The proxy bride, p.30
The Proxy Bride, page 30
Frank scoffed. ‘Forget about it.’
First no-one talked to me about this and then everyone in the family was talking of it while I wasn’t there. And they all knew already. Wild fury charged through me. I mightn’t have been an adult but I wasn’t a child either. My hands clenched. This was about my life.
I strode out to the kitchen and they all looked over as I came in. More hotness rushed through me. Part of me wanted to yell but I could also feel the prickling of tears too close.
‘Hello, kiddo.’ Frank had both sympathy and protectiveness in his eyes.
‘Mum—’ I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice. They all heard it.
‘We’d better be getting back.’ Frank got up. ‘Plenty of work on.’
Connie came and kissed my cheeks, pretending not to notice I didn’t respond as I waited for Mum to answer. She looked to her too. ‘Shall I stay, El?’
Mum shook her head and turned to me. ‘I’ve spoken with Dianne and she’s asked for you and me to come up to the pub. She’s not sure yet if Jack will be there too.’
‘What?’ I shot a look to the others and back. ‘Why didn’t you ask me about it first?’
Frank appeared as if he’d been arguing the same thing. ‘Come on, Con, we’ll see you all later.’ He gave me a wink and went out the back. ‘Sam, Lena, in the truck. Don’t argue.’
‘It’ll be all right.’ Connie gave me a squeeze and kissed the others before following.
I kept staring accusingly at Mum. ‘It should be up to me what to do next.’
‘This affects us both.’ She noticed the cornicello around my neck and eyed Nonna Gia who sat at the table, arms folded.
By Nonna’s look, I grasped that along with Frank she must’ve been arguing that I should have some say in what to do next, while Connie agreed what Mum had already done was for the best. And none of them knew about Tim and me. Since I’d learnt about Ross, I hadn’t even got to talk to Tim yet. In private. Surely, he wouldn’t tell anyone about us. I couldn’t stand it if the first time I saw him next was us sitting across a table in the pub, all suddenly one family together. That would be unbearable. Especially with Jack watching sharply on.
I stood unmoving, not speaking I was that mad. My fists were so tight they hurt.
Mum finally said, ‘I’m sorry. I thought I was helping. What would you like to do?’
‘Well, I don’t get to decide now, do I?’ Abrupt anger grappled against tears again and I felt foreign in my own person, self-conscious and seen differently.
‘I can tell them we won’t come today, that you need some time—’
‘Oh, so they’ll think it’s me that’s got a problem, thanks a lot,’ I said hotly. ‘Of course we have to go now. But don’t you dare wear something hippie – you have to dress like a normal person if we’re going to meet them.’
For so long I’d felt hollow but all this anger was suddenly burbling up out of me.
Nonna pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll make some eggs. None of us can think properly when we are empty inside.’ She got out the frying pan and kissed my cheek.
Jack’s verandah was still empty when Mum and I left Nonna’s and walked towards the main street. My hands tingled with sweat already. Nonna had suggested I change into a dress she’d made me on my last stay, a white one with tiny red dots. I didn’t really want to, but did, knowing I couldn’t meet my father’s family in old house clothes. Mum had put on a long denim skirt and a white T-shirt, probably the plainest two things she owned. And she didn’t wear her feather earrings or beads and bangles. It made her seem a bit bare. Exposed. For me. I felt a pang at what I’d said before. Especially now I knew that when she’d hoped to go to university, Nonno Taddeo had said he wouldn’t have her hanging around hippies. As if expressing herself in any way but his traditionalist one wasn’t allowed.
‘Mum?’ I stopped. ‘I’m sorry I said that about your clothes.’
‘Oh, sweetheart …’ She put her arms around me. In front of everyone. We were almost at the main street and people passing by looked over at us. But then I realised I didn’t care. Maybe this was what growing up really was. Hugging Mum meant more than being embarrassed at who might see. ‘Sofie, I’m sorrier.’ She smoothed down my hair. ‘I hate to think I’ve forced you into this. I guess I just thought it would only get harder otherwise and I’d already made the terrible mistake of putting off talking to you about all this for so long.’
I buried my mouth in the cup of her shoulder. ‘Do they know already?’
