Douglas is Always Here by Sue Brennan

Douglas is Always Here

A noise disturbed Douglas’s vigil at the window. He turned and saw Mandy standing at the kitchen bench, curious that she hadn’t called out to him.

            She’s up? What time is it? Did I doze off?

            He’d been watching the young man across the street tending to the lawn and garden of the elderly couple that lived there. His chin had found the perfect little groove on the sofa’s arm. His  eyes followed the man; there was nothing else going on out there at this time of day.

            I should probably go over and say good morning.

            Mandy—to the untrained eye— was going about the quotidian task of making a cup of tea. Mandy—to the trained eye—was attempting something monumental. She filled the electric kettle to the level that indicated eight cups even though she was the only one about to drink tea. She looked carefully through the Twinings teabags selection that someone had thought was a lovely Christmas gift last year. The teabags, neatly arranged and upright in their little coloured paper packets, clearly presented a conundrum.

            ‘Orange Pekoe?’ she murmured. ‘Prince of Wales?’

            Douglas shifted on the sofa, wondering if it was going to prove too much.

            She lowered the lid of the wooden box several times, her fingers tracing the bold print under the coat of arms. The kettle quietly rumbled towards its climax on the bench beside her. She turned and stared at it before flicking the switch and opening the box again.

            Get a cup! Get a cup!

            Douglas could hear her humming, so that was a good sign.

            She took a blue packet from the box—Douglas had no idea was flavour blue was— and brought it to her nose and seemed satisfied. There were four mugs hanging from hooks next to the kettle. She took one and placed it decisively on the bench. She opened the packet, placed the bag in the mug, lifted the steaming kettle, and poured.

            Well, well, well…

            ‘Milk,’ Mandy said, looking at tea for a few seconds and then across the room at him.

             Go on. I’m not going to get it.

            She went over to the fridge. When she opened the door, she gave a small gasp though he couldn’t imagine why. Maybe there wasn’t any milk. Maybe there was an extraordinary amount of milk. She took a Tupperware container out and held it close to her chest, then turned away from the fridge. The door slowly closed.

            There goes the tea.

            Douglas looked out the window again and saw the gardener hauling his equipment onto the back of a ute that had pulled up. The logo on the door said ‘The Yard Guys’—not particularly original—and behind the wheel was another young man who hung his tanned arm out of the window. He blew a plume of cigarette smoke in Douglas’s direction. Douglas sighed and turned, startled to see Mandy heading towards the sofa with the Tupperware container.

            She sat down and said, ‘Oh, Dougie.’

            He hated being called that, but, whatever. On the container, which he could see held a good-sized portion of last night’s lasagne, was a handwritten label: Tuesday - Lunch

            ‘I don’t deserve this,’ she said and started to cry.

            Douglas sighed again, not knowing exactly what she meant, but knowing what was expected of him. He moved over to her, making what he hoped was a comforting, empathetic kind of noise. Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door.

            ‘Who the fuck?’ she whispered.

            She clutched the Tupperware. Douglas saw the beds of her nails turn from pink to white.

            ‘I can do this,’ she said and took a deep breath.

             She got up and disappeared round the corner to the hallway. Douglas craned his neck, looking out the window for a glimpse of whoever it was. Across the road, the man in the ute looked at the house.

            ‘Yes?’ Douglas heard Mandy say.

            ‘Yeah, sorry. Hope I’m not disturbing you,’ a male voice said. ‘Just…don’t know if you know, but I do the garden across the street and, you know, a few others round here and…can I…um…you okay?’

            There was no response.

            Douglas launched himself from the sofa and sped around the corner.

            ‘Oh, hey, little fella,’ the man said and crouched down. ‘My mate’s got a dachshund. Great temperament. How’re ya doing?’

            As well as can be expected.

            Douglas stood silently to the left of Mandy. He was not one of those yappy annoying dogs, nor was he one of the fawning ones who rolled over at the slightest invitation, soft belly exposed. He did, however, allow the man to scratch the side of his nose. He smelled of wet grass and nicotine.

            The man stood, knees cracking.

            ‘Sorry. Got you in the middle of lunch, hey? Just wanted to give you this,’ he said and handed a flyer to Mandy. ‘We’ve got pretty good rates. Got a good introductory price. If you like what we do, we can sort something out.’

            Mandy stood as still as a statue.

