Ro arrived in Adelaide grubby, tired and grumpy. She hadn’t organised for anyone to pick her up so she had to trail across town on two buses. There was no one home and no welcoming note. This was not surprising, since none of her housemates knew she was coming, but it increased her despondency. She wanted to be with Gerry, not here. She wanted to do exciting new things on the farm, not go to work.
She pulled her clothes off and had a long shower, which at least cleared her head.
I’m back, she wrote in the house book. Working. Home late xxx.
She felt better for a brisk bike ride. Whatever else might be going on, her trusty treadly never failed her.
She pushed open the Shelter gate and tripped over an upended tricycle.
‘Fuck,’ she said before she realised that she was under scrutiny. A small child was squatting in the sandpit. Ro didn’t think she’d seen this one before. Must be a new family.
‘Hello,’ she said, in her friendly voice.
The child glared at her. ‘You’re not allowda say that word.’
Ro grimaced. ‘No. You’re right. I’m not.’ She retreated into the building.
The next person she saw was Maddie, her least favourite co-worker. Her heart sank. She tried to believe that it wasn’t Maddie’s fault, but that fluffy self-righteous kindness drove Ro up the wall.
Maddie was usually on childcare. The kids adored her. Today she was in the office, and not smiling. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘You mean yesterday? I was stranded in Victoria. Coming back from the Melbourne thing.’
‘How come you didn’t ring?’
‘Long story. No phone. Was it a problem?’
‘It was. I was here on my own and two new women came in, with kids. It was chaos.’
Ro was surprised. It was unlike Maddie to voice so much as a mild complaint, and this was not mild.
‘Sorry,’ Ro said. It sounded inadequate.
‘Oh well,’ said Maddie. ‘You’re here now. I’ll catch you up. Let’s go through the list.’
It was the usual, women at different stages of leaving violent relationships. One who’d gone back to try again because she loved him and he’d promised to change his ways.
‘Damn,’ said Ro. ‘I thought she was doing well. She was going to enrol for women’s studies.’
Maddie looked sceptical. ‘Yeah. But you know how it goes. They get lonely, so they go back. Better the devil you know.’
‘Lonely? Crammed in here with everyone else?’
‘Not while they’re here. Not at first. Later. When they have to face up to leaving and setting up on their own. With kids, too. They have to be tough.’ Maddie shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t do it.’
‘If they feel that way they shouldn’t have kids in the first place.’
‘Oh Ro. It’s not that simple.’
‘Okay okay. I know.’
‘Anyhow maybe her partner has changed. Maybe this has given him a shake-up.’
‘Maybe. If he stays off the grog.’
They went back to the list.
‘By the way,’ Maddie said. ‘There’s a Collective meeting tomorrow lunchtime. And, um, I should let you know, you’re on the agenda.’
‘Me? I am?’
Maddie shuffled papers on the desk, face pink. ‘Yes.’
‘How come?’
‘I don’t know. It wasn’t me that put it on. Maybe about you not turning up yesterday?’
‘Shit.’ Ro’s mood took a turn for the worse.
It was not improved by a spontaneous recollection at lunchtime. She was supposed to have spent the previous evening helping to screen-print posters for Reclaim the Night. The Poster Collective was probably having a meeting about her too.
The day was full of small aggravations. For a start, the washing machine wasn’t spinning, a regular event. Ro grappled with that while Maddie drove a mother and child to the doctor.
After thirty minutes Ro gave up on the washing machine and settled down to paperwork. She was interrupted five minutes later by an outraged resident reporting that a toddler, without a nappy, had wandered into the living room to shit behind the sofa.
Secretly, Ro had begun to have doubts about collective work. Did these crises happen at shelters run on more conservative lines? Hierarchies rather than collectives? She reviewed the martinet managers she had met. She couldn’t imagine any child being bold enough to shit behind their sofas.
After Ro had cleaned up the child and the carpet, Crisis Care delivered an older woman on her own. Ro let her in and found her a bed and a pile of linen. The woman was calm enough. They sat down together at the kitchen table with a cup of tea so that Ro could get her details.
‘What’s your full name?’
‘Czarina.’
Greek, perhaps, Ro thought. ‘How do you spell that?’
The woman looked at her with disdainful surprise. ‘CZARINA.’
‘Oh,’ said Ro, with a sinking feeling. ‘Any other names?’
‘Czarina of All the Russias. I am the Czarina.’
