MOON RIVER by FRANK SINATRA. Love story by Angela Savage.

East Melbourne 1990
Carlton 2005
And such a lot of world in between

A war in the Gulf was brewing when I first met Andrew. The two events were connected: seeking a means to protest, I phoned a number on a poster and left a message. Andrew returned my call and convinced me to attend a meeting that evening. Afterwards, we adjourned to the pub and talked. His energy was immediately attractive to me – I could almost see the sparks flying from him when he spoke – and his eyes, when he could bring himself to look at me, seemed lit from within.

Over the following weeks, we spent less time at meetings and more time talking at the pub. One night, too late for public transport, we walked home together along Albert Street in East Melbourne. The conversation turned to the songs of Frank Sinatra and we took turns at singing our favourites. Brushtail possums raiding rubbish bins in the Fitzroy Gardens looked up as we passed, singing into the dark at the top of our voices.

The only song we both knew all the words to was Moon River.

Moon River, wider than a mile
I’m crossing you in style some day…

We sang it together until we reached Hoddle Street, where Andrew said goodnight and turned left to Collingwood, leaving me to turn right to Richmond. Leaving me wanting more.

Oh dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way.

When Frank Sinatra played the National Tennis Centre three months later, we were in the audience together, as a couple.

Not long after, I announced my plans to relocate to southeast Asia the following year to do research for a PhD. Andrew, studying journalism at the time, decided to follow and freelance from the region. We figured on being out of Australia for six months.

Two drifters off to see the world
There’s such a lot of world to see…

We ended up living in southeast Asia for over six years. We spent three years in the Lao capital Vientiane, living in a Soviet built apartment above a hospital that smelled like an abattoir. We had no TV or phone, let alone internet. For entertainment, we’d sit on our balcony, drinking beers while electrical storms lit up distant hills, and talk. In one of these conversations, we agreed that if we ever had a daughter, we would call her Natasha. Andrew liked the name for Natasha Romanova aka Black Widow of Marvel Comics fame. I just liked the way it sounded, like leaves rustling in the breeze. It was a rhetorical discussion – neither of us was interested in becoming a parent any time soon – but it stayed with me.

We travelled potholed roads in northern Laos to a plain strewn with giant jars. We saw Saigon by night from the back of motorbikes, and drifted through the Mekong Delta where rivers replaced roads. In Cambodia, we had the temples of Angkor Wat to ourselves. We toured markets in China where birds sang from bamboo cages and exotic fish swam in plastic buckets. We visited Burma, Malaysia, Indonesia. With Andrew by my side, I felt brave, adventurous, unfazed whenever our best laid plans went awry, as they so often did.

We returned to Australia via Europe and moved to Canberra for several years. We kept travelling overseas – to Southeast Asia, the South Pacific, Central and South America – before finally settling back in Melbourne. We bought a house opposite a park. We both had steady jobs. We were among family. The time seemed right to have a baby.

I was thrilled to became pregnant just shy of my thirty-seventh birthday, only to be devastated to learn the foetus wasn’t viable. Two miscarriages followed in close succession. We had a battery of inconclusive tests.

For over ten years, Andrew and I had travelled the same roads together. Now it felt like grief had pushed me off the edge of a cliff and out of reach. But I wasn’t alone on the cliff face. Andrew was there, hand extended, ready to pull me up.

Gradually, we got back into step.

We lodged an expression of interest into overseas adoption.

A week later, I found out I was pregnant again.

We’re after the same rainbow’s end
Waitin’ ’round the bend…

Our baby was due on Christmas Eve 2005.

She arrived a few days later.

It turns out the name Natasha means ‘gift of Christmas’.

…My huckleberry friend
Moon River and me.

Stereo Story #729

Andrew Nette’s latest crime novel is Orphan Road, published in June 2023. It is dedicated to Angela and Andrew’s daughter Natasha.