What could I do to help Martina? How could I help her when I was such a hopeless case myself? How come I was such a good student but a complete klutz at everything else?
Dear Mum and Dad
Haven’t had a chance to write and thank you for coming to my rescue when I got mixed up in that Tribune fiasco. Thanks for being such great parents. Speaking of parents — I hope this isn’t a shock but I’ve made an appointment with an Aboriginal agency that reunites adopted and fostered children and their birth families. I know you’ve always been supportive of me and Beatrice finding our biological families so I guess this won’t come as a surprise. I have no idea if I will want to meet my parents if they can be traced but I am taking the first step. No matter what, I will always be grateful to you for all the love you have given me. Don’t let the others know yet — it might come to nothing.
Love Kirrali
PS Martina’s going through a rough patch — maybe you could get her mum to visit her without mentioning she’s in trouble.
I felt awful dobbing her in but Martina’s parents had a right to know that she needed help. That’s what parents were for, wasn’t it?
Eleven
My appointment at Koori Family Connect was at 9am. I was whisked in to meet Rosie. Her face was as soft as risen dough but she pulled no punches.
‘My preliminary search of our records from what you told me over the phone didn’t throw up anyone who is likely to be your biological parent. It may be that they haven’t been willing to be in contact with you.’
She could have let me down more gently, I thought.
‘Of course there are gaps in the records. It was probably a closed adoption, as most were at that time. That means your original birth certificate with the names of your biological parents was sealed. You might also have been born in another state and brought to Victoria so your parents could be looking for you in your home state. There are many scenarios in the area of family separation. It’s seldom straightforward and I don’t want you to have false expectations or you may be hugely disappointed. Some people build up a picture of their birth parents and they get a real shock when the reality doesn’t match their expectations.’
‘I don’t have any expectations,’ I replied.
Rosie looked at me over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses with a look of mild amusement. She pulled out a folder and started to fire off the questions. Date of birth, place of birth, age when adopted, adoption agency … Some questions I could answer, others I had no idea about. After the first page, Rosie excused herself and I was left alone with my thoughts.
I had told no one — except my parents — I had made this appointment and even up until the last minute I wasn’t sure that I would keep it. Part of my brain — the logical, one-step-at-a-time part — told me that I wasn’t prepared for the upheaval this could cause me. After all, I was in the first year of a hard academic course — a year when as many as twenty per cent of the students fell by the wayside. The other part of my brain — the impetuous, spontaneous part — told me the time was right and that everything in the past few months had led me towards this step. Meeting Erin, Martina’s marriage, my relationship with Kirk, Erin’s shocking experience with her sister — these people had come into my life for a reason. They were all preparing me for the inevitability of making contact with my Aboriginal family. I was eighteen years old. I was an adult. I could handle it.
But could I? Rosie’s words rattled me. I thought I didn’t have expectations about my parents. It wasn’t like I had invented a whole persona for them, not like Beatrice. Before she got to meet her biological mother, she used to play an imaginary game where her real mum was a ‘fairy godmother’ called Judy. She could grant magic wishes and was always there when Beatrice was anxious or afraid. Judy became part of our family — she even had her own place set at the dinner table and if Mum forgot to make a space for her in the car, there would be trouble. But that was Beatrice. I didn’t need any substitute fantasies. I was content with reality — I knew I had the best parents in the world.
When Rosie returned, we continued our question and answer session. I was amazed at how few details I knew about myself. The phone rang and while Rosie talked, I was left once more to ponder the repercussions of coming here.
‘Sorry about that,’ Rosie said, putting down the phone. ‘I normally don’t take calls during interviews but I had contacted a colleague in Sydney. I had a hunch that your family might be from around Bourke in NSW. She said she would check her files.’
‘But how can you tell where I come from?’ I asked her in amazement.
She picked up my hand and squeezed it softly. Hers was warm and soft and plump. Mine felt like a cold wet fish.
‘Love, I’ve been doing this a long time. I suppose I have come across most of the family groups in the south-eastern part of the country. It’s family resemblance, Kirrali, as simple as that. I have women coming in who are a dead spit of their aunties, or even grandmothers. Or the boys will have a mannerism that’s just like their father’s. If you know the families, sometimes you can pick who the child belongs to just like that.’
‘An old woman at a wedding I went to said I looked like a Smith from Bree. But I couldn’t find ‘Bree’ on the map.’
‘Bree is short for Brewarrina, near Bourke in New South Wales. Anyway, we’ll see,’ she said non-committedly.
When we’d finished, it was close to midday. I was starving. Rosie asked if I wanted to join her and the rest of the staff for lunch in the staffroom. I hesitated and then took the plunge.
Boy, what a spread. Rosie explained that they wanted to set a healthy eating example to their staff and to the community. So they put on lunch each day for a small cost. There were crusty bread rolls, cold meats, green salads, tabouleh and coleslaw, gourmet pizzas, fruit salad, tubs of yogurt, freshly squeezed orange juice and a fruit platter. I piled up my plate.
