SPOILS
A short story of 3500 words
© David Lowe, February 1992
Jill Gillespie's old joints creaked with arthritis as she settled into the front seat of the rusting station wagon. Her husband, Aaron, turned the ignition key before releasing the handbrake with a screech.
From the front yard of the house their friends waved as best they could. Some of them were supported by walking frames and wheelchairs.
Jill smiled at the well-wishers through tears. Slowly, the car backed away, down a tree-lined driveway cracked by roots.
Aaron Gillespie honked the horn twice. His wife dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. She waved one last time as he cranked the old car into first gear and they drove away.
Gradually the old people on the lawn began to shuffle off. Malcolm Gillespie, a middle-aged welder, went back into the house and slammed the door on his parents' friends. His wife was sprawled in front of the TV, munching peanuts. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
Malcolm opened the can. 'The olds 'ave gone at last,' he announced.
''Bout bloody time too,' said the woman.
Aaron Gillespie hadn't driven on the highway for years. He sat bolt upright as the car rattled along at eighty km/h, removing one hand from the wheel only to push his thick glasses back to the bridge of his nose.
On the back seat sat Max the border collie, panting happily as wind ruffled his fur.
Through the windscreen blue skies stretched to the horizon. Sugarcane fields rolled by.
Gradually the fences disappeared. Farms were replaced by bushland.
The car's fuel gauge was broken, and the old couple had trouble remembering when they'd last got petrol, so they stopped for fuel every hour or so. Max got out and sniffed disapprovingly at the oily smells before jumping back through the window into the car.
Jill sat and knitted a bright scarf with uncooperative hands. Every so often she smiled up at her husband. They had been married for forty-five years.
The phone call had come at 10pm a few nights before.
'Mrs Gillespie?' a young man's voice.
'Speaking.'
'Mrs J. Gillespie?'
'Yes?'
'Are you sitting down?'
'No. I would rather stand, thank you.' Jill steeled herself for bad news.
'Delinquents' Treehouses Art Union calling. You have won FIRST PRIZE in our last draw! Aren't you lucky Mrs Gillespie?! Mrs Gillespie? Mrs Gillespie?...'
The old woman had fallen in a faint on the floor. A few minutes later Aaron came down the hall to see where she'd gone. He saw the limp body and assumed she'd had a heart attack. In panic he reached for the phone to call an ambulance. The receiver was lying on the floor. He picked it up.
'Mrs Gillespie? Mrs Gillespie?' yapped the voice. 'Where the hell has the old bitch gone?'
'Get off the line young man!'
Aaron rang off, and began dialling 000. Just then his wife came to.
'We've won Aaron! We've won the house!'
'What house?'
Later the man from the Art Union rang back and explained.
The old couple had won the richest charity prize in the country.
Mr Gillespie hadn't even known his wife had bought a ticket.
All day they drove.
That afternoon the Gillespies' old car wound down the steep escarpment, brakes burning. In the distance the coastal strip was cloaked in haze.
Jill was navigating. Unfortunately her map was twenty years out of date, and soon they were driving through a town that wasn't supposed to be there.
'The sign says it's called Wordenville,' said Aaron.
'I tell you there is no Wordenville. It doesn't exist.' Jill staring at the map, annoyed.
The old man took no notice. 'Seems to be a suburb or something.'
They drove past tiny brick veneer houses with tinier gardens. On the back seat, Max got up and peered out the window. The dog wrinkled his nose before lying down again and going back to sleep.
At last Jill took out the map that the man from the Art Union had sent her. 'Oh here it is. Take the next right-' Aaron changed lanes. 'I mean left. Left!' They swerved back across the line of traffic as horns blared.
'Make up your mind woman,' exclaimed Aaron.
A plastic sign was strung over the road: Welcome to the Rhinestone Coast - Sunshine Capital of Australia.
Skyscrapers soon sprang up around them. Giant posters of smiling girls in bikinis distracted Mr Gillespie's attention. A BMW flashed its lights in their rear-view mirror as the car slowed down to a crawl.
'Aaron!'
He sped up again.
They turned off the highway.
The houses grew bigger, more opulent. Signs on high fences warned of 24 hour armed security patrols. Expensive-looking cars crowded driveways.
'We're here,' said Jill triumphantly, as they crossed a bridge over a swampy, foul-smelling canal.
Gloatzman Island. THE Address, announced a glossy billboard.
The house was enormous. There were four garages.
'I thought you said it was Colonial Style,' said Aaron as they pulled up outside. 'Looks more like a block of flats to me.'
Max jumped out and ran up the garden. A ferret-faced young man in a white suit was standing on the lawn. The dog barked and jumped up and down as the man batted him with his clipboard and swore loudly.
