The Year of Living Rainbow

Book summary

In The Year of Living Rainbow, lifelong friends Delia and Liz face profound challenges after losing their partners on New Year's Eve in 1992. As Delia grieves and Liz battles isolation in conservative Brisbane, their friendship becomes a crucial support. Together, they confront secrets, loss, and resilience in an unforgettable year.

Excerpt from The Year of Living Rainbow

Chapter 1

Back home hours later – Delia was desperate for her to stay until the girls arrived – Liz replays the events of the previous day, each vivid segment preceded by a phrase often employed by those struggling to come to terms with the sudden death of a loved one. If only Delia hadn’t nagged Ron all afternoon to deal with her temperamental brakes; if only they’d waited for Ron and Kay to finish fixing the ancient Datsun, a certainty if Delia hadn’t been so determined not to miss out on what she called Gloria’s culinary delights when supper would suffice. Damn Delia and her inability to stick to a diet. What was that limp excuse she made when berated, albeit in a light-hearted manner, for continually thinking about food?

I can’t help the way I associate words and images. It’s my linguistic training.

Bullshit, Liz remembers replying, the nearest she ever gets to swearing. Unlike Delia, who despite embellishing speech, seems to think that peppering her sentences with expletives demonstrates her ability to embrace contemporary customs. At least that’s what she once told Liz when raised eyebrows indicated disapproval.

Ron was no better, Liz reflects, recalling his response to her suggestion that they hurry up, as Delia is about to blow her stack.

Tell Delia she can get stuffed. She told me to fix her fucking car so I’m fixing it. I’ll go to the fucking party when I’m ready.

Annoyed by Delia’s constant complaining, Liz had descended the steps to the garage to clarify when Ron and Kay would be ready to leave, found them sitting on the garage floor, their grimy hands clasping brown beer bottles. If only Kay hadn’t suggested Liz and Delia go on ahead, certain she could persuade Ron to postpone further repairs until the morning. The question of transport had been discussed previously – they would take only one car to the party as the police would be hot on New Year’s Eve drink driving – yet Kay overturned the decision in a moment, explaining in her rational manner that Ron’s car could be left overnight outside Gloria and Roger’s house. As the designated driver, Liz readily concurred, yet her subsequent behaviour behind the wheel implied continuing irritation.

On the short journey to the Martins’ home – double-storey brick, high on a ridge – Liz dismissed her usual caution on approaching amber traffic lights to sweep across the intersection onto Moggill Road. Her self-excuse that Delia’s demeanour showed fury bridled by the taut seatbelt seems ridiculous in the harsh light of day. Did she imagine Delia unbuckling to leap from the car when her demand to stop at the tavern, I’ve left the bloody wine behind was denied?

A change of subject – whether a mutual friend would be attending the party – failed to lighten the mood, Delia accusing Liz of prudishness when she remarked, I thought Bobbie would have had enough of brief intense affairs by now, after learning of yet another new lover.

‘Why would anyone tire of affairs,’ Delia added as they turned into a side street, ‘when they’re so invigorating?’ A series of sensual sighs hung in the air like the tiny raindrop-bombs threatening to explode on the windscreen.

Liz can never decide whether Delia really indulges in extra-marital affairs or simply enjoys regaling stories of steamy relationships to her monogamous friend. In recent years, Delia has favoured visiting academics. ‘No worries about future repercussions,’ she said in relation to the delicious – her description – Frenchman seconded to the French Department last winter. How Liz cringed when witness to outrageous flirting in the university Staff Club! And she wasn’t the only one embarrassed by Delia’s behaviour, Ron, returning from the bar with drinks for the four of them, almost dropping the tray!

‘She’s playing with him,’ Kay said at home that evening when Liz broached the subject of Delia’s infidelity. ‘Stirring the shit, getting Ron uptight. They probably have a flaming row, then spend a passionate hour making up.’

Maybe it is just a game, Liz thinks, before acknowledging with a start that whatever the extent of Delia’s past betrayals, it doesn’t matter now. A widow can do as she pleases once a reasonable period of mourning has elapsed. She considers her own status, similar yet completely different in the eyes of the public. Despite her loss of a long-term partner, the term ‘widow’ won’t be applied to unmarried Elisabeth Coney, who dared to flout convention by embracing a lesbian lifestyle. Liz recalls that lesbianism has never been unlawful in colonised Australia, although her home state, Queensland, remains socially conservative. Her mournful expression alters slightly as she thinks of the myth surrounding this anomaly, Queen Victoria supposedly stating that it would be impossible for women to engage in such acts. Lack of a penis doesn’t preclude a satisfactory sex life, Your Majesty, Liz muses, prompting a vision of Kay’s magnificent full breasts, soft skin beneath her fingers, nipples responding to her touch.

