by Rose Hartley
Chapter 19
I woke at three in the morning, sweating and uncomfortable, feeling exposed, a squatter on a street full of prying yet invisible neighbours, more alone than I’d ever been.
Jen and I sometimes went to the Japanese bathhouse in Collingwood, luxuriating in front of other women, competing with each other over who was the more comfortable with public nudity, who could spread her legs widest without putting a hand over her crotch to cover it, who could put her arms behind her head and lean into the wall as if she’d never noticed her own cellulite. Being in the caravan without Jen as my safety net felt like sitting spreadeagled in the bathhouse in front of a bunch of people with magnifying glasses.
I reached for the boxed wine. The weight of it was comforting in my hand. I’ve heard that people make plans for their lives: where they’re going to be in five years or ten. What jobs they’re going to do, where they’re going to travel, who they’re going to marry and how many shares in oil companies they’re going to buy while they’re ticking the ballot paper to vote for the Greens. I don’t know what I’ve been doing with myself while they’ve been planning; probably I’ve just been drinking. Even the cheapest boxed wine will help you see warmth in the streetlights.
I took a sip. It wouldn’t do me any good, since I needed to go to the bathroom. I reached a hand out and stroked Dot, who was asleep on the pillow next to my head.
‘We’re moving on again, Dot,’ I said.
Half an hour later I was idling the panel van one street parallel from my mother’s. She never went down this street, and wouldn’t notice the caravan. I switched off the engine, sat back in the driver’s seat and thought hard. What could I say to convince her to let me sleep in my old bed? I’ll never ask for money again. Or have irresponsible sex. I’ll get married before I turn thirty. That’s right, I’ll get married in the next three months and have two babies and buy a nice little weatherboard house in Brunswick. I’ll have handrails installed in your shower when you get old and decrepit. No, take out decrepit. Take out old, too. I’ll get handrails installed in your shower if you ever need them.
There was no way it was going to work. Mum wouldn’t come around this time. I looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was just past three-thirty in the morning, so it wasn’t like I could knock on the front door, anyway. I locked Dot in the caravan with bowls of food and water, and fresh kitty litter, then walked around the block to Mum’s house. I tiptoed past the broken gate and across the verandah. My bedroom window was easy to open. I’d never told Mum the lock was loose and could be turned from the outside, because it had come in handy when I was a teenager and needed to sneak out to a party or roll around with a boyfriend. I took off my shoes and eased the window up. It squeaked slightly, but Mum’s bedroom was a long way from mine, across the courtyard on the other side of the house, so I wasn’t worried about her hearing it. Holding my shoes in one hand, I swung my legs over the ledge and landed on the soft carpet.
My bedroom was neat. I found an old pair of pyjamas in the closet, wriggled into them and snuck down the hall to the bathroom. This was the tricky part. Her bedroom was far enough away that she wouldn’t hear me in the bathroom if I was quiet, but she might hear the toilet flush, so I had to avoid that. On top of that, our water pump was old and the pipes squealed when you turned the taps on, so I couldn’t wash my hands or even get a glass of water. Still, the big bathroom, the pale blue Art Deco pedestal sink, the privacy of an old, dark, womb-like house and the soft carpets in the hall all combined to settle a sense of relief over me. I snuck back down the hall to my bedroom. Mum always kept the bed made and I slid under the covers in gratitude. I had to stifle a giggle at all the times I’d snuck out of the window growing up; it had never occurred to me that one day I might be sneaking in.
The squealing of the pipes woke me at seven-thirty. Mum had her own bathroom, so I didn’t have to worry about her noticing that mine had been used. Instead, I lay in bed, thinking about how to arrange things. I could call Mum today while I was at work and ask myself around for dinner, pump her full of wine then pretend to leave. She was shuffling around the house now, getting ready for work. I heard her in the kitchen, clinking plates and cutlery. She was taking forever. Finally she left the house, footsteps crunching on the gravel front path.
