jmgoyder

[Note to readers (especially new ones): This love story begins way back earlier in this blog and consists of anecdotal fragments. Initially I wrote them, one by one, into this blog, then I created a separate blog just for the love story. Now I have decided to copy/paste them back into this blog. I have numbered them so as not to confuse myself – ha! My husband is now in a nursing lodge which makes this love story a bit of a poignant adventure back in time for me. Thank you for reading.]

Love story 39 – The gap that was Inna

After Inna’s death, Anthony and I lost the connection with each other that was Inna.

These few years, when I lived and worked in Perth, as a trainee nurse, were agonizing because I missed him so much. If I were in the middle of the city and a truck with cattle drove past, the smell of cowpoop would plunge me into such nostalgia for the farm that I would want to chase the truck and leap on but of course I didn’t.

Anthony and I exchanged phonecalls regularly because our friendship was solid, but, for me, its platonicness seemed like a gladwrap covering of what was really there and I wanted to tear it off. But he wouldn’t budge. I was too young. He was too old.

Whenever I visited my mother, who lived in the next town to the farm, I would visit Anthony and, across the road, his brother, sister-in-law and the beautiful blonde children who were were growing up fast. I loved these visits.

Sometimes Anthony would be warm and inviting and other times he would be cold and busy. I didn’t know where I stood until one day, when I was 23, I let the ‘I love you’ slip out of my mouth accidentally and he looked at me, walked me to the back door and told me to go home to my mother’s place. His expression was impossible to read and, distraught, instead of going to my mother’s place, I drove all the way back to Perth in my old Holden Kingswood, crying like a baby.

Not long after that we began an awkward, and rather volatile, romantic relationship, keeping it very secret, knowing that everyone we knew would disapprove.

Except Inna. But Inna was gone.

Love story 40 – Too late?

For me to have known, without the slightest doubt, that Anthony and I would one day be husband and wife, and that we would have a little boy, was a certainty that alternatively tortured, and elated, me from the age of 17 to 32, when he uttered the words, “I love you.”

When he finally said those words on the phone, and he said them over and over, more times than I had ever said them, and he was weeping and asking me to marry him, I laughed, thinking it was a joke, then told him I had to go out, said goodbye, and hung up, bemused.

The phone rang again and again but I didn’t pick it up. But then there was a knock on the door. I ignored that too. I felt very cold and strange and bewildered.

Eventually I opened the door to my flat and there were a dozen red roses, with a note that had obviously been dictated by Anthony to the florist.

I put the roses into the sink in my little kitchenette, then walked down to the local pub to join my buddies, Neville and Robbo, because it was Guinness night.

Anthony could go to hell.

Love story 41 – The in-between years

During the years between unrequited and requited love, I had done the following:

• worked as a nanny in London;
• travelled Europe with two blonde bimbos who I didn’t really      know;
• worked up north on a sheep station, cooking for 50 men;
• worked for the disgraced entrepeneur, Alan Bond’s mother as a      live-in maid (before he was disgraced);
• worked at a rehabilitation centre for people with quadriplegia;
• worked in a hostel for people with multiple disabilities;
• worked in three different nursing homes;
• helped manage a respite centre as a live-in carer;
• completed a double degree in English and      Aboriginal/Intercultural studies;
• lived in six different houses or flats;
• worked as a waitress in a pancake place;
• completed a graduate diploma and honours in Creative Writing;
• had three dodgy boyfriends;
• spent a week in a psychiatric hospital as a patient;
• had six short stories published;
• maintained an on/off again romantic relationship with Anthony;      and
• begun a PhD that focussed on Alzheimer’s disease and storytelling.

During this period of time, Anthony (Husband-to-be) had milked about a billion cows.

So, during one of our arguments, when he suggested that I “get in the real world, Jules,” I was speechless.

Love story 42 – The Sydney man

The day after Husband-to-be/Anthony said those taboo words, “I love you”, on the phone to me, I was due to fly to Sydney to meet another man. I had already met this man a few times in Perth when he was doing contract work here and I was rather attracted to the fact that he was so attracted to me. He had already paid for my plane ticket, and a hotel room (even though I said I would not partake in any shenanigans), and a concert and everything, so I didn’t feel I could let him down.

Before Anthony’s phonecall, I had been looking forward to this trip. I had thought this new man might somehow obliterate Anthony from my heart.

But after Anthony’s phonecall, especially when he repeated his strange, unfamiliar words on the phone the next morning, I didn’t want to go to Sydney at all. I had told Anthony, during the previous night’s surreal conversation, that I was driving up north to see some friends on the weekend, but somehow, by the next morning, he had discovered I was going to Sydney and the name of the man paying for my ticket. To have not only intuited that I was lying (which was unlike me), and to have discovered I was going to Sydney indicated that he must have spent several hours ringing various travel agencies and finally convincing someone to tell him what was confidential information. Anthony and I both admitted our different crimes in the same breath on the phone (you have to remember we were 200 kms apart), but I said I had to go because I had promised the man.

