Sydney's Song Read Online Free Page B

Mum?”
    â€œWe’ll explain later. I just want you to be prepared.”
    I was stunned. As I gaped, she went into her room again but this time she did not close the door. She picked up her phone and ordered dinner from a nearby restaurant. And I ran out of the house and ran and ran.
    So many thoughts crowded my head. My parents, who looked very beautiful together, must not separate. I would not have it! I would fight for them to stay together. Tonight I would confront them.Tonight we were going to have one hell of a rational dialogue and contrive a plan to resolve their conflicts.
    After some time I registered that Dimity was running silently beside me and I slowed down. I thought very, very hard, trying to remember anything wrong, any sign or hint, about my parents’ rift. It must be a trifle, because try as I might, nothing came up.
    If you had seen our family albums, you would’ve known Mum and Dad had always been there with me.
    On the day I was born, Dad looked positively ill. You would think it was him who had given birth to me—so traumatic was his expression.
    On the second day of my life, he looked so happy and proud, as if no one could be more beautiful than his darling daughter, and that he had accomplished this feat all on his own.
    There was a picture of him pushing the swing in a park, with one-year-old me big-eyed with wonder. I could not walk or talk yet, but they had me safely secured in the special baby swing. This photo had always been one of my parents’ favourites because of my ‘precious’expression.
    Also there was him looking indulgently at two-year-old me, when I was playing with a bubbler in the park that wet my frilly dress.
    You could only conclude that if Dad was in the pictures, it must be Mum who had taken them. Although she did not join us on most of our outings, Mum had been a constant at home. She would not cheer or jeer along with us when cricket was on TV. But she did at tennis. She had not participated when Dad helped me gardening. But she would be sitting nearby, doing crosswords or manicuring her nails to perfection.
    How was I to save their marriage when I could not even speculate on their issues? They sure had never advertised them. Did they discuss them behind closed doors? If so, I was completely ignorant of them.
    It was a mild October evening. The leafy streets of my suburb Beecroft were as tranquil as ever. There was no indication that the world was coming to an end. A few people jogged. A few people walked their dogs. A few people were getting divorced. Just another day huh? Another day in the life of Australians.
    That evening, I ate my very last dinner with both my parents. Or perhaps I didn’t. I remember them gently telling me that their divorce had been approved. It had come through. They received the papers today. And when, just when, had they submitted them? No slim chance I could fight to save their marriage? What kind of parents broke sickening news like this? It made me run to the toilet and throw up, but I only spewed water.
    My parents followed me to my room. Mum stood by the window, Dad sat at my desk. I was on my bed now, hugging a pillow. Trying to suppress the bile. What was I going to do now?
    Fight!
    My mind scrambled for what to say. Nothing was too late. Hang the papers. They could remarry. I would make them. Squaring my shoulders to bolster my courage, I said my piece.
    â€œYou’re highly sensible adults. You’re supposed to figure out your problems and work out the solutions. You shouldn’t just give up.Have a rational dialogue. Think of all the good times. You’ve had a wonderful life for two decades. People have been impressed by how close you are to each other. By how compatible you are. You have a million reasons not to throw it away.”
    â€œHoney… we’ve seen a marriage counsellor. He said the problems would still be there ten years from now, so we should opt out while we were both