We are standing in a queue at the State Cinema, the program in my hand. I’m still not sure which film we should see but couldn’t think of anywhere else to go on a rainy afternoon. I had to get out of the house, that was certain. I scan the film summaries again, searching for one that is appropriate for Ellie but still stands a chance of satisfying me. At the bottom of the page there is a blurb about a locally based documentary called Mary Meets Mohammad, rated PG: a ‘heartwarming’ story of a group of Afghan asylum seekers in Hobart and a community that is, at least to start with, less than welcoming. We are at the front of the queue and I buy tickets.
11
The wisteria outside the front door shakes itself free of autumn leaves as I pack Ellie into her blue fleece jacket and beanie for the short walk to her new school. It’s her first day, and I can hardly believe this small, uniformed child was the dark-haired baby I brought home from hospital only six years ago.
She gathers handfuls of yellow leaves from the paved path and clutches them greedily to her chest, chasing after those that escape as she grasps for more. I imagine Nina looking at us through the lounge-room window, sipping her lemon verbena tea and frowning at me for letting the leaves have such unbridled freedom in full view of the street. She would have raked them up and composted them for her garden. Ellie trips at the front gate and a yellow torrent erupts from her arms. It blows across the road and weaves its way into Michael Forster’s garden where he is feeding his incinerator. He does not look up as Ellie chases after the leaves and gropes through the slats of his fence.
‘Don’t burn my leaves,’ she shouts.
‘There are plenty more,’ I tell her, as I take her hand and pull her away. Michael Forster glances our way, but says nothing. As Ellie and I turn the corner, I crouch down and hold her by the shoulders. She is confused as our eyes meet.
‘Mr Forster is not a very nice man,’ I say starkly. ‘He’s a stranger, okay? That means you don’t talk to him. If he wants to talk to you, come and get me straight away. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ Ellie says with a frown, gathering more leaves from the footpath, listening to what I’m saying but pretending not to.
Several doors further down the street, we pass a well-kept house with a row of shoes at the front door and a ceramic umbrella stand that reminds me of one that Nina had.
At the corner store I buy a loaf of locally made sourdough before it sells out and a block of handmade cheese from Bruny Island, an expensive treat that I decide Ellie and I have earned, not that Ellie is likely to appreciate it. She probably won’t even like it. I peel back the paper wrapping to give her a smell and she scrunches her nose.
I laugh. ‘I’ll get you a different one on my way back.’
As we approach the school a swarm of children, back from their Easter holidays, push past my legs. If I hadn’t been holding Ellie’s hand they would have bowled her over. I move my arm around her shoulders, considering how best to ease her entry.
Ellie breaks free to join two girls in the playground, leaving me stranded holding her schoolbag. I hear her say her name, and the other children smile. One whispers something in her ear and offers her their doll. Ellie nods and I wonder if she has just made them a promise.
A wave of guilt passes over me for breaking my promise to Nina to protect the memory of the women who came before me and the futures of those who will follow. She wouldn’t want me digging up her past, her pain. She’d want me to remember her stoicism, her love, and the flawless wedding gowns she worked so hard to make. She would want me to tell Ellie I used to fall asleep in the silk-and-tulle-shrouded lounge room to the sound of the Singer sewing machine humming as her foot pressed the pedal. And how in the morning I would stumble out sleepily to find a finished dress, fit for a governor’s daughter, flowing from a coat hanger on the curtain rail. Nina would be glad that when I close my eyes I can still see those exquisite wedding dresses’ intricately embroidered necklines and hems, which she decorated even if the bride didn’t ask for such detailing. I used to tell Nina that she was wearing herself out by sewing so late into the night, fussing with unnecessary detail, and she would reply, Small faults indulged in are little thieves that let in greater faults.
I introduce myself to Ellie’s teacher and point out my daughter. The teacher smiles and starts to speak but is interrupted by a crying boy. I offer a sympathetic smile to the pair and head out the door before realising I’m still holding Ellie’s schoolbag. I carry the small backpack inside again and hang it on a hook under Ellie’s name, feeling grateful she already has a place defined for her here in Hobart, a place to call her own. I look about the room at the other mothers and wonder if any will become friends of mine.
