‘There you are, you see,’ Bonnie said as she drove up to the house. ‘Hamish is here. One o’clock in the morning – he must be staying the night.’ Irene and Hamish had left the party shortly after Rebekah’s birth, and it was almost three hours later when Bonnie and Sylvia had finished clearing away, washing up and restoring Caro and Mike’s house to order.
‘Mmm, so I see,’ Sylvia said, longing for her bed.
‘I suppose I’ll have to have it out with her, although I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.’
‘Do? Why do you have to do anything?’
Bonnie switched off the engine and leaned back with a sigh of irritation. ‘I can’t just ignore it . . . it’s . . . it’s all wrong. I mean, Mum’s over eighty and Hamish is even older. It’s embarrassing, I have to put a stop to it.’
Sylvia woke up a bit and stared at her. ‘Sorry, not with you – what’s embarrassing?’
‘This thing with the two of them. I mean, it’s nice that they’re friends, but the rest of it . . . it’s so embarrassing.’ She twitched her shoulders.
‘Embarrassing for whom?’
‘Everyone . . .’
‘It’s not embarrassing for them, obviously,’ Sylvia said. ‘And it doesn’t embarrass me or Fran. If you mean you’re embarrassed by it, I’m not sure why – you like Hamish. Is it just that they’re sleeping together?’
Bonnie leaned her head back on the neck rest and closed her eyes, thankful for the darkness. ‘Well, of course,’ she said. ‘How would you feel if it was your mother?’
‘She’s dead,’ Sylvia said thoughtfully, ‘but I think I’d feel happy for her, if she had a friend who became her lover. I think it would be lovely for her, and it wouldn’t be any business of mine.’
Bonnie’s head snapped up. ‘But they’re old, they should be over all that.’
Sylvia laughed out loud. ‘Oh Bonnie, really! Are you past it?’
‘No,’ Bonnie replied, affronted, ‘of course not, I’m just recovering from Jeff, but I’m twenty-five years younger than them.’
Sylvia smiled at her through the darkness. ‘And at what age do you think you’ll cross the line into too old?’
Bonnie hesitated. ‘Well . . . I don’t really know . . . but certainly before I’m eighty.’
Sylvia opened the door and got out of the car. The wild weather of a few hours earlier had subsided to stillness, leaving the air heavy with moisture, the garden a wreck of flattened plants, scattered twigs and branches ripped from the trees by the wind. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ she said, irritated now. ‘People go on being sexual until they die. It’s just that, like you, no one wants to acknowledge it.’ She slipped her key in the front door and walked into the dimly lit hall.
‘But she’s my mother, for god’s sake,’ Bonnie whispered, following her in and closing the front door.
Sylvia grabbed her by the wrist, drew her through into the kitchen and shut the door. ‘Okay, she’s your mother, but she’s much more too. She’s a woman with a mind and life of her own, Bonnie. She just delivered a baby – you didn’t think she was too old to do that.’
‘I did really – ’ Bonnie began but Sylvia cut her off.
‘If this was someone else’s mother you’d admire her. It’s like you not wanting her to go to Greece. That wasn’t about her, it was about you. You needing her to be your crutch, your standby now that’s Jeff’s gone. Don’t you see how selfish you’re being? This is not about Irene at all, it’s about you.’ She wanted to shake Bonnie for her blindness, her inability to see what she was doing.
‘Until you get out of this, Bon, you aren’t going to be able to move on,’ she said sharply. ‘Boatshed or not, you’re still trapped in your own neediness. I know it’s all been terribly hard for you but you can’t do this to Irene. You can’t keep trying to control her life because of your own neediness. We’re single women, Bonnie, you and I and Fran, we’re alone and we have to make ourselves be enough. Fran’s done it for years. She doesn’t co-opt her mother’s life or her kids’ lives. You and I have to learn to be like that, because until we do we’re going to be stuck in the past.’
Bonnie stared at her, white with shock at this sudden onslaught from one who was generally so restrained. She started to speak and then stopped, realising she had no idea what she wanted to say.
Sylvia put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Look after yourself, Bon, and let Irene look after herself. She’s been doing it extraordinarily well for years.’ She was unnerved by Bonnie’s silence. ‘Come on, I’ll make us a cup of tea,’ she said, steering her towards a stool.
‘But, but they’re sleeping together, having sex . . .’ Bonnie said.
‘Probably, and why shouldn’t they? Anyway, it’s none of your business,’ Sylvia said firmly, filling the kettle. ‘Don’t interfere. Irene didn’t interfere all those years ago when you were bonking the banker.’
