The Other Side of Sorrow Page 8

‘I’m a rock climber. I know about danger and how to be careful.’

  I was unconvinced but he had all the answers. I could play it that way for a while. ‘You’ve sold me. Okay, we’ll work together and you can report to Cyn on our progress. What’s wrong?’

  His lean, bony face had split into a grin. ‘I’ve never heard anyone call Mum Cyn before. Dad called her Cynthia always. Cyn. I like it. I think I’ll have a drink now if you’ve got some beer or wine.’

  ‘Sure, why now?’

  ‘Well, I won’t be driving tonight, will I? I’ve got everything I need in the car.’

  12

  Geoffrey had a beer, rang his mother and left the message that I’d agreed to let him work with me, hauled a huge backpack in from his car and went to bed in the spare room. No one had used it for a while and it was musty, but if he was going to hang around with me he’d have to learn to take the rough with the rougher.

  I looked over the notes I’d written and the scraps of information I’d collected during the day. I picked up my shirt to toss it in the laundry basket and noticed a blonde hair clinging to it. The memory of Tess Hewitt came back to me sharply. I’d had strong feelings for her and I’d thought the attraction had been mutual. I stood by my bed and thought how long it was since I’d been close to a woman. The night was cold but it suddenly seemed colder. I got into bed, tracksuit and all, and turned out the light. I was tired and the Scotch had relaxed me. I got to sleep pretty quickly, but my feet were cold all night and I couldn’t wake up enough to pull the extra blanket over them. All I could do was pull them up, move around, and put them where something warm had been. It doesn’t work.

  Geoffrey had been up for hours when I appeared about 7.30. He’d made coffee and burnt some toast. Not even the with-it young can cope with some people’s toasters. He was sitting in the kitchen trying to read the headlines on the still-rolled newspaper.

  ‘My dad hated anyone to get to the paper before him,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t give a stuff,’ I grunted. ‘Open ’er up and do as you like.’

  I poured some coffee and was pleased to see that he’d brewed it at about the right strength. ‘You set the toaster on light and it toasts medium, set it on medium and it toasts dark, set it on dark and it bloody burns,’ I told him.

  ‘I’m sort of handy. I might be able to fix it.’

  ‘I’m not. Feel free.’

  He took the elastic band off the paper, unrolled it, glanced at the headlines on the front and back pages and passed it to me. ‘Would you call yourself a morning person, Mr Hardy?’

  ‘You are, obviously. I’d say I’m not exactly an early morning person. More latish morning. Okay after eight with some coffee on board. Look, we can do without the Mr Hardy stuff. Cliff’ll do. I’d prefer Geoff to Geoffrey if that’s all right.’

  ‘Sure. But why?’

  ‘Ever see The Lion in Winter?’

  He shook his head. He’d shaved and combed his hair back but it was rebelling.

  ‘Get the video out and have a watch. It turned me off Geoffreys.’

  He grinned, unplugged the toaster and took it to the sink where he shook the crumbs out. I read the front page of the paper while I drank the coffee. The content was ninety per cent economic and ten per cent sex. With the tabloids it’s the other way around. I’m not sure that either is healthy. Drugs rather than performance dominated the sports page. As a newly acquired habit, I opened up at the obituaries. An ancient bishop had died and a slightly older philosopher. Maybe they could sort it out in the hereafter. I sighed and put the paper away. Geoff wiped the toaster down and put it back on the bench.

  ‘Semi-buggered, Cliff,’ he said. ‘But it’ll probably last forever like that.’

  I set it for medium and dropped in two slices of bread. ‘Geoff, that’s a bit like how I feel myself sometimes.’

  He took the paper and turned to the cryptic crossword. Jesus, I thought, one of those.

  He filled in a few spaces rapidly, then clicked his pen and looked at me. ‘So what’s our first move?’

  The first move should have shattered any illusions about the romance of the private detective business Geoff might have entertained. We paid a call on Damien Talbot’s mother and got precisely nowhere. According to a neighbour, the police and the media had seen the woman and then she’d packed a bag and left without saying where she was going.

