by Liz Byrski
‘Tonight?’ Sonya said, kissing her father. ‘What about tonight?’
‘Just a little welcome home. Tessa and David and the grandchildren, and I’ll just do a light meal. We’re so thrilled you’re here.’ She turned to Gayle and Marissa. ‘So sorry to intrude. I’m Vera Weldon, Sonya’s mother, and this is my husband, Lew.’
‘You must be Sonya’s colleagues,’ Sonya’s father said. ‘You both work in the Education Department too?’
There was a moment of terrible silence in which Sonya thought she was going to throw up.
‘Actually I work in the library system,’ Gayle said hesitantly, ‘and Marissa is in the arts, the performing arts.’
Sonya swallowed hard.
‘How wonderful,’ Vera said. ‘I’m dying to hear more about it.’
‘Very interesting. A multi-disciplinary project, I suppose,’ Lew said. ‘Splendid. Well, you’ll join us this evening, I hope.’
‘Gayle and Marissa are going to be pretty busy –’ Sonya began.
‘But you have to eat, surely,’ her mother cut in. ‘Do say you’ll come.’
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell them,’ Gayle said when the three of them were safely packed with their equipment into the maxi-taxi and on the way to the hotel.
‘Huh! Thus speaks the woman who only told her husband last night that she was leaving this morning on a belly dancing tour,’ Sonya responded. ‘I’m so sorry, guys. You can easily get out of tonight if you want. I’ll say you’re tired or something.’
‘Oh no! I wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ Marissa said.
‘Me neither,’ Gayle agreed. ‘But you are just going to have to own up as soon as we get there, or it’ll be a complete debacle.’
‘No way,’ Sonya said. ‘I’ll wait until later, just before we leave, otherwise it’ll go on all evening.’
Marissa and Gayle exchanged a look. ‘No,’ they said in unison.
‘Straight up, when we get there,’ Marissa said. ‘That’s the deal, or we spill the beans ourselves, right, Gayle?’
‘Right.’
‘Anyway, they’re sweet, and obviously tremendously proud of you and think the sun shines out of your every orifice. What are you worried about?’
Each family has its own unique dynamics, its own subtleties, sensitivities, taboos, expectations and assumptions, and Sonya knew that her own family was no exception. She was familiar with her role in the complex web of relationships, but the emotional cost of maintaining it seemed to have increased substantially over the years, as she tried to appear as the person she thought her parents wanted her to be. She knew that their kidnappings were motivated by love and their pride in her professional standing. But she also believed these were conditional on her continuing to act out her role as the successful elder daughter, the one with the university degree, the high status job, the executive salary, the house in Perth, and a closeness to what they saw as the corridors of power.
The ministerial visit had been, she suspected, a high point in her parents’ aspirations for her. For a while after that she had felt assured of their love and pride, about which she pretended cynicism but which she so desperately needed. Professional success had almost wiped the slate clean of the failures in her personal life: the two embarrassing marriages to totally inappropriate men, the failure to produce grandchildren, and the continuing unsatisfactory absence of a suitable and prestigious male companion.
Living at a comfortable distance, Sonya told herself that her parents did not understand her, but the truth was that she never really gave them the chance to know her. What would Vera and Lew have felt had they known of her occasional Internet dating? Or about the extraordinary series of brief liaisons and one-night stands she’d indulged in after the break-up of her second marriage, or her few half-hearted experiments with amphetamines? Even now, years later, leading a virtually blameless life by contemporary standards, she was careful to maintain the fagade.
‘My sister Tessa was the bad one,’ she explained to Gayle and Marissa on the way to her parents’ house that evening. ‘Dropped out of school, got involved with drugs. Got pregnant and had an abortion. But, of course, all that was forgiven when she got married. David’s a doctor, and Tessa became a perfect wife and mother and produced three beautiful children, who are now three beautiful adults, and one of them is about to produce the first beautiful great-grandchild. So now she’s number one perfect daughter. Always on hand to help the parents.’
‘So d’you get on okay with her?’ asked Marissa.
