. Steve just yawned. She had a future planned for herself. ‘I plan to have another kid soon.’ she told Steven. Then proceeded to explain how much more money she would get when ‘it’ was born. ‘I might wait ‘til I’m eighteen though.’ she off handedly remarked.
‘What do you get?’ she asked Steve. ‘What?’ Steve replied. ‘Dole payments silly! How much do you get?’ she asked again. ‘I don’t.’ was Steve’s short reply. ‘Well you should. Are you just being lazy Steve? It’s easy to get. Would you like me to help you?’ she offered. ‘Ok.’ Was Steve’s short acceptance speech.
Within two weeks Steve was receiving unemployment benefits and a supplementary payment for drug or alcohol dependency. The extra came by carrying out his sister’s suggestion that he gargle and swallow a few mouthfuls of methylated spirits for a half an hour or so before he went to the dole office. He registered a false name, and used his sister’s address. She charged him one third of his payments for the use of her address. It didn’t seem a bad deal to him. He usually stayed over for a couple of days with his sister each fortnight when his cheque arrived in the mail. She didn’t mind because he needed to cash the cheque before she got her cut. And it was nice to have some family around.
At a little over sixteen, Steven had a girlfriend. She was nearly fifteen. Their relationship was not on the romantic basis of a Mills and Boon novel. It was based more on the fact that she let Steve fuck her, that it was decided that she was his girlfriend. He also found out that it was much more fun fucking a young girl than the old slut that had introduced him to this new pastime. Steve knew what pregnant meant. But he didn’t grasp its full gravity even on the day a few months after first fucking his girlfriend, she told him, ‘Steve, I’m up the duff’ She told Steve not to worry. She could get a benefit from Social Security for having a kid. The tone of her voice made it sound like she had won the lottery. Maybe she had. She didn’t seem at all worried. So nor was Steve. Steven had no idea what being a father meant. In time to come, he would find out.

V
Trucks

Tony Pilletto was a worker. He looked like a worker. He dressed in the blue singlet, blue shorts and pull on steel capped work boots uniform of a worker. He was a tall man, thickset, with only a hint of the typical workingman’s beer gut. His not developed from beer, but from his wife’s good cooking and his simple pleasure of a glass of wine with his dinner. His work as a driver, being seated for long periods also helped develop his stomach. His black hair, olive complexion, thick moustache and dark eyes signified immediately his Italian birth. He had worked all his life. From his mornings and evenings in his parent’s fish and chip shop while at school, through to his employment with Simpson’s Transport. He wasn’t driven by greed for money, it was just his acceptance that as a man he had to work to support his family. The only change Tony saw in himself from his father, was that he wanted his children to have a good education and not have to work eight hours a day on top of their studies. He was happily married to a nice Australian girl. His parents may have preferred he found an Italian girl, but the woman he chose was Catholic, and had made their Antonio happy. They were genuinely happy for him, and very proud grandparents.
Christmas 1983 was a happy time for Tony. He celebrated in the knowledge that he had two wonderful healthy and happy young children, and a loving wife. She had adjusted to being a member of an Italian family with its firm foundation in the church and family. Tony had adapted, and been accepted into his wife’s Australian family. 1983 was also a turning point in Tony’s work life. He had left Simpson’s Transport early in the year and invested his modest savings into a used Mack prime mover. He was now an owner driver. Simpson’s Transport had been well served by Tony for over ten years. It was only a technicality in him leaving their employ though, as he carried many loads for Simpson’s on his new rig as a sub-contractor. He was now his own boss. All he had to do now was make a success of it. So far he had. He had met all his payments on his truck, and was earning a little more than when he was employed by Simpson’s. The hours were longer now though. Hauls to and from the east coast meant he was away from home and family for days on end, but he knew his wife had two families for support, and he hoped for the day when he could buy another rig and start his own transport company. Tony knew that would be a little way off. For now though, he could not have been happier.
The day after Christmas, Boxing Day, Tony set off to Sydney with a load of irrigation pipes. He returned on schedule on New Years eve loaded with canned fruit, and an opportunity. New Year’s day 1984 was going to be a day of long discussion for Tony and his wife.
While in Sydney, Tony had been asked by two other owner drivers if he would consider joining them in forming a company. With three rigs they should be able to get work direct from customers instead of sub-contract loads from transport companies. They calculated they would earn nearly thirty per cent more than they were getting as sub-contractors, and if they pooled this extra profit into a joint company they owned they would be able to add another rig inside eighteen months. The only drawback Tony saw was the fact that this new company would be Sydney based. This was logical though, as he had known for some time that it was difficult to get loads from Perth. Consignments out of Perth were called backloads because the trucks had to get back to the east coast, and were charged at a very cheap rate. Little more than fuel cost. There was an abundance of work out of Sydney, and the Sydney to Melbourne run was the busiest in the country. He would have to move his family, and leave his extended family behind in Perth. He laid out the whole plan to his wife. She was not business minded but could see the benefits. She also clearly saw the upheaval it would cause to the children. They decided to think on it a little longer. ‘Surely they will wait a couple of weeks for your answer Tony.’ she authoritatively said. Tony agreed. He also discussed the idea with his father before leaving on his next haul. He trusted his father’s business sense. His father’s only advice after discussing all the financial pros and cons was to say, ‘Antonio, take your opportunities when you see them. Take risks when you can manage them, and don’t be afraid of your own judgement. It has served you well so far.’
Tony left for a haul to Port Headland, over one thousand miles north of Perth. He used the long hours to consider his decision from every point of view that he could think of. During his absence his wife did the same. Her thoughts were more of family and children than Tony, but by the time he had returned they both knew, before he opened the back door of the house, that the decision had been made. There were some minor points Tony had yet to work out, but in the basic facts they agreed. The family would move. Tony called his prospective partners the next morning to arrange a meeting with them on his next haul to Sydney in a fortnight. He would stay a few extra days to clarify any outstanding issues.
Tony met his prospective partners at a Joe’s Truck Stop near the Crossroads intersection of the Hume Highway, just outside Sydney. It was a favourite stop for all the Sydney-Melbourne drivers. It was ideally located to wait for peak hour traffic to subside, which in Sydney is more like hours and hours. 6a.m. to 10a.m. in the mornings and 3.00p.m. to 7.00p.m. in the evenings is bumper to bumper crawling chaos on Sydney’s narrow winding matrix of ill designed roads. Not a fun drive for a fully loaded seventeen ton semi. Joe’s Truck Stop also served what was agreed by the majority of truckies, the best mixed grill on the Hume Highway. It was an ideal breakfast or dinner. Two lamb chops, steak, three pork sausages, liver, two lamb's kidneys, a pork chop, bacon, chips, tomatoes, gravy and all garnished with three fried eggs! Joe’s price for diesel fuel was also the cheapest on the highway.
His partners and he discussed the few remaining issues over a mixed grill and black tea. Agreement was reached easily. They would engage a solicitor and accountant in Camden, which was a hamlet just outside Sydney to form their partnership and prepare the legal necessities. Each partner would put up ten thousand dollars to give the new business some working capital, and that their trucks would be transferred into the partnership. They would lease a small industrial unit in Narrellan, near Camden to base their operation. Tony’s partners, Trevor and Tom would attend to these matters as Tony would be busy moving his family. They would get everything ready for him to sign when he returned. They also agreed on a name for their new enterprise. ‘Triple T Transport’. As his two partners only knew Tony as Tony, and not Antonio, they did not realise their mistake. But Tony didn’t mind at all. He loved the name. With the shaking of hands the deal was done. To these three truckies the handshake sealed the arrangement. It was far more binding than any signature on a piece of paper.
As he drove back to Perth, the long hours gave him time to let the events of the past few weeks gel in his mind. He was now committed, but the normal fear of such a change in his family and business life chewed in his gut. He was worried and only naturally. He would worry for some time yet. At least until the family had settled in their new home, and until the new business showed signs of success. Or failure. The thought of failure chilled him.
The Pilletto’s were loaded. All the family’s belongings were secured and tarped on Tony’s truck. It was a tight squeeze in the cab, but the two kids made the best of the small bed behind the two seats as their berth for the long trip to Sydney. Normally Tony would do the run in under forty hours, but with kids and a wife, and food stops, and toilet emergencies and the cramped cab, he knew it would be better to take his time. He planned to stop at a motel each night to let the kids and his wife have a good sleep and be fresh for each day. Tony knew this move would be a difficult time for his family and he was mindful to make them his first priority. He would do all he could to get them settled in Sydney before he started working flat out with his new business. It would take five days to arrive in Sydney.
The first few days were hectic. Finding a house to rent is difficult enough at any time in Sydney, but having only a truck for transport would make it an impossibility. Luckily Tony’s new partners and their families proved to be friends in the making. He was lent a car by Tom, and Trevor’s wife offered to mind the kids while they looked for a house. He parked his truck in a shopping centre car park opposite their motel and hoped he didn’t get booked for illegal parking, and that their precious belongings, still loaded on the truck were not stolen.
Within three days they had found a small three bedroom house in Minto. Not a trendy address by any means, but it would be comfortable. The house would be ready for them in a week. Tony and his wife swallowed deeply as they signed the lease and committed themselves to twice the amount of rent per week, for half the size house that they had in Perth. Money was going to be tight for a while, but Tony decided to take his family out to a Chinese restaurant that night to celebrate.
Within two weeks, some normality had returned to the family life. They had moved in to the house, had their eldest, a boy, enrolled to attend his first year of school at the nearby state school. Tony had signed all the papers for the new business. He started work. His wife made a few friends at the school gate while she waited to collect her son in the afternoon. She was invited for a morning coffee by another mother within a few days of her boy starting school. Within a few weeks she found she had made a handful of new friends and settled into her new life without complaint. This had been one of Tony’s major concerns, that his family would be able to settle in their new home. It was a relief to hear his wife’s and children’s excited news about new friends and activities in such a short time. Triple T Transport had just signed up its first contact with a local company in Narrellan to carry concrete mouldings, so Tony started to breathe easier.
There is a saying; The harder you work, the luckier you get. This applied very aptly to Tony. With his major concern of his family’s ability to settle into a new city and life without the extended families they had left behind, now resting easier on his mind, he could concentrate on his new business. His wife had made friends easily, and with the help of his business partner’s wives who lived nearby she was enjoying her new life. Tony had stretched his budget to afford the hire purchase payments on a small used mini van for his wife, so she could get around with the kids. He knew he would be away from home a lot, as the business was going to need every hour possible of his driving to have any chance of success. His wife was used to this in Perth, but he worried for her. New friends are not the same as the reliability of family. He decided he had done all he could, so it was now time to put his energies fully into Triple T.
The first year of Triple T was tough. All three partners knew it would be, but had not been fully prepared for the competitive nature of the transport business. All had known of, and heard stories of backhanders, bribes and slings, but until they actually were involved day to day, they could not have realised how widespread it was. The large national and international transport companies had a monopoly on contacts with customers at the big end of town, so Triple T was competing for contracts and individual loads for small to medium companies. There were far more small transport companies than they had imagined. Hindsight is something everyone has, and for Tony he realised with his own twenty twenty hindsight that he should have done a little more research before starting Triple T. It was too late now though, he was committed, and along with his partners they learned how to compete in the market. Some means of winning contracts did not sit easily with Tony. He was an honest, simple hard working man. He knew that his two partners were similarly minded. He discussed at length with his partners about ethics, but all three had reality staring them in the face. Either they won contracts or lost their trucks. It was as simple as that. For Tony it did not come easy to pay a bribe to a purchasing officer or a warehouse manager. But in the end, he found he didn’t have to offer, it was asked for. For some clients it was as simple as a bottle of scotch or a carton of beer. For some larger contracts Triple T found itself with regular cash payments being made to a few clients. And it was a necessity.
Before the first anniversary of Triple T, all three partners were working beyond the allowable hours a driver is able to work. Log books that are checked by police, were altered as a matter of course to get as many possible driving hours from the three trucks to secure as much business as possible for Triple T. All knew this had to be done to survive. They had hired a lady to answer their phone and do the bookkeeping. This was a necessity, and although they had wanted to wait a little longer before employing anyone, they had little choice but to add this additional cost. Luckily for them the lady they hired, in her mid fifties, had worked for transport companies for twenty years or more. She had moved up from Melbourne to be with her daughter who had recently lost her husband in a car accident. She ran the office with ease. Her knowledge of the industry was extremely useful. Her bookkeeping was creative as well. Creative in the sense that the bribes and slings were hidden. Some as legitimate expenses and others more difficult to hide had to be treated as wages for the three partners of Triple T.
