Dessi's Romance

by Goldie Alexander

  I shake my head.

  ‘Let’s check out the sea.’

  He helps me back into the van and we drive up the road and park on the cliff. From here I can see over the bay. To my right is the bowling club, further on a promontory with some low buildings. He points out to sea. ‘Philip Island. One day we’ll visit it.’ He makes us going out again seem perfectly natural.

  A brisk northerly churns the waves. Small boats bob. ‘How about this for co-incidence,’ I remark. ‘Couple of days ago I found some water-colours done by my great aunt Ella set right here.’

  ‘Oh.’ He stares around. ‘Has it changed much?’

  ‘Her paintings show those pine-trees as smaller. But all this is in them.’

  Back in the car he says, ‘Tell me more about that aunt.’

  ‘She lived in that old house we’re in now with her twin sister, Lilbet, sixty years.’

  ‘Were they on together?’

  ‘Dad says not. Anyway, Lilbet was disabled.’

  An image of Emma discussing Danny flickers into my mind. She claimed he was ‘Hot, really hot in bed.’ Would Abdul be a great lover? I have a sudden memory of Jon’s angry face when I refused to have sex with him. I sternly dismiss both Jon and Emma and turn slightly to watch Abdul. His eyelashes are unbelievably thick, a girl would kill for them, his high-bridged nose aristocratic, his fingers long and slim, the kind that handle delicate operations with ease. I close my eyes and imagine them slowly unbuttoning my shirt. Now he’s running his fingers down my skin. His mouth on mine, he caresses my breasts, then slowly moves between my thighs…

  If I give myself to you,

  will you hear my cry

  Or will I be just another

  Notch on your gold handled cane?

  He asks, ‘What else do you know about those aunts?’

  I tell him about the books, catalogues and letters I found. ‘All addressed to both Lilbet and Ella.’

  ‘I’d love you to show me those catalogues.’

  ‘Sure,’ I agree, wondering if this means another date? And if so, when? But all the time a little voice deep inside is asking: how are you going to convince Emma that Abdul made the first move?

  14. EMMA, Surfers

  I wait for Robert to make the first move. If I half expect him to hug me, all he says after a few strained moments is, ‘Give me five minutes to change.’

  Laura dashes out with three pairs of bathers. I choose a blue bikini and go inside to put them on. I’m confused, embarrassed, angry and self pitying. Right now, I really hate him. Not even a hug. But if he dared to try and hug me, I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe shove him away…

  My answer is to dive into the pool, tread water and watch him emerge from the house. In bathers, he looks good. Not tired and chaotic like Julie. Something tightens in me as I feel a wave of pity for my poor discarded mum.

  He slices into the pool and does a few laps. This gives me time to get out and dry off.

  ‘Don’t forget the sun block and repellent,’ Laura calls from the kitchen. Nosy bitch, I think. I decide to first take a shower. In the bathroom, there’s a heap of fluffy towels, and buckets of hair and body lotions. All this tells me he’s going to invite me to stay. Just for this holiday or forever? I feel my anger grow. How come he’s taken so long to remember my existence? But what with this lovely house, I’m sorely tempted. Then I remember Julie. How will she ever manage on her own? And what about Abdul? If only Dessi was here offering her support, this would be easier.

  ‘Emma? We’re having a drink. What’ll you have?’ Robert sticks his head around the bedroom door.

  I scowl fiercely. ‘Can’t you knock?’

  ‘Uh, sorry.’ He ducks his head. ‘Forgot you’re almost grown up.’ He grins and looks embarrassed.

  ‘Yes…’ wanting to punish him. ‘Well you missed a lot of it, didn’t you?’

  His grin slips slightly. ‘We need to talk. The three of us.’ He turns to go away.

  Typical. He’s always run away from anything unpleasant.

  When I go back into the sunroom, the table is all set up with bowls of nuts and olives. Laura is sipping a long frosty drink, Robert holding a short squat glass. They make a handsome couple.

  I allow my scowl to hang out.

  ‘What will you have, Emma?’ He asks. ‘Lemonade? Coke?’

  I just stare. Where’s he been these last three years?

  ‘I think she’d like a beer, Rob,’ Laura puts in helpfully.

  ‘Beer?’ His eyebrows shoot into his hair.

