Читать книгу Worlds Apart - Ber Carroll - Страница 9

Sydney seemed to have many faces, Erin thought as she walked along George Street. The city centre itself was sophisticated, urbane and very corporate, totally at odds with the character-filled inner suburbs like Balmain and the relaxed, leafy beachside suburbs she’d explored with Mel at the weekend. The streets hummed industriously with cars, taxis, vans, and couriers weaving on their pushbikes. People strode past, busy on their smartphones. The sun was out in full force, and the buildings, streets and commuters were glossy and clean-cut against the azure sky.

Erin stepped out of the sun and bustle into the dim, still interior of the Medicare office. She had applied for her tax file number online, but there was a different process for Medicare. She – along with her passport and a copy of her visa – was required to attend one of the offices, and so here she was. A computerised ticket machine stood directly inside the door of the office. She pressed the appropriate selection, took her ticket and went to sit on one of the few remaining seats.

After a few minutes, she realised that she was in for a substantial wait. There were six clerks, fifty or so customers, and the transactions at the counter did not appear to be particularly fast. She looked around, studying the other people who were waiting on this Thursday morning. It was an eclectic mix: backpackers, mothers with babies, old people with walking aids, a melting pot of nationalities across all the ages. The couple next to her was speaking to each other in Mandarin, or perhaps some other Chinese dialect. Across the way, a mother of Middle Eastern appearance scolded her young child in a foreign tongue. Two young men – South American? – chose to stand rather than sit, their tight clothing and gold jewellery making a clear, proud statement of their sexuality. Earlier on, as Erin had walked through the streets amongst the people of the city, she had noticed for the first time how multicultural Sydney was. Here in this Medicare office, where everyone was still, rather than in transit, their differences were even more evident.

A mild disturbance at the ticket machine brought Erin out of her reverie. A couple in their sixties with matching grey-peppered hair, dark clothes and swarthy skin stood at the machine, debating with each other in a foreign language. The woman waved her hands with growing agitation, the man shrugged and repeatedly shook his head. Erin assumed they were having a difference of opinion, maybe over what option on the machine suited them best. But the disagreement endured, new arrivals lining up behind the couple and, when it became obvious that they were stagnant, overtaking them in the queue. The woman’s face shimmered with sweat. She was clearly beginning to panic, and Erin finally realised that neither of them could understand the instructions on the machine. Everyone in the waiting room was staring, adding to their humiliation.

Erin rose from her seat and approached the couple.

‘You need some help?’ she enquired with a friendly smile, pointing at the machine. The woman nodded frantically, looking close to tears. As she didn’t have the language skills to determine the exact nature of the woman’s transaction, Erin took the liberty of selecting a general option, hoping that the clerk would be able to deal with whatever query it was at the counter. But when she handed the ticket to the woman with another smile, the woman glanced at it, and then at the big digital screen behind the counter, and raised her hands helplessly. Quite evidently, she didn’t even have the literacy skills to marry the four digits on her ticket to the screen.

‘I’ll stay.’ Erin pointed to herself, and then to the service-calling screen. ‘I’ll stay until it’s your turn. I’ll tell you.’

The woman waved from Erin to the screen, and Erin nodded and said yes until she secured a shaky, grateful smile. She stood with the couple, smiling intermittently, until her own number was called. Then she waited another fifteen minutes until the couple’s ticket came up, and escorted them both to the nominated booth. Before she left, the woman grasped her wrist and thanked her with a torrent of words Erin could not understand but which seemed profoundly sincere.

Erin left the Medicare office with her temporary Medicare card and the rest of the day to spend exploring the city. She was now another step closer to joining the workforce and becoming a true resident of Sydney. She bought herself a coffee and sipped it leisurely as she strolled towards Circular Quay. Along the way, she glanced at every face that passed her by, noticing and revelling in the different shades of skin and hair and eyes. She listened for accents and snatches of different languages and the sounds of other cultures. She wanted to work here, in the city, in the midst of its wonderful, on-tap diversity, and not in some suburban school where ninety per cent of the population spoke and looked the same. This thought and its sheer definiteness took her by surprise.

As did the fact that by the time she fell into bed that night, after a long, tiring yet extremely enjoyable day of sightseeing, the woman’s face and her panicked, helpless eyes were still on her mind, as though they somehow held the answer to her dilemma.

* * * * *

Laura used her own set of keys to unlock the varnished front door of Moira’s house.

