by Di Morrissey
‘They’re radio announcers,’ whispered Gwen. ‘They learn from the BBC.’
‘Hush up, girls, I want to find out how the Redex Reliability Trial is going.’
Gwen and Abby exchanged smiles. ‘Can you just see Betsy racing round Australia?’ whispered Gwen again.
The news over, Abby went to make the last pot of tea while Bob and Gwen chewed over the events on the news.
‘So they’re still talking about bringing in this television. I reckon it’ll be a bad thing,’ said Bob, lighting up one of Gwen’s ready-made cigarettes.
‘Would be nice to see something like the coronation though,’ said Gwen.
‘Fancy sitting in your lounge room watching some goggle box. It’ll kill reading, and the wireless and going to the pictures, you mark my words,’ prophesied Bob.
‘Talking of the pictures,’ said Abby, coming in with a tray with the cups on it, ‘I’m going out on Saturday night. Going to see Rear Window.’
‘Who with?’ asked Bob.
‘Grace Kelly.’
They all burst out laughing.
‘I’m going with Barney,’ said Abby, setting out the cups.
Gwen and Bob exchanged a swift look.
‘Just the two of you?’
Abby straightened up and stared at her parents. ‘Yes. Why not?’
‘We’ve been through this before, luv. Go out and enjoy yourself, by all means. Just don’t expect it to lead to anything. He’s a decent enough bloke and you’re a good girl, but don’t you start getting big ideas here,’ warned her father.
‘Why does everyone think I’m some sort of man trap and that Barney and I seeing each other is a real big deal?’ demanded Abby angrily. ‘I’m just as good as he is, you know.’
‘Keep your hair on, Abby,’ said Bob calmly. ‘And yes, you are just as a good a person as he is. But there’s a bit of a difference in your backgrounds and you know it.’
‘And there’s your faith, too, luv,’ said Gwen gently. ‘The Catholic Church doesn’t like its members marrying outsiders, you know that.’
‘The church should be understanding and forgiving, not punishing and cold-hearted,’ said Abby. ‘It’s time things changed, it’s supposed to be the age of the modern girl. It’s not unheard of for people to marry who they want. The war was supposed to change things; women did their bit and now we’re supposed to put on aprons and go back into the kitchen and do what our husbands and the church tell us!’ declared Abby heatedly.
‘Steady on,’ said Bob. ‘I’m first to say the ladies did a terrific job when the chaps were away at war, but now the men want to work and the women want to have families and enjoy peacetime niceties. And as for the church . . . well, you’ve broken the rules, Ab, and you’re going to have to come to terms with that. We’re not criticising, we just don’t want to see you get hurt, luv.’
‘It’s a bit late for that. Let me worry about my life. I just wish everyone would mind their own business.’ Abby hurried from the room.
‘I’ll fetch the teapot,’ said Gwen. ‘Let her be. She’s sensible.’
‘Sense sometimes flies out the window where the heart is concerned,’ mumbled Bob, reaching for the paper.
Barney pushed the suitcase into the boot of the Ford, slammed it shut and turned to his mother and father, giving them a half smile.
‘Don’t you worry about me, dear. Everything will turn out all right I’m sure,’ said his mother as she gave him a big hug.
‘You take care, Mother. The specialist will probably give you a big gold star,’ said Barney warmly.
‘I hope so, dear. Please keep an eye on Diet and Tucker . . .’
‘Right, Enid, let’s get on the road. It’s a long drive to Sydney.’
Phillip shook his son’s hand. ‘We’ll be at the Australia Hotel. Be back as soon as we can.’
‘Take your time and don’t worry. Take Mum to the Tivoli or something.’ Barney leaned through the car window and kissed his mother on the cheek. ‘Try and have a bit of fun. Go shopping, take in a film at the Prince Edward, live it up,’ he said brightly.
Enid gave him a look that said, ‘You know your father . . .’
Barney knew his parents would eat in the conservative hotel dining room, speaking little and retiring early. He wondered whether either of them ever longed to do things, see places, without the other. What had their life been like before they married? It occurred to him that he had never asked. Had their lives he’d observed in these recent years been how it always was?