This conversation was agonizing in so many ways but I eventually had to terminate it or I would have missed my flight. So I hurriedly got my bag packed and my wonderful friend, Andrew, took me to the airport (he knew the whole complicated situation).

Once in the plane (it was the midnight horror flight), I sat for awhile, stunned. Then – because the Sydney man was interested in my writing – I tore the big yellow envelope off my short stories and began to write every single word Anthony had said to me. I knew that if I didn’t write it down straight away, I would never believe he could have said it. I wrote for an hour and then fell asleep.

I awoke to the plane landing and, with a sense of dread, I disembarked and went to meet my host.

Love story 33 – Inna’s last week

So, once again, I left the farm, Inna, Anthony, the oranges, little dogs, Inna’s golden-haired grandchildren. And I left my mother, with my two younger, growing-up brothers, in a house that was, for me, dark with the absence of my father, and I went to Perth to pursue my nursing career.

While I waited for the nursing course to begin I worked in a nursing home and lived with friends of friends. One day, I felt very weird and nearly fainted at handover and was sent home. In the evening, I rang Anthony and he said Inna was in hospital again. He was very gruff on the phone but I was too worried about Inna to care. I then rang the hospital and was put through to Inna who sounded different, not herself.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

I can’t remember how I got the week off from the nursing home where I was working, but I did. I can’t even remember how I got from Perth to the hospital where Inna was, 200 kms away, because I didn’t have a car at the time. All I do remember is the eight days I sat with Inna, all day and into the evenings. And on the morning of the ninth day, Inna let out a huge gasp and died.

Love story 34 – Promise to Inna

During the week before Inna died, she fluctuated a lot. Sometimes she would want me to light her a cigarette, sometimes she would want to leap out of bed and go home but, eventually, by about the fourth day in hospital, she lapsed in a semi-comatosed state. Just before she did so, though – and these were her last coherent words to me – she said, “Promise me, darling, that you will look after Anthony?” and her tired eyes twinkled with a mixture of hope and mischief.

“I promise,” I said, squeezing her hand, and she went to sleep. She slept quite peacefully then for the next few days before she died.

Love story 35 – Inna’s death

I wasn’t sure if Inna had died. Well, I was sure in one way but, as I had never seen this before, I got a bit panicky and ran out of her hospital room into the corridor to find a nurse or a nun or someone. I held my sobbing inside me like a scratchy rock until one of the nuns came back with me into Inna’s room, saw that she had died, and gently touched her eyelids to make sure they were closed.

It was only when this lovely nun nodded to me that I realized for sure and I let the scratchy rock out of my throat and wept, not sure if I could touch Inna’s hand again or not. But when the nun went away to call Anthony, I grabbed Inna’s limp hand and held it to my chest and sobbed.

By the time Anthony and his brother arrived I had calmed down a bit so I left Inna’s room so they could have some privacy with their mother. A little while later, they joined me in an adjacent waiting room where I was, once again, crying but neither of them had a hanky or a tissue, and the nun had left us to it, so my tears just fell, unhindered, onto the blue carpet.

Inna was gone.

Love story 36 – Growing up

The years after Inna’s death are a bit of a blur to me now so, once again, I will resort to point form:

• I began my nursing training in Perth with my father’s and      Inna’s deaths fresh in my head;
• I missed the farm and Anthony (Husband-to-be) intensely;
• I missed my mother and my brothers;
• I was a good trainee-nurse in the sense that I cared so much      about patients;
• I was a hopeless trainee-nurse in the sense that I could never      figure our how to do the autoclave thing and I was fearful of any      equipment that seemed complicated;
• During my first few weeks working at the hospital, I watched a      young boy die gradually in agony from spinal cancer and his screams still      haunt me;
• I was given the job of tending to this boy – his ablutions etc.      and this was a massive shock to me because he was bedridden and always      screaming and I remember thinking how wrong this was;
• I wanted Anthony to bring me home again;
• I wanted my mother to bring me home again;
• When the boy died, I was so happy for him;
• I would ring Anthony occasionally but he was always a bit cagey      (maybe when the girlfriend was there);
• I would ring Anthony occasionally and he would shout “JULES!”      into the phone and, one time, before I knew what I was going to say, I      said it anyway – “I love you, Anthony”;
• He said he had to go and feed the calves;
• I said I was sorry.

