by Louise Allan
The piano stayed locked, and the key hadn’t been replaced under the statue. Grace told me she never heard her mother play at all anymore, not even late at night when everyone was in bed.
‘And you, Gracie,’ I said. ‘Do you ever play? Or sing?’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Her hair was growing back, long curls about her face, even more vibrant than before. Still, she looked wistful and sad.
Life went on much the same for the rest of that year and the next. I still worried about Ted, Nora and Alf, and how to reconcile them, but I kept my promise to Ted and never mentioned his mother to him.
It kept me awake at night. While Len snored, I lay in the dark, watching the light patterns move across the ceiling change as a car drove by. If I couldn’t sleep, I got up and stoked the fire in the lounge, and sat with my knitting and my thoughts, listening to the town clock strike the passing hours until the rooster started crowing and it was dawn.
At the end of the following year, 1960, Ben finished school and moved to town to find work. He came to live with us. Before he arrived, Len and I packed up the baby’s room. I took the coverlet off the bassinette, fingering the embroidered teddies before folding it and wrapping it up in tissue paper. I did the same with the sheets and the tiny pillowcase, and I packed them all away in the box on top of the wardrobe. Len took the bassinette and pram out to the shed, and I dusted the mantelpiece and made up the bed ready for Ben when he came.
He arrived on our doorstep with his duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked muscular and handsome and just like his father. He even walked with the same loping gait.
‘Thanks, Aunty,’ he said when he saw the room. His arms were folded across his chest, his biceps bulging from under the short sleeves of his shirt. Then he bent and pulled me close.
I rubbed his back, up and down, so broad and firm. ‘It’s yours for as long as you need.’
The next morning, before I woke him, I paused in the doorway to the bedroom, savouring that someone was sleeping in that room again. Not a baby but a young man with tousled hair and strong body odour. I tiptoed in and tapped him on the shoulder and told him his eggs and toast were ready.
After breakfast, Ben went next door to see Stan, the plumber. Stan agreed to take him on as a labourer and told him he could start work the next day.
Ted and Clara came for dinner on the Monday night. Ben and Ted hadn’t seen each other since Ted had left home three years earlier. They clapped each other on the back, and Ben embraced Ted so hard he lifted him off the ground. Then Ted introduced Clara. She offered her tiny hand, but Ben seized her around the waist and picked her up, too.
The five of us squeezed around our little table, with Ben almost folded double. Our tiny kitchen, with its peeling paint and worn lino, was overflowing with young people and laughter.
‘You two are so different,’ said Clara, her face creased with amusement. ‘If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t believe you were brothers.’
We all stopped, our cutlery mid-air as if we were caught in a photograph.
Then Ted continued eating, ignoring Clara’s words. Clara glanced from Ted to Ben and back again, before taking a mouthful, too. The rest of us followed their cue, the untold story hanging in the now-weighted air.
At the end of the evening, we made our way outside into a night that was clear and warm. Clara tucked her cardigan under her arm and turned to Ben. ‘It was so nice to finally meet you.’
‘You, too.’
‘I’ve been wanting to meet you for ages. All of your family, in fact,’ she said.
Ben scratched behind his ear.
Ted jingled his keys. ‘We’d better get going,’ he said.
As they made their way over to Ted’s car, a new white Morris, Clara looked back once, twice, before giving us a final wave and opening the door.
A few months after Ben had moved in, I was out pruning the roses at the front of the house when Stan backed out of his driveway in his plumbing van. I waved and went back to pruning, but he braked and climbed out.
‘He’s a good kid, your Ben,’ he said, as he swaggered over in his navy overalls.
‘I know he is,’ I said, and wiped my hands on my apron. The sun was directly behind him and I had to shield my eyes to see him.
‘A real good worker,’ he continued. ‘Does whatever we need him to do, no matter how shitty the job, pardon the pun. I was talking to the foreman last night, and we thought we’d ask him to stay on. Give him an apprenticeship as a plumber.’
The roses suddenly smelt sweeter, and even the odour of the geraniums became as fragrant as perfume.
