Sonya’s worst fears were realised the moment they set foot inside the airport building at Kalgoorlie. There, foremost among a small group of people meeting the flight, were her parents, her mother in a neat turquoise suit, white hair permed and set like the Queen’s, her father in his navy blazer and Rotary Club tie. It was, as always, a mystery to her that after more than forty years living in Kalgoorlie her parents still managed to look and behave as they had in Tasmania in the fifties.
‘Darling,’ her mother called, waving urgently as though Sonya could conceivably miss them. ‘Sonya, darling, we’re over here.’
Sonya’s heart sank as she raised her hand in a languid wave. She had told them not to come to the airport, told them she was travelling with colleagues and that the accommodation and transport were all organised. Why, why, why did they have to be so perverse and interfering? Every time she came to Kalgoorlie, which was as rarely as possible these days, they tried to kidnap her.
‘You can’t kidnap your own child even if they’re adult, I don’t think,’ a pedantic colleague had said when they had travelled there together as advisers on a visit with the Minister for Education.
‘It’s kidnapping,’ Sonya had groaned, ‘believe me. They bear me off to the family home, treat me like a child and hold me hostage until all their friends have been invited around to inspect me and ask questions about what I’m doing and when I’m going to find a nice man to look after me.’ It had been easier on that visit, of course; ministerial demands for her presence leant themselves to exaggeration, and her parents, easily impressed, had readily accepted that her responsibility was to remain with the Minister’s party. But this time Sonya knew she had stuffed up.
‘Do you need to tell them you’re going to be there?’ Oliver had asked. ‘Why not do the dancing stuff and then maybe pop in to see them, surprise them on the last day?’
‘No way. They know too many people and too many people know me. I promise you, if I was in Kalgoorlie, word would reach my mother within hours. She’s in everything – the CWA, the historical society, the ratepayers’ association, the Red Cross, and we haven’t even started on Dad’s connections yet. Then there’s my sister. And they will all have an absolute fit when they find out about the belly dancing.’
She had lied, as one does – perhaps not really lied, simply not revealed the purpose of the visit. A working trip with a couple of colleagues, she’d said, adding that she’d explain more when she saw them and hoping that, in the meantime, she could magically come up with an explanation that would be acceptable to them. So now here they were, obviously thrilled to see her, and expecting her to arrive looking like a serious public servant, accompanied by other serious public servants. And here she was, in a pair of old jeans, a cotton shirt and a backpack, accompanied by a hippy looking Marissa with mirrors embroidered into her skirt, Gayle in incredibly neat jeans and a pink T-shirt, and box after box of amplifiers and speakers, a display stand for posters and cases full of costumes and practice videos. How had she ever thought she could get away with this without a full-scale family drama?
‘We know you’re busy, darling,’ her mother said, hugging her. ‘You probably have to go straight off to some meeting, but we just wanted to say hello, and let you know about tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Sonya said, kissing her father. ‘What about tonight?’
‘Just a little welcome home. Tessa and David and the grandchildren, and I’ll just do a light meal. We’re so thrilled you’re here.’ She turned to Gayle and Marissa. ‘So sorry to intrude. I’m Vera Weldon, Sonya’s mother, and this is my husband, Lew.’
‘You must be Sonya’s colleagues,’ Sonya’s father said. ‘You both work in the Education Department too?’
There was a moment of terrible silence in which Sonya thought she was going to throw up.
‘Actually I work in the library system,’ Gayle said hesitantly, ‘and Marissa is in the arts, the performing arts.’
Sonya swallowed hard.
‘How wonderful,’ Vera said. ‘I’m dying to hear more about it.’
‘Very interesting. A multi-disciplinary project, I suppose,’ Lew said. ‘Splendid. Well, you’ll join us this evening, I hope.’
‘Gayle and Marissa are going to be pretty busy –’ Sonya began.
‘But you have to eat, surely,’ her mother cut in. ‘Do say you’ll come.’
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell them,’ Gayle said when the three of them were safely packed with their equipment into the maxi-taxi and on the way to the hotel.
