The Jacaranda House, page 20
‘Well, not clean the toilet because as far as I know she’s always been a reasonably house-proud sort of person, but the rest, yes.’
Sonny said, ‘OK, I won’t tell her. Anyway, she might just take off if I did.’ He closed his eyes. ‘God, I’m not looking forward to this. She’s going to rip my ears off when she sees me.’
‘Maybe. Probably. She’ll understand, though,’ Allie said. ‘Can I give you a word of advice?’
Sonny nodded.
‘Take care to show her you’re concerned about how she’s doing as well, that you’re not just there for Gina. I mean, God knows how she feels about the fact she’s been there for eight years and no one’s tried to find her.’
‘I’ve sent letters. And she didn’t want to be found.’
‘Not wanting to be found and knowing no one’s looked aren’t the same,’ Allie said.
‘That’s true,’ Sonny said after a moment, picking at the corner of the label on his beer bottle. ‘I was thinking of taking a few of Gina’s things over. You know, a couple of her favourite books, that diary she’s always scribbling in, a few bits and pieces like that. Maybe that dress of hers she really likes. What do you think?’
‘I think that’s a lovely idea, but good luck getting them off Awhi.’
Sonny didn’t reply. He just sighed because Allie was right.
*
Polly, Rhoda and Star were all out at work, and Emmeline was babysitting Gina. They’d made pikelets and Sebastian had eaten a whole one all by himself while Tatty had licked the butter off two more. Both animals were now curled together in an armchair, removing smears of butter from their fur.
Gina and Emmeline were knitting. Awhi had taught Gina to knit, and Emmeline was very impressed by her skill.
‘I’m sure I don’t know any other eleven-year-olds who would attempt a jumper for a puppy. Are you sure you’ve got the leg holes in the right places?’
‘Well, I measured him. And it’s only for his front half so there’s only two holes, and the neck. I think I’ve got it right. What are you making?’
‘A jumper for my nephew, Keith. You’ve met him?’
Gina nodded.
‘I’m not sure these are his colours,’ Emmeline said, tapping the bright red and lime green balls of wool, ‘and he’ll possibly say, “Thank you, Auntie Em, it’s lovely,” and put it away in a drawer forever, but it’s made with love, and it will keep him warm if he does decide to wear it.’
‘Why didn’t you just ask him what colour he’d like?’ Gina said.
‘Because that’s not the way I do things.’
‘Oh. OK.’
They knitted together contentedly for a while, the silence broken only by little slurping noises from the armchair.
Then Emmeline said, ‘Are you happy living here, dear?’
‘I think so. I like Australia and I like living with Mum. Mostly I’ve been living with my nan, in New Zealand, but it’s nice to be with Mum now.’
‘Has your nan more or less raised you?’ Emmeline asked. She knew very well this was the case as she’d interrogated Rhoda out of Gina’s earshot, but she wanted to hear her version.
‘Mostly.’
‘Why was that, dear?’
‘Oh, Mum was busy working when I was a baby,’ Gina said, her needles clacking away. ‘And then when I was about three . . .’ She stopped and made a face. ‘Four? I can’t remember. Anyway when I was still little she came over here, so Nan had to look after me. But she wanted to, so that was OK.’ She leant forwards, inspected the licked pikelets left on the coffee table, clearly decided they weren’t worth eating, and sat back again. ‘That was after the fight. I’m not sure what that was about. Nannie would never tell me but I do remember I went somewhere with these people and Uncle Sonny and Auntie Allie came and got me. After that Nan was really angry with Mum even after Mum came over here.’
Emmeline had heard about some alleged transaction Polly had made involving trading Gina to another family for money, which frankly sounded preposterous, and had resigned herself to never discovering the truth about that unless she asked Polly directly, which she would not do.
‘Was she unkind about your mother?’
‘She said some pretty mean things,’ Gina admitted. ‘But that’s just Nannie.’
Well, that’s unforgiveable, Emmeline thought. One does not ever bad-mouth a child’s parent to that child, even if the parent is despicable. Children love their parents no matter how rotten they are, and if the parent is criticised, the child begins to doubt itself and its own ability to make sense of the world. Given time, the child will eventually mature and make up its own mind.
