Bad Behaviour

by Liz Byrski

  I hope you’re well and will be thinking of you next week at the funeral.

  Love and thanks

  Zoë x

  8 September

  My dear Zoë

  Yes, yes, yes! It would be swell to have Gaby come here. I will love to have some young company and I can pollute her mind with my horrible feminist ideology, and tell tales about her mother as a young woman. I can hardly wait. Tell Gaby to email me and we can get to know each other a little before we meet.

  She can stay as long as she likes, it can be her London home. She can have your old room. What fun!

  Claire is devastated, she may come and stay with me until after the funeral. It’s so very sad, but we are all getting older rather fast.

  Love and hugs

  Gloria

  9 September

  Dear Dr Laverne (or can I call you Gloria?),

  My mum has told me that you said I could stay with you when I come to London.

  I am so grateful, it’s so good knowing I have somewhere to go. I’m really excited about meeting you and London and everything.

  Is it okay if I come before Christmas? It would be awesome to have Christmas in England, you don’t have to get me presents or do anything special but I want to see the London lights, and maybe it might snow.

  I’m going to send you some pictures and an essay I wrote on the women’s movement, but I just wanted to send this quickly to say thank you.

  I am dying to meet you, I can hardly wait.

  Love

  Gaby xxxxx

  FORTY

  Cottesloe – September 2001

  Dan is replacing sections of the shadecloth at the nursery; loading plants onto trolleys, to clear a space, brushing down the inside of the timber framework, then climbing up the outside, ripping off the old shadecloth and fixing the new. Kevin is his sidekick for the day. He’s reliable, does exactly as he’s asked and, most of all, Dan likes him, likes his directness, and the fact that he only speaks when he has something to say. Now, as Kevin stands at the top of the platform steps handing nails up to him as he kneels on a crossbeam securing the last section, Dan is thankful for someone who knows when to move the ladder, and doesn’t moan at him when he drops nails, which he does quite often.

  ‘Last section, Dan,’ Kevin says as they reach the end nearest the wall. ‘Then I’ll sweep up before we put the plants back.’

  Dan grunts approval through a mouthful of nails, and Kevin waits to hand up the last few.

  ‘Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?’ Dan says, when he’s back on the ground. ‘Let’s have a tea break before we clean up.’ He stands back, brushing dust, leaves, moss, splinters and dead insects from his hair and clothes, and sits down on a crate to wait for Kevin, who has gone to get the tea.

  ‘You’ve done a great job today, mate,’ he says when Kevin returns with two mugs. ‘Very organised, very efficient, you’d make an excellent soldier.’

  ‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to be. I’d rather work in the nursery,’ Kevin says.

  ‘Good decision; I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather be doing that myself.’

  ‘But you like it; Justine said you’d want to be a soldier forever.’

  ‘Hmm. Did she? She might just be wrong about that.’

  ‘Justine’s never wrong, she’s really clever.’

  ‘She sure is, but she could be mistaken this time.’

  ‘You went to the Olympics to look for terrorists. I’d like that bit.’

  ‘The Olympics was okay,’ Dan admits. ‘But most of it’s not like that.’

  ‘So when you were away last time, where were you?’

  Dan dips his biscuit into his tea. ‘At sea, on that big ship with all the refugees, it was on the TV news.’

  ‘Yeah! The Tampa, I saw that,’ Kevin eats a biscuit and they sit for a moment in silence. ‘I didn’t like that, Dan.’

  ‘No? I didn’t like it much either.’

  ‘You see, when there’s a whale that gets lost and stuck on the beach, people go out and stay with it all day and all night, and they pour water on it, and try and move it into the water. They help it. Y’know what I mean?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Dan says, puzzled, ‘but I’m not sure what you’re getting at.’

  ‘No, but I haven’t said it yet. You see, Dan, people go and do all that to save a whale, but all those people on the boat hadn’t got anything, and they were lost and nobody wanted to help them. They just wanted them to go away. That doesn’t make sense to me.’

  ‘It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me either, Kev,’ Dan says, ‘especially put like that. But not everyone wanted to send them away. It was a bit more complicated than the whales.’