I got out of bed, straightened the covers carefully and put my pyjamas back in the closet. After a shower I helped myself to a snack from the fridge, rearranging the food so that it didn’t look like anything was missing. While I did my make-up I dialled Jen’s number, put the phone on speaker and rested it on the bathroom counter. I ran through phrases in my head to offer Jen as the phone rang. The word sorry wasn’t one I dropped often, but I could stand to say it for Jen.
I didn’t get a chance, though, because she didn’t answer.
Before I left for work I checked on the caravan. It was still safe, parked in front of the only house on the street with uncut grass. I opened a window for Dot so she could roam the streets while Mum wasn’t there to spot her.
Mum was surprised when I called her at work to invite myself over for dinner that night, but didn’t object.
‘Did you get fired or something?’ she asked.
‘No, I just want to see my dear mother. Also, I could use a steak.’
‘Think I’ve got some rump in the fridge.’
‘Perfect. See you at six-thirty.’ I hung up.
Rueben was fixing something that had gone wrong with the Angels’ website, frowning into his computer, his stubble longer than usual.
‘Do you want to get lunch on Victoria Street?’ I asked. ‘I could go for some pho.’
He looked up, surprise showing on his quiet face, and smiled. ‘I would, but I brought my lunch today. Thanks, though.’
At least I got a smile with today’s rejection. I took myself off to Victoria Street but bypassed the pho restaurants. Nothing sadder than spilling noodles on yourself while eating alone. Instead I ordered a takeaway salad at a cheap lunch spot. When I went to pay, however, my card was declined.
‘That’s weird.’ I smiled nervously at the cashier and waved my card at the machine a second time. ‘I’ll just, er, check my balance and come back in a sec.’ I left the salad on the counter and darted out of the shop, avoiding the cashier’s irritated glance.
When I checked my bank balance on my phone, there was $4.70 in my account. That couldn’t be right. Centrelink should have paid me yesterday. The hum of Victoria Street smeared my senses, dizzying me with the smell of fried food and the rattle of a passing tram. I walked back to work, sweating and panicky, thinking back to the form I’d filled out to contest my debt. I’d ticked the box to keep getting paid while they assessed my claim, right? I definitely had.
I sat at my desk, stomach squirming from fear. And hunger, as I didn’t get my bloody salad. Rueben was at his desk, chewing a white-bread sandwich.
‘Ham salad?’ I guessed.
‘Mmhmm.’ He looked up. ‘Ate your pho already?’
I hesitated. ‘Weird thing happened. Centrelink forgot to pay me this week. Couldn’t buy my lunch.’
He frowned. ‘Mistake, or deliberate?’
‘Dunno.’
His chewing slowed as he took in the information, then he wheeled his chair over to me. ‘Have this.’ He held out the other half of his sandwich. ‘I don’t need it.’
‘Thanks, it’s fine,’ I said, but he’d already left the sandwich in front of me and wheeled himself back to his desk.
‘I feel like that kid at school,’ I said. ‘There was always one skinny kid who’d eye off your sandwich. I just thought they had a fast metabolism.’
‘I used to be that kid at school,’ Rueben said. ‘Only I’d take your sandwich without asking.’
I dialled Jen again after lunch. No answer. A feeling of panic and loss welled up in my chest, and I pushed it back down again. She’s probably at work and can’t answer, I told myself.
At Mum’s house, I ate my steak in a state
of misery. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Jen and I had fought and we still hadn’t made up.
‘Why are you pushing your food around like that?’ Mum asked.
‘I’m too tired to chew,’ I said.
‘Poor darling. Having a part-time job is just that exhausting, huh?’
‘Save the sarcasm, Mum.’
After dinner I said goodbye to Mum and walked around the block to sleep in my caravan.
The next morning I waited for Mum to leave for work, then broke in to shower and eat after she was gone, trying not to think about how low I had sunk, having to sneak into my own childhood home. I spent the day on Mum’s couch, watching television and trying to memorise where every cushion had been placed so that I could leave the room exactly as I found it. At 4 pm I made a sandwich and took it back to the caravan. I repeated the exercise the next morning, waiting for Mum to leave so I could shower.
