Familiar Surroundings

By Roy Jenner

Joseph Scott became enrolled in the school of life in February1990, the younger brother of two. The school of life; the one big pool of knowledge where one starts to learn from the first breath taken. There Joe learned how to live, how to laugh, how to accept, how to forgive, how to understand and eventually how to grieve, but how to love? No. He had no need to learn to love for he was born with love in his heart as we all were and his pathway into adult years was enhanced by that love and the directions in which he chose to direct it. His love for his parents knew no bounds and his learning experiences grew more challenging as he moved into adulthood and was forced to contend with the demanding reality of their senior years. This story takes us inside Joe's head as he learns to accept the mother he adores, though mature and beautiful on the outside, is changing and moving away from him in her mind. You are invited to share the pictures in Joe's head as he takes control of the family unit and struggles to understand family secrets inadvertently exposed as senior years affect those loved by him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence Davidson
• Release date: Sep 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201231361

Roy Jenner

Roy Jenner is the author of fourteen novels such as this one. Each reflects his experiences as he travelled the world from his homeland of London England to eventually settle in the Antipodes and make Auckland New Zealand his home.  Each page of each book is flavoured with the knowledge and understanding of life’s experiences gleaned along the way. Three years service with Her Majesty’s armed forces prepared him for life away from the docklands of London’s East End, where he was born, to taste the arid and vital atmosphere of Egypt and its controversial Suez Canal Zone where he served two years on active service. Forty years in the meat industry were superseded by twenty years of equal success in the real estate sales.   He was thrilled in later years to become involved with the magic of Nashville and Memphis Tennessee and venture into the challenges of the Australian Outback, being always pleased to return  to the security of his home in New Zealand. A strong family man he has four sons, eight grandsons, three granddaughters and now five great grand children. He continues to write for your pleasure.

Book preview

Prologue

THE LINE REMAINED TAUT. The hook was bedded deeply telling him it was doing its job. He wrestled with it and he realised as it sank deeper it wasn’t coming out. The pain was intense and he was convinced the hook would tear his flesh. Verging on panic he reached for a blade, reluctant to cut his precious fishing tackle although he saw no alternative. Taking a breath he considered his decision as blood flowed into his palm. In a moment of panic he made the decision and nicked the nylon a finger’s width above the eye of the hook causing the freed line to lash back with the twang of a broken guitar string, releasing his rod which fell to the ground. He studied his savaged thumb, spouting blood. How brave was he? One slice of blade on flesh would free the offending object and solve the problem, but in doing so would create another and he accepted he was not brave enough for that. Fortunately he was alone and his embarrassment became personal. How could this happen to him? This was bad. Pain flowed up his arm as though by the throw of a switch. The barb was hard against the bone with the eye of the hook protruding from the pad of his thumb exposing the pulse which reacted to the release of pressure to deny his O negative  return to its heart chamber. Fishing was no longer important. His tackle box was in disarray, spilled on the rocks. He grasped the long nose pliers in his good hand and took another breath. He knew what to do. He had read about this, but had never done it. The time was now. How brave was he? He was soon to find out. He clamped the pliers around the eye of the hook, turned his head away with closed eyes and turned his wrist. He was afraid to look, yet he did. The blood flowed freely as the barb of the hook emerged against the nail. A firm pull with the pliers and it was done. The pain remained. The blood flowed. A day’s fishing ruined!

Chapter 1 

JOE SCOTT SAT IN A&E at Auckland’s Park Road Hospital. His hour of waiting to see the doctor had long since created impatience in his tangled mind, but he understood the situation as the overworked team of medical staff applied its restricted numbers to the usual Saturday night intake of road accidents, rugby football injuries and drunks. Nothing changed much in New Zealand’s largest city of two million residents. Joe’s wrist watch had registered 11.45 when he had been admitted and escorted to the confines of cubicle B6. Now with the little hand on one and the big hand creeping towards twelve he was asking questions of the synthetic curtain that closed him off from the world. There was plenty of activity out there beyond that screen with the hushed reverence of A&E being consistently interrupted by the urgency of raised voices and the continual bleep of electronic devices that were so much part of modern medicine. The uncontrolled sobbing of a person in grief filtered through from the next cubicle as it had done for the past half hour; someone in greater trouble than he who was the focus of much activity in the form of uniformed officers of the law. It struck home to him this was just part of the flavour of an average day/night in the life of Auckland City’s main accident and emergency department.