‘Don’t get me started,’ Sonya groaned. ‘It was fine while she was in trouble and I was constantly rescuing her. Once she got off the drugs and started to get her life together it was like she just switched off.’
‘Sometimes people are like that if you’ve seen them at their lowest point,’ Gayle said. ‘Each time they see you it’s a reminder that you’ve seen their dark side.’
‘It’s probably all in your head,’ Marissa said. ‘Just tell your mum and dad the truth, and then stand back and see what happens. It’s only belly dancing, for heaven’s sake. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘I can’t imagine,’ Sonya said, feeling nauseous at the thought of it. ‘I simply can’t imagine.’
Gayle sat in her hotel room sorting through her costumes. After their first excursion to the costume shop, she and Sonya had got together to make some more. Now she spread them out on the bed, the original blue, another in lavender trimmed with purple and silver, and one in a deep burgundy, almost the same colour as she’d worn for Angie’s wedding. There were some silver harem pants, a couple of cropped jackets trimmed with glass beads, a braided tunic, several belts, and some bras she’d covered with matching materials and embroidered with butterfly motifs. She thought of the hours she and Sonya had spent stitching the strips of sequins, and pinning the fine slippery fabric. They’d both been so excited about it and now – now with the first performance just a day away – the prospect of performing in front of an audience of complete strangers seemed terrifying. She had slept badly after the argument with Brian, waking frequently, fearing that at any moment the snoring in the study would stop and he would blunder up the stairs and into the bedroom. By morning, anxiety and lack of sleep had taken their toll and she had silently packed the remainder of her things thankful that he had not yet surfaced. His appearance as she was about to leave had left her shaking and feeling sick, and she had almost fallen into the back seat of Frank’s car, her heart thumping hard against her ribs, her head pounding.
The ugly bargain they had struck years earlier had been on shaky ground for a long time and it had ended the moment he twisted her arm and dragged her towards him. She knew it and she was convinced he knew it too. He had made it just that little bit easier for her to leave. Now she was haunted by two images: one of Brian, his vice-like grip on her wrist, the veins pulsing in his temples as he thrust his face, purple with anger, into hers; the other of a bewildered middle-aged man, his hair sticking up in odd places, his trousers undone, holding a coffee plunger as he stood in an empty hallway looking totally confused.
In the next room, Marissa massaged lavender oil into her temples, dabbed a little on the back of her neck and settled cross-legged on the floor to meditate. Slowing down her breathing she started to relax by concentrating on her feet and ankles, tensing then relaxing them, and doing the same with her calf muscles, knees, thighs, hips, buttocks and pelvic floor. It wasn’t working. Exhaling deeply she thrust her legs out straight in front of her and leaned back against the side of the bed.
From the moment they boarded the plane in Perth she had been captive to an unfamiliar sense of responsibility. She had organised her life so that she didn’t have to be involved in other people’s problems nor have to rely on their trust or meet their expectations. Now she was involved with, and relying on, two women who were both struggling with emotional upheaval. And she was flying around the state, staying in hotels, renting rooms, printing up fliers a
nd posters, sending out publicity, all on taxpayers’ money. What if no women turned up? What if they couldn’t inspire even one of the women who attended to get some form of dance or other esteem-building activity into her life? The project would just have been a burden on the state.
‘This,’ Marissa said aloud, ‘is why I avoid relationships and friends, why I never wanted to have children, or a job managing other people, or any other sort of serious responsibility.’ She longed to cancel everything, call a cab, go straight to the airport and get the first flight back to Perth, back to the peace, safety and comfort of her blue house. And that was when she thought about calling Frank. He’d listen, be supportive, she would barely have to explain anything. He would just know. She dialled the number and it immediately diverted to message bank and she sat for a moment listening to the sound of his recorded voice, wondering what to say, and then she hung up without leaving a message.
