Chapter 40

May – June – July - 1963

For the next four days, I concentrated on resting and healing. I also managed some worrying. The calculations I had made when agreeing to buy epee gear assumed I would get two weeks work for Frank, but I was in no condition for that. My bruises and scrapes actually hurt more than the stitched gashes, and the antibiotics seemed to be dealing with the bacteria and nasties that had undoubtedly remained in the wounds even after extensive washing and sluicing, but they still hurt.

I didn’t see much point in going to fencing, but I did go for a ‘fitting’ for my epee outfit with Bob Lamb. The bandages on my right leg stopped me getting the trousers on, but he assured us that he could ‘sort it’, and Dad agreed since my right leg was always going to be the ‘back one’. Dad also agreed to pay the bill and have me ‘owe’ him.

He went to Jean-Paul on Tuesday, and Greta was concerned to hear of my misadventure. She rang on the Wednesday evening, by which time I was bored out of my tree, and asked if she could come round and cook for the flat on the Friday. Tough decision! She also encouraged me to come to fencing on Thursday, acknowledging that my leg was fucked for footwork, but insisting I should practice my hand and bladework. I did, and it went so well that I rang Frank on Friday morning and told him I was fit for ‘light duties’.

Greta cooked for seven on Friday, since Pauline had come for dinner and my body. The dinner was delicious, but Pauline’s pussy was divine. She sat on my face while she sucked me, and later rode me cowgirl. My leg didn’t hurt at all – well not until later, when she kicked me in her sleep!

The ‘light duties’ Frank had found me consisted of a painting job. I couldn’t handle a ladder, but I could paint skirtings and architraves, and walls up to shoulder height, and I did, for all of Saturday and Sunday. That relieved at least some of my anxieties over money, and as we were finishing up on Sunday, Frank went further.

“Emma told Marilyn Rowe about your accident. She said I ought to pay you your normal wage while you are recovering, and that I was responsible. Emma thought that anyway, but she was a bit freaked out by the thought of legal liability.”

I’m not sure whether I was insulted at the idea that I might sue my mentor and relative, but my response came very much from what various women later in my life were to label my ‘smart arse’ role. “Yeah – I’m planning on suing ya! You got any gold teeth?”

Frank wasn’t impressed. “This is an adult discussion. Get a grip!”

I did. “I’m not going to report you to anybody, and you are preparing a procedure to assess risks.” I thought for moment and then bit the bullet. “I’d certainly be grateful if you can afford to pay me for the time off. I’m a bit stretched getting geared up for fencing.” I had another thought. “We should also talk about how my money appears in your books. Have you got that sorted?”

Frank wrinkled his brow. “Not really. Emma keeps hassling me to get an accountant, but I haven’t got my head around that – what with the baby, and selling Mary’s World and everything else. I have kept records of everything that’s been earned and spent though!”

“Good. I think that’s the most important thing. Perhaps Marilyn knows a good accountant?”

“I’ll talk to her. Meanwhile I’ll get Emma to write a cheque for the wages.”

In the event, we didn’t need a recommendation from Marilyn. Pauline remembered that Alison’s mother had started as a bookkeeper and worked her way up to Assistant Accountant at Auckland’s premier Department Store. She suggested Mrs Gordon might take us on as private clients. She did, at least partly out of gratitude for the support we had given Alison both academically and socially, and within three weeks Frank and Emma’s business was sorted accounting wise, and I found myself in business as a contractor, with part of my rent and transport costs discounted as business expenses. I stopped worrying about money.

Frank got a reminder that injury was not the only risk in his business. The owners of the shed claimed that the Fire Brigade had driven their trucks on a particularly valuable piece of their garden and were demanding compensation. The Fire Brigade had in fact driven on their garden - there was no other way to extricate me safely, but Frank had no contract and there was no agreed method of resolving disputes. He cursed and ‘made the bastards an offer’.

I had been hoping that Sandra might come up during the holidays to spend a few days in the city (and my bed), but she was needed on the Morrow farm, and that didn’t happen. Pauline filled the gap (and I filled hers), and the rest of the May holidays passed pleasantly enough. I had healed well enough to have my stitches out towards the end of the first week of the winter term, and went to Dr Dove’s surgery, where Nurse Miles did the job efficiently and relatively painlessly.

From Dad’s point of view, I had lost a lot of condition over the period of my recovery. I had worked for Frank, but fallen well behind with running and cardio work as well as my fencing footwork. He suggested I give up one of my afternoons working for Frank to do fitness work with the rugby and soccer players he was helping train at school. I settled for Wednesdays, and for the rest of the term, sweated and suffered his stopwatch. The ruggerbuggers I showered with afterwards were interested in my dedication, and some of them even wanted to know about fencing.