Pumblechook
The winter chills rattled up Bridgport Street squalling and blowing while Jock and E Rowling huddled in Lina’s wine bar against the cold .
They had arrived for dinner and were seated opposite the bar up against the wine rack on the wall .From that vantage point they could see all parts of the converted Victorian terrace.
By 9.30 the diners were done and the barflies started to roll in.
Hanky he was one of the first on his way home from the city. Mac dropped in en route to the Monty or possibly from the Monty.
Beer was his preference so the visit was likely to be strictly social.
“How do you be lad ?”Mac said in a friendly manner as were all of his utterances familiar and endearing but capable of turning on a sixpence into mockery if the group dynamics required. Mac is a team player and he always plays the game to win.
“What will you have Mac ?”said Hanky.
“Just a pot of whatever lad ,that will be fine”.
And Mac was gone within the half hour just long enough to avoid his return shout.
Hanky lingered at the bar a lonely figure .
He had a job in the political sphere writing speeches for ministers if you could believe that. He looked more like a spy or a closet homosexual or both. His hair was just too jet black ,his voice too loud ,his guffaws too forced ,his opinions. just too authoratitive to be believed .He seemed like a cardboard cut out characterisation of his real self.
Perhaps he was too used to putting words in other people’s mouths to give much credence to his own.
Before long others arrived ,P Chase the barrister whom E Rowling previously had had a relationship with. That was a bit awkward as there were still unresolved feelings both good and bad.It was before Pat had his pacemaker implanted when he was on medication for a potential fatal arrhythmia .
The medication had made him very ill ,weak ,bloated. ,lethargic and constipated and E Rowling had thought up until the time they had broken up that it was her fault that the relationship was barely bumping along, that she couldn’t seem to stir him out of his torpor no matter how hard she tried.
The Minister for No Fun had not yet moved down from New South Wales and so could not be consulted (this being her area of expertise) but E Rowling had discussed the issues with the Minister’s sister who concluded that as Pat appeared to be in a physical decline he probably wasn’t worth the emotional investment. That’s the sort of toughmindedness you get from living on the land. Thankfully he was now recovered from the drug side effect and in hearty form.
By this time Jock and E Rowling had finished their meal and had joined Hanky and Pat at the bar when Leonie turned up.
Probably a little lubricated by now,E Rowling turned on one of her huge shark like grins and let out a slightly forced slightly croaky
“Oh hiiiiya Leonie ,fancy seeing you here “
but what she didn’t know is that Hanky and Leonie had a little something going on and Lina’s was their favorite trysting place( in fact it was where it had first blossomed )mainly because Leonie liked to drink and smoke and to do so in a social setting. It made her self destructive tendencies more acceptable. Before long others arrived in small groups of twos and threes and the owner of the bar with a few friends.
The level of hubbub rose ,the atmosphere warmed ,the bar girls were busy pouring drinks and the night wore on excitedly noisily punctuated by a cold blast of air periodically as the door opened and another guest or two popped in for a drink.
It was mid week in Albert Park and lovers and lonely hearts in search of love and a few seeking to escape its clutches were enjoying the conviviality of the evening.
The owner called for selected bottles of wine to be placed on the bar and he poured drinks for his friends and soon his generosity expanded to all in the vicinity.
Suddenly a fresh blast of cold air at the entrance signalled a new arrival.
A middle-aged man stocky in build ,pudgy faced ,thinning hair and a slightly bulbous nose came through the door unaccompanied .
Jock turned from the bar instinctively and extended his arm in an engaging slightly over wrought theatrical gesture .
“Mr Pumblechook what are you doing here?”The resemblance to the smarmy character from Great Expectations had struck Jock
immediately and he felt as if somehow parallel universes had crossed paths and that they were travelling in time but who and in what direction was not at all clear.
The new arrival immediately joined in and was offered one of the owner’s vintage bottles of wine to sample. It turned out that this chap was himself a winegrower from the Barossa who had come to Melbourne for a wine expo to promote his wares.
E Rowling took to the man immediately. He appeared to be single and of some substance .E Rowling who works in the mining recruitment game was used to assessing the cut of a man’s jib and secretly (though not an essential requirement of the job but more a personal interest of her own) his relationship prospects .
Jock on the other hand could only see the funny side as he mocked Mr Pumblechook with this ridiculous epithet and generally poked fun at his attempts to ingratiate himself with E Rowling.
But Pumblechook from the Barossa was a seasoned operator quite used to deflecting drunks and smart ass detractors and quite ruthlessly ready to ‘cut someone’s lunch’ as the Minister for No Fun might say. As the night came to its boozy conclusion and pleasantries were exchanged Pumblechook managed not only to get a peck on the cheek from E Rowling but her mobile phone number as well. Jock recognized this as a player’s move 101 and made a mental note how readily E Rowling had succumbed although she is a very trusting naïve sort of woman who has made some success for herself in the mining business,mostly a man’s world to her credit.
The bill settled ,the credit cards having been produced particularly the ones dedicated to business expenses as part of an executive salary package ,the ladies having hung back as is the usual etiquette in polite mixed company while the wheels of commerce rolled past to their advantage ,it was time to go.
Later back at Little Tribune St (E Rowling’s residence)
they had a nightcap and went to bed.
Not long after retiring E Rowling’s mobile rang. It was Mr. Pumblechook from Linas wondering if he could come around.
He had a box of wine in the boot of his car that he wanted to drop off. “What will I say ?”E Rowling whispered in an aside to Jock who was already in bed and half a sleep holding the phone as far away from herself and him as she could so that Pumblechook couldn’t hear what they were saying.
The prospect of a free box of wine is not so easy to pass up .
It amused Jock to reflect on the nerve of this bloke from the Barossa who seemed to have materialised right out of the pages of a Dicken’s novel, unprepossessing and on the make and to note that E Rowling was flattered by the attention he had shown her however disingenuous.
“Tell that cheeky bastard to drop the case of wine around in the morning “,Jock suggested “if he is so keen to promote his wares”.
But the wares he had an offer most likely would not survive the night .
On reflection the next morning E Rowling noted that he hadn’t even asked for the address which she thought was odd .She was feeling a little peeved having missed out on the wine ,a gesture of his appreciation for last night no doubt, what she could remember of it. She would have been shocked to learn that the wine was intended as not only a foot in the door but a down payment for future services as yet unrendered.
Jock wasn’t inclined to disaffect her of her viewpoint nor to console her in her disappointment.
Some things should be let go of having seemed to be a good idea at the time even though the consequences were regrettable.
But then again as the Minister for No Fun (who hadn’t yet arrived on the scene )might have said of her,
“No flies on you Liz….. not!”
Nights spent at Lina’s Wine bar often left a residue like this, loose ends unresolved but telling.
In the end little by little all was revealed but that is another story.