With her contribution, and with a few contacts she had, that bought a few new customers, Triple T settled into business. It was hard work, but it was surviving, and showed a small profit for its first year of trading. In discussions with their accountant the three partners decided that it would be beneficial for tax reasons to form a company. It would allow the wives of the three partners to become directors and shareholders and therefore be able to income-split thus reducing the amount of tax payable by the three partners. It would also allow their business to accumulate profit at the company tax rate, which was far lower than the personal tax they were paying. It was also decided that their plan for a fourth truck should wait a little longer that they had planned, to give the company a firm footing before taking on what would be a very large commitment.
Tony explained to his wife the plans that had been discussed for the formation of a company. Tony had limited understanding of what a company was, but explained the best he could to his wife. He explained the income-splitting, which she understood to some degree. She knew Tony was a hard worker and was putting all of himself into the business, so if Tony thought this was a good idea, who was she to disagree. And anyway, it all sounded perfectly logical. Within a month, Triple T was Triple T Transport Pty. Ltd. The company now had six directors and six shareholders. The first purchase order written by the new company was to a local sign writer to produce a big sign for the front of their small factory unit.
In less than a year from the formation of the company, and a little under two years since the Pilletto’s moved from Perth, Tony and his five other directors signed a contract for a new Kenworth prime mover and rig. It was to be delivered in January 1986. The second employee was hired in the same month to drive one of the old semis. The three T’s were going to draw straws to see who drove the new Kenworth, but in keeping with their good working relationship, they decided to have it month about. They drew straws to see who got the first month though! Tony won month three. He didn’t mind at all. He was just pleased the business was growing, but also mindful that they all had a lot of hard work in front of them. This business would always be that way. As long as they were in transport, they were in a tough business. Tony planned on being tough for a long time. And, even though it was tough work, and was full of risks, not only in the long hours of driving which claimed a number of drivers each year, but also in business risks, he was enjoying it. What little time he had away from Triple T, he spent with his family who were his pride and joy.
In January 1986, just prior to the delivery of the new Kenworth, the Pilletto’s moved into their new house. Tony had a shrewd head on his shoulders. He had asked a real estate agent in Camden to keep an eye out for him for a property to buy. He was looking for a four bedroom house with enough room, maybe an acre or so, to park his truck. He felt if he could afford to buy a property, even on a large mortgage, at least he would not be wasting his money on rent. In time the equity would build and it would secure his business and future. Late in November the agent called Tony to tell him of a property that was on the market. It was perfect. The house was only two years old and was built on two acres. It was just outside Camden, only a short drive from his company’s office. After seeing the property, he made a few enquires with a few people he knew in the area. He discovered that the couple who owned the house had separated. He also found out that the couple had considerable debts and were still working together in a local restaurant they owned so they could meet the mortgage repayments on the house until it sold. He deduced quite quickly that these would be vendors keen to sell. He met with his bank manager who by now, he knew well from dealings regarding the business, and made an application for a home loan. Within three days he had his loan approval and the knowledge of the purchase price he could afford to pay.
After taking his wife and children to see the property, and seeing the look of delight on all their faces he decided to make an offer.
The real estate agent baulked at Tony’s offer. For two reasons probably. One, he wasn’t as aware of the vendor’s circumstances as Tony, and two, his commission would be reduced. But Tony was unmoved. ‘I want you to submit my offer.’ After half an hour of trying to talk Tony up, the agent relented. He said to Tony, ‘This will be a waste of time. The owners will not accept this price. But I will submit your offer, and let you know what their counter offer is.’
It was a surprised estate agent that rang Tony that afternoon with the news that the vendors had accepted his offer. It was not a surprised Tony that answered the telephone. He knew he had the house before the agent had even rung the vendors. ‘Call by my office in the morning, there will be a deposit cheque there for you.’ was all Tony said.
The proudest day of Tony’s life came in late January 1986. After having to endure his son attending state schools for the last two years, Tony took the morning off work to see his son and his daughter attend their first day at the private Catholic school in Camden. It was his daughter’s first day at school. This was not a prestigious city school, but for Tony, St Luke’s Junior School was at least going to teach his children to be good Catholics and instil a discipline that was non existent at state schools. He sat in the passenger seat of the old mini van next to his wife as she drove him and the children, dressed in their brand new school uniforms to St Luke’s. He kissed both and wished them luck in their new school. He held his arm around his pregnant wife’s waist as they together watched with their two year old son, as their precious children disappeared from view into the school building.
Tony’s life was all and more than he had hoped for. He was a very happy and satisfied man as he arrived at his office at 10.00am. He could want for nothing more. Except not to hear the news that waited for him when he walked into Triple T’s office door.
Tom was dead. He had been killed in an accident the night before.

VI
Luck

By 1985, Steven Peter Sharp was a name well known to the Guildford police. It was also recorded in many locations on the Western Australian police force’s computers. He had twenty four appearances before the Children’s Court before he faced his first charge as an adult. He had spent three months in detention in three separate stints before he turned eighteen. One week, three weeks and two months. He had deduced that they were getting longer each time. Luckily he thought, his first appearance in a court as an adult was only for driving without a licence, speeding, careless driving and having a blood alcohol level of zero point one five. At least he hadn’t been caught for the house he had cleaned out with a couple of mates earlier in the day. The same day he had been caught for his driving offences.
‘What can they do?’ he told his mate the day before he was due to appear in court, in the tone of a statement more than a question. ‘I haven’t got a licence for ‘em to take off me.’ he chuckled. Steve had ridden his luck since he was ten. He had faith that it hadn’t run out yet. It hadn’t.
Steven had a duty solicitor appointed to defend him in court. He had had one meeting with him two weeks before and had answered all the solicitors' questions about his family, previous record as a minor and the offences he was charged with. He met his solicitor in the waiting area of the Court House, outside court number three. His solicitor had a couple of questions to ask Steven, but before he had finished, the court attendant announced Steven’s case and he entered the court room with his solicitor who was quickly jotting down Steven’s answers. Steven took his place. He knew from experience in the Children’s Court that there would be a lot of waffle that he didn’t understand to start with. He wasn’t wrong. The only difference was it took longer. He focused his attention on the legs of the court stenographer. He could see them underneath the table at which she was seated. She was a young and attractive brunette with a bobbed haircut. Her short skirt gave Steven a good view of her legs, and every now and then her legs would relax and her knees would part slightly. He smiled to himself when he caught a glance of the little white triangle of her crutch. His attention was only drawn from her legs by the sound of his name being read out in a tone that seemed to indicate his attention may be required. It was.
He was asked to stand and state his name and address. The first part of the question was easy, the second not so easy. He thought for a while then gave one of his mate’s addresses because he had stayed there two nights in the previous week. He was smart enough not to give his sister’s address that could have led to his fraudulent social security payments and false name being discovered. Following completion of this task he sat down and listened a little to what was being said. He moved his eyes back to the stenographer's crutch, but continued to listen. The topic of discussion between his solicitor and the magistrate, who was a motherly looking elderly lady, concerned Steven’s family life, or lack of it. His solicitor was doing his job well. The magistrate had what looked to Steven like a sympathetic look. He may not have been educated, but Steven did have one qualification, he could read peoples' faces. This was of great assistance to him in knowing when he had people’s confidence. When he knew they believed his lies and excuses. When the time was right to put the hard word on a girl or woman, when to know people were suspect of him. For Steven’s occupations of con man, thief, bludger, sex addict and occasional drug user and dealer this was a valuable gift to possess.
His reading of the magistrate’s face was reasonably accurate. He stood to receive her judgement.
‘Steven Peter Sharp, I find you guilty of all charges.’ she started. ‘I have taken into account your legal counsel’s submission to the court with regard to you upbringing and family history. I have also taken into account your previous record, and statements from your social worker.’ This was news to Steven, he didn’t know he had one. ‘With this being your first appearance in the Local Court, and the hope that you will appreciate the gravity of your offences, I have decided that although these charges can carry a prison sentence, I will refrain on this occasion. You will be disqualified from holding a driver’s licence for five years. I will also impose a fine of five hundred dollars and place you on a good behaviour bond for three years.’ With that the case was concluded.
As was Steven’s luck, he still had some cash from a little deal he had done in Northbridge, so he was able to pay the fine and bond. In his mind, it wasn’t a bad result all things considered. He had lost a licence he didn’t have anyway, and he could make up for the cash in a few days. To him he lost nothing.
During the same year, Steve saw his daughter twice. He had fallen out with her mother, and she was reluctant to allow Steven to spend any time with her or their daughter. She had seen what Steve had become, and she did not want her daughter exposed to his way of life. She herself was no angel, but did have some degree of responsibility. She knew Steve had none whatsoever. Fatherhood did not hold any fascination for him, so he was not offended by her rebuff. Nor was he worried about her claim for maintenance payments. He didn’t have a job, and didn’t claim the dole. Well, not in his own name anyway. The experience of the birth of his daughter did not teach Steven very much. It certainly did not give him any sense of responsibility. Responsible was not a word that came to anyone’s mind who knew Steve the Snake. Words such as selfish, self centred, self obsessed and self reliant, self contained, childish, vulgar, impulsive and above all, likeable were more likely words that most people who knew Steven would associate with him. For all his faults, he was a likeable young man with an irresistible smile, and a devil may care attitude. It was easy to like what Australians refer to as a knockabout sort of bloke character that he possessed.
Australian heroes often tend to be villains in some way or another. Ned Kelly the notorious bushranger and murderer, is probably at the top of the list of Australian heroes. When Australian men say ‘he’s a good bloke’, they are more than likely referring to a man who drinks six schooners of beer a day, bets what should have been his wife’s housekeeping money on the ponies, gives his kids a good hiding with his belt when they deserve it and always has dirty joke to tell his mates. Is it any wonder Steven was liked by a lot of people. Women liked Steven also. He had that quality that all men would die to have. He could pull women. Whether it was his smile, his uncombed straggly long blonde hair, his blue eyes, his way with words (which was far from eloquent, unless ‘geezz I’d like t’ fuck you’ could be described as eloquent), or whether it was an instinctive ability to emit the right pheromones on cue, Steve always had woman to spare. To Steve, the word woman or girl could have been easily replaced by fuck or screw. That’s all they were to him. A fuck. He was far to self centred to have any feelings for them.
His nickname of Snake had taken on an additional meaning to his mates who joked that he was ‘just a life support system for a cock!’ His mates admired Steve for his bravado and confidence. They also liked being around Steve because they all believed that their own chances of getting laid were better. They had all scored at least one or two of Steve’s girls. He didn’t keep them long, and if you wanted choice, there were plenty of ex-girlfriends still hanging around. It was a puzzle none of his mates could solve. Steve would find a girl, fuck her a couple of times, ignore her as soon as he found a new one, which was pretty swiftly, but they still stayed around looking to be possibly screwed again. It was a conundrum they would never solve. To Steve, it wasn’t a puzzle. It was just life. It was just how he wanted it. He had never stopped to think about it. He didn’t need to, he always seemed to get what he wanted. Asked one evening at a party by a friend, ‘Hey Snake, how many woman have you fucked?’ He replied in an instant, ‘Not enough!’
He was unaware that apart from the daughter he knew about, who was nearly two years old, there were two other children with his name as their father. A son just born. And another daughter just about to be.
For all of his quick wit and likeable personality, Steve’s criminal record, and his criminal associations would inevitably lead him into serious trouble. He had skated through the Children’s Court almost unscathed, and had sidestepped a prison sentence in his first appearance in the Local Court. The police knew him as a petty criminal, and although he was a nuisance, he was not on their most wanted lists. To the Northbridge Group who ran a large proportion of the drug trade in Perth he was unknown. He was a minor dealer, and his contact was one of the underlings of the Group. Steve bought his stuff from his contact who looked like a nightclub bouncer. He probably was, because he was fucking huge, and seemed to live like a statue at the entrance to the Pink Cockatoo nightclub. Steve had never seen his contact anywhere else. He didn’t even know his name.
