Elianne (31 page)

‘I am, Kate, I am, I’m very happy for you, honestly.’ His patronising tone annoyed her. ‘But come on now, you have to admit,’ he added, aware she was piqued, which in turn annoyed him, ‘it’s not a really big deal in the scheme of things. Even if the yes vote wins, the referendum’s hardly going to change the face of the nation.’

‘I beg to disagree,’ she said, aware she sounded prim. ‘In my personal opinion amending the Australian constitution is a very big deal indeed.’

‘You know what I mean,’ he said, trying to remain patient when all he wanted to do was take her upstairs to bed, ‘it’s not as if you’re giving Aborigines the vote, for God’s sake – they’ve had that for ages.’

‘Aboriginal people were not granted the right to vote in Western Australia until 1962,’ she replied icily, ‘and Queensland gave them the vote less than two years ago. You call that ages, do you?’

‘All right, all right, WA and Queensland were late coming to the party.’ Bed would have to wait, he realised. She was angry now. ‘I know the facts as well as you do, I worked on the campaign, remember?’

‘Yes I do. What happened?’

‘I believe in the referendum, Kate, truly I do,’ he said, trying to appear earnest as she clearly needed placating. ‘I’m just questioning its importance, that’s all. I mean voting rights were given to all British male citizens including Aborigines in the nineteenth century – there were Aborigines who voted in the first Federal election.’ He reeled off the statistics in his customarily superior fashion, which most found impressive, but which to Kate was now intensely irritating. ‘The Chifley government gave the federal vote to those who’d been granted a state vote in ’49, and the Menzies government gave the vote to all Aborigines –’

‘Yes, yes, in 1962,’ she interrupted impatiently, ‘I know all that. Where the hell is this leading, Jeremy? What exactly is it you’re trying to say?’

God, she’s belligerent, he thought. ‘In bringing up the vote issue, I’m just putting a perspective on the referendum’s historic significance,’ he said with a saintly patience that to Kate sounded more patronising than ever, ‘the suggested amendments to the constitution will hardly alter the Aboriginal condition –’

‘Of course they will,’ she burst out angrily, ‘they’ll change perceptions across the nation. It’s called awareness, Jeremy,
awareness
! People, both white and black, live in ignorance. Most Aborigines don’t even know they’re allowed to vote. They’re not counted in the census, they’re not treated as equal citizens, the white population is encouraged to think of them as inferior, the referendum will open people’s eyes . . .’

Jeremy watched with admiration as she blazed away, angered by the injustice that surrounded her. She’s magnificent, he thought. How amazing that someone so enraged can look so beautiful. Kate, when impassioned, was terribly sexy.

‘This is the sixties, for God’s sake!’ There was no stopping her. ‘Look at what’s happening in America! Look at what’s happening in South Africa! How can we let that happen here in Australia? There should be no colour, no race issue in this country. We’re a new nation, we should be learning from the mistakes of others, not following in their path!’

‘OK, OK.’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘You’ve won me. Calm down, now, calm down.’

She came to an abrupt halt. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I got carried away.’

‘Yes, you did a bit.’ He grinned amiably. ‘We’re on the same side, you know. It’s hardly as if I need converting.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I was impressed, truly I was.’ He took her in his arms and she didn’t resist. ‘You really did win me, Kate,’ he murmured. ‘Now can I win you?’ He kissed her, his hand straying to her breast, and Kate, obeying the dictates of her body, couldn’t help but respond.

They retired to the attic, where their lovemaking was as mutually satisfying as ever, but she knew the affair was over. The affair’s been over for some time, she thought, it’s only been lust keeping us together. Well she could live without sex, she decided.

He stayed the night and they made love again in the morning as they always did. Then, over toast and coffee at the little table, she told him.

‘You’re joking.’ Jeremy didn’t believe for one moment she could possibly be serious. ‘After two years, it’s over,’ he snapped his fingers, ‘just like that.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ she said apologetically.

‘Oh, I get it.’ He gave a knowing nod. ‘It’s because I wasn’t as passionate about the referendum as I should have been – that’s it, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, I should have –’

‘It has nothing whatsoever to do with the referendum, Jeremy. It’s over, that’s all.’