‘How did you feel about that?’ she asked.
‘A bit funny, ’cos I love Nannie, and I love Mum as well. I always knew she’d come back for me.’
‘And she did!’
‘Yep. And I love Auntie Allie and Uncle Sonny and my cousins, and all my other aunties and uncles and cousins and friends, and I do miss them a bit. But I love Rhoda and Star and Evie and you and Tatty and Baz too, so that’s OK. Isn’t it funny how wherever you go you can have family?’
Emmeline looked at Gina, tears filling her eyes, and thought she really was the most delightful child. ‘Well, actually, I’ll tell you something, dear,’ she said. ‘I suspect only special people can have that.’
Gina’s face brightened. ‘Does that mean I’m special?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Nah. I just like it when people are happy.’ Gina knitted away for a minute or two. ‘I don’t think Mum’s happy all the time. And she’s sick a lot.’
‘Is she?’
‘She takes a lot of medicine.’
‘Does she?’
‘Yeah. And she drinks loads of brandy. I sneaked some. It’s pretty yuck.’
‘It’s certainly not my cup of tea,’ Emmeline said. ‘I prefer Pimm’s. What sort of medicine does she take?’
Gina shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Lots of little pills out of bottles.’
‘From the chemist?’
‘I don’t know. When Terry stayed he stole all her medicine and she had to go and see someone and get some more. She was really pissed off. Terry’s an arsehole.’
‘I’m not sure that’s the sort of language we want to be using, dear.’
‘Sorry.’
‘And who is Terry?’
‘Well, he was Rhoda and Star’s friend, but then he stayed here overnight when Mum and I were in Brisbane at the Beatles concert, and he pinched a whole lot of stuff and now he’s not their friend. Mum says he’s a bum boy.’
‘Oh dear, does she?’
‘Yeah. What’s a bum boy?’
‘I’m not sure, dear.’
Emmeline didn’t think it was her place to educate Gina on the variances in human sexuality – or the commercial ventures associated with those variances.
‘No, I don’t know either. I asked Rhoda but she wouldn’t say.’
‘So why did you decide to come to Australia with your mother?’ Emmeline asked.
‘Well, to start with it was just to see the Beatles. But then she asked me if I wanted to stay for good, and I said yes.’
Emmeline unrolled a long length of eye-wateringly green wool. ‘Why was that?’
‘Because she needs me.’
‘Does she? She has good friends here, doesn’t she?’
‘Yeah, but she needs family too, and that’s me. And she’s my mum, Auntie Em.’
‘What about your nan?’
‘Well, I do miss her, but she’s got loads of family. Mum doesn’t.’
‘Would your mother consider going back home?’
‘She says nobody likes her at home.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘It isn’t. Uncle Sonny likes her, and so does Auntie Allie.’
Emmeline said, ‘Family are very important, you know.’
‘I do know. My family’s enormous.’
‘Mine’s quite big, too. We’ve been here in Australia since the 1820s. Convicts, you know, though my people don’t like to talk about that. Why, I don’t know. Everyone makes mistakes. Though I have to admit to being estranged from some of my family, so I know how your mother feels.’
Gina looked at her. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Let’s just say some of them don’t approve of the way I live my life.’
‘And you’ve got convicts? I don’t think we’ve got any convicts, just famous ancestors and warriors and stuff.’
‘Well, New Zealand wasn’t a penal colony, so you wouldn’t.’ Seeing Gina’s expression Emmeline explained, ‘Penal means legal punishment, the root word being the Latin poena, also meaning punishment, or pain. Now what have I said?’
Gina smirked. ‘You said root.’
Emmeline rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, my convict was a girl called Harriet Clarke who stole a bolt of cloth from a London shop and was transported for seven years.’
‘Transported?’