Shit. Crisis Care had sent a loony. Homelessness was one thing, but delusions would mean weeks of work to try and find the woman a place to live. And meanwhile all the other residents in the Shelter would be complaining. Double shit. Shit ground into the carpet shit. And the other workers were going to be less than happy that she, Ro, had admitted the woman.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘That’s all right,’ said the woman graciously. ‘It’s a common mistake.’ She was tiny, smaller than Ro. But she had a beautiful voice, deep and clear.
Oh well, Ro thought. In for a penny. She settled herself more comfortably.
Czarina, it turned out, had been attending lectures on astrophysics at the university.
‘Are you a student there?’
Czarina looked down her small imperial nose. ‘They call me in,’ she said, ‘to clarify, to elucidate.’
She’d corrected the lecturer on a number of points, and he hadn’t taken it kindly. She’d been removed by a harassed security officer who called Crisis Care. Czarina explained that, though irritating, such incidents were not enough to deter her from her purpose.
‘What is your purpose?’ Ro asked.
‘To return the planet to its proper course.’
Ro was charmed. It was her own purpose also, and the purpose of most of her friends. Being a czarina might be an advantage. Presumably you could have your political opponents sent to the salt mines.
Eventually Ro had to interrupt the flow. ‘Where do you usually live?’
For the first time Czarina’s back sagged and she showed fear.
‘I couldn’t stay there,’ she said.
‘How come?’
‘They laughed.’
‘Don’t worry. I expect we’ll find somewhere better.’
Leaving Czarina with a cheese toastie to sustain her, Ro went back to the washing machine. Invigorated by her new friend, she managed to find the source of the problem, a bra wrapped around the spindle.
She was worried though. There’d be pressure to send Czarina straight to a psych hospital. She’d better ring the social workers there. Possibly they knew her already.
In spite of brighter moments, she was exhausted when she finally dragged herself home.
Petra was in the kitchen, and Petra wasn’t happy.
‘I had a call from the agent,’ she said, without preamble. ‘He reckons we haven’t paid the rent.’
‘Oh hell.’ Ro sank into a chair. ‘I was meant to do it yesterday. But I wasn’t here.’
‘Jesus, Ro. You’re the bloody limit. Really.’ Petra slammed a frying pan down on the sink. ‘And ring your mother. She must have rung six times. I’ve run out of excuses for where you might be. And Sascha. She’s rung twelve times.’
It was too late to ring till the next day. Ro would not think about either of them until then.
Petra did share one piece of good news, and shed her grumpiness in the process. The car was okay. They had picked it up after the weekend and driven home without mishap.
Ro left a message in the house book for the others. Sorry everyone about rent etc. Grovel grovel. That seemed to cover it. After a moment’s thought she added but YEEHA anyway!
She lay in bed hugging the idea of Gerry. She thought muzzily about how it would be when she lived there, how they’d spend every day building things and growing things and fucking and being happy.
The collective meeting did not go well. Everyone was looking at Ro, and their faces were not friendly.
‘The nearest phone was half an hour away and I didn’t have a car.’
‘It’s not only that, Ro,’ said Tilda, the most vocal. ‘I mean this is the latest in a string of things. I feel as though work will always come second with you.’
‘I do my shifts,’ Ro said. ‘I work the hours I’m rostered for.’
‘As long as nothing more interesting comes up.’
Maddie intervened. ‘That’s not fair, Tilda. I don’t think it helps to say things like that. We should stick to specifics.’
Ro was touched by championship from this unexpected quarter. The others were less impressed.
‘Okay,’ said Tilda and folded her arms.
‘I think what Tilda is getting at,’ said another woman, ‘is that it’s not a nine-to-five job. Saying you work the hours you’re rostered isn’t enough. We have to be able to depend on each other for more than that.’
‘Cut our palms and mingle our blood?’ said Ro.
There was an angry rumble from the group.
‘Ro,’ Maddie said warningly.
‘Sorry. But it’s all so vague. You’d think it was a bloody secret society or something. I know I fuck up occasionally. But you’re making it into a sacred trust. It’s just a job.’
‘If you think it’s just a job,’ said Tilda, ‘maybe it’s not the right job for you.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. Once again it was Maddie who spoke up.
‘I don’t like this. We’ve never been into sacking people or any of that sort of patriarchal shit.’
‘Maybe that’s our problem,’ said Tilda. ‘The place would run a lot more efficiently if we were.’
But this was going too far for the others.
