ROLLERCOASTER
by
Sheryl Chappell
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PUBLISHED BY CHARGAN AT SMASHWORDS
This book available in print from
www.chargan.com
Rollercoaster
Copyright © 2011 Sheryl Chappell
ISBN: 978-1-4661-6150-4
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Sheryl Chappell has asserted her right under the Copyright Act 1968 to be identified as the author of this work.
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25 Paying for the sins of the wife
28 Getting up and dusting myself off
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Rollercoaster is a reality read based on the true story of a 52 year old, single, career woman who is confronted with the inevitable crossroads of life.
She is bored, restless and searching for adventure. Despite the best intended advice from family and friends she decided to sell her home, quit her job, desert her family and leave behind the one love of her life and go West in the pursuit of the unknown.
For the next 3 years she finds herself in some very new, unusual and challenging situations and is forced to confront some ghosts from the past. She accepts these situations with passion, courage and tenacity of spirit while displaying guts and perseverance as she plays the hand she is dealt, determined to find some joy and happiness in the spaces in-between.
So grab a coffee or decent red, find a quiet spot and get onboard for this emotional ride.
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DESIDERATA
Go placidly amidst the noise and haste,
And remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
Be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly: and listen to others,
Even the dull and ignorant: they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
They are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievement as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have the right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Strive to be happy.
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‘Hey Baby, I hope your visit with the family was all you hoped it would be and I am sure they were delighted to see you. I know that you will eventually check your emails so there are some things I wanted to say to you and writing them down is what I do best or perhaps I’m just a coward.’
I’m sure you have realised by now that although I can appear to be casual and at times flippant, I am also a passionate creature which I have realised so much more since spending some time with you. I have wondered whether I should keep these things to myself or express them, so here goes.
When I am with you I experience the most intoxicating ‘highs’ that I have never felt before, it is an extreme feeling of euphoria and senselessness which scares the heck out of me.
I think I could be persuaded to kill if you wanted me to.
I realise this is rather ridiculous and unsettling for me and probably for you as well, but then when I leave your company, the ‘lows’ are just as powerful.
I suppose you’re chuckling by now but Alex, I am serious.
In the natural order of things I am drawn to spending as much time with you as I can and getting to know you a little better not caring if you are sleeping with other women, and I certainly wish I was emotionally mature enough to just let it go but I’m not. I respect your beliefs and the right of you to live your life the way you want too.
On Thursday while we were having that beautiful romantic lunch on the beach at Noosaville, and you asked me if I could fall in love with you. I hesitated while wondering why you would ask me such things, I know it was probably a moment of weakness on your part, perhaps too much red wine and warm sunshine but I hesitated because I wondered where you were going with it and I didn’t want things to change between us as I suspect you are not in a place where you want a woman to love you because then things would enviably change. They always do when the word love is bandied about.
So my head tells me to get of this situation, whatever we perceive it to be, because I don’t want to get hurt again, my decision not see you is no reflection on the man you are, what you have or where you might be headed in life, however if you ever decide it’s time for you to have one woman only, I’d better be the first one you call..
As I said when leaving, Alex if you ever need anything, anything at all, even just a chat, please, please call me as I will always want to hear from you.
Cheers Darling.
Sheryl
As I tap the side of my laptop with my index finger hovering over the Send button I wonder what it is that I expect from this man?
Alex was indeed a beautiful creature but history reminds me, he is not the man for me. Since meeting him I suspected that I may not be the only woman he was entertaining. I had a gut feeling: a few little pointers here and there and I was looking for more than pleasurable weekends in a relationship.
This was the third weekend we had spent together and I had met him 4 months ago, our time together was always incredible. Perhaps what added to the pleasure was we were spending our time together in luxury hotels on the coast, this time we were on the sunny coast and it was Christmas Eve. Alex said he wanted us to wake up together on Christmas morning. A lovely sentiment I thought, and how can a girl refuse such a request?
This man really knew how to treat a woman and make her feel as though she was the only person alive. He was a real, old fashioned gentleman, kind, loving and passionate, a great lover, with attention to detail that any woman would die for.
He wasn’t afraid to spend his money on you and was never demanding, pushy or expecting. He knew how to play the game well, and one could only assume it was because he had so much experience. I suspected I wasn’t the only one he was playing with.
I wanted some sort of emotional commitment from a man. That didn’t mean moving in together and setting up house; it just meant no sleeping with other people and being emotionally available. After the tragic story with Harry over the past 14 months I had no intention of being stuffed around by another bloke. What I wanted was even clearer now in my mind.
