Sydney's Song (4 page)

Back at home, I was dreaming of buying a mobile phone when a car pulled up in the driveway. Whose car? Didn't sound like Mum's or Dad's. I peered down.

Holy moley… a sleek hot rod! Low, showy… and open-topped.

Mum was in the passenger seat saying goodbye to a brown-haired young man who had given her a lift home. Hang on, where was
her
car? And wait, wait a minute, they were now smooching. Did mere colleagues kiss like that? What was going on? This could not be happening.

No!

That was my mother. And that definitely was not Dad!

I sat down, trembling and feeling stupid. What on earth was happening?

Their laughter drifted up through my window. The car door slammed gently. Mum was coming into the house. I wanted to close my bedroom door, but my energy seemed to have drained. My hands shook. I felt ill.

“Hi honey,” Mum greeted me in her sing-song voice.

“Mum, that wasn't Dad!” I blurted out.

“That was Ettoré.” Mum pronounced both ‘e's as in “Echo”. She leaned on my door frame, but she wasn't looking at me. She smiled with dreamy eyes, looking distantly at some very pleasant memory. Ettoré. As if this name explained their kiss. “Your father will always be a good friend of mine. But honey, our relationship has run its course. Time to move on.”

“Which relationship?” This was so beyond me. My parents were devoted to each other. They had stuck together for years, not contributing to the statistics of Australia's high divorce rate. When Auntie Kate—Mum's best friend—separated from her first husband ten years back, my parents continued to be the epitome of a perfect couple. “You have a relationship with that guy Ettoré? What about Dad? He's your husband!”

“Not anymore,” she announced in a sing-song voice. As if she was not imparting a bombshell. Her face was positively radiant as she pulled away from the door. “Honey, we'll talk about all this at dinner. Your Dad wants us together when we break the news to you.”

“You're joking!” I jumped up and chased her to her door, but she closed it in my face. “Tell me it isn't true!”

“Calm down honey,” she called from inside. “I'll see you at dinner.”

“You can't do this to Dad! He loves you! Don't be cruel!”

Mum relented and opened her door, her smile replaced by a sigh.

“Sorry that you saw me and Ettoré, darling. That was insensitive, very lousy of me. We forgot ourselves because we were so happy. Sorry. But your father and I are being kind to each other. He needs to marry his girlfriend. When people are in love, as you'll be one day, they need to be together.”

“Girlfriend?” I stood in total incomprehension. “
Dad
?”

She nodded. “Geraldine. That English geologist we met at the conference of the Society of Exploration Geophysicists in Houston. A few years back.”

“But we were there with him,” I reasoned, bewildered.

“
We
were busy enjoying all those tours. And the other spouse activities.
They
were at the conference.” Her speech was slow as if addressing a simpleton, which I currently was. “He'll explain to you soon enough. At dinner. Let me ring restaurant delivery.”

“This can't be true,” I insisted. “
Dad
has a girlfriend?”

“Of course. Harry is only 42, you know. A year younger than me.He's a very successful man and he's very handsome.”

“Then why don't you stay married to him?”

“Honey… We didn't tell you before, precisely because you'd nag us and try to change our minds. But you should know one more thing, to prepare you for tonight's conversation.” She took a breath.

“Your dad needs money to start a new family now. Geraldine is young. They want children. So they're moving overseas to an oil company in Indonesia. A petroleum geophysicist makes way over half a million dollars there as an expat. He plans to be there for a few years.”

“Are you serious?” She couldn't be talking about Dad. “He's my best friend!” He couldn't cast me aside. “That can't be right. Mum?”

“We'll explain later. I just want you to be prepared.”

I was stunned. As I gaped, she went into her room again but this time she did not close the door. She picked up her phone and ordered dinner from a nearby restaurant. And I ran out of the house and ran and ran.

So many thoughts crowded my head. My parents, who looked very beautiful together, must not separate. I would not have it! I would fight for them to stay together. Tonight I would confront them.Tonight we were going to have one hell of a rational dialogue and contrive a plan to resolve their conflicts.

