Page 18 of Wish You Were Here
Is Saso a thing? Thingo? I think I might need to work on my Aussie slang a bit – o. I’m definitely more of a morning person, so that’s ideal. How about Saturday at 8am my time, which is 7pm your time? Does that worko?
I had brunch with my friends and my sister Poppy, and I told them about us FaceTiming, but they weren’t very excited about it. They’re more interested in finding me a date, although after my last one with the girl who went to the toilet and vanished, my hopes aren’t high.
I am currently food prepping for the week. That’s right, I am now the sort of man who food preps! Is this a big turn-off? Food prepper, probably boring in bed, likes to schedule dates, sex and fun, or is being practical and healthy a turn-on? Surely being into health and organised shows I am the sort of man ready for a serious relationship, right? I suppose what I’m asking is, should I brag about it on my next date or never mention it? Why is dating so fucking hard?
Let me know about FaceTime – o?
Beno x
8
Saskia
I walk along the hallway and the lingering smell of disinfectant along with the cheap floral air conditioner reminds me that I am at work. Breakfast has already been cleaned away and many of the residents are sitting in the lounge playing board games, watching the television, which has been turned to one of the highest volume settings and can’t be changed – no matter how many times I complain – but there is no sign of Lou. I decide to ask Gladys if she’s seen him because she knows what’s going on at the home. If Marrickville Retirement Village were a mafia organisation, Gladys would be head of the family. No-one can go to the toilet, change their medication or die without Gladys knowing about it first. There have been rumours that she cheats at cards and has been fleecing the other residents for years.
‘Have you seen Lou Sanders?’ I ask.
Gladys is sitting with a couple of ladies playing cards. Gladys looks like a classic old lady with a blue perm, make-up done with precision but fifty years out of date, casual, comfortable leisure clothes, still wears a wedding ring despite being a long-term widower and she exclusively wears Chanel N°5 perfume. She also has an impressive line in expensive jewellery, which clashes with her elastic waist trousers and practical warm tops, but Gladys doesn’t seem to care.
‘What’s it to you?’ she replies, not looking up from her game.
‘I didn’t see him at breakfast and was wondering where he was, that’s all, Gladys.’
‘I haven’t seen him. How about you ladies? Seen Lou Sanders?’ says Gladys, and the two other ladies shake their heads, then get back to the game. ‘I suppose no-one has seen him then.’
‘He’s probably just in his room,’ I reply, and Gladys laughs.
‘Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t. Although if he is, tell him he still owes me twenty dollars. He can’t hide forever,’ she says, and then she returns to her game and I walk off to find Lou. It’s strange Lou isn’t at breakfast or in the lounge because he’s quite a social resident. I go to his room, knock, before I walk inside and Lou is lying in bed, the television off, the curtains closed. The room has a musty staleness to it, which means he also hasn’t applied his aftershave.
‘You all right, Lou?’ I ask, walking across, pulling the chair that’s against the wall towards his bed. ‘You weren’t at breakfast.’
‘Not feeling hungry, eh,’ says Lou, still in his pyjamas, propped up on two hefty pillows.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Ah, you know, love, feeling a bit crook,’ says Lou before he looks at me, smiles and says, ‘and I’m fucking old, eh.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘Yeah, I suppose you are.’
‘Anyway, enough about me, what’s been happening with you? Still off the sex?’
‘Yes, Lou, I’m still off the sex. Although I have sort of met someone.’
‘Sort of?’ he asks before he adjusts himself slightly, sitting up a little taller. He seems to get thinner and thinner every time I see him.
‘So, before you judge me and call me crazy, I met a man online. More precisely, he emailed me by mistake, and we’ve sort of started up an online relationship.’
‘So you haven’t actually met?’
‘Well, no, because he’s in London.’
‘As in London, England?’
‘That’s right.’
‘He’s a fucking pom!’ says Lou. I’m sure he has an opinion about poms.
‘Go on, say it. It’s crazy and destined for failure.’
