This Changes Everything
The Tracking Board’s 2016 Launch Pad Manuscript Competition
Synopsis of This Changes Everything
What would you do if you suddenly found yourself in a stranger’s body, picking up their life with no clues, no back story, in fact no idea at all?
‘The situation is beyond ridiculous. I’m sitting on another man’s lap, calling him sweetie and giving him the news about my STD. At least his erection has subsided.’
All Nick Dunbar wants is a peaceful life. Right now he has everything he ever wished for; a loving wife, good friends, no kids, a successful business, and everything is pretty much perfect. Well, perfect apart from one small stupid secret thing.
His unpredictable jumps into the bodies of random strangers.
Is that even a thing? Random unexpected ‘jumps’ into other people? Well yes although it is pretty rare. Actually Nick has never come across anyone with the same condition although presumably someone is being him while he is off being other people...an elderly man, a small boy, a bride on her wedding day...
It’s an annoying disorder but he tries not to let it affect his life too much. Until the ‘jumps’ start becoming more frequent and lasting longer and things start unravelling in Nick’s personal life; Stella now wants a baby, his best friends split up, and he is becoming increasingly irritated with his annoying brother Michael and even more annoying aunt-in-law Gabby. Then, at a crisis point in his life, Nick has a jump which goes terribly wrong and the after-effects are shattering.
What if that happens again? Should he confess to his family and friends? And the most important question of all; can he get professional help to stop these jumps forever?
This Changes Everything is a novel about the nature of compromise, adapting to change and managing unexpected events.
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Prologue
Prologue
He doesn’t remember the first time it happened but he does remember coming back from one and sitting on the top bunk talking about it with Michael. At the time he assumed everyone had these adventures and this one was so good he was looking forward to sharing it. But his brother laughed it off and called him a whale’s penis.
It wasn’t real, you dumb dork; it was just a stupid dream. I had a dream I could fly but I don’t go around telling everyone about it. Dreams are boring.
He knew it wasn’t a dream and he knew it had happened before although the details were fuzzy. It’s exciting and sometimes slightly scary but back then he still thought it happened to other people too. It would take a few more years for him to realise that these experiences were a little bit screwed up...
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Chapter 1
“Andy! Come on – hurry up!” Hot breath and a high-pitched voice rudely penetrate my ear. I blink and try to open my eyes properly but something is tied tightly around my head blinding me. Panicked, my hands fly to my face, earning me another shriek. “Nooooo leave it on!”
My scrabbling hands find soft material wrapped around the top of my face. There is something in my right hand, something sharp that pricks my finger as I’m trying to remove the blindfold. Dropping the prickly thing I manage to pull the binding from my eyes. My heart is skittering; a frantic mouse trying to escape through the wall of my chest. I blink again and find myself staring at a cartoon picture of a horse, no a donkey, sticky-taped crookedly on a pale pink wall. The rest of the room comes into focus.
These jumps are the worst. Surfacing surrounded by witnesses and immediately having to adapt to whatever life I’ve landed in without any clues. It’s a bit like the show ‘Thank God You’re Here’ but much less funny. There are several children here, some dressed as fairies, their disgust obvious as they yell at me that I’ve ruined my turn.
A warm arm circles my shoulders gently tugging me backwards against a large chest. Strong sweet perfume burrows into my nostrils. My hair is stroked while a deep female voice tells me I’m okay. Right. I’m obviously a child, this is a party of some sort and I’m being comforted about stuffing up my turn by, glancing down at the arm around my chest, a dark-skinned woman with a thing for big silver bangles. My own skinny arms underneath are dark too only slightly lighter than hers. Well this is different. I’ve never been black before. Turning I bury my head into the soft chest of the woman holding me. Buying time. Her perfume is overwhelming, sickly sweet and musky, but I stay pressed against her. Breathing through my mouth. Getting my bearings. Taking a moment to adjust.
Two minutes ago I was leaving my last job of the day, turning my Ute out of the wide gated driveway in Rose Bay and looking forward to showering off the sweat, dirt and grass. Now I’m a small boy at a noisy kid’s party somewhere with no idea how long this particular experience will last. Hopefully it’s a quick one. Meanwhile I’m probably doing my young host no favours by behaving like a complete sook at this party with all his friends around. Resigned to my temporary fate, I lift my head and pull away from my comforter.
The rest of the children have finished their Pin the Tail on the Donkey game and moved on to Pass the Parcel. A large newspaper wrapped package is making its way around the circle of eager grabbing hands while one of the adults controls the music coming out of tiny speakers. There are about a dozen children in total, mostly girls and mostly dressed as either pink fairies or in long blue Elsa gowns. Frozen was the party theme at my niece’s birthday party earlier this year and it appears to be popular among these little girls. There are a few boys, mostly dressed in jeans and button down shirts although one poor kid is wearing what appears to be a small dinner suit complete with bowtie. So I’m possibly not the biggest loser here after all.
“Andy? You okay?”
The woman’s voice is deep and melodic as she takes my chin in her hand lifting my face to hers. Concern creases her smooth round face. She’s about forty, maybe a little younger. Wide set brown eyes, broad nose with flared nostrils, dark red mouth with very full lips. She has springy dark hair held back with a headband and a red billowy top which matches her lipstick. This woman takes some trouble with her appearance. This woman is probably my mother. I wonder how much we look alike.
“I’m okay.” My voice comes out higher and squeakier than expected. I’m about seven or eight and, from what I can see of myself, skinny as a rake. I’m getting quicker at assessing my situations these days and can adapt much faster but it’s been a long time since a jump has ended up with a child. Usually it is young or middle-aged men who are easier to relate to.
“Do you want to join in?”
No I don’t want to join in, I want to get out of here. Now. With any luck this won’t be a long one. More often than not they are pretty fast, lasting less than an hour. Even so I don’t want to spend this hour playing pass the parcel and whatever other games they have lined up for us when I should be home with Stella. We’re supposed to be at Dan’s place this evening having dinner with him and Liz. And that’s where I want to be right now. Relaxing and drinking beer on his balcony overlooking the city. Listening to his lame jokes and enjoying the sight of my wife’s legs in her short summer skirt. Not here. Not anywhere else.
A blonde woman in a tight green dress breaks away from a couple of other adults and approaches us, smiling broadly.
“Is everything okay here?”
“He’s fine. We will go soon though. It is half past five and my shift starts soon.” “Well we’re about to have the birthday cake so at least stay for that,” the blonde woman tells us and smiles at me. I smile back. Wow her dress is really tight. Her breasts are squeezed together and bulging out the top, her nipples only one deep breath away from making an appearance. It’s hard to focus on anything else, especially as I’m the perfect viewing height. Catching myself staring I mentally shake my head. Not cool Nick.
We assemble to sing Happy Birthday with me joining in but mumbling when it comes to the birthday girl’s name. Jessica. Then we are offered large slices of cake and I’m hungry so I reach out to accept mine.
“No. Sorry. He can’t have sugar.” My mother’s voice is firm as she lifts the paper plate out of my hands. I can’t? That’s irritating. All the other children start scoffing cake and my mother offers me a little packet of sultanas. Great.
I nibble my sultanas slowly. It’s probably been about ten or fifteen minutes so far and, as always, the best way to get through this is to keep my mouth shut as much as possible and try not to upset the people around me. Easier said than done sometimes. When I was a kid I’d behave however I wanted. I’d talk about my real life, my parents and my brother. This probably resulted in a number of people being subsequently hauled off to psychiatrists by their anxious families. These days I make a big effort to act as normally as possible. It’s not always easy, especially given the scarcity of information available to me about my host. But someone else (presumably the person I’m occupying) is simultaneously in my body and they’re expected to do the right thing by me so it feels like I should make some effort.
One of the little girls comes up and takes my arm pulling me off to one side. She puts her hand up to my ear and whispers hotly,
“I’ve got a secret to tell you.”
“What?”
“Jessica likes you” she hisses and steps back staring at me expectantly. What does she want me to say?
