“Your kids aren’t difficult!”
“When it comes to bringing an adult male into their home, they are.”
“God!” Katherine laughed. “You make it sound like a scary movie!” She put on a deep, sepulchral voice. “She brought an adult male into the home.” Still laughing, she asked, “An adult male what?”
“You know what I mean.”
Katherine nodded gloomily. She did know. The one black spot in the perfect re-alignment of her personal goal posts had been the clash between her teenage son Allan and her fiancé Mike. Allan didn’t see why his mother’s boyfriend should be allowed to boss him around in his own home; and Mike didn’t see why Katherine didn’t support him over her son. Allan wanted Mike to go home, and Mike wanted Allan to move out – preferably to his father’s house – so that he could move in. So Mike, the man who was supposed to replace her husband and become the new supportive, loving partner her husband had never been, had become another emotionally needy, fragile person in Katherine’s life which was already crowded with needy, fragile people. Her mother, whose constant criticism seeped like bad air into Katherine’s lungs before the caustic thoughts were sufficiently collected to be spoken; her father, who crept noiselessly from room to room in his own home in the vain hope of not attracting his wife’s disapproval; her teenage son and her 12 year old daughter – torn between looking forward to the summer holiday with their father at the beach and leaving their mother childless at Christmas; her boss, who was convinced that they were losing enrolments because Katherine wasn’t a 28 year old PhD who had given up modelling to teach at the TAFE; and Katherine’s own ingrained expectations of what a successful life looked like.
“It’s the break-down of the tribe,” said Katherine. “You see it happening everywhere. In the home; at the office. No one wants, respects or needs maturity. My boss keeps telling us that we are too old to teach the younger generation artistic design. I’m 47! I was told that you only had to give up your career after forty if you were a model or an air hostess.”
“Flight attendant.”
“Whatever. But teaching? That was supposed to be a safe bet for job security.”
“Nothing is a safe bet for job security, Katherine.” Louise shook her head. “I left accounting because of the hours, but now that I am 50, there is no way I would be able to get a good job! I’d have to buy the firm!”
“At least that’s an option,” retorted Katherine. “I can’t buy the TAFE.”
“Would you want to?” Louise smiled at her friend. “I do know what you mean, though. But what I can’t figure out is - where I am, now.” Louise continued, seeing that Katherine was waiting for an explanation. “Sometimes I think I would like to meet a lovely, loving man, and have a partner, but most men my own age are not attracted to, or attractive to, me.”
“Don’t tell me you are changing teams?” said Katherine.
“Please!” Louise shook her head. “No way – strictly hetero. But look at most 50 year old men. Hairy everywhere except on their heads; paunchy; and do they ever go to the dentist? What is with middle aged men and bad teeth? Have they never heard of dental floss?”
Katherine was openly laughing now, but Louise hadn’t finished. “I was always told that men age well and women fall apart after 40. So, where are all these guys who are ageing well? Have they all moved to a remote island somewhere? I’m only seeing men who have let themselves go!” She shuddered. “So, there is that. Then, there is the reason for the relationship. Why? Sex? In the over-fifty male category, that’s a case of diminishing returns. So take sex out of the picture. I have a home; I have a family; I am financially secure; the only men who find me attractive are not attractive to me – and what do I have? I have a single life. Which is probably fine, except that I have not been anticipating this. I now need to devise a future for myself to accommodate increasing amounts of ‘alone’ activities. Living alone – the kids will be gone in 5 years; holidaying alone; retiring alone. I have to rebuild a whole new future for myself. And there are no clues. No one writes songs or films about a glorious life alone – because no one wants to be alone. But what choice do I have? And no, I am not prepared to be gay, so don’t even joke about it.” Louise sighed. “Even my kids think I have lost the lottery of life. They certainly don’t want to end up ‘like Mum’. But in a way, it is the natural outcome of my life.”
“What do you mean?” asked Katherine.
