Clara in Washington

by Penny Tangey

  But she looks completely calm. ‘I know,’ she says.

  ‘What?! If you know then why are you seeing him?’

  ‘Tony has explained the situation to me and I’m satisfied with what he’s said.’

  ‘You’re satisfied! What does that even mean?’

  ‘It’s not like we’re going to get married ourselves. I’m only here for six months.’

  ‘What about his wife?’ I say.

  ‘That’s not your business, Clara.’

  I walk out of the kitchen and down the corridor to my bedroom. I close the door quietly, because when I slam the door she usually laughs.

  I lie on the bed and remember the cold, calm way she said, ‘That’s not your business.’ Campbell said the same thing.

  But I don’t believe it and can’t believe it. There are certain things that you don’t do, that just aren’t right. And I can’t pretend that I haven’t noticed.

  Chapter Ten

  You make the revolution for yourself.

  Paris student rebellion, 1968

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ says Brad sarcastically.

  I look up from arranging the jam sachets neatly in the box, wondering what I’ve done wrong, but I realise that he’s talking to Emily.

  He adds, ‘I’m going to have that ding-ding-a-ling song stuck in my head all day.’

  ‘Sorry,’ says Emily. ‘But I’m in a good mood and I need to sing.’

  ‘Why are you in a good mood?’ I ask.

  ‘Because I don’t have to go to work today.’ Emily takes the box of jam away from me. ‘They’re fine like that, Clara. They’ll just get messed up again tomorrow.’ She puts the box on the trolley.

  ‘But I like it when they’re all in rows.’

  Ignoring my protest, Emily says, ‘Hey, Clara, do you want to come to Georgetown with me today? My sister’s singing carols in the choir.’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve got some shopping to do.’ This isn’t true, I finished my Christmas shopping weeks ago, but I’m shy about meeting up with Emily outside of the centre.

  ‘Come on! It’ll be fun and it’s only for an hour or so. You can run your errands after.’

  ‘I don’t know how to get to Georgetown.’

  ‘I’m driving,’ she says.

  On the way out we see Hilda walking down the corridor.

  ‘Hi, Hilda,’ I say.

  I expect her to be embarrassed to see me again but she says cheerfully, ‘Hello, Miss Clara.’

  Maybe she doesn’t remember telling me Mary was dead.

  It takes us almost an hour to drive to Georgetown even though it’s only a few kilometres away. It’s half snowing, half raining, which I think means it’s sleeting. The roads are busy with impatient, bad driving.

  The traffic doesn’t bother Emily, though; she crawls through it all calmly. At one intersection the light turns green and Emily fails to move immediately. A car behind her toots aggressively. She says, ‘Whoops!’ but doesn’t seem bothered or flustered.

  Cocooned in the warmth of the back seat of the car I imagine that Brad and Emily are my parents. Emily would be insulted if she knew I was thinking that because she’s only in her mid-twenties. Maybe Emily could be my young aunt.

  We drop Brad off at an historical house in Georgetown where he’s having a meeting about fitting ramps for wheelchair access. Apparently heritage issues are causing complications.

  At Georgetown University we can’t find a parking spot and end up driving in a spiral further and further away from the campus until we finally find one.

  Luckily it has stopped raining as we walk back.

  Emily says, ‘So, what’s new with you?

  I don’t want to mention Campbell. It’s private, and anyway, I want to keep my anarchist friends separate from my Women’s Centre friends. So I say, ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘The other day you said you’d got your results, but then there was all the drama with Mary. How did you go?’

  ‘Why?’ I ask, feeling suspicious. Has Mum put her up to talking to me about this? But that seems unlikely. Mum wouldn’t even know how to contact Emily.

  ‘No reason, just asking.’

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ I say. I don’t say anything else, and I guess that Emily won’t ask any follow-up questions in case it’s bad news. ‘I haven’t checked them yet actually.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t really want to.’ It sounds like a silly and childish answer and I’m embarrassed. To change the subject I say, ‘I love the houses around here!’ Then I cringe. I shouldn’t have said that. The houses are cute, but they’re too cute with painted shutters and turret roofs. To Emily they’re probably sickeningly twee.

  ‘So do I. That’s my favourite.’ Emily points at a massive pile of yellow bricks with white trimmings.

  ‘It’s like a lemon meringue pie,’ I say.

  ‘That’s why I like it,’ she says.

  Up ahead is an enormous grey stone building with a clock tower rising from the middle. It looks familiar – probably because, according to my guidebook, Georgetown University has been in lots of films. A row of lampposts in front of the grey building glow with warm orange light.

  The choir are singing in a courtyard off the main building. We’re late so they’ve already started when we arrive. They’re singing the ding-ding-a-ling song and Emily and I start giggling and can’t stop. Emily stuffs some of her scarf in her mouth to stop herself from laughing and that makes me laugh more. A girl in front of us turns around, gives me an evil look and says, ‘Shhh.’

  I stop mid-cackle. I am being inappropriate and embarrassing. I’m turning into my mother.

  I sniff and Emily looks at me. ‘Are you okay?’ she whispers.

  I nod but Emily doesn’t believe me. She takes my elbow and leads me away.

