From the Ashes

by Deborah Challinor

  She undressed, blushing as she saw the state of her pants. There was a drying, whitish crust in them, the result of her and Robert’s love-making. Though she wasn’t ashamed of what they were doing because they were in love, she was definitely ashamed of her pants, and hastily shoved them to the bottom of her laundry basket. She was safe, though, thank God. Almost literally, she thought, which made her smile.

  The night Robert had mentioned he was off to church the next morning had been quite funny. She’d asked him what religion he was and he’d said, ‘Catholic,’ and she’d said, ‘Oh, so am I!’ and he’d said, ‘Is that so? Well, that should make things easier.’ And she’d said, ‘What do you mean?’ but all he would say was, ‘Wait and see,’ which had been rather mysterious at the time.

  It turned out he’d been referring to the rhythm method, which she’d never heard of. It had been after the first time she let him have sex with her, during which he’d used a condom, but he said he really didn’t like them and explained to her about the rhythm method, which he much preferred. Apparently all Catholics used it and it was pretty well foolproof. You just didn’t have sex on days twelve to eighteen after the first day of your period, because these were a woman’s fertile days. All the others were infertile days and a woman couldn’t get pregnant on them. It seemed a very easy way to avoid falling for a baby, so she couldn’t imagine why all those Catholic families had so many kids. But her mother had only had three, and Nan, a staunch Catholic, had only had one. So it must work.

  It had all been quite embarrassing, though, Robert talking about monthlies. But she supposed he was used to it, being a doctor. Also, at the back of her mind, she’d been half hoping his comment about them both being Catholic making things easier might have something to do with getting married. Her private embarrassment when it was only to do with sex had been a bit of a shock, and she’d been angry at herself for it. But then she told herself off for feeling that way because maybe she wasn’t being premature: they really were getting on very well and going out at least twice a week and having lots of fun, and now that they were having sex the next logical step surely would be an engagement. But did she want to give up her nurse training? She wasn’t at all sure she did. She was thoroughly enjoying it and couldn’t see herself as a housewife, not yet anyway, not even after landing herself a doctor.

  *

  The alterations to Rose’s cottage on Almorah Road were almost finished, which meant Allie and Sonny could move in. Sid and his mate, Bill, and one of his mates had done the work, using some of the money Rose had left Colleen. The changes were fairly basic, but Colleen had decided they were necessary as no one should have to bathe in the kitchen or sit in an outside loo in the depths of winter, though Rose had happily done both for decades. So now there was a bathroom with a proper bath and an indoor toilet, and the extra loo outside.

  ‘I wish we had an extra lav,’ Colleen said.

  ‘There’s only three of you now,’ Allie said. ‘Why do you need two toilets?’

  ‘You and Donna moving out hasn’t changed your father’s bowel habits, you know.’

  Allie laughed.

  ‘I’ll send him round here if you’re not careful,’ Colleen threatened. ‘Where do you want this linen?’

  ‘In the bedroom next to the kitchen, I think. Ta.’

  ‘I take it you won’t be setting your bed up in the bay window?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘You could, you know,’ Sid said, puffing along the hallway, carrying one end of a bedhead. ‘You could sell tickets.’

  Sonny, on the other end, laughed, but Colleen tutted. ‘Trust you to cheapen everything, Sid Roberts.’

  ‘Said in jest, my love, said in jest.’ Sid grimaced. ‘Flaming hell, this thing weighs a ton. Where do you two lovebirds want it?’

  ‘Bedroom right behind you, thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Toot!’ Pauline warned, ducking past Sonny and her father with a box in her arms. ‘Coming through!’

  ‘What’s in that one?’ Allie asked.

  ‘Allie!’ Pauline exclaimed. ‘You’re terrible!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Mr De Valera!’

  Allie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Shit! I left him in the truck!’

  ‘You’ll be a great mum, you will,’ Pauline said, setting the box on the ground. ‘Where’s the kids? Oh, I left them on the tram.’ She opened the top of the box and out jumped Dev, looking most displeased.

