The Secrets We Keep

by Shirley Patton

  She stared at him, and he grinned. His aquiline nose and high cheekbones, and his quiet, upright bearing, gave him an air of aloofness, she reflected, especially when he looked at her with that insouciant smile. But over the past year, sharing stories at tea-breaks, she had discovered otherwise. And if Maureen wanted to gossip and make something of it, fine, the less people in the office would suspect her growing relationship with Patrick. She loved a good gossip herself although she’d never breach confidentiality, but sometimes it was hard to remember where she’d heard something. And now with reading teacups, it was more confusing. How Aggie ever managed, she had no idea … the number of secrets she must have heard over the years.

  ‘She’s been a bit grumpy with me since she heard Paddy asked me to attend the state planning meeting with him at Northam, in November. And it’s not what you’re thinking,’ she laughed, seeing Daniel’s wry grin.

  Daniel took a gulp from his steaming cup of black tea. ‘You readin’ my mind again?’

  She turned and looked straight at him. He was smiling but his eyes were intense. ‘No, I told you I wouldn’t do that, after that first time.’

  She’d walked into the staffroom several months ago, and seeing Daniel’s eyes closed, thought he was asleep. Moved by his vulnerability she’d been about to tiptoe back out again when she’d stopped, entranced. A band of light, radiating outwards, had appeared around his head. She’d blinked and Daniel’s eyes had opened. The light disappeared but she would never forget the wave of feeling that rolled over her as Daniel stared at her. Like being inside a band of energy. It snapped when Daniel stood up, then she’d blurted out what she’d seen.

  It was the beginning of a bridge they’d built between their beliefs, linking their disparate myths and stories. She laughed to herself sometimes, thinking how no one would believe the things they talked about, except Aggie, of course. But it was their secret, not even Patrick knew, for they’d both decided not to tell him.

  Through sparingly given, indirect and sometimes coded stories, Lori grasped that Daniel was struggling with the imperative of returning home to the Kimberleys, to take up his role as a medicine man, a magic man. She felt she had little to offer except a sense of understanding, acceptance, for his struggle. Daniel seemed to know that, had told her, ‘I seen who you was, that first day.’ He’d also told her about his affection for Patrick, how Patrick had helped him when he needed it, in the Kimberleys. Then he’d closed her out. She’d respected that and sought no more.

  But it was hard to turn off her discerning when he was around; his energy heightened her sensitivity and sometimes left her jittery, and she’d have to sit quietly in the toilet for a few minutes before returning to her desk. Aggie had shown her how to shut down; she’d imagine each of her chakras closing up like a tight rosebud, each one a colour of the rainbow. To open up, she reversed it, the petals of each bud flattening out around a central glowing point through which she’d imagine light moving up, slithering along her body, changing her. Like Daniel’s rainbow serpent, she thought.

  As if reading her mind, Daniel asked, ‘Did you do some of them cups?’

  ‘Yeh, but I’m still getting the hang of it. The two I told you about, that Mrs King referred to me, they went pretty good. I picked up things that were right but a lot of it’s in the future, so who knows?’

  ‘So what happenin’ for me?’

  She drew back. ‘What?’ She looked at him expecting him to laugh. He didn’t. Instead he had a strange faraway look.

  ‘I bin thinkin’, about goin’ back.’

  ‘Really?’ She knew it was a difficult decision. Daniel had told her how his father expected him to follow on as medicine man but the responsibility had made him nervous. He hadn’t felt ready, he said, so he’d left home and spent this past year in Kalgoorlie.

  ‘I saw a clever man, in a dream, last night, callin’ me.’

  He spoke so softly she had to lean in to hear him. As she did so, the energy between them intensified, her heart beat faster and her breath quickened. She drew back and for a moment Daniel was two beings, himself and a second him, outlined in gold. She gasped, staring at him wide-eyed as, slowly, the two became one.

  ‘Him still with me, hey?’ he said softly.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  They stayed like that, side by side, silent until the door flung open. It was Ron.

  ‘Hi, you lot. Up and at it. What do you think this is? Country week?’ He laughed, grabbing the Miner and slumping into the corner chair. ‘They’re lining up outside the door, out there. Must be Friday.’

