Bradford, Bru and Brendan Too (Bondi Bears)

CHAPTER 1

Bradford

“Hey, Braddy?” Summer’s voice cuts through the busy Friday night restaurant crowd.

I look up from my soup to see my sister staring at me. “Yeah?”

“What about Brendan? Isn’t he going to have dinner too?”

“He ate early. Anyway, he’s working.” I eye the plate in front of Summer. “Plus, if you’re gonna try and sneak him some food, I can assure you he won’t eat tofu salad.”

“Awww, you’re such a bloody spoilsport. Look at him there. He’s so good and you’re making him starve.” She raises a conspiratorial eyebrow and reaches across to Nathan’s plate. Unlike Summer and I, her partner is a card-carrying meat eater. Summer snatches the big strip of fat Nathan’s cut off his steak, then leans over the table to hand it to Brendan, who accepts it graciously. My yellow labrador looks pleased as punch, devouring the large tidbit in one bite.

“No more than that, or you’ll give the poor bugger pancreatitis.” I admonish Summer with a mock glare and she shoots me a sarcastic pout in return.

I’m sure I seem to be seeing quite a lot for a man who goes everywhere with a guide dog. But, you know, blindness isn’t a light switch. It’s more of a dimmer. Tunnel vision gives me a small window of sight in each eye, though it’s not the best in terms of clarity. If I turn my head in the right direction, I can make out a reasonable amount of what I need to. Still, without Brendan, I’d definitely trip and fall flat on my face, or bump into everything outside of my tiny field of vision.

No sign of Jarrod. The bastard has let me down again. It’s embarrassing, really. I told him about dinner with Summer and Nathan several times. He said he’d be here. I sneak a look at the big digital clock on my phone. Yeah, he’s not gonna show up.

“Don’t worry about it, Braddy. I’m sure it just slipped his mind.” Summer is smiling at me, but we both know the score. She may have lived across the other side of the country for the last decade, but she can still read me like a book.

“Yeah, we can just catch him next time, bud.” Nathan grins at me, trying to lighten the mood. I like him. He’s good-natured, gregarious and a lot of fun. And he treats my free-spirited hippie sister like a precious gift.

Nathan glances over at Summer, then back to me. “Uh, speaking of next time, mate, we wanted to talk to you about something.” He clears his throat and wipes his mouth with a huge paper napkin. “We didn’t come to Sydney just to catch the PJ Harvey gig.”

I was so happy to hear Summer and Nathan were flying over from South Australia. Summer is a mad PJ Harvey fan and she was pretty disappointed the singer wasn’t including Adelaide on her Australian tour. So, they booked a hotel in Darling Harbour close to where PJ is playing, left their daughters with a friend, and made it into a whirlwind weekend holiday.

“Nathan actually had a job interview today. And they told him it’s as good as in the bag.” Summer grabs Nathan’s hand and they beam at each other.

“You mean here in Sydney?” I can’t hide my surprise. Summer’s never said a word about wanting to leave Adelaide the whole time she’s been over there.

“Yeah, it’s time for a change,” says Nathan. “Mum’s been pushing up daisies for two years now. I haven’t got any family left in South Australia.”

“And I want Aura and Poetry to get to know their grandad better,” interjects Summer.

Whenever I hear my nieces’ spaced-out names, I can't help but smile. But this smile becomes a little strained at the mention of Summer’s dad, Roy. He was only married to my mum for a handful of years. When I turned sixteen, he moved out, leaving my three-year-old sister behind. Good riddance, in my opinion. The whole time he was around, he definitely made me feel like I was some kind of unwanted inconvenience. To Roy’s credit, though, he still played a regular role in Summer’s upbringing—which is more than my own dad ever did for me.

“And we want them to spend time with Ryan and Dominic too.” Nathan drains his wine glass and shoots me a grin. “Hey, you should give Ryan a call. He’s living over near you in Bondi now.”

