That Would Be Me - serialisation of a chick lit (if you must) novel of neo colonialism and identity

THAT WOULD BE ME

Chapter Four
in which our heroine struggles to be her new identity and makes friends with a gorgon

'Would you like to tell us a little bit about how you went in your A Levels? I see here you got a very high score in Textiles and Design and ... an even higher one in Every Day Sciences. I don't think we have that one here. Anyone heard of it?'  He smiled collusively along the panel.

'I came in the first ten in E D S - Every Day Sciences.'

'That's good. Did many girls at your school - what was it again?' He ran a pen along the pages she had supplied. 'Did it specialise in that subject?'

'No. In the U K. It involves physics, chemistry, biology and economics applied to every day life. People wanting to work in the hospitality industry or the medical sciences usually do it.'

There were three other panellists beside this man who was the very one who had kindly guided her when she had first wandered along the Information Sciences corridor. One of the others was the woman harrying a computer, the other two were from Nursing and Design.

'Oh.' His patronising benevolence was replaced by a startled respect and curiosity but he failed to penetrate her obliging smile.

The computer woman took up the case with a dismissing glance in the direction of her co-panellist. She smiled in sisterly encouragement.

'I see from your statement you are particularly interested in online training, can you tell us more about that?'

'Certainly. I ... became aware of the vastness of distance when I came to Australia. I met people who were travelling further than a lot of - I met students in Cairns who were travelling to Townsville for lectures and seminars and doing the rest of their courses online. I mean it's - in European terms its a huge distance, like into the next country or further. As you can see, I was already interested in education but I found with part time jobs and things - people from all over the world I was meeting here and in Thailand - anyway I found I was becoming very - I was becoming very interested in the possibilities of online training. Vocational. Vocational rather than educational. I was thinking of teaching primary school children but that's developed into ... that's broadened into an interest in developing online material for training. I'm thinking of the hospitality industry and communication competencies which would be applicable across - well all industries and workplaces, actually.'

There was an exchange of impressed glances - who wanted to go next?

Dr Design took up the challenge. 'That's very interesting. Have you thought - I'm wondering why not something in I T then, you know, why not go for a course in web design, or - '

'Is Dr Cheung doing a bit of proselytising here?'

The other panellists joined the computer woman in a chuckle.

'I see here from your statement that you think there is a great future in this kind of training, how would you see it applying to nursing, for example.'

'Nursing is a very special area - you're dealing with human life directly - so what I see is maybe some initial training online with follow-up one-to-one or small group training, maybe of new equipment or familiarising the nurses with new drugs - I don't see online or video as replacing direct training by professionals - experienced professionals - but I see it as a very useful, potentially, training technique in the future. And in a country like this where distance and isolation from big cities ... I can see these new technologies giving opportunities to people who might be isolated and need to diversify their skills because local industry is changing or even dying.'

She couldn't go on. She felt she'd lost herself completely. She couldn't even smile or look at the panellists.

After a silence and the computer woman asking the other panellists if that was all, she was thanked and told she would be informed.

Her last impression was of the computer woman nodding and smiling conspiratorially at her as she left the interview room.

Beverley was waiting for her in the cafeteria. 'How did you go? Did they ask anything you couldn't answer? You'll be all right.'

She was very tired. Working two jobs was taking its toll. She still went to the university library and had prepared as well as she could for the placement interview but now she felt as though she had said next to nothing and that incoherently.

'You always feel that way after an interview,' Beverley consoled,

They met Minnie at her favourite food bar in Chinatown. Minh had found another university which would accept her into Physiotherapy if her exam results were exceptional. 'Did they ask you why you wanted to do Information at the university?' she asked.

She nodded.

'I knew it! Did you say all the things we worked out?'

She said she hoped so, she didn't feel as though ... She arranged to be in the library on Saturday to act as a panel member so Minh could practise for her interview.

The girls at Polka Dot Fashions looked up from their machines when she walked in. 'How did it go?' Francesca asked. Mr Hidalgo, the manager came out from his office to listen too then sent everyone back to work.

Polka Dot was not exactly a sweat shop, it did altering and made up clothing for fashion shops and tailors who left patterns and fabrics to be cut out by a number system. It was piece work so the pressure was self regulated to a certain extent.

