The Fall Ch. 05

It had been a normal Saturday morning until the phones started ringing. Cyril had been trying to consume a sufficient amount of painkillers to get through the morning. Lydia was cleaning the kitchen. Dylan was over, doing a few hour's work.

First off was a client of Lydia's. They wanted her to do something for her by Monday morning. She argued that she'd already done the job to their specifications, and they said yes, yes, but now we've changed our mind and we accept we'll have to pay you again, so please do it. Lydia assured them that so long as they were acknowledged they'd have to pay, she'd be happy to do it, but the tone of voice she'd used was so light and carefree that Cyril knew she was feeling murderous.

Then Cyril's phone rang. It was Matt, from the O'Sullivan's farm. He wanted to know if Cyril knew where he might be able to reach Dylan McGarvey.

'What do you want him for?' Cyril inquired brusquely.

'Combine harvester is playing up and bugalugs is still on his honeymoon. He's the one who usually fixes it. I thought Dylan might be able to get it going.'

Cyril stared at Dylan, who was moving irrigators into place in the lucerne field. He was a hard worker, that kid.

'He's over here,' Cyril admitted reluctantly. If Dylan left now, fuck knows when he'd be back, and Cyril needed the man's help. There were some things Lydia just couldn't do. 'How urgent is that harvester problem of yours?'

'Oh, it's pretty good,' Matt confessed.

Cyril understood this to mean 'it's extremely urgent, sorry mate'. The rest of the day's work would have to wait. Cyril told Matt he'd let Dylan know they required his assistance, and ambled over to the boy.

Dylan frowned when he heard the news. He wasn't a heavy machinery mechanic. Sure, he could fix a lot of tractors, but it always took him longer than someone who was appropriately qualified, and he'd made mistakes more than once. People only came to him when the problem was simple, or they couldn't get a booking with their regular mechanic, or they were short of cash and needed someone who wasn't going to ask for payment.

'I reckon you might want to head over,' Cyril said.

Dylan looked around the property. His face was tight and he looked worried.

'Everything all right?' Cyril asked, concerned.

'Yeah, yeah,' Dylan replied distractedly. 'Shit's just starting to bank up. Here, home, work. I haven't been to see my parents in weeks. I'll figure it out.'

Cyril knew he shouldn't be putting so much pressure on the kid. The overwork was largely his fault. If only good workers were easier to come by. That was the problem these days; they weren't. There was all of that mining going on in Toowoomba. Young kids could make better money there than they could working on farms.

Cyril wondered when he was going to die. This whole passing away business was taking longer than he'd anticipated. Lydia had been here, what, six weeks? And it wasn't looking as if she'd be going anytime soon.

Before Cyril could say anything further, Dylan remarked that he wouldn't mind getting a drink before they headed off. It seemed implicit that Cyril would go with him. Staying with Lydia was hardly an option. She was thumping angrily at her keyboard and grunting and sighing tiredly at what she obviously felt was an unwanted intrusion into her weekend.

They arrived at the farm and headed straight to the big shed. Inside, Matt and Alan were delving into the bowels of the harvester and muttering dark curses at it. Dylan and Cyril's presence was welcomed, even when Dylan told the men not to get too excited - he wasn't confident he could fix it.

Matt and Cyril both took a seat while Alan attempted to explain to Dylan what the problem was. Alan was deeply vexed. His long running feud with Kyle was well known, and it clearly irked him to realise that Kyle could do something that he could not.

'How's it all going?' Matt asked Cyril.

Cyril lit a cigarette and gazed at Dylan. 'Good. Lydia's in a foul mood. One of her clients rang this morning and wanted something changed and on their desk by Monday morning. The boy was helping me with the irrigation when you rang.'

Matt nodded thoughtfully. 'Funny how you can call 'em 'boy' if they're white, but not if they're black, huh? We had some African kid, dark as the night working here for the past few weeks while Kyle's been gone. Jason called him 'boy' and Anna pulled him up on it. Said to call him by his name, but how'd he know he was welcome if we did that?'

It was as much a mystery to Cyril. 'Lydia might know,' he suggested. 'She normally knows stuff like that. I'll give her a ring.'

But Lydia was unimpressed both with his call and his question. She said; 'Jesus fucking Christ, Cyril, do you really need to be told?' and hung up before he had a chance to try and explain.

