The Mimosa Tree

by Antonella Preto

  ‘Found any?’ she asks.

  ‘Not yet. You can help me.’

  ‘You know I can never see them.’ And this is true. I’ve seen so many satellites but I have never been able to successfully point one out to her. I look anyway, determined that one day she will see one.

  ‘Tell me about school,’ she says, and I groan.

  ‘It’s really not that interesting.’

  ‘Maybe not for you,’ she says patting me on the cheek. ‘But I like to hear about what you are doing. Are you finding it hard?’

  ‘It’s all under control,’ I lie.

  ‘You are a good girl,’ she says and I can actually hear the smile on her face it’s so wide. ‘I think you deserve a bit of a reward for working so hard.’

  ‘Really?’ I say looking up at her. Her eyes are wide and twinkling and the crescent moon circles her head like a wonky crown. So this is what the bag is about? I start to raise my hands, ready to accept the bag when Mum says something completely unexpected.

  ‘Yes Mira, you can go to the party.’

  I shake my head, not sure if I have heard her right. ‘Umm, what?’

  ‘Your father and I have talked about it, and we both think it’s a good idea. We want you to go to the party, enjoy yourself with your new friends.’

  ‘You’re bloody kidding me?’

  ‘Mira!’ says Mum because I have sworn, but my happiness is catchy and she starts to giggle with me. I take her arms and do a little dance with her even though she is still sitting in the chair. When I have finally exhausted myself I drop to my knees and hug her tightly around the hips.

  ‘You have to be a good girl,’ she says tapping me on the head warningly. ‘No drinking.’

  ‘No problem.’ I hate the taste of alcohol anyway.

  ‘No drugs.’

  ‘No way,’ I say and smile because now I am remembering the lake.

  ‘No sex.’

  ‘Jesus Mum! It’s a party not an orgy.’

  ‘And your Aunty Via will drive you there and pick you up.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ I say clutching at her knees pleadingly. ‘Anyone but Via! Please. Can’t I ask Felicia?’

  ‘Via,’ she says. ‘And if she thinks there is anything not right about that party she is going to drive you straight home, you understand? Here,’ says Mum, picking up the bag that I have now completely forgotten about. I open it excitedly, thinking this day could not get much better. When I put my hand in the bag my elation sours a little as I realise she has bought me clothes. This never turns out well.

  ‘Gee, Mum,’ I say holding up a pink paisley dress made from a slippery almost metallic material. ‘That’s, umm, so pink. It’s, umm, lovely.’

  ‘Do you really like it?’ she says, taking some of the material in her fingers and admiring it dreamily. ‘I wasn’t sure you would but your aunties told me it was the latest fashion.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I say thinking Felicia would kill for this dress, though I might kill if I was forced to wear it. ‘It’s the latest fashion all right.’

  ‘I thought you could wear it to the party.’

  ‘Oh it might be too good for that.’

  ‘Nothing is too good for my daughter,’ she says stroking me on the cheek and I am happy to sit for a while and let her admire me.

  ‘I’m going to find you a satellite,’ I say when she’s done gazing at me, hoping to add to this remarkable day of firsts. It doesn’t take me long to find a little glowing dot crossing the sky, and I decide that there is no way that this one is anything other than a harmless communications satellite. ‘There, look!’

  I push my cheek against hers then point to the satellite, which is crossing low in the southern sky. Mum’s closed eye twitches as she focuses down the line of my finger.

  ‘It’s just a star.’

  ‘Not that one,’ I say adjusting my aim slightly. ‘There. The star that is moving. Can you see it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says after a while, but I don’t believe her, because the satellite has already faded from view.

  ‘You missed it.’

  ‘Maybe next time.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ says Dad stepping out onto the veranda. At the sound of his voice I hide my head in Mum’s lap.

  ‘Come and sit with us darling,’ says Mum and I almost gag with shock. Luckily, Dad doesn’t take up her offer. He just farts loudly and waves his hands dismissively.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ he says and goes back inside.

  ‘Good,’ I say and get ready to find her a new satellite, but Mum stands up to leave.

