

Christmas in Canberra

Nicole Taylor

Copyright 2017 Nicole Taylor

Published by Brunette Publishing at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the wonderful women who have advised me, listened to me, assisted me, befriended me; and especially to those who helped me celebrate.

Even when there was nothing to celebrate.

You know who you are.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance the characters may have to persons living or deceased  
is co-incidental and unintentional.

***

" _She lacks the indefinable charm of weakness."_

Oscar Wilde

***

# Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter16

Chapter17

# Chapter 1

BANG BANG BANG!

What was that? Through the mental fog, Louise tried to identify the sound that had woken her. Gunshots? Hammering? Louise was dragged from sleep as quickly as her hangover allowed and scrambled out of bed. Completely disoriented now, she turned in a circle beside her bed trying to claim consciousness and her dressing gown.

BANG BANG BANG!

Peering cautiously round her bedroom doorway while fumbling with the ties to her gown, Louise could see the glass door to her basement unit shuddering in response to the pounding knock of her landlord, who lived with his wife in the house above.

"Coming," she called, thinking "For God's sake – it's Saturday – isn't it?" She got to the door and opened it slightly, trying to hide her state of semi-attire from her visitor. She was immediately blasted by the brilliant morning sunshine which shone mercilessly into her now squinting eyes.

"Hello, Mr O'Neil," she said politely, hoping he wouldn't smell last night's rum & coke on her breath as she shrank further behind the door and away from the bright light.

"Hello, there, Louise." Mr O'Neil seemed thrilled to find her in sleepy disarray. Louise, quite horrified by his delight, hugged her dressing gown more closely and squeezing the door a bit more shut.

"Just wanted to let you know that we will be going away for a few days, to the beach house."

"Oh, lovely," said Louise. "Have a nice time!"

"You won't forget to water the garden, will you?" Mr O'Neil was keen to justify – and, it seemed to Louise, prolong – his completely unnecessary visit. They had discussed these arrangements two days ago when she had paid her rent – in advance, as usual.

"No, no – of course not," smiled Louise, closing the door even more. "Don't you worry – it will all still be here when you get back. Bye bye!" And she had shut the door before finishing her last "bye".

Her sister, Marie, had taught her that trick. Marie was a legal secretary and had to deal with some pretty irate customers. "What you do," she advised knowingly, "is this: You start speaking really sympathetically and assertively, so they like what they are hearing and can't get a word in. Then – you hang up on yourself." And she was right – it was the most brilliant strategy. Louise was still perfecting it, of course, and she would never have Marie's confidence and panache, but she was nothing if not a diligent student.

She stumbled into the shower, knowing she would not be able to get back to sleep now. Running the events of the preceding evening though her mind as she presented her face to the glorious shower of steaming hot water, Louise was greatly relieved to be unable to think of an especially embarrassing moment, or register any awareness at all of that deep feeling of fear she often woke up with when she had actually said or done something ridiculous but couldn't remember exactly what it was. The trouble with drinking was that it led to a total loss of inhibitions which were clearly there to protect you in the first place. Uninhibited behaviour often resulted in loss of dignity, and a moment's fun could easily melt into a week of shame. "Oh well," Louise finally gave up her morning-after audit and shrugged resignedly. "Hopefully everyone else was too drunk to notice."

The coffee was definitely clearing her head and, having already heard the O'Neil's station wagon pull out of the garage and drive off, Malua Bay bound, Louise happily settled herself, her coffee and her Benson & Hedges in the courtyard outside her unit, to dry her hair in the sun. She smoked and drank leisurely, fluffing her hair absentmindedly, reliving the more memorable portions of the previous evening.

*

It had all begun quite comfortably. The usual gang had met at Simon's for dinner. It was a combo-celebration: Louise had finished her graduate degree after too many years of night-time study; Simon had planted the last shrub in his now showpiece garden and Kim had been promoted – again. Added to that, on the previous weekend the whole group had done a tour of the local wineries and stocked up for the summer. A dinner party was all that was required to congratulate each other and taste the spoils.

"Well, Simon, I suppose we have to admit that all your labour has paid off," Alex acknowledged grudgingly. Simon's select group of friends, including Louise, were sitting under shade umbrellas on the terrace at the front of his verandahed home, enjoying the garden, the wine, and each other's company.

Simon chuckled and sat back with a very pleased expression on his face.

"Do I detect a note of envy, Mr Malcolm?" he enquired.

"Not a note, you bastard – I'm really jealous. All those weekends I sat inside watching Debbie Does Dallas while you were shovelling and digging and planting and building retaining walls – and you end up with a terraced garden, Debbie's still doing Dallas, and what have I got?"

"A har—" Simon was stopped from finishing his word by Kim, who popped a bite-sized savoury into his mouth.

Alex's girlfriend, Jenny, laughed with shock.

"Here, have one of these," said Kim, handing around a plate of delicious little pastries.

"Ooh – yummy – thanks, Kim," said Louise gratefully. Kim was an innovative cook and always came up with tasty things at their frequent get-togethers. Louise pretended to compete with her, but it was a friendly battle which Kim always won and Louise was happy to lose. "Are you going to Melbourne for Christmas this year?"

"Well," Kim answered cautiously, "we thought we might stay home this Christmas, and do something here.

Before she could explain, the doorbell rang and Simon got up to answer it. Louise looked around – surprised. Everyone she had expected to see was already here. Had they invited the neighbours? Having met them previously, Louise hoped not. As the only single woman – person – in the group, she was often the focus of any male 'friend' who had been married so long that he had forgotten how lucky he was to find a wife; or worse – was married to such a good actress he believed that she was the envy of all single women. Married women had a lot to answer for, and they only fooled their husbands.

But Simon returned with a very presentable male person. "Everyone, this is Gordon," he said to no one in particular. "Gordon, this is Alex and Jenny, Louise, Tom and Judith, and you already know Kim." Simon turned to the others and said "Gordon has just joined the Canberra office. He is from Sydney."

Everyone, especially Louise, smiled their welcomes. Gordon was tall, with fair, curly hair, and very good looking. He was around thirty years old and had clearly made use of the Sydney beaches because, unlike the lily white Canberrans, he sported a well-developed, even tan. Louise felt a tingle as Gordon settled himself in the chair beside her.

"This is very civilized, Simon," Gordon accepted the stubby Simon handed him with what could only be described as a toothpaste-commercial-quality smile.

"Well, we aren't complete barbarians out here in the snowy mountain district, you know," Simon bantered. "It might not be Sydney, but we have other amusements."

"Oh – so you do get the Sydney television stations here, then?" Gordon countered, and got a laugh.

"Sydney television stations?" Simon feined surprise. "I will have you know that we have no need of your crappy commercial rah rah. We have the Paynes!"

"The what?" Gordon was playing along.

"You have much to learn, my child," Simon said mockingly. "You are now in the Illawarra tablelands, and new rules apply. The Payne family has run the commercial television station in this area for generations – since television first aired here. We have Mr Payne, the owner of Canberra-Goulburn Television; we have Sharon Payne, his daughter in law, who reads us the news, and his son, Rick, who decides which items of news we really want to know."

"Is Sharon attractive?" Gordon asked.

"Ye – I wouldn't know," Simon nodded his head while casting adoring looks at Kim.

"She is short and has a pretty face but really huge thighs." Kim provided the details.

"How can you tell?" asked Judy. "She sits behind the news desk – you can't see her thighs."

"I saw her in the supermarket a while back." Kim explained.

"Wow!" Judy was clearly pleased with this titbit. "Big backside too?"

"Monolithic."

Gordon watched this interchange and laughed. "So," he interrupted the women, "let me get this straight. We have only one local commercial station –"

"We are getting two more this year –"said Alex.

"One TV station," continued Gordon, "with a married, overweight newsreader –"

"So far, we are no different to the Sydney television stations." Louise thought she had better say something, otherwise Gordon might forget about her, or worse – he might think she was too stupid to contribute. Gordon turned his full attention to her, and a really sweet smile, as if to say that his ploy to get her to speak had worked. Louise noticed it and plunged on, not wanting to lose him now.

"Aren't all the Sydney newsreaders overweight and married, too?" she finished with a shrug.

"Yes," agreed Gordon, "I suppose they are." He smiled and turned back to the group. "But they are men so it doesn't matter."

Louise, Kim and Judy howled their disapproval and all the men laughed at how easy it was to take them.

And so the evening had progressed. Drinks had become dinner as the summer sky changed around them. Baby blue became blotted with pink; the pink melted into mauve; and at last they sat under an indigo summer night sky, sparkling with a thousand stars.

*

"You met him where?" Margot's disbelief vindicated Louise's own. "You never meet interesting men at Simon's. The only men he ever has over are Alex, the guy with the porn habit, and Tom, the petrol head."

"Tom is a vintage car enthusiast, Margot," Louise corrected her friend.

"Whatever. Anyway, both of them are sexist, unattractive, boring and practically married – something for which, I might add, the entire single female population of Canberra owes their women a debt of gratitude. There are already enough unattractive, dull men for us poor spinsters to wade through."

"Is that why you don't come to Simon and Kim's soirees anymore?" Louise asked.

"No – not really." Margot had finished packing her gym bag and was waiting for Louise, who was only a minute behind her. "Kim annoys me. She is "nice", but she never really says anything without checking with Simon first. I always feel like a buffoon around her."

"You?" Louise looked Margot up and down, taking in her neat, womanly figure and long, straight, shining, chestnut hair. "She makes me feel like that – but you?"

"She just annoys me," said Margot defensively. "All that 'In Melbourne, it's classy to wear black'. And 'In Melbourne, everyone plays tennis'; and 'In Melbourne –'"

"Oh I know – does she really think we care?" laughed Louise. "If Melbourne is so great, why did she leave?"

"Single women travel away from home for one reason only," advised Margot seriously. "They are looking for men. Kim came to Canberra to poach our guys!"

Louise was agog. "Were you ever interested in Simon?"

"No! Of course not!" Margot was adamant.

"So? Who cares?"

"It's just the principle of the thing." Margot was insistent. "If you want to migrate – you should bring your own bloke. We barely have enough to go around as it is."

Louise laughed. "But then Gordon would have had to have brought a gorgeous, suntanned Sydney woman with him and I wouldn't be 'in lerv'!"

"Hhhmm," acknowledged Margot, "I suppose there is always that aspect to things."

"Oh, yes!"

"But we cannot spend the rest of the morning talking about Gordon."

"Just a minute more?"

"No. I have to go."

"Where?"

"I'm meeting Mum at the mall." They were at their cars now, and Margot jumped into hers. "See you later," she called through the open window as she started the engine.

"Right," said Louise as she waved Margot off. "I might as well drop in on my Mum, too."

*

Mary looked around her big, airy, newly renovated kitchen, and thought how glad she was that Christmas would be held at her daughter Jane's this year. The renovation had been an exhausting interlude and now she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the results. Large windows overlooked a generous backyard and half a dozen apricot trees, still abundant with fruit. Off in the distance, the city and parts of Lake Burley Griffin were visible, dominated by the obelisk silhouette of Black Mountain Tower. It was a beautiful morning in early summer, with a clear blue sky and a tingle in the air. Typical Canberra weather.

In a few months' time, they would sit in the kitchen and watch the hot air balloons crowding the sky like painted Easter eggs wobbling on a bright blue blanket.

But Mary was not concentrating on the view this morning. Her thoughts were inwardly focused as she congratulated herself on having reached this point in her life. 48 years old, still beautiful, married almost 30 years, the matriarch of her family.

Mary and Jim Keats had 5 grown children. Louise was the oldest, then Michael; Jane was the middle child, James was next and Marie was the baby. Only Michael and Jane were married, though, and only Jane had children – which was probably why Mary was closer to her than the others. When they were growing up, Mary had always felt closer to Louise. It was funny how things turned out.

The house was getting to be just right at last. The Keats family had recently moved from the large family home they had built in Belconnen in the early 70's, to this smaller house in Farrer, Woden Valley. It had 3 bedrooms when they bought it, but Jim had knocked out the walls between the 2 front bedrooms, and then the wall between the resulting room and the entrance hall, so that there was only one bedroom left. From the front hall, there was now a large dining room on the left, the walls of which were lined with bookshelves – all neatly crammed full, and on the right, an equally large lounge room.

The one remaining bedroom ensured that none of their kids would consider camping at Mum and Dad's should their fortunes fall. Mary smiled to herself as she thought how neatly this had been accomplished.

At that moment Louise walked through the front door which was open as usual in the summer, disturbing her mother's reverie. "Garden's looking good, Mum," she said by way of greeting.

Mary inwardly groaned. She just wasn't in the mood for Louise this morning, who "dropped in" almost every day; on her way home from work; or on the way to Jane's or Marie's. Why couldn't she get her own life and leave them in peace? She met her father in Civic for lunch almost every week – wasn't that enough?

Mary looked at her daughter and saw exactly what she expected to see. Louise was dressed in a pair of those hideous stretchy trousers, running shoes and a large sloppy pullover. None of the dull, washed- out colours suited her – or anyone else that Mary could think of – and Louise's very pale, clean skin and plain brown hair did nothing to distinguish her appearance.

Hoping to discourage her from staying, Mary replied "Oh. I was just going out."

"Oh, okay," said Louise, confused. "Is Dad home? I didn't see his car."

"No, he's doing the bun run." Jim volunteered with the St Vincent de Paul society one Saturday of each month, delivering the unsold bread which was donated by local bakeries to various homes around Canberra. This was affectionately termed the "bun-run".

"Would you like a lift somewhere?" Louise asked, congratulating herself on being so magnanimous considering Mary's rather ungracious reception. Knowing that her mother didn't drive, Louise was surprised to hear of her intended outing in the absence of her father – and the car.

Mary sighed, realizing her error. "No, thanks. I was just going out to do some gardening."

"Right," said Louise, stifling her annoyance as she took note of her mother's white linen slack suit and newly painted nails. "I'll get going, then."

"Alright then, bye," said Mary, more cheerful now.

"So," said Louise, as she retraced her steps out the front door, "will you be okay to bring the nuts and lollies to Jane's for Christmas dinner?"

"Yes," Mary said, rather testily, Louise thought. "We got our copy of the roster, don't worry."

Louise stopped and looked at her mother in surprise. "Oh, right," Louise turned and walked towards her car. "See you later, then."

Mary walked back into the house to avoid having to wave.

*

"Jeez!" Louise exclaimed as she took the mug of coffee Marie handed her. "That is the last time I drop in on her!"

Marie laughed. "You always say that," she scoffed. "So, what's her problem this time?" As she spoke, Marie examined her reflection in the large, ornate mirror which hung on the wall opposite a deep bay window. The mirror reflected her view of mature silver birch trees which were almost level with the second floor unit. Sunlight dappled through the flickering leaves as they were stirred by the light breeze. Marie twisted her thick, wavy black hair around her hand and assessed the result with her head to one side.

"You're gorgeous, so drag yourself away from the mirror and come and sit down." Louise patted the seat beside her on the sofa as she spoke. "I don't think Mum is too keen on the roster, actually."

"Oh, the roster! Yes, you really got them going with that little document, didn't you?" Marie dropped her tresses and sat down beside her sister.

"I don't see why everyone is so bent out of shape about it. Especially Mum! I only put it together so that she and Jane wouldn't get stuck with all the work. Why is Mum so upset?"

"Dad is ticked off by the roster, so therefore Mum gets to be mad at you, too."

"She needs a reason? She has been weird to me ever since I didn't marry Stuart – and that was 8 years ago now."

"Is that when you stopped being the Golden Girl?" Marie was interested. "I wondered when it all began. I thought it was a "Roxanne" thing."

Roxanne was Michael's wife. She had never cared for any of Michael's sisters, but she was very popular with Jim and Mary.

"No – it's just that Roxanne arrived on the scene at the same time as Stuart and I broke up. Your timing is correct, though."

"Oh, I get it now. Well, I'm not married – how come she can't stand me, too?"

"Because even though you are 20, the same age I was when Stuart and I broke up, she thinks you're too young to get married!"

"I see." Marie sipped her coffee. "So, if I stay single till I am 28 like you, Mum will be permanently peed off with me, too?"

"Probably not," admitted Louise. "You are the baby of the family."

"So?"

"So, you could be 50 and you will always be the baby of the family. It's not fair, but it is just one of those things."

"Sorry," Marie smiled smugly at Louise.

"Gee – you don't look sorry!"

"I'm not!" The girls laughed at each other. Marie tried to put on a cherubic face while fluttering her quite substantial eyelashes, and Louise rolled her eyes, shook her head and groaned.

"Besides," Louise added, " with the amount of make-up you wear – no one will ever be able to tell how old you are."

"You're just jealous because I'll always be the baby."

"No – seriously – when you were 16 you looked 24 and when you are 40 you will still look 24! How do you do it?"

"Well, I think it is because I have a tiny little nose, and –"

"No, I mean – how do you get so much make-up to stick to your face?"

"What?"

"If I tried to put on that much make-up, it would simply slide off. My face reaches the make-up saturation point really quickly."

"Is that why you never wear any, and walk around looking like a bloke?"

"Yeah – a bloke with two enormous humps growing out of his chest!"

"Enormous? Please! My boobs were bigger than yours are now before I even reached puberty!"

"Yeah, right. It's not fair, though." Louise returned to the original topic. "If I put on any more than a bit of mascara and a smear of lipgloss, my face looks like a plate of fruit salad!"

"That's the acne, dear."

"Oh – nice one! Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome."

"Actually, I'm thinking of avoiding the whole Keats family Christmas disaster thing and spending it with friends this year."

"Really? Who?" Marie ran down the list of Louise's friends in her mind, all of whom were, in her view, boring, over-educated and single. "Margot? Pat?"

"No – Simon and Kim."

"Oh, is Simon still going out with her?" Marie sniffed.

*

Louise had met Simon when he was at the ANU and she at Canberra University. He had been seeing her then-best-friend, Katherine, whom he had met late one night at Trix, Canberra's version of a new-wave disco. Katherine had long since abandoned Canberra – and Simon – but the friendship between Simon and Louise had lingered. He was originally from Tasmania, and after he met Kim, who came from Melbourne, Louise had become part of their urban family. It included one or two other couples, none of them actually married; all out-of-towners who got together when extended families usually did, in the absence of theirs. Louise, the social outcast of her own family by virtue of being the only offspring who had gone to university like her father, instead of marrying at the first opportunity like her mother, found their company contemporary and revitalizing.

Simon, like most men, had been captivated by the young, beautiful and curvaceous Marie, who enjoyed his attentions but did not return them. Nevertheless, she felt antagonized by the existence of any woman who pretended to peel away one of her admirers. Like most beautiful and hot-blooded women, Marie was assertive, possessive – and great company.

"Yes, he is – God only knows why!"

"Oh! Me! Me! Pick me!" Marie bounced up and down on the sofa, stabbing the air with her straightened arm like a schoolgirl. "I know why!"

It was clear to them both that Marie was going to suggest that Kim had bedroom-related abilities that enchanted Simon, so Louise played dumb. Instead, she changed the subject.

"Hey – why does Dad hate the roster?"

"Because he is on it!" Marie didn't even need to consider the question.

"What?" Louise frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? Everyone who is going to be at the Christmas dinner is on it. That is the whole idea. We all go out to work. Why should Mum and Jane do everything just because they are mothers? They are working mothers! And why should you and I help them while the guys sit around and drink beer? It isn't as though it is a BBQ and the men will be doing the cooking."

"Sam won't be drinking beer," Marie conceded knowingly.

"No – good old Sam gets his buzz calorie free."

"And since when has Dad ever helped around the house?" Marie pointed out the critical flaw in Louise's reasoning. "He is peed off about the roster because now Mum has to do his share as well as hers – and everyone will know it."

"You are kidding me."

"Do you really think that Dad is going to clear the table and scrape half-chewed food scraps off the dishes?" Marie laughed at the thought. "Come off it!"

"Wow – this is scary!" Louise was shaking her head. "I now know how Dr Barbara Theoring must have felt when she first unscrambled the truth of the scriptures from the Dead Sea Scrolls. I'm shaking the very foundations of Life as we know it – messing with beliefs that underpin our whole social structure."

"What?"

"Nothing. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, baby girl."

"Oh, shut up." Marie suddenly stopped and pointed at Louise. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "I know why you want to have Christmas at Simon's! Yes – you are trying to avoid doing your rostered job!"

"What?"

"Wait till Mum – and Dad – hear about this!"

# Chapter 2

Jane loved her new house – especially the kitchen. She loved the cathedral ceiling, and the balconies overlooking the kitchen from both the upstairs playroom and the hall outside the master suite. Sliding glass doors led out to the patio, which was excavated from the rising landscape of the back yard and finished with quarry tiles, letting sunlight into the room all day. The room was painted a pale, gum-leaf green and the floor was laid with a large, off-white, porcelain tile.

All her fittings were stainless steel – the fridge, stovetop, wall-oven, microwave, even the top of the island table. On Christmas day, she would have the patio decorated and the market umbrella opened up over a central table which would bear all the food. Chairs with side tables would be set against the retaining walls. On one side, the kitchen opened onto a large family room which, with its deep sofas and central location, would provide a comfortable retreat for older relatives if they got tired of the heat outside, or just felt like a change.

On the opposite side, the formal dining room, not needed that day, could serve as a gift opening forum, overlooking the lounge room as it did. The lounge, which lay 5 steps below the level of the dining room, was at the front of the house and commanded a sweeping view of the entire Tuggeranong valley. Jane had placed the Christmas tree – the biggest one she could find – against the French windows so that you had to see the view whenever you looked at the tree. And what a tree! Jane thought it her best yet. She had gotten the idea from David Jones, the department store they had been patronizing since they were kids, when it was the only one in town. Only huge, silver baubles and tiny white electric lights adorned her tree, which was at least 2.5 metres high. Jane thought it picture perfect. This was going to be her Christmas. The one she had always dreamed of having. Her beautiful home, her handsome husband, her adorable children – a girl and a boy – she'd even lost that pesky few kilos that usually annoyed her all summer long. Yes – this was her time of triumph.

Jane had the general appearance of a baby doll. Her round blue eyes, flawless fair complexion and wavy golden-brown hair perfectly suited her diminutive 5 feet nothing stature. As the middle child slash daughter, she had never been upheld as the brains nor the beauty of the trio. But now – she was the successful one – "a real woman" her father had pronounced her. Motherhood had seen her blossom, while the years had diminished the surprise of Louise's accomplishments. It had been astonishing that Louise was so brainy when she was 17 – but now that she was a 28-year-old single accountant, who cared?

And even Marie's beauty, combined as it was with a withering wit, had the overall effect of scaring off girlfriends and male admirers alike.

Yes, Jane wouldn't change places with either of them. Now she was the popular one – the true centre of the family. Her mother preferred her to both her sisters now. Even Roxanne dared not criticise Jane behind her back – something she regularly did to both Louise and Marie.

Jane didn't like to admit it to herself, but this was one of the things she enjoyed most about Roxanne's company. Never before had she met anyone who so openly and unrestrainedly – and with such fervor – criticized her two sisters! Till Roxanne came along, Jane's sisters could do no wrong in the eyes of her entire family. Louise was the one everyone deferred to, and sought for advice – and Marie was the beauty of the family. Jane was barely noticed – until the day she got married. She was the first one in the family to do so – and when she immediately produced a grandson and, barely a year later, a granddaughter, her superior status was sealed.

At first, Jane had been shocked to hear Roxanne speak so disparagingly of her sisters in front of their parents. But that shock had been replaced by even greater surprise when she witnessed Mary's mild response – actually, it was more like tacit agreement – with Roxanne.

"Don't tell me Louise is changing jobs again," scoffed Roxanne.

"Is she?" asked Jim. Mary, Jim, Roxanne and Jane were sitting at Mary's kitchen table, drinking coffee, while Michael and Sam, Jane's husband, were outside inspecting Sam's new work vehicle. "Who told you that?"

"Oh, I have a friend who works at Defence, and he asked Michael if he knew Louise, since they have the same last name."

"That is so 'Canberra', isn't it?" said Mary. "Before too long, everyone knows someone you know!"

"She must have applied for a promotion there since she finished her graduate studies," said Jim.

"God – did she actually end up finishing that? Amazing!" Roxanne was dismissive. "It took her long enough!"

To Jane's shock, both her parents laughed and nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I thought she would exceed the time limit and miss out. But she made it. It is hard, though, working full time and studying."

"It's a breeze compared to raising a family!" Roxanne contradicted her father-in-law. Not surprisingly, Mary agreed strenuously with that statement.

"But you won't get any thanks for raising a family, Roxanne." Mary's mouth was set in a bitter twist as she spoke. Jim looked decidedly uncomfortable now and prepared to collect his paper and repair to his study, a lair he had carved out for himself under the house, in a sort of "walk out" basement area. "No thanks at all. But anyone who has a degree – no matter how useless – will get promoted these days.

"Ah," thought Jane. "So it's like that, is it? Hate is a more binding force than love, and Roxanne has discovered Mum's weak spot. Fancy my missing that!" And then she had another epiphany. The very fact that Roxanne had so quickly and easily discovered Mary's penchant for sympathy told Jane that Roxanne paid attention to Mary – something no one else in the family had done for years. Jane suddenly saw that Roxanne had immediately recognized Mary's suppressed anger towards her eldest daughter, and was validating that anger by criticizing Louise. Jane was hooked. Suddenly, she felt an unfamiliar sense of affirmation, and she saw Roxanne with new, more intimate eyes.

*

"So, how did it go, the interview over at Defence?" Phil enquired of Louise, as they each made themselves a morning coffee.

Louise smiled, wondering if Phil was really hoping that she'd get the job – a promotion, in fact, which would place her at his level; or if he was just amazed at her nerve for actually applying for it in the first place. Or was he simply wondering whether he would be called upon to ratify the fairly textbook reference he had provided? She was under no illusions that Phil or the other "Tax boys" thought highly of her. She hadn't come up through the ranks as they had – she had been promoted into the Tax Office from a chartered accounting firm, much to the chagrin of the "occupying forces", and her applications for internal promotion had been ignored ever since. But, since Louise had been studying at night and the Tax Office was close to the university, she was determined to stick it out there till she graduated.

"Well," she answered, "I think it went alright. Let me know if you get a call – that will be a good sign."

"Oh, yes, I did get a call, as a matter of fact," Phil said.

Louise was taken aback. "So soon?"

"Yes," smiled Phil. "They seemed to think that you have a graduate degree!"

"I do have a graduate degree."

"A degree, Louise, from a university." Phil spoke softly and kindly now. "You are doing an accounting certificate, but they think you have a degree."

Louise's heart was thumping angrily now. "Phil, I am not "doing a certificate". I have a degree. A graduate degree. I have both a bachelor's degree and a graduate degree. From the University of Canberra."

Phil paused, shocked. "What?"

"What did you say to them?"

"I, er, I thought – I didn't – er, Leonie – " Leonie Eaton, another supervisor, had joined them in the coffee room, oblivious to the tension.

"Hi Phil – Louise," Leonie was a tall, attractive, athletic, professional type; very intelligent, not very chatty, better qualified than any of her peers and the only female manager in the office.

"By the way, Louise – congratulations. I hear that you finished your graduate diploma at the university." Leonie acknowledged kindly. "I did that one, too – I'll bet you're glad it's over."

Louise smiled at Leonie and glared at Phil.

"Yes, I am. I was wondering, Leonie – would you mind giving me a reference? I applied for a promotion at Defence and there seems to be a problem with my referee."

"Sure," said Leonie. "Just give me the name and number to call."

"Thanks, I will." Louise left, stifling her annoyance.

It was too ridiculous. Surely that sort of attitude had passed with her mother's generation. Did these men seriously lead such sheltered lives that they still thought educated women wore bi-focals and long, baggy skirts? Louise stopped at her desk just long enough to extract her ciggies, then lent over and jabbed the woman who sat across from her in the arm. "Smoke time Vera," she announced, waving the pack at her friend.

"Oh. OK," Vera threw her pen down and her head up and followed Louise out.

Once outside on the footpath with the other morning smokers, Louise related the coffee room conversation to Vera, who laughed. "Why are you so surprised?" she asked. "Phil's wife is a nurse, and Phil himself has only just finished his B.A. part time by correspondence."

"So?" Louise didn't grasp the relevance of either of these comments.

"So – he naturally assumed that he was better qualified than you. Oh boy – are you in for it now!"

"What do you mean?" asked Louise, finally paying attention. She had vented her spleen to Vera, but hadn't anticipated an actual conversation.

"Well, now that Phil realizes that you are not only better qualified than he is, but have the same qualification as Leonie Eaton; and given the EEO mandate that more women must be represented in the managerial ranks of the department – he won't be able to help himself. He will have to prove that you are inadequate and inferior to him in any way he can."

"What about Chris Hardy?" Chris was Leonie Weston's level and yet another supervisor.

"What about him?" asked Vera.

"Well, does the same apply to Chris?"

"No – for one thing, you have the hots for Chris, which I think he rather enjoys; and for another, he is good friends with Leonie and Mark Eaton, so I think Phil is the one you need to watch. Oh – and Greg Dawkins."

Greg Dawkins was the section head.

"Why Greg Dawkins?" asked Louise. "And how did you know – I don't have the hots –"

"Why Greg Dawkins?" Vera was disbelieving of Louise's ignorance. "Greg is another Phil! Neither of them was accepted at the University of Canberra, which is why both of them got their degree by doing a correspondence course. And," she added conspiratorially, "Greg's wife weighs about 90 kilos."

"So?"

"So – that makes us 'the enemy'!"

"Why? Because we are not able to find a man to marry us, and therefore have to work and study for qualifications so that we can stay employed, while other women get men to go to work to support them, so they can stay at home and have kids?"

"No; because we are competition for them in the promotion arena, and wouldn't go out with them even if they were single!"

"How do you know all this stuff, Vera?" Louise was in awe of her knowledgeable friend.

"Aagh – I'm Rrrussian, darlinka," Vera rolled her R's on "Russian" very impressively and put on her Babushka accent. "Ve know vot goes on in zee vorld."

"Shit," groaned Louise. "Well, I just hope I get this promotion, then."

"Have you read Defence's annual report?"

"Their what?"

"Geez Louise, good thing I'm here to look after you!" Vera was only 5 years older than Louise, but mothered her nonetheless. "It's no good just knowing how to do the accounting – you have to impress them with the knowledge you have about their department and what they do. That "closes the gap" between you and an internal applicant. The annual report will tell you who the big-wigs are; why the department exists in the first place; what the big issues were last year; what the plans are for this year and what the "buzz-words" are. Then you can speak their language." Vera finished her cigarette and stood on the butt to extinguish it. "It is no different to applying for a job at a multinational company."

"But I've already had the interview!"

"The first interview – once they speak to Leonie, you'll be called back for another interview. I'll coach you." Vera linked arms with Louise as they headed back upstairs to the office.

"You know," Louise whined "all I really want is to look pretty, and earn enough to support myself."

"I know, dear," said Vera soothingly. "Me, too."

*

Jim Keats loved family events. He still found it hard to believe that out of what had seemed like endless years of endless chaos, this fabulous family had emerged.

He was especially proud of Michael, his eldest son and second child. At first, he had despaired of Michael ever finding his place in the world. Although a very intelligent boy who excelled at field sports, Michael and been the scourge of the poor nuns all through Primary school. He couldn't sit still and refused to follow instructions. In Grade 5, all the boys left St Thomas More's convent school and went to the brothers at Daramalan. There, Michael had been the star of the cricket and football teams, both of which Jim coached, but he had generally played truant from every other class.

During his teens Michael had fallen in with the wrong crowd – not bad boys, any of them, but they seemed to attract trouble. They brought it all on themselves, Jim had to admit, but his paternal understanding did not extend further. None of his other children had given them any trouble – why was Michael different?

So, Michael had gone from one Catholic boys school to another, usually having been asked to leave the one and accepted on probation at the other; and upon turning 15 years of age had promptly left school. Having movie-star looks and a disarming smile, he had quickly gained employment with a left-wing, overseas-aid operation and commenced work as their printer's boy.

And that had been that. Jim, who had been a straight A scholarship student, and had an economics degree at a time when not everyone finished high school and fewer still went on to university, wondered why his son had chosen to make his own life so difficult. Jim was happy to put Michael through university – wanted to do it for him. But Michael had enrolled himself into technical college and the five year long course to be a lithographic printer. At the end of it all, he had been named "apprentice of the year" and now managed the biggest printing operation in town, and was more highly paid than any of the others – something Louise often pointed out when she complained about the cost of her own studies.

Jim couldn't be more proud of his son. Tall, handsome, an accomplished sportsman, a well-known member of the growing, privately-owned business community in this otherwise government town, Michael embodied all that young manhood should in his father's eyes. He was, in many respects, a self-made man – that highest of accolades, and one Jim aspired to himself. And Michael relied on his father's input in all the important decisions in his life.

Sometimes Mary complained at the level of financial support they had contributed to Michael's business ventures over the years, but Jim loved being a necessary inclusion. Sure, Michael needed more money to fund his plans. What young man didn't? And how many rich men had rich fathers? Almost all of them. Well, Jim might not be a multi-millionaire, but he wasn't poor, and if he wanted to help his son, he would.

"It's not fair, though," Mary had protested the last time she'd discovered that Jim had helped Michael out financially. "What about the others?"

"What others?" Jim didn't want to be talked out of his decision. He was able to make Michael's dreams come to life by injecting money. Michael always turned to his father for solutions and so far Jim had never let him down.

"The other kids!" Mary was losing her patience. "What if they all wanted as much help as we have given Michael?"

"They don't, do they?" Jim was horrified by this idea. "Louise has never asked us for money. Jane doesn't need anything – she and Sam are better off than we are. James is perfectly happy and Marie only ever wants the odd dress, or pair of shoes." Having acquitted himself of the charge, Jim was comfortable again. "Michael is the only entrepreneur in the family, and I am his silent partner." Sensing that Mary remained unconvinced, he added "Besides, Mary, it is my hard earned money and I'll spend it however I like."

"I see." Mary was terse. "So, I can like or lump it, I suppose?"

"Why would you want to stand in Michael's way?"

"I don't want to stand in anyone's way – but I do want everyone to stand on their own two feet, without having us propping them up!"

"We'll benefit if Michael profits," argued Jim.

"How?" Mary demanded. "And how will we even know whether Michael is profiting? He and Roxanne will have spent every cent before anyone can even count it!"

Jim was turned to his wife, eyebrows raised. "I thought you were behind Roxanne all the way," he commented drily. He had heard a lot of the anti-Louise sentiment in the women's conversations, and wondered where it was all headed.

"Roxanne's not a fool," answered Mary. "When she inherited all that money from her father's estate, she put it straight onto the mortgage, which is entirely in her name – not Michael's. Roxanne wouldn't put a cent into his business – and she makes no bones about it."

Jim knew this was true but till now, hadn't realized that Mary knew it, too. But he was sticking to his decision.

"All the more reason why we should support him," he said firmly. And Mary knew that there was no use in discussing it further.

*

Michael had only had one other serious girlfriend before meeting Roxanne when he was just 19. He had been chased by girls since he was 14 years old, but he was not a womanizer. Michael was lazy when it came to women, and would still be with his first girlfriend had she not dumped him just for the drama of it. Unfortunately for her, he was too lazy to chase after her and before much time had passed, he had met Roxanne who had not let him go. She was five years older than he; a strongly built, country girl, who made announcements rather than actually conversed with people. Jim and Mary immediately knew that she was perfect for Michael. She left no room for doubt or error – she was right and there was no other way. For Michael, who often lacked discipline and suffered from an inability to self-assess, Roxanne was the antidote to all his failings. So what if she didn't invest in Michael's latest scheme? She had taken on Michael, hadn't she?

They had married soon after his 22nd birthday. Because of Roxanne, Michael would always have a home and a family, despite his ill-fated schemes.

This Christmas was going to be a real family event. Jim was bitterly disappointed that it wouldn't be held in his own home, though. The whole place was so beautifully set up now, and they wouldn't be having Christmas there. It was a real shame. Jane and Sam's place was bigger, but Jim never really felt comfortable accepting Sam's hospitality. He would be merely a guest, rather than the father, father-in-law and grandfather. Sam tended to lord it over everyone when they were at his house, and anyway, Jim preferred to be on his own turf. He didn't mind Sam, who was a hard worker and a decent provider, but he thought him too hard on his young son, and Jim disapproved of the surreptitious dope smoking. He should have outgrown that by now, Jim thought critically. Dope smoking was something teenagers did – not grown men with families.

# Chapter 3

It was Friday night, and the Hyatt Hotel – previously the historic Canberra Hotel – was filling up. Well-dressed business people sauntered across the lawns, by the prolific roses and up the stairs past the liveried doorman. The reception area was beautifully decorated in the style of art nouveau, with marble floors and columns, ebony fixtures and French windows opening onto courtyards to both the left and the right. The right-side courtyard was the largest, and now held many of the as yet unmarried graduate employees of the nearby government departments. The Hyatt was well placed beside what was known as "the Parliamentary trangle", within walking distance of the departments of Treasury, Finance, the High Court, Prime Minister & Cabinet, and Foreign Affairs. Employees from other departments drove to gather there on Friday nights, so Defence, Immigration, Social Security and the Tax Office were also represented.

A male pianist and a female singer in the reception area made music that flowed out into the crowded courtyard, where drinks waiters in dinner suits kept the various conversations oiled.

"What do you think?" Margot asked Louise as she watched the young singer performing a light hearted jazz number.

Louise had never known Margot to take any interest at all in the entertainment, and looked more closely at the singer.

"Oh my God – is that Claire?" Louise asked and Margot nodded, trying to contain her huge smile.

"Not bad, huh?" said Margot, acknowledging that the singer was her little sister.

"She's fantastic, actually. I had no idea – I thought she was still at school!"

"Nope. Got out last year." Margot was one of nine children, all of whom had done a stint at the Catholic boarding school in the rural town of Yass, chosen by their parents to "finish them off". Margot had seen it as a cruel and unusual punishment, and had spent most of her mid-teens plotting her escape. On about the fifth occasion, her parents had given up and enrolled her in the local school which Louise attended. "She has been at the Conservatorium since then," added Margot, "doing piano and voice."

"Well, she got this gig, so clearly she is a professional musician, regardless of her student status." Louise took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and paid the waiter. "How come we never did anything like that?"

Margot laughed. "God – would you want to?"

"Yes, I would! Look at Claire – she is having a great time and she's being paid!"

"I'd rather be here, enjoying the performance, than up there, giving it." Margot sipped on her cocktail. "Besides, all the men are down here with us."

"True. Good point." Louise took a break from scanning the room for interesting faces and turned to her friend. "How come you don't meet guys at work?"

"Adrian is married."

"No – not your boss. I mean your clients. There you are, in your little uniform, bending over them as they lay back in the big chair – they are totally captive! How can you miss?"

Margot guffawed at Louise's description. "I'm a dentist, Lou – not a nurse! For one thing, I'm holding a drill in their mouth; a sure fire turn-off if ever there was one; and for another thing, men don't go to the dentist between the ages of 18 and 60. Thank God women do, otherwise I wouldn't have a job." Margot paused to sip her drink. "No – I'll never meet my true love at work – which is why I am forced to do the bar circuit when I am not taking Kon Tiki tours of the western world." She pulled a face at Louise. "Anyway – you should talk! You're an accountant. You work entirely with men. What's your excuse?"

Louise sighed. "Male accountants marry as soon as they finish university."

"But don't they risk marrying too soon and missing out on someone better?"

"That's what we have been raised to believe, but the opposite is true. Having spent years learning how to measure and avoid risk, the young, ambitious accountant nails down as much of his future as possible, as soon as possible." Louise paused, then added "Remember how many guys we had chasing us when we were 20? Now we have to find out whether the man asking us out is married – or worse – if he is paying child support for 3 kids under the age of 8." Louise shook her head slowly. "At our age, the pool of available men had been shrunken by those enemies of all spinsters seeking partners: marriage and travel."

"You said it, sister." Margot replied in agreement. "But there are still one or two floating about."

"By the time you meet them at work, they have wives and babies."

"Chris Hardy doesn't have a wife or kids."

"He isn't an accountant. He's an economist."

"There's a difference?"

"Big difference." Louise held her hands apart as though preparing to clap; about 9 inches apart.

Margot laughed, spluttering her drink. "You are revolting!"

"Crude, rude and totally undesirable, darl!"

"He doesn't think so," Margot pointed her drink towards a nearby group of men.

Louise looked over in time to catch a smile and salute from Gordon. She turned abruptly back to Margot. "Margot – that's him! Gordon – from Simon's dinner party. Sydney Gordon!"

Margot peered discretely over Louise's shoulder. "Very nice," she said in her best low-purring voice.

"Stop!" hissed Louise. "Stop looking!"

"I'm just checking out the group he is with, to see if there is any talent"

"Are there any girls with them?"

"No, not yet." Margot took a sip of her drink and surreptitiously shifted her view to another section of the courtyard. "But if we don't join them now, there soon will be."

"OK," Louise stood up straight. "One, two, three –"at which point they both laughed at each other in a much-rehearsed style, and moved languidly towards Gordon's group.

"I was wondering how you could ignore me for so long," Gordon said teasingly. "I've heard how snobby you Canberra people can be." He was smiling his heartbreaking smile and Louise could barely breathe.

"It was only a short walk – you might have come and said hello yourself." Louise pretended to be at ease.

"But then I would be forcing my company on you. Don't women hate that?"

Louise ignored this comment, and introduced her friend. "Gordon, this is Margot." She turned back to him. "I've already told her all about you, so there is no need for any further introduction."

"What did she tell you?" Gordon asked Margot.

Louise quickly interrupted, shooting Margot a fearful look. "Oh, just that you are from Sydney and work with Simon."

"So, you told her everything you know about me."

"Pretty much," agreed Louise.

"Tell me, then, what do the good-looking girls in Canberra do on the weekends?"

Before the girls could answer, a man from Gordon's group spoke up. "It's a ritual pub crawl, Gord. Friday night: here, at the Hyatt; Saturday night: the Private Bin; Sunday: the races, if there is a big one on, and the Boot and Flogger if there isn't; and if you are still not worn out, and want to join a big crowd, the Ainslie Footy Club has a live band on Sunday night. There is a smaller thing on at the Manuka footy club too." He turned to Louise and Margot. "Am I right?"

