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CHAPTER ONE

A skinny grey cat streaked away from my feet as I walked up the steps. I wondered why Mrs Jenkins still kept cats. As I remembered, she treated them as she might have treated servants last century. She stole their dignity. Their hungers, their ills, their whims were only trouble to her. Id forgotten the cats, as Id forgotten as much as I could manage to forget about this dreary town. You could tell by looking at her that Mrs Jenkins was a food freak. But she fed the cats only when she could be bothered: never enough, and not the right food. They always grew to be mad leaping creatures obsessed with their own needs, while she kept whining that they were ungrateful and greedy and naughty. Now she greeted me with her one sorrowing expression, the broad chin lowered, the small eyes stretched and meaningful: a cow about to moo. She held the stare and tried to mute her voice. The old ladys not in her room, dear, Ive put her in the front room. More dignified, like. You know. She waddled over the linoleum, eyes busy now with my skirt and my make-up. Alf Bradleys done her up something beautiful. You go on in, stay as long as you like, dear. She banged the door behind me. There were no cats in here to divert me. Just the cretonne curtains and the plastic flowers, and death in a box. I didnt want to look. But I did look. It was a big relief, then-to see that it wasnt her lying there.

Gran had really and truly gone three daysback, at four oclock in the morning. This was just her shell, dressed in the grey crepe with the lace. The familiar wrinkled face looked serene, if a bit startling. It was coloured and shaded and etched as it had never been before. Courtesy of Alf Bradley, -makeup expert, who had once cavorted gracefully with me in a field of dandelions when we were eight and naked, except for my hair ribbons tied around his dangle. So my grandmother had gone, and it was too late. We could never be friends now. I hadnt told her I loved her since I was ten. The rack of it caught me, and twisted. My tears fell on the coffin, and they were tears for myself. Her pain was over. She was out of it all now, off somewhere else, doing God knows what. I was the one who would have to live the rest of my days knowing I had failed. Because now I could never, never put it right. I cried some more, and brooded, and touched the rouged cheek. I cried the bottom out of my grief. Then I fixed my mascara, and went back to Mrs Jenkins. Her mouth hung open. Not staying for the funeral? But Ive got her room ready for you-and everyones coming back here after. Theyre all bringing a plate, all the ladies. Ill be doing up some cold roast chickens like you used to love-' My throat closed and I turned, stumbling over a cat that flew off around a corner. Blasted cats, she said, swiping ineffectually. If they didnt keep the mice down, Id drown the lot. She heaved herself up from the kitchen table. Well, if youre set on it, Ill drive you back to the station, Ill just get the old Ford out.
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I said, No. Thank you. No. I have to walk. Ah, its no trouble, dear, hang on, wont take a minute. Im the safest driver on the road, you know never gone over thirty in me life. No, please, I said, backing out. Oh. Well, then-hey, what about her things? Um-Ill send for them, if thats all right. She leaned out of the doorway, shouting. Whatll I tell them all? Theyre expecting you. She was well liked in the town, you know. I raised a hand and hurried, hearing the doomed chickens clucking in their run. The tears sprang again, and I didnt see much of the little main street. The dark was coming. The railway station blinked lights and held its door open to me, but outside the undertakers I heard a musical yodel, and a hand clawed at me. Lexie, bay-bee! Alf Bradley cooed, just like a big city guy. He was wearing purple pants, and a whisper of eye shadow to match. When Id last seen him, three years ago, he wouldnt have dared wear anything more than a light foundation. He must have a hard time in a country town, I thought, and I wondered why he stayed. Maybe to punish himself? Poor Alf. Gay Lib was a heart-of-the-city luxury. Ah, your old grandmother, I was so sorry, doll. The poor old thing. He arched his brows and pouted. What did you think of her? Nice? Yes, I said. I was suddenly tired unto death myself, and finding words was like drilling for diamonds. A lovely job, Alf. You ought to be in movies. He was thrilled. You really think so, darling? Mind you, I did think that shade of peach was just a little too- I nodded and tried to leave.
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Where are you going? The station? Arent you staying for the funeral? No, I ... No. But youve got to stay. His hand hooked me again. Look, I said desperately. I just came back to say goodbye to her. Because it was the last thing I could ever do for her. Cant you see? There isnt anything else. But doll, theyre expecting you. I know, I know. I rushed on into the cool, dark haven they called the ladies waiting room. The place smelled bitter. I wedged myself into a corner and stared at the dark brown wall. I tried to think of nothing. Nothing. Nothing. When the train came in, I dragged on to it and sat in an empty carriage. It was six hours back to the city. The train rattled on, and on, and on. So everyone was bringing a plate. I knew those plates, toppling with creamy scones and flyaway sponges and gaudy little bits of this and that. I knew the faces above those plates, and how honestly shocked they would look at my absence. I heard the harsh splatter of earth on the coffin lid. I saw the womens dreary hats bobbing away from the grave. I saw all the jaws chewing on the cakes, as they did after every funeral: chewing, talking, laughing, chewing-this time, in the little house where cats were more nuisance than mice.

I whispered to the girl beside me, the one trapped inside the window glass: But what is it they celebrate ? She looked as confused as I was.
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I always really dug to come home to my flat. It was only two small rooms and a window box, but the bed and the peace were so enfolding. There was no tension here. Nobody to say, My heavens, what a pigsty this room is, you get it cleaned up inside ten minutes, my girl. When I got in that early morning after the train ride, my peace was waiting, but my narrow bed was occupied by Chris, whose landlady locked her house at eleven each night and didnt give out keys. He seemed even bigger asleep than awake. I was so glad to see him, after all the strangers. I poked him in the ribs, and he snuffled and grunted half awake. Take the sofa, hon, Im dead beat, I said. He lumbered across to it like a drugged elephant and dropped on to the Spanish shawl. I put a blanket over him, and my rabbit coat from Paddys Market. I dropped my clothes off and crept gratefully between the warm sheets. My bed played a lot of scenes -magic carpet, meal table, pleasure pad, beauty salon. This morning it was the pampering womb. I shrank into the foetal position and fell asleep. My dreams were frightening jumbles that clamped my, jaws together painfully. Of course my grandmother was all through them: scolding, weeping, tucking me into bed, cooking my once-favourite cake week after tedious week, sulking in tight-lipped, bewildered silences.

The sound of china clattering rescued me from the pit. I climbed out groggily, grasping at the cup and the sight of Chriss hovering face.

Hey, hey, he said, his eyes a bit anxious over the grin. Ease up on the teeth. Coffee time. The coffee was full of grounds, but I didnt care. Chris was the dearest, sweetest guy Id ever known. He was just so full of joy, you wanted to be with him so some of it would rub off. I drank all the coffee, lay back on the pillow chewing grounds, and wept. Lexie, he said helplessly, his big hands dangling. I tried to smile, to show him it was all right, but the tears had to come. He knelt down and put an arm over me, and laid his head beside mine until I had finished. Finished with engines, they say when they stop a ship. Finished with waterworks then, for the old Gran. Well, almost. He said, Do you want to talk? Its too sad, I said. We-um-we didnt get on. She had been an ignorant woman, a prude, a shy woman: qualities I detested from the time I was old enough to recognise them. Yet shed raised me with love, sewing my dresses while we quarrelled over why I wouldnt peep through the curtains to tell her what the neighbours were doing. Shed taken me on when I was three, when my parents had drowned in a ferry capsize. Gran was a widow then, and maybe she had nothing else to do with her life. I shivered as I thought of the orphanages I had missed. Chris said, I thought the funeral was today? I nodded. Theyll take care of it. I was sure of that. After me, the biggest deal for Gran had been her church life. Shed put in years knitting and cooking and washing up for church functions.

And for all those years Id gone to the Sunday School and the evening services with her, every week. The church, and Gran, had drummed the Christian virtues into me, day and night. I dont have any argument against goodness. It means being kind, and not telling lies, and standing up for whats right. And loving your neighbour-or at least, trying not to hurt him. I do my best, because if everybody did ... But it was other things that Gran and I fought about, constantly, wearyingly. No, I was not going to raise my little finger when I drank from a cup. I was not going to play with some boring child because Gran had promised her mother. I was not going to have my straight hair crimped into curls for a concert. I was not going to call the landlady Auntie when she wasnt. Such hosts and legions and armies of trivialities, swarming over me, smothering me. And she couldnt, or wouldnt, understand. One day Id screamed at her in fury, I wont! because thats not who I am! Now I watched Chris getting himself more coffee, and wondered how Gran would have reacted to his presence here. No, I didnt wonder-of course I knew. Lexie the Scarlet Woman, forever damned. I remembered the hassle when she refused to let me go to the movies with a boy-although all the other girls were allowed tobecause she was afraid I might get raped in the back row. Not that the word rape ever passed her lips. Sex might not have existed, for all the discussion we had

on it. Clinically, morally, emotionally-any way. Yet she made it plain she expected me to be a good girl.
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Whatever that was. One day a book about baby bunnies had appeared on my bed. The rest of my sex instruction had to come from my own secret reading, from looking around me, from my friends, and others. It wasnt all accurate. But when I finally sorted it out, I felt lucky. Who knows what a load of old wives codswallop she might have fed me? For years she had me just a bit worried that if I washed my hair while I had my period, I might go insane. But at the time, when I needed to know more, her prudery added fire to my bitterness and self-pity. Its a rare kid who can empathise with the enemy, and I hadnt been up to it. Chris said, I wondered why she never came here. She might have, if Id asked her. The truth was, I hadnt wanted my haven spoiled by the memory of her in it. Chris-Im practically nineteen, but being back there again ... I dont know ... I could actually feel those braces on my teeth. Yet I wasnt a kid last week, or last month, or even last year. I could have made more effort. Surely she and I could have compromised. I got the shakes then. I burrowed into Chris, and his hand cradled my hair. We stayed close for ages. Some guys would have tried to cheer me up by making love, but Chris didnt. I was so grateful to him for being with me this way, I couldnt start to express it. Its Monday, he said, but youre not going to work are you ? No, The telegram came to the office Friday, that she'd died. Doodles said I could take today off. Are you going to work? He glanced at the big flat silver watch on his wrist, a present from his family in the country. It made me think of Jaguar cars, and polo, and twin-sets with pearls. But Chris was so unlike that. He sat up suddenly, a vast grin on his face. Hey, Lexie, he said. I just got this flash. Why dont we take off?
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I blinked. Where to? His excitement started to steam. He was always having brilliant ideas, and some of them came off. He smacked the bed with his palm. Up the coast, in the van. Well go on a beach crawl. He jumped up and strode around. Well get some of the others, anyone with transport. Well go up together and camp. Oh, man, all that beautiful, beautiful sea. He rode waves with his hand, head thrown back in delight. He swung around to me. Yeah? Grab you? I nodded. The thought was bliss. just bliss. Now I was ready to burst into tears of happiness. He started dragging his gear together, talking fast. Listen, Ive got to go home today. Its a big deal, Mothers birthday, gathering of the clan, all that-I promised her. A day to get there. Three days up there, a day back. Ill be here maybe late Friday night, well take off Saturday morning. Works no problem, I cut out Friday. The place was full of lunchtime drunks, Jeez, you never saw so many juice freaks under one roof. I said, I wont have much bread. I havent been with Doodles long enough for much holiday pay. He waved that aside. No sweat, Ive got some. Now listen, I wont have time to got back to my place. You can pick some things up for me today, cant you? he told me what he needed, gave me money for the landlady. Then he hugged me till I hurt, and we kissed, and he said, Wow! Itll be the greatest, wont it? Just unreal. I closed my eyes and saw the long, pale, empty beaches, and the surf waves crashing: clean, fresh, uncomplicated. I said, choking up, Yeah. Just perfect. But as a crystal ball gazer, I guess I. was a crash-hot secretary.
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CHAPTER TWO
As soon as Chriss landlady opened the door, I felt sorry for Chris. I knew the type. And they never liked me. She wore corsets and a deadweight of years, both ungracefully. Yes? Her eyes searched me for sin before I even opened my mouth. I was young, and so I might throw a passing male and start fornicating right in front of her eyes. I said, Chris asked me to pick up some of his things. Oh? Her suspicions hardened into bigotry. If I were collecting the personal belongings of a young man, then I was Loose. She was not Loose. She was as tight as a knotted pipecleaner. How do I know he asked you to? I smiled and gave her an envelope. He sent some advance rent. Hell be away for a while. She grasped the envelope. Away? How long for? Two or three weeks, hes not sure. She turned abruptly and led the way to his room. Its Monday. Dont you work? Yes, but I have the day off, my grandmother died. She flung me a disbelieving glance. We came to Chriss room, and she led the way in as though it were her room. You dont look too upset to me. Thinking of Grans rouged face in the coffin, I said, Gran didnt look too upset herself, actually. She sucked her breath in. 'Don't you speak ill of the dead in my house, young woman.' 'Oh, I wasn't.' I looked at her. 'But why not?'
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She brindled. 'what do you mean? You're very impertinent.' I mean, I can never understand that. Why shouldnt we speak ill of the dead, as long as its true? Do people think the dead will come back and get us for saying it ? She took a step backwards. What is it you want? she barked. I consulted a list. Underwear. Her back straightened until I thought it would snap. She moved stiffly to a drawer and took out folded underwear. I knew she had folded it, Chris couldnt fold a letter. She said, Why couldnt he come himself? He had to go home for a few days. She sniffed. There was more hurt in the sniff than she knew. We packed the rest of the things into an overnight bag. I followed her back to the front door. Goodbye, I said. Its Mrs Hanson, isnt it? Miss, she said sharply. I swallowed. What a terrifying thing to be-an old virgin. Somehow I knew she was. But I tried to smile at her. Be happy, I said. I left. She must have stood staring. I didnt hear the door close until I was across the street. The breeze blew my hair around my shoulders. I enjoyed the weight of Chriss bag in my hand. Even though I had to wait till Saturday, I could almost feel the thrill of surf spray on my face. Doodles, my current boss, was a very little man, and very roundbody, head, eyes, everything round. I used to draw him a lot when I was five years old and hadnt even met him, so thats why I thought of him a Doodles. He had a perpetual air of being about to

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pop. He popped on Tuesday, when I told him I was leaving Friday. Leaving? He looked insulted. Leaving? May I ask why, Miss Carter? Im going up the coast for a while with some friends. Youre going where? What? he squeaked, bouncing around in his chair. He looked outraged. I hadnt expected outrage. I couldnt see any reason for it. Up the coast, I said. Just like that? Up the coast? Miss Carter. I am certainly disappointed in you. Havent you any integrity? Any backbone? Yes, I said, surprised. Im giving notice. I could just have gone, couldnt I? He shifted papers around and muttered. Ive never heard anything like it. Leaving. Throwing over a good job just for a-anyway, youre supposed to give a weeks notice. Yes, Im sorry about that. But youll easily get a girl from an agency in four days. The works not difficult to learn. He was shaking his head. I dont know, Ill never understand you young people today. No loyalty. No decency. All will-o-the-wisps. Throwing up a good position just to go careering off around the country. side on some whim. And I just gave you a day off. A thought seemed to strike him. He shot me a rapier glance, but it came out round. I suppose theres some boy involved? I said nothing. It was not his business. He nodded grimly. A couple of hours later, he paused beside my chair. I didnt have very far to look up, in spite of the lifts he wore in his shoes. Those lifts bugged me. With
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some people, you forget theyre shorter than other people, because they do. But he had entombed himself in his size, and his cemetery was this crummy little department that many people in the firm didnt even know existed. And here he was, tippy-toeing about, trying to hook me, down into the grave there with him, to minister ,to, his little needs. I had more important things to do life. I didnt know just what-yet. But something. Now he tried hard to look like a man of the world doing the paternal bit. Miss Carter. Alexis, he intoned. About this-ah -this boy youre going off with. Let me ask you just one thing. He paused, and teetered tinily for dramatic effect. I waited. 'Will he look after you when you are sick?' I spluttered out laughing at the thought. Hell, no. He throws up at a squashed bug. What a stupid question. Who did he think looked after girls who lived alone, when they were sick? That afternoon I wasted some of the firms time brooding about my boss, with his tiny wife and his tinier tots in their tiny home out there in Suburb-land. What was he on about? Decency? What did that mean? If it meant integrity, I had behaved with it, give or take a day or so. Loyalty? To what? To the firm? To an Organisation dedicated to making more and more money for its owners to spend on themselves? Or loyalty to him, Doodles? But what had he done to deserve it? Tuesday night I started packing, just to make Saturday seem closer. I had started out to read the evening paper, but
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there were more people starving in India; and I couldn't handle it tonight. Instead, I turned up the record player and made coffee sat on the floor looking at all my clothes hanging around the room. Fashion turns me on. Its so fresh, so moving-on like the way I try to keep my mind. Mostly, I dont like last years thoughts any more than last years clothes, because this years are always somehow better. As soon as new fashion hits the magazines, I pick what I can afford out of what I think is best for me. Sometimes I design it myself, and make it myself. Or I find treasures in the Op Shops. So I guess Im used to being stared at. I guess I even like it, because my message must be getting across The way I see it, the clothes you wear are advertising. You might as well wear a sandwich board. Your clothes make an instant public statement about who you are. People can see at a glance whether youre-say hippie-dirty creep; the matron with the iron-clad mind; something out of, last century (or last decade even further back) ; the dreary follower, who is terribly brave just two years too late; or-wait for it-the free, progressive, forward-thinking, confident strider into the future. And guess where I aim? -This time, though, I didnt pack any of the trendy Just the jeans and shirts and sweaters and bikinis. I didnt even pack make-up. This was going intermission. Time out to watch the seagulls. The next day, while Doodles was out somewhere telling someone how disappointed he was in me, Phyllis dropped in.
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She was a pudgy seventeen-year-old from the showroom, and I couldnt help smiling at her. She thought she was just being friendly to everyone, but really she was like treacle. She dribbled her worries on to people, and gazed at them imploringly while they trod stickily around trying to give her advice. Lexie, youre leaving, she sang, settling the puppy fat on my desk. Ooh,Id love to get out of this place too, but Mummyd have a fit. It gives me the creeps, the same old -thing, day after day. You know Im going to England, dont you, when Ive got the money? Oh, I wish I was leaving now, too. How much have you saved? She wailed. Oh, thats the trouble, I cant seem to save anything! I mean, I had fifty dollars a month ago, in the bank and everything. What do you thinks left? Eight dollars. Eight dollars. But you live at home, why cant you save? Oh, you know how it is, Lex, working in the city, you go past all the shops-and how am I going to get any dates if I dont have anything nice? Well-wowthere's this new guy in Sales, have you seen him? Hes red hair, and I dont know how Ill ever get to meet him-' No, Phyl, I havent seen him. Look, Im sorry, love, but Ive got to finish all this work in an hour. She slipped off the desk. Oh, is The Beast making you slave? Arent they terrible? You should work for mine some time. But listen-are you really leaving Friday? I heard you were going away somewhere? I nodded. Doodles must have put it on the radio. She riffled through my typing paper, eyes downcast. Who with? some friends. Her gaze darted to me, and she arched her eyebrows coyly. I happen to know, she said, that a Certain Person would like to ask you out.
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Whats stopping him? I said, rolling paper into the typewriter. She gave a little squeal and ran out, jiggling, the carrier of secret tidings to be communicated in hushed tones with glances over the shoulder. She made me feel a bit lonely. She had nothing else to worry about. She had probably never read a newspaper, or had a grandmother die, in her life. That afternoon in the office corridor I passed Norm. He was clean cut, with a smile that sliced right through any female around. I admired his looks while I tried to ignore the trouser legs that were always too short and too tight. And the short-back-and-sides haircut was a problem too. Somehow I can never trust a young guy with short hair. Norm always shouldered around the office like the football forward hed told me he was. I guess he couldnt help it, with all those muscles. Aha, he said, catching my arm. Alone at last, Miss Carter. What about that date? When are you and me going to paint the town? Come on, babe, say yes, come on out with old Uncle Norm. Hell look after you. He winked. I admit it. I was fascinated. Norms were a bit outside my experience. I had dated students, artists, surfers, reporters-beautiful guys and finks, madmen and bores, heterosexual threshing machines and boys who told me how their roommate had made them cry, he was such a bitch. But no footballers, yet. When he said, They tell me youre leaving us, I guessed this was a Certain Person. So look at it this way, doll, its your last chance to come out with me. Now dont pass it up-opportunity of a lifetime-after a girls been
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wined and dined by Uncle Norm, shes never the same again satisfaction guaranteed- I smiled, and he kept on with the advertising campaign. I didnt really feel like gaiety, I still wanted to hide out for a while. But Chris wasnt around to warm my sadness. And in the end, Norm had the proposition packaged just right. A nightclub? I said. You mean-cigarette girls, floorshow, feathers? All that? Yeah. Sure. He seemed a bit puzzled. Unless youd rather- No. Lets do that. It was so quaint, I had to go for it. Yeah? You mean it? Swell. Swell. Triumph oozed out of him. Tomorrow night? Swell. Pick you up at your place. Ninethirty. Okay? He scribbled my address, and threw me a long, slow wink that made me giggle. Then he shouldered manfully off into Accounts. I decided on my newest dress for the nightclub. It was made of creamy-coloured silk, and had no back, and I felt comfortable in it. I was ready when Norm knocked on my door. He looked very handsome, in spite of his tight brown suit. He, seemed disappointed when I didnt ask him in. looked around the room over my head. 'Jesusa in a hovercraft, he said, What is it? He was staring at Basil, the stuffed rhinoceros head Chris had given me, to remind us that there are people who kill for pleasure. Basil did look a bit weird, glaring out through my hats and scarves. I said, Thats the last guy who blasphemed in my presence. Clever, huh? Holy Mary, he said, Woops-dearie me, good gracious me, bless my buttons . . .
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We giggled our way down the stairs and into his big made-inAustralia American car. It whisked us the couple of city miles to the nightclub in maybe two minutes. The nightclub was large and dim, and full of people. Only about a third were young. A huge mirrored ball hanging from the ceiling spun slowly, darting mini-searchlights over the fancy wallpaper, the fancy cigarette girls, and the band, crammed with all their shining hardware into a hole in the wall. A waiter dressed as a gypsy led us to our table, where an electric candle crouched in a bowl. From the next table a rich looking guy in an. expensive suit glanced at us, and immediately lost interest. He was with a woman whose hair and body were set in unnatural shapes: the hair in anguished twists, the bosom in pointed heaps that menaced as they moved. She looked lacquered from head to toe, as though a tap might shatter her to splinters. She gazed through synthetic lashes at where she thought my bra should have been, then looked away disdainfully. I heard her say silently to me, without moving her lips: Tramp. I answered her just as silently. And you, madam, are a phoney, materialistic, intolerant, probably racist polluter. Ah, prejudice, prejudice. I grimaced at my own intolerance. But suppose she was a polluter, suppose she actually did dump bottles in her nearest park? Should I tolerate polluters? Or racists? Where did tolerance stop ? A waiter took our order. Another brought champagne, and he and Norm went through the nonsense of the tasting ritual. Then we toasted each other, and I said, What kind of football do you play? He struck a pose. League, of course, is there anything else? I didnt dare tell him how much I didnt know about football, in case he told me. I said, And what do you do for kicks in summer?
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Surf lifesaving. He tried to keep his chest from swelling. Oh.' Footballers I didnt know, but I put in a lot of hours on surf beaches, and Id met some lifesavers. Guys that spent their days coming on brave and self-sacrificing, especially to the chicks. Well, maybe some of the clubbies really are altruistic about lifesaving-either way, what do a guys motives matter, as long as he hauls you out of a rip alive? But youd think the clubbies own the beaches, they come on so heavy. Like cops. About what the boardies can, or mostly cant, do. And the way I saw it, off-duty, most of those clubbies never had a thought in their heads but to spread the midnight sand with beer cans and semen. I got the impression they worked up an honour roll in . Score: Us 380, Birds nil. I wondered of the poor silly girls never got the message were really being belted, not loved. But its one of my big faults, classifying people straight off. Maybe Norm was one of the good ones. I said, Do you do any board-riding, Norm? No, he said shortly. But lets talk about you, kiddo. Tell me where you get all these way-out clothes. No, really, Im interested. Why havent you tried surfing? You must be on the beach a lot. Not me, babe. Look, I reckon theres got to be something wrong with a bloke who wants to be out there on his own all the time. You take lifesaving - well, its the team spirit that counts. You mean, all those contests between clubs? Too right. You and your mates, youre all in there pulling together. Like in football. Its really something. Why? Why what?
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Why do you have to keep proving youre better than someone else? Why? He didnt have an instant answer. Why? Well. Well-it makes everyone try harder, thats why. Yeah, thats it. The team spirit. You got to have competition, its healthy. Builds character. Does it? Of course it does. What do you mean? It seems a bit sick to me. People fighting one another all the time. He shook himself like a dog coming out of the sea. Howd we get into this? Lets change the subject, uh? I grinned. Okay, how about politics? He threw back his head and laughed. Politics! What a dame! Take a look around you, honey. Gypsy violins, soft lights-and she wants to talk politics! Ah, come on, babe, loosen up. Enjoy yourself. He tossed me an indulgent look. What would a beautiful bird like you know about politics, anyway? You got to be too busy fighting them off. That remark shot his evenings project from under him. But from the way he was boggling down my dress, he didnt know it yet. Then he noticed the part-healed sear on my arm, and put his big footballers finger on it. Howd you get that ? In a demonstration, I said. A cop trod on me. Accidentally. He said. A demonstration? What were you at a demo for? Peace.

