Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

  'I'm not. We've made a business deal. I'm paying her full Sydney rental rates each week. I checked the going price for Potts Point.'

  'Oh. Well, I suppose that's all right. I mean, it's very kind of Nora to take you in, but I don't want to be beholden to her.'

  The response to the phone call six months later was far less complacent.

  'You're what?'

  'I'm pregnant.'

  There was a very long pause. Then: 'What are you going to do about it?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, you're not married. You're not going to have it, surely.'

  'I'm due in two weeks, Mum.'

  'Oh my God.' An audible gasp followed, then Darren's voice. 'What is it, what's wrong?' Then a muffled exchange between the two, her mother obviously putting her hand over the receiver. Jo couldn't make out the words. But when Hillary's voice came back down the line it was bordering on hysterical.

  'Why didn't you tell me? For God's sake, Johanna, why didn't you tell me! What did you plan to do? Have a child without telling your own mother?' She was working her-self into a frenzy. 'Don't I mean anything to you? You're my daughter, how could you do this to me? To both of us? Darren's appalled too. How could you keep it a secret from us?'

  Her mother was genuinely distraught, and Jo supposed she should feel guilty, or at least concerned, but she felt very little of anything.

  Then Darren came on the line.

  'Your mother's pretty upset, Johanna.'

  'Yes, I can hear that.'

  'You should have told us.'

  'Yes.'

  'I'll bring her to Sydney, of course. We'll be there for the birth.'

  'No. Don't come over. Tell Mum I'll ring her as soon as the baby's born.'

  A pause. 'This is very cruel, you know. You're breaking your mother's heart, I hope you realise that.'

  'I don't mean to. Tell her I'm sorry.'

  Jo hung up. It was cruel of her, she thought. But it was necessary.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Shortly after Alana's birth, Jo rang her mother as she'd promised she would. She suggested that Hillary come to Sydney on her own.

  'If you don't mind, Mum,' she said. 'I can't wait to see you and show you the baby, but I'm really tired, I don't feel like socialising.'

  Hillary was both hurt and offended. 'Darren's your step-father, I hardly call that socialising.'

  'All right, sorry.' Jo didn't have the energy to argue, she'd returned home from hospital just the previous day and was genuinely exhausted. Besides, if she were ever to confront her mother about Darren, it would not be over the telephone. 'But could we keep the first visit just between us? You know, mother, daughter, grand-daughter – it's something special, don't you think?'

  The excuse was perfectly plausible and just what Hillary needed to hear. She was more than mollified, she was deeply touched.

  'Yes, darling, of course it's something special. It's something very, very special. And I can't wait to see you too, both of you. Alana, what a lovely name.'

  *

  Hillary didn't stay at the Potts Point house for the four days of her visit, although Nora and Geoff had extended an invitation. She'd made a reservation at the Hilton in the city instead.

  'Golly, Hill, it's a bit extravagant,' Nora said after she'd embraced her sister at the front door. Hillary had also refused to let Geoff pick her up at the airport, preferring to get a taxi straight to the hotel in order to freshen up before seeing them. 'Why stay at a posh place when we've got heaps of room here?'

  'Oh, you know me, Nor.' Hillary laughed gaily. 'I love staying at posh places.'

  'That's true. Come on in.' Nora led the way through to the lounge room.

  'This is Geoff,' she said, introducing the pleasant, unassuming-looking man who, having taken the afternoon off work in order to meet his wife's sister, had been waiting patiently for the past hour or so. 'Geoff, this is Hill.'

  'Hello, Hillary.' He offered his hand.

  'Geoff, how lovely to meet you at long last.' Hillary laid on the charm as they shook.

  'You too. And you're every bit as good-looking as I've been led to believe.'

  Geoff laid on the charm in return, but he was really only obeying instructions. 'Flatter her,' Nora had said. 'Hillary needs flattery, although why I don't know, she's an absolute stunner.' Nora hadn't been exaggerating, he thought, it was obvious where Jo got her good looks. Hillary Collins, like her daughter, was a natural beauty. Geoff personally found the streaked and coiffed blonde hair and the meticulously applied make-up rather gilding the lily, but he was relieved that he hadn't had to bullshit.

  'You haven't seen her for thirteen years,' he'd said to Nora. 'What if she's changed?'

  'Then lie,' Nora had told him, which was unlike her. A clever manipulator, she unashamedly lied herself when it served her purpose, but she never asked him to.

  Geoffrey Metcalf had always found it a mystery that his wife, a family-orientated woman, had lost touch with her only sister, but Nora's explanation had been simply that they'd drifted apart, and it hadn't been up to him to question why.

