Guns 'n' Rose (4 page)

The first thing Les noticed as he cruised into Terrigal was a colourful fish and chip shop opposite the parking area next to the surf club, with white chairs and tables out front called the Flathead Spot, which for some reason looked like it would just have to sell beautiful, fresh seafood. There were surf shops, restaurants and the ubiquitous real-estate agencies and the next thing Les noticed was the main drag running through Terrigal was now a one-way street. He stopped for a pedestrian crossing on the corner, then drove past a row of towering pine trees that ran alongside the
beach and more shops and restaurants opposite; the one that stood out was a brightly lit and labelled bottle shop next to a newsagency. Mmmhh, mused Les, I reckon I'll be in to see you before the week is up.

It was still sunny and warm with a few clouds around and a constant sea breeze was feathering the ocean with white horses and rocking the boats anchored in the Haven. There were people lying on the beach or swimming, strolling around casually or seated in the cafes. But compared to Bondi it was Sleepy Hollow.

Les drove past the shops then stopped at the next corner for another pedestrian crossing and the next thing he noticed was the old Florida Hotel was gone. In its place was a huge, spacious resort. It was all pinky browns, mustard and ochre colours, about six or more storeys high and appeared to take up the entire block. A wooden pergola holding a canopy of vines hung over rows of flowerbeds angled round the front and a sign on the corner said
TERRIGAL PINES HOLIDAY RESORT
. A set of steps led into a roomy beer garden and there appeared to be rows of shops running off and around that. It was all terraces and huge, rounded glass windows with an angled roof above and seemed to give the appearance someone had taken a ritzy chalet out of the Swiss Alps and placed it next to a beach. It looked pretty good to Les. Yes, he smiled to himself again, I reckon I might be calling in to see you as well in the next few days. The road ahead became two-way and led up another hill past the Haven. Les turned right at the pedestrian crossing and thought he might do a quick victory lap of the block and see what else there was.

After driving past a hot bread shop, a butcher, and a fruit shop next to a lane, Les then turned right again at a couple of banks opposite the resort. There was a church on the corner, a medical centre next to the local wallopers, then it was more shops, mainly boutiques and cafes with chairs out the front and no shortage of punters sitting in the sun enjoying their cafe lattes, cappuccinos or whatever. The road turned right again into a one-way street with even more shops, including a video store, a TAB and an original barber shop with a bloke standing out the front with a grey beard wearing a blue coat; you could almost smell the Spruso, Bay Rum and Yardleys Brilliantine from the car.

Turning right again at the pedestrian crossing, Les found himself back where he started. Well, how good's this? thought Les, feeling even happier than he did before. This place looks grouse. I never even got much of a chance to notice it last time. Now I'm here for a week with three big ones burning a hole in my kick. How absolutely sweet it is. Now let's go and find The Don's place and get unpacked. At a leisurely, unhurried pace Les drove ahead, this time up a hill past the boats in the Haven and the steep rise of the Skillion and past the turn-off to North Avoca. There was a lone restaurant on the right called the Silver Conche that looked pretty good, then Price's street a bit further along on the left; only it had been re-zoned for some reason and was now called Mill Hill Road. Price's house was just down on the left, exactly as Les had left it last time. The only difference was it appeared to have been given a classier landscape job out the front and the block of land on the right was gone and somebody
had built a two-storey home there. Norton eased the Berlina up in front of the double garage and cut the engine.

Three small Japanese cars were parked outside the new home on the right; Les gave them a cursory glance as he got his bags from the car and carried them up the short side passage to the front door. There was no one around, the only street noise was the wind gently tossing the branches in the surrounding trees and several magpies, kookaburras and wattle birds singing to each from somewhere amongst the leaves. Norton let his eyes run over the neatly trimmed flowerbeds, colourful indoor plants and ferns, then opened the front door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. Yes, he smiled to himself, just as I remember the place. A bedroom, study and kitchen on the left and a short hallway to the sunken lounge. A passageway with bedrooms running off it to the right, the bathroom and the larger bedroom he was in before next to the double garage facing the street. Les dropped his bags for a moment, walked down into the loungeroom and over to the electric curtain which was now a pink and brown floral design. He pressed the button and it swished back to reveal the swimming pool, sparkling in the sun and sheltered from the breeze by the surrounding cabana set amongst more fresh landscaping, flowerbeds and mini-date palms. The house had been recarpeted in swirls of thick, brown axminster, the furniture was all soft, cream velvet and plenty of it. Bird and flower prints hung on the walls, a chandelier hung from the ceiling and on a small oak cabinet near a smoked-glass coffee table sat a combined fax, telephone and answering service.