'Stop it Max,' Jill called out. 'Come here.'
Max obeyed.
The man in the suit eyed them suspiciously. Suddenly realisation dawned. He broke into an unnaturally white smile and walked over to the battered car. 'Mr and Mrs Gillespie?'
They glanced at each other and nodded.
'Congratulations. I'm Ron Roone from Delinquents' Treehouses.'
The dog growled.
Aaron stepped out of the car and shook hands politely. 'Pleased to meet you Mr Roone.'
Jill began getting out, painfully.
'My wife bought the ticket,' explained Aaron.
Roone rushed around the side of the car and pecked the old lady on the cheek. 'It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs Gillespie,' he gushed.
She noticed he had a splotchy red tie and no socks. The young man wore his hair in a pony tail. His eyes were bloodshot.
The dog had gone off exploring.
Roone blew his nose loudly. 'Mrs Gillespie,' he began. 'I would like to extend to you a very warm thank you, on behalf of the Delinquents' Treehouses charity, for buying a ticket in our draw.'
Jill felt embarrassed.
He handed her a bunch of keys. There were keys for the house, garage, boat, caravan, sports car, and security system.
'I'll be back in the morning to see how you folks settle in,' said Roone, displaying his teeth again. 'Ciao.'
He jumped into a fast-looking little car and revved away.
The Gillespies looked at each other. 'Ciao?' said Jill.
The house seemed even bigger inside.
A pool lay in the courtyard out the back, and beyond that the canal. As the sun went down, floodlights came on in the yard automatically.
There were four bedrooms carpeted in noxious brown, five lurid pink telephones and three black bathrooms.
Jill stepped into the kitchen. There was only one small window. The computer-controlled cooking system winked ominously at her.
'Why don't we go out for tea, Aaron?' she suggested.
'Out?' shouted her husband from one of the bathrooms, 'What do you mean out? We've been driving all day.'
'It's just that there's no food in the house,' said Jill, closing the kitchen door firmly behind her. 'Anyway, shouldn't we be celebrating?'
Aaron came into the living room polishing his glasses. He put them on and peered at his wife across the cavernous space. Suddenly he noticed the prints on the wall.
'The brochure said they were rustic,' explained Jill. following his gaze. Her husband looked at them dubiously.
They decided to go and look for the local club.
Max was nowhere to be found.
At last he came bounding up to the front door. The dog was soaking wet, and wagged his tail happily. Aaron dried his fur and locked him in the back yard.
'You stay there boy,' said the old man sternly. 'And behave yourself while we're out.'
The Gillespies drove back over the canal and wandered through the streets aimlessly. 'There must be a club somewhere around here,' said Jill, peering into the dark as Aaron drove. On the footpath a girl in a red leotard skated past on roller-blades.
The car turned a corner and neon lights swung into view ahead: The G Spot - Licenced Club and Bar.
'What do you think?' said Jill apprehensively.
'Well it's not quite an RSL, dear.'
'Why don't we see if they've got a smorgasbord on?'
'I don't think it's that sort of place.'
'How do you know?'
'Look at the people going in woman.'
Jill looked. There were men with hairy chests and shiny slicked-back hair wearing ripped leather trousers and sunglasses. The women all seemed about seventeen, and wore skin-tight body suits or black miniskirts as they clicked past the bouncers at the door.
The Gillespies had dinner at a 24 hour food caravan.
When they returned to the island the flood-lit house seemed impossibly huge. Aaron helped his wife out of the car and they walked up the path between manicured lawns. The sixth key opened the door.
They were halfway up the stairs when the siren went off. Blue lights spun all round the house. 'Oh my God,' said Jill, clutching her husband, 'What have we done?'
They had activated the security alarm.
Soon the police arrived. Their sirens added more noise to the cacophony.
'Come out with your hands up,' said a megaphone voice. 'I repeat. Come out with your hands up. The house is surrounded.'
Aaron looked through the side window and saw a police boat with a flashing light swing into position in the canal behind the house.
Hands raised, the old couple came out the front door slowly, blinded by the bright lights.
The police sergeant listened to their story sceptically. Jill showed him her winning ticket. Grudgingly, he accepted the tale. Young cops looked disappointed as they put their guns back into holsters.
The sergeant muttered darkly about wasting police resources.
Aaron's arms ached. 'Can I put my hands down now?'
'Yes, Yes.'
At last the police turned off the alarm and went away.
That night Aaron couldn't sleep. The curtains were jammed open. Floodlights glared through the window. There didn't seem to be an OFF switch.
The next day Max's fur was falling out in tufts. 'What on earth could have caused it?' said Jill.