I had left Soldier Boy, as my work mates had dubbed him, 2 days earlier to go up to Brisbane for Christmas Day with my daughter and grandson, then went back to the coast for a week’s break, not that it was relaxing. We had been experiencing the worst flooding in history in my home town and surrounding area. It was miserable on the coast too, the cyclone season was upon us. My son Luke was sending me photos via the phone about every 2 hours as the flood waters threatened to ruin the past 3 years of hard work renovating my little cottage out in Western Queensland.
So I was tired, exhausted in fact, both physically and emotionally... Physically from a few days of love making with Alex as well as driving hundreds of miles in teaming rain and emotionally because my mind was sceptical about his intentions. When I met him online, his profile said he was looking for a relationship, but a few choice words here and there from him lead me to believe otherwise.
Since I had left the coast I was staying with my girlfriend Dianne until the flood waters receded enough for me to get back home.
As I told her my thoughts about the latest man I was involved with she began lecturing me in her usual fashion about taking the moral high ground with him.
‘God, Sheryl, I don’t know why you are concerned about Alex’s intentions, all you do is talk to blokes online most of your spare time, you have 3 blokes texting you every day and you’re meeting a new guy for breakfast before you go home in the morning, what’s wrong with you?’
I guess I am a hypocrite but reminded her I wasn’t sleeping with any of them just meeting new people all the while trying to justify the thoughts running through my head about Alex.
She raised her eyebrows and shook her head as she went to make us a cuppa - well that’s what friends do, they sometimes pull you into line, give you good advice and support you even when you make the wrong choices in life, and not to mention Peter was sneaking away from his new woman to come and have a visit with me before I returned home.
It was always good to see the man I almost married 12 years ago. Funny how I accepted Peter lying to his partner, sneaking away for a visit with an ex -lover, but I wouldn’t accept it from Alex and I wasn’t even sure if he was seeing other women.
I am so confused, what’s wrong with me?
Is the situation between Alex and I getting to the point where I could fall in love with him so I put my running shoes on and create some unacceptable flaw in him as an excuse to get him out of my life or are my instincts correct and he is a player?
As I stare out into the rain soaked afternoon, hoping bed time would come soon, my mind is numb.
‘Ok girl, I tell myself, just do what you always do’. I press Send and close the lid on my laptop.
Time to check the road reports and see if I can make it back to my home in the bush, back to the small country town that I now call home.
I had now been in Dalby for a few months after leaving Brisbane for a tree change. For a long while life in the big city was beginning to lose its lustre. I was losing patience with the ever increasing trials of city life.
Long, impersonal queues in every store, circling car parks like a hungry shark waiting for a space to open up and finally when it does, some stressed out freak zooms in before you can even change gears.
People lined up for miles to buy fuel with a four cents a litre off voucher, the generous reward you get for allowing Coles and Woollies’ to monopolise your spending power.
Maddening traffic problems before you even leave your driveway especially if you happen to live anywhere near a train station or school yard, the absolute eradication of customer service and outrageous prices for the basic necessities of life - not to mention tasteless fresh produce stored for months on end in some cold room in various parts of this vast land that is Australia.
The monotony of bored, listless check -out personnel dreaming of places they would rather be than serving you and terrifying road rage. I don’t know why motorists are so angry on the roads when everyone I seem to know are swallowing a handful of anti -depressants just to get out of bed in the morning - you would think they would be much calmer and at peace with life but there is anger and madness all around me - so much for the benefits of Prozac!
No more rat race for me. I have decided to go west young woman (well not so young) where the air is clean, you can grow your own vegies and there is an abundance of single lonely men. Word has it there are 10 men to every woman in the West and it would be nice to meet some real men. Men who know how to change a tyre or a light globe, men who get dirty working with their hands, rough sexy males in tradies uniforms and a hard hat if you’re lucky, sun tanned and skilfully weather beaten. Enough with the metro sexual, emotionally retarded, drones masquerading as single males in the city and my apologies to all the decent city men, no more of this meaningless existence for me. I’m heading out West into the wide open spaces in my pursuit of the good life, whatever that might be.
I had been in the City for more than thirty years and it had served its purpose for me. It was time to move on and experience a different way of life.
I was looking forward to my new adventure. I am 52 years old, chronically single, well educated, street smart, witty and looking for some excitement. A reason to believe life is good, a reason to tell myself I am lucky to be alive rather than hang around major shopping centres drinking overpriced coffee and waiting for my mobile phone to ring whilst staring blankly into the sea of unknown and mostly unfriendly faces.