  ‘Come on, it’s getting late.’

  ‘I’m staying out here.’

  She rubs at her back.

  ‘You love him, Mira. One day you will realise this.’ Then she strokes my head, leaves me to my lawn and my darkness. ‘Good night, darling.’

  Chapter 8

  On the night of the party I accessorise the hideous pink dress with a ripped pair of black tights, calf-high stomper boots and my army trench coat. I sling a wide belt across my hips and hitch my dress so that it sits above my knees and tease my hair so that it falls Robert Smith like around my face. At first I was pretty pissed off when everyone ordered me to wear the stupid thing, but as I look at myself in the mirror I have to confess, I actually look pretty good.

  ‘You look ridiculous,’ says Via when I walk into the kitchen. ‘Take off that disgusting coat.’

  ‘No one can see your lovely dress,’ agrees Mum as she fondles the pink fabric and coos like it’s a newborn baby. ‘Do you want to borrow one of my cardigans?’

  ‘Umm, no.’

  ‘I’m not taking you to the party looking like that,’ says Via.

  ‘Jesus! You said I couldn’t go to the party unless I wore this dress. Well I’m wearing it so you have to take me now. You can’t just keep making up new rules! What next? I can’t go to the party unless I eat my broccoli? I can’t go to the party unless I polish your shoes? This isn’t fair.’

  ‘Yap, Yap, Yap. Do you know what the hell she is talking about, Sofia? I swear sometimes she must be talking Japanese. University has turned you into a real smart-arse you know that? Wear what the hell you like, I don’t care anymore. Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘It’s only six thirty!’

  ‘You can’t be late for dinner,’ says Via tapping at her watch.

  ‘It’s a party. No one said anything about dinner.’

  ‘They’re not serving you food?’ says Mum looking frightened. God forbid her daughter gets stuck somewhere without access to carbohydrates.

  ‘Stop worrying, Mum. I will eat before I go, okay?’

  ‘But what if you get hungry later?’ she says, and I think she is actually starting to cry.

  ‘Then I can eat when I get home.’

  And while this plan may seem satisfactory to a normal person, my mother shakes her head doubtfully. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich to take with you.’

  ‘This one is in no danger of starving,’ says Via grabbing my bum through my coat as if to indicate the abundance of stored fat there. ‘Siena on the other hand...’ she whistles and flicks her hand like it’s burning. ‘Now there is a problem.’

  ‘So you have noticed!’ I say.

  ‘Noticed what?’ says Via.

  ‘That Siena is not well.’

  ‘Of course she is not well!’ she says getting irritated. ‘She never bloody eats anything.’

  ‘I think she has anorexia,’ I say.

  ‘Anor- what?’ says Via, tapping her forehead like I’m mad. ‘What the hell are you talking about? The only thing wrong with Siena is that she thinks no one will like her if she is fat.’

  ‘Where is Siena?’ asks Mum.

  Via finds herself a cigarette. ‘How the hell should I know? I haven’t seen her since she left with Robert this morning.’

  ‘What?’ say Mum and I together.

  ‘They’re not getting back together?’ I say horrified.

  ‘A
nd why not?’ says Via pouting. ‘He is her husband.’

  ‘Was her husband.’

  ‘A husband is a husband,’ says Mum excitedly, and now they rub their hands together and squeal like they are twelve and Siena just got a boyfriend.

  I can’t believe this. Have they forgotten that if Siena gets back together with Robert we won’t see her anymore? ‘What happened to her fresh start?’ I say feeling sulky. ‘What about all that stuff she said about wanting to be happy?’

  ‘You think she is happy now, living with her sister and eating nothing but carrots? You don’t leave a marriage just because you’re unhappy.’

  I sit down and scratch my head. I just don’t get it. I really thought Siena was different. To hear she is going back to that old life she hated makes me feel depressed.

  Mum leans over sympathetically. ‘I know,’ she says completely missing the point. ‘I thought she would want to be here too.’

  ‘God, this isn’t a debut. I’m just going to a party.’

