by Liz Byrski
Angie dried her eyes. ‘It’s all so hard,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s too much to cope with and I don’t know what to do.’
Sonya thought she looked about twelve sitting there, her eyes red from crying, her face pinched and pale. ‘Talking to Gayle is one thing you could do. She’s your mother, she loves you dearly, and you’ve always talked to her in the past.’
‘But what about Dad?’ Angie protested. ‘It’s so awful for him . . .’
‘Of course,’ Sonya said, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. ‘But no one’s asking you to choose between them. They’re two very different people who made some decisions that don’t look so good all these years later, so now they’re going in different directions. But you don’t have to pick one, you can have them both. In their own, very different ways they’ve both tried to do the best for you. You might not like some of what’s happened, you might think they should have done it differently, but they did the best they could for you. That’s the most you can ask of any parent.’
Angie was silent, shredding tissues between her fingers. ‘There’s other stuff,’ she said eventually. ‘With Tony. And I want to find my real dad.’
‘Naturally, and Gayle’s the person who can help you with all of that. You just need to call her. That’s all it’ll take.’
Angie nodded. ‘I suppose . . . you won’t tell her . . .’
‘About this conversation? Of course not.’
‘. . . and the transfer . . . ?’
Sonya raised her eyebrows.
‘I did like working with you,’ Angie said grudgingly.
‘Mmm. I liked it too, and you’re very good at your job.’
‘And I’m not really interested in home schooling.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘So what should I do?’
‘Do you really want to know what I think?’
Angie nodded.
‘I think you should tear it up. Take your leave, take more if you need it, have a rest, talk to your mum, and then, when you come back, we’ll talk again. If you want to move, there are always opportunities in other areas. If you decide to stay here, I’ll be delighted.’
Gayle took a last look around the house wondering if she should have been feeling nostalgic, or even guilty. In fact, all she felt was relief and satisfaction that another stage in the process of separating herself from Brian would soon be complete. They had finally come to a financial agreement that left her very comfortable although, according to her lawyer, it was considerably less than she would have got if she’d wanted to fight it. She didn’t. She just wanted it to be over. The papers had been signed and the house put on the market. Now Brian had finally agreed to give her time alone in the house to organise and label what she wanted to take. Tomorrow she would be in a place of her own.
Angie’s car pulled into the drive. She had called a couple of days earlier and this would be the first time they’d seen each other since Gayle had broken the news to her.
‘We could meet at the house,’ Gayle had suggested. ‘I’d like to be sure that you don’t particularly want any of the things I was planning to take.’
As Angie walked in the door, Gayle had difficulty concealing her shock at the change in her daughter. The pale, tense look that she’d noticed on her first night home was nothing compared to the strained expression in Angie’s eyes now, and the hollows beneath them.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ Gayle commented, feeling that an emotional reunion was not on Angie’s agenda. ‘You must be pleased.’
‘Yes. Four kilos.’
They stood in the entrance, not touching, not speaking. Gayle was overcome by the longing to leave. She’d wanted to see Angie, to talk to her, but suddenly it all seemed too hard. The last six weeks of battle with Brian, the decisions, the job of finding a place to rent had drained her. This felt like one battle too many.
‘Maybe you can just go through and see what you think,’ she said in what she hoped was a calm, unemotional tone. If it were going to be awkward, then they might as well be done with it as quickly as possible. ‘Everything I’d like has been labelled, but none of it is essential. If you want something, just say. Then, when that’s all out of the way, you can sort out the rest of it with your father.’
Angie swung round, looked accusingly at her and then looked away again. Gayle, flushing slightly, wished she hadn’t used that term but she wasn’t going to watch every word.
‘I spoke to Josh,’ Angie said.
‘Really?’
‘He says he and Dan are coming down to stay when you’ve moved.’
Gayle nodded. ‘They offered to come and help but I thought I’d prefer to get straight first.’
‘Josh thinks I’m being stupid. Stupid and selfish, but I suppose he’s told you that.’