After some time I registered that Dimity was running silently beside me and I slowed down. I thought very, very hard, trying to remember anything wrong, any sign or hint, about my parents' rift. It must be a trifle, because try as I might, nothing came up.

If you had seen our family albums, you would've known Mum and Dad had always been there with me.

On the day I was born, Dad looked positively ill. You would think it was him who had given birth to me—so traumatic was his expression.

On the second day of my life, he looked so happy and proud, as if no one could be more beautiful than his darling daughter, and that he had accomplished this feat all on his own.

There was a picture of him pushing the swing in a park, with one-year-old me big-eyed with wonder. I could not walk or talk yet, but they had me safely secured in the special baby swing. This photo had always been one of my parents' favourites because of my ‘precious'expression.

Also there was him looking indulgently at two-year-old me, when I was playing with a bubbler in the park that wet my frilly dress.

You could only conclude that if Dad was in the pictures, it must be Mum who had taken them. Although she did not join us on most of our outings, Mum had been a constant at home. She would not cheer or jeer along with us when cricket was on TV. But she did at tennis. She had not participated when Dad helped me gardening. But she would be sitting nearby, doing crosswords or manicuring her nails to perfection.

How was I to save their marriage when I could not even speculate on their issues? They sure had never advertised them. Did they discuss them behind closed doors? If so, I was completely ignorant of them.

It was a mild October evening. The leafy streets of my suburb Beecroft were as tranquil as ever. There was no indication that the world was coming to an end. A few people jogged. A few people walked their dogs. A few people were getting divorced. Just another day huh? Another day in the life of Australians.

That evening, I ate my very last dinner with both my parents. Or perhaps I didn't. I remember them gently telling me that their divorce had been approved. It had come through. They received the papers today. And when, just when, had they submitted them? No slim chance I could fight to save their marriage? What kind of parents broke sickening news like this? It made me run to the toilet and throw up, but I only spewed water.

My parents followed me to my room. Mum stood by the window, Dad sat at my desk. I was on my bed now, hugging a pillow. Trying to suppress the bile. What was I going to do now?

Fight!

My mind scrambled for what to say. Nothing was too late. Hang the papers. They could remarry. I would make them. Squaring my shoulders to bolster my courage, I said my piece.

“You're highly sensible adults. You're supposed to figure out your problems and work out the solutions. You shouldn't just give up.Have a rational dialogue. Think of all the good times. You've had a wonderful life for two decades. People have been impressed by how close you are to each other. By how compatible you are. You have a million reasons not to throw it away.”

“Honey… we've seen a marriage counsellor. He said the problems would still be there ten years from now, so we should opt out while we were both still young and able to find happiness somewhere else.”

“That marriage counsellor should be shot!”

“On the contrary. He gave us very sound advice. Which we considered for two long years. Yes. This is no sudden whim, honey. We started talking about it when I turned 40. But we love you. We've always kept your happiness foremost in our mind. For a long time now we've been waiting for you to grow up before we went our separate ways. Now that you've completed the HSC and will turn 18 next February, you are old enough to understand. Adults have their own life too. We also need to be happy.”

Mum delivered all that in a very kind tone. The tone of someone delicately calling for understanding. Completely the opposite of her flighty mode when she had just arrived home. The way she talked made me feel like an inconsiderate, ill-behaved, spoiled little girl.

I turned to Dad looking for help. But there was no help there.

“Your eyes. The look in your eyes… We love you so much, darling,” Dad, who had been silent, now spoke. He always waited for Mum to tackle difficult situations first. “Don't worry. Nothing will change. You will continue to live here. As usual. We're both moving out immediately, yes. You must understand that we can no longer live here.”

In those kind, gentle tones I found infuriating my parents said they each loved me very deeply. This love for me would never change. They said I was an adult now, not a helpless kid. They said I should not begrudge them their happiness because their love for me would remain the same.

