Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life

by Maureen McCarthy

  ‘Okay, Mrs Gardiner, coming.’ She gave us an apologetic smile and stepped back into the hallway.

  ‘Come on,’ Jude said with a grin, ‘let’s go up here and see if we can find anyone to dance with us.’ I followed her to the front of the room, where the music was coming from. It pounded out, bright and breezy, but old-fashioned in a way, renditions of light pop songs. The kind of thing I normally hated, but in this context it was all right. I wondered if it would get more interesting as the night progressed. I peered over the heads and made out the four musicians dressed in formal dinner suits standing on a makeshift stage. There was a double-bass, keyboard, guitar and drums.

  Jude and I danced, first with each other then a bit later with a couple of young men who’d been dancing with two other girls who wanted to sit down in the middle of the set. Jude collared the guys before they had a chance to follow the girls over to the side of the room.

  ‘Hey, you want to keep dancing with us?’ she asked cheekily, pulling the jacket sleeve of one of the boys. He was tall and well-built with a clean-cut smile.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, smiling at her directness. When he saw me he pulled his friend back. ‘Andrew,’ he joked, ‘the lady here wants a partner. I’m Peter,’ he said confidently, ‘and this is Andrew.’ The other guy turned back and smiled politely. Although he was dark he had the same well-washed, clean-cut directness about him.

  The next number had already started. We smiled at each other and began to move.

  To my surprise I found I could dance as well as anyone. Better than most of the guys in the room actually. I felt very self-conscious at first, but it was a big crowd and no one was watching so I gradually relaxed. The four of us pranced and jerked around each other, smiling and exchanging names and bits and pieces of information between numbers, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I could hardly believe that I was behaving in such a normal way.

  The two boys were friends and were both studying at an agricultural college. Neither of them said anything even remotely interesting, but they both had an attractive steadiness about them nevertheless. And they were touchingly polite. I realised later that it was to do with the fact that they were farm boys; they lived on adjoining properties north-west of the town. I recognised that steadiness like an old familiar friend. It came when you were sure about your place in the world, what you’d be doing in ten, twenty, even fifty years’ time.

  When the bracket was over we walked towards the glass doors. I thought they were going to drop us, but they had only moved forward to get us drinks from a tray. They held out chairs for us and the four of us sat down. Then we proceeded to talk in a stilted, offhand way. But I was managing all right. I wasn’t overly self-conscious. In fact I was enjoying just being there; watching all the pretty girls, listening to the chattering and the music all around me. Jude kept our little table lively enough by teasing the boys mercilessly. They were dressed almost identically in moleskin pants, elastic-sided boots, beautifully cut check shirts and ties.

  ‘I bet you guys rang each other to check that you would be wearing the same clothes, right?’ They had the grace to grin.

  ‘So which one has the shares in the moleskin factory?’

  At one stage Andrew mildly declared that the country was ‘ruined’ because it was being run by socialists. I was wary until I saw that Jude had no intention of being outraged.

  ‘You really reckon that?’ was all she said, in an easy, friendly way. They both nodded sagely.

  ‘People just don’t expect to have to work any more,’ Andrew said, po-faced. Jude laughed as though the statement was hilarious, then she gave him a dig in the ribs.

  ‘I bet you’ve never even been for a job yourself,’ she teased. ‘Well . . .’ he laughed sheepishly. Jude was bringing out his better side, egging him on to lighten up.

  ‘Come on, admit it,’ she grinned.

  ‘We’re too busy working,’ Peter cut in. ‘At harvesting time we get up at four. We work until eight at night.’

  ‘Yeah, but how long does harvesting take?’

  ‘About three or four weeks . . . but then there’s the . . .’

  ‘I bet the rest of the time you’re lying in bed until about ten!’ she said. Both of them were laughing, enjoying the ribbing.

