If I Could Talk to Cal

( The author with Cal Wilson on the set of skithouse - Network 10)

(This story was first published by Mamamia on October 10th. The article was accompanied by a 30 minute podcast interview with Grace Rouvray as part of her ‘Little Love Stories’ series. You can read the original story and listen to the podcast here)

I'm sitting in Pango, one of my favourite cafes in Newport in Melbourne's inner west. I've decided that a change of scenery is required for the tricky writing task at hand, but it's not really working.

It's the school holidays and the place is packed with kids having noisy lunches with their grandparents. I'm trying to block it out by burying my head in my laptop, but I've become distracted by my bulging inbox. It is flooded with Substack stories, that I've been stockpiling, rather than deleting.

I possess a heady blend of artistic empathy and Catholic guilt, so the Substack quandary is really playing up with inbox control systems. I really must revisit my unquestioning acceptance of other writers' Substack recommendations.

Do I really need to be following an ultra-marathon running, bookbinder from Portland, Oregon: a Slovenian photographer who only takes pictures of sinks and a canola farmer from Narrandera who is chronicling his testicular cancer treatment with daily haikus?

The tricky writing task that I'm avoiding, is this one.

A piece I've been commissioned to write reflecting on my friendship with Cal Wilson. New Zealand born, Cal became one of Australia’s most loved and celebrated comedians after moving here in the early naughts. She was one of my best friends. I MC'd her wedding and sadly, her funeral. She passed away after a short illness on October 11th, 2023. We’ve now lived in a world with a Cal shaped hole for one year.

Ordinarily, when stumped for inspiration or in need of life advice, she would be the first person I would call. Her number is still on my phone. I haven't deleted it. Do people delete dead friend's phone numbers? How many dead friends have I got on my phone? I just googled it. The thread on Quora slightly leans towards "No, don't delete them". Alan from Demoines, Iowa, not only suggested deleting them but also said you should throw out anything that reminds you of them. Settle down, Alan!

The Quora thread also threw up a few people who still occasionally ring their deceased friends just to leave a message or, in one case, in the hope that they answer. That's weird!

I stare at my phone. What if I just called her once, just to hear her voice message… Ouch! Ok, what would she say if I did call her right now? The conversation plays out in my head.

Calskins? … This is a nice surprise … No, Damiskins has not deleted your number. I know you wouldn't mind but … what do I have for your contact photo? Um, I'll just check … Oh, that's nice, it's you on stage at that pancreatic cancer comedy fundraiser I organised in memory of Catriona Campion, one of my other dead friends ... No, I haven't deleted her number either … Most people on Quora said it was fine to keep them. Except for a guy called Alan who wanted me to throw out my collection of Cal craft paraphernalia and every Flying Nun label record from my heavily NZ-slanted vinyl collection … That's what I told him.

Why did I call? To be honest, I was procrastinating …

Oh, I've got to write this tricky piece for Mamamia. Well here's the thing, it's about friend love … and about what it's like to lose a special friend … yes, one whose name you can't bring yourself to delete from your phone.

Who am I writing about? Umm, you of course.

Yes, you are my favourite dead friend, but it's not like I keep a list.

Well, I was struggling to know what to say, so I thought talking to you might help.

Ooh, brilliant! I like that idea. Start by going through all of the other times I've wanted to call you … Classic Cal suggestion - thoughtful and helpful!

Ok, well just before I called you, I got another phone call … Yes, that person was alive, and it was about a work opportunity that I would definitely have rung to talk to you about … No, I'm not replacing you on Bake Off … I'm not sure who is … Yeah, I hope they ask Greta Thunberg too.

Have I watched it yet? Umm, no … because it hurts too much. The joy of seeing you shine, is still outweighed by the pain, but I will … eventually.

Well, the first time I really wanted to call was on the night of your funeral … Yes, I did tell them the story about you making muffins for my mum's funeral for my family to eat on the way to the crematorium, so we didn't miss out while everyone else was having the morning tea made by the parish ladies … No Cal, no one made your family muffins because that is a level of kindness that only Cal Wilson can attain.

Oooh, you'll like this.

I got a big laugh when I referred to the masses of people standing at the back and admonished your agents for not putting on a second show … Yes, you would have been proud of your Chris and Digby. Father and son, arm in arm. Chris had no notes. He wasn't even sure if he was going to speak, but I suggested he welcome everyone and see how he felt. He spoke of his love for you straight from the heart. It was beautiful and gut-wrenching.

This is one of those bittersweet, laugh-or-cry recollections but, as the funeral was on the first floor, you had to go down in a lift after the service and those accompanying you had to stand around in the lift foyer with your coffin as the lift music piped up through the shaft.

You would have also smirked at the visual of me having had to hold the crowd in their seats until 'everyone' had gone down in the lifts, but Cal, having to remain stoic as I watched all of your inner circle literally collapse into a Caravaggio painting of despair as your coffin left the room is one of the hardest things I've ever had to endure. But I'm glad I was able to be there for your family and friends … yep, in the top two proudest gigs of my life … Yeah, mum's eulogy, but to be fair mum's eulogy was 'muffin assisted'.

At some stage, I would have rung you to let you know that you have exceptional friends. Many of these were mutual pals, but I've now seen how they love, how they hurt and how they laugh. Sometimes all at once.

I'd have told you that through some type of Cal witchcraft, you are still bringing new friends into my world. All the shining stars in your orbit have formed a new constellation. As in life, you are still bringing people together … No again, that is mainly just a 'you' thing mate.

And it's not just your friends that you've touched. After I MC'd the funeral, spoke at your memorial and did countless radio interviews about you, I had random people message me or approach me to tell me their one 'Cal Wilson Moment' and how profoundly kind you were during their one 'Cal Wilson Moment': your generosity of spirit seared into their minds forever.

I'd have called you when our cat died. Her ashes are sitting on my record shelves next to the hand-crafted guest book you made for my wedding … Yes, the record shelves are still full of Flying Nun records … I agree, Alan can go f**k himself.

I'd ring you every day if I could. Our friendship was deep, enduring, unconditional, playful, honest, caring and immediate. But I'm not the only one. You made and kept good friends quickly and easily … Yeah, we were instant friends. From that first night at the Melbourne Comedy Festival when festival director Susan Provan told me to look after the blonde, diminutive Kiwi in the significant trousers and complicated shoes, I knew we'd be friends forever.

Yeah, I still feel your friendship strongly even though you're not here because of the best bits of you that have rubbed off on your friends.

Oh my God yes, I have seen so many cocks!!! … No, good point, I'll give some context to the readers.

When Cal and I were on tour together, whenever we saw a Creek sign that had been abbreviated to Ck, we would change the Ck to mean Cock. Yeah, heaps mature…

Ok, so these are my favourite ones that I've seen since you've been gone:

Forlorn Hope Ck … Murdering Ck … Good Morning Ck…

You guys see yourselves out, Cal and I will be awhile here …

Sisters Ck … Opening Ck … Bland Ck

(Listen to the Little Love Stories Podcast interview)