THAT WOULD BE ME xi - serialisation of a chick lit (if you must) novel of neo colonialism and identity

That Would Be Me
Chapter 11

In which our heroine makes amends for deserting her best friend, manages Christmas and ventures into the South Pacific with her other true friend

Lady Tierney let her into 'Longleat'.

She knocked and knocked on Therese's door.

Finally there was a 'who's there?'

Therese said she'd see about going to Christmas dinner in a hotel. Then warmed enough to her presence to ask if she'd like a cup of tea.

She walked away from 'Longleat' feeling something important had been accomplished. She had in some way grown up. She had confronted Therese's anger, sat with it until her fear had abated. She had watched Therese's anger and hurt give way to pleasure in her company.

She knew Therese would come to Christmas dinner with her. Which hotel?

Mrs Coleman told her she'd be lucky, they would all have been booked out long ago.

But she found one.

Now she turned her thoughts to what she could do about Mrs Coleman and Christmas. Eventually she decided to offer to make her a suit.

Mrs Coleman demurred then agreed.

They went into town together to choose the material. She persuaded Mrs Coleman that a blue patterned silk would suit her then sent her to look at patterns while she paid for it. The material would have to be cut on the bias to match up the pattern. She spent far more than she had intended.

Mrs Coleman had something of a paunch so she dissuaded her from one pattern and into a pattern which had a frock which fell from two darts wide apart under the bust. It was matched with a loose one button jacket. She suspected that it was beyond her sewing skills but thought she could always take it to  Polka Dot and persuade Leni or someone to help her. She decided to make a visit in any case and see if she could get work there after she and Allison had returned from New Caledonia.

She thought about buying a sewing machine then went around and asked Therese if she could use hers.

She sewed with inspiration. Therese rose from her chair every now and again to inspect her progress.

She fitted the parts to Mrs Coleman and repinned, stood back to look, adjusted the pins, took the garment off Mrs Coleman and basted. She called Mrs Coleman back, fitted, unpicked, pinned again and sewed. The round neck had to be just high enough, the short sleeves long enough. The frock should not have been difficult but she was determined it would be as flattering as possible. The fall of the fabric depended on the darts. She wanted to suggest a waist. Mrs Coleman stood impassively through the pinning and pinning.

At one point she looked up from her position kneeling at Mrs Coleman's feet and wondered what she was doing here. What was this worship about? Some sort of masochism. Never again.

She nearly tore her hair out over the jacket. Therese told her to go for a walk. When she got back she was astonished to find Therese had basted the sleeves in. The stitching was precise. The pattern met up almost perfectly. 'That's marvellous. How did you do it?'

Therese returned to her chair.

She could not wait to get Mrs Coleman to try it on. As she carried it around to 'Casuarinas' She smelled the nicotine in the silk. She smiled.

At last Mrs Coleman stood in the finished suit, appalled. It was too impressive. Wherever would she wear it? 'You'll have to get married now so I can have a wedding to wear it to.'

'You could wear it to your own,' she replied.

Mrs Coleman almost sprang back. 'Mr Coleman's only been dead for five years.'

She helped Mrs Coleman out of the suit. She was going to fold it in tissue and place it in a box then wrap it in plain rich wrapping paper to give to Mrs Coleman on Christmas Day.

Over bridge that night Mrs Coleman smiled at the thought of her own gasped response to the idea she should marry again and wondered if indeed she might. Her unconscious smile was misread around the card table.

She got Allison a history of New Caledonia.

The Christmas lunch with Therese remained an ordeal until Therese noticed some children running around the restaurant. Therese regarded them at length. 'It's a good thing I never had children, I would have spoilt them rotten.'

She gaped. 'How? How would you have spoilt them?'

'I would have let them do anything they liked. I would have given them everything they wanted. What I could afford. And I couldn’t, I would have worried about.'

A little girl came up and took a potato from Therese's barely touched plate. Therese carefully cut some of the turkey, wiped some gravy on it and raised it on her fork. 'Open up,' she said. The little girl unhesitatingly obeyed. Therese popped it into her mouth. 'Chew it twenty times,' she commanded. The little girl began chewing dutifully. Her mother rushed up, apologised and said, 'She'd take the food out of your mouth.' And laughed nervously. 'I guess she's at that stage.'

