Bite The Wax Tadpole Read online

  “Right, well, Thanks very much.” He half-heartedly hefted the award and slunk away, slump-shouldered, stage left. It would have been far, far better if he’d ended the speech after “well, well.” Now the whole writing industry would think him a complete ingrate, biting the hand that fed, belittling their craft, showing his contempt for their work which, if nothing else, demanded commitment, stamina and courage. He’d never work again in the industry he never wanted to work in again.

  Something acidic, volcanic, was travelling upwards from gut to throat and his legs wanted to move in opposite directions. He eased himself onto a chair at the side of the stage, half-hidden behind the sound equipment and half-wrapped in the heavy, dark curtains. Maybe no-one would see him here and he could die in peace.

  “Hello, Rob. Congratulations. Great speech. I think. Really... you know...”

  Someone was standing in front of him, leaning forward, head to one side as though choosing between tins of cat food on a supermarket shelf.

  “Hope! Thought you were still in Rwanda.”

  “I am. Well, not tonight, obviously. Just back for a few days.”

  She sat down beside him on another chair half-wrapped in the curtains. “You won then.”

  “It would seem so, yeah. So, how’s working for Medecins Sans Frontieres? ”

  “Great, learning a lot. Keeping a diary.”

  “Fantastic. Think I might come out and join you after that speech.”

  “No, no, it was good. I know exactly what you meant.”

  “Really? I thought Wittgenstein might have struggled a bit.”

  The MC launched into another song, this one comparing the government’s attitude to the arts to Torquemada’s attitude towards heretics. Gerry passed by, silently proffering a bottle of wine. Rob shook his head. Water was what he needed. Sluice the alcohol through, send it down the porcelain passage to the harbour. And a taxi. Yes, he didn’t fancy the train. Be full of drunks.

  “... the night, you know, when things went a bit...”

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  Hope sighed. “You remember the live episode? Well, of course you do. I was trying to tell you something before we went down to the studio?”

  “I have a vague recollection.”

  “What I was going to say, to ask, was if you remembered Judy Bunn.”

  “Used to be on Home and Away?”

  “No, no, she used to teach English as a Second Language at Hornsby TAFE. Same time as you.”

  He forced the jammed cogs in his brain to turn. It hurt. Judy Bunn... Judy Bunn... oh, god, yes, Judy Bunn.

  “Blonde, bit of a hippy, came from Yorkshire. Which is why you had all these boat people running around saying “ee by gum, trouble ‘at mill.” What about her?”

  “So you did know her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well?”

  “Not really. Although there was this staff Christmas party and... oh, god!”

  Hope smiled, lips slightly curled, eyes a little sad, demeanour a touch expectant, pausing in the way that characters in soap operas pause before they deliver the end of episode line.

  “Hello, Dad.”