Matt and Cyril turned their attention to the two younger men. They were obviously in agreement about something, because they were muttering to each other while they stared at something. All Cyril could see was two fat hairy arses poking out the tops of their jeans.

'So what's the problem?' Matt asked them. 'You boys figured it out yet?'

'Yeah, reckon we have,' Dylan said. 'Now comes the fun part; finding the part we need at this time on a Saturday.'

Dylan and Alan went outside and started calling around suppliers. It was eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning. Most places would close by twelve. Living out here could be impractical at times. There was none of that racing to the local store business going on.

Alan struck gold and begged and pleaded with a dealer to stay open until they arrived. They'd pay cash, plus extra for the inconvenience of waiting for them if they weren't there by normal close of business. The dealer agreed, and Matt was promptly despatched to go and pick up what was required, while Dylan and Alan did the prep work.

All of a sudden, Cyril was wracked with pain. His face drained of blood and he coughed haggardly. Fucking cancer. There was no grace about it. It just took and took of a man's dignity until he was wondering what was left to wait for.

'You want to go and wait in the big house?' Alan asked him. 'Ed's in town today, so Anna will probably enjoy the company.'

Cyril nodded wordlessly. The pain was so intense he couldn't talk. He needed to take some morphine and sit in a cool, air conditioned house for a while.

Alan drove him up to the big house and helped him up the stairs. He was another good worker, Alan. Matt had once said he went to school with Kyle. Kyle's family had money, and a large farm. Alan's did not, so Alan came to work on the farm the day after leaving high school.

Everyone said Alan was the best farmer for thousands of miles. He just had that sixth sense about things. He could tell you the weather forecast for the rest of the year better than any meteorologist, and he always seemed to know what crops would sell for a good price. It had been a surprise to no one that he'd been promoted to Farm Manager a few years ago.

The problem was that he was jealous of Kyle. In his eyes, Kyle got everything handed to him on a plate, even though it sure didn't look that way to outsiders.

Ed had never been that fond of his son's ideas about doing business. He was an old school man. He liked using the same suppliers, voting for the same people, and selling to the same clients, year in, year out. It had worked when he was a kid, and when Cyril was a kid, but times were changing, a fact Ed didn't seem to grasp. Kyle understood business people, and he knew how to play their games. Father and son fought about it. Ed always won. Alan saw that as some kind of victory.

Cyril thought it was a shame. Together, Kyle and Alan could have made some very serious money. Instead, Ed fostered the pair's conflict, often playing one off against the other. He was a man who believed a little bit of insecurity made people work harder.

It certainly seemed to work on Alan. He easily worked sixty, seventy hours a week. Cyril thought that someone ought to explain to Alan the difference between working hard enough and working too hard, and understanding who was the enemy and who was the friend. He himself might have said it if he hadn't been so short of breath.

Alan deposited him at the kitchen table, and Anna came and poured him a glass of water. She put ice in the water, and a sprig of mint, and the glass was crystal. The signs of wealth were everywhere. Cyril thought of Alan, single and nearing forty, living in a rundown shack on the property, working his arse off for a man who still played silly games with him. The man was a fool. He should have left years ago. Other property owners would pay him far more handsomely for his skills.

'So how are they coming along with the harvester?' Anna inquired.

Cyril swallowed a handful of pills. 'They reckon they know what the problem is. Matt's been sent to Dalby for parts.'

'And you? How are you?'

Cyril lied and said he was fine. He asked her about her health and she lied, too. She had brain cancer. It was inoperable, and had failed to respond to non-surgical treatments. The doctors wanted to keep trying. Anna did not. The futile attempts at shrinking the cancer had left her emotionally and physically exhausted. She knew, deep down, that God was calling her. She was just waiting things out.

Her cancer wasn't a secret to everyone, but it was to most. Cyril knew about it only because they kept running into each other in the oncology ward in Toowoomba. Lydia knew now, and Dylan, but Anna's children and the farm workers did not. That was the way she wanted it, and he respected that.

Ten minutes later, Cyril was still in pain. He reached for his packet of cigarettes and removed a joint.

'I'll be back in a minute,' he told Anna, intending to go to the back deck and get stoned.

'No, stay here,' she said. 'If you stay inside, I can share that with you. If you go outside, I can't, just in case someone sees.'

'It's not a cigarette, Anna.'

'I know that.'

He wasn't in the mood to share, so he handed her a joint to have to herself. They got baked together in silence, tapping their ash into one of her fancy blue and white teacups. He stared thoughtfully at her as she smoked.

