by Liz Byrski
‘I think I’ve been really unfair,’ she had said, calling one evening when Sylvia was on the point of going to bed. ‘I so much wanted you here, wanted to go back to work, and wanted you to be the one who looked after the kids. Even when you talked about it, I still didn’t think about what it would really be like for you.’
‘What changed it, then?’ Sylvia asked.
‘Dad did,’ Kim said. ‘He kept talking about coming here to stay with us, bringing his girlfriend and how important it was to him that I should accept her, have her to stay at the house. All that. He didn’t seem to give a thought to what that might be like for me, it was just about what he wanted. I realised I was doing the same thing.’
By comparison, Sylvia reflected, Colin had lost so much, his faith, a successful career in the ministry, respect, status, a dutiful wife and now his lover, even his relationship with Kim had been damaged. She let herself in to the cottage overwhelmed suddenly with the feeling that she should call him, ask if there was anything she could do to help. She had so much now, it even looked as though her aspirations in design might be met. Surely she could afford to be generous? Perhaps he’d like a cup of coffee, a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to. Even so, her hand trembled as she dialled his number.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘Colin Fleming.’
And Sylvia was paralysed by the sound of his voice. She stood there, rigid, as he repeated his name. His very tone exuded the sulky self-absorption that she had come to detest. She could see him so clearly – in these different, straitened circumstances, but in the same old pattern of being – and it transported her back to the emotional desert of their life together. This was something she couldn’t do again, not with him, not for him. For thirty years she had found her own way through his chosen life, now he must find his own. Slowly she put down the receiver, shivering with relief as it clicked back into place.
FORTY-TWO
Mike was cooking steak and chicken breasts on the barbecue for Caro, Jodie and David. They sat at the table on the deck watching him as he turned the steaks and the fat splashed and hissed on the charcoal. There was a big salad in the middle of the table, a pot of hummus that Jodie had made, and some warm Turkish bread. David broke off a large piece of bread and dipped it in the hummus.
‘I was going to be in Turkey by now,’ he said, grinning at Jodie, ‘but I changed my mind, so I might as well just eat the Turkish bread instead.’
‘Turkey,’ said Caro. ‘Huh – that was very smart.’
‘You gotta stay now, man,’ Mike called from the barbecue. ‘You’re an uncle.’
‘Indeed I am, and I also have a new job.’
Jodie smiled and put a hand on his. ‘He’s insufferably pleased with himself, but it is a rather good one.’
David took her hand and held on to it. He was unbelievably happy.
‘Director of studies,’ he said with a grin. ‘At the Rosenthal Language School, in the city. They’ve got branches all over the place, Australia, New Zealand, Europe.’
‘Turkey?’ Caro asked, smothering a laugh.
‘Shut up, you.’
‘Joking, joking,’ she said. ‘Congratulations, Uncle David, let’s drink to your success. When do you start?’ She got up to pour more wine into three glasses and topped up David’s with mineral water. ‘Sure you don’t want a little wine to celebrate?’
He shook his head. ‘No thanks. Next month.’
‘To the director of studies,’ Caro said, raising her glass. ‘Does this mean you’ll have to wear a suit?’
‘From time to time, I’m afraid,’ David said. ‘But as far as I can see, that’s the only drawback.’
Mike piled the meat onto a serving plate and turned down the heat on the barbecue. ‘Very good news,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Cheers, mate! Congratulations.’
David looked at his brother-in-law, remembering his rage at him in the days after Rebekah’s birth. Sometime in the last few months it had burned out without him even noticing it. Perhaps it had just been the overbearing self-righteousness of the non-drinker – or more likely, he thought, it was having someone precious of his own whose love had sweetened the bitterness of jealousy, and pointed the way out of victimhood.
‘You have to stop looking so smug,’ Jodie teased him. ‘It’s not dignified!’
‘Speaking of smug,’ Caro cut in. ‘Have you noticed that Mum’s been looking a bit smug recently?’
‘No, babes,’ Mike said, cutting into his steak. ‘I haven’t noticed anything.’