‘No. Just that we want to talk about something important. But I think Dianne suspects.’ She stepped back from me. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything. Come on.’
I almost told her about Tim and me then, but I sensed Mum didn’t want to be late and she’d already started around the corner onto the footpath where lots of people were about doing their shopping or whatever. Inside I felt all churned up. It was as if I could be calm and almost myself, like last night when talking with Nonna in the quiet and dim light, and then absolutely fierce with anger like in the brightness of the kitchen that morning. Someone bumped past me and I kept my head down, not meeting anyone’s eye, as if the whole world suddenly knew and everyone must be looking at me, though of course that wasn’t true.
The liver-coloured brick hotel loomed on the corner, its upper verandahs shading the footpath. With some defiance I considered perhaps rejecting Jack, my grandfather, for the way he’d treated Italians and especially Nonna Gia and Edie Dawson. Yet I knew that wasn’t really my fight. This was about me, and my dad, who had loved an Italian–Australian girl.
As we neared the open pub windows, I felt the cool waft of air tinged with beer and cigarette smoke and heard the staccato calling of horseracing on a radio inside. Mum led us around to the side gate where the chickens were, for she must have been told to come to the Dinnings’ residence at the back of the hotel. The same spot where I’d sought out Tim that night. I suddenly pulled back.
‘What is it?’ Mum turned around.
I shook my head. ‘I can’t.’ I just knew then I really couldn’t sit at some kitchen table while Mum recounted it all to them. Their reaction. Tim there. The looks I knew would come my way. At that moment, it all felt too much.
‘I do want to meet them, but not yet.’ I could only get it out in a whisper. ‘I don’t want to sit there while you explain it all, I just— I can’t.’
‘Well.’ Mum looked unsure. ‘If that’s what you want. Why don’t you wait out here? I’ll come and get you later in case you want to come in then.’
‘I think I might go down to the park by the creek.’ I was already moving away.
‘Sofie—’ Mum looked a bit deserted. ‘No matter what happens, I love you very much.’
In the late morning sun the creek glistened dark bronze, water riffling over shallows and creeping in deeper quiet up to the grassy edges. I perched on the same picnic table I’d sat with Tim that day when we’d shared creamy soda and musk sticks. When that initial connection we’d felt had snuck in a bit further. And now, he’d be with his parents and Jack hearing Mum’s side of the story. I tensed just to think what he’d make of it all.
On the opposite creek bank, cockatoos foraged in the grass, toddling and chattering. A way behind stood Serena and Pino’s motel and I pondered if they’d see me differently once they knew I was related to Jack Armstrong. Maybe they wouldn’t want to see us any more. And while I refused to feel shame for something so beyond my control as being born, in that moment I could appreciate Nonno Taddeo’s constant worry about stigma. It felt hard to know people might talk about you, judge you, perhaps choose not to be around you due to some forced circumstance like marrying by proxy or being born out of wedlock. As though being different to the majority marked you out for isolation rather than kindness or understanding.
A shuffling approached across the grass and I turned to see not Mum but Tim coming towards me. My throat tightened. I couldn’t move. His face was unreadable. But as he came nearer he smiled a bit, sort of sadly, and I just barely managed one back. He sat up on the table beside me, a bit apart, without touching. Neither of us said anything. We both just sat there, looking at the creek rather than each other. Breeze washed past. I could smell the tangy sharpness of his deodorant for he was wearing a singlet.
After a time he swayed his knee, nudging mine. ‘Funny how things turn out, hey?’
I snuck a glance sideways. ‘I guess so.’
‘Your mum told us … about everything.’
‘Yep.’
Again, the breeze swept past.
‘It’s sad, hey? I mean, I feel sorry for your mum. And Uncle Ross.’ Tim didn’t risk saying he felt sorry for me again but I supposed he did. ‘I don’t really remember Ross much but I still have this toy monkey Mum said he gave me when I was a little kid. Always kept it.’
‘Oh. That’s nice.’ But it also made me think. He’d got a toy from my dad and I hadn’t. Then I thought of Mike, with Mum and me in the toy shop, saying, Sofie, pick anything you want, anything at all, and I will buy it for you. ‘Tim, about us, did you—’
‘I haven’t said a word to anyone,’ he replied quickly. ‘And I promise I won’t. Ever.’
