It was Brenda Furbow’s retirement as the aqua aerobics instructor at Southpaw’s Gym and Pool, which saw Christine Bigalow hire a replacement who the aerobics patrons said debauched school girls and kicked Guide Dogs.

Brenda had plans of her own. A series of strokes immobilised her drooling husband and with a deft stroke of the pen, she signed him into the Happy Smiles Retirement Village, flogged the house in a private sale and bought two tickets for herself and her lover to the Greek Islands. The elderly ladies of then 10.00am Monday and Wednesday classes were none the wiser.

The once picturesque seaside town had suffered devastating bushfires followed by floods. To escape, the rats made their homes in the roofs and when the water receded, descended in plague proportions. The aqua aerobics class was a retreat from the misery but beneath the wrinkled skin, pasted-on smiles and fallen jowls, lay a magma bowl of enmity.

The women had gone to school together, crossed each other at parents and teacher nights, gymkhanas, kids swimming carnivals and bowling club trivial pursuit nights. Grievances buried 30 or 40 years ago or more festered. Their tacit motto was, ‘to err is human, to forgive divine, to forget is stupid’. They forgave and forgot nothing.

David Retallick stood in front of the Monday morning class as the thunderheads rose high in the poolside windows. A loose fitting blue polo shirt hung from his broad shoulders and the tight black shorts left little to the imagination. The women trod water and scrutinised him. At 30, he was too young with a slight burr in his accent. No wedding ring. He’d gone to the local high school then worked in Edinburgh as a fitness instructor. He’d come home to look after his ageing father. They would give him a chance.

“Good morning ladies, today we’re going to do shoulders and thighs. Get that cellulite moving!” David hit the sound system play button and Blur’s Song 2, rattled the glass windows with the woo hoos and electric guitars at distortion levels, as David leap in to the air screaming in to the lapel microphone, “lift those legs ladies, lift ‘em like you’re making babies! Come on, cuuuum ooonnnn”. A few of the women bicycled their legs, a couple laughed but most stood statue-still, their jaws hung like guppies.

The song ended and unlike Brenda, who’d talk about what she did on the weekend, Nirvana launched into Smells Like Teen Spirit, “…I feel stupid and contagious…” David screamed, “Lets go! Lets go! Jump like you’ve got a pair! PO-GO! PO-GO! PO-GO!” The women jumped up and down with stony faces. Nancy Piccolo and Virginia Morrison got out, towelled down and knocked on Christine Bigalow’s door. There was no Barry Manilow, no Carole King, no Abba or that watery foot tapper, Viva Las Vegas. The new instructor clearly didn’t know the class was a social event to talk about their grandchildren, their husbands declining health, the cost of meat, their arthritis, the rats and sotto voice, each other.

Christine’s hobbled over to David. Her gout was playing up. He was commanding the women to do star jumps: “Ein, Zwei, Drei, Vier, Fünf…”

“I was wondering,” she asked, with a cat’s bum pout, as she turned the music down, “whether you couldn’t play something more suitable for ladies of their vintage?”

“Of course, Obersturmführer Bigalow”

Nancy Piccolo and Virginia Morrison got back in to the pool with a sense of justice done, as David hurled foam dumb bells at the women. Christine hobbled back in to her office just as AC/DC’s Hells Bells bounced off the glass at the far end of the pool and bounced off the brick wall at the other. The old women drove the dumb bells down in to the water and quickly up in to the air. “Three sets of ten, my lovelies,” David yelled. “Ten per set! Those with amyloid protein tangles, do the best you can.”

After 50 minutes, the women were exhausted. To cool down, he played Brandy, by Looking Glass, pulled up a chair and sat precariously on the pool’s edge. The women knew the song. Nostalgic memories oozed back of crushes and caresses in the back seats of cars.

