The Secrets We Keep

by Shirley Patton

  It was good to see her laugh.

  ‘But that’s underground,’ she went on. ‘Now we’re having trouble above ground. Have you heard about the stack?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, c’mon in and I’ll tell you about it. I’m not sure what to do. Maybe you’ll have some ideas.’

  Aimee stepped over the threshold wondering what she’d have to offer. Rena was right, all those years ago, you never know what to expect in social work.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lori loved the quiet time on pay Fridays between five and six o’clock in the office, when the rest of the staff had gone. Some took off early to make a dash to the coast for the weekend, others to get to the Palace Hotel for drinks with other government workers. She loved the peace in the building, as if it had claimed itself back from the purpose it had been set to, pulling itself up to the grander design it had for itself: dignified, regal, refined. Sometimes when she walked down its enormous staircase she pretended she was coming down for a ball, dressed in a fine gown, but she usually got the giggles before the bottom, as she imagined herself tripping on her hem and falling headfirst. One thing she knew for sure, she was not elegant.

  But she was efficient. And the best time to finish her ‘to do’ list after a busy day was when they’d all gone home. She sorted through the two piles of paper left on her desk. She planned on calling into Kerry’s on the way home to see if there was anything else she could do to help for tomorrow’s rally. It would be her first time in a protest march.

  I wonder how many will turn up, she thought. Not everyone was against the mine managers for failing to do something about the sulphur emissions from the chimneystack. Still, there’d been lots of letters complaining about it to the Miner and it was standing room only at the high school gym when Kerry’s group held the public meeting last week. Mind you, some of them were against doing anything, afraid it might put men’s livelihoods at risk in case it wasn’t cost-effective for the mining companies to put in the technology required to reduce emissions. Or, as had been suggested at the meeting, to shut down production when the prevailing weather conditions were a factor. She could understand that.

  It wasn’t that long ago half the mines had shut down or reduced their output after the price of gold dropped and plenty of men were laid off. But gold was at a high now and Kerry was right, the smell was bad. Worse than she could ever remember. Some days when the wind blew fumes over the town her eyes watered and Nonna had said at lunch last Sunday, ‘Some days I no go out the door, I no breathe properly.’ ‘That might be old age, Mamma,’ her father had said gently, winking at the rest of them, worried about her determination to go outside and weed his vegetable garden.

  Now they were all going to attend the rally tomorrow, either in the march or lining Hannan Street. A first for them all.

  She looked at the time and stood up to file the rest of the papers on her desk. Half-past five. The last of the weak winter sun played through the narrow window, casting long shadows over the empty room and filling it with a pale dusky glow. As she locked the filing cabinet she was surprised to see a light under Patrick’s office door. She knocked before opening it. He looked up from his writing.

  ‘I thought you’d gone home,’ she said, leaning in the doorway.

  He smiled. ‘I thought everyone else had. I didn’t see you when I came in earlier. I’ve been meeting with the magistrates. Here, take a seat,’ he said, standing up and pulling over a chair from the wall.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied, sitting down opposite him. ‘I was upstairs in Adoptions, I’ve just come down.’

  ‘Are you about to go home?’

  ‘No, I’m calling in to see Kerry Steele for an hour or so then I’m going home.’

  ‘What are you doing after that?’

  ‘Nothing much, might have an early night. Big day tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come over for tea. Fish and chips—I’ll pick them up on the way home. Daniel will be there too, I think. But if you’re having an early night …’

  ‘No, no, that sounds nice. I’d like to. Um, what can I bring?’

  ‘Nothing, just your lovely self,’ he grinned, stretching back in his chair.

  He looked so inviting she flushed. She looked away and stood up to go. ‘Okay, see you about seven-thirty. Don’t work too hard,’ she mumbled, heading for the door.