  Bewildered, they both leapt up and stared at each other. She looked at her watch—four-thirty—they’d been there half an hour.

  ‘Oh God, is that the time, sorry, I lost track,’ she apologised, rushing towards the open door. Daniel started to follow her.

  ‘Danny Boy, hang on, can I see you a moment? I’ve a job for you,’ ordered Ron.

  She looked back at Daniel; there was no sign of the light. He gave her a quick smile and she closed the door behind her. After a quick dash to the toilet she hurried upstairs to finish her filing.

  She was shoving a bulging Adoptions folder into the filing cabinet when she caught her nail on its metal frame. A spot of blood smeared across the green cardboard cover.

  ‘Ouch,’ she squealed, sticking the offended finger in her mouth and sucking hard.

  ‘You right there, Lori?’ asked Carol, from behind her large wooden desk over by the main window with its view across Boulder Road to the dusty flats and poppet heads beyond.

  ‘Yes, that’ll teach me to rush. I’m trying to get finished, I want to leave early.’ She was feeling guilty after spending half an hour in the tearoom with Daniel.

  Carol pushed back her swivel chair and nodded in sympathy. The silver strands of her hair, loose from the bun on top of her head, framed her soft, lined face; the senior worker in Adoptions since before Lori started, she was due to retire soon. She often thought about the sensitive information Carol retained, like all of them really, holding the keys to the filing cabinets containing the most confidential of information, albeit not the names of relinquishing parents. The names of parents were kept in Perth. She enjoyed taking minutes for Adoptions and maintaining their admin files, it was often a haven from the chaos downstairs. And sometimes she felt part of something special. Babies given a second chance to have a family. Although there were fewer now.

  Carol held out her hand. ‘Here, let me have a look, I’ve a bandaid if you need it.’

  The blood was already clotting but the cut was too far down to pull off her nail. She proffered her finger and Carol applied a bandaid.

  ‘Thanks. I never learn. As Papa always said, la gatta frettolosa fece i gattini ciechi.’

  Carol eyebrows arched.

  ‘More haste, less speed,’ she explained, grinning.

  ‘How is your family?’

  They often talked about their families when she was filing but recently Carol’s only daughter and grandchildren had moved to the small seaside town of Busselton, south of Perth, and she’d become even more loquacious, eager to share stories. Lori was usually up for a chat but not today. Patrick was coming for dinner and she wanted tonight to be special.

  ‘Good, Nonna’s a bit low, she can’t seem to shake off that cold she has, poor darling,’ she answered politely.

  ‘And have you thought any more about studying? The mature age entrance exams are coming up, did you read the information I gave you?’ Carol inquired.

  It was a regular topic of conversation between them. Carol believed passionately in education, particularly for women, even though she had made it this far without formal qualifications but, as she kept reminding Lori, ‘those days are over’. Lori had thought about it, wondering if she could influence some of what was going on around her. Like the file culling. But that was before Patrick, and now, she just wanted to get home.

  ‘I have, thanks, but do you mind if we talk about it tomo
rrow? I’ve someone coming over for dinner and I need to get organised, you know how it is.’ She squeezed Carol’s hand in appreciation.

  ‘No, you go. Leave that,’ Carol encouraged, seeing her look at the bulging file in the filing cabinet. ‘You can finish it on Monday. I’ll lock up. Go on,’ she ordered, grinning as she pushed her out the door.

  She’s a good woman, she mused as she descended the stairs. Carol was the division’s representative on the department’s new committee for women and encouraged women in the office to apply for positions, suggesting them for divisional meetings and state conferences. She’d also suggested Lori run for the position next year. I just might, she thought, I could have more of a voice then. Although Carol often got into arguments with Ron, she noticed Carol had a lot of clout at staff meetings, and with Patrick.

  Patrick. She stumbled on the last step. Was she doing the right thing? Well, I’ll soon find out, she guessed.

  She was halfway out the back door, her bag slung over her shoulder, when Aimee called out.

  ‘Are you knocking off early?’

