CHAPTER 15
Bradford
I’m on a high. This usually happens after a great lesson with my opera coach. Besides the fact that singing is good therapy, and besides the fact it gives me hope that I may not be wasting whatever talent I have, it’s the air that does it for me. All those great big lungfuls I’ve been sucking in for an hour and a half make everything seem lighter. I feel like I’m about to take flight.
“That’s thirty-two sixty,” the cab driver calls over his shoulder. I’d normally take the bus and light rail to my teacher’s posh place in Pyrmont, but I’ve got a ton to do today. Fishing my wallet from my messenger bag, I hand over my taxi card and Visa, then stuff the wallet back where it was. Gathering up the pile of massive opera scores on the seat next to me, I open the door for Brendan and grab his harness.
“Here you go.” The driver hands the cards back to me, but my arms are full. Dropping Brendan’s harness, I shove the cards into my pocket, then thank the driver profusely as I shuffle myself and my dog out of the back seat.
***
“We’re gonna get you ready first, buddy,” I tell Brendan, dumping my messenger bag on the coffee table in the lounge room. He’s easy; I already keep most of his stuff in a backpack. I, on the other hand, have a lot more mucking around to do. Firstly, it’s May. I’ll probably freeze my tits off, but there’s also a good chance I could be sweating buckets when the sun’s at its peak. So, I have three days’ worth of all-weather clothes to nut out.
When Bruno mentioned he was gonna take me back to Wombat Valley, he was true to his word. This evening, I’ll be meeting him for dinner at Thai Nesia in Darlinghurst, then we’re gonna spend the night at his place before heading down to the Southern Highlands first thing.
“Won’t it be a bit awkward for Brie having me crash in your bed?” I’d asked Bruno when he’d suggested it.
“Not at all,” Bruno had said. “He set himself up in the study the night he came back. It’s actually worked out well for us the last few weeks.”
“OK. But I think we should abstain from loud raucous sex.”
“I’m pretty sure I can tie a knot in it for one night. But we are gonna fuck like horny teenagers the whole time we’re in Wombat Valley. Ya got that?”
After packing my clothes and toiletries, I strip out of my jeans and fold them carefully to wear later tonight. Reaching down to the bottom shelf, I pull out the running shorts I wore yesterday and double check for the emergency twenty dollar bill I stuffed in the little waistband pocket. Brendan’s been waiting patiently during this whole flurry of activity, knowing he’s been promised the Bondi to Bronte beach walk. After my opera session, I have nervous energy to burn, plus I want to wear him out so he’s happy to just chill tonight.
The whole journey with Brendan takes us a couple of hours, including little breaks at Tamarama and Bronte. When we arrive back at the apartment building, he’s well and truly ready to settle down for a rest, and so am I. My legs and arse ache after hiking up and down all the coastal steps and ramps. However, I’m vain enough to know they need the upkeep.
Walking through the apartment, I can tell Jarrod’s been home. My stuff has been taken off the coffee table and unceremoniously dumped on the floor; the place smells of cigarette smoke; and there’s a half-empty coffee cup with two cigarette butts floating inside it. It doesn’t look like he’s stayed long, because that’s about the extent of the mess he’s made. I’m not going to call out his name. I don’t ever speak to him now unless it's absolutely necessary. A quick check of every room confirms the place is empty, so I settle on the couch for a short nap.
After showering and dressing, I do a final whip around to tidy the apartment. It seems pointless; Jarrod’s going to funk it up again while I’m gone. Retrieving my messenger bag from the floor, I rummage around in the zipped pocket to grab my wallet, but it’s missing. Panic sets in as I tip out the entire contents onto the coffee table. No, it’s not in there at all. Oh, Jesus Christ.
Darting from room to room, I check everywhere I can think of. A dreadful feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. I may as well face the fact—Jarrod’s stolen it. In a last-ditch attempt, I push open his bedroom door and venture inside. Picking through the mess of clothes and crap everywhere, I scan the floor around the bed, eventually spotting a bright green article poking out. Thank God—that hideous colour has helped me find the damn wallet countless times.