‘Actually, we normally let the children hang up their own bags,’ the teacher informs me with a cursory smile. ‘It’s good for their independence.’
‘Oh, yes. Good idea,’ I say. I look at the date written on the school board in big letters: 5 May. ‘It’s my first day, too.’ I laugh and roll my eyes, but the teacher is distracted by a child pulling at her shirt for attention.
A mother with crinkled blond hair winks at me, and whispers in my ear, ‘Yes, but the day the kids put up their own bags, I’ll walk in here wearing nothing but my smile.’ She laughs, brushing her shoulder-length curls from her face. ‘I’m Claire. Your first day?’
‘Ellie’s first, yes. I’m Sara.’ I hold out my hand but wish I hadn’t. It’s too formal. Work etiquette.
She shakes my hand warmly and smiles. ‘I haven’t seen you around. Are you new to Tassie?’
‘I grew up here, actually. Just up the road. But I’ve been away for a while.’
Claire nods as she opens her child’s schoolbag, making sure she hasn’t left anything behind. ‘We moved down from Sydney last year. Hobart’s lovely. I can see why you came back.’ She returns the schoolbag to its hook. ‘A couple of other mums and I are going for a coffee. You’re welcome to join us.’
‘Sure,’ I say, delighted, but forgetting I don’t have transport here. I sold my car in Brisbane, deciding it was too old to bother bringing down. Ian had suggested upgrading years ago, but I never felt it a priority. ‘Is it close? I haven’t organised a car here yet …’
‘I’ll drive. No worries.’ Claire kisses her daughter, a six-year-old version of herself, on the cheek. ‘Bye, Sally. Have a magic day.’
Ellie runs into the class and looks briefly around the room before sitting at a drawing table.
‘She must be yours,’ Claire says. ‘Pretty little thing.’ She regards Ellie fondly. ‘Ready?’
I blow Ellie a kiss but she barely acknowledges me, and I follow Claire out of the classroom.
‘Soon they won’t need us at all,’ I say.
‘They’ll need us for a while yet. I still need my mum.’
Her words are like a skewer in my chest, but I return her smile.
The cafe overlooks the bright blue glaze of the Derwent River, and Claire heads for a table where the sun is streaming in through large glass windows. It’s surprisingly warm and the view is heaven sent. Beyond a collage of red and green tin rooftops there is a white sandy beach, where I allow myself to mentally holiday for a few moments. When I look up, a tall red-haired woman is greeting Claire with an air kiss on the cheek. I can’t believe my eyes.
‘This is Sara,’ Claire tells the other woman.
‘Sara Barsova,’ the woman says, staring at me. It’s faintly liberating to be called again by my maiden name. Does she even know that for nearly a decade I’ve been Sara Rose? We haven’t stayed in touch but I’d learned from Rebekkah that she’d married Ron, my high-school sweetheart for all of senior. ‘Fancy seeing you again.’
‘Carmen.’ The name emerges from my lips without any prompting.
‘That’s Hobart for you.’ Claire laughs and pulls out another seat. ‘If there are six degrees of separation everywhere else on the planet, I reckon there are only two here. You’re not related are you?’
I shak
e my head in a definite ‘no’. ‘We were at school together.’
A waitress takes our orders, giving Carmen and me a moment’s breathing space from each other. Claire’s phone beeps with a text message.
‘Rosie can’t come,’ Claire tells us when the waitress has finished. ‘Charlie’s sick.’
‘Too bad,’ Carmen says. ‘How’s Nina, Sara?’
For some time after I learned the truth, I never told anyone that Nina was in fact my grandmother, so I assume Carmen still thinks she was my mother. Most people back then believed Nina’s story that my father had left us to return to Russia. I don’t set Carmen straight.
‘She died late last year. I’m living in her cottage.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Carmen pauses, then covers her mouth with her hand before bursting out laughing. She shakes her head with the knowledge of how inappropriate she is being but apparently cannot help herself. ‘Oh, that came out wrong. I’m not sorry you’re living in her little cottage …’ She looks across at Claire, still shaking her head.
