by Liz Byrski
‘I hope you won’t mind me calling,’ Adele says. ‘I made a list of dot points from everyone’s suggestions, and then I pulled them together as a sort of program, or . . . or something. I’m not sure what to call it. I was wondering if I could email it to you and maybe you’d go through it? I’m going to add some more pictures, maps, ideas for places nearby to visit, once I’ve got the text right.’
‘Sure,’ Simone says, wondering why Adele has picked her. ‘I’d be happy to if you think it would help. Are you going to send it now?’
‘This minute,’ Adele says. And sure enough seconds later the email signals its arrival with a beep.
‘Okay, I’ll read it now. Want me to call or email back?’
‘Oh, call, please,’ Adele says, and Simone thinks she sounds quite jittery.
Reluctantly, Simone uncurls herself, goes to the computer and opens and prints the email attachment. Back on the sofa she reads it carefully, marking some points to mention and a couple of minor typos. Then she dials Adele’s number.
‘This is great, Adele,’ she says. ‘Really terrific. It’s so good to have it all set out like this. I must admit I hadn’t really thought about all the things we’d need to know, and it’s lovely to have the maps and the info on interesting places.’
‘Phew, thank goodness,’ Adele says. ‘I’m relieved you think it’s okay.’
‘I certainly do, but you really don’t need to worry. I mean, it’s good to have an indication of what to expect but in the end there are only four of us – we can always change things, swap them around if that’s what we think we need to do.’
‘But it’s very important to get it right,’ Adele insists. ‘And, of course, clear, especially the bit about how we manage the reading discussions. We don’t want anyone getting upset or annoyed.’
Simone bites her lip to stop herself laughing. ‘I really don’t think that’s going to happen,’ she says. ‘But I agree, we need to be clear about it and about what we hope to get from the discussions.’
‘What we want to get,’ Adele says, ‘is something more than a discussion of the book itself: it’s also chance to get to know each other better.’
The urgency of Adele’s concern about this intrigues Simone. To her it seems obvious that by being together in the same house for what has now been agreed on as a period of five to six weeks, they can hardly avoid getting to know each other better. But she is starting to understand that Adele has more invested in this than she had realised. Simone senses that if the others aren’t happy, if someone complains about any aspect of the plan, Adele will see it as a failure on her part.
Simone has not previously thought of Adele as neurotic, but there does seem to be an element of neurosis in the way she’s handling this. She wonders whether she’s likely to be as het-up as this the whole time they’re there, and hopes not because she’s not sure how long she’ll be able to cope if Adele turns out to be like this about everything.
A couple of weeks later Adele sends them all the final version of the program, which is impressive even when reproduced on Simone’s ancient colour printer. The travel arrangements are clear. Adele will drive Ros and Clooney in Ros’s car, while Judy and Simone will meet at Sydney airport, pick up a rental car and drive to the house together. They should all aim to arrive between two and four o’clock on Thursday, 28 July, when a friend of the owners will be there to meet them, show them around and explain how everything works.
Friday evening and Saturday will be very relaxed, and on Sunday they will discuss the book that had been picked for their July meeting before any of these plans had been made. ‘Tirra Lirra by the River’ by Jessica Anderson, make sure to bring your copy with you, Adele had written. This should get us in good form for the personal choices to follow.
After the discussion they will draw lots to determine the order in which the personal choice books will be read.
Please choose a book that will tell us all something significant about you. Be prepared to be honest about why you have chosen it and why it matters to you. This makes it more than just a suggested read, it is an invitation from each one of us to the others to get to know each other better. Do not reveal or discuss your choice of book until it’s your turn to introduce it to the group.
Simone had loved the sentiment here, but had been concerned about Adele’s prescriptive tone in the first draft. She wondered whether Adele had ever been a teacher, and how this paragraph might go down with, say, Ros, who seemed unlikely to enjoy being told in such firm and specific tones what, and what not, to do. Even so, she understood why Adele had worked it out that way – the structure really was designed to get the best results.
