Side by Side

Chapter One

DAN

For the past week, I’ve been certain that moving interstate was my worse idea yet. Now, I feel like I’m going to be fine. Maybe.

Since relocating from Melbourne to Brisbane, the weather’s been prime, just like Australian winter days should be: warm, sunny days, low humidity, and cold nights where you can rug up with a hot tea and a good book.

Salem seems to like our new home, too. He hasn’t tried to escape my new apartment at first chance. Though, it’s only been a few days.

He’s a rescue cat, ginger and white in colour, and has quite the oddity: long meows, sometimes for fifteen seconds at a time.

The vet down in Melbourne said it isn’t widely common.

I can just rule it out as one of Salem’s many quirks, like his obsession with ripping toilet paper off the roll and scattering it around. And his appetite for houseplant water.

‘Do you like the new bedroom?’ I ask him as he sits on the edge of my bed.

The one that was delivered and assembled last night, thanks to the help of my sister, who also lives in Brisbane.

Tash, her husband Bret, and their two-year-old child – my nephew – Archie are the only people I know here.

That’ll soon change, I hope, when I start my new job at Untold Media tomorrow.

Salem meows, shorter than usual, before pouncing off the bed and scratching a box by the door.

The boxes lining my bedroom’s wall space make me sigh for the eleventh time since I woke up.

Moving interstate is stressful. Everything just feels like a mess and incomplete until it’s all unpacked in a designated space.

But at least I could leave the majority of my belongings that wouldn’t fit into the Jimny at Dad’s place.

The downside of only bringing up some necessities – clothes, a bedside table, linen, kitchen utensils, and my book collection – is that I have a lot to buy while I’m here.

I admire the fridge my landlord provided me, and the washing machine, thankful I don’t have to purchase those, at least. I just need a couch, which I’m already planning to buy from someone in Bulimba today, and a bookshelf from Kent Street, a few streets away from my apartment.

Then my books can get dusty on display rather than dusty in a box.

*

‘How are you feeling about your new job? You excited?’ Tash asks me on our drive to Bulimba. She’s borrowed Bret’s Ute to help me pick up my Marketplace finds.

A lengthy sigh escapes my mouth. ‘Well, I haven’t really thought about it with all the moving and unpacking.’

‘Do you know how you’ll get to the office, at least?’ she questions me, like she always does. Sometimes, it seems as if she thinks I’m still a child now that she has one, even though Tash is only three years older than me.

‘Yeah, it’s just at Eagle Street, so I can walk,’ I say with a matter-of-fact smile, yet Tash doesn’t notice.

‘Oh yeah, that’s right,’ she says as she drives us over Story Bridge. Boats glide along the river and dots of people walk the waterfront paths.

‘What’s Bret doing today?’ I ask Tash after the dream-like Brisbane River montage finishes in my head.

We take the turnoff to the eastern suburbs, and Tash lets out a short laugh. ‘He’s on kid duties today while I help you and then take myself to the bathhouse.’

‘I mean, fair enough, it must be a tough job with Archie sometimes.’ I shrug.

Tash taps down on the steering wheel as if she’s suppressing a string of memories. ‘Bro, you have no idea. Archie can be a bigger nightmare than any of those fucked up horror movies we watched as kids.’

My eyes extend. ‘Even worse than Saw? ’

‘Oh yeah,” she jokes. ‘Archie makes Saw look like a bedtime story sometimes.’

‘It can’t be that bad,’ I brush off.

Tash grimaces. ‘It is. But I guess Archie will only be in his terrible two phase for a while. Although it feels like he’s been two for much longer than he’s been two.’ She points to her long blonde hair. ‘I’m also getting greys.’

‘I got a few greys coming through this year, and I’m twenty-six,’ I remind her, knowing we had a conversation about it on the phone not long before I moved to Brisbane. I allow a short pause before adding, ‘We can thank Dad for that one, too.’

Tash and I like to banter around whenever we have something unexpected happen with our physical health, even more so when Dad’s in earshot.

We don’t do it in a way to make him feel worse than he already does at times.

I’m not sure why we do it; I guess as a way to make us all feel like we’re on the same page.

I get seasonal eczema rashes and bad bouts of acid reflux, just like him, so skin care and diet are a long-term journey for me.

Dad has stomach and skin issues. And Tash gets the stomach issues, but not the skin flare-ups.

