Chapter 15
Carole
T he Circular Quay restaurant, with its fabulous water view, was not Carole’s usual haunt. She thought that a Friday night takeaway in front of the tele with a glass of wine after a busy week’s work was more her thing, her gaze straying to the harbour. The brilliant blue water was dotted with white sails as yachts breezed about and ferries plied their trade. Tonight, however, she felt sure it was a celebratory occasion that deserved to be noted even if the ‘fine dining’ tag on the popular restaurant seemed to be a licence to dish up minuscule, albeit artily presented, portions.
She switched her gaze back to her plate, eyeing the single scallop basking in a puddle of green sauce with an orange edible flower floating alongside it, and thought that, at this rate, she might have to call through the McDonald’s drive-thru for a burger on the way home. Emma’s plate was empty, she saw. The lamb cutlet must have been delicious. For a moment, she was tempted to pick up the bone and chew on it, get her money's worth. The thought of the look of horror on the wait staff silently gliding between tables were she to do so made her smile.
To be fair, Carole couldn’t fault the atmosphere or service and it was special to be seated across from her beautiful daughter, whom she didn’t get to catch up with as much as she’d have liked to since Emma had met Carlos. They were both so busy with work. Emma was all over the show with the music therapy classes she offered and private piano tuition, which paid the bills in the expensive city where they lived. She was also contracted on exciting occasions by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.
‘A chip off the old block’ was how she’d heard her only child described more than once. Still, while Carole had had to work hard at her musical talent, she believed Emma was a gifted pianist. Her daughter had that special something that would see her soar in the classical world if she followed the right path, which was why when she’d heard about the repetiteur pianist opening at the New York Metropolitan Opera through her contacts Carole had been quick to push Emma to begin the lengthy application and audition process. It was a role that would see her accompanying singers and instrumentalists during rehearsals and much more. Most of all, though, the prestigious and coveted position would open doors for her in classical music. Carole’s breath caught in her throat just thinking about it, and today was the day Emma heard back about whether she’d been successful.
Carole had booked this evening, having decided she’d order bubbles whether or not her daughter would be winging her way to the Big Apple. She didn’t want Emma to feel like a failure; the fact that she’d gone so far with the application process was something to celebrate as far as she was concerned. However, Carole didn’t doubt for a moment she’d not been offered the position.
The glow from the setting sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows had turned her daughter’s skin golden and even though she knew pride came before a fall it still swelled in Carole. She set her knife and fork down, dimly aware Emma was gushing about a film she’d seen with Carlos the other night. Goodness knew Carole had not achieved much in this life but when she looked at her daughter, her greatest accomplishment, that no longer mattered.
Emma was so relaxed and at home in the upmarket eatery’s minimalist surroundings amongst Sydney’s well-heeled – unlike herself. Carole felt like she should be whispering, and on her best behaviour: a child playing dress up in her new dress. Her toes were pinching in high heels she was unaccustomed to wearing, too, and she knew she’d thanked the waiter a little too effusively as he saw them to their table. However, her daughter had a natural confidence that allowed her to easily slot into any social situation. It was a trait she certainly hadn’t inherited from her mother. To be fair to herself, Carole hadn’t been schooled privately and given all the advantages she’d ensured Emma had. Some of that self-assurance was inherited, too. It came from Rob, her ex, who’d always been very sure of himself and his path in life, or at least he had been until his mid-life aberration.
Guilt twinged at not having invited him to join them tonight, knowing she’d been selfish, but she saw so little of Emma these days and when they did manage to catch up Carlos was always with her. She’d stressed it was a mother-and-daughter evening when inviting Emma to dinner.
Looking at her now, her golden daughter was sipping her – what was it she was drinking? Elderberry something – Carole’s heart was fit to burst. They hadn’t had an easy road, especially after the divorce which Emma, unfairly to her mind, had blamed her for. Rob had been the one who’d gone off the rails and cheated, not Carole. She’d done her best to forgive and forget but she didn’t have it in her and, in the end, she’d asked him to move out permanently. There were times Carole wondered if she’d done the right thing, throwing herself into work the way she had after the divorce, but it had been her refuge and a necessity.
The Surrey Hills private girls school where she taught had discounted Emma’s annual fees, which Rob had contributed to. Still, so many other things went hand in hand with that sort of exclusive education. The rowing Emma enjoyed as a respite from music, the class trips to Europe, and the cost in general of keeping up with her peers whose parents moved in a financial league Carole and Rob did not. She slogged away at the private piano lessons of an evening and Saturday mornings that paid for all those extras designed to produce a well-rounded, confident young woman who would leave school with the world at her fingertips.
Was it worth it? Carole wondered, sitting back in her chair and taking a pensive sip of wine. Absolutely. And suppose Emma announced she was off to New York to take up the opportunity of a lifetime? In that case, she’d gladly do it all over again. She’d do it all again either way.
‘Eat your scallop, Mum, before it goes cold.’
Carole, who’d only been half-listening to her daughter’s chatter, returned to the present with a surge of impatience. Why did she feel like Emma was skirting around the edge of what she knew her mother was desperately waiting to hear? Nevertheless, she dutifully popped the shellfish in her mouth, barely tasting it but making the requisite ‘Mmm, lovely’ noises. She swallowed, ‘So, come on, Em, stop teasing. Were you offered the role or not?’
Emma’s eyes flitted about the full restaurant before returning to meet her mother’s expectant gaze.
‘Yes. I was offered the contract.’
‘Oh!’ Carole had been expecting this reply but still she clapped her hands, causing several heads to turn. She didn’t care and wasn’t sure whether she would laugh with the excitement or cry!
