Ginny watched it swim, the pouches bouncing around with each swish of its tail. She sighed and settled languidly into the bath. Her mind emptied of thoughts. Her tension dissolved into the water, into the fishbowl. She imagined what the fish might be experiencing. As the fish’s world expanded, so did Ginny’s. She lost sense of her body and felt as if she was floating. The fish swam round and round, rhythmically, hypnotically. It was energised. Ginny lost herself in its movement, dozing in the space somewhere between daydreaming and falling asleep.
The storm rolled into Elizabeth Bay, hitting the roofs of the homes with hailstones the size of huge marbles. Within seconds of the first few hundred hailstones hitting their roofs, residents were outside moving their cars undercover, or tying towels and old blankets to car roofs and bonnets. People walking home from bus stops and railway stations huddled together under bus shelters and shop awnings. Across the parks the homeless men and women gathered up their garbage bags of belongings and cardboard beds and piled into the public toilets where they sat tightly together.
The storm passed in a matter of minutes, venting its fury on Elizabeth Bay then diminishing as it rolled on across the rest of the city. By the time it reached Blacktown on the city’s western edges and headed towards the Blue Mountains it was just a quick rainshower. The residents of Elizabeth Bay breathed a collective sigh of relief as it passed and went back to their Monday-night business. Those at home moved away from their windows and turned back to the TV. The people huddling together in the bus shelters and under awnings shook themselves off and moved apart, suddenly conscious of their personal space. The homeless stayed huddled together in the toilets, enjoying the break in their otherwise bleak routine, and happily sharing their cheap plonk and cigarettes. They knew the police would leave them alone and the workers from the Sydney City Mission would be along soon with hot soup and offers of a bed at one of the city shelters.
Ginny, dozing mindlessly in the bath, heard the hail and short burst of rain that followed but it blended with the static and the dripping bath tap and became part of the foggy dreamworld in which she floated. She remained lost in her reverie, unaware of the fury raging outside.
When she finally stirred she was surprised by how much her mood had improved. The air was fresher. The oppressive feeling of her apartment had lifted. Humming to herself, she dressed and put her fish back on its table in the lounge room.
She looked across at Toft Monks. Tom and Sarah’s apartment was still in darkness. But through the static she heard a very welcome sound. The click of their front door opening.
‘About bloody time,’ she muttered to Kitty, and raced excitedly into her bedroom.
‘I’m soaked,’ announced Sarah, her booming laugh reverberating around the walls of Ginny’s room.
She sounded exalted and Ginny’s heart tightened. She picked up the binoculars in time to see Sarah and Tom falling over each other as they peeled off their wet clothes, throwing them at each other as they raced to the bathroom. She continued to watch as the sound of the shower running filled her apartment. She could see steam spilling out the open doorway as Tom and Sarah showered noisily, laughing and splashing.
Ginny’s relaxed mood evaporated in an instant. She threw down the binoculars angrily. They missed the bed and thudded onto the floor. When she bent to pick them up Ginny saw the body of a dead cockroach, lying feet up, under her bed. She picked it up with her thumb and forefinger and carried it into the lounge room where she dropped it into the fishbowl. The cockroach sank slowly to the bottom. The bubble-eyed fish swam furiously about the bowl, startled by its new visitor.
‘Eat that,’ said Ginny nastily.
*
Sarah stretched out on the couch, wearing a fluffy white bathrobe with her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She had a large notepad on her lap, a pen in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. Tom sat at the other end of the couch, wearing his favourite rugby jumper and a pair of sloppy track pants, massaging her feet in his lap.
Sarah moaned. ‘That is so good.’ She watched Tom’s face, absorbed in his task. He felt her eyes on him and smiled back, his eyes soft and content.
‘What are you going to do about Hal and your mum?’ she asked. ‘You want both of them to be there, don’t you?’
Tom sighed.
‘Yes, of course I do. But I can’t imagine how Thel will feel about it. She has no idea I’ve been seeing Hal. I just can’t think how she will feel.’
