The Golden Child Read online

  ‘You know, Mum, I have actually done what I wanted – just like Susie – as well as what I’ve needed to do.’ She is pleased to hear that her voice is steady.

  Her mother waves this comment away too. ‘Of course you’ve done the right thing all these years, I’m not disputing that. But surely it’s your turn now, darling? Now that you’re back home it’s time for you to get a life.’

  ‘I have a life, Mum.’ Beth feels a slight prickling at the back of her eyes. She swallows, wills it away.

  ‘You’re taking this the wrong way, Beth. I just mean you’re back in Australia now, the girls will both be in high school, you’ll be living in a . . . big enough place where your skills will be needed. You should make the most of it.’

  ‘I know all that, Mum . . . And yes, once we’re settled I’m going to start thinking about it. But it’s not as easy as it used to be to find my sort of work, you know that.’

  ‘But the longer you leave it, darling, the more difficult it gets.’

  ‘It’s not like I’ve completely lost touch – there’s my blog—’

  ‘Your blog? Oh heavens, that nonsense. Who on earth reads that stuff? There’s simply too much information on the internet – all those people with all those opinions.’

  ‘Mum.’ Beth speaks through gritted teeth, angry now. ‘It might not be something that interests you, but my blog does actually mean something in the real world. Hundreds of people read it every day. From all over the world. It’s won prizes. And it’s meant I’ve had pieces published—’

  ‘No, no, no.’ Her mother smacks her hand on the table. ‘Just calm down and listen to me for a moment. I’ve gone about this the wrong way, as usual, but there was something I wanted to tell you – an opportunity you might want to look into.’

  Her mother has been pointing out these opportunities for years: there has always been something that was just that little bit better than whatever it was Beth happened to be doing, always something magical hovering just around the corner, something that would turn her duckling daughter into the swan who would properly reflect her mother’s efforts.

  ‘Drew Carmichael.’ Her mother looks smug.

  Drew, the son of one of her mother’s oldest friends, Sylvia, and the brother of Beth’s own childhood best friend, Julie, is a lawyer with a perfect pedigree. According to her mother, Drew is the one Beth let slip through her fingers, the one she gave up, stupidly, for Dan. No matter how frequently Beth reminds her that she and Drew only went out for a couple of months back in their early twenties, and that it was an unmitigated disaster, Francine still insists that Drew would have made the perfect spouse. And son-in-law. No matter that the charismatic, handsome, somewhat vain Drew was clearly casting about for a wife from a more elevated social and political – and to be frank, physical – sphere than Beth’s own.

  ‘Oh, God. What about Drew Carmichael?’

  ‘Don’t roll your eyes, dear. You’re too old to behave like a teenager. Now, don’t tell me you don’t know about Drew.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve been out of Australia for almost fifteen years. I have no idea what’s happened to Drew Carmichael. I mean, I know he married that lingerie model, Angela What’s-her-face, but that’s about it. He’s not even a friend on Facebook.’ Although, of course she does know all about Angela What’s-her-face; who in the blogging world doesn’t?

  ‘A senator’s daughter; just right for Drew, don’t you think? And they’re still happily married. They have three children: twin daughters – I think they’re a few years younger than Charlotte – and a little boy. They’re a real power couple. Angela’s a lovely girl; she runs one of those online mummy websites now.’

  ‘You do know that she’s actually a blogger? That website of hers, Motherkind, it started out as a blog like mine.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a little bit different to what you’re doing, surely? Angela’s a professional. And Sylvia tells me she’s making an absolute fortune out of all those young mothers and their anxieties. Such a clever girl!’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘Anyway,’ Francine waves away Beth’s objections, ‘that’s not what’s important, darling. The thing is, Drew, as you’d expect, has made his name too. He’s still practising law, of course, but some fancy specialty – communications law, would that be it? It’s extremely lucrative, anyway. And the big news is that he’s just been preselected as the Liberal candidate for – oh, it’s somewhere up that way. Some lake? MacLachlan?’

  ‘Lake Macquarie?’

