Sandra chipped in with a laugh, ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you’re sleeping,’ She lead the way down the hall. ‘Prue’s given you her room while she stays at a girlfriend’s.’
She hoisted Emilia’s suitcase onto the bed. A heavy red suitcase with shiny metal clasps – so different from the old brown port Emilia had lugged to school every day. Sandra took in the changes: a different, very pretty, quite grown-up Emilia, with all the characteristics of her dark-haired, dark- eyed Italian parents. Well, she thought, I did once call her Gina Lollobrigida.
Emilia rolled her eyes as she scanned Prue’s wall of cut-out photos: Buddy Holly, Johnny O’Keefe in his gold jacket, a handsome Ricky Nelson. ‘I like Elvis the Pelvis better than all them ... ’ she remarked. ‘Mamma calls him a bodgie. He’s real dreamy looking, but.’
It was Prue’s room and Sandra was irked by Emilia’s scornful opinion of her posters. ‘They won’t keep you awake,’ she said. ‘Let’s get a glass of cordial—’
‘I’d rather have tea. Mrs Morgan’s mum always makes us a cup of tea when I get home from college.’ Swinging her foot Emilia hummed Return to Sender.
Sandra put teapot and cups on the kitchen table. After their hugs and cheerful greetings, words were hard to find. So much time had passed – two years since she’d waved goodbye to her friend on the train back to Curradeen – an Emilia loaded with shopping from her first visit to Sydney.
As they drank their tea, she began to wonder if it was a mistake to have invited Emilia to stay after New Year. Their lives were so different now, running along different tracks in different cities. Gradually their regular letters had dwindled to one every few weeks. What was there to write about, anyway?
‘Lofty’s going to Melbourne uni, did I tell you? He’s doing a B.A. and he wants to teach.’
‘He’ll be a good teacher,’ Sandra mused. ‘He was always good in school debates and curious about everything.’
Emilia put down her cup. ‘I’ve got some more news,’ she said. ‘You know how I said once I want to help people – people like Nick after his car accident when he couldn’t walk and had to keep going to Melbourne for treatment? When I graduate and go back to Curradeen there’ll be a job for me in the new clinic. They said so.’
This was even worse than Emilia living with Nick’s grandparents in Melbourne. As long as Nick was in Sydney, at least he and Sandra were in the same city. She tried to look interested as Emilia kept on chatting about her plans.
‘Mamma and Pa are very happy about it, because I’ll be back home again. Nonna’s getting real old now and my brothers have gone to work at Gillespie’s, so they’re no help.’
‘That’s good,’ Sandra agreed. ‘Your parents will be happy.’ But I won’t, she thought, feeling dismal. Now Emmy would get to see Nick whenever he drove into town on his holidays.
Meredith’s voice in the phone: ‘We’re having a party!’ Sandra heard her excitement. ‘We want you all to come, and Emilia of course. And why not invite Nick?’
‘That sounds great, Auntie, but Nick’s gone home for the holidays. When’s the party?’
Meredith gave her the date and the time. ‘Don’t bring anything. Oh, a bottle of wine, if your father wants to.’
Angela cheerfully circled the date on the calendar. ‘I’ll bring a plate,’ she insisted, reaching for her recipe book. ‘I’ll ask Meredith ... I can make vol-au-vents, maybe chicken and mushroom.’
For the party, Sandra planned to do her hair like Ann-Margret in Viva Las Vegas, long and wavy, nothing too big, but Emilia back-combed her black hair very high and sprayed it till it set like varnish, leaving the back to sit stiffly on her shoulders.
‘We’ll wear our shifts and heels,’ they decided, spreading their clothes on the bed. Sandra looked with surprise as Emilia pushed her feet into stilettos. ‘How come your mother lets you wear heels that high?’
‘Mamma doesn’t know.’ Emilia gave a cheeky laugh, squirming into her dress. ‘And I’ve got long hems for the farm and short hems for Melbourne. Remember how last visit I made my skirts shorter, then I let them down to go home?’ She turned to the mirror, glancing over her shoulder at the back of her dress. ‘It’s got tight on my bottom,’ she admitted. ‘Well, too bad, it can’t be helped.’
Sandra dug around in the wardrobe and found her kitten heels. They would have to do; there wasn’t time to shop for another pair.
Several cars were already parked along the block. Don regarded Emilia’s pale frosted lipstick, her eyes outlined in black. ‘She looks ill,’ he confided to Angela. But Angela shushed him, whispering, ‘It’s the fashion!’
‘She’s growing into a little bombshell,’ Don laughed. ‘Old man Ferrari better watch out.’
Before they reached Meredith’s gate, they heard the piano, the hubbub of voices. A string of coloured lights decorated the front porch, the crowded hallway lit by candles. Furniture was pushed back to the walls, the rugs rolled up; so many new faces ... friends of Mister L’estrange? Sandra had never met Meredith’s friends – their outings had always been just the two of them.
Emilia’s face glowed with excitement as she surveyed the room. ‘Gee,’ she exclaimed, ‘I’ve never been to a real big party.’
Meredith and Mister L’estrange were playing a duet, crossing their hands over, mixing the parts, till Meredith laughing, said, ‘That’s it, I’m going to see about supper. Keep playing, I can hear in the kitchen.’
Instead, Eric slipped a record onto the turntable, calling, ‘Hey, everybody, Chubby Checkerrrr! Let’s liven up the joint.’
He jumped to the middle of the room, immediately surrounded by dancers, their hips, knees and elbows twisting madly. Emilia joined in, careless of her tight dress, while Sandra watched with amusement from where she stood by the record player. When the song was over, someone flicked it to play again, and again the frantic twist filled the room.
Another record began, and she recognized the slow, teasing start to Mambo Italiano. She longed for Nick to be with her tonight, to dance with her, and only her. The tempo increased, and in an instant, Mister L’estrange had grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into the noisy throng. Singing to the music, he turned her to-and-fro, until realizing her confusion, he put his arm around her waist, taking her unwilling hand in his.
Over his shoulder, she saw Aunt Meredith, glass in hand, watching the dancers: Meredith stunning in a pencil skirt, a black sleeveless top; jade beads around her neck, red hair drawn into a topknot.
‘Go go Joe ...’ he sang happily. ‘Meredith looks beautiful tonight, doesn’t she?’
When Sandra banged a foot into his shoe, he pulled her tighter. ‘Syncopated rhythm,’ he said with a wink. She stiffened at the unexpected closeness of his body, and as they danced into the kitchen in time to the final notes, he released his hold, leaving her propped beside the sink as he dashed back to the lounge room.
‘Eric’s such a good dancer,’ Meredith said. ‘You did very well, considering.’
Considering what, exactly? Sandra felt she’d looked silly, wished he’d left her alone.
In the crowded kitchen, Angela unwrapped a tea towel from her plate of pastries, putting it with the other supper dishes.
‘A bottle of claret for you, Meredith,’ Don said, adding the wine to a collection of bottles.
‘Thank you both very much.’ Meredith retrieved dishes from the oven, setting them among hors d’oeuvres and salads. She poured an orange juice each