Joe’s considerable experience of this building contributed to him being familiar with the A&Es and A&Ps of the facility. A&E was necessary and acceptable to Joe tonight, but at the moment he had no desire to be Admitted and Positioned. Been there and done that. His four years spent  packing down in the second row of his rugby team scrum meant you didn’t always walk away unscathed from every ruck and the last high tackle of which he had been the recipient identified the fact he would never pack a scrum again. Life had changed for him that day in a brutal flash and at twenty six years of age he had been presented with the damning prospect of no more fifteen a side! That had been hard to take on the day and remained so today. The decision by Joe to seek professional treatment for his fishing injury had been made a full thirty hours following his argument with his hook, line and sinker. Sensibly and logically it had been forced upon him. The wound had bled a lot at the time and he’d bound it with tape from his car’s First Aid kit which seemed to do the job until in the night he awoke around 3am with a determined throbbing in his right armpit and a noticeable swelling at the base of the thumb. A mug of hot coffee laced with Purple Heart rum and two pain killers returned him to his bed for the remains of a restless night, but in considerable discomfort he rose early being thankful it was Saturday with work not a consideration. Living alone as he did he was free to please himself as to his routine, but one quick phone call to Bart Fielding his associate and he was free. He made hard work of cleaning and gutting the snapper he had brought home from the tide before packing them in the freezer, but had little appetite for the curry takeaway he’d grabbed for lunch. In a somewhat depressed frame of mind took a rain check on his seat in the stands at Eden Park, deciding instead to stay home and watch the game on television. An uncomfortable afternoon alone merged into early evening with the Blues kicking off at 7.30.  Long before the match ended, around 9.30, Joe knew he was in trouble with his injury. He had developed a feverish sweat and was shaking at times. His arm was stiffened and the red line progressing up the inner forearm spelled danger to him. If his father had been with him now it would never have reached this stage, but he wasn’t. He was no longer of this earth, but Joe listened to his spiritual message now.

‘You stupid sod. What are you playing at? Get the bloody thing seen to. Do you want to die?’

His mother would have said the same, but with a better choice of words. Joe showered, changed clothes and made the call. Taxi! Auckland Hospital. 

The increased pounding in his right arm gave him something on which to concentrate as he exhausted the reading material plastered to the walls of learning that formed his cubicle. He had been delighted to learn that free flu injections existed for those lucky enough to reach retirement age and that an extensive course in English as a second language was available. Food for thought there. If he could read the poster, did he need the course?  He was fully engrossed in the benefits of a programme designed to assist those gifted with sexually transmitted diseases when his plastic curtain was swept aside by a dignitary in a white coat.  The dangling stethoscope was a giveaway, but Doctor Jay Vadir wasn’t required to introduce himself. He smiled and spoke with the dignity Joe had come to expect from this man. They knew each other well. 

‘Joseph Scott! What is it you have been doing that has caused my workload to be increased?’

‘Dr Jay! Why am I not surprised? We’ll have to stop meeting like this.’ Joe’s extended hand was difficult to raise and the doctor’s sympathetic eyes widened as blood increased its flow from the improvised dressing. 

Over the next ten minutes of medical examination Dr Jay and his associate, the attractive state registered nursing sister Karen who had been responsible for Joe’s admittance, learned of his encounter with the snapper hook and what had followed. It was a tender process as Karen cut and snipped at the dressing then swabbed and sterilised what was diagnosed as an advanced stage of septicaemia that could have proved to be life threatening had Joe delayed his visit longer.  As Karen worked Dr Jay talked, firstly chastising Joe for his actions then advising him of the way in which he and his team would endeavour to reduce his high temperature and counter the demons that were working overtime in his bloodstream. 

‘You will need to accept, Joe,’ said Dr Jay wryly, ‘you will be going nowhere other than Ward 64 of this establishment for the next few days; until your condition stabilises. This is bad. You have neglected yourself which surprises me for a man of your standing.’