  Allie ignored the comment.

  ‘Pauline,’ Colleen scolded. ‘Don’t be so thoughtless.’

  ‘Oh, she knows what I mean,’ Pauline grumbled.

  Sniffing cautiously around the boxes and piles of stuff in the sitting room, Mr De Valera wandered off down the hall, stopping for a good stare at Sonny and Sid wrestling with the bed frame in the bedroom, then headed for the kitchen.

  ‘I think he knows he’s home,’ Allie said.

  ‘Have you got some food for him?’ Pauline asked. ‘I suppose that’s in the truck too, sitting in the sun, going off.

  ‘No, I was going to pop down the shops.’

  ‘Give us some money, I’ll go,’ Pauline offered, her hand out. ‘What else do you need?’

  Allie made a short list.

  ‘You’ll have to get yourself a refrigerator,’ Colleen said.

  ‘Why? We got by without one a quarter of a mile away at Crowhurst Street.’

  ‘But you’re in your own home now.’

  Allie couldn’t quite see the logic behind her mother’s thinking. ‘And a packet of tea,’ she said to Pauline. ‘Choysa.’

  Colleen said, ‘You’ll be able to afford it now you’re not paying rent.’

  Ah, so that was it. In that case, Allie thought, now that they were made of money, why not get an electric washing machine, an electric oven, a vacuum cleaner, an electric cake mixer, a petrol-driven lawnmower, brand new lounge and bedroom suites, and a car as well?

  When Pauline had trotted off Sonny appeared, wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘Your sister seems happy these days.’

  ‘Pauline?’

  Sonny nodded.

  ‘I suspect there’s a new boy on the scene,’ Colleen said, though she didn’t sound too pleased about it.

  Allie was surprised. Pauline hadn’t said anything to her about a new boyfriend. But then she hadn’t spent much time with her little sister lately. She really should. ‘Really? What happened to the one with the motorbike? The Bodgie?’

  ‘Who cares?’ Sid said, sitting down on a box and wiping his brow with his handkerchief. ‘God, a man could do with a beer.’

  ‘Not till we’ve finished everything here,’ Colleen said. ‘I gather she broke up with the Bodgie, and thank God for that. I think she’s had this new one a few weeks.’

  ‘Have you met him?’ Allie asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has she talked about him?’

  ‘Not as such.’

  ‘Then how do you know he exists?’

  ‘I can tell, Alison,’ Colleen said. ‘She is my daughter, you know. I can tell when something’s going on with her, and usually what it is.’

  Oh, you cannot, Allie thought. You never could with me. You might love us very much, but you’ve never been psychic.

  ‘He’s a young Maori lad,’ Sid said.

  They all stared at him.

  ‘Nice-looking boy,’ he went on. ‘I saw him waiting for her one night, by the bus stop. She gave him a kiss and they hopped on the next bus and off they went.’

  ‘You never told me that!’ Colleen accused. ‘When was this? Flaming hell, Sid, why don’t you tell me these things?’

  Allie knew why. Her father hadn’t been bothered at all when she’d brought Sonny home but it had upset her mother, who’d been convinced that if Allie married him she’d be dooming herself to a life of condemnation and nasty comments. Which, to be honest, had, in fact, turned out to be true to a degree, but it wasn’t something that particularly worried her any more. Her father probabl
y hadn’t wanted her mother to start fretting about the same thing all over again, especially while she was still grieving for Nan.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Sid said. ‘Slipped me mind.’

  Colleen sighed. ‘Well, at least if they were getting on the bus that means he doesn’t own a motorcycle.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with motorcycles, Mum,’ Allie said.

  ‘You say that, but I think you’ll find it quite difficult to transport your babies on one,’ Colleen said, clearly forgetting that Sonny also owned a truck.

  Allie didn’t answer. Why did her family keep making comments about babies, today especially? Her period had been ten days late and with each passing day she’d allowed her hopes to creep higher and higher, until last night when she’d gone to the loo and found blood on her pants. The disappointment had been like a physical punch in the stomach.

