Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  She pulled her hand back. ‘Geez, Pike, really? You think it was easy for Joe? You think our parents were stoked to have a Chinese son-in-law? You missed it all being in Sydney.’

  My uncle went to speak but Mum shook her head.

  ‘Not having a go,’ she said. Uncle Pike closed his mouth and nodded. ‘Eventually,’ Mum said, ‘they got to know Joe. Tippy came along and they saw what a great dad and husband he was. By then they were sold, but it wasn’t ever easy with them.’

  I brought over Mum’s mug of coffee. ‘Thanks, honey.’ I went back to the kitchen for my uncle’s, a deliberate second trip so they wouldn’t stop talking because of me.

  ‘Don’t ever think it was easy,’ she said. ‘And Joe’s mother … so disappointed her only son was marrying me.’ Mum spooned in some sugar and stirred. ‘Still is.’ Mum took a sip. ‘But more importantly—Devon. What are you doing to fix that?’

  Uncle Pike shrugged and sighed. ‘His jealousy … I don’t know what’s going on there.’

  ‘Really?’ Mum said. ‘He has this shocking experience at Christmas and you buy the place where it happened.’

  ‘We both bought it,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Devon wanted to renovate it, as a holiday house.’

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Forcing him back there. Plus what happened in the town hall carpark with the policewoman must have triggered him as well.’ She stared at Uncle Pike. ‘He needs to see someone, Pike. He’s probably got mild PTSD.’

  My uncle nodded and blew air out from his cheeks. ‘You’re making sense, he wasn’t sleeping, lost a lot of weight … He told me he wanted the house. Excited.’

  Mum tapped her finger on her coffee cup.

  Uncle Pike’s eyes widened. ‘He just wanted to avoid dealing with it. Have another external project to focus on, especially after all that time he spent on his last collection. It was after the runway show he said yes to the house …’ Uncle Pike bowed and ran his fingers through his snowy mane.‘Shit. I should have noticed that.’ He peeked at Mum and gave her a small smile. ‘At least it’s not me this time.’

  Mum pretended to throw her coffee at him then laughed. ‘Oh, it’s definitely you, all right. You broke up with him, remember?’ He frowned. She stood up and kissed him on the head. ‘We’d better get ready for the service.’

  After I got changed I watched TV while Uncle Pike did Mum’s hair and makeup. When he’d finished, he came back out into the living room. ‘Want me to do your makeup again?’

  ‘Yes, please’. He studied me for a second then perched near me on the couch.

  ‘Your mum is stubborn and wears horrible clothes, but she is incredible and loves you more than anything,’ he said.

  I played with my fingers. ‘I know.’

  Uncle Pike gently nudged me and I looked up into his blue eyes. ‘You keep talking, okay?’ he said. ‘And promise me that if something doesn’t feel right, you keep calling it out?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  ‘Take it from me,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Just because someone’s an adult doesn’t mean they’re right all the time. Fuck silence. We’re still unlearning, but you don’t have to be us.’ He banged his fist on his chest, over his heart. ‘Speak truth to power, Tippy.’

  I copied him.

  Mum came back in. She looked pretty. ‘What are you doing?’

  I fist-bumped Uncle Pike. ‘It also doesn’t mean they’re always wrong.’ I got up and kissed Mum on the cheek. ‘You look beautiful,’ I said. ‘There’s something I’ve got to do.’

  ‘Why do you have to go now?’ Mum asked.

  I ran out before I changed my mind.

  She called after me. ‘Don’t forget, we’ve got the memorial service.’

  I didn’t stop until I got to the doorstep and knocked. My tummy muscles hardened and for a split second I thought about bolting before someone answered the door. Mrs Brown opened it. She shrank back when she saw me.

  Slapping the garage wall flashed into my head and I dropped my chin. My face felt so hot I thought I’d burst into flames.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered to the doorstep. Before I could look up, Mrs Brown swallowed me up in a talcum-powdered bosomy hug.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I stood with Uncle Pike in the middle of Main Street, near the medical centre. Across the road was where Mum had kneeled as she treated Chuck. Everything was the same but different. If you didn’t look too hard, you might not notice the odd chipped concrete wall or the fresh putty in the shop windows.

