Gerry lay flat on her back on the floor, recovering from days of stooping over the baby tomatoes. Hester stretched beside her in sympathy. Gerry thought about Ro. She was thinking that she should write a letter. But all the warmth of last weekend had dissipated in a fog of worry, uncertainty and tiredness.
She lifted her head and looked along the length of her body, seeing the awkward bulges, the lumpiness. She let her head fall back. She was ugly, she had always been ugly. She knew it before she reached school, and when she did there was no pity. They called her Lurch.
She knew about herself from the family stories. For Dutch parents, who had known hard times and hunger, the arrival of a big new baby coincided with their arrival in a big new country and was a source of wonder. They were proud when she was the biggest child in Grade One. Stand straight, they said. Hold up your head. But for Gerry, desperate to blend in, size was not a source of pride. She withered inside when the story of her birth was told yet again. All she could hear was freak.
And then her parents were gone and she became an inconvenience to her grandmother. Her brothers were there too, but it was Gerry who felt it. There was too much of her. In an undefined and unstated way she was solely responsible for her grandmother being stranded in this new country. She was also, equally obscurely, responsible for her parents’ deaths.
She stared at the ceiling, noticing the cobwebs.
She was a hopeless lover and a mute uninteresting person to be with. Her farm was a shabby pretence. Probably Ro had been relieved to get away and was telling all her friends about her narrow escape. She rolled over and realised that Hester was regarding her with mournful, anxious eyes.
‘I suppose you feel like this too, do you?’ The thought of Hester feeling this bad made her want to cry. But even for the dog the tears wouldn’t come.
Gerry dragged herself out to the toilet and sat with her jeans around her ankles staring at the door. She had painted that door a few months earlier. In defiance of her own habits she’d chosen a glorious vibrant blue. She had loved the colour. It had felt so hopeful, a symbol of everything she was going to do on the farm. Now she saw that it was embarrassingly gaudy, that she had missed several patches around the hinges, and that already it was dusty and peeling near the ground.
She dropped her head into her hands.
Gerry was premenstrual.
The letter arrived on Tuesday. Ro had given up hovering near the letterbox and was at work. So it wasn’t until she arrived home that she found it lying on the house book. The writing was unfamiliar but she knew at once what it was by the whooshing sensation in her chest.
She retreated to her room and tore it open.
Dear Ro,
I expect you’re very busy now that you’re back in Adelaide. I did the work on the tomatoes. It was back-breaking,
There isn’t much to tell you. Dot and Maria say hi. Hester and Lark probably would too if they could talk.
I’d love to see you again if you ever get the chance.
Regards,
Gerry
Ro dropped the letter in her lap.
Regards? What was this? A brush-off? She dragged out her pouch, rolled a joint and re-read the letter. Already she knew a few things about this woman, and her diffidence was one of them. Was this the closest Gerry could get to an invitation?
Ro lay on her bed. The smoke wreathed its way through her body, smoothing creases and loosening knots. Silly old Gerry. She obviously needed a bit of a hand. It would be great to go over there for a week or two. It was hardly worth going for less than two. How soon could she take the time off work?
The trouble was she’d used up a lot of leave. It was a strange thing the way leave disappeared. Other people always seemed to have enough accumulated to go away for weeks at a time, but it never worked for Ro.
She tried to think back.
She’d taken a couple of days to organise her mother’s birthday. Not the organising. Ro’s sister-in-law had done most of that, to be fair. But Ro had a huge row with her brother so she’d needed an extra day to get over that. She stared broodingly at the tip of her joint, which had gone out.
She’d taken a week when she and Sascha went camping in the Flinders and it rained and they stayed in the tent arguing and crying the whole time. What a waste. Then there was that extended long weekend when she’d done nothing but lie around and think about painting her bedroom. That had been a couple of days.
But she must have a week or two left. And if she worked over Christmas?
Christmas was a brilliant idea actually. She’d earn brownie points with the others if she did all the holiday shifts. Maybe, if she fiddled with the roster, she could take three or four weeks in January. Maddie had said that she wanted to take time then, but she could lean on Maddie.
She sank back on the pillow again. Christmas was two months away and she wanted to see Gerry right now. She could feel her belly and thighs tightening at the very thought.
Could she get Gerry to come over here? But instinct warned her against that idea. This wasn’t Gerry’s setting. She couldn’t imagine Gerry in it. What would they do? Apart from fucking, and not even Ro thought that you could fuck all day. Not more than one day anyway.