He stared at her in stunned amazement. Good God, he thought, I’m being dumped, I’m actually being dumped. He’d never been dumped before. He was always the one who did the dumping, and usually after three months, six at the outside. He’d never had a relationship that had lasted a whole two years. What on earth had gone wrong?

‘Is there someone else?’ There has to be, he thought. But how come he hadn’t read the signs? How come he hadn’t guessed?

‘Of course there’s no one else.’ Kate couldn’t help but smile. His reaction was one of amazement, not heartbreak, and his disbelief was verging on comical. ‘You’re special to me, Jeremy,’ she said in all sincerity, ‘you always will be. It’s only the affair that’s over, not the friendship. I’m grateful for everything we’ve shared and I hope we’ll remain friends.’

‘Oh we will, Kate, we will, no doubt about that.’ He stood, still dazed and somewhat in a state of shock. ‘Well I’ll just gather up a few things, shall I?’

‘Would you like another cup of coffee?’

‘No, no, best to get it over and done with I think.’

She fetched him a carry bag and, five minutes later, when he’d gathered together his toothbrush and toiletries and spare underpants, they said their goodbyes at the front door.

‘I feel rather pathetic,’ he said forlornly.

‘You don’t look it. You look as gorgeous as ever.’ She kissed him fondly. ‘Thank you for being my first love. I consider myself very lucky, and I really do mean that.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said with his customary panache. ‘So I’ll see you around the campus then.’

‘Yes. See you around, Venner.’

He smiled, and Kate saw in his eyes a regret that she found surprisingly touching. Then he turned away and she closed the door.

A
lan was finding his new life in Brisbane frustrating. He was not an impatient young man as a rule, nor was he afraid of hard work, but it seemed to him that he was slogging away for extraordinarily long hours and for very little purpose.

It’s a bit like being on a treadmill
, he wrote to Paola,
where one walks and walks but never actually gets anywhere
. They exchanged letters at least once a week, he forwarding his to the Bundaberg post office in order to avoid the eagle eyes of her parents.
Of course Dad would say the whole point of the exercise is to gain my qualification as a mechanic and to achieve my Engineering Diploma, but surely I should be learning something along the way.

His education did appear to have reached a stalemate. The apprenticeship he was serving at Evans Deakin & Company’s machine shop in South Brisbane involved endless hard work that he found extremely mundane, and his first-year studies at Technical College were teaching him nothing he didn’t already know. He resigned himself to the fact that the course was bound to pick up over time and made the college library his salve, borrowing manuals and textbooks designed for final-year students and devouring them on Sunday afternoons.

He lived in Woollangabba, a suburb on the south side of the river, in a pleasant boarding house run by a pleasant middle-aged widow who provided most of his meals, including an excellent hearty breakfast, which was just as well for his day was long and tedious. First thing in the morning, he would catch a tram to Evans Deakin, where he would work a solid eight hours, the lunch break provided allowing time only for a quick visit to the nearby sandwich shop. Then upon returning to the boarding house, he would scrub away the grime of the day and, if he had time, gobble down the tea prepared by the kindly widow – if time did not allow, it would be put aside and reserved for his supper – after which he would catch the cross-river ferry from Kangaroo Point to the Alice Street jetty. He would make his way from there to Central Technical College at the Botanical Garden end of George Street to attend his Diploma Course lectures, which lasted most nights from six until nine.

The relentlessness of Alan’s existence lent particular joy to Saturdays, the one day of the week reserved for social activity, when he’d go out on the town with a couple of friends from his boarding-school days. Barry and Dave were now in their second year at university and although they were two years Alan’s senior the three shared a great love of jazz. They would visit a pub or a club that had a live band playing on a Saturday night, while the afternoons were more often than not spent in the beer garden of the Breakfast Creek Hotel.

Known simply as Brekky Creek, the magnificent French Renaissance-style hotel nestled at the mouth of an estuary of the Brisbane River was not only the city’s most popular watering hole, but possibly the most famous in the entire state of Queensland. Here people from all walks of life gathered and had for generations past – dockside labourers, members of the racing fraternity, politicians, middle-class workers, tourists and students alike. It seemed everyone congregated at the Brekky Creek pub, particularly on a Saturday afternoon.