She does, however, have a bit of Mum’s asthma.

Mum passed away from an asthma attack when Tash and I were kids, leaving Dad to raise us.

I reckon he did a pretty good job, too, considering.

After picking up the dark blue couch from Bulimba, which barely fits in the tray of the Ute, we make our way back to New Farm with the end of it sticking out.

Dragging the couch up the stairs into the apartment building is the hardest part.

But once it’s in the building, we’re thrilled to discover it just fits in the lift.

We’re both sweating by the time we get the couch into my apartment. I ask Tash if she wants a break before we pick up the bookshelf, but she ensures we get it done now.

Tash pulls up at the Kent Street address, where a small orange and yellow house resides, surrounded by an abundant garden that’s much greener than the rest in the street. Although the house isn’t modern like its counterparts on either side, the garden makes up for it entirely.

Good thing Jean, the elderly woman I’m buying the bookshelf from, has a driveway, because the street-side parking on Kent Street is packed today.

‘Wish my garden looked like this,’ Tash mutters as we exit the car and approach the house.

Jean is sitting on the front porch, reading a tattered paperback copy of The Catcher in the Rye in her cushioned armchair. Once she sees us, she closes the book and stands from her chair with a slight wobble.

‘When you’re retired, you get a lot of time back,’ Jean says with a smile that conveys wisdom we wouldn’t yet be able to comprehend. ‘Of course I’m going to make it as beautiful as I can,’ she adds. ‘My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but is that you, Dan?’

‘Yeah, it is, hi. And this is my sister Tash.’

‘Great, hello, come on up,’ Jean calls out. ‘The bookshelf is in the living room.’

I utter a reserved, ‘Sweet, thank you’ as we walk through the front gate and up the stairs, the floorboard creaking beneath our feet.

Jean’s left the front door open for us. Her home looks like the inside of a DIY book nook, but life-sized. Wooden walls and floorboards, antique furniture, and bookshelves lining almost every wall, except for the one where Jean’s walker is resting.

Jean has short, curly hair, which is a blend of soft brown and silver-grey. Her eyes are bright and kind, still sparkling with a youthful glint.

‘Mind if I use the bathroom?’ Tash asks Jean.

‘Yes, dear, of course,’ Jean says, pointing down the hall. ‘It’s the first door on your left. ’

Tash hurries off into the bathroom, leaving Jean and me in the living room.

Jean looks over to her walker. ‘I only need to use it sometimes, but I figured I needed a designated spot for it, hence having to part ways with the bookshelf.’ She looks over to the other side of the living room, to a mahogany bookshelf.

‘That’s it there. It’s served me well. Was one of my first shelves, actually. My late husband bought it for me.’

‘Oh, how special,’ I say, keeping my gaze on the deep browns of the bookshelf, before looking back to Jean. ‘What did you do with the books that were there?’

‘I found a spot for some of them, and then others I reluctantly parted ways with and gave to an op shop,’ she says. ‘Just the ones I never enjoyed, anyway.’

‘Parting ways with books can be hard sometimes.’

‘It can be. Are you a big reader, dear?’

‘Yeah. Reading is my thing,’ I say.

Jean gestures toward her plentiful collection of books scattered around the house in stacks. ‘As it’s mine, but you can already see that. I live alone now, so no one can tell me I have too many books.’

I breathe in the quiet sadness of Jean’s solitary life here – just her and her books. This could very well could be me in a few years if I don’t find a partner, minus the retired part. But if my future safe space looks anything like hers, I don’t think there’s anything to complain about.

‘What kind of books do you like reading the most?’ I ask, taking a look at some of her shelves against the wall.

Jean tells me she loves the classics and literary fiction but has a soft spot for an Australian outback romance. ‘ Would never live in the outback myself,’ she admits, ‘but with books, we can live vicariously through other people, in different places.’

‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘It’s great, isn’t it?’

‘ Life-savingly ,’ she says with a bright smile. ‘So, you said when you messaged me that you’re new in town? Sorry about my sporadic replies. Technology isn’t my strong suit. I’d much prefer looking at paper, to be honest.’

‘Yeah, I am. I just moved up from Melbourne.’

‘Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘New job. I quit my previous position and went travelling for about a year. And then yeah, after applying for jobs, Brisbane ended up having the one most suited to me.’

‘Very nice. Where did you go on your travels?’

‘To Europe.’

‘Oh, lovely.’