Bonnie gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘You know about that?’
Sylvia turned to her, smiling. ‘Of course, we both knew, Fran and I, and Irene.’
‘But how?’
‘That woman you shared with, Stephanie?’
‘Stella.’
‘Yes, Stella, she called both of us because she was worried about you, thought you might get into some sort of trouble. She wanted us to do something about it. We told her you were an intelligent adult and knew what you were doing. So she rang Irene and then Irene rang us so we told her the same thing. She said that was what she thought too and she’d leave well alone.’
Bonnie’s face had gone from white to crimson and now she buried it in her hands. ‘Oh my god. You mean she knew . . . Mum knew about it?’
Sylvia nodded, pushing a mug of tea across the benchtop towards her. She had softened now, her anger suddenly evaporated, replaced by affection. ‘Oh yes, we all knew.’
‘Weren’t you shocked?’
Sylvia shrugged. ‘No, actually, Fran and I were quite impressed at the time. I’ve often thought of it since then, how spunky and single-minded you were, while I was so ready to give up everything and do what Colin wanted. I didn’t even finish my degree, and there you were, a real woman of the sixties.’
Bonnie sat, silent for a moment, staring into her tea. ‘Mum – she would have been shocked . . . horrified.’
Sylvia paused for a moment. ‘She was certainly concerned, don’t know about shocked.’
‘How will I face her in the morning?’ Bonnie said, looking like a twelve year old caught smoking.
‘Easily,’ Sylvia laughed. ‘Nothing’s changed for her; she’s probably forgotten all about it.’
Bonnie shook her head. ‘I thought I’d been doing so well,’ she said. ‘The Boatshed and everything, I thought I’d let go . . . now . . . well, now I don’t know what to do.’
‘Concentrate on yourself, Bon,’ Sylvia said gently. ‘Stop looking for answers in other people. Our lives, yours and mine, have changed so much this year. We’re on the road to sixty, we have to find the future within ourselves.’
Bonnie nodded cautiously. ‘I suppose you’re right. I feel safe while you and Mum and Fran are around, while I’m part of everything you’re doing. Being without that seems really scary.’
‘I know,’ Sylvia said. ‘Really I do, but we have to crack this, both of us, if we don’t want to turn out to be tedious clinging old women, and a burden to the people we love.’
‘Yes,’ Bonnie said. ‘Yes, I see what you mean.’
There was a silence in the kitchen and Sylvia could see that Bonnie was still uneasy. ‘Just imagine it was Lila who had a lover,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t you be saying good for her?’
‘I suppose I would.’ Bonnie paused and sipped her tea. ‘I feel so embarrassed by it, though.’
‘Look, that’s just teenage stuff, discovering that your parents and the Queen actually have sex – not together of course,’ Sylvia laughed. ‘But we’re not teenagers, and Irene and Hamish have every right to this happiness.’
Bonnie rubbed her hands over her face. ‘You’re right,’ she said finally, ‘it is about me. For years I knew I was the most important person in Jeff’s life. Now I don't come first with anyone and that's what's so hard to get used to.’
Sylvia nodded. ‘Me too, although I realised over a period of time that I could never come first with Colin. But at the same time I was in a relationship in which I was supposed to come first, one that I had the right to call on and demand priority if I needed it. Just knowing that provides a sense of safety. But it’s a new life for both of us now.’
Bonnie looked up from her cup. ‘What about Hamish? What shall I say if I come down here in the morning and he’s in the kitchen in his pyjamas?’
‘How about “Good morning, Hamish”,’ Sylvia said with a smile, getting up to rinse her mug. ‘And then “Would you like tea or coffee?”. That sounds like a reasonable start.’
David sat in the flickering half-dark not watching an old black and white movie on the television, struggling with a mass of conflicting emotions. It had begun with his aloneness at the party, an emptiness and a regret that had bugged him all evening. Now the birth of Rebekah Frances had upset him in ways so profound that he could hardly bear to think about it, and he had turned it into anger against Mike, an anger that he could barely contain as he helped Bonnie and Sylvia to clear up, called a cab for Lenore, and then drove Lila home. Mike’s failure to be there in a state to deliver the baby, to be with Caro, to share fully in that unique experience, had David, usually the mildest of men, seized with the urge to punch him full in the face and pummel him to the ground.
‘Congratulations, mate,’ he’d said eventually, slapping his brother-in-law on the back, but inside he was seething. Later, when he went out on the deck to get some air, Hamish joined him.