“That’s nice” I finally blurt out and she widens her eyes and giggles. The birthday girl is watching us from across the room so I give her a little wave. Her cheeks turn pink and she runs over to join her friends eating cake.
“We’ve got to go now” my mother tells me. “Go and say goodbye to Jessica.” She gives me a gentle push in the direction of the birthday girl across the room.
“Bye Jessica, thanks for having me.” She giggles in reply and her friends laugh too.
I re-join my mother who is saying goodbye to the blonde woman. She smiles at me and hands me a small plastic bag of lollies which is quickly removed from my grasping fingers. Of course. No sugar for me.
Outside my mother leads me to an old blue Audi and opens the rear door for me. She helps me climb in and settle myself in the booster seat in the back. It’s weird being small, vulnerable and having to obey someone else. I’m not enjoying this one at all. Not that many of them are enjoyable but some are definitely better than others.
“Put your seatbelt on Andy.” It’s almost impossible from this angle, the belt seems to be stuck, resisting my weak efforts to pull it free from the mechanism. My mother takes over, fastening me firmly into my seat before handing me a green bottle. The water inside is tepid, almost lukewarm, but I sip it anyway while staring out the window. The area isn’t familiar, we could be anywhere. And we could be driving to anywhere. I’m getting absolutely no say in this at all.
“Can I wind down the window?” My squeaky little voice asks. It’s bloody hot in the car and there is no air conditioning.
“Yes but just a little way.”
Leaning forward I manage to crank the window down a few centimetres. A light puff of air comes into the car, cooling precisely nothing. The car starts moving, taking me away from here, wherever here is, and off to somewhere else. Let this be over soon please. We take a left turn down a tree-lined street. Sydney perhaps but not anywhere I’m familiar with. We could just as easily be in Adelaide or Canberra or Darwin. Probably not Darwin though, the air coming into the car through my window is hot but not humid. There is no coastal smell either so we’re probably inland.
I’m jerked forward in my seat as my mother changes gears too early. My first instinct is to say something but Stella hates having her driving criticized and this lady probably wouldn’t welcome my advice either. Especially coming from her kid who presumably doesn’t know the first thing about changing gears.
Instead I take another sip of water just as a familiar heat starts spreading through my entire body. Starting in my chest then stretching upwards to fill my head and arms and down to fill the rest of my body. Thank god.
The plastic bottle is gripped harder in my hand as the heat continues to charge through me. The pressure starts building, tension ballooning through me as though I’m contracting every muscle. My eyes close automatically and there is a sudden forceful release, like a large sneeze, and in less than five seconds it’s done.
When I open my eyes I’m in my back yard watering Stella’s herbs. My own life has carried on as normal in my brief absence. How did he know how to keep things ticking along for the past hour? How does he know my routine when I never have a clue with my people? I’m standing in my garden holding onto the hose when seconds ago I was sitting in someone’s car and lifting a water bottle to my mouth. It’s completely freaky and unsettling. More than a bit fucked up. It always takes me a minute or two to adjust to being home even with the relief the jump is over. A few deep breaths help control the dizziness that always accompanies the trip back.
I turn off the water to the hose, hanging it neatly on its reel before heading through the sliding doors off the deck into the house. The shower is running as I make my way down the hallway and into our bedroom where the alarm clock on my bedside table confirms it is just after 6pm. So the jump lasted less than an hour; not too bad. I sit down on the edge of the bed and pull off my boots letting them drop to the floor, enjoying the relief of freeing my hot feet. The sudden clanking of pipes through the walls herald the shower being turned off.
Right now I want nothing more than to go in there and debrief with Stella, but I can’t. She has no idea about these weird experiences of mine and I’ve got no intention of telling here. Not now. I’d always assumed I’d be open with my wife about my jumps and of course she’d be completely open-minded and accepting of my situation. But I didn’t realise how important Stella was until she was too important to risk losing and it’s not the sort of thing you can drop casually into conversation. Oh by the way occasionally I do a bit of involuntary body swapping. Hope that won’t be a problem?
My gorgeous damp wife comes into the bedroom, her body wrapped in a towel, her hair a mass of wet, wild curls around her head. Stella’s hair is the bane of her life. I know this because she has told me about a thousand times since we met and she continues to tell me and other people whenever the opportunity arises.
Other banes of Stella’s life include her sticky out ears, which are actually covered by her hair, and her bum-nose. If you want a visual of a bum-nose google a picture of Sandra Bullock. Apparently. It’s not obvious, both women are gorgeous, but Stella insists she and Sandra have been cursed with noses like tiny bums. But by far the biggest bane of Stella’s life is her frantic hair. Her words not mine. It suits her; crazy, unusual, striking and unapologetic…but she professes to hate it and takes every opportunity to complain. Every now and then she’ll drag out her hair straightener and attempt to tame her curls. It takes hours, she complains the whole time and the end result is dry, brittle straight hair that makes her head look too small and her ears stick out. Not that I’d ever tell her this.
She gives me a kiss now as she passes and I’m tempted to tug off her towel and pull her down on the bed. Quite frankly, I could use the release. But Stella doesn’t like having sex before we are due to see Dan. She’s convinced he can tell.
“It’s like a sex sensor or something” she once told me. “I don’t know how but he can definitely tell.” For someone who is totally uninhibited in bed Stella is pretty coy when it comes to admitting to having a sex life.
She drops her towel on the carpet then pulls on a little blue bra and matching G-string. I’m watching her with a sly grin on my face as I remove my shirt and pull my pants off. She picks up the towel and swats me with it catching me on my bare thigh.
“Get in the shower pervert” she tells me, laughing at my expression. “We have to be there in half an hour.”
“They won’t care if we’re late.”
“It’s rude to keep people waiting.”
“It’s ruder to keep me in a state like this.” Nodding southwards.
“Hmmm. Yes I guess we can’t go out with you waving your dangerous weapon around. You’ll take out someone’s eye.”
“Only if I’m really lucky and I love how deluded you are. It’s never even come close to being a dangerous weapon. Come here.” I reach out to pull her against my sweaty naked body, feeling her relax against me as she winds her arms around my neck kissing me hard.
“Alright but we’ll have to be quick.”
“Not a problem.”
Afterwards she joins me in the shower to wash off any hint of sex Dan might pick up on that will give us away. The fact that we’re in our first year of marriage, invariably arriving late to any event with flushed faces and huge grins, is probably a dead giveaway in itself. I won’t stop to point this out now though. We’re running late.
Chapter 2
“Stella-bella, Knick Knack! Come on in my darlings.” Liz hugs Stella and gives me a kiss on my cheek before taking the wine out of my hands.
“Dinner smells good” We step inside the hallway.
Liz seems overly bright tonight, waving the wine like a baton and bouncing along in front of us. Something is up.
“Enchiladas with the lot. I’ve been in the mood for cooking all week so tonight we’re having a Mexican feast. You’d better be hungry, I’ve made a mountain of food.”
“Great, I’m starving. Do you need a hand with anything?” Stella asks, dropping her bag on the hall table.
“Nope all under control. You can keep me company while I finish the corn though. I’ve gone a little riotous with the chilli flakes so hopefully it’s not too hot.”
“No such thing, the hotter the better.” I tell her and Stella laughs at my enthusiasm.
In the living room Dan is sprawled on his white leather couch watching TV, his arms behind his head, his feet propped up. Liz huffs in annoyance and reaches for the remote to switch the TV off.
“Dan! I thought you were tidying up in here?” Dan ambles to his feet and greets us with a yawn.
“Sorry. I’m shattered. Big week. How’re you guys doing?” Without waiting for an answer he starts gathering papers from his oversized coffee table and stacking them in a pile. Liz rolls her eyes theatrically and offers us drinks. Stella ops for wine.
“Do you have any beer?” I ask.
“Only if Dan bothered to get some on his way home” Liz’s tone is snarky. They’ve obviously had a fight and clearly she’s still mad. This doesn’t bode well for a great evening.
