The Sisters' Song

by Louise Allan

‘Me, too,’ he said.

  The following week, I kept myself busy dusting, sweeping, mopping and washing. I pottered in the garden, mulching the soil, trimming the apple tree and striking cuttings from the geraniums. I ran errands and cooked dinner, and Len and I ate while the town clock chimed six o’clock. After dinner, Len would sit out by the back fence, mending nets in the lamplight, or he’d stay at the kitchen table making fishing flies. Meanwhile, I’d sit in the lounge knitting a cable jumper with leather buttons for a boy I might never see again. In the distance, the town clock chimed the passing hours.

  No matter how much I tried to keep busy, not for a minute did my thoughts leave Ted. I wondered where he was and if he was safe. My mind would flit back to that night and the conversation with Nora. I replayed it over and over, wishing it hadn’t happened, that he hadn’t overheard. But I knew, too, that he deserved the truth. Ted’s paternity had always been there, following him like a wave on the verge of breaking. It didn’t matter that the words had never been said; they’d hung in the heavy air around him, always.

  On the Thursday when I went to town, I walked past all three Commonwealth Banks in the hope of spotting him. I peered through the windows and doors, then turned and wandered past again in case I’d missed him. I didn’t find him.

  The following week, I went to town to pay the electricity bill and do my own banking. I headed towards the stone building of the Launceston Bank for Savings, and as I put my hand on the chrome handle of the door, I glimpsed him through the glass. My heart started pounding as I pushed on the door—it was heavy, so I had to push hard until it opened. It was him. He stood behind one of the glass partitions, all business-like as he served a customer.

  The door closed behind me with a soft ‘whoomp’ and muffled the sounds of the cars and pedestrians outside. Inside, the bank smelt of polished wood and brass. I kept my eyes on him as I walked over to the counter against the far wall, and my chest felt fluttery. I picked up a form and filled it out, glancing back at him every now and then.

  He wore glasses with thick, dark frames, and his hair was cropped and neat. He wet his fingers on a sponge beside him on the counter, then flicked each note in the pile and secured them with a rubber band. When he’d finished, he stamped a book and slid it across the counter to a young lady with dark hair and eyes. His lips smiled, but his eyes looked sadder than ever.

  When it was my turn, I stepped forward and smiled at him through the gap in the glass. ‘Hello.’ My throat felt dry and I had to clear it before I spoke again. ‘Look at you…’ That was all I could say because my face crumpled at how good it was to see him again.

  He came over a couple of nights later. When I kissed his cheek, I noticed it had hollowed, and that his trousers were baggier than when he’d left home. He was smiling, but his eyes had grown even more sombre.

  Len was outside mowing the lawn, the blades whirring and grinding as he pushed the mower. I called out to him, ‘Quick, Len, Ted’s here!’ He hurried in, the bottom of his old trousers flecked with green. He clasped Ted’s hand and shook it hard, as if Ted was the most important person in the world.

  ‘Good to see you, mate,’ he said. ‘Good to see you.’

  I piled Ted’s plate high with mince stew and asked where he was staying.

  ‘At a hostel in town.’

  When I offered more stew, he declined, and when I said we had bread and butter pudding, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Aunty, but I can’t fit any more in.’

  ‘I’m trying to fatten you up. You’re looking peaky.’

  Len frowned at me, so I returned to eating my dinner. The sounds of scraping cutlery and chewing continued for a minute or so.

  ‘What’s it like,’ I asked, ‘the place you’re staying?’

  Ted shrugged. ‘It’s a bed.’

  ‘There’s always a bed here if you want,’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Well, you know it’s here.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He nodded.

  There was another silence.

  ‘Can I tell your parents where you are?’ I said.

  Ted shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Can I at least let them know you’re safe?’

  ‘Ida,’ said Len, frowning. ‘He said no.’

  ‘They’re worried, Len. I just want to tell them he’s all right,’ I said.

  ‘Ted’s given his answer and you’ve got to respect it.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Ted. ‘You can tell them I’m safe.’

  We were quiet again.

