The Serpent's Skin

by Erina Reddan

  ‘Hardly—’ I began.

  Rocco put up his hand to stop me interrupting.

  ‘It was all behind closed doors. Good pillar-of-the-church men in public, but.’ She pulled her glass towards her and looked at me over the rim. ‘The Catholics were the worst of the lot. Men were the head of the household and nobody said a word. Nobody asked questions. You can’t give somebody power without making them accountable. Bad things happen in dark places.’

  I blinked. I’d lived a few doors down from Marge for five years now and I’d never heard her talk like this—and didn’t want to hear it now, either. ‘It’s true, he’s no saint,’ I conceded. I told them what I knew. ‘It’s just that I gave him such a hard time imagining worse.’

  ‘That’s exactly how secrets work,’ Marge said. ‘They dry your innards.’

  She was bang on. ‘Nah. That’s on me,’ I said. ‘I should have had more faith.’

  Rat-Tail came over. ‘Sweet-talked that nice chick over there into another round,’ he said. ‘Bad teeth, but.’

  ‘Just wanted to get rid of you, mate,’ said Rocco.

  Rat-Tail grinned. ‘Nah. Got a date after her work.’

  Tye, Rocco and I exchanged looks. She’d be leaving earlier than usual that night, we reckoned silently across the table. Rat-Tail set the tray down and we all took another beer, with Rocco passing Marge’s to her.

  ‘So what yous all talking about, then?’ asked Rat-Tail.

  ‘Marge was just giving JJ the benefit of her pessimism.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rat-Tail. ‘You don’t want to be like that. Life’s real good.’ He grinned over his glass with froth on his top lip. ‘This beer. Real cold, it is, and it gurgles real nice in the back of your throat. And these peanuts.’ He reached for the bowl in the middle of the table.

  Tye laughed. ‘Spot on, mate.’

  ‘What about that address your brother gave you?’ asked Rocco.

  ‘Just one more of those dead ends.’ I shrugged. ‘They were all dead ends because in the end there was nothing much to discover.’

  ‘You’re being too hard on yourself, JJ,’ Tye said. ‘You found out why your mother left without saying goodbye, why she didn’t stay at Peg’s. That’s huge.’

  ‘An extra-marital affair with your wife’s sister is nothing to be sniffed at,’ added Marge.

  ‘One-night stand,’ I corrected automatically. ‘Or five-minute stand. And that’s scandal, not crime.’

  ‘The real crime,’ said Tye, ‘was all the lying.’

  ‘Seems to be an epidemic,’ I said. ‘Even those kids the other day at Mum’s Richmond address. Lied. Straight to my face.’ I told them the story of how their mother had been there all along in the back of the house, and when I’d gone they’d lied to her about who I’d been. ‘Called me a country cousin.’

  ‘Country cousin,’ said Marge, placing her glass on the table.

  I nodded.

  ‘You sure?’

  I shrugged.

  She sat back. Opened her handbag. Looked inside. Didn’t find what she was looking for. Closed it again. ‘I think your mother was pregnant.’

  ‘She’d had a hyster—’ I started.

  ‘You sure about that?’ she cut me off. ‘Country cousin is what we called a woman up from the country needing an abortion. Stays a day or two to recover and gets on home with no one any the wiser.’

  SETTING THE TRAP

  I’d drunk enough to put me out last night, but despite that I’d got no sleep. It kept dancing away, soaking up into all those cracks on the ceiling. The thing was, my mother couldn’t have been pregnant. She’d had a hysterectomy after Philly. The Catholics’ approach to contraception.

  Still, there was some dark thing buzzing inside it all.

  Truth had to feel better than this. So maybe I hadn’t scraped all of it off the sides of this Mum thing yet.

  Tye had stayed over and pressed close into my back as ballast against the whirl. In the morning, sitting in my bed, my arms locked around my knees, I watched him leave early to go home and change into a fresh suit. When he’d gone I got out of bed, too. Dressed, got my bike, headed to the hospital.

  Dad already had the telly on.

  ‘You’re early, love,’ he said.

  ‘Was Mum pregnant when she died?’

  He immediately clammed up tight. ‘What rot’re you talking now? They took her baby works out after having Philly nearly killed her.’