‘Well, we finally got him vertical,’ Hamish said with a laugh. ‘He’s never going to be allowed to forget this.’
‘No, and he shouldn’t,’ David said, hearing the anger in his own voice. ‘He behaved like the worst sort of macho prick.’
‘No point getting upset about it,’ Hamish had said. ‘In the end it was his loss – he won’t forget that in a hurry.’
But David couldn’t shake off the fact that Mike had stuffed up the opportunity to be a part of something precious, something that he himself could never have. He managed to appear cool, cuddle his niece, hug Caro and Fran and her friends and cling briefly, albeit almost desperately, to Lila and Irene. He was awestruck by the way they had taken charge, deployed the other women and managed Caro. Some ancient female wisdom had been at work and David’s respect stood alongside his resentment and jealousy.
Staring unseeingly as Gary Cooper rode across the desert on a dapple-grey horse, David wondered if staying home in Melbourne had been the right decision. He had been travelling for years, six months here, a year there, easily finding work wherever he went, first in Asia then Europe and finally in the Middle East. He enjoyed teaching, meeting the students, making friends among the eclectic crowd of people who lived similarly peripatetic lives, using their work as a way to see the world. It seemed fine to be alone discovering new places, but being alone at home felt different; like failure somehow, as though giving up travel should be about settling down and building something new. But here he was, doing in Melbourne just what he had done in Chiang Mai, Prague, Budapest, Florence, Bahrain and finally Qatar. Only now it was different because in those places it was adventurous, and here it seemed . . . just lonely and rather tedious, as though he was waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.
David got up and wandered to the window, looking down into the darkened street and then up and beyond the rooftops to the city buildings and the eerie charcoal sky blushing with the first iridescence of dawn. If he leaned to one side slightly he could see the rooftops of the houses in Jodie’s street. He thought about Caro’s baby, the tiny wrinkled creature that had burst so dramatically into the world; the furrowed little brow under the wispy hair, the bright blue eyes and those minute hands, fingers spread wide, grasping at life. He’d never seen such a tiny baby before, never a life so new and raw, glistening with its mother’s moisture, staking its claim on the world. The thought of not being able to have children hadn’t bothered him before, but now he knew it was the killer factor. Most women, he was sure, would want children. It could never have worked with Jodie. She was younger than him – in a few years’ time she would have felt the ticking of the biological clock and that would have been the end of it.
So Caro and Mike were parents now, and soon it would be Matt. His partner was pregnant too and they were getting married at Christmas. Couples, babies, families – they were all around him and he was teetering on the edge of the large and meaningful relationships of life unable to step into them. He flicked off the television and crawled back under the doona yawning, shivering with exhaustion and emotion. He had the lease on this place for six months, perhaps he should stay on until Matt’s wedding and then let it go, take off again. Maybe Morocco this time, or Turkey perhaps, anywhere that would lift him out of this abyss of inaction, this sense that the most important things in life were lost to him.
A birth changed things, Fran thought as she backed slowly out of the narrow driveway. No one there was untouched, she had seen it in their faces. Being there had brought them together, bonded them in a very special way.
She turned out of the street and headed for Hawthorn. The day had that sparkling sunlit stillness that so often follows a wild and stormy night. It reflected her mood. While the others had been clearing up after the party and the birth, she and Mike had helped Caro into bed. Fran had prepared Rebekah’s crib, and then washed her, sponging the strong little arms, the hands that punched at the air, the legs that kicked against the towel. She fumbled with the nappy, the tiny vest and stretch suit, as though she had never done it before, relishing the privilege of being the first person to dress her granddaughter. She had stayed the night and when Mike dropped her home at midday, Fran wandered around her new house imagining Rebekah crawling across the floor, sitting in a highchair in the kitchen, taking her first staggering steps through the lounge. This was a birthday she would always remember; her first party and the birth of her granddaughter, surrounded by people she loved.
It was three o’clock when she reached Hawthorn and she stopped to buy a large bouquet of daffodils and purple iris for Lila. She was planning to surprise her by taking her out for tea and then to see Caro and the baby, and she drove slowly, enjoying an unaccustomed sense of contentment. It was only as she turned into the retirement village and onto Lila’s street that her heart leapt and her body jerked to attention in the driving seat. There, in the turning circle at the top of Malthouse Close, was Lila, all in purple, cruising the empty street on a gleaming yellow contraption. And standing watching – Lenore, in black with a purple leather jacket, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight.
