Waves 3

By Mark Paige

Humorous view of three Australian three Australian thiry-somethings changing their lifestyles

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781326057916

Book preview

Waves 3

‘Waves’

3

by

Mark Paige

Copyright © 2014, Mark Paige

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-326-05791-6

Dedications

To Nick.    

Acknowledgements

To everyone/anyone I’ve ever met as you all contributed. 

Foreword

Assuming you, the perspicacious reader have already read ‘Parts 1 & 2’ (which thoughtfully precede this, the last part) again I won’t repeat myself but rest assured, in this final part you’ll get value for money.

1.  More Discoveries – Including ‘Music’

Sunday

Sunday was spent rediscovering each other.  First in bed, then in the kitchen, then on the veranda and later, at a starving Carol’s suggestion, they decided to have something to eat.  After a very late breakfast and showers, they returned to the living area where Carol gently insisted on listening to some of Peter’s ‘music.’

‘This is lovely and calming.  It’s one of my favourites.’  Carol said softly.

‘Compared to your playing, it’s crap.’  Peter replied honestly albeit none too helpfully.

‘But it has unusual structure… and the synthesizer sounds are… so (different, harmonically impossible, amazingly odd, totally weird...) soothing.’

‘It’s supposed to be the middle bit of something but I haven’t thought about the start or the end.’  Peter worriedly explained.

The cd moved on, or rather, the laser head reading the cd did.

‘And this one, it’s…so… moving it reminds me of the shimmering heat of the desert.’ Carol offered, thankfully managing to remember the long title of the track.

‘It’s supposed to be the evaporating salt flats.’  Peter quietly nodded whilst wondering why there was a sudden interest in his structured noise?

Monday

On Monday Peter went into the office to report progress on the assignment and to thank his partner for the unexpectedly huge bonus.

‘I really didn’t expect anything like that amount.’  And though not a crawler (a brownnoser, bootlicker, sycophant or someone with legs on his belly) Peter realised that now ws the time to touch his forelock – but not having one, he didn’t.

‘Bit like my wife.’  The managing partner thought sardonically but instead forced a smile and said. ‘Well you deserved it.  Now that we’ve a reputation for European work there could well be other similar assignments and we need someone out there that’s good.’

‘Oh shit!’  Peter though but instead nodded appreciatively as this is what seemed to be what was called for.

In the evening after enjoying a ‘sensible’ meal together, (a lamb casserole accompanied by cauliflower florets), Peter casually mentioned that he needed to go across to see Simon.  ‘I won’t be long.  I need to pass a message on from his son.’

‘I’ll join you.’  Carol quickly nodded, aware that any visit to Simon and Katy’s would inevitably end up in some sort of a long absence followed by a severe hangover for her partner.

Katy answered the door supported by the excited Red Setter whom Pter immediately wrestled with.. 

‘Hope we’re not intruding?’  Peter asked after he had stood upright an caught his breath.

‘No.  We’ve just eaten and were about to do… absolutely nothing.’  Katy smiled and hugged and warmly kissed both of them on their cheeks.

‘G’day.’ Simon said as he joined the group.

‘Just thought you might like to know that whilst in the UK, I followed your suggestion and visited Paul.’

‘That’s great.  How is he?’  Katy asked.

‘Well…’  Peter replied – somewhat uncertainly.

‘That’s good.  Come and sit down and tell us all about him.’  Katy guided them in.

In the background, Simon moved to the chilled wine cellar - really a super-hyper-maxi-fridge that kept oodles of wine bottles at just the right temperature.  Noticing this, Carol now knew that her earlier assumption had been totally correct and that the chances of a quick visit and a quiet night were negligible.

‘So?’  Simon asked after they were all seated with (rather large) charged glasses.

After taking a small slurp Peter thought for a minute trying to get his thoughts in order.  ‘Paul seems happy enough.  He’s got an amazingly large (and hugely expensive) house and grounds in the rural commuter belt and he was the perfect host.’

Simon looked across to Katy and nodded with a smile.

RS questionably looked up at Peter – also awaiting further enlightenment.

‘He asked me to pass on a message.’  Peter continued.

Simon and Katy and the dog expectantly waited.