I take a look in the note compartment, but I already know the cash is gone. Even though there was only a hundred bucks, I'm still fuming. My heart rate shoots sky-high when I check the card slots. My Visa is gone. I want to throw up. What the hell am I going to do? I have to work this out pronto or I won’t make it on time tonight.
Right. I should call Bruno. I need to get online and block the card. I need to transfer money to Bruno for our holiday expenses. My head is swimming as I dart back to the study, making a detour to the lounge room to grab my iPad. I plonk my arse down on the sofa bed and sign into the banking app. Thank God, it doesn’t look like Jarrod has used it yet. Just as my finger is hovering over the “block” button, I have a thought. In the cab. I’d stuck my Visa and taxi card in my front pocket. Bloody hell, I’m such a dickhead. I'm even wearing the same jeans right now . Tossing my iPad aside, I dig down into the pocket, retrieve the offending articles, then shove them back in my wallet. While I’m at it, I also rescue the emergency twenty bucks from the tiny waistband pouch in my running shorts.
By the time my cab has turned up, I know I’m gonna be late. As we drive, I send Bruno a text, then shove my phone underneath my crotch. It’s a bizarre little trick I learnt—it means I don't have to fish through my bag or try and wriggle around extricating it from my jeans. This quick-retrieval system comes in especially handy tonight, because every ten seconds I’m checking the phone for Bruno’s reply, which never comes.
When the taxi pulls up on Oxford Street, we’re in a no parking zone. I offer a lame apology as I pay the driver, then quickly slide out of the back seat after Brendan. And then I hear the smash. I cringe as I look down at the bitumen and spot my phone. Even with my terrible sight, I can see the silvery matrix of a shattered screen.
“Wow. Looks completely buggered, mate.” The taxi driver deposits my overnight bag on the pavement and fishes the offending device out of the gutter for me.
I could let out a barrage of expletives right now. It’d be unlike me, but what the hell else could go wrong tonight? Thanking the driver, I hoik the huge bag over my shoulder and hurry into the restaurant. Up and down and around the tables I hobble, squinting hard as a confused Brendan ambles along beside me. I should be following the rules, not overriding my dog, but I'm way too flustered now. I head to the bar and flag down a waiter. “Sorry,” I pant. “I’m meeting someone here and I can’t find them. Borelli. Table for two?”
The waiter glances down at my dog. Sometimes it pays to appear a little bit helpless, because rather than giving me directions, he comes around and leads me towards the back. There, at the end, is a small empty table. Settling Brendan first, I collapse onto the chair and instinctively check my phone. Yes, it’s a total write-off.
Another twenty minutes goes by and there’s still no sign of Bruno. This isn’t like him. He couldn’t just be stuck in traffic for this long, could he? Maybe I should have done the old-fashioned thing and actually called him when I had the chance. It’s only now that I have a sudden brainwave. My iPad. I can log into my Google account to find his number and call him from a payphone or something.
Leaning down, I ransack my messenger bag, then my overnight bag, blanching as I remember tossing the iPad aside on the sofa bed to get the cards from my wallet. My hands scrunch in my hair as I groan out loud. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not like this. I’m always organised. I have to be. All this shit with Jarrod is taking its toll.
I spend a further twenty minutes sitting at the table, my head churning over all the possibilities for Bruno’s no show. He can’t be upset with me, can he? We’ve never had any semblance of an argument. I mean, I would just cry and cry and cry if that happened. My guts wrench as I consider the possibility he might be having second thoughts. Maybe he’s texted me to call off our little holiday. Maybe he’s prepping the stage by degrees so he can let me down easy. Or maybe— Oh, God. Please, no— maybe something terrible’s happened to him.