  ‘Number 95 Righton Street did abortions.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t play innocent with me. That’s why you came home that day with a black eye. You had a fight with somebody there.’

  ‘What fight?’ But he was only half-hearted and then he caved in completely. ‘Come on, love.’ He scratched his head. ‘It was against my religion. He was a baby killer.’

  ‘So you knew it was an abortion clinic all along.’

  ‘If I’d told you that, with an imagination like yours, you would have gone off down a thousand different rabbit holes looking for trouble where it wasn’t.’

  That right there.

  In the past, I would have believed him. I was dead sick of all his bullshit.

  ‘Fuck this.’

  ‘Get your foul mouth out of here.’

  ‘What about your foul opinions?’

  ‘You keep the dirty out of your speech or get out,’ he said. His fingers got themselves tapping against the steel of his bed rail.

  I got in closer, ready to go on, but a nurse swept in. All small and white and filling up the room. Dad pulled up a smile and plastered it on. I stepped back.

  ‘This another of your daughters,’ asked the nurse in an Irish accent, flowing cheer, her face spotted over with freckles.

  He widened his smile. ‘Second youngest,’ he said. ‘JJ, this is Maureen.’

  ‘All these girls, you’re a lucky man.’ She waved at me, while she set Dad up for a blood pressure test.

  ‘Could say that,’ he said, his eyes not meeting mine.

  She pumped up the bag around his arm, letting it down slowly and monitoring the screen. She sucked in air, shaking her head. ‘Blood’s up, Mr McBride.’ She tapped her head. ‘Settle down or you won’t be getting out of here anytime soon.’ She shot him a wink as she left the room.

  He cleared his throat and looked me dead in the eye. ‘Reckon it was Peg,’ he said.

  ‘Peg what?’

  ‘Reckon that butcher bloke, the abortionist—Sarah might have taken Peg for one. That’s why your mother had the details in her missal.’

  ‘Peg was pregnant when Mum died?’

  ‘Nah. Would have been years before. Peg was always putting it around. Your mum had been holding tight to that prayer book for a long time. Remember? Wouldn’t let any of us so much as look at it. Reckon Peg was the one who had the butcher’s job done. Reckon that’s what’s behind that address.’

  I hated to admit it. He could be right.

  But it didn’t feel right. I was done relying on just the facts. I had a gut and I was going to use it.

  ‘Bloody Peg,’ he said. ‘She was—she wasn’t a holy woman. That’s why I had to get rid of her, out of the house, out of the way of all you buggers.’

  ‘You mean because she was just like you—had sex out of wedlock with you.’

  He winced. ‘Because she had sex—with anybody. And if she had that abortion, she’ll be in hell right now where she belongs.’

  Hell wasn’t a metaphorical concept to Dad. His hell was a blood-and-bone affair.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Dad.’

  ‘Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,’ he said, on autopilot.

  ‘But it’s okay to be pretty happy about somebody ending up in the eternal burning flames of hell in perpetual agony.’

  ‘No one forced her to murder her own baby.’

  ‘What about the father? Is he in hell, too?’

  He scrubbed one side of his face again. Up and down. I started to think Maureen would be flying in. �
��Nothing to do with him,’ Dad said. The machine beside him beeped and he just about jumped out of his skin at the sudden loud of it. ‘Unless he asked for the thing. But the mother could go away, start a new life, pretend her husband died. There’s even adoption.’

  ‘Really thought it through there.’

  ‘It’s the Christian thing.’

  ‘Good to see you Catholics see the odd opportunity for charity. I suppose letting her have her kid where she knows people and them supporting her was a charity bridge too far.’

  ‘You’re a Catholic, too.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Your mother and I baptised you—we took you to church every Sunday—even when the creek was up over the bridge in the big flood.’ He made a signal like that was all good parenting required.

  The machine beside him beeped into life again, sending out rapid fire. Maureen hurtled into the room, with two others hard on her heels. I backed away, making space. Backed right out of the room.

  ‘Marge.’ I knocked on her door. There was no answer, so I went on to my room. I’d brought a caramel slice. With all this artery clogging I was facilitating, she wouldn’t need to worry about lasting long enough to make it to the oldies’ home. I put the slice in the bar fridge in my room.

