by Bunkie King
‘Kirk brings me flowers every week and has done all the years we’ve been married,’ she confides.
In the beginning he only bought a bunch at a time but over the years the amount increased, Anne explains. That is the most wonderful thing I can imagine. It is a romantic sparkle that has never been part of my life. When Jack brings flowers it is usually one bunch split between Le and myself and is generally done as a way of buying forgiveness.
I’m only 24, with an enviable exterior lifestyle, but a gaping hole where my heart should be. I have no money of my own, no career, no children, no house, no security. When it was obvious that his career was taking off, Jack had a solicitor friend from Brisbane help him set up a company. All his income goes straight into the company account, the only account we have. Jack is the sole signatory on the account. Jack makes all the decisions, I don’t even know if I own a share in the assets. We quarrel about my financial position and during one of my anxious protestations I exclaim, ‘And you don’t even have a will!’
In an attempt to appease me he has one made. When he shows it to me I state the obvious — it isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. ‘You can easily change your will!’ I wouldn’t even know if he did.
He replies in a huff, throwing the document on the floor. ‘Nothing I do is good enough for you!’
The truth is I am scared. I have no financial security at all. We aren’t legally married, and, as there are two live-in women, I don’t even have de facto rights. Before my mother left for England she opened a passbook savings account for me. From 1971 to 1978 I manage to accrue about $2000 — my total financial worth after seven years. I can’t pursue a career as long as I am an appendage on the Thompson bus ride into eternity. The only real estate we have at this time is the farm and that is in Jack’s name only. I feel like my whole life is in his hands. He could leave at any time, severing my lifeline without warning. This doubt hangs like a cloud over me but I just can’t summon the guts to break away and start anew.
In late 1978, during a lull in Jack’s career, I start doing temporary office work through a personnel agency. I need to be a real person with a real job, not just a spare wheel. At least it’s some small form of independence. It also brings in a few dollars.
For a few weeks I work for a company in St Leonards in Sydney. An executive there, Ian, becomes quite interested in me. One day he calls me into his office for a discussion that leads to an invitation to lunch. We arrange to meet up once I finish my contract with his company. Because I’m not interested in going behind Jack’s back, I tell him that I want out of our relationship as I want to develop one with Ian. Realising I am determined to leave he makes me an offer.
‘Let’s get married,’ Jack asks.
I’m convinced he’s just playing to my need for security. He hasn’t even considered how this proposal might affect Le.
‘No. You can’t marry me and not Le,’ I protest. ‘That’s not fair.’
She and I aren’t just two random women he is living with, we are flesh-and-blood sisters raised in the same family.
On the day of my lunch date with Ian, Jack insists on driving me into the city. To avoid a possible incident I ensure he drops me off well away from the meeting place. I make my way through the city streets and, because I assume that Ian and I are going to jump straight into bed, stop to buy a cheese roll in an arcade cafe. Leaving the cafe, I take the escalator up to the street. On the opposite escalator heading down I hear a couple say, ‘That was Jack Thompson! I swear. It was definitely Jack Thompson!’ I realise he must be following me.
Near where the escalator comes onto the street is a hotel. I keep walking and meet up with Ian outside the courthouse on Macquarie Street. We go to a nice restaurant in Darlinghurst and enjoy a delicious lunch — no sex.
When I get home Jack starts with the accusations. ‘You said you were only going to lunch. I know you went to a hotel.’
He lost me around the hotel so I guess he assumed I had gone in there. He must have been inside when I walked past.
‘I love you,’ he insists. ‘Why do you hurt me like this?’
Jack always tells interviewers that if any one of us wants out then there are no chains, we’re free to leave, we’re taking the relationship ‘day-by-day’. Perhaps this is how he really wants it to be? I just don’t know.
The threesome has always been more about Jack and Le, they’re more alike, both verbal and extroverted, on the same level of self-assuredness and confidence. Le is the sort of person who can carry on a conversation regardless of what’s going on emotionally for her. I can never pretend everything is fine so I just shut up and say nothing. I have more feelings of anxiety and doubt about the relationship, more insecurity. I’m not very good at subterfuge, at keeping up a facade, at playing games.
At the heart of my problem is the feeling that I don’t really exist as a distinct person within the trio. To feel real I need words of recognition for my contribution to our shared lives. I am beginning to have enough belief in myself to feel that acknowledgement is warranted. But being able to value my own role in the threesome does nothing to relieve my constant longing for the emotional peace that comes when you know you are deeply loved and wanted. After many sleepless nights and painful arguments, Jack and I finally have our showdown.
‘You’re flinging my love back in my face,’ he says. ‘I’ve given you my heart and you’re just throwing it back at me.’
When he finally accepts the inevitable he delivers an ultimatum: ‘Australia isn’t big enough for both of us. You’ll have to leave!’
He is serious. He then asks me where in the world I want to go.
It is as if he just wants me out of the way, regardless of what is in my best interests. If he can’t have me, then nobody in Australia can either.
