by Liz Byrski
‘Don’t you think you’ll get lonely in Manly?’ Angie had asked him.
‘No way,’ he said, telling her about the clubs he’d join, ‘and I’m going to get myself a boat, a motor launch, I think – yachting’s not my line but I like being on the water.’
‘But what about at home,’ she persisted. ‘You’re used to being looked after at home.’
‘So I’ll get a cleaner, and I’ll eat out a lot. Plenty of places close by. Breakfast on the waterfront reading the papers . . . you know the sort of thing. It’s the way of the future, you know, Ange, eating out. Very European. Asian too.’
Angie shrugged. ‘Well, if that’s what you want, but I’m worried about you.’
‘Don’t be,’ he’d said, putting an arm around her shoulders, ‘I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself, darling girl. I can look after me. And I’ve got plenty of space, and a nice room with an ensuite for when you come to visit.’
Brian had been both shocked and furious when Angie and Gayle together had confronted him with Angie’s situation. His first instinct had been to go straight around to the house and king-hit Tony, let him know that no one messed with his daughter like that. But that had sent Angie into more floods of tears and Gayle had restrained him.
‘This is not helping, Brian,’ she said in that new, stroppy tone she’d got from her dancing friends. Brian felt he hardly knew Gayle anymore; she was so damned bossy and confrontational now. ‘Just listen to Angie, hear what she’s saying. She needs our support. What she doesn’t need is you barging round there and making things worse.’
What Angie was saying was that she wanted Tony to move out for a while to give her some space. Gayle’s view, as she told him while Angie was in the bathroom repairing her make-up, was that Angie wanted a separation and a divorce but couldn’t confront Tony with that in her present emotional state. Time apart was, in fact, the first step towards ending the marriage.
‘Then if that’s the way you want it, okay,’ he said, taking Angie’s hand. She was calmer now. ‘But I won’t put up with that bastard bullying you. If he won’t move out, you just get straight on the phone and I’ll be –’
‘Brian, stop!’ Gayle had said, glaring at him. And he’d stopped.
Stopping didn’t, of course, stop the overwhelming urge to protect his daughter. The thought that any man could bully her like that chewed away at him like a swarm of termites. But he was able to draw some satisfaction from the fact that Gayle now had an example of what bullying really was. He hoped that she was contemplating her own unfair complaints and accusations about him. Anyway, it was water under the bridge. The new, harsh Gayle wasn’t someone he wanted to be around.
‘There’s something else you need to know, Dad,’ Angie had said. ‘Mum’s told me who my real . . . I mean, my biological father is.’
Brian’s stomach did a sickening somersault. Somehow this was the one thing that he had not been able to remake to his own liking. Having always done the right thing – indeed, what he had often thought of as the positively noble thing in the circumstances – the very thought of Angie somehow connecting with that man got to him in a way that nothing else could. Gayle had stitched him up completely over this, firstly by making a cuckold of him years ago, and now by spilling the beans. He was cornered. His only option was to grin and bear it, to be magnanimous. There it was, that word again. It hadn’t done him much good the last time, but it was the only tactic now left to him.
He forced a smile and a shrug which he hoped looked self-deprecating. ‘If that’s what you want, Angie, of course I won’t be the one to stand in your way. But you’ve gotta remember that he’s probably got a family too.’
She leaned over and kissed him then and slipped her arm through his. ‘Thanks, Dad, I knew you’d help. And I don’t want to rock the boat for him. I just want to meet him once. I’ll be discreet.’
Gayle got up to leave then, and he followed her to the front door.
‘You know, Brian,’ she said, turning around to him before she opened the door. ‘You do have a child of your own. In view of the way things have turned out, you might want to give some thought to that. Josh and Dan will be down here in a couple of weeks – maybe you feel you have something to say to your son?’
There it was, that winded feeling again. It made him stop in the middle of the hall and gasp for breath. Was there no end to this?
