The Golden Child Page 4

  ‘I see.’ Beth feels cold and then hot suddenly, the blood rushing to her face. ‘Will the other girls be seeing Mrs Lopez too?’

  ‘Not at this stage.’

  ‘Oh. You know, Charlie’s never . . . she’s never been in any sort of trouble.’

  ‘Oh, she’s not in trouble, Mrs Mahony. It’s not that we don’t think she’s a very good girl. In most ways she’s exemplary – her academics, her work ethic, her organisational skills. She’s a wonderful child to have in the class. And she’s the same at home, I’m sure. We just want to work towards keeping her on track. Moving her forward.’

  ‘Well, I guess it’s sensible.’ Dully.

  ‘I realise you and your family are moving back to Australia in the new year, and this will all seem very long ago and far away in no time at all.’ Mrs Guterman sounds almost chipper now, reassuring. ‘She’ll be going straight into the next year of school there, won’t she?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll be the Christmas holidays when we move, and then school starts again in late January. She’ll be going into the first year of high school. Year seven. We don’t have a separate middle school.’

  ‘So it’s probably an ideal time to work on this. An opportunity to fill some gaps. And perhaps you would consider organising additional counselling during the break, before school goes back.’

  ‘More counselling? Do you really think that’s necessary?’

  ‘Sometimes it’s helpful during these . . . transitional periods. Even if it’s just a precautionary measure. You don’t want any more of these incidents.’

  ‘But surely this was just a—’

  Mrs Guterman’s voice is firm. ‘At least then we’ll know we’ve all done everything in our power to ensure that nothing like this happens again.’

  When Beth relates the conversation to Dan later, none of it seems as painful, as humiliating, as it did at the time.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re so up in arms about, Beth. Mrs Guterman’s just doing her job.’

  ‘Doing her job? I’d say she’s overdoing it, wouldn’t you? Charlie’s just a little girl – all that stuff about her controlling the others. It made her sound like some scheming little . . . Machiavelli.’

  ‘I think you’re reading too much into it, Beth. The principal’s just covering her arse – isn’t that what she more or less said? They need to be seen to be doing the right thing. Stop worrying. A bit of counselling’s not going to hurt her, is it? And you’ve spoken to Charlie about it, haven’t you?’

  ‘I have. She was a bit put out that she’d be losing her lunchtimes, but apparently they’re sent off to the counsellor for every little thing, so she wasn’t too worried.’

  ‘I didn’t think she would be. And have you spoken to her about the whole initiation thing?’

  ‘I’ve made it clear that we disapprove, but I haven’t really said too much about it. I expect she’ll probably get enough of that at school. I thought me adding my bit might be overwhelming right now.’

  ‘Maybe there are some other things we need to talk to her about.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Bethie. Nothing major. Maybe some suggestions about how you should treat your friends.’ He gives a soft snort, adds, ‘And your enemies.’

  ‘Now that sounds Machiavellian.’

  ‘I was thinking more Sun Tzu, actually.’

  ‘But seriously, Dan – do you really think we need to explain that stuff to her?’

  ‘Maybe. Why?’

  ‘I think she knows it already. I don’t think there’s much that Charlie doesn’t understand. She’ll have worked it out all by herself. I asked her what was going on; she explained the situation. I told her that what she did was silly – and dangerous. I really think we’ve said as much as we need to say. She’s learned her lesson.’

  ‘Okay, Beth. Whatever . . .’ Dan yawns and turns away from her, obviously reluctant to argue, ready for sleep. ‘Whatever you reckon. You’re the mother, after all.’

  The girl recovers; the friendship, such as it is, resumes. Charlie sees the counsellor, pays her penalty. When Beth asks, Charlie only shrugs and says that Mrs Lopez is okay; that she’s figured out a few things.

  The lesson, clearly, has been learned; there is nothing more to be said.