‘Grinding body, grinding soul, yielding scarce enough to eat - while I sorrow for the owners of the Faces in the Street’. Henry Lawson had it right all those years ago.
Am I insane? There I go questioning my state of mind again, perhaps I am but boring not a chance. I am sure the universe will attract to me many new and wild adventures as it had done in the past.
I also decided I had been away from my family long enough; both Mum and Dad were in their seventies, still alive and living out west.
I had not spent a great deal of time with them over the years only turning up at festive occasions such as Christmas and Easter. We had stayed in touch by phone and the dutiful sending of birthday cards.
During the last few years Mother would come down to Brisneyland and stay with me for 2 weeks usually around September when the weather was mild but that was about my contribution as a loving and caring daughter. They would not be around forever so the prodigal daughter returning home would be of some comfort to them, I hoped - that’s me ever the optimist.
Always being a wild and restless spirit and detesting the mundane, I love to move and set up a new home, always looking for risky business to get myself into. Most people I know are horrified at the thought of moving house, not me, I reckon I could pack up my belongings and move in 24 hours: you see I detest clutter and objects which are designed to attract dust - we all have way more than we need but are intent on gathering up all this stuff because we think it makes us happy but I learnt the trick is, to search for happiness from within - you can’t create happiness by surrounding yourself with things that advertisers promise will improve your lives, don’t get me wrong I’m no tree hugger. I love all the comforts of home, those being electricity, running water and a huge LCD television. I also have obsessive compulsive disorder and am compelled to enjoy a clutter free lifestyle in an attempt to have some control in my life which is probably why I remain tragically single.
After many years of study and reading numerous self help books I think I have realised the true meaning of life and the important role everyone you meet plays in developing the character you become and thankfully most of the characters I have meet have provided me with a positive experience.
Another thing I have learnt is how soul destroying toxic people can be - and it’s OK for pegs to be left on the washing line!
So when I confided in my friends and work colleagues of my latest decision to go West I heard the usual whispers - ‘she’s going through a mid -life crisis, she’s menopausal, she’s having a breakdown’ but alas I took no notice, as usual, going straight to my favourite web site: realestate.com.au to search for the next renovation project and perhaps my new home.
For some months I had secretly been considering this move so I had done my homework and decided on Dalby because it had all the right ingredients for a boom town. Mining companies had discovered large gas and coal deposits all around the district, 3 new power stations to feed our unquenchable thirst for electricity were being considered for the area and they were in the process of building an ethanol fuel plant. There was a great demand for workers and an even greater demand for accommodation. Motels were struggling to house all the new workers in the Surat Basin. The caravan parks were bursting at the seams and the rental accommodation was very ordinary, so if I didn’t like the town I could always buy a renovator, enjoy doing it up and sell it for a mint. Not what I wanted to do, mind you, but you have to cover all your bases in life, leave nothing to chance is my motto. I also have a need to be in total control of things. Taking control of my life and finances is probably why I find myself to be financially secure and have some choices at my age.
I guess the only sore point in moving would be leaving behind my daughter Selena and only grandchild, young Jack, still Dalby was only two and a half hours from them and we could visit regularly but I was also leaving behind the one true love of my life, Peter James Hanson.
I had met Pete several years ago, about seven, in fact. His eldest boy and mine were best friends at school; we were both single parents, him raising 3 young children on his own and me with one boy, a pregnant daughter and small grandson. I had just been through a divorce and purchased a small two bedroom home on the north side of Brisbane. My twenty three year marriage left me with the princely sum of $23,000 and a ten year old boy to raise, so I had some serious work to do if I wanted to gain some financial security.
When I met Peter we were both struggling to keep it together. Working and parenting long, hard days and even longer lonely nights, both time poor and needing someone who gave a damn.
Our teenage boys, Luke and Wade, were best friends and always trying to set us up on dates but both of us were too busy to bother and preferred the company of whiskey whenever we got a bit of free time. I had Wade at my house most weekends and when he wasn’t at my place Luke was sleeping over at Pete’s. I would often pick the boys up for school and drop them off on my way to work.
As luck would have it, one morning in September when Mom was staying with me I stopped at Peter’s to collect the boys for school. In those days I had a much bigger car, the standard company commodore sedan, not like the little 4x4 I now drive.