‘He hasn’t mentioned it to me.’
‘Anyway, it’s what he thinks, and I guess it’s what everyone else thinks – except for Dad, of course.’
‘Well, it’s not what I think,’ Gayle said.
Turning away from her, Angie went down the steps into the family room, and fingered the pleated silk shade on one of a pair of table lamps. ‘I always liked those lamps,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want them. So what do you think?’
‘About you? I think you’re hurting badly. You feel I’ve lied to you and betrayed you, and that I lied to and betrayed Brian too, all those years ago, and you’re right. I think you’re angry with him as well, but you feel he’s the aggrieved party because of my infidelity and my deciding to leave, especially now when he’s just lost his job.’
‘He chose to leave the job,’ Angie cut in.
Gayle looked straight back at her without responding, and Angie looked away again. ‘I think that anyone suddenly finding out that one of their parents is not their biological parent would be in a state of deep shock and hurt,’ Gayle said. ‘So I suppose I feel that your reaction is perfectly understandable, but, of course, it’s also pretty painful for me.’
‘So why aren’t you bothering to tell me what a good mother you’ve been? How you stayed in a marriage that didn’t work, a home you didn’t like, and hung on after Josh was kicked out, just for my sake?’
Gayle shrugged and sat down on the top step. ‘Whatever sort of mother I’ve been you know about – you were on the receiving end. I explained everything else to you and you’ve obviously discussed that with Josh. I’m not about to give myself a testimonial. I love you, Angie, more than I can ever tell you. More than you can ever begin to understand until you have children of your own. But I think you already know that.’ To her surprise, Angie walked back and sat near her on the step, her hostile body language softening.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do know that, but it’s hard, finding out something like this, and then you and Dad splitting up. I feel as though the ground has been cut from under me, as though nothing’s safe anymore.’
Gayle nodded. ‘I know, and I’m sorry, really sorry. I made some awful mistakes and now you’re paying for it and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do to help. Except perhaps help you trace your biological father if that’s what you want.’
‘You said you wouldn’t.’
‘I said I wouldn’t give you his name straight away. I wanted you to think about it, talk to Tony, and, of course, to Brian. It’s a big thing, not just for you, but for . . . for Brian, and for your biological father. I wanted to be sure you gave yourself enough time to think it through, but if you still want to . . .’
‘I still want to,’ Angie said.
‘Okay then, I’ll help you in any way I can.’
‘The thing is,’ Angie said, ‘there’s something else . . . something you don’t know. No one knows, really’ She hesitated, looking around the room, looking everywhere but at her mother. ‘Tony and me . . . it’s not working.’
‘Not working? What do you mean?’
‘It’s not like I thought . . . he’s changed. I mean, I always knew he liked his own way, but it�
��s different now. He just takes it for granted that what he says goes, and if I disagree he takes it badly.’
‘How badly?’
‘Very badly.’
‘So what happens?’ Gayle asked, moving a little closer.
Angie sat up straighter and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. ‘Well, first off he goes very cold and hostile, and he starts talking down to me as though I’m stupid, as though I don’t understand anything. So sometimes I shut up, give in and let him have it his way. It’s not just stuff about what we should do or buying stuff for the house, it’s other things too. Like, this row that’s going on about outcomes-based education – he knows nothing about it and I do, it’s my job, after all, but he just dismisses what I say as though my opinion’s not worth anything. And you know the asylum seekers’ action group where I was volunteering? He made me give it up. He’s very anti the whole thing so I had to stop going, it was just too hard.’
Gayle swallowed and reached out to take her hand. ‘And what happens if you don’t give in, Angie? If you don’t shut up?’
‘It varies,’ she said, returning Gayle’s grip but still not able to make eye contact. ‘Sometimes he’ll just ignore me, behave like I don’t exist, or he’ll be really contemptuous. He does other things too, like refusing to do anything in the house. In fact, sometimes he’ll deliberately create a mess, leave his stuff all over the place. Then I’ve either got to clear it up or, if I leave it, he somehow turns it on me, somehow he makes it my fault.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Sometimes he’ll come up really close and grab my arm and shout right in my face. It’s . . . it’s really intimidating.’
