by Ilsa Evans
‘Oh! Thank god!’ Elizabeth opens her eyes and sags with relief. ‘But then why’d Cam say you were?’
‘Because she’s a fool.’
‘Well, pardon me for being concerned,’ Cam says sarcastically, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at her mother. ‘I’ll just sit here and shut up, shall I?’
‘Perhaps that’s best,’ says Rose, nodding, ‘and I shall tell you why I asked to see you all before anybody else comes up with any wild theories.’
‘Excellent,’ Diane says.
‘Good,’ Elizabeth says.
‘Um,’ I say, unwilling to add too much to the family dynamics.
Everybody sits in silence while we wait for Rose to continue. But now the moment has actually arrived, she seems reluctant to proceed. Instead she sighs and then stares either at the fern fronds or the view out of the window, it’s difficult to know which. The rest of us take advantage of her distraction to share a variety of facial contortions, such as grimaces and raised eyebrows. After a few moments of this, Rose turns back towards us and picks up her cup of tea to have a sip. I notice, with a jolt, that her hands are trembling slightly.
‘Mum?’ asks Diane gently, ‘are you all right?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Rose takes a deep breath in and then lets it out in a rush. ‘All right. Firstly, I’d just like you all to remember that we are talking about very different times here. In my day, things were done differently, women were treated differently. And we didn’t have quite the same choices you girls have now. Not that I’m using that as an excuse, I’m just saying that’s how things were. Well, anyway – you know I have, of course, been married before.’
‘Naturally,’ answers Diane, on behalf of her sisters, ‘because of our father, for starters.’
‘I meant before your father. My two earlier marriages. What I want to talk to you about now is my second marriage. And don’t forget that although I was a widow, I was still only a girl. Twenty-one when I met him and we married within the year. He wasn’t much older than me and everything was quite . . . quite lovely . . .’ Rose pauses and a tiny smile flickers across her face and then vanishes as she continues. ‘We were together for three years before he was sent to Korea. The war was on, you see, but the stupid thing was that it was almost over when he went. He got there in April, was killed in June and it was all over by July.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ Diane reaches across and puts her hand on her mother’s as Rose lapses into silence. ‘How terrible for you.’
‘Wasn’t his name Dick?’ Cam frowns, obviously trying to remember details.
‘Certainly not. It was Jim–Jim Berry. And it’s a long time ago now.’ Rose moves her hand away from Diane’s and straightens her back. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t even be telling you all this if it weren’t for something that happened this week. But I’ll get to that in a minute. So, there I was, in our flat in the city with a telegram telling me I’d just been widowed again.’
‘Oh, Mum.’
‘Yes.’ Rose pauses and looks up at her three daughters. ‘On the very same day that I found out I was pregnant.’
‘What!’
‘Pregnant!’
‘Exactly,’ says Rose grimly. ‘I don’t mind telling you that I didn’t know what to do. I had no money. The family business had just gone under and my parents were doing it tough with two daughters still at home to feed. They were sympathetic but they made it quite clear I was on my own.’
‘Mum, that’s awful!’
‘What’d you do?’
‘I wrote to Jim’s parents. They lived in Tasmania, in a little country town called Strahan. I told them about my situation and they took me in. They owned a small dairy down there and Jim’s two brothers were still at home, but they made room for me and made me welcome. I worked in the dairy doing the books to help pay my way but they never forced me to – it was my choice. They were really good people. And on the first of January, on New Year’s Day, the baby was born.’
‘I don’t believe this.’ Cam looks at Diane for back-up. ‘Do you believe this?’
‘So what was it?’ Diane is totally focused on her mother. ‘A boy or a girl?’
‘A little boy. Lovely little thing – as bright as a button. Looked just like his dad. And the parents were as pleased as punch when I named him after Jimmy. They made it clear I was welcome to stay for as long as I liked, forever if I wanted. But, girls, oh – I hated it there. They were hoping I would marry one of the other boys because they saw that as the perfect solution. But I didn’t – at all. You see, they were all lovely people but they were different from the people I had always known. More staid, more settled. I was still only in my mid-twenties and I felt, well, stifled by the country.’ Rose shakes her head and grimaces at the memory. ‘Funny when you think that I ended up on a farm with your father anyway.’
