Other People’s Diaries (17 page)

I
t was both the same as last time and very different. They were in the same bar, full glasses of champagne in front of them. Four people looked at Alice expectantly, waiting for her to tell them what they were supposed to do.

It would have helped had Alice known herself. A monthly get-together had seemed like a good idea when she came up with the idea of the group. They could talk over what had happened, share experiences, begin to know each other more. Except that now it came down to it she didn't have a clue what that meant.

‘Look, I don't want to make this formal,' she began. ‘I'm really pleased that we've come this far and that you're here tonight. Lillian has decided this wasn't something she wanted to do. So it's just the four of you. What I'd like to do is get your thoughts on what's happened so far. It's still early days obviously – changes don't happen in a couple of weeks – but maybe someone has something they wanted to say?'

As soon as the question was out of her mouth she knew it would be greeted with nothing but silence. What did she expect? An Oprah-type outpouring of emotions from all of them?

‘Maybe I should start,' Alice broke the silence.

‘I've found it difficult to try to identify what is important to each of you. I hope that as we go along I'll be able to do that
better. But the more information you can put in your diary entries, the more likely I am to figure that out.'

‘Look, I don't mean to be rude, but don't you think it's all a bit wishy-washy?' Megan asked suddenly. She continued without waiting for an answer. ‘I mean, nothing you've asked me to do is going to change my life – not even close.'

Rebecca snorted in derision and everyone looked at her.

She was obviously still wearing her work clothes, her pant suit cut in at the waist and a tight-fitting T-shirt underneath. Her expensive-looking string of beads tipped forward as she leaned toward Megan.

‘Sorry. It's just that you sound exactly like my daughter.'

Rebecca took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but the memory of her conversation with Bianca at the vegetarian cafe was too fresh in her mind.

‘Please explain to me what it is about your generation. Life's not about sitting back and knocking what everyone else does. It's you Alice is talking about with your short diary entries. Everyone else is actually writing real stuff. You do these glib little entries like you're sending a text message. Blind Freddy would know that you haven't done what you say you have.'

Megan sat back in her chair. ‘Had a bad day, have we?' she asked patronisingly.

Rebecca's eyes darkened. ‘See, it is never your fault. Life for Generation Y is just such a struggle. You were born with these exploitative parents who raped the world and are forcing you to endure the benefits. So what do you do? You spend hours on your computers and mobile phones, but any suggestion that you should actually step into the real world and participate is the most outrageous thing you've ever heard.'

‘Look, Rebecca, it doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure out that your problem is with your daughter, not me. I've got as much right to be in this group as you. Just because I don't write pages about my screwed-up home life doesn't mean I'm not participating.'

‘Participating … Yeah right. Like sleeping with your married boyfriend for one of your tasks? Give me a break.'

‘All right.' Claire's quiet voice cut across the table. ‘If either of you don't want to be part of this group, feel free to leave. But if you spend your whole time looking for reasons why it won't work, then of course it won't. None of us knows if this is something worthwhile or a waste of time. Unless you're both perfectly happy, though, I'd suggest you think about giving it a try.'

Claire ran her hand up the outside of her glass, the condensation pooling on her fingers. ‘And before either of you say that I'm only here because my life is a mess, I'll say it myself. I'm almost thirty-five, I have no children, no career and not much of a marriage. It seems that even my feeble attempts at house renovation are an expensive waste of time. To be honest, I don't really know where to begin to fix things. But what Alice is suggesting seems as good a start as any.'

The silence stretched for long seconds.

‘Whew,' Kerry said. ‘Here I was thinking I was just coming for some free grog and a bit of a chat!'

There was a smattering of uncomfortable laughter.

‘Look, let's not get too worked up about it. This isn't exactly outrageous stuff, it probably won't change anything, but I for one don't have anything more exciting to do on a Tuesday night. So far Alice has hooked me up with an old friend, which is great. What can be bad about that?'

He smiled across at Alice.

‘Okay, sorry. I overreacted.' Rebecca nodded vaguely at Megan, not quite meeting her eyes. She picked up her glass and took a large sip. Megan did not volunteer her own apology.

The mood of the group relaxed slightly but the tension between Rebecca and Megan was palpable. Claire, however, seemed oblivious to it and eventually Alice managed to relax.

The champagne disappeared quickly and the conversation became less forced. A lot of it had nothing to do with the tasks or their diary entries, so Alice just sat back trying to absorb the nature of each of them. It wasn't until Alice was about to order a third bottle of champagne that Rebecca said she had to go, with Megan and Claire following soon after.