The girls laughed. "That's right," said Margot. She said to Gordon "Stick with this one – he will look after you."

"And it is the same every week?" Gordon asked his friend, disbelievingly.

"Not only is it the same each week, but the same 500 people show up to all of them! By the way, I'm Peter," he said, turning to Margot and Louise and hold their hands in turn.

They exchanged greetings and Gordon waved down a waiter.

"No – no – let's go and eat!" Peter shooed away the waiter before he could take any orders.

"Fine with me," said Gordon. He turned to Louise. "So, see you tomorrow at the –"

"Private Bin, mate," added Peter helpfully as he put down his empty glass and prepared to leave. "But right now we are going to Manuka for dinner." He addressed the girls and said "Nice meeting you."

"We'll be in Manuka, at the –" Gordon looked questioningly at Peter.

"Santa Lucia's," Peter provided the details.

"Santa Lucia's, if you feel like joining us," Gordon added, then smiled as they departed.

"OK," said Louise. "See you later."

Watching them leave, Margot asked Louise "What was that?"

"What?"

"The 'see you tomorrow'; 'we will be in Manuka'? Was he asking you out?"

"I don't think so."

"I didn't think so, either."

"It was more of a 'you can hang around with us at your own expense and I won't have to pay for you or chauffeur you around' sort of thing, I think."

"That's what I thought, too." Margot bought drinks from a passing waiter and handed one to Louise. "So, do you want to go?"

"No, not like that. Do you?"

"No."

"He's cute, though, huh?"

"Very, very cute. Gorgeous in fact." Margot sipped her drink. "You know," she added thoughtfully, "It's OK to be like that – casual, no strings, when you aren't really attracted to the guy, but if you are –"

"And I am –"

"-then it is deadly. You have started your whole relationship on a casual, no strings attached basis from which it is impossible to recover."

"I know. Best to avoid him for a while."

"So, we had better give the nightlife a miss for the rest of the weekend. Otherwise he will think you are OK with his evil scheme."

Louise nodded, sighing. "He so knows I'm interested. Well, I'm sure he will find lots of girls who are more than happy to slot into his freebee, non-dating lifestyle. I just won't be one of them."

"We have to draw the line somewhere." Then Margot brightened up and added "Let's go to the races, though. It's the Canberra Cup this weekend – everyone will be there and we couldn't possibly run into him in that crowd. We have tickets to the Member's Stand, thanks to Rachel, don't forget."

"You're right – we do! Good plan! We will be all fresh and gorgeous, having had an early night on Saturday, and I have the most delicious pair of peachy-pink Capri pants to wear – with matching Mr Christian shoes." Louise had all but forgotten her disappointment and was looking forward to Sunday already. She clinked glassed with Margot. "Down, but not out!"

"Ole!"

"Labor omnia vincit."

"What does that mean?" Margot looked puzzled.

"Work overcomes all difficulties." Louise shrugged at Margot's look of inquiry, and said "It's Latin, and you said something in Spanish. I thought it would sound good."

"Coming from you?"

"Yeah, I know – what was I thinking? Why do they teach us all this stuff anyway?"

"My sister, Helen," said Margot, "is a teacher, and she says they teach as much as they know, whether it is useful or not, hoping to fill in the allotted time."

"Poor bastards. Imagine being a bloody teacher? Ugh!!" Louise drained her glass, and linked her arm through Margot's. "And now, I think, is the allotted time for us to scan the room for friends. Didn't Rachel say she would be here? Let's go and get our tickets to the races!"

*

Canberra is officially the driest capital city on Earth. When it does rain, it very conveniently does so between the hours of two and four am. Consequently, it was without concern that the Royal Canberra Racecourse Committee planned its annual betting ring extravaganza.

The racecourse stands fronting onto the track and houses the formal dining rooms, balconies and bars for members and private parties. On the occasion of big race meetings like the Canberra Cup, the grounds beside the track and to the north of the stands become neatly populated with private marquis, each bearing the logo of a professional firm or other company. But the real action is to be found behind the stands – in the bookies ring. Jack McRobertson, the handsome owner of the Private Bin had the best spot, situated as he was in the cup of the horseshoe arrangement. His bagman, Andrew McCarthy, winked at Margot as the girls sauntered past, pretending to check the odds listed on the boards.

"Has Andrew called you yet?" asked Louise quietly.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Lou," Margot replied. "As if I wouldn't take out an ad in the Canberra Times if he did!"

"Sorry – didn't mean to rub it in." Louise kicked herself for crossing the line between friendly concern and plain old nosiness.

Ahead, and moving against the crowd, a young woman waved and called to Louise.

"Lou! Lulu!! Over here!"

"Look, Margot – there's Rachel."

They watched Rachel coming towards them, dressed in her inimitable style. She wore a tight, pencil thin, calf length black skirt; clunky Betty Boop style red high heels; a huge mushroom-like black straw hat that would make Maggie Taberer jealous; a very small, very tight, white boat neck T shirt and carried a shiny red handbag. Looking closer, Margot read the fine print which ran in a single line across Rachel's chest: "itty bitty titty committee". She laughed and Rachel shrugged.

"I've got to get noticed somehow!" she said defensively. "Not all of us are as well-endowed as you Catholic girls!"

Rachel had met Louise at work a couple of years earlier, and had been draw to the older woman. They were both the product of a girls' school environment; Rachel had been educated at the Church of England Canberra Girls Grammar School, and was fascinated by the fact that Louise and Margot had attended a Catholic girl's school and been taught by nuns wearing long black habits. She often referred to this as though it was a cultural difference between them. Perhaps it was.

Margot and Louise, however, thought her interest unwarranted and did not encourage it. As Margot had once said to Rachel, "Look, Rach, it's no big deal. When you have grown up with religion, you are sort of immune to it.

"It becomes like the family dog. You love your dog because he has always been there for you, but if you never had him, you wouldn't miss him. And when it comes to holiday time, the dog is a real pest because you can't go away for too long because of him. He ties you down so much that you wish you didn't have a dog – but you do." It was the best explanation she could come up with.

Today they exchanged greetings, then Rachel asked breathlessly, "Where's James?"

"Oh," answered Louise, "he is just parking the car. We got him to drop us at the gate."

Rachel smiled as she led the girls back into the corporate marquis she had emerged from. "He is taking me to the Red Hill Carousel restaurant tonight," she informed them.

"Is he?" Louise was impressed that her little brother, who was the same age as Rachel, had chosen such a ritzy restaurant. "I think James is smitten with you, Rach," she warned. "He said he'll meet us at your marquis. Lead the way!"

Louise knew that Rachel was between serious boyfriends and James was little more than a fleeting diversion, but they were both over 21 and at least James knew she was out of his league. So what if he got rejected by the doctor's daughter and spent more than he could afford trying to impress her? He would feel ten feet tall when he was with her, and no doubt learn something about the world.

Rachel worked at Collier's, a big real estate development firm in town, and had the entire staff, from the CEO to the receptionist, wrapped around her adorable little finger. She had strawberry blonde hair and the look of a grown-up Pollyanna. Her slender, undeveloped figure belied her 22 years and Rachel still, on occasion, had to prove she was old enough to buy a drink. Fortunately, she rarely ever had to do so, surrounded as she usually was by admiring, protective men.

"Oh – Mike – "Rachel touched the arm of a well-dressed, mature man as he passed by. "I want to you to meet my friends –" Mike stopped courteously and gave a small bow to Louise and Margot.

"Lovely to meet you, ladies," he said, taking their hands in turn. "Please – won't you have a glass of champagne?" And he beckoned a waiter bearing a tray of half-filled flutes.

Margot and Louise thanked him and accepted a glass each before he was called away to another group.

"Mike's the chief exec," explained Rachel. "He plays golf with Dad – that's how I got this job." She put down her glass and waved as she saw James attempting to enter the tent. He was being stopped by a covert "doorman" who was checking his credentials. "Let him in, Keith – he's with me!" Rachel called, and she was off to James's rescue.

James was already feeling nervous and uncomfortable, which he hated, and he resented the doorman for immediately sensing that he did not belong to this group of men who sipped champagne and look relaxed in suits and ties. His face was feeling warm as he struggled to defend his right to entry, and seeing Rachel rushing to his aid was the perfect balm. He visibly relaxed as she clutched his arm above the elbow and hugged it to her side.

"I know what you're up to, Keith," she said teasingly to the doorman. "You just don't want to let in any competition!"

Now it was Keith's turn to blush, since it was common knowledge that he thought Rachel was 'a babe'.

Rachel tut-tutted and pouted at Keith, who smiled and waved James in. James looked him up and down in a superior way and began to breathe more easily.

"You smell nice, James," she said cheekily. "Look – here are Lulu and Margot."

"Hi Margot, Louise," James had found his voice but not his comfort zone. Louise felt for him, and tried to distract him.

"Hi, Bud." The whole Keats family had called James "Bud" since he was a little boy, because he had followed his big brother, Michael, around adoringly, earning him the nickname "Buddy". "Have you seen Michael and Roxanne?"

"No – they are in the Member's Bar. Anyway, they will make sure we don't see them today; or at least, that I don't see them."

"Did you and Michael have a falling out?"

James laughed. "How did you guess?"

"Gee – I don't know!" Louise shared a laughed with her brother and hoped he was now more at ease. James was a nice looking young man, and he wore his clothes well. He lacked confidence, though; the result of being an undiagnosed dyslexic and consequently failing at school. By the time he had found out why he couldn't read, he was too old to go back to school and start again.

He had a pleasant nature, a mechanical mind, a healthy body and the ability to fix anything, anywhere, anytime. James was never out of a job and often in demand, given the multifarious skills he had acquired working his way from being apprenticed to a deaf French-polisher and learning sign-language, to his current position as senior locksmith at Chubb's. He was often called upon to change the locks at the Goulburn prison – a well-paid, lacklustre, regular job; as well as crack the safes which various senior public servants closed and were then unable to open.

Louise liked James but often grew impatient with him. She thought her father and brother, Michael – even Sam, her brother-in-law, used James as it suited them, and James let them. So she was not sorry to hear that James was asserting his view on something – anything.

But today they were at the races and the champagne was flowing.

James turned to Louise and said conspiratorially "Lou – can I speak to you later?"

"Of course," said Louise.

"Not here. It's private."

Louise suspected bad news of some sort, but was happy to leave it for now. "Margot," she caught her friend's attention. "Let's go and put on a bet."

"Oh, you can do that here, Lulu," said Rachel. "We have a courier who takes your bets and places them at the TAB for you. You don't have to leave the marquis."

"Yes, I know," said Louise, who hadn't known about this service at all. "But we can get much better odds in the bookie's ring, can't we Margot?"

Margot laughed, familiar with Louise's thinly veiled subterfuge. "Possibly, but I think we'd be going out there anyway, just to see whether a certain Mr Chris Hardy is around."

"Oh, okay – well, good luck with that, and don't get lost," warned Rachel.

"How are you getting home, Lou?" asked James. "Because I'm taking Rachel out to dinner after this." He smiled at Rachel, who smiled back happily.

"I know, Rachel told us – it sounds lovely. Don't worry – we will be fine." Lou looked over at Margot for confirmation as she spoke. "We will get a taxi or something."

"Yes, thanks James," added Margot.

"Don't drink too much, Bud," warned Louise.

"You either, Lulu," responded James, saluting her with his soft drink.

"Margot – let's go!" And Louise took Margot's arm and guided her towards the entryway.

Once they were outside the marquis, the girls paused to reconnoitre.

"What is the name of the bookie he works for?" asked Margot, preparing to scan the boards that named each bookmaker in the ring.

"I don't know; I'm not even sure if he works for the same one every weekend – or if he even works every weekend. I do know that he keeps detailed racing-form records of his own; and that he is a bagman here sometimes."

"Well, I've heard so much about his guy that I would really like to get a look at him," said Margot.

"Hhhhhmmm." Louise looked her friend up and down. "Maybe that isn't such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Well, what if he likes you?"

"Louise! I would never take a guy from you!"

"Oh, I know, but that wouldn't stop him from preferring you to me, would it? Guys can't control those things."

"Guys can control plenty," said Margot firmly.

"Well, either way – it's too late now!" exclaimed Louise in hushed tones. "There he is – over there, under the Tiny Murphy board."

Margot's gaze followed Louise's, and she watched Chris Hardy selling a bet to a punter. He was above average height, with shoulder length, wavy dark hair cut into a mullet. He was good looking in a "cowboy" sort of way; dressed as he was in a Western shirt, jeans and riding boots.

"Louise – you don't mean the one with the long-hair, do you?" Margot had to make sure she was looking at the right man before passing comment.

"Yes, and don't be like that! Wait till you meet him."

"Does he really work at the Tax Office?" It was apparent that Margot had imagined a quite different looking man to the one she now saw.

"He is one of the main 'post-audit-debt-recovery' guys." Seeing Margot's look of non-comprehension, Louise explained. "They chase down tax cheats."

"Aaah – so all you have to do is fudge your tax return and he will arrive at your door?" Margot was teasing her now.

"No, Margot. Chris chases the people who make money on the black market and then launder it in a legitimate business. For instance, say you grow some marijuana – a lot of marijuana – and sell it, you would make a fortune in cash, right? Well, you can't just put it in the bank."

"Why not?"

"Because every bank in Australia is legally obligated to inform the Tax Office of any cash deposits over $10,000. Normal businesses don't deal in cash – not in large amounts, anyway. They might deposit some cash, but it will mostly be in the form of cheques or transfers between other bank accounts. Large cash transactions indicate illegal business operations, like drugs."

"Oh. I suppose that makes sense." Clearly this was something Margot, like most law-abiding tax payers, had never before thought about.

"But you must pay tax on all income earned, whether it is the result of illegal activity or not. So, Chris and a few others track these types down and get them into court before they can launder their ill-gotten gains." Louise stood up straighter and flicked back her hair with a jerk of her head. "At work, I call him "Diamonds and Helicopters Hardy". He pretends to hate it, but I think he is secretly chuffed."

"So – is this racing job – and the mullet hairdo – just a cover?"

"No – he really loves racing! And he would wear his hair that way regardless, I'm sure! Seriously, though," Louise asked Margot, "don't you think it is 'John Farnham'-ish? Don't you think it suits him?"

"Lou – it is a mullet for God's sake! They went out with the Bay City Rollers! Ughh!"

"Oh, stop. Come on. You have to meet him now. And be nice."

They walked over to where Chris stood alone, having timed their arrival to co-incide with the start of the next race, the closure of betting and the bookie's changing the odds on their boards.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" Chris smiled in spite of himself. Louise thought he might even have been pleased to see her.

"Hi, Chris. I told you I'd look out for you if I came to the races today." Louise turned to Margot. "Chris, this is Margot. I was just explaining to her about your weekday job, at the diamonds and helicopters factory."

"Yeah, right," Chris grinned at them, trying to look tough but only managing a sheepish expression. Louise felt encouraged. "So – are we winning today?" he asked.

"We don't actually bet, Chris," Louise confided. "We come here to see and be seen. Don't you think we brighten up this dreary crowd?" She stood closer to Margot and struck a pose. Chris laughed.

"You look like two gelato ice creams," he said.

It was true. The girls were wearing summery outfits in edible colours: Louise in pale pink and Margot in a light, frosty green.

"Oh my God – he's right! Strawberry and pistachio!" Margot agreed, pretending to be horrified.

"Hey – don't worry," Chris tried to placate the girls. He knew they were flirting with him and was enjoying it. "Better than looking like most of the other women here – drunken sluts."

"CHRIS!!!!" Louise admonished him with a slap to the arm. "Language, please!"

Chris laughed.

"I will have you know that we won't be looking drunken, or sluttish, till much later."

Now it was Chris's turn to be shocked, and he looked at Louise with renewed interest.

"And I always thought you were so prim and proper."

"I am, darling – except at the races." The race was now over and the winners were being announced. Chris was being called on to sell bets again.

"We'll get going," said Louise unnecessarily.

"Right," answered Chris, as he attended to a customer who stood by his side.

The girls made their way towards the crowded centre of the ring. Margot shook her head at Louise. "How do we do it?" she asked. "How do we always manage to fall for guys who will never do anything about it?"

"It's a gift." Louise looked glum. "You know, sometimes at work I could swear he is interested. One of his friends even intimated as much to me. But whenever I give him the opportunity to say something – nothing!" She shook her head. "What am I supposed to do – ask him out?"

"Definitely not. That is like making the first phone call; or saying "I love you" first."

"I know!"

What are we doing wrong?" Margot groaned.

"I don't think we are doing anything wrong. I just think we have standards. I mean, look at everyone we know who is married. The woman runs the whole relationship. She organises everything. The guy just shows up. We don't want that. We want the guy to do a bit of the groundwork."

"And we will probably die waiting to find one – two – who will."

"Probably." Knowing that Chris couldn't see her now, and it was therefore safe to do so, Louise stopped and looked back towards him. "And of course, all the girls who are happy to chase these guys, then run around after them and basically be treated like doormats, will live happily ever after."

"You call that 'happily ever after'?" asked Margot. "I don't!"

"Maybe we just aren't cut out for marriage, Marg."

"Marriage?" Margot was aghast. "Marriage? Of course we aren't cut out for marriage! What are you saying? I wouldn't mind having a nice boyfriend, someone to see during the week when there is nothing else to do – but marriage?"

"Sorry, sorry – I didn't mean to say the 'M' word! Calm down – I won't do it again." Louise apologized and tried to reassure her friend.

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that," said Margot, trying to clear the look of horror from her face. "God – talk about ruin a perfectly nice afternoon."

"I said I was sorry."

"Let's go back to the tent. I need a drink."

# Chapter 4

Roxanne surveyed the member's dining room at the Canberra Race Course and decided then and there that no one was better dressed than she and Michael. They had won "Best Dressed Couple" last year and looked like walking away with it this year, too. Being married to a tall, handsome man didn't hurt, either, Roxanne thought. Michael was talking to Dave Basquette, and Roxanne wasn't paying much attention until she heard the name Louise.

"What about Louise?" she asked Dave before she could stop herself.

Michael immediately stepped back, on his guard, keen to disassociate himself from the conversation.

"Oh, I was just wondering if she was here," answered Dave. He was Michael's age, and as tall, but his scruffy appearance hid the fact that he had pleasant, even features and the personality of a true gentleman. He laughed. "You know, last week, at the Private Bin, she invited me over to dinner on Tuesday, and when I showed up she had forgotten all about it!" Dave chuckled heartily as he recalled the incident. "She was on her way out when I showed up. I almost missed her!"

"What?" Roxanne almost shrieked at him.

"Louise," Dave explained, "had forgotten that she –"

Roxanne was indignant. "Well, I hope she cancelled her outing and cooked you a nice meal."

"No way!" laughed Dave. "She didn't even let me in – just made me move my car because it was parked behind hers and was blocking her way!"

"She is such a bitch!" exclaimed Roxanne.

"Nah; she just plain forgot." Dave was reassuring. "I'll get her next time, though."

"Next time?"

"Yeah – next time I see her around. I'll get her to shout me a drink. She owes me now." Dave looked as though it had all been worthwhile, just to be able to have Louise owe him a favour.

"I don't know how she gets away with it," fumed Roxanne.

"Gets away with what?" asked Dave, not really sure if they were even talking about the same thing anymore.

"The way Louise treats people." Roxanne was on her soap box. "She is the most insincere person I have ever met and everyone just puts up with her.

"Louise?" Dave was confused. He looked at Michael, who tried to give him "the look" to discourage him from saying any more. But Dave didn't take the hint. "Insincere? What do you mean?"

"Well, Dave," said Roxanne haughtily, "do you really think that Louise would go out with you?"

Michael sighed. Now Roxanne was going to hurt poor old Dave's feelings, just to make her point. "Hey, next race is on – who wants to place a bet?" Michael tried unsuccessfully to change the subject.

Dave blinked and looked at his drink. "Well, maybe not go out with me," he admitted. "But we have had dinner together at Sam and Jane's before," he said cheerfully.

"And I'll bet she flirted with you all night, didn't she?"

"Yeah!" Dave was happy again.

But his smile infuriated Roxanne even more. "Well – doesn't that tell you what a phony she is?" she demanded. "Do you like being flirted with, Dave?"

"Hell, yeah!" Dave was chuckling now. "Course I do! Who doesn't?"

Roxanne was exasperated. "Even when you know it's not going anywhere? That you have no real chance with her?"

"It's better than nothing, right?" Dave looked to Michael for confirmation. Michael was trying to attract the attention of anyone he could, rather than be drawn into this conversation with his wife.

"It isn't as though she is beautiful or anything," continued Roxanne. "She isn't anything special at all."

"We've all known each other for years, Roxanne," Dave tried to explain. "We all grew up together out in Belconnen, when there were only kangaroos there."

"And magpies," added Michael. He felt that they were definitely on safer ground now.

"Yeah – don't forget the maggies!" Dave agreed, and performed an imitation of someone ducking a swooping bird, using his forearm to shield his head.

"Louise? Hanging out with you boys? I doubt that," Roxanne was scornful. "I can see her practicing the piano, or her ballet steps, or doing her homework and ignoring the rest of you." Roxanne sipped her cocktail sulkily. Of all the sister-in-laws to get, she had to get landed with Louise. "Little 'Miss Perfect' from the Catholic girls' school; with all the degrees; who everyone likes. Just a spoilt little bitch," she thought angrily.

But what aggravated her more than anything else was that Michael thought Louise was the last word. You would think she was the blueprint for the perfect woman to hear him talk about her. And why? Just because she did well at school? She wasn't that popular. She didn't even have a boyfriend – hadn't had one for years, in fact – ever since she had been dumped by some guy she went out with for a few years when she was "at uni". He'd met someone better, and had unceremoniously dropped Louise like a hot rock.

"Well," said Roxanne grimly, "she might be able to fool everyone else, but she hasn't fooled me. I know her type."

*

Roxanne had not grown up in Canberra. She was from Lake Cargelligo, a "dirt" town in the outback region of New South Wales, so called because for many years, the roads were made of compacted soil and were not sealed with bitumen. Her father was a shearer and her mother a barmaid. Roxanne was the youngest of 6 children, an unusually large number for a protestant family. Apparently Roxanne's mother, Beulah, thought it too many, because one day she didn't come home from work but instead moved to Sydney with a customer. Whether by good fortune or good planning, she had left the day after her husband, Cliff, had returned from one of his regular 7-weeks-long shearing jobs, and since that day the kids had been cared for by him alone.

Actually, it wasn't he who cared for them at all. He had bemoaned his fate until all the kids felt sorry for him and angry towards their mother. They blamed her flight for his continual drinking, not admitting to themselves or anyone else that this was not a new behavior pattern for him. As the youngest, Roxanne had been the least called upon to fix the problems created by Beulah's absence. The two oldest girls, Brenda and Annette, had shouldered most of the load, and left school as early as possible to help raise the younger four. At 13, Brenda was the eldest when Beulah left. Roxanne was just 4 years old.

They'd grown up in a rented, dilapidated wooden bungalow on the outskirts of Lake Cargelligo; a long walk from the school, the main street and all the conveniences. They were fairly close to a bedraggled old pub, though; so it was easy for Cliff's kids to find him when he was in town.

By the time Roxanne was 15, her two oldest sisters had married and left home. It was just her, one other sister, Lee, who was 16 and a brother, Max, 17. Max worked with Cliff as a shearer, too, and planned to become a wool classer, like his older brother, Rodney. Rodney lived in Moree now and was doing well from all accounts.

One morning Roxanne sat with her sister on the back steps drinking strong, sweet, milky tea, watching the cat that had just had kittens feed her litter. Lee looked at her little sister, sitting beside her, and put her arm around her. "What's up, kiddo?" she asked.

Roxanne was surprised to feel the tears sprouting up out of her eyes. She was upset; but hadn't known Lee could tell.

"It's the dance," she blubbed. "I don't have a dress. I – I can't go!"

Lee hugged Roxanne a bit closer. She knew about the dance. It was the end of 4th form dance – a big event at Lake Cargelligo State School, since it only went to the 4th form. If you wanted to go "on", you had to move to Goulburn, or even further afield.

"Is everyone going?" Lee asked tentatively.

"No," sobbed Roxanne. "But Matthew is going. And he's taking Bernadette O'Rourke." And she sobbed with an even greater sorrow.

Matthew Perry was the boy everyone in 4th form liked. Roxanne had liked him since 1st form. His father managed the 'Stock and Station' store in town and was a key figure in Lake Cargelligo. They lived in a beautiful brick home with a swimming pool, on the hill above the Town Hall. The Perry's went skiing in the winter at Jindabyne, and to either the Gold Coast, or Noosa, in the summer. Next year, Matthew would be off to St Joseph's Catholic boarding school in Sydney, and then to university. Lee was surprised he hadn't been sent off years ago. His older brother, Tony, had been sent away after 2nd form.

Bernadette O'Rourke, on the other hand, didn't go to Lake Cargelligo State School at all. She went to the Loreto Catholic Girls' Boarding School interstate and was only at home in the holidays. The O'Rourke's owned most of the property around Lake Cargelligo and a number of sheep stations throughout New South Wales. Their home was a large, sprawling stone building, set among carefully tended lawns on many acres. A long avenue of hundred-year-old pines led to the house, which boasted multiple garages and stables. Bernadette was quietly pretty, with the straight stature common to young girls who danced ballet and rode ponies.

Lee understood the complete hopelessness of her sister's plight and pitied her. "Oh, Roxy, don't cry," she tried to sooth Roxanne, knowing that she couldn't really. "Don't worry about that. School is over! You're free! Let's plan your future!"

Roxanne looked up from her sister's lap, where she had buried her crying face for the past few minutes. "My future? Working at Dimmeys in Main St?" Roxanne had been working part time behind the cash register at the general store in town for the past year; long enough to know that it was a dead-end job.

"Well, not necessarily," said Lee carefully. She sighed. She had meant to spend this time telling Roxanne of her own plans to move out of home and away from Lake Cargelligo, to find a better job – a brighter future for herself. Lee was tired of being the one who was left 'in charge' now that her older sisters had gone. She wanted to be free of adult responsibility, and not have to worry about anyone except herself for a change.

But now she couldn't bear to see her baby sister's face when Roxanne realized that she would be left here, virtually alone. Lee scanned her mind. Could Roxanne go to stay with Brenda or Annette? Brenda was in Darwin now. She'd married an Army guy and was about to have her second child. And Annette had tracked down their mother in Sydney and was staying with her and her "boyfriend". Roxanne wouldn't go for either of those options.

Lee took a deep breathe. "I'm moving to Canberra," she announced. "Why don't you come with me?" There. She had said it. It was done – for better or worse.

Roxanne looked at Lee as though through a fog. "Canberra?" She sniffed and pushed her hair back from her face. "What for?"

Lee raised her eyebrows at Roxanne. "What for?" Lee counted off the reasons on one hand. "Because it is a long way away from here. Because there are no Perry's or O'Rourke's. Because this is my life and I don't want to be 'Cliff's girl' any more. I want to meet people who don't know me, or my family, and don't care." Lee surprised herself with the vehemence of her outburst. "So, how about it? Are you in?"

From that day onwards it took the sisters barely six weeks to organize their migration to Canberra. They saved their money, planned their journey and prepared their family. To their surprise, Cliff had no objections at all. "I thought you'd be leaving soon," was all he had to say, as though that was the natural course of events. The girls were relieved and loved him for not making their leaving difficult. But even if he had, they were determined to go.

And it had worked greatly to their advantage to be moving together. Both girls had learned to type at school. Not the required 35 words a minute needed to get into the Public Service, but enough to be employed as receptionists in a small firm. However, since they were both 'juniors', their pay was so low that neither could afford to live alone. With two incomes, though, they could rent a small flat and have enough left over each week to eat, buy a new dress and even go out occasionally.

The first thing Roxanne did was change her accent. She had long ago noticed that the better educated people differentiated themselves by their speech, and she had taken note of the way people spoke on television. Without actually mentioning it, Lee had followed Roxanne's lead, and within a year neither girl could be identified by the nasal twang peculiar to the isolated country towns of Australia. Now they spoke like city girls – they just knew a lot more about the facts of life.

*

"Hey, Lulu!" It was George Sanderson, the young Greek-Australian Adonis of the Tax Office under-graduate program, calling out. "Are you coming to the happy hour tonight?"

The social club organized a Friday night drink once a month. "It's at the Worker's Club." George referred to the building beside their office. "Why don't you come?"

Louise had avoided these happy hours ever since joining the Tax Office three months earlier. She liked her co-workers, but sensed that she was older than the other "singles", more the age of the married group and ever-so-slightly resented by some of the younger girls. Not all, but there were one or two amongst the single set who pointed out her 'advanced' years at every opportunity.

"Girls think age matters, but guys didn't care at all," Louise mused to herself. "They will treat you as badly as you let them, no matter what your age." And while George was the consummate flirt, he was no match for Louise, who had a few years on him and revelled in her art. George knew this, and felt very safe flirting with Louise. She was six years his senior; delightfully insincere and, he thought, quite delicious in a 'school-ma'am' way. A heartflet "Phew!" was all he was capable of as he admired her.

Stacey, George's female equivalent in the office, "tched" as she watched George cajole Louise.

"Here it comes," thought Louise.

"George, leave Louise alone," said Stacey, loudly enough that Louise could hear her clearly. "She has friends of her own age." Stacey felt that George, who had all but finished his law degree at the ANU was rightfully her property, and should focus on the real action and stop being distracted by the scenery.

"But we are having a wet T-shirt competition!" George protested the facts. "And what is a wet T-shirt competition without, well, the competition?"

Stacey, an attractive, statuesque blonde herself, could not compete on those grounds and said nothing.

But Louise couldn't resist. "Did you say wet T-shirt competition?" she asked.

"Yeah!" said George. "How about it?"

"I will if you will, Georgey-boy!"

"Way to go!" George couldn't tell if Louise was serious, but was playing along anyway.

Louise finished her work and switched off her computer. Chris Hardy sauntered by, pretending to read the file he was holding in order to look casual. "I hear you are coming to the happy hour tonight," he said gruffly.

Louise smiled. "Well, George told me that there was going to be a wet T-shirt competition, so of course I didn't want to miss that."

Chris laughed. "Yeah, right." He snapped shut the file. "See you there, then." And he walked off purposefully.

Louise turned to Vera, who had heard this short conversation. "Vera – you have to come to the happy hour with me."

"I didn't know you went to those things, Louise," Vera said. "I thought you avoided them like the plague!" Then Vera had a thought. "Or is this all part of your 'getting to know Chris Hardy' scheme?"

"Oh, maybe. I normally don't go simply because I don't have a group to go with, and therefore I don't have anyone to look out for me if I drink too much and start to get silly."

"Sensible girl. So, you want me to come along to be your minder, do you?"

"Not just that. It would be nice to have a drink on a Friday night. We could go and have dinner in Civic afterwards."

Vera shook her head. "I can do the drink, but I have to be somewhere at seven o'clock."

"That's plenty of time."

"I suppose it is," Vera considered. "Okay – why not?"

"Thanks, Vera."

"You have to invite me to the wedding, though."

"Ha ha."

"Let me just make a phone call, then we'll go." Vera was dialing the number as she spoke.

Louise thought she might make a call, too. She called Jane. "Hi," she said when Jane answered. "Will you be at home tonight?"

"Yes," said Jane.

"I thought I might drop by."

"Oh. Could you bring some pies with you?"

"Sure. How many?"

"Six should do it. And could you pick up Marie on the way? Sam was going to get her but if you are coming anyway, you might as well do it.

"No drama. See you at about seven then."

"Fine."

Louise hung up the phone and found Vera doing the same.

"Synchronised telephoning!" said Vera. "We could start our own Olympic event!"

The bar room at the Worker's Club was abuzz with the happy hour chat of Tax Office employees when Vera and Louise arrived at 5.30. Stacey and George were drinking with a group of their fellow under-graduates, and Chris Hardy was sitting with Leonie Eaton, her husband and Chris's good mate, Mark Eaton, and another guy from Audit, who was known only as 'Barney'.

"Vera," Louise stopped Vera as they approached the bar, "is that guy's name really Barney?" He was short and fair-haired. It seemed too ridiculous that he should actually look like Barney Rubble from 'The Flintstones' and have the same first name.

Vera laughed. "No – of course it isn't. But he always hangs around with Chris, and together they look like Fred and Barney. It's a joke!"

"That is hilarious," admitted Louise. "Doesn't he mind?"

"He is an auditor for the Tax Office, Lou. I think he is more worried about having his car blown up by an irate taxpayer than what his workplace nickname." Vera turned to the barman who was asking her what she wanted. "Two white wines, thanks," she said. When they were handed to her, she gave one to Louise, who tried to hand her some money.

"Put that away. You can get the next round."

They sipped their drinks and were pleased to see Leonie waving them over to her table. They immediately went over and allowed Mark to find them a couple of chairs.

"Thank you, guys," said Vera. Louise envied her confidence. She was a bit in awe of Leonie, and could never have spoken to her as an equal the way Vera so easily did. "You have rescued us. We were feeling a bit stranded up there at the bar."

"That's what I thought," said Leonie. She turned to Chris. "You aren't really having a wet T-shirt competition, are you?" Chris smiled, shrugged and took refuge in his beer. "Because if you are, I am going to have to write you up for sexual harassment; creating a hostile social environment in a workplace situation and –" here she was interrupted by Chris. Leonie was a level higher than both Chris and her husband, and could do as she threatened. Louise was almost sure Leonie was joking but listened attentively just in case.

"Keep your shirt on, Leonie," said Chris. "And don't knock it until you've tried it. Here -" and he indicated the stage where the curtain was being raised, revealing half a dozen wet T-shirts hanging on a clothes line.

A loud groan and even louder laughter accompanied the clapping and whistling that followed. Louise laughed with everyone else at the table, and made eye contact with Chris, who winked at her.

# Chapter 5

Louise parked her car on the sloping road outside Jane's house, pulling hard on the hand brake. She noticed James's car parked behind Sam's utility truck on the steep driveway, and thought how trusting he was.

"No way I'd park behind anyone on that slope!" she said to Marie, who was unbuckling her seatbelt. "Remember when Michael left the handbrake off, and his new Commodore rolled down the drive and into a car parked on the opposite side of the road?"

Marie laughed. "Michael wasn't too worried," she reminded Louise. "It was a work car. He didn't have to pay for it."

The sisters climbed the driveway, and then the stairs, to Jane's front door. They rang the doorbell, and entered when someone called out "Come in".

Jane's two children, Jeremy and Emily, rushed out to meet Aunty Marie who had, as usual, brought them each a small gift. They said hello to Aunty Louise, but didn't expect her to have anything for them. Louise marveled at the way Marie not only remembered to bring the kids something every time she visited Jane, but knew what to get them. Louise had no idea what little kids liked, and no interest in finding out. She loved her niece and nephew and always got them something worthwhile at Christmas and on their birthdays, but beyond that, Louise was not a hands-on aunty. That was Marie's territory and Louise was happy to have no such expectations placed on her.

"Hi there," Jane said, as she lifted a batch of spinach and cheese triangles out of the oven. "Did you bring the pies?"

"Yep – sure did!" Louise handed Jane a paper bag full of almost hot meat pies.

"How much do I owe you?" asked Jane, straight-faced.

"Don't worry about it," said Louise, surprised at the question. The pies were a meagre contribution to the food Jane always provided. Louise was suddenly aware that she ate at Jane's too often; and only brought food with her when asked. She also realised that she never brought wine with her, either. "Ouch," she thought.

"Look, I'll be back in a minute. I've forgotten something." Louise hastily made her way to the door but was stopped by James.

"Lulu, are you going to the shop?" he asked. When she nodded, he asked "Can I come?"

"Sure, Bud. Let's go."

As they buckled their seat belts, James spoke. "I wanted to grab you alone. Remember I wanted to talk to you about something?"

"Yes. What is it?"

James sighed. "I just need some advice. You know how Michael wants to open his own printing business?"

Louise had heard about this many times. It had been a dream of Michael's ever since he had started his apprenticeship, about ten years ago. "Yes," she said.

"Well, Dick Kelly, the guy who runs the leasing company that all the printers lease their equipment through, offered him a four colour Heidelberg printer for a really good price. Second hand."

Louise had heard Michael speak of Dick Kelly. It was difficult for a printer to get a business going on his own because the printing presses were prohibitively expensive, and the machines were being constantly updated due to the inclusion of computerized functions and better features. No sooner had the printer made the first year's payments on a 5 year lease than his press was outdated and useless. No one wanted the old technology when there were plenty of new printing presses being operated in the bigger printshops.

But a four colour Heidelberg was the Rolls Royce of printing presses and it would be unheard of to require a better product than the finished print from one of these machines. To print every colour of the rainbow, just four colours were required, hence the name. And the Heidleberg printed on any paper quality. Louise understood why Michael was tempted.

But she was curious. "So, why did Dick Kelly want to sell it?"

"Well, it's a default case. Reece Jones had leased it new and couldn't make the payments."

It was a familiar tale. Canberra was still a small city, with fewer than 200,000 people, and each industry was like a private club. Every printer knew every other printer; what sort of presses they operated; where they got their work; and how successful they were. Instead of forming a group and organizing a bit of healthy collusion and price fixing, so that everyone made a profit and no one went broke, each printer tried to out-bid his competitors. This resulted in printing jobs being under-quoted and often a printer made a loss, just to stop another printer getting the client. But the clients were fickle, too, and regularly played different print-shops off against one another. Given the enormous capital costs and the dog-eat-dog climate of the local industry, Louise had been relieved that Michael was unable to fund the investment required to start his own operation. He was much better off being the well-paid manager of a large printing company than the sole proprietor of a backyard print shop beleaguered by debt.

"So," Louise was thinking out loud, "Reece goes broke, Dick repossesses the press and offers it to Michael. Let's see – that machine was worth $400,000 new, two years ago. Reece has been working it since then. If the life of the machine is calculated in units of output and –" Louise started calculating the depreciated value of the press.

But James stopped her. "No, no. That's not the problem." James paused, clearly uncomfortable. "Michael went for it – he signed the lease."

"Lease?" Louise was confused. They had now arrived at the shops and Louise had parked the car. She turned to James as she unfastened her seatbelt. "Why would Michael lease a second-hand machine when he can just as easily lease a new one?"

James sighed in frustration. "Well, Michael couldn't lease a new one because he has a bad credit rating, doesn't he?" James looked down, and continued to explain. "He could only lease a second hand one – it was all Dick would offer him."

"Good old Dick."

"And the only way he would even let Michael have a lease on this machine was if someone went guarantor for him."

Louise looked closely at James. "James – tell me you didn't go guarantor for Michael.

"No," said James.

"Thank God," said Louise, relieved.

"We signed a partnership agreement –"

"You did what?"

James was defending himself now. "Michael said it was better if we became partners, because then he wouldn't need a guarantor and I would be able to share in the profits he made from the Heidelberg."

"James!" Louise was visibly upset. "You signed a partnership agreement with Michael? Did you read it first?" She asked the question before she could stop herself.

James shot a look of anger and pain at her. "What do you think?" he asked bitterly.

"Oh, Bud, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I could help my brother and I might even make some money too," James explained.

"Well, hello – are we talking about Michael Keats here? Have you ever heard of anyone making any money from going into business with Michael? I've heard of plenty of people kissing large sums of money good-bye that way, but never have I heard of anyone making any money – not even Michael himself!" Louise stopped her tirade and tried to calm down. "So, let me guess. Now you are liable for the debt on the press, because Michael has defaulted on the lease, too, and he has no money."

"That's what Michael and Dick say," agreed James, almost relieved to know that at least Louise understood the facts. "But I only signed a partnership agreement – I didn't sign the lease agreement." James turned to her, hoping that this information was going to redeem him in Louise's eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Bud," Louise said quietly. "Each and every partner is liable for the debts of the partnership. All the partnership agreement really does is stipulate each partner's percentage share of the profit – if there is a profit."

"So, by signing the partnership agreement, I might as well have signed the lease?"

"That's right."

"Fuck."

"I wish you had asked my advice before you signed the partnership agreement, James."

James shook his head.

Louise got out of the car. "I'll be back in a minute. I just have to get some wine for dinner." She closed the door and walked into the shop, leaving James to follow her or not.

The crisp night air was medicinal and Louise entered the store with a slightly clearer head. She counselled herself not to get emotionally involved in her brother's problem. That wouldn't help her – or James – at all.

The store was very brightly lit and held an enormous assortment of various alcoholic beverages. Louise chose a bottle of Seaview Brut champagne, her favourite; then, remembering that Jane preferred Asti Spumante, made the exchange. "It's going to take a bit of practice, but I can be thoughtful, too," she smiled to herself.

When she got to the register, James was chatting to Christy who worked there. Christy was a bit younger than James, very pretty and quite overweight. Louise noticed how her eyes sparkled as she joked with James. Christy blushed as Louise approached, and Louise noticed that James was standing up straight and looking very pleased. Had they not been late for dinner, Louise would have tried to prolong the shopping trip for their benefit.

"Sorry to break things up, kids," Louise joked, "but we have to get going. They might be needing this up at the fort." And she held the bottle up for them to see.

Christy sold the wine to Louise and wrapped it in a paper bag. "Thanks," she said to Louise in a small voice. "Bye, James," she smiled at him.

"Catch you later, Christy," James waved as he held the shop door open for Louise.

When they were in the car, Louise commented "She's nice."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"And she seems to like you."

"What's not to like?"

Louise rolled her eyes and drove away while James laughed at her.

When they got out of the car at Jane's, James turned to Louise and said "Don't tell anyone about the partnership thing – not even Mum."

"Why not?" Louise wondered what difference it could possibly make. Perhaps their parents could help.

"Just don't, okay?' James was quite definite. "I need time to sort it out and I don't want anyone else to get involved."

Louise worried that there was more to this than he had confided in her, but didn't want to ruin the evening.

"Okay," she agreed.

When Louise showed Jane her purchase, Jane was non-committal in her response. She raised her eyebrows in recognition of her favourite wine and said "Put it over there – on the bench." Jane obeyed, only to find another bottle of the same wine already there. "Too little, too late," she thought, as she set her contribution down.

