Doing Good

Chapter 1

The liquid continued to swirl as she stared at it, having stirred it longer than necessary. The motion created patterns that reminded her of her childhood; down by the creek with her brother watching the escaping torrents after a storm. The brown water rushing past, cheering itself on as it went; the roaring sound as much a part of the experience as the power and ferocity of the water in its desperation to be gone from this place. They’d thrown sticks into the water and raced down along the muddy bank to watch the progress of their timber swimmers as they were tossed and pitched by the peaks, troughs and swirling eddies.

A thought; something like self-preservation; almost formed and she nearly broke the liquid’s spell but it was too late. The memory she knew would follow burst forth like it was turning up late for its own party. It always came to her in the same way; still-frames and pieces of the puzzle. A collage of the moments in which it all happened; clues that all at once made no sense and complete sense.

The slide of a footprint in the mud at the edge of the creek, a cry and a splash and always, the bobbing head and up-stretched hand were the vivid images. She always felt the panic set into her gut, felt the carousel spin of fear and despair. The gaping mouth would form into his name but other than the hard dark hours when she would awake gasping, the name didn’t burst skywards for nobody to hear. The sound of her breath in her ears as she chased uselessly, losing ground with every step until she couldn’t see him anymore. The indecision and finally, the screaming, howling, desperate run home that would bring her parents running from the old white farmhouse.

She lifted the cup and tipped it, untouched by lips, into the sink, watching as it pooled around the drain before slowly disappearing from view, leaving only traces of what had been.

At her command the tap released a flow and dispersed the remnants from the sink and the cup, which she then placed on the drainer to the right of the tap. She scooped some water into her hand and splashed it on her face, holding tight to the edge of the bench with her other hand. She kept her eyes closed and felt the water run down her face and dive for the sink. She slowly opened her eyes and looked out the window across the yard, licking her lips and concentrating on breathing. She shook her head and turned away from the sink, covered the three steps across to the refrigerator and opened the door. She reached inside and let her fingers find the bottle of wine. She was on her way to the cupboard for a glass before the fridge door was closed.

Pushing through the screen door gave her a sense of some small calm. She glided across the narrow patio and dropped onto the nearest of the timber bench seats and placed the glass on the table’s weathered surface. The screw cap wound off the bottle and she heard the soothing splosh of the wine transferring to the glass. Although her urge was to lift the glass and toss the wine down her throat she refrained, swirling the wine around in the tall glass and holding it at just the right position for the late afternoon sunlight to fragment in the golden liquid. A light sheen of moisture formed on the external surface of the glass, like it was sweating from the effort of containing the cool liquid and she slid her thumb across the tiny droplets. She brought the glass to her lips and tilted until she tasted the wine cool and tangy. She swallowed and closed her eyes, feeling the path of the wine inside her. She inhaled a long slow breath and held it for a moment before allowing its escape. She took another sip of wine and opened her eyes, taking in the yard. The carved swathes of grass that needed a cut, the cemented rocks that formed the borders of the gardens and then she allowed herself the pleasure of the mango tree; her constantly green companion that owned the back yard. She loved that tree; just loved its presence, its solidity, its consistency; the fact that it was always there; unyielding; immovable.

Her eyes held the tree, soaking in its camouflage until a voice broke her concentration;

G’day Rebecca

Her eyes trailed across to the neighbouring yard which sat lower than her own and found the expected source of the voice. Rex Dyson stood with hose in hand, watering his beloved vegetable patch that ran the length of the paling fence that was the border between his property and Rebecca’s. When he was sure he had caught her eye he lifted a hand and waved.

Hi Mr. Dyson. How are you doing?

Rex shrugged Doing good, been better, been worse. How are you?

Rebecca looked away for a moment before she answered That sums it up for me too

Been a beautiful day. Summer’s just about here

Yeah, the world keeps moving on

Hard to keep up with, sometimes

Rebecca took a sip of her wine Too true

I’ve got some good tomatoes and strawberries on here. I’ll bring some over for you in the next day or two

Rebecca smiled I love your tomatoes but they ruin me for buying any from the supermarket for months after

I don’t know what those things are that those blokes sell. They look like tomatoes but they don’t taste like anything

If Rebecca had heard Rex say that once then she’d heard it a thousand times but she liked hearing it now. Right now, Rex was like her mango tree, a constant; something solid and grounded that told her the world still held some sense to it I’ll look forward to them when they’re ready

Well, to tell the truth, they’re ready now but I’m too lazy to pick them today. This arvo, they can have a drink and then I’ll have one and we’ll worry about it all tomorrow

Rebecca smiled Why don’t you jump the fence and I’ll shout you a drink?