Seated in the crowded beer garden, the boys had finished their meal and Barry had just left for the bar to fetch yet another round. They were drinking schooners and, as they’d already shouted a round each, Alan was beginning to feel the effects despite the gargantuan steak he’d devoured – Brekky Creek was famous for the size of its steaks.

Although under the legal drinking age, Alan looked considerably older than his years and was never asked for identification. But then things were different throughout the country these days. Since the introduction of national service attitudes had become more liberal and fewer questions were asked. It seemed immoral, most tacitly agreed, that a man could be conscripted at nineteen to fight for his country, yet was unable to legally buy a beer.

Alan watched Barry disappear into the bar. Crikey, he thought, I’ll be drunk as a skunk after another three rounds. He wasn’t a heavy drinker – he never had been; he couldn’t handle his beer the way Barry and Dave did – but what the heck, the four-piece cover band that was playing had put them all in a party mood and the day was unseasonably hot for late March: it just cried out for beer. He skolled the remaining dregs from his glass. Alan loved Saturdays.

‘Don’t go away, folks,’ the lead guitarist announced, ‘we’ll be back with some more Beatles in about fifteen minutes. We’re just going to grab a quick beer.’

The band had finished its bracket with ‘Love Me Do’ and was taking a break.

‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ a female voice said.

Alan and Dave looked up at the young woman who’d arrived to stand by their table, glass of wine in hand. To Alan she appeared vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall from where.

‘I’m Jane,’ she said, ‘Jane Campbell, I’ve seen you around at Tech.’ She offered him her hand.

‘Oh yes, of course.’ At the Gardens Tuck Shop several days earlier, he recalled, she’d literally bumped into him on his way out with a coffee, but he hadn’t stopped to introduce himself as he’d been running late. ‘Alan Durham,’ he said as they shook, ‘and this is Dave Johnson.’

‘Hello Dave.’ She shook hands with Dave too, but rather perfunctorily, her attention remaining focused on Alan. ‘Mind if I join you?’

‘Sure, why not?’ Alan was a little nonplussed: she was extraordinarily forthright and he wasn’t accustomed to pushy girls. He looked around for a spare vacant chair that he could pull up to the table for her, but there wasn’t one.

She plonked herself in the seat that Barry had vacated. ‘Just while the band takes a break,’ she said, ‘then I’ll go back to my friends.’ The boys followed her eye line as she waved to a nearby table where her two girlfriends were waving back. ‘You’re doing an engineering course, aren’t you?’ she said, turning back to Alan.

‘That’s right.’ He wondered how on earth she could know that.

‘I’ve seen you going into A Block,’ she explained in response to his puzzled expression. It was true that the Engineering Diploma Course was run out of A Block, but Jane had actually made her own enquiries to be sure. ‘I’ve had my eye on you, Alan Durham,’ she added with a cheeky wink.

He laughed as if he’d enjoyed the joke, although he felt a bit self-conscious. He found the way she was ignoring Dave rather rude.

Dave, however, was far from offended. To the contrary, Dave was signalling a look that was distinctly envious. She’s after you, mate, Dave’s eyes were saying. You lucky bastard!

Jane was without doubt attractive. Slim, fair-haired and oozing self-confidence, she was the sort most would call ‘sexy’. Alan judged her to be around twenty or so.

‘What are you studying at Tech, Jane?’ he asked.

‘Certificate in Business,’ she said with a dismissive shrug, ‘book-keeping, secretarial stuff and all that, but only as a back-up. I intend to go to NIDA next year.’

‘Oh, really?’ Seemingly riveted by the announcement, Dave cast a meaningful glance at Alan.

‘NIDA?’ Alan asked blankly, ignoring the prompt that he should appear impressed even if he didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, which Dave clearly didn’t.

‘The National Institute of Dramatic Art,’ Jane said, ‘it’s in Sydney. I’m going to be an actress.’

‘Wow, that’s impressive.’ He obliged with the response that was obviously required.

‘It sure is,’ Dave echoed.

‘Thank you.’ The smile she flashed them both was suddenly genuine and devastatingly attractive. ‘Of course I have to pass the audition first,’ she admitted with disarming candour, ‘and only a handful out of the thousands who audition ever manages to get in. But what the hell? I intend to give it my best shot.’