Some nights I earnt $400 but on average it was around $500 a night. On a good night I made $800 or $900. Poppy was now three, so I put her in day care three days a week so that I could work during the day instead. It didn’t take long before I had purchased a bed each for Poppy and me, a fridge, a TV, a stereo, washing machine, dryer and a video. A few months later I bought a nice lounge suite, a microwave and a few rugs and kitchen appliances. My brothers were starting to wonder where all my money was coming from, so obviously I lied about the price of each item and told them that I had gotten lucky with the Melbourne Cup. I think they were also under the impression that I had substantial savings from my work with Gala Records.
My dad and I were starting to heal our differences. One Sunday he invited Poppy and me to lunch in Byron Bay, and cautiously I agreed to go. I thought it was just going to be him and I but he had invited his latest girlfriend to come along. I sat quietly in the back of the car and even faked sleep to avoid talking to them. Occasionally I would give my opinion but only if it was asked for. My demeanour was obviously sour. During lunch I made some callous crack about Dad’s past, and Dad responded by saying something that would change my whole life forever and my relationship with him for the better: ‘Annika lives in the past and refuses to let bygones be bygones.’
He was right, I carried a chip on my shoulder the size of Uluru. I didn’t have to respect him or his history. I didn’t have to impress him or punish him. Whether I liked it or not he was my father, and that would never change. I felt like a huge weight had been taken off. I felt my future opening up. Dad had overlooked my indiscretions and still loved me but I hadn’t done the same for him. From now on I would.
The following week, Dad phoned me to ask if I wanted to get together. I told him the next day would be fine and that I looked forward to seeing him. We arranged that he would come over at six pm. At five thirty I jumped in the shower, and missed his call to tell me he was running late and would be over by eight pm. I didn’t think anything of it when he hadn’t shown up and at seven thirty I put Poppy to bed and turned my phone on. I took an appointment for eight thirty with a client named John. At five past eight, Dad turned up—to my surprise.
‘Didn’t you get my message? Sorry I couldn’t make it for dinner but how about a coffee? Why are you so dressed up? Are you expecting a date?’
‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact I am. He will be here at eight thirty.’
‘Oh good. I can’t wait to meet him, now how’s my coffee going?’
I was stressing, my heart was racing. How could I kick my father out when this was the first time he had been to my home? At eight twenty-five, John knocked on my door. He turned out to be about forty-three years old, OK looking and obviously dripping in money.
‘John, come in, my father has just popped in to say hello.’ I was so grateful when he went along with the charade. ‘John please meet my father James Cleeve.’
They shook hands and sat opposite one another. The tension was too great for me so I distracted myself with the coffee making.
‘So what do you do for a living, John?’ my father asked.
‘I build boats, mainly for the export market.’
With every word a new pearl of perspiration would form on my forehead.
‘How did you meet Annika, John?’
‘At the gym, we’re both members at Sanctuary Cove,’ I blurted out.
‘Oh, how nice.’
Finally we got on to a subject that suited everyone, particularly my dad: we talked about Dad’s accomplishments. He had stories about being engaged to a Tahitian princess and how he had lectured at Harvard University. About having seven degrees and numerous doctorates. I will never understand why he bothered—the real Dad had accomplished a great many things, so why exaggerate?
After John had heard Dad’s life history, he stood and said, ‘Well, maybe we can do this another time, I seem to have interrupted a family gathering.’
‘No, John, I’ll leave, I’m two hours late, I’ve interrupted. You guys have a good night and I hope to meet you again soon, John. Thanks for the coffee, Annika, give my granddaughter a kiss for me. Goodnight.’
When I finally shut the door I was speechless. I just stared at John, then said, ‘I am so sorry.’
We both had a good laugh about the evening then he paid me and we had sex. I gave him a little extra time by way of apology.
John proved to be a magnet for family members. The next time he came over, my twin brothers arrived to say hello. So the next time my family all got together, John was the topic of conversation. They were all under the belief that I was dating a rich older man and that my future was set. It became the subject of many jokes, but it also worked to my advantage when explaining every new household item or evening dress: ‘That John is so good to me.’ And in a way it was the truth, every client is named John.
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