Joe froze at these words, but was not surprised by the diagnosis. As the dressing was being removed he had made his own assessment of the distasteful lump that was his right hand. The flesh around the wound was black and blue, the wound itself open in two places and oozing blood. It was the ball joint at the base of the thumb that astonished him; as swollen as the avocado fruit that littered his front lawn and the same darkest green. He asked the question of his doctor with a nod of a head towards his wound.

‘How could that happen? It’s hardly a day gone by since I did this. That’s gross!’

‘It happens all the time, dear boy. Yet to be confirmed, it is almost certainly cellulites.’ Dr Jay removed his protective gloves and tossed them into a waste bin. ‘Nasty business! It can creep up on you in the blink of an eye. Make sure you wash your hands.’ He smiled. ‘Sorry, hand.’

Joe’s ego was silenced as he watched Sister Karen place a temporary dressing on the wound, He gave no indication of the pain as she injected a foreign substance into his protruding vein.

‘And how is Mr Bojangles these days, Doctor Jay?’

Now the two men were on common ground.

‘Mr Bojangles? He’s fine. In fact he is due to visit you in a fortnight’s time. I hope this little mishap does not interfere with his plans.’

‘Little mishap,’ thought Joe as Karen settled him on the bed and the doctor continued.

‘I must leave you. I have patients, but I will see you again Sunday afternoon. You must rest now. You are in good hands.’

Joe lay back on his bed as Sister Karen fussed around him, straightening sheets, bolstering pillows and restoring order in the cubicle of computerised screens, and stainless steel cabinets and fittings. She flashed him the sweetest of smiles before saying, ‘that’s it from me. Very soon an orderly will appear to reposition you in Ward 64. In the meantime you must rest. Goodnight.’ With a swish of dividing curtain she was gone and at 3am he was left alone with thoughts of Dr Jay, of Mr Bojangles and of charming Karen.

Chapter 2

JAYDARA KAMIL VADIR was a sixty two year old man of Christian faith who was born in Pakistan ten years to the day following his country gaining independence from India and British rule. With strong personal views on religion Jay experienced testing times as a Christian living in an Islamic environment, but he loved life and loved people, As he grew older he responded to the desire to contribute to a better way of life for all and as a young man it seemed a natural transition to respond to his desire to enter the medical profession. In the wake of seven years of study at the Sindh Medical College in Karachi, which included one year as an undergraduate at the  Jinnah Postgraduate Medical Centre, he emerged qualified as a physician. As such he was granted an internship at the same hospital where he served as consultant for three years before entering private practice. Jaydara’s passion for his profession and healing was consistently challenged by his love for cricket. He played the game regularly at club level and was once strongly considered for international representation because of his aptitude with the ball. He was a testing spin bowler and regardless of failing to achieve national selection was delighted to be appointed as team doctor for the Pakistan ‘A’ side when it toured Australia and New Zealand. It was then a vital seed was sown in his destiny. He had long been disturbed by the political unrest in Pakistan and with the influx of refugees exceeding three  million he continually considered options that would improve the standard of living for himself and his wife Akorli Troya.

Troya’s position as resident anaesthetist at his place of work proved to be the introduction to their marriage which was in its second year when Jay first toured the Antipodes. This tested their relationship when spending eleven weeks apart, but Jay returned from the tour spellbound by New Zealand. When reunited with Troya a mutual decision was reached and in the two years that elapsed before his second tour the couple consolidated their assets into a financial package which they lodged in a discrete bank account. Troya joined Jay on that tour and when all fixtures were complete they declined to return to their place of birth, claiming asylum as political refugees. A long battle with the New Zealand government ensued, but eventually permanent residency was granted.  That was long awaited good news for the Vadirs, but the bad news had presented itself long before that. All hopes of becoming established in the medical structure of a new country were dashed when Jay presented himself to the New Zealand Medical Council. In one demoralising interview he was advised by them the diplomas of merit and the MBBS degree awarded to him by the Jinnah Postgraduate Medical Centre in Pakistan held no value in the New Zealand domain, being not worth the paper upon which they were printed.

‘If it is your wish to continue in the medical profession, Mr Vadir, we recommend a five year minimum study at Otago University before presenting yourself again.’