I feel pressured to do what is right by him. Frightened, confused and seeing his suffering, I am incapable of contesting his demands. I don’t have the courage to defy him and live with Ian — to me that would be betraying Jack, which demonstrates my confused sense of loyalty. Leaving Australia is the only way to appease him — and maybe it’s also the best way for me to start again, to find the true me. I decide to move to England where my mother, brother and one of my sisters are living. And I do have a British passport.
Jack gives me a one-way ticket. That’s all.
‘You’re not to contact any of our friends in England, or anywhere. You have the effect of a bomb wherever you go. You destroy people’s lives!’
Shaken by this, I submit to his outrageous demands. Essentially, he is severing me from everyone I know except my family.
In the weeks before I leave, he constantly tells me how much pain he is in, how upset he is and how he really doesn’t want me to go. I cut myself off emotionally. It’s my nature to make other people happy so I need to remain strong and not let this change my mind. He writes on a Polaroid photograph of Sydney Harbour, Many thanks despite our rage — all my love, Jack. Another time when I am in the shower, he waits for me to open the curtain and takes a shot of me naked — he keeps that one.
He offers to drive me to the airport and I wonder, is he being a decent human being or is he just making sure I actually leave the country? Perhaps he suspects I have made a secret arrangement with Ian to disappear into a new life? But that’s not who I am. That would be dishonourable.
There are no tears as we stand outside the departure gate. I am emotionally exhausted and relieved to be finally breaking free.
I leave Australia in November 1978. As I settle into the flight a steward brings me a bottle of champagne. Ian has arranged it through his brother who works for Qantas. It’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. I’m amazed that someone I barely know shows such kindness. Squeezed into my economy seat I raise my spirits by sipping the champagne. I am excited about the adventure of going overseas. Feeling positive about succeeding on my own, I think, I can do this. Finally I will discover who I am and get on with creating a life
for myself. Ian’s thoughtful gesture shows that someone cares enough to make me feel special — this warms my heart as I fly off into an uncertain future.
Chapter 15
London
I arrive at Heathrow very early in the morning with a huge suitcase containing everything I own and catch a train to Reading. The peak-hour trains are too packed for me to get on so I wait. After three hours the crowd thins and I manage to drag my suitcase into a carriage. I change at Victoria Station to take the Brighton train as far as Crawley. This is where Mother lives.
Jack has called three times already, so she is expecting me. I am exhausted after the long journey, fragile and weary after the dramas of the break-up. Mother is happy to see me and is very loving and nurturing.
For the first few weeks Jack phones me at all hours. He tells me how much he loves me and how much I have hurt him. I fall into the same old trap of feeling guilty because of how much I have hurt him.
After one particularly distressing call, Mother is there to hold me as I dissolve into tears. She is furious with Jack. Now that the relationship is over, we’re more free to converse about such things, a breakthrough for us. The next time he rings she answers the phone.
‘Leave her alone!’ Mother insists, before hanging up.
This is the first time Mother and I have functioned as two adult women. In the two months I stay with her I have some of the most peaceful, carefree, happiest times of my life. I have no responsibilities, come and go as I please, and though hardly flush with funds, and still healing, I can fool around and do whatever I fancy. At age 24, this is the first time in my life I feel this way. I don’t need to consider anyone else when making decisions and nobody tells me what I should do next. I feel released. My newfound freedom enables me to do what has eluded me in the last ten years — to establish an identity of my own.
Mother and I talk about the past, how people relate to each other in general; we also talk about spiritualism. We don’t get too personal as we both have our own issues that are raw and uncomfortable. But it is good to talk with Mother as an equal — one adult woman to another.
After spending a white Christmas with Mother — the daffodil meadow behind her house is blanketed with snow — I relocate to London to get myself established. I meet up with Sarah, one of my friends from high school, and her boyfriend. I end up staying with them in their flat. Sharing the house is another couple and a single guy, James. I sleep on the sofa in the lounge room. I find it strange but sweet when James starts leaving little notes under my pillow. They say things like ‘sleep well and sweet dreams’ and are signed with a heart and kisses. Gradually I enter a relationship with him. After a few weeks the atmosphere in the flat becomes strained. I feel like an intruder. I realise that Sarah is sleeping with James, possibly when her boyfriend isn’t around. I think he has been using me to force the issue by making her jealous.
Around this time I am walking along Brompton Road near Harrods when I bump into Robert Paget, the actor-producer I’d met in Cannes. I gratefully accept his offer to use the spare room of his double-storey, top-floor flat nearby. Bob lives there with Susanna, an English woman he met while staying as our guest in Sydney.
I need to turn to practical things. I need to find a job. I register with a secretarial agency and start work immediately, albeit only temporary postings. It is winter and the days are getting shorter and shorter. I go to work — and then return home — in virtual darkness. But it’s all OK. I relish the feel of snowflakes on my face; it makes me feel alive. I’m in touch with nature despite these cold, alien surroundings.
Then, even better news — I finally get full-time employment with CCPR, the Central Council for Physical Recreation, the national governing body for sport and recreation in the UK. For a 40-hour week I’m paid £50. It’s a pittance — but it’s my pittance.
