CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Expectations Part 3
September to December 1999
Annette agreed to participate in a new health fund rebate system designed to simplify transactions, allow patients immediate access to rebates, and be as simple to use as an EFTPOS machine because it would save time and give her an edge in an increasingly competitive market. She was right, but in those early days all it did was add to the growing list of things that gave her headaches.
By September, a day rarely went by when I didn’t see her rubbing her forehead, her face contorted by the pain. It didn’t help that every second person who walked through the door had an opinion about Y2K, the threat confronting computer users everywhere. Whichever way it went, she knew that come January 1st 2000, she must not be caught short. Thus it was than on the afternoon of Friday September 10th, I was sitting next to her writing out labels for floppy disks when the phone rang. It was Val. “I have spoken to Jason. You know he uses a roster system, don’t you? You may get a call. You may not. You may not hear anything for months. It depends on many things. Do you still want to go ahead?” I felt like telling her to shove it, but I didn’t. As I replaced the receiver Annette asked me if anything was wrong. I told her there wasn’t so she asked me if it was about a job. I wanted to say it was and I was starting next week, just in time for the school holidays, but I didn’t.
On the weekend, I applied for four jobs I saw advertised in Saturday’s paper. Since the start of the financial year I had applied for no less than thirty reception or office jobs. For the fortnight Vicky was away I felt like a rat in a trap. I had missed out on the government job and knew no other employer could afford to be so flexible. I was going to have to make a choice. Yet, if not for Annette, so many doors would not have been opened and I would not have been at Grange library at a certain day and time. Through Sharyn I was able to see Ann again before she died. Twenty-five years earlier we literally walked into each other at the city hall’s child care centre. It was Ann who told me about Elizabeth, the girl who fled the hostel leaving behind bloodied sheets. They were admitted to the Royal Women’s Hospital on the same day in 1971, and allocated beds right next to each other. I had seen Lyn a few times since leaving school with the last time being in 1978 at Aunty Marie’s funeral. She was then living in Sydney and came up to pay her respects. Lyn lived near the bakery up the road when we were in primary school, but by the time we were in high school her family had moved to Newmarket, into a house directly opposite the Casey family home. Sharyn had Ann’s married name, but not her phone number or address, and she had no information about Lyn. To get in touch with Lyn I only had to ring Peter who gave me her mother’s phone number. I found Ann by going through the phonebook. Luckily, she was the third on my list of fifty-seven.
On the evening of September 22nd, I went with Tamara to her palm reading class. It was the final night and each student had to bring someone with them to be read by the others as part of their practical exam. She not only topped the class, she was invited to read at the Centre on Saturday mornings. Before the end of the month life at Grange Place changed dramatically. Roberta later told me Annette went to see her at home to explain she could no longer keep her on and was giving her two weeks notice. She decided to leave there and then. Not because she was angry, but because she knew Annette couldn’t afford the two weeks. Unfortunately, Annette didn’t see it that way at first.
October 2nd began like any normal Saturday except Steve never worked on Saturdays and Kristen wasn’t supposed to either. When she called to ask if I could have Tianni I didn’t hesitate, even though I knew it meant two buses to Lutwyche. I never left home without my mobile phone, but I did that day. The first bus was delayed which meant I missed the second. Because of that I had to wait an hour for another. Once I collected Tianni we bused it back to Chermside, but by then I had missed my email booking. I calmed down when told I could use the staff computer to check my email, but there was nothing from Liz. When I finally got home I found a small note on the fridge from Tamara: Jason’s receptionist rang at 8.3o. Call her back immediately. She hadn’t left a number so I called the only one I had. It rang out. Tianni found the number on another slip of paper which had fallen to the floor. That number rang out too. It didn’t take a genius to work out why she called. It was a long time before I fully appreciated the extraordinary lengths Spirit went to that day to keep me away from Jason’s shop. I was never given another chance.
A few days later, I came across an article about Reiki in Insight magazine. All I knew about Reiki was that I wanted to know more. Degrees I & II would be taught on 21st and 28th November respectively at a Bracken Ridge address. Liz told me about Reiki, but stressed I must be initiated before she could discuss it in depth with me. Around that time our emails took on a more serious tone. Things weren’t going very well for her at home and she felt Don wasn’t being supportive enough, especially when it came to disciplining their children. Their son dealt with his deteriorating home life by shutting himself in his room while their daughter lashed out at everything and everyone. On their return to California they bought an apartment building in San Diego, living in one unit while leasing the others. It was the worst thing they could have done. Don was a happy-go-lucky hippie who never grew up. Liz tolerated his excesses because she loved him, but her love was fading.
