The Eden Effect Page 5

  Arthur did not know either. He was so focussed on doing everything right that morning that he did not really pay any attention to the names or addresses of any of the deliveries. Martin stopped the van at the address, Arthur took in the goods and returned to the van.

  ‘Don’t know Gill,’ Arthur said. ‘I did not really notice this morning. I’ll check tomorrow’ he volunteered.

  Arthur noticed the time on his watch. 9pm. He would have to leave. He had to get up before 5am. He felt he could not say anything, after all Roger and Gill were taking him out. The third bottle of Shiraz was empty and Arthur hoped that there would not be a fourth. He was not confident of his ability to walk home as it was. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the waiter approaching with the bill. Arthur assumed he had been summonsed. Gill reached for it, pulled out some cash and handed it to the waiter. The three of them stood up. Arthur thanked them for the dinner and company and said that he had a great evening. He felt his speech was slurred but he doubted that Gill and Roger noticed.

  They shook hands good-bye and Arthur headed home on foot, making sure to walk as steadily as his brain allowed him to do.

  The house was dark when he arrived. He did not call out hello. He went to the bathroom, then to his bedroom, changed into his pyjamas and was fast asleep five minutes after he had arrived home.

  It’s been a month, Arthur, and you’re still here,’ Martin said as they headed off on another morning run.

  ‘You’re now at the average stay. From here on, you’ll be above average and if you are here in another five months, you will have equalled the record. You’ll be here in another five months, wont’ you, Arthur?’

  Arthur hesitated. He was not sure how to reply. He didn’t have any plans to leave, but did not feel ready to give Martin a commitment that he may not be able to keep.

  ‘I’ve got no plans to leave in the foreseeable future, Martin,’ he replied.

  Arthur thought that Martin looked a little disappointed.

  Martin was disappointed. He began to like Arthur. His first impression when he met him was that Arthur was a bit of a no hoper. He seems so down and out. So defeated. Martin realised that he had not actually paid attention to Arthur’s life story when he told it that first day. He got the gist of it, just not all the details. He did see that Arthur had been hard done by. Life had not been kind to him. But that was not Martin’s problem, as he saw it. He had his assistant at cheap rates, thanks to Centrelink and that was all he cared about. But in the four weeks that Arthur had been there, Martin had grown to like and respect the man. He was clearly highly intelligent and had had a very successful career. Martin’s initial impression that Arthur was somewhat spineless had changed as he got to know him. Four and half hours a morning, seven mornings a week allowed for lots of conversation about lots of topics. It had become clear to Martin that Arthur was no pushover. He was prepared to stand up for himself when it mattered, he would take no crap.

  So, Martin quietly hoped that Arthur would stay on. Not forever, he knew that, but perhaps for a year. He could certainly handle the job and he was good company. Natalie liked him. Perhaps a bit too much, Martin thought. She talked about him a lot. And the two cops certainly liked him. The three of them went out for drinks, regularly, the occasional dinner and they even gave Arthur a ride in the police car, lights and siren.

  So, Martin was a little disappointed when he heard Arthur’s non-committal reply.

  ‘I understand, Arthur,’ Martin said. ‘I don’t expect this to be your life long career but I’ve enjoyed our time together and I hope you’ll stay a while at least.’

  Arthur felt flattered. In their month together, Arthur had never heard Martin express such a personal opinion.

  When he thought about it, Arthur realised that he did enjoy the job. Well, not the job so much, it was mind-numbingly boring. It was the whole package. He liked Martin too, despite his somewhat gruff manner and un-approachability. Natalie was great company and gorgeous to boot. The cops were becoming good friends, although Arthur felt a little uneasy when they jokingly hit on him. Eden was a great town to live in. He felt relaxed and almost happy, more so than he had done for a long time. But he couldn’t see himself living this life long term. He was a big city man. He thrived on the hurly burley of big business, big deals, first class travel to exotic destinations, good food and wine. Apart from good food and wine, which Eden surprisingly did have to offer, the other things, Eden could never provide.

