The Fringe Dwellers

by Nene Gare

  ‘Spose we got visitors,’ Mrs Bean explained, ‘it’ll do to keep the wind offa them.’

  Addie was peering into a big pot when Mrs Comeaway and her little band appeared. She acted annoyed and even though there were friends she had not seen for a time the scowl stayed on her face as she greeted them.

  ‘Them dogs it is,’ she declared indignantly. ‘Come an et all the meat outa the pot.’

  Mrs Comeaway examined the evidence—a pot scraped dry with only a few crumbs of bread adhering to the bottom. ‘That two-legged dog,’ she chuckled, ‘ta scrape up all the juice as well.’

  Johnny Bean, huge and majestic, frowned and scratched his head. ‘Musta been when we was down the dump.’ He looked along the rise to where the Dowies camped. ‘That Tinker! E come along ere an eat my tucker, e find imself on the end a this. Im an is big dawgs always sneakin around.’

  ‘Whyn’t ya build ya place a bit farther away?’ Mrs Comeaway asked. ‘Ya know what them’s like over there. Never got nothin an always hungry.’

  ‘Ah gee, is done now,’ Johnny said ruefully.

  A tall skinny woman came climbing up the hill towards them, pushing a way through the stunted wattles. Her feet flapped, her brow was corded and in her arms she carried a loaf of bread.

  She ignored Mrs Comeaway and the others and slopped her way over to Addie. ‘Ya bread,’ she said, handing over the loaf.

  ‘That’ll be somethin fa us ta eat,’ Addie snapped, ‘seein the meat’s gone. You see any a that meat, Polly?’

  Polly smiled ingratiatingly. ‘An now we jus run outa potatoes,’ she said. ‘Ya wouldn’t have none, would ya?’

  Addie hesitated, considered and shook her head, and Polly looked with disappointment at the loaf of bread she had handed over. Addie followed the look. Her eyes swerved to where a couple of tins of meat lay beneath a fold of tarpaulin. ‘Ah, take ya bread,’ she said ungraciously, shoving it back.

  Polly took it eagerly. She turned to greet Mrs Comeaway. ‘How are ya sister? Ain’t seen ya for a long time.’ Her gap-toothed grin widened to include them all, then she began slapping back the way she had come.

  Addie’s mouth was thin. ‘Needn’t think she’s gunna live offa us jus because we neighbours. Hey!’ With her hand to her mouth she sent a call after the retreating Polly. When the woman stopped and looked back she yelled: ‘I guv ya that bread and when I give ya thing I don’t want em back. But if I borry things, then I do want em back. Ya hear that?’

  ‘Awright!’ Polly bellowed amicably. ‘I remember, sister.’

  ‘Ah, ya always was a bit snippy,’ Mrs Comeaway said affectionately, when Polly had disappeared, ‘but ya not a bad ole bastard an it’s nice ta have ya back.’

  Addie did not unbend, but a pack of cards appeared in her hand. ‘Ya got the time?’ she queried.

  Mrs Comeaway looked uncertainly at the others. Auntie Milly was already settling herself on a patch of grass. Hannie waited patiently for orders. The children were chasing a lizard down the dusty road.

  ‘Hafta be fa matches but,’ she weakened, ‘if ya got some.’

  They all had cups of tea, too, at Hannie’s camp. And a little game of cards hurt nobody, specially when it was only matches they played for. It was nearly dark by the time they got to Mrs Green’s.

  There was no light showing from the old house and that was strange because the Greens were connected up with the electric power and it only needed a finger to push down a switch.

  ‘Hoo oo!’ Mrs Comeaway called cheerily into the dusk. ‘Hoo oo!’

  They walked over to the side door that had hung apart from its hinges ever since Mrs Comeaway had first settled into her humpy at the top of the yard. The door was closed. Somehow someone had managed to pull it tight shut, and as well as being closed, it had been stapled and a big padlock hitched through the staples.

  ‘What is it?’ Mrs Comeaway asked blankly, looking at the silvery shining padlock as if it had been a snake. ‘What’d she put a big lock on er door for?’

  ‘Gee, I forgot,’ Blanchie said suddenly. ‘She went, Auntie Molly. She doesn’t live ere any more.’

  Mrs Comeaway turned slowly away from the door. ‘Yeah!’ she said flatly. ‘Ya right. Noonah came an tole me an it went clean outa me head.’ She stood for a while silently, her shoulders sloping sadly. Around her, the other women stood in a protecting group, waiting.

  ‘I woulda liked,’ Mrs Comeaway said at last, ‘ta say goodbye ta the ole lady. She was a nice old lady, that one.’ And she led the way back down the sandy slope and up on to the road.

