by Judy Nunn
'Because I choose to be, and a very noble profession it is, to be sure.' Nora grinned, aware that she was being contrary and ruffling Hillary's feathers in the process. 'I'll go back to work when the kids are both in high school. I'm enjoying their company too much at the moment. Who knows, I might even go back to immigration.' She winked at her husband. It was where they'd first met: Geoff was a senior psychologist at the Immigration Department. 'That is, if the boss'll have me.'
Geoff stood. 'Which reminds me,' he said, 'I brought some paperwork home.' He didn't find Nora's behaviour amusing at all; he thought she was being pushy and that Hillary had every right to be offended. But he wasn't going to interfere; the women were sisters and they could sort it out between themselves. 'If you'll excuse me.' He retired from the balcony, relieved to make his escape.
'Then surely,' Hillary said, eyebrows raised archly, 'like you, Jo should enjoy her child's company before she chooses to embark upon a career.' Nora was being deliberately provocative, she thought, it was typical of her.
'But she doesn't have a career, does she?' Nora wasn't letting up. It was true she'd always enjoyed needling her sister, watching Hillary become progressively more aloof and superior, but she was in earnest now. 'And she won't have a career until she gets her degree. Jo has to have her qualifications before she can make her choice – surely you can see the difference.'
Jo was amused that she was being talked about as if she weren't there, and the friction between the sisters interested her. They'd reverted to type, as if nothing had happened between them. Their typically sibling behaviour was fascinating, and surely healthy, she thought.
'So I suppose she'd just pop out between lectures and breastfeed the baby, would she?' Hillary said mockingly.
'No, she could express her milk and I could do the feeds here.'
Hillary gave a snort of derision, ladylike, but a snort nonetheless. 'You're being silly now, Nora.' Her tone remained dismissive, but she was annoyed that her sister had the hide to even suggest such a thing. Johanna was coming home to Manjimup.
'We've discussed it.' Nora was no longer needling, keen for Hillary to see the sense of her argument. 'I can't wait myself! It'll be like having another baby of my own after all these years.'
In her enthusiasm, Nora didn't realise how tasteless her statement sounded – that she would, in effect, be taking over her sister's daughter and grandchild. But Hillary heard nothing beyond the fact that this ludicrous arrangement had already come under discussion.
She turned her attention to her daughter. 'You've discussed it?' This wasn't possible, she thought. Jo would bring her baby home – she and Darren had talked about it at length. They'd even planned which room they'd convert to a nursery.
Jo was taken aback by her mother's shocked reaction. It had always been her intention to remain in Sydney – hadn't her mother realised that?
'So you want to continue with your medical degree?' Hillary said quietly as she fought to regain her composure. 'And as early as next year.'
Jo nodded. 'Now that it seems possible, the sooner the better. I agree with Nora.'
'Well ... I suppose a career's quite admirable, so long as you feel you can manage it all. But surely you don't have to set your sights on Sydney, darling. You could continue your studies in Perth, couldn't you?'
'Yes, I suppose I could, but –'
'Then of course you must. Darren will apply for a transfer. We'll move up to the city, and I'll be there to look after the baby.'
There was a moment's silence. Hillary glanced from her sister to her daughter; both said nothing. Well, what could they say, she thought, it was the obvious solution.
'I am your mother, after all, Jo, and Alana is my grand-child.' She allowed herself a light laugh of self-mockery. 'Much as I might at times deny being a grandmother. You must forgive me, darling, sheer vanity of course –'
Jo took a deep breath. 'I'm going to enrol here in Sydney, Mum.'
The smile froze on Hillary's face. 'I see.'
She glanced again at Nora, this time with suspicion. Paranoia started to creep in. There was a conspiracy going on, she thought. Her sister intended to rob her of her daughter, and her daughter intended to rob her of her grandchild. Why?
'You'd made up your mind right from the start, hadn't you?' she said accusingly. 'You've intended to stay in Sydney all along.'
'Yes.'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'I thought you must have known.'
'And why would I have known that, Johanna? Why would it have even crossed my mind that you might wish to deprive me of my grandchild?'
'I don't want to deprive you of your grandchild –'
'But that's what you're doing, isn't it? That's what you're both doing. And I want to know why.'
Oh no, you don't, Nora thought, marvelling at her sister's self-righteousness. You don't want to know at all. With bated breath, she waited for Jo to blurt out the truth.
But, confronted by her mother's injured innocence, Jo felt a sense of hopelessness. What was she to say? I won't expose my child to a man like your husband. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Not now. There would no doubt come a time when confrontation would be unavoidable, but not today.
