‘Well why don’t they work? We cop it all the time.’
‘It’s only in some circumstances and you have to bring a case,’ Mr Hestelowe explained.
‘Like a court case? We can bring a case?’
‘Well, you usually need a lawyer to help.’
‘A lawyer. Aren’t they expensive?’
‘They are. But I guess if you were a lawyer you wouldn’t need to pay one.’
Since then Darren would dream about it, imagine he was in court, just like it was on television. He would lay the story out to the judge and use his powers of persuasion.
But Darren didn’t go to university. He left school and started packing for the local supermarket. Mr Hestelowe had encouraged him to apply for university but none of his friends had gone and his brother Simon had said it was for wankers.
Six months later, his cousin, who had epilepsy, had a fit on a train station on his way home from work. The train staff took him to the hospital. The nurse on duty looked at his dark skin and concluded that he was drunk. The police came and took him to the lock-up and overnight he died in custody.
Darren’s anger at the injustice of what had happened sparked his interest in going back to study. He went up to the school and spoke to Mr Hestelowe who helped him to apply for special admission to university. He did a bridging course, and while that went well enough, once he had started the uni course found it was much harder. There was further disruption in the house when his mother fell ill and two of his sisters - sixteen and seventeen - both got themselves pregnant within three months of each other. His friends and Simon had viewed him with suspicion. ‘You becoming an uptown nigger?’ his brother would taunt.
Darren took on extra shifts to help his mother meet her bills and towards the end of the year he dropped out of uni before he was formally marked as having failed his courses. ‘Don’t worry,’ Simon would console, ‘you’ll be like us again now. We had nothing in common when you were doing that uni stuff. Not because we aren’t proud of you. But we just don’t understand it. Going to prison, we can relate to that.’
Not long after that, Baagii died and it felt as though his world had fallen apart. Darren became restless and angry, as though a ball of frustration had knotted inside him. When some of his friends mentioned a car trip to Canberra to join a protest about changes to the native title legislation, he jumped at the chance. He’d always liked hearing Aboriginal leaders speak. Tony Harlowe, Gary Foley, Michael Mansell - they had all come to speak at the university when he had been there and each had spoken in a way that he understood.
So he joined his friends to go for a weekend and found, at the Tent Embassy, a language of politics and a worldview that captured his anger, frustration and his desire for a better life for people like his mother. He found himself there for a week, then two, and then signed on as part of the lobby to get the Tent Embassy status on the National Trust as a significant historical site.
It had been a good distraction from the dislocation and the despondency he had felt when coming to terms with the loss of his grandmother. Baagii had believed in the spirits. ‘Don’t go near the river at night,’ she would warn. ‘There are spirits there. They eat little birralii like you. And if you go too far out of the town at night, away from the lights, they can get you then too. Not all spirits are bad though. The old people look over you, and the young ones who die too young have the most sorrow. They are the most restless. I always believed in ghosts but I didn’t start to hear them until after your dhaadhaa passed away. I started to hear them then. And you might think that is funny but I started to get messages from time to time from the dead to pass on to the living.’
‘Will you come and talk to me after you die, Baagii?’
She would laugh in her rich throaty way. ‘I hope that won’t be for a while yet, Mudhay.’ When she stopped laughing she would say, ‘When you hear the rain on the roof, that will be me, coming back to watch over you.’
Even now he loved the sound of heavy rain. He would find somewhere to pretend he was asleep - in a crowded house you had to learn how to escape the noise by simply closing your eyes - and would listen to the rain and try to work out what Baagii was telling him.
As the train pulled into the station, Darren thought of Rachel. Since that first time he’d seen her, she’d been on his mind. It must be the same feeling that his grandfather felt when he first saw his grandmother - that here was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, soft and pretty, but so refined. She spoke so nicely, ladylike. And was smart, educated. He’d not have thought to hope if she hadn’t found the snippet from Maynard for him. That she had remembered their brief conversation when he had delivered some phone messages and thought of him at least once again when she had seen the letter, gave him some cause to think he may have a chance with her.
His next meeting, and probably the last, with Tony Harlowe, would be in two weeks. He had to think of a way, between now and then, to ask Rachel out.
22
Tony had back-to-back meetings so it wasn’t until the end of the day that he had a chance to reflect on his interview with Darren. Thinking about the political struggle over the years brought him to think of Simone. She was his greatest achievement. And yet, his pride was tightly entwined with sadness at the way their closeness now stretched into such distance.
Tony Harlowe’s third rule for survival was: always know who you are dealing with. It had served him well to find out all he could about not just his enemies but his allies and friends. Knowing their nature, what motivated them, their strengths and weaknesses had armed him in his public battles. It had served him well in his private ones as well, with the sole exception of Simone. His daughter was the one person he didn’t know how to deal with, didn’t know how to read.
She hadn’t spoken to him about what she had seen when she had walked into the office that day but had eyed him derisively. He was too ashamed to talk to her about it. What the scene revealed hung heavily between them. He knew that she knew but how could he explain? What did he possibly have to say for himself? The only thing that he would want Simone to understand was that Rachel was no throw-away woman, no ill-considered fling. However disposable his indiscretions had been in the past, Rachel was different.