‘Right.’ I knew I wouldn’t tell anyone for the time being but I wasn’t sure I could promise the same. To be honest, I don’t think I wanted any other secrets and hiding even if it meant I might one day privately tell just Mum about Tim and me, or maybe Nonna Gia. For she’d trusted me about Keith. I glanced again at Tim. ‘We couldn’t have known.’
‘Course not. At least we didn’t—’ He went red.
‘At least we only kissed,’ I said for him, feeling older than him in that moment.
‘Yeah. And, like, in Australia, it’s actually legal for first cousins to marry, you know.’
I must’ve looked a bit surprised because he swiftly added, ‘Not that I expect— I don’t—’
‘No. I don’t think so.’ And I didn’t ask how he knew about it being lawful or if he’d endeavoured to find out for his own peace of mind just recently, maybe after he’d started to suspect Ross was my father.
The sad thing was I really liked Tim, loved him even, and as much as I knew that had to be over now, it was more of a door slowly closing shut rather than a sudden slam.
He looked worried. ‘Are we … okay?’
‘Of course. It’s just—’
‘We haven’t done anything wrong, Sof.’
‘I know.’
He scratched at a mosquito bite on his leg. ‘But, shit, of all the people we could’ve …’
‘Yeah. Of all the people.’ And then I started to laugh. The whole situation just seemed so incongruous and messy and yet okay that I couldn’t help laughing. Well, it was better than crying anyway. There’d been so much of that in the past day or so.
Tim’s eyes widened as if I’d lost it, though he sort of smiled. ‘They’ll be down here shortly. My mum and yours. Dad has to mind the pub but Mum really wants to meet you.’
‘Oh, okay.’ I stopped laughing.
My hands tingled again and I wiped them down my dress. He didn’t mention Jack but I guess it wasn’t easy for an old man who’d had a stroke to get to the park.
The cockatoos moved further on, still showing bright white on the grass. Once more I gazed beyond them and the creek to Serena and Pino’s motel. I wondered what Nonna would do if Serena rang her again to report that I was back sitting in the park with Tim.
He twisted round. ‘I think Mum’s coming over now. With your mum.’
I don’t know why but I hurried down from the table and adjusted my dress. Tim gave me a funny look. The cockatoos flew off in a flurry of screeches. Mum came closer with Dianne beside her and I could see them both searching my face, likely for different reasons.
‘Hello, Sofie.’ Dianne didn’t try to shake hands or hug me, just gave a smile.
I saw her eyes were blue like Tim’s, and probably my father’s, I realised. ‘Hello.’
‘I guess I did wonder,’ said Dianne to Mum, like she was continuing a conversation from back at the pub. ‘It’s good to meet you, Sofie.’ She hesitated. ‘Welcome to the family.’
‘Oh, um, thank you.’ I returned her cautious embrace.
‘Why don’t we sit down for a bit?’ Mum suggested, and Tim scrambled from the tabletop to sit on one of the bench seats like the rest of us.
Dianne kept looking at me, just like she had that morning in church. There was a sense the situation could go either way and after this initial coming together we could drift back into our established lives apart, even if Dianne had said I was welcome.
‘I don’t mean to stare.’ Dianne blinked several times as if tears were close, although none came. ‘I know you have the Italian colouring but I can see Ross in your face.’
‘I’ve seen it too,’ Mum agreed, and I looked down again, uncertain.
From her handbag, Dianne got out a small photograph that seemed like it had been in its wooden frame a long while. ‘Here, you might like to see this. There are more to show you, I have albums at home, but for now, well, this is one of my favourites.’
Clutching the frame, I saw my father for the first time. Tears rushed to my eyes, blurring what I so wanted to see. I blinked furiously. This was my dad. He grinned, his eyes light, a sense of mischief about his expression. The photograph was old and not in colour, so I couldn’t see how he truly looked, but it was him. It was as if something surged up through me. Visceral, unleashed. I saw I had his ski-jump nose and that his dark hair was quite wavy. I felt a sense of returning, of coming home. And yet what could be still remained out of reach, for I could only ever know Ross in black and white.
