Morning in Melbourne

by Nicole Taylor

  Marie made it known that hers was not going on the mortgage. “This is fun money,” she declared.

  James bought himself a Winnebago. “I want freedom,” he announced.

  Jane handed hers to David, knowing he would do something sensible with it. They didn’t have a mortgage, so he spent it on a sports car for her and a family holiday in Europe. “We had the time of our lives,” said Jane.

  Michael had business debts which immediately soaked up his share. “Thank god the money came through in time,” he said.

  And Louise paid off her mortgage. She thanked her parents every month when she was $1,000 richer. The divorce settlement was still in the pipeline and things had been financially stressful.

  Her parents had worked their whole lives to support their family and leave this wonderful gift to their children. Louise only remembered one occasion on which they had purchased brand new cars. It was 1973, when they had bought matching Toyotas after Mary had gotten her driver’s licence at the grand age of 32. With that exception, they had always bought 1 year old cars. Just as they always went on family holidays, even after their kids had left home. Mum and Dad had taken everyone to Sydney to show the grandchildren the Taronga Park zoo and the Sydney opera house. They had booked the big house at Mollymook so that every couple had their own room, and the kids had a sleep-out. They didn’t ask anyone to contribute, and no one did. No one even took them out to dinner to say thanks, Louise remembered guiltily.

  The inheritance was a huge consolation to Louise, who missed her mother more than she thought she would. Louise missed both her parents. Now that they were dead, no one was really interested in the events of her life anymore. To your parents, you are the star of the show. Now Louise was the parent. It was like the song “one green bottle, hanging on the wall.” In the natural order of things, as the most senior remaining person in the family, she was next.

  But Louise had craved security all her life. Being a single parent was a lot of responsibility. To own her own home at the age of fifty was a gift she valued more highly than she could say. Not having to pay off a mortgage any longer would allow her the luxury of saving for her old age. It was something Louise knew was there, ‘old age’, but preferred not to think about. But the older she got, particularly now that she was single, the more she did think about it. Sure, she could cope with the child support Jeff sent them, but what about when that stopped? And James was already halfway through high school. She had a few more years at the most.

  Louise suddenly remembered the light fittings in the house when she’d first bought it. They were amongst the first things they’d removed before they moved in, so old and oversized and sixties were they. The living room light fitting looked like a space station. It had so many elements of coloured and textured glass, all attached to the main ‘anchor’ by black metal rods.

  The light in the stairwell was a dimpled, burnt orange ball. It hung by a black chain through which the power able was threaded.

  The other light fittings throughout the house were equally awful. Back then, Louise had simply put it down to bad taste. Perhaps the previous owner, Mavis, a dear old thing apparently, was simply stuck in a sixties time warp.

  But that hadn’t rung true with all the other things Louise had heard about Mavis. She’s been married to a vintner; had travelled the world, buried her husband and lived to the ripe old age of 85.

  Now Louise understood. “Mavis had not been able to afford to redecorate,” she thought. “She probably lived very frugally, surrounded by the things she could afford when she’d last had any extra money, which by the look of things, was around 1967.” The thought was a sobering one.

  “Thank you, Mum and Dad,” was Louise’s silent prayer.

  Chapter 22 – Drinking problem

  Peter sighed as his mother entered his bedroom. Louise noticed and frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Can’t I come into your room to talk to you?”

  “You’re drunk,” said Peter, “and I know what you are going to say.” He pulled one arm over his head with the other arm and looked at his mother with a world-weary look.

  Louise was affronted. “I am not drunk!” she said vehemently.

  “You’ve been drinking,” insisted Peter.

  “I’ve had a glass of wine, Peter. Just because some people” (they both knew she meant Jeff) “don’t drink at all doesn’t mean that if you have a glass of wine, you are drunk.”

  “Maybe not for everyone,” said Peter.

  “Oh.” Louise was affronted now. “So you think that I become drunk after one glass of wine?”

  Peter sighed. “Mum, all I know is that when you drink, you then come up to my room and start with the ‘I had to leave your father’ talk, and I really don’t need to hear it again.” He shook his head. “Can we move on?”

  “I don’t know!” Louise was shocked and upset by Peter’s words, and she was speaking louder than necessary. “I’d like to ‘move on’ as you put it, but I think we need to discuss our situation before we can do that.”

  “You mean you need to discuss our situation,” Peter spoke loudly too. “I don’t need to discuss it. I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “And maybe I can sense that, Peter, and it might be that I am coming to you when I have the time, and when you are available, to try to start a conversation with you about –“

  “About how you had to leave Dad; and how you are right; yes, Mum, I’ve heard you.”

  “Don’t you DARE speak to me that way!” Louise was really angry now. “Who do you think you are? If I want to discuss the family situation with you once a week for 30 minutes, then that’s what we will do.”

  Peter sighed and returned to his computer which was, as usual, logged on to Facebook. But Louise wasn’t finished.

