by Erina Reddan
While I waited for the school bell to ring, I shovelled in a couple of spoonfuls of Milo that I’d put into a jam jar. Then the bell finally boomed. It took two boys swinging on the end of it. I loved how that bell sounded deep in your belly. The nuns didn’t let us girls near the bell rope.
I stood up and went to the side of the road. My feet were sticky to the ground and my thumb was like it didn’t belong to me, all stuck out on its own. But straight away a car slowed. I thanked the driver and got in the back seat, hugging my schoolbag close on my lap. I told the driver I was on my way to the city.
‘That’s a fair hike,’ he said, pulling back onto the road. ‘I can take you nearly to the freeway. How’d that do ya?’
‘Good, thanks.’ I shifted on the seat, pulled at the bottom of my jumper.
He tapped at the wheel. ‘What’s in the city?’
‘My Aunt Peg’s sick. We don’t have the money for me to go on the train.’
‘Fair enough.’
We drove on, going back up the road the bus had just come.
‘Got an address? For your Aunt Peg?’
‘Got everything I need, thanks.’ I patted my schoolbag, even though he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head.
‘Taking time off school, then?’
‘Mum and Dad say it’s for a good cause.’
‘Don’t you have a brother they could send instead?’
‘Nah,’ I lied. Funny that people thought just cause you’re a boy you could do everything better. Maybe some could.
I tried to come up with something to show I knew what was what even though I was just a girl. ‘Been a lot of rain,’ I said. This was how you paid for the ride. We were always shuffling our bums over for a hitchhiker. You met some interesting people. Now I was one of them.
He grunted. I’d done my bit so I settled back into the seat.
He slowed the car at the top of Rileys Lane. ‘Good luck, then,’ he said. ‘Hope your Aunt Peg gets better.’
I thanked him and beamed a smile that curled up at the edges and died before it got a real hold. The slam of the door behind me made me jump. It was only twenty minutes of walking and I’d be on that freeway and then I was really on my way. I plucked at the neck of my jumper. I had thought God would stop me. But he must’ve thought me going to get Mum was a good idea after all.
I swung my bag onto my shoulder and put one foot in front of the other. Quick as lick, I hadn’t even got halfway, another car pulled over. It was Mrs Tyler’s sister. She came to our Mass, too. ‘Going somewhere?’ She leaned over and shoved the door open so I had to get into the front seat beside her.
‘The city.’ Before she asked, I gave her the story.
‘I’m off to Chilton, so that’s a start.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Roanan.’ I steeled myself because this sister was the talkative one. But Mum must have been wrong because Mrs Roanan didn’t say much. Then she remembered something. ‘Dear me, I left my shopping bag at home. I’m just going to zip back and get it. Won’t take a mo.’
She did a slow U-ey and we turned into her drive. She had all kinds of pink and purple dahlias all along the front of her house. Big petals, the kind Mum and I loved best. A few too many red ones, though. Mum would have told her to get rid of those quick smart. You don’t want betrayal and dishonesty right on your front doorstep. Mrs Roanan leaned across me to spring the door open. ‘Tell you what, while I’m picking my bag up, why don’t you come in for a biscuit. Fresh made.’
My tummy rumbled. I liked the idea because I liked biscuits, and I didn’t like the idea because I was supposed to have more serious things on my mind.
‘You’ve got a long way to go.’ She smiled, even though that smile wasn’t sitting properly. Mrs Roanan led me through the front door and into the kitchen. It smelled baking good, so I thought what a good idea it had been to stop in the end. She got out the milk and poured me a glass and set it down before me. She put one, two, three, four and then even one more biscuit on a plate.
‘I’ll just go track down that bag, be right with you.’ She disappeared into a dark corridor.
I took a nibble. Not like Mum’s, but pretty good. It was warm and homey in Mrs Roanan’s kitchen. The kind of place you could fill your lungs. The tea cosy was knitted and all pink like a princess dress. There was a set of canisters for tea and sugar and flour set out on the sideboard like they were decorations. They did look good because they were made out of china like houses in a fairytale, with chimneys and everything. I bet Mum would have liked that kitchen, where everything was neat as a pin and there were frilly curtains on the window. My feet twitched, but I knew it wasn’t good manners to go looking in somebody else’s place so I ate another biscuit.