Alice was very conscious of the fact that it was just her and Kerry left in the bar. Kerry's email about liking the sound of her being a school ma'am had taken Alice by surprise. Despite herself she still felt a rush of pleasure when she thought of it. It had been a long time since someone had flirted with her. It hadn't taken long for Alice to remember she hadn't been wearing her wedding ring the first night and that Kerry probably assumed she was single. ‘Not a biggie,' as Ellen would have said. Alice could have corrected Kerry's mistake with a quick email.

But she hadn't. Somehow jumping on top of a nice email with a statement that she was married seemed ridiculous. She had just decided to just keep the emails on a friendly level and drop in something about Andrew when it was natural to do so.

So why did she feel like a giggly schoolgirl now that Kerry was sitting beside her?

‘Do you think I could have picked people with stronger personalities than Rebecca and Megan?' Alice asked.

Kerry laughed and Alice felt a strange thrill of excitement. She sat back in the chair and pushed her hair back with both hands.

‘Is this what you were hoping?' Kerry asked.

‘To be honest, I don't really know. I go through times when I think that this is a ridiculous waste of everyone's time, made up by a middle-class woman who should just get her act together. But then other times I wonder if we haven't just lost the whole point of living. It's like that old question, do you work to live or live to work. It's like there is no end goal any more – just more stuff to do.'

‘You know, my dad has a theory,' Kerry said. ‘Actually,' he corrected himself, ‘he has lots of theories. But one of them is known in our family as the Porch Theory.'

Alice laughed. ‘Tell me more.'

‘When he was growing up, everyone had front porches. Not huge wooden decks over the backyard, a little porch looking onto the street. All the men in the street were home by four-thirty and dinner was all over an hour after that. In the evenings, his parents would sit on the porch while the kids played outside. They'd talk
and the kids would gradually wind down, slumping on the steps as the sun went down. Sometimes a neighbour would walk past and chat from the bottom of the steps or sit on the porch if they were invited up.'

Kerry paused.

‘Dad said that was the best part of the day. There was no one racing off taking kids to tap classes or saxophone practice, no televisions for people to sit in front of. It was just the way it was. He reckons society got screwed up when porches got closed in.'

‘It's so different now.' Alice reflected silently on her own afternoons alone with the children.

‘Anyway, I think what you're trying to do is great.' Kerry hesitated. ‘But I'm a bit confused. I thought all wise women had to be eighty with a big mole on their nose or a goitre or something?'

Alice laughed. ‘I gather I'm supposed to take that as a compliment?'

‘You most certainly are.'

Kerry held Alice's gaze until she looked away.

‘Shall we have another drink?' he asked. ‘My shout this time.'

Alice's pulse was racing, her throat dry. ‘No, I should go,' she answered automatically, then stood up abruptly.

‘Okay,' Kerry said easily. ‘I should get moving anyway.'

He joined her beside the table and put his hand under her elbow to steer her around a group of people near the door. His touch was perfectly proper but the point of Alice's elbow burned with the contact.

They stood together outside the bar.

‘Right, well my car's over there,' Alice gestured toward the other side of the street.

‘I'm the other way,' Kerry answered. ‘I guess I'll be hearing from you then.'

‘Yes,' Alice smiled at him. ‘You will.'

Your latest instruction was to take the time to do something I like but normally rush over.

So I took Merlin, my dog, for a walk. Not a run and not just a twenty-minute duty walk around the block. A long one, along the river. I enjoyed it.

On the way we went past an old folks' home I've seen a lot of times. So I stopped and went inside to ask if I could help out with reading or something sometime. Turns out I could and I spent the next hour reading to a nice old lady who told me I reminded her of her granddaughter.

‘B
ugger … bugger … bugger.'

Megan knew she sounded like Hugh Grant as she leapt out of her ancient Toyota Seca, not even bothering to lock it.

Abandoning the tidy box of marked homework she had finally caught up with over the weekend, she bolted toward the staffroom even though she knew it was too late.

It was ten days before the annual school fete – the biggest deal of the year and, thanks to a defective alarm clock, she was almost forty minutes late for the final planning session.

When Megan had first started teaching, the annual fete had been just around the corner. The ancient deputy principal
had leaned across toward her during a staff meeting. ‘The best advice I can give you about this school,' he'd whispered confidentially, ‘is never be late to a fete planning session. And if you are going to be late, make sure it isn't to the last one.'

The law of the staffroom was that anyone not present to defend themselves was ‘volunteered' for all the hideous jobs no one else wanted. Megan's current school was no different. Last year a teacher had run away with his neighbour's wife, leaving vacant his job to walk the ponies around the school oval all day. Megan had always suspected it was his allotted task and not his wife that had caused his flight.

