The Making of Christina

by Meredith Jaffe

  Bianca frowned and glanced at Christina.

  ‘I’m just saying that it’s a big investment of my time, Bee. At my hourly rate, you couldn’t afford me.’ Jackson laughed. It was moments like this Christina could quite cheerfully kill him.

  ‘So I’ll make you a proposition,’ Jackson continued. ‘I will give you five lessons as your birthday present. Does that sound like a good deal?’

  Bianca’s expression said it all. This was a luxury beyond their means. She had asked for too much.

  ‘It’s all right, Bee,’ Christina rushed to reassure her. ‘Jackson is saying yes. He’s just joking about the money.’

  Uncertainty mapped Bianca’s face. Then Jackson scooped her up, saying, ‘Yes, I will teach you to surf. Okay?’ Relief replaced Bianca’s frown with a grin. Christina wished that just once Jackson could say yes to something without turning it into a major production. But he hadn’t in almost five years and probably never would.

  He was true to his word though. Every second Saturday Jackson gave Bianca a surf lesson. They began on his old Mal, a nine-and-a-half foot fibreglass shell, chipped and dented, the wax grey with wear. Bianca fidgeted as Christina restrained her curls in a ponytail and rubbed sunscreen into her shoulders, longing to wriggle free from her mother’s grasp. Every time Christina released Bianca, she battled down the fear that something might go wrong. She trusted Jackson but the opaque sea and what hid inside it scared the life out of her.

  Jackson and Bianca walked into the water either side of the board, steadying it with their fingertips. As the water deepened, Bianca jumped higher and higher, sucking in her ribs as the cold sea slapped her chest. Jackson held the board steady and she clambered on. She gripped the board with both hands, digging her toes into the waxy surface. A wave broke over them, turning the bounce of Bianca’s curls into a slick tail. Jackson slipped in behind her and paddled out. Up and over the gentle swell they glided, Christina’s heart leaping and falling with them, until they reappeared a long way from shore.

  Jackson let wave after wave pass until, with no visible cue that Christina could see, he paddled hard and jumped to his knees. His weight centred the board as it torpedoed towards the beach in an unbroken line. As the shore loomed, the wave broke and Bianca disappeared into the foam. Christina stood at the wet edge of the sand and gripped her elbows. The board shot up, Bianca clinging on, her shrill laugh mingling with the screech of seagulls. Jackson waded behind, his face cracked by a giant grin. The wave abandoned them to the shallows and Jackson nudged Bianca off the board. She ran the rest of the way to Christina.

  ‘Did you see that, Mummy?’ Bianca shrieked. ‘Mummy, did you see me? I caught a wave.’

  Christina dropped to her knees. ‘I thought you might get the death wobbles and fall off. Did you swallow any water? You’re okay, aren’t you?’ She ran searching hands over her daughter’s skin.

  ‘Hey, Bee, that was fantastic.’ Christina flinched as droplets of freezing water fell on her bare back. She looked up at Jackson. ‘Isn’t she amazing? I can’t believe how brave she is.’

  Jackson shrugged. ‘I took it easy on her. I didn’t want to frighten her first time out.’

  Christina realised how gauche she sounded and nodded. ‘So what now?’

  Jackson held a hand out to Bianca, ‘We go again. Are you ready, champ?’

  Bianca scrambled to her feet and followed Jackson back into the water. Christina stayed on shore and watched, snapping the odd photo on her phone to share with Rosa and Massimo later. It was such a perfect afternoon.

  One day, as the summer waned, Jackson stood on the shore and surveyed the water. Bianca tore off her shorts, fidgeted as Christina applied sunscreen and tied her hair in a loose plait. Set free, Bianca ran and stood next to Jackson, slipping her hand into his, squinting up at him as he stared out to sea. On the sand lay a short board that used to belong to one of Jackson’s kids. It was now Bianca’s. She was one step closer to being a girl in a wetsuit with sun-bleached hair.

  Jackson dropped to his haunches. He talked to Bianca in a low voice and gestured towards the horizon. Bianca smiled and stuck out her skinny chest. Her body language said, yes, I can do this, but Christina wondered whether Jackson expected too much of her.

