Authors: Cate Kendall
By Wednesday afternoon Tony was starting to feel almost
normal. As he got closer to forty, his occasional hangovers
took much longer to shift than they had in his twenties,
when a couple of Beroccas and a cold shower would see
him right. As he unloaded the tools from his truck and
locked them in the back shed, he wished he still felt that
youthful sense of being bullet-proof.
Nowadays a really big night out meant he was dogged
with energy-sapping lethargy, short-term memory loss
and a short temper right into the next week. And this
time was even worse; because he had to drag a great
bucketful of guilt through his days as well. God, he felt
terrible. Poor Sera, she'd been making such an effort at reviving
their relationship by dropping everything to come to the
pub and he had to run off at the mouth like that. And then
not coming home! He'd felt sick with remorse all week.
He walked into the house through the renovation,
picking through the builder's rubble, pleased to note that
they'd made some progress. He didn't have to call out to
know there was no one home. He could sense the house's
emptiness.
His blue mood sank down a notch from flat to downright
miserable. He hated coming home to an empty house.
The children's squeals, his mother's grumbles and even
Sera's constant activity made him feel good, like being
in a secure nest. But empty, the nest was merely a pile of
sticks.
He sat on his mother's Jason recliner without even
chasing away the gloomy twilight by flicking on a light. He
should make himself a cuppa, he thought, but he couldn't
be bothered. It wasn't worth it if he couldn't make a pot
for two.
Sera had been so nice to him since Friday night. She'd
been sweet, cuddly and attentive. He couldn't work it out.
It had been bliss falling asleep in the wee hours of Saturday
morning with her delicate touch stroking his forehead.
Then she'd taken Mum and the kids to the museum for
the day to give him recovery time. She was a bloody angel
sometimes. Why she hadn't put his nuts in a vice for staying
out all night was beyond him.
They hadn't had a chance to talk properly since the
weekend: life had been its usual merry-go-round of kids'
stuff, visitors and work, so they hadn't been able to manage
more than a few moments alone – except in bed, and then
they'd both been too exhausted to do anything other than
cuddle and fall asleep.
He needed to talk to her. She needed to know he didn't
mean anything at all by his stupid, stupid words. Where was
everyone? He knew it was the delayed hangover making
him feel like this, but he was so tired and emotional he
almost felt like crying.
Then he noticed the note on the coffee table. His pulse
hammered in his throat. Empty house? A note? No! He
knew he was in strife, but not a note! He scooped it up
and nearly tore the letter in half in his haste to rip it open
and read the words.
It was brief, and in Sera's hand. The tears swimming in
his eyes blurred the writing and he angrily brushed them
aside.
Dear darling husband,
Do you remember how we used to make treasure hunts for
each other? Well, surprise! I've made you one. Hope you're
up for it and not too tired. Lots of love, Sera.
PS – You have to start right away because I'm waiting
at the end of it! See you soon, don't get lost.
Clue No. 1
Roses are red
Violets are blue
There's five, but one
makes me ah-choo!
Tony stared in amazement at the paper. He flipped it over,
still half expecting to see a PPS that said, 'By the way,
we've left you.' The back was blank.
He turned it back over; his smile so wide his ears hurt.
He kissed the note, then kissed it again. She loved him!
Her daggy, silly treasure hunt proved it. Tony leaped up
and punched the air in jubilation. He took the stairs three
at a time as he ran to his room. He flung his work gear in a
corner, dragged on jeans, a polo shirt and a navy, woollen
jumper and was back in his truck within minutes.
He started the engine, then realised he had no idea
where he was going. As he stared at the note, his butterflies
distracted him from collecting the logic needed to
decipher it.
Okay, violets and roses, flowers, ah-choo, it was obviously
referring to Sera's allergy to gypsophila, the white
flower spray that florists use to tart up an arrangement.
The first time he'd given her flowers he'd caught her
tossing the gypsophila in the bin while arranging the
remainder of the flora in a vase. She'd told him she was
allergic and it wasn't until years later he discovered that
it didn't actually make her sneeze, she just thought it was
seriously ugly but hadn't want to hurt his feelings.