  Hillary gave another girlish laugh as she turned to Nora. 'You told him to say that, didn't you?'

  'Geoff never lies. You're as gorgeous as ever, Hill.'

  Hillary hoped that she was. At forty-seven it got harder every year.

  'And you're as fit as ever, Nor,' she said. One compliment always deserved another, although in Hillary's opinion, Nora was showing her age. Good heavens, she was only thirty-nine, why wasn't she colouring the tinge of grey in her hair? In fact, she should get rid of the mousy brown altogether, auburn would be far more flattering. 'Just look at you, not an ounce of fat, the body of an eighteen year old, it's positively obscene.'

  They were both trying too hard, Geoff thought, which he supposed wasn't all that surprising.

  'Shall I put the kettle on, or is it time to break open the champagne?' he asked.

  'Let's go the champagne, shall we? There's a lot to toast.'

  'Oh yes,' Hillary agreed, 'champagne definitely. Now where's Jo? Where's the baby?'

  'Upstairs, she's feeding. Come on, follow me.'

  Geoff disappeared into the kitchen and the women went upstairs, Nora quietly pushing open the door of the small single bedroom they'd converted into a nursery.

  Jo didn't hear them at first, she was too engaged in the child at her breast. Seated in the old wooden rocking chair that Nora had donated to the nursery, she was rocking her baby gently back and forth, gazing down at the little mouth, now sucking in desultory fashion, sated, sleepy.

  Nora glanced at her sister. Hillary was entranced by the sight. There was even the hint of a tear in her eyes.

  'I'll leave you two alone for a while,' she whispered.

  Jo looked up, suddenly aware of the women at the door.

  'Hello, Mum.' She smiled, 'I'm sorry I didn't come downstairs. I heard you arrive, but –'

  'Good heavens above, darling, don't apologise.' Hillary, having instantly harnessed her emotions, bustled into the room, kissed Jo on the forehead, and seated herself on the small single bed, leaning forward to peer at the baby.

  'I'll give Geoff a hand with the champagne,' Nora said unnecessarily, and she left, closing the door behind her.

  'So this is Alana. Look at that wonderful black hair, and those eyelashes! She's very beautiful.'

  'Yes, isn't she?'

  They sat silently admiring the baby, who had lost all interest in the breast and was starting to nod off. Jo burped her, and then, with an impish grin, held the tiny bundle out to Hillary. 'Give Grandma a cuddle,' she said.

  'We'll have none of that,' Hillary warned as she took the child, nestling her in the crook of an arm and stroking the silky down of her hair.

  'Well, what should she call you then? Nanna? Nan? Gran?'

  'Hillary will be quite adequate, thank you.'

  Jo laughed, she'd known her mother would say that.

  Glancing up from her grandc
hild, Hillary once again felt a quick rush of emotion, which this time she didn't bother disguising.

  'You look radiant, Jo. Motherhood agrees with you.'

  'Yes. It does.'

  The two women shared a smile, and to Jo the years of bitterness seemed suddenly unimportant. What was the point of dwelling in the past when there was a whole new future to take care of, she thought.

  'It's good to see you, Mum.'

  'Yes. Oh dear.' Hillary passed the baby back and delved into her handbag. 'Oh dear, how silly. Babies are such an emotional issue, aren't they?' She made a quick recovery, carefully dabbing at the outer corners of her eyes with a lace hanky.

  'You're safe,' Jo said.

  'Mm?' Hillary, now in search of her compact, looked up from the handbag.

  'Your mascara – it's all in place, it hasn't run.' She wasn't having a dig.

  'Oh, good.' Hillary put the bag aside and settled herself for a lengthy chat. 'Now, tell me about Alana. It's a gorgeous name, I love it. Where did it come from?'

  'A twenty-four-foot yacht.'

  'Really? How intriguing.'

  Aware that she was about to be interrogated, Jo decided to get in first. She told her mother the basic facts. Alana's father had been a fellow student at uni with whom she'd had an ongoing affair, she said. She hadn't told him she was pregnant and she didn't intend to tell him about the child, at least not straight away. She'd wait until she and Alana were properly settled first. But she'd certainly make contact when the time was right – if he wished to play a part in his daughter's life it was only fair he be given the opportunity.

  'But of course you must tell him straight away,' Hillary interjected, 'and the sooner the better. What about maintenance?'

  'Don't be bossy, Mum.' Jo was gentle, but adamant. 'I've made my decisions, and I'm going to do it my own way.'