She smiled at the mother.

Therese ignored the mother.

The mother whisked the child away.

Therese examined the food on her plate.

After several minutes of increasingly desperate conversational effort about children and Christmas, Therese responded. 'It's not only for children. Adults have got to have a good time too. There's a child in all of us, you know. It has to be let out. Christmas is a good time to do it. And birthdays. People should never forget birthdays. These women who stop having birthdays aren't doing themselves a favour. Men have started to do it too. Some men. There's nothing worse than a vain man. Frank Sullivan could be vain. He was very particular about his turnout. That must have been what attracted me to him in the first place. Can't think what else it could have been. One time he put on some weight and I had to keep him on a diet till he lost it. I must say he didn't look too bad once he'd lost a stone. One thing he appreciated in me was his shirts. I sent him off looking immaculate. People commented. Spanky Franky, they called him. Behind his back at work. One little trollop told me at one of their Christmas parties. I put a flea in her ear. The decorations are lovely, I love those coloured lights. They're wonderful these days, blinking on and off and making patterns but I don't think you can go past the coloured bulbs. I suppose people don't do it any more. They used to put them in their trees - trees in their gardens. You've never seen anything so beautiful. Special bulbs, you couldn't just paint them. And I suppose you had to have a special set-up, you know in case it rained or something. I used to look forward to it. I used to walk with my girlfriend and we'd admire them. At night, through the streets. She's dead now. One year I went alone. I wasn't afraid, you weren't in those days. You could walk down the street any time without thinking about being attacked or having your pursed snatched, or something. I don't know what's happened to Australia, it's all those migrants. Got to be. Not you! Not your type from the Home country. The foreigners. You know the ... They come from everywhere these days, they let anyone in. It's not safe. And those birds, silver with the spun glass tails that you clip on the tree. The coloured glass balls.'

They went outside so Therese could have a cigarette before pudding. Therese ate a bit of the pudding with her coffee and cognac. She was persuaded into another cognac.

She gazed with intent at the waiter who hovered with the bottle over Therese's snifter, then lowered one eyelid towards it. He got it and half filled the snifter.

She tipped him very generously.

Therese nodded off in the taxi but started awake when she put her hand on Therese's when they reached 'Longleat'.

Therese grabbed her hand with astonishing alacrity. Therese's hand was icy and bony. 'Thank you,' Therese said, 'it was such a lovely Christmas. Best I've had in years.' And was gone.

She went on to 'Casuarinas' and went to bed. She was going to Michiyo's later.

Michiyo had a new Australian boyfriend. He was in real estate.

'It's good to have Australian boyfriend. In Australia,' Michiyo said.

She could see Cal didn't like him so they only stayed as long as they should.

She wondered if she could get out of sex with Cal. But it was Christmas, whatever that meant to both of them. During it she thought she was past sex.

Noumea was lovely. She and Allison made daily journeys back and forth between Anse Vata and the Baie des Citrons.

They'd made a pact to only speak French, which they broke but made amends for by encouraging boys who only spoke French.

Their carefree air combined with a quality of subdued substance made them very attractive.

Allison was throwing herself into the Noumean life style, cultivating a tan, dressing in the wildly colourful sarongs fluttering from the many stores around the market where Allison insisted on sitting over coffee each morning.

She was trying to stay out of the sun, kept revisiting the Tjibaou cultural centre and the deserted local museum. The other young tourists were making her uneasy. She was haunted by thoughts of Lynton and had to persuade herself into knowing it was almost impossible he would be there. But what if they came across someone she had met in Thailand, still lingering in this part of the world?

She told Allison she wanted to get out of Noumea, it was too touristy, she wanted to see the Loyalty Islands, that she wanted the real Nouvelle Calédonie.

Allison was allowing herself to be drawn into something with a local boy back for a few weeks before he had to return to his course in a Polytechnic in Nantes.

She said she was going, she found Noumea empty.

