Throwing Rocks

‘Johnny Bastard Dalton, as I live and breathe!’

John looked up from his book. He didn’t recognise the man; maybe it was the shadow cast by his sunhat. A smallish build, round faced, a tropical shirt and thin legs with swollen knees emerging from cargo shorts. A fat cigar between two fingers.

The man removed his hat and raised his arms. ‘Come on, J.B.D., is it me looking old or your memory?’ He clapped a hand on John’s shoulder. ‘Shy Wenham. Law School ‘83. You got me now?’

John searched his past. Shyster Wenham, short bloke, always on the go, big ambitions, lots of schemes.

‘Ah, Shy,’ said John. He put his book down and was about to rise.

‘Don’t get up,’ said the man Shy. He extended his hand to John, who shook it and said,

‘Time catches up with us all.’

‘It’s just a number, mate, just a friggin number. Don’t let the medics tell you otherwise.’ He looked around. ‘Hey, waiter!’ A youth in white shirt and black jeans was collecting glasses from the tables on the patio. ‘Can we get a coupla bruskis?’ He turned to John. ‘Whad’ll it be: beer? Something stronger?’

John pointed to his glass. ‘I’m catered for.’

‘What is it?’

‘Two Ponds lager.’

‘Never heard of it. Is it good? Waiter, two Two Ponds lagers, bitte.’ He winked at John and raked out a chair from beneath the wrought iron table. He placed a hand on John’s open book and said, ‘What brings you here today, out on the patio, overlooking this beautiful beach?’

‘Conference,’ said John. ‘And you?’

Shy smiled quickly. ‘A rare loose moment, my friend. A rare loose moment.’ He flung his hat on to the table and said, ‘So, tell me, how did it all turn out for you?’

Before John could ask what turned out, Shy said, ‘Life. How was your life?’

‘Umm, good, so far,’ said John.

Shy laughed as he flicked his cigar ash into an empty glass. ‘That’s good – not finished yet, I get it. But the bulk of it – business good? You practise as a lawyer?’

‘Yes,’ said John.

‘Jumped ship early m’self, went corporate. Shares, trades, frggin’ crazy world, you know? Worked outa Hong Kong for many years, til the mainland took over, then to the USA, God they’re a bunch of nutters over there. Made and lost many a fortune, mostly lost in divorce settlements if I’m honest.’

The waiter appeared with two bottles and two glasses. Shy said, ‘Good on yer, chum. Here’s a bit extra for y’ trouble,’ and passed him a folded banknote.

He picked up one of the bottles. ‘Cheers’.

John raised his glass. ‘Good health.’

They gazed out past the towering Norfolk pines to the beach as they drank.

Shy said, ‘You got wife n’ kids?’

John nodded. ‘Three.’

‘What, wives or kids?’ Shy grinned as he sucked on the cigar. He blew out a cloud of smoke and said, ‘Not a stupid question. I’ve had three wives m’self, and a few others in between if you get m’ drift.’ He studied his cigar. ‘Or during. Which probably caused the divorces if I’m honest. Which I try not to be, eh? Whaddya got?’

‘Kids?’

‘Mmhmm,’ said the mouth behind the cigar.

‘Two girls and a boy.’

‘Well, you’ll be well cared for. Three sons my side, all overseas, got their own lives. We’re blokes, y’know, so not a lot of talk between us, but they’re good lads, I hear. An’ the wife?’

‘Just the one.’

‘She here with you?’

‘No,’ said John. ‘She passed way four years ago. Cancer.’

‘Ah, shit. Sorry to hear that. Life can be a bugger.’ Shy paused and stared out across the beach. A breeze ruffled the umbrella they were seated under. He grinned. ‘Got a new one on the go?’

John shook his head.

‘It’s no slight on the first if you do.’ He leaned forward and rapped a finger on the glass tabletop. ‘We’re men after all. We have needs, and your kids’ll understand, once they get used to it.’

‘So you’ve been married a few times,’ said John.

‘Oh Jesus, yeah, don’t get me started. The first mothered the boys, but I was always away for work, and she was left holding the baby, literally. We battled it out for fourteen years and called it quits. Had a string of women after that, especially when I’d got my business set. Number Two was in the middle of that, but yeah, she was a bit of a rebound if I’m honest. And yeah, I had affairs, so guilty.’