I feel a little uncomfortable about this. I’m aware Nathan’s gay brother and his fiancé live in Sydney. But I don’t know Ryan from a bar of soap. I’m not even sure he and Nathan are all that close. Despite Nathan’s honourable intentions, it kind of reeks of that thing hetero relatives sometimes do: you’re gay, he’s gay, therefore you should become friends.

I’m also more than a little aware of Nathan and Summer’s concern about me. They think I’m isolated. They see this blind brother struggling to get by over the other side of the country, his life revolving around a relationship that’s been crumbling for a long time. And sadly, I think they’re right. I have friends, but nobody close—all the good ones have either moved away or simply faded into the background. It’s funny how much our social supports shrink when we find ourselves mired in couplehood.

Nathan’s still looking at me with expectantly raised eyebrows. Oh, that’s right. The Ryan thing. I shift in my seat. “I dunno. It just seems weird: ‘Hey Ryan, I’m your sister-in-law’s poofter brother. Let’s be mates.’” I laugh, hoping to pass it off as a joke, though I’m not entirely sure it works. Scrambling for a save, I try to find a positive angle. “I suppose with you guys moving here, I’ll meet him anyway. Then I can avoid the awkward introductions.”

“Sure. Have it your way, then.” Nathan smirks at my crafty dodge. “The job actually won’t start for a few months. We’re gonna need that time to sort everything out, anyway.”

“Ooooh, this is gonna be so fun!” Summer’s jiggling her knees under the table; I can feel the vibrations on the wooden floor beneath us. It’s impossible for me not to smile at her childlike exuberance. Given our thirteen-year age gap, there’s always been this playful dynamic between us. Forever my little baby sister.

“Of course it is. It’ll be awesome to have you guys living close by.” I shift my gaze from Summer to Nathan and back again. “And I do mean close by . I’m gonna get pushy about where you’re allowed to look for apartments. Brendan and I want to come and visit all the time.” At the sound of his name, Brendan sits to attention.

“Eastern suburbs,” says Summer resolutely. “Near you, near Nath’s brother and best of all—” she bats her eyelids at Nathan, “—near the beach.”

“Well, with Nathan being such a high-flying accountant, you should be able to afford a reasonable rental there. I wouldn’t go getting any ideas about being a stay-at-home earth mother, though.”

Summer scoffs playfully and swishes her hand at me. “Sweetie, I’d be bored in no time. Anyway, since the NDIS started, occupational therapists are in high demand—there aren’t enough of us to go around. I’ll get work easily.” The chime of her phone slices through our conversation. “Oh, it’s Michelle, about the girls. I’d better go and call her.” She’s standing as she speaks. “Nath, how long before we have to leave?”

Nathan steals a glance at his watch. “Gig’s in forty-five minutes. We should head off as soon as you’re finished. I’ll get the bill.” He turns to me, spotting me pulling out my wallet. “Nah, mate. No fuckin’ way. Our invite, our treat.” Flashing another grin, he struts off in search of a waiter.

I turn to Brendan, who’s still sitting there patiently, staring up at me with his big brown eyes. “Wanna kick on to the bar with me, buddy?”

***

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow after I’ve finished showing Nathan the sights, see where you’re at. Maybe we can come out and visit you at Bondi?” Summer says, as she and Nathan get into their waiting taxi.

“Sure. I’ll be home.” Of course I will. I hardly get out much. Or at least, I don’t leave the local area. Why would I? Everything I need is at Bondi—the shops, the cafes, the beach. “Anyway, you guys have an awesome time tonight.” I lean in the door and kiss the cheek Summer’s thrust in my direction.

I’m glad Summer insisted I make the trek out to Newtown. I love the long, vibrant strip of shops, restaurants and bars, and I don’t come over to these parts nearly often enough. Plus, now that I’m in the area, I can go to Bears' Night at the Townie. I always feel validated when I step into the upstairs bar full of burly, furry blokes. The men are welcoming and friendly. Plus, they check me out. Lingering looks, big smiles, the odd wink or warm greeting, a meaty hand on my shoulder. My vanity sorely needs that. I have to be reminded that I’m worth something.

