Morning. Kitchen. Fridge already showered and kitted out in his uniform toeing away the cat while he does his honey-and-gravity thing. It has to be said, that for all the lurid livery that festoons their fleet, the HEALFAST PATHOLOGY uniforms are pretty smart. The phone rings. Switch to Dr Tomas Petrovic picking his teeth with his feet up on his desk, or some such pose. I will leave it up to the long-suffering director how they want to portray Tomas when a situation really worries him but he is too much of a man-doctor to let on.
Fridge: Tom? Pleasant surprise. I haven’t had my cereal yet.
Tomas: She got it.
Fridge: Sorry, Tom, you’ll have to catch me up a bit here mate.
Tomas: That friend of yours, the singer. You brought her in here the other day. She got it.
Fridge: (Shovels another spoonful of obviously unappetising cereal, looks over at the box of honey). Ah....you mean?
Tomas: Yes, friend, I mean...and with her -
Fridge: Yeah, yeah, underlying condition.....
Tomas: She get a doctor? I need someone with half a brain I can talk to. She needs hospital probably.
Fridge: They cancelled her shows....
Tomas: So...she got a doctor?
Fridge: I don’t know his name. I know she’s got one....
Tomas: (Rapidly losing patience). So call her, get the number of her doctor, maybe don’t break the news quite yet, and then call me with the number. Too hard for you?
Fridge: No, Tom, I can handle it. You pissed off? You sound pissed off. I can’t always tell.
Tomas: I’m pissed off....
Fridge: With me?
Tomas: With you, dickhead.
Fridge: OK....you’ve all had it, right?
Tomas: My wife’s freaking out, dickhead....You gotta get checked, your daughter gotta get checked, everyone you come in contact with -
Fridge: Yeah yeah, I get it, Tom. I’m sorry mate. I thought we’d flattened the curve.
Tomas: Not when there’s dickheads like you running around...
Fridge: OK, jeez, I’ll call her right away.
Tomas: Fucking dickhead, I can’t believe.....
But Fridge hangs up mid rant and gazes around the room with a vacant expression. He puts down his spoon, looks over at the box of honey, toes the mewling cat away, scrolls through the list of recent calls on his phone.
It is most probably some time later, as Fridge is sitting in the company van massaging his temples. Away off to his right, old Sid is stood at his letterbox eyeing off the passing schoolgirls and scratching his ancient nethers as is his morning ritual. Fridge shakes his head and punches a number on the console.
Larry: Morning sunshine!
Fridge: Larry, you’re gonna hate me.
Larry: Please don’t tell me you ran into someone.
Fridge: I need to get tested. Again.
Larry: Oh thank Christ! You know how many cars we’ve got off the road? Hey, but didn’t you get the all clear a few weeks back? I thought you had it. Didn’t you have it?
Fridge: That was just allergies. This aint allergies, Larry......
Larry: Yeah, well your American friend came back positive...Vlad’s not happy... so I’ll send someone by with a kit?
Fridge: Thanks Larry. Don’t call him Vlad....
Larry: (This is the caring, professional side of Larry Fridge isn’t often privy to). We’ve contacted her specialist. Some Macquarie Street punce, but our guys reckon he’s good. With her underlying condition -
Fridge: Yeah, I know...she’ll need to be hospitalised. I’ll call her make sure she gets into the right place.
Larry: All done, mate, don’t worry. Shit mate, fourteen days on your ownsome. You gonna be OK?
Fridge: I get bored I can always get you on speed dial, Larry.
Larry: Yeah, well you take care of yourself mate. I thought you were looking a little off the other day. Your run sheets in the tray? We’ll have to call everyone on the list.
Fridge: All there mate. Mainly vets, other than Mortlake.
Larry: Any luck you gave it to that fucking dragon? - oh, and you were right about Soong. We lost him overnight.
Fridge: You mean he went over the road? I thought he was happy with us.
Larry: Fridge, he died mate. The fucking thing got into his lungs. Sorry, I know you liked him. Seemed like a lovely old bloke. War veteran, I hear...for the other side, of course....
Fridge: (Rubbing his temples and looking off into the distance) Yeah, he was alright. Just didn’t know when to stop, I guess. Fuck fuck fuck. I think I better go lie down.