“I did actually” Dan says mildly.
The girls head to the kitchen while we wander out to his balcony. He has an amazing view of the city from this spot, lucky bastard. Across the way lights are starting to come on in the tall office blocks. In about an hour the city will be completely lit up and dazzling against the darkness of the sky. Dan opens the bar fridge he keeps out here, bringing out two Coronas, handing me one.
“Mexican theme tonight mate. Arriba!” We clink bottles then take long swigs, sighing simultaneously in pleasure before sinking into two of his outdoor chairs. The beer is cold and almost sweet, birds are chirping in nearby treetops and the evening is pleasantly warm. Finally I’m allowing myself to relax and let go of the stress caused by the jump. Andy crosses my mind briefly but I’ve become good at blocking these people out. The whole experience will be tucked away in a far corner of my mind, eventually forgotten. I’m done with it.
Dan props his feet on the opposite chair, while sighing deeply and running his hand through his hair. Dan-the-man always plays to his audience, even when the audience is only me.
“What’s happening in your world?” he yawns and rubs his face before picking up his beer again.
“Not much. I’ve got a big job on at Rose Bay plus my regulars and a couple of new enquiries so still pretty flat out at the moment. Come spring everyone in Sydney is suddenly in the market for a garden makeover.”
“Ah all those bored eastern suburb housewives, frustrated and horny and dreaming about what to do with the hot young gardener they’ve hired. I told you this business was a good idea. You should take your shirt off when you work – give them something to really fantasize about.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Probably.” He swigs his beer and wipes his mouth.
“What about you? Rough week?”
“Nightmare. The MD, also known as the AF, Absolute Fucktard, has been on my back all week. He’s got it into his head that ‘the leadership team’,” this is said with air quotes, “should be demonstrating the company work ethic by starting earlier and leaving later than everyone else.” He sighs heavily. “Most of us do already but it is one thing to work late because you’re preparing for a case and another to have to hang around waiting for the receptionist to finally bugger off to her gym class so you can go home.”
“This is why I’m working for myself. No arsehole boss telling me what to do.”
“Ah but you’ve got to keep those clients happy otherwise you’ll lose their business. Don’t kid yourself mate, were all working for arseholes one way or another.”
“True.”
Stella joins us carrying a bowl of corn chips and a smaller one with hot salsa. She sets the bowls on the table, ruffles my hair affectionately as she passes me and then turns to gaze out at the view. More buildings are lighting up in the city as dusk sets in. Rows of traffic snake across the Harbour Bridge, headlights creating a flashing lightshow. She stares out, soaking it in, then sighs.
“You’re incredibly lucky Dan. This is just stunning, absolutely gorgeous, and utterly wasted on someone like you.”
“Thanks sweetheart.” He reaches out to help himself to the chips, scooping out salsa, losing most of it on the table.
“I’m serious. You should convince Liz to move in so at least someone else gets to benefit from it.”
This is a sore point with Dan and it’s odd that Stella has chosen to bring it up. Liz has been hassling Dan for years to move in together, preferably into his apartment as it is much nicer than hers. So far he’s refused. We’re doing fine the way we are, he’s told Liz on numerous occasions, which is faithfully reported to Stella and then through her to me. Why risk ruining things when we have the best of both worlds – time to be together and our own space when we need it. Liz doesn’t seem to think she needs her own space. Dan definitely does.
He frowns now. A clear warning sign to Stella to back off but she stubbornly refuses to take the hint.
“Come on Dan. It’s been five years. Bloody hell, Nick and I were married after two. You guys need to take things to the next level. You know I’m right.”
Generally I love Stella’s assertiveness and willingness to speak her mind but right now she should shut the hell up. Liz has clearly been filling her in on the reason for their discord tonight but it’s none of her business, as she well knows, and she’s definitely not doing Liz any favours by hassling her boyfriend on her behalf. This is obviously going through Dan’s mind too.
“Back off sweetheart.” He tells her and drains his bottle. “It’s got nothing to do with you. This is between Liz and me and we’ll sort it out okay?”
Stella looks a bit put out but she does drop the subject. I lean forward and help myself to a handful of chips as Liz comes out carrying two glasses of white wine. She hands them to Stella and lights two candles, setting them on the table, then sitting down with us.
“Oh Dan you forgot the lime for the beers.”
“We don’t need lime. Another one mate?” he asks me and I lift my empty one in response. Liz frowns but doesn’t comment further. Stella raises her glass high to attract our attention.
“To the Awesome Foursome” she declares loudly, as she clinks her glass against Liz’s. She loves referring to us like this, loves the fact we all usually get on so well. And most of the time we do. We’re the group at your party everyone else is drawn to, the group making all the noise, telling stories, bursting out in fits of laughter. We’re the annoying table at your restaurant, having more fun than everyone else, making loud toasts, joking with the waiters, ordering bottle after bottle of wine. Making you wish you’d booked somewhere else.
The girls start talking about the holiday Stella wants us to take early next year. We’ve narrowed it down to either Mauritius or New Caledonia. Liz has been to both places in the past few years so she’s a self-appointed expert. Dan hands me another beer and we start our own conversation about the upcoming cricket season. Well more of an argument than a conversation. He’s still mourning the loss of Pup as Australian captain which is a joke as everyone knows Steve Smith is far better as skipper.
We finish the chips and the girls go inside to check on dinner. Dan and I sit quietly for a minute. It’s getting dark now and the birds have been replaced by the occasional fruit bat circling the tree tops near us. The candles flicker in the slight breeze, lighting up the table and casting moody shadows on our faces.
“She wants to get married and have kids you know.” Dan says. I nod in reply. We all know this.
“Yeah most of them do. Stella isn’t interested in the kids’ part but she was pretty definite about tying the knot.”
“It’s all about the fluffy white dress isn’t it” he says morosely.
“Maybe, probably, but also they want commitment. They want to know you’re serious about them. That they’re important to you.”
Sometimes I actually surprise myself with my own insightfulness although Dan doesn’t seem as impressed with this remark as he should. Actually he looks kind of defeated.
“Liz’s important. I think. Yes she is of course, but marriage isn’t for me and I’m getting fed up with the nagging. Why do they want to wreck it by insisting on more? Why not keep things the way they are?”
He has a point. Why change things if they are working well? My life is lined up exactly the way I’d always dreamed; a beautiful wife who adores me, a business doing well, a great house and garden although the mortgage repayments are pretty high. I don’t want anything to change. Apart from the jumps that is. I’d dump those in a blind minute.
We eat dinner out on the balcony, scoffing down beef and bean enchiladas with sides of chilli corn, sour cream and guacamole. The earlier tense atmosphere is forgotten as we slip into our usual light, stupid conversations. For Dan and me this is about music or our favourite sporting teams. Liz and Stella like talking about work gossip, shoes and their favourite obsession, celebrities. Around nine o’clock Dan starts yawning again setting me off. Liz stands up and starts stacking plates.
“Does anyone want any more food? Otherwise I’ll clear this stuff away.” She’s being very domestic tonight and waves away our offers to help. “No it’s fine. I’ve got it.” She offers us coffee but we all refuse. It’s been a long busy week for everyone and we’re all tired.
***
Liz and Dan’s relationship is clearly bothering Stella and she wants to talk about them all the way home. It’s all Dan’s fault and, as his closest mate, it is my job to tell him he’d better pull his finger out if he doesn’t want to lose the best thing that has ever happened to him.
“Just point out how much happier he will be if he marries Liz. It’s time for him to grow up and start being a responsible adult. She won’t put up with this forever. He’ll lose her if he doesn’t make his move.”
Like most men Dan responds badly to this type of pressure. He and Liz will figure it out, or they won’t, but they don’t need us interfering.
“It’s not interfering, it’s called caring Nick. Look it up. I happen to care about them both and I want them to be happy.”
“I care about them too but it’s their problem to sort out. It’s not up to us to help them deal with their issues.”
