by kendra Smith
No, stop it, Katie. He had warned her, after all, that there would be a lot of travel, being on her own. But she was doubly on her own, wasn’t she? No nanny, no Tom. She closed her eyes and a picture of him when they first met came flashing up to her frontal lobe. She remembered when they’d first lived in London, how he’d wooed her, taken her to all the attractions in London she’d only ever read about with Debs, yabbering excitedly on the bed, looking at magazines. Tom had actually taken her to places like Fortnum & Masons where she had been transported to the streets of Morocco, tasted lamb tagine in the food hall.
It had all been so exotic. It had felt like Tom owned London. All the amazing, crazy places she had seen on telly in a slightly damp living room in the middle of Hertfordshire had suddenly been right in front of her to try: The Tower of London, Regent Street, Selfridges, London Eye. The Harvey Nichols Bar on the top floor, all so utterly glamorous. But it was easy for Tom. He’d grown up in London – private prep school in Kingston and parents who took him to the shows in the West End on a regular basis. All Katie could remember about the theatre was the panto every year in the village hall.
It had felt like London was all hers at the time. That Tom was all hers. Showing her ‘his’ London, the gay bars, the seedy nightclubs, the cafés still open in Soho until 3 a.m. where you could get fat chips and an overpriced bottle of Chardonnay. But, thinking back, it had all been about him, always was. Was always his choice of bar, theatre, food. Where was she in all of it? She frowned. Little Katie, the one who just followed along. Had he ever asked her where she wanted to go? No. Just took the reins, ran with it, ran with her trailing along behind. Why had she put up with it? Because she was intoxicated with him, fell in love with the man, his crazy energy, his selfishness?
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples slowly. So what adventure was he leading her on this time? Her eyes flew open. What had happened to them? What did Tom mean on the plane when he said the move would be good for ‘our marriage?’ No, this had to be their adventure. Adam was behind her now. OK, he might be coming to visit, but that was fine. She would be fine. She shook her head, walked back to the dining area and tidied up the books on the table. We’re a team.
Once the boys were in bed, she made herself a cup of tea. Tom was due back tomorrow. She thought about his Englishness. He would like her book covering. She smiled. Just then, she was aware of the phone going.
‘Katie?’
‘Hi, Gramps! Good to hear from you!’ She instantly felt better at the sound of Tom’s dad’s voice.
‘Hello, old girl, how are you?’
‘Flying solo!’ She tried to laugh, then realised the familiarity of his voice had unleashed some tears. She quickly explained that Tom was away in Jakarta on business, told Gramps how his grandsons were. She failed to mention the spiders, the homesickness or the acute heat.
‘Are you all right, Katie love?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine!’ she lied. ‘You?’
‘Hmm. All right. Haven’t been out today. The nice lady, Victoria, the lady from Elderly Friends, she didn’t manage to make it.’ Katie’s heart nearly broke. Gramps relied on Victoria. He had got used to her coming every week. Some days she brought a cake; on others she’d take him to the library; sometimes for a haircut. Katie hated to think of Gramps on his own all day. Tom’s poor dad had been struggling to cope since Tom’s mum, Margaret had died two years ago, and not only struggling with the enormous cavity in his life the death of a loved one brings, but the lack of home-cooked food. He survived on ready-made ‘muck’ from the supermarkets (‘It’s not the same as Maggie’s, Katie’).
‘Oh, well, how’s the garden?’ Why did I ask about that?
‘Fine, yes all right, but of course everything’s dying down a bit. Autumn is here, leaves are turning. Lovely colours, but so much to do. I’m afraid this two-acre garden is getting a bit much… Righto, get Tom to phone.’
It felt strange to hear about the leaves turning as they were in spring in Sydney. The shops were full of daffodils. It just didn’t feel right in September. And her conversation with Gramps didn’t feel right either.
To take her mind off Gramps, she decided to ‘blitz’ the spare room of boxes. Going through to the office, she went to the window and craned her neck. If she looked between the trees, she could just make out the inky waters of Middle Harbour like a bottle of good Merlot. She noticed all the lights on the other side from the yachts moored there. Magical, really. Like a bunch of fairies having a party of their own, holding little lightsabres on the water; the minute boats were glistening like fireflies as they bobbed in the murky inlets of Sydney Harbour.