Larry: I’ll send someone out with a kit just to dot the i’s. You want me to send a nurse along as well? You don’t sound so good mate.
Fridge: Just the kit for now, Larry. I’ve got plenty of green tea and camomile.
Larry: I don’t know how you can stomach that shit.
Fridge: Always a pleasure Larry. (Hangs up. Climbs with some difficulty out of the car, walks a few steps, staggers, almost falls. Gets back inside and collapses on the couch.)
It is once again some time later. Time keeps passing, judging by the five o’clock shadow around Fridge’s pasty jowls. He is stretched out on the couch watching some tv while the cat purrs loudly at his feet. It is a mild sunny autumn day and at any other time you could imagine the echo of children playing in the street. But the city is stilll in lockdown while the virus plays itself out. From another part of the house comes the gentle sound of piano and Melody tinkering with some voice parts with Nathan. Fridge turns down the tv a while to listen and obviously likes what he is hearing. A bit more tinkering and then Melody’s bedroom door opens and Fridge’s two fellow inmates emerge looking a tad worse than he does.
Fridge: (As Melody shuffles wearily across his sightline. It is almost painful to watch as she fills up her water bottle and then slumps down at the kitchen table, coughs, sneezes.) That’s really coming together, kiddo.
Melody: Thanks. You know, the weird thing is that I can breathe OK when I’m singing, but not when I’m talking.
Fridge: So, don’t talk.
Melody: (Poking out her germ-laden tongue) How are you? You hear from mum?
Fridge: I don’t know. Just tired mostly. (Craning his neck to gaze out the back door to a sunny yard) Reckon I’ll go out back and get some sun on me. Yeah, your mum’s still stuck in Denpasar. Robert’s covering her quarantine bills.
Melody: (With a peevish grimace). Course he is.....
Fridge: I offered, but -
Melody: You don’t owe her anything, Fridge.
Fridge: Mel, she’s your mum....
Melody: Yeah, well that’s my bad luck.
Fridge: Mel!
This little incident is saved from getting out of hand by a slightly brighter-looking Nathan who is humming some melody line they’ve both been working on. He’s gazing into his phone and almost trips over a chair.
Nathan: So Desiree’s outta ICU. That was quick....sounds like a beat up...hey Fridge.
Fridge: Hey Nate. How’s your mum?
Nathan: (Shrugs). Going bat shit crazy, but at least she’s safe.
Melody: (Her pretty face suddenly lighting up). Got it got it got it! Shit, don’t mind me. Got the bridge Nathan! (She rushes back to her room with a little squeal and a pirouette and starts working something out on Nathan’s keyboard. Like she said, when she’s singing there isn’t a hint of the virus in her throat or in her lungs, as though the world would all feel better if it only knew how to sing. Both Fridge and Nathan appear more than impressed with the results. Nathan excuses himself and disappears back into the room. Fridge takes the opportunity to peel himself off the couch and shuffle out into the sunshine of his vast back yard.)
The backyard is your classic Aussie post-war special with the little grove of citrus trees shading the end fence, the small patio with the barbie and a table setting. The grass could probably do with a mow, but all in all it seems pretty well tended. As Fridge stands there wrestling with the stubborn deck chair, something catches his eye in the direction of the house at the back of his. It is a derelict looking weatherboard place, but as Fridge squints into the autumn glare, a curtain appears to move in one of the grimy windows, and then soon after the curtain in the next window, and then back again. Nathan’s sudden appearance at his left elbow startles him a little and he goes back to wrestling with the deck chair.
Nathan: I’ll give it a quick mow if you like...
Fridge: (Gesturing to the tiny shed off to the left) Knock yourself out mate. Tin of petrol on the shelf. Might need a top up. (Following Nathan’s line of sight to the derelict house.) Ok, kiddo?
Nathan: You got new neightbours Fridge?
Fridge: Not that I know of. (Nodding in the vague direction of Nathan’s vague concern)Probably just the wind.
Nathan: (Wetting a finger and holding it aloft) But there’s no wind, Fridge.
Fridge: (With that vaguely panicked look of an older man trying to convince a younger man)There’s always wind, Nate. Just ask a sailor....
Nathan: (Pointing) You see that?
Fridge: Yeah, it’s the wind like I said...
