Peter shrugged. “Hmm, it’s been a while.”
Sensing something really was up, Maggie persisted. “You sure you’re okay? You seem a little distant.”
“I’m fine,” Peter reassured her, “just another shitty day at work.”
Maggie let go of Peter's hand and leaned back against the seat. “I can’t wait til we’re on holidays, can you?”
The question seemed to relax Peter a little. He couldn’t help but smile at Maggie’s childlike enthusiasm. “We’ll have to remember to take more records this time,” he suggested.
Maggie laughed. As much as she loved Hendrix, she had to admit it could get a bit boring when it’s the only selection available for a whole week. “That’s okay, I’ll have to remember to take Electric Ladyland too,” she teased.
“Gee thanks.”
The waitress brought Peter his coffee and emptied the ashtray. Maggie passed him the sugar and studied his face while he put some in his cup and stirred it. He wasn’t his usual self, she could tell. After last night she was sure that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with her. His gentle lovemaking had convinced her of that. “Marjorie called again,” she told him.
“What did she want?”
“It’s difficult to know since she never says a word.”
“Oh, one of those calls.” Peter raised the cup to his mouth and took a sip. As he did so, the unmistakable scent of Jane on his fingers caused his heart to start. Great, that was all he needed. Maggie had already held his hand. It would be just his luck that she would sniff out his guilty secret.
“I think she must want to speak with Stephen and she hangs up if he doesn’t answer. I’ll have to make sure he picks the phone up whenever he’s home. Maybe we can catch her out.”
Peter surreptitiously stirred his hot drink with his fingers, hoping to replace the smell of Jane with coffee and thus silence his pounding heart. He was sure Maggie must have been able to hear its tortured thump from where she sat. “I’m sure she’ll stop once she talks to Stephen,” he agreed.
Maggie frowned at Peter's display of bad manners, but didn’t bother to chide him. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. It was apparent to Peter that for the time being he was off the hook. Maggie looked way too concerned with her own problems to notice his discomfort.
The idea of Maggie being upset about something made him feel even more of a bastard. Instead of giving her his full support, he was too busy replaying recent events in his mind. The enormity of what he had done still hadn’t sunk in, but he had a horrible feeling that in time it would. What would Maggie say if she knew? He had asked himself that question a thousand times in the time it had taken him to arrive at the coffee shop, but so far, he had no idea.
Maggie mistook Peter's melancholic look for one of tenderness, making her instantly feel better. Peter reached out and reclaimed Maggie’s hand. Without saying a word, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it gently before putting it back down on the table in front of her.
“Isn’t this romantic?” Maggie propped her head in her hands and gazed at Peter adoringly. “We always used to come here, how come we don’t anymore?”
Peter shrugged. “It’s just one of those things. You know how it is; kids, work, busy lives…” he let the sentence trail off as his thoughts returned to the events of the afternoon.
Unfortunately she did know how it was. Just as she had often done, Maggie imagined how much busier life would be if she and Peter were to have more children. While she still hadn’t given up on her dream to have a baby with Peter, she was enough of a pragmatist to know that given her awful luck thus far, it wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. If it didn’t happen shortly, thought Maggie, she would be too old to have babies. Then what?
Then, she’d be left with one more regret, that’s what. For her thirty-five years, Maggie had remarkably few regrets, but not being able to have a baby with Peter would surely be the biggest of them, by far. Apart from not having patched things up with her mother, the only other regret Maggie had was one she was powerless to change. It was irrational she knew, but for Maggie, the idea of having shared her entire life with Peter was one she cherished. She would have given anything to have experienced the triumphs and tragedies of childhood with him, and for them to have grown into adolescence together. As far as Maggie was concerned, the magic and wonder of youth was one of God’s greatest gifts. Unfortunately, as she had learned far too late, the innocence fades, and the reality of the memories – untouchable and fragile – lay out of reach forever.