‘So how long has this been going on?’
‘Since we got married. At first when we had an argument or something he’d be really horrible and then we’d end up having a laugh and it’d be all right. But now he never backs down. I’m not allowed to have an opinion that’s different to his. And it’s a bit like . . . well . . .’
‘Like me and Brian.’
‘Yep. Like you and Dad.’
‘And you think it’s my fault?’
‘No, not your fault, it’s just that I can see what he’s doing, what I’m doing . . .’
‘You’re right, of course. Have you talked to anyone else?’
‘I’ve been seeing a therapist.’
‘Good, and?’
‘It’s helped me to see it more clearly, understand why it happens. He told me some things to do and it all makes sense when I’m in his office, but it’s like trying to batter Tony with a lettuce leaf when I actually try to do it.’
Gayle felt physically sick. The desire to protect her daughter was more fierce and painful than the desire to protect herself had ever been. ‘So what do you want to do?’ she asked.
Angie shrugged. ‘I thought counselling together might help but he won’t go. Even suggesting it made him furious. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s great you went to a therapist. It’s the first step in finding a solution, and looking after yourself – something I was never able to face doing. But in the end you’re just going to have to make up your mind whether you think this is fixable, or even worth fixing. Believing you can change someone is traditionally a losing wicket. But if you want to try –’
‘I don’t think so,’ Angie cut in. ‘You see, the thing is that he wants a baby, he wants me to get pregnant now. And I can’t, I can’t bring a child into this relationship, Mum, I really can’t, and he won’t take no for an answer.’
TWENTY-SIX
‘You’ve all been perfectly wonderful,’ Gayle said, drawing the cork on a bottle of Margaret River Shiraz. ‘Time to knock off now – anything else can wait for another day.’
‘One more minute,’ Frank said from the top of the ladder, ‘and this will be completely finished.’
‘I am totally and utterly stuffed,’ Sonya said, sinking down onto Gayle’s cream sofa. ‘I can’t believe how exhausting it is even when you have proper removalists doing the heavy stuff. All that unpacking, cutlery, crockery, books . . .’
‘Now, if you’d just swim regularly, Sonya . . .’ Oliver began, sitting down beside her.
‘One more word about that, Oliver, and you’re a dead man. Today’s labour was your punishment for making me go swimming.’
‘Now, now, children,’ Frank said, stepping down from the ladder, ‘no fighting. And if Oliver was being punished for making you go swimming, what was I being punished for?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sonya said. ‘But give me a minute and I’ll think of something.’
‘I’m hanging out for this,’ Oliver said, taking a glass of wine from Gayle.
‘I’d still be surrounded by unpacked boxes without you guys,’ Gayle said. ‘The curtains would still be packed instead of hanging, and without you, Frank, I’d have no shelves and no pictures on the walls.’
‘There’s nothing like a man with a power tool,’ Sonya said. ‘You should take note, Oliver, get Frank to give you some lessons with the drill. It could improve your chances with women.’
‘It’s never done me much good,’ Frank said, sitting on the floor. ‘We’re a couple of burnt-out cases, Oliver, you and I, totally uncool and past our use-by date.’
‘I fear so,’ Oliver said, joining him on the floor. ‘But you never know; where there’s life, there’s hope. Some woman with insight may one day toss us a glance and recognise our true worth.’
‘Looking at you both sitting there with a patina of dust, sawdust and sweat, I’d say it’s pretty unlikely,’ Sonya said.
‘In the meantime,’ Gayle said, ‘we could think about ordering some food.’
