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The morning movie as usual was some dated black and white bit of rubbish. Something he would not have bothered going to as a teenager when it was first released, even though he had been an avid movie-goer from childhood. He threw the newspaper on to the coffee table in disgust and started tapping his fingers up and down on the arm of his Lazy Boy chair. After a large sigh, he picked up the telephone and called his mate Tony, who was also unemployed, and usually home in the mornings.
"Tony? How's it going? Any luck on the job front?"
His friend answered in the negative, a little gruffly, Len noted. Maybe he had rung too early. Tony liked to stay in bed longer than he did. Sometimes until lunch.
"Nothing for me either mate. Reckon I'm the fastest redundancy worker in the west. You know that Aussie outfit that took over Prossers? Got on the short list for a job there last week and on Thursday got the job, told to start on Monday, went in on Monday and was told the job had disappeared over the weekend. The new management had invoked that latest buzz word "attrition" and the job no longer existed. How's that for a pace attack? So I'm redundant before I've started. Can't get any faster than that. Out the door before you're even in it."
His friend made a sympathetic growl but offered no further conversation.
"About had it with the houseperson role," Len continued. "The kids still think this place is a hotel. I blame their mother. She ran round after them and they expect me to do the same. It's just......."
Tony interrupted to say there was someone at the door so he would have to go. Len said sure, catch you later, and hung up, wondering whether he had been ringing Tony too much lately. He stood up and went into the middle of the room where he stood staring at the blank television screen. The door chimes bing bonged loudly. He jerked into action, crossing the room and opening the front door with a flamboyant sweep of his arm.
"Good Morning!" he said heartily. "We're not buying anything and I'm a practising Zen Buddhist. I
hope you're having a lovely day."
Sorry? I'm not quite sure.....umm..."
The young woman of about twenty seemed non-plussed by his greeting. She was carrying a briefcase,
wearing glasses, blondish hair, and had started looking at him a little harder.
"Religion," Len offered. "Are you peddling some faith?"
"Oh no, definitely not."
"Encyclopedias, Rawleighs products? Girl Guide biscuits?"
"I'm not selling anything." she said firmly.
"Then we have a basis for discourse."
The young woman looked puzzled, and stopped producing her identity card.
"Pardon"
"We can talk. Communicate. Have verbal exchange."
"Ah, yes."
"Sorry," Len said, adding his most engaging smile. "I've put you off what you were going to say . . . and
show me."
"Yes, you have rather."
"My humble apologies. Touch of the manics today. Do continue."
The woman cleared her throat and held up a card with her photograph attached.
"My name is Alison Littlewood and I'm from Kensley Research. I wonder if you have a few spare
minutes to answer some questions. It's in connection with . . . "
"You're a market researcher, right? No problem. My opinions are yours for the asking and notating.
Manufacturers will remember this day. They will speak of it in hushed tones. Please come in."
As Len expected, he got a strange look, but was followed inside.
"Welcome to our standard design, eleven hundred square foot box made of ticky tacky," he continued. "Please be seated."
Len sat down in his Lazy Boy but the young woman remained standing, removing a clipboard and papers from her briefcase, and then motioning Len to stay where he was when he offered her a cup of tea.
"Thanks, but my husband is taking me to lunch shortly. You're the last on my list for this morning. So,
let's begin."
"But of course." Len relaxed and started rocking slightly in his Lazy Boy.
"Name?"
"Leonard James Anderson."
"Age bracket?"
"Too young for croquet, too old for the work force in this new age of Post Rogernomics wreckage." He
waited, no smile. "Forty to fifty," he added.
"Who is the main income earner in the household?"
Len frowned, gave a large exaggerated sigh.
"No secrets time, eh?" Well, got the total role reversal here. I do the cooking, the cleaning, the washing,
ironing, all that. Houseperson de luxe model. And what's more, I've managed to avoid the TV soaps and
the valium so far. I mean, there are limits."
"So you are the main purchaser of the household goods?"
"Yep that's me. A graduate of the supermarket. Licensed to drive a trolly at speed, diploma in spotting
weekly specials."
"And your wife. She works full time? Out all day?"
"Oh yes, apart from the odd lunchtime visit."
The young woman looked towards the front door, which opened directly into the lounge. She straightened her paper, ran her tongue over her upper lip.
"The first section deals with radio stations."
"Please have a seat. You look like an army sergeant standing there."
The young woman hesitated, then sat down opposite Len. She sat on the edge of the lounge suite chair, knees together, clipboard balanced on top.
"Do you have a radio that receives FM and AM?"