  ‘That might be it. I believe it’s practically Newcastle, anyway. There was some scandal with an independent up there, and apparently the Liberals have a chance at the next election. And Drew’s the perfect candidate – he can get on with anyone.’

  ‘Of course.’ This time Beth’s eye-roll is deliberate. ‘But what’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Well, he moved the family up there last year; of course Angela can work from home. He’s been commuting back and forth – they kept the house in Double Bay – but his mother said he’ll be opening an office in the next few months, so he’s established well before the next election. He’ll have to run the campaign locally, obviously.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it’s just the most perfect opportunity for you. He’s going to be needing additional staff, isn’t he? Sylvia mentioned something about a press secretary. Now, isn’t that right up your alley?’

  ‘Oh, Mum. Honestly, I’m not ready for—’

  ‘Oh, Elizabeth. It would be perfect. And what better way to get to know the right sort of people?’

  ‘But I don’t want—’

  ‘I’ve given his mother your contacts, and she’s going to pass them on to him. Apparently he’s got himself onto the board of that lovely school the girls are going to – is it Hunter Ladies’ College? He could be helpful there, too.’

  ‘Mum, I told you we haven’t decided about schools. Dan’s thinking of sending the girls to his old school. Margie still works in the library there, so—’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth.’ Her mother gestures for the bill. ‘The girls don’t want their grandmother breathing down their neck at high school. I couldn’t think of anything worse.’

  ‘Well, she’s sixty-six. So I guess she’ll be retiring—’

  ‘Anyway, surely you won’t be sending them to a Catholic school. From everything I hear, they’re still so backward. And all those paedophiles.’ She draws the word out unpleasantly, gives a little shudder. ‘And the girls aren’t even Catholic, are they?’

  ‘Mum, we’re still—’

  ‘What would your father think, Beth? And Grandma. It was bad enough you marrying . . . but we don’t want the girls . . . My God! Mother would roll in her grave. And you can’t go public – there’s a dreadful surf culture in Newcastle, and you certainly don’t want the girls to get caught up in that. I’ve spoken to a few people, and there really are no other decent private schools up there, so you don’t have any choice at all. Unless they board, of course. Which would be fabulous for the girls, especially Charlotte, but I can’t imagine that would be your cup of tea.’ Her mother’s smile is mocking. ‘You have to admit, it would have been so much easier if you’d come back to Sydney, darling.’

  Beth, too frustrated to respond, sits and watches as her mother gets ready to leave and counts out the necessary coins.

  ‘Anyway, there’s plenty of time to discuss all that. But make sure you get in touch with Drew, won’t you? You’re home, and the girls will be out of the nest before you know it. It’s time to concentrate on yourself.’

  Beth is relieved to leave for Newcastle the following day – though she knows that in so many ways it will be out of the frying pan into the fire. They are to spend two days with Margie before moving into a short-term rental – a small but comfortable flat in the city – that Dan’s company is paying for. They will have a month there before they move into the house that they bought rather impulsively – they’d fallen in love with it over th
e internet, and Dan had finalised the deal during his week-long orientation the month before their departure.

  Although Margie couldn’t be more welcoming, and is so pleased – thrilled! – to have them come home to Newcastle, she is finding it hard to contain her disapproval of many of Beth and Dan’s decisions, with their choice of house right at the top of the list. It’s a three-storey Victorian brick house – romantically gabled, sprawling, and very rundown – in an exclusive suburb near the city centre, and only a short walk to the beach. Margie, who has lived all her life in the working-class suburb of Mayfield, has obviously assumed that Dan would return to his roots. The fact that he’s chosen to settle elsewhere is something of a blow, a betrayal of sorts. And naturally, in Margie’s eyes, Beth, the middle-class daughter-in-law, is to blame.