As we sat at the front of my son’s best friend’s house, Mum drew my attention to this gorgeous bloke in a pair of jeans and flannelette shirt whilst making the comment ‘Gee! Sheryl he’s not a bad sort’ so I raised my head as I was filling in the log book, a necessity and nuisance of driving a car that you didn’t actually own. I saw him calling for a small boy to come home and get ready for school. This little boy, I later discovered, was Pete’s youngest boy, Jack, he also had a teenage daughter and of course Wade.
I took a couple of moments to study him a little better and marvelled at this strong, masculine, dark haired, God like creature. Now I had never actually ever seen God but I knew he was good looking. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled up just enough to expose firm, rippling muscular arms with fading ink marks of a boyhood tattoo. God! There I go again; it had been a long time since I had seen a male specimen like that, real fair dinkum eye candy for a young grandma like myself.
He had an air of ‘the bush’ about him and he reminded me of home and my childhood. Tall, dark and handsome was my Pete, every girls dream.
It then dawned on me that this man was actually Wade’s father, I had seen him many times before but never took the time to really take him in, and I felt a little flutter in my heart and a yearning in my groin. He smiled a shy but busy smile while the two boys laughed, swore and joked about the mischief they would get up to at school that day as they climbed into the back seat of my company Commodore.
Of course I waved goodbye and set off into the traffic. Same shit, different day...
It was only a couple of weeks later, at the local RSL club that I saw him again. I would go there most Friday nights, desperate and dateless winding down from a busy week. Some Friday nights I would just sit just on my front steps at home, alone, staring out across the park into the darkness listening to country music hoping to find life’s answers in the words of Willie Nelson songs. When I went out I usually drank too much scotch, got the train home, woke up with a hang -over and started the week all over again.
Life in the city can be a very lonely place; surrounded by thousands of people and not connecting with any of them. I guess I was lonely but kept myself too busy to think about it.
Well back to the RSL - he walked up to me and offered to buy me a drink. I was so nervous and he was so beautiful, a few years younger than me in fact. So I accepted his offer and after a couple of hours and some chit chat he invited me to a New Years Eve Party. Of course I accepted, and when New Years Eve arrived again I was as nervous as a teenager when he came to pick me up.
My pregnant daughter and grandson were living with me at that time and gave me some tips on make -up and clothing. Looking in the mirror I allowed myself to be slightly impressed with the image staring back at me - not bad for an old bird I thought. He knocked on the door, red rose in hand and looking as handsome as I remembered: the rest is history.
We were in an amazing, passionate, volatile and emotionally immature relationship for more than 10 years; we went through the very best and very worst of times. We had problems with kids, Pete’s depression, the death of a child, work promotions, a missing teenager, trouble with the law, kids leaving home and attempted suicides. It was by no means ‘The Brady Bunch’ but I adored him, even though I had been married for more than 23 years, I only learnt what a soul mate was when I met Peter.
It is a love that until this point will not die, even though we have both spent time with other partners and he bought me the most amazing engagement ring, got down on one knee and proposed to me I still continue to search the planet for the perfect man, you girls all know what I mean, but I have yet to meet him and wonder if you can ever be happy with someone else when you love another. They say there’s only one way to forget an old love and that’s to find a new one, so here’s hoping a tree change in the wild, wild, west might do the trick.
Pete’s story was a sad one; he was born in the bush and abandoned by his mother when he was 4 years old: this left him with an alcoholic father to wander from town to town looking for work. He had no security, calling local pubs home and attending many different schools. By today’s standards he would have been a neglected child but things were different then.
At 16 his father had the audacity to die on him as a result of a stuffed liver from alcohol abuse and once again Pete was on his own. He had worked hard as a boy and bought his father a new suit to be buried in and paid for the funeral, such an effort for a 16 year old boy.
After his Father’s death he set off to find his mother and sisters in the city, only to discover Shirley (his mother) had a new family and Pete wasn’t to be part of it. He worked hard, as bush men do and made a new life for himself in the city but was always lonely and vulnerable to women.
He married, fathered 3 kids and worked long hours to obtain financial security for him and his family, then as fate would have it after 16 years of marriage his wife decided she wanted no part of it anymore except of course a huge financial settlement. Pete was left with only a few dollars, very little pride and 3 small kids to raise. His ex -wife was the type of woman who gives good women a bad name. The minute the ink had dried on the divorce papers she put her 3 young children in a cab and sent them to their fathers place without even bothering to call on their Birthdays or send them a Christmas card, too busy spending a lifetime of work.