  ‘I’d prefer a vodka,’ I say just to annoy him. ‘Got any orange juice?’

  ‘Since when have you been drinking?’

  ‘I am eighteen, Dad,’ I say sharply. ‘Means I can drive, vote and drink.’

  ‘Yes, of course you can,’ Laura nods vigorously. ‘Rob? A vodka and orange, please.’

  Though Dad doesn’t hide his displeasure, he busies himself mixing my drink. Laura turns to me and whispers ‘Don’t be too hard on him, Emma. He really is trying.’

  ‘Yes.’ I hide my give-away hands in my pockets. ‘It’s hard for me too.’

  Laura sighs. ‘We’re all trying, Emma.

  Robert puts my drink on the table without looking at me.

  How soon can I leave?

  ‘The bugs are nearly ready, darl,’ he calls from the back yard.

  ‘You’re going to love these, Emma,’ darl carols. She opens a bottle of wine and the bugs are brought in on a huge platter.

  Robert looks pleased with himself. ‘One of my secret recipes.’

  My chin drops. The last time I recall him cooking it was a disaster of scorched eggs and burnt toast.

  ‘Like this, Em.’ He shows me how to fork the flesh out of the bugs. Darl makes ‘Mmmm’ sounds. At least while we’re eating, we don’t have to talk. When we finish a meal where every mouthful sticks in my throat, she nods meaningfully and says, ‘You two go and relax in the lounge room while I make coffee.’

  This is it, I suppose.

  ‘Em, I suppose you’ve guessed what I’m about to say,’ he begins with a hopeful look. ‘Uh, your room and…er, everything.’

  He’s expecting me to respond. Only I don’t.

  If only my stupid hands would stop trembling.

  ‘I, er, we thought it might be a good idea for you to, ah, live up here for a while. With…us.’

  I watch a trickle of sweat run down his temple. Isn’t he amazing? I haven’t seen him for three years, hardly spoken in fact, and now he’s making plans for me. But he knows nothing about me any more. And in all that time he didn’t even care.

  ‘I don’t expect you to make up your mind this minute.’ He reaches out to pat my head. ‘You’ll need to think about it. I know that. But we were hoping that…’

  ‘Hold on a minute, Dad,’ I rush in. ‘I’ve got a life. And it’s not here. I’m hoping to get into RMIT. I can’t just drop everything because you think it’s a good idea for me to move up here.’ And suddenly all my anger and hurt billow out, ‘You didn’t give a shit about me when you pissed off and I hardly heard from you…’

  ‘Please don’t swear, Em,’ he says with a pained expression. ‘You don’t know what it’s been like… Your mother did everything in her power to keep me away…’

  Thankfully Laura comes in with a tray. I spring to my feet and pretend to examine the shelves filled with pigs.

  Not the only pigs around here!

  ‘Coffee? How do you take yours, Emma…’ Laura trails off. ‘Is anything…wrong?’

  He shakes his head from side to side.

  ‘Rob? Emma? What’s the matter?’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be here. That’s pretty damned obvious. I may as well drive her back…’ his voice cracks.

  Laura tries to pacify us. ‘Don’t be so harsh, Rob. Give the girl a chance. This must all be terribly sudden. Why don’t you both sit down and have a coffee, cool off. There. That’s better.’

  I find myself doing what Laura s
uggests. But with one proviso. ‘Could I possibly have a beer instead of coffee?’

  Laura nods briskly. ‘Good idea.’ She picks up the tray and smiles ruefully. ‘Stuff this. What we need is a decent drink.’

  To my amazement, I realise I’m smiling back. Maybe Laura isn’t so bad? For the first time I feel myself relax.

  15. DESSI, Melbourne

  More relaxed, I’d like this ride to go on forever. But somewhere deep down I can’t help wondering why Abdul is interested in me. Isn’t it unusual for someone three years older not to have a permanent woman? I ask, ‘Where are your folks from?’

  ‘North Lebanon. Batroun. They came here when Ahmed was four and I was two.’

  ‘You’ve got a brother?’

  ‘Sure have. Ahmed’s bright. Got into medicine and topped all his exams. Right now, he’s doing his internship.’

  ‘How come you’re not doing medicine? Didn’t you get in?’

  ‘Didn’t try. Doctors don’t have a life.’

