The Cat's Pyjamas

By DW Kesselman

Melbourne, 1956. An intelligent, but unworldly Alison meets sophisticated, man-about-town Andrew and her middle-class life is transformed. The sparkle and excitement of Melbourne's 1950s elite social scene makes her whirlwind romance with him seem perfect. But not everyone is happy.

Behind the veil of wealth and prestige, Alison finds sini

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Kennedy
• Release date: Apr 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922465481

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First published by Busybird Publishing 2021 

Copyright © 2021 D W Kesselman

978-1-922465-47-4 (paperback)

978-1-922465-48-1 (ebook)

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of study, research, criticism, review, or as otherwise permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made through the publisher. 

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between places and characters are a coincidence. 

Cover image: Pixabay

Cover design: Busybird Publishing 

Layout and typesetting: Busybird Publishing 

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To the coronavirus, without which I’d have been engaged in far less interesting tasks.

CHAPTER 1

2006

‘Well, I just can’t imagine how you two could have any kind of disagreement. You’re both too nice – well, at least your mother is too nice. And over something as petty as politics. I suspect you’re the one being stubborn, Nicky.’

It was a rare occurrence that saw Phillipa, or Pip as she was known to everyone, castigating her beloved nephew Nicholas. The close relationship they shared was a much closer one than would be expected of an elderly aunt and her man-about-town nephew.

He was in the back half of his forties and had cut out a reasonably successful career in the world of finance, primarily in mortgage lending. Handsome and always immaculately dressed, he and his slim, blonde and beautiful wife, Salina, presented as an especially attractive couple which, together with his charm and warm personality, made them a sought after combination. Consequently, they maintained a very active social life.

They could never have been described as snobs; in fact, to the casual observer, they may well have appeared socially unaware. However, as a comparatively wealthy family with three privately educated children and homes and holidays in the right places, they were very much a part of the Melbourne social scene.

Although Pip was more than thirty years older than Nicholas, her mind was still young and alert and her thinking as alternative as ever. She had never taken a backward step to anyone and there were no signs of that changing anytime soon. She was feisty and opinionated, but with an underlying quirky sense of humour that was still more than capable of causing Nicholas to laugh out loud. Quite simply, apart from the family ties, Nicholas genuinely enjoyed her company.

Following a short pause, Pip continued with the feigned brow beating of her nephew. Having never had any children of her own and having played such an important role in his life, she often found herself treating him like her own son.

‘You know how special your mother is to me, as I know she is to you, so it makes me unhappy to see anything coming between you, let alone stupid politics. So I want you to sort it out. Just tell her you were wrong. And that’s an order from your bossy, old aunt,’ she added for impact.

The subject of her ire, who she always referred to as Nicky, was on one of his regular visits to her retirement home, or ‘Independent Living Apartments’ as their developers liked to refer to them.

They were in Pip’s sunroom, which was aptly named as the spring sun was streaming in through the large picture window. Add in the view of a beautifully maintained garden, with many of the trees just beginning to blossom, two outrageously comfortable recliners, and the situation was as perfect as possible for a nice, long chat.

At this point, though, Nicholas hadn’t counted on just how long that nice chat might be.

‘You know,’ said Pip, changing the tone. ‘I’ve been giving this some thought for a while now. Given all this silly nonsense with your mother, it’s probably not a bad time for you to know and understand a bit more about her.’

Nicholas looked a little surprised.

‘You’re not just trying to get me to stay longer are you, Pip? I mean, after all these years, I can’t imagine there could be much you could tell me about my mother that I don’t already know.’

‘Well, we’ll see about that. I think – in fact, I know – I can tell you a few things you don’t know. But before I do, why don’t you get your troublesome aunt a cup of coffee?’

Nicholas happily obliged and returned to the room shortly with two cups of coffee and two chocolate mint biscuits. Pushing the TV remote and various newspapers to one side, he set Pip’s coffee and biscuit down on the table next to her chair.

Pip was standing at the window staring out at nothing in particular, apparently lost in her thoughts, possibly preparing for a marathon session. The arrival of the coffee seemed to startle her momentarily and, after thanking Nicholas, she settled comfortably back into her chair.

‘I read somewhere, Nicky, that one definition of adventure is an undertaking with an uncertain outcome. I remember it appealed to me at the time and the more I think about it, the more I think it’s a good descriptor of your mother’s life. In my experience, most people lead pretty ordinary lives, but, for a small number, their lives are anything but ordinary; they are genuinely extraordinary. And of those, there are many of course who set out to make such a life for themselves, but for some, a small number I suspect, the extraordinariness of their lives just gets thrust upon them – it just seems to happen.’