At the time, I still hadn’t reached the milestone of 21 and Anthony was 44.

Love story 37 – Inna’s dress 1

Before Inna died, she was always trying to influence the way I dressed. My earlier attire of thongs, batik skirts and t-shirts had been replaced by jeans, collared shirts and sandals (easier on the bicycle) but regardless of what I wore, Inna always disapproved. She herself always wore frocks, stockings and court shoes.

One day, she looked at my jeans and said, “Darling, we really need to do something with you. Let’s have a look and see if I have something,” and with that she opened her wardrobe to an array of dresses and picked out two to give me – and made me try one on.

The horror! I mean, for a teenage girl, I was unusually indifferent to fashion trends but I did know for sure that I didn’t want to wear dresses made for old ladies.

And who should walk into the house while Inna was parading me in front of the hallway mirror?

Love story 38 – Inna’s dress 2

When Anthony saw me in his mother’s dress in front of the hallway mirror, his expression was both perplexed and amused.

“Mum,” she shouted to Inna, who was, of course, standing next to me, “are you insane? What are you doing to her? She looks ridiculous!”

Inna was abashed, but only slightly. “It’s a vast improvement,” she said to her son.

“No, it’s not, Mum – she’s a kid, not an old lady!”

As they tossed their dispute around the hallway, I scurried into Inna’s room and took her dress off and threw my own clothes on hurriedly, terrified they would follow me. Once I was dressed as ‘me’ again, I hung the dress back in the wardrobe and listened at the door until I heard Anthony stomp out of the house. Then I waited.

A few seconds later, Inna opened the door, looked at me for a long moment and then said, “Would you like a cup of tea, darling. The kettle’s just boiled.”

Love story 30 – Getting away

I didn’t understand why Husband-to-be (Anthony) was often so angry with me. Yes, I understood when I stuffed up the grapefruit marmalade, overcooked the roast, and killed the scrambled eggs (“Don’t keep stirring them, Jules, let them set!” he would snap.)

Years later, when he proposed marriage, he admitted that part of his gruffness during this period of time was that he was, indeed, in love with me too, but he was afraid of my youth, my ridiculous innocence and my beautifulness.

Inna’s moods were also unpredictable, because she was beginning to find the ordinary chores of the day too hard (she was in her mid-80s!) but didn’t like having to depend on me, so the dynamics were tricky.

I have a huge grin that has always come naturally to my face so it may well have been that grin that maintained the equilbrium. I don’t know, because, behind that same grin, I was grinding my teeth, and doing a lot of wondering.

On my bicycle, on the way to the farm every morning, I would sing hymns quite loudly but I stopped doing that too when I frightened some guys who were working on the road. Of course I stopped singing as soon as I whizzed past their astonished faces and, after that, I stopped singing altogether.

The sadness of Inna’s impending death, my mother’s grief over the death of Dad, and Anthony’s unpredictable attitude to me, settled onto my shoulders like a mantle that I couldn’t shake off and, eventually, I decided that I should get right away from this family.

Love story 31 – Miscommunication

I applied to do Nursing in Perth and was accepted.

Inna was half proud of me and half upset that I was leaving her.

Anthony didn’t appear to care, although one night when I was sleeping over while he went out, I tucked Inna into her own bed and went into mine in the spare room to read a magazine. I was supposed to wait, you see, until Anthony came home so that I could unlock the back door and let him in (Inna insisted that all doors should be locked).

Eventually I went to sleep and was woken suddenly by a loud tapping on the window to the spare room and, when I opened the blinds, I saw a very merry Anthony who shouted for me to open the back door.

So I got up and crept through the house (I didn’t want Inna to wake up) to the back veranda and let him in.

In the kitchen, he stood next to me against the warm Aga while the kettle boiled. I was very embarrassed because I was wearing a very old, flanelette nightie, but I still, somehow felt undressed.

“So, you’re leaving us again,” he chuckled, leaving me to do the coffee so he could sit down at the big, white kitchen table.

“Yes,” I said, hesitantly, giving him his coffee.

“And you’re going to be a nurse?” he laughed.

I suddenly became indignant and snapped, “You think you’re above me don’t you!”

Anthony replied (and I will never forget his words because he obviously mis-heard mine), “Maybe I am in love with you!”

I left him to have his coffee by himself, and went back to my bed with a little, mystified smile on my face, but, as I was leaving the kiitchen, he wrapped his big arms around me and the resonance of that particular hug lasted several years.

Love story 32 – Mouchoirs

Inna must have done some French lessons during her private schooling as a child because she would never refer to her ever elusive handkerchief as a hanky. Instead, whenever she wanted to blow her nose, she would ask me, “Darling, have to seen my mouchoir?”