‘Hello,’ she called, alerting the older woman to their arrival.

‘Hellooooo,’ Olivia echoed in her small, sweet voice.

‘I’m in the kitchen,’ they heard Moira reply in the distance.

Laura shut the door behind them, and hung their coats and scarves on the post at the end of the stairs before leading the way down the narrow hallway to the kitchen.

‘Something smells nice,’ she smiled.

Moira, stooped over the frying pan, nudged some pieces of bacon with the spatula before looking up. ‘Just making a spot of breakfast,’ she said brightly. ‘For some reason, I fancied a cooked one. I’m sick to my back teeth of cereal.’

‘But it’s dinnertime, Auntie Moira,’ Olivia exclaimed. ‘Breakfast was hours and hours ago.’

Moira looked confounded by this. ‘Dinnertime? Really?’

Olivia nodded solemnly. ‘Yes. When we were in the car, Mummy said it was five o’clock. You did, didn’t you, Mummy?’

Laura shrugged as though the time was irrelevant. ‘Yes, but it doesn’t really matter because bacon and eggs makes a nice dinner as well as breakfast.’

Moira looked confused and quite embarrassed by her mistake. ‘I must have had a nap, and assumed it was morning when I woke up. Yes, I think that’s what happened. What an eejit I am!’

‘Eejit isn’t a nice word,’ Olivia contributed in a holier-than-thou tone. ‘Idiot isn’t nice either. Mum says silly is okay to use.’

Moira regarded her gravely. ‘You’re right, child. I’m silly, very silly indeed. Tell me, have you had your dinner?’

‘No. And I’m starving.’

‘Maybe you and your mother can have some bacon and eggs with me. Then I won’t feel so silly.’

‘Can we, Mum?’ Olivia asked excitedly, her imagination captured by the notion of eating breakfast at dinnertime.

Laura couldn’t think of any reason why they couldn’t. In the car on the way over, she’d been racking her brains on what to have for dinner. Esteban was away, so they didn’t have him to consider. As for Kasia, so far she tended to take or leave mealtimes with the family.

‘Thanks, Moira, it’s very kind of you. Let me help with the cooking. Olivia, maybe you can set the table, love.’

The breakfast-cum-dinner was delicious: crispy bacon, runny eggs and French toast, laden with fat and calories, but for once Laura didn’t care. The food settled comfortingly in her stomach, and the stream of conversation between Moira and Olivia was nourishing in its own way, too. They seemed to share an honesty and earnestness that transcended the age gap.

‘And you’ve no brothers or sisters?’ Moira asked Olivia conversationally.

‘No,’ Olivia replied, before confiding, ‘Every night, after I say my prayers with Mum, I whisper my own special prayer for a new baby. So I think one will be coming soon.’

Laura spluttered on her tea. Good Lord! This was news to her.

‘Please God, there will.’ Moira nodded in agreement. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without brothers and sisters. Gerry was such a helpful little boy – he would fetch things for me and deliver notes to my friends. Paddy made me laugh – he always had a new joke. And Cathy was the life of the party. Nothing was dull when Cathy was around …’

‘Cathy’s my grandmother,’ Olivia pointed out importantly.

Moira looked momentarily taken aback. ‘Yes, I suppose she is. How silly of me to forget. Now don’t tell her I told you, but she was a very naughty little girl, always getting into trouble.’

Olivia was agog. ‘Really? What kind of trouble?’

Moira waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, this and that. But I can tell that you are a very good little girl.’

‘I am,’ Olivia assured the older woman. ‘Even my new nanny, Kasia, says she’s never met anyone as good as me.’

‘Kasia, that’s an interesting name,’ Moira mused.

‘She’s from Poland,’ Olivia said with an informative air.

‘Ah, Poland. Our housemaid was Polish, too.’ Moira seemed to start at the memory. ‘Now what was her name again? I can’t believe I’ve forgotten. I can see her face as clear as day, but her name escapes me … I must ask Cathy when I see her. She’d remember.’

Olivia’s eyes widened. ‘Did you and Granny Cathy live together?’

‘Yes. In Paris. Cathy and me … and Joe.’

‘Who’s Joe?’

Laura winced at Olivia’s perfectly innocent question. She tried to catch her eye, to signal to her to talk about something else, but Olivia’s attention was firmly fixed on Moira.