“Ladies I want to leave you with a message. Brandy works in a bar serving drunk sailors. Their intentions are not honourable. But her heart belongs to one man, who only loves the sea. I have three questions for you: what sort of parents call their daughter ‘Brandy’? Has the name condemned her to a life of bar work and should she drug him, drag him upstairs and fuck him dry? I’ll see you on Wednesday”

For the next five weeks, the women suffered Penetration and Search and Destroy by Iggy Pop and The Stooges, The Immigrant Song by Led Zepplin, All We Are by Warlock and Killing in the Name by Rage Against the Machine. Class numbers fell. Nancy Piccolo and Virginia Morrison organised a petition to have him sacked. Christine gave him two verbal warnings and a written warning. All were ignored. At the end of the fifth Wednesday class she called David in to her office.

“Take a seat”

David looked around and noticed there wasn’t a chair. He squatted against the wall, next to the filing cabinet.

“I think you know why you’re here,” she said.

“Here on earth?”

“Don’t get smart with me. The women want you gone. You’re entirely unsuitable, so I’m terminating your employment, effective immediately”

David looked at his immaculately white and expensive gym shoes, picked his nose, examined it and then scratched his balls.

“Nup, check out the employment contract”

“I can assure you Mr Retallick, not only do I have the legal right but also the moral authority, to sack you”

“Look at section 4.1. The contract can’t be revoked unless by unanimous vote of the elected members of council”

Christine flicked to section 4.1 and then to his signature. Jesus. She’d used the permanent employee and not the casual employee form.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still on probation,” she said. “You’re history”

“Probation ended yesterday. See the date”

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as David walked to the door.

“Anytime you want to lose a few kilos,” he said, “feel free to join us”

They needed seven names on the petition.

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It was a warm Friday night when she gathered the seven non-signers at the Bowling Club for a Schnitzel, salad with a glass of wine or beer, for $12.00 a head. After the third glass of wine, Christine played her card.

“Why didn’t you guys sign the petition and send that turd packing?”

They looked at their clean plates and a couple excused themselves as nature called.

“Well Christine, to be honest,” said Aileen, who owned the local butcher shop, “I’ve lost a kilo and I’m getting muscle around my gut and arms. His methods are crazy but I don’t give a fuck and neither should you”

Patsy, a single Mum who ran the weekly Farmer’s Market, said, “I’ve lost half a kilo and gained the respect of my teenage son,” said. “He can’t believe someone’s playing Metallica”

A woman with pock marks from teenage acne said she’s lost almost a kilos and her mood had lifted. She liked his jokes. There were nods all round.

“Tell the pirate joke. That’s a good one,” Aileen said. “Tell it proper”

“Let me see if I can remember it,” she said. “OK. A seaman meets a pirate in a port and sees the pirate has a peg leg, a hook, and an eye patch. He asks, “So, how did you get the wooden leg?”

The pirate says, “Well matey ….”

“Do the pirate accent,” said Aileen. “You’ve got to do the accent”

“Arrr we was in a storm at sea, and I was swept overboard into a school of sharks. Just as me men were pulling me out, a shark bit ma leg off.”

“What about your hook?”

“Well,” says the pirate, “We was boarding an enemy ship and I lost my hand”

“So how did you get the eye patch?”

” aaaarrrrrrrr, a seagull shat in me eye, “

“You lost your eye because of sea-gull shit?” the sailor says incredulously.

“Not exactly,” says the pirate. “It was me first day with the hook.”

Christine guffawed one jerk short of an epileptic fit. It took her 30 seconds to settle. A jug of sparkling wine landed on the table with a small bowl of chocolates, compliments of the bowling club. The aqua aerobics women were heavy drinkers and carried the club during the non-tourist season.

Christine collected herself and pulled her back upright in the chair.

“It’s not my job to talk out of turn but you might have heard about David and young Sandra Piccolo,” she said. “Apparently she spent the night in his flat last week and the following morning rocked up to Blooms Chemist for the Morning After Pill.”

Silence fell across the table before the women erupted in laughter.

“Sandra’s had her snout in more groins than I’ve had hot dinners,” Patsy said.