‘No. That’s completely against what we value,’ said the oldest member. ‘People always come first, and that includes workers. It’s up to us to honour Ro’s strengths and figure out how to work with her.’
Ro herself was struck by Tilda’s echo of her own thought. We should have a few more rules, she wanted to say. No shitting behind the sofa.
She must ring Sascha.
‘Ro?’ Maddie was staring at her, and so were all the others.
‘Um. Yes. I can see that I need to be more careful. And I am sorry about Tuesday.’
There was a murmur of satisfaction at this handsome statement, but Ro was aware of Tilda glaring at her across the circle.
‘Maybe Tilda and I could work on our relationship,’ Ro said, full of sweet self-righteousness. A new leaf about to be turned.
‘Tilda?’ asked Maddie.
‘Sure,’ said Tilda through gritted teeth. ‘Good idea.’
The collective uttered a communal sigh of relief.
‘Now,’ said the keeper of the agenda. ‘About the toilets …’
Ro’s conversation with Sascha was worse. In fact she would have settled for another collective meeting instead.
She thought sex would make it go more smoothly, so they fucked first. Fucking had always come easily to the two of them. When they were lying in bed afterwards, sharing a cigarette, Ro explained about Gerry. She didn’t expect Sascha to be overjoyed, of course. She knew in the back of her mind that Sascha didn’t have the same attitude as she did to non-monogamy. But they were both adults. She knew they could work it all out.
Sascha, however, was very upset indeed.
‘We were getting so close,’ she wailed. ‘I made up my mind. I told Di on Sunday, we spent the whole day working on it. It was hard.’
‘Working on what?’
‘That I was ending my relationship with her. That you’re my focus from now on.’
Ro was deeply dismayed. ‘But …’
‘And I don’t want to DO non-monogamy anymore. I know it’s probably the radical way and everything, but I can’t do it.’
Ro attempted a last-ditch rally. ‘Yes you can,’ she said.
‘I can’t. I get jealous.’
Ro considered this shameful admission. ‘You could work on that.’
‘No. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. I think some people can do it and some can’t. I can’t. So I decided to be monogamous with you.’
They lay side by side and stared at the ceiling. Ro saw her vision of life with Gerry fading away. She sat up abruptly. This was her whole future at stake.
‘I’m sorry, Sascha. I do care about you. But not exclusively. I don’t believe in monogamy. It’s a capitalist trick, to set up tiny units, nuclear families, and sell as many washing machines as possible.’
‘Washing machines?’
‘Well, everything. You know. House, two cars. The whole thing. Keep everyone in place. What’s the good of rejecting heterosexuality if we set up the same capitalist models ourselves?’
Sascha sniffled. She reached down to retrieve her tee-shirt from the floor and wiped her nose on it. ‘I don’t care about capitalism. I just want you.’
Ro was trapped and hated it. This was what happened when women got too serious. Politics went straight out the window.
‘Maybe we should try giving up sex altogether.’
Sascha twisted around incredulously to face her. ‘You’re joking. You? Give up sex?’
Ro was stung. ‘I could. Maybe I will. I don’t think we should be driven by our glands.’
‘You are such a bloody hypocrite. What is this whole argument about? You wanting to have sex with a new woman in Victoria. Sex. Sex. Sex.’
‘It’s not all about sex.’
‘No. It’s true love, is it? But I thought that was bad too. I thought falling in love was a patriarchal plot to keep women subservient and unquestioning.’
Ro had a bad feeling about the direction this was taking. Sascha wasn’t usually one to fight back.
‘That’s about falling in love with men. Falling in love with women is different.’
‘Different how? Isn’t that exactly what I’ve done, idiot that I am? Fallen in love and lost my marbles—with you, worse luck. The original slippery sleaze. Not-not-not-responsible.’
Ro stared at her. She could feel her eyes getting bigger. She shut her mouth with difficulty.
But Sascha wasn’t finished. ‘Well, I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb. I’ve made a bloody stupid mistake, but at least I can see it.’
By this time she was on her feet, scrabbling into her clothes, stuffing things into her bag.
‘Where are you going?’ Ro asked feebly.
‘Anywhere. Out of here. Back to Di to see if she can forgive me.’
‘Will we see each other? Be friends?’
Sascha turned in the doorway.
‘One day,’ she said seriously, ‘when you’ve grown up, you can come and grovel at my feet, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll speak to you.’
She walked out and slammed the door.
Stinker. Ro rolled a cigarette and lit it.
