Page 13 of Wish You Were Here

Saskia

I walk along the hallway and the lingering smell of disinfectant along with the cheap floral air conditioner reminds me that I am at work.

Breakfast has already been cleaned away and many of the residents are sitting in the lounge playing board games, watching the television, which has been turned to one of the highest volume settings and can’t be changed – no matter how many times I complain – but there is no sign of Lou.

I decide to ask Gladys if she’s seen him because she knows what’s going on at the home.

If Marrickville Retirement Village were a mafia organisation, Gladys would be head of the family.

No-one can go to the toilet, change their medication or die without Gladys knowing about it first. There have been rumours that she cheats at cards and has been fleecing the other residents for years.

‘Have you seen Lou Sanders?’ I ask.

‘What’s it to you?’ she replies, not looking up from her game.

‘I didn’t see him at breakfast and was wondering where he was, that’s all, Gladys.’

‘I haven’t seen him. How about you ladies? Seen Lou Sanders?’ says Gladys, and the two other ladies shake their heads, then get back to the game. ‘I suppose no-one has seen him then.’

‘He’s probably just in his room,’ I reply, and Gladys laughs.

‘Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t. Although if he is, tell him he still owes me twenty dollars.

He can’t hide forever,’ she says, and then she returns to her game and I walk off to find Lou.

It’s strange Lou isn’t at breakfast or in the lounge because he’s quite a social resident.

I go to his room, knock, before I walk inside and Lou is lying in bed, the television off, the curtains closed.

The room has a musty staleness to it, which means he also hasn’t applied his aftershave.

‘You all right, Lou?’ I ask, walking across, pulling the chair that’s against the wall towards his bed. ‘You weren’t at breakfast.’

‘Not feeling hungry, eh,’ says Lou, still in his pyjamas, propped up on two hefty pillows.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Ah, you know, love, feeling a bit crook,’ says Lou before he looks at me, smiles and says, ‘and I’m fucking old, eh.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘Yeah, I suppose you are.’

‘Anyway, enough about me, what’s been happening with you? Still off the sex?’

‘Yes, Lou, I’m still off the sex. Although I have sort of met someone.’

‘Sort of?’ he asks before he adjusts himself slightly, sitting up a little taller. He seems to get thinner and thinner every time I see him.

‘So, before you judge me and call me crazy, I met a man online. More precisely, he emailed me by mistake, and we’ve sort of started up an online relationship.’

‘So you haven’t actually met?’

‘Well, no, because he’s in London.’

‘As in London, England?’

‘That’s right.’

‘He’s a fucking pom!’ says Lou. I’m sure he has an opinion about poms.

‘Go on, say it. It’s crazy and destined for failure.’

‘Actually, I wasn’t going to say that,’ says Lou, taking me by surprise.

‘Oh, right. So, you don’t think it’s doomed to failure?’

‘I have no idea, love, but have I ever told you about me and Daphne?’

‘Your wife?’

‘That’s right, love. It was nineteen sixty-nine, and I was up on the Gold Coast with a couple of mates.

We were on our hols, surfing by day and drinking by night, when I met this girl.

The most beautiful girl I ever saw in my life.

’ As I watch Lou speaking about his wife, his whole face changes, and even now, long after her death, I can still see how much he loves her.

‘My mates thought I’d gone troppo, falling for a Sheila who lived so far from Sydney.

Admittedly, London’s further away, love, but in nineteen sixty-nine, the Gold Coast pretty much felt like it. ’

‘I bet.’

‘There was just something about her, and we clicked, you know? In less than a week, I decided I was going to marry that girl.’

‘Less than a week?’ I say incredulously.

‘That’s right, love, and we were married for forty-five happy years. Best fucking years of my life. Everyone said I was bananas, but look what happened, eh?’

‘So, you don’t think it’s crazy?’

‘I’m saying, love, that when it comes to matters of the heart, you just never know.’

‘Thanks, Lou, that’s really sweet of you.’