So it was something about a florist, but what about the
reference to five? 'Of course!' he said aloud. The florist
at Five Ways. He gunned the engine and arrived at Sera's
favourite haunt within minutes.
'Hey Jo!' he called as he entered the shop. 'You seen
Sera?'
'Stop fishing!' Jo laughed from behind the counter. 'I'm
not allowed to help you.'
'You don't have to, I've worked it out,' he said with a
smile and pulled open the door to her fridge. Sure enough,
stuck to the bucket of gypsophila was another letter.
This time he experienced flurries of excitement rather
than pounding dread.
'You're clever!' Jo said.
'I know her too well,' he answered with pride.
Back in the car, he opened the letter.
Clue No. 2
Nowhere near the finish line
Fast hackers you might be
In tiny little shorts
Can you keep up with me?
What? He read it again. Fast hackers? What in the hell?
Okay, 'tiny little shorts' rang a bell. When they were
dating, she used to tease him about his running shorts being
so small. They used to run together on Sunday mornings
down at Rushcutters Bay. Of course, 'fast hackers' – Rushcutters!
He laughed as he started the engine.
At Rushcutters Bay Park, he pulled over and stared at
the letter. Where would she put the next clue? 'Nowhere
near the finish line'. So that would mean the starting line.
They used to meet on Waratah Street. He drove around
and at the bus stop where they met was another letter taped
to the advertisement. He laughed as he saw it was an ad for
City Search. She must have enjoyed that coincidence.
Clue No. 3
YY UR
YY UB
ICUR YY 4 Me
This one had him stumped. Some kind of weird code. So
he first had to crack the code then work out the clue that
was no doubt hidden within.
He sat in the car frowning. It was dark now and the
park was empty of the usual end-of-day joggers and dog-walkers.
He stared at the characters. 'Why why your?' No. 'You
are?' That was it. 'Why why you are?' That made no
sense. The end bit was 'I see you are'. But 'Why why?'
Tony looked away from the letter, then back again, staring
harder. 'I see you are . . .' what's with the two whys? Hang
on, two whys or too wise? At once the message was as clear
as day: 'Too wise you are, too wise you be, I see you are
too wise for me.'
Excellent. He sat back and smiled and went to turn on
the keys in the ignition. Hang on. Where to? What did
it mean? 'Too wise' . . . so, the library? That didn't mean
anything in particular to them as a couple. Encyclopedia?
University? No. No. Wise, wise, wise. A glimmer of something
sparkled in the depths of his memory. Wise.
Hang on a minute . . . Wyse! Wyse and Son. Two Wyse.
The Italian tile importers. They'd spent a wonderful Saturday
afternoon there, just after Maddy was born, scouring
through piles of imported pottery pieces. They'd felt like
archaeologists. It was the most amazing little shop, with a
basement filled with mountains of dusty old crates. There
was no doubt in Tony's mind and he chuckled as he sped
off in the direction of Woollahra.
Sure enough, as soon as his headlights stroked the peeling
façade of the old building, he saw the letter tucked into the
locked wrought-iron security door. He leapt out and tore it
open with excitement. This was the most fun he and Sera
had had together in years. He'd completely forgotten about
her crazy little treasure hunts. Even an event as simple as a
picnic used to be accompanied by similar notes. She was
such a darling to re-kindle a part of their past he'd enjoyed
so much.
Clue No. 4
Eighteen thirty-five
Sandman not at the shore
By any other name
This clue is four.
Now she was getting random. He'd never work this out.
He looked at the car clock. It was seven already. Should
he call her? Tell her he was running late? No, that would
wreck the game.
'Eighteen thirty-five', what in the world did that date
mean? 'Sandman, not at the shore'? There's shoreline and sand
all over Sydney, but the word
not
threw him. What sand's
not
at the shore? 'By any other name'? A rose by any other
name still smells as sweet? Sweets? Lollies? Roses. 'This clue is
four' – that was weird because it's a waste of a line. He knew
this was the fourth clue, so why was she repeating herself?