Mrs Roanan ran in from the corridor, all panty. ‘The pigs have got out. I’ll just round them up and yard them again.’
I jumped up ready to help. She pushed me back into the chair. ‘You’ll only scare them, dear. They don’t know you.’
I bit into another biscuit. Never known pigs to care about one person over any other.
Mrs Roanan got back in after a while. I’d finished all those biscuits and my tummy was pushing against my trousers.
‘I’ll pack you a few more.’
I took my cup and plate to the sink. I rinsed them off and stood them in her dish tray. I picked up my bag and stood by the table, waiting.
She tilted her head like she was listening to the wind. A growl was making its way up her driveway. ‘Listen, love,’ she said, turning to me. I could see that smile that didn’t sit properly again. ‘I’m sorry, poppet, but there was just no—’
She broke off at a knock at the door.
THE THING THAT SHOULDN’T BE THERE
It was Dad at the door. Mrs Roanan let him in, her smile still looking as if it could slip off her face any second. I saw now it was an apology. So I’d learned something. How to read those smiles.
I wanted to throw myself at Dad and hug him up good, but he didn’t even look my way. Mrs Roanan handed me the packet of biscuits she’d made and I didn’t look her way. She patted my shoulder. ‘Your mum’ll be home before you know it, poppet.’
‘Thank Mrs Roanan and apologise for putting her to trouble,’ said Dad.
So I did.
I slid into the front of the ute and hunched over. It was all black around him. I tightened myself up, ready for him to blow. But he didn’t say a word. Then I squeezed myself even harder because he hadn’t blown and because he was all screwed down. I kicked at the glove box.
‘Stop that.’
I kicked again.
‘You hear what I say?’
I heard all right.
I plaited my legs so they wouldn’t kick any more. I tapped along the dashboard instead. Then I realised Dad wouldn’t like that any better, so I tried to wrap my hands around each other and keep them in my lap. But I must have knocked the glove box because it sprung open.
Dad exploded then. ‘Leave that bloody thing alone.’
I shoved it shut quick smart. We drove on.
‘What’s Mum’s Mass scarf doing in the glove box?’
‘What’re ya talkin about?’
‘Mum’s scarf. In the glove box.’
‘Suppose she can keep her scarves where she wants.’
I felt the vein pumping in his forehead from way over where I sat.
‘Her Mass scarf is always knotted tight around her Mass book.’ I smacked the glove box with the back of my hand. It flipped open again. ‘And now it’s all on its own, right there.’
He leaned over and shut it with a bang that meant business. ‘How would I know why she stuck it in there?’
‘Doesn’t make sense. If she was planning to be away long enough to go to Mass she would have taken her scarf as well. You ever seen her in church without that scarf?’
‘Stop pushing, JJ.’ His voice had that grit of teeth.
Everything got real still and silent like the sky before the storm. And I crawled deeper i
n and in, keeping my lips buttoned, but it was no use: the thunder came anyway.
He thumped the steering wheel so it bounced. ‘It’s all push and shove with you,’ he blasted. ‘You never let up. No wonder your mother—’ He made himself stop mid rage.
It’s not like he needed to finish that sentence, though. He was nothing but right. The scarf in the glove box didn’t change one thing. Mum was gone. Cause of me. And he was trying to keep it from the others.
I stared straight ahead, bit into my thumbnail, ripped the top of it clean away.
He looked over. Whatever he saw in me changed something in him. ‘Just give it a bone,’ he said like the bottom of a bucket had just broken and the rage all whooshed away.
He pumped the steering wheel again, but this time as if he were reminding himself of something. He rubbed his cheek, all sandpaper loud.
I did want to give it a bone.
I looked at his face, tired over with lines. I remembered him slumped on the ground under Tessa’s tree this morning. I wanted to push it all back inside me. Not just from that day but right back to the morning Mum left. Right back to when I could have made things right. Right down to not eating that cake.
