by Tony Kelly
I won’t sit on the front verandah and while away the evening.
I won’t stand on the back ramp and watch storms roll in from the gulf.
I won’t sit under the house and marvel at how lucky I am to have a fella who thinks that this carved-out bunker is paradise.
I won’t drive up Madang Street and at the last moment swerve to avoid Maleka.
But a new excitement awaits me. I will, finally, go back to my family and life in Melbourne. I’m looking forward to living with Tony again. We’ve rented a groovy-looking pad in Northcote, so maybe we’ll finally get to have those post-work drinks at a Spanish or Japanese bar.
Tony has spent the last twelve months living and working in Melbourne, and while we’ve had great long weekends over that time, it’s not the same as living together.
He came up a little while ago to help with the final farewell. Last weekend we opened the house and yard up for a huge garage sale. It took days to set it all up, and then further days to shift all the things we didn’t sell. I made my first foray into online selling, and sold all of Michael’s work tools, each engraved with his name. They had been in the shed for twenty-three years, avoided or ignored: too many, too hard, too sad.
The house was finally restumped. Tony, David, Belinda, Samantha and I ripped up carpet, sanded floors, and painted the entire house so it was ready for a sale. I engaged an excellent real estate agent, who immediately understood exactly what we wanted to do with the house and showcased it as a retro beauty. Mum and Dad would have been amazed, and so proud. After just six weeks on the market, we sold. I did the final negotiations from my car in Darwin, amid a raging storm.
Over these twelve months I’ve finished my contract at Headspace, worked as the social work clinical lead for the Mount Isa branch of James Cook University, written my first screenplay, worked on the inaugural Mount Isa Youth Short Film Festival and finished a new play that will have a season in Melbourne next year. I’ve been busy, but in between the business I have felt Mum’s absence acutely.
In the weeks after Mum’s death, I spent hours replying to the many sympathy cards the family received. As 25 December got closer, the Christmas cards also started rolling in. I replied to each one, relaying the news of Mum’s death. This produced another series of sympathy cards and I replied to those too. When I mentioned this to my friends, they told me to leave it and do it in the new year. But I knew that was not an option. Sitting at the kitchen table each evening, I felt as though I was channelling Mum. Slowly and steadily I worked through the pile.
Just before Christmas, I harvested my first pineapple. Samantha and I made a video of the act and posted it online. It felt good to do something funny. I knew that Mum would have loved the interest it created.
Yesterday afternoon Samantha and I went to the cemetery so I could say goodbye to Mum, Dad, Michael and Grandma. I lay on the grass beside Mum’s and Dad’s graves and told them stories about the last twelve months. Some stories were happy: Samantha and Thomas’s wedding, the Easter weekend when the whole family got stuck into painting the house, the pots of healthy plants that I sold and gave away. Some stories were sad: Belinda and Seppo have moved away from town, and their marriage has ended.
Our family now has more people ‘living’ in the cemetery than in town. After almost seventy years, Samantha and Thomas are the last family members left in the Isa, and they too will soon be gone.
When Sam and I got home from the cemetery, we saw Tony having beers on the front lawn with Shawn and Cheyenne. After much angst, Tony had decided to give them our swags. They would be too expensive to ship to Melbourne, and it’s unlikely they’ll get much use from now on.
‘Wow. You sure?’ said Shawn. He was really pleased.
‘Yeah. We’d be honoured. We’ve really liked getting to know you,’ said Tony.
He’s right, we have enjoyed knowing Shawn and Cheyenne and the kids (perhaps not their animals as much), and wish them well.
Last night I went around the house and left a small plastic pineapple in a corner of every room – one last job for the Pineapple Princess. Mum would have thought it horribly kitsch, but it would have made her laugh all the same. This morning Tony and I helped the removalists get the last items onto the truck, and after a few final photographs we closed the front door for the last time.
I look through the plane window at the red earth and sparse vegetation. Though it offers very little relief, I know I’ll miss this too. These colours are part of me and I wonder how I’ll go without them, and without the endless sunlight and vitamin D.
I rest my head against Tony’s shoulder. I’m exhausted. It’s been a huge week.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would feel such a tremendous tug about the decision to leave. Some days I would call Tony and say, ‘I want to stay, just one more year after this one, and then I’ll come back!’ I knew, however, that one more year would probably lead to ten more, which would eventually lead to me being the fifth family member in the cemetery.