  Mrs Comeaway only wanted to get back home now. The heart had gone out of her as far as visiting went. She wanted to tell Joe about how they had all walked up to Mrs Green’s and how she had thought it was funny that there had been no light and how she had remembered, after seeing the lock on the side door, that the old lady had been going and must have gone and not a good-bye or kiss me foot from the one who had been as close to her as if she had been a mother and not just a friend.

  Mrs Comeaway ached everywhere and most of all in her heart.

  ‘Ya just missed Joe,’ Charlie said from Hannie’s chair along-side the stove, when they arrived home.

  ‘Jus missed im?’ Mrs Comeaway said, puzzled. ‘Where’s e gone off to now?’

  ‘E said for me ta tell ya,’ Charlie began, and he wasn’t comfortable about this telling, a blind man could have seen that. ‘E said e was gunna write an tell ya soon as e got settled in somewhere. An ya wasn’t ta worry bout him because e wouldn’t be gone long. Just ta get a job like, an get a bit a money together.’

  Mrs Comeaway just stood there, looking at him with dull eyes.

  ‘An after that come straight back,’ Charlie murmured. He got up from Hannie’s chair. ‘Time ya got a bit a tucker ready, ain’t it?’ he said roughly to Hannie. And then, finding that anger hid much of his discomfort from these others, he indulged it more fully. ‘Get a move on, can’t ya?’ he snarled. ‘Bout time ya got up off ya fat arse, ain’t it, and did a bit round ere?’

  ‘Leave er alone, Charlie,’ Mrs Comeaway said absently. ‘Leave er alone.’ And without another look at anyone, she walked with her ache into her bedroom.

  On the edge of the big double bed she sat staring before her, hoping that if she just sat still long enough, her thoughts would become clear again, and manageable.

  Bartie came quietly through the door and sat close up against her. He took up her hand and held it in both small paws. ‘Mum,’ he whispered, ‘Mummy.’

  Mrs Comeaway did not stir.

  ‘I’ll help ya Mummy,’ Bartie said, loving her. ‘I’ll help ya.’

  She was herself again next morning, maybe because she had slept soundly and sweetly with Bartie and Stella curled up alongside her.

  ‘Didn’t come back I see,’ she said, as she made the first pot of tea for the day. ‘Thought e mighta changed his mind.’

  ‘E say anything?’ Auntie Milly asked.

  ‘Said nothing,’ Mrs Comeaway said shortly. ‘Jus have ta wait an see I spose.’

  ‘I reckon e mighta gone off up ta Carnarvon,’ Charlie volunteered. ‘E been thinkin there’s lots a work up that way.’

  Mrs Comeaway considered. ‘Might be. Yeah, ya might be right, Charlie. An I spose we could do with the money e’ll get.’

  ‘Auntie Milly could help Gramma Dicker with the kids on the way back to Mullewa,’ Trilby said calmly. ‘They’re a bit of a handful just for you, aren’t they Gramma?’

  ‘First I would hafta get some money fa me fares,’ Gramma pondered. ‘Didn’t we see Willis yesterday? If he would still be here I might get it offa him.’

  ‘I’ll see if he’s still round,’ Trilby said coldly, pushing her point.

  ‘A course ya don’t need ta hurry,’ Mrs Comeaway said, her eyes unhappy.

  ‘I got me own fares,’ Auntie Milly said proudly. ‘Ya don’t need go roun the town askin fa money fa me, I can tell ya that.’ Her faded brown eyes that looked as if the
colour had washed out of them and into the whites, glared angrily. ‘I can take a int, too, if ya like ta know.’

  ‘If it’s a big enough one,’ Trilby said, too low for Auntie Milly to catch what she said. She cut herself some bread and spread it with jam, poured a cup of tea and went with them into her bedroom.

  ‘Takes after er father, that one,’ Auntie Milly said sourly. ‘What was that last thing she said Molly?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Mrs Comeaway said, stolid and determined.

  From the chair by the stove Hannie said gently, ‘Would ya like me ta run in an ask?’

  Mrs Comeaway’s mouth went broad in a grin.

  ‘Er too,’ Auntie Milly snapped. ‘Mumblin so peoples can’t ear.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘No,’ Mrs Comeaway said with determination. ‘I’m gunna stick ta me ole man. E’s been all right ta me, an you kids too. If you think I’m gunna make a big fool outa him your makin a mistake.’

  ‘One thing, wouldn’t cost anything,’ Hannie put in, pouring what she imagined to be oil on troubled waters. ‘An Joe isn’t gunna mind gettin a bit of a letter, is e?’