Four? 1835? Sand not at shore . . . hang on just one
minute. He knew, what she meant. Sand
not
at the shore –
a sand bunker! The rose was Rose Bay, this clue was 'fore'
not 'four'.
He laughed at his own cleverness. Sera had thrown
him a surprise thirty-fifth birthday party at the Royal
Sydney Golf Club in Rose Bay. He'd just played eighteen
holes with his three best friends and when they came in
for a cold one at the end she'd been there with fifty of
their mates.
She was really taking him down memory lane with this
treasure hunt. The treasures were the memories, re-visiting
the past. Forcing him to go back to see the happy moments
in the history of their relationship. He couldn't wait to see
her, to hold her.
He sailed down Kent Road in Rose Bay and leapt out at
the large Sydney Golf Club Sign. He looked behind it and,
sure enough, taped to the back was another letter.
'Last Clue – No. 5'
was written on the front.
He didn't even have to read it. He knew she would be
at Icebergs, the restaurant where he had proposed to her.
Tony's truck flew down Curlewis Street and he took
a punt there'd be a car-spot in the impossible-to-park-in
Notts Avenue. He was so eager to get his hands on Sera
that he didn't want to waste time hiking up from the beach
public carpark.
His memories danced around his mind. The night
he proposed, she'd been ridiculously beautiful in a long,
slinky, pale blue halter dress. He was so nervous; sure she
was going to turn him down. He remembered the first
renovation on their Paddington house, shopping together,
oohing and ahhing over each design discovery. He thought
back to the surprise party; jogging together; their babies;
the holidays.
They'd had so much fun in the past eight years. It was
difficult to keep a marriage going; nearly bloody impossible
sometimes. But God, it was so worth fighting for, so worth
working on. To have a friend forever, like he had in Sera,
was the most precious gift in life.
He got lucky and slid the car into a welcome space. He
leapt out and ran into the restaurant, ignoring the maitre
d's approach as his eyes scanned the room. In the corner his
search was arrested by the vision of the most familiar and
welcome sight in the world. His wife.
Sera was sitting facing the entrance, grinning inanely
that her clever trick had worked and he'd arrived sooner
than she'd expected. Tony strode across the restaurant and
threw his arms around her. As he intended, her funny little
squeak came out with the squeeze.
'You did it!' she said, when he finally released her.
'Clever thing!'
'That two whys one threw me,' he said.
'I knew you'd remember,' she replied as they sat down
opposite each other, holding hands across the table.
'It was like a living photo album – you sent me through
real-life snapshots of our time together,' he said. 'You're
bloody brilliant, woman!'
'Ah, you got that, then, did you? I thought it might be
a bit subtle,' she said.
'I got it.' He gazed at her. 'Sera, I am so sorry about the
other night.'
'Oh Tony, please don't, I'm the one who is supposed
to be sorry. I drove you to it. I've just been so cold toward
you lately.'
'I understand, believe me, if anybody knows the pressure
you've been under, it's me.'
'But that doesn't mean I have to treat you like shit just
because I'm having a bit of stress,' she protested.
'Sera, I shouldn't put pressure on you like that, I should
back off a bit.'
'Tony, I just feel so ugly and plain and boring at the
moment. Maybe it's a mid-life crisis coming early or something,
but I just can't bear myself and I cringe every time
you look at me, fearing what you must see.'
Tony looked at her in amazement. 'I don't believe I'm
hearing this, Sera. My darling, you are more beautiful today
than the day we met. And believe me, when we met I'd
never seen such beauty!'
'Tony, I'm serious. I'm not looking for compliments.
I think my scar's actually getting worse with age. I know
it sounds shallow, but the sheer hideousness of the thing
creeps me out.'
'What scar?'
'Tony! I'm serious.'
'So am I, Sera. For a start, I haven't seen it for years, you
keep it so covered up, and secondly I never even noticed it
much in the first place. It's just one more part of you.' He
looked closely at her. 'There's something else, isn't there?
This isn't just about your physical appearance. What is it?'