  After we’d eaten, I made a pot of tea. Len stayed at the table reading the newspaper, while Ted and I took our cups and saucers into the lounge. I set them on the spindly mahogany table that used to be Grandma’s and flicked on the lamp. Then I pulled a chair into the circle of light and motioned for him to sit.

  I moved the other chair closer and sat, too.

  ‘How’re you faring?’ I asked.

  He shrugged again. ‘I’m all right.’ He sipped from his cup, then rubbed his forehead. ‘How are Gracie and Ben?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. But they weren’t good. No one was.’ Ted’s brow wrinkled and he bit his lip. He seemed fidgety and rubbed his forehead again. ‘Can you tell me about him?’

  ‘About who?’

  He kept rubbing his eyebrow. ‘My father. My birth father.’

  ‘I…’ I squeezed my eyes shut before opening them again. ‘It’s not my place.’

  He stopped fidgeting. ‘I need to know.’ His voice was steely and his eyes drilled into mine. Those dark eyes. ‘I deserve to know.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘Please…‘

  I inhaled. ‘Your mother was happy in those days. Really happy. She was doing what she’d always wanted to do, which was singing.’ I heard my voice change, become lighter. It was nice to tell this memory from when our lives still stretched ahead of us, full of hope. ‘It’d been a battle for your mum to sing,’ I continued. ‘Mum didn’t want her to, thought it was a waste of time, but Grandma encouraged her and secretly paid for her singing lessons. Then she won the Melba Scholarship to the Conservatorium in Melbourne, had a part in an opera…’

  He sat unmoving and his eyes didn’t waver from mine.

  ‘And she fell in love.’

  ‘With Marco?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never met him.’ I paused. ‘He was Italian, from the north of Italy, the same town as Verdi. That’s all I know.’

  ‘So why didn’t they marry?’

  I could see how much he was hurting, but I knew he deserved the truth. ‘He was already married.’

  He was quiet for a while. ‘It all makes sense now. Why I felt different. Why I always felt like an outsider.’ He sniffed. ‘Because I am.’

  ‘No, you aren’t. Not to me. Not to your Dad. Not to anyone.’

  ‘To her I am. I ruined her life.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘There were times I saw her looking at me, just staring. And I could see the hatred in her eyes. I used to stare back at her, trying to work out what I’d done wrong.’

  ‘I know you mightn’t understand, but it wasn’t hatred. It was love. You reminded her of love, of everything she’d loved. And lost.’

  He looked down again.

  ‘She’s realised how much you mean to her—’ I went on.

  ‘Don’t…’ he cut in, glancing up again. ‘Don’t. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see her again. Ever. Or…him. They both lied to me.’

  We were quiet for a long time after that. I heard Len’s footsteps in the kitchen, and the back door open and shut. ‘Len and I tried for a family,’ I said. ‘A long time ago. Before you were born. But we lost our boys. Stillbirths. Three of them.’

  Ted looked up, surprised. ‘I never knew,’ he said.

  ‘No. It’s not the type of thing you’re allowed to talk about, no matter how much you might want to.’ I paused before
going on. ‘When I lost my babies, I didn’t think I could keep living anymore.’ I spoke slowly because these memories were harder to put into words. ‘Each morning, I could barely drag myself out of bed. I didn’t want to get dressed. Didn’t want to eat. Didn’t want to do anything.’ I looked at him. ‘When you were born, I didn’t want to see you because I thought you’d remind me of the babies I couldn’t have. But when your Dad was sent to Darwin, you came to live here, and I started waking up each morning and thinking, “Oh, Teddy’ll be awake soon so I’d better get up.” I started jumping out of bed and going in to where you slept, watching you and waiting for you to wake, so I could pick you up. Then I’d bathe you and sit with you on my lap until you fell asleep. I started looking forward to the days again. You got me going again.’ I paused as I swallowed. ‘You were the reason I kept going, Ted.’

  His hands were over his eyes and they were man’s hands, with ropey veins and taut tendons. His fingers pressed against his lids and his shoulders began to shake.