  Her comment was ignored.

  ‘He’s been away three months now,’ Trilby said scornfully, ‘and Horace told us he had a job. He can’t just have forgotten about us. Look, all you have to do is write a letter and ask for maintenance like that man said, and if he doesn’t send you anything you can get money from the government.’

  ‘Yeah, an land me ole man in jail at the same time,’ Mrs Comeaway said, still stubborn. ‘I tell ya, ya don’t ave to be worrying bout money all the time. E’ll be back soon, when e feels like comin back, an then there’ll be plenty fa everyone.’

  ‘What about those letters from the Housing people?’ Trilby said angrily. ‘They won’t wait, will they?’

  ‘You ad no right ta go pokin round in my letters,’ Mrs Comeaway said resentfully. ‘They was mine, an sent ta me.’

  ‘Someone had to read them,’ Trilby said irritably. ‘And you didn’t.’

  ‘An what would’ve been the use? No good reading things like them when ya can’t do nothin bout em.’

  ‘He had no right to run away,’ Trilby said, ‘and leave us all.’

  ‘Ain’t e done all right for ya so far? Gettin us all set up in a nice house an that.’

  ‘A house we can’t pay any rent for,’ Trilby sneered.

  ‘There’s pounds an pounds gone off in rent,’ Mrs Comeaway said hotly. ‘I wouldn’t mind a bob in me hand fa every pound e’s ad ta give the damn guvment fa this house. An if you think I’m gunna put me ole man in jail…We ad enough trouble with them pleece already. We don’t want any more.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Trilby said bitterly. ‘Sling off at me every chance you get.’

  ‘You started, didn’t ya? I didn’t want any argufyin.’

  ‘Ah, you make me sick,’ Trilby said, moving her heavy body through the kitchen. As she passed Audrena, head bent over a comic, she shot out a hand and gave the head a push.

  Audrena glared. ‘Who you think you’re pushing now, Miss High an Mighty?’

  ‘Shutup, all of ya,’ Mrs Comeaway said strongly, ‘or I’ll make ya.’

  She was tired. Things had been this way for the last fortnight; everyone snapping and snarling at each other—everyone, it seemed, going out of his or her way to make more bother. And these everlasting rows about rent. Why was rent so important? The grocery man waited, didn’t he? Mrs Comeaway’s thoughts came to a halt and lingered uncertainly round the grocery man. Even him! Getting more difficult every day to get an order. What was the matter with the man? People had to eat. And a lot of good his stuff would do him sitting there on shelves.

  ‘I just don’t see how there could be so much owing,’ Noonah said, fingering one of the worrying letters.

  ‘I thought I’d burned those damn letters under the copper,’ Mrs Comeaway said, giving the one Noonah held a fierce look. ‘They just ain’t added up right, that’s all. An ya don’t need ta worry. Ya father’ll be back soon, and everything’ll be fixed up.’

  ‘This one came yesterday, Trilby says,’ Noonah said slowly.

  ‘Ho! Did it? An she couldn’t wait ta show it to ya,’ Mrs Comeaway said irritably.

  ‘This is an eviction notice but,’ Noonah frowned. ‘You don’t want to move out of here, do you?’

  Mrs Comeaway gazed carelessly round her kitchen. ‘Ah, I dunno. Course, it’s bigger here. If Charlie hadda gone up ta Mrs Green’s an picked up all that good iron an stuff, there woulda been no trouble. We coulda put up a nice place back fum the camp, like Mongo’s. Ya can’t get im up off is backside but, lazy ole devil.’

  ‘Like the other one?’ Noonah pursued, her eyes worried.

  ‘It was nice,’ Mrs Comeaway said, ‘livin down here. But ya miss seein peoples ya know.’

  Noonah giggled. ‘Don’t tell me you ever get lonely.’

  Mrs Comeaway chuckled. ‘Yeah, I know.’ She pulled a chair round and sank into it. ‘You got any money, Noonah?’

  ‘Course I have. Nearly all of it.’ Noonah reached into her pocket and pulled out a fat purse. Mrs Comeaway took it and sighed with relief. ‘Just about have ta pay cash fa everything nowadays,’ she said simply. ‘Terrible inconvenient sometimes too.’

  ‘Where’s everyone?’ Noonah asked.

  ‘Went down the beach gettin that driftwood,’ Mrs Comeaway said. ‘We might get a quiet cuppa tea before they come back.’

  ‘I see Skippy,’ Noonah said, looking over her mother’s shoulder. ‘Hello,’ she called, as the old man came rolling up the path.