Claire flashes me a knowing smile, as if this behaviour is not unknown for Carmen.
Carmen drops her voice. ‘I never did believe the stories about her.’
‘Pardon?’
Carmen looks surprised that she has to spell it out for me.
‘Go on,’ I dare her.
‘Well …’ She drops her voice to a whisper. ‘Mum said there were stories she lied about being … you know …’ She pauses. ‘She was a communist, wasn’t she?’
I avoid Carmen’s eyes, and instead look out to the churning water where a floating springwater bottle is spinning in an eddy. Is she intimating what I think she is? How did she know of things I didn’t? I imagine her talking with other girls at high school. Gossiping about who my father was. At least this explains why I always felt like an outsider, a feeling I’ve tried to bury. If Nina hadn’t offered me the cottage, the memory of that feeling alone might have been enough to keep me away.
‘I don’t think Nina was lying,’ I say.
Reaching for the menu, Claire accidentally knocks over a sugar bowl, scattering beads of sweetness across the table and onto the carpet. She catches the waitress’s eye.
Carmen puts her hand on top of mine. It feels cold and hard, like plastic. ‘It was a long time ago. Sorry to have brought it up. People said stupid things back then.’
I prise my hand out from under hers and she looks affronted. They say stupid things now, I think.
‘Look, it was probably just because she was foreign,’ Carmen adds. ‘My mother was always a bit old-fashioned like that. If someone wasn’t as white as a ghost …’
‘Nina was white.’
‘Yes, but she had an accent, didn’t she? She –’
‘Well, there you go …’ Claire says, rolling her eyes. ‘Guilty of an accent. I think we’ve interrogated poor Sara enough.’ She flashes me an apologetic glance, taps the table in front of Carmen and directs her next question to her. ‘Are you getting to see any more of that handsome spunk of a husband?’
Carmen squirms with delight at the compliment and takes her skinny hot-chocolate from the waitress. ‘He’s spending too much time away, but it’s paying off. We’re exporting beer to Germany now. Can you believe it? Anyway, Ron …’
I feel my face tense and quickly try to hide my feelings at hearing his name again.
‘Actually, Claire,’ Carmen starts, chuckling, ‘you won’t believe this, but Sara used to go out with Ron in high school.’
I nod and, before I have to say anything, my mobile phone rings. I reach into my bag, relieved for the call, even though it’s Ian.
‘I have to take this,’ I say with false urgency. ‘Just a moment,’ I tell Ian. I stand and put three dollars fifty on the table. The coffee is four dollars but it’s all the change I have. ‘Sorry … I’ll give you the fifty tomorrow,’ I tell Claire and she shakes her head, batting the idea away.
Carmen slaps fifty cents on the table. ‘I’ve got it.’
‘See you tomorrow at school,’ I say, looking at Claire.
‘Don’t you need a lift back?’ she asks.
‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’ I press the phone to my ear again. ‘Hang on, Ian. I’m just leaving a cafe.’
‘Life of luxury down there then?’ he asks as I make for the door.
‘Very funny … Okay, I’m outside. What is it?’
‘The house is sold.’
I look out at the water and the vast sky. A sea eagle is soaring high above, a vast empty space beneath it.
‘But, more importantly, I wanted to see how Ellie’s getting on. It’s her first day today, isn’t it?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘That’s it?’
‘I’ll get her to call you tonight.’
‘I’d like to see her again soon. I was thinking of flying down in a couple of weeks for a weekend.’
‘She’s just settling in. Can we wait a little longer? She was a bit nervous this morning, actually,’ I lie.
‘Doesn’t sound like Ellie. I thought you just said she was fine.’
‘Yes, well, there have been a lot of changes for her lately. Come down when it suits you, just maybe not straight away. And let me know so I can plan around it.’
I try to keep my conversation rational, civilised; the way I imagine Sylvia to be.
‘All right then …’ I hear Ian flicking through the pages of his diary. ‘What about June, say the … nineteenth?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good. We’ll see you then.’