  I went to him and pulled him against me so his head burrowed into my belly. He felt like a child. I held him and rubbed his cropped hair and his bony, muscular shoulders. His arms slid around me, and I felt them tighten as he pressed into me. I found his hand, and even with its man’s shape and size, it felt smooth and gentle, and just as it did when he was a soft, pudgy child.

  I leant down close to him so my mouth was against his ear and I could taste the salt of his tears.

  ‘You’re very special to me,’ I whispered. ‘And don’t you ever forget it. If ever, ever you need to hear someone say that, come and find me and I’ll tell you just how special you are. And I’ll keep telling you as many times as you need to hear it.’

  We stayed like that for a long time.

  ‘I did nothing wrong,’ he said when we separated. ‘Except be born.’

  ‘You did nothing wrong, full stop,’ I said.

  Chapter 27

  I wrote to Nora and Alf and told them Ted was in town and had a job, and that he was safe. That’s all I said because he didn’t want me to say any more.

  After that first visit, Ted started coming for dinner every Monday. I looked forward to his company—it was the one night of the week when our house wasn’t silent, when Len and I didn’t sit on our own as the distant chimes of the town clock counted down the night. Mondays were a bright spot in our week, even though seeing Ted reminded me of Alf, Nora and the kids.

  Sometimes, I broached the subject of seeing his parents again. ‘I bet your father’s missing you.’

  ‘Aunty…Don’t,’ Ted would say, and keep eating his meal.

  Len would glare at me and after Ted had gone, give me a talking to. ‘He’s just found out everyone’s been lying to him for all of his life,’ he’d say. ‘And that he’s not who he thought he was. Give him time, Ide. Give him time.’

  When I went to town to do my banking, I saw Ted then, too. I felt proud when I entered that old stone building with its wood and brass and smell of prestige. As I waited in the queue to be served, I watched him counting the money, stamping the bank books and signing the forms. Each time I saw him, he seemed more adept and confident, more professional. He even looked taller.

  Nora didn’t come into town that first month, but I didn’t think too much of it because she’d missed visits before. She missed the second and the third months, too, and then one Friday when I answered the door, Alf was standing on the verandah.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you,’ I said.

  His hand was running back and forth along the brim of his hat and he looked stooped and worn. He was freshly shaven, but his cheek felt dry when I kissed him.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I said.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Not really,’ he said. He dropped his hat and bent to pick it up. When he straightened, I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

  ‘Come in,’ I said, and stepped aside.

  He didn’t move.

  ‘Come in,’ I repeated, and waved my hand. ‘I’ll make us a pot.’

  He followed me out to the kitchen. I opened the back door and called out to Len, who was down by the back fence mending a fishing net.

  Len and Alf shook hands. They were the opposite of each other in appearance—Len was short and wiry with eyes as dark as raisins, and Alf was tall but wilting, and with eyes as grey as rain clouds. The only feature they shared was the steel colour their hair was turning.

  I popped the kettle on the stove and stoked the fire underneath. The men sat at the table and lit their smokes without speaking. Alf usually shrank a room when he entered it but, that day, he seemed barely noticeable. Finally, the kettle bubbled, and I made a pot of tea and took it to the table.

  As I poured, Alf fidgeted with his hat, which now sat on his lap. ‘Nora’s not good,’ he said, glancing at me. ‘She’s, umm, having a hard time of it since Ted left.’

  I sipped from my cup.

  ‘She spends a lot of time in her room with the curtains drawn.’

  Len’s forehead creased.

  ‘Some days she cries and cries until she makes herself sick. Retching sick. And Grace has to stay home from school to look after her. And other times, well, there’s no telling what she’ll do.’

  I glanced at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  He sighed. ‘Angry. Flying off the handle.’ He rubbed his chin and shifted in his seat as if his trousers were too tight. ‘You know what she gets like.’

  I felt goose bumps crawl over my skin and my tea tasted bitter.

  ‘I was wondering…’ Alf said. He glanced down as if to compose himself, then looked up. ‘I was hoping Ted might…come out and see her. He doesn’t have to move home again, just…come and see her. I thought it might perk her up.’

  I glanced at Len, but he was looking down. ‘I’ll ask Ted,’ I said.

