by Fiona Kidman
At last she gets out and the driver comes round to the door and hands her a little handgrip suitcase. She stands, peering around in the cool wind. She pays him off and Clara can see from her manner that she is distracted. When he has gone she looks up and down. Clara can actually see her wondering how she will get into this building.
In the meantime Clara has the chance to observe her. She looks good in a matronly middle-aged Hamilton kind of way. She has put on weight, not that she has ever been exactly slim, but now she is solid and it has travelled into her chins too. There is quite a little roll above the spotted blue blouse neatly tied in a bow, setting off her navy gaberdine suit. But she isn’t without a touch of style, for perched on her head is a jaunty black hat, Robin Hood style, slouching over her eye, with a sporty black feather quivering above. The kids start crowding around her. Clara has to hand it to her, she is impressive; though it gets to her that Winnie looks so middle-aged. It seems crazy, as if she sees her in a new light, has never confronted the prospect that she will age like ordinary mortals.
Clara feels irresolute and rather foolish. Should she go out and meet her or what? Then she remembers that Winnie probably isn’t expecting her to be home, so that it is better just to sit and wait. There is no need for her to know that her progress is being watched, the neat lady from Hamilton picking her way through the slums.
The children guide her into the building and in a moment Clara can chart Winnie’s progress from their voices: the top of the stairs, along the passageway, and then her voice.
‘Are you sure she’ll be here?’ she asks one of the children.
They all chorus assurances.
‘I thought she would have left a key,’ she fusses.
‘But she’s in there,’ says one of the children patiently.
As Clara moves to open the door she hears Ma Hollis call out. ‘Go in luv, she’s waitin’ fer ya.’
She opens the door as Winnie is stretching out a hesitant hand to knock.
‘Clara! I didn’t think you’d be here.’
And, ‘Winnie, you’re looking marvellous,’ Clara says in the same breath as if she has just set eyes on her. She pulls her inside, shutting the door firmly behind them, and grabs at the handbag and grip, chattering on about her appearance.
‘Take off your hat, it’s a lovely hat, you really do look nice, you must be dying for a cup of tea, now do sit over here, what sort of trip did you have? How are the girls? Where did you get that outfit Win?’
‘In Victoria Street, you know the shop, the one along from the Post Office, cup of tea, yes please, that’d be lovely …’
‘And the girls?’
‘Give me a chance, what a tongue you’ve got Clara, you don’t change do you?’
Clara can tell that Winnie is awake to the fact that she is trying to divert attention from herself and the place because she slows down all her movements, becomes very deliberate. Clara knows she won’t budge until she’s ready.
‘I thought you’d be at work,’ she says, and walks around the room.
Clara knows what she is going to be like then and feels helpless, just as she has always done with Win. She is going to look things over bit by bit and talk about something else at the same time and each will be an important and nosy thing, so that Clara can’t concentrate on both at once.
‘Well I’m here aren’t I?’ She addresses herself to Winnie’s last remark.
Her shiny skin, the lovely polished apple skin, has gone doughy and Clara thinks she can see the suspicion of a whisker on her too round chin. She thinks of Mumma. But it is still Winnie all right. She counts back. Two years since she’s seen her. She wonders if Winnie’s noticed that that’s how long it is since Clara left Hamilton too, or whether it seems important to her.
Clara waits for her to say something about the place. Maddeningly, Winnie just keeps on looking without saying anything.
‘What d’you think of my place?’ Clara asks, giving in.
‘It’s plain, isn’t it? Still I expect it’s all you can get these days. You keep it nicely. I never thought we’d make a housekeeper out of you.’ As if she had had a hand in it. Perhaps she had.
‘I used to help you enough.’
‘Oh yes. True.’
She plumps herself down on one of the plain hard chairs, and leans down to rub one of her ankles. It is swelling a little round the top of her smart but sensible brogues.
‘I’ll make that cup of tea.’