Rex was visibly surprised; he stood taller and his neck arched back with his head. He looked at the garden he was watering and then back to Rebecca Yeah, why not. Give us a minute to wind this hose up and wash my hands and I’ll come across

Rebecca nodded Sure. Take your time, I’ll be here

Rex gave her a thumbs-up then went about dragging his hose back to its place by the tap.

Chapter 2

Rebecca returned her gaze to the mango tree, pondering her invitation to the old man from next door who she’d known for a good portion of her twenty-nine years. Rex had lived in the neighbouring house for more than forty years; had been the first person Rebecca had met when she’d moved here with her mother after her father could no longer bear the life that had been so hard after her brother Ben died in the creek that awful day. She would always remember her father trudging up the hill from the creek with his dead son cradled in his arms. She had watched him walk for what felt like hours; with every step her mother’s hands gripped her tighter. They both knew there was no reason to run down to help. The limp load in her father’s arms was clearly not a living creature.

It had been less than two years on when her father used the shotgun on what he thought was the biggest pest on the property; himself. Rebecca was twelve years old. The farm was sold and Rebecca and her mother had moved to Brisbane’s northern suburbs, buying the modest weatherboard home in Chermside with what was left after the bank had satisfied itself on the farm’s carcass. That steamy summer day when they arrived, Rebecca had been so skitty that she couldn’t sit still in the car. When she stepped out and planted her feet in the city she wasn’t sure that she wasn’t just going to run; to where, she had no clue but she held no certainty that her limbs wouldn’t just do it.

It had been Rex Dyson that had helped settled her. He pulled up in his car just as Rebecca and Suzy Walters started to unload their cargo from the car and trailer. They stopped when they heard the voice;

G’day there

Both Suzy and Rebecca looked across at the short man with the semi-circle of short grey hair surrounding his bald pate above his thick, round face that was split with a huge grin. He was a stout man and coupled with his friendly demeanour gave the impression of a big teddy bear.

Hello replied Suzy.

You the new neighbours?

Suzy nodded as Rex moved over to the low picket fence that separated the properties I’m Rex Dyson

Suzy walked across and shook Rex’s outstretched hand Suzy Walters and this is my daughter, Rebecca

Hello Suzy, nice to meet you Rex turned his attention to Rebecca And hello to you, Miss Rebecca

Rebecca felt her mother’s gaze but her own remained fixed on the ground Hello

Rex continued to smile I knew I was getting some new neighbours but gee, I can’t wait to tell everyone that the future Miss Australia is living next door to me. Imagine that, Rebecca Walters, Miss Australia, lives next door to old Rexy

Both Suzy and Rebecca couldn’t help but smile.

Let me throw these few groceries inside and I’ll come and give you a hand to unload

There’s no need for you to do that, we’ll be fine

I’ll get kicked out of the gentleman’s union if I don’t give you a hand

Suzy smiled Okay then. Thanks

Rex winked at Rebecca as he headed into his home and returned inside of two minutes with a bag of tomatoes, a tub of strawberries and two tall glasses of cold lemonade. He presented the ladies with their drinks and placed the fruit on the tiled front patio.

I grow those tomatoes and strawberries myself. They’re pretty good too

They look lovely. Thank you so much for them

Rex waved the thanks away I’ll have you sick of the sight of them before summer’s out. You a fruit and vegie eater, Rebecca?

Rebecca shrugged half-heartedly I like some

How old are you?

Twelve

Ahhhh. Well, I’ll bet you’d go an ice-cream with your ears back

Rebecca nodded. Before she had completed her affirmation, Rex produced a paddle pop from the bag of tomatoes and held it out towards Rebecca. Rebecca looked her mother’s way but found no resistance so she took the treat from Rex’s hand Thank you, Mr. Dyson

Rex gave her a wink then turned to Suzy She’s a well-mannered young lady

Suzy smirked She can be. I’m pleased to see that she is now

Rex laughed Well, Miss Rebecca, you get ten out of ten from me. Future Miss Australia

After helping to unload the trailer Rex had left the Walters’ to settle in but returned late in the afternoon with his wife, Louise, for introductions and to issue an invite for a welcome barbeque the following evening. A couple of simple gestures and a friendly smile had gone a long way to easing the fears of a twelve year-old.

Chapter 3

The pressure grew, intensified into a gut-churning mix of fear and anticipation that had Brad Green feeling light-headed and flushed with heat. A light sheen of perspiration gave his reddened face the glossy look of someone exercising lightly. In truth, he had barely moved in more than an hour but his heart rate was high enough to have told the tale that he’d been running.

