Where Have You Been? by Wendy James Page A

world) the same environment for his own two children. He and Susan have moved house only once since their marriage – and not at all since the children were born. Ed sees this consistency as a kind of insurance policy.
    Though he has never seen any real evidence of neurosis or instability in Susan’s behaviour (she does occasionally cry for no apparent reason, and she did once throw a chair at him), he knows that significant emotional disturbances (and Godknows that Susy has had her fair share of these in her own childhood) can be repressed and then transferred, invisibly and insidiously, in a type of psychic slow-release, to those most receptive of creatures – children.
    So Ed keeps a watchful eye on his precious offspring. He loves Susan, no mistake and certainly no regrets, but his children, his children are the wellspring of his being. They are his future; his posterity. He is a hands-on father. He conscientiously attempts to monitor his children’s levels of self-esteem and bolsters them when necessary. He helps them with their homework when he’s home, and takes them to their various sporting venues on the weekends, where he shouts (not too loudly and always encouragingly) from the sidelines. He has taught them both to bodysurf, to respect the sea; they’re both enthusiastic members of the local surf club’s ‘little nippers’. He makes the space to take them out during their school holidays – to the movies, ice-skating, to museums and galleries. Thus Susan is given the necessary down-time from the children, substantial Self Space, and Time Alone; while Mitchell and Stella receive plenty of Quality Time with their father – such time being the one thing, he has to admit, that he feels was lacking in his own otherwise idyllic childhood.
    Today Ed is a little distracted, not as focused as he likes to be, as he should be, on the children and their experience. He is worried about Susan’s meeting with her sister – thinks that this might be the event, might be the trigger, so to speak, that will release Susan’s pent-up grief and anger, and he is concerned not only for Stella and Mitchell, but for himself. He follows the children along the path that leads to the cafeteria. They are hungry and have refused the ham sandwiches and bottles of cordial he’s prepared. ( Boring. Just like school. We want chips. Hotdogs. Milkshakes. Coke.) Ed tries hard to stop worrying, wonders how he can transform all this negative energy into something positive, into somethingmore productive. He decides that after lunch they will go back to the platypus exhibit. Perhaps it will have reopened. He’s firm. Firm, but fair.
Susan
    The cafe – it’s a restaurant really – is right on the wharf. It’s a big, airy place, all stainless steel and polished timber, an impersonal place, good for business lunches, or meals with distant relatives. Susan has requested an outside table. That way if the whole thing becomes too awkward, too painful, they can at least watch the water, the ferries, the endless stream of people. That way they’ll have an excuse, or maybe even an opportunity, for silence.
    When the waitress comes Susan is alone. She orders coffee, then changes her mind.
    â€˜A bottle of champagne? You’re sure about that then?’ The young waitress is tall, brunette, cool.
    â€˜Yes.’ Susan smiles apologetically.
    â€˜Anything to eat, yet? Or do you want to wait for your friend?’
    â€˜No. Yes. She should be here soon.’
    â€˜Okay.’ The waitress tucks her pencil and pad away, starts back inside.
    â€˜Oh, sorry. Miss? Miss? Excuse me a minute?’
    The girl turns back, thin eyebrows slightly raised.
    â€˜I’d be grateful if you’d look out for my sister. She might go inside first. Perhaps you could tell her I’m outside? She won’t know.’
    â€˜What does she look like?’
    Susan thinks of the girl in the