‘Thanks,’ as if she had thought it was never coming.
As Clara fills the kettle she says, ‘What did the taxi driver say then?’ She could bite off her tongue the moment the words are out.
‘You saw me coming?’
‘I wasn’t sure it was you,’ she mumbles. The match goes out as she tries to light the gas. She strikes another.
‘You might have helped me with my stuff,’ Winnie complains, only that is not exactly what she means for there is nothing to her luggage.
‘Well. What did he say? You were there long enough. That’s why I thought it couldn’t be you.’
‘He thought it might be the wrong place.’
‘He didn’t?’
‘Well he just wondered,’ she says.
‘It’s a bit rough. It’s what you make of it.’
‘I can see that. It’s nice Clara. Honestly. I’m just not used to the city.’
She sounds so warm and kind, it makes Clara feel as if she has been bitchy. It takes her back a long time to when Winnie had been the centre of everything.
‘We started talking about things.’
‘What sort of things?’ Clara asks. She really wants to know.
‘He’d been in the depression. Like Reg.’
‘Well so had lots of men. Thousands. I mean … thousands and thousands.’ She doesn’t mean to sound hard but it comes out wrong.
‘Yes. Of course there were. Forget it.’
‘No. I’m sorry Win. It’s been a long time. Forgive me. I do want to know.’ She wants to say other things. She wants to tell her how sorry she is about Reg, and her being on her own, but she can’t find the words. ‘Tell me what he said.’
‘Oh … nothing really,’ she says, softening. ‘Just that he wondered if it had been worth it. The hunger, the queuing, all that sort of thing.’
‘I used to queue up with you. Remember?’
‘Did you?’
‘Of course I did. You must remember.’
‘I suppose so. Like you said, a long time.’
‘But you said … what about Cora and Ellen? You must remember them?’
‘Yes. Of course I do.’ Only Clara can see that she doesn’t. She goes on to some private chord of memory that the taxi driver has struck. ‘He’d been on the tussock. Same time as Reg was on the goldfields …’
The kettle is whistling away and Clara pours the water into the teapot.
‘He says this place is full of Yanks.’
‘Well of course it is,’ Clara says shortly. ‘Hadn’t you heard, there’s a war on?’
‘Clara!’
‘I’m sorry. Again.’
Winnie sits in awkward silence as the tea is poured. It hasn’t drawn properly but Clara can’t think what else to do.
‘About Reg.’ The words hurt in her throat. ‘I’m sorry about Reg.’
‘Yes. You wrote. A nice letter. Thank you.’
Clara wonders if she knew what the letter had cost her. It seems unlikely. Winnie looks very tired all of a sudden, and Clara is ashamed that she is behaving so badly. The silly part is she is behaving as well as she humanly can. Winnie can’t know how hard she is trying, and still it is all coming out wrong.
‘He said that they get the best of everything.’
‘The Americans?’
‘The Yanks. Yes.’
‘I expect they do all right.’
‘He said I was very lucky to get a taxi, they’re always at the head of every queue as a rule, and they pay better. He says some of them will get th
eir desserts though. There’s some people waking up to them. He said he wouldn’t take them first off every time.’
‘They have to get round like everybody else.’
‘Don’t tell me you like them?’
‘Well why shouldn’t I? It’s not their fault they’re here to do a job.’
‘We don’t need them,’ she cries. ‘We had our own forces, why couldn’t they have stayed here and defended New Zealanders, instead of bringing foreigners in?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well you think about it my girl.’
‘I’m sorry, Win. I don’t know how wars are fought.’
‘They’re alive. Reg isn’t. He should never have gone, you know. He didn’t have to go, d’you realise that? He was past the age but he volunteered. Did you know that?’
‘Yes Win. I knew. You told me at the time.’
‘Well then.’ She sips her tea, her face set, as if what she has said resolves everything.
‘You really hate them then?’