  I looked at my unmade bed. That bloody ugly vomit brown. Even Rat-Tail had a happier one. I straightened the bed so there’d be no getting back into it for me today. My mind buzzing. I pulled out the Map of Mum and the Timeline from the bin. Laid them along the floor. I squatted in front. My eyes darted over them, back and forth. I needed to see connections.

  Nothing.

  I leaned back against the bed. That’s when I saw it.

  Hell. I’d written that word in miscellaneous grey and circled it from our conversation the night Max gored Dad. My eyes narrowed. He’d said it was his fault Mum was in hell. That word on the Map of Mum sat right beside the phrase: Mother was a saint.

  ‘Saints don’t go to hell, Dad,’ I said out aloud.

  I stood up, trampling the Map and Timeline underfoot.

  It was about time.

  I needed to shed my skin.

  Become somebody new.

  Get a whole lot smarter.

  I shook the doona out of its cover, balled up all the ugliness and shoved it into the rubbish bin. I looked at it a moment, sitting there, overflowing and still in my room. I stooped and picked it out of the bin, snatched up my wallet and marched straight out to the garbage bins at the back of the boarding house.

  On the way back I stopped by the telephone to ring Tye. ‘I’m going shopping,’ I said before he even said hello. ‘Meet me at lunchtime?’

  He let out a whoop. ‘Room stuff?’

  ‘Yep. Doona cover, rug, television. It could get wild.’

  ‘Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?’

  Tessa was already at the hospital when I got there two days later, plans worked over and thought through, buoyed by the whole lot of new spring-green and sun-yellow stuff in my room that Tye and I had gone mad buying, including armfuls of sunshine gerberas. All of that hopeful joy working its way into me.

  Tessa was opening and closing the drawers, packing up Dad’s things into a suitcase, ready to take him home.

  ‘You’ll need that suitcase yourself,’ Dad said, his voice high pitched and shocked.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, Dad.’ She was at the bottom drawer, pulling out greying singlets and baggy white underwear. ‘And you are.’

  ‘I’m only getting home. Don’t need that fancy thing.’

  ‘I’ve got a garbage bag in my backpack if you prefer, Dad,’ I said.

  He shook his head, blasting annoyance about him. Tim turned into the room.

  ‘Didn’t you get the message?’ Tessa said, looking up.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bringing Dad home today. Told you to visit him there.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now,’ he said. ‘Back on your feet?’ he said to Dad.

  ‘So they tell me.’

  Tim looked up as Philly came into the room with an Esky. ‘What’s this? Bush week?’

  ‘Meals,’ she said. ‘Give Tessa a break from all the cooking as well.’

  ‘Dad won’t like your fancy stir-fries full of half-cooked vegetables,’ Tim said.

  Philly raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a sausage casserole, et cetera.’

  We all swivelled to Philly. ‘You cooked sausages?’ Tim laughed.

  ‘I have friends with skills in the ancient art of cooking.’

  ‘Another one for around your little finger, then?’ asked Tim.

  ‘It’s a talent,’ she said.

  I rubbed my palm, watching. Tim noticed me. He tipped his head. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘As if you don’t know,’ he said. He leaned from the bed over to cuff me. I jerked out of range. ‘Phils is a champion at not letting herself be wound up.’ He brought his other hand up and managed to cuff me anyway.

  ‘Grow up,’ I said.

  ‘Took the words right out of my mouth,’ he said back.

  ‘Bit of respect in a hospital,’ growled Dad, tapping the arm of his chair.

  ‘Just like the old days,’ said Philly.

  ‘What’s your excuse, then, JJ?’ asked Tim.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tessa’s taking Dad home, Philly’s brought food, it’s my visiting day. What brings you to the paddock?’

  Dad sat up, all ears.

  ‘Mum’s birthday’s coming up.’

  ‘What’re you drivin at?’ he snarled.

  ‘It’s been fourteen years,’ I said.

  Everybody stopped, Tessa looking at me like I was some daft cow.

