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Roger waited till she’d taken a seat and then got down to business. “Do you want Hugh’s job?”
She nodded. She could feel adrenaline jittering in her body. She’d had hundreds of conversations with Roger, none so important to her future. “I do.”
“It’d be a big career jump for you.”
“Same kind of jump Hugh made.” Argh, that sounded aggressive, defensive, despite being true.
Roger smiled. “He said the same thing.” He leaned back in his big leather chair. “I owe you an apology, Foley. That amalgamation agenda had me running scared. I hired Gabriella in place of you and that was a mistake. She interpreted my interest in her experience in rather an odd way, in fact for a while there I thought she must’ve fancied me.” Roger grimaced. “Imagine that. My wife thought that was hysterical.” He shook his head.
“Anyway, after this last revelation, well, I can tell you confidentially I’ll be a
sking her to pack her bags. You’ll have to clean up her mess I’m afraid, your department has become dysfunctional. Then I want you in Hugh’s job, same conditions he has, you’ll start on a three month probation, but that’s a formality, I hope.”
He stood and walked around the desk. “Congratulations, Foley.” She stood to meet him and took his hand. “We’re going to make a great team.” If she’d been smiling any broader, she might’ve split her lip.
She was half out the door before he said, “What happened to our caveman? I know you tried to help him out.”
It was as if Roger hijacked her sun by mentioning Drum. Foley felt like she was suddenly stumbling in the dark. She pulled it together to say, “He left the area.”
Roger went back behind his desk. “Do you think he recovered from whatever put him in the cave?”
She shook her head. Drum had run from any chance to build a better life for himself. He’d been unable to face his father and his days were ruled by guilt and mental imbalance. She tried not to think about how he’d discarded her. She hated him for not being stronger, for not being prepared to try a different way.
And then she hated herself for thinking that way, the way his father did.
She tried not to think about him. She missed him. She mourned him. But mostly she still loved him.
34: A New Edge
Drum booked into a hotel. A two star near the railway, a cheap backpacker hotel, but still his appearance shocked them. They asked for the whole price of the room up front rather than a deposit and he didn’t quibble.
When he put cash on the counter the desk clerk looked at him as if he’d rolled someone for the money, and when he got a good look at himself in the bathroom mirror, he laughed. The scraggy beard, the hair, the colour of his skin, the dirty looking, ill-fitting clothing. He looked like the down and out, the hobo, bum, the homeless hermit squatter he’d tried to be.
It was a wonder anyone had offered him an Anzac biscuit, or listened to his ravings, let alone agreed to hire him a room without charging him double.
He slept in a bed for the first time since the night with Foley and he hadn’t slept much that night. He slept sixteen hours, waking only once to send housekeeping away.
He went out the next morning and got a haircut and a shave, bought moisturiser to take the wind-burned weathered look off his face. Then he hit a menswear store. He was their best customer in months. He outfitted himself top to toe. Shoes, socks, underwear, jeans, casual pants, a selection of shirts. He hovered over the ties. He’d always hated them. He left them off the growing mound of gear. But he added a suit. He’d still need one of those from time to time.
That was oddly exhausting, not only the amount of people he had to talk to but the noise and movement of the city. He went back to the hotel, ate a meal in their coffee shop and slept again.
On his second day of shopping he bought a laptop and a phone. The bustle didn’t get to him quite so badly, but he slept like he was on Circa that night again. It was dreamless and refreshing. He spent the morning setting up his new gear. He used his full name to set up with, but everywhere he could he defaulted to the user name Drum, adding the year, his age, when that wasn’t enough security.
After that it got harder. After that it was both less personal and more personal and he was more inclined to sit and read than get on with the plan. The plan might fail and if it did he’d be lost and running all over again.
There were things he could do without leaving his room. He spoke to his lawyer for the first time in two years. He refreshed his memory on how the trust was set up, the seven charities it provided a quarterly donation to, and what flexibility he had to make changes to that. He organised an allowance for himself. He’d need it if he was going to live a more normal life to go with his haircut and his new clothes, with his digital identity and his stumbling new ambition.
He phoned his real estate agent and gave him a new brief. He needed somewhere to live. Private, quiet. If possible with a view of the sea. He’d take a fixer-upper. He had a place in mind.
He might’ve been describing the cave, except he wanted walls, a roof, a kitchen. He wanted running water and heating. When it rained he wanted to stay dry. When he was thirsty he wanted something cold. He’d buy furniture the old-fashioned way, retail, after shopping for it, and stock his cupboards with supplies to last more than one day.
He hung up and anxiety put tight bands around his chest. It hurt to breathe.
The haircut, the clothes, the electronics, talking about the trust, they worried him less than the idea of a salary and property. He could walk away from possessions, give them away easily, like he gave away his earnings, but taking income from the success of Circa and having somewhere to be every night, somewhere to work from, and eat from, and feel connected to, that was a different kind of future.
It helped determine what kind of man he was going to be. One who could deal with the lack of absolutes, who managed all the variations of grey, one who was kind to others.
It no longer made sense to be homeless and without money when he had alternatives. He could live like minor royalty, or he could be an imposter and live like people who had no choice. There had to be a middle place between hand-tailored suits and off-the-rack, between a cave and a mansion, between cash for odd jobs and genuine wealth, but he wasn’t sure where that place was yet.
