The Fourth Estate

Keith turned round to find a pile of clothes, a pair of gold cufflinks and a red carnation all neatly laid out for him. He quickly removed his coat, and began undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Will we get there on time?” he asked.

“We should make it to St. Peter’s with about five minutes to spare,” said Sam as Keith threw yesterday’s shirt onto the floor in the back of the car. He paused. “As long as the traffic keeps moving and the lights are all green.”

“What else should I be worrying about?” Keith asked as he forced his right arm into the left sleeve of a starched shirt.

“I think you’ll find that Heather and Bruce have thought of everything between them,” said Sam.

Keith finally succeeded in putting his arm in the correct sleeve, then asked if Susan realized that he’d only just returned.

“I don’t think so,” said Sam. “She’s spent the last few days at her sister’s place in Kogarah, and she’s being driven direct to the church from there. She did ring a couple of times this morning, but I told her you were in the shower.”

“I could do with a shower.”

“I would have had to phone her if you hadn’t been on that flight.”

“That’s for sure, Sam. I suppose we’d better hope the bride will be the traditional few minutes late.” Keith leaned back and grabbed a pair of gray striped trousers with braces already attached, neither of which he had ever seen before.

Sam tried to disguise a yawn.

Keith turned to him. “Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting outside that airport for the past twenty-four hours?”

“Thirty-six, sir. After all, you did say some time on Friday.”

“I’m sorry,” said Keith. “Your wife must be livid with me.”

“She won’t give a damn, sir.”

“Why not?” asked Keith as the car careered round a sharp bend at fifty miles an hour and he tried to do up his fly buttons.

“Because she left me last month, and has started divorce proceedings.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Keith quietly.

“Don’t worry about it, sir. She never really came to terms with the sort of lifestyle a driver has to lead.”

“So it was my fault?”

“Certainly not,” said Sam. “She was even worse when I was driving the taxi. No, the truth is I enjoy this sort of work, but she just couldn’t cope with the hours.”

“And it took you eleven years to discover that,” said Keith, leaning forward so that he could pull on his gray tailcoat.

“I think we’ve both realized it for some time,” said Sam. “But in the end I couldn’t take any more of her grumbling about never being sure when I was going to be home.”

“Never being sure when you were going to be home?” repeated Keith as they careered round another corner.

“Yes. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t finish work by five every night, like any normal husband.”

“I understand the problem only too well,” said Keith. “You’re not the only one who has to live with it.” Neither spoke for the rest of the journey, Sam concentrating on choosing the least congested lane, which would save him a few seconds, while Keith thought about Susan as he retied his tie for a third time.

Keith was pinning the carnation to his lapel as the car swung into the road which led up to St. Peter’s Church. He could hear the bells pealing, and the first person he saw, standing in the middle of the road and peering in their direction, was an anxious-looking Bruce Kelly. A look of relief came over his face when he recognized the car.

“Just as I promised, sir,” said Sam, as he changed down into third gear. “We’ve made it with five minutes to spare.”

“Or with eleven years to regret,” said Keith quietly.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” said Sam as he touched the brake, put the gear lever into second and began to slow down.