  ‘We can’t make him, though,’ said Len, looking up.

  Alf nodded. ‘Thanks.’ He straightened his hat on his lap. ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s good,’ I said. ‘Doing well at the bank.’

  Alf nodded.

  ‘It flipped his world upside-down,’ I said.

  Alf nodded again. ‘Tell him I said hello.’

  ‘I will,’ I said.

  ‘And that I miss him.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll get out of your hair then.’ He stood.

  I followed him down the hall. His shoulders were sagging, and his coat no longer pulled tightly across his shoulders.

  At the door, I said, ‘Come and visit next time you’re in town.’

  Alf nodded. He didn’t smile and his eyes held mine for a moment. ‘Thanks.’ He put his hat on and lumbered down the steps and over to the Ford, his stride shallower and slower than before. He looked like a broken man.

  I felt too sad to wave as he left.

  ‘No,’ said Ted. He didn’t hesitate. His face was stern, as solid as concrete. ‘I’ve got a job here and I like it. I’m not leaving.’ He squeezed a wedge of lemon over his fish. Len had been fishing at the weekend, so we were eating salmon I’d fried in a pan.

  ‘You don’t have to live there again, just visit,’ I said.

  Ted shook his head. ‘No.’ He picked up his knife and fork.

  ‘Your father would like to see you, too.’

  He cut in. ‘He’s not my father.’

  ‘And Gracie,’ I added.

  He stilled at that. ‘How is she? Gracie, I mean.’

  ‘She misses you.’

  Ted’s face strained and he shook his head. ‘I can’t go out there again. Not ever.’ He stared at his plate, then set his knife and fork down. ‘They lied to me. Both of them. They should have told me. They let me think I was someone I wasn’t.’ He was breathing heavily. ‘And now I don’t know who I am.’ I reached for his arm, but he shook me off and picked up his knife and fork again. ‘I don’t want to see either of them.’ He separated some flesh from the bones of the fish. Then he looked up. ‘Why’s she making
a fuss now? She never acted like she cared before.’

  ‘She’s realised how much you mean to her.’

  ‘No.’ He picked up a piece of the fish with his fork, then shook his head again. ‘No,’ he said, still shaking his head as he took a mouthful.

  ‘It’s too soon, Ide,’ said Len later that night. He shook his trousers straight and draped them over the chair by the bed.

  I slid under the bed covers. Len flicked the light switch and his shadowy shape came silently towards the bed. The springs squeaked and I felt his warmth beside me. In the distance, the town clock chimed eleven times.

  We were both silent for a while.

  ‘I should have realised something was wrong. Nora hasn’t come to town for months,’ I said.

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve got an uneasy feeling. As if something bad’s going to happen.’ I propped myself up on my elbow. I could just make out his shape in the darkness. ‘I should go out to Ben Craeg.’

  He sighed. ‘If you must.’

  ‘You don’t sound very happy about it.’

  ‘It’s just that it’s not the same here without you. The place feels crooked when you’re not here.’ I felt his hand on my arm. ‘But you’ve been lying here every night, tossing and turning and snorting like a bull. So, go to them, Ide, because I know you’re worried.’

  I lay back down and fitted myself alongside him, letting my hand rest on his chest. ‘I don’t like leaving you, either.’ I found the gap at the top of his pyjamas and touched the bony prominence of his collarbone. ‘I don’t know where I’d be without you, Len. You might be a little bloke, but you’ve got the strength of a mountain.’

  The following Saturday, I went out to Ben Craeg. Alf picked me up at the bus station and dropped me off at their house, but he had to nip out again.

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with the mayor today. We’re furnishing the boardroom at the council chambers,’ he said, before driving off.

  It was late on a Saturday morning in April. The sun was nearly at its zenith, and the sky was cloudless except for a thin layer of clouds streaking the horizon. The grass in the front yard had grown long and shaggy and was dotted with weeds. The leaves were turning and the concrete of the driveway was littered with debris. Weary roses, their petals faded and curling, hung limply from the bushes lining the path, barely clinging to the branches. There were no faces at the windows, no one rushing down the steps to greet me.