  He saved his breath until he reached the top, then he hung to the veranda post for a while, his open mouth like a dark hole in his shrunken face.

  ‘I’m orf,’ he greeted them, one eye obscured behind his hat, the other glinting wickedly. ‘Orf on Mondy. E tells me give it a try an I give it a try. An it ain’t no place fer a full-blood, that damn camp. Where’s Joe?’ He bent forward to peer into corners.

  ‘Gone away,’ Mrs Comeaway shouted, pointing north. ‘I tole you already. Up there!’

  ‘What?’ Skippy was indignant. ‘Where’s e gorn?’

  ‘Gawd,’ Mrs Comeaway said helplessly. ‘You tell im, Noonah. I tried to a hundred times.’

  Noonah smiled at the old man and steered him into a chair. ‘Dad went away. Coming back soon,’ she said into his ear.

  ‘Build nother house up there, where I come fum,’ Skippy said.

  Noonah knelt to tie the laces of Skippy’s boots. ‘You’ll be falling over,’ she scolded him.

  Skippy jerked his feet away. ‘Don’t have ta deafen a feller. Like me boots comforble, so I can walk in em. Don’t you go puttin a lotta knots in them laces,’ He looked round the table. ‘Cuppa tea?’

  ‘Ya know, if e really is goin,’ Mrs Comeaway said, pouring tea, ‘it mightn’t be a bad idea ta try an get that house a his.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Noonah said tragically. ‘Too many of you.’

  Mrs Comeaway flashed her a look. ‘I could fix that easy. Could say it’s jus fa me an Joe when e gets back.’

  ‘An what about Bartie and Stella?’

  ‘I could say I was sendin em back ta the mission,’ Mrs Comeaway said triumphantly.

  ‘You wouldn’t though, would you Mum?’

  Mrs Comeaway shrugged. ‘You think it’s turned out so good down ere?’

  ‘They love it. And there’s Auntie Hannie too.’

  ‘Ya, Auntie Hannie! She’d be just as happy sittin on a perch,’ Mrs Comeaway said with finality. ‘Just so long as she’s sittin.’

  ‘Eddication,’ Skippy said suddenly. ‘That’s it, you gel there. You get eddication an you all right.’

  Blanchie came in from the bedroom where she had been taking a nap along with Tommy. Noonah reached for him and Blanchie gave him up, laughing. At eighteen months, Tommy’s eyes were black and clear and his eyelashes touched his feathery baby eyebrows. He suffered from no lack of food because
someone was always feeding him something and his fat firm cheeks compressed his mouth into a wet rosebud. He was a good-tempered child, playing contentedly about under people’s feet, sleeping soundly, though the house might be rocking with noise. Noonah adored him and brought him a new toy every time she came home. This week it was a yellow rubber puppy. Even Skippy was an interested observer as Tommy stared at the toy with big round eyes before trying it for taste. And whilst he played Blanchie watched him, her body curved towards him, her eyes and her mouth soft with love. When he dug into the soft rubber with a tiny forefinger, then looked up at her with his little pearl-like teeth showing between his pursed red lips, she snatched him up and buried her face in his fine black curls, gently biting the sweet soft curve of his neck.

  ‘You two girls walk home with Skippy a way,’ Mrs Comeaway said, when Skippy had finished his third cup of tea. ‘No good a ole feller like him being out after it gets dark.’

  ‘Tell Joe bout me ouse,’ Skippy ordered, as the girls waited watchfully for his skittering feet to reach the bottom step. ‘Where’s e gorn, anyway?’

  ‘Ave a good time up there,’ Mrs Comeaway roared from the living-room. ‘Don’t do nothin I wouldn’t do.’

  Later, as the girls walked back from the end of the road, Noonah eyed her cousin thoughtfully. ‘Blanchie,’ she said abruptly, ‘are you still going to marry Tim?’

  Blanchie’s eyes were innocent. ‘What’d you do if you was me? Would you go up ta where Tim’s workin an stay round them camps—or wait’ll e gets a job down ere in town. E’s always promisin e’ll leave that place where e is now an come down ere. It’s Tommy I’m thinkin about,’ she said artlessly. ‘If e got sick or something.’

  ‘You could look after him.’

  ‘It’s easier down here than up there in them camps.’

  ‘What camps?’

  ‘Not camps exactly. Little sort of huts. An ya sposed to stay round there an not go near the homestead. Ya gotta stick round with all that mob that’s hardly had any education ever. I never been used to living with people like that, always living round the town like. An spose I don’t like it! After all, I got money comin in regular down ere. Me allotment an what that feller sends—when e sends it.’ Blanchie’s sideways look at Noonah was swift and sly.