“I wish I could escape from our Christmas myself,” Jim muttered. “Yours sounds like much more fun. Could I come?”
Louise almost laughed despite herself. “I have to get going. Bye.” She kissed her father’s cheek and departed, leaving Jim wondering innocently why everyone seemed to be in such a rush.
Chapter 9
Louise didn’t blame Marie. It wasn’t her fault. She had always been one of Jim’s favourites. Marie was the last born, a tiny baby girl; and she was exquisitely pretty, like a doll. Everyone felt protective of her, and it seemed natural that their father should, too; even though this sometimes meant that Marie got favours her sisters missed out on.
It was the same with Michael. Both Marie and Michael had inherited more than their share of good looks and their father’s good favour. Both had Jim’s thick, black, wavy hair, fair skin and dark eyes. They were, like their father, quite striking.
The others had the same fair skin, but their blue eyes and lighter hair left them looking insipid by comparison. Louise, Jane and James were proud of their beautiful little sister; and of their tall, handsome brother, too. Beautiful people attract admirers, and Marie and Michael, while enjoying the attention, were happy to let their family do the entertaining. It never occurred to Jane, James or Louise to envy Michael and Marie. Just having them in the family gave normal events an extra sparkle.
When Marie first realized that something was wrong, she put it to the back of her mind. Her heart gave a lurch if she even tried to contemplate what it might mean. She needed more time; more time to not think about it. If she didn’t think about it, she wouldn’t have to feel sickened with apprehension. Anyway, what good would thinking about it do? It wouldn’t change anything.
Sometimes, though, she would find herself almost frozen with fear, and thinking about it while she was trying not to. What now? What would happen next? She felt entirely alone; as though a heavy glass dome had descended to surround her and separate her from the world. No one could help her or get to her. She was cut off; she was adrift; she was very afraid.
If she told anyone, then it would grow and suffocate her. If she didn’t tell anyone, she would buy herself some time. It was no one else’s business, anyway. And who could she tell? Her mother? Her father? No – they would be more afraid than she was. Telling them would magnify the problem. Jane? Jane would tell Roxanne. Jane would tell everyone – she wouldn’t be able to help herself. “Although,” thought Marie wryly, “that would save me the trouble.”
She heard footsteps in the hall outside the door to her unit, and checked the peephole. Louise. Marie opened the door with something akin to relief before Louise could knock.
“Hi,” Louise said. Marie had opened the door in silence and, turning her back on Louise, walked back into the room and sat quietly on the sofa. Louise took a moment to wonder at this odd behavior; then she followed Marie inside.
“What’s up?” Louise asked. She hadn’t intended to call on Marie, but since the yacht club was only a short distance from Griffith Gardens, where Marie lived, she thought she may as well. Being the eldest had imbued Louise with a motherly streak, though more from responsibility than maternity. Louise also knew that since her father had mentioned Marie’s extended absence to her, he would feel that the issue, if one existed, would be ferreted out by ‘The Girls’ and he need not become involved. There was, in his mind, a heavy black line separating ‘The Girls’ from normal family propriety and Jim took care to keep to his side of it.
So, as usual, Louise found herself cast in the uncomfortable role of part-mother, part-sister, part-friend and sometime-contemporary. She was wary of doing or saying the ‘wrong thing’. It was a tricky business, being the eldest. The family expected you to look out for them and support them, but they felt no need whatsoever to reciprocate. And if she dared to behave in a big-sisterly fashion when her family felt it was uncalled for, remonstrations fell on her head. “Revered and reviled,” she thought.
