Jan Carroll - Reasons

Copyright © 2021 by Jan Carroll

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

1. Too Late

2. The Trip

3. Idiots Abroad

4. Really!

5. The What?

6. Three Months In The Sun

7. How do you do!

8. Falling

9. How, When?

10. The parental plan

11. Ship Ahoi!

12. Boring Balwyn

13. Beautiful Sydney

14. Beginning Again

15. Once more into the?

16. An unlikely hero

17. Escalation

18. The last time

Afterword

Also by Jan Carroll

“He’s black!” he said, sounding outraged. Oh whaaat?! Black, you say? Well, well, well – that would explain a lot. Black? Gee, you know I knew there was something – I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Ha ha. Black? Well that would explain all those funny looks. And they look quite angry too. And they’re angry with me apparently, not him.

Black? I should know that look, because now that you mention it I remember giving girls that look. Such disapproving looks too, ‘I know why you’re with him, hmph. Trollope. Tramp. Trash. So is it true what they say about black men? Smirk, smirk. White trash.’ So that’s me now, is it?

But now you want to talk to me, Daddy, just to tell me that the man I am apparently in love with is black. How old am I? Where were you before? Not anywhere near me for all those years, that’s for sure. And then when you did appear there was no communication, so how dare you want to talk to me now. You know what? It’s too late.

Anyway, I don’t see him as a colour. To me he’s just a man – well more than that. He’s a beautiful big man and when I look out the window and see him standing on the footpath in his gorgeous camel coloured cashmere coat, waiting to cross the street to me, I see him look up and smile and my heart goes B-doing and I smile back and wait for him to lope up the stairs and hold out his arms so that I can just walk in and feel those beautiful arms fold about me. Black arms apparently. But hey, thank you for pointing that out, Daddy – good to know. Is that all you see? And why can’t I see it? Is it odd that I can’t see that or natural? And anyway I hate to be picky, but he’s more a dark brown actually. There was a time when I would have said ‘nigger brown’, but not anymore because I know the different connotations of that word and how it’s been used to hurt. But he could say it and he tells funny jokes about it, and I can too because I love him. Yes, he’s a lovely warm, rich dark chocolate brown. But before that ‘nigger brown’ to me just meant the most glorious brown there could be, lustrous and vibrant and much more than boring old ‘dark brown’. And furthermore, his skin is like satin – or is it silk – silky satin and wonderful to touch – not like my boring, annoying white skin.

“You’ll never be able to go anywhere. You’ll never be accepted by society.” Oh tragedy – like I accept society and sooo need to be accepted by society. “Your mother and I - - “

Whoops, careful. That’s not very safe territory, is it? “Your mother” is a raging alcoholic. But we can hide that – or think we can. But a black man? Christ, they’re so obvious. They’re so – black. Can’t hide that.

Is there anything else you want to say, Daddy? How did it happen? No idea myself, really. I mean, there I was just minding my own business, living and working in London for a great music arranger and having singing lessons – for free, already.

“Miss Carroll”, said my boss, “I’m renting out the next door office and a few people are interested.”

“Yes.”

“The first person who wants it is a black man, Mr Robinson.”

“Oh well then he should get it – if you’re OK with that.”

“Yes, I’m OK with it. I just wanted to see if you were.”

“Yes, sure. First in, first served. If Mr Robinson is OK with you, he’s OK with me.” I said blithely.

And that was how Danny came into my life and started a chain of events I could never have imagined.

I never expected to be in London, yet here I was. When my mother said she and Daddy were going on a trip overseas and would I like to come, I nearly laughed out loud. They were going on a trip together, whaaat? She was booking tickets on the Fairstar and wanted my answer by the end of the week. Surely I was too old to be travelling overseas with my mother and father? I was in my 20s now. But the idea of going away started to appeal to me. Perhaps it was the answer to the mess I was in. Oh that’s right, Jan, run away. That’ll fix things. Well it could. After all I’m part of the problem, so if I’m removed then there’s no problem. You’ll still be in love. But he won’t have to do anything about it and I won’t have broken up a marriage – another marriage. Yes, my fault. Was it? Why do married men have affairs?

I didn’t know about affairs when I met Stan, and then 5 years later, Riley said he was separated. Why me? I didn’t walk into their life. They walked in to mine. And it all ended disastrously thanks to me. I should have been in the wrecking business. So the last few bricks to fall would be if I removed myself from the equation. Jan + Stan = trouble. Jan + Riley = double trouble. Trouble minus Jan, everyone can get back to being married.

So the next time my mother rang I said Yes I would love to go on an overseas trip with them. My mother then told me it was to be a round the world trip. Marvellous. Stan then asked her how long I would be away.

“Six months?!” he exclaimed. “That’s a promise is it, Mrs. Carroll? Jan will be back in six months? I can handle that.” Six months? I wasn’t expecting that.

“OK, I can handle six months, sweetheart, and when you get back we’ll get married. As soon as you get back. We’ve waited so long – another six months is OK.”

“Is it?” I still loved Riley, but then I had put an end to that, so marrying Stan would probably sort me out – did I need sorting out? Well apparently I have broken up Stan’s marriage, and he has left and moved to Sydney with a new job and everything. So yes, I need to be sorted out.

I had been used to catching planes at the last minute – like my mother – and it never occurred to me that ships were any different and had to wait for tides and stuff. Stan and I arrived at the overseas terminal at Circular Quay, and walked towards the gangway. I was about to put my foot on the first step when it gave a shudder, and there was a shout from somewhere or other, and then a couple of officers looking marvellous in their white uniforms appeared at the top of the steps. The gangway steadied and they motioned for me to walk up. I walked up with Stan, and by the time we got to the top there were more officers standing waiting, as I handed over my passport.

“Aaah Miss Carroll” one of them said, “we wondered where you were.”

“Oh really. It just says 3 pm and I thought …”

“Yes of course Miss Carroll.”

“So here I am.”

Laughter all round, no doubt laughing at such a stupid girl!

“Yes Miss Carroll, here you are.”

“I’m terribly sorry. Did I, have I …?”

“No no Miss Carroll. Welcome aboard. We will do everything we can to make sure you have a wonderful trip.”