Absence Makes

by Bruce Menzies

  Martin grunted and blew smoke. Lucille coughed, as she returned to the table.

  ‘So what’s happening with you guys?’ asked Brian. ‘We’ve heard rumours.’

  June rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure you have. That’s one reason why we want to set the record straight.’

  Ross gritted his teeth. Why does she use the royal ‘we’? Leave me out of it. Please.

  His unspoken plea was in vain.

  ‘We separated for some months,’ continued June. ‘Now we’re back together.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ said Patricia. ‘Why didn’t you talk to me, dear?’

  June ignored the question. ‘We separated so we could have space to find out what we really wanted.’

  Her audience looked at her. Ross knew they were wrestling with their private interpretations. Who sitting down to this dinner knew what they really wanted? And if they did, who had any clarity how to go about it? Martin thought he did. But, for once, Martin kept his opinions to himself, reluctant to draw his daughter’s attention.

  ‘I find that courageous.’ Lucille broke the silence.

  ‘So do I,’ said Kate, tentatively.

  June smiled, grateful for the support.

  Her mother remained puzzled. ‘What did you discover by being apart?’

  Ross caught the plaintive note in her voice. Was his mother-in-law peering into her own well, seeking to draw from her daughter’s courage? Secretly he hoped so. Patricia, in the six years he had known her, seemed like a fruit that refused to ripen. One containing a rich interior that clamoured to emerge but had not yet found its way. He found himself drawing a contrast with his own mother. She also deferred to her husband. But unlike Patricia, Alison Basset had withered internally, as if the latent desire for a life of her own had faded, not only from her conscious aspirations but from her dreams. He could see no hope for his mother. She would never leave his father, even if the thought did occur from time to time. She would live out her days in his company, caring for him and without holding any expectation that he – or any of her sons – would ever care for her. Her enjoyment, if that was the right word, would come through her grandchildren. Jeffrey and Janet had started the ball rolling, and Ross was happy to be temporarily off the hook. By contrast, Patricia Preston was not like his mother. Her destiny remained unwritten. Without knowing why, he resolved to become a source of encouragement, hoping to fan the creative flame that animated his mother-in-law. His presumptuousness struck him as slightly absurd. But, in some unfathomable fashion, he knew he was right.

  At this moment, however, his wife was in full throttle.

  ‘I won’t speak for Ross but I discovered that, while I like living with him, I don’t need him. I can be independent and happy on my own. To me, that’s important.’

  ‘Right on!’ said Lucille. ‘My mother said much the same thing to my dad when we were travelling here. She told him she’d sacrificed herself for far too long. She would enjoy this discussion.’

  ‘And what does your father make of it?’ Martin could contain himself no longer. ‘Hasn’t he made a few sacrifices of his own?’

  As much as he was wary of his father-in-law, Ross approved of the question. Men did make sacrifices. Marriage itself implied sacrifice. Instead of the freedom to do what you wanted, when you wanted, you now had to consider another person – a wife. And you were expected to consult, and to reveal what you were thinking and feeling, and to analyse everything to the nth degree. If his experience was anything to go by, many men did not find a lasting relaxation in matrimony. The demands could easily outweigh the benefits, leading to tensions that were difficult to resolve. Compromises – sacrifices if you like – had to be made, and not just by women.

  Lucille interrupted his train of thought. She spoke carefully, as she twisted her napkin around her fingers. ‘In Dad’s eyes I’m sure he thinks he has. But if you look at it objectively there’s no comparison. Mum has always put him first. She’s supported his career, raised a family, done all of the housework and been on hand for every cocktail party and company dinner that Dad had to attend. Her own needs have always been put last. And I think that’s about to change.’

  He could see his mother-in-law taking this in. It could be an accurate description of Patricia’s life. She couldn’t fail to register this and neither could the others, even Brian as he idly wiped the foam from the inside of his beer mug.

  ‘What do you think your mother will do?’ June sounded sympathetic.