‘Joe was my husband,’ Moira replied sadly. ‘He died before you were born.’

More often than not, Moira referred to Joe as though he were still alive and she expected him to walk in the door at any minute. She seemed exceptionally lucid today – other than mixing up breakfast with dinnertime.

‘How did he die?’

‘Olivia,’ Laura interjected. ‘Don’t be a nosy parker. You’ll upset Moira.’

‘It’s okay.’ Moira shrugged matter-of-factly. ‘The child is curious, and that’s understandable. He died of cancer, Olivia, which is a horrible disease. It was in his lungs, and so he had trouble breathing. He’s in heaven now, and he can draw lovely, deep breaths.’

‘How far up is heaven?’

‘I would say it’s where the sky ends and the universe starts.’

‘And is it inside or outside?’ Olivia was going off on another tangent, thank goodness.

‘Well, that’s an interesting question, I suppose it’s a bit of both.’

Laura roused herself to clear the table, while Moira and Olivia continued to chatter. Moira had barely spoken throughout Laura’s other visits, and it was wonderful to hear her so engaged, and just as wonderful to see the rapt expression on Olivia’s heart-shaped face. Laura scraped the plates clean, before sinking them into sudsy water. Rubbing the grease with the scouring pad and listening in on the conversation about heaven going on behind her back, she felt unusually serene. Overall, this had been a really lovely visit. For everyone. She resolved that she would bring Olivia to see Moira more often.

* * * * *

‘You’ve what?’ Mel exclaimed when she came home from work and Erin broke the news.

‘I’ve decided not to take the job at Macquarie,’ Erin repeated calmly from where she was sitting on the sofa.

‘But you told Jack that you would.’ Mel’s voice was so incredulous that it quivered.

‘No,’ Erin corrected her friend, ‘I told Jack I would call him once my paperwork was sorted out. I didn’t ever say that I was accepting the job.’

‘You implied it by omission,’ Mel argued, coming closer and looming over Erin in her seat.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mel.’

‘You’re the one who’s being ridiculous. You’re throwing away a perfectly good job here!’

‘It is a perfectly good job, but for someone else, not me,’ Erin tried to explain. ‘Every fibre of me is screaming in protest.’

‘At least one of your “fibres” must understand that Macquarie is one of the most elite schools in the city,’ Mel countered sarcastically, ‘and that it pays well – you know how rare that is for teaching. You’re mad, Erin, stark raving mad to turn this down.’

Erin hadn’t expected Mel to be this upset. Of course, she realised that Mel had been looking forward to them working together, but surely Mel could see that particular benefit was incidental to the job being right for Erin in the first place?

‘Sit down, Mel.’ Erin waved at the spot next to her on the cream sofa. ‘I can’t explain properly while you’re glowering at me like that.’

‘I don’t want to sit,’ Mel retorted, sounding a lot like one of the mutinous teenagers she taught at school. After a few moments, she relented and landed next to Erin with a flop.

Erin rewarded her cooperation with a slight smile. ‘Let’s start again. I’m not taking the job at Macquarie, and maybe I am mad, but that’s my decision, okay?’ She stared at Mel, who eventually nodded. ‘Now, you’ll be glad to hear that I have a plan. I’ve already been online and looked at some other jobs, ones that I’m genuinely interested in. There’s one in particular that I’m going to apply for.’

‘What is it?’ Mel enquired, still sounding very petulant.

‘It’s teaching English as a second language in an English and Settlement Services College.’

Mel frowned, clearly perplexed. ‘But it’s still teaching, isn’t it? I assumed, from the fact that you’re going to turn down a perfectly good job, that you wanted to get away from teaching?’

‘Not from teaching: from school. I want to get away from school,’ Erin clarified, but Mel still looked confused. ‘I hated school when I was a student, absolutely hated it, and I would have never taken that job in St Patrick’s if Dad hadn’t been so ill. With him having chemo and going in and out of hospital, I couldn’t pass up the flexibility of the shorter work days and the long summer holidays, and I consoled myself that I would get something else eventually, when the time was right. But I got stuck there. Me, who hated school, teaching in the same one for almost twelve years. When I went to Macquarie last week, I realised I can’t compromise myself like that again, no matter how good the job seems on paper.’

Mel’s expression had softened. She looked as though she was beginning to understand. ‘I didn’t realise you hated school so much. You’ve never said so before.’

Erin shrugged. ‘Well, I’m saying so now.’