Nathan: No, there was a face at the window. Just there. You see it?
Fridge: (Finally winning the battle with his deck chair). Nope.
Nathan: I reckon there’s someone living there...
Fridge: Doesn’t bother me. As long as they stick to quarantine and don’t throw any bottles over the fence.
Nathan: Maybe squatters?
Fridge: Maybe....
Nathan: Do old people squat?
Fridge: Plenty of homeless old people, Nate, especially these days....
Nathan: There! You see? And now she’s there...how can she move that quickly?
Fridge: Jesus Nate, relax kiddo. It’s just some old kook checking us out.
Nathan: Fucking freaky..
Fridge: If you say so, Nate. Mow quietly won’t you.....(Fridge eases himself into the deckchair at an angle to the gentle autumn sun and shuts his eyes to the world).
Cut to Melody tinkering over Nathan’s keyboard in her bedroom. She is obviously at that stage in the creative process where the puzzle has effectively been solved and all that is required is for a few wrinkles to be ironed out on the great tapestry of song. She finally hits record on her phone and starts. When she is finished she gets up and walks out into the hallway, out the front door, and stands by the letterbox taking deep lungfuls of air. The street is eerily quiet, with the exception of old Sid who is stood at his gate with a tall glass of what looks like port. He waves to Melody and Melody reluctantly waves back. A moment later a car pulls up.
Female Officer: Rebecca Cooley?
Melody: Um....in my day job yeah....Sorry, who are you?
Female Officer: Is your step father home? (Flashes Melody her badge.) You really should be inside.
Second Officer: Melody Song! Well, I never....
Melody: I’m OK this side of the fence, aren’t I? Dad’s out back.
Second Officer: (Casting her colleage a now hackneyed look of contempt) Can you ask him to come out please?
Melody: And it’s MacFarlane, not Cooley....
Second Officer: My apologies.....
Cut to Fridge dozing on his deck chair. His broad face starts to twitch and he suddenly wakes up pie-eyed. He looks over at the sound of the whirring lawn mower to find Nathan laid out on the ground gasping for air. Fridge runs over. Nathan is in obvious distress and Fridge sits him up and tries to help him breathe. He yells out for Melody to phone for an ambulance. An ambulance duly arrives and Nathan is wheeled away with the breathing apparatus strapped to his frightened face. As he is wheeled past Fridge he pulls the mask away.
Nathan: (All husky voiced) Fridge, don’t let them stick a tube down my throat. Don’t let them put me under Fridge! I don’t want to go under! You know what happens (cough cough as the paramedic tries to calm him and put the oxygen mask back in place. Nathan wrestles her away). You know what happens to people who go under Fridge! Fridge! Fridge!
Fridge wakes up with a start, for real this time, to find Melody bent over him calling his name. He looks over at Nathan who is emptying the grass catcher around the base of the lemon tree.
Mel: (Looking equal parts concerned and vaguely amused) You OK Fridge?
Fridge: (Blinking dazed into the golden afternoon light). Jesus Mel.....(Looks over at Nathan again) What is it?
Mel: That lady cop wants a word. She’s waiting at the front gate.
Fridge: Fuck me, don’t they ever let up? Hey Nate, don’t worry about the rest, mate. You’re good. No really mate.
Mel: Jesus Fridge, let him do his thing.
Fridge: (Struggling to haul himself up. He is obviously still very sick). He needs to take it easy Mel. Christ! (One last breathless effort and he is up on his shaky feet). We all do. Talk to him would you.
Mel: God, you’re such an old woman sometimes.
Fridge: The kid’s in my house he’s my responsibility, alright?
Mel: God, OK OK.....Hey Nate. (As Fridge makes his way through the house). Come on, I’ll make you a smoothy....
Fridge walks through the open front door and toward the waiting officers at the front gate, putting on his face mask with practised hands. As he approaches the gate he casts a sideways glance down the street to old Sid’s place where the old sleeze is standing with his glass raised in their general direction.
Second Officer: Mate of yours, Coolley? Figures.
Fridge: (Doing his best to ignore the little prick). To what do I owe the pleasure, officer? (Pointing to her mask). Love the blush pink. His idea?
Second Officer: You’re a smart arse prick, Coolley!