  ‘I don’t know. She wants to work but has no qualifications. Once upon a time she liked to paint. Maybe she’ll go to art classes.’

  ‘While you father continues to earn the money?’ Martin spoke decisively, as if a certain financial reality needed to be recognised and underlined.

  ‘He could retire tomorrow. Money is not the issue. But he’s a workaholic and won’t stop. Our trip to Australia was supposed to be a holiday but he was always on the lookout for deals.’

  ‘What does he do?’ Ross had not met Lucille’s father, who was introduced to the rest of the family while he and June were estranged from one another.

  ‘He’s a property consultant. Basically he sells real estate.’

  ‘Good business to be in,’ said Martin. ‘Plenty of opportunities in Australia. Mark my words.’

  Brian looked at him. ‘Under this federal government? You must have a crystal ball, Dad. They’re a bunch of spenders, not investors. Look at our interest rates. Who would borrow money to invest here?’

  ‘Don’t get me started on the government.’ Martin struck the table with his fist. ‘But they won’t last another year. I’ll put the house on it.’

  ‘You might regret that.’ June maintained the faith. ‘Gough’s done more in two years than your mob did in twenty.’

  ‘More to wreck the economy? I think you’re spot on.’

  Ross saw his wife struggle with an appropriate response. Privately, they were both alarmed at the course of political events. But June would never give her father cause for satisfaction. She elected to change the subject.

  ‘I was explaining how Ross and I plan to live our lives.’

  Here it comes. He leant back in his chair. The Shiraz bottle was empty.

  ‘Can I serve the Pavlova?’ Patricia was playing for time.

  Her daughter looked at her. ‘Go ahead, Mum. We have all night.’

  The gathering dispersed. When they regrouped at the table, Patricia was spooning large helpings of the dessert into bowls from her best dinner set. Ross wondered how Pavlova had become an Australian icon. What kind of country adopts a sickly, meringue-based sweet named after a Russian ballet dancer as a national dish? It didn’t sit well with our image of sunburnt farmers and bronzed Anzacs. We could have done a deal with New Zealand, he mused. They could keep the Pavlova - which they claimed anyway - and we could keep Phar Lap, even though the champion gelding was sired in the land of the Kiwi.

  June was ready, primed to launch into an exposition of their new life. The break in hostilities endured only until Martin poured each of them a glass of Spanish Muscatel, sourced from a Leederville bottle shop. On his one and only trip to Europe, he came to admire Spain above all other countries, becoming an enthusiast of their dessert wines, flamenco dance and Barcelona bull fights. You got the impression he would have fought for Franco had he been born there. At least, that’s what June said.

  ‘We have re-evaluated our wedding vows.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Martin was hoping the meal would soon be over and he could disappear.

  ‘The vows we took in church are obsolete.’ June went on as if her father had not intervened. ‘We knew that at the time but we went along with it. That jumped-up priest simply wouldn’t listen. I asked him why the bride has to obey the groom and not the other way around. Do you know what he said? It’s God’s law. Can you imagine! God’s law. I told him it had nothing to do with God. It was about some sixteenth century dogmatist trying to perpetuate the subservience
of women.’

  ‘What did he say to that?’ Lucille was grinning broadly.

  ‘He brushed it off. It was his way or the highway.’

  ‘Is that what you’re on about? Nobody takes any notice of that religious stuff.’ Brian entered the conversation.

  ‘It’s important,’ snapped June. ‘It’s symbolic of how women are treated in all walks of life.’

  ‘Sorry I spoke.’ When it came to debate, Brian was no match for his elder sister. He backed off, and added another rebuff to his list of stored resentments.

  June ignored him. ‘The point is that Ross and I have agreed to eliminate every source of gender discrimination from our relationship.’

  ‘What does that mean in practice? Have you drawn up your own contract?’ Lucille was clearly intrigued. Brian might be in trouble, Ross thought.