She frowns in disagreement. This is not how things work in Stella and Liz’s world. These girls know exactly what they want and they’re not afraid to ask for it. They might be disappointed with the answers but they’ll never put up with something they don’t like because of a reluctance to say anything.
“Just tell him how great it is being married. How you couldn’t be happier now we’ve tied the knot. That instead of feeling insecure and lonely you’re now happy and fulfilled and grateful every day to have such a brilliant beautiful wife who adores you.”
“Yes but there is only one of you and, hang on, I was never insecure and lonely. Bored, maybe. Tired of having a different girl every night. Fed up with endless streams of supermodels throwing themselves at me but not insecure or lonely.”
She punches my arm and sticks her tongue out at me.
"Having one girlfriend who modelled sleepwear for Target is hardly a stream of supermodels Nick. Face it. You’re much happier now as a married man than you were when you were single.”
“True. Although that has less to do with marriage and more to do with finding someone who is not put off by my weirdness. Not to mention my occasional psychotic tendencies. You don’t know how close you’ve come to being my latest taxidermy experiment. On more than one occasion too.”
“Lucky I’m a light sleeper then. And I always count the knives before I go to bed. Anyway, be serious for a minute. You know Dan and Liz would be as happy as us if they did get married. Just point that out to him. Tell him having a wife makes things better, not worse. He and Liz are perfect for each other.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She leans over and kisses me. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Back at home we climb into bed nuzzling at each other. She reaches up and kisses me, softly at first then deeper. I tug at her t-shirt and she sits up and yanks it off before sinking back naked against me. It’s slow lazy sex this time, nothing like the frenzied release earlier. Afterwards she kisses me again and rolls to her side of the bed to sleep.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily to me. Despite my earlier intentions Andy worms his way back into my thoughts. Not for the first time I wonder if there is any point, any meaning, to these jumps. Being Andy for an hour didn’t make any obvious difference to his life. I didn’t save him from drowning or stop him catching a doomed flight or prevent him from being bitten by a dog. I made absolutely no difference to his life in my short time of being him. Just stepped in, carried along a bit and then quietly left.
Next to me Stella is snoring softly and peacefully, completely untroubled. How would she react if she did find out about my jumps? Reaching out I place my hand on her bare hip splaying my fingers out over her smooth skin. She doesn’t need to know. There is no point in worrying her. I can handle these episodes on my own.
Chapter 3
On Sunday evening I phone my mum in New Zealand for our weekly chat. Trying to be the good son, keep my hand in for the inheritance. Dad answers the phone.
“Hi Dad, its Nick. Just calling to see how you guys are going?” “Hey Nick, hang on a tick, I’ll get your mother. She’s in the loo.”
He’s gone before I can say anything else. Although he’s happy to answer it, my father has a total aversion to actually talking on the phone. It’s up there with sharing your emotions or discussing period cramps in the list of things he simply can’t bear to do. My mother isn’t great with the expressive stuff either but my father would almost rather not continue his life than be involved in ‘women’s business”. It’s just as well he never sired any daughters.
My mother comes on the line.
“Hey Ma”
“Hi darling. How are you?”
She sounds distracted but then she always does. She likes to multi-task, my mum, and as a result doesn’t give her full attention to anything. Right now she’ll be scrolling through Facebook, flicking through the TV channels or writing her weekly shopping list while she catches up on my life. Very efficient. Kind of annoying.
“Good. We’re good. How’re things there?”
“Hmmm? Oh well you know, your father’s sciatica has been playing up a bit and that’s been hard on him. He had to miss church this morning because he could hardly move, poor man. Now before I forget let me tell you I’ve booked our trip over on the 4th April no wait, was it the 14th? Hang on a sec, let me check….oh okay no it’s the 7th of April. I’m sorry we can’t be there for Christmas this year but we can’t get Nan into the nursing home until April.”
“Do you want to stay with us when you come over? We’d love to have you.”
“Thank you darling but we’ll stay with Michael and Tanya, they’ve got the big house so we get our own bathroom. Your dad hates sharing a toilet. That reminds me, did I tell you what Ariana said to Michael the other day? Well apparently they were driving to school and there was a traffic jam near the roundabout on Daley…”
I tune out. She told me this story last week. My mother lives for the exploits of her grandchildren and it’s the probably my only regret about our decision not to have kids. Mum sounds so pleased and proud when she reports stories about Ariana and Jackson and the funny things they say and do.
“How is Stella? What’s she been up to?” My mum has finished her story and is asking me a question.
“Not much. Doing well at work and she’s joined a new gym. Apparently the old one was getting too ‘blokey’.”
My mother likes Stella but she doesn’t really understand her. Stella is a girly girl. She loves make-up, dressing up and pretty shoes. She’s also passionate about her career as a chartered accountant. Mum is the opposite. She’s has never even worn lipstick, dresses in sensible clothes, hasn’t had a job since her teens as a checkout chick and believes in family, the Lord and the community in that order. Both are wonderful women, warm, kind and loving but they occupy completely different worlds.
“Oh really? Well that’s a shame. Although I don’t know why she has to bother with all that expense. She could just go for a nice walk, get some fresh air. Anyway darling, I was chatting with Jan the other day and she told me her niece finally fell pregnant after seeing this amazing doctor in Glebe. Now just hang on a minute because I’ve got his number for you...”
“Mum. We’re not having trouble getting pregnant. We don’t want kids. Not yet anyway.”
This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation. The message is not getting through.
“Oh I know, I know. I just thought…if you wanted a second opinion this man is supposed to be wonderful. Let me get the number.” She rummages around and gives me a local Sydney number. Pretending to take it down is easier than continuing this argument so I dutifully recite it back to her. Deep down Mum must know she’s wasting her time but she can’t help herself. She refuses to believe anyone could be truly happy without having kids so she’s compelled to try to help us – whether we want it or not.
Right now we don’t. Stella is pretty firm on the matter. Definitely no kids before 35 with an option to reconsider at that point. She’s only a year away from that milestone although I’ve still got three years up my sleeve.
“Have you spoken to your brother?” Mum is asking and I tell her no, because my brother and I don’t call each other to chat. Mum likes to think we’re very close but the truth is we only ever get together for special events which are far less about the social aspect and far more about the obligation.
The last time we saw Mike and his wife Tanya was at his birthday in a restaurant a few months ago. It was just us and the two of them plus my niece and nephew both of whom are allowed to run wild. Knocking into the staff and annoying the other diners. Free range kids Tanya calls them. Uncontrollable brats is more accurate. Normally I’m pretty relaxed about the kids because really, who cares what they do, they’re not my responsibility. But their parents were pretty much ignoring them and after Ariana nearly tripped up a lady with a walking frame I’d had enough.
“Come and sit down you two” I’d told them firmly, “or you can go and sit in the car.” This was a threat used on me as a kid and it always worked like a charm. Needless to say both Mike’s children ignored me. Jackson did stop long enough to give me a cheeky grin complete with sticking out tongue then tore off after his sister again. Tanya frowned at me.
“We don’t threaten our children” she’d told me. “Children are people too, you know, and like adult people they respond better to reasoning than bullying.” Her mouth pursed up like a little cat’s arse.
Stella had laughed, putting her hand on Tanya’s arm.
“Tans he’s not bullying them. He’s trying to get them to settle down before they hurt someone or themselves. Hey guys, come and sit up at the table and I’ll tell you a funny story about Uncle Nick losing his keys this morning.”
Her suggestion worked. The kids sat down, for a short while anyway, and Tanya was mollified. She’s a nice enough person but she is a bit tiresome when it comes to her kids. She and Michael only have two topics of conversation; their children and their financial plan. This makes for fairly tedious social events. Both of them are financial planners, Tanya – part-time since the kids, and they can easily fill an entire evening talking about their own investments, what other people are investing in, what other people should be investing in, and why it is vitally important to have an investment strategy.