  ‘Will you be wanting to paint in here?’ Sid asked. ‘The hall needs doing but you could probably leave this a bit longer.’

  Allie eyed the shiny, nicotine-coloured walls, stained by her grandfather’s cigarettes. ‘No, I think we’ll do everywhere.’

  ‘We’ve got a nice lot of pink left over from a job,’ Sid said. ‘You can have that if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad, but we’ll probably pick something.’

  ‘You could go with wallpaper,’ Colleen suggested. ‘There’s some lovely modern patterns coming out these days.’

  ‘You won’t know the place when you two have finished with it,’ Sid said. ‘It’ll be like a new home. How many couples your age can say they own a new home?’

  ‘Not many,’ Allie replied, ‘and not us. This is family property, not ours.’

  ‘It is for now, love,’ Colleen said, ‘so enjoy it.’

  *

  Wiki was a small woman, this was her sixth pregnancy, and she was over six months along. Despite the heat in Auckland Hospital’s noisy and busy kitchen she’d been wearing a heavy, baggy cardigan over her apron to try and hide her condition, but when she was called into the office of Mr Price, the supervisor, one morning she knew very well what she was about to hear.

  ‘Sit down, Mrs Irwin,’ Mr Price said.

  He was still wearing the hairnet they all wore for food hygiene reasons, and looked a fool, in Wiki’s opinion. She sat, taking care to let the folds of her cardigan fall discreetly over her bump just in case . . . of what? — he really hadn’t noticed she was hapu and was about to tell her she’d been promoted? Don’t be stupid, woman. He mucked about for a minute, tidying his pencils and bits and pieces. Wiki realised he was embarrassed. Good job. She kept her mouth shut, determined not to help him out.

  Eventually he said, ‘It’s been brought to my notice that you . . . that you’re . . .’ He cleared his throat, then went bright red. ‘I’ve been informed that you may be expecting. Is this correct?’

  Wiki sighed. Here it was, then. ‘That’s right, I am.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mr Price looked relieved, as though he’d thought he was going to have to argue with her about it. ‘Well, you know the rules, Mrs Irwin. We can’t employ women in your condition. You should have informed us sooner. I’m afraid we’ll have to let you go.’

  ‘Will there be a job here for me after the baby comes?’

  Mr Price looked vaguely scandalised. ‘Won’t you want to stay at home and look after it?’

  ‘That’s what my older girls are for. I need to earn money to pay the bills.’

  ‘Well, I . . . Well, we’ll certainly keep your details on file, Mrs Irwin.’

  That’s a no, Wiki thought, heaving herself out of the chair and not caring now if she looked like a cast sheep.

  ‘Thank you for your service, Mrs Irwin,’ Mr Price said.

  ‘Yep,’ Wiki said over her shoulder.

  *

  Kathleen had thoroughly enjoyed her turn as a model for Smith and Caughey, at which she thought she’d been extremely successful. Everyone had said so. She’d made a point of going into the store at least twice a week since the fashion parade, to say hello to Miss Weaver and to speak with any customers who might recognise her. Several had, she was sure, though none had approached her. Intimidated, perhaps, or possibly they simply didn’t want to intrude on her time.

  She’d not spoken to the girl, Allison, on the Elizabeth Arden counter recently, however, partly because she hadn’t needed any cosmetics but more as a result of the unpleasantness over the Maori model who’d been drinking at the fashion parade. But today she would. She, Kathleen, hadn’t reported the Maori girl to Mr Holmes, but the incident had been festering away in her mind for weeks, not so much due to the alcohol involved but because of the revelation that Allison was married to a Maori. She couldn’t really believe it. Allison was so, well, blonde and pale-skinned and obviously of British stock, and so pleasant and politely spoken — unlike that other creature on the Elizabeth Arden counter, whatever her name was. Why would a girl like Allison marry a Maori when she could have any man she liked? Well, any working-class man, that is. It wasn’t right and it made her uncomfortable just thinking about it, which was irritating as she’d been thinking about it a lot. Girls like Allison, she’d decided, needed to be saved from themselves before they ruined their lives. Hopefully it wasn’t too late.