Opening one box, she started to think. Should I make a plan, draw up a contract, one between Tom and me that outlines just how long I could manage here? Make it more like a business arrangement. Take control a bit. She pulled her shoulders upright. Attagirl. Then we could be away from the heat, back to clematis and muddy wellies when all this financial fiasco is behind us.
Taking another box from the pile, she opened it carefully; looking at the contents, she remembered exactly where it came from in the London house – her box of ‘treasures’. Things she could never throw out. Tiny scratch mittens, an ‘I am 3’ Thomas the Tank Engine badge, receipts for clothes long past their shiny new stage, two tickets to Oasis at Wembley (2009), a lock of James’s hair in a zip-lock bag. Layers of her life were buried in that room. It was like going through her life: first the dermis, the bit everyone sees, then came the lower layers, the stuff you hide, the things that mean so much you can’t face them, she realised. Old Christmas letters you meant to reply to. She found a letter from her mother’s sister, Aunt Annabelle. Gosh, did she ever reply to her? She was lost in thought when she heard the phone. She ran through to pick it up, worried it was Gramps again.
‘Darling, you still up? I was going to leave a message on the answer-machine.’ Tom’s Very English Voice boomed at her.
‘How’s Jakarta? I miss you. When are you home?’
‘I know, sweetheart, I hate when I go away, hate being away from you and the boys. I… I…’ He started laughing.
‘What?’
‘Hate to sleep, um, alone, need someone there… Anyway I just wanted you to know that I had a fantastic meeting with my Asian boss today, said things would be “taking shape”. In fact, I have to stay another week.’
‘A week?’
‘They’re looking at restructuring some of the lines of command across Asia, more promotions, opportunities. It will be worth it, Katie.’
‘Good. Well you deserve it,’ she sighed. Be positive.
‘Listen, Gramps called, seemed a bit out of sorts.’
‘Really? What kind of “out of sorts”?’ Tom yawned.
‘Well, his agency lady didn’t turn up and – I don’t know, Tom, something didn’t seem right.’
‘OK, I’ll call him.’
‘You sound bushed. I’m tackling the study, all those boxes…’
‘Really?’ he said it sharply, then somewhat more measured: ‘All the boxes?’
‘Why—’
‘Leave it, honey, will you?’ His voice was on edge. ‘You should be asleep…’ He laughed a little too loudly.
‘It’s OK.’ She was a bit surprised. Then she remembered the news and knew she had to tell him, had to try to sound nonchalant.
‘Oh, by the way, spoke to Lucy, on Skype. She and Adam are coming out!’ She tried to say it normally, like she was telling him about a fabric conditioner she had bought, a normal everyday thing. She could feel her heart beat. She didn’t want her voice to betray the enormous thud in her chest. And she really, really didn’t want to convey to her husband that the one man she wanted to avoid was about to come and stay.
‘Oh really? That’s great news. Good for them – it will be super to have them for a bit. You’ll like that, won’t you?’ Katie screwed up her eyes on the other end of the phone and shook her head as her heart hammered in her chest.
> The challenge of the last box was too much to resist. Easy: passports, wallet with UK notes in them. They looked odd – all the same colour, not like the Aussie ‘Monopoly’ money. A few papers… It was then that she noticed a yellow piece of paper, sticking out from her passport. It was a carbon copy of what he had signed, no wait, what they signed at the airport when she was running after James at the carousel.
Please sign the box underneath for the ‘Reasons for entering Australia’: holidays, temporary visa, emigrate.
Tom had ticked the last box. Her eyes flew up to the list again. The. Last. Box.
Emigrate.
Her heart nearly stopped beating. He had faked her signature under his. She felt cold and hot at the same time. What was he up to? How could he do this to her?
She carefully filed the information in her head, and the passport in its rightful place, making a silent pact. Walking downstairs, she narrowly avoided a Tyrannosaurus Rex who seemed to be shagging a plastic horse on the stairs.
