Getting There

by Lyn Denison

  Yet it had. Ruth had been both exotic and beautiful.

  Kat sighed. Ruth Dunleavy had certainly been Kat’s first major bad decision. However, looking back from the present to that part of her life wasn’t something Kat allowed herself to do very often. In the beginning it had been far too painful and as the pain passed a jumbled mixture of hurt, regret and sadness had taken over. If anyone had asked her that age-old question about having your life to live over again and whether or not you would change it, Kat suspected her reply had mellowed somewhat.

  In the beginning it had been all about wishing she’d never met Ruth. Now it was probably more about regret that Ruth had let not only Kat down, but herself, with her less than honorable behavior. Kat grimaced. Now who was being sanctimonious, she asked herself.

  But would she have changed things so that she hadn’t met Ruth? Kat knew she wouldn’t have. Ruth had been good for Kat in so many ways. With her self-confidence. With what Kat perceived as her slow transition to adulthood. She’d always seen herself as years behind her peers emotionally, and if there was such a word, world-wisely. Kat grinned to herself. With Ruth’s encouragement, Kat had blossomed. Kat had needed someone like Ruth at that time in her life.

  Perhaps Ruth hadn’t really been the right person, but she’d certainly been in the right place at the right time. Ruth had been the one to draw Kat out into the place she needed to be, had made her face the truth she’d been hiding for years. Ruth had saved her from taking the path that had been set out for her, the path everyone expected her to follow.

  If Em was right about forks in the road of life, then Ruth had taken Kat along a different fork, the one that led away from what was considered to be the conventional one. Kat sighed again. It wasn’t that she didn’t want the house with the picket fence, kids and a dog running around the garden. She’d just wanted to share it with a woman.

  Kat’s first step, although terrifying at first, had been in the right direction. She’d just chosen the wrong person to travel with.

  Yet it had seemed so right. Kat had been so absolutely besotted by Ruth she’d hated having to keep their relationship so secret. She’d wanted the world to know. And she’d wanted her family to know Ruth. At first Ruth had flatly refused to meet Kat’s family but Kat had persisted, and she’d eventually agreed to meet them. If Ruth’s parents had been alive Kat would have wanted to meet them, she assured Ruth. Ruth had given her an exasperated look and agreed that her parents would have loved Kat. Then she’d held up her hand and said enough was enough. She’d do the quick hello and then she was off.

  Kat had been ecstatic over the compromise. Ruth would drive Kat to the house, meet Kat’s parents, and then go off to visit friends, leaving Kat to socialize with her family. At that stage Kat would have agreed to anything to be part of Ruth’s life and have her family know Ruth was part of her life.

  Kat drifted back and saw herself that tumultuous afternoon in Ruth’s restored MG sports car, the wind catching wayward strands of her dark hair, her hand resting on Ruth’s leg. They were going to see Kat’s parents at last.

  The only cloud in the clear blue of Kat’s sky had been Ruth’s reluctance to want to meet Kat’s parents. However, she was going to meet them and, no matter how brief the visit, her parents would know Kat was making wonderful friends.

  Ruth had driven past her childhood home, not far from where Kat had grown up. Kat in turn showed Ruth where Em’s family lived and then they were pulling up in front of the Oldfield home. It looked sturdy and tidy, having only been painted a few months earlier. Kat’s father kept the lawns mowed and the garden edges trimmed but as her mother didn’t care for flowers there was no color in the garden.

  Kat led Ruth up the path and she rang the bell and called through the open door. “Mum. Dad. It’s Kat.”

  Ann Oldfield came to the door and unlocked the security screen. “You didn’t call to say you were coming, Katrin,” her mother said.

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was in the neighborhood and, well, I wanted to introduce you and Dad to a friend. Is Dad home?” Kat wished her mother would look just a little pleased to see her. “Can we come in?”

  Her mother stood back and Kat stepped into the living room. Only then did her mother catch sight of Ruth as she prepared to follow Kat inside. If anything, her mother’s frown deepened. At that moment Kat’s father joined them from the kitchen.