If someone had told me three years ago that I’d feel like this, I would have told them they were mad. When we moved back here I had a task to do, and I was determined to do it as well as I could. I come from a long line of pragmatists, and when a job needs to be done, you just get on and do it. And then you leave.
Though at times over these past twelve months I have been horribly lonely, I also felt the same love for the place that I had as a kid. It just felt so good to be home.
I’ll miss so many things about this lifestyle, but most of all I’ll miss being still so close to Mum. Over these last twelve months, I have spent many an hour sitting in her big green recliner in the lounge. Sometimes I would do a crossword puzzle or listen to the radio, but mainly I’d just turn off the splitty, open the front door and sit. After weeks of trying to sell the chair, I finally gave it my Turkish friend Ozzie for her art studio. Ozzie did not get to meet Mum, but I know they would have connected. Now the recliner has a happy new home.
I also spent many afternoons lying on Mum’s bed in her room. Again, I wouldn’t do anything, I’d just lie and think. Sometimes I’d open the door to Mum’s wardrobe and smell her clothes. Eventually, I had to sort them all out. I distributed some things to the family and gave the rest to the charity shops. While I was doing it, I could almost hear Mum’s voice: ‘It’s a thankless task but someone has to do it.’
Sometimes I would open her jewellery boxes and look at her things, but mainly I’d just lie on the bed, listen to the birds and think about Mum. I would think about how content she was in her last few years. Mum got what she wanted and what she deserved. She wanted to stay in the house and she deserved to be happy and safe, and we all played a part in making that happen.
Sometimes, when I’d lie on her bed, I would hear humming – a tuneless warble – and I couldn’t help but join in.
I look through the window of the plane and can see the twinkling lights of Melbourne. I put my tray table up, dry my eyes, put on a bit of lippy and fluff up my hair. Just like Mum would have done.
I take Tony’s hand and smile. I feel excited. I’m coming home to a new house, and to friends and family. A whole new chapter awaits us.
Diana Lister
8 February 1924 – 5 December 2016
Acknowledgements
We’d like to acknowledge that earlier versions of some parts of this book were first published in The Big Issue and the Australian Indigenous Law Review.
We want to thank Rebecca’s family. Firstly, to her nieces and nephews Belinda, Brian, Michael and Samantha and their partners, and the great-nieces Madlyn, Ashley and Jorja, thank you for the continuous love and support you gave Diana. You brought her great joy. And to her brothers Paul and David and their families, who from afar gave us great encouragement: Diana loved you deeply.
Tony’s family was always only a phone call, email or plane trip away. So
me of you even made it up to visit. Thank you for your unconditional love.
There are of course our daughters, Georgina and Lucille, whose unselfishness and understanding gave us the freedom to do what we felt we needed to do. Thank you for keeping us current and don’t worry – your turn will come.
Thank you to Diana’s crew at St James the Great Anglican Church, Legacy Mount Isa, and the staff from the community health centre bus. Special thanks to Beryl, Susan, Betty, Marj, Marlene, Barbara, Val, Ash, Sara and Heather. You made Diana’s life rich and rewarding.
Then there is the legion of friends – new ones in Mount Isa who made us welcome and old ones from all over the country who were never far from our thoughts and who sent us messages, lent us their ear and on many occasions gave us meals and beds and made sure we never doubted this was the right thing to do.
All of you made it possible.
For this book, we’d like to thank everyone at UQP for taking a punt on two relatively unknown writers on this not-so-straight-forward two-handed project. Special thanks to Alexandra Payne for her initial belief and to Madonna Duffy, Cathy Vallance and Julian Welch for their deft guidance and ongoing encouragement.
We also want to thank each other for the willingness to give it a go and especially for the love.
First published 2020 by University of Queensland Press
PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia
uqp.com.au
[email protected]
Copyright © Rebecca Lister and Tony Kelly 2020
The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.
This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
Cover design by Christabella Designs
Cover photograph of the Lister family home in Mount Isa, with Diana’s green recliner on the front verandah, taken by Bronwyn Finch in 2016
Author photographs by Declan Kelly
Typeset in 12/16 pt Bembo Std by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane
The University of Queensland Press is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia.
ISBN 978 0 7022 5412 3 (pbk)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6231 9 (epdf)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6232 6 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6233 3 (kindle)
Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identity.