Christmas in Canberra

by Nicole Taylor

  “Oh my God – he’s right! Strawberry and pistachio!” Margot agreed, pretending to be horrified.

  “Hey – don’t worry,” Chris tried to placate the girls. He knew they were flirting with him and was enjoying it. “Better than looking like most of the other women here – drunken sluts.”

  “CHRIS!!!!” Louise admonished him with a slap to the arm. “Language, please!”

  Chris laughed.

  “I will have you know that we won’t be looking drunken, or sluttish, till much later.”

  Now it was Chris’s turn to be shocked, and he looked at Louise with renewed interest.

  “And I always thought you were so prim and proper.”

  “I am, darling – except at the races.” The race was now over and the winners were being announced. Chris was being called on to sell bets again.

  “We’ll get going,” said Louise unnecessarily.

  “Right,” answered Chris, as he attended to a customer who stood by his side.

  The girls made their way towards the crowded centre of the ring. Margot shook her head at Louise. “How do we do it?” she asked. “How do we always manage to fall for guys who will never do anything about it?”

  “It’s a gift.” Louise looked glum. “You know, sometimes at work I could swear he is interested. One of his friends even intimated as much to me. But whenever I give him the opportunity to say something – nothing!” She shook her head. “What am I supposed to do – ask him out?”

  “Definitely not. That is like making the first phone call; or saying “I love you” first.”

  “I know!”

  What are we doing wrong?” Margot groaned.

  “I don’t think we are doing anything wrong. I just think we have standards. I mean, look at everyone we know who is married. The woman runs the whole relationship. She organises everything. The guy just shows up. We don’t want that. We want the guy to do a bit of the groundwork.”

  “And we will probably die waiting to find one – two – who will.”

  “Probably.” Knowing that Chris couldn’t see her now, and it was therefore safe to do so, Louise stopped and looked back towards him. “And of course, all the girls who are happy to chase these guys, then run around after them and basically be treated like doormats, will live happily ever after.”

  “You call that ‘happily ever after’?” asked Margot. “I don’t!”

  “Maybe we just aren’t cut out for marriage, Marg.”

  “Marriage?” Margot was aghast. “Marriage? Of course we aren’t cut out for marriage! What are you saying? I wouldn’t mind having a nice boyfriend, someone to see during the week when there is nothing else to do – but marriage?”

  “Sorry, sorry – I didn’t mean to say the ‘M’ word! Calm down – I won’t do it again.” Louise apologized and tried to reassure her friend.

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” said Margot, trying to clear the look of horror from her face. “God – talk about ruin a perfectly nice afternoon.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “Let’s go back to the tent. I need a drink.”

  Chapter 4

  Roxanne surveyed the member’s dining room at the Canberra Race Course and decided then and there that no one was better dressed than she and Michael. They had won “Best Dressed Couple” last year and looked like walking away with it this year, too. Being married to a tall, handsome man didn’t hurt, either, Roxanne thought. Michael was talking to Dave Basquette, and Roxanne wasn’t paying much attention until she heard the name Louise.

  “What about Louise?” she asked Dave before she could stop herself.

  Michael immediately stepped back, on his guard, keen to disassociate himself from the conversation.

  “Oh, I was just wondering if she was here,” answered Dave. He was Michael’s age, and as tall, but his scruffy appearance hid the fact that he had pleasant, even features and the personality of a true gentleman. He laughed. “You know, last week, at the Private Bin, she invited me over to dinner on Tuesday, and when I showed up she had forgotten all about it!” Dave chuckled heartily as he recalled the incident. “She was on her way out when I showed up. I almost missed her!”

  “What?” Roxanne almost shrieked at him.

  “Louise,” Dave explained, “had forgotten that she –”

  Roxanne was indignant. “Well, I hope she cancelled her outing and cooked you a nice meal.”

  “No way!” laughed Dave. “She didn’t even let me in – just made me move my car because it was parked behind hers and was blocking her way!”

  “She is such a bitch!” exclaimed Roxanne.

  “Nah; she just plain forgot.” Dave was reassuring. “I’ll get her next time, though.”