As the shiny Ford V8 headed down the formal driveway, he wondered what Mrs Anderson could tell him about life at Amba when he was a baby. However, he had something better to think about at the moment — seeing Abby on Saturday night. He had suggested the movies and was now wondering where he could take her afterwards.
The New England Highway south was free of traffic. The occasional car flicked past in the opposite direction. Enid crossed her legs and angled her body slightly towards the window, gazing at the wall of forest gums and ironbarks that screened the road. Phillip was deep in thought. They never talked much in the car. If she made a comment about the scenery or something that caught her eye, they were past it before he responded, and she had the feeling she was intruding on his thoughts and disturbing his concentration on the driving.
Enid wasn’t looking forward to seeing the heart specialist. She dreaded the tests and her nervousness made her heart seem even more fluttery than usual. She hated people fussing over her; she felt such a bother to them and especially to Phillip. She wished no one knew she had a heart problem. It didn’t cause her a great deal of pain; the breathlessness and her heart’s irregular rhythm were bothersome, but it wasn’t as if she was an invalid. Yet she did feel like such an old woman. Where had her life gone? One day she’d been a young woman, in love and dreaming dreams that never became reality. When she thought about it she could still feel the pain of the day she’d been told of the death of her fiancé. If Ray had lived, would her life have been better, happier? Or was this all there was: raising a child, keeping an orderly house, standing in the shadow of a successful man? Now Barney was independent, her dogs and her garden gave her the most pleasure in life.
Life with Phillip was placid. He had long ago given up making sexual demands on her, and now they slept in separate beds. She had regarded sex as her duty but never understood why it was such a passionate force in other people’s lives. She had only ever experienced sex with Phillip but she could recall the ardent kisses of her youth and she regretted letting her love go off to war, their union unfulfilled. ‘Wait till I come home. We’ll have our whole lives ahead of us.’ But they didn’t and she felt cheated. Ray remained strong and straight and youthful in her memory, while she was aging, no longer pretty or desirable.
Enid knew Phillip had regarded himself as second best in a competition he had lost without the chance to fight. But he had offered her security, a safe haven, and she had welcomed that. They had a pact and she had adhered to her part of it out of loyalty and, she realised now, gratitude. But with years stretching ahead with more of this sameness, a sadness crept into her soul. There would be no adventurous trips up the Amazon, no passionate love affairs, no large and boisterous family to occupy and interest her, and as she stepped into the unknown, she would leave no footprint on the world she left behind. Had there been a point in her life where things could have changed, been different? Was there a signpost she’d missed, some subtle gesture or indication from Phillip that she’d ignored? Enid closed her eyes against these unpleasant thoughts and tried to make her mind a blank. It was becoming a practised habit.
Phillip was aware she’d slipped into that nether region she inhabited so much of the time. He was more concerned than he showed about her ‘condition’, as he called it. He dreaded the idea that she could become an invalid, or suddenly leave him alone. Enid was a stoic if pliant buffer between him and his son, and the rest of the world. He didn’t have to cope with socialising while he
had the excuse of a reclusive wife in frail health. Those that knew him would be astounded at the idea that the formidable and often imperious Phillip Holten was, in fact, terrified of coping with normal social intercourse and the idea that strangers might breach his personal barriers.
Phillip had met Enid through mutual friends at the Royal Easter Show when he had been showing his father’s prize rams. She was fascinated by the huge merinos and, after a long conversation, he had invited her to morning tea. After that they met regularly, Phillip visiting Sydney as often as he could. He found her attractive, well bred and very intriguing. Beneath her bright and cheerful demeanour, there was a vulnerability that drew him to her.
It wasn’t until he was courting her seriously that she told him of the loss of her fiancé in the War. Phillip thought he had understood but was convinced that his living love for Enid would win out over her love for a dead man; he had been wrong. Even after he had won her, he still felt second best. Still, Enid had been a good wife to him for a while. She wasn’t the country woman that he’d been expected to marry, but she settled happily into the quiet rural life. All had been peaceful with them until the long-awaited arrival of a child.