Anna O'Sullivan nee Hennessy was not a country girl. She'd been a primary school teacher, sent out to do her country service, and had met Edward O'Sullivan. She was a very smart lady. If she'd been part of Lydia's generation, she probably would have got herself a professional career and would never have stepped foot out here.

These days, she looked the part. Her dark blonde hair was perfectly styled but her skin was darkly tanned and she was dressed conservatively in a khaki skirt and a pink and white striped blouse. She looked her age, but at the same time, she looked good for her age. There was no pretence going on.

'What did you think of the wedding?' she asked.

'Food was good. That's about all I paid attention to,' he said apologetically.

She smiled and refilled their water glasses. 'Ask a silly question, expect a silly answer.'

'Did it all go well from your end?'

'Oh, perfectly, I think. Cora was radiant.' She rested her chin on her hands and stared past Cyril, out the kitchen window. 'She's such a lovely girl. She loves it out here, and she's so keen to have children. It' sad to think I'll be gone before they come along.'

'This dying thing is a funny business,' Cyril agreed.

'It's odd how fixated you become on putting your affairs in order. I was pulling all of the boxes out of the spare room last week and dusting each box off. I couldn't stop until it was all done. I had to make sure everything was clean.' She paused. 'I'm glad I found Kyle a wife. I worry about him.'

Cyril didn't know if she was talking about her son's alcoholism, his disputes with Alan, or his sexual perversions, so he didn't respond.

'You know, don't you?' she challenged him. 'Everyone does. I've known for years. When he was twenty they ran him off the road. It was his Neal's uncle who did it. He rode home on his trail bike. His leg was broken, his ribs were broken, and he was missing his front teeth. They didn't need to do that. They didn't need to take it so far.'

'What'd he do to provoke that?'

She gave him a funny look. 'There are things a mother doesn't want to know about her son, Cyril.'

'So you don't know?'

She sighed. 'He bought a...a, I don't know what you call it, a paddle I suppose. Asked Neal's mother to hit him with it.'

Cyril would have laughed, but she was quite evidently upset, so he lit a cigarette. Jesus Christ her kid was weird. But not, he conceded, worth running off the road. He was harmless, just a bit odd in the head, and he said as much to her.

'Edward used to worry he was gay,' Anna said.

Cyril snorted. 'He's not that.'

'How can you tell?' she asked curiously. 'Matt was always adamant he was straight, too.'

Cyril shrugged. 'You just can. He's queer in a whole other way.'

Anna poured herself a gin and tonic, and offered him one. He declined and stuck to his water. He wasn't in the mood for alcohol.

'Lydia drinks that,' he said, gesturing to her glass. 'Only she likes the Bombay Sapphire.'

Anna sipped her drink. 'I've heard she likes alcohol as much as Kyle does.'

'Probably more,' he corrected. 'Kyle was never a fall down drunk, was he? Lydia is.'

'Kyle was always a quiet drinker,' she agreed.

Cyril tapped the ash from his cigarette into the blue and white teacup. 'I was hoping Dylan might help sort Lyddy out, but she's too far gone. Still, he helps me with her when she's really drunk. He calms her down.'

'He's a good man.'

They sat in quiet, contemplative, silence. They were both dying. They both had problem relatives. They were both scared of what might become of them after they'd passed.

Neither Lydia nor Kyle were bad people. Odd people, certainly, but not bad.

'Where do you get the weed from?' Anna asked.

'Lydia or Dylan. Lydia's is better. She tells me she gets it from the internet.'

'Really?' Anna was intrigued. 'I wonder if they ship out here.'

'They do. She gets it sent to my house.' He picked up his phone. 'I should call her and ask her how she does it.'

'Please do. I'm feeling better than I have in months.'

Cyril dialled Lydia's number. It rung three times before she answered. He put her on speaker phone and told her he had a question.

'Please don't tell me you're interrupting me again to talk about black people,' she warned.

Anna stared at him incredulously. Cyril ignored her.