“Like mother like daughter,” Aileen said, “I don’t want to cast nasturtiums but she’s been banging Tim Sims at the Surf Club and has missed three periods. I expect her and Mummy Dearest will be taking an overnight shopping trip to Sydney soon”

There was a round of ‘oh dears’, ‘ooohs’ and one, ‘even in the best families’

“Hang on Christine”, Pasty said. “If you’re climbing the high moral mountain without oxygen, remember 30 years ago at the, ‘Lesbian, Indigenous and Disabled Ball’?

“I remember that,” a woman said back from the toilet. “No one showed up except the straights. The Abos didn’t want to be associated with the cripples and the Lesbians didn’t want to be lumped in with the Abos. A few people in wheel chairs rolled up to two flights of stairs and no one would carry them up”

“That’s the one,” Patsy said. “You remember dancing with that young guy from Adelaide? Remember that song, “Semi-toned kind of Life?”

“Semi-Charmed Life,” Aileen corrected.

“Don’t remember a thing about it,” Christine said with arms folded across her bosoms.

“That’s because you lowered half a cask of Fruity Lexia before we arrived. Snake hipped guy? Wandering hands? Ring any bells? Because he certainly rang your bell with that song blasting in the back seat of the Cortina. You couldn’t walk for a week”

The women collapsed in to raucous laughter, picturing the Cortina, rocking in the car park around midnight, next to the war memorial.

“That’s so inappropriate, Patsy,” Christine said.

“The next day you looked liked you’d ridden a horse from Mallacoota to Griffith,” Patsy said.

“Well, if we’re going to get personal,” Christine said with a sneer, “I could tell a few home truths about you and Father O’Hagan”

“Do and I’ll carve you a new arsehole”

The dinner broke up as Christine lurched over to the bar as the women left. A minute later, three women returned and stood next to Christine.

“We’ll sign” said Tina whose carrot cake always took prizes at the Country Women’s Association Fair. “Anything to restore harmony”

Christine put her arm around her. “Thank you ladies. Peace and harmony will be restored”

“And more Neil Diamond,” Tina said.

Christine raised her glass of rum and coke, “Here’s to Neil”

Three streets over from the bowling club, David helped his doddering father in to bed. Lung cancer took Mum 20 years ago. A two-pack a day Benson and Hedges woman. He remembered as a child going on Sunday drives with her, enduring a never ending series of rhetorical questions about real estate prices amongst a cloud of billowing cigarette smoke.

“David, look at that place over there, it must be worth $2 million or more – what do you think?” “Oh my giddy aunt, look at that gorgeous place. Around $1.5 million but they could get more with a new coat of paint.”

They lived in a run down two bedroom place next to the railway.

At 17, he left for Thailand, then London and now managed three gyms in Edinburgh. His friends wanted him back. Drinks were waiting for him at the Jacobite bar. His home town was a morbid shit hole, full of the conservative values which reigned in the 1950s. He had more in common with the rats. His Dad kept calling him Craig. Two days ago he poured water in to the toaster thinking it was the kettle. The aged care assessment team said a place was coming up for his Dad at Greenacres Retreat in a fortnight. David put the house on the market and counted down the days.

There was a knock on the door.

“Sandra, you’re late,” he said and they made their way to his bedroom out the back.

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Christine and Rhonda Kranski the head of finance and contracts at the Council, hated each other since school and were not on better terms now.

“Christine, love, let me stop you there,” she said. “It’s your problem. You got David to sign the 501 Permanent Employee form and he’s past probation. You should have got him to sign the 523 Casual Employee form and you could have sacked him at a whim”

Christine’s eyes narrowed to slits. It was her hard stare she used to intimidate the weaker class mates. Now she looked like a lizard.

“Jesus Christ Rhonda, I’ve got a petition signed by damn near every woman in both classes and they want him out! These are locals, Rhonda. They pay rates, Rhonda. They vote, Rhonda!”

“Petal, no one gives a runny shit about petitions. Remember when Carol Lightheart got 500 people to sign that petition to stop the council building the roundabout on the main street. Do you know what the councillors did? They laughed. You’re stuck with David”

Christine put her tea cup down, got up and leant over the desk.