Kristen received a letter from Centrelink in late September informing her she must attend a three-week training course in how to apply for and get a job. Tianni would be five in March which meant Kristen would have to get a job. It made no sense because she already had one. When she left the café she got work in a Valley liquidator store. Nonetheless, she decided to go in the hope it would help her find a better job. There were two places she could go to for a meeting that would assess her abilities and determine the best course of action for her. One was local and the other was in Fortitude Valley. She chose the one in the Valley, and on Friday 15th October, she turned up dressed as if she was going to a job interview. Those seemingly unconnected decisions changed her life because shortly after she walked through the door the woman said: “I think I have a job for you.” The following Monday, Kristen went to see a lady named Fiona at Brett’s, the timber and hardware store adjacent to Downey Park. When she left, she had a job as a cashier, starting the next day. Fiona so trusted the other woman’s instincts she didn’t even ask to see Kristen’s resume.
The following Thursday Roberta popped in for a visit. Between her jobs at the Mater and a physiotherapy centre at Clayfield she had so much work she could afford to book her long-cherished trip to Canada. Her plan was to go for a year and work her way around the country. The next day Annette told me she decided not to get a locum in for the three weeks after Christmas she was having off. Instead, she would work the first week and have me in for the other two weeks with all patients being referred to Roberta at Clayfield. I wanted to say “What if I’m no longer here?” but the words wouldn’t come. No matter how much I liked Annette, I knew this could not continue. For most of the year with Steve out of work more than he was in it, the loyalty card was getting tatty.
Kristen loved her new job. The people were nice and for the first time she was able buy herself something without worrying about money or what others would say. When her natural flair for calligraphy was discovered she was asked to create inviting signs advertising daily specials. This not only boosted her growing confidence, it gave her pride in her own accomplishments. Mum had told her a new job was coming from an unexpected source. Since her death my mother had been a very busy woman.
In early November, I helped Lyn organize our third class reunion to be held on December 5th at The Coffee Club in Wilston Village. The Wilston of my youth was a tired old inner-city suburb and The Coffee Club was a newsagency. By the late ‘90s, Wilston was a favourite haunt of young, urban professionals and up-market trendies. When a workmate of Kristen’s told her the house I grew up in sold for $500,000, I couldn’t believe it. Half a million dollars! Eleven months had elapsed since I wrote that letter to Glady telling her I forgave her. I only did that because of what Mum told Kristen. I thought I had forgiven her until I got her reply. I knew then it would be a cold day in Hell before I would. It seemed to me I just couldn’t escape the ramifications of what she had done. In the late ‘80s, I had to drive past the house on Saturday afternoons to take the girls to and from Downey Park. Every glance cemented one inescapable fact: if not for Gladys Walsh and later, Pat Casey, that house would still be in the hands of a Warman. But, of course, my torment didn’t end when the girls outgrew hockey and softball. A decade later, I was driving past the house again.
Just days later, as if in answer to my musings, I received a phone call from my cousin, Lawrence Walsh. I hadn’t heard from him or even thought of him in well over twenty years. He wanted to know if I was going to his brother’s barn dance. I had no idea what he was talking about. He went on to explain that Michael was leaving, selling up everything and moving to Toowoomba to start a computer business. The dance was to take place after the clearance sale on December 11th. The very idea of Michael, a born and bred cow cocky, selling up and starting a computer business was too bizarre for words. The rambling old farmhouse James Fairlie Brett built from “procured” timber during the war years had long since been divided. Michael bought the half we used to stay in while the other part remained Glady’s home until her health deteriorated in the mid ‘90s and she was forced to move into the town.
Lawrence asked me to reconsider, adding he was hoping “all the Warmans” would be there. I told him I didn’t think John or Peter planned to go because they hadn’t said anything to me, and I hadn’t heard from Frances in years. I could hardly see her going anyhow. It wasn’t until I told him Anne would have to represent the Warmans that I realised there was more to his call than a simple invitation. His voice wavered when he said he was concerned about his mother. She had been acting strangely for “the longest time”. Instead of involving herself with community affairs she sat at home surrounded by old photos, newspaper clippings and documents. Whenever he engaged her in conversation she only wanted to talk about her childhood and what it was like to be a Warman. To his way of thinking, bringing the Warmans together would please her. What could I say? I couldn’t very well tell him his mother was terrified she was going to Hell because she was a treacherous bitch. Instead, I gently asked him to tell me what she talked about. Family history mostly, he said. She rambled on about her father and his parents’ pioneering spirit, but said the moment he mentioned his paternal grandfather’s legendary exploits, she glared at him with hate-filled eyes and venomously spat: “Never mention that bastard’s name to me again!”
