CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mitchell crossed the plate with the singular memory of throwing a plastic chair against a dressing room wall more than twenty-two years ago. Instantly he entered an awfully cold and wet winter’s day but came dressed accordingly having learnt how to use the plate.
His pocket held three items; a handwritten note and a paper $20 bill, both of which were neatly folded into the third, his well-used notebook. He’d left his mobile phone at home to avoid any prying eyes and had just over an hour and a half to execute his plan. His destination was the local shopping centre a few minutes from the plate, but unsure if the Newsagency existed in July 1990. Mitch hadn’t bothered to check that out but in the event it didn’t, he could make arrangements for another trip. He now had all the time he wanted.
The ‘old’ suburb was just like his earlier trip, vacant lots and houses under construction, newer than five minutes before, but familiar all the same. However the further he moved from the plate the more he wondered if the shopping centre would be there. Mitch rounded the last bend in the road and deflated to see the car park much smaller than before. The adjoining public park though was larger, evidently making way for the car parking needs of the shopping centre years later. The words of the Joni Mitchell song ‘Big Yellow Taxi’ sprang to mind and Mitch started humming the tune nervously.
Thankfully the beginning of the complex was there in 1990. Albeit smaller, less contrived than the ones more commonly found today. It was reminiscent of Mitchells’ childhood.
Small independent shops gave the area a sense of community and Mitchell knew they provided better service than the multinational operators killing those businesses in the future. He enjoyed browsing their wares and listening to the owners spruiking business. A Greengrocer displayed fresh produce in large crates on the footpath, and right by his side, a butcher worked harmoniously sharing his patrons. The sons of both merchants stood behind their fathers learning the family trade. All of them would lamentably be gone one day, driven out by the supermarket chains. Mitch saw a seamstress, a dry cleaner, and the post office selling forty-cent stamps.
A charming little bottle shop with its front door in the shape of a wine barrel had hand painted signage on the window. Johnnie Walker was only $12 a bottle…Mitch considered buying a few but thought better of it and walked the remaining shop fronts in search of the newsagency. A bank with a once household name came next and Mitch recalled during his university days it being swallowed up by one of the ‘Big Four’. That seemed a pity as tellers were at every window and the queue for their assistance virtually non-existent such was their efficiency. It really was a simpler time.
To Mitchell’s relief the newsagency stood next door. Dinted yellow barrows tilted against the front window waited for schoolboys to make their afternoon deliveries. A metal ‘A’ framed cage sat in the middle of the path holding the headline of the day. It announced to the world Kerry Packer buys back channel 9 from Alan Bond. Mitch remembered that day well. Packer famously went on television stating ‘you only ever get one Bond in your life’. You get one chance to take the advantage and make a difference. On that declaration, he entered the newsagency trying to look inconspicuous.
He was unsure how things were done in the 90’s and took his time surveying the shop to find the state lotteries counter. Pinned to the wall above the table hung a how to enter guide. Mitchell quickly read the simple procedures and selected a blank multi game card and tiny red pencil from the boxes provided. He took extra care selecting the correct draw, and again checked the instructions confirming his chosen date would be week twenty-three; he crossed the box accordingly. Twelve game squares were available on the card and Mitch selected one in the middle. He opened his notebook and copied the numbers written down from his computer, turning his back from any prying eyes, covering his actions as best he could. He was trying to not draw attention to himself but considered the covert process might actually be more suspicious. He giggled at the thought and double-checked everything was correct before returning the notebook to his pocket. Mitchell then randomly picked six numbers from each of the remaining game squares and reviewed his work one last time. Satisfied, he approached the cashier and handed him the completed game form and paper $20 note.
“Let’s hope I get lucky this week,” Mitch said with a forced smile inferring he did this on a weekly basis. The cashier ignored him - no doubt hearing the line countless times - and ran the card through the special register. It whirled and clicked as it printed a receipt slip.
Mitchell thanked the cashier and left the newsagency to find a place to sit alone. After checking his watch to see he had about an hour left, he removed the page from his notebook written by the harbour, reading it one last time.