‘I have nothing to say to him.’ Brian had said, moving forward to open the door. ‘Absolutely nothing at all.’
Sonya walked around the house savouring the solitude. After weeks on the road, and then having Gayle live with her, the stillness and the sense of being alone were strange, but life was returning to normal. She went down the three steps from the back door into the garden and sat on the bench under the jacaranda, brushing aside the flowers that had fallen like a purple puddle onto the garden table. What instinct was it that had made her want to move from this place? Whatever it was it had gone now. She loved the house and the garden; they were full of precious memories. Maybe it wasn’t the house that had created that niggling restlessness – perhaps she had just needed a change.
She pulled some weeds out of the rockery which she’d built a few years ago and which now looked as though it was nature’s own idea. Small patches of moss, clumps of baby’s tears and some tiny pink star-shaped flowers that she couldn’t name rambled over the rocks; it bore her stamp, a stamp that would be totally out of character in a glitzy apartment building. The phone rang as she walked back into the kitchen.
‘I’m ringing from the station,’ Tessa said.
‘Oh, good, that’s nice,’ Sonya replied, wondering why she needed to know that Tessa was at the station. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Nowhere,’ Tessa said. ‘I’ve just arrived. I’m here, in Perth, at the East Perth terminal. Are you at home?’
‘Obviously.’
‘I mean, are you going to be there if I grab a cab and come over?’
Sonya put down the phone. ‘Weird,’ she said aloud, ‘totally weird. What the hell’s she doing here? Should’ve asked her,’ and she looked around to see if there were anything she wanted to put away or rearrange before Tessa paid her first ever visit to the house.
‘Nice place,’ Tessa said when Sonya opened the door a short time later. She leaned forward to kiss her, and Sonya, totally taken aback at this sudden and unexpected gesture of affection, almost moved away – almost, but not quite. She patted Tessa awkwardly on the shoulder to compensate for any apparent lack of warmth.
‘I think so. Well, come on in. Coffee? Tea? Glass of wine?’
‘Wine would be nice.’ Tessa followed her through to the kitchen. ‘So this is how smart senior bureaucrats live.’
Sonya gave a sharp intake of breath and felt her hackles rise.
‘Sorry,’ Tessa said, blushing deeply. ‘Shit! I’m sorry, Son, I didn’t mean that like it sounded. It was a joke, a stupid one. Honestly, I’m sorry.’
‘That’s a relief. I thought we were off to a pretty bad start there.’
Tessa pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Just when I’m trying to do it right, I go and stuff it up completely.’
Sonya took two glasses from the cupboard and found a corkscrew. ‘So what exactly is it you’re trying to do, Tess? You’ve barely acknowledged my existence for the past couple of decades, and then I get a phone call about your new grandchild and now a surprise visit. Why are you here? I’m confused. Have I somehow missed an important chapter of the family history?’
Tessa fiddled with her gold chain-link bracelet, a habit she reverted to under pressure. Even in the days when there had been no gold, but a couple of narrow black leather strips woven through some coloured beads, the twisting had always been a sign of her anxiety. The memory of that bracelet and the times she had watched Tessa’s fingers tugging and twisting at the leather returned to Sonya with astonishing clarity.
‘I hoped we wouldn’t start off like this,’ Tessa said. ‘That we could s
ort of work up to it.’
Sonya raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? We barely speak for twenty-odd years and then you roll up at the door and we have a nice glass of wine together and chat about the weather, or that very elegant suit you’re wearing? Shit, I’m doing it now – sorry. Why don’t we call it quits and start again? Why’ve you come to Perth?’
Tessa reached out for her wine glass. ‘To see you.’
‘You came all the way from Kal to see me? Is there something wrong at home? Mum and Dad, are they sick?’
‘No, Son, everything’s fine at home. Mum and Dad are fine, they sent their love.’
‘They did? I thought I’d been disowned. They sent their love?’