  But what he told Martin was true. He had no plans to leave in the foreseeable future. Where would he go? His old life was closed to him and he had no idea where or how he would make a new start. So, for now, Eden would do.

  ‘I’ll give it my best shot to break the record, Martin. I do like it here. The company is good. The job, well that could be a little more challenging. And as for the media blackout, I’m getting use to that.’

  The topic of Martin’s rule had not come up since the first day. Arthur managed without the TV and radio at home. He found he really didn’t miss it. He took to reading. Martin had a Kindle, which had been a gift from Natalie and which he never used and he allowed Arthur to use it. Arthur had always been an avid reader. Not so much of late. He loved books, loved the feel of them, the smell of them. He took a little while to adjust to the Kindle, but after a week he was hooked. A book could be downloaded in seconds and so cheaply. He spent his evenings when he was at home reading novels. He had read several in the four weeks he had been there. He got the news from the local paper, which he bought after the morning run. That was enough. If he missed some news somewhere in the world, well, that was just too bad.

  ‘You know, Martin,’ Arthur said, ‘I don’t miss TV or radio at all. It’s actually quite liberating not revolving your evenings around the TV schedule. To be honest, I have no idea why you have your rule, but it is not a bad one at all.’

  ‘There’s a stop coming up, Arthur. After that we have twenty minutes before the next one. I think, I might just tell you.’

  A minute later, the van stopped. Arthur picked up the container, deposited it on the doorstep, and picked up the empty container, got back in the van where he put the empty one in its correct position, put his seatbelt on and waited.

  Martin drove off. He did not say anything for the next minute or two and Arthur continued to wait.

  Martin cleared his throat and began.

  ‘I’ll try to make a long story as short as I can. Needless to say, what I’m about to tell you stays with you. You cannot discuss it with anyone. No one. Not even Natalie. She knows, but you are not to talk to her about it, or to anyone else.’

  ‘You have my word, Martin,’ was Arthur’s earnest reply.

  ‘OK. Where to start. At the beginning, I suppose. My mother died giving birth to me. She bled to death, I was told. My father had been a brief fling, and had left for overseas before I was born. I never knew his name. My grandparents, my mother’s parents brought me up. They were the only parents I knew. When I was ten years old they were killed in a car accident. To be precise, they were both decapitated by a steel beam that had come off a truck and went through the car. I was in the back seat. It was on the Westgate Bridge. We were on our way to Scienceworks. It was a Sunday and the sky was blue. Their severed heads landed on my lap, and a large proportion of the blood in their bodies landed on me. Are you getting the picture, Arthur? To say I was traumatised is an understatement. It was by far the worst moment of my young life. And to make matters worse, that moment was prolonged for months. You can imagine the newspaper and TV coverage. At least they had the decency to edit the pictures. But one of the bystanders took a video of the aftermath with their camera and uploaded to YouTube and as they say, it went viral on the Internet. It took three months before the whole thing disappeared from the media. You have no idea how many times I saw the pictures and read the stories in those three months. It was one long nightmare.’

  ‘I was only ten years old, but I was mature for my years. I deci
ded after that never to read a newspaper, never to watch TV. I don’t have a smart phone or a computer. Probably an overreaction and after all those years you’d think I’d get over it but I haven’t. So, there it is. A lot of years and a lot of counselling allowed me to keep my sanity. At least I think I’m sane.’

  Martin stopped. Arthur said nothing.

  ‘How did I end up in Eden?’ Martin continued. ‘It wasn’t straight away. I knew of no other family apart from my grandparents, so I was made a ward of the state and spent the next eight years in foster homes. I have to tell you, Arthur, those foster parents are saints. I could not have wished for a better life. I finished my schooling, did quite well in VCE but had no idea what I wanted to do next. It was just after my 18th birthday when out of nowhere a relative appeared. I have no idea how they found me. Harry Grant was my grandfather’s cousin. He and his wife, Nancy came to see me. My foster parents, John and Kathleen were delighted. Not because they wanted to get rid of me. They were happy for me because I had connected with family. Harry ran a dairy in Eden. This dairy, Arthur. Harry and Nancy took me in. They were in their late sixties and Harry was keen to retire. He taught me the dairy business. I did not know what I wanted to do after school, but running a dairy was not on the list. I found I quite enjoyed it. I slowly took over from Harry and this allowed Harry and Nancy to travel, something they had yearned to do for years. Their last few years were happy ones. I would get postcards from all over the world. From places I never heard of. Nancy died first. That broke Harry, and not long after he was gone. In his will he left me everything. Harry and Nancy never had children, so the dairy became mine and despite their extensive travelling there was still a very nice sum of money in the bank that I inherited too.’