  The day of their arrival, the five of them – Dan and Beth, the two girls and Margie – pile into the diminutive hire car and Dan drives them to look first at the rental unit and then the house. Despite Beth’s insistence that she sit in the front, Margie chooses to sit in the back, crushed between the two girls, as they take the scenic route beside the harbour foreshore and then along the winding road that follows the coast, before finally puttering into the city. Margie is not particularly enthusiastic about the rental property, a rather unexciting apartment near the harbour, furnished sparsely and unimaginatively, but comfortable enough to do them for the next few weeks. ‘It’ll be lovely for a while, I guess. It’s real city living.’ But she is positively aghast at both the site and the structure of the house, which is high on The Hill, not far from the imposing Anglican Cathedral.

  The house had obviously been quite grand once, but has been a rental for decades, and is desperately in need of renovating. Beth loves it immediately, just as Dan assured her she would, all her doubts banished the moment she steps onto the tessellated tiles of the entry hall and sees the gracefully sweeping staircase with its polished mahogany balustrade. She almost weeps when she walks into the enormous first-floor sitting room and sees the spectacular view over the city’s waterfront and out past the lighthouse to the ocean.

  ‘So you’re really going to be living up here, then, love?’ Margie asks Dan as she marches, purse-lipped and determinedly unimpressed, through the dusty maze of high-ceilinged rooms. ‘Up on The Hill? Your dad would be surprised. The world’s a funny place, isn’t it?’

  Dan, as always, either doesn’t notice or chooses to laugh in the face of his mother’s negativity. ‘Oh, I dunno, Mum, I kind of like it up here. Nobs’ Hill. Isn’t it where everyone in Newcastle wanted to live when we were kids?’

  ‘Well, I can’t say it ever appealed to me, Daniel. But then I was a miner’s daughter, I suppose. And wife.’ Dryly. ‘It’s all very . . . grand, I suppose, but there’s so much to be done. It’s going to cost a fortune to get it liveable. And it’s very inconvenient, isn’t it? There’s no grocery store within walking distance. There’s nowhere to park a car, and there’s no real yard. I don’t think that’s good for the girls. I know they’re getting older, but it’s always good to be able to go outside into a yard that’s big enough to run around in. And I’m sure Beth would appreciate a proper garden.

  ‘And that furniture!’ This in reference to the furnishings they’ve bought from the previous owner and intend to keep until the planned renovations are done.

  ‘Oh, the furniture’s not that bad for the time being. Not while there’s so much to be done inside. And I think it’ll be lovely to not have to worry about a garden for a while, Margie. The girls can go to the park – or the beach for that matter – if they want to run around.’ Beth keeps her voice light and determinedly cheerful. ‘There’s so much to do, anyway – getting the girls sorted at school, and their sport and music and all the rest of it. And the more we’re out and about the better; it’s a good way to get a proper feel for the place’

  ‘I imagine Dan already has a proper feel for the place. He did live here for the first twenty-five years of his life, after all. And that reminds me,’ Beth knows exactly what’s coming; it’s the one subject she’s been hoping to avoid since they arrived, ‘have you decided what you’re doing about schools?’

  Beth glances at Dan, hoping he will deflect the question somehow, but he won’t meet her eye. Charlie, who has been listening closely to the conversation, answers. ‘Aren’t we going to that school you showed us on the net – the one you said was just down the road from here? Hunter Ladies’ College? Don’t we have an interview tomorrow?’ She glares at her parents. ‘You haven’t changed your minds, have you? There’s no way I’m going to any of those other places.’

  Margie’s voice is grave. ‘A school is more than first impressions, Charlie – it’s not a decision to be made lightly. Or,’ she adds pointedly, ‘by children.’ She doesn’t wait for a response but moves briskly to the next room, Dan and the girls trailing behind her.

  Beth lingers in the lounge room, watching as a brave little tug-boat pilots an enormous container ship into the harbour. Right now she could do with some help negotiating the treacherous waters of mother–daughter-in-law relationships, mother–daughter relationships, life itself. It would be lovely to have some quick, clever vessel guide you in the murky waters of your own life – to push you this way and that, ensure your progress is smooth, help you find a place to lower your anchor. To make sure that you’re heading towards a safe berth, calm waters.