  It wouldn’t have surprised Cyn that the second move I made with her son in tow was to call on a prostitute. I could’ve sent him off on some useless errand but I didn’t see any point in protecting him from the harsh realities, and I had an inkling of a real use I might have for him, so it was better if he was fully in the picture.

  I’d rung Annette and made the arrangement to see her strictly on a business basis—my business, not hers. She chiacked me about it, but agreed to see me. A small piece of information I’d scribbled down had assumed significance.

  Annette opened the door and posed. She wore a white satin blouse with long sleeves and lots of lace on the front, a white skirt, white stockings and shoes. She had a scrap of white silk in her hair.

  ‘My eleven o’clock gets off on his bride fantasies,’ she said. ‘Who’s your good-looking young friend?’

  We stepped into the room and I nodded to Geoff to close the door. ‘This is is Geoff. He’s learning the ropes.’

  ‘I could teach him a few tricks. You too, Cliff.’

  ‘I’m sure. Knock it off, Annette. Just a few questions. I’ll pay for your time.’

  ‘Two hundred. Three if you keep the groom waiting.’

  ‘I won’t.’ I gave her the money. We all sat. She rolled the notes tightly, hitched up her skirt and tucked them into the top of her stocking, making sure that we saw the suspenders and the lace panties.

  ‘Very nice,’ I said. ‘Now, you told me that Talbot was impotent.’

  ‘Right. It happens a lot. Poor things. But I don’t include him in that.’ She winked at Geoff who blushed furiously.

  ‘And you gave him the name of a clinic. Which clinic?’

  She adjusted the lace that came down from her wrists over the tops of her hands. She had nice, slender hands and wore a wedding ring. ‘I’m not so sure I can tell you that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve got a sort of arrangement with them. I get a spotter’s fee you might call it. I don’t think they’d like the idea of me …’

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I won’t mention you. No chance. You won’t come into it.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve got a good deal there.’

  With that sort of an arrangement it was a sure bet she’d have the name and number written down somewhere, maybe even have a card. I could find it by applying the right pressure and maybe I would have if Geoff hadn’t been there.

  I took out the picture of Eve and held it in my hand. ‘Annette, she’s my daughter. She’s on the run with this Talbot bastard and I need a lead on him. There’s a chance he went to the clinic. I need the information.’

  She studied me for a few very long seconds, then got up and walked out of the room. She came back and handed me a card. ‘If you catch him, give him a fucking good kicking for me.’

  I kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks. I will. And I think you look terrific.’

  ‘You should’ve seen me when I was Geoff’s age.’ She did a quick, expert bump and grind.

  Geoff looked at me strangely as we left the building.

  ‘You said she’s your daughter. I thought you had doubts about that.’

  ‘I do. That was just to get past her objection to telling me about the clinic.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Mum said you could be a bit of a shit.’

  ‘She was right. You have to be in this game. Can you drive a manual?’

  ‘Of course I can.’

  I tossed him the keys. ‘Don’t get your back up. A lot of young people can’t these days. How about you drive while I think.’


  ‘Where are we going?’

  We got into the car and I examined the card Annette had given me. I laughed. ‘It’s called Potential. “Realise your full sexual potential blah, blah.” It’s in Paddington. Does a North Shore type like you know his way around Paddo?’

  For an answer he started the motor, dropped neatly into first and took off smoothly. He drove well, without flourishes but handling the car nicely in the traffic and maintaining a good pace. Unlike a lot of young people, he seemed to be able to do things without having music blaring at him. Maybe he was tone deaf, but I guessed he had something on his mind. I did my own thinking and let him do his.

  ‘She seemed like a nice woman,’ he said suddenly when we stopped at a light. ‘That Annette.’

  ‘I’d say so.’

  ‘Umm, have you ever been with a prostitute?’

  ‘On occasion.’

  We moved off in heavy traffic and he concentrated until he’d positioned himself where he wanted to. ‘What’s it like?’