When Sonya’s niece dropped her back at the hotel it was after eleven, and she stood outside on the street breathing in the familiar dry smell of the town, watching as the last few customers turned out of the pub and made their way along the wide pavements where the deep overhang of the shops’ verandahs provided daytime shade. She had been fifteen, angry and resentful when they moved here. Her father’s job transfer had robbed her of her friends, her favourite places and the school where she was about to become a house captain.
She hated the hot, isolated town where there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. And she hated her parents for agreeing to the move and her sister for pretending that she liked the stark, reddish brown landscape better than the tree-lined streets of neat little houses with fresh green lawns they had left behind. It was only a few years later, two years into her degree in Perth when, catching the train to Kalgoorlie for Christmas, she realised that it felt like home. But despite her affection for the place, she still feared its power to draw her back and cut her off from the life she had chosen.
That she had survived this evening at all seemed to Sonya something of a miracle. She had set out determined to honour her promise and come clean straight away about the purpose of her visit. But from the moment she set foot in her parents’ house the forces of family and familiarity claimed her. She was kidnapped again, a child being sized up by her parents. And it wasn’t only her parents. Sonya’s early intimacy with her sister still taunted her and she never quite abandoned the hope that somehow, one day, they would recapture it. Tonight it was obvious from the start that nothing had changed. Tessa greeted her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and the smug superiority of the well married daughter, the producer of grandchildren, the one who had stayed close to home. Tessa and David’s two eldest children were there with their partners; Alannah, the youngest, was expected later.
‘It’s seven years since we were all together,’ Vera said as Lew handed out champagne. ‘What with you young ones gadding off around the world, time flies. We must celebrate.’ And soon she was ushering them in to the dining room. ‘Now, you’ll just have to help yourselves,’ she said. ‘Not enough room for everyone to sit around the table.’
The table was laden with salads, quiches, a home-baked leg of ham, new potatoes dripping with butter and dishes of homemade chutney and pickles.
‘Gran’s traditional spread,’ Tessa’s eldest daughter, Donna, whispered to Sonya, nudging her in the ribs. ‘You could predict it, couldn’t you?’
Sonya tried not to laugh. Her niece was right – beautifully prepared and presented, it was Vera’s standard meal for special occasions. ‘It’s quite comforting really, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I suspect she’ll still be doing this well into the next generation.’ She patted Donna’s pregnant belly. ‘When are you due?’
‘Five weeks today,’ Donna said, ‘and it can’t come soon enough for me. This pregnancy lark is vastly overrated.’
On the other side of the room, Sonya could see her mother bearing down on Gayle with a bowl of coleslaw. ‘Do try some of this, dear,’ Vera was saying, ‘it’s quite an old recipe from the CWA cookbook, but I think it beats any other. Now, tell me about this project you’re involved in with Sonya.’
‘Well,’ Gayle began, helping herself to the coleslaw and shooting Sonya a desperate glance, ‘it’s . . . it’s something new to me, new to all of us, really . . .’ and a look of relief crossed her face as the doorbell rang and Vera excused herself to answer it.
Gayle grabbed Sonya’s arm. ‘For heaven’s sake, Sonya, you’ve got to tell them. You promised.’
But it was Alannah who broke Sonya’s cover. Always close to her aunt, having lived with her for several months while doing her journalism degree, she was back home now working for the local newspaper, and she breezed in, apologising for her lateness and handing her grandmother a large bunch of purple irises.
‘Sonj, you look fabulous,’ she cried, hugging Sonya and then standing back to look at her before ruffling her hair. ‘I love it, the colour, it’s so cool. So, what are you doing here?’
‘She was just going to tell us all about it,’ Vera said, ‘but you must meet Gayle first, and Marissa,’ and she steered Alannah across the room.
‘Oh my god,’ Alannah said. ‘Marissa! You’re the belly dancer. I’ve seen you in Fremantle. We ran a story on you coming to Kal for this women and ageing thing. Mum,’ she turned to Tessa, ‘remember I was telling you, you should go along to those belly dancing classes?’ She turned back to Marissa. ‘D’you actually have to be over fifty to attend, because I’d really love to. Oh, I’m Alannah, by the way, Sonya’s niece.’