‘Mum, calm down.’ There was a mix of irritation and hesitancy in Emma’s tone that if she’d not been so overwhelmed by the news Carole might have picked up on; as it was she barely heard her.
The muted conversations and chink of cutlery resumed around them once more as Carole steepled her hands to her mouth as if in prayer. ‘Congratulations, sweetheart. I always told you that hard work gets rewarded. You deserve this.’ She was definitely going to cry; the lump was forming in her throat, and her eyes were beginning to smart. ‘Do you remember when you’d moan about me making you practice when your friends were going to the beach? Well, where are those friends now? Look where you’ll be going! New York, Emma. The Big Apple. We’ve got to celebrate with champers.’ She went to raise her hand to get the wait staff’s attention but Emma pushed it down swiftly with her own.
‘When you’ve finished patting yourself on the back, Mum, I want you to listen to what I’ve got to say.’
Carole stopped short, staring across the table, thinking she’d misheard what Emma had just said to her, but a set to her daughter’s jaw told her otherwise. Why was she going off script and looking angry instead of elated? Uncertainty saw Carole begin babbling. ‘You don’t like bubbles? Who doesn’t like bubbles?’ Then dislodging her hand from beneath Emma’s she fanned herself with it. ‘It’s hot in here, don’t you think?’
‘Mum, would you stop it and just listen to me for once in your life.’
But Carole didn’t want to hear what she had to say and if she kept talking herself she wouldn’t have to listen to what her motherly sixth sense already knew was coming. So, scooping up a little of the green sauce congealing on her plate, she tasted it before holding the spoon out for Emma to try. ‘It’s very punchy.’
Emma batted her hand away and the spoon clattered to the table, leaving a green stain.
Carole stared at it, and she began to feel sick.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, Mum, but you never listen to me.’ Emma’s voice had gone up a notch and sounded like a petulant teenager.
‘I do.’ Carole raised her gaze to see Emma shake her head.
‘No, Mum. You don’t because if you did you’d have heard me trying to tell you repeatedly that music therapy is my passion. I want to do that and share my life with Carlos here in Sydney. I don’t want to live your dreams.’
Now Carole was shaking her head, on the defence. ‘I thought it was your dream. And why apply, go through all that wasting everybody’s time, including your own, if it’s not what you wanted? I don’t understand, Emma.’
Emma’s eyes were sparking. ‘You told me so many times that it was what I wanted, what I’d been working for my whole life, and I believed you.’
Had she? Yes, she supposed she had, but wasn’t it true? Why else had Emma practised so hard? She hadn’t forced her to sit at that piano. Emma wanted to. Hadn’t she? Carole studied her daughter’s face, hoping to see the answers, but she didn’t recognise this young woman pointing the finger of blame her way. Deja vu replaced confusion. They’d been here before. Oh, not here in the restaurant per se, but in this situation, Emma shouting that the divorce, her dad cheating, and coming back only to leave because she, Carole, was making him go was all her mum’s fault. While the theme was different, the story was the same. Anger crackled, flared and then died, her voice cracking as she said, ‘I’ve given you everything, Emma. It’s all been for you, and it’s still not enough.’
As Emma’s voice rose, people’s heads tilted toward their table: listening to the unfolding drama. ‘And don’t I know it, Mum. It’s all I’ve heard my whole life. How hard you’ve worked so I can have the opportunities you never had. Well, guess what? I didn’t want to attend a stuffy private school where I didn’t fit in. I didn’t want to go on expensive overseas class trips or spend every spare hour practising piano. And when I tried to tell you that, you didn’t listen.'
'Oh, play it again, Sam,' Carole shot back.
'It's true, you don't. You never listen, and it was easier to go along with it all, with everything, even applying for the repetiteur position at the fricking Metropolitan Opera, for God’s sake!’
Carole flinched as if she’d been slapped, and as the oxygen fuelling Emma’s fury ran out, she sat back in her seat. But if Carole thought she was spent, she was wrong. There was more to come.
‘You did do me a favour in a round-about way. When the email said the position was mine, I knew I should feel elated but I didn’t. It helped crystalise what I want, and that’s to branch out into my own musical therapy practice and be with Carlos. But most of all, I want to be the best Mum I can be to our baby. You’re going to be a granny, Mum.’
Carole felt like she’d stepped into an abyss and was freefalling. She grasped hold of the table, needing to feel something solid beneath her fingertips. ‘What did you say?’
‘You’re going to be a grandmother. I’m three and a half months’ pregnant.’ Emma’s face was hopeful as she looked at her mother.
Carole knew this was her chance to put things right between them. All she had to say was, ‘That’s wonderful, sweetheart.’ Or, ‘I’m so happy. So excited for you and Carlos.’ Something along those lines, only she couldn’t. All she could think about was how Emma had more talent in her little finger than she had despite her years of practising, wanting, and needing to be the best. Now, she was throwing it all away, and it was all down to her having met Carlos. And so, instead of reaching for her daughter and sweeping away their angry exchange with a hug, she stood up and pushed her chair back. ‘You stupid, stupid girl. You’ll regret this one day when you realise you were too young to get married, especially not to the first man who came along. And you’re far too young to be a mother.’
Emma was pale and she opened her mouth, but Carole wasn’t going to let her get a word in. She’d said more than enough for one night. ‘One day, when you’re knee-deep in dirty nappies, you’ll wake up and think about everything you could have done with your life. I only hope, Emma, that your child doesn’t turn around in years to come, pointing the finger at you and saying everything is your fault. I’ll fix up the bill on my way out.’
The blood was rushing in Carole’s ears as she walked away, her heart beating hard. She wouldn’t look back, she resolved, and she didn’t.