  Again that appraising glance as if he’s trying to figure something out. Is it whether I will or won’t? Is it all about sex? That wouldn’t surprise me as sex, or rather differing attitudes to sex, is what comes between me and Emma. Basically, I’m a romantic and I guess that’s Graham’s influence. He’s very old fashioned when it comes to his family. He was forty when I was born, Hannah twenty-nine. Though I find it hard to view my parents as lovers, I hear certain sounds from their bedroom that tell me they are. Rather, I used to hear those sounds. Lately, they can barely manage a civil word to each other.

  What if they split? Emma and Julie had such an awful time after Robert moved to Queensland. Julie’s had a few guys since then, but they never hung around for more than a few months. ‘That’s because she always picks hopeless men,’ says Emma. But then… what about Sam? What about Danny? Weren’t they equally hopeless? Isn’t Emma following in her mother’s footsteps? Sometimes she makes it so hard for me to keep on loving her when I’m sure that whatever she’s up to isn’t doing her any good.

  I glance at Abdul. Is he going to be as hopeless as Danny or Sam? Even if he isn’t, what am I doing here with him? What if he’s using me to get to Emma? Suddenly I break into an ice-cold sweat.

  I shiver.

  He notices. ‘You cold?’

  I manage a half smile. ‘Someone just ran over my grave.’

  Traffic lights turn amber then red. He says, ‘What do you do in your spare time?’

  ‘What spare time?’ I yelp. ‘I’ve just finished Year 12.’

  He laughs. I join in. ‘Read lots,’ I say. ‘Listen to music. Check out clubs. Then I casually add, ‘Emma drags me to lots of galleries.’

  He ignores this. ‘What makes you mad?’

  I mentally shrug and go along with what he’s prepared to talk about. ‘Oh, the usual stuff - racism, sexism, homophobia, climate change, wrecking the environment.’ These are such clichés, we burst into laughter. When we reach the next shopping centre he parks in the shade and returns with two more Cokes. I say, ‘Tell me about Uni.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Just about everything. What was it like when you first got there?’

  ‘Pretty confusing. It’s up to you to get your work in on time.’

  ‘How about lectures?’

  ‘Sometimes there can be three hundred people in one hall. Half the time you can’t hear what the lecturer’s saying.’

  I start to panic. ‘How do you know what to do?’

  ‘You muddle along. They give out handouts and sometime put a lecture up on the internet. But it’s not easy. No spoon-feeding. How about you?’

  I frown slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

  He cocks an eyebrow. ‘How come you weren’t at a private school?’

  ‘Oh that.’ I grin. ‘Mum booked me into Wesley. Only Julie couldn’t afford the fees. Emma and me, we’re so close we refused to be separated. So they sent us to the local high.’

  Still not picking this up, he says, ‘Do you think you might’ve done better elsewhere?’

  ‘Dunno. This way, we got to meet a range of people.’

  ‘You mean, Lebos…’ a sharp edge to his voice, ‘Bomb-chuckers, terrorists like me?’

  ‘Exactly. What’s it like to grow up here, yet look totally Middle-Eastern, to have one foot in each camp?’ I recall a recent newspaper article that talked of never quite feeling at home in either.

  He guesses my thoughts. ‘You mean, what’s it like being Lebo since 9/11, Iraq, Afghanistan, Children Overboard, and unwanted refugees?’

  I redden slightly. ‘Suppose so.’

  ‘Trouble is, you Aussies think all Muslims are jihadists, suicide bombers wanting total Sharia law so we can take over the world.’

  Though I’m not sure some of this isn’t right, I say quickly, ‘But that’s not true, is it.’

  ‘If you mean, do I want to go out and blow up people because my religion says I should, I don’t think so. Basically, all we want is to be accepted as Aussies, only keeping our Lebanese culture and religion.’

  I bite my lip. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Not if the media keep up their anti-Muslim attitudes. If an Aussie rapes a girl, there’s no headline saying ‘Aussie youth rapes girl. But if it’s someone from a Middle Eastern background, it reads ‘Lebanese youth rapes girl...’

  His anger is so profound, I can only blink. ‘Do you think we’re racist?’

  ‘Some of you surely are.’

  ‘How can we stop this?’