I always admired him for raising those kids on his own. Not many men from my generation would take on the responsibility. He made all the mistakes that any parent makes but would do anything for those kids. He had a lot of problems with self confidence and I understood him well but I couldn’t be the woman he wanted me to be, we both tried as hard as possible to make our relationship last but it wasn’t to be. He will always be my best mate but it was time to move on.
All I had to do now was find a property in Dalby that I could call home and sell my townhouse in the city.
Finding new digs in Dalby would prove to be too easy. I trawled the net and picked a couple of renovators that would suit me. My idea was that I would spend my first 12 months in Dalby fixing up the new place then maybe look for some part -time work if I felt like it. I had made enough money during my lifetime through hard work, clever stock market investing and dabbling in real estate to take my time and decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I had a real flair and passion for decorating and renovating and had bought around 5 properties in the past 6 years, all shacks but with character and in good locations, mostly ex -rental properties that had lost any lustre they may have had to the many transient tenants who lived behind their doors. I left nothing to chance. I would study the market, demographics and any news articles I could get my hands on looking for the next suburb to boom, checking out what the council was doing in an area, employment growth and the ability to ‘on sell’ the property when the time was right.
Of course every time I bought a property, friends and family were critical of the place, including Peter. Some of these properties were downright embarrassing but I would go ahead and purchase them anyway and spend any free time I had working my arse off to bring them back to life. This approach enabled me to be debt free, own my own house and have enough cash to see me out at the age of 50 as I was always conscious of the long term effects of having a chronic disease and knew my time for enjoying a healthy and productive working life was somewhat limited.
I developed Type One diabetes at the age of 28 and have been injecting my body with insulin four times a day in an effort to stay alive. To date that’s 36,300 injections and still counting. Still I would rather have diabetes than cancer. So the next time you have to go to the doctor for a blood test and you’re stressed out with a needle phobia spare a thought for the thousands of diabetics needling themselves daily just to stay alive.
My next step was to go out to Dalby and look at some property before making the big announcement, so I asked my best female mate Dianne to come out with me. She was off work with her second bout of cancer and we agreed on a Wednesday to go house hunting.
I had met Dianne a couple of years earlier, when we were going through the singles dating club thing. Those of you who have been divorced will know the deal.
After you decide to come out from under the bush where you have been hiding you start wanting to partner up, I guess it’s a nature thing, you know man and woman.
You get sick of being on your own and just know there is another soul out there who is just like you, lonely, sad and desperate. Scanning the singles sections in the newspapers, surfing the net, hanging out at singles bars, getting the makeover, consider a face lift, liposuction, boob job, teeth whitening and engage in a healthy lifestyle. You are promised a natural glow which can only be found in some overpriced nature’s own store.
The night I met Dianne I realised she would be a good friend. We were at some singles joint in Spring Hill where all the women were lined up like prize cows waiting for some fabulously plastic metrosexual wanker to gaze in their direction. Now you gained entry to this exclusive event by calling a secret number in Saturday’s paper. I decided to give it a go and rang the number and spoke with Judy, she gave me a time and venue and I arrived about 7 pm.
Standing at the bar amongst the desperados was this really tall, well dressed blonde who looked just as disillusioned as I was while throwing back bourbons like they were lolly water. I made my way through the dimly lit lounge and positioned myself at the bar ordering a scotch and diet coke while introducing myself to the tall blonde. We had just started a conversation when the host of this fabulous evening, Judy, touched us on the shoulder explaining how the evening worked. Every ten minutes she would push us in the direction of the next man who she thought would be our perfect match.
The idea of the evening was to mingle and spread ourselves evenly between the available men thus meeting your perfect match and live happily ever after.
Well... it was only about half an hour into the evening that I realised my Mister Right must have left early. So the only decent thing to do was to numb my already waning ego by heading in the direction of the nearest bar for another whiskey, Mr Right had gone home so I might as well get pissed so the night wouldn’t be a total waste.
Now I don’t consider myself a big consumer of alcohol, I’m more of a once a week wonder, a binge drinker according to our new Prime Minister and the so called academic boffins who are employed to pass judgements on each and every one of us.
Again the blonde and I struck up a conversation and we have been good friends ever since.
Another singles evening found us in the same scenario only this time when the planned evening drew to an end and we were still single we decided to go onto the next pub for a drink or two. We wandered up the hill towards some flashing neon lights and entered an establishment via a couple of bulky, buffed security guards, who looked at us in amusement but we were unaware as to why. We were there for only about half an hour when we realised it was gay karaoke night, what can you expect at the top end of Spring Hill, so we ordered a drink and sat down amongst the weird and wonderful people.