This was a distressing revelation for the Vadirs which tested their faith in the decision to leave their homeland. It wasn’t Jay’s wish, but a burning desire that had placed him in this position. He chastised himself that in his ignorance he had failed to discover these facts before leaving his homeland, but too late, the damage was done and no matter what, the plan for them both was to remain in New Zealand. It always was and would always be. The funds in their private bank account ensured money would be available to them as they sought to become established, but that pot of gold had an expiry date. As advised the move was made to Dunedin where Jay enrolled as a first year student of medicine in a six year degree programme at Otago University.  He and Troya firstly rented a small flat on the outskirts of town and settled well into the community. Each had an excellent command of the English language, but the daily challenge remained. As years progressed their pot of gold depreciated through the purchase of a small house and the regular demand for student fees. 

Life for Jay was constantly hard work and study. Their dwindling finances were supplemented by money earned from casual employment such as taxi driving and the operation of injection moulding machines in plastic factories during term breaks. The twelve hour night shift in these places proved to be demanding, but rewarding. Troya found work as a receptionist at a local doctors’ rooms. Lectures, study and the ensuing exams were a walk in the park for Jay. His experience in the field as a practising physician required only that he became conversant with new developments and procedures in the field of medicine.  His determination to succeed paid dividends when he stood on the podium at the end of his six years of learning to be presented with his Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery degree with honours; Doctor Jaydara Kamil Vadir MB ChB.

Through the years of struggle Jay and Troya were strongly supportive of each other. The thirteen years of study that had earned her the position as anaesthetist in her homeland never went to waste. She followed the same path as her husband and five years after their move to Auckland she graduated with honours; Doctor Akorli Troya Vadir MB ChB.

Following a cruel introduction to a new life in New Zealand, but inspired by his faith in the Christian  church and his success in his chosen profession, life became a celebration for Jay Vadir. Through his passion for Christ Jay displayed his passion for humanity seeing always the good in those around him.  He loved life. He loved cricket. He loved to travel.

Chapter 3

MUCH EARLIER.

Mr Bojangles was a cat, but no ordinary cat. Mr Bojangles was a purebred Himalayan of prize winning stock whose awards, ribbons and gold medals filled a wall in the study of his owner Jay Vadir. Jay and Troya were not blessed with children, but the introduction of Mr Bojangles into their lives six years earlier as a kitten had served to fill much of the open space left in their domesticity. In a marriage with no offspring this top cat was treated like an heir to a throne. As professional people each was committed to an active life and Jay’s expertise and reputation as a senior surgeon made him eligible to lecture in the same classrooms he had attended as a frustrated student. These venues were nationwide, therefore travel became a prime consideration and Jay loved to travel; and when he travelled Mr Bojangles travelled.

For Jay his journey would begin at Auckland International airport with choice of destinations varied depending upon the demand for his knowledge. Three universities in the land had him registered as a tutorial instructor as did the universities of Melbourne and Queensland in Australia. He was a frequent traveller as was Troya whose professional expertise led her to accompanying her husband on occasion. Mr Bojangles had fewer options when he travelled and his journey was consistent. It began at 27, Lakeside Parade in Whitford and ended predictably twenty minutes later at 17 Blue Gum Lane in Clevedon, the boutique cattery owned and operated by Joseph Scott. It was there Mr Bojangles spent many leisure hours on cat-vacation when his owners were in places where cats couldn’t be.  Familiar Surroundings was a cattery where the elite of felines whiled away their hours while their more responsible and affluent owners were away from home.

Familiar Surroundings became the brain child of Joe’s mother Catherine when she and Joe’s father Wallace celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary by moving away from the bustle of Auckland City to a new home in the rural town of Clevedon. The picture book villa they chose had four bedrooms with a two bedroom flat attached and this held strong appeal to the Scotts with two sons to consider. Situated in a weepy avenue of rustic trees five hundred metres from the beach this was heaven on earth for Catherine who had visions of developing a small bed and breakfast business while Wallace was pleased to go along for the ride. He was attracted by the nearby golf course and the generous division of land that went with the property; well in excess of a half acre. The large outbuildings at the rear had great potential for the handyman type person he was, offering great workshop area with space to move around. They also provided convenient storage space for the vintage car he had been restoring for the last ten years since retiring from his work at Auckland International where he’d been engaged for thirty six years as an aircraft engineer. In that time he had seen much in the way of change and moving home was as drastic an experience as any he had encountered. Nonetheless he welcomed the move; he couldn’t wait.