Except for the gentlemanly Mr Hidalgo who had long and intense experience of the trade in the Philippines and the tailors and couriers who dropped work in, it was a female establishment. The women had developed a girlish, high spirited ethos which was a defence against the burden of their roles as mothers and wives and for some against bitter memories of very grim previous work experience. Several nationalities figured but most of the machinists were Filipina.

Polka Dot's business was dependent on its reputation for careful work and the handling of expensive fabrics. Mr Hidalgo and the supervisor, Leni, a no-nonsense Croat-Australian, checked all the work for even and closely aligned stitching. The machinists wore cotton gloves which they had to pay for themselves. Leni frequently inspected these and ordered fresh ones to be worn. This was the key subject of complaint amongst the workers. No food or drink were allowed into the work room, no smoking on the premises, the doors were to be quickly shut against any outside dust and dirt. According to legend, Mr Hidalgo had once berated one of their best customers, a temperamental tailor, for loitering with the door open as he took a mobile call.

She had paced herself well and carefully extended her skills and speed. She really enjoyed working with the different fabrics. Leni had twice made her stop and unpick work to do again - to the disguised joy of some of her co-workers - and had hovered and interfered as she dealt with a new stitch or some unfamiliar fabric. She had pretended to be worried at the loss of time and therefore payment but what she was getting was a fraction of what she took home from Mr Iriye's restaurant.

The women took a superficial interest in her but as most of them had to rush away to pick up children or get home to do the shopping and make the dinner, interaction was confined to the workplace. She had told them she had a boyfriend in England and when he had finished his course - Engineering - and she had finished hers - Teaching - he would come out to Australia and they would get married. At the mention of citizenship she had fallen silent. Everyone had understood and the matter was whispered about behind her back but not alluded to in front of her again.

She felt pretty sure she could get away with more than the others at Polka Dot. One night she had stayed back to talk to Mr Lim.

After she had been at Polka Dot for a few weeks she had asked Mr Hidalgo if she could bring in her cut out frock and jacket and use the workplace sewing machines to sew them up. He said she would have to speak to Mr Lim.

Mr Lim was related to the owner who was rumoured to be a Hong Kong millionaire only interested in this business because some of his family lived in Australia. Mr Lim dropped in a few days a week, usually late, to gather figures for the accounts.

She had approached him after the others had gone and Mr Hidalgo was supervising a courier and a wedding dress. Mr Lim had been about to say no when she gave him the saucy smile and the twist of the head she had seen a girl at the university employ on one of her lecturers.

Mr Lim had hesitated.

She had thrust her breasts out and swept a smile which curved down as if in modest invitation over them and rose to meet Mr Lim’s frightened, longing stare. He broke his gaze to glance, worried in the direction of Mr Hidalgo.

She had returned half an hour later, knocked on the door and swept into the yellow bulb-lit cubby hole which served as the office. ‘I just thought I’d come to see how you were getting on,’ she said, advancing on Mr Lim with her beasts thrust forward. She stood almost against him then leaned forward and rubbed her breasts against him. Mr Lim stepped back, staring at her with an expression lingering from amazement towards terror. She wanted to laugh. Then he reached out and clasped one breast and the other then hastily removed his hands.

The pressure of his touch shocked her, she gasped.

She pulled herself together and flounced out, turning to give Mr Lim a wink which he would recall with great pleasure to the end of his days.

'I can never do that again,' she said, 'it just came over me.' And she gave him a radiant smile before sweeping out into the factory area.

In some trepidation he showed her how to lock up.

Mr Lim must have spoken to Mr Hidalgo.

When she had finished her costume she resolved never to use Polka Dot's machines for her own purposes again. Then she determined she would never need to.

Not long after the incident with Mr Lim which she had recalled obsessively for days, probing for glimmers of hilarity, she found herself idly saying to Mr Iriye that if there were special customers who wanted to practise their English more she might be able to have coffee with them.

He nodded, smiling, as if he had hoped this would happen.

She had decided she would confine herself to blow jobs and be utterly discreet - they would want that, her important businessmen.

She borrowed a book on geisha from the Kings Cross library. She found it compelling. Then she discovered another book about them. She devoured that book too.