Dear Mrs Bartholomew,
This is a gift for you and Lyle. Put it to good use when the time is needed. I imagine it hard to understand, but there will come an occasion when you need $ 25,000 urgently. This will help, and hopefully make a lifetime of change to you both.
Please accept this.
Mitchell folded the note around the lottery ticket and placed both in an envelope addressed to Ethel and Lyle. As he pulled back the self-adhesive tape Mitch wondered if Ethel would notice the advancements of the simple envelope. Given the nature of its content and confusion it would bring, he reasoned she wouldn’t, and smiled hoping Ethel would do her part in his plan.
Although Mitch had plenty of time he thought it wise to head to the Bartholomew’s immediately to avoid anything possibly foiling the rest of his plan. Walking the few kilometres to Ethel’s house Mitch stopped periodically to collect flyers sticking out of various letterboxes. He gathered enough to warrant a visit to her house, along with those before and after. Trying to keep out of sight Mitch stopped a few hundred metres from the Bartholomew’s house in case they happened to be in the front yard. They wouldn’t know him yet but he didn’t want to jeopardise any future he was trying to change. That was risky Albert would say. Mitch placed the envelope on top of the advertising material ensuring it was noticed and continued to check Ethel wasn’t in the front yard. Luckily she wasn’t. He casually strolled past her house stopping only briefly to place the bundle into her letterbox. It was all very simple and went entirely unnoticed. Mitch performed the same act at the next few houses before turning right at the street crossing. That turn took him further from the plate but when the time was right, he would get there accordingly.
The familiar blue and violet light soon followed and Mitchell landed back at his starting point.
Sitting on the bench to gather his thoughts, he was unsure whether to go home or check out his handiwork. Curiosity won and for the second time that day, Mitch made his way to the Bartholomew’s house. His heart rate quickened the closer he got and he rehearsed some words on chance of bumping into Ethel.
An elderly man weeded the front garden appearing to be in good health. Despite his age, the striking features Mitchell saw in photographs earlier told him it was Lyle. The hair thinner and very much greyer, his frame not as strong as it once was. But the tanned skin remained and his smile obvious from metres away. Lyle would be almost eighty-seven now yet seemed spritely and full of life. Rejuvenated. Mitch was anxious to meet him.
The Bartholomew’s house looked the same. No additional features though the paintwork was fresh and the home clearly more maintained. As if a man had been living there for decades. The garden flourished with established plants Mitch couldn’t remember, and a round wooden table with matching garden chairs sat on the front balcony. It must have been revarnished every season such was the finish. An unfamiliar vehicle stood in the driveway though. Nothing special, just a normal sedan, and Mitch wondered if the Bartholomew’s had splurged on a new car. Had he spotted the child’s booster seat in the back, he wouldn’t have.
With no concern of being seen Mitchell hollered in joy while clapping his hands. It had been twenty years since he’d visited the newsagency and the winnings had obviously been spent on Lyle’s operation. Mitchell saved a life and changed another in the process. He was very pleased with himself and gleefully approached the house.
“Good Afternoon Mitchell!” came a booming voice heard for the first time. It belonged to his picture and exactly as Mitch imagined.
“G’day Lyle. Weeding again. When are you going to get to work on my garden?” Mitchell replied from his mentally prepared notes.
Lyles’ timeline over the past twenty years had at some point crossed Mitchell’s. Probably when Mitch moved into his house. But he wouldn’t know when or anything that happened in between. To allow for that he chose to act aloof, offering nothing specific that may pose a problem. It was an issue he considered when drafting the plan and chose to cross that bridge if and when it came.
“You’re a hard task master Mitchell. I was working on it only yesterday,” Lyle replied with a very quizzical look. The comment confirmed Mitchell’s first attempt at a non-specific response failed. “What are you doing wearing those clothes today, aren’t you hot?” Lyle added. Mitch realised he was still dressed in winter clothes and failed for a second time.
The distinct sound of a screen door opening saved Mitch from further embarrassment. As it did, he saw Ethel standing within its frame. He met her on the front steps and received a tight hug and a loving kiss on the cheek. He wondered how many times she’d done that over the past four years and squeezed his arms around her returning the gesture. Mitch was certain he heard her crying, but when they released the embrace, Ethel looked him in the eye without a hint of a tear. She smiled widely holding his face in her hands. Like a grandmother does to a child. Ethel pinched his cheeks and mouthed the words ‘thankyou’.
