Food, Sex & Money

by Liz Byrski

  His phone call provided a resolution of sorts but now, strangely, she felt the loss of him in a way that she had not allowed herself to feel before. Now she knew he had shifted, and it was safe to feel her own grief; to feel the ache of longing for his warmth, for the tenderness, for the liberation of sex with someone who wanted her as much as she wanted him. She let herself dwell on the memories; how it felt to rest her cheek against his chest, to wrap her legs around his waist, to feel his mouth travelling across her body, to hold his hand in the darkness and feel his breath on her neck. She remembered how it felt to be wanted, and to want, to be driven by desire and to satisfy it, and then to be able to laugh about it.

  ‘You are a fantastic lover, Sylvia,’ he’d said, lying back on the rumpled bed in Hong Kong. ‘You knock my socks off.’

  ‘You weren’t wearing socks,’ she’d laughed, drawing the sheet over her.

  ‘Sorry, I meant rocks,’ he said, and they had rolled around on the bed together laughing.

  ‘I didn’t know I could be like this,’ she’d said, kissing him, and he’d grasped her and pulled her on top of him again.

  ‘I always knew it,’ he said, ‘the moment I first saw you, I thought, married to a vicar, my arse – that woman’s a sex maniac if ever I saw one.’

  In the darkness Sylvia laughed through her tears and turned onto her side, wondering whether she would ever be that way again, whether she had discovered that abandoned, sensual side of herself only to let it wither. At fifty-six it didn’t look hopeful, but this itself had been the most unlikely adventure, an indication surely that anything was possible. And anyway, did it really matter? At this time of life there were other compensations, her friends, her creative work, mending her relationship with Kim, the spiritual life that she had neglected at a time when she should surely have turned to it for reassurance. The single life was very attractive.

  ‘The trouble with Bonnie,’ Irene had said recently, ‘is that she really thinks that no one could be alone by choice. But it really is the right choice at certain times in our lives.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Sylvia had said. ‘Leaving Colin seemed to open up my life in an incredibly exciting way. Will was part of that … at least, until he wanted to turn it into something different. Now, being single seems to have a lot going for it.’

  And while she still felt that way, she thought she was better able to understand Bonnie. Her relationship with Jeff had become her purpose in life; losing him had robbed her not just of the man she loved but of a whole way of being herself, and somehow Sylvia’s relationship with Will and his accident had become a part of that.

  ‘You had no obligation to tell me, Sylvia,’ Bonnie had said recently, ‘and I had no right to behave as I did. I just wish you’d told me right from the start.’

  ‘I wish I’d told you too,’ Sylvia replied. ‘I wish I’d done it all differently, but I don’t wish that this thing with Will and I hadn’t happened.’

  She knew her grief tonight was natural; healthy, even. But Bonnie still had a long way to travel, that was apparent in her cautious, sometimes brittle manner. It was about Jeff, and about being alone and frightened of the future, but it was also, Sylvia was sure, about the child who had died, a tragedy still raw after all those years, and still lurking beneath the surface.

  THIRTY-NINE

  ‘They’ve made a damn good job of this place,’ Marjorie said, swallowing the last mouthful of lemon pancake. ‘Food’s consistently good, nice friendly staff and service. I’ve brought quite a few people here, and I managed to get all my Christmas presents in the gallery. Bonnie should be really proud of it.’

  ‘I’m sure she is,’ Irene said, ‘but I’m still worried about her.’

  They had stopped off at the Boatshed on their way home from art class, and were sitting outside at a shady table on the deck. Hamish, who was to play in a golf tournament the following week, was on the course, working on his handicap. He was endlessly patient and considerate, but there were, Irene felt, some aspects of life that men simply didn’t understand, and certain subtleties of meaning and emotion were among them. Hamish was better than most, but it wasn’t like talking to another woman. Not that Marjorie was the mistress of the subtle nuance, Sylvia or Fran might have been a better bet, but in view of everything that had happened, Irene didn’t think it fair to expect them to leap into this emotional space.

