Photos and Other Short Stories

By Mary Brooks

This is a collection of short stories mostly reflecting everyday life and its vicissitudes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Nov 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499029352

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Copyright © 2014 by Mary Brooks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/25/2014

Xlibris

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Contents

Maintenance

Marriage for Life

Mason

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Mrs Generosity

My Friend Ian

Oh No!

Once in a Lifetime

Photos

Presentation Day

Promises

Sad Four

Savannah

Shoplifting

Six Beers and Three Iron Nails

Soccer Story

Sudoku

Sue May

Summer Holiday

T’ai Chi

The Artist

The Ashes

The BBQ

The Car

The Cleaner

The End of Spring

The Gale

The Garden

Water Lilies

The Honeymoon

The Market

Breast Cancer

The Trek

The Trenches

The Trip

November 25, 2012

Maintenance

I had been a lawyer for six months and worked for a big firm which handled family law—mainly divo rces. I had spent a long time doing research and recently started accompanying one of the partners to the law court. Most divorce cases are quite sad, and many were full of animosity or vitriolic anger.

The first case I actually participated in was about a twelve-year-old boy, for whom it was being determined whether he would like to live with his mother or his father. This case was particularly difficult as the father now lived in Darwin, and the mother in Sydney.

The judge gave his mother custody. I then accompanied him out of court while arrangements were made for the father to have access during the school holidays, Christmas, birthdays, et cetera. There was no fighting over this, just a sad resignation and finality. I think the father knew the answer before the judge had decided as Kevin was a rather immature twelve-year-old who had clung to his mother during the past few months of uncertainty and who was very reluctant to leave all his friends and family supports in Sydney. His father held out hope that he might change his mind as he grew older. There was no argument about the division of assets as this had been amicably settled before the custody hearing.

A few weeks later, I took part in another case. Amanda, a woman of fifty-eight, lived alone while her husband worked up north in the mines. Quite unexpectedly, he had filed for divorce, and Amanda was panic-stricken. Her twenty-eight-year-old son and thirty-three-year-old daughter and three-year-old granddaughter had just decided to move back home with her once they saw that their father had left, and she now faced the prospect of losing her home and the four of them having to find somewhere else to live. The son and daughter did not like their father and also had little regard for their mother’s welfare. They paid no rent, rarely bought food, and expected her to look after them as she had when they were very much younger. The son had only moved out of the family home two months ago to board with friends and really had no idea on managing his money. The daughter’s de facto relationship had broken down some time ago when her partner, a real good-for-nothing, left her and disappeared.

Their father had never earned much as a cleaner, and although his salary was now fantastic, he sent his wife only a modest amount for housekeeping. Amanda had never worked after they married and had been a mother and home manager. She now found it difficult to keep house with four people living there.

The house itself was forty years old and still had quite a large mortgage as the husband had borrowed against the mortgage to build an extension for his son about fifteen years ago when the teenager had become quite unmanageable and contrary. The house had a big patio, which they had closed in some years ago, and this had become the three-year-old’s bedroom and playroom and was always littered with toys. The toys and the little girl’s expansive wardrobe had swallowed up a large amount of her mother’s income while she worked in a dry-cleaner’s shop, but last year her mother had gone back to TAFE. Her grandmother loved her but was annoyed that her own daughter expected her to babysit all the time. Although her daughter had showered the three-year-old with material things, she had neglected her emotionally, so Amanda had taken it upon herself to provide the security and loving environment that a three-year-old needed and deserved.

The house had three bedrooms in the main part, plus the extension, where her son lived. It really needed painting, and the kitchen and bathroom were old-fashioned and could have done with an upgrade some years ago if the husband had not been such a miser.

Amanda was angry that her husband sent her such a minimal amount of housekeeping money as she knew he was now making very good money and had already put a deposit on one of the expensive local houses. Amanda also knew he was often holidaying overseas and gambling heavily as he had neglected to have his bank statements redirected to his new address. He had run up an extensive bill on his two credit cards, and when the divorce was suddenly announced, Amanda was concerned about the bills and the effect they would have on the division of property. She had been aware for years that he loved playing Texas Poker on the Internet, and when she saw the money coming in and leaving so suddenly from his bank account, she also wondered if he was salting some away elsewhere so she could not touch it.

When her husband offered to divide the property seventy–thirty in her favour, I told Amanda this appeared quite generous, but she was very worried about the credit card bills and the possibility of money hidden away out of sight. She knew there was still a big mortgage, and her husband insisted that she sold the house so he could get his share in a hurry. It would not sell readily because of the repairs and upgrades it needed. Whichever way she looked at the problem, there was nothing encouraging she could see.

A mediation meeting was due this Friday via phone link-up. Amanda was distraught and felt her family were no support to her. As her lawyer, I could only insist that her husband explain where the money he earned had gone.

It seemed to me that the best things for her to do when she received her share of the property was to invest in a small over-fifties unit and hope there would be enough equity in the home to pay for it. Her son and daughter would have to find alternative accommodation.

