Tom paused, confused over why Finn was getting so heated. Something wasn’t right.
‘What do you mean by “we” son?’ he asked in a strained tone.
‘Well, nothing… Australia I guess,’ replied Finn, hesitantly.
Tom started to crack. ‘Son, you better not be thinking about doing anything stupid. There is no way in hell that you’ll be going out there to fight.’
‘Why not? At least I’ll be doing something with my life that actually means something instead of thinking about how much money I’ve made or lost. And besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything going on right now. The financial markets won’t start up again for months, if not years.’
Tom finally had evidence of what he’d been dreading. He’d pushed his son away from military service once, getting him to funnel his energies into something constructive, like his education and building a career, rather than playing army on the weekends. Now he was going to have to do it again, it seemed — but this time the stakes were so much higher.
‘Nonsense,’ he said brusquely, trying to conceal his sudden panic, ‘you’ll find something soon enough.’
‘Dad, financial companies are like submarines — they go up and they go down. When they go down they blow their ballast and people like me get spat out.’
‘You don’t know that. You might find that if Australia just knuckles down and gets on with rebuilding, the economy will bounce back.’
‘Are you going senile? Our economy has always been predicated on easy access to valuable resources. Without them, we’ve got nothing. And besides, as soon as we do create a new economy, what’s to stop China from taking that too?’
Both men stared hard at the kitchen bench, refusing to look the other in the eye. Finn recognised the conversation had become an exercise in futility. ‘Anyway, gotta go Dad.’
Tom said nothing, frozen in his position braced against the kitchen bench. Finn left, angrily grabbing MiLA on the way out.
This is bullshit, he thought, climbing into his Jeep.
Later that evening Chris came around to Finn’s apartment. After a few beers and debate over if and when the footy season would start again, Finn tipped up the last of his beer, set the bottle down and looked over at Chris. ‘Mate, I’m thinking of joining the army.’
Chris stared at him, mouth partly open, beer bottle frozen in mid-air on its trajectory to his lips. ‘You fucking serious?’
‘Yeah, I am. I can’t stand sitting around anymore. Plus, I really believe in what General Stephens is saying. I think we can still get the Chinese out of here, or at least make life bloody difficult for them.’
‘Fuck off! You’re serious?’ Chris had a nervous grin on his face. ‘You’ll be killed out there mate. You’re fucking insane.’
‘Well that’s a change of tune. What happened to “Oh I’m going to get out there and smash ’em back to Beijing”?’ said Finn in a mocking tone.
‘Fuck you, I wasn’t serious. You saw what happened to our boys in the initial invasion — it was a bloodbath. Why would you go out there to be more meat in the grinder, you stupid fuck?’ Chris was upset, tensely leaning forward at Finn. ‘Tell me you haven’t gone and signed up already, please tell me you’re not that fucked in the head?’
‘No I haven’t — yet.’ Finn replied, sitting back in his chair, as calm and quiet as Chris was now agitated.
‘Good, well pull your head in. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a money boy — not a fucking commando.’ Chris raised his bottle to his lips and had a long drink.
‘Another?’ asked Finn as he stood waving his empty beer bottle, feeling a little light-headed. He didn’t normally drink this much during the week, but he knew tomorrow would be another day with nothing much to do, so carrying a hangover didn’t worry him.
‘Yep, why not? I got nothing on tomorrow.’
‘How is being back at home?’ asked Finn, returning with two beers in hand, happy to change the subject.
‘You know, pretty dull. But I’m not alone; most of us are in the same boat. You’re the only guy I know who is still in their own place.’
‘At least your parents live in a great spot, it’s not like you’re moving out to the mountains.’
‘True. Still, can’t wait to get out of there. You know if I could get a mortgage right now, I could probably buy somewhere!’
‘Buy? Why the fuck would you want to do that?’ said Finn.
‘I don’t know. My dad keeps carrying on about it,’ said Chris, shrugging his shoulders.
‘Fuck that. Spend your life paying off a mortgage? For what? Mate, there are easier ways to make money,’ said Finn, handing Chris another beer.
‘Yeah, well, whatever, first things first — I need a job,’ said Chris, clearly bored with the way the conversation was going. Reanimating, Chris sat up and asked, ‘So, sorry, you never gave me an answer… are you fucking insane?’
‘No, look, I’m just saying I think I want to do my bit for Australia. Actually challenge myself,’ replied Finn, with a more serious look now.
Chris, sitting forward, mirrored Finn’s expression. ‘I get that, but mate, you saw the news coverage. Why would you ever go there? The things that happened to people out there, it was fucked up.’
‘Mate, I know, but I trust General Stephens. He won’t be ordering troops to fight like that on a frontline, up against the largest army in the world. He’s smarter than that and, from what I’ve read, he’s got the right idea for getting the Chinese out.’
Chris, flinging himself back on the couch, said in disbelief, ‘Fucking dreaming. You really are a cock.’
‘Whatever. I haven’t decided yet, so let’s just leave it. Besides you’re a twat if you don’t think we need to do something about the shit this country’s in,’ retaliated Finn, growing tired of trying to explain his motivations.
‘Whatever,’ said Chris, getting the last word in.
The boys turned their attention back to the screen and the reality show, Australia’s Most Open Personality, which recorded contestants’ most embarrassing moments for a year. This was Australia’s top-rating show. Finn stared morosely at the screen, dejected by the banality of it all.
The next day the integrated ambient alarm system woke Finn, the room slowly brightening, mimicking a sunrise. Feeling the haziness of a hangover, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, slowly rising to a seated position with his head hung low. He took a deep breath before heaving himself to his feet.
Stuffing his swimmers and towel into his sports bag, he was almost out the door before he realised he’d forgotten MiLA. I would’ve been screwed without that, he thought to himself, turning back to grab MiLA from the bench. Then he was in the lift and down to the carpark. He walked up to his Jeep, MiLA unlocking it automatically as he approached, and he climbed in. ‘Morning car, destination pool, please,’ he said clearly once inside. The car repeated the destination, started up and reversed out of the parking space. Finn sat back and watched the morning news as he travelled. Once again, the ‘Silent Coup’ and its ramifications dominated the coverage. Overall, the sentiment was positive, the feeling being that most Australians were tired of inertia and were looking for a more aggressive stance. Well, that was how Finn was taking it anyway, but maybe he was just projecting his feelings onto the public sentiment.
Getting to the pool at 6:45 am, he couldn’t see any of the other guys’ cars in the lot yet. Though the pool was heated, the water temperature was still brisk. Diving in, Finn swam the first hundred metres too fast, trying to warm his body up but only tiring his arms — not ideal when you have another 900 metres to do. And that was just the warm-up. Slowing to a more controlled pace, the water began to feel comfortable and his arms felt stronger and smoother through the water. By the 600 mark he was feeling really good, his stroke was long and powerful, his breathing controlled and regular. There weren’t too many people at the pool this morning and his lane was empty until Jack joined him. Good, thought Finn, you can catch up this morning.