He had expected a child but did not expect it to ruffle the smooth running of his existence. Which the child had not. What he hadn’t anticipated was the withdrawal of his wife, a loss he blamed on his son. He had tried to bring Enid back to his world, but he could not fight the pull of maternal instinct and so he adjusted his life accordingly.
The car swung onto a long straight stretch of road and Phillip looked across at his wife. He was shocked at the sadness in her face. It sent a strange feeling through him, a feeling that stabbed uncomfortably at his stomach. ‘You all right, dear?’ he asked with genuine concern and warmth.
Enid was a little startled by his voice and turned from the window towards Phillip. She looked at him for a moment then said quietly, ‘Yes, Phillip. I’m fine. Just thinking a bit.’
‘About the past?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes.’ Phillip nodded and after a pause Enid went o n . ‘I was just thinking about a few things and the trip we’re making . . . another journey and we don’t know just what it’s going to lead to. I know it leads to Sydney, but what else? We really can’t be sure of anything, can we? It’s all a mystery. That’s life, isn’t it? A journey full of surprises. I read once that someone said it is better to journey than to arrive. Have you heard that, Phillip?’
Phillip was surprised. He couldn’t remember when his wife had last talked like this and he was lost for an immediate response. Instead he simply nodded an acknowledgement.
Enid went on as if she had never asked him a question, or at least never expected a reply. ‘ M y father used to say that the first step of any journey is the hardest. I’m not so sure of that now. I rather think that arriving at the end might be the hardest step of all.’
Phillip smiled at her . ‘ You might be right, dear. I’ve never really thought about it.’
For a while they drove in silence, Enid looking straight ahead but not really seeing anything. Then suddenly she spoke, not, it seemed, to Phillip, but to herself. ‘I wonder if we’re lost? People sometimes do get lost on journeys, don’t they?’
Phillip reached over and took her hand in his, a great sadness sweeping over him. He had no answers to her questions. He gave her hand a squeeze, and she softly squeezed his in response — the first physical and emotional touching they’d shared in a very long time.
Sharing a homemade ginger beer on the verandah with Mrs Anderson, Barney decided to ask her about the old days. He took a sip as she shaded her eyes and stared across the gardens.
‘Jim is out there somewhere. My goodness these shrubs have grown up since we’ve been here. I’ll give him a hoy. Cooeee, Jim. Smoko,’ she called.
‘You came here when I was a baby. What were my parents like then?’ asked Barney.
‘Younger! Like all of us,’ laughed Mrs Anderson. Then, seeing Barney’s serious face, she said, ‘They were pretty much as they are now, I suppose. Your mother was so taken up with you. You came along as a bit of surprise — she’d given up ever having a child. She was obviously delighted. Your father wasn’t so fussed about there not being a child. More of a woman’s need, I suppose. Not that he wasn’t pleased at your arrival, of course,’ she added hastily.
Barney sipped his drink. ‘ Do you really think so, Mrs A? I just look at the way my family is, compared to . . . other families. There just isn’t the closeness, between any of us.’
‘Ah, families are strange creatures. We all have differences and we all have similarities. I came from a big family, so did Jim, yet we didn’t have kids. Maybe it’s God’s way of balancing things out. Though I have to confess I feel I’ve shared in bringing you along. Jim and I have both got a kick out of your achievements over the years. From learning to walk, to graduating from university. My, we were so proud of you that day.’
Her face glowed with pleasure and Barney’s heart lurched. He had always taken the Andersons’ presence in his life for granted, though with gratitude and affection. It was always to Mrs Anderson he ran in times of upheaval. She had always been so giving and generous with her love and advice; Jim, too, in his stolid, quiet and helpful way. The time he’d taken in teaching him practical things like the basics of an engine or how to catch yabbies in the creek. Yet it suddenly dawned on Barney that his family had never reciprocated. Why hadn’t he thought of asking the Andersons to be there on the day he graduated? They probably wouldn’t have agreed, it not being ‘their place’, but they would have appreciated being asked.