If she was perfectly honest, she was afraid that she might not be quite so attracted to Gerry if she saw her here. But that was coming perilously close to ideas that she didn’t want to look at. She rolled over and shut her eyes.
Finding time for a house meeting was always a challenge. The official household at the moment was the four of them. Sue, Petra and Mikki had been living together for well over a year, making theirs a senior household among the ones they knew. Ro herself had been there, in the one place, for nearly a year.
Then there were the extras, a floating population of lovers, both regular and one-night stands, friends needing a bed, interstate travellers passing through for long or short periods.
So it was a rare evening when the four of them sat down to dinner without any visitors. They decided to turn it into a house meeting, starting with a round of what was going on for each of them.
Petra wanted to stop smoking.
‘Dope as well?’ Mikki asked.
‘I’m starting with tobacco. But I know from last time I can’t do it if you’re all smoking in the house.’
‘Not me,’ Sue objected. She had never smoked. ‘You know I keep suggesting no smoking inside.’
‘It’s funny,’ Mikki said. ‘I know I smoke myself. But I notice the difference when I visit Campion Street. None of them smoke. Have you noticed that? It smells great. The house smells of flowers and stuff.’
‘Well, let’s do it,’ said Sue.
Ro shifted uncomfortably. Not smoke after sex?
‘Could we keep it to our bedrooms?’ she suggested. ‘For a start? I’ll keep the door shut. And nowhere else in the house.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Petra. ‘But only in your bedroom. Not in the bath either.’
Mikki and Sue weren’t happy, but it was a compromise. They agreed to try it for two weeks.
The car was a more serious issue. Sue was starting a nursing job in the hills and would need the car every day.
‘I was hoping I could do a trip to Victoria in it,’ said Ro.
‘It’s never been that sort of deal,’ Petra said. ‘It’s for times when we can’t do things by bike.’
‘And anyhow it is Sue’s car,’ said Mikki. ‘And she’s going to need it to get to work. So that’s that.’
‘Sorry, Ro,’ Sue added. ‘Is it hard to get to Gerry’s place?’
‘I suppose she can pick me up from the train. It’s two hours away. But it’s more that there’s only one train and it’s in the middle of the night. As we know.’
‘Why don’t you get a car?’ Mikki asked.
Why didn’t she? The idea filled Ro with excitement. Her own car. Take off whenever she wanted. ‘That would be great. I’m not sure if I’ve saved enough, though.’
‘I could ask around,’ offered Petra. She volunteered at the community garage. ‘People often come in and put up notices.’
Sue was looking sad. ‘I know I started this, but does this mean we’re giving up as a one-car household?’
‘Sounds like it’, said Mikki.
‘Right on,’ said Ro. ‘Let’s all have cars. Brrm brrm.’
Petra laughed. ‘You and Mister Toad. I’ll get you a peaked cap.’
The car was a pipe dream, however. Maybe by Christmas she could raise a bit extra. But she wanted to see Gerry before that. She wrote to her.
Dear Gerry
Thanks for your letter. Glad you’ve got the tomatoes under control. When can I come and see you again? What about the weekend after this? Could you pick me up in Ballarat on the Friday night? But I DO have to be back on Tuesday. I wasn’t popular last time.
Love to all of you there on two and four legs. And big sloppy kisses to you. I know you love them. Why else would you have a wolfhound?
Ro XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
December or not, it was freezing when Ro stepped out of the train at Ballarat. The platform was deserted except for a tall figure muffled in layers of clothing and with a beanie pulled down over her eyes. Gerry. Ro dropped her bag as the train pulled away and grabbed Gerry in a hug. This was so right. Everything inside her told her it was right to be hugging Gerry.
‘Can we get into the car?’ Ro said at last. ‘It’s cold.’
‘It’s always cold in Ballarat.’
They bundled into the ute and Gerry switched on the ignition. ‘Lucky they fixed the heater when it was serviced. Didn’t think I’d need it till next winter.’
They twisted sideways to look at each other.
Shit, Ro thought, how come I didn’t remember her nose being so big? She was overwhelmed by Gerry’s physical presence. A woman who was almost a stranger. But when Gerry smiled her face reassembled itself into familiarity. Ro had kissed this face. She moved closer and did it again, the taste of Gerry’s mouth immediately familiar in a way that her face hadn’t been.
