How to be a Good Veronica. Michael K Freundt
and tea - Jack must have gone to his room, Veronica felt a feeling of camaraderie with this young girl that was new to her; spurned on, no doubt, by Rosemary’s arrival playing into Veronica’s hands in her attempt to deal with Mrs. Verlarny. She insisted that Rosemary call her Veronica: she knew this was being a little rash – Rosemary was only sixteen – but she had suddenly warmed to the girl, like a team does when a new player scores a goal and wins the game.
After explaining what went on with Mrs. Verlarny she added while spooning two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, “I don’t know where Community Relations Offices get their training but I think Mrs. Verlarny should go back and try again.”
Rosemary wasn’t used to criticising adults, that was something she would learn as she grew older and relied less on her Chinese background, so she just smiled and sipped her coffee. Veronica was forced to continue.
“Now that you’re here, Rosemary, I’d like to ask you something about Jack.”
“Sure, Ms. Sou – Veronica.”
Veronica knew exactly what it was she wanted to know, Does Jack understand the work I do? but finding the words to ask a sixteen year old Chinese-Australia was, she now realised, virtually impossible. “Well, erm...has Jack said anything about, erm, me, or my work, or school, or anything really?” The question was so watered down that Veronica wondered what it meant herself.
“Well,” said Rosemary with care, “he thinks you’re a bit messy and that you have too much stuff.”
“Oh, does he, indeed? He said that?”
“Well, not words; Jack has a way of making you understand things by the tone of his voice.'
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”
“And he is the neatest boy I’ve ever met.”
“Yes, I worry about that sometimes.”
“No, it’s good!” exclaimed Rosemary. “I have brothers. I know. Neat is good.”
“But shouldn’t boys be messy?”
“Should they? I don’t know. But he is proud of your work.”
“What?!” Veronica didn’t expect her to get to the point, her own point, so soon.
“Yes. He said something about how you help people; you go to their homes, not like other doctors.”
“I’m not a doctor,” said Veronica quickly.
“No, I know that, but maybe he was using that as an example: you go to them, they don’t come to you.”
“Oh, I see. Did he say anything else?” asked Veronica trying not to sound too eager.
“No, only that you don’t talk much about your work, but he understands that: he knows you can’t talk about your patients.”
“Patients? Did he use that word?”
“Yes, he did,” said Rosemary and then as if she had always wanted to ask her next question, she said weakly, “are they?” Veronica looked sharply at the girl and could instantly see how hard it was for her to ask an adult a question like that. Was she growing away from her cloistered and strict Chinese family or was she just growing up?
“Well, in a way,” said Veronica. “I like to call them clients. I’m a psychologist so I don’t treat the health of their bodies, I treat the health of their minds, their behaviour, their idea of themselves and how they fit and operate in the world.” She liked her off-the-cuff description but what still worried her was what she had not said, and could not say.
"I see. Yes,” said Rosemary. And Veronica could see how her words were forming a meaning in the young girl’s mind and a meaning that she understood and seemed pleased with.
“Good,” said Veronica with a smile and an understanding that the conversation was over.
“Thanks for the coffee, Veronica. I’m not allowed to drink coffee at home.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, you know, old fashioned parents who think coffee is too stimulating for a girl.”
“Are they that strict? You poor thing.”
“Oh there’s no need to feel sorry for me. They love me and I love them but” and she leant forward conspiratorially, “I have my strategies.”
The two women laughed knowingly at each other, but Veronica was not quite sure that their understandings matched. Rosemary left and Veronica, remembering Jack’s comment about her tidiness, rinsed the cups and put them on the draining rack. Jack was in his room and Veronica decided a talk was in order. As she walked to his room she realised that it had been weeks, months, since she had been in his room. She knocked on his door.
6
Jack looked up as she entered. He was sitting on his bed with a hand-held computer game.
“What’s the matter?” he asked defensively.
“Nothing, I...” but she was halted by what she saw. She had expected tidiness but not this, this fastidious tidiness. The room looked like a window display in David Jones; an ad in a furniture magazine. She was taken aback. There was a little pile of books on his bedside cabinet, arranged in order of size, largest on the bottom, smallest on the top; and the left edges of all the books were level with the edge of the cabinet. His bed was made and his old stuffed teddy bear, with a Sydney Swans, red and white, jumper, sat on the pillow. There was a little bud vase containing a fern leaf sitting on his desk. His laptop was open and on and showing a colourful aquatic scene: fish swimming and air bubbles in thin wavy lines, like in champagne.
“Does Mrs. Danuta clean in here?”
“No. I like to know where things are, not where they were.”
“There are many things here I don’t recognise. Where did you get that bud vase?”
“I bought it at Vinnies Op Shop.”
“How did you pay for it?”
“With my pocket money.” But Veronica could see on his face that this was not true, or not the whole truth.
“Jack?” she asked enquiringly and endeavoured to keep her voice calm.
He put down his computer game and looked at her with the resigned face of a caught-out boy. “Mrs. Danuta gives me money each week out of her pay because she doesn’t have to clean in here anymore.”
“How much money?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars!?”
“I save most of it,” said Jack.
“And whose idea was this?”
“Mine. But Mrs. Danuta seems happy about it.”
“And what are you saving for?” Running away from home flashed alarmingly through her mind. “Jack?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jack?!”
He gave a huge exasperated sigh. “For your birthday present.”
She was suddenly very wary. Jack was very intelligent but ‘intelligent’ can sometimes mean ‘cunning’. Or was he telling the truth? Veronica thought for a moment and decided the warmth she felt from his reply was reason enough, and she chided herself for thinking ill of him. “Jack, that’s very sweet. But I wish you had told me.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I still don’t know what you’re going to buy for me. It’s still a surprise. It’s just that when it comes to money we all have to be very careful. Dealing with money is very tricky. It takes time and energy to deal with it. I still don’t think I’ve got the knack of