  I kept an eye out for Devon in the crowd, clapping my blue woollen mittens together to keep warm. It was cold, but at least it wasn’t raining, though the afternoon sky was filled with low-hanging grey clouds. Ahead of us in the town hall carpark, a truck’s deck was being used as a makeshift stage for the memorial service. It was parked on ground zero, the swimming-pool-sized hole gone, filled up and patched over. On each side of the deck, large speakers were stacked, and in the middle was a row of black folding chairs. Behind the stage was Riverstone Town Hall covered in scaffolding and blue tarpaulins, roped together like a badly wrapped present. A memory of Dad’s terrible gift-wrapped Christmas presents came to me, all crunched up paper and sticky-tape everywhere. I had loved getting those. I pulled off a mitten and pinched myself hard, shoving the memory away.

  Another part of Main Street that wouldn’t let people forget the bombing was the empty space on the corner where the office of Henderson Lawyers had been. The two-storey building had been demolished right down to the footpath. All that remained was a broken brick wall outline so low that you might trip over it if you weren’t careful. Next door, the butcher’s wall was blackened but its windows had been repaired. Now, from Main Street you could see through the gap to the rest of the town hall and, beyond, a tall concrete arch of Riverstone Bridge.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see Devon in the tightest black shorts I had ever seen. He was taller in his sparkly gold stiletto ankle boots. His white crop top had a blue bull and the word Beef stamped across it, and hanging like a fringe at the bottom of it were little fluoro orange and pink pom-poms, which dangled over his midriff. I wondered if he was freezing.

  Devon glanced at Uncle Pike, then pulled me over to one side. He crouched to my eye level and whispered, ‘Do I look all right?’

  I nodded. ‘Beautiful.’ His cheeks above his stubble glittered.

  He frowned and looked down at his outfit. ‘I wanted to look hot.’

  ‘Definitely unmanageable, that’s what I meant to say. Are those shorts leather?’

  Devon stared at me like I was mad. ‘What else would they be?’ He shuddered. ‘Yuck, don’t answer that.’

  ‘No, I just thought it might be body paint.’

  He inhaled sharply then grabbed my hand and kissed it. ‘I love you, Tippy Chan.’ He stood up and moved to one side, leaving me in the middle between him and Uncle Pike. ‘Tell your great-aunt I’m not talking to her.’

  ‘Suits me,’ my uncle said, staring at Devon’s shorts. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

  I sniffed. ‘Can you smell smoke?’ The air was clear and I wasn’t sure if it was my mind playing tricks on me. Devon nodded and Uncle Pike shook his head. Poor Devon. I grabbed hold of his arm and snuggled into him.

  Mum was at the front with the other first responders. A couple of people stepped up onto the stage. I pointed out the Chief of Police and the Mayor’s wife to Uncle Pike and Devon. She was chatting to another woman in a black pantsuit.

  ‘Who’s the mystery box?’ Uncle Pike asked.

  ‘You can’t say that,’ Devon said. ‘Don’t listen to him, Tippy.’

  My uncle stared at him. ‘I thought you weren’t talking to me?’

  Devon sniffed and put his hands behind his back, pushing out his hips. ‘I’m not.’

  I spotted Melanie near the stage and waved at her, hoping to catch her eye.

  Melanie turned and waved back. She made her way through the crowd and joined us. She l
ooked beautiful with Uncle Pike’s hair-styling and flawless makeup. She’d been working the crowd in a stylish black dress and her show queen sash. Devon had altered her dress, tailoring it as well as fixing up the ‘bogan’ sleeves and ruffles.

  ‘Kia ora, girls. Great shorts,’ she said to Devon.

  He curtsied. ‘Where’s Phyllis?’

  ‘Up the front with Grandad.’ She grinned at me. ‘Tippy, your makeup’s amazing.’

  Uncle Pike had given me my ‘rock-star’ look again before we left. I felt myself blush and I gave Melanie an awkward bow, quickly changing the subject. ‘What’s dry dogging?’

  ‘What?’ my uncle said.

  ‘Don’t look at me, Betty,’ Melanie said. ‘I didn’t teach her that.’

  ‘Dry dogging,’ I said, pointing to graffiti spray-painted on the brick alleyway near the pub. ‘See?’

  ‘Sounds like something without lube,’ Devon said.

  ‘Sounds painful,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘Speaking of,’ Melanie said. ‘It’s time to role model the fuck out of this.’ She put on a bright smile and headed off towards the makeshift stage.