  ‘I met your father at a party,’ says Mum with a wink. ‘It was New Year’s Eve, and I was only a few years older than you.’

  ‘I met your uncle at a dance,’ says Via with a wink. ‘We’ve been together ever since.’

  ‘Cool it ladies,’ I say standing up and pulling my fringe over my eyes. ‘I’m not looking for a husband and, unlike Siena, I mean what I say.’

  ‘That’s good,’ says Via standing up. ‘Because in that coat, the only thing you should be looking for is the front-line. Come on let’s go. I have to get home to watch Hey Hey It’s Saturday.’

  And even though it is only quarter to seven, I agree: anything to get away from this madness.

  ***

  It proves impossible for me to go without being force-fed some reheated pasta, and my bursting stomach spasms every time Bambi goes over a bump. There is a strong smell of salami and cheese in the car and I can’t be sure if it’s leftover from Via’s shopping day or if it’s coming from the glad-wrapped panino in my pocket. Either way, the sandwich is going to be ditched in the nearest bush and my pockets held open to air before I go anywhere near that party.

  ‘I always say a young girl needs a bit of fun,’ says Via suddenly chirpy and sentimental. ‘Not all the time study, study, study.’

  ‘Really?’ I say leaning across to check my fringe in the rearview mirror. ‘Because I have never heard you say that.’

  Via swivels the mirror away from me and elbows me back into my seat. ‘I never insisted my Rosa go to school. I always told her, if you want to make me happy get married and have children. That is enough for me.’ She pats her heart with pride. ‘She didn’t let me down.’

  ‘If you want the same from me then I will always let you down. Turn left here.’

  ‘Are you holding that map upside down? We went down this street five minutes ago.’

  ‘Hmmm, let me check,’ I say tapping on the map like I am studying it hard. I’ve been circling us around the suburb to kill a little time, but I think Via has reached her limit. ‘It’s this one,’ I say and then I slide heavily to the left as she takes a sharp right without breaking.

  ‘About time,’ she says wiping her brow with relief. ‘I thought I was going to run out of petrol.’

  The car’s headlights sweep across the street and I lean forward excitedly. Unlike the wide empty verges, open front yards and roomy streets of our outer suburb, everything in this inner city suburb seems to be battling for space. Ficus trees burst from thin verges and footpaths bend and crack around the enormous roots. The red brick houses are hidden behind tall front walls that butt up against roof edges. Parked cars lurk in small gaps between trees and street bins, or sit propped up on verges to make room for passing vehicles.

  ‘What number?’ says Via.

  ‘Fifty.’

  ‘You look, I drive,’ she says studying the crowded street as though a tree might jump in front of her. ‘How can they live like this? It’s worse than a slum.’ She pulls out from behind a parked car and beeps furiously as an oncoming car blocks her way. She winds down her window.

  ‘YOU WATCH-A WHERE YOU GO, BUSTER!’ she shouts, and I slide down into my seat and try to hide my face.

  Then I notice we have stopped out the front of number fifty.

  When I see the house I quickly understand the logic behind the End of the World theme. This house looks like it’s been through a nuclear blast. It’s the worst house on the street, clearly visible behind a mostly toothless picket fence. The narrow garden is waist-high in seedy grass. From what I can see the veranda is missing large chunks of floorboards and the front door is unhinged and leaned up against the wall. There’s a red globe lighting up the front of the house and under the ghostly light, stooping, mohawked figures smoke and drink beer.

  There is no way Via is going to let me go in there.

  ‘That’s right!’ says Via hitting the wheel and laughing as the stand off ends and the other driver gives in and reverses to allow her through first. ‘Run before I ram Bambi straight into your flashy, rich car. I told them, didn’t I?’ she says punching my arm.

  ‘Yes you did,’ I say, trying not to do or say anything that might draw her attention to the house beside us, but I needn’t worry. Her attention is focused on a house up ahead.

  ‘That must be it,’ she says pointing to a wall glimmering with fairy lights.

  She pulls up and through the wrought iron gate I can see glimpses of a courtyard party with lots of well-dressed old people clinking glasses and passing around trays of nibbles. When I wind down my window I can hear classical music and polite chatter and ho-ho laughter.