  BETH

  THE MOVE ITSELF ISN’T THE MOST PAINFUL PART, THOUGH it’s bad enough. For the entire month before they are due to fly out, tempers fray, especially in the case of Charlie, who continues to make her resistance to the whole lame idea of moving to Newcastle perfectly clear. She is uncompromisingly peevish; even Beth’s somewhat extravagant Christmas festivities fail to improve her mood.

  On the Saturday before their departure, Beth hosts a farewell outing for Charlie and Lucy, taking a small group of girls to lunch and then to the movies. The usually stoic Lucy sheds a few tears as she farewells her friends, in particular her BFF, the romantically named Viola, a tall taciturn girl who excels, rather unromantically, at field hockey. Charlie remains oddly cool during each protracted farewell; her goodbye hugs are perfunctory and she barely responds to the excess of devotion offered her.

  When Beth asks her, when she goes in to kiss her goodnight, whether she is okay, Charlie looks at her blankly.

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘I thought you’d be more upset. Leaving all the girls, all your gang . . .’ Beth pauses, adds gently, ‘You can be sad if you want to, Charlie. It’s okay.’

  ‘Oh, that. Yeah, I guess I’ll miss them. But not that much.’ She shrugs. ‘I guess we haven’t been getting on that well lately. Not since the thing with Arya, really.’

  ‘Really? But I thought that had all been cleared up. I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t realise. What’s been happening?’

  ‘Oh, nothing in particular. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s like, since then, and maybe because I’m moving or whatever, we’re just not as close anymore. It’s not that bad or anything.’

  Beth is suddenly hopeful. ‘So you’re feeling better about moving?’

  Charlie scowls. ‘No. I’m not feeling better about moving. I like it here. This is home. Sydney would have been okay, I guess. But Newcastle . . . it’s just stupid. It’s not even a proper city, is it?’ Her air of indifference has deserted her, and she looks suddenly miserable, her eyes filling.

  ‘Oh, darling.’ Beth can’t bear the thought that her daughter’s determined calm has been a mask for who knows what sort of pain. Her heart contracts. She gives Charlie a hug, and for the first time in what seems like months, Charlie responds, wrapping her arms around her mother, letting herself be pulled tight.

  ‘I know it’s hard. But it’ll all be okay. You’ll see. In a year’s time, Newcastle will feel like home. You’ll have so many new friends. It’s going to be a wonderful adventure, you know.’

  In reality, Beth has to work hard to keep her own anxiety at bay. All the reservations she’s had about Newcastle seem to be consolidating, rather than dissipating. If they had been going straight back to Sydney, where she imagines she might be able to pick up where she left off in terms of career and friends, she would feel differently. But to relocate to a small and no doubt insular city, where she knows virtually no one, where she’ll have to start all over again, makes her suddenly realise how much she’s going to miss this life.

  Beth knows she’s sometimes discounted her existence here, has felt as if she’s put some part of herself on hold, but now that she’s leaving it’s clear that she has in fact managed to make a good life. In the ten years she’s been here she’s established herself – she has good friends, a social network; people know who she is. She suspects the transition back is going to be far harder than she’s anticipated. An adventure, yes, as she keeps telling the girls, but the appeal seems to fade as the time for their departure draws closer.

  But here, now, comforting her fearful daughter, there is no room for doubt.

  ‘It’s going to be a huge adventure, sweetheart,’ she repeats. �
�And you’re going to enjoy every minute of it.’

  Charlie pulls out of the hug, wipes her eyes and sniffs.

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘I do.’ Beth sounds confident, assured. ‘I really know so.’

  DizzyLizzy.com

  So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu . . .

  ‘So, you’re heading back to Austria? Y’don’t really have much of an accent. Been here a while, have you?’ The removalist, who is a tall man, with very well-defined, possibly steroidally enhanced muscles, looks over my head at the mess of half-packed boxes strewn around the living room. He doesn’t appear to need an answer from me, but I give him one anyway.

  ‘It’s Australia. We’re from Australia, not Austria.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Y’know, ma’am, the packing is included in the cost of the removal, so you’re going to have to unpack all these boxes for us, so we can repack properly. It’s for the insurance.’ He sounds slightly apologetic. He takes his cap off and scratches his shiny head, still looking beyond me.