The Scotts were cat people. Through their entire marriage with two sons growing into men in their home of twenty five years there were always cats about the place. The felines bore nothing special in the way of pedigree, being simply the everyday moggies and ginger Toms that formed part of the structure of an average family. One time at an early age Joe had arrived from school with a stray kitten in his school bag and in that way his home became home for that Tiger for eight years.

The first year in Clevedon passed quickly and it was when a family holiday was booked that necessity became the mother of invention, or something similar. Wallace had a few gruff words to say when it was discovered he had to drive a round trip of nineteen kilometres to place Tiger into care for the two weeks they would be away in Disneyland. The prospect of a repeat journey on their return from Anaheim was also a strong talking point on the long haul over the Pacific as Catherine and Wallace between them thrashed out her idea of opening a cattery at the rear of their home. This became a  life changing decision that had Catherine’s blood surging in her veins.

Inevitably all cat lovers are subject to sad times when for one reason, or another that loved member of the family passes on to cat heaven. As with Tiger. In his tenth year he was laid to rest and after a few catless weeks it was decided a replacement was required. In force the Scotts descended on the Animal Rescue Centre in Auckland where the difficult choice was honed down to a privileged two. Each was loveable and adorable. One black as coal the other as white as snow. Wally left the final decision to Cath when saying he was easily pleased and wasn’t bothered as long as she chose the black one. Cath in turn left the choice up to Wally stating she didn’t care, as long as it was white.  When the Scotts arrived home that day they possessed two new charges; Ebony the white kitten and Ivory the black. 

On their return to Clevedon from Disneyland all the ideas and all the chat were transposed onto paper which in turn were stabilised into final plans to lay before the local body. It took almost six months of Wallace’s dexterity with the tools to convert the three outbuildings at 17 Blue Gum Lane into a well presented and fully functional lodge for a maximum of ten feline guests. In that way Wally’s Kitty Kages became history and Familiar Surroundings at Catshaven - proprietors Catherine and Wallace Scott, became a going concern the day the council inspector visited for the last time and ticked all the boxes. There was no fanfare for the opening on the last day of November. That first day of that first week of business was as flat as any business could be; nil tenancy and despite the expectancy of  a strong advertising campaign the response suggested conditions would remain  that way. Cath and Wallace were glum when thinking they had made a mistake, but Geoffrey Scott, Joe’s elder brother strongly believed otherwise. Geoff was an IT consultant and copywriter for an advertising agency in Invercargill, sixteen hundred kilometres south. Once the cattery had been approved he put an advertising programme into place that involved YouTube and a website that linked with every veterinary surgeon’s practice in Auckland. Geoff didn’t pull any punches with his visual presentations and virtual tour of Cath’s haven for cats. With his skills he was able to display to full advantage the full facility of ten personalised mini cabins, Kitty Kages, and a large outdoor caged pussy-play area.  The feature of a collection and delivery service with Wallace engaged as duty driver was an added option designed to appeal to the moneyed group of clientele at whom the pet sitting was targeted.

‘Relax mum. Don’t worry. It will happen. You need to be patient,’ were Geoff’s words of comfort on the phone. So why did they worry?

Ten days prior to Christmas the phone rang early at Catshaven and the first booking was confirmed for fourteen days through to January 6. Excitement all around and when the web site came alive with inquiry confidence returned. The timing could not have been better when with two days remaining on the calendar before Christmas Eve eight of the ten berths were booked for the festive season with inquiry adopting an easy flow. A merry Christmas that year for the Scotts was not entirely dependent upon the success of Familiar Surroundings,  nor the return from the United Kingdom of younger son Joe  in time for his twenty second birthday. Just as rewarding was the satisfaction achieved from the response of  the cat lovers of South Auckland who rejoiced in the introduction of a reliable cat motel on their patch. At the end of the first month and at the height of summer season, the flashing red neon No Vacancy sign above 17a Blue Gum Lane became a regular feature. This brought Wallace’s tools and timber into play once more as his 1937 Austin Seven was evicted from its new home to retain its status of work in progress when placed under covers at the rear of the property. In less time than it took to get building consent from council Wallace and recently qualified builder/carpenter son Joe converted the old garage into a replica of the initial cat lodge.  With the Easter break high on the horizon Cath Scott’s brain child was capitalising comfortably on its double potential with a seventy five per cent tenancy easily achieved most times. Almost suddenly this became hard work for one lady on her own and did not allow Wallace much time for golf.

