by Liza Perrat
‘Let’s call them poo burgers, then.’ And we were both laughing far too crazily for something as moderately funny as that. So much that tears flooded our cheeks, my sides ached and my arm got sore from turning the mincer handle.
***
After tea, I stood on a chair in my bedroom to put up the new David Cassidy posters, Nanna Purvis handing me bits of sticky tape.
I stuck the last tape in place, jumped from the chair and stood back to admire them. ‘Groovy, huh?’
‘Groovy all right,’ Nanna Purvis said with a smirk. ‘Now come on, it’s telly time.’
She switched on the television and patted a place beside her and Billie-Jean. ‘Reckon you’re old enough to watch Number 96 now, Tanya.’
‘Can I, really?’ Nanna Purvis’s favourite show, Number 96, was Australia’s biggest soap opera, with –– so I’d heard at school –– lots of sex, nudity, racism, gay people and drugs.
Bitta, Steely and I sat with Nanna Purvis and Billie-Jean, and I managed to finish off the whole three-pound packet of jelly beans we’d got at Kmart for one dollar. Nanna Purvis didn’t say a word about me gobbling, and even poured me a nip of sherry, along with her own.
I sipped the sherry –– heavy and tart but not unpleasant; a taste I could probably get used to.
I threw the empty jelly bean packet onto the coffee table, disgusted with myself. ‘I’ll never be a skinny model like Twiggy.’
‘Why you wanna look like that sickly-looking creature?’ Nanna Purvis said, and swallowed a mouthful of sherry.
Sickly-looking creature who probably has to have photos taken in the nude. No, I do not want to be like Twiggy.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll slim down,’ she said with a slap on my thigh. ‘If ya quit scoffing all that food, that is.’ She turned her attention back to the telly, her knobbly hand still resting on my leg. I’d never known the feel of her skin on mine, and it was strange.
‘So did Pop Purvis belt you?’ I said. ‘Dad said ... some things ...’
She pulled away her hand, fingers closing around Billie-Jean’s collar. ‘He could be a bit free with the fists now and again. When he got too much grog under his belt.’
‘Did he hit my mother too?’
‘Not a chance, I’d have killed the bastard if he ever laid a hand on Eleanor. Though I didn’t give him much of a chance –– packed your mum off to that posh boarding school up Mittagong way soon as she was old enough. Ya mother might have learned to speak all proper, but fat lot of good that fancy school did her in the end.’
She took another sip of sherry. ‘Never really wanted kids meself. Didn’t want them to have that kind of a father.’
‘But you had Mum?’
‘Bit of an accident that was,’ she said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t sorry I had Eleanor, but I was thirty-two years old, an old woman to be having a baby, in those days.’ She sighed and swallowed the last of her sherry.
‘You wouldn’t really have killed your own husband, would you?’
‘You bet ya cotton socks I would’ve, Tanya. Even had it all planned,’ she said as Number 96 finished and I switched off the television. ‘But that’s only for your ears, mind.’ Nanna Purvis’s face lit up in a mad kind of grin. ‘But then the old codger keeled over on the dunny and whoosh, all me troubles over. Dead and buried.’ She poured herself another shot of sherry, topped up my glass. ‘Let that be a lesson, Tanya. Ya gotta pick the right one to get hitched to. Don’t get caught up with the wrong bloke, like your mum almost did.’
‘You mean Uncle Blackie?’
She nodded, took a sip of sherry.
‘What did you mean “fat lot of good that fancy school did her in the end”?’
‘Because your mother still got herself in a spot of trouble. But if I tell you, don’t go blabbing your mum’s secret, okay?’ She wagged a finger at me. ‘She don’t want no one to know about the kid.’
‘I know how to keep my mouth shut,’ I said. ‘What kid?’
‘The one she had with that monster, Blackburn. I was all set to help Eleanor out, bring the kid up as me own, but soon as her father –– Pop Purvis –– found out she was preggers he made me pack Eleanor off to this Catholic convent in Sydney.’
‘What happened to the baby?’
‘Those nuns tricked your mum into signing the adoption papers before she knew what she was doing.’ She swallowed more sherry. ‘Never even let her get a look at the kid –– a boy it was, apparently –– snatched him away quick smart, and she never set eyes on him again.’