Ron Roone returned at 10am and recognised the symptoms immediately. 'I see your dog has been swimming in the canal,' he reprimanded them. 'I'm afraid that's against the rules.'
Without waiting to be invited, Roone strode inside.
Jill walked after him as fast as she could. 'Rules?' she asked.
'Oh yes. To protect the integrity of the neighbourhood. People don't come to live on Gloatzman to see dogs swimming outside their back yards. You'll have to tie it up from now on.'
The old man asked about the floodlights.
'How do you turn them off?'
'Turn them off?' said Roone incredulously, 'You can't turn them off. They're a feature!'
Just then a boatful of tourists clutching video cameras and plates of prawns chugged up the canal behind the house. An amplified commentary described the sights. People peered and pointed curiously through the Gillespies' floor to ceiling windows. Shutters clicked.
Roone explained that the tour boat went by every two hours. 'Just think of it,' he said. 'Now you're celebrities!'
Jill hid behind a sculpture in the living room until the boat had gone.
The young man examined the carpet closely, as if to see if they'd dirtied it. On his way out he peered into the bathrooms and kitchen as well.
Apparently they passed the test.
'One other important thing,' said Roone. 'Mr Gloatzman said to tell you he might drop by personally in the next few days to welcome you to the island, so don't do anything that might... upset him.'
Roone blew his nose again and zoomed away.
There was still no food in the house.
'We really must buy some things, Aaron,' said Jill. 'Where do you suppose the shops might be?'
The Gillespies' old car refused to start after its exertions of the day before, so they decided to try the one in the garage.
It was a bright red sports convertible, newly registered. The car had bug eyes and mag wheels. 'I really don't know about this,' said Aaron, climbing into the driver's seat awkwardly.
They managed to get out of the garage without mishap.
People walking poodles stared after the car as it kangaroo-hopped down the street towards the shops.
There was no supermarket, just a row of boutiques. The closest thing to a vet was a shop specialising in Pet Image Styling.
The corner store was hidden round the back.
Jill gathered what they needed. The girl at the register filed her nails for a few moments before serving the old couple.
Mr Gillespie kangaroo-hopped back to the house. This time the electric garage door refused to open, so they left the convertible in the street.
Max, locked inside, was pleased to see them.
They had a cold lunch.
Afterwards, Aaron went out to investigate the garden. Jill explored the house.
Painfully, she climbed the stairs.
Wardrobes as big as rooms were everywhere. A rocking horse sat forlornly in the 'Children's Wonderland'. Everything was spotless. Jill noticed herself tip-toeing like an intruder from room to room.
From one upstairs window she saw a beautiful face next door and waved. The girl abruptly pulled the curtains closed.
Jill decided to do some washing.
She tried grappling with the hi-tech machine, but soon decided it was simpler to do the clothes by hand in the sink.
Outside, her husband was beginning a garden bed.
When the washing was done, Jill went to hang the clothes out in the sun.
There was no hoist or washing line to be seen.
'That's funny,' said Aaron. 'I suppose you'll have to use the electric dryer until we get one rigged up.'
The Gillespies' neighbours were an assorted bunch. Across the road lived a millionaire perfume manufacturer. On the left was an Italian organised crime boss. A famous fashion model lived on the right.
That night the model held a party. A rock band played on the patio next door. Guests yelled drunkenly up from the street until early in the morning, when it began raining.
At last the old couple slept, embracing each other as thunder rumbled and rain pelted down. Max snored at the foot of the bed.
Next morning the sports car was full of water. They had left the top open. Aaron opened a door to drain it out.
It was a beautiful sunny day. After breakfast the Gillespies planted some seeds in the newly laid vegetable beds. Jill helped Aaron put up a washing line.
When they'd finished, the old couple stood back and looked at their handiwork with satisfaction.
The house was beginning to feel like home.
At lunchtime the doorbell rang. Aaron answered. A large bald man wearing a heavy suit and sunglasses stood outside. Behind him was an entourage of other people in suits. They carried briefcases and walkie-talkies.
'Howyadoin?' the man crushed Aaron's hand. 'Albert Gloatzman.'
'Er...hello.'
Gloatzman stepped inside. The entourage followed. Aaron hurriedly got out of the way.
'Fine place y'all got here, Gilligan,' Gloatzman said loudly.
'It's Gillespie actually.'
The man continued, 'You know Gilligan, all this was once nothing more than a crazy dream.' Gloatzman waved his hands expansively. 'We built this island out of the swamp. Yessir, you're standing on a true modern engineering masterpiece.
Gloatzman walked towards the kitchen. Aaron followed.
'See this kitchen Gilligan?'
The old man nodded.
'Completely electronically controlled. Cooktop, oven, the lot. Why I bet old Adolf would have saved a helluva lot of time if he'd had this kind of technology.'