‘It’s the only way to contain the discussions within their frame of purpose,’ Adele had said when Simone raised this with her on the phone. ‘If people start chatting about their book beforehand it won’t have the same impact. The conversations will be going off in all directions before we start and while we’re reading something else. We do have to be quite disciplined about it, Simone. It doesn’t matter if someone has read the book before, they can read it again within this frame of purpose.’
And somehow, in the context of a full, well-presented document, it sounded fine.
Reading time for each book is from Sunday evening until the following Saturday. Each of us will introduce her own book choice – don’t forget to bring copies of your book for the rest of us, they can be second-hand ones if you wish. Do not reveal your book choice to anyone before introducing it to the group. Keep the introduction short. Then the following Sunday please open the discussion by telling us why you chose the book, what it means to you and why. Then we can all discuss it.
There are other details in the program – stuff about food, possible cooking arrangements, eating out, keeping the house clean . . . all perfectly reasonable and to be discussed and agreed on the first evening. Lots are to be drawn for the bedrooms. There should be a discussion during the first weekend to deal with the balance that will accommodate our individual preferences for spending time quietly alone, versus group activities.
‘Are you sure we need that last bit?’ Simone had asked of the earlier draft. ‘It’ll probably work out quite naturally, and we are there to get to know each other, after all.’ There had been an audible sigh at the other end of the phone line. ‘I’m just thinking it’s sounding a bit like micro-managing,’ Simone ventured.
‘Don’t you need to know you’ll get time alone when you want it?’ Adele asked.
‘Um . . . well yes, now you’ve put it that way, I suppose I do.’
‘Me too, so that’s fifty per cent of the group. There only has to be one person who doesn’t get that and it could become very difficult. We need to get it out in the open right at the start.’
When she thought about it later Simone realised that Adele’s decisiveness was rather surprising and not what she’d expected. She also thought Adele was probably right and guessed that she might have had Judy in mind when she said that. She was certainly the most talkative, and the one most likely to take the conversation in unrelated directions.
Simone reads the document again now, admiring the beautiful photographs of the mountains, the colourful little maps, perfectly placed between the sections of the text. It’s like a high-class retreat or tour brochure, one that’s packed with plenty of welcoming messages, useful information, and rules that are not to be messed with. She calls Adele’s mobile.
‘You’ve done a superb job with this, Adele,’ she says. ‘I’m sure Judy and Ros will love it too.’
‘I actually got my executive assistant to do the layout,’ Adele says, obviously relieved. ‘She’s a whiz with things like this and she’s printing and laminating some hard copies that I’ll give to everyone when we get there. I’m so relieved you think it’s okay.’
Simone has never considered that Adele might work at a level in which she has an exe
cutive assistant. Her apparent lack of confidence and her determination to avoid any sort of conflict have been the central features of her participation in the book club meetings and none of that seems to fit with seniority in the workplace.
‘What exactly is it that you do, Adele?’ Simone asks, slightly embarrassed that she knows so little about this woman who’s been an online friend for several years.
‘Oh! Well, I work in a bureau that designs and delivers study tours for a group of universities in Australia and overseas. You know, the sort of academic tours where there are lectures and symposia along the way.’
‘Like a travel agency?’
‘Only in a very basic sort of way. The bureau is a collaborative project and the groups include academics and some higher degree students who have to do the assignments as credits for their degrees. We plan the tours for them, write all the study materials, recommend the readings and manage the bookings. So it can get quite complex.’
‘How interesting, and what’s your role there?’
‘Oh, well . . . I . . . well, I’m the director.’
Simone catches her breath. ‘Really? So you’re in charge of all that?’
‘Yes . . . I mean, I report to the board of course, but yes, I’m in charge, I suppose.’
‘I’d no idea,’ Simone said. ‘That’s a pretty complex job, I imagine?’
‘I’ve been doing it a long time. And actually tomorrow is my last day,’ Adele says. ‘I’m retiring. So this chance to have a holiday in the Blue Mountains came at just the right time. I hope it’s going to break me in gently to the first weeks of life without a job.’