In any case, I could do with the distraction. Jarrod’s unsurprising no-show bothers me more than I’d care to admit. He’s probably blown us off because he scored a root on one of the many dating apps he lurks around on. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I predicted this to the point that I prepared myself—I’m scrubbed and spotless from top to toe. Tonight I’m going to pick up any bear that takes my fancy. I’m so adamant about this, I’ve even swallowed half a Cialis in case nerves or alcohol get the better of me. It’s been so long since I got a little action, and open relationships need to go both ways, dammit.

***

It wasn’t always like this with Jarrod. We were happy once. Despite everything that’s gone down between us, I still harbour fond memories of the day we met four and a half years ago.

I didn’t have Brendan back then. After losing the vast majority of my sight in my early forties, I used a cane for a long while. It took some time before I managed to get a grasp on things—rehearsing journeys with a mobility therapist, learning all the tricks of the trade. Using my hearing to analyse the sounds of traffic so I could work out how and where to cross roads safely. Wielding the cane to detect tripping hazards, counting steps and calculating distances, memorising terrain and landmarks and stairs and entrances. It was such a huge learning curve that it made my head hurt, but eventually it became second nature.

Waving a white stick around also meant people got out of my way— most of the time. There was the constant hazard of people walking in crowded areas while texting on their phones. There were people from various cultural backgrounds who weren’t used to the concept of Western manners. And there were people who were just plain arrogant. Don’t get me wrong—most folks were really nice. They’d frequently offer to help. I know I was supposed to feel all offended and patronised and fiercely assert my independence, but I also know not to take kindness for granted. You can never have too much. You can never show too much.

Still, it only took one bad apple to put a dampener on your day. On the morning in question, I’d just got off at the Bondi Junction bus terminal to go to yet another root canal visit at my dentist— thanks, mum and dad for the bad genes . I wasn’t running late. I can’t afford to run late. When you’re all but blind, you don’t have the option of making last-minute dashes. I was walking through the crowded outdoor shopping mall, swishing my cane, my tiny window of vision showing only what was directly in front of me.

I could see her coming my way. Some skinny middle-aged woman all decked out in expensive clothes with a scowl on her face. She looked right at me. She had no idea I wasn’t totally blind. Instead of moving to the side and pausing, I saw her make the snap decision to just barge forward and squeeze around me so she didn’t have to break her stride. Maybe if I’d yanked hard and fast enough I could have got my cane out of the way in time. But a little voice inside me said, Why should I? Why should I risk tripping or bumping into someone on the other side of me just to compensate for this woman's rudeness? So I didn’t. In a split second, I heard the loud clomp of her shoes as she bustled past me, stumbling over my cane and falling to the ground with a splat.

Of course, this made me lose my balance too. And once again, maybe I could have saved face. I could have wobbled and stomped and hopefully remained on my own two feet. But there was that voice in my head again. Screw her. Why should I risk twisting my ankle, scraping my knees and elbows if I can’t manage to right myself properly? What I needed was a well-executed stage fall. Something nice and theatrical. So, with a grace and skill that surprised me, I toppled sideways, landing with a loud thud against a shop window, which I then used to brace myself as I descended spectacularly onto my arse. I was quite proud of the magnitude of my performance.

While my head was still swimming from the sudden drama, I heard a harridan’s screech behind me. “Jesus Christ! Why the BLOODY hell don’t you look where you’re going?”

Instantly, my hackles were raised. I turned my head towards the vocal cacophony and spotted Harridan struggling to her feet. My blood boiled as I pushed on the window ledge, raising myself up to stand again. I was about to let fly. This is an extremely rare occurrence. Bugger me, I’m a nice man. I’m polite to everybody. I’m so damn courteous that I even thank Siri . But this was all too much and I’d well and truly had enough.

