Page 9 of Wish You Were Here
Dearest Saskia,
You are right about the weather in London, and I am, of course, very jealous of the weather and the beaches in Sydney. Although I can take the train and be sitting on a pebbly beach in Brighton, eating fish and chips, while being attacked by vicious seagulls in just over an hour! Do you know what an asset management company is? What is it that you do in Sydney? My ex-girlfriend – completely bonkers and attacked me with a ball of burrata cheese in a restaurant, but that’s another story – had a gap year and lived in Australia. She said she loved it and would happily live in Sydney, except for the spiders! Have you ever seen a giant spider? Not that I’m terrified of spiders, but the ones in England are normal size and can’t kill you while you sleep! I think this is a perfectly rational fear. Is there anything you’re afraid of?
All the best,
Ben, Asset Manager, Clapham, London, England x
I read the email with a smile on my face before the bus pulls up at my stop. I get off and walk towards home. Our house is a Victorian terrace just off Glebe Point Road, minutes from the buzz of all the shops, bars and restaurants, and within twenty minutes of Sydney CBD. It’s the house I grew up in and one Icould never afford myself. It’s only a two-bed, so Mum has the front bedroom, which has the gorgeous balcony overlooking the street, while I get the bedroom with a view of the backyard. To be fair to Mum, she’s done a good job of making the house look immaculate, and even now, despite some of Brian’s things infiltrating the house – Peruvian fertility penis statue, no thanks, Brian! – it still looks fantastic. Dad used to do all the house stuff, but since he passed, Mum has taken that job on herself.
It’s almost eight o’clock and no doubt Mum and Brian will already have eaten, and they’ll be in the living room, probably watching one of Brian’s foreign docos. For some reason, Brian will only watch something on television if it’s in a different language. Hopefully, I can make myself something to eat and then quietly slip into my room. I have a gig tomorrow, so tonight is all about rest and relaxation. When I get home, there is a note on the fridge.
Brian and I have gone to an art gallery in Paddington. Brian made a goat curry. It’s in the fridge. Brian said it’s to be eaten with your hands only! See you after ten. Mum x
Of course, Brian made goat curry. Who makes goat curry? This is the problem when you take a white Australian man and let him spend a month in India. I definitely won’t be participating in Brian’s goat curry. Instead, I make myself a cheese toastie in the Breville and take it to my room, where I sit on my bed and reply to Ben’s email.
Dear Ben, asset manager, Clapham, London, England,
I don’t understand the term ‘pebbly beach’. Please explain. I had a friend who spent time overseas, and her memory of England was that it was very grey and wet. Do you often feel sad, Ben? Haha, I am only joking. Of course you feel sadbecause you can only go to ‘pebbly beaches’ where you are attacked by vicious seagulls. I, on the other hand, can be at the world-famous Bondi Beach in less than an hour. In answer to your question, no, I don’t know what an asset manager does. Manage assets? It’s my best guess without using Google.
OMG! You were attacked with a ball of burrata. That’s hilarious. Is your ex-girlfriend really crazy, or did you deserve it? I’ve had a few ex-boyfriends who definitely deserved a face full of cheese! Although I wouldn’t have wasted burrata on them. For your information, I am a singer, and I also work in a retirement home. You see how I am creative but also give back? What’s that I hear you say? The perfect package? Haha, only joking.
I have seen some pretty big spiders. You get used to it in Australia, probably in the same way you get used to being attacked by vicious seagulls in the UK. The biggest one I have seen in Sydney is called the Huntsman spider. You should look it up on YouTube. Terrifying, although not actually poisonous, so basically harmless. What am I afraid of? I’m Australian, Ben, we don’t do fear! Although I am afraid of heights, and it sounds silly, but I have an irrational fear of – and I’ve never told anyone this before – gloves. When I was a kid, Mum bought me a pair of gloves, but I could never work out how to get my fingers in the right finger holes. I haven’t worn gloves since. Are you laughing, Ben? I know it’s crazy, right? Afraid of fucking gloves. I’m also not a fan of birds – too unpredictable. What’s your most embarrassing secret?
All the best,
Saskia, singer/care-worker, Glebe, Sydney, Australia x
PS. I never asked, did you ever locate the real Saskia Conway?
PPS. I take it that having an ex-girlfriend means you are currently single?
I press send and then tuck into my cheese toastie, but as I’m eating, I get the sudden thought that for whatever reason I haven’t searched Ben up online. I have no idea what he looks like. I begin with Instagram, and there are literally hundreds of Ben Armstrongs. The same can be said of Twitter and Facebook. I look on LinkedIn, and I’m sure I find the right Ben Armstrong, but alas, no photo. Then I Google ‘Ben Armstrong asset manager London’, and I am directed to a business website, and finally I find him. It’s a very serious looking photograph of a young man in a suit, uncomfortably smiling for, I imagine, a corporate photo, and yet he’s very handsome. Really, really handsome, actually. Slightly floppy medium brown hair, sexy dark eyes, a bit of stubble, perfectly smooth skin and there is just something about him. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I am definitely attracted to him. He looks like he would be a laugh, but also slightly complicated. He has a quality I find sexy in English actors. A sort of uncertainty about themselves, always apologising, and yet also with an air that they might be quite good in an emergency. This is typical because one: I am currently celibate and abstaining from men, and two: He lives on the other side of the world!
It’s ten-thirty when Mum and Brian come home. I am in my room, pondering sleep, when Mum pops her head around my door.
‘Hi, Mum. How was the art gallery?’
‘Oh, right, yeah, you know. It’s more Brian’s thing than mine, love. It was an exhibition of early nineteenth century Indian sculpture. Surprisingly erotic now that I think about it.’
‘Okay. That’s weird and uncomfortable.’
‘Hence the goat curry for dinner. Not because of the eroticism, love. Obviously there is nothing erotic about goats or curry, unless you’re into that sort of thing – no judgements here – but because of the Indian thing. What did you think?’
‘I didn’t fancy it and made a cheese toastie.’
‘Don’t tell Brian. He spent all day making it and sourced the goat himself from a farmer in Bungarribee. Tell him it was good, yeah, or he’ll be crushed.’
‘Fine. The goat curry was delicious!’
‘Thanks, love. How was your day?’
‘Spent most of it knocking back the advances of a man old enough to be my grandad. So yeah, the usual.’
‘I wish you’d find yourself a proper job, Saskia. You’re thirty soon. Time to—’
‘I know, Mum, settle down,’ I say, and Mum smiles at me with a sort of pity or disappointment – it’s hard to say which – before she says goodnight.
I am about to go to sleep when my phone buzzes, and I look at the notification. It’s Ben. I go to my email, and I feel a buzz of excitement that fizzes inside of me.