Late afternoon sun disappears behind a dark cloud, erasing the light patterns shimmering on polished floorboards, and the shrubs planted to hide an ugly side fence shudder in a sudden breeze, shadowing storm-soiled windows and fly-screens. Since returning home, Liz has retreated to the study located at the rear of the house to avoid social interaction. Neighbours may have heard reports of the accident on television or radio news, but she can’t face well-meant hugs or offers to keep her company until her parents arrive from mid-coast New South Wales. So far, she’s been spared telephone calls, the service still unavailable. Just before the storm struck, she used the Martins’ phone to call home in case Kay had decided not to bother attending the party. When the call went unanswered, Liz assumed Ron had suggested a few more beers to celebrate new year, with Kay snoozing on the spare bed until Liz brought Delia home. A second call to Ron failed to connect, suggesting the storm had disrupted telecommunications.

‘Dead phone, dead bodies,’ Liz says aloud, the memory of Delia’s scream thick in her dry throat. As expected, the house was in darkness when they pulled onto the driveway, the garage door closed against the late-night storm. Sodden leaves and small branches littered the lawn and the terraced garden beds either side of unlit steps, making the ascent problematic with an inebriated Delia in tow. Inside, the family room remained as they’d left it, empty glasses on the pine table, a glossy magazine open on the sofa.

‘Do you want a coffee or a nightcap?’ Delia asked, heading for the kitchen.

‘Neither, thanks, I’m too tired. I assume Kay is fast asleep in your spare room, so I might as well join her. Night.’ After removing her shoes, Liz tip-toed down the hall to the second bedroom. The room was hot and airless as though the louvres hadn’t been opened for days. Kay must have gone to bed during the storm and decided to leave the windows shut. Loath to disturb her, Liz felt along the adjacent wall for the fan switch and turned it on high before peeling off her clothes. As she straightened up, fan blades whirring overhead stirred the flimsy curtains, sending a faint strip of moonlight across the bed. Snapping on the light, Liz stared at the unruffled bedspread and shivered. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, Kay would have gone home. She was always complaining that Delia’s spare bed gave her backache. Calmed by logical explanation, Liz skirted the bed to open the window, stood listening to the drip of raindrops from tall trees. A cool breeze dried the beads of perspiration flecking her forehead.

Woken from deep sleep by a scream that seemed to be coming from the adjoining bedroom, she tensed at the thought of Delia and Ron having yet another of their loud arguments. Sometimes she wondered why they stayed together. Heavy footsteps smothered her thoughts, Delia flinging open the bedroom door to yell, ‘He’s not in bed!’

‘Neither is Kay. Perhaps they went to our place on the way to the party and decided to stay put once the storm struck.’

‘I’ll phone to check.’ Delia raced from the room into the hall.

‘The phone’s out of order,’ Liz called after her. ‘I tried earlier.’

Chapter 2

Waves run ragged along the shoreline, dragging sand into a heaving indigo ocean. Further along the beach, Pacific gulls cluster near the coal-black rocks that litter the base of a small promontory, their feathers ruffled by blustery wind, red beaks pointing to their preferred environment. This morning, the birds are silent sentinels, reluctant perhaps to waste energy on their usual raucous cawing.

In similar fashion, the single human present on this wild-weather January day stands staring out to sea, her bare feet planted on moist sand dotted with the flimsy foam left behind by retreating waves. Oblivious to her surroundings, she fails to notice that two bottle-nosed dolphins have rounded the point, their grey fins rising in unison above the swell. Undeterred by weather patterns, the playful animals swim together like best friends sharing summer school holidays.

Every January since 1981, Liz Coney and Kay Masters have spent two weeks here, staying with Liz’s parents in their modest retirement home located amongst a smattering of similar dwellings lining the streets of the small beachside settlement on the other side of the headland. Beyond the houses, the land slopes down to a strip of beach where a creek enters an estuary protected by tide-sculpted sandbanks, providing a safe place for small children to play in the shallows, or create sandcastles while mothers sit on towels beneath the shade of eucalypts, sipping cold drinks and exchanging news.

Each morning, Liz and Kay would cross the shallow creek to climb the narrow path that generations of swimmers have pushed through tangled bush to the grass-topped headland, which, on a clear day, offers stunning views of ocean and a wide beach that stretches as far as the eye can see. After a few minutes spent inhaling sea-wind, the pair would descend a sandy track winding down to the beach, where they dumped day-packs on a smooth rock before stripping off their clothes to run into surf, squealing as cold water slapped hot bodies. In noonday heat, they would sit in the shade cast by huge boulders, sharing cold drinks and sandwiches.

‘I come alive here,’ Kay always said on the first day of their holiday. ‘It must be the sense of absolute freedom. Throw off your clothes, and problems melt in the hot sun. No clothes, no hang-ups, it’s as simple as that.’

Liz recalls her initial reluctance to lie naked in sun or shade, despite Kay assuring her that nobody minded on this unofficial nudist beach where the long climb over the headland deterred all but the most determined peeping Toms. Eventually, Liz overcame her prudery, learning to love the feel of sun and sea on her naked body. Occasionally, other couples arrived, nodding hello before strolling along the beach to set up beach umbrellas at a discrete distance.