The ferry slows down as they near Circular Quay, where there are other ferries and sightseeing boats hovering around. People are walking alongside the Opera House; the Botanic Gardens are up on the rise, with city buildings in front, and The Rocks to their right. Such familiar sights, and so long since Margot has seen them. One day she will think the same of Lavinia, but she won’t be able to see her again. She doesn’t want to contemplate it. She can’t. Her whole family will be gone then.
‘It’s never too late for you to start your life, Margot,’ Lavinia says gently. ‘You’ve had some obstacles, but I believe in you.’ She smiles. ‘And it’s even better if you can find someone else who believes in you too.’
Margot doesn’t know what to do with that. Mr Williams could hardly believe in her … could he? It’s so hard to think anyone would. Even Lavinia.
Except she says she does. And Margot always believes what Lavinia says.
‘Let’s have a lovely day.’ Lavinia pats her hand. ‘We can make of it whatever we wish, and I wish us to have adventures.’
‘All right,’ Margot says. ‘All right to all of it.’
Lavinia looks pleased. ‘Onwards,’ she says.
And as the ferry docks, they prepare to leave and start the day anew.
THE
1960s MUSTARD-YELLOW CORDUROY JACKET
The young Australian woman was in London for the first time when she visited Portobello Road Market. She’d heard there were interesting clothes there – far more interesting than in her home city of Adelaide.
Leaving school in 1966, she was also keen to leave behind the strict uniform she’d had for the duration, with its knee socks and loose tunic. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for the girls to wear anything fitted lest they attract the attention of boys and men, so in summer the uniform was a dress that barely tapered in at the waist with a regulation length on or below the knee. In winter they wore shirts and ties and heavy skirts, and had to wear grey tights and hats when they were out in public. In short, they were as covered up as nuns – but it still didn’t stop them attracting the attention of boys and men.
Maybe that’s why the young woman’s eyes went to all the fitted things on the colourful stalls at the market. She wanted to try something new – wasn’t that part of the reason she was all the way over here on the other side of the world?
That’s how she ended up taking home a mustard-yellow corduroy jacket, which was, the designer told her as he perched on a stool smoking a Gauloises, in the Nehru style, named for the former Indianprime minister Jawaharlal Nehru, who liked his jackets buttoned up to a high neck.
Mr Nehru had died in 1964, leaving a daughter, Indira Gandhi, who by 1966 was herself prime minister. The young woman admired Mrs Gandhi and wondered why India could have a female prime minister and Australia could not.
Thus, the designer mentioning that the jacket was in the Nehru style meant something to the young woman, who tried it on, bought it and wore it almost every day she was travelling throughout the United Kingdom and Europe, thrilled at its unusual colour – she’d never owned anything mustard-coloured before, and nor had anyone she knew – and the way it flattered her figure.
Then she packed it into her suitcase and took it home to Adelaide, where her stylish yet conservative mother expressed distaste at the colour, cut and style, which meant the jacket was relegated to the far reaches of the young woman’s vast wardrobe.
The young woman married in the early 1970s and became a mother shortly afterward. She kept the jacket, hoping that one day she’d have an opportunity to wear it. But styles moved on and the Nehru jacket was no longer in fashion.
Mrs Gandhi was assassinated in 1984, when the no-longer-young woman’s own eldest daughter was turning ten. It seemed impossible that things could change so profoundly when hardly any time seemed to have passed since she was on Portobello Road looking for a unique piece to take home to Australia.
In the late 1980s, the woman, her husband and children moved to Sydney when her husband took a big job in a large company. They settled in the harbourside suburb of Cremorne, and she loved it there, although she missed Adelaide and the routines and places she was used to.
The jacket came to Sydney with the family, and spent a bit of time being used for her daughters’ dress-ups, but eventually the woman had to admit to herself that she was never going to wear it again, and she didn’t want to see it ruined by her daughters.Someone else would surely love it the way she had, even if the colour had faded a little. So she took it to a local charity shop where she liked to look for unusual pieces, free from her mother’s judgemental eye.
The somewhat elderly woman behind the counter greeted her, as she always did, and pronounced the garment ‘beaut’, saying she was sure someone would love it.
The original owner left the shop without a pang of regret, believing she had done the right thing by a piece of clothing that had always done the right thing by her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Christmas Day is pretty much the same every year: Lucy and her parents and Russell exchange presents then eat lunch.
Sometimes Connie’s sisters and their husbands and children come over after lunch, although there’s no regularity to it. One year they turned up with no warning, right as Lucy’s father and Russell were yelling at each other. Russell had broken the bicycle Lucy had been given that morning. It was the first time anyone else in the family had seen Lucy’s father mad and they all looked shocked for a few minutes, then Connie poured wine for everyone and the conversation turned to the cricket season.
Lucy is aware that her family is small, but Christmas Day really makes it obvious, because there’s just the four of them sitting around, no dry-cleaning to do. Her parents don’t have hobbies. Neither does Russell. So it’s not as if they want to use the day to do something they like. Which makes it a day for food they only eat once a year – like the potato salad her mum prepares using mint from the garden – and awkward conversation, because usually they never all sit down together to eat.
This year is a little different, though, because Lucy has her Christmas dress to wear. She hasn’t shown it to her mother beforehand, and it’s not as if she’d show her father or Russell either, so it’s going to be a surprise.
Normally, none of them dresses up for Christmas Day. One year Lucy wore a red dress and Russell told her she had tickets on herself. Her mother scolded him but he just ignored her. It wasn’t possible for Lucy to ignore him, though, and she never wore anything bright again. Anywhere. Now she’s interested in making clothes, though, she’s prepared to take some risks.
Plus she’s older. She’ll be leaving school next year and then she’ll be able to do what she wants. Sad-sack Russell can stay living at home, but she’s planning to get out as soon as she can. It doesn’t matter if she has to work every waking hour at some crappy job to get the money for it – she’s going.