  ‘That was twelve years ago, Arthur. And I’m still here. And that’s all I have to say about that.’

  Arthur did not know how to respond or even if it was appropriate for him to do so. What was it with the people of Eden? Did they all have such horrible stories? First Natalie, now Martin. No one wonder he felt at home in Eden, Arthur thought, although his experiences paled into insignificance compared to theirs.

  ‘Martin, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I’d come out this as sane as you are. I feel a bit silly complaining to you about my life. I appreciate you telling me. It can’t have been easy.’

  ‘I now understand why the media ban, Martin. I don’t want to sound insensitive, but surely you need to know something of what is going on in the world. I mean, there are laws being passed, elections to vote in. You’re part of society.’

  ‘Hold on, Arthur. Let me explain. Yes, I am part of society and yes I do know what is going on around me. I don’t live in a vacuum and I do get the news that is relevant to me. Of course I do. But I don’t feel I need to know all the news that media want to foist on me. I know my own situation is unusual. Unique, maybe. That’s my hang-up and after all these years I’m still working on it. I still have counselling but it’s a slow process.’ Martin paused.

  ‘But let’s leave me out of it. Let’s looks at the bigger picture. Look at the society we live in. Look at the media in all its forms. It bombards us with news. The so-called 24/7 news cycle. Did we, as a society ask for that? Or is it forced on us by a media chasing ratings and market share? Technology has allowed us to read about and see events almost as soon as they have happened. Anywhere in the world. And which events make the news? The media covers violent and catastrophic events with their associated disturbing images. Tell me, you see a report on TV about a little boy abducted in a small town in the United States. His mutilated body is later found by a hiker. Horrible for him, horrible for his family. How does that make you feel? Upset, angry, scared. If you have a little boy you would feel scared for him. But the event occurred on the other side of the world. And statistically, what is the chance of a young boy being abducted? In America, there are roughly fifty nine million children aged under the age of fourteen. Based on the number of actual abductions, this puts the risk at 0.00015%. That’s one in six hundred and sixty five thousand. Tiny, miniscule. And yet, that one report you saw on your TV overwhelms this rationality and makes you afraid. And that is just one example. A woman is gang raped on a bus in India, thrown off a bus and left for dead and does eventually die. Horrific. Disturbing. You feel sick reading about it and seeing the images. But what direct relevance does it have to your life? None. Nevertheless, you are upset and agitated. These events are not only upsetting but they can change your behaviour. You might think twice about letting your young son kick a football in the street, unsupervised. He might be kidnapped, even though your rational mind knows that the risk is infinitesimally small.’

  ‘Do you know that after nine-eleven, many Americans switched from plane travel to car travel? Understandable, but irrational. Road fatalities exceed air fatalities many times over. And in the next twelve months, it was calculated that almost one thousand Americans were killed in road accidents, directly as a result of that switch.’

  ‘Sorry, Arthur, I’m on my soap box. Enough. But do me a favour, I’ll give you a book called ‘Risk’ by Dan Gardner. He covers a lot of this and more and is backed by scientific data. It will make you think. It certainly reinforced my beliefs. I’ll give you the book when we get back.’

  Arthur had no response and the rest of trip was made in silence. Snippets of what Martin said make sense, but it was too much to take in all at once. One thing that he was sure of, he would not be getting a TV anytime soon.

  It was a Thursday. Neither Martin nor Arthur would ever forget that day. The time was 11am. The sky was an azure blue, cloudless. The temperature was twenty five degrees Celsius, unusually warm for September.