I was out in under twenty minutes and took another sandwich to avoid Monday’s lunch disaster. The traffic was bad and I was late for work, but I promised Agnes I’d stay late to make up for it. At my desk, I dialled Jen again, who didn’t answer, and daydreamed about how sweet it would be to climb back into the womb and just hang out there for another nine months. Maybe that was part of the caravan’s appeal. It was tiny and stuffy and smelt kinda funky, like what I imagined a womb might smell like.
I dropped my head onto the fern on my desk and sighed into its leaves. One frothy tendril tickled my nostril. My life was screwed.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rueben asked when he came back from a meeting with Agnes about the website.
‘I did a Bad Thing,’ I said.
‘How bad?’
‘Bad. Worse than saying meaty thighs in public. Almost as bad as clocking someone with a cannonball of green vegetable matter.’
‘Let me guess, you pissed off Centrelink again.’
‘Worse. Much worse.’
‘Annoyed your mother? Got arrested for giving someone a wristy?’
‘I exhausted Jen’s patience.’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad.’
‘You don’t know Jen,’ I said. ‘She’s the most patient person in the world. I could steal the very last piece of food in her pantry and all she’d do is offer me the sauce.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘when I have a problem, I make lists. You know, write down all the individual steps you have to take to achieve something.’
‘What was on your list to get this job? “Boast about expertise boosting cash registers?”’
‘You don’t “boost” a cash register. You get the shop attendant to open it up and give you what’s inside.’
‘Duh.’
So, I made lists.
List One: Get Jen to forgive me.
Steps:
Apologise for being too truthful about Jono.
Learn how to make coffee.
Make her said coffee.
Pay her back her steak money.
Be a better bridesmaid. (How?? Feign interest in chair covers?)
Offer to assist with tomato-sauce-making day.
Actually assist with said tomato-sauce-making day, instead of drinking all the wine and telling her she hasn’t reduced the sauce enough.
God, this list was getting long.
Since I was on a roll, I wrote another list.
List Two: Be kind to Mum.
This one was even harder. After thinking for a minute, I wrote Remember her birthday. Phew, that took some effort. I moved on to the next list.
List Three: Be less of a failure.
Okay, this was harder still.
Steps:
Pay off Centrelink debt (get permanent job at the Angels?).
Never say ‘meaty thighs’ in public.
Get more sex.
List Four: Become a nicer person.
Steps:
???
Chapter 20
‘Someone broke into my house,’ Mum said.
‘What?’ I twirled the phone cord, smelling the hot plastic from the overworked kettle in the office kitchen. It was nearly six and I was about to pack up.
‘Someone broke into my house while I was at work.’
‘Shit, what did they take?’
‘That’s just it, they didn’t take anything! They had a shower in your bathroom.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Uh, what? How do you know? Did you hear them?’
‘No! I was at work.’
‘Then how do you know someone had a shower?’
‘Because I got home just then and the bath mat’s on the ground, and it’s still damp. There are drops of water in the shower, too.’
Fuck fuck fuck. I slapped myself in the forehead several times with the palm of my hand. Of course my mother would notice something minuscule like the placement of a bath mat.
‘Could it be a leak?’ I asked.
‘It’s not a leak!’ She was practically shouting.
I decided to come clean. Mum sounded freaked out. ‘Mum—’
‘I think it was your father,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘He used to do that. After he left. His girlfriends would kick him out, he’d come back to the house while I was out and eat the food in my fridge. Rearrange it badly to pretend he hadn’t been there. Then he’d leave again. I always knew he’d been in, though, because I could smell his horrible aftershave.’
‘Could you smell it today?’ The chair I was sitting on suddenly became uncomfortable. Guilt can do that – make furniture gain sharp edges in an instant.
‘No, but it’s been years. He’s probably too poor to afford aftershave now. Bloody loser.’
