mother. As she inhaled on her cigarette, there was the tell-tale nervous sign of her fingers trembling. I have never to this day seen anyone who looks as sophisticated as my mother did smoking. Taking one last drag, she threw the butt out of the window and exhaled slowly through those beautiful scarlet lips.
Without looking directly at me, she perched herself on the side of my bed, crossed her elegant legs, and explained in a voice, throaty with cigarette smoke, that later that day there was to be a visitor. That was nothing new, our house seemed to be constantly filled with people coming and going.
However, my mother went on to explain that it was my papa who was coming to see me, all the way from France. I couldn’t actually take it in. How could I have two dads? I was very quiet and wished to be left alone to deal with this bit of information. Minutes went by before there was a tap on the door and Johnny crept into my room. Kneeling beside my bed, he took my hands in his. Playing with my fingers, he looked at me and explained that he knew that this was difficult for me to understand, however I mustn’t worry as no matter what, he would always be my dad, and then he hugged me tight, kissing the top of my head.
I was scared you see. What if this man who was meant to be my father tried to take me back to France with him? I explained my fear to Johnny, and he told me that even though Alexandre was my father, he, Johnny, was my dad and he would never let that happen unless I wanted to go. I asked him if he was sure, and he said abso-bloody-lutley! I knew then he was certain. It was a favourite terminology of his. For many years I thought I might find it in the dictionary. From that moment on though, I never called Johnny anything else but Dad.
For the next few hours you could have cut the air with a knife, the tension palpable between my mother and Johnny, as they waited for the visit from my papa. When the car pulled up, my mother looked through the venetian blinds, ran her hands over her long colourful caftan, checked her lipstick one last time, and the headed out to welcome him. Lou and I were told to wait inside. With a face that looked like thunder, Johnny headed out the back to the garage.
Lou and I threw ourselves onto the aqua faux leather cushions on the cane lounge, and cautiously peered through the venetian blinds. We watched as our mother, who did indeed look beautiful with a colourful scarf tied around her head, and huge gold hoops through her ears, elegantly made her way to the man who climbed out of the taxi. They embraced. To me, it appeared that they embraced far longer than was probably necessary. I remember seeing him kiss my mother on both cheeks.
Beside me, Lou, in a small voice, asked who he was meant to be again. Swallowing, I told her it was my papa. The look on her face told me that she had no idea what a papa was, so I explained it was a father. For a minute she was quiet while we continued watching as our mother laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, and ran her hands over her headscarf smoothing it at the back. She kept tilting her head to the side and using her eyes in a way that I didn’t understand at the time.
Lou’s next words were how come I had two fathers. Nervously, I shrugged. I had once asked my mother why she and I shared the same surname Avanel, but Lou and Johnny were both Lynch. She simply told me that sometimes that’s how it worked in families and it was not a big deal. I guess at that age, that’s all I needed to know. It did become more of a big deal as I grew older and it became more obvious. After all, Lou was long limbed like Johnny and blonde like our mother. I, on the other hand, was always one of the shortest in the class and a honey chestnut. Some people call it non-descript… I like to call it honey chestnut. And, as I reached puberty I had generous breasts and curvy hips. Some things have never changed.
After that first visit from Papa, my mother often commented that I was very much like his mother Helena. Generally she said that after we’d had a row. I never did get to meet my paternal grandmother.
Eventually my mother bought my father inside to meet me. Lou and I scrambled off the lounge and even though we were much the same height, Lou stood slightly behind me, slipping her hand into mine. I squeezed it tightly. It didn’t matter how tall she was, she was still my little sister.
There was a part of me that registered my mother was actually trying to impress this man. That’s what totally pissed Johnny off. Even at six, I could see that.
Papa wasn’t nearly as tall as Johnny, and spoke with a heavy accent. However, the thing that shocked me most was that he was so much older than my mother and Johnny. Twenty years to be precise. In hindsight, I do realise that he was terribly charming, and if you thought Johnny was somewhat stylish, then he had nothing on this man. But back then, I thought him just different. And kids don’t like different. Kneeling in front of me, he took me by my arms and kissed both of my cheeks. Quietly he said my name, Peach, but it sounded like Pesch.
It pleased me that he spoke to Lou as well, although she stayed pretty much behind me most of the time. Although, at one stage she became bored and sat upside down on a cane saucer-chair, swinging herself around and around until she fell off, knocking her head on the timber coffee table and creating a ruckus. That was Lou for you, always the centre of attention.
Alerted by her cries, Johnny eventually came back inside and leant against the door frame, arms folded across his chest, his body language speaking volumes. Lou clutched at one of his legs. Johnny simply nodded as Papa walked towards him and extended his hand. For a minute, it didn’t look as if Johnny was going to reciprocate. Without changing the look on his face, slowly he looked Alexandre up and down, before he put his hand out. It was clear to me that he, for one, was not interested in being charmed.
Plans were made for Papa to take me to lunch the next day, and something I was most grateful for was that he asked Lou if she wished to come as well. However Lou, still with a tear stained face, and busy doing that double-hump-sniff, shook her head no. With my eyes, I begged her to come, however luckily my mother intervened and said that she would join us. That was the good part. I really had no intention of seeing this man on my own, papa or no papa.
The bad part was that this made Johnny mad as hell. Much later that evening, I heard my mother telling Johnny she had no choice and she must do it for me. I didn’t see Papa for a long time after that. And the thing was, it never seemed to be the same between Johnny and my mother again. I believe Johnny realised that Alexandre was always going to be the love of her life and he paled in comparison.
Years later, I asked my mother why she never married Johnny. She told me that he had never actually asked. It was obvious to me that he didn’t wish to be hurt by her rejection, so he settled for what he had.
Just around the time I finished high school, my mother moved out of our Kangaroo Point home and into a house at New Farm, directly across the river. She said it was important for her to have her own space in which to be creative.
Lou and I stayed with Johnny. It was our home. Johnny had been the best father and had provided for us in a way that was better than most. His first club was always the one though, and no other had been as lucrative since. Often he had dabbled in other things, once going into business with his brother Terry in the tree loping business. It was called, The Lynch Mob. Johnny thought the name was hilarious and continuously reminded us how funny it was. He would say, ‘Get it, The Lynch Mob! Johnny and Terry Lynch!’ And roar with laughter again, before saying, ‘Abso-bloody-lutely fantastic!’ Although he was unconventional, he was a good dad.
As the years went by, my mother eventually gave me enough information to explain what had happened between her and Papa. The youngest child of Nan and Pop, and bored with life on the farm in Tasmania, my mother had craved more, and waited for the day to spread her wings and travel.
Originally, the sun drew her to Provence and then as an artist, the colours captured her as it had captured the imagination of many artists over the centuries. She said that Renoir, Van Gogh, Cezanne and Matisse were all, at some point during their illustrious careers,