  ‘Why would you need lube?’ I asked.

  They both ignored my question. Devon gave me a quick hug then walked over to join Mum. Uncle Pike watched him until he was queueing with Mum at the stairs by the back of the truck.

  On stage, Hornblower shook hands with Duncan Nunn, then took his seat by the Chief of Police, leaning forward to talk to his camera crew on the ground in front of him. He sat back then moved his head around until the camera-woman gave a thumbs up.

  My uncle grimaced. I held his hand. ‘Are you okay?’ He kept staring straight ahead, but gave a slight nod. I spotted the back of Lorraine’s head near Hornblower’s crew. Beside her was the camera-man we saw on the night of the explosion.

  ‘Tena koutou katoa, Riverstone.’ Mayor Aroha Jones’s voice echoed up Main Street from the loudspeakers. She stood on the makeshift stage with her wife. The crowd quietened down. The Mayor first spoke te reo Maori, then said a welcome in English. ‘Last Tuesday is a day that will stay with us forever. Each and every one of us knew, or were touched in some way, by the lives that were lost, and the many injured. We can only thank a higher power that there weren’t more fatalities.

  ‘Today we are reclaiming our street, mending the heart of our town. Crews have been working around the clock repairing the road, replacing glass, inspecting damage to neighbouring buildings. Making our town safe again.’

  The crowd cheered.

  ‘What about the insurance companies? Must have cost a fortune,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘It’s the Mayor’s wife’s company who did the repairs,’ I said.

  My uncle raised his eyebrows.

  The Mayor continued, ‘Riverstone Town Hall remains sealed for the near future. We are working with our local MP Sheila Buxton—’

  Sheila in her pantsuit gave the crowd a wave. She reminded me of a duck, if a duck wore bright red lipstick and had false teeth. I was scared if she smiled too much her huge chompers would fall out. Sam would’ve loved her. I took a sneaky pic just in case I ever saw him again.

  ‘—and the government on options for rebuilding the heart of our town.’

  Sheila nodded along beside the Mayor. I noticed the Mayor’s wife checking out Sheila and wondered if anything was going on there.

  ‘Main Street Pub and its restaurant, Lyndells, were severely damaged and will remain closed for the interim while repair work is undertaken. In the case of Henderson Lawyers, the ruins were deemed unsafe and sadly the building had to be demolished. I want to assure you, the public, that these structures have been inspected and pose no danger to pedestrians, nor passing traffic.’

  Murmurs and nods from the crowd.

  Mayor Jones went on, ‘Shortly, we will have a memorial and awards ceremony. To honour those who died on Tuesday in the blast, and also to honour those brave first responders who scoured the area and tended to the wounded despite the potential personal risk from further explosions.

  ‘As you know, the Prime Minister wished to be here today but was unable to make it. Therefore, to present the awards on behalf of the Government I call on the Honourable Member for South Otago, Shelia Buxton MP.’

  Sheila stood up and wiped her hands on the front of her black trousers, giving the Mayor a nod.

  ‘First, to recognise the selfless heroism of Detective Sergeant Brenda Graham.’ The Mayor handed Sheila a wooden plaque. ‘To accept this on behalf of DS Graham, who is still in intensive care, we have our own Chief of Police, Glen Hunt.’ The Chief of Police stepped up and accepted the award. The photographer from the Bully snapped some pics.

  ‘All the memorial awards have been made from our founding tree, which as we all sadly know, was destroyed. A plaque will be placed commemorating the founding tree, and as part of the town hall re-opening we will plant a rata, symbolising a new era for Riverstone.’

  The crowd clapped and some cheered. I wondered if the plaque would be made out of wood from the founding tree as well. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, it was kind of like using someone’s own skin to mark their grave. Maybe they’d make the stump into a picnic table, though people probably wouldn’t want to eat that close to the public toilets.

  ‘This will be the only time I will speak of the bomber. Although his friends and family, if any are left, perhaps grieve his loss, what happened here on this spot is unforgivable. We will not insult the memory of those lives he destroyed.’

  ‘Whoa,’ my uncle said. ‘That’s harsh.’