Every eye in the room was turned on Marissa, who was balancing a glass of mineral water on the edge of her plate.
‘Nice to meet you,’ she said. ‘Er . . . no, the program is to encourage older women to take up dancing but anyone can come along.’
Alannah took the glass of champagne her grandfather was holding out to her. ‘Thanks, Grandad. Well, cheers, this is so great. And weren’t you bringing a couple of women with you to do some demonstrations?’
The silence was agonising and as far as Sonya was concerned it was all downhill from then on.
Standing on the pavement outside the hotel, listening to the late-night rumbles of the town, she relived that moment when it became clear to her mother that not only was one of her guests a belly dancer, but her own daughter was part of the team. Gayle and Marissa had made their getaway at the first opportunity, insisting they would enjoy a walk back to the hotel, but for Sonya there was no escape.
‘I can’t believe this, Sonya,’ her mother said, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘Belly dancing? I don’t know about your friends, of course, that’s not my business, but for someone in your position, it’s hardly suitable.’
‘Come on, Gran,’ Alannah said. ‘Don’t be such an old stick-in-the-mud. It’s brilliant. Dancing is great exercise and it’s really beautiful. You and Mum should go along, have a go. You could take a couple of the classes, Mum, they’re on every afternoon – do you good.’
Tessa bristled. ‘I have far better things to do with my time than prance around dressed up in a lot of sequins, thank you, Alannah.’ And Sonya thought how much nicer her sister had been in the days when she was unemployed and zonked out of her mind on drugs.
‘I’m glad that at least one of my daughters has some dignity,’ Vera said. ‘This is a great shock to us, Sonya, isn’t it, Lewis?’
Lew cleared his throat. ‘Certainly is, old girl. I mean, you’ve got your career to think of, and then there’s us – we live here, you know. The whole town’ll know about it. All that . . . well, all that thrusting and shimmying, it’s certainly not what I’d have expected of you, Sonya.’
Vera looked up in alarm. ‘Shimmying! What do you know about shimmying?’
‘I was in the Middle East in forty-one. We weren’t fighting all the time, you know, m’dear.’
The tension in the room ratcheted up as the minutes ticked away. With the exception of Alannah, the grandchildren made the
ir excuses and left, obviously heading for the pub where they would doubtless fall about in hysterical laughter. Sonya felt crushed by the weight of her parents’ disapproval. Obviously this offence was casting previous misdemeanours into insignificance. There could be no excuses, no pardons.
‘I’ll talk to Mum,’ Alannah had said as she drove Sonya back to the hotel. ‘She’ll be fine when she’s not with the oldies.’
‘I doubt it,’ Sonya said, shaking her head. ‘Your mother and I lost our connection years ago.’
‘She’s intimidated by you, that’s all,’ Alannah said. ‘I don’t understand her, really. She’s lovely about you when you’re not there, and a perfect bitch to you when you are. I think she’s just longing to do the sister thing, but can’t bring herself to make the first move.’
Sonya shrugged. ‘It’s too late now. I don’t even know how to talk to her anymore. I didn’t want to hurt them, you know. But this was something I really wanted to do. I can’t imagine, now, how I thought I could . . . well . . . get away with it.’
‘They’ll get over it,’ Alannah said as she stopped the car outside the hotel. ‘Just give them time. And anyway, it’s your life. You’re fifty-something, you don’t need their approval.’
Sonya swallowed hard. ‘That’s the trouble,’ she said. ‘I actually do, pathetic as that may seem at my age, Alannah. I do still need their approval.’
Frank was late getting home. It was after eleven when he swung the car into the drive and he’d had a difficult and frustrating day. The drugs case was proving more complex as new leads sparked and then burned out and the tendrils of the syndicate extended up the coast and into other states. A drink and bed beckoned but, despite his weariness, the feeling that something was wrong kicked in as soon as he opened the car door. And in the next second a man emerged from the shadows of the adjacent house and grabbed him by the lapels in an attempt to thrust him back against the car.