'Don't be silly,' he barked at the phone. 'I'm here with Anna O'Sullivan. She wants to know how to buy marijuana.'

~~~~~~~~~~

'Hey stranger,' Kyle greeted, crouching next to Dylan. 'I got you something.'

Kyle placed a heavy box of newspaper wrapped parts on the floor. There were door handles, rear tail light, a rear view mirror and several other Valiant parts that he'd collected for Dylan while on his honeymoon.

'Kyle. Thanks,' Dylan said. He glanced over at the box. 'Did he give you any grief?'

He shook his head. 'Not really. He was just a bit confused.'

The man Kyle had gone to buy the parts off had had dementia and a yard full of old cars in various stages of wrecking. It had taken him a few attempts to communicate why he was there, but half an hour into the visit the old man's mind seemed to kick into gear and the rest of the transaction had been seamless.

Dylan stood up and sprayed degreaser on his hands. He reached for an old rag and wiped it off. He'd had Lydia's car for the better part of two months now and he still wasn't finished with it. Something always seemed to crop up. He was tired. He'd fallen asleep in the shower last night. It was a silly thing to do when you were on a tank water and in the middle of a dry, hot summer. He'd had to call the water truck in this morning. There was no way he had enough left to hold him until the next lot of rain came.

'How was your honeymoon?' Dylan inquired.

'Yeah, can't complain. You've been on one. You know the score.'

'I went on a honeymoon with a dyke. I wouldn't rate it,' Dylan snorted. 'What a waste of fucking money. I asked Cyril what he paid for Suchada the other week. I realised that for the cost of my wedding and honeymoon I could have paid for all the sex Michelle gave me over the years, and then some.'

'Who's Suchada?'

'Some Thai bird he pays for a root every Thursday night.'

Kyle laughed. 'That dirty old bastard.'

Dylan grinned. 'He is. He's fucking shocking.' He went to the fridge. 'You want a beer?'

Kyle nodded. 'Sure.'

They went and sat outside on a couple of old milk crates and drank their beers. Dylan tried not to look at his property. It needed serious attention. He just needed the time. Everything was falling apart.

'Hey, can you remember my buck's night?' Kyle asked casually. 'When we were talking about where Lydia was from?'

'Yeah mate. Why?'

'I asked you if I thought she was lying about where she was from. It was one of those statements that come out without really thinking, and it was only after I said it that I realised it was out of line. I didn't mean to offend you.'

'You didn't. I initially thought the same thing.' He took a sip of beer. 'I sort of figured I was probably just a distraction for her while she was out here caring for Cyril.'

'He's got to be a handful. Good on her for keeping him in line.'

'She's very good with him,' Dylan agreed. 'He pays out on her all the time, but he's really pleased she's here.'

They sat in silence for a while. It was very peaceful here, and the two of them had never needed to keep talking all of the time to feel comfortable. They'd been mates a long time. Dylan had known Kyle hadn't had any ill intent behind the question about Lydia's truthfulness. He hadn't needed to apologise.

'You struggling to keep up with everything?' Kyle asked.

Dylan laughed humourlessly. 'How did you guess?'

Kyle gestured to the field of rye. It desperately needed spraying. Weeds were coming up everywhere. Then there was the chemical delivery that had arrived this week. It was still sitting, unpacked, out the front of the shed. No doubt Kyle had also seen the hay in the field to the left as he'd driven down to the shed. It had been cut and turned, but not yet baled.

'Yeah mate,' Dylan agreed. 'It's fucked. I can't say no to Cyril, though, and last year was a tough one for a lot of folks. They can't afford to pay anyone for repairs... I've been doing a few favours... I should probably say 'no', but I remember all the help my parents got during the lean years.'

Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. 'I need to be off, but this weekend's free. What time do you want me Saturday morning?'

'You fucking kidding me? What time can you be here?'

'When the sun's up?'

'Sounds good mate. Thanks. I really, really appreciate it.'

Kyle shrugged and stood up. 'We owe you a few. I heard a rumour Tallen came by and you fixed his car.'

Dylan nodded. Tallen was Kyle's middle son, the one who was addicted to ice. He lived in Toowoomba with his girlfriend and their kid and his appearance had surprised Dylan. He must've been desperate. 'Yeah. Needed some work done on his transmission.'

'That's not a small job. Did he pay you?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'It does,' Kyle corrected. He handed Dylan a cheque. 'That's for fixing the harvester. My old man gives his thanks. You saved our arses. Text me with what the work on Tallen's car was worth. I'll bring the cash on Saturday.'

Kyle left, and Dylan left to visit Lydia. He was actually on his way when she called and told him not to bother. She was taking Cyril to hospital, and didn't know when they'd be home. He told her to let him know where things were up to.