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He reared back in his chair. You mean youre a demonstrator? Ah, no. You lie down in the street? Throw things? I dont throw things. You cant use violence to demonstrate for peace. It doesnt make sense. They bloody do, pardon the French. Ive seen it on the telly. A lot more of them bloody dont, but they dont make the headlines. He said, Ah, babe, youre having me on. Youre too clean to be one of that mob. The waiter arrived with food. When he had gone, I said casually, Ive been in eight public demonstrations. For peace, and for the equality of man. Thats against nuclear testing, against Soviet treatment of Jews, against the Fascist regime in South Africa, and for Womens Lib. He choked on a chuckle at the last item, and then said, Hey, there was a bunch of South Africans in one of our surf carnivals. Good blokes, they were. Just like our blokes. Dont tell me you were out picketing them?

What if I had been?Jesus. Why cant you people ever learn you cant mix politics with sport?

Ah, I said. The cry of the racist. He started to puff up and glare. Okay, okay, I said. I guess I can see your point of view. Why should the basic human rights of eighteen million South African black people interfere with the basic human right of a few thousand other people to enjoy themselves watching sport? He sat in puzzled silence. Then he said, What are you, then-a Commo?

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Like hell, I said. I just believe in everyone getting a fair go. What do you call that? His answer was to take two large swallows of champagne. Look, youre a sweet kid, I reckon you must have just got in with the wrong crowd. Take it from Uncle Norm, theres no need to worry your pretty little head about things like that, plenty of people to do that for you. Come on, eat up, and well have a dance. He pawed my arm, and I found I didnt like it. I murmured, Stay in the house and breed, huh? But he didnt hear me. The chef had never heard of health foods and raw, baby, raw. But I was seeing how the other half lived, so I ate it. Afterwards I felt full of grease and cholesterol. Norm must have been a sharp dancer five years ago, but he hadnt kept up. It didnt worry me. I love to dance, and the music was a blast. I enjoyed myself until I noticed Norm thought I was dancing for his benefit. He kept saying, Go, baby, go! and rolling his eyes, which quietened me down to a shuffle. When the group smooched it up, he pulled me to him like a kid with a teddy bear. He was getting juiced up so fast, he must have had a few with the boys before he called for me. He started to give me the treatment. The heavy breathing, the accelerating bear hugs, our clasped hands tucked in so that his just happened to rest cosily on my breast. The sheer clandestine force and suddenness of it got to me, starting the shivers of fire inside. But I was so mad at the kind of person he was turning out to be that I damped them down. The floorshow helped turn me off. We sat in the dark watching past peoples heads. There was a big production number, effervescent with colour and glitter, and empty
24

as the ballet girls smiles. I adored the choreography, it was so old fashioned, it was like watching an old movie. Then there was a solo act, a girl, a really wild dancer. She was genuinely sexy, and Norm sat there with his eyes bugging out. Wow! I said afterwards. Wasnt she something else! He blinked a little blearily. She sure wasnt behind the door when they were handing out boobs. He did a double take at me, and chuckled indulgently. What a crazy dame you are, dont you know you ought to be picking her to pieces;? Shes competition! I couldnt answer. I just sat and fumed. What kind of pitiful girls was he used to? , He was shaking his head, smiling, saying, Crazy dame. Got a bloody hippo with a hat on. Give a man a nightmare. He hitched his chair closer and gently stroked my neck. If theres one thing Uncle Norm knows, babe, its women. You just trust your Uncle Norm. Come on, have another glass of bubbly, pour it down you. He pulled me to my feet, clicking his fingers to the music, and gulping more champagne. I started thinking about how I could reasonably suggest we leave. The band was playing a Presley song. Norm swayed about clapping his hands over his head and wobbling his hips, yelling above the music. How about that Presley, hey? What a gas! What a gas! I was so embarrassed, I felt hot. I mean-Elvis who Daddy? When I finally got him to sit down, I noticed that under his tie a couple of buttons were missing from his shirt. He looked sheepish. Always happens. Guess I breathe in too quick. I stopped myself from asking if he bought his shirts a size smaller on purpose. He was feeling expansive by now, waving to friends, enjoying their glances at me.
25

You got a steady, eh? I shrugged. He flexed an arm. Big bloke? What if he walks in here and beats me up, eh? His grin was silly. He wouldnt be seen dead in a place like this. His smile vanished. Eh? Whats wrong with it? He looked around, hurt. Its a terrific place. Hey, now-babe-hey, if you dont like it, we can go somewhere else, uh? Like your place? I said gratefully, I would like to leave, Norm. Right. Thats the ticket. He was all business, ushering me out, painstakingly paying the bill, waving goodnight to people. The cool air outside stopped him a moment, and I hoped he could still drive. Sitting in the car while he went around to his door, I heard something ticking.

Norm, have you got a bomb in here? Listen. He listened, and grinned. Alarm clock. Always carry one. He eyed me warmly, full of groggy good humour. Never know when itll come in handy, do you? I wanted to be away from him. So badly. He drove off in a confident whoosh. I closed my eyes all the way up William Street. Miraculously, I thought, we got through the traffic snarl at the top, and within minutes he was braking at my place and reaching for me in the same moment. He kissed me hugely and felt me up, mumbling into my hair. Lets go upstairs, hey? More room. The thought of his blundering around my darling flat, and me, was awful. He drew away to get out, throwing an arm over the back for his alarm clock. No, thanks, I said tightly.
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Eh? No. Thanks. In the light of a passing car his face was stricken. Hey, whatd I do? Why not? Ah, you dont mean it, darling. No thanks, Norm. I grasped the door handle. But ... but what about me? For pitys sake, you cant leave a man like this. Here. Feel. He grabbed my hand. I pulled free. I must have been more upset than I realised-but if theres one thing I cant stand, its being expected to become the seventy-first notch on some studs tallystick. I said, One prick doesnt make a man, you need more equipment than that. A mind for a start. As the insult penetrated, he tensed up. I could see the emotions clicking into place. Surprise-that I was attacking him out of the blue, that I was not going to lie down for him. Apprehension that somehow I was making a fool of him. And fury that hed done his dough. And quite a bundle at that. He said thickly, Fuck you, you bitch. I said, No way, mate. No way in the world. I got out of the car, fast. He tried to get out after me, but he was hampered. I ran up the stairs and banged my door behind me. I stood trembling with anger-and fear, too, of all that muscle and drink. My door wasnt all that strong. He could power through it as though it wasnt there. But all that happened was a couple of minutes heavy silence. Then I heard his car engine roar like a tomcat in a tantrum, and the car squealed away. I fell on to my clean, safe bed.
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The stillness reached around me. Stars shone in the window frame, above the flowers. My own clock ticked prettily. My anger began to evaporate. After all, Id known he wanted to get me into bed, and I wouldnt have been complaining if Id liked him. It wasnt his fault he was the way he was. Or was it? Yes, it damned well was. And he hadnt called me by my name all evening. I was an interchangeable. Now that I knew him better, I figured hed spread it around the office that hed laid me anyway, and that I wasnt worth a cent in the cot. That would be his defence, against what hed imagine I would tell the girls about him. His lie would really hurt me . . . people thinking Id go to bed with a clod like that.

CHAPTER THREE
Chris's idea of packing was to throw everything on the floor of his Kombi and drive off. But someone had got at the van and frightened it with a broom and neat hands. Even the vinyl mattress looked like new. His mother, I guessed. I tossed my bag in beside his orange surfboard, jumped into the front seat, and we were off .
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It was a heady kind of day, and I was getting such a buzz from it-I guess because of the sunshine, and the holiday ahead, and the freedom from old chores and other people's thoughts. Some people say television is the opium of the masses, but I think it's holidays. Their aura stretches in front of them, and after them. Something wonderful will be bound to happen in the holidays; and it probably did, and if it didn't, it will next time. I watched the frenetic Saturday traffic and sighed. 'Poor people, not coming with us.' Chris glanced across and smiled his wonderful smile all over me. 'Yeah. The whole world's up ahead waiting for us, Lex. What'll we do with it?' 'Mmmmm.' I, fiddled with my hair, thinking about that. I had some hard thinking to do while we were away, but I needed an empty beach to do it on. We started singing at the tops of our voices, and the wind sucked the song out of the windows. I imagined the sound flapping along there behind us. I said, 'If we could see all the sound waves around us-in colourChris, can't you imagine?' He laughed. 'What crazy ideas you get.' He spoiled my mood a little. People keep saying that. But I don't think I'm crazy, sometimes I think I'm the only normal person around. And that's what crazy people are supposed to think. I don't know. We drove up the Pacific Highway for ages, trying to get rid of Sydney the way you try to get mud off your shoes. Eventually we broke out of it, and there was bush all around us. For a while we zoomed over an expressway, and I got such good vibes from looking at all those gorgeous little steep hills, and the big river, and the islands; just as though 1 were sick and they were my medicine.

29

We drove all day, stopping only to eat. About five o'clock we turned on to a dirt track and went through a tunnel of bush, with branches swishing the top of the Kombi. The track brought us out to a clearing beside a long surf beach, both deserted except for an old Holden and trailer, and a square royal blue tent pitched by the sand. Two people came out of the tent, and the way we all yelled you'd have thought we hadn't seen one another for years instead of a couple of weeks. To look at, these were two of the most beautiful people you could find: Katherine, black-haired, blackeyed, and really built; and Albie, with thick curly brown hair down past his shoulders, and a body like Superman's, only finer. Albie always went around in public in swimsuits not much bigger than jockstraps-and in friendly company with nothing on-so everyone could really admire him. Some people knocked him f or it, but he was doing me a favour. I could look at him all day. Funny, though, he wasn't sexy for me. But Katherine must have found him sexy. They'd been making it for a month now. When we finished yelling, Albie said, 'Christ, it's a real shitty surf, I haven't even hit the water.' 'Suits me,' said Chris. 'We can try a dive,, then, try and get some Ash, hey?' 'Great. Did you bring any tanks?' 'No, too much trouble filling up out here. But I've got two guns.' 'Okay, let's get wet.' In two minutes they were jogging off down the beach towards a rocky point, juggling masks and snorkels and flippers and spearguns. Katherine stood frowning after them, hands on her hips. 'Care to dance?' she said to me. 'Do you want to go with them?'
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'Ah no, not really. I'm not mad on going in this time of day, they say it's feeding time for the sharks.' 'Yeah, I wish they'd stay out of it, this late. But what can we do? Hey, how about that palace you've got? Whose is it?' She rolled her eyes. 'Isn't it something else? Mosquito nets on the windows, and it's even got a floor. Come on in. Albie borrowed it from his uncle.. It beats sleeping in the Holden.' The tent was divided into two rooms, each with a window and a blind to let down. The furniture was two air mattresses and a big blue sleeping bag. I peeked out of a window. 'You still living at the flat ?' 'Yeah, why?' 'Oh, nothing, I just thought you and Albie might have moved in together.' 'No, I don't want to.' She sat down on one mattress and I took the other. 'I don't think he does either. We're okay. We see each other just about every day.' 'Doesn't he mind Ritchie living in the flat?' Ritchie was one of those guys who thought knots in his hair made him look more virile. He always made me want to scratch. Sure, his hair was long: a guy didn't want to look like a bank manager, did he? But Jeez, if a guy was ever caught with a comb in his hand, someone might call him a fairy. Katherine said, 'Oh, didn't I tell you? Ritchie had to go. He kept trying to stick us with all the housework. Some people, honestly. We've got Mick now. It's cool, he often works late, and Jenny's been on night shift, so we're not all falling over each other.' 'Where'd you find Mick?' 'From an ad. He's a little guy, works for some gassy soft drink firm. We give him a bad time, we call him Monopoly Mick. Jenny

31

tells him he's rotting the teeth of the world. He just laughs. But I reckon we might be getting to-him, underneath.' 'Why didn't you offer the room to Albie?' She shook her head vehemently. 'No. It doesn't work, I've seen what's happened to other kids. Look at Glenda and Ron. When they started going together they were sharing with three others, and now none of them is speaking to anyone, even Glenda's not talking to Ron.' I said, 'I don't know if I'd like to share a flat. I mean, don't you all get on each other's nerves sometimes?' I guess what I meant wasliving with people, they'd get to see your insides, and I didn't even now what was in there myself. 'Sure, you've got to watch what you say. But-well -it's nice to know there's someone around to talk to sometime in the day, you're not all alone. But it isn't like parents, they can't say do this, do that. And if anything upsets us, we just come out with it, nobody goes off their brains about it.' Her face softened. 'Oh, I heard about your granny, love, That's terrible.' I nodded, suddenly choked up. Katherine picked at a thread on her shorts. 'I don't think my Dad's got long to go, I had a letter from Taree, Mum says he's pretty sick. I suppose I'll have to go home soon and see him. It's awful, isn't it?, We were quiet, thinking about the awfulness. 'The others should be here soon,' I said. 'Who's coming with Jimmy?' She glanced up, her eyes sparkling. 'Haven't you heard? His fiance! He's engaged!' My mouth fell open. 'Jimmy? But he was always raving about how he wasn't going to get tied dow4.' 'Well, he has now. I guess you don't really get to know people, just seeing them on the beach.'
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The boys came back, dripping water and shivering and grinning. Chris had a large fish, Albie two smaller ones. 'Hey, this guy's crazy,' Chris called. 'He tried to wrestle a wobbegong.' Albie snorted with laughter, did a few leaps and let go with a Tarzan yodel. Chris threw his fish at him, and it hit Albie's bare stomach with a wet slap. They dropped their guns and grappled, laughing, falling over. They were high on the dive. I wanted it to be tomorrow, so maybe I could dive too. I hadn't tried it yet. There were so many, many things I wanted to try. 'Only,' said Albie, sitting up and wiping his eyes, 'The wobbegong thought it was Chris doing it, and it went for him.' They both rocked with laughter again. 'So what happened?' I said. Albie said, 'I gave It a face-full of flipper, and it cut out.' 'Why didn't you spear it?' said Katherine. 'Fair go, you can't eat wobbegong,' said Albie. Chris glanced at me. Not so long ago, Albie underwater was a real power freak: he'd kill everything in sight. Chris and I had argued for hours with him. We'd nick-named him 'Killer'. He hadn't liked that. 'Well, I mean,' said Albie, 'I don't eat wobbegong, but maybe you boongs do.' He ducked a blow from Katherine, who was part aboriginal. She said, 'The damn thing wouldn't mind eating you, it's a shark, isn't it?' 'Ah, that kind's not the worst,' said Chris. 'They only get a bit cross if you slap them on the bum.' While they cleaned the fish, Katherine and I got a fire going in an amateur sort of way. Minutes

33

later, when the fish smelled ready to eat, a panel van shot out of the bushes and we all yelled again. The brakes squealed and Jimmy got out, grinning. He was a lanky kid, always in board shorts and sweat shirt; he had yellow hair and a little yellow beard that looked permanently spiky with salt. He brought his girlfriend around to us, holding her carefully by the hand. 'This is Joan,' he said. He looked sideways at her, as though she were a new board he couldn't quite believe he'd been able to afford. Joan was little and dainty. She smiled at us perkily. 'Pleased to meet you.' 'Come and eat,' we said. There was the grilled fish straight out of the sea, fresh millet bread from Sydney, masses of raisins, nuts, cheese, fresh oranges and yogurt. 'That's a funny meal,' said Joan. 'We brought a lot of tins. Anyone like some peaches?' 'Preservatives,' said Albie, fixing her with a stern eye, 'are bad for you.'

PAGE 33
'Go on,' she said. 'They've never hurt me. I don't know what I'd do without tinned food.' She served herself and Jimmy, while we all shook our heads and prophesied doom. 'Ah,' said Jimmy. 'You health nuts are only into a fad. You wait. In a year you'll all be back eating the same as everyone else.' 'Never,' we said.
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We sat and argued about it amicably while the stars came out, and the low surf splashed quietly nearby. We talked about the Green Peace movement against nuclear power, and how we should all join. Then we sang to Jimmy's guitar, and the moon came up, and we left the singing to Chris. He had the greatest voice, like warm honey. You should have heard him sing Dylan that night. And he looked so great, with the firelight jumping on his bush of pale hair. Albie kept looking at the surf, and suddenly stood up and got all his gear off. He ran over the sand and we all followed, tearing our clothes off. The sea was surprisingly warm, and like silk on my skin. We played around like kids in the dark shallows, with the surf splashing white over our heads. The lovely night ... being with good friends living free like this'. . . the whole scene freaked me out. I felt so happy: relaxed, safe, even ready to warm to Joan, who didn't want to understand the evils of processed food, and was going to lead her future family in the wrong direction. We all crashed early that night, in our various locations. In the dark Kombi, the sea noises were all we could hear. It was as though Chris and I were the only two people on the earth. We lay - down, and hugged each other from sheer happiness. We didn't say anything. Making love that night was something special. I can't explain why. Some times are wilder than others, I guess, but that night was really something else. We had a lot of tenderness together, Chris and I.

35

Sunrise woke me. While Chris slumbered on, I pulled on jeans and a sweater against the early chill, and wandered down the beach. I sat on a sand dune, just to look, and to feel. It was such a long, clean beach lying there in the sun. If there was one tin or bottle or piece of plastic on it, I couldn't see it. Around, me, tongues of wind licked the dunes cat-clean, and rippled along silvery grass. The wind spun spray off the breaking waves, and tossed white sparks into the gum trees. It played in my hair. I felt a bit pagan. I wondered if Gran were here, in any of this, watching me. I decided she wasn't. She had her own way to make, as I had mine. Out on the beach that morning, the source of Gran's and my war seemed incredibly small-minded. But I still carried the scars. And I was starting to see, dimly, that it was principles we had fought over: the principles of her generation against those of mine, a generation gap once removed. She had grown and bloomed and spent herself in the era of don'trock-the-boat, our-Government-is always-right, what-will-theneighbours-think, hooray for-the-Royal-family. Her formal learning had been too sparse to open any analytical doors. Yet she'd sacrificed her comfort and taken on terrible housework jobs so that I could go through high school. Afterwards, she didn't like what high school had done for me. She sniped continually, about my clothes, my friends, my taste in music, my ideas-until the situation was a shambles. By then, we simply had nothing in common. Except, way down there under all the garbage, quite a lot of love.

36

The end of our years together was really heavy, but I guess no worse than going on would have been. In spite of all her church acquaintances she had no really close friends, and she would not make any effort to get any. As I began to find interests of my own around the town, she would say harshly, 'Oh, yes, you go out. Go on, leave me all alone. Nobody wants you when you're old. Just wait until your turn comes, my girl.' Usually I didn't answer. Whenever I tried to discuss anything honestly with her, she'd take off in a rage of offence at our first point of disagreement. She never got over the obsession that children should be totally subservient to their elders-never mind what sick or useless attitudes their elders were displaying. I'd answered that nobody-wants-me complaint only once. She was sitting beside the fire, lips compressed, shoving knitting needles around. The knitting was for me. She was good at piling on the agony. She said, "Nobody wants you when you're old.' The bitterness in me erupted, and I yelled, 'People are going to want me when I'm old, because I'll make bloody sure I'm worth wanting!' That comment resulted in a two-week silence from her, during which I moved out. I guess it was what you might call the springing life juices that forced me out, as though I were any young animal. But at the time I was more than half ashamed, thinking it was my sinful stubbornness in wanting my own way. After I left, she seemed to crumple. She moved into the room in Mrs Jenkins' house. I wondered if she had died from feeling sorry for herself. Was it my fault? 'She was well liked in the town . . .'

37

I watched the sea embroidering the land with shawls of white lace: the lace-maker changing her mind, unravelling each shawl, tossing down new ones with every wave. Once every few seconds. On shores all around the world. Every hour. For ever. And every pattern different. I got lost in the enormity of it. An obelisk of smoke rose along the beach. There was a ring of stones around its base, and an early surfer in a black wetsuit crouched in obeisance to the rising sun, or maybe to his breakfast. The wind grabbed the smoke and smudged it. Everything was so beautiful, and everything was so sad, that I cried. When I got back to the camp, Chris said, 'Where'd you go? I woke up and you weren't here.' 'Nowhere,' I said. The waves were building up, but they still weren't much for riding, and we decided to move on after the boys had had a quick dive. While we waited for them, Katherine took her surfboard and went to practise. She wasn't very good yet, about as good as I was. Joan didn't want to get her hair wet. I felt a bit lazy this morning, so I sat on the beach with her. She was painting her nails red. 'Gee, you're lovely and skinny,' she said. 'I'm getting so fat. It's the pill that's doing it, I was all right before.', 'Guess I'm lucky,' I said. 'It doesn't do anything nasty to me. That I know of.' 'Mum didn't want me to go away with Jimmy,' she said, squinting at her nails. 'No chaperone, you know how they go on, but in the end
38

she said she supposed it was all right, seeing we were engaged. Look, did you see my ring? Isn't it just gorgeous? "All the kids do it, Mum," I said, "go away together, I mean, and anyway there's six of us," I said, "it's not the same as going away by ourselves, is it?" I mean, I said, "Look, Mum, anyway, this time next month I'll be married and off your hands, so I guess I'm old enough to know what I'm doing." And she said, "God help any man that takes you on, you little minx!" Joan giggled. I said lazily, 'You make yourself sound like a parcel. Out of one basket into another. 'What do you mean?' 'Oh, I don't know. But girls aren't parcels. We're proper people. I mean, everyone's kind of responsible for themselves, aren't they?'

She looked astonished. marriage?'

'Don't you believe in

'Marriage? Oh. I guess it has its uses, the way things are.'
She bubbled on, misty-eyed. 'We're going to be married in our local church, it'll take two hundred people, and I'm having flowers on all the pews, and heaps on the altar, and a little flower-girl in front of the bridesmaids. The presents have started coming already, there's a box of cutlery from my grandmother, and a water set ... Jimmy's sister gave me a bathroom shower, and my girlfriend gave me a kitchen shower, and Mum and Dad are giving us a radiogram . . . We've put our list in with David Jones', it's central, everyone can get there . . . And the wedding gown's finished already, you should see it, miles of lace, it cost the earth, I don't know what I'm going to do with it afterwards . . . The bridesmaids' dresses are nearly finished, they're
39

blue . . . The reception's going to be marvelous . . . four-piece band chicken and almonds . . .'

I couldn't help staring at her. What did this grasping inventory have-to do with marriage, with merging her life with a man's? Living with a man you love must be the most personal thing in the world. But just because you choose to do it legally, what right have you got to pressure presents out of other people? I've never understood it. She and Jimmy wouldn't be paying for any of this wedding lark; they expected other people to pay for it. And other people would. I wondered how many meals for the starving the money would buy in Vietnam, or Brazil. Or Sydney. The whole thing disgusted me. 'Why don't you elope?' I said. 'It would save an awful lot of trouble.' She gaped. 'Are you out of your mind? Miss my wedding day?' I could see it was out of the question. She'd been working up to this since she was three. The trouble was, I thought, that in the system of things she'd been conned into - and her mother before her, for sure-after the dazzle of the big wedding '-there was nowhere to go but down, down, down. To a career of mops and nappies and 'Oh, I don't understand these things, my husband handles all the insurance ......................

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I said, 'Are you going to keep on working after you're married?' 'Oh, yes, till the babies come. We can use the money.' But only until then. Well, who wants to be an office girl all her life? I'd worked in offices. Better to fetch and carry for a man who loves you than for ,a stranger, I guess. And either course might be more attractive than trying to broach that hostile male executives' table. There has got to be more to living, I thought. I knew I'd finished with offices. But if I wasn't going back to being a secretary, what the hell was I going to do? Joan finally ran out of ecstasy and said, 'Are you going to marry Chris? He's a lovely guy.' I lay back with my hands under my head. 'I don't think so.' 'Why not? Jimmy told me about his family. They're filthy rich, he's a terrific catch.' I yelped. '.1 don't want a guy I've got to catch. I'm not a mousetrap.' I rolled over and scooped sand. 'Look. Two people either want to make it together, or they don't. I'm not going to try and catch anyone.' 'Oh, I only meant-' 'I guess I know what you meant. If I did some scheming and plotting and flattering, and generally carried on like a used car salesman, I could land up at the altar with Chris. Well, any guy I could play like a fish on a line I wouldn't want.' 'But I didn't mean-well-deceiving him. I only meant, you knowwomen's wiles . . .'

