Versace Sisters (13 page)

Bella looked up from her own reverie. 'What's
wrong?'

'No noise,' Sera said in a tight voice. She ran back to
the lawn where she'd last seen the children. Maddy was
scratching out a picture of her swan in the dirt with a stick.
She looked up at her mother.

'Mummy, I love my swan sooo much, look – '

Sera interrupted her daughter. 'Maddy, where's Harry?'

'Dunno,' she said.

'HARRY!' Sera yelled. 'HAAARRY!' She ran forward
two steps. She looked to her left: Macquarie Street was
a dangerous road, should she run there first? She looked
behind her: the lake. He couldn't have gone around past
them, could he? She'd have heard the splash . . . wouldn't
she? Or would she? She looked to her right: half a kilometre
away she knew a sheer twenty-foot-drop was fenced
off, but since when did a fence stop her little climbing
monkey? A feeling of panic began to engulf her.

Chantrea was early – a whole day early. Sally would be
so thrilled, she thought, as she jumped out of her VW
and rushed into Babyface Childcare, bubbling with the
anticipation of sharing a stolen day with her little girl.

After the parent–teacher interview, she had lain awake
in bed thinking of how much she wanted to give Sally to
ensure she had a childhood different from her own. But
Chantrea missed her so much when she was at work and
she knew Sally would prefer to play at home some days. She
wanted things to change, but she wasn't sure how to start.

Her mother kept telling her she was crazy for sending
Sally to Babyface instead of a community kindergarten; for
saving all her money for the fees for a private school when
Sally turned six. But Chantrea was steadfast. She
had
to
send Sally to a private school and hold on to their stylish
Bondi Junction address – even if it was only a cramped
unit. Chantrea was sure her address helped get Sally invited
to the best kids' parties.

Although other mothers were generally polite, Chantrea
often felt like she was the token Asian at coffee mornings.
But she didn't care. Sally was making friends, she was
accepted and nobody knew her history. Her world was in
order; except for the nagging feeling that she and Sally were
missing out on something deeper and more important: time
together.

She had decided to start with some small changes. She'd
start with taking today off and surprising Sally by picking
her up at Babyface to spend the afternoon with her. And
she might even speak to the roster manager about cutting
back on some of her shifts; she was a killer budgeter, she'd
just have to pull the reins in tighter.

Now she was putting her plan into action, she felt like
a naughty schoolgirl wagging classes. She smiled happily at
the crèche director and strode confidently into the kinder
room with a huge grin.

Nancy gave her a confused look. 'Did Sally forget something
yesterday, Chantrea?' she asked.

'What?' Chantrea shook her head. 'No, I've come to
pick her . . .' her words trailed away as she realised her
daughter was not among the group sitting cross-legged on
the carpet. 'Where is she?' she asked, her heart beating hard
and colour draining from her face as a hundred terrifying
scenarios flashed through her mind.

Nancy was quickly at her side, patting her hand. 'Oh,
no, Chantrea, everything's fine, don't panic. She's just
having one of her home days. I'm so sorry, I assumed you
knew.'

'A home day?' Chantrea tried not to shout.

'Well, yes, that's what your mother calls them.'

'But Mother works. Who's looking after Sally?' Chantrea
demanded.

'I'm sorry, Chantrea, I don't know. Oh dear, I hope
we've done the right thing,' Nancy said.

Chantrea was back home within ten minutes. Her mind
was boiling over. Surely Sally wasn't sick: her mother
would have called if she was. And she couldn't be home
alone, could she? With Chantrea's crazy mother, anything
was possible.

She pulled her car to a screeching halt in front of the
block of three units. The heels of her boots clicked angrily
along the path as she rushed past the first two tiny homes
until she reached her own even smaller place at the rear.

Squeals of laughter and strains of music filled the air,
and part of her relaxed as she knew that at least Sally was
safe. She peered in the skinny glass window that flanked the
front door and was astounded to see her mother and her
daughter leaping around the room like a couple of deranged
primates. Her immediate relief was quickly replaced with a
new flare of anger.

She burst through the front door. Sally, perched atop
the couch about to leap into the air, froze at the sight of
her mother. Her grandmother, squatting on all fours, did
the same.

'What the hell is going on?' Chantrea demanded, catching
sight of the dining room table, which was covered
in monkey face-masks, paintings and sketches done in a
suspiciously Cambodian style. 'What's going on here?' she
repeated, her voice dangerously icy.

'No mind you,' her mother was shrill with the indignation
of being caught. 'Just some fun for a little girl.' And
she rushed towards the table to start clearing the craft away.
'We're having fun, aren't we, Sally?'