Michiyo would notice, what would Michiyo think? Michiyo had seemed to follow her lead and moved out of the hostel. She was now sharing a place with another Japanese girl and a Korean girl not far from Mr Kakaburi's apartment. She was supposed to be saving up for her business in Kyoto. 'Asian girls like to live in CBD,' she had shrugged. It was a very big apartment and the two other girls seemed to have plenty of money and not to take their studies very seriously. 'Their parents are rich. Lucky girls.'

Who knew what was going on.

She enjoyed being immersed in this new life, perilously high and confident. Mr Kakaburi had introduced her to some people he described as 'friends' but maybe they were business acquaintances - did it matter? - as his 'Australian girlfriend'. He had asked her to choose an Australian name for him. She had come up with Cal, short for Calvin. He had looked worried and evidently consulted with someone because the next time she saw him he was very pleased. 'Cal very cool name,' he beamed, 'I use for Australia.'

She told him she was looking for a laptop to use at uni next year. He took a great interest  and had made her stare, perplexed, at eight different ones before saying this was the one she should get. 'Very expensive in Australia,' he had shaken his head sadly. It was lying on his coffee table the next time she visited. He had chosen a black one with purple trim to match her handbag. She thought maybe he loved her.

She had rung Kath as requested. Kath reaffirmed herself as an ally, told her just to let Therese drink, there was nothing she could do, they'd all tried. Kath brought her long monologue towards an end by saying, 'It's her birthday on the twenty-first of November. Birthday's are important to her. Very. She loves the opera. I can't stand it, I'm always worried those huge women will sit on those silly little men. Anyway, she's got you now, that's good. You like that sort of thing, don't you?'  Then that they must have her out on the boat some time, she wanted to show her to Mort. What was she doing for Christmas?

The only night she had free was Monday and the Monday closest to the twenty-first the Australian Opera was doing Lulu. Oh well. She ran it by Therese. Therese said she would consult her Kobbé's Complete Book of Opera. The next day she gave her response. It was very modern and she didn't like modern opera except for Benjamin Britten and Janàcek - Katya Kabanova - was one of her favourite operas and she loved Jenufa but her favourite was - 'do you know much about opera? No? You should start with Rigoletto, I have the complete recording, we'll listen to it one afternoon. When you're not busy.'

She had never seen Therese as interested as this before.

So they were going to give Lulu a go.

She dreaded the evening but it was necessary.

Therese had her hair done. She consulted on whether her frock was fashionable enough. She thought about new shoes.

Therese spent all afternoon getting ready and was sitting waiting at exactly seven as arranged. They were to have a drink in there.

This is all wrong, she thought. She squirmed as the evidently lesbian Gräfin Geschwitz insinuated herself towards Lulu in a dinner suit. Therese seemed to be gazing stonily at the bizarre and melodramatic goings-on on stage; the music was far from accommodating. She made up her mind to suggest they leave at the first interval. She had booked a table for supper at a nearby hotel but they could go early and if it was full there were plenty of other hotels nearby. She would ply Therese with drinks. She badly wanted a couple of whiskies herself.

No, Therese did not want to go at the first interval. No she didn't want champagne, or anything, but you go ahead. Therese appeared to be frozen with a determination to be polite and stick this out but as they gazed down the harbour she suddenly burst out, 'Isn't it wonderful? The sets are so ... they remind me of beautiful old films. And the costumes. Like Cary Grant and whoever.'

Back in the theatre Therese was restored to immobility and so she remained throughout the opera until the moment Geschwitz flung herself between Jack the Ripper and Lulu. Therese began to cry.

Over supper Therese cried again at the recollection.. She composed herself complimenting the choice of wine. And had to struggle to overcome her embarrassment when the waiter brought out the special birthday cake. She rather gallantly waved her champagne at the people at the next table who had struck up 'Happy birthday' when it appeared. Therese was having a wonderful time.

In the taxi going home she said, 'I won't sleep all night, that was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. The intensity!'

She herself didn't sleep at all well. She blamed the coffee they had had with the cake. She was tormented by the opera. Why did all those people bother with Lulu - Dr Schön, Alwa? A distinguished woman like Geschwitz wouldn't waste her time on a creature like that. It was so ridiculous. As if ... It was a stupid opera. She thought longingly of Pelléas, why couldn't it have been that?

Therese's note read Thank you so much for my birthday treat. I will never forget it. I have never been so spoilt.  Lulu by Alban Berg is now one of my favourite operas. It was so exciting! Thank you once again.

