Changes

Chapter 1

Chapter 1We bumped into an old girlfriend recently, who I haven’t seen since high school. When I introduced Sigrid as my partner there was a flicker of hesitation as Julie digested the information and then she smiled and wanted to know when I crossed over and how it is that two women managed to produce two children? I gave her the short version but later that day as I sat in front of the fire I decided to pen the long version and crossing over seems to be the phrase for the day.

Crossing over was how my sister, Cathy tried to deal with her approaching death in those last few months before she slipped quietly into a coma. The statement defined Cathy’s life and beliefs to me and it was also a way of reaching out even as the cancer ate her alive, to reassure me that death was not the end. It was a marked difference to our mother’s rigid Protestant dogma that insisted she accept Jesus as her personal saviour or burn forever in the fires of hell.

There are three major branches of Christianity in Australia, the Anglican and Catholic churches are European imports, both of which are diametrically opposed to each other, but mum belonged to the much later American import, a variety of Baptist, Pentecostal and Charismatic branches and like the above two, none of them like the presence of the other.

With all that in mind however, Christianity in all its forms is a minority religion compared to agnosticism, as has been so aptly put by a famous Australian comic, we’re a nation of half-arsed agnostics. Cathy and I had been at odds with mum for years. Cathy was the first to rebel when she experimented with alcohol, dope and s*x, I followed soon after, albeit in a more measured and disciplined fashion.

Cathy died on Sunday the 24th of January, 1998, five days later she was laid to rest at Lilydale cemetery under a blazing sun. I stood at one side of the graveside with my friends and my manager from work, my mother was on the other side with her friends, her face a stony mask of bitterness and hate.

The last promise Cathy extracted from me before she slipped into a coma was, “keep her away from me, please.” Her “I’ll watch over you,” was whispered a few minutes later.

It was a promise I kept but it would cost me, I might have been empowered to take charge of the funeral service but keeping mum at bay had driven a permanent wedge between us. Her departure from the graveside without the customary hug or comforting words made my boss, Melanie a little uneasy.

“Not even a word?” Melanie’s eyes widened.

“Ignore her,” I murmured, “it’s emotional blackmail, she’s putting on a performance for the peanut gallery.”

At least Melanie and her friends were there to comfort me and with a final look at the coffin, we went back to the cars.

“Take another week off,” Melanie slipped an arm around my shoulder, “I’m the manager, I’ll authorise it.”

“I can manage, besides, you’ve got another off on sick leave.”

“I can manage,” Melanie reassured me, “it’s on my badge, manager. I’ve got a new member of staff who started yesterday, so we’re back to full strength.”

“What’s she like?”

“Very bright, energetic, sophisticated, speaks three other languages besides English and plays for the other team.”

“The other team,” I bowed my head, “oh, okay.”

“Sigrid is really nice, she’s my neighbour. I arranged her transfer the other week while you were at the hospital,” she came to a halt by the car.

“You know I say this to all my staff but in your case,” she squeezed my arm, “I’m putting extra emphasis on the words, I’m here for you,” she put her arms around me, “twenty four hours a day although at two in the morning it’ll take me a while to wake up.”

I felt the strength in her arms and let go of my inhibitions. Melanie was the manager at the Boronia branch of the Westpac bank. At thirty five she was also one of the youngest female managers, part of a larger modernisation initiative. She could be tough and fearless when the situation called for it but she was generous to a fault and loyal to her staff.

“Thanks,” I released her.

“No problem,” Melanie took a card from her purse and scribbled a number on the back, “the door swings both ways, we all need a little girl time,” she handed the card over, “I’ll give you a call on Friday to see how you are,” she kissed my cheek.

“Stay beautiful.”

Considering Melanie’s model-like looks, I considered that a compliment. I was twenty nine, single and although I was attractive, I didn’t consider myself model material. When Melanie once joked that she was going to put me forward as a potential staff model for a new uniform launch I told her that my resignation would be on her desk the next morning.

