‘How could I be so stupid?’ Judy gestured with her glass. ‘To think he’d want a stupid, dried-up receptionist—’
‘Stupid receptionist! You spilled wine on my pillow?’
‘Oh, it’s gone on my shirt, too.’
Caro jumped up and veered over to the walk-in wardrobe. ‘Here!’
A pair of silk pyjamas flew into Judy’s lap. Bleary-eyed, she rose and blundered to the ensuite bathroom.
In a kinder world, the alcohol in Judy’s blood would’ve made her reflection tolerable. In fact, she’d never looked blotchier. She turned her back on the mirror and struggled into the pyjamas with the wounded pride of a dog that goes under the house to die alone.
When she emerged, Caro was shimmying into an almost identical pair. Judy’s eyes went straight to the scars on her thighs.
‘I know; they’re nasty things.’ Caro caught her looking. ‘I’ve slathered them in so many creams and oils, but old habits die hard. Speaking of which.’
Judy followed her out to the balcony. Shook her head when Caro offered up the pack of Marlboros.
‘He smoked, didn’t he?’ Caro lit up. ‘Camels?’
Judy nodded.
‘Just think of all the tar in those kisses.’
Watching the smoke in the darkness, Judy tried to imagine a world where she didn’t want to taste him.
‘I know you don’t like being told what to do.’ She frowned at her sister. ‘But I wish you wouldn’t.’
‘I know.’ Caro dragged. ‘Thank you for your concern.’
‘Tim, too.’
‘I know.’
‘He’s a good one.’
‘I’ll leave him to you in my will when I get terminal lung cancer.’
‘You’re terrible.’
‘I know.’ Caro stubbed it out, finally. ‘I still pinch myself, sometimes.’
‘You chose the right chiropractor’s office to walk into.’
‘Well, he’s got friends, you know.’
Judy giggled. ‘No he doesn’t.’
‘I’ll get him to make you an appointment with one of them. You can say you threw your back out rooting a thirty-year-old tattoo artist.’
‘Actually, can I have one of those?’ Judy held out her hand. ‘I need a smoke, if we’re having this conversation.’
Gleefully, Caro handed over her Marlboros. The glee fled her face as soon as Judy flung them off the balcony.
‘Litterbug!’ Caro shrieked. ‘You can’t litter in Mercy Cove!’
‘I can do anything I want.’ Judy sipped her wine. ‘I’m a grieving mother.’
Caro snatched Judy’s glass. ‘You can do anything. That’s what I’m saying. Break the dry spell. It doesn’t have to be a chiropractor—’
‘No.’
‘Online dating? Or use up your annual leave and go to Europe, find another wog—’
‘No.’
‘Go somewhere. You’re pushing sixty and have never been further than Fairfolk. It’s pathetic.’
‘No.’ Judy snatched back her glass. ‘Well. Maybe.’
‘Where?’
Judy downed the last of her wine. ‘West.’
‘West?’ Caro’s brow creased. ‘Perth?’
‘What have I got to lose at this point?’
Caro grinned. ‘Jude!’
‘I said, maybe.’
‘Jude!’ Caro grabbed her close. ‘It’s about fucking time.’
Judy wished she didn’t notice the young man. Board shorts, sleeveless shirt, tribal tattoos, seemingly immune to the airport’s chill. His carry-on luggage was lumped boulder-like on the chair beside him, his legs wide-spread like the world belonged to him. He drank flavoured milk; left the carton on the ground when boarding time was announced.
Onboard, he sat diagonal from her. She watched him for most of the three-hour flight. He didn’t notice.
At arrivals, FIFO workers in citrus-coloured uniforms swarmed by, baby-faced and muscular. She approached the rental car counter with just her carry-on and a box marked ‘FRAGILE’.
Over the unfamiliar highway, the sun burned strong and gold. No one seemed to know how to merge.
‘You’re right. It is too little, too late,’ Milica said. ‘But thanks for the effort.’
Judy tried not to scrutinise Milica’s face too closely, though there was a lot in it. Ljubica. Marko, a few years before he got sick. Paulina, at an age she never got to be. And, buried under the crow’s feet, the nine-year-old girl whose home Judy had wrecked.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Judy’s eyes strayed to a tied-up Labrador, splashing its tongue into an ice cream tub full of water. ‘Except, it wasn’t personal.’