She found it when she came in late from a night at the restaurant which had extended into a whisky with a Mr Naito. He had wanted to come and see where she lived and had become increasingly abrupt when she demurred. She had ended by saying her mother was not well and would be woken up. His eyebrows had shot up at this, as far as she could tell, in genuine astonishment. She had pressed her advantage by saying quite loudly that she would like him to see her to a taxi now and had risen. He rose, glancing around the hotel area and had followed her to the entrance. He had handed quite a lot of money to her in the cab but she had dreamt of more.

She wondered now if she should get her own place but dismissed the idea. Apart from the expense, she was growing fond of Therese.

One morning a week later she had been alerted by the sound of Therese's phone ringing. It had to be Kath, returned from Malaysia where she had accompanied Mort on a trip - 'part business, part pleasure'. Therese had waited in vain for a call or card. From her room she tuned into Therese's abrupt cadences and then the call was over. She found Therese sitting very upright and staring unseeing at the TV. She barely answered her greeting.

On the way to Polka Dot she checked her post office box. A letter from the university congratulated her on securing a place in Information Sciences. Her place in the course was conditional upon her being granted an appropriate visa and on the verification of her secondary and tertiary education achievements. This evidence should be presented to the Department Secretary for sighting as soon as possible. Photocopies must be validated by the issuing authority. Please provide English translations by a translator accredited by the National Accreditation Authority for Translators and Interpreters (NAAATI) if the documents are in a language other than English. You will then be provided with a letter to present with her other documentation to the Department of Immigration and Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs when applying for a study visa. The International Students Office is pleased to advise any overseas students about visa requirements and on any other matter in relation to overseas students at the university.

Her immediate pleasure was doused by the idea of the bureaucratic quagmire she had to wade through to begin at the university. It was impossible.

But as the fabrics ran through the powerful needles guided by her hands she began to count off the steps she required. Lainie would help. She would ring her best friend Gemma and get her to help Lainie to send the right things. She would tell Gemma not to tell Lainie or her parents but she had ditched Lyntie because she had met an Australian boy who was The One. She couldn't help it, it just happened. Gemma would be appalled and thrilled. She had always been rather keen on Lynton herself.

The visa business was a nightmare. But she spoke English, she had half of one year's fees already, she had a tax number, she had a respectable home, she had a job, she had shares ... She could say she did a lot of overtime and special work for weddings and other occasions like funerals. She would go and discuss requirements at the International Students' Office. She would ring in her break and make an appointment. She must make more money.

Lady Tierney was just in front of her when she arrived home from the restaurant. She had been greeting the quiet old lady ever since she had moved into 'Longleat'.

Lady Tierney paused on the stairs. 'That was such a kind thing you did for Mrs Sullivan - on her birthday. She told me about it. I know it meant so much to her. She knows how lucky she is to have found you ... '

'And I feel very fortunate to be living here,' she replied with professional brightness.

Lady Tierney turned again to look into her. After a while her eyes seemed to say, 'I see ...'

She flinched.

'Nevertheless ... ' Lady Tierney said before going on her way.

She fell asleep worrying about just how much wise old Lady Tierney had discerned.

In the morning she sat to drink her tea with Therese who was in front of the TV. 'I saw Lady Tierney last night.'

A nod.

'She seemed very well. She asked after you.'

Therese swung around, 'Why'd she do that? What did she want to know?'

'Nothing. She just said to say hello. She just asked how you were.'

'She knows how I am, I just spoke to her the other day. She ought to mind her own business. We've all got to pay up by the sixteenth, I know that.'

She sipped and watched the woman who was showing them how to make waffles in a waffle-maker. 'I love waffles,' she said, 'with raspberry jam. I used to go into college early when I got my student allowance and have one with coffee. It was fresh in the morning.' Therese glowered at the screen but she could not help herself, 'Do you? How's Kath? Have you heard anything?'

'Why do you need to know that?' Therese's eyes were blazing.

'I ... don't. I ... just wondered.'

'Well don't.'