‘Well, no, you wouldn’t, would you?’ Caro said. ‘You didn’t even notice when Rebekah got her first tooth. Good thing you’re not a surgeon – you wouldn’t notice if you were cutting up the wrong person.’
‘Don’t think so,’ David said. ‘Why?’
‘Yes,’ said Jodie. ‘There’s something different about her.’
‘She’s probably still upset about Gran,’ David said. ‘It’s not very long, after all.’
‘Of course she is,’ said Caro, ‘we all are, but this is different, don’t you think, Jode?’
Jodie nodded. ‘Yep, a bit as though she’s got something up her sleeve.’
‘Exactly. You see? It takes a woman to notice things like that. You don’t think she’s got a lover, do you?’
‘Mum?’ David’s head shot up in shock. ‘A lover? Nah! No way.’ He shook his head and helped himself to salad. ‘Absolutely no way, not Mum.’
‘Why not?’ Jodie asked.
‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘she’s … she’s Mum, she’s just not into that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of thing? Sex? Men? Love? Romance? Relationships?’
‘Yeah, all that. Gave it up years ago.’
‘We don’t actually know that,’ Caro said, grinning. ‘And I’m sure she’s up to something.’
‘Would you mind if she was?’ Jodie asked her.
‘Not at all, I’d be happy for her, but I’m a very nosy person, I’d just like to know. What about you, Dave?’
‘Never thought about it, really. Mum with a bloke? Okay, I suppose, if it made her happy.’
‘Think laterally,’ Jodie said with a smile. ‘It might be a woman.’
David paused, a forkful of chicken halfway to his mouth. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Definitely not Mum, not her style at all. Caro?’
‘No,’ Caro said, ‘not a woman, that’d be far too daring for Mum. If there is someone, it’s a man. No doubt about that.’
It was bound to happen, of course. Irene had always known it, Sylvia had long suspected it, and in the few weeks since Sylvia told her about it Fran had expected it; something would trigger a reaction, Bonnie would crack and all hell would break loose again. Now it had happened and Irene cursed herself. It was a stupid thing, really, but she’d gone into the gallery to say hello to Caro, and there were several customers waiting to pay for their purchases. Rebekah, who had been sleeping peacefully in her pusher, woke suddenly and began to cry, and Caro looked hopefully at Irene.
‘Shall I take her on the deck?’
‘Please,’ Caro said, ‘if you’ve got time. You could give her a drink of water, there’s a bottle in her bag.’
And Irene had wheeled the pusher out into the sunlight on the deck, got out the bottle, and lifted Rebekah onto her knee. The baby stopped crying immediately and reached for the bottle with a big grin.
‘That’s it, darling,’ Irene murmured, ‘have a lovely drink,’ and she sat there watching Rebekah’s little hands clutching at the bottle, thinking how sad it was that Lila was not here to enjoy her great granddaughter. Rebekah finished guzzling the water, and Irene sat her up straight and rubbed her back until she gave a loud burp. ‘Well done,’ Irene laughed, ‘well done. Shall we have a little walk along the deck and look at the gulls?’
And as she stood up and gathered Rebekah to her, she saw Bonnie standing in the doorway, and Irene knew by the way she turned, ran back up the stairs to her office and slammed the door, that this was the moment she
’d been dreading for years. What she didn’t know and couldn’t bear to think about was just how it would all be played out.
‘Well, Irene, you couldn’t not hold the baby in case Bonnie saw you,’ Hamish said when she told him later. ‘I can’t believe that she’s gone all these years and it’s only upsetting her now.’
‘It’s not only now,’ Irene said, ‘it’s always been there, but Jeff’s death brought it to the surface.’
‘She can’t have been avoiding babies for twenty-five years, surely?’ Hamish said, pouring her a gin and tonic. ‘Babies are everywhere.’
