Coda by Thea Astley Read Free Book Online Page B

matter. No matter at all.’
    He knew and Alfred Lord T. knew exactly what he meant.
    He would observe Bimbo and Chaps home for what Bosie called the hols or later, the vac, wincing from her stagey pretentiousness that drove them inevitably into displays of boorish retroaction. Yet I am a natural lout, he would admit after sottish evenings. The boys have mygenes. Or half of them. You didn’t will their gawky insolence or sullen response to the best-will-in-the-world inquiries. You simply watched the bad manners prickle out like acne.
    Against which his wife waged increasingly refined battle, chiding them in vowels so ovate the boys paused physically within a smidgin of being flattened another way.
    Cor!
    1992.
    His marriage had endured two decades.
    They had moved north on the promise of nirvana. More hotel management in booming Reeftown, the man with the fake sincere glance had persuaded. Needs people like you. People of your calibre with get up and go. You can’t miss. Not these days. Not in this economic climate. Simply can’t miss.
    Could he not?
    PR for Reef Tours. That lasted longer. Bosie had chosen their house after cutting a swathe through soon-disaffected real estate agents—another year, another mortgage—at one of Reeftown’s northern beaches, a low-slung, rambling affair turned in on itself (
Like us
, Brain had hissed) and away from the street, the living room a spacious, roofed, unwalled affair surrounding a pool of extravagant blue. Bosie was ecstatic. There were parties parties parties, back-groundedby hi-fi joy from carbuncular speakers depending like enormous ripe plums from the pergola roof. ‘Or haemorrhoids,’ coarse Brain suggested, inspecting the completed work. ‘Brain!’ his wife had cried. ‘For God’s sake! Must you reduce …’
    The only thing Bosie failed at was words.
    More plans sprouted and withered. There were months of riches on paper followed by financial drought. Backers for improbable business projects came and went. They went bad-tempered. There were more parties and more dinners, more luncheons by the pool and in it. God! What a rage! There was political involvement followed by political accusation followed by withdrawal of funds.
    Twenty years’ endurance.
    Fair enough, was his summation. Fair enough. The boys were more or less self-sufficient except for those lean times when they reappeared with dollar signs in their eyes.
    â€˜You’re not the only one who wants freedom,’ Bosie had said bitterly. ‘Why do men think they are the only ones trapped? And the only ones entitled not to miss the great world out there, eh?’
    â€˜We’re both trapped, love.’ He was conscious of vast sadness for them both. ‘Both. I know exactly how you feel because it’s how Ifeel. It’s simply a question, isn’t it, of who’s going to be the first to make a break for the wall.’
    Bosie glanced up with suddenly fearful eyes. She was unequipped for any sort of career now, her pert good looks vanishing along with those outdated office skills she had once sported. She was fit only for counter-jumping. She mentioned these facts, ground them out reluctantly, acidly, the data of those decades.
    â€˜But why not?’ Brain was unfeeling. ‘Why not get a job?’
    â€˜There are no jobs, haven’t you noticed? It’s impossible to get a job even slinging hash. You damn well know that. I’ve spent years organising dinners and parties to foster your hare-brained projects and now I’m on the heap.’
    She hated admitting that, hated the pencillings of age that scrawled the indifferent interest of time.
    â€˜But you enjoyed them.’
    â€˜Enjoyed what?’
    â€˜The parties, those Goddamn endless dinners. You played at the sweet life. Why didn’t you get off your bum when the kids were at school and do a course? Retrain. Something. You had the bloody time.’
    There