The bathroom scene came hurtling back to me: Mum’s terrible cries, her blood everywhere, another baby flushed down the toilet. And that seabed sorrow made more sense to me –– the sadness that had swamped her after each lost baby. Each one that might have been a boy.
Then the overdose. I understood that too. When Shelley died, she’d had enough; just couldn’t take any more sadness.
‘I have a brother ... how old is he?’
‘Half-brother,’ Nanna Purvis said. ‘Born around the end of ’58, so he’d be turning fifteen this year.’
‘Just three years older than me.’ I became excited at the idea of this unknown brother; that I might not, in the end, have to grow up an only child. ‘Where could he be? Maybe we could find him ... get him back?’
‘Gawd, not a chance,’ Nanna Purvis said. ‘Once a kid’s adopted out that’s it. And no point searching, you’d never find him.’
‘Did Uncle Blackie know about the baby boy?’
Nanna Purvis nodded. ‘Wanted to marry Eleanor, he did ... get himself a proper family: him, Eleanor and the kid. But she was only sixteen. Too young to get hitched.’ Another gulp of sherry. ‘Then, when ya mum was at the convent, the Carter girl thing happened with Blackie,’ she said, ‘and they locked him away. Anyway, ya mum had it tough on the baby front, that’s why all them miscarriages got to her so bad.’
Still stunned at my mother’s secret, I helped Nanna Purvis up off her banana lounge. She limped off to her bedroom, Billie-Jean under one arm, and said: ‘So remember, don’t go spouting a word of this to anyone.’
I nodded. I could keep a secret, though I was tempted to blurt out the Uncle Blackie secret, his photos, to Nanna Purvis.
No, no, I can’t! She might blab to my mother.
I took Steely into my bedroom, shoved the red-rose bedspread onto the floor and lay on my sheet. ‘Poor Mum,’ I said, cradling my cat against my chest, stroking his soft grey fur.
Certain the first letter to Dad had gone astray, I began another one. I had to convince him to come home to us. Not just for my sake, but for my mother’s too. I was certain that was the only way to bring back the happiness to our family.
I explained to Dad that thanks to the new Tryptanol medication, Mum was recovering after the nervous breakdown. I told him not to worry, that Nanna Purvis and I were fine and I was having a fun time with Angela. I didn’t ask if he’d run off to Mount Isa with Stacey Mornon’s mother as I didn’t want to accept the terrible truth of that. I said nothing about Uncle Blackie flirting with my mother, or annoying me about going back to see him at Albany. Besides, I didn’t like talking about Uncle Blackie. Or thinking about him.
But that soon became impossible, when Uncle Blackie started coming around to Gumtree Cottage.
34
‘You go on into bed, Tanya,’ Nanna Purvis said, as Lenny drove his van into the driveway of number eleven after our tea down at the RSL club. ‘Just gonna share a nip or two with Old Lenny here. Can’t let the poor bloke drink sherry on his own, can I?’
Lenny let out a crackly laugh, revealing the gap where one tooth was missing.
‘Oh no,’ I said, smirking at my grandmother. ‘That would be so mean to leave poor Old Lenny on his own.’
‘The cheek of ya,’ she said with a slap on my arm. ‘Now off ya go, I won’t be long. And don’t even think of giving Billie-Jean’s Pooch Snax to that Bitta mongrel.’
With a laugh, I jumped out
of Lenny’s van and hurried across to number thirteen.
Nanna Purvis always called Lenny Longbottom “Old Lenny”, though he was a whole year younger than her. But what did one year matter; they both looked about a hundred years old to me.
‘Why would you want to have tea with Old Lenny?’ I’d said to Nanna Purvis, when she told me he’d invited us both to the club. ‘You don’t even like him.’
‘Ah, ya gotta be a bit tolerant sometimes, Tanya. If Old Lenny’s pining for me sparkling company, what choice have I got?’
I skipped up the front porch steps into Gumtree Cottage, started to walk down the hallway. Ahead of me, the kitchen light spilled into the end of the hallway though I clearly remembered switching it off before Nanna Purvis and I left for the club.
I stiffened, pressed a palm against my thudding heart. ‘Hello ... anyone there?’
‘Don’t be scared, it’s only me, Tanya.’