“Well, I am financially secure, so my career has lost its ‘raison d’etre’; I’ve had my family, so reproduction is irrelevant, and therefore sex is not essential to achieving my life goals; and I was married long enough to know that having a partner is no insurance that I will have someone to share the things I enjoy doing. You both have to want to do the same things; like the same food; even the same sort of people. You have to have common interests or you are just putting up with someone else’s life choices.”
“It sounds like you are meant to be single,” said Katherine with a shrug.
“I know! It does, doesn’t it? But I still get lonely and need company, so I’ll simply have to find some friends. People who are in a similar predicament.”
“Yeah, good luck.”
“Thanks,” said Louise unenthusiastically. “The problem is that we live in a society where romance is always the answer.”
“Except when it’s the problem.”
“Touche.”
“Turtle.”
Both women laughed.
*
The first inclination was to move – away from Melbourne; away from everyone who knew her as a wife. That was what you did at other points in your life when lifestyle changes were afoot. When you finished being a full-time student, you got a job and moved out of home, usually with friends and into a groovier, demographically appropriate part of town.
That’s what Jeff had done when their marriage ended. He’d moved straight back to Washington DC and gotten an apartment – not a flat, which meant a deflated tyre over there – in the apartment complex where his bachelor brother lived. It had a gym and a pool, where he would no doubt meet other divorcees as they relaxed after their high-powered career jobs within the beltway. Beltway Bandits they were called – consultants who were contracted to various Washington DC agencies for their expertise.
But where would she move to? And would she be able to move the kids? And even though there was no capital gains tax on a home, there was still the stamp duty to fork out on the new place. A tidy little pied-a-terre was not for her; wherever she moved to had to accommodate 4 people and a dog.
But imagine it: Sydney, where the weather was perfect 360 days of the year; or Brisbane, her birthplace, where rain meant one wet hour, not a soggy wet week. And the yellow sunshine: warm, then hot, then – when you just can’t take it any more – bam! It was completely dark and much cooler by 5.30. No twilight; no warning pink light to present the waning of the light sky. Just day one moment and black starry night the next. Tropical weather.
Who would she be, in a new place? She would be just herself. The New Lou. She would find what made her – not Jeff – happy; she would choose the things she liked and fill her life with them. She would have garlic on her salad; and wine with her meals. She would go to a different restaurant once a week – not the same one; and she would never, ever go to McDonalds ever again. She would buy her clothes from boutiques, not factory outlets. And she would have a beach holiday every single summer for a week, and feed everyone fish and chips from a shop out of the paper wrapping it came in.
That’s what she would do.
But Louise knew that she could not move the kids. Not again, and definitely not now. She wasn’t just living her life. She was setting the background for her children’s lives, too. And Melbourne was a great city – the greatest, if you listened to the people who knew – Melbournians. Hadn’t Melbourne declared itself the world’s most liveable city? Apart from the dismal weather, it had everything you could possibly want.
But what good were beach
es when it was constantly cold? In fact, who felt like going out and exploring anyplace in the wet? Maybe Melbourne was a great place to live because, despite having a population of 3.5 million people, most Melbournians stayed in where it was warm and dry. Unlike Sydney, which was only slightly bigger, but which felt ten times the size of Melbourne because everyone was out and about, enjoying the sunshine.
It was a decision which invited pondering but not resolution. A move was enticing: nicer weather; a fresh beginning; a house more suitable to the kids’ current needs. But the practical things urged her to stay: finances; security; and stability.
Louise remembered a Chinese proverb she had come across at uni: “He travels fastest who travels alone.” And she realised, too, that she wasn’t alone, and speed wasn’t relevant. Parenting wasn’t for the goal oriented; it was for those who valued the process; those who valued each step and each day and each building block of achievement. She wanted to live the life that suited her kids best. This life in Melbourne was her choice.
*
The tension between James and Camille was becoming harder to ignore. Louise had just put dinner on the table and James was sitting beside his sister.