He gripped the arm of the chair with his right hand, leaning forward closer to the screen on the wall. His left hand was balled into a fist, the fingertips red and the joints white. As that which would have been obvious to any impartial observer finally became apparent to Brad, he eased back onto the high back of the chair but the fist did not unfurl and the grip on the armrest did not loosen. At least, not immediately; not until he had to raise the hand to cover the tight-pressed lips to seal off the nausea and suppress the scream that welled deep within the acid-drenched cavern at his core.

As reality settled in he pinched at his nose with his thumb and forefinger and blew out the sour breath that he had been holding. The results came up on the lower half of the screen but Brad needed no reminding that he had backed yet another loser. He looked at the computer screen on his right, the balance on the account read $42.20. Not much more than an hour earlier it had read $450.00. He inhaled deeply through his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. He swivelled the chair to the right as he opened his eyes and fixed his concentration on the computer’s display. He reached for the mouse and clicked on the next race, his eyes narrowing as he studied the list of names. He checked the television and saw that the horses were milling around behind the starting gates. He pursed his lips and ran his eyes quickly down the field again. He had no knowledge of these animals, no notion of any reason to be placing a bet on any of them and no time in which to assess the form and make a semi-informed decision.

Brad snorted and it occurred to him that he should ignore this race but he needed a win; had to have a winner to claw back his losses. One winner would turn it all around. He glanced up at the screen and saw that the horses were being loaded into the starting gates. He turned back to the screen and with three clicks of his mouse, twenty dollars had been bet on horse number seven; the aptly named ‘Fast ‘n’ Loose’. Brad had chosen this animal on the basis of two factors. Brad had some respect for its rider, James Rodman who, in Brad’s estimation was reliable; a tough, competitive jockey. The other factor in his decision was the price. Brad needed a long-priced winner and at ten-to-one, ‘Fast ‘n’ Loose’ was not entirely what he was seeking but it was far better than the even money favourite.

The race commenced and ‘Fast ‘n’ Loose’ jumped well and took up a nice position. Brad took up his position with his right hand gripping the armrest and his left out in front, thumb and forefinger pressed tightly together, awaiting the command to bring the remaining fingers into service when the fist was required. Brad watched intently as the favourite led around the turn with ‘Fast ‘n’ Loose’ second but hard-ridden to stay in touch with the leader. The fist sprung into action as Brad punched the air in the direction of the screen and hissed but nothing could change the result and the favourite comfortably held off all challengers. Brad sunk back into the chair and slowly shook his head.

After a few moments he returned his attention to the computer screen. Six mouse clicks and two minutes were all that were required to finish what had been started.

Chapter 4

Rebecca stood and walked through to the front door when she heard Rex knocking. She found him at the door with a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm and bottle of white wine extended Rebecca’s way.

You should have just come through, Mr. Dyson

Like you, I was brought up with some manners and please, I know I have told you before but just call me Rex

I’ll try. You’ve just been Mr. Dyson to me for a long time. Come through, it’s nice out the back this afternoon

I used to like that you called me Mr. Dyson, not many kids do that anymore but without wanting to insult a lovely young woman, you’re not a kid anymore

They took seats on the back patio and as Rex sat he studied the weathered timber You ought to let me have a crack at this timber with a sander and some stain

I think it might be beyond that

Rex ran a hand over the rough surface of the seat and table Nah. I reckon I can get it back to something reasonable

That’d be nice. It was Mum’s favourite

Yeah, she used to spend a bit of time out here

Rex poured some wine into Rebecca’s glass then opened a beer for himself Well, cheers Miss Rebecca

Rebecca lifted her glass in salute and they each took a sip of their drinks.

Rex looked out into the yard Gee, the mango’s got some fruit on it this year

It has. The birds will get most of them but I think we’ll get a few

Not much you can do about the birds and the bats. You’d be looked at a bit strange running around with a shotgun to protect your mangos in this part of the world

I s’pose so. I’m not really the shotgun type

Rex turned his gaze Rebecca’s way and watched her as she stared sightlessly at the mango tree.

What have you been up to today?

Rebecca hesitated I …um…had a few things to do in the city

Rex nodded slowly as he took another drink from his beer bottle I haven’t been into the city itself in a while. Everyone ought to have a sickie once in a while. I hated when they started calling them mental health days and saying it was okay to just have a day off for no particular reason; took half the fun out of it.

Rebecca chewed at her bottom lip but didn’t speak. Rex knew there was something on her mind and the invitation for an afternoon drink was somewhat unusual but he was unsure of how direct to be with her.