That’s it. I can’t take any more of this. Standing up, I fish the last twenty bucks out of my wallet. Just as I’m about to slip it under the napkin holder, the waiter who’s been hovering over me for three quarters of an hour returns. “Sorry, I think I’ve been stood up,” I mumble, handing him the cash.
The taxi ride home takes forever. I’m working myself into a frenzy. I need to pull my head in. There’s bound to be a perfectly good explanation. After rushing a confused Brendan back into the apartment, I’m relieved to find the place silent with all the lights off. Thank God Jarrod’s not home. I’m so agitated by now I would probably tear strips off him.
In the study, I dig through my desk drawers and find my old phone. Switching on the ridiculously expensive bright lamp I got from Vision Australia, I curse repeatedly as I try to execute the frustrating task of switching over the nano SIM card. By the time I’m scrolling through for Bruno’s number, I’m so riled up I have to deliberately slow my breathing. I need to remind myself that it’s Bruno . There’s no way I want to sound like I’m snapping at him; he’s only ever been kind and loving towards me.
While I'm waiting for him to answer, I can hear the incessant beeping of delayed messages coming through. They must have been from him.
“Oh, God, Bradford. I’ve been trying to call you for nearly an hour.” Bruno sounds absolutely frantic. “Dad’s in surgery. He’s had another stroke. I'm at Prince of Wales with mum and Gab.” He chokes on his words. “Sorry, we have to cancel our trip.”
“Jesus, Bru, don’t worry about that ! I’m on my way.” I hang up before he can protest.
After getting the run around at the hospital, I finally find the waiting room they’re in. First, I spot a blurry Gabriela on the couch with two young boys. Nearby is an even blurrier Claudio, whom I only recognise because there’s a phone glued to his ear. Valentina is pacing up and down, her arms clutched over her chest. And Bruno appears from nowhere, running right into me. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, throwing himself into my arms.
“I’m sorry I missed your calls, Bru. My phone smashed on the road and it’s totally wrecked and I didn’t even have my iPad so I had to go home and find my old phone so I could ring you—” I need to shut up. I’m babbling like an idiot about dumb things. I know I should be asking after Giovanni, but that might be too intrusive right now. Bruno can tell me about it when he’s ready. For the moment, I’m just going to hold him as long as he needs me to.
Lifting his head off my shoulder at last, he grasps the strap of my bag. “Let me take this,” he says, then leads me into the waiting area.
“Hi, darl.” It’s Gabriela. Her mascara is running. She grasps my shoulders and gives me a small kiss on the cheek. “Dad’s still in surgery. That’s all we know so far.” She turns to Bruno. “I’m gonna have to take the boys home soon.”
I glance over at the two sleepy kids slumped on the couch. “I’ll take them.” The words come out automatically.
“Thanks, but we can’t ask you to do that.” Gabriela forces a weak smile, but I’m not giving up.
“We’ll just get a cab. Don’t worry about anything. You stay as long as you need to.”
She glances back at her kids, then sighs in defeat. “Thank you, Bradford. I’ll make sure I don’t stay too late. They’ve got school tomorrow, anyway.”
“I’ll sleep over and drop them off there too. I’m sure the kids know where to tell the cab driver to go.” I can see Gabriela trying to churn the logistics through her mind. “Let me take care of this,” I press. “You just focus on what’s happening here.”
Valentina’s voice sails out from behind Bruno in a rapid-fire barrage of Italian. She ushers him away from us, her staccato voice continuing its emphatic delivery.
“Don’t be silly, mum,” says Bruno. “He’s a school teacher. Of course he can look after two kids.”
Valentina peers over and notices me watching. I swear her face turns crimson for a split second, then with a lofty lift of her chin, she turns back to Bruno.
I’m distracted by what’s going on behind me. “You boys promise to behave for Bradford, OK?” Gabriela’s in full-on don’t-mess-with-me parent mode. The boys roll their eyes and slide off the couch. “Stefano, Marco, say hello to Bradford.”