How come, she wondered, no one ever mentions the taste of another person’s mouth? And where were the words to describe it? Gerry’s mouth was slightly metallic with fruity overtones. Wine? And maybe the beginning of her period? A touch of that meaty smell that came with bleeding. Over all, the smoky taste that Ro loved. She could tell, she reckoned, exactly how long since Gerry last had a cigarette. And it had been a rollie, not a tailor-made. Ro didn’t kiss people who smoked tailor-mades. Not after the first time, anyway.
She emerged from this reverie when Gerry pulled away from her and put the car in gear.
‘Let’s get home,’ she said.
Home. Ro loved that. For now, this was her home, and she was coming back to it with her lover. They would turn at the door, hand in hand, a TV cartoon, and wish the viewers good night. A soft curtain would swish across and hide them from view.
Ro was cautious about scaring Gerry. She let her plans emerge a little at a time.
‘Do you reckon you could teach me to sail?’
‘Sure. When?’
‘Well, I might be able to come over in January for a while.’
‘Great.’
‘Where would we go?’
‘From Geelong? Round the bay, I guess. See how you go. You’ve never done any before, have you?’
‘No. I’ve used a sailboard a few times.’
‘The principle’s the same, I suppose.’
‘I wouldn’t say I was experienced. When I finally got the hang of it, off the beach at Kingston, I went straight out into the Gulf. Whoosh. It was fabulous, till I realised I had no idea how to turn around.’
Gerry laughed. ‘What did you do?’
‘I had to jump off and tow the bloody thing back to the beach. It was miles.’
Saturday afternoon they pottered companionably in the garden and the kitchen. Once the dinner veggies were roasting in the oven they ran down to the small dam. The water at the bottom was still cold, but Ro floated on top among the weed and dragonflies, so that her back was cool but her front was warmed by the late afternoon sun. She drifted against Gerry at the edge where the mud was soft under them and the water mild, and here they held each other and kissed.
They ate at the table outside, watching the last of the sun behind the trees.
‘I could get used to this,’ Ro said. She glanced sidelong at Gerry and saw that she didn’t look too panicked. ‘If I was invited,’ she added.
‘Don’t you want me to come to Adelaide?’
Ro considered this. She no longer feared that she wouldn’t know what to do with Gerry in Adelaide.
‘That’d be great. What would you like to do, when you come over?’
‘See the little trains.’
‘What little trains?’
‘The model engineers. I’ve read about them. Don’t tell me you’ve never been?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘They’re in an inner suburb I think. Millswood? Does that sound right?’
‘You mean toy trains?’
‘Not toy trains. They’re big enough to sit on. There were photos.’
‘Electric?’
‘No, steam. The real thing.’
Ro was intrigued. ‘Okay. If you come over, I’ll find out where the trains are. Come at Christmas.’
They lay facing each other in bed. They had arrived at a turning point. They’d farted in front of each other, the first essential measure of intimacy. The second, bleeding all over each other’s sheets, could not be far off. Was that familiarity the start of lesbian bed-death? The urgency of pure lust might not be enough.
Ro was romantic about relationships. She believed that each new encounter would lead to a glorious ride into an everlasting sunset. Or sunrise.
About sex, however, she was pragmatic. She might hope for the ideal long-term partner, but in the meantime she arranged her pleasure with experienced efficiency. So far this approach had worked, and had more or less suited her sexual partners.
Now, for the first time, she was visited by doubts. Gerry did not come easily, and though she said that this was fine, Ro was not so sure. It made her feel selfish to come if Gerry didn’t. Theoretically she accepted the idea that the pursuit of orgasm might be a patriarchal tyranny. But in practice, and in secret, she was dismayed by the idea that she might be called upon to forego her own pleasure in the interests of feminist egalitarianism, a complex principle. A new quality was required of her, patience at least, and she was not sure that she had it.
For Gerry the issue was familiar, and she simply wished that it would go away. She wanted sex and she wanted Ro. She was immensely excited by Ro’s orgasms. But to make the leap into space, to trust the universe and the other person … there were times when that ability deserted her. At the last minute, trembling on the brink, her body would shut down. She would be left with a congested and often painful aftermath. She did not understand the reasons. But she knew that it had always been this way. The momentum was not enough.
So tonight there was a tentative quality to the sex, though their bodies moved together with increasing familiarity. Afterwards they lay with their heads on the same pillow telling small inconsequential stories.
‘How long have you lived in the country?’ Ro asked.
Gerry blinked, surprised. ‘Nearly always,’ she said. ‘Can’t picture me in the city can you? Other than those high school years with Gran in Williamstown. At least I learned to sail there.’