Norton left the curtains drawn and walked downstairs to the bottom half of the house and the other bedrooms, opened the back door next to the laundry and stepped out into the pool area. He had a quick stroll around, tried not to burst out laughing, he was that happy, and went back inside. S'pose I may as well have my old bedroom facing the street, he thought, tossing his bags on the double bed then flicking on the light. The old bedroom had been repainted and carpeted too. A teak dressing table sat near the built-in wardrobes and thick, dark green curtains hung across the window. Les drew them back to let some more light in and started unpacking, all the time thinking about the pool out the back. In near record time, Les had everything sorted out, his Speedos on, a towel round his neck and was almost sprinting downstairs and out the back door. Without further to-do, he dropped his towel on the nearest stretch of landscaped turf and barrel-rolled into the pool like a leaping killer whale.

The water was absolutely glorious; cool, refreshing and not over-chlorinated. Les swam, wallowed, duckdived and flopped around in general, not believing the change in fortune that had come over him. One minute he was in the middle of the city feeling like he was being slowly choked to death and wondering where it was all going to finish. Now he was totally relaxed. The water in the pool felt like it was cleansing him of all his sins and worries, the sun beaming down from above seemed to be putting the charge back into his life batteries already. Norton floated on his back, spurted out a jet of water, then looked up into the sky with the odd tuft of white cloud scudding around and
winked into the blue cosmos. And when did I ever doubt you, old mate, he smiled. Les flopped around a while longer then got out, put his sunglasses on and with his towel round his waist thought he might check out the surroundings.

The house on the left was brown brick, with white lattice at the back full of healthy green vines and red bougainvillea. A brick and concrete patio dotted with more vines and pots of flowers overlooked a sloping, neatly trimmed backyard that led to what appeared to be a reserve full of towering gum trees and native shrubs. A slim woman, possibly in her sixties, with straight, greyish blonde hair, wearing white shorts and a white top, sat at a wrought-iron table writing a letter. Near her stood a man about the same age with a salt 'n' pepper beard and glasses. He was wearing a striped Tshirt and blue shorts and he had a stick in his hand. He was talking to someone or something at his feet. Les had a closer look and saw it was two agitated magpies, whistling, squawking and preening their chests.

‘All right, all right, don't shit yourselves,' said the man. ‘I'm coming.'

The magpies started walking and the man with the stick followed them down from the patio to some shrubs near the start of the backyard. On the way, two beautifully marked dragon lizards sitting on two rocks took no notice of him till the man fed each of them a grape which they both immediately started chewing. The man stopped at the shrubs, poked the stick in and pulled out half a dead snake, which sent the two magpies into even more of a squawking, flapping, whistling frenzy.

‘Look,' said the man, ‘it's dead. The kookaburras have been eating it.' The man flicked the dead snake from the stick and gave it a couple of healthy belts with the stick for their benefit.

The two magpies had a look, then settled down and followed the man as he started walking back to the patio. On the way he stopped to give the two dragon lizards a quick pat and say something, then joined his wife back on the patio. The two magpies stayed with him for a moment before flying up onto the fence where they started whistling happily now that the drama was all over.

Well, don't that beat it all, Norton smiled to himself. I wonder who that mysterious, bearded man was? Doctor Dolittle? The man and his wife didn't seem to notice Les, so he left them and strolled between the pool and the cabana to where the fence ran opposite the house on the right.

