by Liz Byrski
His gloom about the case was compounded by the old depression and the fact that Marissa was neither answering her phone nor returning his calls. Her silence over the past week was deafening. Something had happened in Port Hedland and she clearly wanted to be left alone. He feared that whatever she was struggling with might end up changing things between them.
‘Cheer up, Frank, it might never happen,’ said a voice behind him, and before he could turn, there was a hand on his shoulder and warm breath in his ear.
‘It already has, Gina,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen you for months. I didn’t know you were back in Fremantle.’
She settled on the stool beside him. ‘Been back a while now. Couldn’t stand the southwest – too quiet. I’ll have a Redback, if you’re buying.’
He signalled the barmaid, and ordered her drink and another for himself.
‘You look as though you might have had enough already,’ Gina said, adjusting the plunging V-neck of her black dress. It was long and simple, made of some sort of T-shirt fabric that draped softly over her legs. ‘You’re a mean man when you’re drunk.’
‘You never complained before,’ he said. ‘In fact, I thought you got me drunk to take advantage of me.’ How easy it was to fall back into playing the old games.
Gina grinned and raised her glass. ‘You should be so lucky,’ she said, and Frank knew that he could, if he chose, get lucky again right now.
‘You’re looking good,’ he said. ‘Are you working?’
She nodded, ‘New Age shop down the road, weekends.’
Frank smiled. ‘What are you reading this time? Classics?’
‘Get off,’ she said with another grin. ‘The tarot, and palms, whatever people want. Like me to take a look at your palm, Frank? Want to know what’s waiting round the corner?’
He shook his head. ‘I can barely cope with the present, let alone the future,’ he said. ‘Are you living in the same place?’
Gina shook her head. ‘That warehouse conversion on South Terrace. I moved in last week.’
Frank let out a low whistle. ‘Going up in the world. Not your usual style.’
Gina took a long drink of her beer. ‘A legacy. My dad died. It’s all right, you don’t need to do the sympathy thing. He was in his nineties and didn’t know one day from the next. He was ready to go.’
‘Just the same . . .’
‘Yeah, just the same . . . It’s sad, but he went peacefully.’
‘And he left you something?’
‘Everything. I knew he would, I’m an only child. What shook me was finding out how much there was. He’d been living like he was hard up but it turned out he’d got a whole lot of investments. He had one of his mates in the RSL looking after them.’
‘So you rented a fancy apartment.’
‘Bought it. I knew I’d fritter that money away if I didn’t put it into bricks and mortar. I’m fifty-three and it’s the first time I’ve owned my own home.’
Frank raised his glass. ‘Impressive starter home,’ he said. ‘Well, here’s to you, Gina, a good decision.’
Gina nodded. ‘Two bedrooms, state-of-the-art kitchen, white marble bathroom, spa bath,’ she paused. ‘And a jacuzzi in the courtyard with jets in all the right places. You should come and have a look, Frank, help me christen it.’
He paused, looking hard at her. She had the complexion of a much younger woman; only when he got as close as this were the tiny lines visible around her eyes. The once-blonde hair was streaked with grey, and it brought a lump to his throat.
‘How long have we known each other?’ he asked suddenly.
Gina shrugged. ‘Twenty years? More maybe, on and off –’ she laughed – ‘literally! What d’you reckon? You look like you need something to take your mind off your troubles. What is it this time, the Vietcong or the crims?’
‘Bit of both,’ he said, ‘and more. A Jacuzzi, eh?’
‘Big enough for four but more fun for two.’
‘Sounds like just what I need,’ he said, finishing his drink and signalling again to the barman. ‘Better take a couple of bottles of decent champagne with us so we can do it properly.’
Gina threw back her head and laughed again. ‘Ah, dear Frank,’ she said. ‘As long as I can remember, you’ve always known how to do it properly.’