'Yeah!' Sally sprang back to life. 'So much fun, look we
made Hanuman the Monkey God pictures and now we're
doing the Hanuman monkey dance.' She demonstrated
some elaborate dance steps, complete with well-practised
hand movements.

Chantrea noticed a slender tube in her daughter's hand.
'What's that, Sally? Is that the god-awful noise I heard
when I came in?'

'Yeah, Mum, it's Granny Yay's Khmer flute. I'm getting
really good.' To illustrate, she raised it to her lips. Brittle,
haunting notes came from the instrument.

Chantrea's hands flew to her ears. 'Stop it, stop it at
once, that's a terrible noise. Give that to me!'

'But Mum!' Sally stared at her mother with an injured
look.

'How do you say this to such a talented child?' Dara
Kim scolded. For a little woman she could be quite fearsome
when antagonised. 'This is a wonderful gift she has,
wonderful talent.' Raising herself to every bit of her four-foot-ten-inch
frame, she said proudly, 'She takes after her
grandmother.'

'Yes, she does – by going behind my back and doing
things expressly forbidden in this house,' Chantrea spat.
'Sally, go to your room.'

'Mum!' Sally protested.

'Now, Sally. Go to your room.'

'Not fair, you stink!' The five-year-old sulked off,
stamping her little feet down the hall until the slamming of
the door brought silence over the house.

'You can't do this, Mother,' Chantrea began. 'You can't
make her into a Cambodian girl.'

Dara Kim was livid. The knuckles on her clenched
fists went white. 'And you can't deny two thousand years
of culture from my country. Who are you? The Khmer
Rouge?'

Chantrea had had enough, she'd been fighting to escape
her Cambodian background most of her life, but everywhere
she turned, someone, something would remind
her that she was different, an outsider. And now this: the
ultimate betrayal. Her little Sally was turning into someone
from that godforsaken country of torture and suffering. It
was too much to bear.

'Mother, that's it! I will not tolerate it for one more
moment. If you can't drop this stupid Cambodian stunt
and embrace our new life, I will leave.' The look on Dara's
face spurred her on. 'I will. I'll take Sally and we'll move to
another city and you won't be able to find us.'

'You would not dare take my little Sally away,' Dara
whispered. Chantrea could tell that the older woman knew
she'd lost.

'Don't tempt me, Mother.'

She headed for the door and was just about to slam
it angrily behind her when her mother hissed: 'Pol Pot's
regime killed one point seven million of our people.
Ninety percent of our artists and musicians are dead and
gone. Who is going to pass on our culture to our young if
I don't?'

Chantrea shut the door quietly and returned to her car.

Chantrea sat on the edge of Tingara Reserve, staring out
through her tears at Rose Bay.

She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. How
dare her mother do this?

Just look at this magnificent place they called home.
Why couldn't she just move on? Chantrea wondered,
kicking at tufts of grass at her feet.

She took some deep breaths to quell her sobbing and as
her tears subsided she sat back to take in the landscape around
her. It was such a special place. Some boats drifted peace -
fully along the water, while others bobbed merrily at their
moorings; the glorious sandy beaches stretched wide and
inviting beside the glittering harbour; rugged cliff faces rose
above the golden sands and beyond all this was the beauty
of the bushland.

Pictures from her Cambodian childhood flashed into
her mind – at first the horror and the loss – but then some
smaller, happier memories; tiny fractured images of her
father and her great-aunt's village; her mother's gentle
laugh and a sense of home and family and warmth. Her
eyes filled with tears again. She thought about her mother
and all she had been through and lost. To her mother,
Cambodia still held some joyful and significant memories,
but she wished Dara Kim would let them move forward
into the bright, happy future that beckoned. She knew
her mother loved Australia, and was often the first one to
suggest weekend family nature walks or museum visits.
But what she couldn't know – couldn't see – was how
persecuted Sally would become if she took on her Asian
culture.

Chantrea decided to wander along the spectacular
Harbour Walk. The breeze wasn't cool enough to make
her regret her bare arms and the sun warmed her back,
soothing her into a calmer state of mind.

The Rose Bay café and promise of a double espresso
beckoned her over and she stood waiting to be seated.

'Table for two?' the waitress enquired, glancing at
someone behind Chantrea.

Confused, Chantrea turned to see Jacqueline standing
a foot away chatting on the mobile. 'Yes darling,' she was
saying. 'I'll pick that up for you after I drop off the boys
at soccer.'

A slight shadow of disappointment slid over Jacqueline's
face as she registered Chantrea, but she replaced it with
a bright smile almost instantly. And although Chantrea
would have preferred to fly economy than have coffee with
Jacqueline, she nodded to the waitress and steeled herself
to endure the faux enthusiastic greeting that women from
Rose Bay to Sandy Bay and back to Bay Street employ
daily.