  ‘What’s wrong, Clara?’ she asks. ‘Do you miss your family?’

  ‘What? No it’s not that. That girl thinks I’m an idiot.’

  ‘Which girl?’

  ‘The one in front who told us to be quiet.’

  ‘Don’t worry about her. We were just having fun.’

  ‘But I was disturbing people.’

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ Emily says firmly. She gives me a tissue. ‘That’s enough, okay?’

  I nod and we walk back to the courtyard. The choir is singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’, which is one of my favourites. I imagine Campbell standing beside me, perhaps putting his arm around me. I don’t think carols would be his thing though.

  There are still five nights until he gets back from Baltimore. I wonder if he’s thinking about me? I wish I hadn’t reacted the way I did when we were in bed. Maybe he thinks I’m just a kid who can’t handle a relationship.

  When the choir stops singing, hot cocoa and shortbread biscuits are served. Standing in the cold, clutching my hot mug, I feel festive. Some of the snow has stuck on the ground. Even though I’ve never had a winter Christmas before it feels familiar and natural.

  Emily introduces me to her sister, Jessica, who seems very shy. I tell her I loved the singing and she stares down at her shoes. I guess Emily is the outgoing one in the family.

  ‘I was glad you didn’t sing “White Christmas”,’ I add. ‘I hate that song.’

  Jessica smiles. ‘We did it before you arrived.’

  Jessica, Emily and I walk back to the car when the concert’s over. Emily says, ‘We’re going to Mom’s house for lunch. You’re welcome to join us.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I have to get going,’ I say.

  ‘Are you sure? Mom’s a great cook.’

  I try to explain that I really don’t want to impose, but Jessica rolls her eyes at me.

  ‘Just come,’ she says. ‘Trust me, it’s easier.�
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  Emily’s mother lives in Silver Spring. Emily turns the radio on and starts to sing along. I stare out the window at the drizzling, dreary street. My thoughts drift to Campbell again. I imagine him sitting next to me in the car, holding my hand.

  When we pull into the driveway I say again, ‘Are you sure your mother won’t mind?’

  ‘She won’t mind,’ says Emily firmly.

  Emily has a key to the house and lets us in. There is an amazing smell, and I realise how hungry I am.

  We go into the kitchen. Emily’s mother is standing near the stove. She looks a lot like Emily, but rounder. She waves a ladle at us in greeting.

  ‘Mom, this is Clara. Clara volunteers at the Women’s Centre with me,’ says Emily. ‘Clara, this is my mother, Stella.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I say.

  ‘Same to you. Now, would you girls like a soda?’ asks Stella.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say.

  ‘I would,’ says Emily.

  Jessica gets out glasses and starts to pour. ‘Are you sure?’ she asks me.

  ‘If it’s no trouble,’ I say.

  We sit at the kitchen table with our drinks.

  Emily and Jessica start a complicated conversation about their cousins, which I can’t really follow.

  I watch what Stella is doing in the kitchen. I think she’s making risotto. I’ve never done risotto. I’m too scared of making a mistake and ending up with glue. I watch as she adds small amounts of liquid and stirs.

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’ I ask.

  Stella says, ‘Aren’t you a darling? Actually, yes. This is nearly ready, so if you could get out the plates, that would be great.’ She points to the cupboard.

  I take out four plates and put them on the bench. She brings the pot over and dishes out the risotto. She gets some parmesan from the fridge and grates it over the risotto.

  I carry the plates to the table and Stella brings forks.

  ‘This is delicious,’ I say after the first bite. ‘I’ve never made risotto.’

  ‘You can cook?’ says Emily, sounding surprised.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Not everyone is as domestically challenged as you are,’ says Stella. ‘I’ll give you the recipe, Clara.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Now,’ says Stella.

  ‘Mom, don’t start,’ says Emily.

  ‘Start what?’

  ‘The third degree.’

  ‘I haven’t said anything.’

  ‘I can tell you’re going to.’

  ‘I am not! I was just going to ask Clara what part of Australia she’s from.’

  ‘Melbourne,’ I say.

  ‘And are you at college?’

  ‘No, I just finished school.’

  ‘So when will you start college?’

  ‘February.’

  ‘And what are you going to study?’ The questions are coming almost faster than I can answer them.

  ‘I don’t know what I’ve got into yet.’

  ‘What have you applied for?’

  ‘Law.’ Of course, I should leave it at that, but I add, ‘But I’m not sure if that’s what I really want to do.’

  ‘What would you do instead?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Stella frowns. ‘Well you need to sort this out.’

  ‘Mom, leave Clara alone,’ says Emily. ‘Not everyone has to have their whole life mapped out.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Jessica supportively.

  Stella pauses and, with a visible effort, she changes the topic. ‘Would anybody like some more?’

  In the car on the way home Emily apologises for her mother. ‘She likes to plan everyone’s lives for them. I think it’s because she didn’t start her own career until she was in her forties. And she hates her job now.’

  ‘She was nice,’ I say. It’s not her fault I don’t know what to do with my life. ‘I think I should apologise to Jessica though,’ I add.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I said I hated the carol “White Christmas” and it turns out they sang it before we got there. I didn’t mean to criticise the choir.’

