I had found a new home in the same suburb. It wasn’t as nice but it was the only home I could get as I now had a reputation and my previous landlady hindered every application I put in. The only way I could secure a lease was to say that my previous residence was with my ex-husband, explaining my lack of lease references. I gave them the name and number of a client who agreed to help.
My mother was in town visiting for Christmas. We were still not really on speaking terms but I agreed to show a little Christmas spirit and be nice. I invited her to spend Christmas in my home. I knew she didn’t have enough money for a hotel. She did her best to show a little tact. She was most impressed with my home and a little curious as to how I was managing to gather such nice furnishings with only a pension for income. Knowing that she refused to talk with Dad I told her that Dad had helped me out. I threw in a few stories about the Melbourne Cup and John, my older boyfriend. I don’t think she really believed me but she wasn’t prepared to take it any further.
Christmas became New Year and Mum showed no signs of leaving. When I finally broached the subject, she was a bit embarrassed.
‘I don’t want to go back to Sydney, I want to stay here with you kids, I miss you all so much. Can you please give me another week? I promise that I will find my own apartment.’
How could I turn my mother out onto the kerb? But at the same time I hadn’t really worked the whole time she was visiting and was starting to feel the financial pinch. In order to stay afloat I was calling regulars and visiting them at their homes or at hotels.
I had stopped advertising my mobile number in the paper. I didn’t even let my mother know that I had a mobile because there is no way I could justify the necessity of owning one or the expense of purchasing one. I kept it hidden in my purse so that when I left the house I could turn it on in case any regulars wanted to reach me.
One evening I went out with a client for dinner, donned a lovely dress and took my formal handbag. Mum stayed at home with Poppy. She decided to order a pizza, and when it arrived the driver didn’t have change for $100, so she decided to go through my handbag, which was still sitting on the kitchen table. She grabbed $20 and my mobile—having never seen one before she was most curious and her motives for playing with it were more than likely innocent. She was intrigued by the workings of all modern gadgets.
The phone I had purchased was very basic: on/off and numbers zero to nine. In those days there was no such thing as a pin code to lock your phone. At some point in the evening she turned it on, and within minutes it rang.
‘Cleo, is that you, sweetie, I am feeling particularly horny tonight, any chance of popping in? Are you still in Long Beach Road?’ To incriminate me further he asked if my daughter was still suffering from her cold.
I knew from the moment my foot entered my home that something was up. Mum had a look in her eye that could have turned me to stone.
‘How was your night? Where did you meet him? Where did you go?’
I was given no time to answer. She didn’t even expect an answer, and when she ran out of questions, she ran to bed, crying. I was dumbfounded! She moved out the following day, there was no goodbye, no thanks for having me, there was nothing. Silence. Which I have learnt is deadlier than a slap in the face.
The following week my brothers and my father were gathered to discuss my new occupation. Of course, I was omitted from this family meeting. Mum was rallying for support to gain custody of Poppy, until I gave up my whoring ways.
Thankfully my brothers and my father disagreed with Mum, but she wouldn’t give up. She contacted child welfare, who wrote to me asking for an interview at my home.
I was petrified, not to mention totally humiliated and betrayed. I was in a corner, or so I felt. My brothers had started making random unannounced visits to my home. Some days all three of them would turn up independently of each other, under the guise of just popping in to say hi.
I couldn’t work under these circumstances. I would be upstairs bonking some guy old enough to be my father, when knock, knock, knock: ‘Annika, are you home?’ They honestly believed that by hindering my ability to work I would be forced to stop. I didn’t need hindrances, I needed their help and support.
I had to do something, so I decided a major move was in order. Within a week of receiving the dreaded letter from child welfare, I was on a plane to Perth to set up a new life for myself and Poppy. I couldn’t think of anywhere further from my family to move to.