Eighteen
THIS YEAR IS going by so fast. It’s already more than halfway through and I still feel unsettled. I always thought that I’d start university with a fresh mind and no problems. I thought it would be the beginning of a new life. But it’s six months away from university and things are just more confusing because of Jacob, and I still have hang-ups.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that Poison Ivy, one of my greatest hang- ups, and I are never going to be bosom buddies, and Friday really put the lid on things.
Both of us were reading the same paper while we were waiting for Sister Louise in her office. One of the stories was rehashing the funeral of an Italian businessman who was supposedly murdered.
“You new Australians wear black a lot, don’t you?” she asked, looking at the picture.
“New Australians?” I asked incredulously. “Me? A new Australian?”
“Yes.”
She had the audacity to look surprised at my outburst.
“How dare you call me a new Australian.”
“You’re Italian, aren’t you?”
“I’m of Italian descent, thank you,” I snapped. “And I’m also two months older than you, if my records are right, so if anyone is a new Australian, you are, because you’re two months newer than me.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You know what I mean. You’re an ethnic.”
“I’m not an ethnic,” I spat out furiously. “I’m an Australian and my grandparents were Italian. They’re called Europeans, not ethnics. ‘Ethnic’ is a word that you people use to put us all in a category. And if you’d really like to know, Ivy, the difference between my ancestors and yours is that mine came here one hundred years after yours and mine didn’t have chains on their feet. They were free and yours weren’t.”
“Your ancestors were on the German side in World War Two,” she yelled.
“They probably killed my grandfather and John’s grandfather. They were friends during the war.”
“My grandfather and uncle were in a labor camp in Adelaide, so I doubt very much that they killed your grandfather or John’s.”
“Well, one of your other thousand uncles could have. My grandmother had to bring up ten kids all by herself.”
“All Italian families don’t have one thousand members, and my grandmother had to fend for herself in a country where she didn’t know the language and the people were ignorant.”
“She should have learnt the language then.”
“Well, maybe she didn’t have a chance and your grandmother should have said no to your grandfather more often so then she wouldn’t have been stuck with ten children. Anyway, I’m sure she would have had John’s grandmother to help her.”
“I’m sure John would be very unamused about you being glib about his grandfather’s death.”
“I don’t think John gives a damn, Ivy. I don’t think he gives a damn about anything.”
“Oh, you think you know him so well, Josie? What are you hoping to achieve by assuming you know him so well?”
“You may have known him all your life, Ivy, but I think that I know how he feels a bit more than you do.”
“Don’t presume that you know anything about my relationship with John.
It’s deeper than you think.”
Sister interrupted us at that point and gave us a funny look because we were both sulking. But I’m past the caring stage with Sister Louise. She doesn’t like me, so big deal. But I thought it was just like Poison Ivy to consider me a new Australian. I wonder if Jacob thinks of me as one. Or his family.
I think if it comes down to the bottom line, no matter how smart I am or how much I achieve, I am always going to be a little ethnic from Glebe as far as these people are concerned.
Do you know how frustrating it is? Why can’t these people understand that this is my country as well? Why do I feel like cursing this country as much as I adore it? When will I find the answers, and are there ever going to be answers or change?
It was a great relief seeing Jacob that afternoon when he picked me up from work at the chambers. I needed to be reassured by his presence, to know that he accepted me. He bent down and kissed me in the elevator, but stopped when the doors opened.
“Close your eyes,” he said as he dragged me outside.
“What are you doing? Everyone will see us.”
“I got a surprise for you.”
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” I corrected.
“You mean you’ve got a surprise for me too?” he asked, astonished.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s ‘I’ve,’ not ‘I.’”
“Whatever,” he said, with an irritated wave of his hand. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What is it?”
“If I tell you, it’s not a surprise, dummy, so guess.”
“Give me a clue.”
“It’s roomy,” he said, kissing me. “It’s got windows,” he added, hugging me hard. “And it hasn’t got bucket seats,” he yelled, lifting me up and swinging me around.
“A car,” I screamed, oblivious to those around me.
We ran down the steps of the courthouse to where an old metallic-blue Holden was parked.
“Someone dumped it at Darren’s garage a couple of weeks back, so we put in a new engine, played around with it for a while and gave it a paint job.”
“No more motorbike?” I asked, looking at the interior.
“I’m still keeping it, but you never have to ride on it again,” he said proudly. “So what do you think, Lady Josephine?” He bowed.
I curtsied and laughed. “My lord Jacob, I am indeed overwhelmed,” I said, fainting dramatically into his arms.
Michael came rushing down the stairs like a madman. “What happened to her?” he asked, grabbing me from Jacob.
“It’s a joke, Michael.”
Both Jacob and I laughed hysterically.
“Bloody kids. What’s so funny?” he said.
“Jacob’s got a car, Michael. Isn’t it fantastic? He did it all himself.”
“A Holden. I have a passion for Holdens,” he said, looking at me wickedly. “Conceived my one and only child in one.”
He walked away, leaving me spluttering.
“How grotesque,” I groaned. “How could he discuss that in the open?”
“I think it’s wildly erotic, actually,” Jacob said, looking at Michael as he walked away. “Your mother and him in a Holden making the great Josephine Alibrandi. For all you know, it could be this Holden.”
“It could’ve been a Mercedes. Do you think my life would have been different if I’d been conceived in a Mercedes?”
He laughed and unlocked the door, letting me in.
“You should have seen it, Jose,” he said like an excited boy. “It was a pile of crap and I put it together.”
“Well, whoever said you couldn’t? I myself have always thought you to be a genius.”
“Yeah?” he asked, blushing.
“Yeah.”
He kissed me gently on the mouth before he started the ignition.
“I’m good with my hands, Josie,” he said, looking at them. “I might not be a great university scholar, but I’m good with my hands. You’re different.
You’re good with your head.”
“Well, with my head and your hands we could be famous,” I said, taking hold of his hands and kissing them. “We could go into partnership.”
“What would a fancy barrister want with a mechanic in business?” he asked solemnly.
“Tons of things,” I said, excited. “We could form a company. I’d be the theory part of the business and you’d be the practical.”
“Yeah, we could be the first husband and wife . . .”
He stopped suddenly, realizing what he had just said.
“Forget I said that,” he muttered, taking out a cigarette.
I folded my arms and sent him a quick look. “I think you’d be a lovely husband.”
He sneaked a look over to me and shrugged. “Bet you’d be good with kids and all.”
We laughed and hugged each other before he let go and began to drive.
“Know what?”
“What?” he asked.
“I’m glad it hasn’t got bucket seats.”
“I would never have fixed it up for us if it did.”
I moved across the bench seat and squeezed in closer to him and hugged his arm, and at that moment, that very second, I pictured myself with Jacob Coote for the rest of my life.
