Too Close to Home (24 page)

IT'S AUGUST NOW, THE last night of her play and the evening of the election.

Freya watches from the middle of the back row, Matt on one side of her, Ella asleep on the other, as the two characters argue. The drama centres on the wife's discovery that her husband now votes Family First. She moves from disbelief to anger, while he remains obdurate. As they fire words at each other, expressing their disgust for the other's political stance, their understanding of their life together unravels, messy and ugly on the stage.

It's been called a brave work in the papers. A theatrical piece that relies largely on dialogue, in the mode of the classics –
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
, frequently cited. An unusually political work for a woman. A sparse and powerful piece of theatre, a kitchen-sink drama that veers dangerously close to the didactic.

The fact that its season has fallen right in the midst of the election campaign has been both a blessing and a curse. There's been no shortage of publicity but it hasn't translated to successful takings at the box office.

People are worn out by politics, her agent has consoled her.

But Freya suspects that it's not politics that's the problem; it's the arts.

She'd come on opening night, giving tickets to all her friends, too nervous to really listen to the sound of her own words. Afterwards they'd gone out, drinking too much in a loud bar, and she'd avoided Frank, who was there with Marianne, only to end up snorting lines of cocaine in the toilets with Anna.

‘Wouldn't be able to do this if I was still up the duff,' Anna had said as she'd rolled up a fifty-dollar bill.

They'd giggled at how difficult they found it to lean down in the tight space, so much so that Freya had almost lost the entire line onto the floor.

‘Do you reckon you'll try again?' she'd asked as she snorted what was left.

Anna had shrugged her shoulders, confessing that she wasn't sure if she'd have the nerve. ‘Think that was my chance.' And then she'd narrowed her eyes, looking at Freya in the harshness of the cubicle light. ‘So,' she'd asked, ‘while we're on true confessions – what was it like sleeping with Frank?'

Freya had blushed. ‘Illicitly fabulous. Disgustingly tawdry.'

And Anna had grinned. ‘No need to tell me really. I slept with him eons past. Just wanted to make you squirm.'

They'd ended up staying out till four in the morning, and it had been like years ago, when they were still at university, young, intense and able to forgo sleep. She'd crawled into bed as the sun came up, begging Matt to lock her door and leave her alone to recover for the day.

Tonight she wants to take in the play, to see it as someone other than the writer would see it, but it's never easy watching your own work. The performances are strong and the direction good. Frank's had plenty of praise, and is talking with a producer about a film next. He is talented and she knows this, although all that has passed makes it difficult for her to appreciate his work with any kind of distance.

Next to her, Matt squeezes her hand, and she glances across at him, but his eyes are fixed on the stage. Freya had offered Lisa a ticket as well, but she didn't want to leave Lucas by himself at night. They live in a small flat, three suburbs away. Lisa works as a receptionist in a doctor's surgery. Lucas is on medication, and spends most of his days alone in the apartment.

The evening after they moved out, Matt had cried, helpless and lost, and she watched, her attempts at comfort puny in the wake of his distress. Leaning forward in the armchair, his whole body had heaved as he'd sobbed, his shoulders rounded, his head in his hands.

Lucas was his, and Matt didn't know how to live with this. ‘Because it's permanent,' he confessed. ‘And I don't want him.' He'd been horrified at his words. ‘But I have to find a place for him. Here.' And he'd touched his heart.

Freya had stared at the floor, also hating herself for wishing that it wasn't this way. But it was. And each time she looked at Ella she knew she had no choice. She, too, had to find a space within herself, a way of incorporating this boy into her life, despite not wanting to.

They are yet to tell Ella the truth, and they are both anxious about this.

‘Slowly,' they have promised each other, because it's all that they can do, unstitching the shape they have made and become accustomed to, the tear always painful in the shift necessary to incorporate the new.

Now, as Freya sits between Matt and Ella, the actors speak their final words. It's the wife who has the last say and then the stage fades to black. Ella stirs, and Freya kisses the top of her head.

As the lights go up and the applause commences, there's a shout in the audience.

‘Anyone know who won?'

She looks around her, at the rows of faces, some searching for their bags, others reading program notes, many turning on their phones and checking the news. The woman in front of her tells her partner that she doesn't care whether it's Labor or Liberal. ‘Their campaigns were fuelled by hatred. This country is mean and low.' Further down the row, an older man says he wouldn't be surprised if it were Abbott. ‘Labor blew it. No principles. All they cared about was power.'

And then someone shouts out that it's too close to call, probably will be for days.

‘Could well be a hung parliament.'

It's the news they'd all been expecting, although Freya, and so many others, are unsettled, unsure of what this means. Are they in for more of the same or could it get worse? She leans over to the man next to her. Does he know, she asks, what the outcome will be?

He shakes his head. ‘No one knows. It's all up in the air.'

Freya smiles at the expression, at the hope it conveys. Maybe there's an alternative, perhaps they don't have to
slot into the well-worn groove they've always known? This uncertainty could herald a new era, and be cause for celebration after all. A miracle has been occurring, out there in the world, while we sat here in this darkened theatre. We will open the doors and all will be changed.

She shakes her head, enjoying the thought for a moment, and then she stands, aware of her foolishness. She's old enough to know that's not how it is, and yet, there's a part of her that would like to hold on for just a little longer.