‘Are you serious?’ Milica’s face soured. ‘Sorry, but, to me it was very personal. You took my dad.’
‘I know.’
‘And not just that. The fact that it was you. To me that was very personal.’
‘I was just the receptionist.’
‘You weren’t just the receptionist. You were “Judy”.’ Milica said ‘Judy’ in the sunshiny tone that Judy used to answer phones. ‘You gave me jelly beans when I came in after school. You read Women’s Weekly with me. You made me feel like I belonged. Do you know what school was like for me? I barely spoke English. I had no friends. I looked forward to seeing you.’
‘I’m sorry. I never realised.’
‘No. You were just showing off for him. “Look how nice I am to your daughter. Look what a good mother I could be.”’
‘It’s true.’ Judy nodded. ‘I wanted him to think that.’
‘You were very good at it.’
‘I was so young. I just wanted to get out of my parents’ house; it wasn’t—’
‘I don’t need to hear about your childhood. No offence.’ Milica waved her hand. ‘Caro told me enough.’
Judy looked some more at the Labrador.
‘I don’t blame you more then I blame him. I blame you a lot. I blame Mama, too. I blame him the most.’
‘We all could’ve handled it better.’
‘Caro was the only one who cared that we were sisters. If it was up to the rest of you, Paulina wouldn’t’ve known I existed.’
‘I’m glad she reached out,’ Judy said — though she couldn’t help but wonder if her sister’s intentions had been completely pure.
‘I spent so many years wishing he’d ask me to move in with the three of you. I hated my life with Mama. I wanted to be part of your perfect little family.’
‘It wasn’t perfect, it that helps.’
‘To me, it seemed perfect. And you.’ Milica gave her an appraising look. ‘I wanted to look just like you. I thought Mama and I were so ugly. I thought that’s why he left. I hated looking like her.’
‘No.’ Judy shook her head. ‘I was very ordinary. You two were much more striking.’
Milica rolled her eyes. ‘The grass is always greener.’
Judy looked at the grass, eye-burningly green, littered with pine fronds. The soft white dunes beyond it. ‘They’re smaller than on Fairfolk,’ she murmured, nodding at the pines.
‘I’ve seen pictures.’ Milica lifted her coffee to her mouth. ‘It looks creepy. Paulina loved it, though.’
‘How often did you two … ?’ Judy’s throat slimed with guilt.
‘Talk?’ Milica smiled wryly. ‘About as I often as I get my power bill.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘We weren’t sisters, like you and Caro. I was more like … a distant aunt or something.’
‘I’m very sorry.’
‘She told me about the baby, though. She said she wanted to give it a real Yugo name, like Snežana or Dragana.’
Judy was glad she had her sunglasses on. ‘She really wanted a girl.’
‘Of course she did.’
‘I offered to visit, after she lost it.’ Milica fingered the rim of her paper cup. ‘She said don’t worry. I guess she didn’t need me, when she had you.’
‘She didn’t want me there, either.’
‘Well. She had you, anyway.’ Milica shrugged. ‘Last time we spoke, she seemed happy. It was right after New Year’s. She liked a guy, but was worried she’d screw things up.’
Cheeks burning, Judy changed the subject. ‘Do you … have someone?’
‘Boyfriend. He’s divorced. Three kids. He has them most weekends. We’re going to the footy tonight.’
‘And what does he do?’
‘He’s a Phys Ed teacher.’ She must’ve made a face, because Milica laughed. ‘Caro had the same reaction. Mama loves him, though.’
Judy’s eyes drifted to the ‘FRAGILE’ box.
‘I can call her now, if you like.’
‘Oh.’ Judy tried to buy some time. ‘There’s no rush.’
Milica finished her coffee. ‘She knows you’re coming. She’s been cleaning the house. She probably has a meat platter ready for you.’
‘Oh gawd.’ Judy clutched her head. ‘I’m terrified.’
Milica whipped her phone from her handbag, dialled. Within seconds, she was speaking a language Judy hadn’t heard in years.
‘I’ll drop you off; it’s not far,’ Milica said, after hanging up.
