rich for us now.’
We were up to 1.38 million. A man in a brown jacket and a blue tie was one of the bidders, and the other was a guy wearing a suit, on the far side of the crowd. I didn’t know either of them, but I suddenly realised Don Murray was standing next to the man in the suit, like he was advising him. I wondered then if the man was the plastic surgeon Don managed Blackwood Springs for. He’d have a few bob.
Jerry had told me that 1.5 million would be a good result, and to sell if we got 1.4, so it looked like the place was going to go.
Homer said suddenly, ‘I’m glad we’re not buying it. It would have felt weird. It’s your place. I’d feel bad trampling all over it.’
I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to say to that. Finally I said, ‘I’m just glad Mr Rodd’s dropped out.’
The winner seemed to be 1.38. Jerry Parsons was waving his arm around like a badly balanced windmill, and saying, ‘I give you fair warning, if there’s no more bids I’m going to knock it down to the gentleman under the walnut tree, I’m selling for the first time, for the second time now, I’m going to sell it, fair warning, ladies and gentlemen, for the third time and sol-’
‘One point four,’called Mr Rodd.
The hammer stopped in midair. Mr Parsons looked at him and said, ‘Your timing’s pretty tight there, Max,’ then he went straight back into normal auctioneer mode, yelling, ‘I’ve got 1.4 now, ladies and gentlemen, that’s more like it, new bidder at one million four hundred thousand, and I’ll take fives, what about you sir, just another five thousand could be enough to secure this magnificent property, in prime condition but still plenty of room for improvement, it’d make a superb bed and breakfast or guesthouse…’ and on and on, but I felt the heat had gone out of it and Mr Rodd was going to get it. I felt sick. Could I withdraw the property from the auction just because I didn’t like Mr Rodd? But if I did, the move to town with Gavin would be delayed even further. Which was more important, Gavin or the property? I’d already answered that question.
I slipped down from the tree and walked away, not wanting to look at anyone, revolted by the thought of Mr Rodd walking through our house, sitting in our kitchen, sleeping in my parents’ bedroom. I felt like I’d swallowed a large amount of wet cow manure.
Taking a few more steps I reached the sundial and looked out across the garden to the paddocks beyond. I guess on most properties you have the kind of line that we had on ours, where the neat, civilised garden, full of hollyhocks and roses and hydrangeas, ends and the bare Australian countryside begins. It’s a bit funny really, the way the gardens are. The line is so definite. First one, then the other. Like you’re in a house, only one without walls, then suddenly you’re outside, facing the cracked ground and the yellow and brown grass and the slightly washed- out-looking gum trees and the ochrered cattle. For a moment I tried to ask my parents what I should do. I wanted a psychic vision: I begged them to appear from across the valley and float towards me, speaking words of wisdom ‘Let it be, let it be.’ Wait a minute, that wasn’t my parents. That was the song. But at the same time I realised I didn’t really need my parents because the answer was already in my own head. Courtesy of the Beatles. It would have been nice if my parents had appeared and said those words, sure, but I knew what I wanted them to say. ‘Let it be, let it go, let it pass, this phase of your life is over, face the next stage now, go on into the future.’
I became dimly aware that Jerry was still shouting away behind me. It seemed that the auction wasn’t over yet. I turned around and walked back to the edge of the arena. ‘One and a half,’ Mr Parsons yelled, ‘One and a half. Is there anything else you want to say to me? If there is, let’s hear it. I’m going to sell, I’m going to sell it, for the first time, for the second time, don’t walk away from here filled with regret, ladies and gentlemen, last chance, third time, fair warning, I’m selling’, and down came the hammer.
‘Sold for one and a half million dollars, and congratulations, you’ve acquired a very fine property, and thank you everybody for coming here today…’
As he wound up with a free ad for his next auction I looked around desperately. Where was Homer? Fi? Bronte? Lee? I couldn’t ask anyone else the big question: who’d bought the place? I’d feel too stupid. I started walking towards the house and then ran into Bronte. I clutched at her. ‘Who bought it? Who bought it?’
‘God, I don’t know, how would I know? I don’t know anyone’s names.’
‘Where’s Homer?’
‘I’m not sure. Wait, there’s Lee.’
Lee came over and I took both his hands with mine. ‘Who bought it, do you know?’
‘Yeah, it was the twins’ dad. Mr Young.’
‘Oh thank God. Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, that other guy, Rodd, he went for it pretty hard but Mr Young just kept nodding away like he didn’t care how much he paid for it, and eventually Rodd gave up.’
‘Oh that’s such a relief.’ I let go a little, let myself mould in with Lee, felt him tense against me before he too started to relax. A sudden delight ran through us both — I felt it as much in him as I did in myself. He hugged me. His passion, which had smouldered for so long, was ready to burst into wild flames and when it came to Lee I was totally combustible. ‘Hey, careful you two,’ Bronte said. ‘Here comes Homer.’
I grinned at her. ‘So?’
‘Well you know, the one you’re in love with? The one who’s in love with you?’
‘Homer? You’ve got to be kidding. Is that who you were talking about? Homer!’
I couldn’t believe the Scarlet Pimple had got it so wrong.
‘Bronte! Are you crazy? I’m in love with Lee!’
CHAPTER 29
COURT OF PROTECTIVE SERVICES: JUDGEMENT IN THE MATTER OF LINTON V
DEPARTMENT OF SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY, HIS HONOUR JUDGE CULLEN PRESIDING.
The appellant in this matter asks for an order that would give her the guardianship of another even though she is herself under a guardianship order and even though she is a minor. Such an application raises obvious issues of maturity and responsibility, which the appellant has sought to answer in three ways. Firstly, she argues that her age is irrelevant and that the Court is entitled to consider her suitability on her merits. In making this argument she has relied considerably on Grant v Breadsell, where the High Court found that leaving a sixteen year old in charge of a creche was not in itself proof of negligence, on Ruppy v Dalby University, where the university was compelled by the Supreme Court to admit a fourteen year old to its medical faculty, and, since the war, on two cases decided by this court, namely Macalister and David, where adoptions by under-age parents were permitted.
However, in Macalister the appellant was the aunt of the child, and in David the older brother of the fifteen- year-old mother who had died. Further, in the first of these cases the child was four months old; in the second, ten months.
Counsel for the present appellant makes much of the remarks by Justice O’Massey in Grant v Breadsell where that distinguished jurist said that ‘sometimes the age of a litigant can be the least relevant measure for assessing maturity, and indeed relying upon chronological age can amount to discrimination’. Further, in David, Justice Chen said she was satisfied that the seventeen-year-old brother showed considerably more maturity in court than the maternal grandparents, to whom the Department of Social Responsibility had originally granted custody, and that ‘there is no reason to suppose that age always confers wisdom; a sense of responsibility is not the exclusive province of those over the age of eighteen, and a judge is entitled to draw upon her own experience of life in recognising that youth alone does not prevent the practice of good parenting’.
Secondly, the appellant here argues that the new flexibility exercised by the courts since the war in such matters as these ought to be extended to her, and that the other options for the child who is the subject of these proceedings are of such poor standard as to entitle her to be considered the better alternative.
It is certainly true that a new creativity and flexibility has been needed by many courts if not all, since the war, and the decisions in Macalister and David reflect that. There were a great many orphans created by the war, and the sharp rises in the cost of living, along with the smaller amount of living space available to most people, have placed tremendous pressure on the adoption and fostering agencies. The courts have, in the view of this court