When Peter and Maggie first started dating, one of the hardest things for Maggie to overcome was the knowledge that Peter had shared his life so completely with another person. Peter had been Maggie’s first love. She had known that even before he had told her about Michelle and Stephen. The fact that Peter had children was not, in itself, a bad thing. What they represented however, was a problem. They were a constant reminder of his previous life.
The dilemma for Maggie lay in the fact that she would not change the past even if she could. Just as she had said many times before, the problem with changing the past was that changing even the smallest thing could have the largest of consequences.
So it was that Maggie had learned to deal with the things she could not change. If she couldn’t share the gift of youth with Peter, she could at least resign herself to the knowledge that they would grow old together. Besides, Maggie was certain that the time would come when they would cherish the recent years in the same manner that they cherished their lost childhood.
“What are you staring at mister?” Maggie wondered how long Peter had been watching her while she sat lost in thought.
“You, you’re beautiful.”
She smiled at him. How simple life appeared to be, sitting in the Piccolo on a sunny afternoon. It was times like this that she could almost forget about the rat race and the speed with which their lives fled by. Hell, it was times like this that Maggie could forget that Peter had ever shared his life with anyone but her.
Suddenly eager to finish her coffee and get back home, Maggie suggested they leave.
“I thought you wanted to go for a walk?” Peter enquired.
“I did, but now I have a better plan,” she gave him one of her looks, the kind she reserved for when she was feeling frisky.
“Oh really, do tell?” he teased.
His playful response made Maggie smile, but left him feeling rotten. It was the second awful thing he had done in one day, the first one had left him feeling as horny as hell and wanting more. If he were in a more thoughtful frame of mind, he would have resisted Maggie’s advances. Not just because he thought it was in bad taste to be intimate with his wife after fooling around with someone else, but because he was mindful of the fact that Maggie would be left with the task of finishing what Jane had started.
The more he thought about it, the more he decided he couldn’t do that to his wife. He still loved her with all his heart, despite his recent transgression. But the look of passion he saw on Maggie’s face took his breath away, and his body reacted with enthusiasm in spite of his self-recriminations. Peter returned her smile. He knew that to deny her now would be even more selfish, so he resigned himself to the knowledge that it would be the first deed in a long line of many whose sole purpose was to atone for his sins. If such a thing were possible.
Oblivious to his discomfort, Maggie looked at him in anticipation of what was to come. She leaned across the table and whispered in his ear, shamelessly recounting what she intended to do to him once she got him home. Then, with Maggie giggling like a school girl, and Peter overflowing with guilt and anxiety, they left the rest of their coffee and headed back to their cars.
“I’ll race you home,” Maggie challenged.
Peter hurried across the road and headed for his car. “You’re on,” he said in as normal a voice as he could muster.
Chapter 13
Sunday, 16 December 1979
As
soon as I sat down, the phone rang. Kate got up and answered it. It was Shortie’s mum. “Mrs O’Connor wants to know if you know where Darren is.”
“He said he was going home.”
“What time was that?”
“I dunno, a couple of hours ago, I suppose.”
“Well, he isn’t home yet.”
“Tell her to try Mitchell’s place. He might have stopped there to show him the kittens.”
Kate passed on my suggestion to Mrs O’Connor. “Oh, and tell her his pushbike’s still here, he hasn’t come to get it yet,” she added before hanging up the phone and joining us at the table. “Mrs O’Connor said she’d send Shortie up to get it when he got home,” she explained.
Teatime at our place is always noisy. Mum insists that we all sit at the table to eat. We aren’t allowed to watch TV, but she doesn’t mind if we talk as long as we don’t talk with our mouths full. I asked Mum if she’d finished my dress yet. “Almost; I’ll get you to try it on after tea.”
It was my turn to wash up. Brian and I took it in turns with Kate and Tracy. They always fight over who gets to wash, but Brian’s too little, so I always get to wash and he always has to dry. Suck eggs pansy boy!