Their responses are barely muttered, and I have to work hard not to smirk. The poor kids must have very little idea what’s going on.
“Come on, fellas. Get your things.” Bruno’s standing there with my overnight bag already slung across his shoulder.
As we’re making our way down to the taxi rank, he loops his arm over the back of my neck. “You sure you’ll be OK tonight?”
“Relax, Bru. A couple of tweens are a piece of piss compared to a classroom full of hormonal sixteen year olds.”
Bruno whisks the boys into the waiting taxi with no-nonsense efficiency. He turns to me, grabs my shoulders and presses his forehead against mine. “Thank you for doing this,” he mumbles.
“Don’t mention it. Honestly, I’m here for you, Harry. Anything you need, OK? I’m dead serious. Now, get up there and be with your family.”
After kissing Bruno on the lips, I settle Brendan in the rear footwell, then slide in around him to sit next to the boys.
“Can I pat your dog?” Marco’s in the middle with his arm already stretched out.
“Yeah, he’d love that.”
Brendan’s busy lapping up the attention when Stefano’s voice pipes up from the far side of the cab. “So… you and Uncle Bruno, eh?” He pauses for a second. “Who gets on top?” He starts to snigger, quickly followed by Marco.
Cheeky little brat. He’s clearly hoping he’ll get a rise out of me, but it’s not happening. He’s gonna get the most cryptic response I can think of. “Well, Stefano, you’ll learn in life that things aren’t always black and white.”
Stefano snorts. “That’s racist .”
“We haven’t had any dinner,” chimes in Marco. His tone is reprimanding, as if I’ve been neglectful in my duties.
“Neither have I. What do you want?”
“Pizza,” says Stefano. He’s sitting there sullenly. I’m sure he thinks I’m going to say no.
“Good answer. I’ll order some when we get back to your place.”
“ And chicken wings,” he stipulates.
“No worries.”
“Ooh! And ice cream too?” squeals Marco. Well, at least he sounds excited about it.
Thank God I didn’t leave my credit card in my wallet for Jarrod to steal—it’s definitely gonna get a good workout tonight.
***
I let them eat as much as they want. Meh, they’re kids. They’ve got guts of steel; they’ll be fine. I also let them stay up late and watch a movie. They’ve had a nasty upset today, so I’m not going to crack the whip. There will be plenty of time for rules later. The TV blasts away in the background while I struggle to mark some practice exams on my iPad.
At one stage, I glance down at the floor where Marco is sleeping curled up with Brendan, half on a cushion, half on Brendan’s blow-up bed. Stefano’s stretched out on the couch opposite with his eyes closed. Ha! I knew they wouldn’t last. It doesn’t take too much coaxing to shepherd both groggy kids to their proper beds.
One benefit of all this happening tonight is I’m well-packed for my aborted holiday with Bruno. I have everything I need, which is more of a blessing than it would be for a sighted person. This house isn’t familiar, so finding anything would require a stressful and long-winded search. The only thing I have to look for is some kind of quilt to throw over myself.
Linen cupboards are a royal pain in the arse for anybody, but for an almost-blind bugger like me they’re an exercise in pure frustration. Once I locate and open the telltale double doors near the bathroom, I breathe a sigh of relief. Gabriela has everything neatly stacked and sorted, so I don’t have to rifle through and unfold all manner of Manchester to find out exactly what it is. Grabbing a couple of woollen blankets, I make my way back to the living room to set up for the night.
Claudio and Gabriela clearly aren’t short of a buck or two, so their couches are long and luxurious. The throw pillows are expensive and fluffy and they’ll do nicely for my head. Once I’m tucked in and warm, my mind wanders to Bruno. I hope he's OK. I really want to call him, but I’m sure he has more than enough on his mind. I’m in a bind, because I would hate for him to think I wasn’t there when he needed me. I remember back when my mum died, people never knew what to say. They were all full of well-meaning platitudes and standard comfort lines, but when it came to their own comfort it was obvious they couldn’t wait to get away from me.