As a child, Louise had yearned for the simplicity of the ‘only child’ syndrome. She had been barely one year old when Michael was born, and before her eighth birthday, she was the oldest of five. Louise was four years old when Jane was born, and she still remembered learning how to fold a nappy; how the pins dug into her fingers if she jabbed them too hard through the course fabric; how her arm ached as she supported the baby’s big, heavy head in the crook of her arm and fed her a bottle. One day her grandmother, seeing her, had propped a pillow under Louise’s skinny little arm and the pain had immediately gone as she leant against it. Louise had been very grateful but not surprised. Nana always knew just what to do to make her happy and comfortable. After that, when it was time to feed Jane her bottle, Louise would go and get the pillow before she sat down. Once she had Jane on her lap, it was impossible to move, for she was a big, hungry baby and her meal could not be interrupted.
So, the pillow under-the-arm remedy had been a comfort after the births of James and then Marie, too. Sticking the nappy pins into her hand required constant care, though, and frequently left Louise’s blood on the nappies. “Better your hand than the baby’s tummy,” said her mother, and Louise agreed wholeheartedly.
But, like Louise, her sisters were now in their twenties and she still felt as though she needed to look after them, while trying to guard against getting hurt in the process.
She sat quietly on the sofa opposite Marie and took in the pleasant room. It was quintessential Marie. Ornamental statues of cupids and doves adorned the occasional tables, and pretty floral arrangements dominated the dining table and kitchen bench. A framed Tom Roberts print of a bowl of roses hung on the main wall of the lounge room and the white lace curtains were woven in the shape of roses, too.
The lounge room was furnished with a pair of over-stuffed two-seater sofas facing each other across a low wooden coffee table. They were in a soft, cream coloured fabric, and Marie had added four scatter cushions: two in mauve and two in pink.
The carpet was a very pale wedgewood blue and the tiny dining room beside the kitchen held a small, square, black lacquered wood table with two black lacquered wood high-backed chairs. You could see straight into the kitchen across a bar-like counter-top, where Marie had all her floral crockery on display. Both the kitchen and dining room overlooked the park through large windows. The dappled light through the silver birches against all this floral femininity gave Marie’s home a lovely ambiance and Louise enjoyed the place as much as the company.
This evening, Louise could tell that something serious had occurred. She felt apprehensive and doubted her ability to chat sweetly or provide the correct sort of comfort. She felt outside the event; and yet she felt, too, that Marie wanted her there; but couldn’t share her over-full heart.
For want of a better course of action, Louise fell back on diversion. “Have you eaten?” She asked brightly. “Because I haven’t. Let’s walk over to Manuka and get a pizza at La Rendezvous.”
Marie looked at her. “You’ll have to pay,” she said. “I haven’t got any money.”
Louise had to stop herself from laughing out loud. Marie only ever had money to buy personal things she wanted for herself alone. Eating out with other people did not fall into that category. All her furniture had been paid for by a ‘loan’ from her father that would never be repaid and never admitted. Even their mother did not know that Jim funded Marie’s lifestyle. Her income barely covered her food, cigarettes, hairstyles, cosmetics, outings, and clothing.
Louise, however, did everyone’s taxes, and knew far more than they realised.
“It’s my treat,” she said. “I’m always eating here, and drinking your wine. I owe you.” This was not precisely true, but it was the only way to get Marie to agree to go out to dinner. Marie was defensive about not wanting to be beholden to her patrons, and had to make them feel that she was doing them the favour by allowing them to pay for her. It was and a game, and Louise had played it many times before.
Predictably, Marie
softened and silently picked up her Fiorucci shoulder bag. She slipped on her newest pair of pink leather stilettos and her Raybans, and the girls made their way out.
They walked down the stairs and through the old park which separated Griffith Gardens flats from the Manuka Village shops without speaking. The early summer evening sky was so lovely that they walked in companionable silence, enjoying the air and the walk through the treed park, each vaguely anticipating the conversation that was to follow. They crossed Flinders Way and walked up to Thetis Court, and La Rendevous restaurant.
Choosing a table in the court outside the main restaurant, Louise ordered a seafood pizza, garlic bread and a bottle of chianti. The girls sat, admiring the window dressings of the various designer boutiques and jewellers that shared the court.