  DizzyLizzy.com

  Schooldaze

  ‘Oh. My. God. It’s just like Hogwarts,’ says L, her eyes wide.

  ‘It’s awesome.’

  The school we’re checking out (and it’s exclusively girls, much to L & C’s disgust) is awesome. It’s on an acre of land in the heart of the city, close to the harbour. It’s all sandstone and turrets and vaulted ceilings and grassy quadrangles and ancient fig trees, and the girls can’t quite believe they’ll be going here.

  ‘Do you think they have houses like Gryffindor and Hufflepuff? I wonder how you get chosen?’

  Oh, school houses. That’s an aspect of Aussie life that I haven’t thought about for years.

  ‘Do you think they play quidditch?’ C zooms around us on her imaginary broomstick, whooping.

  The school is in summer recess – only the admin staff and the headmistress (not principal!) are here, and we’re alone in the park-like playground. After our interview, Dr H, who is everything the head of such a school should be – tall and thin and quite austere – said that we were welcome to have a little wander through the school grounds, to get a feel for the place before we make our decision, and that’s what we’re doing.

  When we reach the northernmost boundary we sit on a stone bench beside an elegant wrought-iron gate that opens onto the street. A shiny brass plate tells us that the gate was donated to the school by Mr and Mrs S-J in 1925, in memory of their daughter, Millicent (1896–1916), a former student who was killed in the Middle East during the Great War.

  L gazes at it for a long time, her expression thoughtful. ‘So there were women soldiers, way back then?’

  ‘No. She was probably a nurse.’

  ‘A nurse? And she died?’ L looks surprised. ‘How would that’ve happened? Would she have been bombed?’

  C, who is possibly regretting her earlier bout of enthusiasm, interrupts before I get a chance to explain. ‘Did you see the high school uniforms, Mum? In the photos? They’re totally gross. Those checked skirts – they’re down to your ankles, almost. And that giant pin? What is that? It’s like a hundred years ago. We’re going to look ridiculous.’

  ‘They aren’t that long – and they’re called kilts. They’re Scottish.’

  ‘Anyway, we’re only going to look as ridiculous as everyone else,’ says L, bless her practical older sister heart, ‘so it won’t really matter.’

  That’s the charm of Australian schools: you might be forced to dress up like some nineteenth-century Highlander’s wet dream – but then, so is everyone else.

  42

  EX
PATTERINGS:

  @OzMumInTokyo says:

  Oh, that poor young nurse. Those poor parents. So, so sad. XX

  @AnchoreDownInAlaska says:

  School uniforms. Yay! No comparing brands or competing. One aspect of life here that I really hate.

  @BlueSue says:

  But what about kids expressing their individuality, Lizzy? Clothes are such an important element in sorting out who you are, especially as a teen. In my experience, uniforms only suppress this. But then I guess that’s what the private school ethos is all about.

  @GirlFromIpanema says:

  Private schools?? School uniforms?? Kilts?? OMG, Lizzy. Your girls are doomed. Doomed, I say;)

  WWW.GOLDENCHILD.COM

  THE GOLDEN CHILD’S TEN LESSONS FOR SUCCESS

  LESSON TWO: YOU CAN ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT

  This is maybe the most important lesson of all. Because yolo. Or, just in case you live under a rock: You Only Live Once. They talk about God, and about the afterlife, and how we need to be good to be rewarded in heaven, but most likely that’s just bull. This is probably the only chance you’ve got, so what’s the point of waiting for some reward that you’re never actually going to get?

  It’s no different to those stupid promises your parents make that you know they’ll never keep: one day, when we’re millionaires, we’ll do this, buy you that, take you there. You know it’s never going to happen.

  How much of a waste would it be to live only once, not getting what you want – not even trying to get what you want – in the hope that what you’ll get in heaven (when you’re actually dead) will somehow make up for what you’ve missed out on here.

  Sounds like shit to me.

  Get what you want when you want it – that’s my motto.

  And do what you have to do to get it.

  COMMENTS

  @RANDOMREADER says:

  What, no gardening tips this month, GC? Disappointing.