Just as he was thinking of her, Rachel knocked at the door. His heart swelled when he saw her.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘Ready to go?’
‘Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll come to your office.’
‘Sure,’ Rachel smiled and left.
He put his head in his hands. He was going to have to do something soon. He couldn’t keep going like this. He longed for Rachel all the time. As soon as he left her, he wanted to see her again. She crept into his thoughts every waking moment, distracting him. And when he was with her, what contentment he felt. He loved talking to her about legal matters, the way she questioned him about his work, about the community politics. He loved the way she felt - her skin so soft and smelling like flowers and honey. She was beautiful when naked, her body a confluence of curves and leanness. She was, he thought, the most perfect thing he had ever seen.
And so the idea that he needed to be with her, to make a life with her, had occupied his thoughts more and more over the last few weeks. He had even decided that he would give Beth Ann the house and half of the superannuation. He’d be generous. After all, Beth Ann had been there from the start and had done nothing wrong; she was the innocent party in all of this. He’d promised he would always look after her, especially when she had wanted to go to university or work fulltime. No, he had always said firmly, I’ll take care of you. And he wasn’t going to go back on his word now.
He loved Beth Ann, always would. She had been a good wife, a perfect mother. None of this turn of events, this fate, was her fault. But neither was it his. He would see her looked after but he also needed to travel this other path. He would sell the investment property and begin his new life with Rachel with the proceeds. His fiftieth birthday might be looming but Rachel
gave him the energy to feel that life was starting over.
Tony’s musings were interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone. ‘I’ve got your mother on the line,’ announced Carol Turner.
‘Tell her I’m busy, that I’m in a meeting.’
‘I can’t. She’s deaf, remember, or as good as. Besides, you’re not in a meeting and it’s disrespectful to lie to our Elders.’
‘You’re supposed to be my assistant and look out for me.’
‘Lying to your mother isn’t in my job description. I’m putting her through and you can sort it out. I’m heading off. Goodnight.’
Tony heard the click of the connection.
‘Anthony, is that you?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ he said louder.
‘Good. Now listen. I’ve just heard from Julia Murray that Pam Briggs’s son Matthew was killed last weekend. Car accident. Third fatal one at Wellington. All young people too. The council was supposed to do something about the signs but never did.
‘I was also up at the local Land Council last night. We’ve got elections coming up and they want me to stand. I told ’em I wasn’t going to if it meant that I’d have to put up with that Tom Riley as CEO. He’s a good-for-nothing. Remember when he took over the health service out here and almost ran it into the ground? The good Lord gave me plenty of patience but not that much. I told Jimmy when he was voted Chair last year not to put him on but, you know Jimmy, can’t be told anything. Always thinks he knows what’s best.’
‘Mum, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a meeting.’
‘What?’
‘A meeting. I’ve got a meeting.’
‘I know. That’s what I’m talking about. The Land Council meeting. I swear by the good Lord, if ever you listened to me properly I’d be so surprised I’d fall off my chair. So anyway, everyone was there and we have been asked by the Shire to sign an agreement and I said we shouldn’t unless it included being able to raise our flag on the council building and at the school. That’s not asking for much. Just a little recognition.’
Tony sighed. He tried again, this time speaking louder. ‘Mum, I’ve got to go.’
‘All right. No need to shout.’
That, thought Tony as he hung up the phone, was going to be another difficult conversation. ‘You can get an appetite while you are out but always eat at home,’ his mother would say. She was a strong believer in marriage and in fidelity. She was also very fond of Beth Ann. He couldn’t bear to think about how his mother would react to Rachel.
But it was Beth Ann whose reaction was going to be the hardest for him to bear. He had rehearsed his speech about how he felt they had grown apart and that he needed a change. That he wouldn’t be who he was without her but that he needed some time on his own. He would always love her and was hoping they could part as friends. Surprisingly, he found himself with a growing tenderness for Beth Ann now that he’d decided to leave her.
He’d decided that he would separate from her without disclosing his relationship with Rachel. Just so he wouldn’t hurt her further. After a period of time, he and Rachel could then make their relationship public. And in the meantime, he relished the idea of new rituals and routines - Saturday morning reading the papers, Sunday brunch, late afternoon movies. He would always acknowledge that he would not be who he was if it hadn’t been for Beth Ann’s support but with Rachel he could see the promise of a new era. As a team, with his experience and her education, they would be a formidable force.
He’d also rehearsed how he would tell Rachel that he was leaving his wife for her. He’d not said it yet, waiting to be sure, not wanting to get her hopes up until he was certain he would be able to finally break with Beth Ann. But when he imagined letting Rachel know that his love for her was so profound, that he had decided to forsake the life he had to build a new one with her, he imagined her surprise and her acute happiness. And the thought of her reaction gave him strength to execute what would be the most difficult of all - the discussion he had to have with Beth Ann.
But not tonight. Tonight he would continue with the lies.