How have things been going, you know, since you kicked the pretty boy out?

Rebecca smirked. Rex had never liked her last boyfriend, Callum. He’d told Rebecca exactly that after his initial introduction when Callum had moved in ‘I don’t know what you see in a pretty boy like him. He’ll sit in the corner crying the first time he breaks a nail’ Rex had not been far from the mark. Rebecca had not taken long to grow weary of fighting Callum for the mirror and pushing aside the piles of moisturisers, skin cremes and hair product. What had been sensitive and informed soon became whiny and self-absorbed and Callum had been asked to vacate the premises after four months of cohabitation. Rebecca was again the sole occupant of the home she inherited more than four years prior when her mother succumbed to the heart problems that had plagued her.

Rebecca brought her eyes into focus and looked at Rex Good. You were right about him. If there’s ever another one I might have to bring him over for you to vet before I go on with anything

Happy to be of service Rex took a sip of beer Why do you say ‘if there’s ever another’?

Rebecca gave a rueful look You pick up on everything

What’s going on, Rebecca?

Rebecca took a deep breath and let it out heavily Medical problems

Medical problems? What, you need some more treatment?

Um, I… she ran a hand over her face and rubbed at her eyes ...I…um…have got a heap of new problems. It’s spread into all sorts of places

Rex placed his beer onto the timber table top and leaned closer to Rebecca Jesus, new ones to deal with?

Yes

Rex licked his lips Where, what sort have you got?

Um, lung, liver, pelvis and another couple I think. I pretty much stopped listening after they got through those first three

Rex pursed his lips and nodded I bet that came as a shock

Yeah, it did

When did you find out?

Today. That’s what I had to do in town

When do you start treatment?

I’m not sure about treatment

Rex looked at her bemused What do you mean?

I mean I don’t know if I’m going to have treatment

Why would you think that? They fix plenty of people up

Not with this one they don’t. They aren’t even pretending they can fix me. They are just talking about ways to keep me more comfortable, maybe buy some time. They say that in about twenty percent of cases they can keep you going for up to two years

I’d take whatever they can offer

Maybe, but that twenty percent is only if you’ve got a relative that is a bone marrow match. As you know, I’m it, last of the Mohicans

Rex picked up his beer and drank the remainder of the bottle then returned it to the table Whatever the odds, you’ve got to have a crack

Rebecca covered her face with her hands I don’t know if I want to go through all the suffering if there’s no real hope of fixing it. I think I’d rather just enjoy what time I have while I can

You’re young. You need to chase whatever time you can get, take whatever chances you’ve got. If you were old, like me, I can see the logic in saying ah well, I’ve had a good run but not at your age. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you

Rebecca took her hands away from her face and took a gulp of wine Maybe not. Maybe it’s all behind me

Rubbish. That’s just bullshit

I’d like to think it is bullshit but I have to start getting my head around the fact that it’s probably not. Perhaps I’ve had my quota, the bucket’s ready to be kicked

Rex waited for her to look his way; it was not unexpected that she should be shedding a tear Look Rebecca, the bucket doesn’t get kicked until there’s nothing left to do. You are not there yet and you need to think that way

Rebecca gave Rex a sad smile, began to say something but stopped and turned her gaze back out to the yard. Rex watched her, then reached over and topped up her wine before opening another beer for himself.

Do you believe in God, Rex?

I don’t know. I reckon there’s got to be something more than just this but I’ve never heard a religious argument that could convince me they had it all worked out

I’ve always tried to believe. Mum was a bit Catholic

A bit Catholic? Is that like being a bit pregnant?

Rebecca let a smile play on her lips for a moment You know what I mean. She’d been brought up Catholic. She always had some belief. Even after Ben and Dad she still believed, maybe more than she had. I always found that hard to work out

That’s the great leap, the leap of faith for your beliefs. It’s the one I couldn’t ever make. People turn to religion at different times, for different reasons. It’s an individual thing or at least, it should be

If there is a God, I don’t know what my family did wrong for Him to be so hard on us

That’s the guts of it, isn’t it? The why?