  ‘Seven-thirty’s good. I won’t, but this submission needs to go off by Monday, it’s the funding for the youth justice diversion program. The minister’s finally seen sense.’ He leant forward. ‘Proactive not reactive, I keep telling them. Anyway, they’ve listened and I’m grateful.’

  She turned and smiled at him as she closed the door. She loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about what needed changing, his hopes for a better life for the children who repeatedly came through their office doors and through the courts. They’d had some great nights talking about the changes he wanted to see happen. Sometimes Daniel joined them but more often he went to bed early and left them on their own. They met about once a week now, mostly on weekends. She’d have liked more but during the week Patrick often stayed back at work or attended meetings after hours.

  It had been this way between them for the past six months. Feeling their way forward but nothing definite. They’d kissed, but little else. Although last week in the car they’d steamed up his car windows outside her front gate. She’d felt like a guilty teenager, fondling him through his trousers. He hadn’t touched her but she knew he wanted to. She imagined they both had Catholic guilt, made worse for her knowing he’d been a priest. Not that guilt had completely stopped her in the past; she’d had two boyfriends in her twenties, one serious that ended two years ago, a month before her thirtieth birthday, disappointing her mother who was sure Glenn was going to ask her to marry him on her birthday. But she’d known it was over months before, she simply hadn’t done anything about it; they’d been drifting apart, spending less and less time in each other’s company.

  That’s when she’d decided to buy Nonna’s house. Well, not actually decided—her father persuaded her to buy it and she went along with it. Like her relationships in the past, like her life really, she went along with it. Not that she was unhappy. She had a great job although that had simply happened to her too—Carol had made it happen—and she was grateful that she had a home of her own, thanks to her father’s encouragement and his offer to go guarantor. And people liked her for her fun, ‘go with the flow’ attitude. But since meeting Aggie, she’d begun to wonder about the way she let things happen to her, not ‘tempting providence’ as her mother would say. And here she was, doing it again, with Patrick.

  The sun had set by the time she left the building. She shivered and searched in her bag for her gloves. Why don’t I own a coat? It was a thought she had every year. But then, hardly anyone wears a winter coat in Kal. By the time the cold sneaks up it’s too late to think about it and the next thing, it’s warm again. She laughed as she started her car and turned on the heater.

  Driving towards the railway line at the top of Hannan Street, she noticed, over to the right, a campfire in the gully. Around it sat huddled a group of people, including several children. God, they’ll be cold, she thought. Circling around the outside of the group were half a dozen dogs. She’d never taken much notice before, Aborigines often camped around the fringes of town, they were used to camping out.

  But why should they have to, she thought. If it were a group of white people with kids in the gully, what would happen then? At that moment a van pulled up. From the writing on its side she recognised it as the van from the new Aboriginal hostel at the top of Hannan Street, run by a man called Noel Carmody. He often called into the office with residents needing support, and they’d chatted several times. She remembered his quiet dignity and the sense of authority he carried with him but, occasionally, she felt unnerved around him. She had mentioned Noel to P
atrick one night when they were chatting about their day and he’d told her Noel was raised on a Christian mission but his grandfather had been a tribal elder.

  She’d continued to feel a little in awe of him, sensing his energy, his strength—and something else. It was only yesterday when he was leaning over the counter, waiting for a resident, that she’d realised what it was. His anger.

  And she hadn’t known how to react. For it was a quiet, justified anger she could sense. And she was part of the cause. They all were. This realisation was slowly dawning on her—since meeting Aggie, since the weekend destroying the files, since talking to Aimee and Patrick.

  And since spending time with Daniel. Beautiful Daniel, who had his own ways of knowing. Like her and Aggie. Their tearoom conversations were a highlight of her day. I’ve learnt so much from him, she thought, as her car clattered over the railway line.

  She turned left along the wide streets to Kerry’s house, concentrating on the road. There were hardly any streetlights this side of town and potholes to avoid. She searched for the turnoff in the fading light. As she rounded the corner her eyes widened. Lori slammed on the brakes. The tiny street was lined with cars, and people were streaming across the road, into the glare of Kerry’s front verandah light.