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I said, 'I want a guy to want me for what I really am. Not because he thinks I'm crazy about cars, which I'm not, or because I think he's Einstein in a bottle, if I don't. You can't have a good relationship based on dishonesty. No wonder you see marriages in ruins wherever you look.' 'Well,' she said huffily, 'I'm sure I'm not dishonest. But you've got to use some subtlety on men. I mean, women are famous for it. Look at-well, um-Scarlet O'Hara. And Marilyn Monroe. It's just being-I mean, you've got to-I mean, that's what being feminine is all about, for heaven's sake!' I had a good laugh at that. But I shouldn't have, she was getting uptight. She snapped, 'Well, what's your idea of being feminine, then?' 'Oh, Lord, I don't know. I guess-being warmhearted. And notwell, not being mean. But specially not being artificial and calculating. I don't know, I've never really thought it out.' I trickled sand from my fingers. 'Have you ever thought about what you really want to do with your life?' Joan blinked. 'That's easy. I want to get married and have kids. That's all I've ever wanted.' 'But what else? That's just living. Everyone's got specialabilities-they can use.' 'I'd like to know what's more useful than bringing up sane, healthy children?' 'But there are so many people in the world who need help. Surely we've all got to do what we can.' 'Oh, you mean joining clubs and things?
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Well, Dad belongs to Apex, I guess Jimmy'll go along later. And I'll probably join the Mothers' Club when the kiddies are at school, and help with the Boy Scouts-' 'No, I don't mean that. What the people outside that? Orphans. Aboriginals. Refugees. Pensioners. People in mental hospitals. They've all got troubles. And rights.' 'Well, silly-that's what the government's for, isnt it I think a family ought to concentrate on looking after themselves and not be a burden to anyone else. It's like Mum says, "Mind your own business and you won't get into trouble."' She stood up, brushing off sand. 'Come on, the boys are coming back.' Her tone said, And you're a drag. I felt maybe I was a drag. It often seemed to me I was bucking practically this whole civilisation. I said, 'I'll be along soon, I'm just going for a walk.' Wandering along beside the blue Pacific, I remembered what Chris had said, about the world being up ahead. He was right. There was so much to see. So many people to get to know and understand, to learn from, maybe to help, if I could find the way. I didn't want to talk-about it with-Chris. I had a feeling thatwhatever I wanted to do, he'd want to do it too. I loved Chris a lot. But that was for now. Next year would be -next year. So I talked about it to the seagulls. 'Look at it this way, Squinty. I'm practically nineteen. How am I going to save the world? How am I?' He didn't know. I trudged along kicking sand and pondering. Why should I settle for a deal like Joan's and Jimmy's? Love to me was a two-way street, with the line going down the middle. Not
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over to one side, squashing the woman into the kitchen and the bedroom, and squeezing her mind; leaving the man all the freedoms of the outside world, and all the bills. If I couldn't have love my way, I didn't want it. There were too many other adventures waiting. I threw pebbles into the surf, and thought that I could go to Pakistan and help teach the villagers hygiene, or weaving. I could crew on a yacht cruising the Mediterranean, and learn to sail a boat myself. Then maybe sail around the Pacific Islands, getting to know the people. I could learn Spanish and work on the Costa Brava, or in South America. I could join an Israeli kibbutz. I could probably do all these things, one after another. It was just a matter of deciding what to do, planning it, and getting started. Katherine had only left high school last year, yet she was saving money already. She had been working in a supermarket full-time, and three nights a week in a coffee shop. She was planning a holiday in Fiji. I could go with her. But should I be doing something more long-range? I could go on to matriculate at night school, I'd got good marks in the School Certificate. Then to university, maybe on a scholarship, or part-time. I could specialise in something useful like sociology, instead of just kicking around being an amateur activist.

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I could find out how to get into politics, and start on the lowest rung now. I could become a nurse, and travel around the emerging nations. Or I could stay here and start growing vegetables without chemicals. Maybe join a small outfit, like a commune I knew, and later build up a business for myself, that would let me live in the open air and help other people live right.

All this-and I had only just begun to think it out. That had to be enough for today.

I jumped into the shallows, feeling maybe I was getting somewhere at last. Scattering seagulls, I raced back to the others, just in time to grab my towel and move on.

CHAPTER FOUR
Late in the morning there was this chick up ahead by the side of the road, and Chris stopped f or her. Any guy would have. Some people are a walking invitation to bed, they just can't help it, and she was one, even just standing there-all curves and welcoming hollows under her skirt and frilled top. She had a creamy hot-house look as though she never went out in the sun. A big floppy hat and glasses hid her face.

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When we stopped she picked up a small suitcase. Chris said, 'How far you going, love?' She said breathlessly in a voice from an expensive school. 'Only about ten miles, thanks.' She looked carefully at us and then back into the van. Chris got out and opened the side door for her. She checked out that the van was empty before she got in. As she took the seat behind my bucket seat she said 'Thank you' again. 'Hi,' I said. 'Hello.' Her voice was prim. 'It's very good of you to give me a lift.' I had to take another look at her. Hitchhikers I'd met usually sat in bored silence as though their presence was honour enough. She had thick curls springing from under her hat, and she looked about sixteen. Close up, she had the physical lushness of one of those exotic fruits that promise perfection but somehow disappoint you when you bite into them . . . still, that was none of my business. Chris got the van going again. 'Come far?' he said, checking that the other cars were still behind us. 'From Sydney.' I said,, 'Hitching by yourself?' She nodded. 'Everyone acts surprised, but it's safe enough, if you're careful.' I said, 'How can you be careful in a half-Nelson with a truckdriver?' 'Oh, I never ride in trucks, they're too high up.'
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'Huh?' said Chris. 'It's too far to jump down, out of a truck. No, I like four-door sedans, or sports cars. I won't get in the back of a two-door car, usually, unless it's a man and his wife-because you've got to have a door handle to grab, you see. That's how come I got out back there, with only ten miles to go. This old fellow, he must have been fifty, he was getting-um, difficult, you know? And in the end I just had to threaten to jump, so he stopped the car, he didn't like it, either. Then there was another car that stopped before you did, but it had two men in it and I wouldn't get in, that's asking for trouble.' Chris was intrigued. 'Where'd you learn all this?' 'Oh, from the girls-' She bit her lip and fell silent. I twisted around to her. 'Where are you making for ?' 'Oh, I'm going to meet my boyfriend'.' She smiled a sparkly smile. 'He's staying at my sister's farm, the turn-off's just along here, you can let me out in a minute. Oh, I haven't seen him for two months.' She giggled. 'Hope he still loves me. Do you think a person can fall out of love in two months?' I said, 'I guess it depends, doesn't it?' 'Oh, I would just die if that happened.' She heaved an extravagant sigh. 'He's so handsome. And strong -you should see his muscles. And he gets so jealous, you wouldn't believe it, I guess he wouldn't get so jealous if he didn't love me, would he?'

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Her fingers fluttered to stroke a cheekbone that seemed to remind her of some proof of his jealousy. 'And after all, he is staying at my sister's place, I mean, if he didn't love me he could have said no when Hiram invited him. Although perhaps he went there just because . . .' Her voice trailed off. 'Hiram?' Chris said. 'That wouldn't by any chance be Hiram Butterfield?' The girl squealed. 'Do you know Hiram?' Chris laughed and slapped the wheel. 'Hiram and I have only been through hell together, baby-would you believe he used to be my dentist? I knew he'd bought a farm up here somewhere.' She was amazed. 'Well, but Phoebe's my sister. How about that!' Chris was grinning. 'How's Hiram making out, being a farmer? You know, you'd reckon teeth'd be the big turn-on for a dentist, but not Hiram, no, he was always raving on about gardening with seaweed and all that. He wanted me to come up and work on the farm till I sorted my head out.' 'Well it's quiet enough,' she said. 'There's really nothing to do there, actually. My boy friend'lI be bored out of his head, he's from Sydney.' Chris glanced at me. 'You never met Hiram, did you, Lex? Want to drop in on a drop-out?' 'Sure, why not?' 'Ripper.' He pulled the van to the side of the road and we flagged down the other two cars. Chris jumped out and went to talk. When he came back he said, 'That's okay, we'll pick them up tomorrow or the next day at Foster's Beach.' The two cars drove past us, honking, and Chris honked back. He said, 'Well-I'm Chris Jarrow, and this is Lexie Carter.'
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'I'm Patsy,' she said. 'Patsy Leggatt, how do you do.' She shook hands with us, her mother would have been proud of her manners. Chris hid a smile and started the van up. The turn-off road beckoned inland through lush green pillows of land, with here and there a simple farmhouse, a few trees, a few cattle. A car followed us off the highway, accelerated, and passed us. Patsy gave a huge gasp. 'What's the matter?' I said. She was staring at the car. It was a police car. It drove on 'Nothing.' She stared after it. 'Don't tell me you've skipped gaol,' I said laughing. She flung me a frightened glance behind her sunglasses, and shrank a little in her seat, her chatter quelled. 'You're kidding,' I said. She shrank a little more. She said, 'You can let me out if you want, I can walk now.' 'Don't be bloody silly,' said Chris. 'Are you for real?' 'Not gaol,' she said tersely. 'Anyway, they don't call it gaol.' 'What else is there? Not the Child Welfare?' I said. She nodded. 'But you-how old are you?' 'Sixteen. But they can get you till you're eighteen. If you're a girl.'

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'What for?' 'E.M.D.' She sounded accustomed to answering questions. 'What the hell's that?' said Chris. Patsy looked at him pityingly, as though he didn't understand English. 'Exposed to Moral Danger,' she said. 'Shit,' I said. 'How did I get to eighteen without knowing that? Hey-hold on, I know for a fact you can leave home at sixteen if you can support yourself.' 'They can still get you if you're a girl. - Oh, thank goodness they've gone.' As the police car turned into a drive ahead she sagged. 'What a relief.' I thought she was putting it on a bit, but I noticed her hand was shaking. Chris said, 'How come you ran away? From a Home, was it?' 'I haven't, exactly. They let me out, I was supposed to go home, but Garth left a message with his friend that he was up here, so I came straight up.' 'And you didn't have any money,' I said. 'So you hitched.' 'Yes, I could have gone home and got some money, but Mummy would have made me tell her where Garth was-it sounds silly, I know, but she would have, she can get anything out of me, anyone can, I'm just hopeless. Anyway, Garth's got some money.' Her voice was tinged with smugness. I got the feeling that money didn't mean much to her, but Garth's ability to get some was a slap in the eye for someone. The day had dimmed. We were driving now through fine rain slanting silver against the sun. The world out here looked kind, the hills looked like motherly bosoms to lean on. I. said, 'I don't get the

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picture, love. You've got a mother and a home to go to, it doesn't sound as though you're poor, but they put you in an institution?' 'It's over Garth,' she said. 'All I want to do is be with Garth, but Mummy wouldn't even let me see him, so I had to keep running away. They kept finding me. But they won't find us here, Mummy doesn't even know I've been here before. Oh, look, here it is, this next gate. "Honeywood Farm", isn't that a darling name?' She bounced in her seat. Hiram's place had paddocks, an orchard on a hill, a creek, a stand of bush, and a sturdy white brick cottage of two storeys. I opened the gate and closed it behind the van. 'There's Hiram,' said Chris. I saw a bearded man, nude except for gumboots and glasses, working in the orchard. He saw us through the mist of rain and waved but kept right on spreading gunk around a tree. We drove up the rutted road to the house and Patsy scrambled out. The front door was white, and some time ago someone had scrawled a red message on it: 'Please don't break me, I'm seven years bad luck.' We followed Patsy in, and I freaked. The room was the whole ground floor, and it was one of those artistic messes that take real talent. I boggled at terrific old furniture piled with pottery and pumpkins and flowers, at hot-coloured paintings and tasselled patterns of cord on the walls, at strings of onions hanging among old glass and copper things on shelves. Everything was bathed in the smell of baking bread from a bulbous black fuel-stove on legs. I thought there was a dead Afghan hound lying on the mat, but it was only a shaggy fur coat. Part of the clutter Was a young guy who'd crashed in an armchair, and Patsy ran
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over to him, squealing, waking him. We left them to it and strayed outside to look at goats in a paddock and hens pecking, while we breathed the clean air and told each other that here was Paradise. After a while Patsy called to us. With the air of a little girl playing at hostess she said, 'I'd like you to meet my fiance, Garth.' She looked helpless. 'Oh, I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your names, I'm so bad with names.' We introduced ourselves and Garth nodded, looking us over warily. He was a stocky guy with black hair, short and thick. His muscles strained impressively through his body shirt and shorts but he didn't turn me on. He kept an arm around Patsy like a vice, and his expression was almost surly. His eyes flicked behind us and narrowed into open hostility as Hiram tramped in, still in his muddy boots, with rain glistening all over him. 'Well, shit, eh, where'd you spring from, Chris?' said Hiram, grasping his arm". His warm grin swept us all in. He gave me a hug, saying, 'I don't know you, baby, but you're lovely,' and smacked a kiss on Patsy who looked away from his hairy nakedness. 'How are you, Patsy girl, welcome back. Well, shit, it's great to see you all, I'll go and get cleaned up. Hey, Phoebe, look who Patsy's brought us.' He went through a back door as a beautiful girl in a long dress drifted in and smiled serenely at us. The infant on her hip smiled too and held on to her mother's long red hair. 'Chris,' Phoebe said, offering her cheek. 'How nice, we haven't seen you in ages.' She smiled at me as though she'd known me all her life, and passed me the baby. I clutched at the sudden weight of the little warm body. 'Oh,' I said. 'Um-'
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Patsy left Garth's arms and ran to Phoebe, and they hugged a lot. They started talking in low tones with their heads together while they moved to the stove and did things with food. I stared down at the child, trying not to drop her. 'Help,' I muttered to Chris. He had a grin on his face, mixed up with some emotion I didn't want to look at too closely. 'Fight your own battles,' he said, and moved away. The child was a miniature of her mother, red hair and all, and I made a stab at her age as under two. She wore a long embroidered dress with mud on it, and a necklace of huge beads. Slowly she decided to scream under my grip. I sat her on the floor and she changed her mind, and pulled herself upright by my leg. We stood coupled, our eyes locked. For someone who was so new at living, she had a confidence that shamed my own. 'Well, hello,' I said, and chucked her under the chin. She ignored the gesture-and rightly, I thought, because how would I like a total stranger chucking me under the chin? She studied me some more. I wanted to break it up but it's difficult to move with somebody wrapped around your leg. Garth thought it was funny. He swooped on the child and swung her high. 'Come to Uncle, bubs.' She laughed and shrieked. 'You look like an expert,' I said, but he was more interested in talking to the child than to me. He took her away and they rolled oranges on the floor. Chris pulled me on to his knee and said in my ear, 'What's biting loverboy's bum?'

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'Don't think he likes us. Or Hiram either.' 'Tough.' But Chris gazed at Garth thoughtfully. That was one of the lovely things about Chris, he was always trying to see where other people's heads were at. Hiram came padding back in his bare feet, dressed. He wore baggy white under-shorts firmly closed in front with big white buttons, a red linen sports shirt hanging out, and over that a brown pin-striped waistcoat from somebody's three-piece suit. A yellow scarf covered his hair. Behind his glasses his eyes gleamed, and I wondered if he took off his glasses to make love: If he didn't, a girl could feel she was a bug under a microscope. 'How's lunch, sweethearts' he said. 'Nearly ready, darling,' said Phoebe. 'Come on over,' Hiram said to us. He was putting out pottery goblets and a big carafe of cloudy plum coloured liquid on a large wooden table. The top wore stains of past feasts and a basket of apples, and I loved it, the way I loved the whole place. Outside, birds were singing in the rain-shower. Something ginger slinked at the edge of my vision, and there was a big fat cat completing the scene, stalking a rolling orange. I said to Hiram, 'You don't look like a dentist, somehow. Did you really give up the joys of teeth just for all this?' 'You better believe it,' he said. 'Christ, the years I've spent dabbling in other people's spit . . . "Nothing to worry about, Mrs Jones-get me the mallet, please Nurse-where's the bloodsucker?" Yukh.' He shook his head and filled goblets for everyone. 'Not that I'm anti-dentist, we all need them, those saintly men. I'm just not among the called. And as for that nine-to five crap-say, Chris, are you taking up my offer? Going to stay?' He glanced at the two of us.
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'Nah, we just cut out for a while. Holiday. We're going north, thanks all the same.' 'You're mad,' said Hiram. 'You ought to stay. You know what we've got going here?' He leaned forward. 'Freedom, Chris. Total freedom. That's what we've got here. A place where a man's free to be himself and no hassles, right, Garth?' 'Excuse me.' Phoebe edged past with a huge platter of steaming vegetables. 'Isn't that right, love?' Hiram patted her bottom. 'We've got room here to be ourselves, and there's nothing more satisfying in the world.' Patsy, bringing dishes, said, 'Ooh, I'm so hungry, are you hungry, Garth?' Garth smiled at her, a wide slow smile that kindled the dreams in her eyes. She sat beside him at the table and took the child from him on to her lap. He put an arm around her and the three of them sat close while Phoebe brought more food: cold, sliced lamb, a dish of fresh herbs to sprinkle on the vegetables, bright yellow butter, and the golden loaf from the oven. Hiram rubbed his hands. 'Beautiful, love.' Phoebe trailed a hand over his cheek and sat beside him. He said to us, 'Where would you find another girl like this one? Do you know, she'll drop everything and come and help me with the fencing?' 'Come on, Priscilla.' Phoebe put the child into a highchair of carved wood that looked a century old. Chris and I were starved, and fell on the food as politely as we could.
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As Patsy was helping herself, Garth said, 'Say, go easy, darl. I reckon you've put on a stone since I saw you.' I saw quick tears spring to her eyes. 'Darling, you know I can't help it, it's the food they give you. It's all so fattening.' 'You shouldn't eat so much of it,' he argued. 'I do try,' she said. 'Honestly, I do.' Hiram put a hand over Patsy's hand. 'Patsy, when you're in my house, you eat what you want. Now, you and Garth fight it out when you leave. Okay?' He gave Garth a friendly slap and I expected a flare-up; but Garth seemed a lot easier with Hiram when he was clothed. He said nothing, just helped himself to a pile of food. Patsy picked up her fork and pushed slices of zucchini around on her plate. There was something childlike about her, I wanted to feed her myself, she probably hadn't eaten much on the road. She was beginning to worry me, although I figured it was more her sister's worry than mine. Phoebe was absorbed in feeding her daughter. 'Come on, Prissikins, open up, darling, you be the baby bird and I'll be the mummy bird and here comes the worm, oo-hoo-' 'Do you know what I found out yesterday?' Hiram demanded through a mouthful of food. 'Earthworms are bisexual. Did you know that? Bisexual.' 'Lucky old them,' said Chris. 'Never tried it myself.' I was diverted by a duck that had wandered in. It waddled purposefully past a handloom and stopped to commune with itself in a mirror. Hiram was pointing a fork at Chris. 'Look, that's one of the marvellous things about this kind of life, there's always something new to discover. And time to discover it. If I want to knock off the
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farm work and read about earthworms, I just do it. There's nobody ringing a bell and pissing me off, I just please myself. Now where could you get a job like that, Chris?' 'I couldn't get one here, mate, you'd be telling me what to do.' 'Ah.' Hiram dismissed that with a wave. 'I'm the easiest guy in the world to work for. Anyway, you could get yourself a spread of your own, no worries.' Chris and I both burst out laughing. 'Like how, man?' said Chris. 'It takes bread.' 'Not necessarily.' Hiram flipped more meat on to his plate and swallowed wine. 'Say, do you like this brew? Made it myself. I get the grapes over from South Australia. All you need it a simple press, and the barrels and the bottles. No need to bother with yeast and all that crap, the fermentation boils all the impurities off.' He held up the carafe. 'Pure organic food, this, not a chemical in the lot. You can't say that for commercial wines.' Chris said, 'Tastes a bit raw to me.' 'You get used to it, and it's a hell of a lot cheaper.' Buttering bread, Garth said, 'How do you mean, you can get land for nothing?' 'Well, a few dollars, anyway,' said Hiram. 'There are places where you can take out a miner's lease or right or something on a bit of land and you can live on it and grow vegetables. Maybe you couldn't build an actual house on it, but you can put up some kind of structure. Only catch is you've got to dig, maybe a day a week, but you can be digging yourself a dam or whatever.' He put both elbows on the table and picked at a lamb bone. 'The thing is, my friend-,, the thing is-we don't have to bow down to the

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great god Money. There are ways. There are ways, if you look for them.' He winked. 'Yeah? What ways?' said Chris. 'Thought that'd grab you. Matter of fact, I'm thinking of writing a book about it, I think a lot of people'd part with a couple of dollars to learn how to get by without money. Well, let's say almost without money. Now, you take us. I put damn near all my bread into buying this place. And there was one week when there was nothing in the bank, and no money coming in. We were stuffed. Right? 'Well, we survived. Because I discovered a simple system called barter. Yeah, and we're still using it, although there's money coming in now. See-when I bought this place the owner threw in a dozen hives of bees, he didn't want to be bothered with them. Well, I got out a few gallons of honey-beautiful it is, rich, dark stuff-and I took it down the road to the next farm and I swapped some of it for a heap of vegetables. And on to the next place, and so on, and I came home with enough food for a fortnight. Everybody was blowing their minds about the honey, because it hadn't cost them a cent. Weren't they, love?' 'Mmm,' said Phoebe. 'It doesn't cost us much to live at all.' Garth said, 'Didn't the honey run out?' 'Oh, sure, but we've got other things to swap now. I got the goats for Phoebe, there's the milk from them. And she grows special herbs. When people give us more fruit than we can eat, she makes jams and we barter those in the town. There are lots of other short cuts, like I repair our shoes myself, and Phoebe makes our soap, and sauces, and so on. And clothes, of course. And believe me, we live well.' I said, 'Who makes those divine wall hangings?' He glanced at one and his
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eyes crinkled. 'They're Phoebe's. Quite good, aren't they? A shame they're a bit too modern for, the people around here.' I said to her, 'They're just lovely, do you like making things like that?' 'Oh, I could do macrame all day, and weaving too, but I don't get much time with the baby and all.' 'What did you work at when you were single?' Hiram said, 'She worked for a publisher. Doing layouts, that sort of thing-art books, wasn't it, love? I met her boss once, he said she was the best girl on his staff.' 'Do you miss it?' I said. Hiram said, 'She wouldn't go back to work if you paid her.' 'Oh, no,' Phoebe said. 'I love looking after my family.' She rose and drifted to the stove. Somehow it seemed like an Ophelia kind of drift. She said, laughing, 'I had an art teacher once who said I should be a professional sculptor. Can you imagine it?' Garth stopped eating and sniggered. 'Sculptor, Jesus, what a useless-ah, bloody teachers, what do they know? I never passed an exam in my life but by Christ by the time I'm twenty-one I'm going to be able to buy and sell any prick with a blackboard duster' Patsy and me, we'll show the buggers, hey?' Patsy made a fuss of kissing him. Chris said, 'What do you do, Garth?' There was a silence until Patsy said hurriedly, 'He's a panelbeater.' 'Sometimes,' Garth agreed. He gave a funny lopsided, bragging sort of a smile. 'But you could say I'm more of a Robin Hood at heart.'
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The four of them laughed. Recalling Patsy's agitation over the police car, I got the picture, and it was a bit of a shock. Could be we'd landed in a hide-out, real Ned Kelly stuff. Was he a safeblower, bank robber, cat burglar? I glanced at Chris. He was trying to look cool, too. While we finished the meal Hiram went on drinking wine and telling us about his horse ('who needs a stinking tractor, a horse doesn't compact the soil, it can go between rows, and it gives you fertiliser') and about his, magical compost ingredient ('farmer's piss, my friends, fresh daily, grows mighty pumpkins'). I choked on some pumpkin but managed to swallow it. Garth got up and moved off with his bantam strut to an armchair, holding Patsy's wrist, and they started getting it on. Hiram continued to spruik. 'It's not as isolated as you'd think here, we get people picnicking, and shooting-ah, those shooters, they really shit me off.' He chuckled. 'A guy brought a gun on to my place last week. By Christ, did I fly up him. Anybody shoots around here, it's going to be me. Hey-how about we go out and get some rabbits? Garth?' He swung around. Garth took his head out of Patsy's blouse. 'Terrific.' Chris wasn't all that keen, but the advocate of freedom for everyone bullied him into going. When they had left Phoebe and Patsy and I washed up. I wanted to hear about reform school, or wherever it was they'd put Patsy, but I didn't like to ask straight out. She went to the telephone, and Phoebe began making a fruit pie, rolling pastry on a slab of marble. I reflected that the two of them didn't look much alike except around the edges, a family quality to their silhouettes.
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I said, 'I suppose you have a lot of visitors, Phoebe,' 'Oh, no, we keep to ourselves, really. When Hiram decided to come up here I wasn't too sure about it, I thought I'd miss my friends, but some of them used to come up for weekends.' She gazed out of the window. 'The people around here are okay, I guess. But we don't really need people.' That made me wonder if there was something wrong with me, because I did. Patsy left the phone and flopped into a chair. 'No answer.' Without her hat she was even prettier, with thick curly hair past her shoulders. She plucked at it now with delicate fingers, and giggled. 'Do you know what I heard, it's. just crazy, there's some people saying the world's going to end. Next November, I think. On the twenty-third, at six o'clock. Isn't that crazy?' We all laughed. 'How come?' I said. Her fingers paused in her hair and her eyes fixed somewhere beyond my eyes. She said, 'They say it's in the Bible.' Phoebe hooted. Patsy arched her eyebrows and shrugged dramatically. 'Not that I believe any of that stuff, of course, I mean, anyone in their right mind ... It's just a scream, isn't it?' She yawned. 'Oh, I'm going to sleep so late tomorrow, I've had two months of getting up at six, and I just hate getting up.' At the thought of bed she went dreamy-eyed again and I tried to remember just how long two months was, to sleep by yourself. Tentatively I said, 'What do you do all day in those places?' 'Oh scrub and polish and do laundry, things like that. If you're lucky they let you knit.' She caught my look. 'If you're lucky they trust you with needles. They don't let you have sharp things, I mean,
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they even check you out for bobby pins, I suppose they have to. Some of the girls cut themselves. And there was one girl you couldn't even speak to, she hated everybody-they put her in solitary in the end-and I was glad she didn't have anything sharp. They let me knit after I asked Mr Smith. It wasn't too bad in there the last time. He used to give me cigarettes.' I couldn't tell if she was reassuring me or herself. 'Who's Mr Smith?' She smiled secretly. 'A friend of mine.' 'Do you get any pay for the work?' She looked startled. 'Pay? How do you mean? It's punishment.' 'What for?' 'I told you, I kept running away with Garth.' 'But how did that hurt anybody? It's not like stealing, or attacking someone.' She looked bewildered. 'How do you mean? I knew it was wicked every time I did it, I just didn't think they'd catch me.' She shuddered. 'Being in court's what I hate. They say they're there to help you, but you're just a nuisance, they don't want you. Well, court's not the worst, but it's almost.' She got up quickly and went back to the telephone. Phoebe put the pie in the oven and cleared up. After a minute Patsy said to us, 'Sssh, sssh.' She spoke into the phone. 'Mummy? Hello Mummy, it's Patsy here. Oh, I'm fine, how are you? Oh. Well, I hope you get rid of it soon. Um, I just rang to tell you I was out. Oh, I'm ringing from a shop. No, I won't be seeing you for a while, I'm moving around, actually. What?' She listened for some time. 'No, I really don't need any, thanks all the same, I'll manage.