‘Not really. Not in the sort of social circle they were involved with. They were living in Montreux at the time and they moved to Zurich quite soon after that. Jeff wanted them to put it all behind them and the friends they made in Zurich were older, and usually with lots of money, so they employed nannies and au pairs. I suppose there was a baby or two among them, but it would have been easy for Bonnie to avoid them. Oh dear, Hamish, whatever am I going to do?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ Hamish said. ‘You said Bonnie’s gone home, and she knew you were staying here with me tonight. She knows where you are if she needs you. She might be very glad of some time alone, to think things through.’
‘Thinking, huh!’ Irene said. ‘That’s the trouble, if you ask me. Too much thinking, not enough talking. Jeff made sure of that. It was a taboo subject as far as he was concerned. Sometimes, Hamish, I feel you’ve got in touch with your feminine side and then you come out with something like this. Thinking, indeed!’
Bonnie was packing a suitcase. It was a fairly small one but she was having difficulty deciding what to put in it because she couldn’t concentrate. Why on earth had she packed bathers? She took them out and put in a few pairs of knickers, a couple of bras, and two silk shirts. Then she stopped and sat down on the side of the bed. The flight left at ten-thirty in the morning. She thought she’d get a taxi to the airport rather than leave her car in the car park. She folded a pair of black pants and a skirt, put them in and then took the skirt out. It took her an hour to pack the bag and even then she wasn’t sure she’d packed what she’d need.
From the moment she’d walked out on to the deck and seen her mother with the baby, Bonnie had known that she had to get away, just get out of there for a few days, give herself some space. And she’d known immediately and exactly where she was going to go. She’d run up the stairs to the office, called Qantas, booked the flight, and then sat there in relief like a junkie who’d just got a fix. She hadn’t called him to let him know, but she was sure he wouldn’t mind – she’d call from the airport. She was glad she had the house to herself this evening; she couldn’t have handled having to talk to anyone, even her mother. Most of all her mother.
Very effectively and with a resolve born of desperation, she managed not to think about it all. She thought instead about the Boatshed, about whether they needed to change the menu, about whether Sean and Tan should get bonuses – maybe all the staff should get them, they’d worked so hard. She thought of simple, comparatively trivial things, and at half-past eight she took some Valium and went to bed, where she slept heavily until the alarm woke her. Then she dragged herself out of bed, showered, put on the Chanel suit, drank a cup of coffee and called a taxi to take her to the airport.
*
‘I’ve no idea where she is, Fran,’ Irene said when she came home later that morning to find a frantic message from Fran on the answering machine. ‘There’s just a note here that says, “Gone away for a couple of days, will call later”. It doesn’t say where, but her car’s here, so she can’t have gone far, unless she went in a taxi.’
Fran put the phone down and tried Bonnie’s mobile again. It was still switched off. This she did not need. They had a meeting in fifteen minutes, something she really didn’t want to do alone.
‘God knows where she’s gone,’ she said to Sylvia. ‘I may have to kill her when she gets back. A few months ago she was the one lecturing me about being businesslike. Huh! Anyway, I hope she’s okay. D’you think she’s on her own?’
Sylvia thought for a moment. ‘Unlikely. She’s used to having a man to lean on, that’s the sort of support she’ll be looking for.’
‘She’s left her car behind so either she’s gone with someone, or to someone. You don’t think … ?’
‘To Perth, you mean? To Will? Surely not, not after everything …’
‘He is Jeff’s brother, and who else is there?’
‘I don’t know. Oh Lord, I hope not. The last thing we need is all that stirred up again. Have you tried her mobile?’
Fran nodded. ‘Many times. It’s switched off. Consistent, of course, with a four and a half hour flight to Perth, don’t you think?’
Sylvia sank her head in her hands. ‘Shit, shit, shit. She’ll regret it. This is not a Will thing, he’ll have no idea what to do with her. Should I ring him, do you think?’
‘I think you should stay out of it, Sylvia,’ Fran said. ‘If she has gone to Perth there’s nothing we can do about it anyway. You getting involved will only make it worse. We just have to wait until we know for sure. Meanwhile, I have to go to this meeting.’