Female Officer: Yes, that’s enough thank you constable. (Smiling her now familiar curdled smile) Sorry, he’s on loan. We have confirmed this man, a certain Wu Xiang (Holds up a photo in the direction of Fridge, but they both know he has little chance of seeing it clearly from the distance required by social distancing phase four), in the employ of - well - a number of people as far as we can ascertain, including the CCP and certain online gambling interests....
Fridge: Busy boy for such a heavy smoker....
Female Officer: (Her vibrant blue eyes lighting up momentarily). So you recognise him then?
Fridge: I just put two and two together....
Second Officer: I swear that old guy’s got his dick out....
Female Officer: Yes, thank you constable. Perhaps you could go have a chat. Ask if he’s seen anything pertinent.
Fridge: Pertinent? We’re in bloody lockdown - sorry, what’s your name anyway? I can’t keep calling you lady cop...
Female Officer: Barbara, if that will help focus your attention. (Fridge thinks he detects a slight blush, but he is still a little feverish). Now, the boy and this man Wu have been spotted several times. They are quite blatantly flouting the travel restrictions. We believe they may be a risk to the broader community and we have absolutely no idea now whether there has indeed even been a kidnapping.....
Fridge: Wow, you guys really are flying blind. (Looking over at the second officer in a shouting match with old Sid at his letterbox) Can I ask you, Barbara, how did someone like you get landed with a chimp like that?
Second Officer: (A smile obviously playing under her blush pink face mask). Please, Mr Coolley! It is a matter of real urgency now, and I am here to ask you again whether there is anything, anything, you can recall from that afternoon, anything -
Fridge: Wow, you really are desperate -
Officer Barbara: Of course we’re desperate. There are people dying. Not like Europe, of course......perhaps...... This man and this boy flew in, flouted all requests, and remember they were only requests back then, to observe 14 days quarantine, they have -
Fridge: Yeah, I get it, and I wish I could help Barbara, but I’ve told you everything. I’ve been racking my brains, believe me. Not much else to do in quarantine, but I didn’t see or hear anything more than I told you.
Officer Barbara: Yes, well, thank you Mr Coolley. I’m sorry to keep bothering you. How are you feeling, by the way?
Fridge: You don’t want to get it, is all I can tell you. I feel like I’ve turned the corner, but it’s one stubborn son of a bitch. Lucky I don’t smoke or drink. What about the sister?
Officer Barbara: There was no sister. We are of the firm belief that had you gone with them you would have been the kidnap victim.
Fridge: Holy shit!
Officer Barbara: Quite. These people operate on a whole other level to the rest of us. They are criminals with diplomatic immunity, if you like.
Fridge: Your mate’s getting an earful from old Sid.
Officer Barbara: To be honest, Mr Coolley, some days I look at him and just want to cry....
Fridge: You have my condolences, Barbara. Any other time I’d ask you in for a drink.
Officer Barbara: (Her face mask creasing again) Maybe when we get the all clear. I’m sorry to have to do this. (Reaches into her top pocket and produces a folded up piece of paper). You have been issued with a fine under the Emergency Health Act, 2020. I did my best to have it rescinded, sorry, but you have a right of appeal.
Second Officer: (Appearing suddenly a little breathless after his set-to with old Sid). Yeah, your boss wants your guts for garters, Coolley!
Officer Barbara: No, he doesn’t constable. In fact he sends his best wishes for a speedy recovery.
Fridge: Good old Derek. Yeah, he’s been paying me in full.
Officer Barbara: You people do important work, Mr Coolley. It’s the least they can do.
Fridge: Yeah, ditto. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.
Second Officer: So, the loser tell you anything?
Officer Barbara: Go wait for me in the car, constable. Sorry, he’s on loan. Goodbye Patrick. I promise we won’t bother you again.
Fridge: Please come again....but maybe on your own next time Barbara.
Officer Barbara: If you need any help with your appeal just call me.
Barbara walks back to her car and Fridge watches her go every step of the way.