‘Wow, that’s a big step. You never mentioned it before – retirement, I mean.’
‘Er . . . no, well we mainly talk about the books, don’t we? But I’m that age – you know how it is – time to make way for the younger ones and do one’s own thing; not that I’m really sure what my thing is! So anyway, I’m looking forward to this and it will be nice for us to get to know each other better. If it all goes well, of course . . . if . . .’
‘No ifs, Adele. It’s going to be terrific,’ Simone says. ‘We’re all going to get along fine. And if anyone does have a grumpy day, or people fall out about something, well, we’ll get over it. We’re grown-ups, after all.’
‘Yes . . .’ Adele sounds more nervous than ever now. ‘So you think we might fall out?’
Simone takes a couple of deep breaths. ‘Not necessarily, I’m just saying that if some of us did it would all be fine. We have to be natural and relaxed together and sometimes someone gets on someone else’s nerves and there’s some sulking or an argument. You know how it is among friends.’
There was a long pause. ‘Actually,’ Adele says, ‘I’ve never been away with friends before. In fact I don’t really have friends. It’s work, I suppose, I just seem to have colleagues, and well . . . acquaintances, people I know . . . I live alone and I don’t seem to meet other people. That’s why the club is so important to me. That fixed time once a month to talk with you all about something not related to work. I set this thing up, Simone, and the prospect of it failing is pretty scary.’
Ten minutes later Simone puts the phone down. Very odd, she thinks. She’s always thought Adele was an anxiety bunny, and then thought she was perhaps a bit of a control freak, and now it turns out that she is a control freak because she’s an anxiety bunny. Simone sits in the silence thinking about Adele, how she will cope with this new stage of her life for which she seems unprepared. Does she have too much invested in this book club in the mountains plan? It sounds as though she may be relying on it to sort out her retirement. Simone thinks Adele would probably be a good candidate for yoga, but then Simone thinks that about most people. It might help reduce her anxiety, which seems more acute to Simone now than it has in the past. She wonders what book Adele will bring. What else she might learn about her, and indeed the other two, from their book choices?
She gets up suddenly and picks up the book she intended to take – the book she’d ordered three more copies of when Adele had first suggested this. It was one of her greatest favourites – Margaret Drabble’s The Witch of Exmoor. Simone studies the cover, flicks through the pages, then closes it decisively. It’s the wrong book, she can see that now. It’s a favourite and there’s heaps to talk about in it, but what would it tell them about her that they don’t already know? She drops it onto the coffee table, hurries through to her bedroom and from the drawer in the bedside table she takes out the book that she has kept there for years, the book she’s thought about continually since she read it more than ten years ago. The book that she always felt she would never be able to discuss with anyone.
For a long moment Simone stands there, staring at the cover. It’s not quite two weeks until the trip – too late to order it through the local bookshop but she should be able to get three copies online if she pays for express post. She puts down the book, walks over to the computer and types the title into the search bar.
Chapter Three
‘So what book are you taking?’ Melissa asks, putting two mugs of tea down on the counter.
Judy opens her mouth and closes it again. ‘Um . . . well I haven’t finally decided yet,’ she lies, thinking of the four copies of the book that are sitting on her coffee table at home, knowing instantly that she doesn’t want to discuss the book with Melissa.
‘Wow! You’d better hurry up,’ Melissa says. ‘I know! You could take that one we were talking about the other day – you know, the Liane Moriarty one. That’s amazing.’
‘You mean Big Little Lies?’
‘That’s it. Everyone’s talking about it. It’s going to be a TV series. Nicole Kidman and Reese whatshername are in it. I loved that book.’
‘Reese Witherspoon,’ Judy says. ‘Yes, it’s a great book.’
‘You know that it was Nicole Kidman who decided to get it made into a series?’ Melissa continues. ‘She read it and she’s friends with Reese . . . thingy, they’re both in it. But it was made in America, in California. I mean, why not here? That’s what I want to know. I am never going to forgive Nicole for letting that happen.’