  I wondered again about Mr Tulips. Had we seen all the proof they had against him? His van slowing down and backing up to the edge of the screen. Was it just a coincidence? A flash of Uncle Pike telling me, ‘If you look up at the sky long enough Tippy, you are going to see something.’ Is that all I’m doing? Maybe I needed to let this go.

  ‘We honour the memory of Raewyn Dalrymple, the wife of my great friend and colleague, Councillor John Dalrymple.’ The Mayor handed Sheila another wooden plaque. I wouldn’t want someone to give me a trophy to remember Dad dying. ‘John is an essential community member who is graciously here to accept this award. We grieve with him and his family.’ Giant John came up the stairs and shook hands with Sheila. He had a grim look for the camera then went and sat in the front row, beside the Chief of Police, shaking his hand as well.

  ‘Not much about Raewyn?’ I said to Uncle Pike.

  ‘Seems to be all about her husband,’ he said.

  ‘We honour the memory of Angus Henderson.’ The Mayor handed Sheila another wooden plaque. ‘Angus Henderson was an upstanding citizen and a pillar of this community. It is a great tragedy to have lost him so soon, not only for his family and friends, but for Riverstone and the wider community. His is a presence we will never be able to fill.’

  Pete Henare came up to accept the plaque, wearing a dark navy suit. He stood with the MP and got his photo taken.

  ‘Pete scrubs up well,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Pete went over to the Mayor, who looked surprised. She covered the microphone as he spoke with her and she nodded and stepped back.

  ‘Kia ora. My name is Peter Henare, and Angus Henderson was my husband and the love of my life.’ Murmurs and ripples of chatting from the crowd. Pete stood there, dazed like he had forgotten where he was.

  ‘We love you, Pete,’ Mum called out. My uncle cupped his hands and shouted it out as well. I whooped and started clapping and Uncle Pike joined in. Melanie stood up on stage and clapped, and then the whole crowd joined in. The applause grew louder as Pete looked around at the townsfolk, and the Mayor hugged him. The Mayor’s wife and Sheila also stood up, followed by the rest of the people on stage, all clapping him as well. Pete raised his award and nodded and half bowed, then made his way to his seat, shaking hands along the way.

  He sat beside Mr Dalrymple. Pete leaned over and said something in his ear. Mr Dalrymple smiled and patted Pete’s knee. The clapping d
ied back down.

  My uncle and I frowned. ‘That was weird,’ I said. After Pete’s photo ripping the other day I thought he hated Mr Dalrymple.

  Mayor Jones continued, ‘We are also honouring our first responders. As I call your name please come up to the stage.’ She read out the names of the firemen and firewomen, the police, ambulance and then Mum’s work, the Riverstone Medical Centre team. They all came up the stairs and shook hands with the MP, and got their wooden plate and photo taken.

  ‘Helen Chan,’ the mayor called out. Mum walked up briskly and shook Sheila’s hand and then walked off, but had to be directed back for the photo. Uncle Pike and I screamed and hollered and got some evil looks from the crowd.

  ‘That’s her mum,’ Uncle Pike yelled at them, pointing at me. They smiled and nodded.

  ‘Devon … ?’ the mayor said. Devon walked up and the crowd gasped. I saw him tell Mayor Jones, ‘It’s just Devon.’ He blew a kiss to the crowd then walked the stage like a runway and shook hands with Sheila. He posed for the photo.

  I hooted and hollered again. The same people looked over. This time I pointed to Uncle Pike. ‘That’s his boyfriend.’

  ‘Ex,’ Uncle Pike muttered.

  They smiled and put their thumbs up. ‘Great shorts,’ one of the women said, and they nodded again.

  Devon walked his ‘runway’ to the edge of the stage, then put his hand on his hip, leaned back and held his award up, like he was going to eat it, posing again for the cameras. Then he kicked out his leg and sashayed off the stage.

  There were whistles and claps from the crowd and a lot of buzzing conversation.

  After the ceremony, Mum and Devon came back and showed us their wooden plates.

  Mum looked at hers and said, ‘Maybe it will be good for cheese?’

  We headed back towards the car when a young woman asked Devon if she could take a selfie with him, ‘I love your ABBA boots.’ I took her phone and snapped some pics of them together. Melanie joined the group and the girl wanted pics of her as well. People began to line up for their photos with the pair. Uncle Pike and Mum went ahead while I stayed and took photos. It felt good to see Devon happy again.