  ‘Nothing has been written down. But there are clear guidelines.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The obvious ones. We share the housework equally. We both contribute financially. We respect each other as equals. We don’t resort to power or deception to get our way. We make mutual decisions. All that sort of thing.’

  She was taking her time. None of this was too controversial, at least in theory. Not for the first time Ross stood in awe of his wife’s dramatic capacities. She would be at home on the stage or behind a lectern. She knew how to create suspense, and her timing was usually immaculate.

  ‘And there’s more to it.’ June paused. ‘We don’t intend to forsake all others until death do us part.’

  Everyone stared at her. Ross squirmed in his chair. Martin recovered his poise first.

  ‘You mean you can have extra-marital affairs?’

  ‘That sounds very formal, Dad. But yes, we can enter into other relationships as long as we’ve talked it through with each other. It’s called an open marriage. Other people are living like that. It’s healthy and it’s honest.’

  ‘What other people? Nobody that I know of.’ Martin looked around the table, inviting anyone to contradict him.

  For the next half an hour, objections and explanations flowed back and forth. Their evening with Simone and the Duncan Street crew had been a test run, touching a few nerves but nothing compared to the reactions of June’s family. Ross shook his head as he watched these sallies. No question of a rational debate. Wild emotion ruled the day – or in this case the evening.

  He wondered how it could be otherwise. The concept of anything approaching an open marriage was far too threatening. If he was honest, he felt threatened, despite having come to an accord with June. The theory sounded fine. The ideas made sense, at least on one level. But when he projected into the future and imagined June waltzing up to him and saying: ‘Hey darling, I’ve met this guy and we want to spend the weekend together,’ what would be his response? Would he kiss her hand and give his uncontaminated blessings. ‘Sure, my love. Have a wonderful time. Enjoy great sex. I hope you get to have a dozen fantastic orgasms every time you and this joker hit the mattress.’ No way, José. He was not that evolved. And neither, he estimated, was she.

  As for her parents, how on earth could they be expected to embrace these radical new values? Forget it. It wouldn’t happen.

  23

  Simone woke up with a headache. Not a hangover although the Chianti flowed freely the night before. Her head throbbed not from alcohol but from the battering of thoughts that kept her awake well after the festivities at her parents’ house. The thoughts had nothing to do with her family. She loved the evening. The prattle between her siblings was light and harmless. Her folks basked in the company of their children and grandchildren. The meal was delicious and even her presents were well received. She should have slept soundly and arisen in good spirits. But she was all over the place.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ her neighbour called out, as Simone searched the front garden before belatedly realising there was no newspaper on Christmas Day.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Susie,’ she mumbled, and returned to the kitchen.

  Over coffee, Simone pondered her dilemma de jour. It mattered not the jour happened to be Christmas. She was obsessed with unravelling the mystery. In truth, she thought the mystery was pretty much unravelled. But she needed confirmation. Ross’s father might be able to provide that – and the way to him was through Ross himself. Before leaving for the beach, she gave him a call.

  Once again, they were not answering their phone. It occurred to her they may have gone out early. Ross mentioned he first met June at North Cottesloe, and they still swam there as much as they could. The odds were against it but she decided to take a chance. Her throbbing head could not come up with anything better and the salt water would do wonders.

  Though her weatherboard rental was in Mosman Park, she preferred North Cott for her beach experience. Leighton was closer and even Cottesloe itself. But nobody went to Leighton and those who frequented Cottesloe were far less hip than the crowd who congregated a few hundred yards to the north. At North Cott, you invariably ran into people you knew. People with whom you could hang out on the beach and meet later, if you chose, at the ‘Obie’ - the Ocean Beach Hotel - across the road. You didn’t need to summons the troops. The troops just showed up, those who felt inclined.

  ‘Hi Simone.’

  She adjusted her top as she came out of the water. Her eyes stung, and it took her a moment to focus.

  Behind large sunglasses, lying face down on a beach towel, June was grinning at her. Amazing!

  ‘You’re up early. Come and join me. Ross has gone for a run.’