Peter next took a generous mouthful of the ‘Walloping White’ and considered that, apart from a decent Burgundy Grand Cru, he had never tasted anything like it. In fact, this was the other bottle of wine that Peter had brought the last time.  It really did compare with a good Burgundy and although not to a Grand Cru Montrachet standard it was only one fifth of the price… (and if the aforesaid winery still has any spare full bottles....?)

Peter thought back fondly to the quiet village of Puligny Montrachet, of Le Montrachet on the highest part of the hill with Bâtard Montrachet the next terroir down… how he loved Bâtard, the almost smoky...

‘And the message?’  Simon gently reminded him.

‘Ah, yes.  Paul asked me to say.  ‘Thanks to both of you.’

Simon and Katy looked at each other puzzled.  The dog merely scratched its head.

Seeing the general confusion Peter continued.  ‘I think what he was saying was, thanks for everything you have done.  Providing a wonderful home, a great education, your support, freedom to be himself and for your love.’  Peter (ever so slightly) expanded Paul’s message.

On the pretext of re-filling the already (nearly) full plate of nibbles, Katy quickly left the room.

‘He really said that?’  Simon asked.

Peter thought for a minute then answered truthfully. ‘Perhaps not in so many words - but that’s what he meant.’

Simon nodded and for a second his eyes misted over he then quickly recovered himself.  ‘But something’s bothering you?’  Simon looked carefully at Peter.

‘About?’  Peter shrugged.

‘About your visit. I can tell.’  Simon nodded and looked across at Carol who nodded gently as did a now recovered and knowing RS.

Peter remained silent.

‘Come on we’re mates - let me know the worst.’  Simon pressed.

‘Well, although it’s none of my business, but – and knowing me I might be wrong, but in my opinion his partner probably isn’t right for him.’  Peter said after draining the first glass.  ‘I don’t know why, but she seems a bit too staid.  No sense of humour, no drive and worse, she doesn’t appear to drink.’  Peter shrugged apologetically.

Hearing the last, the dog quietly laid down on the carpet and put both of its paws over its ears and gently whimpered as every human he had so far had to deal with seemed to drink like a fish – or a shoal.

‘From his emails and calls we sort of guessed that things weren’t working out with… Philippa.’  Simon replied thoughtfully.

‘But don’t worry, Paul already knows.’  Peter smiled. At which RS raised a paw and looked hopefully at Peter.

Three bottles later, Carol and Peter alternatively guided each other back to a nearby house which by chance, happened to be their own and where after they had undressed, clambered into bed and had an uninterrupted sleep.

In a different bed (to that occupied by Peter and Carol), Simon held Katy who was gently crying.  ‘Why did he have to leave it so long to tell us?’  She sobbed.  ‘Why?’

‘The main thing is that he has.  Maybe we didn’t do too bad a job after all.’  Simon quietly whispered and gently stroked her hair. 

Meanwhile, RS had a troubled sleep and in between dreaming of the long legged Alsatian bitch up the street, kept waking to think about the recent developments.  If only humans would learn to behave and somehow, just for once, be honest?

Tuesday

On Tuesday Peter worked at home and despite his offer to cook another of his maxi combo-surprise dishes, Carol insisted on preparing a ‘sensible’ meal in advance before leaving for work - a home-made steak and kidney pie with that fluffy rising pastry, (in England the author discover it was called ‘puff’ pastry but being politically correct he won’t mention this), mashed potatoes, a wonderful gravy and… yeah!  Peas.

Lessons

In the evening, the first of Carol’s students arrived.  She was tall, solemn, mousy-haired and conservatively dressed.  Based on the NCR rule, Peter guessed that this would be around fourteen or fifteen.

Incidentally, for the overseas reader, the NCR rule means the ‘Number of Cans (of pretty heavy beer) Required’ before the assessor would consider having sex with the assessed.

Naturally, this is a most primitive and disgusting way of evaluating the opposite sex and it has only been mentioned to allow, you the reader, to share the author’s abhorrence of this obnoxious (totally non PC) practice. 

Then again, the author has, on numerous occasions, realised that a women’s average NCR rating of him appears to be eighteen (super magnums of Australian Bubbly.)  That is, over their dead bodies.