'Darling! So wonderful to see you!' exclaimed Jacqueline
with all the excitement of a socialite who's just discovered
fat-free crème brulée.

'Jacqueline, what a lovely surprise,' Chantrea replied,
leaning in for the double-cheek European kiss.

They weren't the best of friends. They had completely
opposite views on mothering and childcare, with Chantrea
believing women needed to maintain a life outside home
and children, and Jacqueline feeling that an effective mother
was at home, on call, all day. And while Chantrea suspected
Jacqueline of deep-seated racism, Jacqueline simply had
deep-seated bag-ism and hated Chantrea's biker-chick taste
in handbags.

But here they were, enemies trapped in the cage of
social nicety. They sat down at a table, ordered coffee and
pretended to be delighted to have run into each other.
Jacqueline twittered about her shopping morning, her silly
boys and their forgetful ways, and her darling husband who
was so busy he'd forgotten their anniversary, not that she
minded, of course.

Chantrea smiled weakly, while inwardly shrieking,
'Please, God, just kill me now.'

'So what brings you to Rose Bay, Chantrea?' Jacqueline
asked, putting on her best listening face. 'You're usually
such a busy little thing, flying all over the place. It's rare to
see you out and about, having some time off.'

Chantrea brushed the question away. 'Oh, I just had a
day off, so I thought I'd take a walk, it's gorgeous down
here.'

Jacqueline, who had a talent for saying the wrong thing
at the worst time, added, 'But why aren't you with your
little girl? Such a rare opportunity.'

'My mother has her today. They're busy doing, well,
stuff together and I just get in the way.'

'But how can you get in the way? It's such a little family,
you should be together,' Jacqueline insisted.

'Look, Jacqueline, it's complicated. They're doing stuff
that I'm just not into, okay?' Chantrea leaned forward and
grabbed her glass of water, slopping some over the side in
anger.

'What's got you so upset?' Jacqueline was suddenly
genuinely concerned.

'It's nothing, it's stupid really. It's just that my mother
has been teaching Sally about her Cambodian culture. I
don't like it at all.'

'Ahhh,' Jacqueline said knowingly. 'Mothers, grandmothers
and daughters, always a tricky business. So what
is she doing? Letting her eat Asian sweets or letting her
stay up all night watching TV? I was very miffed with
my mother in the early days when she'd spoil the boys
rotten.'

'No, it's not that. It's . . . well, it's really difficult to
explain,' Chantrea began, but in her eagerness to set Jacqueline
straight she had launched into her fears of Sally not
growing up as a complete Australian, her concern that she
might get bullied because of her heritage, and her shock
that her mother had gone behind her back.

Jacqueline listened carefully and sympathetically. Chantrea
finally finished her story and sat flushed with embarrassment
at having spilled everything to Jacqueline, of all
people.

'You'd be amazed, Chantrea, but I completely understand
where Dara Kim is coming from,' Jacqueline said.

Chantrea found it hard to avoid sarcasm. 'Yes, you're
right, I am amazed, Jacqueline. How could you understand?
You are worlds apart from my mother.'

'She's a mum, I'm a mum, and she's just trying to do the
right thing by you; she loves you.'

Chantrea was hot with rage. 'If she wanted to do the
right thing by me, she'd do what I want her to do and stop
this nonsense.'

'No, that would be indulging you,' Jacqueline said
gently. 'She obviously feels strongly that your heritage is
crucial to your family. Like every mum, she wants to do
what's good for you, not necessarily what you want her
to do.'

'Well, I guess that makes sense,' Chantrea said slowly,
her anger cooling. 'But why can't she see how important it
is for me to leave all that behind?'

'You're rebelling. You don't see it yet, but when she's
gone, you will wish that you'd asked her more about her
family and your country's past. You're very lucky to be from
such a beautiful country, Chantrea, I've been to Angkor
Wat with my International Art Appreciation Group. The
artwork and history of that place is quite remarkable. What
do we have here for history? A few boatloads of criminals?
If an Australian wants to delve further than a few generations
we
all
have to go back to our motherland, be it
Poland, Germany, Vietnam or England.'

Chantrea was stunned to find that Jacqueline was starting
to make a lot of sense. Jacqueline laughed, 'Of course,
the Cambodian music is a bit harsh; there's no rhyme or
reason to it.'

'Hang on a minute.' Chantrea flared up. 'My mother
was a famous musician before we left Phnom Penh. She
played the Khmer flute and it has a very beautiful sound.
Sally's quite talented at it too.'

'Oh, well, each to his own.' Jacqueline said. 'If your girl
has got any musical appreciation whatsoever she should
hear my boys play violin. You should consider it for Sally, a
beautiful sound and an incredibly versatile instrument. And
always such fun at a party.'