After a considerable silence Therese offered, 'Kath Ravel has forgotten her old friends while she gallivants around ... those - Bali or wherever with that Mort Ravel who made his pile in the eighties when everyone else went bust - in real estate, she says. Huh! Buying up mortgages that some poor battler got stuck with when the interest rates went through the roof. Scum. Carrion crows. Frank Sullivan had his faults and he wasn't much of a businessman in the end but he didn't prey on the down-and-outs.'

Therese became a little contrite after this outburst. 'I suppose she didn't have time. He'd have been rushing her off her feet and in that heat with that weight she carries she probably didn't get a moment to herself. You needn't mention what I said.'

'Is she back yet?' she ventured after a while by way of a response.

'She came back last Sunday. Didn't hear a thing, she could have been blown up for all I knew. That Mort wouldn't have bothered to let me know.'

She got ready to go.

She had an interview at the university International Students Office that afternoon. Mr Hidalgo just nodded when she said she would be away for a couple of hours in the afternoon.

A woman wearing brown trousers and a cream shiny shirt ushered her brusquely into the small office. The officer seemed to become genuinely interested as she made out her predicament. She said she had the money to pay her fees for next year now and she would have the money for the following years but she couldn't exactly show that. What would the best way be to present her information to the Department of Immigration. She explained that she had two good jobs at the moment and that she could continue with the other one - the night one which paid very well - while she was studying. It wouldn't interfere, it was flexible - the tourist industry, acting ... showing people around, helping them to feel at home.

The Student Officer felt perplexed - what attitude she should assume? She was used to the prevarications of international students, they drove her to subdued hostility but this girl seemed a different kind of case.

She noted the officer looking doubtful so said, 'I have some shares. I don't want to sell them. I promised Mum when she took me to the bank and they brought them up from the strong room that I wouldn't ... ' She looked down. And then raised her eyes to say, 'She's gone now.'

The officer considered. 'They're not enough? They don't generate enough income so that you can show the Department you have a sufficient source of income?'

She shook her head. 'They'd get me through a year. Or so. In an emergency. But I promised Mum.'

The officer thought. 'It can all depend on how you put it. We can't fill the forms in for you, that would involve us in a legal situation and that's not what we're here for but there are experts who can help you to put things so that the Immigration Department - so that you make your case to the Department as strongly as possible. So that the assessing officer sees things your way. If you see the difference.'

She nodded she could.

'It can make all the difference. I'm not supposed to do this but ... ' She pulled a card from her wallet. 'This person will be able to help you. She's very reasonable. She used to work for the Department so she knows all the ... right ways to put things. I should declare my interest here, she's my partner actually but that has nothing to do with it, she's just someone I know who can help you where the university can't. She can't offer guarantees but she's got a lot of experience in citizenship applications. Her success rate is quite high. Of course some cases are hopeless but you've got a lot going for you.'

The officer finished the interview by requiring assurances about her abode and phone number, that she did have the money up front to pay the fees.

The next day she examined the many ads in the local paper for lovely young women wanting to earn extra money.

As she sewed she concluded that she couldn't do that. For sure there would be someone who would take a lot of the money she earned. And just who would she end up being involved with?  It was probably safe - well some of them seemed to be, there were so many some of them must be almost respectable but she couldn't take the risk. She should do it for herself. She had managed Mr Lim, she had extricated herself quite graciously from the predicament with Mr Naito, she felt she was expert at managing the Japanese businessmen at the restaurant.

After the restaurant she went into an adult book shop she had noticed. It was not far from Mr Kakaburi's. There was only one other customer and a man and woman attending. The atmosphere was strange - the shop was lit with appalling brightness, everything seemed to shine in the cellophane or the plastic wrap it was tightly bound in. There were glass counters of implements and racks of apparel, chained against theft. High on a wall a video was playing. On the screen two girls, a blond, the other with very dyed black hair were cavorting while a very ordinary looking not young man wanked.  Every now and again he would rise and caress one of the girls.

She was fascinated.

'Anything special I can help you with dear?' the woman was standing beside her. Her expression was professionally blasé.

'No. Um, I was looking for magazines, a selection.'

The woman looked thoughtful. 'We have a selection of second hand magazines. Videos and C D's - we have a much bigger range ... no-one goes in for magazines much these days, except collectors.' She eyed her with sudden attention, in case. 'Over here.'

She followed.

The other assistant, a man who seemed to be the woman's partner, took an interest too.