  ‘Yep, that’s the one. Number fifty–’ and I look around for the number, ‘eight.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ says Via eyeing me suspiciously in the dark. ‘ This is the big party you wanted to go to?’

  ‘You got a problem with it?’

  ‘Not me,’ she snorts. ‘But I think you’re going to be bored.’

  ‘It’s still early. I’m sure it will get better.’

  I smile and open the door but before I can step out I feel a tug at my coat as she pulls me backwards into a hug.

  ‘ Behave yourself,’ she says crunching my head in her arms. She gives me a firm knuckle rub to the skull then twists my face upwards for a kiss to the nose that leaves me feeling wet.

  Finally, I am released from the car.

  Hardly believing I am free, I stand on the verge watching Via, feeling the cool air against my cheeks. The air is vibrating with the sound of loud music coming from Harm’s house and I am hoping like hell that Via doesn’t notice it.

  ‘Go on,’ she says smiling and waving me on.

  I nod and go through the gates to the oldies party. As I enter, several people turn to look at me, prawn hors d’oeuvres dangling. I smile at them politely as I wait for Via to leave.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say when I am sure she has gone. ‘Wrong party.’ And I run out of the gates and down the road towards Harm’s house.

  The frenzied feedback sound gets louder as I approach and I start to recognise it as ‘Taste of Cindy’ by Jesus and Mary Chain. I am standing at the front fence and it’s so loud that my hair is almost lifting in shockwaves. The song is discordant and ugly, and I love the way it matches the house’s wretchedness so perfectly. I look down at the gate hanging crookedly across the path and notice a couple of rubber crabs have been nailed to the top of each gatepost. On the gate itself, hanging by one corner, is a Beware of the Dog sign and the picture of a snarling bulldog has been vandalised by the addition of a thick pair of sunglasses. Rubbing a crab claw for good luck, I push the gate and it comes completely off its hinges. I’m still standing there, trying to decide what to do with the gate, when a group of people arrive and part around me like a black wave then step through the long grass and disappear into the open doorway.

  I let the gate fall and follow them into the house.

  In the hallway the only light is coming from a torch strapped to t
he swinging chandelier. It’s an old house with wooden floorboards, picture rails and deep ceiling roses. The walls have large chunks missing from them and the floorboards are lifting in places so that I have to be careful not to trip over. There are four doors coming off the hallway, and I walk slowly past each one trying to look inside without being noticed. Through the first door I get a quick glimpse of a guy with what looks like ping-pong balls glued to his black skivvy. In the next room a couple is getting frisky on a bare mattress on the floor. The third door is pushed shut before I can see inside and in the last room is someone standing at the light switch, flicking it on and off while several others giggle and strike different poses in the strobing. The hallway opens out to a kitchen area. Beside the sink, laden with beer, a couple smoke and lean in close to each other, absorbed in conversation. I push through a fraying fly-screen door and step out into the backyard, which seems to be where the main action is.

  ‘You look thirsty,’ says a guy and hands me a plastic cup.

  Before I can say anything he is filling it with cask wine. He is older, stocky, but under his faded Pink Floyd T-shirt I can see the squishy signs of a small potbelly which reminds me instantly of my father. He is wearing a heavily studded leather jacket and tight pinstripe pants that finish at pointy, white leather shoes. He pushes a long, lanky fringe from his face and I notice that he is beginning to thin around the hairline.

  ‘So,’ he says. ‘Do you fuck? Because I am ready to go.’

  I assume the look on my face provides him with an answer to his question because he spits at my feet disgusted.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ he says ripping my cup away from me. ‘I don’t have time for this shit.’ And he storms off through the crowd. My hand is still cupped like it’s holding a drink and my fingers are sticky with wine.

  ‘You just turned down Andrew West,’ says a girl coming up beside me. She has short, spiked orange hair and her large brown eyes are lined heavily in black. She places another glass into my still cupped hand and pours me some beer from the bottle she is drinking. ‘I’m sure that’s never happened before.’