It was in March 1986 that Steven Sharp’s luck would change from good luck to bad luck. As nothing was ever planned in his life, all events could only be put down to luck. Be it good or bad. He had enjoyed a very consistent run of good luck since he was ten, so maybe it was just a matter of time before this situation changed. If this was so, March 1986 marked the arrival of that time.
Nineteen years old, and as cocky as shit, Steve Sharp would listen to no one. He knew it all! He always seemed to get what he wanted, and had a happy knack of not getting caught for his serious indiscretions or petty criminal activities. He was a petty thief, social security cheat and small time drug dealer. He had a big mouth and an over active cock, but apart from these occupations and qualities he didn’t attract a lot of attention other than amongst his circle of friends and acquaintances. He was about to get noticed, and it would not be pleasant.
It was a warm March Friday night in late summer that Steve made his usual trip into Northbridge. He caught a bus into the city and walked the few blocks to the Pink Cockatoo on James Street, to buy his stuff for the week. He did the deal quickly. The quantity he bought was always the same, and the price stayed about the same also. He understood the price varied a little from time to time if supply was easy or tough. He did the deal in less than thirty seconds. He was going to walk the short distance to have a few beers at a pub at the corner of William Street as he usually did. There were a regular few that he knew there and often a few new chicks for him to have a go at. Instead he decided to have a few drinks inside the Pink Cockatoo first. The few times that he had ventured inside the Pink Cockatoo previously, he has stayed only a short while. It was not a nightclub with his type of music or people. It was a club frequented by young brash moneymakers from the opposite end of town to Steve. They came for the talk of money, the martinis, the class atmosphere and the cocaine. Steve had trouble understanding why it was so popular. ‘Why would so many people came to a nightclub without a band playing?’ he thought to himself as he walked to the bar to buy a beer. ‘And the disc jockey is such a wanker.’ was his second thought as his beer was placed on the bar for him. He paid for his drink, and had a third thought, ‘I bet that barman is a poofter.’ As he swallowed half of the contents of his glass of beer in one gulp, Steve had his fourth thought. This one was going to lead directly to his change of luck from good to bad. ‘Shit, I’d like to fuck that!’ The thought was not unusual. The object of it was.
His eyes were glued to woman sitting quietly by herself at the opposite end of the bar. She was in her thirties, elegantly dressed wearing a black suit. Her skirt was a little longer than fashion of the day demanded, and the cut of her jacket gave her an appearance of a woman who knew what she wanted. She wore a small amount of jewellery. Enough to suggest to any eye that she has access to more than just a few dollars. Her shoulder length jet black hair was held back from her forehead with a simple velvet hair band. She had style and class. Her dark brown eyes were clear and sharp, and could cut a man down at a hundred paces. As Steve approached her and caught her glance, she did not cut him down. As he sat down next to her at the bar, she just stared. Steve stared back. Steve won. The woman spoke first. ‘This doesn’t look like your kind of place.’ she said. Steve answered with a shrug. Then took another mouthful of his beer. It emptied his glass. He then focused his attention on the barman to get his glass refilled, ignoring totally whether the woman he wanted to fuck had a drink or not. When his beer arrived the woman ordered her own refill of chardonnay. After two more drinks and only a few words of conversation, the woman stood from her stool, looked at Steve authoritatively and said, ‘Well, are you coming?’ Steve followed her to the door, and then to her car. He had never been in a Mercedes before. As the woman drove car out of the car park Steve was about to say something smart, when the dark eyed woman placed her hand on his thigh and gently rubbed up and down. She took her hand away to turn the car around the approaching corner, and returned it as the car straightened. She moved her hand higher and found what she hoped she would find. To Steve nothing was unusual. This was just going to be another one of his fucks.
As the car pulled to a halt in the driveway, Steve had trouble believing his luck. ‘This woman is loaded.’ he thought. ‘What a fucking house!’ In the dark of the night, all he could really see was the fountain, lit to give the water a sparkling bluish appearance. He noticed the triple garage in front of him, and the double doors at the entrance of the house. The first thing that ran through his mind was that this house would be worth knocking over one night. Later when he had the luxury of hindsight, he would wonder why he didn’t instead have the thought, ‘I wonder who this slut is tied up with?’
It was obvious to Steve that she wanted to be fucked. This conclusion of his was confirmed promptly as she led him directly to the master bedroom. He had never seen a bed so big. King size beds were not the norm in Steve’s life. He had no idea what an en suite was either. But he did think it was a great idea having a door directly from the bedroom to the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bed as the woman disappeared into the en suite. He was a little nervous at the surroundings. He didn’t want to show it, but this was strange territory for him. For the first time in his life he felt pangs of inferiority. He was treated as some kind of urban hero in his part of town, but here he felt out of place, and worthless. His thoughts were cut short by the appearance of the woman as the en suite door opened. She was naked except for a small necklace that glistened in the subdued light of the bedroom, and she was eerily silhouetted by the bright light of the en suite shining behind her. She walked the two paces she needed, to be standing directly in front of him, still seated on the edge of the bed, looked down at him and said, ‘You’re still dressed. Are you shy or gutless?’ With that, Steve stood up and undressed. As he did he watched her lean forward onto the bed. She bought her knees up onto the bed and rested on her elbows. Her feet were dangling over the side of the bed near Steve. She spread her legs to reveal her cunt to Steve. She turned her head slightly, but without looking at him, and snarled, ‘Hurry up and fuck me you mother fucking piece of shit!’ The shock of the order nearly lost Steve his erection. As he fumbled to get his jeans off she continued her tirade of abuse. ‘C’mon you halfwit, fuck me. Haven’t you done this before poor boy. What are you waiting for, don’t you know what to do with that miserable little cock of yours!’ Steve had finally managed to get his jeans off. He couldn’t wait to slam himself inside this bitch. Not for his own gratification, but more in the hope it would shut the bitch up!
He was wrong. He fucked her like he had never fucked a woman in his life. He was angry, and at the same time sensing an embarrassment for the feeling of being somehow inferior. But as hard as he fucked her, her mouth ran even louder and more abusive. He grabbed her hair and tugged as hard as he could as he violently slammed himself into her with all the force he could muster. But still she bellowed abuse. ‘Is that the best you can do you mother fucker! Didn’t your sister teach you how to fuck her properly poor boy! Christ! I should have found a man with a half decent cock to do this!’ Steve wanted this to stop. This was not his idea of enjoyable. For the first time in his life he was having trouble keeping his erection. He did not know the meaning of the word humiliated, let alone heard of it, but that was the word for the way he felt. As his erection gave up, he stood back from the screaming bitch and was about to find his jeans. Her ranting stopped instantly. As he fumbled to get his jeans on, she stood up from the bed and slapped him across the face with stinging force. Just in case he didn’t notice the first time, she did it again with equal ferocity as the first. He ignored the blows. Steven had few scruples, but to hit a woman was below even his standards of behaviour. In this case he may as well have. It would not have made things worse. Without saying a word, he slipped his sweater on over his head. As he did so, she kneed him in the groin. He crumpled to the floor in agony.
‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’ she screamed, as Steve made his way to the front door. The agony of the blow to his balls still welling up in his stomach. He managed to make it down the driveway to the street as he heard the front door slam shut. He fell to his knees and bent over and waited for the pain to subside. With the remnants of the blow still in his gut, Steve walked slowly, no idea of where he was, but worked on the assumption that he would find a major road to give him an idea of where he was. After walking for a little over half an hour, he found Stirling Highway. As he had spent nearly all his money that evening on his drugs, cover charge into the Pink Cockatoo and a few beers, he didn’t have anywhere near enough to pay for a taxi. He didn’t know what time it was, but thought he would be lucky if the buses were still running. They weren’t. It was 1.15a.m. He missed the last bus by fifteen minutes. The last thing he felt like doing was walking half way across the city tonight. In a service station, he noticed a church clothing bin. He would spend the night there. He knew his luck was out when he found it was already occupied!
He decided that as he wanted to catch a bus, and it was a warm night, he may as well sleep on the seat at the bus stop. The first bus at 5.20a.m. woke him up as it roared by. He waited for the next one. It arrived an hour later.
He arrived at his mate’s place where he had been staying on and off for a few weeks. He went to bed. Had he known who he had fucked the night before, or known that he was seen and easily recognised by his contact leaving the Pink Cockatoo with her, he might have made a wise choice to continue travelling east instead of going to bed. As he slept, two men where dispatched to find Steve. The two men were employed by the owner of the Pink Cockatoo who just happened to be the husband of the woman who kneed Steve in the balls the night before. He was Steve’s contact’s boss. He, amongst other things, was one of the major drug dealers and organised crime bosses in Perth.
Steve had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wrong place was the Pink Cockatoo and the wrong time was just after the aforementioned drug dealer had had a bitter argument with his wife. She had been told he was having an affair with one of the waitresses and had confronted him with the fact.
The dealer had arrived home the previous evening only minutes after Steve had left. Had Steve looked over his shoulder then, he would have seen the second Mercedes pull in the driveway. The dealer found his wife crying in the bedroom. She was naked, and the bed was dishevelled. He didn’t need a degree in rocket science to work out what had happened.
At around 3.00p.m. that afternoon, Steve slept soundly. Had he not been asleep, he would have heard the commotion as two men entered the house. Ignoring the protests of Steve’s mate at them being uninvited guests, they marched through the house until they located Steve. Steve did not normally wake in a hurry. He liked to ease into his days. He liked to doze for an hour or so before starting a new day. Today he was going to miss his doze. Today he was woken by a large fist slamming into his temple. Before he knew what the hell was going on, he was upright, being held up under his armpits and behind his neck in a full nelson hold, while two fists pounded into his stomach. As his ability to breath stopped, his ability to vomit took over. When he fell limply to the floor, a large shiny black shoe made contact with his nose, spreading it liberally across his face. Another large shiny black shoe launched into his stomach with even more force. His ability to vomit now lost, he shat himself instead. If any other blows were landed Steve did not know about them. He was unconscious before he had finished shitting himself.
Steve woke up in hospital. He was to discover later that he had been in a coma for seventeen days. He was told by the doctors and nursing staff that he was lucky to be alive. He was moved from intensive care a little more than two weeks after he had regained consciousness. He was moved to a single ward bed, and told that he would be allowed visitors in a day or so. Had he known who his first visitors would be, he would not have smiled so sweetly at the nurse who informed him.
‘Good afternoon Steve.’ said a hulking police detective and then introduced himself and his partner. Steve didn’t catch the names, but he did hear detective sergeant, and detective constable. ‘We have a few questions we would like to ask you Steve.’
‘Do I have any choice? replied Steve. The detectives didn’t answer his question. They started with their own questions. Steve had a feeling that this was going to be about the bashing, so he prepared himself to tell them he could remember nothing. He feared the police, but he was shit scared of people who handed out bashings like the one he received.
He was thrown off guard when the questions had nothing to do with the bashing. They started with questions about two girls he had had sexual intercourse with. And did he know that they were fourteen years old. His head was reeling, and continued to reel as the questions changed after some time to questions about robberies, drug dealing and car theft. Steve was mumbling. His answers were making no sense. It seemed that he hadn’t recovered enough from the beating to be back to his sharp lying self. At the end of three hours of questioning, Steven Peter Sharp was placed under arrest. The next day, the two policemen returned and formally charged Steven with two counts of indecent sexual assault of a minor, seven counts of robbery, one count of fraud, two counts of theft of a motor vehicle and one count of possession of heroin. Steve did not need anyone to tell him he was in very, very deep shit.
It was of little consequence to Steven at that time, as his head was reeling with the events of the recent weeks, but later he would wonder how all the information was gathered to lead to his arrest. He would discover that his beating wasn’t the end of one man’s retribution. Two men with the shiny black shoes had visited his sister and his mates during his coma, and extracted in less than gentle fashion, information about him from them. He didn’t know, and would never know that the detective sergeant who arrested and charged him was on the payroll of the owner of the Pink Cockatoo.