Uncle Blackie was sitting in a kitchen chair, a large package before him, on the table.
‘Uncle Blackie, what ...?’ I stammered, trying to mask my fear. ‘What are you doing here? And since when do you walk into somebody’s house without knocking?’
‘Since they leave the door unlocked,’ Uncle Blackie said with a wink. He stood up, looking down at me with that friendly smile. ‘When I realised you and your grandmother were out, I thought I’d just wait here, to give you this.’ He pointed to the box on the table.
‘What is it?’ I said warily.
‘Why don’t you open it and find out?’
‘I’ll wait till Nanna Purvis comes back,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll open it.’
‘You know your grandmother doesn’t want us to be friends, Tanya. Why not open it now, before she gets back?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, picking at the brown paper.
‘Don’t be silly, you know we’re mates. And I know you’ll just love what’s inside this box.’
‘Isn’t it my mother you’re mates with? The one you buy presents for?’
He raked a hand through the curly black nest, threw back his head and laughed –– taunting, mocking. ‘How innocent you are. How young and sweetly naïve.’
A blood-hot rage simmered inside me. I pushed the parcel away. ‘How dare you make fun of me!’
‘I’m not ... I’m not,’ he said, still laughing. ‘I’d never make fun of you, Tanya. And you’ll see just how much I care about you once you open your present.’ He nodded at the package again. ‘Go on, you’ll see.’
I ripped off the brown paper, took the lid off the box.
‘Oh wow, thanks,’ I said, pulling out a pair of white boot-roller skates, lacing them up over my sandals. ‘They fit perfectly. How did you know my shoe size?’
‘Just a hunch. And I bet you’ll be the star skater of Wollongong.’ Uncle Blackie ruffled my hair, patted it down it over my ears, his eyes warm, his smile happy.
I stood there, staring at the groovy skates, barely hearing Nanna Purvis’s voice chiming up the back verandah steps.
‘Yeah, you too, sleep tight, Old Lenny,’ she called. ‘Don’t let them bed bugs bite.’
Without another glance at me, Uncle Blackie sidled down the hallway and out the front door as quickly and soundlessly as a Gumtree Cottage ghost.
But from then on he started coming regularly to fix things around the house and yard. I could tell his presence annoyed my grandmother, though, thankful to have the jobs done, she just let him go about his work, never speaking to him.
In all that time, Uncle Blackie didn’t mention the photos, or ask if I wanted him to take some more. He never asked me to go back to Albany. All he did was bring me presents: a shiny glow mesh handbag the same as Mum’s, my own bottle of Cologne 4711, a pair of cork-heeled platforms.
He put my red bike in the back of the Kingswood and brought it over to Gumtree Cottage. I rode it around the neighbourhood –– especially outside Stacey’s house –– the streamers flashing behind me.
I wondered however I could have doubted my caring uncle or imagined he could be a filthy perv. Angela’s warning words faded from my mind, and when I went to her place in Bottlebrush Crescent I never brought up the subject of Uncle Blackie.
***
‘Look, Steely, a letter from Dad!’ I’d written the second letter almost a month ago, and had just about given up hope of a reply. But I hadn’t checked the letterbox for a few days; it could’ve been sitting there for ages.
I pushed the envelope under the cat’s nose. ‘I bet Dad will say he’s coming home.’
The Anzac Day breeze in my face smacked of autumn. No school today because April twenty-fifth was a public holiday commemorating the loss of over eight thousand Australian and two thousand, seven hundred New Zealand soldiers at Gallipoli in 1915.
I sat in the sun on the front verandah step, shooed away a fly, and, forgetting for the moment I was still cranky with my father, ripped open the envelope.
Dad’s writing was shaky, which was odd as he’d always had neat handwriting.
C/o Wingfield House,
Mount Isa
Queensland
My dearest Tanya,
How are you, Princess? I’m fine up here in Mount Isa. There’s heaps of money to be made in the mines so I’m busy working hard all the time.
Mount Isa’s a really hot place, so hot sometimes I think the sun’ll shrivel those mines right up. There’s a nice lake though with shady, grassed areas and barbecues, where everybody goes swimming and boating and has picnics. I’d love to take you there sometime, to see the cormorants, the galahs, the pelicans.
