Susan and Stephen sat down, leaving Mark and Rebecca standing next to the back veranda talking.
“So, how’s uni going?” Peter asked Susan.
“Good, now that my last exam is over.”
“Did you get involved in any of the protests?” Stephen enquired.
Susan responded with an air of impatience. “There’s more to uni than student protests you know.”
On hearing the word protest, Roger piped up. “Bloody kids! Don’t they know they’re there to learn. Should think ‘emselves bloody lucky. They don’t know how good they got it, if you ask me. When I was a kid, we knew our place. Not like kids these days. They’re always protesting about one thing or another.”
Stephen took up his uncle’s unintended challenge. “Didn’t you protest about anything when you were growing up?”
“Nuh, I didn’t go to uni. Besides, we just did as we were told. We didn’t argue and question everything like you kids do.”
Susan jumped in before Stephen could respond. “Dad, I’m not arguing just for the sake of arguing, you know? The facts are that our government is doing lots of bad things every day. Surely you don’t expect us to sit back and do nothing.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “So, what’ve they done now?”
“They’re killing thousands of innocent people every day in Vietnam, that’s what,” she said, flabbergasted by her father’s ignorance.
“And what’s that got to do with us?”
She sighed loudly. “That’s my point. It has nothing to do with us. Not that it stops them from sending thousands of our young men over there to help kill those innocent people, mind you. Young men like Stephen and Mark, I might add. And do you know why?” Susan pointed at her father, “I’ll tell you why. As a bribe; so that good old Uncle Sam won’t reduce investment in Australia. That’s why.”
“So? Why should you care what happens to a bunch of slants?”
Peter looked at his brother and wondered for the hundredth time how it was that they’d turned out to be so different. As much as he loved his only brother, it was fair to say that he thought his views were racist and narrow-minded. Like Susan, Peter could hardly believe what he was hearing, but he had long given up trying to argue any sense into Roger and made a point of not discussing politics with him.
Susan looked at her dad incredulously. “Dad! How can you say that? Do you know how many people have been murdered so far? Almost two million. That’s two million innocent people – women and babies included – that have died as a result of bullets, napalm and white-phosphorous, or that have been ripped up by cluster bombs. What’s worse, this is supposed to be the International year of Human Rights. Can you believe such hypocrisy?”
Roger laughed at Susan’s impassioned response. “So that’s the rot they teach you at uni is it? It’s no bloody wonder…”
Susan interrupted him before he could say anything else. “The so-called allied forces are undertaking deliberate and wide-spread bombing of civilian targets, and you ask me why I should care.” She turned to face Stephen. “Can you believe my old man? Do you suppose he would feel the same way if I had been born a boy?”
Stephen knew that his dad had the same views as Susan on the subject. So did his mum for that matter. It was probably just as well she was inside or else Roger was likely to cop it from both barrels. Not wanting to sound like a dill, Stephen didn’t bother to point out that the whole issue of Vietnam was a little confusing to follow. He knew that what was happening was bad and he didn’t agree with killing innocent people, but he did not have the political understanding required to get as worked up on the matter as what Susan did.
Luckily for Stephen, Roger deprived him of the opportunity to respond by answering Susan’s question for him; “It doesn’t make no difference one way or another. I still wouldn’t give a shit about no bunch of slopes if you’d been born a boy.”
“Dad, surely you’re not that much of a yobbo that you don’t understand the implications of having a twenty year old son in this day and age?” The look on Roger’s face told her all she needed to know. He had no idea what she was talking about. “Dad, please tell me you’re pulling my leg. You have heard of conscription, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, of course I have.”
“So, knowing that had I been born a boy, there would have been a good chance that I would have been forced to risk my life to fight in a war that I don’t believe in, you still think the government’s done nothing wrong?”
Roger turned to Peter. “There’s nothing like a good war to make a man out of a boy, is there mate?”