She thought they both looked as though they had once been prostitutes. She was more fascinated by them than the array of magazines displayed. She chose three hastily. What if someone had seen her come in here - Mr Iriye or Michiyo, one of the customers?

She prayed Therese wasn't up. The brown paper bag looked so obvious. She had decided to tell her they were patterns she had to deliver for work tomorrow.

Therese was up but had passed out in front of the TV.  How long ago, she couldn't tell. An almost entire cigarette of ash lay in the tray. She put her things in her room and set about getting Therese to bed. Then she tidied up. Therese was fiendish about clearing evidence of her drinking. The gin bottle with its accompanying tonic empties were carefully wrapped in newspaper first thing each morning and hurried down to the ‘Longleat’ rubbish bins. Therese hated to be caught doing this.

On her way to Polka Dot, she rang and made an appointment to see the immigration consultant. They were to meet in a few days. She worked from home. 'Home' turned out to be a few suburbs down Parramatta Road.

The door was opened by an older and rougher simulacrum of the university International Student Officer. A hairy knee high dog growled. 'Quiet! Natalie, still!'  The simulacrum offered a challenging glare.

She asked to see the name on the card.

'That's me.' The so-who-wants-to-know look continued to hover.

She considered leaving then offered an explanation.

The expression melted. 'Oh sorry, you just caught me in the middle of something. Come in, I was expecting you.'

She followed her nervously down the hall of the single storey terrace, Natalie sniffing after her.

The place flowed into a sunny courtyard into which a bright red car was jammed.

They settled in a small room opposite a kitchen.

'Don't take any notice of Natalie, she'll calm down soon, she's not used to strangers,' the immigration consultant said. She took out a clip board with a form on it.

The fee quoted had been quite high. She contemplated the consultant. The woman not only had an air of aggression but also of shiftiness. So she decided to see how it went.

They got through the clip board form. And had a chat which took her no further than she had been with the partner at the university.

'I'm about ready for a cuppa, how about you?'

She attended in the kitchen as the tea was made with exquisite attention. It was served in delicate cups with a lemon biscuit which melted in your mouth. The consultant confessed to being the cook.

Then she got tough and real. 'You haven't got enough money,' she announced after she'd wrung the truth of her financial position out of her.

'But I'll be earning - '

'They all say that.'

At the downcast look she added, 'Never mind, you're way ahead of a lot.' She sketched some strategies, all of which would take too much time or seemed impossible.

By the end of the interview she was feeling more despondent than when she had arrived. They made an arrangement for her to bring the forms from the Department. She paid in cash and no receipt was offered.

The consultant summed up at the door, 'You're fine on two out of three - travel, you don't have to worry about that; course fees you've got - now we've got to concentrate on living costs. Are you sure there isn't anyone who could say they're going to provide for you?'

She said she'd think about it but she didn't think so.

'What would really help is if you married some nice Australian boy ...?'

She said she didn't think she could do that.

That night the consultant and the officer had a stimulating time speculating whether she was in fact a Sister.

'You know those English intellectual types, you can never tell, they're so femme.'

'Like Virginia Woolf.'

They were very satisfied by their common interest in her.

She wondered if Mr Lim ....? No. Mr Iriye? She wondered if Cal was considering Australian citizenship.

She spent the night in the restaurant contemplating Mr Iriye. She realised she knew nothing about him. Was he married? Was his wife here or in Japan? She would ask Michiyo.

Michiyo said she knew nothing about Mr Iriye's personal life, it was not the Japanese way to ask many questions.

A few nights later she approached Mr Iriye after the last customer had gone. She explained she wanted to stay in Australia. Did he know any way that would help her to do that?

Mr Iriye shook his head and said he was very sorry.

She said one way was for someone to say she had enough money to live on for a while. All they would have to do was sign a piece of paper.

'Ah,' Mr Iriye said.

She knew enough from reading the geisha books to leave it at that for the time being. She decided to consult Michiyo on a suitable gift for Mr Iriye.

'It is very hard question. I do not know him. Usually whisky, perhaps. But he owns restaurant.'

She explained the idiom 'taking coals to Newcastle'. Michiyo repeated it thoughtfully. She realised Michiyo was very embarrassed by her questions about Mr Iriye so she explained her motive - to get him to sign a document to say she would have enough money to live on in Australia.