"Sure do. Prefer the national and YA stations. Can't stand commercials. They're trying to bring
commercials on to those channels, you know. Changes, all the time, changes. Most of the time just
rammed down your throat."
"You don't like encroachment on your freedom of choice, then."
"Freedom of choice. Hah." Len snorted, his fist clenched on the side of the lazy boy. "Is there any left?"
"Not for some people." The woman spoke quietly.
"You talking about those in wheelchairs or something?"
"I was thinking more of those with criminal convictions."
"You mean not being able to vote, all that?"
"That's not quite what I meant." The young woman's eyes narrowed, mouth tightened. The door chimes
rang. She jerked up even straighter in her seat.
"Excuse me. Busier than an immigrant consultant's office this morning. I'll just see who that is."
Len got and walked to the front door. The woman stared fixedly at his back. The man at the door introduced himself as Andy Littlewood, the husband of the young woman. He stepped inside, a tall man, intense, with a jutting jaw. His eyes caught the woman's briefly, before checking the rest of the room.
"Your lunch has arrived," Len announced.
"This is Mr Anderson, dear." she said, nodding briefly towards Len. "He stays home and does all the
chores. His wife works."
Andy grunted.
"We were discussing criminal convictions dear. And how those that get them have less choice, like
countries they can visit, that sort of thing."
"Oh yeh," Andy grunted once more. "Mention bad laws? Unfair convictions?"
"Not yet. Mr Anderson believes in freedom of choice, dear. Isn't that interesting?"
"That include what you smoke, Mr Anderson?" Andy asked, folding his arms.
"Smoke? What, you mean in restaurants and planes?"
"Not where, Mr Anderson. What you smoke, right, Andy?" The young woman cocked her head, raised
an eyebrow expertly. Andy nodded.
"Oh, you mean the dreaded cannabis. Oh well, doesn't bother me. People want to blot themselves out,
that's their business. So long as they're not peddling it to schoolkids. Attitudes have changed a bit
towards pot, haven't they?"
"From sixteen years ago," said Andy "Yeh, a bit. What's your attitude been towards your neighbours,
Mr Anderson? Always been considerate, have you?"
"Of course, always pays to be considerate to your neighbours."
"Unless they're different?"
"I don't quite follow. What's this..."
Haven't always lived in this street, have you, Mr Anderson?"
"Course not."
The young woman rose from her seat and stood in front of the Lazy Boy.
"Ever lived in a community with slightly different values to your own, Mr Anderson. Or your wife's?"
"No, can't say I have."
"Not even for a short time."
"None that come to mind."
Andy moved over to the bookcase standing next to the small round table covered in magazines. He studied the book spines, hand on his hips, his back to Len.
"Like reading do you, Mr Anderson?" he asked, still staring at the books.
"Yes, they're not just there for show, like some people I know."
"Even the odd Russian here. Ever read Dostyoveski, Mr Anderson? Crime and Punishment, for
example?"
"Nah, too gloomy. Prefer the lighter stuff as I get older."
"Escaping from the real world, eh? But it's surprising how it can creep up on you at the most unexpected
times, right Alison?"
"The real world Andy? Oh yes. You can be doing something very ordinary. Like those women in
Australia. Just watching their TV in their own homes. Serial killer got them."
"The sanctity of the home eh?" Andy said, turning with a book held between the tips of his fingers. He
swung it slowly, back and forth.
"Shouldn't we be getting on with this survey thing?" Len asked.
"You and your wife watch much TV, Mr Anderson?"
Alison raised the clipboard and glanced at it.
"I do, my wife doesn't. Hates most of it."
"Got strong opinions, has she?" Alison asked, tapping her teeth with her biro.
"Got her own ideas on things, yes."
"And expects everyone to conform to them, does she?"
"Wouldn't say she was that rigid."
Andy walked back from the bookcase and stood beside Alison.
"Got kids have you Mr Anderson?" he asked. He held a dungeons and dragons book in his hand. He
slowly turned the pages over.
"Yes, we have. Bit of a late starter. Had a good job, everything was looking good, but then made
redundant, so we get by on my wife's salary. No jobs for men my age."
"But you've still got your kids, right?" Andy snapped the book shut.
"Yes, that's true."
"And they've got you."
"Sure have, for better or worse."
"Some kids aren't that lucky. Some lose their parents,. Finish up in care. Wards of the State."
"Shoved out to foster homes," Alison said, arms folded. "And that can be hell, absolute hell, like
nothing you can imagine, Mr Anderson."
"Oh of course, I realise that."
"Don't think you do, Mr Anderson, especially if their parents are taken away at say . . . four or seven.
