by John Kelly
The following morning she sat nervously in the departure lounge at Melbourne Airport and gazed out the spacious double-glazed windows in front of her. Boarding time was still an hour away but the sheer excitement of the journey compelled her to leave home earlier than she had planned. With her luggage checked in, her boarding pass in hand, all customs and immigration checks completed, she sat there in an almost deserted departure lounge sipping coffee unable to control a hundred thoughts racing across her mind. The Airbus A330 that would take her to Japan sat on the tarmac outside, its left wing almost touching that of a Jumbo alongside, while another Jumbo taxied in, looking for its parking spot. As she sat there waiting her thoughts turned to the past.
Five years ago, she was a shy, retiring housewife and mother, consigned, she thought, to the mire of domestic servitude, plagued with a bag-full of self doubt. Her role in life had been reduced to servant to her family who gave every appearance of taking her for granted and even despising her for the insipid manner in which she complied with their every wish. Each morning, after the recurring ritual of preparing breakfast for her family, ensuring all their needs were met, and watching as one by one, they went out the door, she would settle down to look to her own needs. Here she savoured her own time, having her breakfast, reading the morning paper, before the ritual began again, washing the dishes, making the beds, and cleaning up the house, before heading to the supermarket, or the chemist, to re-fill her own dwindling supplies. Each afternoon, she would bury her head in the never-ending parade of soap-operas on television, watching the beautiful people ensnare their lives in episode after episode. There were the love knots, and business deals, the forever plotting behind the back of the overbearing mother-in-law, the uncle tycoon, and the long-lost son or daughter who miraculously returned from what was believed to be a tragic death while off on a mysterious overseas trip. She even felt a desire deep down to be like them, to escape from the dreary day to day boredom of home duties looking after a husband who worked long hours and two adult children who gave no indication of ever leaving home. Why should they? Life was too easy at home. How often did she receive a late afternoon call from the office, to be told by her husband's secretary that he would not be home for dinner and don't wait up? How often did she believe it?
And so, there she often sat each evening, alone, repeating the afternoon television ritual, only this time the action had moved to quiz shows like The Great Temptation and half-hour sit-coms such as Seinfeld, which only reinforced her belief that she was wasting her life away, caught in a never-ending, motorized domestic rut. She longed to be someone different. It took some time to realize that if she wanted to be different, she needed to do something different. It came upon her, not as the penny drops, but in an illuminating bright flash from the heavens. It came upon her, as the champ on 'The Great Temptation' faulted on a question she thought was simple. It came upon her that doing something different wasn't that hard. In fact, it was staring her in the face: a Quiz show! Why not apply to be a contestant? She knew she was smart. She was well educated with a degree in literature. She knew the answers to most of the questions. More importantly, she knew the answers to the questions that even the champ didn't know. She could be on television. That would be different!
From that small psychological revelation, her life changed. She applied for the preliminary test, a sort of entrance exam, where she correctly answered forty out of fifty questions which eventually led to the invitation to appear as a contestant on national television. On her first night, she was introduced as a happy housewife, something that infuriated her. She didn't dare show it, but the put-down made her all the more determined to make an impression. The incumbent was going for the lot, a massive half a million dollars in cash and prizes, and to everyone's shock and disappointment, she beat him easily. Her photo appeared in the papers, she was the giant-killer. Could she go on and succeed where he failed? She won the next four nights, had amassed over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash and prizes and then, out of the blue decided she had come as far as she needed. This whole exercise for her was not about winning, not about money. It was about learning. And what she had learned was more satisfying than all the prizes the show had to offer. She learned that she didn't have to be anybody's doormat. She learned that she was as good as anyone else, and on a good day, better than most; at the very least she knew as much as anybody else. She became her own woman, a woman with an opinion, and to her surprise, people wanted to listen to her. Her shock voluntary departure from 'The Great Temptation' created its own mystique, its own seed of curiosity and invitations came thick and fast from morning chat shows on television and radio, all wanting to know about the lady on the quiz show who knew when to walk away. People wanted to know more about this unusual person who turned her back on the opportunity to win a million dollars. She did the rounds of the media for a week or two, and then as quickly as her fame gathered momentum, the public's appetite began to contract, and she became yesterday's fairy-tale. Another lesson learned. Don't trust fame. Don't believe what they write about you. It won't last.
The exit from public interest was a blessing. She now had the opportunity to be herself again, only this time she would take a different path. Included in her prizes, was a home computer, printer, scanner, fax machine combination. She had won a home office. This was the jewel in the crown. She would learn to use a computer, hook up to the internet. She would write a book, use her skills to be productive and gain a feeling of creativity, the likes of which she only previously dreamed about. Her first book was rejected. This, she decided was unacceptable. There were plenty of books on the market that by any independent assessment could be considered trash. She decided she had as much right as anyone else to have her trash published too, and if she couldn't find a publisher to put it out there, she would do it herself. Her first book received a degree of free publicity other writers could only dream about, and sales not only covered costs, but returned a modest profit.
In the meantime her husband and two grown children learned that their needs, their expectations had been consigned to the 'do-it-yourself' basket in the kitchen and the laundry, complete with instructions on how to operate the washing machine; instructions she typed up on her new computer. Amanda Blackburn was her own woman, and if her family weren't ready for it, they would learn the hard way. Her life had been transformed. In the end, they didn't see it coming.
While Amanda sat there waiting for her boarding call, George Balwyn was in his office taking a telephone call from his father at Lillico. On first hearing the news, he went numb, then experienced a moment of relief that it was all over, before hanging up the phone and weeping uncontrollably. His mother had passed away quietly that morning at the nursing home.
11.
Tokyo