I almost jumped as I felt a strong, warm hand landing on my shoulder. “Are you OK, sir?” spoke a gruff male voice.

Sir? This was the first thing going through my mind. He called me ‘sir’? I felt the strong hand guide me around and suddenly I was face-to-face with him. A shaggy-haired, bearded thirty-something with a cigarette between his lips. I moved my head up and down to take him in. Probably over six feet tall. T-shirt and jeans. Slender dad bod with a sexy little beer belly. A scruffy hipster. And kind . That got me more than anything.

Harridan was still screeching away, but I wasn’t listening. I was busy checking out Hipster Boy. “Why don’t you fuck off, you miserable bitch!” he barked.

OK. So Hipster Boy’s also a bit of a pitbull.

Hurling out an indecipherable coda, Harridan was gone, galumphing away down the mall. Hipster Boy turned to me. “You never answered my question,” he said. I gave him a blank look as he plucked the cigarette from his lips and smiled. Pitbull was gone and Kind Man was back. “Are you OK, sir?” he prompted, with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Uh… yeah, mate.” I chuckled at his overtly quizzical expression. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Oh, and I’m Bradford, not ‘sir’.”

Hipster Boy laughed, squeezing my shoulder with his hand. In amongst all the chaos, I hadn’t even remembered it was there. It had just felt so… natural. “I’m Jarrod,” he said. His green eyes twinkled. I think I smiled a little too obviously.

“Where is it?” a familiar voice snapped. Our heads flicked sideways. Harridan was back.

“Where’s what ?” Jarrod snarled at her.

Harridan was hunting around on the ground, shooting venomous glances up at us. “My heel!” she spat, brandishing a black sandal in our faces.

“Do we look like we have any idea?” Jarrod swished his hand around in defiance. “Anyway, didn’t I just tell you to FUCK OFF?”

“These cost TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS!” Harridan shrieked, but she was already starting to hobble away again.

Jarrod turned back to me. “Bullshit,” he muttered. An evil grin formed on his face. “Maybe one thousand.”

I wanted to stay. I wanted to thank him for his kindness. Hell, I wanted to hug him—for about ten minutes straight. Plus, his warm hand was still on my shoulder. However, my dentist and a 275 dollar non-attendance fee were weighing on my mind. “Thanks, that was really nice of you, Jarrod. Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to run or I’ll be late for my appointment.”

Jarrod’s hand stayed on my shoulder, swivelling as I turned and manoeuvred my cane into position. “I’ll walk with you,” he said. It was a firm statement, no room for negotiation. And I kind of liked it.

I don’t remember what we talked about. I just remember the warmth of his hand on my shoulder making the hair on the back of my neck stand up with delight. Oh, and his scent. One part tobacco and ten parts man. Not stinky. A fresh masculinity. I’d like to romanticise all this and bang on about how our other senses become more acute when we lose our sight, but I’d be lying. The truth is, I’m a bit of a kinky bugger as far as these kinds of things go. I’ve always noticed the smell of a nice man.

After walking through an adjoining arcade, down the street behind the mall, then across the road, we’d come to the building where my dentist was. “This is my stop,” I said. I couldn’t hide the reluctance in my voice. I didn’t want this to be goodbye, but I knew it had to be.

However, Jarrod stepped in, cutting off my thoughts. “See that cafe there?” he said, pointing back over the street we’d just crossed. An uncomfortable look came over him as he glanced down at my cane, then back up at me. “Sorry, I forgot. It’s just that your eyes don’t look blind.”

I laughed at his sudden swing from confidence into awkwardness. “Tunnel vision, Jarrod. I can see it OK.”

Visible relief washed across his face. “Well, I’m gonna sit over there, have a coffee and read my book.” Oh? He reads too? “And when I see you come out of this building, if you feel like you wanna keep chatting, maybe you’ll walk over and join me?” The flicker of hope in his eyes betrayed his assertive demeanour. And right then, I knew I’d fallen hard.