  “And don’t you sigh at me and roll your eyes. I’ll pack that bloody computer into the boot of my car so fast you won’t have time to unplug it.” Peter looked scared – not because his mother was angry, but because he knew she might actually do as she threatened, and remove his computer. She’d done exactly that to James at one stage, and he had had to go without it for weeks, knowing it was bumping around in the boot of her car with all the groceries – great, leaky plastic bottles of milk and sticky cordial. But that was before Facebook, so there was less to lose. Still, James had made sure never to cross the line that caused him to lose his computer again.

  “You kids just behave as though I’m only here for your benefit, and if I cause you any inconvenience by having an unpopular opinion, or daring to express a thought that pisses you off – suddenly I’ve got a problem and I’m an alcoholic! Jesus Christ!”

  “No, Mum,” Peter tried to reclaim some control of the conversation. “That’s not what I meant. But you have to go off screaming at me because I actually tell you what I think-“

  “Bullshit Peter! You have not told me how you feel about what I asked you about. You changed the subject so that all of a sudden – instead of talking about the divorce – we are talking about me drinking too much. But it isn’t really even about me drinking too much, because if it was about that, you would be concerned about my health, or my ability to do my job, or trying to hide booze from me because you had discovered that I was drinking in bed and in the bath and had alcohol hidden all over the house. That’s how alcoholics behave, Peter. Is that what I do?” she asked him.

  Peter realised that his mother expected an answer. “No.”

  “What do I do when I drink wine, Peter?”

  Peter was upset by now, but determined to hold his own. “Usually you turn on the CD player.”

  “That’s right. What else do I do?”

  “You call your sister or you invite a friend over.”

  “And sometimes I do my world famous impersonation of Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk, don’t forget that.”

  Despite his upset, Peter snorted a laugh. “Yeah, it’s pretty sad.”

  Louise relaxed a bit and sat on his be
d. “I’ve met alcoholics, Peter. I’m glad to say that you have no experience of alcoholism and I hope you never have first-hand experience of an addict of any sort. It’s horrible and destructive, and I am insulted that you, a boy I love and do so much for, would say something so ugly to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mum,” Peter looked more like he wished she would go away than anything else, but apologetic was partly there too.

  “Come downstairs,” Louise commanded him. Peter got up from his chair as though there was a weight tying him to his desk and followed his mother downstairs.

  Louise went to James’ room and knocked on his door. After a minute, James said flatly “Come in.”

  Louise entered the room. James was engaged in what looked like an intense computer game. He looked at his mother. “What?” he asked unceremoniously.

  “Are you busy?” Louise decided to go for respectful rather than demanding.

  “Yes, I am actually. Aaagghh!” He had not looked up from the computer screen and now clicked his mouse, threw it down and swore into his headpiece. The he took it off and said to his mother “I’m not busy anymore – I’m dead now.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Louise said; thinking that this wasn’t the most auspicious of beginnings.

  “So, what’s up?”

  Louise decided to go for it. “Do you think I drink too much?”

  James shrugged. “I don’t know whether you drink too much. I think it is more about your behaviour when you drink.” Louise looked at him frowning, so he continued. “You get all upset and rave on to us about shit. We can‘t do anything. You’re the one who has messed up your life – leave us out of it.” And he went back to his computer game.

  Louise was so angry. She turned to Peter and said “Get Camille.”

  But Camille had been listening quietly, around the corner in the lounge room. “I’m here,” she said now.

  “Good.” She looked at her three kids, all taller than her; all looking down on her now. “We have to sort his out, now.” She paused a moment to try to calm herself because she was really very angry. “First of all, I am not an alcoholic. Yes, I drink on Friday night, and if I am with friends I drink a few glasses of champagne, but I don’t drink at any other time and I never break the law by driving when I drink. I am going through a very stressful time because of the divorce; I am under a lot of stress at work; and I am not taking prescription medication.”

  “What?” James was finally paying attention. “What do you mean – you are not taking prescription medication? Why is that a reason to be stressed?”

  Louise scoffed. “Do you know how many single working mothers in every first world country on Earth are functioning on the power of Prozac?”

  “Maybe you should get some!” countered James.

  “Why, James? Because you three can’t be bothered to talk to me once a week? Is it more convenient for you that I medicate myself than that you actually inter-act with me, or discuss the things that concern me? What is this?” She raised her hands to shoulder height, palms up, in a questioning gesture. “Are we a family or are we a boarding house where I am the maid? Because stuff that – I quit. I don’t want to spend what remains of the best years of my life waiting hand and foot on a bunch of selfish little shits who couldn’t give a bugger about me. The child support payments ain’t worth it, baby!”

  “What about us?” Peter wanted his mother to stop this tirade and was hoping to shock her into retreat.

  But Louise was up for it. “What, Peter?”

  “What about our problems?”

  “Your problems? You mean have I bought the right gel for your hair; or can I lend you my credit card so you can buy more games online; or can I call my friend for the website address of where you can get your Vans cheaper?”

  “No – our problems, like going to school every day and getting our assignments done and studying for exams. You don’t care about our problems.”