It is night inside Fridge’s place. The central living area where Melody and Nathan have set up their equipment. A few more days have obviously passed in iso heaven, judging by the thick beard Fridge is sprouting. Behind the little stage hangs a makeshift spangly banner with the words TOGETHER APART in crooked yellow lettering. Fridge is chatting away to Desiree on Nathan’s lap top. She is done up to the nines but appears to be alone in a hotel room with an unmade bed behind. The conversation is one of those wish-you-were-here-but-not-sure-what-would-happen-if-you-were-here kind of conversations bordering on awkward as they obviosuly bide their time before some cue is sent across the airwaves.
Mel: (Pressing her ear piece deeper into her ear. The universal sign of nervousness in the entertainment industry, or so I am led to believe). OK. Nutmeg are into their last song. Three minutes ten they reckon. Desiree?
Desiree: Yeah honey?
Mel: You good to go?
Desiree: Good to go honey. Sorry darling (obviously addressing Fridge), but I’ve gotta do my exercises...mwah....
Fridge: Break a leg kiddo. (Backs way over to the far end of the couch where a coughing fit suddenly grabs hold of him. He tries his best to suppress it as Melody stamps her foot and throws him a withering look).
Mel: Dad! God!!!
Nathan: (Appearing mircaulously with a glass of water. He is such a nice kid, and Fridge obviously thinks so too). There you go Fridge. Don’t mind her. I took your idea on board, by the way. Keep an ear out.
Fridge: (A little husky, but over the worst of it). Ta Nate. Break a leg mate.
Nathan: Um, I’m not sure that applies to musicians, Fridge.
Fridge: Sorry mate, Ange has a lot of actor friends....(Soft touch of the elbow)
Mel: Nate! Nathan! (Waving him frantically to take positions in front of the camera). We’re good to go Desiree! You ready?
Desiree: Good as gold darling.
Mel: OK, we play our new one and then hopefully it’ll cross straight over to you, and you say a few words, and then back to us with you on harmonies with OUR (a great big circular gesture of the hand) new one. Got it?
Desiree: Um, yeah....relax button.....we’re gonna kill it.......like I just did this an hour ago with Sufjan....and that guy’s seriously analogue....
Mel mimes counting down as she presses the ear piece even deeper into what must be a very sore right ear by now. Suddenly she is all teeth gazing dewy-eyed at the tiny camera in front of her, and then Nathan plays the opening bars of the song. All the rest goes like clockwork, whatever that ends up being. Once again, all musical choices are in the hands of the director who may or may not have an ear for such things. Oh, and whoever gets landed with the job of supplying the songs. Which, I can’t stress enough, need to be sweet wthout being sacharine like something Hugh Grant might nod along to while he gazes sheepishly at his hand cuffs.
The next morning or the morning after that, who really knows in the limbo that is lockdown. The iso concert seems to have been a howling success, or at least morning tv says so while Fridge does his honey-and-gravity thing and wanders with his bowl of cereal out to the back door and stands gazing with curious intent at the derelict house beyond his lemon tree. He squints and licks his spoon but no flapping curtain, no old woman’s face at the cracked grimy window obliges him this sunny morning. Nothing. Just the caroling of magpies and mocking laughter of kookaburras and a lone dog barking way off in the distance. It is so quiet you can almost hear the rice puffs puffing in Fridge’s bowl of cereal. Mel shuffles up loudly behind him in her slippers and pecks him on the cheek.
Mel: Nathan reckons he saw a ghost back there.
Fridge: Everyone needs a home, kiddo....
Mel: (Grabbing him around the waist). You’re in a particularly philosophical mood this morning.
Fridge: It’s a philosophical age, Mel....like that song of yours....
Mel: In the land of the blind the one eyed man is king....
Fridge: (Casting her a crooked glance). Christ....I haven’t heard that since my dad.....
Mel: I thought it was one of Desiree’s.....
Fridge: Is that what she told you?
Mel: No, she just says it alot.....Anyway, I didn’t think you had a dad.......so you and her.....
Fridge: Call your mum, kiddo....she’s over the moon. Coffee?
Mel: (Talking to herself with that face of one not used to things being denied her). Ok, I’ll call mummy dearest.
Fridge: (Shouting over the coffee machine in the kitchen). And be nice! She’s really chuffed. I mean really. You guys killed it last night!
