Page 19 of Wish You Were Here
‘Actually, I wasn’t going to say that,’ says Lou, taking me by surprise.
‘Oh, right. So, you don’t think it’s doomed to failure?’
‘I have no idea, love, but have I ever told you about me and Daphne?’
‘Your wife?’
‘That’s right, love. It was nineteen sixty-nine, and I was up on the Gold Coast with a couple of mates. We were on our hols, surfing by day and drinking by night, when I met this girl. The most beautiful girl I ever saw in my life.’ As I watch Lou speaking about his wife, his whole face changes, and even now, long after her death, I can still see how much he loves her. ‘My mates thought I’d gone troppo, falling for a Sheila who lived so far from Sydney. Admittedly, London’s further away, love, but in nineteen sixty-nine, the Gold Coast pretty much felt like it.’
‘I bet.’
‘There was just something about her, and we clicked, you know? In less than a week, I decided I was going to marry that girl.’
‘Less than a week?’ I say incredulously.
‘That’s right, love, and we were married for forty-five happy years. Best fucking years of my life. Everyone said I was bananas, but look what happened, eh?’
‘So, you don’t think it’s crazy?’
‘I’m saying, love, that when it comes to matters of the heart, you just never know.’
‘Thanks, Lou, that’s really sweet of you.’
‘No worries,’ says Lou with a warm smile. ‘Although London’s a bloody long way away, and you haven’t even met the fella yet. He could be a total galah or a fucking bludger, so there’s every chance he’s not going to be the love of your life, but good on ya for giving it a go, eh.’
I decide to change topics, and I ask about his son, and Lou tells me he’s been busy working in Melbourne, which is why he hasn’t been able to visit. Apparently, Lou’s son is very successful and pays for Lou to live here. Lou says he'd be lost without him, although I think it’s strange that the man Lou is so proud of has never been to visit, but I suppose there are plenty of other residents who never get visitors from one year to the next. After that, I tell him about my gig later that night at a pub in Surry Hills, and he wishes me luck.
‘It feels like I need to make it soon, Lou, or that’s it. My dream of being a singer is over.’
‘Absolute rubbish, love. You’re still a kid. All the time in the world.’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not how my mum sees it, and I’m almost thirty, Lou, so not that young,’ I say, standing up, but as I do, Lou reaches out a hand and puts it over my wrist.
‘Life’s too short to give up on your dreams, love. Do you know what I wanted to be as a kid?’ I shake my head. ‘An actor. I was pretty good too, eh. But when it came down to it, I got a job straight out of school, worked for a sparky, then I became one, and I never had the courage to go after it. I was too afraid of failure, so I didn’t bother. I regretted it my whole life.’
‘You, an actor?’
‘I know, bananas, eh, but for a moment there, I thought it might happen. My whole life could have been so different.’
‘So, I should follow my dreams, no matter what?’
‘I’m just saying, love, don’t give up until you’ve given it everything.’
‘Thanks, Lou. Do you need anything? A drink? Food?’
‘Nah, I’m as right as rain.’
‘I’ll pop in and see you later?’
Lou nods, and I leave him, wondering if he’s right about giving up singing and about Ben. They both feel like such long-shots and maybe I am crazy thinking that either of them will work out, but I’ve always felt like it’s important to believe in yourself and follow your dreams – no matter how bananas they are.
It was something Dad often said to me, especially at the end when he knew he was dying. He told me to live my life without fear, without compromise, and that I should do whatever made me happy. The only problem with singing is that lately I have been questioning whether it still makes me happy. The constant rejections and playing gigs to small rooms of people who couldn’t care whether I was there or not. It has started to become demoralising. I used to believe I would make it – whatever that word meant – but recently, my confidence has been waning. It’s been ten years, and I’m not really any further along than I was when I started. Yes, I get fairly regular gigs, but they barely pay anything. Can I keep doing this until I’m forty on the off-chance I might get somewhere?
I’m standing outside the pub, and I am due to perform in twenty minutes, when I’m joined by Joe Thompson and my heart drops. Joe Thompson and I started singing at roughly the same time, and we’ve been on the circuit together ever since. We slept together once – a drunken decision I continue to regret –although sleazy Joe still keeps trying it on. Joe styles himself as a singer/songwriter in the folk/surf genre. Although as he’s got older his long blond hair has got shorter, and the once sleek surf body has definitely become podgier. He does still have his trademark flavour saver soul patch, which I think went out of fashion about twenty years ago.
‘You all right, Sas?’ says Joe, sparking up a ciggy.
‘Good, yeah,’ I reply in a monotone voice. I don’t want a long conversation with Joe.