Mike was the brotherly voice of doom when I started up the gardening business a few years ago, citing all kinds of statistics on how quickly new businesses go down the tubes, most in their first year. He seems slightly annoyed that I have (so far) failed to fail. We’re far from millionaires but the business is making fairly good money now mostly thanks to a massive landscaping job I picked up last year.
On this birthday occasion, apart from telling me off for trying to control their children, Tanya spent the whole night talking to Stella about our childless state.
“We prefer the term child-free” Stella smiled but Tanya wasn’t to be deterred. It was clear this was something she needed to ‘get off her chest’. Tanya likes to get things off her chest although she isn’t particularly fond of other people getting stuff off their own chests. Stella, who doesn’t hold back if something annoys her, is surprisingly patient with Tanya. Maybe she thinks she’s obliged to keep good family relations between us all. For my part I’m just glad we only have to see them a few times a year. And as much as mother would like otherwise this isn’t likely to change.
“Well I spoke to him on Friday and he said they’ve made another thirty grand in equity on the Northshore property so that’s wonderful isn’t it? He’s so clever. Not that you’re not darling, I’m very proud of you both.” She adds quickly as she tries, and fails, to be diplomatic. I have no desire to listen to how much money my brother thinks he is making so I wind up the conversation.
“I’d better go Ma. Say hi to Nan for me and I’ll call you next week.”
“Oh okay. Well give Stella my love and don’t forget to give her the thing. The number. Of the doctor. Just in case.”
She hangs up leaving me to wander back into our living room where Stella is watching TV. Biggest Loser or The Block or one of those reality programs that she adores and which drive me mad. It’s the delicious drama, she told me once.
But as far as I’m concerned contrived drama is pointless and unnecessary. Plus I get my fair share of drama through the jumps. Not that they involve any physical jumping but as a kid I thought of them as jumps and it’s stuck with me over the years. Along with no actual jumping there is not a lot of warning – just a warmth then a pressurized sensation which only lasts about five seconds, if that. I’ve always closed my eyes at the release. It is automatic, like sneezing. Uncontrollable.
To be honest the whole thing pisses me off. I’m trying to manage my own life in between getting periodically and pointlessly hauled off into other people’s lives. Presumably that person or someone else jumps into me while I’m off being other people. They seem to do a reasonably good job of it at any rate. Stella, my parents and friends never seem to notice any difference in my behaviour. Unless they just think that’s part of my personality – mostly normal with occasional periods of vagueness when I don’t seem to have a completely solid grip on things.
“My biggest fear is this journey will come to an end and I’ll have to go home.” A skinny woman is wailing to the camera as fat tears slide down her cheeks. I roll my eyes and snort derisively. Stella looks up.
“Hey babe, how’s your mum?”
“Good. Sends her love. Has a new gyno for you to check out in your quest to become pregnant. She gave me the number but unfortunately for you I’ve forgotten it.”
Stella rolls her own eyes, patting the couch, indicating for me to join her. She hands me the remote and half a block of Cadbury’s from the coffee table.
“Here. Change it if you want. It’s getting boring anyway and the sight of all that food is making me eat too much chocolate. My pants are getting tight.” She pulls at the waistband of her black cotton pyjama pants. “You should ring your mother back and tell her I’m having a food baby.” She draws her legs up on to the couch, crosses them and pats her tiny belly, then stretches her arms above her head and yawns widely. She’s wearing a white singlet with no bra and her nipples are pushing the material out. Hooking my finger into the front of her pants I pull them out to look down the front. No undies either. My cock stirs and then hardens quickly.
My hand slides inside her pants and cups her between her legs. She widens her eyes and chuckles at me.
“I’ll just keep my hand here” I tell her, “I’m not doing anything to you, just resting my hand here.” She wriggles forward a bit and then leans her head back on the couch, closing her eyes. I reach over and kiss her while muting the TV with the remote.
On screen the thin woman is still silently crying, tears rolling down her cheeks. Being sent home like this is the absolute worst place to be. In my home my gorgeous wife is sitting cross legged on our couch with the eyes closed and a smile on her face as she reaches out to pull me closer. I love being home.
Chapter 4
“We’re going to Mauritius!” Stella is waiting for me at the front door when I get back from an early surf followed by brunch with Gavin and Stew, friends of ours. “I’ve booked the tickets and I checked your calendar. There are a couple of jobs you might have to move around but we’re going!”
She throws her arms around my neck as I lift her up and swing her around. She’s laughing and whooping, her eyes sparkling down at me. She has such great energy and enthusiasm for even the smallest things, although it’s not hard to get enthusiastic about a destination holiday.
Stella doesn’t know this but I wasn’t keen on her when we first met at a bar in Newtown a few years ago. I’d thrown in my job after two years of working with the biggest idiot in Sydney and, starting Monday, my new gardening business was launching with three clients. All of this was making me nervous but excited. I was ready to celebrate hard to drown out the sneaking worry this was possibly the biggest mistake of my life.
An earlier conversation with my brother that week had done nothing to reassure me of my decision although Dan was quick to dismiss Mike’s comments.
“Ah tosser. What does he know? He’s barely alive stuck in his stupid boring job doing pension plans for old widows or whatever it is he does. One day he’ll keel over and die for real. Whereas you’re living the dream Nicky-boy – out there kicking goals, taking risks. It’s what life is all about. Come on let’s go celebrate!”
We’d gone to a fancy bar in Newtown because Dan’s girlfriend Liz had heard it was great. When we arrived she was already there, sitting with a group of people doing tequila slammers. Stella caught my eye straight away, hard not to with the crazy hair, but she seemed to be with the guy next to her who had his arm draped possessively across the back of her chair. Dan went to the bar to get us drinks and Liz drunkenly introduced me to the others in the group most of whom were her workmates. When she got to the girl with the big hair she said
“…and this is Stella-Bella-Woo! It’s her first week so we’re welcoming her properly with shots. Woo Hoo!” Stella whooped along with her, banging her hand on the table and I’d instantly dismissed her as loud and probably a bit obnoxious.
My last girlfriend, Jessica had been a tall, shy, incredibly polite girl who would quietly sip a single glass of wine all night and was almost always the designated driver. My first impression of Stella was that she was very similar to Liz in personality. I really like Liz, she’s gorgeous and lots of fun but I wouldn’t want to date her.
Dan came back with more shots and we caught up pretty fast with the rest of the group. Someone asked me about my job. Then he probably wished he hadn’t as he was treated to a soliloquy about my life and my dreams and my idiot former boss who used to send me out to do all the work while he sat in the Ute smoking and texting his girlfriend.
After an hour or so most people left. There was only Stella, Dan, Liz and me along with a couple of other girls whose names I don’t remember. I was telling one of them, the cuter one, my favourite joke not realising Stella was listening until I came to the punchline and she burst out laughing. The other girl stared blankly at me.
This is my theory. There are two types of people in the world – those who find the big orange head joke hysterically funny and those who simply don’t get it. I’ve always been attracted to the people who get it showing they have the same warped sense of humour as me. Actually it probably has a great deal more to do with the mood you’re in at the time as well as the timing of the person telling it, but to me it’s a good indicator of compatibility.
Anyway Stella giggled so hard she snorted which set me off laughing and the cute girl disappeared somewhere and there was just Stella. Stella with her straight white teeth and her long throat, tilting her head back, captivating me. The tops of her boobs jiggled in her dress as her body shook with laughter. I was sold. I’d manoeuvred myself closer to her and stuck my hand out.
“Hi I’m Nick.” Smooth. Very smooth. She’d ignored my outstretched hand and eventually it dropped back in my lap.
“I know who you are. Dan’s mate right? Liz has told me all about you.”
“Really? It’s all true you know, well the part about the enormous dick might be a slight exaggeration but the rest is all true.”
Yeah I don’t know either. What possessed me to say this to a girl I was trying to impress. Tequila probably. I’d tried to reel myself back in.
“Okay she didn’t exaggerate at all. I’m an enormous dick-head.” My second attempt at humour plummeted like a stone and Stella’s eyes widened further. “Look can we start again? I’m Nick Dunbar. You’re Stella? Did I get your name right?”