  Since the start of Kerry’s election campaign, which they’d all been helping with, there’d been less opportunity to share one-on-one time with Aimee and she missed that. She stopped and smiled. She looks tired, she thought. No, not tired, sad, she realised. Struggling with something, a decision. She shook her head and blinked away the sensing, and beckoned Aimee out of earshot.

  ‘Paddy’s coming for dinner so I’m getting a head start,’ she whispered.

  Aimee nodded conspiratorially.

  She was keen to leave but could sense her friend’s anxiety. ‘Are you okay?’ She reached out and touched Aimee’s arm.

  ‘Yes, I’m all right, bit tired, things on my mind, you know how it is,’ she sighed, leaning against the red brick wall. ‘We must catch up soon,’ she said, brightening. ‘If you can spare a moment from Paddy,’ she teased, poking her in the ribs.

  ‘Shush!’ she laughed, jumping out of Aimee’s reach. ‘What about lunch tomorrow, at my place? Or are you door knocking for Kerry?’

  ‘No, I helped out last weekend. Saturday would be great. Sunday I’m having lunch with Gerry. I’ll bring something to drink. Are you doorknocking?’

  ‘Yes, we’re making it a family affair. Da Patronis, theya knowa where you leeve,’ she said sotto voce. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said laughing, ‘see you Saturday, it’ll be good to catch up.’ Lori hugged her and, as usual, felt Aimee stiffen, just a little. At the compound gates she turned to wave but Aimee had gone. They would talk on Saturday, lots to share, at least she hoped so. Her face flushed and her heart beat a little faster as she opened the car door. And it wasn’t just the warmth of the late afternoon air.

  Through a wall of people in the foyer, Aimee glimpsed Ron come out of the staffroom and turn into the nearby toilet. What I wouldn’t do for a loo break, or a tea-break, for that matter, she lamented, leaning on the counter. She was dying for a coffee. It had been a long day.

  ‘Who’s next, Hayley?’

  Hayley checked the appointment book. ‘Ah, you’ve got Mrs Clancy, she’s being evicted from her mining house ’cause her husband’s died. And then there’s a young bloke who’s arrived today. He’s driven across the Nullarbor from Tasmania looking for work—he’s got no money and nowhere to stay,’ she replied, handing over their forms.

  ‘Another one,’ she sighed, taking the forms. So many young men, desperate for work, unaware of the limited accommodation and the subsequent exorbitant rents.

  ‘How many after that, and who are all the people in the foyer?’

  ‘Just one. Mr Rogers is back again.’ Hayley stared at her in sympathy.

  Mr Rogers, an alcoholic, came in every week seeking financial assistance. The hopelessness of his situation depressed her—she had so little to offer.

  ‘And they’re all here for a funeral,’ Hayley said sombrely, nodding to the group in the foyer, ‘and need a lift back but there’s no one here to take ’em, Gerry’s off this week and Neville’s up at Laverton till tomorrow. Ron said he’d sort it out.’

  ‘Thanks, I knew you’d have it under control.’ She appreciated Hayley’s calming influence in the office; it balanced Lori’s exuberant efficiency and Maureen’s dour dedication. ‘If I had time I’d make you a gratitude coffee,’ she laughed, turning towards the waiting room.

  ‘Is that a hint?’ Hayley called after her.

  ‘Mrs Clancy?’ asked Aimee. A forlorn weatherworn face with red-rimmed eyes peered up at her. She was taken aback; she’d never seen such a sad face. ‘Please come in,’ she beckoned, wondering what she could do when it was a housing problem.

  Two hours later she was still wondering.

  ‘Dad, I’ve tried doing that!’ she yelled down the phone, her voice echoing around the empty building.

  She could picture him running his hand through his hair, which he always did when he was thinking, or frustrated. If he hadn’t been tied to his office phone, she imagined he’d be pacing up and down. She’d told him about Mrs Clancy; her husband, a miner for forty years, had rented the same tin house near the mines for the past thirty, but lately, as the old miners died off or moved on, a new mine owner was demolishing the old houses. Housing couldn’t help—she wasn’t on their waiting list and didn’t fit their ‘priority one’ listing. Aimee didn’t know with whom she was angriest: the heartlessness of the mine management or Housing. She’d rung both, argued, pleaded, bargained but to no avail. She knew Housing had newly built, vacant pensioner properties—she’d watched them go up near her govie house—which was what she was trying to tell her father, that she had spoken personally to the manager of Housing and she had mentioned the vacant units.