Judy smiles. ‘Oh well, I’m sure it’ll be really good. I suppose it’s hard to resist the lure of the US film industry. Anyway, Mel, are you sure you and Pam are going to be able to manage here while I’m away?’
‘No worries. Mum and I have got it all worked out, we’ll divide the shop and looking after Jack between us. We know who’s doing what and when, and we’ve got my Aunty Chris set up for babysitting too, so we can both be here in the busy times. You don’t need to worry, Judy, we’ll do a good job for you, we won’t let you down.’
‘I’m not worried about that,’ Judy says, ‘but I am concerned about you – you have a lot on your plate. I want you to promise that if anything happens and you can’t get here one day then you’ll just get someone to come in and put a note on the door saying when you’ll reopen. It won’t be the end of the world if you have to close it for a day or two. Promise?’
‘I promise, but no way is that going to happen. So . . . not long now. Are you looking forward to it?’
‘Very much,’ Judy says, wondering if that’s true. ‘I’m a bit nervous too. I hardly know the other women. I hope we’ll get on all right.’
‘Course you will. You said you’ve been in this club for years? So you must know each other really well.’
‘Not really. It’s not like a normal book club. Being online means there are limits to how well we could possibly know each other. None of us has ever met other than on Skype.’
‘It’ll be great, I bet you. Mum says you’ll love it; she loves her book club friends. She reckons you’ll be ringing us, asking if it’s okay if you stay away longer.’
Judy laughs. ‘I doubt that. I just hope I can keep up with them. They’re all a lot smarter than me. Ros is a musician; she used to p
lay with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. I’m not sure what Adele does, I think she might be some sort of manager. And Simone was a teacher. She speaks French and taught it in a very posh school. She’s retired now, and she teaches yoga.’
‘So she’ll have you all doing your asanas first thing in the morning.’
‘Our what?’
‘Asanas, you know, in yoga.’
Judy shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. What’s an “asana”?’
Melissa pulls a face, then grins. ‘Actually I’m not really sure; I just know it’s something you do in yoga. I think it might be one of the positions you have to sit in.’
Judy raises her eyebrows. ‘And you wonder why I’m anxious?’
‘You’re not worrying about something like that, are you? I mean, Judy, you are so smart. Mum said this shop was going down the drain when you took it on. She remembers because she was working in the real estate agency when you were trying to take over the lease. And now look at it. You’re a natural businesswoman, Mum says. Actually even Dad says it too. You’re a legend in Mandurah! Don’t look at me like that, I mean it.’
Two women, regular customers, have wandered in from the street.
‘She’s right, Judy, you’re a legend,’ one says.
And the other one nods. ‘Sure are,’ she says. ‘You’re a Mandurah identity now, Jude.’
Judy’s face is on fire with embarrassment. She puts a hand on Melissa’s arm. ‘Bless you, Mel. Can you look after these dames, please?’ And she hurries out to the washroom, shuts the door behind her, splashes her cheeks with cold water then stares at herself in the mirror. You’re getting old, Judy, she tells herself, patting her face with a paper towel No, you’re already old, seventy-three is actually old! And you really look it. She peers closely at her face, wondering why it is that wrinkles look okay on some women but not on others – Helen Mirren is about the same age, Judi Dench is in her eighties – they have wrinkles but somehow they seem to wear them a whole lot better. ‘Make-up, darling!’ she says, doing a glamour pose. ‘Make-up!’ But frankly she can’t be bothered, and at least she has good hair. She’d hated it when she was younger, thought she looked like a poodle and had spent a fortune on trying to straighten it, but it remained relentlessly curly and ginger. Going grey had been her salvation, because she’d actually gone more silver than grey, and now, with her hair cut short like this it always seems to look good. Be thankful for small mercies, she tells herself, and runs her damp hands through it, watching with pleasure as it springs back into shape.