“Angie Richardson saw him kick Rebecca Lombard’s Guide Dog! He walked up behind the poor pooch and kicked it up the arse. Angie had to take both Rebecca and the dog home in her ute, they were so distraught. I tell you Rhonda, he’s a psycho. He’s Ivan Milat and Jeffrey Dahmer rolled in to one”

“Is this Angie who goes to the Wednesday morning class?”

“Yep”

“Is this Angie who forgot to take her dementia medication and took a shit in the pool last year? We had to fish it out, close the pool for 24 hours to let the filters do their job. Cost us $3500. Not a very credible witness. He’s getting results, Christine. Something Brenda never got”

Christine got up slowly without saying goodbye and closed the door firmly, just short of slamming it.

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The Monday class had returned to full numbers. Carol Samson had dropped a size and Astrid Ransack said her breasts had firmed. Muscle replaced the butcher’s arms. Backs were straight and necks no longer creaked. David threw the boxing gloves in to the water.

“Good morning ladies. I have a special treat for you. Today we’re going to do some light glove work while treading water. Everyone in the deep end! Rouse!”

A titter of laughter ran through the women as David shadow boxed poolside. This was something new, something with edge.

“Pick a sparing partner – someone you like. Someone you’d invite to your son or daughter’s wedding. Someone you trust. Now you ladies on the left of the pool, using your right hand, gently throw a punch in slow motion at your partner’s head. Ladies on the receiving end, block the punch with your left hand. That’s it. Marvellous coordination. Angie are you wearing your nappy? Good girl”

Punches were thrown and blocked for five minutes. Then they’d swap. There were right hand hooks and left hands leads.

“Well done women of Australia. You’re an example of the ANZAC spirit. They could have done with you at Lone Pine. Treading water and punching your way in to the Turkish machine guns. Now we’re going to mix it up but keep it real. We’re going to change partners. Now trust me, believe in me for I am the truth and the light. Pick someone – how can I say this tactfully? – you feel indifferent about. You know who they are ladies. Come on Nancy, I know you haven’t got much time for Aileen and vice a versa. Square up”

It took a minute for the ladies to paddle over to people they couldn’t stand. Those who kept them awake at 2.00am. Those they sought to destroy for slights, indiscretions, malicious gossip, money owed and affairs with husbands.

The first chords of The Sunnyboys, “Show Me Some Discipline,” blast out the PA at Jumbo jet take off volume.

“Alright, lets start off slowly. Ladies on the left, throw a head punch at your partner.”

They didn’t need to be told. Aileen threw a right which knocked Nancy’s dentures out. Then an upper cut which caught her on the chin. Nancy paddled forward and hit Aileen with a right hand as blood spewed from her mouth. Across the deep end women were treading water and throwing jabs and hooks which blacked eyes and broke noses. Angie dislocated Patsy’s jaw and then held her head underwater until she copped a punch to the groin. For five minutes, the deep end was a sea of screams, blood, punches and hair pulling.

The lap clock showed seven minutes had passed since the first punch, as the women clung exhausted to the side of the pool. Christine stayed her office and called the police, who never arrived. Old women punching the bejesus out of each out in the Leisure Centre Pool sounded like bullshit.

David smiled and bowed as Chick Corea’s, ‘What Game Shall We Play Today?’ trickled from the PA. He grabbed his towel, walked past the office and in to the car park.

A woman from Sydney had made an offer on the house. Too good to refuse. He drove down the main street as a rat scurried along the curb outside the ice cream parlour. He walked in to his parent’s house as the rotten floorboards creaked and the salt damp rose.

“Craig? That you Craig? Someone from the real estate agency called”

“I know Dad”

“You planning to come home fulltime? That would be nice. We could go fishing”

He packed his father’s meagre possessions in to a suitcase. St Vincent de Paul could have the furniture. He packed his bag and looked around his teenage bedroom. Shit hole. The 1.20pm train would take him to the airport. The people from Greenacres would be here soon. He slipped $500 in his Dad’s cardigan pocket and walked out the front door, past the garden gnomes up the hill to the station.