  “Next time?”

  “Yeah – next time I see her around. I’ll get her to shout me a drink. She owes me now.” Dave looked as though it had all been worthwhile, just to be able to have Louise owe him a favour.

  “I don’t know how she gets away with it,” fumed Roxanne.

  “Gets away with what?” asked Dave, not really sure if they were even talking about the same thing anymore.

  “The way Louise treats people.” Roxanne was on her soap box. “She is the most insincere person I have ever met and everyone just puts up with her.

  “Louise?” Dave was confused. He looked at Michael, who tried to give him “the look” to discourage him from saying any more. But Dave didn’t take the hint. “Insincere? What do you mean?”

  “Well, Dave,” said Roxanne haughtily, “do you really think that Louise would go out with you?”

  Michael sighed. Now Roxanne was going to hurt poor old Dave’s feelings, just to make her point. “Hey, next race is on – who wants to place a bet?” Michael tried unsuccessfully to change the subject.

  Dave blinked and looked at his drink. “Well, maybe not go out with me,” he admitted. “But we have had dinner together at Sam and Jane’s before,” he said cheerfully.

  “And I’ll bet she flirted with you all night, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah!” Dave was happy again.

  But his smile infuriated Roxanne even more. “Well – doesn’t that tell you what a phony she is?” she demanded. “Do you like being flirted with, Dave?”

  “Hell, yeah!” Dave was chuckling now. “Course I do! Who doesn’t?”

  Roxanne was exasperated. “Even when you know it’s not going anywhere? That you have no real chance with her?”

  “It’s better than nothing, right?” Dave looked to Michael for confirmation. Michael was trying to attract the attention of anyone he could, rather than be drawn into this conversation with his wife.

  “It isn’t as though she is beautiful or anything,” continued Roxanne. “She isn’t anything special at all.”

  “We’ve all known each other for years, Roxanne,” Dave tried to explain. “We all grew up together out in Belconnen, when there were only kangaroos there.”

  “And magpies,” added Michael. He felt that they were definitely on safer ground now.

  “Yeah – don’t forget the maggies!” Dave agreed, and performed an imitation of someone ducking a swooping bird, using his forearm to shield his head.

  “Louise? Hanging out with you boys? I doubt that,” Roxanne was scornful. “I can see her practicing the piano, or her ballet steps, or doing her homework and ignoring the rest of you.” Roxanne sipped her cocktail sulkily. Of all the sister-in-laws to get, she had to get landed with Louise. “Little ‘Miss Perfect’ from the Catholic girls’ school; with all the degrees; who everyone likes. Just a spoilt little bitch,” she thought angrily.

  But what aggravated her more than anything else was that Michael thought Louise was the last word. You would think she was the blueprint for the perfect woman to hear him talk about her. And why? Just because she did well at school? She wasn’t that popular. She didn’t even have a boyfriend – hadn’t had one for years, in fact – ever since she had been dumped by some guy she went out with for a few yea
rs when she was “at uni”. He’d met someone better, and had unceremoniously dropped Louise like a hot rock.

  “Well,” said Roxanne grimly, “she might be able to fool everyone else, but she hasn’t fooled me. I know her type.”

  *

  Roxanne had not grown up in Canberra. She was from Lake Cargelligo, a “dirt” town in the outback region of New South Wales, so called because for many years, the roads were made of compacted soil and were not sealed with bitumen. Her father was a shearer and her mother a barmaid. Roxanne was the youngest of 6 children, an unusually large number for a protestant family. Apparently Roxanne’s mother, Beulah, thought it too many, because one day she didn’t come home from work but instead moved to Sydney with a customer. Whether by good fortune or good planning, she had left the day after her husband, Cliff, had returned from one of his regular 7-weeks-long shearing jobs, and since that day the kids had been cared for by him alone.