She had to admit that in a small part of herself she was relieved. More new beginnings ahead. Lovely. She was good at new beginnings, the sunlight sparkling on the water, the buds bursting open, the road unwinding ahead. Despicable as it might be, it was easier to have Sascha storm out than to deliver the chop herself and then feel guilty.
Ro was incapable, however, of giving her mother the chop. She rang.
‘I worry about you,’ Elsa said.
‘Mum, I told you I was going to Melbourne.’
‘I thought that was for the weekend.’
‘I stayed an extra couple of days.’
‘But what about your job?’
Elsa believed in jobs. And security. She hadn’t recovered from having to support two children on her own.
‘Don’t fuss, Mum. It’s fine.’
A note of suspicion entered Elsa’s voice.
‘Aren’t you working at that place anymore? That, what do you call it, shelter. You haven’t quit have you?’
Ro ground her teeth. ‘No, I haven’t quit.’
I might though, she wanted to say, but she knew she didn’t have a lot of credibility in the job stakes. Ro believed that Elsa kept a list next to her bed: all the jobs that hadn’t suited Ro over the last ten years. It was ringed heavily in black and was companion to another two lists. One was all the different addresses that Ro had lived at. The third was all the girlfriends she’d had. In the last case her mother’s list was nowhere near complete. Ro didn’t mention new girlfriends, let alone introduce them, until the relationship was at least three months old. So most of them never qualified. But nevertheless it was a list.
Next to Ro’s lists, she imagined, was her brother’s list, very short, enclosed in a heart shaped wreath of flowers. Murray had the same wife, the same address, and the same job that he’d started out with more than ten years earlier.
‘I don’t know how you can work there,’ Elsa said now. ‘But I suppose someone has to help them, when their marriages don’t work out.’
‘They aren’t there because their marriages didn’t work out, Mum. They’re there because their partners bashed the shit out of them.’
‘Rosemary!’
‘Well, honestly. I know Dad was a saint. But you must have noticed that not all husbands are.’
‘Your father was not a saint. We had our differences. But in our day people stuck together. There wasn’t all this violence.’
‘There was, Mum. But no one admitted it.’
‘Oh Ro, how do you know? You twist everything to suit your own ideas.’
‘Violence often goes along with alcohol. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me there was no drinking?’
But this was a cheap shot. Ro knew perfectly well how often her father had come home drunk.
‘That’s not the same. Your father was never violent.’ But Elsa’s voice was less sure and Ro knew she’d gone too far.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. But not everyone’s as lucky as you were.’
Her mother sighed loudly at the other end of the phone. It was not lucky, the sigh implied, to have your husband die at thirty-five.
‘Anyhow,’ said Ro hurriedly, ‘yes—I am working at the Shelter, but not every day. It’s a roster, different days off every week.’
‘I hope you do what’s expected of you. You don’t always have to rock the boat, you know. There’s no harm doing what the boss tells you.’
‘It’s a collective. I told you. There is no boss.’
‘I don’t understand how you get anything done. Who makes the decisions?’
An unwelcome image of Tilda appeared in Ro’s mind. She banished it and set herself to the task of her mother’s feminist education.
‘We make the decisions together. Everyone has a say.’
‘It doesn’t sound very efficient.’
This was uncomfortably close to Ro’s own thought. She bristled.
‘We don’t believe in patriarchal hierarchies.’
‘Don’t believe in this, don’t believe in that. When are you going to learn to compromise? Don’t you want to settle down?’
This phrase was a time-honoured signal that the conversation had come to its unsatisfactory ending. Ro didn’t bother to respond.
‘I have to go, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘What about Sunday? Murray and Jen are bringing the baby.’
‘I can’t make it on Sunday. Sorry. Give them my love.’
‘But Ro …’
‘Bye, Mum.’
Ro stared at the phone, chewing her thumbnail.
What would Gerry be doing now? Would she be thinking of Ro? How impossible that she didn’t have a phone.
The only friend who was completely pleased and supportive, Ro felt, was Alby.
‘Fantastic,’ she said. ‘Good on you. You need a good woman. Not that Sascha …’
She didn’t need to go on. Ro knew that Alby thought Sascha was a puffball. On the other hand Alby approved of Gerry sight unseen on the grounds that she was a farmer.
‘Every young dyke should learn to milk a cow. So good for the muscles between your thumb and forefinger.’
‘She hasn’t got a cow.’
‘A piano?’
‘It’s not all about sex you know,’ Ro said.
‘Oh yeah. Sure.’