Actually I felt quite at home there as some of my staff were gay or transgender folk and I always felt comfortable with them, actually some of the most genuine, humble and well adjusted people I had ever met were gay and to be honest some of the best looking men as well.
It wasn’t too long before a couple of familiar looking blokes decided to join us at our table. We recognised them from the singles function we had attended earlier in the evening. One of them was a decent enough bloke but seriously needed to lose some weight, the other was a scumbag as we soon discovered.
He was short, a Greek looking character with way too much dark hair framing beady little eyes and a rather large red nose. When he spoke he was as smooth as silk, with his talk of days in the music industry. He was name dropping every rock star he could think of from Bill Haley to Matchbox Twenty and telling us what I thought were very tall stories. He initially focused his attention on me but he wasn’t my type. I prefer quiet, unassuming men but he kept trying to buy me a drink. It is my policy to always buy my own drinks, especially if I don’t know a person really, really well. I was more than aware of drink spiking as I had heard many a story from both men and women who had fallen victim to drink spiking and we were in prime territory for it, the Devils Playground or the top end of it anyway. The types of drugs used in spiking such as Rohypnol, GHB and common garden variety downers were readily available on the streets of Spring Hill. When I kept refusing his offer to buy me a drink he soon realised his advances towards me were dying in the water but he went up to the bar anyway and bought one for me. Needless to say it sat on the table right in front of us for the whole time we were there.
He was a little too persistent with trying to get one of us to accept his offer of a drink and my alarm bells started to ring. I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right. The fat guy wasn’t aware of what was going on and neither was Dianne. After some time Mr. Adonis conceded defeat and decided to turn his attention to Dianne.
Now Dianne has a different outlook in life on certain issues, she doesn’t mind a bloke buying her a drink as she has deep pockets and short arms sometimes, so when he shifted his focus from me to her she accepted his offer to buy her a drink. She was drinking a shandy, beer with a dash of lemonade, both of us probably only had about four drinks throughout the night, we were by no means anywhere near intoxicated so when he bought her a second shandy I could see the change in her right away.
Suddenly she started to slur her words and appeared to be totally out of it, her long blonde hair was falling down her face and she could barely hold her head up, this creep was all over her right there at the table and she appeared to not give a damn.
I knew this behaviour was out of character for her. Dianne could drink full bourbons all night and barely feel the effects of it. I had never seen her drunk or behaving like this before. The scene playing out right in front of my eyes was incredible. I had heard about spiking but had never seen it done but I knew she was in trouble and we needed to get out of there ASAP.
Now Adonis had different ideas and was determined to discourage her from leaving suggesting I leave her there and he would make sure she got home safely. Well that wasn’t going to happen was it? So I got her up and held her arm as she staggered out the door. He followed us out onto the footpath as I propped my friend against the pub wall trying desperately to hail us a cab. She could barely stand and this scumbag had his hands all over her including up her skirt again. I was getting really pissed off and worried that she might just disappear into the night with him. He was trying to lead her away telling her he had an apartment just at the top of the hill. Dianne was helpless and not able to fend off his octopus advances. I could see she would have let him lead her anywhere. I told him in terms that only a scumbag would understand that she was going home with me and he should leave her alone, fortunately a cab pulled to the curb and I pushed her into the back seat giving the driver her address. I turned my head and watched the little deviant disappear into the night.
So girls think very seriously before you let a bloke buy you a drink it could be the last one you ever have and if you need any proof give some thought to the Dianne Brimble case, a mother dead on the floor of a shower cubicle, while a couple of filthy mongrels finished their drinks.
Dianne was in her mid -fifties, been separated from her husband for 16 years. She had given birth to 5 children, way too many for my liking but you often find that people from families where there are only one or two children seem to have a strange desire to procreate themselves, not me, too many kids and too little to go around in my family, but different strokes for different folks. She had chosen nursing as her career and now she was doing some administration job at one of the big hospitals in Brisbane. She had breast cancer some 10 years before and her ex was a copper and a real arsehole, he left her with 5 kids to raise and a house to pay for, she managed to keep working through chemotherapy and radiation, worked night shift nursing, would come home in the morning and get 5 kids off to school, no child support, no single mummy’s pension, just hard bloody work. She put all those kids through private schools by mortgaging the house to the hilt and is still paying it off to this day; her youngest child is 27 and still living at home. Dianne once again has breast cancer and is fighting for her life. I guess she can be a bit shallow at times but we have had some good times together and I have a great deal of respect for her survival instincts.