Bonnie pulled her bag off the carousel and looked out at the taxis lining up in front of the arrivals hall. For one moment during the flight she’d had a flicker of doubt about what she was doing, but a double brandy had sorted that out. She wasn’t really sure why she’d come, what she expected, but he was a man she could talk to, and anyway, they had plenty of other things to discuss. She stopped herself from thinking about it, fearful of undermining her own confidence, and dialled his number.
‘Jack, hi, it’s Bonnie. Look, I’m in Sydney, just got to the airport. I thought we might go and take a look at the place in Manly.’
There was a brief silence at the other end.
‘Um … yes, of course,’ he said eventually. ‘I didn’t realise you were planning on coming up today. I’ll have to try and shift a couple of appointments.’ He took a deep breath and his tone changed to something more welcoming. ‘Look, why don’t you just take a cab over here to the office, and I’ll sort things out and arrange to get the keys for the Manly place.’
‘Terrific,’ Bonnie said, thinking she sounded a little loud and brittle. ‘And I wonder … I could get a hotel, of course, but maybe you …’
There was another awkward pause. ‘Er … yes, sure, Bonnie,’ he said. ‘No worries, we’ll fix you up.’
She slipped the phone back into her bag, stepped through the automatic doors and joined the taxi queue. Obviously this had been the right thing to do – be decisive, don’t stand still. That was Jeff’s theory, so he’d think she was doing the right thing.
A cab drew up alongside her and she slipped into the back seat, gave the driver the address and they moved slowly out into the stream of traffic. She did get another little flash then, a nudge that perhaps Jeff might not think this was such a good idea after all, but she dismissed it. Jeff and Jack were alike in many ways. She needed that sort of male energy to get her through this crisis, and anyway, he’d been urging her to take a look at Manly.
She glanced at her watch, thinking perhaps she should call the Boatshed and let them know where she was, but it was pleasant being away on her own, not having to think about anything else. She would take Jack to lunch, a nice meal, some good wine and conversation, the sort of conversations she hadn’t had for a long time – the harmlessly flirtatious conversations that you couldn’t have with women.
*
‘Lovely views, of course,’ Jack said, wandering down the length of the building. ‘It’s an old factory. What really grabs me is the scale. Some of these old buildings are just too big, like barns. The scale of the Boatshed is perfect, the height and the floor space, big enough to take plenty of tables but not so big it’s intimidating.’
‘Yes,’ Bonnie said, feeling vague and disoriented. ‘I see what you mean …’
‘We could create the Boat
shed atmosphere here using the same design techniques, same colour scheme and so on. That courtyard would be a great alfresco dining area, and if you come through here you can see what could be the gallery.’
Bonnie followed him, trying to match his enthusiasm. If there was going to be another restaurant, both the location and the building were ideal but she wasn’t in the mood for it right now. She wanted something more personal, more … affectionate.
Lunch had been a disappointment. When she’d arrived at the office it hadn’t been at all as she’d expected. She could see now that it was foolish of her to have anticipated something like Jeff’s office: tall building, marble entrance foyer, lifts, elegance, luxury, the very latest technology everywhere. Bannister Books’ office on the other hand, was an old warehouse, the entrance tucked away in a narrow side street. The warehouse had been converted into a huge, open plan office with a few private offices along one side. Raw brick, rafters, walls of books, posters, and quite a lot of glass and iron: cool, functional design, and so casual.
The receptionist had green hair and a nose ring and when Bonnie gave her a card and asked for Jack, she yelled across the vast open expanse of the main office, and Jack, who was standing by a whiteboard talking with a couple of other people, waved and made his way across to her. It was totally unlike the hushed elegance of Jeff’s office, where pale carpets, massive desks, leather sofas and original works by significant artists stretched in every direction.
Jack led her to his small glass-enclosed office which was stacked high with books and files, and where colour negatives of food were lying on the light table.
‘Look at these, Bonnie,’ he’d said. ‘Some of the plates for Fran’s book. Have a look through them while I make a call.’
Bonnie stared at the negatives of glistening salad leaves, chick-pea patties, soups, pancakes and something she couldn’t identify – tofu, maybe? Eventually, she moved some books from a chair and sat down. As soon as Jack finished his call she’d take him to lunch.
