A few days later, she received a response. “Sure, thanks for sorting it out. Here is the letting agent’s number – they will cut you a cheque for half the cost of the gutter cleaning. In Melbourne next week and if you are at home, will say hello then.”
“Hmm,” thought Louise. “Neighbourly.”
So, when there was a knock on her door a week later, the thought that it might be the owners of next-door was a possibility Louise entertained. The other non-resident-owners were elderly, and the townhouse comprised the bricks-and-mortar element of their superannuation investment strategies. Of the 12 townhouses, 5 were let.
She opened the door and saw a good looking man her own age standing there, with a pleasantly benign look on his face. He was average height, and had thick, short, unruly grey hair that still had traces of the brown it had and a fair complexion. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Aidan, owner of Number 11.” He smiled at Louise and he seemed to brighten up considerably at the sight of her.
“Oh,” said Louise. Aidan was smiling openly at her now.
“I’m after L. Keats, the owner?” He peered around Lou, and into the house, as if waiting to see someone else.
“Yes,” Louise smiled back. She had never been so surprised. Aidan, her next-door-neighbour, was an attractive man of her own age who was clearly pleased to meet her. “I’m L. Keats. Louise. Hello.” She smiled back at him.
“Sorry,” he rubbed his chin. Louise noticed he spoke with a lovely accent – Australian, but gentle. “I was expecting someone a lot older, actually.”
Actually – he had used the Great Melbournian Adverb. It was how Louise identified Victorians everywhere. They all said “actually” at least once, every few sentences. Was he a local boy, or had he merely learned the local dialect?
“Oh – sorry,” Louise finally responded, realising that this was expected and not knowing what else to say. She recognised something about this man, but couldn’t identify what it was. Had he been on TV?
“It’s just that most of the other owners are –“
“Yes, I know. I’m surprised to meet you, too.”
Aidan laughed. “Ah – I see! You were expecting me to be older too, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Not that we are young, of course.”
Louise laughed. “Relatively speaking.”
“Yes, relatively speaking.” He reflected as he looked her up and down.
Aidan looked over his shoulder. “I saw a nice coffee shop over the road.”
“Yes, well, there are two, actually,” Louise reflected his speech. “We are spoilt for choice.”
“Would you be able to join me, for a coffee?” He peered into the house behind Louise. “Since we are neighbours, and if there is anyone at home with you - “
“Um, no – I can come. I’ll just grab my keys.”
They strolled down the treed footpath and, arriving at Gourmet Girl, settled themselves at a table for two in front of the café.
“So,” Aidan said, leaning back and smiling, “why do you look so familiar?”
“Do I?” said Louise. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking the same about you.”
“And your voice. It’s unusual. I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”
It was as the waitress was taking their order that Louise suddenly remembered him. Her heart almost stopped beating. She blinked and looked at him again.
“Oh my god,” she said.
Aidan laughed. “What?” he asked.
“Canberra, 1988,” she answered.
“Ye –“ Aidan sat back in his chair and stared at Louise.
“Lulu,” he said. Then he put back his head and sighed. “Aaagh!” Then he stood, came over to Louise, pulled her up from her chair and hugged her. “How the hell are you?” he asked.
Louise closed her eyes and hugged him back.
22 years peeled away like onion skins; dropped away like flower petals; ran away like a waterfall; sifted like dry sand through open fingers; and Louise was catapulted by the elastic band that is life between her pre-marital, pre-motherhood self, directly to her post-marital, post-motherhood persona.
22 years ago this man had been the choice she made. He’d offered himself as a viable option. He’d courted her as a young, free, desirable man courts a young, free, woman he desires. Now she was not young; three times a mother; and 50.
“So, Aidan,” he was holding her hand as she spoke. “Tell me about your life these past 22 years. What have you been doing? And how long have you been in Melbourne?”
Aidan laughed. “I was about to ask you the same thing!”
“No,” Louise insisted. “You first.”
“Aidan shrugged. “OK. Let’s see.” He took a deep breath and looked away to gather his thoughts. “Well, you remember that Dad lived on a farm in New South Wales.”
“Near Hall,” said Louise. “By the way – remember Rachel Fox?”
“Sister of Kim?”
“Yes! She lives in Melbourne, too!”
“No way! What is this, a southern migration?”
“Must be.”
“Is she married?”
“Divorced.”
“But go on – I want to hear about you before we start catching up on old friends.”
“Right,” said Aidan. “Well, after we, I mean you and I, stopped seeing each other; not long after that, anyway, Dad couldn’t manage anymore, so we sold the farm and Dad moved into a retirement village.” Aidan paused. “It was a lot easier for me then, too, because before that I was always torn between being an accountant and being a farmer’s son. I had to be pretty much on call for Dad, so when he threw it in I felt quite liberated.”
Louise nodded. She remembered the commitment required of Aidan very well. She also remembered his cantankerous old father. He’d never like Louise – for no other reason than that she kept Aidan in town when the old man needed him at the farm – every single weekend.