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Um, is Daddy still in Canada? I see. No, I haven't heard from Phoebe. Well, I have to go now, I'll write to you soon. Bye-bye.' She hung up. When she sat down she was trembling. She said to Phoebe, 'She wanted to send me money, she said which post office would she send it to?' Phoebe clicked her tongue and shook her head. 'Huh?' I said. Phoebe said, 'She'd have rung the police there. She hates Garth, it just about killed her when they didn't get him on carnal knowledge by the time Patsy turned sixteen. The last thing those two need is police.' I gulped and tried to picture their mother. I figured she'd be well dressed at any hour of the day, with a North Shore hair-set and kind friends who'd avoid 'Mentioning her younger daughter. Savagery in the suburbs. It was really hard to understand it. I couldn't help saying, 'But what's the worst thing about being-put away?' Patsy's face grew pink. 'Oh, you know. What they do to you. To find out if you're, you know, a virgin. Oh, we don't have to talk about all that.' She shook her hair back and giggled, about nothing that I could see. She jumped up and went to the window, nibbling daintily at a nail. 'It looks like a storm's coming, the men should be back soon. I hope they don't have an accident, there was one on the radio this morning where a boy shot his brother.' Phoebe said, 'Put Prissie to bed, will you Patsy? I've got to see to the goats.'

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Priscilla was lying on the floor indulging in the vast yawns of childhood, but she didn't want to go to bed and she cried piteously as Patsy took her up the stairs. I went outside and wandered, thinking about all these people that I hadn't even known when I got up this morning. The rain had stopped for the moment and the land sparkled in sudden sunlight between dark clouds. The place was still inviting-but Paradise had a few cracks in it. When hard rain spots fell I ran inside, and the men soon rushed in too, clattering their rifles into a high cupboard-an arsenal for the siege, I thought. Were there enough Ned Kelly helmets to go round? Priscilla would need a very small one. Hiram swung a long furry excreature into the sink: a hare, as limp as any body could ever get. Splodges of rain falling loudly on the house swelled to waterfall noise, and we couldn't hear ourselves talk. The wine went round again. It was fun there, all sitting around the stove while thunder rumbled like a train on the roof. Half an hour later the day was still again. Hiram put on a pile of records. We partied on for the rest of the afternoon and into evening. Or rather, everyone partied but Phoebe, who only stopped sewing and cooking and getting the meal and clearing up and knitting to lift her goblet, which she did quite often. After the meal I said, 'I don't know how you can bear all this country food, I miss the taste of exhaust fumes.' 'Ah, Sydney,' said Hiram. 'Armpit of the world. All the fruit and vegetables you get down there are dead as a doornail. Do you know that the life force goes out of an apple or a tomato only twenty minutes after it's picked? Hello-get Patsy!' Patsy was lighting up a tailor-made cigarette, puffing and coughing a bit and trying to look casual. Hiram snatched it away and

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threw it in the stove. 'That'll kill you, girl. You want to smoke, what's wrong with good home-grown grass?' I sneaked a glance at Garth. He was smirking. I figured he must know his place in Hiram's hierarchy, and maybe like it too, except when Hiram was flashing it around Patsy. Hiram sure had plenty of grog, and he enjoyed it. At one stage when he was raving on about how he'd brought only the positive values of civilisation with him, and how 'Honeywood Farm' was a place where people could flower, I got up and went out. It seemed to me that Phoebe had about as much chance to flower as a rosebud underneath a haystack, and that Priscilla would probably be smothered too. Outside the night was clear and I stared at the slowly tumbling stars-at least, I knew if I stood there long enough they'd tumble a little, right into the cup of the horizon. The cat came to talk to me with its warm body. Then I realised that Patsy was out here too, huddled in a rain-wet chair, nursing a goblet. She was so still she could have been waiting for the end of the world. She didn't seem to see me, but suddenly she said in a mournful, befuddled voice, 'I hate it, I hate it, the damn sky. Too big.' 'Oh, no, it's terrific. All that space-it makes me feel so free.' 'It's awful!' She let go of the goblet and it smashed on flagstones. 'Hate it. It just keeps on . 'Keeps on what?' She looked at her hands and turned them over, searching for the goblet. She put a hand over her heart and seemed to be listening for a beat. She started to cry. She whispered, 'I'm not here at all.'

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In a few moments she cried herself into hysterics. Screaming, she scrambled out of the chair and lunged back into the house. Garth's voice rose over the noise of her terror, and in a brief lull I heard him say with amused tolerance, 'Jesus, folks, Patsy's at it again.' I went back in. Garth and Patsy were by the door. Hiram was trying to get Chris to share a joint. Phoebe was sitting on the floor looking like she'd been dead for a week, leaning against a wall with her hair messed and a wine stain on her dress. Had the wine done for her, or was it all that toiling in Hiram's vineyard? I squatted beside her, urgent with Patsy's cries. 'Phoebe, Patsy needs you, help her!' She blinked fuzzily and pushed her hair back with the palm of her hand. I took her arm and shook it. 'Help her!' She wriggled away. 'Don't pull me, everybody pulls me.' She tried to focus on my face. 'Patsy-whatsa-matter with Patsy? I help her, I help her, she's here, isn't she?' I felt hollow and helpless. I couldn't find any words for what I knew in my bones. All I could do was mutter, 'But you're her sister.' 'What c'n I do, Chrissake, she's got to live her own life.' She rolled on to her knees and tried to get up. 'Got to put some coffee on' I yelled, 'Never mind the bloody coffee, you mean you just don't give a stuff,' but my voice was lost, someone had turned up the music. Patsy was being silenced now by Garth's mouth, the two of them were spreadeagled against a wall. The man who wanted to be king had his clothes off again, but was wearing a colander on his head.

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His big hairy feet were pounding his tabletop more or less in time to the music. He laid eyes on me and let out a roar. He leaped on to the floor, which shook. His outflung arm caught me and I went down on the mat as he did. He got to his knees. I guess I'd drunk a lot of wine too, because he seemed to fill the room above me, a looming mass of muscle and force dedicated to twisting and pommelling the world into the shape he wanted, and breaking everything in his way. He was happy enough, in fact he was getting a hard on. I lay there quaking. I mean, I'm all for people getting together, but I didn't want to be crushed like an eggshell. Then Chris was there, smiling at Hiram, quietly .manhandling him; talking calmly, easing him away from me. I crawled behind an armchair and hid, getting back my breath and my nerve. Hiram was roaring again. 'Patsy, here's Patsy, come on, love, show us your beautiful tits, eh?' I heard cloth ripping and Patsy's squeals. She didn't sound too upset now. Mummy, I thought, would not have liked this party. Or would she? Mummy was a closed book to me. Chris said quietly to me, 'Want to split?' 'I sure do.' I didn't bother with saying goodbye to the host. If you think of a relationship as a rich, intricate tapestry-well, my side of this one was a fine piece of cheesecloth. As we were slipping away Patsy caught sight of us. Like the moon coming through the clouds, her attention came out for a brief moment of clarity. With her blouse hanging in pieces from her shoulders she rushed up to us. She muttered, 'Please don't tell
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anyone you saw us here, will you? Will you?' She clutched at my shirt. I gave her a hug. 'No, love, I'll never tell. Never, never, never.' She hugged me then, she believed me. She turned away, back to Garth who was reaching for her. As we walked to the van Chris was laughing. 'Some rave-up, eh?' He yawned. 'Thought you looked a bit bushed, though. How about we find a quiet paddock somewhere?' The house was staining the night with all its noise. From upstairs I could hear Priscilla adding screams. I had found a lipstick in the pocket of my jacket and I ran back to the front door. Beneath 'Please don't break me, I'm seven years bad luck'-a pavane for Patsy-I wrote: 'PARADISE (CLOSED TILL FURTHER NOTICE)'. I jumped in the van and we drove away. 'Hiram's a funny guy,' said Chris. 'He really digs this family bit, doesn't he? I don't know about Garth, I reckon he could be a Grade A deadshit. Glad we went, though.' I felt woozy and worn-out. As we sped down the road, the globe that was those other people's world spun off our trajectory. It lost its glow of immediacy as we left it behind, and it became merely a rolling, fading picture: not junk, just a reject. Our world was up ahead.

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CHAPTER FIVE
In the morning I had to be careful how I moved my head, and gloom came tumbling in on me. When we joined the others on the beach we all decided to push on further north, and that was good. Moving on, you get to feel for a little while that you're leaving your worries behind you. Our next stop was a township whose surf beach was small but famous among those who cared, and we hoped for good waves here. We drove into the town in line and joined the cars angle-parked in the wide main street under big leafy trees. It looked like the kind of place where the thrill of the day was to hop in the Holden and go stare at an accident. Although the town was about its morning business, business couldn't have amounted to much if it depended on the few people we saw. We walked around looking for a health food store, but there wasn't one. So we went into the little supermarket, and you'd have thought it was a raid, the way the locals looked at us. We might have had 'Dirty Foreigners' printed on our foreheads. Actually, they didn't mind staring at us, but I noticed they tended to see Katherine, and look quickly past her as though they hadn't. Albie's long hair got most of the attention, and he loved it, showoff that he was. When his hair was wet he'd often tie it back with a
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leather thong; this morning he'd grabbed a red and white spotted ribbon of Katherine's. As people whispered about him he minced around with his hand on his hip, camping all over the shop, saying outrageous things. We muddled around in the shop for maybe fifteen minutes until we had everything. By then it seemed that the handful of people we'd seen on the street were all in here. When we finally trooped out, they looked disappointed. We straggled along the pavement, passing a group of four young guys who looked as though they'd grown up on that corner. They were wearing jeans and cowboy boots and Zorro T-shirts, and layers of boredom thicker than shaving cream. One was quite good-looking, two you wouldn't recognise around the next corner, and one poor guy had a face like a joint of beef. Seeing us, Handsome pretended to faint against the wall. 'Jeeeeeesus, cop the fag with the ribbon.' Guffaws rose from the group like puffs of dust. One of the others gave Handsome a sharp elbow in the ribs. 'Ay,' he said urgently. 'Ay, Lark. Cop the boong.' There was dead silence from the group. And Katherine-gay, cool Katherine, who withered any city guys trying to put her down-walked past those creeps looking at the ground, her body drooping, her face set rigid in such a heat of embarrassment that I felt it on my own face. Albie, following, talking to Jimmy and waving a limp wrist to his supermarket audience, had missed the remarks. But he must have seen Katherine shrink, and Chris take her arm.
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I Albie looked quickly at the locals. As he passed them, the guy who should have been hanging in a butcher's shop said to him confidentially, but loudly 'How many can the gin shag at once, mate? I bet you could drive a cattle-truck in there, ay?' I glanced at Albie in alarm. I could see in his eyes that it took him a moment to get mentally out of drag. By then he was past the guys. He stopped and looked back, his anger visibly gathering. He said, 'Ge-e-e-et up yourself!' The four guys straightened up in one movement, as though Albie had pulled a string. Their faces got ugly, and eager, and it could have developed into our main performance for the day. But we left the audience asking for their money back. Jimmy pulled Albie along, saying, 'Okay, cool it, it's not a federal case.' We got into our vehicles, and backed out. I could see Katherine in the Holden, keeping her hand over her eyes. Chris said to me, 'There's no racial discrimination in Australia, did you know?' We headed for the surf beach, and drew up together in the car park. I went to Katherine. 'It's all right,' she said. 'Forget it. I just thought I was back home, that's all.' She shrugged it off. But I wished they'd said it about me instead. We selected a place on the beach and strewed our spoor over itboards, towels, bags of fruit-like a bunch of animals establishing territory.
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The surf was fantastic. This was a small bay, cutting deeper into the land than its neighbours, with rock reefs standing hard and brown out of the water at each point. The break started just out from the reefs, and surf swept right in to the white sand. The tide was up, the water was clean and green, and I reckoned some waves were hitting seven feet. It was past midsummer, and cold enough for wetsuits if you were going to be out there for a while. There must have already been twenty guys out there on their stomachs and bottoms: a mob of seals in their black skins, all alike till they started riding. Our guys couldn't get into their.-suits fast enough. They grabbed their boards and fell on the water, practically paddling before they hit it. I borrowed Katherine's board and played around close in for a while, where the waves were smaller. I only rode a few sets, and I took a few swims-but just getting along at all really gets me stoked. Guys powered past me, some so fast I couldn't believe I'd ever do that. I didn't like to keep the board too long, so I brought it back, and Katherine went out. I stretched out on a towel in the sun beside Joan, who said the water was too cold for swimming. 'Oh,' she said, 'I was that embarrassed when that creep said that about Kath, I was just telling her. Aren't people awful? I mean, just because she's a bit different to us . . . This is the first time I've ever talked to one. You know? Doesn't have much to say for herself, does she?' We both looked at Katherine's slim body rising out of the foam.

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I saw she was learning to ride faster than I was. Her balance seemed better than mine. I wondered if this was some physical thing from her aboriginal lineage: her last hunting ancestor was a hell of a lot more recent than mine. I wondered how much that lineage really affected her. I tried to picture her out in the desert or wherever the black side of her family had come from, in a bark loin cloth, digging for yams. It was hard. I'd bet money that if we both got caught in central Australia when the bomb went off over Sydney, she and I would start out equal, digging for yams. I loved the surfing scene, whatever the weather. Today everything was bright. A few non-surfers sat around the beach, adding spots of colour. A group of boardies had lit a fire beside a sand dune and guys kidded around it in their vivid clothes. Red and yellow boards dried out close by, and black and tan and white dogs chased around. Watching the surfing was like a continual movie, always something different happening. There were always guys draped on their boards out beyond the break, waiting for the perfect wave; guys making waves in their various styles, guys flipping up in the air, guys swimming after their sticks. Now and again a stick would ride a wave in by itself, upside down, lifting a shovel nose and a dorsal fin. It's funny about board riders-they never look at the land. I didn't when I was riding, either. They look out to sea, at the next wave, the last wave, at one another. They can ride right in to the beach, turn around, and never have seen past the water's edge.

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Watching Katherine, Joan said, 'Gee, aren't you two brave? It's real dangerous out there, those little fins could cut your head open. And what about sharks?' 'Do you mind Jimmy surfing?' 'Oh, no, it's different for a man, somehow. Mum doesn't like him surfing, though. She says, "What'll everyone think, you marrying a surfle?" But I say let him enjoy himself while he can. He won't have time later, when he's got lawns to mow and chores to do round the house.' I saw Jimmy all wrapped up, cocoon-like, in Joan's web. But he had had a hand in the spinning, and he was turning around for the wrapping. I said, 'Have you asked him if he'll give up surfing?' 'Ask him? Think I'm mad?' She laughed. 'He'll find out in good time. Everyone's got to settle down sooner or later.' 'Why?' 'Why? Who brung you up? Because of the kiddies, of course. How many men with kiddies do you see surfing?' I felt like arguing. 'Kids love the beach too, why couldn't you all come?' 'Oh, no, they'll have their paddle pool in the back yard. Kiddies need their naps. They can have their friends in, it's better than the beach, they don't bring all that sand into the house.' So . . . all individual fun was to be sacrificed on an altar named The Kiddies. Then I could picture Jimmy in a few years, chafing more and more, going down to the pub more often with blokes just like himself
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and coming home rotten drunk, maybe not even knowing something was wrong, thinking this was the way life had to be. And Joan? Perhaps-well, just perhaps-Joan didn't give a damn, so long as she had her Kiddies, and the weekly pay packet. I am a bitch sometimes. I didn't even know the girl, and here I was blaming her for perpetuating the Mindless Society. But she would not help. 'Oh, you poor thing,' she said. 'You're coming out in spots. It must be all that health food.' It wasn't fair. Her skin was perfect. She wanted to know where Jimmy was, and I showed her his white board. Albie's blue one was nearby, and I watched him flip around on it. Albie rode well, but Chris was better. Albie thought surfing was fun, and when he made a wave, he yelled like crazy. Sometimes he hassled the other riders, about who had the inside, or who nearly dinged his board. Chris thought riding was fun too, but he seemed to get into it more than Albie did. When the waves were really beautiful, Chris would stay out all day. Nothing would get him out of the water short of pitch darkness, he would really blow his mind. But he didn't close in on himself out there, he seemed to open out. I've seen him help guys knocked silly by their sticks, or sinking from a throat full of wave, while Albie, hooting and hollering away, didn't even see anything happening. Jimmy wouldn't have seen, either. He was a really hot surfer; he rode grim-faced, shouting abuse at waves he missed, at people in his way, at wipeouts. Jimmy was getting into the contests these days. I
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was glad Chris didn't want to. Seems to me, if you care enough you can't help developing yourself; and that's got to be better than hating other guys' guts because they beat you. But Jimmy said no. 'You got to have contests,' he said. 'The sport can't improve any other way. And a lot of the guys couldn't afford to practise if it wasn't for the prize money' I felt there was a mistake in there somewhere. But I couldn't quite grab it. The day passed happily. Katherine and I alternately swam and surfed, and in between we soaked up sun. About five o'clock I literally seized Albie in the shallows. 'Hey, it gets dark soon, we've got to make camp.' He brought the others in, and we collected our gear. Chris had had a fantastic day. For a while he couldn't speak. He had a look of purification about him. There were other Kombis in the car park, but we could tell ours at a distance by the stickers all over it: 'Don't Mine the Beaches', 'Save the Myall Lakes', 'SST ConcordeA Bad Trip', 'Don't Kill the Great Barrier Reef'. Joan said, 'What have you got all those things on your van for, Chris? They spoil the look of it.' Chris came back to earth and gazed at her, amazed. 'Don't you care about the world getting fouled up?' She took a moment to get his meaning. She said, 'Well. You can't stop progress, it's no use trying.' 'Progress? Lousing up the coastline with coal dust and chemicals and sewage?'

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'Oh, I mean, nobody likes things like that, but how can a few people stop it? There's no point in beating your head against a brick wall.' 'Jesus,' said Chris. He threw up his hands and stalked off . Joan said, 'Well! What's the matter with him? It's not my fault, I don't make the pollution.' Jimmy grinned. He picked up an ice cream paper she'd dropped and waved it under her nose. I left them to it. In the Kombi, Chris said, 'I shouldn't have raved, she's probably just never thought about it.' We followed the coast road and investigated a few tracks through the bush, till we found a sheltered campsite where we could look at the sea. Again we had a place to ourselves. Just us, and a huge wild red streaky sunset. Chris fell out of the van on to his knees and did the 'Praise Be To Allah' bit, screaming his head off, and we joined in. It was too much. We made a fire and had a meal ready in fifteen minutes. We sat around eating, listening to music from Chris's cassette player. It smothered the sulks coming from Joan's side of the fire. Jimmy was unruffled, joining in the conversation as usual. Just as the last finger was licked, rain began to fall. Joan squealed and ran to the panel van, protecting her hair. The rest of us started to put up the tent. We fell around in the pouring rain, laughing and shrieking, trying to follow Albie's orders by the light of headlights.
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We got the tent up, even if it did look drunk, and rushed inside to towel ourselves dry. We folded back the inside wall, making one room. Joan consented to join us. By the light of Albie's uncle's little battery lamp, we made more coffee on the primus. We talked over the noise of the rain on the tent. The rap session went on for maybe three hours. It's funny how, with friends, you never run out of things to talk about. We bashed corny pop music, city life, pets, solar energy, jobs, the end of conscription, guys being conscientious objectors. Jimmy said to Chris, 'Do you reckon you'd have gone underground if you'd been conscripted?' Chris nodded. 'Are you a conscientious objector?' said Joan, her eyes flashing like buttons in the lamplight. 'No,' said Chris. 'But I wouldn't have fought in Vietnam.' 'Would you fight in Australia?' she said. 'Yeah.' She looked reassured that he wasn't a coward. She said, 'My cousin was a soldier in Vietnam. He had a leg shot off.' The words hung in the air accusingly. 'That's rough,' said Chris. Jimmy said to her, 'Lexie's the only C.O. here, aren't you, Lex?'

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I spread my hands to Joan. 'How can anyone believe in war? War's for animals. People can work out better solutions.' They all cheered me, whistled, thumped on the ground. I bowed. Albie said, 'I reckon it's a pity I didn't get drafted. I've thought about becoming a C.O. myself.' Then we all laughed at him. Albie's temper was famous. You could get him going just by saying pacifism was stupid. But when I thought about it, I realised I'd never seen him hit anyone, even when others around him were getting pounded in demonstrations. He'd got hurt himself once, a broken arm. I wondered what it was that kept him from using violence-except against defenceless fish-seeing that he didn't seem to have the pacifist instinct. He had the muscles for aggression. Joan said, 'I think it's stopped raining.' We all listened. It had. A couple of people yawned and stretched. In the small silence we heard a ripping, tearing noise. We looked around in surprise. The blade of a flick knife was sticking through the wall of the tent, calmly cutting a line from roof to floor. The shock was so sudden, we just stayed still. Joan was first to react. She screamed. I don't know if I did or not. We leaped up. Another knife came through the same wall, the blade slicing downwards too. The ease of the cut showed how sharp the knives were. My skin prickled all over. I knew who it would be, and they weren't after cups of coffee. I'd never been in a fight, not with milkbar hoods.

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Joan was still screaming. I looked at Katherine. She was too brown-skinned to go pale. Instead, he face had taken on a greenish shine. Albie started going off his brain, shouting about his uncle's tent, and scrambling to get out. We piled up in the doorway until Albie stopped us. He was coming in backwards, with a third knife pointing at his stomach. We backed off too. The gatecrashers hadn't said a word. We could see three of them, one at each rip, one in the doorway. They were the guys we'd seen in the town, and now they all wore smiles, savage smiles, bright with joy that the boredom had broken. And by the look of them, they'd been on the booze. They all held their knife blades low, pointed at us contemptuously like deadly silver pricks. We had a moment of confusion. 'What do you want?' said Jimmy. Joint of Beef was wedged in one canvas split. Lit from below, he looked grotesque. He flicked a glance at the one in the doorway, who was Handsome. Handsome said, 'Havin' a party, are youse? 'Where's the grass, well?' We laughed. It was a nervous reaction, because we didn't have any grass. Chris held his hands out. 'We haven't got any.' Handsome smiled wider. 'That right?' 'No, straight, man, we don't use it,' said Chris.
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'Bullshit,' said Handsome. He tossed his knife arrogantly, caught it, looked at us all in turn. 'Have to search youse, then, won't we?' Chills ran over me again. I caught the third guy eyeing me, and behind him a fourth face. I looked away, I didn't want to know what they were thinking. It was a crowded tent now; they were practically breathing on us. I was finding it hard to breathe, myself, from fright and claustrophobia. It was like being in a cage, a trap, with them peering in. I knew if I didn't get outside damn quick, I was going to have hysterics. Chris started blundering about as though in fear and who wasn't, on our side? He knocked into the battery lamp, sat down heavily on it, and switched it off. He must have swung the lamp at Handsome's knife in the dark. I heard a clink of metal, and Handsome exclaim. Then there seemed to be a pile of bodies in the doorway. There was a lot of hard breathing and grunting and rolling around. Just as I was getting so frenzied that I was going to dive out through the split wall, knife or no knife, something soft and enveloping whooshed clown to smother me. The tent had fallen in. It's the kind of thing I would have roared laughing at in the movies, but believe me, I was closer to howling with fear. I beat at the canvas, dragged swatches of it away from my face, burrowed and heaved about, choking from lack of air. Everything was black and clinging, . and hard shapes bounced at me. I had just about had it, when my hand burst through a rip, and I shot out into feeble starlight, colliding with someone who laughed and grabbed me by the shoulder.
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I wrestled quite a bit, until I felt a blade cold against my arm. Then I froze. I said, 'What are you doing this for? We haven't hurt you.' He coughed alcoholic spit over me. He said, 'Too bloody right you haven't, and you're not gettin' a chance to. Fuckin' surfies.' A form like Chris' loomed up and threw a punch at the guy. The knife fell to the ground. I scrambled after it, and hurled it as far as I could into the trees. I didn't know how many knives there were, but that was one less. Clouds had blacked out the moon. The darkness frustrated me, I couldn't tell who was where. I got up, slipped down again on the rain-soaked ground. Chris and the other guy were close together, powering into each other like two battering rams. An object that rattled hurtled over my head. It connected with another object that swore, then cried out. I figured that if that was the primus, maybe the recipient had kerosene in his eyes. I squinted to see who it was, but I couldn't see. His cries turned to yells, then worse. It didn't sound like one of us. I doubted that there was anyone else around to hear, we were way out in the bush. I thought gratefully that now the hoods would have to see to their mate and take him off somewhere. But they didn't. Someone called out, 'Go back where you come from!' and there was a crash.