  “Dad. Hello. I’m glad you’re here too.”

  “It’s Saturday afternoon, Katrin,” her mother remarked. “Where else would your father be?”

  “You just missed Beth,” her father said and stopped when his wife frowned at him.

  Kat swallowed. Her parents seemed impossibly more sober and distant than they usually were and she suddenly wondered why she’d wanted to bring Ruth to meet them at all. She should have taken Ruth to meet Em’s parents. Sometimes she felt closer to the Martins than she did her own family. “Ah, Mum. Dad. I wanted you to meet a friend of mine. From University. In fact, she’s one of my tutors. This is Ruth Dunleavy. And Ruth, meet my parents, John and Ann Oldfield.”

  Ruth took off her sunglasses. “Nice to meet you. Kat talks so much about you.”

  Not exactly the truth, Kat reflected.

  Her parents remained silent and Kat tensed. “Ruth’s family used to live a few streets over. Near the park.”

  “We know where she lived and we know who she is,” Kat’s mother said, “and we don’t want her in our home.”

  Kat drew a sharp breath, slid a horrified glance at Ruth. “Mum. I don’t know—”

  “It’s all over the village. And I don’t know how you can show your face here with her.”

  “Mum, what are talking about?” A glimmer of disquiet made Kat pause. Could her mother have found out about her relationship with Ruth? Surely not? Kat had had no intention of coming out to her parents just yet. She’d wanted them to get to know Ruth first. Apart from that, how would her mother have found out anyway? Ruth always insisted they be discreet. Kat had only just told Em, and Em wouldn’t have told Kat’s parents. Would she? Kat swallowed, feeling a blush begin to color her cheeks. “What village?” she asked inanely.

  “Here,” said her mother sharply, pointing at the worn carpet of the living room. “Where we live. Where your father and I have lived for forty years. And now you do this to us. We can’t look the neighbors in the face. I can’t even go to the shops.”

  Kat slid another glance at Ruth, absolutely mortified Ruth had to see and hear her mother like this, but Ruth looked more amused than annoyed. Kat held up her hand. “Mum, stop!”

  “I won’t stop. And I’m not having the likes of you telling me what to do. After all we’ve done for you.” Her mother shook her head.

  “Ann,” Kat’s father began, but his wife silenced him with a look.

  “How could you do this to us, Katrin?” her mother asked.

  “Do what, Mum?”

  “Behave in this abhorrent way, that’s what.” Ann Oldfield glared at Ruth. “And you, you’re old enough to know better. How dare you take advantage of our daughter, lead her astray?”

  “Mum! Ruth hasn’t done anything of the kind.” Kat shook her head, growing agitated. It was worse than she’d thought.

  “She must have. You aren’t one of those people, Katrin. She must have put the idea in your mind.”

  “Mum. It wasn’t, it isn’t, like that. Please let me explain—”

  “You don’t need to explain. It’s that…that woman,” Kat’s mother jabbed her finger towards Ruth. “She’s the one who should be explaining. And I’m telling you now—Katrin’s father and I are not having it. We’ll go to the police.”

  Kat stared at her mother in disbelief. “Mum, I’m eighteen years old. And it’s my life. You can’t dictate who I can or can’t be friends with.”

  “Friends! We know you and that woman are more than friends.” She gave a disgusted exclamation.

  “Who told you all this?” Kat asked, angry n
ow.

  “Everyone down at your father’s club knew about it. And we were oblivious. You made us look like fools. Until someone took pity on us and told us you were living with a known—” her mother paused. “Lesbian,” she bit out. “Everyone knows what she is.”

  “Mum, Ruth and I are just—”

  “Your daughter’s a wonderful young woman, Mrs. Oldfield.” Ruth spoke for the first time. “She’s attractive, bright and she’s a lesbian. If you love her you’ll accept her for who she is.”

  “They’re fine words, Miss University Professor, but I don’t want people talking about my daughter the way they talk about you.”

  Kat looked at Ruth and only the two spots of color on her cheeks gave any indication she was upset.

  “What exactly are they saying?” Ruth asked tersely.