  ‘Remember the good stuff. I mean…’ I shrugged carefully, nonchalantly. ‘We were lucky to have her with us as long as we did. Could have been worse. She nearly died after Philly…’ I let it trail away.

  Dad nodded, but sat up straighter, trying to get in close on what I was up to.

  ‘That hysterectomy saved her.’

  ‘What bloody hysterectomy?’ said Tessa.

  Bingo.

  I watched Dad out of the corner of my eye, watching me.

  ‘You wouldn’t know,’ I said. ‘You were what, five?’

  She shrugged. Turned to Dad. ‘She didn’t have a hysterectomy, did she, Dad?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. Looking everywhere but me. ‘Came whisker close, though, she was that crook.’ As though the whisker made up for his earlier lie.

  ‘So let’s celebrate Mum,’ I finished brightly, now looking around at everybody.

  ‘No need,’ said Dad, tapping away. ‘I’ll pay for a Mass on her anniversary, just like I do every year. You should all come to that, though. Do you buggers good.’

  Tim clipped me again, as if to say, Thanks very much.

  ‘We’ll go as a family. Like the old days.’ Dad got himself straighter again.

  Tessa zipped up the suitcase. ‘Good idea, Dad.’

  ‘I was thinking something sooner than her anniversary,’ I said.

  ‘What’s your hurry?’ asked Tim.

  I scratched my palm. ‘With Aunty Peg gone, it’s the end of an era. We’ve packed up her place. It’s on the market. It feels like something’s finished. Us kids will all get a share of the results of Peg’s sound financial management, which will open the possibility of something new for all of us. It’s time. We should finally put everything behind us.’

  Tim folded his arms and sat back. Philly went out the door to tip the water out of the vases. Dad eyed me, searching for something. ‘Could be right,’ he said, slowly.

  ‘What would we do?’ asked Tessa.

  ‘Get the priest in for a blessing,’ said Dad.

  ‘If we’re going to do this, then we need to do it right,’ said Tim, getting to his feet. ‘Mum loved Jean’s Corner. That’s where we’ll do it.’

  ‘I’m not getting a priest in to bless a bloody corner,�
�� said Dad. He banged the arm of his chair.

  I shrugged. ‘Lunch. Dad’s place. Sunday week.’

  Dad grimaced and looked out the window, trying to figure out if I was up to anything. Tessa screwed up her face at Tim and passed Dad a glass of water, getting in close and hovering beside him.

  ‘Father McGinty’s busy, probably couldn’t come to just a—’ started Tessa.

  ‘Leave that to me,’ said Tim. ‘Father McGinty and I are like that.’ He crossed his fingers in the air.

  ‘Ever since you painted his arse blue through the hole in the back of the dunny?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s an old bloke.’ Tim grinned. ‘Brain soft. What he’ll remember is me getting that bloody ten-foot flagpole up on the school grounds a couple of months back.’

  Dad shook his head and mumbled.

  ‘Mum gave me a hiding and a half over that blue arse,’ said Tim.

  ‘Don’t forget to mention that,’ I said. ‘In your speech.’

  ‘Mother Whack-A-Lot,’ said Tim, still grinning. ‘She was a bloody firecracker, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Bit of respect for your mother,’ said Dad, shaking his head. ‘Talking ill of the dead.’

  ‘God going to strike him down, hey?’ I asked Dad.

  ‘Strike the bloody lot of you, the way you’re going.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not appropriate to have Father McGinty around all of this.’ Tessa circled her finger around all of us.

  ‘No. He should be there,’ I said, so quickly Dad cast another suspicious glance my way.

  Philly came back and Tim asked her how she was fixed for two Sundays away.

  ‘I would have thought I could depend on you to put a stop to this,’ she said to Tessa.

  Tessa shrugged. ‘Could finally shut JJ up.’

  ‘There is that,’ said Philly.

  ‘Just one rule,’ I said.

  Everybody looked at me, all still and waiting for something bad.

  ‘No bloody poems, Philly.’

  ‘Mrs Tyler loved that poem,’ she said.

  ‘We should invite her,’ said Tessa. She looked around at us. ‘If we’re doing it properly.’

  ‘And Mrs Nolan,’ I said.

  ‘No bloody way,’ said Dad. ‘Leave it just to us.’