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The tent was a dark blob on the ground. I hoped nobody was smothering under it. There seemed to be people all around the clearing, and sounds of violence cut through the surf noise. I worried frantically about what to do. I wanted to start one of the cars up, and charge about in it, making the hoods jump for their lives. But I couldn't drive. I remembered the spear-guns. But I just could not come at that. I crept into the Kombi and switched on the headlights. They lit up a wedge of ground, and Katherine rolling around on it, covered with mud. As I watched, the guy with the bad face jumped on top of her and bucked around. He grabbed both of her hands and her hair. He didn't even notice the light. I leaped out and slithered across to them, and tried to get him off her. He was swearing continuously. He wasn't making it, and he took it out on her, swiping at her face with a hand like a meat chopper. I was cravenly glad he didn't have his knife. I managed to push him off balance, and Katherine half sat up. But Handsome came lunging into the picture, unzipping his trousers. He shoved Joint of Beef away, and bulled his way into Katherine like a madman, panting and groaning. She screamed and screamed, and then just lay there. I was shouting when Joint of Beef hit me on the head. It shut me up, all right. He clamped surly hands on me, and rape suddenly became an even more personal danger that made my teeth chatter. It gave me a spurt of strength that would have achieved nothing if he hadn't been
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so hypnotised, watching his leader. I snapped free, of him and ran, and he scarcely noticed. My feet carried me to the nearest tree shape. I fell behind it and clasped my arms around it, trying to stop the world spinning around. My head hurt like hell. I tried to see what was happening. There were only dim shapes in the starlight apart from the well-lit rape scene centre stage, still going on. I sobbed for Katherine, and nearly passed out. Consciousness wavered back again, and I -could hear Albie crying, 'No, no, no, no-' I tried to see him, and made out a bulky tableau. Albie, I guess, seemed to be on his knees. Someone was hacking away at his hair, and another guy was prancing around feinting at his face. Some time later, someone was punching and kicking at a heap on the ground. It surely was a nightmare. Or a movie. Not something actually happening to us. Now I was on my back, looking through leaves at a tiny patch of peaceful stars. But I knew the peace was lying to me. There was something going on, something I had to do. I crawled to my feet. There were more headlights out in the clearing, and legs running about. There were loud voices. Either the hoods had reinforcements, or it was all over. I tiptoed out of the trees, holding my head on with both hands.

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It had to be over. There was a uniformed cop. And another, holding Handsome, who was dazed looking, with his trousers bunched around his knees. 'All right, the fun's over,' said one cop. He was a middle-aged guy with a raspy voice. I boggled at how beautiful he was. It sure is in the eye of the beholder. I had to sit down again. People moved around. Someone shone a torch on me. I heard the static of the police car radio. Rain drifted over me. 'Come on, miss,' the raspy voice said. A hand under my arm helped me up. 'Into the car. You'll get wet here.' I sank into the soft back seat. There was fuzzy light in here. Joan was on the front seat, crying, with a dishevelled Jimmy comforting her. 'Where's Chris?' I said. The door opened. Katherine got in beside me, silently. Her hair and her sweater and shorts were sloppy with mud. One of her eyes was puffed up, and her cheek was split. Idiotically I worried about the mud on the nice clean seat until I saw bright blood trickling down inside her legs. A policeman got into the driver's seat. He flicked a glance over us; it wasn't too friendly. He took out his notebook. 'All right,' he said. 'What happened here?' Joan cried louder.

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'Chris,' I said to him. 'Where's Chris?' 'A big boy?' he said, looking me over carefully so he'd know me again. 'Fair hair?' 'Yes.' He gestured to the Kombi headlights. The raspy voiced cop was there, holding up part of the tent to shelter a figure lying on the ground, swathed in blankets. Handsome crouched under the canvas too, looking dejected. I pushed the door open, but the policeman's big arm stopped me. 'He's unconscious, miss. The ambulance will be here soon.' 'What's wrong with him?' 'Knife wounds.' I felt sick. 'Will he be all right?' 'I don't know, miss.' Something in his tone made me swing around to him, momentarily splitting my head in half. 'It's not his fault! It's not our fault-they attacked us, ripped up the tent-they had knives-' 'Yes, miss. How many people were there?' 'Where's Albie?' My voice sounded petulant. He glanced around. 'There's nobody else here.' I sucked in my breath. 'They must have taken Albie with them. They might be killing him, right this minute!' I felt so incredibly helpless, I moaned. The cop said dryly, 'I wouldn't worry too much about that. Now, did you see any faces?'

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While rain misted the windows he wrote down all the information Jimmy and Joan and I could give him. 'Any girls among them? Did you hear any sound of cars or bikes?' We shook our heads. Katherine had said nothing, she hadn't even moved. 'What about Katherine?' I said. 'Doesn't anyone care? They raped her. Do something.' The policeman stared out of the window. 'Do you wish to charge anyone with rape, miss?' Katherine said, 'No.' 'Katherine!' I couldn't believe it. 'Tell him!' 'Nobody raped me. I am perfectly all right.' I couldn't help going on about it. 'He did, I saw him, look at her, you know he did-.' 'If you were raped, miss,' said the policeman, 'I'd advise you to charge the man.' Katherine put both her hands up to her face and hid behind them. 'Nothing, happened to me,' she said. The cop got out and conferred with the other cop. He came back and spoke quietly into the radio. I heard a few words: '. . . serious assault . . . stab wound in the stomach ... claim three men de-camped into the bush . . .' I was staring out of the window at Handsome, who was staring down at Chris and beginning to look frightened. I said, 'Why isn't somebody holding him? He could get away.' The cop put his microphone back and said, 'We know him. He's not going anywhere.'
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Joan said, 'Why don't you go and- look for the others?' Jimmy said to her, 'They're probably his nephews.' The cop said in a hard voice, 'Watch it, sonny.' He definitely didn't care for us. And suddenly I knew why. ',Oh, check it out,' I said, mostly to explain it to myself. The words fell on top of one another, I guess I was raving. 'See, this is how it is, we're this bunch of sex-mad delinquents, lousing up the cop's beautiful town with orgies and gang wars-.' The policeman passed a hand over his face and appeared to be trying to control his temper. In a minute he started talking, just as though he were giving solid-gold taxpayers a rundown on what they were paying for. 'We're likely to be searching all night for these fellows, miss. Offduty police'll be called in to help set up road blocks. Likely we'll find them pretty soon, we've got a fair idea who we're looking for. At first light we'll rope off the area and search it for evidence. The weapon, or any blood-stained clothing, will be sent to the microbiologists in our scientific section in Sydney, with any other clues that may be scientifically examined-.' As a pair of distant headlights flared out of the dark, he forgot his official tones and said, 'Why didn't you people camp in the camping area? None of this need have happened.' Jimmy sighed. Under the muted pulse of surf, the car was so silent that we heard the tiny drip of Katherine's blood falling on the floor. The

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policeman's lips compressed further. Without looking, he passed a clean folded handkerchief, back over the seat to her. Then we sat, watching the lights creep closer. I began to be sure that it was a nightmare, and that if I had enough patience I would wake up in my own little flat. The two ambulance men fussed around Chris, and gave him an injection. They lifted him and brought him quickly over to the ambulance, sliding him smoothly into the back. Katherine and I got in with him. Jimmy. and Joan went off in the policeman's car. I must have looked at Chris's face the whole way to the hospital. He was whiter than anything I've ever seen. They told us girls to go into a room and wait. After ten minutes, a nursing sister swished through the door, rolling down her sleeves. Her uniform bore fresh stains. She looked around at us, and laid a hand on my shoulder. 'You first, come along.' 'No,' I said. 'Take Katherine first, she's more urgent.' The sister looked at Katherine. She frowned as she surveyed the mud, the puffed, bloody face, the brown bloody legs. She turned on her heel and went out. Through the partition beside me, I heard her say in a low sharp voice, 'Connie, leave that, come and clean up this black slut for Doctor.' When she came back into the room, I jumped up and tried to strangle her. Me: Lexie, the pacifist.

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Other people came, and they jabbed a needle into my arm. After that, I didn't want to know.

CHAPTER SIX

I awoke to the sound of voices coming closer. I saw I was in a hospital bed, in a room with three other beds, all empty. My head was bandaged. The door opened and two people in white came in. A nursing sister, and a doctor. They stood beside my bed. The doctor had crew-cut grey hair and hornrimmed glasses. He frowned and said, 'Well, young lady, what have you been up to?' I didn't answer, he must have known perfectly well why I was there. He tut-tutted, explored my 'head, asked questions about how I felt. 'You look like a nice girl,' he said, 'What are you doing fighting, eh? We'll take an X-ray of that, but I think you're lucky. I think you're okay. You'll have to stay where you are for a couple of days, just to be sure. I'll see you again later.'

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They left, and a nurse in a striped uniform brought me a cup of tea. Sitting up gingerly, I said, 'Can you tell me how Chris is?' 'Who?' 'My friend. He was-he was knifed.' 'Sorry,' she said, staring. 'I've just come on.' I sipped the tea, responding to its warmth. I wondered what the time was. As she went out, a policeman peered in. 'Alexis Carter?' 'Yes.' He came in, and another policeman carrying a portable typewriter followed him. They were about my age: beginners, I thought. 'Er, how are you feeling?' said the first. 'On top of the world,' I said. He looked hurt and shifted from foot to foot. 'I can talk. Is that what you want?' His face cleared. 'Just a brief statement. I'm Constable Wright, this is Constable Branston.' He showed me a form which Constable Branston rolled into the typewriter. I said, 'Have you caught them yet?' 'Only the one, so far. He'll be in court this morning over bail.' The typewriter sounded like a jackhammer, and by the time it had finished I felt demolished. 'Let us know if you change your address,' they said as they went. A few minutes later the door opened a crack as someone else peered in. It was Katherine. 'I wasn't sure it was you,' she said. She was dressed, and she had sticking plaster and ointment on her face, which was still swollen and bruised. She came to the chair beside the bed and sat awkwardly on the edge of it.

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Seeing her, I felt better straight away. 'Hi, I was wondering where you'd got to. I just woke up. How do you feel?' She grimaced. 'Chris is still doped. They just keep saying he's "critical". How about you?' 'My head's splitting, but I think I'm all right. The doctor said I had to stay here for a couple of days. What are you going to do?' She shrugged. 'Go back to Sydney, I guess. Or I might be able to get a bus to Taree, go and see how Dad is.' 'What exactly's wrong with him?' 'He was down in Sydney a couple of months ago, having a beer at the Empress in Redfern, and a few dozen cops came in and arrested him. They said he happened to hit his head getting into the paddy wagon.' 'Oh.' I didn't know what to say. I suddenly felt hollow. A couple of months ago-but she'd never told me. Somehow, I started to feel it was my fault. 'Have they found Albie?' She shook her head, looking at the floor. I said, 'Isn't anyone looking for him?' She said nothing, and I lay back. Everything was too much to cope with. I said, 'What about the police? What happens now?' She shrugged again. 'I've signed what they wanted.' I turned my head to see her. She seemed different. She had a beaten look about her, more than just her injuries. She wouldn't look at me directly.

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I said, 'Maybe you should go and see your Dad.' She drew a circle on the floor with her toe. I said, 'Katherine. Last night . . . I mean, why won't you charge the guy?' 'Oh,' she said wearily, 'Do you think I want to tell it all a hundred times? Police, doctors, solicitors, over and over it.' She hung her head. 'When you get to court it's just terrible. They try and make out it was the girl's fault. And what if he says it wasn't rape? Who's going to be on my side?' I whispered, 'I saw it, I know. Surely the cops know.' She drew in a tremulous breath. 'Use your head. I'm black. I grew up in a tin shack. I wasn't a virgin last night. His mother'll say he's a good boy, I must have led him on. It would all be for nothing. And anyway, what good would putting him in gaol do?' At last, she was crying. Quietly. Her tears trickled over the plaster on her cheek. She shook her head and said faintly, more to herself than to me: 'What have I ever done?' I reached out and put my hand -on her arm. For the first time, I was actually conscious that it was a white hand. She shook it off. 'Get away from me,' she said. She got up and walked out. So I cried, too. Then I got out of bed without falling over, and found my clothes in a cupboard. They were still dirty, but they were mine. I was halfway dressed when I heard the squeak of sensible shoes on the linoleum, and the door opening again. Nobody ever knocked. What about the rights of hospital patients?
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'What's this, what's this?' The nursing sister I had attacked last night stood there. I put out a hand to steady myself against the wall. I was so ashamed, I just closed my eyes. I hadn't changed my mind about pacifism. It is true-man does have the capacity to avoid violence. I just hadn't had it last night. I opened my eyes. 'I am so terribly sorry about-' I began. Her eyes were chilly, but her tone was surprisingly mild. 'You were in shock, dear, don't worry about it at all. No hard feelings. Now, I've brought you a visitor.' A woman I didn't know walked past her, looked at me, looked at the sister. 'Yes, well,' said the sister, 'I'll leave you two together.' She closed the door. I must have seemed a bit apprehensive. The visitor was a woman in her thirties, expensively dressed in a quiet, elegant way. I didn't know what to expect. But she was watching me with sympathetic interest. 'My dear,' she said. She came towards me with her arms out. I needed her shoulder. It seemed like friendly country. 'Come and sit- down,' she said. We sat on a bed. She said, 'My name is Betty Enright, and my husband and I are close friends of Chris's family. The police rang "Holmglen" last night to tell his parents what had happened, and to say they should
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come down here. But his mother's too ill to come. Actually, she collapsed while Sergeant Block was speaking to her. 'Chris's father,' she went on, 'is out on the property mustering, and can't be contacted for another two days, although they've sent someone out to look for him. 'So for the meantime, the housekeeper rang us and asked us to do what we could. It's fortunate that we don't live far away, just thirty miles out of town. 'Now, I've seen the police. And I've had a word with the doctor, and he's letting me take you home with me after an X-ray, on the condition that you stay in bed for at least two days.' 'Mrs Enright, I-' 'Betty.' 'Betty. You don't have to feel obligated to me, I was going to a motel, I have enough money.' Chris had given me some. 'My dear, I won't hear of it. It will be a great pleasure for us to have you. I only wish we could have Chris too.' She looked distressed. 'I wish I could see him,' I said. 'No, dear, he's sedated. There's a specialist flying up from Sydney today, and they think he'll operate. All you can do is just get yourself better.' When I was dressed, I remembered Jimmy and Joan. Betty said, 'The police tell me they left last night. They're quite all right. The boy has some bruises and other minor injuries, and the
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girl was only suffering shock and a sprained ankle. And just as well, I believe their wedding's only a month away.' She helped me along to the X-ray section, and when that was done, back to a little office where the sister I would rather not have seen checked me out. Surreptitiously I looked for marks on the woman's throat. The skin was inflamed, and seeing it gave me a sinking feeling. I felt a total failure. Betty was prepared to pay my bill, but I paid it. When I turned to go, the sister touched my arm. She seemed a bit embarrassed. 'Miss Carter, about your friend. Last night. I wanted to explain. You see, I thought she was a local girl.' I looked at her. She went on, 'Well, the local-er-dark people, they're a rough lot, they're in here every week, cut up with bottles, fallen in the flre-' 'Raped?' I said. 'Well-sometimes. So they say. And it was such a busy night, we were rushed off our feet-I mean, I don't usually speak like that. I just wanted you to know.' 'I see,' I said. 'Goodbye, Sister,' said Betty pleasantly. A couple more staff members spoke to Betty as we walked down the hallway. I said, 'You seem to know everyone in the place.' She said casually, 'Yes, I'm on the Hospital Board.' The sunlight outside hurt
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my eyes, but I found my sunglasses in my pocket. Parked beside a flowerbed was a white Mercedes. Betty put me into it and settled herself smoothly in the driver's seat. Just being in such a beautiful car gave me good vibes, but I would have swapped it for a bed. I had that feeling again, that events were tumbling out of my control. Driving off, Betty said, 'What does everyone call you-Alexis?' 'Lexie.' 'How pretty. Well, dear, the police have brought Chris's Kombi into town. When we get home I'll send someone in for it, I expect all your things are in it. Now, just sit quietly.' I must have dozed. I woke up when the car swung on to a private road, and we drove a couple of miles through rolling green hills before we drew up outside a house. It was a large modern house, built in pale brick and concrete. The upper storey sprouted one of those roofless balconies railed with wrought iron, a thing you couldn't use for anything but waving to your loyal subjects. A woman in a skirt and twinset opened the big front door. 'Lexie, this is our housekeeper, Mrs Freda Bliss. Freda, this is Lexie Carter, and she'd like to go to bed straight away.' 'I've got the back bedroom ready, Mrs E., I thought she'd like the view.' They shepherded me upstairs into a room full of shiny blond wood furniture and pink frills. The bed was heavenly soft. The housekeeper left us.

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'Dear Freda,' said Betty. 'I don't know what we'd do without her.' While she was putting me into a long Pink frilly nightgown, I giggled feebly and said, 'I feel about three years old. It's terribly kind of you, I don't know what I can say-' 'Just rest. Don't talk, that's doctor's orders.' She picked up my dirty clothes. A knock sounded. Dear Freda presented me with a smile and a light meal on a tray. To my surprise, I finished the food and afterwards slid into a deep sleep. When I awoke it was dark, and stars were twinkling through a window I didn't know. For a moment I panicked. Then I got it together. It was a bad scene: Chris, lovely Chris . . . he might really die. And Katherine, my friend. Was she my friend? Albie, where was he? Tune in tomorrow, folks. Yesterday-that was weeks and weeks agowe'd been playing in the sea and kidding around together. And Gran had gone, too. At least Gran had been old. But Chris? Or it might as easily have been me, knifed to death. The dark room started jumping with my fears. shivered, and got one of those quick flashes into all that gloom out there. I saw what the people were celebrating at my grandmother's wake, at all wakes. They were thrilled silly that they were still alive and superior to the dead: because the dead have publicly diminished themselves by dying. You can hear put-down anywhere. 'Old Fred Fox made this desk, marvellous workmanship. He died, You know.' Shakespeare's dead, da Vinci's dead. But we're still here, ya, ya.

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I knew, because I caught myself feeling just a bit smug about being alive when Gran was dead. Even - how shaming-even feeling glad that I was safe here while it was someone else, hurt, in hospital. I couldn't face myself. Betty tiptoed in, and saved me from more tears. I was crying so much lately, maybe I'd drown in my own tears and that would be one way out. But would it? 'Hi,' I said. She switched on the light and inspected me, putting down an armful of clothes. Tactfully she ignored the tears. 'Ah, you've got more colour tonight. I've sorted out some of your things from the Kombi, dear. I only know they're yours because they're smaller than Chris's. Don't young girls wear dresses any more?' 'I didn't bring any.' She put the clothes away and left. Dear Freda was next, with a tray. She hovered, fussing. 'Do you know, Miss Carter, you look very much like my daughter,' she said. 'Do I?' 'She's twenty,' she said. 'She's just become engaged. To a young doctor.' Her tone held both awe and utter satisfaction. I said, 'I'd rather not fall in love with a doctor. They're always out. It must be lonely for a girl, just answering the telephone.' She looked affronted. 'Oh, but-you don't understand, that's hardly the point. A doctor is so-well-so-responsible. I know that she'll always be looked after.'

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She bustled out, her mind full of the Big Daddy who would dose all the family mouths with free medicine, and push wide the social doors of the town. I wondered if perhaps I should start studying to be a doctor. A doctor could be useful just about anywhere. The food soothed my mind as well as my stomach, and somehow the long night of worry I was dreading didn't happen. When I opened my eyes, morning was all around me, dressed in horrid pink frills. I tried to get up, but they wouldn't let me. So in between naps I threshed around among magazines. I kept looking out of the window, at the green hills pushing up to meet tiny clouds. Cattle grazed here and there, and birds flew around a few stands of bush. It looked like a big property. Betty came in with news. 'The specialist operated on Chris yesterday, and he's improving. We can't see him yet, but they think he's out of danger.' I felt hot tears of relief. If anyone deserved to die, it wasn't Chris. Betty sat down in an armchair. 'His father still doesn't know, but he's due back at the homestead tomorrow anyway, and the news should be even better by then.' How would they put it? It's okay, your son wasn't killed, he's just seriously ill. 'And I've heard about your X-ray,' she went on. 'There's no damage done, thank goodness. The doctor Wants to see you in a couple of days.' 'Great. I can get up.'

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'If you take it quietly.' She took out a silver cigarette case and offered it to me. I said I didn't smoke. Good girl,' she said, lighting up. 'Don't ever start.' She leaned back and crossed her legs. She did everything so elegantly, I liked to watch her. She looked like the prototype upper-class young mother, someone to be proud of. I said, 'Do you have any children?' 'Yes, two, a boy and a girl. They're away at boarding school. Hate it, too, poor dears, but there's no decent school around here.' She smoked lazily. 'George and I were up at "Holmglen" last week for the birthday gathering, the first time we'd seen Chris in nearly three years. He's quite a man now, of course. His parents didn't want him to leave.' 'Well, that's Chris. He digs the sea, and the city life.' 'Yes.' She shifted a little and gazed out of the window. 'He hasn't found himself a career though, has he? What does he really want to do?' I thought about it. 'I don't think he really knows.' 'I rang the homestead this morning, his mother's still in bed. Poor Ida, it was hard enough having to watch him go away again, without this. They'd always hoped Chris would take over the property, but he doesn't even seem to want to learn.' A question mark hung around. 'How do you feel about country life, Lexie?' 'Oh, I grew up in a little country town, and I couldn't leave fast enough. But that must be different from living on a property.' 'Yes. Very. You know, Chris told us so much about you last week that I felt I knew you as soon as I saw you. I hope you won't mind if I say something personal, dear?' I smiled. 'I don't know till you say it.'
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'Well . . . As you come from the country, you'll appreciate that country people have a rather different outlook on things-I mean, when you're used to free and easy city ways-well, you see, what I'm trying to say is that there are people around here who would be terribly shocked at the idea of you and Chris going away together like that. I mean, particularly when you're not even engaged . . . or perhaps you are?' 'No, we're not.' I searched for words that wouldn't upset her. 'The thing is, Chris and I don't believe it has anything to do with anybody else, whether we have a sex life or not. If people want to be shocked, that's not our business. Do you mean you're shocked?' She dropped her eyes and got a bit flustered. 'Oh, of course not, but it doesn't matter what I think. The reason I mentioned it is that we're having a party here this week, with a lot of local people coming, and I thought it might be a good idea if you, ah, avoided that subject? Do you see what I mean?' 'I don't see why the subject should come up. But everyone will know eventually. The court case, I mean.' Betty said, 'Lexie, what actually did happen?' I told her, ending with Katherine's refusal to charge the rapist. She shook her head. 'The police have got two of the other thugs. The fellows just-went on home. They're still looking for the last one.' She sighed. 'It all sounds so-sordid. Not your fault, of course. I hear one of them was going into the Army next week.' 'Oh, too bad. It's legal in the Army, isn't it?' She stood up and took the tray, pursing her lips. 'Well, we have dinner at seven, I'll come up for you.' Her glance was pleasant, but I thought there was a trace of uncertainty in it. She paused. 'Lexie, you do love Chris, don't you?'
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'Yes.' 'Good.' She left me wondering what difference that made to her. Later Betty helped me downstairs, and as I was sitting down at the large modern dining table in a dressing-gown of hers, George came in. 'Hello there, hello,' he shouted. The words boomed around the walls. So many country men talk as though you're in the next paddock. He came around the table to me. He was a big man, and he walked wide-legged, as though his balls hurt. He sounded like Colossus conquering the earth with each heavy slap of the sole. He seemed older than Betty. 'So this is Chris's girlie, eh? He can- pick 'em, all right, pity he can't pick bulls, eh?' He chuckled and crushed my hand. 'Seriously, though, happy to meet you, young lady.' 'It's very kind of you, having me to stay. I'm sorry I've put you both to the trouble.' 'No trouble, no trouble. Got a housekeeper, haven't we? Got to look after Chris's girl, future mistress of the manor and all that, eh?' 'George!' said Betty. As the penny dropped, so did a fork I'd picked up. What a dumdum I'd been. I said, 'I'm not going to marry Chris.' There was a silence.