His first court appearance was made in his hospital bed. He was not granted bail, and was remanded in custody. He was moved to Fremantle Hospital where there was a secure ward. Steven could clearly see Fremantle Prison through the bars on his ward window. When he was discharged from hospital he was moved to the remand section of Fremantle Prison. The high limestone walls of this prison were a fearsome sight. From the inside they were twice as fearsome. He recovered from his beating with only a very crooked nose to remind him of its brutality. He was in remand for a period of nearly eighteen months due to the length of the court proceedings he faced. The final result was a nine year sentence. He was eligible for parole in 1991. The depression he felt at first was replaced with acceptance. There was little he could do about it. But he did do one thing. Within three months of being moved from the remand section to start his official sentence, Steven enrolled to take courses to be able to sit for high school exams. Within three years he had passed all his subjects. He then enrolled to do his tertiary entrance exams. He passed with exceptionally high marks in 1990. At twenty three years old, Steven had ideas about going to university to study business.
Steven’s behaviour and application to his studies during his sentence earned him his parole at its earliest opportunity. The parole board considered his application for only a short time before granting it. It was an easy decision. Upon release, he made enquires with his parole officer about the possibility of him moving from Perth to be able to get a fresh start to life. Arrangements were made for him. He was given the details of his new parole officer in his chosen new home town. He arrived in Sydney in early 1991, and reported to his parole officer within two days of his arrival.

VII
Guilt

David ran away to Sydney in 1985 with his young and attractive girlfriend. He had gained a transfer with his new employer to their Sydney branch that gave his most recent urge to run a degree of decorum and reason. It was dressed in the guise of a promotion. His girlfriend wasn’t entirely pleased about cutting short her working holiday, as she was enjoying Perth, after what had been a less than happy teenage life in Sydney. David knew little or nothing of this part of his girlfriend's life. David ignored her seemingly luke warm response by assuring himself that she would be happy to be close to her family. Justifying the continual urge to run was becoming easier for David.
It was a wet Sydney that greeted its newest inhabitants. One new, one returned. It rained on one hundred and seventy six days out of the first six months after their arrival. In his terms of transfer, David’s employer had offered to assist in relocating. This covered the cost of furniture removals, airfares, car transport and related moving costs. What it didn’t offer was assistance in finding somewhere to live. In 1985 there was a rental shortage. The vacancy rate for rental properties was minus point five per cent. This meant having to find a flat or apartment that was going to be vacated within a month and be lucky enough to win the agents favour and obtain a lease. It was not unusual to be greeted at the door of a run down, filthy flat by a unsmiling property manager from the local real estate company, who was normally a woman and an utter bitch to go with it, asking at the front door, ‘And how much are you prepared to pay per week?’ This was before you had even had a chance to look at the dump! Rental property is always expensive. In 1985 it was extortion.
After two weeks of fruitless searching David and his girlfriend found an almost new townhouse. It was fresh and clean, and comfortable. Most of all it was available. They signed up immediately and paid their bond and rent in advance. It was expensive, but they at least had a roof over their heads. It was nearly a two hour drive in peak hour to David’s office, but luckily his new sales territory was on the side of the city his new townhouse was so it was in Sydney terms, convenient. Within a few weeks David settled into his new job, and his girlfriend found work for a software company a half an hours drive from home. They both applied themselves to their new positions, and very quickly established new friends and social engagements. Their busy schedules, and especially David’s allowed for little time for the relatively new couple to have time to develop their relationship.
He would admit it to no one, but David was missing his children, In Perth he at least had his access visits on weekends. In Sydney he had his weekly telephone call. It was no substitute for seeing their drawings from school, or being able to go to their school concerts, or play an inane game with them. In between phone calls David drank. He would never drink alone, because he thought that was the preserve of alcoholics. He preferred companionship when he drowned his sorrows. In Sydney he found no shortage of willing drinking partners. Outwardly he was friendly and smiling to his various bar friends. It would only be late in the evening, if they were sober enough to notice, that the sadness would hang heavy in David’s face and eyes. Luckily for him, no one stayed sober enough to notice. His girlfriend did. Although she would get angry at his late and drunken arrivals home at 1.30a.m. or later, normally mumbling something about, ‘Sorry I’m late I got caught up with some clients,’ she knew he was feeling a loss. When she discussed it with him in the sober moments of a Saturday afternoon, he would scoff at the suggestion. It would be a long time before he admitted his loss and even longer before he would admit it was really guilt that was driving him deeper into depression.
The painful memory of his tearful wife, shaking with fear, with a young screaming baby daughter in her arms, and his four year old son holding the hem of his mothers pale green dress to his mouth, pleading and sobbing, tears streaming down his young and innocent cheeks, ‘No Daddy, No Daddy, don’t go Daddy. Please Daddy, please don’t go…..please….Daddy….Daaaaddddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy………..’
David couldn’t tear this memory from his mind. The guilt ground away unmercifully and incessantly. It consumed him. It corroded him. It was destroying him. This was something David could never run from. It lived inside him. It was him. It would always be him. It would sit as a small thirty second movie playing on auto replay in his mind’s eye like his own personal internal twenty four hour continuous cinema. It was the same horror movie over and over and over and over. The screaming of ‘Daaddddddyyyy...’ echoed until the movie started again.
Eighteen months in Sydney was outwardly successful for David and his girlfriend. His sales figures were impressive, achieving over one hundred per cent improvement in sales for his territory since his arrival. His company was very pleased with his progress, even if he was a little difficult to manage. His sales manager let him have a free rein, his sales figures were proof he was working his territory well. It was common knowledge to his managers and work colleagues that he didn’t need any excuse to have a drink, a game of golf, a lunch or a dinner, but he was young, aggressive, well liked by his customers and most of all he was a profitable addition to the Sydney sales team. By the end of his second year he was the highest selling salesman in the Sydney office. His company had him earmarked for promotion.
His girlfriend was doing equally well in her job. She quietly went about her progress with little notice or support from David. She was bright, intelligent, educated and talented. He was fully self centred in his own success and self destructive in his guilt. Nevertheless, she loved him, and understood and was sympathetic to his outward expressions of missing his kids. He had had a rough time of it with his divorce, which had not been long since finalised she thought, but had very little idea of the depth of the guilt he suffered, or the waves of depression that would engulf him. She saw and loved what the rest of the world saw. A brash, confident, successful man, climbing his ladder of success. His lack of education was more than made up for by his seemingly natural talent to sell. This was a skill in demand. She assured herself that he would settle down in time. In this she was right. It would just take far longer than she could have imagined.
‘Congratulations David, you have earned it. I’ll see you at the next management meeting in Melbourne.’ And with that, David’s managing director shook his hand and boarded the plane back to Melbourne. Driving back to his office, David let the events of the day wash over him. He was very pleased and even if one can be, proud of himself. He was now sales manager for the Sydney branch. It was only two years since he had moved from Perth, and his climb up the corporate ladder had begun in earnest. In being appointed to the position he had leapfrogged many more long serving salesmen. He was a rising star in his company. At twenty nine years old, he was the youngest man to have held the position. He arrived back at his office and went about the task of finalising his duties as a salesman. It was Wednesday. On Monday, he would move from his desk near the photocopier and telex machine in an open plan office of forty two people, to his own office. It was the second largest in the building. Only the state manager had a larger one. He would have a sales team of nineteen men to manage from there. He was too excited to be daunted by it at that moment.
For all of his faults and inner confusion, David had an exterior persona that shone. He started his new position without fanfare. Just relocated offices on that Monday morning and started work. Within a few weeks, and as many sales meetings, he had the confidence and support of all bar a couple of the salesmen. Most admired his sales ability, and fell in behind him easily. He was not overly concerned about the two who had not quite accepted his promotion. He understood why, and decided to let time solve the small problem. It was not affecting the rest of the salesmen, and the only outward sign was the aloofness of the two at sales meetings. Their grievances were simple. One, a hard nosed pressure salesman in his mid thirties had his nose out of joint because he thought he should have got the position of sales manager. The other, the eldest of the salesmen, thought the same. It was just human nature. A natural reaction in David’s mind.
As time went by, the situation with the two had not really improved, so David thought after tolerating this for four months he had better confront the problem. He tackled it head on. He arranged a time for them both to meet him in his office on a Tuesday morning at 9.00a.m. They arrived. Entered his office, and were about to sit down in the visitors' chairs. Standing at the office door, he said, ‘No, don’t sit down fellas. What I would like you to do, is sort out between yourselves, which one of you will be sales manager. When you have done that, the successful one can sit down in the big chair behind the desk, and write out my resignation letter. I will be back in twenty minutes to sign it.’ With that he closed the door and walked to the coffee machine, smiling a wicked grin. Before he had made his cup of coffee, two apologetic creatures appeared at the door of the small kitchen.
With his imaginative sales ability David delivered to his company a twenty two per cent increase in sales for his branch in the first year of his tenure as sales manager. Fifteen per cent over his sales budget. Profit had risen from twelve per cent to seventeen per cent. He took pride in being able to report the result to the management meeting at the head office in Melbourne. Smiling faces in a board room are a welcome sight. At dinner that evening with the senior management of the company he bathed in his own glory. Arriving back at his hotel after the dinner had concluded, he opened a can of beer from the mini bar, lay down on the bed propped himself up on a couple of pillows, turned on the TV, and relaxed. Then as usual, whenever he relaxed and emptied his mind of the day, his internal cinema took him over. His guilt trip began again. ‘Daaadddddyyyyyyy…………’
Weddings are planned events, special days to be cherished. Every detail planned for months in advance. The culmination of love and commitment, truth and devotion. The one day of a woman’s life she is a very real princess. A day lifetime promises are made.
‘Well, it’s more than likely I will be transferred to Victoria’, started David to his girlfriend. ‘If we are going to get married, we should do it before then. All your family are here, mine are in Perth. It would be a pain to have it later down there. What do you think?’ he said in a question that sounded more like a decision to his girlfriend.
‘When would your company want you to move?’ she asked.
‘Probably in about three months.’ He replied.
‘Well, I suppose we could organise something. I’ll check what can be arranged. I would like a church wedding you know.’ trying to have some authority in this decision.
‘Ok, see what we can do.’ he replied, seemingly ending the subject for the time being.
David in his single minded approach to what he thought was a logical thing to do didn’t notice the look in his girlfriend’s eyes. He wouldn’t have had to look too deeply to see that he had missed something important. Four simple words would have filled the saddened look in her eyes. He had forgot in his planning to say, ‘Will you marry me?’ He hadn’t asked her. He had told her. And made a deadline for the event to suit his own business time frame.
The bride and groom enjoyed a one night honeymoon at a Sydney hotel. Work for David was very busy. This wasn’t his last selfish act.
‘You’ve turned into a complete wanker. Do you know that David Holdsworth?’ was the welcome home David received from the now Mrs Holdsworth of three months standing. ‘You’re a drunk and a selfish, conceited, self obsessed arse hole. God you shit me!’ she continued, then stopped to run to the bedroom and cry herself to sleep. It was 11.30pm. David was drunk as usual. Sitting on the sofa he waited. His internal movie started right on cue. ‘Daaaaddddyyyyyy………’ He sat and let the tears run down his cheeks. He felt the urge to runaway. From himself.
There was silence at the breakfast table. It was Thursday morning. His wife in deep concentration, looking out the apartment window at nothing. David concentrating just as deeply into the bottom of an empty coffee mug. He broke the silence. ‘I am resigning. I want to go back to Perth to see my kids. I have had enough.’
She didn’t move her stare from the nothing she was looking at through the window. Her mind running. All the work she had put into her job. Unnoticed by David. She was successful. But only David mattered to David.
Her reply came after a long silence. ‘You know David, when I came to your office a few months back, that day I had the dentist appointment nearby, and you took me so graciously to lunch at your staff canteen; I noticed something. Your office is smaller than mine. Much smaller. And it has no view. You know I have a view of the harbour from my office. Your office furnishing are cheap ex rental shit. The desk lamp on my desk is worth more than everything in your office! Do you realise David, in my office we have Royal Doultan china. And, when I go to lunch, it is normally to a five fucking star restaurant. You think you are someone David Holdsworth. You think you have been a success. You think the universe rotates around you. Do you know I earn more than you? Fuck you David!’
David’s stare had not moved from the empty coffee cup. How do you answer a tirade such as that? How do you admit your guilt? There was no argument to have, she was right. Every word was right. He pondered that she had missed an awful lot that she could throw at him. He was selfish. No doubt.