So Louise had accompanied Aidan; and Aidan had urged her to come; and she had gone along willingly at first. But for a city girl, after the first few weekends it became a monotonous routine. Aidan’s father refused to entertain, or even go into town for a meal. He had no friends and no interests beyond his small holding. He spent the week storing up things to discuss with Aidan and had no intention of sharing this precious time with anyone else – least of all Louise. In his mind, Louise had Aidan all to herself all week long. He didn’t seem able to grasp that fact that they both worked long hours in different organisations and only saw one another twice a week, since both were studying graduate courses at night.
And he could never, under any circumstances, believe that a young woman could contribute anything of value to any conversation he might have with his son.
But there had been other issues that had nothing to do with the farm or Aidan’s father. Louise’s career with the ATO had been a source of constant criticism for Aidan, who worked for a firm of accountants. She had graduated from the University of Canberra while he had studied at the ANU. And he had become a Chartered Accountant, while she was a CPA. Never mind that she still had to do the same degree; and the same six three-and-a-half hour exams to join her professional association, just as he had had to do; Aidan had still made it clear that he regarded his professional pedigree as superior to hers.
22 years ago it had all seemed so fundamentally important. Now it seemed so infantile.
But Louise was headstrong and instead of shrugging it all off when Aidan tried to one-up her, she had felt aggrieved and resentful. She recalled the final occasion when Aidan had ridiculed her university and her employer when he had in fact been losing an argument; as though to diminish her ability to have any useful insight into the matter they were debating. Louise had gathered up her bag and coat and told him to ‘get fucked’. She’d returned his flowers and not returned his calls. Then she’d met someone else.
Aidan continued. “It was all so stupid, really.” He looked up at Louise from under his eyelashes.
His eyelashes were still black, or dark brown anyway. Only his hair had greyed in a soft, wavy way. “I was an arrogant fuck back then.”
Louise laughed. “You were kinda cute.” She paused. “Are you married?”
Aidan sat up straight. “I was married. To Corinne.” He laughed to himself. “She was even more arrogant than I was,” he said. “When I didn’t make partner after 10 years, she took off. With the other partner,” he said.
“So, Corinne was an accountant, too?” Louise couldn’t help laughing.
“Well, I was working 12 hours a day, 6 days a week at least. Who else would I meet except another accountant? It’s part of the whole serfdom strategy of the accounting industry. It’s like a religion – make it untenable to meet anyone else and guess what? Everyone sticks together. They have no choice!”
“Wait,” Louise had noted a detail that interested her. “What do you mean – she made off with the ‘other’ partner?”
Aidan laughed quietly. “Corinne made partner. I didn’t.”
“Ouch!” Louise commiserated with him.
“I didn’t really mind, you know. I was proud of her. I didn’t realise that I had embarrassed her, and that she felt downgraded by my non-partner status.”
“It’s a bit unbelievable,” Louise agreed.
“You should have heard my father on the subject,” said Aidan, shaking his head and smiling embarrassedly. “Why wasn’t I partner? Why didn’t I take my rightful place beside Corinne? I earned more than she did after she made her equity payments – but that didn’t mean anything.” He smiled at Louise. “But – we have two lovely kids; I’d never regret our marriage.”
“I feel very much the same, really,” Louise admitted.
“I’m sorry, Louise,” he said.
“What for?” Louise asked.
“Oh, you know,” he said. “For being a snob; for not being man enough to know what was what. I don’t blame you for telling me to fuck off.”
“Get fucked,”
“What?”
“I told you to get fucked.” They both laughed. “I think we were both confused by irrelevant issues,” said Louise. “You were a bit stupid about certain things.” She smiled at him. “But I was a bit stupid, too, to think that those things would remain important. Just because you were wrong didn’t mean I had to be wrong too.”
“We all have our pride.”
“Pride is a cold bedmate.”
“Tell me about it.” He held her hand. “So, are you married?”
“Divorced.”
“And are you still an accountant?”
What was she? She was a divorcee; a single mother; an accountant. All of those answers were correct, but none of them answered the question. What people really wanted to know when they asked you that, was “How do you support yourself?”.
She considered her options. Louise knew that she would never return to her profession. She had devoted 25 years to the accounting standards and related legislations governing accounting in Australia, and felt no pull to return. But she had studied long and hard to become, and worked hard at being, a CPA since she was 20 years old, and would remain one. But work as an accountant again? No.
Single parent elicited notions of government pensions and financial hardship, and that wouldn’t do either.
Teaching had been a volatile and exhausting experience and Louise was glad to be finished. She could probably even describe herself as an “investor” – or an “entrepreneur”. That’s what a man in her position would say. Most of her income did come from a rental property she’d bought before she’d been married, after all.
But none of those answers really told her story.
Louise sighed and smiled. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she said.
“I’ll hold you to it,” he said with a smile.
*
The day of the ball was drawing closer.
“Can you pick me up from the airport?” Jane asked over the phone.