My dreams of true love are finally shattered by James’s game playing. I’m now convinced I’ll never know what love is — or be worthy of it. I lose faith in everything, even my moral code. With my self-esteem at an all-time low, the best I can hope for is to be desired for my physical attractiveness. I sleep with anyone who shows an interest in me. I set my mind to having sex casually and unemotionally, just for the physical journey. I want to experience the elusive orgasm, something that’s being openly discussed in all the women’s magazines, and something that hasn’t happened in my life so far, although my night with Chris came close.
Because I got involved with Jack at such a young age, I missed out on the typical teenage years of experimentation. I now live it out in London. I can’t afford to go out clubbing but I can respond to whoever shows an interest in me.
I take a different lover every other week and sleep with married men, including my boss at CCPR. They come on to me and I think, Why not? I’m not trying to break up their marriages. I don’t expect or ask for anything. I have no illusions that these men will love me, respect me or care about my hopes and dreams. It’s just a dalliance, a way to get some attention, to have a connection with somebody, to feel wanted, even just for my body. I presume that if they are philandering then their wives are quite aware of it and accept this as I and many other women have. Besides, from my experience most men cheat on their partners and just want sex, so I figure I’ll use them to learn about my sexuality and what men like in bed.
I use men and move on without a second thought. I sleep with an actor while his wife is in hospital having their baby. I know that is a bitch of a thing to do but figure, well, the guy would have got laid anyway, so better it’s me. I’m not looking for commitment and will move on before morning. Amazingly, the only STD I catch is crabs, which I unfortunately share with a couple of people.
When Bob and Susanna break up I move with Susanna to her sister’s place. There’s no way I am going to stay with Bob. I know it is highly likely that Jack will never speak to him again, especially if we share the flat. I don’t want anyone insinuating that I’m the reason for Bob and Susanna’s break-up. I flash back to Jack’s accusation that I’m a bomb destroying people’s lives. I worry it might be true.
Through Susanna I meet her brother, Edward. He is sweet and whimsical, a real gentleman, born into a wealthy banking family who lived in a magnificent estate in Wiltshire. He asks me to move in with him and we establish a casual relationship — he does his thing, I do mine. Edward is away in Nepal when an American guy rings the house at two o’clock one morning looking for another girl who lives there. When I tell him she isn’t home, he invites me over to his place. I am alone, so why not? When I arrive he is too drunk to do anything so we talk for a bit then fall asleep for a couple of hours. When we wake up I tell him I have to go to work. He runs me a deep bubble bath. I sink into it, hugely grateful. Meanwhile, he makes me breakfast which he serves with great attentiveness when I am dressed. We don’t have sex and I never see him again. I don’t even remember his name — although he does mention he lives in Majorca — but this beautiful experience of caring and kindness stays with me.
I also have a brief romance with an American film director, a very sweet guy. He has a chubby face and reminds me of Ian. But because I have little trust in men I don’t commit and probably miss a good opportunity with him. He buys me a solid gold watch from Bond Street for £3000. I give him a Lalique tiger; we exchange these gifts shortly before he flies back to America.
***
A couple of months pass before I hear from Jack again. He calls me in London to ask me to babysit his son Patrick while he attends Cannes in May 1979. His latest film, The Journalist, is to screen there. For Patrick’s tenth birthday he will accompany Jack on his usual world trip to Europe, then travel to England and back home via the US. Someone needs to be with Patrick while he is conducting his business, Jack tells me. I don’t think to ask why Le isn’t going with him as usual. I’m simply pleased that he is at last trying to connect with his son.
However, he explains that Patrick is being very clingy.
‘But Patric
k knows you,’ he says. ‘He will feel safer with you there.’
Jack knows I care about Patrick. I agree to his request but lay down some guidelines of my own.
‘I’ll come to take care of Patrick but not to be your partner or be in a relationship with you.’
I am definitely not interested in rekindling anything. Because I’m sleeping with my boss I am able to arrange to take a week off. My sexual dalliances have their advantages.
The producers of The Journalist are paying for Jack’s accommodation in Cannes but don’t exactly splash out. I climb the stairs of the small dingy hotel. Jack opens the door to reveal one small room with only a double and a single bed. He expects me to share a bed with him.
‘Is this it?’ I ask, wounded. ‘I told you I was only coming here to look after Patrick, not to be your girlfriend!’
Jack says, ‘Don’t worry, I know.’
I reassert that there will be no sex between us. He agrees and appears offended by my even suggesting such a thing.
As we unpack and settle into the room, something I’ve done a thousand times before, he makes an announcement.
‘There are some rules for your stay here. You’re not to leave the hotel room under any circumstances. I don’t want you out and about, in the hub of it.’
I’m dumbstruck, but react to his authoritative manner by falling right back into my old ways; once again I become the submissive girlfriend. My misguided sense of loyalty means I dumbly obey. I rationalise that, after all, I am here to look after Patrick.
The boy and I sit in the hotel room for a couple of days without even a television to occupy us. So what stops me from leaving the room and taking Patrick downstairs to get an ice cream? There’s absolutely nothing physically restraining me except my own illogical code of honour — I’ve given my word.
Patrick and I are usually sound asleep when Jack arrives back late at night, having been out among the action.