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George lowered his head, looked at me from under bushy brows. 'But I understand you're-er-involved with the boy, aren't you? Well, then. I was saying to Betty, these things often turn out for the best. Where is it, Sweden, they practically take you to court if you don't have a trial marriage, eh?' His laugh barked out. I said urgently, 'It's not a trial marriage, I mean it.' He waved reassuringly, and pointed a heavy finger at me. 'I reckon I know a thing or two about life, young lady, and you're not the kind a man sows his wild oats on. No, I'll give you two kids six months-and I'll remind you of this in years to come, don't think I won't, when I've got the little ones on my knee.' I didn't enjoy that meal. I felt I was eating it under false pretences. But the pretences weren't mine. After dinner we went into the lounge room, and George switched on television for the news. Betty said, 'Do you watch much TV in Sydney?' 'Oh, sure,' I said, 'I think television ought to be compulsory, don't you? It really gets you into the rest of the world.' 'Oh?' said Betty doubtfully. 'We don't get many travelogues on our channel.' I glanced at her; she was serious. I couldn't hear the main part of the news program, because George and Betty talked all through it. But when the district news began, George said, 'Quiet now, don't want to miss anything.' Next morning I took off the bandage. There was a bruise, but I hid it with hair. I dressed in jeans and shirt and felt more like myself. I started thinking about leaving. 'Morning, girlie,' George cried, putting his newspaper on the breakfast table and checking me out. 'Ha! I remember when a trouser fly was a man's prerogative. Now you women want everything.'
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'Sure,' I said. 'Why not?' I sat down and Betty served me. 'It works two ways, George, men are growing their hair long.' He snorted. 'Men, you call them. What's manly about a bloke with locks down to his shoulders so you Can't tell if he's a bloke or a woman?' 'Does it matter?' I said. 'Whether he's a bloke or a woman?' He looked uncomprehending. 'Lexie, dear,' said Betty. 'Do you want me to bring you anything from town today? Our- party's tomorrow night. You said you hadn't brought any dresses?' George was staring at me. 'What does she mean, does it matter?' I shrugged, I didn't want an argument. He said, 'Are you one of those women's lib nu - people?' His eyes dropped to search me for a bra, and stayed, fascinated. Betty said, 'Women's Lib? Oh, honestly, Lexie, that's a red rag to a bull in this house. Any woman who can't see the advantages of being a housewife is crazy. A housewife's her own boss-she can organise her own day, her own budget, she doesn't have to travel to work-oh, there are so many good things about it. I've got no patience with whining women.' It was hard not to argue with that too, but I managed it. George dragged his eyes away from my shirt, shook the paper noisily, and dropped it. 'Well. Time for work. I'm taking the four-wheel drive up the hills this morning, girlie, burning scrub, if you want to come along and watch.' I hesitated. 'I'd love to, but I don't think my head could stand the drive.'
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'Ah, no. Well, another time.' His feet conquered the dining-room floor. We listened to his tread all the way to the back door. Betty's mouth twitched. 'You should be around when my son's home, you can't hear yourself think. We certainly breed he-men around here.' I sipped tea and wondered what sex with George would be like. He seemed about as sensitive as a galloping rhinoceros. But Betty appeared unhurt. I thought I'd just as soon make out with a bulldozer; it wouldn't call me 'girlie'. Betty touched a serviette to her mouth and said, 'I must run, I'll be home about five. You just have a quiet time. Freda will look after you.' After breakfast I wandered around the house. People's homes kind of tell you where their heads are at. This one seemed full of windows that didn't open, fireplaces filled with fake logs, pictures that weren't worth their frames. The whole inventory depressed me. I found Chris's Kombi in the barn. I liked the barn, it was an honest kind of thing. It held machinery, hay, tins of paint, a couple of ducks. But none of it was really my bag, it was so alien. Them-yes, that was the way the world wobbled, all right-Them, and Us. And guess which side would win Chris for his convalescence? No prizes-it wouldn't be Us. I sighed. His parents would have their chance to get at him now, when he was weak, about staying on the property.

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CHAPTER SEVEN
The day was warm, but windy. I found a place to sit on a sheltered back verandah. I'd intended to read, but I couldn't have been as well as I'd thought. Instead I looked at a willow on the lawn, watching its long green skirts bouncing in the wind. Leaves flitted around the grass. A shiny-coated cat danced after them. I still felt I shouldn't be here, but for the moment I was too languid to move while the Enrights were pressing me to stay. I had lunch on a tray on the verandah. Afterwards, it got so warm there that I changed into a bikini and spread out in the sun. I was thinking, that I heard George coming back when a guy came around the corner, a young guy in shirt and jeans. He saw me, stopped, looked me over carefully, and wolf-whistled. The whistle was given generously, as though he knew I'd been lying there yearning for it, and he was a kind-hearted guy. From the tone of the whistle, I figured he'd awarded me eight points out of ten. 'Who are you?' I said. 'Ian Turnbull. From down the road. Who are you?' 'A visitor, I guess. Lexie Carter. Everyone's out.' 'Oh.' He frowned. 'I just stopped off on the way to town. George said he wanted some tractor oil or something.' 'Hey.' I sat up. 'Can I hitch a ride to town?' 'Maybe,' he said, rocking on his feet, his eyes glinting. 'Reckon you could. Sure.' I scrambled up. 'I won't be more than two minutes.', I made it in five, showered, changed, hair brushed, in spite of feeling a bit dizzy.
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'Pretty good for a girl,' he said, revving up his orange coupe. A couple of minutes later I was sorry I'd got into this, he was driving so fast. But soon I could see he knew the road intimately, and I relaxed. And then it was fun, it was even wildly sexy-the mad rush, the sudden swoops, the sensation of being swept along in some huge exciting force. One of the swoops took us to the side of the road, where he switched off and got out. 'You drive,' he said. 'I can't!' 'Don't panic, I'll tell you what to do.' He got into the passenger's seat and gave me a crash course on getting going. We got going, feebly and noisily, but soon I was zooming along at twenty-five. I was having fun. We didn't strike any traffic, and the road had flattened out. I felt great, till my knee told me that a hand was resting on it. My instinct was to stop and give him a bad time, but then I thought what a fool I would look, objecting to a hand on my knee. After a couple of miles, his hand moved a couple of inches higher. The car wobbled over the white line, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him grinning. As his hand crept up my thigh, the car went faster and faster, and I got madder and madder. While I was trying to figure out whether I could brake straight off, or whether I should slow down first, the car decided for me. It went crazy, veering its tail from as side to the other, and making a soft thumping sound at the back.

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Ian fell on the steering wheel, shouting at me to my feet. I did, and I hung on to the wheel too, keep my balance. He was trying to wrench it from and cursing. I got dizzy again and scared; I shut my eyes and prepared to die. But we slowed down, and ended up bumping along the verge till we stopped. After a moment to calm down, we both got out into the hot sunlight. In grim silence Ian inspected a flat rear tyre. When he ripped off his shirt, exposing a hairy chest, I made a big thing of checking his muscles out, and then I wolf-whistled. I awarded him exactly the points he'd given me, with maybe a touch of derision thrown in. He didn't have any sense of humour about that. He flushed, and scowled, and crashed the car tools together. I sat on the grass until he'd changed the tyre. He stowed the flat, and we got back in. He took the wheel for the rest of the way, and we sat in silence until we reached the town, when he said curtly, 'Where to?' 'The main street, I guess.' Neither of us mentioned the return journey. I got out, and he drove off. I wasn't going to thank him for anything. I found the newspaper office without much trouble, and went into a glossy room with a counter and a couple of desks. I said to the girl who came over to me, 'I want to see a reporter, please.' 'They're out the back. Come through here.' Behind the glossy office was a huge unpainted shed full of machinery. At one side was a door in a partition, and the girl knocked and showed me through it. A gentleman with rimless glasses looked up from baskets of papers on a table. He seemed surprised. He ducked his grey hair at me, got up, and smiled at the wall beside me. A nice man, I thought,

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but nervous with women. How had he got like that? Wherever I go, I trail this string of unanswered questions about people. 'Er, what can I do for you, er, miss?' I took a deep breath. 'I'd like to see a reporter. About a rape.' His Adam's apple seemed to get stuck in his throat. He took a step backwards. 'Er, er, yes. Now what, er, rape would that be?' Beside us a teleprinter burst into life,. and its clatter drowned my voice. The man darted past me and opened a door. There was dirty male laughter going on and he said into it, 'Tim, er, um, a young lady to see a reporter.' He closed the door behind me smartly. Tim was balancing his bottom on a chair with his feet up beside a typewriter. He was an off-looking guy; he should have worn a hat with a big Press card in the band. He chopped off the laugh and said, 'Helloello, well, well, what have we here? A beautiful damsel in distress?' He plonked his feet on the floor and pulled out a chair for me. I glanced at the other guy. He was small and redfaced, wearing a shabby three-piece suit. He got up and reached for a felt hat. 'Well, so long, sport, see you at the track.' 'Right,' said Tim. He looked me up and down admiringly. 'And what can I do you for, my dear?' I was starting to wonder if I'd done the right thing, coming here. 'I don't quite know,' I said, sitting down. 'I guess I just want some justice.' 'Ah. That's a hard one. As the actress said to the bishop. Ha, ha. Well, tell me your troubles.' He lengthened his face suitably and waited. I fidgeted. Well . . . what could I lose?
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'Um, well, two nights ago down by the beach here, a friend of mine was raped, and it looks like the guys are going to get away with it, but I was right there, I can tell you all about it.' He whistled. 'Rape? Two nights ago? Hang on, was it anything to do with the stabbing? We ran a piece today.' 'Yes. The police got the guy the same night.' He reached for a notebook and flipped the pages. 'Yep. Lark Johnson, 19, of Cobbler Flats. Grievous bodily harm. Up in court yesterday. Remanded, no bail allowed. Victim critically ill. Nothing about rape, though.' 'He did it, for sure, I saw him. But Katherine won't charge him, she says she couldn't go through it all, and I can see her point, everyone staring and talking. But he's so-he's a terrible person, he's dangerous, he shouldn't be allowed to get away with it.' 'H'm. So Lark Johnson raped a dolly, eh?' I hoped I wasn't hearing a tinge of respect in his voice. 'And what is it you want us to do?' 'Print something. I don't know.' 'Can't be done, my dear. The case is sub judice. We'd be up for contempt of court.' 'There's no rape case at all, sub whatever or not, that's what's bugging me. There's no charge. Look a girl gets raped, in the middle of all her friends, right out of the blue. And nobody's doing a damn thing about it. It's not good enough. Can't I write a letter to the editor, even?' 'I don't see them printing it, it's too dicey. Maybe after the sentence-' He shrugged. 'But this paper doesn't go in for that sort of sensationalism, anyway.' I said through my teeth, 'Neither does Katherine.' He said kindly, 'Look, I wouldn't get too upset about it. If
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the girl herself won't bring a charge, it can't be too serious.' A glaze of wordly wisdom came over his face. 'It's funny about rape. You know, some women love it.' , If I had had the strength to lift a typewriter, I'd have bashed him with it. I shuddered for the fate of Lexie, C.O. 'Anyway, where is the girl?' he said. He leaned forward with renewed interest. 'It wasn't actually you, was it?' 'No way. I'm the wrong colour.' He blinked. 'A black?' He leaned back in his chair and laughed, then sobered. 'Sorry, dear, I just don't see what we can do. Now why don't you leave it to the police and go on home? You look a bit pale. Oh, wait on, you're Sydney kids, aren't you? Where are you staying?' Rage and frustration had made me feel rather strange, and it didn't help to realise I'd simply made a fool of myself by coming here. I hated not being able to sweep out. I said faintly, 'With the George Enrights. Do you happen to know if there's a bus that goes out there?' He looked at his watch. 'Only one, and it's gone by now. I could take you myself, but I'm off to a flower show, dear God-our girl's not in today. Hang on, hang on, here's the answer. The US cavalry, or something.' The door had opened and a vision stood there, a vision in white. It was a guy: stocky, with a battered, heavily tanned face. He wore white leather flared trousers, a white fringed satin shirt, and a snowy white Red Indian feathered headdress that hung well past his shoulders. His pose was magnificent. I gawked.

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Tim said, 'Big Chief Wampum himself. Get the shots done okay, Chief? Should be right for the day after tomorrow, around Page Three, I'd reckon, that do you? Listen, you've got transport, how about running the girl home? Miss-what was it-Carter, this is Big Chief, um, um, Running Bear, that's right. Sorry I've got to dash, the petunias are calling.' He grabbed hat and notebook and patted my shoulder. 'Chin up, it seems the cops've got the bloke, anyway.' I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. 'He might get off. I don't think he was the one who stabbed Chris, he was ... too busy.' 'Ah, they'll probably get him on common purpose. If they can establish that the whole group went out there to commit violence, then they're all guilty. So long.' Big Chief Running Bear came to life. He extended one arm, hand outstretched, in a classic Red Indian pose. I could see it in full screen close-up. In colour, of course. He said to Tim, 'Say, matey, about them snaps. Do you reckon you might lose a few my way, ay?' He winked rapidly. 'Ay? Say a dozen? You'll be right, mate, no worries, you come around to the show any time, just see me and you can walk right in, no questions asked. Any time.' 'Right, mate,' said Tim, winking back as he left. The Chief and I looked at each other. 'Jeez, don't cry. You're real pretty, you know?' I found myself smiling. 'Well, you're real pretty too.' 'Yeah? D'you reckon?' He looked pleased. He preened. He stroked the headdress. 'You like the old feathers, ay? Had 'em sent out from the States. Well. You comin'?'

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As I followed him out he swung on his heel and bent towards me with a gesture worthy of any Mohawk warrior. His black eyes flashed. 'Ay,' he whispered, 'I gotta tell you. I'm not really a Red Indian.' I wondered if his horse knew that. It was hitched outside to the next-door fence. Before I knew it, I was astride behind a white and silver saddle, bumping along with a faceful of feathers, hanging on like crazy to the satin-shirted torso. I'd never been on a horse, and I seized up with fear. A couple of minutes later the horse was parading down the centre of the main street, and I was part of the act. We stopped the traffic, momentarily, and drew a procession of children. By the set of his head I felt Running Bear was wearing a 'me-noble-savage-thumpem-white-bastard' expression. He was waving regally. The main street was eight blocks long, and I was seasick, or something, before the first was past. Around the eighth he said over his shoulder, 'Good thing I left the sandwich board back home, ay, or you couldn't have held on back there.'

'Mmmmm,' I said.
'Jeez, I bet we look good together. Hey, d'you want a job, ay? Be real good, we could do this every town, twice a day.' 'Aaaah.' 'Where you want to go to, chickie?'
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I gasped out directions. 'Righteo. Here we go, we'll get up a bit of speed now.' He wheeled the horse out of the main street, and we started to trot, canter, gallop-whatever diabolical thing it was. I was dead sure I was going to fall off, and my head was pounding. 'Stop! Please stop!' I screamed. He reined in sharply and looked back in astonishment. I was trembling, but it was too many miles down to the ground to get off. 'Please, I can't go for thirty miles like this, my head hurts. I'll have to hitch a ride home.' He came over all indignant. 'Nah, look, it's only another mile to the showground. I'll take you on in the car. You shouldn't go hitching, girls get knocked off, hitching. Jeez, you need someone to look after you, you know? Now, hang on just a bit longer and we'll go real slow.' He was such a sweetie that I hung on. When he finally jumped off the horse and helped me down, I stood unsteadily for a moment. We were in front of a marquee in a row of other marquees, alongside the agricultural show oval. The sign said, 'The Pawnee Family, Trick Western Riders Extra-Ordinaire'. The Chief said, 'Now look, you come around the back, ay, and have a cuppa. You look that washed out.' So I found myself in another tent, sitting at a table beside a heap of leather horse gear, with four other people: his two brothers, his aunt, and her husband. There was a strong smell of horse and sweat. A fresh pot of tea appeared and I gripped the thick white cup and drank gratefully as the five faces gazed kindly at me. 'Real peaky, she looks,' said a brother. 'Where'd you find her, Bill?' 'Up the town. Wanted a lift. Can't ride for shit, I'll take her on in the car.'
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'Not up the creek, are you, dear?' his aunt said, compassionately. 'Not what?' I said. They all laughed. 'Reckon she ain't, then,' said a brother. 'Want a job?' said the other brother. 'I'm fed up of selling tickets.' 'Yeah, come along with us,' said the aunt. 'I could use another female face around the joint. One against four, it ain't right.' They all laughed again. 'That'll be the day, auntie, when you're hard done by.' Bill, my chauffeur, said to me, 'Going up by Tumut next week, big show up there.' His black eyes glowed at me. 'You'd like it up there.' I was tempted. It was kinky enough. Kind faces, new fields. But I would have to be Bill's. And that would not work out, I didn't need to be hit on the head to know that. I finished my tea. 'You're all very kind, but I really must be getting home, my friends will be wondering what's happened to me.' 'Aaaah.' They did look disappointed-and not entirely, I felt, for Bill's sake. I hoped they wouldn't take in some little floozie who would run off with their savings. I shook hands warmly all around. As we went out they called, 'Drop in any time you see the sign. Any time.' Bill, still arrayed in all his Indian glory, walked me to the car park. There were a few people around, but only two heads swung after him. One of them belonged to Ian Turnbull, who was talking to a pretty, dark-haired girl. The other spectator was with them, and he was the most beautiful guy I had ever seen in my entire life. I couldn't take my eyes off him. We had to pass them. Bill strutted and put a proprietary arm around my shoulders. I looked straight at the guy, and he looked at me. He was pretty tall, with long hair, fine strong features, fine
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strong hands. He was wearing jeans and a chamois shirt over a solid tan. Passing Ian, I stopped. I said, 'Hello, Ian. Did I leave a comb in your car? I can't seem to find it.' Well-Joan would have been proud of me. But there an times when a girl gets desperate. Ian flicked me a cool glance. 'Dunno, I'll have a look.' 'Thanks. Oh, this is-ah-Chief Running Bear. Ian Turnbull.' Ian nodded grudgingly, while the girl starred hard at me. I looked enquiringly at the beautiful guy, who had a kind of a smile going. The smile set off my own private light show. 'Zeke Richardson,' he said. Zeke. Ah ... ah. What a fabulous name. And what a voice. 'I'm staying with Ian.' 'Well. Are you? I'm staying with lan's neighbours, the Enrights.' 'Yeah? I think we're supposed to be going to some rave-up over there.' I smiled brilliantly. 'See you round, then.' I floated away. Going home, I felt pretty unreal. I didn't have to talk much, because Bill was telling me his life story. So I just sat there smiling, and thinking about Zeke. His eyes. His body. His voice. Light-headed was the word for me. Was it concussion, or was it I-o-v-e? Either way, it was incredible. Insane. Nobody was around when Bill dropped me at the door. I went up to my room, lay down, and counted the hours until tomorrow night's party. I went to sleep, until Betty came in with an armful of dresses. 'They're nothing marvellous, I'm afraid, Lexie, but you said you hadn't brought a party frock. I don't have to take them back to the shop till Friday.' I mumbled thanks, and she hung them and went away. I got up and looked them over. They were awful. Hideous. I knew I would.
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rather die than let Zeke see me in a pastel nylon with a bow at the neck. I lay down again. Ah, Zeke. Zeke Richardson. Ah, those eyes. I smiled and went back to sleep. The next day passed quietly. I pottered about helping with the party food and picking flowers for huge Chinese urns. I dithered a lot. I just hoped tonight's was the rave-up Zeke had meant. By eight o'clock I was so nervous that I had to lie down for ten minutes. It turned out to be Betty's birthday party. 'I didn't tell you, dear,' she said, 'because I didn't want you worrying about a present.' She wore an expensively plain gown in ice blue crepe that made her skin look pearly. By nine, Dear Freda was busy at the front door receiving hats and coats and congratulations on her daughter's engagement. 'Yes, we're thrilled,' she kept saying. 'Such a nice young man, he's bound to go a long way.' Betty was heaped with brightly wrapped presents which she piled on a table. I skulked around trying to keep out of her way: I was wearing my best jeans and a cream silk shirt that I liked because it almost matched my hair. I'd washed my hair and dried it in sunlight and wind, and it was looking good. I was as ready for Zeke, or life, or whatever might be on the way, as I would ever be. 'Hello, young lady, and who are you?' An old guy gripped my arm. He looked like a grizzly-haired football in trousers. Betty, passing, said, 'Alistair, this is a young friend from Sydney, Lexie Carter. Dear Alistair's known our family for years, Lexie.' Her elegant manners did not allow her to refer directly to my jeans, but
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she felt free to drop them a glance. 'Lexie is a friend of young Chris Jarrow. Oh, hello Deirdre. And Tom. How very nice of you to come.' She glided away. 'The Jarrows, eh?' said Alistair. 'Know them well. Bit of money there, they must be old George's best customers.' 'Customers?' 'Yes. Bulls. They buy George's bulls. A few cows now and then, but it's the bulls bring in the lolly.' I felt a chill. I had thought Betty really liked me, up to now. Well, I wouldn't be staying here much longer. I watched a few people arrive. Most of the men wore tuxedos, most of the women wore dresses that were interlined to death. Few of them were young, but the young didn't look much different to the older. They threw me some funny looks. I wandered to the kitchen and went into the pantry for a handful of the sultanas Freda kept behind the door. I stood in the dark pantry eating them and worrying whether Zeke would have a girl with him, whether he would come to the party at all. It wasn't his kind of thing, I didn't need to be clairvoyant to know that. I heard the sound of two doors opening, and then Betty's voice outside the pantry. 'Murray.' She said the name softly, breathlessly. 'I didn't know you'd arrived.' 'I haven't, officially.' I could see them both through the crack of the pantry door. He was new to me. I was about to walk out when I saw him take hold of her shoulders. Bending his head, he tenderly drew the tip of his tongue along her lips. I heard her gasp.

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I tried to look away, but I couldn't. His hand smoothed her belly, slid around her hip. 'Betty,' he said softly, 'I've got to have you, I can't keep going without it. Meet me in ten minutes.' 'Murray. Oh, Murray,' she said. 'How can I possibly? I've got to be here.' 'Meet me,' he said. I heard the back door close. Betty stood still. Then she passed a trembling hand across her forehead. When she went out I heaved a big sigh and helped myself to more sultanas, I felt I'd earned them. I bet myself that she wouldn't meet him; it would be such bad form to leave one's guests. I was so curious that I watched her. She made a quick phone call and went to talk with Freda in the foyer. I followed. 'Freda dear,' she was saying, 'I've just had a call from Patsy, she's in tears, the baby's got croup again and she can't settle him down, she wants me to go over for a minute.' 'Oh, the poor lamb-but what a time to pick!' 'Yes, isn't it, but I feel I can't let her down. Would you hold the fort for me?' 'Certainly, Mrs E., don't you worry.' 'Thanks, dear. I'd be grateful if you'd simply say I'm around somewhere. I shouldn't be too long.' 'Bless you for taking the trouble,' said Freda. Betty slipped away, and I saw headlights pass from the garage. The party was getting noisy, and it managed to struggle on without the guest of honour. George was loudly helping the barman, and talking cattle with ruddy-faced friends. I sat down where I could see the front door, and picked up a magazine. Behind me a woman's voice filtered through the party buzz. 'My Lord, have you seen her new car? Isn't it superb? Well, I happen to know how she got it, because she told me. Now, don't
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breathe a word. Harry W" late home one night, and he thought she was asleep, and when he was getting undressed she said to him, "How did you get your underpants on back to front?" And he said he'd put them on that way in the morning. But she said no, she'd been there when he was getting dressed. And then she said, "Harry dear, I want a red Thunderbird.". The two women passed in front of me, falling about with mirth, holding on to each other. I felt stifled. I walked around the party rooms again, looking for Zeke. 'Hello dear, all by yourself?' said a woman with braids around her head. Come and sit with us, I'm Annabelle, and this is my husband Ron. I always think it's nice to talk to people on their own, I suppose that's because I'm never alone myself, we always do everything together, Ron and 1, don't we Ron? She laughed. 'Is that right, Ron?' I said. Ron smiled faintly. 'Do you shower together, Ron?' Annabelle shrieked, shocked. 'Oh, what a funny thing to say, isn't she a character? Oh, no, of course we don't, dear, Ron doesn't like showers, anyway. He's a terror for baths, although they do waste water, don't they, but I never criticise him for it-' 'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but I do have to see someone. Would you excuse me?' Thirty-five minutes after she had left, Betty was back: not a hair out of place, the ice blue crepe still daisy-fresh, the party smile undisturbed. I was tempted to believe in the croup. But there was
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something about her eyes that was unmistakable, if you were looking for it. A young guy in a tartan tuxedo asked me to dance, although it was hardly worth the effort with such deadshit music. Everyone was hopping about clicking their fingers, thinking they were hippies for the night. Then somehow a good track slipped through the orchestral meringue, and I accepted his offer. The music was a blast of fresh air in that alien atmosphere. Dancing, for a minute or two I felt free again. Then Betty was beside me, murmuring desperately between the teeth of her smile, 'Lexie, remember your poor head, we're not used to that kind of dancing here, sit down for a while, do.' She seemed shocked, even hurt. 'Oh, shit,' I said. I got so mad I could have yelled at her. But I sat down. People eventually stopped staring, and the party closed over me again. I noticed Murray arrive, with a younger woman on his arm. Betty welcomed them, and managed to hand Murray a drink without spilling a drop. Dear Freda came looking for me, her nose in the air. 'Miss Carter, there is a kind of, ah, cowboy, asking for you.' Oh, no. 'Not a cowboy,' I said, 'an Indian.' Behind her, he came loping towards me, grinning under another set of feathers. He sure believed in the power of advertising. Heads were swivelling. 'Havin' a party?' he said. I shuddered at the image of Lark Johnson saying the same words. I grabbed Bill's arm and led him
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back to the front door. 'It's not my party,' I said. 'What do you want?' 'Aw, I just nicked up between shows to say we got a poker school going after we close up tonight, how's about it, ay?' 'I can't play poker, and I have to stay here anyway.' His face fell. 'Ah, Jeez, you make it real hard for a bloke, chickie. Tell you what, come and sit in the car with me, just for a minute, ay?,- Got something I want to tell you.' It took me five minutes to get rid of him, and I was frantic. If Zeke arrived and saw us together again, he might just leave. By the time Bill drove off, it was eleven o'clock. But no Zeke. I was in hell. And all these people were the devils. What had I done to deserve them? Someone rang a gong for speeches around the supper tables. The last speech was Alistair's. 'I've known our er-fair hostess since she was kneehigh to a poddy calf, in fact, I've watched her grow from a skinny kid with knobs on her knees to the er-rather-er attractive lady she is tonight. And I won't say how many years that took, ha, ha. Anyway, to this, ah, beautiful lady, we all wish you well on your birthday, Betty, and I propose three cheers-hip, hip-' Betty had flushed under her hostess mask, and I didn't think it was pure pleasure. I had to admire Alistair, the old stinker. In a few words he'd scored a triple. He'd set Betty up as someone who needed compliments, which he was graciously supplying; established doubt as to whether they were deserved, and put her off-balance by announcing that her age was too terrible to be told. But Betty's problems were nothing to mine. I was feeling sick to my stomach by now, and deathly disappointed. I couldn't eat a thing. I turned to ease through the people, and found my palm resting on Zeke's chest.