After the dishes were done, Mum got me to put the dress on and stand on a stool so she could pin the hem. It looked exactly like the dress in the shop. Except, mine was blue and white and the one in the shop was green. “I think I like this one better,” I told Mum.
She looked pleased.
I stood on the stool watching a Bugs Bunny Christmas special. Most of the usual programs were finished until next year, so I knew we’d be stuck with Christmas specials and repeats until then. It didn’t make a lot of difference anyway, because I don’t usually watch much TV. Mum makes me go to bed before all the good shows start. Except Disneyland on Sundays, that is. It starts at six o’clock, which is before my bedtime. Kate and Tracy always complain when we watch Disneyland because it’s on at the same time as Countdown. Mum makes them watch Countdown on Saturdays, but they still complain because Saturday’s show is a repeat from the previous Sunday, and by the time they get to watch it, their friends have told them everything that happened.
Wile E. Coyote tried once again to catch the Road Runner. This time he used an ACME snowmaking machine. An ad came on just as the snow landed on Coyote. Mum was getting impatient with me for trying to watch TV. “If you want this hem straight, I suggest you stand straight.”
I turned around and stood to attention. A straight hem is far more important than watching Saint Joseph’s High School sing some stupid Christmas carol in the ad break. I saw Frank Pollard sing “Joy to the World” with the NBN choir the other night. Hopefully, by the time school goes back everyone will have forgotten about it. He’s already up himself because he’s in the choir. If he thinks everyone saw him on TV, he’ll be a total pain in the backside.
Mum patted me on the bum. “There you go, all done.” I took the dress off and went to get ready for bed. I got as far as the hallway when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” I yelled. It was Shortie’s Mum again. Shortie still wasn’t home. She sounded very worried. It was already dark and he should’ve been home by now. She asked me again if I was sure that Shortie didn’t say anything about stopping on the way home. I said he hadn’t. What is it with grownups? They ask you a question and when they don’t get the answer they want, they ask you if you’re sure – as if it’s somehow going to change the answer.
After I hung up the phone, I told Mum who it was. She rang Mrs O’Connor back to see if she needed her and Dad to help look for Shortie. Mrs O’Connor said that they’d already driven around the streets a few times but hadn’t been able to find him. They’d also rung most of his friends, but no one knew where he was.
Mum and Dad left Kate and Tracy in charge and drove to the O’Connor’s place. Mum said I could stay up until they got home, but she made Brian go to bed. Kate went to have a bath and Tracy and me stayed and watched TV. I wasn’t paying much notice to what was on because I was too worried about Shortie. He’d never done this kind of thing before, at least not to my knowledge.
Mum and Dad knocked on the front door, waking me with a start. I must have fallen asleep on the lounge. Tracy and Kate were in their room listening to Tracy’s Sherbet record. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost eleven. “Where was he?” I asked.
“They still haven’t found him,” Mum explained. “They’ve called the police, but they said they couldn’t do much until tomorrow, so we came home. His parents and brothers have gone back out to look for him. They said they’d call us as soon as he gets home.”
***
I dreamt I heard the phone ring. I was sitting at the kitchen table eating lamb cutlets and it just kept ringing. No one got up to answer it. Dad was talking about a customer who didn’t know they had to put oil in their car. They’d owned it for four and a half years and had never checked the oil once. Mum was telling Dad about Mrs Saunders’ kidney stones, but he wasn’t listening, he was too busy telling us how to do an oil change. The weird part was that I knew I was dreaming, so I didn’t bother to answer the phone, I just let it ring.
Dad’s voice woke me “…I’m sure he’ll be just fine. Try not to worry about it and get a good night’s sleep.”
The phone really had been ringing. I had no idea what time it was, but I figured it must have been late because the room was pitch black. I got out of bed to see who was calling. I was sure it would be the O’Connors ringing to say that Shortie was home, so I got out of bed and tiptoed into the dining room. “Is Shortie okay?”