  Kerry looked around her tiny kitchen and wondered where was she going to put all the stuff. Lori would be here soon and she hadn’t worked out what she’d need her to do. She’d taken on far too much. This was crazy. How are we going to do this, she thought, what if nobody turns up tomorrow?

  ‘Mum, look at this.’

  ‘Not now, love. I’m busy.’

  ‘But you said to show you when I’d finished.’

  She looked up from writing on the placard, and seeing her daughter’s earnest face, remembered why she was doing this. For her, and all the other kids. They had a right to breathe clean air. Rights and responsibilities, Aimee had said. Well, they were taking responsibility for their kids’ rights, all Pam’s group were.

  ‘I’m sorry, love. Let me have a closer look.’

  Amber rushed forward holding up her placard. It showed a boldly coloured rainbow, a bright sun coming up from behind, two bluebirds flying past and children playing hockey on the ground below. Along the bottom in fluorescent green capital letters she’d written ‘Be Fair, Clean Air’.

  ‘That’s great, sweetheart. You’re so good at drawing. You didn’t get that from me, mine’s hopeless, it looks nothing like a stack.’ She half-laughed, realising what she’d said. Paul couldn’t draw either. The campaign had left her no time to sit down with Amber as she’d planned. But soon, when this was over, she’d tell her.

  ‘No, yours is good too, Mum. But maybe it’s a bit small. You could make it bigger and draw lots more smoke. And maybe some people on the ground coughing and a hospital with sick people in it and—’

  ‘Okay, okay, I think I might leave the drawing to the others, and you of course. I might start writing on the banner, where did you put those scissors?’ she asked, looking around the mess that was her kitchen, ‘I need to cut the sheet of calico in half. Lori’s bringing over a staple gun.’

  Every surface had something on it. The table was covered in cardboard, paper, coloured pencils, markers, staplers; leaning up against the cupboards were thin lengths of wood for the placards, and on the floor lay bolts of cloth for the banners.

  ‘I’ll get them, Mum, they’re on my bed. I was making streamers.’

  Amber came back with the scissors and gave her a hug. She looked at Amber and took a deep breath. ‘You know what? I reckon Dad would be proud of us.’

  Amber’s eyes glistened as she looked at her mother. Such beautiful eyes, she thought, everything revealed in their shiny golden flecks, and when she stared like this, a softness, a kindness beyond her years.

  ‘I’m proud of you, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, are you? Thank you. But you know what, it was you telling me about the smoke that started all this. So we can both be proud, eh. Now off you go and have a quick bath before Lori gets here. And hopefully some of the others from the group will turn up too. I hope so.’

  ‘They will, Mum. Melanie’s mum said she was coming,’ Amber called out, running off into her bedroom.

  Oh, God, I bloody hope so, she thought, as she knelt down on the floor and unrolled a bolt of cloth. She had never imagined it would come to this, after Amber came home from school that day, over a month ago, coughing, her eyes red and watery. Kerry had already noticed the smell from the stack was getting worse and it had come up in conversation with Lori how the smoke seemed more visible lately. A few people coming into the library had complained about it too.

  But it was seeing the effect on Amber that had upset her. Amber’s class had been playing sport on the oval; it was built on land closer to the mines than most of the town and directly in line with the dark plume of smoke. Amber had told her that all the other kids had started coughing and rubbing their eyes too, so the teacher had called off the games and taken them back to class. Amber’s main concern had been missing out on sport. But seeing Amber cough like that had niggled at her and she’d been unable to get it out of her mind. The more she’d thought about it the more she’d noticed the smell from the stack and the more she’d noticed it, the more annoyed she became. She’d thought about Paul and the dust underground, and the dust that blew daily across town, and now the bloody sulphur. Enough, she’d thought, enough.