He put his hands in the air, and grinned, the cigar protruding from a corner of his grin. ‘Guilty as charged, but that’s life, eh. We lasted four years – I think it was four – before she cleaned me out. Those yanks know how to do a divorce court. Like getting a tooth extracted, bloody hurt, but it was worth getting rid of.’

John smiled and sipped on his drink.

‘Number Three was the big disappointment though.’ He sucked into the cigar. ‘Thought I’d won the lottery on that one. Gorgeous piece of totty, seventeen years m’ junior, tight bod, excellent rack. Shoulda known it was too good to be true. All I had to do was ply her with shiny stuff and overseas trips and it was all go. But we argued and she was jealous of other women in my life, even though I told her the wandering days were over, and we’d haggle and wrangle. She wanted more of this, more of that, better communication, like all women want to bloody talk – more ideas, for Chrissake, can you believe it? Ideas. I mean who even says that?’

He skulled the bottle, and drew the second one close to him.

‘Had a double knee replacement four months ago. You ever had one of those?’ He raised a knee and John saw the long scar across the bulbous joint.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Good, keep ‘em both if you can. It fuckin’ hurt. Old skiing accident. What hurt more though was when I got out of hospital and limped into the house, I found she’d cleared the place in my absence.’

He swigged his beer, and checked the label.

‘Not bad that.’ He looked at John. ‘Cleared the whole place out. Art works, crockery, furniture, the lot, and there was some good stuff there too. She left me a coupla suits and the kettle. Can you believe that? No cups or anything, just a fucking kettle. Not even a fridge for milk.’

He leaned in towards John.

‘And yesterday I get a lawyer’s letter, claiming all sorts of things, like affairs, and I’d abused her y’know, which is all bullshit. I know, I’m not the cleanest of men, but fuck me, you’d think I was Adolf bloody Hitler by the time you’d finished reading the allegations. She’s playing the fucking card.  And she’s demanding all sorts of things, my money, my life, my testicles in a friggin’ jar. Jesus. I’ll be left with nothing.’

As he said this, he mashed the stub of his cigar into the neck of the beer bottle, pounding it down with large thrusts of his open palm.  He turned to John, his face contorted in a savage rictus. When his breathing had slowed he said,

‘Women. If they didn’t have cunts you’d throw rocks at them,’ and he took a long drink of his beer.

John watched the liquid shake and froth in the bottle as the man drank. Some froth jumped out when he slammed the bottle down. He sat and stared bitterly out at the pine trees and beach and sky, all the while rapping his finger harshly on the glass table top.

After a while, he said, ‘Whatever happened to that chick you dated in law school. You know, the scrawny one. Super smart, but nervous as a terrier. Ice queen. Everyone hated her. We were in awe of you, y’know, taking her on. I mean, forgive me for saying this but time has passed and we can be honest now, but we all thought, what’s a nice guy like J.B.D. doing hooking up with her? Lamb to the slaughter; gold star of bravery for going there. She must’ve been hard work, and y’know people don’t change.  You remember the one? Any idea what became of her?’

John examined the dregs of his glass and then poured them into his mouth. He glanced at the distant beach and the people assembled on the sand and the verge in front of them.  He smiled at Shy.

‘She was my wife of thirty-two years,’ he said. ‘The one who died of cancer four years ago. She was actually a very nice person.’

Shy reared back. ‘Woops, Jesus mate, sorry. Fuck, big foot in mouth, eh.’

The two men stared out across the beach on the other side of the road. A table beneath the pines was festooned with balloons and laden with foods. A group of children chased an adult around the park, squealing and catching the coloured items the adult was throwing into the air, presumably lollies.

Shy turned and said, ‘You had a good career, yeah? Things turned out well for you? You with both your knees?’

John nodded.

Shy nodded in response. He grabbed a moist coaster and ripped it in two, then wiped his eye with the back of his hand.

‘I’ve got nothin, fucking nothin,’ he said to the pine trees and party across the road.

He took a deep breath and turned to John. His eyes were eyes reddened and his face taut.

‘You’re a friend in need,’ he said. ‘Restores faith.’

Abruptly, he stood up, rammed his hat on to his head and left.

John watched him thread his new knees among the tables and patrons on the patio, awkwardly at times, as if he was still learning how to walk . He stopped, glanced at the beach and wiped his eyes again. Then he turned and disappeared into the hotel bar.

Across the road, the birthday party had reached food time, and the children were crowded around the wooden table as a mother swung a platter of sausages and bread over their heads and into their midst.

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Picture by the author – Damn right, kids, I took that one!