In the two years that passed Familiar Surroundings became a qualified success in the world of the cat loving elite and Wallace Scott was afforded more time for the long game when the services of retired merchant seaman Bart Fielding were acquired. His position as part time general dog’s body oversaw the hands-on everyday running of the business; feeding, cleaning, grooming and mucking out and anything that was required to compliment a business that had found a special niche in the community. Cath Scott controlled administration, did the phones, website and bookings: Wallace Scott did as he was told.

Joe Scott? On reaching twenty four years of age he had become fully entrenched in a position with a prominent construction company in North Auckland. A little on the wild side he shared a flat with close school friend Errol Pankhurst with whom he had completed his apprenticeship in the building trade. Since graduating the two had formed a stronger relationship which led to them packing in the second row of the same scrum of the local rugby club side. Both were loose forwards who knew how to run, tackle and control a ball. Two nights of training each week and the big game on Saturday kept a busy lad busy, but gave Joe no cause to neglect his mum and dad. Most Sundays he spent at Clevedon, often with a sleep over to leave early Monday for his work on the North Shore. It became customary for him to front up for Sunday dinner depending upon the result of the game the night before and the result of the after match function in the club rooms.

With no regular female commitment it was common practice for him to score off the field as well as on, but he was wary of a serious relationship.  He had all the attributes of an eligible bachelor and he knew it; twenty four years old, strikingly handsome, a good sense of humour and particularly fit, an ingredient that led to his success on the rugby field. With the rugby season almost complete he was up there with the leading try scorers for his club and was on notice for a North Island/South Island trial. Joe loved rugby and avoided affording distractions as he constantly dreamed of pulling on the black jersey, but was hesitant to surrender his amateur status for he had a keen interest in construction work and was particularly good at what he did. His employers had great respect for him while enjoying the publicity their company received through his sporting profile. They were happy to tolerate Joe’s time away from the job with the predictable rugby injury. Rugby is a tough contact sport at any time. His visits to A&E were that frequent he often joked the staff thought he worked there, but the torn ligaments, sprains and hamstring strains that were par for the course paled into insignificance when compared to the Pott’s fracture he received to his right ankle one weekend. Trapped in the ruck he felt the pain sear through him as his leg was trapped and his foot over extended at an oblique angle beneath a tumble of players. This was an injury that ended his season and laid him off work for fourteen weeks. This was a serious injury that could have ended a promising career, but not the worst.  Bad, but it got worse.

Joe took to the field again wearing the number seven jersey in the sixth game of the new season. He had been declared fully fit and once more could run like the wind. With ten minutes to go on the clock and with his team down by four points he steamed into a head high tackle on his opponents’ twenty two that finished his rugby career for good. The cervical disc prolapsed between C3, C4 and C5 vertebrae came near to ending his life and subjected him to a full year’s surgery and physiotherapy. The opinion of the medical team was he was more than fortunate to walk again as he did within eighteen months of receiving the horrific injury. No more rugby and a career in the building trade still marginal; that was the prognosis. This was a bitter blow and for Joe it meant returning home to mum and dad.

Chapter 4

REHABILITATION FOR Joe was a hard pill to swallow. He had always prided himself on his physical fitness, but though walking and moving reasonably well after a year it was soon clear his body had lost condition. As happens in crisis families pull together and the tightening ties that bound ensured brother Geoff in the South Island wasn’t left out of the equation. Geoff had become a regular visitor prior to Joe’s accident in support of their mother Cath who had been feeling the combined pressure of work and the stress of Joe’s predicament. This was a good thing. With the two brothers reunited they were able to share ideas. The thirty month age difference had created a gap between them as youngsters with Geoff hell bent on becoming a man and Joe moving into his teens..  They had become almost strangers when Geoff moved to the south Island and the brotherhood weakened more when Joe embarked on an overseas experience to the United Kingdom.

