One Way or Another (20 page)

We caught the train up to Murwillimbah again when Ben was two months old, this time in a first-class, non-smoking carriage. Between feeds I read more of my self-help books.

‘Mumbo jumbo ... new-age gibberish,' Billy said dismissively whenever I tried to share a new insight. I had learned not to react to his criticisms, but they were becoming alarmingly frequent. I was worried about his mood and hoped a stint in the sunshine with the family would do us both good. We could swim and relax and fall back in love.

Home had not changed a bit. The house was still sporting velvet stripes of wallpaper, bad shag-pile carpet and a vinyl and bamboo bar. The children had grown some. Mum was looking more tired and pained and the atmosphere between her and Dad was still strained. Annie had fallen in love, finished school and blossomed into a beautiful young woman. She was living in Southport with her boyfriend now and they seemed like a nice couple. Mum and Dad were of course not happy about it, but they'd become more relaxed about letting their children make their own decisions. Perhaps my shocking departure had cleared the path a little for my younger siblings.

Ben was an instant hit.

‘Let's get him baptised while you're here,' Mum suggested with a sudden rush of excitement.

Billy and I looked at one another. I inhaled sharply while he gave a smirk.

‘I'm an atheist,' he said. ‘But it's your call, Nik. You're the Catholic.'

I looked at Mum, her green eyes staring up at me hopefully. To my mind it was ridiculous to think that a sprinkle of water and a few words could mean the difference between life everlasting and eternal damnation. What sort of God would do that to a little child? But Mum believed. Perhaps that was her grand passion. She was afraid for Ben's soul and I remembered that she had described sprinkling holy water on each of our heads in the labour ward, just in case misfortune struck before the official christening. This mattered to her.

‘That's a lovely idea, Mum.' It was the very least I could do for her.

She beamed a radiant smile and touched little Ben on the head.

‘Billy and I want to go to the beach for a dip,' I said to Mum. ‘Would you look after Benny for an hour?'

‘Oh, yes, please.' The new grandmother was in her element.

I pulled out the black swimsuit that had brought me such pain during the Coke audition and threw on a sarong. Billy and I walked up Monaco Street, over the three bridges to the sand. New homes had been built where old fibro shacks once stood. The skyline of Surfers had gone ballistic. We passed two metermaids on their way to Surfers, tottering on sequined stilettos, their tanned skin glistening beneath gold bikinis. Instead of being appalled, I smiled at them. They would have been perfect in a Coke commercial.

We strolled along the beach, our feet digging into the sand like a mountaineer's pickaxes. The water was sapphire blue and a handful of clouds sailed gently on the breeze while seagulls fought and squawked with malicious mirth. Pippies and shells speckled the foamy waterline, tumbling as the froth ebbed and flowed. I drew a deep breath, filled my nostrils with the briny air and threw off the sarong.

The water was like taking a cold bath in Alka-seltzer. The sting of salt in my eyes and the taste of the ocean made me feel at home. I was still the little girl who'd splashed naked in the shallows when the Gold Coast was a sleepy seaside village. I dove beneath a rolling wave and felt the powerful surge above me. I remembered making sandcastles with my mother, collecting shells and decorating our creations. She was so beautiful with her golden tan and wide smile. We were so alike in many ways and I was proud of that. We were also very different and that too was okay.

I broke the surface and looked back to shore. Billy was riding a wave and laughing loudly at the rush. Behind the wall of high-rises I saw the voluptuous green lines of the hinterland, lying like a sleeping Amazon behind the glitter. She was beautiful.

I began to realise that I couldn't hate the Gold Coast anymore. My rejection of her had been a case of self-loathing, for in many ways I was the embodiment of the Gold Coast. We both wore masks but there was substance beneath the tinsel. Now, in the tumultuous surf, I felt her power. ‘You can't take this away from me,' she murmured from the water. This, the sea, was her soul and it was as pure as the smile on my baby's face.

As I tasted the tang of salt on my lips and let the water caress me, I cried long overdue tears. I no longer had to be the person I was expected to be, but I didn't need to rebel against that either. I spat a mouthful of cold ocean through my gapped teeth, up toward the sun, and felt the warmth on my face. I was me. Flawed, perverse, egotistical, afraid, beautiful, passionate – just me.

My grand passion was still winning an Oscar and it would happen when it happened – or I would die grateful just for having reached for that star. The bumper sticker had been right: passion was grand. But it could have said more: ‘You must have one grand passion, but two or three would be better.' I had a new passion for love. Love for myself and love for those that mattered to me. Billy mattered. My parents mattered. Ben mattered. And I mattered; I was my own work of art. There were highlights, shadows and brushstrokes that had been added by the people in my life, all of them. And they made my portrait all the richer.

*

After bathing Ben and powdering his soft, doughy skin, Mum showed me into Annie's former bedroom, where a hired cot was pressed against the wall. In it sat Andy Gibb, large as life, grinning moronically.

‘He's so bright and colourful,' Mum said. ‘It'll give the little man something to look at.'

I laughed and placed Ben at the other end of the mattress. His little eyes tracked straight to the oversized rabbit.

‘Gee, you used to love that rabbit,' Mum said with a nostalgic sigh.

‘Oh, Mum,' I laughed. ‘You have no idea!'