Ben living with us brought our old house to life. It swelled my heart to see a living, breathing boy sleeping in the baby’s room, and having family filling our house every Monday brought joy back into my day. I felt needed, as if I had a purpose.
The house became noisier, not that I minded. Except when Ben bought a television. He set it up in the lounge room, and we could hear him shifting boxes and furniture about. Then he called us in.
‘Sit down,’ he said, and motioned to the armchairs he’d arranged so they were facing the television.
It was a weird-looking thing. A big, brown box, with General Electric written along the bottom and a spiral antenna on the top.
‘Looks like it’s from outer space,’ I said.
Ben didn’t say anything but kept clicking the dial at the front until it made a buzzing noise.
‘Be careful you don’t electrocute yourself,’ I said.
He kept clicking and, finally, the screen lit up like a shaken snow-dome, and then he shifted the antenna about until a phantom shape formed on the screen. He kept twisting the antenna until the ghostly form became a woman. She had black hair twisted high on her head and inky, exotic eyes. She wore a dusky dress that covered one shoulder. But, oh, her voice! She could sing.
I sat forward, my eyes not moving from the screen. It was as if we had a concert right there in our lounge room. When the lady had finished her song, I started clapping. Ben looked at Len and smiled. He knew he had me hooked.
Oh, I loved that telly. To be able to watch the news and the serials, even the advertisements, anytime I wanted.
A few months later, Ben came home and said, ‘Aunty, there’s something else we need.’
‘Hurry up and tell me,’ I said, barely glancing up from the telly. ‘Maria Callas is coming back on in a minute.’
‘I’ve organised for the telephone to be connected.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We don’t need any more machines. One’s enough.’
‘But I need it for work,’ he said.
‘What?’ I said. ‘You just work next door.’
‘For when I’m on-call,’ he said.
I sighed. ‘More disturbance of my peace and quiet.’
He laughed. ‘You don’t seem to mind the telly.’
‘I like the singing,’ I said. ‘But a telephone ringing is a different matter.’
‘You’ll like it when you can talk to someone without leaving the house,’ he said.
But I didn’t. It had a tinny ring and I jumped each time I heard it. Ben set it on the hall stand, and I didn’t go near it except to dust it. I left Ben to answer it, and if it rang when he was out, I let it ring until it stopped by itself.
We’d had the telephone for a few weeks when, late one afternoon as I was out at the clothesline, Ben called me inside. I followed him down the hall. The handset of the telephone was off the hook, resting beside its base. Ben picked it up.
‘Here she is,’ he said into the mouthpiece, then held it out to me.
I stepped back. ‘I’m not using that.’
‘There’s someone you might like to talk to at the other end,’ he said.
‘No.’ I eyed it warily and shook my head. ‘That thing frightens me.’
He smiled. ‘Nothing to be frightened of.’ He stepped closer to me and the squiggly cord on the telephone pulled taut. ‘C’mon, Aunty.’ He c
aught my arm, pulling me towards him. When I was close enough, he held it to my ear.
I tilted my head to listen.
‘Say hello,’ he said.
The mouthpiece was warm from his breath. ‘Hello,’ I said, timidly.
‘Hello, Aunty,’ came the voice down the line.
I turned to Ben. ‘It’s Grace!’
‘Speak to her, not me,’ he said, and held the receiver against my ear again.
‘I’m talking to you, Gracie,’ I said, grinning at Ben. ‘You’re out there and I’m in here, and I can talk to you.’
Ben leant closer to me. ‘You don’t have to yell,’ he whispered.
From then on, Gracie telephoned every couple of weeks, telling me what she’d been up to at school and with her friends. She could talk and talk, and whenever she rang, Ben brought one of the kitchen chairs down the hall for me to sit on while we chatted.
I was enjoying life again, and I stopped worrying about Nora and Alf so much. To tell the truth, I forgot about them. Looking after the boys kept me busy.
Actually, that’s not the truth. The truth is that I avoided thinking about them. It hurt. I knew there was nothing I could do to resolve the situation, to bring us all back together. Ted had made that clear.