'I can't complete my degree in Perth, Mum,' she said carefully. 'Don't you see? I can't go back to UWA, Mike will be there.' He wouldn't be, she thought. He'd have finished his studies by now, he'd be off to the Pilbara.
Hillary breathed a sigh of relief. There was no conspiracy at all – how silly of her to have thought that there could be. 'Ah, yes, I see. Oh my darling, I'm sorry, I didn't realise.' Everything made perfect sense and she nodded sympathetically. 'You want to avoid the father. Of course.'
Jo didn't dare look at Nora. 'Yes. I want to avoid the father. That's why I have to enrol here in Sydney.'
How sad, Hillary thought. How very sad, but how very understandable. Poor Jo. 'Oh dear me, what a tragic situation,' she said.
Hillary refused Nora's invitation to stay for dinner.
'Thank you, Nor darling, but it was such a long flight and I'm utterly exhausted. Perhaps tomorrow?' she asked hopefully.
'Of course. And the night after that, and the night after that. You've got another whole three days, Hill.'
The flight had been less than four hours, and as there was a two-hour time difference between the cities, it was only five o'clock in Perth. Nora found it difficult to understand how Hillary could be 'utterly exhausted', but then, she supposed, they needed to take things in easy stages.
'See you tomorrow, Mum.' Jo embraced her mother at the front door. Geoff had insisted upon driving Hillary to the Hilton. 'We'll go for a walk up to the Cross and I'll show you around.'
'How wicked,' her mother laughed.'I can't wait.' Hillary was back on form.
Mother and daughter enjoyed each other's company over the next several days. They explored the colourful red-light district of Kings Cross, Hillary gawking at the strip joints where spruikers touted for trade in the broad light of day. They had coffee in bohemian cafés peopled by artists and students, and she tut-tutted at the prostitutes openly plying their trade from doorways that led to seedy rooms above. She pretended to be shocked, but she found it all titillating.
'A bit of a change from Manjimup,' she said.
They walked down the old Butler Stairs to Woolloomooloo. Cut into the rock of the hillside, the stairs led from fashionable Victoria Street to the working-class district in the valley below. Hillary found it most picturesque.
'Good heavens above,' she said, as they wandered through the narrow streets lined with workers' cottages. 'How on earth can people live in such tiny houses?'
During their time together, she didn't attempt any further discussion about Jo's future, nor did she try to elicit promises from her daughter. She left it until the last day of her stay – in fact, until the very last minute, as they were saying goodbye.
'I'll wait outside in case we don't hear the taxi arrive,' Nora said, leaving
mother and daughter alone in the front room. Hillary had once again been adamant about refusing her sister's offer of a lift to the airport.
'You'll bring her home to visit during the holidays, won't you?' Hillary said as she cradled the sleeping baby in her arms. 'Darren will pay for the air fares, of course.'
'Well, she's a bit young to travel yet, Mum. I'll leave it for a while.'
'Yes, of course, darling, I understand.' Alana squirmed, and Hillary looked down at the little face twisting into a yawn, the miniature fists clenching the air. The baby was waking up, it was time to be fed. 'But when she's a bit older ...' Hillary smiled at the tiny, perfect fingers encircling her thumb. 'Oh, Jo, it'll be wonderful, I can't wait.' This was just what they needed, she thought, the baby would bridge the gap between her daughter and her husband. 'We'll be a real family.'
Never, Jo thought. Never. She was saved from answering. Alana let out a hungry wail and Nora called from the front door, 'Taxi's here.'
'Bye, Mum,' she said as she took the baby, 'have a good trip.' And she kissed the cheek her mother proffered.
*
At first, Jo kept to herself at uni. Not altogether by choice. The other fourth-year medical students had journeyed through their course together and friendships were by now firmly established. She endured the inevitable chat-ups from some of the male students who considered them-selves studs, but she responded to their attentions with such a remote indifference that, offended by the brush-off, they quickly spread the word that Jo Whitely was 'up herself'.
Jo didn't mind being a loner, she never had. Besides, there was no time for socialising. Having been up since dawn tending to Alana, she would arrive just in time for the first lecture of the day and leave as soon as the last was over. Lunchtimes she usually spent seated on one of the benches nestled against the old stone walls of the university's open central courtyard. She'd chew on a sandwich as she pored over her books, and sometimes, particularly when the weather was inclement, she'd skip the sandwich altogether and spend her lunchtime in the library. Deprived of sleep, she felt constantly weary, but she loved being back at university.
'You're Jo Whitely, aren't you? You're in med, fourth year.'