Her walking stick was another thing that seemed to have a habit of walking off and having little holdidays in strange places like the corner of the pantry, or under Inna’s bed, or behind the washing machine in the washhouse. But Inna didn’t resort to French for that; instead, she would ask me, “Darling, have you seen my whatchamacallit?”

Once both of these items were found, Inna would often ask me to accompany her out to the fig tree and ask me to fetch the biggest, ripest fig at the very top of the tree. I would try – with her walking stick and a rake, or by shaking the tree, or sometimes by climbing it.

Sometimes Anthony (Husband-to-be) would witness these various treasure hunts and cast a bemused look in our direction. When this happened I felt super-hero abilities to find mouchoirs, walking sticks and figs, grow inside me at an exponential rate.

As many of you know, I separated the love story from this blog and created a new blog in an attempt to separate the past from the present. In some ways, this worked but, in other ways, it didn’t, so I’m now pasting back the chapters in a bit-by-bit way. Apologies to those who have already read the following! For newcomers, you can find the previous chapters in past posts on this blog. I’m sure all of that is as clear as mud – haha!

Love Story 26 – Eating oranges

I gradually put aside my grief over my father’s death, in order to care for Inna who was close to 85 and getting extremely frail.

Husband-to-be, Inna’s son, Anthony, was appreciative of my help but our mutual attraction was like a potent sort of pang between us because (as he told me several years later), I was still only 19 and he had entered his 40s. He respected me and wanted to protect me from himself. Somehow I understood this at the time and I respected his respect I guess.

But there is only so much respect a young girl in love can take. I just wanted him to throw his arms around me, kiss me like in the movies, tell me he loved me. And he didn’t.

Inna would give me big, ripe oranges from their orchard, for my bicycle trip home and I would sometimes turn in from the main road into a dirt track not far from home, put my bike down and eat every single orange.

Love story 27 – Polishing furniture

There was a huge amount of antique furniture in the house, particularly in the old dining room (the most original, ancient and beautiful part of the small farmhouse). There was a big dining room table with old chairs, a massive sideboard, a chiffonier and a grandfather clock.

For a kid like me, who had been moved from Sydney, NSW, to Toronto, Canada, to Papua New Guinea, then to Western Australia, polishing furniture was a totally unfamiliar activity. Nevertheless, I did as Inna told me and, thinking I should be quick, I took the can of polish, slapped it on and rubbed it in as fast as I could.

While I did this, Inna sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and watching me out of the corner of her eye (she was very good at this corner-of-the-eye thing). At one point she got up and put the kettle on the Aga and I took this as a cue.

It was rather a hot day so by the time I had finished polishing, I was more than ready for Inna’s cup of tea time and maybe a timtam, but as I unknelt from the dining room table legs and came into the kitchen, Inna said, “You did that far too quickly, dear, please go back and do it again properly.”

Love story 28 – The beautiful blonde children

Inna’s youngest son (two years younger than Anthony) and wife had four children. They lived across the road from the main farm but they visited often. The eldest girl was 12 and the rest were younger – two girls and two boys, all with white blonde hair, all gorgeous. I absolutely adored them.

The two girls would look at me sometimes, as if I were some sort of alien, and ask me things.

Girl 1: Where do you come from?

Girl 2: How come you don’t know how to make apple pie?

The two boys were a handful. The eldest was a soft, shy child who always wanted to help out, but the 4-year-old was a mischevious brat, who loved to lock me out of the house.

All four children loved Inna’s afternoon snack for them – counter biscuits with butter and peanut butter and the beautiful little brat could not get enough of these mini-sandwiches ….

Boy 1: Can I scrub the shower for you, Julie?

Boy 2: Tricked you again – hahahaha – locked out, Julie!

It would usually take the efforts of Anthony, his brother and, eventually Inna, to convince this 4-year-old to let me into the house again, after which he would scamper off.

Love story 29 – A big love

When we first moved from Sydney, Australia, to Toronto, Canada, I was around eight years old and I had a crush on a kid called Leonard who was in my class at school. Sometimes we would be in the same lift/elevator to our apartments and I would not be able to speak to him because I was afraid the crush would gush out of me.

When we moved to Papua New Guinnea, I had a crush on a man called Tom. It was a very secret crush because he was black and I was white. We left PNG when I was 15 and Tom (secretly) gave me his Seiko watch. I hid this watch for years.

When we moved to Bunbury, Western Australia, I had a crush on Robert during my last year of formal schooling. Robert didn’t have a crush on me, so I got a taste of the whole broken heart thing.

When I met Anthony, I didn’t have a crush, I didn’t have a clue, I didn’t understand then … that I had fallen in love, that it was a big love, that it was a love that would last.