‘Huh! Thus speaks the woman who only told her husband last night that she was leaving this morning on a belly dancing tour,’ Sonya responded. ‘I’m so sorry, guys. You can easily get out of tonight if you want. I’ll say you’re tired or something.’
‘Oh no! I wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ Marissa said.
‘Me neither,’ Gayle agreed. ‘But you are just going to have to own up as soon as we get there, or it’ll be a complete debacle.’
‘No way,’ Sonya said. ‘I’ll wait until later, just before we leave, otherwise it’ll go on all evening.’
Marissa and Gayle exchanged a look. ‘No,’ they said in unison.
‘Straight up, when we get there,’ Marissa said. ‘That’s the deal, or we spill the beans ourselves, right, Gayle?’
‘Right.’
‘Anyway, they’re sweet, and obviously tremendously proud of you and think the sun shines out of your every orifice. What are you worried about?’
Each family has its own unique dynamics, its own subtleties, sensitivities, taboos, expectations and assumptions, and Sonya knew that her own family was no exception. She was familiar with her role in the complex web of relationships, but the emotional cost of maintaining it seemed to have increased substantially over the years, as she tried to appear as the person she thought her parents wanted her to be. She knew that their kidnappings were motivated by love and their pride in her professional standing. But she also believed these were conditional on her continuing to act out her role as the successful elder daughter, the one with the university degree, the high status job, the executive salary, the house in Perth, and a closeness to what they saw as the corridors of power.
The ministerial visit had been, she suspected, a high point in her parents’ aspirations for her. For a while after that she had felt assured of their love and pride, about which she pretended cynicism but which she so desperately needed. Professional success had almost wiped the slate clean of the failures in her personal life: the two embarrassing marriages to totally inappropriate men, the failure to produce grandchildren, and the continuing unsatisfactory absence of a suitable and prestigious male companion.
Living at a comfortable distance, Sonya told herself that her parents did not understand her, but the truth was that she never really gave them the chance to know her. What would Vera and Lew have felt had they known of her occasional Internet dating? Or about the extraordinary series of brief liaisons and one-night stands she’d indulged in after the break-up of her second marriage, or her few half-hearted experiments with amphetamines? Even now, years later, leading a virtually blameless life by contemporary standards, she was careful to maintain the fagade.
‘My sister Tessa was the bad one,’ she explained to Gayle and Marissa on the way to her parents’ house that evening. ‘Dropped out of school, got involved with drugs. Got pregnant and had an abortion. But, of course, all that was forgiven when she got married. David’s a doctor, and Tessa became a perfect wife and mother and produced three beautiful children, who are now three beautiful adults, and one of them is about to produce the first beautiful great-grandchild. So now she’s number one perfect daughter. Always on hand to help the parents.’
‘So d’you get on okay with her?’ asked Marissa.
‘Don’t get me started,’ Sonya groaned. ‘It was fine while she was in trouble and I was constantly rescuing her. Once she got off the drugs and started to get her life together it was like she just switched off.’
‘Sometimes people are like that if you’ve seen them at their lowest point,’ Gayle said. ‘Each time they see you it’s a reminder that you’ve seen their dark side.’
‘It’s probably all in your head,’ Marissa said. ‘Just tell your mum and dad the truth, and then stand back and see what happens. It’s only belly dancing, for heaven’s sake. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘I can’t imagine,’ Sonya said, feeling nauseous at the thought of it. ‘I simply can’t imagine.’