Peter looked at Roger sympathetically. “Sorry mate, I’m with Susie. I don’t support conscription. The idea of Stephen turning twenty in less than two years frightens the crap out of me. I don’t want to see my son forced to fight someone else’s war. And I definitely don’t want to find out that he’s been found lying face down in the mud with a bullet in his back.”
“Yeah, I hear ya mate. But you know what young blokes are like. They’ll enlist whether we like it or not.”
Susan could hardly contain her frustration. “Dad, don’t you know anything? All twenty year old boys are required to register for National Service, it’s the law. Conscription is the process of drawing out dates like a bunch of bingo numbers. All the boys registered for National Service with the same birth date as the numbers drawn have to enlist whether they like it or not. They don’t get any choice in the matter. If you’re birthday’s drawn out, you go, and that’s all there is to it.”
Roger looked at Susan like she was a simpleton. “Well, that’s easy, don’t register.”
He mistook the look of astonishment on Susan and Peter's faces. “Hah, bet you never thought of that, hey? Even blind Freddy could’ve worked that one out.”
Maggie just caught the tail end of the conversation as she sat down next to Peter. “I think it’s best if we change the subject,” she suggested.
“About bloody time,” applauded John, “I’m getting sick to death of hearing about the same thing all the time. Bloody protesters everywhere ya go. Why don’t they get a bloody job instead of makin’ a public nuisance of ‘emselves all the time? Pack of bludgers if ya ask me. I damn near ran one of them over the other day.”
Taking some encouragement from his father, Roger continued. “Hey, who was that politician guy that said it was okay to run protesters over? He’s got my vote, that’s for sure.”
“You’re referring to Premier Askin,” Peter advised, “and he never said you were allowed run them over.”
“He did too, I heard him on the telly.”
Peter sighed. Maggie took over. “I think you’ll find, Roger, that when the car he and Lyndon Johnson were travelling in was confronted by a group of protesters, he was reported to have been heard telling the driver to “run over the bastards”.”
“That’s hardly giving them permission is it, Dad?” added Susan.
“Well, the driver shoulda done what he was told and ran em over.” John argued.
“I’m sure Graeme Dunstan and his fellow protestors do not agree with you Dad,” said Peter.
Roger was finding it difficult keeping up with the conversation. “Huh? Who’s Graeme Dunstan and what’s he got to do with the price of eggs in China?”
“He was one of the protesters Premier Askin was referring to. He was one of my students at the time.”
“Referring to when?” Roger asked as though he had just walked in on the conversation for the first time.
“See,” added John, pointing at Susan as though she were somehow responsible, “it’s always them bludger students that protest. It’s never people with real jobs.” He turned to Peter, “One of your students huh, why don’t you teach them something useful for a change?”
Peter looked at Maggie and threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m with you babe, let’s change the subject.”
***
Roger burped loudly and rubbed his well-rounded belly. “That wa
s delicious Maggie, thanks.” He got up from the chair and hitched up his shorts. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I think I’ll go and siphon the python.”
As usual, when Roger was being crass, Mary looked embarrassed. Maggie felt sorry for her. She was such a gentle-natured person and Roger was so loud and overbearing. Giving Mary a supportive smile, Maggie wondered for the hundredth time how it was that Mary had managed to stay married to him for over twenty years.
Luckily for Mary, no one seemed to notice her husband’s bad manners. The kids were inside listening to Stephen’s records and Faye was too busy berating John about overeating to take in anything that was going on around her. Maggie looked up at Peter with admiration. It was times like this that she thanked her lucky stars for the life she had.
“Don’t know why you posh people can’t just have a dunny outside. It’d sure save an old man a lot of walking,” Roger complained.
“Just ignore him,” Mary suggested, “he just likes the sound of his own voice. At home he complains about having to go outside.”
The phone rang as Roger got to the back door. “I’ll get it,” he said, picking up the phone before Maggie could protest. She cringed as she heard him offer his usual greeting. “Newtown Morgue, you kill em, we chill em. Can I help you?”
Maggie got up to rescue the unsuspecting caller from Roger’s lame jokes. The bewildered look on his face said she was already too late. “Um…this is Roger. I think you might be after Stephen.”