He rang Beth Ann and was relieved when he got the answering machine. ‘Hi, love. Just ringing to let you know that I have a late work meeting. Should be there at about nine. I’ll have dinner out so don’t worry about me.’
23
One week ago, everything had changed for Beth Ann. Some people’s lives would be altered by cataclysmic events - fatal car accidents, house fires, train wrecks, suicides. Hers altered with a phone call; with a simple question and a casual, seemingly innocent answer.
Tony had gone to Lightning Ridge for a meeting and she’d wanted to tell him that Simone had called and was coming home. She persistently rang his mobile but it kept going straight to voicemail. Beth Ann knew that sometimes in these country areas far from the city mobile reception wasn’t very good.
She could picture the small motel Tony was staying in - its teal doors, the sandy brick walls, yellowed laminated floors, the floral bedspreads and curtains. These country town motels seemed all cut from the same mould.
She’d rung the main switch and asked for Tony Harlowe’s room.
‘I’m sorry, Mr and Mrs Harlowe aren’t answering,’ the woman on the other end replied.
‘This is Mrs Harlowe,’ Beth Ann had said in a slow, determined voice.
The woman on the line had faltered. ‘Oh.’
Beth Ann could imagine her too. Short, with an abundant, fleshy body, a face hardened from work but soft eyes.
‘Yes. “Oh”, indeed.’
Beth Ann hung up. She sat there by the phone feeling as though her insides had been ripped out. She felt hollow.
‘Mrs Tony Harlowe’ was ringing in her ears. She spent the next few hours not only reeling from the betrayal but also wondering when it was that she stopped feeling like Beth Ann Gibson.
Even though she had felt Tony’s betrayal before, this time it was different. She knew it as she looked in the bathroom mirror, stared at her face. The same face she’d always had but now ripened with lines and, in this light, looking tired, drained. It wasn’t just the realisation that after thirty years together, twenty-nine years of marriage and twenty-six years of being parents, that Tony Harlowe was never going to change. This time it was something more.
This time, Tony was being more open about his infidelity, less discreet. And this time, while some of her emotions were so familiar – the humiliation, the knotted rage, feeling small and insignificant - she felt different too. Amidst her inner tumult was not resignation but the seeds of weariness.
All those years ago when she arrived in Canberra there was a mass of tents and tarpaulins, even umbrellas. People - black and white - had come from all over. While there was a group of Aboriginal people who had made up a kind of cabinet - making the decisions, deciding the strategies - she, like many others, was there to simply show that she too thought this fight was important.
There she had met Tony. But she had met his friend Arthur Randall first, timidly sitting on the edge of a throng of people. When she shyly joined them he turned to her and smiled. They got talking and didn’t stop for almost three hours. She felt flushed, knowing it was more than just the Canberra heat. He shared dinner with her from the communal pots and pans, the food that people from around Canberra had dropped off for them, and they stayed talking around one of the camp fires. She told him about Murray Simms. He told her about life on the mission.
She went to bed that night thinking about Arthur, his thoughtful dark eyes, his mellow voice. And the next morning he had introduced her to Tony Harlowe. Tony was in the thick of what was going on, in with the people who were the heart of the protest. Arthur had taken her to one of the meetings of the inner sanctum and, as she sat silently on the outside of the circle, she could feel Tony’s eyes upon her. He flashed her a smile and she felt herself blush. He was handsome, confident.
The more attention Tony paid her, the m
ore Arthur seemed to recede into the background. And while she sought out Arthur for his company and conversation, he started to avoid her, found reasons not to sit with her, became elusive. All the time, Tony demanded more and more of her.
It was the fact that she still had feelings for Arthur that made her refuse Tony’s first offer of marriage. They were both so young. She had only known him for a few weeks; she hadn’t taken him seriously. Tony was so brash but Arthur, quieter, less dazzling, seemed more solid, more reliable.
Tony followed her to Sydney when she started her studies and asked her again. She refused the second time because she was not sure that she was ready to make such a commitment, ready to give up her only chance to see what she could make of her own life. But he was persistent. The third time he proposed he was so earnest. He made many promises but the thing that made her say ‘yes’, despite her fears and misgivings, was that over the months she had grown to love Tony. That Christmas, she left her studies and in the new year became Mrs Tony Harlowe.
And being Mrs Tony Harlowe had become a fulltime job. Much like the first time she met him, she sat quietly on the edge of his circle and let him take the stage. She believed in his work and always knew how important it was. It was a role that only he could perform and she, as a white person, was limited to the supporting role. She wanted to be out of the spotlight. She was proud of what he had achieved. And she felt, even though she had never pushed her way to centre stage, that she had assisted Tony to play an important role. It was, at its heart, an Aboriginal fight but it was something everyone, Beth Ann felt, had a part to play in fixing.
She happily became a full-time wife and then, three years later when Simone arrived, a mother. She had loved that, nurturing a child. She had never been able to conceive a second - though she had wanted to at first. She had planned to have a large family but while she had been trying - unsuccessfully - to conceive again she had begun to have doubts about Tony. Not as a father, but as a husband.
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