In the end, my rumination is my downfall tonight. I don't even get to make a decision, because apparently I’m out like a light.
***
It’s dawn when I’m woken by people coming into the house. Sitting up all bleary-eyed, I hear Gabriela and Claudio’s voices. “Oh, sorry darl.” Gabriela drops her volume as she rounds the corner to the living room and spots me. She walks over and perches on the edge of the couch near my feet. “Thank you so much for doing all this.”
“Don’t mention it,” I croak. “We had a great time. How are things at the hospital?”
“Dad’s in intensive care. He’s still unconscious. Mum won’t leave his side. Bruno says he’ll stay a bit longer before he heads home. Claudio’s gotta go to work, so I’ve come back to get the boys ready for school.”
“No, I’m doing that. You need to go to bed.” My statement is firm. I’m not going to just offer, it’s a done deal.
Leaning over, she wraps her arm around my shoulders and gives them a squeeze. “You’re an angel, Bradford. If you’re really sure it’s OK, I’ll book an Uber.”
“Of course it is.” I reach over and check the time on my iPad. “Stefano said they get up at seven-thirty, so I’ll wake them in an hour.”
“The little shit!” Gabriela shakes her head. “ Seven . He’ll do anything to keep his lazy arse in bed a bit longer.” She glances at her phone. “They’ve got another half an hour.”
“OK. I’ll have a shower and get their breakfast ready.” I swivel to a sitting position and slowly stand up. I’m still in yesterday’s clothes and I feel gross. “Please go and get some sleep, Gabriela.” I stare at her with raised eyebrows. “And don’t worry about picking the boys up after they finish, I’ll do that too. No bloody arguments. ”
Marco is surprisingly compliant when I wake him up and usher him into the bathroom. When I duck my head into Stefano’s bedroom and call his name, all I get is a loud groan. Lawd, I remember all too well how I was at that age .
Next, I raid the kitchen fridge. Poking around in the door compartment, I spot a block of haloumi, which I cut into slices and pan fry while I rustle up a pot of scrambled eggs. As I’m setting the plates on the breakfast bar, I spy a note underneath a coffee cup with two twenty dollar bills.
For the boys’ lunches. Thanks for this, we owe you one. C.
Wow. Mine used to cost three bucks. Kids are bloody expensive these days.
***
The boys’ private Catholic school turns out to be a ten or fifteen minute drive away in northern Randwick. Taking a risk, I hop out of the Uber when we arrive and dial Bruno’s number. Maybe he’s back at his place by now, and I’m in the neighbourhood.
“Hey, gorgeous. I just got home.” Even over the phone I can hear how exhausted Bruno is. “Mum’s asleep in the recliner in Dad’s room. She’s refusing to leave. Gab texted and said she’ll go back there early this afternoon. How were the boys last night?”
“They were fine. Stefano was determined to scope me out a bit, but it’s nothing I haven’t handled before. I’ve told Gabriela I’m going to pick them up from school this afternoon.”
“Oh, man. That’s so kind of you. Really.”
“It’s nothing, Bruno. I just want to help in any way I can.”
“You reckon you could help me too?”
“Anything. Just say the word.”
“Will you come over to my place? I could really use a cuddle while I get a few hours’ sleep.” He sounds so earnest, so emotionally fragile. My heart aches for him in the worst way possible.
“I’m already on my way, Harry .”
With the help of Google Maps, it only takes a few minutes to get to Bruno’s place. He answers the door in a towel, melting straight into me. His beard is damp from the shower, his breathing is slow and deep, and his body is heavy and warm. With gentle movements, I steer him towards the bedroom, supporting him all the way.
After settling Brendan, I take off all my clothes, crawl into bed next to Bruno and cuddle up behind him, spooning him tight. “Thank you,” he whispers.
For once, it’s me who’s able to be the strong one. I can finally give Bruno back just a little of what he’s given so freely to me.