  It was the first time she’d asked for his direct intervention but the state of Mrs Clancy was more than she could bear. During the course of their meeting Mrs Clancy had rubbed her eyes so much from crying they’d bled. She had no savings. ‘Bert took care of all that,’ she’d said. She didn’t even have her own bankbook. Aimee had thought of her own mother, and what Aimee would have wanted someone to do for her in this situation, which had made her decide, albeit reluctantly, to ring her father. She knew she should try to change the system, that advocating for one individual was a bandaid approach, but she couldn’t stand it. She’d follow up on that later, talk with Patrick and the other staff and try to get a meeting between Housing and the mine management; and a Family Support worker would be visiting Mrs Clancy on Monday to help with general matters.

  ‘All right, all right, calm down, Aimee. You asked for my help and that’s all I’m trying to do.’

  ‘I know, it’s just, I, I …’ She felt overwhelmed, unable to speak. Was it asking for his help, the forlorn state of Mrs Clancy, no break all day, what?

  ‘Aimee, are you there, are you all right?’ There was panic in his voice.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I’m all right. It’s been a long day and I’ve a few things on my mind.’ She thought of Lee.

  ‘Right then.’ His relief was palpable. ‘I’ll make a few phone calls, see what I can find out and I’ll call you back on Monday. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ The compelling urge to niggle him, regain her power, slithered through her veins. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you remember I was telling you about the people having to move from Cundeelee, and the talk about uranium, do you know any more about that?’

  ‘Now come on Aimee, we’ve been over this before. The move’s already happened and federal Labor has a no uranium mining policy, so it’s a non issue.’

  ‘But, was that why they were moved?’ she persisted.

  ‘Aimee we weren’t in government when the move was originally planned.’

  ‘But you must know, were—’

  ‘Aimee, I have to go, I—’

  ‘Hang on, there’s something else. Did Mum tell you about the protests here over the sulphur pollution?’

  ‘Yes, but I was already aware
, as you might imagine. We’re already on top of it, we have a few things in the pipeline, but I can’t say much more.’

  Pipeline. Stupid pollie-speak. ‘Well, you’d want to be on top of it, people here are pretty upset about it, there’s a woman running for council next month on this issue, who—’

  ‘Aimee, I’ve got to go, I’ve a meeting. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  He hung up.

  She thumped the desk. How dare he hang up on me. I wish I hadn’t rung him. Exhausted, she laid her head on her arms, and cried—for herself, for Mrs Clancy, for Lee.

  Lee. She sat up, wiped her eyes. Time she went home. Lee might call. They had spoken last weekend after she’d decided to ring for Lee’s birthday. She drank half a bottle of wine first.

  ‘Lee, it’s Aimee, happy birthday, thought I’d return the favour, how’s things, how’s the family, how’s work going?’ she’d babbled on, afraid to stop talking.

  ‘Aimee!’ Lee’s excitement sent a shiver through her body. ‘Fantastic to hear from you. I’m good, really good, all the better for hearing from you. Best birthday present, ever.’ Lee’s laughter washed over her. ‘How about you, though, how’s life in Kalgoorlie? I see it’s been in the news recently. Pollution issues. Great to see the community action, though. Power to the people, eh! Love it! Sorry—you, how are you?’

  In silence, she bathed in Lee’s voice, enthusiasm, warmth. Her heart softened.

  ‘I miss you, Aimee,’ Lee whispered into the void.

  I miss you, too, she wanted to say, and didn’t. But for the next half hour they danced between sharing stories of their working lives and tiny moments of intimacy. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Lee asked near the end of the call. ‘No, you?’ she replied. ‘No.’ Silence. ‘Can I call you next week?’ ‘Yes.’

  Since then, Lee had not been out of her mind.

  The whirring of a vacuum cleaner announced the arrival of the cleaners. She tidied the desk, picked up her bag and turned off the duty room light.