Marie called to Louise from across the room. "Hey, Louise – get me a drink, too, while you are there.

Louise turned to Jane. "Do you want one?"

"Yeah – why not?" Jane answered, a little stiffly, Louise thought. "Bring it to the table, would you? Dinner's ready."

They all sat down at the large formal dining table in the next room. Jane and Sam sat at either end, each with a child at the corner adjacent to them. Marie, James and Louise sat in the available spaces and the meal began.

"We can't have a late night tonight," warned Jane. "I have to be up early tomorrow morning."

"Why?" asked Louise. Tomorrow was Saturday, and Jane normally slept quite late on the weekends.

"I'm helping Roxanne choose some plants for her garden," answered Jane. "We are going out to the Pialligo nursery, to see if they have what she wants."

"Oh." Louise had no idea what to say to that. Gardening, like children, were subjects beyond her ken.

"Nothing that could possibly interest you, Louise," Jane wore a hard smile. "Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be out with your single friends."

"Just felt like giving it a miss tonight," said Louise. "You can't show up every Friday – it takes away the mystery!"

"Does it? I wouldn't know," said Jane.

"Well, you haven't missed much," Louise was purposefully ignoring the unfriendly overtones of her sister's comments, hoping to shift her attitude and engage her in a proper chat. "You were fortunate enough to find your husband early on, so you were spared all of this "single scene" carry-on."

"What about me?" Marie was bored with the conversation. "I'm single too."

"I meant to ask you," Jane spoke in a lighter tone to Marie. "Has Tim Cotter called you?"

Tim Cotter was a professional basketball player for the Canberra Canons. Michael and Roxanne were avid Cannons fans and both played basketball competitively. Michael had befriended Tim and introduced him to the extended family. Marie was smitten with him, but so far had made little progress romantically.

"No," Marie answered glumly. "I'm going to give him till tomorrow afternoon to call me, and then I'm going to call him."

"Don't bother," said Jane between mouthfuls. "He is throwing a BBQ tomorrow, starting at 3pm. He asked me to invite you."

"Me, too?" asked Louise.

Jane shrugged. "Roxanne and Michael will be there."

"So?" asked Louise. "I don't care."

"Huh!" said Jane. "You mightn't, but Roxanne will."

"Why?"

"Because," said Jane in an exasperated tone, "she doesn't like you."

"Why not?"

Jane groaned. "Not everyone has to like you, Louise!" Jane was verging on being angry.

"But what did I do?" Louise was genuinely perplexed. "She must have a reason for disliking me."

"Says who?" demanded Jane. "Are you the 'friends police' now? She can dislike you if she wants. There are no rules about who you have to like."

"But that is irrational," argued Louise.

"So what? Lots of things aren't rational." Jane seemed almost smug. "But if you go tomorrow, Roxanne won't go. Then Michael won't go, and he is Tim's friend."

"Hey – if Louise doesn't go, how will I get there?" Marie desperately wanted to be at Tim's BBQ tomorrow.

"We'll drive you, don't worry," Jane reassured Marie.

"Oh, okay," said Marie.

"I guess I won't go, then," said Louise disappointedly.

"Fine." Jane was relieved.

Louise sat there, no longer hungry, and wondered why Jane had invited her over tonight, considering her attitude all evening. Then she recalled that she had phoned Jane and invited herself. "Double ouch," she thought.

"Well, I guess I'll get going then," she said, fighting back her tears.

"See ya," said Jane, a trifle too loudly.

"Thanks for dinner." Louise left the table and went into the kitchen. She grabbed her bag from the kitchen bench, and after a short struggle with her conscience, one of the bottles of Asti Spumante, and made her way out.

Louise felt very dejected as she drove across the Scrivener Dam road to her flat in Aranda. It was now 9 pm. "I can't go straight home," she thought. "I'm too depressed to be alone." She thought of visiting Margot, but knew her visit would be unwelcome at this time of night. It had to be Vera. Louise didn't even concern herself with calling ahead. Vera would either be there, and happy to see her, or not be there, in which case Louise would go home.

But Vera was at home and did not seem surprised when she opened her front door to find Louise standing there. "Come on in." she invited. "Ooh – you've bought wine! What's the occasion?"

"Hi, Vera," said Louise with relief as she entered the house. "Do you have any idea how nice it is to see you?"

Vera laughed. "Oh, dear," she said. "What's happening?"

"It's been a very long night." Louise handed over the bottle of wine and put down her handbag.

They settled themselves in the lounge room of Vera's small but elegant home. The lounge room was lined with windows on two walls, and opened onto the dining room via bi-folding louvre doors on another side. A small fireplace, filled with ferns during the summer, completed the look of casual airiness. Vera cleared away the papers she had been working on, and produced two wine glasses worthy of the spumante.

"Have I barged in on something?" Louise was unusually sensitive to her impact on other people at the moment.

Vera was amused. "No – just trying to figure out whether I should change banks to get a better mortgage rate," she admitted, "but it is Friday night and I'd rather drink wine and chat, so it's a welcome interruption." She turned done the classical music she had playing. "So tell me – how are you? What's going on?"

Louise relaxed for the first time all evening. "I don't know, Vera," groaned Louise. "It seems as though Roxanne has mounted a one-man campaign and she has lined up my entire family against me!"

"Roxanne?" Vera was clearly puzzled. "How could the uneducated, unattractive, older wife of a younger brother who had not distinguished himself at anything other than finding new ways to spend your parent's money possible cause you any problems?"

Louise laughed. "Vera – that's so cruel!"

"Cruel but fair." Vera sipped her wine appreciatively. "Then again," she reconsidered, "this does provide your entire family of under-achievers with a scapegoat: You!"

"Under-achievers?" Louise took umbridge at the label. "Dad's not an under achiever!"

"No, of course I don't mean Jim," Vera was quick to justify her statement. "Forget your parents. Take a good look at your siblings."

"They're young," Louise said.

"They're not young anymore," said Vera. "Even Marie is 20 years old. You are the only one who finished high school on time; you are the only one who took advantage of everything your parents offered you, by staying at home and going on to university. They all left home as soon as they could, and got low-level jobs so they could buy clothes and cars." Vera paused to offer Louise a B&H, which she accepted. "Now, a few years down the track, they are pissed off because you are still young, with so much of your life ahead of you, and so many opportunities – all of which you have created for yourself."

Louise was almost disbelieving. "God, Vera – that is such a different take on things to what I had to deal with tonight," she said.

"Oh?" Vera was interested. "So, tell me!"

Louise related the details of the evening meal at Jane's and provided some background too. "Mum has been very 'itchy' with me for ages now. And after tonight's little expose, I think Roxanne is at the bottom of it. I never really thought about it before – I didn't take it personally, but now it has gotten to the point where I simply cannot ignore it any longer." Louise paused and sipped her wine. "I'm being ostracized by my own family."

"Yes, you are," agreed Vera.

"But why? So what if I have chosen a different life-path to the others. That doesn't mean I no longer want to be part of the family."

"In order to be married and focus on their families, the other Keats women have had to make choices. They have chosen to reject single life and live as married women. Therefore, they have rejected the life you live."

"That's fine – good for them! But why do they have to reject me? I haven't rejected them!"

"But you haven't made a conscious choice. You have just floated along in a natural progression, from school to uni to professional challenges."

"Floated? You are kidding me!" Louise laughed at the irony of that statement. "You know how hard I have had to work to get this graduate diploma – I had to repeat half the units! I almost got kicked out of the course!" She raised her eyebrows at Pat. "I would hardly call that 'floating'."

"Well, you weren't the only one who had to repeat a few units, Louise. It is a very gruelling degree – just getting into it is a feather in your cap. And you worked full-time and got promoted a few times during the whole thing."

"I didn't think anyone else took much notice." Louise was thoughtful. "It has been a lot of hard work but in many ways, I didn't feel that I had much of a choice."

"You didn't have to go on to graduate studies," said Vera.

"If I want to have a career in this town I do," countered Louise. "There is no way I would get past the lower middle rank in any decent department without a professional qualification. A 'B.A.' just doesn't cut it anymore. You have to have a specialists' degree. And since I'm not married, what else is there for me to focus on?"

"Not everyone has the option to become professionally qualified, Lou. Your sisters don't, and neither did your mother. And Roxanne sure as hell doesn't." Vera refilled their glasses. "You have differentiated yourself from the pack, my dear. If you want to be well-educated and successful –"

"Successful!!"

"Shut up please while I explain this to you."

"Sorry."

"I should think so." Vera continued. "As I was saying: if you want to be the brainiac of the family, at least you could be frumpy. Then they would forgive you. But you are not at all frumpy; and you are single by choice; and you are 'making it' in the professional sphere. Unforgiveable!"

"Unbelieveable is what it is. Do you know how much my parents were hell-bent on my going straight to uni? All my friends had a 'gap year', but Mum and Dad – especially Mum – went nuts until I agreed to go straight on."

"She was afraid you wouldn't make it back into the student mold." Vera explained. "She belongs to the last generation of intelligent, middle class women who didn't go to university and she has been disadvantaged in the workplace ever since."

"I know that. And I respected her opinion enough that I did as she demanded. But now I'm being punished for it. And by her – of all people!" Louise was exasperated. "Mum has known Roxanne for how long – 6 or 7 years – and she is actually ganging up with her against me."

"It does look that way." Vera was philosophical. "It happened to me, too, you know."

"Did it?" Louise asked.

"Oh, yes. When I decided to leave Paul, Mum was noticeably absent from my side. She figured that if they didn't help me, I would realize the folly of my ways, stop reading Cleo magazine and go back to my husband like any sensible girl."

"So – what is the answer?" Louise asked.

"The answer, my friend," sang Vera, "is blowing in the wind. The answer is blowing in the wind."

Louise forced a laugh. "Don't give up your day job, dear."

"No – really, though, Louise, you have to step out of this negative environment. This sort of thing will sap not only your emotional energy, but your self-esteem. It is very destructive and you can do nothing to control it." Vera had years of experience as a 'Life-Line' volunteer, and Louise was always impressed with her analysis of – well, almost everything.

"So – what do I do?"

"You walk away," Vera advised. "You leave them too it. Refuse to be 'taken' by Roxanne. If she is seducing your family – and she is – by drawing a moustache and devil horns on the family pin-up girl, remove the poster. At the moment, she is the bully and you are the enabler."

"Well," Louise was entertained and getting nicely sozzled. "We can't fucking well have that!"

"No, we can't," agreed Vera. "By the way, you can sleep in the spare room here tonight," she said as she re-filled Louise's glass.

"Thanks."

"You might have to share it with the cat, though."

"That's fine." Lousie stroked Bronte, Vera's blind and rather sweet pussy cat, affectionately. "So, I just stop visiting my family, do I?"

"You stop visiting them; calling them; thinking about them; and planning your life around family events."

"Wow!"

"Yes, wow," said Vera. "And then you work on filling in the spaces."

"The spaces?"

"Well, I imagine you currently spend a fair amount of time hanging out with your parents and your sisters." Vera said. "You need to identify the times you normally do things with them, and make sure you have arranged to do other things at those times. It is really no different to breaking up with a boyfriend. Sometimes when you break up with someone, you have to find a whole new set of friends."

"But at least when you break up with a lover, you still have your family to fall back on." Louise complained. "I don't have a boyfriend and now I won't have a family either."

"It's tough, I know," Vera commiserated. "But at least you don't have young kids; and you do have friends like me, and you have work."

Louise saw what she meant. "How did you manage, Vera, when you had no friends, no family support, no job and a young son? How did you get through that?"

"It was very hard and very frightening," said Vera. "I was so young. too. I joined a babysitting co-op, and started playing netball with some other women. Then, I went back to school and met people at college. And now I am working so many hours I barely notice that I'm alone."

"Do you feel alone?"

"Sometimes," Vera said. "But even happily married women with large families feel alone at times."

"That's true, I suppose." Louise was thoughtful.

Vera was cheerful again. "I love my life now and I hated the idea of being married to Paul. It wasn't just that I was too young it was all so sudden and unplanned; I was constantly being criticized and put down. I was treated like a criminal, and I would have to be grateful to him for the rest of my life." Vera paused, then said, "I wouldn't risk putting myself in that situation again. Ever."

"Vera!" Louise sat up with a start. "Do you realize that the movie starts at 9.30? That's barely two minutes!"

Vera was startled by Louise's outburst. "What? What movie?"

"Top Gun!" Louise hurried to turn on the television while Vera switched off the stereo.

"Oh – is that on TV tonight?" asked Vera. "I've never seen it before."

"Well, my friend, you are in for a treat. Quick – turn off the lights" Louise turned up the sound as the film began. "It is the only film ever made with not one, not two, but half a dozen really hot guys, all of whom we get to see sweaty and shirtless!"

"Really?" Vera smiled.

"Oh, yeah, baby – bring it on!" Louise enthused. "It is like watching back-to-back Gillette commercials." And Louise started to sing as she mimed being in the shower "Gillette! The best a man can get! Gillette!"

"Shhhhh!" said Vera. "It's on!" And they sat engrossed in the pure beefcake eye-candy that was Top Gun.

# Chapter 6

It was Louise's turn to host a dinner party, and she was having last-minute-jitters. Her basement flat comprised a bedroom; a kitchen; a combined lounge/dining room and a tiny bathroom which included the loo and the washing machine. Very compact.

The flat did, however, have an inviting garden patio at the front door, which was at the rear of the main house, so her patio looked onto her landlord's lawn. The O'Neils were keen gardeners so, without actually having to do anything, Louise benefited from all their work.

Tonight she had thrown open the French windows and dragged the round table, which usually sat at the dining-room end of her flat, out onto the patio. Although made of a cheap formica, the table looked elegant draped in white linen as it was now. The cutlery and crockery were fairly dreadful and didn't match but the crystal glasses detracted from their inadequacies and made the table look very dressy. Louise folded the big, white linen napkins into fans and set them at each place around the table. In the centre she placed a small bowl of snugly packed red rose buds.

Louise had realized early on that she was no great chef, and therefore had to rely on the ingredients. She could cook 3 things reasonably well: veal marsala; chicken in sour cream, shallots and white wine; and beef wellington. Beef wellington was a winter meal, and she had cooked the chicken dish last time, so it had to be the veal marsala tonight.

Being both a novice and a culinary ignoramus, Louise clutched onto any helpful hint she came across. "Never serve the same flavor twice in one meal" was one such axiom she had learned from Margaret Fulton, who had appeared on a television program designed to assist cooks who couldn't.

"So," thought Louise, "since the main course does not contain cream, it's safe to serve strawberries with whipped cream for dessert." She had asparagus spears and carrots to go with the veal.

Appetisers were a problem, though. She had no idea how to make the delicious things Kim always managed to produce. She felt panicky as she searched her small pantry. "Thank God," she thought when she found a can of smoked oysters. "Good thing I had forgotten about those! I would have eaten them for sure!" But there were no crackers and no toothpicks.

"Toast!" Louise put some bread into the toaster and when it had popped, carefully cut them into crust-less triangles. "Melba toast – very posh!" She arranged the mini toasts around a plate, put the drained oysters in the middle, and admired her work.

Tonight she had invited Rachel and her older sister Kate who was almost Louise's age; Simon, Kim and Margot. She wished she knew more men to invite, but thought that they would all get along well anyway and besides – Simon would have no objections whatsoever to being the only man present.

Margot arrived first and busied herself opening the champagne she had brought with her. "It looks great, Lou – I don't know how you do it!" Margot knew even less than Louise about "kitchen things" and was always a very appreciative dinner guest.

"Oh, thanks Margot," Louise accepted the proffered glass of champers gratefully. "It's not up to Kim's standard, but I think it is edible."

"Don't worry about that. Kim enjoys being the best cook among us and you wouldn't want to rock the boat. Anyway, you've always got me to feel superior to – I don't mind!"

"Hip-hip!" Louise said, clinking glasses with Margot. "I think that that is the basis of every true friendship. Making the most of each others' good points and exploiting the bad ones."

Simon and Kim arrived next and everyone kissed everyone else. "Who else is coming?' Simon asked.

"Kate and Rachel Fox."

"Have I met them?"

"You have met Rachel but not Kate." Louise looked past Simon and waved when she saw the girls walking into the patio area from the driveway. "Here they are now."

She made the introductions.

Simon remembered having met Rachel previously and was delighted to meet the elder sister. Kate was petite and dressed tastefully and expensively in a Perri Cutten silk suit. Her dark blonde hair was straight and layered to her shoulders. She looked content without looking actually happy and made no attempt to compliment Louise on her decorating.

Simon immediately began to gently question her, sensing Kate's natural aloofness.

"So, Kate," said Simon, "How do you know Louise?"

Kate sipped her champagne and looked at Rachel, who answered for her. "I met Louise when she was working at Dawson & Di Bartolo, accountants. Kate and Louise met through me."

"How do you know each other?" Kate asked Simon.

Simon had wanted to start a conversation with Kate about Kate, but answered politely "Oh, you know, mutual friends at uni." He did not want to go into the whole Katherine story. It was bad enough being dumped by your first long-term love, but to have it discussed by three attractive women in front of your current lover was too much.

"Oh," said Kate blandly. "So, what did you study?"

"Law," said Simon.

"Are you a solicitor now?"

Simon laughed. "No. I'm at Social Security. Like most of the lawyers in Canberra, I ended up in the public service, reading legislation and trying to figure out what it means."

"Do you like it?" Kate wouldn't let him get a question in. Louise found it quite entertaining to watch her get the better of Simon.

"Yes, I do!" Simon laughed at himself. "I know it's not cool to like working in the public service."

"Why not?" asked Kate bluntly.

"Well, you know, everyone makes fun of the public service."

"Only because they can't pass the exam to get into it," said Kate drily.

Simon was interested in this perspective and sat forward in his chair. "You know – that's what I think, too. But I'm so busy defending myself for working for a government department that I never get the chance to say so!"

Kim asked Kate "Are you in the public service too?"

"No," answered Kate. "Are you?"

"Yes. I work with Simon. That's how we met."

Margot raised her eyebrows at Louise, who nodded. They excused themselves and went into the kitchen to see if dinner was ready. "Kate is marvelous, Lou!" Margot whispered to Louise when they were along in the kitchen. "I'd like to see Kim try to give us lessons on being as classy as a Melbournian with Kate here!"

Louise silently agreed. "Okay, everyone," she said. "Take your places. Remember – you have to sit "boy-girl-boy-girl"!"

"And how do you propose we manage that, Louise?" Rachel pretended to be upset. "You've only invited one bloke!"

"Don't worry, girls," Simon reassured them. "There is enough of me to go round." He glanced at Kate who ignored him and his comment with her usual serenity.

But it was Kate who started the dinner table conversation. "Lulu, why don't you – and you too, Margot -come to the Hall B & S tomorrow night?" she asked.

"The what?" Louise.

"The Bachelors and Spinsters Ball. I'm on the committee."

"Yes, Lulu – why don't you?" Rachel agreed. "I forgot all about it, otherwise I would have mentioned it earlier. "It's great fun – you should come."

"I've never even heard of it." Louise was curious. "Is it a new event?"

"Oh God no," said Simon, thrilled to be on the same page as Kate. "Bachelor and Spinsters Balls are a country life phenomenon all over Australia. When I was a student, we would get the train to whatever county town was hosting the next one, get completely smashed, get back on the train and come home. We didn't even take luggage – just wore the same dinner suit there and back! And you buy your ticket for the meal and drinks in advance so you don't even need to take money with you. It's a student's dream.

"But what do you wear to them? The girls, I mean. If the guys are wearing dinner suits, do the women have to wear a formal gown?" Louise was becoming interested.

"In Melbourne, everyone wears black after five," Kim informed them knowingly. "You can always tell who is originally from Melbourne when you go out in Canberra. They are always wearing black. It is so classy."

"Wearing black in Melbourne is a Greek peasant thing," said Kate matter-of-factly. "Outside Athens, Melbourne has the highest Greek population in the world, and it is their custom to wear black after they get married – usually at age 15." Louise and Margot tried to choke back their laughter as they watched Kim's face freeze. "But it is lazy and boring to wear black to a ball. A ball is supposed to be colourful, that's why balls are held in the Spring and women wear corsages. The women are supposed to light up the room – not look like a group of Greek widows." And she sipped her wine as though the matter was settled.

To her credit, Kim was not put out by Kate's pronouncements. It was quite clear that Kate didn't care whether anyone agreed with her or not. She was stating plain facts plainly. To argue with her would simply expose your own bias but it wouldn't change the facts. Kim was fascinated. She leant forward in her chair and asked "So Kate, how did you get to be on the committee of the Hall B & S?"

"Well, I was on the committee last year and no one else wanted to take over, so I'm doing it again. We raise money for the Country Volunteer Fire Brigade."

Once again, Kate had answered the question without telling Kim what she really wanted to know. Louise wondered how long Kim could last without "pegging" Kate. She wasn't in the public service, so no information could be gotten from her "level"; Kim wasn't from Canberra and didn't know that Hall was the tiny, very elite country town to the north of Canberra – almost a suburb of the capital, really; and home to many professionals who preferred to live on acreages rather than in suburban homes. It was the domain of the gentleman farmer; men who liked to drive tractors on the weekends but in fact were of independent means, and in no way reliant on the price of wool or wheat for their lifestyle.

But Kim was not out yet. Suddenly the penny dropped. "So – you two still live at home, do you?"

"Yes," answered Rachel. "The place is so enormous that we have our own space, and Kate couldn't leave her horses. Hall is so handy to town, too – so why leave?"

The mere mention of horses told Kim everything she needed to know. She dropped her plans to interrogate Kate further and turned to Louise with a smile. "That was delicious, Lou. What's for dessert?"

Louise almost felt sorry for Kim, whom she quite liked normally, so she was glad to help her change the subject. "Thanks – I take that as a great compliment coming from you." Louise turned to Kate and Rachel and explained "Kim is a fabulous cook." She gathered up the plates and answered Kim. "Strawberries Romanoff coming right up!"

"You mean the usual, don't you Louise?" Rachel teased her. "I thought we would be having strawberries so we brought a sticky to have with them." And she produced a half bottle of Porphyry dessert wine from her shoulder bag."

"What did you call this?" Simon took the bottle and examined the label.

"A sticky. What do you call it?" Rachel asked.

"Don't forget that there's brandy on the strawberries," Louise set the desserts in front of each of them. "I'll get some little glasses for the Porphyry – thanks, Rachel." Louise sat down after handing around the extra glasses. "And thank-you, everyone, for coming tonight. And yes, Kate – I would love to come to the B & S."

"Me, too," said Margot.

"Good," Kate smiled.

"I'm re-directing my life from this point," continued Louise, "and disassociating myself from my family as much as possible."

"Oh, thank God," exclaimed Simon.

"Simon – I thought you liked my family!" Louise was amused at his outburst.

"No, you are quite wrong," said Simon. "I don't like the men in your family at all."

"Well, in that case, thank you for suffering them for my sake over the years."

"You might have noticed that I have avoided them whenever possible, Louise." Simon was taking a leaf out of Kate's book and speaking plainly.

"Well, I'm going to avoid all of them."

"Even Marie?" asked Simon.

"Possibly not Marie – but I will be seeing less of her, since she spends so much time with Mum and Dad, and Jane and her kids. It will depend. I don't mind James, either, but we have so little in common. I'll still do his tax return, so I'll see him then."

"What brought this on?" Simon wanted to hear all the details.

"Well," said Louise, "it's a long story but I need to hang out with people I have more in common with, I think. People my age who don't have families of their own yet."

"What about Christmas?" Kim asked.

Louise took a breath. "I am definitely not spending Christmas with my family."

"Really?" Margot was shocked. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll go away if I have to – visit a relative interstate or something."

"Come to our place," said Simon. "We are staying at home this Christmas and inviting friends over for a big lunch."

"Everyone is going to bring something and we are having a Phantom Santa gift arrangement, where you put everyone's name into a hat and then each person buys one gift for the person whose name they pull out."

"What a good idea!" said Louise.

"I wish my family did that," said Margot. "It was hard enough when there were just the original 9 kids – but now that there are partners, too, and nieces and nephews, I have to spend a small fortune and I never know what to get everyone."

"I'd love to join you, thanks Simon." Louise was relieved. "Hey – this might be easier than I thought it would be."

"It's their loss," said Simon. "Serves them right, though. Your family have been treating you like shit for ages."

"Have they?" Louise was surprised by Simon's comments.

"They'll miss you, Lou," said Margot. "It won't be long before the phone is ringing."

Louise shook her head. "You know what, it is such a long time since any of my family ever called me, I doubt they even know my number."

"Count your blessings!" Simon laughed and offered a toast. "I'd be getting a silent number if I was you – just in case!" He chuckled and raised his glass. "Here's to Christmas in Canberra, 1988!"

Everyone clinked glasses and said "To Christmas!"

*

"Louise!" Louise couldn't tell whether Rachel was actually cross, or just doing a really good imitation of annoyance. "You didn't tell me that you and Margot were dressing up! I would have done it, too!"

Margot had driven them to the B & S, which was held at the Hall fairground in a specially erected marquis. A large dance floor had been built in one corner and a stage for the band. The rest of the marquis was set out with tables, and bars had been set up along two sides. One of these bars served beer exclusively and had drawn a large portion of the male population.

"Sorry, Rach – it was very last minute! I knew you would want to be part of it, though, so I brought you something." And she produced a handful of Black fuzz from a small paper bag.

Since neither of them owned any formal wear, Margot and Louise had improvised. They were dressed as "cowgirls" in short, fringed suede skirts; checkered shirts with the sleeves rolled up and tied in a knot at the waist; ten-gallon-hats; and calf length, high-heeled boots. Louise now gave Margot – and Rachel – a big, Black handle-bar moustache. She peeled off the paper at the back of hers and adhered it to her upper lip.

"Louise!" Rachel shrieked. "That looks terrible! It's fabulous!" She laughed loudly.

Margot was laughing, too. Neither she nor Rachel was sure about the moustache, but decided to give it a go. "You can always take it off and throw it away," said Louise. "I'm leaving mine on, though."

"Hey!" A young man accosted the girls as they made their way through the crowd. "Come back!" He peered closely at them when they stopped to look at him. "I've never kissed a girl with a moustache before."

"Me, neither," said his friend.

"First you need to get some practice kissing girls." Louise advised them. "These things require an expert. No unlicenced handling."

The larger group of men let their friends know that they had been "owned" by the girls, who continued to make their way across the room.

They found Kate, who was wearing a sheath dress with spaghetti straps in a soft, dull gold which perfectly matched the colour of her hair.

"Hi, Kate," said Louise. "Love your dress."

Kate smiled. "You look ridiculous." She looked Louise up and down. "Good legs, though."

Louise tipped her hat. "Thank you, ma'am."

"What a turnout!" Margot commented. "Were you expecting this many?"

"We sold all the tickets, but that doesn't always mean everyone comes," said Kate.

"But once you've sold the tickets, you've made your money, haven't you?" asked Margot.

"Yes, for that year. But if no one shows up, or not enough people come to make a good night of it, no one will want to come the next year, so you lose in the long run. You really have to sell the tickets and get everyone to come and make sure they have a good time so that they will come back next year; or at least rave about it so others will want to come."

"It looks as though you've done well. Congratulations," Margo was complimentary.

Kate nodded and almost smiled. "Let me introduce you to some people."

It seemed that Kate knew every single person there, and had gone to some trouble to identify various men the girls might find interesting. She produced Bob the radiographer, who was tall and gangly but handsome in a cookies-and-milk way. He engaged Margot in conversation as soon as he had gotten her a drink; and Aidan the accountant who, after recovering from the fact that Louise not only worked for the enemy, but was proud to do so, decided that she might be worth his attention regardless of her lapse in professional judgement.

Aidan was easily the most attractive single man in her age group at the B & S, Louise thought. He was of average height, with dark, wavy hair, even features and deep set green eyes. Physically he gave the appearance of strength without bulk. He was a dapper dresser and had acquired a look which suited him, resulting as it did from attention to detail.

"I suppose," he admitted grudgingly, "if it weren't for the Tax Office, we public accountants wouldn't make anywhere near as much money."

"And if it weren't for taxes," replied Louise tartly, "we wouldn't have our public hospitals, public schools, universities, roads, airports, armies – we wouldn't even have decent sewage systems!"

Aidan blinked. "I – I suppose you're right," he said meekly.

"Bloody oath I'm right." Louise said, in her best Princess Anne accent. She smiled at Aidan and decided not to fight with him. "So, enough about me. What sort of car do you drive?"

Aidan laughed. "That's a new one! Women normally start off with 'What do you do for a living?' or 'Where did you go to school?'" Then, in a more serious tone, he answered her question. "I just bought a Volvo. I drove an old Toyota for years – since uni; but now I've lashed out and bought a decent car."

"I know," admitted Louise. "I only asked because Kate mentioned that you were in post-car-purchase-afterglow."

"Oh," Aidan looked disappointed. "I thought you might have been trying to find out whether you would let me take you out; and the car was a deal breaker."

"Live and dream, Aidan," laughed Louise. "If it was that easy, every guy would buy a nice car."

Aidan tapped her on the shoulder and pointed out to the parking lot which was clearly visible from where they stood under the open marquis. Hundreds of gleaming cars paid testimony to the beliefs of his gender.

"Okay, so I missed that," Louise laughed at herself. "I guess guys do buy nice cars to impress girls."

"It works, too."

"Why do you think that is? Girls don't actually care about cars at all. Most girls buy an economical car in a nice colour that is easy to park."

"Yes, but they would be pretty suspicious of a bloke who did that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it. The car a man drives tells you a lot about him, and women are expert at reading this information. For instance, what do you think when you see an old, rusty ute?"

"Well," said Louise thoughtfully, "I think the driver is either young and poor, old and poor, or a poverty stricken farmer."

"Exactly!" Aidan was triumphant.

"Aagh – you're right!" Louise was surprised at this insight. "Okay – give me another one."

"Right." Aidan was enjoying himself. "Two-year-old Holden."

"Sedan?"

"Yes, sedan."

"If it is white, I think it is a government employee's work vehicle. If it is another colour, I think it is a family car, or second car."

"And where does this family live?"

"Belconnen or Tuggeranong – oh, I see!" Louise nodded her head. "So, now I know that a new Volvo means yuppy accountant with country property."

"Something like that." Aidan was quite pleased with her analysis. "So, what is your dream car, Louise?"

"I don't dream about cars at all," she said. "But I'm perfectly happy with my Renault 12."

"Oh!" Aidan was impressed. "What year?"

"Old, but it's in beautiful condition, and still has the original caramel leather seats with the pinhole pattern. I had it re-sprayed in the original Alpine White, so it looks pretty good."

"An intelligent girl who appreciates fine automobiles," said Aidan. "My goodness."

"My father loves old cars," Louise explained.

"So, what does Daddy drive?"

Louise laughed. "He drives a Mercedes Benz –"

"So, Daddy is a doctor –"

"- which was a year old when he bought it, ten years ago."

"Not a doctor. A public servant. Foreign Affairs?"

"Treasury."

"Treasury!" Aidan was interested. "Another accountant?"

"No, he studied economics actually."

"A.N.U.?"

"No, University of Queensland."

"Still top drawer." Aidan spoke confidently. "Are your family from Brisbane?"

"Yes, originally."

"And your father moved here after uni to work at Treasury."

"That was Canberra in the sixties."

"Where did he go to school in Brisbane?" Aidan wasn't quite finished. "Church E?"

"Gregory Terrace."

"A Catholic GPS – like my school."

"Don't tell me," she said, stifling a yawn. "You were a boarder at St Joseph's in Sydney."

"Did Kate tell you that too?"

"She may have." Louise was bored.

"And where, may I ask, did you go to school?"

"I didn't go to a 'passport' school if that's what you are asking."

"It would have been a waste anyway." Aidan paused, and when Louise didn't respond finished his thought. "A beautiful woman with brains needs no propping up. She already has the keys to the kingdom."

Louise smiled appreciatively, so Aidan continued. "But let's get back to our little game."

"Okay," agreed Louise. "But now, do it the other way round."

Aidan looked at her quizzically.

"I will point someone out, and you have to tell me what they drive. Then, we go up and ask them."

"And what do I get if am correct?"

"If you are right every time, I will cook you dinner; most of the time, and I will take you on a picnic. If you are correct only half the time, I will buy you a coffee. Less than that, the deal is switched and you have to make the dinner."

"Or picnic, or buy the coffee." Aidan was amused. "So in actual fact, I find myself in a win-win situation."

"Always the most satisfactory sort."

"Yes," he laughed. "They most definitely are." And he clinked Louise's glass and drank. "There's just one thing," he seemed almost embarrassed.

"What is it?"

"When we have dinner, or a picnic, or coffee, could you leave the moustache at home?"

Louise laughed. "But I feel naked without it."

"Naked works."

At that moment, Margot arrived with Bob. "Hi, Lou," she said. "I'm going to find the Ladies. Want to come?" In their long-established girlfriend-speak, this was not a question but more of a call to arms.

"Sure," answered Louise, handing her glass to Aidan and following Margot out of the marquis.

"How is it going?" Louise asked as she and Margot made their way through the uneven grass in the dark to the creepy looking latrines, which had been set up at the far end of the parking lot. The organizers had probably tried to hide the toilets from view but had also succeeded in placing them in an unlit ditch.

"You mean "Bob the snob"? First he asked me straight out which school I'd gone to; then he spent the next half an hour trying to figure out how I know the Fox's." Louise had known Margot since they were in Year 10, and had only discovered that her father was a very highly regarded medical specialist when it transpired that her sister in law, Roxanne, had consulted him. It was she who had pointed out that Margot was the daughter of a surgeon. Louise had known the Gaudry family for more than a decade; she had been on holidays with them, but the subject of their fathers' occupations had never arisen.

"Oh, I see," said Louise. "Bob thought that because Kate and Rachel's parents are doctors, your families were "connected".

"I don't know what he thought." Although very softly spoken and always ladylike, Margot was very decisive in every circumstance. "But he gives me the creeps. What's yours like?"

"He's a bit the same way, actually, but quite nice. I'm happy to leave when you are, though."

"How about right now?"

"Let's do it." And the girls made their way to the parking lot through the unlit field.

Once in the car, Margot put on an INXS tape and asked "Private Bin?"

"But of course!" Louise replied. "Our fans await!"

# Chapter 7

It was 11.30 when the girls arrived at The Bin, and the discotheque had been crowded for half an hour. Louise and Margot had shed their moustaches, hats and shirts. They had worn black leotard-style tops under the shirts, which looked quite sexy now and matched their black stockings. Everyone still looked fresh and lively, and Margot and Louise squeezed past them on their way to the bar.

"Look who's here!" Russell, the handsome young barman who virtually ran the discotheque section of the establishment, was quietly pleased to see Louise and Margot. He began to pour them each a drink without asking them for an order. "Where have you two been hiding? We haven't seen you for weeks."

"Hi Russell, how have you been?" Louise accepted the rum and coke he gave her. "How's your dad?" Louise had worked with Russell's father, a war veteran. He had insisted that she should visit the Private Bin and his boy would look after her.

And he had. Louise and her girlfriends never paid the cover charge and rarely paid for their drinks. Russell and his flat mate and co-worker, George, had become friends and allies at the disco. Unfortunately, Russell was working whenever Louise wasn't, and vice versa. So, anything more than a friendship was doomed.

George appeared beside Russell and said "Hello" to the girls.

"Oh – Michael must have seen you walk in," George pointed to the DJ who waved from his box. "There's your song."

Louise and Margot handed back their drinks immediately and quickly made their way to the dance floor in time to enjoy the Paul Simon song Michael had so considerately played. He knew that they would request it anyway but it was his way of saying "Hello", too. Any other requests would have to be made in person, because Michael couldn't leave his box and always liked a personal visit from Louise.

The girls left the dance floor when the song ended and returned to the bar to reclaim their drinks. The discotheque at Private Bin was located above the larger bar room downstairs, which attracted a very different clientele. Downstairs was jeans, and bar service only; upstairs required a coat and tie; had bar and table service, with waiters in black bow ties and waitresses wearing long, strapless dresses in dusty-pink, to match the overstuffed couches set around low tables.

The dance floor was behind brass bars which ran from floor to ceiling. The wall of the dance floor opposite these bars was lined with smoky mirrors, and flashing coloured lights highlighted the area to the rest of the room.

Against the far wall opposite the dance floor, the dining section was raised by four steps and separated by railings from the general seating arrangements. Tables and chairs were lined up against the railings and were reserved for diners. After 11 pm anyone could sit at these tables, which had the best view of the room and the dance floor. Looking towards the dining area now, Margot was rewarded with a smile from Andrew who was sitting up there with a group of friends.

Louise knew the long-established ritual and was about to smile at Andrew, too, when her attention was drawn to the man who sat beside him.

"Margot – Margot!" Louise felt her heart pump faster for a moment and drew a deep breath.

"What, Lou?" Margot was enjoying her across-the-room eye-flirt with Andrew hard-to-get McCarthy, and while she would never actually be rude to anyone, least of all her best friend, she was not pleased to be drawn away so quickly. "What is it?"

"Look who is sitting beside Andrew." Louise was looking over Margot's shoulder, allowing Margot a surreptitious view of Andrew's table.

Margot took a good look. "Is that Gordon – the Sydney guy?"

"Yes! What do you think he is doing with Andrew?"

"Perhaps they work together."

"No. Gordon works at Social Security. Andrew works at Farmer Brothers."

They were interrupted by men asking them to dance. Margot and Louise had a rule. Unless the man was rude or drunk, they never refused a dance, and then it had to be for that dance and the next one. That way no one got their feelings hurt. But at the end of the dance, unless they were interested in the guy, they said thank you and returned to their seat. If the guy followed them back and asked them if they wanted a drink, they politely refused and left it at that.

So now they danced with two young men, both Duntroon graduates, and chatted to the extent that the loud music would allow. Margot was easy to chat with during a dance, as she swayed rythmically in time to the music. Louise gyrated so vigorously it was difficult for her to breathe after a few minutes, let alone chat. These men were loathe to let them leave after the second dance, but Margot and Louise were insistent and promised to dance with them again later.

"I think it is your duty to go and find out how Andrew knows Gordon," said Louise as soon as they had returned to their drinks.

"No way!" Margot was adamant. "If anyone should go up to them, it is you."

"What?" Louise was disbelieving. "But you and Andrew have an established "thing". Gordon and I have a – a – we have nothing!"

"Precisely!" Margot was triumphant. "You have a clean slate. Andrew already knows I lust after him. I'm not going up there."

"Hi, girls." It was David Taplin, Andrew's ever-smiling flat-mate and old school friend. Margot had met David when she first met Andrew. He was a gentleman and very pleasant company. "It's so crowded now, we can't get service at our table so I've been sent to rustle up some Russians." David's favourite drink was a Black Russian. "Why don't you girls join us?"

"David – we thought you would never ask." Louise smiled and offered to help carry the half dozen glasses George was handing across the bar to David.

"Oh – and a bottle of pink champagne for the ladies," he added.

Louise and Margot gushed their thanks to David as they headed up to the dining area, George following with champagne and ice bucket.

"Look who I found," said David as he handed out the drinks. Andrew was all smiles to see the girls. Louise often wondered whether he was like her brother, Michael: too lazy to pursue a romance but quite happy if one was thrust upon him. Margot would never come to the party on that arrangement, though, Louise knew.

Gordon greeted them very calmly, as though it was an everyday event.

"Have you met Gordon?" asked David innocently. "He's Andrew's brother. We were all boarders together at Canberra Grammar. Gordon's just moved back here from Sydney."

Margot and Louise looked at each other and blinked in disbelief. "Yes, we have met actually," said Louise as nonchalantly as she could manage. "So, David," she seated herself beside him and asked quietly, "how is the new restaurant coming along?"

David was an entrepreneur and had just bought 'Albert's Restaurant'. He had recently appeared in a television commercial advertising its opening event.

"Did you see the ad?" He beamed at her. "You must join us on opening night. We need all the Beautiful People there!"

"Canberra doesn't have Beautiful People," laughed Margot, who sat on his other side between David and Andrew. "When is the grand opening?"

"Next Friday night, and you had better come. 9 pm and wear something elegant."

"Or?" asked Louise as she sipped her champagne.

"Or I won't recognize you – you two always look elegant."

"That's better," Louise clinked her glass with David's.

"I was almost in trouble then," David said cheerfully. "I didn't want you to think it would be a mini-skirt affair, that's all."

"Not that we are complaining – about the mini-skirts." Gordon flashed his sexiest smile at the girls but Margot only had eyes for Andrew.

"I hadn't realized that Canberra was your home town," Louise said. "I suppose the people you meet are more inclined to be friendly when they think they are welcoming a newcomer." She wondered why she felt almost annoyed.

Gordon sensed her coolness, and tried to explain. "I feel like a newcomer. And Canberra isn't my home town. We were boarders at Canberra Grammar in Red Hill for 3 years at the end of high school while Dad was on a posting to Indonesia. I moved back to Sydney straight after that."

"Why didn't you board in Sydney?"

"Well, our uncle was the headmaster at Canberra Grammar, and our parents thought there would be too many distractions in Sydney. But I didn't get to know anything beyond Manuka and the Red Hill shops during those three years, so -" and he raised his hands in an extended shrug.

Louise listened and felt a little less affronted by this revelation. Gordon smiled and with every expectation of being accepted, asked "Would you like to dance?"

A slow song was playing, and everyone danced closely. Normally Louise would refuse to dance to a slow song but this time she was happy to do so. "Okay," she said lightly, and waited for Gordon to lead her on to the dance floor.

He was a lovely dancer and held her loosely. "I thought I'd have run into you before this," Gordon said. "Have you been away?"

"No," answered Louise. "Just doing other things. Have you been getting out much?"

"A fair bit." He gently pulled her closer and they stopped talking.

*

"Oh Louise – what are we going to wear?" Margot called Louise at work the following week, something she only ever did in her lunch hour. Since Louise usually ate lunch at her desk – a habit she had originally developed so that she could get in an hour of study; and now one continued out of, well, out of habit – it was the perfect time to have a conversation. The office was empty and they could speak freely.