“Muuuuum! James smells!”
“You smell,” James seemed to take delight in not being upset by Camille’s insults.
“You never take a shower and you never wash your clothes.”
“That’s right,” said James. “And I don’t wash because it annoys you!”
“Mum – tell him to put some clothes on.”
Chapter 24 – Use-by date
In an attempt to gather an urban family around her kids because her own extended family lived an eight-hour drive away, Louise set a regular night to have a local family to dinner. It was hard enough to find another single parent family in this leafy suburb of happily marrieds; and even harder to find a woman Lou got along with who had kids her kids liked. But she had done it.
It was a casual event and nicely set up to suit everyone. Maggy, who lived in Unit 6, was divorced too and had her kids, Matt and Lisa, for half the week from Saturday to Monday. She worked full-time and maintained a healthy social life, including a boyfriend, so she was very busy and although she could cook, she preferred not to. Louise wasn’t a gifted or even innovative cook but she enjoyed cooking, and Maggy’s two kids were the same ages as Camille and Peter – just the opposite way around. That is, Camille was the same age as Matt and Peter was the same age as Lisa; but since they were barely a year apart in age anyway, it really didn’t matter. They were 4 teenagers who had the same interests and the same outlook and despaired of their parents to the same extent. It all worked.
So, every other Sunday Louise would prepare a meal for seven, and Maggy would arrive promptly at six with wine, dips, chips and crackers to settle in for a gossip, a drink and a meal. After a couple years of this, Maggy had become rather too familiar with Louise’s small and much loved cd collection, and had started to bring copies she’d burned of her own cds, just to spice up the available mix. It gave the evening a celebratory atmosphere, and the music was carefully chosen to recall to the women earlier times of gaiety and youth.
“Mum?” Peter had a request.
The kids had almost finished eating. Before Louise could respond to Peter, there was a knock on the door. Louise jumped up to answer it.
“Katherine, come in,” Louise greeted her welcome though unexpected guest.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Katherine smiled at Maggy.
“No, no – it’s just a neighbourly dinner. Have you eaten?”
“Yes; no; I mean I haven’t eaten but I’m not eating, so no, I don’t want anything, thank you.”
“Are you on the ‘no dinner diet’?” Louise got Katherine a glass of wine and resettled herself back at her place.
Peter decided to make his request on behalf of all the kids except James, (who had already finished eating and deserted them for his computer game), before there were any more interruptions.
“Mum, may we leave the table?”
Louise was quick to respond this time. “Yes, sure – get the box of ice-creams out of the freezer and share them around.
“Thanks, Mum,” said Peter.
“Thanks Louise,” said Matt. Lisa and Camille were busy choosing their favourite ice cream. All four of them wafted off into the bedrooms where laptops and ipods awaited their instructions.
Maggy asked both women “What’s the ‘no dinner diet’?”
“You skip dinner,” explained Louise.
“So, how is that a diet?” Maggy wasn’t convinced. “I’d just pig out on chips if I skipped dinner.”
“No, that’s not the ‘no dinner diet’.” Louise shook her head theatrically at her friend. “That’s just skipping dinner and filling up on crap.” She sipped her wine and continued in a professorial tone. “The ‘no dinner diet’ is scientifically proven to reduce caloric intake and, therefore, weight. But it must be strictly adhered to; and both elements of the diet must be observed.”
Maggy looked at Katherine who was stifling a smile. “I can’t wait to hear this,” said Katherine. “I might learn something.”
Maggy decided to play along. “Go on then,” she said. “What are the two elements of the diet?”
“The beauty of this diet is in its simplicity, affordability and that it is self-explanatory,” explained Louise. “The first element of the diet is, as you have correctly identified, the ‘no dinner’ aspect. The second element is the ‘diet’ aspect. So, you skip dinner, BUT you don’t eat anything else! In fact, you don’t eat anything after lunch. However, you MUST eat breakfast and lunch on this diet, otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” asked Maggy through a mouthful of chips, which had been left on the table and were now being eaten again since dinner was finished.