  ‘Oh. Okay. Well, we can do that, I guess. But we’re going to Australia, not Austria. You know, kangaroos? The Sydney Harbour Bridge?’ I imagine us arriving in Newcastle only to discover that all our worldly goods are somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic.

  ‘Oh, right. Aust-rail-ia.’ He looks down at me for the first time, gives a slow smile. His teeth are small and yellow and pointy. ‘You Europeans get about a bit, don’t you? But Australia? That’s gonna be a real different experience. It’s dangerous. You know, like Africa.’ He gives me a wise look. ‘They’ve got some crazy wildlife. Snakes. Spiders.’ He pauses for a moment, thinking. ‘And I hear they’ve got some pretty vicious sharks Downunder.’

  ‘Ja.’ My nod is abrupt, Germanic. ‘Ve’ll try our best not to get eaten.’

  43

  EXPATTERINGS:

  @SunLover says:

  Hahaha! Lucky it is Australia and not Austria. At least you’re heading back to sunshine. We went back to London after many years in California, and I couldn’t stand it. Only lasted 6 months.

  @OzMumInTokyo says:

  LMAO. Again. Xx

  @AnchoreDownInAlaska says:

  Oh, what bliss. Someone to pack all those boxes. What I wouldn’t give. Muscles are a bonus!

  @ExpatMum says:

  Hey Lizzy – just caught up with your news! You will still be blogging though, won’t you? I think all your experiences around resettling will be excellent blog fodder! I hope you can make it to the next expat convention – planned for Philadelphia in May.

  @BlueSue says:

  It never ceases to amaze me how the most powerful nation in the world can have the most ignorant population. I once had an American friend who insisted that Australia was annexed by the Nazis during WWII. I fear the US is in terminal decline, and from what I can see China doesn’t offer much of an alternative. Best wishes to you and your family on your journey home, Lizzy.

  BETH

  SHE HAD IMAGINED IT WOULD ALL BE GRIST TO HER WRITING mill, but once back in Australia it seems there are so many things about the move that just aren’t for public consumption. The numerous, always unexpected, negatives; all the problems, some large, others small, that she just doesn’t want to air publicly, even though her blog is virtually anonymous. There are the minor inconveniences – all the things forgotten, gone missing: naturally Beth is in charge of the logistics, of making sure everything runs smoothly. Then there’s the emotional fallout: the sudden, inexplicable tension between her and Dan. He’s clearly nervous about the new job, about moving back home, but he won’t discuss it. The girls, Charlie in particular, are tetchy, easily upset, uncharacteristically argumentative.

  And then there’s the small matter of her own mother. News of the impending move may have instantly brought all her anxiety about Margie to the fore, but somehow she’s managed to avoid thinking about what close proximity to her own mother would mean.

  Perhaps she simply, conveniently, forgot how fraught the relationship with her mother could be. Short and tightly scheduled annual visits have meant that for the past twelve or so years, her mother’s input into her life has been limited, contained. Francine hasn’t been given many opportunities to find fault in Beth – her life choices, her children, her spouse – other than in the most petty, but easily shrugged off ways: Beth’s failure to cut her carrots lengthwise (so slapdash); her preference for cheap iodised table salt (so old-fashioned – but that’s America, I suppose); her wardrobe (so many flat heels, darling. What if you have to go out?); her decision to wear her hair curly (straight would be so much tidier, surely?); her relationship with her children (all that scheduling. You’re not one of those – what do they call them? Rollercoaster? No, helicopter parents, are you?); Dan’s numerous deficiencies (I suppose it’s all these years of driving on the wrong side of the road, dear). Small things, and bearable – there are none of the more traumatic emotional dramas that were commonplace when she lived closer.

  A similar limit on time spent with her mother-in-law meant that Margie, too, has generally revealed only her loveliest self to them. During their brief visits to Newcastle she was so busy ferrying them back and forth to the beach, taking them on picnics, or showing them off to this aunt or that cousin, that Beth only occasionally felt the chill wind of Margie’s disappointment.