  ‘I’m gonna take her out the back and then I’ll pop her on a wave and she can ride it into shore,’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘Do you think she’s ready?’ Christina wished that she could ask this without sounding like an overprotective mother, but she did worry. Despite thinking she was grown up, Bianca was still very much a little girl.

  Jackson squeezed Bianca’s hand. ‘I’ll look after her. You trust me, don’t you, Bee?’

  Bianca fidgeted as fear wrestled with excitement.

  ‘What if she falls off?’ Christina joined them, resting a protective hand on Bianca’s shoulder.

  ‘I’ll be right behind her,’ Jackson said, grabbing the board. Christina held on to Bianca a moment longer before she grew impatient and tugged herself free.

  Unaccustomed to the smaller board, it took Bianca three attempts before she made a wobbly stand. Each time she cartwheeled off the board, unused to its light, whippy nature. Each time she got back on and let Jackson tow her out. And each week Christina asked her if she was sure she wanted to keep going. That she was only little and had plenty of time. That she shouldn’t feel pressured in the face of Jackson’s incessant enthusiasm. But week after week, fresh and determined, Bianca took to the water, until one day she rode a wave all the way to shore, her face split wide open by a grin. Christina grinned too, though she cried as well, foolish with pride.

  A few weeks later, when summer was a memory, they arrived at the beach to see that a breeze had sprung up. It ruffled the water’s surface and sent spray arcing in rainbows that danced above the waves in the afternoon light. Bianca rode a wave to shore, her arms flapping like seagull’s wings in an effort to keep her balance. She waved to Christina before paddling out again. Christina burst with pride, marvelling at how brave Bianca was compared to her. She’d never get on a board. She preferred the stability of riding something with four legs.

  The water swirled sand around Christina’s feet until she was buried up to her ankles. She dragged her feet from the sucking sand, uncovering an orange translucent shell. Picking it up, she slipped it into her pocket to give to Bianca later.

  The breeze grew snakier, whipping Christina’s hair across her face. In minutes the temperature plummeted as the southerly blew around the cliffs on its way up the coast. Christina was freezing. She wished Jackson and Bianca would come in. She trudged up the beach and fetched a jumper, squinting against the spray. The wind picked up towels and sent stray umbrellas freewheeling along the shore. Stragglers zigzagged over the sand, attempting to capture their belongings. By the time she returned to her shoreline vigil, Jackson was yelling at Bianca to paddle hard onto a wave. It was the biggest messiest wave of the afternoon.

  Her take-off was rough. The board skittered along the wave and Christina prayed that Bianca realised it was too dangerous to stand up. The wave overtook her, lifting her high towards its crest. Joyous moments earlier, Bianca registered something was wrong and turned to Jackson.

  ‘Stay down, Bee. Stay flat,’ he yelled, the wind carrying his words to Christina. Jackson cut through the water, motioning to Bianca who did as he said. The ebbing tide revealed a ditch of sand that sucked the waves down and churned them into a seething crescendo of white foam. As the wave broke, it dragged Bianca into the ditch, the water hissing and spraying in every direction. Bianca disappeared; her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth an O of horror. Christina waded through the water, seeing nothing but white sea. The board rocketed skyward, breached and fell, spinning to the shore. There was no sign of Bianca.

  Jackson had already caught the next wave and was barrelling for the shore. Bianca still hadn’t come up for air. Christin
a screamed, ‘Bianca! Bianca!’ as she sieved the water with her hands, straining the sea for her daughter.

  Jackson yelled, ‘She’s over there,’ and waded away from Christina.

  Bianca’s hair streamed around her like kelp, her arms and legs thrashed, but she did not or could not raise her head. Jackson grabbed the back of her wetsuit and hauled her to the surface. Mouth agape, Bianca flapped her arms as if they were billows forcing the oxygen into her lungs.

  ‘Help her, Jackson, help her!’ Christina screamed.