  ‘So what about you, smartie,’ Peter said, leaning forward towards Jude. I could tell he was really interested in her. She looked so attractive and sparky sitting there with her exotic dress and dark skin. ‘Where do you come from?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jude was all mock outrage. ‘Manella, of course!’

  ‘Well you look like a . . . a migrant,’ Peter continued gamely. ‘Chile,’ Jude said sticking her chin out. ‘So what ya gunna do about it?’

  ‘Chile is okay,’ Andrew said. ‘They buy our wheat. So you must be okay.’

  ‘Okay?’ Jude laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. ‘I’m much better than okay, mate. I’m bloody . . . fantastic!’

  ‘May we join you?’ It was Katerina and she was pulling a reluctant young man by the hand.

  ‘This is an old friend, Anton Crossway,’ Katerina said, smiling at us and pulling up chairs. ‘This is Carmel and Jude, whom I live with, and I think you guys know each other.’ Peter and Andrew both nodded, and held out their hands to shake Anton’s. Jude and I nodded, but he only met our eyes for a second before looking away.

  They settled themselves and Jude, Katerina, Peter and Andrew began to talk. I tried not to stare at Anton, but I couldn’t help it. It was impossible. Unlike everyone else at the party, he was dressed plainly: blue jeans that didn’t even look clean and an unironed black cotton shirt with two buttons missing. He was of medium height and slender, with wide shoulders and a finely chiselled face. It wasn’t handsome in the ordinary sense; it was too uneven. A long, not-quite-straight nose that kind of squared off at the end, a thin mouth that kept moving around at the edges, and straight uncombed fair hair pulled back roughly into a ponytail. But there was something interesting about him. He had three or four moles on his face and neck, but apart from these his skin was unblemished and golden-brown; the sort of skin that hasn’t been tanned in the sun, but is naturally that colour. He sat next to Katerina staring at his hands most of the time, sometimes sitting on them, only occasionally looking around the room. I tried to work out if he was self-conscious or bored.

  ‘So, Anton, how long are you home for?’ Andrew asked politely. Anton looked up to answer. And that’s when I saw his eyes properly. Although they weren’t big they startled me. They were bright, and sort of lively, sitting in his face like two small bits of ocean. Blue water shored by dark lashes. He shrugged simply. Again I couldn’t work out if he was being superior or just shy.

  ‘Just a few days, I think.’

  ‘You like getting home?’ This time it was Peter. I could tell that Anton wasn’t one of them. The other two were wary of him, treating him with caution.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Sure. I like getting out with the horses and . . . the air . . . you know.’

  His voice trailed away. There was the faintest trace of a lisp that seemed almost childish. But the edgy impatience of his body movements was very adult. Very male. He looked fit and muscular enough to jump out of his own skin at any moment. Was he uninterested in the company or simply uncomfortable in this dressy social scene?

  ‘Last year of your course, isn’t it?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Nah, I’ve finished now,’ Anton smiled, ‘I’m doing my articles.’

  ‘Decided if you’re going to come home?’

  ‘Nope. Not really . . .’

  I looked down to remove the temptation to stare at him and I saw his feet. Thongs! Cheap white rubber thongs. I jerked my head up for another look at him. This time I caught his eye and we both turned swiftly away. To wear thongs to a party like this? You would have to be very indifferent to everyone, or stupid, or very poor, or absolutely non-caring. Or so supremely confident in who you are that you think you can wear anything you want
. I wondered which category he fell into as I felt the terrible flush creeping up my neck. Damn it. I shifted myself around in my chair and pretended to stare at the band. My heart was beginning to race and my palms had gone sweaty.

  ‘How is it going?’ Katerina nudged me in a friendly way. ‘Having a good time?’

  ‘It’s just great, Katerina,’ I said. ‘It’s a terrific party. A lovely party. I love dancing.’

  ‘So how about another dance, girls?’

  Peter held out his hand to Jude. I turned and was thankful to see Andrew expecting to dance with me. Profoundly relieved and profoundly disappointed. If we had been left together at the table, maybe Anton would have spoken to me, asked me to dance. I got up with the others and tried to take myself in hand.