  Actually, it wasn’t he who cared for them at all. He had bemoaned his fate until all the kids felt sorry for him and angry towards their mother. They blamed her flight for his continual drinking, not admitting to themselves or anyone else that this was not a new behavior pattern for him. As the youngest, Roxanne had been the least called upon to fix the problems created by Beulah’s absence. The two oldest girls, Brenda and Annette, had shouldered most of the load, and left school as early as possible to help raise the younger four. At 13, Brenda was the eldest when Beulah left. Roxanne was just 4 years old.

  They’d grown up in a rented, dilapidated wooden bungalow on the outskirts of Lake Cargelligo; a long walk from the school, the main street and all the conveniences. They were fairly close to a bedraggled old pub, though; so it was easy for Cliff’s kids to find him when he was in town.

  By the time Roxanne was 15, her two oldest sisters had married and left home. It was just her, one other sister, Lee, who was 16 and a brother, Max, 17. Max worked with Cliff as a shearer, too, and planned to become a wool classer, like his older brother, Rodney. Rodney lived in Moree now and was doing well from all accounts.

  One morning Roxanne sat with her sister on the back steps drinking strong, sweet, milky tea, watching the cat that had just had kittens feed her litter. Lee looked at her little sister, sitting beside her, and put her arm around her. “What’s up, kiddo?” she asked.

  Roxanne was surprised to feel the tears sprouting up out of her eyes. She was upset; but hadn’t known Lee could tell.

  “It’s the dance,” she blubbed. “I don’t have a dress. I – I can’t go!”

  Lee hugged Roxanne a bit closer. She knew about the dance. It was the end of 4th form dance – a big event at Lake Cargelligo State School, since it only went to the 4th form. If you wanted to go “on”, you had to move to Goulburn, or even further afield.

  “Is everyone going?” Lee asked tentatively.

  “No,” sobbed Roxanne. “But Matthew is going. And he’s taking Bernadette O’Rourke.” And she sobbed with an even greater sorrow.

  Matthew Perry was the boy everyone in 4th form liked. Roxanne had liked him since 1st form. His father managed the ‘Stock and Station’ store in town and was a key figure in Lake Cargelligo. They lived in a beautiful brick home with a swimming pool, on the hill above the Town Hall. The Perry’s went skiing in the winter at Jindabyne, and to either the Gold Coast, or Noosa, in the summer. Next year, Matthew would be off to St Joseph’s Catholic boarding school in Sydney, and then to university. Lee was surprised he hadn’t been sent off years ago. His older brother, Tony, had been sent away after 2nd form.

  Bernadette O’Rourke, on the other hand, didn’t go to Lake Cargelligo State School at all. She went to the Loreto Catholic Girls’ Boarding School interstate and was only at home in the holidays. The O’Rourke’s owned most of the property around Lake Cargelligo and a number of sheep stations throughout New South Wales. Their home was a large, sprawling stone building, set among carefully tended lawns on many acres. A long avenue of hundred-year-old pines led to the house, which boasted multiple garages and stables. Bernadette was quietly pretty, with the straight stature common to young girls who danced ballet and rode ponies.

  Lee understood the complete hopelessness of her sister’s plight and pitied her. “Oh, Roxy, don’t cry,” she tried to sooth Roxanne, knowing that she couldn’t really. “Don’t worry about that. School is over! You’re free! Let’s plan your future!”

  Roxanne looked up from her sister’s lap, where she had buried her crying face for the past few minutes. “My future? Working at Dimmeys in Main St?” Roxanne had been working part time behind the cash register at the general store in town for the past year; long enough to know that it was a dead-end job.

  “Well, not necessarily,” said Lee carefully. She sighed. She had meant to spend this time telling Roxanne of her own plans to move out of home and away from Lake Cargelligo, to find a better job – a brighter future for herself. Lee was tired of being the one who was left ‘in charge’ now that her older sisters had gone. She wanted to be free of adult responsibility, and not have to worry about anyone except herself for a change.

  But now she couldn’t bear to see her baby sister’s face when Roxanne realized that she would be left here, virtually alone. Lee scanned her mind. Could Roxanne go to stay with Brenda or Annette? Brenda was in Darwin now. She’d married an Army guy and was about to have her second child. And Annette had tracked down their mother in Sydney and was staying with her and her “boyfriend”. Roxanne wouldn’t go for either of those options.