‘Sorry, Dad.’
And I was. Real sorry.
Later, when we were finishing up the milking and the night was starting to dark up the sky, Philly came skidding into the shed. ‘Where’s Dad?’
Tim turned off the milking machine so we could hear. ‘What?’ he yelled.
‘It’s the police.’ Philly was shaking her little hands like she was going to take off for the moon.
That stopped us. We swapped our scared between us. We’d never seen real police, just the made-up ones in Homicide on the telly.
‘Where’s Dad?’ Philly whispered.
We all turned to look out into the rising night, trying to spot him.
‘Dad,’ we called.
He came charging in from the paddock through the holding yard as if he’d been waiting. ‘What?’
‘Police,’ we all hollered together like we’d rehearsed it.
His big hand reached out for the fence to steady himself. He dropped his head to watch his boot scuff at the mud, but not before we saw the same scared in him that was in us.
We waited, holding on to posts on our side, watching.
It only took a couple of beats before he straightened and closed the distance through the already milked cows between us. ‘Get the cups off Daisy and Tricksy.’ He flicked the words at Tim and me as he pushed past, all grown up and business again.
Tim and I looked at each other and took off after Dad and Philly.
Tessa stood by the police car with the two policemen. All three watched us charging towards them, Dad’s gumboots slamming against the ground.
‘Mr Jack McBride?’ asked the tall one as Dad got within distance.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Constable Michael McGuire,’ he said, ‘and this is Constable Steve Jones.’
‘You’ve come to the right place, then,’ Dad said. ‘Get on with it.’
‘Is there somewhere we can talk privately?’ said Constable McGuire, nodding at us like we shouldn’t be there. Dad nodded back as if the constable wasn’t half his age.
‘Get back up to the shed.’ He flung his arms at us. ‘Finish up that milking.’
Tessa shooed us away, trying to lead us back in the direction of the cowshed.
I folded my arms.
‘Git.’ Dad raised his hand as if he were going to belt me.
I planted my feet wide.
Tim grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and toppled me over, dragging me behind him. Tessa herded me from the rear, like I was a breakaway poddy calf. They didn’t let up all the way to the shed. I didn’t protest, but as soon as they loosened off I darted back down the track to the ute and hid.
Dad had his arms crossed and so did the two policemen, all of them legs apart. I strained to hear, but I was too far. The petrol tank was closer, but Philly had darted from behind me and snuck in there, with Tim fast on her heels.
I dashed over to join them, but there was no room and Tim shoved me away. He nearly gave us away by elbowing into the side of the petrol tank in the scuffle, which would have made a hell of a din with all that empty echo inside. Instead I ran to the side of the shed. I looked back and poked my tongue out. I was in way closer than him.
But it was too late. They were handing Dad a big thick envelope and shuffling their feet. The short one said how sorry he was. The tall one said nothing, all grim faced. Dad put out his hand, but it was only the short Jones one who shook it. The other turned away like Dad’s hand was so much dirt.
The police got into the car and drove away, idling down the track, like they were heading for a Sunday picnic.
Tim, Philly and I came out of our hiding places, not even bothering to disguise where we’d been. Dad was still watching the police car disappear down the track, hands at his hips. There was no breath in the air.
‘Get Tess,’ said Dad’s statue.
All three of us backed away. Not a word between us.
We got to the cowshed. Tim jerked his head, telling Tessa over the noise of the milking machine that Dad wanted to talk to us.
Tessa uncupped Daisy’s and Tricksy’s udders, Philly untied the leg ropes, I opened the bales so they could back out.
Tim opened the gate and we all shooed them into the holding yard to join the rest of the herd.
None of us stopped to let any of them into the paddock.
Tim turned off the machine and Tessa turned off the lights.
Tessa’s hand went to Philly’s. I took Philly’s other one. Tim went ahead.
She died of a burst appendix, Dad said, when we were back in the kitchen. They’d taken her to a hospital quick smart, but it was too late.
‘Who’s they?’ I asked.