Gayle sat in her hotel room sorting through her costumes. After their first excursion to the costume shop, she and Sonya had got together to make some more. Now she spread them out on the bed, the original blue, another in lavender trimmed with purple and silver, and one in a deep burgundy, almost the same colour as she’d worn for Angie’s wedding. There were some silver harem pants, a couple of cropped jackets trimmed with glass beads, a braided tunic, several belts, and some bras she’d covered with matching materials and embroidered with butterfly motifs. She thought of the hours she and Sonya had spent stitching the strips of sequins, and pinning the fine slippery fabric. They’d both been so excited about it and now – now with the first performance just a day away – the prospect of performing in front of an audience of complete strangers seemed terrifying. She had slept badly after the argument with Brian, waking frequently, fearing that at any moment the snoring in the study would stop and he would blunder up the stairs and into the bedroom. By morning, anxiety and lack of sleep had taken their toll and she had silently packed the remainder of her things thankful that he had not yet surfaced. His appearance as she was about to leave had left her shaking and feeling sick, and she had almost fallen into the back seat of Frank’s car, her heart thumping hard against her ribs, her head pounding.
The ugly bargain they had struck years earlier had been on shaky ground for a long time and it had ended the moment he twisted her arm and dragged her towards him. She knew it and she was convinced he knew it too. He had made it just that little bit easier for her to leave. Now she was haunted by two images: one of Brian, his vice-like grip on her wrist, the veins pulsing in his temples as he thrust his face, purple with anger, into hers; the other of a bewildered middle-aged man, his hair sticking up in odd places, his trousers undone, holding a coffee plunger as he stood in an empty hallway looking totally confused.
In the next room, Marissa massaged lavender oil into her temples, dabbed a little on the back of her neck and settled cross-legged on the floor to meditate. Slowing down her breathing she started to relax by concentrating on her feet and ankles, tensing then relaxing them, and doing the same with her calf muscles, knees, thighs, hips, buttocks and pelvic floor. It wasn’t working. Exhaling deeply she thrust her legs out straight in front of her and leaned back against the side of the bed.
From the moment they boarded the plane in Perth she had been captive to an unfamiliar sense of responsibility. She had organised her life so that she didn’t have to be involved in other people’s problems nor have to rely on their trust or meet their expectations. Now she was involved with, and relying on, two women who were both struggling with emotional upheaval. And she was flying around the state, staying in hotels, renting rooms, printing up fliers and posters, sending out publicity, all on taxpayers’ money. What if no women turned up? What if they couldn’t inspire even one of the women who attended to get some form of dance or other esteem-building activity into her life? The project would just have been a burden on the state.
‘This,’ Marissa said aloud, ‘is why I avoid relationships and friends, why I never wanted to have children, or a job managing other people, or any other sort of serious responsibility.’ She longed to cancel everything, call a cab, go straight to the airport and get the first flight back to Perth, back to the peace, safety and comfort of her blue house. And that was when she thought about calling Frank. He’d listen, be supportive, she would barely have to explain anything. He would just know. She dialled the number and it immediately diverted to message bank and she sat for a moment listening to the sound of his recorded voice, wondering what to say, and then she hung up without leaving a message.
When Sonya’s niece dropped her back at the hotel it was after eleven, and she stood outside on the street breathing in the familiar dry smell of the town, watching as the last few customers turned out of the pub and made their way along the wide pavements where the deep overhang of the shops’ verandahs provided daytime shade. She had been fifteen, angry and resentful when they moved here. Her father’s job transfer had robbed her of her friends, her favourite places and the school where she was about to become a house captain.
She hated the hot, isolated town where there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. And she hated her parents for agreeing to the move and her sister for pretending that she liked the stark, reddish brown landscape better than the tree-lined streets of neat little houses with fresh green lawns they had left behind. It was only a few years later, two years into her degree in Perth when, catching the train to Kalgoorlie for Christmas, she realised that it felt like home. But despite her affection for the place, she still feared its power to draw her back and cut her off from the life she had chosen.
That she had survived this evening at all seemed to Sonya something of a miracle. She had set out determined to honour her promise and come clean straight away about the purpose of her visit. But from the moment she set foot in her parents’ house the forces of family and familiarity claimed her. She was kidnapped again, a child being sized up by her parents. And it wasn’t only her parents. Sonya’s early intimacy with her sister still taunted her and she never quite abandoned the hope that somehow, one day, they would recapture it. Tonight it was obvious from the start that nothing had changed. Tessa greeted her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and the smug superiority of the well married daughter, the producer of grandchildren, the one who had stayed close to home. Tessa and David’s two eldest children were there with their partners; Alannah, the youngest, was expected later.