  He shrugs. ‘Just have to learn to accept us as we are. I mean, none of us are indigenous. Everyone was once new. Every group had a rough time when they turned up. Wasn’t most of Oz once split into Aborigines, Protestants and Catholics?’

  I nod. He scowls at a car trying to overtake, picks up speed, and asks, ‘Isn’t your father a teacher?’

  ‘Ex. Right now he’s into renovating. He says he doesn’t miss teaching. Hey,’ I pretend to growl. ‘Stop changing the subject. Tell me more about yourself.’

  He turns and smiles. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘How about your folks? How do they feel about us Aussies?’

  ‘They just want you to accept us for who we are. Only…’ he frowns, ‘they really insist that we marry in and bring the next generation up as Lebanese Aussies.’

  ‘Do you agree with that?’

  Instead of answering, he laughs. His laugh is so deep and sexy, my heart turns over. I do my best to stay half-sane by changing the subject. ‘Get to any garage sales this morning?’

  ‘Sure did…’ He stops. Just ahead is a T-junction. On one side of the road is a small white sedan, wheels in the air like an upturned beetle. On the opposite side, still breathing steam, stands a larger sedan, its bonnet squashed as if by a giant thumb. As they slowly skirt the wreckage, an ambulance swishes past flashing blue and red lights.

  Head swimming, I close my eyes. Abdul swerves towards the verge and pulls up. He orders, ‘Put your head on your knees.’

  I do. What if I’m too scared to get into a car again? Determined to hide my panic… am I now phobic about cars? I murmur, ‘Ah…Sorry about that.’

  ‘My fault. Should never have talked you into this.’

  I say through dry lips. ‘Can’t stay home forever.’

  ‘No, you can’t. Not that I think this’ll happen again.’

  ‘Hmmm...?’ I manage as that sick feeling starts to subside.

  ‘You won’t stay scared.’ His voice is firm. ‘You got into this car, didn’t you?’

  I give another nod.

  ‘Like climbing back on the horse. You saw another accident. You survived. Now you’ll have a life.’

  I smile and move closer. Thank heavens I’m with Abdul. Hannah and Graham would’ve been over solicitous. So would Emma. Anyone else might have told me to stop being an idiot. Thank god I’m with Abdul. As the road dips up and down, I consider the thousands of times I will ha
ve to climb into a car. Abdul says, ‘Sometimes when an awful thing happens, it’s best to talk about it.’

  ‘What’s there to talk about?’ I don’t hide my anger. ‘Those first two days, I hardly remember a thing. The cops had to tell me what happened. Jon’s a lousy driver and he shot through a stop sign.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Course he’s fine. Two weeks later he was walking around like nothing happened.’

  ‘Arsehole!’

  ‘You better believe it. Last year two of his close mates got killed. You’d think he’d learn something from that, wouldn’t you?’

  Stopped by the next set of traffic lights, he says, ‘How long were you in hospital?’

  ‘Almost a week. They had to pin my ankle in four places.’

  ‘Get lots of visitors?’

  ‘Mum and Dad were with me most of the time. Kaz, Sacha and Jodie turned up just about every day. Emma almost slept there. When the pain was worst she knew she was always there, she knew to help me get through it. ’ This time I won’t let him ignore this. ‘Right now, like being here with you when she’s done so much for me... it makes me feel... well, totally disloyal.’

  He stares ahead. ‘You heard her ask me to contact you. I kept trying to tell her I just wanted us to be friends. She kept pretending not to hear. That’s why I didn’t drive her to the airport.’ His voice rises, ‘You do believe me, don’t you?

  I shrug. That’s okay for Abdul. But when Emma finds out, she’ll want to boil me in oil.

  Traffic-lights change to green. The car picks up speed. Abdul says casually, ‘How about tomorrow. You got anything special on?’

  ‘Not really, why not give me a call?’ I hear myself say, though my hands won’t stop trembling.

  16. EMMA, Surfers

  My hands finally stop trembling. Because of the three year gap since I last saw Robert, I’m able to view him and Laura through clearer eyes. They say enough about themselves to make me realise their attitude is ‘You got it, you flaunt it.’ In some ways I can’t blame them for being proud of their newfound prosperity. But then isn’t Laura that bit too quick to point out that local aborigines are responsible for a recent outbreak of crime?