  She’d asked Lori whether she was getting more worked up about it than she needed to. Lori had looked at her and cocked her head on the side giving her that look, a drifting kind of look she sometimes got before she’d answer.

  ‘No, I think you’re right to be worried,’ Lori had said slowly. ‘Maybe you could look it up in the library, you know, in one of the science books or something, see what’s causing it.’

  And she had, the next day.

  She’d discussed the effects of sulphur with Aimee when they were meant to be talking about Amber. Well, this was about Amber but it was about everybody else too, the whole town.

  ‘The stuff we can smell is sulphur dioxide,’ she’d told Aimee. ‘It’s from the ore being roasted at high temperatures to get out the gold. It’s a gas, a poisonous gas! And that’s what’s making the kids all cough and their eyes water but there’s worse things it can cause too, it said.’

  Aimee had looked confused so she had rushed through everything she’d learnt from the books in the library: how the stack is called a roaster and is built really high so the gases blow away in the atmosphere but that this can be affected by weather conditions, and how over time breathing in the sulphur can cause breathing and heart problems and even affect unborn children.

  ‘That’s shockin’, isn’t it,’ she’d continued. ‘I mean, I know the smoke’s been blowing over town for years but maybe we’re noticing it more now ’cause there’s been more smoke since the mines reopened. Or maybe it’s because they’ve found new ways to get more gold from old tailings and they’re putting through more ore. I dunno, it’s what I heard from an old miner who comes into the library,’ she’d told Aimee.

  ‘Well, what do you want to do about it?’ Aimee had asked her.

  ‘Do about it? There’s nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘Well, if you could do something about it, what would you like to do about it?’

  ‘Tell them to stop it, I suppose. Well, no, not stop it but perhaps find a way to make it better than it is now or something, I dunno. One of the books I looked at said some countries have laws that control how much sulphur you’re allowed to make. Have we got those?’

  ‘I don’t know, Kerry, but maybe you could find out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m not sure. What do you think? Who might know?’

  She’d thought for a moment and remembered that the husband of one of the mothers in Pam’s group worked for the School of Mines.

  ‘I could ask Jenny to ask her husband.’

  ‘And then wha
t?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well if there are none, what would you want to do next?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe ask someone who’s responsible, why not? If other places have laws then we should too, eh. It’s not right, is it?’ she’d asked Aimee.

  Aimee had agreed but said she wasn’t sure about the laws elsewhere, which didn’t seem all that helpful; she’d thought Aimee would have all the answers having been to university and everything. But Aimee had given her a good idea when she’d asked if anyone else was worried about the sulphur too, because after Aimee left she’d gone over to Pam’s place and talked about it with her and they’d brought it up at their mothers’ group, and Jenny found out from her husband that there was no law or regulation about what she now knew was called ‘air quality’. Everyone wanted to know more as they were all feeling worked up after their meeting so she’d copied pages from the books in the library for them all to read.

  It was after talking about it some more with Aimee the next week that she went back to the group with some ideas for taking action. Yes, taking action was what Aimee called it—she liked that, taking action. They wrote a letter to the mine managers but nobody replied. Then several of them wrote letters to the Miner but only one got published and that was Jenny—probably because her husband helped her to write it. But it was a good letter asking why wasn’t there a policy on sulphur gases or air quality regulations for the mines.

  Then a reporter from the paper had come to talk to them and he did a story on their concerns with a picture of Kerry standing out the front of her place looking over at the mines (Jenny had refused to have her picture taken and had dobbed her in). ‘It was Kerry who put us all up to this, take her picture,’ Jenny had told him, laughing. It was an awful picture; she wished she’d had time to do her hair. The reporter, Dean Wolzak, was nice though. He’d called in twice since then to see how they were going. And several more letters to the paper had been printed and people had come into the library and stopped her in the street to talk about it. Then two weeks ago they had a town meeting in the gym at Amber’s school.