  ‘Calm down!’ he snapped, kneeling in front of Bianca. ‘Breathe, Bee, breathe,’ he kept repeating, his hands wrapped around her waist, holding her steady against the panic. In a ragged tearing of air, Bianca dragged in a wheezing lungful, spluttering confirmation that she had survived.

  ‘Get some water,’ Jackson shouted.

  Christina rushed up the beach and fetched a bottle. Jackson forced Bianca’s head back and washed the salt water from her mouth. She struggled against him, arched and coughed as she tried to push him away. Jackson pulled her to him, telling her she was okay.

  ‘My chest hurts,’ Bianca wailed.

  ‘Shush, little Bee, it’s all right. You’ve just been dumped. You’ll be okay.’ Jackson rocked her whilst Christina hovered behind them, her fingers itching to take Bianca from Jackson. She tucked a towel around Bianca’s shoulders to protect her from the cold and held her hand. It was enough to make Bianca reach out for her mother and slide into Christina’s embrace. Christina made an apologetic face at Jackson as she bundled Bianca into her lap, soothed by the solid warmth of it as Bianca pressed against her.

  By the time they made it home, Bianca’s first dumping had become a life and death experience in which Bianca had triumphed over a merciless ocean. Her throat was raw from the salt water and she still complained that her chest hurt, but Jackson had convinced her that she was the victor in this age-old battle of man versus nature. Christina gripped the steering wheel tight, her anger growing as she listened to him selling Bianca this new version of the story. Bianca was only halfway up the stairs when Christina erupted.

  ‘She could have been killed,’ she seethed at Jackson.

  Jackson slammed the car boot, harder than necessary, though his voice remained light and reasonable. ‘Don’t be stupid, CC. She got dumped, that’s all.’

  Christina stood between Jackson and the steps, demanding that he take her seriously. ‘She could have broken her neck. She could have drowned. I don’t want her doing this any more.’

  Jackson pushed past her, bounding up the stairs. Christina’s arm pulsed from where he had shoved her. She looked up to see Jackson and Bianca staring down, hair stiff with salt, shoulders rosy from the sun. Christina swallowed and trudged after them.

  Christina waited until Jackson left before she tried reasoning with Bianca. The trouble was, they were both so easily persuaded by him. They needed to be alone to break his influence. She found the pearlescent orange seashell in her pocket and hid it in her fist. ‘Guess which hand, Bee?’ Christina said, holding out two fists. Bianca’s eyes lit up. She went back and forth, paralysed by choice. Christina nudged the correct hand forward and Bianca took the hint. Christina opened her palm and Bianca pounced on the shell. Wetting her lips, Christina said, ‘You don’t have to keep surfing just because Jackson says, sweetheart.’

  The smile left Bianca’s face. She shoved the shell in her pocket. ‘Jackson says you can’t call yourself a real surfer unless you’ve been dumped at least seven times.’

  ‘Seven times! I don’t think I could go through this afternoon even once more, Bianca.’

  ‘But it’s the only way I’ll get good. Jackson says you can’t give up just because something is hard.’ Bianca’s voice rose at the end of the sentence, pleaded for her mother’s understanding.

  Christina recognised the stubborn defiance on Bianca’s face and knew she had lost the battle. It was Rosa all over again. There was no point pushing further.

  It was never the same after that day. Going to the beach ceased being a family outing where Bianca and Jackson surfed whilst Christina read a book. It shifted to the pair of them creeping out of the house before dawn for an early surf before school or grabbing a quick wave before dinner. One Saturday afternoon when Christina felt under the weather, they took off without her, telling her to rest up. Shivering under a pile of blankets, she told herself she should have gone too. Dragging herself into the kitchen, she threw some ingredients into the slow cooker. Jackson and Bianca did not return until the first star rose in the sky. Their feet patched with sand, their hair wild from the sea, they devoured takeaway fish and chips at the kitchen bench, reliving their afternoon whilst the slow cooker simmered fragrantly in the background.