‘What about Mr Armstrong?’ My voice came out soft. It didn’t feel comfortable to refer to him as my grandfather in front of Dianne and Tim. ‘Will I meet him too?’
‘Oh. Well …’ Dianne looked to Mum. ‘This is all probably still sinking in for him, I think. He hasn’t been well, and, he’s … stubborn.’
I kept looking at my father’s photo. Jack didn’t want to see me. Perhaps he didn’t even accept that Ross had a daughter. Or he did but, as Mum feared all along, he’d shunned me. The hurt gripped harder than I expected. I’d never know my father and my grandfather didn’t want to know me. I thought of the times I’d sat in church searching the faces. Fantasising that my father had a brother who looked like him so I could see a man that was almost him. Naively, I’d assumed that once he’d learnt about me, I would be welcomed with open arms. But Jack didn’t even want to meet me. The frame pressed hard into my palms. Outwardly, I mustered a nod and handed back the photograph.
‘I kill him,’ hissed Nonna Gia in the kitchen.
‘Ma, for God’s sake, calm down …’
I drifted along the hallway to my bedroom hearing their murmured arguing go on.
Through a crack in the venetian blind, I saw Jack Armstrong back on the verandah as usual, gazing out. It seemed to me he was showing a certain defiance in that he wouldn’t be changed. Not to accept what was true, not even to alter his daytime routine of sitting there looking down over the street. I thought I’d feel anger at the sight of him but just then I felt exhausted. I changed into my comfortable old T-shirt and shorts and lay on the bed, curling towards Edie Dawson’s painting. I gazed at the soft mauve sea. Closing my eyes, I listened to Mum and Nonna out in the kitchen arguing, their hisses like waves, back and forth, in lulling sameness …
When I opened my eyes, the light outside had dimmed, though it was only mid-afternoon. The house, the air, seemed hushed. I went out to the kitchen and saw beyond the café curtains another summer storm loomed. Zucchero brushed against my legs and I bent to pat him, catching sight of Nonna Gia in the backyard re-staking her tomato plants in readiness for the storm. Mum wasn’t about, her room empty, handbag gone. She’d probably driven out to the farm to talk to Connie and Frank without having Nonna there.
Back in my room, I again looked through the venetian to see Jack still sitting on the verandah across the road. He sat straight-backed, unmoving. How could he sit so for hours? Why did he? It was almost as if he was waiting, as if determined to sit something out. The air was very still. Distant lightning flickered but no thunder yet. It got darker. I sensed Jack’s face turn towards me. Surely he couldn’t see me behind the venetian and gauze curtains with the room shadowy. Yet he seemed to look straight at me.
I went out the front door and stood under the portico arches, facing him. His gaze met mine. From the far distance came the first hint of thunder. A cooler current stirred. Mum’s car was gone. Nonna was still out the back staking the tomatoes. Without any particular notion, I found myself propelled forward. Beneath my bare feet I felt the warmth of the smooth cement path still heated from the earlier sun. The footpath’s cool grass, the coarse heat of the bitumen road. Suddenly I was on the other side at Jack’s gate. His eyes remained on me. Perhaps if he could speak, he’d yell to ward me off but there was only the coming thunder and breeze. I kept on.
The front steps were glossy painted timber. My footfalls were almost silent. I saw for the first time, since they were usually hidden by the close railings, the verandah floorboards swept clean and that Jack sat in a cane chair with cushions beneath him and behind. A walking stick leant against it. He was dressed well for being convalescent at home, right down to laced shoes instead of slippers. His pride still there. Though he must have submitted to help with the lacing.
My curls, wild and unbrushed, moved in the breeze. My clothes were crumpled from sleep. Feet bare. That hard gaze turned on me and feeling it up close made me inwardly falter as I came nearer. But I didn’t show any hesitation. I stopped just before him, my eyes holding his.
‘My name is Sofie,’ I said, and added, ‘Sofia,’ to emphasise that I was also Italian.
Jack looked away. But then I saw him give a slight nod.
The storm thundered closer, the breeze picking up and growing damper.