Margot was feigning horror. "You realise that this night at Albert's Restaurant is our Big Chance, don't you?"

"You mean because Gordon and Andrew will be there?

"Not just them – their whole group of friends will be there. And it is a private function – not like running into them all at a club."

"So you think that this invitation is to include us in their social set; and might even lead to more invitations?"

"Don't you?"

"I don't know. I mean – I would love that; but why didn't they just invite us as their guests?"

"Maybe they thought we would be more likely to accept an invitation from David?"

Louise laughed. "Yeah, right – they aren't sure if we like them, and they especially planned all this out in advance."

"OK, maybe not that," Margot reluctantly agreed. "But seriously – we wouldn't have been invited if they didn't like us, surely?"

"They didn't invite us, Margot – David did!"

"Yes, but David is their friend. Would he have invited us if Andrew and Gordon didn't like us?"

"Probably not; but let's look at this objectively. First of all, we like them more than they like us."

"You don't know that," Margot protested.

"I think I do know that," Louise insisted. "Secondly, we are no trouble for them. We don't harass them; we don't cost them anything; and we are always available to them. And thirdly, they have no competition for our attention. Fourthly, I think most of the women David knows are attached to the men he knows; and he knows many single men, so he needs to invite single women -"

"Louise, you are not going to spoil this for me. I am going to go out and buy myself the most gorgeous evening dress and I'm getting all new make-up. I will concede that this may not be our Big Chance but it definitely our Only Hope."

"God Margot. You're right."

"And this is it."

"What do you mean "This is it"?"

"If nothing comes of this evening at Albert's restaurant, I'm retiring my post as the one-woman Andrew McCarthy Fan-club President."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Do you think you can do it?"

"Watch me."

"Wow. You sound as though you have made up your mind!"

"I have. Are you with me?"

Louise thought for just a second. "Yes, I think I am."

"Good. Let's give it our best shot and if we still don't succeed, move on."

"Move on? To what?"

"I don't know – nothing! But we are not going to be McCarthy groupies anymore."

"No."

"OK then."

"Right."

"I'll pick you up on Friday night."

"Are we driving? Don't you want to drink?"

"No – I'm staying sober for this."

"Good idea. See you Friday."

# Chapter 8

At work on Monday, Louise answered the phone and heard Tim Cotter on the other end.

"Louise, it's Tim," he said.

"Hi, Tim. How are you?"

"Good, thanks. Hey – why didn't you come to my BBQ last weekend?"

"Was I invited?"

"Yeah, 'course you were. Jane said she told you about it."

"Oh, did she?" Louise raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, Tim, I must have misunderstood. How was it, anyway?"

"Pretty good. So, are you doing my tax again this year?"

"Sure thing! But you will be late now. It was due in months ago, Tim."

"Better late than never."

"Have you kept all your receipts?"

"Nuh!"

Louise laughed. "Well, give me whatever you've got and we will pull something together."

Tim laughed. "Can we have lunch today? I'll give you all my stuff then."

"OK. Meet me at the Moore St café at 12.30."

"See you then."

When Louise arrived, Tim was already seated at the rear of the café. He stood when he saw her, and at 6 feet 10 inches tall, made the furniture look inadequate until he sat down again. Louise much preferred to sit out under the awning at the front of the café, but she knew Tim had chosen the table at the back to avoid being recognized by basketball fans. The Cannons game was televised each week and as a handsome, 27-year-old single team member, Tim had quite a following.

They ordered lunch and Louise looked through the papers Tim had brought along with him.

"You know, you are leaving yourself wide open when you hand over your financial history to someone, Tim."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked. "I haven't done anything wrong – have I?"

Louise never ceased to be amazed by the fact that even intelligent people rarely believed that tax laws were sensible or predictable. Most people believed that even if they did what they thought was right, they could still break tax laws without even knowing it.

"You would know if you had, Tim." Louise tried to reassure him. "No – I just mean that seeing how people spend their money tells you almost everything about them." She was reading his cheque butts. "I'm glad to see that you have been writing details on all your stubs; that's good."

"After last time, I learned my lesson." In the previous year Tim had missed out on claiming some very costly expenses because he hadn't written the details on the cheque butts and hadn't kept receipts, either. He had had to lodge an amended return to avoid paying a fine; and tracking down the information had been a tedious task.

Greg Hawkins walked into the cafe and had a long look at Louise. He took a step towards her, but recognized Tim and stopped himself. Louise pretended not to notice.

"So, Tim," said Louise as she read through the chequebook. "Was this trip to Sydney I see here for work?"

"No."

"You didn't play any basketball or talk to anyone related to your work while you were there?"

"I visited the court at Homebush and spoke to a few of the players but that was just –"

"Professional development," said Louise. "We will claim half the trip." She made a note and continued to flip through the cheque stubs. "How about these clothing purchases?" She looked at Tim, who was dressed in an Adidas track suit and running shoes. "Were they all work gear?"

"I have to wear Adidas; it's part of our sponsorship deal."

"So why don't they provide you with the clothes for free?"

"They do, some; but I need more."

"Everything you pay for is deductible in that case. We just have to make sure that we declare all the income. Excessive wear and tear applies, too." Louise continued to make notes. "That should do it for the moment. I'll call you if I need any more information."

"I want to pay you this year," said Tim. "Or at least give you something."

"You can't," Louise said. "I'm a Tax Officer and I'm not allowed to receive any payment or gift from a taxpayer in relation to my work. Anyway, I don't do your taxes because I need extra money."

"Thanks then, but I owe you."

"No you don't." Louise finished her coffee. "I love helping my friends and family with their taxes. It is something they need and value and I get a kick out of it. Why should the rich guys get all the breaks?"

"Can I interest you in coming to a game, then?" Tim was blushing. "And maybe dinner?"

Louise realized she was being asked out.

"Tim, I would love to come to a game, but I can't go out with you." Louise was really flattered because he was a nice man and she found him attractive.

"Why not?" Tim wanted to know.

"You know why not – Marie!"

"Nothing's happened between me and Marie." Tim was quite sure of his position. "You don't need to worry about that."

"But I do. Marie really likes you, Tim. She really likes you. It would upset her a lot if I even went out with you once."

"It doesn't have to be just the once," Tim smiled.

"Oh, Tim, you are so nice, but I couldn't do it to Marie," Louise was truly sorry. "This is hard for me because I mostly only meet pushy men, and I know you are really sweet."

Tim sighed. He had so many girls throwing themselves at him that this "rejection" didn't take a detour into his ego, but sat where it belonged, in the "non-starter" lane.

"You sure are a nice sister," he said. "Too nice."

"Tell me about it," Louise agreed glumly.

Back at the office, Louise had no sooner settled herself in her chair than Greg Dawkins walked past her desk and said quietly "Could I see you in my office for a minute, Louise?"

Something about his tone told Louise that she was not going to enjoy this chat, so she followed him into his office without comment. Greg shut the door after her, another ominous sign.

"Sit down please." He went to the other side of his desk and sat down.

Suddenly Louise felt intimidated. Then she felt angry. How dare this man intimidate her at work? She always arrived on time; never left early and worked fairly hard all day long. "No, thanks, Greg," she answered sternly. "I'll stay standing."

Greg was surprised. He had to look up at her from his seat. "I wanted to ask you about what you were doing in the Moore St café this afternoon."

"Okay." Louie offered no information.

"What were you doing?"

"Having lunch with a friend."

"Just having lunch?"

"I may have spoken a few words."

Greg shook his head in exasperation. "Were you doing your friend's tax return?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because, Louise," and Greg stood up and walked around from behind his desk to face her "you are not allowed to give any special treatment as a Tax Officer to individuals you may know. It is an abuse of your position."

"I know that." Louise tried to calm herself down. "I would never do anything to compromise the Tax Office or my position in it. However, assisting friends and family with their tax returns is not in breach of my duty to my employer; and I came to this job fully loaded."

"What?"

"I paid for all my own qualifications – the Tax Office did not give me paid study leave; nor did it subsidise my study expenses. I own my knowledge, not the Tax Office. And my conduct is irreproachable."

Greg had not expected to be spoken to so harshly. "Your conduct must not only be irreproachable, but you must take care not to be seen to be doing anything that might look unprofessional. As a Tax Officer, you are held to a higher standard."

"I will continue to assist my friends and family with their tax returns in the best traditions of the public service." Louise spoke as calmly as she could.

"Then you leave me no choice but to report your conduct to Matt Abrams."

"That's fine with me, Greg. Is that all?"

"No, actually, it isn't." Greg walked around his desk again and opened a file he had there. "I've had Phil take a close look at the letters you have been sending out to taxpayers who write to us asking for advice."

Louise hadn't expected this. "Oh? Why is that?"

"Well, it is something we do from time to time; just to check the quality of advice emanating from the Tax Office."

"Do you do that randomly?"

"Sometimes," Greg smiled. "And at other times we zero in on a particular officer." He looked through the pages in the file. "You send out more letters than a lot of the others."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, doesn't that indicate that I am doing more work?"

"Not necessarily. The others prefer to handle their clients over the phone."

"But you have no way of checking the content of those calls, so why check my letters?"

"We will be monitoring all telephone calls by the new year," Greg said defensively, "but at the present time we only monitor letters." He didn't like the way Louise had him almost justifying himself to her. He was her supervisor – not the other way around.

"I see," said Louise. "Well, these taxpayers have gone to the trouble of writing to us, and there is a legal principle which states that communication between parties where a legal relationship may exist should take the same form. That is, a message should be responded to in the same mode as it was received. Therefore, if I am telephoned, I will respond to the caller by phone; but if I receive a letter, I will respond by letter. Unless, of course, my employer mandates an office-wide preference for telephone responses to all queries. Is that the case here?"

Greg did not answer her. He sat with his arms crossed, looking at her.

Louise continued. "When I write to a government department, particularly to one with which I may have a legal relationship, I much prefer to receive a letter in response myself, particularly if the information is of a legal nature, as is the case here; or if I am going to rely on the advice in the letter to make a decision."

"Alright, Louise, there is no need to lecture me." Greg was angry now, too. "Your letters are too legalistic. He drew one from the file and read aloud. "In order to be deductible under Section 51(1) of the ITAA 1936". Greg shook his head. "You can't write like that to taxpayers. It's officious."

Louise took a deep breath. "I wrote that letter after speaking to Mrs Leahy on the phone." Greg checked the letter and saw that Louise had remembered the taxpayer's name. He was surprised that she recalled it so easily, since the letter had gone out months ago. "She specifically asked me to put those details in a letter to her. Call her – she will remember me." Louise spoke confidently. She continued before Greg could interrupt her. "I think I write really well, Greg. And so does everyone else in this office. I give the others a lot of help with their letters – when they do write them. And I am happy to tell you – for free – that the reason the others prefer to call taxpayers rather than to respond to written queries in writing is that, like many accountants, they are not as literate as you and I. They lack the confidence to commit their thoughts to paper." Louise prepared to leave. "But I am very confident, and I look forward to hearing from Mr Abrams so we can clear up this, and any other matter you might wish me to clarify – hopefully before my next interview at Defence." She smiled as she left his office.

*

"Louise!" Vera cringed when Louise recited this conversation back to her friend. "Why did you do that?" They were seated at their desks. It was the end of the workday and the floor was almost empty of staff.

"I don't know!" Louise was cringing, too. "Why do I do anything I do? Because I'm a bloody idiot, that's why." Louise was slouched over her desk, her head in her hands. "I'm really going to need that promotion now."

"Well, don't hold your breath. Defence always moves at a snail's pace – they are famous for it. If you want a fast promotion, you have to apply to one of the newer departments, like Education and Training, or Arts and the Environment."

"Why is that?"

"Because the newer departments haven't had time to formulate any internal rules yet, so anything goes, basically. But Defence – that is the original government department! It's the oldest, the biggest, and the one with more rules and regulations than any other. It will be months before they make a decision."

"Great." Louise was feeling completely defeated. "So, I've just insulted my boss and have nowhere to go. That sounds like me!"

"I tried to warn you, Lou," Vera shook her head sympathetically.

"But what was I supposed to do, Vera?" Louise defended herself. "He was covertly bullying me. I'm not going to stand for that – why should I?"

"Don't confuse right with reality, Louise."

Louise groaned and put her head back down on her desk.

Vera stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Cheer up," she said. "Look, I'm dropping into the yacht club on my way home. I have to see a friend. Why don't you come?"

"Thanks, Vera," said Louise forlornly. "I might as well." She dragged her bag from under her desk as though it weighed a tone. "I can always slash my wrists later."

"Pills are better," advised Vera. "No blood."

"True." Louise was smiling now. "You are so practical, Vera."

"It's the Russian peasant in me." Vera stopped and touched Louise's arm. "Are you alright to drive?"

"Of course."

"Good. I'll see you there in 10 minutes."

"Righteo."

*

Louise arrived at the yacht club before 6pm. It was still very light and dusk was a couple of hours away. She parked beneath a tree not far from the entrance to the parking lot and slowly made her way to the clubhouse, hoping that Vera had beaten her and she wouldn't be there alone for too long.

The lake was still and its shores were adorned with small yachts in various stages of being placed on trailers. Huge dirigibles hovered over the lake, leaving perfect reflections on the glassy surface of the water. Club members were taking it in turns to back up to the mooring station, trying to both retrieve their yachts and enjoy the spectacle of the huge balloons against the pink sky and mauve water. It was a very pretty scene and one she knew her father would like to paint.

And her father was the first person Louise saw when she entered the yacht club. Contrary to Mary's belief that Louise and Jim met weekly for lunch, they very rarely saw one another outside the family home. Jim was pleasantly surprised to see Louise now and stopped what he was doing, which was buying Vera a drink, until she arrived beside him.

Jim kissed Louise on the cheek and said "Fancy seeing you here. What will you have?"

"Hi, Dad," said Louise. "A spritzer, please." Jim got the drinks and ushered the girls to a table by the French windows which led to the balcony. "Is this alright?" He asked them.

"Beautiful, thanks Jim," Vera smiled. She liked Jim and was clearly pleased to have run into him.

Prior to the Vera's arrival, Jim had been talking to a group of friends whom Louise had gotten to know well over a period of almost twenty years. He had been glad of the diversion; though perfectly happy to consort with his usual early Friday evening crown. So far, Jim's life had followed a predictable course: matriculate from a good school; achieve a sensible degree from a leading university; obtain employment in a federal government department and gain promotion. During this period, he should also marry, have a family, and contribute to the community. None of these calls upon his time bothered him in the least. Jim enjoyed being a part of the St Vincent de Paul operation; just as he enjoyed being an active member of the Yowani Golf Club, and the CanberraYacht Club. He was the essential Greater Public School boy. Clubs were where he felt most comfortable.

"So, Louise," Jim said, "Vera has been filling me in! Let's hear your side of things." He grinned cheekily at Vera, knowing that would be enough to set Louise off.

"No, it's the weekend now. No work talk. How is everyone at home?" Louise tried to shy away from Vera's warning glare.

"Well, I wanted to speak to you about that, but I don't want to bore Vera." Jim was serious but gentle.

"Actually, Jim, I'm only here to meet a friend. I dragged Louise along to have one drink – that's all." Vera collected her things and kissed Jim on the cheek. "Good to see you." And she was off.

Jim collected himself after Vera's whirlwind departure and turned to Louise. "Have you had dinner?" He asked.

"No," answered Louise.

"Well," considered Jim, "we could eat here; or go home and see what your mother has for us; or, we could go somewhere else." Louise smiled. Clearly her father wanted to go out but didn't want to be the one to exclude his wife. He knew Mary would not want to go out for dinner, and hoped Louise would force it on him.

But Louise was wise enough to know that she would bear the flack and couldn't afford to do so.

"What if we get one of those gourmet pizzas from Manuka on the way to your place?" she suggested.

"Excellent plan!" said her father. "And I have the perfect cabernet sauvignon shiraz blend to go with it."

What year?" asked Louise.

Jim was slightly affronted by her question. "It's an '82, actually, but I have a Grange '77 if that's not good enough for you, now that you are at the," and he adjusted his tone to say the words, "Tax Office."

Louise made an 'O' with her mouth and rubbed one of her forefingers against the other. Her father had been at the Department of Treasury for 20 years. Treasury was the overseeing department for the Tax Office, which was merely a Commission.

"Now, now, Dad," Louise admonished, "pull your horns in!"

Jim looked down his handsome nose at her with amusement. Then his attitude changed to one of complicity. "Let's go to Manuka for dinner, Lou!" He was charged by this idea. "We could –"

"Blame me for the whole idea – I don't think so!' Louise laughed as she finished her drink.

"It was worth a try," Jim shrugged. Then he became more serious. "Louise," he said, "I wanted to talk to you about Marie."

"Oh?" Louise knew it would be too soon for anyone to have noticed that she had 'dropped' her family. Of course, if her father was going to notice, it had to be because of Marie. Louise smiled to herself. "What about her?"

"Have you seen her lately?" Jim was really puzzled. "We haven't seen her for a week. I was just wondering if everything was alright."

"Typical," thought Louise. "I could be lying dead in a ditch and no one would know unless it was reported on the 6 o'clock news. But if anyone else in the family is 5 minutes late asking for a lift to work, or a loan to pay the rent, all the flares go up."

Suddenly Louise wasn't enjoying her drink any more. "No, Dad," she replied tersely. "I haven't heard from Marie either. Not since the last time she needed a lift somewhere." Louise hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. "By the way, Dad," Louise said, as breezily as her annoyance allowed, "I won't be spending Christmas Day with the family this year. Tell Mum for me, would you?"

"Oh? Why not?"

"I've decided to spend it with some single friends, so all you 'family people' could hang out together."

"I wish I could escape from our Christmas myself," Jim muttered. "Yours sounds like much more fun. Could I come?"

Louise almost laughed despite herself. "I have to get going. Bye." She kissed her father's cheek and departed, leaving Jim wondering innocently why everyone seemed to be in such a rush.

# Chapter 9

Louise didn't blame Marie. It wasn't her fault. She had always been one of Jim's favourites. Marie was the last born, a tiny baby girl; and she was exquisitely pretty, like a doll. Everyone felt protective of her, and it seemed natural that their father should, too; even though this sometimes meant that Marie got favours her sisters missed out on.

It was the same with Michael. Both Marie and Michael had inherited more than their share of good looks and their father's good favour. Both had Jim's thick, black, wavy hair, fair skin and dark eyes. They were, like their father, quite striking.

The others had the same fair skin, but their blue eyes and lighter hair left them looking insipid by comparison. Louise, Jane and James were proud of their beautiful little sister; and of their tall, handsome brother, too. Beautiful people attract admirers, and Marie and Michael, while enjoying the attention, were happy to let their family do the entertaining. It never occurred to Jane, James or Louise to envy Michael and Marie. Just having them in the family gave normal events an extra sparkle.

When Marie first realized that something was wrong, she put it to the back of her mind. Her heart gave a lurch if she even tried to contemplate what it might mean. She needed more time; more time to not think about it. If she didn't think about it, she wouldn't have to feel sickened with apprehension. Anyway, what good would thinking about it do? It wouldn't change anything.

Sometimes, though, she would find herself almost frozen with fear, and thinking about it while she was trying not to. What now? What would happen next? She felt entirely alone; as though a heavy glass dome had descended to surround her and separate her from the world. No one could help her or get to her. She was cut off; she was adrift; she was very afraid.

If she told anyone, then it would grow and suffocate her. If she didn't tell anyone, she would buy herself some time. It was no one else's business, anyway. And who could she tell? Her mother? Her father? No – they would be more afraid than she was. Telling them would magnify the problem. Jane? Jane would tell Roxanne. Jane would tell everyone – she wouldn't be able to help herself. "Although," thought Marie wryly, "that would save me the trouble."

She heard footsteps in the hall outside the door to her unit, and checked the peephole. Louise. Marie opened the door with something akin to relief before Louise could knock.

"Hi," Louise said. Marie had opened the door in silence and, turning her back on Louise, walked back into the room and sat quietly on the sofa. Louise took a moment to wonder at this odd behavior; then she followed Marie inside.

"What's up?" Louise asked. She hadn't intended to call on Marie, but since the yacht club was only a short distance from Griffith Gardens, where Marie lived, she thought she may as well. Being the eldest had imbued Louise with a motherly streak, though more from responsibility than maternity. Louise also knew that since her father had mentioned Marie's extended absence to her, he would feel that the issue, if one existed, would be ferreted out by 'The Girls' and he need not become involved. There was, in his mind, a heavy black line separating 'The Girls' from normal family propriety and Jim took care to keep to his side of it.

So, as usual, Louise found herself cast in the uncomfortable role of part-mother, part-sister, part-friend and sometime-contemporary. She was wary of doing or saying the 'wrong thing'. It was a tricky business, being the eldest. The family expected you to look out for them and support them, but they felt no need whatsoever to reciprocate. And if she dared to behave in a big-sisterly fashion when her family felt it was uncalled for, remonstrations fell on her head. "Revered and reviled," she thought.

As a child, Louise had yearned for the simplicity of the 'only child' syndrome. She had been barely one year old when Michael was born, and before her eighth birthday, she was the oldest of five. Louise was four years old when Jane was born, and she still remembered learning how to fold a nappy; how the pins dug into her fingers if she jabbed them too hard through the course fabric; how her arm ached as she supported the baby's big, heavy head in the crook of her arm and fed her a bottle. One day her grandmother, seeing her, had propped a pillow under Louise's skinny little arm and the pain had immediately gone as she leant against it. Louise had been very grateful but not surprised. Nana always knew just what to do to make her happy and comfortable. After that, when it was time to feed Jane her bottle, Louise would go and get the pillow before she sat down. Once she had Jane on her lap, it was impossible to move, for she was a big, hungry baby and her meal could not be interrupted.

So, the pillow under-the-arm remedy had been a comfort after the births of James and then Marie, too. Sticking the nappy pins into her hand required constant care, though, and frequently left Louise's blood on the nappies. "Better your hand than the baby's tummy," said her mother, and Louise agreed wholeheartedly.

But, like Louise, her sisters were now in their twenties and she still felt as though she needed to look after them, while trying to guard against getting hurt in the process.

She sat quietly on the sofa opposite Marie and took in the pleasant room. It was quintessential Marie. Ornamental statues of cupids and doves adorned the occasional tables, and pretty floral arrangements dominated the dining table and kitchen bench. A framed Tom Roberts print of a bowl of roses hung on the main wall of the lounge room and the white lace curtains were woven in the shape of roses, too.

The lounge room was furnished with a pair of over-stuffed two-seater sofas facing each other across a low wooden coffee table. They were in a soft, cream coloured fabric, and Marie had added four scatter cushions: two in mauve and two in pink.

The carpet was a very pale wedgewood blue and the tiny dining room beside the kitchen held a small, square, black lacquered wood table with two black lacquered wood high-backed chairs. You could see straight into the kitchen across a bar-like counter-top, where Marie had all her floral crockery on display. Both the kitchen and dining room overlooked the park through large windows. The dappled light through the silver birches against all this floral femininity gave Marie's home a lovely ambiance and Louise enjoyed the place as much as the company.

This evening, Louise could tell that something serious had occurred. She felt apprehensive and doubted her ability to chat sweetly or provide the correct sort of comfort. She felt outside the event; and yet she felt, too, that Marie wanted her there; but couldn't share her over-full heart.

For want of a better course of action, Louise fell back on diversion. "Have you eaten?" She asked brightly. "Because I haven't. Let's walk over to Manuka and get a pizza at La Rendezvous."

Marie looked at her. "You'll have to pay," she said. "I haven't got any money."

Louise had to stop herself from laughing out loud. Marie only ever had money to buy personal things she wanted for herself alone. Eating out with other people did not fall into that category. All her furniture had been paid for by a 'loan' from her father that would never be repaid and never admitted. Even their mother did not know that Jim funded Marie's lifestyle. Her income barely covered her food, cigarettes, hairstyles, cosmetics, outings, and clothing.

Louise, however, did everyone's taxes, and knew far more than they realised.

"It's my treat," she said. "I'm always eating here, and drinking your wine. I owe you." This was not precisely true, but it was the only way to get Marie to agree to go out to dinner. Marie was defensive about not wanting to be beholden to her patrons, and had to make them feel that she was doing them the favour by allowing them to pay for her. It was and a game, and Louise had played it many times before.

Predictably, Marie softened and silently picked up her Fiorucci shoulder bag. She slipped on her newest pair of pink leather stilettos and her Raybans, and the girls made their way out.

They walked down the stairs and through the old park which separated Griffith Gardens flats from the Manuka Village shops without speaking. The early summer evening sky was so lovely that they walked in companionable silence, enjoying the air and the walk through the treed park, each vaguely anticipating the conversation that was to follow. They crossed Flinders Way and walked up to Thetis Court, and La Rendevous restaurant.

Choosing a table in the court outside the main restaurant, Louise ordered a seafood pizza, garlic bread and a bottle of chianti. The girls sat, admiring the window dressings of the various designer boutiques and jewellers that shared the court.

"So, Marie," started Louise. "How's work?"

Marie looked at her with dark, unfamiliar eyes. "I'm having an affair with Rob," she said.

Louise felt as though time stood still for a second. She couldn't recall being so shocked by anything her youngest sister had ever said to her before. She knew Rob. Rob was Marie's boss. He was married, with three young tow-haired boys. Three boys and a wife.

But something told Louise not to react predictably to this news. Catholic upbringing notwithstanding, the Keats girls had the same social mores as their middle class, white Australian cohort. No one was expected to save themselves for their wedding night, but certain level of discretion and discernment dictated a complex set of do's and don'ts. A friend's brother was date-able, while a friend's ex was not. But married men? That had nothing to do with sexual morality. That was just plain stupid.

Louise knew that Marie expected to be blasted with a lot of rot about her stupidity, so she really couldn't go there. Instead, she sipped her wine and asked "What for?"

The question threw Marie. It was the one she least expected. "What do you mean – 'What for'?" she demanded.

But Louise was not to be bullied. "I just mean, why would you have an affair with Rob? Is he super sexy, or is he giving you a promotion? Or, is he really romantic and a great kisser?" Louise paused because the pizza arrived – hot and delicious looking. She waited for the waiter to leave them, and continued. "Because, you know, he ain't leavin' his wife for ya, babe, no matter how gorgeous he thinks you are."

"Why not?" Marie was defiant and angry. Louise had diffused her dramatic crisis and Marie felt she had somehow been cheated. How dare she? And yet, just speaking about it with cool-headed, don't-piss-in-my-pocket, I've-heard-it-all-before Louise, somehow relieved her of her fear. Marie wanted to fight with Louise – with anyone – to release the tension, to argue her side. She hated her sister's blunt appraisal and loved her dry stalwartness. "Fuck," she thought, but smiled inwardly. Life as she knew it would go on, after all.

Louie continued, having found her ground now. "Because, my dear, he is at the wrong end of the spectrum. If you want a married guy to leave his wife for you, you have to choose someone poor. Or, stupendously rich – with the emphasis on the 'stupe'!" Louise shook her head. "And Rob isn't either of those, is he?"

"What are you talking about?" Marie started to wonder whether Louise had understood her announcement after all.

"Let me explain." Louise resettled herself. "We have three types of married men. In the first place, we have men who are at least our intellectual equals and value our contribution to family so much that they work hard to maintain us and our children in comfort. They are our friends and companions and we desire their company. These are the men we rarely hear much about, yet we all expect to meet one 'one day'. They are the real husbands and fathers we hope we will have in our lives." Louise let her words settle before she progressed. "Next," she continued, "we have the 'headed-to-the-top' guys, who have no time for romance, so they get married as soon as they can to a suitable girl. These men are empire builders who have homes in good suburbs and send their kids to private schools. They will not and cannot afford to divorce. Financially it would ruin them, and socially it is against everything they aspire to."

Marie was, despite herself, agog.

"Last," continued Louise, "we have the underachievers, who will marry the first bosomy, compliant, undemanding girl who will wait on them hand and foot and be willing to go straight back to work six weeks after giving birth. These men are trouble. Being a "man" has never cost them much: women are so stupid that they can easily swap from one hard working wife to another, knowing that whoever she is, she will pay the rent, bear the children, study for her qualifications at night and not stop him from playing golf on Sunday."

"But which one of these types describes Rob?" asked Marie.

"Marie!" Louise was exasperated. "Rob is the second type and you know it. He thinks that life revolves around him and him alone; that his life is separate from his affair with you. He doesn't believe that he is 'cheating' on his wife; and he will be horrified if his wife finds out. And if she did find out, she probably wouldn't leave him. He will feel as though he is the victim. His type thinks that an affair only counts if he says it does; therefore, he can behave as he likes and do what he wants. An affair is like seeing a stripper to him – his reward for being the provider. It is only in being caught in the lie that he must be made accountable, and even then he doesn't understand why he is being punished. He is the most dangerous one of all. He tries to lead a double life." Louise stopped speaking and changed her tone to a quieter one. "A double life is entirely possible, but only for a very short while."

Marie groaned and picked up her glass of chianti. "I don't know why I got into it. I don't even want him to leave his stupid wife." She sipped her wine. "It was great fun at first, and I felt so special. It made going to work fun. I never wanted anything serious with him."

Louise was again shocked, but managed to hide it. She knew her family thought her old, past it, familiar with the seedy side of life because she was 28, not married and regularly attended nightclubs. What did they think – that single people went to night clubs to have sex? In all her years of nightclub attendance, Louise had never seen anyone fornicating. But perhaps she hadn't been looking. She had, however, known of married people at work who had affairs.

In fact, Louise's romantic notions were alive and well. Age had not dimmed her view of the world. It had merely given light to the dark corners where previously she had not understood what she was seeing. To love a man physically was still an act of commitment to her – not just entertainment.

But she girded her loins and projected herself into the current situation, continuing to play the role of the unshockable, older woman. "Well then," she conceded, "no harm done. Just break it off before it gets to be a nuisance." But Marie's eyes became darker and less familiar and Louise knew that the affair was not her real problem.

"What?" Louise demanded.

"I'm late," answered Marie.

# Chapter 10

Roxanne was pleased to see Jane's car already outside Mary's house and she parked hers behind it. They had planned this luncheon so that Roxanne could tell them all about her glamorous island holiday. But she had more exciting news than that, and couldn't wait to share it with her mother-in-law and sister-in-law. She had told only Michael about it till now, and he had been very happy.

"Are you sure?" he had asked excitedly when she told him she was pregnant.

"Six weeks," Roxanne had announced proudly. "The doctor confirmed it."

"Woohoo!" Michael had let out a war-cry and hugged Roxanne and jiggled her around.

She had laughed. "So – you want this baby?" She asked, unnecessarily.

"Yeah, of course!" Michael looked confused. "Don't you?"

Roxanne saw her chance and took it. "Well, I'm not sure."

"What?" Michael's confusion deepened. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know if I am ready to put myself through it all. I will have to give up work; I won't be able to play sport; I don't know if I want to go through childbirth."

Michael was speechless, and he started to feel insecure and afraid. What was Roxanne saying?

Roxanne felt empowered by her husband's confusion. "I need to think about it. I need to go away for a while, so I can make this decision without feeling pressured."

"Go where?" asked Michael. "To Lake Cargelligo?" He thought she meant to stay with her father. Perhaps she needed to be with her family.

But Roxanne shook her head. "No, I need to completely get away from it all," she said decidedly. "I'd like to go to Daydream Island for a week. Then I'll be able to decide."

"But I can't get any time off work," Michael protested.

"That's OK," said Roxanne. "Leonie can come with me."

And so Roxanne and her sister had gone to Daydream Island, in Queensland, together for a week. It was an expensive resort holiday, and Michael had taken an overdraft at 18% to pay for it, but since he had established a company name in anticipation of starting his own business, he hoped to be able to use the business bank account for personal expenditure and consoled himself that it would all be deductible. "That's how everyone in business does it," Roxanne had explained. "How else do you think they all drive European cars and go overseas all the time? It is all business expense!" Michael had not been surprised that Roxanne was so knowledgeable about what could and could not be done in business. Roxanne seemed to know so many things that he didn't. No one in her family was in the public service. They knew about the 'real world'. Michael's family had not a single business person, and he felt like a babe in the woods when his wife spoke so knowledgeably about 'normal business practices'.

Roxanne had sworn Michael to secrecy so that she could break the news herself. She told him that it was better not to say anything until she had decided to have the baby. Michael felt that if he did as she asked, and let her go on a Pacific island holiday with her sister, she would decide in favour of the baby. If he didn't – he couldn't bear to think about that.

And so it was. Roxanne had returned from her holiday, suntanned and full of fun stories about men she had flirted with and people she had impressed. "Jane might have the house on the hill," she thought, "but everyone knows Sam rules in that family, while I definitely have the upper hand in mine." And Roxanne walked to the house with a spring in her step.

Jane and Mary were waiting for Roxanne a little nervously. They were looking forward to hearing about her adventure, and secretly impressed that Roxanne had had such a grand holiday without her husband. Mary had felt old and fuddy-duddyish when Michael had calmly told them that Roxanne and Leonie would be going away and he would be staying behind. She had even felt a pang – she'd hoped for an invitation, too. After all, she was only 12 years older than Leonie. Of course, she wouldn't have gone, but it would have been nice to be invited. It would have made Jim sit up and take notice.

Jane wasn't as surprised by Roxanne going away without Michael. It was more a matter of where she went that was the big surprise. Such an expensive, up-market destination – how could they possible afford something like that when they were trying to start a business?

Although no one in the family ever gave them credit for it, Jane and Sam ran a very profitable concreting and tiling business, employing half a dozen men, and had done so for the past 5 years. Sometimes Jane wanted to point this out to Roxanne, who often pronounced herself an expert in all things related to 'private enterprise', seemingly on the basis that she had no relatives in the public service and had herself worked as a receptionist at the local paper for the past 10 years. Her father was a shearer – an employee, not a businessman. Jane didn't see why simply not being in the public service gave her the right to lord it over the rest of them. But she was too wary of the sting in Roxanne's tail to ever say any of these things.

Primarily, though, both Mary and Roxanne knew that never, under any circumstances, would either of their husbands allow them to go off for 10 days to Daydream Island without them. Ever. And neither of them would ever entertain such a notion. This single event placed Roxanne above them in a way nothing else could. She had personal power and she used it.

"Hello!" Roxanne called cheerily into the house before she entered through the open door. "Anyone home?"

"Hi!" Mary and Jane hurried out to the entrance hall to meet her. "Come on in," smiled Mary.

"How was the trip?" Jane asked, adding "great tan!"

"Oh, it was wonderful!" gushed Roxanne. "You should go, both of you – I'd go again tomorrow!"

Mary and Jane could not respond to that, but Roxanne was not expecting much conversation from either of them. They had walked through the house and were at the kitchen table now, where Roxanne was rummaging in her bag. "Look – I've brought you back something." She handed them small parcels.

Jane's was a necklace and matching earrings in the shape of frangipanis. "Oh, Roxanne, you shouldn't have!" But she was clearly delighted that she had.

And Mary's was a beautiful sterling silver pendant in the shape of a sea-horse. "Thank you," she said happily. "It's lovely."

Mary had served a delicious selection of sandwiches – smoked salmon and chutney; pate and mayonnaise; corned beef and pickles; egg and lettuce. She had also made one of her famous boiled fruitcakes. Tea and coffee were already made and now she poured each of them a cup of their choice. "So," said Mary, as she sat down to start her meal," tell us about Daydream Island."

Roxanne smiled mischievously. "Oh, I've got something much better to tell you about than that," she said.

Mary's mouth was full but Jane asked the question she would have. "What is it?"

Roxanne let a second or two pass quite dramatically, then announced "I'm pregnant."

Mary swallowed her mouthful of sandwich quickly and joined Jane in congratulating and hugging Roxanne. The exclamations poured out of them.

"That's wonderful!"

"How far along are you?"

"When did you find out?"

Roxanne couldn't have hoped for a better response. She felt quite glorified and very satisfied. "Well," she began, "I found out before I left for Daydream Island. I'm about 2 months gone."

Jane blinked and sat back in her chair. Roxanne had known for two months – before she went away. Jane didn't know whether she felt hurt, or diminished in the face of this cool behavior. How could she keep something like this to herself for so long? Jane suddenly felt like a silly, hysterical girl beside this woman who controlled her own life and had the presence of mind to navigate the events in her life on her own terms. She looked at her mother, hoping to see the shock she felt reflected in her mother's reaction.

But Mary had realized what Roxanne had done as soon as she had made her announcement. Suddenly it all made sense. Mary knew, which Jane did not, that Michael had wanted a child ever since he and Roxanne had gotten married – a year before Jane and Sam. She knew that Roxanne had used the threat of 'no children' to have the house put solely in her name; to avoid finding a more lucrative position than her almost part-time, and very sociable, laid back, lowly paid job in the Fyshwick office of the Canberra Times. A fantasy holiday without the constraints of a husband was completely within her scope.

But Mary was not repelled by her daughter-in-law's behavior. If anything, she felt drawn to it. What made Roxanne behave so differently? Mary and Jane scurried around their husbands, pre-empting their needs and designing each day with a wife's mind. How did Roxanne avoid this pattern of behavior? She certainly wasn't beautiful. Her best features were her height and athletic figure. Her face was pleasant without being pretty. She was one of those women who looked the same with or without make-up. Roxanne looked her age, which was unfortunate, since she was already 5 years older than Michael, who looked younger than he was.

So, it wasn't anything particularly special about her appearance that gave Roxanne her power. And she wasn't especially smart, either – not in an academic way, at least. And her lack of higher intelligence was not offset by any acquired skills.

From what Mary could see, Roxanne had only one real strength. She had the love of a good man. And that man was Mary's son, Michael. But it seemed that Michael's love for his wife was being used against him. Mary realized that she had not prepared her son to deal with a woman like Roxanne. All the women in his family had been, and were, hardworking, intelligent women who indulged their men in their small selfishnesses and vanities. These women allowed themselves to be dominated by their husbands and tolerated a lesser amount of personal freedom than they allowed their men. Why? Mary didn't know the answer. Did Roxanne?

Jane recovered herself quickly and decided to step up to the mark. "So, how are you feeling?" she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage. "You look well – or is that just the tan?" Jane grinned cheekily; keen to establish her rightful place as the voice of experience. Modern experience, so that Mary couldn't compete.

"No – I'm feeling great, actually." But Roxanne wasn't conceding any ground. "Never better."

"When is your due date?" Jane tried another tack. "And have you decided on your obstetrician yet?"

"I'm due in July, and I'm booked in to see Dr Heaton," said Roxanne.

"He's Dr Bates' younger partner," Jane explained to her mother, hoping Roxanne would realize that she was not seeing the 'head guy' as she herself had.

But Roxanne flipped the intended criticism. "Yes – he gorgeous!" she laughed. "I won't be missing any of my appointments with him, that's for sure!"

Mary and Jane laughed along with Roxanne, despite being taken aback by her outrageous attitude. Fancy presuming to have an attraction for a handsome young surgeon when you are not only married but pregnant!

"Roxanne really is a tonic, whatever her other failings," thought Mary. "She might shake us up – but someone needs to!" And seeing the admiring face on her daughter, Mary knew that Jane felt the same way.

*

It was Friday night and Margot and Louise were preparing for a night out. They were expected at Albert's Restaurant at 9:30, and had organized their evening accordingly. However, the preparations prior to any evening out, regardless of the event, were exactly the same; the girls enjoyed this time almost as much as the evening itself. They had been performing these rituals since they were 17 and saw no reason to deviate from them now.

So, after work, Louise went straight home and lay on her bed for 30 minutes so that a facial could be enjoyed. She opted for the full fat cold yoghurt pack, a la Victoria Principal; otherwise it would have been the cucumber and avocado calming compact advocated by Elle McPherson. Afterwards, she took a luxurious, just-warm shower, with lots of scented soap, while listening to Frank Sinatra.

After the shower Louise switched to Dionne Warwick singing Burt Bacharach & Hal David songs. She dried off with baby oil, careful not to let the oil near her hair or face, and sprayed perfume around her shoulders. She moisturized her face and neck while her skin was still damp.

Next came the hair styling. It was important to get this done before the hair dried naturally but after it was no longer sopping wet. Then – make up.

Louise remained surprised her whole life at what an enormous difference make-up made to her face. Just a line here and there; lengthening the lashes with some black; adding colour to the lips, and viola! Louise watched her vague features sharpen before her eyes. Almost everyone was improved by make-up, but it seemed to Louise that she was transformed by it. "It's like changing the colour of a room," she thought as she admired her handiwork. "You might start out with a plain, white room; but as soon as you paint the walls a pastel colour of even the palest shade, leaving the window and door frames white, you have made a 'statement' and have a designer room!"

Body perfumed and glowing, hair styled, make-up applied, it was almost time to dress. But not before a top layer of nail polish. The first coat had been applied the day before. Now a top coat set the fingers and toes glimmering. Tonight she wore a light cerise pink to match her lips.

Louise slipped on her dress just as Margot knocked on the door. She opened it and greeted her friend.

"Hi!"said Louise, taking in Margot's ensemble. "You look great!" And she did. Margot was wearing a silky, knee length dress with just a single side shoulder strap. The main fabric was in a muted floral pattern of pale-peach and white, with thin-line sketches of small, irregular flowers in black and alternating bands of pale aqua watered silk running diagonally across it. Her stiletto sandals were of ultra-thin strands of black patent leather and she wore a shiny silver ankle bracelet. "Very summery, Margot."

Margot smiled her thanks. "Is this new?" She asked Louise, looked closely at her dress, which was a sleeveless navy blue number with a V neckline. The dress was cut on the bias so it clung to her provocatively, and although it wasn't made of satin, but a fine, rough fabric, it looked so shiny it almost appeared to be wet. Louise twirled around for Margot's benefit, then held up her forefinger as if to say "Wait for it" and turned on the overhead light.

As soon as she did so, the dress sprang into life. What had looked shiny and wet in the natural light now sparkled like a million shards of crystal. Margot gasped. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "That is gorgeous!"

Louise giggled excitedly. "Isn't it, though?" She swirled around again, enjoying the feel of the dress. "It's a 'tres tres facile' Vogue pattern of an Anne Klein design. I made it last weekend – it took barely 3 hours from start to finish."