She took a sip of her coffee and allowed her eyes to be drawn once again to the window, seemingly remembering past experiences with someone or something.

‘You should know that your dear mother is one of those people who had an extraordinary life, an extraordinary adventure, thrust upon her.’

‘Well, I suppose you have to say it’s a pretty extraordinary family she married into, given the history,’ offered Nicholas.

‘Oh, I know you’re very aware of the family history, but there are some important things you don’t know and I think it’s time you did,’ she continued, adjusting the foot stool. She was clearly settling in for a long session. ‘And before you start protesting, you should know I’ve wrestled with myself about telling you all this because, apart from your mother, I’m probably the only living person who knows all the details and your mother has sworn me to secrecy.’

‘Good start, Pip. I have to say you have my attention.’

‘Well, I hope so, because I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be around and, frankly, I don’t think it’s right that what your mother has been through should die with the two of us, because there are some pretty staggering things in your history that you should, at the very least, be made aware of – things that should be passed on to other generations. I think someone could write a book about it all one day. And you know what Nicky?’ She went on after a short pause. ‘I know how much you love and respect your mother, notwithstanding your disagreements about politics that is, but I think you’ll respect her even more after I tell you the whole story, warts and all. And that’s the very reason for me wanting to do so, because if I left it to your mother, you’d never really know everything. The fact is she’s an incredible person who has had to endure far more than the outwardly happy life she currently enjoys might suggest. And you should know; you need to know! Especially as you’re about to go and tell her you were wrong and she was correct,’ she added, with a slightly cheeky smile.

Nicholas began adjusting himself in his chair, beginning to sense he was in for a long session. ‘Now I’m absolutely intrigued, Pip. I thought I knew the family history pretty well, so I can’t imagine what the information you want to share with me is, but I’m very keen to know.’

‘As you should be, Nicky, as you should be. And if you sit down and don’t interrupt me, you will know. So, strap yourself in, young man. And turn off that damn mobile phone of yours that seems to be always calling you off to somewhere or other. I want your full attention.’

‘Done! Phone off,’ he said, pushing the off button and putting the phone in his pocket. ‘You now have my full attention.’

‘Well, now, where do I start?’ she said rhetorically. ‘Let me set the scene for when your mother first became involved with your father. It may help to give you better context for what and how things happened. It was eleven or so years after the end of World War II, just after the Melbourne Olympics and Australia was growing rapidly … ’

CHAPTER 2

The Beginnings

Apart from a relatively short period in Australia’s history when the discovery of gold dominated, farming had been the mainstay of the country and the economy had been largely built on the proverbial ‘sheep’s back’. Following the war, however, the burgeoning resources sector began to overtake wool as Europe and Japan in particular rebuilt their shattered countries and manufacturing sectors. The demand for both wool and resources seemed unlimited.

As the commercial heart of the country, Melbourne was even more buoyant as it basked in the afterglow of what was generally acknowledged as the most successful Olympic Games ever – the ‘Friendly Games’, as it was dubbed in 1956.

This successful commercial and financial performance of mid-fifties Melbourne was not matched by the emotional maturity of its culture. The umbilical cord that connected most Australians, and particularly Melburnians, to the motherland was a long way from being fully severed.

This mindset was heavily promoted by Australia’s prime minister, who would continue in that role for another decade, making him Australia’s longest serving prime minister. Throughout his role as the country’s leader he maintained an openly loving regard for everything about England, including an almost unhealthy affection for Queen Elizabeth herself.

Australia may have offered the wide open spaces and sun and surf that mother England lacked, but the culture and sophistication that Europe enjoyed was restricted through the middle class conservative mindset of much of the population, most of whom kept re-electing a conservative federal government and prime minister.

The common picture of life this conservative attitude delivered was one where the workforce was essentially a place for men. Few women held positions of any authority and those who did were seen as an oddity. For most, their work career typically finished when they married, or at least when they became pregnant. After that, they became mothers and housewives, where their role was to look after the family and the home. When their husbands returned home from their working day, the house should be in order, including the children, the younger of whom would have already been fed and bathed. The older children would typically join the family at the dining room table and consume a home-cooked meal of meat and three vegetables. After dinner the children would go to bed while the parents settled in the ‘good room’ to listen to the radio or read, following which they’d retire to bed.

Children generally enjoyed a simple and uncomplicated existence. If paedophiles and other similar miscreants existed they must have kept a very low profile because even children as young as six or seven would regularly walk to school unaccompanied by adults. And the older ones would ride their bikes, with not the slightest consideration ever given to the need of a safety helmet.

The boys would play football and cricket in the streets, moving off the road when cars came along, and as often as not would be running around in bare feet. Not because they couldn’t afford shoes, but because being bare footed was simply de rigueur.