She’d smiled. Thank god. “Yes you did. Nice to meet you Nick Dunbar. I liked your earlier joke but you should probably learn when to shut up. Now if you want to impress me you can go and get me another drink.”
I’d obeyed, partly to make up for the earlier awkwardness and partly because I was already keen to impress her. Back at the table, the two random girls were nowhere in sight and Liz was sitting on Dan’s lap, kissing him and whispering into his ear. Stella was doing her best to ignore them, smiling warmly at me as I handed her a drink and sat back down.
“Cheers!” she touched her glass to mine then put her drink down and peered at me, tilting her head slightly to the right. “You remind me of someone. Hey Liz, who does Nick here remind you of?” Liz peeled herself off Dan long enough to give me a good hard, drunken look.
“Dunno? No one I know.”
“It’s definitely someone...I’ll get it in a minute. So Nick what do you do?”
I’d started to tell her about the new business, when suddenly she clicked her fingers. “I’ve got it! Liz what’s the name of that guy? He was in Forgetting Sarah Marshall and the television series. The comedy. Jason someone, starts with S.” She picked up her phone and started typing.
“Jason Statham?” Dan asked, looking at me doubtfully. Liz snorted into his shoulder.
“No the other one. Jason Segel.” She showed me a picture of a big goofy looking guy.
“Let me see.” Liz demanded, grabbing the phone. “They’re both tall but come on, Nick is much more handsome.”
“Thanks Liz.” Stella had laughed.
“Yes okay he’s a tiny bit better looking. In fact you’re getting more handsome with every drink, sunshine.” Then she’d leaned over and given me a quick kiss.
The rest of the night is a bit of a blur but at one point Stella grabbed my phone, typing in her name and number. It took me several days to call her but not because of a lack of interest. The new business was taking all my focus, leaving no time or, quite frankly, desire for a girlfriend right then. Twice I came close to deleting her number. By the time I’d decided to call Stella had almost given up on me. It took all my powers of persuasion to convince her to meet me for a drink. The rest, as they say, is history.
Looking at her shining face now, so excited, a surge of love for her courses through me. This will be an amazing trip, the two of us sunbaking, swimming, having lots of lazy sex, eating Creole food – the hotter the better.
“Fantastic news. What date do we go?”
“8th April. And we get back on the 18th. It’s a bit later than we’d discussed but this was a better deal.” Hang on. Something about those dates is familiar. Shit.
“Babe, Mum and Dad are coming over on the 7th of April remember? They’ve been talking about it for ages. That’s why we picked March.”
Stella sticks her jaw out stubbornly. I know this expression well.
“It’s a much better deal Nick. We can’t go throwing money away simply because your parents have a holiday planned too. They’re retired, they can travel whenever they want. Besides, we’ll be here for the first day they’re here. We’ll see them then. You know they’ll want to spend all their time with your brother’s family anyway.”
She’s probably right about this but Mum will be disappointed to only see us for one day.
“Can we shift the day we leave? Maybe go on the 10th instead so we can see them for a few more days? That still gives us eight days away.”
Stella frowns. “No we can’t. I’ve had to take those dates and it’s too late to change. Besides we deserve a decent break. We haven’t had a holiday since our honeymoon. We can make it up to your parents another time. Perhaps we could go across to New Zealand later in the year and see them on our own?”
Her mind is clearly made up and it’s not worth the fight. I’m annoyed though. My parents have been planning this trip for a while and this will upset them both.
We go into the kitchen where she has a heap of glossy brochures spread out on the table. I pick one up and look at the cover. Bright blue sea and golden sand with palm trees. Stripy sun lounges with umbrellas. It is completely clichéd and totally awesome. Imagine lying on that beach, cocktail in hand. I can almost feel the warmth from the holiday sun beating down on me. Actually dammit I can feel the warmth and I know what this means. It’s spreading through my body and automatically my eyes close as I’m pulled away.
Chapter 5
As my eyes flicker open it is immediately obvious I’m sitting on a toilet so I quickly shut them again. Talk about undignified entrances. Okay one thing at a time. First I need to come to terms with this jump. It’s only been a week since Andy; they’re not usually this close. So this is a new and completely unwelcome development. At least I’m on my own and unencumbered by an audience.
From the smell coming up from the bowl and the lack of pressure in the bowels of this new body of mine it is clear things are done here. I pause for a moment taking stock. Looking down at my shiny old knees with my knobbly hands resting on them. A faded wedding ring buried in the thick flesh of my finger. Tweedy brown trousers and greying white Y-fronts gathered around my ankles.
A sudden stabbing pain jerks at my lower back as I twist to pull off some toilet paper. I really don’t appreciate having to deal with wiping this arse clean but I don’t seem to have a lot of choice. Come on Nick. Just reach behind, fix yourself up then stand, bend over, haul your pants back into place.
Sharp pains stab at my spine making me want to yell out. I settle for a muffled moan, lifting my pants up and belting them over my flannelette shirt, tucking myself in neatly. High pants, gathered in shirt. Old man style.
Quickly I flush away the contents of the toilet without looking then rinse my hands at the small wall mounted basin. The mirror shows a heavily wrinkled face, sagging cheeks and red rimmed eyes. My hair is white, thinning and my ears and nose are huge. I give my reflection a wry smile. My teeth are scarily long and yellowing.
Deep breath. Time to enter my new temporary life. Reaching to open the door I’m momentarily surprised at how slowly my hand responds to my brain’s command. It’s so weird to go from being myself with my normal healthy strong body into a different one, a frail or weak or elderly body. It never feels like it fits properly. Probably because it doesn’t.
My feet are similarly inefficient and my back hurts too much to walk properly. I’m forced to adopt a weird shuffle as I move out of the toilet and into a carpeted hallway lined with pink stripy wallpaper. It smells like cooked vegetables and boiled meat out here.
“Vern! Telephone” someone yells from another part of the house startling me. It’s coming from the kitchen at the end of the hall and for lack of any other plan I head towards it. As I reach the doorway a large orange cat slinks up between my legs rubbing against my ankles, almost tripping me. I lurch sideways and the sudden movement sends another stab of pain through my back.
“Fuck!”
“Vern?” An old lady turns from the stove. She’s holding a soup ladle and her wrinkled face is creased in surprise. She watches me hobble over to the kitchen table and ease my stiff aching body carefully into a chair. I rest my elbows on the red Formica and let my head drop into my hands.
“Vern did you hear me? Telephone. And be quick please, I’m about to dish up lunch. It’s that Rob bloke from the croquet club, he wants to know if you’re playing this afternoon.”
No I’m bloody not. I’m not playing croquet and I’m not having lunch at 11:00am and this jump needs to end right now and let me go back to my wife so we can finish planning our holiday. I am going to do nothing except sit here, angry and in pain until this happens. Rob can go fuck himself.
The old lady glances at me, concerned. “Are you alright?”
“No” my voice is gruff and cranky. “I’m stiff and sore and I’m staying right here.” An old man’s whistle comes out with the S words.
She turns back to the stove with a snort. “Suit yourself but you can tell him. I’m not your maid.”
She ladles soup into a bowl and brings it over, setting it down in front of me with a slice of buttered bread. It appears she is my maid despite what she thinks.
I sigh heavily hauling myself out of the chair. Where is the bloody phone? Maybe they keep it in the hall.
“Where are you going? Here.” She hands me a mobile phone with enormous buttons and a big screen. Do they even make mobiles this big? Apparently they do.
I take it from her and hold it up to my ear. “Hello?”
A man’s voice starts talking, very quietly. “I can’t hear you” I shout at him as if he’s the one who is deaf. “Speak up!”
No wonder old people get so cranky, being in constant pain with idiots whispering at them down their oversized phones. Rob raises his voice slightly and he asks if I’m playing croquet this afternoon. I tell him no I’m in too much pain to do anything and he laughs, the prick, and tells me he hopes I’m better soon. I hang up on him.
