Twofold

John Glynn

Description

Two men's lives are transformed after reading about themselves in the newspaper. Aaron absconds after recognising his face in a police identity kit. Caradoc, wedded to his work, feels he has few options available to him after learning of his dismissal and returns to the small rural town of his boyhood. Against a backdrop of the dramatic and rugged Australian Sapphire Coast, the two men seek to start anew. Their paths converge and friendships form as they find solace in the natural environment, their love of the ocean, understanding their sense of place, and learning to appreciate their immediate surroundings. Motivated by a need to belong, yet continuing to address notions of disconnection, the draw of family is strong. Relationships are tested as they must confront their pasts. Can we atone for and escape our former lives?

Sujets

• Australia

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 08 janvier 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781803138404
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2022 John Glynn

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781803138404

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For Duncan Galbraith

What is life but a form of motion and a journey through a foreign world? Moreover, locomotion – the privilege of animals – is perhaps the key to intelligence.
George Santayana


Contents
Part One
Part Two


Part One
Aaron felt separated, confused, but the more he looked the more certain he became; the face was clearly his. Aaron re-read the caption below the picture. ‘This man is wanted for questioning in connection with a series of date-rape incidences over the past few months. Police are warning women to be extra vigilant after a spate of reported instances.’
There he was. It was him. His face on page three. Aaron carefully folded the broadsheet newspaper in half and stared at himself.
The police identity kit makes the face so angular, like a tribal mask, he thought. Aaron looked intently at his picture. A third mask is dangerous, imprisoning, he realised. Aaron did not want this kind of life. He wanted it to be different. He wanted them to get away. It did not have to be this way. Having worked so hard to be accepted, being part of the group allowed him to move beyond the petty thieving and his desperate attempts just to keep the cash flowing. In obtaining their respect, status, he had been lonely, isolated, an observer. He no longer needed to loathe himself for being different, continually analysing his failures. He was now one of them. Yet he would live a different life. This was just transitory. The identity kit was of a temporary guise. It was not him.
Aaron sensed a degree of satisfaction that his long-held plan was finally coming to fruition. He was already ahead of them; the police, the gang, all of it. He was getting out.
The waters of the morning-glistened harbour lapped at the Woolloomooloo quay as a large ocean-going yacht drifted alongside the refurbished wharf. With an efficiency of a yachtsman who had conducted the manoeuvre a multitude of times, the engines were gunned, and the craft slid back into its berth lining up with the many other moored boats. Aaron watched as the deckhand retrieved and dropped the bolsters over the side to ensure that the yacht did not connect with the pier. His eyes drifted back to a group of children playing hopscotch having chalked the squares onto the sun-bleached weathered wharf timbers. Hopping, jumping and merriment. And endless loud instruction. Aaron smiled and checked his watch before draining the last of his coffee. Out of habit, he licked the chocolate-coated cappuccino coffee foam ring. A Sydney Harbour Ferry sounded its horn against the busyness of the waters. A second blast. The blue and white bus was just rounding the corner. Aaron picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder before making his way over to the litter bin. He took the folded paper and scrunched it up and forced it between the garbage that was already there.
The bus pulled up at the stop and people formed a queue to board. Aaron, although wearing a pair of new dark glasses, dropped his head as he approached. The gesture caught him by surprise. He detected an apprehension he had not felt before. It was a general uneasiness, almost a sensation of dread, and was glad of his decision to flee. He had outgrown this life. It was time to move on. A whole different adventure awaited him.
This is what it is to be a someone – working desperately to be noticed and now that I am, I am trying to shun the limelight. I am akin to a celebrity. He smiled at the thought as he pulled his collar higher to mask his face and directed his thoughts. But I just have to remember which parts of myself are real. I am in disguise, but I can’t afford to make immutable mistakes. I need discipline. I need to toughen, fortify. I need to be careful. And I need to expedite my plans. An identity forged on circumstance could be transmuted, but I need to leave now. It’s time.
