Living Upside Down. John Hickman

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СКАЧАТЬ on. It is his only source of warmth when they are out.

      At Australia House, they are warmly greeted by a charming man whose stiff wattage of smile almost blinds them. He is taller than Roger, sporting the style of parting that only a fretsaw down the middle of his crown could achieve.

      Fretsaw shows them through the reception area with pride. Plush as any bank’s HQ it has more locks than the Bank of Scotland.

      “So you’re applying to go to Australia,” Fretsaw’s big wattage smile lights their way.

      “Yes,” Roger replies, thinking it’s bloody astounding he realises that’s why we’re here.

      They see many security guards.

      “Why all this security?” Sue whispers to Roger.

      He whispers back, “Dunno! With only a few Victorian oil paintings on the walls of buttoned down girls, what’s to steal?”

      “Thanks to their overzealous cleaners the place is as clean as a nun’s drawers,” Sue giggles, “but why are our ears being assaulted with boring piped music by Muzak?”

      “Agreed. Why don’t they play Waltzing Matilda?”

      Briefly meeting Fretsaw’s boss, Sue smiles like an actress auditioning for a coveted role. He is trim and fine boned, immaculately dressed in a suit the colour of claret wine; handsome with a square jaw, dark hair, and broad shoulders.

      When he speaks, he sounds pompous. “Oh, you’re the pest man.”

      The way Pompous said that sounded synonymous with lunatic vermin. “I’m regional manager for a specialist pest control company,” Roger corrects cheerfully.

      “Quite so.”

      Pompous does not sound Australian; he has the kind of voice shaped by Sandhurst, the Guards, and a lifetime of drinking Pink Gin. His dulcet, educated tones could make it worth listening to a shopping list recital. When he smiles, he exudes an air of designer barbed wire that makes Roger feel about as conspicuous as a Great Dane at a cat show.

      In demand are painters, bricklayers, labourers, steel workers — not fancy arse pest controllers.

      Sue is tapping her fingernail against her front teeth. Nice nail. Nice teeth. She is melting next to Pompous as surely as a butterscotch chip into a warm, sweet cookie.

      Female staff busily tap away at typewriters. The younger ones wear blouses unbuttoned to show some cleavage. Roger appreciates their effort while getting a stern look from Sue. Others run around with important looking folders.

      “Maybe they contain their advertising budgets,” Roger comments to no-one in particular.

      The staff have their special smiley faces on but offer little output. It becomes obvious they understand everything really, really well until they are asked a question. Any question. This directs Roger and Sue back to Fretsaw who slips into auto waffle, or suddenly becomes deaf.

      Eagerly Roger pursues each of their carefully thought out questions about Perth in the fervent hope that their six Pools numbers might magically come up, but Fretsaw is unwilling to part with more than smiles that do not reach his eyes.

      “I don’t think they know one end of a dog’s bowl from another,” Roger lowers his voice to Sue, “and in addition may they be culturally unaware?”

      “They’re about as bright as post codes,” Sue opines quietly. She is annoyed. “If they can’t answer even our simple questions, and everything they want to know about us has already been detailed on their forms in triplicate. Then why are we here?”

      Roger, putting on his hopeful smiley face, speaks to Fretsaw, “Here we are, brimful of questions for the experts, and no-one seems to know much about anything.” He pleads. “What about property values?” He pauses. “A guide would be helpful. Are we likely to be able to replace what we have here, with a similar mortgage? Can we get an indication of median property prices?”

      “Our house’s value represents about quadruple Roger’s annual salary.” Sue cuts in, “Any comparisons would be helpful.”

      Fretsaw thoughtfully projects, “Australia is a very confusing place. Most staff here are not Australian and the few that are, come from Canberra.”

      “Is that why you know nothing about Perth?” Roger asks tentatively.

      “Australia is such a huge landmass it takes up the major part of the southern hemisphere.”

      Fretsaw has a smile, the beam of which resembles that of a Jehovah’s Witness who has just added a brand new member to his congregation.

      “In the outback many children have never seen the sea. They’ve grown up without television in towns little more than T-junctions or a wide spot in the road. Vast stretches of major highways are little more than dirt tracks. If you break down you could be stuck for days. Jobs could be few and far between. Red dirt country. I’m sure you’d be more suited to city life in our nominated areas.”

      Roger is thinking, Better than Bum-Fuck-Idaho or the never-never.

      He nods in agreement, “Attractive though country life could appeal to our inner pioneer spirit, I’m sure you’re right. City it is but that’s why we nominated Perth. The brochure states it’s the Capital City of Western Australia.”

      Sue is thinking, Can it get any less rural than that?

      “Put another way,” Sue adds with a smile, “we prefer our milk delivered from a bottle rather than a teat.”

      Fretsaw begins nodding enthusiastically, “Quite so. Western Australia, indeed Perth is its capital. It’s too far from anywhere to be really relevant.” He pauses. “I’m not even sure if they have television yet in Perth.”

      Roger turns facing Sue, “That answers our question about television programs. No more Ena Sharples or Len Fairclough of Coronation Street.”

      “I think they have 240 volt electricity in Perth.” Fretsaw is shaking his head, “but I’m not certain, you understand.” He is speaking softly, almost as if life is one big conspiracy.

      Fretsaw then blows a cloud of nicotine that even the French would be proud of but Roger is about as shitted off as any Frenchman could be about now.

      “We might as well be talking in Korean for all the assistance we’re getting,” Roger groans to Sue.

      “He’s about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike.”

      They both chuckle.

      “They’re totally fucked when we ask them any questions related to Perth. In fact anywhere outside of their nominated areas might as well come from Planet Sock.” Roger whispers.

      Roger shakes his head, if only to release steam building up in his ears, “They may know how to fill a BOAC 707 but maybe they’re a long way off knowing what to do with the people after they arrive?”

      Sue keeps nodding. If she is not careful, her head might fall off with the repetition.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