It was a two-storey, brick job, painted white and blue with a blue roof. A wooden sundeck dotted with flowers and trees in ceramic pots, faced the ocean above Les and below it was another wooden sundeck strung with clotheslines and hanging plants. A set of steps ran down to a backyard that was fenced off above another, sloping yard that had been cleared except for several tall trees and a smattering of lumpy, sandstone boulders. A children's slippery dip and swing stood in the yard near a cubbyhouse built out from the fence and next to it was a rotary clothesline. Not far from the clothesline, a girl in a white two-piece was sunbaking face up on a banana-lounge. She had nice legs, solid boobs with a soft roll of fat round her tummy and her
dark hair was bobbed ‘Melrose Place' style around her eyes and neck. Les couldn't make out her face because she was wearing dark sunglasses, but he could see it was a bit plump with a double chin and full lips. Whip a few kilos off her, mused Les, and she might be half a good sort.

Just as Norton started looking at her a phone rang from under the house. The girl seemed to come to life, sat up and slid her sunglasses on top of her head and noticed Les. Norton was tempted to smile down and give her a wave. But feeling she'd probably think he was perving on her, he turned away and started picking at nothing on a small window ledge on the cabana while he watched her reflection in the glass. She got to her feet and went up the stairs to the lower part of the house. However, before she went inside she turned around and gave Norton a couple of very heavy, longdistance once-up-and-downs, then the screen door shut behind her. Norton turned around and snapped his fingers at something Price had mentioned in the office when they were all drunk on Tuesday night. Price had owned the vacant block next door which he sold privately to the bloke who had built the house. He lived upstairs and rented out underneath.

So that's who lives there, mused Norton. I'll bet she shares with someone. Probably a boyfriend. I wonder what the owner's like? Not that it's any of my business, but going by the swings and things and all those toys lying around, I reckon he likes kids. Les wandered back alongside the pool, stooped down and absently plucked out a couple of leaves, then went inside.

The kitchen was tiled white and modern with a
porta-gas stove, plenty of kitchenware and a top-ofthe-line double fridge with an ice-making machine in the front. Inside was spotlessly clean, but totally empty except for a water jug and a tub of ice-blocks in the deep freeze. Les closed the doors then drummed his fingers on the top and looked thoughtful. Well, if I'm going to stay here for a week, I'm going to need provisions, and plenty of them. I don't know what young James is like on the tooth or whether he likes a drink, but I know I do. Les climbed into a pair of Levi shorts and his old, blue Surfer HQ T-shirt then drove down to Terrigal shopping centre.

There was a parking spot just in front of the taxi rank beneath the pine trees; Norton got out of the car and decided he might have a quick look around the beach before he did his shopping. He zapped the car doors, strolled across the park past the picnic sheds and started walking along the promenade. It was a little different to the last time he saw it. Part of the promenade had collapsed and was fenced off with pine logs and a sign saying
KEEP CLEAR, STORM DAMAGE
. Les wasn't sure what the tide was doing, but where there was once nothing but beautiful beach, there were now rocks and boulders dumped up against the seawall by the council. There were more scattered rocks as Les walked along, the blackened remains of an old wooden fence and a jumble of old, concrete steps. At the end, a pathway led to a small, open-air pool beneath the cliffs, which was half full of sand and looking a bit neglected. Les had seen better sights. But, he mused, like most beaches it would all probably come back in time. Though you'd think the local council would put
a decent open-air pool in there. It's such a nice spot under those cliffs and little trees. He had another look around and watched some people fishing off the point then walked back along the promenade.

There were half-a-dozen or so men in Speedos sitting out the front of the surf club, talking and listening to a radio in the first-aid room tuned to some station cranking out old baby boomer ballads. The surf club had a canteen open and Norton arrived just as a bloke in horn-rimmed glasses and shorts got hold of a microphone hooked to the club's PA system and let go a spiel in word-perfect ‘Strine'.

‘G'dayagenladeezngenilmen. Juzleddinyknowthezerfglubgandeenstilloben. Wegodizygoldjogwedgesnbaddlebobs. Gogagolajipsnoddogz. Odbies zozichrollszundanoylenlibblog. Angewagenladezangenilmenanavanizday.'