  Simone retrieved her towel and sat down. She listened, as June filled her in on the confrontational evening with her family.

  ‘Why do you want to provoke them? You’ll only bring out their insecurities.’

  ‘I thought you’d say something like that. You’re good at your job, Simone, I’m sure of that. But do you actually see people change? Don’t most of them want you to tell them nice things so they can feel good?’

  The lady has a point. Simone was tempted to agree. Already, early in her career, she’d become interested in the notion of change. People seemed very resistant, even to the slightest suggestion they might break a habit or try a different approach. Social work felt like a futile attempt to paper over the cracks. June had studied psychology. Perhaps they shared similar views? She hoped so. She liked June.

  ‘How do you propose someone can change?’

  ‘I think they need to be confronted with the truth. It might hurt but, unless you lance a boil, the pain will persist.’

  Simone looked at her and was about to reply. At that instant, however, they were showered in sand.

  ‘Hey! What are you doing here?’ Ross stood above them, perspiring profusely. He doesn’t look bad in his Speedos, she thought.

  ‘Actually, I wanted a swim and I was hoping to bump into you.’

  ‘Me? What for? Merry Christmas, by the way.’

  ‘A Merry Christmas to the both of you. June just gave me a rundown on your eventful evening.’

  He looked ruefully at his wife. ‘She wants to convert the world to open marriage.’

  ‘You idiot. Don’t twist things.’ But June was laughing.

  ‘I think you’re both brave and a bit off the wall. And if I ever write another research paper, you might have given me a topic. But there’s more on my mind at the moment.’

  For fifteen minutes, they sat listening as Simone recounted Baxter’s story. In hindsight, she was taking a risk, what with client confidentiality and all that. But she was on a mission and other considerations melted away.

  ‘I don’t get it.’ Ross squinted. ‘What’s the connection?’

  June beat her to the punch. ‘Can’t you see, Ross? If your father is Alice’s son, you’re Baxter’s grandson.’

  Ross had confirmed it. His father’s name was Alexander. The same Alexander who had a sister, Peggy. The same Peggy who came out with her husband many years ago to visit them.

  �
�His grandson? You mean I have a grandfather living in the Old Men’s Home? And he’s married to my grandmother in England?’ Ross looked stunned, as he struggled to absorb this enhanced family portrait. ‘Does my Dad know all this?’

  ‘I doubt it. He was very small when Baxter left. He may have no memories, and Alice concealed everything. Peggy knows more but she’s been under her mother’s thumb.’

  ‘And you’re saying Dad has a brother – Ken?’

  ‘He did. I haven’t located Ken but he could be in Sydney.’

  ‘Dad’s never mentioned him. That’s pretty weird.’

  ‘That’s for sure.’ The whole story was pretty weird.

  ‘What are you going to say to your father – and to Jeff for that matter?’ Simone noticed she felt anxious at the thought of Jeff. He may not appreciate her role in unveiling a family secret, especially one of this magnitude.

  Ross looked at her. ‘Wow. It’s a lot to take in. You’ll have to be there. I have no idea how Dad will react. And Mum too. They’re never keen on surprises.’

  She was afraid he would say that. Well girl, you started all this. Now you need to see it through.

  ‘When do you next see them?’

  June answered. ‘Today. We have Christmas lunch with Ross’s family.’ She sounded excited, perhaps sensing and embracing further drama. Maybe June liked to live a bit on the edge. The episode with Claire came to mind.

  ‘I can’t show up at your family lunch.’

  ‘It might be a problem,’ allowed Ross. ‘But I can give you a call and you could drop by later in the afternoon.’

  She began to protest and then thought, why not? Best to get it over with. In all honesty, she was curious to meet the parents. And Jeff’s wife for that matter, though that would be tricky.

  As she washed off the salt under the open shower near the stairs, Simone smiled. Perhaps she too had a touch of the drama queen. Oh dear. Could that be her? And here she was portraying June as a provocateur. A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Do the Italians have a similar proverb? She would have to ask her father.