The Children's Bach by Helen Garner Page A

nodded.
    â€˜Do you ever think it might be true?’ said Athena.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Hell, and all that.’
    He grabbed the back of her hair in a bunch and tugged at it. He looked upset. ‘No. No, I don’t.’ He kept his hand on her shoulder and then slipped it back into his pocket. ‘Will we go and walk round in Georges?’
    â€˜I haven’t got any money,’ said Athena.
    â€˜I can lend you some. They finally paid me.’
    â€˜I’m not going to buy anything.’
    â€˜Here. Just to hold. Fifty dollars to keep in your pocket till you get to the bank. So you won’t be bereft.’
    The note was new. Its surface was oily and it had a military smell, like calico. He went on ahead of her. ‘Ten minutes, at the corner.’
    She looked at some jeans, the kind Vicki wore that she had to lie on her back to zip up. She went to the bank and took out the money for the food shopping. On her way to the meeting place she planned what she would say to him when she gave him back his money. In a light voice she would say, ‘Here you are, my sweetheart, my darling, my treasure.’ She would get the tone just right. Her heart was beating. She got to the corner and stopped outside the bra shop. He was not there. The dry wind fluffed out her hair like koala’s ears.
    *
    Dexter was out when Elizabeth and Poppy came in through the back gate. Athena, sitting on the concrete step in the evening, did not think she could entertain them on her own without the screen of his noisy sociability. She had wasted half the day wandering in the city with Philip, it was late, and she should have been, she should be . . . But the girl was carrying a cello in a case.
    â€˜We came to ask a favour,’ said Elizabeth. She pushed Poppy forward. ‘Go on. You ask.’
    â€˜I have to go to my music lesson,’ said Poppy. ‘My father forgot. He went off in the car and I haven’t got any way of getting there.’
    â€˜Do you want me to drive you?’ said Athena.
    They were embarrassed, having meant to ask Dexter.
    â€˜It’s straight out the freeway,’ said Poppy.
    â€˜She can show you the way,’ said Elizabeth.
    â€˜It’s my last one for the year,’ said Poppy. ‘It’s already paid for.’
    Athena got to her feet.
    â€˜Do you want me to come?’ said Elizabeth.
    Everyone understood the meaning of this question.
    â€˜Last summer,’ she said, ‘I went to the concert hall when Poppy played in the music camp orchestra. I took one look at those rows and rows of skinny legs and enormous Adidas runners going tap tap tap and I burst into tears.’
    â€˜Elizabeth doesn’t like orchestras much,’ said Poppy. ‘She doesn’t like quite a few things.’
    â€˜Opera.’
    â€˜Cheese.’
    â€˜Tracksuits.’
    They pantomimed themselves for her, struck dramatic poses and exaggerated their elocution. She watched them, and looked for the father in the child. He showed himself only fleetingly: the colour was wrong, the cheeks were rounder, but she saw his jawline and the secretiveness of the smile.
    â€˜Hop in the car, Poppy,’ said Athena. ‘I’ll whip these sheets off the line before it gets dark.’
    The girl obeyed. She arranged the cello on the back seat and leaned forward to the dashboard so she could watch the two women approach the wire and unpeg the sheets. They faced each other, joined by the cloth, and raised their arms in unison, they shook the cloth and snapped it tight, they advanced and retreated until each sheet was a flat bundle in Athena’s arms. Poppy saw that they were speaking, with pauses, but she could not hear what they were saying.
    â€˜Philip came to see me,’ said Athena.
    â€˜To see you .’
    â€˜A couple of times.’
    Elizabeth laughed with closed lips. ‘Take you for walks, did he?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Do you like