“Otherwise you will get malnutrition and a severe case of bitchitis.”
“What?” Maggy almost choked on her chips and held her hand over her mouth.
“You know;” said Lou, “the feeling you get when you are on a strict diet and your blood sugar drops and it is 4 o’clock in the afternoon and you can’t have alcohol because it isn’t 5 o’clock yet and you are on a diet that doesn’t allow alcohol anyway? Bitchitis!”
Maggy and Katherine laughed. “Oh, that feeling!” Maggy nodded her head. “I know it well.”
“I get that feeling whether I am on a diet or not,” agreed Katherine.
“That’s because the world is full of bastards who are just trying to annoy the weasel piss out of us!” Louise was on a roll tonight.
“She’s right!” Katherine clinked Louise’s glass with hers. “You’ve just described my life!”
“No!” Maggy was disbelieving. “Not your whole life, surely! Moments, perhaps-“
“All the moments with my ex-husband in them, that’s for sure.” Katherine refilled her glass.
Maggy looked as though all the air had been let out of her pretty balloon. “Oh, yes, well I suppose that when you put them into the mix, life does become rather annoying.”
“That’s one word for it,” said Lou. “I just don’t think marriage works after a certain period.”
Maggy frowned. “All marriages?”
Louise nodded. “The vast majority of them. Fifteen years; and they need to be rolled up and buried in the backyard with all the other dead family pets before they start to stink and make everyone sick. And please don’t tell me that 50% of marriages work. We don’t know that. All we know is that 50% of marriages end in divorce which leaves the other 50% of marriages remaining. And let’s face it, that 50% includes people who were lucky enough that their bastard husband died of some natural causes-“
“Louise!” Maggy was shocked but still laughing.
“-AND all the people who stay together even though they hate each other-“
“Like my parents,” agreed Maggy.
“Mine, too,” said Katherine.
“And it includes
the people who split up but never bothered to sign the forms to get a divorce, AND the people who stay together simply because breaking up would mean financial ruin or homelessness for the woman.”
“You are right.” Katherine was surprised by what she saw as the accuracy of Louise’s assessment. “That’s pretty depressing, actually.”
Louise laughed. “You two shouldn’t worry – look at you both! You have great guys! I’m just making myself feel better. You know – misery loves company and all that.”
Katherine looked accusingly at Maggy. “I thought you were divorced?”
“I am,” said Maggy. Then she smiled. “But I met someone.”
“Where?”
“RSVP – where else?”
“Good old RSVP, where would we be without it?” Katherine laughed.
“Is that where you met Mike?” Maggy asked.
“Yep!” said Katherine.
“I am the only person I know who can’t meet anyone on RSVP!” wailed Louise.
“Have you tried?” asked Katherine disbelievingly.
“Of course I’ve tried!” said Louise. “And the only men I get any interest from are ten years too old! All the guys my age reject me instantly.”
“Oh, I know.” Maggy nodded. “I was so lucky to find Trev. He was new on the site and I snapped him up! He didn’t even get a chance to play around.”
Katherine wanted to know more. “So,” she asked Maggy, “ how long have you been seeing each other?”
“Four glorious months,” sighed Maggy happily.
“Oh,” said Katherine, “so not long.”
Louise felt that Katherine’s competitive side might be rearing its ugly head, so she took up the challenge on Maggy’s behalf. “But they have been hot-and-heavy months, haven’t they Mag?”
Maggy blushed and smiled. “They sure have!”
“And what does he do?” asked Katherine.
Louise jumped in. “Can I tell?” When Maggy nodded, Louise turned to Katherine and said “Trev’s a helicopter surveillance cop!” Katherine was speechless, so Lou continues. “And he even flies over our houses and one day this brazen hussy flashed the girls at him!”
Morning in Melbourne Page 18