Jarrod fished around in his pocket, pulling out a small black object and holding it up close so I could see it. “Guess we have no need for this, eh?” he said with a sinister raised eyebrow.

I took the pointy little item and studied it. On the underside, it was cream leather. And in tiny gold lettering was the word ‘Prada.’ With a chuckle, Jarrod grabbed the heel from my hand, then turned and walked off, tossing it into a nearby rubbish bin.

***

I’m starting to get agitated now. I can feel the tension taking hold. You don’t need to make a big song and dance out of this , I tell myself. You should just let it go . But I can’t. Things between Jarrod and I have been hurtling south for ages. I can’t remember the last time we had a tender moment. I can’t remember the last time we kissed, or—God forbid—had sex. He’s always out partying, and when he’s home, he’s surly and distant at best. At worst? It’s all snide comments and put-downs. Even mild hostility. I’ve been doing my best to try and keep things on an even keel, but how long can my mindfulness hold out? How many times can I keep telling myself that kindness always wins in the end?

I want a cigarette. I quit ages ago, but right now I have this irresistible urge. I need that comfort, that relaxation I used to get whenever I lit one up after a few hours. I know it’s silly. I’ll probably puke; I’m not gonna be used to it after all this time. But, bugger that, I have to have some kind of crutch tonight.

If you’re lucky and you know where to go in Sydney, you’ll find the odd shop that sells imported smokes—the illegal ones. There’s one of those shops just up ahead of me—a friend told me she buys them there all the time. And who the hell can afford legit cigarettes in this damn country at more than forty bucks per packet?

Prompting Brendan to enter the store, I sidle up to the counter, pull out my wallet and make sure my blindness pension card is visible. If the guy behind the cash register knows I’m poor, he’s hardly gonna think I’m a narc.

“Uh… can I get some Manchester reds?” I ask the bored attendant. “Oh, and a lighter too, please.”

He glances down at Brendan, who’s waiting patiently in his guide dog harness. It does the trick—Blind Guy is clearly on the level. The man rummages underneath the counter, then resurfaces, shoving my sinful items in a small black plastic bag and charging me twenty bucks.

“Thanks for that. Have a great weekend, mate.” I shoot him a genuine smile and he looks almost surprised. Maybe he doesn’t get many of those in his job. Well, they cost nothing and I think they should be given a lot more often.

I don’t light up straight away. As I start back down King Street, I hear the ping of a text message in my bag. Pulling up to the edge of the footpath, I take out my great big Samsung phone. People who are more blind than I am will use an iPhone, because the voice over function is definitely superior. But I’m at the stage where I can still use my eyes if things are big enough. The blindness software on my phone makes things comically large, but it’s only available for Androids. This is a pain, because of course, it doesn’t converse with my iPad like an iPhone would. Reckon all this is too much detail? Believe me, it’s more important than you’d realise. It allows me to function like a regular person. Most of us wouldn’t even stop to think about our independence till it’s been stripped away from us.

Hitting the envelope icon, I see the message is from my errant boyfriend. About bloody time.

JARROD: U gonna be at the Townie? Prob see u there

That’s all. No explanation. Certainly no apology. It’s worth a one word reply, nothing more.

brADFORD: Sure

I feel bad that the only semblance of a walk Brendan’s getting tonight is to ferry me between venues. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, buddy. Bondi to Bronte?” The forty-five minute coastal walk between the two beaches is one of his favourites. Of course, I avoid saying the word ‘walk’ to Brendan. Even though we’re technically on one, that term has different connotations for him. It conjures up thoughts of long clifftop journeys, urban hikes up and down the hills of Bondi, bounding across beaches, paddling in the shallows.

Yeah, of course—dogs aren’t allowed on Sydney beaches. But state legislation overrides this rule for guide dogs. I guess technically he’s supposed to be on his harness the whole time, not romping through the surf. But who am I to deny him a little bit of happiness? At the end of the day, Brendan’s my best friend and wherever I go, he goes. Anyone who doesn’t like that can go to blazes.