"I must get back into sewing," said Margot. "I just don't seem to have the time anymore."

"The only reason I still do it is out of desperation," said Louise. She was pouring each of them a glass of pink champagne, which signified the dénouement of their dressage preparations, and passed one to Margot. They clinked glasses and sipped the wine. "Everything I buy, I have to take up or alter. It is impossible to get a dress to fit, if you have short limbs and big boobs. So now I think – if I am going to have to adjust it anyway, I might as well make it. At least that way I can get a garment in something other than polyester. In fact, I can get really classy fabric and a Vogue designer pattern and still save over a hundred dollars."

"I know," agreed Margot. "You wonder how they get away with it, don't you? My problem is that I want the dress now, not tomorrow, and I am never sure that when I make something, it will fit me properly until after I've made it."

"Yes," Louise agreed. "It really is something you have to do all the time. I could tell that this one was fool-proof, though. Look –"and she displayed the dress with her arms raised "no zip, no buttons, no sleeves – even I couldn't mess it up!"

"Well done." Margot's admiration was unrestrained. "It looks perfect on you."

The girls finished their drinks and Louise turned the music off. "Shall we?" She asked.

"Let's," Margot responded. And they made their way to the car.

*

Albert's Restaurant was located in the Old Canberra Inn, behind the suburb of Lyneham on the Barton Highway. Approaching it, you would be excused for wondering whether you had taken a wrong turn, for the Old Canberra Inn appeared to be in its original, 1890 condition. It had, however, been structurally strengthened without being "improved" on the outside. Even the interior still had the original, hand-hewn timbers and the floor was bare wood.

But while the interior was otherwise unrecognizable as the original homestead building of the sheep station owners it had been built to accommodate, the exterior was little changed. The single level building was constructed of timber which had, at irregular intervals, been painted white. A narrow verandah under bull-nose, corrugated iron eaves ran along all four sides of the house and on one side joined the main house to the smaller structure which had at one time been the stables and stood adjacent to the main building. This smaller structure now served as a wine cellar and had been recently fitted out with the appropriate insulation and shelves.

These two buildings formed an L shaped house and enclosed a lawn and rose garden. A thick privet hedge grew opposite the old stable and a gated fence enclosed the courtyard, separating it from the newly added parking lot.

The painted wooden buildings were not newly painted; and the corrugated iron roof showed its age with many rusty streaks. The verandah, too, felt soft underfoot and creaked gently. The panes of glass in the small sash windows were wavy and distorted light glowed from within. There were no attractive old vines countering the aged building, either – the garden was minimal yet old. Nor had any hanging plants or potted palms been added to modernize or soften the overall impression of age, age and more age.

Once at the restaurant, the girls paused on the verandah outside the main entrance. "It doesn't look much, does it?" Louise whispered. "Do you think we are at the right part of the inn?"

"There is no other part, Lou," Margot was trying to sound assured but in fact she found the place a bit creepy. "Besides, I can hear music."

Louise realized Margot was right. "I'm suddenly feeling nervous," she confided, looking around to see if anyone else was around. The parking lot was full, and gentle yet numerous voices could be heard from within, raised in conversation against the piano music.

"I haven't heard from Gordon since the other night – thanks for not asking." Louise touched Margot's elbow as she spoke, and Margot shrugged.

"I guessed as much. They are brothers, after all."

Louise took a deep breathe. "So, what is our plan?"

Margot had given this some thought. "How about we give it half an hour, then decide," she suggested. "By that time we will know whether we are enjoying ourselves, torturing ourselves, or just bored."

"And if we leave, what then?"

Margot shrugged. "We could go to Julianna's." She laughed. "We are dressed for it!"

Julianna's was the very dressy, "executive" disco at The Lakeside Hotel. The cover charge was high and the drinks were expensive. Only the very well dressed were allowed in. It attracted out of town travelers who were staying at the Lakeside Hotel. Louise and Margot rarely ventured into Julianna's, preferring to socialize with the locals.

Louise agreed. "Why not?" she said. "It isn't as though we treat ourselves very often."

With that, they opened the door and entered the restaurant. It was as though they had stepped into another world. The beautiful antique furniture, china bowls of fresh roses, velvet drapes, pure white napery, softly gleaming silver cutlery and crystal candelabra provided luxurious accoutrements to the dining room atmosphere. The waiters, all men, wore dinner suits, as did the pianist. David Taplin noticed them almost immediately, which was no mean feat, since his opening night was very well attended and everyone wanted to talk to him.

"Margot! Louise!" David turned from the man he was speaking to and greeted them with his huge smile and a kiss on the cheek for each girl. "Fashionably late as usual! Come in." He indicated to a passing waiter, who had looked over to see if David would do so, that he wanted two pink champagnes with strawberries, and in a moment Louise and Margot were drinking from crystal flutes.

"Thank you, David," Margot smiled back at him. "You really have done wonders with this place." She looked around the restaurant appreciatively.

"It's like entering a genie's bottle, David." Louise was more inclined to gush than Margot, and enjoyed doing so. "When you walk in, it takes your breath away."

David's enormous smile got bigger. "Yes, she's a lovely old girl, isn't she?" he said proudly. "I love this place." And he clearly did. "I'm pretty pleased with tonight's turn out, too – even though it clashes with the Miss A.C.T. dinner over at the West Lakes Football Club."

"I had to wriggle out of that one myself," said David's companion. Louise was surprised to recognize Aidan.

Margot and Louise had never heard of the "Miss A.C.T. dinner" and wondered how David knew of it.

"What do you mean, David?" asked Margot.

"Well, a few of my friends couldn't make it because they had already committed to attend the dinner. It's a fund raiser for the Miss Australia entrant from the A.C.T." David spoke as though this was common knowledge. "That's where Andrew is tonight."

"Oh," said Margot. "So will he be coming later?"

"I don't think so. He may show up at the Private Bin around 1 am, but I doubt it. Look," he said, preparing to move on, "I'll be pretty busy tonight, but if you need anything at all, come and grab me, won't you?" He leant towards them conspiratorially. "I'm glad you appreciate the place. I'm so sick of mushroom-pink velvet and hanging plants. It's time for a bit of old style class." And he was gone.

Meanwhile, Louise turned to Aidan who was trying not to appear to be waiting for her to notice him.

"Hello Aidan," Louise smiled her surprise.

"Hello Louise," Aidan smiled back at her. "I was wondering whether you would remember my name." He was trying to look brash and nonchalant while blushing ever so slightly.

"Well, normally I probably wouldn't be able to remember it," Louise confessed, "but you made quite an impression on me."

Aidan's smile widened. "Did I?" He asked. "A good impression I hope."

"Neither good nor bad." Louise shrugged slightly. "Just an impression."

Aidan scoffed and shook his head.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Louise asked.

"I'm David's accountant," answered Aidan.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing here?" Louise opened her eyes wide at him.

"I know exactly what you are doing here," said Aidan. "I'm also David's marketing manager. I told him to invite the most beautiful women in Canberra, so of course I expected to see you here tonight."

Louise was dumbstruck. Fortunately she was saved by the timely appearance of Margot, who turned to join them. "Margot," said Louise, "This is Aidan. We met at the Hall B & S while you were off talking to Bob, I think."

"Hello Aidan," smiled Margot.

"Nice to meet you," said Aidan. "So, were you the woman I saw Louise running off with when she abandoned me in the middle of a conversation at the B&S?"

"Guilty," agreed Margot, clinking her glass to Aidan's as she spoke. "Did you stay for the whole thing?"

"Had to," Aidan shrugged. "I'm on the committee and I couldn't very well leave Kate there all alone.

"Are you and Kate –" Margot inquired.

"No! No," Aidan shook his head with confusion. "Not that Kate isn't very lovely and a great girl, but no. We are neighbours; that's all.

"I've been trying to engage your friend Louise's attention as a matter of fact." Aidan sipped his drink and waited for a response.

Margot raised her eyebrows at this revelation, looking at Louise to see her response. But Louise was busily observing the other guests. She had spotted Gordon among the same group she recognized from the Hyatt.

"Well, Gordon's here anyway," said Louise.

"Gordon?" inquired Aidan.

Margot brought him up to date. "Gordon has a brother whom I was hoping to see here tonight. They usually travel together."

"And Louise and Gordon?"

"Who knows! But at least he's here," and Margot indicated Gordon, who was smiling and waving at them from his group of friends.

"Ahh; got it," said Aidan knowingly. He turned to Louise and bowed slightly. "In that case, I must be off," he said.

"Must you?" asked Louise. Suddenly she felt that without Aidan, it would be just the two girls amidst a sea of strangers. She wondered why she felt that way.

"Yes. I must mingle. You sound sorry!" Aidan teased her. "Don't worry, here comes Gordon. You won't miss me for long." And he left before Gordon had arrived by her side.

"Hello, Lulu," said Gordon in his mellifluous voice. He turned to Margot. "You both look lovely this evening."

"Thanks, Gordon," said Margot.

"You look very well, too, Gordon," responded Louise.

"Thanks. I was wondering whether you two would like to join us?" He indicated the group of men he had been talking to. "There seems to be a scarcity of women here tonight and we thought if we didn't claim you now, someone else would."

The girls looked over at the group of Gordon's friends and recognized Peter, who saluted them with his glass.

In light of their recent conversation, Louise was loathe to accept the invitation, but Margot knew she badly wanted to, so took matters into her own hands. "Yes, thank you Gordon," and she began to move towards the group. Gordon walked alongside her. "So, we hear that Andrew is at the Miss A.C.T dinner tonight?"

"Yes," agreed Gordon. "I managed to avoid it. I went last year, so it was his turn." Margot slipped Louise a 'raised eyebrows' look without letting Gordon see.

Gordon navigated them towards his friends and made the introductions. "I remember you two," said the one called Peter. Then he addressed Margot. "The Hyatt, wasn't it? Where have you been hiding since then?"

Margot had decided to make the most of the evening despite her disappointment at not seeing Andrew. She had also taken Louise's words to heart and, since Peter was attractive and clearly interested, gave him one of her rare, inviting smiles. "Not hiding, Peter," she said, fluttering her eyelashes. "Just busy. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know," he countered affably. "It's getting harder and harder to find beautiful, single women these days, but I keep looking. It seems that all the best ones are taken." He looked at Margot over the rim of his glass as he drank, awaiting her indignation. When she didn't respond, he continued. "So, how come a gorgeous girl like you isn't married by now?"

Margot sighed and shook her head. "Oh, I don't know Peter. I suppose I thought I might skip the first marriage and go straight on to the second one."

Seeing that Margot was engaged and engaging, Louise felt more comfortable enjoying Gordon's attention, now that he had crossed the room to speak to her. "Because that is all he has done," she reminded herself. "It isn't as though he picked up the phone and called; or-"

Gordon turned to her. "I tried to call you last week, but there was no answer."

Louise almost spluttered as she sipped her drink. "Oh?" It was with great presence of mind that she stopped herself from asking "And when was that?" Instead, she continued nonchalantly. "Did you need some tax advice?"

Gordon laughed. "No. I wanted to ask you to go to the movies with me." He was looking at her in a way that made her feel exciting. "It's a shame you weren't there – that's the first time I've ever asked someone out, and it turned out to be a non-starter." He took a sip of his drink and said "I hope that's not an omen."

"Wait," Louise was disbelieving. "You say that you have never asked anyone out? What are you, a monk?"

Gordon smiled and shook his head. "I've never had to ask anyone out," he said apologetically. "Things just always seem to happen anyway, without going out on a 'date'."

Louise could not control her laughter. "Is that right?" she said. "You poor old thing! So, you haven't called a girl –"

"No."

"And you have never been on a date."

"Nope."

"But you still get plenty of action."

"Till now." He reached over and brushed her hip with his fingers to make his point. Right at the side – where only women have hips and men had none. It was an intimate gesture and made her feel very feminine and desirable.

"Well, you must save a small fortune on phone calls and dinners, Gordon. You may have discovered the secret all men desire to know."

"So, do you want to go out sometime?"

"Yes, I'd love to," she smiled back at him.

"How about next Tuesday night?" he asked.

Louise's heart sank. A Tuesday night date. It was the lowest card in the pack. The single scene raged from Thursday night to Sunday night. Only seriously interested men asked you out on these nights, and only seriously interested women accepted dates on these nights. On Monday night, everything was closed, which was just as well because everyone needed an early night after the weekend. Tuesday was the night when things were open but no one went out so everything was pretty much dead. Wednesday was twice as lively as Tuesday. A nurse-friend had informed Louise that more suicides occurred on Tuesday night than at any other time. It was the night people had to fend off the 'lonely and alone' demons.

The best night to be asked out was Friday night. A Friday night date meant that the guy was hoping to spend the whole weekend with you; that he had no other irons in the fire; preferred your company to his mates (Friday being the traditional boys-night-out, which then morphed into a clubbing night); and that he wanted the whole world to see you out together. A Tuesday night date, on the other hand, meant that you were low on the list of desirable companions.

So, Gordon ranked her as a Tuesday night date. He was easily a Friday nighter from her perspective. A power shift was required but Louise wasn't sure how to go about it.

She recalled the conversation with Margot and decided to take her own advice. "Oh, sorry – I'm busy Tuesday night."

Gordon shrugged good-naturedly. "Wednesday?" He asked.

"I'm free Friday," she replied.

"Oh," Gordon was not prepared for this. "I didn't realize making a date with someone took so much negotiation," he said.

"It probably doesn't with anyone else." Louise poked him in the biceps, where the muscle was the hardest. "I'm just being difficult."

"Well, I'm not sure if the movie will still be on next Friday," Gordon said lamely. He knew perfectly well what Friday night out with a girl meant, even though his 'dates' were ad hoc affairs and never pre-arranged – not by him, anyway.

And Louise saw, too, that he had no desire to spend more than one evening out with her. A few years ago she may have been vain enough to think that after one date, he would want more of her company. But these days she knew that she had no interest in luring a man to her side. It was too nerve wracking trying to keep him there and she preferred to be the one chased, not the one chasing.

Gordon found himself a little annoyed. "So," he asked, "what are you doing all next week that is so important that you can't put it off?"

Louise decided to ace his jack. "I'm going round to the old people's homes with a group of tax officers, helping the octogenarians do their tax returns. Want to come?"

Gordon couldn't decide whether she was telling the truth or not, but decided that she was definitely toying with him, either way. He was used to friendly, compliant women who were happy to rearrange their lives to accommodate him and enjoyed being with him while he was enjoying them. It wasn't complicated. It was easy, friendly, fun. Louise was something else but he wasn't sure what. He just knew that she was too tricky for him.

"No, thanks," he said carefully. "Is that a Catholic thing?"

"Oh, yes," answered Louise. "We say three Hail Mary's, then calculate the assessable income, then an Our Father, and work out the allowable deductions, and finally, after an Act of Faith, Hope and Charity, we arrive at the assessable income for the fiscal year."

"I beg your pardon?" Gordon had not understood a word she had said.

"It's just a work thing, Gordon." Louise decided against pursuing the joke. "The Tax Office is always looking for ways to soften its image and be the 'good guy', and I don't mind doing it."

But Gordon had lost interest. He was still offended by Louise's holding out on him, and disappointed that he wouldn't get his own way even though he had offered to break his rule and take her out on a date.

He had always thought men such fools to chase around after a particular girl when there were so many nice available ones to choose from. "Why do you do it?" he had once asked his older brother, Lachlan, who had seriously and nervously pursued a girl, putting himself through long periods of deprivation to achieve her affection. Lachlan had looked back at Gordon with equal puzzlement. "How else can I get her?" he had asked, as though Gordon was an imbecile. "She's the one I want."

"So what?" Gordon had thought at the time. "You can want someone else instead, can't you? It's all the same thing in the end." But he hadn't shared this thought with Lachlan. It didn't seem as though they were even talking about the same thing.

Maybe that was Louise's position. Gordon could see the possibility there. But Lachlan had ended up married to Alice – the girl he had pursued successfully. And Gordon had no intention of getting married – not yet, and not to Louise. For one thing, he wasn't ready; and for another, Louise wasn't the sort of girl he saw himself marrying. She wouldn't devote herself to him, or give him leave to indulge his manly interests. She would want him to treat her as a complete equal, and would argue with him if he didn't. Louise might be attractive, and intelligent, and even earn a decent living herself, but she would be a lot of work, too.

He smiled at her, and spoke less tensely than before. "This isn't going to happen, is it?"

Louise smiled back. "I don't think so," she answered sweetly.

*

"Can you believe it?" Margot moaned. She took a sip of her drink. "Now I'm competing with a bloody Miss Australia entrant!"

"How on Earth did Andrew get mixed up with that lot?" marvelled Louise.

"Oh, you know – they are probably all 'Old Grammarians'," Margot said grudgingly. "Or, her father might have been in the army with the McCarthy's father. Wasn't he a colonel or something?"

"Something like that."

"Lou – I'm so sick of making myself available to Andrew and then getting nothing. He has never even asked me out!" Margot was frustrated and upset. Louise looked at her and nodded sympathetically.

"This is really unhealthy, you know, Margot. Look at us – we are the equal of every woman here tonight, and yet we are the only two who are without partners." It was true. Every other woman was with a man.

"But that is probably because David only knows guys, so he invited guys, and some of them brought women. Besides," she added with a grin, apparently cheered by the thought, "we wouldn't have been invited if we had boyfriends. David invited us to even up the female numbers, knowing him."

"OK, but is this what we want for ourselves?" Louise was not going to be diverted from her subject. "I think we should take a position, one way or the other."

"How can we, when the guys we want won't respond?"

"No response is a response, Margot!" Louise was determined to make her point.

"But," insisted Margot stubbornly, "we know they like us – otherwise why all the attention every time we run into them? And the invitations back to their place at the end of the night for "coffee"?"

Louise looked at Margot and shook her head. "You are not seriously asking me that question are you?"

Margot shook her head and gave an embarrassed laugh. Louise continued. "This has gone on for long enough. From now on, we make the moves. We have tried the 'path-of-least-resistance' method and it is a complete and utter failure. We now have no choice but to accept that the McCarthys have no intention of confining themselves to us exclusively and don't care whether we are around for them or not. We must move on."

"How?" asked Margot. "We really like them! It isn't as though there are other guys we like."

"Margot, we are pushing 30."

"We have just turned 28!" Margot protested.

"And we have to start being sensible. Admit it – we both dressed up tonight as though we were going on a date with them." Louise stopped, sobered by the truth in her own words. "But the fact is that we didn't even know if they were coming tonight. We just assumed it. Neither of them checked to see whether we were coming, either. They knew we would be here, expecting – hoping – to see them. Andrew knew you would be looking out for him and he didn't even see fit to tell you he wouldn't be here, knowing that if he did, you wouldn't come, and I wouldn't come alone, and David needed more women to even up the numbers."

"God, Lou – you are making me feel depressed."

"Let's resolve to stop waiting around for the McCarthys. Let's stop being so available. What have we got to lose? If they miss us, they can always call. They have our numbers." Margot was nodding glumly. "And," finished Louise, "if they don't call, we are in exactly the same position as we are now. Only better, really, because we will have advanced emotionally."

"That's alright for you to say," whispered Margot before Gordon was in earshot. "Yours was talking to you for most of the night. Mine is out there staring into the cleavage of Miss A. C. bloody T.!" And she laughed despite herself, making Louise laugh, too.

# Chapter 11

Louise had arranged a meeting with Vera at Marie's place. Marie had agreed to speak to Vera as an older woman who had had a child when she was only 18 years old. Her son, Alex, was now 18 himself. Louise thought that Vera might be able to shed some natural light on an area they only knew through cinematic drama and latent female nightmares.

Marie was still not disposed to discuss the issue at all and had only verified her condition when Louise had demanded a 'first of the morning sample' and taken it to the chemist herself. She had ventured to estimate her 'lateness' and was able to declare herself about to miss her second period. Louise consulted the only book she possessed on female biology, which was Dr Llewellyn Jones' 'Everywomen', and calculated that Marie was approximately 10 weeks pregnant. She also learned that a pregnancy lasted for 40 weeks, which happened to equate to nine calendar months but was in fact 10 lunar months, or 'ten moons'. Louise found this sort of biological precision fascinating but knew her sister would not care to be educated on this point now.

"You really need to speak to another mother, Marie," she had urged. "What about Vera? She is experienced, nice, outside the family and discreet. Let's talk to her."

Marie had tears in her eyes as she nodded her head in agreement. She was starting to believe that she was really going to have a baby and it terrified her. Life as she knew it was about to end and another, completely different lifestyle was going to take its place.

Vera had arrived bearing trays of food as usual. In a previous life she had trained as a chef. Although only 36 years old, Vera had had to reinvented herself a few times already.

She had been dismayed when Louise had told her of Marie's condition. She couldn't help thinking that there was really no excuse for an unplanned pregnancy these days. How could Marie have been so careless? Or perhaps she had secretly wanted to fall pregnant, and had simply let nature take its course.

But Louise had insisted that this was not the case and that Marie was distressed and almost incapable of contemplating her future. "Please come and talk to her," Louise had pleaded. "I don't know how to advise her. I don't even know if she wants to have the baby. I don't think she even knows!" Vera wasn't sure that she could help, but Louise seemed certain that just getting Marie to talk about her pregnancy would be a step in the right direction.

So, it was with some misgivings that Vera parked outside Marie's unit and made her way to the door. What were they expecting her to say? Did Louise want her to talk Marie into having an abortion? What did Marie want? Vera felt unequal to the task whatever it might be. "But, I'm here, now," she thought, "so I might as well make the best of it."

Vera loved the suburb, Griffith, and noticed that it had a number of the same trees of similar sizes to Braddon, where she lived. Braddon and Griffith were on opposite sides of Lake Burley Griffin, and Vera surmised that both suburbs had been settled at the same time. The original houses were alike in style and made of the classic Canberra red brick, from the old brick factory on the Queanbeyan side of Narrabundah. Old plum trees, silver birches and pinoaks dominated the landscape, and the ubiquitous hedges which had become a familiar sight to Vera in Braddon were to be found here in Griffith, too. Vera noticed that the block of units named "Griffith Gardens" where Marie lived backed onto a nature reserve containing a small creek. Vera couldn't help thinking what a nice place it would be to raise a child. She shook this thought off, though, and concentrated on the girl she was about to talk to.

Beyond finding Marie to be startlingly pretty, Vera really hadn't formed an impression of the girl's character, and wondered how she would find her this evening.

The door was opened by Marie who greeted her with a smile. "Hi, Vera," she said. "Thanks for coming. You shouldn't have brought food!"

Vera looked around the flat and said "Wow! What a beautiful place!" She had moved comfortably into Marie's kitchen, and to Louise's surprise began to take over without upsetting Marie's proprietorial nerves. On the contrary – Marie sat comfortably to one side of the kitchen bar and quietly instructed Vera as to where she might find this dish or that spoon.

Soon they were sitting in the lounge room, eating pasta from bowls on their laps and drinking spritzers.

"How are you feeling?" asked Vera.

Louise wondered why she hadn't thought to ask Marie that. She was so focussed on the practical things that she forgot to be nice. Again.

Marie let the tears slide down her face. "I feel OK most of the time," she admitted. "I get very tired, though. More than tired – exhausted, even though I haven't done anything much. Maybe something is wrong?"

Vera shook her head and patted Marie's knee. "You are pregnant. You should be getting rest, not rushing off to catch a bus to 8 hours of work every day. You should be taking a nap every afternoon."

"I can't."

"I know." Vera spoke softly. "Have you thought about what you want to do?"

"You are only 10 weeks, Marie," said Louise. I've looked it up and you can have an abortion until you are 12 weeks. After that, you have to go through with it."

Marie's voice was hard. "Why should I have an abortion?" she demanded. "My baby will be just as good as Roxanne's or Jane's. Better." She pushed at her eyes to staunch the flow of tears. "I don't know what to do," she said hopelessly.

Vera looked at her plate. "Well," she said, "you have a number of options and none of them are easy. Abortion is a traumatic thing to do to your body and for some people, it is just plain traumatic. But for most people, it is forgotten in time and accepted as a sad event that was unfortunately necessary for them." She paused and ate some pasta.

"Do you wish you had had an abortion, Vera?" Marie wanted to know.

Vera smiled. "It isn't like that for anyone, Marie. When you have a baby, you don't think about that, whether you considered an abortion or not. No one regrets having a baby. But," she added, "I know some people regret having had an abortion. And I know many more who know they did the right thing when they made that same choice."

"You could have the child adopted," said Louise.

"No." Marie was definite. "If I am going to have this baby, I am going to keep it. I just know that if I have an abortion, I'll end up married to someone who has been divorced and has kids, and I'll end up raising someone else's kids when I didn't keep my own baby."

Vera smiled. "Good. You have made one decision. You only need to make one decision at a time." She refilled the spritzers, putting less wine into Marie's glass and more soda water. "When I got pregnant, my doctor told me that most of the time – even for married women – a pregnancy is not good news. But a baby is always good news, no matter what the situation. And I think that sums it up very well." Vera was rewarded with a look filled with the light of understanding from both Marie and Louise, and felt that she was doing some good. She continued.

"The main difference at this point between abortion and pregnancy is privacy."

"What do you mean?" asked Louise.

"Well, no one knows when someone has an abortion, but everyone knows when someone has a baby. Therefore, abortions are private and babies are public. Are you prepared for that?"

Something in Marie had set when she heard Vera speak about babies being good news. She had felt like a jelly up till then. Now she had a little core of determination that made her sit up straighter.

"Yes," said Marie. "I think so."

"Good, because it will be a bumpy ride. I think you are good for it, though. Just remember that for every rude, opinionated nincompoop out there, there are six kind, decent people waiting to help you through this."

"You mean, the 'single mothers are ruining society' loons?" asked Louise.

"The very ones," nodded Vera. "And then there are the people who will tell you that it isn't fair to bring a baby into the world without a father – as though abortion is a magic cure-all. And don't forget the ones who will ask you, quite seriously, if you know who the father is."

"You're kidding!" Louise was disbelieving.

"Oh, no," Vera shook her head and smiled. "You would be amazed at the intrusive questions complete strangers feel comfortable asking a young expectant single mother! Things they would never dream of asking a married girl. As if single women are any less likely to know who they had sex with than married women." Vera sipped her drink. "As if no married women ever wondered whether her husband was in fact the father of her child." Vera was trying hard to keep her words of advice general. She had lived through this difficult time and survived and didn't want to remember the hurt from the past when all she had to show for her experience now was a handsome son and so much love. She leaned towards Marie and said gently. "Just don't let them get you down, Marie. A baby is given two parents so that it can always keep one in reserve. A baby needs only one functional parent to grow up perfectly well. The second one is just a spare."

Louise laughed. "That makes a lot of sense, actually."

"Of course it does," said Vera. "Does anyone pick on the children of war widows? Does anyone say 'those children are bad for society because they have no father at home'? No! Because it isn't true. What children need is one good parent who provides and cares for them. You have a good job, Marie. You have a lovely home. And you have family. Your child will be cared for and loved. How many children are born to married couples who end up divorcing and aren't financially responsible? All you have to do is plan ahead, be sensible with your money, and behave like a mother, and your child will be as well off as any child anywhere."

Marie was delighted by Vera's insights. In a few words she had removed the barriers Marie had felt separated her from 'normal' mothers. "Vera," she announced, "I'm so glad you could come over to talk to me. I'm starting to feel like I can do this after all." She was smiling for the first time in weeks. "And," she added, "if anyone asks, it's Elvis's baby."

*

They talked for a couple of hours about the plans Marie needed to make. She would have to start looking at childcare spots since she would need to return to work at some point and childcare places in good facilities were hard to find. Marie needed to work out a budget and accumulate some baby furniture and clothing. Cloth nappies were very inexpensive and could save her a small fortune. Breast feeding was not only free but convenient. She would save money on formula and on the sterilisation equipment that bottles required.

Louise couldn't help thinking that possibly their father should be in on this discussion, since she had no doubt whatsoever that he would be footing every bill. However, this was not the time to air those views so she listened attentively.

"And remember," Vera said as she stood to go. "This is your time. After this, you are a mother. You may never have another child. Don't throw away this precious time. Even if you do have more children, your first pregnancy is unique because it is the one that turns you into a mother. You are as much a mother as any married woman. Don't let anyone take that joy away from you. It belongs to you and the family you are about to start. Just take one day at a time; one decision at a time. If someone upsets you – avoid them. This is as much about you as it is about your baby."

Marie was happy and excited about her future by the time Vera left them. She sat with Louise and watched the sun finally sink behind the mountains, seemingly impaled by the Black Mountain Tower. A soft breeze played with the leaves and the curtains, and they sat in the quiet, each feeling that a load had been lifted from their shoulders. Marie felt that there was a lighter side to life after all; while Louise felt less uncertain about Marie's ability to cope with the consequences of her decision. She was aware that her little sister had grown a straighter spine and admired her newfound conviction. "The thing is," she said "whatever you do, there will be people to help you. You may be a single mother, but won't be alone."

"No," agreed Marie. "I'll have my baby."

"Not just the baby, Marie. You will have all of us."

Marie scoffed. "I'm not sure I want 'all of us', Lou," she said. "I still don't think I can deal with everyone putting in their two cents worth. Especially now that Roxanne is gunning for 'Mother of the Year'".

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I still don't want anyone to know that I am pregnant. Mum will want me to have an abortion so she won't be embarrassed; Roxanne will make degrading comments every chance she gets; Jane will be embarrassed to have a younger sister who is a single-mother."

"You don't know that," said Louise uncomfortably.

"Come off it, Lou. We've both heard Jane and Roxanne go on about single mothers." Marie's expression changed from one of scorn to shame. "I can't face all that. I have to get used to the idea first myself. So don't tell anyone. When I'm ready, I'll tell Dad. Anyway," Marie sounded more confident, "I don't have to say anything until I can't hide it any more. That gives me a few months."

"Well, yes. The book says you shouldn't show with your first till about five and a half months, and sometimes people can disguise the bulge for much longer than that."

"Where is this bloody book you keep talking about?" demanded Marie teasingly. "I think I should read it, don't you?"

"Can't hurt!" And Louise dug into her bag and produced the font-of-all-knowledge and handed it to Marie.

*

Louise drove home from Marie's feeling quite strange. "Am I jealous?" she wondered. Instead of driving to her own unit, she kept going till she got to Weetangera, and Margot's place.

Margot lived in a basement flat much like Louise's. Her car was in the driveway and the lights were on. It was only 8.30 – not too late to call.

Margot opened the door. "Hi!" she said. "This is a surprise. Come in." Although the girls often spent three evenings a week going out together, they rarely visited each other at home in the days in between.

"Hi, Margot," said Louise. "I hope I'm not here at a bad time."

"Not at all," said Margot. "I was just doing some ironing."

Louise laughed. "Do you iron?"

"Of course," replied Margot. "Don't you?"

"No way."

"You don't pay someone to do it, do you?" Margot was aghast at the idea of such an extravagance.

"No – I just don't buy clothes that need ironing," Louise explained.

"All clothes need ironing!"

"No, they don't. Of course, that means I can't buy any cotton or linen clothes, though. I always buy rayon or polyester."

"What about jeans?"

"I just get them really, really tight, so that the creases get sorted out when I put them on."

"Are you serious?" Margot couldn't believe it.

"Deadly. Have you ever seen me iron?"

Margot thought. "No, I haven't."

"I don't even own an iron."

"What?"

"Really. I don't."

"What if you want to wear something and it is crushed?"

"I wear something else."

"And you never wear that thing again?"

"I give it away. I decided years ago that I hated ironing; that I am no good at it; and clothes that require ironing do not belong in my life."

"So," Margot was determined to find a flaw in Louise's argument, "If you saw a gorgeous outfit that looked fabulous on you and was a great price, you wouldn't buy it if it needed ironing?"

"That's right," said Louise. "It takes discipline, but so does any worthwhile pursuit."

"You are a strange girl, Lou."

"Welcome to my world!"

"So, what brings you here tonight?"

"I've just come from Marie's." Louise had already told Margot of Marie's pregnancy, so delivered the news without any further explanation. "She has decided to keep the baby."

"As in – not have an abortion?"

"Right. As in, raise her child on her own."

"Wow." Margot raised her eyebrows. "So, what do you think?"

"It's weird, actually. I feel almost envious."

"WHAT?" Margot almost screeched her surprise.

"Not that she will be a single mother at the age of 20, but that she has moved on into the next stage of her life. They all have." Louise sat down in Margot's couch as Margot turned off the iron and the TV. " I feel like I am still stuck somewhere between 20 and nowhere. And I'm the eldest! I'm supposed to be the trail-blazer, not the laggard."

"God, Lou, get a grip!" Margot may not have been the right person to run this past, Louise realized too late. Her anti-children sentiments ran too deep and strong to allow for much self-doubt. "Name one couple we know whose marriage you would want."

Louise thought of friends they both knew, couple by couple.

"I can't," she said, surprising herself.

"Exactly!"

"That's not what I mean, though. I mean – what now? I've finished studying – twice – and I've been working for years. What now? Is this it – on and on, just the same, for the rest of my life?"

"You haven't travelled yet."

"I've been all around Australia."

"Overseas."

"I don't want to go overseas by myself."

"What else are you going to do with your money?"

"That's never a problem. Anyway, I should start saving for a home of my own."

"What?"

"Why not? There is no reason I can't have a home, just because I'm single. Single women need homes, too. I feel like a teenager, living underneath Clare O'Neils' parents' place."

"But it is so cheap and convenient." Margot was speaking of her own unit, too. "But I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel the same way."

"You do?" Louise's relief was palpable. It hadn't been a mistake to tell Margot after all. "Are you thinking of buying a place?"

"No. That is something I want to do when I 'meet someone'. I don't want to do that on my own. That's like admitting that I'll always be on my own."

"Oh, I'd rather do it 'with someone', too. But what if we don't ever meet anyone? And even if we do, chances are that he will be in his thirties, maybe even divorced. And if he is single, he might have his own place anyway at that age. At least if I had a unit of my own, I'd have something."

Margot looked at Louise thoughtfully. "It is too depressing to look into the future unless you are going to fantasize about dreams coming true. Looking into the future and looking at the most likely boring reality is just plain scary. It's like watching one of those shows written by scientists who are certain that there will be no clean air, no clean water and too many people if we don't all stop having babies and driving cars immediately."

Louise laughed. "You're right. "Sorbent Green", wasn't it? Sorry. I didn't mean to be expresso depresso. It just seems to me that, all of a sudden, everyone else in my family is 'normal' because they have made every mistake in the book and that is what they all have in common. Jane avoided uni by getting married straight out of school and now she has a husband and family and a gorgeous home; Michael is hopeless with money and has to let his dragon of a wife mastermind his affairs and now they have a home and a baby on the way; Marie is having a baby on her own and will soon be swapping recipes and stretch mark remedies with Mum, Jane and Roxanne; while I – I, who finished school, went straight on to uni, got a steady job, didn't date losers and didn't get pregnant – I am the outcast because now no one in my family has anything in common with me!"

"I know!" Margot was laughing. "It's the same in my family! And I recently found out that Mum and Dad have been giving all the others money!"

"Oh – mine have been doing that for years."

"Do they ever give you any?"

"I've never asked them."

"Me either! So now I feel like the parent, telling Mum and Dad that they are starting a very bad trend by baling out their adult kids every time they need money. And it is never for unforeseen emergencies. They know perfectly well that if they overspend, Mum and Dad will hand over the difference. It's pathetic."

"The only people who care are you and me, Margot. No one else cares. I sometimes think Dad actually enjoys writing cheques for his adult kids."

"Well, I don't think my parents enjoy it." Margot shook her head as she spoke. "Mum is trying to put something aside for herself, but she can't because of all the demands made on their purse. I keep telling them to stop being so generous. In the end, I can't bear to hear about it. It annoys me so much that I start to get angry with the others, and where does that get me? They already think I am 'little Miss Perfect'."

"That's what I get called!" said Louise excitedly. "How come we are the only responsible ones in our families? Is it a 'birth order' thing? Because both my parents are eldest children and they are like me when it comes to being financially independent and responsible."

"Must be," said Margot. "But somehow what started out as "Margot is the sensible one – she will go places" has become "Margot would never take a risk – she is just an old maid."

"So what are we missing?" asked Louise. "What great, cracking fuck-up can we bring down on ourselves to get our lives back 'in sync' with the rest of humanity?"

"Well, we could quit our jobs but apply for lots of credit cards before we quit and use them to go on holidays when we are unemployed," suggested Margot.

"Good! Yes! That's the idea!" Both girls were laughing as they thought up ways to emulate their brothers and sisters.

"We could sell our cars and lease new ones –"

"You've been talking to Michael, haven't you?"

"No, just watching my sister."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to try to take all the credit."

"Yes. You'll have to watch that. What else? Oh! Oh! We could borrow huge sums of money from our parents -"

"Promising to repay it next week –"

"But never actually repay it!"

"And date every loser who asks us out!"

"And have sex with them all and never take any precautions!"

"Ew!!!"

"I know! You have to have a tough constitution to be a total loser. It's not a job for the feint-hearted."

*

When Louise finally arrived home later that evening, it was with a lighter heart and a greater sense of belonging than she had thought possible just a couple of hours earlier. Her phone was ringing as she let herself in and she answered it, thinking it might be Margot with a last minute thought; or Pat; or even Marie.

It was, in fact, her mother.

"Hello, Louise?" Mary sounded tentative. Louise had received so few calls from her mother in her life that she was surprised to find that over the phone her mother sounded just the same as she sounded in real life.

"Oh, hi Mum," answered Louise, unable to disguise her surprise. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Well, I'm not fine actually." Mary contradicted her automatic response in an even tone. "I need to talk to you about something. Something private."

"Oh?"

"But not over the phone."

Louise caught herself before she offered to drive to Mary's place at a time convenient to Mary. "Okay." She said politely. "What did you have in mind?"

"Could I meet you at lunchtime tomorrow?"

"Where abouts?"

"Gus's?"

"Okay. What time?"

"12.30."

"12.30. See you then."

"Okay. Bye."

Typical Mum, thought Louise to herself. No preliminary chat; no show of interest in anything concerning Louise's life. Strictly business. "I wonder what she can want to talk to me about?" Louise thought. "After all, we've done her taxes."

# Chapter 12

The Keats family had moved to Canberra in 1968 when Jim was recruited by the Department of Treasury. Canberra was much smaller then and, as the newly formed capital of Australia, was experiencing a population explosion as graduates from all the major universities were relocated to take up positions in the federal public service. Civic was the main commercial area and most of the shops clustered themselves around Alinga Street, which in those days still accommodated traffic. Northbourne Avenue defined Civic on its western frontier, and the Monaro Mall was the farthest point on the eastern side.

Then, Civic held just one cinema – aptly named 'Centre Cinema'. It stood on the northernmost road enclosing Civic, Bunda St, beside that most venerable of Canberra cafes, Gus's.

'Gus's' was what everyone knew the place as, but in fact it was 'Gus Allouette's Café". It was well established by the time the Keats' arrived, backing as it did onto Mama's Pizzeria (where red letters painted onto a tin pizza pan proclaimed that 'Pizza should be eaten with the fingers') and Garema Place. Gus's served European style coffees, delicatessen quality sandwiches and the best, richest, creamiest, most delicious baked cheesecake ever. Gus, his wife and miscellaneous Austrian relations served these treats wearing floral aprons while singing out orders and greetings in quaint accents. For the Keats', who came from Brisbane where the local milkbar menu comprised a milkshake choice of two flavours: strawberry and chocolate, and a food choice of fish, chips or potato scallops, Gus's was a little piece of Europe under a bright canvas awning in the middle of the bush capital.

Almost twenty years later, Civic was unrecognizable but little had changed at Gus's. Even Gus seemed not to have changed. Louise worked in the Moore St Tax Office which was barely a ten minute walk from Gus's and she arrived early, as was her wont. Although longstanding, she wasn't a regular customer and so had no need to exchange pleasantries with the staff when she seated herself under the awning in the footpath section of the café. She extracted the novel she was currently reading from her stiff leather 'old lady' handbag and looked forward to stealing a few minutes of literary escape before meeting her mother.

But it was not to be. Louise was like her mother in more than just looks, for neither one could bear to be late. In appearance and in manner, mother and daughter reflected one another and their mutual punctuality was one of many areas in which they failed to differ.

Mary arrived wearing her customary deep red lipstick. She had on a navy blue suit with matching shoes and Oroton handbag, cream silk blouse, pearl brooch, sapphire rings and Jackie Onassis sunglasses. Without looking at anything in particular, she made her way to where Louise sat and offered her daughter her cheek. Louise duly stood and kissed it, then resettled herself as Mary sat and removed her sunglasses.

"How are you?" Mary asked in a casual tone.

"I'm fine, thanks," Louise answered pleasantly. "You look well."

"I've just come from Cataldo's," said Mary, patting her sleek, not-quite-shoulder-length hair. "Emilio gave me a trim." She smiled contentedly.

Cataldo's was another longstanding tradition but they were regulars there, and had been for more than a decade. At the age of 15, when Louise had begun to worry about such things, there were only two hairdressers to be considered by the discerning young woman: Franco's and Cataldo's. Somehow, Franco's had earned the reputation of cutting off more than was necessary; and as Louise had always preferred longer styles, she had stayed loyal to Cataldo's.

Not that this was in any way a burden for her. Cataldo's main attractions, Emilio and Angelo, were gorgeous beyond belief and impossible to get to see unless you had "connections". Both men were a few years older than Louise, and Emilio was the elder son. Their father had originally opened the salon when the boys were still at Daramalan, the Catholic boy's school in Dickson which was partner to the girl's school Louise had attended in Braddon. After training as hairdressers, and taking it in turn to win Apprentice of the Year awards, both Emilio and Angelo had joined their father and built up a formidable reputation as the sexiest men in hairdressing. Louise often marvelled at this fact, since although they were tall, masculine, very handsome and sensationally Italian, both boys were so intelligent and gentlemanly that they had in fact done very little to acquire the reputation they enjoyed. Nevertheless, women of all ages paid them three times what they would pay anyone else to wash, cut and blow dry their hair, passing through their salon swing doors lighter in wallet and woes.