  Lee took a deep breathe. “I’m moving to Canberra,” she announced. “Why don’t you come with me?” There. She had said it. It was done – for better or worse.

  Roxanne looked at Lee as though through a fog. “Canberra?” She sniffed and pushed her hair back from her face. “What for?”

  Lee raised her eyebrows at Roxanne. “What for?” Lee counted off the reasons on one hand. “Because it is a long way away from here. Because there are no Perry’s or O’Rourke’s. Because this is my life and I don’t want to be ‘Cliff’s girl’ any more. I want to meet people who don’t know me, or my family, and don’t care.” Lee surprised herself with the vehemence of her outburst. “So, how about it? Are you in?”

  From that day onwards it took the sisters barely six weeks to organize their migration to Canberra. They saved their money, planned their journey and prepared their family. To their surprise, Cliff had no objections at all. “I thought you’d be leaving soon,” was all he had to say, as though that was the natural course of events. The girls were relieved and loved him for not making their leaving difficult. But even if he had, they were determined to go.

  And it had worked greatly to their advantage to be moving together. Both girls had learned to type at school. Not the required 35 words a minute needed to get into the Public Service, but enough to be employed as receptionists in a small firm. However, since they were both ‘juniors’, their pay was so low that neither could afford to live alone. With two incomes, though, they could rent a small flat and have enough left over each week to eat, buy a new dress and even go out occasionally.

  The first thing Roxanne did was change her accent. She had long ago noticed that the better educated people differentiated themselves by their speech, and she had taken note of the way people spoke on television. Without actually mentioning it, Lee had followed Roxanne’s lead, and within a year neither girl could be identified by the nasal twang peculiar to the isolated country towns of Australia. Now they spoke like city girls – they just knew a lot more about the facts of life.

  *

  “Hey, Lulu!” It was George Sanderson, the young Greek-Australian Adonis of the Tax Office under-graduate program, calling out. “Are you coming to the happy hour tonight?”

  The social club organized a Friday night drink once a month. “It’s at the Worker’s Club.” George referred to the building beside their office. “Why don’t you come?”

  Louise had avoided these happy hours ever since joi
ning the Tax Office three months earlier. She liked her co-workers, but sensed that she was older than the other “singles”, more the age of the married group and ever-so-slightly resented by some of the younger girls. Not all, but there were one or two amongst the single set who pointed out her ‘advanced’ years at every opportunity.

  “Girls think age matters, but guys didn’t care at all,” Louise mused to herself. “They will treat you as badly as you let them, no matter what your age.” And while George was the consummate flirt, he was no match for Louise, who had a few years on him and revelled in her art. George knew this, and felt very safe flirting with Louise. She was six years his senior; delightfully insincere and, he thought, quite delicious in a ‘school-ma’am’ way. A heartflet “Phew!” was all he was capable of as he admired her.

  Stacey, George’s female equivalent in the office, “tched” as she watched George cajole Louise.

  “Here it comes,” thought Louise.

  “George, leave Louise alone,” said Stacey, loudly enough that Louise could hear her clearly. “She has friends of her own age.” Stacey felt that George, who had all but finished his law degree at the ANU was rightfully her property, and should focus on the real action and stop being distracted by the scenery.

  “But we are having a wet T-shirt competition!” George protested the facts. “And what is a wet T-shirt competition without, well, the competition?”

  Stacey, an attractive, statuesque blonde herself, could not compete on those grounds and said nothing.

  But Louise couldn’t resist. “Did you say wet T-shirt competition?” she asked.

  “Yeah!” said George. “How about it?”

  “I will if you will, Georgey-boy!”

  “Way to go!” George couldn’t tell if Louise was serious, but was playing along anyway.

  Louise finished her work and switched off her computer. Chris Hardy sauntered by, pretending to read the file he was holding in order to look casual. “I hear you are coming to the happy hour tonight,” he said gruffly.

  Louise smiled. “Well, George told me that there was going to be a wet T-shirt competition, so of course I didn’t want to miss that.”