The only good thing to come out of that conversation was proof my mother had not lost her touch. Glady may not have been at death’s door physically, but she was in a depression so black there was no telling when she was pass through the veil. If ever there was the time to forgive her, I thought, this was it. But I couldn’t. A few days later, my conversation with Lawrence came up when talking to Kathleen on the phone. She told me it confirmed Mum’s suspicions it hadn’t been Glady’s idea to make the claim on the house. Old man Walsh would have been behind that. She said he was a brute of a man. Very few people mourned his passing.
A few days later, Kristen rang to pass on yet another message from my mother. Why was it so hard to forgive? Was it because of Jack? Was it because Glady had always been so bloody damn self-righteous and holier than thou? Just before going to sleep that night I decided I must try so I put the circle of light around Glady and told her all would be well. In that instant, I saw Granny’s face as clearly as if she was in the flesh. I knew then that this was her redemption also. Too much pain had been passed from generation to generation. It had to end. I just wasn’t sure I was the right person for the job.
The next day Che told me a former class mate was killed in a shocking car accident. His young life had been touched by so much death: four former classmates, the brother of another, two former football team members, and his plumber friend. I tried to get him to talk about it but he refused. He told me he needs to deal with things in his own way. His way bothered me because he was then seeing Jenny while Dzintra was still on the scene. One night Dzintra left thirty minutes before Jenny arrived. It was insane. He was twenty-one so there was little I could do.
On Sunday November 21st, Tamara and I went to Bracken Ridge to learn Reiki only no one was there except members of a band. The woman who came to see what we wanted told us what she told two other people. She knew nothing about a Reiki class. The band had a permanent booking in the hall on Sundays. There was no way a mistake could have been made. Tamara was philosophical about it, but I was angry. I had been looking forward to this day and it was snatched away. My mood didn’t improve when I got home and rang the mobile number of the woman who was supposed to be holding the class. It was answered by a call screening paging service.
I knew my anger was just a focus point for what I was feeling in my life in general. The week’s events didn’t improve my mood either. I had to fix several mistakes Vicky made, yet Annette took me to task over the few I made. There were also veiled accusations about missing cash. With the summer school holidays coming up I felt used and abused. Roberta kept me apprised of any reception work going but even with her in my corner I didn’t have any success. The majority of employers were seeking school leavers. It was going to be a bleak start to the New Year if something didn’t change soon.
On the last Saturday in November, I woke from a horrifying dream. Che’s lifeless had been flung from a speeding car onto the footpath outside the house. It was so real I actually got up to peer out the window. A few hours later, Tamara and I went to Wilston to see a clairvoyant named Betty. Roberta had seen her sign when walking past one day. She not only double-booked us with two other people, she knew my deepest, darkest thoughts. She told me things about Che that mirrored the horror of my dream. I was so scared when I left I called Steve. Throughout the afternoon he helped me realise Betty had the ability to ‘read me’ by heeding unconscious signals. It was the first time I really thought about a reading in such a way, dissecting it and analyzing it for what it was by listening to the tape from the viewpoint of someone who knew nothing about it.
On the morning of December 1st, I woke knowing my time at Grange Place was coming to an end. With the school holidays looming I knew Annette wouldn’t let me go until Vicky was back so it would be my decision. Whichever way it went, I knew one thing for certain. It would be a long, slow end to the year. Throughout the week, I detected more errors, most of them Vicky’s, but some were Annette’s. She was under enormous stress and something had to give. A week later I learned Rachel was leaving and setting up shop at Wilston under her new business name. She even had a website. No wonder Annette was in a state. Rachel was free to move on while she was locked into a three-year lease.
The reunion went well. Twelve of us came, with up to six more likely to attend the next one. We had a wonderful afternoon trekking down memory lane only I couldn’t recall some of the events discussed. 1965 was a year I would rather forget anyhow. Since reconnecting the previous year, Leigh and I had shared many a long phone conversation. All the reunion did was bring us closer. The only shadow over the day was news that Ann was gravely ill. Lyn wasn’t well either, but she was there, soldiering on as usual. When we started planning these reunions she offered to help because “if you want something done give it to a busy person.” Lyn had burned the candle at both ends for so long there was nothing left to burn. My best friend in high school, Irene, chose not to attend the second or subsequent reunions because “the other girls had known each other since primary school.” As one of those who came to St Columba’s in 1964 because the Grovely-Mitchelton area had no high school, she felt “left out”.