‘Who taught you?’
‘Friendly teacher. As in lesbian.’
‘So where did you grow up? I mean when your parents were alive?’
‘Dairy farm, not that far from here. I’ll show you sometime.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Good. Hard. We had to help with the milking before we went to school.’
‘What, every day?’
‘Sure. You can’t skip milking. I used to fall asleep at my desk every afternoon.’
‘Doesn’t sound as though teachers would go for that.’
‘I wasn’t the only one. Most of the kids were from farms. And mostly dairy. That’s how it was around here.’
‘Would this have been a dairy farm?’
‘Yeah. Probably. Maybe potatoes too. Most places have gone over to beef now. Better return for less work. Or plantation timber. Used to be pines. More blue gums now.’
‘That’s better.’
‘I suppose. They don’t belong here though. Not in these mountains.’
Ro rolled over onto her back.
‘You were so lucky,’ she said. ‘I know it must have been hard work. But growing up with all this,’ she waved her hand at the darkness and silence of the night.
Gerry grunted, eyes closed.
But Ro was wide awake.
‘Hey Gerry?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Where did you get the carpet?’
‘What carpet?’ Gerry spoke without opening her eyes.
‘On the wall. The wall hanging.’
‘Oh yeah. Zoe. Tell you in the morning.’ She patted Ro’s thigh, rolled over and was soon breathing deeply.
Ro was experienced by now at losing Gerry to sleep. She wriggled until her back was pressed against Gerry’s back, so that they faced out from each other, knees bent and the soles of their feet pressed together. Ro sighed luxuriously. This was the ultimate in intimacy, she thought. She pictured them from above, a Rorschach ink blot, both projecting out at knee level from a central line, symmetrical except for one side being smaller than the other.
The day was full of country jobs.
‘You sure you don’t mind?’ Gerry asked. ‘Feels a bit mean to set you to work this way.’
But the novelty hadn’t worn off for Ro. She loved taking the other end of the crosscut saw to cut up logs, and picking the early apricots for bottling. She helped Gerry dig up and mend a leaking pipe. She chopped a barrow-load of wood that was better than splinters. Neat uniform lengths to fit the stove and satisfy Gerry’s requirements.
Once the day was warm enough they stripped off boots and overalls and plunged once again into the chilly water of the dam. Ro floated on her back, propelling herself slowly around, into the shade and out into the sunlight where, by squinting at the sky, she could see white clouds scudding.
In the afternoon Gerry saddled Lark, and Ro had her first riding lesson. Gerry was encouraging but Ro was dismayed by the width of Lark’s back compared with the shortness of her own legs. Gerry took her place and Ro watched with new appreciation the apparent effortlessness of Gerry’s movements, the way she and the horse worked together with one mind, two parts of one body.
Perhaps riding wasn’t Ro’s thing.
By evening she was aching in muscles that she had never owned before. Gerry was concerned. She lit the ancient chip heater and filled the bath. Sighing deeply Ro lowered herself into the water. Normally she would have found the steam and the candlelight sexy, but when Gerry stripped off and slid into the other end of the bath, taking up Ro’s legroom, she had to suppress a protest.
She couldn’t complain though when Gerry picked up her feet, one after the other, and massaged them. Ro lay back against the end of the bath and luxuriated.
Once they were both unwound by the warmth, she took up the question of Zoe.
‘You said you’d tell me.’
‘Did I?’
‘Last night. I asked you about the wall hanging.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Well, she was my girlfriend for a while. She went to Turkey and brought it back for me.’
‘Did she live here?’
‘For a bit.’
In spite of herself, Ro was jealous. She assumed that Gerry, along with everyone else, had had plenty of lovers. And each affair would have been serious, a whole new awakening. Lesbians fell in love as often as gay men had sex.
But the place, the farm, was another matter. In the space of two visits Ro had begun to think of Gerry and Gerry’s farm as her own personal discovery. She hated the idea of somebody else sharing it with Gerry, laughing over the size of the firewood, lighting candles, lolling in this very bath, naked with Gerry.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘How long ago?’
‘She left about a year ago.’
Clearly Gerry wasn’t going to elaborate, and Ro didn’t push further. Gerry climbed out of the bath and left Ro shivering in the cooling water.
The drive to the station on Monday night was becoming familiar. Gerry didn’t complain, but Ro was more determined than ever to get herself a car. It was a long drive from Adelaide, but at least it could be done in the daylight hours. No more of this driving around in the middle of the night, and then sitting up in the train.