  I took my time in answering. Maybe I was a father, maybe I wasn’t, but either way I wasn’t comfortable in this kind of role. But the kid was serious and needed a response. ‘Unsatisfactory, unless she happens to be a friend.’

  He nodded and chewed it over. At the next stop he said, ‘Got any cassettes?’

  I opened the glove box and produced the only one I had. ‘Edith Piaf.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘French cabaret singer. Before your time.’

  ‘I’ll give it a miss. Have you been to France?’

  ‘Yeah. A couple of times. Briefly.’

  He moved out and passed a truck. ‘I’ve never been out of Australia.’

  ‘Plenty of time, Geoff. Plenty of time.’

  ‘I guess. Not for Mum, though. Well, she and Dad went overseas a couple of times so I suppose she’s got the memories.’

  ‘That’s about all it comes down to. What did you and your sister do when they were away?’ As soon as I spoke I thought: What am I getting into all this shit for?

  ‘Dad’s sister, Aunt Jessie, looked after us. Out in the country. Great fun for us, we didn’t mind.’

  Happy families, I thought. The couple of pseudo aunts and uncles I had lived in places like Kingsford and Botany. No fun there, just more of the same. And as far as I knew no member of my family had gone overseas before I did. And my first time was to Malaya in uniform. No holiday, that.

  We passed by Sydney University and Geoff gave it a brief look.

  ‘Is that where you’re studying?’

  ‘Yep. Third year.’

  ‘Like it?’

  ‘Some of it. The practical stuff’s okay, the theory’s a bit of a drag. I don’t mind taking a break for a semester.’

  ‘How d’you get on for money?’

  ‘Mum pays the fees and … shit, I forgot. I’ve got a part-time job in the Vet school. Cleaning up and that. I’ll have to ditch it.’

  ‘No, you won’t. I’ll go along with this arrangement but I won’t need you twenty-four hours a day. What is it, night work?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of. It’s pretty flexible. As long as I put in the hours I can do it pretty well any time. You sure about that? I don’t want to bludge off Mum any more than I do already.’

  ‘I’m sure. Who says you’re bludging?’

  His driving faltered for the first time. He had to brake sharply to avoid a late lane-changer. He hit the horn angrily. ‘Fuckin’ Annie does.’

  I remembered the conflicts I used to have with Eve over almost everything. I was beginning to like this kid. ‘Take it easy,’ I said. ‘We want to get there in one piece.’

  ‘Sorry, Cliff. What’s going to happen next?’

  I cleared my throat and unshipped my mobile. ‘I’m going to pretend to be impotent and you’re going to crack a computer system. Okay?’

  13

  The clinic was housed in one of those big Paddington terraces in a street that seemed to have speed humps every fifty metres. The house was painted white and its iron lace was black. The fence was in good repair and the narrow front garden was neat. The contrast with my place in Glebe couldn’t have been more marked. A discreet brass plaque by the gate indicated professional activities went on here but was vague about the details. I’d told Geoff how I hoped things would go and what he was to do if they did.

  ‘That’s illegal,’ he said.

  ‘So’s kidnapping.’

  ‘We don’t know that’s happened or anything like it.’

  ‘Well, let’s try and find out what has happened.’

  We mounted the steps to the porch and I pressed the buzzer. The door opened and we went into the standard hallway that had been blocked off before the stairs. The block steered you into the front room where there were chairs, a table with magazines and a receptionist behind a desk. She wore a version of a nurse’s uniform and was middle-aged and comfortable looking.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘My name’s Hardy. I rang a little while ago for an appointment.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Mr Hardy. And this is …?’

  ‘Geoff. My son. He’s here to lend me moral support. I’m a bit anxious about this.’

  ‘How nice,’ she said. ‘There’s certainly no need to be anxious. If Geoff can just wait here. I’ll get some details from you. I take it you’re in a health fund.’

  I said I was and gave her the details.

  ‘Fine. I’ll take you through to the patients’ waiting room and see how long until Dr Pradesh can see you.’