Younger girls would roller skate or hula hoop and play make-believe in cubby or dolls houses. Unlike most of their mothers, once they became teenagers, more and more were beginning to consider a university degree and a professional career.

Nobody appeared to suffer any food allergies and milk seemed to be regarded as the staff of life. Children, teenagers and young male adults in particular drank copious amounts, unaware of the dangerous deposits that were slowly building in their arteries.

Every night washed and clean milk bottles would be left outside the home only to be, miraculously, replaced with full milk bottles the next morning. The mysterious miracle worker was, of course, the milkman, working in tandem with his horse that, through habit or training, seemed to know when to stop and when to go and always looked so downhearted, slowly towing the milk cart along as though it might be their last milk run.

Divorce was restricted to a very few brave souls who were prepared to put up with the public scandal. Those who were desperate enough to go through it would be gossiped about and even their children were pointed out by other children as a bit different.

Notwithstanding success in so many areas, a powerful ‘Aussie cringe’ still existed: a sense of inadequacy that prevented experiment and the risk-taking attitude enjoyed by more self-confident individuals.

On this particular Saturday morning, however, none of this was even remotely crossing the mind of Alison Walker.

In fact, at this very moment she was experiencing a momentary sense of confusion as her mind rushed at breakneck speed. Where am I? Why am I here? How did I get here? Then reality hit, and it was a very pleasing reality.

As she became more aware of her surroundings, and the circumstances that had put her there, she smiled to herself. What a wonderful night, she thought. A perfect night. A perfect man and a perfect night.

She still hadn’t moved, but even with just one eye open she could take in a great deal of the room. It was very large, positively voluminous for a bedroom, she thought, and she could make out the beginnings of an extensive view from the balcony. She remembered from last night being amazed with the view, the street lights; the darkness of the vast area that made up Melbourne’s famous Royal Botanic Gardens just outside the CBD and the vague skyline beyond that indicated the city itself.

There wasn’t much more she remembered about the room from last night, however, at least not from the short time she had spent in it while actually upright.

At twenty-three years of age, Alison Walker may not have been a virgin, but she was certainly not one to give herself to a man on a first date. And this hadn’t even been a date – she only met him last night and, following drinks and a gourmet dinner, she had agreed to go home with him, because it just seemed so right, so reasonable.

Home, as it turned out, was this amazing apartment. She didn’t even know Melbourne had apartments. She thought Melbourne only had flats where people lived if they couldn’t afford a house. Only people in America lived in apartments. She recalled thinking how he sounded a bit affected suggesting they go back to his apartment for a nightcap. But here she was, in a beautiful apartment with a wonderful man … She smiled again.

Not being particularly experienced at this sort of thing – in fact, it was the first time she’d actually spent the whole night with a man – she wondered about protocols at this point. Do I reach over and give him a kiss? Do I quietly slip out of bed and wash my face and brush my teeth then slip back into bed again, looking as though I’ve just woken up? But I don’t even have a toothbrush. I can’t use his, it’s so personal. Maybe I should get up and make him breakfast?

As it turned out, she didn’t need to make a decision because, as she was to discover, Mr Perfect wasn’t even in the bed, he was busy in the kitchen and momentarily appeared with a breakfast tray decorated with a white linen cloth, white crockery, a toast rack of warm toast and a silver teapot, all of which was complimented by a single rose.

‘Good morning,’ purred Andrew Havers.

God, she thought. He looked even better than he did last night, if that were possible.

‘I’m not sure about your preference for breakfast,’ he said, as he rested the tray on the bedside table. ‘It must have been about the only thing we didn’t discuss last night.’

As Alison began to sit up, she instinctively protested any necessity for breakfast in bed, but Andrew ignored her tissue of arguments and just picked up some pillows to pile behind her.

Without further protestation, she found herself leaning forward to make space for the pillows, against which she comfortably arranged herself.

Andrew then opened the legs of the breakfast tray and set it on the bed in front of her. ‘How do you feel this morning?’ he said and before she could respond to his enquiry, added, ‘If you feel as good as you look you must be a very contented lady.’ He bent forward and gently kissed her. ‘I should warn you now, Alison Walker, if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together you shouldn’t expect to get breakfast in bed every morning.’ He smiled. ‘Only on special occasions,’ he added.

‘The rest of our lives?’ she said, a little startled.

‘Only joking,’ he said, followed by a brief pause. ‘But not completely.’ He looked at her and smiled again, but his tone was less frivolous. ‘Look, I have to tell you that last night was one of, if not the most, fabulous nights I think I’ve ever experienced. I just can’t imagine spending the rest of my life