‘I can’t say anything except, I am sorry.’ he said, still with his eyes glued to the coffee cup. The only thing I know, is that I miss my kids, and I have to be able to see them. I just…just...miss them.’ with his voice fading away.
‘Do what you want. As you always do. I will do as I am told. As I always do.’ she quietly said as she rose from the table, grabbed her handbag, and left for work. David sat. Still with his eyes glued to the bottom of his empty coffee mug. ‘Who am I?’ he thought.
After Sydney’s mild climate, A scorching January 1990 was not a welcome return home for David and his wife. Renting and un-air conditioned house, with no furniture as it was lost somewhere between Sydney and Perth, made it doubly worse. Within six weeks after much chaos, they bought a house in Duncraig. Famous for being popular with eastern staters. The humour wasn’t lost on David. ‘It’s going to take me years to be classed as a local again.’ he joked with his wife.
They settled in quickly. There were only two problems. David couldn’t find work. And his ex-wife was fighting his weekend access rights to his kids in the Family Court. He could see them at his ex-wife’s house, and she would allow him to take them out for an afternoon, but she was standing firm on him not having them as was originally agreed at their divorce, that he could have them every second weekend from Friday evening to Sunday evening. After what was a difficult divorce, David did not relish another episode in court. He hired a solicitor to handle the application. During the four months it took to secure his original access rights, David had had no luck finding a suitable job. Well, none that he liked. He decided he would start his own business. It was a good decision.
DPS Plumbing Supplies started on a kitchen table. Equipped with a telephone and a telephone book, and note book and pencil, David started building a business. Within a year, he asked his wife, who was doing well as a software consultant, to join him. His business was growing rapidly. She agreed. For almost the first time in their six years together, this husband and wife became a team. They enjoyed working side by side, and not surprisingly learned of and appreciated each other’s skills. They were both very capable hard working people. With the children accepting his new wife very well, and every second weekend being family time with his eight year old daughter and ten year old son, David felt his life settle. This was where David would later wish he had stayed.
It was a simple business decision. May 1993. David and his wife were in total agreement. The business had grown to a point that they cold not continue to operate from Perth. David was spending more time in Sydney than at home in Perth. With his old contacts and customers from his time in Sydney it was easy pickings for him. But the business needed to be moved. With his children now old enough to travel by themselves, he solaced himself in being able to see them on holidays, and on what would be frequent business trips back to Perth from Sydney. There were some regrets in his mind, but this time the move to Sydney was supported by his wife, and the kids were excited at being able to fly to Sydney to see dad.
Expecting some tough early times in Sydney, David and his wife braced themselves for twelve months solid hard labour to get the business set up in Sydney. Luck was shining on DPS. Before their feet had touched the ground, David received a telephone call on his mobile phone. They had flown in two days before, and were in the midst of finding a place to live.
‘David, it’s Jim Brown. Will you be in Sydney soon?’
‘I am in Sydney at the moment Jim.’
‘Oh great. Could you come and see me tomorrow. I’d like to go over a few minor points with you. The board has accepted you tender. I just need to clarify a couple of their queries with you before I sign it off.’
‘Ok Jim, about ten thirty alright for you?’
‘Make it eleven Dave. See you then.’
‘Ok, bye Jim.’
David stood still, and let it sink in. Four months before he left Perth, he had been invited to submit a tender for supply of components to one of the major national retail hardware chains, Handy Sam’s Hardware. As a major buyer, all the major suppliers including of course, his old company submitted tenders. He had thought that his invitation to tender by Jim Brown was more or less just Jim being polite after having him as a customer when he was in Sydney previously. He had got on well with Jim Brown, but certainly not on a buddy basis. ‘There’s a lot of work in preparing this tender for Sam’s.’ he remembered commenting to his wife at the time it arrived. ‘But, who knows, we might be able to supply a few small lines to them later if I can get my foot in the door with this.’
His wife came looking for David. They were in the middle of inspecting a house with a real estate agent when his mobile phone rang. He excused himself and went out into the front garden. She found him there, still looking a little bemused.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked
‘I think we have just won the Sam’s tender.’
‘What!’ she exclaimed. ‘The whole lot?’
‘Yep.’
‘Shit!’ was all she could think of to say. And then blushed a little as she remembered the real estate woman was standing by her side. ‘Oh I am sorry.’ she said.
‘Good news then?’ enquired the woman.
‘Yes, very good indeed.’ David said to her, but looking at his wife and smiling.
A few days later, David had the contract between DPS and Sam’s safely signed and in his briefcase when he returned to his wife and business partner at their hotel. This one contract had taken them way past their expected first year earnings they had budgeted on in their calculations. Less than a week in Sydney and DPS was now secure. Hard work from here on in would be for cream, not for survival.
The move to Sydney was partly to save the amount of travel David was doing from Perth to Sydney and Melbourne. It didn’t stop the travel. The destinations changed. With larger contracts and the need to secure supply, David spent far more time away now overseas. He and his wife had become secure and strong business partners, in the years since DPS started. What they hadn’t done in that time was repair their marriage that had been fragile from its very first day. They could discuss and make rational joint business decisions together in moments. They couldn’t talk to each other about their emotions or feelings for a single minute. Both felt strong and secure in their business environment. Without it, they were both insecure individuals.
After three hectic years in Sydney, and with a secure financial position attained, both David and his wife agreed that it was time to slow down a little. Selling off DPS and buying a small beachside property north of Sydney, they slowed down what had been a hectic life since they had met eleven years before. They certainly were not wealthy enough to retire, but with David working part time on some small projects and clients, they could sustain things. It was time to relax, and spend time together. Life was too short. As his children were becoming young adults, and his regular contact established, even the internal cinema of David’s guilt had started to play less frequently. His guilt remained, but it was contained and manageable now. He felt in control of himself for the first time in his life. David and his wife finally got to know each other, honestly and without any camouflage. David discovered a fragile woman, lost in her past, wounded and bitter. He spent his time loving her and trying to heal and comfort her. She discovered a man guilty about his life, insecure, with an instinct to run from not only failure and success, but from love and life. She spent her time falling out of love with him.

VIII
Still Waters

Mid-life crisis, seven year itch, and life begins at forty. All common catch cries used to stereotype and explain and categorise the feelings and reactions of men in particular, reaching the mid point in their lives. The time a wife may suspect her husband is wandering off to discover his youth. Or suffering mild bouts of depression because he has finally succumbed to having to need glasses to read the newspaper. Any of his concerns are answered by his elder peers, with ‘Ahhh your life is only beginning.’ For two men at this age, they are settled. Happy. Content with their achievements. Neither feel a crisis. Neither feel an itch. Secure in their minds that they have done the hard yards Both have toiled to achieve what they have. Neither wealthy men. Neither intellectual men. Neither with a grudge to bear. For another younger man, he is just starting to build his life at thirty.
Nineteen ninety-seven.
‘Have you got the Ridgeway accounts to trial balance?’ Steven asked his assistant. ‘Yes, I finished this morning. It’s all in their file Steve.’ she replied, hardly looking up from her computer screen.
‘Thanks.’ he said walking off to the client files. After scanning the accounts in the file he rang Mr Ridgeway. He picked up the phone and dialled. Norm Ridgeway answered.
‘Oh hi Norm, it’s Steve Sharp. I have your accounts ready. When would you like to meet to discuss your tax returns?’
‘Yeah, here would be fine. Eleven Friday. Fine. See you then.’ He hung up the phone as he made his diary entry for Friday morning.
For three years, Steve had worked as a Junior Accountant in an accounting firm in Liverpool in Sydney’s south west. Originally wanting to study business, he thought that his criminal record could be a problem if he wanted to pursue a career in management. Accounting gave him a wider choice later in life. He had completed his accounting degree at the University of Western Sydney, and although not a star, he had passed his examinations relatively easily. He had the motivation of making up for lost time. He had wasted away many years before finally settling down at university, and now in his employment. The senior partners had taken what they perceived to be a small risk in hiring Steven, but as he had been open and frank to them about his criminal record and jail sentence during his interviews, and in the light of his application during his studies, they decided he should be given an opportunity. The work he was doing was mundane, and below his qualifications, but Steven knew he would always have to prove himself. He would never have anyone’s trust in an instant. He was going to have to earn it every time. And work at keeping it also. None of the staff knew of his record, except the three senior partners. He was accepted well. Even if some thought him a little boring and conscientious.
He glanced at his to do note pad, and it reminded him of his next task. He picked up the phone again and dialled.
‘Yes, Good morning, could I speak to Tony Pilletto please.’
‘Just one moment sir, I’ll see if I can find him. May I ask who is calling?’
‘Sure, it’s Steve Sharp.’
After a few moments, the receptionist returned.
‘Mr Sharp?’
‘Yes’
‘He will be with you in a minute, he is just coming in from the warehouse.’
In a few minutes Steve heard the familiar deep tones of Tony’s voice on the other end of the phone.
‘Hello there Steve. Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’ve rung to invite me to lunch?’ he chuckled.
Steve replied with a smile on his face, ‘I would love to Tony, but I am afraid I don’t get that honour. You might be lucky if you put a hard word on one of the partners though. Unless you were planning on joining me in the office kitchen to share my soggy tomato sandwiches.’
‘Sounds like we both have the same thing on the menu for lunch today Steve. Oh well, looks like we both get to work this afternoon!’ Tony ended with a laugh.
‘Looks that way Tony. Look the reason I called, is there are some details missing from the depreciation schedules on the accounts of Triple T. I was wondering if you could gather up some info so I can straighten it out.’
‘Sure, what do you need?’
‘Just the purchase dates and copies of the finance documents for the Kenworth and the Komatsu forklift. All the other listed assets are fine.’ said Steve.
‘Ok Steve, I’ll get my office lady to hunt them out and send them to you.’
‘Thanks Tony. No hurry.’
‘Ok bye Steve.’
Steve had been working on the Triple T Transport Pty Ltd account since he had first started work in Liverpool. In fact, Tony Pilletto was one of the first clients Steve had met. He liked him. And they got on well. He knew a little about the history of Triple T, and that one of the original ‘T’s’ had been killed in an accident very early in the life of the company. Tony had told him how Tom had been trying to change a flat tyre on his truck at night on a shoulder of the Hume Highway, and had been hit by a passing car. It was a freak accident. That was in early 1986, and it nearly finished the company. Tom had no insurance, or more to the point the business didn’t have Tom insured, so it became a monumental struggle for Tony and Trevor. It took them almost four years to recover from the accident. The Kenworth they had been discussing today, was the oldest truck in the fleet of Triple T, and it was ordered just prior to Tom’s death. Steve had a feeling Tony had an attachment to that truck. The other major change had been when Tony bought out Trevor’s and his wife’s share of the business in 1994. This is when Steve became involved. He had to do a lot of the accounting grunt work for the buy out. The way Steve read the situation was that Tony had been careful with his money, and had built not only the business but also his personal assets carefully. Not that Trevor had been wasteful, but he was in a little financial difficulty with some other investments he had, and in selling his share of Triple T he could stabilise himself financially. There was no animosity between Tony and Trevor. In fact it was what they both wanted. To Tony Triple T was his life. Trevor had tired of it.
In the three years since, Triple T was doing reasonably well. The debt level was high, but Tony was used to that after the last eleven years. It always had been since Tom’s death. Late in 1996, the debt level of Triple T was getting difficult to handle. Tony asked his accountants for their advice. They mapped out a re-financing structure for Triple T. There were many loans current on trucks, buildings, and the buy out of Trevor. It was suggested he amalgamate all of them and re-finance as interest rates had fallen in the recent year. It was sound advice. Steve again was involved in helping with the supporting documentation for the loan application for the bank. It took over four months to conclude, but once in place it eased the cash flow problem for Triple T and Tony. He wasn’t pleased about having to re-mortgage his house, but it was necessary, and Tony knew it. Steve admired Tony for his capacity for sheer hard work and his tenacity. Not many men would have survived the first few years off a business such a Triple T. He knew Tony still worked at least fourteen hours a day six days a week.
For Steve, he was building his life. He was not earning a lot of money, but was comfortable in his small flat he rented, and was trying to save a little when he could. He was thirty, and starting out in life. His past was gone forever.