            ‘I’m really sorry. I’ll just…how ‘bout I just stick this in the letterbox. You can…if  you want…alright…bye now.’

            They watched the man jog down the driveway, cross the street and get into the passenger side of the ute. Mandy closed the door and walked back to the lounge room.

            It was going to be a long afternoon. Douglas hoped she put the TV on.

#

Geoff arrived at six o’clock on the dot. He took his time removing his messenger bag and jacket as he greeted them.

            ‘Hey, Mandy. Hey Douglas. Good day?’

            It was pretty clear that it hadn’t been. He’d walked into a dark house. The two of them were on the sofa, no TV, and the Tupperware container hadn’t made it back to the fridge. Douglas, after an hour of whimpering and gentle pawing at Mandy’s limp body, had noticed a bit of sauce smeared on the side of the container and—fuck it—had licked it off.

            ‘You got the lasagne out,’ Geoff said coming over and sitting on the table in front of them. ‘Didn’t eat it, but it’s a start, right? Means you felt hungry, got up. And looks like you were going to make a cup of tea, too. That’s progress, Mandy!’

            How does he do it?

            ‘Let me get changed and I’ll get dinner sorted,’ Geoff said.

            ‘No,’ Mandy feebly protested. ‘I’ll do it.’

            Rrrriight. You’ve been catatonic all afternoon and now you’re going to cook dinner.

            ‘How about you and Douglas find some nice dinner music for us, hey?’ Geoff retrieved his laptop from his bag, opened it and put it on Mandy’s lap. ‘That’d be really helpful if you could find something upbeat.’

            Mandy’s hand hovered over the keyboard like a spaceship over a metropolis.

            Come on. Come on.

            Douglas gave a short, high-pitched bark of encouragement.

            Mandy swallowed, sat up, and opened a tab.

            #

After dinner—sausages, frozen mixed vegetables ‘steamed’ in the microwave oven, and pasta salad from the supermarket deli—Geoff hoisted Mandy from her chair (cheerfully, of course) and insisted she stand beside him to dry the dishes. By this point, she was buoyed by his enthusiasm and speaking in full sentences.

            ‘Maybe we could watch a movie later,’ she suggested, working the edge of the tea towel into the crevice of a saucepan.

            ‘Love to,’ Geoff said. ‘What’re you thinking?’

            Douglas, relieved of his care-taking duties and having gulped down his dinner, was doing a few laps of the living room. There were some smells he needed to investigate. He also did some stretching, scratching, and general sniffing about. He was understandably agitated, and wanted to hear a decision from Geoff about an evening walk.

            ‘Maybe we should let him out,’ Mandy said, noticing.

            ‘I’ll take him for a walk while you line up the movie, or maybe take a shower?’

            Douglas stopped in his tracks.

            Mandy lowered the tea towel and her shoulders slumped.

            ‘Are you saying…?’

            ‘No,’ Geoff said hastily. ‘You always smell like a flower to me. Just think how nice it’d feel, yeah? A long hot shower? Some fresh pj’s? A bit of lotion? Maybe some of that nice lotion Phoebe gave you for Christmas.’

            Douglas waited by the laundry door where his lead and harness were hanging.

            I’d like to take a dump, if you don’t mind.

            ‘Sure,’ Mandy said eventually. ‘Sure. Sounds good. You’re right.’

            Geoff behaved like it was no big deal, but Douglas knew that he was equally as anxious to get outside.

            Because of the phone calls.

#

‘Lizzy,’ Geoff said as Douglas pissed—just a squirt really—on the side of a brick letterbox. At least four other dogs before him had been there. ‘I’m working on it…yeah…told her tonight I had a seminar at the Gold Coast…it’ll be fine, baby…’

            Dear God.

            The flirting, the negotiating, it was awful. And the erotic stuff? Once, he’d had to sit there and listen to Geoff talking about how stiff his cock was and what he wanted to do with it.

            When they got to the small park a few blocks away, Geoff didn’t even check to see if there were any other dogs around. He let Douglas off the lead. Douglas ran as fast as he could diagonally across the green to the sad selection of children’s play equipment: a swing set, a large cement mushroom with specks of red paint left on it, and two wooden animals mounted on rusting coils of steel. Lo and behold, a zebra and a giraffe in the middle of an Australian suburb. He inhaled deeply, snuffling like a pig for a truffle, hopelessly searching for the scent of the woman and her child.