‘Fran, Fran!’ Lila cried in delight, rocketing down the street towards her. ‘What a lovely surprise. I thought you’d be too tired to come over today. You’re just in time to see my scooter. Come along, park the car and get out. You can have a ride if you like.’ And she swung back up the hill to the house. Fran swallowed hard and tried to contain her shock at the sight of Lila on a scooter, and her resentment at finding Lenore there.
‘Lila invited me to see her scooter,’ Lenore said, greeting her cautiously as she got out of the car.
Fran smiled distractedly and walked around the scooter pretending to inspect it, but really playing for time, searching herself for a genuine reaction.
‘Who’s is it, Mum?’ she asked. ‘It looks like Mr Pirelli’s, only a different colour.’
Lila gave her a huge grin. ‘It’s my scooter,’ she said proudly. ‘I got it on Friday and rode it to the hairdresser’s yesterday. I was going to tell you last night, but then the baby decided to arrive.’
‘Yours? You mean you’ve hired it?’
‘Bought it, it’s all my own, all paid for. Come on, Fran, sit on it, try it out.’
‘Bought it? You can’t have done . . . what . . . on your own?’
‘Ray helped me,’ Lila said, adjusting the seat slightly. ‘I didn’t want to bother you. You were so busy with the business and everything. Now, just sit on here and then this is the accelerator, and the brake is over here. Don’t go too fast, it takes a while to get used to the controls.’
‘You mean you’ve been out on the road on it?’
‘Course I have,’ Lila said. ‘Well, not on the road, I’m only allowed on the pavement. It’s a glorious feeling.’
‘I wish you’d talked to me about it,’ Fran said.
‘I’m perfectly capable of managing. You didn’t ask me when you bought a new house.’
Fran gulped. ‘No, but. . .’ She stopped herself and changed tack in an effort to hide her feelings. ‘Can you afford it? It must have cost a bomb.’
Lila straightened up and looked her in the eye. ‘I can also manage my money, thank you, Fran. Now stop being so grumpy and have a ride.’
Fran looked suspiciously at the scooter, and put a tentative foot on the platform. ‘Are you sure it’s safe for you?’
‘Course it is. Safe as houses, completely stable,’ Lila said. ‘And it makes me independent. You can’t argue with that now, can you?’
Fran hesitated. ‘I might be too heavy for it,’ she said.
‘Rubbish,’ Lenore cut in. ‘There’s plenty of people much bigger than you who ride these things. Go on Fran, give it a go, it’s really lovely.’
Fran settled herself in the seat, examined the controls, and then set off cautiously down the sloping street in the grip of two overwhelming emotions – panic at the prospect of her mother careering around the streets on a motorised vehicle, and resentment that not only had Lila taken this step without consulting her, but Lenore had been there first. She gritted her teeth, braked and turned the scooter in a circle. It certainly handled nicely. She took her time circling before going back, trying to get a grip on herself to avoid sounding ungracious.
‘Well, it certainly handles very well,’ she said, hearing how grudging she sounded. ‘It’ll be great for you to get out and about again. But you will be careful, won’t you?’
Lila waved away the warning and climbed triumphantly back onto the scooter. ‘You must think I’m losing it, Fran. Of course I’m careful,’ she said, and Fran saw the wink she directed at Lenore, and the way Lenore attempted to ignore it so as not to be drawn further into the tension.
Lila started the scooter and headed for the backyard. ‘Come on, you two, we’ll have a cup of tea before Lenore has to go,’ she said, negotiating the narrow gateway with some skill. ‘Close the gate behind you.’
Fran made the tea and nursed her bruised feelings with as good a grace as she could muster while Lenore was given a guided tour of the house.
‘You are so lucky, both of you,’ Lenore said, having done an admirable job of greeting each aspect of Lila’s purple décor with appropriate levels of appreciation. ‘But you deserve it, what a beautiful family.’ She put her hand on Fran’s arm. ‘Thank you, Fran, it was a privilege to share your birthday party, and as for the rest of it . . . what can I say? Unforgettable.’ She finished her tea and stood up. ‘Lila, I must get a move on. I have to meet someone at five.’
‘I was going to take Mum to see Caro and the baby. Could we drop you off somewhere?’ Fran offered in an attempt to compensate for her earlier chilliness.
Lenore shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. I came by tram and I’ve got a return ticket.’
‘Take her to the tram stop, Fran, while I clear up here,’ Lila said, hugging Lenore. ‘You’ll find out about those red hat clubs for me?’