Dad looked like I’d punched him and that reminded me of how he’d looked in the ute earlier when I found the scarf. I zipped my mouth up tight.
Tessa did this kind of animal noise. Philly got her thumb stuck in her mouth and crawled into Dad’s lap. Tim stabbed at the fire. I was patting Tessa on the back, but not putting any heat into it.
After a while we got to, ‘Does Aunty Peg know?’, ‘Did she cry?’ and ‘Reckon she’d like roses in the church for her funeral.’
There was too much empty space around us. The Mum space all empty but all filled in with the knowing she’d never be in it again.
Then I got to the knowing that if she hadn’t taken off she would have been with us when her appendix burst. And we could have said stuff, told her how big she was for us. Even made her get better. And then I remembered the next thing: if I hadn’t eaten that cake, or gone to that toilet, or heard that stuff, or got red mad and called her a bum. If I hadn’t tired her clean out every day of my life, she wouldn’t have gone at all. I pinched myself until it cut deep but it didn’t help.
That night I got Ted out of the box in the corner for the first time since forever. I got him up into my arms and into bed with me without Philly seeing. The soft of his belly against my cheek was something.
Once the word got out, a lot of people came over and that made Dad pull something over his singlet to make himself decent. The men milked the cows and the women brought casseroles. I went up my tree, sat on the plough seat Dad had nailed there for us a long time ago and watched.
Tommy came around after school and I went down to the dam with him. He worried a stick into the mud until he saw I didn’t want to talk about Mum. We skidded some stones for a bit, then headed down to the creek to catch frogs. On the way back there was something in the distance that didn’t sit right. I told Tommy to go on back without me. He took off his glasses and polished them up. He stumbled when I pushed him in the house direction, but I didn’t say sorry.
I watched him go until he couldn’t look back and see me, then I ran across the paddock over to Jean’s Corner. I was right. Mum’s Mass scarf was
n’t in the ute any more: it was tied around the bottom of the not-right-in-the-head baby’s cross. It was twisted and twisted so you wouldn’t know there were even hyacinths all over it. If it hadn’t been for the wind moving the grass about when I’d been with Tommy I wouldn’t have even seen it. How did it end up down here?
I took off my shoes and peeled off my socks and shoved them hard into the toes of the shoes, pushing until they were tiny balls and I couldn’t see them any more. I put my feet into the rush of the creek and felt the ice of it right into my brain. I didn’t want to think about Mum’s scarf. I didn’t want to think about how I couldn’t say ‘Mum says’ any more. What she said was in the past because that was where she was. All those things were coming from behind me now. And in all before me there was no Mum.
THE WORLD WITHOUT HER
‘This one?’ Tessa held up Mum’s navy dress.
Philly shook her head.
‘She wore it to Mass,’ Tessa said, pushing it further towards Philly, as if shoving it in her face would change her mind.
Philly backed away and screwed up her nose, all brussels sprouts.
I swung my legs, kicking them back under the bed. ‘It’s gotta have flowers.’
‘Don’t be stupid, she doesn’t have one with flowers.’ Tessa hung the dress back in the wardrobe and slid to the ground. Philly slumped with her.
‘Maybe there’s something in the sewing,’ I said. ‘Mrs Tyler could finish it.’
Philly jumped up, hope running wild across her little face, but when we all got to the sewing room the basket was empty. She puddled to the floor again.
‘We’ll sort it out with Dad tonight,’ I said.
‘Who knows what mood Dad’ll be in after all that talking to the hospital and Father McGinty and stuff,’ said Philly.
‘Reckon he might feel a bit better after talking with Father,’ I said.
Tessa and Philly nodded like they hoped like hell, too.
The dogs were going mad so I knew Pete must be coming up the track with the petrol for Dad to drive to the city. I had a thing to say to Dad before he took off, so I left Tessa and Philly to it. By the time I got out there, Pete had taken off to the cowshed to see to the poddies and Dad was siphoning the petrol from Pete’s car to ours. Dad was all face screwed up sucking at the hose to get at the liquid. I waited until it gurgled up and he got it swirling down the funnel into the Holden.