Allison said she would catch up with her in a few days, she wanted to see how she coped by herself.

The resort she chose was on what seemed to be the least developed of the Loyalty Islands. It turned out to be a few local huts set aside for tourists. The dazzling white sand drifted everywhere. In the morning the lagoon beach was a cliché miracle of marble white and turquoise blue. She found her French more than adequate to the colon French of the locals. Every night she had dinner alone in a large hut lit by steady kerosene lamps. The waiters argued over serving her the fish and vegetables she ate. She discouraged them. After dinner she would sit on the edge of the lagoon regarding the golden star patterns cast across the soft deepest blue of the sky. The moon rose golden and turned fiercely silver as it sailed its course. The waves lapped. The wind whispered in the palms. It was ridiculous.

She had brought some reading to prepare for next year's study but found herself dropping into a torpor. Drowsiness dragged her down again and again. She slept and slept.

The four days till Allison's arrival became endless. She was very afraid of the inertia which had gripped her. She forced herself to take walks as a way of fighting the weight which kept dragging her down to sleep. She ventured along the little paths she found radiating out from the village. She did not even start when a huge pig barred in a camouflaged pen suddenly raised its snout at her and squealed. She made herself get into her swimming costume and glide across a grotto formed in rocks around the lagoon. Then she made herself push off from the other side and glide back again. She greeted some people in a collection of dilapidated huts as if she had known them always. They responded with equal indifference. She decided it was the elemental life, dragging her under.

Going to meet Allison's plane was an effort.

As soon as she saw her, she realised Allison had changed. During lunch it occurred to her that Allison was no longer an innocent. So Allison was no longer a virgin. Her mother would be pleased.

She wanted to say, 'You fool! You were much better off the way you were.'

Allison smiled at her as if she knew what she was thinking and called the waiter over for nothing but to flirt. As if synthesised with her transformation, Allison's French had become much more fluent and idiomatic.

'Allison,' she said when the waiter had gone off to get colder water, 'he thinks you're encouraging him.'

'And I might be. I haven't decided yet.'

She was appalled.

Again Allison seemed to read her mind. She smiled her new, worldly smile and said, 'You're not to worry, I won't embarrass you.'

'I'm not worried about your embarrassing me,' was all she could say. The lecture on how these boys saw one as a cash cow, a way of escaping their confined lot, evaporated in her mind. She decided she should get Allison back to Noumea as soon as possible. Allison would surely be bored by this nothingness.

And by the end of the next day Allison did seem to have been gathered in the arms of torpor herself. But she said, gazing out at the almost nothingness, 'You were so right to come out here, it's so basic, cleansing after all that nonsense.'

She did not dare ask, 'What nonsense?' She was alarmed by this new Allison who seemed to be so worldly, to know everything. She had decided to get away from her as soon as she could. She would get clear of her. They were doing some different courses this year in any case. She would make sure they were in different seminar groups.

As if in reaction to this silent rejection, Allison padded across the dark hut and slipped into bed beside her.

She froze.

Allison put her arm over her, said, 'It's not making you too hot, is it?' And sighed her amused sigh.

She awoke deeply rested.

She knew there was no escaping Allison now.

By the lagoon the next day Allison said, 'I'm thinking of becoming a lesbian when I get back.'

She thought. 'Oh no, not me.'

And as Allison laughed her too knowing laugh she heard herself countering it - terse, hard, straight forward - as Therese, 'Are you Allison? Why do you say that?'

Allison's response was a deeply complicit look.

Oh there's no escaping Allison now, she thought again, she knows everything. I'll have to stick by her and try to keep her quiet.

'It's probably simpler. I've got things to do.'

She could not say, 'What? What have you to do?'

'I've probably always known that,' Allison continued, 'but not known. Not denial exactly ... but some kind of avoidance. I want a career, I've always wanted a career. That's what I've always wanted but didn't spell it out to myself. Until now.' She gestured a wide yawning type stretch at the lagoon. I've always wanted to travel.' Allison turned towards her, 'Obviously you always knew that ... Did you?' she asked.

She nodded, a little too enthusiastically.