  The VW Transporter was pulling up to the dairy. Arthur was driving, Martin was in the passenger seat. It was nine months since Arthur had started work. The record was well and truly broken. Smashed. In the last month or so, Martin had let Arthur drive on some mornings while he did the deliveries. They both enjoyed the change.

  ‘Look, Martin,’ Arthur said. ‘There is a Limo parked in front of the dairy. Are you expecting someone?’ he joked. Martin had seen the car too. A black, shiny, stretch Ford Fairlane, parked just outside the dairy. Martin had never seen a car like that in Eden before. Even the Donati brothers, with all their wealth did not own a car like that.

  As their van passed the car, Martin looked back and saw the VHB number plates. It was a chauffeur driven, luxury hire car. It must be someone important, he thought. The windows were tinted and any occupant of the vehicle could not be seen. Arthur turned the van into the drive, parked it, and both he and Martin went into the house. Neither gave the car any further thought.

  ‘Coffee, Arthur?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Yes please, Martin.’ Arthur replied.

  This was their ritual. After the morning delivery run, they would sit down, have a coffee. Arthur a black and Martin a latte. They would then change out of their white clothes and would part ways, each going about their business, whatever that ­happened to be that day.

  ‘I’ll make it, Martin,’ Arthur said. ‘Sit down, I’ll bring it in.’

  Martin sat in the lounge. Arthur headed off to the kitchen, turned on the Nespresso machine, filled the reservoir with water and waited for the light to stop blinking to signify that the machine was ready. There was a knocking sound. The front door, thought Arthur. He knew Martin was closer and would open the door. He proceeded with the coffee making. It took less than a minute for the two coffees to be ready and he carried them into the lounge. Martin was not in the lounge. Arthur set the coffee down and followed the sound of voices to the entry hall. Martin was there, the front door open and two men, in what looked like in very expensive suits, standing on the porch.

  ‘Yes, I’m Martin Brophy,’ Arthur heard Martin say.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  The taller of the two men pulled out a card and handed it to Martin.

  ‘We are from Bentley and Muir. I’m
Adrian Stubbs and this is Austin Scott. We represent Bentley and Muir, we’re lawyers.’

  Martin took the card that Adrian Stubbs has handed him. The card was white; it looked expensive with embossed black lettering. It read simply, ‘Bentley and Muir, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, USA.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You must have the wrong address,’ said Martin. ‘I’ve never heard of Bentley and Muir, I don’t know anyone in L.A. How do I even know you are lawyers?’

  ‘Please accept our apologies for coming unannounced,’ said the one who Austin Scott was. ‘We had this address, but no contact number so we could not call ahead. You are Martin Brophy?’ he enquired.

  ‘Yes, I am Martin Brophy. I’ve already told you that. You still haven’t told me what this is all about.’

  This time it was Adrian Stubbs’s turn. He pulled out a wallet from his jacket pocket, removed a card, which he handed to Martin. It was the Californian driver’s license attesting to the fact that he was indeed Adrian Stubbs. This was followed by a second card, which simply read, ‘Adrian Stubbs, Legal Counsel, Bentley and Muir.’

  ‘Please, Mr. Brophy, we really are who we say we are. If you permit me, I can show you our firm on Google. I would be happy to call in for you to verify, but its 4am in L.A at the moment.’

  Martin hesitated. ‘Okay, come in. I guess I believe you are who you say you are. So again, how can I help you?’

  The two men followed Martin to the lounge and sat down. Arthur could see the two coffee cups that he had deposited there and asked, ‘could I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee?’

  ‘That would be great, ‘Adrian replied. ‘We both take it black, no sugar.’

  ‘No problem.’ Arthur headed back to the kitchen. The Nespresso was still on; he put in the coffee pods and made two coffees, one after the other, and headed back to the lounge.

  ‘Here we are, black, no sugar,’ he said, handing each man a cup.

  He was about to sit down and have his coffee when Adrian said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but the business we have with Mr. Brophy is private. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, but I hope you don’t mind leaving us for a little while.’