  ‘When are you not worried about her?’ Marjorie said abruptly. ‘Ever since Jeff died and Bonnie came home you’ve been worried, and you’ve bent over backwards to help and support her.’ She paused, holding up her hand to stop Irene’s protests. ‘Yes, you have. No one was around to help you through the loss of Dennis, and you managed it and made a wonderful life for yourself. Bonnie will do the same given time. Look what she’s done with this place. You can’t do the grief and loss stuff for her Irene, she has to do that for herself, and for some people that takes a very long time.’

  Irene sipped her coffee and looked out across the water where windsurfers were struggling to stay upright in the choppy waves. ‘The Will and Sylvia thing really upset her – ’ she began.

  ‘I know! I know all that, and while it was, in some ways, unreasonable it was also understandable. But that’s over. She and Sylvia and Will are sorted out now. Bonnie’s still a bit fragile, but that’s understandable too.’

  ‘Tomorrow is the anniversary of Jeff’s death,’ Irene said. ‘I’m not sure how she’s going to get through it. She hasn’t mentioned it, and I don’t know whether I should or not.’

  ‘Course you should,’ Marjorie said, peering into her coffee cup and registering disappointment that it was empty. ‘Suggest that you do something together, some little ritual. You can’t ignore it.’

  Irene remembered the first anniversary of Dennis’s death when she’d had no one to talk to. Bonnie and Jeff were in Zurich and friends who had rallied round a year earlier were caught up in their own lives. She’d gone to the crematorium alone, placed flowers by the plaque and carried on a silent conversation with Dennis about how much she missed him, and how she hoped he’d always known how much she’d loved him. It still brought her to the brink of tears to remember the loneliness, how contained she had tried to be in the renewal of her grief. She wanted to help Bonnie pass this milestone but she knew that it was complicated by another grief that ran even deeper.

  ‘There’s another thing,’ she said. ‘I think Caro’s baby is stirring up some old stuff for her about Lucy dying. Having the baby around may not be a good thing.’

  Marjorie peered at her intensely and then put her hand across the table, on top of Irene’s.

  ‘If, after all these years, Bonnie is disturbed by the presence of a baby she needs to do something about it.’

  ‘Okay, but what?’ Irene said. ‘She can’t tell Caro not to bring the baby, it wouldn’t be fair. That was part of the deal when they gave her the job.’

  ‘No, no, and that wouldn’t be doing anything about it, it would just be avoiding it again. That’s what I mean, she can’t go on avoiding the issue. She needs to come out and talk about it, work her way through it, get some help – counselling, perhaps. She can’t spend the next thirty years freaking out over babies, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘God, you’re brutal. I don’t know why I talk to you,’ Irene said.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Marjorie said, shaking the crumbs from her napkin and laying it on the table, ‘brutal is what’s needed. And anyway, I’m not only brutal, I’m right. In this instance at least, I’m absolutely right.’

  On the floor above where Irene and Marjorie sat, Bonnie was at her desk studying a business proposal Jack Bannister had sent her. He had mailed it to her a couple of weeks earlier but what with the emotional struggle of getting herself back to work at the Boatshed, this was the first chance she’d had to look at it, and even now the desk calendar he’d sent her for Christmas kept demanding her attention. It was an elegant piece of solid glass and stainless steel that showed the month,
the date and the time and, if you pressed a series of small arrows on the side, you could get the time in other parts of the world. Bonnie had been surprised to get a Christmas gift from Jack, and surprised by how much she liked it. Several times a day she would glance at it, pleased not only by the sophisticated design, but by what it told her about Jack. Somehow he must have realised that time was important to her, as was a feeling for time in other places.

  Bonnie disapproved of the growing trend not to worry about time, the discarding of watches, and people’s willingness to trust that there was always a clock somewhere nearby should they need it. She thought it a silly affectation, an attempt to appear free thinking and unfettered by responsibility. Fine, she thought, for people who did live an unfettered life, but simply silly and irresponsible for those who were still fettered. There weren’t always clocks close by and as a result, people were late for appointments and constantly stopped strangers to ask the time. Only someone who appreciated all the values inherent in knowing the time would pick a gift like this. She’d liked Jack from the first day they met and this gift had made her warm to him on a more personal level. He was the sort of man she was used to.