‘But this job you want to apply for is in a college. Isn’t that splitting hairs?’

‘The college helps people settle in the country, find childcare and jobs and somewhere to live as well as ensuring that they have functional English,’ Erin elaborated, hearing her voice become animated. It seemed that simply reciting the job description was enough to make her feel excited. ‘I know I’d really enjoy those broader aspects of the role. And I’d be dealing with adults, Mel, not school kids. So there is a difference. In fact, a big difference.’

‘What if you don’t get it?’ Mel was playing devil’s advocate now. ‘You shouldn’t get your hopes up.’

‘I phoned the agency before you came in,’ Erin admitted with a sheepish grin. ‘The pay is lousy, the college is located in a particularly unattractive part of the city, and the position has been vacant for more than a month.’

‘I told you that you were stark raving mad!’ Mel rolled her eyes, but she was grinning now too. ‘But it does sound like you’re in with a good chance.’

Erin jumped up, too full of nervous energy to sit for any longer. She would begin work on her application right now. Mel could help. With both of them working on it, it would be perfect. She had to get this job. Nothing had felt so important for a long, long time.

* * * * *

‘Shit!’ Laura stared disbelievingly at the streak on her pants, which had started off as white, the same colour as the bleach, but was turning to orange before her eyes as fabric dye was stripped away. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’

It had been a stupid idea to start cleaning at this hour of night, and now the satisfaction she craved from having at least achieved something concrete today had been completely eradicated by the fact that she’d spilt bleach on her suit pants. Should she give up? Leave the bathrooms until the weekend? No, she’d continue. At least she’d be able to tick something off her to-do list. Mind you, she’d also have to add something else straight on the end of it: buy a new suit.

She scoured the walls of the shower, her frustration lending extra vigour to each scrub of the nailbrush on the grout. In the distance, she heard the slam of the front door. Kasia was home. Laura scrubbed even harder. She knew she was being unreasonable, but she hated that a virtual stranger could walk in and out of her house at will. The situation wasn’t helped by the fact that Kasia was not communicative about her movements. Sometimes she joined the family for dinner, sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes she stayed in her room in the evenings, other times she went out. She never announced her plans until she was sitting at the dinner table, or on her way out the door, and the uncertainty of what to expect each evening made Laura constantly ill at ease.

Opening the cabinet above the vanity to stow away a spare bottle of shampoo, she noticed that the lid on one of the other bottles – an expensive perfume – was slightly askew. The scent was not a favourite one, which was why she kept it in the spare bathroom, but nevertheless it was odd. Laura was meticulous about things like that.

‘Oh, you are cleaning.’ Kasia hovered at the bathroom door, quite obviously startled to see Laura ensconced in there.

‘Yes,’ Laura replied, looking over her shoulder, aware that she must look ridiculous in her bright yellow rubber gloves and office wear. ‘Unfortunately, the only time I have free for cleaning is late at night,’ she added pointedly.

‘I will clean this,’ Kasia indicated the bathroom with an unenthusiastic motion of her hand, ‘in the future.’

Given that Kasia was the person who predominantly used the spare bathroom, Laura had been hoping that she would take the hint.

‘Thanks.’ Closing the cabinet door, Laura removed a tiny streak from the glass mirror. ‘Did you have a nice night?’ she asked, making a conscious effort to be friendly.

‘Yes.’

‘Were you catching up with friends?’

Kasia nodded vaguely.

‘In town?’

‘Yes.’ Kasia, clearly not willing to be drawn into a conversation, stepped back from the doorway. ‘Goodnight, Laura.’

‘Goodnight.’

God, it was so hard to like her. If she had revealed something, anything about her night, that she’d been out with girlfriends, or on a date, or seeing her cousin, Laura could have latched onto that one thing and felt that she knew this stranger slightly better than before. But Kasia consistently refused to reveal anything, so she remained a stranger, and Laura couldn’t get comfortable with having a stranger in her house and, more importantly, caring for her daughter.

Basin, chrome taps, mirror, Laura scrubbed and scoured until the rest of the bathroom was as clean as the shower. There, she was done. Now she could go to bed feeling at least slightly on top of things. Before she turned out the bathroom light, her eyes returned to the cabinet above the vanity. The perfume might spoil; she should put the lid on properly. No, she would leave it for now. It would be interesting to see if it was still askew the next time she thought to check.