Oliver was feeling rather as he had done at the age of ten, on his first visit to the Royal Show. He’d been looking forward to seeing the animals, to throwing balls into the open mouths of plastic clown heads as they turned from side to side, and he’d pictured success at the shooting ranges. But Janet, who was a year younger, had dared him to go on the Big Wheel. Even at ten the prospect of being suspended hundreds of feet above the ground in a perilously swaying wooden box was not Oliver’s idea of fun, but he felt bound to rise to the challenge.
Having survived the Wheel, and even almost enjoyed it, he had foolishly dared Janet to go with him on the roller coaster, confident that the prospect would reduce her to tears. But Janet was made of sterner stuff, and they were soon careering at breakneck speed up and terrifyingly down the steep slopes and wild curves of the track, grasping a metal bar that shuddered in his grip. Oliver had emerged white faced and shaken, and for the next hour at least was at severe risk of bringing up his lunch. That was exactly how he felt now as he left the centre of the floor and headed for the plastic chairs lined up along one side of the studio.
What madness had induced him to inflict this torture on himself? One minute he was chatting to Gayle on the phone, feeling happy, positive and inspired, and now here he was, three days later, wondering what on earth he was doing. Gayle had a lot to answer for – she, after all, had suggested it. It had been so good to talk to her again he’d been completely carried away by the relief of finding their friendship intact. She told him all about Josh and her own past and he, in turn, told her about his therapy. No apology, no going over what had happened seemed necessary; it was a conversation like they used to have, only better, because now she was telling him things about herself, and he was remembering to ask.
‘I do admire you for sticking with the therapy, Oliver,’ Gayle said. ‘I tried once and it was so confronting I couldn’t face going back.’
‘But look what you’ve done now, Gayle,’ he answered. ‘Going on this tour, finding your son and telling him everything, and now you’re telling me. That’s huge and really brave.’
‘It’s the dancing,’ she said. ‘It got me out of my head and into my body, made me see everything more clearly. Come to think of it, Oliver, something physical might be good for you too.’
So a couple of hours later he’d found himself standing in front of the noticeboard in the Fremantle Public Library, staring at the advertisements for tennis clubs and gyms, yoga classes, Pilates, fitball and pleas for members to join the soccer team. But Oliver was the least sporty person imaginable. He had once joined the university gym only to set the treadmill running so fast that his glasses steamed up and he couldn’t see how to stop it. He’d been rescued by a student whom he’d recently failed for plagiarism, so it was embarrassing as well as scary.
There was a walking group wanting members, someone looking for a golf partner, and a sponsorship form you could fill in to pledge that you would run the city-to-surf in aid of the Heart Foundation. Oliver’s own heart missed a beat at the mere prospect. And then he saw it, a scarlet postcard with the black silhouette of a couple dancing.
It Takes Two to Tango!
Get fit, meet people.
Learn the tango, the rumba, the salsa.
Beginners welcome.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time – after all, look what dancing had done for Gayle, and Sonya too was insisting that she was fitter and more in touch with her body. That was obviously what he needed and so here he was, sweating profusely from exertion and embarrassment, and clearly the only person in the room totally incompetent when it came to Latin American dance.
‘No, no, Oliver,’ Ramon called wh
en he spotted him slinking way into a corner. ‘More practice, come back here, try again. Judy will help you this time, won’t you, darling?’
Oliver’s heart sank. Ramon was a slavedriver with gleaming gelled hair, olive skin and a body like a rod of iron. In a scarlet satin shirt and tight black flared pants he might as well have had a whip in his hand given the authority with which he dominated the dancers.
Oliver lurched against the wall as Judy came towards him smiling, hands out stretched. ‘Come on, darl,’ she said kindly. ‘Just go through the moves with me and then he’ll pick on someone else.’
Oliver was relieved to see someone he knew at his first class. Judy was married to his doctor and he was staggered to discover that this plump, grey-haired, sixtyish woman, normally seated behind the reception desk at the surgery, was a tigress on the dance floor.
‘I may not have any moves left in me,’ he groaned as she put his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder. ‘Are you sure I should be doing so much my first time?’