  “Ruth, don’t.” Kat put her hand on Ruth’s arm. “Please. Let’s go.”

  But Ruth stood her ground.

  “No. Your mother’s making wild accusations. I think we should ask her what she thinks people are saying.” She turned back to Kat’s mother. “I’d like to hear it and, please, be specific,” she finished acidly.

  “That you’re a lesbian. That you prey on young women, young women like Katrin, turn them into lesbians, that your morals are no better than an alley cat, that you act like a man and that your behavior killed your parents.”

  “I see. Well, most of the first bit is certainly true although I dispute your terminology. I can’t deny I’m a lesbian, but I don’t go around trying to convert people. Why would I need to? There are plenty of lesbians around.” She paused to smile at Kat. “Like your daughter.”

  “Mum, Ruth didn’t turn me into a lesbian. I knew I was different. Ruth just showed me why I felt that way.”

  “Your daughter had a choice.” Ruth shrugged. “She chose me.”

  Kat’s mother’s lips pursed. “You’re no better than—”

  Ruth gave a sharp laugh. “Ah, my morals again. If I was a man no one would turn a hair. Isn’t that so? I’d simply be playing the field, sowing my wild oats. Isn’t that what they used to call it?”

  “You broke your mother’s heart,” Ann Oldfield repeated.

  “My mother, both my parents, knew I was a lesbian and they supported me. It’s a pity you can’t do the same for your own daughter.”

  They all stood silently for long moments.

  “However,” said Ruth almost chattily, “look on the bright side. At least I’m not going to get her pregnant.”

  The color seemed to drain from Kat’s parents’ faces. Her mother recovered first. “You’re an evil, abhorrent person. Get out of our house!” She turned back to face Kat. “And if you continue to associate with this…this person, Katrin, then you can leave with her.”

  “Mum, please! Dad? I’m a lesbian. I can’t change who I am. Can’t you see that?” Kat swallowed tears.

  “You can choose not to live such a horrible lifestyle. And until you come to your senses, you’re not welcome here.”

  “Ann.” Kat’s father stepped forward, but her mother took hold of his arm.

  “No, John. What she’s doing is unchristian. It’s an abomination against all we’ve brought her up to be, all the standards we’ve set for her. Until she sees the error of her ways I don’t want her here.” She turned and gave Ruth another hate-filled look before facing Kat again. “Get out, Katrin. And take this woman with you. Your father and I don’t want her here.”

  Kat drew herself up to her full height as she met and held her mother’s gaze. “I can’t change, Mum, and if you can’t accept that and accept Ruth, then I’m going and I’m not coming back.”

  “That’s your choice,” her mother said and turned and went into the kitchen.

  “Dad?” Kat appealed to her father, but he just looked away, not making a comment.

  After that, Kat never went back. Neither had her parents tried to contact her. Kat had spoken to her sister intermittently over the years, but Beth had made no comment on the situation between Kat and their parents. Until that afternoon, Kat hadn’t known how homophobic her parents were. Her family weren’t regular church goers so it hadn’t occurred to Kat that her mother would use Christian morals against her. At the time, with her emotions raw, she was convinced they saw the whole thing as a justifiable reason to be rid of her.

  Kat turned and looked at the front room. If she removed all the lining and cladding, the veranda could live again, bringing the house back to its former glory, a gracious old Queenslander in keeping with a lot of earlier houses in the suburb.

  But could Kat do it? Was she physically up to tearing down walls? Well, she’d torn up carpet without much trouble. How hard could the walls be? She eyed her trusty hammer and jimmy bar.

  She crossed and ran her hand over the smooth surface of the lining. Could it be the dreadful asbestos sheeting so prevalent in old buildings that could be so life threatening? Before she touched it she knew she’d have to get professional advice. But who?

  Kat went back into the living room and rummaged around on one of the two upturned packing cases that along with the single folding chair and the inflatable bed made up the only furnishings. Where was that card Grace had given her?