Allison looked at her as if considering her afresh. After a thoughtful silence Allison said, 'You know who really likes you?'

Her heart clutched again. This was getting too much. 'No?'

'Lou. Lou really likes you. Seriously.'

'But ... Isn't Lauren ... after him?'

'Yes. She's been after him since she arrived on the scene in first year of Senior but she hasn't got a chance, she's too pushy. She knows she hasn't got a chance. I told her but she can't help herself. She's desperate to belong, that's why she's so attracted to him. She thinks he's the very centre of it, which in a way he is - his mother's the centre of it, she used to keep a pony where the Old Paddock is now - but all of that's over. And who cares anyhow? Who wants to spend their whole life on the North Shore? Lauren's an idiot. She'll be on the move as soon as she wakes up that she can't have him, she'll probably end up in Mumbai running the film industry there.'

At night Allison just got into her bed.

In the morning Allison greeted her with, 'And how is ma sœur this morning?'

They befriended a local girl doing a Nursing Practical in a nearby village. She introduced them to the District Nurse who invited them to accompany her on a visit to a clinic on one of the furthest islands in the group.

She was worried, the excursion was to be on the day they were supposed to fly back to Noumea.

'But we don't go until five, that's the whole day. Kitti said we'd back in plenty of time. We can pack and just be ready to jump on the plane. Bertie will look after our things. I'm going,' Allison said.

It was a glorious day. They walked to the end of their island, where a boat took them across a dazzling sea.

The remote island was small, the clinic, run by a nun, hardly more than one of the local houses.

They inspired awe-struck curiosity. The children hardly dared peep at them.

Kitti talked to the nun, took some blood samples.

She couldn't watch it. 'I'm going for a look around.'

Allison followed.

They saw how quickly simplicity could shade to squalor.

The fled back to Kitti, were given coconuts to drink, a little piece of yam and fish to eat.

They retreated from Kitti's work again and sat under the palms by the lagoon.

The sun was passed the meridian.

'We'd better hurry Kitti up,' Allison said.

Kitti would not be hurried.

It was after three when they boarded the boat again.

'You were right,' Allison said, 'we'll miss the plane. I wanted to have three days in Noumea, now we'll only get there and then we'll have to go straight to the airport the next day.'

The plane only made the round trip from Noumea to their island every second day.

She said nothing. She didn't care. She didn't care if they missed the plane, she didn't care if they missed their flight from Noumea.

Allison asked Kitti to ask the boatman to make his boat go faster.

Kitti ignored her.

'Don't you understand? We have a plane to catch!' Allison shouted at the captain.

When they landed on their island Kitti said, 'We will have to go along the beaches, it is quicker.'

They had to wade across a lagoon.

She thought it was glorious.

The tide was coming in. Crossing the next lagoon was a little more difficult.

Allison baulked at the next. They were already up to their waists. 'We could drown, their might be a current. What if a shark comes? This is the time of day they attack.'

She just kept going. The water climbing above her waist felt delicious. She hoped they would have to swim. She didn't care if she drowned. Perhaps her little backpack would fill with water and drag her under. She didn't care if a shark attacked.

Allison took strength from her graceful indifference and followed though every dark shadow seemed to presage being torn to pieces.

Soon they were walking, not too fast, along the familiar lagoon. There were their bags where they had left them. Of course Bertie had not taken them as requested to the airstrip.

He came around smiling, offering to help.

Allison ignored him.

She thanked him and tipped him when they arrived at the airstrip.

The plane was late.

The pilot told them to hurry on, it was dangerous flying in the dark.

On the flight back to Sydney she thought, 'I don't care what happens to me, I have become a terrible person.'

Mrs Blackmore met them at the airport.

'Darling! I'm so proud. You did so well. I opened the letter from the university, I knew you wouldn't mind. Your brother got into his course. Now your father wants him to do Medicine, he did much better than we expected. How was it dear? Let me look at you.'

She watched Mrs Blackmore's face. She saw it registering the change in her daughter.

'Oh get away from me!' Allison suddenly growled and pushed her mother away.

Mrs Blackmore's face was swept by astonishment, then hurt.