‘Tom,’ said Sarah gently, ‘don’t you think it’s time you did tell her that you’ve been seeing Hal? You have every right to see him. He’s your father. She will understand that. And the sooner you tell her the sooner she can get used to the idea that he will be at the wedding and she will have to deal with him.’
‘Sarah, I know that. Really I do. I just keep going over it and over it in my head. I can’t remember the last time Thel and I even had a conversation about him. It’s not like his name comes up and I could just casually add that I’ve been seeing him. She has not mentioned his name to me in – I don’t know – ten years. And I can’t even tell you why. She’s never said anything bad about him, ever. And I can’t remember her telling me that it was too painful for her to talk about. It’s just something I’ve known all my life. I have absolutely no idea what happened between them but it is a source of enormous pain to her. She hasn’t told me that but I know. I’ve always known. It’s unspoken but clear as a bell.’
‘Well, maybe it’s not still painful for her, Tom. I mean, how would you know if you haven’t spoken about it in ten years? She may be well and truly over it for all you know.’
Tom was thoughtful as he looked at Sarah. ‘Sarah, there are some things that people just don’t talk about because they are so painful.’ He chose his words carefully. ‘In any close relationship you develop a knowledge, an understanding, of what hurts people and just how far you can go. And when you love someone I think it makes you doubly sensitive. You want to help but you also don’t want to blunder in and say the wrong thing.’
Sarah started to twirl a strand of hair around her finger.
Tom watched her closely.
‘I think there are areas of our relationship which we don’t talk about because they are too sensitive.’
Sarah squirmed uncomfortably.
Tom continued. ‘I’d like to talk about them. I think it might help. What do you think?’
Sarah looked out across the bay at the building opposite. Tom watched as a myriad of expressions flashed across her face. He knew there was an internal struggle going on. She was debating something within herself. He barely dared breathe. Sarah stopped twisting her hair and looked him squarely in the face. She searched his eyes.
‘I think I love you and I want to marry you,’ she said quietly but with total conviction. ‘I want to spend the rest of my life being with you, going to sleep in your little chair. I know I’ve been tired and grumpy lately but that’s not because I don’t love you or that I don’t think this marriage is the right and best thing for us. I’m just under a lot of pressure at work. But it’s nothing deeper than that.’
Sarah climbed forward over the notepad to get to Tom. She took his face in her hands. ‘I promise you, darling.’
‘Oh, Sarah,’ said Tom. ‘Are you sure? Is there anything you want to talk about with me? Anything else that might be worrying you?’
‘No, darling. I feel stronger and happier than I have ever been. And that’s because of you. You make me feel so special. You make me feel strong. I know you love me. I don’t doubt it for a moment. And I can’t tell you how wonderful and confident that makes me feel. I am so lucky. Sometimes it scares me. I wake up in the night scared that I’m too happy. I’m using up all my happiness quota now and it can’t possibly last. What right do I have to be this happy when all around me are people who aren’t half as lucky? Who do I thank for this? And what can I do to make sure it lasts? I love that you worry about me but please relax. I’m fine. Really. We need to concentrate o
n you. How are we going to get your parents and my parents to our wedding and find a way that we can all enjoy it?’
Tom listened to her words and listened to her tone. He knew Sarah about as well as anybody could know another human being. She sounded happy and relaxed, just like the girl he had fallen in love with and spent the past eight years with. He knew she loved him. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. He allowed himself to be reassured.
‘All right Sarah. Back to the problem at hand. How am I going to do this? What do I say to Thel?’
Sarah breathed out slowly, consciously relaxing her muscles. That was close. She resolved, yet again, to make it the truth. She happily moved the conversation back to the wedding.
‘I think you should go and see her, alone, without me, and just tell her. Tell her how it happened. It’s not like you sought him out. He found you. He recognised your byline in the newspaper and rang you at the office. You met him for a drink and have seen a bit of him since.’