‘But you were older then,’ says Diane supportively.
‘Not much older,’ continues her mother with a shake of her head, ‘but I wasn’t to know that at the time. All I knew was that if I stayed there I would . . . die. So I left. I came back to Melbourne, moved into a flat with another girl and even got my old job back. As a machinist.’
‘But who looked after the baby while you were at work?’ asks Elizabeth with a puzzled frown. ‘And what happened to him? Where is he?’
‘You left him there,’ Cam says slowly, looking at her mother. ‘You left him in Strahan.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Mum!’ exclaims Diane, aghast. ‘You didn’t!’
‘I did. They knew I was unhappy so they offered to look after him while I got myself settled back here. You see, it was only supposed to be temporary – or maybe they realised how hard I would find it to get into a position where I could take him. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought I could do it. But I couldn’t. Don’t forget these were the days before child-care, and crèches, and government assistance. Oh, I missed him so much . . .’ Rose pauses again and gazes for a moment at the far wall between Cam and Diane. Then she gives herself a little shake and continues:‘ And I put some money aside but it was never enough. So they wrote and told me how he was going, and what he was doing. And I even went back once, but that was worse . . .’
‘Why?’ asks Elizabeth, leaning forwards as her mother trails off.
Rose takes a sip of tea and then puts her cup down, fastidiously straightening it in the saucer. ‘It was his first birthday and I remember he was already walking. Into everything, he was. And he was so at home there. He was even calling Jim’s mother “Mummy” – he didn’t know me at all.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ says Diane, horrified, ‘how awful!’
‘Yes it was,’ continues Rose matter-of-factly. ‘It was awful. So I never went back again. And, after a while, the letters petered out. My fault as well as theirs. I suppose they thought the longer I wasn’t in touch, the more chance they had of keeping him. As for me, there is no excuse. I was young, and selfish, and stupid. And I decided that if I couldn’t have him, it was easier not knowing him. Eventually I met your father and married him. He was a good man, and I have no doubt he would have taken the boy in. But I decided that it was too late, and he was better off staying where he was. So I never even told your father.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ Elizabeth says, shaking her head. ‘We have a brother?’
‘How old would he be now?’ asks Diane pragmatically. ‘And has he ever got in contact with you? Have you ever met him?’
‘And where does he live?’ Elizabeth looks at her mother curiously. ‘Does he know about us?’
‘One thing at a time.’ Rose holds up her hand. ‘Let me finish. When I married your father and decided against telling him, I also decided against telling Jim’s parents. Right or wrong, I made a clean break. That doesn’t mean I never thought about the boy, or wondered what he was doing. But, no, I never contacted them again. As for your questions, well– he is forty-six now, he still lives in Tasmania, he knows about you three and, yes, I’ve met him.’
/>
‘When?’
‘What does he look like?’
‘I know,’ says Cam slowly, glancing at me. ‘And you know too, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I think I do,’ I reply, looking at Rose as everything continues to tumble into place. ‘It’s Richard, isn’t it?’
‘Yes–it’s Richard.’ She smiles thinly at both of us. ‘Richard James Berry, named after his father. Except that everyone called his father Jimmy.’
‘Oh! That’s the Richard from your lunch, isn’t it?’ Diane says excitedly as she turns to Cam. ‘The one that you said made Mum go all odd.’
‘How come everybody knows who he is except me?’ wails Elizabeth.
‘So I had lunch with him yesterday,’ Rose continues, looking relieved the worst is over, ‘and he seems perfectly pleasant. In fact, I do believe they did a very good job. He’s polite, charming, very well brought up. Ask me what he does for a living. Go on – ask me.’
‘What does he do for a living?’ asks Elizabeth obediently, before suddenly screwing up her face. ‘Eech! He doesn’t still do . . . milk, does he?’