Aaron was dumbfounded.
'That's a joke boy, a JOKE!' Gloatzman chuckled. Suddenly he frowned as he saw something out the window. 'Now what in tarnation's name is that?'
The old man looked. 'What?'
'THAT!'
'It's a clothes line.'
Gloatzman turned and glared down at him. 'Now look here Gilligan, I didn't build this goddamned place out of the mud to have you come along and destroy it.'
The big man strode into the garden, ignoring Jill, and tore down the line. Minders followed.
Suddenly Gloatzman noticed the freshly dug garden beds. Fuming, his face went red. The big man breathed deeply and turned to Aaron.
He spoke slowly. 'Did you do this Gilligan?'
'My name is Gillespie.'
'Look old man, if I'd wanted this land dug up I'd have hired gophers!' Gloatzman prodded Aaron with one finger.
Minders spoke into walkie-talkies. One caught the big man's attention, 'Time, Mr Gloatzman.'
Minders navigated the developer back towards the front door. 'You won't get away with this Gilligan! Not if I have anything to do with it!'
The door slammed behind him. Engines revved and drove away.
The old couple sat down, shaken. A moment later the doorbell rang. Aaron put the chain on before answering.
There were two bailiffs at the door.
'Sorry to bother you sir. Have you seen this man recently?' They held up a photo of Gloatzman. 'We wish to serve a summons upon him for bankruptcy.'
Aaron told them Gloatzman had just left. The summons officers drove away again.
Later, Max came in proudly from next door with a sodden package between his teeth. Jill unwrapped it. 'Looks like icing sugar,' she said.
Aaron had watched more TV shows and knew better. He explained.
Jill was shocked. 'Oh my God. What sort of neighbourhood is this?'
They shoved the package into the waste disposal unit.
That afternoon men in suits roamed the streets looking under bushes and chasing dogs. Swarthy faces peered over the fence. Max was locked out of sight in an upstairs room.
A rates notice arrived in the post an hour later. All the money the Gillespies had saved from their pensions would be barely enough to cover the bill.
Jill burst into tears. 'It's no good Aaron. I want to go home.'
The old man rang Ron Roone.
'We want to sell up.'
'You can't sell up. It's in the contract.'
'All right. We want to donate the house to charity. Let some ex-delinquents live here.'
'Really Mr Gillespie, Gloatzman Island just isn't that sort of neighbourhood.'
Aaron hung up the phone in disgust.
That night the model threw another party. This time the noise and the floodlights kept them both awake.
'Whatever are we going to do?' wailed Jill.
'Don't worry dear. I've got a plan.'
Her husband picked up the phone.
Next morning Mr Gillespie was up early while his wife slept. One by one, he packed all the valuables from the house into the caravan in the garage.
After breakfast Aaron cajoled the old car into starting. The old man backed it up to the caravan and hooked it on.
'Get your things together,' he told his wife, 'We're going on a holiday.'
'Now?'
'Yes, now. They'll be here any minute.'
Aaron carried the cases to the car.
Max was smuggled out to the station wagon in a blanket while suspicious eyes watched from next door.
Suddenly an orange Torana pulled up outside. Malcolm Gillespie was at the wheel. In the passenger seat sat his wife, munching peanuts. Malcolm jumped out, rubbing his hands together and grinning.
'G'day Dad, Mum,' he said, looking at the house greedily. 'Going away are you?'
'We-' began Jill.
'That's right son,' said Aaron. 'Here are the keys. Enjoy yourself.'
Malcolm stared at the sodden bug-eyed sports car.
'The key's on the ring,' said his father.
Aaron honked twice as they drove away.
Jill looked back to see Malcolm and his wife standing on the manicured lawn, dwarfed by the mansion behind them.
Soon the city was left behind. Max sat up and sniffed at sea smells as the caravan wound around the coastal road. In the front seat, Jill knitted happily.
The Gillespies drove until they found a town where people smiled.
They parked the caravan beneath a giant fig tree in a van park near the beach.
Days became weeks.
Max gambolled in the waves.
Sometimes Jill felt guilty about leaving Malcolm to deal with the house. 'Don't you remember what he was like?' her husband reminded her. 'Malcolm and that house deserve each other.'
'Yes,' she agreed. 'I suppose they do.'
Weeks became months.
Old friends visited and new friends were made.
Although the Gillespies never bought raffle tickets, the old couple became known for their generosity - soon every van in the park had a rustic print or two.
Jill took Max for long walks down the beach while Aaron pottered in the little garden behind the caravan.
At Christmas the old couple sent their son a photograph of their prize-winning giant home grown tomato.
There was no reply.© David Lowe, February 1992