  “That’s a load, Peter, and you know it. You are using the age-old strategy of ‘attack is the most effective form of defence’. You’d rather criticise me than listen to my worries.” Peter looked deflated and stopped speaking. But Louise wasn’t finished. “I’ve spoilt you, haven’t I? You seriously think that my problems are no concern of yours, but your problems are mine to solve.” She turned to James. “You are now an adult. I am no longer responsible for your wellbeing, James. I am happy to support you at my own expense while you study and even while you find suitable employment, but that is a privilege, not a right.”

  “It is your responsibility to support me until I am ready to be independent!” James was indignant and sounded sure of his footing.

  “No, James, actually you are wrong there.” Louise stood up straight and answered him. “I am legally obliged to support you until you are an adult – which is 18. You passed that milestone a few years ago now.”

  James scoffed. “Well, if that’s your attitude, that’s pretty pathetic,” he said. “Why did you have us if you weren’t prepared to support us? We didn’t ask to be born.”

  “So what? I didn’t ask to be born either – but that didn’t mean I treated my parents disrespectfully or criticised them when they did something that wasn’t solely for my benefit.” Louise paused. “I will make the rules and you will obey them. I have the financial responsibility, and that buys me boss status.”

  “So, we don’t get a say in anything?” Peter wanted the last word.

  “I’m here to teach you about democracy, Peter; not practice it.” She faced Peter, then James. “You will treat me respectfully and obey me in this house. If you can’t do that, you have a choice: talk about me behind my back – but make sure I never, ever find out; or move into your own place.”

  “You have to earn respect,” said James scornfully. “You can’t just order someone to respect you.”

  “Watch me,” said Louise.

  *

  “What name was it under?” asked the receptionist, without looking up from her computer.

  Louise had made a booking to have her car serviced. She’d changed from the service centre near his office that Jeff had used to one closer to home, for convenience. The problem was she couldn’t remember which name she had used to make the booking. Since separating, Louise had reverted to her original name, Keats. But occasionally she still used her married name because it was easier. For instance, at the kids’ schools she was still Louise Clarke; and on her passport she was still Clarke so that when she still travelled with the kids, she was easily identifiable as their mother.

  “I don’t know,” she said answered apologetically. The girl looked at her impatiently, and Louise felt flustered. “I’m getting divorced and sometimes I use my old name,” she explained.

  The receptionist smiled her understanding and laughed. “Oh, I know what that’s like,” she said. “Why don’t I look under both names?”

  Louise gratefully gave the names and the booking was located.

  “Fancy not knowing my own name!” Louise said to the receptionist, who nodded knowingly in response.

  “It’s a confusing time,” she agreed.

  Chapter 23 – What do you want?

  “Well, what do you want from life?” Katherine’s question was pointed but not aggressive. They’d been discussing the pros and cons of romance after divorce, and they occupied different sides of the debate.

  Louise sighed. Katherine never troubled herself with deliberation. She always knew exactly what she wanted, and it never changed. She wanted to be desired, envied and financially secure. And, she was. When her marriage ended, she howled all her tears, then went to the salon, had her hair done and dressed like a single woman till she found another man. Now she had a devoted boyfriend and managed her career, her home, her relationship and the ensuing blended family with the aplomb of private school principal. As far as Katherine was concerned, once you knew what you wanted, the getting of it was merely a detail.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Louise. “What I wanted on
ce is no longer relevant.”

  “What?” Katherine didn’t understand.

  “Well,” Louise tried to explain, “I wanted a home and family; I wanted a career. I have those things now and I don’t think I can really insert a man into any of it. When you are 25 or 30, getting married solves so many issues. Marriage becomes the solution to your accommodation needs; your family needs, and your financial needs. But 20 years later, marriage is an untenable proposition because of your accommodation, family and finances.”

  Katherine was confused. “But you were married with all that! How can you say a man won’t fit in?”

  “Because he won’t have his own place in my life.” Louise tried to explain. “Look. Jeff was the father, and he supported us while I had the kids. We had our relationship; and we each had our relationship with each of the kids, and our relationship together as parents of the kids. We each had natural, equal, immutable rights and obligations. If I take up with another man now, he will just be my boyfriend. He won’t have a direct, independent relationship with my kids. Easing a new person into a relationship with my three difficult kids would be just another chore for me. There is no way I could have a man move in – and heaven forbid that he have children of his own, even part-time. Which part of the house would be his domain? We live in every spare inch of our house as it is.”

  “You don’t have to live together,” suggested Katherine

  “Yeah, how long would that last?” Louise was the pragmatist.

  “You could both sell and buy another, bigger place,” said Katherine reasonably.

  “Yes, we could. But what if we split up? Then we have to sell and repurchase all over again. Do you know how much that is in stamp duty alone – not to mention moving costs?”

  “Woah! Stop crunching the numbers, Keating!”

  “Sorry. But do you see what I mean? That’s if the kids would even tolerate a new man in my life.”