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He was standing still-waiting, in all that chattering crowd. Waiting, it seemed, for me. We stared at each other wordlessly. He put out his hand, and I took hold of it. 'Hungry?' he said. 'Ravenous,' I said. And I was. We forged through to the table. I thought I had never seen such delicious looking food. We took our piled plates to an empty corner. But Ian came along, with a girl in full country club drag. Ian was a bit drunk already. I didn't care for Ian. He said to me belligerently, 'What do you do for a crust, then?' Being whistled at was still getting up his nose. I shrugged. 'What do you do?' 'Ha,' he said hollowly. 'Teacher.' 'I wonder about teachers,' I said. 'What kind of a person has to be top dog all the time?' Ian peered at me. 'You bitch.' Zeke started to pull me away, but George bore down on us, waving his glass. 'Ian, m'boy, here you are. And-wait a minute-isn't this your Bolshie mate from Sydney? By crikey. I remember you. Argue the leg off a donkey. Nathaniel? Habakkuk? Some bloody thing.' Zeke nodded. 'George. How are you?' George's eyes narrowed. 'What were you on about last time?' He swallowed some beer. 'Boongs. That was it. You were telling me how to handle abos. Shoulda been here last week, fella, we had one wouldn't work 'cause his dead granpa was sitting up the tree in the home paddock.' He shook his head. 'What do you reckon you'da done about that, eh?' Zeke said, 'I reckon I'd have cared about him, for a start.' George choked on his beer, laughing. 'Cared about him? Cared? What does he care about me?' He slapped his hand on the table. 'Gotit. Ezekiel. Christ, Ezekiel. Are you a bloody parson? You talk like it.' 'I don't give a damn about all that church crap,
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George, I'm talking about honest-to-God basics.' Zeke was tensing up. It must have been a festering argument. People nearby were listening. 'Look, George,' said Zeke. 'If people can't care about other people, you might as well say a man's nothing but a shit machine-feed in raw materials at one end, and out comes the shit. Very efficient, if shit's all you want. But a man's more than a contraption, he's got a whole world of life to look after!' Well . . . Bam. Zap. Zowie. Pow. As they say in the comics. I never stood a chance. I mean-really, did I? I stood in a glazed daze, staring at Zeke. But George sounded as though he was going to blow a gasket. After he'd stopped saying 'What!' and 'Here-' and snorting, he started to roar. 'What do you mean, using that kind of language in here? If you can't talk clean, get out of my house, you filthy mouthed young bugger!' Zeke yelled right back at him. 'People like you don't know the meaning of obscenity! Screw the blacks, screw the customers, screw the foreigners-but never say fuck in front of the ladies!' He grabbed my hand and charged out. I snatched glimpses of faces-horrified, fascinated, agog-before we burst out into the quiet night. We stopped, looked at each other, and started to laugh. It was so natural then, to put our arms around each other. And it felt so good. 'Sorry,' he said, 'to drag you into it. Or out of it.' 'Don't apologise. That guy's got more hangups than a wardrobe, it's time someone started on him.' 'Will it be bad for you? How come you're staying with them?' So I told him about it as we strolled over the

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paddocks. Out here were stars and stillness, a huge stillness you don't get in the city. I breathed in sweet air, and felt cleaner. Our hands were warm together; the skin of his hand felt dry and a little hard, and I wanted to feel it on me. The sex pull seems to get to me three ways. The sneakiest way is when I've known a guy a long time as someone good to have around, and suddenly I start thinking he's sexy. Because he's there, I guess. Maybe his throat starts to fascinate me, or his eyebrows. Then there's the handsome guy who turns me on by what he says about things: life, people, you know. Being handsome in two directions is irresistible. Third, there's the guy I might see in the street or somewhere, and the sight slugs me like a sledgehammer. He can look like Dracula as long as he's got the dynamite packed right. For him I want to lie down right there and then, yelling, 'Hey, man, over here!' This guy I was walking with now got to me all three ways, and more, and I could hardly cope. I didn't know him, and yet I did. I wanted to know all there was about him, and yet I didn't want to. I wanted to impress him, but I couldn't think straight. 'This guy Chris . . .' he said. I took my time about answering. 'In a way, I love Chris.' He heard what I was saying. We stopped and leaned against a tree with our arms around each other. The closeness wrapped me in safety, and yet stabbed me through with high voltage.
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When eventually he stirred, he said, 'Not here. No on the property of George Enright, Esquire.' 'No,' I said. He was so right. I felt that whatever he wanted would be right, and I would want it too. It was too much. My chief coherent emotion was astonishment at myself. 'What do you want to do, Lexie?' he said. 'I don't know. Honestly. I feel like I'm going around in a washing machine.' His face was against my hair and I felt a quick laugh shake him. It was a tiny triumph, making him laugh. We stayed out there for hours, talking. At length we wandered back across the grass to the noisy house with people jumping around in its blank bright eyes. He stopped at a dark side door, and moved a little away from me. I looked at him, uncertain, a quick catch of fear making me tremble. I just didn't know what to do. For maybe a minute he stood quite still. Then he said: 'Lexie, I think I need you. Come and live with me?' After breakfast the next morning, I packed. I left my case in my room, and went down to wait for Betty in the white Mercedes. It was a fabulous morning, and after I'd seen Chris in the hospital, I'd be starting my real life. Today. Perhaps I had only been preparing for that, up to now. So in a way, this was a doubly precious morning: my last few uncommitted hours. Driving made a cool breeze that whisked my hair about, but left Betty's party hair-do undisturbed. 'Don't you ever get ruffled?' I said. She took it as a compliment. 'No, I don't seem to. Did you enjoy the party?'

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'Oh, yes,' I said, thinking how much I'd enjoyed my private party. 'I'm sorry about the jeans. I just couldn't wear those dresses.' 'Never mind.' 'Do you give parties often?' 'Fairly often. Everyone else around here does too.' 'I expect it's good for business.' I heard an edge to my voice. She blinked. 'Is Chris expecting us?' I said. 'He may be expecting you, but I'll be a surprise. I'll only pop in for a moment.' We rode the rest of the way without talking. I guess we each had a lot to think about. The sister at the hospital was a stranger to me. 'Not too long,' she warned, 'and don't let him talk. I believe his father will be here tonight, and he'll want to see him too.' Betty gestured me into the room alone. Chris was lying on his back, his frizzy blond hair flattened by a nurse's comb, his eyes open. 'Chris,' I said. 'Oh, Chris.' I felt the warm rush of my tears. For me it was all happening, but Chris was only getting rocks thrown at him. He looked kind of woozy, from the drugs, I guess. When he saw me he really lit up. I said quickly, 'You're not to talk.' He cleared his throat and said in a slurred voice, 'They said you're okay.' I nodded. 'I'm fine. And do you remember the Enrights? They live here? They made me stay with them. The doctors wouldn't let me see you before. Does-does it hurt, baby?' He made a throaty sound of assent, and closed his eyes. 'Feel such a fool,' he said. 'Scared the shit out of me.' 'No, no, no. You're not a fool. Chris, you were so brave, and if it hadn't been for you-' I stopped.

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If, if, if. If we hadn't been attacked, we'd have gone merrily on up the coast, passing right by Zeke and not even seeing him. I felt awful, thinking that. 'You got the worst of it, Chris, everyone else is all right.' I thought of Albie, and Katherine, and hoped it was true. 'All you have to do is get better.' I took his hand and he gripped my fingers weakly, his eyes still closed. I slowly stroked his fingers. The sister's head appeared round the door. 'Enough chatter for now, thank you, we must get our rest.' She vanished. 'I've only just got here,' I said. I put Chris's hand back on the bedspread. It was a fine hand, a strong, rather beautiful hand. But it no longer seemed to have anything to do with me. 'You know your Dad's coming tonight? I better go now.' I kissed his forehead lightly, and moved away. His eyes followed me. At the foot of the bed I stopped, and said, 'Chris, baby, I'm sorry, really sorry, it happened like this.' A long time later, he might figure out what I meant. I waited while Betty went in, and then while she conferred with the sister, who practically genuflected. I was sure Betty enjoyed being lady of the manor. But now that Sir Murray had ridden in ... Betty talked most of the way home, about the Jarrows and the hospital and a new town charity for aborigines designed, as I saw it, to give them more handouts to further demean their status. She said Mr Jarrow would be coming out to stay tonight. Obviously she was not prepared for my saying as the Mercedes stopped in her garage, 'I do want to thank you for looking after me, Betty. It's been very nice here.' She switched off the engine and said, 'That can't be a farewell speech?'
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'I guess it is, I'm all packed.' 'But . . . Lexie, I don't understand, what do you mean? I'll have to drive you to the station-and we've just come from there ' 'No. Thanks. I'm being picked up at noon. You've been very kind, and I'm grateful.' I opened the door. She caught my arm. 'Now, wait a minute. You'll have to explain yourself. Ed Jarrow will be taking Chris home just as soon as they let him. I naturally thought you'd be with us till then. Have we offended you somehow?' 'No, really,' I felt exasperated. I didn't owe her an explanation. 'I'm just going back to Sydney.' She dropped her hand. 'I see.' Her expression was hardening. 'You mean you're abandoning Chris? Just like that?' 'I can't nurse him. His parents are taking him.' 'And who's taking you? You say you're being "picked up".' She glared at me. I said, 'If it's any of your business, I'm going with Zeke Richardson.' 'My business? My business?' Her fingers clutched the steering wheel. 'You're going with Zeke Richardson.' She tried to control herself, but she lost. 'You little guttersnipe. You arrive here sleeping with one boy-and in public, as brazen as you like-and a few hours later you go off with another boy you've only just met. And in the meantime you make a convenience of our hospitality. You make fools of us. You disgrace me at my own party, with those terrible trousers and that disgusting-fertility rite you call dancing. And a damned Indian chief-'

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She was ruffled now, all right, she even took a swipe through her hair-do. I said, 'What I do is none of your damn business. You insisted I come here. I'm not ashamed of loving people. At least I don't do it furtively. The way I live is natural and honest-but you don't do anything honestly, do you? At least I don't sleep with one guy and sneak around making out with another at the same time.' That stopped her. 'What do you mean?' 'You know what I mean. I think that's a pretty phoney way to carry on.' Her eyes flared big. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' 'Murray, I'm talking about-dear. And George.' 'George?' She was too alarmed to be devious. 'Are you going to tell George?' 'Me tell him? Do you mean you won't?' She got a grip on herself and took a deep breath. 'I love George. Murray and I-I don't know what you think you know, but really, there's nothing to it.' I turned away in disgust. 'Now you're lying about it. You must want them both, I should have known, George must be the one with the money. I guess I know who the guttersnipe is.' She didn't like that any more than I had. Her voice shook. 'Who are you to judge me? What do you know about it? I give George very good value as a wife, why shouldn't I grab a little fun when it's offered? You're in no position to be priggish.' 'There's a difference, Mrs Enright. You've taken a vow.' Her eyebrows flew up. After a moment she burst into highpitched laughter. 'Oh, that's rich. My God. So I'm the first wife in the world to take a lover?'

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I got out of the car. 'I think you're disgusting. Don't you preach at me.' 'Oh, the young are very perceptive,' she said bitterly, hitting at the steering wheel with her palm. I walked away. Her voice diminished behind me. . just not perceptive enough.' I raced up the stairs furiously. I had admired this woman, I guess in a way I'd seen her as the mother I'd always wanted. Now, ridiculously, I felt betrayed. When I reached the front hall with my bag, she came up to me. 'Lexie, for your own good, won't you reconsider? Take some time and think about it. There's no hurry, he'll wait for you if he really wants you.' I faced her. 'You can't tell the truth for two minutes straight, can you? You don't mean for my own good, you mean for the good of your business relationship with the Jarrows. And as for no hurry, lady, don't you know we've got to beat the bomb?' She stood angrily smoothing her skirt. Then she took a fierce grip on my arm and hustled me outside to the front steps, pulling the door closed. She said, 'I don't know why I should explain this, but I'm going to. Just so it might make you stop and think in future. George doesn't know about Murray. Or Alan before that. Or whoever it may be next year.' She was quite pale and tight-lipped. 'George loves me, and I love George. But George can't-do anything. He hasn't been able to for three years. The doctors say the condition might right itself, but-' She dropped her hand. 'We talked about it, George and I. He wants me to stay his wife. He doesn't ask, because he doesn't Want to know. So tell me, what damned business is it of yours?'

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It shattered me. I couldn't think of anything to say. She went back inside and banged the door. I felt my face burning with embarrassment as I started walking away. Okay, so her troubles didn't give her any right to abuse me, but just the same I felt bruised. I had a long time to reflect on my sins: the drive was about two miles long. While I walked-being sorry for Betty, sorry for George, sorry for little old deadshit me-I took some time to wonder where I was walking to. Suppose Zeke didn't come for me? Suppose he did, but we didn't work out? Suppose he turned out to be kinky? Or a murderer? Suppose he didn't like me when he got to know me? By the road I fell into the shade of a wattle tree. I lay back studying the drifts of yellow blossom, and thought and thought. It wasn't too late, I could hitch a ride to the station, and never get involved with him at all. I stood up, half inclined to do that. An old red MG was parked with the top down a few yards away, and Zeke was sitting in it, looking at me quizzically. I hadn't even heard the car. Had he been sitting there having doubts too? He climbed out, and I loved the easy way he moved. Looking at him made my bones melt. He picked up my bag. 'Hi,' he said. I swallowed. I got in the MG. He leaned over and we kissed, and that blew my mind.

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He started the car, and we burned off down the road, laughing at each other like hyenas, with the wind roaring past us. Now I didn't have any doubts. I just felt as if I had been ricocheting off people for years, and at last I had come to rest.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Zeke said, 'Kissing you is like biting into a fresh, peeled peach.' I giggled and dropped the towel from around me, and stretched out beside him on the bed. Afternoon sunshine streamed through the window and warmed our skin. I thought I just might burst from happiness. I put my face against his shoulder and breathed in the delicate aroma of him. He rolled against me and said, 'You're still steaming from the shower.' I slapped my belly. 'Man, I'm so clean you could eat your dinner off me. What'll you have, sir? Glazed cumquats, rum truffles?' He scowled in thought. 'Tomato soup?' We spluttered laughing and hugged each other. There was so much to laugh about these days. We were at home in my little flat, and we had been together for three days, counting the drive south. Three miraculous days. The whole thing was incredible. I felt alive in a way I had never felt before. I even saw things around me in new dimensions the flowers in the windowbox actually glowed at me, the posters on the walls hung there shouting. Basil the stuffed rhino suddenly had this crazy grin on his face under my big white hat.
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I reached for my hairbrush and tried to brush my hair lying down. Then I tried to brush Zeke's. He fought. He held my hand with the brush and kissed Me, and we made love. And again, it was the full universe-whirling bit. Mostly we were so good together, it scared me a little. Afterwards, we were really wrecked. We slept until dark. When I awoke, for a moment I thought it was Chris beside me. I remembered him in the hospital, and felt sad, but the sadness was for him, and in a separate compartment. I lay thinking about the way people jigsawed into my life, until Zeke woke up shouting, 'Hell, I'm starving!' We wrestled till 'we fell off the bed. Then we showered and dressed and went out. There was a health food restaurant close by. Halfway through the soya bean soup, Zeke looked at me and said, 'Did you come here with Chris?' 'Yeah, sure. Lots of other people, too.' He nodded. After the meal, we went shopping around Paddington. We stocked up at a Greek delicatessen and bought flowers from a barrow. We drooled over scrubbed furniture we didn't need, and stood around reading in a bookshop for an hour. Zeke bought me a long necklace of amber beads. We strolled around lugging our parcels, looking through lighted windows in the old terrace houses until we came to a block of flats. 'I want to see someone,' I said. From Flat 6 we heard music, and I pressed the bell. When the door opened, I got a shock. Standing there smiling, pissed as a newt, was Albie. I dropped my parcels and flung my arms around him, at the same time wondering what was different about him, apart from his being drunk. I drew back. He'd lost his long hair. His hair barely covered his ears. He hugged me again, grinning. 'How you been, baby?' he said. He looked at Zeke and said, 'I'n't she a great girl?' He frowned at Zeke and pointed his can of beer at him. 'You're not Chris.'

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'Meet Zeke,' I said. 'Albie.' 'Hi,' said Zeke. Albie looked at me sadly, head on one side. 'Poor ol' Chris.' He took a gulp of beer. 'Poor ol' Chris.' 'Who is it?' someone called. 'Come in and shut the door.' We pushed Albie in and shut the door. Katherine was sitting on the lounge beside an aboriginal woman I hadn't seen before. 'Hi, Lexie,' said Katherine calmly. She smiled and switched off the cassette. 'This is Beryl Jones. She's down from one of the Darwin reserves for a few days.' Beryl sat looking at the floor and saying nothing. She wore a print dress and a cardigan, and she didn't look very well, or very bright; I figured the two things might be related. We sat down and I introduced Zeke. 'Hello.' Katherine flicked him a glance and looked away. It was a glance that seemed to gather in a lot of mysterious data, process it, and file it away. I found myself nibbling at a fingernail. This was not the old breezy, up-'em-all Katherine. Albie had wandered over and was sitting on the floor beside my chair. He was now looking earnestly Up into my face, and making a big production of being about to whisper. 'Up a tree,' he mouthed. 'Up a tree all the time. Like a bloody monkey.' 'Oh, knock it off, Albie,' said Katherine. 'Buggers couldn't find me,' he whispered loudly. Got away from 'em. Poor ol' Kathybubbles.' He put a hand on Katherine's knee and belched. She said, 'Why don't you go and lie down?' He didn't hear her. 'Don't like, pain,' he said to himself, nodding. 'Nope. Don't like it. Scars. Uh. No.' He shuddered. He groped
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around his ears and started loosing beery tears. 'Bastards took me hair. Good ' Albie up a tree. Fuckin' bastards.' I pressed his shoulder. I said to Katherine, 'Did you go home?' 'Yeah.' 'How's your Dad?' She shook her head. I didn't know if she didn't want to talk about him, or if he was dead. Trying to cheer things up I said, 'Have you booked for Fiji yet?' She said, 'I'm not going there now. Next week I'm going up to the Territory to have a look at the reserves, and find out what the women need. I've got to make a report to a seminar next month, it's a real chance to make a noise. There'll be room in the car, if you want to come.' 'Uh, I'd like to, but I don't know,' I said. 'I don't know what I'm doing yet. I'll let you know.' 'Uh-huh,' said Katherine. She glanced again at Zeke. I felt rotten. Last week I'd have jumped at the chance to go around the country with Katherine, and try and help put things right with the aborigines. But this week, I had even more important things to do. I knew I'd let her down. I couldn't find any words. I just sat and fiddled with my rings. 'Gotta buy a wig,' said Albie. 'Guy can't show his face around.' 'Would you like a beer?' said Katherine to Zeke. He flashed her a smile and refused. We stayed on a few more minutes, but I could see Zeke wasn't really comfortable. When we left, a young, good-looking aboriginal guy was walking up the stairs slowly. He looked spaced out. I almost turned back, to go to Katherine. But Zeke was waiting. He said, 'I feel weird around Chris's friends.' 'No need to,' I said. 'It wasn't like this with Chris, I keep telling you. I've never lived with anyone before. How about you?'
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He grinned. 'Oh, on and off, you know me, I think of women as sex objects.' 'I should hope so, that's how I think of men,' I said. 'Don't you think everyone ought to be sexy?' We had our first hassle that night, over-of all the trivial thingswho was going to clean up the flat. With two of us living there, well, the place looked like a bad trip. I was a chaos girl from way back, from since I'd lived on my own. But even I had limits. Getting dressed was an adventure that palled: we'd prowl around ferretting for a sandal from this pile, a pair of jeans from under the sofa. Zeke was looking for a belt he'd lost, and after a futile scrabble sat on his heels and said, 'Hell, Lexie, don't you ever clean this place up?' Me? Half of this is yours, mate. Well, almost half. Look.' I held up the takeaway box a previous meal had come in, dropped from his side of the bed. He said plaintively, 'It's not my job to clean up.' 'Oh. Isn't it?' I stood up with my hands on my hips. 'You just make the mess, do you?' He glared a bit, then dropped his eyes. 'All right, then, I'll help you.' 'Oh, big deal. Big deal.' I didn't know why, but I was getting uptight fast. My hands were fists. I shoved them in my pockets. 'It's a rule of the house whoever makes a mess cleans it up.' 'Is that so? If you remember, Miss Carter, we had to tunnel our way in when we got here. Who broke the rule then?' 'Well. It's a new rule. The place is not big enough for two people.' He sighed and sat on the bed. 'Yeah, it's pretty small. Look, this isn't worth fighting about. Why don't you make some coffee instead?' He lay back and picked up a newspaper.

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I fiddled around with jewellery while I tried to contain my reaction, but it burst out like champagne froth, splattering the silence. 'Zeke. I've made the coffee for two days straight. Why, don't you make the coffee this time?' Astonishment appeared on his face. After a few moments he said, 'But I don't know how.' I swallowed hard. 'I'll teach you.' He looked baffled, although he got up good-humouredly. I showed him how much coffee grounds to put in the dripolator, and how to boil the electric jug. 'Nothing to it,' I said. 'Why didn't you do it, then?' I threw a cushion at him and we wrestled a bit, but his heart wasn't entirely in it. After coffee he picked up the paper again. By now the mess was really getting to me, but I was not going to fix it alone. I started picking things up slowly. 'Ah, leave it,' he said. 'What does it matter?' I was suddenly very upset. I sat on the bed and gently took the paper away from him. 'Look,' I said desperately. 'It does matter. I'm not going to clean up alone. It's not that I'm lazy. Anyway, not lazier than anyone else. What it is-look, I don't know what kind of women you're used to. But I guess I'm not cut out to be a handmaiden.' He said nothing. 'And look-' I said. It might not be good sense to say all this, I hadn't thought out the consequences, but I simply couldn't help myself. It might be our whole lives involved here. 'Look-it seems to me, a man who can't look after himself domestically is a kind of cripple. Doesn't matter who he is. He's a bludger.' I gulped.
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Zeke looked mad now. His eyes were glittering, his face set. 'Finished?' 'I guess so.' 'I'm going. to sleep.' He stripped off his clothes and got into bed, turning his back. Miserably I did the same. I didn't know how to handle it. I went over all kinds of approaches in my mind, but when I finally chose one, he was asleep. I turned off the light so I wouldn't have to look at the mess, and eventually I went to sleep too. In the morning the honking of traffic must have woken us at the same time. I felt him stir sleepily. We were wedged together, but uncomfortably. In a single bed, people ought to be friends. Before I opened my eyes I knew it was a black day, even though I couldn't remember why. Unaccountably I thought of a newspaper report I'd read, that Russian scientists were breeding a three-headed dog. 'Some days,' I muttered, 'the world is so full of shit, you wonder will there ever be enough shovels.' I could feel hurt silence beside me. I put my lips against his skin, tasting the dew of sweat. After a moment his arm moved across me. I put my arm around him. 'Hi,' I said. We gripped each other. 'It's too good to spoil,' he said. 'We won't let anything spoil it. Not even filth.' While I laughed I clung to him hard, feeling I'd just tightroped over a precipice and grabbed hold of the other side. We both made breakfast that morning. He fixed the muesli, I fixed the bread and honey, we shared the coffee-making. We had breakfast in bed, and lay there peacefully afterwards, until he bounced away and came back with a sheet of paper and a pencil.
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'Keep still,' he said. He sketched me, in two minutes. I could hardly believe it when I saw the sketch, it was brilliant. I made him do sketch after sketch-places, things, people. I couldn't fault him. It was like discovering real diamonds in your jewellery box. But he shrugged it off. I traced a faint vein down his arm. 'George Enright would be worried about you.' 'Yeah?' 'He'd think you were a shiftless bum and why aren't you amounting to anything?' Zeke laughed. 'I'm working on it, I'm working on it.' 'Zeke, what do you want to do with your life?' 'What do you?' 'No, you. I want to know.' 'Why? Suppose I don't want to do anything?' 'You've got to have goals. If you don't have goals, you're just filling in time till you're dead.' He sighed. 'I guess my goals are as corny as the next guy's. Being useful, being happy.' 'Me too.' I grinned. So we did think alike. 'Maybe we could do something together.' 'Sure could.' He grabbed me. 'No, no, hey, how about we go to-say-Mexico? You can do a lot of great drawings of the place and we'll publish a book of them. Sell it to the Mexican Tourist Bureau.' 'And what'll you do, sit on your bum in the sun all day?' 'I'll be your agent. Business manager.'