The look on Dad’s face told me that he wasn’t. He hung up the phone and pressed his fingers to his lips. “Shush, don’t wake the whole house,” he whispered.
I lowered my voice. “Well, where was he?” He spoke so quietly I had to strain to hear him. “Shortie’s been found, but he’s been bashed up pretty bad and they’ve taken him to hospital for a check-up. Shortie’s brother found him tied to a tree in the bush behind their house.”
“He’s been there all this time? Why didn’t he call out to someone?”
“Apparently, whoever bashed him up shoved a paper bag in his mouth so he couldn’t call out.”
“I bet it was the Dumbrells. You’d better call the O’Connors straight back and tell them,” I demanded.
“I’ll do no such thing! Mr and Mrs O’Connor are still at the hospital. There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow.” He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t we go back to bed for now, I’m sure we’ll hear more in the morning.”
I gave Dad a goodnight kiss and turned to walk down the hallway.
“Um, Jenny, there’s something else you should know.”
“What?”
“Whoever bashed up Shortie killed the kittens.”
“What? That can’t be. Are you sure?” I started to cry.
Dad held me while I cried for the kittens. “It’s not fair, we just saved them and now they’re dead.”
“Shhh,” Dad stroked my hair, “at least Shortie's going to be alright.”
I hate the Dumbrells!
Chapter 14
Monday, 17 December 1979
The police came to visit me this morning. They said they were investigating the assault on Darren O’Connor. They made it sound very official. I told them almost everything that happened on Saturday, but I left out the embarrassing bits. I also told them what the Dumbrells did when we saw them again yesterday and about what happened at the baths on Friday. I told them how they said we were going to cop it. I even told them to check with Grandma if they wanted. They said they would.
Dad was angry with me. “Jenny, you should have told us what happened?”
I wondered how long it would take him to start on me. “I didn’t want to get into trouble for fighting and I knew you wouldn’t let me out again if you knew.” I told him.
“Firstly, it wasn’t your fault, so you wouldn’t have got into tro
uble. And secondly, maybe we could have done something about the Dumbrells sooner if you’d told us what happened.”
I hadn’t thought if it that way before. If Dad was right, then it meant that it was my fault Shortie got bashed up. I started to cry again. One of the constables took over. “Jenny, it’s not your fault this happened to Darren, but your father’s right. Maybe we could’ve talked to the boys before things got out of hand.” I sniffed back my tears and nodded. The constable looked at me seriously. “Promise me that if anything like this happens again, you’ll report it straight away.”
“I promise.”
The other constable took a photo of my tummy and asked to see my ripped top. Mum looked at him questioningly. “We may need it for evidence,” he explained before taking a plastic bag from his back pocket and placing my shirt inside it.
“Evidence of what?” she asked. “Surely, it’s not going to come to that?”
Come to what, I wondered. Maybe they were going to take the Dumbrells to court, why else would they need evidence?
“It’s just a formality at this stage ma’am,” he said politely, as though that was all the explanation required.
Before Dad went to work, he gave me a lecture on how I should’ve told him what happened and how he could never forgive himself if something happened to me. I made such a point of telling him that I was worried that he and Mum would baby me like Dianne’s mum does, that he didn’t say I wasn’t allowed out on my own like I thought he would.
“Can we ring and find out how Shortie is?” I asked, as soon as he was done lecturing me. Mum overheard me ask and said she would call the O’Connors after lunch to find out how he was. She didn’t want to call them now because they’d been up all night and were probably sleeping.
***
I was getting ready to go to Tom’s place when he knocked on the door. Tom also got a call from Mrs O’Connor last night, but he assumed that because she didn’t call back, everything was okay. He couldn’t believe it when he heard the news. “I bet it was those poofter Dumbrells!” He looked around quickly to see if anyone overheard him swear. Realising no one else was around he relaxed. “I heard they go mental all the time and throw things around the house.” I told him that the police said they were paying them a visit this morning. “They better be!” he added.
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