Bring 'em Back Johnny

"The day you hired me to work in your company was the absolute best day of my life, and now here you are... well..."

"I'm re learning," I said, "and you can help me this time."

"Yeah," he said, "but man, what a..."

"Waste?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I prefer to call it an opportunity," I told him, "and now we can see how well I taught you by seeing how well you teach me."

I swear I saw him suddenly stand taller.

"Yeah," he agreed.

I followed Damien around for the next couple of hours as he started at the solar panels and worked his way back to the main controller. He went through every part of the system thoroughly, explaining what it was and how it operated. He also discussed alternative options that were available in the market, and why we chose what we did. When they realised what was going on the others in his team made sure they were close enough to hear what he was saying as he explained the system and what he was doing to track down the changes I had made. After listening for a while, they started to add comments, and their own questions, and it became a group learning session.

Damien was looking at an extra circuit board that had been added to the controller.

"I wonder what that does?" he said as he stared at it. There were only five components soldered onto the board, and 3 wires connected to it from the main board.

"Broadly it's sort of a natural amplifier, using the heat generated by the main board and a specialist modulation pattern..." I replied, without thinking. There was a stunned silence as I realised that the open discussion had got my brain back to thinking right, at least on this subject.

"Fuck me," Damien said, as the significance of the discovery sunk in.

"No thanks," Rory, one of his team responded, "you aren't my type."

There's one in every group isn't there?

Once Damien and his team had taken plenty of photos and measurements their job was done and they packed up and headed back to the city. I decided to leave later that afternoon and avoid the peak hour traffic. I went through a locker in the garage and slowly loaded my tent, stretcher, sleeping bag and a heap of smaller equipment into boot and back seat of the Lexus. I put a cooler in the back too but decided to load it when I was leaving to go camping. I left home at about five and stopped for dinner on the way.

By the time I got to my apartment everyone had left the office. I knew that I was still a long way behind my previous knowledge of natural energy and energy saving technologies, but I had seen some progress and I decided to do some more research. I found a couple of technical papers that I had published, and I read through them carefully, and then looked for similar works. It was late when I went to sleep, and I was still frustrated at my failure to remember so much, despite what I had managed to recover.

Tuesday morning saw me back under the sadistic guidance of Anton. As my muscles screamed at me, I silently acknowledged that I still had a long way to go physically and I should be using the home gym more frequently. Anton suggested I get a bicycle but I told him I lived on top of a mountain and I would never make it back home. I think he thought that I was exaggerating, or maybe just trolling him?

From the hospital I went back to my apartment to have another shower and get changed. I managed to find a half hour gap in Sam's schedule and we sat in his office and had a catch up. Sam said the changes to my home solar system were huge news in the company and everyone was smiling, but they weren't sure yet how they were going to handle the situation. The first step was to see if we could patent it, but the upgrade was very simple and that could be very difficult to do, and more difficult to enforce even if we did succeed. In the meantime, the research and development department were going to be putting the mod through its paces to see how it went in various different systems, and to see if they could improve it at all. Sam grinned and said the consensus of opinion at senior management level was that they were wasting their time. Apparently, they all believed that I would have already thoroughly tested the system before I installed it.

On my way to Freyers I rang Nat to see how the legal battle was going. He said the police had been through the townhouse, and after that Nat had sent a team there to repair the damage and secure the building. He had sent a certified letter to Harrison Solent asking them to explain why the rent income had not been received and demanding immediate payment of the outstanding amount, plus interest. There had been no response yet. He had advised the tenants at the estate that Harrison Solent was no longer authorised to collect rent and that they should pay it directly to his office until another agent was appointed. There had been a couple of protests, but the lease papers were between the tenants and I and a change of agent did not invalidate the contracts. I also asked Nat some questions about camping. Nat and Fee had come out a few times with Sally-Anne and me, so he was able to tell me a few things about how I had gone about it in the past, which was very helpful.