“So, Marie,” started Louise. “How’s work?”
Marie looked at her with dark, unfamiliar eyes. “I’m having an affair with Rob,” she said.
Louise felt as though time stood still for a second. She couldn’t recall being so shocked by anything her youngest sister had ever said to her before. She knew Rob. Rob was Marie’s boss. He was married, with three young tow-haired boys. Three boys and a wife.
But something told Louise not to react predictably to this news. Catholic upbringing notwithstanding, the Keats girls had the same social mores as their middle class, white Australian cohort. No one was expected to save themselves for their wedding night, but certain level of discretion and discernment dictated a complex set of do’s and don’ts. A friend’s brother was date-able, while a friend’s ex was not. But married men? That had nothing to do with sexual morality. That was just plain stupid.
Louise knew that Marie expected to be blasted with a lot of rot about her stupidity, so she really couldn’t go there. Instead, she sipped her wine and asked “What for?”
The question threw Marie. It was the one she least expected. “What do you mean – ‘What for’?” she demanded.
But Louise was not to be bullied. “I just mean, why would you have an affair with Rob? Is he super sexy, or is he giving you a promotion? Or, is he really romantic and a great kisser?” Louise paused because the pizza arrived – hot and delicious looking. She waited for the waiter to leave them, and continued. “Because, you know, he ain’t leavin’ his wife for ya, babe, no matter how gorgeous he thinks you are.”
“Why not?” Marie was defiant and angry. Louise had diffused her dramatic crisis and Marie felt she had somehow been cheated. How dare she? And yet, just speaking about it with cool-headed, don’t-piss-in-my-pocket, I’ve-heard-it-all-before Louise, somehow relieved her of her fear. Marie wanted to fight with Louise – with anyone – to release the tension, to argue her side. She hated her sister’s blunt appraisal and loved her dry stalwartness. “Fuck,” she thought, but smiled inwardly. Life as she knew it would go on, after all.
Louie continued, having found her ground now. “Because, my dear, he is at the wrong end of the spectrum. If you want a married guy to leave his wife for you, you have to choose someone poor. Or, stupendously rich – with the emphasis on the ‘stupe’!” Louise shook her head. “And Rob isn’t either of those, is he?”
“What are you talking about?” Marie started to wonder whether Louise had understood her announcement after all.
“Let me explain.” Louise resettled herself. “We have three types of married men. In the first place, we have men who are at least our intellectual equals and value our contribution to family so much that they work hard to maintain us and our children in comfort. They are our friends and companions and we desire their company. These are the men we rarely hear much about, yet we all expect to meet one ‘one day’. They are the real husbands and fathers we hope we will have in our lives.” Louise let her words settle before she progressed. “Next,” she continued, “we have the ‘headed-to-the-top’ guys, who have no time for romance, so they get married as soon as they can to a suitable girl. These men are empire builders who have homes in good suburbs and send their kids to private schools. They will not and cannot afford to divorce. Financially it would ruin them, and socially it is against everything they aspire to.”
Marie was, despite herself, agog.
“Last,” continued Louise, “we have the underachievers, who will marry the first bosomy, compliant, undemanding girl who will wait on them hand and foot and be willing to go straight back to work six weeks after giving birth. These men are trouble. Being a “man” has never cost them much: women are so stupid that they can easily swap from one hard working wife to another, knowing that whoever she is, she will pay the rent, bear the children, study for her qualifications at night and not stop him from playing golf on Sunday.”
“But which one of these types describes Rob?” asked Marie.
“Marie!” Louise was exasperated. “Rob is the second type and you know it. He thinks that life revolves around him and him alone; that his life is separate from his affair with you. He doesn’t believe that he is ‘cheating’ on his wife; and he will be horrified if his wife finds out. And if she did find out, she probably wouldn’t leave him. He will feel as though he is the victim. His type thinks that an affair only counts if he says it does; therefore, he can behave as he likes and do what he wants. An affair is like seeing a stripper to him – his reward for being the provider. It is only in being caught in the lie that he must be made accountable, and even then he doesn’t understand why he is being punished. He is the most dangerous one of all. He tries to lead a double life.” Louise stopped speaking and changed her tone to a quieter one. “A double life is entirely possible, but only for a very short while.”