  Kevin shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so. Anyway, I suppose you don’t want to be a soldier because of Harry. Now you’re a dad, you don’t want to get shot or anything.’

  ‘Who doesn’t want to be a soldier?’ asks Justine, who has suddenly materialised behind them.

  ‘Oh, er . . . Kevin, I was telling him he’d make a good one,’ Dan says, getting to his feet. ‘Must get on. See what we’ve done; just the cleaning up to go now.’

  ‘Dan doesn’t want to be soldier either, he said so,’ Kevin says, picking up the cups.

  ‘Did you say that?’

  ‘I might have . . .’ Dan stops and Justine waits. ‘I think I implied that I could be having second thoughts.’

  ‘Really? Well, if you have any third or fourth ones, I’d appreciate it if you told me first rather than Kevin, or any of the rest of the staff,’ Justine says. ‘And the shadecloth looks great, which is what I came to say, and that Archie rang to ask us for dinner. He’s cooking.’ And she walks off towards the glasshouses.

  ‘Shit,’ Dan says aloud and, picking up the broom, begins to sweep the paving. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  Archie is cooking on the verandah. One day, he thinks, when he has more time, he might do some cooking classes; meat dishes would be best, and soup maybe and interesting things with vegetables. Out here on the verandah with a beer, looking out onto the darkening garden is the perfect way to cook, with none of the women fussing around, interfering and telling him better ways to do things. He’s baking three whole snapper in the barbecue kettle and firing up the grill plate so he can oil it for the vegetables. Dinner was a spur of the moment thing; he’d wanted an evening with his family around him. They are minus Rosie, who’s volunteering in a baby clinic in Saigon while Rob is working with a Vietnamese farmer. Archie is proud of Rosie but misses her horribly. Now that Dan’s moved out, the dynamics in the house have changed completely. He’s never thought three is the best number for cohabitation, and in this particular case, it’s made him more aware of his own discontent.

  Things are better, of course; much better than they were a year ago. Back then, he’d wondered how they would ever get through Zoë’s menopause. Thank heavens for Gwen’s naturopath, who helped to sort that out. And now, they have Harry. Becoming a grandparent is one of life’s turning points and he’s relishing it. But Archie is still haunted by that black hole of silence during Zoë’s holiday in England. She left home fragile and needy, and returned stronger, less moody and more confident. Archie knows this can only be a good thing but now he is the needy one, wanting her to toss him some crumbs of reassurance. It’s ridiculous to fear a man who lives on the other side of the world and he despises himself for not being able to ask the question outright, because he is afraid of the answer.

  Archie lifts the lid of the barbecue and unpeels the foil wrapping to check the progress of the fish. It’s looking good, and he folds the foil back and lowers the heat.

  ‘Can someone bring me the olive oil, please?’ he yells in the direction of the kitchen. Dan emerges with a beer in one hand and the oil in the other, followed by Justine.

  ‘Smells fantastic,’ Dan says, handing over the oil. ‘You okay, Arch. You look a bit off colour.’

  ‘Fine,’ Archie says. ‘Couldn’t be better. Can you oil the grill pla
te and spread out those slices of zucchini and eggplant?’

  Justine puts her hand on Dan’s arm. ‘I’ll do the veggies; you tell Archie about your second thoughts.’

  ‘What second thoughts are those? Fremantle might beat West Coast? In your dreams, mate.’

  ‘Second thoughts about the army,’ Justine says.

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  Dan clears his throat and looks awkward. ‘No. Not really. I’ve been wondering if it’s really where I want to be.’

  Archie raises his eyebrows. ‘Well, that’s a surprise. I thought you were in it for the long haul.’

  Dan shrugs. ‘Blame Justine and Harry. It does feel a bit different when you stop being a carefree single bloke and become a husband and father.’

  ‘I’m happy to take the blame,’ Justine says. ‘But it’s been so important to you that you really do need to be sure.’

  ‘Absolutely right,’ Archie says. ‘And, look, until you’ve made up your mind, best not tell your mother or she’ll be down there trying to buy you out, or whatever you have to do, before you’ve had time to think about it.’