Michiyo looked at her in astonishment then suggested they study his ties and then see if they could find one which was in line with his taste. 'You could give tie, see what happen.'

She was quite excited by this idea, mainly because it enabled her to feel as though she was on the geisha path. As soon as she was able, she went into the city and began to study ties. The variety overwhelmed her, she had had no idea they came in such a huge range of designs and colours. She felt she was entering another reality. Her father hardly ever wore them, she recalled being so proud of him when he did - going to a funeral once and a wedding - but she could not summon any memory of his tie. She imagined it had been some horrible brown, a snaking pattern. She sought refuge from her confusion in the area dedicated to colognes. A breathtakingly beautiful and exquisitely groomed young man took a lot of care spraying some samples on rectangles of cardboard for her. He asked if he could know who it was for - brother, boyfriend, father? It all depended what sort of guy ... She explained it was for her Japanese ... friend. Very smart, up to date. But what if she wanted to get something for his father who was coming to visit? It was a Japanese custom to give gifts - you know, beautifully wrapped from the right store.

He smiled. And dealt in turn with the two different problems.

She left the store with a carry bag containing a beautifully wrapped cologne for Cal and many squares of scented cardboard in her handbag.

That night instead of going to sleep perusing the porn magazines as she had for the last week or so, she masturbated to the scented cardboard rectangles. She was a geisha who had a series of lovers, each one represented by the lingering traces of scent. She felt the tatami matting beneath her white socked feet, the weight of the kimono and obi, heard the rustle of bamboo outside the sliding doors of her cottage, saw the shadows of their elegant long leaves waving in the light of the stone lantern beside the raked white sand. This lover was a count, he had read her his poems after she had made him tea. Now he was close. It was autumn. She inhaled the scent; cool pine.

The next day she went in and bought that one. She was very disappointed the beautiful young man wasn't so made an effort to be charming to his replacement. She decided she would see the beautiful young man again. She would walk through the store and come across him as if by chance and tell him which one she had chosen in the end for her Japanese friend's father.

She knew the moment she arrived at an inconvenient five-thirty P M that her second appointment with the immigration consultant was going to be a travesty. The girlfriend was there, and in contrast to her university self, eager. The consultant was embarrassed enough to make an awkward explanation.

Which she ignored to show her displeasure.

The girlfriend Official kept amplifying the consultant's obvious remarks - find a business mentor who'll say they need you in their organisation, maybe your current employer, or employers? Apply for a residency on the basis of your current jobs and balance that with your student visa.

'Or you could get married to the right kind of Australian, if you see what I mean, for a while,' the Official from the university added with a bright ironic smile. Who, sitting opposite her desk in her university office, would have known she could smile?

She had had enough. She rose. 'I don't think I could do that,' she announced and gathered her bag to her.

'Don't go, I haven't ...' The consultant began.

But she was already moving towards the door. She stepped elaborately around the dog which had risen to sniff at her departure.

The door needed to be unlocked.

The consultant was there with the key and some reclaimed self possession. 'Haven't you forgotten something?' She tried to make a joke of it.

'The invoice?'

'I was expecting a professional service.'

'That's what you got'

‘I don’t want to be involved in this strange collusion in any way. What would the university or the Department of Immigration think?'

'She ... I just thought she might ... You might ... '

'I feel very uncomfortable with this.'

'No need, everything is confidential here.'

'I was expecting more.'

'What? What more?'

'I expected us to spend the time actually drafting my applications and covering letters.'

'You're not ready, we needed to do some exploring of possibilities.'

She took out her purse and handed over half the fee.

The consultant took it and looked at it. 'Um, this isn't enough, it's ... '

'I haven't stayed for anything like the length of the consultation. You didn't give me a receipt for the last one.'

This created a very awkward pause.

She turned to the door. Which the consultant unlocked.

She stepped outside.

'I could give you names in the Department, names likely to be sympathetic to your case. We could draft a letter .... Ring me!' The consultant called to the departing back.

That night the consultant and the Student Officer had one of their strenuous rows. It ended in bruises.

'Mr Iriye very pleased you drink so much whisky,' Michiyo said during a moment's respite from the customers.