‘No worries,’ says Lou with a warm smile. ‘Although London’s a bloody long way away, and you haven’t even met the fella yet. He could be a total galah or a fucking bludger, so there’s every chance he’s not going to be the love of your life, but good on ya for giving it a go, eh.’

I decide to change topics, and I ask about his son, and Lou tells me he’s been busy working in Melbourne, which is why he hasn’t been able to visit.

Apparently, Lou’s son is very successful and pays for Lou to live here.

Lou says he'd be lost without him, although I think it’s strange that the man Lou is so proud of has never been to visit, but I suppose there are plenty of other residents who never get visitors from one year to the next.

After that, I tell him about my gig later that night at a pub in Surry Hills, and he wishes me luck.

‘It feels like I need to make it soon, Lou, or that’s it. My dream of being a singer is over.’

‘Absolute rubbish, love. You’re still a kid. All the time in the world.’

‘Unfortunately, that’s not how my mum sees it, and I’m almost thirty, Lou, so not that young,’ I say, standing up, but as I do, Lou reaches out a hand and puts it over my wrist.

‘Life’s too short to give up on your dreams, love.

Do you know what I wanted to be as a kid?

’ I shake my head. ‘An actor. I was pretty good too, eh. But when it came down to it, I got a job straight out of school, worked for a sparky, then I became one, and I never had the courage to go after it. I was too afraid of failure, so I didn’t bother. I regretted it my whole life.’

‘You, an actor?’

‘I know, bananas, eh, but for a moment there, I thought it might happen. My whole life could have been so different.’

‘So, I should follow my dreams, no matter what?’

‘I’m just saying, love, don’t give up until you’ve given it everything.’

‘Thanks, Lou. Do you need anything? A drink? Food?’

‘Nah, I’m as right as rain.’

‘I’ll pop in and see you later?’

Lou nods, and I leave him, wondering if he’s right about giving up singing and about Ben.

They both feel like such long-shots and maybe I am crazy thinking that either of them will work out, but I’ve always felt like it’s important to believe in yourself and follow your dreams – no matter how bananas they are.

It was something Dad often said to me, especially at the end when he knew he was dying.

He told me to live my life without fear, without compromise, and that I should do whatever made me happy.

The only problem with singing is that lately I have been questioning whether it still makes me happy.

The constant rejections and playing gigs to small rooms of people who couldn’t care whether I was there or not.

It has started to become demoralising. I used to believe I would make it – whatever that word meant – but recently, my confidence has been waning.

It’s been ten years, and I’m not really any further along than I was when I started.

Yes, I get fairly regular gigs, but they barely pay anything.

Can I keep doing this until I’m forty on the off-chance I might get somewhere?

I’m standing outside the pub, and I am due to perform in twenty minutes, when I’m joined by Joe Thompson and my heart drops.

Joe Thompson and I started singing at roughly the same time, and we’ve been on the circuit together ever since.

We slept together once – a drunken decision I continue to regret – although sleazy Joe still keeps trying it on.

Joe styles himself as a singer/songwriter in the folk/surf genre.

Although as he’s got older his long blond hair has got shorter, and the once sleek surf body has definitely become podgier.

He does still have his trademark flavour saver soul patch, which I think went out of fashion about twenty years ago.

‘You all right, Sas?’ says Joe, sparking up a ciggy.

‘Good, yeah,’ I reply in a monotone voice. I don’t want a long conversation with Joe.

‘Ciggy?’

‘I quit, remember?’

‘Oh, right, yeah,’ says Joe, and he looks at me and smiles, but there is something about his smile that’s different. He has a look in his eyes, a glimmer like he has news or something to tell me. I can tell he’s eager for me to ask him how he is.

‘You all right, Joe?’

‘Now that you mention it,’ says Joe, turning to face me and blowing smoke directly into my face. ‘I have some news, and it’s big, Sas. Really fucking big!’

Hopefully, he’s moving to Melbourne to pursue a singing career, or better, Perth, or maybe even America! I would absolutely love it if Joe Thompson was moving far away, or even if he was getting married so I didn’t have to worry about him cracking onto me every time we performed on the same bill.