  But today the calendar was diverting her attention for another reason. On this day a year ago, she and Jeff had gone out for dinner with friends from London, who were in Zurich for a long weekend break.

  ‘Where can I buy great shoes, Bonnie?’ Anna had asked as the waiter poured the liqueurs. ‘Tomorrow is shoe-shopping day.’

  ‘I’ll take you if you like,’ Bonnie had offered. ‘There’s a fabulous place I go to. They have the best selection and you’ll never find it on your own.’

  ‘She’s right, Anna,’ Jeff had said. ‘Let Imelda here be your guide, but you’ll need the platinum credit card!’

  The next morning Bonnie was up early to meet Anna, and Jeff, who had woken feeling seedy, was sitting up in bed reading the paper when she bent to kiss him goodbye. Why hadn’t she known that this was really goodbye, that they had eaten their last meal together, made love and shared a bed for the last time?

  ‘I think I could do with a walk later,’ he said, holding her wrist gently to draw her back to return her kiss. ‘It looks like snow out there, and I need to shake off last night’s meal.’

  Bonnie smoothed the edge of the sheet. ‘Me too. I had far too much wine. Okay, darling, I’ll see you later and we’ll walk.’ She still didn’t understand how she could not have known then that the last few hours of Jeff’s life were expiring, how she could have been helping Anna choose some Bally shoes while he was struggling to maintain his grip on life, perhaps calling out to her.

  The apartment had seemed unusually silent when Bonnie returned just after midday. She popped her head around the bedroom door and saw that he had made the bed in his usual haphazard male way and, with a minor flash of irritation, she went in, straightened the quilt and patted the pillows smooth. Then, calling out to him, she went back into the hall, through the lounge to his study, and there she found him, not sitting at the desk in his swivel chair, but lying on the floor, his body twisted awkwardly, his face contorted in a grimace of pain … or was it fear?

  Head reeling, she bent down beside him and touched his face. He was quite cold. Gone – ripped away from her without warning, without a chance to say goodbye or to tell him how much she loved him, without the chance to draw from him the instructions she needed for life alone.

  A year. What was she supposed to do now? Something to mark her remembrance? But everyone knew she remembered; everyone was sick of her remembering, although they were too kind to say so. Perhaps the best thing she could do would be to show him that she was getting on with life, that she had kept the promises written on the back of the photo. Now, perhaps, she needed to make another promise – to break out of this half-life. But how was she to do it?

  ‘We’re making fantastic progress,’ Lenore said. ‘It’s really coming together.’

  Fran got up from the table and stretched. ‘I know. It’s exciting, isn’t it? I can hardly believe that before long it’ll be a real book on the shelves with my name on it.’

  Lenore grinned, pushing the paperwork aside. ‘Enough for today, I think. Are we going to pop across and see Lila this evening?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘No, I went this morning while you were at that meeting in town, and Caro and Mike are going this evening. We’ve got quite a good roster now. Jodie’s turn in the morning, and then I’ll go tomorrow evening.’

  They closed the office door and made their way out through the empty restaurant and onto the boardwalk into the welcome chill of the sea breeze. Lenore had arrived a week earlier and although Fran’s initial ambivalence about her had been resolved during the visit to Sydney, she had still been anxious at the prospect of working closely with her for a couple of weeks. Even with her new-found confidence she had feared Lenore’s strong opinions, and worried that she might find herself pushed into accepting changes that she didn’t really like. That apprehension and the prospect of Lenore’s presence as a guest in her home had sent Fran out in a late-night search for junk food on the three evenings prior to her arrival. And the batch of brownies knocked up early in the morning was only half a batch by the time she left the house to meet Lenore’s flight. But from the moment they sat down together to begin work, Fran’s fears had evaporated.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a walk,’ Lenore said, ‘along the water. I could do with the fresh air.’

  Fran grinned, ‘You and your walks.’