If her husband was forced to provide her with spousal maintenance—as he very well should do—this would be very helpful for Amanda. Otherwise, she would have to survive on a newstart allowance until she was old enough for the age pension, and she would probably have to find some work.

Amanda became incredibly depressed and anxious. The conciliation meeting was postponed and then postponed yet again. She felt she couldn’t cope any longer and went to see her family doctor. After a long talk, Amanda was referred for psychological counselling and commenced on a low dose of an antidepressant. It was the same one she had taken many years ago for postnatal depression.

The following week, I sent her an urgent message. Her husband wanted the divorce finalised quickly and, in return, agreed to $100,000 as spousal maintenance, plus 70 per cent of the house’s sale proceeds. He demanded it be sold as soon as possible, and he already had a quote for $400,000. The mortgage was $250,000, so Amanda would receive 70 per cent of $150,000—in other words, $115,000. Amanda had already investigated several retirement villages and had enough to put down the deposit and pay off a good part of the cost, and with the spousal maintenance, the bank was ready to lend her the rest.

I was thrilled for her with this outcome, and she readily agreed to the divorce and the settlement. No one really knew if the husband did have a Swiss bank account or whether he had gambled away all this money. Amanda did not care.

Whichever way, she knew her future was secure. I was happy with the outcome of my first divorce case.

August 3, 2012

Marriage for Life

‘A husband or wife is somewhat like a faithful dog. He or she is always glad to meet you when you come home, always happy to go for walks with you, always ready to play with you, knows when you are sad or just need company, and always gives you unconditional love.’

This was part of the speech I gave at my son’s wedding. I had based it on an email I had received a few days earlier. It seemed to fit well with the qualities that made a good marriage, and I wished sincerely for this to be a successful one. Sadly, so many marriages end prematurely.

A year later, my family had expanded—first, the daughter-in-law, Belle, and now the baby, Dorian. I am Nana, first-choice babysitter. It is so wonderful to have Dorian in my life. I only ever had two boys, and the other son lives in Italy. I live alone. My son Ian is an airline pilot, and I see him whenever he flies in back to Melbourne.

Joe is an architect with a big Melbourne firm, and he works four days a week, ten hours a day. He leaves home at 7 a.m. and catches a train to work, then is home by about 6 p.m. Dorian is more fortunate than other babies to have his father at home often.

My daughter-in-law, Belle, is a nurse, and she works in shifts. She also works four days a week, but her work hours change, so it is unpredictable when she will be home. Belle and Joe sometimes go out together for dinner or a movie or a show. Occasionally, they have a weekend away together, and sometimes this can be a three-day weekend—if their work hours match up, of course. This is all very important to tell you because now you will understand why I spend lots of time with Dorian, and he spends probably more hours than most children with his parents, Belle and Joe.

Dorian is ten months old now. He can sit up, crawl, and roll over.

I understand everything people say, though they don’t understand me yet, and I can nearly walk. If you put me behind my trolley full of bricks, I can push it along, walking quite well and using it to support me. Or if Nana, Daddy, or Mummy hold my two hands or even one, I can walk with them. Just watch me in a week or two.

Last night, Dad Joe and Mum Belle both came to Nana’s after work, and their timing was wrong because I was having a nap, so they stayed for dinner.

When I woke up, I heard them having one of those conversations where it sounds like one person really wants to win over the other one. It sounded so funny because there were just two voices, and then there were three; they were discussing colours. It was almost like calling a horse race.

‘Old Ivory’s coming down the straight, and Angel Kiss is coming up close behind. And here’s Spring Mist on the outside. And it’s Old Ivory, no, it’s Angel Kiss, no, here comes Spring Mist—and Angel Kiss is the winner!’

I called out to let them know I was awake and I wanted to join in the race too. Mum came in and made a big fuss because she hadn’t seen me since she left for work this morning, so I kissed her and let her change my nappy and carry me in to see Dad and Nana.

Now that Angel Kiss was the winner, they talked about supplies like rollers and tape and drop sheets and painting at the weekend.

‘Where are we painting? Where, where? Oh, the lounge room ceiling, OK. I thought it might be something interesting.’

Mum and Dad love doing things together, so I guess that means they’re happily married. I’m happy Nana minds me when they’re busy and will mind me while they’re painting. She has nice yogurt in her fridge, and she cooks apples and pears for me. She makes lovely scrambled eggs in the microwave and fruit toast. And she has some good toys too, especially the telephone that rings and has a circular dial thing, which she tells me is old-fashioned—whatever that is. But I don’t care because it is fun to turn the dial and watch it tinkle as it rolls back again.

When she comes to our place to play with me, we do lots of fun things. Last weekend at her place, we washed her little poodle, Smithy, and it was so much fun when he wriggled and shook himself, and we both got covered in splashes of water. Smithy licks me, and I can throw his ball now.