  I nodded to Geoff and let her lead me away, moving as slowly as I could. We went through a passage that had been created by partitions to a small room at the back of the house, one of three. There had been a lot of dividing of space back here.

  ‘Please wait here, Mr Hardy. I’ll have to ask you not to leave the room until you are called for.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Our patients demand and expect privacy. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course.’ I tried to look as if I’d be worried that someone would see me there. Come to think of it, if I was impotent, I would be.

  I delayed her for as long as I could with a few questions but she was obviously keen to get back to her station. The magazines were soft-core pornography and there was a stack of videos of the same kind on a shelf. Good healthy in-out, in-out stuff. I leafed through, admiring the supple bodies and feeling distinct stirrings. I had an image of Annette doing it in her bride’s outfit with a man in a dinner jacket. I was smiling when the doctor opened the door.

  ‘Mr Hardy? Would you come this way, please.’ He was Indian or Pakistani; small, neat, with a winning smile. We went into his surgery and assumed the traditional postures—him behind his desk, me in front. Doctor and patient, god and non-god.

  ‘You are having trouble with your erections? Is that achieving or sustaining?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘I see.’ He made a note. ‘Otherwise you are in good health? You look fit.’

  ‘Fit enough,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a touch of sugar. Controlled by diet.’

  Another note. ‘Heart? Kidneys?’

  ‘Recently checked and okay.’

  ‘Do you smoke?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘Moderately,’ I said, giving myself a fair bit of latitude.

  He took down the details of my age, medical history and occupation which I gave as ‘security officer’. I gave him the name of my doctor, Ian Sangster, who’d confirm any lie I told. I claimed to have a partner who was aware of the steps I was taking.

  He gave me a fairly thorough examination, paying particular attention to my eyes. Then he reached into his desk for a pair of surgical gloves. ‘Please remove your jacket and lower your trousers and underwear so that I may make an examination.’

  I did and he did. He examined my genitals and probed my prostate. I stood and tried to think that at least I was getting paid for it.

  ‘Thank you.
Please sit on the examination table.’

  He stripped off the gloves and dumped them in a bin. Then he put on another pair and began fiddling with a bottle, a syringe and a plastic device.

  I was alarmed. ‘What the hell is that for? Excuse me, doctor, but I thought … Viagra.’

  ‘Indicated in some cases, not in yours. One of the side-effects of Viagra is interference with the eyesight. Unimportant mostly, but with that old damage to your eye, not to be risked.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You should not worry. The therapy simply involves injecting the penis with a combination of substances including prostoglandin. These permit the blood to flow past any blockages or narrownesses and facilitate an erection. The device is spring-loaded and enables you to do the injection without discomfort or pain. What I am going to do now is give you a tiny dose to check your reaction. Both my examination and your medical history suggest that you are a suitable subject for this therapy. Do you wish to proceed?’

  Reluctant wasn’t the word, but I nodded. He showed me how to use the injection kit. A click, a slight sting and it was done.

  ‘I will now ask Mrs Merryweather to prepare the waiting room where you can watch a video for a few moments. Then I can check the results.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. I was thinking: Fine, more time for Geoff to do his stuff.

  He spoke to Mrs M and it was quite a few minutes before she buzzed him back. He showed me into the waiting room again and I settled down to watch a bearded man fuck a woman who had hair only on her head. He did it well in several positions. He appeared to enjoy it more than she did but he might just have been a better actor. It was pretty undemanding in that sense. Dialogue was minimal. Glen Withers and I used to watch porn from time to time for fun and this was fair average quality stuff. I usually responded but not as quickly or as strongly as this. I found myself getting uncomfortably hard.

  Dr Pradesh returned and we went back into his surgery. Down came the strides and underpants and on went the rubber gloves. I was fully erect and he stood and looked at me.

  ‘That’s impressive, Mr Hardy.’

  ‘I’m very encouraged, Doctor.’

  ‘I imagine so. Well, I usually give patients a six month supply of the medication, but in your case I suspect your problem is basically psychological and I would be hopeful that a few successful episodes of intercourse would help considerably. Ah, you may adjust your clothing.’