She was seated on her customary bench. It was a fine day in early spring and she shielded her eyes against the September sun as she looked up at the young man. He wasn't a medical student, but she'd noticed him about the campus. Slim, sandy-haired and average-looking, he was not particularly conspicuous in himself, but for the fact of his obvious popularity. Always, it seemed, he was surrounded by others.
'That's right,' she said, a little guarded.
'Andrew Gaden. Final year, law.' He extended his hand and she was forced to shake it. 'Mind if I join you?'
She did, but it was too late to object. He'd already sat. She waited for the chat-up.
'I'm on a recruitment drive. Would you be interested in joining the debating society?'
'Oh.' Perhaps this wasn't a chat-up at all. 'Well,' she smiled apologetically, 'I'm afraid I can't. I really don't have the time.'
'Why not?' The question was guileless, and seemingly rhetorical as he continued. 'It's only a once-a-month debate, and we have a short meeting every other week. All very casual and a lot of fun, you'd love it. Really.'
He gave an enthusiastic grin, and she realised that he had dimples.
'I'm sure I would.' She knew she would, she'd loved being on the debating team at UWA. 'Thanks for asking me, Andrew, but I'm sorry, I've decided not to take on any extracurricular stuff.'
'Why?'
Again the question was guileless, and the surprise obviously genuine. Andrew was not only president of the debating society, he was a regular contributor to the university newsletter and always wrote sketches for, and appeared in, the annual revue. In Andrew Gaden's opinion, extra-curricular activities were the highlight of university life.
'I took last year off,' she said, wondering whether he'd ask 'why?' to that too, 'and there's some catching up to do.'
'Ah, so that's why you've always got your head in a book. I thought it was a case of over-zealous swotting.'
'No, it's a case of making up for lost time.'
'Speaking of time,' he glanced at his watch, 'we've got fifteen minutes. How about a coffee?'
He smiled as he stood, and she automatically stood too. His manner was disarming and his dimples beguiling, but she felt no threat. He wasn't coming on to her, she thought, he was just being friendly, and she could do with a friend. She liked him.
'All right,' she said.
*
Andrew was coming on to her. He had a private twenty-dollar bet going with his best friend, Ben, that he'd score with Jo Whitely.
'Not a snowball's chance, Andy,' Ben had said. 'She's up herself.'
They'd kept the bet strictly between themselves; Andrew wasn't one who needed to boast of his conquests. But he found the remote Jo Whitely incredibly attractive, and the challenge she presented irresistible.
Six weeks later he called the bet off, admitting defeat, although he didn't tell Ben why. Having yet to score a date, and without even having kissed her, let alone possessed her body, he found himself smitten with Jo Whitely. So much so that he didn't dare push her too fast. He sensed that she wasn't seeking a relationship, and he himself was no longer interested in a one-night stand.
Jo knew that Andrew Gaden found her attractive, and she was careful to offer him no encouragement. But Andy had flair, he was fun to be with and she enjoyed his company. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed having a friend at uni. She'd even joined the debating society, after discussing it with Nora, who had insisted it was time she start socialising.
'It'll be good for you – you need to make friends,' Nora had said, and when Jo had remained hesitant, she'd eagerly added, 'You could have your meetings here.'
Jo had laughed, presuming she was joking. 'Oh Nora, what in the wide world would I do without you?'
'You'd manage, kiddo. You're tough.'
'Not tough enough to bring the debating society home and introduce them to my illegitimate child, I'm afraid.'
'I don't understand why you're so determined to keep it a secret,' Nora had said blithely. 'Single motherhood doesn't carry the degree of stigma it once did.'
'It does where I come from.'
'Okay then, we'll tell them she's mine.'
Jo hadn't taken Nora up on the offer. The debating society had proved an excellent idea, however: it wasn't too time-consuming and it did gain Jo friends. She now ate her lunch with the others in the canteen, finding their conversation stimulating and enjoying their company, as they did hers. Word soon spread that Jo Whitely wasn't up herself at all.
Andrew, however, was getting nowhere. Jo was blos-soming, but without him. He spent less time alone with her than he had when she'd joined him for their solitary lunches, he still couldn't tempt her out to a movie or dinner, and she continued to disappear at the drop of a hat, never staying to socialise after a meeting or debate. It was frustrating and mystifying.
The final term was drawing to a close and the great debate, the society's last for the year, was to be held in the University's Great Hall. Along with the drama society's annual revue, the great debate was always a highlight, its topic invariably satirical, its intention being to ridicule institutions, attitudes, government policies or the like. This year's topic, 'For and Against the Creation of the Sydney Opera House', had been Jo's idea and the other society members had keenly embraced it.