Too young to fully understand what's going on."
"They think it's their fault, Mr Anderson," Andy added.
"Fault. Blame. Now there's an interesting concept," Alison continued. "If someone had taken your
parents away, or maybe caused them to be taken away, would you blame them, Mr Anderson?"
"Suppose so."
"And want to get your own back. Revenge. Utu, as the Maoris say."
"Umm....."
"But if you were a kid, you'd have to wait until you grew up, wouldn't you?"
"You seem to have thought about this a great deal. So you ..."
"Fascinating subject," Andy interrupted. "Can take many forms, revenge. You don't have to kill, even
though there are ways of doing that undetected. Wasps. Take wasps. You allergic to wasps, Mr
Anderson?"
"Not that I know of. Got stung as a kid. Just the usual reaction. Mum used to put a reckitts blue bag
over the sting.
"A what?" Alison asked. Andy frowned at her, then continued.
"Imagine you were allergic, Mr Anderson. And you were tied up and gagged in your own home. Doors
and windows shut. Then a shook up wasps nest left on your lap. Once stung, you'd die from allergic
reaction. Then untied, left lying on your lounge floor. Who'd ever know? Look like natural causes from a
wasp."
Andy stared at Len, who stared back. Alison remained silent, looking at Len.
"Glad I'm not allergic, then," Len finally said.
"Ever lived in the Coromandel Peninsular Mr Anderson?" Alison asked.
"Visited there once. Hardly call it living there. Minded a friend's house for a month or so. Years ago."
"In the seventies, would that be?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"So you have lived in a community with values different to your own, then?"
Len looked puzzled. He frowned in concentration.
"Umm, do you mean the hippies that were around then? Hardly say they were the whole community. But
there were a few about."
"And they would not have seen the world the same as you did, right?"
"Not my style, no. But live and let live I always say."
"But did you? Live and let live?"
"Of course, but look what's all this about. We're supposed to be doing a survey aren't we? I mean, these
things are hardly...."
"Coromandel." Andy took over, lowering his head a little closer to Len. "Knew some people there once,
didn't we Alison? Had some awful things happen All over their smoking habits. Had their own little
patch of marijuana, see. But this was years ago, when growing your own was taken far more seriously
than it is these days.
"Just get fines now," Alison said. "Jails are full. Attitudes changed."
"This Coromandel couple," Andy continued." A neighbour reported them for growing their own. Family
they were. Had a couple of kids, Boy and girl. Both parents went to jail. Family all split up. Kids to
Welfare. Fostered out. Terrible effect on the kids. Four and seven they were at the time."
A car pulled to a stop in the driveway outside. A door opened and then was slammed shut. Alison and Andy looked at each other. Andy stood back a little.
"Hi love. Hullo, got company I see," Len's wife Mary said as she came in and threw down a black
satchel.
"They're market researchers, dear," Len said.
"Oh yes, excuse me but got to rush. Only got half an hour. Take these out to the kitchen and put on the
jug on will you love." Mary handed Len a plastic bag with some rolls and doughnuts in it.
"Allergic to anything, Mrs Anderson? Wasp stings for example?" Andy asked.
"Good heavens what a funny thing to ask someone you don't know."
"They are full of funny questions," Len said struggling up out of his Lazy Boy.
"Nature of our work. Market research." Andy said.
"Well I'm sorry, haven't got time to answer them now. I've only got half an hour for lunch with my
husband and there's something I need to talk to him about. You don't mind coming back to finish your
survey, do you?"
"Course not," said Alison. "We're intending to have lunch together too.."
"That's settled then." Mary said. "Off you go Len. Teapot. I'll see ... umm sorry, never got your names,
but I'll see you out."
Andy and Mary walked to the front door. Len headed off to the kitchen.
"You're a woman of resolve I can see," Andy said. "Strong convictions too, I imagine."
"Call a spade a spade if that's what you mean," Mary said, opening the door. "Bye for now."
"Like General McArthur, I shall return," Andy said. He nodded. Alison clenched her lips together a little
tighter.
"You didn't answer," Alison said. "Are you allergic to wasps?"
"No dear, enjoy your day. Bye." And the door shut.
Inside Len set out the teacups and plates on the coffee table while he waited for the jug to boil.
"Funny couple," he said. "Asked me about Coromandel and marijuana. Whether I'd ever lived there."
"But you haven't, have you?"
"No, except for a few weeks when I was married to Noeline, She had a run-in with some people there. We
were houseminding. Long time ago."
The jug boiled in the kitchen. He picked up the book Andy had removed and placed it neatly back in the bookshelf, then went off to make the tea.