‘That means sent to Australia to serve out her sentence. She spent some time in the Female Factory, a sort of prison at Parramatta, but on the ship out she met a surgeon called James Downey and eventually married him, so she did rather well for herself, didn’t she? They had lots of children, who in turn had lots of children, who over the years built a family tree resulting in my immediate family. Of course, I haven’t had any children so my branch of the tree will remain bare, but my brothers and sister have all reproduced rather energetically, so our name will live on. And I like to think I’ve done my bit for the children of this nation via the education sector.’
‘Why was it called a Female Factory?’
‘The word factory is short for manufactory, and at the Female Factory, which was for female convicts only, they made cloth – linen, from New Zealand flax, actually – and linsey woolsey, which was a coarse type of cloth with a linen warp and a cotton or woollen weft, hence the “woolsey” part of the name.’
Gina looked at her blankly.
‘You don’t see it much these days,’ Emmeline added.
‘Sounds itchy,’ Gina said.
Emmeline started a new row. ‘So, how was school today?’
‘OK.’
‘You said last night you’d made a new friend.’
‘I made another one today. Her name’s Michelle.’
‘That’s nice. Have they stopped calling you an Aborigine?’
‘Mostly. A couple of mean girls are still doing it but I just ignore them.’
‘Good for you. Not everyone is raised to have good manners and you’d be quite surprised to find who doesn’t have them. I’ve met some very well-off and allegedly upper-class people who wouldn’t give you the time of day.’
‘Uncle Sonny says people like that are up themselves.’
‘Does he now?’ Emmeline thought for a moment, wondering how to express her concerns in a way that wouldn’t upset Gina, or Polly if they were passed on to her. ‘You know, Gina, you’re not responsible for your mother’s happiness. If something is troubling her, be it physical, mental or spiritual, it’s very unlikely that you can fix it. Nobody can, except your mum herself.’
‘She could go to the doctor,’ Gina said.
‘Yes, she definitely could go to the doctor. Do you think she would?’
‘No.’
‘What do Star and Rhoda think?’
‘I don’t know. They don’t really talk about Mum around me. And Mum just gets grumpy if we ask if she’s all right.’
‘But you are happy living here?’
Gina nodded.
Emmeline thought for a minute. ‘What can’t you do here that you liked doing at home?’
Gina tapped her teeth with the end of a knitting needle. ‘Um, I can’t play four-square. Or elastics. They don’t do those at my new school. I can’t see my old school friends. I can’t eat pipis and kina and hangi, but there’s lots of other yum food instead. Not much, really.’
‘Would you go home if you had the chance?’
‘No. I like it here. Maybe for a holiday one day. But I like it here with Mum.’
‘Right. Good,’ Emmeline said, satisfied that Gina was where she should be. For now.
Chapter Eleven
Sonny had not particularly enjoyed his flight across the Tasman. At first, when the plane had taken off, he’d been as nervous as hell, especially when it had lurched and jolted up through the clouds, and then after it had settled he’d been bored silly. Nobody had warned him he should have taken a book or magazine with him. He’d definitely have to buy something for the trip home: there was only so much sky you could look at out the window before you started thinking about what would happen if you fell out of it.
Sydney wasn’t particularly tropical when they landed, but it was certainly a little warmer than Auckland, which was nice. And fortunate, as he hadn’t brought many clothes with him, and only a light jacket. As he stood outside the terminal trying to decipher the sign at the bus stop which might tell him which bus to catch into the city, it started to rain. He swore under his breath, wondered whether he should buy an umbrella, thought to hell with it, grabbed his sea bag and climbed into a taxi.
‘Kings Cross, please.’
‘Kings Cross whereabouts?’ the driver asked.
‘I don’t know. The middle, I suppose.’
The driver looked over his shoulder. ‘You not got an address?’
‘No. I’m looking for someone who lives there.’
‘Good luck with that. It’s a big place. Could be Darlinghurst, Potts Point, Rushcutters Bay, Elizabeth Bay, Paddington or right in the middle of the Cross. No clues at all?’
‘She works in Kings Cross.’
‘What does she do?’ the driver asked.
‘Don’t know that either.’ The driver turned away but Sonny met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘But she’s probably in one of the clubs.’