‘It’s seven years since we were all together,’ Vera said as Lew handed out champagne. ‘What with you young ones gadding off around the world, time flies. We must celebrate.’ And soon she was ushering them in to the dining room. ‘Now, you’ll just have to help yourselves,’ she said. ‘Not enough room for everyone to sit around the table.’
The table was laden with salads, quiches, a home-baked leg of ham, new potatoes dripping with butter and dishes of homemade chutney and pickles.
‘Gran’s traditional spread,’ Tessa’s eldest daughter, Donna, whispered to Sonya, nudging her in the ribs. ‘You could predict it, couldn’t you?’
Sonya tried not to laugh. Her niece was right – beautifully prepared and presented, it was Vera’s standard meal for special occasions. ‘It’s quite comforting really, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I suspect she’ll still be doing this well into the next generation.’ She patted Donna’s pregnant belly. ‘When are you due?’
‘Five weeks today,’ Donna said, ‘and it can’t come soon enough for me. This pregnancy lark is vastly overrated.’
On the other side of the room, Sonya could see her mother bearing down on Gayle with a bowl of coleslaw. ‘Do try some of this, dear,’ Vera was saying, ‘it’s quite an old recipe from the CWA cookbook, but I think it beats any other. Now, tell me about this project you’re involved in with Sonya.’
‘Well,’ Gayle began, helping herself to the coleslaw and shooting Sonya a desperate glance, ‘it’s . . . it’s something new to me, new to all of us, really . . .’ and a look of relief crossed her face as the doorbell rang and Vera excused herself to answer it.
Gayle grabbed Sonya’s arm. ‘For heaven’s sake, Sonya, you’ve got to tell them. You promised.’
But it was Alannah who broke Sonya’s cover. Always close to her aunt, having lived with her for several months while doing her journalism degree, she was back home now working for the local newspaper, and she breezed in, apologising for her lateness and handing her grandmother a large bunch of purple irises.
‘Sonj, you look fabulous,’ she cried, hugging Sonya and then standing back to look at her before ruffling her hair. ‘I love it, the colour, it’s so cool. So, what are you doing here?’
‘She was just going to tell us all about it,’ Vera said, ‘but you must meet Gayle first, and Marissa,’ and she steered Alannah across the room.
‘Oh my god,’ Alannah said. ‘Marissa! You’re the belly dancer. I’ve seen you in Fremantle. We ran a story on you coming to Kal for this women and ageing thing. Mum,’ she turned to Tessa, ‘remember I was telling you, you should go along to those belly dancing classes?’ She turned back to Marissa. ‘D’you actually have to be over fifty to attend, because I’d really love to. Oh, I’m Alannah, by the way, Sonya’s niece.’
Every eye in the room was turned on Marissa, who was balancing a glass of mineral water on the edge of her plate.
‘Nice to meet you,’ she said. ‘Er . . . no, the program is to encourage older women to take up dancing but anyone can come along.’
Alannah took the glass of champagne her grandfather was holding out to her. ‘Thanks, Grandad. Well, cheers, this is so great. And weren’t you bringing a couple of women with you to do some demonstrations?’
The silence was agonising and as far as Sonya was concerned it was all downhill from then on.
Standing on the pavement outside the hotel, listening to the late-night rumbles of the town, she relived that moment when it became clear to her mother that not only was one of her guests a belly dancer, but her own daughter was part of the team. Gayle and Marissa had made their getaway at the first opportunity, insisting they would enjoy a walk back to the hotel, but for Sonya there was no escape.
‘I can’t believe this, Sonya,’ her mother said, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘Belly dancing? I don’t know about your friends, of course, that’s not my business, but for someone in your position, it’s hardly suitable.’
‘Come on, Gran,’ Alannah said. ‘Don’t be such an old stick-in-the-mud. It’s brilliant. Dancing is great exercise and it’s really beautiful. You and Mum should go along, have a go. You could take a couple of the classes, Mum, they’re on every afternoon – do you good.’