His phone rang and startled him from his thoughts. ‘Hello, Steve Sharp.’
‘Any interest in home made chilli prawns and a vegetable stir fry?’ came the question from the familiar voice of his girlfriend.
‘Hmmmmm, I suppose it will cost me a bottle of chardonnay to say yes?’
‘Of course.’ she teased.
‘Seven ok?’ said Steve.
‘See you then Sugar.’
‘Ok bye.’
Steve had been seeing his girlfriend for nearly two years. She had ended a seven year marriage, and had two children with her. They got on very well, and were both happy in seeing each other a few times a week. She would stay the weekend at Steve’s or visa versa when the kids were at their dad’s. But for both of them, this was enough. Neither had wanted anything more. But the time was approaching when they may reconsider.
‘PHONE CALL TONY!’ was screamed from the office door to the warehouse. Tony jumped down from the back of a semi being loaded with machinery. Even though Tony owned the company, he was just one of the workers to all his employees. His stood for no ceremony. And he had a good crew of men. ‘I can’t just sit at a desk waiting for a phone to ring. There’s work to be done.’ he would always say. ‘COMING’!’ he shouted back to his ever faithful office lady. She had been through it all with Tony. He knew she would be retiring soon. He dreaded the day. She was invaluable.
‘Hello, Tony here.’ He said, just a bit breathlessly from his loading work.
‘Hi Tony, David Holdsworth. How ya goin’?’
‘Not bloody bad! How about you? Heard you retired or something.’
‘No Tony, don’t believe gossip. It’s never true.’
‘So what are you doing?’ asked Tony. He had known David for four years. He had been a good client of Triple T with regular loads to Sam’s Hardware in Brisbane, Melbourne and Adelaide, but he hadn’t heard from him in a few months.
‘Well Tony, You know I sold DPS a few months back. So now I am just doing small one off deals on surplus equipment and stock. I decided just to slow down a bit. You should do the same before you drop dead of a heart attack old friend!’ joked David.
‘Not bloody likely. Not ‘til I have the banks off my back. You know how it is Dave.’
‘Yep, sure do Tony. Those mongrels are always selling umbrellas on sunny days. But as soon as they see a cloud, they want the fucking things back!’
‘You don’t need to tell me Dave. So what can I do for you? asked Tony.
‘Well Tony, I just sold an order of irrigation pipes I picked up at auction in Brisbane. Wondered if you could make ‘em appear in Melbourne for me?’
‘Sure, no problem. Wanna fax me the details and I will make them magically appear in Melbourne for you!’ joked Tony.
‘Ok, will do. Oh. By the way Tony. Are you still getting work for Sam’s deliveries? The people I sold DPS to said they would continue to use Triple T.’
‘Dave, I haven’t had a load in a few weeks now. Last I heard was gossip from one of my drivers, but it seems the new owners of DPS tried putting up their prices by eight percent. Apparently Sam’s are reviewing the contract.’
‘Bloody idiots. Some people can’t help but be greedy can they Tony. I hope it gets sorted out.’
‘Well, I’ll let you know if I hear anything Dave.’ said Tony, knowing that the loss of the Sam’s deliveries would hurt Triple T. He didn’t hold anything against Dave. It was just business, and Dave had been a very good client. Maybe he would still be. Tony especially like customers who paid on time. And Dave always had.
‘Yeah, same here Tony. I’ll fax you those details. Have to catch you for a beer soon ok?’
‘Would love to Dave. See you soon. Your shout!’
‘Ok. Deal Tony, bye.’
As soon as he hung up the phone, David called Jim Brown. Then he rang Tony back.
‘Tony, I just checked with Jim Brown, he and I have always got on well. Your gossip wasn’t far wrong. The new owners of DPS tried to increase the price by ten percent. Sam’s are now buying from a split of three of the majors. I am sorry Tony.’
‘Thanks for letting me know so soon Dave. At least I know. I haven’t heard anything from DPS They are a bit slow on their last account, so I thought that was why they were avoiding my calls. At least I have the picture now. Thanks for that Dave. I’ll shout the second beer ok?’
‘Sure. I am sorry Tony.’
‘Don’t be Dave, its not your fault. Call me when you are around this way for that beer.’
‘Ok Tony. See ya later.’
Tony walked out of his office. As he passed his single faithful office worker, he said ‘Better get on the phone and see if we can drum up some business. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You want A to K? I’ll do L to Z.’ They had both been here before. They knew what to do. ‘It’ll take five people to replace you.’ He thought as he walked passed her to go and finish tarping the load. To take his mind off his problems, Tony wondered what he could expect for dinner tonight. He hoped it was Fettuccine Antonio. It was a special dish his wife cooked for him. Home made fettuccine with a carbonara sauce full of bacon, liver and kidney. His mouth watered at the thought. He considered a good bottle of wine to buy on the way home to go with it. His mind left his problems for a minute.
Working all afternoon on the phones bought a little success. But not a lot. They would try again tomorrow. He had a call to say that a consignment he needed to deliver tomorrow morning was held up at Albury and had lost time. It was due at 4.00p.m. It would not arrive until 8.00p.m now. He had to wait for it to arrive, so he spent the evening catching up trying to empty his always full in tray. The truck arrived at eight thirty. He helped unload and locked up at nine thirty. On arriving home he didn’t find his Fettuccine Antonio. Instead he found three of his kids glued to the TV. One playing on a hand held computer game. He said ‘Hello,’ he got some grunts in return. As he went into the kitchen, he heard one of them say, ‘Mum said your dinner’s in the oven. She’s gone to bed.’ He opened the oven door. An unappetising roast dinner greeted him. Slices of dried beef, curled hard on the edges, peas like bullets, potatoes once golden, now dried and brown. Pumpkin nearly reduced to liquid. Carrots curling up in their death throws. All covered with a brown paste that once was gravy. He took it out of the oven and ate some of it. He drank all of the twenty five dollar bottle of wine he had bought on the way home. Tony thought, as the wine took its effect ‘This house is starting to feel very lonely.’ He had listened to his wife’s complaints over recent months, that he should spend more time with the kids. He appreciated she was at home all day. Surely though, she had listened to him about how tough business was. He was trying his best. The house was hers to keep. Her responsibility. His role was to keep the business afloat. To support his wife and children. That was a man’s role. His memory drifted back to Nick’s Fish and Chips, and wondered if his wife and four children could work as he and his family did. His wife did not have to work twelve hours a day and keep a house of children. And the children, lazing around watching TV. Could they work three hours before school and six hours afterwards? Times have changed he thought. But he hadn’t, thought Tony. I am still working as long as I did then.
That same night, David Holdsworth was also eating dinner by himself. His wife had left the morning before for Sydney, visiting her mother. She was spending more and more time there. David didn’t mind. He knew in his mind he had placed a lot of pressure on his wife over the years, and it was good to see she was spending time with her mother and family. They had been with each other almost twenty four hours a day in recent years with the business, apart from David’s regular travelling. Some time apart would not hurt. Their relationship had stabilised from its rocky start, and they had both grown up. David had learnt to take the time to notice his wife, notice not only her abilities in the business, but notice her. He loved his wife, and after the less than happy start, he was secure in the knowledge that their marriage was secure. He felt settled for the first time in his life. Now, with a little more free time they could enjoy the second stanza of life.
Steve Sharp was having a lovely meal with his girlfriend. Chilli prawns and a stir fry, downed with a crisp chardonnay. After his girlfriend’s children were asleep, they made love on the lounge room floor. Twice.
The next morning, Tony left for work at five thirty. He wife was still asleep when he left. As he started down the driveway in the early morning light, he stopped to look at the progress of the landscaping work. He had a swimming pool built where he used to park his truck when he drove. It had been finished six weeks ago. The landscape contractors his wife had hired, were to transform what was a dust bowl around the pool into a tropical oasis. Tony hoped his wife had a fixed price quote, because they seemed to be making very slow progress.
David had breakfast alone. With little to do for the day, he hoped it would be a pleasant day for a walk on the beach. After breakfast he played his violin for an hour. He hadn’t heard from his wife. She may get back this afternoon he thought to himself. Steve rang his girlfriend at seven thirty to tell her he loved her, and to wish her a lovely day.
Tony’s day became a Murphy’s Day. Whatever could go wrong, went wrong. Nothing catastrophic, but just one of those days where nothing goes right. Everything ran late. Cheques he was expecting didn’t arrive. Two men off sick. And little luck from his A to K, L to Z ring around for new business. Having had these days many times, Tony just kept thinking, things will improve. It’s just a patch. After starting work at six, he arrived home very tired at eight thirty that night. It didn’t improve his day any to find another cremated dinner in the oven and his wife out. The kids didn’t seem to have moved from the TV since the night before. He was too tired to be annoyed. He ate what he could of his dinner and went to bed.
David had a quiet day. A long walk, played his violin. Lunch. More violin. Another walk. Read for a while. Waited for his wife to arrive. She didn’t. He made cheese on toast for dinner, at seven. Watched TV and waited for his wife to call. The phone stayed silent. Waking from a doze in front of the TV at eleven he went to bed. As he drifted to sleep, he realised he missed the activity of his business. He was bored. And lonely.
Steve had a pleasant day. He rang his girlfriend after his dinner and made arrangements for the weekend. With no kids! This weekend was their free weekend. He felt his life finding a new wonderful, comfortable level. A calm, a predicability, a purpose, and a future.

IX
A Stone in a Pond

David Holdsworth celebrated his eighth wedding anniversary alone. His wife’s sojourns to Sydney had become an all too regular event. Of late, when she was home he felt a chill from her. He knew there was a problem. He just didn’t know what it was. Or worse, who it was. His stomach had that totally empty, upside down, inside out feel to it. The feeling that fear, panic and horror bring to the base of one’s gut. He didn’t know what was wrong. But something was wrong. And very, very wrong. She had said when she left the afternoon before that she was just going down to Sydney overnight, for her sister’s birthday, and would be back for a special anniversary dinner for two by five this evening. It was ten thirty. The special dinner he had prepared all afternoon sat turning into stodge in the oven. He was at the crossroads of emotions. Sheer unadulterated worry that she had had an accident driving back, crossed and enmeshed with an uncontrollable rage at the thought that his wife was with another man. His emotions were out of control as he sat totally still, looking out of the window to a black sea. His eyes glazed, and near tears. A single tear fell onto his cheek.
At eleven, near panic he rang his sister-in-law’s telephone number.
‘Hello.’ came a sleepy voice.’
‘Is she there?’ was all David could tear from his pursed lips.
Recognising David’s voice, but not sure in her half sleep, ‘Is that you David?’
‘Yes. What time did she leave?’ asked David bluntly.
‘I’m not sure David, maybe she is at mum’s. Have you tried there?’ his sister-in-law stumbled, knowing as she did that her sister had been caught out. She knew she was having an affair, and she was now caught in the lie. She scrambled for a sensible word to add.
‘Ok, I’ll try. By the way, Happy Birthday.’ David added in a sarcastic tone.
‘What David? What’s that supposed to mean?’
David slammed the phone down. The lie was up. He rang his mother-in-law. One of his wife’s young layabout brothers answered the phone. He hadn’t seen her in months.
Returning to his view of the black night sea, David’s mind went just as black. His heart fell to the floor. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking. He felt himself dying inside.
At one thirty am, he started to build a monument. In the hall, just near the front door, so as to be very noticeable to the next person to open the front door. David carefully built a monument to his wife. Neatly arranged in a pyramid were, an alarm clock, carefully dismantled into every component, with the hands stopped at eleven o’clock. The time he knew the truth. It was the time his marriage died. Recent photos of his smiling wife and himself were torn into two pieces and laid with the tears nearly together to symbolise their union being torn apart. A small white bear he had given his wife in hospital many years before when she was very ill, with a big red heart on its chest, and I LOVE YOU, embroidered on the heart, was placed in front, with a small steak knife embedded into its heart. The hand written music of a song he had written for his wife, torn into small pieces and added as snowflakes. Small ornaments of sentimental value to his wife, and a wedding photo, he added to the monument. The last addition was a small note that read, ‘I LOVED YOU.’
He finished his symbolic work at three thirty am. Then tried to sleep. He didn’t. He just cried. She arrived home early the next afternoon. Pausing briefly in the hall to glance at David’s monument. Its message obvious.