My lunch is still sitting on the table and my maid, who is probably also my wife, has dished up her own bowl of soup and is now sitting on the other side of the table slurping noisily. Carefully I ease myself back into my chair and stare morosely at my meal. It is some kind of yellow vegetable soup with bits of onion floating in it along with a thin film of surface grease. I’m not eating that.
The mobile phone suddenly rings loudly, vibrating on the table. I’m startled and a fart pushes its way out of me, unexpectedly and noisily. The old lady lifts the phone and answers it, fanning the air, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Hello? Katy how lovely to hear from you dear. No nothing we’re having our lunch. Well he seems quite grumpy today so probably not. Yes of course. Sorry dear I missed that. Oh yes well you know how he gets.”
Presumably they’re talking about me but I have no interest in their conversation. Instead I turn my attention to my surroundings trying to distract myself from my misery. The kitchen we’re in is quite large with lace curtains framing a large window over the sink and part of the yard is visible; a hills hoist heavily decorated with old people clothes is slowly turning in the breeze. Butting up against the sink side of the room is an old-fashioned stove with a large yellow fridge on the other. I’m reminded of my grandmother’s kitchen in her old house; the same faint smell of boiled meat hanging in the air. The floor is covered in some kind of brown vinyl and worn thin in spots. It’s a tired room and makes me weary just being here.
My wife has finished her phone conversation. “That was Katy” she reports as though I know who Katy is. “She’s bringing the kids over tomorrow for a visit so after lunch you’d better go out to the shed and finish repairing the bike for Dennis since you’re not playing croquet today. And for heaven’s sake make sure you clean all the oil of it before you give it back this time. I’ll make a fish pie for our lunch, Dennis loves my fish pie and maybe some mashed potatoes and green beans. You’d better pick me some beans while you’re out there. I’ll make a summer pudding for dessert. Yes that’ll be nice.” She’s chattering out loud to herself and her voice is annoying me so I’m glad of the excuse to escape.
I’ll go and wait this thing out in Vern’s shed. The orange cat follows me outside, wrapping itself around my legs. I try to kick it away but I’m too slow.
My shed is a small tin thing sitting in the backyard next to the fence. The door sticks and I have to wrench it open by pulling with all my might. This nearly sends me toppling backwards and gives my poor back another shot of pain. I stomp inside, plonking myself down on a little wooden stool.
This jump sucks. Well they all suck but some of them are at least a bit interesting and give me things to do aside from shuffling around finding places to sit. As a kid the jumps didn’t bother me at all. I’d assumed this happened to everyone; that we all went around swapping into each other’s bodies from time to time. It didn’t happen that often either, maybe once or twice a year. Back then it was an adventure, a little break from my own childhood and the constant torture dished out by my older brother. I must have been about nine or ten when I found out this wasn’t actually normal. After hearing about my experience as a four year old boy my parents were sufficiently alarmed to drag me off to a psychiatrist. Phrases like paranoid schizophrenic and multiple personalities were tossed around. None of this sounded like a good thing so I pretended to have made the whole thing up. After that I learned to keep my jump adventures to myself.
Now it’s just annoying and aggravating particularly since I have no say in the matter. I can’t make it happen or make it stop or choose whose body to take over next. Given the choice it would be someone a lot more interesting than most of the people I get stuck with. Maybe George Clooney or Brad Pitt or someone else with a lot of money and a gorgeous wife. Not that my own wife isn’t gorgeous of course but you know - someone interesting at any rate. Not this poor old bastard Vern with his bad back and his nasty noisy farts. He’s probably enjoying my life if that’s where he is right now. There’s an unwelcome thought. He’d better not be trying anything on with my wife. I’ll kill him.
Sitting on my little stool I try to mentally will myself back. The cat sits at my feet watching me closely. I’m definitely getting warm…from sitting inside a small tin shed on a hot day. Come on. Just go back.
It’s pointless. Concentrating hard makes absolutely no difference. It’s like trying to convince myself to grow another arm. I have to be patient, try to get into the Zen of this experience. Anyway it won’t be much longer, they don’t usually last long.
Although there was one when I was about sixteen that lasted several hours. The time my jump landed me in the body of a man working as an air traffic controller at Sydney airport. Poor guy. He was directing a plane load of passengers in to land when I arrived, freaked out and bolted out of the airport. I’d dashed to the front of the taxi queue, jumping into a cab and hissing “Emergency!” at the startled line of people. The driver took me to the nearest hotel where I used the guy’s credit card to book a room and stayed locked up there all afternoon. Eating my way through the mini bar and watching the television, scanning for news of a plane crash, until the jump ended.
Whatever happened to that guy? He probably lost his job because of me. Until today I’ve never given him a second thought. Actually I’ve given very little consideration to any of these people and what ended up happening to them.
Looking around I notice a kid’s bike stacked up against the wall of the shed, the bike chain hanging loosely. I reach out and pull it towards me. My fingers are blunt and clumsy but eventually manage to get the chain back on. The brakes grip the wheel solidly. It’s a nice little bike and it would be much more fun to take it for a spin around the garden rather than sit here waiting in this hot shed.
I examine my hands which are now smeared with bike oil. Ropey veins crisscross the backs of them with thick fingers like sausages ending in flat rough nails. A long knobbly scar runs across the top of three fingers on my left hand making me wonder what happened. On my wrist is a big silver watch with large numbers so my elderly eyes can read them. Half past twelve. This is a long one after all.
Shifting around on my stool to ease the pain in my back only seems to make it worse. Damn it. Every single bit of this jump is horrible. I’m hot, itchy and the pain in my back is relentless. My vision is crap, my right eye is watering continuously and there is a strange rubbery taste in my mouth along with a heavy tiredness in my limbs. Being old is horrible. Being Vern is unbearable. My watch shows four more minutes have passed. Oh come on. This is getting stupid. My elbows are resting on my knees, fists clenched and my eyes shut in frustration.
Inside the house my wife is yelling, reminding me to pick the goddamn beans.
“I’m coming.”
Reluctantly I get to my feet and shuffle out of the shed into the small garden. There is a vine running along the back fence, heavy with long green beans. I’m pinching and twisting the ends to tug them free, before I realise there I’ve got nothing to carry them in. Untucking my shirt I pull the bottom flaps up to make a little pouch and pile the beans in there.
Once my shirt is full I head back up to the house. The old lady is waiting just inside the back door.
“Put it away!” She flaps her hands at me crossly. What is she talking about? Put what away? “For heaven’s sake, tuck yourself in. No one wants to see that!”
Oh my stomach. Well it’s probably not the prettiest thing in the room but she’s my wife. Surely she can’t be offended by the sight of a bit of my skin? She gives a disgusted harrumph as she scoops the beans out of my shirt. “Is this all you’ve got? That won’t feed a mouse! What were you thinking Vern? You’d better go and get some more and for heaven’s sake take a bowl with you.”
She passes me a red plastic bowl from the draining board and shoos me back outside into the garden as I grit my teeth. The things I’m forced to put up with.
Once the bowl is filled I retrace my steps, pausing on the back doorstep to tuck my shirt in to my high waisted pants.
“Here. I’m not picking any more. My back hurts, I’m going to lie for a while.” Once I find the bedroom that is. She lifts the bowl from my hands and glares at me.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have to vacuum the lounge room and the bathroom could do with a quick scrub while you’re at it.” Is she kidding? I’m in no condition to clean the house.
“My. Back. Hurts.” This is said very slowly so she’ll understand. “I’m going to lie down. Now.” I’m not spending one minute pushing a vacuum cleaner around. Vern can do the housework when he gets back. Hopefully in the next few minutes.
“For heaven’s sake.” The old lady has her hands on her hips and shakes her head but she doesn’t try and stop me.
The house is quite small so it doesn’t take long to find the master bedroom with twin pink beds. A frill covered tissue box and a romance novel are on the table next to one bed. Presumably the other one is mine. I ease my legs up and push my shoes off with each foot, letting out a sigh of relief as my pinched feet are released. Lying straight finally eases the pain in my back. That’s it, I’m going to spend the rest of this jump right here. My eyes close gratefully.