“I'm good to leave tonight,” Mum announced later. “I've packed what I need now.” You bet. Couldn't wait to jump the bones of her young boyfriend, seemed to me.

Dad kissed Mum's cheek with a loud smack, ruffled her hair, closed her car door and gave her a jovial wave. She waved back cheerily. And out she went. Out of the house. Out of my life. And into Ettoré's penthouse at McMahons Point.

“How could you let her go?” I cried. Fear had roiled in my stomach as I watched them. If they had shown grief and longing, there might have been some hope, perhaps? But their cheerful indifference struck me with its finality. Everything was simply beyond my grasp. It was all very hard to understand. My perfect family was no more. “Dad, how could you?”

“The flames dimmed.” He lifted his broad shoulders. “Then went out. We've become simply good friends, sweetheart. So we've decided by mutual agreement to go our separate ways.”

“That's it?”

Dad dragged me to the kitchen and took some yoghurt, cajoling me to eat something. He seemed to consider what to say next. I could see him turning it over in his mind.

“We're only in our early forties, sweetheart. Very young. We still have forty or fifty more years to live. A very long time. Shouldn't we be happy? Should we be condemned with ‘make do', when life could be better?”

“But yours was my model of a happy marriage. I planned to grow up to be like you guys. To have just one—one!—love for my whole life. Now it looks like I had stupidly believed that was possible.”

“Why not? Some other people are luckier, perhaps you'll be too.Just don't put up with crap, change your partner if you must… If you missed one train, another one will turn up shortly. Now, would you like to meet Geraldine?”

“Never!” I was ashamed of my sudden waspish attitude. I never knew my placid self could be so mad with anyone, let alone my parents. But I was very distraught. All this time they had waited for me to grow up… “Why don't you fix whatever is wrong, Dad… Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because you'd insist we stay together when we'd rather not.” He shoved a generous slice of chocolate dessert in front of me, still trying to get me to eat something.

“But you say we have to fight to make things better.”

“Honey,” he took my hands solemnly. “Sometimes it's not worth it. Don't fight too hard.”

“Dad… I can't believe you've been my model of happiness. Of fidelity”

“I'm human. I'm not perfect.”

“Oh? I saw you and Mum staying faithful. Because of this, I've been saving myself for the love of my life, whoever that will be. And now you're telling me it has all been a farce? No such thing as fidelity? I better go party and throw my virginity to the wind now.”

“No!” he protested. “Don't you dare!”

“Why not? Trial and error. Just like the grownups.”

“Sydney,” he chided with a warning tone. “Don't be sarcastic. You'll get over this. Let's talk about something else… Wanna come with me to Indo-land for a few months? Before uni starts? We'll be in Balikpapan. That's far, far away from messy Jakarta or Bali.”

“Oops!” this brought me back to my own plan. “I've totally forgotten! I get the call-centre job. One-three-hundred five-hundred. I said yes.”

“Sure you wanna do it? Work instead of holiday?”

“No. Yes. It's just that I've said yes, so… I'll keep my word… For now.”

“Well, think about it. Give me a shout if you change your mind, okay? Join us any time.”

Dad stayed several more days. When I returned from walking Dimity one morning, my stomach dropped to see him putting suitcases into his car. I had known about this and thought I was prepared. But I was wrong. With leaden steps I went to the backyard, unwound the watering hose, and watered my many, many plants.

Dad came out to the backyard and set down a brekkie tray. He had put cut-up mango in a bowl. Toasted bread. And cooked non-shiny uninteresting eggs. Yeah, Dad definitely had to stick to cereal.

He looked at me in helpless apology. His gaze imploring.

“Thank you,” my lips wobbled. I loved Dad. Hated him. And life would never be the same again.

Before Dad left for the airport, he said he would love me forever and always. He said he cared for me and would always be there for me. He said I would always be number one to him.

And so many other lies.

That evening I opened the fridge and stood there dejectedly. Staring. Tears and chocolate for dinner?