‘I will,’ Lenore said. ‘And I’ll get the book for you too. Meanwhile, you need to find yourself a red hat – something with lots of chiffon, totally unsuitable for a great grandmother.’
‘You’re not happy about the scooter, are you?’ Lenore said to Fran once they were in the car.
Fran sighed. ‘Not really. I can see what it means in terms of her independence, but I wonder if she’s safe on it.’
Lenore shrugged. ‘Fran, at eighty-four with a dodgy ankle, she’s probably as safe on it as she is on her feet.’
‘She could have an accident, roll it over, hit something.’
‘And she could just as easily trip over in the kitchen and crack her head, or fall down the steps of the bus. But because this is new and motorised, it seems more dangerous.’
‘I suppose so,’ Fran said. ‘She’s so thrilled with it, with the prospect of being independent. I don’t want to spoil it for her.’
Lenore nodded. ‘The senescent illusion of freedom,’ she said. ‘The last gift of time. It all seems more precious the older one gets.’
‘I don’t think I’ve reached that stage yet.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. It’s sixty when it happens, or at least it was for me, the sudden realisation that one is an older person, that time is limited. Occasionally you think you glimpse the end, and you know it could happen any day.’
‘It could always happen any day,’ Fran said. ‘An accident, sudden illness, a heart attack.’
‘Of course,’ Lenore replied, ‘but after sixty it all becomes just that little bit more real.’
‘How old are you, Lenore?’
‘Sixty-two next week,’ Lenore said. ‘I’m a Libran, like you.’ she paused. ‘Fran, I think I’ve upset you.’
Fran parked the car in the forecourt of a disused building across the street from the tram stop. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to explain it.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Lenore. ‘I muscle in on your party, and on the birth of your granddaughter, and then when you come to see your mother the next day I’m there and I’ve already seen and test-driven the scooter. A series of intrusions, and while I never intended to hurt you I can see that I have. Is that right?’
Fran nodded. ‘It must seem really petty,’ she said.
‘No. I must seem pretty insensitive. And I’m sorry. I was having such a good time, but I should have been more thoughtful, especially about coming here today.’
Now that her feelings were named and out in the open, Fran felt stupid and childish. ‘It’s been a bit of a difficult time,’ she said. ‘I think I was overreacting. I’m sorry too.’
‘And there’s more, isn’t there?’ Lenore said. ‘You’re really worried about the scooter.’
‘Yes I am,’ Fran said. ‘She’s very forgetful. She may get lost, not be able to find her way home. But the other thing . . .’ She paused, remembering she was talking to Lenore but also needing to say it. ‘I don’t know how to put it, really, but this purple business, I’ve found it a bit hard to cope with. It seems so eccentric, and now the yellow scooter . . . I suppose I don’t want people to laugh at her. This must sound ridiculous, but it’s like when I was a teenager and I used to worry about what she wore at school concerts. I suppose we all worried that our mothers would embarrass us, and our friends would laugh. It’s like that.’
‘But who would laugh?’ Lenore asked. ‘Not your friends, or the people in the village who know her and like her, not people whose opinions really matter. If I saw Lila coming along the street, I’d think she must be a great character. I’d admire her, and, in fact, that’s just what I do feel anyway.’
‘You think I’m being stupid.’
Lenore undid her seatbelt and put her hand on Fran’s arm. ‘Not in the least. I think you’re having a perfectly normal reaction. Whoever we grow up to be, Fran, we are always our mothers’ daughters.’ She picked up her bag and got out of the car. ‘This was all very special, something I won’t ever forget, and I hope I haven’t spoiled it for you.’
Fran took a deep breath and got out of the car. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. ‘You haven’t spoiled anything, Lenore. Really. I’m sorry for being a pain in the bum.’
Lenore smiled. ‘I’ll see you soon, then,’ she said. ‘Will you be able to make time to work on the book?’
‘I’ll do my best. A lot of it is written in bits and pieces. I just need to make it come together.’
‘You’ll do it,’ she said, walking around to Fran’s side. ‘And if you don’t, I’ll be after you with my big stick.’ She hesitated slightly, and then leaned forward and kissed Fran on the cheek.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ and she darted between the cars to the other side of the road just as the tram rattled to a halt.
Fran stood watching as it jolted forward and resumed its journey, and Lenore waved to her from a rear window. She felt uneasy now about her ungenerous attitude. Lenore was a strange and disturbing presence, both attractive and intimidating, and Fran was left wishing that she could have the last two hours back again to do it all differently.