Authors: Cate Kendall
'It's funny,' Joan suddenly said. 'It will take six weeks
for my broken hip to heal but it's been a lifetime and my
heart still hasn't.'
The gravel path seemed fluid as the sunlight fell from the
trees and played with the leaves' shadows on the ground.
Their pace was slow, almost a shuffle really. Tony
wanted to be sure his mother didn't over-do it on her first
day out. 'How's the new hip holding up, Mum?' he asked
as they approached a park bench. 'Would you like a rest?'
'Probably a good idea,' Joan admitted and gratefully
sank down on the seat. They sat in silence and sheltered
from the early summer sun under the gracious boughs of
a Moreton Bay Fig. The sparkles bouncing off Sydney
Harbour reminded him of the flash photography in the
audience at the Olympics; a constant twinkle of pea lights.
As he stared out at the scene that fell before him – the
iconic Opera House to his left, the bridge directly ahead, the
architectural sentries perched atop the cliffs on the opposite
shore – it occurred to him again how lucky he was, they
all were, to live in this remarkable city. He'd always had a
weird feeling that he'd won the lottery, living in this place;
that he'd just barely escaped a very different path.
He had been feeling extremely serene lately. Everything
was going so much better. His world was bobbing along in
a light zephyr, where sweetness and light abounded. The
reno was over and they'd re-structured their crazy living
arrangements, stretching into the new space with relief. His
relationship with his beautiful wife had reached an entirely
new level: the comfortable companionship of long-term
now sizzled with fresh flirtation. He was thoroughly enjoying
her, but, more importantly, she was enjoying him.
Something had altered in his mother since her accident,
but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. She was more
relaxed, less prickly, less likely to snap at imagined slights.
And she wasn't as critical towards Sera: she was almost
friendly.
He nodded with pride. He'd done it, achieved the great
Australian dream. All he had left to do was kick back and
enjoy the patch of paradise he'd created for himself and his
family. He felt a spring inside him slowly uncoil for the first
time in decades. He stretched out his legs, put his hands
behind his back and enjoyed the feeling of release it gave
him. Tony finally let go. It was all good.
'Tony, there's something I need to tell you,' his mother
said.
'Hmmmm,' he replied, only half-listening.
'And I don't quite know where to begin.'
Tony could start to sense his internal spring tightening
up ever so slightly, resentful it had recently been fooled into
the luxury of release.
'Why not from the start, Mum? What is it?' He forced
himself to sit up.
His mother looked at him, her eyes filled with tears and
he shook his head. Jesus, no, not more drama, damn him
for jinxing the situation with all the self-congratulation.
'I really don't know how to tell you this, but I have to
because if I don't, Sera will, and it's not her place to tell
you, it really is mine. It's something I should have told you
years ago but I didn't have the guts, anyway your father
was still alive and I could have gone to the grave with it
and then you'd be none the wiser, but that's really not
fair on you, and it's especially not fair on the children, for
that matter . . . you see your children are crucial to this
news . . . your children are . . . but here I am starting at the
end, I must start at the beginning.'
At the mention of his kids Tony interrupted sharply.
'Mum, stop it, you're raving. Tell me right now, what's
this got to do with the kids?'
'Well, it goes back to 1967 –'
'The kids, Mum, tell me about the kids.'
'Well, I have to start at the beginning. You see, we
needed a crazy paving patio –'
'Mother, what about the children?'
'Tony, don't fluster me, you men don't understand the
art of story-telling.'
'Mother! The children are . . . what?'
'Italian!'
There was silence. Tony wondered if his mother had
Alzheimer's. Then he wondered if she had suddenly gone
deaf and hadn't heard the question properly. How could
his children be Italian? He looked at her. She looked back
at him.
'Well, one-quarter Italian, really,' she said, as if reading
his mind, 'but still Italian enough to get those lovely chocolate
brown eyes of yours.'
One-quarter Italian. That would mean his father was
Italian, but his father was descended from the Dutch. He
and his ancestors were very blond. It was funny how blond
they were, actually, he'd often wondered where his own
black hair and brown eyes had come from . . . Hang on.
Tony's past flashed before his eyes: the years of feeling like
he didn't fit in, the sense that his father didn't understand
him, the fights, the unrealistic expectations.
'Mum?'
Joan looked as contrite as a fallen woman of sixty-six
could. 'Sorry, Tony, I should have told you years ago.
I am so sorry, but I just couldn't do it to you, I knew how
disappointed you would be with me. I didn't want you to
hate me. You're mad, I knew you would be.'
He continued staring at her. He had never considered
his mother as a person before, just as a mother, carer, nurse,
cook, and wife to his father. He saw her fear that she would
lose him, her fear that he wouldn't support her.