‘No.’ Rose dismisses the milk industry with a wave of her hand. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then what?’ I finally find my voice because I really want to know, and I wouldn’t have cared if it was milk. I quite like milk myself.
‘He is a doctor,’ announces Rose, sitting up straighter as she beams at us and waits for the applause. ‘A doctor of philosophy, that is. A university lecturer.’
‘Christ,’ mutters Cam, ‘his lectures must go for hours. The man can’t string three words together.’
‘But when did you speak to him? How come you’ve met him?’ Elizabeth stares at Cam. ‘And why wasn’t I invited?’
‘Pfft,’ replies Cam shortly.
‘Are we going to see him?’ asks Diane.
‘Yes, you are,’ answers her mother. ‘For lunch–today.’
‘Lunch!’ says Diane.
‘Today!’ says Cam.
‘Wow,’ says Elizabeth, ‘a brother!’
‘But how did he know Joanne?’ I ask Rose, thinking ahead. ‘I mean, they told us they met at some airport lounge. Surely that’s a bit, well, coincidental, isn’t it?’
‘Who’s Joanne?’ asks Elizabeth with a frown. ‘Do I know her? And why does everyone know everything except me?’
‘I have to admit,’ replies Rose thoughtfully, looking at me, ‘that’s the strange part.’
‘I’ll say,’ grumbles Elizabeth crossly.
‘That?’ says Cam, looking at her mother with disbelief, ‘that’s the strange part? You hit us with the news we have a brother we’ve never met, that you had a baby forty-six years ago who you haven’t seen since – and yet the bit about the airport, that’s the strange part?’
‘There’s absolutely no need to get snippy,’ Cam’s mother looks at her disapprovingly. ‘I’m only trying to be honest, that’s all.’
‘About time,’ mutters Cam.
‘Don’t mumble, Camilla. If you have something to say, just say it.’ Rose stares challengingly at her daughter for a few moments and then, when no response is forthcoming, turns away and continues: ‘As I was saying, it was a rather odd thing. It’s true that they met at an airport lounge. In Singapore, I believe. He was on his way back from London and had a four-hour stopover and it seems Joanne heard his Australian accent and introduced herself. Apparently, she had been at some type of retreat where they weren’t allowed to speak and so she was making up for lost time. Funny, she’s never very chatty when I see her. Never mind. Well, by the time the plane was ready she had been telling him all about her life to date and had happened to mention you, Camilla – something about working with you at the library. Anyway, he recognised the name so he swapped his business class seat for the seat next to her. She was in economy.’
‘Oh,’ comments Elizabeth, ‘that was silly.’
‘Yes, well, on the way to Melbourne he asked her about us and then explained why.’ Rose takes another sip of tea and pulls a face at its coolness before pushing her cup away. ‘So she came up with the idea of him staying a few days and meeting us all. Although I believe he was not going to tell us who he was. But I recognised him . . . he looks just like his father, you see.’
‘God!’ says Diane. ‘That must have been a shock, Mum!’
‘Yes,’ replies Rose slowly, ‘it was.’
‘You mean his father looked like that?’ says Cam incredulously. ‘Tall and beanpoley?’
‘Yes,’ replies Rose, ‘he certainly did.’
‘And you fell for him?’
‘But hang on – why didn’t he want us to know?’ Elizabeth finds her voice again. ‘I mean, what’s wrong with us?’
‘And how did he recognise Cam’s name?’ Diane looks at her mother with a frown. ‘How did he know who she was?’
‘Good question!’ Cam looks towards their mother for illumination.
‘Well, that’s easy. Apparently his daughter – he has a teenage daughter named Eve – was interested in family history a few years ago so he helped her look it all up and make a genealogy chart. So he was well aware of who we all were and even where we all were.’
‘But he wasn’t ever going to look us up?’
‘I believe not.’ Rose looks at her spot on the wall again. ‘You see, he feels he had a good childhood – a great one, he said – and didn’t really feel the need to, well, complicate his life. He said there were no gaps that he felt needed filling. And that probably would have been the way it stayed if he hadn’t run into Joanne. He said she piqued his interest and suddenly he got curious.’
