As she navigated the Friday evening traffic, Hannah felt the restlessness that visiting her old neighbourhood always brought. The Indian restaurant she passed offered a perfect example of her discomfort. Australian-flag bunting hung from the awning like an apology for being anything other than white middle class. Open gratitude for being tolerated. It was tragic.
Everything around the hilly suburb was controlled. In her teens, the lack of public transport had felt like a conspiracy to keep her there. Trapped in the endless, facile dramas of her peers. The break-ups and make-ups she was supposed to care about, as though there was nothing outside their bubble, no wider world to explore except in a day trip.
Stef’s teen years had been the opposite. Boys adored her. She was soft-edged while Hannah was sharp angles. Of course, Hannah had envied her ease, her curves. But Stef had bought the whole, insular package. When she and Liam got married, they didn’t even consider other places to live. Hannah had always fantasised about something else. Now she had it. A townhouse in Carlton. Job as a lecturer. Travel. Rex.
There had been a twenty-year reunion a few years back. Hannah couldn’t quite believe how many of her old PLC and Scotch College acquaintances had either stayed put or gravitated back to the area. Though it certainly seemed there was a defensive edge to their collective choice.
‘It’s a good safe place to raise kids,’ Leah Graves had told her, apropos of nothing. Her assertion seemed to attract a herd of ex-classmates to bleat their agreement.
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