Sydney's Song Read online

  Sydney’s Song

  Ia Uaro

  An undefeatable heroine…

  Olympic fever runs high in the Australian summer of 1999 and 17-year-old Sydney has caught it. Little does she know taking a holiday job in the beehive that is the Olympics’ public-transport call centre will be life altering. Shaken by her parents’ divorce, the sheltered Aussie is further plagued by abusive callers, obnoxious government agencies, constrictive office rules, and liberated friends. She is trying to negotiate these challenges as her own personal Olympics when Pete finds her.

  A hero to live for…

  Pete, Boston’s former child prodigy whose soothing voice floats across her workstation, sees through Sydney’s tough outer shell. Pete knows what it takes to present a dignified front when all you want to do is howl at the moon. Treating their friendship like an art, he invests time and creative effort to pull Sydney out of her despair.

  A love no reader will ever forget…

  Tragedy strikes when an accident leaves Pete with a major brain injury in a Boston hospital. When the going gets very, very tough, will you abandon the one who has promised to love you until he dies?

  Set in Sydney and Boston where heartbreaks are juxtaposed with Sydney’s sense of humour, SYDNEY’S SONG is a young girl’s courageous journey to adulthood. A work of fiction based on true stories and real events, this novel with an Australian accent also shows the world that living with disabilities does not prevent a person from attaining happiness.

  An excerpt

  “To Pokolbin Prison, please,” requested a woman in a very weak, barely audible low voice I could well relate to. A vision came to me of a gaunt, sickly, very depressed lady.

  I worked out her travel plan. She had to catch a bus, two trains, and a bus again, for a three-hour journey. Then she asked, “How much would it cost for a pensioner and a three-year old?”

  Tears gathered in my eyes. A poor young mother with a young child trying to visit her worthless husband at Christmas!

  And she was not alone. “To John Moroney Prison, please,”said a miserable mother.

  “To Silverwater Correction Centre, please.” A sad girlfriend.

  “To Long Bay Jail, please.” A wretched daughter.

  Long-suffering souls requested travel plans for Lithgow Jail, Parklea Jail, Goulburn Jail—you name it.

  Come to think of it, there was hardly a male caller wanting to visit a female prisoner. Either the men did not use public transport or they didn’t bother to visit. What did this tell you?

  PRAISE FOR SYDNEY’S SONG

  PETER FITZSIMONS: “Strong characters, evocative writing…”

  IRINA DUNN: “SYDNEY’S SONG is intelligent, touching, interesting and funny.”

  JACOB COATES: “A fantastic love story grounded quite firmly in a suburban setting with real characters.”

  NORMA FOWLER: “Riveting… a young woman who is very keenly perceptive in all people and situations about her.

  MARY METCALFE: “Haunting.”

  MATT POSNER: “SYDNEY’S SONG demonstrates the way in which human beings can thrive under adversity using the power of their hearts and wills.”

  MERLENE ALLISON: “Tears fill your eyes as she struggles with disaster only to be replaced with pride as she triumphs over each obstacle”

  WENDY STRACHAN: “A proper love story with true sentiment but not sentimental. Just lovely.”

  UVI POZNANSKY: “I was too busy laughing and crying at every twist and turn of this story.”

  J. LENNI DORNER: “Wonderful and compelling…The exploration of the dynamic of the broken family was deeply moving.”

  PHIL NORK: “The writing was superb, the story kept me interested and the ending touched me in ways most books don’t.”

  REYNA HAWK: “It really made me feel as though I was right there in Australia! Oh and the ending-”

  BRENDA FRANKLIN: “Touches more than just the surface.”

  SADIE DUARTE: “An in-depth look to the mental anguish caused by physical disabilities but, at the same time, gives a glimmer of hope”

  BRIANNA LEE MCKENZIE: “I related to Sydney the moment I met her.”

  WENDY STRACHAN: “A proper love story with true sentiment but not sentimental. Just lovely.”