  ‘I know,’ Dan says. ‘There’s no way either of us will say anything to Mum at this stage. But I wouldn’t mind chewing it over with you, Arch, sometime soon.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Archie says. ‘Give me a bell whenever.’

  At the kitchen table, Eileen is sitting opposite Gwen, who has just finished giving Harry his bottle. ‘He’s a lovely little baby, considering . . . everything,’ Eileen says grudgingly.

  ‘He certainly is,’ Gwen says, winking at Zoë, who has flushed scarlet with embarrassment. ‘Considering absolutely everything and nothing at all.’

  ‘Didn’t catch that,’ Eileen says, leaning forward. ‘My hearing’s not what it was, I miss a lot these days.’

  ‘For which the Lord make us truly thankful,’ Zoë says quietly and Gwen smothers a grin.

  ‘My turn,’ Gaby says. ‘I’ve finished making the salad, so it’s my turn with Hank.’

  ‘His name is Harry, Gabrielle,’ Eileen says. ‘It’s a perfectly good name; I don’t go for all this shortening of names. Look at Zoë – you couldn’t have a shorter name than that, could you, and yet what does Archie do? Shortens it to Zo, that’s what. Time’s getting on. Shouldn’t you be doing something about the dinner, Zoë?’

  ‘Archie and Gaby are in charge,’ Zoë says, ‘I’m just passing through.’

  ‘Yuk!’ Gaby says, holding Harry out to her at arm’s length. ‘You can have manky Hanky. He needs changing.’

  ‘Five minutes,’ Archie calls through the kitchen door. ‘Have you laid the table, Gabs?’

  ‘There you are, you see,’ Eileen says to Gwen. ‘Gabs – what sort of a name is that for a girl?’

  The fish is perfectly cooked – the skin crisp and tasty, the flesh white and tender – the vegetables golden and delicious. When Gaby produces a lemon meringue pie, Archie opens a bottle of dessert wine and fills tiny crystal glasses.

  ‘I made this because it’s your favourite, Mum,’ Gaby says. ‘And I really hope it’s okay, because I’m never going to make it again in my whole life ever – it’s much too hard.’

  Zoë pronounces the pie the best she’s ever tasted. This evening would be perfect if Rosie were here, but Zoë’s getting used to her absence and to the fact that Gaby, too, will soon be gone. She knows now that what she and Archie have created isn’t coming to an end, it’s growing, and so is she. Painting has helped her to see beyond herself and it’s still helping her; pushing her to change. The damage of her early hostility to Justine is still not fully repaired, but their relationship is growing stronger, as they take small steps towards each other.

  ‘I must be extraordinarily dim and very selfish,’ she had said to Archie recently. ‘I thought it was all about me and that because I’d sorted myself out everything would be okay, but it’s not. I was almost wilfully blind to how much I’d hurt Justine.’

  ‘But you two get on okay now, don’t you?’ Archie had asked.

  ‘In many ways we do, but I don’t think she trusts me and, frankly, I don’t blame her. I’ll just have to be patient.’

  It’s after eight when Dan offers to drive Eileen home and, once they have gone, Zoë, Justine and Gwen begin to clear the table. They stay talking in the kitchen while Archie and Gaby slump in front of the television.

  ‘Coffee, just what I need,’ Dan says coming in through the back door. ‘Shall I take the tray through?’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Archie yells from the lounge. ‘Come and look at this.’

  Zoë grins at Justine. ‘Footy, probably.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Gaby cries. ‘What is it, Dad . . . what’s happening?’

  The cups rattle as Dan dumps the tray on the coffee table. ‘Christ,’ he says. ‘Look at that, what the hell . . .’

  The women exchange a glance, shrug and abandon what they are doing.

  On the television screen, dense clouds of grey smoke are belching from a gaping black hole in the side of a skyscraper, and there is a clamour of sirens, screams and panic-stricken voices.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Zoë asks.

  ‘It’s New York, the Twin Towers, a plane flew into the side of the World Trade Centre about ten minutes ago; they just replayed it,’ Archie says without taking his eyes off the screen. ‘Just, just flew into the side of the building . . .’