Tom nodded thoughtfully. ‘For the past twenty years it’s been just Thel and me. I don’t want to hurt her.’
‘I think you are selling your mum short, Tom. I can’t imagine Thel being angry about anything you did that made you happy.’
‘It’s not about her getting angry. It’s about bringing it up for her again, but I know you’re right. I have to do it.’
‘Okay, well, you go and see Thel this weekend and talk to her. That’s one problem solved. Now who else in your family would you like to invite?’
They spent the next few hours writing their wedding invitation list. It was a slow but happy process as they explained their relationships with and feelings about each person as their name was added to the list. Sarah learned more about Tom’s family – his aunts and cousins and his much-loved Uncle Bill – than she had ever heard before. And Sarah in turn revealed more about her own family.
‘Will your parents come, do you think?’ asked Tom carefully.
Sarah looked out across the bay. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, tugging it gently. She pulled it and released it, allowing it to hurt just a little.
‘I don’t know. They haven’t been home to Australia for years now. I don’t think Daddy is up to travelling. Mother’s last letter said he made it down to his club and back and that was about it.’
‘Would your mother come on her own?’
Sarah made a face. ‘Mother wouldn’t go anywhere without Daddy.’
Tom had met Sarah’s parents a handful of times over the years, during their infrequent visits to Sydney to see their only daughter. He remembered her mother Geraldine as a slim, brittle woman with too much make-up and a forced laugh. She had a peculiar way of relating to Sarah that made Tom uncomfortable. Tom’s expectations of motherhood were based around Thel, Thel the earth mother with the huge, open heart. Geraldine was as far from that as Tom could ever have imagined.
She was constantly pushing Sarah to the front, as if she expected her to perform. Sarah was unable to sit silently for too long without risking her mother’s disapproval. Silence meant boring and in Geraldine’s eyes that was the worst sin a person could commit, particularly a woman. She demanded gaiety. On more than a few occasions Tom had had to bite his tongue when he felt overcome by the urge to intercede on Sarah’s behalf.
Around Geraldine, Tom noticed how Sarah’s natural exuberance became forced. He didn’t like that. Tom had never said so to Sarah but privately he wondered if Geraldine actually disliked her daughter. Whenever Tom had gently probed into their relationship Sarah had always been dismissive.
‘Oh that’s just Geraldine,’ she would say airily and Tom felt forced to leave it at that.
Her father, Gus, he had liked. He was a tall gruff man, a man’s man, and Tom related to him easily. Gus was a retired diplomat who had been stationed in various countries throughout their early married life. They had liked the climate and pampered life of the expatriates in Singapore and so had stayed on there for the past twenty years. They had sent Sarah to school in Sydney when she was ten because they believed they would eventually return there. That was what they had said. Tom wondered if Geraldine had other reasons for not wanting to have her beautiful daughter around.
Geraldine appeared to be acutely competitive around other women. After some time Tom had realised that her attitude might have some justification. Gus, Tom noticed, had quite an eye for the ladies. He would flirt with all the waitresses whenever Geraldine’s eagle eye wasn’t focussed intently on him.
Tom wondered how Sarah really felt. ‘Would it worry you if they didn’t come?’ he asked.
Sarah heard the concern in Tom’s voice. Knowing this man loved her and wanted to make a family with her seemed to make everything all right.
‘Not as long as you are there,’ she replied.
Tom wasn’t convinced but he let it pass. Perhaps now wasn’t the time. He looked closely at her. She had stopped tugging at her hair and was smiling brightly at him.
‘I suppose you want Marty as your best man?’ asked Sarah.
‘Yup,’ said Tom. ‘Of course.’
‘Poor Ginny,’ sighed Sarah. ‘That means they will be partners all night.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Tom. ‘They are great friends.’
‘Oh, Tom, you don’t really think that, do you? Ginny can’t stand Marty.’
Tom’s eyes widened. ‘You’re joking. Since when?’