  DIANA WILDER: “A wonderful book that will have you smiling, weeping—and then smiling widely through your tears.”

  CYPHER LX: “Balancing a full range of emotions, Ia Uaro brings Sydney and a full cast of characters to life while handling difficult situations and topics in a wonderfully delicate manner”

  ALLAN WILFORD HOWERTON: “I am delighted to recommend it to adult readers who may think that they are done with all that angst of the young. My bet is that you will be pleasantly surprised, as was I.”

  ANNA del C. DYE: “The best story of true love and eternal partners I’ve ever read…beautiful, down to earth, touching, and moving”

  STEPHANIE DAGG: “Hugely entertaining. Nothing is predictable in the story.”

  JANET JENSEN: “Engaging… A grace, determination and resilience that are inspiring.”

  ALICE DiNIZO: “Charming and totally realistic with first-rate characters. A believable portrait of true love”

  TRUDI LoPRETO: “Calling All Romantics!…Sydney’s Song is a winner…I was…sorry to say good-bye to her at the end of the book… emotionally attaching.”

  FICTIONALISED TRUE STORIES. Names have been altered.

  Socio fiction. Humorous fiction. Romantic fiction. Drama. Coming-of-Age. Australia.

  This edition published in February 2013

  First published in September 2012

  Copyright © Ia Uaro 2012

  Illustrations:

  Vignettes by Ia Uaro

  “Make Way For Ducklings” by Abbir and Will Belacqua

  Cover design by Ideantity (www.ideantity-sg.com), drawings by Ia Uaro

  Internal design by Ia Uaro

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from Ia Uaro. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10% of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Ia Uaro

  Sydney

  Email:[email protected]

  Web:sydnessong.net

  ISBN 9781742982878 (ePub)

  Digital edition distributed by

  Port Campbell Press

  www.portcampbellpress.com.au

  Conversion by Winking Billy

  Acknowledgements

  My special thanks to Irina Dunn, critic and editor extraordinaire whose vision and sharp eye finally brought me to the finish line. You are Sydney’s Treasure.

  To Fanu Solutions and Ideantity, many thanks for a fantastic job on my website sydneyssong.net.

  A lot of love and a lot of help from my families and friends have also accompanied the journey of this story. My deepest gratitude to: Hubby. For everything.

  My late father-in-law. For never giving up on hubby.

  All hospital staff who looked after hubby for over 9 months. You are never forgotten, ” surprisingly”.

  Uni “band” who sang by the lake. For posting up inspiring good-old-time pictures.

  Charlie and Nidamus Prime. For naming the characters. You rock!

  Dear darling daughter. IT support extraordinaire. Horrid taskmaster, even when falling asleep. Also for pulling me off my laptop to run around the oval.

  Nobody can be mo
re beautiful than D.Leonardo Dreoni for his input on Borgo San Lorenzo. Grazie.

  My in-laws, Shaun, Jacqui, and Cynthia. For much appreciated feedback.

  Fiona KW. There are friends who pretend to be friends, but there is a friend who sticks closer than…

  Hamda K for checking the medical facts and always being there.

  Aristina, Véronique, Guido, Isw, Mark, Clive, Siobhan, Bruno and Geoff, and the stars of a constellation. Just because.

  Allan Wilford Howerton. For his friendship and support, tips, and for making me laugh.

  Sean Huxter, for going through my manuscript even when crunching at work.

  Will Belacqua, Abbir, and Alexandra Davidoff. For donating portrait and duck illustrations.

  My opinionated, supportive friends of Amazon writers’ boards. I will always treasure our writerly camaraderie and learning experience with fondness.

  Jacob Coates, Sarah Lane, Mary W. Walters, Faith Mortimer, Brianna Lee McKenzie, Ben Winegarner, Gary Jones, Al Boudreau, Thomas A. Knight, Hope Welsh, and Gypsy Madden. For various assistance.