Slumped in the wicker chair in the kitchen, she was suddenly aware of a hand tugging her dressing gown, two tiny arms reaching up.
‘Mummy, the Nemo light went out. Want cuddle.’
Bending down, she pulled Andy towards her. ‘Mummy sad,’ he said, looking at her, touching the teardrop as it ran down her cheek. ‘My kiss it better?’
Holding him close, she wasn’t quite sure who was giving more comfort to whom. She inhaled the familiar, gorgeous aroma of little boy: sweat mixed with Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo. Mummy wasn’t supposed to be sad, was she? Mummy was here to make things better. In Andy’s world Mummy made tea, Mummy tucked him up, Mummy kissed sore knees, had Postman Pat plasters, and knew exactly how to make perfect Marmite sandwiches with the crusts off.
And who was there to kiss Mummy better when her soul was empty? When Mummy looked at the streets, the trees, the shop fronts and it all seemed so, so different? When the pain of homesickness started to churn in her stomach like seasickness? When she thought she might have made the biggest mistake of her life?
5
‘Katie, what on earth are you doing?’ Tom opened the front door to find her foraging in the bin. He came over and gave her a kiss. She stiffened in his arms. ‘Boys in bed? God what an awful flight. I’m exhausted,’ he said putting his jacket on the chair. ‘Took ages for me and Fiona to get a cab.’
‘Fiona?’
‘Oh, new assistant – didn’t I mention her?’ he said slipping his jacket off and hanging it over a chair. ‘Anyway, dropped her off first – how are you? You look drained – what are you doing?’ He came back up behind her and removed her hands from the bin, then he took her in his arms for a big hug. Letting out a deep sigh, she closed her eyes, felt herself relax. She smelt his soapy Imperial-Leather-clean skin next to hers and felt like sweeping the breakfast Cornflakes off the table, sweeping thoughts of Fiona out of her brain, sweeping away any thoughts of Adam and spiders and just being alone with Tom; lying down and curling up with him on the table for a month. But then she remembered the little yellow paper in the passport…
‘I’m making fairy sandwiches, for the boys’ lunch; it’s a national dish over here,’ she said briskly, ‘and anyway it’s all I’ve got,’ she moved him away. ‘Down to my last $50. In fact, I sold some of my jewellery in a pawnshop we saw last weekend in Bondi Junction.’ She looked up at him.
Tom frowned. ‘Oh God… Listen, I should be able to give you a little before pay day.’
‘And I then gave some of it away to an Aboriginal charity – gosh, Tom, you should have seen the pictures they showed me of those kids…’
‘Sweetie, at the moment we need the money – do you need any help with all this?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said tersely, then tried to smile. ‘But there is something I need to talk to you about, Tom.’
Turning towards the kitchen counter, she pretended to carry on with the sandwiches; she smeared the canary yellow butter over the bread in a trance; didn’t want him to notice the tears. Her legs felt like jelly. The little ditty going round her brain was getting louder: For better, for worse… as she stood clutching the sprinkles jar tightly. The sound of the cicadas produced a confusing duet with the busy thoughts in her brain; her fringe lifted up and down in the breeze from the ceiling fan. She turned around.
‘Oh yes?’ His eyes darted from her to the kitchen table with her passport, the yellow emigration card sticking out.
She put the sprinkles tin down and sat across from him. Her feet ached; she was glad to sit down. She pulled her T-shirt down over her belly. ‘When I was clearing out our boxes, I found the card you filled in. At the airport. The one you didn’t want me to see.’ She held his gaze. His greeny-grey eyes were staring straight at her. His mouth was twitching a little.
‘Look, Katie, I’ve had a long…’
‘Tom – emigrate? What were you thinking?’ She pushed the passports towards him, open at the page.
‘That I might lose my job…’
‘Why?’