‘So is he upset that we know now?’
‘I don’t think so. He didn’t say anything like that and he was surprisingly honest about how he felt.’ Rose smiles with obvious pride. ‘A very together young man. Lovely manners too. And I do believe he’s looking forward to this lunch with the three of you.’
‘But I’d still like to know how come almost everybody has met him except me,’ complains Elizabeth, taking a shortbread biscuit and waving it at Cam. ‘That means you all get a head start with him.’
‘I think I’m in shock.’ Diane starts collecting the teacups together and stacking them at the end of the table. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘C’n I come in now?’ CJ’s blonde head pokes around the corner of the kitchen doorway. ‘Are you all finished with talking?’
I don’t know about the rest of them, but I certainly am. In fact, I’ve been incapable of speech for quite some time now. Because there are too many ramifications here for me to get my head around, and the atmosphere in Cam’s meals area at the moment is not conducive to anything resembling clear thinking. Rose looks like a balloon that has been suddenly deflated, all pinched and drained and sapped of strength. Nevertheless, while not exactly defensive, she is obviously still on her guard and unwilling to relinquish control of the situation. Diane, on the other hand, has given up on the conversation entirely, electing instead to collect the crockery and wash it. Elizabeth is sulkily shredding fern fronds and Cam is just looking bitter.
While CJ, taking the lack of response as an affirmative, runs across to the table and clambers up onto her grandmother’s lap, I begin to plan my escape. I don’t want to be here anymore. In fact, I seem to remember that I didn’t want to be here in the beginning. I run my fingers through my hair, flop it back and tuck it behind my ears. So Richard is Rose Riley’s son. So Richard is my best friend’s brother. So Richard is forty-six years old. So Richard is meeting them all for lunch today.
And so Richard and Joanne probably aren’t an item.
SATURDAY
1213 hrs
I let myself into my house slowly, expecting to hear either the television at full volume, the stereo blaring, or the baby exercising her lungs. Instead there’s just the sort of eerie silence I was quite fond of until my daughter and her offspring moved in two days ago. As I shut the door behind me, I allow myself a small frisson
of hope that said daughter and offspring might not be currently in residence. I love them both fiercely, but at the moment I’d love some peace and quiet even more. I put my keys down on the foyer table, wander into the lounge-room and immediately rethink the fierce love bit as, my eyes widening, I survey the damage.
And damage there is aplenty. In fact, if this were a gung-ho crime show, I would be able to say the lounge-room betrays definite evidence of a struggle. A struggle between chaos and order, that is – with chaos the obvious victor. All the couch cushions have been piled in a heap in front of the television set with my new rug draped over the lot of them. The coffee table is heaped with empty pizza boxes, dirty glasses and scrunched-up chip packets, there is a bunny-rug spread across the carpet in the corner with enough toys and rattles to stock a small toy-shop, and an open Billabong backpack on the armchair dangles entrails of jumpers and jeans over the armrest and onto the floor. There is even a lone toothbrush sitting on top of the stereo. And there’s a god-awful stain on the carpet.
I take all of this in slowly as I gaze from one side of the room to the other in amazement. Then I wander, slightly stunned, into the kitchen area. And immediately realise this is obviously where the largest battle was fought – and chaos, once again, reigned supreme. The sink is full and what couldn’t fit in there has been piled haphazardly onto the bench-tops. There’s a plastic bag holding what I suspect might be a dirty nappy sitting on top of the island bench, along with an opened box of cereal, an opened tub of fried rice, an opened jar of Vegemite and a singular sock. An assortment of discarded baby clothing is scattered across the floor by the table, while on the table itself are several neatly lined-up empty Coke bottles and one half-full baby bottle – almost as if someone was planning an impromptu game of skittles. There’s also a note.
Hi, Mil! Bronte had a really bad night with the baby so I’ve taken her out to cheer her up. Don’t worry about the mess – she’ll clean it up as soon as we get back.