The miracle of Joe’s injury was that after months flat on his back his prognosis became more positive than his surgeon would have dared to predict. His torso gained strength and freedom of movement and the pain that had nagged at his senses day and night gradually decreased until without him realising it became a side issue and bearable. Geoff became a more regular visitor and the brothers who were growing together and now shared everything, shared the biggest problem to confront them since Joe’s injury. They were fishing together from the rocks at Orere Point, a good channel there for snapper where  inherent knowledge of the tides from their youth was providing the expected reward. Two problems, one not really a problem, only that it created a third. Geoff unloaded his good news/bad news first as he revealed he and his wife  had sold their home in Invercargill and were relocating to the UK where a prominent position in advertising awaited him with a leading agency.  It was a huge decision; one not to be ignored. Geoff anticipated a minimum of five years in London.

Problems? Strange occurrences in recent times had been confirmed by doctors to be the onset of Alzheimer’s Syndrome in the fine mind of their mother Cath. Forgetfulness had been treated as a joke in the first instances of confused bookings and indecision. It was their father Wallace who, fearing the worst confronted the problem face on and sought medical advice that confirmed something they all dreaded.  With fishing forgotten the time was now for the boys to make decisions in which dad Wallace should have been involved, but in an instant the obvious solution to the problem leapt into Joe’s mind. Any thought of continuing in the building trade was dispelled as he seized on the idea of relieving his mother of the responsibility of running the cattery by taking charge of the place himself. There was nothing that could relieve the anxiety of his mother’s illness, but time spent together in family bonding was an opportunity to be grasped; and grasp it he did. He was already familiar with the structure of the business and the uncomplicated system enabled him to gradually ease the workload from her shoulders without her realising the decision had been made. 

It was hard for the boys to watch their mother fade as they doubled the frustration and pain felt by Wallace, being powerless to halt a natural progression that had the memories of yesterday occupying the blank spaces in Cath Scott’s mind. As the days passed she slipped further into the past with those she loved not knowing they were saying goodbye. When it was time for Geoff to depart to London he and Joe were torn apart by the realisation the mother they loved had left the scene long before. The flesh and blood hologram remaining that had given her sons life was in truth a shell that existed only in memory and grasped feebly at recollections of the past. Wallace remained strong as most of his waking hours were spent sitting with her, reading and singing to her until the day arrived when he agreed the time was right for her to be taken into care. It was hard for him to accept that the beautiful woman with whom he had chosen to share his life was growing more poker-faced and unresponsive with each dawn.

By this time Joe and Bart easily controlled the business; this playful idea, this pipe dream of Cath Scott that had been brought to fruition to gross one hundred and ninety five thousand dollars by the end of its first year. This was a big toy which as it continued to grow demonstrated the need for more staff. Unbelievably Familiar Surroundings had mushroomed out of proportion into an attractive going concern, but nothing that was unmanageable by Joe and his associate Bart. With Cath in hospice care Wallace lost direction in his life. His mood changed and his outlook on his future dimmed.

Cath had been in care six months and Geoff barely domiciled in London when with the big rugby game of the weekend due to kick off father and son became seated in armchairs in front of the big screen to catch the action. The half time break had the two arguing over who would make the coffee with Joe drawing the short straw. They continued to talk with voices raised from kitchen to lounge as Joe brewed and piled a plate with ham sandwiches.

‘Five minutes,’ shouted his dad across the racket of the commercials. ‘They are coming out now.’

Joe returned to the lounge in time for kick-off, balancing the tray of refreshments on one open palm and feeding a sandwich into his face with the other. He noticed his dad had dozed off, as was normal for him and Joe decided not to wake him as the second half began. A few minutes into the half he became aware there had been no movement from the still form opposite and he hurriedly crossed the distance between them to find it was too late to panic. He knew instantly his father was dead. Joe’s desperate efforts to resuscitate him were in vain. His dad was no more. God! Joe loved his dad. There had always been a special bonding between them. What was he going to do?

These were sad days in Clevedon.  Geoff arrived on an emergency flight from England soon enough for the brothers to share their grief. Their visits to their mother in the hospice served only to add to their woes with mum Cath chatting spasmodically to her sons while not understanding who they were and both agreed words would have been wasted when trying to convey details of her husband’s death. It was a frustrated Geoff who a week following his dad’s funeral boarded a plane to return to the UK. It was a difficult time.