I arrived at Freyers Restorations and went in to ask for Norman. The reception area was sumptuous to say the least, and there were dozens of photographs on the walls of cars they had done up. From the pictures their work seemed to be excellent, which was no surprise as I was sure I would have done my homework before entrusting such a valuable car to them.

"Geez, is that you Russell?" The man speaking was a stocky guy with a bald head and large sideburns that just finished at the tops of his ears. He was in clean overalls and according to the name above the pocket this was Norm.

"What's left anyway," I replied.

"Man, that must have been a bad smash."

"It was."

He nodded and beckoned me to follow him out into the workshop. There were about half a dozen cars there, but there was nothing like my Bentley, it was all way too new. Norman saw my confusion.

"This is the everyday workshop that people see," he explained, "the stuff here is good, but the real gems go into the other shop. It's better security not to have passers-by see it."

I nodded my approval and he entered a code and then led me through a pedestrian door next to a closed roller door into the other area.

Inside the second workshop the cars were mostly older, but the workmanship in bringing them back was excellent. There were only four cars there, but they were obviously thoroughbreds. They were in various stages of completion, but the one that really caught the eye was my Bentley. It looked perfect. The laser straight bodywork was coated in lustrous dark green paint, and the brightwork gleamed. Norman stayed quiet as I walked up to, and around the immaculate vehicle. I circled it slowly a couple of times and then turned to where Norman was waiting anxiously.

"That is spectacular," I said, and he sighed with relief.

"Does that mean we get the job on the Bugatti next?" he asked hopefully. I smiled.

"Good chance," I replied.

He showed me what had been done, the engine, supercharger and running gear. They had rebuilt and painted the coachwork and repaired and polished the shiny bits. Inside the car the dash was done but they were still waiting for the trimmer to finish. Norman said I would probably be able to pick it up in three or four weeks. I took plenty of photos and reiterated my praise of their work. I eventually headed back to my apartment but decided to go to the bar for the evening instead of sitting at home alone.

It was pleasant, but yet again I realised just how much I missed Susan. I slowly sipped my whisky as I watched the lonely people around me pairing off and leaving together after the cumulative effect of their alcohol consumption had slowly transformed their partner into someone more desirable. I was content to sit at my table quietly, and, because of my scarred face, I only had to fend off one amorous woman who was much more interested in a rental arrangement than a pleasure trip.

Wednesday was an easy day. I got up and ducked into a nearby café for breakfast and coffee. Then I got my things together and headed off to do some last-minute shopping before heading toward Hansard Mountain. I had mixed feelings about the location because that was where the crash had occurred, but the campground was at the bottom of the mountain and the crash had happened right up near the top. Because I had no memory of the crash, I silently acknowledged that it really shouldn't have concerned me at all.

When I pulled into the outer campground, I saw a beat up white Triton ute that was obviously a builder's work car. If the ladders and pipe tubes hadn't been obvious enough the sign writing on the door said 'DH Wallace Construction'. The back was loaded with camping gear. I pulled up next to it and got out. My father got out of the ute and we looked at each other warily.

"Christ Russell," my father said, "that crash really did some damage."

"Yeah," I agreed, "and that is just the bits you can see easily." He nodded.

"I recon you'll make it in with the car if you're careful, want to follow me?"

"Sure."

Dad drove in and I followed him. The Lexus scraped the underside a couple of times and got a little sideways in the loose dirt in places, but it made it easily to the site that dad had picked. It was easy to find privacy as there were only two other camps set up as we went through, and we took an area next to the river which was a reasonable distance from the toilet block.

"You do know what you're doing right?" dad asked as I stared blankly at my gear, and I shook my head.

"Assume I've forgotten everything you taught me, because I have."

We each set up our tents near the fire pit, and dad talked me through the things that weren't immediately apparent. Once the camp was set up, we took the ute and went to collect firewood. Dad had a chainsaw, which made it easier.

We kept ourselves busy getting everything prepared. After dark we loaded up the cooking fire to turn it into a bonfire and I grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler giving one to dad. Then we sat back and relaxed in our chairs.