‘Who?’ Her eyes have a fixed, slightly glazed appearance.
‘The Americans. Yanks.’
‘They get everything,’ she says again. ‘Look at the way girls are selling themselves for them. They’re overpaid, they’re oversexed and they’re over here.’
There is a silence and Winnie looks a bit uncomfortable as if she can suddenly hear her own voice in the room and hadn’t meant to say all that she has, but there is no way she can go back on it.
‘How’s Mumma?’ Clara asks.
‘She doesn’t keep so well. You really should get down to see her. She misses you a lot.’
‘She’s got all you lot.’
‘You’re still her baby, you know.’ She says it without rancour.
‘Me? That’s a laugh. I’m no baby.’
‘You mightn’t think so.’ She is bossy again, and there is another silence. They don’t seem to be getting far.
As Clara tries to think of something to say that will help her out, Winnie says, ‘Anyway, you still haven’t told me why you’re not at work.’
‘They gave me a couple of days off, what with you coming and all.’
‘Really!’ Her face brightens. ‘That was generous of them. I didn’t think they could afford to give people time off, especially if they were in munitions.’
‘Oh … Mason’s isn’t quite like that,’ Clara says. ‘It’s not essential war work. I mean they just make some of the bits.’ She thinks she has done rather well. She hasn’t actually said that she works at Mason’s, or whether she works at all, except maybe the bit about the days off. The effort has drained her though, and she is suddenly giddy. She sits down quickly and carefully.
‘See, I’ve got a bit of a cold too.’
‘Is that what it is? I thought you didn’t sound quite yourself.’
‘Oh I’m all right. Honestly. But there’s no point in spreading my germs around is there? I mean that’s more damaging than being one short for a day or so. You better watch out too. You don’t want to catch anything.’
‘You’re not really sick are you?’
‘Me. Good heavens no, what d’you take me for? You couldn’t ever keep me down for long.’
‘Can I do some shopping for you then?’ Clara sees her face brighten, though Winnie doesn’t mean her to see, at the prospect of getting on with something outside of the flat but she can’t think of anything quickly enough.
‘I got everything before you came. We’ll be all right. So you’ve come to fix up Reg’s things have you?’
‘There’s still some forms to fill in with the War Office. I got sick of writing letters so I decided to come on up. Besides — I wanted to see you.’
‘Give over.’
‘I did. And Mumma, she wanted me to see you. You write so little.’
‘Yes, well I never was much for reading and writing like you lot, was I?’
‘That’s only because you liked having a good time at school too much to bother.’
‘I’ll bet Jeannie’s doing well.’
‘Top of her class in pretty near everything,’ says Winnie. Her face lights up. ‘They say she’ll go to university. I mean — university, Clara. Can you imagine it? She’ll have to work hard. It is hard work for Jeannie you know, she’s not a natural talent, that’s what makes me so proud in a way.’
‘And Caroline?’
‘Well there you are, you see. She could do better than Jeannie if she wanted to, but she doesn’t try. Got a bit of you in her if you ask me.’
‘God help her. She got a boyfriend?’
‘Don’t be silly. She’s only thirteen. Still a baby.’
‘I was less than fourteen when I started with Robin.’
‘He’s back you know,’ she says sharply.
Clara had started to relax. She had thought they were getting somewhere. Now she raises her head, guarding herself. There is something about Winnie’s tone.
‘Back?’ she repeats stupidly. ‘Robin?’
Winnie fiddles with the handle of her teacup, not looking at her. ‘They sent some of the men home on furlough. He had a small injury. Nothing much. They’ll probably send him back, though some of the men who’re back say they won’t be going again. They say they’ve had enough.’
‘They won’t let them get away with that.’
‘Most of them are pretty tired. Nobody seems to care much whether they go back or not. We’ll see.’
‘But there’s a war on. Like I said. No, I’m serious now. You can’t just walk out of a war.’