She knew.
Somehow Ethel pieced it together. Mitch wanted to ask how, and more, why she chose today to confirm it. But it didn’t matter. There would be time enough for that. Mitch now had an ally in Ethel who could fill any blanks of the last four years. She instructed Lyle to clean up and come out back for a cup of tea.
“I’ve just popped the kettle on,” she cried linking her arm through Mitchell’s. She led him through to the rear atrium where they sat for the second time in days. The room remained unchanged. The only noticeable additions were more framed photographs of babies. Not Adam and Kelly, but two others. Mitch also spotted schoolbags and children’s shoes scattered on the floor, then heard the notable laughter of youngsters in the backyard. He glanced at Ethel with a puzzled look as the door flung open and the source of laughter came scuttling through the house. A woman Mitch recognised from the photos followed. She was older than her image, and much prettier than he remembered, and apologised for the stampede before saying hello to Mitchell.
“Hi, it’s Mitchell isn’t it? Nice to see you again.”
Mitch hadn’t accounted for the scenario and was momentarily stunned. “Yes it is. You have a good memory. How are you?” he replied shooting a fleeting glimpse to Ethel asking for help.
Ethel helped before she could answer.
“Mitchell you remember my youngest daughter Megan. It has been a few years but you met at our sixtieth wedding anniversary lunch.”
“Of course, I remember. That was a lovely day,” Mitchell said joining the ruse.
“Mum, I think we’ll get going. The kids are getting restless and you have company,” Megan said politely picking up the children’s schoolbags.
“No don’t love, I just put the kettle on,” Ethel pleaded. Megan and the children weren’t going to intrude and Mitch was thankful of their departure if Ethel wasn’t.
There’d been a clear reformation in the Bartholomew’s youngest daughter. Mitchell’s intervention obviously changing more than Lyle’s health. He could hear Albert saying ‘I told you so’, but the visible change outweighed any imaginary words. Ethel saw Megan to the door leaving Mitch alone in the atrium hoping Lyle would be taking his time to clean up. The situation grew complicated and he hadn’t counted on time alone with Lyle trying to solve a four-year absence. To help fill the gaps Mitchell scanned the photographs lining the walls and sideboard, many more than before. Four grandchildren looked back at him now and there were others of Ethel and Lyle taken in different parts of the world.
“Money well spent,” he muttered through a smile, happy with the result. He gazed at one image bringing a tear to his eye. It was taken atop of the Empire State Building and Ethel looked joyous with her arm wrapped tightly around Alison’s waist. She was visibly younger and the iconic twin towers of the World Trade Centre could be seen far in the background through a hazy New York skyline. He wiped his eyes realising his simple gesture had a profound effect on Lyle’s entire family. An effect cascading three generations proving there was good in the plate despite the complications it brought.
Two doors closed simultaneously startling Mitchell. Ethel returned to the atrium just as Lyle brought in the promised tea. She took the lead and began talking, ensuring no awkward moments occurred between the two men in her life meeting for the first time.
The afternoon was lovely and just as Mitchell envisaged for years. Lyle was exactly as he imagined and the love for his wife evident with every meeting of their eyes. Twenty years were added to the bond and only time would tell how many more. Even Albert would have to concede the perils of the plate worth the time Mitchell spent with Ethel and Lyle that sunny afternoon.
Mitch rose to clear the empty teacups intimating it time to get home to Peanut. It would seem perfect timing as an old Bakelite telephone sitting on a wooden table in the hallway sounded its distinctive shrill. Ethel ushered Mitch to the front door thanking him again for everything he’d done. He sensed she was searching for an explanation but now wasn’t the time to give one. Her actions over the past few hours confirmed she knew what happened, and despite Mitchell’s anxiety to understand more, the plate and its secret warranted a detailed explanation. That couldn’t be done on the front doorstep.
“You are more than welcome Ethel,” Mitch said hugging her tightly. When he was leaving, he overheard Lyle answering the phone; it was Alison.
“How are you darling. Lovely to hear your voice, how are the kids?”