Peter made himself scarce and moved in to his ‘studio’ where he attempted via his headphones to create ‘musical landscapes.’  Meanwhile in the living area, the student, repeatedly wobbled up and down various scales that in Peter’s opinion sounded better than anything he could compose.  Musical rating: Thirty five (out of one hundred.)

He didn’t see the second pupil as he was still ensconced in his studio, however, whenever he took his headphones off, he was amazed to hear competent and measured playing.  NCR - ?  Musical rating - Seventy.

‘Good sessions?’  Peter asked as Carol entered the ‘studio.’

‘They’re both good.  Both are serious about music and both have booked twelve lessons which shows they’re committed.’  Carol nodded then looked at her partner.  ‘Peter, it makes such a difference teaching people who want to learn!  And it’s so great to be teaching here - from here – here at home.’

‘Good!’  Peter smiled and was silently pleased that once again he’d got something right and suddenly wondered about ‘home.’

‘How about you?  Did you manage to create anything new?’

‘Based on what I’ve been hearing I think it’s called; noise.’  Peter laughed then took her through to the lounge where he put on a cd.

Wednesday

Ching, chong, clang, Ching#, clang!, (discord.)

‘She’s excellent.’ Thought Peter as he listened to the delightful, smiling, young, petite, (extremely nubile) blonde who had just arrived for her first piano lesson (ever.)  NCR - Nil.  Musical rating - very similar.

Again, the second pupil seemed competent but had no NCR rating which is just as well as he was balding and in his mid-fifties.  In all fairness, musically, his rating was around seventy.

Thursday

Clangggggg………….. clang#, CLANG, Boinggggg!, Chink, CLUnk, clang#!! & plus possibly, I Ching.’

‘My f... fancy piano!’ Peter thought.

Here was a raw beginner.  At the tender age of seventy-two, this lady had bravely decided that if she was to become the replacement organist in the local church, she would need one or two ‘refresher’ courses especially as one fingered versions of ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and ‘The Pub With No Beer’ didn’t tend to figure too highly at weddings nor at funerals.  Especially if the deceased had died from sclerosis of the liver.

Out of politeness, (which may surprise the reader and which certainly amazes the author) neither an NCR nor a musical ability rating is given here, however, for guts and fortitude – probably a million points for the NCR rating and minus a million for her musical ability.

Again, Peter didn’t see the second pupil but again he was impressed.  NCR?  Musical rating - fifty.

Later in the evening he took off his headphones and listened to fluid playing. ‘Wow!’  he thought as he listened to an excellent rendition of Beethoven’s ‘Pathétique’ - Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 8 in C minor, Op. 13. (Or, as it is even more commonly known, ‘the pathetic’ sonata.)

Thinking it was a cd playing, he left his ‘studio’ and was amazed to see Carol at the piano.  Silently he watched her as she gently and perfectly completed the piece.  NCR - minus a trillion.  Musical rating - one billion.

Slowly and quietly he made his way over to her and as she finished he gently grasped her from behind and held her.

‘You’re brilliant.’  He whispered.

‘Reasonably proficient.’  Carol giggled as he licked her ear.

‘Extremely proficient and in more disciplines than one.’  Peter whispered as he continued to hold her.

Friday

On Friday evening there was a knock at the door and half expecting to see Harry, Peter was surprised to see his shaggy haired mate.

‘Fancy going out for a beer - thought you might want to enjoy a decent beer in a real pub?’  John’s grinned.

‘Not sure.  I’ve only just got back and…’

‘Good!’  John nodded firmly and entered.

‘John’s here.’  Peter announced with slight surprise as he followed John into his (that is Peter’s) own living area.

‘Hi John.’  Carol nodded. ‘How did the wedding reception go?’

‘Fine.’  John replied providing what, in his view, was a fully detailed description of the event.

Realising that she would either have to see or ring Barbara to get a slightly more complete account of the reception Carol continued.  ‘What brings you round here?’

‘Housework.’  John admitted.  ‘Barbara’s decided to winter clean - thought it might be an idea to make myself scarce. Didn’t want to get under her feet.’

Peter smiled and shook his head at his mate who always seemed to be able to reverse things round - usually to his favour.

Peter looked across at Carol with a questioning look and explained.  ‘John’s suggested we go down to a pub.’ 

Carol appeared to think