  In retrospect, those tightly scheduled week-long holidays were perfect – each visit ended with only goodwill on every side. And more to the point, they ended. Something about fish and visitors, isn’t that the saying?

  But prolonged contact with both mothers . . . this is something else again. Despite all her protestations to the girls and on her blog about how wonderful it is going to be, back in the bosom of their respective families, how beautiful to have grandmothers, aunts, uncles and even cousins on the same continent, Beth has a feeling that continued contact is going to be far more problematic, and that it won’t be long before they experience (as @BlueSue would no doubt put it) issues.

  Beth’s initial experience with her mother is instructive. On arrival, the four of them go straight from Sydney airport to her mother’s apartment in Manly. As always, they are made welcome in the most generous way: their bedrooms are beautifully arranged with flowers and towels; the pantry and fridge are stocked and at their disposal. Though Francine isn’t all that keen on cooking, she’s arranged delicious meals, at home and in restaurants, for the durtion of their stay. None of them is expected to lift a finger, and they are as comfortable as they would be in any five-star hotel. But Francine only manages to maintain her attitude of magnanimous welcome for the first two days, and by the third – their last – she has unleashed her waspish inner critic, clearly unable to contain herself.

  Beth and her mother go for a walk along the Esplanade late in the afternoon, just the two of them, while the girls watch television and Dan sleeps. They call in at Francine’s latest favourite coffee shop, all bushranger beards and Birkenstocks, with impossibly uncomfortable seating and a menu that is completely sugar-free. They find an outside table and sit in the shade, chatting about all the things that are exciting about the move: the new house, the possibilities for schooling, Dan’s job. Then: ‘Darling,’ her mother says. She waits, takes an exaggerated breath, gives her daughter a steady look. Beth recognises that particular crooning inflection, that pause, that concerned expression; knows what’s coming is going to be painful.

  ‘Darling,’ Francine says again, peering at Beth over the top of her latte, ‘I don’t want to interfere, and I don’t want to be a – what’s the phrase? – a damp squib, but don’t you think it’s time you started to do something about your own career? You’ve wasted so much time, yet I’m sure it’s not too late.’

  Beth’s colour begins to rise the moment her mother starts speaking, and by the time she utters the word ‘wasted’, her head is buzzing so loudly she barely hears the end of the sentence.

  ‘Mum, I don’t know how you can say I’ve wasted time.’ Beth
has to count to ten in order to continue. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve had no choice – you know that. I wasn’t allowed to work in the US.’ She takes another breath, works hard to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. ‘And anyway, even if I had been, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. I have two children – and that is actually work, you know, especially when you’re living in a foreign—’

  Her mother interrupts, waving her hand impatiently in a gesture so unpleasantly familiar that Beth has to bite her lip to stop the reflexive quivering. ‘Oh, God, sweetie. Don’t be so sensitive.’ She sighs. ‘Of course I know that it’s all been about the children, and that it’s terribly hard, and that the choices are never easy. I did have to make those choices myself, you know, back in the dark ages, and without any sort of childcare. You and your sister had to be latchkey kids – there wasn’t an alternative. But you’ve got so much more going for you than I ever had. I had to basically invent a career for myself after your father died. I wasn’t a trained accountant, for Christ’s sake. I was just lucky to have connections. But you . . . you’ve had the education, the experience, you’ve got the contacts. Or you did. You have to get back into the real world, darling – for your own sake. That’s all I’m saying. Your sister has four kids, but that hasn’t stopped her from working, not for one minute. I don’t understand why you have this desire to sacrifice yourself, when you have so much, so much, going for you.’

  Susie, Beth’s obstetrician elder sister, has a medical specialist husband, a combined annual income in the high six figures, a nanny and a retinue of staff. She can afford to outsource every menial task. And her children – though Beth would never say it; she barely lets herself think it – suffer in ways that wouldn’t be visible to someone like her mother, who can never see beyond their good looks, their remarkable scholastic achievements, their cultivated manners.