  She was pleased to see as she swept through the Beauty Hall that Allison was by herself on the Elizabeth Arden counter.

  ‘Good morning, dear. Where’s your charming friend?’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Lawson. Peggy’s on her tea break. How can I help you?’

  Mmm, a bit sharp, Kathleen thought. Must still be on her high horse. ‘Let’s clear the air, shall we, Allison? I apologise for my outburst before the fashion parade. I was a little anxious, for both myself and for Rosemary. First time nerves, you could say. Please forgive me. Also, I did not follow through with my threat to inform Mr Holmes of your sister-in-law’s, er, activities. Just so you know. Am I forgiven?’

  Allison smiled ruefully. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lawson. I apologise, too. We really are very busy during those events and, well —’

  Kathleen raised a gloved hand. ‘Say no more and let’s forget it, shall we?’

  ‘Please. No Rosemary today? Has she started school?’

  ‘Not until June. She’s at a birthday party.’

  ‘And the boys? How are they?’

  ‘Oh, they’re marvellous. They’re back at school, of course.’

  And thank God, Kathleen thought. Geoffrey had been fine — he always was — but Terence had been hell since his ‘accident’. He’d been to see the psychiatrist, Dr Hill, three more times, then announced he didn’t want to go any more. When asked why not, he’d replied, ‘Because I don’t like him,’ and any suggestion that he had to go had been met with such antipathy that both she and Jonathan had acquiesced and let him be. A report, however, had arrived in the post from the doctor, recommending a course of action designed to ‘masculinise’ Terence’s behaviour, so he’d been signed up for summer athletics, rowing and cricket at school, been precluded from taking art and French this year, and Kathleen had enrolled him at the local branch of Boy Scouts. Since returning to school he’d done nothing but moan about not being able to do art, which seemed to Kathleen to be particularly petty, and complain about all the sports, but most of all he hated Boy Scouts, which he said was like being in the army. How would a nine-year-old know what being in the army was like? Geoffrey, on the other hand, who’d also joined, absolutely loved the Scouts. But having Terence at school and listening to him moan about it just in the evenings was far preferable, Kathleen thought, to having him home during the holidays, behaving oddly, irritating his father and threatening to cause embarrassment in public.

  ‘Your house must seem quiet without them,’ Alison said.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does. Rosemary and the nanny are usually in, though. Anyway, enough about my family. How are you?’

  ‘Me?’

  Kathleen thought Allison looked rather startled to be asked. ‘Yes, you. Wha
t’s been happening in your life?’

  ‘Oh. Well. We’ve, um, we’ve just moved into a new house.’

  Kathleen clapped her gloved hands together. ‘Ooh, lovely. Brand new?’

  ‘Well, no. It was my nan’s house. She died at Christmas and—’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Allison. I wasn’t aware of that. Please accept my condolences.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, it was a bit of a shock, though she hadn’t been well.’

  ‘How awful for you, especially at Christmas.’

  ‘Yes. She’d had a good innings, though.’

  Allison dropped her eyes and winced slightly, as though she immediately regretted what she’d just said. Kathleen thought she probably did. People often felt foolish when they came out with vacuous platitudes.

  ‘A tragedy all the same,’ Kathleen said. ‘So, where in town is your new home?’

  ‘Newmarket, a few streets off Broadway.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Kathleen lied. She didn’t go to Newmarket often and when she had she’d gained the distinct impression it was a working-class area.

  ‘It’s just a worker’s cottage but Nan kept it nice.’

  Definitely working-class. ‘And she left it to you? That was generous.’

  ‘To my mother, but my husband and I have the use of it till we can afford something of our own.’

  ‘And it has all the modern conveniences?’

  Allison laughed. ‘Hardly. We just finished adding an inside bathroom and loo.’

  Kathleen barely suppressed a shudder. ‘An electric oven?’

  ‘No, coal range.’

  ‘Refrigerator?’

  ‘No again. My mother’s been on at me to get one, though.’