‘Yeah?’ I ask, and then Joe makes a big deal out of finishing his ciggy, putting it out, and then he looks at me, a huge, annoying smile on his smug face. Eventually, when it’s become quite weird and uncomfortable, he says.

‘Guess who’s going on tour with Fudge Cake?’

I can’t believe the words I am hearing. Obviously, the person going on tour with Fudge Cake is Joe, unless this is a really weird story.

Fudge Cake are a huge up-and-coming band that have been big in Sydney for a couple of years now, but have just started to crack the national market.

They have a large following on Spotify, and from what I’ve heard are about to embark on a tour of Australia and New Zealand, and it seems that Joe ‘fancy a go behind the bins’ Thompson is going to be one of their support acts.

I want to cry. I can already feel a barrage of tears beginning to well up behind my eyes, and then it’s like a sudden punch to my gut, a jolt of disbelief, followed by anger and then sadness at the awful injustice of it all.

A wave of dejection rushes through me, and I feel nauseous.

Why him? What the fuck does he have that I don’t?

I am stunned into silence for a moment, afraid that one word will unleash the tears and I’ll fall apart in front of Joe Thompson, and I can’t do that.

I won’t do that. If either of us were ever going to make it, I would have put money on me, but now it seems Joe has hit the big time.

Finally, when I am back to some sort of normality, when the world doesn’t feel like it has been turned upside down, I reply.

‘You’re going on tour with—’

‘Fucking Fudge Cake! Twenty-seven dates across Australia and New Zealand. Can you believe it, Sas?’

No, I fucking can’t!

‘That’s brilliant, Joe,’ I say because I don’t want to come across as a jealous, bad loser, although inside I am on fire.

I want to tell him that he doesn’t deserve it, that his songs are bland and his soul patch is shit.

Luckily, before I have to endure anymore talk of Fudge Cake, Jess and Aaron walk up, and she looks spectacular in a short dress, high heels and I see Joe’s eyes light up – the perv.

Although to be fair, she has a cracking chest.

‘Sas!’ says Jess. ‘We came to support you.’

‘Joe Thompson!’ says Joe quickly, pushing past me and offering his hand to Jess first – obviously – and then Aaron. ‘I’m on after Sas. The headliner!’

It’s awkward, and I can see that both Jess and Aaron are thinking the same thing: Who the fuck is this guy?

Before it gets any stranger, I tell them I need to get inside and get ready, and so we all head into the pub.

I have a quick catch-up with Jess before I walk to the green room.

I say green room, but it’s just a large broom cupboard with a chair, a small dressing table with a cracked mirror and it comes with a free bottle of water – living the rock star life!

I sit down and look at myself in the mirror, and finally I let a few tears go.

Joe is going to live my dream, and he doesn’t deserve it.

As I’m wiping my eyes, my phone buzzes with a message.

I look down and I have a WhatsApp message from Ben.

We decided in our last email to exchange numbers ahead of our FaceTime. I open WhatsApp.

Break a leg tonight! Is that the right expression for a singer? Do singers break legs or is that just actors? Sorry, I have no idea, but I really hope it goes well. I bet you’re going to kill it! Looking forward to our FaceTime on Saturday! Beno xx

Reading his message, the tears subside, and I smile.

Unfortunately, before I get the chance to respond, I hear my name being called, and it’s time to go on.

I grab my guitar and start walking towards the small stage at the back of the pub.

I walk out, the lights shining on me, and I immediately hear a loud cheer, and when I look into the crowd, I see Jess and Aaron.

Jess is waving at me, Aaron is holding a schooner of beer, and standing next to Aaron is Joe.

I immediately feel sick again. How can Joe be going on tour with Fudge Cake and not me?

I have to clear my head because I have a set to perform.

I have to break a leg because who knows, maybe my big break is just around the corner.

I have to keep believing because what is the alternative?

As Lou said, I can’t give up until I have given it everything.