  I threw myself into the dancing, enjoying it while trying to throw off the introspectiveness that was threatening to open up on me like a rain cloud. I found myself caught up in a circle of eight dancers all doing a sort of group rock-and-roll. Changing partners and whizzing people left and right. It was simple enough and I found I could manage. There was a lot of laughing and bumbling around. No one seemed to care if I didn’t get to my spot on time. It came to an end and I caught sight of Anton standing by the wall, looking on, one thonged foot resting nonchalantly on the wall, hands in his pockets. Like he was waiting for a bus on a city street.

  We went back to dancing with our partners in a more subdued way for the next slow number. Andrew took my slightly sweaty hand into his and put one arm lightly around my back. We managed in a shuffling sort of way to dance quite well. I couldn’t help thinking that if I hadn’t been introduced to Anton, if I wasn’t constantly taking little glimpses of him over Andrew’s shoulder, I would have been enjoying this whole thing immensely. I had never danced like this before. This was proper, grown-up dancing. Here I was, fat Carmel, being held by this reasonable-looking, rather nice young man and being whisked around the floor. And I was managing. I was keeping in step. I wasn’t falling over or saying anything particularly stupid. I didn’t even want to go to the toilet. If only my mother could be here to see me.

  But my eyes kept wandering to the figure in the black shirt standing by the wall.

  I was dancing around the room, talking politely to my partner, laughing at Jude’s little jokes and grimaces as she flew past, and at the same time keeping close watch on Anton whenever I got the chance. At different times I saw groups of people approaching him. Crazy panic would rise in me. Was he going to walk off with them? Disappear? Which girl would he choose to dance with? But they would only stay for a while and he’d be on his own again. I began, ever so slowly, to edge my partner nearer to him. I was filled with a sick curiosity. I wanted to be nearby when he was whisked away by some girl.

  My fleeting glances could now pick up a lot from his face. He looked oddly out of it, as though he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. I stiffened. A group of three lovely-looking girls approached him and my heart hit my mouth. I watched him smile and nod, respond to their flirting. One of them was stunning. She was supermodel thin, and had masses of black curly hair bunched up on her head, half of it falling luxuriantly down her back. Her white dress was backless; well, almost, just a couple of narrow sequined straps holding it onto her deeply tanned shoulders. Her eyes were flashing and she was laughing as she slipped one of her slender arms around his waist. She was pretending to carry him off. He was laughing and trying to resist. He will be coming onto the floor any minute to dance with that gorgeous creature. And I don’t think I will be able to stand it!

  It was totally unnerving. I turned my back and refused to watch any more. The number finished and we all clapped. We stood on one side of the dancing crowd, in a foursome, puffing from the exertion and smiling at each other.

  ‘Queen Kat’s old friend is a bit of a hunk, hey?’ Jude said gaily, loud enough for the other two to hear. A protective shield clunked into place around my chest, like a steel roller-door slamming down.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, feeling my face heat up. But Jude’s eyes were already darting around, looking for something else to talk about.

  ‘That guy will inherit Yassfield,’ Peter laughed drily, ‘and he walks around as if he hasn’t got two bucks to rub together . . .’ The trace of anger under his words only heightened my curiosity. ‘Oh,’ I said, as carelessly as I was able. Everyone knew that Yassfield was the biggest property this side of the ranges.

  ‘He’s the only son,’ Peter explained. ‘Katerina’s father and his father are best friends. Have been since university.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said again.

  ‘What does he do?’ Jude asked. ‘Apart from being the son of a wealthy landowner?’

  ‘He’s just finished Law at uni,’ Andrew replied. ‘He took a year off to travel last year.’ He sneered his way through the last sentence as if there was something slightly suspect in such an activity. I nodded, trying to act as though none of it meant anything to me. I watched my left hand fiddling around with the bottom of that lovely top of Cynthia’s, and saw that it was trembling.