‘It’s such a beautiful language.’
‘Kajkavian,’ Milica grimaced. ‘I tried to speak it with some of the Yugo kids I taught ESL to. They’d give me these blank stares.’
‘It’s very beautiful. I wish Paulina had it.’
Milica got up, picking up the pale-aqua jewellery box as she went. ‘Thanks again, for the pendant.’
‘I have so many of her things.’ Judy rose from her white plastic chair. ‘You’re welcome to them. I almost brought some of her baby things. I … wasn’t sure. If you’re ever in Sydney, though.’
On their way from the kiosk to the carpark, a dark-skinned boy in a rashie and bucket hat broke loose from his mother’s grip and flung himself toward Milica. ‘Mrs Novak!’
‘Hello, Ali.’ Milica smiled from the boy to his mother. ‘Hello.’
Judy smiled as well. ‘Hello.’
‘One of my students,’ Milica explained, once they’d passed. ‘A lot of them call me “Mrs Novak” by mistake.’
‘I get that all the time. It doesn’t bother me too much.’
‘That’s nice to hear,’ Milica said briskly. ‘I’d hate for you to have gone to all that trouble for a name you don’t even want.’
When Ljubica saw what was in the ‘FRAGILE’ box, she laughed — full-throated, mocking. Then she set the crystal glasses on the counter and said something in Kajkavian.
‘Mama, no!’ Milica protested.
Ljubica waved her hand, opened the pantry. Again, Milica protested — a velvety flurry of words Judy didn’t understand — then got up on her tiptoes and removed the bottle herself.
‘Rakija,’ Ljubica proclaimed.
Milica rolled her eyes. ‘She makes her own.’
They started speaking Kajkavian again, and Judy had to remind herself that they weren’t doing it just to show off. Ljubica handed her a glass.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled.
Ljubica winced and sat herself down. She was old, truly old.
Milica leaned against the kitchen counter. Took a sip of her rakija, pulled a face, and poured the rest back in the bottle. Ljubica scolded her. Rolling her eyes again, Milica slung her handbag. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Nice seeing you, Judy.’
‘Yes, you too.’ Judy stepped forward, unsure if they should hug or shake hands or nothing. In the end, they clasped each other’s wrists, exchanged dry cheek-kisses.
Then they were two.
‘I saw you on TV.’ Ljubica raised her glass. ‘I thought, my god. She’s aged.’
‘Yes.’ Judy tried not to be offended. ‘The years really do add up.’
‘Until then, you were still very young, to me. Even at Marko’s funeral, you were, what, thirty?’
‘Thirty-seven.’
‘Still young. Then I saw you on TV and I thought, my god, what happened to little blondie who wandered in from the beach to answer phones and steal husbands?’
‘Life happened.’ Judy crossed her arms. ‘Grief happened.’
‘Have you tried the rakija?’
Judy obediently took a gulp of the liquor. ‘It’s good.’
‘I make it with plums, from my garden.’ Ljubica hefted herself from her seat. ‘Come, see my garden.’
Judy made an effort to appear unfazed by the slowness of Ljubica’s movements. Still, she read her mind. ‘You’re old now. I’m very old.’
‘It happens to the best of us.’
‘Not Pavlina.’
‘No. Not Paulina.’
‘I prefer “Pavlina”.’ Ljubica led her into the sun-washed backyard. ‘Marko said if ever we had another daughter, we’d call her Pavlina.’
‘He suggested it. I didn’t want the kids at school calling her “Pavlova”.’
Ljubica laughed. ‘Like Milly. “Why did you name me after the little gel packets you get with new shoes?” Aussies, they think it rhymes with “silica”.’
‘You have a beautiful garden.’
‘These are my plums. Grapes. Lemon tree. Pomegranate — it doesn’t grow much.’
‘You do it all yourself?’
‘Milly’s boyfriend — very Aussie — built the trellis. Here, raspberry.’
‘No thank you.’
‘Take it.’ Ljubica forced a raspberry into Judy’s hand. ‘I remember the sweet tooth. You made Milly fat, giving her all those jelly beans after school.’
It wasn’t sweet. ‘Very … fresh,’ Judy bluffed.