Mary was exhibiting the normal 'Cataldo's afterglow' and Louise thought it was probably about time she made an appointment for herself. It mattered not that both men had long since married beautiful Italo-Australian girls and were themselves fathers; for the price of a haircut, they could be yours for an hour.

"Emilio!" Louise let the name roll off her tongue. Just thinking about the Cataldo's made her feel good. "How is he?"

"Actually, we mostly talked about me." Mary never blushed and she didn't now. "He looked well, though." Mary looked at Louise and smiled. "You look good, too."

Mary had been pleased to see that Louise was wearing make-up and that all her accessories matched. "I rarely see you dressed up."

"That's because I usually drop in on the weekends." Louise was careful to say "usually" and not "used to". She wondered whether Mary had even noticed her absence lately and didn't want to be the one to draw attention to it.

They ordered a cappuccino for Mary and a macchiato for Louise, a toasted asparagus and cheese sandwich to share, and a slice of cheesecake with two forks.

"Did you hear about Michael and James going into a partnership?" Mary launched into her subject without further ado.

"Yes, unfortunately," said Louise.

Mary shook her head and gave Louise a look of angry annoyance. "I'm really at the end of my tether with Michael, Louise." She put down her coffee and sat back in her chair. "And Jim just keeps on giving him money. Now he's talking about selling the land to pay Michael's debts."

Fifteen years earlier, Jim had bought 50 acres of lovely mountainside land – replete with mountain stream and rock-pool waterfall; peacocks, wombats and even trout, not far from Tathra, the New South Wales coastal town where they left their caravan on-site in readiness for the summer holidays. The family visited 'the land' regularly and camped by the water, shooting rabbits and fishing, then cooking over an open fire.

"He wouldn't!"

"He would!"

"But, Mum – does Michael know this?" Louise didn't want to be the one to tell her mother that Michael and Sam had for years been growing a crop of marijuana in a gully on the land, and selling it for a large profit to their dope-smoking friends in Canberra. Selling the land meant inspection by realtors and interested buyers. If the crop was discovered, would Jim and Mary be held responsible? It produced a large amount of marijuana and was sure to be more than could be explained away by claims of 'for personal use only'. Louise had to remind herself that this was not her problem. She had never seen the crop nor smoked the dope. So why did she feel so awful?

Mary was unaware of this element of the problem and thought only of her finances.

"No. But I doubt he would care. Michael seems to think that whatever is ours, is his." Mary looked even more annoyed. "I'm getting really sick of it, though, Louise."

"God, Mum – I don't blame you. But I don't have any money. My studies have cleaned me out and I'm afraid I don't believe in borrowing money." She looked apologetically at her mother. "Accounting 101 I'm afraid. Make compound interest work for you, not against you."

"I don't want a loan," laughed Mary. It was clear that Louise was the last person she would think of to borrow money from and Louise didn't know whether to be relieved or hurt. "I just want some advice. No one listens to me and Jim will go right ahead and sell the land whatever I say. I just wondered if there was anything I could do to stop him."

"You mean – legally?"

Mary shrugged. "Whatever," she said vaguely. But she looked at Louise with real interest.

Louise tried not to think of her family and tried to think of the problem objectively.

"Whose name is the land in?" she asked.

"Both Jim's and mine."

"And you bought it outright?"

"Yes. No loan or anything."

"Do you have the deed?"

"Yes." Mary added "And I have been signing everything for years."

"Wow," thought Louise. "She is serious." But she cleared her throat and said "Well, you could use the land as collateral to borrow money and spend it on something else. That way it wouldn't do Dad any good to sell it because it wouldn't result in him getting any funds to give to Michael."

"But what would I buy? And how would my spending the money make us any better off than Michael spending it?"

"Well," said Louise carefully, concentrating on the financial aspects of the problem and trying hard not to consider the political agenda, "you could re-invest the money."

"Go on."

"You could buy gilt-edged bonds, or put the money in a term deposit, but in each case you can actually get at that money again if you pay the charges." Louise began to warm to her topic. "Or, you could use the money as a down-payment on a rental property. If you made sure that the rent was enough to cover both the mortgage and the loan repayments on the land, you would end up with two properties. You would negatively gear the rental so that you got a cash-refund from the Tax Office each year, based on the tax Dad pays fortnightly on his salary, and you could use this refund to pay down the loan or the mortgage."

Mary looked triumphant. "That's what I suspected." She looked at Louise shrewdly. "Do you know how to arrange all it?"

"What – the loan?"

"No – I can do that," scoffed Mary. "We've had so much debt with our bank for the past twenty years that the manager sends us Christmas presents. No, I mean the negative gearing. Can you work that out?"

"Of course. And once you choose a rental property, I can draw up an estimate of expected revenue and expenses, so you can see what is involved. Actually, you might like to open a family trust, and get the trust to buy the property."

"Is that difficult?"

"Not really. If it was, everyone wouldn't be doing it! You register a $2 company, set it up as the trustee, then transfer whatever property you like into the trust. Then the trust legally owns those assets, and you are merely directors of the company which is the trustee, so effectively you are making all the decisions. You are also beneficiaries of the trust, of course."

"Is that so?"

"Pretty much."

"Good." said Mary decisively.

Louise felt uncomfortable, thinking that she was advising her mother of the best way to defraud her father. "But it is his own fault," she thought guiltily. "He has no right not to consult Mum and, if he insists on ignoring her wishes, what other option does she have but to go behind his back? It is her money, too."

"That still leaves our home." Mary hadn't finished. "Jim could mortgage the house to give Michael money."

"You could always transfer the house into the Family Trust and insist that you both have to sign any changed financial arrangements, like mortgages or loans."

"We've been signing each other's names for years on legal documents," Mary was thinking out loud. "That wouldn't work."

"Well, you could name a third director of the Family Trust – someone you trust to not allow one of you to sign for both of you – and make it a requirement that all three signatures appear on any document."

"Of course!" Mary smiled.

Mary was now quite ready to relax and enjoy her lunch. She sat comfortably, taking in the summer scene of passing people, some carrying packages which no doubt contained Christmas presents. She remembered that it would probably be polite to ask Louise about herself but couldn't think of anything.

It was no use asking her if she was seeing anyone. That had been a zero for so many years now no one even gave it a thought. Her job was public service rah rah and Mary really didn't care. It was always the same thing anyway: promotion gained or missed; the new mainframe computing system was a wonder or it was inefficient; the boss was great or awful; they were moving the office. It had been the same since Jim had joined Treasury 20 years ago.

"Oh – that's right," Mary thought with relief. "Louise's not coming to Christmas." She swallowed her mouthful of sandwich and said "I hear that you are not coming to Christmas dinner at Jane's."

"No," said Louise. "I'm going to Simon and Kim's."

"They are only in Chisholm, aren't they?"

"Yes," replied Louise.

"Well, that's not too far from Theodore. You could always drop in afterwards if you felt like it."

"Sure," answered Louise.

"Dad wants to go to mass at St Christopher's Cathedral on Christmas day." Mary always called Jim 'Dad' when she spoke of him to their kids.

"I might see you there, then." Louise was non-committal.

In her inimitable style, Mary had taken the sting out of the mini-drama that might have been when Louise decided to veto a family event. It was her way of saying "yes, we noticed, but you are not important enough to make us care." Louise had been on the receiving end of this non-attention her whole life and until now had always thought it normal. But since Roxanne had joined the family, Louise had noticed a different style of intra-family relations. Even Jane, the middle daughter, was treated with care and respect.

"Well," she said, determined to be righteous in the face of her mother's covert hostility, "I'm glad I was able to put my university education to some use for you."

"So you should be," agreed her mother. "After all, I paid for it."

*

Marie was torn between wanting to share her happiness and fears with her father and mother, and wanting to avoid the horror she knew would be their first response. Maybe it would be better not to do it in person. Perhaps a letter – or a phone call. No – not a phone call. She didn't have the nerve. A phone call was always a difficult medium because you couldn't see the other person's reactions. You could only hear their spoken reaction and that really only gave you half the information.

And a letter would have to be written and re-written, and once you had sent it, it could be shown to other people – perhaps people you didn't want it shown to. The news would have to be delivered in person. Marie thought she would tell her father first, and then her mother.

But not yet. First of all she had to see how everything was coming along with Roxanne. It looked like their babies were due at the same time and, as Marie was booking in with Dr Bates, she would have to take care not to run into her sister-in-law at check-ups since their doctors were partners and shared rooms. Luckily, staying abreast of Roxanne's movements wouldn't be hard. Jane and Mary were competing to be the most informed and best able to assist their pregnant in-law. All Marie really had to do was call on one or other of them and she would know everything there was to know.

Jane telephoned Marie. "Do you want to come over this weekend?" she asked.

"Alright," said Marie. "Are you going somewhere?" Marie often spent a Friday or Saturday night at Jane and Sam's house. Sometimes, it coincided with them going out – not together, but to separate events. Sam often hung out with his brothers and Jane attended folk-art classes with a girlfriend. On other occasions, Jane and Marie would re-arrange one of the kids' bedrooms or repaint a wall, or watch a video.

"No." Jane was casual. "Sam is going down to the land with Michael for the weekend and Roxanne is coming over for dinner, so I thought she could pick you up on the way. I'll drop you back at your place whenever you like the next day."

"Fine," said Marie. "What time?"

"I'll check with Roxanne and let you know."

When Roxanne called to pick up Marie, she was wearing loose clothing and moving stiffly. "Congratulations, Roxanne," Marie said sweetly as she walked to the car beside her sister-in-law. "I hear that you and Michael are expecting."

"If Michael's expecting, how come I've got the backache?" Roxanne retorted as she put her hand on the back of her hip and pushed her abdomen forward in the manner of a heavily pregnant woman.

Marie smiled at her little joke. "So, how pregnant are you exactly?"

"I'm almost at the end of my first trimester," answered Roxanne.

"What?" Marie was confused.

Roxanne tut-tutted at Marie's ignorance. "I'm 11 weeks," she explained.

"Me, too," thought Marie. But she asked "how are you feeling?"

"Terrible," said Roxanne as she checked her side mirror and pulled away from the curb. "I've had to quit my job so that I can have complete rest." She sighed as she considered her words. "Men have no idea how easy they have it."

"Geez," thought Marie. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. If I want to pull this off, I am going to have to convince even myself that I'm not pregnant." Marie looked across at Roxanne and tried to think of something appropriate to say. Till now, her own pregnancy had been all she could think of.

"Is Michael excited?" she finally asked.

"Oh, he's over the moon," said Roxanne. "Why wouldn't he be? He gets a baby without any of the pain or suffering."

Marie thought that Michael probably wouldn't be able to avoid some suffering, but Roxanne was happily describing her plight and they were at Jane's place before Marie could respond vocally to Roxanne's discourse.

As soon as they were in the house, all attention was directed to Roxanne. Jane was attentive and sincere in her enquiries. Was Roxanne feeling the heat? Did she suffer from morning sickness? Was she craving any special food? Would she like something to drink?

Roxanne complained consistently and to the last question expressed shock. "Jane, I can't drink! You of all people should know that! A pregnant woman should never touch alcohol. It is a major cause of foetal deformity."

Jane looked as though she had been struck. "No – she said quickly, "I meant orange juice or water – not wine."

"Oh!" Roxanne clasped her open hand to her chest in relief. "Thank God! You had me worried there for a minute!"

Jane blinked and poured each of them a glass of iced water. "Well," she said carefully, "I'm sorry you aren't feeling too good."

"Because," added Marie, unable to constrain herself as she glanced at the robust and suntanned 5 feet 7 inches tall Roxanne. "You look as strong as an ox."

"Yes," agreed Jane. "You don't look sick at all. In fact, you look really well."

"I know," said Roxanne. "That's the glow of motherhood. All pregnant women get it."

"Do they?" asked Jane cheekily, winking at Marie as she spoke. "I don't remember. But I had to go to work while I was pregnant. Maybe I missed it." Marie joined Jane laughing at herself.

"I think you had the glow of exhaustion, Jane," said Marie. "I think Sam had the glow of motherhood. Or was he just high?"

"Probably – sounds about right!" Jane was openly chortling now. Then she realized that Roxanne was not joining in the humourous memories. Sam and Michael smoked dope together but Roxanne pretended that this was Sam's failing and not Michael's. While Jane openly acknowledged that her husband had a dope habit, Roxanne never referred to it and if pressed, would insist that Michael did not smoke dope even though all his close friends did. Since none of the Keats' girls smoked and didn't attend the sessions held by Sam and Michael, it was a 'common knowledge' situation rather than an observed fact, so they let it slide.

But Jane knew how often Michael and Sam got together and Sam verified her brother's inclusion in each session. "So Roxanne," she diverted the attention back to where it was most desired. "Have you thought of any names?"

"Yes," said Roxanne. "I'm sure I'm having a boy, and I want to call him Murray, after Dad."

"Oh?" Jane was very surprised, knowing that Murray and Michael did not get along. "What does Michael think?"

Roxanne rolled her eyes. "He wants to call the baby Michael! Can you believe it?" She shook her head. "If we have a second boy we can call him Michael. But this one I want to call Murray." Roxanne noticed the silence of the two girls, and added "It would be too confusing having two Michaels in the house."

"It is a lovely name, though," said Marie.

"So's Murray," said Roxanne.

"Do you think so?" asked Marie.

Jane decided to truncate this conversation. "How did your first check-up go?"

"Oh," said Marie, pricking up her ears. "Have you already seen the specialist?"

"Yes, I saw Dr Heaton last week."

"Isn't Dr bates taking any new patients?" asked Jane.

"I don't know," answered Roxanne. "I just now that Dr Bates has a tendency to give women caesarians and I want to actually give birth."

Jane had had both her babies by caesarian section and knew that this comment was directed at her.

"Well, after 16 hours of labour I didn't care what he did to me – as long as he got the baby out safely!" Jane tried to make light of the disappointment she had felt when she had been unable not once but twice, after long, fruitless labours, to deliver her babies naturally. "But however it happens, you have still given birth."

"Not really," Roxanne disagreed. "All you've done when you have a ceasarian is have an operation. Giving birth is entirely different."

Jane decided that silence was the best response to this flagrant throwing down of the gauntlet, but Roxanne wasn't finished.

"And I want to breast feed, so it will have to be a natural birth."

Jane looked perplexed. "But you can still breastfeed when your baby is delivered by Caesarian," she said.

"Not successfully." Roxanne contradicted her.

"I did." Jane stated matter-of-factly.

"But you didn't successfully breastfeed, Jane."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you had to supplement feed your babies. I saw you do it, so don't deny it."

Jane was trying hard now not to show her exasperation. "I only let Sam feed the babies a small bottle of formula once a day, when he got home from work. Babies bond with their parents when they are being fed and the father of a breast fed baby misses out on that." Then, to lighten the mood, she added, "and it gave me a chance to shower and eat dinner, so it worked out well for everyone."

"Yes, if you aren't prepared to put in the effort, you can always turn to the bottle. No, I want to successfully breastfeed my baby."

Marie looked at Jane as if to say "Surely you are not going to take this lying down?"

But Jane had no intention of putting herself beside Louise in Roxanne's bad books, and she knew she had to ignore these comments if she wanted to stay in the running for Godmother of the first grandchild to bear the Keats' name. So, just as she would divert the attention of her toddlers if they began to squabble, she changed the subject yet again.

"Come and look at this," she said. "It is a collection of baby clothes I kept from when mine were newborns."

"Are you allowed to call them your newborns, Jane?" asked Marie. "After all, you didn't actually give birth to them!"

"You know – that might come in handy one day." Jane was always able to find the funny side of every drama. "You know how kids in America are suing their parents for not taking better care of them? Now I've got a loophole!" Even Roxanne laughed at that.

*

"Did she?" Vera was incredulous when Marie has related her conversation with her Mother at Gus's. "Pay for your education, I mean?"

"Well, that all depends on how you look at it. From Mum's perspective, she did. After all, I lived at home for free while I was an undergraduate."

"Yes, but you did your graduate degree part-time while you were working. She didn't support you then."

"No, but if I hadn't had the bachelor's degree, I wouldn't have been admitted to the graduate program, so it becomes a "fruit of the tree" argument."

"A what?"

"It's a legal axiom. The owner of the tree is the owner of the fruit, unless the fruit overhangs a fence and is clearly over someone else's property, but otherwise the tree represents capital and the fruit is income, so therefore –"

Vera leaned over and patted Louise's arm. "Stop, please. Have a drink."

Louise laughed and poured herself some wine. They were at Sails Restaurant on the lake at Belconnen town centre, enjoying the early evening view of sail-boarders.

"You know, I don't feel old, Vera, but somehow I think that I should be doing something else with my life. It's like I'm missing something, or missing out."

"Everyone is missing out, Lou," Vera was definite. "Your married friends are missing out on personal freedom; your friends who have kids are missing out on sleep and promotions overseas; people who didn't continue their education are missing out on opportunities they might have otherwise had at work, while people who did study have already missed out on years of lost income. You're just going through a slump."

"I sure am."

"So," Vera put her glass down and faced Louise. "What would you change?"

"Do you mean, what do I want in my life?"

"No, I mean what would you change about how you have gotten to this point in your life?"

Louise thought. "I don't think there is really much I could change."

Pat shrugged. "Which is another way of saying that you are happy with the decisions you have made."

"That's just it! It seems to me that while I think about every turn I make in my life:- Will I go to uni? Will I save up to buy a thing? Will I go overseas, or spend that time and money to do further study? Will I date so-and-so, or wait to meet someone more suitable – all these decisions take me exactly where I think they will take me. I look at my sisters, who throw caution to the winds and accept the consequences, and they have moved on much faster than I have."

"They may have moved on, but they haven't moved up. Perhaps you want every move to be an improvement, so yours will take a bit longer."

"How can you say they haven't moved up? Both Jane and Marie have families now. What do I have? A couple of degrees! Big deal!"

"It is a big deal. Your education will open up your future and you know it. Now," Pat put some money into the restaurant's bill fold, then handed it to Louise so she could pay her half. "What you need is some retail therapy to cheer yourself up. Because," she said, as she stood and hoisted her over-full satchel onto her shoulder, "the one big advantage of being a career spinster is that you have no one to spend your hard earned cash on but yourself!"

"Well, that's true I suppose," smiled Louise. "And actually, I could use a new suit."

"No, no, no!" Vera was insistant. "You need some fun clothes. You are starting to look too 'accountanty'. And while I envy your nice bustline, in a suit you can look quite matronly."

"Vera!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but every figure has its advantages, and one of the greatly overlooked advantages of having a smaller bust is that you can retain the girlish look for longer than a girl with big boobs."

"Actually, you know – you are right." Louise acknowledged. "Boobs instantly make you think 'mature woman', not 'young girl'.

"And suits make you look top-heavy, which in your case is working against you due to your other figure fault: lack of height."

"I'm not that short!"

"You're not tall."

"Neither are you!"

"But I'm not a double D cup, darling."

"Oh." Louise realized that Vera seemed to know what she was talking about. "So, what should I be wearing?"

"If I were you, I would avoid anything that broadened your shoulders."

"But shoulder pads are so 'in' now!"

"I know, but they come in different sizes and, in your case, I would wear the tiniest ones – if any." Vera let that sink in before continuing. "I would avoid heavy lapels and chunky collars. Go for vertical designs – buttons down the front, collarless V necklines, slim-width neckties, that sort of thing. And," she added, "You should avoid any skirt length below the knee, and ankle strap shoes. You need to elongate your leg length and your legs, although short, are good."

Louise shook her head in admiration. "God, Vera, you are better than Miss Notaris – my dress design teacher at Catholic Girls High!" Louise was delighted. Like any girl, she loved talking about clothes and was completely diverted from her former gloom. They were leaving the restaurant now and parting company. "I'm going to take your advice and buy myself some new gear. I might even get a new hairstyle."

"Now you're talking!" Vera was enthusiastic. "Go for it!"

*

Louise had an organized mind and, when she considered the task ahead, her approach was holistic. She looked in the full-length mirror and scrutinised her appearance. She immediately saw that Vera was right – her clothes didn't suit her figure at all. They looked great on Leonie Eaton, who had unwittingly become a role-model of sorts for Louise. But Leonie was easily 5 feet 9 inches tall, and that extra 6 inches translated the clothes they both wore so differently that any similarity was unrecognisable.

Louise sighed at her naïve error and determined to rectify the situation. Fortunately her weight was not a problem; and her hair was, well –

Louise had to admit to herself that she did not, in fact, have a hairstyle. Her hair was trimmed to below shoulder length, but not bluntly. It was a bit rounded at the front corners, but not actually shaped. She had never had a colour or streaks put in her hair, either, so the best that could be said for it was that she had natural-coloured, brown hair. It wasn't thick, nor thin. It wasn't dead-straight but nor was it wavy.

But did it suit her? Louise had no idea. It was one thing to match a skirt to a top, but quite another to match a hairstyle to a face with which she was so familiar that she could no longer look at it objectively.

"My turn to visit Cataldo's," she thought. And she smiled.

# Chapter 13

Just as going to the dentist elicits memories of painful needles and drilling, so going to Cataldo's salon brought on a rush of scented memories. Louise's first crush had been Angelo; and Emilio had done her hair for her high school graduation formal. In this salon, she had progressed through the page-boy cut, then the layered look, and on to the short-and-perky Lady Di. Something about the mirrors at Cataldo's always showed her in a good light, too. So often her reflection caused her to think that her nose was too big, or off-centre; or that her eyebrows were too arched, or wonder if she was developing a double chin. Mirrors could be critical, but not here. Here they showed the twinkle in her eye and sheen on her hair. At Cataldo's, Louise knew why people sometimes thought she was attractive.

Emilio had seated Louise after they exchanged hugs, greetings and remonstrations at her hideous hairstyle; clearly not a Cataldo cut. Angelo had arrived while this was going on and added his exclamations of horror – mostly to amuse her and themselves. Louise laughed.

"Well, you shouldn't be so popular!" She was trying to feign serious indignation but having too much fun and failing miserably. "Do you know how impossible it is to get to see either of you these days? I've had to take the afternoon off work to come here today!"

Emilio and Angelo paused, looked at each other and shrugged dramatically. "We are the best," Angelo explained immodestly. "And you – you can get by on your beauty, while other women –" he shook his head sadly. "There are other women who need us just to be able to hold up their heads, and these women make their next appointment before they leave the salon." Angelo looked to his brother for confirmation of the truth of his words, and duly received a nod of understanding from Emilio. "This is how the experienced client manages her relationship with Cataldo's, Louisa."

Louise laughed out loud. "Do you two practice this at home?"

"What?" The two men looked at each other, continuing their little charade.

"This whole 'Italian Elvis times 2' thing you have worked out."

"Don't tease me, Louisa," Angelo spoke quietly and Louise wasn't sure whether he was still joking or not. "I'm very susceptible right now."

"Oh?" Louise thought she would play it safe.

"I am having troubles of the heart."

"Huh," replied Louise. "Join the club." Then she saw that Angelo was not joking. "But I thought you were married?"

"I was – am – but Linda has taken Joey and gone to her parents."

Emilio sighed and shook his head. "Angelo, she will be back in six weeks! Who else will she let trim her hair? Only you have touched her hair since she was 16 years old. She would never –"

"Then why did she leave me?"

"Linda moved to Kaleen – not Sydney!" Emilio was attempting to douse Angelo's misery with common sense. Kaleen was a suburb located about 10 minutes' drive from the city and the same distance from the various Cataldo family homes in Dickson. "This will blow over," he predicted.

Ordinarily Louise would never probe into a personal area such as this, but she could tell Angelo wanted to talk about it. "What happened?" she asked tentatively.

Angelo sighed and launched into his tale of woe. "You see, we have a beautiful beach house at Malua Bay – right on the water."

Emilio corrected him. "The family has a house at Malua Bay."

"The family. Yes. It's the same thing."

"Not to Linda."

Angelo turned to Louise. "Every Christmas we go there and have a glorious holiday. It is like being at a Mediterranean beach. We lie on the sand, eat shell fish, drink wine, sleep in the afternoon – it is perfect. The house even has a pool overlooking the bay."

"It's very nice," agreed Emilio. "We have had this house since we were very young. Our uncle built it for us and he owns the house next door."

"But now Linda says she doesn't want to go there anymore!" Angelo is disbelieving as he relates his story. "She wants to go to Noosa!"

Emilio laughed and nodded. Angelo's expression changed from one of disbelief to one of disgust. "Noosa – it's unbelieveable! Only peasants who don't have their own beach house go to Noosa or Surfer's Paradise! We don't have to go to these places! We have our own place!"

Louise felt it was time to inject a little bit of "female-perspective".

She addressed Angelo as Emilio stood by, listening.

"So, you and Linda have known each other since she was 16."

"That's right. We met at my sister's wedding. She is the cousin of my brother-in-law. We have been together ever since."

"Right." Louise continued. "And now Linda is what – 25?"

"26. She is a nursing sister at Calvary hospital. She has a degree and is doing her masters degree, too." Angelo was proud of his young wife.

"She is very hard-working," added Emilio.

"I think the shift-work hours are too much," said Angelo thoughtfully. "I think this is why she gets stressed out." He was trying to find a reason for his wife's inexplicable behavior.

"Perhaps that is the reason," conceded Emilio doubtfully.

Louise interrupted the brothers. "I don't think so." Both men stopped talking and looked at Louise, waiting for her to explain. "I think Linda just wants to be able to make adult decisions about her life, independently of the Cataldo family customs. Maybe one of her work colleagues goes to Noosa and has told Linda of how much fun they have there. Or perhaps she just wants to go somewhere different; somewhere far away from her in-laws for a holiday – just for once."

Angelo blinked. "But why?" He didn't understand.

Louise smiled. "Angelo – have you been on a holiday with Linda's family?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"They don't have a beach house." Angelo answered as if it was obvious.

"But if they did, would you enjoy having a long holiday with them, every year for 10 years?"

Angelo looked uncomfortable. "Maybe," he answered grudgingly. Then he added "but they are Greek. And Greek women are very beautiful, but they can't cook."

Emilio added for verification purposes "It's true. You never even see a tomato from one meal to the next."

"Who can eat all that colourless food?"

"And the Geek olive oil – it's too heavy."

"No flavor."

"And always with the oregano! Why not give the salt a chance to sweeten the onion?" The brother's banter was gathering its own momentum and Louise could see the real issue falling to the floor with the trimmed tresses.

"Aha!" Louise diverted their attention. "So, there is a little bit of 'our way is better' creeping in, is there?"

Both men stopped and looked at Louise, their faces showing confusion and pain but considering her words. Louise continued. "Linda may be feeling suffocated by her current circumstances. She is mother to a young child; has a demanding career and is studying; and in her own home, where she is supposed to be able to relax, her cooking is second best!" Louise shook her head. "I'm amazed she lasted this long!"

"Louisa!" Angelo was shocked.

"Angelo," Louise interrupted, "Did Linda suggest going to Noosa alone or did she invite you?"

"She wants to me to go to Noosa with her and Joey. Just the three of us." Angelo spoke slowly, as though he was seeing the light at last.

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Louise said matter-of-factly. "Your wife is asking you to take your family on a holiday to the destination of her choice. She has accompanied you on family holidays to the destination of your choice for a decade." Angelo was nodding now. "Yes." He agreed. "That's true."

"The fact that she has moved out of your home – back to her parents – shows you how important this is to her. Linda is also saying to you "if you stick to your parents, I stick to mine." By taking her on this holiday, you will be saying to her – and your whole family – that her wishes are important to you and that you put your new family above your old one."

Emilio said "This is what I was thinking, too, but you express it very well."

Angelo was aghast and turned on his brother. "If you were thinking this, too, then why didn't you say so?" Angelo was indignant that Emilio should try to claim credit for wisdom he did not possess.

"Because you would not listen to me! You never listen! Ask Linda!"

"Guys!" Louise waved her hands at the men. "Now that we have solved Angelo's crisis, could we please focus on mine?"

Quite chagrined, Angelo and Emilio were at her service.

"Of course!"

"What is it we can help you with?"

"Anything!"

Louise held up her hair with her hands at either side of her face. "My hair!"

*

She'd gotten up early on Saturday morning, and heading straight to the mall. Her hair was now the same length as before but shaped and cut into a scruffy fringe. Louise felt – and looked – younger and sexier than she had felt since she was a teenager.

The make-up consultant at Ella Bache's had "done" Louise's colours. Louise had often worn a brown mascara and a brownish lipstick, or a purplish one, for years. But – no more. Now she wore a crimson pink crème lippy and navy blue mascara. What a difference it made!

The make-up expert had discovered that Louise had been dressing in autumnal colours when in fact she should have been choosing the stronger tones of winter. The soft browns and golds washed out her wan complexion, while black, fire-engine red and Evep, dark turqiose blue defined her features and illuminated her skin. With this new information, Louise felt armed and ready to sort through the clothing on offer and choose exactly the right pieces for her new wardrobe.

Sportsgirl, Country Road, Espirit, the Fiorucci section at David Jones – Louise's bankcard got a work out from which it would never recover. "I think I've flattened out the numbers," she thought to herself as she examined the little card after the sales assistant had had to swipe it three times before the machine could read it. Then she shrugged. "Thank heavens they can just punch in the numbers if the card stops working."

*

The effect was deliciously instantaneous. Even Louise was unprepared for the impact of her "new look". In a way, it was disconcerting to think that so many people who knew her on a day-to-day basis could be so easily impressed by a change in her appearance. It seemed disconcertingly superficial somehow. Whatever happened to the belief in an "inner beauty"?

But Louise shrugged to herself and thought "So it's superficial? So what? I'll take it!"

"Wow!" exclaimed Vera. "Now we're talking!" She walked around Louise and nodded her head. "Yes, Louise – I like it! The New Lou!"

Louise laughed with embarrassment. "Vera – please!"

"Well?" Vera was unrepentant. "Isn't this the reception you were hoping for?" Vera was indignant. "You've changed your whole look! For the better, I must say."

"OK, thanks," Louise was finally grateful for her friend's generous compliments. "It's just that I'm starting to feel that I must have been hideous before!"

Vera laughed. "Well, it's safe to say that you weren't putting much effort into your image. But don't take it that way," she warned. "Everyone likes a change. And collectively, we are all each other's environment. For that reason alone, it is important to look our best." Vera was knowledgeable and certain on so many subjects; and this one was no different.

But Louise was much too encouraged to be weighed down by issues like the morality of appearance versus character. She shook back her hair with a flick of her head (a newly acquired trait), and tried not to smile too broadly.

"And stop doing that!" said Vera severely.

"What?" Louise asked impatiently.

"That!" Vera was insistent. "That look – as though you don't want to smile. Smile, for God's sake! What are you saving it for?"

Louise laughed outright, and she smiled like her face would split.

"Oh my God – look at her teeth! You have really nice teeth!" Vera was sincere in both her surprise and compliment. She wagged her finger at Louise. "From now on, I want to see you smiling all the time!"

"Yes, Mum," retorted Louise, and she curtsied mockingly.

Everyone took their turn at acknowledging – or ignoring – the New Lou. Leonie Easton smiled encouragingly; Tina McInerny expressed relief that the purple lipstick was no more; even Anna managed a backhanded compliment.

"It must be a relief to get rid of all your old stuff!" She exclaimed. "Good for you! You were really starting to look your age. It's important to keep up with the latest trends as you get older."

"Yes," agreed Louise. And before she could stop herself, she added, "I don't know what your generation would have done without the push-up bra!" And she flipped her top button open to reveal her generous cleavage.

"Hey, Louise – play fair!" George had introduced himself to the group and stood as close to Louise as he could. "You have an unfair advantage here."

Louise tossed her head at him. "That's like saying the Harlem Globetrotters only win games because they are tall."

But one person made no comment at all. Watching the scene from his glass-walled office, and taking note of Louise's new image, Chris Hardy felt no need to contribute compliment or rebuke. Louise waltzed by and waved to him, smiling brightly, but was only rewarded by his usual brooding demeanor.

She pretended not to notice, but thought to herself angrily "Fine. Be that way."

*

With only 5 days till Christmas, it seemed that everyone had too many decisions to make; too much shopping to do and too many demands on their time. Although it wasn't tax season, the Tax Office used this "quiet time" to do its own housekeeping. Sections were being reorganized and whole branches were being disbanded. Staff members who had comfortably occupied positions for years now found that those positions no longer existed; and in order to retain their employment status, these people had to fit in with the new regime.

Consequently, training courses were the order of the day and those who weren't being interviewed were writing references for those who were, and everyone was enrolled in a course on something, somewhere. Not be left out of the fray, Human Resource Management had sifted through its applicable legislated acts and found a few it had not administered for some time. Mandatory attendance at courses on everything from "Retirement Planning" to "Dealing with Stress" was now the bane of many a tax officer's existence.

"Sexual Harrassment!" George, Chris and Barney were reading with loud dismay their names from a list which showed that they had been signed up for this course.

Louise, who had been walking past, laughed. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Don't tell me they are sending you hopeless lot on a sexual harassment course!" She guffawed some more. "That's got to be a waste of everyone's time – not to say taxpayer's money!"

Chris was outraged. "Louise." He sounded quite angry. "None of us has ever sexually harassed any of the women here."

"Hey!" George indicated himself indignantly.

"You don't count." Chris was dismissive. "You're just an idiot."

George's indignation increased but he was deflated nonetheless.

But Louise continued to giggle. "I agree!" she insisted. "You lot would need lessons on how to sexually harass a woman!'' She leaned over and gave George a friendly thump on the shoulder. "But don't give up, Georgey boy. It is hard for you, having no role models, but practice makes perfect. The three basic rules are:" and she counted them off on the fingers of one hand, "Always be nicer to the prettiest women and, if possible, ignore the plainer ones; remember that the men in the office are the real workers, while the women are just stand-ins; and any girl who makes an effort to look nice at work should be encouraged and complimented."

"But I do all those things!" George looked at his buddies for confirmation, which he duly received.

"You're almost there, then!"

"That's not sexual harassment – is it?" Barney looked seriously confused. "Isn't sexual harassment asking your secretary out on a date?"

Louise laughed louder. "He doesn't even know what it is!"

"Don't worry, Barn," said Chris. "It is whatever they say it is."

"Yeah – huh – that would be right – as usual – keeps changing." Each of the guys agreed with Chris's statement and shuffled off to put the date in their diaries. Chris remained to give Louise a parting shot. "Better get back to your Mills & Boon, or your Sleepless in Seattle chickflicks, Louise, where all the perfect men live."

"Gee, Chris, I guess I can't compete with the Topless Triplets of Kentucky, so I might as well!" At which point each of them flicked their hair at the other and marched off in opposite directions.

# Chapter 14

"So," asked Vera, when Louise got back to her desk, "which course did you sign up for?"

"Conflict resolution. Actually, it sounds really interesting and I'm looking forward to it." She leaned back in her seat, smiling. "You should have seen the Audit team when they saw they had to attend a Sexual Harrassment course!"

Vera laughed. "Them? What for? What a waste!"

"I know!" Louise shook her head.

"All they had to do was choose a course they were interested in. You just have to be signed up for one – any one! They only got sent to that one because they were too lazy to nominate a course for themselves." Vera had worked in Human Resource Management previously and knew how it all worked.

"Yeah, I know, but they probably didn't offer a course on naked teenage girl jelly wrestling, so what were they to do?"

*

Jim walked into the house with a heavy tread. He didn't notice the flowers on the table or the sun shining through the windows, bouncing reflections off every shiny surface. He walked straight through the house and out the back door, down the stairs and into his basement studio.

He closed the door behind him, shutting out the warm light, and sank into his favourite armchair. "What now?" He thought to himself. "How can I find a solution to this problem?" Solution! That was how he had gotten into this mess – trying to solve someone else's problem. Perhaps the real solution had been not to find any more solutions.

But what good was being philosophical at this point? It was too late now to do anything, and there were no more solutions – there was nothing left. He would have to tell Mary. She would be angry. She would blame him. And why shouldn't she – he blamed himself. It was his fault – his and no one elses. But plenty of people would suffer – everyone would suffer. Jim put his head back into the chair, closed his eyes and sighed.

*

Not more than a mile away, Michael was sitting in his garage, packing a bong with Sam. "Where's Roxanne?" Sam asked nervously. He knew Roxanne didn't like them using "her" garage as a smoking room.

"She's at work, then picking up the boys and taking them to Lee's for dinner. Relax!" Michael was reassuring. He took the bong from Sam and drew deeply on it, the water gurgling as he did so. He finally exhaled thick, dark smoke and said "Aaaaagh – I needed that." And he passed the bong to Sam.

Sam was a concreter. He worked outside for 12 hours a day, at least 6 days a week, in every sort of weather. He was very thin but muscular, and very tanned. His work was physically exhausting and, at the age of 33, his back ached after hours of bending over and smoothing yards of wet concrete every day, day in and day out, for years. He earned great money but he knew that his days were numbered. His back would probably last another year – maybe two. After that, he would have to either run a team or go into something else.

The trouble with running a team was that certain types of people became labourers. Many of them were unreliable. They all smoked dope – that didn't worry him. What worried him was relying on people who thought showing up for a day's work was optional. Employing someone was just another stressful thought. Sam was a perfectionist and couldn't bear to see a job badly done. He had to redo any shoddy work because once the concrete set on a job, his reputation was set, too.

So Sam smoked a few pipes to ease the very real pain in his back; to wipe away his concerns about the future and to achieve a level of complacence that he associated with a carefree period of his life – a period that was moving farther and farther away from him now.

When Sam had finished, he turned to Michael. "So, what's going on?"

"Oh, you know," Michael tried to look thoughtful but couldn't hide the fear behind his eyes. "The usual shit. Everyone is jumping on me because I'm not making them any money. I'm the ideas man. Everyone know that, and they all want a piece of the action but no one is prepared to shoulder the load. I'm an entrepreneur and I have to take risks. No risks, no return."

Sam knew he was pretty stoned but he also knew where this was going and he'd already heard enough. Michael wasn't a bad guy – Sam like him. He was good company; he was always enthusiastic. He should have been a salesman. He was a salesman if you thought about it, Sam realised. Michael could get more people to part with their money for no good reason than you would think possible. Very few were immune to Michael's charms.

He was definitely intelligent, too, which was probably why people generally believed whatever he said. Although, Sam had to admit, there was a point at which you began to wonder whether Michael was actually trying to convince himself or you of the truth of his current notion. But whatever was going on now, it definitely concerned money – Michael's lack thereof, no doubt, and if Sam was smart he would leave now before he became another of Michael's creditors.

"I'm off," he announced abruptly. Michael looked up from his bong and nodded, used to Sam's decisive moves.

Leaving via the driveway gate, Sam almost walked into James. "Sam," James greeted his brother-in-law. "You leaving?" James was clearly glad to see Sam, but sensed immediately that he was in a hurry to get away. James quickly tried to think of any reason that Sam might want to avoid him but, unable to think of anything he might have done, and knowing he didn't owe Sam any money or dope, he stopped feeling paranoid and waited for an answer.

"Yeah," Sam smiled and James relaxed. "Got to get going." He indicated Michael with a backward jerk of his head. "What are you doing here? Did you find some money you haven't lent Michael yet and thought you would drop it over?"

James knew he should be pissed off with Sam for being so smug and so derisive, but he was smiling at the accuracy of Sam's observation before he could help himself. It wasn't as though Sam's own brothers didn't have their hands in his pockets, after all.

"Give me a break," he retorted. "He's already cleaned me out."

"You're not the only one." Sam was shaking his head and his expression was serious now.

James felt caught off-guard. "You didn't lend him any money, did you?"

Sam coughed his scorn. "No way. Your dad did, though."

"That'd be right. Dad's always bailing Michael out."

"Not this time." Sam's tone held a note of anger. "This time he's even cleaned out your father."

"What?" James was unbelieving. "No way."

"Ask your father." Sam thumped James on the arm. He liked his wife's younger brother but was frustrated by the way he allowed Michael to take advantage of him. "I'll be home tonight. Drop in if you want." Both men knew that this was an invitation to smoke dope in Sam's garage.

James watched Sam hurry to his truck and drive away before he could collect his thoughts and ask any more questions about his father. He looked towards Michael's garage, wondering if he would get any answers there. But what would even be the point of asking? James had come to Michael's seeking company but now he longed to be alone. He turned around and headed back to his car.

*

"Eve's coming!" It was 5.30pm on the Wednesday before Christmas and Jim and just arrived home after work. It was a beautiful, early summer evening in daylight savings time and the twilight was a few hours off yet.

Jim strode into the house and delivered his news triumphantly. His younger and only sister, Eve, had called him a few hours earlier from Brisbane and Jim had been elated ever since. He found Mary in the kitchen, where she was preparing their habitual 5.30 drink-and-nibblies: a bottle of Clare Valley cabernet sauvignon, and an assortment of cheeses and crisp breads. Mary looked forward to this part of the day – they both did – where they sat together and discussed the events of their individual lives. Sometimes the listener, usually Mary, would comment; mostly not, though.

Mary felt a pang of annoyance at Jim's announcement. Just the sight of him, all buoyed up and eagerly anticipating the arrival of his sister "flipped her switch". Awaiting his return, she had been happy and content – even carefree. Now she felt overshadowed, like an unsuccessful contestant at a beauty pageant.

"Eve," she forced herself to say, since Jim was waiting for her response. "What's she coming here for?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mary could hear the accusation in her tone. She hoped her husband would credit her question with a curiosity she did not feel, but a glance at him, engrossed with opening the bottle of wine, told her that he wasn't paying any real attention to her. Mary was partly relieved, and partly further annoyed by this observation.

"Apparently Martin is in Brisbane with his new young wife and Eve wants to get away from it all." The neck of the bottle relinquished its hold on the cork which Jim now inspected. He took a cracker loaded with camembert cheese from the plate Mary was holding as she passed him by, on her way to the front patio.

"Bring the wine, would you?" she instructed him. Jim picked up the bottle again and the two lead crystal glasses already set out, and followed Mary outside.

On her way out to the front patio, Mary took a Evep breath. "Don't say anything, don't say anything" she advised herself, knowing she couldn't win this one. She never had and she never would. "Don't set yourself up for a fall."