Marie groaned and picked up her glass of chianti. “I don’t know why I got into it. I don’t even want him to leave his stupid wife.” She sipped her wine. “It was great fun at first, and I felt so special. It made going to work fun. I never wanted anything serious with him.”
Louise was again shocked, but managed to hide it. She knew her family thought her old, past it, familiar with the seedy side of life because she was 28, not married and regularly attended nightclubs. What did they think – that single people went to night clubs to have sex? In all her years of nightclub attendance, Louise had never seen anyone fornicating. But perhaps she hadn’t been looking. She had, however, known of married people at work who had affairs.
In fact, Louise’s romantic notions were alive and well. Age had not dimmed her view of the world. It had merely given light to the dark corners where previously she had not understood what she was seeing. To love a man physically was still an act of commitment to her – not just entertainment.
But she girded her loins and projected herself into the current situation, continuing to play the role of the unshockable, older woman. “Well then,” she conceded, “no harm done. Just break it off before it gets to be a nuisance.” But Marie’s eyes became darker and less familiar and Louise knew that the affair was not her real problem.
“What?” Louise demanded.
“I’m late,” answered Marie.
Chapter 10
Roxanne was pleased to see Jane’s car already outside Mary’s house and she parked hers behind it. They had planned this luncheon so that Roxanne could tell them all about her glamorous island holiday. But she had more exciting news than that, and couldn’t wait to share it with her mother-in-law and sister-in-law. She had told only Michael about it till now, and he had been very happy.
“Are you sure?” he had asked excitedly when she told him she was pregnant.
“Six weeks,” Roxanne had announced proudly. “The doctor confirmed it.”
“Woohoo!” Michael had let out a war-cry and hugged Roxanne and jiggled her around.
She had laughed. “So – you want this baby?” She asked, unnecessarily.
“Yeah, of course!” Michael looked confused. “Don’t you?”
Roxanne saw her chance and took it. “Well, I’m not sure.”
“What?” Michael’s confusion deepened. “What do you mean?�
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“Well, I don’t know if I am ready to put myself through it all. I will have to give up work; I won’t be able to play sport; I don’t know if I want to go through childbirth.”
Michael was speechless, and he started to feel insecure and afraid. What was Roxanne saying?
Roxanne felt empowered by her husband’s confusion. “I need to think about it. I need to go away for a while, so I can make this decision without feeling pressured.”
“Go where?” asked Michael. “To Lake Cargelligo?” He thought she meant to stay with her father. Perhaps she needed to be with her family.
But Roxanne shook her head. “No, I need to completely get away from it all,” she said decidedly. “I’d like to go to Daydream Island for a week. Then I’ll be able to decide.”
“But I can’t get any time off work,” Michael protested.
“That’s OK,” said Roxanne. “Leonie can come with me.”
And so Roxanne and her sister had gone to Daydream Island, in Queensland, together for a week. It was an expensive resort holiday, and Michael had taken an overdraft at 18% to pay for it, but since he had established a company name in anticipation of starting his own business, he hoped to be able to use the business bank account for personal expenditure and consoled himself that it would all be deductible. “That’s how everyone in business does it,” Roxanne had explained. “How else do you think they all drive European cars and go overseas all the time? It is all business expense!” Michael had not been surprised that Roxanne was so knowledgeable about what could and could not be done in business. Roxanne seemed to know so many things that he didn’t. No one in her family was in the public service. They knew about the ‘real world’. Michael’s family had not a single business person, and he felt like a babe in the woods when his wife spoke so knowledgeably about ‘normal business practices’.
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