‘Everything is very fresh.’ Ljubica pointed. ‘There’s the veggie patch. Herbs, too.’
My life isn’t small, Judy knew she was really saying. You may have robbed me, but my life isn’t smaller than your life.
‘It’s very impressive.’ Judy knocked back her liquor.
‘Why do you drink so fast?’ Ljubica smirked. ‘This isn’t the pub. We’re not getting pissed.’
Then she indicated for Judy to go ahead of her. ‘Go, sit inside.’
Judy found the lounge room, sat. Her eyes wandered over the blind TV screen, piano, bookshelves. Not a speck of dust in sight.
‘More, for the sweet tooth,’ Ljubica returned with a plate of cakes and biscuits. ‘Coffee’s coming.’
‘Do you need help?’
Ljubica didn’t hear the question, or ignored it. She came back again with coffee. Again, with the rakija and a biscuit tin, which Judy eyed warily.
‘Photos.’ Ljubica plumped on the other end of the couch. ‘Try the walnut cake.’
As Ljubica struggled to get the lid off the biscuit tin, Judy took a slice of cake.
‘Our wedding.’ Ljubica showed her a black-and-white photo of a dour, dark-haired couple. ‘We were happier than we look.’
Judy nodded.
‘Milly’s baby photo.’
Judy nodded again.
‘Zagreb in winter.’ A picture of a young family in a snow-pixelated square. ‘We were real people before you came along. We weren’t made of cardboard.’
Judy nodded again.
‘Sydney, when we first arrived. I don’t have many pictures from then. I tried to take pictures for my family in Zagreb, but it was such a short time … then everything changed.’ She shrugged, passing Judy a pile of photos. ‘I was too embarrassed to go back. My parents said Marko was a peasant. I was wrong to marry a peasant.’
‘“Peasant”,’ Judy repeated ca
refully. ‘Really?’
‘Peasant, villager. No culture.’ Ljubica settled back against the cushions. ‘His ancestors were serfs. Everyone in his village was related, somehow.’
‘Paulina visited,’ Judy said defensively. ‘She thought it was beautiful.’
‘Yes, beautiful, with the hills. But inbred. Like Fairfolk.’ Ljubica sipped her rakija. ‘He was smart to know he should marry outside the village. He met me. Then he met you … and you were more exotic.’
‘I thought he was exotic.’ Judy laughed, to hide the pain. ‘Gawd. I’d never even heard of Yugoslavia.’
‘If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been some other stupid receptionist.’
Judy pursed her lips, handed back the photos.
‘My second husband, Dom.’ Ljubica sorted through another pile. ‘Dead since nine years. I met him at the pharmacy. First, I worked in a bakery. Later, they let me work in a pharmacy. I worked in a lab in Zagreb, in the sixties.’
Judy nodded, pursed her lips some more.
‘Here she is.’ Ljubica smiled. ‘Little Princess of Darkness.’
Judy’s heart leapt into her mouth.
‘First time she visited. Eighteen?’ Ljubica handed over the photo. ‘When Milly told me she was coming, I thought, “Oh, god, here we go, another blondie, another bimbo.” But she was nothing like you.’
‘She’d be pleased to hear that.’ Judy fingered the picture of Paulina at a strange dinner table, fledgling-frail and unearthly in her Gothic lipstick. ‘Oh, she was so cute!’
‘Very cute,’ Ljubica agreed. ‘Very shy.’
‘Shy?’
‘Very shy. Very sweet. Nothing like you.’
‘Are we talking about the same girl?’ Judy cry-laughed. ‘Oh, gawd. Did she eat?’
‘Not much. No meat.’
‘That’d be right.’ Judy wiped her eyes. ‘I had to force-feed her, practically.’
Ljubica set the photo aside. ‘I’ll make a copy. Try the rafioli.’
Judy stuffed a ravioli-shaped biscuit into her mouth, concentrated on chewing.
‘Next time, with the boyfriend.’ Ljubica found another photo. ‘Very different.’
It was true: gone was the black makeup, black velvet. Her hair was a lighter shade of brown, her face dewy. Vinnie’s arm circled her shoulders.
‘I didn’t like him,’ Ljubica said. ‘Even before he went on TV.’
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