Cut to a sleek sedan speeding along a bumpy country back road. It is really flying and a lone highway patrol car is in pursuit. A middle-aged man of Chinese appearance is at the wheel, looking fairly non-plussed with a cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth. He shifts gears as they hit the rise with all the nonchalance of Stirling Moss. In the back a small moon-faced kid sits gleefully chuckling beside something squirming and whimpering in a cloth sack. Now and then he thumps the squirming form with his angry little fist. There is a sqeal of breaks behind and the highway patrol car disappears from the man’s rearview in a cloud of dust. He takes one more satisfied puff of the long-suffering cigarette and tosses it out the window.
Cut to Fridge once again stood at the gate to his property. A side on shot of him in his mask and Larry, the comms operator, stood a polite distance the other side looking solemn. The conversation is conducted a discreet distance from the camera.
Fridge: (An uncertain smile playing over his chalky face) Unexpected pleasure, Larry. I’d ask you in -
Larry: It’s Stavros, Fridge....
Fridge: (Stands for a long time letting the breeze play around in his now impressively long hipster Ned Kelly beard. He looks down at something Larry is holding out to him but seems reluctant to touch it as though it were white hot). No, fuck off Larry....
Larry: Fridge mate, this is....you know what it is....he wanted you to have it.....I’ll just lay put it in your letter box. Fucking waste...but I’ve had mine... (Watches Fridge for a reaction, but when there is none forthcoming just does as he promised, places the mysterious object in the letter box and stands there with his hands at his sides. Little boy lost like we all are at these moments). I told the stubborn bastard to wear a mask...you know what I’m like about the masks and gloves mate....
Fridge: Larry....
Larry: Fucking cunt wouldn’t be told....you know what he was like....fucking wogs just won’t be told...(Starts to break apart a little there at Fridge’s gate. Wipes away a fat tear. Tries a smile.) I’m his kid’s godfather, for god’s sake...
Fridge: Yeah, Luke’s alright....
Larry: The little prick got picked up three times flouting the lockdown, Patty. He probably got his father killed....
Fridge: Larry, don’t....
Larry: (Starts to sob like a man about to break in half. Fridge goes to instinctively reach over the fence and hug him, but then the virus catches him in his tracks.) I’m right I’m OK (Larry holds up a hand). Sorry mate, it’s been a long month....you OK? Your Mel is quite the star mate. Fuck me not a dry eye in the house when your girl had finished with us. How’s she doing?
Fridge: Just tired now. Busting for a drink.
Larry: (Smiles a smile that would break Godzilla’s heart). Yeah, well she probably doesn’t remember me....
Fridge: Mate, some mornings I’ve got you on speaker. She remembers you alright...
Larry stands there grinning and rocking a little and gesturing to the letterbox, obviosuly not really sure where to go from here.
Larry: Well, I’m glad to see you’re not on death’s door, Fridge. Never thought it would come to this, eh? (His lip starts to quiver again). Anyway, best be going before the cops flag me down...
Fridge: Goodbye Larry.
Larry: (Turning back to his car before the next bout). Yep! Take care mate.
Fridge: (Reaching into the letterbox as he watches Larry walk away, obviosuly concerned about the mental and physical state of his old friend and colleague. He pulls out the large cloudy bottle of home made ouzo and holds it up to the setting sun in triumph). Stavros Larry! Ha!
Larry: (Casts a quick glance over his shoulder, smiles weakly at Fridge’s triumphant pose). Fucking wasted on you...(Bundles himself into his car with shoulder quaking. Sits there for a long time, so long in fact that Melody comes out to see what the matter is).
Mel: Hey, is that Larry?
Fridge: Yep.
Mel: (Waves at Larry. Larry waves back, then holds a hand over his eyes to shield the girl he still sees as ten. Mel stops waving) Ahh...what’s going on here....what’s with the ouzo? (She already knows but still needs to be told)
Fridge: Stavros. It got into his lungs.
Mel: (As though she was trying to tell herself she didn’t know who Stavros was). Luke’s Stavros?
Fridge: Yep. (For the first time in quite a while Fridge’s bottom lip quivers. He goes to toss the bottle in the air but thinks better of it. These are not days to go tossing bottles in the air. He rubs Melody’s back as she waves at Larry finally driving away and then wanders back blindly inside. Suitable music please. Maybe working off something Nathan is toying with on his keyboard through Mel’s open window)
The End
© Justin Lowe 2020