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'Nah-not Mexico. Too hot. Listen, what about you? I know you're bitched off with office work. Ever thought of teaching?' I pulled a face. 'No way. The thing is, I'm not really interested in kids.' 'Tut, tut.' He tweaked my hair. 'How unwomanly.' 'Sure, I knowit's just not cool to say that. But I'll bet you there are thousands of us. Millions maybe. Oh, I don't hate kids. It's just like that song says, they in their small corner and I in mine.' 'My brother's got a kid. Six months old. He's incredible.' I hardly heard him, I'd been blasted by a new idea. I sat up, pounding his arm. 'Wow. How about we try and work for one of those firms that run bus trips overland from Australia to England? The guy drives, the girl's the hostess. Wouldn't that be insane? For a while?' He smiled at me, and I adored him all over again. I couldn't get enough of looking at him. He was so real. 'Yeah, maybe it would. They go up the Asian Highway. A guy I know went in a jeep, he's still raving an about Kashmir. You know those long caftans the guys wear over there? He says in winter they carry those little coal braziers underneath them to keep warm.' He laughed. 'Me, I'd rather wear you, baby, how come you're always warm like a fire?' He nuzzled me. I basked in his arms, but I wanted to follow the subject up. 'Let's start tomorrow, then. We'll go to a travel agency and find out the names of the firms.' But tomorrow he wanted to go to sea, to ride the ferries around Sydney Harbour. The next day we drove to the Blue Mountains and took the funicular railway, and then the cable car, and screeched and clung to each other while we fell down the mountain and crossed the
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chasm. Afterwards we tottered into a French restaurant and ate like pigs. 'Hey,' I said over the flaming poires, 'I know some people with this commune, up at Byron Bay. It's a farm. No pollution, hardly any people, the surf's incredible.' 'Yeah? We must drop in sometime. Let's go to the movies tomorrow. What do you want to see?' We saw a surfing film the next morning, one about Hawaii that really got it on, so of course we spent the afternoon in the surf, and it was unreal. At night we went to a theatre with black walls and saw a Polish film about death, and argued about it over coffee and right up till we got back to the flat and into bed, and then we stopped arguing. The next day brought a letter from the police, saying they had now 'apprehended four suspects', who had been remanded to the local Court of Petty Sessions in a month's time. I would be required to appear as a witness at the State's expense. If they were convicted there, they would probably be sent on to Quarter Sessions in Sydney for a judge and jury trial. It seemed a letter from another life. In the days following, we went to an exhibition of human forms crocheted in string; played squash; swelled the hordes swarming over a visiting sailing ship; swam, danced, and talked ourselves to a standstill, but always a temporary standstill. He sure was a guy who liked to play, and who was I to grumble? Whenever I protested I was nearly flat broke and I'd have to look for work, he would produce a few dollars from somewhere. One day I said, 'I'm starting to wonder if you're a secret millionaire.'

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'No such luck, I'm just a cat on a spree. Time to think about work next month. Call this a wake for my minority.' 'What?' 'In a fortnight I'll be twenty-one. Big party. End of spree, beginning of-who knows? The glorious future?' 'Who's giving you a party?' 'Alas, my secret is out.' He hung his head. 'Lexie, baby, I am not free like you. I have parents.' 'Oh.' 'Yes. Oh. Matter of fact, I was going to mention it. What I'd like to do, see, is-uh-spend next weekend with them. Us. You and me. The prodigal and n. All that.' 'Oh.' 'It's a bit of a drag, I know. But family's family, and I'm stuck with it. Are you game?' He was- avoiding my eyes, and I looked away bleakly. I wasn't too sure I wanted to know about this. If we were fine by ourselves, and his family were line by themselves, why mix us up? But he kept coming back to the idea. Seeing it seemed so important to him, I finally squashed down My instincts and agreed to go. I even felt pleased at My character development. 'Thanks, baby.' He smoothed my cheek with the back of his hand, I felt I'd given him the Andamooka Opal. To celebrate, he dragged me to a brass band

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concert in the park around the corner. I mean-a band concert, shit. But I went. My character sure was getting developed. 'Martial music,' I said, 'is for people who like everything in bundles of right or wrong, nice or nasty.' 'Get out,' he said. 'It's fantastic. Ta rah ta rah DUM TIDDY DUM, that's bloody fantastic.' He got to his feet like a kid bewitched by the Pied Piper and weaved off across the grass between the people, conducting the band himself. I couldn't stand the tune, so I tried to turn it into pictures: fat silver pipes of sound streaming from the trumpet mouths, the trombones' noise thinner and rough-edged, the tuba singing in glossy cubes, the drums spitting pellets. For a few precious minutes it took my mind off the coming weekend. His parents didn't just live in the suburbs: they lived at Penshurst, which I thought out-suburbed any suburb I'd ever seen. On the drive over, Zeke said, 'If my folks find out we're living together, they'll go right off.' 'You're going to lie to them?' 'Nope. We don't need to. Mum's sure to ask you where you live, you can tell her about the flat without mentioning me. I can just give an impression of where I live, that's what I always do. They'd take it pretty hard. We don't have to hurt them.' 'Maybe.' I watched the prim houses marching by, all alike, marshalled in rows. 'I wonder who's hurting who.' The family home turned out to be a brick villa with baby pictures around its lounge room, and its windows so discreetly shaded that you'd have to turn on a light to read anything. His parents looked like two kindly, financially comfortable, rather overweight, middle class individuals: but they behaved more like Siamese
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They each extended to me the same attitude of masked curiosity mixed with reserve, but made me welcome in their own fashion, vowing that they were not people who stood on ceremony and that I'd have to take them as I found them. Whatever that meant. We joined in the Saturday morning routine of leisurely gardening. 'Do you have any other hobbies?' I asked Mr Richardson. 'No,' he said. 'I often used to think I'd like a boat, but Mrs Richardson didn't like the idea, so I started growing orchids instead. Are you running a bath Ruthie? Don't have the water too hot this time. Excuse me a minute, I'd better go and see, she said she felt quite dizzy after the last one.' I found the double act pretty hideous, and it worried me, because I wondered what Zeke expected of a relationship. 'Yeah,' he said, 'I guess they do take togetherness a bit seriously.' I quoted Kahlil Gibran's 'The Prophet' at him: ' "The great oak and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow." 'Ah, don 't be hard on them, love, they're happy.' Zeke and I were not permitted to be alone in the house for a moment. Saturday afternoon we spent gardening and pottering, and later barbecue-ing on the back lawn. In the evening we played cards and then went to our beds. I Was given the front bedroom, next to the Richardsons' bedroom, and Zeke the bed on the glassed-in back verandah. Sunday morning, neighbours came in for a modest beer on the lawn, and to meet me. They left before the cold-meat-and-salad
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lunch in the kitchen. After lunch I helped Mrs Richardson wash up, while Zeke and his father sat around resting from their labours, reading the Sunday papers. I didn't speak up about this. I figured that if I couldn't allow other people their own lifestyle for a weekend, I must be some kind of power freak. The only thing was-my lifestyle was Zeke. By Sunday afternoon I needed an hour's solitude. I took a book out in the garden and hid under an ancient apple tree. But Mrs Richardson found me. 'Ah, here you are, dear. Where's Zeke?' Somehow I knew this would always be her greeting, wherever she saw me. In her mind a man and a woman needed to be roped together in some kind of crippling three-legged race through life. 'I don't know where he is.' 'Oh-oh. I do hope you two haven't had a little spat. Come along in now, I've just made afternoon tea.' Over the sponge cake she said, 'Lexie, dear, you look a little pale to me. Now, I have a couple of lipsticks that might suit your colouring ... and there's a bottle of foundation there, too . . .' 'Thanks,' I said, 'but I don't use it.' After not wearing makeup on the surfari, my own drawerful of bottles of goo seemed like kidstuff. I'd lost the desire to paint another character over me. 'No?' she said, peaking her eyebrows. 'How unusual.' Zeke said, 'Say Dad, how about you and me going to the model train exhibition in town tonight?' Mrs Richardson looked up. 'Go out tonight? But I thought we were going to play five hundred?' 'We can do that any time, Mum. Be a good girl and let him off the chain for once, eh ?I
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She bridled. 'Let him - - . really, Zeke, I'm sure I don't keep your father on a chain. He's perfectly free to go without me if he wishes.' 'Good. We'll go early and eat out, okay, Dad?' His father looked both flattered and guilty. 'Good idea, son.' I was distinctly unflattered, I didn't need an evening alone with Mrs Richardson. 'Sorry, baby,' Zeke said to me later, 'but I've just got to have a talk with Dad, and I don't see him that much. You'll be all right, won't you? You women can chatter all evening.' I hunched my shoulders in sudden apprehension. He didn't know me so well, after all. 'Now don't be late, will you?' Mrs Richardson carolled after the men as they left. 'Why not?' I said. 'Does it matter?' The door banged, and Zeke was gone, and there was no joy anywhere. She clucked. 'Of course it matters, dear. Sometimes Mr Richardson has to stay late at work, and I can never get a wink of sleep till he comes in. You wait till you're a wife, you'll see. And it's the same with the children, all the sleepless hours I've spent on account of Zeke and his brothers.' She seemed quite proud of it. She looked at me guilelessly. 'How many would you like to have dear?' It threw me for a moment. 'Why, ah, I don't know, guess I'm not really planning on having any.' She gasped. She looked as though someone were dancing on her largest corn.
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'Well, I don't know,' I said. 'Not any? But why ever not?' 'Well. Because I'm not too rapt in the idea, I guess. I mean, the way I see it, child-bearing's an imposition on a woman. You take a man, well, he's always his own man. But a woman's forced to actually share her body with other people. First with the man he enters her, not the other way around.' I noticed her wince, but she had asked me. I went on, 'My great-grandmother had sixteen children living, and a few miscarriages, so she shared her body with more than twenty people! I mean, sharing with a man is one thing, but . . . There really has to be some other way. A woman bearing children is archaic. Inhumane.' Mrs Richardson had gone quite white. 'My dear - my dear, you don't know what you're saying. I don't say having children is easy, but what worthwhile thing is easy? I was fortunate enough to have my three boys naturally, with hardly any anaesthetic-fairly radical in those days, I must admit, but my uncle was a doctor who specialised in it. And I can truthfully say that each time, I felt it was the most glorious experience of my life. Now, no test tube could give you that. You really know that child is yours.' I said gently, 'But no child is yours. Everyone belongs to themselves. So why go through it? If I want children, there are plenty to adopt.' She made an obvious effort to stay calm and kind. 'My dear, dear girl, come in here and sit down.' She picked up her knitting and fiddled with it as we sat in armchairs in the lounge room. 'To be a mother,' she said, 'is the greatest privilege in the world. A woman is not fulfilled until she is a mother. I don't suppose you

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young people ever go to church, but you must know that what you're saying is sacrilege.' 'Oh, no, it isn't,' I said. 'I just think we're swamped with a lot of ratshit about motherhood. I agree there's a vast need for motherhood-but why just from women?' Once more she looked at me helplessly. I said, 'Everyone's capable of being kind and helpful and caring and so on. That's motherhood. Isn't it? Men can be like that too.' She almost wailed, 'But men can't look after babies!' I started giggling. 'Oh, come on. Anyway, people keep saying the world's got too many babies already.' She became so distressed that I was sorry I'd spoken. 'The world?' she said. 'What's the world got to do with it? I'm talking about my grandchildren, part of my Zeke, dear, and now I'll be in trouble with Zeke, he told me not to dare mention you marrying him, and I have.' She struggled to her feet. 'I must say, at the time I couldn't understand why not, I couldn't think what kind of a girl wouldn't want to get married. But you do have some strange ideas, don't you? Please, just forget I mentioned it at all. I'll turn on the television and we'll have a nice quiet evening.' We watched a musical show and a thriller. Mrs Richardson was determinedly bright, and my spirits got lower and lower. I wondered what important matter Zeke had to talk to his father about. Mrs Richardson said, 'Goodness me, nine o'clock, I'll go and make us some cocoa. No, no. I don't need any help, thank you.' She switched off the set, and seemed glad to leave the room. I didn't think I could bear the nine o'clock cocoa. It had been a habit of Gran's. Something horrible had turned full circle, and now I was back where I'd started: in prison.
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When she handed me the cocoa and biscuits, she said, 'Nearly time for bed. What time do you usually turn in at home, dear?' 'Oh, any time, really, depends on what I'm doing.' 'Do you have a place to yourself, or do you share?' I paused. 'I have a small flat in Paddington. It's a good district to live in, the shops are so varied, and you meet all kinds of people-' ',Our Zeke won't tell us where he lives,' she said. 'He won't give us an address. Of course, he telephones often. He just says he moves around.' She looked into her cup and removed an imaginary speck with a spoon that shook slightly. 'I'm almost afraid to find out where he lives. I suppose you would know?' I said nothing. She went on nervously, 'I don't want you to betray a confidence, Lexie, but I would be grateful if you could just put my mind at rest over one thing. I wake up in the night thinking about it. I read a book once about a young man who lived over a-over a-' Her hand covered her mouth and she gazed at me. 'A what?' I said. The poor dear was anguished. 'A . . . you know.' 'You don't by any chance mean a brothel?' 'Oh, oh,' she said. She nodded vigorously. I couldn't stop myself from laughing, and her eyes grew wild with alarm. I said, 'I don't know where he lived before he met me, but he sure doesn't live over a brothel now.' Relief flooded her face, until she caught hold of part of my answer. "'Lived before he met you",' she repeated slowly. Her eyes shifted about the room while another suspicion grew.

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I got up, but I wasn't quick enough. She said, 'You're one of those, what do they call you, "liberated" girls, aren't you?' Her eyes held mine now, and she breathed in a snatch of courage. 'Are you living with my Zeke?' I thanked her for the supper, and said I hoped she'd sleep well, and then regretted saying that. She sat there staring at me. As I got undressed I heard from her bedroom the sound of weeping. It didn't stop. Once I went to her door and asked softly if I could get her anything. She heaved herself over in the bed to turn her back on me. 'No, thank you.' Neither of us got any sleep, and then the men came home. Hearing noises from her room they went straight in there, and after a while Zeke came in to me. I had the reading light on and I could see he was furious. 'Damn your principles,' he said. 'Look what you've done. Was it worth that?' I bit my lip. 'You did it yourself. You suggested we live together.' He glared at me. 'Well.' He paced around the room, and finally stopped beside the bed. 'Well. I guess we both did it, then.' I was too upset to talk. I held my arms out to him. He hesitated, but he came to me. We just held on to each other and tried to let the storm pass silently. But his father's voice broke us apart.

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'I say, in there!' Mr Richardson barked from the doorway. 'That's a nice way to behave in someone else's home! That girl's half naked!' Zeke let me go and 'sighed, and sighed again. He got up from the bed. There was pain on his face. So you want the piece of paper first,' he said wearily to his father. 'I'm sorry. I can't show it to you.' He brushed past his father. I turned off the light and tried to get some sleep. I lay and worried, mostly that with Zeke it could well be love-me-love-my-family. Or else. I hadn't even met his brothers, but already his parents were trying to throw reins over me from all directions. I could see how much Zeke loved them; so I was afraid of them. The morning wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Both Mr and Mrs Richardson made valiant efforts to avoid a parting in anger. They must have done a lot of talking in their bed throughout the night, by courtesy of their piece of paper. Mr Richardson took me aside and said gruffly: 'I believe the wife was a bit overwrought last night not that we, ah, can approve of the setup, you understand-but, ah, I believe one has a duty to, ah, try to adapt, as it were-and we both want you to feel welcome here at any time. Any time, dear. All right now? Sorry.' He patted my shoulder. As we drove off, Mrs Richardson cried, 'See you at the party!' When we got home we cleaned up the flat and sat around admiring our handiwork while we ate coleslaw and cheese. We didn't talk about the weekend. I just wanted to forget it.

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That afternoon I went out without Zeke, there were a few people I wanted to see. I had a very busy afternoon. In the evening I burst into the flat swinging my shoulderbag like a lariat, yelling for Zeke. He was reading on the bed. 'Hey! Guess what!' I jumped on to the bed. 'I got a job today! A great job! With a film unit! They make documentaries, they need a Girl Friday, it's a big chance to learn the business! How about that?' He just looked startled. I sat back, disappointed and suddenly apprehensive. 'Come on, sweetie, ring the bells,' I said. 'Aren't you happy for me? The unit travels all round the country-but only on short trips. It's perfect. And the bread's okay. You know you like film, you could take it up too. We could form our own company later on, and do really worthwhile stuff.' His answer was to roll over and stick his head under the pillow and groan. I yanked the pillow off him. I was getting mad. Our lives were wasting away. 'Okay, baby,' I growled. I snatched up a loaf of French bread and levelled it at him like a machine gun. 'Sing. What's so heavy?' 'It's not funny.' He sat up and drew his legs up quickly, hugging them, a picture of defensiveness. 'Lexie, I can't work at any of those things you keep talking about. I'm not free, I told you before. I've promised my parents I'll go into the business.' I dropped the bread. I slipped to the floor and sat there, stunned. 'What business?'

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He turned his head away. 'Shoes. The old man has a shoe factory.' 'Shoes?' My voice cracked. 'A shoe factory?' I closed my eyes, but quick hot tears sprang out. 'Oh, my God.' I heard him walk over to the window, and I looked at him. He was standing with his back to me. He said, blown it, haven't I? 'I was torn apart. The very lines of his body cried out to me; sometimes the wanting him physically was so strong, it made my stomach churn. Like now. This thing with Zeke was no light romantic diversion, it was the biggest gut reaction I'd ever known. I gripped the table leg until my hand hurt. Just now, sex was in the way. He turned around and came to stand beside me, his hands hanging loose. 'Lexie,' he said miserably. 'Lexie. I love you. Will you marry me?' Now it was my turn to put a pillow over my head. So he wanted me to marry him and go and live in a shoe factory at Penshurst. With his parents. I could only keep whispering it to myself under the pillow. Ah, no, no. Tell me I didn't hear it. God help me. He was shaking my shoulders. 'Answer me, Lexie! I can't stand it!' I threw the pillow off. I was dry-eyed again, my mind darting frantically after other solutions. 'They have two other sons, surely they wouldn't hold you to that promise?'

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'I'm the eldest. It's my place. Dad's worked for this for thirty years.' I cried, 'How could he have asked you thirty years ago if you'd want the job? Has he ever asked you?' He shrugged. 'I've always known, I've never seriously thought about doing anything else. It didn't seem any worse than any other job. Except the time I was up to my armpits in study, and all I could think about was being a beachcomber. Dad's a really great guy, Lexie. He understood. The way he put it, he knew I wouldn't want to settle down at that age. So two years ago, he came up with this plan.' 'What plan?' 'He and Mum subsidised me for two years, doing whatever I wanted. I've been all over the country, I've taken a few jobs, I've had a ball just bumming around. I've really lived. For two whole years.' Tumblers clicked into place. 'You said your twenty-first birthday party was a beginning. Is that the deadline?' He nodded. I said calmly, 'They've blackmailed you.' 'No, no.' He swung his head violently. 'I agreed, of my own free will.' 'For the rest of your life?' 'Oh, I don't know about that, but I'd have to give it a fair go. I'd say ten years at least, even if I don't like it much. But it could be okay. It's a real challenge, Lexie, it's a pretty big factory, and in two years I could be general manager.' He added in a small voice, 'It's a useful job. Everybody needs shoes.'

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I placed both hands carefully on my head. 'Am I dreaming this?' I rocked from side to side. 'Surely, if you really wanted me, you couldn't do it. Letting your parents run your life. Our lives.' 'It's not like that. It's just that I owe them so much-and they're relying on me. I've promised.' 'They'd recover.' I took hold of his hand. 'Zeke. Darling. This is too important for old promises. Tell them no.' 'I can't.' He rushed on. 'You could probably get a job locally. There must be a dozen things in the district you'd like doing, or even in the city, if you really feel you've got to work.' 'Oh, wow, golly, something to do till the kiddies come. No thank you. I got a job today.' He slid down till the back of his head rested on the mattress edge, and gazed at the ceiling. Neither of us spoke for maybe five minutes. I said, 'What about your drawing?' 'What about it?' 'People make a living from drawing.' 'Oh, that's just a hobby.' It seemed like his father speaking. I thought some more. Then I said, 'Perhaps I could give it a try for a while. But I wouldn't want to get married until I knew if it would work. The film place is not all that far from Penshurst.' Emotions chased one another over his face, leaving a kind of horror. He held his hands out. 'My parents-' 'Now what?' He looked helpless. 'It's just the district-it's impossible-the managing director's son can't live in sin-'

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He took hold of me urgently and flung his full weight against me. All at once he was kissing me, pulling off my clothes, practically searing my skin with his passion. I couldn't resist him, I didn't want to resist him, I could only meet him with equal love. Thinking just fell away, all I was conscious of was Zeke loving me, and me loving Zeke, and to hell with anything else. A long time afterwards, when we were lying warm and close, I felt his lips move in my hair. 'Baby,' he murmured. 'You'd look so great in a wedding dress.' That did it. Even through the lassitude, my rage erupted like an oilfield strike. I spun off the bed. 'Zeke Richardson. Listen to me. I am not a virgin. I don't want to be a virgin. I don't want to pretend to be a virgin. So I will never wear that fancy-dress disguise. If we ever get married, we'll do it decently in a registry office.' He switched on the bedside light. He was looking tortured. 'Lexie, it's only for them. It's not much to give to make them happy-a few hours. At their age they could-go-just any time. And then how would I feel?' I'd marry you in nothing, anywhere, you know I would.' I screamed at him, 'But that dress is a lie! I'm not going to start off with a lie!' I pulled on my clothes and grabbed an overnight bag. Before he fully realised what I was doing, I'd shoved a few things in it and rushed out, banging the door. I ran down the stairs and along the street and away from him and his problems.

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I stayed with friends for three days: talking it over, mooning about, ranting about him, kicking the furniture, going through the whole corny bit. After three days of living without him, I thought I was going to die. It's easy to say, but not easy to feel. I really felt I wanted to die. I figured it out then, that if I were going to die without him, I would rather die with him. So I went back. Of course I went back. I tried hard for a barefoot wedding on a beach, at sunset ... or even with shoes on, under trees in a park..... But, a month after his birthday party, we had the full white wedding in a red brick church, and the breakfast in a streamered hall. His mother cried, and his father blew his nose, and they forgave us our trespasses. I let myself be put into the white swaddling clothes, and was so encumbered that wherever I went I had to be helped. No wonder nobody asked me to make one of the speeches. We extracted expensive presents we didn't want from eighty guests I didn't know. Waiters glided about with plastic smiles and cupped hands, and served hard little meringues. An elderly employee from the shoe factory sang 'The Anniversary Waltz', and 'Trees'. As the booze flowed on, red-faced men stumbled around the dance floor, and women smirked at us in groups. Hallowing our union, his mother had the hide to call it. The final hallowing was the stream of telegrams, beginning with: 'Jingle bells, woops, who put that cowbell under the mattress, lots of love, Merv and Dot'. During the marriage service, while the prosy old minister had been giving us the benefit of his vast experience of life as seen
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from a shabby manse, he'd quoted a line from Shakespeare that rang out around the church: ' "To thine own self be true . . ." ' I burst into tears right there at-,the altar. Afterwards, they were all solicitous. They patted me and murmured soothingly and told me it was wedding-day nerves. That's what it was all right, baby, that's 'just what it was.

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