She left for the last time the next morning after spending the night in the spare bedroom. All David was left with was the telephone number of an auto electrician who his wife was now going to be living with. She thought he should have it, ‘Just in case you needed to contact me to make the necessary arrangements for separation and divorce.’
‘I won’t make it difficult.’ she had said. ‘We need this over quickly.’ she added as if it was a commercial transaction.
She kissed him on the cheek just before she disappeared from his life.
David cried the day away. He felt very alone. Betrayed, violated, empty, hollow, worthless. Lost. And guilty. What had he done so wrong? His mind lost and confused, he wondered if this was the feeling he had inflicted on his first wife. And children. Was this his punishment? He consoled his conscience a little, at least knowing he hadn’t run off with another woman. He hadn’t inflicted that hurt. David now faced a fear he had not faced before. Loneliness. Desperate loneliness. For the first time in his life, he could not runaway from life. It had runaway from him.
All his hopes for the future had been torn away in one swift blow. He now could not see a tomorrow.
That evening he rang his parents in Perth for a little sympathy and support. The phone rang out. No one was home. He rang his sister. She must have been out with them. He wanted to ring his children, but thought better of burdening them. He thought about all the friends he had lost in his life. He would have given anything at this moment just to have kept one for a time like this. Maybe if he and his friend had packed a can opener and a warm jacket each, they might have made it to Sydney all those years ago. Maybe they would still be friends. He wondered what his runaway partner was doing now. The regrets of his life ran mercilessly through his mind and tangled with each other like the crazy patterns of a kaleidoscope. Events and people and times merged into a pattern of regret, loss and failure. He was suffering very real clinical shock. He treated himself with time, and whisky. He needed someone to talk to. Someone to just say ‘It’ll be ok.’ A shoulder to cry on. He had no one. He was totally alone.
After spending four days of misery, he was slowly coming to terms with the reality of the situation. He was a mess emotionally, but he knew he had to get out of the house. A few days in Sydney. At least see his accountant and solicitor to check what he should do. He needed their advice with regard to the business. His wife was a director and shareholder. There would be problems very shortly with who could sign cheques. ‘Fuck, what a mess!’ he mumbled to himself. Then, for some stupid reason, he remembered he had promised Tony from Triple T a beer. ‘A bloody good idea.’ he thought to himself. After arranging times to see his accountant and solicitor, he rang Tony.
‘Hello, Tony here.’
‘David Holdsworth Tony. How about that beer?’
‘I couldn’t think of anything better Dave. When?’
‘Can you get away for a liquid lunch on Friday?’
‘Dave, I haven’t had a lunch in over a year! I think it’s about fucking time though.’ Tony exclaimed.
‘Ok, terrific Tony. Meet you at the Drover’s Dog at noon.’
‘Perfect. See you then. Bye Dave.’
David felt a little better. At least he has something to do. Even if it was two appointments to discuss things he would prefer not to discuss, and lunch with an acquaintance. He had at least stopped moping around feeling like breaking down into tears. It was a start.
‘Ok, what next?’ he asked himself out loud, as if there was a purpose to the day now. He walked outside and checked the mailbox. ‘Welcome back world.’ he announce to no one except himself, as he flicked through the envelopes to find mostly bills. Coming back inside, he dropped the mail onto the kitchen table and made himself a cup of coffee. Lit a cigarette, and then opened the mail. All normal and mundane. Until he saw the company credit card. He read the list of items slowly, and his colour started to go red. ‘That fucking whore!’ he shouted at the account in front of him. ‘What the fuck has been going on?’
Listed on the account, which David hardly ever used, where items for fuel, twice on the same day in many cases, jewellers, dinners, electrical stores. The locations were all similar. All around Bankstown. Then he went to the creditors file in the small office in the house and looked for the previous months accounts for this credit card. His wife paid all the accounts normally, so David did not as a rule see them. He discovered a pattern. For four months, unless his wife was driving a taxi around Bankstown, she was filling two cars with fuel. Dinner receipts seem to coincide with her trips to Sydney, and there was enough money spent at furniture and electrical stores to fill a house. He sat dismayed at what he had discovered. ‘Bad enough to have done this to me,’ he thought, ‘but to leave it for me to find. God, what did I do to deserve this?’ Then, he realised the card was still active, along with three other supplementary cards linked to his that his wife had. It took him two hours to have them all cancelled.
He spent the rest of the day tracing the company and personal accounts back for six months. He found more sorrowful discoveries. By the end of the day, he had a file prepared to show his accountant. There was going to be some trouble ahead, he could smell it. Her parting words rang in his ears. ‘I won’t make it difficult.’ she had said. ‘We need this over quickly.’
David now wanted it over as fast as possible also.
Friday.
‘Great to see you Tony.’ Dave said as Tony walked towards him at the bar of the Drover’s Dog.
‘Hello Dave. Long time no see. How are you then?’
‘Shit, don’t even ask. Let me buy you that beer first.’
‘Two beers thanks love.’ David asked the barmaid as she walked past.
‘Comin’ up.’ she replied cheerfully.
‘So tell me Tony, how’s Triple T?’
‘Dave, same answer. Don’t even ask. Looks like we both need a beer!’ Tony said with a wry smile.
Their beers arrived at that moment.
‘Cheers.’
‘Salute.’ replied Tony. They both emptied half of their schooners!
‘Ahhhhhh. Shit I needed that!’ Tony said licking his lips.
‘Better get another two under way by the look of it huh Tony?’ Dave chuckled.
‘Good idea. Two more thanks, if you would be so kind my dear.’ Tony asked the barmaid.
‘So what’s up Dave? You’re mouth is smiling, but your eyes aren’t my friend.’
‘Well Tony.’ Dave hesitated and had another mouthful of his beer. ‘My wife has left me.’
‘Shit Dave. I am sorry. When?’
‘About ten days ago. It was bloody sudden. Just, poooof, gone!’
‘Did you see it comin’ at all Dave?’
‘Well, that’s the worst part I suppose Tony. No. Not really. You know if I look back now, yes, there were some signs I suppose, but I didn’t take any notice. She was a bit cool for a couple of months, but, shit, then all hell broke loose. It was all over in a flash.’
‘Is there a bloke?’ Tony asked
‘Yep. A fucking auto electrician I am told. I found credit card statements. Looks like she furnished his place for her arrival. She has been filling his fucking car with petrol on my company’s account for three months.’
‘Shiiiitttt.’ exclaimed Tony in disbelief. ‘I don’t know what to say Dave. Christ!’
‘Well, I was told by my solicitor that it’s just part of life now. My accountant was telling me that nearly one third of his time is spent sorting out companies and partnerships and businesses affected by separation and divorce.’
‘So you are doin’ all the legal stuff straight away?’ asked Tony.
‘Yep. There’s no going back from here.’ replied Dave.
‘So what happens? I don’t know much about it.’
‘Well, my solicitor says I am lucky. No kids. So its just fifty fifty. Split down the middle. Property, company and assets.’ replied Dave.
‘But she is the one who fucked off. Surely that makes a difference?’
‘Nope. Charlie Stewart, my solicitor, laid it out clear as a bell to me. Under our laws now, there are no grounds for divorce any longer. Went out years ago. All applications for separation and divorce are no fault. Just irretrievable breakdown, or something like that. So it doesn’t matter a hoot what she did. As far as the Family Law Court is concerned, it’s nobody’s fault.’ explained Dave.
‘And your solicitor said you were lucky?’ Tony said with an inflection.
‘Well, I know from my first divorce years ago. If I had kids, it would be a wipe out. I lost almost everything then. House, car, furniture. I walked out with a suitcase of clothes and thirty percent of bank accounts. Which was thirty percent of fuck all anyway!’
‘Christ.’ was all Tony could say. He slowly sipped on his beer.
‘Enough of my troubles. How’s Triple T going Tony?’
‘Fucking tough going! I had to re-finance last year, and business has been tight. Losing the Sam’s work didn’t help. That’s your fault.’ Tony said with a big smile.
‘I am sorry about that Tony.’
‘No. It’s not your fault Dave. Just pullin’ your leg. It’s just the way of business. And it’s only one small part. It’s just a tough business. It will come good. Always does.’
‘You’re the eternal optimist Tony. How do you keep that big smile on your ugly face?’
‘I was born with it! Can’t get rid of it Dave.’ Tony laughed. Two fresh beers arrived.
‘Well, here’s to happier days Tony.’
‘Yes. To happier days Dave.’
They both took a sip of their beers, their initial thirst being quenched by the first two. They sat quietly for a moment. Tony’s mind was grinding away. He felt sorry for Dave. But he was inwardly saying, ‘I’m glad it’s him and not me. Poor bastard.’
‘So what are you gonna do Dave?’ Tony asked.
‘I don’t really know Tony. Things are a bit up in the air. I had things planned out to take it easy, before this hit! Suppose I’ll just see what happens. Probably move down from the coast though. Better off in Sydney. Easier to get everything done. And it’s not much fun by myself up there. Haven’t been there long, so I don’t know too many people.’ It crossed Dave’s mind as he spoke, that he didn’t know too many people any fucking where!
‘Well, if you need anything. Moving your stuff. Anything. You just let me know ok?’ assured Tony.
‘Thanks Tony. I will.’ Dave said without thinking he would.
‘Do you like liver Dave?’
‘Errr yes?’ Dave answered the odd question with a raised eyebrow.
‘Good. My wife makes a special dish for me. Fettuccine Antonio. Liver, bacon and kidneys in a carbonara sauce. Come to dinner one night, I’ll have her cook it for us. Ok with you?’
‘Thanks’ Tony said, not really expecting an official invitation to follow. ‘I’ll bring the wine huh?’
‘Ahhh Dave! Only if you can afford and know which special wine goes with it!’
‘Well, you better tell me old buddy!’
‘1956 Chateau Rothschild Lafayette. Two hundred and fifty bucks a bottle! If you can find it!’ Tony announced with a wicked grin.
‘Well, you might have to settle for a 1997 Hunter Valley shiraz!’ Dave said meekly.
‘All tastes the same after the tenth glass Dave.’ Tony was laughing loudly. He was enjoying his liquid lunch. And Dave’s company, even if he was down on his luck.
‘Have you got things to do this afternoon? Tony asked.
‘A few things. Yes. I have to sign some papers at my accountants. They should be ready this afternoon, and I have an appointment at the bank to get the signatures sorted out. I have to freeze the accounts until things get settled a bit.’
‘I have to get back to the office Dave, but, if you are still thirsty at five or so, I have a very good bottle of scotch in my office drawer. Any interest?’
‘I’ll see how I go. But it sounds like a good idea to me. If I am not there by five thirty, start without me though!’ Dave smiled.
‘Ok Dave. I better get back. See you at five if you can make it.’
‘Yeah, sure Tony.’ he said shaking Tony’s hand.
‘Great to see you again.’
‘You too Tony.’
As Tony left, Dave ordered himself another beer. And a steak sandwich and chips. He could feel he needed a bit of food to soak up the beer before going to his accountant.
When he arrived at his accountants, he told the woman at reception that there should be some papers ready for him to sign.
‘Just a moment Mr. Holdsworth. I’ll check.’
She walked off into the office area. David sat down to read a magazine. He was half way through a dull article on accelerated depreciation in a finance magazine, when a male voice echoed from the reception desk.
‘Mr. Holdsworth?’
David turned and looked up. He walked to the reception desk. The young man came around to shake his hand.
‘Hello Mr Holdsworth, I am Steven Sharp. John is out for the afternoon, but he left these with me, and said you might be dropping by. All we need is your signature here.’ he said opening up a file and pointing to a pencilled cross.
‘And here.’ pointing to another pencilled cross on another page. David signed.
‘They will be lodged Monday. John will be in touch after that I would presume.’
‘Ok. Thanks.’ was all David said.
‘Nice to meet you Mr. Holdsworth.’
With that the young man turned and went back into the office area. David said goodbye to the receptionist and looked at his watch. Plenty of time to get to the bank he thought.
He arrived on time, and was then kept waiting for nearly an hour before the bank manager saw him. He was becoming impatient. The beers at lunch didn’t help either. He was busting for a piss. It only took a few minutes to freeze his company’s bank accounts.