‘Yeah, it was incredible. The cities and towns over there have so much historic charm to them compared to Australia.’

‘Beautiful, aren’t they? Ron and I went over for our honeymoon many years ago.’

‘Nice. Where did you go?’

Jean briefly tells me about the big European holiday she took with her husband. She tells me her favourite city was Prague, followed by Venice, two of which I also fell in love with when I was there.

‘Honestly, I wish I could’ve stayed longer,’ I say, mentally reminiscing. ‘Tried finding jobs over there in my field, but sadly couldn’t get anything.’

‘That’s a shame. What do you do? ’

‘I’m a writer. I work in media at the moment.’

‘A writer.’

I push out a soft laugh as I say, ‘Yeah. But not the kind one would romanticise. I work in an office, nine to five like most corporate workers.’

‘But does it fill your cup in some way, at least?’

I pause, realising it’s been a long while since I’ve been asked a question of the sort. ‘Yeah. It does, to some degree. From what I can remember, a year ago.’

The bathroom door squeaks as Tash exits.

‘A lot can change in a year,’ Jean says, her tone heightening. ‘Okay, well, here’s the bookshelf. I do hope it comes to good use.’

‘Thank you, Jean. Here’s the fifty dollars.’

Jean flicks her hand forward. ‘You use it for setting yourself up in Brisbane. Not that fifty bucks will buy you much these days.’

I feel my forehead furrow. ‘Oh, Jean, are you sure?’

To which she nods a few times. ‘Very sure.’ Her home phone begins to ring, and she walks off to get it, calling back, ‘Come round if you ever need anything, Dan. Oh wait, silly me, you’ve already got family here. Never mind me. Good luck with the new job.’

Tash and I give each other a look as Jean disappears into the kitchen, rambling on the phone to someone about how much everything has gone up in price.

‘Feels, Jean, feels,’ I mutter, taking one end of the bookshelf while Tash heaves the other.

She rolls her eyes. ‘Um, bro, try having a mortgage.’

‘You’re also a schoolteacher who makes one hundred kay a year,’ I say as we shimmy the bookshelf through Jean’s front door.

‘Well, if you hadn’t of quit your journalist job to try become a travel influencer last year, maybe you would’ve had a promotion by now. Dad’s told you this.’ Tash pushes the bookshelf a little too hard, which makes me almost fall down Jean’s steps.

Tash isn’t wrong when she says this. I probably would’ve grown at the news company down in Melbourne.

But I didn’t want to. Mainstream journalism was sucking the life out of me.

The long hours. The constant chasing of peril and doom for a newsworthy story.

The controversy for clicks. It all became too much, and it was at a time when my grandmother passed away.

She’d left a bit of money to me, so I quit my job and travelled over to Europe, somewhere I’d been wanting to go for quite some time.

I still think, even though I didn’t use the money she left me to invest like my dad wanted me to, Nan would’ve been proud of the adventures I went on.

While I was over in Europe for three months, I bought a drone and tried starting a travel account to make money from social media.

Tried and failed. But I sure had fun over there.

Problem was, eventually I ran out of money, had to come back to Australia, and look for another job.

I was skeptical about starting another journalism job.

I still am, but when I saw the job at Untold Media, there was one line in the description that caught my eye.

We only create and publish good news stories.

New venue openings, local business profiles, event coverage, SEO round-ups, uncovering hidden hospitality gems .

And here I am, starting said job tomorrow.

‘Have you met any of your neighbours yet?’ Tash asks me once we get the bookshelf into my apartment and position it across from the couch, next to the TV.

Salem inspects the bookshelf before proceeding to roll around on the rug in front of it. Might be his new day resting area. Though, based on his movements since I’ve owned him, he likes to have several day resting areas.

I huff out a deep breath, wiping sweat from my brow. ‘I’ve only been here for a few days, Tash. I haven’t seen anyone. Oh, wait, no, that’s a lie. I did get a hello from a girl who I think lives on the first floor. She seemed nice.’

‘Maybe you’ll end up being friends with your neighbours,’ Tash tells me. ‘We have dinner with ours all the time. Or you can just be besties with old Jean on Kent Street.’

I shrug. ‘Hopefully both.’

Once Tash leaves, I think about starting the new job tomorrow, and every time I look at my new slick black laptop bag, I feel a surge of confidence take over.

Let’s hope it sticks around.