"Time to talk?" I asked. He nodded.

"How do we do this?" he responded.

"I've forgotten everything, so can you start at the beginning?"

"You haven't forgotten this," dad said, holding his can up, "our camping beer." I grinned.

"Did you know Nathan Jones-Setting?" I asked, and dad shook his head.

"Can't remember him."

"Well, he and his girl used to go camping with me and Sally-Anne. I rang him and asked what my preferences were when camping and he told me I drank this beer." In the firelight I could see dad grin.

"Clever," he said, "but you always were. OK, from the start."

It took quite a few beers, but dad started from when he had met mum. He spoke about her with nothing but fondness, which I thought was interesting. He went through their courting and marriage, which was very much against the wishes of her parents who were very wealthy. They didn't want their precious daughter marrying a struggling builder. But they went ahead and got married anyway. He told me about my birth and upbringing. I had been an accident; they hadn't wanted kids at the time but mum had taken some medication that interfered with her birth control. Dad was working hard, trying to build up his business so mum got a series of au pairs and they had raised me the best they could. I had been a quiet child, and when I had got to school, I was a quiet student too. I had not created any real dramas for my parents at any age. I was a boy scout for quite a few years and I had also studied the violin. Dad told me I was still pretty good when I chose to play. As usual I remembered that I played when told, but it once again it set me to wondering what else I had forgotten in that crash. Dad said that my parents had a very 'up and down' relationship, and then he looked over at me.

"What were you told about the breakup?" he asked. I wondered how much to say. In the spirit of the trip I went with everything.

"Sam said that what I told him at the time is that you two divorced because mum caught you cheating. He said that mum spiraled into substance abuse after that and it pretty much triggered her overdose."

"And you and me?" dad asked.

"We had some sort of argument after the divorce and haven't spoken since."

"And you can't remember any of this?"

"No."

"Damn, this won't be easy." Dad stared into the fire for a while, and then he drained his beer and got up. He went and got two more and handed one to me.

"Your mum was always a wild one," he said, after he had sat back down, "she was into grog, grass and some pills when I met her. It scared me away at first, but she had her mind set on me and... well damn it, she was a real hottie. She chased me until I gave in and once I had a taste I was hooked. I could forgive her for damn near anything.

"If you remembered stuff it'd be easier for you to believe, because she was really out of it at times and you would've seen that." My vague returning memories didn't question that, so I guess there was some basis to what he was saying.

"I never cheated on her. Never. But I often wondered about her, she was always off with friends and comin' home drunk or high. Or just not comin' home at all. I tried to ignore it, and just be happy with the good times, but one day I came home and found her and my brother fucking in our bed. That broke me and I walked away. She thought it was nothing..."

Dad stared into the campfire for a while, and I stayed quiet, just sipping my beer and letting him get his thoughts together. This was obviously very tough on him.

"I filed for divorce and her father got all of his powerful mates on side. I lost my wife, my son, my house and my business. He wanted to destroy me and he damn near did."

"What did we argue about?" I asked.

"You were closer to me than her," dad explained, "and you asked if what she said about me was true."

"That you had cheated?"

"That's right. I told you it was and you didn't believe me." This was some twisted shit. "So, I made up some bad shit to really piss you off. It worked," he said with obvious regret.

"Why did you say it was true if it wasn't?" I asked.

"Your grandfather."

"I don't follow."

"Where do you think you got the money to start your business?" dad asked, and I had already been told the answer to that question by Susan.

"My grandfather."

"You got over six million when he kicked it. If you hadn't canned me you would've got nothing."

"Fuck." I didn't question dad for a moment, it all made sense. Dad had deliberately thrown away his relationship with me to ensure I didn't get written out of my grandfather's will.

"Yeah, fuck," dad agreed.

"I believe you," I said, and dad looked over to me.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I got up and walked over to my father. He got up too, and I hugged him.