You’re probably wondering why I haven’t phoned. Well, Mount Isa is so far away that the phones don’t work very often.
I was sorry to hear about your mum’s nervous breakdown but it sounds like she’s finally on the right pills and will be home before you know it. Don’t worry I’m sure they’ll take good care of her in the hospital ... look how they fixed me up after that car accident.
I’m thinking of you all the time and hope you and Mum and Nanna Purvis are okay and that you’re working hard at school.
Be a good girl, give a pat to Steely, Billie-Jean and Bitta and I hope to see you soon.
Love forever,
Dad xxx ooo
He hadn’t mentioned Mrs Mornon, or Stacey going to live with them.
I ran inside, taking the milk bottles from the doorstep on my way and waved the envelope at Nanna Purvis.
‘See, I told you Dad hasn’t abandoned us. “Soon”, he says ... “hope to see you soon”.’
‘Don’t hold ya breath, Tanya. Hard that it is to get your head around, Dobson’s done a bunk. Wearing that wobbly boot made his brain go funny.’
‘Dad hasn’t done a bunk.’
Nanna Purvis kept her gaze on the television screen, one hand stroking Billie-Jean. ‘Look at these dickheads, would ya? Trying to beat that bloke, Bob Hawke’s record of sculling two and a half pints of beer in eleven seconds and getting themselves in the Guinness Book of Records. Rita reckons that bloke’ll be prime minister one day. I said to her, I don’t know what this country’s coming to, letting in all them foreigners, and packs of women marching about burning their bras, and boozers wanting to become prime minister.’
‘Is Mum ever coming home?’ I said. ‘She’s been in that mental ward for ages.’
‘She’ll be home soon enough, but I told you, ya gotta understand it takes a long time to recover from this kind of illness. And when the doc does let her out, you’ll mind to be good and not bother her with silly questions like “am I adopted?” Give your mum time to recover.’
I wondered how long it took to recover from trying to kill yourself. Or from murdering your baby.
Could you ever recover from that?
35
Two months later, around the end of June, I was sitting on the verandah with my yoyo, Steely swiping a paw at the string. Nanna Purvis was over at number eleven watching telly with Old Lenny.
‘H
ey, Tanya,’ Uncle Blackie said, loping outside from where he’d been repairing the leaky kitchen tap. ‘The hospital just rang. Good news, your Mum’ll be coming home tomorrow.’
‘Really? Did you hear that, Steely? Mum’s better!’
In the months of my mother’s absence, while Uncle Blackie was at Gumtree Cottage clearing the yard, repairing broken taps and toilets, he’d never touched me. Not once. He always spoke in that soft and friendly way, so I was surprised when he sat cross-legged beside me on the wooden boards and his hand slid onto my knee.
‘Thought I’d varnish these old verandah boards,’ he said. ‘And paint the railings and posts. This old paint’s all peeling away. Pretty new paint would brighten up the whole of Gumtree Cottage. What do you think, Tanya: green, blue ... red? I know you love red.’
‘Whatever you reckon,’ I said, clutching the yoyo in both hands as his index finger rubbed at the Hills Hoist scar on my knee. I didn’t move, my neck and face burning up.
His gaze skated over my body, easy, familiar. ‘You’re a woman now, not a little girl anymore. Those hips could almost bear a child.’ He moved closer, the whispery voice burrowing through my ear. His finger still rubbing at the knee scar, my whole leg trembled. ‘Don’t be scared, Tanya, you know I’d never hurt you.’
He inhaled so deeply as if he were breathing me right inside him. ‘You like the perfume I got you then?’
I nodded, couldn’t get any words out, just sat there. A cement statue.
The therapeutic gardening hands were bristles on my face. A finger tracing the outline of my lips, the curve of my nose, my brow, finding the crevices in my ears. Scraping down one arm, across to a small breast, making circles around the nipple.
I sensed it wasn’t right. That despite his floaty sea-ripple voice what Uncle Blackie was doing was all wrong. I should get up and run but I couldn’t. My body tingled, a heavy throb pulsing low in my groin. A feeling I did not want to stop.
‘She left me ... chucked me aside like dirty rubbish.’ Uncle Blackie’s voice was a cracked whisper, his breaths coming hot and fast on my face. ‘Not you though, Tanya. You’re mine now, aren’t you?’