‘They have never got on. Ginny puts up with him but she doesn’t actually like him. Haven’t you ever noticed?’
‘Well, no, I haven’t. I’m sure you’re imagining it. Do you want Ginny as your bridesmaid?’
‘Of course. She’s my oldest and dearest friend.’
‘Well then, she will just have to put up with him for another night.’
That night, as Tom lay in bed watching Sarah sleep, he felt the uneasiness return. There was something, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew something was going on in that head of hers. There had always been a part of Sarah that Tom couldn’t reach, a private place where she wouldn’t allow him to go, and he had long ago come to accept that. He believed her parents had a lot to answer for.
Whatever was worrying Sarah wasn’t about him or them, but about her. He believed everyone was entitled to their secrets. He had a few of his own that he chose not to share. He still carried scars from his childhood – the shock and pain when his father had left so suddenly. In the early days with Sarah it had taken him a while to fully trust her, to trust that she would hang around. He had worked through that but he knew he carried his own share of insecurities that he couldn’t always articulate and often didn’t want to.
But something didn’t feel right. He sensed it. He sighed and moved closer to Sarah, wrapping his tall body around hers. Sarah automatically snuggled back into him and pushed her bottom into his lap. Tom stroked her shoulders. He felt the muscles along her arms. The biceps, even at rest, were well defined. Tom moved his hand down and gently felt Sarah’s stomach. He was surprised by how taut the muscles were across her abdomen. Sarah moaned in her sleep. Tom tightened his arms about her trying to quell his growing apprehension.
Sarah tossed and turned for most of the night. As she slept her subconscious tried to release some of the emotional pressure that was building and that she managed to suppress during her waking hours. The result was bone-shaking nightmares, the sort she hadn’t had for years. She was small and alone in a vast empty space, hiding under a table. There was nothing around her but empty, blinding white space and the overpowering stench of fear. She crouched under the table, feeling vulnerable and exposed, filled with unspeakable terror. She woke shaking at 5 am, her body wet with sweat. She didn’t remember the dream, just its sour aftertaste. Her heart was racing and pumping the last of the adrenalin around her body.
When she woke she was instantly alert. Tom was snoring loudly beside her. He was flat on his back, spread-eagled across most of the bed. His chest rose and fell in time
with the low growl that burst forth intermittently from his open mouth.
He was making quite a noise but Sarah knew instinctively that wasn’t what had woken her. She tried to remember what she had been dreaming, but it was wispy and abstract. The more she tried to grasp it, the further it receded.
A full moon shone brightly through the open curtains, filling the room with pale light. The room was stuffy and hot and Sarah felt she couldn’t breathe. It was useless trying to go back to sleep. She padded barefoot into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. As she poured the boiling water into the cup she noticed her hands were shaking.
She was completely unnerved. She opened the balcony door wide to let in some fresh air. She stepped out onto the balcony and looked across Rushcutters Bay, sparkling silver with the light of the full moon. As her eyes adjusted, she was able to see clearly the boats in the harbour and the outline of neighbouring buildings. The light cast by the moon was surreal, making the view almost two-tone, dark grey and silvery white. There was the merest hint of colour.
She looked across at the apartment building opposite. It was so ugly. She wished it wasn’t there and she could see the Harbour Bridge. She thought the bridge must look beautiful in this ethereal light. Something caught her eye on a balcony. A movement. Who else could be up at this hour? she wondered. But they were gone, if indeed they had been there at all. It was just a sudden blur then an empty balcony. But Sarah felt comforted. She wasn’t the only person in the world awake at this unfriendly hour.
*
Tom’s snores had woken Ginny. The loud, rhythmic growl had filled her bedroom, terrifying Kitty and awakening in Ginny an unbearable yearning. Ginny had slipped on her dressing gown and ventured onto the balcony, looking longingly across to where she knew Tom slept. She didn’t dare go onto her balcony in daylight, afraid of being seen. But tonight she was drawn to him, needing to feel as close to him as she could.
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