Mum said perfunctorily, “My daughter, Cherry.”
“Cherry is a pretty name,” said Jack.
My mother and I said, “Thank you,” at the same time.
Jack held out his hand for me to shake, which was a little odd. Carpenters wouldn’t normally shake hands with the potential customer’s daughter as she walked by, but that’s what he did.
I said, “Hi, Jack.”
He said, “Hi, Cherry.”
The handshake lasted perhaps one or two seconds longer than socially acceptable. I can still feel that moment in the palm of my hand.
That’s all we said. I made my tea and returned to my abstract algebra. Jack took out his tape measure.
After he left, Mum and Auntie Pat shrieked and jumped about like girls in a teen movie.
“Did you see that?”
“Of course I saw it! Blind Freddy could have seen it!”
They talked about that moment for years.
I note with interest that something similar happened to the world-famous “Crocodile Hunter” Steve Irwin and his wife, Terri, on the day they met. I have seen interviews where they discussed that moment, and my experience with Jack was very similar to theirs, although obviously there were no crocodiles at our house in Hornsby.
Perhaps you think this is a commonplace story where two young people catch each other’s eye and “sparks fly.”
Perhaps you think describing this incident as “extraordinary” is hyperbolic language.
But I know you will understand if it has ever happened to you.
Chapter 76
Allegra is running along a boardwalk in Portugal at sunset, a gentle breeze in her hair.
A handsome African American man runs in front of her, turning often to grin back at her and offer advice and encouragement. His name is Jay. He reminds her to keep her elbows at ninety-degree angles and to enjoy the incredible views.
“I feel like I’m dying, Jay,” puffs Allegra.
“You’re doing awesome,” says Jay. “You’re crushing it!”
She is not really in Portugal at sunset, she is on a treadmill in her parents’ garage in North Ryde, Sydney, Australia, and Jay is her virtual trainer on the monitor, while a fan blows a fake sea breeze in her face. She’s on week two of a Basics of Running series. Jay says they’re going on a “fitness journey.”
“You feel the endorphins yet?” Her dad pops his head around the door separating the garage from the house. This is his third time checking on her. “How is Jay today? I love Jay! Where are you?”
“Go away, Dad!”
“Sorry, sorry!” He lifts up his hands. “Keep it up! Your form is good!” He puts his own elbows at ninety-degree angles.
Her dad is thrilled someone else is using his precious treadmill. The first time she came over to try it out he stood next to her the whole time, watching her run, offering an endless stream of enthusiastic commentary: “Feel how the incline is going up! As if you are running up a hill! Now the speed is increasing, see, you have to run faster! Careful!”
He wants to tell her all about his favorite trainers and the spectacular places he has run around the world. Maybe they can train for a half-marathon together!
“Whoa back, Dad,” said Allegra, while her mother laughed and said she had never seen a drop of sweat on her daughter’s forehead before, which is not an exaggeration. Allegra has never been into fitness or sports. She doesn’t enjoy getting out of breath, has never crossed the threshold of a gym, and has always believed working as a flight attendant gives her all the exercise she needs. She’s on her feet for hours at a time.
She had told her parents a doctor had suggested running for her back. He said it was great for those with a “structurally normal spine,” like Allegra, who need to “improve their core.”
This is true but Allegra isn’t really interested in improving her core; her back is fine now. The reason for her new interest in exercise is her new interest in her mental health, which up until now she always believed to also be “structurally normal” but which she now fears could at any moment catastrophically fail her, just like her back did on that flight.
Anders sent her the shocking video of the poor Tasmanian girl in the car accident and the link to the story about the elderly doctors. He’s obsessed with the psychic and has been sending Allegra daily messages. RUOK? SERIOUSLY, RU?? DO NOT SELF-HARM TODAY! YOU ARE LOVED, DEAR HEART.
Her parents, who inhabit different algorithms, have not seen the car accident video or the article, and of course Allegra has not told them about the deaths. She deeply regrets revealing the prediction to her mother in the first place.
Surely, she keeps telling herself, her particular prediction is easy to avoid: she simply will not self-harm. Every day that goes by is another day where she has refused to allow the lady’s prediction to come true, and it’s not like it’s difficult to resist the temptation to hurt herself. She has never felt a desire to self-harm. There were kids at school who cut themselves and it always baffled her. Why would anyone deliberately choose pain?
She does not have depression. She is fine with her life. It’s a good life. She likes her job. Her apartment. Her friends. Her mood has always been steady. She is calm in a crisis, she handles conflict well. She’s snippy before her period, grumpy if she’s slept poorly, but she rarely, if ever, feels melancholy.
She has always felt herself to be an almost boringly well-balanced person, like a solid little tugboat, able to right itself no matter how choppy the waters.
The last time she can remember feeling properly sad was when her ex-boyfriend broke up with her three years ago. He did it in a restaurant. She had not seen it coming. It was bizarre because there was no winding down of the relationship. It was as though he thought you were legally required to continue behaving as a loving, committed boyfriend—holding her hand as they walked from the car to the restaurant, talking about their plans for the weekend—until the very last moment. Then: BANG. Did he think the element of surprise was crucial for the most effective outcome? They had just placed their orders. They had agreed to share the seafood special. Another woman might have walked out, but she, the boring tugboat, did not make a fuss. She did not cry at the table. She had too much pride. She even ate some of the seafood. She thinks she might have a permanent seafood allergy as a result.
She had been devastated, but she did not miss a day of work and she got over it. She did not suffer from depression. She is not susceptible.
Now it’s possible, although certainly not confirmed, that she has a new boyfriend. First Officer Jonathan Summers seems intent on seducing her even though it’s not necessary—the job’s done, Jonny—but the excellent lattice-topped pie was just the beginning. He is asking her on walks, to the movies, to dinner, and it’s charming, it’s almost irresistible, but she is holding back, keeping a piece of herself in reserve, just like a Bachelor contestant who refuses to give her whole heart, and will therefore not receive a rose, because everyone knows you’ve got to lay it all on the line and humiliate yourself on prime-time television if you want to be the last woman standing on a reality-TV dating show.
Now that she thinks about it, Jonny Summers is exactly the sort of bachelor producers would love to cast. Allegra watches The Bachelor to feel superior. If she was watching herself she’d be yelling at the television: “Refuse that guy’s damned rose! Reject him before he rejects you!”
One morning she woke with a clear thought: “the Death Lady” has foreseen that Jonny is going through all this nonsense as part of a strangely elaborate plan to break Allegra’s heart, and this time she will spiral into a depression serious enough to lead her to self-harm.