  We all began to dance again, but it wasn’t long before my resistance gave out. I turned around expecting to see that he’d gone; the blank, empty space by the wall where he’d been. But no, there he was, still standing by the wall. A reckless bubble of relief broke inside me. I was in a clinch with Andrew. It was a slow number and we were dancing like old professionals now. One hand resting on his arm, my face staring over his shoulder. We were shuffling around one little section of the floor, barely moving. Suddenly Anton looked up and met my eyes. I took in a sharp breath. A deep, strong pull that came from somewhere deep inside held my eyes steadfast, looking at him. I didn’t turn away. We stared at each other, across a sea of bobbing heads, for perhaps five seconds. Straight into each other’s eyes. Very seriously. Then he smiled.

  He smiled and it was the most exquisite, simple, totally genuine smile I’d ever seen. His head sort of jerked back and he exuded this . . . warmth and pleasure, something like the way a baby might smile when its mother came back into the room after an hour of missing her. He raised one hand to his head and scratched as though he couldn’t believe it either. As if he was absolutely, totally delighted with me. I smiled back. That took perhaps another three seconds. After which I think I turned away.

  ‘Hey, let’s get a drink,’ said Andrew.

  ‘Okay,’ I answered.

  We all walked over to one of the big glass doors. Tables were set up outside on the verandah for the supper. I bent and considered the tiny baked asparagus pastries, the plate of curried prawns and wild rice, the marinated chicken on skewers, the smoked salmon pâté and crackers. I lifted something delicious to my mouth and ate but didn’t taste it. A glass was pressed into my hand. I drank, but I didn’t taste that either. My heart was hammering in my chest. That smile was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I felt as daring as a sky-diver might feel having just come down after completing a difficult and dangerous drop. I couldn’t believe that I’d been so brave.

  We ate and talked and danced some more. I was no longer on the lookout for Anton. I no longer needed to know where he was. I knew he would be somewhere, and I knew that when the time came, certainly before the end of the night, we would speak to each other.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ said Jude, leaning towards me at one stage. We were sitting in a group of about a dozen out on the lawn at a small table. I looked at her and sighed, but I couldn’t speak. She laughed, delighted, and waited. My face must have told her that something good was happening. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I shrugged helplessly.

  ‘I’ll speak to you later, girl!’ she hissed, before turning away to comment on something Andrew had said.

  Gradually the elation ebbed away. The night moved along at its own pace. Suddenly someone said it was midnight, and that it was time for the speeches and toasts. Although I hadn’t set eyes on Anton since we’d smiled at each other, I wasn’t worried. A huge ball wa
s rolling forward and I had been caught up by it. I stood dreamily with everyone else, laughing in the right places, clapping and joining in. Inside I was operating in a completely different sphere. So when my name was called out over one of the loudspeakers I was completely unprepared. ‘Carmel McCaffrey! Is Carmel McCaffrey here?’

  ‘Yes. Here . . .’

  ‘How about a song, Carmel?’

  I started awkwardly, almost losing my balance in the high heels I wasn’t used to. Jerked awake from my dreamy, spaced-out state of mind. I looked around with astonishment to see that people were gradually edging away, still looking at me with smiles on their faces. They began to clap in unison.

  ‘A song, Carmel. A song!’

  My God! I looked around in alarm for somewhere to hide, something to duck behind, some way for this to finish. Who had started it? Was someone trying to play a rotten joke? Everyone was looking and smiling. Where was Jude? Only a minute ago she’d been standing right next to me and now she was nowhere to be seen. A passageway was being created, from me and heading right through to the band on the stage.

  I stood, in shock I suppose, certainly feeling myself on the edge of a giant precipice. All these nice people want me to jump!

  I must have teetered there for a few seconds, feeling that there was no way I could sing. I was rigid with fear. I wanted to explain nicely that they had the wrong person. That I really had only ever sung in church or for old people in nursing homes.