"I can't believe you were prepared to do that for me," I said, and he didn't reply.

The rest of the evening was us drinking quite a few beers and just chatting about things. I had got my first knowledge of building from dad, working for him during the holidays and he had watched with admiration from a distance as I got the schooling I needed and went out and put my own mark on the industry. I really wished we had done more together then, but sadly, after my grandfather died, I had still been mad at dad and I had refused to have any contact with him. I went to sleep that night thinking 'what a fucked-up world we live in' and not liking myself for not having built some bridges with dad once I had the chance.

I was woken up early by the sun on my tent and a compelling need to recycle a couple of the previous evening's beers. I don't think I was hungover, but I definitely was seedy, which is not far off it. As I raced, half dressed, to a tree I was very thankful that there were so few campers around. It would have been a difficult challenge to make it as far as the toilet block without an accident.

I restarted the fire and then boiled some water on the gas cooker. That was going to be a lot faster than waiting for coals for the billy.

I was gratefully sipping on the days first coffee when dad emerged from his tent.

"Got more of that?" he asked with a raspy voice.

"On the cooker," I said, and he grinned.

As dad went for the obligatory tree visit, I made his coffee.

"Thanks," he said as I handed it to him.

We took our time having our coffees and then making and eating breakfast.

The day was a lazy one. We tried a bit of fishing, without any luck, and then we went exploring in Dad's ute. It was a fantastic way to re-establish our father son relationship. We talked about many things, and dad was honest enough to not only discuss the things that we had agreed on, he also told me about the areas where we didn't see eye to eye. By the end of the day I knew an enormous amount more about my life, my beliefs and myself. I had to acknowledge that Susan had made a great call arranging for me to get together with my dad.

In the evening, as we sat by a roaring campfire, I told dad that I was at a bit of a loose end.

"You asking for my input?" he asked.

"Well... yes I suppose," I replied. I hadn't been, but I was happy to get another take on things.

"You've been worryin' so much about the past that you haven't looked at the future."

"Hang on..."

"No, you asked for my input, so you are goin' to get it." I nodded, and I have no idea if he saw that in the darkness.

"What you need to know about the past is that you were always smart, honest and hard working. You built a great company that's made the world better. In the present you worry about your company not needin' you and you having nothin' to do any more. But it workin' without you just shows how good you made it. It's already a good tribute, 'cause if you'd died in that accident it wouldn't be dead too. But now you shouldn't be looking back. Now you need to choose where you want to live, who you want to live with and what you want to do. That means you have to look to the future. And you need to be keen and not scared."

"Wow," I said.

"And you need to get me another beer."

We were quiet for a while as we drank. I needed time to process dad's advice and he was quite happy to give it to me.

"One thing I did wonder," dad finally said, "is why you had no ID or anything. I asked that girl of yours, but she dodged the question."

I hesitated, but then I thought I owed him the same honesty he had shown me.

"Well," I replied, "I had a very different life as well as my professional one."

"As?"

"I was in porn films."

Dad coughed up a mouthful of beer, and I tried not to laugh at him.

"You've got to be kiddin'," he finally said, when he could talk again.

"No. I am err... very well endowed."

"How well?"

"Fourteen inches well."

Dad started laughing slowly and it just grew and grew. I wondered what he was laughing at. Did he not believe me? I was pretty irritated by the time his laughing subsided.

"Don't you believe me?" I asked.

"Don't get the shits son," he replied, "I believe you all right, but that's fucking gold."

"What?" I was confused.

"We Wallace's have a strange family thing," dad explained. "Every generation one male child's hung like a fucking donkey. In my generation it was your uncle Noel, my little brother. He died at thirty-two, shot by a pissed off husband. I thought your generation was either Simon or Adrian. They're your dickhead uncle Dave's dickhead sons. All three of 'em are so far up 'emselves they're inside out."

"Wallace's?" I was getting very confused.

"Giffon's your mother's maiden name and your grandfathers too. You changed your name after our argument."