I remember one Easter we decided to go out to Rubyvale in the Queensland outback. We took my niece with us and had the time of our lives. Rubyvale was once the heart and soul of the gem mining industry but these days tourism was what kept the place afloat. You can still try your luck at finding a huge sapphire but don’t spend your last dollar on staking a mining claim. The town has only a handful of local residents but at Easter there are hundreds of tourists trying to experience the Australian outback. I had been to Rubyvale on a gem fossicking tour shortly after my divorce. Luke and I went on the Spirit of the Outback train trip and it proved to be just what we both needed.
So on Easter Saturday night we went to the local for a great night, we met people from all over Australia as well as some of the locals. Being single girls we played up like second hand lawn mowers and vowed never to go back just in case someone remembered us. Dianne and I did a lot of crazy things like that but always in another town, we even went to Dalby for New Years Eve one year and left our mark, that was a few years ago so I reckon it was safe for me to go back to Dalby, although now living here I sometimes wonder if some women might think they know me but can’t put the pieces together.
Women of the bush are very suspicious of single women and even more protective of their husbands particularly if they have a wandering eye. Now I’m just a friendly person and find all people interesting, some more interesting than others and would talk to anyone if they gave me the opportunity. I might add that no marriages were ever harmed in Dalby or anywhere else for that matter during our wild nights out. If you are married or have a partner then you are off limits to me.
Dianne and I left Brisbane early on a Wednesday morning to travel to Dalby to look at possible new homes for me. My mind was made up, I was determined to move on and once I make a decision nothing or no -one could change my mind - which at times had proved to be to my detriment especially when it came to the men I had encountered, they can be a little precious when it’s not all about them but you gotta love them apparently!
In the past 20 years I had only driven through Dalby on my way to visit relatives in Tara, which is West of Dalby by 89 km, absolute arsehole of the world, and as we drove around I was astounded to see the activity going on in Queensland’s newest boom town.
We parked the car and wandered down the main street to have a coffee and look around. I couldn’t believe all the new shops and stores, the beautiful gardens in the streets and fast food outlets everywhere. Dalby had certainly come of age since family shopping trips during my childhood. There seemed to be everything in town that a person could need; a good variety of banking institutions, all the usual fast food outlets, a trendy new shopping centre, heaps of pubs, swimming pool, squash courts, nice parks even a nightclub and men, lots of them everywhere whichever way you turned.
We visited the local Real Estate agents to see what was available and one agent took us on a tour of the local area pointing out everything that was happening in the region: while driving around I noticed some of the locals were already embracing the boom, renovating their homes and landscaping their gardens but like most country folk most are too busy battling the elements to worry about being overly house proud. Country life is a two sided coin it can be a very relaxed and healthy lifestyle with the people being generous, friendly and always willing to lend a hand or it can also be a constant battle with the elements including long intensely hot dry summers and freezing cold winters, sometimes years passing without decent rain, but I was confident the locals would soon realise that hard financial times were over and the wealth from the mining and gas industries would benefit all those who embraced these changes. With that in mind I was more excited than ever to be part of big changes for the bush. Even though I had spent most of my life in the city my heart belonged in the country - ‘you can take the girl from the country but you can’t take the country from the girl’ rang true for me.
So the search for a good investment begins. As with most places I had bought in the past the property would have to have some character and while looking at it I have to be able to see myself cooking in the kitchen or working in the garden. It would be a timber place and preferably a genuine Queenslander or workers cottage as the three bedroom low set brick has no appeal for me and estate living is totally out of the picture. I had seen two houses that had caught my eye on the net so decided to track down the agency that had them listed.
The first one was a real shack and was located directly across the road from the railway station, not what you would call a great location. I think it could be called the worst house in the worst street but I was excited at the challenge of bringing it back to life. After having a good look at the structural problems and doing a quick mental calculation of the cost involved I decided I wouldn’t live long enough to see it through and decided to look at the cottage in Ironbark Street. Dianne was horrified that I was even considering that first shack but I knew it would require more money and physical strength than I could muster to make it liveable.
On arriving at the Ironbark Street property I knew in an instant that this place would be my new home - a very cute, three bedroom original workers cottage with a veranda extending all the way along the front of the house and facing east.
