Sydney's Song (16 page)

“Kate, you're embarrassing me. The gorgeous specimen is here, listening. The other day we took the 501 to the Fish Market. Had lunch there. He's been on a mission to feed me.”

“Good on him! Darling, I'm so happy to hear this. In Broulee I was so shocked to see how much weight you've lost since—since… you know.”

“Yes Kate—life happened… So, Pete here wants to speak with you.About recipes.” I nodded at Pete. “Over.”

“Hi Kate, how do you do? It's Pete here. I'm sitting in Sydney's kitchen. And she's been going on about your wonderful cooking.Could you please help us with recipes?”

“An American!” Kate's voice was laced with disappointment. Oh dear, this must bring back the memories of her American dancer.“What are you doing here? Are you going to hurt my Sydney?”

“Kate!” I protested.

“I'm her second mother,” Kate insisted. “I love her! Are you going to be good to her?”

“Aw Kate—,” I began, but Pete caught my hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

“I'm planning to live here,” he informed her calmly. “If you love Sydney, we're on the same ground. You've known her longer—”

“All her life! I changed her nappies.”

I choked.

“Super,” Pete was smiling at me. “Tell me all I should know.Starting with tonite's recipe.”

Kate told him two for satay sauce: the proper one and the cheating one. The cheating one was from ingredients easily available in most houses and easily accomplished within two minutes. Soon she proceeded to grill Pete again.

“Kate,” I protested, “I'm not yet 18. There's no need for serious talk.”

“Do you know anything about contraception?”

“KAAATE!”

“Don't get knocked up,” she was unrelenting. “
Some
Americans can be too charming.
I
should know.”

I looked at Pete in mortification. His eyes were dancing with merriment.

Diplomatically he put Kate's concern to rest and she let us go after extracting a promise that we would dine at her place. We were to have a big dinner. She and Pete together would stage a many-course culinary feast.

Pete and I grilled our satays in the backyard, with Dimity looking on with weary eyes.

“She hasn't touched her dinner at all,” Pete commented. “Reckon she's sick?”

We knelt down and checked her. Nothing seemed to be wrong at first, except those very old, tired eyes. Had I neglected my one true friend while falling head over heels? Had I stopped to really look at her while I thrived and basked in the glow of Pete's love? I looked up in fear—and mortification.

“She can't get sick!” She couldn't die! “I won't have it!”

Pete gave me an assessing look.

“Best take her to the vet,” he pulled me up. “After dinner.”

That beautiful summer evening, during the interminable wait while the vet was conducting blood tests and biopsying a small lump he found on Dimity's thyroid, I finally told Pete about my parents'divorce and how it affected me.

“I can't lose Dimity,” stupid tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. “She's been the only constant in my life.”

“I can't be your past, honey. But I love you. I will always love you.Forever.” He squeezed my hands in comfort. “And forever is never over.”

The vet appeared. He told us Dimity suffered from a virulent form of cancer.

“It's my fault,” I anguished, sobbing now. “I've been so self-absorbed. Should've brought her to you earlier… Should've noticed the lump…”

“There's nothing you could've done,” the vet gently advised. “It would be the same outcome whether you'd come three weeks or three months ago. Dimity is over 16, which is a good age for any dog her size. The cancer she has developed is particularly aggressive, and will spread rapidly. It's actually amazing that she has remained as active for as long as she has. No doubt due to your special bond.”

In a kind tone he told me I would save my lifelong companion a lot of pain if I surrendered her to a lethal injection. It would put her to sleep in peace, never to wake up again. “It doesn't have to be right away. If you want to keep her several more days, I can prescribe some pain killers.”

“But she's in pain without it?”

“Yes.”

I felt so bad. Dimity had been in pain all these months and I had not known it. I had attributed her fatigue to old age, her sad looks as deference to my own sadness. What a selfish and stupid dog owner I had been.

“No,” I decided. “You—you can have her tonight. I don't want her to suffer.”

I turned my face into Pete's strong shoulder and crumpled, sobbing uncontrollably, beyond caring about what he thought of me slobbering.

Like in a bad dream numbness returned as I stroked and cuddled my thin, beautiful Dimity for the last time. I held her as the vet gave her the injection. She looked at me with her trusting eyes and did not make a whimper as she slowly closed them and became limp.Vaguely I remember Pete helping the vet prise her out of my arms and speaking in hushed tones about cremation for my beloved dog.

Pete must have called Kate. She and Mum always had each other's house keys and she was at my home, waiting. She took me into her arms and stayed the whole night, even after she knocked me out with a sedative.

Mum was on the phone the next morning. She was in Firenze. She had picked up some pretty things and perfumes for me in Paris.Would I like anything else?

As if material things could replace the love of your life.

My American Pete had a fight with our American boss about me.She told him it didn't matter whether it was your parent who died, to be fair with all of your co-workers, if you could not attend your shift, you would still lose your Attendance bonus.

“But she's a very good agent,” he protested forcefully into the phone, his gorgeous eyes flashing green fire. I felt touched that he would fight for me. Privately, I had sometimes thought this particular boss had no flaming idea about how Aussies worked. Pete listened some more, shaking his head.

He had arrived early bringing fresh bread from the bakery, saying,“Next time we'll do proper baking, honey. This morning is a short cut.” Its heavenly aroma now wafted to my nose. The coffee was ready and he brought it to the table. We were sitting in the sunny kitchen, with the French doors open to the back veranda. A pair of lorikeets hopped on the floor, green and happy.

