The Bit In Between (21 page)

‘Have you thought about names?' she asked, yawning.

Sera stretched out, copying Alison.

‘If they are boys, maybe after Peter and my father. If girls, maybe my grandmothers. Or maybe I will name one for you.'

Alison smiled groggily. ‘That's nice. What will you name her?'

Sera chuckled. ‘Alison.'

‘What? Oh! Sorry, I didn't understand. You'd name her after me?' Alison sat up awkwardly.

‘Of course.'

‘Um, why?' Alison asked. ‘Why me?'

‘Because you are my friend. Because you care so much. Here it is so common for girls to have babies that people do not get excited. But you are so excited about these babies. I can already feel you love them so much.'

Alison blinked back tears.

Sera reached across and found Alison's hand in the sand. ‘And because of all the things you are doing to help me, to help other women.'

Alison looked down, embarrassed. ‘We're doing it together.'

‘Yes,' replied Sera, ‘together. And that is part of the reason.'

She gave Alison a chocolate-smeared smile, then hoisted herself onto her feet.

‘Now, let's go paddle in the sea. It's too hot to sit about.'

They waded out until they were knee high in water and stood there, the two of them, bracing themselves against the waves as they rolled into shore.

When Alison got home later that afternoon she found Oliver fussing around the kitchen. It smelt like something had been baked and then burnt and was now airing out, infusing the kitchen with the pungent scent of carcinogenic flour.

‘What's happening?' she said, startling Oliver, who dropped the baking tray he was holding.

‘Not much. I was cooking . . .' he said and they both looked down at the charred black mess baked into the tray. Alison tilted her head to one side.

‘What was it?' she asked.

‘Whatever you call it when you make chocolate brownies without egg or chocolate and then forget them in the oven so that they catch fire a little bit and you have to pour water over them.'

Alison gave him a playful hug. ‘I think you call that a fail.'

‘Yes,' he agreed.

‘Why were you baking?

He gave her a mock hurt look. ‘Do I need a reason to bake?'

‘No. It's just I've never seen you bake before.' She paused. ‘Hey, so guess what?'

‘What?'

‘Sera said if one of the babies is a girl she's going to name her Alison!'

Oliver's face lit up. ‘Hey! That's pretty cool! Sounds like we've both had eventful days.'

‘What did you get up to? How's Rick?'

‘He has malaria. He's fine. He went to the hospital and they gave him some medication and he just needs to rest.' He gave Alison a bright smile. ‘And, guess what? I hired a haus mere today!'

‘What?'

‘Rick's haus mere. She has hardly any work and I thought we could help out.'

Alison frowned. ‘You know how I feel about hiring maids, Oliver –'

‘I know, but she needs work.'

‘It's like having servants. I just can't stand the idea of having servants. It's so –'

‘Bourgeois, I know. But Ali, she has four kids to put through school. We could help her out.'

Alison exhaled sharply and glared at the bribery brownies.

Oliver gave an equally sharp exhalation. ‘Ali, this poor woman is trying to support six people working two days a week. Her son might have to drop out of school to help support his brothers. I feel like I just want to empty my whole bank account and give it all to her.'

Alison looked beaten. ‘I know, Ollie. But what would that fix about this big shitty unfair world?'

‘Her life. Just one life.'

He was quiet and so was she. She looked into his earnest eyes and remembered why she loved him.

Later that afternoon, Alison was making coffee when she heard a howl of laughter from the lounge room. She stuck her head around the corner. Oliver glanced up from the laptop and she looked questioningly at him.

‘My mum has learnt how to use email,' he said.

Alison immediately stopped what she was doing and walked over to him. There was an email from MRSKATERINA [email protected].

The subject title was: AN INTERNET MAIL TO OLIVER CONSTANTINOS FROM HIS MOTHER KATERINA CONSTANTINOS.

They exchanged a look and Oliver opened the email. Alison was tingling with anticipation.

‘I feel like we should make popcorn or cut a ribbon or something,' she said.

DEAR OLIVER CONSTANTINOS

HONIARA, THE SOLOMON ISLANDS

I AM IN A COMPUTER CLASS IN THE PRESTON COMMUNITY CENTRE. A NICE GIRL CALLED VALERIE IS TEACHING US TO USE THE INTERNET FOR WRITING MAILS. VALERIE IS VERY NICE AND DOESN'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND. SHE DOESN'T HAVE ANY EARRINGS ON HER FACE. I THINK SHE IS RUSSIAN IN ORIGIN BECAUSE HER LAST NAME SOUNDS SOVIET. I SHOWED HER YOUR PHOTO AND SHE SAID YOU LOOK NICE.

EVERYONE HERE IS WELL. YOUR FATHER NEEDS TO GET HIS PROSTATE CHECKED BUT HE DOESN'T WANT TO GO TO OUR NORMAL DOCTOR BECAUSE TO GET YOUR PROSTATE EXAMINED THE DOCTOR HAS TO PUT HIS FINGER INTO YOUR RECTUM AND YOUR FATHER SAYS DR KHAN'S HANDS ARE TOO BIG.

valerie just showed me how to make the big letters stop. i told her i was writing to you and did she want me to pass on any message she said hello. oliver i was reading the information on prostate cancer and you are never too young to get checked. do they do checks over there? it never hurts to get checked.

i hope you are well. say hello to your friend for me. i have to go now because the class is over as valerie has to go to her university now. she is studying engineering which means she will have good job prospects for the future even though she is a woman.

i have over-fifties aqua aerobics this afternoon for which i bought a structured tankini.

love you lots. write back to me and valerie will help me look at it next week.

love from your mother katerina constantinos

the end

Oliver looked up at Alison, who was absent-mindedly playing with the stud in her nose. She looked at him.