‘Of course, why not? You didn’t really think that stuff about the belly dancing would last, did you? Look, by the end of that week Mum was accepting compliments about you at the CWA, and she and Dad were telling everyone how proud they were.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No. They think the sun shines out of your bum, for heaven’s sake. It’s just that you took them by surprise, you should have told them before you arrived. All they needed was time, and in the end it was done for them because the women at the CWA couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful the belly dancing was. Sometimes Mum and Dad forget that they’re not living in the fifties, and that we’re not teenagers. You take it all too seriously – they always come round. They were disappointed that you didn’t call in before you left, though, but there you go.’
‘I see,’ said Sonya, who didn’t really.
‘So, no, there’s absolutely nothing wrong at home. It was . . .’ Tessa hesitated. ‘It was just that I wanted to see you, and to talk to you . . . I wanted to apologise.’
Sonya’s suspicion returned. ‘For what in particular?’
‘Lots of things, but most of all for treating you like shit all these years.’
Sonya sighed. ‘But why, Tessa? Why? I never understood. And why is it different now?’
Tessa twisted her bracelet so tight that the catch snapped, suddenly making them both jump. She laid it on the kitchen table, fiddling with it still, pushing the flat chain into different shapes. ‘I was jealous, just so unbearably jealous.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of you, of course, you and your perfect life in the city. Your independence, the prestigious job, jealous of the sort of person you were, something I could never be. And most jealous of all about you being the favourite, the trophy daughter who gets boasted about all the time.’
‘Me?’ Sonya said. ‘Since when?’
‘Since always. Well, at least since I went off the rails.’
‘But you got back on the rails. You married a doctor, you produced the perfect grandchildren for them, Tessa, how prestigious . . . how much on the rails is that?’
‘Oh, I know it should be,’ Tessa said. ‘But, you see, it never seemed like it, because you were out there in the bigger world, doing important things, being successful, achieving. I felt like second best. A basket case who’d had to come home in disgrace, had to be rescued from her own stupidity by her big sister.’
Sonya stared at her. ‘It wasn’t like that, Tess.’
‘It was to me. That’s just how it felt. Call it paranoia, if you like. Put it down to the drugs. But that was how it was, and nothing I did seemed to make it go away. You think Mum and Dad disapprove of you? Heavens, they forgave me and took me back after my episode as a junkie – belly dancing’s nothing. They huffed and puffed that night but it doesn’t stop them thinking you’re the bee’s knees. David reckons it’s you and me that are stuck in the past, not Mum and Dad. He says that in our own ways we’re still reacting to what used to be, with them and with each other.’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows? But it was my jealousy, you see, I just couldn’t let it go.’
‘And now?’ Sonya said. ‘What’s different now?’
‘I saw you dance,’ Tessa said. ‘Alannah made me go. She came back after she’d dropped you off at the hotel. David and I were home by then. And she just got stuck into me. She said I had my head in the sand and was being stupid. That I kept talking about how wonderful it was when we were kids, and I was missing out on having a great sister. She said I was being childish. And then she said she wanted me to do one thing for her, and that she’d be deeply disappointed if I didn’t agree.’
‘What?’
‘She wanted me to go and see you dance.’
‘And?’
‘Well, of course, I said no, and I could tell she was really disappointed in me, so I hung on all week and then, on the day of your last performance, I called her and said I’d go.’
‘So you were there,’ Sonya said. ‘Marissa and Gayle both said they thought saw you, but I didn’t. At least I didn’t think I did. Maybe it just seemed so improbable that I wasn’t able to see you.’
Tessa shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I was there and I did see you.’ A tear slid down Tessa’s cheek and she brushed it away. ‘And you know what? I looked at you up there dancing, and you looked so beautiful, and so confident. You were doing something I’d never dreamed you might do, and quite suddenly – I felt proud. Incredibly proud that you were my sister. I felt proud instead of jealous. And then I . . . I realised how terribly I’d missed you.’