            #

Two months ago, while Mandy was still attempting to participate in life, they came here one morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been for a walk during the day and felt the warmth of the sun. Douglas had pulled and strained, practically taking Mandy for a walk, leading her two blocks away from the house and round the corner. She hadn’t let him off the lead once they’d arrived, just dropped it, relinquishing all semblance of who was in charge.

            A young woman squatted next to the zebra on which a toddler, face smeared with peanut butter, was vigorously trying to get moving. The woman looked kindly as Douglas slowly approached them. He didn’t detect the flash of apprehension that some people had, even for a dog of his diminutive size.

            They’ve all got teeth, don’t they? he’d heard once.

            The toddler saw him and said, ‘Doggy,’ and the young woman confirmed that that was indeed what he was. Douglas stood a little way away, lightly panting, tongue out, tail wagging, but not too enthusiastically.

            ‘Hello, mister dog,’ she said, and he liked that. ‘Come here, come on.’

            He walked towards her outstretched hand, pretending to be cautious, but truly wanting to bury his head in her lap.

            ‘Aren’t you a lovely thing,’ the woman cooed. ‘Look at him, Casey, look how soft he is. What colour is the doggy, Casey?’

            Douglas looked expectantly at the child.

            ‘Red,’ Casey declared.

            ‘He’s brown, isn’t he?’ the woman said. ‘Brown.’

            ‘Brown,’ Casey repeated.

            Well, it’s an understandable mistake. I’m actually kind of an auburn-brown and in this light…

            The woman stroked him firmly from the top of his head to the base of his spine and Douglas closed his mouth and his eyes and tilted his head upwards.

            ‘Oh, hi. Is he yours? What’s his name?’ the woman asked and ceased her petting.

            Douglas nudged his nose against the woman’s thigh.

            Mandy answered in a voice as flat and lifeless as a salt pan. Casey started whinging for his mother to push him. Douglas felt himself suddenly jerked away.

            ‘Say bye to Douglas,’ he heard the woman say.

            ‘Bye bye doggie,’ the child sweetly called over and over, growing fainter as Mandy led him away.

            #

‘Sure we can. We could hire a car and…yeah, that sounds fun! Can you book it? God, I can’t wait,’ Geoff said, putting a foot up on the zebra and resting his elbow on his thigh. Douglas could hear the tinny sound of a woman’s voice through the phone. He didn’t feel a strong urge to defecate, but thought he could probably work something up and got into position.

            ‘We’re going to have such a good time it’ll be hard coming back to…oh, great…the dog’s taking a shit…yeah, I know that’s what dogs do…’

            It wasn’t much of a turd - about the length and width of an adult thumb. Geoff exhaled loudly through his nose as he scooped it up in a plastic bag.

            ‘Douglas,’ he said sternly and picked up the lead.

            Douglas trotted alongside him, resisting the temptation of the old gum tree. How he’d like to get his nose under all the bark the lay strewn at the base, as if the tree had thrown it off in a hissy fit.

            ‘Yeah…I’ll get her sister to come stay. And she has Dougie. It’ll be fine.’

            Douglas didn’t like Phoebe much. At the housewarming, she’d had walked in like she owned the place and put him outside for the evening. It was early winter and even though there was a dog house on the back patio, everyone knew—apart from Phoebe, clearly—that it was just for show.

            As they approached the house Geoff prattled on to his girlfriend and Douglas worried. He hadn’t been paying attention: was he going away for a week? A weekend? At the driveway, Geoff paused and let go of the lead.

            ‘Sweetie, gotta go…yeah, I will…how about lunch tomorrow?’

            Douglas noticed with concern that the house was dark. He entered the yard. Mandy had been tasked with lining up something for their evening viewing. The three of them knew the shower wasn’t going to happen. The living room lights had been on. In the dark entry, cluttered with pots of dirt where things once grew, Mandy lurked, unseen by Geoff until she spoke.

            ‘Who’re you talking to?’

            ‘Jesus! Wh-what’re you doing out here?’

            There was going to be an argument. There was going to be an argument and then accusations, begging and tears. At some point, Geoff was going to disappear and Phoebe’d arrive. One day there might be the smell of gas, or empty pill bottles, or blood seeping under the door. There would be endless hours looking out the window.

            Douglas bolted.

Executive Producers

Sue White

Daniel Henson

Karolina Ristevski

Elliot Cameron