It seemed that Roger was more in need of rescuing than the caller. Maggie held her hand out for the phone. Roger handed it to her gratefully. “Hello, this is Maggie.”
Roger waited with anticipation to hear the rest of the conversation.
“That’s odd. They hung up.” Maggie looked at Roger, “who was it?”
“Dunno, but she was crying hysterically.”
Maggie frowned. “Crying? You sure?”
“Yeah, she sounded really upset.”
“She?”
“Yeah, a very upset she, I’d say.”
“Well, what did she say?”
“She must’ve thought I was Stephen. She asked me why I didn’t want to see her.”
Peter appeared at the back door “Everything Okay?”
“Do you always have sheilas crying on the phone mate?”
Peter looked confused. “Sorry?”
Roger explained, “just then, some sheila bawling her eyes out on the end of the line.”
Peter felt the blood drain from his face and hoped no one else noticed. Great, just what he needed – Jane calling him at home – what a nightmare. “Is it any wonder with the way you greeted them?” Peter hoped his remark sounded casual enough.
Maggie put her hand on Peter's shoulder. “Don’t panic, it was just Marjorie. She already rang once, before you got home.”
“Oh,” he nodded, “what did she want?”
“She wanted to take Stephen out to lunch, but he refused.”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah, can you believe it? He’s already told her he doesn’t want to see her, and she rings up and invites him to lunch. What did she think, by enticing him with free food, she’d get what she wanted?”
“It’d work for me,” Roger announced proudly, before losing interest and joining his parents in the backyard.
After he was gone, Maggie looked at Peter affectionately. “You alright love?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You look like you just saw a ghost, that’s all.”
“Oh…yeah well, I thought for a minute it might have been Michelle on the phone.”
Maggie stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the nose. “How lucky am I?” she asked, not expecting an answer. Peter gave her a reluctant smile and took her proffered hand. She led him through the back of the yard to where the others were gathered.
Chapter 18
Tuesday, 18 December 1979
“Mrs Cowan! Mrs Cowan! Come quick, Dianne’s fallen off the tree and she can’t breathe.” I tore across the front yard and pounded on the front door, missing the perfect opportunity to go bowling with the garden gnomes. I could see Gregory sticky-beaking through the gap in the fence next door, so I stuck my tongue out at him.
Mrs Cowan came running out. “What happened?”
“We were walking along the tree trunk and she slipped and fell.”
“What the bloody hell were you doing walking along a tree trunk?” she asked accusingly.
I don’t think she expected me to answer, so I didn’t. She took off like a rocket towards my house, mumbling to herself the whole way about letting Dianne out with a tomboy. Instead of thinking what a bitch she was for saying such a thing, I wondered how the hell she didn’t hurt herself with that backside swinging from side to side like it did. I hadn’t seen anything so funny in ages. Any other time, I would’ve laughed til I wet myself, but I was too frightened to think straight. I ran towards my back fence. “It’s this way.”
She followed me down the backyard towards the gap in the fence. Oh Jesus, she was too fat to fit through. Now what? I panicked. She’d have to climb over. I was just about to suggest it when she threw me something. “Here, give her this.”
Dianne must have been having an asthma attack because she threw me her asthma puffer. I silently hoped that’s all it was as caught the blue plastic device and held on tight. I was surprised to see Dianne still lying on the ground where I left her. I didn’t think you could have an asthma attack just from falling off a tree. She looked like she was dead and I was just about to say as much, but then I saw her move.
“Dianne darling,” cooed Mrs Cowan, “Jenny’s going to give you your puffer. When she does, I want you to take deep breaths and try to relax. You’re going to be alright honey.”
I climbed through the fence and ran to where Dianne lay. I knelt on the ground next to her and lifted her head so I could give her the puffer. Her mouth was turning blue and she was breathing in really short wheezy breaths, making high-pitched raspy sounds.
“Not like that, you stupid girl,” snapped Mrs Cowan, “you’ll block her airways. Get her to sit up first.”