‘OK. I’ll drop you off on Darlinghurst Road. That’s probably the best place to start.’ The driver pulled out into the road and headed off. After a few minutes he said, ‘Girlfriend?’
‘Eh?’
‘This person you’re looking for.’
‘Sister.’
The driver made a sympathetic face. ‘You over from New Zealand?’
‘Yep.’
‘You’d be surprised the number who come looking for family. Sad, if you ask me.’
‘Yeah?’
‘We got a lot of Kiwis in the Cross. Not a good place, mate, and getting worse by the week. All them drugs. Mind you, there’s a lot of Aussies in the Cross, too. Bloody bad news. Don’t know what the world’s coming to.’ The driver turned down his radio. ‘And now we’ve lost our first man over in Vietnam. Did you hear about that in New Zealand?’
Sonny said he hadn’t.
‘Supposed to be an advisor but I bet he died in combat. You wait, we’ll be sending more and more soon.’
‘You don’t agree with the war?’ Sonny asked.
‘I wouldn’t say that. Someone’s got to stop the bad buggers. And you watch, your lot’ll be dragged in next.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, whenever there’s a stoush, wherever Australia goes, New Zealand goes.’ The driver suddenly hit the horn and raised a fist to another taxi cutting in front of him. ‘Bastard! Did you see that? Bloody immigrant taxi drivers! Can’t drive to save themselves!’
Sonny noted his own driver’s distinctive profile and olive complexion. ‘So where are you from?’
‘I’m a first-generation Australian. My mother and father arrived here in the 30s. But I’m Australian.’
‘Arrived from where?’
‘Greece.’
‘Right.’ Sonny thought for a moment. ‘Actually, I’m not exactly sure I know where Vietnam is.’
‘Me neither,’ the driver admitted as he pulled out past the offending taxi, flipped up two fingers and put his foot down. ‘I think it’s somewhere tropical. Indonesia, maybe? Whenever you see pictures in the paper our blokes are wearing jungle kit.’
‘We’ve already got troops in Borneo. So have you. That’s in Indonesia and Malaysia. The Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment’s based out of Singapore.’
‘Know a bit about the military, do you?’
‘I try to keep up. Got a few mates in the army.’
‘You a veteran?’
Sonny nodded. ‘South Korea.’
‘What was that like?’
‘Cold. Is it normally this warm in Sydney in the middle of winter?’
‘More or less. Ever thought of signing up again?’
‘No.’
‘I would, to fight the commies, but I’m too old,’ the driver said. ‘And I’ve got a family. And a bad back. That’s why my family left Greece, the commies.’
Sonny looked out the window and let the driver prattle on, while making vaguely encouraging listening noises. Eventually the man moved off communism and started on a list of sights Sonny should see while he was in Sydney, though Sonny doubted he’d have time to do anything more than find Polly and Gina and spend a day or two with them if he did.
He thought they were driving more or less north. Outside the scenery was a sprawling mix of industrial and suburban, not unlike Auckland but bigger and with more gum trees. Then the traffic became slower, the housing more concentrated, and he suspected they were nearing the city.
‘Whereabouts are we?’ he asked.
‘Coming into Surry Hills. Then you’ve got Darlinghurst, then the Cross.’
‘Where’s the actual central business district?’
‘Depends what sort of business you’re looking for,’ the driver said, and laughed. ‘If it’s shopping and white collar, that’s a bit further on and slightly to the west, near Hyde Park down by the harbour. You’ve got Pitt Street, George Street, Castlereagh, Elizabeth, and then the east–wests, Bathurst, Market, Liverpool, King and Martin Place. There’s plenty of trains and buses but a taxi’s your best bet to get exactly where you want to go. She’s a big place, Sydney.’ He handed Sonny a business card over his shoulder. ‘Here’s my card, in case you need a lift somewhere. You might not get me, of course, but you’ll get a company taxi and a proper Australian driver.’
‘Thanks.’ The card read George Anastos, Blue Streak Taxis followed by a phone number. Blue streak – George was certainly talking one. Sonny put the card in his pocket.