  Christina watched their banter, burying her sense of exclusion. The feeling reminded her of her school days when her supposed friends needled her for refusing to behave like them. Christina had no desire to drink, smoke or curry favour with the boys. She didn’t want to sneak out her bedroom window on a Saturday night so she could hang at the park and drink grog stolen from parents’ liquor cabinets. She didn’t want to be with the boys who only liked girls long enough to disappear into the bushes or the back seat of cars. The uncanny way teenage girls had of making inclusion feel like exclusion felt exactly like this. Christina suspected this revealed an ugliness inside her. After all, she had encouraged Bianca to develop a close emotional bond with Jackson, as a surrogate for the relationship she should have had with her father. But Christina had not anticipated their intimacy would shut her out. She could not have it both ways. Her petty jealousy shamed her.

  chapter six

  It was easy for Christina to hide her moments of jealousy from Jackson and Bianca because she loved them both. More to the point, Bianca was lucky to have Jackson, who did so much more for her than her own father did. Christina overheard Bianca one night, as she sat on Jackson’s lap watching TV, telling him she loved him. Christina stopped folding washing to hear his reply. Jackson kissed Bianca’s forehead, saying, ‘I love you too.’ She was so grateful they had such a good man as part of their lives.

  It made a stark contrast to the way things were between Bianca and Jamie. Ever since Jamie had announced that Summer was pregnant, there had been a definite shift in their relationship. Bianca still saw her father, when it suited him, but the bedroom defined as Bianca’s had become the nursery. She now slept on the fold-out bed in the sunroom, the drying socks and discarded furniture moved to make room for her. Christina confronted Jamie about this and all he could do was shrug and say, ‘you know what pregnant women are like, babe.’ And although Christina appreciated the child-free time, she put up no resistance if Bianca ever refused to stay over, and when she did, Christina dreaded what stories Bianca would tell on her return.

  Christina left work early one Friday afternoon and headed to Della’s via the bottle shop. She arrived to hear the familiar shouts and laughter from the backyard as the kids made the most of the pool. She rushed out to say hello to Bianca, who had spent the previous night at her father’s. Not brilliant, being a school night, but Bianca hadn’t seen her dad for ages and had said yes to the invitation.

  Christina knelt in front of her squirming child and gave her a massive hug.

  ‘Stop it, Mummy, you’re tickling me.’

  Christina held her a moment longer to reassure herself, disguised it with a kiss.

  ‘Mum!’ Bianca demanded.

  Smiling, Christina released her and watched her run off to play with Izzy and Tom in the pool.

  ‘Here, this will cure what ails you.’ Della thrust a glass of shiraz into her hand.

  ‘Thanks, Dell. What’s been happening?’

  Della fetched salad ingredients from the fridge, set up a chopping board and fussed over selecting the right knife from the wood block. Christina slid onto a bar stool and watched the kids through the l
eaves of the vine-laden pergola. After letting Della prep salad as if there were points in it, she prodded her again. ‘Well?’

  Della bit her bottom lip, the knife poised over a cucumber. ‘I saw Jamie today.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Della half smiled and concentrated on deseeding and dicing the cucumber.

  Christina took a sip of wine. ‘And?’

  ‘And he dropped Bianca at school this morning,’ Della said over one shoulder as she popped outside to pick some mint.

  ‘Sure.’ Christina shrugged. ‘Bianca stayed over at Jamie’s last night.’ Her hand strayed to her collar, making sure she’d concealed the bruises of Jackson’s appetites. Six years and he still made love to her with an urgent passion. That was one benefit of their arrangement: no time to grow tired of the everyday. ‘Was Summer with him?’

  Della stopped chopping. ‘How many weeks is she now?’

  Christina rolled her eyes. ‘No idea. Not my problem. Stick to the point.’

  Della went to say more but seemed to think better of it. Taking a large sip of wine, she said, ‘He was riding a motorbike. One of those big noisy ones you can hear coming from half a mile away.’

  ‘Oh.’ Christina took a piece of pita bread and dipped it in Della’s homemade baba ganoush. Funny how Jamie could afford a motorbike but couldn’t afford to pay maintenance. ‘Where was Bee?’ She bit into the bread, relishing the way the garlic and lemon blended with the creamy eggplant. Too good.