Tessa bristled. ‘I have far better things to do with my time than prance around dressed up in a lot of sequins, thank you, Alannah.’ And Sonya thought how much nicer her sister had been in the days when she was unemployed and zonked out of her mind on drugs.
‘I’m glad that at least one of my daughters has some dignity,’ Vera said. ‘This is a great shock to us, Sonya, isn’t it, Lewis?’
Lew cleared his throat. ‘Certainly is, old girl. I mean, you’ve got your career to think of, and then there’s us – we live here, you know. The whole town’ll know about it. All that . . . well, all that thrusting and shimmying, it’s certainly not what I’d have expected of you, Sonya.’
Vera looked up in alarm. ‘Shimmying! What do you know about shimmying?’
‘I was in the Middle East in forty-one. We weren’t fighting all the time, you know, m’dear.’
The tension in the room ratcheted up as the minutes ticked away. With the exception of Alannah, the grandchildren made their excuses and left, obviously heading for the pub where they would doubtless fall about in hysterical laughter. Sonya felt crushed by the weight of her parents’ disapproval. Obviously this offence was casting previous misdemeanours into insignificance. There could be no excuses, no pardons.
‘I’ll talk to Mum,’ Alannah had said as she drove Sonya back to the hotel. ‘She’ll be fine when she’s not with the oldies.’
‘I doubt it,’ Sonya said, shaking her head. ‘Your mother and I lost our connection years ago.’
‘She’s intimidated by you, that’s all,’ Alannah said. ‘I don’t understand her, really. She’s lovely about you when you’re not there, and a perfect bitch to you when you are. I think she’s just longing to do the sister thing, but can’t bring herself to make the first move.’
Sonya shrugged. ‘It’s too late now. I don’t even know how to talk to her anymore. I didn’t want to hurt them, you know. But this was something I really wanted to do. I can’t imagine, now, how I thought I could . . . well . . . get away with it.’
‘They’ll get over it,’ Alannah said as she stopped the car outside the hotel. ‘Just give them time. And anyway, it’s your life. You’re fifty-something, you don’t need their approval.’
Sonya swallowed hard. ‘That’s the trouble,’ she said. ‘I actually do, pathetic as that may seem at my age, Alannah. I do still need their approval.’
Frank was late getting home. It was after eleven when he swung the car into the drive and he’d had a difficult and frustrating day. The drugs case was proving more complex as new leads sparked and then burned out and the tendrils of the syndicate extended up the coast and into other states. A drink and bed beckoned but, despite his weariness, the feeling that something was wrong kicked in as soon as he opened the car door. And in the next second a man emerged from the shadows of the adjacent house and grabbed him by the lapels in an attempt to thrust him back against the car.
Frank’s reflexes had been honed on the battlefield and were too quick and too powerful for the aggressor. Delivering a chop to the kidney area he was free, as his assailant, who was built like a commercial refrigerator, doubled up, swearing and groaning. Grasping one of his arms, Frank twisted it back into a half nelson, pulling him upright and turning him so that he was now pinned against the car.
‘Fuck off,’ roared the attacker. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’
‘I could ask you the same question,’ Frank said. ‘You started this.’
The man, who wasn’t as strong as his size suggested, struggled helplessly. ‘What are you up to messing around with my wife?’ he demanded, twisting his head back over his shoulder to look at Frank.
He reeked of stale alcohol, and Frank could see a trickle of blood coming from the man’s nose where his face had connected with the car roof. ‘No idea what you’re talking about, mate,’ he said, keeping him pinned there. ‘Who’s your wife?’
‘As if you didn’t know. You picked her up this morning, drove off with her right under my bloody nose.’
‘Well, your nose is bleeding now,’ Frank replied, ‘and that won’t be all unless we sort this out quick smart.’
‘You know what I mean. You were waiting for her outside and now she’s in Kalgoorlie.’