I began to dread visiting Ben Craeg. Although the lawn was mown, the beds were made and the canisters all lined up on the kitchen bench, the house felt different. Empty. I could see it in the neatness, in the unslept beds and the cold fireplace.
And in the locked piano. Each time I saw it sitting on its own against the wall, I felt sorry for it.
Nora was in her early forties. She hadn’t regained the weight she’d lost when she had the breakdown. She no longer kept up with the fashions or dyed her hair, and it had turned the colour of the scourers I used to clean the pots.
Alf had changed, too. He was my age, but he looked older. His hair was turning the same colour as his eyes, and his years of hard work were etched onto his face. He’d never been one for talking, and now he spoke even less. He didn’t smile, and his shoulders slumped as if they were about to cave in. Although he was still tall, I wouldn’t have called him ‘big’ anymore. It was as if he was shrinking, tucking himself away.
It hurt to witness.
While her parents seemed to fade a little more each visit, Grace appeared to flourish. One day, she was a girl with a flat chest and a tangle of curls, and the next she was a graceful and elegant young woman. When we visited in the spring of 1962, just after she’d turned fifteen, the sight of her stopped me in my tracks.
‘What’s wrong, Aunty?’ she said, her voice gentle and bell-like.
‘You!’ I said. ‘You’re not a little girl anymore.’
She was holding the door open and wearing an olive-green dress that made her eyes look softer than moss. It nipped in at the waist and the skirt flared to just below her knee. She was taller than me, possibly even taller than her mother. Her hair was pulled back and her neck was long and elegant, her shoulders slight and slim. Her face was as fine as a pixie’s, her skin unblemished except for a smatter of childhood freckles over the crest of her cheeks.
She leant down and embraced me, and I felt her long fingers on my shoulders. I held her, her skin fresh against my cheek. She smelt youthful.
‘I can’t believe my little Gracie is a young woman,’ I said.
She laughed and it sounded like a cluster of piano notes.
Ted and Clara still came for dinner every Monday evening. Towards the end of that year, we’d just sat down for dinner one night when Ted cleared his throat.
‘I’ve asked Clara to marry me.’ He exhaled and smiled. Clara held out her left hand. The electric globe above the table caught the tiny diamond on her finger and made it sparkle like a water droplet in the sunlight.
Len and Ben jumped out of their seats. ‘Congratulations!’ They shook Ted’s hand and kissed Clara. When they sat back down, everyone was looking at me, but I couldn’t move. I was overcome. It seemed like no time since I’d been standing in this room at this table bathing a baby boy. Now here he was, a young man with a girl by his side, telling me he was getting married.
‘Ida,’ said Len and nudged me.
I stood and kissed both of them. As I sat back down, my lips were quivering and I had to keep blinking away the watery film from my eyes.
‘Aren’t you happy for us?’ said Clara.
I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. ‘I’m happy for you, I really am. Just give me a moment.’
‘We want you there, of course,’ said Ted. ‘And Uncle Len, would you make a speech?’
‘What about your father?’ I said.
‘Aunty, don’t start.’ Ted glared at me.
‘We’re only having a small wedding,’ said Clara, but she glanced at Ted and back at me, then lowered her eyes.
I couldn’t eat much of my dinner because my throat felt dry and my belly felt leaden. Later, Clara and I cleared up while the men went outside. They were down by the back fence, Len holding up the kerosene lamp, while Ben strung up a fishing net on nails along the fence. The golden light was swaying back and forth and their shadows on the fence were moving with it.
Clara took the dirty plates and cutlery over to the sink and set them down. ‘I want Ted to invite his parents to the wedding, too,’ she said.
I turned away from the men, and went over to the table. I collected the glasses and they chinked together as I carried them to the sink.
‘But I’ve tried and tried to bring him around and he won’t budge,’ Clara continued. She picked up the salt and pepper shakers and the bottle of tomato sauce, and took them over to the cupboard. ‘There’s nothing I can do to change his mind.’