I can’t help myself. ‘What’s-her-arse is coming too then?’
He says nothing.
I press ‘end’ on my mobile phone’s touchpad and follow a gravel path down to the water. The sea eagle lands in its nest perched high in a large, dead eucalypt on a cliff top to the south. The bird’s white head is stark against the surrounding foliage.
I kick off my shoes as I reach the sand and, once I am around the corner and out of sight of the cafe, I break into a run. To my surprise, there’s no one else on the beach, and I let the tears come. A fierce wind is blowing. It picks up sand grains – the products of rocks and shells shattering into a million pieces eons ago – and throws them at my face. I can’t hear my own sobs, and let them out with abandon as I run until they are far behind me.
WINTER
12
My fingers pause in their effort to tie perfect plaits in Ellie’s hair, trying to match the neat braids Nina used to tie in mine and, before mine, Helena’s.
Nina’s relationship with my mother must not have always been strained, and so it remains one of my greatest fears that Ellie’s and my relationship might one day suffer the same fate, although I can’t imagine anything testing my love for my daughter to the point that I would let her slip away from me. But when a person is determined to go, as it seems Helena was, I don’t suppose you can stop them.
I can still feel Nina driving the comb through my hair, dividing it down the back, and then separating out three strands on each side before methodically weaving them. I look at the wall calendar. It’s the fifteenth of June, which makes it almost two months since we moved to Tasmania. Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday. Nina has written HELENA in sharp, square letters against the date. Presumably she would have sent a card. Perhaps I should do the same. I cannot stay angry forever. It is no lesson to teach Ellie, and is no doubt doing me damage, right down to my genes.
The plait I’m making in Ellie’s hair springs from my grasp and unwinds. I pull it into a ponytail and secure it with the elastic band.
‘Time to go,’ I tell her, grabbing her bag and heading for the front door. She has run out of time to clean her teeth.
I see Ellie sneaking a peek at the Forsters’ house.
‘Daddy’s coming to visit you on the weekend. That’s exciting, isn’t it?’
She looks up at me, surprised. ‘This weekend?’
‘Yes.’ Part of me wants Ellie to shrug her shoulders and
say ‘who cares’, but a ‘good’ mother wouldn’t think like that – whatever a good mother is. What I know is Ellie needs her father.
She skips beside me. ‘Is he going to stay with us?’
‘No, at another place. You can stay with him if you like.’
‘Maybe we can go on a boat cruise. Elliot went on a boat cruise with his daddy.’
‘Who’s Elliot?’
‘A boy at school. His dad was visiting him, too.’
The news that Ellie has spoken at school about fathers visiting sits heavily in my chest. ‘I’m sure your daddy would love to take you on a boat cruise.’
We reach the school gates and I ask Ellie to go and hang up her schoolbag, but she drops it at my feet and legs it to the monkey bars. I slink into the classroom and swing the bag over its hook while no one is watching. Seconds later, Claire appears beside me, doing the same thing.
‘Hi, Sara.’ She gives me a hug and kisses my cheek, a warmer welcome than I was expecting. ‘What are you up to this morning?’
I stop to think. ‘I was going to check out the job advertisements at the university.’
‘I’m going for a short walk if you want to come. I’ve got Mum staying and, as much as I love her, I’ve got to get out of the house.’
I laugh. ‘Sure. Sounds great. I need some exercise.’ I bend down to retie my shoes. ‘How long’s your mum staying?’
‘Not sure. She’s had surgery.’ The corner of Claire’s mouth wavers. ‘I don’t think they can do much more.’ She waves her daughter goodbye. ‘I guess one day it’ll be these little ones looking after us.’ Claire laughs a sad laugh. ‘Anyway, enough of that. You ready?’
On the beach at Sandy Bay, the winter wind is behind us and blows my hair in front of my face. I use one of Ellie’s hairbands from around my wrist and turn my hair into a low bun. I wore my hair this way at my wedding, although more artfully done, like Nina used to wear.
‘Are you all right?’ Claire interrupts my thoughts, and I realise I haven’t spoken for a while – too long a pause between new friends.
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