He walked down the aisle towards the back of the bus. A middle-aged man in a grey suit playing a game on his smartphone moved over to allow Aaron to sit next to him. Aaron unzipped an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. He selected Sting’s Dream of the Blue Turtles album and placed the earphones in his ears. ‘Moon over Bourbon Street’ played. As he settled back into the bench seat, Aaron searched with his left hand and retrieved the package that his seat companion held obscured in his hand. Once in his own hand, he pressed it to confirm its usual size and firmness and placed it into his jacket pocket.
Aaron stared out of the side window. The bus made its way through the slow traffic, under the train-line bridge and past the National Art School. Aaron placed a grey plastic shopping bag on the seat at his side and pressed the button for the bus to stop.
***
Aaron hesitated outside the auto-repair shop in Marrickville. They lined the motorcycles up in the self-designated parking zone. He could detect the apprehension rising within him, as it usually did before he entered the building. Aaron detested the workshop smell of old oil, tyres, and exhaust fumes. Readying himself, Aaron walked through the car-littered workshop, ignoring the mechanics, and nodded to Pumpkin, who stood on duty at the gate. Pumpkin’s freckled sunburnt-red round head motioned to the side entrance. He shifted his bulk to his Doc Martin-booted left leg while continuing to lean against the wall before fumbling for a cigarette. After taking a pinch of tobacco, he inserted the crushed leaves into the paper covering before rolling it, all the while regarding Aaron. He then wiped the excess tobacco on his motif yellow T-shirt. Reluctantly and feeling a little lightheaded and consciously breathing deeply, Aaron made for the blue door. He had to push hard to open the heavy door. Aaron crossed a small, sunny courtyard before heading out of the sunshine. Through the bent, graffitied metal door, he entered the cool dark shed.
Aaron quickly surveyed the spacious shed. A new shipment had arrived. Large boxes had been stacked high. Made of timber, the crates were long and solidly manufactured. The bar in the darkened corner had yet to be tidied and restored. Empty beer bottles from last night’s festivities lined the counter. Peanuts littered the floor. Aaron grinned at the concept of the inevitable food fight. At least it was peanuts. A broken barstool lay on its side. Flies buzzed over the remaining pools of booze spillage.
Hunter and Possum were playing pool, cursing loudly as they missed their shots. Hunter’s baldness became marked against his long, grey-streaked ponytail as he leaned over the green cloth to take his turn. Aaron watched as he lined up for an attempt at the top left pocket.
He has curiously small and elegant hands given the considerable size of the man , Aaron reflected, anticipating another failed effort. Hunter holds that cue so lightly it is interesting that he is no better at playing this game . More cursing.
Aaron shifted his attention to Possum, who he knew to be scrutinising him. Always the same posture. Legs apart, leaning back on his heels. His burly arms folded, slightly pressed together, to emphasise his bare, tattooed pectoral muscles through his loose singlet. His hard, lined, sunned face perched on a considerably strong, tattooed neck. He turned his shoulders when looking sideways rather than swivel his neck. There lay his vulnerability. Aaron ignored the two men and wandered over to Burnie.
Burnie lounged in the high-backed easy armchair; his T-shirt strained against his powerful chest. He appeared relaxed and twirled his earrings between his fingers. He had allowed his jeaned legs to splay open with the soles of his motorcycle boots together. A beer in hand, he was holding audience with the youthful skinhead group who were laughing at his jokes. He was plainly enjoying himself and looked up as Aaron approached. Leaning back in his recliner, he studied Aaron before breaking into a wide, moustached smile.
“So, gentlemen, before us, we have us a real-life celebrity, a real famous person.” Burnie paused for effect, drawing a lengthy sip of beer from the green bottle. The four skinheads turned to look at Aaron, who now became expectant, bracing himself.
With remarkable agility for such a large person, Burnie bolted to his feet. He picked up the newspaper from the table. He hit Aaron over the skull before grasping and constricting him in a theatrical hug. Aaron knew better than to struggle. After releasing Aaron from the compressing embrace, Burnie rubbed his huge h