Rosie introduced me to the other staff and one or two people who I took to be clients. It was easy to pick the clients — they were the ones with the shy and wary expressions. I found myself chatting to a guy who I guessed was a few years older than me. Jai was relaxed and friendly.
‘You obviously work here,’ I ventured.
‘Yep. Been here three years now — one as a volunteer and two since I graduated as a social worker.’
‘What made you do voluntary work here?’ I asked, making small talk.
‘This place changed my life. True! Even though I was studying, I had no purpose. I was lying around all day out of it. Stealing stuff. I wasn’t talking to my foster parents. Didn’t have any reason to live. I was ready to knock myself off.’
He was talking in such a matter-of-fact way that it was hard to believe this confident, good-looking guy had ever been someone spiralling out of control.
‘So what happened?’ I asked, curious to hear what had caused the change in him.
‘I was headed for jail — minor possession charge — but my social worker pleaded my case and got me community service instead. Two hundred hours. At first I was pissed off. She organised for me to work here. First few months, I was slack as. Didn’t turn up. Didn’t care. Then one day Rosie asked me if I was from Hillston. I’d never even heard of the place. She said she thought she knew who my family was and that she could track them down for me.’
Jai took a long gulp of orange juice. I could see Rosie signalling that it was time for me to go back to her office but I was keen to hear the rest of Jai’s story.
‘So did she?’
He smiled. The receptionist, a woman in her forties, was making her way towards him. I assumed she was about to pass on a message but instead she leant her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her in a warm embrace. I wondered if Jai was that friendly to all his co-workers or whether he had a thing about older women.
‘Is Jai telling you how Rosie did her best bit of detective work to discover that I was his mum? We’d been working alongside each other for three months and didn�
�t even know.’
My mouth fell open and I watched, feeling a strange pang of envy, Jai kiss his mum on the forehead.
‘Meeting Doreen was the best thing that could have happened to me,’ Jai continued. ‘She’s fantastic and we get along so well. I’ve been living with her ever since.’
So much for the older woman scenario. I thanked him for telling me his story and hurried back to Rosie’s office. A happy ending — I hoped my story would work out as well.
Rosie was on the phone, frowning. I sat down quietly in the chair opposite. I couldn’t help but listen and even though I could only hear one side of the conversation, I could tell that she wasn’t thrilled.
‘Hmmm,’ murmured Rosie as she put down the phone. ‘Kirrali, are you sure you have your date of birth right? Sometimes records get mislaid or mistakes are made during the adoption process. If I were you, I’d check with your adoptive mother.’
‘You mean my mother,’ I corrected her. ‘And yes, of course that date of birth is correct. My mum has a copy of all our birth certificates.’
‘‘Well, then we’ve already hit a brick wall. The first search we do is by birth date. The next search is by geographic area and nothing is coming up there either. Look, double-check with your mother to see if she knows your biological parents’ surnames. In the meantime, all we can do is keep looking.’
She peered at me over her glasses, her face softening into a smile. ‘Cheer up. It’s only day one. This process takes time. In most cases, we manage to connect people to at least some members of their family. That’s the easy bit. It’s reconciling after so many years that’s the tricky part. Anyway, I’ll talk to you more about that next week when you come back.’
‘You will ring me if you find out something sooner?’
She nodded and I reluctantly left her office. Now that I had embarked on this quest, I wanted something to happen straight away.
Doreen smiled at me reassuringly as I made my appointment for the following week. ‘It’s not an easy thing, searching for family. Believe me, I know. I worked here for years and yet I was too traumatised to look for my own son. Take heart, Kirrali.’
The heavy door of the building creaked behind me and I blinked as I walked into the bright sunlight. I wandered along the bluestone alleyways past garages and backyards of terrace houses. There were yards dotted with swing sets and clothes lines, tool sheds and dog kennels. Some had unkempt grass worn down by dogs running circuits along the fence line. I swung into the main street, taking in the terraces’ neat front gardens, so different from the private spaces out the back.
I walked along a path edging a park with grass so green it didn’t look real. It was mid-winter and the magnolias were in bloom. Bees were industriously making the most of the cherry tree’s pendulous flowers. A magpie swooped away two swallows that were daring to venture too close to its territory. On the path, I sidestepped around a dead mouse. Ants were at work turning it into dust. At the park’s rotunda, a bride posed in front of a photographer. A posse of bridesmaids in apricot organza stood to one side, giggling at the bride who was having trouble keeping her veil in place in the breeze.
Life, death, birds, bees, ants, and a wedding. And love. No, no, no, I thought. What I needed was an education, not to fall for some guy. I headed to the university library for some well overdue research. I had two essays and an assignment due.
I made it to one lecture that afternoon — slipping into my usual spot at the back of the hall next to Amber — but my mind was far from the topic being discussed.
God, what was happening to me? I’d only been in the city for six months but my life was being turned upside down. I had always imagined myself to be so studious, so disciplined. I don’t know whether it was to prove something to myself or to someone else. But, at this rate, I was more likely to finish in the bottom three in my class than the top three.
Outside the lecture room, Amber and I stood discussing whether or not we had time for a muffin at the student café. I had a shift at the cinema and she had a job at a city department store. While we were chatting, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Adam standing there.