The perfume of petrol fumes wafted up to our apartment from Old South Head Road and the autumn breeze flirted with the curtains. The television was turned up loud as
The Factory
pumped out its Saturday morning smorgasbord of music videos, interviews and comedy sketches.

‘It's coming up next!' I shouted to Billy, who appeared with a ham, cheese and tomato toastie and a weak cup of milky coffee.

‘Thanks.'

I sipped at the coffee but I was too excited to do more than pick at the crusts of the toast.

Ben was padding about the living room, his chubby little legs poking stiffly from either side of his nappy and a two-toothed grin revealing his pride in being newly bipedal.

Alex Papps, host of
The Factory
and a
Home and Away
heartthrob, appeared on screen, ready to introduce his next guest.

‘Look! It's Joy!' I screamed, jumping to my feet and sending bits of molten ham and cheese flying onto the couch. There next to Alex, my mate Joy Smithers was grinning her pretty dimpled grin. Her short blonde hair was spiked and she was looking very rock and roll. She and Alex shot the breeze for a while, discussing Joy's latest role in the ABC series
Stringer
, which featured Joy as the lead singer of an all-girl rock group. I played the bass player. I was smiling so hard my cheeks were splitting.

‘It's coming up. It's coming up! Have you got the tape in?'

Billy fiddled with the video player and gave me the thumbs up.

‘Good to go.'

‘Well, press it now. Press it now! I want all of this, too.' I was jabbering like a mad woman.

With perfect timing, Billy hit ‘record' just as Alex introduced a preview clip from the series.

‘It's me!' I hooted. ‘Look, Benny. Mummy's on TV.'

We all stared at the screen as Joy and I, in character, discussed the finer points of post-feminism with a male character. My hair was impressive. It was teased into an unruly bush on top of my head, with straggles of red hanging over my one exposed shoulder. I looked gaunt but good. Dark eyes and nonchalant attitude. We'd filmed the scene well after midnight and a few cans of beer.

Ben waddled to the television and touched my face, then frowned confusedly back at me.

‘Out of the way, honey,' I said, scooping him into my arms.

Back to Joy and Alex. Joy introduced the film-clip for her single ‘Young Love', which featured
Stringer
's all-girl band. Then the clip came on and I danced along with Ben, while Billy started laughing.

‘Look at you; you look quite the rock star.'

Man, I was swinging that bass around like I was born to rock. The camera zoomed in and caught me singing sideways into the microphone, doing back-ups to Joy's lovely voice. I shook my tresses and gave a Chrissy Amphlett pout. All those years of watching rock stars shake their thing had paid off. I was gyrating and banging that fret board like a true pro.

‘Your fingers give you away,' Billy smiled, shaking his head.

‘Yeah, well, only a real bass player could tell,' I snapped.

I had tried to learn the bass line so that I would look like a real bass player, but the truth was, I was only miming. In fact, I wasn't singing, either, but it didn't matter to me. It looked real enough. And I knew I'd probably never, ever be on TV as a rock star again.

Stringer
was the most fun I'd had as an actress. Playing a member of an all-girl band had let me act out my childhood fantasies.

‘That was unreal!' Billy cheered as the clip finished and an ad break hit the screen.

‘It was, wasn't it? Completely unreal,' I smiled.

Ben and I replayed the video over and over for the rest of the day, in between phone calls from friends who'd witnessed my moment of glory. It wasn't going to win me an Academy Award, but it felt absolutely fantastic.

I was a rock star. Even if I was only pretending.

Billy and I moved back to the Gold Coast, got married and had another beautiful son, Toby. We separated and divorced two years later. Billy has remarried and I thank him for the love we shared and the children we created. Both our sons grew up to be rock musicians.

Rhonda is a successful optometrist, lives in London and still likes going to rock and roll gigs.

Jackie was murdered on the Gold Coast in the early nineties.

Bob was inducted into the ARIA Hall of Fame.

Mum and Dad separated not long after Toby was born but have remained friends. Our family has stayed strong and close and my siblings are my best friends.

I live with my husband, Zeus, and three youngest children, Harry, Mia and Tom, in the Gold Coast hinterland with a view of the high-rise sprawl. At night the lights are beautiful and I am thankful for having grown up where I did.

I do not yet have an Oscar but I still believe in the dream. I have not yet strolled the sidewalks of New York but I hope that when I do, I find a portrait of my naked pregnant form, for that marked the day I began to see with my own eyes.

With gratitude to …

The judging panel of the Queensland Premier's Literary Awards for shortlisting my manuscript; my super-agent, Sophie Hamley, for her confidence and support; my publisher, Chris Feik, for his belief in the book; and my editor, Denise O'Dea, for being so gentle with a first-timer. Her guiding hand has polished this little tale into something I am very proud of.

Thanks to Gemma Ward for her laughter and love and for being my first reader.

This book is made up of a cast of interesting characters and I wouldn't be who I am today without them. I am grateful to still have so many of you in my life (thank you, Facebook) and often miss those who only briefly flitted by.

Great dollops of love to my incredible and unique children, Ben, Toby, Harrison Black, Mia and Tom. This book of mine is no excuse for bad behaviour, so don't ever try it on. Just because I did it, doesn't make it right!

Much love and thanks to the family – Mum, Dad, Annie, Rachel and David – for all that you are. What a great heritage.

But most of all I thank my husband, Zeus – my rock and my champion. He suggested I write this story and I'm so glad that I did.