Her reading about geishas had sharpened her sense of nuance in Japanese expression. She really liked whisky now, was developing her taste, preferring certain brands over others on offer in the restaurant. Tonight, after the encounter with that awful immigration consultant, it had been very helpful to  sip away gaily. 'How much should I drink? I thought ... ' She suddenly felt quite angry with Michiyo.

'You like geisha, geisha always drink a lot when customers drink too much.' Michiyo tittered into her hand. It was a most uncharacteristic gesture.

Her anger turned to puzzlement. Was this a good or bad thing?

After the restaurant she revisited the adult bookshop and selected some more porn. She included some gay male porn. She found it very soothing to sit up in bed contemplating the photographs and reading the stories. She felt she was understanding some tacit reality. But in the dark her mind flew back to Michiyo's comment. What did it mean? She would ask her. Her dreams took over from her thoughts. Michiyo was her geisha 'sister'. They were tittering, clattering together down a cobbled road on their way to work. It was raining and they had their most expensive silk kimonos on. Her wig pressed almost unbearably on her head. Then she realised neither of them knew the way. The wind was blowing her umbrella so that it forced her along. She looked around and recognised the street - it was painfully squalid. She was being pushed home, in her heavy wig and painted white face and sumptuous silk. Her father would hit the roof. She struggled against the terrible wind.

In the morning she decided the pile of porn was getting too high. She had noticed the adult bookshop bought second hand books and magazines. She would return some on her way to the restaurant. She would ring Gemma. She would ring about five-thirty, that would make it seven-thirty in the morning there.

Gemma sounded sleepy but when she realised who it was shrilled, 'Why haven't you written? Everyone says you've broken up with Lyntie. Where is he? He rang your mother.'

She said, 'Listen. I met someone, my soul mate. I just ... It was easier just to get away from Lynton. I realised he's not the one. When I met Mark - he's an Australian. I can't ever leave him. I've enrolled in a course here. I knew you'd understand but I need my A levels certificate and my university results. Will you help Lainie to send the right things? She knows where they are in my desk drawer. I just want you to make sure she sends the right ones. I need them right away. Mum always liked you, she'll listen to you. Just tell her I met someone who was right for me and ... I'm bringing him over to meet you all soon. At the end of next year. Please Gem, you know what Lainie's like, she'll get it wrong or forget or something. I really need them.'

She gave Gemma her post box number and finished the conversation by raving about Australia.

'You sounded different, I didn't recognise you at first, now you sound like you, you must be getting an Australian accent. I didn't know they sounded like that.'

'They do in Sydney, it's very cosmopolitan - at least Mark's family speaks ... the Australian accent's changing, it's not like you hear on T V, only country people speak like that. You'll have to come. How's Vi? You'll never guess, I'm sewing for a living, it's great. How's working in Johnston's?'

She shuddered when she clicked her phone off. She didn't want to know anyone there. Then she thought she'd better start writing to Mum and Dad, that way she could keep things under control.

The policewoman who had found her in the hostel was often on patrol in the area. She always smiled at her. When the policewoman smiled back she reminded her of their encounter. She thanked the policewoman and explained everything had worked out all right and she wasn't being harassed any more. She loved Australia and had been awarded a residency here. Should she come into the station and register or something?

Robyn said no.

'I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee. Do you go on patrol with that guy who helped?'

'I can't even remember who it was. Oh, this is Hamid.'

She smiled at Hamid and told them to drop into the cafe on the way back if they liked, she'd organise coffee and cake for them there.

'Thanks. We might.'

She went over to the cafe opposite 'Longleat' and organised to pay for whatever they might have.

Robyn and whoever was patrolling with her always waved and exchanged pleasantries from then on.

The restaurant became busy with company Christmas parties. The tips were sometimes enormous.

Mr Iriye had discreetly overseen her availability after the restaurant. She had several discreet liaisons with businessmen and believed she had handled them very well. She believed her understanding of geisha helped her to transact these encounters with grace. While she knew geisha did not offer sexual services, she believed comporting herself like one inspired restraint and dignity in her clients. Her study of porn had helped her imagine her way into the role but had made her afraid of danger and bizarre demands. So far prostitution had proved easier in the act than she had imagined but the self-disgust afterwards was intense. However she did not intend to follow this profession for long and the self-disgust was resolving into fear others would find out.

Mr Iriye signed an immigration document guaranteeing her a year's work at the required level of income.

She bought a few more shares, using her laptop.