‘And then,’ Oliver said, a couple of hours, two family size pizzas and a few bottles of wine later, ‘you have to do this lunge thing – it’s called a corte – followed by a quebrada – where the woman thrusts her pelvis forward and leans back and you lunge over, as though you’re going to ravish her.’ He straightened up rather precariously. ‘No daylight should be seen between the two bodies. Not easy, and pretty – well, pretty . . .’
‘Pretty raunchy,’ Sonya interjected. ‘This seems so out of character, Oliver, this twice-a-week ravishing at the community centre.’
‘It’s not actual ravishing, Sonya,’ Oliver said, looking around for his glass and treading on a pizza box. ‘Oh dear, I don’t think I was supposed to do that. No, we don’t exactly ravish anyone, we just lunge.’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose and wished the room would keep still.
‘You practise being raunchy.’
‘That’s what I need,’ Frank said. ‘Practice.’
‘It’s difficult to explain, really,’ Oliver said. ‘I think I may have had too much wine.’
‘Perhaps you could just dance it for us, Oliver,’ Gayle suggested, smothering the laughter that was threatening to erupt. ‘Rather than just talking us through it, I mean.’
‘I’d need music . . .’
‘I’ve got music,’ she said. ‘I’ve got tango music, and you’ve already connected the stereo.’ She scrambled to her feet and looked through the stack of CDs she’d rescued from the house. ‘Here,’ she said triumphantly, ‘Los Reyes del Tango.’
‘I’ll need a partner,’ Oliver said, searching for the correct button on the stereo. ‘Sonya?’
‘No way, darl.’
‘You did a rather good jive with me at Angie’s wedding, if I remember right.’
‘But I’ve never attempted the tango.’
‘Well . . . er . . . Gayle, perhaps?’
Gayle held up both hands. ‘Not me, I’ve never danced the tango in my life.’
Oliver sighed. ‘That’s pretty disappointing. I thought this might help me meet people, but no one will dance with me.’
‘You don’t need to meet us, Oliver, you already know us.’
‘I can tango,’ Frank said. ‘In fact, in my heyday I used to be shit hot on the dance floor.’
Sonya clapped
her hands. ‘Brilliant. There, you see, Oliver, perfect. Keep doing the tango and you’ll meet people like Frank.’
‘I meant women, actually.’
‘Yes, but in the absence of them, Frank can partner you. I take it you were volunteering, Frank?’
‘Yes,’ Gayle joined in. ‘Come on, Frank, let’s see what you’re made of.’
‘I don’t know . . .’ Oliver began.
‘Come on, Oliver,’ Frank said, getting to his feet and smoothing down his shirt. ‘These dames need to see how it’s done. I’m your man. Will you ravish or will I?’
‘I definitely want to be the man,’ Oliver said, grasping Frank’s hand. ‘I haven’t got those steps right yet so there’s no way I’m going to try doing it all backwards. So okay, Frank, remember: slow, intense, passionate. Now, this is how Ramon counts it – “Walk, Walk, Tan – Go – Close”, so we’ll start on a promenade. I’m leading with the right foot. Ready? On three. One, two, three . . .’
Side by side on the sofa, Gayle and Sonya, smothering their laughter, watched as the two men, shoulders square and torsos upright, executed an elegant promenade across the room, finishing with a spectacular corte and quebrada as the music ended.
It’s surprising the effect that one unexpected and sober person can have on a room full of people who’ve drunk too much. Marissa’s slow handclap startled them. ‘That was quite extraordinary,’ she said from the doorway. ‘The sort of thing one sees only once in a lifetime.’
‘No, no,’ Oliver protested, in the swing of it now. ‘We’re just getting started. We can do it for you again if you like.’
‘No,’ Frank said firmly. ‘No we can’t.’
‘I think you were both fabulous,’ Sonya said, clapping. ‘So what are you doing here, Marissa? Aren’t you supposed to be performing at the wedding?’
Marissa dropped her keys on the coffee table. ‘I was, but I finished earlier than I expected, so I thought I’d pop over and see how you were getting on. I rang the bell but you didn’t seem to hear and the door wasn’t locked, so I . . .’