‘No half-measures with Ramon,’ she said with a smile. ‘He’s a great believer in the deep-end theory. He tortures everyone the first week, so we’ve all been through it. Now we’ll have a go and that’ll keep him happy. Let’s do the promenade, seven steps, a turn and then the corte and the quebrada – that’s where you bend me backwards and lean over as though you’re going to ravish me. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I’m a trained nurse.’
‘I saw Angie the other day,’ Trish said, ‘in David Jones. She was buying a wok.’
‘She told me,’ Gayle said. ‘An electric one. She said she’d seen you.’
‘I’m surprised she didn’t get one as a wedding present. So you’ve spoken to her, then?’
‘This morning,’ Gayle said towelling her hair with her free hand. Trish had called just as she was coming out of the shower.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Great. Really. I mean, I’ve told you about Josh – it’s made such a difference to me, Trish. He might come down, he and Dan, when I’ve sorted things out. You won’t recognise him.’
‘Yes, yes, I know, that’s wonderful, Gayle. But I meant Angie. Is everything okay with Angie?’
‘As far as I know. Why wouldn’t it be?’
There was a pause. ‘I don’t know . . .’ Trish began. ‘It’s just that she didn’t quite seem herself. I mean, she’s normally so bubbly but I thought she was rather down.’
‘She didn’t say anything to me,’ Gayle said. ‘Is it Brian, d’you think?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Angie said she hadn’t heard from him for more than a week now. He’s away. When did you last speak to him?’
Gayle hesitated. ‘A couple of weeks ago. I suppose I should find out when he’s coming back to Perth.’
‘Does it feel odd, being away so long, having all this happening? Fronting up to Josh and not being on the end of the phone for Brian whenever he chooses to call?’
‘It feels fantastic. Like I’ve been let out of a cage. I still have to talk to Angie and Brian, though, and, Trish . . . I’ll tell you more when I get home. More about me, and the past.’
‘Yeah yeah,’ Trish said. ‘I know, all the secrets are coming out. Plenty of time for that. But Angie, you’re sure she’s okay?’
‘I think she’d quickly be on the phone to me if she wasn’t. Anyway, I’ll be home soon.’
She sat down on the edge of the bed, dropped the phone back into her bag and stared at the concentric patterns on the carpet. Trisha’s call had dampened her spirits. It was a reminder of what was ahead, that this particular adventure was coming to an end and a new and difficult one was about to begin. Three days left in Geraldton, and then a day’s drive back to Perth. Perhaps she should find out where Brian was and when he’d be home. Reluctantly she got the phone out again and sent him a text.
Brian, with a sheaf of real estate agents’ papers in his hands, was viewing a three-bedroom apartment in Manly, with a view across the water. He could just see himself here, sitting out on the balcony in the mornings in his dressing gown, morning papers, pot of coffee. It was small, of course, a third the size of the house, but Gayle had always complained that the house was too big. A mausoleum, she’d called it, which was hurtful really, considering he’d only been trying to do his best for her and Angie. Somewhere like this ought to keep her happy, though: sell the house, make a move over here, set up a consultancy business. On the other hand, he could afford to retire. Play the stock market a bit, some golf, get into a wine club, things he’d always wished he’d had time to do. Plenty of men younger than him were taking early retirement and plenty more wished they could afford it.
The agent was having a long and loud conversation on his mobile phone, and Brian went out onto the balcony and watched the ferry pulling in to the wharf. A week earlier he’d moved out of the Sydney CBD hotel into one in Manly to see if he liked it. He did. He felt better here, and when he thought of Perth he realised it was over for him. It reeked of failure and he didn’t need that.
Ruminating on the past he recognised that he had got a few things wrong. He should have spent more time with Gayle, for a start. It couldn’t have been much fun for her stuck at home while he was travelling around the country and back and forth to Chicago. Well, he could put that right, they could do plenty together from now on. She could ditch the job and the study thing that she’d probably only been doing because she missed having him around. With a place like this, they’d have a great time, travel a bit – take a cruise, maybe – and he could buy a boat, one of those motor launch things.
