Sydney's Song (17 page)

“Wanna stop at Roseville after this?”

“So I have to meet your relatives? Scary.”

“Don't worry, honey.” He played with a string of my hair. “They only cook pretty girls with shiny chestnut hair for dinner on Fridays.”

That was how I met Bronson that evening. In the backyard of a house on Bromborough Rd. He was sable and white.

“Pete, he's so tiny!”

“He'll be thirty k-g soon enough.”

The puppy wriggled in my hands. Oh yes. I fell in love at first sight. When I looked up at Pete, he was watching me fondly.

“You're smiling,” he grinned. “I'm so glad.”

His cousin Lauren was an eight-year old with very long light-brown hair. She held Molly, Bronson's twin sister, and pulled me to their open-air backyard gazebo. While the men started a barbecue, we had a girl-to-girl chat about how to look after puppies. We promised to see the same vet so we could compare how the puppies were doing.

Pete brought dinner and the others joined us. Bridget, Lauren's dainty mother, was a sport journo. Craig, her dad, a specialist in disability nursing. Everyone welcomed me with enthusiasm.Tuesday, right? They only cooked chestnut-haired girls for dinner on Fridays.

“Glad to meet you at last,” Bridget smiled “Pete has been asking his uncle all about having an Aussie partner. Tell her, Craig.”

“I told Pete his kids ain't gonna sound like him.” Craig gestured towards his shy son, “Angus is only six, but he has a very Aussie accent already.”

Hang on. Kids? I darted a look at Pete, cheeks burning. He shook his head with a smile, tacitly saying “Don't panic, darling, that's not ours to worry about until a very far, far away future.”

“Dad's been in Australia for much longer than us!” chirped in Lauren. “But he still can't speak like us.”

Afterwards Craig lent us his car because NSW only allowed guide dogs on public transport. I held my very soft and very warm new puppy all the way home, and he cuddled up trustingly. I felt so enthralled I couldn't stop smiling, while Pete kept turning to us while driving.

“I could grow jealous,” he sniffed, but his eyes shone in fondness.

“Thank you,” I said with all my heart. “I won't neglect you.Promise.”

“Does that mean I get to cuddle up too?”

“Mmm.”

“You'll hold me? All night?”

“One day. In a faraway future.”

He burst out laughing. “I'll keep counting.”

I put my arms around him as we watched the Australian Open on TV. We normally watched science shows or sports to prevent getting carried away watching romance. Pete said he didn't watch anything R-rated at all, because, “One day honey, I may have a daughter.Would I want people to watch my daughter? No, I'd probably commit murder! So no, I won't watch other people's daughters.”

In the next few weeks, we watched Bronson grow. He was playful and cute. And a handful. I had to toilet train him—which wasn't fun.He loved going outside, but was not interested in running. He kept stopping, sniffing out everything with curiosity. Yeah, he was so different from Dimity, but totally adorable.

Pete and I went out a lot. We used public transport everywhere.Our specialty. The 1300500 dates, we dubbed them.

Sometimes our backpacker friends joined us. On a few nights we joined them in the city. At 1300500, you always knew what was happening in Sydney. The backpacker lot knew more about which entertainment was free. Heaps of free quality ones all of January.Music. Plays. Some by world-class performers. Many celebs were here, jetting down as part of our summer-long Sydney Festival.

“I've never seen Pete so happy,” Jane wondered aloud one evening.We were sitting on the grass enjoying a concert at the Domain.

Surrounded by the crowd's warm camaraderie, you felt a
real
sense of belonging to the Sydney community. Pete said in several US and European cities, the locals only partied among themselves for themselves—while Sydneysiders embraced visitors. “What have you fed him, Sydney?”

I glanced back at Pete who sat cradling me. His hold on me was more relaxed when we were in a bright and crowded place. With our strong chemistry, the presence of others relieved us from being constantly on guard against ourselves.

He
had
changed, I realised. Pete's face—glowed, sort of. He looked radiant and very much at peace, instead of politely aloof. And there was a sense of purpose in his step.

Pete winked at me and pulled me back to his chest.

“You've got it wrong,” I told Jane. “He's the cook.”

“Actually, both of you have changed,” Jane marvelled.

“We're living our life,” Pete summarised it for her as he tucked my head under his chin again. “Not just bystanders.”

Life was empty no more.

We were inseparable during our entire waking time.

Once the British boys and I even took Pete on the 339 to Sydney Cricket Ground and he watched cricket for the first time in his life.To my surprise, he enjoyed it after we had explained the rules.

Another time we took a ferry to have lunch at Abbotsford, and continued on up Parramatta River to swim at Olympic Park. The exciting water-park was so much more fun than the place where great Olympians would compete.

And we took his six-year-old-cousin Angus on the 376 to South Coogee. Had that fabulous coastal walk all the way north along the cliff. Stopped to swim at Bronte Beach. Here, like at all Sydney beaches we visited, Pete presented me with a single perfect shell. As usual we argued a lot in voting which shell was the best looking.Luckily we had Angus, arbitrator-of-the-day, to help us decide.

As we savoured scrumptious seafood at beautiful Watsons Bay, Angus, who had black hair and green eyes like Pete's, declared he had enjoyed the day heaps. I asked Angus to join me on the next City2Surf, and he promptly accepted.

“You're good walking Coogee to Watsons Bay,” I praised him.“You'll easily make it up heartbreak hill.”

“Heartbreak hill?” Pete raised an eyebrow.

“Rose Bay's steep hill.”

“I see. But Sydney, what
is
City2Surf? Why do you like it?”