She’d brought two cards to the funeral that day. The first was a general one from the staff but the second one was more personal, ivory-coloured and with a touching poem inside. The message however was arguably more powerful.

My Dearest Louise,

My heart breaks when I think of you and your loss. When words fail think of my arms around you and know I am always there whenever you need me. Love, Melanie.

I put that card on the mantelpiece for a whole week and set to packing Cathy’s personal belongings into cardboard boxes and stacked them in the bedroom she’d used for the last few months of her illness. Now and then I’d pause by the card to read it again because the message was so poignant and then I’d have to sit on the couch or lie on my bed and let the sadness seep out of me. Melanie could never have known that Cathy’s most adorable trait was her habit of snuggling up to me in bed and putting her arms around me. It felt as if she’d reached out from beyond the grave through Melanie.

Nonetheless, by Friday I’d started on the road to recovery, after a fashion and that afternoon I got a visit from Melanie and Sigrid. It had to be Sigrid because I didn’t recognise the blonde woman in the passenger seat. My house on the corner of Landale Avenue and Springfield Avenue was just opposite the Croydon Swimming pool and the place was full. How that many people could fit into three pools without injury was amazing. Sigrid was staring at the people sprawled about on towels or emerging from the water.

“That’s Sigrid, I’m dropping her off at Lacey Street to pick her car up from her brother in law,” Melanie turned and smiled at me, “how are you?”

“A little better,” I confessed, “still feel numb but I’ve got to move on.”

“If you want more time off.”

“I don’t, all I’ve been doing here is housework, wandering around the house crying, comfort eating, comfort drinking and feeling shithouse. At this rate I’ll be bigger than Mary.”

“Okay,” Melanie’s eyes softened, “glad to hear it. I could sure use a bit of your sense and sensibility at work, Mary found out from a friend at the Box Hill branch about Sigrid’s s****l orientation and now everyone knows. I read the riot act when Sigrid was at lunch the other day and it kind of settled down but Jane is itching to show her claws.”

“Jane is all mouth,” I frowned, “Mary had no right opening hers either, if she kept it closed more often she might lose some of that weight. How are the others treating her?”

“Pretty much sitting on the fence, they won’t cross me but Jane is stirring the pot,” she slipped a hand beneath the collar of her white blouse, “Sigrid’s a hard worker, brilliant in fact, she goes out of her way to help but if I can’t contain the situation I’m going to have to call human resources.”

“And you want me to step in and help out.”

“Well you don’t have to protect her, I know she can handle herself but if someone with your time at the branch gives her the stamp of approval it’ll corral the others from Jane and Mary.”

“I’ll do it,” I folded my arms, “it’s what Cathy would have wanted. She wasn’t a lesbian but she had gay friends, she could make friends with a bunch of terrorists. When she went to Israel I warned her not to make friends because she’d wind up bringing peace to the Middle East.”

“I miss her, not as much as you but I wish I’d been able to spend more time with her,” she turned to look at Sigrid, “do you want to meet her now?”

“Sure,” I followed her to the car.

Sigrid was still looking at the pool but as we drew nearer she turned to look at me and I felt a lump in my throat. She looked nothing like Cathy but she had that same bemused look Cathy put on whenever she was looking at something new. She was wearing the standard Westpac uniform, dark blue skirt and white blouse, although it was only buttoned to her cleavage and she’d taken off the silk kerchief we all wore. As I recall it was a blistering hot day. Her thick blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail and it almost reached the small of her back. Her sculptured face was clear of blemishes and I remember thinking at the time that she looked Scandinavian.

“This is Louise Barnes, my Jill of all trades and this is Sigrid Fønsmark.”

“G’day,” she grinned, exposing pearly white teeth, “Melanie’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good of course,” Melanie chuckled.

“Of course,” she replied, “you’re so lucky to have a pool right across the road.”

I glanced at it briefly.

“Well if absence makes the heart grow fonder, familiarity breeds contempt. I do pop over now and then if it’s quiet but most of the time I prefer to sit in front of the air conditioner with plenty of ice in my glass.”