“Yes; but can you co-ordinate with Cate and Joan?” Louise was checking the kitchen calendar as she spoke. “They are coming from Canberra too so you should try to get the same plane. Then I can pick all of you up from the airport at the same time.”
“Good idea,” said Jane. “Otherwise you’ll spend the whole day picking people up. I don’t think they should be allowed to call it Melbourne airport. It’s an hour from Melbourne.”
“They don’t call it Melbourne airport. It’s called Tullamarine Airport.”
“Why is that?” asked Jane.
“Because it is in Tullamarine.”
“Oh. Well, that’s alright then.” But Jane was onto a new topic. “Hey – are you defending Melbourne?”
“What?”
“You are! You are defending Melbourne, the city of people who only wear black all year round-“
“But-“
“-who only smile if something is hilariously funny “
“But-“
“-who are too busy to make friends with anyone they met after Grade 3!”
“But-“
“But what?”
“But I am a Melbournian now.”
“How come?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who said you were a Melbournian? You can’t just suddenly declare yourself a Melbournian! Do you even own any black clothes?”
“Well-“
“No, you don’t. It’s no use pretending.”
“But I am a Melbournian!” Louise was insistent. “It’s a matter of plain fact.”
“Who says?” demanded her sister.
“My rates notice,” said Louise triumphantly. And she put down the phone.
It was true. Somehow, the past five years had turned her into a Melbournian. How had it happened? She broached the subject at the dinner table that night.
Everyone was sitting down and had begun to eat. Louise thought it would be a good time to ask the kids their opinion.
“How would you guys feel about moving to Brisbane?” she asked.
Peter shrugged. “I’d give it a try,” he said.
Louise was shocked. Of the three kids, she had always thought Peter the most attached to his school and friends. “Really?” she said.
“Well, when we were in Noosa last summer my eczema disappeared within 24 hours.”
It was true. Louise had dragged them all to Noosa for 10 days against their collective will and watched them have a really good time. They had decided to make it an annual event.
“It would be worth it just to stop scratching,” he added.
Louise felt guilty. She knew Peter’s eczema was troubling him, but like most chronic conditions that are suffered in silence, the non-sufferers forget about it after a while. Louise regularly bought Peter the crème he required and the special shampoo, but mostly she didn’t really think about it unless she saw Peter without his shirt on.
“Right,” she said.
“I suppose it would be alright,” said Camille.
“Wouldn’t you miss your friends?” Louise asked her.
“I’d make new ones,” Camille answered.
“I won’t be coming,” James shook his head. “I’m staying here.”
Louise nodded. She wasn’t surprised.
“Actually, I’d probably rather stay in Melbourne,” Peter was already having second thoughts.
“And I don’t really want to start all over again. I’ve just begun to build up my contacts,” said Camille.
Louise nodded. “I never thought I’d say it, but I think Melbourne is the best place for us. Brisbane has one third the population of Melbourne; Canberra has 10% of the population, and that alone limits your prospects in those cities.”
“Canberra’s just boring,” added James.
“Canberra is not boring when you live there.” Louise was adamant.
“Well, we don’t want to find out,” Peter laughed and ‘high-fived’ James.
“And James – you could easily end up in Queensland.
You are studying engineering – it’ll be Queensland or Western Australia for sure, at some stage.”
“We can talk about it then.” James sat up straight. “In the meantime, my life is here and I’m not moving. Melbourne has everything I need.”
“It does,” Peter nodded.
“Best university in Australia,” James counted the items off on his fingers. “More coastline per square mile than any other state on the mainland-“
“That’s only because it is the smallest state on the mainland AND on the corner!”
“Doesn’t matter. It just means that you can get to the coast from anywhere in the state within at least 4 hours.” James was confident of his knowledge.
“I suppose,” Louise reluctantly agreed.
“And unlike Sydney, which is all carved up by waterways and harbours, Melbourne is nice and flat and totally accessible.”
“We do have the bay and the Yarra!” Louise wasn’t letting him get away with too much.
“Yes, but we live around the bay, not on different sides of it,” said James.
“That’s true,” said Louise.
“And when you go into the city, the roads are wider; and there are trams to take you everywhere.”
“I must admit, that is a great advantage,” Louise agreed again. “It was awful in the city in Sydney because the whole place was so hilly and you really miss the trams. Same goes for Brisbane actually.”
“I just don’t want to be the new girl again,” said Camille apologetically. “I know you don’t really like it here, Mum-“
“Why do you say that?” Louise asked.
“You always say how great Canberra is, and Sydney and even Brisbane.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t say Melbourne is great too.” Louise wanted to set the record straight. “I love all the cities I’ve lived in.”
“Even Melbourne?” Peter looked at his mother quizzically and with a certain amount of disbelief.
“Especially Melbourne!” Louise surprised herself. “I’m envious of all of you, growing up here. Victoria has it all. Great beaches; great skiing; a great city; great schools-“
“The best university in the entire country,” Peter added.
Morning in Melbourne Page 24