‘So Valerie sounds nice,' Alison offered.

‘Yes,' Oliver agreed. ‘And financially secure. For a woman.'

‘Which will help when you can no longer work due to undiagnosed early-onset prostate cancer.'

‘Not if I find a small-handed doctor first.'

Alison leant over and kissed the top of his head.

‘My mother says hello,' he added.

‘Hello, Katerina,' Alison murmured into his hair.

‘How often is computer class?' she asked.

‘Every week.'

‘Excellent.'

Two weeks passed and Alison forgot about the email. She forgot about a lot of things. She forgot about Oliver's conviction that he was somehow responsible for shaping the world, putting it down to the effects of the tropical heat and the stress of writing the book. She forgot about Ed, too, or at least she tried. He was safely out of reach in Choiseul province, so she could put him to one side for now. She even forgot about her promise to take on a house cleaner until the morning Shirley showed up and she'd had to shuffle around the lounge room in her pyjamas retrieving various undergarments and T-shirts from where they had been abandoned throughout the week.

The office was already a great a success and each day more women dropped in for Alison and Sera's help writing job applications, practising for interviews and deconstructing grant criteria. Janet had proven to have excellent computer skills and had taken over the typing and editing of documents. Buoyed by her new role, she had started talking about finding more computers so that they could offer classes for women. This got Alison thinking about other classes they could run from the office, and the three of them had started a list on the large whiteboard that now took up half of one of the office walls.

One afternoon Sera's university friends returned, ushering in a well-dressed woman who carried herself with an assertive dignity. Sera rushed over to shake her hand, explaining to Alison that Rita was a politician, the first and only female member of her provincial assembly. She had plans to run in the national election and was widely regarded as the favourite, should this occur. Alison shook her hand and Rita settled herself in a chair.

‘My niece tells me you are the people who helped her get her job,' Rita said, indicating one of the young women who had accompanied her.

Alison recognised the young woman – they'd spent several afternoons conducting mock interviews with her a month or so earlier.

‘What you are doing here is very important. We may have gotten our girls into school, but we are not doing enough to get them into jobs afterwards. We are not doing enough for their confidence or to get them access to the opportunities our men have. Solomon women are leaders but we are not helping them take the pathway to leadership.' She looked around the office critically. ‘I understand that you do all this without funding?'

Alison nodded. ‘Most of this stuff was donated and everyone is a volunteer.'

‘And you are from which NGO?'

‘None. No NGO,' Alison said, reddening. ‘We just saw there was something we could help with and this is where we've ended up. We have plans, though. For classes or maybe developing some training for job skills.'

‘Good,' Rita said. ‘This is why I am here. There are grants being offered by one of the NGOs. I have the papers with me now. They are one-off grants for organisational development and sustainability.'

Alison looked at her blankly.

‘So you can set yourself up, get equipment, train your staff,
pay
your staff, register yourself so you can receive donations, things like that. I want you to apply.'

Alison glanced nervously at Sera. ‘I don't know if we're ready for that. I mean, I've never done anything like that before and I don't even know how long I'm going to be here –'

‘This is the point,' Rita interrupted. ‘That is the sustainability part. You use the money to set things up so that when you go things keep running without you.'

Alison thought about this. She'd never left anything behind before, nothing good anyway.

Sera nodded quietly. ‘What do we have to do?'

‘It's easy,' said Rita. ‘You make a meeting, you sell them your idea, then put it in a proposal. If you win them in the meeting, it's almost certain they'll accept your proposal. It's not due for weeks – you've got plenty of time.' Rita shrugged her shoulders, as if there were nothing more simple. ‘Tell them what the problem is, tell them how you'll fix it, show them it won't all fall in a heap, and you're done. Don't lie, don't make promises you can't keep and always wear a nice button-up shirt. That is my advice for everything,' she grinned.

Janet appeared with a tray of drinks. Rita reached for a glass and took a generous mouthful. She glanced around the room again and gave a satisfied nod. The others reached for their drinks.

‘How did you get into politics?' Alison asked, catching a bead of water with her thumb as it snaked its way down the outside of the glass.

‘For years I pressured my husband to do it, to leave the business to me and go stand. All the corruption, all the broken promises. All the money that should go build water pipes and youth centres and solar, but where is it? I said, “If we don't do something for our people, who will?” But he was too shy, always too shy. Then one day I got sick of waiting and he told me, “If you want this, you do it yourself,” so I said, “Fine,” and here I am.' She gave them a cheeky look.

Alison looked at her in awe. ‘How does it feel being the only woman in the provincial assembly?'

Rita wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. ‘Lonely. And all those silly men only asking you about health or education policies because they think you don't know about anything else.'

‘I read somewhere that the Pacific has some of the
lowest numbers of female politicians in the world.
Solomons in particular,' Alison said, thinking back to her guidebook.

‘There are a couple of us in the provinces and one in national parliament,' Rita said. ‘Sometimes they say, “Oh, you're the first woman member, let's celebrate you,” and then the next day they say, “There is only you, you're less than two per cent of them all,” and they make you a headline for everything that is wrong with other women.'

She set her glass on the floor beside her and looked across at Alison.

‘It is frustrating to be seen as a statistic in your own country, whether it is a good or bad one. It takes away your dignity when you are seen this way, when you see yourself like this. Statistics do that to people, take away their dignity and their story. You look at any report about my country. People don't want to be known for their illiteracy or unemployment or how often their babies die. I don't want my people to be known for this.'