  'Well, there's nothing new in that, is there?' The words just popped out and Hillary cursed herself. She tried to make amends. 'He rang, you know. At least, we presume it was him. He said his name was Mike ...?'

  'Yes, Mike, that's right.' Her mother was fishing for the surname, but Jo didn't offer it. 'What did you tell him?'

  'I didn't speak to him myself. Darren did.'

  Hillary fidgeted with her handbag, recalling the scene – one of the rare occasions when she'd been openly critical of her husband's actions.

  'Why didn't you tell me?' she'd demanded. Not once had he mentioned the young man who'd tried to contact her daughter; the subject had only come up after Jo's phone call announcing her pregnancy.

  'Mike Somebody-or-other,' he'd said casually. 'Must have been the father.'

  'For heaven's sake, Darren, you should have told me.'

  'Why?' Darren had played the innocent at first.

  'Why? He was trying to find her, how could you just fob him off? He's the father of her child!'

  'I wasn't to know that, was I? He could have been anyone.'

  'What did you tell him? Did you give him Nora's address?'

  'No, why should I? We didn't even know she was staying there, did we?'

  'But Nora would have known where to find her.'

  'Good God, Hillary, I was only trying to protect you.' A change of tack: he was now the wrongfully accused. 'You'd lost contact with your daughter, you were upset – I didn't want to bother you with every Tom, Dick and Harry who was trying to chase her up.' Aggrieved, wounded. 'I try and do what's best for you, and this is all the thanks I get.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  He'd successfully worn her down in just one minute; it was an art he'd perfected.

  'What did Darren tell him?' Jo asked now. 'Did he give him Nora's phone number?'

  'No.' Hillary felt racked with guilt. 'But you see, darling, we didn't know you were staying here, did we? And we didn't know about the pregnancy, or that Mike was the father, how could we? We –'

  'It's all right, Mum.' So Darren hadn't told her Mike had phoned, Jo thought. Her mother's desperate attempt to shoulder the blame equally rather than paint her husband in a bad light was obvious. But for once Jo was thankful to her stepfather. 'It's fine, really it is. Darren did the right thing. I'm grateful.'

  There was a tap at the door and Nora popped her head in.

  'Champagne's all set up if you're ready,' she said.

  They went downstairs and joined Geoff on the balcony, where they clinked glasses and toasted the baby. Hillary waxed lyrical about the view, and was horrified to hear that the Victoria Street terraces were under threat from high-rise developers.

  'These beautiful buildings,' she exclaimed, 'it's criminal. Mind you, they're doing the same thing in the west – demolishing history and erecting monstrosities. Modern architecture is so ghastly, isn't it?'

  Such a blanket statement led to mild disagreement from Geoff. 'Oh, I don't know, there's always the exception. What about the Opera House? I love it myself. I think it's the best thing that could happen to this country, it'll really put us on the map.'

  Along with the rest of Australia, Hillary had seen the artist's impressions of the new Sydney Opera House, which had been widely published in the media, and, like many, she hadn't known quite what to make of it.

  'It's certainly unconventional,' she said, choosing her words with care in the face of Geoff's obvious enthusiasm.

  'Yes, people either love it or hate it – there's been a lot of controversy. I feel sorry for Utzon.'

  Nora noticed her sister's slightly glazed expression. 'Jørn Utzon,' she said, 'the architect.'

  'Of course.' Caught out, Hillary quickly added, 'He resigned last year, didn't he?', thankful that she recalled reading the fact. She hadn't really been following the progress of the Opera House. Why should she? It was a long way from Manjimup.

  'They forced changes in his design,' Nora said. 'It was bloody unfair.'

  Geoff pointed out to the right where the Harbour Bridge towered over the tangle of buildings and the parkland's trees. 'You can't quite see Bennelong Point from where we are, but that's where she's going up, over there. I'll take you to have a look at it while you're here, if you like,' he said.

  'Yes, I'd like that very much. Thank you.' It would be quite a talking point when she got home, Hillary thought, to say that she'd seen the Opera House being built.

  Nora turned the conversation towards Jo's future – she considered there'd been quite enough social chat.

  'I think Jo should enrol at uni next year,' she said bluntly, ignoring the warning glance from her husband who thought she was premature in broaching the subject. 'The sooner she completes her degree, the sooner she can get on with her life.'

  Hillary was floored. 'But she's just had a baby.'

  'Oh, that doesn't stop women in this day and age,' Nora continued breezily. 'Career and motherhood are the perfect mix according to the women's libbers.'

  'Then how come you haven't pursued your own career?' Hillary's tone was a little icy. 'I seem to recall you were very passionate about psychology. How come you're now a housewife and mother?'