‘I’ve always thought of you as my second mum,’ said Barney softly, and meaning it.
Mrs Anderson nodded and busied herself with pouring tea for Jim. Then after a minute, she said, ‘I will say though, Barney, seeing as how you’ve asked . . . things did change . . . but slowly like. One day you suddenly look back and realise things are different. I think your dad felt a bit left out when you were born, so he tended to become more involved with the property and left the domestic side to your mum and myself. She didn’t get her strength back for a long time after you were born. Jim and I settled in and here we still are!’
‘What’s that? My ears are burning.’ Jim wiped his feet, took off his hat and sat on the step as his wife handed him a cup of tea with a biscuit on the saucer.
‘Thanks, Rene. What are you two rabbiting on about?’
‘Barney was wondering what it was like around here when he was a little bloke.’
‘The place has improved a lot, but it hasn’t changed all that much I s’pose.’
‘We were talking about his mum and dad. How people change.’
‘We just get older,’ said Jim with a wry smile. ‘You’re not thinking of making any big changes when you take over Amba?’ he asked suddenly.
Barney stood and shook his head. ‘ No. I imagine things will go on pretty much the same. Well, I’ll be off.’
‘Did you mention the weekend, luv?’ Jim reminded his wife.
‘Oh goodness me, I forgot.’ She turned to Barney. ‘Would you mind managing on your own this weekend, seeing as your parents are away? Jim and I thought we might take a little break. I’ll leave some cooked food for you.’
‘That’s perfectly okay by me. Don’t go to a lot of trouble. I can fix something and I’m going out Saturday night.’
The quivering words The End were obscured by the red and gold curtain pulled across the suspended screen. Abby drew a deep breath and turned to Barney, realising she was still gripping his hand. ‘That was fantastic.’
‘Good film for sure,’ he agreed.
‘I got so scared in parts, I was shaking!’
‘I liked that,’ grinned Barney. ‘I liked you squeezing my hand.’
Abby blushed and dropped his hand. ‘ You were on the edge of your seat too.’
‘You’re right. Come on, let’s escape.’
They hurried to Barney’s ca
r. As he opened the door for her he asked, ‘Well, what do you feel like? We could still get a steak at the hotel, or there’s the Golden Dragon if you feel like Chinese food.’
Barney slipped behind the wheel of the Holden FJ and looked at her pretty profile. ‘What’s it to be?’
‘Whatever you think, Barney.’
‘You don’t sound too excited about either choice. I suppose we could go . . . Oh never mind.’ He turned the ignition on but didn’t put the car in gear.
He had thought he might ask Abby back to Amba as the house was empty and he liked the idea of them eating a meal in his home. However, he knew that such an invitation could be misinterpreted and Abby was too well brought up to go to a man’s house alone. He had no intention of making any serious advances towards her, but she stirred disturbing emotions in him.
‘Let’s just enjoy the drive home,’ suggested Abby.
It was a balmy night and the moon was full. As they reached the ridge that marked the boundary between Amba and Anglesea, Barney was about to point out the spectacular view down into the valley when a sound like a rifle shot rang out, and the steering wheel pulled to the left.
‘Oh no,’ groaned Barney. ‘A blowout!’
It was the front tyre on the driver’s side, which was almost flat. ‘Must have been a sharp stone. Make yourself comfortable, Abby, while I change it.’ Barney opened the boot and took out the spare tyre, a rusty jack and an old rug for Abby. ‘ Here, sit on this and look at the view.’
It was an unforgettable sight. The enfolding hills were a smudge against the clear sky and tree-lined creeks shone like silver plate in the moonlight. The fat butter moon and diamond stars hung reachably close.
Barney worked steadily, grunting once at a stubborn nut, but he soon had the spare tyre in place. He stood, wiped his hands, and sat down beside Abby. ‘Whew! All fixed.’ He paused and for the first time took in the view and the mood of the moonlit valley . ‘ My . . . it’s magic, eh?’