“It's a 14km annual running event from Hyde Park to Bondi Beach.Or you can walk with hundreds of thousands of others. You have friendly chats with those around you, strangers and all. So it's a warm and friendly community event. Gives you a fine sense of belonging.”

He talked about the Boston marathon then, “Not my cup of tea, but a fascinating event.”

I had the surprise of my life when we watched a concert at Walsh Bay.

It was very expensive, but Pete was keen on going. Normally we shared expenses, throwing our money together before going. This time he turned up with the tickets, insisting the outing was his treat.

During the performance, the symphony's conductor caught sight of Pete and sought him out during the break. I watched in fascination as the big man strode down to us and extended his arms to Pete excitedly.

“Peter Peter Peter! World's best violinist! As I live and breathe!Where, oh where, have you been?!”

And they hugged and shook hands and clapped each other's backs.

Was this even real?

Pete?
My
Pete? World's best violinist? How could that be? He had been taking calls at 1300500 for almost three months now. And before that he had been planting pine trees near the Snowy Mountains. And before that training kids at Mount Buller's ski resort. Was I missing something here?

Pete had said he was a musician, but I didn't see this one coming.

I sat there stupidly.

The intermezzo was playing and the men talked like long-lost friends reunited. Like in a dream I heard Pete say, “… a whim to travel the world on my own without any strings… yes, I'll be back to music… No, not to New York Philharmonic… in the process of applying for a position with Sydney Symphony, I hope to hear from them soon…”

And he turned to me with a cheerful smile and pulled me up.“Honey, meet Guido, an old friend.”

Guido the old friend shook my hands vigorously with long, beautiful fingers.

“We were together at New England Conservatory of Music,”

Guido beamed. “Of course, Pete was much younger. He was the only one of us graduating at seventeen!”

I looked at Pete in amazement. New England Conservatory of Music? In Boston? I had heard of it because Brenna had dreamt of studying there.

My slow brain grabbed at something else, “At seventeen?”

“A genius, our Pete,” Guido praised, thumping Pete's back again.Then he shook his ginger head, dumbfounded. “Can't believe he put his music on hold to turn backpacking.”

“Youth craves for more from life,” Pete shrugged. “But I'm good to return to music now. Where are you staying, Guido?”

I turned to Pete big-eyed when Guido had to return to his duty.“What a collection of people 1300500 has,” I said in amazement.“You're the world's best violinist?”

“Not the world's best,” humble Pete was adorably embarrassed now. “Guido exaggerated. One of the good ones in the US, if you like.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Honey, we've been together only for three weeks. I've been dying to tell you… without seeming to brag. I told you I was a musician.You weren't interested in knowing more. You didn't even ask what I played.”

“Aw. Pete… Did I offend your feelings? I'm
so
sorry. It was just that I played no instrument whatsoever, so I thought anyone who could play was awesome. When you told me you were a musician, I automatically imagined you could sing karaoke or play a bit of guitar, enough to join a band of a local pub. I thought that was good enough for me, as long as you could land a job here in Sydney. How awful of me to think that. Pete, I'm so embarrassed.”

He laughed and hugged me. “But darling, I'm glad that you still wanted to be with me even thinking I wasn't that good.”

We talked and talked about his music career all the way home. He escorted me to Beecroft on the Northern Line, even though his place in Roseville was on the North Shore Line.

“This is so out of your way, you know,” I had told him once before. It was actually safe to travel alone on Sydney trains at night.

Nevertheless, gallant Pete insisted on seeing me home safely. This was not always wise. Late at night, there was hardly anybody else around. The previous week we started kissing just before the train reached Beecroft, and missed the station. Or stations. Had to end up disembarking at Normanhurst.

When we stepped down at Beecroft Station tonight, Pete commented on the proposed Airport Link Line. The government planned to open it in July, just a few months before the Olympics.

“What a shame,” Pete said. “In a few more months I'd be able to take the train all the way to the airport.”

“I'll pick you up,” I volunteered. “And drive you there.”

“You sure? We can always take a train to the City, then a bus to the airport. As long as you'll be with me a few more hours.”

“Pete, I'll drive you. When you travel from the Airport, you can catch public transport. But when you go
to
the Airport and have a flight to catch, don't ever risk it. You'll easily miss your flight if the trains don't show up.”

“Right,” he squeezed my nape. “Do you tell that to your customers?”

We still talked about his music the next day. Perhaps because it still amazed me, here in my simple world, to actually
know
someone who was bigger than life. Someone who was seriously talented.

“Any other surprises up your sleeve, Pete?” I smiled into his eyes.My heart was overflowing with happiness, feeling
so
in love.

“What's next?”

“'Kay. About time you know. I've been dying to tell you this one in the last three weeks too, but couldn't find an opening.”

“You mean, I've been too immersed in my own problems, so you've been too busy trying to cheer me up and look after me?”

“Not your fault, darling, things happened.” Affectionately he traced my cheek with one finger, his eyes shone with so much love. “But I don't want any more secrets. I don't want any lies or deceit between us. Ready?”

“Shoot.”

In a calm voice he told me.

And here came the shock of my life.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Pete was married.

He did not have a girlfriend. He had a wife back home.

“Married?” I whispered, the wind all knocked out of me. There was no way I could believe this.

“Separated,” Pete corrected calmly. “Divorcing. I have the forms from my lawyer even now that I'm filling in. It should go through shortly.”

Gosh… What on earth had I done?

I threw my strawberry milk carton at him, but he caught it easily.Nothing spilled. How I had wanted his white shirt to turn all pink!