Three thirty. As he returned to his car, David remembered his wife’s old aunt lived close by. He liked her very much, and she was one of the few in-laws that made him feel welcome. She was in her late seventies, and enjoyed a beer. She was widowed, and lived by herself. He decided to see if she was home. At least he could tell her what had happened, and maybe keep his old friend. He arrived a few minutes later to find her reading a book on her front porch.
‘Hello David, what a nice surprise.’ she said greeting him with a peck on the cheek.
‘Good book?’ David asked.
‘Not enough sex!’ she replied with a sly grin.
‘Cup of tea? Or a beer?’ she asked starting to rise from her chair.
‘Stay there.’ David said. ‘Tea would be fine. I’ll put the kettle on. Want one?’
‘That would be lovely dear.’
He went inside and returned a few minutes later with two mugs of tea. He sat quietly for a few moments, then sipped his tea. He broke the silence. Bluntly.
‘We have separated.’
‘You know dear, It was a bit embarrassing. I didn’t really know what to say when she came here a few weeks ago. She had this fella with her. I didn’t know what to say. He is a Manly supporter. What do you say to people like that?’ she said with a smile. She had always had a thing about anyone who supported the Manly football team. She loved her rugby league, and was a one eyed St George follower. The humour wasn’t lost on David. She was being sympathetic also.
‘Well, he must be a moron then! A bloody Manly supporter huh?’ he relied. Holding his emotions back from the shock that his wife had been parading her lover around to her family. His family until a few days ago!
‘For sure David. A moron.’ She confirmed.
‘David.’ she started. ‘You are always welcome here. I take no sides. It’s up to you two to sort this out, or not. I am old enough to know there are two sides to every truth. I don’t want to know the ins and outs. Just know that you are welcome here anytime. Ok?’ she finished.
‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’
After changing the subject to football and politics, the two of them enjoyed the rest of their chat.
David left just before five. The thought of returning alone to his hotel didn’t appeal. The invitation to a bottle of scotch however, was very appealing.
The afternoon had been a slow grind for Tony. He wished to himself that he had stayed at the Drover’s Dog all afternoon. The first call he received when he had returned was from his bank manager. Triple T’s payments for the consolidated bank loan where two months in arrears. He tried to reassure him that everything was under control. He had a feeling he hadn’t fully succeeded. One of his larger customers rang to discuss rates. His customer was reviewing his transport costs. Tony had been in the business long enough to know this was code for his customer having received a quote from a competitor who was going in low to win business. He lowered his rates to keep the client. On the heels of that, his wife called into the office.
‘Oh, Tony. You are alive then.’ she said sarcastically. ‘Is this where you live? Have you thought of installing a bed and TV.’ she continued. With that caustic comment she made her way to the petty cash tin and took fifty dollars. She signed the petty cash chit book lying along side, then left. Without even as much as a goodbye.
Tony sat at his desk in fury. ‘For god sake, she does fuck all! Then has the hide to embarrass me in my own office!’ Tony fumed in his mind. At four thirty his phone rang.
‘Hi Tony, it’s Steve Sharp. Just wondering if you have been able to dig out that info’ I need for the depreciation schedules?’
‘Oh sorry Steve. Look, the file is on my desk. I just forgot all about it. When do you need them by?’
‘Well.’ Steve replied. ‘Pretty soon. Will you be there in an hour or so. I could pick them up on my way home. Your office is not far out of my way.’
‘Yes, that’ll be fine Steve. As long as it’s no trouble.’
‘No, no trouble at all. See you then.’
‘Ok, see you Steve.’
At five thirty, Steve arrived at Triple T’s office. He found Tony in his office with David Holdsworth. Both enjoying a drink. Tony noticed Steve as he approached his office door.
‘Steve, come in. This is David Holdsworth. Davis this is Steve Sharp. He is….’
David interrupted. ‘Yes we have met. Small world Steve. How are you?’ he said shaking his hand.
‘Yes, Mr Holdsworth and I met this afternoon at my office.’ Steve told Tony.
‘Oh, David please Steve.’ David said to Steve. ‘We don’t need any of that formality.’
‘Drink Steve?’ Tony asked. ‘We are a couple ahead of you though, I must warn you.’ he said with a laugh.
‘Thanks, yes, if I am not intruding.’
‘No, not at all.’ both Tony and David replied almost in unison.
Tony poured out three drinks. ‘Salute.’ Tony said raising his glass.
‘Salute.’ they replied.
‘Good day gentlemen?’ Steve asked trying to start a conversation.
‘Fucking dreadful.’ was Tony’s terse response.
The conversation died for thirty seconds. Steve felt a little embarrassed.
‘Sorry Steve.’ Tony smiled. ‘It’s just been one of those days. Weeks!’ he added.
David had his turn at starting a conversation.
‘How long have you been with John’s firm Steve?’
‘Three years David. I quite like it there. I am a bit office bound, but I can’t complain. I enjoy the work.’
‘Are you originally from Sydney?’ David asked.
‘No, Perth. I immigrated there when I was four. I moved here three years ago.’
‘Perth!’ Tony exclaimed. ‘Well, how about that! Three Perth boys made good in the big smoke huh?’
‘What? Are you both from Perth? Steve asked.
‘Yes!’ David replied. ‘How about that.’
‘I think this calls for another drink.’ Tony said as he poured three more drinks.
‘This bottle isn’t going to last much longer. Tony said after taking a sip. ‘Do I have any takers for a meeting of the Perth Old Boys at the Drover’s Dog?’
‘I second that motion.’ David said with a broad smile.
‘You’ll need three for a quorum.’ Steve said.
‘Motion carried then.’ Tony chuckled. And added, ‘What a coincidence.’
On Sunday morning David returned to his house on the coast. It had taken him most of Saturday to recover from his hangover as a result of his Friday night with Tony and Steve. He had enjoyed their company. And the reminiscing about their home town. Most of all he had enjoyed the male companionship. It was heartening to him to have the reaction of men to his situation. Not that their opinions had changed anything, just feeling that someone was on his side was a small comfort. As he drove, he thought of the sudden changes that were happening. Just a few short weeks ago, if anyone had alluded to his wife being a cow, bitch or whore, he would have been horrified. Now, he could only nod his head in agreement, and feel justified in his own anger towards her. Most of all, he felt alone.
It had only been days since his wife had left him. He had lost all perspective of time. It seemed like months. Then, in an instant, it felt like only hours. He arrived home to a note.
‘I rang, but there was no answer. I came to get some of my things. I thought it would be better to get this over quickly. Bye.’
He looked at the note. Not even addressed to him by name. Did he exist so little now that she did not even want to use his name? Or hers? For such a short note, the results of the message where large. Some of her things seemed to amount to an awful lot! The house seemed empty. Stripped of all its heart. Gaping holes on a blank wall where a painting once was. Shadows of furniture left as indentations in the carpet. Books, once standing proud and in regiment, lying on their side as too many of their comrades had been removed. David looked at the once proud bookcase. It was a forlorn creature now. Barely one third of the books remained. As he slowly went through what had been his home, he now only found a house. Its character and life stripped from it. This was the shell that was left.
He tried to console himself, and to a large extent, control himself, by toying with the thought that the house was not half empty, but half full. It didn’t work. He became agitated. Looking in every part of the house, almost at random, no order or sense. What was there, was useful, needed, mechanical. Enough plates, knives, forks, saucepans. A bed, linen, towels. A sofa, a television. Yes, enough to live in a house. It was what was missing that was tearing David apart. The collection of a lifetime. Little ornaments, treasures, photographs. Ornate wedding gifts that were never used, but sat as a reminder in a glass cabinet. Everything familiar had disappeared. As his will to look for what was missing slowed, he was torn slowly with the dawning realisation that his marriage had ended. And with it had his life. All his plans for his life had been made with a simple assumption that it would always include, not only his wife, but his life around him. His home. His familiarity. His comfort. He had never contemplated a life alone and adrift.
He stood at the window and looked to the sea, white capped in a stiff breeze.
‘I just do not understand.’ David thought aloud.
‘I just don’t understand.’ he whispered again. Addressing no one but a fluttering curtain.
The single thread that ran through his thoughts was simply, why?
Why had this happened? Why had he not seen any signs? Why had he been powerless to stop it? Why had the more than ten years of their marriage been of so little value to her? Why? Why? Why?
The words of his solicitor rang in his head. ‘Nobody’s fault.’
‘How could it be nobody’s fault?’ Dave thought. ‘My wife has sex with another man. She leaves me. Strips my home. Destroys my dignity, self esteem and self worth. Taking with her not only my wife, but my best friend. My business partner. My life. My solicitor tells me she will get half of everything. And judging by her clean out of the house, her idea of half is much bigger than mine. He tells me it’s just a fact of life now. Well, fuck the facts in law. She is at fault. She is the fucking whore. Not me! For fuck sake. How can it be nobody’s fucking fault?’ David head was running in overdrive with anger and loss. He tried to calm himself with a drink. ‘Oh for fucking Christ’s sake!’ he screamed. ‘The bitch has even emptied the liquor cupboard. When will this end?’
He recovered his composure to a small degree, and decided he should eat something. Since his wife had left, he had found sleeping and eating had become optional activities. Making two sandwiches and a cup of coffee, he sat down in front of the TV, hoping it would at least take his mind somewhere else.
As he turned it on, the news reader was finishing an article on ‘some rebel activity in Afghanistan’. The news reader started the next news item.
‘In Perth today, a man in his mid thirties was found dead in his car, with his three children. He had placed a pipe over the exhaust and into the vehicle. The children were aged seven, five and seventeen months. It is believed a Family Court dispute triggered the event.’
‘In Washington, President Cl…..’ David turned the TV off.
His mind was alerted by the tragedy of the husband and three children. The clinical and nonchalant manner of the report. ‘It is believed a Family Court dispute triggered the event.’ ran over and over in his mind. It made it sound such a trivial reason to kill yourself and your three children. What would make a man do that? Worse still, this was not the first time this had happened. This was so usual it was treated on the news in the same way a traffic accident was reported. ‘The accident was believed to have been caused by bad weather.’
David recalled events he had heard reported in recent years. He hadn’t taken any notice at the time. He was removed from needing to know or be involved, so he took no notice then. But now he did take notice. ‘Wasn’t there a woman shot dead by her husband on the step of the Family Court?’ he thought to himself. ‘Parramatta I think.’
‘Depression and suicide at a remote Queensland mine. That’s right, I remember seeing a documentary about that.’ Suddenly David recalled many stories he had seen and heard. He thought as he slowly ate his last sandwich.
‘All this pain and suffering, and it’s nobody’s fault huh? Must make everyone involved feel a whole lot better.’
David started his new life on Monday morning. Alone and fearful on the inside. A facade of confidence. He had to get on with his life. Everyone told him that, and it sounded like very good advice to follow. In time he would learn that what he had needed was time to grieve. He didn’t know at the time that this was what he was feeling. Grief. Someone wise would tell him later, that it would be normal to grieve at the loss of a wife if she had died. Society accepts this as normal. In David’s case, not only did he suffer the same sudden loss of his wife, but had the anger of what she had done to him. This was worse than death. In death he could have remembered all the wonderful things his wife had bought to his life. He would have had fond memories. He would have had a certainty in death.
Instead, he had not only the sense of loss a death would have bought. He had anger, bitterness, guilt, sorrow, and a painful hurt. He also had a society telling him to be angry at her, get even, call her a bitch. Forget her, get on with your life. ‘You are better off without her.’ Had David been allowed to grieve, his acceptance would have been far speedier. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.
Before he knew it, the legal process of dissolving his marriage was under way. Barely weeks after she had left, the legal process began its assault on David’s self worth and dignity. He was expecting a quick painless process. His matter was very simple he was told by his solicitor. ‘You are lucky there are no children involved.’ he was assured by Charlie Stewart, as if he had won the lottery.
By the time a year had passed David would wonder what lucky meant. He would become so frustrated, disillusioned, angry and beaten. He would think, ‘If I am one of the lucky ones, God help the not so lucky. The fathers.’ There was not a week that passed by in the first year of David’s separation that the stupidity of the expression, nobody’s fault, would not enter his mind. ‘Was it nobody’s fault that a man kills himself and his three children?’

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.11.2010

Alle Rechte vorbehalten