Jim was the eldest of five children. The four boys were all good looking, artistically talented like their mother, and very intelligent. Jim was the eldest and had parchment to prove his intellectual ability. He was also arguably his mother's favourite. Favourite son, that is. Eve, the only girl of the five, and the middle child, was everyone's favourite. Eve had thick, wavy dark hair and creamy skin. Her almond shaped brown eyes were liquid and her dark lashes long. She had dimples and full, red lips. Her well-proportioned figure had not been lost – not even after having six children. Mary, behind Eve's back, had unkindly questioned whether this was not due to some surgical intervention after the birth of the last baby, in the form of a tummy tuck, perhaps – but in fact it was not. Eve, and all her siblings, had naturally strong, lithe bodies and they didn't overeat. The Keats kids were raised on steak and it tended to fill them up. With a belly full of protein, none of them was ever hungry, and never developed a taste for cake or biscuits. Eve's adult diet had emulated her youthful habits and although she had matured and changed shaped since she was sixteen, those changes had been voluptuous rather than thickening.

Mary had also had six children. One had died just days after her difficult birth. Nevertheless, Mary had had the same number of pregnancies as Eve and was, in fact, more classically beautiful than Eve had ever been. But Eve had a sparkle – a wild streak that Mary had not. And it attracted people to her. Men, women, children – everyone was drawn to Eve. Some people have to learn a role and act in a film to be a star. Eve was a star every single day of her life.

Mary sighed. Why did Eve make her so uncomfortable? Eve had always valued her as a sister-in-law; Eve's ex-husband, Martin, the father of her six children and her husband for more than 20 years, had always shown a great preference for Mary over all the other relations. And yet, even as she posed the question to herself, she knew the answer. "It's because of Jim," she admitted to herself. "I hate Eve because Jim idolises her."

And that was it. Jim admired and idolized his little sister so much that Mary felt her own place in his heart had been usurped by an undeserving rival. And the fact that she was beautiful, talented, funny, interesting, glamorous – that all just made it worse, and made Mary more determined to undermine her hold on Jim – on everyone. But it was like trying to hold back the surf. Why couldn't Mary just enjoy Eve, like everyone else?

"I suppose this is how Roxanne feels about Louise," Mary considered the possibility with a jolt. "That would explain a lot, actually." And she determined to be gracious, and to beat down the green-eyed demon in her heart.

So, Mary sat in the cool of the patio, surrounded by the ferns and shrubs she had planted, drinking wine and listening to Jim's description of the dinner party they would give when Eve arrived. She took Evep, silent breathes of the fragrant summer evening air, and had almost lulled herself into a state of semi-acceptance.

"You can't blame her for not wanting to be part of the whole 'meet my new wife' Christmas with her ex-husband."

"Martin." Mary thought calling the brother-in-law they'd known for a quarter of a century the 'ex-husband' sounded ridiculous.

"I've always like Martin, you know that." Jim said.

"Well, Eve must have known that this was on the cards when she divorced him." Mary tried to mitigate any sympathy Jim was inclined to feel towards Eve.

"I think Eve divorced Martin out of revenge," Jim smiled.

"Can you blame her? So would have I!" Mary couldn't stop herself from defending Eve's position on this occasion. "Fancy finding out your husband has a young girlfriend!"

"Well, he is a very wealthy man, and he probably had a lot of temptation." Jim was more inclined to see Martin's side of things on this issue, and offered his explanation almost wistfully.

"Well, I hope he is rich enough to support two families, because that is what he has signed up for now." Mary shook her head.

Jim didn't understand. "What do you mean? Candy doesn't have any kids."

"Not yet. But what young woman gets married thinking that she won't be having a family of her own? If Martin wanted to get married but not have another family, he should have married someone his own age."

Jim laughed. "Even Eve isn't his own age. She's ten years younger than Martin."

"Yes, I know, but that was different because it was a first marriage for both of them and neither of them had any children."

"So you think Candy will want to have a family with Martin?" Jim mused on this point.

"Of course she will!" Mary couldn't believe Jim's naivety. "Why else would she marry a 60 year old man?"

"You mean a 60 year old millionaire, don't you? There could be other reasons."

'Like money?"

"Money," Jim agreed, "and she might be in love with him."

"Young women who are looking for a life partner fall in love with men who represent an attractive future. Few women look into their future and see no children of their own. For most women, a childless life is something to be avoided – not desired."

"Sure," said Jim thoughtfully. "Yes, you are probably right you know." He took another cheese cracker.

Mary took a Evep breath and waited for Jim to settle himself comfortably. "I know about Michael's business problem," she said.

Jim looked at her expectantly. He knew that by saying this, Mary knew that he had gone guarantor for Michael.

Mary continued. "So I took the precaution of having this house transferred into the name of a family trust." She paused to let Jim think about that. "The Keats Family Trust. It's a discretionary trust."

"Oh. Did Louise -?"

"Yes."

"But wouldn't I have to sign something?"

"I've been signing your name for years." Mary scoffed at his question.

"There is still the land," Jim said.

"Well, not really. I mortgaged it to 90% of its value and transferred that amount into the family trust, too."

Jim looked at Mary as though he had never seen her before. He was having trouble taking in this information. His wife had forged his signature; taken complete control of their finances and virtually declared their eldest son bankrupt by truncating his ability to draw on his father's financial resources to prop up his own. He felt ill – with relief.

"Oh," Jim sighed. "Thank God."

*

Louise was quite touched when her father called her to invite her to dinner. "Does Mum know?" she asked, only half seriously.

"Well, she's invited too, of course, but it is going to be a surprise."

Louise was rendered momentarily speechless by this almost-admission of surreptitious planning. "Surprise?" She couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Won't she become suspicious when she is doing the cooking and setting the table?" Now she was openly laughing.

"I'll be doing the cooking – don't you worry about that!" Her father sounded almost huffy over the phone. "All you and Mary and everyone else have to do is show up."

"OK." Louise was chagrined.

"And wear something nice." Jim hung up.

"Cheeky bugger!" Louise thought. "How dare he order me to wear something nice?" But she wasn't really surprised. Jim, like most men and all artists, was very visually oriented and he had often reprimanded Louise for her lack of attention to personal grooming. She had never seen her father without a shirt and never unshaven. Not that he was a fashion plate. If not a suit, then a tweed jacket and salt-and-pepper trousers pretty much defined his "look".

Louise kicked herself for not asking her father who else had been invited. Had he drawn Marie out of hiding? "I guess I'll just have to wait and see," she thought. It was only then that she remembered that her parents had not yet seen the "New Lou".

So, at 7 pm that evening, the Thursday before Christmas, Louise presented herself at 75 Pridham St. Michael's car was already there, as was Sam's work vehicle. Louise flicked back her new fringed hair and entered the house.

Everyone was standing in the lounge room chatting to each other over the Dave Brubeck disc Jim had playing. Roxanne was with Mary and Jane; and Marie was talking to Michael. Sam and James were speaking in low tones, punctuating their conversation with meaningful looks and manly nods. Jim saw Louise first and was by her side in an instant.

"Louise!" He announced, then hugged her exuberantly. "You look like a million dollars!"

"Thanks, Dad." Louise was both pleased and irritated by her father's response to her new "do" and fashionable clothes. Then Jim looked at her, seeming troubled. "You're not going out somewhere, are you?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her into the room as the others took in the change in Louise's appearance.

"No, Dad," Lousie assured him. "You told me to get dressed up, so I did."

"God!" Jim laughed. "If I'd known that was all it took, I'd have said the magic words years ago!"

Louise had to fight the urge to say something unfavourable about Jim's appearance – and then leave. But to do either of these things would give Roxanne, and even possibly Jane, far too much pleasure. So instead she stood up straight, took a Evep breath, and shook back her fringe with a flick of her head. She turned to see both Roxanne and Jane taking her in from head to toe.

Had she gone too far? Louise was suddenly gripped with anxiety that she would not be able to pull it off. The dress she wore was made of a summer weight turquoise linen blend. It had a Chinese collar and tiny cuffs instead of sleeves at the shoulders. In the middle of the front of the dress, the bodice and skirt sections were connected by a 3" flat wooden ring, and the dress was cut away right around the waist.

"Hi Louise," Jane was looking not at Louise but at Roxanne as she spoke. "What's happened to your dress?"

Roxanne wasn't to miss this golden opportunity to ridicule Louise either. "It gives new meaning to the words '20% off', doesn't it?"

Marie drew up beside Louise at that moment. "Oh, I don't know." She walked around Louise, appraising her ensemble. "If I had a wasitline like that, I wouldn't cover it up either." She turned to face Roxanne and Jane and asked "Would you?"

Louise was keen to respond to Marie's generous lifeline. "Thanks, Marie. You look great! I love your hair!" And she air-kissed her youngest sister to avoid smearing her with lipstick.

"Dong-dong-dong!" It was Jim. "Everyone – that's the dinner gong. Shall we all take our seats in the dining room?" Everyone obediently left the lounge room, crossed the entrance hall and entered the dining room. It was a large, oblong room. The left hand side wall was all windows and overlooked the front garden courtyard. The opposite wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, tightly packed with books of all colours and sizes. These shelves were truncated by another door, and a large sideboard stood against the remaining unshelved portion of the wall.

At the far end of the dining room, opposite the doorway everyone was passing through now, stood a large, old, upright piano, on which stood a number of silver framed photographs:- Mary, in her debut dress; Jane, holding her first child; Roxanne, on her wedding day; Louise, in her academic gown and Marie, at her high school formal. Everyone filed into the room under the friendly hum of trailing conversation. Each one chose their seat as preferentially as possible, some surreptitiously arranging themselves away from another; others openly declaring themselves to be sitting by their favourite.

Mary sat with her back to the piano, looking down at the broad table to her husband who occupied the opposite end.

"How come you are sitting there, Mum?" Marie asked loudly so she would be heard – and because she had a strong voice. "That's Dad's chair."

Mary shook the large, white linen napkin before placing it on her lap. "Not tonight," she answered. "Tonight Jim needs to be closest to the kitchen."

"That's right," Jim agreed. He entered the dining room brandishing a bottle of claret and wearing a gaily printed kitchen towel slung over one shoulder. Jim's face, normally a high colour, was tonight quite florid – testament to the "slaving over a hot stove" aspect of his labours. He poured an inch of wine into each crystal goblet passing from one to the other like a honey bee in a flower bed.

As Jim fussed around, enjoying the event he had devised and created, Jane turned to her mother. "Do you know why he invited us all over tonight?"

Before Mary could answer, Marie interrupted. "Invited? I was ordered to appear!"

Mary shrugged. "You'll see," she said. But Mary knew exactly why Jim had arranged the evening, and by doing all the work himself, he'd ensured that Mary couldn't put it off.

Louise thought she had that much figured out, too. She leaned towards her mother and whispered conspiratorially "Is this a supplementary dinner to make up for the fact that you aren't having Christmas dinner here this year?"

Mary picked up her wineglass and smirked at Louise. "Of course it is." She took a sip. "That – and we were watching that restaurant show on TV last week. He has been practicing his serving skills ever since."

At that moment, Jim appeared wearing what could only be described as an armour of crockery. Plates were arranged like china scales up his arm – four up his left arm, and two more dishes in each hand.

"Woah!! All eight of the guests were momentarily silenced by the peculiar spectacle of Jim in Maitre De mode. They watched, enthralled, as he delivered each plate to its recipient in precisely the right order so that the overall balance of the remaining meals was not disturbed. When the last meal had been dispatched, he announced with aplomb "Dinner is served."

"Hey, Dad," James did not recognize the meal set before him. "What's this?"

"It is chicken morengo. But for those of you more accustomed to food groups available at franchised outlets, allow me to explain." Clearly James was not the only one curious to know more about this scented carnal offering, because everyone paid attention.

"Here we have a selection of chicken joints – legs, thighs and wings – I threw out the breast meat because it is dry, tasteless fodder suited only to feeding cats," Jim paused while various members of his audience voiced their dissent, then continued, "which have been poached in tomatoes, red wine and stock made from onion, celery and the limbless carcass of this fine bird.

"Dad!" Marie dared to stop him mid-stream. "Do you have to be so graphic?"

"Be quiet and listen," Jim ordered. "You might learn something. Poached, along with Black olives, evidence of which you can now see adorning the dish. I have served this culinary treat on a bed of polenta and, as a side dish, we have potatoes au gratin. Scollaped." With that, he removed the cloth from his shoulder and took his seat.

The ensuing six full minutes of silence provided him with the only evidence he required that the meal was, in fact, delicious. The only sounds to be heard during this interval were those made by the silver cutlery meeting the Royal Albert crockery and the bone handles of the knives being ocassionally rested against the plates.

"Jim – this is fantastic!" Roxanne wanted to be the first to acknowledge her father-in-law's accomplishment, knowing how much he would appreciate the compliment.

"Yes, it's not bad," Jim was modest.

"It's really good, Dad," Louise agreed.

"Well, you've done it now." Mary's eyes were bright – with wine? Or malice?

"Done what?" Jim was puzzled.

"Proven you can cook!" Mary was triumphant. "I've been doing all the cooking for the past 30 years. Now it's your turn!"

Jim sighed and addressed James, who happened to be sitting to his left. "That's so typical of your mother," he began.

"Before you two get into a three hour argument over the never-ending battle on who has worked the hardest," Jane was determined to satisfy her curiosity, "Please tell us why we are here!"

"I'm here for the food," said Michael between mouthfuls.

"Us, too," Sam and James agreed.

"Oh, all right," James complied reluctantly. "There are two reasons we are gathered here tonight." Once again Jim held the floor. He was in his element. "This is better than Christmas," he thought. He looked around the room and saw his five grown children, two in-laws, and felt proud and happy. "The first reason is to acknowledge our wonderful family and to pay tribute to the fact that we will soon – this July, in fact – be welcoming our first Keats grandchild into the family." Jim paused to raise his glass to Roxanne. Michael, sitting beside her, glowed with happiness and pride.

Louise watched Marie, wondering what would happen now. At last Marie spoke.

"Actually, Dad, you are only partly right."

Jim looked at Marie. "Why is that?"

"Well," Marie spoke carefully. "We will be welcoming the first Keats grandchild, but it won't be Roxanne's."

Now everyone looked at Marie.

She continued. "I'm due in June."

Louise broke the shocked silence that followed Marie's announcement as gently as she could.

"But Dad," her tone was soft but clear. "You said there were two reasons?" Jim looked at her without comprehension, so Louise prompted him. "That we were here tonight?"

At that moment, the doorbell chimed.

"Yes," said Jim absentmindedly. "That will be the second reason now." And he left the room to answer the door.

# Chapter 15

Jim was barely out of the room before Roxanne leant across the table towards Marie and spoke, her voice dripping with ghoulish horror and relish.

"Who's the father?" She hissed.

Roxanne, Jane and Mary looked expectantly at Marie, not daring to speak, awaiting her response.

But Marie had anticipated this expression of interest – not in her well-being, but in the personal details. And she had already decided to extract as much value as she could from her situation, and their curiosity. So Marie sighed, and looked across at Louise. "Shall I tell them?" She asked.

Louise was unprepared for this acknowledgment of her inclusion in Marie's confidence, and had to stifle a nervous giggle. She could see that Marie was "working the crowd" but had not anticipated the brazen way she was buttering them up.

"Do you know?" Jane demanded of Louise. Mary and Roxanne looked as though they had been bitten by the tooth fairy.

"I asked Louise not to tell anyone," Marie responded for her.

"So, whose is it?" Roxanne wanted to know. Then, true to form, she asked indelicately, "Do you know?"

Marie scoffed. "Do you?"

"What?" Roxanne almost shrieked. "Of course I know – I'm married!"

"So what?" said Marie. "Plenty of married women get pregnant to other men and pass the baby off as their husbands."

Jane nodded. "That's true, actually," she said. "I knew a girl in Florey –"

"How dare you!" Roxanne spluttered.

"You started it." Marie's voice was hard. "Just try to get your mind out of the gutter, Roxanne. Single women become pregnant in exactly the same way as married ones do."

Before anyone else could say anything more, Jim returned. "Look who's here!" He announced, apparently having put aside for the moment that his youngest and favorite unmarried daughter had just announced her pregnancy. "Eve!"

And Aunty Eve appeared behind him.

"So –" Eve smiled broadly and said in her inimitable, raspy voice, "How are ya?" She laughed happily as she clasped each one in turn in a big hug, telling them how great they looked even as she sought the eyes of the next person she wanted to greet.

"God, Jim – I haven't missed dinner, have I?" Eve pretended to be querulous while Jim found and shone her a wine glass.

"No, no – I just wasn't sure when you would arrive."

"Good!" Eve sipped the wine gratefully." Ahh! I needed that!"

Unsure of how to negotiate the now shark-infested waters of relevant family discussion, Mary and Jim tacitly agreed to carry on as though no announcement of an unplanned pregnancy had just occurred. The conversation, therefore, followed the general family catch-up: How were her teenage children doing at school? How long was she able to stay in Canberra? Where were the kids? Were they with Martin?

"Speaking of Martin, you never told us why you divorced him" Jim asked Eve as he refilled her glass. "I hope enough time has passed for me to ask you. What brought that on?"

Eve sat back in her chair and looked at her brother squarely, her chin raised. "He gave me VD," she answered.

"Shit." said Michael, pretty much voicing the collective reaction. He then tried to hide his embarrassment with a nervous smile, and sank down as low as he could into his chair, possibly to avoid the flack he felt sure would be directed at all the husbands in the room.

But Eve laughed and refilled her glass from the bottle Jim still held, handing it back to him when she was finished. "What an idiot!" She looked at Mary. "Can you imagine it?"

Mary shook her head, real sympathy in her eyes, as Eve continued.

"I move to a foreign country with my first baby so Martin can be near his parents – people who were never nice to me and treated me as though I was lucky to have married their golden son. I leave my mother, who dies while I am away." Eve pauses and shakes her head. "His parents are still kicking on though." Eve pauses again to sip her wine. No one speaks and she goes on. "I learn a foreign language; I have four more sons before finally having a daughter of my own. I miss 20 years with my family in my country, and all the while Martin is living like a playboy. And me – the idiot – has no idea! Even when I am at the doctor's surgery and he is telling me I have VD, I had no idea what he was saying. Imagine what a fool I felt! Ain't love grand?" And she laughed her signature cackle.

*

Louise had always been intimidated by Aunty Eve. Intimidated was probably the wrong word, since it implied a malevolent purpose which Eve did not possess. But Louise felt overshadowed, dominated, obscured by her aunt in a way no one else made her feel. Even now, as Eve exposed her most personal pain – a thing most women would have been embarrassed and ashamed of and tried to hide – even in this situation, Eve seemed brave and heroic.

"She doesn't take it personally," Louise thought to herself. "Her husband, whom she loves and to whom she has been a faithful wife for 21 years has behaved dishonorably, but Eve has done nothing wrong and she refuses to feel shame." Louise marvelled at this personality trait and decided to reinforce a similar attitude in her own life. Why should a person feel shame for the actions of a relative? They weren't responsible, nor did they have any control over the behavior of any of the members of their family.

When she had walked in tonight, she was classic Eve – the family icon of female success. Blonded hair; dark eyes framed by dark lashes and fashionably thick, shaped brows; cherry-red lips and a slim, taught figure. She might have walked off a photo shoot. She was perfect.

Her six children were perfect, too. Jason, 20, was second year medicine; Adam, 19, was first year surveying and the remaining four were still in boarding school, all doing well.

*

Eve had met Martin when he was a university student at St Lucia in Brisbane and she was in her senior year of high school at All Hallows. He was 8 years older than she, but since he was not a big man and very handsome, the age difference only added to his general allure for the 17 year old Eve. She had long, thick, wavy black hair that Lila had lovingly trained to fall into loose ringlets. Eve had been standing at the bus stop in Eagle St, carrying her artwork portfolio, after attending an interview for acceptance in the design program offered at the Brisbane technical college in the coming year. Although it was only 5.30, it was already becoming dark. Brisbane enjoys beautiful weather but, like most sub-tropical locales, only about 5 minutes of twilight before the bright daylight abruptly ends and the thick, dark night takes over.

Martin had recently taken possession of a red Jaguar sports car his father had given him as a reward for doing well at university. Actually, he hadn't done all that well – 2 credits and 2 passes – but it was his final year and he would graduate on time. It was an early graduation gift. Martin had been surprised to receive it, since he had thought he would be called back to Hong Kong as soon as his studies were over. But the arrival of the car made him think otherwise. Why would his father provide him with such an expensive – and non-transportable – gift, if he was going to ask him to give it up and fly home?

Whatever the reason, Martin was delighted by the car and had tired of driving around the campus roads and St Lucia, so had ventured down Coronation Drive, past the Regatta Hotel and on to Queen St. It was 1965 and the car had attracted a lot of attention. Martin already knew he was a nice looking man. The only thing more attractive than a nice looking young man was a nice looking young man driving an expensive car. It was like saying "I'm rich, too."

And the only think more attractive to a nice looking, rich young man than an expensive red sports car was a beautiful young woman.

He saw Eve immediately and she of course noticed the car when it pulled into the bus stop. Martin was smiling, and as he was feeling confident and cheeky, had thought he might speak to this lovely girl. Then he noticed the school uniform she wore and knew that if he said the wrong thing, his chance would be lost. At that moment, the bus arrived and hooted angrily at Martin. He was forced to drive off.

All he knew about Eve was the evidence provided by the school uniform that she attended All Hallows Catholic girls' school.

The next day, he parked his car near the school gates and waited. He figured that the car was hard to miss, and that she would recognize it before she would recognize him. In fact, he reasoned, if she saw him without the car, she might not recognize him because he would be "out of context". And his ploy worked. From the crowd of 600 girls disgorging from the school at 3.30 that afternoon, every one of them saw his red car and one of them was Eve. She stopped, looked, and returned his smile and wave. Thus encouraged, Martin got out of the car and sauntered over to where Eve stood, now apart from the rest of the girls.

"Hello," Martin smiled at Eve. "I saw you yesterday."

"I know," Eve smiled back. "What are you doing here?" She looked back at the still thick stream of girls leaving the school to see if any of them were approaching this young man. Could he be someone's brother?

"I wanted to see you again," he answered simply.

"Oh!" Eve was flattered and delighted by this admission. "But I have to go straight home now." She sounded sorry to disappoint him.

"I know," answered Martin. He knew not to ask her if he could drive her home – he would be refused. And he only intended to be accepted. "But it's Friday night. Could I call on you at home, after dinner?"

Eve was torn. Her home was very, very humble and she was only able to attend this elite Brisbane school as a scholarship student. But what could she do? If he didn't meet her parents, she couldn't go out with him and she wanted to go out with him – as soon as possible and as often as possible. So, terrified by the prospect, she nonetheless agreed to invite Martin to her home and she gave him her address.

Eve got onto the bus, her heart full of excitement and dread. Her mother would understand and she longed to tell her about it.

When she got there, it was the usual bedlam. Mum was just in the door from work and the younger two of her five brothers were shoving at each other, jostling the kitchen table as they did so. The other two were having a loud discussion over the sounds of "Cry me a river" – a song her eldest brother, Jimmy, seemed never to tire of playing on the record player. The discussion seemed to concern the superiority of the Astin Martin over the Jaguar – Jimmy defending the Astin Martin, Danny the Jaguar. Rory and Shane had stopped pushing each other and were now kicking at one another's legs. Eve groaned. At that moment, the roar of their father's car was heard coming up the long, steep driveway which ended at the back door – the kitchen door. Everyone knew this sound and all noise immediately ceased. The music quickly stopped; the discussion ended and the kicking was immediately replaced with scampering as the boys ran to the bedroom. The car door could be heard slamming and a heavy tread quickly met the back steps. Dad appeared, carrying a heavy box of groceries and beer.

"Lila!" Dan Keats call for his wife was firm and expectant. Lila responded by putting down her cigarette and clearing a place on the table so her husband could set down the box. "Get me a beer, would you love?" He loosened his tie and pulled out the chair at the head of the table. Having purchased the contents of the box on his way home from work – namely, beer, bananas and breakfast cereal – Dan felt that he had performed a super-human task and could afford to relax.

Lila, who worked exactly the same hours as Dan, had yet to finish her daily chores. She poured herself and her husband a glass of beer, then began chopping potatoes, carrots, cabbage and onions on the side counter. As the vegetables were sliced, they were added to the already heating pot which contained a couple of bits of osso bucco browning in lard. The smell of the meat and onions frying was quite tantalizing. Eve looked around, smelt the thick musty odor of dinner, and regretted with every pore of her being that Martin was going to witness this dreadfully familiar domestic scene. The house was small and not very clean; and now everything smelled of cooking meat.

"What have I done?" she cried inwardly.

Lila had noticed her daughter's distress. She finished her meal preparations, turned the heat down, settled Dan in front of the television in the adjoining lounge room with a beer, the form guide for tomorrow's Warrick Farm racing line up, asking him to pick both a quinella and a trifecta, and asked Eve to come with her. She led the way to her daughter's room – the only one in which they would be assured of any privacy. The four boys shared two sets of double bunks in the biggest bedroom; Dan and Lila had the next largest room and Eve the smallest bedroom – but it was hers alone. Lila – a gifted seamstress – had decorated Eve's room with curtains and a matching bedspread of pale mauve organza on which apricot rosebuds with tiny mint green stems were embroidered.

"Mum," Eve's voice was urgent. "I don't know what to do." She was close to tears.

Lila gave her a hug. "What is it?"

Eve was holding her hand to her eyes, frowning away her tears. "I met a nice fellow and I invited him over. Martin."

Lila was very surprised. Eve had never had a boyfriend – not that Lila was against the idea. After all, she was almost 18. "That's alright, love," she said comfortingly.

"Tonight, Mum," Eve explained. "He's coming tonight!"

Lila stopped hugging her daughter. "When?"

"He said after dinner." Eve was openly weeping now.

Lila took her daughter's face in her hands. She immediately understood that this boy was special and that it had been his idea to call on Eve at home. She understood everything just as Eve knew she would. "Eve – stop crying. You'll make your eyes all puffy." Eve nodded obediently and shook off her tears. She could tell by her mother's tone of voice that Lila had a plan and it would be alright. "Now, put on a nice dress – the dark blue one would be good, with the new sling-back patent leather sandals, and I'll go and finish the dinner and clean up the kitchen." She looked at her watch. "After dinner usually means 7.30 at the earliest, and it is 6.30 now. We'll be ready." She kissed her daughter and bustled back into the kitchen.

She quickly dished up the meal and then addressed her family. "I need you all to help me tonight." The boys gave her their undivided attention, more from the novelty of Lila having anything to say to them at this time of the day, than from any real interest in what she was saying. Even Dan looked up from his paper.

"Eve has a young man calling on her tonight. Martin." Five men blinked their surprise, wordlessly. "And we need to make the house look alright before he gets here. I want everyone on their best behavior." Lila looked sternly at Shane and Rory, who were 15 and 13 respectively. "I mean it."

Jimmy, 19 and Danny, 18, immediately lost interest, naturally assuming that Eve's would-be suitor was some pimply kid of 17 and no one of any possible interest to mature men like themselves. However, they allowed Lila to order them about, one sweeping the floor while the other took out the rubbish and opened all the windows to let in the lovely fresh night air and let out the thick fug of meat and cabbage stew. Lila boiled some water and poured it over a bowl of freshly picked mint she grew beside the backstairs, and the room instantly smelled better. She ordered all the boys to put their shoes on, which they did with great reluctance, and told them to keep the television turned down very low if it must be on. Since the house consisted of 3 bedrooms and a bathroom clustered around a tiny hallway which led straight into the large kitchen, and the only other room was the lounge room off to one side of this kitchen, she couldn't really ask the boys to make themselves scarce. She couldn't even send them to their room, crammed to bursting as it was with all the beds.

This would have to do.

Lila set the younger boys washing the dishes and went to freshen herself up. She put on her newest dress of cream colored polished cotton with a large tangerine hibiscus print, brushed her dark hair back and twisted it into a French roll and re-applied her lipstick. Just as she was finishing, there was a knock at the back door.

The front door opened into the lounge room, but from the street, the driveway led directly to the back door so no one ever entered at any other place. Dan answered the door, in itself a rarity, and to Eve this action alone was acknowledgement of the significance of this visitor.

"Hello," Dan was courteous as he opened the door to Martin and shook his hand. "You must be Martin. Dan Keats."

Martin stood under the naked light bulb which hung outside the back door, and around which a large number of moths were circling, and smiled at Dan. He was holding a large bunch of flowers. "Hello," he smiled. "Yes, I'm Martin. Martin Yem."

Dan stood back to let Martin in. Lila came forward to meet him.

"Hello, Martin, please come in."

"Hello Mrs Keats." Martin continued to smile and handed the flowers to Lila. "These are for you," he said.

Lila looked around but couldn't see Eve anywhere. "Well, thank you Martin," she said. "How lovely!" She took the flowers to the sink and found a vase to put them in. Dan, meanwhile, sat Martin at the table and offered him a beer. Martin accepted but did not drink the glass of Four X Dan handed him.

"She didn't say he was Chinese," Rory hissed as he and Shane observed Martin from the doorway to the lounge room.

At last Eve entered the kitchen. She was determined to appear relaxed and happy to see Martin sitting in their kitchen. She wore her hair long, the top portion pulled back from her face and twisted into a tiny chignon at the back. She had pinned a fabric rose in her hair which was made of the same dark blue stuff as her dress, a sleeveless shift, pulled in at the waist with a matching fabric belt and buckle. Her pointed kitten-heel sling back sandals provided the finishing touch.

Everyone was speechless, including Martin. He stood up and walked over to Eve. "I came to see you," he smiled at her.

She answered him with a smile.

At that moment, Jimmy burst in through the back door. "Is that your car?" He asked Martin.

Martin smiled at Jimmy, whom he had not met till now. He walked over to him and shook his hand. They exchanged names. "Yes. Would you like to take it for a drive?"

Jimmy was taken aback by this totally unexpected and absolutely glorious offer. "Yes, I would," he answered.

Martin reached into his pocket and retrieved the keys. He tossed them to Jimmy who caught them effortlessly. "See you later," he said to Jimmy. Danny, Shane and Rory were already in the car by the time Jimmy climbed behind the wheel. They sat breathlessly as he carefully reversed down the dark driveway and onto the street. As Jimmy changed into first gear, they let out a "whoop" of collective disbelief and drove off, unimaginable happiness in each boy's heart.

From that moment on, Martin could do no wrong in the eyes of Eve's four brothers. His largesse and good manners were so highly regarded at 17 Stadcor St that Eve's fate was never questioned, nor cause for concern. Martin was the man.

# Chapter 16

Eve and Martin had begun married life in a tiny house which clung to the northern bank of the Brisbane River, almost underneath the city-side of the Story Bridge. Within a year, Eve had had her first child, Jason, and a month later Martin's father recalled him to Hong Kong.

At first this had seemed a glamorous adventure of James Bond proportions. Eve and Martin shared his father's home in Happy Valley, where he lived with Martin's mother, who was known to everyone as Mother, and his second wife, Little Mother.

Eve was surprised that "Father" openly had two wives, but even more surprised that the three of them shared a home. Sadly for Little Mother, after 20 years of marriage she remained childless, while Mother had had two sons and four daughters during her 30 years of marriage. Mother never spoke to Little Mother, who was only ever invited to join in the most informal of family events. Little Mother remained a sweet and passive childlike woman throughout her long and fruitless marriage, and Eve couldn't help noting that the arrangement didn't seem to bring much joy to anyone – certainly not to Father, who was forced to alienate himself from both wives to avoid Mother's anger, and largely absented himself from his own home, thereby avoiding the drama, and leaving the two women to ignore and be ignored.

But there were other more pressing issues on Eve's mind, so she didn't spend too much time pondering the marital relationship of her in-laws.

For one thing, she was shocked to learn that her existence angered almost everyone. Rather than being the exotic young wife, Eve was regarded as the interloper. The older women were incensed that their Prince, for this was Martin's position in their family, had married a foreigner. They were, after all, one of the wealthiest, most influential Chinese families in Hong Kong. It was tolerated by the Chinese women that their men lusted after the voluptuous European women, but family lines were not to be muddied. The Chinese had a special name for European women who married their handsome, rich young sons. It sounded like "gwaypoor" and Eve had heard it often enough to know it was not a compliment.

The other unpleasant surprise was that no one bothered to speak English so that Eve could join in family discussions. Even Martin spoke Cantonese when they were with his family. This infuriated Eve, because she knew that they all spoke English well, and this was yet another covert insult.

But Eve was clever and decided to bide her time. She knew that she, as the mother of an eldest son – Jason – of an eldest son – Martin – of an eldest son – Father – held a very powerful position as a woman in the Yem family – second only to Mother. So, she did what all the other "gwaypoor" did: she befriended the other European wives and learned Cantonese while shopping at the Stanley Markets.

*

One afternoon, Eve and Fay sat in the casual dining room of the Kowloon Hilton Hotel, resting after an exhausting morning shopping. This was a popular luncheon location for the nouveau riche white women of Hong Kong. There was virtually no ceiling and the balconies of each floor overlooked the courtyard in which they now sat. One wall, made entirely of glass, was a series of panes, rising 12 floors up the north facing wall of the hotel, and provided ethereal illumination to the beige marble floors and the trickling water feature cascading down the opposite wall. It was a beautiful room filled today with beautiful women.

"They should call this the 'gwaypoor room'," said Eve.

Fay laughed. "Have you ever noticed that every other European woman we meet seems to have a rich father in Johannesburg or London or Sydney or Auckland?"

"So they say," Eve sipped her fruity iced mocktail and surreptitiously checked out the other women seated at the tables around them. "But since we can't check, who's to know?"

"I know," Fay smiled. "I mean, what about Leeanne?" She indicated a woman their own age with very blonded hair who sat with a group of ladies at the table closest to the window. Fay was herself from England and had a delightful Liverpool accent. "She says she's from Scottish royalty, but believe me – Scottish royalty speak and sound just like English royalty. Leeanne sounds like her father was a wharfie." Fay exploded into giggles and so did Eve.

"Royalty?" Eve gasped through her giggles, which had graduated into guffaws. "What sort of royalty calls their kid "Leeanne"? They both almost fell out of their chairs laughing at this.

"The same sort of royalty who send their kids to Glasgow state school!"

*

It seemed that it was a bit of a status symbol among wealthy Chinese men to marry beautiful European women like Fay and Eve, and the Chinese girls of their own age would have nothing to do with either of them on this account.

Stanley Ho was the richest Chinese in Hong Kong, and lived next door to Martin and Eve in a much larger house, and with its own stretch of beach on the Headland at Shek O. Fay taught Eve to play Mahjong, and they joined a local Chinese group of older players. Fay had learned enough Cantonese to speak to the staff at her home, and now she and Eve learned a lot more of the colloquial language from these older women. Fay also took Eve to the Stanley Markets, where they haggled and called out to the vendors like locals. Soon they were. The Chinese stall owners laughed at the foreigners who patronized them, but Eve only laughed back and they liked her for that. Soon they were helping her learn some more colourful Cantonese phrases and when she took these back to her mahjong group, they would shriek with shock and laugh at her newly acquired vulgar vocabulary.

She had her third son, then a fourth, then twins – a boy and a girl. 20 years had passed and Eve spoke Cantonese like a native. She accompanied Martin on business trips and astounded his business associates with her wit, repartee and mostly with her ability to not only speak their language, but to understand any nuance they tried to slip by her in conversation. The Chinese are adept at the double entendre and Eve never missed one. This amazed and delighted those she met, but it antagonised and annoyed Big Mother. For one thing, she was horrified that Martin had married a European girl in the first place; and now she had to live with a daughter-in-law who did not know her place. Eve's place, of course, was far below Big Mother, and not at all equal to Martin, the eldest son. Eve did not seem to understand this and Big Mother had to continually find ways to show her how small she was to the family.

But Eve did understand, and though she longed for a daughter, proudly bore healthy son after healthy son. Every boy she bore elevated her position in the Yem family, the Chinese culture and closed the gap between her and Big Mother. Big Mother had only had two boys. The remaining four children had been girls, which may have accounted for Little Mother's appearance. But Little Mother remained inexplicably childless.

The first time Eve had revealed her language prowess had been a glorious moment. For some time, Eve had suspected that the comments Big Mother made to her daughters at table which resulted in extended bouts of laughter were aimed at her. She was too proud to ask Martin about it, and no one seemed concerned since they thought her unable to understand. But like the snow that melts in the springtime on a garden after a long winter, there arrived the day when Eve had enough knowledge of Cantonese to understand everything Big Mother said to her attending daughters – Teresa, Connie and Winnie.

"Let's see how the one (they called her "the one" Eve realized, probably to avoid using her name, which she would immediately recognise) likes tonight's feast," Mother said to her girls. "Tonight we are having snake and Europeans hate snake!" The four women giggled in anticipation of Eve's reaction. "Although since they eat pig's buttocks with eggs for breakfast, you would think snake would be a delicacy by comparison."

All this was said in easily heard Cantonese, since there was no need to whisper.

In fact, Eve had tried snake before and found it quite acceptable. She wouldn't cook it at home for the kids; but she would certainly eat it herself rather than offend an anxious host, which was how she had come to try it previously. So, when her plate was put before her, she smiled brightly and announced loudly in perfect Cantonese to her mother-in-law "Oh! Snake! What a delicacy! And so much more delicious than pig's buttocks!"

The whole room was silent. Martin looked at Eve as though his ears had deceived him. Big Mother had stopped breathing. At first Martin felt rage towards his wife. Why was she always such a trouble maker? Why did she always have to anger his mother? But then something in his heart gave way and he suddenly saw the funny side of the situation and he started to laugh. Eve laughed, too, for it was really very funny. The look on Big Mother's face was worth all she had tolerated. Eve laughed and laughed.

Big Mother had no choice. If she didn't laugh, she would lose face, and that was not allowed to happen in her own family. So, she pretended that it was a funny joke Eve had pulled on them all. Everyone laughed. And Eve spent the rest of the evening speaking to everyone there in loud, confident Cantonese, just so that there would be no doubt that she understood every word they said, and had done so for quite some time. For Cantonese is not a language one masters overnight.

After that, Eve was established as a force to be reckoned with and Big Mother no longer treated her like a retarded child. Martin's respect for his Australian wife grew, too, and anyone would have forgiven Eve for feeling comfortable with her lot in life.

But Martin was not comfortable. After 25 years of marriage, he was now 50 years old. He and Eve had always had a healthy sex life, but lately he couldn't seem to respond as reliably as usual. It worried him. He started going to strip clubs, where he was relieved to discover that his response was alive and well. After all, it requires no effort to watch a naked woman dance and nature can take its course without having to defray available energy. Then he visited a prostitute, where he found himself able to both stand and deliver, but unfortunately also took delivery of a dose of the clap.

What he didn't know was that he had passed this on to his wife before he realized that he had it.

When Eve presented herself at her own doctor with a "strange infection", the doctor explained what she had and the quickly outlined all the ways Eve might have caught the disease. The state of public lavatories was a disgrace, but Eve never used them. She thanked the doctor and left the surgery, armed with a prescription and a fair idea of the new rules in her marriage.

In any event, Martin had ascertained that the problem did not lie with him. He was simply not sexually attracted to his wife any more. Pornography worked well and he found this safe and satisfying.

Eve had, of course, noticed that Martin no longer wanted her in bed, and she missed their intimacy from a personal perspective and a physical one, for she had always enjoyed sex and at 40 was not quite ready to forego it forever, but she loved her husband and if he was struggling with an "older man" problem, she did not want to exacerbate things. She had tried to broach the subject with Martin once or twice, and even consulted a doctor herself and then discussed what she had been told with Martin, but on both occasions he had been very angry and refused to speak to her about it at all. So, although she was not happy to do so, Eve learned to live with the new rules in their relationship.

She might never have found out about Martin's affair, in fact, had not Martin made a silly error. Although a very rich man, he was always vigilant on economies and while they lived well, he would not leave the lights on in an empty room, nor buy the first Mercedes Benz he saw until he was sure he could not get it cheaper elsewhere. So, when he returned from a business trip to Macau and left the hotel receipt on the table so that he would not forget to take it to the office the next day or leave it in his coat pocket which was about to go to the cleaners, Eve was surprised to see only one hotel room on the company account. Candy, a young account manager with the firm, had accompanied Martin. Why were there not two rooms?

Eve immediately knew. So, this explained why Martin no longer sought her for marital relations. It was 1984. She collected the children's passports, transferred a large sum of money into her own bank account in Australia, and started to pack.

*

Mary had been right – Eve had divorced Martin for revenge. After giving him 5 sons and a daughter, and 25 years of her life, she had been replaced by Candy, who was, in Eve's angry mind, "an office flunky".

Eve could not stand the degradation. She had loved Martin and been faithful to him. She had never been jealous or nagging. Certainly her social needs were greater than her husbands, but that wasn't so unusual. She didn't force him to be part of her housewives' social group – and on the rare occasion they did entertain anyone other than family, Martin always seemed only too happy to play the benevolent host, since Eve had in fact done all the work and prepared the event without any effort required from Martin.

Eve was never sick, not even when she was pregnant. Having babies wasn't an inconvenience to her and she didn't let Martin lose any sleep when a new baby arrived, either. Eve always had a nanny on the spot to help with babies and toddlers. And now – aged 55 – he had found a sweet young thing to spend his evenings with. Well, well.

"Let's hope she's up to the task," thought Eve, gulping back her broken heart.

*

Dinner was quickly eaten. Jim marvelled at the speed with which the food disappeared, given the amount of time and planning that had gone into its preparation. He stopped himself from commenting on this, though, because he knew Mary would pounce on the opportunity to welcome him to her world of the woman's daily grind.

He couldn't refrain from eliciting some praise, though.

"Well, that was alright, wasn't it?" He smiled around the table but was met with blinks of non-comprehension.

"The meal," he explained.

As though a veil had been lifted and the trophy revealed, his children responded with a collective "Aah, yes!" and congratulated him on the delicious meal.