TWENTY-NINE
Frank was grating cheese for a moussaka. He was finding it hard to keep his mind on the task at hand but he persevered, making a roux, adding milk, white wine and cheese and then folding it between the layers of potato and vegetarian filling. Finally he put it in the oven, set the timer, poured himself a glass of wine, went out to the verandah and sat gazing into the shadows of the garden. So much had happened since the night Marissa had told him her secret. He’d sat with her until she finally stopped crying, then he’d poured her a brandy, and when she protested, he’d been able to persuade her to drink it in some warm milk with honey.
‘I’d better go after this,’ she’d said, sipping it cautiously.
And he’d laughed and said: ‘The only place you’re going, Marissa, is to sleep. You can have my bed and I’ll sleep down here. I’m not leaving you alone tonight.’ He thought she might protest, but she just looked at him and nodded, and he could see that she was so exhausted she hadn’t the strength to argue.
He helped her up the stairs and into the bedroom, where she climbed fully dressed into the bed. She was asleep within minutes. Downstairs again he poured himself a very large brandy and sank into his chair to drink it before looking for the spare pillows and a blanket. But the next thing he knew there was sunlight pouring in the window, and the brandy was still on the coffee table.
‘I’m sorry I woke you,’ Marissa said. ‘I feel very bad about taking your bed. You must have been really uncomfortable.’ She was stepping into her leathers as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked stupidly.
‘Home, of course,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going away today – Yallingup, was it?’
‘Yes,’ he said, waking up fully now, ‘yes, I was, but –’
‘I don’t want to hold you up.’ She picked up her helmet. ‘I don’t really know how to thank you for . . . well, for listening, for taking care of me. When you get back –’
‘Don’t go yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll make us some breakfast, or at least let me make you some coffee, or tea, you prefer tea . . .’
‘I could have some tea, I suppose,’ she said, hesitating by the door.
‘Have some tea and then come with me,’ Frank said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Come to Yallingup. Come today. The place has two bedrooms, it’s right near the beach. You can rest, relax, read books, swim – that’s what I’m going to do. You don’t have to talk about anything or be sociable.’
She looked at him for what seemed ages. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s Sunday and I’ve got classes next week. I was away for ages and I’ve only just got going again. I can’t stop now.’
‘What about Sonya o
r Gayle, wouldn’t they do it for you?’
Marissa hesitated. ‘I suppose . . . no, they couldn’t teach.’
‘No, but they’re pretty experienced now. Couldn’t they just get the others practising?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t ask them, they’ve already been so good. Anyway, what would I tell them?’
‘The truth?’
‘The truth? All of it?’
‘You told me.’
‘I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know I would . . .’
‘But you did, and that was brave, and it was also a huge step and you’re going to feel shattered for the next few days at least. Even if you stay home you need to rest, you may not be able to teach your classes.’
She swayed slightly, steadying herself with her hand on the doorjamb.
‘See – you’re wiped out. You certainly shouldn’t get on the bike. Come and sit down.’ He led her back to the couch.
‘I will tell them,’ she said. ‘I want them to know, but I don’t think I can cope with going through it all again yet.’
‘I could tell them for you,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘Or we could go together. They’ll understand, Marissa.’ His longing for her to agree made his chest ache.
‘Do you really want me to go with you?’
‘I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.’
Frank checked his watch now by the light of the kitchen window. Another fifteen minutes and the moussaka would be done to a turn. He sat back in contentment, remembering his own conflicting emotions as they had driven out of Fremantle and headed for the southwest. His delight at having her there beside him in the car was woven through with anxiety about her state of mind and whether he had done the right thing in persuading her to come with him. Perhaps in his desire to be the one who supported her through this crisis, he had been more concerned with his own interests than Marissa’s. Maybe this was a time that she needed to be in her own place, surrounded by familiar things, close to her other friends.