'Mum, I'm not mad at you.'
'You're not? Oh, darling, that's wonderful. You should
be, I know.'
'I wouldn't be here, if it wasn't for you. And now it all
makes sense. I always felt so dreadful that Dad and I never
got along like other fathers and sons. He never seemed to
enjoy my company or my ideas. I felt it was my fault the
whole time that I couldn't win him over. It makes perfect
sense after all. We weren't even related.'
He stared back at the water, letting this new revelation
sink in. His dad wasn't his dad. It was the most bizarre
feeling he'd ever had. His every sense of who he was
seemed to dissipate into the Sydney sunshine. But rather
than feeling lost, he felt free. Released somehow.
'It wasn't just because you weren't genetically related
that you didn't connect to Barry, son. He was also a king-sized
arsehole, too, you know.' Tony laughed at Joan's
flouting her number-one rule of never speaking ill of the
dead.
'This is amazing, Mum,' Tony said, and to Joan's
obvious delight he squeezed her tightly. 'So one question
remains to be answered. Who
is
my dad?'
The year was fast coming to an end. The group couldn't
believe that November's Stitch 'n' Bitch had come around
so quickly. That night's session had the air of a teen slumber
party. The giggles and squeals floated up to the limed,
exposed rafters of Sera's extension like the champagne
bubbles that drifted up in the slender flutes.
As Sera passed around the pretty little teeny-weeny strudel-lini
she'd picked up at Gusto in Five Ways late that afternoon,
she marvelled at the transformation that each member of the
group had been through in just a few months.
Jacqueline accepted an apple strudel and, without a
hint of snobbery, declared it delectable. She had softened,
unwound; she didn't act in such a superior way anymore,
Sera thought. Of course she was run off her feet with her
new business, but the work suited the manic redhead. At
least now she was working for herself instead of the spoilt
and overbearing menfolk in her family.
'Two hundred and twenty units a week!' Jacqueline
declared to Joan, who was a new and welcome addition to
the group. I've become quite adept at freezing pie crusts
and pre-mixing fillings. And I've just put on a driver: the
deliveries were getting quite time-consuming, especially
the North Shore orders. I need to steer clear of André's
turf, he's been wonderful.'
'Well done,' Joan said, squeezing Jacqueline's arm. 'I am
very impressed. You have really done a great job. Let me
know anytime you need a hand.'
Sera shook her head and smiled to herself. Talk about
unlikely allies.
Joan was a new woman since her big confession. The
years had dropped away. The terse and tense manner had
dissipated and now that she was relieved of the burden of
guilt and shame she'd relaxed into a different woman. The
judgments had dried up, the snappiness had disappeared. It
was like a total mother-in-law transplant. Joan had expected
to be judged herself for her adulterous past and was utterly
surprised to find the news was greeted with congratulations
and support from the other women. Mavis had sniffed in a
superior manner when she'd heard, but Joan hadn't cared a
dot. She was too amazed at the acceptance she'd received
from Sera's friends.
She was now a valued member of the Stitch 'n' Bitchers
and was eager to show the others her advanced knitting and
needlework secrets.
It had been such a relief to be able to sit in the bosom
of this group of friends and pour out her heart, explain
her feelings about Antonio for the first time, whisper the
details of the intimacies the young couple had shared and
enjoy the gasps and coos of her audience. She felt safe and
secure within this group, a feeling she'd never had among
friends before. It felt extraordinary to be accepted as Joan
the Woman and to be proud of that person, with all the
flaws and history that came attached.
'And after that we're off to a little village in the east
where her aunty was raised.' Chantrea was regaling the
group with the details of her impending holiday to Cambodia.
It would be a surprise for Sally.
Chantrea explained that it was tradition in her mother's
family that when a child reached school age he or she was
taken on an adventure to celebrate the journey from babyhood
into childhood and, as Sally was about to enter Prep,
her mother and grandmother were indulging her wish to
visit Cambodia. 'I really have to brush up on my language
skills, though, I won't have a clue what anybody's saying,'
Chantrea said and laughed.
'I haven't seen you this excited about going on a trip in
years, Chantrea,' Sera said and topped up the champagne.
'I'm so happy for you, you're all going to have a ball.' She
was genuinely thrilled for her friend and was so pleased
she'd finally come to accept her heritage.
Sera looked around at her newly renovated house. The
new kitchen gleamed with granite and glass and gave the
house the heart she'd always felt was missing. Joan had
finally given the domestic facelift her blessing, especially
since Tony had been able to reclaim the original slate crazy
paving and had re-built the now famous patio.
