little fingerâ
âAh! Exhibit A â the boyfriend. Does she know weâre sleeping together?â
âMy mother and I have never discussed sex. She gave me a book; thereafter I did my own washing.â
âSo sheâs a lights-out Iâm-in-denial type?â
âAbsolutely. Sorry.â
âStop apologising. Remember â Iâm witty, gregarious, charming, sensual. Sheâll love meâ
She didnât.
âOh Lord!â says Bernice after a few moments of my stumbling explanations. Then: âMy poor child ⦠Iâm on my way. Iâll pack a bag. Vincent? Iâll be there as soon as I can. Oh Lord, Lord Almighty!â
I want to say: Forget Him. He wonât help.
âHow did it ⦠how? Oh poor Katherine! My poor little girl!â
âDrive carefully,â I tell her, a sense of duty welling briefly within.
âOf course I will. Shall I ⦠do you want me to bring anything?â
I should resist, but I donât.
âJust your buoyant, bonny self,â I tell her churlishly.
She snorts like a horse running the track at dawn.
âThree hours,â she says coldly. âTell Katherine, please.â
Actually, I think as I press the END button, the horse image is quite apt. The day Kaz announced our engagement, I was floating past Berniceâs precise-and-polished kitchen, on my way to the downstairs cellar to see if the rumours were true that the old curmudgeon had a hoard of aged shiraz. I was feeling pretty awful, having given Bacchus a decent nudge the night before. A glass or two of a nice peppery red would, I thought, be decidedly therapeutic.
Kaz was trapped inside the kitchen with her mother. I sensed cooling coffee, crossed arms, words crackling like radio static across the laminex.
âYour father would turn in his grave!â
A pause-inducing cliché. I stopped, snuck my body against the door jamb like a cat.
âListening to you â yes, he would!â
âIâm going to ignore that, Katherine. Youâre obviously upset ââ
âOf course Iâm upset! Mum, I love him.â
âLove him? Love! How can you?â
An intake of breath.
âMum, heâs warm. Funny, sort of ⦠unpredictable ââ
âYou love unpredictability?â
âYouâre not listening to me! Vince has ⦠thereâs this lovely honesty, and his stories ââ
âAre just that â mere stories. A relationship â a good relationship â is based on much more than that, let me tell you!â
âWhy do you have to make things so difficult?â
âIâm not ââ
âYou are!â I heard a new shrillness, the unmistakeable slide away from self-control. âI love him! He loves me! What more do we need?â
The bang of a cup, a swish of tap-water.
âProspects, for one thing!â I couldnât see it but I could imagine The Face Of Bernice: eyes popping like distended marbles, lips gathered in righteousness, a Machiavellian plot furrowing her brow. âThe chance for a decent future, for both of you. Katherine, you havenât thought this through. Vincent, well, heâs a little too unusual for this family ââ
âYou are unbelievable, you know that? Unbelievable!â
âLove can â well, itâs not always what it seems, is it? We think we love someone but itâs a mask. The truth is somewhere else ââ
âThatâs it. Iâm going. Iâm not putting up with this â Iâm going!â
A newspaper being folded, dishes plonked disdainfully into the drainer.
âHuffing and puffing and carrying on like a spoiled brat doesnât change a thing. Darling, all Iâm asking is that you consider this a little more carefully. Your father and I ââ
âLeave Dad out of it!â
âYou talk of love; itâs love that drives me to say these things. Katherine,
âAh! Exhibit A â the boyfriend. Does she know weâre sleeping together?â
âMy mother and I have never discussed sex. She gave me a book; thereafter I did my own washing.â
âSo sheâs a lights-out Iâm-in-denial type?â
âAbsolutely. Sorry.â
âStop apologising. Remember â Iâm witty, gregarious, charming, sensual. Sheâll love meâ
She didnât.
âOh Lord!â says Bernice after a few moments of my stumbling explanations. Then: âMy poor child ⦠Iâm on my way. Iâll pack a bag. Vincent? Iâll be there as soon as I can. Oh Lord, Lord Almighty!â
I want to say: Forget Him. He wonât help.
âHow did it ⦠how? Oh poor Katherine! My poor little girl!â
âDrive carefully,â I tell her, a sense of duty welling briefly within.
âOf course I will. Shall I ⦠do you want me to bring anything?â
I should resist, but I donât.
âJust your buoyant, bonny self,â I tell her churlishly.
She snorts like a horse running the track at dawn.
âThree hours,â she says coldly. âTell Katherine, please.â
Actually, I think as I press the END button, the horse image is quite apt. The day Kaz announced our engagement, I was floating past Berniceâs precise-and-polished kitchen, on my way to the downstairs cellar to see if the rumours were true that the old curmudgeon had a hoard of aged shiraz. I was feeling pretty awful, having given Bacchus a decent nudge the night before. A glass or two of a nice peppery red would, I thought, be decidedly therapeutic.
Kaz was trapped inside the kitchen with her mother. I sensed cooling coffee, crossed arms, words crackling like radio static across the laminex.
âYour father would turn in his grave!â
A pause-inducing cliché. I stopped, snuck my body against the door jamb like a cat.
âListening to you â yes, he would!â
âIâm going to ignore that, Katherine. Youâre obviously upset ââ
âOf course Iâm upset! Mum, I love him.â
âLove him? Love! How can you?â
An intake of breath.
âMum, heâs warm. Funny, sort of ⦠unpredictable ââ
âYou love unpredictability?â
âYouâre not listening to me! Vince has ⦠thereâs this lovely honesty, and his stories ââ
âAre just that â mere stories. A relationship â a good relationship â is based on much more than that, let me tell you!â
âWhy do you have to make things so difficult?â
âIâm not ââ
âYou are!â I heard a new shrillness, the unmistakeable slide away from self-control. âI love him! He loves me! What more do we need?â
The bang of a cup, a swish of tap-water.
âProspects, for one thing!â I couldnât see it but I could imagine The Face Of Bernice: eyes popping like distended marbles, lips gathered in righteousness, a Machiavellian plot furrowing her brow. âThe chance for a decent future, for both of you. Katherine, you havenât thought this through. Vincent, well, heâs a little too unusual for this family ââ
âYou are unbelievable, you know that? Unbelievable!â
âLove can â well, itâs not always what it seems, is it? We think we love someone but itâs a mask. The truth is somewhere else ââ
âThatâs it. Iâm going. Iâm not putting up with this â Iâm going!â
A newspaper being folded, dishes plonked disdainfully into the drainer.
âHuffing and puffing and carrying on like a spoiled brat doesnât change a thing. Darling, all Iâm asking is that you consider this a little more carefully. Your father and I ââ
âLeave Dad out of it!â
âYou talk of love; itâs love that drives me to say these things. Katherine,
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