‘Because the firm said that we couldn’t come over here if we didn’t have the “intention” of becoming citizens. I did it for our future – all of us…’ His voice was rising. ‘Katie, we really, really needed this job, remember? The financial mess we are in will take at least eighteen months to sort out… God, all of the others did it – Roberts and Jewson – they were lucky. They swore it was legal; their lawyers swore it was legal—’ He ran his fingers through his fringe, and Katie remembered the stamp duty fiasco, recalled how others in his firm had got away with it. ‘And anyway, I think we shouldn’t rule anything out.’ His eyes were wild with terror and tiredness then, blond hair sticking madly out to the sides; he brushed it away angrily, then put his head in his hands.
She stared at the top of his head, looked up to the ceiling fan and closed her eyes, let the cool air caress her face. When she opened them, Tom had put a tiny blue leather box in front of her.
‘Look,’ he sighed. ‘I know what you’ve done for me… I, I thought you might like this.’
She wanted to be insanely angry with him, but instead she stared at the diamond eternity ring. ‘We can’t afford this!’
‘I know it’s not an English country garden—’ he looked away ‘—in fact, it’s – made of cubic zirconia…’ Tom smiled. ‘Looks like the real thing – when I can, I will buy you one.’
It was such a beautiful gesture, especially as she’d sold some of her favourite pieces at that dreadful shop… The tears were behind her eyes, but she remembered the document lying under James’s spelling book at the end of the table.
‘Tom – it’s this kind of thing that has got us into so much debt! The watches, the cars we can’t afford on lease, the extension on the UK house. You only wanted the best,’ she said exasperated, remembering exactly why they were in Australia in the first place. ‘I just want you and the boys! Not all this!’
‘Katie,’ he said gently. ‘Getting into debt takes two – the nannies, the two cars, the gym membership—’ He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled. She opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. He was right. Fat lot of good the gym membership had been. Fifty pounds a month to go there and have the occasional coffee. She pulled her stomach in.
He slid the box towards her. She heard his cufflinks clunk on the wooden table.
‘I’ve got something for you, actually. Listen, we need to talk,’ she said more softly, pulled his hand across the table and held it. ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I need something from you – not just a ring, Tom. I’ve given up my dream.’ As she said it, she tried to laugh, but felt her voice catch.
‘I know, darling, I know… You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.’
Her eyes fixed on his. Used to it?
Tom scratched the back of his neck, then clasped his hand over hers and fixed his gaze back on her. She noticed the dark suit, the silk lavender tie done up smartly. She sat up straighter.
‘I was happy to do t
his for you, for us, when it all seemed so bleak in the UK, but when I found the emigration card, I felt pretty alone, Tom.’ He got up quickly and turned to the fridge.
‘This is important to me. Sit down, Tom – you lied to me.’ She could feel the build-up of tears.
‘Katie, I had to do it!’ he said, turning around from the fridge. He was standing by the counter, pouring himself a vodka. ‘You wouldn’t have agreed to sign the card at the airport – would you? But the paperwork had to go to Trent Financial. They wanted copies and I’d have lost this job as well before I’d even started,’ he said pouring some tonic – much of it spilled over the side. ‘We can’t afford for me not to work, Katie!’ He was beginning to sound hysterical. ‘We are up to our eyes in debt.’
She stared at the fizz of the tonic cascading down the glass and over the surface. Pulling out the folder from her lap, it all seemed a bit unreal. She showed it to Tom.
‘OK, maybe I wouldn’t have signed that at the airport, but I want you to sign this.’ She shoved the green and gold folder towards him. He stared at the familiar logo of Jones & Brunswick from London.
‘Divorce papers? God, Katie, we had to say we would become citizens for the job, so I did… but in fact…’ He trailed off.
‘In fact what?’
‘Well, I’m beginning to quite like it here, the kids seem to be starting to like it…’
‘But I don’t,’ she whispered.
‘No. You don’t,’ he said wearily sitting down across from her.
‘Tom.’ She cleared her throat. ‘They’re not divorce papers. I thought it would be a good idea to email our lawyers, to draw up a document that says two years is the limit to being here—’ She knew she could probably cope with two years, but she needed a plan, a guarantee, something to allow her to trust her husband, something to hold on to when the quicksand of homesickness took hold.