  Shafts of flame dart out from the darkening smoke.

  ‘There are people in there, Mum,’ Gaby says. ‘Look up at the windows. What are those buildings, Dad?’

  ‘Oh my god,’ Dan says, in a low voice. ‘Oh no, not another one . . .’

  And, as they watch, a second plane hurtles towards the adjacent tower as if it will pass right through it, ripping into the concrete as though it’s cardboard and exploding in a massive ball of flame against the clear blue of the morning sky.

  They sit, huddled together, watching the horror unfold on the screen. They watch as desperate people hurl themselves from the towers and fall like discarded dolls to certain death, and as others run blindly through the dust, until eventually the two buildings collapse, burying the streets, the traffic, the fleeing pedestrians in clouds of smoke and rubble that falls like some monstrous waterfall. And then it is replayed, again and again.

  Archie looks across at Dan and buries his head in his hands.

  ‘Everything will change now,’ Dan says softly, putting his arm around Justine. ‘Everything will be different.’ And he gets up and wanders out through the kitchen to the verandah and the cold darkness of the garden.

  A great cold stone drops into Zoë’s heart, and Gaby huddles close to Gwen on the sofa, tears running down her cheeks.

  Dan’s head is a mess. Images from past deployments race through his mind, muddled and out of sequence. He prickles with a cold sweat, his gut churns with nausea, and a bolt of pain shoots through his leg at the site of his wound and stays there, throbbing, as though the horror he has just witnessed has reminded his body of the circumstances of its injury. Is he losing his nerve? Is this a warning that somewhere ahead there is a fatal split second when he won’t be able to make a life-or-death decision.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Justine asks, emerging from the light of the kitchen.

  ‘Not really,’ he says, getting up and putting his arms around her. ‘You?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  They stand in the darkness holding each other, seemingly unaware that it’s almost eleven o’clock and the temperature has dropped dramatically.

  ‘What does it all mean?’

  ‘At this stage, it’s anyone’s guess. From here on in, it’ll be one day – perhaps one hour – at a time. Let’s go home.’

  Very early the next morning, Dan gets out of bed and walks over to the cot in which Harry is sleeping flat on his back, with his arms thrown above his head, tiny hands curled into loose fists, legs tangled in the blanket. He is so small, so beautiful, so defenceless, that Dan can
hardly bear to look at him. Briefly, as he stands there struggling to breathe, he wonders how it was for his mother; what it must be like to hold your child in your arms and know that there is no one with whom to share the love and responsibility. Then he lifts Harry from the cot and carries him back to bed. Harry snuffles and wriggles, and settles in with a whimpering sigh. Justine turns towards them and Dan pulls them both closer to him.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ Dan says. ‘And I don’t know how not to.’

  Justine threads her leg between his and puts her hand on his face, which is tense and hot as fever.

  ‘I love you, Dan,’ she says. ‘Whatever happens, whatever you have to do, you know we’ll be here waiting for you.’

  FORTY-ONE

  Rye – December 2001

  Julia stamps her feet on the icy platform and looks down the length of the London train that has just drawn into the station. As the sliding doors open, weary commuters and Christmas shoppers step out and hurry to the exit, disappearing into the darkness of the car park. At the far end of the platform, a young woman in jeans and a red anorak pulls up the handle of her suitcase and looks around her. Julia walks quickly towards her.

  ‘You must be Gaby,’ she says.

  ‘Oh wow, yes! You came to meet me,’ Gaby says and surprises Julia by throwing her arms around her neck and kissing her. ‘That is so nice of you. I could’ve got there on my own. I looked at the map and it’s not far to your house.’

  ‘It’s nice to be met, though,’ Julia says, ‘and it’s awfully cold, especially for you.’

  Gaby pulls a face. ‘It’s freezing! Do you think it’s going to snow?’

  ‘Tomorrow, apparently,’ Julia says. ‘Can I help you with something?’

  Gaby hands her a large lightweight canvas bag. ‘Christmas presents from Mum,’ she says, throwing a backpack over her shoulder and dragging her case along. ‘I can’t get used to it getting dark so early; it’s not even half past four yet.’