“Well on that note,” Melanie nudged me, “I’d better drop Sigrid off at Lacey Street.”

“Yeah and now I’m out of the house I might drive up to Coles and do my food shopping.”

“You want a lift?”

“No, it’s all right,” I replied, “maybe the walk will clear my head.”

“I could take you if you want,” Sigrid spoke up, “I have to grab some meat, I just have to jump in my car and go, I’ll drop you off afterwards as well.”

I hesitated for a split second and recalled one of Cathy’s sayings.

Most people are good, you just have to give them a chance to be good.

Sigrid wasn’t bad and this would be a chance to get to know her better.

“Okay, just let me grab my bag.”

Sigrid’s black 1991 Toyota Celica was parked out the front of the garage where her brother in law, Mark worked. He was a genial man about my age and I commented on his smouldering good looks as I directed Sigrid to the Arndale shopping centre.

“He’s a sweetie, Caroline is so lucky to have him. He does all the work on my car, most of the time he does back yarders for me but he had to do a front end alignment this time and it’s easier at work so he told me.”

“Has he got a brother?”

“Two brothers,” she slowed and turned into the carpark, “David lives in London and Roger lives in Elwood but you’d have to hold out for David because Roger lives with his boyfriend.”

“Well that rules that one out.” I brushed a lock of hair from my forehead, “although they say gay guys make good friends.”

“I’ve only met him once at the wedding but he seems nice enough, I’ve got a few gay male friends and you can have some great conversations with them, but if David ever comes back from London I’ll let you know although I found him a little bit wooden.”

“Are you with anyone?”

“No, I was in a relationship with a woman when I was at the Box Hill branch and I was spending more time there than at home, but when she suggested moving into my house I decided it was time to step back from the brink,” she turned the engine off and looked up into the mirror.

“You haven’t screamed yet.”

“No,” I shifted in the seat, “my sister had a few gay friends, I guess I just got acclimatised to gay people early on, it’s not my thing though but to each their own.”

“Good attitude,” she took out her makeup bag, “I um heard about her passing, I’m sorry I didn’t sign the card, I nearly did but I thought it might look strange reading a message from some woman you’d never met.”

“I understand and thanks.”

“I’ve lost a few great friends over the years and it always hurts. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a sister, I’ve got three sisters and I love them to bits.”

“I’m on my own now,” I swallowed, “mum and I haven’t really talked in years, Cathy wanted nothing to do with her even when she was dying and now she’s gone it’s like I’ve driven a wedge between us that’ll never budge. I never knew my dad, our mum never even mentioned his name so there’s no chance of even tracking him down.”

I looked over to find Sigrid dabbing at her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” her head hit the headrest, “here’s me babbling on like a bimbo and you just come out with that. You’re really going through it.”

“It’s okay, really,” I nudged her hand, “the last three months have been so intense for obvious reasons and all this week I’ve been stuck in my own head going out of my mind, so hearing you babble on is actually a bloody relief.”

“You think?” Sigrid looked at me and smiled, “well I can talk seriously, in three other languages so any time you want to unload just let it out. My shoulders are waterproof.”

“What other languages do you speak?”

“I was born in Denmark, but mum is Swedish, so I speak Danish, Swedish and German, I can get by in Dutch as well but I’m not fluent.”

“It makes me sound like the bimbo now.”

“You’re not,” Sigrid started touching up her makeup.

“So, what kind of women do you like?”

“The ladylike kind,” she puckered her lips, “in the gay scene we’re called lipstick lesbians by the butch types. They hang s**t on us and we hang it on them, it’s a real party atmosphere.”

“Well if I find any attractive lesbians I’ll check them out for you and if you find any nice guys you can do the same for me.”

“Deal,” she grinned, “I can do that. Men are just drawn to the blonde hair and when they find out I’m Danish they want me to mimic the apple strudel lady,” she switched to a Danish accent, “and fold it and roll it and fold it again.”

“I remember that ad,” I smiled, “now that woman I might sleep with.”

“Me too, she’s so hot she could melt Antarctica.”