  Grace Worrall and her husband Tom lived next door. Two days after Kat arrived Grace came through the side gate to introduce herself. She’d brought over homemade pikelets smothered in strawberry jam and cream and Kat had made tea. The Worralls had been neighbors of the Dunleavys for more than thirty years and Grace and Ruth had been friends. Grace was a couple of years older than Ruth and had been married for less than a year when the Worralls moved in while Ruth was attending University.

  “I had two children fairly quickly, and I felt a little tied down, what with Tom working such long hours.” Grace told Kat. “Ruth saved my sanity more than once, I can tell you.”

  Kat noticed a fleeting softness in Grace’s expression before Grace changed the subject to ask Kat about her job, her life. But that look did make Kat wonder if Ruth and Grace had been more than friends. No. She was imagining the look in Grace’s eyes and reminded herself Grace was married. Like that meant anything to the Ruth Kat had known. Hadn’t she caught Ruth in the proverbial compromising position with a fellow professor’s young wife?

  Then Grace was asking Kat what she had in mind for the house.

  Until she arrived Kat had intended to simply make minor repairs, give the house a fresh coat of paint and then sell it. But standing in the old house and listening to its distinctive subtle sounds gave her a glow of excitement. She now knew each nuance of soft sound—the old corrugated iron roof expanding and contracting with the changing temperature, the one creaky floorboard in the hallway, the slither of the old silky oak timber sash windows as she raised and lowered them. And she knew this place, this change of scene, had been the reason the dark fog lifted, the fog that had descended on her when she’d known her relationship with Shael was over.

  With a rush of enthusiasm she’d given Grace Worrall a rough idea of her plans, plans she hadn’t been conscious she’d made. A new bathroom and kitchen. Adding an en suite and walk-in wardrobe to the back bedroom. Painting. Polishing the floors.

  Grace was amazed. “You’re not going to do it all yourself, are you? I mean, that’s a lot of work.”

  Kat grimaced. “No, I’m not that confident in my carpentry abilities. I plan on doing the rough work, but bathrooms and kitchens are jobs for the professionals, I think. I just have to arrange to get some quotes.”

  “Oh, good. And have you anyone in mind? For the quotes, I mean.”

  “Not yet. I guess I’ll just consult the Yellow Pages or the local newspaper.” Kat hadn’t quite got that far.

  “Then I hope you won’t think me meddling, but I can recommend my nephew’s firm,” Grace said. “My brother started the business but he’s retired recently, so his son and his wife and her cousin run it now. I’ll bring over one of their cards later. They’re exceptionally good and reas
onably priced, too.”

  Grace had dutifully returned later with the card Kat now held in her hand. Handy Andrews & Son. Renovations and Repairs. That about covered it, Kat thought. No job too big or too small. Reasonable prices. Mmm, reasonable prices. Kat pulled a face. That was imperative because she was on a tight budget. Ring for a free quote.

  Kat picked up the phone from the floor and three hours later as she sat on the front steps sipping a welcome cup of tea, a tidy van pulled to the curb in front of the house. On the side of the van was a cartoon character of a builder holding a hammer in one hand and a paint roller in the other. HANDY ANDREWS was written in bold, bright letters along with the phone number.

  The van door opened and a booted foot appeared followed by a head of short streaky blond hair. Next came a trim body clad in light khaki tailored shorts and a matching short-sleeved khaki work shirt. For a moment Kat thought it was a slim youth. Then the figure turned, and it was obvious this was a nicely curved female.

  Chapter Three

  Kat stood up and caught the woman’s eye. She waved and smiled before turning back to her van. She leaned over and reached inside, emerging with a small briefcase in her hand.

  Not that Kat registered that just then. She was still taking herself to task for noticing the way the woman’s shorts hugged her nicely rounded backside. Which anyone would have glanced at, Kat told herself, watching the woman cross the footpath to the gate. The woman’s body was perfectly proportioned, neither too thin nor too fat, and her short straight hair gleamed in the sunlight.

  She continued up the path and stopped, one booted foot on the bottom step, hand on the railing. “Katrin Oldfield, I presume?” she asked, still smiling. Her voice had an underlying huskiness that was full of vitality and so fascinating.