‘Top class location, isn’t it?’ said the agent, joining him on the balcony. ‘It won’t be around for long at this price, Mr Peterson. Someone’ll snap it up in the next couple of days.’
‘Give it a rest, mate,’ Brian said. ‘I wasn’t bom yesterday. This place has been on the market for a couple of months because the vendor is demanding an exorbitant price and won’t look at a lesser offer. I’ve done my homework. Now, if you really want to sell me this joint you’d better stop playing silly buggers. Let’s go and have a drink and talk about a deal.’
Gayle’s message buzzed into Brian’s phone several glasses of wine later, just as he was shaking hands with the agent. He stood in the shade of the palms in The Corso to read it. When was he going to be home? Perhaps her going away had been a good thing. Maybe now she was looking forward to getting back to normal again. He smiled at the text, wondering whether he should play her own game for a while, let her wait for an answer. Overnight, perhaps? Maybe a few days? He wasn’t ready to go home yet, he had to feel right about it. He needed a bit more time and then, when he went home, he could tell it his way, make it seem more as though he’d been part of the decision. And there’d be the sweetener: a place in Manly, a whole new life. Perhaps it was turning out to be a blessing after all, a new start. That was what he needed, what they both needed: a new start.
Getting away from Port Hedland hadn’t proved to be all that Marissa had hoped, but it was an improvement. Despite the way she felt, she was pretty sure she was giving the impression of normality, but she knew she could unravel at the slightest provocation. Part of her longed to be home, safe in the cocoon of her house, wind chimes singing on the verandah, the scent of lavender in the garden. But each time she imagined herself there she knew that something had changed. The isolation she had treasured was now much less appealing. The intimacy of this shared journey had given her a taste for the company of friends and, much as she wanted to be home, she didn’t want this time to end.
‘The day you trust someone, Marissa, is the day you’re going to crack wide open,’ Gina had once said, slipping the cards back into a pile after a reading. ‘That day all hell’s going to break loose and whatever it is you’re hiding is going to hit the fan like the proverbial –’
‘I’m not hiding anything,’ Marissa had said.
‘Maybe hiding’s the wrong word, but whatever’s festering away in there will burst
out one day and, if it doesn’t kill you, it’ll set you free.’
‘Good lord, Gina, you’re even starting to sound like some wise old gypsy now.’
‘I’m a wise old gypsy’s granddaughter and another’s great-granddaughter,’ Gina said. ‘I know what I’m talking about, believe me. One day, Marissa, you’ll let down your guard and someone will sneak in. They’ll get under your skin, may even love you, and when they do, you’ll face your biggest ever battle.’
‘I don’t have battles,’ Marissa had said, putting on her sunglasses despite the rather dark interior of Gina’s rented cottage. ‘I don’t need to.’
Gina laughed and stood up, taking the money Marissa held out to her. ‘Your battle is with yourself, Marissa, yourself and the past. As soon as you let someone in, you’ll have to face the fact that they can see who you are and they might actually like what they see.’
Marissa had slipped her wallet back into her bag and headed for the door. ‘The reading was good, Gina, the psychology was shonky. See you next time.’ She hadn’t, though, because next time she wanted her cards read she went to another tarot reader, who didn’t know her.
Marissa picked out her costume for tonight, checked that the fastenings were okay and slipped it into her bag. Two more performances, two more days to go, and they’d be on the home stretch. Then what? Would these new friendships last, or was it just an element of the journey that would evaporate once they were home again? She knew that while a part of her desperately wanted the friendship, another part was terrified of breaking out of her emotional isolation.
There was a tap on her bedroom door. ‘You ready?’ Sonya called.
‘Almost,’ Marissa said. ‘Come in.’
Sonya flopped backwards onto the bed. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said. ‘We’re in our fifties, for god’s sake – actually our late fifties. Aren’t we supposed to take life easy, get our hair permed, wear fluffy slippers and have a rest in the afternoons?’