  And Bronson. Of course.

  Author’s Notes

  This is a work of fiction based on true stories and real events, woven using fictional characters.

  The 1300500 calls have all been true. Every single one, unfortunately.

  Names, times, locations have been altered (except names of the hospital staff, although I’ve changed the hospital’s). Any resemblance is purely coincidental or used fictitiously.

  The spelling used is Australian English, except when an American is speaking. God is referred to as “he” when the speaker is an atheist, as“ He” when the speaker is a theist.

  I did not set out to write tortuous vernaculars. The choice of words and phrases flowed naturally. For non-Aussie readers, in case needed here are some regional terms:

  arvo – afternoon,

  barbie – barbeque

  bloke – man

  bogan – low-cultured person

  brekkie – breakfast

  bush – forest

  coldie – beer

  grog – alcohol

  gum tree – eucalyptus tree

  HSC – Higher School Certificate

  idiot box – TV

  journo – journalist

  Pom – British

  pressies – presents

  schoolies – a week-long Australian school-leavers’ party

  slower than a wet week – boring

  uni – university

  woop-woop – far-flung

  Feedback On Aussie Slang

  My very best friend, author Allan Wilford Howerton, 89-year-old American WW2 veteran, retired federal civil servant, has proven Aussie slang isn’t that difficult to digest. I showed him my Author’s Notes and asked for his feedback. Allan, who had never heard of the above Aussie slang, promptly wrote:

  “This non-journo bloke having read your Author’s Notes this arvo without benefit of an idiot box or consultation with a brogan and sans the influence of neither coldie nor grog, do herewith pronounce it acceptable for perusal ‘neath gum tree or wherever no matter how woop-woop the setting whether a slower than a wet week uni or lively schoolie.”

  For all my friends of a million yesterdays

  You’ll know who I am by the song that I sing

  This Is How You Cheat Using an Orange Travelpass

  Early November 1999

  “This is how you cheat using an Orange Travelpass,” an Irish voice penetrated my gloomy thoughts.

  I was standing against the wall outside the Asquith Leagues Club at Waitara, where my training sessions for Sydney’s public-transport inbound call centre were held. This was the second Monday of my training at work. I can hardly tell you about the first week. I don’t remember much. My parents had abandoned me. The shock made me unaware of my surroundings. I had not noticed things.

  Looking back, I would label this period “Life as a Zombie”. The walking dead. When my best friends Lucy and Brenna were in Queensland’s Surfers Paradise for schoolies burning the floor dancing to “Walk Like An Egyptian”, I Walked Like A Zombie.

  My dog Dimity was the love of my life. But she was at home. And I was stuck here, training. I couldn’t form any opinion about this job yet. My mind was not here most of the time.

  The company I signed with was a branch of an American call centre. They had just landed their first big contract in Australia. A government one. Our job would be to handle integrated transport-information systems within Greater Sydney—area bordered by Lithgow, Port Stephens, Goulburn and Nowra—which had two-million public-transport trips a day. We would feed requests into our computer and it would spit out the answers.

  So far I had been rather oblivious of my colleagues. Vaguely I knew they were a bunch of boisterous young people. And numerous nice oldies. Those were my first impressions of them. I was totally unsuspecting of how great a role they would play in my life very soon after.

  Today before the training some of us chatted outside. I stood silent, dark sunnies on, trying to hide my eyes just in case tears welled up, which after my recent issues was a common occurrence. But the backpacker kids were disgustingly cheerful on this bright, beautiful Australian morning.

  Several male voices with Pommy accents responded to the Irish girl. About a third of the new recruits had non-Australian accents, many of them backpackers. I turned to look at them. Before today, I had barely noticed these kids. For whatever reason, perhaps because of that imposing Irish girl, I watched them now. The red-haired girl was in the middle of delivering a dissertation on how to cheat using an Orange Travelpass.