In the past, Megan had rather enjoyed seeing absent teachers allocated nasty jobs. She'd seen tardy colleagues get lumbered with coordinating the sale of raffle tickets all day, or being suspended over a pool of water for the ‘Dunk a Teacher' game.

But this time she was the late one and she knew there was a good chance she'd have to pay for it.

Gently Megan eased open the staffroom door. She froze as the hinge squealed and the entire school staff turned to look at her.

Her smile felt weak and she could only imagine how it looked. Blushing furiously, she raised her hand in greeting.

‘Sorry I'm late,' she mumbled, sliding into a chair at the back of the room. She looked down at her lemon yellow Converse sneakers, which she'd ordered from the States. Not even their cheery colour could remove her feeling of dread.

‘So to conclude this meeting …' the principal resumed with an amused look in Megan's direction, which made her nervous, ‘we are grateful to you all for volunteering your time. Let's make this year's fete the best yet.'

Chairs scraped harshly against the floor as the other teachers left, throwing styrofoam cups in the bin on their way out.

Trying not to expect the worst, Megan stood up. She might as well find out how bad it was. On butcher's paper taped to the blackboard were tasks along with the names of volunteers. Her eyes slid downward.

Her gaze snagged on her name and she jerked her eyes to the left.

Clothes stall – Megan.

She let out her breath in relief. There was a God. Clothes stall – she could handle that. It was probably just a matter of coordinating volunteers to sell donated clothes.

Glancing around, Megan saw the principal.

‘Megan.' There was something about the way the older lady spoke that always reminded Megan of the Queen. ‘Adriana has been networking and found us a great last-minute opportunity for the fete. The committee decided that you'd be the best person to make it happen.'

Megan nodded cautiously. Adriana was the only teacher younger than her on the staff. Despite their shared youth, they had yet to find anything in common.

‘I see that. The clothes stall sounds fine. Is there a volunteer roster to coordinate?'

Megan could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile on the principal's face.

‘Not exactly.'

‘Oh …' Megan's sense of dread returned.

‘Adriana met the owner of a chain of boutiques and convinced her to provide us with some clothes to run a fashion parade next weekend. It's late notice, but well worth the effort, I'm sure you'll agree.'

The principal paused. Not hearing the expected agreement from Megan, she continued anyway. ‘It won't be too hard – you just need to recruit about eight staff members to model the clothes for you. Only seven really, if you count yourself.'

‘Oh,' Megan said again. Suddenly raffle tickets were looking good. She wondered if the person being dunked in freezing cold water would mind swapping jobs.

‘In your absence it was decided that your unique style could be just what the parade needs to give it a bit of colour.'

Megan looked at the older woman desperately. ‘But … I don't … I mean – surely Adriana could …'

The principal smiled as she turned away. ‘As I said before, we are very grateful to all our volunteers.'

*

There had to be a better way to earn a living.

Megan's mother hadn't mentioned anything about fashion parades when she was advocating teaching as a career. It should be printed as a warning at the bottom of the university application forms, like on cigarette packets:
WARNING: The Surgeon General warns that a degree in teaching may lead to humiliation in many unspecified forms.

At this point it was looking as though the fashion parade was going to be a one-man show. Despite her best attempts at both begging and pleading, not one other teacher had agreed to be in it. They'd all thought the position she was in was riotously funny. Megan had avoided Adriana. A tirade of four-letter words would almost certainly breach the ‘professional respect' the principal felt so strongly about.

In desperation, Megan had gone to see the principal and suggested the event be cancelled.

‘Unless,' she'd joked weakly, ‘you'd like to participate. I have a cocktail number that would suit you beautifully.'

The principal had looked distinctly unamused. She had also made it very clear that the fashion show was going ahead one way or the other.

It had to be karma, Megan thought, logging onto Alice's website for a little light relief. The universe was making her pay for using Alice's task as an excuse to see Greg again – or for lying about reading to the old lady.

Every time she logged onto Alice's dinky old website, Megan wondered what the hell she was doing.

Judging by the calls she was getting from her family, though, she was still the problem child of the month. Megan had the distinct impression they would do something dramatic, like roster a family member to be with her at all times, if she told them she had quit the group.

She scrolled down through the entries, stopping on Claire's last one.

Well, I went. It actually wasn't as bad as I thought, drinking cocktails by myself. Rather depressing outcome though. I sat there
for an hour and the only skill I could think of was shopping for clothes. How incredibly shallow and useless to be unable to come up with anything better than that.

Slowly an idea began to form in Megan's mind.