‘Hi, Kirrali.’
‘Hi,’ I replied.
‘Listen, I’m sorry about the last time we, um, went out.’
‘Well, we weren’t exactly out together, we were just in the same group of people.’ I was still angry that he hadn’t given me a lift home from the Fiddler’s Arms that night.
‘Yeah, I should have offered to drive you home ... it’s just that, I was afraid that ... look, I like you Kirrali. It’s kind of difficult, it’s my father ... he’s more …’
‘Racist, Adam? Is that the word you’re searching for? Let me ask you something? Are you going to do what your father dictates all your life? It’s just black skin, Adam. Cut me open and you’ll see that I’m no different from anyone else. Anyway, I don’t need this at the moment.’
I turned back to Amber, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the café. I needed sugar and I needed it now. I snuck a look behind me. Adam was still standing where I had left him.
‘You heartbreaker, Kirrali,’ said Amber with amusement.
‘Well, without even knowing it, he broke mine at high school so now we’re even. Come on, I’ll shout you a cup of Earl Grey and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Amber liked tea as much as I did.
Because the college had a policy of not accepting calls unless it was an emergency, I freaked out when I got home after work and found a note under my door asking me to ring home. It was 11pm but I knew that Mum and Dad wouldn’t go to bed until I had rung them back.
‘Hello?’ Mum’s voice sounded trembly and my heart did a somersault.
‘It’s me. Mum, what’s wrong?’
‘Kirrali, we have some sad news. It’s Finn. He died in his sleep this afternoon.’
My dog. He wasn’t really mine, he was the family dog. Before we adopted him, he was a bit chewed up and skinny. But he was a happy dog and from the minute we brought him home, Finn and I were inseparable. I loved him more than any stuffed toy or bride doll that my parents could have given me. If I went to the fish and chip shop, Finn would come too. If I went to the swimming pool, he would wait outside the high wire fence patiently until I came out. He used to sneakily follow me to primary school too and all the kids would pat him (and share their peanut butter sandwiches with him). He slept on my bed and would lick my face in the morning as a kind of wake-up call. And now he had gone. I started to cry.
‘Kirrali, we are so sorry. At least he went in his sleep — he didn’t suffer.’ Mum tried to console me but she was sniffing back tears too.
‘I just wished I could have said goodbye.’
‘I know, love. But his last few months hadn’t been all that comfortable. Some days his arthritis made it a struggle for him to even get out of his basket.’
‘I’ll catch a bus home on Saturday. Please don’t bury him straight away, Mum.’
‘I don’t know, love ... Dad was planning to put him next to the vegie patch in the morning.’
‘I’ll be home by lunchtime. Please let me be there, Mum.’
‘Well, all right then. Are you sure you need to come home? Don’t you have assignments due?’
‘This is more important. I’ll see you on Saturday. I need to go, my change is running …’ Click. I was disconnected.
I climbed up the stairs, heavy of heart. I couldn’t even be bothered changing out of my uniform and I slipped under the covers. I lay there a long time, not sleeping, just thinking of Finn.
In the end, I never did make it back home because all this other stuff happened which threw me completely out of whack. It started with Erin being bored and ended with me going back to Family Connect.
Twelve
I appreciated Erin but she did have a habit of attaching herself to me when I was comfortable doing my own thing. I had to write an essay on a current event for my law and med
ia unit, and was telling Erin about it over breakfast as I flicked through the morning newspaper looking for inspiration.
‘You were part of a current event.’
‘You mean the shooting? I guess I was.’
‘You could write an exposé on how the media gets it wrong. Especially with Aboriginal issues.’
It was a good idea but I was scanning the Law Court timetable for a better one when something caught my eye.
‘That’s a coincidence — Mavis Berry’s inquest begins today. At the Coroner’s Court.’
‘It’s a sign. We have to go,’ she exclaimed.
‘We?’
‘I don’t have classes today. I was just going to clean my room and stuff. This will be far more interesting. And it relates to my course. Kind of.’
So that’s how Erin and I came to be sitting in an almost empty Coroner’s Court.
‘Poor Mavis,’ I said, looking around. ‘There’s hardly anyone here.’
‘Yes, where are the media now?’ said Erin, a little bitterly.
I had never been in a Coroner’s Court. It didn’t have the grandeur of an old-fashioned courtroom with carved timber docks like you see on television. It was more like a tutorial room at uni, with rows of desks in light coloured timber. We took a seat at the back and I got out my yellow pad. Since my interview with the lawyer at the Koori Legal Resource, I was in the habit of taking notes.
The first person in the dock was the manager of the boarding house where Mavis had lived for the past three years. He said that Mavis had generally been quiet and didn’t cause trouble. He said that most of the residents had ‘issues’ and occasionally there would be conflict but yelling and screaming was usually as far as it went. He described how some residents went on benders and while Mavis was a drinker, she did it behind closed doors. On that day, he had heard her screaming and went out to see what the problem was. She was accusing another resident of stealing her belongings.
Becoming Kirrali Lewis Page 8
