Candelo by Georgia Blain Page B

the money and drives, never talking to passengers, never swearing angrily at other drivers, just doing what he is paid to do.
    He has been driving since he was eighteen. Two years ago, he accrued three months’ long service leave and took it. I was surprised, even hopeful that perhaps he was planning some change to his life, but he just spent it at home, lying in the darkness of his room watching television.
    It’s all right
, he says on the few occasions when I ask him whether he likes what he does.
    Sometimes I am tempted to challenge him, to ask him whether there is anything else he would like to do, but I stop myself in time, not wanting to open things up, not wanting to see him look away, uncomfortable with my question, uncomfortable with me.
    Simon took up bus driving two years after he gave up on school.
    Vi had tried to talk him into going to a counsellor. It was not so much that he had refused; he had just never turned up for any of the appointments she made. Or if she drove him there, he would go in and not say a word. He would just sit there, completely impenetrable.
    At first, the school was also anxious about him.
    They, too, tried talking to him, but it was no use, and eventually they gave up.
    There’s not much point in keeping him here when it’s so painfully obvious he has no interest
, they told Vi.
    He had not handed in a single piece of homework for the entire term. His highest grade in a test had been an E. He no longer talked to any of his friends. He had given up all sport. They didn’t know what to do.
    Perhaps a year off
, the headmaster suggested, although histone made it clear that it was more than a mere suggestion.
He has obviously been very disturbed by what happened
, and he looked away, not wanting to mention the accident, not wanting to mention Evie’s name.
School may only be adding to the stress
.
    Vi did not fight.
    She, too, didn’t really know what to do. Lost in her own grief, she just took the first concrete suggestion that was handed to her.
    When Bernard heard, he offered to take Simon out for a man-to-man chat.
    He picked him up with Sarah, his girlfriend of the time, and took him sailing. No doubt they would have spent the day on the harbour, drinking champagne and eating prawns, with Bernard tossing Simon the odd cheery comment about what a truly magnificent afternoon it was, losing interest in the response before he had even finished speaking. Simon came home drenched and as silent as ever.
    When Vi asked why he was so wet, Bernard laughed.
He’s a silly idiot
, and he laughed again, but he looked perplexed as he explained that Sarah’s dalmatian had jumped off the boat for a swim and Simon had been convinced she was going to drown. Fully clothed, he had followed her in, trying to save her before they could stop him.
    Then Bernard slapped Simon on the back and told him to cheer up.
I don’t know why youre looking so glum
, he laughed.
An entire year off – sounds like bliss to me
, and with that he was gone.
    So Simon left school.
    And he didn’t go back.
    For the next two years, he stayed at home. Reading, smoking, watching television and eating.
    Vi would ask him what he was going to do with his life and Simon would ignore her.
    At first her questions weren’t so frequent. She was more absorbed in work than ever; having buried herself in causes since the accident, fighting every fight she could, we barely saw her. But after eighteen months, she began to notice that he hadn’t moved and seemed to have little intention of doing so.
    Rushing out the door to get to a meeting, she would tell him that he shouldn’t just waste his life away. Looking up as he tiptoed through her study, trying not to be noticed, she would ask him if he’d thought about going back to school.
Or even a job?
Cleaning out a pile of dirty dishes from his room, she would tell him they needed to talk.
About what was up
.
    He would glance across at