The block of land was 987 square meters which was way more than I needed. The interior of the house was tongue and groove boards with 14 ft ceilings and a quaint country kitchen. The main bedroom was bright and airy and faced north which meant it would not be too hot in the summer. There were four entry and exit points with each door leading to something new. Off the kitchen was a huge covered entertainment area with slat walls and painted the dreaded mission brown, the laundry was also downstairs and had a water tank sitting off to the side.
The door leading of the lounge room led out to the car shed which also had the potential to be a very nice private courtyard, with a bit of work and selective planting, and with a fair bit of imagination it would be another great spot to escape from the summer heat. The back door exit area was very ordinary but a deck for some winter sun would be easy to do. The house was a rental property and painted in a weird combination of colours but mostly it just needed cosmetic work and a decent amount of flair to bring it back to life.
So I had found my new home and the first challenge begins in getting it for the price I was willing to pay! Mind you I was more than willing to pay full purchase price but half the fun is in the price negotiating. If I was to buy this little beauty in Brisneyland it would set me back about $800,000 but here in Dalby they were giving it away.
After a little to-ing and fro-ing between me and the vendor I got the house for 15k under the purchase price and the fact that I had the cash made them a little more willing to negotiate.
My golden rule has always been to make sure you have the money or finance approved before you start looking for a place, cash is king and it gives you so much power in the buying game.
So by 2 pm I had a 2 month contract on my new home but it would be at least 6 months before I would move in. With the business at hand completed we headed back to Brisbane. I couldn’t believe I had actually done it, taken the first step in a huge lifestyle change and set in progress the next journey in my life! God Almighty had I done the right thing?
That night when I was back in my townhouse I spent a long and sleepless night pondering on how to set the wheels in motion for the move. I had to tell my daughter Selena that I was leaving her and Jack behind - she would be devastated. I had to explain to Peter that any hope we had for a future together was gone. I also had to sell the townhouse before the settlement of the Dalby property which was only 60 days away. I would be short about $50,000 to settle the property if I couldn’t sell quickly, then I would have to find somewhere to stay until the Dalby tenants lease had expired in August. I had to leave my job, store my furniture and tell the relatives what I was up too so let the fun begin.
On one hand I was excited, feeling a sense of freedom and security in the decision I had made, on the other I was leaving so much behind and moving to a place where I didn’t know a soul, where conditions were harsh and I would be on my own. Would I be bored and lonely, did I have the motivation to restore another property, would I be accepted into the community, had I been away from the bush for so long that I was no longer tough enough to survive? I wasn’t getting any younger and making friends and socialising wasn’t a strong point of mine but the deed was done so to speak and I would cross those bridges when I got to them. I felt I had spent all my life looking after others both in my career as a community services worker as well as in my personal life, I felt like a sponge that could no longer soak up others emotional fluid and it had to be about me now.
Without sounding like a whinger: I was pregnant at 16, married at 16 and a half, had my first child at 17, talk about ‘knowing the truth at 17’, worked like a dog, had my second child at 28, developed a chronic illness at 29, disillusioned and divorced after 23 years of marriage at 38, lost a precious grandson, worked on the streets in the heart of Brisbane for 15 years where I saw and encountered horrendous things that no -one should have to see, fell in love with a man I could never get on with, disappointed by love and single at 52.
If I felt I had experienced my fair share of grief and heart ache I couldn’t have been more wrong.
But you only get one go at life and if I focus on all the negatives and start crying I may never stop so I am grateful for all I have and reckon that every morning when my feet hit the floor and I’m still sucking air then I’m going to give the day my best shot.
First thing the next morning I contacted the local Real Estate agents. I don’t hold real estate agents in very high regard, they are lower than python shit, promising you the world by inflating the value of your property until you sign up with them, once they have you under contract then they spend the next couple of weeks telling you how quiet the market is, suggesting you give them a small fortune to ‘Market’ your property exclusively and encouraging you to drop the price if you want a quick sale. Isn’t that what the commission you pay them is for?
So I was looking for someone new to sell my property, being fully aware of what it is worth, as the property market is one of my hobbies.
I wanted to steer away from the big name agents, LJ Hooker, Ray White, Coronas etc. I stumbled upon a new mob at the Aspley Shopping Centre with a rather young principal named Justin and made an appointment to speak with him regarding marketing and selling my property. He came to the townhouse and seemed honest enough in his appraisal of the place, so we signed an agreement to go to sale. I had paid around 205k and we were hoping to sell for around 330k, once again this would give me a tidy profit.