Pete sat to my right and practically hand-fed me, taking his self-imposed mission to fatten me up in earnest. He and Kate seemed to have a seamless phase of introduction. No, they agreed, we were not going to have the planned elaborate dinner, but both of them would come here and whip me up the traditional Aussie casserole.

Thus Pete and Kate—who never counted (or mentioned) how much they gave—held my hands as I grieved for Dimity.

“Sinead, please swap our days off,” Pete asked.

“Or?” Sinead teased. She was eating lunch while checking her emails at the office internet café. Her long hair was tamed into a simple ponytail and three tiny stud-earrings winked on her left ear.

“Or else!”

“Ooh, I love this,” she swivelled her chair to face us. “Sydney has Tuesday off? You two are going out on a date?” she beamed. “This is all my doing. I brought you together. I should get a commission! You owe me ten-thousand dollars.”

“Swap days off?” Pete passed her the shift-swap form.

“How much will you pay me?” She scribbled her signature. “That's another ten-thousand dollars.”

“Keep counting.”

Sinead had this huge grin and toasted me with her water bottle as we left.

“She claims we're an item because of her?”

“Let her think so,” Pete winked. “Easier to get her to swap shifts to suit us.”

I smiled. Although I ached inside for my Dimity, it was easier to bear having a gorgeous, undemanding man looking after me. Feeling safe and sunnier with him around, I knew I was not going to fall into that pit of despair again.

“Shall we take the L90 tomorrow?” he asked.

“Surf boards and all?” The bus driver would only permit it when the space was available.

“It's not gonna be peak hour, honey. The bus won't be crowded.”

Breeze lessened the heat of summer on Tuesday. We lunched by the blue water of Newport Arms. The food was superb. And above all else the company was excellent. Pete could discern what ingredients there were in each dish, making me shake my head in wonder.

We continued on north to Palm Beach by taking the L90 again.

“This gives me palpitations. A long bendy bus, up and down these steep hills.” I gripped the seat in front of me when the bus lurched, not daring to cling to Pete. He was too gorgeous. I had to wrestle the temptation to climb all over him. Remember my caller who lost her dress at the back of an L90?

“Never fear. The driver's brilliant. Such smooth driving. He obviously knows what he's doin'.” He took the driver's ID and phoned Your Say to lodge a compliment.

Lynn, one of the friendly motherly agents, was on the line. “Happy surfing, dears. Don't forget your sunscreen. Slip slop slap.”

Happily surfing, Pete and I did not mind the strong sun. We soared along the fantastic waves in joyous exhilaration, adrenalin running, with an indescribable feeling of freedom and total ecstasy. Really, who needed drugs to be on a high?

“Thank you,” I breathed as we collapsed on the sand later. After peeling off my wetsuit I kept my sun-shirt on, to hide my still-countable ribs. “I used to surf here with Dad. I was a bit afraid I'd feel sad today. But I don't.”

“Actually your Dad sounds great, you know.” He took my hand and kissed it. “He played quite a role as you grew up.”

Then he looked at my hand. Played with my fingers. Stared at them. He was wearing very dark sunnies, but I could tell his thoughts were churning.

“What is it?” I asked.

He kissed my fingers again, “Will you wear my ring someday?”

“Pete! We're still kids.”

“Will you?”

I faced him. Wrong move. He had peeled off his wetsuit and the sight of his muscles gave me a shiver. Unsettled, I turned on my stomach and looked at the blue ocean. We were too young for serious talk, but I sensed this was important to him.

“I'd love to. Someday. But, Pete? Aren't we supposed to get to know each other? I mean, I know your shoe size and I know which one is your favourite tree in the whole of Centennial Park. I know you're very decent. And I'm touched by how kindly you care for me.But who are you, really? So far all I know is, you've been drifting for way too long, travelling the world. After high school?”

He choked.

“I've heard a lot about your travels. The places. The locals.Holland. Serengeti. Himalayas. But what would you like to do with your life Pete? What do you want to work at? Or study?”

He was silent for a very long time that I wondered if he would not answer. Or if he had fallen asleep.

“I'm a musician,” he managed, his voice sounding reluctant.

A musician. His Mom taught piano. His brother played drums for his high-school band. My imagination formed a stage. With Pete on the keyboards or the drums or guitar, singing rock and roll. Weird.But not too bad.

“I'll move here,” he promised. “Or wherever you're near.”

“Will you be able to find a job with a band or something?”

“Or something.”

“Good. I can't imagine being away from you.”

“Come to the US with me next month? For a short holiday?”

“I'd love to. But I can't. Uni starts.”

“Then I'll go only for a very, very, very short time. I worry thinking you'll be alone. Hey—Sydney? Would you like a puppy?”

“Pete,” I sighed with an ache of sadness. “No other dog can take Dimity's place.”

“I know. The new one won't replace her. But it'll give you company while I'm away. If you want, I'll show you this new litter of puppies I know about. See how you feel after that.”

We dozed off lazily, enjoying the lassitude of Palm Beach's tranquillity. The waves today had been splendid for surfing. Now the sun felt really good on my back. I definitely prescribe this as therapy for all sad people whose beloved lifelong pets have just died. The sun and the beach were great for inducing good feelings.

“Pete?” I turned, keeping my eyes on his face.

“Mmm?” he mumbled sleepily.

“The litter of puppies?”

“They're at home. Rough collies. You know, they'll grow to be like Lassie? The mom gave birth to six puppies. One died. Two were given to some friends. So they have these three very adorable puppies. One is more merle—greyish—and white. The other two more sable and white. Angus, he's my young cousin, is considering the merle. Boyish colour and all that. His sister Lauren says she's happy with any.” He traced the bridge of my nose with a finger.