  ‘It’s okay if you don’t like one song,’ says Emily.

  ‘But I still feel bad.’

  ‘You should stop worrying so much.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. My mother’s always telling me to relax.’

  Emily nods thoughtfully. ‘The thing is, it makes it kind of hard for your friends.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like at the centre. You do a great job, but you’re always checking everything you do with Brad and me.’

  ‘Do I annoy you?’ I say, my voice rising.

  ‘You’re not annoying us, but you don’t need to ask if things are okay all the time. You should have more confidence.’

  ‘If you like, I can ask to swap days.’

  ‘That’s not what I was saying.’ Emily glances across at me. ‘Clara, I can see that I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything, it’s no big deal.’

  I look out the window. I don’t want Emily to see me cry.

  Maybe I should tell Tiffany that I can’t work at the centre anymore, or maybe I should ask to change shifts. But I’ve already volunteered to serve lunch on Christmas Day. I can’t get out of that.

  When I wake up I remember that it’s Christmas. Then I remember that I’m fighting with Mum, thousands of miles away from the rest of my family, and Emily thinks I’m annoying.

  In the kitchen, Mum is already dressed for the day. She has made coffee and pours me a cup. I approach her with trepidation because we have been tense with each other ever since the condoms and adultery conversation.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Clara.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, Mum.’

  She hands me a cup of coffee and says, ‘Should we do presents now?’

  ‘Are there presents?’

  ‘Of course there are.’ She gestures at the tree, which I decorated with homemade paper lanterns. Underneath is a pile of presents from Dad.

  ‘I meant presents from you,’ I say.

  ‘That too,’ she says. ‘Not just cash this year. I’m a wonderful mother.’

  It’s obvious that Mum’s making an effort so I decide that I will too.

  We sit by the tree and Mum hands me her present first. I unwrap it. It’s a grey cashmere jumper.

  I hand Mum her present. I bought her a big coffee table book on Vermeer from the National Gallery.

  Mum flicks through the book and I take off my windcheater and put the jumper on. It’s so wonderfully soft. I imagine wearing it to bed and nothing else. I imagine Campbell sliding his hands under it. I think that would be nice. I hope I get another chance. I haven’t seen him for four days but it feels longer. I sent him a text message last night saying Happy Holidays but I haven’t heard back.

  Mum breaks in on my thoughts and says, ‘Clara I have another present for you. But you have to promise not to get angry.’

  ‘Why would I get angry?’ I say.

  She pushes a rectangular parcel across to me, obviously a book. I unwrap it uncertainly. It’s a Lonely Planet guide to New York.

  ‘That’s nice, but I’m not going to New York.’

  ‘You might.’

  ‘Can you take time off to come with me?’

  ‘No, but you could go on your own.’

  ‘I’m actually quite busy here now,’ I say. ‘I have responsibilities, to the Women’s Centre and other things.’

  ‘Well, maybe later on,’ says Mum.

  ‘Maybe,’ I say. I don’t want to fight about it. ‘I’m going to call Dad.’

  It feels weird to be arriving at the ce
ntre so late in the day. The first person I see is Tiffany. She is hard to miss, wearing a bright red jumper with tinsel around the collar and cuffs. She has accessorised with a Santa hat and flashing angel earrings.

  ‘Happy Holidays!’ she says.

  ‘Happy Holidays,’ I reply. ‘You look festive.’

  ‘Thank you. You look nice too, Clara.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I’m wearing the new jumper Mum gave me. I hope I don’t get gravy on it.

  I walk towards the kitchen. Emily is there already. I feel awkward and mutter, ‘Hi,’ without looking at her.

  Emily acts as though nothing has happened. She tells me that I’m in charge of turkey. For a moment I panic, thinking that I’m expected to carve it, but actually it’s pre-sliced and all I have to do is dish it out with tongs.

  Standing at the serving bay Emily nudges me and says, ‘Have you seen Tiffany?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘She looks like an elf vomited on her.’

  Brad and Emily laugh. I feel a little better. I can’t be too annoying if they laugh at my jokes.

  The centre is even busier than usual and people are talking and laughing more. The tables are covered in alternating red and green tablecloths and are decorated with tinsel. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner.

  Tiffany is moving through the room distributing chocolates. She comes into the kitchen and puts a set of reindeer ear headbands on each of us. After she leaves Emily mimes throwing up.

  At first I’m not sure how much turkey to dish up. I ask Emily if it’s the right amount.

  She says, ‘That’s fine.’

  When I do the next plate, I nearly turn to Emily again to ask her but I pull myself up. I don’t want to annoy her.

  It’s fun serving today. People are more cheerful than usual and everyone says, ‘Happy Holidays.’

  A lady named Pam leans forward and says to me, ‘It’s magical, isn’t it?’ She gestures around the room at the streamers and fairy lights decorating the ceiling.

  I smile and say, ‘It’s lovely.’ But I can’t help seeing the plastic chairs and fluoro lighting as well.

  Not everyone is as cheerful as Pam. There are a few fights over seating arrangements and someone cracks it and leaves. So that makes it a proper family Christmas.