Geoff said. ‘Sell the business.’

Joe said, ‘No. I’ll run it. I need it. I need to do something and mum would want that.’

Wally Scott was sadly missed in the area and the abundance of cards of condolence that arrived was strongly supported by the large number of friends and ex-workmates who packed into the local church to farewell someone special. Joe read each bereavement card with a warm, sick feeling in his stomach, but felt proud his dad had attracted so much love and respect in his lifetime. Joe wasn’t one for wearing his heart on his sleeve. These cards weren’t for display in his lounge. He didn’t need a daily reminder that his dad was dead. They went into a shoe box and were stashed in a sideboard. They were precious and would be treasured for future moments of nostalgia.

Geoff hadn’t delayed his return to witness the reading of the will which in the first instance awarded everything Wallace owned to Cath, with one exception. Joe was overcome with emotion when he found he now owned a vintage Austin Seven wreck. Wallace had appointed Joe as sole executor of his estate, as had Cath for when it should apply. Joe also, had been granted enduring power of attorney over his mother’s affairs on the occurrence of his father’s death and each son was aware her estate was to be divided between them at the end of her life. This was a distasteful predicament for each of the brothers and Geoff had returned to the UK making it clear he wanted nothing to do with the estate and was content to leave all decisions to Joe.

‘Just do what you want Joe. Keep the house, or sell it. The business? Do what you want. You decide. June and I have more than a few bob. We are okay. Whatever you do is good with me. Remember, everything at Blue Gum is yours. That’s the deal. You’ve earned it. ’

Geoffrey Scott flew out of Auckland convinced he had said goodbye to his mother for the last time. He and his brother had openly discussed a situation they felt was capable of destroying them. Both were torn apart by the tragic circumstances, but their kinship held them together and each understood clearly the feelings of the other. The circumstances of his father’s death became indelibilised in Joe’s brain for weeks as his vain attempts to erase the vision of the still form in his favourite chair weakened. It was ironic to think that he had lost the two things most dear to him in so short a time; his father and his football. 

Police and ambulance were quick to the scene that fateful night and it had been 4am before Joe was allowed the privilege of his own company which he wanted badly, having reluctantly agreed for the removal of his dad to where? The mortuary! What an horrific thought.  It was dawn before the first of two phone calls served to ease Joe from the wave of depression and confusion that engulfed him. Bart Fielding lived two blocks away and responded immediately to the sad news he received down the line. His grief was as strong as Joe’s.  He and Wallace had known each other for a decade, since Bart jumped ship at Auckland’s waterfront when deciding on a fresh life in New Zealand. He had fitted in well at the cattery since becoming part of the team. On that grey day in Clevedon he and Joe shared their grief over a pot of coffee as the ex-seaman offered a solution to the immediate problem of servicing the ninety per cent occupancy of Kitty Kages with a depleted staff.

Action was required to maintain the efficiency of the business without inconveniencing clients. From 10.30am onwards owners would be arriving to collect their pets and fresh owners likewise would be dropping off their loved ones. Bart’s command of the situation was masterful and he immediately eased the problem with one phone call to his partner Gene Forbes. Gene and Bart had been in a relationship since Gene had taken voluntary retirement from his position as cabin crew for Air New Zealand. The term cabin crew for Gene in essence was a loose description for one who had held a Pursership for First Class travel for eighteen years, but at fifty eight years of age and on becoming involved with Bart he took the offered redundancy and retired very comfortably into the arms of his shipwrecked lover. It took one brief phone call and in very little time the tall, lean gentleman arrived on Joe’s doorstep with a willingness to become involved. The shock of his father’s sudden death had kept Joe awake and now the overwhelming tiredness, a residue of thirty six hours without sleep gripped him and took its toll. Bart and Gene left him sleeping while they took control of the normal activities of a busy Sunday at Familiar Surroundings.

Joe slept from mid morning until around three in the afternoon. He awoke distressed to find his two friends sad, but completely in control with the cattery running smoothly; no problems. Gene was in control of reception and was able to advise of new bookings that continued to be confirmed on the website. Everything was functioning  normally, but nothing could be the same again. Joe wandered out to the cabins to find Bart