“Vern!” She’s followed me into the bedroom, her flowery fusty odour drifting over me. My eyes stay firmly closed. Go. Away. “I’m not having this. What on earth do you think you’re doing? Lying down in the middle of the afternoon! It’s not done. What will people say?”
What people? There’s no one else here. And anyway who is going to begrudge an old bugger a little nap? Poor Vern. What on earth possessed him to marry this shrew in the first place? Maybe she used to be a nice lady. Perhaps she was lovely once but became sour as she became old. I open one eye. If there was any loveliness there in the beginning it has long gone. She looks bitter and annoyed.
She’s not getting anything out of me though. She’s welcome to stand there and nag me until she’s blue in the face but she won’t get me off this bed. Finally, with another huff of disgust she leaves me alone. It’s warm in the bedroom, quiet and still.
I doze on and off all afternoon until I’m visited again.
“Vern. You’ve wasted the whole afternoon. Are you planning on getting up for dinner?” Dinner? This should have ended by now. I’ve been here all day.
“I’m not getting up.” My voice is cranky and fed up. We’re quite a pair this old lady and me, naggy and grumpy.
“Suit yourself. But if you don’t I’m calling the doctor. This isn’t normal behaviour Vern so maybe he can work out what is wrong with you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me. My back is very sore and lying down helps. Actually if the doctor comes maybe he could give me something for the pain.”
“Oh Vern, honestly. You’re making such a fuss about nothing. Now stop this nonsense and get up.” She’s getting teary.
She’s annoying me no end but this is obviously upsetting her. Anyway I’m getting a bit bored of sleeping now and there is nothing else to do in here.
“Alright then. I’ll get up.”
I swing my legs slowly off the bed and lumber back down the hallway after her in my socks. Dinner is waiting for me on the kitchen table where my lunch sat earlier. Two sausages and a pile of mashed potatoes lumped on a blue china plate. An identical plate sits opposite along with a small blue jug of dark gravy.
Despite not eating all day my appetite has vanished. I’ve missed most of my Sunday and right now all I’m interested in is a cold beer and some painkillers. And my own home. My wife starts fussing around me.
“Now sit down before it gets cold. Would you like a glass of water? I’ll get us some bread and butter. There’s a piece left over from your lunch you can have.” Great.
“Do we have any beer? Wine? Whiskey?” Methylated spirits? I’m not fussy at this stage. Her eyes widen; she stares at me as though I’ve suddenly grown an extra head. Okay so probably no alcohol.
“You’ve been acting strangely all day. And now you want alcohol? For heaven’s sake Vern what on earth has gotten into you today?”
What has gotten into him is a thirty-two year old gardener from Maroubra who is resenting the hell out of this jump and would give anything to swap back right now. An unwelcome thought pops into my head. Maybe Vern is controlling this jump. Maybe the other person always controls the jump in which case this guy is unlikely to be in any hurry to come back. Not that I’d blame him. In his shoes I’d stay away for good. But he can’t. If he is controlling this he needs to end it right now. Vern? Right now mate. Seriously. Nothing. Of course nothing happens.
The old lady is watching me, her eyes almost disappearing into her frown. I pick up my knife and fork and cut a small piece off the end of one sausage transferring it to my mouth. Gristle and fat skid under my old teeth making me gag. I hate sausages. The mashed potato is cold but not as awful. As I’m lifting some more of it to my mouth the tell-tale warmth starts to fill my body.
Finally. Who knows if Vern’s come to his senses or decided he misses his life or if there is some other force at play here. Right now it doesn’t matter because I’m going home. Goodbye Vern and Vern’s cranky wife. I never want to see either of you again.
Chapter 6
“Well he does love his hydrangeas so don’t mess with those. The roses can go apart from those pinky-orangy ones down near the shed. They’re quite pretty, very prickly though. Hundreds of little thorns, can you do anything about that? Then we should have some pretty diosma, the bright pink one not the pale, running along the side of the house…”
It is spectacularly hot on Monday morning at my first appointment. The sun is blazing down and my potential client is standing in the narrow shade of the house but there isn’t enough room for both of us. Unless I squeeze in next to her and we have our consultation side by side with me talking to the top of her white helmet-haired head. She reminds me of Vern’s wife, thin lips pursed, ready to argue with any suggestion.
Beads of sweat trickle down my back and into the waistband of my shorts. I pull off my hat and wipe my forehead before replacing it. If this conversation doesn’t end soon we will both find ourselves standing in a puddle of my sweat. My would-be client is not easily diverted though.
“How about I draft a plan this afternoon and email it to you later tonight?” This suggestion is met with a frown along with a vigorous shaking of her head. Her hair doesn’t move at all.
“I don’t use the email” she tells me, sounding offended, “I’m a bit old-fashioned that way I’m afraid. I prefer proper letters thank-you-very-much, or…”
My phone vibrates in my pocket as a call comes in. I reach in and divert it to voicemail. Seconds later a message comes through. Glancing at it earns me another frown from the lady who is still talking about her preferred methods of communication. The message is from Stella and it’s short. ‘Call me.’
“Sorry, I have to take this” It’s another five minutes before I’m able to extract myself with a promise to drop off a quote the following morning.
Back in my Ute I switch on the engine to get the air-con moving then call Stella. She answers straight away.
“Hi babe, what’s up?”
“I’m pregnant” she blurts out. “I thought my period was a bit overdue, so I checked my calendar this morning when I got in and I’m almost two weeks late. Nick, I think I’m pregnant.”
“Have you taken a test?”
“No not yet. I’ll pick up one on my way home. But what if I am? What will we do? This wasn’t part of the plan!” She sounds panicked but there is no point in worrying until we know for sure. Stella doesn’t see things this way, she tends to leap straight into catastrophe mode.
“Listen, just get the test and you can take it tonight. If you aren’t, well that’s good and if you are, then we’ll deal with it together.”
“I’m freaking out here. I can’t concentrate, I’m just a mess.” Her voice is high and teary.
“Babe just calm down.”
“That is not a helpful thing to say Nick. No one has ever calmed down from being told to calm down.”
“Sorry, look it will be okay. Do the test first then we’ll work out what to do next. Do you want to go home? I’ll cancel my next appointment and meet you there.”
“No I can’t leave this afternoon, I’ve got too much on. We’ll have to wait until tonight to know for sure.”
All afternoon I’m distracted by Stella’s possible pregnancy. When we started dating she told me she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted a family of her own. Her mother suffered from bi-polar disease and took her own life when Stella was three so this is part of the reason. She’s never been particularly maternal either and the only children we know, my brother’s kids, aren’t the sort of kids who change people’s minds about these things.
It wouldn’t bother me if we did have a child, obviously some time way off in the future, but I’m just as happy to pass up the opportunity. Michael’s kids wear him out and cause him stress so why would we want someone doing that to us? Also not having kids does remove one potential problem – passing on my condition to another person. This ridiculous body-hopping thing might be genetic or just bad luck but at least I don’t have to worry about that. Except maybe now I do.
Her possible condition is all Stella can think about too as she calls me several times during the day to talk about the pregnancy.
“It probably happened on the rainy weekend we had a few weeks ago. When we were bored and you suggested nude scrabble? In fact I’m sure of it.”
“Stella you might not actually be pregnant and anyway how can you possibly pick the time it might have happened? We generally have sex several times every week.”
“No I distinctly remember feeling different afterwards that time, a bit funny and lightheaded. Like something was happening. In fact I’m sure something has happened. As well as skipping my period my boobs have been sore all day.”
“Have you been poking at them?”
“Well yes but only to see if they’re still sore. Which they are. But they were quite sore even before that.”
“Babe we’ll talk about it tonight okay? Meanwhile try to leave your boobs alone.”
My client, Mrs Penduck, is standing in her driveway, holding a plastic wrapped plate and staring up at me.
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