‘Why not? It’s better than getting killed isn’t it? Well, isn’t it?’
They sit staring at each other.
‘What about Robin then?’ asks Clara.
Winnie gets up and pours herself another cup of tea. Clara thinks that she might have asked her. It is her place. Even if it is plain.
‘He’s been gone two years. It’s enough.’
‘If you say so. But — what about him?’ she insists.
‘What do you care?’
‘Nothing. I don’t know. What do you want me to care? I just wondered about him.’
‘Yes. Sorry.’ It seems to be all they are able to say to each other. ‘He looks well now. He didn’t when he came back, but he’s good. He’s got a girl.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know whether you’d remember her. Sally Carver.’
‘Her!’ Clara bursts out laughing. ‘Robin used to throw peanuts at her from the back of the Roxy every Saturday afternoon.’
‘The Roxy. What were you doing at the Roxy? You always said you were going to the Strand … or the Embassy.’
‘What’s it matter?’
‘But the Roxy was rough, Clara.’
‘Don’t be silly. The pictures weren’t any different.’
‘Well you told lies.’
‘I often told lies. You made me.’
‘You’re blaming me?’
‘Winnie, don’t be stupid. Who cares? Everybody tells lies. I’ll bet Jeannie tells you dozens …’
‘She wouldn’t.’
‘Caroline then.’
‘Well …’
‘Well. Sally Carver, eh? What a laugh. You know she had amazing tits. I remember when we were going swimming at school and we were getting changed. She looked as if she had these really enormous tits but when she took her clothes off they were really skinny and they hung down. She used to roll them up like a skein of wool. I told Robin but he never believed me. Ha, I’ll bet he does now.’
‘That’s disgusting.’
‘Is it? It’s true.’
‘They’re talking about getting married. Sally’s mother thinks they’re too young.’
‘I seem to have heard that one before.’
‘They’re afraid Robin’ll have to go back overseas though.’
‘And so they want to get married before he goes. Right?’
‘Yes …’
‘Boring. I mean, that’s Robin’s favourite line.’
‘But he doesn’t want to go back overseas.’
‘That’s his business.’
‘It was always you Clara.’
‘We were kids.’
‘So I recall.’
‘He’s still only … I don’t know Winnie, what is he, twenty I suppose?’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Of course not. Well … not necessarily. You soon forget these things, don’t you.’
‘I’m sure he’d like to see you again,’ Winnie says with an effort.
‘See me? Winnie.’ Clara looks at her, trying to probe inside her mind. It is impossible, for her at any rate. ‘Is that what you came for? To tell me to go back to Hamilton and see Robin so he could pick between me and Sally Carver? Win, he can pick her teeth for all I care. Or her nose. She’s got enough for two.’
‘I simply mentioned it.’
‘Yes. Well thank you.’ She can feel herself getting hot and knows she is going to start coughing. She tries to stifle it, sitting on her breath, tightening her ribs and diaphragm, but it is no good. The wheeze swells up. She takes shallow, rapid breaths, hoping to keep it under till she can get through to the bathroom.
‘Clara.’ Winnie’s round face is alarmed. ‘Clara, are you all right?’
Clara slams the bathroom door and pulls the chain of the lavatory as she starts to cough. It flushes bright purple.
When she has stopped coughing she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The Puzzle, showing its colours again.
She stays in the bathroom for nearly five minutes and would stay longer only she knows that the sound of the water flushing over and again must sound odd. She is afraid it might spill over onto the floor if she pulls the chain too often. Besides, she guesses that Winnie must be able to hear something of what’s going on. When she goes through to the living room again she is standing at the sink with her back turned. She jumps as Clara goes through and tries to hide the medicine bottle which she has taken from the cupboard. When she sees that she is caught she straightens up and looks her in the eye, the old Winnie in charge.
‘What’s this for, Clara?’
‘Leave it,’ she says, and sits on the bed.
‘It’s some sort of medicine.’