I nodded and ran the water in the sink.
‘I’ve never met them. I’m marrying him, and I’ve never met his parents,’ she said as she put the condiments away.
I started washing up. Clara returned to the table and gathered the tablecloth to shake it outside.
The men were still down the back. Len was smoking and the orange tip of his cigarette bobbed about as he spoke. Ted was standing by his side, hands in his pockets. His profile was earnest as he listened to Len.
‘I don’t understand why he’s so angry with them?’ Clara said. She was standing next to me at the sink, the teatowel in her hands. ‘Family is the most important thing to me.’
I nodded and kept washing up, sponging the glasses in the suds and placing them on the stainless steel.
‘I know he was very hurt,’ she continued. ‘So hurt he can’t get over it.’ She sighed. ‘But I just wish he would.’
‘You need to tell him how much it means to you,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘I won’t give up. Not yet.’
We finished cleaning up. ‘Oh, and before I forget,’ she said, ‘we’d like Grace to sing at the wedding.’
I went out to Ben Craeg alone. I wanted to tell Nora and Alf in person. We ate a quiet dinner, then took our cups along to the lounge. Nora poured the tea and sat in the chair opposite me. Alf stood by the hearth and lit a cigarette, flicking ash into the empty fire grate. Grace had already gone to her room.
They both looked tired and neither of them spoke. I didn’t know how to say the words, so I sipped my tea. The clock on the mantel ticked slowly, as if to remind me of its passing.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ I said.
They looked up. They didn’t look frightened, just resigned.
‘Ted’s getting married.’
They were still, so I went on. ‘To a lovely girl. Clara di Bertoli.’ I waited, but neither of them spoke. ‘She’s Italian.’
Alf nodded. Nora rubbed the side of her neck with a hand. ‘When’s the ceremony?’ she asked.
‘Next year. End of April.’ I paused. ‘There’s something else I should mention.’ I rubbed at the worn varnish on the blackwood arm of the chair. ‘They want Grace to sing.’
Alf glanced at Nora, but her face remained impassive.
We sat for a few more minutes and I took another sip of my tea. Then Nora stood and left the room. Alf finished his cigarette. ‘We appreciate you coming out to tell us,’ he said, his hands in his pockets.
‘I thought I should tell you in person.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you.’
We could hear Nora shuffling about in the bedroom, opening and closing a drawer. The door creaked and she returned. She didn’t look at us but moved quickly towards the piano. One hand on the lid, she jostled the key in the lock until it clicked. She lifted the lid and rested it against the back of the piano. The keys beckoned, the ivory as shiny and smooth as new china, and the ebony as dark and deep as night.
Then she straightened. ‘If Ted wants Grace to sing, she’ll need to practise.’ She looked at me, then at Alf. ‘I’ve been wanting Ted to forgive me, but I’ve never given him a reason to. There’s so much I want to tell him, to explain to him, but I’m not good at talking about it. I’ve kept that part of me boxed up, and I’ve been too frightened to open it up, for fear of what would come out. But this is the start.’
Alf was by her side, reaching out, his hand on her arm.
She looked up at him. ‘One step at a time,’ she said.
He let his arm drop and it hung loosely at his side. ‘I can wait,’ he said. ‘Take as long as you need.’
Chapter 30
I tried one more time to talk to Ted. Over dinner, I told him that Nora was helping Grace prepare a song for the wedding.
‘She wants a chance,’ I said. ‘To show you…’
‘Aunty,’ he said and put up his hand. ‘Stop.’
Clara eyed him. ‘Ted…’
‘Please leave it alone,’ he said, turning to Clara.
Her shoulders sagged, then she pulled herself straight. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sick of this. When are you going to get over it?’
The muscles of Ted’s jaw clenched and unclenched.
‘You know I’ll marry you, no matter what,’ Clara continued. ‘But I really want your parents there, too. You’ve told me what happened and from what I can see, your father did nothing wrong except bring you up as his own son. And I know your mother made mistakes, but she wants a chance to make it up to you, and you won’t let her. I think it’s time you did.’