Oh shit, I hope I can do this right, I thought. I moved around behind her head and tried to get her to sit up. Mrs Cowan was trying to pull another paling off the fence so she could squeeze through. I’d seen Cameron Kelly use his puffer before, so I had a fair idea how to use it. I managed to get her to sit up a bit, but she was like a dead weight, so I leaned her against me so she wouldn’t fall down again. I reached around from behind her and put the puffer to her mouth. As I pushed down on the cylinder, I told her to take a breath. Before I could tell if I had done it right, her mum pushed me out of the way. “Watch out, I’ll do it,” she barked.
I stood back and watched her mum give her the puffer. When she squeezed down on it, she made Dianne take a few breaths and then she did it all over again. Within a couple of minutes Dianne’s breathing had eased a bit and the colour slowly started to return to her mouth.
Kate must have heard all the fuss and came out to see what was happening. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Dianne’s having an asthma attack,” I said shakily. She came over and stood beside me. She put her arm around my shoulder and watched as Mrs Cowan propped Dianne up against a nearby log.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
Kate always knows exactly what to say. Not like me, I get all tongue-tied when things go wrong.
“No thanks, love, she’ll be okay. She just needs to sit and rest for a while and catch her breath.” Mrs Cowan caught me glaring at her. “Sorry I snapped, Jenny,” she added resentfully.
She didn’t sound sorry to me.
I didn’t respond. She had no right to take it out on me. It’s not my fault Dianne has asthma, or that she fell off the tree, for that matter. I stood there close to tears wondering what to do next. Tracy came and joined us. She must have been able to tell I was a bit rattled by what was ha
ppening, because she asked me what was wrong.
“Nothing.” I tried not to let the others see I was upset. “Dianne fell off the tree and had an asthma attack and Mrs Cowan thinks it’s my fault, that’s all.” I turned and ran inside and into my bedroom. I threw myself down on my bed and burst into tears. Hendrix looked at me curiously. No doubt wondering why I was upset. Hendrix was a gift from Clare. I’ve had him since I was five. When she gave him to me she told me everyone needs a teddy to talk to. She found him at the markets and thought he looked like he needed a good home and someone to love him, so she got him for me. It wasn’t even my birthday or anything. Now, he’s my favourite thing in the whole world. Not just because Clare got him for me either. He just is, that’s all.
A little while later, Tracy knocked on my door and asked me if I was okay. I didn’t want her to know I’d been crying so I answered as cheerfully as I could. “Mrs Cowan said Dianne will be fine,” she informed me. “She’s taken her home to rest and said you can visit her tomorrow if you like.”
“Okay,” I said, and whispered to Hendrix, “I doubt that I’ll visit her place ever again.” He looked at me like he knew exactly what I meant.
“Oh, and Jenny; it wasn’t your fault, so don’t you listen to what that fat bitch says, okay?”
Tracy’s comment made me feel better. “OK, I won’t.”
I waited until I heard Tracy’s door close and sat Hendrix back on my pillow where he belonged. When I ventured back out, Brian was still sitting in the front yard playing with his friend Michael. They were pushing their Matchbox cars through Mum’s garden and had been there all morning. Brian’s messy brown hair was covered in dirt. So was Michael’s. It looked like they’d been throwing dirt at each other. “Don’t let Mum catch you playing in the garden,” I warned, “she’ll go off her nut.”
“Get nicked.”
I couldn’t be bothered answering back, so I just left them to their mess. It’ll be his problem if Mum gets home and catches him, not mine. I helped myself to the last piece of blackberry pie and sat on the front veranda eating it. Mum wasn’t around to see me, so I used my fingers as cutlery, licking them clean after each mouthful. Brian and Michael ignored me, which suited me fine. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone anyway. I remembered the book I was reading and went inside to get it. The Naughtiest Girl in the School is my favourite book at the moment. I’ve already read it once and I’m half way through it again. It’s almost as good second time around, but nothing can change the fact that I know what’s coming, and that’s never a good thing.
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