‘Ah,’ said Frank, ‘the belly dancers. And you, I suspect, are Gayle’s husband.’ He relaxed his hold a little. ‘I haven’t been up to anything with your wife, I’m just the chauffeur. So, if I can trust you to keep your hands to yourself we can discuss this in a more civilised manner.’
Brian grunted something incomprehensible and Frank tightened his grip again. ‘What was that?’
‘Okay, okay,’ Brian yelped. ‘Let me go, for chrissakes.’
Frank released him and stepped back from the car. ‘What’s your name?’
Brian straightened up, rubbed his face with his hand and, seeing the blood, searched his pockets for a handkerchief. ‘Brian Peterson, as if you didn’t bloody know. What’re you writing it down for?’
‘So I know who to arrest for assaulting a police officer.’
‘You assaulting me, more like,’ Brian said, ‘and entrapping my wife –’
‘Look here,’ Frank said, pocketing his notebook. ‘This is just bloody silly. If you’ve got a problem with what she’s doing you’d better take it up with her. And I warn you now, if you’re going to have an argument with her, you’d better not start it the way you started with me, or I’ll be helping her to get a restraining order.’
‘Hey, hang on a minute,’ Brian said, the tone of his voice – indeed, his whole demeanour – indicating that he was backing down. ‘I just want to know what’s happening.’
‘What’s happening with you and your missus is between the two of you,’ Frank said. ‘She’s an adult and can go wherever she likes, even if she does have the misfortune to be married to you. I suggest you give her a call and talk to her about it.’
‘I’ve done that,’ Brian said, still dabbing at his nose. ‘She said the same. And she doesn’t want to talk to me.’
‘Then take my advice and can it, mate. Give her a couple of days and call her again when you’re sober, and if that’s your Saab over there, don’t even think of driving it home. How did you find me?’
‘Car rego,’ Brian mumbled. ‘Got it as you pulled out of the drive.’
‘And?’
‘And yeah, okay, I’ve got a mate in the vice squad. He did a vehicle check for me.’
Frank raised his eyebrows. ‘So, will I book you or won’t I?’
Brian, no longer bleeding, stuffed his handkerchief away. ‘No, mate, sorry. I’ll, er . . . I’ll get out of your way.’
Frank gave him a long hard look. Belligerent though Brian was, there was something pathetic about the man that stirred Frank’s compassion. ‘You just wanted someone else to blame. A punch-up to make you feel better,’ he said. ‘Not very smart. So, okay, Mr Peterson, take this as a warning. If I hear you flexing your muscles on this subject anywhere else, I’ll book you and I’ll add assaulting a police officer to the charge. Now I assume you’ve got a mobile phone, so you’d better call yourself a cab.’
Ten minutes later the tail lights of the taxi were disappearing around the corner of the street, and Brian’s black Saab remained parked on the opposite side of the road. Inside, Frank dropped his jacket on a chair, poured himself a large whisky and stood at the lounge window staring out into the silent street. Brian Peterson was hardly what he would have imagined if he’d been speculating about Gayle’s husband, but perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. He was an angry man, a bully, possibly a drunk. Frank had seen enough strange partnerships to know that they sometimes worked, but he didn’t think this was one of them. Gayle’s decision to tell her husband about the tour less than twenty-four hours before she left would have pissed off the mildest of men. There was something pretty unhealthy happening with the Petersons, and Frank thought he’d better warn Marissa. It was almost midnight and she’d probably be asleep by now. It would have to wait until the morning. She’d been nervous at the airport, checking and double-checking everything.
‘Thanks, Frank,’ she’d said finally. ‘For the lift and for everything else. Might not have got this far without you.’
‘Course you would,’ he’d said. ‘Now, get out there and swing your booty in the goldfields. I’ll call you.’ Instinctively he had reached out to her, and for a fraction of a second thought she was going to resist, but she had hugged him briefly before moving on.
He wished she weren’t so far away and, more than that, he wished he knew how she felt. But as he couldn’t work out his own feelings he had no chance of divining hers. He had rapidly grown accustomed to her being around and he missed her already. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d missed anyone.