  ‘Don’t say you don’t feel better for it,’ Lenore said with a laugh. ‘You wouldn’t have been going every morning if it wasn’t working for you.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I give in, yes, you changed my life,’ Fran said. ‘Instead of lying in bed till the last minute I’m up at dawn marching around St Kilda like a madwoman. And I do feel better for it. I never thought the day would come when I would actually look forward to going for a walk at first light.’

  They walked on through the dusk in companionable silence, watching the sun sink below the horizon and its last rays wash the sky with a pale peach glow.

  ‘Sylvia showed me her studio and designs today,’ Lenore said. ‘I don’t think she has any idea how good she is.’

  ‘I know,’ Fran agreed. ‘Bonnie’s thinking about the possibility of developing a label for her.’

  Lenore paused, turning to look at her. ‘There’s huge potential there. I know some people in the rag trade who would be bowled over by what Sylvia has in that studio, but she needs to get serious about it. I could suggest a few contacts and so on, but I don’t want to be pushy.’

  Fran laughed as they turned back to the path. ‘That doesn’t sound like you.’

  Lenore pulled a face. ‘I know I can be a bit overbearing but it’s just a mask.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s an act I put on when I’m feeling particularly intimidated.’

  ‘You? Intimidated?’ Fran said. ‘You’re the intimidating one.’

  ‘It’s all bluster,’ Lenore said, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. ‘I’m constantly terrified that I’ll be revealed as knowing absolutely nothing.’

  They were near a seat and Fran paused and sat at the end, looking up at her.

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No! I’m terrified of everything and everyone, honestly. When I was young I used to be really confident. I was a bossy, domineering teenager determined to get my way about everything.’

  ‘And now?’

  Lenore shrugged. ‘I’m a dithering mass of anxiety and indecision. I just manage to hide it quite well.’

  ‘You certainly do,’ Fran said. ‘It’s hard to believe. What happened?’

  Lenore took a deep breath and joined her on the seat. ‘You know what happened. I stuffed up my life. I was desperate to get away from home and I grabbed the first bloke who showed a serious interest. So there I was in this terrible marriage with two tiny babies and I realised that all my t
eenage urges towards other girls hadn’t just been a stage I was going through, they were an indication of who I really was. I fell in love with a wonderful older woman … and you know what happened after that. The price I paid for being myself was the loss of my children. Being labelled an unfit mother and constantly being knocked back in my efforts to see them isn’t great for self-esteem.’

  ‘It must have been terrible,’ Fran said. ‘I suppose it’s obvious that something like that would change you.’

  ‘I spent a very long time in a very dark tunnel thinking I might never come out the other end,’ Lenore said, ‘but of course eventually I did, and I was different. I was a jittery, frightened person, always covering my inadequacy with bluster. What you see these days, Fran, is not at all what you get. It’s there to protect me, and often it wears very thin. People like you trigger my insecurity. I was terrified that day we met. I’d been dreading meeting you.’

  Fran stared at Lenore seeing, for the first time, the vulnerability in her face, the nervous way she ran her hand through her thick hair, the flicker of her eyes as they scanned Fran’s face. Everything, the vivid turquoise contact lenses, the beautifully cut hair, the dramatically simple black and purple clothes she always wore, the bold silver and turquoise jewellery, suddenly looked like a disguise – impressive, strong, but still a disguise.

  ‘I was terrified of you that day,’ Fran said, still staring at her. ‘You were so confident, and so strong.’

  Lenore shook her head. ‘Not me! Going to meet this brilliant food writer, full of wonderful innovative ideas, bursting with talent, running her own business! Scary stuff. I didn’t want to be there, I can tell you, but Jack insisted.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe,’ Fran said. ‘I mean, I can understand everything you said about the effect of the past, but how could you be scared about me? Bonnie, yes, she’s impressive, but me … ?’

  Lenore laughed. ‘Bonnie, I could cope with. She’s a businesswoman, she was there to do a deal and so was I. She’s good, no doubt about that, but you, Fran, you’re another story entirely. Competent, self-possessed, talented and you didn’t say much, and the less you said the more terrified I became.’