  “You must make sure you board the bus only when there are other passengers with you,” she lectured. “You must hold your ticket up when you step onto the bus, so the driver will see it in your hand.Then you let other people put their tickets in the machine, while you continue to the back of the bus still holding your ticket up. The driver won’t notice whether you put your ticket into the machine or not.”

  They all hung on to her every word with mesmerized looks on their faces. Perhaps they were interested in what she was saying, trying to save a few cents of their hard-earned money, or perhaps they were interested in her.

  “So one ticket gets you from Lane Cove to the City to Bondi Beach to Manly to Narrabeen,” she concluded. “By bus and ferry unlimited.”

  “But an inspector may show up,” piped a Pom. “He’ll check the trip prints at the back!”

  “That’s a Travelten,” the girl told him breezily. “With a Travelpass bought from a newsagent, you won’t get into trouble because it doesn’t print the date of first use.”

  “Are you that desperate?” An American accent. Handsome black-haired guy. “Are you really using the same ticket week after week?”

  “Sheesh,” the girl bristled. “I hate it when you’re being goody-goody. Haven’t you ever, ever been so broke? Now I also have to buy a weekly train ticket from St Leonards to Hornsby!” She turned to the other boys, “There are times we can’t even afford grog, and that’s worse, isn’t it?”

  There was a chorus of agreement.

  I wondered what it felt like to be this girl. To be that confident and at ease. To have an interesting life that she apparently enjoyed.

  Travelling. Drinking. Cheating. Not a care in the world. Perhaps I should get a life. Save some money and join Alex, one of my best friends, backpacking wherever he might be. No one would miss me anyway.

  This thought depressed me again. Absentminded, I followed my co-workers into the training room.

  “You smell very nice,” commented a girl to my left.

  I turned to her with a start. It was the Irish girl. “Sorry? What did you say?”

  “Woolgathering, are you?” she grinned. “So early in the morning?”

  “Sorry. Yes. I guess. I was lost.”

  Her smile broadened—an engaging smile that reached her eyes and produced a very deep dimple on her right cheek. She had very neat
, not very white teeth. She had curly bright red hair tamed with a twist and a chopstick-like hair ornament at the back, and cute little freckles on her prettily-shaped uptilted nose. Blue eyes.

  “I’m Sinead,” she introduced herself. “From Dooblin.”

  “Yes. I noticed the accent.”

  “I saw you outside. Dark sunglasses on. Trying your best to look aloof and unapproachable.”

  I choked. If only she knew why! “Nothing like that. I—I’m Sydney.”

  “Hi Sydney. You smell very nice.” She inhaled. “Very subtle. You’re good at choosing a perfume.”

  “Not me,” I became flustered. “Mum. She knows things like that.”

  “Oh blessed!”

  “So, you travelling? How do you find Australia?”

  “Grand! I loov Australia,” she kissed her fingers, blowing a kiss. “Quite an education. We work and we travel.” She gestured towards her backpacking buddies, some of whom sat nearby. “That’s Pete. He’s from Boston. I met him while working at Mt Buller. We were ski instructors last winter. And that’s Lindsay from London. I met him while Pete and I were planting baby pine trees for the Forestry Department around Tumut. Do you know where that is?”

  I shook my head.

  “Do you know Batlow’s apples? Tumut is a small place near Batlow. Well, your Forestry people planted new pine trees in the mountains there near the end of winter. Gosh, it was so cold! But very good money. Shame about that job, the team moved to work on Kangaroo Island. Too remote for me to go along…” She sounded wistful. “Then we headed north. Hard to get a job though. We’ve been spending and spending. Until this job.”

  “So you’ll do 1300500 for the Sydney Olympics?”

  “No no no. We backpackers are temps. Casuals. They took us on to support the opening of 1300500’s Hornsby centre. They guesstimate we’ll assist for the first three months. The plan is, when permanent employees get some experience and speed, we temps will be dismissed.”

  “You’ll have to find another job?”