*

Christmas Eve-Eve, 1988. A work day in Canberra. A very short workday all over the world. The morning had started out with a milky sky, but the temperature was already warm so no one was fooled. The honeysuckle in the courtyard of Louise's "garden flat" perfumed the morning air and she had opened all the front windows as well as the door to let the scent in. It was fun just getting ready for work today. Louise played Alison Moyet "All cried out"; INXS 'It's the one thing"; and Police "Don't stand so close to me" as she dressed. And, because it was Christmas, the Vienna Boys Choir singing her favourite hymn "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen".

Louise dressed with regard for the office Christmas party, which had been planned, booked and paid for back in August, and was to be held at Sails lakeside restaurant in the Belconnen Town Centre.

Christmas Eve meant "no rules" with regard to office attire. She had three outfits to choose from and couldn't decide whether to wear the green mini skirt and white V neck T shirt; the fitted, light-weight watermelon pink linen suit; or the pedal-pusher light blue jeans with the same white V neck T shirt. In the end she decided to go for the watermelon pink suit, deciding that this was a "both ways" option. It was a suit, and therefore professional; it was watermelon pink, and therefore festive (and feminine); it was fitted and very flattering, and therefore perfect. And – it could take her "into the night" should social events turn that way.

Being Christmas, one never knew.

Even driving to work was fun. By the time Louise got to the office, the temperature had already hit 30. It was a relief to enter the air conditioned foyer, and find that iced pineapple juice, a gift from the Commissioner, Trevor Boucher, had been provided for the staff.

"Is this really for us?" George asked Leonie as she handed him a cup. Anna and Chris were already drinking theirs. Anna was wearing a tight black T shirt and a dirndl skirt in frayed denim. She had her hair up and wore dangly earrings which wobbled attractively when she moved her head.

"All for us. Enjoy!" Leonie smiled.

"Don't get too excited, Georgey boy," said Chris. "It's only pineapple juice."

"What's wrong with pineapple juice?" Louise had just joined the queue for juice.

Chris had noticed Louise immediately when she walked in. He hadn't seen her wear this colour before and it had attracted his attention, which he found disarming and confusing but pleasant.

He stumbled over his explanation because he wanted his first words to her to be in recognition of her nice appearance and not something negative about juice.

But he had to respond, so he said "Nothing's wrong with it. It's just the cheapest juice on the market."

Anna tried to insert herself into the conversation and flatter Chris at the same time. "Always the economist, right Chris?"

"No," countered Chris, looking at Louise. "I just like watermelon better."

"Whoa!!" screeched George to no one in particular. Then he wandered past Louise and addressed Anna from behind Louise's shoulder. "Hear that? Chris likes watermelon!"

But Chris didn't say anything. He did, however, watch Louise over the lip of his cup as he drank the disparaged juice.

Louise was surprised and confronted by Chris' uncharacteristically blatant statement. Either he was teasing her; or he had thrown down "the gauntlet of lerv". Louise shifted her weight to one leg and ever-so-slightly pushed out her chest.

Anna Sims, who had been holding court with both Chris and George prior to Louise's arrival, groaned, rolled her eyes and walked off in a huff. Leonie gagged her laugh and escaped to her office. Louise waited for Chris himself to run away, but he stood his ground and smiled at her. She felt unnerved. She smiled back.

"So," he said, finishing his juice and throwing the empty cup into the waste basket. "What are we doing after the lunch?"

Louise tried her hardest to be nonchalant. "I haven't thought that far ahead," she said.

"Really?" He looked her up and down, as if to say "I don't believe you!"

Louise laughed. "Well," she said lazily, "it's Christmas, so a few of us may meet after work at the Hyatt." She paused to sip her juice and flutter her eyelashes (navy blue Ella Bache waterproof mascaraed eyelashes). Anyway you can talk!" Louise lent over and flicked his light blue and lavender silk tie. "Looking very handsome today Mr Diamonds and Helicopters Hardy!"

Chris pretended to be embarrassed that Louise was referring to his recent Audit win against a money launderer and big-time drug dealer, involving the Fraud Squad and CIB aerial recognizance, but he clearly loved the name.

"I don't look as good as you." Chris looked at her with dark eyes.

"You smell pretty good." She said it before thinking. She meant it too. He smelt awesome. He smelt of Clean Chris. It was better than a bunch of flowers. She took a deep, slow breath. She smiled and closed her eyes and leant towards him, almost touching his cheek with her hair. He closed his eyes and smelt her hair. He put his hand on her waist and their cheeks met.

"Look," Chris was the first to speak. He dropped his hand from Louise's waist and shook his head slightly. "I'm driving to the lunch today, so you can get a lift with me if you want to leave your car here. I have to go now." And he cleared his throat and left.

Louise felt – good. She flicked back her hair with a jerk of her head and, lifting her chin, sauntered into the office.

*

Friday night before Christmas. It was just 4pm when Louise arrived at the Hyatt. Margot was already there and, as soon as she saw Louise, grabbed her arm to steer her to the Ladies.

"Thank God you're finally here!" she hissed.

Louise had been enjoying a moment of reflection over past, pleasant events and was unprepared for this assault. "What's wrong, Margot?" she asked, quickly back in the present. Then, seeing what her friend was wearing, she added "You look great, by the way."

Margot was wearing a low-cut pale blue synthetic jersey wrap-around dress with a white silk twisted scarf tied around her hairline, and a heavy silver Moari style necklace and matching dangling earrings. The dress complimented her figure and the colour accentuated Margot's already very blue eyes so that she did look quite gorgeous.

But Margot was too distracted to acknowledge Louise's compliment. "Lulu – Andrew is here." Margot was clearly distressed. "Gordon, too."

Louise didn't quite understand. "Are they with anyone?" She meant women and Margot knew that.

"No, no – just the usual bunch of guys."

"Then what's the matter?"

"I don't know!" Margot looked like she might laugh – or cry. "I don't know, Lou!"

"What you need is a drink, my friend." It was Louise's turn to take Margot's arm to steer her – out of the Ladies. "Just stay with Aunty Lulubelle and everything will be OK."

"I'm glad you're here Louise." Margot took a deep breath. "When I was here alone, and they walked in, I felt naked. I panicked." She took a deep breath. "Yes. A drink. You are right. I will be OK."

"Good girl. Now, put on some more lipgloss." Both girls reapplied. Then Louise looked at Margot. "Ready Steve?"

"Aha."

"Andy?"

"Yeah."

"Rick?"

"OK."

"Alright fellas! Let's gooooooooooo!"

They composed themselves before Louise opened the door and ushered Margot into the lobby. They crossed the marble hall and walked straight through the main reception area and directly out to the sunken lawn, to the outdoor bar which was always set up there on Friday night.

The trees had been adourned with tiny white Christmas lights, and all the handsome young male waiters, still in their usual black trousers and white shirts, had added red Santa hats to achieve a very festive and cheeky look.

"Oh, Margot!" Louise was delighted. "Isn't this great? I wonder what the poor people are doing?"

"We are the poor people Lulu!" Margot giggled.

"Not tonight my dear." Louise took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, expertly giving him some money with a gay smile. "Tonight we are the attraction." She passed one glass to Margot. "Cheers!'

"Merry Christmas," Margot responded.

No sooner had the girls tasted the champagne than Simon appeared at their side.

"Well hello!" He laughed his greeting and kissed each girls cheek.

"Simon! Hello!" Louise and Margot were pleased and relieved to see him. "Is Kim here?"

"No, she has her work Christmas party tonight." He addressed Louise. "I was hoping I would run into you. "Are you still coming to Christmas dinner on Sunday? We are expecting you."

"I'll be there," said Louise.

"Good, because –"

But Margot interrupted him. "Lulu – you are not seriously going to miss Christmas with your family, are you? I thought you were over all that."

"No way! If anything – it is worse than ever." Louise shuddered in mock horror. "Imagine it: Dad and Sam (who will, of course, be stoned) vying for dominant male status over the Christmas turkey; Jane not knowing whether to pander to Roxanne or Marie as they compete for being the most pregnant; and Mum sulking because she isn't the centre of attention. Michael and James will be just as stoned as Sam, and -"

"Stop, I get it!" Margot waved her hands in surrender. "So what are you having at your place, Simon?" Margot was keen to hear no more about the dysfunctional Keats clan Christmas.

But Louise stopped her. "Margot, it has just occurred to me. You come from a large Catholic family too."

"Do you?" Simon was surprised. "I always thought you were an only child."

Margot scoffed. "I wish!" she laughed. "I'm the eldest of nine."

Simon almost choked on his beer. "Nine? Nine what? Not nine children, surely!"

Margot nodded slowly. "Why do you think I went to boarding school?" she asked. "Mum and Dad had a live-in nurse for years, but it was still insane. And with Dad being a surgeon and the last babies were the twins –"

"Twins!" Simon was really shocked. "Boarding school must have been a haven."

"Yes," Margot agreed. "I wasn't the only one who chose boarding school. It was a relief for a few of us – Mum included, I think."

"Stop avoiding my question!" Louise wanted an answer. "Are your Christmases alright? How come you never have any dramas?"

"Oh, we have dramas, don't worry. But my brothers and sisters are all younger. Your family is closer together. There is a 4-year gap between me and Joanna. I think that is the main reason. No one is married yet. But a few of them are adults age-wise, just not personality wise and that causes problems. Mum would like to retire but she and Dad still end up paying all the bills for the rest of the kids constantly, which is pretty unfair considering I never asked them for anything. You know – all that causes friction. "

"Well, that's alright then," said Louise.

At that moment, Gordon arrived. "We sent you over here to get the girls, Si – not keep them all to yourself!" And he directed his absolutely magnificent smile straight at Louise.

Louise was caught out by Gordon's arrival. She hadn't spotted him when she had arrived and even though Margot had warned her that he was here, she had been distracted by the conversation and now, here he was, and she hadn't kept her tummy pulled in or checked her hair and –

"You look very" he ran his eyes salaciously over her body "juicy."

Louise couldn't help but giggle. "Yes," she agreed. "I do."

"They both stand out like neon signs." Simon was less inclined to be complimentary. "Only the Queen can get away with wearing colours like that."

"They look like a beach sky." Gordon was definite. "Just after dawn."

Margot tried to hide her smile. And Louise could see what Margot could not – that Andrew was approaching.

"So, we have moved camp, have we?" He leant down and kissed Margot's cheek.

This was a well-known action which could mean various things. It could mean "This is my sister-in-law"; or, it could mean "This is my best-friend's wife" or, it could mean "I have slept with this girl and I still like her." It could, and did, however only mean one of those things at any given time.

"I had no idea!" thought Louise. "Wow! No wonder Margot was nervous!" Then she started working back through her mind to try to pinpoint the exact date of the event.

Peter was the next to join the group. "Here you all are! Where's David?"

"He's just getting some drinks – he will be here soon." Andrew provided the information. "He told me to get a table and chairs." Andrew then turned to Margot. "Ladies, shall we?" He offered Margot his arm, which she took and they led the way across the lawn and up the stairs to a table on the verandah.

David was already there with champagne on ice. "Hello everyone!" He was his usual exuberant self. "I thought you were getting the table?" he inquired of Andrew.

Andrew shrugged in a helpless gesture. "Have you seen these women?"

"I have," agreed David. "They are quite ravishing."

"Are you coming to Simon's for Christmas too?" Andrew asked Margot.

"Are you going?" Margot was surprised.

"Well, I've been invited. Our sister had a baby in New Zealand so the parents have gone to see it. And it does seem as though Simon manages to keep all the cutest girls at his place, so I assumed you would be there."

Margot almost gasped. "I can't!" she whispered. Her voice failed her. "I have to spend Christmas with my family."

"What – all of it?" Andrew insisted. "You couldn't give them their presents, eat some lunch and slip over to Simons?"

Margot smiled. "Of course I could."

"That's alright then." Andrew put his arm around Margot's waist and drew her to him. Margot smiled up at him and her face glowed with happiness.

Gordon smiled at Louise. "So, it looks like we are all set for Christmas." He turned to Simon. "What would you like us to bring?"

Simon chuckled. "Looking at all of you, I really want to say condoms, but that would be vulgar." He chuckled like an evil child.

Margot and Louise blushed.

Gordon sensed their embarrassment. "No, condoms are good. I'll bring condoms. They are a good gift for someone who only gets lucky at Christmas."

Simon blinked and the girls laughed at him, and gave Gordon appreciative looks. But Gordon wasn't finished. "Would you like ribbed, coloured or edible?"

Margot and Louise were howling and even Andrew could not contain his mirth.

"Very funny." Simon said with a smirk.

The conversation became more general and polite. Louise looked at Gordon quizzically.

"What is it?" he asked.

Louise was torn. This was exactly what she had wanted – what she and Margot had wanted – ever since they had met the gorgeous McCarthy brothers. But for some reason she felt more insecure than ever before, and was it sensible to say something now and ruin a perfect evening – an evening she had dreamed might one day happen? She looked at Gordon again and sighed.

Gordon smiled. "I think I know." He looked at his drink, over at his brother and then at Louise. "Why the sudden change?"

"Yes." Louise was apologetic but felt she had to respond. "No!" She shook her head. "I don't know Gordon! This is all so nice – better than nice."

Gordon stopped smiling and spoke seriously. "Louise, I don't know; I like you. I really enjoy being with you. It feels right." Now he sighed. "I don't know if it will feel right forever, but I like this now. Can we just enjoy each other and have a great Christmas?"

"Yes," said Louise. "Let's."

# Chapter 17

Christmas eve. This year, Christmas fell on a Sunday, and the week began much the same as any other working work. Three weeks into summer, the sky was as blue as it could be – cloudless and bright. On Christmas eve, Louise was in Manuka for some last-minute gift shopping. She wanted to get her sisters and her mother real earrings from Dimitri's. In the past, she'd bought token gifts and put no thought into them. But something in her was clamouring for attention. Some new, inner sense that she, too, could be thoughtful; that she, too, could be the recipient of gratitude when the gifts were opened.

Perhaps if she was able to buy her family gifts they loved, they may even start to like her a little. Was that why her sisters always bought such terrific presents? Were they buying popularity? Louise knew they weren't. So why was she stooping to such tactics?

"Desperation", she admitted glumly. "And let's face it – my gifts have so far been inferior to theirs in every way."

It was true. Last year, Marie had bought her gold earrings. Louise wore them every day. They were unostentatiously gorgeous. And Jane had bought her a two piece summer suit which had quickly become the basis of her entire summer wardrobe. Even Roxanne had given her a set of good quality bath towels. Louise had been pleased and embarrassed because her own gifts were so unremarkable. In fact, she could not recall what she had given any of them.

She was moving from one glass display counter to the next when she saws that someone was there ahead of her. A man. He turned and smiled at Louise.

"Merry Christmas," he said.

"Merry Christmas to you!" Louise thought how nice it was to run into Aidan. "We seem to run into each other a lot!"

"Yes," agreed Aidan. "Lucky me."

"How are you?"

"Hungry, actually. Have you had lunch?"

"No, but I am here on a mission. You have interrupted me in the middle of a very important purchase."

"I have not." Aidan protested. "You are buying yourself earrings! And" – he lowered his voice and leaned towards her, "if you were more gracious when wealthy single men invited you to lunch, you might not have to buy them for yourself."

Louise laughed. "Wealthy single men?" she scoffed.

"Wealthy single men," Aidan nodded.

"What – did you win Lotto?"

"You really are the most annoying girl I ever met."

"How gracious of you to say so."

"Come on then," Aidan almost took her arm, trying to guide Louise to the door without actually touching her.

But Louise wouldn't budge. "I haven't eaten, but I really do have to buy some earrings – for my mother and sisters, for Christmas.

"Ah, yes," agreed Aidan. "Christmas. That's why I'm here myself. For my sister. Earrings," he explaining.

"Are you buying clip-on or pierced?" Louise was already perusing the counters once more.

"What?" Aidan clearly wasn't following.

Louise looked up from her task. "Earrings. Does your sister have pierced ears?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, you'd better get her a necklace then."

"Good thinking," said Aidan, relief evident in his voice.

"So," continued Louise, "Does she wear gold or silver?"

"What?" Aidan looked affronted.

"Women wear either one or the other," Louise explained. "What is her watch made of?"

"Her watch?" Aidan wasn't following Louise's logic.

"Yes. Is it gold or silver?"

"Oh, for God's sake! I don't know!"

Louise shook her head. "Well, you can't buy her jewellery. If you get her silver and she wears gold, she'll never be able to wear it because it won't match her other things."

"But I want to buy her a piece of jewellery. She just got engaged, and I want to buy her something she can keep."

"Then it will have to be diamonds," decided Louise.

"WHAT?" Aidan looked at her as though she was mad. "She didn't get engaged to me!"

"Calm down!" Louise patted his arm comfortingly. "You have no other real options for jewellery. You don't know whether your sister –"

"Cathy."

"- Cathy wears gold or silver; and you don't know whether her ears are pierced or not, so you have to get her something that will cause her to throw out all her other stuff if it doesn't match the stunning diamond bracelet you buy her."

Aidan suddenly stood up straighter and put his hand to his head. "Cathy showed me her engagement ring." He spoke as though from a dream. "It was diamonds set in silver."

"Probably platinum – but lucky for you," responded Louise. "Silver will match and is much less expensive than gold.

"So I should get her a silver necklace?" Aidan asked hopefully.

"You could," admitted Louise. "Or you could get her a string of pearls.

"Pearls!" Aidan nodded. "Perfect!"

After they had each made their purchases, Aidan a lovely single-strand pearl necklace, and Louise four sets of earrings:- clip on scrolls for her mother; coral studs for Roxanne; silver threads for Jane and hoops for Marie, they wandered onto "the lawns" and into one of the cafes there. The day was still bright with a pretty blue sky and becoming hot, so they sat indoors to enjoy the air-conditioning.

They ordered lunch and settled down to chat.

"Are you going away this summer?" Aidan asked.

"No. Are you?"

"No. I have to spend most of January on the farm. I still go in to work but we close the office and Dad is getting too old to manage on his own. If there is a bushfire, which there often is, I have to be around."

"Oh," Louise was thoughtful. "You know, you are speaking to someone who has never even holidayed in the country, so I can't make an intelligent comment. Sorry."

"That's alright. I do still come into town, though. I have a house in Deakin. Stradbroke St."

"Oh." Louise nodded. "I live in Aranda."

"Right."

They ate in silence for a minute.

Then Aidan continued. "I'm here mostly on the weekends, for a day or two."

"I suppose you'd like to take me out to dinner." Louise gave him an innocent look.

Aidan leaned in to her with a glint in his eye. "I would like to take you to Chez Daniel and feed you oysters and caviar."

Louise suddenly felt embarrassed, realising he had "out-brazened" her. "That would be lovely," she smiled. And this time it was she who blushed.

*

Christmas Day dawned crystal clear. The bells ringing at St Christopher's Cathedral were sweet and clear too. The Keats sat in their favourite pew – on the left side, fourth from the front, behind the Gilmours, whose favourite pew was on the left, third from the front, behind the McInerneys.

Jim sat down amidst his large family and decided to enjoy the mass. He would worry about going to Jane's for Christmas later. He had a car. He could always go home. He could even go to Simon's – Louise would be there after all, and it wasn't far from Jane and Sam's place. The choir sang the familiar Christmas carols and the cathedral smelt of old wood infused with incense. The priest said the words he said every Christmas and the congregation of regular parish families and Christmas-only Catholics responded with the words they always said. It was predictable, familiar and soothing. It was a reliable, safe haven in a wild and worrying world. There were no surprises here. It was always the same and always friendly and positive. A man could offer the sign of peace to his neighbour and not be frowned upon. He could sing a song about love and not lose his masculine status. He could let down his guard – the wall between him and the outside world which continually demanded that he have all the solutions in every situation.

What solutions? There were no solutions. Jim looked at his son-in-law, the father of his beloved grandchildren, and wondered whether he had already had his morning bong. He could see by the glazed appearance of diluted eyes that he had. Then Jim noticed that Michael and James looked that same. He closed his eyes. You can't think a swear work in church, he thought. He looked at Marie, his favourite and youngest child. At least Marie had no bad or illegal habits. But why this? She was so beautiful and so – so – well, she was beautiful. She could have made a lovely family with any lucky young man. Why did she have to throw away her chances like this? It was all such a waste. All the young men smoked dope and the most beautiful girls throwing away their futures – for what?

Jim realized that he would have to financially support Marie even more than he already did. How else would she survive with a baby?

And with all the young men stoned and all the beautiful young women having babies to unknown men, who was going to look after everyone? He could do it for a while, but who would do it when he was too old to support everyone?

Without any answers Jim realized his only escape from these disturbing thoughts was prayer. He chanted the prayers he had chanted 28 years ago, when Mary had given him the frightening but not altogether unexpected news that their family had begun. Things had turned out well then, hadn't they? His prayers had been answered, hadn't they? Had they? What had he prayed? Had he prayed that Mary was mistaken? Probably. Well, if his exact prayers had not been answered, he had been delivered from his fear. He had built a good life with his wife and young family in a new city. As a man approaching the end of his prime, the thought that the baton of financial responsibility remained with him was a burdensome one. How had he managed to raise two sons who were unable to achieve financial independence? What had he done wrong? He had given them both the same access to education he himself had had, although neither of them had pursued that education. He had given them a much more comfortable, stable home than the one he had grown up in. He had been a father they could be proud of, were proud of. But they had remained boys. They were big, strong boys; adults now, becoming fathers; not yet independent.

"If you are not financially independent, you are not independent in any sense." Jim thought. "How did I miss teaching them that? Can you teach that?"

*

When mass was over, the family congregated outside the cathedral to discuss arrangements for ferrying each other to Jane's for lunch.

"I'll go with Louise," Eve smiled as she made her announcement and linked Louise's arm in hers.

"Er, but – " Louise looked at her mother, who avoided her eye. "I'm not going to Janes' for lunch, Aunty Eve."

Eve's smile vanished and was replaced with a scrutinizing look. "Why not?" she looked around to see if this was generally known. "Where are you going?" Eve's tone suggested that if there was a better, more interesting place on offer, why hadn't she been informed?

"I'll drive you, though." Louise decided that this was her best option. "Let's go!" And, waving over her shoulder with a "See you there," she led her aunt to her car.

"I'm coming with you two!" Marie ran towards Louise and Eve, determined not to be left alone to defend herself. Since delivering her news, Marie had managed to avoid answering the phone or being left alone with anyone except Louise.

No sooner had they settled themselves in Louise's old Renault than Eve began.

"God, Louise – don't they pay you at the ATO? Why don't you get yourself a decent car?"

"Aunty Eve!! This is a classic car! It's a -"

"It is a second hand car, Louise," Eve corrected her. "It is not a classic car. Technically a classic car is a car that is at least 25 years old -"

"Only 9 years to go, then!"

"- AND is a special car to begin with." Eve lit a Silk Cut cigarette and wound down the window to exhale. "Don't forget my father was car salesman." She turned back to the girls, having lit her cigarette, and asked bluntly: "So, tell me: What is going on?"

Louise sighed. "Eve, I did not know you were coming, so I arranged to spend Christmas with friends."

"A boyfriend?"

"Well, a guy I like might be there, but essentially we are just all friends."

"Why wouldn't you spend Christmas with your family?" Eve was honestly confused.

Louise laughed. "I could ask you the same question!"

"No, no, no – it isn't the same thing at all. Don't give me that." Eve shook her head.

Louise tried to explain. "Do you know what it is like for me? Our family is now 3 married couples and 3 singles. And now that Marie has announced her pregnancy –"

"MARIE?" Eve dropped her cigarette and had to quickly retrieve it from the carpeted floor near her snake-skin shoes. "This Marie?" Eve looked from one sister to the other.

"Yep." Marie confirmed. "And thanks Louise. Very classy."

"Don't dump on me, Marie. Last night was bad enough, with everyone blaming me for not telling them as soon as I found out!"

"Oh be quiet you two." Eve was impatient. "So," she addressed Marie, "are you getting married?"

"No," answered Marie.

"Why not?" asked Eve.

"I don't think his wife would like it." Marie looked her straight in the eye.

Eve started to giggle. "Fuuuck!" she said. "Do Jim and Mary know?"

"Yes, we told them last night – just before you arrived." Marie gave a startled "No"! and in response to Eve's quizzical look, said "They know I'm pregnant, but not about the father. Only Marie – and you – know about him. So please don't –"

"Oooooh!" Eve closed her eyes and put her head back. "That explains why everyone was speechless with shock when I arrived! And I thought it was because of my grand entrance!" She chuckled some more. "So, what are you going to do?"

Marie sighed. "I'm going to have a baby."

"Good for you." Eve gave her a hug. Marie smiled at her. "Your mother will be alright – after all, she was pregnant when she got married."

"WAS SHE?" Louise and Marie were shocked now.

Eve laughed. "We all were! That's what being engaged was all about! Before the Pill, you got engaged and then it was OK to have sex because you were getting married anyway. Sometimes you had to bring the marriage forward a month or two, but that was the deal. You didn't think your generation invented pre-marital sex, did you?" Eve turned to Louise. "Didn't you ever check your birthdate against your parents wedding date?"

"Mum always told me I was premature," said Louise.

"You weren't the premature one, darling," laughed Eve. She turned to Marie. "So, what did they say?"

"Nothing yet – that was when you arrived and they sort of forgot about it."

"Well, I doubt that!" Eve giggled at her.

"And Roxanne is pregnant. Her baby is due a month after mine."

Eve laughed. She turned to Louise and said "Louise – you can't miss this Christmas! Come on! It's going to be a riot!"

"I can't face it, Aunty Eve. Now that Marie is going to 'enter motherhood', I'm the last girl in the family left single and childless – and I'm the eldest!" Louise shook her head.

"So where are you going to spend the day?"

"I have some single friends, men and women I know socially, and we are having Christmas lunch together."

"Louise!" Eve tapped her on the arm in mock remonstration. "Christmas is all about babies! Babies and single mothers!"

"What?" Marie interjected.

"Well, we all heard about Mary being betrothed to Joseph; and that he wasn't Jesus' real father – but do you remember them ever getting married?"

This thought silenced Louise and Marie, who mentally sifted through their old catechism classes.

"Besides, who cares? Every mother is a single mother when it all comes down to it. Sure, the father is useful if he is nice to the mother and supports the family, but otherwise women are on their own." She looked at Marie. "Anyway, you'll probably get married before too long. You're young and beautiful. 'Course you will."

Louise smiled at Marie in the rear-view mirror. "She's right," she said to Marie.

"Louise," Eve hadn't finished. "Can't you go to see your friends later?"

"I suppose I could," answered Louise.

"Good. Just ring them up; tell them your old aunty has arrived as a surprise and you will be there in a couple of hours." Eve stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. "Now, Louise, tell me: What do you want?"

"No, it's fine," answered Louise. "I'll come to Jane's with you first, and go to Simon's later."

"No, not that!" Eve spoke with a serious tone. "I'm asking you what you want. Do you want a career? Do you want to get married one day and have a family?"

"Well, those two things are not mutually exclusive you know," said Louise. "I'd like both!"

"I know you have a good job and you have finished lots of university courses, but what are you doing about the other thing?"

"Marriage?" Louise smiled at her aunt.

"Yes. Marriage. You are nearly thirty and you don't even have a boyfriend. And don't tell me you haven't met the right person yet." Eve sighed.

Louise didn't know what to say because she had been about to say precisely those words.

Eve continued."There is no 'Right Person', Louise. Either you want to get married and have a family or you don't. Men know even less about it than you do, so don't waste your time waiting for a guy to decide he wants to marry you and carry you off into the sunset. It'll never happen." Eve could see Louise was confused by this suggestion, so she continued her explanation.

"Look, people get married for lots of different reasons. Most commonly it is because they both want to start a family together and it is convenient to do so because it solves accommodation issues and social issues. You are well past the age when men see marriage as solving an accommodation issue. If you wait too much longer you will end up marrying a divorced man with 3 kids he only sees every second weekend but gives half his net income to so you won't be able to afford to have a child of your own."

Louise nodded glumly. "That's exactly what my old school friend Margot and I have begun to realize."

"So, it is a choice. If you want to have a family with someone, choose someone who is still single AND interested in being your husband – but do it soon!"

"But I can't marry someone I don't love!"

"Marry someone you like! Even if you did marry someone you love now – believe me, there will dawn the day when you are looking forward to his next business or fishing trip as though it was your 16th birthday!" Eve laughed at her own joke, then continued. "Choose someone who thinks you are a prize. Choose a man who will be a good provider; and who has the same morals and standards as you. Choose someone you wouldn't be ashamed of – who your children wouldn't be ashamed of. Someone who is kind and generous and appreciates having you in their life." She paused, waiting for her words to sink in. "But do it, Louise! Look, when you decided to become an accountant, what did you do?'

"What do you mean?" Louise didn't see where Eve was going with this question at all.

"Well, did you go to the supermarket to buy a degree? No. Did you go to the park to look for a job? No. You went to the university and enrolled in an accounting degree. You looked for qualified accountants to work with. It's the same thing with finding a husband. Men you meet in nightclubs are men who like to drink and watch girls. They are not looking for a wife – they are looking for a one night stand. Men who want to get married and have a family, hang out with other families and get involved with community things – doing things nice people like to do and hoping to meet a nice woman to do them with.

"Really?" Louise wanted to know was Eve serious.

"Yes," answered Eve. "Really. Don't look for fish up a tree." Eve spoke in a gentler voice. "I may be a divorced 45 year old but at least I've had a family and a long marriage – and I'm not the only divorced 45 year old around. We all get older – so what? The important thing is to live your life fully. Have a life! I'd rather be in my position than an old maid who'd played it safe and never made a mistake. You have avoided mistakes by keeping your options open – but that is becoming your mistake! You can only be married to one man."

"Yes, that's true," said Louise thoughtfully. They'd arrived at Jane's house and Louise was parking the car. They entered the house without knocking, knowing that they were expected and not wanting to pull anyone away from the fledgling party to answer the door.

"You go and make that phone call straight away," Eve ordered Louise. Tell them you'll be there in a couple of hours."

Louise nodded and smiled at her aunt. She watched Eve walk into the house, followed by a defiant looking Marie. Louise and went to where the telephone sat, on a table under a mirror in the entrance hall. She looked at her reflection and thought about what Eve had said.

When Simon answered she told him she'd be late. "I can't promise that the object of your desire won't be gone by the time you arrive," Simon warned.

"Oh, that's alright," Louise said. "I'll eat here."

"I wasn't talking about the food," Simon laughed.

Louise assumed Simon was tipsy, so didn't take too much notice. "Would it be alright if I brought a friend along?"

"Who?" Simon was suspicious. "Is she gorgeous, voluptuous and wearing a halterneck top?"

"Yeah, sure," laughed Louise.

"Fine then," Simon was clearly under the influence of something, thought Louise – Christmas good will; afternoon delight; booze. Possibly all three.

"Great," she said, and rang off with a promise to "see you soon".

*

When Louise joined Jane's Christmas party, she found the festivities in full progress. The kids had abandoned their many presents and were playing with the cat; Jim was attempting to surreptitiously examine the quite masterful retaining wall Sam had built in what Jim immediately recognized as the "correct" way: inserting rocks of various sizes so adeptly that no mortar was required to hold them together. Their weight, and interlocking dependency, held the wall together more securely than any concrete ever could. "You have to hand it to him," Jim acknowledged grudgingly to himself, "Sam is a master at his craft." He looked over at his son-in-law, who was relaxed and talking to both his brother-in-laws, Jim's sons.

Jim realized with a jolt that the only time he ever spoke to his sons was when he advised them or lent them money. The thought made him sad. Parenting wasn't meant to be lonely. Family was supposed to be about company.

"You have a beautiful family, Jimmy," Eve surprised him by appearing at his side. "When you and Mary moved to Canberra back in 1968, we were all proud of you for doing so well in your degree, and being chosen by Treasury but we thought you were moving to the end of the Earth." Eve smiled at him, waving her glass of champagne at the setting in front of them. "But it's a real city now and you have built this whole family here. You are one of the pioneers of this place, you and Mary. I couldn't have done it."

"What do you mean?" Jim was disbelieving. "You went to Hong Kong!"

"Yes, but Martin had family in Hong Kong – lots of family. You and Mary had no one in Canberra. You'd never lived anywhere other than Brisbane and no one from Queensland moved to Canberra in those days – everyone here was from Melbourne or Sydney."

Jim was surprised that his sister was so well informed of the original Canberran mix but he knew if he questioned her knowledge he would appear patronizing, so he just basked in her appreciation.

She continued. "You're only 50 years old; you have kept your family together; you are already a grandfather, and you have all these grown up people who regard you as the head of the family. It's a big accomplishment, Jim." Eve raised her glass to her big brother. "Your dream has come to fruition."

Jim laughed at the irony. "Oh, Eve, if you only knew," he said, shaking his head.

But Eve stopped him. "No, Jimmy, don't give me the big sob story about how it all really is. Who cares? You don't care! They don't care! If the world ended tomorrow, right now you'd be happy, am I right?"

Jim hadn't thought of that before. "I suppose so," he smiled.

""Course you would," said Eve. She clinked her glass against his and said "Christmas in Canberra."

"Christmas in Canberra." Jim clinked her back.

*

Meanwhile, back at the rangehood, a matriarchal manifesto of major proportions was underway. Eve sensed something, so she suggested that Jim join his sons and she sidled over to the clutch of women.

"I can't believe you are going to have it!" Roxanne said to Marie, as though she was announcing the winner of the chook raffle. "If it was me, I'd get rid of it."

Jane blinked back her shock but couldn't speak. She looked at Marie and seriously wondered if the day was going to turn violent.

"So would I," added Mary.

"Well, why didn't you?" Marie demanded. "You were only 18 – 2 years younger than I am now when you got pregnant."

"I was married," answered Mary.

"No you weren't," Marie answered strongly.

"I was engaged," Mary was red and angry now.

"You were still only 18 and not married. Why didn't you have an abortion?"

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Mary was shaking with rage.

"Oh – so it's OK for Roxanne to speak to me like that, but it's not OK for me to speak to you the same way? Oh – I see!"

"My baby was wanted," Mary spat at Marie.

"My baby is wanted too – by me."

"And me," Jane could be silent no longer.

"Oh well," Roxanne shrugged, "at least Marie can always rely on Jim to pay her bills."

Eve laughed – or guffawed is probably a better description. She turned to Roxanne. "From what I hear, you haven't done too badly out of Jim either, Roxanne," she said.

"I have never taken a cent from Jim and Mary!" Roxanne responded indignantly.

"No – but you've benefitted when Michael has bled them dry!"

"That's got nothing to do with me."

But Eve was having none of it. "Oh yes it does, Roxanne. Jim paid off Michael's credit card – the major expense on which was a holiday to Daydream Island taken not by Jim; not by Michael – by you!"

"I never asked Jim to pay that bill."

"No, but you were happy to run it up knowing that you had no income to pay it yourself. And it isn't just the credit card – what about the car?"

Roxanne was becoming flustered. She looked from Eve to Mary and back to Eve. Mary remained silent. "Jim gave Michael that car."

"No, Roxanne – Jim tells me that he gave Michael the car a year ago in return for a promise that he would be paid $2,000 but Michael never paid him."

"It isn't worth $2,000."

Mary could remain silent no longer. "It isn't now – since you have put so many kilometres on it, driving it back and forth to Lake Cargelligo, and not had it serviced. But it was worth that much when it was handed over! And if Michael didn't think so, he shouldn't have agreed to pay us $2,000 for it."

"That's not my affair."

"But you're the one who drives it?"

"My husband gave it to me!"

Mary just shook her head and grimaced. "Well I'm glad that's how you feel about it Roxanne, because it will make me feel a lot better about what I've had to do."

"What's that, Mum?" Louise asked, thinking that this probably had something to do with the conversation they had had at Gus's.

"I've taken action which will mean that Jim can no longer slip Michael money whenever he feels like it. I've transferred all Jim's assets into a discretionary Family Trust. Money can only be re-allocated upon the signature of all three trustees – Me, Jim and Louise." Louise almost choked on her drink.

"Sorry, Louise, I was going to tell you," Mary conceded. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, sure, I don't mind. I'm just surprised."

"I had to be you," Mary said.

"Why Louise?" asked Roxanne.

"Because Louise is the only one we have never had to lend any money to," answered Mary.

"Only because she doesn't have a life," said Roxanne.

"I have a life!" Louise retorted.

"Oh yeah, I totally forgot – the life of a spinster public servant. I'll bet that really runs up the bills."

But Mary wasn't finished. She sensed that the New Order had arrived, and she wasn't part of it. This Christmas lunch at Jane's was an indication of what the future held. The baton had been passed without her realizing it. All at once, and without warning, Mary and Jim had been sidelined from "head of the family" status to an almost irrelevant position. Her home would become "Nana's house" just as her mother's home had been, when she was young and had babies. She and Jim would wait for invitations, and be available when people called on them. They already provided babysitting so that Jane and Roxanne could do things together – things Mary was not invited to because that would mean no babysitter. And they also provided interest-free, no-obligation-to-repay loans so that holidays could be had – but not by Mary. She wasn't invited to those either. The most they could hope for now was to maintain a position of respect, and perhaps enough of their own money to have an independent lifestyle like the one her children were enjoying.

And Mary realized that if she and Jim were to play any part in the future of the expanding Keats clan other than as child minders and financial backers, she would have lay down some ground rules, right now.

She turned to Jane.

"Jane, the house looks lovely and I am sorry that all this has to be brought up after you have gone to so much trouble. I know from experience how many weeks of planning you have put into today. But I have to say this now. It effects everyone." Mary then turned back to Roxanne.

"I don't care what bills any of you run up, Roxanne – just so long as Jim and I don't end up paying them. And don't say they aren't your bills. That's a cop out. How would you feel if Jim borrowed money from Michael and didn't pay it back and then I went on a glamourous holiday while you sat at home because you couldn't afford to go away? How would you feel if Jim took Michael's car – a car you had planned to sell for thousands of dollars so you could re-carpet the house – and never paid you for it? Would you say 'Oh, that's between Michael and his father; it's got nothing to do with me!' Of course you wouldn't! You'd be screaming the place down about how you'd been cheated and how we owed you money."

"Well, hasn't this turned out to be a lovely Christmas!" Roxanne sighed and touched her stomach. "I think I'd better go," Roxanne could see no way back to the high ground. "I can't be spoken to this way in my condition."

"In that case – I might stay after all!" Louise smiled her brightest smile.

"Good!" said Eve.

"I'll go and get Michael to drive you home, Roxanne," offered Louise.

"Jim!" Mary called as she walked towards her husband. "Can you move the car? Roxanne isn't feeling well and Michael is going to drive her home."

"Oh, sorry love," Michael jumped up from his seat and walked over, looking at his wife apologetically. "Aren't you feeling well? I can't drive you anywhere – I've been drinking."

"I'll drive myself home then," Roxanne was sure that this statement would cause everyone to worry about her.

"Oh, OK," said Michael, giving her a kiss on the cheek. On the one hand, he thought it odd that Roxanne should miss Christmas dinner; but on the other, he had long since given up second-guessing his wife's actions and he knew better than to question her decision in front of anyone, if at all. "I'll get Mum and Dad to drop me home straight after lunch. Have a nice rest! I'll bring you back some Christmas pood!"

But Jane was too soft-hearted to carry it off. "Or, Roxanne, you could just take a nap up in our room."

Roxanne was blinking away tears as she looked gratefully at Jane.

Michael quickly agreed. "That's a better idea. Why don't you do that? Lunch won't be for an hour and that will give you time to rest. You might feel better by then."

"Alright then," agreed Roxanne. Gone was the confident woman and now Roxanne seemed tired and confused. "I don't think I'm well enough to drive," and she let Jane lead her upstairs to her bedroom.

Marie was called by the children to inspect their gifts. Eve and Mary were in a huddle of conversation and were moving out into the sunny courtyard and Louise had a moment to herself.

This was so "Keats", she thought. One drama after another. And then – nothing. Everything simmered, occasionally there was a boil-over; someone let off some steam and then everyone just carried on as before. But it was a family – growing and evolving. And what was Louise in the family now? A reliable signatory to a Family Trust?

Once she had been the high-achieving eldest daughter of her family. Now she was on her own.

Her thoughts went to Gordon. Tall, handsome, sexy, Gordon. After months of covert pursuit, it now seemed that he wanted her. But why? And for how long? And even if she were to fall into his arms later today, what then? There were no promises and no real need for future involvement on his part. She would be following his lead. Going nowhere.

What about Chris Hardy? They had their workplace in common, she supposed. Chris was tall, dark, handsome – mostly dark, Louise had to admit. Dark and brooding by nature. Lots of near-flirts; never an invitation and never, ever a declaration. Just lots of Meaningful Looks. Actually, that was all. Not much really.

And lately, Aidan. Originally she had thought him a snob – handsome, successful and kind of sexy, but definitely a snob. Or, looked at another way, could that simply be that he had standards? And while it is very annoying to be judged by someone, was it an unattractive feature in a suitor that he have standards? He may insist that they live in a Certain Suburb. That might be nice, actually. He might declare that His Children had to have their names down for a chosen school at their birth. Nothing wrong with that, either. He was clearly a family man – possibly he remembered anniversaries and birthdays and -

She stopped. Eve was right. She had met, dated and flirted with so many handsome men for the past decade – and to what end? She's be 30 before she knew it and it was true – she did want a family of her own and a real home – and a husband. A man who wanted to be her husband.

Louise dug around in her bag and found her tiny address book. She looked up the number she wanted and dialed. After a few seconds, the phone was answered. "Hello, Aidan?" she said. "It's Louise. I just called to say Merry Christmas."

The End

***

# About the Author

Nicole Taylor wrote "Christmas in Canberra" in 2008 while living in  
Des Moines, Iowa, U.S.A.

It is the first in a series of stories about a young woman's life in Australian capital cities at the end of the 20th century.

Other titles in the series are:

Morning in Melbourne

Summer in Sydney

Breakfast in Brisbane

***

"An accurate snapshot of the life of a young, single woman during the 80s in Canberra. Nicole Taylor steers her heroine around the social hazards and rules of her peer group, family and workplace. An enjoyable read."  
Christine Logue, Holder, ACT

"A very enjoyable read with characters I'd like to know."   
Ann Bowles, Calgary, Canada

***