(In 2008, I found myself thinking of Ann, by then deceased, a lot. In primary school, Ann, Elizabeth and Lyn were my friends, but Irene was my closest friend in high school. Irene was the only classmate I invited to my wedding or maintained contact with until I reconnected with Leigh. One day in 2008, I received a letter from her. We usually kept in touch by phone because her arthritis made it extremely painful for her to write. Like Ann, Irene had been on my mind for weeks but I never seemed to find the time to ring her. I did after receiving her letter. During the conversation, I learned Ann had been on her mind, too. Less than a week later we both knew why. Irene was her mother’s sole carer, but with her mother’s mind ravaged by Alzheimer’s, and her rheumatoid arthritis, it was not easy. How hard it was came up at that first reunion because Leigh was in a similar situation. But at least, as Leigh said, her mother still had her faculties. At the time, Ann strongly advised Irene to look at the other alternatives open to her, but she didn’t. Ann knew Irene would need my help to get her through her mother’s death so when I didn’t listen she had to find another way.)
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| High school photo with Irene (in blue) |
On Thursday, I applied for a job in Fortitude Valley. At two days a week, starting in mid-January, it was perfect. If I got to the interview stage I was determined not to sabotage myself. Vicky would have to work through the holidays. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t anyhow. It wasn’t as if her children were toddlers. On Sunday, I had another strange reading. Julie was a ‘psychic artist’ who said my guide was my partner in a previous life, and that we were cotton farmers in Louisiana in the 1920s. I disagreed with some of the things she said while other parts rang true, especially the part about Steve and I having shared many lifetimes. She focused on one in particular, a life in Africa. He was short, squat and very black while I was tall and slender with caramel coloured skin. He was a eunuch and my protector, one who took his responsibilities seriously because I was of royal blood. When it was over I just clung to him, unable stem the flood of tears. In this lifetime, Steve was my protector, a duty he took seriously and he joked so often about being a eunuch I grew weary of it. If only for that part of the reading, it was worth the $20 I paid for a charcoal sketch I knew had nothing to do with me whatsoever.
The next day, I was interviewed for the job in the Valley. The two days a week would pay more than I was currently earning with a lot less aggravation. If offered it I was taking it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t offered it. Tamara suggested I ring and ask for feedback which was how I knew my hours with Annette would always be a problem unless I left. With the year drawing to a close I arrived at work for the third week in a row to find Vicky gone. I didn’t think much of it at first, but with each passing day I knew something was up. Why didn’t she want to see me? What was she afraid of? By mid-December, Annette had reached her breaking point, but when she accused me of making too many mistakes, I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. Most of the mistakes were Vicky’s. I had been quietly fixing them for months, not wanting to add to Annette’s problems, but after Vicky started leaving before I got there I let them ride to see where they led. That night I asked for guidance in making the right decision. When I woke I decided I would tell Annette I was leaving at the end of the year.
I found Annette in an unusually conciliatory frame of mind. I decided she must have done some soul searching or she intuitively knew what was coming. Yet, despite bending over backwards to be nice to me she did check for mistakes and seemed surprised to find none. I found more of Vicky’s later in the day. I also found some coins where they shouldn’t be.
It seemed like a circle had completed its orbit for while things were rocky for me, they were sailing along beautifully for Tamara. On completion of her traineeship she got a seven-month temp assignment with the likelihood of it being extended. It was the second of two jobs she was interviewed for the previous day. If she was offered the first one, a permanent position, she was told she could transfer over if released from her temp job.
On December 23rd, I arrived at work thinking it would be my last day. I said nothing to Annette, nor did she say anything to me. When she left for a few hours I vacuumed, washed the kitchen floor and windows, and tidied up. I then gathered everything that belonged to me and sat at the reception desk waiting for her to return. When I left, I did not ask if she wanted me in the next day, but as I walked out the door she yelled: “See you tomorrow!” I did not answer, nor did I look back. I had not heard from her by 9am the next day so I rang to ask if she wanted me in. She said it was up to me. When I said I wouldn’t, she asked about my cheque. Didn’t I want to collect it? She was even more surprised when I said it could wait until after Christmas. It was a sad way to end what had been some of the best months of my life.
Five days later I woke from a strange dream about being lost in the city. Had I lost my way? I rang Annette to see if she wanted me in. She did and later apologized for her behaviour and for giving me so few hours. She said it wasn’t fair on me and if I wished to seek other work she gave me her blessing. She went on to say her financial troubles were not mine and I should not be burdened with them. I appreciated her honestly, but it put me in an awkward situation. The next day I found her relaxed and happy. It was as if my being aware of how dire her situation was made everything better somehow. On the last day of the year I did a reading to see what the day would bring. The cards said it would be my last. It was, as it turned out. Annette said she couldn’t afford to have me come in as planned in the New Year and would divert the phone to her home.
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