Rebecca turned to look at Rex Yep. Why? That’s the part I can’t work out

That’s one of the questions everyone wants answered. Why do things happen? How does it all work? Why are we here? They’re the questions that religion is selling the answers to

I can’t buy them but if I was to be completely honest, I’m so scared not to try and believe

Rex lifted his beer and took a long, slow gulp That’s exactly how most religions work; faith and fear. They require your faith but once they’ve got it, even a little bit, fear is the way they keep you in. They keep telling you all the terrible things that will happen to you if you don’t continue to follow the path as they see it. I’m not saying they’re wrong because I’ve got no idea but if you’ve got any faith, you have to have the fear as well, it’s only sold as a package deal

My fear is more that I have not had faith; haven’t done what I could have with my life

Rex shifted uncomfortably in his seat before cupping his chin with his right hand I think that’s a very natural, normal thing to feel when you are having a life crisis

Rebecca took that statement in and then smiled, suppressed a giggle. It was such an unlike-Rex thing for him to say. Rex looked away before looking back at Rebecca and breaking into a grin Jesus, I’ve got to stop watching daytime television, those American know-alls are rubbing off on me. I sound like that pretty boy. I’m sorry

It’s fine. I don’t know how to talk to dying people. I’m sorry I’m putting you through it

I wasn’t thinking that but now that you mention it, it is a challenge. There aren’t many sentences in English that can’t be misconstrued. So many words have more than one meaning

Thanks for listening to me

No thanks required. I always enjoy having a chat with you

I might have to go and have a chat with a priest

That’s probably a safe move for you. You’re a good sort above the age of consent; you’ll be safe around them

Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh before the smile drained away I don’t know what I’ll do

Rex flicked his tongue around the inside of his mouth before speaking You’ll work it out; work out what’s best for you. That’s all any of us can do Rex paused, took a drink then sat back and grinned I used to work with a bloke who got crook, Frank Mattara. Nice bloke, Frank. Anyway, he gets crook and they tell him there’s nothing they can do for him and Frankie goes on a religious bender. He’s got crosses and statues of Buddha and beads and all sorts of shit hanging off his bed, it looks like a market stall for religion. Now, he’s in hospital but anyone even remotely religious is getting chased around the hospital by Frankie. He’s stalking the hallways of the hospital pouncing on priests and nuns, ministers and rabbis. It gets to the stage where there’s Mormons running the other way when they see him coming! Imagine that, Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses being chased down the corridors by poor old Frank in his blue and white spotted pyjamas

Rebecca laughed along with Rex before Rex took on a guilty look I shouldn’t laugh. The poor bastard was just looking for anyone who might save him. God help me, any God will do

I think I know how he felt

Chapter 5

Brad Green placed the telephone handset back into its cradle on the desk. He tapped on the desk as he thought about how to handle this latest development. His first thought was not fully formed when a knock on the door broke his train of thought.

Come

The door opened about half way and the blond hair of Vanessa Michaels edged around the door. Vanessa was the bar manager of The Racecourse Hotel and Brad’s most trusted staff member. Brad had been the manager of The Racecourse for almost three years, having moved up from bar manager. All-up he’d been working at The Racecourse for just shy of seven years. Vanessa had started barely a month after Brad and when he’d been appointed hotel manager he’d had no thoughts of anyone but Vanessa taking on the bar manager role.

Vanessa’s blue eyes came into view and then her long, thick nose and full lips with their usual ruby lipstick completed her round face You busy?

Yes, I’m busy

Vanessa grinned Good. I like to interrupt you She stepped through the doorway and eased the door closed behind her. She wore a black polo shirt with The Racecourse Hotel logo embroidered on the left breast. The logo sat at an awkward angle, perched as it was on Vanessa’s substantial bust. Black pants and shoes completed the uniform and it suited Vanessa who was a sturdy, thickset thirty-five year old that most men would say was not especially pretty but found intriguingly attractive.

Whats’ up, Ness?

Vanessa took a seat on the other side of the desk from Brad I think we’re going to have to do something about Marty

What, he missing again?

Called in sick again but I know he was going down to the coast last night. He just keeps leaving us up shit creek. We’ve got two Chrissie parties in this arvo. I can’t be one short

Brad took a deep breath Okay. Do what you’ve got to

Vanessa nodded Thanks

Don’t thank me. It’s your call, you heartless bitch

Vanessa grinned I seem to recall it was you who taught me that it was three strikes and you’re out

Probably

No probably. I remember your exact words to me when I rang up sick with a hangover ‘Don’t think I’m going to keep copping you getting on the piss then not coming to work. You’ve had two but the third will be the last. If you want to get on the piss, you turn up. I don’t care how crook you feel, turn up. Piss is our business, we have to be able to handle it’ I remember it like it was yesterday

Have you had a piss-induced sickie since?

No, I haven’t. I’ve turned up and suffered every time Vanessa produced an evil grin And that is why I’m a heartless bitch to these other pricks that don’t turn up. Because of you

Brad chuckled "Everybody wants to blame someone