Song for Emilia. Julia Osborne

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      ‘I’ll miss you when you go tomorrow. At school, my only real friend was Carol, and now she’s at teachers’ college I don’t see her much. I know a few students at the Con – there’s a nice boy called Billy studying saxophone—’

      ‘Ooh,’ Emilia crowed, eyes narrowed. ‘A nice boy called Billy?’

      ‘He’s just in my year, so don’t get any ideas. He’s keen to play in a club and he asked if I’d be interested.’

      Sandra’s best friend at the Conservatorium had turned out to be Billy. She liked his easy company, their talk always about music. The idea of a duo was tempting.

      ‘What’s he look like?’

      ‘He’s very tall with sort of ginger hair—’

      ‘Urk, a carrot-top ... he’s probably all freckly.’ Emilia dismissed him with a laugh. ‘Remember the pact we made?’

      ‘Of course I do,’ Sandra replied. ‘To always be best friends, for ever and ever – boys excluded.’

      ‘So, what about you and Nick?’

      While she wondered how to answer this delicate question, Sandra looked across the garden. Her mother’s beans had raced up the wire trellis, and along the fence she’d grown tall flowering plants with forgettable names. So many seed packets littered the kitchen bench – delphiniums, maybe.

      She hosed a mosquito off her leg. ‘I don’t know. I wish I could see him more often. We go to a café now and then, or to the pictures, that’s about all.’

      It sounded very threadbare to Sandra. Well, that was about all, wasn’t it, she told herself. Nick was like a shadow, only visible when the sun shone, and it didn’t shine often enough for her.

      Angela called them through the kitchen window: ‘Dinner’s on the table, girls.’

      As they stood up, their clothes pulled on their sunburnt skin. ‘Gosh,’ Sandra said. ‘We’re going to peel and look terrible.’

      ‘No, we won’t,’ Emilia grinned, flicking newly silken curls off her face. ‘We’ll look like two water-babies who had a wonderful day at the beach.’

      Dinner was quiet, and both Sandra and Emilia felt sleepy soon after they finished.

      ‘Off you go,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll let you off the washing-up tonight.’

      Despite Sandra’s worries, Emilia’s visit had ended peacefully, all their chatter bridging whatever gaps had opened between them. They hugged goodnight, but instead of immediately going to bed, they lay beside each other on the top sheet, talking about everything they’d already talked about a hundred times, until Angela whispered at the door that it was nearly midnight.

      They kissed goodnight, and Emilia touched the small china angel on the dressing table – her present to Sandra two Christmases ago. ‘My little angel will look after you while you’re asleep.’

      ‘She’s the first thing I see when I wake up,’ Sandra replied sleepily. ‘I love my little angel.’

      ‘Sssh,’ came Angela’s voice again, from down the hallway.

      Tomorrow the train would whisk Emilia off to Curradeen – the long journey home to stay with her family before the study year began.

      Eyes closed, vaguely dreaming, Sandra heard the regular rhythm of the train as it picked up speed on the tracks to the western line, Emilia’s handkerchief waving out the window ...

      Goodbye, goodbye.

      Blue sky and a bright March sun gave the day a holiday feel, although it was only a weekend.

      Prue’s face wore a grumpy expression as she plumped down on Sandra’s bed. ‘How come you never want to do anything with me, anymore,’ she complained. ‘You had plenty of time when Emilia was here.’

      Sandra didn’t look up from her desk. ‘I’m working, go away.’

      Prue ignored her rebuke. ‘Not even draughts or Scrabble—’

      ‘Are you deaf?’ Really, Prue could be tiresome ...

      ‘We never ride our bikes anywhere, even when—’

      ‘Ha, you’ve crashed your bike three times already and gone to hospital. No wonder Dad locked up your bike. All you do now is hang about with your girlfriends and go to the Stadium.’

      ‘At least I’m having fun. Better than you stuck at home all weekend scribbling songs. Monopoly, one game?’

      ‘I don’t want to play Monopoly. Or any game.’ Head bent over her score again, Sandra tried to recollect where she’d got up to. It was already a difficult composition.

      When Sandra continued to ignore her, Prue said, ‘I’m getting the bus out to The Gap. Want to come with me?’

      Sandra didn’t immediately answer. It wasn’t too far in the bus to Watson’s Bay, and it would save her from her desk for the day. The invitation had a certain appeal.

      ‘All right, let me finish this.’

      Prue stretched out on the bed, hands behind her head, jiggling her foot. ‘It’s funny,’ she said, ‘but even though I’ve got plenty to do and I’ve got heaps of friends, I sort of miss how we used to ride our bikes out to the creek.’

      Sandra was surprised by this admission of sentiment from Prue, usually so self-contained. ‘I miss it too,’ she confessed. ‘Emilia’s still my best friend, but I don’t see anyone much now I’ve left school.’

      ‘I liked how sometimes we caught yabbies. Remember?’

      ‘Yes, and then we’d let them go.’

      ‘You used to feed those horses and pretend they were yours.’

      ‘Mmm,’ Sandra mumbled, concentrating on her melodic line.

      Prue picked through the books on the bedside table. She held one up. ‘What’s this about?’

      A quick glance, and Sandra said, ‘Mendelssohn’s life story, you wouldn’t like it. Now, will you be quiet?’

      Prue hummed to herself, reading a page. ‘It says here his sister Fanny – that’s a funny name – composed songs and she played piano, too.’

      ‘So did Mozart’s sister. Shut up for five minutes.’

      Prue sighed. ‘I’m supposed to work harder at school ...I wish I could’ve left after the Intermediate.’

      ‘Don’t be a wimp.’

      ‘Look who’s talking.’

      With an exaggerated sigh, Sandra folded the score with its squiggly quavers, СКАЧАТЬ