I was about to confess that the shower-taker was me when she broke in again.
‘I want to change the locks. In fact, I’m going to get security doors.’
‘I know someone who can do that for you,’ I said quickly. ‘Maybe for free. Or just for the cost of the security doors, not the labour.’
‘Is it that nice Dan person?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you having sex with him?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I thought you didn’t like me having casual sex.’
‘It wouldn’t be casual sex if you were going out with Dan.’
‘Well, I’m not going out with Dan.’
‘He still running after the engaged girl who’s prettier than you?’
‘Did I say she was prettier than me? That doesn’t sound like me.’
‘No, you said she had nice hair. I just assumed.’
‘Give me a couple of days,’ I said. ‘I’ll see if I can get the security doors for you. Oh, and can I come round for dinner again tonight?’
‘Yes, all right. It’s just pasta, though,’ she said.
‘Sounds good.’ I hung up and put my head in my hands.
‘Who’s Dan?’ Rueben asked.
‘Never mind. And stop listening to my conversations.’
‘I’m two metres away from you, how can I not listen? Besides, they’re so fascinating, what with the casual sex and the shower talk.’ He stretched back in his chair with his arms over his head and his T-shirt rode up, exposing a hint of skin above his belt. Christ, he was looking fine today. Every day.
‘Get back to work,’ I said irritably. ‘Fix the website.’
‘It’s home time,’ he said, but he turned back to his computer anyway. I picked up the phone again and dialled Dan. He answered on the sixth ring, sounding sleepy.
‘Hey Dan, how’s things?’
He sighed into the phone. ‘Fine.’
‘Are you in bed? It’s five-thirty.’
‘Just a nap. No work today.’ In the background, I heard the dulcet tones of a woman asking if Dan was lying on top of her undies.
‘Whose voice is that?’
‘No one,’ he said.
‘Is that Lisa with you?’
‘Uh, no.’
‘Didn’t she have to work today ei
ther?’
‘It’s not Lisa.’ I heard footsteps, like he was walking out of the room, and the sound of a door closing.
‘It really sounded like Lisa’s voice. Light. Very attractive. Like the breath of a unicorn.’ The image of them in bed together irritated me. I couldn’t even get my pretend boyfriend to stay interested in me.
Dan coughed. ‘Bloody hell, you hear like a bat. Don’t tell anyone, okay?’
‘Does she still think we’re going to move in together?’
‘Nah.’ He lowered his voice to a murmur. ‘I let her think you were just really, really into me and that I wasn’t really into you. Somehow it worked to get her back.’
‘Wow, thanks for that. Another hit to my reputation.’
‘Sorry. But you were right.’ He was whispering now. ‘It made her super jealous.’
‘You seriously owe me for this. Can you fix security doors to my mother’s house?’
‘No.’
‘No you can’t, or no you won’t?’
‘Can’t, won’t. It’s specialty.’
‘And you’ve already achieved your goal, since Lisa’s in bed with you, so you don’t need me anymore. Great.’ I sighed.
‘Bye, Maggie. Thanks for your help. Don’t tell anyone about Lisa.’
He hung up. I furiously dropped the phone back in its cradle. What a fairweather friend. As soon as Lisa dumped him again he’d come running back, whining for more help to make her jealous. Still, I was happy for him. Kind of.
Rueben didn’t look up from his computer. ‘If that was your boyfriend in bed with someone else, you sounded pretty calm about it.’
‘Dan’s not my boyfriend, he’s just the guy I, uh, you know. We’re friends now. I helped him get back together with his ex.’
‘Ah. Saving the world, one sexual encounter at a time.’
‘That’s me.’ I stood up, the better to pace out my frustration across the threadbare carpet. ‘In other news, I’m totally fucked,’ I continued.
‘Why?’
‘I needed Dan to help me fix stuff at my mother’s house because – long story – I accidentally freaked her out, but Dan’s shot his load and is too satisfied to get out of bed and do it.’