Now Joan sat every morning in her special courtyard,
sipping her espresso and admiring how her Tony had recreated
Antonio's courtyard with such immaculate detail.
And Mallory, darling Mallory. It was typical that only
Mallory could make facial scarring look endearing and
sweet. It added to her natural vulnerability. She was still
in terrible pain over her marriage break-up, of course, and
the girls had taken turns spending large chunks of time
counselling her and helping her to mend both physically
and mentally. But at least this evening she was finally laughing
again. It's going to be months before it gets easy, Sera
thought, but at least she's still with us, she still has Tilly, and
thankfully the prick is letting her keep the house.
Sam looked shattered, Sera thought, as she opened a
beer for him and passed it over. He was working too hard
and the girls were running him so ragged that his mother
had just flown in from Brisbane to help him out for a
couple of weeks. And by the sounds of things, his string of
disastrous dates was taking its toll.
'A monk!' He declared in response to Chanrea's probing
about his love-life. 'That's what I should become. So easy:
a cave, some chanting, a bowl of rice every so often, no
dramas. Then at least I wouldn't have to endure the hell of
the dating scene.'
'Oh, come on, it's not that bad, surely,' Jacqueline
said. 'It must be fun getting out there and meeting new
people.'
Chantrea and Sam both looked at her with dubious
expressions. 'It is awful,' said Chantrea. 'It seems single
people are single for a reason – except us, of course,' she
hastened, throwing an apologetic glance towards Sam.
'Absolutely,' he agreed. 'We're single because everybody
else is completely wacky!'
'That's right,' Chantrea said, 'completely and utterly
wacky. I had a date recently and he seemed so very, very
normal – entertaining, interesting, charming – then we
went back to his house and from crockery to wallpaper it
was decorated with Lucy Liu images. He had a freaky Asian
thing going on. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.'
A flurry of bad date stories ensued. Even Joan joined in
and told a story about a strange doctor she had afternoon
tea with during her nursing training who had a fetish for
cadavers and spent most of his free time in the hospital
morgue. 'It wasn't sexual, mind,' she reassured the group,
'he just really enjoyed talking about them. It was quite
creepy.'
Sera noticed Sam lean his head back on the couch. 'You
need a break, Sam,' she said, 'just a few days to yourself.'
'Sera, I'd love a break, just to sleep in for a couple of
hours, read a newspaper – hell, I'd be happy to simply
sit still for a day. It's all go, go, go running a business
from home, and those dear little girls – do kids ever stop
moving?'
'Listen,' Sera said, striking on the perfect answer. 'Bella's
given me a business class ticket to Hong Kong with three
nights at the Peninsula. It's for this weekend, and I can't
possibly go. We're flat chat, so I was about to call her to
cancel.'
'It sounds like heaven, Sera, it really does, but I
couldn't,' Sam said.
'You're crazy to pass it up, Hong Kong's fantastic,'
Chantrea said. 'Your mum's here with the girls, why not?'
Sam shook his head in the manner of a typical parent,
in complete disbelief that it would ever be possible to get
any time alone. 'No, it's just not doable. I've got clients,
the girls, Mum . . .'
'Big deal: cancel, re-schedule, do it. A weekend at the
Peninsula is the closest thing anybody's going to get to
paradise on the planet, let me tell you,' Chantrea said. 'You
simply have to.'
'I can't just go to Hong Kong for the weekend,' Sam
scoffed, as though she was nuts.
'Why not?' the women all asked in unison.
'Well, it's too crazy. I mean, what if something happens
while I'm away? What if something goes wrong?' He
made excuses then looked from face to face in wonder.
Sera watched his thought processes click away, mirrored in
his face. Was this possible? Dare he do it? What a concept.
A long weekend to himself. 'Won't Bella mind?'
'Course she won't,' Sera said. 'You know Bella, she
won't care at all. She'd be thrilled.'
'No, I don't know Bella,' Sam pointed out. 'I haven't
met her yet.'
'What? Didn't you meet her a few weeks back?' Chantrea
asked. 'She came to the last Stitch 'n' Bitch.'
'I was on a date that night with the purrer.'
'Oh, that's right.' Chantrea laughed at the memory of
the story. 'The one who thought she was part feline.'
'That's the one. She even wore a bell around her
neck.'
'See, they're all wacky!' Chantrea said.
'You're telling me!' Sam replied. And at the thought
of the tentative date he had set up for Saturday night with
another potential fruitloop, he made his decision. 'Sera,
thank you so much, I'll do it.'
The girls all cheered and raised their glasses to him.
'You'll have a ball,' Sera said.
'Absolutely,' Chantrea agreed, 'and it's only for three
days. What could possibly go wrong?'